I thought of this scene a while ago, and I decided to write it down. I'm starting to get a few ideas for the story behind it, but I'm not sure if it will really go anywhere. I'll probably end up using it for something sometime though. Let me know what you think!
He emerged from the woods with caution. Here was his warrior princess: the brave girl who had fought beside him; the beautiful maiden taken in battle. For four long months he had searched, tracking her with every skill he had. And now he was here outside the cave that was, if the clues he followed were not false, the prison of his bride-to-be.
Gently, he lowered himself through the hole in the ground, and with careful step he followed the passage he found just beneath the earth's surface. The further he moved from the hole, the darker it became. Not wanting to light a torch for fear of drawing attention to himself, he stepped forward slowly, feeling the air in front of him in case of danger ahead. The air was cold and still, and he wished for a cross breeze. At last his fingertips touched wood, and he felt about for some kind of door handle. He grasped the cold metal knob he found, and the door swung open.
There she lay in the shadows, propped up against the wall, her hair matted and tangled, her hands bound behind her back, her dress torn, her arm encrusted in dried blood. Dashing to her side he gathered her broken form in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, and she whispered, "You shouldn't have come."
He began to untie her hands. "It's ok. You're going to be alright."
"No!" she cried weakly. "Leave me. Leave now while you still can." She tried to pull away from him, but injured as she was it did no good.
"You don't know what you're saying." He bent over her to lift her in his arms. Something struck him, and he fell against the wall, propelled backward by her kick. He staggered, gasping for breath, and for the first time noticed a shadowy form in the corner. Gradually, he came to understand as he saw the weapon, a blade he knew too well. Its handle was black and twisted as the heart of the man who threw it. The bit of steel he could see glinted in the low light of the single torch on the wall, and he remembered the pain of that jagged blade. All this ran through his mind as he stared, in unbelieving horror, at the knife lodged in her side. The knife that was meant for him.