--This is a what-if story. Don't confuse it with what actually happened on the show.--
Rohan paced the throne room irritably, waiting for the spy he’d sent out to return. Maeve was somewhere, and though as usual, she had not bothered to tell him where she was going, Rohan had a pretty good idea. Far to the north, there was a rocky island that Rohan was not supposed to know about, inhabited by the sorceress Numaine, and a demon-creature named Lugad. Rohan did not know what his mother had in mind to do with the creature, but it couldn’t be good for Kells. Where was that blasted spy?
Rohan had been working on a plan for days, and now all he needed was the right traitor to implement it. The prince of Regart, Garrett, had stolen back Mider’s chalice, and it had to be recaptured before it could be put on a ship for Araby. If Conchobar had any sense, it would already be gone, but according to Rohan’s sources, it was being held in the tower of Kells castle, and guarded by Torq himself, Conchobar’s chief of guard. There would also be a druid spell protecting it as well, which was why Rohan wasn’t trying this alone. Torq he could handle, but magic was something else entirely. Maeve had completely refused to teach him magic, to ensure that he wouldn’t try to usurp her rule. She had a valid point, he had to admit, but without knowledge of magic he had limits that were most inconvenient.
The spy arrived, at last, heralded by the slick puddle of disagreeable slime that appeared on the flagstones of the floor to Rohan’s left. The bogie looked up at him nervously, then spoke, taking a step to the side every fifth word or so.
“My prince- -I found a human who can get you to the chalice, as you ordered.”
“Who is it?”
“He’s in Kells jail- -his name is Angus- -He’s a thief.”
“If he can’t even get himself out of jail, what makes you think he’s the one I’m looking for?” demanded Rohan.
“He said he knew how to get the chalice.” insisted the bogie.
“Did he, now?” Rohan mused. “What does he want in return?”
“I forgot to ask...” the bogie admitted, retreating behind Maeve’s throne fearfully.
“Get out of my sight!” snarled Rohan. The bogie vanished. The problem with using bogies as spies, he reflected, was that they were really, really, stupid. It didn’t matter what the thief asked for in return, though, because if he was good enough to steal the chalice for Temra, he was good enough to steal it for Kells, and that posed too great a security risk.
Deep in Kells castle, a guard carrying a torch was making his way carefully into the dungeons. He passed another guard, who smiled, and greeted him. Rohan smiled back, and continued on his way. Once in the dungeons, finding Angus was easy. One of the prisoners was watching through the bars of his cell, as if he was waiting for someone, -which he was. Angus was handsome and short, and he wore a dark red tunic with long, loose sleeves, and a wide, black belt. His trousers were of brown leather, with a gray patch over one of the knees. His boots were high, and made of black sheepskin, with the tops folded halfway down. He looked at Rohan intently, knowing that this was not just another guard.
“You’re Angus, the thief?” Rohan asked him.
“That’s me.”
“Let’s go.” Rohan struck the lock of Angus’s cell hard with the hilt of his sword, and it broke off. Angus looked towards the door to the guardroom nervously. Rohan took the cue, and stood back from the door, sword poised. Angus slipped out of his cell and got behind Rohan. They waited, but no guards came. Rohan lowered his sword with a disgusted sniff, and turned to Angus.
“If all Kells guardsmen are like this, we’ll be back in Temra by noon.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“Get me the chalice, and you will.” promised Rohan.
“It’s in the tower.”
“I know that, fool. Your job is to deal with the druid’s spell once we get there. After we leave this room, I’m a guard, and you’re my prisoner, understand?”
“No, that wouldn’t work.” Angus told him.
“Why not?” Demanded Rohan.
“Whenever they move a prisoner, there are at least two guards, and if you’re here alone-”
“I get the picture.” Rohan thought for a moment. “Stay here.” Rohan opened the door to the guardroom, and looked around. There were two guards, and as he watched, the younger one left to make his rounds. The remaining guard pulled up a stool at a small table in the middle of the room, took out his sword, and started sharpening it. Rohan stepped inside, keeping his own sword concealed under his yellow Kellsman’s cloak.
“Hullo, there.” the other guard greeted him.
“And to you.” Rohan replied, moving closer. The guard looked at him as if puzzled for a moment, then asked,
“Are you new? I don’t recall your face.”
“Actually, I am. -Just transferred in from the Northern front.”
“Ahh, I’ve heard it’s no May feast up there.” the guard sympathized.
“Far from it,” Rohan agreed. “In fact, the Temras are more dangerous than usual right now.” Rohan was now standing behind the man.
“Why d’ya say that?” The guard started to turn his head to listen to Rohan’s reply, and Rohan finished the turn for him, with a distinct crack as the guard’s neck broke.
“Because you Kellsmen don’t know an enemy when you see one.”
Rohan closed the door to the guardroom, and threw an armload of yellow and red uniform at Angus.
“Put it on.” Rohan told him. Angus answered him with silence and a worried nod, but did as he was ordered. They set out for the tower, passing Kells soldiers and nobles, none of whom took much notice of them. From the talk they overheard, Rohan learned that Prince Garrett was engaged in a battle to the West, which was going favorably for Kells. That put a smile on his face. What was that saying about losing a battle and winning a war?
At the lower door of the tower, there were two Kells soldiers standing guard. Rohan walked up to the door, figuring that if they didn’t stop him anyway, asking if they could pass would sound suspicious.
“Hold!” One of the guards barred his way with a pike.
“What’s wrong?” Rohan asked. The guard sighed in exasperation.
“No-one is to enter the tower for any reason, by the captain’s order, I thought you all knew that.”
“Oh... okay.” Rohan turned as if to leave, then wheeled around, sword held in a backhand slashing grip. The guards crumpled, and Rohan left them where they lay. He unbarred the door, and turned to Angus.
“Now.”
“Yeah.” Angus looked uncomfortably at the two fallen guards, then stepped between them, and followed Rohan up the winding stone staircase into the tower.
The tower was a cell, more set up to keep people in than out. A tiny, drafty room, rising high over the rest of the castle. The iron-bound door to the tower was shut, and Rohan reached for the latch, sword still in hand.
“Hsst!” Rohan looked back at Angus pointedly, and waited. “Knock twice, then once more.” Angus explained. Rohan did so, and the door started to open. Rohan kicked the door in as hard as he could, slamming the massive door back on the man who’d opened it. Torq’s armor offered him little protection from crushing blows, but he was nevertheless back on his feet by the time Rohan and Angus got through the door. There was a locked chest against the furthest wall, presumably containing the chalice. Rohan expected Angus to go for it immediately, but instead Angus stood frozen, eyes locked with Torq’s. His expression was complex, composed of both hatred, terror, and revulsion, and didn’t look to be under his conscious control anymore. Torq almost allowed himself to be distracted by this long enough for Rohan to get under his guard, but he brought his sword up and parried at the last instant. Rohan’s thrust glanced off Torq’s blade, and banged into the stone wall beyond. Torq kicked Rohan in the knee, spoiling his balance. Rohan caught himself with an outflung hand against the wall, and grabbed the collar of Torq’s tunic, trying to drag the fight to the floor. Torq fought him, clasping his fists together and bringing them down on Rohan’s head as hard as he could, sword-pommel included. Rohan staggered, then let go of Torq and brought his sword up in the same motion. Torq faced him again, defiantly, then Torq’s eyes widened, and he choked, sword falling from his unsteady hands. As Torq sank to the ground, Rohan saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from the Kells captain’s back. -In the heat of the battle, they had forgotten all about Angus. Angus watched Torq fall, as if he could see nothing else.
“Hey, thief!” Rohan yelled, bringing him back to the present. Angus blinked, then looked up.
“What?”
“Get the chest open. We don’t have much time.” ordered Rohan. Angus gave Torq a last, feral look, then approached the chest. About a foot away from it, he ran into Cathabad’s protective spell, and yelped, drawing his hand back quickly. Angus shook his hand, trying to get the pins-and-needles feeling to go away, then looked back at Torq venomously.
“Is he still alive?” asked Angus. Rohan kicked Torq experimentally, eliciting a pained groan.
“Yeah, why?”
“Throw him over the chest.”
“Why?”
“This spell has just enough power to kill one man. After that, it’s useless.” explained Angus. Rohan shrugged.
“We’d better be quick about it, then.” Rohan took hold of Torq by the back of his belt, and dragged him over to the chest. Careful to avoid getting too close, he lifted Torq into a standing position, then pushed him in the direction of the chest. Torq fell back onto Cathabad’s spell, and twitched like a landed fish, as the spell played tiny dark blue lightnings along the length of his body. All at once, the spell snapped, and Torq fell lifelessly over the curved lid of the trunk. Angus shoved the body distastefully off of the trunk, and set to work on the lock securing the lid. He had it off in no time, and the chalice rested safely on the bottom of the trunk, jewels glittering as brightly as the winter stars. Rohan reached past Angus and took it. From the stairs below, came the sound of soldiers running up towards the tower. Rohan got to the door first, and barred it quickly against the Kellsmen. Seconds later, the heavy door rang with blows from the other side.
“That’s the only way down, you know.” Angus pointed out. Rohan smiled, then raised the chalice and called,
“Mider, dark fairy of the Shleeves, I summon you!” An evil green flame sprouted from the chalice, and formed itself into a disagreeable fairy with dirty whips of hair partially obscuring his face. Mider stepped out of the bowl of the chalice, and onto Rohan’s wristguard.
“Prince Rohan...” Mider looked around the room, getting his bearings, then looked back up at Rohan. “Mider is MOST pleased.”
"Lord Mider, I need you to take us back to Temra, NOW!”
“Him too?” Mider pointed a thin, sharp-nailed finger at Angus.
“No.” Rohan shook his head. Angus looked at the reverberating door in terror.
“Please! Don’t leave me here!” begged Angus.
“Oh, all right.” agreed Mider, tolerantly.
“What are you doing?” demanded Rohan. Mider sighed.
“Really, Rohan... you have no sense of fun.” Mider waved his hands, and a green light flashed over the three of them. When it cleared, Rohan was home.
Queen Maeve of Temra looked up with a toss of her long dark curls, as the three of them materialized before her throne. When she saw the chalice in Rohan’s hand, she smiled in satisfaction.
“Excellent work, my son.”
“Greetings, Maeve.” said Mider, from his perch on Rohan’s wrist.
“And to you, lord Mider. I see my son has returned you to us safely.” Mider inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“That he has...” agreed the evil fairy, “with help.” Maeve followed Mider’s gaze to Angus, and was not sorry that she had. She rose from her throne in one graceful movement, and walked around the thief, admiring him like a cat circling an injured sparrow.
“Well...” Maeve looked back at Rohan in amusement. “How thoughtful.” She turned back to Angus. “And your name is...?”
“Angus, my lady.” replied Angus, enunciating the last two words carefully, and maintaining eye contact.
“Be careful what you wish for...” murmured Maeve. Rohan watched the exchange, then slammed the chalice down on the small, round table across from Maeve’s throne, and left without a word.
“How rude!” sniffed Mider, dusting himself off indignantly. “I shall turn him into a spriggin!” Maeve held up a restraining hand, carefully controlling her amusement at seeing Lord Mider knocked off his feet like an upset tumbler.
“Don’t trouble yourself, lord Mider. -I’ll see to him later.”
“Hmmmmmf!” Mider glared in the direction Rohan had left in. “See that you do!” With that, the evil fairy returned to his chalice.
“So... Angus...” purred Maeve.
