A/N: This is my first published work. It starts quite a while before the movie, and I'm planning to make it kinda long. Hopefully you enjoy. Reviews and critiques are veeery welcome. Don't hold back.
P.S. Any Beta Readers out there?
Disclaimer: I own nothing of King Arthur nor anything related. I only own my crazy imagination.
"Father! Father!" I yelled as I weaved my way through huts and people. Of all the times my father went missing, then was not a good one! "Father, where are yo- Ooph!" I landed harshly on my back and laid there dazed for a moment or two until my mother's soft voice drew me out of my stupor.
"My child, I could hear your screeches from across the village!" she laughed. "What troubles you so?" She lent me her hand, an amused, yet worried look on her face.
"Mother! Mother, where is Father?"
"He is sitting with your brother. What has got you so hurried?" I heard her call after me as I took off running once more. I turned and yelled to her over my shoulder, and not a moment later she was off after me.
"They're here! They've come! I've got to tell Father!" Rounding our small hut, I tossed aside our heavy cloth door and found my father exactly where Mother said he would be, by the bedside of my other half, my brother. "Father!" I panted. "They're coming! The Romans are coming!" His head shot towards me, his back straight and rigid.
"What?" He shook his head in shock and disbelief. "No. Not this soon."
"It's true!" I persisted. "Heulog from the village to the east came. I heard him telling Gallard to warn everyone." My father gave me a quick disapproving look; my eavesdropping and curiosity got me into trouble far too many times. However, as quick as that look came, it was gone. He wanted answers, and he knew I had them.
"When shall they arrive? In how long? Where were they last seen?"
"Heulog said he had been returning from a hunt. When he reached his village, the Romans were already there. He rode here as soon as he saw them." I pause and looked at my father, dreading my next words. "They shall arrive here before the sun reaches its highest point this day." Grief and despair shadowed my father's face. The day had finally come. He had talked about this day, told us what we would have to prepare for. But not he, nor I, nor my brother or mother, had been expecting it, especially not at a time such as this.
"They will take him. Ailing or not, they will take him. I will lose a son this day." Helplessness hung over him like a thick black cloud as I watched him walk out of our hut. I glanced at my brother, lying motionless in his bed, but having heard the entire exchange. He knew what was coming, as did I. I was going to lose my brother that day, for he would not make it alive even to the endless waters. I would lose my twin, my other half, my best friend, my confidant. To my eleven year old self, such a thing was unfathomable. It was pure insanity. My brother, dead? It couldn't happen, but it would, without a doubt, if he went. I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't. I had to speak with Father.
I bolted out of the stifling room, passed my mother as she stood motionless outside, and followed my father to the fire. Now was the time. I had to tell Father the truth about the past 7 years; about what my brother and I had done. I had to tell him what I was preparing to do.
He shook his head, unbelieving. He refused to believe that my brother and I had gone behind his and my mother's back all these years and that we had hidden such things from them. He told me to stop being a fool and just accept that my brother was as good as gone. But I shook my head at him. I showed him what he refused to believe.
"It doesn't matter," he said to me, "He will slip from our grasps soon enough here. I will not loose two of my children today. Not today." I pleaded with him once more. Had he not felt my brother's head? Felt how his fever had been slowly receding? Had he not looked at him and seen how the color was slowing returning to him? Had he not listened to him and heard the not wheeze in his chest nor the endless coughing at night? If my brother left today, yes, he would not stand a chance at life. But if he stayed, there was a good chance he would live to see many more days. And as for me, I was just as capable as the next at handling what would be sure to come.
Unrelenting, he shook his head and returned to our hut, saying he must see his son one last time before he sent him to his death. I followed him in and stood by my mother in the doorway as she wiped at the silent tears that rolled down her cheeks.
'This is the end, then.' I thought. When my father made a decision, he did not go back on it. No matter how hard I pleaded or tried to convince him otherwise, he never gave in. That was how it had always been. 'This shall be the last time I lay my eyes upon you, Brother.'
That day, however, was different. Father carefully looked over his ill son, and as he did, realization and terror shined in his eyes. Whether he had heeded my words because he had been considering them, or because he had wanted to prove me wrong, he saw something he had never taken notice to before. He could barely feel my brothers ever-present fever. He could see my brothers face, flush and not so white. And he could not hear the constant wheezing with every breath my brother took. His face became emotionless for a split second, before he turned to look behind me. There my mother stood, pained and shocked, but understanding of what had to be done. Slowly, she nodded. Father called out to me. It was then he bent down, grasped my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. He told me that what I would do would be no easy task that I may never see any of them again, and that hard trials and tribulations and death awaited me.
"But," he started, " you have honor and courage, my child. And doing this deed, I am more proud of you than I have ever been. Not I, nor your mother, nor your brother, nor the entire village will forget what you are doing this day." My father grasped me in a tight embrace and whispered, "May you return to us, in fifteen years, body and spirit. May the Gods watch over you."
A loud commotion erupted from outside and we knew it was time. My father and mother left me with my brother to give him my farewell and prepare for the journey ahead. Only a few short moments after, I walked out of our small hut, my home, and gave my mother one last hug, saddled my horse, Helmuth, and rode toward the Roman commander. From that day forward, I was to be know as Alastair, son of Caedmon and Kevina, and slave and future Sarmatian Knight to the Roman empire.
A/N: Voila! First installment of many more to come. Lemme know what'cha thought. Reviews would be nice, but I'm not relying on them to keep this story goin'.
