Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A few months after Buttercup received the news that her love had been murdered, she noticed something strange about her body.

Her dresses no longer fit around the waist. She often felt sick. And, when she thought about it, she hadn't bled in a while…

I'm pregnant. She realized. I'm carrying Westley's child.

She became practically a hermit. She had no friends in the nearby village, and her parents were long since dead. No one would understand, anyway, why she decided to keep the child.

She wished Westley was here. He would have loved to see his child grow.

Buttercup gave birth to a little girl nine months later, by herself in her little house. The baby opened eyes as blue as her father's when her mother gently washed her clean of blood and fluids.

Buttercup named her Willow.

She had sworn to never love again, but she told herself that technically she wasn't going back on her vow. Willow was a part of Westley, wasn't she? And she was Buttercups only joy in her lonely life.

But times were hard. Almost no one in the village would buy from a woman with no husband and a child. Buttercup struggled to keep herself and her daughter fed and clothed. Often, she went to bed hungry to make sure Willow didn't, but sometimes neither of them could eat, especially in Willows third winter.

It had been a long, cold season, and Buttercup was exhausted and close to starving when spring arrived. Willow, by now a three-year-old with her father's eyes and her mothers golden curls, was too thin and too quiet. They could not go on like this much longer.

The arrival of the prince was a blessing at first.

Buttercup didn't like him. He was too pompous, too arrogant, and there was something of the snake about his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. But when he rode up to her little farm on a fine horse, wrapped in velvet with rings on his fingers and a crown on his head, her first thought was for her daughter.

“You should know I have a child.” Buttercup told the prince when he told her what he sought. “Her father is dead, and I have no one to take her. She is the only thing in this world that I love. I will not part with her.”

Humperdinck considered her for a moment, then shrugged.

“You won't have to. Bring her with you, if you consent. She will dine and dress like a princess, and be brought up with our children.”

Buttercup suppressed a shudder at the thought of having children with this man, but the thought of Willows tired eyes steeled her resolve.

“I accept your proposal.”

And off they went to the palace, Willow in front of her mother, who despite her plain clothes sat as tall as any princess.

Humperdinck decreed that a year be spent teaching Buttercup how to be a queen. Threats of a war with Guilder delayed the wedding even more. And so it was that after Willows fifth birthday, and the fifth anniversary of Westley's murder, that Buttercup was presented to the people.

Willow, now a bright, adventurous child, was still her mother's only delight, besides her daily ride. Often, she liked to bring her daughter with her, but on that day, she wanted time to herself, to think about her upcoming duties.

It's all for Willow. She reminded herself.

And then, she spotted three figures standing near the path and pulled her horse up short.

“We are but poor, lost circus performers.” said the funny-looking bald man. “Tell me, is there a village nearby?”

“There is nothing nearby, not for miles.” Buttercup answered.

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream.”

Buttercups last thought before blacking out was Willow.

…

Willow may be young, but that didn’t mean she was stupid. She knew something was happening the minute she heard Humperdinck shout “ WHAT!?”  from his study.

(She technically wasn’t supposed to be near his study, but she heard lots of interesting things that way. Besides, staying in her room was boring.)

In a flash, Willow was hiding behind a suit of armour and watching the door, listening.

Humperdinck was speaking much quieter to someone Willow could barely see but recognized: Count Rugen, the man with six fingers on his right hand, who had a way of speaking that made Willow want to hide behind Mama. He scared her.

“Ready the horses, Tyrone.” came Humperdincks voice. “We must rescue my love from a terrible fate.”

Willow’s ears perked up. Terrible fate?

Mama? What’s happened to you?

Willow was supposed to be on that ride with her mother.

She was so lost in thinking she didn’t notice Humperdinck until he suddenly scooped her up from behind the suit of armour. He had an annoying habit of doing that. Willow yelped.

“Willow, we’ve talked about this, little one.” said Humperdinck, that stupid smile on his stupid face. “It’s rude to listen at open doors.”

What had Mama called his smile once? Right. Condescending.

Willow scowled at him. “Put me down.”

“Now, Willow, don’t speak to me like that. I’m to be your father soon.”

Willow’s scowl grew deeper.

Mama told her stories of her Papa, how he was brave and strong and had to go away, because he wanted to seek his fortune and make a place for Mama and Willow.

(Willow had asked before she went to bed last night “Would Papa have loved me, Mama?”

Mama had looked like she might cry at the question. She had kissed Willow on the forehead then hugged her tight.

“Yes, darling, he would have loved you, very much.”)

Humperdinck was nothing like her Papa.

She crossed her arms and scowled at him. “Whats wrong with my Mama?”

“That is not fit for young ears.”

That voice again. Willow wanted to kick him.

While they had been talking, Humperdinck had been carrying her down the corridor. Now he dumped her into her bedroom.

“Stay here, child. I’ll do my best to bring your mother back.”

Willow sat on her bed and scowled again.

She was as brave as her Papa. She wanted to go with Humperdinck and get her Mama back!

But when she opened her bedroom door, a maid was sitting in a chair right outside.

“Stay in your room, little duchess.” said the maid, scooping up Willow and depositing her back on her bed. She picked up a pretty doll the King and Queen had given her for her fifth birthday. Willow liked the King, even if he was very old and absent-minded; he’d given her the doll with a smile and a “Merry Christmas!”

Willow accepted the doll, still scowling.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“I can’t tell you, little duchess.”

And then Willow was left alone again.

She reached under her bed and removed the little rag doll her mother had made her when she was very small, when they still lived on the farm.

She sat on her window seat, holding both dolls, and stared out the window.

Please be okay, Mama! She pleaded silently.

…

Inigo was still having difficulty with this mission.

Vizzini had promised a big payout, and after all, there wasn’t a lot of money in revenge these days, but it did not feel right, as Fezzik had put it, killing an innocent girl.

The princess, oddly enough, didn’t seem as frightened as he would have expected. She just seemed proud, disdainful even, sitting there in the boat and staring off over the water. She appeared to have accepted no one could hear her, and that there was no escaping on her own when all of their focus was entirely on her.

He felt a healthy dose of respect for the girl.

He wondered if the rumours were true, that the little girl seen around the palace was her child, not a little sister or simply a foundling Humperdinck had taken pity on. If so, then they were not only killing an innocent girl, but they were depriving a child of her mother.

He knew exactly what that felt like.

It was a big part of the reason he spoke up when Fezzik said it didn’t feel right. A verbal beating from Vizzini of course followed, but then he could focus on bringing Fezzik’s spirits up, which took his thoughts away from the guilt churning in his gut.

I’m sorry, Father.

…

Westley was honestly not sure exactly what he was going to do when he saw Buttercup again.

What do you say after five years, especially when you discover that she’s marrying a prince?

The very thought still made him burn with anger.

That was what the mask was for. He’d figure out what was going on as the Dread Pirate Roberts, then he’d decide whether to reveal himself, or demand a ransom and deliver her back to her prince.

For now, he waited just around the bend near the dock, where he could see the three men who’d taken Buttercup preparing to sail. He donned his mask and rolled his shoulders back, letting the persona of the devil-may-care pirate settle over him like a mantle.

Lets see how this goes.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

It was nighttime, and Buttercup was cold and tired. Her legs were cramped from sitting still for so long, and her back ached from where she leaned against the wooden slats of the boat.

She was afraid. Of course she was afraid. She had only an inkling of an idea what these people planned to do with her, and that was frightening. If she died, Willow would be left all alone in the world, an orphan, and she couldn’t be certain Humperdinck would care for her if Buttercup wasn’t around.

She refused to allow any of her fear to show on her face.

The Spaniard glanced back.

“Why are you doing that?” the little bald man asked. Despite his small stature and rather ridiculous outfit, he seemed to be in charge.

“Making sure nobody’s following us.” answered the Spaniard.

“That would be inconcievable.” announced the little man, grinning wide and self assured.

Buttercup summoned her courage and spoke.

“Despite what you think, you will be caught.” she said, keeping her voice smooth and her tone deliberate, commanding their attention. “And when you are, the Prince will see you all hanged.”

The little man turned to her, his eyes cold and his gaze heavy with contempt.

“Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worried about is your own.”

Buttercups spine turned to ice.

The Spaniard twisted to look behind them again.

“Stop doing that!” the little man said. “We can all relax, it’s almost over.”

The Spaniard did not seem convinced.

“You’re sure nobodies following us?”

“As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable!” said the little man. He seemed very fond of that word. “No one in Guilder knows what we've done. And no one in Florin could have gotten here so fast.” He sat back, smiling and with his eyes closed, before suddenly, something seemed to strike him.

Frowning, he sat up. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

The Spaniard shrugged. “No reason. It’s only, I just happened to look behind us and something is there.”

Hope flashed quicksilver warm through Buttercup.

“ What!?” gasped the little man, and as he and the giant scampered to join the Spaniard at the helm, Buttercup made her move.

You see, they hadn’t tied her hands.

…

When Westley heard the startled “ What!?” echoing across the waters, he knew he’d been spotted.

Good. Let them know the Dread Pirate Roberts is coming.

He was close enough to make out three figures at the helm; and a streak of red and gold, diving over the side.

His heart swelled with pride: his love was escaping!

And then he remembered what infested these waters and his heart immediately skipped a beat.

…

Buttercup had no plan once she jumped over the side.

She was a strong swimmer. The shore was not so terribly far, and there was the mysterious ship if that proved futile.

She could hear the little man screaming at his minions (who apparently couldn’t swim) and kicked harder, cursing the weight of her skirt.

And then she heard it; a high-pitched shrieking sound.

Her insides turned to ice. She stopped, treading water, looking wildly around for the beast.

The little man’s voice sounded, unbearably smug.

“You know what that sound is, Highness?” he called.

Yes, she was quite aware, thank you.

“Those are the Shrieking Eels. If you doubt me, just wait. They always get louder when their about to feed on human flesh.”

Something large, long, and scaly brushed past her with another shriek. Buttercup barely managed not to shriek herself, trying to make as little noise as possible in hopes the eel wouldn’t notice her. The little mans false assurances barely registered, especially as the eel began to charge…

THUMP! A huge fist smacked the eel’s jaw shut, then caught her by the collar of her dress and lifted her like a kitten into the boat. The giant set her down gently, looking down at her, concerned. The little man was fussing around him, saying “Put her down, just put her down!”

“I think he’s getting closer.” the Spaniard called.

The little man turned around, a length of rope in his hands.

“He’s no concern of ours, sail on!” the little man snapped, beginning to tie Buttercups wrists.

“I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?” he snapped.

Buttercup lifted her chin. “Only compared to some.”

…

Westley had watched the whole thing with interest.

You haven’t changed at all, have you love?

Well, he hoped she hadn’t. He hoped this prince would turn out to be a fluke.

He wasn’t sure what he would do if she was actually in love with him.

…

The next morning dawned bright and clear.

“Look! He’s right on top of us!” called the Spaniard. “I wonder if he’s using the same wind we are using.”

Buttercup, cramped, cold, damp and with rope burns developing on her wrists, craned her neck to see. Sure enough, the black ship from the night before was practically on top of them. Buttercup could barely see it’s lone occupant, a tall man with a lean, strong build dressed all in black. He was wearing a mask across his head and the top half of his face.

“Whoever he is, he’s too late!” said the little bald man triumphantly. “See!”

He pointed enthusiastically ahead, where sheer stone cliffs rose straight up from the water. There were no handholds to be seen, no steps, no way to get over them, except for a long rope dangling down one side, where a sandbar made a makeshift dock.

“The Cliffs of Insanity!”

Thats a charming title murmured a little voice in Buttercups head. It sounded rather like Westley.

“Hurry up!” barked the little man, grabbing Buttercups elbow and pulling her to her feet. He started yelling at his compatriots to move things.

Buttercup stared at the black ship, willing it to move faster, as the little man (Vizzini, she’d learned his name was) dragged her onto the sandbar and the Spaniard quickly fitted a harness of leather straps to the giant before slipping a loop over Buttercups head.

She looked up, and up and up, at the cliffs they were about to climb.

The giant started moving and Buttercup shut her eyes.

Be brave. Came Westleys voice again as the giant began to climb.

…

Inigo hated climbing the Cliffs, but he had faith in Fezzik. He could feel his friends massive arms straining as he climbed hand-over-hand, rising steady and sure as the sun began to rise.

Vizzini looked ridiculous strapped to the front, but Inigo valued his job enough not to say anything. He glanced over at the Princess, only to find her eyes shut, her lips compressed and trembling, and her hands, still tied and wrapped around Fezziks shoulder, shaking terribly.

Inigo sympathized, but had no comfort to offer her. He looked down to see how far they’d come…

And was treated to an astonishing sight.

The black ship was docked behind theirs at the sandbar. And the man in black…

“He’s climbing the rope.” He said, half unaware he was speaking aloud. “And he’s gaining on us.”

Vizzini looked down, his eyes huge. “Inconceivable!”

Fezzik increased his pace.

They had a solid lead and Fezzik was climbing quickly, but the man in black was soaring up the rope like lightning. He was close enough that Inigo could see the suggestions of his features, see the black mask over his eyes and the mouth set in a thin, fierce line.

“Faster!” snapped Vizzini.

“I thought I was going faster.” said Fezzik. The exertion was clear in his voice.

“You were supposed to be this colossus, you were this great, legendary thing, and yet he gains!” Vizzini’s face was an impressive shade of red.

Fezzik sounded a little hurt. “Well, I’m carrying three people, and he’s got only himself.”

“I do not accept excuses.” Vizzini snapped. “I’ll just have to find myself a new giant, thats all.”

Fezzik was now clearly hurt. “Don’t say that, Vizzini… please?”

His arms were moving very slowly now, and the man in black was going no slower. Inigo wondered if he could fence from Fezziks back, then he glanced up and felt relief grip him. They were almost to the top.

Fezzik was still clearly not moving fast enough for Vizzini, who was now shrieking “DID I MAKE IT CLEAR YOUR JOB IS AT STAKE?!”

They made it to the top, and Inigo knew he had to move fast. He sprang from his harness onto the top of the cliff, pulling the princess up after him and pushing her to sit on some ruins while he pulled up Vizzini and Fezzik.

As soon as Vizzin was safely on the cliff, he ran to the rope, pulled out a knife, and began sawing away frantically. The rope was thick, it had to be to hold Fezziks weight, and Inigo was both afraid and hopeful that Vizzini wouldnt cut through it in time.

The last strand snapped and the rope disappeared over the cliffs edge.

Inigo raced to the edge and leaned carefully forward, looking down. He expected to see the man in black falling, or hear a startled scream before seeing a speck of black on the sandbar below.

Instead, he saw the man in black clinging to the cliff face, looking up at him.

Fezzik, who was holding the princess by the arm, turned to look at Inigo.

“He has very good arms.” he said, sounding impressed.

Vizzini rushed to see.

“He didn’t fall!” He gasped. “Inconceivable!”

Inigo turned to look at him.

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

…

“My God. He’s climbing!”

The hushed exclamation was barely audible over the wind whistling in Westley ears. He gripped the rock tighter and pulled himself carefully upwards, digging for a secure foothold with the toe of his boot.

…

As she was lifted into the giants arms, Buttercup looked down at the man who had risked so much to help her and silently willed him not to fall.

You can do it.

…

Westley could hear snippets of conversation from above, mainly from the small man with the annoying voice, the one who kept saying ‘inconceivable.’

“...seen us with the Princess and must therefore die...carry her… straight for the Guilder frontier… falls...the sword.”

A low answer.

“You know what a hurry we’re in!”

Another low answer, probably from the Spaniard.

“Oh, have it your way!” in an exasperated tone.

Then a much deeper voice. “You be careful...masks...cannot be trusted.”

Again the small man. “I’M WAITING!”

Then hurried, heavy footsteps.

Westley wedged his foot into a fissure in the rock and reached for another handhold.

…

Inigo was itching for a good fight. His sword had not been crossed with another for so long… he could already feel adrenaline snapping through his blood, excitement coming to a rolling boil in his chest like the sea at high tide. He could already hear the ring of steel.

To calm himself, Inigo began preparing. He shook tension and fear from him hand and arms, rolled his shoulders, practiced some footwork, then went to check on the man in black’s progress.

Very slow. The man had barely moved six inches.

Inigo was not a patient man.

“Hello there!” he called down.

The man glanced up.

Inigo waved, trying for a friendly smile. “Slow going?”

The man sighed and looked up again. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t distract me?”

Inigo inwardly groaned, but smiled and gave an apologetic wave. “Sorry!”

“Thank you…”

Inigo stepped back and practiced a few parries and thrusts with his sword, reacquainting himself with the weapon, then rushed back to the edge.

The man was no closer. He bit back an impatient snarl and tried for a friendly tone.

“I do not suppose you could speed things up?”

…

The Spaniard was clearly impatient. Westley sighed.

“If you’re in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or  find something useful to do.”

The Spaniard gave a companionable nod. “I could do that. In fact, I’ve got some rope up here.”

Then why not just throw it down if your so impatient?

“But I do not think you will accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.”

It was very disturbing to hear that sentence delivered with a friendly smile.

Westley decided sarcasm was best in this situation. “That does put a damper on our relationship.”

Despite now knowing the mans true intentions, Westley decided staying on the cliff was the worse of the two options, He did have his sword on him after all, so he reached for another hold a few inches up.

The Spaniard was still talking. “But, I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top.”

Westley really couldn’t afford this distraction. “That’s very comforting, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”

“I hate waiting.” came a mutter from above.

There’s a surprise.

Westley grasped ahold of another rock and looked around for a place to wedge his foot as the Spaniard called out “I could give you my word as a Spaniard?”

Locating a foothold, Westley reached for it, grunting as he did so “No good, I’ve known too many Spaniards.”

“You don’t know any way you will trust me?”

Now secure and a few inches higher, Westley allowed himself a rest. “Nothing comes to mind.”

Something suddenly came over the Spaniard. He had reminded Westley of a drawn bow before, tense and vibrating with suppressed energy, but now he seemed made of stone, still and strong, every word confident and weighted with honesty.

“I swear on the soul of my father Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.”

Westley made a split second descision.

“Throw me the rope.”

Chapter Text

The Spaniard worked quickly.  Within a few moments, a rope landed next to Westleys hand. He grabbed it and, with the Spaniard’s help, climbed the rest of the way to the cliff top.

He didn’t allow himself to take a breather, rolling to his feet and drawing his sword as he said “Thank you…”

The Spaniard held up a hand. 

“We will wait until you’re ready.”

Westley was grateful for the break. His arms were aching, and there were several rocks in his boots.

“Again, thank you.”

He settled onto a rock nearby and emptied one boot as the Spaniard leaned on the cliff face, studying him with an intensity that reminded Westley of the pirate he’d studied under.

…

Inigo studied the Man in Black. It was almost impossible that this was the six-fingered murderer, but Inigo knew he needed to check.

“I do not mean to pry…” he began, “But you don’t by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”

The Man in Black looked up at him, stormy eyes baffled through the mask.

“Do you always begin conversations this way?”

“My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man.”

The man considered him, then held up his gloved right hand, showing five fingers.

Inigo nodded. He didn’t even feel disappointed at this point. He’d been searching for years and had never found a lead. 

“He was a great swordmaker, my father.” he began. 

He often thought of his father before a battle, and it wasn’t like the man was going to leave the cliffs alive. His story and the pain it carried were safe here. 

“When the six fingered man appeared and requested a special sword my father took the job.” Inigo drew his sword, balancing it across his hands, looking down at the beloved weapon with pride and grief. “He slaved a year before he was done.”

Inigo held out the sword, letting the man take it and turn it over, looking down the length and feeling the balance.

“I have never seen it’s equal.” he said, and there was a tone of reverance in his voice.

…

As Westley handled the sword, he could practically taste the skill needed to wield this weapon. The voice in his head that sounded like the Dread Pirate spoke up.

You may need the practice. Use your left hand.

…

Inigo smiled and took the sword back, sheathing it and  remembering the day it had become his. Bitterness carved its way into his chest as he resumed his tale.

“The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused.”

Are you mad?! A years work and a specialized sword for that paltry a purse?! How am I supposed to feed my boy at that price?!

“Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart.”

What are you-

FATHER!

“I loved my father, so naturally I challenged his murderer to a duel.”

You’ve killed him!

Put that down, boy, you’re not man enough to use it yet.

“I failed.”

Inigo fell hard beside his fathers body. The sword fell with a clang beside him.

The six-fingered man pointed his sword down at him, sneering.

“This ought to teach you a lesson…”

“The six fingered man left me alive…”

The sword flashed. Pain, then the man laughed and turned on his heel, leaving.

“But he gave me this.”

Inigo turned his head to one side, then the other, showing the two thin silver scars on his cheeks.

The Man in Black was watching him, something like respect around the slump of his shoulders and set of his mouth.

“How old were you?”

“I was eleven years old.”

Come away, child, he can’t come back.

Father…

“When I was strong enough I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail.”

Inigo looked into the distance, seeing the six-fingered man in front of him. 

“I will walk up to the six-fingered man and say, hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

He saw the wounds he would give him, one on each cheek. He saw the slash through the heart. He saw death in the man’s eyes.

This time, Father, I will not fail.

…

Westley studied Inigo, staring off into the distance, one hand curled around the pommel of his sword. 

“You’ve done nothing but study swordplay?”

Inigo seemed to shake himself out of a trance.

“More pursuit then study, lately.”

He sat down on the rock beside Westley.

“You see, I cannot find him. It’s been twenty years and I am starting to lose confidence. I just work for Vizzini to pay the bills. There’s not a lot of money in revenge.”

Westley nodded once in silent agreement, then Buttercups face flashed across his mind, the way she’d looked before she’d been pulled back from the cliff edge. She’d been looking down at him, her eyes burning into him and her hair waving gently around her face.

He needed to stop wasting time.

“Well, I certainly hope you find him someday.” he said, standing up and reaching for his sword.

“You are ready, then?” Inigo failed at keeping excitement from his voice.

“Whether I am or not, you’ve been more than fair.”

Inigo smiled, drawing his sword. “You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”

Westley drew his own sword, using his left hand. Inigo was left-handed too. Interesting.

“You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.” he rejoined, his natural sarcasm showing through.

Inigo smiled and shrugged, as if Westley dying was of little consequence. 

“Begin.”

Immediately, all smiles vanished from his face. Inigo was all focus, the sword an extension of his arm.

Westley kept his posture straight, balancing as he shifted his weight forward, ready to move at a moments notice.

Inigo made the first thrust, easy to parry, then a swipe at his head Westley easily dodged.

They circled each other, eyes never leaving the other’s face.

Again, Inigo thrust. Westley parried, then mimicked the Spaniards earlier movement with a swipe at his head. Inigo dodged easily, a grin growing on his face. Westley felt his mouth tug up into an answering one.

Done toying with each other, Inigo stepped forward and the fight began in earnest.

Stepping back and forth in a deadly dance, the two man traded the upper ground until Inigo spun, swiping at Westley’s ribs, and began to drive him further back. The ring of steel echoed around the ruins.

Westley retreated up a rocky incline as Inigo said delightedly “You are using Bonetti’s defense against me, ah!?”

Westley felt his grin grow bigger as he replied “I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain.”

He knocked Inigos sword up and away, retreating farther up. Inigo chased him, saying  “Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro!” as he shifted his style.

Westley did the same to accomadate. “Naturally, but I find Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro, don’t you?”

To avoid Inigo’s slash, Westley jumped backwards into empty space, landing in the sand and looking up at Inigo.

“Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa!”

Inigo flipped himself off of the incline and twisted so he landed facing Westley, sword ready. 

“Which I have!”

Westley took a chance and attacked, driving Inigo back towards the cliff edge with surprising ease.

“You are wonderful!” Inigo said, jumping backwards to avoid Westleys slash.

“Thank you.” said Westley, trying an overhead strike. “I’ve worked hard to become so.”

He drove Inigo closer to the edge.

“I admit it, you are better than I am!” Inigo said, but there was still a wide grin splitting his face.

“Then why are you smiling?” Westley asked, feeling he was missing something.

“Because I know something you don’t know!”

A knot of apprehension began to grow in Westley’s chest. “And what is that?”

“I am not left handed!” Mid-parry, Inigo switched the sword from his left hand to his right hand and began to fight with a skill Westley was unprepared for.

…

Inigo almost felt bad.

Almost.

He drove the Man in Black away from the cliff edge, sending him up some stone steps where a crumbling parapet awaited him. He tried to get him once in either side of his ribs when the man fell, then slashed at his feet to get him going again.

The Man in Black was very good, but Inigo was better. The man had the good sense to acknowledge this.

“You are amazing!”

“I ought to be, after twenty years!”

Inigo trapped the mans sword against the stones of the parapet and used his body weight to push the man over the edge.

“There’s something... I ought to tell you.” gasped the man as several stones behind him gave way.

“Tell me.” Inigo said. The least he could do was hear this man’s last words.

Suddenly, the man grinned up at him. There was fire in his eyes.

“I’m not left-handed either.”

He broke free and tossed his sword into the air, catching it with his right hand, then lunged. Inigo blocked, stunned but quickly recovering, and they traded back and forth, now perfectly matched.

The man twisted his blade around Inigo’s and sent it flying out of his hand.

Inigo, surprised, gave him a confused look, then jumped away, towards a stone arch where a moss covered bar was inlaid. He grabbed it to slow his momentum and soften his landing before stumbling over and grabbing his sword, spinning to face his opponent. 

With a casual flick of his wrist, the man threw his sword towards a patch of moss, where it stuck upright, before jumping for the bar himself. 

He swung fully around once before letting go and tucking into a flip, landing solidly on both feet and picking up his sword.

…

Westley may or may not have been showing off a bit with the flip, but the look on Inigo’s face was worth it.

...

Dazed, Inigo asked “Who are you?”

“No one of consequence.”

“I must know.”

The man smirked. “Get used to disappointment.”

Inigo shrugged. That was fair. “Okay.”

He lunged forward, ducked to avoid the mans slash at his head, and tried the spin move again only to be stopped by the man, who slashed at his feet. Inigo jumped to get away and scrambled up the ruins, turning to meet the mans assault.

The man knocked his sword from his hand again, and Inigo turned, running a few feet away before turning back, looking up and catching it.

The man drove him back and Inigo was getting flustered.His old fencing master was turning over in his grave at the wild, untrained way Inigo swung his sword, before the man disarmed him for the last time.

Inigo stared at the man, sword aimed at his chest, then dropped to both knees.

I’m sorry, Father. I’ve failed again.

“Kill me quickly.”

The man walked just over his right shoulder, where Inigo couldn’t see him.

“I would sooner destroy a stained glass window as an artist like yourself. However, since I can’t have you following me either...”

Sudden pain bloomed across Inigo’s head and he knew no more.

…

Westley looked down at the man lying in the sand.

“Please understand I hold you in the highest respect.” he said, making a little bow.

Then he turned, retrieved his sword belt, and ran after Buttercup and the other two kidnappers.

…

“INCONCEIVABLE!”

Buttercup agreed with the Spainard. Vizzini had no idea what that word actually meant.

They had been climbing for a while, Buttercup carried by the giant, who had quietly introduced himself as Fezzik when Vizzini wasn’t listening. She had been praying that the Man in Black would prevail and come to rescue her, or that she could talk the giant into letting her go. 

Option two hadnt worked, but option one was visible far behind, running up the path behind them. Hope fluttered in Buttercup’s chest.

“Give her to me!” Vizzini said, gesturing to Buttercup. Fezzik’s hands as he set her down were gentle, but Vizzini’s grip on her wrist was tight and the knife in his belt was enough to let her know not to try anything.

She silently begged the man to hurry as Vizzini gave his instructions.

“Catch up with us quickly!”

Fezzik seemed confused. 

“What do I do?”

Vizzini was in a hurry. “Finish him, finish him! Your way!”

“Oh good, my way. Thank you Vizzini.” 

Vizzini was leading Buttercup away when Fezzik asked “Which ways my way?”

Vizzini spun to address him. “Pick up one of those rocks, get behind the boulder. In a few minutes the Man in Black will come running around the bend. The minute his HEAD is in view, HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!”

His voice had gotten progressively louder. He would be lucky if the man didn’t already know his plan.

Vizzini, with a rough tug on Buttercups arm, pulled her away. Buttercup sent up another prayer.

If I die today, please make sure Willow is safe.

…

Fezzik frowned. 

“My ways not very sportsmanlike.”

…

Willow startled awake in her bed. It was late morning, and she had only just gotten to sleep. 

The maid had put her to sleep last night without so much as a bedtime story, and Willow couldn’t sleep well without a bedtime story.

Her mama always told the best stories. Willow sniffed and dragged a messy nightgown sleeve under her nose.

Mama always told her that if Willow was afraid in the night, she could always come to her room, but Mama wasn’t there.

Willow closed her eyes and thought of her papa. If he were here, he would have kept Mama safe.

Please. She begged. Keep my mama safe.  

She snuggled under the covers with her dolls to hide until her mama was brought home.

Chapter Text

Westley rounded a bend in the trail and immediately felt apprehensive.

He slowed to a walk, listening hard. There were the usual sounds of a mountain trail, nothing unusual there.

There was a boulder a few feet away, the right size to conceal several men, but it was so quiet he doubted there was anyone there.

He looked around, took a few steps forward…

CRASH!

Westley almost jumped out of his skin. Hastily, he drew his sword, looking around wildly for the source of his almost-death by flying rock.

A giant stepped out from behind the boulder, holding another rock bigger than Westley’s head in his massive hands as easily as Westley might hold a loaf of bread. He’d seen the giant with the trio that took Buttercup, but hadnt been close enough to appreciate his size.

“I did that on purpose.” the giant said. “I didnt have to miss.”

He seemed relaxed, self-assured, like he knew Westley couldn’t beat him.

“I believe you.” Westley said, frantically trying to think of a way out of this. 

When the giant still didnt move, Westley ventured “So what happens now?”

The giant smiled. “We face each other as God intended. Sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons. Skill against skill alone.”

 Westley felt he had to clarify this. “So… you’ll put down your rock and I’ll put down my sword and we try and kill each other like civilised people?”

The giant grinned and held up his rock. “I can kill you now.”

Westley knew there was no way he could dodge that, and even if he could, the giant had several other rocks littering the ground to choose from.

Carefully, never taking his eyes of the giant, Westley crouched to put his sword on the ground.

“Frankly,” he quipped, “I think the odds are slightly in your favor at hand fighting.”

“It isn’t my fault being the biggest and the strongest.” the giant said, tossing his rock easily over one shoulder. “I don’t even exercise.”

…

Fezzik was sure, that if he were a normal-sized man, he might have a devil of a time taking down the Man in Black, but he was confident in his abilities. He’d been wrestling since he was ten.

The two readied themselves, and then the Man in Black rushed forward, driving his shoulder into Fezzik’s lower stomach with a grunt. 

Fezzik barely felt the blow.

Slowly, the man backed away. Fezzik held out his arms, waiting, until the man made another rush, bear-hugging Fezzik around the waist and trying to lift him.

Fezzik had pulled this move before, the object being to lift your opponent off their feet and throw them over onto their backs, knocking the breath from their bodies. He was impressed. He looked over the green hills of Guilder as he waited for him to tire.

The man seemed to accept he couldnt lift Fezzik and backed up.

“Look,” he snapped, “Are you just fiddling around with me or what?!”

Fezzik smiled at him. “I just want you to feel your doing well. I hate for people to die embarrased.”

He made his own rush, but the man ducked and somersaulted between Fezziks legs, rolling to his feet on the other side and backing away.

“You’re quick!” Fezzik complimented.

“Good thing too.” the man replied.

Fezzik balled up a fist. “Why do you wear a mask? Were you burned by acid or something like that?” He swung, and the man dodged.

…

Westley knew if a blow landed, he was a dead man.

“Oh no, it’s just they’re terribly comfortable, I think everyone will wear them in the future.” he replied, dodging two more blows before dodging behind the giant and using a boulder behind him to spring onto the giants back.

As soon as his arms circled the giants neck, he had a plan besides dont die.

You may be a giant, but you still need to breathe.

…

The man’s arms around his neck were like a vice. Fezzik tried to swat him off to no avail.

“I just figured out why you give me so much trouble.” he choked out, slamming his back against a rock. He heard the man’s breath leave him, but his grip didn’t loosen.

He tried to pull at his arms as the man asked “Why is that, do you think?”

“Well,” Fezzik said, still strugglng and stumbling away from the rock. “I havent fought… just one person… for so long…” he struggled to breathe “I’ve been specializing in groups…” he spotted another boulder and headed for it, turning so the man would take the brunt of the impact “battling gangs for local charities… that kind of thing.”

He flung himself back against the rock, but the Man in Black’s grip did not loosen, despite his grunt of pain.

“Why should that make such a…” Fezzik tried the rock trick again “Difference?” the man groaned.

“Well…” Fezzik defienetly couldn’t breathe now, and black was collecting at the edges of his vision. “You see… you use different moves… when you’re fighting… half a dozen…people…” he had dropped to one knee, he could barely see, his lungs crying for air  “then when you only...have..to be… worried… about...one…”

The ground rushed up to meet him and Fezzik knew no more.

…

Once Westley was sure the giant wasn’t waking up, he dragged his aching body off of him nd struggled to turn him over onto his back, where he pressed an ear to his chest. 

He could still detect a powerful heartbeat. He sat up to look at the giant’s face.

“I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake.” he told him. “But in the meantime, rest well, and dream of large women.”

Westley stood up, muscles aching, and went back to the path, sticking his boot under his sword and flipping it up into his hand as he went.

He prayed he wasn’t too late.

…

Back at the ruins, a royal search party had just labourously climbed the cliffs to discover the remains of a furious, well matched battle.

Prince Humperdinck dismounted and carefully set his boots into two imprints, getting a feel for the expertise of the swordmasters. Following the footprints in the sand, he began to mimic the deadly dance all over the ruins.

“It was… a mighty duel.” he deduced out loud. He set off to climb the ruins, reading the story carved out in the sand. “It ranged all over! They were both masters.”

“Who won?” asked Rugen from his horse. “How did it end?”

Humperdinck was only too happy to inform him.

“The loser ran off alone.” he said, then did his best to adopt a dramatic tone and pointed off into the distance. “The winner followed those footprints towards… Guilder!” 

“Shall we track them both?” asked Rugen.

Humperdinck turned. “The loser is nothing. Only the princess matters.”

He glanced at his soldiers and found them sufficiently impressed. 

The winner better be that swordsman Vizzini was going on about.

“Clearly this was all planned by warriors of Guilder!” he announced in his most impressive voice. “We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead!”

Rugen leaned over for an aside as Humperdinck jumped onto his horse. “Could this be a trap?”

Humperdinck adjusted his reins. “I always think everything could be a trap, which is why I’m still alive.”

He kicked his horse and the party rode out of the ruins.

…

As Inigo went back over the hills toward Florin, his head aching, he remembered Vizzini saying that if they were ever separated, to go back to the beginning.

He could do that. As he recalled, the tavern where he and Vizzini began their contract had an excellent brandy…

…

When Westley ran over the top of the mountain, he was greeted with a terrifying sight.

The little man who had apparently been leading all of this was sitting beside a rock spread with a white cloth, with fruit, bread, a bottle of wine and two goblets sitting on it like a picnic table. Beside him sat Buttercup, blindfolded, sitting very still and straight, her hands bound in front of her.

The little man held a knife to her throat.

“So, it is down to you, and it is down to me.” he said, reachng for a goblet and taking a sip.

Westley slowly took a few steps.

“If you wish her dead, by all means keep moving forward.”

Westley stopped, then tried for a disarming, friendly smile, spreading his hands to show he was unarmed.

“Let me explain…”

“There’s nothing to explain. You’re trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen.”

He gestured to Buttercup, who still hadnt moved or given any indication she knew what was going on.

“Perhaps an arrangement could be reached?” Westley asked, still walking forward. If he could get close enough, draw his sword in time…

“There will be no arrangement.” the man said firmly, grabbing Buttercups arm, “and your killing her!”

He pressed the knife harder just beneath Buttercups jaw. She gasped, the only indication she’d given that she was in pain.

That stopped Westley in his tracks.

Don’t show you’re affected.

He pushed away his concern and tried again for a smile.

“Well, if there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse.”

“I’m afraid so.” the little man agreed. “I can’t compete with you physically, and you’re no match for my brains.”

The part of Westley’s brain not panicked by Buttercups obvious pain and fear saw the pride in that statement and a plan sprang to life. He’d dealt with people like this before.

“You’re that smart?” he said, crossing his arms, knowing it would get a rise out of the little man.

Sure enough, it did.

“Let me put it this way, have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates?”

“Yes.”

“Morons.”

Oh, this would be too easy.

“Really?” Westley asked. It was rare he got to flex his mental muscles as much as his physical, and after wrestling with the giant, swordfighting, and running all day, he hadnt been 

sure if he could fight again.

But this, he knew he could do.

“In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

He decided not to mention that the last man to engage in a battle of wits with Westley had been dead by morning. The little vial of iocaine powder seemed to burn in his pocket.

“For the princess?” the little man asked.

Westley gave a single nod.

“To the death?”

Your death, hopefully. Westley thought as he gave another nod.

“I accept.” said the little man, smiling and finally taking the knife away from Buttercups neck.

“Good! Then pour the wine.” said Westley, striding forward, a plan already forming in his mind.

…

As the Man in Black strode forward towards the rock, Vizzini poured the two goblets full of wine. 

The man seemed so confident that it threw Vizzini off a bit, but there was no way this could end in the man winning. There had never been a brain like Vizzini’s.

Still, there was a knot of nerves in his stomach as the Man in Black pulled from his pocket a vial. He uncapped it and held it toward Vizzini.

“Inhale this, but do not touch.”

Vizzini took the vial and sniffed, scoffed, then handed it back. “I smell nothing.”

The man smirked. “What you do not smell is called iocaine powder. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man.”

“Hm.” Vizzini said.

The man picked up both goblets of wine and turned his back. Vizzini watched him intently.

The man turned back around, switched the goblets around a few times, then set them down on the rock.

Just to show he was not intimidated by the mans theatrics, Vizzini scoffed.

The man tossed down the now empty vial of iocaine and held up both hands. 

“All right, where is the poison?” he asked. “The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right, and who is dead.”

…

Buttercup wanted to run, but she had no idea where that knife was now and she was unfamiliar with this terrain. 

She guessed that the Man in Black was the one Vizzini was talking to, the one who sounded so much like somebody she knew but couldn’t place. 

Do I know this man?

“But it’s so simple.” she heard Vizzini saying. “All I have to do is divine from what I know of you. Are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemies?”

He sounded incredibly smug. Buttercup really wanted to punch him, but her hands were bound, she was blindfolded, and she had no idea how fast Vizzini could draw a knife. She had no desire to find out.

She only hoped the Man in Black would win this battle of wits, demand a ransom if thats what he was after, so she could get back to her daughter. 

…

“Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

Vizzini was trying to buy time, but the Man in Black had an excellent poker face and he couldn’t tell if he was getting close.

“You’ve made your decision then?” the man asked.

“Not remotely!” said Vizzini. Maybe if he talked some more the man would give him something to work with. “Because iocaine comes from Australia, as everyone knows! And Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them as you are not trusted by me, so i can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.”

The man was studying him, no change in his expression. “Truly you have a dizzying intellect.”

…

Apparently the little man loved to be complimented, because he puffed up like a peacock.

“Wait till I get going! Where was I?”

“Australia.” Westley reminded him.

“Yes, Australia, and you must have suspected I would know the powders origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“You’re just stalling now.” Westley deadpanned.

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you!?”

Just choose a goblet so I can get on with my life.

The little man apparently had no notion of doing that.

“You’ve beaten my giant, which means you’re exceptionally strong, so you could’ve put the poison in your own goblet trusting your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you! But you’ve also bested my Spaniard, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine on front of me!”

Westley could feel himself smirking. “You’re trying to trick me into giving away something. It won’t work.”

“It has worked! You’ve given everything away, I know where the poison is!”

“Then make your choice.”

“I will! And I choose… what in the world can that be!?”

It was an obvious ruse, and Westley pretended to fall for it, twisting around to look behind him.

Switching the goblets? That won’t do you much good.

He turned back around, “I dont see anything.”

The little man muttered something about ‘could have sworn I saw something’, giggling.

“Whats so funny?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, let’s drink, me from my glass and you from yours.”

Westley lifted his glass towards the little man in a mocking salute, then drank his glass as the little man did the same.

Hmmm, good wine. I can appreciate a nice red.

Westley set his glass back down and smiled. 

“You guessed wrong.”

The little man burst out in laughter.

“You only think I guessed wrong, thats whats so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! HAHA, you fool! ”

Any minute now.

“You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well known is this! Never go in against a Sicilian, when death is on the line! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…”

Westly watched as the man slumped to the side and onto the ground, his face still twisted up in laughter.

He stood up and went over to Buttercup, warring with himself. One the one hand, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her it was him, her ‘farm boy’, alive and well and with a fortune, ready to care for her like she deserved to be. On the other hand, her fine clothes and royal air reminded him that she was betrothed to a prince , that she hadn’t waited for him.

He knew he was being unreasonable, how could she be expected to wait for a dead man, but it still hurt.

He removed the blindfold. Her eyes stared at him, the same beautiful blue eyes he remembered. 

“Who are you?”

“I am no one to be trifled with.” he stated, using the little mans knife to cut her bonds. “That is all you ever need know.”

“And to think.” said Buttercup softly. “All that time it was your cup that was poisoned.”

Westley allowed himself a smile. “They were both poisoned.” He took her hands and pulled her to her feet, telling himself to ignore how close she was. “I’ve spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocaine powder.”

He took her hand, teeling himself not to think of the walks they used to take holding hands like this, and led her away.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Humperdinck knelt in the sand, letting sand sift through his fingers as he stared at the imprint of a massive body. Again, there were signs of a fight, but no blood.

That giant of Vizzini’s apparently isn’t infallible . 

“Someone has beaten a giant!” he declared as impressively as possible, jumping to his feet. “There will be great suffering in Guilder if she dies!”

He sprang onto his horse and they rode off down the path, Humperdinck seething inside. 

If she is found alive, there will be repercussions…

…

Fezzik had a pounding headache, but he knew he had to get away from Guilder now. 

He had come across Vizzini only a few moments ago. The princess was missing.

He didn’t want to take the fall for a boss he’d never liked anyway, so away he went. He’d go back to Florin and find Inigo, and then they could make a plan from there.

…

The Man in Black had been running, pulling Buttercup along, for what felt like hours. Her breaths felt like they were shredding the inside of her chest and there was a stitch in her side.

She was doing her best not to lag behind, but apparently she wasn’t doing as well as she thought, because the man suddenly dragged her firmly to the side and pushed her down onto a boulder.

“Catch your breath.” 

His voice was very different now then it had been when he had killed Vizzini. Then, it had been playful, sarcastic, with a touch of pride when he told her how he’d outwitted him. Now, it was harsh, uncaring. Buttercup shivered at his tone.

Humperdinck was probably coming after her by now. Without a doubt. Humperdinck needed her if he wanted an heir, and he badly wanted one.

But if Humperdinck couldn’t find her, Buttercup was lost in an unfamiliar place. Perhaps if she could convince this man to let her go, she could get back to Willow unharmed.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes and took a deep breath.

“If you release me, whatever you ask for ransom, you’ll get it, I promise you.” she said as sweetly as she could. 

The Man in Black laughed.

“And what is that worth, the promise of a woman? You’re very funny, Highness.”

Charm isnt going to work, then.

“I was giving you a chance.” Buttercup said, dropping the sweet, wheedling tone of her voice. “No matter where you take me, there is no greater hunter than Prince Humperdinck. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day, he can find you.”

The Man in Black was not impressed.

“You think your dearest love will save you?”

Buttercup was deeply insulted. Humperdinck my greatest love? Her greatest love would always be Willow and Westley, equal parts of her heart given to them both as long as she lived. 

“I never said he was my dearest love.” she snapped. “And yes, he will save me. That I know.”

Buttercup felt no love for the prince, but she knew he was cunning and manipulative, and angry if someone messed with the things he considered his. As much as she hated it, Buttercup knew he considered her his, so she knew he would stop at nothing to get her back, if only to impress his soldiers and kingdom.

And if I die before he finds me, I pray he keeps Willow safe.

…

I never said he was my dearest love.

Buttercups angry statement ricocheted around in Westleys head.

She doesn’t love him!?

He squashed the hope growing in his heart.

He was still angry at her, even though he knew it was irrational to be angry. Buttercup couldn’t have known he was still alive. But after so many years of fighting and clawing his way to survival, after so many nights thinking of Buttercup and the one night they had spent together as husband and wife before he had left, the news that she was marrying someone else had made him physically sick. 

All the things she had said to him, all the sweet words and smiles… had all of those been as real for her as they were for him?  

He wasn’t sure he could continue on if they hadn’t been.

And then there was what he’d seen...

“You admit to me you do not love your fiance?” he asked her.

“He knows I do not love him.” Buttercup responded.

The irrational, angry side of Westley decided then to take over his mouth.

“‘Are not capable of love,’ is what you mean.” he snapped.

Buttercup stood up, fire blazing in her eyes.

“I have loved more deeply than a killer like yourself could ever dream. ”

Westley held up his hand as if to slap her.

He was horrified as soon as he did, especially when Buttercup flinched but stood her ground. He had never hit a woman, had never dreamed of hurting Buttercup, and he wasn’t sure why he did it.

It was done, he couldn’t take it back, so he retreated, hiding under the mask the Dread Pirate Roberts lent him.

“That was a warning, Highness.” he snarled. “The next time, my hand flies on it’s own, for where I come from there are penalties when a woman lies.”

He knew there would never be a next time. He would cut off his hand before he would willingly injure Buttercup.

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her up, and off they went.

…

The royal search party rode over a ridge to discover a rock, spread as though for a picnic, and the body of a short man laid beside it, his face twisted into laughter.

Humperdinck jumped off his horse and knelt.

Somebody’s finally beaten you.

Something caught his eye: a small tube laid on the rock beside two empty goblets. He picked it up, discovered it was empty, and sniffed.

Nothing. 

He glanced back down at Vizzini and recognized the symptoms.

He knew what this was. 

“Iocane.” he proclaimed, handing it to Rugen. “I’d bet my life on it.”

Clever, this man. Very clever.

He took another quick glance around.

“And there are the Princesses footprints. She’s alive, or was an hour ago.”

How hard is it to kill one simple girl?!

“If she is otherwise when I find her, I shall be very...put out.”

He swung back onto his horse.

It seemed it was time to fall onto his backup plan. 

…

As they ran, still hand-in-hand, Buttercup mulled over this mans actions.

Could this man possibly be...

At the edge of a ravine, the Man in Black pushed Buttercup down onto another rock.

“Rest, Highness.” His voice was curt.

Buttercup glared at him. 

“I know who you are. Your cruelty reveals everything!”

She could have sworn he raised an eyebrow at her, as if daring her to continue, but the mask made it hard to tell.

She pushed on. “You’re the Dread Pirate Roberts, admit it!”

The man cracked a smile, his first since Vizzini died, and made her a grand little bow.

“With pride.” he said, standing up straight again. “What can I do for you?”

Hatred coiled in the pit of Buttercups stomach like a snake ready to strike.

“You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces.” she said in a low tone, curling her hands into fists in her lap. She couldn’t lose her composure, or she feared she might cry, and she refused to give Westleys killer the satisfaction.

Roberts tsked. “Hardly complimentary, Your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?”

Buttercup wished she had a dagger. Or even that he was standing with his back to the cliff. A good push off of that and… well, it might not kill him, but he would be bruised and battered and best yet, trapped, for the sides of the ravine were too steep to climb. An image of throwing rocks at him steeled her resolve enough to keep a tremble from her voice as she answered.

…

“You killed my love.”

Was she talking about him? Westley? Did she still consider him her love after all these years? Best to tread carefully, he decided.

“It’s possible.” he said. “I kill a lot of people.”

A flash of a memory, kneeling on Roberts deck, looking up into fierce eyes, telling himself to be brave as he asked “Will you kill me?”

“It’s possible.” the pirate answered, pressing his sword point just underneath Westleys chin. “I kill a lot of people.”

Westley tried for a flippant tone as he strolled off to her right, sitting down on the grass and leaning against a log.

“Who was this love of yours? Another prince like this one?” Bitterness burned his throat and he couldn’t help but add “Ugly, rich and scabby?”

“No!” Buttercup’s eyes and voice were defiant as she turned towards him. “A farm boy. Poor!” Her voice turned far away as she added softly “Poor and perfect. With eyes like the sea after a storm.”

Her old nickname for him burned a hole in his heart, and the wistful, sad look on her face spoke of grief almost beyond comprehension. A spark of hope flared to life in his chest: did she still love him?

…

Buttercup was remembering Westley’s eyes, and how seeing them for the first time on Willows face had caused her both unimaginable joy and pain in equal measures. Those eyes on her love and her daughter, her last remnant of Westley… 

She shook herself out of her trance and, blinking back tears, turned to Roberts, adopting the tone she used with lords and ladies who questioned her presence at court. “On the high seas your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.”

The man didnt seem fazed, shrugging and talking to her as a teacher might to a student. “Can’t afford to make exceptions. I mean, once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, than it’s nothing but work, work, work all the time.”

Anger flared in Buttercups chest. “You mock my pain!”

The jovial, easygoing tone dropped from Roberts face as he replied “Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

…

Buttercup glared and turned her face away from him, and Westley had to know.

Clearly she’d grieved him, her actions showed him that well enough, but he still didnt know how she felt for him now. 

Deep in the dusty, never-looked-into corners of his brain he feared she’d simply found someone better. How could he, a farm boy turned pirate, compete with a prince in terms of money, or status? Buttercup had lived on a farm all her life, she was used to work, but he still remembered how she’d ordered him about, back when he simply loved her from afar, and answered each royal command with a half-smile and an ‘as you wish’, hoping she would understand what he was really trying to say. 

If he revealed himself to her, what would she say? Would she throw her arms around him the way he’d always imagined she would? Or would she push him away in anger for tricking her? She’d said she didn’t love the prince, but did that mean she loved Westley still, or had she moved on?

Did he even want her back?

He had spent five years focusing on her, her smile the reason he fought to survive, so when he’d arrived in Florin he’d gone to her farm, only to find it run down and abandoned. Neighbors, not recognizing him, had told him that she had headed off to the palace. When he had arrived, he saw her, standing in a palace window with a net of gold and pearls on her head, and a little girl, about four years old, on her hip.

The child had been dressed like a princess, and also had a head of golden curls like her mothers. From behind them, Humperdinck had appeared, and had reached for the child with a fatherly-seeming smile. Westley had turned away before the pain in his chest broke loose. 

Anger burned within him again. Had she left for the palace the very day he’d been announced dead? Clearly she hadn’t waited long, because the rumours in the kingdom were that the child was Prince Humperdincks, born out of wedlock and to be legitamized at last.

He’d asked when they had arrived, but no one had really been able to give him an exact date. Apparently, Buttercup and the little girl had been locked away in the palace for some time, only recently being presented to the people. 

This anger had been what drove him, and just thinking about it made him angry now. His beloved had another man’s child, and had her quite recently after Westley had supposedly died at Roberts hand. 

He’d always upheld her in his head as faithful. Now, despite her comments that she had once loved him and didn’t love Humperdinck, he couldnt help but wonder if it was all an act.

Had their time together all been an act?

…

“I remember this farm boy of yours, I think. This would be what, five years ago?”

Buttercup felt tension snap through her spine, but she refused to look around at Roberts.

“Does it bother you to hear?” His voice was closer, he’d gotten up.

Buttercup lifted her chin and blinked back treacherous tears. “Nothing you can say will upset me.”

The pirate stepped into her view, looking off over the hills as if in remembrance. “He died well, that should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering.”

Oh, Westley, ever brave. Ever wonderful.

“He simply said, please. Please, I need to live.”

Buttercup could see it in her minds eye, could see how he would have looked. He would have made eye contact with this pirate and said ‘please’ without a hint of a tremble. He would have shown no fear.

Did it hurt, my love? Did you suffer? For your sake, I hope it was a quick death. That seems to be all the mercy this pirate is capable of.

Roberts was still talking. 

“It was the ‘please’ that caught my memory.” Roberts said, turning to face her. “I asked him what was so important for him. ‘True love’, he replied.”

Buttercup looked up at him then, tears threatening to spill over. He was looking at her with no emotion on his face, arms crossed. 

“And then he spoke of a girl of surpassing beauty and faithfulness, I can only assume he meant you.” he continued, pacing back behind her.

“You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you really are.”

There was definite anger in his voice now, and Buttercup could stand it no longer. She stood and turned to face him.

“And what am I?!”

“Faithfulness, he talked of, Madam, your enduring faithfulness. Now tell me truly, when you found out he was gone did you get engaged to the prince the same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”

Buttercup opened her mouth to retort, but the pirate wasn’t finished.

“And the child they speak of, is she the princes bastard?”

At the mention of her daughter, Buttercup snapped.

“You mocked me once, never do it again! I died that day!”

...

Her fist flew, landing a solid punch into his chest and sending him closer to the edge of the ravine. She gripped a fistful of his shirt with her other hand, glaring at him.

Westley caught his breath. She was pressed against him, staring at him, eyes stormy and shimmering with unshed tears. Her lips were pressed into a trembling line, and even in her anger she was the most wonderful thing Westley had ever seen.

“How dare you accuse me of infidelity.” she said quietly.

Westley opened his mouth (either to make a sarcastic comment or goad her some more, he wasn’t entirely sure) but her next sentence shocked him enough to forget everything.

“You killed my love, and my childs father.”

Father?

“My daughter is not the princes child. She is my love’s. And because of you, had I not agreed to marry the prince, we would have died.”

Not the princes.

I have a daughter.

Buttercups grip loosened and her lips twisted into a furious snarl.

“You can die too, for all I care!”

She shoved him hard, sending Westley tumbling down the steep slope into the ravine.

The words child and father bounced around Westleys skull, as well as his brain. He couldnt die, nor could he let Buttercup go now.

He had a daughter.

He called up as he fell the one phrase he knew Buttercup would recognize as undoubtedly his.

…

“ As...you...wish...”

Buttercup froze.

All the pieces suddenly came together: the familiarity in his voice, the little quirk of his smile, his eyes through his mask, the color of his hair, everything that had struck her about this man formed to make a picture she didnt fully understand. All she knew in that moment was Westley is alive .

“Oh my sweet Westley.” she gasped. “What have I done!?”

She went to step off the edge, to run down to the bottom and hold him again, but the toe of her boot caught on something and soon she was falling too, careening down the slope towards her one true love.

…

Humperdinck had caught barely a glimpse of Buttercups red riding gown before she disappeared. He reigned in his horse and heard his men do the same.

He shook his head as he examined the terrain. He knew where they were.

Perhaps this could work in his favor.

“Disappeared!” he said. “He must have seen us closing in, which might account for his panicking in error! Unless I’m wrong, and I’m never wrong…” he paused for dramatic effect before saying “they are headed dead into the Fire Swamp.”

At least Rugen paled. 

Humperdinck spurred his horse forward, and off they rode.

…

At the bottom of the ravine, battered and bruised, Buttercup turned her head to see Westley.

His mask had fallen off in his tumble down the hill, and now she could fully see his face as he crawled towards her and wrapped his arms around her, sliding one arm under her head and setting the other gently on her waist.

“Can you move at all?”

His voice was hesitant, gentle, and Buttercup felt certain her heart was beating his name, her blood singing He’s alive! as it raced through her body.

“Move? You’re alive!” she gasped, on the verge of tears. “If you want I can fly!”

She leaned up to wrap her arms around him, feeling him hold her as though he had never left. He smelled like the sea and the grass they lay on. His hair, damp around his hairline from sweat, was longer than she remembered, and strands tickled her cheek and neck as he gently pulled back.

“I told you I would always come for you. Why didn’t you wait for me?” 

There was a wealth of pain in his voice and on his face, and Buttercup felt her heart constrict with guilt.

“I had to take care of Willow, and well… you were dead.”

His eyes were impossibly soft as he gazed down at her.

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

He brushed her hair gently out of her face.

“And now, I shall care for you and our daughter the way I should have from the beginning. Do you doubt me?”

Buttercup gazed up at him, at the face she loved so much, and smiled.

“I will never doubt again.”

Westley’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“There will never be a need.”

Buttercup wasnt sure who moved first, but soon she was kissing him, a kiss five years in the making, a kiss of coming home and reforging trust, of apology and forgiveness.

Westley pulled away and gently helped her to her feet.

“As we walk” he said quietly. “tell me about my daughter.”

Buttercup smiled at him and took his hand.

“Her name is Willow.” she said quietly.

…

Willow had been sent to the king and queen after her third escape attempt.

She’d just wanted to see if Humperdinck was back yet with Mama, but apparently little duchesses weren’t allowed out of the palace alone.

The maid had bundled her into the Queens chambers, and the Queen had taken one look and Willows teary eyes and damp cheeks and gathered her onto her lap.

She had let Willow cry about missing her mama while stroking her hair. Now, warm and comfortable and all cried out, Willow was very sleepy.

She stubbornly kept her eyes open, wanting to be awake when her mama came home. 

The Queen began to rock back and forth and sing a song in French, still stroking Willows hair. “ Do, do, l’enfant dormira bien vite, do, do, l’enfant do, l’enfant dormira bientot. ”

Her Mama sang Willow to sleep with a song about mockingbirds and diamond rings, but this simple lullaby was okay, so Willow closed her eyes.

Maybe when she woke up, her Mama would be home. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

Hand in hand, they ran across the ravine floor, trying to outrun the sound of hoofbeats from above. 

While exhilarated to be with Westley again, Buttercup was afraid. She knew where they were headed, and she had heard nothing good.

Apparently Westley didnt share her concerns.

“Ha! Your pig fiance is too late!” he laughed, pointing to the top of the ravine, where Buttercup could barely make out Humperdinck atop his horse, looking down at her. “A few more steps and we’ll be safe in the Fire Swamp!”

He began to pull her along. Buttercup gave voice to her fears.

“We’ll never survive!”

Westley gave her a reassuring smile. “Nonsense! You’re just staying that because no one ever has!”

This failed to reassure Buttercup, who gripped her loves hand tighter as they entered the dark, overhanging trees of the Fire Swamp.

…

Humperdinck watched Buttercups red gown disappear into the shadows and fought a smile.

Perhaps this problem will sort itself out. 

But from what he’d seen of this mysterious man in black, he was crafty, and strong, and Buttercup had an inner strength Humperdinck had only caught glimpses of. Together, they may have a chance. 

A small one, certainly, but a chance all the same.

He wheeled his horse around.

“We go to the other side.”

“Sir?” one of the soldiers asked.

“We go to the other side. My love is in terrible danger, but the man she is with is crafty enough that perhaps he can get them through safely enough. And my darling is no shrinking violet either; if anyone can get through the swamp, she can.”

He wheeled his horse about once again and galloped off. Soon enough, the soldiers and Rugen had caught up with him.

“Sir, I certainly hope you know what you’re doing.” Rugen said.

“Don’t I always?” Humperdinck rejoined.

…

The Fire Swamp was a tangle of dead-looking, overgrown trees and vines, thick enough to block out the sky. Hardly any light broke through. The ground was sand, and there was a smell of sulfur in the air.

“It’s not that bad.” Westley said.

Buttercup gave him a dumbfounded look. Was he seeing the same thing she was seeing?

“Well I’m not saying I’d like to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely.” he said, looking around him.

Buttercup knew he was trying to ease her fears, and she loved him all the more for it. She mustered up a brave face, not able to manage a smile quite yet, and they walked slowly forward, ducking under a tree root, being as quiet as possible.

Suddenly, a strange popping noise echoed all around them. Buttercup clutched at Westley's hand as they paused, looking around…

And then a burst of heat, a geyser of flame, and Buttercups skirt was on fire.

She stumbled back, grabbing for Westleys arm. She barely had time to scream before Westley was taking over, spinning her away from the fire and pushing her to sit on a fallen tree as he proceeded to try and smother the blaze. Buttercup did her best to help, though shock dulled her movements.

Soon enough the fire was out, and Westley looked up and smiled at her, though shock and a hint of fear still lingered in his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

“Well now, that was an adventure.” he said, brushing her hair away from her face. “SInged a bit, were you?”

Buttercup shook her head and mustered up a smile. “You?”

She knew he was lying when he shook his head, but also knew if she pressed he would deny it, so she again walked forward, taking his hand.

They had only gone forward a few steps when another popping sound filled the air,and Westley caught her waist and spun her gently to his other side, safely out of the fire’s reach. 

The spurt of flame sent heat crashing against Buttercups faces, and she looked up at Westley as he took her hand again.

“Well, one thing I will say.” he said, gently leading her forward. “The Fire Swamp certainly does keep you on your toes.”

He looked back over his shoulder at her.

“Now, before we were so rudely interrupted by your royal rescuers, where were you in your story?”

Buttercup smiled at him and stepped closer. 

“We survived on next to nothing for three winters, but the last one was the harshest in my memory. Willow… she was so pale and thin, and she hardly had energy to play or speak. If this summer went the same way the last three had gone, I wasn’t sure we would survive.”

Westley’s fingers tightened convulsively around hers, but he said nothing as she continued.

“When Humperdinck rode up, he said the villagers had told him of a beautiful woman, unmarried and living alone, and he had rode all that way in hopes of finding a wife. Apparently no princess or duchess suited him.” She squeezed Westley’s hand when he scowled. “I had vowed never to love again… but I remembered our daughter. She was still in bed that day, could hardly find the strength to rise. I told him of her. I refused to make her a shameful secret. I told him her father was dead and she was the only thing in the world that I loved. He agreed to let me take her along, proposed raising her with our children.”

Westley actually stopped walking at that, his face like a thundercloud. Buttercup stepped closer, squeezing his hand. “Westley, darling, nothing happened then, nor has it ever. The thought of bearing his children repulsed me as well, but I had to agree, for our daughter. I agreed to die so she could live. Do you hate me for it?”

Westley turned towards her and enveloped her in a hug, almost too tight, burying his nose in the crook of her neck and breathing her in. Buttercup wound her arms tightly around him, letting him have his moment, thrilling silently at his arms around her and his scent filling her head for the first time in five years.

“No, my love. I could never hate you.” Westley said softly. “I’m sorry for...everything I said or implied under the mask. I… I saw the two of you, with Humperdinck, in a palace window before you were taken. The thought that you had known someone else while I was at sea…” he trailed off, holding her a little tighter. 

“I love you.” he said finally, pressing a featherlight kiss just behind her ear.

“I love you.” Buttercup responded, squeezing just a little tighter.

Westley still seemed unable to let go.

“Does she…” he swallowed, the continued, sounding slightly choked. “Does she know him as her father?”

Buttercup laughed at the very thought. “She hates him perhaps more than I do. When we first went to the palace, she cried whenever he tried to hold her. She refuses now to allow him near her: she hates when he picks her up and is very short when he tries to speak to her. At night, her favorite bedtime stories are of you, and the adventures I imagine for the two of you.” 

A memory rose to the front of her mind, and she smiled into Westley’s shoulder, her eyes growing wet.

“The night before this all happened, she asked before she went to sleep if you would have loved her. I told her you would have, very much. She will be so enchanted to meet you, Westley… the only father she has ever known has been you.” 

She felt his shoulders shake, just once, before he pulled back, smiling. His eyes were rather wet as well. 

“We will go by the palace, under the cover of night, and take her home with us.”

“Home?” Buttercup asked. Westley smiled and leaned down to kiss her softly.

“Yes, love, home. The home I will create for all three of us. I will be the father she thinks I am.”

He stepped back, took her hand, and off they went.

…

Willow had grown listless and silent in her room, so the maid, at her wits end how to deal with the child, brought her again to the King and Queen.

The Queen held Willow on her lap, while the King, in his own way, tried to comfort her as well. Willow did not smile or speak, but she seemed to be listening to them.

The Queen told her fairytales, legends of the kingdom, trying to get any sort of response from her, but Willow said nothing besides burying her face in the Queens shoulder as she was rocked and the Queens voice grew hoarse with storytelling.

Then, in the middle of a story, Willow lifted her head and said “My Papa wouldn’t have let this happen.”

The queen stumbled to a stop.

“Wouldn’t have let what happen, dear?” she asked, deciding that was the safest question.

She knew Willow was not Humperdincks child, though she bore no ill will towards Buttercup over it. From the rare times Buttercup had spoken of Willows father, she had done so with love filling every breath and syllable. All the Queen knew was that he had never known about Willow, he had gone off to sea to find his fortune so he could marry Buttercup, and had been killed by pirates. She also knew that Buttercup told her daughter stories about all the adventures Willow and her father would have gotten up too, had he lived.

“This.” Willow proclaimed. “My Papa wouldn’t have let my mama be taken. He would have rescued her by now.” She sniffled and dragged her sleeve under her nose. “Mama said he was brave and strong, braver and stronger than Humperdinck. Papa would have saved Mama. Now shes gone.”

The Queen shot the King a desperate look, but he was now giddily watching the flames in the fireplace and was clearly not listening.

“Humperdinck is doing his best, dear, and I’m sure your mama is fine. She’s brave too, isnt she?”

Slowly, Willow nodded.

“And you know your mama loves you very much?”

Willow nodded again.

“Well, if I know your mama, she is already on her way back. And I’m sure your papa is there in spirit, guarding her from all harm, and soon she’ll be back. You’ll see, dear, there is nothing to worry about.” She kissed Willows forehead.

“Promise?” Willow said softly.

The Queen hugged her tightly. “I promise.”

…

“This will all soon be a happy memory.” Westley declared happily, slicing his way through low-hanging vines. “Roberts ship, Revenge, is anchored at the far end, and I, as you know, am Roberts.”

Buttercup ducked away from a vine trying its best to tangle in her hair. “But how is that possible, since he’s been marauding twenty years and you only left me five years ago?”

“I myself am often surprised at life’s little quirks.” said Westley, as the warning pop of an incoming fire spurt made itself known. Sticking his sword in a patch of moss, Westley whirled Buttercup away just as the flames shot up. She’d told him early on in the journey that she could get around them herself, but Westley had smiled, kissed her quickly, and said he liked doing it: it reminded him that she was real and there with him, not a dream. 

“See, what I told you before about saying ‘please’ was true.” He hacked at a particulary stubborn vine. “It intrigued Roberts, as did my description of your beauty.” Here he smiled at her and she blushed. “Finally, Roberts decided something. He said ‘All right, Westley, I’ve never had a valet, you can try it for the night. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’”

Westley remembered the fear he’d felt at that statement, and his surprise when he woke up the next morning.

“Three years he said that.” Westley remembered, sheathing his sword. “‘Good night, Westley, good work, sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’” He took Buttercups hand again, unable to bear not touching her now that he could, and continued. “It was a fine time for me. I was learning to fence, fight, anything anyone would teach me, and Roberts and I eventually became friends.”

“Then it happened.”

“What?” Buttercup asked, picking her way down a slope after him. “Go on.”

“Well, Roberts had grown so rich he wanted to retire.” Westley said, guiding her to level ground. His body was crying out for more contact. “So he took me to his cabin and told me his secret.”

He gave in to his body's demands and scooped his love up into his arms, smiling at her as he told her the most feared pirate’s well-kept secret.

“‘I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts.’ he said. ‘My name is Ryan.’”

Buttercups eyes went wide, but she said nothing.

Westley continued his story, walking along a log over a stream, Buttercups arms around his neck. “‘I inherited the ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited it from was not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either. His name was Cummerbund.’”

He smiled at Buttercup who was watching him, fascinated by the story. “The real Dread Pirate Roberts has been retired fifteen years and living like a king in Patagonia. Thank you.” he added as she brushed some hanging vines away from their faces. “Then he explained the name was the important thing for inspiring the necessary fear. You see, no one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Westley.”

He knew Buttercup would soon remind him she could walk, so he gently set her down.

“So we sailed ashore, took on an entirely new crew and he stayed aboard as first mate, all the time calling me Roberts. Once the crew believed, he left the ship and I have been Roberts ever since.”

They stopped walking, Buttercup looking up at him. He smiled as he told her his grand plan.

“Except now that we’re together, I shall retire and hand the name over to someone else.”

She smiled.

“Is everything clear to you?”

…

Buttercup nodded, then suddenly thought of another question.

Wondering how to word it, she took a couple of steps away… and felt the ground give way beneath her feet. She barely had time to let out a startled cry before sand closed over her head.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

Lightning sand.

How could Westley be so stupid?! He knew full well of the dangers of the Fire Swamp, including this sand, but hadnt bothered to even consider that they might come across it in their journey.

He worked quickly, cutting a vine from a nearby tree as an anchor and taking a deep breath before diving in headfirst.

He couldn’t speak, see or breathe, but the momentum of his dive carried him quickly into the depths of the sand, and soon he felt fingers brush his. When he grasped the hand, it grasped his back, so, assured he was indeed grabbing Buttercup and not another victim of the sand, he grasped her hand tightly and pulled upward.

The sand was reluctant to let go of its prize, but soon enough Westly had Buttercups arms latched around his neck and had flipped himself right-side-up for the laborious climb back to the surface.

The sand sucked at their shoes and clothes, and Westley’s chest ached with lack of air. He could barely imagine how Buttercup was faring, she hadnt had the time to draw a deep breath like he had.

His head broke the surface. Seconds later, so did Buttercups, and Westley was gratified to hear her gasp in a breath behind him. 

She’s alive.

He pulled them slowly upwards until they were fully free of the sand, lying on the ground gasping in air, Westley ignoring his aching arms while Buttercup gasped and coughed up sand.

She almost sounded like she was sobbing, and Westley, protective instincts immediately engaged, turned to her, putting an arm around her back to soothe and support as she crawled over to a fallen tree. Turning, she pulled him into a desperate hug. She was shaking.

Westley returned her hug, stroking her hair to soothe her, reminding himself as well that she was all right, all was well, he would return his love to their daughter alive. 

An odd sound made him look up.

In the fork of a tree, a rat-like creature stared at him, growling.

Westley had to force himself not to tense. He’d forgotten about this particular threat as well.

Cradling Buttercups closer, he glanced to his right to see another R.O.U.S staring at him from behind another fallen tree. Neither creature seemed ready to attack, but he’d heard stories about R.O.U.S’s sudden aggression.

Don’t frighten her. He thought as Buttercup spoke.

“We’ll never succeed.” she half-sobbed. “We may as well die here.”

Yeah, Westley was defiently not telling her about the vicious creatures right behind her. They needed to stay calm and rational if they wanted to leave the Fire Swamp alive.

He gently pushed her back to look in her eyes, gently pushing her hair out of her face as he reminded her “No, no, we have already succeeded!”

She was looking at him like the sand had addled his brain, so he stepped back, standing and helping her to her feet, still talking.

“I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt; no problem!” He led her away from the R.O.U.S’s, grabbing his sword, still talking, forcing himself not to look over his shoulder. “Theres a popping sound proceeding each, we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, but you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too!”

They were out of sight of the creatures when Buttercup halted him by grabbing his arm with an exclamation of his name.

“Westley, what about the R.O.U.S’s?”

“Rodents Of Unusual Size?” Westley affected a little shrug. “I dont think they exist.”

As if to punish him for his insolence, at that exact moment an R.O.U.S sprang on him from the trees.

…

Buttercup was so startled she was shocked still when the creature attacked Westley.

Her heart screamed at her to grab something, anything to beat the creature off of Westley, but her brain was screaming too, reminding her she was not a fighter, she had never been in a fight with a wild beast, and should she start beating or stabbing it she was more likely to hit Westley then the beast in her inexperience.

Westley was struggling mightily to get the thing off of him. He yelled in pain when it bit down on his forearm, before punching it in the side of the head and sending it rolling away with a grunt of pain. He fumbled for his sword, but the creature was on him again, scrabbling at his clothes and growling. Westley held it back by it’s open jaws, keeping those sharp teeth away from him.

Westley and the creature rolled a few times before Westley, with a strong kick, sent it flying backwards over his head and used the momentary distraction to go for his sword. Unfortunately, the thing gained its feet faster than anything that size should be able to, and in it’s fury charged for Buttercup in her red dress.

Terrified, Buttercup yelled “Westley!”

Westley jumped on the thing, scrambling to get on top of it. Buttercream grabbed a branch to protect herself as the thing broke free and continued its charge.

It sank it’s teeth into her dress. Buttercup beat at it with the stick, but was knocked off balance when it got hold of her boot.

Despite the pain in her ankle, Buttercup finally managed to land a good blow to the things head, causing it to let go while she rolled to safety. Westley, in wrestling it further from Buttercup, got bitten again, this time in the shoulder. 

Buttercup readied herself to charge until she heard the telltale popping sound that indicated a spurt of flame.

Westley heard it too.

He rolled, teeth still firmly in his shoulder, and put the creature directly on top of the spot as flame erupted from the ground.

The creature screamed in pain and released Westley, who rolled away and painfully got to his feet. He walked over to his sword, picked it up, and walked back to the creature with slow, pained steps.

He stabbed in once, twice, three times right behind the shoulder, and the creature, with a groan, fell dead.

Westley turned to look at her. They held eye contact for a moment before Buttercup rushed forward.

She pushed aside his shirt to check his wound. There was a lot of blood, but there didnt appear to be anything awfully serious.

“We’ll get this healed as soon as we get out of this cursed place.”she told him.

Suddenly thinking of something, she looked up into his eyes and smiled.

“Willow will love this story.”

Westley blinked, then grinned. “Will she?”

“Her favorites are the stories in which she and her Papa fight evil creatures. She will certainly love hearing this one.”

Westley laughed, then leaned in and kissed her softly.

It was the second kiss they had shared since being reunited,and Buttercup melted into it with a happy sigh.

“I am sorry you were injured.” she said softly when they broke apart.

Westley lifted his hand to gently cup her chin.

“Anything for you, my love.” he said softly. “I would allow myself to be beaten bloody and senseless before I allowed a single strand of your hair to be pulled from your head.”

“I don’t wish that for you.” Buttercup said, equally as softly. “If you die, where does that leave me? Alone without my love? I learned how dark the world could grow without you in it, Westley.” She reached up to smooth her fingers over his features, re-memorizing them, although she knew the contours of his face better than she knew her own. “Keep yourself safe, my love. I beg of you.”

Westley smiled at her again, his ‘devil-may-care’ smile. “No promises, darling.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. 

The popping of flame reminded them where they were, and, with Buttercup limping and supporting an exhausted Westley, they stumbled away from the battle scene.