Ave Lupinotuum

The night was dark, and the manor towered above him like a giant. He crouched amid the tall grass and could see his blade shaking a little as he tightened his grip on the poll of his spear. The moment of truth had finally come, and there was no turning back.

All around him were a band of outlaws armed with a hodgepodge of different weapons. Calling them companions or comrades would have been a strong word, but at the very least, they were with him and intent on proving him right. The fresh air was tainted by a stench not unlike that of a wet dog, and there was little doubt about where it came from.

"Wait for my signal." Morgana whispered, her bestial form crouching behind him. "We'll rush in when that guard leaves. Be ready."

On the manor's side was an open walkway with stone pillars, lit by torches whose orange glow flickered in the black night. From there they could see a guard looking out in the distance. It seemed they were in a blind spot, or perhaps it was simply too dark for him to see them. Regardless, after looking out for a few moments, he finally left. Francis could feel his tension rising even higher when he saw him leave.

"Go!" She hissed before rushing out from the tall grass, followed by the rest of her crew and Francis following shortly behind.

With her immense strength, Morgana barged through a backdoor into the kitchen. Inside were a few unfortunate servants who were still cleaning, and when they saw her, they screamed and fled up the stairs. It was only a matter of time before the alarm was sounded and the guards came rushing in, but they kept up their momentum. Streams of armored bodies flowed into the manor like water through a broken dam, and they scattered all around as they began looting the cellar.

Once everyone was in, Morgana quickly started scaling the wall and climbed into the castle through the walkway. No doubt she would take care of whoever was upstairs, but she could only climb up so quickly. Inevitably, guards hurried down the spiraling stairwell and engaged with the intruders.

As soon as the armored men arrived at the kitchen they were overwhelmed. The bandits pounced on them and cut them down almost as quickly as they arrived. There came a clanging and ringing of steel and iron as blades clashed. This wasn't a one-sided assault like in the forest before, this time they were prepared.

Faidh seemed to relish the opportunity to fight them, a smile on his face as he crossed swords with a knight. After a brief duel, he finally found an opening and plunged his blade into the knight's neck.

Kicking the man's limp body to the hard stone floor, he pointed ahead. "The storage room is this way!" He shouted, apparently remembering Francis's directions. "Mac tíre abu!" He looked like a lord leading a battalion of peasants.

Seeing them hurry off, Francis decided to go looking for Morgana. He knew even the greatest knights would struggle to fight her, but he still worried. He ran up the stairs, through the familiar hallways and corridors. There was something haunting about having to step around the occasional dead body in such a familiar environment, a feeling amplified by the sound of the looting bandits. Yelling and laughing as they rummaged through the lower levels and all that was stowed away there, it was strange to think such villains could be considered his allies. What was more, he found himself fretting over a horrible beast in the same manner a princess would worry for her knight.

"Our Lord truly does work in mysterious ways..." he muttered

Heading up the spiraling stairwell, he soon found himself hurrying about his childhood home. Rooms he had so many memories of and tapestries he had seen countless time passed him by. His grip on his guisarme got so tight that it started to turn his palms red.

Just as the conflicting emotions were starting to get to him, he bumped into a familiar face: Lord Crowley, the man he once called father. Still in his sleeping gown, he looked confused and distraught by the situation. His face was pale and sweaty as he hurried around the corner with a dagger in hand.

"What are you doing here, my boy?" He asked breathily, before lowering his dagger in confusion.

A deeply-seated fear seized Francis at that moment. Something he'd felt since he was a child, an unwillingness to go against his father in any way. But at that moment, he found in himself a bravery he didn't know he had. Even as his legs trembled, he pointed his spear forward.

"Shocked to see me alive, then?" He asked, his shakiness coming through in his voice.

"Yes, I thought I had lost you. It sounded like York would take care of that whole situation, and I must admit I was worried. Those bandits sounded like a nasty bunch." He wiped the sweat from his brow. "But...how did you get back here? And why is the manor being attacked? Did they follow you home?"

"That's rather interesting, because it seems to me that I was left to die. What was it York said? You were apathetic on the matter of my safety?"

Crowley furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you know about that?"

"I saw everything I needed in a note he gave to one of his knights." He gritted his teeth and he tried to firm up his stance so his legs would stop trembling. "Demonstrating the true love of a father there. 'I won't tell you to use caution' he said, and the knights certainly followed his instructions."

"Ah, so that's it, then?" He tilted his head slightly, seemingly putting the pieces together. "Am I to presume that this raid was your idea, then? Raiding your own home, really, how self-destructive."

"I don't know where home is anymore, but it isn't here. What I don't understand is why? Why didn't you care?" He had a feeling he knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from the man himself.

"Haven't you figured it out already?" He asked. "We have children to continue our lineages. One of my sons already connected our family to another house through marriage, while the other is carrying out good chivalric deeds in France even as we speak. What was left for you, then? Try as I might I could not find a suitable candidate for you, nor could I seriously consider enlisting you in military service. I had sent you to the monastery, but frankly I don't think connections with the church are the most immediately consequential. Bearing that in mind, your death would not negatively impact us that much. I did not tell York to kill you, but it seemed to me that it made little difference whether you lived or died. But now, seeing you here, I do wonder if I should have simply made a man out of you through the army."

"I should have known..." he shifted his gaze downward and almost instinctively lowered his weapon "you simply didn't care."

"Oh, but I do care. I care about this family. I care about the bigger picture. Both of which you are clearly blind to."

Francis returned his gaze to him. "Don't act so high and mighty. This may have been my idea, but the bandit captain is here with me. She is by far the greatest fighter I've ever seen."

At this, Crowley just scoffed. "As if you've seen many fights. In any case, this so-called She-Wolf has proven a nuisance for too long. Impressive for a woman, I admit, but with York's continued aid we will," Just as he finished that sentence, his eyes shifted slightly to the left and he dropped his dagger. It hit the stone floor with a loud clang.

Francis paused, unsure of what to make of his sudden change in demeanor. It seemed there was something behind him, and Crowley had noticed it.

"What...is that?" He asked, obviously shaken.

Francis finally turned to look behind him, and saw the form of a wolf standing the doorway behind them.

"This..." Francis started, a smile creeping onto his face "is captain Morgana."

"No wonder York failed! She was a werewolf this whole time?!"

"Precisely." Francis turned to face him, while Morgana walked up behind him. "What was it you were saying about her before? She may have liked to hear it."

Crowley gritted his teeth, while his gears turned on what to do.

"This is your father?" Morgana asked. "I'll make a snack out of his bones!"

"Wait!" Francis used his spear to block her from advancing.

"What?" She looked at him, confused. "After what he did, I'd be doing you a favor!"

"I cannot kill him, nor have you do it." Francis explained, looking back to the startled noble. "I just...can't."

"As much as the devil tempts me, I cannot bring myself to kill you either." Crowley answered. "Though I see that you're able to keep the beast in check. I'll admit you have bested me for now, but I hope you realize what you have done." He picked his dagger back up. "You will have no place among the gentry and will be cast down among the common rabble. What peace you could find will be short-lived, for this transgression will not go unabated."

"So you'll leave me to die but cannot kill me yourself. Very well." He lowered his spear. "I'm glad we had this talk. Farewell, Lord Crowley."

After a stiffening silence, he left, followed by Morgana. A cold wind blew outside, as if punctuating the words and actions that couldn't be reversed.

When he returned to the rest of the group, he found they had already looted most of their coffers. They carried their bounty with a jubilant spirit, some dragging large sacks over their shoulders while others carried barrels of beer and crates of wine bottles. Despite the joy that surrounded him, there was still a heavy weight on his heart. He wondered if he had made the right decision.

Leaving the palace, he found himself in a stream of laughing thieves being led by an equally happy wolf. The joyous noise seemed almost echoey in his mental haze. Yet, in the midst of those regretful feelings, he also felt lighter. As if a weight had been taken off his shoulders, and the rest of his life stood before him.

Before long they returned to the camp, and the bandits descended into a mad rush as they divided the stolen loot amongst themselves. Many of them simply kept what they had gotten their hands on, but a fair amount was handed over to Morgana since she hadn't managed to personally steal anything. It looked like they were making offerings to a pagan wolf god. Quickly they began to disperse, but there was still time for some last goodbyes.

"Francis." Faidh said, firmly shaking his hand. "We didn't know each other long, mo bhuachaill, but you proved yourself in the end. I have a parting gift for you." He reached into his bag and produced that same copy of Canterbury Tales Francis had been reading on the day he was captured. "This has been sitting in my personal belongings for a bit. I thought you'd be interested in having it back."

Francis simply shook his head and declined the offer. "Thank you, but you can have it. I've already read the book several times, I imagine you'd want to experience it for the first time yourself."

"Really?" He looked surprised. "Well...thank you."

"Where will you go now?" Morgana asked him.

"Who knows?" He put the book back in his pack, before slinging it over his shoulder. "Perhaps I'll board a ship and find something outside these isles. I hear the Low Countries are bustling with trade these days. What about you?"

"I'm sticking with my original plan of heading to Scotland."

"Can I come with you?" Francis asked.

"Of course! You still need to make it up to me." She grabbed him by the wrist. "You'll have plenty of opportunities in the coming years."

His heart fluttered, realizing that she really did want to keep him around. "Thank you!"

"Well, have fun with that." Faidh said before raising his hand. "I don't know if we'll see each other again, but...maybe I'll sail to Scotland one day. In the meantime, farewell. It was an honor serving you, Cap'n."

"Likewise, it was an honor to work with you." Morgana lowered her head in respect.

"Goodbye." Francis waved, before turning to the beast beside him. "So, we'll be traveling together to Scotland? What will we do once we settle there?"

"Not sure. Perhaps we'll purchase a business in one of the towns, or maybe we'll just find some work elsewhere. It may well come down to luck, but we'll be free from the law, so long as I don't go out at night." She looked around for a moment and, confirming they were alone together, she leaned closer to him. "Though I have to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"I don't quite understand why you've done what you have. I mean, why did you decide to stick with us? I forced you to of course, but it seems to me you had some eagerness to help us. And it all just seems strange to me."

"Well, I've been doing some reflection since my initial capture." He said. "I seriously considered making a run for the monastery I was originally being sent to. Then, I got to thinking again: is that what I want? Because I enjoy my books, but at the same time, there are some things in this world I would be missing, were I to take up the cloth. Being with you and the rest of your people made me realize that perhaps there is something to being worldly after all."

"I've corrupted you, have I?"

"I'm not sure that's the word for it." He fidgeted. "But you certainly awakened something in me. I've never met a woman like you. I've heard tales of amazons, and I even heard the stories from France about a woman in knights' armor defeating our armies at Orleans. I must admit, you're quite handsome and I've never felt so attracted to a woman before. Sometimes it feels like a dream. I don't know what's wrong with me, falling for my monstrous captor, but I cannot deny these feelings any longer."

"You..." she was at a loss for words. At first he was just a temporary plaything, but his decision to stay, combined with this strange confession of love, made her reconsider things. She was uncertain of her own feelings, but the idea of making their relationship more long-term didn't sound too bad. "What are you saying? You've fallen in love with me?"

"Yes!" He grasped her paw and looked directly into her eyes. "I have! I want to follow you from here on out!"

"Well, you'll be making it up to me for certain then. Let us go roving in the Highlands together."