It ached.

Her mind throbbed. Her legs were cramped and her arms felt like lead. The world spun in a mirage of black, crimson and grey. The pool of blood had penetrated her clothes and Guinevere groaned. The overwhelming agony permeated every corner of her frame and held her in a vice.

"You pushed it. You pushed too far. Silly Girl" echoed the distance of voice of her grandmother; after Guinevere had decided to heal a badly broken arm of one of her childhood crushes. Only too days after discovering her powers by saving a dying baby bird. "Your blood is strong but it will consume you if you aren't bloody careful". Guinevere giggled, the memory now seemed hysterical and she racked her throat.

Boy. Monk. Blood.

The images swirled in her mind as Guinevere squinted in the low light. A small face was standing over her and a cooling sensation came over her. The boy was blurred and jumbled but she could make out a small frown and big brown expressive eyes through the veil of darkness that shrouded the room.

"She's waking us, Lancelot", the boy babbled to the dark corner. Guinevere tried to push herself to her feet but a sensation of weightlessness came over her and she slumped back. Her head collided with the soft pillow. The sheer agony and sensation of the blood clawing at her skin caused Guinevere to curl up into a small ball like an injured animal. A tiny gentle hand shook her shoulder and Guinevere finally opened her tear-stained eyes.

Her small sleeping quarters were now shrouded in black. The only light was a small candle next to a hooded figure.

Guinevere tensed. She quickly grabbed the small boy next to her who kicked and shirked and she willed the few grains of her gift to silence his frustrations. She knew she had to get out of there. She looked hastily around the room for a knife, a blade, a piece of glass, anything to defend herself and this small child. Her agony had flittered away to be replaced with her pounding heart and mind as she knew of this Creature's skill.

"I mean you no harm. Stay still, you are hurt," said the Weeping Monk as he advanced towards her slowly, his hands outstretched to show he was unarmed. Guinevere glowered at him, struggling to hold the muted boy behind her who thrashed violently. Guinevere's breath heaved, the only other sound being the soft roll of night carts outside the crumbling Inn.

She knew this man. He was a Monster who watched the Paladins run down droves of screaming innocent people, mothers and fathers. Her mother and father. She backed away slowly as he approached, frantically looking for any kind of weapon and she spotted his long sword gleaming in the soft candlelight. The boy continued to writhe and Guinevere's grip became vice-like, her knuckles turning to ivory. As she stared wide-eyed and soundless into his deep blue eyes.

"Let the boy go. I will not harm him or you," he said in a hushed voice. He had crouched low to come to her eye level as if she were some wounded animal but she refused to let the boy stray from behind her. The boy had stopped thrashing and wrapped his small hand around her forearm, gently holding her grim-stained arm.

"He speaks the truth Miss and I know you are frightened but I promise he won't. He is one of us. now even if he looks like them" the boy's voice was adamant and rushed. Guinevere's mind and body were wracked with exhaustion. Her arms slaked and the boy guided her to sit on a small chair. She obeyed but would not remove her accusatory gaze from the man's eyes. He sat at the very end of the bed which was close enough that she could kick him with her long legs.

"I apologise that I have frightened you" he spoke. His voice was sombre and his eyes were now directed at the wooden floorboards. His body was hunched over and the small boy settled himself at Guinevere's feet, crossed-legged and attentive. Although she had let the boy out of her grip she would not let him leave her sight.

"Thank you for healing me "

"Why?" she said softly and Lancelot's eye's snapped to face her. The temperature in the room seemed to become like that of an oven as Guinevere's eyes burned into him. Though her voice was quiet and meek, the viciousness of her stare and her accusatory tone made Lancelot flinch.

"I know that I am a monster to you but know that I will not hurt you and I will not hurt the boy," he said softly and the boy by her legs perked up. " I know that you are frightened that I will hurt you, kill you" he said lifting his hood and revealing his face.

Guinevere sucked in a breath staring at the markings under his eyes which looked as if he had been smeared with charcoal. His dark blonde hair was pulled away from his face and his face was nicked with battle scars. She would have felt sorry for him but the burn of grief for her people blazed within her and she continued to stare him down.

"I despise you" Guinevere spat, she thrust herself from her seat and crossed her arms, looming over him. The Monk didn't move an inch as she paced the dark room.

"I only healed because I allowed myself a brief moment of pity. You have killed thousands and slaughtered my people." she stormed, wetness beginning to fall from her face and the Monk stared at her as she raged at him.

"Why not kill me? Why not stick my head on a stick? Why not destroy me?" she growled, the hairs on the back of her neck bristled and Lancelot stood up and towered over her.

Before biting back at her, a loud cry came from the street outside and chants of burn the witch could be heard from the small cramped room. Guinevere's face paled and she backed against the wall and grabbed the Monk's sword which was heavy and clumsy in her hands. She pointed the razor tip at him, he stared at her in astonishment.

"You brought them here" she seethed and backed towards the door, crouching over as if to pounce. The Monk raised his hands above his head, eyes wide and his skin pale at this beautiful, wild, woman.

"I did not. I can help you. " he implored, searching her eyes for any form of sympathy. Guinevere was tempted to slay down the sword but another screech of witch from the street and the sound of boots reverberated through her. The swirl of agony, exhaustion, fear and confusion gave her a spark of energy and she raced out of the door.

The Monk barrelled after her but was slowed by the effects of his wounds. Guinevere quickly reached the stables. The sound of crunching wood and shattered glass and the sounds of drunken voices filled the air as Guinevere ducked behind the stable door. She braced herself against the wood and she knew that the front door of the inn had been broken down. She did not care by who all she knew is that she was determined to live. She strapped the iron sword to her waist and swung onto Nia's back who huffed and pawed at the stone in complaint.

Guinevere could hear the ringing of the town crier as she edged out of the stables which came out behind the front entrance. She could smell the smoke of torches and the building event of anarchy. She sagged in her saddle and breathed heavily but she pushed on and crept slowly out into the night towards the Silver City Of Tamworth.