Author: Triane
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.
Summary: Iona takes stock, and she and Dagonet receive orders.
Iona never grew tired of sitting at the round table, and in the hum and conversation that preceded a meeting of Arthur and his knights, it was easy to let her mind wander, her eyes following one of the patterns intricately carved into the wood. It was two years now, since she was conscripted to ride with Arthur's knights, almost three years since she first appeared in their time, and she still felt her heart start to race when she saw the mammoth table. To actually sit at it, in her own chair beside Dagonet, was a sort of other worldly experience that she didn't think she would ever tire of. This was the life she felt she was meant for, to live simply and to eat, sleep, and fight with those she loved.
Especially the one she loved.
Dagonet…the giant, her giant, was a man who fulfilled all her hopes and silent wishes. Rough around the edges, surely, and oftentimes silent to the point of being sullen, he nevertheless was unashamed to show her that he loved and cherished her. He was there for her first battle, the first time she killed a man. Frozen in place, after the action was over, he was there to rub life back into her shocked limbs and show her how to move on. He was there when nagging nightmares of Alexander woke her in a cold sweat, and he was there when she missed her home and her family – though it was happening less and less. A fearsome battle wound, from which she would bear a scar until she died, was enough of a scare that it prompted a declaration of love – a declaration that gave her enough strength to fight through the following weeks so she could eventually answer him in kind.
And they had never looked back.
Battles had been fought, and won, and lost. Iona's life had been saved several times, and she had saved a few lives of her own. She had attended Ector's funeral as one of the knight's brothers. She loved these warriors even more than she had before; loved their roughness, their crude banter, loved that they chose to be loyal to Arthur even though they had no other choice. She loved this crazy family she was a part of, through some unbelievable cosmic accident that was drifting further and further into her past, along with her home and her life that she had once carved out so carefully for herself. This life, Iona was carving out with sword and dagger and blood and sweat and tears; and it was carving her, as well, little by little. She was rougher now, without her carefully manicured hands and designer wardrobe, with quicker reflexes and a slower tongue. Her body was as hard as steel, sharpened into a deadly weapon through necessity and use. Her eyes were piercing and calculating, her skin was darker from exposure to the sun and the elements, and her hair was shorter and uneven from weapons cutting it in battle. She had taken to braiding it like Tristan, and although it didn't make her look as feral as it made him, it still gave her an air of wildness that would put her immediately out of place back in her own time.
It was to the point where Iona couldn't remember the sound of traffic or picture the route she normally took from her home to her office in the university – but it bothered her less and less. Sometimes she would force some mental exercise involving what she used to teach, but it was mostly to wave off the nagging voice in her mind that warned against being torn from this new life back into the old one. But the less she thought about that, the happier she was. She didn't cling to her memories of home with desperation like the men did, but her languages, however, were as strong as ever. Even two years not using them in the classroom wasn't enough to pull the love of them out of her – and Dagonet had learned enough that they could talk to each other in English….which was especially convenient when they didn't want anyone else knowing what they were saying. Although we do it so often that someone must have picked up on it by now – what with the way we speak English for a little while, then suddenly disappear and come back looking mighty pleased with ourselves. She gave Dagonet a slow smile with a hooded gaze and watched his eyes darken with desire as he guessed where her thoughts were…but then, at the sound of her name, Iona pulled her eyes away from Dagonet's magnetic stare and glanced up to see Arthur looking at them with an amused expression on his face.
"Now that we are all paying attention, let's discuss tomorrow's patrol." Iona and Dagonet both cleared their throats and shifted in their seats slightly, shooting each other one last heated glance. They then looked pointedly at Arthur, who referred to a piece of paper on the table in front of him before continuing.
"Just a routine patrol of the villages, two or three days at the most. Bors, Lancelot and Gawain, north of the wall. Just the villages. Go no further than you have to." He made eye contact with each of the men for confirmation, and then looked back down at his list.
"Dagonet and Iona, south and west. Galahad and myself, south and east. Tristan is not yet well enough to ride, so he will be staying here." The mood around the table instantly grew sombre at the mention of Tristan, who had been out scouting two weeks before when he was sandwiched between two Woad hunting parties. His empty horse returning to the fort had been a sign to the rest that something was amiss, but by the time they got to their fellow knight, Tristan was close to death despite having slaughtered all his attackers. He was almost back to normal now, but careful Arthur didn't want him to go out again too soon and risk infection or another attack that would cost him his life.
With nothing more to say, Arthur dismissed them from the meeting and they wandered from the room into the hall. The majority of the knights headed straight for the tavern for one last night of drinking before heading out, but as soon as they were alone, Iona found herself pressed with her back against the wall by Dagonet, his hands at her waist and his mouth covering hers. She smiled against his lips and wound her arms around his shoulders, tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth and then moving to kiss his neck. A low groan rumbled in Dagonet's chest and then she was being lifted, her legs wrapping around his waist as he negotiated hallways more from memory than sight, finally arriving at their room and slamming the door behind them.
Iona could never figure out how Dagonet got rid of her clothing so quickly – or his own, for that matter – for it seemed like just seconds before she was lying on top of the furs on their bed with Dagonet's solid weight pressing down on her, his mouth and hands moving over her and making her gasp and purr with delight. Their bodies moved together perfectly, knowing exactly what pleased the other and loving every cry that flew through the heated air. Moving in perfect unison, they swallowed their names torn from each other's lips in a long, passionate kiss, and then slipped into a light sleep, still intertwined – forgetting duty, forgetting patrol, forgetting everything except each other.