Saxon Halfling

Chapter One

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the King Arthur franchise. I do not own any of the characters depicted apart from my own original characters, nor do I share any of the beliefs the characters in this story express. I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story.

Sierra couldn't feel anything but the icy wind blowing through her thin shawl. Couldn't hear anything but the beat of the drums and the sounds of an army marching through the snow. This country was colder than her father's heart, almost as cold as Cynric's hands on her body during the night. She hesitantly looked up from her feet, her eyes, the colour of the forests and the grassy planes of her mother's home country, instantly found her half-brothers icy gaze. She flinched, gaze dropping immediately to their feet, while she silently watched as her half-brother Cynric tugged her closer to his side. She was more than a decade and a half younger than him, and of half Saxon blood, yet it never stopped Cynric from lusting after her. The more she aged, the more she couldn't understand why her father chief Cerdic kept her alive, only to be claimed by Cynric when she saw her twelfth year cycle. Her father had never looked at her with anything but contempt, yet for reasons unknown he allowed his son to keep her as a pet. At least being Cynric's possession it had made many pause before harming her. She had now seen almost eighteen years, six of those years being Cynric's 'companion', and she had spent most of that time accompanying her father and half-brother into battle. Now here they marched again, in probably the coldest country she had ever been too. She thought it was rivalling a miracle she was still alive.

She shivered as she felt Cynric's cold fingers slip under her shirt to feel her soft skin, trying to squeeze herself into as small a target as possible as she felt his lips on her strawberry blonde hair that was mattered with dirt and blood. "Touch me" he murmured into her ear, suddenly sharply biting onto her earlobe. Sierra yelped, the wind carrying the sound away from them, yet few men in the march even glanced their way. The men in Cynric's army were used to their commander, the son of their chief, groping and near molesting his Halfling sister in their presence. It was a regular occurrence when they marched to battle. None had any difficulty understanding Cynric's deep fascination and obsession with his young half-sister, even if she is a Halfling, only half Saxon blood. If Cynric hadn't claimed her as soon as he did, she would have been past from man-to-man as a common whore. Although with her neon green eyes and fine blonde hair, she was a rare beauty their eyes had seen in many years, yet being a Halfling, she was worth little. Being used for anything other than sex was a taboo when concerned with the petite girl. Sierra shakily trailed her numb fingers over the bare skin of his wrist, skipping his heavily clothed arm to his neck, her fingers tracing the scars she could see and following a particularly large one until it disappeared under the furs he wore. "Lower" he moaned huskily in her ear, roughly grabbing her wrist tight enough the bones rubbed against each other, before slipping her hand into his trousers and onto the bulge already there. Sierra tried to hide her shudder of disgust, yet it had no use. Cynric roughly grabbed at her, his hand holding tightly onto the nap of her neck as he forced their lips together. Sierra stiffened as he boldly groped her chest possessively, a low growl in his throat as his lips made her's open and his tongue plummeted into hers. "Sire" a voice said gruffly from their right, and Sierra breathed deeply as Cynric released her mouth, yet sill continued to hold her tightly against him. "What?" he hissed, Sierra feeling the snarl vibrating his chest from where he held her. "Arthur and the Knights..." the man didn't have to say anymore, Cynric's eyes, as well as her own, were already across the lake of ice and staring at the enemy. Cynric pushed her away from him, his hand trailing along the side of her breast. He said nothing, but she knew what she had to do. She stepped back hurriedly, carefully not touching any of the other men, before she was at the back a little to the side of the warriors.

Orders were given before a shot was fired, finding the enemy out of range. There was a second or so before an answering shot was fired, yet these arrows hit their marks. Sierra's weary eyes could see the fury radiating off her half-brother, and she begged to any god that would listen that this enemy would stopped taunting him. It would only cause her hurt in the night's to come. As they began to march forwards, the familiar terror sinking in as she followed the men tensibly, she watched the people across the ice. Unable to really see their faces, she felt somewhat at ease. For some reason, watching these eight figures in the snow calmed her, made her relax more then she has in years. But that calmness soon faded. She saw their plan. They had been shooting their arrows at the edges of her half-brothers army, made them bunch together, yet although the ice would crack it wouldn't break. Her heart tightened in terror as she watched a lone figure, that of a giant, run across the ice, his axe held high. As he swung, she heard the orders shouted, yet she couldn't let this happen. No! Cynric would not take this sudden calmness from her; take these people who inspired a feeling of safety. So she did something she had never done before, something she had never entertained in her darkest thoughts. She ran.

She heard a few of the men yell in surprise before she heard Cynric's bellow of rage. Yet she didn't stop, not even looking behind her as she broke free of the army's ranks and in-between the two parties. She let the terror fuel her, the adrenalin make her move faster, because she knew if Cynric or even if her father caught her before she could make her escape, she would come back broke, maybe even dead if Cynric didn't beg on her behalf like he always had before. She slipped more times then she cared to admit, could already feel the bruises every time she jumped over a particularly large crack, all the while dodging arrows. She headed straight for the giant, and she soon realised when no arrow hit her after the first ten metres her brothers and father's enemies were covering her escape. When she first started to feel the beginning of a dangerously painful stitch in her side, she let the knowledge of these strangers help wash over her, it dulling the pain enough that she didn't falter in the soreness and give up. When she was closer to the giant knight then her half-brother's army, she met his gaze before accidently flying into his side, almost knocking the both of them over. Yet he caught her, turning just in time to miss an arrow as one arm almost tenderly went around her as he looked at her in surprise as if just noticing her presence on the lake. "Once more!" she yelled, holding onto his side as she breathed in deeply, horribly loud. He nodded, before looking like he was gathering his strength, before striking again. There was a crack, and she watched in painful relief as the ice broke and gathered the Saxon army into her frozen arms. But their victory was short lived, because just as that dreaded army went tumbling down, so did Sierra and the giant at her side.

If she was cold before, she was completely frozen now. As the arctic liquid swallowed her and the giant, she could faintly see blurry shapes in the distant depths as Saxon soldiers were also dragged into the deep. Yet she didn't let go of the giant, as he didn't her, because even if his brothers in arms failed to rescue him, she would not surrender the only person who had touched her with such gentleness to be alone in the darkness. It was only as her vision was fading, and her grip on her giant was loosening, could she suddenly breathe. Not understanding for a moment, she shivered violently as she coughed the water from her lungs. Opening her green as fresh grass eyes she saw an equally soaked male leaning over her, his dark brown hair gently caressing her face as she saw a strange tattoo on his cheek. She turned to her left slightly, seeing her hand was scrunched tightly into the giant's clothes, while his own arm was still held tightly against her back. "Rest" a voice said from beside's her, and she turned to the soaked man on her other side, her eyes on his tattoo again. As her heavy eye lids closed, she felt a hand ghost across her hair while a voice murmured "you did well", before she was pulled into a heavy sleep.