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When he told her his name, she frowned, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. Was he joking? Some sort of funny, funny joke that was more cruel than truly funny? She hadn't thought he was like that, but how could it be just a coincidence? It wasn't a common name, not among commoners, anyways, not like William or Thomas or something else that both nobles and commoners called their children.

Hearing the name made her think of her father, and she wondered what he was going through. Had he already received the ransom note? What would it do to him? He wasn't supposed to be stressed out, and after exerting himself on the hunt today, if he became too worried over her, it could trigger a relapse. He could get sick again, and if it was bad, he might not get better. Even if she lived through this, even if all she suffered were bruises and minor cuts and scrapes, he could die because of it. She bit her lip, she knew worrying wouldn't do her any good, but her father was her weakness. He was really all she had left.

Thinking about her father, she wondered if he was just messing with her. But then, he hadn't even known her name, and he'd gone to the trouble of kidnapping her. Why would he learn her father's name, then claim it, only to make her miserable? "...why did you pick me?" There were other princesses at Camelot for the event, or even the Lady Morgana, who meant more to Uther Pendragon. He wouldn't care about Isadora at all, just that he had been insulted and that it would mean war if he didn't pay the ransom or rescue her. In the end, Gwent would wind up paying Camelot back, one way or another, even if it wasn't with gold. So it was only Uther's reputation he could hurt.

Isadora raised her eyebrows at him, and smiled wryly, a disapproving look in her eyes. That was reassuring, that apparently she was little safer in here than she was out in the wilds...but at least it was warmer in here, right? She sighed, at least when she usually traveled, she didn't worry that something would happen to her while she slept. Well, nothing about this situation was really ideal, so she supposed that she ought to just get some rest, and hope that bandits or beasts didn't slaughter them in their sleep.

Despite his threats to harm her, so far he hadn't followed through with any of them, despite when she blatantly disregarded what he told her to do, or more more accurately, what not to do. It wasn't what she would've expected, for being held prisoner and all. She felt certain that for all his threats and throwing her around carelessly, he didn't want to hurt her. If he did, he'd had plenty of time to do so before now. But it didn't make sense. He was a magic practitioner, didn't that mean that he had chosen evil? She couldn't explain it. She wondered, if Uther didn't pay the ransom for her release, would he truly kill her?

Yawning, she wasn't inclined to disagree when he suggested that she should rest, although it certainly felt awkward with him watching her the entire time. Slowly, she lowered herself back down onto the hard straw mat that counted as a bed, laying down on her side facing him. "So, are you just going to stay awake for the duration of my stay here?" She didn't know if he'd gotten any sleep while she was out earlier, but she had noticed that there appeared to be just one bedroll.

Isadora smirked wickedly at his joke, and didn't hesitate to take another bite rather than answer. She figured that would give him all the answer he needed, watching him while she ate even as he refused to watch her. So now he was a wise-cracking druid? Guy had so many moodswings she was practically getting whiplash from the sudden shifts. She didn't comment, though, she was hungry and if she made him mad he might take her food away.

She figured his 'friends' would be involved with this, so it surprised her to learn that they didn't agree. Maybe, even if they wouldn't help her escape...maybe they wouldn't stop her, either? Or maybe she could brook some sympathy with them; she wasn't exactly sure how to get away right now, anyways. When he appeared to have finished, she raised her eyebrows at him skeptically, did he really think she was simply going to obey him? She wasn't used to doing as others commanded her at the best of times, this was hardly the time to become meek and submissive.

Once she had consumed all of her food, she looked at him. "I'm not particularly inclined to believe anything you say. You've already lied to me, after all." She pointed out, it seemed to her that even if they were in a part of woods known only for its fluffy bunny population, he would tell her how dangerous it would be for her to attempt an escape. As far as she knew, most of the woods of Albion were dangerous, so that lent some support to his claims, but she wasn't going to admit that. She wanted him to provide her with some real reason she could trust he wasn't the worst thing in these woods.

Some hours passed before Isadora stirred, her head pounding in her skull like a drum. Rolling over slowly, she grimaced, wondering if she'd fallen out of bed as she felt something hard beneath her; but it was too warm, with too much give to be stone. Her entire body was sore, and slowly, she blinked. She was still tired, her limbs felt like they were filled with lead, and her mouth and throat were dry with dehydration.

Her eye finally fluttered open, her expression one of confusion as she looked upon the unfamiliar surroundings. It was a dark, cramped space, with a low ceiling, very unlike her room at the castle, or even like the tent she used when traveling. Then her eyes fell on other occupant of the tent, and her body stiffened automatically, forcing herself to sit upright as the events of the past day came back to her in a rush, and her headache intensified. It felt like a dream...or rather, a nightmare. She wondered if he'd followed through on his promise to drag her to the village...if the pain was any indication, that was a yes.

Finding she was unable to speak, she glanced around until her eyes found the bucket, and even though it was less than appetizing, she didn't hesitate to drink some. If it were poisoned, she'd know soon enough. At least it tasted clean and pure, although she didn't know if that was just because of how thirsty she was, or if it was actually the water. When she finished, she looked back at he captor wordlessly, wondering if he'd say something, or just continue to stare at her.

Isadora was just going for a relaxing stroll through the castle, the last few days had been trying, with the peace negotiations taking up much of her time and energy, she was glad for the chance to relax and celebrate here in Camelot before returning home. But while the treaty talks had been taxing, there had of course been room for some scandal; the whole castle was buzzing with the news of the budding relationship of Arthur and the lady Vivian, with much speculation as to whether it was truly love or just a brief infatuation for both parties. Knowing Arthur, Isadora was inclined to believe the latter, but she was surprised by how public he'd allowed this to become.

Looking back, it could have been a disaster had things turned out differently; with either Olaf or Arthur dead, there would have been war for certain. It was fortunate that Arthur came to his senses in time, or even if he had survived the duel, Isadora might've strangled him; all that work to be destroyed by a fit of passion? That simply would not do. Entering the courtyard, she smiled when she saw Arthur, waving when he called out his name and approaching him.

"Prince Arthur," she greeted in like, inclining her head politely. "Wherever is your better half? I would have thought you and the Lady Vivian were quite inseparable." She teased lightly, well aware that the other princess had already left to return home; according to rumor, she was still pining for Arthur. Poor girl.

Isadora wasn't even aware that he had caught up to her until she felt his grip on her arm, and before she could even jump back in alarm, she found herself being crushed in his embrace, eyes wide with shock mingling with outrage. Grabbing the hand he used to hold her face with her only free hand, she managed to rip it away with strength she hadn't even known she possessed, and twisted her neck to the side, tearing her lips away from his with no small amount of force. "Get OFF of me!" She screamed furiously, even as he shoved her down to the ground. Her eyes blazed as she glared up at him, how dare he?!

Maybe she should've been more afraid, with him standing over her with that damn cord, but she was much too angry for fear to even phase her. Who the hell did he think he was?! She pushed herself up onto her scraped, bruised hands, disgust written over her face. Kidnap her, drop her, hurt her, fine, but this? This drove her over the edge. Usually so calm and composed, able to deal with life and death crises, he had just made this far too personal for her to deal with rationally.

Refusing to be at his mercy, she got to her feet, but instead of trying to run away unsuccessfully again, she balled her tiny fist up, and regardless of how ineffective it might be, she threw a punch at him. Sweet, gentle and pacifistic, Isadora had very rarely had to resort to violence before, in fact, she tried to avoid it whenever possible, but then again, she was sure that she'd never before been this angry with anyone before.

Her small, soft hands worked quickly and confidently, deftly pulling the metal plates free of his arms and setting them down carefully on the ground. She knew her care was unnecessary, that it was more likely that he would leave it to rust in the mud than go to the trouble of carrying it around with them, but even if the man who rightfully owned this armor wasn't dead, he still deserved her respect enough that she wouldn't mistreat something that he likely took great pride in.

"That's why only nobles are knights. Arms up, please." She spoke simply, the whole reason people relied on nobles was for their defense, and the reason they paid taxes was to buy the expensive gear that no one would be able to afford otherwise. And that was why nobles devoted their lives to protecting and administering kingdoms, rather than working the land. They gave their lives in defense of their kingdoms, and were well-rewarded for it. She moved behind him to lift the heavy mail; it was almost too heavy for her, but she managed it, lifting from the bottom up. It wasn't the right way to remove armor, and she knew it; when you did it this way, it got caught on itself. But he wouldn't know that, not until it was too late.

With some difficulty, she managed to pull the bottom of the chain up past his shoulders, and was beginning to get worried that her plan wouldn't work, until she felt the telltale pull of chain on chain. She had no idea how long it would take him to free himself, but she hoped it would be long enough. "It appears to be...stuck. Hold still for a moment." She kept her voice level expertly, lying was just one of those skills a diplomat picked up. Then she backed away quietly, and once she was a few paces away, she turned and ran into the trees. Not blindly this time, she was looking for a place to hide. The further she let him take her, the more likely it was that she wouldn't be rescued.

He was angry now. Of course he was, she'd just admitted that she wouldn't weep so much as one tear for his people if they were being slaughtered, seemingly for the crime of merely existing. Wouldn't she be angry if someone decided to eradicate all the people of Gwent like that? Wouldn't she expect others to grieve for them as she did? She forced herself to stop thinking like that. Her people had not all committed crimes that warranted death; magic users had chosen their wicked ways, did they not deserve what they got? But then, maybe they also deserved to have someone mourn for them too.

No, she couldn't think like that, not for the person who was holding her captive, who looked as though he might do something horrible to her now that she'd made him angry. Logically, she should try to avoid that in the future, but a part of her felt better for having struck a nerve with him. It may not end well for her, but at least now she knew that he wasn't some scary sorcerer with no humanity whatsoever; if nothing else, he could be outraged.

Then he told her that he hadn't killed the knight, and her eyes went round with surprise. The inflection when he addressed her was not lost on her, but the insult seemed unimportant just now. She opened her mouth to say something, but the question died on her lips without ever fully being formed. What could she ask? Why hadn't he killed him? Why had he lied to her? Why should she believe him now? But she did believe him, and the other questions seemed irrelevant, so instead she just stared at him with confusion and surprise, then took the hand he offered. "Thank you," her tone was sincere, if still confused at how his mood and his words seem to contrast.

When he refused to answer, she could only assume the worst. What would she tell the man's family? There had only been a few of her knights left at the castle, all of them known to her; they made up her usual guard when she traveled alone, men she trusted. She thought of them now, wondering which it had been. Some of them had children, and she silently prayed that it was not one of those men. She knew what it was like to lose a parent at a young age, and she wished that on no one. Isadora turned her head to look at the shore again when her vision blurred with tears, lifting a hand to wipe them from her cheeks and hoping her captor wouldn't notice.

He didn't talk much, although she couldn't tell if that was simply because he didn't want to talk to her or he just didn't talk much. It was kind of unnerving, just sitting here, staring at one another. So instead she busied herself with pulling the pins that had managed to stay in place throughout the ride and her escape attempt out of her hair, letting the rumpled locks fall around her face freely. It wasn't like she was trying to impress anyone, not anymore. Absently, she thought of the girl who had spent hours painstakingly putting those pins in place, all for nothing. What a waste.

She tucked the pins into her bodice, she didn't know if they'd come in handy later, but she didn't want to risk throwing them away. They were carved bone and antler pins, not worth as much as the gold and silver pins she'd inherited from her mother, but she'd felt these were more appropriate for a day devoted to hunting. If nothing else, if she managed to get away she could sell them to buy her passage back to Camelot. Finding nothing else to distract herself, she looked back up at her captor. "What do you hope to accomplish with all this? If they catch you, you'll be hanged. Is it worth your life?" No, it wasn't a threat; merely a statement of fact. What could be worth throwing his life away, on the off chance he got away with this?