At First Light

Chapter III

- - - - - - - - - - -

"Helda, are you goin' to take all night with tha'beer?"

"Will you wait for just a moment! It takes awhile to fill all these tankards, ya know." A stocky flaxen-haired woman bellowed above the noise made by the beer drinkers. The "Red Stallion", as the tavern was called, was brimming with people, mostly farming folk. A chorus of impatient hands tapped their mugs against their oak tables, seeking to quench parched throats.

Erin glanced sympathetically at the hulking woman, leaning over at the bar's countertop. "We can help."

"Reilan needs you up there on the stage. Coming, coming!" Helda hustled a tray of pewter mugs to a rowdy pack of men.

A man suddenly sidled to Erin, drink in hand. "Pretty lass, I've never seen you here before. Won't you sit by me table and enjoy a friendly chat?"

"Don't bother the ladies, Elmer." Helda's warned and dragged him away.

"A merry crowd, they are. " Alyssun sipped from her own drink, seemingly unperturbed by the growing ruckus around them. Spirits were high, and beer was flowing. It wouldn't be long before things start breaking.

"Ladies." The tavern's owner made his way to Erin's table, sidestepping a fist-fighting couple. "Will you play for them now?"

- - - - - -

Lancelot sipped at his wine with proud contentment. He had been virtually been imprisoned at his own fort, but he wouldn't hear of it. At least he let them believe that he had agreed wholeheartedly to their plans—except they knew better. One peek into his empty room and his performance would be given away. The sounds of experimental strumming caught the knights' ears, and his eyes were riveted to a mini-stage far to his right. It was fairly lighted, and one could make out two figures seated together, tuning their instruments.

Lancelot left his table to refill his mug, and took a seat by the bar's countertop.

"The usual, Helda." Lancelot's eyes took a quick scan of the inn, his eyes straying back to the stage. "Who are they?" Lancelot inquired, taking the tankard from Helda's hands.

"Touring musicians from Catton. They've been to all over, they say."

The strains from the two women's instruments floated to the bar. Lancelot raised his brows. "They are good."

"Yes." Helda grinned. "Business has been, too."

The music turned to a livelier beat. More people began to take notice, tapping their feet in synch with the music. Lancelot stood, taking his cup. "Good entertainment comes rare. This I got to see."

- - - - - -

Lancelot edged into the heaving crowd, his way impeded by dancing couples. He craned his neck to look for a table nearest the stage, but it seemed Red Stallion was packed for that night.

"Fancy seeing you here, Lancelot. I've been seeing less of you these past days." Arkynn smiled, motioning for Lancelot to come to his table. Arkynn was Lancelot's right-hand, his deputy commander over Hadrian. The soldier was slightly older than Lancelot, evidenced by the grey streaks to his temples and the deep lines around his eyes and mouth. He wasn't even up to par to swordsmanship compared to the sarmatian knight, but he provided the necessary stability and wisdom to neutralize Lancelot's occasionally volatile nature.

"Nah, you know what I do..." The implication of what had just been discussed yesterday suddenly came back at Lancelot, somewhat dampening his spirits a bit. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow..."

"These women can play, can't they?" Lancelot picked at a loaf of bread, his eyes on the duo performing wholeheartedly for the cheering crowd.

"Yes... especially that one there? The one playing the flute?" Arkynn pointed a stubby finger to a brown-haired woman, chuckling throatily. "I heard she got herself 78 shillings from one of me soldiers. A mean card player, she is."

"Interesting."

- - - - - -

Twilight passed into the deepening hours of eventide without anyone noticing. Erin and Alyssun obliged the crowd, dishing out songs that their past destinations had favored. Lots of repeated encores after, the two women finally got off the stage and were greeted by highly enthusiastic patrons.

"Would the ladies care to join us for a game of cards?" A group of decent-looking men pulled up chairs for the two to sit on.

"Alright, its still early—" Alyssun agreed, automatically laying down her bets.

- - - - - -

"What have you got Calun?"

"I got nothin'. "

"Owin?" the male voice prompted again one of his co-players.

"Tanis?" the same voice asked again. A dark-haired lad raised his eyes heavenward. "I'm out."

Madin laid his cards on the table, triumphant. "Lemme have em."

"Wait!" Alyssun held off the man's hand from the pile of bets sitting in the middle of the table. The blond quirked a bushy brow. "You've got a better hand than that?"

Aly snorted. "No." she gave a look to her friend, Erin. "But she does."

- - - - - -

"There go my shillings..." Alyssun said resignedly. Last week, she had already lost 85 shillings. Tonight was even worse. The men had left earlier, their pockets as empty as they were full. Erin, meanwhile, was quietly scooping up her earnings, trying hard not to smile too much.

Alyssun lifted her coin-pouch, feeling its weight lessen. "You earn more from gambling than our music. "Why don't ya just become a card player full time?"

"I just do this to pass the time. And it happens that I am... luckier, I would guess."

"May I join this round?"

Erin's eyes went to Lancelot's neck, to the curly head of hair, then finally to the dark eyes that were regarding her intently.

"Of course."

Lancelot took the seat opposite Erin. "I am Lancelot. And you are?"

"Aine." Erin said without blinking. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssun's puzzled expression, which Aly quickly turned to a neutral, poker face.

"Aine." Lancelot chuckled at Erin's namesake. "Well, you certainly brought joy to those poor young men from whom you hustled out from their earnings." Lancelot took the two dice pieces, and let them roll in his hand. "The trouble with these things is that you never know if they will agree with you or not."

"We take our chances. But so far—" Erin allowed for a small grin. "I haven't lost."

Lancelot's eyes glittered with the unspoken challenge. "Best of three. You get three throws with the dice. The lowest number wins, both pieces must have the same face. Are you in?"

Erin took out 2 silver pieces and laid them on the table.

"That's a lot of money to lose, don't you think?"

"And where is your bet?"

Lancelot pulled out his dagger encrusted with two fairly large gems. "Are we agreed?"

With a sleight of Erin's hand, the dice pieces rolled to 5 and 6, 3 and 2, 1 and 4. Lancelot took the dice and rolled his bet into play. Unfortunately, his luck palled to 4 and 5, 3 and 6. His last toss also proved to be a disappointing miss. Lancelot was aiming for 'snake eyes', considered the trump number of the game.

"I believe snakes only have two eyes, not three." Erin quipped, her smile widening.

Neither party won—it was a draw.

Lancelot chuckled at his opponent's audacity. He reached inside his dark vest to fish out what seemed to be a printed piece of parchment, tossing it to Erin.

"What is this?" Erin held the paper up questioningly.

"An invitation to swordsmanship."

"You've begun taking women to your infantry?"

"Woads make fearsome opponents because all fight for their cause."

"How do you even know I have a sword?" Erin raised her gaze to the knight, who was already standing up.

Lancelot reached from across the table, taking one of her hands in his. Without saying, Erin knew what he'd found. "I do not think you get these calluses from your flute."

- - - - - -

Lancelot made his way out of the tavern, and was greeted by no less than Bors and Gawain.

"We knew we'd find you here." Gawain smirked, his blue eyes crinkling with amusement. "Did you really think we'd buy that shoddy piece of acting?"

"I thought I wanted to see Hilden before you chain me to my quarters."

Bors shook his head. "Yar either brave or stupid."

"I prefer brave." Lancelot slung a reassuring arm to Bor's shoulder. "I know Hilden like the back of my hand. And I know the people who live here."


Erin unfolded the parchment that Lancelot had given her, reading what she can under the faint light. Lancelot did not recognize her—and she didn't expect him to. Five years does a lot to one's appearance, and she grown up from her feeble, child-like build. She had always looked young for her age, and she hated it. Now, only her face showed some sense of youthfulness.

Erin glanced at her friend, noting that she was already asleep. Aly was quiet the entire time in their walk home, not pursuing the reason for her earlier deception. Her friend was a very talkative woman, but she knew when to leave Erin alone, letting her keep to her own thoughts.

Erin put out the candles and left a single wick burning. She shed her clothes and changed into a long-hemmed frock, then proceeded to hang her cape, her vest at the foot of her bed. She stooped down to reach under the mattress, looking for her brother's sword.

Reverently, she held it against the flickering light of the candle, admiring the way it glinted in the dark. This sword had borne her brother's honor, his valor lasting him to the very last breath that he wielded it. Lowrin has trained her as he would a knight, and she hadn't forgotten a thing that he has taught. It has been her companion, her savior and protector from bandits and thieves that she and Aly encountered in their travels. His memory will never be lost...

For a moment, she saw him amongst the dead, blue eyes staring lifelessly up to the sky. She looked down to the wavy brown hair on her shoulders, starkly remembering Lowrin's golden locks, stained dark with blood.

- -

"Erin, you don't look away. You never take your eyes off from your opponent." Lowrin tapped his wooden sword against hers. "Let's try it again."

"It's not fair," grumbled a younger Erin. "I'm only 13, and you are 10 years older than I am."

He chuckled. "Your enemies will always appear larger than they really are."

-

"Gotcha!"

"You throw like a girl!" Lowrin said disparagingly, knowing that it will miff the girl's pride.

A singular lump of mud flew to his face.

-

Erin picked at a dried stalk of hay, the clear blue sky above her. She was lying in the middle of a golden field, her body near-buried by the tall yellow-brown stalks. A golden head peered from the grass, regarding the prone figure silently.

"You are pretty, you know." Lowrin sighed exaggeratedly. "One day a man will come along and take you away from me." Erin rolled her eyes.

-

"We need you to lead them at South Shields." You have to stay at Lydden, and hold your post until daybreak."

"You can't leave!" Erin wailed, clutching at her brother's clothes. "Take me with you!"

"I'm sorry Erin. You can't go with me this time." Lowrin tugged the reins and turned to one of his companions. "Take care of her for me, brother. Don't let her get too close to a horse, lest she escapes." His horse sped away, leaving a distraught Erin behind.

"Lowrin!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. She collapsed into a broken heap, her body racking with sobs. Lowrin wasn't coming back—she just knew it. He wasn't coming back...

"Come. We have to get to the hills before they get here." The rider held out his hand, leaning from his mount.

"Leave me alone." She replied dully.

"Let your brother leave in peace."

Limply she stood up, too grieved to resist. She reached for his proffered hand, taking place behind him. The horse began to move, but she didn't know exactly when it did. People that passed them by seemed to melt into the background, until she couldn't see them anymore. All she could feel was the wind whipping at her face, its numbing cold meeting to join the icy ball of sorrow around her heart.

"What is your name, girl?" she heard him ask through the wind.

"Erin." she whispered brokenly against his shoulder.

"I am Lancelot."

- - - - - -

In the still of the night, a figure melded effortlessly with the surrounding dark. It knew the Fort well-- knew when the guards changed posts, where each sentry was stationed. It made good use of the darkened alleys and the secret passageways, darting past the rooms with skillful ease.

It glanced this way and that, as if searching for something, then backed purposely against a corner. A sentry went by, a torch in hand. Satisfied that the coast was clear, it emerged from its hiding, confident that there were less guards as she was already past the main doors. She covered the path with noiseless strides, drawing from her clan's ghostlike skill inherent in a Woad.

"Lancelot...." Guinevere whispered, knocking softly on the door. "Lancelot? It's Guinevere." She knocked some more, until the door shifted under her hand, as it was already open. Guinevere saw that the room was dark and unlit, and started backing away from the door. Suddenly, she felt someone grab her arm and drag her inside, hurling her forcefully against the door.

Guinevere felt a hand on her neck, and then to her face. A slight curse was heard. "Guinevere..." Lancelot muttered hoarsely, having wakened from sleep.

"I came as soon as I heard about the Saxons, and about you." she whispered to the dark, her eyes trying vainly to make out Lancelot's form.

"You're placing yourself in unnecessary danger."

"I know." Guinevere answered quietly. "But I had to come."

Lancelot's arms fell away from her body, and Guinevere can now see the faint outline of his face. He turned his head slightly, as if he could see her. "You shouldn't even be here."

There was a rustle of clothing. Lancelot felt a hand tentatively touch his cheek. "It has been so long since I've seen you..."


"We request that we be allowed to enter the gates. We merely bear food supplies and hail from Marnn."

Young faces came to peer at him from the lighted turrets, as the caravan below was almost invisible. It was an older soldier that spoke, eyes sharpened by experience and battle. "What brings you here, old man?" he demanded sternly. "Tis late an hour to bring goods."

"Aye, sir. And we've been a long journey. You can inspect our cargo if you wish, or sample them for your safekeeping."

"Tis not wise to offer bribes to a guard from Hadrian." The soldier chastised. He turned to his men. "Those gates will remain shut."

"Sorry, kind sirs... I am sorry... It's my boy you see. He needs medicine, and a healer... He hasn't eaten for days..."

The officer debated this for a moment, and with a nod of his head, the gates were opened. "Carry on. You will be escorted by two guards."

"Thank you sir, Thank you."

- - - - - -

A few meters from the scene, a group of men watched discreetly, hiding themselves in the solitary tree that stood nearest the wall.

"We are not going to get past those guards."

"We don't have to. I've already sent people to do our bidding." Cerulean eyes of the Germanic warrior gleamed in the dark. "They will strike when they least expect it."


A/N: 8/30/04 I rewrote the chapter, because I was not very happy with the first Chap 3 version. :D

Third Chapter done. This is a LancelotOC fic, but I decided to build on the premise of Lancelot and Guinevere of having had an affair. Weep not! this love triangle will resolve itself in the end. Anyway, things will pick up pace and become gritty from here, as Saxons have shown themselves. Chapter 4 will soon be posted (hopefully), as I am finally coming out of a writer's block. Read and Review!

Sweet A.K (Amanda): This is how the story goes so far. What do you think?

Whack: Here's the update! And yes, it does have a good plot. hehe.

Gethorssca: About that wallpaper/site, its due to be taken down soon. : (

Gifted Empress: You've seen Prince Valiant? It wasn't produced in a 310 million dollar way like LOTR (which I love to death), but it had some very good lines/dialogue.

ElvenStar5: Thanks for reviewing!