This is short, as most of it is dialogue (as apposed to last chapter, when there was hardly any.) I don't have much time, but I'll try to update as soon as possible.
Nianko- Saying what you mean and being a heinous bitch are two very different things. They crossed the line. I hope you continue updating!
A.K. Anonymous- Thanks.
Jemiul- Lancelot Rocks!
Camreyn- I did a happy dance when I saw what a perfectly nice long review you left for me! This is bliss!
SunsetSparrow- I like writing Sera's thoughts.
Shallindra- I'm sorry you were confused. I merely wished to indicate the speed of the battle. I'll try harder next time.
The Saxon force had been decimated, only one Saxon left alive. The sole survivor was currently in a Woad leader's tent, getting most of his beard cut off.
Rebekah offered her father a hand. He accepted it without any apparent emotion. They were both covered in blood, and his hand slipped in hers. She caught him, and hauled him to his wobbly feet. He was alive, but barely. Tristan stepped forward, and swung Daithi over his shoulder. Daithi couldn't walk in this state. Rebekah led them back to Woad camp, and to Daithi's tent. Tristan set Daithi down on his bed, and turned to Rebekah.
"He'll live." He stated simply.
"He always does."
"I am still conscious, I can hear you." Said Daithi, the annoyance slipping slightly into his voice. He was older than both of them, where was their respect?
Rebekah gave him a slight smile. "Will you be all right without me? I must go check on my friends. I'll see if Sera has time for you." If Sera was still alive. And Guinevere. And the knights.
"I'll be fine. You needn't trouble Sera, she'll have her hands full as it is." He said, dismissively. All he needed was a bit of rest. Why did they fuss so?
Rebekah planted a quick kiss on his blood-caked forehead, and dashed out of the tent, Tristan, at a slightly more dignified pace, followed her.
When they reached the battlefield, Rebekah slowed her pace. The dead littered the field, some areas so densely covered; you could not see the green grass. It was a difficult business, weaving through all the bodies. In battle, she never really noticed it, unless simply to note not to trip. Afterwards, it always made her sad. So many gone. Good friends. Enemies. Did it matter? She came across a familiar Saxon with his throat slit. But where was that pathetic braid he called a beard?
"Looking for something?" asked a voice from behind her. Rebekah whirled around, and came face to face with Sera, who was looking very pleased with herself. She was twirling a braid between her fingers. Rebekah gazed at it in all. There it was. She reached for it, but Sera pulled it back, a grin on her face.
"Really, I thought you loved me! Now I find that you only wanted me for my treasures! Betrayal!" exclaimed Sera, a bit overly dramatic.
"Oh, but dearest, you know my heart belongs only to you! There are just so many benefits to your affections!" Sera was not the only one with a flair for the dramatics.
"Well, I suppose you can have it, if you say please." Said Sera, with a sigh.
"Please?" asked Rebekah, batting her eyelashes.
"Alright."
Rebekah delivered a crushing hug to her friend, while relieving her of her trophy simultaneously. It wouldn't do for Sera to change her mind!
Tristan watched the exchange with a slight smile on his face. It was rare that he let his amusement show. It was time to try new things. No need to go overboard, though. Tristan couldn't really see himself reciting poetry anytime soon.
"Have you seen Guinevere?" Asked Sera, as soon as she had caught her breath.
"Yes. She's doing just fine." Came a voice from behind.
Sera and Rebekah launched themselves at Guinevere, and at contact, they all winced. They had quite a few new bruises to add to the collection.
"Rebekah, we should find the others" said Tristan, desperate for all of the excessive affection to end.
Rebekah noted his discomfort and smiled, though she said nothing. They set out as a group to find the rest. Sera tackled Lancelot on sight, and the others felt it best to leave them to it. They found Radha and Gawain intertwined, and came to the same conclusion. Some things were best not seen. They saw Bors running off into the Woods, quickly followed by Dagonet. They were off to see their ladies fair, as it were. The little bastards were happy to see them.
Galahad helped Deirdre up, and they smiled at each other. They had both fought well, and won. It was a good day. They spotted their friends, and ran to them. Arthur soon joined them, his usual pensive self. Only Guinevere saw the satisfaction. They decided to meet back at the Woad camp after getting cleaned up.
Sera and Lancelot headed to his room, to change out of their blood soaked clothing. Lancelot, being the considerate person that he was, assisted Sera in the removal of the previously stated garments. Between kisses, he teased,
"Dearest, I cannot help being slightly worried about you and Rebekah†I feel a bit left out. I can't possibly take that kind of competition."
"I sleep with her just to make you jealous. I'm glad it's working."
"I am so glad. For a moment there, I actually thought that there was someone in this world more perfect for you than me."
"And we know there is no other being more perfect than yourself"
"Exactly. Which is why you're going to marry me."
"Really, I am? You should have done a bit of groveling first. It's a rule."
"Groveling doesn't come easily to me. But, remember, I talked to your parents. Think of the sacrifice."
"True. I guess it might not be so bad, as long as I am not replaced by a barmaid."
"I can't see you letting yourself be replaced at all, let alone by a barmaid. I'm sure you could take her."
"Alright, then."
They were happy. They were both acting quite pathetically. Lancelot grabbed a rag, and rinsed the blood from their bodies. They didn't need to fight anymore. Sera would never have to do something as distasteful to her as killing ever again. Certainly, they would keep their skills sharp, but they wouldn't be in a constant state of war any longer. Sera sighed, and smiled. The water cleansed her. She would be needed soon, giving life. In perhaps more ways than one.
Aine looked over Sebbi critically. The Woads were not feeling particularly sympathetic to the Saxons at the moment; it would not do to have him stick out. He could join her band of warriors, he would do his share. But who was he, and why had he helped her?
Guinevere ran through her list of kin, trying to determine who had survived. Where was Aine? Aine was her older sister, but usually she would have found Guinevere by now. Aine had always looked after her. Where was she? Guinevere hurried to her tent, perhaps she was tired
Guinevere pushed back the flap of Aine's tent quickly, and gasped. There was a Saxon sitting on the bed with Aine. What was going on here? Aine saw Guinevere, and she searched for an explanation, anything to keep Guinevere from telling everyone about Sebbi.
"Guinevere, this is my friend, Sebbi. He will be joining us. Sebbi, this is my sister, Guinevere." She said, warily.
Guinevere and Sebbi studied each other closely, getting a good measure.
"Sebbi aided me greatly today. He saved my life." Said Aine, slightly encouraged that Guinevere hadn't run off shrieking.
"Then you are truly one of us." Said Guinevere carefully. "You have my thanks and my respect."
"I feel very welcome here. I have not gotten much practice in this language."
"You seem to carry on just fine."
It was not a stunning declaration, but it was one of trust. Anyone who risked their lives for one of her kin was a friend in her eyes. Saxon or not, he was a good man.
