Why?

"Why?" It was always the question on his lips despite knowing that she'd never answer, perhaps couldn't answer. He was compelled to ask even as he gave into the temptation and began ravenously devouring the food presented before him.

Her laughter reminded him of the peal of bells, celebrating a wedding or mourning a funeral. "Why? You always ask, and I've always told you honestly: You will understand when you accept the enlightenment I offer." She used her fork and knife expertly, peeling off a thick slice of pork and bending over the table to lay it on his plate.

He let out a growl around a mouthful of bread. "Don't pretend you do this for your religion." He keep an eye on her, suspicious.

"I did at first. It would be such a coup to redeem the irredeemable, after all. Why, I'd have talked the order into letting you loose, just so we could have paraded you about, and spoken of how all that dwell under the sun find redemption in their time of need." She waved her fork in little circles as she spoke dreamily. "That was then, of course, and when you proved stubborn, the rest wrote you off. Me though?" She gave him a wide smile. "I saw more in you. Here was a man who spits in the eyes of the righteous, defies all authority, and even when cast into the legendary Veznihc, will not break. My pride was piqued."

There was a wine bottle somewhere amid the food, and she poured a pair of tin cups, setting one before him, and sipping her own. "My superiors tried to talk me out of it, of course. Pressured me, reassigned me, **** me to commit penance for my hubris and pride. And do you know what I thought of when I meditated in the cloister?"

He'd eaten his fill now, and he pushed the plate away from him before standing, glaring at her. "I don't much care." He rumbled, cracking his knuckles.

She waved at him and rolled her eyes, snagging the wine bottle and heading towards the overstuffed couch pressed into one wall. "Oh, don't rush this. You've nowhere to be, and now, neither do I." She wasn't in her vestments this time, instead wearing a pair of simple black pants and a loose black tunic. On anyone else he would have found the look stirring in its simplicity and pragmatism.

Flopping onto the couch with an exaggerated motion, she beckoned him over. "As they made me do penance, as they made me cloister myself..." She trailed off, watching him as he stubbornly refused her summons. "Do you know what penance means, among the followers of the gift?"

He settled back into the chair, staring at her. Something was raising his hackles, more so than she always did. There was something about the way the stray hairs had escaped her braid, the looseness of her motions, the way her mouth never seemed to stop smiling. "No. And I don't much care."

She laughed again, peals of bells, sorrow or joy. "Once upon a time, I would have struck you for such insolence. Lectured you on the mysteries before sending you back up to your cell for another beating." She couldn't contain her laughter now, forcing every word through with some effort. "But when they made me do penance. Left me naked and alone, bathing in the sun without water or shade so that I could contemplate my sins, all I could think of was you. Your defiance. If you could defy me, I could defy the elders. They had lost the way. But through you, I found it again. I've found the dawn, and it was you that showed me." No, not sorrow or joy. There was another reason they rung the bells: Attack.

"I've nothing to do with your-" He waved his hand to the side, east, towards where the sun would rise. "-religion. If you're going to kill me. Kill me and leave me be." He'd run out of patience, just as she'd apparently run short of sanity.

Her laughter stopped abruptly, and she rose, stepping towards him. She was tall and shapely, elegant curves that would have looked more suited to a nobleman's arm than a battlefield, yet he knew better. He didn't understand how she managed to be so intimidating despite him towering over her. Physically he should have been able to snap her like a twig, yet a twinge in his back reminded him of the last time he'd tried such, and gone through a wall for his trouble.

Her hand rose, and pressed to his chest, brushing aside the ragged remains of his shirt. She must have been able to feel his racing heart as she looked up at him. "I don't want to kill you, Rob. I want to make a trade with you. You do something for me, and I'll do something for you. A deal, if you will."

He stared down at her. "You're making me miss the beatings." Her hand was moving now, rubbing in a circle over his chest, stirring the dark hair that grew there.

"If you make me take what I want, you might just get your wish." She laughed again, and there was something wrong about her, every drop of his father's blood in him screamed to run away from her.

"What is it that you want?" He asked after a long moment, worried that he already suspected the answer.