#luckily she still gets treatment since The Wall has excellent medical facilities

[sparrowwritings]

Writing Challenge Day 1: Antagonistic

Masterpost -- Day Two

(TW: Description of burn scars! Not a lot of detail but be warned!)

Lord Pellinore, Commander of the Knight Defenders of the Wall, hefted his heaviest stare at the woman in front of him. It was the one that his knights referred to as his “blue steel gaze” when they thought they weren’t being listened to. Many a recruit had pissed themself under it during his time in command.

His target, however, didn’t. In fact, her already proper posture straightened even further as she met it with a dark brown stare of her own. She hadn’t even flinched.

Would that he could showcase how impressed he was. Alas, there was other business to attend to.

“Sagramore,” He addressed his Second-in-Command without even a twitch away from locking eyes with the woman. “It’s been a few hours since the incident, refresh our memories of what happened.” 

One of Pellinore’s ears twitched at the soft click of Sagramore’s tongue. “Very well, Sir.” In spite of the disappointment in his voice, the man shuffled some papers in his hands and gave a throat clearing cough before he started to read from the report. “A week ago, Knights Gawain and Bors noticed they were being followed back to headquarters. A day after they had returned, said woman marched straight inside despite warnings of the consequences of doing so.” At this he pointedly glared at her before continuing to read. “Giving no name nor purpose to her visit, Recruit Tyr took her arm and she, and I quote, “started godsdamn stabbing me with a knife like a maniac” end quote.”

“He’ll live.” A raspy voice cut Sagramore off. Despite his innate observation skills and wealth of experience with humans, Pellinore was still somewhat taken aback that the source of the voice was the woman herself. “I nicked him a couple of times under the plates, but your blacksmiths have made very good quality armor. I commend them for their work.” For all she had flown into a rage at the slightest provocation hours earlier, she sounded almost detached from her own actions. And yet that ember of something remained in her eyes.

“So you have no regrets for stabbing one of my men?” He lifted a thin silver eyebrow, the only change in expression that he had made thus far. Sagramore was already puffing his chest at being denied reading the rest of the report, but he deferred to his superior.

“I prefer to see it as teaching him a lesson, Lord Pellinore.” Her expression also shifted slightly. The straight line of her lips curved upward by the barest amount before going back to her neutral gaze. “Although he should have known better than to touch a woman without her express permission.”

“Noted.” His eyebrow lowered back to its previous position. “Sagramore?”

Having finally been given the chance to continue, the man read the rest of the report as quickly as he could without losing coherence. “Several more injuries were caused to recruits by this woman resisting capture, until Knight Fenrir finally trapped her. Attempts at finding out her business at The Wall have failed until she was brought here to you, Sir.” Sagramore tapped his set of papers until they were square in his hands. Pellinore couldn’t see the self satisfied smirk, but he knew it was there.

“And there you have it.” He ignored his Second’s silent boasting as he picked up the item sitting on his desk. With the finger of one hand, he traced just below the edge of the dagger while the other loosely held its handle. “I’m curious, madam. What made you think that attacking someone who regularly goes to battle against mages was a good idea?”

There was a long pause. Then, she broke eye contact first, her gaze sinking to the dagger instead of focusing on Pellinore’s face. “I am no fighter, as anyone can tell.” She picked at soft, pale hands that rested in her lap. “But I’ve heard much about your order--and about those you fight.” Suddenly she clasped her hands together. “While yes I had been angry that your recruit had grabbed my arm, I had also planned to try to impress you and your Knights by showing that not every opponent would be a warrior.” Again, dark brown eyes met blue. Again, something burned within her. “I wish to join your order, so that no one else will suffer against mages as I have.” 

At this, Sagramore couldn’t keep quiet. “Oh please,” He drawled. “You got in a couple of lucky hits on people who weren’t expecting you. You even admitted that you didn’t do more than superficial damage.” While he didn’t walk around the desk to get in the middle of the staring contest between his Commander and the woman, he did lean in closer to hiss, “You and at least half of The Wall have made such a declaration. If you hadn’t caught us by surprise you would’ve either died or been thrown out the minute you pulled out that dagger. You’re nothing special. You’re not even worthy to become a soldier.”

“I don’t need to be one.” For the first time in this interrogation, emotion started to creep into her voice. “I will do whatever is necessary to keep The Wall running smoothly. Just because you have an army doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to keep accounts or organize records or coordinate the distribution of supplies. I can do this and more. I used to run the estate of my family on the Turkon Islands.” 

“Of bloody *course* you’re from the Islands, no wonder you stabbed a man.” Sagramore muttered under his breath as the woman stood from her seat. Pellinore raised an eyebrow for the second time in this interrogation as he lowered the dagger to rest on his desk.

“If you need proof that I am dedicated to your cause, look no further than what a mage who I thought I loved did to me.” With that, she threw back her hood.

“Ye Gods.” Sagramore breathed. Pellinore’s expression went back to his hard neutral stare, though his hands involuntarily clenched.

The woman’s scalp had been burned. The finest tufts of dark hair poked out between reddened, mottled flesh. Pellinore’s eyes couldn’t help but track the scars down the sides of her neck and into the collar of her shirt. He didn’t want to imagine how long the woman’s hair must have been when it was set aflame. He was spared this by his need for decorum grappling with his instinctual desire to try to ease the pain she must be in. 

He couldn’t, even though he desperately wanted to. Fire’s destruction is complete enough that even Elven magic could only be a balm on such wounds. 

She flipped her hood back over her head, her point made. Pellinore slowly let out the breath he had been holding. With the ease in tension, an idea came to mind.

“Very well then, madam,” He used his desk to help him stand up. The fact that he was using the heavy wood to hide that he was still shaking from the reveal was irrelevant. “I do believe there is a position open right now.” He turned to his Second. “Sagramore, show this young lady to the Archive. If she can whip it into shape in a week, she can stay.” 

Having been caught still staring at the woman, Sagramore coughed a couple of times to regain his composure. “Y-Yes Sir. Right away, Sir.” He sped to the door to open it for her.

“Thank you very much, Lord Pellinore.” She bowed and turned to go.

“What shall I call you when you meet my expectations, madam?” He allowed a slight smirk on his face. Anyone who was hurt that badly, travelled that far, and was that desperate to prove themself worthy...well, he had to bring them into the fold regardless of martial prowess.

Her head turned slightly, showing a faint smile of her own. Pellinore had a feeling that such a thing would be rare to see from The Wall’s new Archivist. “Saga. Call me Saga.”