Author's note: The crossed-into universe is that of "The Princess Bride," that immortal tale of true love and high adventure. The first two paragraphs are quoted from the book by William Goldman. This tidbit was quite fun to write and it is, if you haven't guessed already, yet another response to the Little Black Dress challenge. :)Rodents of Unusual Size
by Livia
10/24/00
From behind them, suddenly, closer than they imagined, they could hear the roar of Humperdinck: "Stop them! Cut them off!" They were, admittedly, startled, but there was no reason for worry: they were on the fastest horses in the kingdom, and the lead was already theirs.
However, this was before Inigo's wound reopened; and Westley relapsed again; and Fezzik took the wrong turn; and Buttercup's horse threw a shoe. And the night behind them was filled with the crescendoing sound of pursuit. . . .
"Go on without me!" Inigo slipped off his horse, clutching his belly with his left hand. Blood slipped through his fingers with every strained breath, pattering audibly on the leaves underfoot. His instincts screamed suddenly and he looked up to see a familiar silhouette moving out of the trees, just ahead. Carefully, it extended one arm, raising a short, wicked crossbow and aiming for Buttercup and Westley.
Pain was Inigo's world as he plunged the blade of his sword into the ground, the reached down and scooped up a handful of dirt-clods and dry leaves. He sent them flying towards the grey-clad assassin, spun to Buttercup's side and used the last of his brute strength to help her clamber onto Westley's horse. She struggled to steady his limp form, her face luminous with terror. "But what about--"
"Go now!" Inigo shouted, and slapped the white horse's rump, sending it disappearing into the night, followed by his own horse and Buttercup's limping steed. He circled slowly after them, standing between the assassin and his newly found friends.
The two men looked at each other across the clearing-- the grey figure clad in fine, soft fabrics, and the black-clad, gore-stained swordsman, eyeing each other with wary professional respect.
"You look like death, Montoya. How long has it been since we crossed swords?"
"Budapest? Madrid?" Images were flashing behind his drowsy, lowering eyelids. Was this what it meant to have one's life flashing before one's eyes? Budapest and Madrid seemed like shadow-plays, very far away, but bright before him like a pageant unfurled a memory of the very first time he'd seen the slender, green-eyed man, strolling along a white stone bridge in Venice-- the memory interlaid with other memories, more familiar knowledge of this man with the body of a swordsman and the face of a pagan god in a mosaic repainted to play a saint's role, with only something of the eyes hinting at the wilding secrets beneath the pretty face, the sound of water in the canals lapping gently outside, throwing dancing reflected sunlight on the ceiling over the bed...
The assassin nodded slightly. "I saw you in Venice three years ago, but you didn't see me."
Inigo nodded, steadying himself by clutching the hilt of his sword. He didn't know if he had the strength to stand without it; he didn't even know if he had the strength to pull it from the earth once more. "If you want them, Krycek," he said softly, "you must go through me first."
"You'd really--" The other man's eyes widened slightly. "I see. So you've finally killed Count Rugen."
Inigo smiled, already nostalgic. "It was glorious, if you like that sort of-- Ah." He barked a laugh. "You knew it was Count Rugen who killed my father all along, didn't you?" The horses' hooves in the distance were drumming louder, and now he could hear the Prince's shouts as he led the chase, closer and closer. "I should have known. Who do you work for now?"
Krycek moved closer, crossbow still clutched in his good right hand, the other sleeve pinned up with a metal clasp. He studied Inigo's wound with cool green eyes. "At the moment? Certain interests based in Guilder," he finally answered. "I'm to kill the Princess, now that she's Humperdinck's wife."
"There's been no wedding," Inigo lied. "The Princess flees with her lover. Please, for the sake of what we once were to each other, for a dying man's last request-- kill Humperdinck instead."
"Give me a good reason." Krycek stowed his crossbow at his belt, and lifted his grey-gloved hand to Inigo's cheek, examining the fresh cut.
"I can pay," Inigo said, allowing the touch, allowing the pain to husk in his voice; Alex had always liked that. "I am the Dread Pirate Roberts-- well, not exactly, but let me explain--"
One eyebrow rose. "I'm familiar with that old shell game."
"It's what you always wanted, isn't it?" Inigo challenged, and Krycek pulled his hand away. "To be a free agent, and no man's hireling? Only kill the Prince, and the name, the ship, the treasure is all yours." He took a breath. "I swear it, Alex, on my father's grave."
Alex considered, then turned his head and whistled for his horse. The night grew darker, slowly blotting out the stars, and the last thing Inigo remembered was the roar and rush of what sounded like the ocean, beginning to ring in his ears, drowning out everything else. They must have almost, almost made it to the harbor, he thought bitterly. Father, I have avenged you. I am content... He slipped away from everything.
When Inigo woke up, he was flat on his back in a wooden bunk.
He could still hear the ocean.
[end]