I'm in no way a writer but I have a bit of a story for you all with some strong 'RR' vibes.

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence.

(Edited for errors)

​

The prince is now but a lowly squire.

Part 1 - Rescue at first light.

The sound grew louder sending a fresh wave of fear somewhere deep in his core, in turn, he increased the speed at which he paced the tiny room he’d known as his prison for the few day’s prior, each step echoed loudly from the stone floor and off the stone walls. Outside, somewhere beyond the old heavy wooden door whose iron lock kept him confined, the chorus of battle waged on. The clashing of metal, the cries of the fierce, the frightened, and the dying, each increased his fear and intern the pacing. Part of his mind fixated on the fact that this chorus may very well sound salvation from his ordeal, to bring him home, and yet a seed of doubt was sown deep within him. ‘What if it was someone else trying to get to him, these bandits had shown no kindness, could whoever else was after him be worse?’ the idea bounced around the young prince's head, he ran his hand through his short blond hair in frustration. The anticipation, the unknowing, it was all too much for him. With a gulp and an unsteady voice he decreed to himself, ‘Not without a fight,’ he began scouring his small cell for anything that would aid him in making a stand of his own.

As he searched every crack and crevice of his forced accommodation he was suddenly distracted by a revelation of sorts, the chorus that he feared so much had grown louder, closer and yet its participant’s seemed to dwindle in number, the battle draws to an end, a victor may soon stand. With this information sending dread through the oak ceiling over his head he redoubled his efforts. The room was barren but for an uncomfortable old wooden bed he had been forced to rest upon during his stay, it was constructed of four corner posts each nearly as high as his waist, each post working, in turn, to hold the bed together with the assistance of some valiant but rusty old nails. A thought entered his mind, he climbed up on the bed, putting what little weight he had upon his frame behind his feet he kicked at one of the posts. At first, it yielded no success but in his frustration, he tried again and again, it was too much for the old nails as they gave in and a cracking sound proclaimed his success. He held his prize aloft, a large wooden stick, not much of a royal weapon but it would have to suffice when there was no better option. He admired his newfound weapon only to realized that the sound had all but stopped, the battle was over, but he had only just begun. He approached the door placing his right ear against the wood, ever so slightly fearing the splinter he may acquire for the action. Footsteps, heavy ones, but a single set, it may be a fair fight. He doubled back and brought his weapon aloft like the mightiest of swords as he had witnessed the royal guards do countless times before, It was now or never.

The footsteps approached the door, each landing with a heavyweight that he seemed to feel on his chest. They stopped at the other side of the door, the handle began to shake with a horrible metal rattle, still locked, he prepared his attack -With a sudden crash the door gave way, he closed his eyes and began to swing. He imagined his piece of wood tightly grasped between his hands to be the mightiest of swords, cutting the air as it followed his command. His blade did travel with truth and with his hope at its highest it made contact. He opened his eye’s to bear witness to his success, the stick had indeed hit its target however before him he had struck the armored chest plate of someone much taller than he, As it hit the metal plate his weapon had been turned into nothing more then kibbling and splinters that flew through the air in every direction, all that remained of his mighty blade was the small piece between his hands.

Now with his eyes wide open is nothing short of utter shock and fear he could take in the figure that stood before him, moreover, the one that towered over him. His eyes glanced them up and down, they must have stood at over six-foot, their frame was bulky like the largest of beasts, clad in well forged silver armor, scratched and dented from countless battles. Each armored piece was held to its frame with a complex weave of brown leather straps that coiled like snakes emerging and disappearing behind the plates in a complex dance. Contrasting the bright blades was the dark under-suit that covered most of their body. there hands in gauntlets, the left resting at her side upon the hilt of a mighty longsword that sat sheathed along her left leg. It was build from steel and seemed as battle-worn as the armor, its handle a leather wrap that looked hastily thrown together to replace one that had been lost long ago, from its blade a small drop of blood landed upon the stone floor, the remnants of the battle outside on the other side of the wooden door. emerging from the front plate and traveling over their shoulders was a fur cape, the hide of some beast, its grey fur flowed over their shoulders and down their back. Before him was a knight, not like those of the castle guard whose weapons were polished and pristine, never tasting battle, what stood before him was the image of a real knight, battered, bloody, but standing tall. Finally striking up the courage he brought his eyes up to there's.

The head that sat atop this mighty knight's body caught him by surprise, their hair was a dark purple that colored into a near back at the roots, its sides saved short, the length on-top tided back into a bun, a style often associated with the battle-ready eastern orc tribes. Their face wore certain battle hardiness, scars long since healed marked them, one ran vertically down above their right brow, parting it, missing the eye before being picked back up along the cheek and ending jaggedly in the corner of the mouth, A fresh wound ran across the center of the nose horizontally and onto the left cheek, it was so new that it still wept red lightly. finally, he made eye contact and entirely lost himself in the piercing bright pale blues that stared back at him, cutting like the blade at their side. there was something about their face, something he was missing, that was until they spoke.

‘You would figure you “Royal’s“would be well versed in introductions, and that it’s not too good an idea for yours to be striking someone with a piece of wood?’ the ever so slight softness to there hard-earned face, the bulk of there frame and most importantly their voice, it was female. he didn’t respond, it was all too much.

‘A simple sorry would help?’ she looked down upon him with an ever-so-slight disdain.

with difficulty, he mustered a response ‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry? you royal types are all about titles but you don’t seem to know how to use them,’ he was taken aback by her town, no one ever spoke to him in such a rude way, he was a prince, after all, she counted ‘I am Lady Dimira, Beast slayer of the north, Knight by royal decree of your farther, and you shall address me as such.’

With a gulp attempting to fill the pit in his stomach she had created he managed to muster out a mumble, ‘Sorry lady Dimira, thank you for rescuing me.’

Her response was quick and simple. ‘We’re a long way from you being able to thank me for that, Adrian? isn’t it.’

‘-Prince Adrian, Alexander, Palmar the second, but “my liege“will suffice' he decreed with the utmost conference.

Her face betrayed her stoic nature as a suppressed laugh could be seen in the corner of her mouth, ‘you are joking right, who is rescuing who? you do want to get home?’ he nodded in response, ‘then follow my command and I will get you there, act like a brat the whole time and there isn’t going to be enough of a bounty in the world for me to put up with you, “my liege,” she mocked the title as she used it.

‘Bounty?’ he asked, his face portraying the confusion deep inside him.

She took a second to him up and down, clearly choosing her words with a certain careful though, ‘Your father, our Lord, has placed a bounty of sorts for your safe return to him, it’s a fair amount of coin so he must be worth a lot to him... your lucky I got to you first, I’m sure there’s many that would see you as a pretty good bargaining tool to at least double the reward.’

‘And you won’t?’ concern clear in his eyes.

‘Depends how much of a brat you are, I can only put up with you noble types so much,’ he wasn’t sure if she was being serious but fearing angering her further allowed her to continue, ‘I need to know what happened the day you were abducted.’

He took a step back lowering himself slowly onto the edge of the uncomfortable bed that now angled down towards the floor where its fourth post once held it aloft. She moved to sit beside him, the bed groaned, and complained at the weight of the large armored women.

His breath began to get heavy, ‘we had been out east, meeting some noble types, landowners, you know the kinds. Once our diplomatic foray was complete we began for home, two carriages. The first two days went off without a hitch, we always travel at first light and our route is kept secret as not to allow for an ambush, however on the third day. it was early morning, the sun sat low behind the tall mountains whose shadows hugged the lands, we made good time with haste, but a less than an hour later we entered a wooded pass flanked by steep hills on either side.’ He took a second to bring his breathing and heart back under control, ‘the ambush laid in wait dropping trees in-front and behind, sealing us in, the ran forth from the brush, weapons drawn,’ his breathing increased once again as moisture built up in the corner of his eye’s and the drum of his heart-wrung in his ears. ‘They spared none, not guard, nor maid, not even horse... all to get to me.’

His sorrow was swapped for a sudden surprise as a weight landed up to his shoulder, it grounded him unbelievably quickly. looking over he could see her armored glove resting upon his right shoulder, her face hidden from his gaze as she looked somewhere else in the room for something that probably wasn’t there.

‘Seems they were attempting to ransom you back to your farther for every coin they could,’ she explained, ‘but their stubbornness bought me the time to track down where they were holding you so I think we ought not to complain, there are much bigger problems for us to tackle.’ She stood up, turning to face him, her gaze downward and into his eye’s, ‘no one could have known the route of the royal carriage but someone involved in planning it?’ he nodded in response, ‘that complicates things, if we are to get you home we must travel without the knowledge of the royal court, and most importantly, no one can know that it is the prince who walks beside me.’

‘- Wait!, surely if we send a message to the castle they can send an armed escort to collect me, doing it without their help will take weeks,’ he protested.

‘Think about it, if the ambush laid in waiting then they were aware of your movements, how could they have this information?’ he thought deeply but she already had the answer ‘I believe that someone in the royal court must have tipped them off.’ Her words ran in his head like thunderous church bells, ‘now whether they sort to exploit your farther for wealth or they have more sinister intentions, I am unsure, but we must proceed with the utmost caution, as such I left non of the bandits to tell of your rescue.’

‘So what do you propose?’ he responded.

She turned away from him raising her hand to her chin in deep thought, a mere second later she seemed to have grasped an idea. She exited the room via the door leaving him sat there alone, only calling out beyond ‘Don’t go anywhere I’ll be right back.’

He sat upon the uncomfortable bed an ever-present reminder of his situation, the door which had completed his cell now rested wide open, he could leave of his choosing, find his way home, she may very well be lying just as much as anyone else. As he thought about it the sense that she was his best option was clear, and he even found himself smiling slightly as she re-entered the room, that was until he saw the mass of old rags in her arms.

She threw the rag’s beside him. ‘should be about right for someone of your size.’

He looked upon the rags, then back towards her, confusion was written across his face.

‘Well get them prince'y garbs off, it’s a dead give away that your someone of high standing, and besides there already ruined,’ he looked down at his royal tunic, it was true, the ambush and subsequent days spent incarcerated had taken there toll, the once royal red, faded, stained and pattered with holes that would have cost more than a coin or two for a tailor to repair, ‘These may be a bit more “roguish” then your used to, but who knows you might like them,’ she chuckled to herself.

It was true his royal grabs were worth more than most would make in a few years of hard labor, and wearing such wealth without royal protection was asking for trouble. he picked up the rags, ‘aren’t these also a bit “ruined?“ he asked. They were made of black material, hard and coarse to the touch, covered in years of dirt and wear, in a few places freshly frayed fabric showed the past battle. ‘Are these from your blade? -And is this blood!’

‘I’m pretty sure its previous owner will not be asking for it back,’ she chuckled again, ‘now come on we need to move, we got somewhere to be before nightfall.’

He studied the rags once more and sighed, ‘fine, please step outside.’

She obliged without comment. He set about removing his royal robes and dawning these rags, he studied them closer, between the dirt and stains he uncovered ornate floral designs hidden in the stitching, an element common among most elven tailors. His royal wardrobe had an elven tunic that he had obtained as a diplomatic gift, its wonderful comfort quickly becoming one of his favorites. He sorted the rags, a black tunic laced at one side, a pair of tattered black shorts, and a pair of beaten brown leather boots that had been marked with something coloring them roughly black. the last item buried at the bottom was a black shawl with an oversized hood, it seemed to be in better condition than the rest. It took him a little while to get to grips with each item, most fit well until it came to the boots which seemed to be a size or two too small, but once complete he called for her to re-enter.

A mere second later she rounded the corner, ‘well I thought it might fit and it seems my suspicions were correct,’ her comment went unnoticed as he had as she approached got the first good look at himself reflected in her silver armor, the image of him clad in something so un-noble was a real shock as embarrassment set his face ablaze.

‘No need to be embarrassed “my liege, “she laughed, ‘it does its purpose, no one will recognize their beloved prince in these roguish rags,’ she placed a weighty hand upon his head and ruffled his blond hair making it further unkempt, ‘but we will have to do something about that face of yours.’

His face was one of concern as if to say ‘what does that mean?’ with no words needing to be spoken.

She registered his concern at her comment, ‘I’ll explain later, for now, we must make haste, I have an appointment to keep with a good friend and we must get there before nightfall, so please try to keep up.’

He decided that further objections would yield no results and with a little reluctance decided there was only one last question he wanted to try, ‘Can I ask who this friend is?’

Her answer created a notch in the back of his throat, ‘A witch, now let's go.’