Hello everyone ! Well, first of all I want to apologize for taking so long in posting, I had this massive writer's block and I just couldn't find a war around it or through it until a couple of days ago. And of course, I didn't want to give you a fastly written, poor chapter. But well, here it is (finally) So, don't forget to leave your votes and reviwes on the story 3
The sky went from grey to lilac, to purple to blue, until finally settling for tone close to black as the night took over the land of Britannia. The fortress of Badon Hill fell into an uneasy vigil. The Saxons would be there tomorrow, of that there was no doubt, and since the last of the roman garrison stationed in the area would leave along with Bishop Germanous and Alecto Honorius, the villagers hurried up and down, preparing to leave with them, already resigned to the fact that the place would fall at the hands of the invaders.
Freed at last, tomorrow wasn't too soon for the sarmatian's either. In a single evening they settled everything to leave the next day along with the rest. They'd turn their backs to this life and try never to think of it again for what was left of their time.
And Devnet was stuck in the fact that the last hours of that life were swiftly slipping by and still a part of her was reluctant to go. She'd agreed to leave with them, but due more to the fact that she seemingly had no other choice, than because she was truly convinced that it was what she wanted. She knew the woads were gathering at the woods north of the Wall for the upcoming battle, ready to fight and die if necessary for what was rightfully theirs. That mere idea had her chewing at her nails, for she could feel the tug of invisible strings pulling her towards the Blue People, even though she knew it was an absolute madness.
The others had gathered at their usual table at the tavern one last time, drinking for Dagonet and recalling perhaps, with mixed feelings of relief, regret and a special king of nostalgia, the past fifteen years that had been their life, and how, even as much as they hated to admit so, this land has forged them to be who they were, as individuals and as a band of brothers. They'd experienced together more than what a regular man would experience alone in a lifetime, and as she sat listening to stories of all kinds, some that she knew and some that she hadn't been part of, she could not understand how they could live it all behind with so much detachment and scatter away into the vast corners of eastern Europe, perhaps never to see each other again. Maybe they'd all travel together for a while, at least to the borders of Sarmatia, but from that point, each would part their separate ways, for the country was large and each of them came from different corners of the land. And just like that all would've been said, done and forgotten? Vanish into the void as if had never happened, like a bad memory tossed away? What of the good times they'd shared? The very ones they were no recalling as they sat in front of their mugs of ale, like almoust every night in the past fifteen years, sometimes more, sometimes less, but always there.
Suddenly Devnet couldn't stand it all anymore. She hurried her drink and sprang from Lancelot's lap a bit more brusquely than she'd intended to.
—What? Where are you going?—asked Galahad, surprised by her reaction seemingly out of nowhere. As far as the knights were concerned, the story they were currently telling couldn't have insulted her in anyway.
—Im just tired—Devnet excused herself, pulling her most convincing yawn—It's been a bloody rough day. I feel like my body's crumbling to dust. I'm going to bed, see y'all in the morning—.
She hurried off while they mumbled ther goodbyes, still looking puzzled; but instead of heading towards her room in the quarters, she took it to wander idly around the fortress. Devnet felt the same anxiety shared by all its inhabitants wash over her as well as she moved through the streets, trying to escape it. The stars seemed as cold and distant as ever on that chilly winter night. The air smelled of snow and smoke, feeling her nostrils with its cold, burnt scent. For once the streets were almoust deserted, she didn't even encounter an ally cat. Everyone was locked up inside their houses, knowing it would be the last time they'd sleep beneath that roof, and preparing for the crusade of finding a new home.
Sick of that solitary scenary of apparent abandonment, she nearly fled back to the knight's headquarters, where at least the few torched set at regular intervals on the walls provided a bit more warmth and a dim light. The girl however, ruled off the idea of actually going to bed. Sleep eluded her. Finally, she plopped her elbows with resignation on a stone window frame and looked at the village below her with a melancholical light in her eyes. Resting her face on her fist, the deepest of sights escaped her lips and wandered off into the night, carrying her sorrows.
—Why are you been like this?—.
The woman flinched, though what had caught her off guard wasn't so much Lancelot's sudden appearence than the frosty tone of his voice. She turned to look at him.
—What do you mean?—.
Lancelot pushed his body away from the wall he'd been leaning against and paced towards her—Wandering off alone without giving explanations to anyone, looking around with those eyes that make you look like you're dying—he stopped by her side—Why such great a sight?—.
Devnet crooked and eyebrow, frowning—We buried Dagonet only a couple of hours ago, Lancelot. How else am I supposed to feel? Of course I won't go around with a big smile on my face—she replied with annoyance, fixing her eyes back on the window view. She knew Lancelot would've frowned upon the real answer, and for that one time, she was in no mood for bickering.
—Of course not, but you don't go off to wander by yourself either. By all Hell's demons, I've never been able to shake you off for at least a month when our other brothers died—Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest, resting his lower back against the window frame.
—Lancelot, if you wanted my company so badly, you could've just asked—she replied ironically.
The knights snorted with irritation and leaned over to grab her wrist in a swift move—I'm not here to fight you, Gods damned woman—his grip softened when he noticed that Devnet was flinching slightly—Devnet, I think we're well past the point in which I say Im your friend and that you can tell me anything. Something troubles you and I know you well enough to guess what it is—he drew a short breath and continued, holding both of her hands firmly—You owe nothing to this damn land, and to those people. All that's left for you here is solitude, if not death—.
Devnet gave him a languid stare with her blue eyes, before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him slowly, making sure the night melted around them. —No, better if you don't talk about death—she whispered then, grassing his lips with hers—Or the woads. Or Sarmatia. I don't want to think about the rest of the world for what's left of tonight. Make me forget—.
Lancelot didn't have to be asked twice when it came to that. He claimed her mouth expertly, pulling her by the hips against him in a tight mangle of limbs. The couple stumbled with haste to a room; Lancelot's, Devnet's, which ever they found first. Their backs hit the cold stone walls every few steps, pushed against it by the other, while they kissed fervently and already started to undress each other, losing strings, laces and buttons.
A hollow thud against her back, followed by a faint series of creaks, allowed Devnet to know that she'd been pushed against a door. She clung tighter to Lancelot's frame when the door opened behind her. From the fact that no cat came rushing forward to meet them, nor did she hear any sort of hiss or offended meow, they'd probably entered Lancelot's room. Still holding her tight, the man locked the door behind him before scooping her up easily in his arms. Devnet pressed her palms against either side of the man's face and kissed him longley, wanting to wash away the world. She took the black curls of his hair between her fingers and stretched the strands as far as they would go, only to let them bounce back to their original tight knot again. She bit his bottom lip and pulled at the soft skin lightly, causing him to emit a low moan before doing the same with her.
Slowly, he eased her on the bed and laid on top of her. Devnet shifted her posture slowly to accommodate herself beneath the muscled weight of his body, letting out a soft moan between sights when she felt just how much his manhood desired her.
Slowly, Lancelot's hand travelled up her skinny, taut thighs, the calluses in his hand rubbing lightly over her soft skin. Devnet arched her back so that he could pull the dress over the curve of her bottom and finally take it away, pulling it over her head. The gown was abandoned on a corner at the foot of the bed. Devnet got rid of his clothes. Took away his vest, grabbed the back collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing over in a heap along with her own dress. Her hands worked their way across the man's torso, discovering with a certain concern new bruises that adorned his skin, acquired throughout their quest beyond the Wall. She heard him hiss under his breath when she touched blindly the sore spots in his back.
—Oh, Lancelot—whispered the girl with tenderness, kissing his temple while caressing his slightly pained muscles with gentleness—How bad?—.
—Not much—he replied hoarsely—Don't worry—.
—But-
Her insistence died in a little yelp of surprise when the man suddenly spun turned so that she sat on top of him before sitting up too, with no difficulty nor a single grimace on his face, despite the bruises.
—Really, don't worry—he repeated with a smirk on his face. Devnet giggled and shook her head, rolling her eyes at the fact he was always proving to be the best stallion in the pack, and to top, he actually was.
—Whatever you say—she replied with a matching smirk, before kissing him again, her hands pulling once more at the curly strands of his hair.
Lancelot's hand traced the outline of her spine, upwards, and when he reached her head, he loosened the small braids that kept her hair away from her face. He adored the image of her long hair hanging wild and free, stumbling over her shoulders and along her back, framing her face while he made love to her. A detail as simple as the contrast of its dark chestnut colour against the freckly paleness of her shoulders managed to drive him another step closer to insanity. With a knowing grin, he began a slow, enticing movement against her hips, enjoying the caress of her warm sights in his right ear.
One of the girl's little white hands snaked almost curiously between his legs, starting to undo the laces of his trousers. Lancelot closed his eyes with a smile, raining light kisses on her neck.
—Mhhhhm—he mumbled against her skin—Hasty—.
Devnet pulled her face away just enough to look him in the eye with an arched eyebrow and a half—smile—Are you complaining?—.
Lancelot bit at her bottom lip, as he began to do the same with her underwear—Never—.
How many sights Devnet lost to that man, she'd never be able to tell. When their bodies joined, it seemed possible that everything could last forever. They wished it did. They wished they could spent the rest of their lives in that sweet abandonment they found in each other, and only in each other, while they made love. It had been quite some time now since the last night Lancelot spent with another woman, but strangely enough...or maybe not so strangely at all, he had no need, no desire for other feminine company save the one he had. That little thing trembling of pleasure beneath his touch.
A series of steady knocks made them flinch and they both looked over to the door at the same time, still joined in mind and body.
-Lancelot! You've better come and see this-they recognized Jols voice behind the wall, firm and alarmed.
-Don't answer-Devnet managed to whisper between sights, returning her attention to him.
-No-replied the knight shortly, moving his body along with hers.
Jols, however, didn't give up, but knocked again and continued to call for the knight, insisting on the importance of him going to the Wall. Such was his insistence that Devnet turned her head once more and made a slight frown of concern.
-Maybe...-she panted softly-Maybe you should go...-.
Lancelot raised a hand and held it against the back off her head, turning her softly back to look at him-Maybe I will-he replied, biting her neck lightly, making her moan-But only after I've finished what I started-.
Devnet flung the violet dress over her head and pulled it down her body carelessly and didn't even bother to fetch a cloak. Both left the room without a word and ran to the Wall behind Jols.
At the base of the massive stone construction, Devnet saw that nearly the whole town was gathered, looking up and whispering to each other fervently, looking pale and haunted. The girl's insides froze when she realized that couldn't mean anything good. She pulled her skirts and climbed the stair in quick tiptoes to join the other knights, who were leaning against the cornices with gloom in their eyes.
—What is it?—she asked before she'd even got at the top of the stairs.
Gawain stepped back from the cornice to make some space for her—See for yourself—.
Devnet peered through the gap between the pillars and the air caught in her throat, a pale white hand flying to her mouth. Before her eyes, extended on the wide field between the Wall and the northern forest, was the feared Saxon army. They were settled just beside the treeline, and their ranks extended from left to right for nearly a mile. Their fires glimmered evilly, like the eyes of a thousand beasts hiding in the darkness, waiting for the precise moment to pounce on their pray. Against the light, the figures of Scandinavian wildling lurked like demons sent straight from the entrails of the Yeffern.
By instinct, Devnet stepped back while Lancelot looked down himself. The girl exchanged glances with her fellow knights, feeling cold and vulnerable. She found the same uncertainty and aye, even fear mirrored in their eyes. Up until then, the Saxon horde had been an invisible enemy if which they'd only seen a small battalion, and a trail of destruction, but no one had paused to actually ponder on the invader force's real magnitude. It wasn't until that very moment that they realized their attackers' power was immense, even beyond what they had dared to imagine.
—By all the Gods, I've never seen so many—Devnet gasped, resting her back against the wall between Galahad and Lancelot—How many men do you think are camping out there?—.
—Judging by the amount of torches...—said Tristan in a flat tone—Thousands—.
Devnet shook her head, horrified, eyes lost on the village below. A pang of anguish broke her heart as she saw her whole life burning under the Saxons' fires, slaughtered by their long knives. How were they going to outrun such massive force?
They heard someone shouting for the villagers below to make way, and Arthur appeared between the crowd, climbing the stairs two at a time, with Guinevere at his heels. Quite out of context Devnet couldn't help but notice that her cousin's dress was crooked, a sleeve hanging from one shoulder; like it been put on in a hurry. Gwen's hair was all over her face, loosened from the simple half tail at the back of her head, and she was almost sure that there were faint, pink marks on the woad princess's neck. Devnet's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets and she quickly turned to study Arthur in the same way. No battle gear, just a simple black tunic and cotton pants. Black curls standing on ends, flushed cheeks. The half—woad nearly fell of the wall in surprise. Though she could only imagine what those two had been up two before the alarm was raised, Devnet was quite sure her conjectures could only be correct.
She snapped back to reality when the roman commander suddenly stepped away from the Wall edge and turned to look around. He looked at each of his men, who lowered their eyes without a word, for they all knew what he was thinking. Devnet felt her heartbeat ring in her ears at the fact that her friend could even consider such idea. Arthur turned and gazed at the crowd below. Men, women, elders and children, their faces lifted towards him pale and scared. Hustled against each other, shivering in fear. They were about to lose everything they had, their home, their lands, their whole life. Left with nothing at all, even if they escaped, the Saxon horde would continue their march and eventually there would be nowhere else to hide.
Unless someone battled against them to drive them away.
Slowly, the commander turned to look back at the men he'd commanded for fifteen years. His expression was solemn and set with determination. He'd made up his mind.
—Knights—he said gravely, nodding towards them—My journey with you ends here—.
He looked at each one of them. Lancelot released a heavy breath, looking down. Devnet shook her head and aimed to step forward but change her mind, standing uneasily on her feet.
—Might God go with you—continued Arthur. His eyes lingered on the faces of his shaken brothers at arms, those men he'd defended and fought alongside with, and forged bonds of friendship and brotherhood. He glared at Devnet one last time, eyes softened for a second with tenderness at his little sister. Finally the young commander nodded his head, knowing that his task was finally done, and in silence he stepped and strode away without looking back.
—No...—murmured Devnet, finding her voice when it was already too late. The realization of what Arthur actually intended to do rose up to meet her like a wall and her consciousness crashed against it with nothing to ease its collision. She wasn't slow—minded; she'd known what he was going to do the moment he'd turned to look back at his men, but it was only now that he was already walking away from her that the fact actually sank inside her.
Arthur was going to sacrifice himself.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lancelot shake his head, rolling his eyes. The man turned to look at her, his jaw set tight, and Devnet realized what he was about to do just a second before he set off after his best friend.
—Lancelot, wait!—she half—cried, sprinting behind him. Knowing those two like she did, an argument sure was coming, and someone had to be there to cool off both men's spirits. She heard Guinevere's hasted steps behind her.
—Arthur, this is not Rome's fight—Lancelot called at his friend's back while they descended the stairs, lifting his voice above the frightened murmurs from the crowd—It is not your fight!—.
The roman didn't even bother to show any signs of having hear his words. Eagerly, Lancelot jumped over the last three steps and strode towards him, his pace vehement and angry—All this years we've been together!—he continued with passion in his voice, desperate to make the other man see—The trials we've faced! The blood we've shed! What was it all for if not for the reward of freedom!?—.
Arthur continued oblivious to his best friend frenzies speech, and Devnet could see Lancelot was starting to run out of what little patience he had. He clutched his fist in front of his face, gesturing fervently.
—And now that it's so close...when it's finally within our grasp—LOOK AT ME!—the knight burst half—way through the sentence, yanking his commander's arm and forcing him to turn with vicious black eyes—Does it all count for nothing!?—he spat rabidly.
—You ask me that?—Arthur finally reproached back, but unlike Lancelot, the roman's tone was quiet and profound, while he gazed at the man in front of him as if he were some stranger—You who know me best of all?—.
Though his back was tuned towards her, Devnet could see how Lancelot was taken aback by such accusation. Arthur stared back at him coldly before he began walking away again. In an act of absolute desperation, Lancelot launched forward and blocked his friend's way.
—Then do not do this!—he insisted in a loud voice. Devnet had never seen him so preoccupied about someone else. That man in front of Arthur actually seemed capable of shedding tears if necessary in order to dissuade the commander's decision—Only certain death awaits you here, Arthur! I beg you! For our friendship's sake I beg you!—.
Suddenly Arthur extended his arm and clasped the side of his friend's face—You be my friend now and do not dissuade me—he replied tightly, trying to knock his words inside the stubborn Sarmatian's head—Seize the freedom you have earned and leave it for the both of us. I cannot follow you, Lancelot!—.
Lancelot lowered his gaze while the other man went on. —I know now that all the blood I've shed, all the lives I have taken, have led me to this moment—he explained.
There was confidence in his voice, security in the way he stood. While Lancelot was hunched and almost afraid, boiling with turmoil; Arthur was surrounded by a halo of undisturbed serenity. Perhaps it was a divine force acting through him, but it was at that moment that Devnet realized that nothing in this world or the other would change the man's chosen path. Lancelot apparently understood it to, for after a moment of staring at his friend with black eyes so begging and sorrowful that they broke Devnet's heart, he gulped and nodded, looking towards the floor in defeat.
Still holding the man's face fraternally, Arthur looked over his shoulder at Devnet. The girl bit her bottom lip, trembling and uncertain of what to do. She fell a tiny tear welling at the corner of her eye.
—Arthur...—she whispered with a shaky—breath, thought she knew that she could fall on her knees and crawl until they were bloody, and still her pledged would be in vain.
The man in front of her smiled softly, with such gentleness, so wise and reassuring, that she almost burst out crying openly, remembering just how much of an older brother he was to her.
—Arthur, please...—.
—This is what I must do, Little One. I see it now. Do not worry, you won't be alone—he turned back to look at Lancelot—I know that you'll take care of her, as much as I have all this years—.
Lancelot battled with his best friend's gaze for a brief instant before nodding again, pressing his lips together in an anguish frown.
Satisfied, if such word was appropriate for that situation, Arthur clasped his best friend's head and shoulder with brotherly affection. Eyes still lost on the floor, Lancelot patted distractedly the man's hand on his shoulder as he passed. He turned to watch Arthur walk away with resignation and then looked up to the tormented sky above, his sight coming out in a small cloud of white in the cold night air. Devnet bit at her bottom lip, and made a step towards the knights, but behind her, Guinevere caught her wrist and made her turn.
—A word with you, Devnet—she asked girl alternated her sight from her cousin to Lancelot and back to the woad again. Guinevere clenched her jaw—It's important—she insisted.
—But I...—Devnet breathed deeply—All right then. What is it?—.
—Not here—Gwen had already started to walk away from the crowd—Let's go somewhere we won't be overheard—.
The woad woman dragged her away from the crowd, into the deserted streets of town. For long minutes she didn't utter a single word, until she felt sure that no one could be listening. Then she turned to her cousin, eyeing her with unsettling seriousness. —It's time—she announced bluntly—You must choose now. You must come to us—.
—I...what?—Devnet stared blankly at her, taken aback.
—Fight with the woads—pledged Guinevere—Fight with your people. Defend your freedom—.
Devnet looked away, molested—Again with this, Guinevere?—.
—How can you turn your back to this land, when all your life is here?—the girl darted forward and caught her by the arm, eyes glistering dangerously—We are your people. And when I say "we" I don't mean just the woads. I mean the people of Britannia. We're all Britons. Shouldn't we stand up for our own right to be here? This is our land—.
—Do you realize what you're asking of me, Guinevere?—hissed Devnet through gritted teeth, aproaching her cousin—You're asking me to forsake the only real family I've ever had!—.
—And they are asking you to forsake the only home you've ever had—.
—I can find a new one. In Sarmatia—.
—Can you?—the woad woman lifted her eyebrow sceptically.
Devnet pressed her lips together and looked away. She didn't want Guinevere to see her hesitate. How could she be so weak, when her cousin seemed too strong and confident? When had she turned into this woman she could hardly recognize as herself?
—Life moves on, and we must adapt ourselves to it—she replied blindly, thought it felt like she was just repeating and old, meaningless phrase in a feeble attempt to convince herself. It certainly didn't convince her cousin.
—Devnet, look inside yourself. You know you don't wish to do this!—with no repair, Guinevere grabbed Devnet's chin and forced the girl to face her—Maybe you don't own anything to us—she continued in a tight voice—But you own your whole life to this land. Your very essence. You can leave to those eastern grasslands beyond the Black Sea, try and build a new life there. But you know that you'll never truly be as happy as you've been before, as long as you're away from this place. You know the fact that you left your land at the hands of the Saxons will haunt you the rest of your years—.
Devnet said nothing, knowing that every word she spoke was true, and she couldn't bare it. Besides, she felt too much shame of her own cowardice.
—Fight with us—insisted Guinevere, and this time, she spoke in gaelic—Fight for this land. Fight for your home—she let go of her chin, still piercing her with her terrible, beautiful dark eyes—There's more of a woad in you than what you think—she stepped back, shaking her head when Devnet still kept her silence, too bewildered, to overwhelmed, to confused to speak her mind—You have until morning. And then...you'll have to choose where your loyalty lays—.
Devnet gritted her teeth and clutched her fists into tight balls at either side. Guinevere, however, seemed undisturbed by her anger. The woad woman was fairly determinate with getting away with what she wanted of her, and now, Devnet had her doubts. Maybe that was what she wanted of herself too. Or maybe not. Why couldn't she make up her mind? Or actually, why wasn't she brave enough to make up her mind. "It is a folly to stay, but I would be lying to myself if I say I want to go".
Her head once more in a riot, she returned to her chamber. Her kitten Cataibh was nowhere to be seen. Her bed had never looked so uninviting. With a frustrated grunt, the slim woman scooped herself up the window still and sat to stare at the thousand fires of the Saxons, blinking back at her like fireflies. If she pondered on the matter of her outcome anymore, she would certainly go mad. It was like chewing the same piece of meat, over and over again, for the last couple of months. It had become so trying it hardly seemed worth to think of any longer. But what other choice did she have, when she was practically at the crossroads and still hadn't even come close to deciding which turn she would take...
—Where the hell have you been?—Lancelot entered her room without a ceremony, to which she was quite used to by now. The man still seemed to be boiling with uneasiness, as he couldn't stand still, and instead took it to pace around the girl's room, his breath ragged—I've been looking all over the fortress for you. Come, we must go and see Arthur before that woad cousin of yours sneaks back inside his quarters and continues to feed his head with this bloddy insane idea of staying—.
—If you didn't manage to convince him otherwise, Lancelot, then no one will—Devnet replied softly, drawing her knees to her chest, without giving any signs of moving.
The knight finally ceased his pacing and narrowed his black eyes dangerous at her—You're wrong. All you must do is go and blink a few tears at him and he'll do whatever you ask of him; even cast his head inside the hottest fires in hell—.
Devnet bit her lip and looked away to conceal a few tears of sadness. She hugged herself, rubbing her palms against her forearms and shook her head in denial. —It's been a long time since Arthur was moved by my tears. Im not a child anymore—she informed with a dull look—Let it go, Lancelot. Understand that there's nothing you can do, nor me, nor anyone else—.
—So you're suggesting that I should just watch how my best friend walks towards a certain death with my arms crossed!?—Lancelot plopped on the edge of her bed, grunting in frustration and pressing his fist against his temple. Moved by his beaten-up aspect, Devnet stepped forward and tenderly took his rough cheeks between her palms.
—Lancelot—she said sweetly, lifting his face so he would look up at her—As much as you want to, you can't make someone else's choice for them. Arthur's made up his mind and all we can do is respect his decision—.
Lancelot shook his head in denial—If he stays here he'll die!—he exclaimed desperately, striking a blow in the air with his palm—How am I supposed to live with my conscience clean if I know I did nothing to prevent him from getting killed!?—.
—You already did what you had to do, but you cannot force him to change his mind, Lancelot!—she replied, a little bit sharper than intended. With a heavy sight, she kneeled in front of him and pushed away the rebellious black curls from his forehead—Arthur has made his decision just as you have made yours. It's over. The path has been chosen. Take yours and let Arthur go down his own. As his friend, that's the only thing you can do—.
Lancelot shook his head, trying to find words he didn't even knew if existed. He refused to let go of the idea of his best friend, his brother staying behind for such a helpless cause. He buried his hands in his hair with an exasperated sight, pulling at the black strands with insistence.
—Who would've thought...—Devnet said then in a quiet, soothing voice; as her hand found his cheek—That beneath all this mesmerizing, seductive warrior with explosive temper there's an actual human being?—.
Despite his anger, Lancelot couldn't help but chuckle in a low grumble filled with sarcasm and he pulled the girl on his lap—Tell anyone, my pretty lady, and I'll make sure you'll wish you'd never learnt to speak in first place—he warned her, holding back a smile—I do have quite a reputation to maintain—.
He succumbed then to the tiny young woman in his arms, taking her offer of forgetting his strife, even if it was only for the night. He wasn't one to reject her "petite" company anyways. He groaned, losing his senses to the crook of her shoulder, to the smell of her hair. Gods be praised for women...especially for her.
Well into the night, they spread across the mess of sheets and blankets, heads side by side, and feet opposite to each other. They'd surrendered to the fact that there was little chance of them catching any sleep at all, and instead preferred to lay amongst lazy whispers, until their spent energies returned and they could make love again.
After a moment of empty contemplation, Devnet averted her eyes from the stone ceiling and tilted her head to the side, to look at Lancelot. —Do you ever think about death—she inquired a moment of thought. The question came out barely louder than a whisper.
Lancelot frowned with puzzlement, still running a finger lacily over Devnet's left hipbone, as he'd been doing so for the last ten minutes or so.
—Yes, of course I do—he replied, missing wherever she'd been heading with that—It'd be impossible for me not to so, considering the lie I've lead—.
—No, not like that—Devnet turned to lay on her side and rested her cheek against the palm of her hand—I don't mean whether if you've thought about it as something that occurs, or that might occur, but as something that is—.
—Meaning?—.
—What is death? Where does it take us?—.
Lancelot stared at her with a frown. His hand went still, resting on the girl's hip as he pondered an answer to her questions. He supposed it was natural of any human to have thought about mortality...just as it was natural to ignore them most of the times.
—Depends on who you ask. For some it means heaven, for others hell. Some just see it as the end of everything—he replied after a while.
Devnet snug closer to him and gently began tracing his chest with her finger.
—And to you?—.
Lancelot took his time before finally sighting in a low tone:
—Freedom—.
Devnet's breath caught in her throat, and he immediately realized she'd taken his answer the wrong way. Or maybe there just wasn't a right way to take it. Thinking back on his words, he did sound rather suicidal.
—You know how, for the last fifteen years my life, our life...it's been nothing but fight or die. You we're either sticking a sword through another one's body, or they were sticking it through yours, and when it wasn't like that, you were preparing for the next time it would be so. As long as you lived, you were a slave of this endless battlefield. In circumstances like that, death seems like the only way to be freed. No one can hold you back if you're dead, at least—he looked away to the window above the bed and sighted—Of course, we aimed to survive our service and be freed in this life. But well...you know the chances were thin. Falling in battle was...an alternative to escaping this hell—.
He turned to look at her again, and found her eyes lowered to his chest, her stare vacant and slightly melancholical. He rolled his dark eyes and cupped her face, forcing her to look at him.
—Why are you asking this anyway? It thought it was your idea to forget about everything tonight—he commented, maneging to pull the faintest of smiles on her face, though it was a sad one.
—The Saxons are literally camping on our backyard—she replied simply, knowing that the fact explained on itself. Lancelot shook his head and pulled close until his lips touched her.
—By the time they get across the Wall, you and I will be far away from this life, petite—.
Devnet did not reply, but merely allowed him to kiss her in silence.
The town people were up and about even before the crack of dawn. Life stories of many generations ago were dragged and left out in the open for everyone else to see as everyone emptied their homes, packing their whole life as they could, preparing to run.
Not indifferent to the apprehensive activity of the villagers, the knights too had started gathering their things, thought there wasn't much for them to carry. They'd come to the island with the intention of either leave or die, so in time they became accustomed to keep themselves from attaching to anything too related to Britannia. Their packs were filled mainly with practicable items of need, such as clothes, battle gear, supplies and precious objects with a monetary value they could exchange along the long voyage across the Roman Empire. Very few of the things they spent the whole morning carrying from their rooms to the saddles had an actual sentimental value.
Some four or three hours before sunrise, Devnet had finally managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, the kind that involved more incoherent thoughts than actual dreaming, and from which she woke from every few seconds. Because of this she was vaguely conscious that Lancelot woke up and left the bed at some point, dressing in silence beside her and placing a faint kiss on Devnet's temple before leaving, probably to ready himself too for their departure. Devnet knew that she ought to do the same, but she was so exhausted, both physically and emotionally, that she could not bring her body to rise from the bed and decided to take just another hour of sleep, even if she spent half of it tossing and turning in an attempt to actually achieving it.
It wasn't until well into the morning that the knights finally saw the girl step out of their head-quarters, with small reluctant steps. She stopped in the middle of the courtyard, blinking under the dim daylight, as if waking from some kind of deep slumber.
—Agh! Finally!—exclaimed Galahad as he passed by, his body arched backwards under the weight of the sack of grain he was carrying—What kept you?—.
Devnet didn't reply. Her gaze was empty, turned inwards in deep thought. A small frown wrinkled her forehead.
—Devnet—insisted Galahad, annoyed for being ignored—Devnet, move. I recall you that we must leave this place before midday—.
Startled by her silence, the knights left their chores momentarily to look at her with concern, scratching at their beards or taking the chance to stretch their muscles.
—Devnet, is something wrong?—inquired Gawain after a second of awkward silence.
Slowly, the girl lifted her face towards them, and some of the men shifted uncomfortably. There was something in her eyes that they failed to recognize, almost like if another person was looking through them. Such glance managed to make more than one slightly uneasy, as her answer became unpredictable and potentially unpleasant. Finally, after a long, unnerving silence that weight in the yard, ill-fated, the girl open her mouth and announced in an oddly flat tone, as if she herself hadn't grasp the meaning of her own words yet:
—I...Im not going with you—.