Arthur, King of the Britons
A/N: On with the tale!
Reviews: Thank you everyone... I lurve reviews, just love them! Throws more Candy
Guthwyn: Yes in the legends, but in the legends Guinevere was a devout Christian and Their were no romans... So I'm taking liberties with the whole Morgana/Igraine part of the story, and since there were mistaken and mixed identities and a 'sister' thang... shrug Does that explain it?
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Chapter III: Fleeting symbols of the future
Lancelot cursed himself as he started back down the line of wagons. A dread was filling him as he drew closer to the wagon containing Igraine, Guinevere and Lucan. He averted his eyes and hoped she wouldn't see him, hoped she would be asleep-
"Lancelot!" He froze and mechanically turned his horse. She was leaning almost at a dangerous angle from the front of the wagon. A quick, nervous smile crossed her lips as he turned. He noticed that a brush in her hand, and her hair was floating, damp but clean and bright in the morning sun, she had changed too from the blood-spattered vestments she had worn. A gown of dark blue in a similar style to the other she had worn earlier was draped around her too slender form.
"Yes?" he replied a little sharper than he had intended. "Can I be of assistance?" he added, to soften his harshness. Under his breath he cursed himself. She had withdrawn to the front of the wagon, her face as pale as it had been earlier, paler perhaps, with spots of embarrassed colour on each cheek.
"I-I," she began stuttering, but a glance at him seemed to restore her composure. She blinked and looked ahead, rather than look at him. " I have hunted these mountains all my life. And we have a problem." she continued, her words now calmer.
"A problem?" he echoed. She turned an imperious gaze upon him, that faltered only in that she was still to pale and tears stood in her proud eyes. He felt the internal rage at himself fading away as she tilted her chin at a defiant angle.
"Yes. I must speak with Arthur." She said, her tone earnest, and with a slight entreaty in it. He looked back up the line, then back to her pale face. He guided his horse, Roshian closer to the wagon.
"Can you climb down Igraine?" he asked gently. After a glance at his face she nodded. With his hands on her waist he guided her until she sat in front of him, her legs dangling in front of his. He averted his eyes from what by any measure was an unseemly display of leg. Wrapping an arm around her waist he urged Roshian forwards.
As though he had left earth for heaven the outside world seemed to fade away and all he could see and feel was her sitting before him. He smiled; her hair no longer smelt of the dungeon, he noted that a few twigs had become entangled in the rich locks. An earthier scent pervaded her and another scent, that of woodsmoke, and she must have put an oil containing herbs and honey in her hair to clean it for their scent was present.
She turned her head, Her eyes were an even more unusual colour closer, and Arthur had mentioned a flower that grew in the mountains... He preferred her eyes. He realised her lips were moving and suddenly as though in a rush his other senses returned.
"-So it may be frozen over, but it will be dangerous getting the wagons across the river nonetheless." she finished, a frown marred her forehead. He nodded as though he had been listening all along, while silently berating himself for his inattention. She had seen his change of mood, immediately she shifted immediately to face forwards again.
As they rode he noted she seemed discomforted where he held her around the waist.
"Are you injured Igraine?" he asked, considering that she probably wouldn't have told him... Or the other knights abut any other injuries she might have. The way her head spun to face him told him she did. He smiled slightly. She frowned fiercely.
"You're mocking me." she accused. He shook his head.
"I was not." He retorted gently. She gave him an openly distrustful look. "I was concerned that you might be injured and were being-" he arched an eyebrow. "-Stubborn abut getting it treated." She paused.
"Concerned?" she asked. "I have seen your kind of concern." She said softly, her words mellowed by a strange look in her eye. But it was too late for him to ask her what she meant for they had reached the head of the column. He saw Arthur turn as though about to say something. He paused his mouth open then with a quizzical look at Lancelot turned to Igraine.
"Good morning Morgana." He said, using her name from childhood. She nodded.
"Good morrow." She replied courteously.
Arthur was shocked to see Morgana riding in front of Lancelot, though neither seemed entirely happy with the arrangement. She had a stubborn, self-conscious air about her that suggested Lancelot had been doing his normal attempt at wooing. Charming he was, but in this case probably doomed. If she was anything like Mordred...
"Good Morning Morgana." He said, the words respectful, and reassuring to the obviously awkward feelings of the young woman, by his guess she was perhaps nineteen, to the woad that meant she was of age to bear children and would long ago have been put to work in one way or another. If she were Roman than she would have been of an age to make an appropriate alliance with some other Roman's son.
"Good morrow." She replied, with an air he recognised as Mordred's, but where he had come across as sniping and arrogant she came across as slightly aloof and distant but with undeniable courtesy. "I have some news of the path ahead. This road we follow once led to a wood bridge over a river." Arthur felt a draining sensation.
"And the bridge is no longer there?" he said with a slightly wry smile.
She nodded. "The river does freeze over, but I doubt the ice will be strong enough in the center, and it is fed by an underwater stream and they do not freeze." She warned grimly. Arthur acknowledged her warning with a nod; his eyes focused on the path ahead.
"How far?" he asked. She turned in the saddle her eyes tracing the lines of mountains. She began to mutter a chanting rhyme in the language of the woad's. She paused and nodded t herself.
"Two to three hours away." Arthur nodded, his mind already thinking through his options. "Lancelot," he began vaguely. "Take Morgana back to her wagon and send Tristan and Dagonet to me."
Lancelot turned his horse once again towards the back of the line. As they passed the wagon Guinevere sent them a strange look. And Igraine shifted in front of him.
"Ahh-" she began.
"I know." He cut her off. "I will take you back in a few moments." Two knights were riding at the back of the Caravan. Bors was speaking boisterously to Dagonet about something Lancelot suspected was probably lewd. Dagonet sent a worried look at Igraine as Lancelot motioned for him too stop.
"Dagonet!" He called. "Arthur needs too see you, he's at the front of the caravan." Dagonet nodded. Lancelot noticed the smile and nod that Igraine gave him. He felt a surge of anger towards his friend and quickly quashed it, undoubtedly they shared feelings for the small by, Dagonet may have thought something had gone awry... He took a deep breath. "Bors? Where is Tristan?" called Lancelot. Bors turned in the saddle and pointed back down the path.
"Damn!" He watched the path as closely as he could but no sign of Tristan and his horse or even his hawk were visible.
"Tristan..." Igraine said softly, she looked back at him. A slight grimace crossing her face, as though pain had stabbed when she twisted. "He is your scout, your tracker?" she asked softly, a frown marring her forehead. Lancelot nodded. "And Arthur will want his skills to test the ice?" she asked softly. Lancelot nodded once more, a vague feeling of suspicion causing him to feel uncomfortable.
"Well I can do that." She said with an expression that suggested he would agree with her.
"You. Scout?" he asked, incredulous. She raised her eyebrows.
"I am capable, or don't you think a woman could be capable?" she asked, her voice icier than a glacier.
"Of course I think you could do it!" he scoffed. "But you are not going anywhere but back to your wagon!" he said with firm determination.
"I am the logical choice, who knows how far behind Tristan is?" she reasoned. Lancelot looked back down the path, willing the most reticent and unpredictable of the knights to appear on the path.
She was looking at him with a pleading expression. He looked down at her and finally with a last glance down the trail nodded.
"We'll also need to get me some weapons." She turned back to face ahead. "I don't intend to die here because I was unarmed." She added.
He took her to where the dead roman soldier was carried in a wagon. He took the man's weapons as well as some spares fund at the estate. She pulled the baldric over her head. With a short sword strapped to her waist, a curved scimitar on her back and a brace of daggers she no longer seemed beautiful. She seemed stunning. Standing on the wagon she gave him a smile.
"We have a saying in the north. 'Those who cannot fight can die, and those that kill will be killed.'" She paused. "I would rather not kill, but if I must." A ghostly smile touched her lips, a glow lit her eyes "I am most proficient." He returned her smile with a wolfish grin. She turned to where Roshian was tethered. Quickly they mounted, she sat behind him this time, her arms wrapped around his waist so he could control Roshian better should the need arise.
"Yah!" he cried, Roshian sped past the column, past Arthur and swiftly the horse covered the distance, indeed it seemed he did not feel the presence of the second rider. Lancelot smiled, he knew that She was light to carry and he expected her weapons were nearly as heavy as she was.
Guinevere watched as the figures rushed past the wagon, cries of praise and awe coming from the Britons as they in their pride called out at the battle ready maid as she went past, and the handsome knight in front helped, thought Guinevere. She smiled slightly. The knight was obviously enamoured of Igraine, and Igraine had managed to save Lucan that morn, raising the esteem held for her by all the knights. That Guinevere would have done so a moment later had Igraine arrived mattered not and was not begrudged. She had shown bravery beyond anything expected of her. And the knights were grateful.
Guinevere wondered at the young woman's free spirit, amongst the people of the north, where Guinevere was considered a little unusual Igraine was extraordinary. She was a fine hunter, a better archer and a superb swordsman with enough intelligence that it was whispered that even Merlin listened to her words. Guinevere slipped back inside and began to inspect her own weapons that she had been given by Arthur. If the peace loving and tolerant Igraine carried weapons then battle was very near indeed.
Arthur turned at the sound of a horse galloping, he thought for one moment that they might be being attacked, then something extraordinary happened, the Britons and former surfs began crying out, their cries those of salute and not fear. He raised his eyebrows, Lancelot was riding his dark horse down the wagon line, and seated behind him, high and proud as though she were a queen sat Igraine looking every image the warrior she had that morning proved herself to be. A sword was strapped to one hip and another to her back as they sped past both gave him smiles. He shook his head.
He supposed that they would join Dagonet, he smiled, and perhaps Morgana had had a thought about crossing the river. Added to the fact that she had obviously hunted before, and was a capable swordsman and he thought she was likely very capable of judging the ice ahead. Ahead in the sunlight her hair was flowing free in the wind, like a horse's mane, or a banner of rippling silk in the wind. He smiled and shook his head, whichever of them had thought of uit the expressions of hope and joy on the faces f those behind showed they were entranced by the handsome knight and beautiful warrior girl riding like the wind on his coal black stallion.
Only one worry crossed his mind. Would Morgana-Igraine he reminded himself, he had noticed a slight wince at her former name every time he spoke it- was obviously a spirited and exemplary girl, but she had been imprisoned and tortured -only God knew what else had been done to her- could she survive the coming trials?
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