Momento Mori
Summary: After a violent battle, Arthur's Knights mourn one of their own. Gawain struggles to get home; injured, alone, and lost north of the Wall.
Genre: Pre-movie, H/C, a little angst, adventure.
Characters: Mostly Gawain, but thoughts from all the other knights too.
Status: Complete, in 12 parts, Weekly postings.
WARNINGS: Some bloody battle violence and descriptions of injuries. Rated 'M' for Language in chapter 2.
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction was created purely for entertainment purposes, and I am making no profit from it, nor claim ownership. This work is unbetaed, so if you spot any errors, please let me know and I will do my best to correct them.
I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter One – Dogs of War
The day was fine.
The golden chariot of the sun was blindingly bright as it travelled across the heavens. The blue dome of sky stretched high above, patterned with lightly scudding clouds. An ocean of green grass stretched into the haze of the distant mountains. On this rare day of fine autumn weather in Britain, the lands north of the Wall could almost look beautiful. If Gawain squinted, he could almost imagine he was home.
The Knight rolled his head to relieve the ache of tension in his neck and shoulders. Used as they all were to long hours in the saddle, the four day journey was wearying even the hardiest of Arthur's Sarmatians, and the ordinary Roman soldiers that made up the rest of their force looked ready to drop. There hadn't even been any decent fighting. Four days above the wall and not even the flash of a blue-painted arse. It was enough to make a man weep. Gawain needed something to take his mind off the tedium of the journey or he was going to go mad enough to start praying to Arthur's God. This little excursion to persuade the visiting General Arpagius of the dangers of the Woad enemy north of the wall was not becoming an unmitigated success. The 'General' (although if the garrison talk was to be believed, the position was purely based on finances rather than talent) had already been overheard making insinuations about the courage of Artorius Castus against this 'invisible' enemy.
Gawain sighed, and thought jealously of Galahad and the others back at the fort with nothing to do. Tristan was scouting ahead, as usual. Bors seemed to be relating some lewd story to Perceval, the taller, slighter man listening with a smirk. Arthur rode slightly behind his Knights, between them and the Roman horsemen, and seemed lost in his own higher thoughts. No change there. And Kai and Lancelot...Gawain tried not to growl as he became aware that the two were bitching at each other. Again. Just as hitting the other Knights with his axe was starting to become a very enticing proposition, a figure on horseback appeared from between the distant trees ahead, and quickly moved towards them. Tristan was returning.
"Please tell me there are Woads," Gawain all but begged as Tristan rode up. "Because it would be a shame to have to kill Lancelot so close to home."
"Woads." The scout confirmed, sounding as calm as ever.
The word seemed to shake Arthur from his revere, and he quickly caught them up, looking to the scout. "Where?"
"Everywhere," said the Sarmatian, and threw his hawk up into the air.
"Good!" exclaimed Bors, and drew his knives with a flourish. "This trip has been so boring even gnawing my own nuts off was starting to sound like entertainment."
Kai looked less pleased by Tristan's news, and scowled towards the distant woods. "We're less than half a day from the Wall. Couldn't the bloody Woads wait another half a day?"
Lancelot added his own opinion; "Well if there's an option between looking at an ugly blue army that's trying to kill me or looking at your face any longer Kai, I know which I'll choose..."
Kai growled, "Maybe one of them will just gut you, Lancelot, and save me the trouble..."
"Enough," laughed Gawain, as though he hadn't been considering a similar thing himself not long before. "Let's just try and all get out alive, alright? Then you can kill Lancelot later, to your heart's content."
To no-one's surprise, both Knights shut up. They always did, when Gawain told them to. Sometimes even Arthur wished for that talent.
Just at that moment, a great shrieking howl rose up from the trees, and the branches began to move as if a great wind battered it.
"Here they come!" said Arthur, grimly. Gawain watched the General Arpagius, turning his horse about and shouting furious, and contradictory, instructions at his troops.
"Amateurs," sneered Lancelot.
"Aren't you going to go over there and sort them out?" asked Perceval.
Arthur eyed the bragging Roman official. "No." He said. "I wouldn't want to impose on the 'General' after all."
"Good," nodded Lancelot. "There's hope for you yet, Arthur."
The Knights all shared a grim smile, and with no instruction from Arthur needed, rode easily into formation and drew their blades as one, just as a volley of Woadish arrows flew from the trees. The Sarmatians were easily far back enough to be out of range, though one unfortunate Roman who had strayed too close to the woods fell from the saddle with a shriek. Gawain had time to consider how pleasant it was to not be fighting in the pissing rain for once, then the first wave of natives burst from the trees, and there was no time for thought.
"Rus!" Came the battle cry, and the Knight's horses leapt forwards, the Roman ones just behind. The neat formation lasted about ten heartbeats before the two lines of foes clashed and all became the chaos of battle.
A Woad snarled at Gawain and he hacked down at it with his axe as he passed, the man's head sliced from his body. Gawain couldn't help the trill that passed through him at the death and was too jaded to be disgusted by it any more. He didn't embrace the killing, like Tristan and Lancelot did, but it was part of him all the same. He would never be rid of it. Two more Britons were running at his horse, slashing at the beast trying to bring it down; they were dead before their blades even touched it. Gawain swung the horse around; he hewed a Woad in the face, and threw the axe straight into the chest of another as it aimed a bow at Perceval's back. He drew his sword with a wordless shout. The blood sang in his ears and this, this was battle. This was his life, and he didn't know what he would do without it. They all longed for freedom, but when they had peace, all they wanted was war. More death, more killing. They were all blood-stained now.
Just at that moment, Tristan rode passed like a shadow, his sword slicing neatly across a standing Woad. The native staggered back screaming blood, and his body fell beneath Gawain's horse; the beast shied back unexpectedly, and Gawain was suddenly unbalanced. He pulling sharply at the reigns, and it was unfortunate that it was at that moment of instability that the arrow bursting from nowhere struck his body, and the impact knocked the Knight straight from the saddle. He hit the ground, hard.
Winded and dazed, it took him a moment to gather his wits, and barely in time. A shadow loomed over him and he rolled, just as the axe blade struck the earth just where his skull had been moments before. Gawain pushed down the pain of the arrow wound and looked up at his foe, one of the biggest Woads he had ever seen. The native roared and struck down with the axe again; Gawain rolled back the other way and scrambled up to his feet, cursing his encumbering cloak that wrapped about his legs. He cursed again when he realised the impact with the ground had shaken his sword loose from his hand. His horse had fled, and the arrow in his shoulder seemed to have stopped his left arm from working all together. He was in trouble.
Gawain saw the light of battle in his enemy's eyes as the Woad realised the Knight was injured and helpless, and moved in for the kill, snarling. Gawain waited until the giant was just close enough, lowered his stance to pull the long bladed knife from its scabbard at his shin, and slashed outwards in one smooth movement. He had to leap back a moment later to avoid the native's strike, but his own had already worked, blade scoring a deep cut in the native's hand, and the Woad dropped his sword with a yell. Not wasting seconds to pick it up, and growling with fury, the Woad drew his own knife in his left hand and swung round, slashing at Gawain's neck. The Knight parried the blow and cut back at the Woad's face.
The fight was fast and dirty, but too soon, Gawain began to weaken. He glanced aside to see if any of the other Knights were nearby, but their fight had taken them away from the rest of the battle. The moment's inattention was nearly fatal; the Knight was forced to duck down to avoid a slash at his eyes and dizziness instantly assailed him. His own return strike at the Woad's body was weak and barely scored the blue-stained flesh. Blood loss was slowing his reactions, and he didn't move back fast enough as the Woad punched out with his free hand and his fist connected with Gawain's mouth. Dazed and bleeding, Gawain stumbled backwards, and the Woad swung forwards with a triumphant roar, and stabbed the knife blade into the Knight's body. Gawain gave a weak cry and almost blacked out, and suddenly he was on his back looking up helpless at the enemy above him. Black spots assailed his vision, and he knew he didn't have long, either way. The Woad spat at him, and loomed over, lifting his knife to cut out the Knight's throat and leave him to bleed to death, as Gawain had seen too many times before. He would not die like that.
With his last strength, Gawain's hand reached out, grasped the hilt of the Woad's sword that lay on the ground beside him and surged upwards with a wordless shout. The blade struck home, punching straight through the giant's eye and into his brain. The man was killed instantly, and the corpse toppled like a fallen tree onto the Knight below him. But Gawain was unaware of his victory; his consciousness had already fled.
See you next week for part 2!
Nienna.