A/N: I know I should be writing Brave Boy, and I am. I'm almost done with the next chapter and I've written two more future chapters. I couldn't get this idea out of my head.
Title: Scottish Village Girl
It was dark out, so dark that it could hardly be called day. The sun had failed to peak from the dark blanket of storm clouds that refused to surrender even an inch of sky. It had rained early that morning, making the ground miserably muddy and clammy. The dark peat covered the hooves of horses, the bottoms of boots, and the hemlines of dresses.
The village was stirred and upturned. Wreckage spilled from pillaged houses. Not just belongings…
The bodies of men, women, and small children lined the main street.
The village seemed desolate except for the large men that roamed the streets, kicking over bodies and possessions. All the houses near had been searched and the Saxon soldiers were now moving through the debris for anything missed or overlooked. Many passed by a small hut that looked deserted. It was dark inside, and no one bothered.
For a young woman, unnoticeable and covered in dirt except for the bright red of her hair, the hut was a sanctuary. She lay huddled in the corner, unable to ignore the sharp pinch of sticks from the side of the hut that poked her in the side. The cramping of her legs and neck was unbearable, yet she stayed still with her head down. She was safe and dry here. But however tight she closed her eyes, she could not block out the screams and shouts outside. She wondered if one of those voices was her mother, her father, or her sister but she knew that if they had not come back for her now, they were not likely to.
Shivering from the cold, she tightened her arms around herself and winced when she heard footsteps approaching the hut. They passed, thankfully, but her heart continued to race and she felt tears slide down her cheeks. The cold numbness soaked into her clothes and she did not know how long she had been pressed against the wall. She prayed that she would wake up and to make herself she rocked gently, willing herself to awaken from this dream. Again, footsteps approached and she felt sickness rise in her stomach. She turned her head, ready to empty the contents of her stomach. Still crying, she put her hand to her face and cupped her mouth to stem the scream that attempted to escape.
The slamming of a table knocked aside made her jump and she could hardly wait to see the face of her mother standing there, willing for her to come, to run to safety. Her heart clouded her mind and she thought for a moment that maybe her mother had disguised herself as a man to conceal her identity and had knocked over the table in a rush.
She was very much mistaken and cowered when the man in front of her came into clear focus and moved toward her. She buried her head in her arms, muttering softly to herself.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up…" she whimpered.
The man moved toward her, frowning. At first glance around the hut he had seen nothing. The hut was full of the every day: a few straw beds and bureau. There was nothing to take, nothing that would please Cerdic. He pushed a table aside, hearing the resounding crack when one of the legs broke. But in fact, he was just about to leave when he had heard the small mewling.
With his brow furrowed, he glanced around the room for the source and his eyes darkened when he spotted the small, huddled mass in the corner of the hut. Sighing, he made a move toward it.
Hearing the quiet of the hut, the girl lifted her head and jumped when she saw the dark brown eyes of a man glaring back at her. She whimpered and held up her hands.
"Please. Please...please I'll stay quiet…please…" she whispered, her voice thick with pleading.
It was the 'please' that startled the young man. He was surprised this young girl knew enough to beg for her life. She looked very young. But upon her coming into clearer sight, he was surprised to discover she was closer to a woman than a girl. Frowning he looked around the hut and out the front, wondering what to do. He could kill her, he supposed, and sighed at the thought. Truth be told, was tired of this campaign; he longed for home. He could not understand why Cerdic would want this barren, horrid land. And why they cast their energies into a land that would soon be left desolate anyway, he would never know. Why had they not waited another few months, until the Romans had completely left? But he had not been born to think, he reasoned, and followed Cerdic without many second thoughts.
He surveyed this girl like a soldier would. Her eyes were dull, he thought, gray and normal. And her hair, he assessed, was muddy and needed a thorough washing but it was still coppery red beneath the grime. She had muscle, he could see, from hard work in the fields nearby, but her current state of disarray was from their invasion. Her family was dead, he knew that much, and he heard no one else in the hut.
Now, watching the woman, he felt exhausted. For over a month they had been traveling non-stop. They barely stopped, and when they did it was for a short amount of time. Once over the sea it had been a constant march and a struggle to stay in time with the drums. At first, there had been wanderlust and blood lust. But now, seeing this tiny woman huddled in a corner, he felt sick to his stomach. Swallowing hard he looked back out the door, to make sure no one was coming.
"I'll stay very quiet." She said even more quietly than before.
He looked back over at her, raising an eyebrow. "Don't worry." He said suddenly.
His eyes widened and his face relaxed in subtle shock. He had not meant to speak.
She looked up at him, surprised. She stared at him, the shock not quite allowing her to respond in a human way. She was fully prepared for more begging or even the sharp sting of a sword, not acquiescence.
"Don't make a sound and don't move until the sun comes out, understand?"
She frowned, looking up.
"Do you?!" he growled.
She was about to respond, to nod or to speak to him when another form filled the doorway. She cowered, her body shaking in her attempt to still.
"Eh, Brandt! We're moving!" a gruff, scratchy voice called.
He inhaled deeply and turned, sighing. "Yes, coming."
"What have we there?"
Brandt turned sharply to the man, "Nothing." He said quickly, moving to join the man in the doorway.
"No, no, over there in the corner."
"Blankets." Brandt dismissed.
"Nah, nah, that be a woman."
The woman lifted her head slowly, peaking up over her arm. She could see a bald man with a long, brown beard approach her, squatting down. He grinned, his teeth yellowing and his breath putrid. She drew back, whimpering softly.
"Ah, missy, c'mon. We'll not hurt you yet."
She lifted her head more. That 'yet' escaped his lips easily, as if it was definitely not a secret he was planning on hurting her.
"Please…please…I'm sorry I'll stay quiet. Please."
"No, no. You'll be fun to have around, come here girl." He coerced, reaching out to grab her arm.
"Please no!" she whimpered and slapped at his hands, drawing away and scrambling to scoot along the wall. She looked back at the young man whose name was Brandt, unsure of what to do.
He looked on impassively, standing there as if he did not want to waste the time on this game.
The man beside her growled and reached out, grabbing tight onto her shoulders and dragging her up. He gripped the cloth of her brown dress, ripping the sleeves. She began to thrash and this only served to make the man frustrated. He slapped her across the face and she felt the hot sting burn her skin. Swallowing down a sob she whimpered, holding still and tense, wishing it all away.
"Let's take her out."
Brandt simply sighed, turning and walking out, not bothering to wait for his comrade and the woman. He sheathed his sword and straightened his tunic and chain mail. The other man dragged her behind, her whines following.
They made their way to the main encampment, the man holding her through her to the ground and a few of the others gathered laughed as he lowered himself atop her. She clawed at the muddy ground, scooting back and away from the man who pulled her by her legs back to him, her dress riding up to her thighs.
Brandt watched with disgust, turning his eyes away from the sight in front of him. He could hear her helpless screams and swallowed his protests down. His thoughts were ridiculous. The men deserved their fun, he justified, but he could not wrap his head around this disgrace. They were acting like common criminals, not the warriors they were.
She screamed, struggling to push his heavy weight off. He laughed and kissed her neck as she thrashed against him, sobbing. She pushed with all her might. She would not succumb, she told herself. Not when she had nothing to lose. When it seemed she was going to die here, ruined and alone, the weight atop her lifted and she sat up, scrambling away. Above her, the boot of a man hovered and then lowered. It was attached to the body of a man…a man with dark eyes and a face hidden by hair. She did not see mercy there, but cold annoyance.
"We don't mix with these people. What kind of race would that breed? Weak people." He commented roughly to the man.
They exchanged a few more words that she could not make out with the bearded man and another younger, bald man. When the the leader drew his sword she fell to her knees, crawling to him.
"Oh, My Lord, thank you My Lord!" she cried, dropping to her knees, hands fisted in the bottom of his tunic, the hard edge of his chain mail cutting ridges into her palms.
The leader looked down at her, sheathing his sword slowly. "Kill her." Cerdic said simply, his callous face housing nothing but boredom as he pulled away from her.
She looked shocked for a moment, unsure of where she was. She was pulled away by unfamiliar hands and once a hand closed over her mouth she began to scream again. She pushed with her back, arching away from her captors, trying to slink away. They held tight, and she heard voices in a language she couldn't understand.
Brandt had watched with calculating hope. He waited for his moment, and once he found the time he went forward, grabbing the girl away and pulling her tight against him. He could feel her tense and struggle after realizing what they meant to do. She screamed against his hand and felt warm saliva on his palm and wet tears against his hand.
"Shh…" he whispered softly in her ear as he took her around back of a shed, denying the help of two other soldiers who offered their assistance.
Once a fair bit away he sighed and whispered into her ear, "If I let go, you must stay silent." He whispered, "Understand?"
Her face moved against his mouth in a nod of 'yes'. He slowly let go, holding her as she fell to the ground. He supported her just a little, letting her topple to her knees. She still sobbed, but bit her mouth closed to keep silent.
"Listen to me closely…" he started but sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked around the hut to the main camp, seeing men heading off in the other direction. He hadn't much time.
She watched him carefully, waiting for instructions. This was all very implausible, but she accepted it as a blessing, as an answer to her prayers. She was not about to mistrust any help that presented itself. She was going to die anyway…but the thought did not scare her much.
"Wh-what is your name?" he asked gently, crouching down beside her.
Frowning, the girl opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a shout nearby. It was the call to leave and Brandt cursed under his breath.
"Listen close. You will run, keeping close to the ground. You will run to that field, with the tall grasses. You will lie flat and still and unmoving. Soon, there will be a great fire here and you will not come out of hiding until the fires are burned down. When the sun rises tomorrow and everything is burned to cinders you will leave, follow the stream down by your mill to the river and then up to the wall. You do know the wall?" he asked.
She nodded quickly.
"Good. Do you understand what I've told you?"
Again, she nodded, but frowned. "Why?" she asked softly.
"Because…because I can." Brandt answered, but when he felt displeased with this he growled and shook his head. "Don't ask me that. Don't as why, I don't know."
Taking a shuddering breath, the girl nodded and watched as Brandt looked past the hut. He turned back to her and crouched down.
"I'll wait until you reach the field. Go as far as you can into the grasses without losing sight of the buildings."
She nodded and suddenly reached out, taking his face in between her hands. She held him steady, watching his dark eyes with her light ones. She could see deep inside him here, and the feeling was unnerving. He tried to look away but she held him firm.
"Thank you." She murmured gently.
Brandt frowned, watching her closely and sighed when another shout arose and the beating of the drums began.
"Go." He whispered harshly. He covered her hands with this, cupping them gently. He pulled her hands away, pushing her in the right direction. "Go now."
She stumbled and turned back. "Greer." She whispered softly. When he gave a puzzled look she smiled and elaborated, "That's my name."
The man straightened and nodded, as if this was satisfactory enough for him. "Greer. I am Brandt" He said gently and then shook his head impatiently, "Go! Are you mad?" he growled and turned from her, watching the army assemble.
She let a small smile crack on her face but was running the next second, her sore muscles straining. She would not stop, however, until she reached the safety of the tall grass.
Brandt looked back, watching her retreating back. When she had disappeared he unsheathed his sword, pleased and yet disgusted to see the blood coating it. They would not ask him about the woman. They had no need to. They would not remember any of the faces here, or even where this place was located. The ruins would disappear after a while, and then soon no one would remember this tiny village and the havoc they had caused or the lives they had ruined.
Greer would always think of Brandt, even if his name faded from memory. She could not recall weather he had been dark, blond, or tanned skinned. But those auburn eyes would stay engrained in her thoughts every time she felt the cold or the touch on her hands from her husband. She hoped he had found forgiveness in himself, for those tortured eyes had told her he was just a scared boy in the body of a fierce man.
Brandt would think of Greer often over the next few weeks. He would believe that in a different life, perhaps in the future or past, he would have met her on better terms. Perhaps been a brother or a lover to her. When he lay dying on Mount Badon, he would look up at the gray sky and remember one good deed, and light eyes of a pretty village girl.
A/N 2: So the title of the story comes from the character name in the credits of the movie King Arthur (which I don't own, by the way). I could somehow not get her face out of my head…that shocked face she had when she realized it was all over for her and was being dragged away by Cerdic's men. I thought she needed a second chance. And Brandt is now very close in my heart and I wish I could write about him more. Feedback? Did you like it?