Out of Darkness Comes the Light
Summary: Part two of Teagan's story. Takes place six months after Badon Hill. This part is based on the song: 'Darkness.' By Disturbed. It is darker than the first part. Our hero gets very ugly. But is redeemed. Old friends are back and some new ones come to give our knights a run for their money. And this is strictly AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone you may recognize. I don't even own the title. If you think I have ripped you off, sorry. This came purely from my own imagination, such as it is. I don't even claim that my story is any good...
Rated M. Mostly for later chapters as they have mature adult content and implied violence. Though nothing to explicit. Oh, and language.
Trudging through another day of rain, Teagan stopped to let her horse, Aodh, graze on what he could find to eat. She tried to take a drink from her drinking skin, but the thing was empty. Cursing, she replaced the skin on the pummel of her saddle.
Teagan looked around, she was desperately tired. Not eating or drinking would do that to a person.
Oh, she knew better. But right now, she didn't care if she lived or died. And right now, dying seemed preferable. Bringing her hand to her heart, she felt the familiar ache. She knew her soul had died. She was just waiting for her body to follow.
As tired as she was, she didn't see the huge Saxon jump at her. Tired as she was, she barely felt herself being hurled to the ground.
Teagan felt rough hands haul her away. She didn't have the strength to struggle. She didn't have the strength to cry out.
0o0o0o
Lancelot and Dagonet say that they didn't remember being dead, but Tristan did. He remembered every moment. And it was Arthur's hell.
0o0o0o
She was strung up. Her arms and legs were spread out. Her dress was torn, leaving nothing to the imagination. There were bruises, cuts and it looked like her ribs had been cracked. There was a nasty gash in her right thigh. Blood was running down her arms, down her legs.
She gave a moan, raising her head.
Her eyes opened, and though they were nearly swollen shut, they were still blue. She glared at the huge Saxon in front of her.
The woman gathered her strength. She spit into the face of the giant in front of her.
The huge man backhanded her, nearly snapping the woman's neck. As her neck moved, her red, curly hair swung out of her face uncovering her neck.
Her neck held the tattoo of a dragon.
0o0o0o
Tristan sat up, sweaty and angry. Again he had this damned nightmare. Again, he dreamed about Teagan. Shaking his head to clear it, he wondered if he would ever get her out of his mind.
Figuring that he wouldn't get back to sleep, he pulled on a pair of breeches and a tunic. Not bothering with boots, he left his room and made his way to the graveyard. To stand beside his own grave. His grave that no longer held his body. His grave that no longer held his sword, but another. He had taken his own blade when he came back from the dead. This one was the one he had given Teagan all those months ago. This sword to mark her grave, though her body was not in it.
He had, essentially, risen from the dead. Him, Lancelot and Dagonet. Those two didn't remember their time while they were dead. Oh, they remembered dying, but not how they had ended in their own beds, months later. Some said that Merlin had risen them. Tristan didn't know what to believe.
But Tristan remembered being dead. And it was hell. He had had dreams of Teagan. Dreams of Teagan stepping out of a tub. Dreams of making love to Teagan the night before he was killed. Dreams of watching her smile at Galahad's son. Dreams of - her. Her red hair, blue eyes, slim waist and fiery disposition. And that tattoo. Tristan dreamed of following that dragon tattoo from it's beginning on her neckto it's end on her backside.
And the nightmares always followed the dreams. Nightmares of Teagan being tortured by Saxons. The sound of Teagan's ribs being cracked. The sight of Teagan's body covered in blood. In his nightmares, he heard Teagan scream. Scream in pain. Scream in rage. And scream for forgiveness.
This was what he dreamed while he was laying in that grave, dead.
Now, alive, he was still having these dreams, these nightmares.
And this was his habit now. Every time he had the dreams he came to his grave. Stand there for what seemed like hours. Mostly until the sun rose. When the sun rose and dried the dew that had gathered on his feet, did he finally leave that mound of dirt.
This time though, he did something different. Instead of staring at the sword he had given Teagan, he grasped its hilt, feeling the smoothness of the leather on the handle.
In his mind he could almost feel the softness of her skin. The gentleness of her hands. He could see her bright blue eyes. Eyes that looked like the sky kissed by the sun. The red hair that had originally been his undoing. He could hear her laugh. He could hear her cry.
Above, his hawk let out a mourning screech. She felt Tristan's heart breaking.
Tristan let out a ragged sigh. Silently he pulled the sword out of the ground.
0o0o0o
Tristan's little walk into the graveyard did not go unnoticed. Arthur and Lancelot watched as Tristan again went to his grave.
"He's not going to get over it is he?"
"No, Lancelot. Not any time soon. He either needs to find her, or proof that she is indeed, dead."
"Even if he finds out either way, it isn't going to go well."
Lancelot felt his heart constrict. He never wanted to believe that Teagan was dead. Even when Aodh showed up at the gates four weeks ago.
Arthur looked down at his friend as he stood by the empty grave. They had spent weeks watching Tristan fall further into the abyss that he had created for himself. Something needed to be done.
Arthur made a decision. "Gather some men. Take him with you. See if you can't find her."
Lancelot nodded, starting to leave when Arthur's hand on his arm stopped him. Lancelot looked at his King.
"Take only those she trusts."
"But, Arthur, that's only a few of us."
A/N: Again I take that giant leap of faith. Reviews would be lovely.
