:Summary: Arthur's sister was raised apart from him in Rome for most of their lives, but Aemilia has never fit well with holy Roman ways. When she begins to fear for her life she flees to Briton to reunite with her brother once more; will she find freedom along with the knights, or will she be swallowed whole by the shadows that follow her?
Movie Canon with several changes made along the way.
:Disclaimer: I do not own 'King Arthur' or any characters associated with the film or legends. All I have is my imagination and OC.
:Special Thanks To: TragicCure, Anime Princess, Scottishgal12, Danish-Girl-Helene, SilverBladesGal, JWritten, Winchester Girls 92 93 95, Lady Marek, Marebear007, kraenky, valgal18, Maeve1667
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Hour of Need
Chapter Two
It was raining the day she arrived in Briton. The gloom of such an omen chilled her to the bone; if the day could not bring itself to smile on this day how was she to expect it to smile upon her ever again? It made it hard for Aemilia to keep going and at the same time she didn't have a choice. She couldn't return to Rome, there was nothing left there for her, and her brother was expecting her – whether he waited in eagerness or annoyance was yet to be known, but she prayed it was the former of the two.
It had rained through the morning and into midday and Aemilia pulled the shawl she'd brought with her tighter around her shoulders to ward off the damp chill. Through the haze of the sky's insistent weeping she could see rolling hills of wild grass stretched out far, split down the center by the worn dirt path the caravan troop she'd joined followed, and framed along the far left by dripping forest trees. She imagined the sight Briton must be in the sun and warmth of a clear day. Through the rain she could smell how clean it seemed in comparison to Rome and here the world seemed so vast, boundless and open; Rome was such a closed and chaotic place with people shouting and demanding and hurrying through their lives like they'd lose it if they hesitated. It was easy to get lost in Rome, it was easy to lose yourself to the city and its politics and self-righteous indignation with its holy church and pope and so called geniuses. In Rome you lose sight of yourself so completely it takes removing yourself from her vast grasp before you even notice you've lost anything at all.
In Briton everything seemed in order; mentally, physically, spiritually. Everything came together in the freedom of its hills and forests and wild grasses and all at once, no matter how lost you had become, you find yourself again. You see yourself as you've never seen yourself before and despite the rain and gloom, the world is smiling upon you.
Aemilia smiled to herself. In Briton even a foul omen like endless rain wasn't so bad a thing for very long. Her fingers curled into the soft edge of her shawl, grey eyes watching the wind swept rain splatter in wet, translucent patterns against the wall of the caravan; the sound of it played out like a sleepy song and she felt her eyes dropping pleasantly in time to it. The wagons creaked wearily and the horses' hooves clomped and sloshed against the packed earth of the wet trail and Aemilia started to hum along with the country's song, head lulling against the wall she sat against in perfect sync with the wagon's slow rolling movement. So this was freedom…
Even if Arthur had nothing to do with her, she reasoned, she could be happy just to live as she was out in the rain here in Briton. Rome could not compare.
Her ease and groggy song came to a sudden stop as the wagon jerked, softly but no less noticeable to her, and stopped. Her eyes blinked open, head lifting off the wall and shawl sliding off one shoulder as she craned her neck around in hopes of discovering the reason for this unexpected stop. She was close to Hadrian's Wall and had been told the caravan would pass the wall and village within the day; stopping delayed her arrival and she'd rather not be. She wanted to see Arthur and accept whatever means of greetings he had for her – be it welcome into his life and home or rejection. The sooner she knew her standing the better and this stop would do nothing but prolong her anxiety over the matter.
A man from one of the wagons ahead of them came around to theirs and Aemilia called for his attention, "Sir, why have we stopped?" The man didn't look troubled, annoyed perhaps by this delay as much as she was, but he was calm enough so she immediately threw out the possibility of trouble on the road.
The man shrugged his shoulders at her, "Hell if I should know, milady." He pointed up ahead beyond Aemilia's range of sight, "Some knight by the looks of it. Sounds to me like he's lookin' for someone…" He shrugged again and carried on his way, but Aemilia had stopped listening to him already by then.
At the mentioning of a knight she'd taken to searching out ahead as far around the other wagons as she could see. A knight this close to Hadrian's Wall could be none other but one of Arthur's men, perhaps even Arthur himself. She strained her ears for sound above the rain and could make out the clomp and slosh of a horses' slow hooves coming down the line of wagons along with the vague shot of a man's voice and her heart sped up. If it was in fact Arthur did this mean he had come to welcome her? The prospect of being welcomed into her brother's life made the wait till the rider came to her wagon near unbearable and her breath caught when he finally did.
The man atop the horse was not Arthur.
Something in her knew it immediately and she tried to keep the disappointment from her face as he passed the wagon ahead of her and moved to hers. He looked board and the dark curls on his head drooped into his face, soaked straight through and clinging to his forehead, cheeks, and rugged jaw. The riding cloak he'd undoubtedly worn to guard himself against the weather had done nothing to keep him dry, nor warm if she were to hazard a guess. He was handsome, she could tell even through the rain and distance, and his eyes were as dark as the stead he rode upon – the same color as his soaked curls and jaw. His eyes sunk over the wagon in a way that clearly showed how little he thought he was going to find whatever it was he was looking for and Aemilia had to wonder just how long he'd been out in this downpour, stopping wagons and passing travelers.
"Castus?" he hoarsed out, stilling his horse as if to wait for an answer to the name he'd called. "Aemilia Castus?"
Despite knowing the man had to be one of her brother's knights, clearly out looking for her, she'd still been surprised to hear her name on his frowning lips. She hesitated, watching him sit as still as death on his horse for a moment longer, seeing his dark eyes scan over those occupying the wagon.
"Is there any here that answers to Aemilia Castus?" He tried again, irritation and disappointment clear on his dripping face.
She leaned forward out the opening of the wagon's side, catching his eye with the movement, "I answer to Aemilia Castus…"
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He was not a fan of rain and he never had been. It was cold and never failed to get in his eyes; it flattened out his hair and then it got in his eyes as well. It made clothing cling and chafe. Rain brought illness with it; rain filled rivers to flooding. Rain made the road turn to mud. Rain swallowed words and darkened skies. Rain could mask the sounds and smells of an approaching enemy, leaving them invisible until it's too late. The rain was a bad omen and he had as little love for it as it clearly had for him: none. And the fact that he was out in it now rather then dry and warm with a mug in one hand and a soft, pliable body in the other had everything to do with his devotion and obligation to Arthur rather then actually fancy.
He was in a foul mood, but the prospect of the day's end now quickly approaching kept his spirits high enough to avoid drowning in the flooding pits of this hapless country he was bound to. He'd been out in the rain, stopping wagons and travelers all day long and he was well beyond ready to return to the village and wall. The downfall of the day's end was returning to Vindolanda empty handed once more; Arthur was losing his mind over his sister and Lancelot wasn't sure how much longer he could handle the other man's anxiety. It was getting to them all; even Tristan seemed more inclined to lose his temper with their commander as of late. It had been near three weeks since Arthur had received that letter and still the damnable girl had not shown up; if she didn't show up soon Lancelot wasn't sure of what would become of Arthur – if his worry didn't kill him surely one of his knight eventually would.
"Castus?" He barked out the name a bit harshly, but it had been necessary if anyone was going to hear him over this blasted rain. "Aemilia Castus?"
Blank and somewhat curious stares crossed his from inside the wagon he stilled his horse alongside, the fifth and last wagon of this particular caravan. No answer came to his call and he breathed out a defeated sigh, hot and disappointed through his nose; the thought of returning to Arthur without his sister, yet again empty handed, was a thing of shame to him. Of course he knew promising the man he would return with the girl this day or never return again had been a mistake; it had been made in jesting and he was sure Arthur knew this, but still… the hope would be there and Lancelot had to return to crush it. He could practically see his oldest friend's crestfallen look already and it made the taste in his mouth go sour.
Not to mention he'd bet Bors a night of drinks that he would be the one to find this sister. Losing such a bet, especially to Bors, was not his idea of a pleasant night.
He tugged on the reins of his horse sharply, causing the noble creature to shift on his legs and step back. Lancelot scowled at the caravan and lifted his voice yet again, louder then before and hell bent on finding this girl, even if she wasn't there, "Is there any here that answers to Aemilia Castus?"
A shift towards the front of the wagon caught his eye and he turned to it in time to see a young woman he had not noticed before lean forward over the opening. "I answer to Aemilia Castus," she said and without a second thought he knew it was true. "Who is it that calls on me?"
She was a pretty little thing and of course, he noticed this immediately. Her hair was long and had been left free around her face and her eyes were clear; through the rain he could not be sure of their exact color. A wool shawl was pulled around her shoulders and rain was beginning to collect on her hair; she seemed a little too pale and cold but that was surely only an effect of the weather. He could easily see Arthur in the set of her eyes and curve of her soft jaw; the line of her brow and point of her nose even held some vague resemblance to his friend and commander, though her features all seemed a more gentle, subdued version of her brother's. There was no mistaking her as anything but Arthur's kin.
"I am called Lancelot, milady," he answered levelly enough. "I come at the bidding of Arthur Castus. He-"
"You are my brother's knight?" She interrupted him and he let her do so, gladly. A smile that should have been able to clear the skies lit up her face and he marveled at it; she was clearly Arthur's sister, despite how much they resembled each other Lancelot could not help but notice the difference in the air that surrounded them. Arthur was headstrong and at times stoic, he emptied himself of feelings for fear that they would be too strong and lead him to ruin – Aemilia… the air was electric around this young woman. Her smile consumed her entire face, unabashed and without a thought of restraint, and Lancelot could no longer even feel the rain from the warmth in it.
"I am," he nodded. "I am meant to escort you to Vindolanda. Your brother will receive you there." She drew her shawl tight around herself, her smile remaining on her face even as her eyes fell from his and turned inwards to her own thoughts; thoughts of her brother most likely. He left her to them, setting his horse forward to speak with the head of the caravan at the first wagon…
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The knight called Lancelot, with his handsome face and soggy curls, had returned shortly after his disappearance up the wagon line and the caravan had picked up its travels along with him. He calmly walked his horse alongside Aemilia's wagon, dark eyes never leaving the road before him for long and even though the rain had stopped he was still dripping. But he never complained about the chill he must have obviously been feeling straight through to the bone, not aloud to her at least. His mood seemed to have lightened with the end of the storm as well and from time to time she swore she could see a rather smug, accomplished glint flash in the corner of his shadow dark eyes.
Lancelot…
She was somewhat familiar with the name. Her brother had mentioned him once or twice in the letters they'd shared over the years, but only by name and nothing much beyond that. Arthur was fond of him, she knew, and he was supposedly a great fighter. A Sarmatian. But that was all she knew of him and the silence that had fallen over them since the wagons had started up again was not helping to remedy that problem.
"Sir Knight," she began, calling out to her escort from the opening in the wagon's wall. "You know my brother well, yes?"
The dark-haired knight, Lancelot, turned to the sound of her voice as he was addressed and those dark eyes stared while she spoke. His gaze clipped off to the corner while he nodded, expression thoughtful and lips quirked upward at one end. "I know him well enough I think."
"More so now then I, surely," she nodded in agreement. She looked away from him as his gaze fixed upon her once more, grey eyes on the damp but drying wild grass; she knew so little… Swallowing softly and drawing her shawl in closer against her she leaned her head back against the wagon side behind her, "Tell me about him?"
He didn't speak right away and she glanced to see him regarding her just as equally as he seemed to be regarding his own thoughts. He was a handsome man…
"Your brother…" he began and she ignored her appraisal of his face, focusing instead on his words. A sharp grin slashed across his mouth and his brow twitched, "is a dastardly fellow with more faith in god then he has in himself."
She frowned, "…oh." That had not been the description she had expected to hear from the man that came across to her as being her brother's closest friend and ally.
The man chuckled and she looked up to see him shooting her a humored look, "I jest with you, milady." He shot her an easy smile and shook his head, "No… your brother is a good man. The best I know in fact. But he does have a rather annoying knack for trusting his god before trusting himself… or others much nearer to him then god. I've been trying to break him of it for years."
"I take it he is not very fond of heretics then," she frowned despite the humor in his expression.
"Well, he has never refused my company." Lancelot offered, "And I denounce his god near everyday."
She did chuckle then. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to hear of her brother's blind faith in the church and Christianity; she'd known that to be true for years. Still, it didn't make her worry any less…
"Sir Knight…" she began again but then stopped, hesitant. "Does Arthur… When he received my letter, did he…"
"Milady," Lancelot interrupted, recognizing the anxiety that filled her light eyes – it was the same anxiety he'd seen on her brother's face since the day he'd announced Aemilia would be coming. "Your brother awaits your arrival eagerly."
"Really?"
He nodded and watched the sharp edge of her fear slip away from her eyes – they looked blue from his place on his horse, but he couldn't be certain they actually were blue. It didn't seem right to him; perhaps they were green, like Arthur's? But still that seemed off to him. "You are all he talks about," Lancelot continued for the sake of seeing her smile, if only once more. "He has been a mess these past weeks. More and more so each day you did not arrive. I am glad to have found you if only to end his suffering."
She smiled, "I am glad to have been found."
She turned her face away to look out at the grasses and tree line beyond him to the left, which he had noticed she frequently did, but he remained looking at her.
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