Tara

Something wasn't right.

Tara's eyes snapped open. Even when she was sleeping in a warm bed at an inn, her warrior's senses were sharp. I heard something, she thought, listening intently. Her fingertips brushed lightly against the hilt of the dagger she kept beneath her pillow as she waited and watched. The sound came again, and this time she heard it properly. It was a sob – a soft, plaintive little sound, and it had come from the girl in her bed.

Epona was curled up against her, with her lean back pressed up against Tara's abdomen; one of the warrior's arms was thrown possessively around the girl's waist. As Tara watched, she saw the slave bury her face into the pillow. The slim body quivered a few times. Another tiny, choked sob drifted up from the depths of the cushion.

Bugger. Wonder if her arm's bothering her? Tara was vaguely annoyed at having been awakened in the dead of night. She was about to say something, but something held her back. She paused and waited. After a minute or two, Epona's body shook again. A few more little sobs emerged, and then a name, spoken softly and tenderly, with infinite pain. "Marcella," the slave whispered. "Marcella..."

The warrior's brow creased. Huh. It's not the brand that's paining her, then. She thought she remembered Epona mentioning that some family member or other had been beheaded in front of her. Yes, that'll be it. Marcella was probably her sister's name.

Tara suddenly felt unaccountably awkward. She frowned a bit, trying to make sense of the feeling. If this were Clytie, I'd have just told her to shut up. I'd probably have yelled at her for waking me up, too. Her lips tightened. Maybe it's just not necessary to be that harsh with this one. Epona's never shown any sign of defiance...yes, that's what it is. I just don't see a need to be severe with her. Without speaking, Tara slipped her other arm around Epona's body.

The slave stiffened in her arms, twisting her head around to look at her. Tara could see the moisture on Epona's cheeks in the moonlight. "I'm sorry, ma'am," the girl whispered contritely. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Quietly, Tara turned the girl's body in her arms until they lay face-to-face. "I'll forgive you this time," she said calmly. "Does your brand still hurt?"

Epona's eyes lowered. "A...a little," she admitted.

Tara's expression didn't change. "Homesick?"

The slave's enormous eyes lifted to meet her owner's again. Tara saw her throat move as she swallowed. "I suppose so," she murmured. "I miss my...sister." Epona looked frightened as soon as she'd said it, as if she expected to be punished for it.

Without a word, Tara leaned forward to kiss the slave's mouth. She moved slowly, dropping soft kisses up Epona's jawline to her ear. Then she stopped and lay still. "Homesickness wears off," she said gruffly. "Give it time." The smaller girl nodded and buried her forehead into Tara's shoulder. A plaintive little sob or two shook her. Tara's awkward feeling grew; she scowled, but said nothing. After a while, the slave's slight form relaxed. The warrior looked at her – Epona was asleep again.

Thank the gods. With a wide yawn, Tara rested her head back down on her pillow and closed her eyes.

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Sunlight was already streaming in the window, but Tara had no intention of getting up. The aches and pains left by long days of fighting and sleeping on the bare ground were beginning to loosen up; she felt warm and comfortable. She smiled up at the ceiling and relished the feeling of soft, clean sheets against her skin. Then, too, there was the gentle warmth of her slave's body cuddled up at her side.

Tara peered down at Epona with idle interest. The curly head was nestled against the warrior's muscular shoulder; the girl's slim form was curved close to hers. Epona tended to snuggle in her sleep, like a puppy. Tara studied her in silence. In the course of her travels over the years, she'd been all over these eastern kingdoms – even the great empire of Romus, the most powerful of them all. She'd seen statues there of famous nobles and queens and emperors. Tara thought that her little slave girl, with her well-formed features and her mop of dark hair, rather resembled some of those busts. Hm, hm. I bet you're not pure Argonian, little mouse – not with skin as pale as yours. There'll be some high-ranking Romusi in your background. Tara smiled a bit and moved a stray curl from the girl's cheek.

The movement disturbed the tranquility of Epona's face. She murmured, scowling a little, and buried her forehead into Tara's shoulder. The warrior smirked. Leaning down, she brushed her lips lightly over the ear that peeked out from amongst the dark curls, and nipped along its delicate rim. "Good morning," she murmured, chuckling as she heard a halfhearted growl emerge from the hidden throat. "Sleep well?"

"Yes'm." Epona turned her head to peer up at Tara with one sleepy eye. "Morning already?"

"Mmm-hmm." Tara idly wound one of the black locks around her finger. "I'm not in any great hurry to go anywhere, though." The slave girl sighed and closed her eyes again. "I think we should just spend the day here," Tara said lazily. "I could use the rest, and I'm sure we could find some way to spend the time." Her hand snaked under the covers and slid down to rest in the hollow just above Epona's hipbone. "What do you think?"

The dark head dropped demurely. "If you like, ma'am."

Tara smirked. That's what I like to hear. She idly tugged on another of Epona's dark curls. "So tell me, beag luch. I'm curious. Who was the Romusi – your mother, or your father?"

Epona glanced up at her. "My mother was Romusi," she said simply. "Political alliance." Then she frowned a little. "What does beag luch mean, please?"

The warrior paused. The words had simply slipped out – she hadn't actually meant to say them out loud. She felt faintly embarrassed. "Oh. That." Tara scratched her nose. "It's in my native tongue. It means little mouse," she said.

A small, sad smile flitted briefly over Epona's face. Even that tiny glimpse intrigued Tara; she hadn't yet seen the slave smile. It had softened the sculpted face and warmed the moss-green of her eyes. The smaller girl reached up to brush a fingertip against a lock of her owner's fiery red hair. "You're not Argonian at all, right, ma'am? You're from the west."

"Gaelis," Tara confirmed. "But it's not home, not anymore. I've not seen the place in more than a decade, now."

"That's too bad," Epona said softly. Her small fingers continued their absentminded toying with Tara's hair. "How come you never go back? Don't you miss it?"

"What's to miss?" Tara asked coldly. Something welled up in her, then – something like recklessness. She gave an icy smile and brushed the backs of her knuckles gently against Epona's cheek. "I'll tell you a story, beag luch. It happened in my country. There was a little girl born there to a no-good whore, the town drunk. Every morning the whore would throw her daughter out into the street and lock up the house, and then go to the pub to find men to buy her whiskey. And every night, the little girl would go back to her house to see if her mother would come home. Sometimes her mother didn't, so the little girl would sleep in the street. Sometimes her mother did – and when she did, she was usually drunk, and she would beat the little girl black and blue."

The warrior paused in her story and sat up, fumbling under the bed for her pack. When she found it, she pulled out a pipe and a tobacco pouch. Epona watched silently as Tara filled the pipe, lit it, and breathed out a cloud of fragrant smoke. "That little girl learned how to steal, and how to fight," Tara went on. "And as she grew up, she found out that she was very good at fighting. She was stronger and faster than people who were older and bigger than she was. She fought a lot – and sometimes she lost, but most of the time she won." The warrior took another draw from her pipe. "One day, when the girl was fifteen, she won a fight against a man who was trying to take away the money she'd stolen that day. Afterwards, it suddenly occurred to her that the man she'd just beaten up was bigger than her mother was."

Epona's eyes widened. She stared up at Tara, but still said nothing. The red-haired warrior smirked. "So the girl went home. It was locked, of course; so she kicked the door in, and went inside and waited for her mother to come back." Tara paused, turning her dark eyes to the window. "Her mother came home a little after midnight, full of whiskey," she said quietly. "She hit the girl – so the girl beat her to a bloody pulp, and then she left. She left her there on the floor, beag luch. Her own mother. She didn't even know if she was dead or alive, but she never looked back." She took a deep breath of smoke and blew it out slowly. Her brown eyes moved down to meet Epona's again. "What kind of a monster do you suppose she became when she grew up?"

There was silence for a moment. Then Epona laid her head back against Tara's body; her slim hand rested gently on the warrior's belly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Tara flinched. The wave of recklessness had passed as suddenly as it had come. She shoved the slave away from her with a movement that was almost violent. "Don't be a fool," she growled. "It was just a damn story." Tara turned to glower out the window again. "Go downstairs and bring me up a breakfast tray," she ordered. "And don't dawdle about it, either!" She heard the rustle of cloth as Epona dressed, and then the soft sound of the door opening and closing. With a burst of temper, Tara turned and flung her pipe after her; it bounced off the door and clattered against the floorboards.

Some of the tension had passed out of Tara's muscles by the time Epona returned, staggering under the weight of a tray that contained a large platter of eggs, sausage and bread, an empty mug, and a steaming teapot. The slave girl managed to place it on the bedside table without dropping anything. Without a word, Epona poured Tara's tea, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. The warrior watched silently as the slave first took a sip, and then handed her the cup.

Tara took it and drank a few mouthfuls. Then she looked at Epona; the smaller girl was watching her timidly. Tara felt a rush of irritation. My own damn fault, the warrior thought ruefully. Letting my guard down like that...what was I thinking? "We won't speak of that story again," Tara said coldly. "Is that understood?"

"I understand, ma'am," the slave softly agreed.

"Good." The warrior gestured. "Strip, and get back in this bed." Without a word, Epona obeyed. Tara put her arm around the slim waist and pulled her up until she was almost sitting in her lap. She felt better; she patted Epona's belly. "Go ahead and have a sausage if you like," she said, and her tone was almost kind. "You're probably hungry, too." The slave hesitated before taking one. Tara relaxed, resting her head against the headboard behind her, and nibbled at her breakfast. Once again, she was looking forward to the long and lazy day ahead.

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It had been a very comfortable day, Tara thought contentedly, letting a yawn expand her ribs. She was sitting propped up against some pillows and the headboard, dressed only in her short leather breeches. Epona was lying on top of her, between her knees, with her dark head resting against her chest. Her eyes were closed; she seemed to be dozing. Tara smirked. Her fingers drifted up to toy with a few stray curls until the moss-green eyes opened again. "Comfy?" the warrior asked mildly.

"Yes, ma'am," Epona murmured.

"Need more salve on that burn?" Tara asked.

Epona shook her head. "It's good. It stings a bit, but it's all right." There was silence for a while. Tara felt small fingers trail gently up and down her side. "Are you going to go with that woman, ma'am?"

"Maybe," the warrior said lazily. "Drea and I go way back. She's the one who gave me my first Argonian sword." She reached over to the bedside table for her pipe. The room was already hazy with fragrant smoke, Tara noted. She blew out another cloud of it with a deep sigh of satisfaction. "You know, I was about your age during our heyday together," she said, grinning at the recollection. "We were both insane. The messes we got into together! Heh."

Curious eyes flicked up to Tara's. "Like what?"

Tara raised a brow, and then roughly ruffled Epona's hair. "You want to hear war stories, is that it? Do I look like a bard to you?" The slave winced and shrank away visibly. Tara chuckled. "I'm not much of a storyteller. Drea and I, though – we were crazy. I remember one time we sneaked away from camp to try to pull a raid by ourselves. We hit what we thought was a little merchant caravan. Turned out it was some nobleman's retinue, guarded by at least a dozen soldiers! We only just got away with our hides intact. I got a souvenir." Tara tapped a ragged scar that ran over the top of her right shoulder. "One of them pegged me with a crossbow. Went right under my shoulder plate. It was a good thing I wore a mail shirt underneath, or I'd have been dead right there."

Epona ran the tips of her fingers over the scar. Her eyes were round with amazement. "You're very brave," she said softly.

"That wasn't courage. That was stupidity." Tara grinned nevertheless. "I guess I haven't really changed all that much since then. I'm a bit smarter in the kinds of risks I take, but...there's just something about battle, somehow. I just suddenly forget all my aches and pains, and all the horrors of war, and I start laughing, and...ah." She breathed a deep sigh. "I just feel like a force of nature, or a goddess. It's as if the Morrigan really did take my blood."

The slave looked up in puzzlement. "Who took your what?"

"The Morrigan," Tara repeated calmly. "She's the goddess of war in Gaelis." She took another breath of smoke. "I was always a fighter, little mouse. I joined the army when I was fifteen years old, but I got kicked out three months later for being a discipline problem. That's when I decided to come to Argonia. I'd heard a fighter with a sword could find easy work here." Tara set her pipe down carefully. "Before I left, though, I figured I could use all the help I could get. There's this mountain near the town where I grew up, and on top of it is a ring of stones. There's some priestesses up there. The place is dedicated to the Morrigan."

"A temple." Epona's delicate fingers were still tracing the outline of the scar on the warrior's shoulder. Tara decided it was an agreeable sensation.

"No. Temples are an Argonian thing, or Romusi. Gaels are different." Tara noted the curve of Epona's jaw. She lazily drew her thumb along it, enjoying the smooth texture of her skin. "We have sacred trees, stones, hills – things like that."

"Oh." A faint blush colored the slave's cheek at the intensity of Tara's gaze. She looked down, shivering as the warrior's hand trailed down the side of her neck and along the sharp line of her collarbone.

"Anyway, I went up there and told them I wanted to pledge my life and my sword to the Morrigan," Tara murmured. "They did this big long ritual with fire and water and things, and then they cut my hand and let it bleed over a sacred stone." She displayed a paper-thin scar across the palm of her right hand. Small fingers curiously investigated it. "They told me that I already carried the Morrigan's birthright, and now I truly belonged to her. I wound up staying there for a couple of days. Got my tattoo from one of the priestesses."

Epona traced the blue mark on the side of Tara's neck. "It's a bird."

"A raven," the warrior confirmed. "Sacred bird of the goddess. They eat the bodies after a battle's over, you know." Epona shuddered deeply, and Tara smirked. Little frightened mouse. "So that's what I mean about the blood."

The slave chewed her lip thoughtfully. "We have warlords here in Argonia," she said softly. "They're disciples of Ares. They say he can possess them in battle, and that's why they're so strong and deadly." Her slender hands brushed the muscles that rippled like steel ropes across Tara's arm. "Are you like that?"

"Hm. Maybe." Tara shrugged, watching the slave's hands with idle enjoyment. "I don't exactly worship the Morrigan or anything. I don't pray to her. But every time I fight, I'm kind of fulfilling my vows to her. And I don't really know what being possessed feels like, so who knows? Maybe she does possess me in battle." She leaned back as Epona's fingers began to explore the hard lines of her abs. "You seem to be losing some of your shyness," she remarked.

Epona stopped abruptly and blushed to the roots of her hair. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said humbly. "Please don't be angry! I didn't mean..."

"I didn't say I didn't like it." Tara shot her a rakish grin. The slave blushed harder, and buried her face into the pillow. The warrior chuckled and drew the quilt up to cover more of Epona's bare skin.

After a moment, the slave girl seemed to recover some of her lost composure. She peeped out of the pillow. "What...please, ma'am, what will you do with me if you do go with those people?"

"Bring you along, of course," Tara said lightly. "You'd be one of the camp followers. We have people to cook and things, and bring us supplies on the battlefield. That kind of thing. And I'm certainly not the only mercenary ever to have a slave." She rubbed Epona's naked back idly. "So tell me something," she said. "You say you were a noble's daughter, but you seem to be adjusting to being my slave pretty easily. Why is that?"

The girl looked at her out of the corner of her eye. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "I guess it's not all that different from what I would have been doing, anyway," Epona said finally. Her voice was very quiet. "I'd have been married off to some man I'd never met, and I'd be cooking and cleaning for him. I'd have had to sleep with him whether I wanted to or not. It isn't so very different with you, ma'am...except that you're a woman, of course. And that my family's dead."

Tara nodded thoughtfully. "That's probably true." She slid her palm down from Epona's shoulders to the small of her back. I'd like to take her again, she thought, glancing at the window. The sun was setting; Tara sighed. No. No time now. It'll have to wait. "I think it's about time for supper," she said out loud. "Put your clothes on – we're going downstairs to eat. I have to talk to Drea, anyway." Epona bowed her head and did as she was told. Tara dressed herself in full armor. She strapped her sword to her side, and then paused to eye her shield. Nah – no need for it. She turned to the door, glancing toward the boyish figure of her slave. "Come," she said shortly, and headed down the stairs.

It wasn't hard to spot the mercenaries; their party took up nearly a third of the inn's pub. Tara calmly made her way to an empty table on the opposite side of the tavern, and then flagged down a barmaid. "Supper and ale for two," she said. Epona quietly slipped into an empty seat. Tara grinned and pulled up a chair for herself.

As Tara had expected, there was soon movement over at the mercenaries' tables. Drea and their supper arrived at the same time. The dark-skinned warrior straddled a chair in a businesslike manner, folding her arms over the back of it. "Hey, Terror. Enjoying your stay so far?"

"Fair," Tara said, coolly meeting Drea's gaze for a moment. Then she took a leisurely bite of the bread and cheese the barmaid had brought her. "Soft bed, decent food, cold ale. Not bad for a change every now and then."

"I know the feeling." The smaller warrior shifted in her seat, seemingly waiting for something. Tara merely gave her a mild look and resumed eating her supper. Drea finally sighed impatiently. "Well? Have you given any thought to coming with us?"