"I'm sorry."
She didn't react to the words, head bowed and mouth moving in silent prayer. She only did when she finished, rising from her knees and turning to face the speaker.
"Thou didst warn me," ruefully, she shook her head. He studiously payed no attention to the faint tracks of tears on her dust countance.
"My method of travel is less than reliable, and I am afraid that it's entirely my fault."
"How so?"
"As a child, I dreamed of being a hero of justice," he explained, a wistful tone creeping into his voice. "And for the longest while I've had an ... artifact ... of considerable power within me. Though I hadn't always been aware of it for nearly as long, it may have had some influence on the ..." he hesitated.
"The spell," she shook her head. "You need not worry about that with me. I tried never to let prejudice guide my thoughts and actions. You are most odd, yes, but I would never call you evil."
"I'm still sorry," he insisted. "This is exactly the reason why you had wanted to travel with me in the first place. You did not want to face your countrymen in the field ..."
"Such a beast is man," she interrupted. "Sometimes, I wonder if the devils in Hell are not feeling obsolete. This artifact of yours takes you not where you want to go, but where you need to be. Or ... where we need to be, in this case."
It would have been slaughter, had the two of them not emerged from the Between and into this Reality that Was where and when they had. Swords had been drawn, blood had been shed ...
... this was a lost cause. She'd heard, from the monks who taught history sometimes, about this place.
Bastion of Heresy. Stronghold of the Devil. Conquered through stout hearts and faith of the Crusaders a little less than two centuries past, the sins erased ...
Only it hadn't looked like that to her when she'd arrived, herself and her companion dragging the bloodied guardsmen they'd stopped from being killed.
This was as much a place of Satan as herself and her companion were creatures of the pit.
Rapid footfalls interrupted them, as one of the Knights Hospitalier who'd stood with the people of this place against unjust accusations came to a halt at the edge of the small courtyard.
"Sir Knight of the Bow! My Lady Jehanne! They come at us once more!"
Then there were no more words, only motion, as they rushed to reinforce the defenders where needed.
It was early morning, mid-January of 1244, and Justice had sent its allies to Montsegur.
They would serve it well.
I'm an unrepentant Iron Maiden fanboy, hence the snippet above (allow me my historical inaccuracies as a result of artistic license).
Incidentially, does anybody else think 'Gendo Ikari' when they listen to Iron Maiden's 'New Frontier'?
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm