Clint | Round 1 (Let The Games Begin Part 2)

                                    

                                          
You wake up, vision slightly blurry, body stiff from under usage. You look around the infirmary. There are other wounded in here to. The cold, white walls and floors do nothing to appease you. And that's when the door opens. You stiffen.
                          
All heads turn to the man walking in the door.
                          
"Hello, (Y/N)," the admiral says, smiling as he sits beside your bed. Regardless of his seeming nice behaviour, it can switch in a matter of seconds. Today, he looks a little worse for wear, probably having gone fighting or drinking and ending up throwing a punch or two. His pants are a little ripped, his travellers shirt only half tucked and his coat being... Well the same with a little added dirt and a very shiny pistol in the inside pocket. Don't piss him off, you think.
                          
"Hi," you reply, your throat so dry it aches as you attempt to swallow the saliva that's finally being produced again. He holds out a glass of water with a straw and you seal your lips around it, bringing the very much needed water in. The liquid hits your tongue before filling your mouth and you swallow, grimacing at the pain. A few more gulps and the pain begins to recede. You finish the glass and he puts it back down.
                          
"So. The book," he says, smiling and innocently moving stray strands of hair back behind your ear. "Very well done," he adds, beginning to sound extremely menacing. "But..." No. How can your service not be over?! "There's a chapter missing..." His finger draws swirls on your cheek as you fight the urge to shudder. He leans in. "And I think I know where it is." The smell of his breath could knock a whole army out so you hold yours until he's a safe distance away.
                          
"Where?" you ask, continuously searching his face for anger.
                          
"With what they call Hawkeye." You raised an eyebrow, searching for an explanation and he hushed you before you could ask. "He's a man. Not a very nice man. A little bit..." His hand grips your wrist tightly and you grit your teeth at the pain. He looks and apologises through his teeth. "Let's just say, he's irrational." He readjusts his position on the chair and smiles. "I want you to find him! And of course you'll be generously rewarded."
                          
You nod, knowing you have no choice. "Alive or dead?" you ask.
                          
He chuckles. "See? That's what I always liked about you, (Y/N). You understand me." He pats your forearm before standing. His face turns sour. "Some people say he works with that other scum of a militia, and you know exactly where that is." Yes. The place you had just run from. "I'll be seeing you soon, (Y/N). I expect you on your way the moment the nurse gives the ok," he says, stretching and sporting the beginning of a pot belly. Then he just leaves as the nurse comes to attend to you.
                          
Oh how screwed you are.
                          
*****
                          
The admiral hasn't visited yet, making you nervous. The nurse hasn't given the ok either, but you've been moved back to your old room in the run down mansion with the important people in this militia.
                          
The mansion is rather lovely with hardwood floors, marble here and there, carpet in the bedrooms and columns to hold the building up made of granite covered in plaster and painted white. It's three storeys high, patrolled by guards and always has food available. The amount of people that live here turn it cosy, and there's always one torch ablaze somewhere.
                          
You climb the old stairs, hearing creaks at the protest of wood hat hasn't been polished in years. You attach your torch to the wall before picking up your designated one to take to your room.
                          
You enter, yawning. It's late and dark and nowadays without the electricity to stop sleep, you found yourself continuously tired after the sun went down for the day.
                          
You placed your torch on the wall before climbing into bed, glad to not be on the road, or hiding.
                          
You yawn again, pulling the blanket up to your chin and staring out the open window that's on the opposite wall to the bed. You found it a little hard to sleep, shutting your eyes in an attempt.
                          
Ouch. You feel a prick on your ear. You reach up, touching it only to have your hand return with blood on it. You turn and see an arrow lodged into your headboard. Immediately, you're diving off the bed in an attempt to shield yourself from the eminent explosion. When nothing happens, you stand, reaching for it to dislodge it. You hold it in your hands, admiring the perfect weight and distribution.
                          
You walk to the window and catch a glimpse of the upper half of a face, hanging upside down. Blue eyes pierce you and you feel slightly unnerved.
                          
Your door busts open and you look at the intruder. The admiral stands there, electric torch in his hand. He rushes over. You hear something whiz through the air as another one enters and lodges into the wall, going past the admiral and clipping the back of his head. He grit his teeth, shutting the window.
                          
He pulls the arrow from your hands and unwinds a small strip of paper that was wrapped around it. He looks at you, anger taking over all of his features. "Outside. Now," he says.
                          
You rush out, running down the stairs to where his guard are waiting.
                          
"Take her out of here!" he yells. Immediately two pairs of arms are grabbing you, forcing you out. You don't scream or yell. You only accept that it was never going to last and that he hasn't asked for your head this time.
                          
You're forced to wait outside until the admiral comes down with a bag and that little bit of paper. He throws the bag at your feet then gives a guard the paper to give to you. You read it.
                          
Find me if you can. Think of a body of water.
                          
"There's only one lake in a thirty mile radius, and it's rough terrain," the admiral spits out. "You're going there tonight. Someone get her a horse and see to it that she's gone!"
                          
One guard rushes off and the admiral comes up close to you. You hold your breath to stop the smell of his rancid breath. He grabs you by the collar of your PJs. "You will get that last chapter from him and you will lure him back. If you even think about leaving without bringing him here, I will have you found and killed." Not an empty threat.
                          
You gulp and nod.
                          
He lets go of you just as one of his guards comes back with a horse.
                          
"Go now!" he roars.
                          
The other guards let go of you. You pick up the bag and mount the horse before you gallop to the open gates and the wilderness that exists beyond the city.

                          
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Comment and tell me what you think! By the way, any writers find that the website chops off the last few paragraphs of your story when you hit save and preview? How do I make it not do that?!