Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.
Lancelot got to his feet as soon as Tristan's words registered. "They're coming for the sword," he said with certainty. "Branda must know that Rowan has it."
Arthur nodded swiftly. That was the most likely reason for the werewolves' return, but they would have to exercise caution until they were sure of the enemy's attack. "Lancelot, Tristan, find Rowan and bring her and the sword back here. Galahad, you and Gawain must go to the dungeons - it is possible that they will try and free Kyrie," he said shortly, reaching for Excalibur. "Bors and I will warn the guards. If you come across one of them then strike without hesitation, no matter what face they wear, for they will not show mercy to you."
Galahad gave his leader a tormented look at the last order but followed Gawain out of the room without a word, swiftly followed by Tristan and Lancelot.
"And what about me, Arthur?" Guinevere looked at her husband intently. "What would you have me do?"
Stay here, Arthur thought silently. It wasn't an option, however - Guinevere was as skilled as his men in combat and he had no hope of keeping her out of harms way when she obviously wanted to fight.
"Come with Bors and I, you will be better at informing your people what is happening," he said after a brief pause. She nodded and picked up her bow, and not for the first time Arthur found himself envying the farmers with their obedient, gentle wives.
"Arthur?" Bors waited by the door, his face set, his normally merry dark eyes as impenetrable as pitch. The king nodded. There was work to be done, and trying to shove away the feeling of dread that had settled cold and immovable in his stomach, he followed his eldest knight out the door.
Neither Tristan or Lancelot spoke as they made their way to the knights' quarters. Running would have been foolish; giving them neither the time nor opportunity to properly watch their surroundings, but they walked swiftly, their breath steaming in the cold air, their hands resting upon the pommels of their swords. Bounding up the stairs, a woman's scream suddenly echoed from the corridor above them, and both men broke into a run.
"Rowan?" Lancelot cried, unsheathing his sword and kicking open the door to his chambers. "What.." His words died off when he took in the sight before him. It had been Lucy not Rowan that had cried out. The blonde girl sat upon his bed, her face pale and sweaty, handfuls of blanket pulled free from the mattress and clenched in her fingers. Not quite sure what to do, Lancelot let Tristan push him aside none to gently and go to the girl.
"Lucy?" The scout said gently. "It's alright."
"It's not." Lucy screwed up her face and cried out, her breath coming in sharp pants. Opening her eyes, she fixed them on Tristan almost desperately. "I'm not having the baby here. Tell it to stop. Tell it to come back tomorrow."
"I don't think that's going to happen," Lancelot murmured. Sweeping his eyes around the room he saw no sign of Rowan or the sword, and felt his stomach clench with fear. It took a moment before he realised that Tristan was speaking to him, but the swift but painful punch to his thigh cleared his thoughts abruptly.
"Tibor." The scout was as inscrutable as ever, but the paleness of his face belied his outward calm. "We have to get her to a healer."
"Yes." Lancelot ran a hand over his face and tried to remember when he had last seen Brennus' apprentice. "He'll be in the healing rooms I think." Tristan nodded and glanced at Lucy. He'd carry her if he had to, but he didn't really want to move her, and given her pained squirming, he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold on without dropping her.
"Lucy?" Lancelot bent down to the girl and tried to keep the panic out of his voice. "Where is Rowan?"
The blonde girl looked at him from beneath a veil of sweaty hair and tried to catch her breath. "Went to get help," she panted. "The guards weren't there."
The guards weren't there. Tristan and Lancelot exchanged glances. The scout himself had chosen the men to guard Lucy and there was no way that they would have abandoned their post unless something very bad had happened. Apparently the werewolves were further ahead of them than they had realised.
"Lancelot…" Tristan's words were quiet, but his friend understood the what he could not say in front of Lucy. If the wolves were in the castle then they were doubtless hunting. Rowan may or may not have reached help, but surely they would have heard from her or a messenger if she had . Arthur needed to be warned, and he would need all his knights with him, especially his scout.
"If you don't we all die, Lucy as well," Lancelot said quietly. He looked over at his friend's beloved and tried in vain to think of any way of making this easier. "I'll find Tibor and bring as many guards as can be spared." But after that you have to leave her, Tristan, was the unspoken coda to his words as he turned and hurried out of the door, shutting the door behind him.
Taking the steps two at a time, Lancelot paused at the bottom of the staircase. Adrenaline was racing though his veins, heightening his senses and making everything around him seem sharper and brighter, but it was mixed with fear for one of the first times in his life. Where was Rowan? Would Arthur's God really be so cruel as to let his brother's lover bring new life into the world while his own beloved was being ripped apart by monsters? Already knowing the answer to that and knowing that time was short, he stepped forward and would have slipped had he not grabbed the metal strut of the brazier beside him. The brass was hot, and he let go of it with a hiss of pain, but the pause gave him time to see what he might otherwise have missed. It was not merely shadow that darkened the spaces between the cobblestones. Bending down, Lancelot touched the sticky liquid that had flowed into the hallway and knew before sniffing it what it was. Blood. The trail was not hard to follow; only a few paces away the door next to the latrene where Kyrie had been found stood slightly ajar, a bloody handprint clear upon the worn wood. Approaching the door cautiously, Lancelot kicked the door open, throwing his weight back and swinging forward his sword. Nothing greeted his attack but the faint rustle of the wind through the branches of the trees at the far end of the meadow, and so carefully, he edged through the doorway and out into the meadow behind. The night was clear and cold, the moon a silent silver disc high above. Barely breathing, Lancelot paused, listening intently, using every lesson that Tristan had taught him about tracking. There was nothing. No subtle slide of metal against metal that would signal a weapon being unsheathed, no soft pad of paws upon the frosty grass. Taking a step backwards, Lancelot looked around and felt his breath catch in his throat. The corpses were well hidden, he thought detachedly. It was only the moonlight shining upon the open eyes of the topmost body that betrayed the location of the three men piled neatly upon each other. Stepping forward, he recognised the uniform the three wore, and more reluctantly, the features of the man sandwiched between the other unfortunate men who had met the same fate. Galeth, Lancelot realised. More brawn than brain, but a good man nonetheless.
There was nothing to do be done for the dead men, and so with a last glance toward the pile of bodies, he slid back into the hallway and jogged towards the courtyard.
"Arthur!" the king's broad back was unmistakable, but the brief jolt of relief died in Lancelot's chest when he looked at the two twisted bodies that lay in the courtyard. "Branda?" he asked tightly, noting the torn throats, the glassy eyes of the guards who had obviously hadn't even had time to draw their swords before they met their death.
"Or one of her kin." Arthur's voice was flat, his jaw tense as he turned to his friend. "Where is…"
Lancelot didn't give him the opportunity to finish the sentence.
"Rowan's gone, so is the sword. Lucy is in labour and her guards are dead."
The king blinked twice before giving a half laugh. "Anything else?"
"Isn't that enough?" Lancelot could feel the battle haze rising within and forced it down with an effort. For Rowan and Lucy's sake he had to stay calm.
Arthur swore to himself and grabbed one of the guards hurrying past by his tunic collar.
"A girl is in labour, she needs the healer. Find Tibor and bring him…" He glanced at Lancelot. "Where is Lucy?"
"In my quarters." Lancelot raised an eyebrow at the young man who seemed too awestruck by the men speaking to him to take in any of their orders, and with a harsh sigh walked forward and grabbed him by the throat. "Find Tibor, tell him Lucy is giving birth and take him to my quarters," he said harshly. Looking around, he met Arthur's eyes. "If you want Tristan with us then you'll have to send guards too." Letting go of the soldier, he barely noticed when he scurried away.
"I'll go." Guinevere stepped away from the two guards she had been speaking with nearby, unembarrassed by having so obviously been eavesdropping upon the two men's conversation. "Eadgyth?" She barely had to raise her voice, but the Woad scout heard her and loped over from the far side of the courtyard. "Lucy might be grateful of a woman's presence, and Eadgyth is as sharp as Tristan's hawk when it comes to spotting danger," Guinevere said, unconsciously fiddling with the knives that were tucked into her belt. "We'll keep her safe."
Arthur nodded reluctantly, and gestured to Tibor who was hurrying towards them.
"Have you seen Rowan?" the young man shook his head, obviously a little bewildered at what was happening.
"I haven't seen her since this morning. What's going on?" Tibor noticed the two dead men still sprawled upon the cobblestones and made to go to them, only to be halted by Arthur's hand upon his arm.
"There's nothing you can do for them", the big Roman said quietly. "Lucy needs you - her baby is coming." Nodding at Eadgyth who stood tall ang quiet, he made his words clear to the two men. " Stay together, listen to Guinevere and avoid conflict if you can." The last words were directed at his wife. Guinevere gave a smile as swift as a heartbeat, kissed his cheek and gestured the two men to follow her. Within moments they were lost in the shadows, and Lancelot turned his attention to more pressing matters.
"Rowan's gone," he said fiercely. "The guards were left near the meadow, that must be where they've taken her."
"Lancelot.." Arthur's words choked in his throat, but the look he gave to his second in command was eloquent enough.
"She's not dead." The dark haired knight met the king's eyes steadily. "I'll find her."
"Not alone." Arthur sighed and motioned a couple of guards forward. "We need Tristan for this and back-up. Whatever Branda is she isn't stupid - she'll be expecting us to look for her."
Lancelot nodded and hurried towards the dungeons where he knew Galahad and Gawain were waiting. Arthur did not have to speak the words he had obviously bit back, the knight thought. If Rowan was still alive out there, was she still human?
"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Rowan would have slowed her pace, but the slope of the hill and Alex's pull on her wrist made it hard to check her momentum. "It's just there don't seem to be any lights down there, maybe…"
Alex did not look around, nor slow his pace, and Rowan suddenly felt very afraid. The fort was getting further away by the moment and the soldier who had seemed so friendly at first had not said a word to her since they had left Hadrian's wall. Heart pounding, Rowan tried to look around her while trying to trip over. The forest was getting closer - but if someone was hurt, as Alex had said, there would be lanterns, there would be people. Something was very wrong, and for once trusting her instincts, Rowan pretended to trip, falling heavily onto the damp grass, but being careful not to trap the sword she carried beneath her.
"Sorry," she said with a breathlessness that was not entirely feigned. "It's hard to see in such darkness."
"Is it?" Alex sounded a little confused, but when he turned his head, there was no mistaking the amber light that turned his eyes into something feral and inhuman. "I can see. I can see everything."
This time Rowan did not hesitate. Fear gave her strength and surprise gave her the advantage. Rolling onto her knees, she swung the sword she held up towards the guard's torso, only to find her arm grabbed before she made contact with his flesh.
"That's not nice." Branda's fingers closed around Rowan's wrist and wrenched her arm back, dislocating her shoulder and causing her to drop the sword with a howl of pain. "He's pretty," she smiled at Alex, "and we don't want to scar the pretty ones."
Rowan dropped to the ground, the pain in her shoulder a high pitched buzz that made everything seem far away. Panting, she reached for the sword, but was shoved back viciously by the werewolf.
"Not yours," Branda said quietly. "You've taken enough from me already." Touching her side, she nudged the tunic she wore upwards, revealing a thick bandage. "But don't worry, you'll make amends for your mistake." Leaning forwards until their faces almost touched, Branda kissed Rowan swiftly on the lips. "You're going to bring the knights to me." Getting to her feet, she took a couple of steps backwards and smiled. "And then I'm going to rip your throat out."
"I won't.." Rowan struggled to her knees, ignoring the pain in her shoulder and trying to force down her fear. "Lancel… they'll find me. They'll kill you," she snarled.
Branda snorted and looked at her contemptuously. "Shut her up, Alex." Rowan only had time to glimpse the fist that swung towards her before everything went black. "And no nibbling," Branda warned, leaving the guard to carry the woman into the forest. "I want her in one piece before we tear her apart."
A/N: Sorry for not replying to any reviews - it's been a crazy week (in seven days I have a aquired a cat, a pony, helped organise a funeral and started a new job. Thank goodness for writing, I think I would have gone insane without it). Thanks for all the feedback - I am well aware how lucky I am when it comes to my reviewers - you've helped me out so much. Sorry for yet another cliffhanger.