Story: From Fall to Flight
Rating: M
Pairing: GawainOC
Summary: In the deepest corners of darkness, lies a light with the potential to break through. In the strongest feelings of hate, there is always love beating just below its surface, hidden well within the bottomless shadows of gloom. His voice beckoned her, awoke something inside she never knew existed.
Warning(s): This chapter contains torture, it's not gory or overly-detailed but it's there. So please be prepared.
Author's Note: Thanks for all your reviews everyone! They really help me to write more and show me that you are enjoying the story! I can't say thank you enough. This is King Arthur story number two. I'm focusing mainly on my first one, but I wanted to get the Prologue for my GawainOC out and about.
A big thank you to scratchtheplans, for editing this for me. It would have been filled with hair-tugging mistakes if not.:)
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Chapter 1
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A Voice
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A leak of water dripped lazy in her cell, echoing off the walls and sending a spike of pain to Emery's sore head. The next splash hit her forehead, making her eyes clench in defense. She took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in her muscles as she situated herself underneath the trickle, and opened her mouth to the heavenly relief. It was such a small indulgence; hardly enough to wet her tongue, but she was grateful. The liquid moistened her chapped lips, smearing across cracked skin.
She did not dare to test her voice. Her throat was swollen and constricted with each lungful of air. Without trying, she knew it would not be a pleasant outcome.
Emery rolled to her stomach, dragging her body to the front of her cell. She used the bars to aid her movement, careful of her injuries. A burning in her palm brought back memories of her last encounter with the guard. She turned over her hand, staring incredulously at the carved cross, blood-crusted and fresh. The skin around it was an irritated pink.
Reaching down to the shredded ends of her dress, Emery ripped a piece off. The fabric tore effortlessly, and she carefully wrapped the sodden cloth around the gash. It would unlikely do much to prevent infection. If anything, it would quicken the development with its layer of filth.
"I worried for you. You did not make a sound for so long."
Emery regarded Guinevere from across the way. She was leaning near the opening of her own cage, the tell-tale signs of sleep still etched on her features. She felt sorry for making Guinevere worry. Frustrated at being unable to voice her apology, Emery shook her head slowly, looking meaningfully at her companion.
Guinevere was silent and thoughtful for a moment.
"You must not lose hope, Emery. We will live to see our freedom."
Emery swallowed dryly. It was no use. She had already given up faith in such dreams.
In the beginning, she often wondered what life outside this prison could offer her should she be freed. Her home was a wasteland of death, still beautiful but tainted in the Romans' wake. She was a wanderer by nature, unable to remain content in one place; a child of unending energy and vivid imagination.
She smiled when she thought of her mother; gentle and kind, dedicating her life to the sick and injured. Emery suspected her healing path had something to do with her father's death. Her mother was never the same afterward. Emery could not comprehend the grief in her earlier years, only watched powerlessly as her mother locked herself in a room for days. Sometimes Emery would believe her dead.
As Emery grew older she observed the way her mother threw herself into her work, and without it, she was filled only with a longing to join her beloved.
When Emery finally understood, it was too late. Much like any normal day, she came upon her mother in her room; serene and still against the bed, as if she were just sleeping.
It was the first time Emery ever heard of someone taking their own life. From that day forth, she knew the meaning of loneliness.
Loud shouts and harsh banging brought Emery out of her musings. She was shaken, frightened by the strange happening. Guinevere shared her look of confusion, reassuring Emery that it was not a trick of her own mind.
The noise outside set forth a panic inside the dungeon. One man, Emery recognized him as a self-proclaimed priest, hastily made his way toward the ruckus.
The air left her lungs in a rush, her world spinning at the new revelation. The hope that did not exist moments ago returned in such a way that Emery suspected it never truly left. It was in the commotion that she found her will to live again; the chance at freedom just within her grasp. She looked optimistically to Guinevere, who was no longer as focused on the happenings outside as Emery. Her attention was solely on the presence of a guard that Emery had failed to notice until now.
He hovered over her, looking wildly between Emery and the direction the priest had gone. With a growl, he carelessly unlocked the metal door. It fell open against the ground, pulling Emery with it.
She bit back a cry at the impact of the fall, her arms and knees shuffling away from the large man. He grabbed her arm, flipping her onto her back hurriedly.
"Your wish for death shall be granted. I cannot allow you sinners to walk this earth any longer. It is God's wish that you should die!" Emery's struggles renewed when he pulled out a small corked flask. Inside, was something she knew would not heal over time as her other injuries would.
He meant to poison her.
"No!" she heard Guinevere shout helplessly.
He grabbed her chin, sinking his fingers into the hollows of her cheeks. She was no match for his strength, but that didn't mean she couldn't prolong the fight. Emery crushed her lips together, sucking them in tightly. She watched helplessly as he uncorked the plug, before tossing it to the floor.
Emery's mouth opened under the pressure, and she turned her head quickly, biting down with all her might on the hand meant to kill her. She shook her head for good measure, wincing at the unbearable taste. She was rewarded with an aggrieved shout, before his other fist dropped heavily upon the top of her head.
Taking advantage of Emery's weakened state, he pulled her up by the back of her neck and thrust the flask to her lips.
Emery reeled away at the smell. She recognized it in an instant.
Henbane.
The liquid poured into her mouth and there she held it, closing off her throat and refusing to swallow. The guard noticed her determination, and pinched her nose closed and effectively cut off her ability to breathe. Emery thrashed wildly, holding off as long as she could until the need for air became too great and the sour tang of poison washed down her throat, burning all the way.
Fire spread throughout Emery's veins making her body grow uncomfortably warm.
She gasped for air when he released her, only to lean over and whisper ruefully in her ear, "Thought you might make it out of here, did you not?"
His weight disappeared from above her, but she did not open her eyes. She felt heavy and slack as she sunk into memories of her mother's teachings, scouring for the memorable toxin.
"Nasty plant that is," her mother told her. "Be sure to stay away from this, Emery, you hear me?"
"-Hallucinations, muscle pain, paralysis; she had ingested Henbane, I am sure of it. Not much longer for her now."
Emery could not believe the irony of it all. She gave up all hope, even wished for death. And now, when freedom was so close, flaunted before her very eyes, death chose to heed her wishes. It was more than unfair, in her opinion. She could not fathom what she may have done in life to deserve unforgiving trial after trial and have it all be for naught.
When she opened her eyes, it was to utter chaos; vision tunneled and obscured by dancing grey waves. There was yelling of unfamiliar voices, the clang of breaking cages; sounds of deliverance. But, Emery was far too overwhelmed with her already spinning head, and she succumbed to the darkness again.
It was so warm and welcoming, promising her relief from the pain.
Then she heard his voice.
It was deep, earnest, and Emery found herself wanting to hear more. The growl of menace that followed sent a chill to her inflamed body, washing over every inch of agitated injury.
"Arthur! There is another!"
He spoke again, and Emery forced herself to gaze up at the man before her. The world looked so hazy and unclear, like drops of water rippling in a lake. She could not make out his face, only bright, warm colors.
"She is alive, but barely." What she wouldn't do to hear that voice during her last breaths. A sharp sting against her cheek briefly slapped away her mental haze. "Stay with me, lass."
Emery smiled. She would do whatever the voice asked, if only it kept blanketing her with a false sense of safeness and reprieve.
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"Poison," Dagonet confirmed, rubbing the diluted plant between his fingertips. The water would slow its progression, although not for long. Henbane was a very strong substance, and one they rarely came across.
Gawain watched the girl's awareness flutter to and fro. She was putting up a good fight, and under such circumstances, it was a miracle she wasn't already dead. He extended his arms beneath her carefully; reluctant to touch any part of her body, unknowing of where her wounds were. She was light as a feather, he noted with disgust, moving cautiously back through the passageway.
The brightness of the outdoors revealed a large number of bruises plaguing her pale skin. Some were beginning to fade, some mere hours old. He made to set her on the snow, startling when a small hand gripped a piece of his cloak, her expression distorting to one of distress.
"She's not going to make it," Lancelot conceded, staring at the blue veins visible along her neck in disbelief.
"Gawain!" Arthur spoke urgently as he approached, Dagonet following close beside him.
"She needs Athelas." Dagonet was a good healer, and no one dared question his assessment.
Gawain looked to Dagonet expectantly. "Then give it to her."
"It does not exist in our storages." Dagonet motioned to the mountains behind him. "It grows high from the ground, not too deep in the forest."
"Will she make it until then?" Gawain heard Arthur ask, somewhat aware of the answer he would receive. Dagonet shook his head in negative certainty.
"Gawain, do you know of this plant?"
"Vaguely," he answered honestly, his grip tightening on the trembling girl in his arms. "I can manage."
Arthur nodded. "Ride ahead. When you find the plant, make camp for the night. We will not be far behind."
Gawain nodded, gently lifting the girl into his saddle and sliding up behind her. His arm curled around her waist, pressing her back to his chest to keep her from falling.
"Ride hard, but stay watchful," Arthur warned.
Gawain threw a passing glance to his commander, turning his horse to the steep climb of the mountain.
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"Should have left the scouting to Tristan."
Gawain swiped his boot at another pile of snow covered ground, growling at the dirt beneath it. The pale - very pale - yellow flower was proving impossible to find, hiding underneath the white fluff. A low rasp came from behind him and Gawain turned to see the girl's hand move out into thin air, reaching for something that only she could see; something that was not really there. Her eyes were glassy and had a faraway look about them.
Gawain cursed, walking deeper into the thick brush. A small creek, frozen all the way through, ran a few paces from their path, hidden by the long line of trees. Gawain lightly ran his hand along the solid water's edge. He turned on his haunches, ready to relocate his search when something caught his eye. He followed the small shrub's exposed root up to the stump where a cluster of yellow flowers rested next to the base of the bark. Gawain flipped the knife in his hand, snatching the whole gathering by their heads and releasing them from the earth with one swift swipe. He held them in the flat of his palm, idly wondering how such a small, insignificant plant could oppose the effects of poison.
Standing swiftly, he pulled the girl carefully from his horse and knelt down on one knee, resting her head upon the other. This would be difficult to do without her awake.
Gawain rolled the thin weeds as tightly as he could in one hand, quickly sinking them back into the snow. The other hand cradled the back of her head to subdue some of her shaking. From here, Gawain could see the white fog over her irises, watching as she struggled to make a sound and only succeeded in gasping more severely.
He settled his thumb against her chin and gently pried open her mouth, slipping the plant as far back as his fingers would allow. She coughed and sputtered as Gawain readied his flagon at her lips, letting small portions of water flow through the top. Her body resisted, trying feebly to escape the blockage cutting off her airways.
Gawain rubbed gently along the outer area of her throat, easing the Athelas plant down.
"Good lass," he praised when she finally calmed, laying her down on the forest floor to examine her body for open wounds.
Gawain caught site of a ragged blue material tied around her palm. He pulled it loose and brought her hand before his face for closer inspection; his brows furrowing at the angrily sliced cross in two jagged lines. Grabbing another tuft of the Athelas, he chewed at the ends, before pressing it into the torn flesh of her palm, securing its place with the makeshift dressing. It would have to do until Dagonet could replace it with something cleaner.
The Romans knew no boundaries. To kill a woman, was regrettably unavoidable at times, but to use such measures of cruelty was beyond the morals of any man he knew.
Satisfied that any grave danger was out of the way, Gawain re-situated her body into his arms and set about finding a good place to camp, confident his horse would follow. The rain clouds overhead did not show much promise with the already cold ground and the girl's unrelenting shivers.
He came upon an old, large tree. It's trunk was thick, nearly ten paces around and the moment Gawain stepped under the dense shelter of leaves, the onslaught of snow could no longer reach them. It was not fit for comfort, but nothing in the wilderness provided such amenity and Gawain was well accustomed to such conditions. Judging by the girl's violent trembling; she was not so used to camping in cold weather. With a torn sigh, Gawain set her back against the tree and went about readying a fire. It was a risky decision, smoke could be seen for miles, but he did not believe he had much choice.
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Sharp blue eyes snaked across the forest's edge, silently keeping guard. He had taken them far enough from the main roads that any rogue enemies were unlikely to stumble across them, but deep enough into the forest that Woads were now a threat. Truthfully he preferred to wager his chances against the Woads than the Saxons but hoped he should not have to encounter either.
He'd spent an immeasurable amount of time playing out different ways to protect the girl and fight just as well, should the need present itself. All the prospects had ended undesirably.
Long hair had been tickling his nose sporadically throughout the night, and Gawain turned his attention to the girl curled up against his chest. The single fur hide was only enough for one person at best, so Gawain made due in attempts to keep them both warm; sitting close by the fire with the small stranger tucked safely on his lap.
Lancelot would find great pleasure in the sight they made, and Gawain was suddenly grateful the dark knight wasn't here, distantly trying to imagine how the poor girl would have fared in his care.
Her eyes would open occasionally; small, broken groans escaping her mouth. Gawain took it as a good sign, being it was the only noise he had ever heard her make since finding the two prisoners on the edge of death. He did not worry for the other, she was in good hands with Arthur and Dagonet. Truth be told, Gawain did not know why he was so concerned with his charge. He had witnessed many horrible things in his time serving under Rome, this should be no different. His thoughts were turning complicated and better reserved for another time.
Judging by the distant drums, leisurely working their way closer, and the slow pace he knew the wagons would take to, Gawain estimated the procession was about another day behind them.
The girl would make it until then, and Dagonet could take over once they caught up. The dark blue veins had faded from her neck, and when he peeled open her eyes to get a good look, the milky color had vanished. To Gawain it appeared as though she ingested the Athelas in time.
Now he would wait patiently for her slumber to end.
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Author's Note: Okay so here's the first full chapter, they will get longer from here, I'm hoping.
It's obviously not following the exact storyline, I wanted to introduce Gawain and Emery's characters without the others first.
Henbane: It is a medieval plant, still known in today's times. It was used back then in witchcraft practices as a poison well-known for causing hallucinations and death. It was also – strangely - used as a painkiller during amputations
Athelas: Some of you may be familiar with this plant. It is mentioned in Lord of the Rings. Also known as Kings Foil. It's a heal-all plant and being that it was used to ward off Frodo's poisoning I decided to use it as a cure for Emery's.
So, let me know what you think and please review. I'll try to have the new chapter out shortly. Love you all!