Matthew sat there solemnly on the table, arms folded, looking at the cup of mead provided for him. He had been sitting there a good two minutes now, just deep in thought. He gently took the cup, procured from Amelia's collection of Ilican things, and took a small sip. It was very…. Sweet, yet somehow filled with sorrow.

            He sighed.

"So… that's your dream, huh?"

            Amelia sniffled, and this time Matt didn’t flinch. She wiped her eyes once more, some vigilante tears still coming out.

"Yeah. Unsettling, huh?"

            He set down the mead cup.

"Yes,"

            He folded his legs and leaned his head on his fist.

"Very unsettling."

            He still just sat there. Just a dream, right? Amelia set her head's side on the table. It hurt her ear, but she really didn't care. The second helping of mead was taking its euphoric effect already, now that she was already primed. Her eyes slowly fluttered closed.

"Mattie…"

"Yeah, Amelia?" He never heard that one before.

"You'd… never actually… do that to me…" Her gigantic eyes opened, and fixed themselves on Matt. They seem to pierce his soul, and he felt naked somehow.

Gods, the eyes.

"Would you?"

            He looked straight back at her. His voice was solemn, yet quiet, but it spoke volumes.

"No. Never."

            Simple. Yet, the simple truth. He knew it to be strange- not only a few days ago he had been trying to kill this woman; a giant, marked for death. But when he saw her cry, something inside of him had been touched like never before. He hardly knew what it was- it felt good, though.

            She smiled, and closed her eyes.

"Gooood. 'Cause I dun wanna see… yuuu… "

            Her voice slurred, and a bit of rattle could be heard. Matt lifted a corner of his mouth.

"You're drunk. I thought you giants could hold your alcohol…"

            She raised and waved an arm in protest.

"Whaaat? I'm not drunk… Just a li'l…. buzz'd…."

"Riiiight." He laughed, and cocked an eyebrow. "And you're not a hundred feet tall, as long as we're lying to ourselves."

            She made a face…. sort of, and stuck out her tongue.

"Ooooo, little tiny Matt, talks so biiig, but is so smaaaaall… loser."

            He held up his arms.

"Well, Amelia, Iiiiiii am not the one laying my head on a table drooling, am I?"

            Her eyes still closed, she shook her head in disgust, raspberried her tongue, and slammed her fist down on the table, not three feet from Matt. He jumped back.

"Woah… Amelia. Be careful… Maybe you should stop drinking so much… yeah?"

            Again, she waved it off.

"Pleeeeeease ….. Listen, you little man bug you, would I be sooooo drunk that I could'n kiss you on the lips…?"

            Matt stopped breathing for a second.

"…Amelia, don't you dare."

            A table-sized hand lunged for him. Tried as he might, he wasn't quick enough to dodge it, thanks to his bum leg. Five log-sized yet somehow still slim fingers wrapped around with a little more than a comfortable grip.

"C'mere, you…."

            She brought him to his face, puckering her lips.

"No, wait, Amelia!"

            Too late. The last thing he was a circle of wrinkled pink, and a hole into an abyss in the middle. Sweet hot breath filled his nostrils, along with more than enough smell to knock out any Ilican drunkard. The air near his head started to vacuum, and his hair along was sucked in.

            "Mmmmmmfff" he said, in protest.

            Saliva started to drip on his face, wetting his hair and eyes, and he swore to the Gods that he felt something soft and wet brush his face…

            She pulled him back, wet hair and all. She looked at him and smiled.

"You, my little morsel Matthew…. Are very tasty… See…? I'm not sooooo druuu…"

            Her head drooped onto the table with a thud. Her hand (luckily) rolled onto the table, and her fingers released Matthew, who rolled on the ground, knocking over his mead.

            He got up, almost tiredly. Who wouldn't, after that ordeal? When he did, he brushed off his clothes, and wiped his face onto his shirt. There was a lot of saliva.

            He turned to her.

"….Wow. That was…" He smiled.

            A dark figure knelt before the King or Ilica, Noah Ilicain. Dressed in black, he would have never known he was there.
"My Lord."

"Report, soldier."

"My liege, we followed Matthew back to a cave to the north, just above the Rocky Falls."

"A cave? What's so interesting, even to an idiot, about a cave?"

"Well, sir…"

"What is it? Spit it out!"

"The entrance to the cave, sir. It was… enormous, sir. At least one hundred feet tall."

            The king nodded.

"So. Matt did find the giant's lair, did he..." He stroked his grey beard. "And what then? Did you hear fighting?"

            The man in black shook his head.

"No, your majesty. There were no cries of rage, no stomping, nothing sir."

"Then it's empty, then?"

            He shook his head again.

"No sir… we heard…"

            The king leaned in.

"A cry from within, sir."

"Matthew? So he was killed."

'No sir, the cry was… not human sir."

            The king cocked an eyebrow.

"The giant then."

"Yes sir. After this cry however, I thought I heard them speaking- one softly, far away, and the other louder. I think they were talking to each other.”

"I see. So Matt has decided to form an alliance with the giant…? I suppose only monsters can commune with other monsters… Sturgis!"

            Sir Sturgis materialized out of the dark and into the torchlight, his armor a mirror in the soft blackness.

"Yes, my Lord?"

            The king pointed a finger to him.

"Sturgis, you will lead an attack on the cave. Take Henrick here and have him guide you there. Take a full compliment of troops, if you need it."

            Sturgis smiled.

"Sir, if I'm there, I won't need ten men with me."

"Very well…" He grinned.

"Just do what had to be done. Matthew the Giant Hunter is now a fugitive and a traitor to Ilica: kill him on site."

"As you command, my king."

            He vanished away.

"One more thing, my Lord." The man in black said.

"What is it, boy?"

            He breathed out deeply.

"The cry we heard, sir…" He looked up at the king.

"It wasn't a male, sir."

            A wicked and evil grin spread across the king's face.

            Matt sat there in the silver moonlight. It was a perfect summer night: warm, yet cool, dark, but bright. The wind was blowing on his face, tickling him. But no warm wind blew in his heart tonight.

Am I really a monster…?

            The question burned his heart and mind. Not much plagued Matt, least of all nagging thoughts: He usually shoved them off, determined to 'cross the bridge when he got there.' But somehow, like some parasite, it only grew in his mind. He wished he knew how to get rid of it. Alas, he couldn't. He knew, that somewhere, somewhere inside this fit shell of a human dwelt the heart of a monster.

            What he didn't know… What he desperately needed to know…

…is how to switch it off.

            He remembered the most horrid part.

Die… Amelia.

            He compiled the image in his head: Burning fields, the king at his side, spear in hand… No. It was too painful to think about. But again… it felt so right. Logically, he knew that his hatred for giants probably seeped into it, but at times, he pushed his cursed logic aside.

            He wanted to believe with every fiber of his soul that he would never hurt Amelia, no matter what she was, no matter how 'incorrect' their friendship was.

            He remembered a lesson his mother had taught him once: She put two apples in front of him, and told him that he could choose one for lunch. One looked just right, but the other was misshapen and kind of ripe. Naturally, Matthew chose the red one. It tasted horrible, and Matt thought he tasted a worm. After a bit of a laughter, his mother cut the ugly apple open: It looked (and probably tasted) better than the red one. She smiled, and explained, "Matthew, you can't always judge by appearances; it's always the insides of something that counts in the world." She gave Matt the good apple, and sent him away.

            He smiled. And laughed aloud.

            If his parents knew what he was doing, they'd never forgive him. They probably already knew, in their graves. In comparison some other things in his life,

Like killing unarmed, screaming women…

            befriending a giant probably wasn't that bad. In his opinion, anyhow.

            What did he care? Honestly…

"My son, do the noble thing..." 

            His mother's voice echoed in his head.

"It’s not how long you live; it's what your morals say."

            He got up, and looked at the stars, sighing.

"Do the noble thing, huh?"

            He about-faced, set his hands in his pockets, and walked back to the cave.

Maybe they wouldn't be so mad…

            Amelia was still there, passed-out drunk on the table. Matt suppressed a smile… unsuccessfully.

            He climbed up the make-shift rope he hung down onto the table. Arrived, he looked at her. A beautiful girl. Long red hair, honest green eyes, a pretty face… huge brea-

            He felt a smack on his head and whirled around. No one. Then, a scream:

"Do the NOBLE thing…"

"…Yes, mother…" He muttered weakly.

            He walked over to her. She was breathing softly, the smell of honey mead still prevalent. He set a hand on her nose. She slightly shivered. He leaned over…

            And gave a small kiss on her lip.

Sweet-tasting he thought.

            He started to walk away. He turned, once more:

"For a sweet girl." He smiled.

            She shifted, smiled, and purred, still sleeping. That night, she dreamed of cold winter nights at a roaring fire… holding her Matt in her arms.