"...I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you..."
~ I Carry Your Heart With Me, E. E. Cummings
... )O( ...
Eleven yawned sleepily and scrubbed a small hand over her eyes. Clutching the small scrap of a doll in her other hand tighter to her chest, she waited quietly beside her mother whilst the rest of her siblings squabbled loudly - pushing and shoving each other about.
"Eh! Hush now you lot!" her mother snapped, the tone of her voice giving away her nervousness that he would not return, "Yer pa should be 'ere any minute now."
... )O( ...
The first time he saw her, he was in his seventeenth year - she was a scrappy red head no more than fifteen. He liked the way she somehow managed to look like a beggar, yet walk around like she were Queen of the world. He liked scrappy, he liked red hair and he liked her toughness.
It was a shame she did not share his passionate sentiments. "No bloody way Sarmatian! If yeh think yer gunna knock me off me feet and get on me back ye've got another thing com'in." she'd hissed the first time he pulled her onto his lap, much to his Sarmatian brothers' laughter, "Now let go, afore I bite yeh'!"
The second time he pulled her onto his lap, she bit him.
... )O( ...
"Papa!" Eleven and her siblings yelled with delight as the knight rode into the inner keep and dismounted. As one, they charged towards him and swarmed.
He leant down to meet them as they ran to him, "How are all my little bastards?" their father roared as they clambered all over him, both hugging and squeezing at once.
"Good." They chorused in reply, happy to see him again. There was always the possibility that he would not return one day, today however, he had.
"Where's yer mother?" their father grunted under the mass of heavy children.
Eleven tapped her fathers nose (which was down much lower than usual due to the immense weight of her delighted siblings) with her hand to get his attention, "Mamma's ov'r there. She says she want's teh talk teh yeh 'bout somethin importan' bu' tha' yer to say 'ello proper first." Eleven said importantly, rather pleased that none of her older siblings had thought to answer before her.
"Righ'," he said, before growling with the effort as he heaved the giggling mass of children off him and scooped her into his arms. "'Ow are yeh Ten?"
Eleven scowled at him and put her hands on her hips (careful to make sure the doll in her hand didn't slip from her grasp), "I'm nowt Ten! I'm Eleven papa!" she said with as much indignation as her five year old self could muster.
"'Eleven! course I knew it was yeh, just teasin'." her father laughed, ruffling her bright red hair and watching as the delighted smile slipped back on her face, "By God's yeh look like yer mum girl."
Eleven smiled happily, "Really?!"
"Really." came the sombre reply. "Now, you been a good girl? 'Elpin yer mum?"
Eleven nodded vigorously. She loved helping her mother, it always made her feel grown up (despite what Six said).
"Good girl." her father said, pressing a kiss to her cheek and letting her slide gently to the ground before turning his attention to her mother. "Nora meh sweet! I've missed yeh woman! Now get over 'ere so I can say 'ello proper!"
Eleven giggled as her parents kissed. She laughed even harder with her siblings when her father picked her mother up and she smacked him. Eleven clutched her doll tighter, and smiled happily, her papa was home and everyone was happy.
... )O( ...
It was only three months before she gave into him. He put it down to his devilish good looks, and persuasive manner. She told him she felt sorry for him. He knew otherwise. She never took another to her bed other than him; as other women who worked at the tavern often would. He knew she loved him, although she never said it. She knew he loved her, although he never said it.
In the end, she was the one thing that made his life more bearable. His commander, Arthur was a kind man, and as much a friend as any Roman could ever be called - that made his sentence easier. Every time he would come back from a battle, bruised and bloodied, and one brother less; she would be there. Her tongue sharp and cutting, yet her hands soft and gentle as they helped his aches and pains. Yes. It was her that kept him sane in this Hell of a place.
... )O( ...
"Wha?" her father exclaimed, apparently horrified at her mother's demand,
Her mother's eye's narrowed, and Eleven watched in delighted anticipation for for her reaction, "I said, we're goin' teh give them ALL names. T'morrow in fact." she said, tapping her foot on the ground.
"Wha' fer woman? You bloody mad?" he replied with a yelp, "They don' need names! They're 'appy as is! Ain't yeh kids?!"
Eleven watched as her older siblings made some uncommitted mumbling sounds. She for one didn't really care what they were talking about - names and such. "I don' mind my name papa." she said, earning a triumphant smile from her father and a glare from her mother. (She knew she was her father's favourite, even if her siblings didn't know it. Even if he didn't know it.)
"Tha's me girl!" he said smugly, ""There yeh go woman - Eleven's go' th' righ' idea!"
Her mother rolled her eyes, "She's bloody-well five years old Bors! She ain' got no idea!" she sniffed imperiously, "We'll be namin' them t'morrow an tha's final. They need names - proper names Bors an' yeh know it! Ain't right letten em walk roun' thinkin' they're numbers!"
"Mama, can I choose me own name?!" Four spoke up excitedly. Eleven just glared at her - she wanted their papa to win an argument (for once).
"Course you can dear!" her mother replied, twice as smug once the rest of the children joined in on the excitement.
Her father sighed melodramatically, reaching down to pick Eleven up once more, "Look's like we're outnumbered girl. I'm gunna 'ave teh learn yer names all over again!" he huffed, and Eleven nodded seriously, "Ahh well. Why no' migh' as well if it keeps yer mum 'appy."
Eleven smiled and wrapped her arms around her fathers neck, "Yes papa." The excitement of the day had finally caught up to her and she felt a rather tired. All thoughts of names, squabbling and siblings disappeared and she drifted into sleep.
... )O( ...
He had been in the Isle of Britton for a year when she came to him and said she was with child. His child. The expression on her face had been fiery and proud - almost daring him to deny it or ignore her as men sometimes chose to do. She didn't expect him to be ecstatic. Twirl her around with his happiness that together, they had created a new life.
She did however, expect him to broadcast his achievement to his brothers in arms - which he did without fail and with much gusto. Lancelot caterwauled, Tristan simply observed and Dagonet congratulated him quietly, as was to be expected. She gave him a verbal lashing for his vulgarity, but it did not hold it's usual sting. He could see she was just as pleased. His reasons for living then expanded to two.
... )O( ...
"It is time. Children of Bors and Vanora, step forward," King Arthur said, his deep voice rumbling, but not loud. Her parents, siblings; the other knights and their women; stood in front of the King and Queen in one of the more private halls. Eleven stared up at Arthur in wonderment, he always amazed her being so lordly, but so gentle almost. She didn't move, looking up at her father instead for encouragement. When he looked down and noticed her still standing in front of him; he gave her a covert shove in the direction of her siblings. Stumbling a little, and holding her doll tighter, off she went.
It had been decided that Gilly would not need to be renamed - after all, he had a name already. But her other siblings were all in front of her. Twelve, still a year younger than her, stuck to their mother's skirts and would be brought forward when everyone else was done.
Wide eyed, Eleven worried that she would have to do something bad to change her name. Like give up some of her blood to the gods or something in tribute. She shivered. She didn't want to give any blood. It would hurt.
Eleven was so busy worrying that she almost missed her oldest sister -Two's name of choice. Tullia. Eleven liked it, she didn't see her older sister much, but she was quiet - like her. Then everything moved forward so fast that Eleven almost lost track. Three chose Kellan - he always wanted to be a warrior - just like their father was.
Four chose Faolán - he had always loved wolves - both their savagery and intelligence. Eleven knew he looked up to Tristan (even though he would never admit it to papa) and wanted to be just like the scout.
Five, chose Mahon; he wanted to be a knight too - but he wanted to be a warrior like Arthur; and so chose a name meaning bear; the same as his King's. Six, chose Aoife. Elven rolled her eyes at that, her older sister had always thought she was beautiful, and had named herself accordingly. It was about then that Eleven began to get bored, just standing around. So she decided she was going to play quietly with her doll - that was, until she caught her mother's glare and fell silent.
Seven, was the only one of her siblings to share her red hair; but he was more temperamental than she was. He chose Harkin; (although Eleven thought he should have chosen a name that suited his flaming personality rather than reflecting his dark red hair).
Eight chose Yvon, she ignored the look her mother gave her for the choice (after all, what mother wanted a daughter so focused on becoming a warrior that she named herself as such). Eleven understood her mother, she was only worried. Her older twin siblings, Nine and Ten had chosen fairly similar names. Both had help from their mother. Nine had been so worried that their mother had had chosen Morna for her - 'beloved or affection'; similarly for Ten, she had named him Irv; meaning 'handsome'. Eleven was beginning to become very nervous, after all, she was next.
Arthur smiled at her older siblings and finally moved on to her. Eleven, looked up at the King with wide eyes. She and her siblings had a fairly free run of the inner keep, but she had never been this close to him before. "Eleven, daughter of Bors and Vanora, you have chosen to change your name," Arthur said kindly, his eyes twinkling as he noticed the small doll in her hands, "What do you choose?"
Eleven had asked her father very nervously the night before, what she should call herself. She didn't know what to do. He had sat her down on his knee and twirled a strand of her flaming red hair around his finger before telling her a name. Eleven liked it immediately, and made her decision then and there.
"I choose Eithna," she said clearly, standing as straight as she could and looking the King in the eye. "Meaning little fire...Like my hair."
Arthur smiled then and she felt rather pleased, none of her other siblings had made him smile like that; even Guinevere was smiling at her behind him, "Well, Eleven, you have made your decision, and you shall be known as Eithna from this day forward. I give you my blessing."
With that, it was over. Almost as soon as it had begun. She was thankful there had been no bloodletting (although she would have stood and taken it if there had been). It was when her mother finally brought Twelve forward, that Eleven - now Eithna; yawned. Now that her part was over, she didn't have much interest in the ceremony. All she wanted to do was go home and fall asleep. She was so groggy that she almost missed the name her little brother had been given - Dagonet.
... )O( ...
She was well along into their third child when he finally noticed it. All his brothers in arms loved her - as much as they could love such a temperamental spitfire - like she was family (although Lancelot often descended into realms beyond friendliness). But one went further than that; he began to notice the saddened cloud that settled about his best friend's demeanor.
When he asked him about it, Dagonet responded in what had been his last real passionate speech, "I am tired of this life. I look at you and Vanora and I see love and happiness - that is what I want. But I know I can never have it."
When he had questioned that statement, Dagonet had simply sighed forlornly, "Because the only thing I want from this life has already been taken."
His friend slowly withdrew into a shell away from the others. But sometimes, Dagonet would smile; not much, only the ghost of it flickering across his features - but a smile all the same. It had taken him a while to figure it out; but he got there in the end. Dagonet only smiled for Vanora.
... )O( ...
"Love, free as air at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies." ~ Alexander Pope
A/N: Just a little something to tide my fellow KA lovers over until I'm finished with Tristan. A bit bittersweet I know, but I decided to do something a little different with this one. I know Bors/Vanora stories aren't very popular, but I figured, hey, they should get a go ;)
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