This is the longest chapter that I have ever written. As I have barely any homework this weekend, I took at least six hours out of my day to type this. I hope you like it, I do.
MonDieu666- Thanks! I like Etain.
Kasha- Whoa! Chill! High blood pressure kills! Dagonet is very important! What would I tell Fulcinia? Do you really want to kick an abused woman when she's down? This entire story is unrealistic. Why would I start now? Thanks for the thoughts! It was nice to read your review!
Veronica- Ok. Will do!
Camreyn- My English teacher of last year (Yeah, Mr. Voss!) was the one who mentioned the whole soul theory when we were debating human nature, It was some Greek philosopher, I want to say it was Aristotle, but maybe not. I really like that idea. Perhaps living in a country where half of the marriages end in divorce court (i.e. the USA) I would like to believe that there is the perfect person out there waiting for me. Unrealistic? Perhaps, but I happen to like this particular fantasy. Yes, Etain and Laim are very complex individuals, and you get to see more of that in this chapter. I really like these characters. So often, we have characters that everyone can admire, who have no deep dark secrets. I like characters who have smears in their past who overcome them. That's what I'm trying to do with them. I love your nice long reviews!
SunsetSparrow- Thanks!
Nianko- Here's the update! (by the way, your stories rock- keep writing!)
Elvish-pricess130990- Yummy indeed!
The Devil's Juliet- Laim is cool!
ChildlikeEmpress- The couple of the funny names indeed! There's more where that came from! Hope you have fun at camp...Think of Tristan!
Etain opened her eyes slowly. Where was she? And then she remembered. She had fainted. How pathetic was she? But someone had come. She was on the bed now; she hadn't been there earlier. A kiss to her temple. Who was it, though? Laim wasn't sentimental, and he was rarely gentle. It really didn't matter; she had to get to the battle. If she missed out on this one, she would regret it the rest of her life. She thought of her mother. As Rebekah had so kindly pointed out, her mother had been a fine warrior. Etain didn't have her talent. Sure, she was skilled, but her mother was legendary. She had died protecting Rebekah. She had gone down in glory; she would not be forgotten for some time. Etain wanted to make her proud. She hadn't been able to do that while her mother had been alive, but she hoped she was watching her now. Etain would help the Woads win their victory. Her mother would smile upon her. Etain didn't really care if her father was proud, he might have been high placed, but he had never taken much interest in her. Etain's mother had tried to pretend that she loved her. It was a valiant effort, to be sure, but unconvincing. Etain's mother had loved Rebekah, though. Rebekah was a fearsome warrior, a force to be reckoned with. Etain had wanted her position, if only to prove to everyone that she could be like her mother as well. Perhaps she didn't want to please her deceased mother anymore. Perhaps she should settle for pleasing herself. She would fight for herself today.
Etain was not the only one thinking of her mother. Rebekah tried to remember the faceless woman, but couldn't. She had been a baby when her mother fell, and had no memory of the woman. Everyone else was always telling her how much she resembled her mother. Rebekah had no way of knowing if they were lying. Perhaps they simply were clinging to the ghost, and didn't see her flaws. Perhaps she was not worthy of being their leader after all. But then, her father smiled at her, and she sighed. She was herself. She might not be her mother, but she was a damn good leader. This was her place, and she would let no one, not even herself, convince her otherwise.
The gates were opening. The roaring Saxons entered, and looked about them, in utter confusion. Where was everyone? Their cry gradually died out, until there was utter silence, apart from the sound of the flickering flames. It was eerie, and many a Saxon was looking over their shoulder, as if frightened of their own shadow. There was smoke everywhere, obscuring their vision. Then, suddenly, a soldier saw briefly through the smoke, Arthur and his knights. He shouted, and pointed. Everyone else turned in the direction he was indicating, as the smoke cleared, they saw it too. They all resumed their war cry, and advanced. Suddenly, the gates creaked shut behind them, as if by phantoms. Something was distinctly odd about all of this.
Rebekah and Guinevere exchanged glances, and they signaled their archers to prepare themselves. Guinevere would lead them in this; she was better with the bow. As she drew back the bowstring past her ear, all others followed her movements. She angled her arrow up, and let it fly. There was a cloud of arrows descending upon the unsuspecting Saxons.
The Saxons could hear a faint whistling sound, and looked about warily. Then, without warning, dozens of Saxons went down. Screams filled the air. They kept falling. The Saxons snapped out of their shock, and used their shields to form a wall of protection. Out of the smoke, they heard an unearthly cry. Suddenly, the smoke cleared, and Arthur and his knights came swooping down upon them, slashing and stabbing. As they rode past, the Saxons changed their position, to protect themselves from the knights, as their backs were turned, Guinevere signaled for another volley. Taken by surprise, dozens more Saxons fell, Woad arrows deeply imbedded in their bodies. The knights came through for another pass. The Saxons didn't know which way to turn. Either way seemed to cause death. The Saxon archers tried to shoot the knights, but ended up killing their own. After several repeats of this, only one Saxon was left alive, but barely. They decided to let him go. They needed a messenger. He hobbled through the gate, covered in blood and gore, eyes wild, mouth gaping in shock, his breath coming in short gasps. He quickly fell over in exhaustion.
Cedric came to a decision. Arthur wanted to play, did he? Well, he was in the mood for some fun as well. The army would march. The cry rose among the sea of Saxons. They moved forward. When they reached the gate, they didn't even bother to avoid the injured Saxon, who was quickly trampled to death. Crushed by his own people. Sebbi looked on in disgust. He just wanted to go home! These people wanted what he did, he would not kill them.
As they entered the wide-open gates, they saw a sight much like the earlier Saxons had. Wisps of smoke, mingling with the bodies of their fallen brethren.
Guinevere looked to her father. Their silent communication indicated their thoughts. It was now or never.
Cedric ordered his men into formation. He saw Arthur over the flames. Arthur was very confident. Why? His men marched in Arthur's direction.
The Woads were lighting their arrows. Now it was time for phase two to begin. Arthur signaled to Guinevere. She nodded, and drew her lit arrow back. She watched its flight in wonder. It was an interesting thought, that something as insignificant as a twig could steal a man's life from his very body. She hoped that the arrow found its mark. It did. The Saxons formed a wall again, but many were hit. Guinevere's hit its mark precisely. It landed right into the pitch that separated the field. Instantly, the flame spread, parting the sea. The Saxons were confused, disoriented. What were they supposed to do? How could they fight ghost creatures that they couldn't even see?
Guinevere and Rebekah raised the cry of the Woads. Arthur and his knights couldn't hand an army of this magnitude on their own. Rebekah led the charge, the war cry ripping through her body. Her sword was grasped tightly in her hand, her feet pounding the grass that had fascinated Merlin earlier that day. They were crushed. As the two armies met, blood spilled forth. Woad blood, Saxon blood. It mixed freely in the blades of grass, the perfect union of foes.
Sera viciously attacked, the blood hot in her veins. This was battle. Many thought that the battlefield was a place of power, of glory, of honor. In truth, it was none of these things. Battle was cruel, battle was ugly, battle took away one's humanity. It was all very well when you were shooting arrows, never really seeing your opponent. You didn't have to see his eyes as he fell, the realization of mortality on his face. That was what battle was.
Merlin signaled the warriors to prepare to fire the sling. The Romans had left it behind in their haste. They loaded the slings, lighting its contents on fire. At Merlin's command, they launched the fiery matter into the air. The Saxons scattered. Sebbi watched one of the soldiers next to him as the soldier was consumed by flames. Sebbi would die here, this was not his war. Suddenly, Woads, led by a woman, attacked his group. He had never fought a woman before. He would not start now, not with his end so near.
Aine roared as she led the charge. They thought they could stroll in and take their land without a fight? Aine would teach them differently. She threw herself at her enemies, daring them to strike. She was the leader of her band, she was not afraid of death, only enslavement. The last was not an option. She would not allow her people to be enslaved. Not while there was still breath left in her body. She took down two Saxons before they realized what had happened. One of them seemed very reluctant to attack her. Was he afraid? She rushed him, and he made no move to defend himself. What was he doing?
Sera rushed a large Saxon. She jumped on his back, and he easily threw her to the ground, and delivered a hard kick to her side. Guinevere, Radha, and Deirdre yelled, and dragged the Saxon to the ground, strangling him. Radha ran across the field to Gawain. Without warning, he had fallen from his horse, an arrow in his chest. He ripped it out of his flesh with a yell, Radha quickly dispatching the archer. They nodded to each other, and continued to fight, rage rolling through them.
Rebekah looked across the battlefield, and stopped. Her father had hobbled over to the Saxon leader, Cedric, and had engaged in battle. She let out a shriek, and ran, fighting her way through the tide of Saxons. She lost count of those who fell beneath her sword. She faltered as Cedric knocked her father to the ground. She was rewarded with a kick to her side. She went down, vaguely thinking 'Like father, like daughter'
Tristan saw Daithi fall, and rode to help him. This was Rebekah's father. She loved him. He dismounted, and Cedric turned to him, ignoring Daithi. Tristan brushed off his helmet, and brandished his curved sword. This man would know who he was. He would not hide.
They circled each other for a few moments before Tristan struck. He never liked the traditional strutting, the motions.
Sera saw Cynric, the Saxon with the funny beard. She had promised Rebekah that beard, and she kept her promises. She let out a battle cry, and attacked him. The sword was not her strongest weapon, as she had learned while fighting Lancelot. This Saxon knew how to use a sword. She managed to land a few hits, but she was not as skilled as he. Cynric hit her with his shield, and she felt her blood spurt, as her body twisted and hit the ground. If this was death, she found that she really didn't care anymore. People would always kill one another, and all she could do about it was patch up the survivors. Was it really worth it? Then she heard Lancelot's yell, and she realized- it was. She would do her part. She rolled and faced Cynric, searching in vain for a weapon. As he raised his sword over his head, she closed her eyes, and prayed that her life would be taken quickly. She did not want to linger.
Lancelot saw Sera being thrown to the ground. He let out a yell, and dashed to his horse, dispatching a few Saxons that attacked. His horse seemed to soar above the battle, his woman was in danger. Cynric had his sword raised, poised to strike, Lancelot gave another yell, and intercepted the sword with his twin ones. Once, he and Sera had debated the advantages of both the twin and single sword fighting style. Sera had contended that it was better to have the single, as you could devote all your energy in one direction. He had tried to explain to her that it wasn't about brute strength, it was about cunning. People often forgot about your other sword. It was time to decide who was right.
Tristan and Cedric exchanged blows, both privately admiring each other's skill. Tristan's sword was knocked from his hand, and they both stared at it. Cedric was not yet ready to give up on this one; he still had live left in him. Tristan never took his eyes away from Cedric, calculating, as his right hand reached for a dagger. He would not give up so easily. Cedric kicked the sword to Tristan. They would play a bit more before he killed him. Tristan watched him warily, and slowly bent down to pick up his sword, lunging without warning at Cedric. Cedric easily parried and they continued on, until Rebekah reached them. This was her area of expertise; she had no wish to see Tristan killed.
She swept Cedric's feet from under him, taking him by surprise. Rebekah looked at Tristan, a clear message in her eyes. 'He's mine. Mine.' This man had dared attack a crippled man. He had attacked her father. He had invaded her land. He would not leave this field breathing. Cedric rolled, as Rebekah jabbed at him. Her fury was blinding, and she took a second to calm herself. It was all the time Cedric needed. He jumped to his feet and lunged at Rebekah, a lunge that she blocked at the last minute. They lashed at each other, baring their teeth as metal screeched on metal.
Laim was fighting a burly Saxon, fighting with all he had. Etain needed to be protected at all costs. The Saxon knocked him to the ground. Laim had heard other warriors talk about the moment of nirvana before death. He had always scoffed at these tales, claims that you saw your life flashing before your eyes, then having your mind wiped blank, with one single image to bring you to the light. He saw it now. He was a little boy, chasing after a little girl with red hair. Etain. Then, he saw them when they were older, Etain watching him from the shadows. He had intrigued her, though she would never admit it. Then, he saw her as she was last night, face flushed, shining hair fanning out behind her, a satisfied smile on her face. Her green eyes flashed with invitation, as she brought Laim down to her, just holding him. It was that last look of green-eyed desire was what Laim would take to his death.
Etain saw Laim fall, and her eyed widened. The primitive need to protect her mate took over, and she sprinted at the Saxon, jumping on his back and slashing his throat with one of her daggers. She looked quickly about, and seeing no immediate danger, she knelt beside Laim. He looked up at her in wonder, his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek. They did not need to speak. Some things could not be expressed through words.
Laim looked up into Etain's green eyes. His avenging angel. She had saved him, when he thought she hadn't really cared. Women generally didn't care for him (i.e. Rebekah) but she did. It was a profound moment, one that he would never forget. Then he remembered, and his eyes flew to her belly. He reached out, and placed his palm over it.
Etain watched his hand slowly massage her stomach. He knew. Somehow, he knew. And he didn't mind. He loved her for who she was, not who he wanted her to be. Everyone had always told her that she should be like someone else, but he was the only one who wanted her.
She helped him up, and came to a decision. She didn't want Rebekah to die any longer. They no longer had any quarrel between them. Her mother may have loved Rebekah more than her, but that was hardly Rebekah's fault. She had harbored so much hate, and in the face of her love for Laim, it lost the fight. She did not want Tristan. She did not want him to suffer, as she knew he would at Rebekah's death. She had to stop the hatred somewhere.
"Come, we must hurry!" she said, and dragged him along behind her, frantically looking about for any sign of Rebekah. She found her, and her blood ran cold. This was her doing. Hers. She did not deserve to live.
Lancelot continued fighting, Cynric had gone to hide somewhere, and was no longer his concern. Sera had gotten up, and fought by his side. She saw Cynric out of the corner of her eye, and shrieked. He was aiming an armor-piercing crossbow at Lancelot. She wouldn't reach him in time. She reached for a dagger, and took careful aim. She flicked it at Cynric. It cut off his beard neatly, and continued on its journey until it lodged itself in his throat. Cynric looked shocked, and fell to his knees. Sera walked over to him, and found his beard that had been severed from his body. She fingered it for a moment, a small smile gracing her bloody face. Rebekah would be pleased. She tucked the braid into her belt, and continued on. This was her last battle. She would do her part.
Four Saxons surrounded Deirdre. She spun and whirled, trying to fend them all off at once. There was no hope of escape. The Saxons weren't really even trying. They were toying with her, a woman who did not know her place. They would show it to her. It would beâ€amusing. The sound of hooves rapidly approaching caught their attention. It was Galahad; enraged that they would attack the woman he loved. Deirdre took advantage of their lack of attention, dispatching three of them, while Galahad slashed the other man across the chest. Galahad dismounted, and ran to Deirdre, frantically checking her for injuries. Deirdre nearly laughed. He was still her adorable Galahad, even in the heat of battle. She gave him a swift kiss before turning, and throwing herself at the ever-dwindling Saxons.
Aine could not bring herself to kill a man who obviously meant her no harm. She turned, and instead attacked the rest of his group, one by one. A soldier came up behind her, and was prepared to strike. Sebbi didn't even think, he reacted. You didn't attack a woman, especially so dishonorably from behind. He roared, and decapitated the soldier. Aine turned to him, confused. They studied each other, and Aine made a decision. He did not wish to fight for the Saxons, yet he fought for her. He was as good as any Woad. She ripped the furs from his clothing, and smeared her body over his skin, rubbing some of her paint off on him. It would not do to have him killed by a Woad, when he was only trying to help. She motioned him to follow her, and continued to protect her land from the invaders.
Guinevere had been knocked to the ground. 'It might not be so bad' she thought, and resigned herself to death. Her father would be sad, for a time, but all wounds heal. 'Not these kind' argued with herself.
Arthur saw Guinevere fall, and rushed to her aid, swiftly beheading the Saxon threatening her with death. His breath was labored, his heart beating fast. He had been frightened for her, and hated to admit it. He did not like the implications. He loved her, but the Woads would never accept a Roman for their Lady. 'But you're not a Roman. You are a Briton.'
Guinevere gave him a small smile, and sat up. Arthur helped her to her feet, and Guinevere found that she could barely stand. The battle had raged for a long time, and her strength was about to give out.
Rebekah and Cedric had been slashing at each other for several minutes, and each was starting to show signs of fatigue. Rebekah was not reacting as fast as she normally did. Still, she watched the Saxon leader with calculation, looking for an opening. He knocked her to the ground, and prepared to give the final blow. This was the opening Rebekah had been waiting for. She jammed he sword behind her, ramming it into his gut. She stood, and he fell to his knees, an arrow in his back. She slashed his chest. If he still had a heart, it had ceased to function. She grabbed the hair on he forehead, and forced him to look at her. She saw the life flee from his body, and dropped his body in disgust. He hadn't been the God that he was made out to be. He had been beaten by a woman. It was not a statement that was used to inspire shame. It was an irony. His people did not see the true value of women. Her people did. It was one of the reasons that he had fallen. He did not see a woman as a force to be reckoned with. He had seen her as a silly little girl playing dress up. The inability to see a challenge in Rebekah had been his downfall.
Rebekah looked about for the anonymous archer. To her surprise, she saw Etain. But, Etain couldn't stand her...She had been rather unkind to Etain just last night. Yet, here was Etain, trying to save her life. Rebekah walked calmly over to Etain. She schooled her face to look cool, controlled. Etain always had an angle. What was it this time?
"Etain...It appears that I owe you some thanks." Rebekah said, without emotion. She searched Etain's face for an answer, and she found one. Guilt. So, Etain had set her up. That was it. Yet, she had helped her. Etain had always hated her. Etain's mother had been rather remote, and had died defending Rebekah. It could not have been easy, knowing that her own mother had no love for her. Yet, what did she know of motherhood? She had no mother. Her mother was dead, just like Etain's.
"We have no quarrel between us. It is often hard to live up to our mother's standards. I find myself in the same situation often. Thank you for your aid." Said Rebekah, formally. She and Etain would not necessarily become the best of friends, but mutual respect would blossom between them. It was true, Etain was not Rebekah's finest warrior, but she suspected that she would be one of the most loyal.
Aine turned to Sebbi, calculation in her gaze. He had fought well for her. He would be rewarded.
"I'm Aine." She said, motioning to herself, hoping he would understand.
"I am Sebbi." He said. He had been the scholar of the family, and knew several languages. His family was all gone now. He had nothing left. He had been forced into the Saxon army, though he hadn't protested much. What did he have to live for anyway?
"Come, we must do something about your appearance. I can't introduce you to the tribe looking like an uncivilized Saxon bastard." She said, a slight smile on her face.
"Uncivilized? We are at the height of civilization!" He protested jovially.
"I noticed you didn't answer the bastard aspect. Perhaps I shouldn't ask." She said, and dragged him back to her tent to clean up.
Laim came up behind Etain, his face full of concern. She had fought hard that day, perhaps too hard. He scooped her up, and when she protested, he said,
"You shouldn't have even fought today. But you did, and now, you will rest." It was delivered firmly, leaving no room for argument. He carried her away from the battlefield, back to his tent. Etain was not tired. Her blood was still pumping fast, battle lust flowing through her veins. When they entered the tent, Laim deposited her gently on the bed, and removed her weapons and battle garments. They had no place on a pregnant woman! He got a damp cloth and wiped the blood from her body. When he was done, he wiped the blood from his own body, and took off his weaponry. He turned from Etain, preparing to leave the tent in search of food for her, when her hand stopped him. She pulled him back to the bed and kissed him. It was unlike any other kiss they had ever shared. Etain wasn't trying to be anyone else. She was Etain, and only Etain. It was intoxicating. Laim let out a moan, and let himself be pulled down. The food could wait. Outside, the sun was setting, the stars were coming out. The tent flap blew open, and the heavens watched the mating of the souls. The souls of Etain and Laim were one.
Review, and let me know if this was too confusing. I read it over a few times, but I have an odd sense of order, so REVIEW!!!!
