Disclaimer: I forgot to do this in the first chapter. So I'm going to do it now. King Arthur doesn't belong to me. I wish I could strap both Gawain and Galahad to a bed together and have my way with them, but if wishes were fishes, we'd all have enough to eat. So like I said, I don't own. I wish, but I don't. Don't sue. I have nothing.
Chapter Two
Two hours later, they came across the Dark Child's hut. She was standing outside, brushing down Dar's coat with a horse brush. "You are a beautiful creature. I bet your master is very fond of you," she cooed, her hand stroking the stallion's neck.
Running her hands over his flanks and down his legs, she tutted under her breath and smoothed a thick green paste over a wound in the horse's foreleg. "That feels better, huh?"
Gawain looked at Bors, seeing the Woad tattoos littering the child's arms, legs and back. "What is she doing alone?" he hissed.
"I highly doubt she's alone, Gawain. The Woads would never leave one of their own so unprotected. That is Dar however. Come, we must get the Knights. We cannot afford an ambush."
Gawain nodded and both whirled their steeds around, galloping back toward the Wall. The Dark Child had turned at the sound of hooves against the ground, scanning the woods with keen eyes. Her eyes saw the broken branches and narrowed. "Damn. Knights."
Patting the stallion once more, she moved into the hut. The Knight lay on the bed, resting through a pervading fever with the help of a well-made sleeping draught. The arrow had been poisoned and the poison could not be allowed to spread, thus the use of the herb, Fire-Root, which had brought on his high fever. And now, Arthur's Knights had found her abode, as well as the Sarmatian's stallion. They would be back. Approaching the Knight, she dipped a rag into the basin and wiped down his forehead. "Come back, Sarmatian. Your friends are coming to rescue you."
He only shifted his body against the wedge of blankets under his belly restlessly before settling again. She smiled and adjusting his covering, before sitting down before the fire and meditating silently.
Gawain and Bors arrived at Wall two days later, barging furiously into the Chamber of the Round Table. "Where's Galahad?" Arthur demanded, standing.
"We don't have him, Arthur. We found his horse. A Woad girl-child was brushing down Dar outside of a hut. We didn't want to risk an ambush, so we came back here for reinforcements."
The Knights stood, finishing the last of their ale and following the two to the stables. Gareth looked over at his brother, Gawain. "You said it was a girl-child. How old?"
"Ten or eleven. She was very small. She kind of reminded me of a Sarmatian girl in a way."
He nodded and mounted his horse. Arthur checked his armor and weapons before leading the way out. "Gawain, Bors, lead on."
They nodded and moved to the front of the ranks. Riding hard they arrived at the hut the next morning. Outside, the same girl stood alone, staring up at the setting moon. Her eyes were half-closed and she looked very serene. Arthur looked at his Knights and then nudged his horse into the clearing. She startled, scrambling toward the hut, before Lancelot cut her off. Soon, she found herself surrounded. She straightened her shoulders glaring up at Arthur in defiance. "What are you doing on my land?" she demanded in Briton.
"This is Roman land." Arthur reminded her.
"Pah!" she hissed, before speaking in Sarmatian, "This was Briton land before the Romans took it away. It belongs to me, to the Britons."
Lancelot reared backward, his horse sensing his jumpiness and rearing in protest. He fought the horse to a standstill, but not before, she slipped through the tiny space and dashed into her hut. Shutting the door, she leaned back against the door. Galahad looked over at her, eyes still bright with fever, though more alert than he had been only days before. "What's wrong, Nazneen?" he asked in Sarmatian, his voice low and husky.
She smiled at him, stepping from the door. She had noticed that, even though he knew she spoke Latin and Briton (both languages that he also spoke), he insisted on speaking the language of his homeland with her. She didn't mind; she hadn't had anyone to practice with since her father. "Nothing, Sarmatian. Your friends have come for you."
"I can't go."
"No, you cannot. Let me help you to the door. They must see that I haven't killed you."
He nodded and levered himself to a standing position, leaning heavily against the Dark Child. Though he still wore his kilt, his chest bubbled with gooseflesh at the chill in the air, away from the fire. Stopping at the doorframe, she grabbed her father's cloak and draped it around his bare chest. Opening the door with her toe, she helped him out the door. "Galahad!" Gawain shouted, dismounting and rushing to his friend.
The Dark Child looked up at him with a teasing smile. "So that's your name, huh?" she asked in low pitched Sarmatian.
He nodded with a tired smile, just as Gawain reached him and threw his arms around him. Galahad stiffened in pain, struggling to back
out of the embrace. "Gawain, let go! You're hurting me!' he groaned, before Gawain let go of him as though he was made of fire.
It was only then that the Knights noticed the bags under his eyes, the unnatural flush in his cheeks and the strapping around his chest, holding his right arm immobile. "Are you all right, Galahad?" Arthur asked, green eyes piercing his own.
"Yes. I'm fine. The Dark Child has been good to me. There was poison on the arrowhead. I've been fevered for four days now. She has been very kind to me." he replied in Briton.
Arthur nodded, looking at the Dark Child. "Thank you for your care of my Knight. Anything you wish, you may have."
"What I want, you don't have the power to give, Artorius Castus. However, I must insist that your Knight remain here. He is still healing and I wish to assure myself of his health before I release him from my care and his bed."
Arthur looked at her with a shrewd eye. "I will agree to such a wish if you tell me where the men are? Your protectors? The rest of your tribe?"
Galahad shook his head and answered for her. "There are none. She stays here alone. I have not seen anyone while I have been here."
"No one?"
"Not a soul resides here but the Dark Child. There are things which once belonged to a grown man and woman, but they have long been unused," Galahad assured them, his legs starting to get tired.
The Dark Child sensed his weakness seconds before he collapsed. "Catch him, he's going to fall," she ordered Gawain, just as Galahad's legs finally gave out and he dropped toward the ground, Gawain catching him gently. "Bring him inside," she instructed, pointing at the sleeping dais by the far wall, "Lay him there. The rest of you might as well dismount and brush down your horses. You can put them up in my stables. While you are on my land, you are safe from the Woads."
"You are a Woad." Kay, one of the younger and more cynical Knights, accused.
Lancelot shook his head, looking at Arthur. "No she's not. She's Sarmatian. She speaks Sarmatian."