Matt's Tale: Return to Rocky Falls

"Are you sure you need to go alone?" Amelia held her hands in a way that looked to Matt like a concerned wife or mother. The look on her face pained Matt, but he knew he couldn’t be seen with her, it was too risky. What happened if they came across a scouting party? With her pacifist nature, and Matt's bum leg, he couldn't risk getting her hurt.

            He repeated that sentence to himself. Why did it sound so wrong, but oh-so-right at the same time? He pushed the thought aside, determined to resolve it later.

"Yes, Amelia, I'm sorry." He gave a half smile/frown.

"But what about bears or wolves? You could get hurt!"

            Matt stopped and gave her a look like Are you soft in the head? It passed, luckily, along with the smartalec comment that would have made her cry. She was a pretty sensitive girl, Matt had to admit…

"Don't worry." He held up his spear. "My walking stick happens to be very deadly." He smirked.

            She hesitated for a moment, then,

"Ok, fine… just come back unharmed, ok?"

            He smiled.

"Of course, my lady." He gave a small bow, then off he walked.

            Eight hours into the journey, Matt's leg was shaking in pain. Dammit! Didn’t think the wound was this bad… He suddenly regretted that he wasn't in Amelia's palm, taking the sights in as she walked in giant strides through the forest.

            But alas, here he was: at the edge of Rocky Falls. He paused a moment to take a sip of the cool water, and his fatigue faded, but only a little. It was a twenty minute pace from here to where he had left Arod, but with the leg it would probably take at least thirty. For the last of his trip, he wanted all his strength, so he sat for a moment.

            Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know why he didn’t see the signs in the first place: when he first laid eyes on her, she was huge, but now looking back, she did have a slender figure. And her hands, too. When she stroked her hair in the water, he didn't see any bulging muscles, which giants usually have… hey, it's like strength training, lifting up castles and trees. He thought about the arrow. It struck a nerve, thinking about it; he'd never harmed a woman before, except for that one incident, with the beer and the crazy lady who decided she was in love with him and fell on his spear, pointy-side first. Matt had to clean up the remains in the bar, messy messy. Matt wondered if Amelia had bled much… he hoped not.

            He got up, and resumed his journey. Following the still destroyed path, he found the spot where he tied his horse down… but no horse. The rope was there, but no horse, and the rope would be harder to mount and ride back to Amelia's abode. (Ba-dum-pish)

            He bent over to inspect the rope: it was still whole, no ripping, cutting, or biting was notable, so that meant one thing: thievery.

"Dammit!" Matt yelled aloud. He kicked a rock with his right foot, and then cradled it, cursing the Gods.

"Dammit… that's five years of obedience training down the drain."

            He picked up the rope, wrapped it up around his arms, and started back, when he heard leaves crunch.

Human. He didn't think it at first: when he had originally heard it, he thought it was a rabbit or something. Whoever this person was, he was experienced, and didn't want to be heard.

"What do you want?" Matt called without looking backwards.

            The man stopped walking.

"O-ho! So, you are very sharp… the rumors of your hunting abilities are true, then…"

            Matt turned around, seeing a man in silver-colored armor, a royal guard, maybe a captain. His face was surrounded by long, wavy black hair, and at the bottom was a black goatee and pointy mustache. His eyes were not pure.

            He's killed many…

"Mister… Matthew, is it not?" He took a step forward, arms upturned to show no mal intent. The sword at his side had a gold hilt, and was considerable long.

"I am." Matthew said in a business kind of tone. "And you are, traveler?"

"I am Sir Richard Sturgis, or Sir Rich for short. I am a captain of the royal guard, and envoy of the illustrious King Ilicain."

            Matthew bowed.

"I am pleased to make thy acquaintance, Sir Richard." He said in formalized but fake tone.  "What brings you to my humble wood?"

Sir Richard raised his hand, motioned Matt to rise. "Well, Mr. Matthew, the calling that brings me to the wild is yourself, in truth."

"What would you have of me?"

He started to circle Matt.

"It has come to the King's attention that… well, that you have not been doing your job."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Matthew," His voice tensed in anger, like one explaining something to a stupid child. "that the monster, for which you were given a large sum of gold, has not yet been slain."

            Matt turned to him.

"But my lord, it's only been a few days!" He shifted nervously, but just a bit.

"These things take time. If I rushed things, I wouldn't alive now."

"Hmm."

"I've been researching he- him." Matt almost let that one slip.

"Reconnaissance takes time, and this giant is cunning."

            Richard came over to him, and bent over to his right leg.

"Sir Matthew, I have been on plenty of reconnaissance jobs myself, and I can tell you with absolute certainty; I have never heard of anyone breaking their leg during watching something."

            He had Matt cornered. The only thing left was to tell the truth.

"The giant: I was traveling at his heels when he shifted, and started to walk back towards me. I came to a rock wall, and sought to take cover, but the giant's footfalls where so great that a stone fell down and landed on my leg. I am blessed with luck that the giant didn't see me."

            Sir Richard eyed him wearily, almost knowingly.

"Really. Hmm. And I supposed after you bandaged up your leg, you took pink rope out and tied it around…?"

            Matt flinched, but barely.

"My blood stained the rope."

            Sir Richard half smiled. His mustache moved with it. It took a lot of self-control not for Matt to reach over and tear it off. A moment passed, Sir Richard just staring.

"Very well… I will report this to the King. He will not be pleased, but I will slake his bloodlust with tales of your heroic injury of progress. Fare thee well."

            He started to walk away. Matt bowed once more.

"And Matthew! The King does not tolerate failure. Fail again, and I'll draw and quarter you myself." He shot Matt the evil eye. He snarled.

 "I hate your kind. A peasant doing a knight's job. Your kind shouldn't even be able to hold a weapon."

            Matt returned the looked, somewhat softened.

"Your word is law… Sir Dick."

"What did you say?!"

"Your - word - is - law - Sir - Rich!"

            For a second, Richard looked at him, then "Hmm!" He started to walk away, when he called,

"Squire! Bring the beast!"

            Out of nowhere, a small blonde boy with two ropes guiding horses came out of the woodwork. One of them was Arod.

"Your monster tried to rape my pure animal," Said Sir Richard. "Take your whore of an animal and go."

            The boy released Arod, and she trotted over Matt, nudging him. Sir Richard mounted his own horse, and rode off into the forest, young boy trailing behind. Once they were both out of sight,

"Atta girl, Arod! You really showed that noble pony whose boss, huh?"

            He patted her nose, and she whined in approval. He slowly readied himself to mount his horse, when Arod herself knelt. She had never done that. Surprised, but thankful, he tossed his good leg over her.

"You are a magnificent beast, girl. Come on, let’s go meet Amelia."

            They rode off into the opposite forest.

Amelia's Tale: Meads and Dreams

            Amelia sat at the table, doing nothing. Every once in a while she would rap her fingers upon the table noisily. Rap. Rap. Rap.

This isn't helping.

            So she got up, and went to the kitchen.

"I wonder…" She said to no one in particular. She walked over to the pantry, the stone cold on her bare feet as she walked. Opened, the pantry didn't have much of a dining selection: mostly spices, herbs, some wheat meal, and… success! A bottle of honey mead.

            She picked it up and inspected it. Stepphenbrandy, 1429. A good year…. Or so her parents had said. Her parents… She suddenly felt homesick. She sighed.

            Taking a large pewter mug, she sat back down, uncorked the bottle, and poured herself a generous amount. Gulp; it went down fizzy and somehow sour. Half of it splashed into her fit tummy. She wasn't much of a drinker, but by the Gods, she could have drank an entire tavern dry… a giant one, let alone an Ilican one.

            There was something she couldn't get off her mind… something like a nagging in her stomach; and it wasn't the sour mead. What if… she thought, with much dismay, he doesn't come back?

            Why would he? She was, in fact, a giant, and not many Ilicans gave second thoughts about her kind other than the natural instinct to run for the hills.

But Matt's different! She pleaded to herself. He showed no fear, none at all when he was in my company. She remembered the way he smiled, the honest smile, not the practiced smile she saw when something was on his mind. She herself smiled.

            Another, darker voice:

Yes, but did you also see his eyes? Those eyes were filled with something, something altogether not natural: intense, pure hate. That man has a dark past… The smile left her face. What makes you think that hate will ever dissipate? Even with your pure love, do you ever think he'll open himself to you, fully?

            Her heart sank.

And what makes you even think he'll come back? You're living in a dream…
            She had had enough. She drank the rest of her mead, and then, unceremoniously, the entire bottle.

            Furiously, she half-stomped/walked to her bed, and flung herself on it. She started to cry, pleading for the comforts and silence of Master Sleep.

            For two minutes, she lay there, crying, until finally, the fermented honey and yeast worked its way into her brain, and the spell of drunkenness cast her off into Sleep's domain…

            Back at her parent's house, in the land far, far to the east. The smell of soup was on the air, and it was comforting. She loved her mother's cooking: She, like Amelia, was not a human-eater, the blessed woman. It wasn't to hard to be anyway; not many of them lived here. They were actually seen more as a delicatessen rather than common sustenance. If anybody wanted any, they had to go and find some themselves.

            She was startled by a gruff voice; her father's.

"I'm only going to say this once, Amelia, the answer is no!"

"But father, please! I'm nearly of age now, and it's time for me to leave the nest…"

"I know that, dear, but why Ilica? Why that place, teeming with evil and hunters of our kind?"

"You know how I like them, father, their ways, their mannerisms… remember the pet we had when I was a child? Fascinating!"

"Gods…"

            She walked across the room and sat next to him. She put her delicate hand on her father's, rough and calloused, a worker's hand.

            She surprised her dream's self: I bet this is what Matt's hands feel like…

"Please, dad… There's so much to learn between our cultures! They see us as brutes, yes, but they don’t know our real nature! They have only seen the far western berserkers; if they see a refined lady like myself, they're sure to reconsider their views of us. Think of it, dad, an alliance of the largest people on Earth and the most advanced!"

            The father took her hand, and looked into her eyes. They're were tears in his own, as he said,

"Your mind is set?"

"Yes, father."

"And you wish to go to Ilica?"

"Yes, father…"

            He rubbed his eyes with a single hand, clenching his daughter's own tightly.

"Very well. But promise me one thing, Amelia…"

"Yes father?"

"Just…"

            He sighed.

"Just stay away from the hunters. They're more animal than man."

            A white hot blankness filled her head. Father was all she could think of.

After an eternity in the white limbo, color once again began to take its place among the nothingness.

            A green field, greener than anything she had ever seen. At her feet were flowers of every kind. Yellow, pink, blue, red, purple… like a rainbow embedded on the Earth. The warm sunlight shined on her face, and seemed to fill her soul with happiness.

            There was a figure in the sunlight; tall, built, and with long hair. The figure approached, and as the features in the sunlight were revealed, she recognized him…

            Matthew. The warmest, sincerest smile was on his face.

            She embraced him with everything she had. Tears spilled out of her eyes, tears of the happiest kind. She let go, and looked at him.
"Matthew! You're my size! Or, am I your size? Oh, who cares about that magic… You're home, Matthew…" She embraced him again, for the longest time. She never wanted it to end.

            Matthew slowly wrapped his own arms around her. It was the safest she had ever felt in her life…

"Amelia…"

"Matthew…"

"I…"

            Something warm was on her stomach. She lifted her head from his shoulder, and looked at his face. His eyes were closed. She looked down. A knife hilt was sticking out of her stomach. The warmth was her own blood. She looked back up.

"Matthew!!"

            He opened his eyes. Blackness.

            No longer was he holding her; he was holding his spear by the handle, its blade sticking into her stomach.

"Matt… no…" The tears of joy turned into sorrow.

            He scowled, his eyes a burning red.

"Burn in Hell, witch!"

            And with that, he kicked Amelia in the chest. The spear blade came out, and the wound spewed torrents of blood. As she fell, Matt got smaller, smaller, and smaller… until…

            She landed with a thud on the hard stone. She couldn’t get up. All around her, hundreds of tiny Ilicans gathered around her, their torches and pitchforks, screaming "Witch! Giant! Kill her!!" They started to crawl onto her, stabbing her. She desperately tried to free herself; he hands smacked them away, her fists pounded some at her sides into bloody mush, and some she grabbed and crushed in her hand like grapes.

"No!!" She screamed, but it was too late. They were all upon her, and she blacked out…

            Only to awaken to the sound of chanting.

"Kill her! Kill her!"

            Two people were on her chest. It was Matt… and someone she didn’t recognize. He wore a crown, but above that were the horns of a demon.

            The Demon said something to Matthew, who nodded. Then, the demon produced a bag of something, and tossed it to Matt. Matt opened it and poured the contents into his hand.

            Gold coins.

            Her eyes again filled with renewed tears.

"Matt… you'd kill me… for gold?"

            The king nodded to Matt, and he back.

            Matt took his spear in hand.

"Matt… Please."

            He started to walk to her face.

"It's me… Amelia…"

            He stopped, tossed his spear up, and caught it.

"Please, Matt, don’t do this…"

            He raised his spear. Among the thousands of voices cheering and chanting, Matt said two words that spoke louder than a million ten fold could scream:

            "Die, Amelia."

The spear came down.

            Amelia awoke screaming, terrified.

"Amelia!!"

            She looked down at her bedside. There, a tiny figure and a guided horse stood. Matt looked thoroughly alarmed, eyes widened and teeth clenched.

"Matthew!"

            She jumped down from the bed, her feet landing not ten feet from him. Her massive figure descended from the sky and scooped Matthew up in her hands.

            She held him up at her face's height, and started to cry. Her brown eyes filled up and looked milky with pain. She held him to her bosom, crying, head down and her hair silhouetting him like a forest of red vines…

"Don’t you ever… ever…" She stammered among sobs, "Don’t you ever do that to me again, Matthew!"

            Matthew just stood there, being near crushed in the giantess's breasts, face aghast.

            After a moment of sobbing, he wrapped his arms as best he could on her chest.

"Ok," he began.

"I won't do that ever again, Amelia…"