Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me
Set a couple of years before the King Arthur film.
"Say not the struggle naught availeth,
The labour and the wounds are in vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been, things remain.
Arthur Hugh Clough.
He had given her daisies once. Tiny white flowers plucked from the long grass, their petals delicate and strangely touching in their pale vulnerability. Even now she is careful not to step upon them,; sways and weaves to avoid the fragile plants and ignores the jests of her companions. There is precious little beauty in this world, few things left that can remind her of happier days, and they had been happy days, if all too brief. She knows they laugh; has seen the pitying looks from the kinder members of the village, and ignored the contempt of those less forgiving. That she, Llynya, should have given her heart so easily was an affront to her nature, a lesson in stupidity, for he was not coming back. No, that at least is certain, he is not coming back.
For two weeks Arthur and his knights had rested in Sir Palomides' castle, guests of their host be they welcome or not. Whisper and rumour are fleet in such sheltered places, and by the time the shadowy figures passed through their village there were few that had not been warned of their arrival, fewer still that did not duck out of sight when they approached. Llynaya had crouched in the darkness silent and more than a little afraid when they approached, a small dagger curled in her hand. The sun had long since slid below the horizon, but she did not need it's light to recognise warriors when they were before her - did not need the harsh scrape of steel against steel to know that should their intentions be violent the village would not stand a chance. They needn't have worried. Daylight showed the menacing figures to be young men - well armed young men perhaps, but not demons, not the threat that had brought them all to the edge of panic.
She brought fresh milk to the castle every morning as she had always done, the pail heavy in her hand, nervous at the thought of seeing one of the knights and disappointed when she did not. The younger girls had waxed lyrical over their physical attributes, and while Llynya laughed and shook her head at such youthful folly, she could not help but wonder what had brought them here. Theirs was a farming community, peaceful and unencumbered by the political ties that caused disruption in the larger towns. Soldiers were unusual visitors, knights were almost unknown.
It was three days before she first met him, and ten before she first let him come to her in the silent hours of darkness, when all but she slept.
She had been alone too long to have her head turned by a handsome face and compliments, indeed the first time they had met she had been aloof to the point of rudeness. They had asked for water, he and his friend, and she had obliged, passing a cup to each of them with a silent prayer that they would soon be on their way. The fates had heard her plea and laughed - there was no other explanation for it. Bors, the larger man, had made a crude attempt at flirting with her - an attempt she rebuffed with icy politeness, almost snatching the cup from his hand in an effort to avoid touching him. His companion had been quieter, thanking her for the drink with a smile and a nod of his head. Eyes half hidden by the mane of braids and curls that spilled over his shoulders, it was hard to read his expression, but she had appreciated the courtesy and did not flinch when his fingers brushed against hers for the briefest of moments. That was the start of the whole sorry mess, and if she had had any sense whatsoever that would have been where it should have ended.
Perhaps if he had not been so kind, perhaps if he had not smiled and brushed her hair from her eyes when she was so flustered by his presence that she dared not lift her gaze from the ground… Perhaps, what if, I wish. Those are children's games and they achieve nothing. He should not have come back and she should not have welcomed him when he did. Wishing does not change what happened, and wishes can heal neither her heart nor her reputation. In the hot darkness when they had lain together, he had whispered words to her that she remembers but did not understand, words as unfamiliar to her tongue as the taste of his skin had been. She repeats them to herself sometimes, but they mean nothing to her any more- their magic is as lost as he is.
A/N My first attempt at a King Arthur story - other chapters will be longer I promise. Reviews are very much appreciated - if Llynya turns into a mary sue then please feel free to hit me with a big stick :), and if anyone fancies beta reading then I'd love to hear from you.