Hello! This is just a one-shot I've had in my head for over a year now. I've recently started working on my other story, Lady of Bordeaux, again, but I've always wanted to write something about Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert. Of course, the obvious problem of getting them together when Brian is ultimately a selfish character and when they are both so stubborn always stood in my way. So of course, I decided to intervene with an absolutely ridiculous encounter to change everything. This is the first part of a four part one shot.

"Better is death than a bitter life: and everlasting rest, than continual sickness." - Ecclesiastes 30:17

When Brian de Bois-Guilbert first entered her chamber, his face was pale and haggard as death. If it were not for his purposeful movements as he shut the door and turned to face her she might have fancied him a corpse – but no, the piercing gaze of his eyes would have soon disproved such a thought. He stood with a rigid tension in his posture that was not fear or anger but rather a burning energy. He contained it, controlled it, like a fire hidden under the coals; it did not rage or flicker, but the heat was felt all the same.

Rebecca retreated into a corner, though it was more out of habit than out of necessity. She instinctively knew that she could not fear him tonight, not in the way she had. He was too intelligent to force unwanted advances on her when Beaumanoir's guards were so close by. Moreover, she believed that he no longer desired to make any. He was a proud man and did not bear rejection well; today, he had learned that his honor and worldly ambitions were at stake if she was not sentenced to death. She did not believe his love for her was so true that he would sacrifice his long-held desires merely to save her.

Her comparison of his face to a corpse was not merely incidental. She had been thinking, deeply, about death since the end of the trial earlier that day. The subject was on the Templar's mind as well, for after arguing vainly with her against his responsibility for bringing the horrid fate upon her, he began expounding upon all the pains and unpleasantries she was likely to undergo, for what purpose she knew not. She could only suppose that, faced with a dilemma in which he was forced to give up his pursuit of her, he had returned only for revenge, to increase the misery of one who had injured his pride by her determined refusal. But then he had proven that assumption wrong. In that impetuous, passionate manner of his, he threw himself at her feet and offered to sacrifice ambition and risk the dishonor of his name… if only she would become his lover.

Though the offer surprised her in that it was so unexpected, it did nothing to weaken her resolution. He only proved the shallowness of his love by such a proposal. A true knight, she told herself, a knight like Ivanhoe, would have saved her at no cost. Brian de Bois-Guilbert, though powerful and brave and fearless, was also very selfish. He only loved her as long as it benefited himself, and he would only save her if she gave herself as payment. If Brian thought his passionate offer would soften her heart, it achieved nothing but the opposite. She felt used and insulted, as though she were one of the crates of merchandise her father profited by rather than a human being of flesh and blood, mind and soul. Therefore, instead of giving the slightest consideration to his offer, she instantly rebuked him and suggested that he request the aid of Prince John to put an end to the Templar's proceedings.

It was then that he said the words, the ones that would change everything, though neither of them knew it at the time. He grasped the hem of her robe as though by possessing the bit of cloth he could somehow take hold of her heart, and his eyes burned up at her. "Bethink thee, were I a fiend," he said, and his voice sounded strange and desperate, and it had lost its usual violence, "Were I a demon, yet death is a worse, and it is death who is my rival."

"Sir Knight," Rebecca said after a short pause in which she struggled to find the words to express her unshakeable resolve without risking his anger, but failed. Instead, she raised up a defense the way she knew best. "Sir Knight, it is not fiends and demons that are most to be feared – for they are set in their evil – but man himself, who, having the power to do right, instead follows the path of sin."

"Rebecca," Bois-Guilbert, with a sigh of impatience as though she were a stubborn child, "The world is not a court of law in which the implications of every word and distinction must be so argued upon. Think upon death, who is a demon too real to tame through vague philosophizing."

"No, Sir Knight, this is no court of earthly law before which we stand, but one of the eternal, and thus all the more demanding. And indeed, death is no demon but an angel of mercy! If he is your rival, so be it. I choose him!"

The lightning of Zeus himself flashed not brighter than Brian's eyes as he sprung to his feet.

"Obstinate girl–"

But he said no more, as a sound that echoed about the cell stopped him short. Someone was knocking at the door. Brian froze with a look in his eyes like that of a marble Laocoön, fully aware that if it was not Malvoisin outside the cell, he would have no escape from the inevitable. Rebecca looked from him to the door, from which the sound repeated. She thought she would be relieved at any interruption, regardless of who caused it, but a sudden sense of anxiety well up within her. After a long moment of breathless silence, the hinges creaked, and the door swept slowly open.

"Malvoisin? Is it you?" Bois-Guilbert addressed the hooded figure that stood in the doorway. It remained silent. "Speak, man!"

"Noble sir," Rebecca said, "No matter your purposes in coming here, you have intervened in an ill-fated conversation, and so I count you as a friend."

The shadows under the hood turned slowly toward her, and it looked, or seemed to look, with measured gaze over the girl.

"No, Rebecca," he said at last in a deep, rumbling voice, "No friend am I but something closer still." He entered the room and shut the door, keeping his hidden gaze on the confused Rebecca. "And in three days time I shall claim you as my willing wife."

"What foolishness is this?" Brian scoffed. "Who are you?"

"What are you talking about?" Rebecca said at the same time.

The figure ignored the Templar, who had taken a menacing step forward. "Do you not remember? I am this pitiful man's rival for your hand. You chose me." He lifted a hand and threw back his hood.

Rebecca gasped.

His face was thin and bloodless, the skin clinging to his skull like wet paper. Dry, open sores disfigured his nose and mouth. His eyes were empty abysses.

"Yes, dear Rebecca, I am Death, your angel of mercy, your rescuer from the brutish embraces of this fool."

His long arm stretched outward, but Brian reacted immediately. He threw himself in front of the pale girl, though he himself was drained of color.

"You will not touch her!" He barked, a hand at his hilt.

Death tilted his head back and let out a horrible laugh. It sounded like a death rattle. "Fool, you have no say in the matter. My lady has chosen, and her wish is my command."

Rebecca stepped back, distancing herself from both of them.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, "Why are you here tonight, if I am not sentenced to die for three days yet?"

The cavernous eyes studied her, and Death laughed again. "Perhaps I wanted to meet the woman who seemed so desperate to die. Few come to me willingly. But what is this, my dear? You seem less eager for my presence than before. You are trembling. Are you having second thoughts? Do you fear this face so much?" He grinned hideously, revealing rows of rotting teeth.

"No!" she choked. She cleared her throat and said more firmly, "No, I do not fear you!" The color rushed back into her face, and her eyes flashed in the way that had always awakened Brian's frustration and admiration. "I will embrace even death over humiliation and dishonor!"

"Is that so?" Death said, his broken mouth twisting into a hideous parody of a smile. He paused, and - just as the Templar guessed his intentions - he strode toward Rebecca. Brian would have stepped between the two again, but he found himself mysteriously bound in place, unable to move or make a sound. Rebecca backed away, but in a flash he had seized her hand in his frozen fingers.

"Do not touch me!" she cried, growing pale again. "I will call the guards!"

Death pulled her relentlessly toward him until his arms were holding her completely captive. His face was inches above hers.

"Tsk tsk, how fickle my bride is! She wavers between accepting and rejecting me. But it is useless to call the guards, my dear." He subtly shifted his hold, so that one arm held her still against him, while the other claimed her ebony locks. "Only you and your dog of a suitor can see me, for both of you are in danger of soon leaving this life. Moreover, my helpful accomplice Time is holding all still outside of this tiny cell, and no one will hear your cry."

Rebecca strained to escape, but it was futile. Her usual defiance and strength seemed to be of no use now. In all their arguments, Brian had never touched her except to take her from the flaming castle of Torquilstone; but Death had no qualms about using his superior strength to his advantage. Any words she could have raised as a shield fled her mind. Inexplicably, her eyes sought Brian. Death saw this, and bared his rotting teeth.

"No, my beautiful Rebecca, I will not allow you to reconsider your choice! Now that I have you so close, I will not let such a prize slip away…" Tightening his grip in her hair, he brought his repulsive lips to meet her own. It was but a touch, but instantly the coldness of ice spread through Rebecca, seizing her lungs and heart.

When he released her, she fell to her knees.

"Rebecca!" cried Brian, finding himself freed from his invisible chains. He rushed to stand before Rebecca, glancing over her protectively. Her face was white, and as he watched, a dark mark appeared on her forehead, twisting and growing into strange characters of an unknown language. He turned on Death in a rage.

"Fight me, dog!" he hissed.

"Ha! Idiot of a Templar, no one who fights me can win!"

Disregarding this warning, Bois-Guilbert drew his sword and lunged toward the other, but Death moved forward with inhuman speed, blocking the blow with such violence that the sword flew across the room.

"See? You cannot-"

Brian swung a fist toward Death's mocking face. But the course of the punch curved, and instead of his intended target, Brian delivered a powerful blow to his own jaw.

"- fight me," finished the other with a smirk.

The knight's confusion and humiliation fueled his rage, and he charged toward his opponent, intending to seize his throat, but he found his hands gripped around his own neck instead. Rebecca watched in horror from her place on the floor, Death with amusement from his own closer viewpoint. As Brian's mad fury grew and he struggled more and more to reach out and inflict harm upon Death, his strength was directed more and more to the injury of himself. The veins stood out on his forehead, neck, and arms, and his face was a deep shade of red, but he could not bring himself to give in. As he kept his eyes locked with bitter hatred on the corpse-like face of Death, his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor.

Shaking still from her own encounter with the dangerous visitor, Rebecca forced herself out of her daze and moved her weak body across the floor. Her forehead burned where the mark had appeared.

"Sir Knight, stop!" She cried. "You are killing yourself!"