Score! We have mushy crap and battle. Wow. Now you really have to read this. For all of you who think Rebekah is a pansy, prepare yourselves.
Nianko- I like Dagonet/Fulcinia too!
BillieLiv- I don't know. Will I, or won't I? Perhaps you'll need the tissues for the mushy romantic scenes.
SunsetSparrow- You're welcome!
MonDieu666- We could probably talk about Tristan's sexiness all day. I know what you mean. It was so sad to watch him die over and over again!
Elvenstar5- I'm glad I'm glad I'm glad!
WarAdmiral- I like the mushy stuff too. Lancelot's horse is used to him doing odd things in the saddle. He was just going along with the other horses. While I agree it would be extremely entertaining for them to run into a tree, it didn't quite fit the mood, nor do I believe such an intelligent animal would do such a thing. Thanks!
ChildlikeEmpress- Te he he! Cliff hangers are fun!
Lancelot took a deep breath. The drums were pounding in his ears, and he hugged Sera tighter. They would have to fight now. Sera gently extracted herself from his grip and went to find Guinevere and Rebekah. She already had all of her weapons strapped to her body.
Arthur was instructing Ganis, a villager.
"You was lead the people to the wall." He turned to Marius' soldiers. "This man is your captain. You will follow his orders as you would mine."
Ganis looked ready to protest. He could fight!
"Ganis, you must do this, you I need someone I can trust to lead these people to safety."
"But you're seven, against two hundred!" he protested.
"Ten, actually. You could use our bows." Corrected Guinevere, bow in hand.
Arthur studied her, saying nothing. What was she doing? She could get away safely, yet she stayed. He knew that they could use all the help they could get, so he wasn't about to turn her away. He saw Lancelot give Sera one last pleading look before he turned away.
Alecto watched from the wagon. They were too few. He walked up to Arthur.
"I am able, I can fight."
"No, there is something you can do, and that's get back to Rome." Said Arthur. He remembered their talk earlier. Yes, Rome would need him.
Fulcinia held her son close. She would never have allowed her son to fight. She needed him. She looked to Dagonet. What if he didn't come back? She was struck by a sudden sadness, an ache of the heart. They were loaded into the wagons, and she watched him sadly. Who knew if they would ever meet again? Lucan didn't want Dagonet to fight either. Who would protect him from all of the scary girls in future? Fulcinia was nice; he liked her, but some things you simply couldn't ask a woman.
The knights and Woads lined up, ready to face the army that was steadily approaching. Jols placed bundles of arrows at their feet. He stood behind them, bow at the ready. Lancelot was trying to look anywhere but at Sera. It would make him too nervous, instead he fixed his gaze on Guinevere.
"You look frightened. There's a large number of lonely men out there." He said, half serious.
"Don't worry, I won't let them rape you." Said Guinevere, a hint of a smile on her face.
Rebekah grinned. Her friend was feeling better. She had her Sarmatian bow that she had begged off Jols in her hand. It would be fun to see how it performed during battle.
Tristan tested his bowstring, as the Saxons came into view. Rebekah saw their leader's beard, and stifled a laugh. It was a thin pathetic little braid. She indicated it to Sera, and said softly,
"Nice beard. It would make a nice war prize, wouldn't it?"
"Indeed it would. You can have it when I kill him." She assured her.
"Ah, you are a true friend, Sera."
"Just remember that next time I give you stitches."
"Oh, I will."
The Saxon leader signaled his archers. An archer shot an arrow, it barely made the half way point, skidding on the ice.
Arthur nearly smiled at this.
"Tristan, Bors. I think they're waiting for an invitation."
"They're far out of range!" exclaimed Guinevere, stating the obvious. Rebekah grinned. She hadn't yet told her why she wanted Tristan's bow so much.
Tristan and Bors notched at least a dozen arrows between them at let them loose, taking down a few Saxons. Guinevere's expression changed from one of confusion to respect. So that was why Rebekah was over the moon about her new bow.
The Saxon leader, Cynric, looked stunned for a moment. Arthur urged his archers on.
"Make them cluster!" With any luck, they would weigh too much for the ice to hold. Meanwhile, Cynric was yelling at his men to hold their ranks, offering death threats. That was hardly the way to inspire people, in Rebekah's opinion.
They continued showering the Saxon's with arrows, but still, the ice held. Arthur knew what must be done.
"It's not going to break. Prepare for combat." He ordered. They would not survive this.
Dagonet stared at the opposing army. They would swat them like flies. They would get through them, to the wagons. To Fulcinia. He could not allow that. Coming to a decision, he set down his sword, and grabbed his ax. He charged at the oncoming army, screaming. He would break the ice.
Rebekah saw him go, and immediately knew what he was trying to do. She cursed herself for not thinking of it first. She grabbed her shield and ran after him. He would not last long with arrows in his chest. She ducked in front of him, shielding them both from the volley of arrows coming their way. Dagonet was pounding away at the ice, his expression set. Finally, there was a resounding crack, and the ice split. Their friends looked on in horror, as they went under.
Sera let out a scream, her eyes filled with fear. She, Bors, and Arthur sprinted across the ice, trying to reach them. Sera grabbed onto Rebekah, using all her strength to draw her from the water. Bors and Arthur did the same for Dagonet. They dragged the sputtering warriors back to the relative safety of the group.
During their absence, the others had redoubled their attack with arrows. It was hardly necessary, as most had fallen under the ice. Cynric couldn't believe what had just happened. His father wouldn't be very forgiving for this loss. Ten warriors, three of them wearing dresses, had defeated an army of two hundred. No, he would not be very understanding. He couldn't risk the rest of his men however. He looked across the lake, speculatively at his opposition. As if in challenge, the woman in the blue-green dress shot another arrow, killing yet another of his men. They had to get out of here. And they did.
Sera had taken charge of Dagonet and Rebekah. The wagons hadn't gone far, and they quickly reached them. She has them brought into the sick wagon, and stripped off their wet clothes. Fulcinia came quickly, her eyes shining with fear.
Rebekah was annoyed. She had hardly been under for long! She hadn't even been shot! Why were they all making such a fuss? She was wrapped in furs now, waiting for her dress to dry. Sera refused to leave her side. She was needed elsewhere. Lancelot would probably have had kittens by now. She tried to tell her this, but it was no use. She would stay.
"So, where's my prize?" asked Rebekah.
Sera had to think a moment. What was she talking about? Then she remembered, and her heart sank. She had promised Rebekah the Saxon leader's beard.
"I'm afraid our brave little Saxon got away, braid intact." She said full of regret.
"Well, you can't have everything. You can kill him some other time." Said Rebekah, in an offhanded manner.
"Right."
Rebekah refused to be cooped up any longer. She didn't even wait for her dress to dry; she just walked out in her furs. She got a few curious glances for that one. Sera sighed, and followed. You couldn't stop Rebekah when she was in a mood like this. Guinevere had been waiting outside the wagon, pacing. She didn't want to crowd the healers. She turned as Rebekah came out of the wagon.
She raised her brow. "Is that some sort of new fashion?" she asked, eyeing the furs wrapped around Rebekah.
"Yes, of course. I'm always fashionable."
"Like when you fell in the lake? That was stupid. I can't believe you would be that uncoordinated." She teased.
"Well, in my own defense, Dagonet went down first." Said Rebekah, stubbornly. There, that would settle the matter.
Tristan approached her, and nearly raised an eyebrow himself. She looked completely ridiculous. He went to his horse, and took out his spare outfit. It would look a little better, while she was waiting for her dress to dry.
"Here, try these. They don't fall down at inconvenient times." He said, eyeing the fur that had slipped off her shoulder.
Rebekah looked at him, questioningly, but accepted the garments, with a small smile.
"Thank you, Tristan. I had no idea you had objections to exposed skin." And with that, she turned and found an empty wagon to change in. She slipped into the trousers and tunic. She looked about quickly, making sure the coast was clear before she took a deep sniff at the tunic. Sure enough, it held the undeniably Tristan scent. She attempted to plait her wet hair, trying to get it all out of her face. One day, she would just shave it all off. It was far too much bother. Tristan walked past the wagon, and heard her struggle. Cautiously, he looked inside, only to see Rebekah, tugging at her hair. It was an odd sight, seeing someone else in his clothes. She didn't look too bad, actually. She stopped snarling at her hair when she felt his presence. What a scene for him to walk in on. Her life was now complete.
Tristan approached her, and motioned for her to turn around. She did, and he proceeded to braid her hair in strategic places, making sure her eyes could see everything. This pleased Rebekah greatly. Whenever she braided her hair, it always seemed to work its way out of the bindings, impeding her vision. These would stay nicely now. She turned back to Tristan, who was looking at her curiously.
"Why did they burn your cheek?" he asked, eyes locked on the area in question.
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, before remembering all he had done for her. Her face went blank, and she calmly responded, "The monk tried to burn off my tattoo. He was distracted by my foot to his...nether regions. So, he burned me in other places. I didn't really care all that much though. He didn't get my tattoo."
"Who gave it to you?"
"What?"
"Your tattoo." He said calmly.
"Oh, my father did. Just before... never mind. Let's just say, it means something to me." She would say no more on the subject. She had said far too much as it was.
She was about to leave the wagon, when she stopped. She turned around, strode right up to Tristan, and kissed him.
"Thanks for the braids." She said quietly. She left. What was with all of these impulses? Didn't she remember where the last one ended?
Tristan stood there for a long time, his brain not quite processing what had just happened. Just when he was making her uncomfortable with his questions, she kissed him. There was no predicting the woman!
Fulcinia tended to Dagonet. He would be all right, he told her. He was just cold. This, however, did nothing to sooth her fears. Alecto came by, as did Lucan. He was glad that Dagonet was all right. He wouldn't be alone in this world of women!
Dagonet sat up. His head hurt, but he didn't show it. There was no need to worry Fulcinia further. She had still not quite recovered from the shock of seeing Marius, dead, an arrow through his heart. How did she feel about that? Had she actually loved him?
Fulcinia watched his face. She couldn't read that face. It rarely displayed any emotion.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked. She really did want to know.
"Oh, nothing...it's just...well, your husband." He said, in his usual gruff voice. He hadn't really wanted to tell her that, but there was no use hiding her from the fact that he was dead. She would have to face it sometime.
"Oh...Well, he won't be hurting anyone now. He won't hurt you." She said, simply. She didn't love him, that much was plain. She was glad that Dagonet was still alive. She was surprised to find that she was glad that Marius was dead. Death was ugly. Death was cruel. It hadn't been so that morning. Marius' death had been a blessing, a gift from above. Fulcinia very nearly smiled at the thought.
Dagonet watched the corners of her mouth curl upward, briefly, before they resumed their usual vacant expression. She was glad. The guilt in his stomach released, and he nearly smiled too. There was no need for words. They could not possibly express what he was feeling now.
