No money is being made from this; I only wanted to play in my own sandbox and invite the characters to join me. I own absolutely nothing that may seem familiar to you in this story, I only own Reagan.
Leigh and Jo: Thank you so much for sticking with me and encouraging me to continue writing this when I would have otherwise given up. You pointed me in the right direction and told me there was nothing wrong with the story then gave me a nudge to finish the path I had started. Eternal Knight wouldn't be half as good without you guys! Hugs!
This is a Lancelot fic and it's going to stay a Lancelot fic-Sorry Tristanlover.
I dedicate this chapter to Peachpaige and Murtagh799- even though we've never met- you both ROCK!
Chapter 7
As the bright light of day slowly turned into the velvety blackness of night, the shifts changed again and Reagan said goodbye to Ivy as Dagonet returned from his duties. Lucan was close on his heals and he made a beeline for her bed before she had a chance to work up a proper hello. Her friend's blue eyes were alight with excitement and it looked as if he were bursting at the seams with energy.
"So you'll be at training tomorrow then?" he asked. "That is, if Dagonet says you're well enough."
"How do you know these things?" Reagan asked, surprised, wondering exactly how fast news traveled through the fort. "I only just found out myself!"
"It's all over the kingdom. The king's first knight has finally chosen a squire, and of all the boys he had to pick from he chose you," Lucan said with a bit of awe in his voice. "When I said 'get yourself noticed,' I didn't think that having Gilly beat the daylights out of you would do the trick!" Reagan folded her arms and harrumphed.
"It wasn't like that. Lancelot said he didn't have a choice, and neither did I. I was forced into this--I told him I didn't want to be his squire!" Lucan gave her a shocked, slightly offended look.
"Not want to? What is the matter with you? Don't you see how great of an opportunity this is? You're going to be trained by Lancelot! He's the best knight there is…well aside from Dagonet, and well, he's not as scary as Tristan, but still. Lancelot!" he exclaimed, grabbing her arm and giving her a little shake, hoping that she would share in his excitement.
As much as she wished she could feel as positive as Lucan did about this new development, she couldn't even muster a weak "hooray". Instead all she felt was a slowly creeping sensation of dread in the pit of her stomach.
No good could come of her new position. It only made her more vulnerable to discovery and she didn't like the idea of being forced to work with Lancelot. Before she could begin to properly wallow in her dark thoughts, Dagonet's voice interrupted them.
"Lucan, Reagan needs his rest. He's not slept all day. Why don't you make your way down to supper? I'll be there to join you momentarily." Lucan sighed and agreed that Reagan did look tired.
"Your eye is looking better, not such a nasty shade of green any more," he added. She gave him a reluctant smile and Reagan wondered if his comment was a slightly misguided attempt to make her feel better.
"Thanks, Lucan. I'll see you in the stables tomorrow." He waved at her before exiting the healing rooms. Now that her friend was gone and along with him his enthusiasm for her new position, Reagan was settling in to brood.
Unfortunately, Dagonet chose that moment to shove a steaming mug under her nose. The scent of mint and something sharp wafted toward her. Giving the knight a weary look, she took the mug and hesitantly took a sip.
Immediately her nasal passages cleared and her mouth was flooded with the taste of the aromatic herb followed by the tang of something very bitter. She crinkled her nose in a grimace and realized he'd laced the drink with ground willow bark.
"My Lord, why did you put willow bark in this?"
Dagonet gave her a surprised look before he answered her, "It's to help with the pain and aid you in sleep. How did you know it was willow bark? Do you have a knowledge of medicinal herbs?"
Reagan nodded, "Yes. I used to…help my mother in the garden when I was younger. She...uh...encouraged me with plants," she lied. Dagonet was silent for a moment and she hoped he wouldn't press the issue further.
Instead she watched as he picked up her mended tunic from the edge of the bed. Reagan's brow creased in confusion as he began looking at the newly made stitches as though he were examining them, then he pulled at the fabric and bunched the tunic in his fist as if to test their strength.
Dagonet handed her back her tunic and placed his large hands on his hips, regarding her with a speculative look.
"Did you mend that tunic or did Ivy?"
"I did, my Lord," she answered honestly. He nodded, and pulled up a chair next to her.
"You have a basic knowledge of herbs and you can sew quite well. Two things I find strange that boy of your age would be capable of." Reagan nodded and pretended to take a sip of her drink. She couldn't quite manage to look the healer in the eye.
"Nevertheless, I wonder, would you consider leaving the stables and coming to work with me and Ivy?" At that, Reagan choked on her drink. As she coughed and spluttered, sitting forward so that she could breathe better, she felt Dagonet pat her gently on the back to help clear her lungs. After she caught her breath she looked up at the big knight, her face going red with embarrassment.
"You don't have to answer right away, but I can tell you that you would be greatly needed. We have a garden behind the healing rooms that is in desperate need of someone with a nurturing hand. I fear neither Ivy nor myself have a very gentle hand when it comes to plants. We can tend to them, yes, but they are in a sorry state most of the time," he said, a slight smile spreading across his face.
Reagan shook her head and blinked at him a couple of times wondering if he was serious. Come and work here? In this lovely warm room, with all of these herbs and the promise of a garden, with nary a horse in sight? It was almost too good to be true and Reagan wondered if it was.
"I appreciate the offer, my Lord, but my job is in the stables. Jols was good enough to take me in, it would hardly seem prudent to walk out on him now." Dagonet gave her a brief nod.
"I admire your loyalty, but I would like you to consider my offer. Sleep on it and I'll ask after you in a few days." She smiled and thanked him quietly.
"Now, finish all of that tea and try to sleep. You have a long day ahead of you--I seriously doubt that Lancelot will make your first day an easy one." With that said, he left Reagan to finally ponder the mess she'd somehow gotten herself into.
She sipped her drink and stole a look at the snoring knight in the bed next to her. Dagonet hadn't said anything about him being here and Reagan wondered how many times Galahad 'hit his head' in a week just to come and see Ivy. Smiling to herself at the thought of the obviously lovesick knight, Reagan had to guess it was quite a lot.
Making quick work of finishing her pungent drink, she set the mug down and curled up on the bed. Her head throbbed and her various cuts and scrapes twinged in pain, but as soon as she was settled, she drifted off into a blessedly deep blackness that was hindered only by Galahad's loud snoring.
The next day, Reagan was given a modest breakfast of dark brown bread and cheese, then another cup of one of Dagonet's special medicinal brews, in which she suspected ginger and wormwood were used to help her get her energy back. Ivy helped apply a fresh patch of salve to the scrapes on her face and then Reagan was sent back to the stables.
Jols was happy to see her return, giving her a hardy pat on the back and almost knocking her over. Reagan suspected that the jovial man did not know his own strength. He put her to work straight away, handing her pitchfork and dung bucket then pointing her in the direction of Skye's stable.
She sighed and shuffled toward the horse. So after she was finished with Skye, it was back to fighting Malachi and then later his master that she had to look forward to.
Dagonet's offer of work in the healing rooms became more and more appealing as the day dragged on. Tristan's horse, Skye, was a beautiful grey mare with an easy temperament who happened to be quite friendly and cooperative for Reagan. It was no wonder Lucan had remarked that he liked her best. Reagan had to agree, she thought as she gently stroked the mare's soft nose.
Taking care of Skye also made her think of her master. Why such an aloof and downright frightening man like Tristan would have such a beauty of a horse was puzzling. As if sensing her thoughts, Skye nudged Reagan's shoulder affectionately; she was happy to be back in her clean stall again. Reagan quickly finished with Skye, filling her feed bucket for her and sneaking her a couple of extra carrots before moving on to her neighbor Malachi.
As it turned out, Malachi was in another one of his moods, and by the time she was finished for the day in the stables Reagan was exhausted and would have given anything to spend the rest of the day sleeping. Happily, she had not run into Gilly at all the entire day.
Reagan knew she was late as she grabbed her cloak and made her way down to the training grounds. Not knowing exactly where they were, she had to stop and ask Ganis for directions. He pointed her to a clearing just outside of the stables. She thanked him and made a mad dash for the area, hoping that her haste would save her from the threat of the switch Lancelot had so angrily touted yesterday. Although not sure what to expect, she was surprised to find the entire area completely devoid of anyone.
She had expected to see Lancelot somewhere in the general vicinity but there was nothing but an open green field and wooden targets set up for archery practice. The wooden fence that surrounded the grounds was large and Reagan draped her cloak over one of the fence posts. Sighing, she sat down on the grass and waited, a bit more than irritated that she'd skipped supper again in her attempt to be on time, when in fact the person she was to be 'meeting' was glaringly late.
Reagan leaned her back against the fence post and felt herself begin to doze. The wooden archery targets straight in front of her began to blur and the painted bull's-eyes swam before her eyes. Her exhaustion was a tangible thing. Never in her life had she worked as hard as she had in last week since she'd arrived at the fort.
Just as the thought of leaving and going straight to the kitchens for a warm bowl of stew was beginning to sound appealing, Lancelot finally decided to make an appearance. Pushing herself up off the ground, she folded her arms across her chest and jutted her chin out in clear defiance.
"You're late." She ground out and watched as he shrugged his shoulders in blatant carelessness and met her glare with one of his own.
"Well, it couldn't be helped. I had urgent business to take care of, and, besides, one of the things you so obviously need to learn is patience." Reagan looked at him and took stock of his usually pristine appearance gone awry.
His tunic was wrinkled and looked as if he'd pulled it on in haste, not to mention the fact that his thick curly hair looked as though someone had taken extreme pleasure in running their fingers through it just moments ago.
It wasn't his obvious lack of propriety that made her temper flare. What really galled her was the fact that he'd threatened her so readily the day before about being late and then kept her waiting while he took care of some "urgent business."
"Yes, urgent business indeed. It appears you put your tunic on backward, my lord," she said with heavy contempt. Reagan's irritation flared again as he grinned and immediately fixed his tunic in front of her, allowing her a glimpse of sun-bronzed skin peaking out from beneath the hem, and she had to wonder if he realized what he was doing. Obviously not. Reagan turned away from him, hoping he wouldn't see the blush creeping up on her cheeks. Catching her look, he finally finished righting his clothing.
"Are you jealous?" he asked, purposely taunting her. Before she could rise to the bait he continued, "You've got nothing to worry about, squire. When you're my age the women will be quite fond of you. You have a nice looking face--I'd imagine, anyway, beneath all those bruises and cuts--and hopefully you won't manage to ruin it on the battlefield. Women like pretty faces on their men."
"Like yours?" she asked and mentally chastised herself. She heard him chuckle at her comment and she turned back to him. Lancelot regarded her with a look of pure amusement. She hated it when he looked at her like that–when his impossibly dark eyes flashed, it made her feel strange and she didn't like it.
"Yes, like mine. Stick with me, Reagan, I'll teach you everything you need to know about the fairer sex." She wanted to shout at him that she knew more than he ever would about the 'fairer sex' but held her tongue, thinking it wise not to let her temper get the best of her. Reagan knew that she had a tenuous grasp on her self-preservation where Lancelot was concerned.
"Good, already you're learning to curb that tongue of yours." Reagan pressed her lips into a fine line at his offhand remark and followed him to the center of the clearing, clearly holding on to the last shreds of her sanity as she watched him roll up the sleeves of his tunic.
"Lets get on with this. I want to test your strength before we start anything." Before she could say another word to that, he dropped himself to the ground and Reagan stared at him in bewilderment, watching as he laid himself belly first on the grass and began repeatedly pushing his body up off the ground with his arms.
Lancelot's muscles bulged as he pushed himself up again and again and Reagan didn't quite understand what was happening. Rolling himself to his side he propped himself up on his elbow and motioned for her to come closer. Not quite knowing what her feet were doing she moved hesitantly closer to him.
"I want to see how many of those you can do." he said, barely winded. From having just watched him demonstrating with practiced grace, she assumed the task was fairly easy.
"Fine." she agreed, a bit too readily. Dropping herself to her belly, she placed her palms on the grass and pushed herself up with her arms. Reagan managed to repeat the exercise twice; the third time her tired arms began to ache and tremble, and on the fourth try she barley managed to push her torso off the ground without trouble.
"You're too soft!" she heard him exclaim next to her, and he grabbed the back of her breeches, lifting her bottom off the ground as she tried again to do another push-up. As she failed even with his aid, Lancelot gave a disappointed sigh and let go of her without a word of warning. Reagan fell to the ground, all the air in her lungs escaping her in a choked gasp of surprise.
"Too much sitting! What have you done with your life, boy? It'll take months to firm you up! Months!" he said, exasperated.
"It's not as easy as it looks!" Reagan replied, chagrined.
"Easy? No, it's not easy and you're about the weakest boy I've met."
"Weak?" she exclaimed, "I am not weak!"
"Oh really, well then you tell me why you have arms the size of willow branches and can barely lift your own weight off the ground, even with my help?" Reagan tried not to see red at his accusations, but she couldn't help it. She was not weak; it was the fact that his exercises were completely unreasonable. She chose to ignore the almost too personal comments he'd made about her body.
"I didn't ask for this, you pompous noble! I told you this wouldn't work!" she practically yelled. Fed up with his harassment, she stomped past him thinking only of leaving the training grounds, and was surprised when she was yanked back by her arm with enough strength to make her stumble to a halt, tripping over her own two feet in the process.
"I have a name and I would prefer that you use it," he said in that low menacing tone she'd heard before. Reagan couldn't stop the shiver she felt low in her belly and she raised hesitant and weary eyes up at him.
"You want me to call you by your given name?" she asked, a bit surprised at his acquiescence. Lancelot shook his head, gripping her arm even tighter.
"Since you are my squire and I am your commander, I think my lord will suffice in this situation, don't you agree?" He asked with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. Reagan swallowed hard and reluctantly nodded. Lancelot let go of her abruptly and she righted herself with a bit of difficulty.
"Good. Now that that's settled, let's continue, shall we, boy?" She wanted to continue this training like she wanted the plague but she knew she had to go along with it if she ever hoped to keep her gender a secret.
"Should I practice some more, my lord?" she asked in a clipped tone. Lancelot brought his fingers up to eye level, inspecting his nails with deliberate indolence, and it made Reagan want to slap him silly.
"No, squire, I think some running will do you well, you're legs are..." She watched as his eyes traveled down to her legs and the borrowed breeches she wore, which were a bit tighter than usual. Reagan watched as he stared at her legs for a moment, a strange look crossing over his features.
Reagan grinned at his expression, happy for once that at least one part of her was unmistakably female. She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot impatiently, jarring Lancelot out of whatever it was he'd been so preoccupied with.
"You were saying, my lord, something about…my legs." She waved her hand at him, encouraging him to continue his interrupted train of thought. Lancelot visibly shook himself, clearing his throat he looked at her directly, apparently any and all ideas of her legs gone for the moment.
"Running, you need to run laps. I think five around the field will get you off to a good start." Reagan stared at him with one raised eyebrow: laps? Was the man serious?
"Go!" he snapped at her as if she should have already started. Apparently he was and Reagan started running. The first lap went well, the second her legs started to ache, and by the third her lungs burned.
The field looked large but one didn't really get the idea of how big it was until you had to run around it repeatedly. The fourth and the fifth lap were torture and when she was done she grabbed the fence for purchase, so winded it took her a full minute to catch her breath. Lancelot patted her on the back a little too roughly and Reagan had to wonder if he was hitting her or trying to help her.
"That was a good start lad, I think that if we increase this regimen tomorrow and introduce a couple of new exercises I'll have you made into a man in no time."
"Increase?" she gasped, "New…exercises?" The thought made her want to cry.
If she had to continue with this and the stables, Reagan was convinced she'd be dead in a week. The sound of his laughter was all most too much for her to bear.
"It's not so bad, boy, today was light compared to what is to come. Now you must be hungry, I can't put any muscle on you if you don't eat! Come, let us get some food." Before she had a chance to argue he started pulling her toward the tavern.
Once inside he pushed her down on to a wooden bench and signaled to one of the maids for food. Reagan was so exhausted she didn't even blink when a bowl of steaming mutton stew was plunked down in front of her and a goblet of spiced wine along with it.
She ate and drank half asleep, not caring much for the food. Just as she started to nod off she felt Lancelot grab the back of her tunic and pull her upright.
"Not yet, boy! This is no place for sleeping." Reagan blinked at him, irritated that he'd kept her for this long, irritated that he looked so interesting in the low torch-lit tavern, where his sharp angular features and dark hair stood out in stark relief. Wanting to be as far away from him as possible she asked,
"Am I excused for the night, my lord?" Lancelot nodded, sipping on his spiced wine grabbing for her bowl of unfinished stew.
"Off with you. Sleep, you'll need it for tomorrow." Reagan felt elated at his words and mumbled a halfhearted thank-you. Clutching her cloak around her shoulders, she shuffled toward the servants' quarters, her bunk the only thing on her mind.
She was just about there when something caught her attention; there was the figure of a man leaning against the outer wall. He held something in his hands and she caught the glint of metal in the dim light of the torches. Reagan slowed down her approach and pulled her cloak tighter around herself as recognition hit her. It was Tristan, the knight she'd met in the forest.
He stood there whittling away at a piece of wood with wickedly sharp looking dagger, one foot propped against the wall to balance his weight. He glanced up at her as she approached; he said nothing yet he didn't take his eyes off her as he continued to deftly slice at the wood in his hand.
Reagan cleared her throat. "Evening, my lord," she said, her voice cracking and betraying her unease. He tipped his chin her way, signaling he'd heard her. She stopped and hovered on the threshold of the servants' quarters, wondering what he would do if she tried to make a mad dash inside and lock him out.
Reagan thought it best not to test it.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke, startling her so that she jumped despite herself.
"Thought you might be interested to know…" he paused, the edge of his knife catching on a difficult piece of wood which he got rid of with an efficient flick of his wrist. "There were some men here earlier, looking for a girl named Reagan."
At his words her heart sank and a cold wash of fear skated up her spine. Tristan met her alarmed and surprised gaze evenly, his stark countenance giving none of his thoughts away, the torchlight played with the planes and angles of his face. Making him look more foe then friend.
"There is an award out for her. Twenty-five silver coins to whomever returns her alive. They say she is dangerous. They say that she is a witch."
"R-Really?" Reagan asked, trying to feign ignorance. "A w-witch, you don't say?" She gave a hysterical little giggle, unable to stop herself, and clutched at her cloak with white-knuckled hands. "Why do you th-think I'd be interested in this?" The taciturn knight shrugged his shoulders with idle grace, wiping the blade of his dagger on the hem of his faded tunic.
"Don't know really." His keen amber colored eyes bored into hers and Reagan shrank away from him instinctively. "Just thought you'd like to know." Reagan tried to swallow around the lump of fear in her throat and gave the knight a curt nod.
"Well, I'll keep my eye out for her. I could certainly use twenty-five silver coins." At that, Tristan tucked the piece of wood into his pocket and slid his dagger into his boot. He said nothing as he ambled past her and she watched his silhouette fade into the shadows.
Reagan stood outside the servant's quarters, her heart pounding a fierce tattoo against her ribs. Tristan knew. He knew she was a girl and Rullus had sent men to look for her. With the sensation of dread thick in her stomach, Reagan knew that it was only a matter of time before her carefully crafted ruse came crumbling down around her.
A/N: I will be the first to say that this is not a historically accurate fic, it is a some what light hearted romance, with a heavy dash of adventure and a whole lot of misunderstanding thrown in. I trust my readers, my reviewers (all of you have been wonderful) and I trust my betas. If at any time, any of you suspect I've created a MarySue, please tell me (in a kind way not in a flame). As it stands I'm going to continue writing this like I had planned. Don't be startled by my potrayl of Tristan, there is a reason for it, I assure you. Chapter 8 is started and I will see everyone in the New Year! Happy Holidays Everyone!
