Aethelinda
Agrona
AAAAAnd I'm back! Long time no see to those, who enjoyed my stories. This one, however, will not be Harry Potter related. It'll be sort of an homage to the geniuses that brought us "King Arthur". I'm a huge Lancelot fan and people have rarely seen me angrier than at his death scene. So I thought it was time to take it into my own hands and bring him back to life:dark, dangerous, and absoluuuuutely dashing! ;-)
It was raining.
No, raining wasn't the right word.
Pouring was more like it.
The weather had been like this for four days now. Normally Lancelot would have been impatient, moody and bored.
Well, he was bored.
And although he grew weary of the wetness, he was thankful for it.
This one time he had to agree with Bors: The rain did wash all the blood away.
The Saxons' blood, the Woads' blood, the Romans' blood….and Tristan's.
Lancelot grinded his teeth and felt the familiar fury welling up inside him. He gripped the shaft of his sword and willed himself to calm down.
The image of Tristan's body, lying on the ground lifeless had burned itself into his mind.
He didn't dare close his eyes at night, because the only thing he ever saw was his friend's pale face, covered in blood and dirt, his cheeks hollow, his eyes glassy and empty.
He himself had just escaped death, having received a rather nasty wound in the stomach, thanks to an arrow shot by the Saxon's son. He had paid for it, Lancelot had made sure of that.
The wound grew infected and he was in and out of consciousness for almost three weeks, his friends fearing for his life. But finally, he had pulled through and now here he was, alive and well, and at the same time feeling as though he were dying.
Tristan had been an unusual man. Never speaking much, preferring the forest to the tavern and the company of his eagle to that of the serving girls.
This in particular had never ceased to amaze Lancelot, but he had always respected his friend's decisions and had enjoyed his company and dry humour.
And now, he was gone.
Just like Dagonet.
Lancelot sighed and shifted uneasily.
Over the years, they had lost so many companions in battle that he should have been used to the feeling of loss by now.
But he wasn't.
Maybe it was, what it meant to be human, maybe he was weak and maybe, he had grown fond of these two men in particular. He didn't know, why their deaths were such a weight on his shoulders.
And it wasn't like there was anything to make him keep his mind off it.
All the other knights spent their days pretty much the same way he did.
Except Arthur of course, who besides ruling the country, had just wed a beautiful woman.
Lancelot couldn't help feel a slight pinch in his gut.
He wasn't the sort of man who got emotionally involved with women, that would just complicate everything and he preferred an uncomplicated life.
But Guinevere had somehow entranced him.
From the moment he had first seen her in the dungeons he had admired her, not only for her incredible beauty but also for her courage and her loyalty to her people.
He had never confessed this to anyone, especially not Arthur, but he was sure Guinevere had guessed what was going on.
Still, he wasn't going to suffer from a broken heart over her, there were far too many other girls, who would prefer him to Arthur any day.
At the moment however, he could spot not a single one.
Not that it mattered, he wasn't really in the mood to be charming.
"Brooding are you?" a voice said behind him.
He looked around and saw Gawain coming towards the end of the tavern with two mugs of ale in his hands. He put one down in front of Lancelot and sat down opposite him.
Lancelot grunted and stared into mug.
"What's the matter with you? You look like a lovesick girl." Gawain snorted.
Lancelot looked at him irritated and Gawain raised his hands apologetically.
"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to offend you." He said.
Lancelot sighed and rubbed his eyes.
"Forget it. I'm just not in the best of moods at the moment."
"That's understandable." Gawain muttered and they looked at each other sadly.
"Still…" Gawain took a swig from his mug. "I don't think Dagonet and Tristan would appreciate it, if we only sulk around. In fact, I'm pretty sure Tristan would shot an arrow up my arse because I'm not fighting injustice."
They both laughed and Lancelot felt somehow relieved.
"Yeah, you're probably right. I definitely wouldn't want all of you to just sit around instead of enjoying your freedom if that arrow had served its purpose."
"There you go." Gawain said nodding and looked around.
"It's kind of quiet in here, isn't it? Where are all the people?"
"They probably all drowned in the streets." Lancelot murmured and Gawain snorted.
"There are not even any girls." Gawain sighed and looked disappointed.
"Think you'll manage to sleep alone for one night? Or are you scared of the dark?" Lancelot teased him. Gawain kicked him under the table.
"Look who's talking. I'm amazed you haven't broken down in front of Vanora, crying and begging her to take you, because you haven't had a woman in about a month."
"I have to say I am kind of amazed myself." Lancelot grinned.
"Actually I think I should, if just to annoy Bors. When is he finally going to marry her?"
Gawain smiled and shrugged, drinking some ale.
"When she's pregnant with their 20th child I imagine."
"I think I agree with you on that." Lancelot muttered and sighed.
"So what now?" Gawain asked. Lancelot shrugged.
"I don't know. I guess we'll have to wait until the sun returns, then the women will be lying at our feet again."
Gawain smiled and shook his head in disbelief.
"I don't mean that. I mean, what are you going to do now? Now, that we're all free?"
The question had taken Lancelot aback. He didn't answer for some time.
"I… I'm not sure." He said tentatively.
"I don't know whether to return to my village, go some place else or..." he trailed off.
"Or stay?" Gawain asked.
"I've been thinking about that, too. I think Arthur would definitely appreciate our company. If we can manage to tear him away from his divine wife. And I don't know what else to do. My village was destroyed nine ears ago, I don't have a home anymore, except here."
Lancelot was astonished. Gawain wasn't usually the sort of person to express his feelings so openly. Gawain must have sensed his amazement.
"I've had too much time to think these last few days. I need a distraction before it gets worse." He muttered and winked at Lancelot who grinned.
"And what about your plan to find a Sarmatian woman to wed?"
"That depends on what is available. If Bors waits another three months I think I'll enter your competition for Vanora. God knows she'd give one children pretty quickly."
They both laughed and a long silence followed.
"What do you think Tristan and Dagonet would have done if they were still here?" Gawain asked his friend.
Lancelot drew a hand threw his hair and shrugged.
"Tristan would probably do the same as always, hide in the forest talk to his pet and eat apples. Dagonet…hard to say really. I bet he would have taken in that boy we saved. Who knows, maybe he'd have turned out to be quite the loving father."
Gawain smiled and nodded.
"Hard to imagine, but you're probably right."
Silence fell again. they drank their ale and let their minds wander for a while.
"Where's Galahad?" Lancelot asked.
"Probably lying on his bed, complaining about a headache. He got so drunk last night, even Bors said he wouldn't want to have that hangover."
Lancelot couldn't help himself, he sniggered.
"And let me guess, he went to bed alone, didn't he?"
Gawain shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know how he does it. Maybe he scares the women off by rambling or he insults them."
"Or maybe he's too shy for his own good. That's something he should definitely work on." Lancelot said and Gawain grunted.
"Not everyone can be as charming as you, you should've realized that by now."
"My friend, I always knew that. Not everyone is as blessed as I am." Lancelot grinned.
"You know, I'm actually amazed, that you don't get turned down because of you're unbelievable arrogance. It would certainly do you some good."
"My dear Gawain, no woman in her right mind would, or could for that matter, turn me down. The thought alone is ridiculous."
"Whatever you say." Gawain mumbled into his mug.
"Right, I think I'm going to bed. I feel like I could sleep for a century." He yawned.
"How come? You didn't actually do anything today, except drink." Lancelot said.
"Exactly." Gawain answered, got up and swayed slightly.
"If I go to bed now, there's no risk of me drinking more than I should, thus I will not follow in Galahad's footsteps and wake up tomorrow with my head on fire."
"Clever idea." Lancelot said laughing.
"Like I said, I have too much time to think. Night."
"Night." Lancelot muttered, draining his mug.
Gawain disappeared through the wooden tavern door.
With a sigh, Lancelot sank back against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes.
Gawain had got him thinking.
What was he supposed to do, now, that it was all over?
Should he go, should he stay? What was the right thing to do, what was the best thing to do?
He had to admit, he liked it here.
The people were nice, the ale good, the serving girls pretty.
But if his friends would scatter all over the country, he feared his life would grow rather dull.
A loud bang tore him out of his thoughts, as the tavern doors burst open.
Two men, Romans by the looks of them, entered.
Everyone watched them with hate and superstition but they didn't seem to care.
They sat down at an empty table and started arguing heatedly after ordering their drinks.
One of them pulled a little brown bag out if his pocket and emptied it onto the table. One of the golden coins rolled off the table onto the floor.
A young boy who was passing by, crouched down and picked it up.
Before he could do anything else one of the Romans had drawn his sword and had snatched the boy up at the neck.
"What do you think you're doing, you little rat? You won't steal my money!" he roared.
"Please, sir, I wasn't stealing it. I wanted to give it back to you." The boy said, his eyes wide in fear.
"And I'm supposed to believe you?" the guy hissed glaring at the boy.
"Yes, sir, I didn't mean nothing by it." The boy cried.
They Romans started laughing and Lancelot's chest tightened in fury.
He got up and walked over to them.
"Is there a problem?" he asked calmly.
The men mustered him with disgust in their eyes and one of them said:
"Now that you're here, there is one." The other one sniggered.
Before he knew what was going on, he heard his companion gasp and felt something cold against his throat. He looked down and saw the gleaming edge of a sword poking his skin.
"Not a very wise thing to say." Lancelot hissed, holding his sword steady.
"Now let the boy down." He added, trying to control his anger.
The guard let the boy down who was shaking.
"Thank you, sir." He mumbled, flushing.
Lancelot picked up to gold coins from the table and gave them to the boy.
"As a compensation." He said winking and the boy took the money smiling.
"You can't do that!" one of the men bellowed.
"I can, and I just did and if you move one muscle or try to take that money back I'll cut your hands off." He hissed.
"Now get out!"
The two men hurriedly picked up their belongings and Lancelot followed them through the door, after receiving a thankful glance of the tavern owner.
It was still pouring outside and the rain had turned the street into a muddy river.
It was already growing dark outside and the air was sharp and cold.
"Where can I escort you, gentlemen?" Lancelot asked, his sword still in his hand.
"We'll be quite alright." One of them said eyeing him nervously.
"Oh, but I insist." Lancelot grinned.
He followed them over to a large, wooden cart.
"This your home?" he asked, enjoying the turn of the evening.
"No, we're passing through with… with some …" the man broke off.
"With some sheep." The other said quickly.
Lancelot had difficulties repressing a snort.
"Sheep?" he asked and the men nodded nervously.
He took a step nearer to the cart and tried to listen past the rain.
But what he heard were definitely not sheep.
He could hear a baby crying, a woman sobbing and a man talking.
He looked at the Romans, who were starting to panic.
"I didn't know sheep could talk. Is it a special kind of sheep?" he asked.
The Romans didn't answer.
Lancelot turned around and walked towards the back of the cart, which was locked by a huge wooden barrier. As he raised his sword one of the men raced forward:
"You can't do that! Those are vagabonds! Unholy people, traitors!"
One look from Lancelot silenced him.
With all his might he hit down on the barrier, which burst into two and fell to the muddy ground. He gripped the wooden door to the inside and thrust it open.
It was hard to see anything inside, it was almost black.
A horrible smell of too many people having been trapped together for too long escaped from the cart. Lancelot took a step back and yelled over the rain:
"Come out, no harm will come to you!"
After a moment he saw a movement in the darkness and a boy, not older than ten climbed out of the cart, staring at Lancelot in amazement.
An old short man followed him and Lancelot helped him climb down.
Man after man, woman after woman, child after child, came out of the cart and Lancelot couldn't believe that so many people could fit in there.
Then, everyone had left the cart and he wanted to close the door again when he heard something from the inside that sounded like irons. He frowned.
"You there!" he said to one of the men who had just gotten out.
"Is there still someone in there?"
"There's one left. But she can't come out. She's tied to the wall." The man answered.
Lancelot was about to climb onto the cart when the Roman guard came forward once more.
"Sir, you can't let her loose! She's insane, a witch!" he yelled.
Lancelot pretended not to hear him and climbed inside. He couldn't see anything, so he had to concentrate on hearing movements.
He heard slow breathing coming from straight ahead and took three tentative steps, then he bumped against something, that started thrashing around uncontrollably.
"Hold still, I won't hurt you!" he yelled, but the thrashing didn't stop.
He pushed himself against the person, pressing whoever it was against the wall so he couldn't move.
"I said, I won't hurt you." He said again, quietly.
He took a step back and the person stayed still.
He groped around to find the irons, with which the person was tied to the cart and hacked them away from the wood.
"Can you walk?" he asked, but he didn't get a response.
"Right. Come out with me." He said, turned and walked towards the hole.
He jumped onto the ground, mud splattering everywhere, the rain still pouring down from the grey sky.
He turned around to see who it was, that he had cut loose in there.
A small person, in a filthy rag was looking out of cart.
"Come on out!" he yelled.
The person jumped into the mud beside him and looked around wildly.
Lancelot felt the muscles in the person's body tighten and knew he would try to escape.
He took hold of the person's arm and tightened his grip.
"You're not going anywhere."
The person kicked him against the shin and spat in his face but he didn't let go.
Instead, he grabbed both arms and rammed the person against the cart.
He looked into the face and saw in amazement, that it was a young woman.
But it wasn't the fact that it was a woman, or that her face was covered in dirt, that made him hesitate.
It were her eyes.
Huge, and dark they seemed to burn into him and he could feel the hate and anger, that were directed at him in these eyes.
The girl hissed something in a language he didn't understand but it sounded strangely familiar.
One of the Roan guards took a tentative step towards them.
"I'd watch out if I were you."
"And why would you do that?" Lancelot asked.
"She's a Saxon."