Soooo… here is the second part of Chapter 8. I'm sorry for the delay and its shortness. But I thought that you might fancy a quick update… I still hope you're enjoying this. ;-))


Ash, Ruin and Demise (cont.)

"This is madness…!" Gawain kept walking back and forth through Lancelot's room. After the dramatic appearance of the later, they had carried him back into his room and continued their deliberations there.

Arthur was sitting on the bed, supporting Lancelot who leaned heavily against him. Merlin had taken a seat in the window in the corner of the room, Tristan stood nearby, leaning against the wall and they exchanged a quick glance at Gawain's outburst.

Padarn, uncomfortably standing in the middle of the room, had just told them what he could about the Saxons and their number. "… I am sorry, my lords. But I haven't seen much… A lot of them are camping in the forest that borders my lands. And some of them seem to be camping more to the south. I have been locked up most of the time… But it looks like they keep coming. Several ships are still expected from what I could understand…"

All turned on Bors for he cursed sending the plague and worse to the Saxons camped only several ligues away from them. "Ah, don't you look at me like that… it's not as if you didn't think the same thing…" he looked defiantly at Dagonet standing beside him, who only placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

Arthur sighed. "What can we do? We cannot attack, their number is too great already and Aelric would kill Galahad before anyone had the chance to free him. I don't have the money to free him on neutral terms and Aelric knows that, so we can't trick him into anything." He lowered his head, defeated again.

"This is Galahad we're talking about, friends." Lancelot stated with a voice that sounded weak, but had not lost its power just yet. He was just as pale as he'd ever been since the battle, competing with the chalked wall behind him. "He'll try what he can…"

"That's if he's still able to do anything… we all know his temper…" Tristan murmured.

Gawain turned to him, glaring angrily. "Don't…" was all he said and it held everything that needed to be said. He crossed his arms and stood tensed at the foot of Lancelot's bed.

"My Friends. Maybe there is a way." It was Germanus voice that spoke with that natural tone of nobility so renowned in the Roman. "I can ask the bishop for the money." The idea was met with several frowns and relieved sighs, but he continued: "But, there may well be a problem… Not that the bishop wouldn't give me the money, considering my services, I could even ask the Emperor. But the times are bad, very bad indeed. And there is something I haven't told you before." He stood and walked over to Arthur, who still held Lancelot in his arms. Germanus was suddenly reminded of the eternal twins Castor and Pollux, they looked so close… resting in the other's presence and if he'd have asked Merlin he'd knew it was hard to tell where one soul ended and the other began.
"When the first news of Spain reached me, I was at Ravenna on the bishop's errand. I saw the Emperor take the scroll and all turned to ash around us. Of course he immediately started to prepare for the defence of Rome. He sent word to the East, urging Theodosius to help him. But Arthur, he has not forgotten you or your service to the Empire. He asked me to call you back to Rome to join the defence of the city."

"What?" Lancelot snapped edgily.

"I refused to do anything like that. I know Honorius, he only fears for his own safety. But I could never ask you. The defence of Rome or Ravenna is suicide judging the number of Alaric's army. I would not have you anywhere near Rome, for nothing in the world. I was adamant about it which of course… greatly annoyed the Emperor. And the bishop for that matter. I left on rather bad terms… So… If I ask for the money, I already know on what terms the bishop will grant me the sum…"

-

When Guinevere woke, she felt so wonderfully light. She hesitantly opened her eyes, fearing that she would scare the feeling away. She silently thanked Merlin for his gentle hands and his herbs that had scared the pain away for a blessed moment. She breathed deeply, but slowly due to her broken ribs and immersed herself completely into the smell of sweet Verbena that filled the room. She was still utterly lost in the pale green smell when the door opened and Merlin entered the room. He approached her cautiously, paying respect to her contemplation in sweet remoteness.

"Merlin…" she smiled and there was barely any strain in her expression.

"I see my humble charms have not failed to ease you, my Dear." He answered her smile, shutting away the disturbing news of the night.

"Of course not. Who can resist the healing call of your herbs…?" A slight frown crossed her forehead as she felt Merlin's intention to hide something from her.

"Don't you worry…" he answered her unspoken question. "Here…" he lifted the object he held in his hands "I thought you might need her." And with another smile placed the package at her side.

"Ah…" She touched the leather of the bag that protected her harp, softly feeling her loyal companion beneath it. As a future clan leader, Guinevere had taken up the basic studies of the mystical ways of her people as a child, eventually becoming a Bard. She had often thought that maybe she simply lacked the force for the higher rituals of the druid order. Maybe she was just afraid of her own shadows. And had she ever wanted to take the last step to the highest degree of a file, she would have had to face all those fears, those dark parts in her.

While she was still tangled in her dream state, Merlin examined her broken leg with a gentle hand. The swelling was substantial, but it wasn't a bad sign and the bandages only showed a slight bleeding from where the bone had torn the muscles. With a satisfied look he replaced the bandages.

"Merlin." Guinevere started to sit up very slowly not accepting any help. "How is Arthur?" she fixed the Woad leader's eyes, no dreamy distance between them anymore.

He feels haunted, Guinevere. I cannot see behind the misty veil of time… everything is suspended. He is suffering. And he won't accept any help from us. Please. Don't fear his reaction, Dear. Take your love to him. It may well be the only thing able to heal him.

-

Gawain, on the other end of the corridor, closed the door to his own room silently. After Germanus revelation they had all left to mull things over in their minds. Form a plan or come up with a solution.

Bors finally had gone to find his family and Dagonet decided to stay with Lancelot. Tristan and Gawain had gone to the check on the guards. They had wandered from picket to picket in silence. Only Tristan's frown upon parting showed that he knew for Gawain's pain.

He stood in the middle of his room now, his head hanging, the full moon casting a white glow across the room. He wondered when he had ever felt so tired as he did now. The uncertainty of the future weighed him down and he was powerless. It definitely had been a day of firsts. Gawain had never been powerless. Nor had Arthur ever yielded to dread and loss. They were both being tried and tested in their own personal hellish manner.
Gawain went to the window and his eyes wandered to the east where he suspected Padarn's farm.

Galahad. Please rest easy tonight. I will come for you.
Remember what you promised me when I was sick with the fever… remember what you told me. We will die together. You promised. I will not let you break that promise. Never.

Gawain shivered as a cool breeze coming from the sea inland hit him as he stood there, sending all his thoughts towards the place where the other part of his soul was held captive.

-

There was nothing Galahad could do. He had fought as best as he could, had cried for them to stop, had howled like a wounded dog at the Saxons' brutality.

They had hit him, kicked him, bruised him even more and still he hadn't given in.

So Horsa had ordered for his arms to be bound on his back. And readily two Saxons pulled his hands over his back and bound them – the leather straps cutting into his wrists like knifes. But Horsa wasn't satisfied yet and bound his upper arms as well, pulling his shoulders ever backwards and inflicting a constant pressure on Galahad's already hurting torso and wounded arm.

Then he turned without a word – an evil expression on his face – to where his men had dragged Elaine.

Held back by several strong arms and someone pulling his head upwards Galahad was constrained to watch… and listen. There was nothing he could do.

-

The meeting had not brought any obvious solution to Arthur's racing thoughts. He stood in the courtyard of the garrison, only illuminated by the dim light of the torches nearby.

"Padarn. I am sorry that you have to go back and that I cannot help you. I wish I could…"

The peasant turned from his horse with a sad face. "I need to… they have my daughter."

Arthur nodded. "We will find a way to get you out."

"I know that you will try. It's all I could ask for." Padarn said as he mounted his horse.

"Thank you, my lord." And with that he spurred his horse and rode off in the cold light of the full moon's night, leaving a lonely Arthur victim to his sombre thoughts again.

Within the span of one moment my world lies in ruins…

He was startled as a warm hand took hold of his arm and shoulder, leaning heavily on him. He turned his green eyes on her, wondering how she got here.

"Arthur…" she whispered. "I need to speak with you…"

"How is it that all my wounded friends just jump out of bed to speak with me tonight? You could have sent for me, Dear." He placed his arm around her shoulder to support her. "You'll catch your death out here…"

She accepted the coat he slung around her, but refused to go back inside. They shared a moment of pure silence, no thought or word to disturb their small pocket of peace.

"Why did you let me live?" Guinevere buried in Arthur's strong embrace eventually whispered.

Arthur knew immediately what she was referring to and images of her kneeling before him, deadly wounded flashed before his inner eye.

"You mean… ehm… I… ah…" he stuttered slightly taken aback by the question. "…it… would have been an unjust death. Unnecessary…" He was at a loss for words.

"I have loved you from that day on… ever since… not because you did not kill me, but because you did not hesitate to let me live."

She looked up into the sea of his green eyes, loosing herself in the look once more. "You choose live over death whenever you can, Arthur. It's who you are."

Arthur just stood and accepted the words she offered him. He wondered briefly why he was suddenly filled with this overwhelming feeling of ease and comfort.

"Guinevere…" He buried his face in her hair, giving into her pagan enchantment.

They were like a lonely island in the storm of doubt and terror that raged over the world that night, stranded somewhere between the 'here' and the 'just now', both souls lingering somewhere between persisting and becoming, dying to be reborn.