Disclaimer: for fun not profit. No copyright infringement intended.
When Gawain was a little boy the winters were cold.
Cold enough to freeze the water, chill the blood and make each moment between waking and dressing himself an ordeal. That was a long time ago however, when he was a boy not a man. When to be called Samartian was an honour and not a death sentence. But despite the discomfort he had suffered then, those days seemed almost blissful given his current situation.
Rolling onto his back, Gawain bit his lip hard in an attempt not to cry out in pain as the arrow buried in his shoulder scraped against the ground. Bringing any attention to himself was tantamount to a death sentence and he had no desire to die out here in the mountains. Looking up from the rocky hollow that his mount had unceremoniously dumped him in, Gawain watched his bay mare trot daintily through the snow and disappear into the very forest that sheltered the Woads who had tried to kill them both a few minutes ago.
" I hope they make you into stew," he thought fuzzily. The cold and pain was doing funny things with his mind, and he frowned and tried to concentrate.
First things first. Get out of sight.
That was an interesting proposition given that he was currently freezing to death on a mountainside, his blood seeping into the snow and serving as a literal red flag to the Woads who were trying to hunt him down and make him into… What was the latest story going around the soldiers' barracks? Gawain rubbed his uninjured hand against his face and tried to remember. Some sort of pagan ritual involving bloodshed and unnatural cruelty no doubt.
His commander and fellow knights were most likely looking for him, but due to his own stupidity there was little chance that he would be found. The "shortcut" he had taken was obviously little used and the snow would have obliterated any tracks. Dropping his head back down onto the snowy heather, Gawain took a deep breath before struggling to his feet. His shoulder burned with a pain that was at odds with the numbness of his hands and feet and his hair flopped into his eyes as he trudged across the moor, but he kept himself moving by sheer force of will. It was his own fault that he had gotten lost, and if he was going to give his life to the Romans then it would be in battle, not freezing to death on a moor before he had even seen eighteen summers.
The terrain was uneven and the path he followed almost nonexistent, but keeping his head down as the wind whipped his hair around his face, Gawain put one foot in front of the other and headed in the general direction of the town that he remembered passing through the day before. The people hadn't seemed to be overjoyed at the appearance of Arthur and his knights, but then they hadn't been actively hostile either and that had made a welcome change. They probably wouldn't shoot him in the back anyway.
Glancing behind him, Gawain scanned the terrain. The snow had started falling but it was fairly light, and even though the sun was setting no-one was following him that he could see. Far ahead the glow of what had to be candle light flickered and he tried to hurry towards it.
"Hey, wait, be careful…"
The words came from a woman, but turning, Gawain slipped and fell before he could see her. For a moment it seemed as though he hung in the air before the path he was walking disintegrated and he tumbled down the hill bordering the path and slammed against a tree. Dazed, he swore as pain ripped through him and the arrow in his shoulder ground against his collarbone. Unconsciousness was swift, sweet and entirely welcome.
"He looks filthy."
"Is he dead?..."
"Do you think he's dead? He's breathing you idiot!"
Sacha could just feel Yanna rolling her eyes at her.
The girl behind her pushed Sacha aside and walked towards the bloody lump lying underneath the coppice.
"What do you see?" she shouted down the hill.
"Don't touch it!" another girl shrieked.
Sacha watched Yanna move closer to the, she now noticed, young man.
"I need some light!...anyone?" Yanna shouted up the steep hill.
Sacha quickly took her lantern and stumbled down to her friend, slipping in the mud and desperately trying not to drop the light as she had done a few nights earlier.
When she reached Yanna and the body under the trees, she took a proper look at the man, and prodded her foot in his side experimentally.
"Hey!...you alive?" Her voice was lost in the cold winter wind, and when she turned around to Yanna, she'd taken a few steps back, afraid of the bleeding man.
"And?" the voice of one of the girls came from above. "Should I go and find someone?"
Yanna struggled back up to the path. "I'll get Da."
'Great, now I'm stuck here with this idiot..' Sacha thought to herself.
She prodded the man repeatedly in his ribs. No reaction.
"Oi, mate…Oi!" kneeling down she shook his shoulders, trying to wake him.
He was probably some drunk who tumbled down in a state of semi-consciousness after drinking too much ale, she thought to herself.
She should have never called out to him, she should have known he was just some lowlife town drunk who had gotten lost on the way back home.
She and her friends should not have gone out so late to go see if the stories and rumours were true.
She should have stayed under her furs and she should not have been so damn nosy.
There were no knights as they had hoped to find - not here anyway.
And now Yanna had gone to get her father, and they would all be punished for sneaking out in the middle of the night, and getting involved with the local tosser who had passed out inconveniently in front of them.
While waiting for Yanna´s father she got down on her knees next to the man, soaking her skirt in the process.
Just when she tried to see where the blood came from she accidentally whacked her knee against his nose and the man groaned in protest. Snapping his eyes open, he coughed and a small river of blood ran from his nose over his mouth.
Sacha quickly stumbled backwards, toppling over a rock at her heels and landing on her back with a loud shriek.
She just lay there for a moment, afraid to get up and face blood covered man.
Hearing the man struggle for breath, she got a little worried.
What if she had prodded his ribs too hard and he was now dying a slow painful death coughing out his intestines?
She sat up again and crawled on her hands and knees through the snow, towards the whimpering man.
"hello..?" she whispered close to where she thought his ear would be.
The hairy man just groaned.
A large amount of tangled, sweaty curls lied sprawled next to his head.
On his forehead she could see a dark shadow, maybe mud, maybe blood.
The man's breath came out in short pained huffs.
Sasha wished she'd just stayed in bed, then she wouldn't be sitting next to this probably dying man.
The gods knew where he came from.
What would people say if they heard the stories tomorrow?
All of a sudden the hairy man coughed sharply into the night air and her heart stopped.
'what if he died?' What would people think? Would they think she'd killed him?
She had to get out of there, run, flee, go!
The man gurgled again, and she suddenly realized how young he actually looked.
He turned his head in her direction, his body moving towards hers.
Something gleamed in the single beam of moonlight coming through the canopy above them.
A knife, a very big knife.
She recognized it to be a sword, just like the ones her father and brothers owned.
So, this smelly sod was a fighter now?
Sacha saw the blood from the fractured nose she just gave him was dripping into his slightly agape mouth.
"I am very sorry" she tried again.
The man just looked at her with clouded eyes, a pained expression on his face.
Without hesitating Sacha began to wipe the blood away from his lips with her thumb.
Her hand was getting covered in blood, and she hoisted up the hem of her skirt to stop the bleeding by pressing it gently against his face.
At the same moment Yanna and her father came thundering down into the bushes.
Osgar, Yanna´s father, pushed past her and hastily examined the man.
"what have you done to him?" he hissed in Sacha's direction.
She froze. Fair enough, she had a history of teasing people, following them around, pestering them, but she never went this far! She wouldn't ever hurt anyone, well not deliberately, she thought guiltily, looking at the man's bloody nose.
She mumbled something but Osgar wasn't even listening any more, too busy trying to get the injured stranger to talk.
Together with Yanna he heaved up the very big, young man and began to drag him up the steep hillside, scaring away all the small animals that had sheltered there from the cold, snowy night.
Sacha's breath was forming small puffs in the freezing air while she watched Yanna's dad, an old man with an endless ginger plait, heave him up on his shoulder and drag him up towards the path.
All the way up she noticed the man kept moaning and huffing with every step and wondered why the man he carried didn't make any effort to help himself.
Then she saw it. She wasn't exactly sure at first, but the man being out in the moonlight now, gave everything a much clearer view.
What she had first mistaken for a branch seemed to be an arrow, sticking out from just above his shoulder blade.
The world flickered and swayed.
His chest crushed against the man's shoulder, too weary to fight, Gawian watched the footprints in the snow as he was carried away to who knew where. He wanted to go back. Back to the trees where one of Arthur's angels had saved him - for surely that was what she had been; all bright eyes and cold, kind fingers upon his cheek. Sent to lead him somewhere warmer, somewhere without duty or slavery. Perhaps Arthur himself had sent her... Perhaps his God had… Perhaps… The white of the snow abruptly turned to black and Gawain succumbed to blessed unconsciousness.
Gawain woke up screaming. Two men pinned him down while someone he couldn't see was apparently trying to sever his arm from his body.
"Just yank it out Sacha", the man holding his torso down snarled. After a moment there was the yelp of an unmistakable female voice, the scrape of something against bone that left him dizzy with pain, and then, faintly through the grey haze that was the best he could do to keep consciousness, a woman's voice.
"Got it." She sounded at once triumphant and queasy, and had he had the strength, Gawain would have turned his head to look at her. Instead he closed his eyes and waited for them to start on his next arm. Apparently the savages were set on dismembering him, and had he the power to do more than whimper he would have fought them. As it was, it was hard enough not to slide quietly into oblivion. I won't beg though, he thought fiercely. I won't give them the satisfaction.
The expected pain did not come, however. He was lifted upwards, pressed more closely to someone broad and muscular who smelt of damp leather, but from the light touch at his back and the aching of his arm he still had all four limbs intact. The pain lessened when something cool was wrapped around his shoulder, and when he was laid back down on the soft but somewhat smelly furs, the day's previous events came back to him.
Woads. Bloody treacherous horse. Falling. Angel.
Opening his eyes he came face to face with the angel from the snow who was now looking at him with mild panic, her hair in complete disarray and her hands stained with blood.
"Oh." Backing away, she wiped her hands nervously on her dress. "I… I er…" Looking desperately towards the door of the room, she didn't seem to know whether to stay or go.
"You saved me," Gawain said slowly. "When I was in the snow, you found me."
If it were possible the girl looked even more uncomfortable at that statement.
"No." Letting out a breath she tried to look anywhere but at him. "Well yes, but it was kind of my fault." The last few words were muttered so low that Gawain didn't hear them.
"Are you an angel?" He asked. Blood loss was making everything seem a bit fuzzy, and with the candles behind her, illuminating her skin and giving her hair a golden glow, the girl certainly looked like an envoy of Arthur's God.
She frowned in confusion at that, before horrified realisation made her look upon him in panic.
"Oh don't say that you're a Christian. Don't you dare. Bad enough that you're here bleeding all over the place without you dying and us not able to bury you properly." Walking over to him, she peered at his shoulder and gave him a not particularly gentle poke. "We've got enough trouble without your spirits coming back and haunting us because we didn't say the right words when we buried you." She gave him a worried look. "Are we supposed to bury you?"
"Not until I'm dead." Feeling a little less dizzy but no less confused, Gawain squinted up at the girl. "From the way my shoulder feels like it's on fire and my head is pounding I think that I'm still alive."
"Good. That's good." The girl took a step backwards and bit her lip, studying him intently. She flushed, but Gawain took it for relief that she apparently wasn't going to have to dispose of his body in the near future.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Sacha," she mumbled. All of a sudden she seemed to have difficulty looking at him.
"I'm Gawain." He attempted to give her a friendly smile which since his head was pounding and he was a little afraid that he might be sick was perhaps not as charming as it might have been. "Could you tell me where I am?"
"Upton," she replied. "Well near enough anyway - after I made you, I mean after you fell down the hill we took you to Yanna's house. Yanna's my friend," she clarified at his confused look. "It was closest. Osgar, that's Yanna's da said we had to get this out as soon as we could." Reaching over to the table beside the bed she picked up the arrow he had been shot with. From the way she was holding it towards him it was almost as though she expected him to take it back as though it were a treasured possession.
"Keep it," he said eventually. "Really."
"Oh." Putting it down hastily, she flushed again, and Gawain had to stifle a smile despite his discomfort. Pretty the lass might be, but she didn't seem to be very comfortable in his company.
"Did you take it out?" Remembering the light touch of a woman's hands upon him during the previous pain, he gestured towards the arrow and wasn't surprised when Sacha nodded in response.
"It was in pretty deep, Osgar and my father had to hold you down. I'm sorry that I hurt you."
"I'd be sorrier if you hadn't." Feeling very tired, Gawain tried to think of the best course of action. Arthur and his fellow men needed to know where he was, but even if he had a horse - which he didn't, and even if he could stand up without falling over - which seemed highly unlikely, he didn't actually know where they were. "Is there any way to find out where the nearest Roman patrols are?" he asked wearily.
Sacha looked confused, but after a moment's thought replied. "I could ask Alexion - he's half Roman, he's in charge of things in this village and the next, but why do you want to know?"
"He needs to tell Arthur, commander of the Samatian knights that you have Gawain."
"You're a knight?" Gawain had closed his eyes so he couldn't see the expression on the girl's face, but the incredulous tone of her voice spoke volumes. Had he been more alert, and had he not been so tired he might have been a little insulted at her words, but as it was oblivion claimed him before he had a chance to say anything else.
As soon as the man who called himself Gawain sunk back into himself, Sacha scrambled to her feet and fled from the room.
Outside she stood, panting lightly in the early morning light.
It was cold, and her feet and hands were slowly starting to lose their colour, thank the gods, so was her face.
This wasn´t like her, to lose her wit and blush like a giddy…, whatever it was that was giddy these days.
She had to admit the boy, man, knight, was attractive, no doubt about that, but he was just a bit too proud.
Proud? Was that the right word?
She sighed and pulled her cloak a bit tighter around herself, no point in going back to sleep now.
It would be morning in a little while, and she would be expected to be back at work by then.
So, she turned back to the cottage behind her, and decided it wouldn't hurt to make some breakfast for her mother and siblings.
The room was still damp and cold with the faint smell of irony blood, and shallow breathing could be heard from somewhere in the dark.
She quietly lighted a candle and poked the smouldering remains of the fire in the corner, placed some logs onto it and hung a pot of water above it.
The man in the corner on the floor coughed, and she prayed he wouldn't wake the entire house.
Scurrying over to him quickly she saw the light reflect on his slightly opened eyes.
'you awake?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
The man groaned and Sacha guessed that meant 'yes'.
She came a little closer and loomed over him, he was shivering.
She really did not want to, but outstretched her hand to feel his neck and forehead for an upcoming fever.
Just when she was about to feel his temperature the man spoke and startled her.
"what the hell do you think you're doing?" his voice sounded low and tired.
She pulled back her hand and blushed.
'what is it with this blushing?' He asked with what sounded like exasperation.
The man looked at her intently, as if he was looking for ways to make her feel uncomfortable.
She gave a frustrated huff. "Fine! I hope you die of fever, so I´ll be rid of you!"
The man was quiet, but didn't look taken aback by her words at all, which frustrated Sacha even more.
She walked over to the fire in the corner and took the hot pot from the hook, and placed it on the wobbly table next to the candle she lit earlier.
She sure wasn't going to let this arrogant little idiot get to her.
" I can jam that arrow back you know" she sneered at him. She turned towards him triumphantly.
The man turned his head in her direction and in the soft light of the candle she saw him smile, SMILE!
A cheeky grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and his eyes gleamed mischievously.
Sachas jaw dropped and just when she was going to give this man a piece of mind he spoke again, this time a little louder.
"we both know you won't"
She huffed, "oh yeah?, and why's that?"
He was silent for a while, but it wasn't an awkward silence, it was more like something filled the air.
" what is it boy?...you lost your tongue?" 'ha! That'll teach him, snobby, little, arrogant, knight!'
But his reaction was not at all what she expected.
He simple shrugged and laid back down again, closing his eyes.
Sacha turned back to the table and was just about to slice the bread when she heard him say "I am cold.."
'so? Do I look like I give a damn, you're cold?!'. She wanted to say.
Instead she rolled her eyes and went to fetch another blanket.
When she returned to his bed with it she noticed he was smothered with furs, blankets and that he even had extra hay to lie on.
She gave him a questioning look, and unceremoniously dumped the stack of blankets on him, trying to aim as close to his injured shoulder as she could.
He was grinning again, this time a little broader.
Sacha started to get really agitated at his amusement. "What now! Too many blankets?"
He laughed out loud, the pile of blankets moving on his shaking body.
"No,…I just really enjoy teasing you"
Sacha huffed, her anger and embarrassment getting the better of her,
How dare he? After she'd taken care of him, make fun of her?
She yanked the covers off of the young knight and grabbed his arm, pulling him up out of the bed, while he whimpered and chuckled loudly at the same time.
"well, you can go and tease someone else!" and she pushed him towards the door.
She expected him to, well, she didn't really know what she expected, but it sure as hell wasn't this!
The man, dragged on her arm, the one she was still holding him with, and drove her into his body, holding onto her for dear life.
She froze.
he spoke "my foot…it's my foot.."
He swayed and then took her crashing to the floor.
She yelped and tried to grab a nearby chair but it was too late, they both landed on the floor with a dull thump.
Sacha scrambled up on her feet and dusted herself up, her cheeks on fire.
"sorry, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to, well I did mean it but…"
The man's eyes twinkled, "thank you for the apologies, but can you please help me up?"
"right, sorry,…I am so sorry,… sorry." She squatted down and outstretched her hands to haul him up.
He took them both and before she could yank them back, kissed both her palms and wrists
Trailing kisses on them with great precision.
Sacha just looked at his lips who pressed down warmly on her cold hands.
Outside the dawn was breaking and the village awoke slowly, while they sat there on the floor.
Gawain looked up and winked. "can you help me up now?"