Hey everyone! Well, here I am with a new chapter, thankfully, it is shorter than the last ! (Don't worry there's still a lot to see) Only a few more chapters for the story to reach the beginning of the movie now. As always, I look forward to read your reviews on the story, wether to compliment or to point out something I could improve. They make me improve and encourage me as well. Hope you Enjoy!
I also want to thank -recey2010 for her comments on the story! Your enthusiasm for the story brightens my day!
The others knew something was off, and it had nothing to do with Arthur joining them at the tavern the next night. Oh no, what had gone terribly wrong, in the eyes of the men, was the fact that Devnet pulled an actual wooden chair between Galahad and Gawain instead of occupying her usual spot on Lancelot's lap.
By the time they realised she acted as if the handsome curly-haired man didn't exist at all, they started to get seriously concerned. Did the seelie folk trade human adults for adult faeries as well? Because this was no Devnet they knew.
Just as she'd expected, soon enough the men were going after information, trying to get her to tell what had happened. When Galahad and Gawain approached her, she was shooting arrows in the practice yard, using apples as target, because they were much more challenging than the hay-men. Galahad grabbed his own bow from its place on the wall, took an arrow from the quiver beside Devnet and aimed for his own target. Gawain had pulled a stool to her other side, with his axe resting on one leg and a sharpening stone in his hand.
Devnet rolled her eyes and ignored them, pulling the bow string to her chin. If they were expecting her to spill out her guts openly at them, they were in for a big disappointment. She was determinate to ignore the matter until it simply moved on.
Finally, the men's patience runned out and they started throwing fake sights in her direction, hoping she'd take the hint. Brigid's sake, if they wanted answers so badly they could just ask instead of waiting for her to start the conversation.
Men. When it came to people's feeling they were completely helpless. The situation was getting into her last nerve and she finally give in.
-What do you want?-she snapped, lowering her bow.
If those two had been puppies, they would have probably jumped around her in joy. Instead they just leaned forward with greedy eyes desperate for gossip. Worse than old midwifes on a market day.
-We could not help but notice that things between you and Sir Jumpy Pants seem to have gone a little…icy-commented Gawain with a fake careless tone. Anyone who saw him would have thought he was just talking about the centurions' latest foolishness.
-Aye-chorused Galahad, shooting an apple down, walking over to retrieve it-So we were just…wondering if maybe you two have…quarrelled?-he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively in her direction, munching at his apple.
Devnet rolled her eyes again and shot another arrow before answering.
-What if we have? Lancelot and I fight all the time. In fact, you are always complaining about it-she struggled to sound indifferent.
Not like this chipped an annoying, love-struck voice inside her head. Never like this. Frustration washed over her. It was impossible to silence that part of her soul that was bitter and sorrowful. She tried so hard to act like the whole situation didn't affect her, but she had to admit it was proving to be harder than expected. Her efforts to avoid the knight as much as possible resulted in to her bumping against him nearly every day. Every time she accidentally crossed those sombre black eyes cold as winter, it knocked the air out of her, as she realised over and over again: He doesn't miss me at all.
At least he stuck to the cold-shoulder routine and didn't even bother to breath in her direction. Ironically, she was thankful that he'd decided to respect the decision that most pained her heart at night. She forced those ideas out of her mind.
-Yes, but this is different-protested Galahad. He closed a hand around her wrist a little bit stronger than she would've liked-It's been going on for nearly a week now-.
-So?-.
-So!?-Gawain shot her an incredulous look-Seriously!? You two can't keep your hands off each other for more than a day-.
Devnet sneered.
-Please! Just because I do not sit on his legs every night it doesn't mean we've argued-she waved her hand dismissively, pretend to find the whole situation terrible funny-He has other women-.
The last statement was meant to be humorous, but it just made her feel more miserable inside.
-C'mon, petite-a groan escaped from both men, and Galahad dropped his hand on his knee in frustration-You know what we mean. You act like you can't stand his mere existence every time he walks by you-.
That's because I can't.
-Fine. Maybe we had a little…disagreement-.
-Little disagreement!?-Gawain's sarcastic tone was enough to express the idea without words: "You call that a disagreement?"
-Believe me when I say it really was nothing-.
-Nothing!?-.
-Yes, Gawain. Will you keep repeating every last word I say?-.
Gawain lifted his palms _. Galahad frowned at her, putting a hand on her small shoulder disapprovingly.
-Hey-his tone was reproachful-Whatever is biting at your pretty little ass is not our fault. Don't get out on us-.
-What's biting at my "pretty little ass" at the moment-she pushed her friends hand off impatiently-Is you two interrogating me like a couple of kitchen maids in search of the latest rumours-.
She held her head proudly and fixed her attention back on her bow and her arrows. She pulled another one to her cheek, the white feathers caressing her skin like a lover's kiss. She pressed her lips together and released the string before the sensation went any further.
She missed the target by a great distance.
Her best friends snorted, as if that confirmed she was lying. She ignored them with dignity.
-Do you mind!? I am trying to practise-she snapped resentfully. She must have looked rather none-threating because they simply grunted in amusement, rolled their eyes and stormed off like spoiled little children, muttering something about her stubborn woad ass.
At least she could breathe back to normality and return to her dark, depressing thoughts now.
But of course, the knights were far from done. On the next couple of days she was approached by all of them in every sort of different manners. Bors sent Vanora behind her, wich was pretty dumb of his part, because Devnet obviously spilled her guts out with the red-haired woman, but Vanora was not going to reveal a single word to her husband. Dagonet kept following her like a shadow, hoping that the "no direct confrontation" tactic would soften her determination to remain silent on the subject. Arthur summoned her under the pretext of being concerned if this behaviour would affect the entire group (wich was obviously out of question since she and Lancelot were cordial around each other when required). When another week had gone by and Tristan actually had the nerve to appear out of nowhere when she'd been on her way to the restrooms, she finally broke down, screaming in exasperations that she wanted to be left alone and storming off to the stables as fast as she could to hide between her beloved horses' legs.
Ironically, the only horse there she could find comfort with was Vahe, Lancelot's elegant black stallion. Jols had probably taken Cian out to the fields. Sighting heavily, she opened the horse's box and dropped on her knees beside its legs. She runned her hand up and down Vahe's powerful front leg, marvelling at the silky softness of the coat that covered his well-built muscles. She gently untangled the hay from the feathery black hair around his hoof, humming softly an old lullaby. She allowed her head to rest against the horse's velvet black coat and closed her eyes with a smile.
Vahe abruptly lifted his head and gave a low, pleased neigh. Devnet's body tense as if sensing danger and her insides went cold. Vahe was that welcoming to only one other person besides herself.
Lancelot coughed reluctantly to catch her attention.
The tiny brunette lifted her head towards him, with no emotion to be read in her features. Lancelot's own face was just as expressionless, staring right through her. A tense silence fell between them, heavy and cold. It made Vahe uneasy, and he stamped his hoof nervously against the floor. It was only to soothe the stallion that Devnet decided to speak.
-Yes?-.
-Arthur wishes to see you-.
Gods, the ice in his voice stabbed at her heart, though it was only fair to admit she was being just as cold. How could two people act like strangers who couldn't stand each other when only a few weeks ago they'd known each other better than anyone?
He decided it wasn't worth to refuse other women snapped the revengeful part of her soul, hurt.
She stared right through him.
-Fine.
The air turned cold when she passed by him, repelling his touch with distaste. The longing for him once again changed back into resent. She did not look back once when she left the stables, but deep inside she reluctantly had to admit she wanted to.
She wandered if Arthur had sent Lancelot to look for her intentionally, hoping they would solve their argument.
She met with the commander at the Round Table, along with Tristan and Dagonet. Arthur wanted them to go scouting east, for three days. It was just the routinely mission: ride off, see if there are any Woads around the area, and drive them off, come back home. Don't get killed.
She left the room feeling secretly relieved. If Dagonet and Tristan were her companions, there would be somewhat lesser chances they'd start pestering her with questions about her behaviour towards Lancelot again. At least she hoped so.
The left that very afternoon, under the watchful eyes of their commander, from the top of the Wall. As always, Arthur prayed God to keep them away from harm, to bring them back home safely. He felt considerably anxious for Devnet, though he knew it was pretty stupid; his Little One, she was fiery fighter. However, he'd never wanted this life for her whom he considered his sister; instead he wished she'd lived safely behind the walls of innocence and lovely things. It was what she deserved, at least. But God knew she was as stubborn as will itself, and nothing would keep her away from his men.
-Praying to your God again, to keep them safe? Why would he care for people who do not follow him?-.
Oh he would've recognised Lancelot even if he had not known the tone of his voice, just by his question. How very much he despised anything linked to Rome, including Arthur's religion. It was odd enough he'd accepted him as his best friend. The commander could not help but worry sometimes of the amount of darkness living in his best friend's heart.
-I have faith that my God does not discriminate pagans from his own people. He is merciful and would not condemn the innocent-.
Lancelot snorted, placed his hands on the border of the Wall, leaning over to watch at the horizon. Without averting his eyes from the three riding figures slowly drifting away, he replied.
-We have ended many lives Arthurs, I doubt that makes any of us innocent. And as Gawain is fond of saying, your God doesn't live here-he smirked darkly-Only the Woads-.
Arthur sighted.
-You have too much resent lodged inside you, Lancelot-.
The dark knight laughed with gloom. His hoarse laughter sounded more like a wolf's bark than a man's chuckles.
-You can blame your Rome for that. What would you expect from a man whose life has been stolen away from him?-.
Arthur chose to remain silently, for, with much guilt, he knew his friend was right. Instead, he moved their conversation to lighter ground.
-As you can see, I did what you asked of me-.
Lancelot turned to rest his back against the border now, and crossed his arms over his chest, finally changing his frown for a smile.
-I appreciate it, my friend-.
He could see reluctance crossing Arthur's green eyes and he knew immediately what was coming. He wished there was a way to stop it, though.
-Do you mind if I ask why you wanted me to change your turn with Dagonet's?-.
Lancelot tried to look amused, avoiding the answer if possible.
-Why? Are you scared I've chickened out of scouting? Don't worry, Artorius, I'll go next time-he attempted to joke. But Arthur shook his head gravely. Gods be damned, was he hard to manipulate.
-I would never doubt your courage, brother, and you know that-he paused for a moment and then added the feared question-Does it have to do with-.
-Yes-Lancelot cut him off sternly, with no intentions of saying more. Damn, why wouldn't he just let it drop?
-But why?-insisted the roman, concern hovering over his greyish green eyes- You two have always gotten along so well. Why suddenly do you keep your distance?-.
Because she hates me, and with reason. Devnet probably hadn't even realised the look of hurt and betrayal that glimmered like tears in her eyes that night, but he had seen it, and it still haunted him in the dead of the night. He sighted like a young old man, feeling the weight of his mistakes on his shoulders.
-Trust me, Arthur, it's better that way-.
The least he could do for her was what she'd asked. Not even breathe in her direction.
Holy Epona, there was nothing compared to the feeling of the wind against one's face and the power of a horse's legs beneath them when galloping wildly across the countryside. A top of Cian, it was like flying; it was the most empowering sensation she'd ever experienced. Her body danced in synchronisation with Cian's pace; the wind playing with her hair behind her. Distances disappeared like smoke beneath the horse's hoofs.
This was the meaning of freedom.
Tristan and Dagonet were mere shadows sliding swiftly in the border of her vision. They'd been riding all afternoon, over hills, through woods, across streams of cold white water splashing in every direction.
They camped at nightfall, afoot of a tree bending over the water. A light drizzle had started raining over them, but thanks to the roof created by leaves they managed to light a small fire warm to their feet and hands. They covered the horses with blankets and then ate in silence, enjoying the crackling of the firewood and the merry tingling of the water. Dagonet and Tristan were quite companions, but had the blessed ability to make their silence comfortable. Devnet didn't even feel forced to make a conversation.
Once the dinner was over, they arranged the night watch turns. Devnet drew the last, almoust near to dawn. The idea of waking up so early did not appeal to her at all, but at least she'd get the chance to sleep the whole night undisturbed.
Leaning against the tree trunk, wrapped tightly with her cloak, Devnet started to doze off. She could just make the outline of Tristan's figure sitting on a rock by the river for the first watch before drifting into sleep.
Her dreams were more like memories; of past scouting she'd shared with Lancelot and Galahad; in wich Galahad was always on watch, while, without him knowing, she and Lancelot were doing everything but scouting. In those memories there was no pain, because there were no promises; only two friends playing to be lovers. But when Dagonet shook her gently to wake her up for the last watch, all the bitterness and disappointment burst without invitation through her door.
Cursing under her breath, she crawled off to the same rock she'd seen Tristan occupy before she fell asleep. She rubbed the sleep sand away from her eyes, and splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to keep herself awake. Who could stand to be awake this early? The sky hadn't even started greying.
Her eyelids were heavy over her eyes. She had to pinch herself various time so as to not fall asleep. Hours rolled by longer than what they should have been. She jumped; her eyes had closed again. She shook her head and rested her cheek against her hand. The stream flowed so slowly it seemed still, her reflection as clear as a black mirror beneath the moonlight. Her eyelashes were so long. She heard a practical voice inside her head you can't even see your eyelashes, it's still dark. Who cares? They were long none the less, and so, so heavy, so very heavy…
The whispered call on her name woke her up this time. Flinching again, Devnet blinked and tilted her head disorientated, trying to locate the source of the sound.
A rustle of leaves caught her attention from across the stream. Someone, a male's voice, called her again, and she spotted a blue face between the trees in front of her.
A woad. Probably someone she knew, though who? She had no idea.
After looking over her shoulder to make sure her companions were asleep, she slowly stood up and jumped gracefully over the water. A man sneaked out to meet her. He was young, slightly older than her and vaguely familiar. She tilted her head to side, trying to remember his face.
Beneath his short beard, the woad smiled crookedly, crossing his tanned arms over his chest.
-Do you not remember me? I am Driscoll-.
To that Devnet shook her head incredously. What were the chances of running into an old lover she'd assumed was dead after two years of absence in the middle of a simple scouting mission?
-I didn't even know you were still alive-she confessed with surprise.
The man shrugged.
-I've been scouting the northern shore for the last couple of years. I returned a moon's turn ago. I've been following you and your friends for nearly a mile, waiting for a chance to talk to you-.
Devnet crooked an eyebrow.
-What is this? I don't hear anything from the Woads in more than a year and then all of a sudden every single one of you wants to speak with me-she eyed him suspiciously-I really hope you are not thinking of restarting our…thing-.
They had never been serious, though quite close. Being involved with a Pict was so much different from the men in the fortress that she had never even compared it. The Woads had such a natural conception of sex. It was not disproved from wild, raw, lust but it somehow seemed more pure, more…part of nature, of the forest around them. It had been an amazing experience, but she could not imagine herself back in Driscoll's arms. So much had changed since then; and she had not forgotten he was also unpredictable and fervent for war in a way it was almoust disturbing.
-Nah-Driscoll scratched at his beard insistently, piercing her with his cold, grey eyes-Besides, for what I have heard Brona relate over our fires, you now enjoy the company of the knights of the great wall. Said she caught you rolling with a man so dark eyed he resembled Dis Pater, she did-he spat to the water to emphasise his obvious disapproval.
The god of death? He does not look that deadly…
-Who I allow in my bed is my own business; Brona can tell whatever she wishes to-she replied shortly, annoyed by the woman's instigating tales-Now, what is it that you want, Driscoll?-.
The look he shot her was grave, hard as stone and bone-chilling. Whatever it was that he would communicate, it was ill news.
-As I said before, I have been guarding our shores up in the north-he paused, as if expecting her to ask him about how the experienced had treated him. She did not, so he went on talking-Merlin informed me he visited you on Samhain, to warn you about changes of the wind and omens in the air and all that metaphorical bullshit-.
Devnet could not hide her shock at hearing Driscoll refer to his leader like that. Normally, Woads did not take Merlin so lightly, nor their own connections with nature and the spirits. Had Driscoll become even more blood-driven in the last years he did not even respect Nature at all?
-Yes, what about it?-.
-That…presage now has a name. Saxons-his tone dropped when he spoke the name, and he spat in disgust again.
Whatever reaction he had been expecting of her, diversion was certainly not one of them.
-Saxons?-she laughed amusedly. Saxons had been harassing Britain's coasts long before any of us were born. They had never been a life-changing threat, though. Merlin's predications had brought to her mind something much more serious.
Driscoll scolded her hard with those deadly eyes of his.
-Don't be stupid, Devnet-he snapped, ignored her offended glare- It is more serious than what you imagine. We are talking about an entire army -when she gave him an incredulous look, he frowned even more-I have seen them gathering up in the North. Their ships plague our seas like flies over a dead body. 'Tis why I came back, to warn Merlin. Thousands of them. All soldiers. Even and idiot would realise they intent to invade the island-.
Each and every one of his words stabbed as and ice dagger against her brain. Her skeptical smirk had dropped into a frozen expression of fear and vulnerability, her confidence stumbling over the cruel news of the woad.
Every man, woman and child in the island knew that if someone came across the Saxons and lived to tell the tale, it was either because they'd been protected by some upper force; or that Saxon had been grievously wounded. They were ruthless with those who did not belong to their kin; people forged by the hammer of war. They knew no mercy, nor any sort of compunction. What they wanted they took, and they would not hesitate to destroy an entire nation if they had to.
It was one thing to face the occasional plundering of one or two ships in one of the villages. She'd fought them alongside the knights. She'd been stupid enough to go and confront a man three times her frame and get a blow in the head that knocked her off for a whole week, but she'd survived, and fought many others since then. But she had not forgotten the terrifying look that first foe had given her before crashing her skull with his maze; a look so full of pleasure she'd been sure she was going to die. It was only thanks to Tristan's intervention that the blow had not been fatal.
A Saxon invasion would be their doom. Wich was why she could not believe his words.
Cold sweat layered on her spine at the memory.
-You lie-she muttered, stepping back as if his proximity recoiled her-You just want to impress me with your scouting. I bet you saw nothing and spent the entire time watching over sheep-.
She believed her own tale. She wanted to believe it so badly she did not even give time for Driscoll to answer, protest or deny her theory. She stumbled back and tripped towards the camp as if all the demons expelled from the Avalon chased her to claim her soul.
-You will regret not believing my warning, Devnet-she could hear Driscoll call behind her and she pressed her run as if his words could harm her-All of you shall be doomed if you do not prepare yourself for war!-.
Don't forget to tell what you think ;) It really means a lot to me *makes puppy eyes*
