Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.
Dagonet concentrated on placing one booted foot after another into the snow. The incline he trudged up wasn't steep but it was slippery. Ahead was the camp. Fires hissing as they were extinguished, the all too familiar barking of orders, the whinnying of horses as they were separated from where they had been hitched, and the low thrum of fear and anticipation. The snow muffled some of the noise, still drifting down gently like a benediction or a curse, and the trees shielded most of what was happening, but the brief glimpses that he had of what was happening was no surprise.
Arthur was giving orders, the soldiers that had tried to kill him the night before meek and compliant as they set about preparing Marius's serfs for travel once again. For their part the refugees were holding up better than he had expected but they slowed them down, held up those precious moments before that little wooden box sent from Rome would be opened back at the Wall and he and his brothers would be free, and practically guaranteed them all a death sentence if Tristan couldn't find a way around the Saxons.
One look at Bors's face and he felt his heart sink. He'd ridden into battle with his friend more times than he could count and there was no joke or knowing smile at the woman beside him. Jols was checking the bows and distributing arrows, Arthur grim and nodding him over curtly when he noticed his presence.
Time to fight.
Fulcinia winced when his hand unconsciously tightened around her smaller one, and he hurriedly let her go.
"I have to speak with my Commander," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Will you be alright?"
She nodded, her dark eyes wide as she glanced over at his fellow knights. No fool was she; swallowing hard she met his gaze. "You're going to fight the Saxons," she said quietly.
"I believe so." There was no point in lying to her. It was unlikely that any of them would be alive to greet the next sunrise and fairytales were best left for Bors's children he thought with a pang of sorrow. He loved the little bastards and hoped that he could keep the promise to protect Bors that he had made to Vanora so many years ago.
"There are so many of them." Her voice was whisper soft but when she grabbed his hand and raised it to her lips her grip was strong and sure, her warm mouth against his skin sending every nerve ending roaring into life. "Please be careful." She released him and stepped back, cheeks flushed and eyes darting away from his, obviously a little surprised at her own audacity. One of her hands came up to brush away the hair that had escaped from its rough plait, pushing it behind her ear, and Gods be damned, he'd killed hundreds, one kiss couldn't make much difference when it came to the judgement of his soul... Fulcinia made a little squeak of shock when he pulled her towards him, but she didn't struggle when he dropped his mouth to hers, and after a moment she tentatively kissed him back, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, her eyes closing in concentration as though he were the first man to have taken the time to explore her.
Cherries, he thought. She tasted of cherries and summer, her body fitting against him perfectly. Soft curves pressed against his chest, the silk of her hair curling around his arm. Reluctantly he let go. Fulcinia's eyes were glazed, her tongue sneaking out to lick her lower lip, and in that moment Dagonet would have happily exchanged his papers of passage and years of hell for one hour, a locked room and a soft bed to share with her.
"You should find your son," he said gruffly."I wish you well, lady."
She nodded. "I.. Yes. Thank you." She gave him a smile of such sad sweetness that his chest constricted and turned away. Dagonet watched her go until she was swallowed by the melee of soldiers and refugees hurriedly packing up their belongings and tacking up their horses. He was so lost in thought that the sudden hand on his shoulder had him reaching for his sword automatically.
"Save it for the Saxons," Bors said without malice, dodging out of the way easily. Glancing at Fulcinia's retreating figure he raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? The Roman? If you want to get your end away then why not go for one of the maids – some of them are pretty tasty and probably not that fussy."
"If you're so keen on them then why aren't you chasing them? I'm not stopping you," Dagonet snapped, re-sheathing his sword and glaring at his friend.
Bors shrugged, indifferent to his friend's irritation. "They aren't Vanora. Not much point messing about with them – Van'd cut my cock off if she found out anyway."
Dagonet laughed despite himself. "We should have brought her with us – might have evened out the odds a little."
"Yeah." Looking over at Arthur who was giving instructions to Jols who was apparently not impressed at not being allowed to stay and fight, Bors gave a sad smile. "Well she's raising our own little army. They'll look after her." The last words were quiet, and Dagonet wished that he had words of comfort. They were badly outnumbered if what Tristan had said earlier was true, and he had no doubt that the scout spoke the truth. At the very best they were buying time. There was no way that they could win this fight. Looking around he raised a hand to Lucan. The boy looked at him curiously, tucked in a blanket at the front of Brynn's wagon, Fulcinia beside him, dark and beautiful, her eyes haunted. At least he'd die fighting for something right and pure, he thought. He tore his eyes away from them and walked over to Arthur.
The big Roman's words washed over him, but there was really no point in understanding the specifics. He glanced at his brothers in arms; Galahad restless and looking even younger than usual. Tristan utterly impassive as he checked his bow. Gawain steady, his eyes ancient in his young face. Lancelot making an obviously barbed remark to Guinevere who remained glacially beautiful and by the looks of things was going to join them in their fight. Hefting the axe that was so much a part of him that it was almost a fifth limb, he followed his brothers down to the frozen lake and watched as the Saxons headed towards them.
"I can fight." Alecto's voice was sure and strong. The voice of a would-be warrior, and Fulcinia felt her heart freeze. Torn between pride at his bravery and absolute terror for him, she sank down against the side of Brynn's wagon with relief when Arthur forbade it. For it was true, wasn't it? This whole sorry mess was to keep Alecto safe so that he could go back to Rome. Selfish to be thankful that her one and only child was held in such esteem when so many others were risking their lives to keep him safe.
Oh but the cost... The Saxon's drums were so loud that they seemed like a second heartbeat. Alecto's eyes were fierce as he clambered into the wagon, Lucan's frightened as he tucked himself into her lap, and Fulcinia wanted to scream. Pick up a bow like Guinevere, or perhaps a sword. Run headlong into the Saxon horde and keep slicing until they were all dead. Instead she sought out and smiled at Dagonet, urged Lucan to wave at him when Brynn clucked to Blossom and urged the carthorse away from the handful of warriors that were left to face an army.
Dagonet's expression gave nothing away as he raised a hand to bid Lucan farewell, but when his eyes met hers Fulcinia had to bite down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. Broad shoulders dusted with snow, his eyes sad but kind, he gave her a half smile as Blossom, bless her heart dug her hooves into the snow and got the wagon into lurching life.
One kiss. That was all they would ever have, and she doubted that she would ever see him again.
The light was fading when the caravan of wagons finally stopped. There had been no news, and that in itself was both a blessing and a curse. No Saxon marauders had attacked, but none of the knights had caught up with them either. Fulcinia fingered the little knife that she used to cut up herbs. Against a well armed Saxon warrior it was a bit pathetic, but she was fairly sure that if she had to she'd be able to do serious damage with it. After all one of the bonuses of being skilled at healing perversely gave her an insight into where to strike when it came to killing.
Blossom tossed her head, her bit jangling as she scratched her shoulder, and unconsciously Fulcinia pulled Lucan closer. The boy snuggled against her, his eyes wide and watchful. Brynn didn't smile as he jumped down from the wagon to unhitch his horse, and Fulcinia noted, he took his somewhat battered sword with him. Alecto was helping some of the serfs who could wield weapons to arm themselves with the help of Jols, Commander Castus's servant, but they were woefully ill-equipped and untrained. If the Saxons got past the knights... But no. Don't think of that. Don't think of Dagonet.
"They're going to win." Lucan's voice was so quiet that it took a moment for Fulcinia to understand what he had said. "Dagonet said not to be afraid so I'm not." Nonetheless his knuckles were white where he gripped her dress, and although she stroked his hair gently in an attempt at comfort, when the thunder of approaching hooves cut through the oppressive silence she almost threw him backwards trying to get between him and whoever approached.
"Sweet merciful God," she breathed as Arthur cantered his stallion through the trees. Guinevere held on to his waist, her eyes wild, her hair a tangle around her shoulders, and there was the blond knight Gawain, the angry dark haired knight – Lancelot she remembered, followed by the young knight and the scout. But where...
"No." Lucan cried out and her own denial was lost to the wind. The stocky knight – Bors, was struggling to both control his horse and hold onto the body that lay across his saddle. The position was awkward, the features lax, and for a long heart stopping moment Fulcinia was convinced that Dagonet had been brought back to be buried on the famed Badon Hill with those who had fallen before him.
"Lady!" It took almost a minute to realise that Arthur Castus had dismounted and was talking to her. Glancing blankly at the hand that had grabbed her arm she looked at him blankly before inwardly shaking herself and meeting his hazel eyes.
"My man needs assistance." He looked almost as worried as she felt, and she noticed blood running down his neck and seeping down underneath his hauberk. First things first... The young knight with the help of Bors was carrying Dagonet's big, alarmingly still body towards her.
"Put him in the wagon," she found herself saying. "I need water and more bandages." Right. Alright. Her mind might be a dizzying array of terror and panic but her voice at least sounded steady, Fulcinia thought, trying to steady herself. "Put him down on the blankets.." The young knight's grip slipped as he laid the big body down and she grabbed Dagonet's soaked hauberk before any more damage could be done. "Careful," she snapped. Looking at the huge man who had only a few hours ago seemed invincible she felt her throat close. Willing her limbs to move, she jerkily helped settle him down as gently as she could. Oh God he was cold as death, she thought as she tried to find a pulse. Two arrows protruded obscenely from his side and his chest, and she felt her heart lurch. Taking them out would be dangerous at home in the clean and well stocked medical room. Out here in a rickety cart with the temperature only a little above freezing it could be fatal. There was a faint brush of an exhalation against her upper arm, and stroking the scar that traversed Dagonet's cheek, she tried to get Galahad's attention.
"Sir?" Her voice was tight, but the knight did not look at her. Well aware that time was running out, Fulcinia shoved him none too gently, finally getting his attention.
"I'm sorry." His eyes were wide and desperate as he looked at his friend, and for the first time Fulcinia noticed that he was trembling. Despite the armour and weapons he suddenly seemed very young, and taking his hand Fulcinia gave it a squeeze and tried to give him a reassuring smile. Beside him Lucan did not look much better off, and not inclined to be a babysitter when every minute lost might cost Dagonet his life, she tried to remain calm.
"There's a girl named Cate back in the second wagon from last. She's about your age with red hair. I need her to help your friend, will you please tell her to come? Lucan, you know who she is, will you show him? I also need hot water and more blankets."
Lucan nodded and scampered to the front of the wagon, waiting for the older man to follow. The young knight didn't seem to hear her, however, merely staring at the still body of his friend..
"Galahad, will you please find Cate." She raised her voice and practically snarled the last words as the knight seemed unable to tear his eyes from Dagonet's waxen features. "If you want him to live then you have to make haste."
Galahad finally nodded, scrambling out of the wagon and following Lucan without looking back.
With a shaky sigh Fulcinia willed herself to remain calm and appraised the man before her as a healer not a... Friend, fellow healer, something so much more? Pushing the thoughts away she examined his injuries and kept one hand against his neck to make sure that Dagonet's blood still pulsed. There was a brief horrible moment when she was sure that his heart had stopped, but then there it was – a steady thump against her fingertips. If his heart was still beating then there was still hope.
Dagonet's head was heavy in her lap, those grey eyes that saw too much closed, and Fulcinia thanked heaven for small mercies. The arrows had to come out, and it would take half of Castus's knights to hold him down if he were conscious.
The arrow that had pierced his side had glanced off his hauburk and although serious the wound could have been so much worse had the leather protecting him been a little thinner or the arrow fired a little closer. As it was the shaft had penetrated the muscle of his hip rather than his stomach and the arrow itself had been torn free without the tip breaking off. While still embedded in the leather it had torn free from the flesh. Small mercies, Fulcinia muttered to herself. Carefully probing the entrance wound which bled sluggishly, she was fairly sure that the arrow hadn't hit anything vital inside him and replaced the piece of cloth that one of the knights had torn from their tunics to staunch the bleeding. It would be easy enough to stitch so long as infection did not set in. Dagonet groaned as she gently explored the area surrounding the arrow but didn't flinch when she placed a hand on his abdomen. His muscles flexed at her touch but nothing seemed unduly swollen, and if God was kind then that meant that there was no internal bleeding.
"Hush, hush...You're safe," she chanted softly as she continued when he groaned. Dagonet flinched and his head jerked back into her stomach so hard that it drove the breath from her when Fulcinia touched the arrow still embedded in his chest. Gasping she gave them both a moment to get their breath back. Resting her hands on his powerful shoulders, Fulcinia tried to calm him as best she could, whispering nonsense words and silently begging Cate to hurry.
"I'm not going to let you die," she whispered. "Don't you dare give up."
A/N: I didn't write the fight on the ice because lets face it if you've got this far on a King Arthur fanfic you pretty much know how it all goes down. I'll elaborate a bit in the next couple of chapters though. Thanks everyone reading :)
