Hey! Thanks to my reviewers! I love each and every one of you! I'll try to get to some fun Romantic crap soon, I promise! I just have to set everything up, and don't want two-dimensional characters. If I make any mistakes, please let me know! If anyone knows were I can find a script that would be most helpful.
I just posted this, and then realized it had a huge unforgivable mistake! When I tried to repost it, it wouldn't let me! Arg! So, here it is without that error.
Merlin Released Guinevere and spoke.
"Since you were taken, much has changed. Rome is leaving this island soon, just as the Saxon's are coming to claim it. Rome hasn't the strength or the inclination to repel the Saxons. They are leaving us to fend for ourselves. We have waited for this for so long. If we fail now, we may never have this chance ever again. The Saxons will see to it that we do not have the strength to fight back. Much depends now on you three."
"We will come back with you and fight. You hardly need to ask, Father." Guinevere stated. For something as important as this, Merlin seemed to be wasting time, when he could have simply taken their answers for granted.
"No. You must stay here and protect the knights."
"The knights? What do the knights have to do with any of this? They will leave when Rome does!" Said Sera, rather incredulously. Perhaps Merlin's mind was not as it once was. He had been in a position of power for so long, most tended to crack under the pressure.
"Arthur is their leader. He is of our blood. You haven't been with the tribe for some time, so you don't know how things are now. Our people are starting to lose hope. They are scattering, full of doubt. If we could turn someone like Arthur to our cause, we could unite them all. Finding the three of you will help, but it will not be enough. Don't you remember what it was like when you first came to us, Rebekah?"
She did remember. There had been an energy, an excitement in the air. She had thought that the mood was always similar at first, because she had nothing to compare it to. Now, looking back, she realized that there had also been renewed hope in the cause with her arrival. She was a symbol at the time, and later on, she was more than that. She had proven herself a true leader time and time again. With each success came a new wave of hope. She understood what Arthur's coming would mean. Woad children all over the country knew tales of Arthur and his knights. They inspired, they thrilled. The more mature knew them just as well as the children, though they tried not to show their amazement or awe. Arthur was a leader through and through. He was a living legend. If he was on their side, every Woad in Briton would be getting out their paint and weapons for the cause. This was their only chance, and it was best not wasted. If they wanted victory, they needed Arthur.
"Yes, I do. We will do as you ask." Rebekah stated simply. She would talk the others around later. "However, if we are to protect these people, we will need weapons."
"And you shall have them. Guinevere, a word, please..."
Merlin led Guinevere a short distance away from the others, just far enough so that they would not be overheard. He trusted Rebekah and Sera, but the situation was awkward enough without having them involved as well.
"Guinevere," he said, turning to his daughter, "You know I only ask of you what is necessary to protect our people, and I would like you to remember that as I make this request."
Guinevere was listening intently. Her father had never before started a conversation in this manner before. Her loyalty was to her people, and he knew that. She looked into his eyes, and saw an unfamiliar emotion there. Her father was unsure of himself, even nervous. This must be one interesting request.
"I have been following Arthur for many weeks, and I saw him carry you from that place." Even now, he didn't want to think of what had happened to her there. He didn't even want to call it by its proper name. Hell. That was what it was, Hell. He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time or place for such thoughts. "I saw his face when he looked at you, and he looked...different...he was making sure Woads were being properly treated, when normally, he hacks us up with pleasure. You intrigue him. Now what I am asking is that you...form a...a friendship...I'm not suggesting you grovel. He would think our people are weak, but don't deliberately insult him. I'm not suggesting you take him to bed. He needs to find something in this country interesting enough to make him stay. He needs someone to point him to the correct path. He needs someone to inspire him. You can do that. People flock to you naturally. Will you do this for us, daughter?"
Merlin had never been more apprehensive in his whole life. Everything that mattered, everything that they had fought for, now depended on this one answer.
Guinevere turned away from her father. He was right, she could do this. She made people feel comfortable, at peace. She had pride in her people, and, given enough time, she could teach that pride to another. But, Arthur was something else. She could not recall ever seeing the man smile. He always appeared pensive, unapproachable. He killed his own people. What was going on in that head of his, that heart? She was going to find out, or die trying.
"I will do this Father. I don't know how, but I will."
"Alright, bring him to me tonight. I will find you."
Merlin studied his daughter. She looked worried, but determined. He studied her physical self as well. Some of her fingers were dislocated, but other than being in dire need of a bath, she appeared well. He could fix the fingers himself, but Arthur would be able to as well. If Arthur did it, Guinevere would have an excuse to talk to him, intrigue him further. He would fix the others' hands now.
They rejoined the group, and Merlin reset Rebekah and Sera's fingers. Rebekah did not cry out, and Sera only whimpered. They had had much worse. Once they were back in place, Rebekah asked,
"Does Arthur know who we are?"
"I don't see how he would. We don't send a messenger to the Roman commander whenever some of our number go missing." Sera replied. "It would be unwise to tempt him, however, so perhaps we should not proclaim our authority too loudly."
"I agree. I must get back." He walked over to a horse standing at the edge of the clearing. It was weighed down with weapons. He outfitted each woman in turn, and left, giving them blessing as he rode away. They would need it.
They made their way back to camp, feeling energized. They had a mission, a purpose, other than to simply survive now. It had always been better that way. Guinevere looked at Rebekah. Her friends eyes were already sharper, her mind fast at work. This was good for her. It provided the focus she had been lacking earlier.
The sun was rising now, and the camp was stirring. They would be moving soon. They took the opportunity to do some stretching. They had been in a cage too long, and if they were expected to protect people, they needed their old strength and agility back. Guinevere's hands were bothering her, but she bit back the screams. They would be back to normal soon. They formed a circle and began. When they were done, they noticed they had an audience. A sleepy looking band of knights were watching them with interest. They had just been rescued yesterday, and they were already up and about this morning. Lancelot was particularly confused. This was the girl who couldn't even stand on her own last night? She had been transformed into a warrior woman literally overnight. He glanced at her hands, and noticed they had been fixed. Who had done that?
Tristan watched too. He was a greater distance away than the rest of the knights. He was used to solitude. Being a scout, he rode ahead often, with only his hawk for company. He was not lonely though. He had enough human interaction as it was, in his opinion. One night getting drunk with Bors was enough to convince most humans of this. The rest of the knights thrived in each other's company. His relationship with the rest of the knights was one of deep affection, but they tended to drive each other mad with too much exposure to one another. The knights loved Tristan like a brother, but many found his lack of expression or dialogue unsettling. It was not that Tristan had no emotion; it was simply that in his opinion, if you couldn't control those emotions, they ruined your vision. You couldn't plan properly with emotional complications. Not only that, you gave the enemy the upper hand. They could see your weaknesses. As he watched the Woads stretch their limbs, he remembered his promise to himself. He would watch out for the woman with the tattoo on her face. She looked perfectly able to look after herself now, but all the same...He couldn't forget the state he had found her in, and probably never would. He brought himself back to the present. He looked at her, and saw her smiling. Oh, no. Now he was thinking about her smiling. He was thinking and worrying enough about her as it was. He had an entire Saxon army to be worrying about already, his mind did not have room for smiles.
