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"Arthur!" Lancelot jogged down the passageway towards his friend. The king was illuminated by the brazier that burned behind him, his expression tense in the flickering light. Without a word, he beckoned his friend into the conference room, dismissing the servant he had been talking to with a nod.
"What news is there?" Lancelot asked quietly, falling into step beside him. "Has Tristan returned?"
"No." Arthur gestured to the fabled round table where all his knights sat save for the scout and the man beside him. "Sit down, we have much to discuss." The expression upon Arthur's face was far more eloquent than his words, and so for once Lancelot followed his orders. Settling into his chair he nodded at Guinevere who stood nervous and almost wraithlike in the corner and cast a brief eye over his brothers as he did so. Gawain met his eyes and gave him a brief nod in acknowledgement, but neither Bors nor Galahad paid much attention to his entrance; the older knight watching Arthur like a hunting dog that was desperate to be released from its leash, the younger white faced and still, the smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes making him seem even younger than his years. For the fiftieth time in since he had left her, Lancelot prayed to whatever power had let him live this long, that Rowan had done as he had asked and locked the door behind him.
"Knights." Arthur leant down, resting his palms upon the table and regarding his men solemnly. "You know by now we - I have been unwise." He met their eyes unflinchingly, but his voice was raspy with emotion as he continued. "I provided haven to Branda - a girl that has proven to be a monster, a werewolf that has done unspeakable damage to those that you have held dear. For that I am truly sorry. For that I promise to bring retribution. The.. Girl has been wounded, but given the fact that she managed to make it out of the fort then she is obviously not dead. As yet we do not know whether she is working alone or as part of another pack, and so I must ask you to be patient until the scouts return. The guards have been sent to make sure that no-one leaves their homes - your loved ones are safe, do not fear for them, but when Tristan and Eadgyth return we ride. We fight. Can I count on you?"
"Aye," Gawain and Lancelot said softly. Galahad said nothing but gave a brief nod before draining his goblet of wine. Bors, however, got to his feet and looked at Arthur tiredly. He reminded Lancelot of a wounded bull, his size somehow diminished by grief and exhaustion, but his voice was steady when he spoke.
"I'm with you. We're all with you. We have been since it wasn't a request but an order when you asked us to fight. But killing the bitch won't bring my son back and it won't help his girl," he nodded towards Galahad. "We finish this now. Tonight. Branda wanted something from you - she was sneaking about in your quarters - that's a big risk, blowing her cover like that. What was it she wanted? "
"The sword." Guinevere stepped out of the shadows and took her place next to her husband. The round table made her feel a little out of place: it was a symbol of Rome, and many of the empty seats were silent reminders of knights that her people had killed, but now she placed a hand upon it. "Osir… A friend," she corrected hurriedly, "said that it was important to the werewolves, that it was a mark of rank. That must be what she was looking for."
"Then we have to use it or get rid of it," Gawain said quickly. "If it's that important then Branda or one of her accomplices if she has any, will be back for it. You saw what happened with that witch's bracelet - how do we know the sword doesn't have any magic of its own?"
Guinevere looked up sharply. She was well aware of the magic that Gawain spoke of - it had killed the woman who had murdered her father after all - but she had thought the sword safe in the royal quarters. "Where is the sword now?"
"With Rowan," Lancelot replied, a sudden feeling of dread gripping his stomach and turning his blood to ice water. "In my quarters."
Gawain raised an eyebrow, but Lancelot ignored him, getting to his feet swiftly. Before he could speak, the door swung open and Tristan strode in, followed by Eadgyth the Woad scout.
"Found her tracks," he said without preamble. "She headed for the woods, to a clearing about a mile south. From the remains of the campsite she's not alone. There's bloody bandages but she's obviously not badly hurt because her tracks doubled back along with a couple of others - men from what I can tell."
"Doubled back?" Arthur asked his scout, although in his heart he already knew the answer. "Headed where?"
Tristan fixed his king with intense dark eyes. "Here."
Rowan got up, paced over to the fireplace and picked up a piece of kindling from the pile in the corner. The fire didn't really need feeding - the flames leapt fierce and bright, but she chucked it on anyway, watching as the little shard of wood was consumed. I know how you feel, she thought silently. Turning away, she sat back down on the bed. The blankets were still warm, both from her own and Lancelot's heat, and the memory of what had happened between them spread an involuntary warmth through her belly. What she had done was wrong, she told herself firmly, and it wouldn't happen again. Flopping back on the bed and nearly smacking her head on the wall, she let out a deep sigh. Who was she trying to fool? If Lancelot asked her to go to him then she would, and gladly. Her body still thrummed from his touch, the delicate skin between her legs sticky and achy, but it wasn't that that pulled her to him. It was the brief lowering of his guard, the boy behind the knight that she had glimpsed. He was like her - lost, and she would find him if he would let her, Rowan realised as though her heart were a pile of tangles that she was only now sorting out. She would do anything to make him happy. With a groan, she snuggled her head into the mattress. She loved him.
Rowan must have dozed off for a few moments, because the knock at the door took a moment to penetrate her brain, and she felt a brief moment of confusion as she tried to remember where she was.
"Who is it?" She called out groggily, smiling at the voice that answered her. Lucy regarded her with cross blue eyes when she opened the door, smiling at the guards that accompanied her before waving them away and walking into the chamber with a gait that reminded Rowan of the ducks that used to waddle around the pond in the village. The blonde girl caught the look and gave a short laugh.
"I know, I know, I'll try not to take up too much room, I just wanted to see if you were alright. I heard what happened."
"I'm fine." Rowan smiled as Lucy sat down on the bed with a sigh of relief. "Look, you shouldn't have come. I'm glad to see you, but it isn't safe out there."
"I know, don't worry, Tristan's got three guards looking out for me, they're outside the door right now. Of cause he didn't ask me if I'd like to be followed around," she said with an amused roll of her eyes, "but that's Tristan for you."
"You love him very much, don't you?" Rowan said quietly. She had not failed to notice the way Lucy's face softened when she spoke of Arthur's scout, despite her less than flattering words.
Lucy shrugged. "He's a moody bastard who couldn't hold a decent conversation if his life depended on it, and I'd cut my heart out for him if he asked it of me. Love." She rubbed the swell of her stomach moodily. "Arthur reckons it's a gift from his God."
"Perhaps it is," Rowan suggested, sitting down beside her friend. "He's the king, he must be very wise."
With a snort, Lucy gave Rowan a grin. "Ever seen Arthur in full battle armour?" When the dark haired girl shook her head, she laughed mischievously. "A man in a centurion's helmet looks like nothing so much as a giant cockerel. Let women run the country I say, at least we won't look like chickens when we go out to war." Lucy smiled as Rowan giggled and reached out to clasp her hand.
"Really, Rowan, are you sure you're alright? I know what it's like to be scared - you were a lot braver than I would have been in that situation I can tell you that for nothing."
Rowan smiled and squeezed the blonde girl's hand gratefully. Lucy was funny and sweet and took her mind off things. It was good to have someone to talk to. "Branda's a werewolf," she said as though repeating the fact might make it seem less strange. "She changed in front of me."
"So I've heard." Lucy gave a troubled sigh, the carefree façade that she had been trying to maintain for Rowan's sake slipping somewhat. "I should have… " She frowned. "I've seen things. Things that shouldn't been real and I've fought them too. I should have known. She just seemed so… " Lucy's voice abruptly cut off. With a yelp, she doubled over in pain.
"Lucy?" Scrambling to her feet, Rowan knelt before her friend. "Are you alright?"
"I don't know." The blonde girl's eyes were wide with fear. "That's never happened before." Regaining her breath, she closed her eyes. "It's probably just the baby kicking in an odd place." Her eyes widened as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and both she and Rowan looked down at the wet stain that slowly spread across her skirt.
"Oh, no." Lucy shook her head in denial. "Not here, not now. Rowan?" She looked up with terrified eyes.
"Stay here.. I mean sit still. It'll be alright." Rowan hurried to the door and unlocked it. "I'll get one of the guards to find Tibor." Shoving the door open, she looked around wildly. The hallway was empty. Where were the guards? She thought desperately. The fort was silent, most of the guards must have been called to guard the wall, she realised. The chances of coming across someone in the knights' quarters were slim, and so, scurrying back into Lancelot's room, she gave Lucy as reassuring a smile as she could muster. "Don't worry. The guards are…" What? Gone? Vanished? Instead of finishing the sentence, Rowan grabbed the sword that she had taken from the King's chambers. She might not be able to wield it very well, but it was better than having no weapon at all. Lucy looked at her with frightened eyes before closing them and crying out as another contraction ripped through her, and Rowan felt her resolve harden. Lucy needed a healer and it was up to her to find one.
"I'm going to find Tibor," she said quickly. "Try and stay calm, I'll return as fast as I can."
Lucy nodded, her arms shaking as she leant back against the wall.
Closing the door behind her, Rowan hurried down the corridor. The healing rooms weren't far away, but the feeling of unease that gripped her was growing by the second. Where were the guards? Gripping the bulky sword tightly, she jogged down towards the stairs that led outside. The soldiers' barracks were silent and obviously empty as she passed them, and so it came as a shock when her name was suddenly shouted from nearby.
"Stay back!" Rowan cried, grabbing hold of the rough stone wall and trying to raise the sword she carried at the same time. Teetering on the edge of the steps, she righted herself with an effort and looked warily at the man who had emerged from one of the rooms. "Who's there?"
"Easy." The young man who approached her looked startled by her mistrust, and feeling a bit silly, Rowan lowered the sword. "You are Rowan aren't you? I've seen you serving at the tavern. I don't mean you any harm, honest."
She nodded in acknowledgement. The man before her was dressed a tunic that was worn by the lower ranking soldiers at the fort, and his youthful face showed nothing but confused compassion. She'd seen him before, Rowan realised. He'd been one of the men guarding her sister's body. Giving him a quick smile, she spoke hurriedly.
"Lucy. Lucy from the tavern is having a baby."
"So I've heard." He nodded and looked at her as though he was waiting for her to get to the point.
"No." Rowan shifted impatiently. "I mean she's having it now."
"Oh. Oh." The words suddenly seemed to register and the soldier hurried forwards, beckoning Rowan to follow him. "Tibor's out back, one of the guards was hurt down by the meadow, best that you come and explain things to him."
"Thank- you," Rowan hurried after him. "I don't know what I'd have done without you… I'm sorry, I don't even know your name."
"It's Alex." The young guard's voice was pleasant, but the sudden amber of his eyes in the moonlight was anything but, and had Rowan glanced behind her, she would have realised that it was not a pile of firewood in the shadows by the latrine they passed but the bodies of the three guards sent to protect Lucy. Their throats torn out, their eyes glassy as they stared up at the full moon high above them.
A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! Be careful when petting werewolf puppies ; )
(For anyone who is confused, the bracelet that Gawain and Guinevere refer to is from the prequel to this - "Faithless". It isn't part of the plot to this story and it's all a bit complicated to go into, so suffice to say it was a magic item that helped bring about the downfall of one of Arthur's enemies. Cast list of characters is on my profile - please let me know if I've missed anyone out.) As always meany. many thanks to the kind people who reviewed the last chapter.