En Garde!

by Tumbleweed


Chapter 2

Much to her surprise, Rarity woke up.

She winced, feeling the previous night's abuses catching up with her. A quick survey of her surroundings confirmed that she wasn't dead; the small, humble bedroom she'd woken up in was far too cozy to be hell, yet not nearly impressive enough for heaven. Sunlight streamed in through the room's single window, illuminating a cluttered room barely big enough for the bed she slept on. The smells of old wood and fresh apples hung in the air. Quite homey, if in a rather humble way.

Rarity pushed back the rough woolen blanket, at which point she found herself with her second and third surprises of the morning: someone had dressed her wound, and undressed the rest of her. While it wasn't the first time she'd woken up in a stranger's bed, typically the process leading up to that point was far more enjoyable. Rarity made another quick survey of the room, noting that her boots, clothes, and sword were all decidedly absent.

“First stranger we seen in weeks, and it's a lady dressed up like a man!” An old woman's voice complained from the other side of the only door leading into the bedroom. “It's trouble, I tells ya! Trouble!”

“She's in trouble, that's what.” A second, younger voice said. “She coulda been dressed up like a clown for all I care-- I'm not gonna just leave somebody to die out in the cold. So she's here now, and there's nothin' to be done about it. So if you're not gonna help, would you at least please stop complainin'? You're gonna wake her up, at this rate.”

“Too late for that.” Rarity mused.

The door opened, and Rarity's savior walked in.

The peasant girl wore a plain but well-mended dress of brown wool, with an off-white linen apron tied around that. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing toned arms and calloused hands. With the freckles on her cheeks and the bright look in her green eyes, she had a youthful, innocent air about her, despite her just-shy-of-imposing stature.

“You're awake.” The peasant closed the door behind her.

“Indeed I am.”

“Uh. Hi.” Even her voice had an earthy charm to it. “My name's Applejack.”

“Rarity d'Aubigny, at your service. I would like to extend my gratitude for your hospitality. And don't worry, I shall be out of your hair soon enough.” Rarity planted her bare feet on the floor and stood up-- only for the movement to elicit a fresh flare of pain from the sword wound in her side. Rarity bit back a curse, staggering forward--

--and into the peasant girl's arms.

Which could've been a rather pleasant place to be, Rarity mused, were it not for the minor annoyance of a stab wound.

“Whoa there!” Applejack sputtered.

“Ah.” Rarity gritted her teeth. “I fear I may need to impose on your household for a little while longer. Don't worry-- I'll see that you're well compensated.”

“Easy now.” Without so much as a grunt of effort, Applejack picked Rarity up and eased her back into the bed. “Nobody's gotta compensate anybody just yet.”

“Indeed.” Rarity pushed her blanket aside and peered down at the bandage around her side. It was clean, at least, but roughly done. Scarlet had already started to seep through the white linen. “Applejack, was it? You still have my things, yes?”

“Uh, yeah. In the other room.”

“Could you bring them to me? As well as some water that's been brought to a boil-- and brandy, if you've got it. The stronger, the better.”

“Ain't it a bit early to start hittin' the hard stuff?”

“Not after what I've been through.”

That was enough to earn a bemused smile from Applejack-- and soon enough, the farmgirl went to fetch the items Rarity had asked for. As Applejack went through the door, Rarity caught a fleeting glance of a few other peasants: a burly man with the same freckles as Applejack's, a small slip of a girl with an oversized bow in her hair, and a wily-looking old lady. There were a few faint murmurs on the other side of the door, but soon enough Applejack returned, carrying Rarity's gear. The younger girl (a sister, Rarity figured) scuttled in afterwards with a copper bowl and an earthenware jug. She gawked at Rarity like she was the newest addition to the Princess' menagerie before Applejack shooed her away.

“Thank you.” Rarity picked up her doublet and ran her fingers over the inside lining, searching for the hidden little pockets she'd sewn in. She found the one she was looking for, and pulled out a small, curved needle, a tiny pair of scissors, and a length of catgut. Rarity winced again as she twisted about to get a good look at her wound. She was lucky-- the wound was shallow, a grazing blow that hadn't gone through to her vitals. Rarity cleaned her needle first with the hot water, then with the brandy, then did the same to her wound. She took a slug of the apple-flavored liquor to brace herself, and then got to work.

Suture by suture, Rarity stitched her wound closed, just as careful and methodical as if she were making a last minute alteration to one of the Princess' court gowns. It hurt, yes, but each stick of the needle paled in comparison to any number of greater pains she'd taken in the line of duty. Also, the brandy helped. By the time the job was done to her satisfaction, Rarity realized she was sweating-- but she'd managed to keep her hands steady the whole while.

Applejack just watched the whole operation, wide-eyed. She at least kept her curiosity in check enough to hand Rarity tools as she asked for them. When Rarity finally finished, she looked up at the other woman's face. “Where'd you learn how to do that?”

“I'm good with a needle.” Rarity picked up a fresh strip of linen and tied it around her midsection. So long as her stitches held (and they always did), the wound would be nothing but a thin scar on her pale flesh-- the newest of several. “It's just one of my many talents. Comes quite in handy in my line of work.”

“That why you're wearin' a man's clothes?”

“Technically, I'm not wearing much of anything right now.” Rarity winked, and took no small degree of satisfaction in the subsequent blush that rose on Applejack's cheeks. Rarity knew from experience that if she felt good enough to flirt, she'd be well on her way to recovery. Also, the brandy helped. “Furthermore, these aren't a man's clothes-- they're mine. I made them myself.”

“So you're some kinda ... actress, then?” At least Applejack had used the polite term.

“No.” Rarity shook her head. “At least, insomuch as any of us are acting, playing our given parts as best we can, despite the lack of a proper script, to say nothing of direction ... “

Applejack blinked.

“Like I said, not an actress. I am, in fact, in the employ of the Princess--”

“What?” Applejack gasped. “The Princess?”

“Yes, quite impressive, I know-- urk!” Rarity choked out in surprise as Applejack's steely fingers closed around her neck.

“I won't let you hurt my family!” Applejack snarled, bearing down on her.

Rarity grabbed at Applejack's wrist, but even her sword-calloused fingers couldn't dislodge the other woman's grip. Her rapier, safe in its scabbard, lay on the other side of the room-- it might as well have been leagues away. Not that she wanted to use it, either-- it was quite bad form to stab the host in most circumstances.

Instead, Rarity groped blindly about with one hand, finally closing her fingers around the copper bowl she'd washed her needle in mere minutes before. She swung the bowl in a wild, desperate arc and hit Applejack in the side of the head. The copper bowl rung like a ceremonial gong, and Applejack let go of Rarity's neck, falling back onto her rear, stunned. Knowing an opening when she saw one, Rarity rolled out of bed and lunged for her sword, closing her hands around the hilt. She had just enough time to whip her sword out of its scabbard before the door burst open, and the rest of the peasant family burst in. The big one had a pitchfork, while the old matriarch brandished a cast iron frying pan with murderous intent. The youngest stood at the rear of the group, gawping at the tableau.

“See! I told ya she was trouble!” The matriarch said.

Rarity backed herself into a corner, blade angled out in a defensive stance. Even if she was naked, outnumbered, and already wounded, she at least had her sword. Rarity knew her priorities. She chanced a quick glance at the narrow window-- in a pinch, she might be able to slip through. If she were lucky, she might even be able to grab her boots before she defenestrated herself.

“There appears to have been a mistake.” Rarity rubbed side of her neck with her free hand. “I didn't come here to hurt any of you.”

“So says the lady with a sword out.” Applejack scrambled up to her feet and rejoined her family at the other side of the room.

“Only as a precaution.” Rarity didn't lower her blade-- but she didn't move to attack, either. “Though it seems you've caught me with everything out.”

Rarity cleared her throat, at which point Applejack's big brother blinked, realizing just what the situation was. He blushed brighter than his sister and averted his eyes in a too-late attempt at propriety. He awkwardly handed the pitchfork off to Applejack, then slipped out of the room.

“Well, that's a start.” Rarity said, deadpan. “Now then, what's this business about the Princess?”

“She's squeezin' us dry!” Applejack tightened her fingers around the haft of her pitchfork. “And now she's sent you to collect her taxes-- in blood! Just like Lady Sunset said!”

“Beg pardon?” Rarity said. “And just ... who is this Lady Sunset?”

“She owns this farm we work on-- owns all the farms in the valley.” Applejack nodded. “She's real smart, too-- she's been keepin' tabs on what's goin' on in the rest of the country, even though we haven't had any visitors in a long while.”

“Is that so?” Rarity thought back to the 'bandits' who had accosted her on the road the night before. “In that case, let me ask you something-- do I really look like a tax collector?”

“I ... guess not?” Applejack said.

“And, if the Princess really wanted to terrorize her subjects (which, for the record, she assuredly does not), don't you think she'd send more than just one woman?” Rarity gently laid the flat of her sword against Applejack's pitchfork and pushed it downward.

“When you put it that way, it don't make much sense.”

“Indeed it don't. Doesn't. Whatever.” Rarity let the point of her rapier rest against the floor. “Either way, you have my word that I have not come to collect blood or taxes from you fine folk. In fact, I'd rather like to get to the bottom of the matter myself, if you'll let me put on some trousers.”

Surprisingly enough, Applejack did.