The Lady of Shalott

A/N: Finally we get some interaction! squeal I have fast forwarded to the movie, the back-story will be told in flash backs etc... Please give me some nice reviews!

Chapter II: Rescue, escape, vision and bargain.

"You will not find what you seek here…" Pain. Cold. She was in pain and she was very cold. Her shoulders ached, her hands were twisted, and her ribs screamed agony with every breath. Yet she was alive. To be thankful for that was what she had been taught, Viviane had often told her that every darkness must end, and a new day would dawn. Yet this darkness seemed perpetual and unending. Her eyes opened slowly, their green depths taking in the room where she hung at a glance. With each breath her chains slowly rotated her, with each moment the world grew less near her. She wondered vaguely whether the Wyrd would come and see her handiwork, whether the olde woman would be even more sunken within herself at the failure of her plain. A smile touched her bloody lips. And she let her head rest on her chest again. Her eyes looked at the dirty cloth that still clung to her skin, more through the blood and dirt mixed with sweat that covered her than through the cloths still being cloth.

Suddenly a cool breeze slipped over her. She raised her head as she swung past the small Christian altar against one side of the chapel where they had put her. She drifted round and round, a living spirit amongst the dead, the only figure hanging from the ceilings and walls who still breathed, if barely. A ghostly smile opened her lips, causing her lips to split open once more and fresh blood to weep down her chin. The end was coming, she could hear the shouts from outside. She sighed, wondering what poor souls had been dragged within the dungeon.

Lancelot drew his sword as he followed his commander through the archway. The first thing Lancelot noted was the stench, a mixture of death and decay, human fisces and blood, with scents of moldy straw and wet mud mixed in with the odor of human sweat. It raised bile to his mouth, and then he saw the first one. Arthur had raised a torch. Lancelot lit another from his, not taking his eyes from the lifeless corpse that hung from the wall.

"Gawain." He said, handing the knight another torch he had lit from his own before moving deeper into the stench-filled darkness. From ahead came the sound of chanting, praying. Lancelot's face twisted with bitterness as a man in monk's robe appeared.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" he asked, righteous indignation coloring his words. With a hard shove he sent the man away.

"Out of my way!" he said harshly as he followed Arthur into a larger chamber, Lifting his torch he looked around the eerie room, silent now, full of those who would never speak again, contorted against the walls or hanging from the ceiling.

"The work of your god," he said as he saw the archway overhung with a crucifix. Arthur's eyes turned to him, their haunted depths filled with horror. "Is this how he answers your prayers?" Arthur blinked before turning away, his face etched against the light from his torch.

"See if there's any still alive." He ordered unnecessarily. Lancelot looked around as Chains were shattered to reveal more dead bodies amidst it all a sound reached his ears, a swinging noise. A chain being twisted. He paused as Arthur opened one of the small cells that lined the walls by breaking the chains that held the iron door in place.

"How dare you set foot in this holy place!" the man was mad, he had grabbed Lancelot's breast plate, the knight felt his sword slide through the man before he shoved him aside. He looked up to see the other monks watching him.
"There was a man of god." A balding one said, his eyes alight with fanatical madness.

"Not my god." Lancelot growled with a slight movement of his sword.

"This one's dead." came Dagonet's voice from the other side of the room. Lancelot started forwards, his steps taking him past Arthur as Gawain replied.

"By the smell they are all dead," he then threatened the remaining monks, But Lancelot was not paying attention, he spared Arthur a glance as his commander opened a cage and leaned down at the sight of movement. The creaking chains were ahead, inside the chapel, sparing a glance behind he saw the monks start towards them. But Gawain put a sword to one of them monk's neck and they paused, he turned and slipped into a small tunnel, which he had to lower his head to get through, he saw blood on the floor, dried into the stone.
And then he stepped into a candle lit room and looked up.

Hanging from the beams that held up the ceiling hung dozens of bodies, most from their appearance dead for weeks, though none as old as some of the desiccated corpses in the other rooms. Most wore pale shift-like dresses, and were young women, in fact they were all women of varying ages. He moved through them with his horror spreading. He had seen murder and battlefields, he had buried men he considered his brothers… But this was not a battlefield of impassioned death, this was deliberate, slow, calculated murder of women and children.

"Arthur!" his cry was hoarse, but he knew his commander would hear him, and he knew he would come. Slowly he made his way through the bodies, checking for any that might still be alive, with each body his anger mounted, despite their death many were still young girls, almost all wore shifts that would once have been white, and on them the girls had embroidered small mountain flowers, or in one case a seagull, or that's what he thought it was.

Then he saw a glint of gold ahead. He paused and stepped to the side so that one of the bodies, that of a small girl child from what he could tell shifted out of his line of sight and he stopped, still his breath catching in his lungs. Back lit by banks of candles was a figure dressed in the remains of a white dress, hair that reflected the candles light hug from her bowed head as she rotated around towards him. Her dress had been turned to a few strips of cloth that hung around her, long legs covered in blood and dirt hovered just off the ground, and then she moved. He jerked back and hit another of the bodies. He let out a grunt as he swung away from the body of a young woman whose sightless eyes stared down at him.

He turned back and saw the girl had rotated away again. The tattered remain of her gown showed him pale skin marked with intricate knot-work tattoos, in between the grimy curls that reached down past her waist. He legs he saw had long snake like tattoos on them ending in knot-work around each ankle and across her slender feet he saw as she came around towards him again. His hand gripped a section of her dress, it was crusted with blood so much so that it's color had been changed as he tried to halt her movement the cloth fell apart beneath his fingers and she spun away, his touch having sent her spinning and weaving like a drunkard on her creaking chains.

He sheathed his sword and gripped her as she went past again. A snarl broke from her bleeding lips and he felt the way her breathing was labored beneath his hands around her ribs. Carefully he held her still, looking up into lucid eyes that stared at him in agony, they were bright green and lit with their own inner flame he thought, the golden hair fell onto his shoulders, behind him heard a soft set of footsteps. Heard Arthur's whispered words as his friend took in the bodies of the women and children.

Then he saw the reflected gleam from Excalibur as his friend raised the sword. The green eyes opened wide in what he thought for a strange instant was exultation. And then she was crumpling into his arms, her still bound hands around his neck. Gently he lifted her into his arms and turned slowly to his captain. Arthur had already moved on. His sword knocked down some of the candles, the cloth behind the crucifix on the wall caught fire with a whoosh. And Arthur turned away, his grim face dark and foreboding as he lead Lancelot back through the swinging bodies.

He was looking down at her with tenderness, as he cried for water. The world spun around as the harsh outside light lanced into her eyes. She hid her face against his cold breastplate, but he coaxed her away, his fingers forcing her mouth open, water dripped into her mouth, she swallowed, swallowed and coughed weakly. She was standing she realized, her legs shook beneath her and one of his arms supported most of her weight, but her feet were touching the earth.

Suddenly her tattoos burned with spirit magic causing her to cry out, a hoarse shout that startled her savior. She took too gulping breaths and shivered, snow was falling from the sky, like gentle ghosts they eddied in the air. She looked down slightly, a pair of dark eyes regarded her with compassion overlaying a disgusted anger that made her want to weep.

"Your safe now." He told her softly. His vice was soft and rich at the same time. She nodded slightly. Somewhere someone said.

"Their Woads..." she shivered as she heard a sword sliding against a scabbard, he noticed her shiver and pulled her closer, pulling her clser he drew his dark cloak around her shoulders. Horses neighed, and their was the sund of men in armor moving around her. Then a voice cried out harshly against the softer noises that had surrounded her in the darkness of the dungeon.

"Stop what you are doing!" The dark eyed man turned around, her half-cradled in his embrace, she looked over her shoulder at man wearing a Roman toga in rich fabrics. Another man, one she recognized strode over from where another prisoner lay on the ground, a Roman woman kneeling by her head, blue tattoos streaked down her legs Elaine noted.

"What is this madness?" asked a tall man in Roman armor. The other gave him a furious glare and looked past him, he saw her and she felt his anger wash over her.

"They are all Pagans here!" the Roman noble cried his eyes never leaving her.

"So are we…" said a deadly soft voice from nearby. The Roman's eyes turned away at that.

"They refuse to do the task God has set for them! They must die as an example!" he cried as though it were obvious. The Roman commander advanced on him angrily.

"You mean they refused to be your serfs!" he responded in a dangerous tone. She knew that voice she realised with a start, together with his face she knew his name.

"Arthur..." she whispered her voice barely above a croak, but her rescuer heard her, his eyes looking down at her in surprise.

"You are a Roman. You understand." Cried the Roman lord. "And you are a Christian!" he added, angrily, he glanced to his side where the Roman woman was caring for one of the others from the dungeon. "You!" he said as the Woman looked up at him. Elaine recognised her as the robed woman who had brought water and food into the dungeons. "You kept them alive!" he lashed out, catching her on the cheek with a sharp crack.

The Roman officer exploded into action, knocking down the Roman and placing his sword at the mans neck as the other Knights came menacingly closer. The red cloaked mercenaries who served him moved forwards but their employer waved them away.

"No, No! Stop!" he then turned his eyes upon the Arthur. "When we get to the Wall, you will be punished for this heresy." He said, his voice angry. Arthur reached down and hauled up the Roman, his sword pressed against the roman's throat.

"Then perhaps I should kill you now, and seal my fate!" he growled sternly. At that moment one of the Monks started forwards, she noted the lecherous bastard who had ordered her beaten, while he prayed for her soul...

Lancelot felt the weak body in his arms tense as the monk began to speak, her lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent snarl. He was balancing most f her weight on his left arm, his cloak pulled tightly around her.

"I was willing to die with them." He looked between Arthur and the tw Women, Lancelot noticed the darker, smaller woman watching the woman he held in his own grasp with and indecipherable expression. "Yes, to lead them to their rightful place." His words were filled with fanatical belief in what he was saying. "It is God's wish that these sinners be sacrificed." The mad monk continued, turning his eyes to the grey heavens, as a soft booming noise shivered through the air. "Only then can their souls be saved." The soft booms of Saxon drums shook the very air.

"We don't have souls." The words issued from the tall woman in his arms. Arthur turned as she turned away from Lancelot. "We don't have souls," she repeated. "so we don't need your sacrifice." A smile brushed across her lips. She pulled away from Lancelot, pulling her arms from around his neck, she held the bound hands in front of her as she took shaking steps towards the monk, Lancelot followed the barely dressed figure, whose blue knot-work tattoos were visible beneath her tattered dress. She clasped the monk, her thumbs gently caressed the terrified mans face.

"Stay away witch!" he said, his voice wavering in fear. She gave a slight smile to the man, a wolfish grin.

"I forgive you." She whispered softly, the man terrified man stumbled back as she swayed on her feet, suddenly she crumpled backwards, fainting into Lancelot's arms. Arthur stepped close, helping Lancelot pull the unconscious woman into his arms.

"If it truly be gods wish..." he said turning back to the monk, "then I shall grant it," He turned back to his knights and the Picts who looked on. "Wall them back up!" he ordered.

"Arthur." Warned Tristan softly as the Saxon drums grew closer.

"I said wall them back up!" commanded Arthur, his voice brooking no opposition. Lancelot turned away, the unconscious body slumped in his arms, he noted the other woman had also collapsed in the Roman woman's arms.

He moved towards the wagons which had been drawn up.

"Knight!" He turned as the Roman women came after him, he saw Arthur and Dagonet following her. "Please, this way." Said the kind faced woman, as she lead him towards a wagon covered by rough cloth. Carefully the three knights placed their charges inside the roughly made Wagon. Lancelot pulled himself inside and removed his black cloak, he placed the warm wool on the slender, long-limbed woman, whose bruised face was relaxed in unconscious oblivion. He realised he recognised her heart shaped face, though from where he knew no. He backed out of the wagon and turned away, as he churned through his memories, searching for the reason her rich eyes and, face pinched with starvation seemed familiar to him.

She awoke in a dim swaying place. Her heart pounded as she realised she was being watched. Slowly she turned her face, her eyes seeking the one who watched her. She felt her chest contract as she looked into a pair of brown eyes, rimmed with darkness and filled with pain.

"Elaine." Her voice was deeper than I remembered. Richer, more bitter. Her eyes were dark and filled with the same wild passion as always. Slowly I propped my self up, a black cloak falls from where it had been tucked around me. I frowned at the soft wool cloak, sorting through my memories of the rescue from the dungeon. Finally I look over at Guinevere, she is watching me with a mixture of disbelief and anger. I can see it in her clenched jaw. A soft sigh escapes me.

"Guinevere." I finally reply, she moves her head a slight nod.

"You remember me." She says, her richer vice harshly angry. It hurts my already pounding head. I close my eyes as the world spins around me.

"Yes cousin, of course I remember you." My words are rasping as my mouth, that has done nothing but curse and scream attempts to form words. She smiles slightly.

"So tell me cousin. What did they take you for? It can't have been much, since you've sworn never to fight again." her words were riddled with contempt. Elaine let her eyes rest angrily on her contemptuous cousin.

"Something more important than what they took you for Guinevere." She moved slowly gathering the warm black cloak around her. In the entrance of the wagon sits a tall Knight, tending the small boy. She let a slight smile touch her face, she had shared a cell with the little boy when he first came in, for only a few hours before they had dragged her off for another torture session. He blinked at her and returned her smile.

"Elaine." He said very softly. "Look, the Inish came." The knight looked statled as the boy pointed at him.

"What'd he say?" he asked her, knowing from earlier she spoke a language he understood.

"I'm not sure." She frowned at the boy and asked him in Gaelic. "What do you mean ... Lucan" she paused to remember his name.

"You were sick, you said the inish would come, that the Inish would save me." He said, his words slightly slurred as his lashes fluttered.

"Why is he speaking of the devil ghosts?" the man asked, she looked at him and noted a slight alarm in the man's eyes. And she knew why, as the 'Devil general' she had taken the lives of several of his comrades. And for years before that it had been said that any Roman venturing north of the wall would be captured by the Inish and killed, that they were beautiful women, who sang in haunted voices, summoning soldiers to their deaths. She looked into the man's eyes and felt his superstitious fear.

"He said he waited long for you. That he was told his saviors would come." She looked back at the boy, scrutinizing the way he looked and thinking over his words. She pulled the dark haired knights cloak tighter around herself. And slipped past the big man, for a moment she thought he would tell her she was too weak, but when he looked into her eyes he let her be.

She looked outside, it was after midday and in the distance drums boomed. Saxons. Her lip curled in disgust. The Saxons were nothing but murdering animals and she'd killed enough of them in her time.

"Elaine!" Guinevere called as she swung herself off the wagon, her bare feet struck the icy ground and she paused a moment, a word of power escaped her lips and the cold faded away. Around her animals paused and the horses snorted and shied as they felt the sudden snap in the air, and not from the chill. Her tattoos burned warmly, heating her flesh beneath the warm cloak, as her unshod feet found the soft dirt beneath the snow and summoned it's gentle magic. Slowly she looked around, the Knight's she knew would be at the head and end of the convoy and that she would have t move quickly to avoid being seen. She looked up Guinevere's wagon had passed her by she looked to the other side of the trail and moved between two of the slowly moving wagons.

She saw Arthur and the dark haired knight talking, she looked into the snow-laden forest and moved swiftly into it.

"We're moving too slow. The girl's are not going to make it and neither is the boy." Lancelot said as he pulled alongside his commander. His words were spoken with a certain amount of exasperation and a hint of pity. He no more wanted to leave the people behind than Arthur did but he was more pragmatic than Arthur would ever be and so he said them. "The family we can protect, but we're wasting time with all these people-" Arthur interrupted him shortly.

"We're not leaving them." His words were spoken with the quiet assurance that he would be obeyed, but also with the assurance that he understood what Lancelot was saying.

"If the Saxons find us, we will have to fight." Lancelot said with a mixture of sadness and anger, that their lives were to be gambled in such a way. His unease about the mission had only been increased with the added burden of all the villagers and more particularly the two woad women. The dark one seemed fairly ordinary, if unusually beautiful, but the other one... She raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Then save your anger for them." Arthur was saying as Lancelot shivered slightly. Lancelot looked over at his friend. He knew why this mattered so much to Arthur, so he gave voice to it.

"Is this Rome's quest? Or Arthur's?" he asked softly. His friend looked at him reproachfully, so Lancelot turned his horse away, his commander started off after the wagons and Lancelot looked back down the line. His mouth dropped open, a figure in a dark cloak he knew well with a stream of tangled golden locks falling over it slipped into the woods... And simply disappeared. He cursed the Woadish ability to disappear into woods as though a part of them and started after her.

She slipped through the silence of the woods, small animals paused at her coming, but sensing the power in her didn't run, they knew she would not harm them. Like the ghosts she was named after she paralleled the road the convoy was using awhile and then finding a clearing she knew would be there and entered it. A ring of dark grey boulders cloaked in snow formed an imperfect circle. Two 'gates' had been made into the circle by placing a long boulder atop two others high enough for a tall man to walk through and two too walk abreast.

She paused and moved t a toppled boulder at the side of the clearing. It was a strange shape, and fr some reason there was a spot beside it uncovered in snow. Using her hands she made the space bigger then setteled upon the grund to wait. She closed her green eyes and went deep within herself, seeking the place of power, readying herself to summon the Wyrd when darkness fell. It was because of this she neither heard nor saw the dark haired knight's approach.

Lancelot followed the small tracks with ease, they were barely their but the deep soft snow made it fairly easy to track the young woad. He had dismounted his horse however to see her steps more clearly and be sure of them, for her footsteps barely left an impression in the snow. He knew well enugh that without it he would not be able to find any trace of her. He was surprised when she paralleled the knights chosen course, but soon enough she branched off, he realised she was following a path, for no underbrush obscured her direct line of walk.

He saw ahead a clearing in the gloom, that opened ut to reveal a circle of stones, with two gated stone arch ways one facing north and one south. He shivered, but not from the cold, although he was missing his cloak, but because of what this place was. It was a Pict holy place. He glanced around and spied her seated next to a small boulder, he could see she had cleared snow frm around the base f the boulder so she might sit in cofort, his cloak was pulled tigth arund her.

His breath thugh was caught in his thrat when he saw her face tilted back against the boulder. No tattoo's marked the milky clear complexion of her face, and despite a purple bruise upon her forehead and a split lip she still exuded and aura of beauty. And while her features were unusual it was more the way her bright eyes had pierced into him as though they were daggers that made his pulse race. He took a deep breath to gather his wits before speaking.

"I didn't rescue you just t have you die of exposure you know." He told her. To his amazement she started and looked around in surprise. He let his horses rein drop, knowing his beast would not wonder and approached the woman, who eyed him warily. "Unless you think some god is going to come and rescue you..." he said with a wave towards the stone circle. He looked back at her and was surprised to see a smile gracing her lips, it wasn't much of a smile, but it lit up her green eyes, and they sparked like lightening with mirth. But as soon as it had come the smile faded, a frown replacing it.

"You should go back." She said, her voice still raspy. It had lilting accent to it which he found sweet to the ear. An accent that explained her vibrant coloring. The pict in the main were a small dark people, like most of the peoples of britain, whist the Irish to the west were a vibrant unusual bunch, with gay eyes in rich blues and greens and often with flaming hair, or dark hair and pale blue eyes. In fact they were a more attractive people than their Pict and Welsh cousins were, yet related without a doubt.

He ignored her words as he crouched beside her, she regarded him with curious eyes, obviously not understanding his intentions. "I think..." he began softly. "That I know you." He saw a brief reaction in her eyes, a hint of amazement and... perhaps sadness. Anther smile touched her lips, this one though was bitter and sad.

"Perhaps you are mistaken." She told him, but he shook his head, for hours now he had been considering her, and he knew where he had last seen a tall red haired Wad, with eyes like some magical fire and detailed knot-work tattoos.

"Inish." He said softly. Suddenly a haunting note came through on the wind, the trees around them seemed to draw closer at the word and he looked up startled. She looked at him with eyes that were weary and sad.

"Yes." She looked away a moment before turning her face back to him. "How is your side?" she asked her fingers brushing against the side of his armor. He looked down, surprised she remembered where she had wounded him.

"Better than it was." Was all he said. She nodded.

"Will you kill me now? She asked, seemingly only vaguely curius, and not in the least disturbed by the notion. He drew back slightly.

"I am not in the habit of expending time and energy to save someone, just to kill them." He gave her a wolfish grin. "Beside, you spared me all those years ago, I should return the favour." Her eyes truly widened at that, her mouth opening slightly.

"How did you know?" she asked softly.

"Lady, I'm not s conceited to think I could best you. I've never seen anything like the way you fight." She gave him a slight grimace of a smile.

"I am no lady, I am Elaine. And as for my fighting Sir Knight, it is an ancient style not often used now." He smiled.

"And I shall soon enough be no knight. I am Lancelot, And I shan't kill you this day, Elaine." He smiled at her but she was looking over his shoulder, she gave him a slight smile and a sigh.

"I doubt you could anyway." She whispered as the Wyrd raised her wizened hands and released a sleeping spell. He gave her a look of confusion and then moved to turn around, but as he did all his muscles relaxed and he slumped back against her. Carefully she rested him against the boulder.

"You came." She said as she faced the olde woman. The veiled head nodded.

"I came." She repeated. Nearby her crow cawed loudly.

"You told the boy that the Inish would save him. What did you mean?" she asked, knowing she would dislike any answer.

"I meant what I said, the boy was an imperfect messenger though." She sensed the olde goddess' smile. "But the message at least got you to come." She turned away, moving into the circle of stone. After a moment Elaine moved after her. "What I told the boy is that the Inish would save the people, that she would give all for them, and save their lives." The olde woman's voice had the rhythmic quality of true prophecy.

"What is the price?" The olde woman spun around more quickly than an old woman should be able.

"Price?" she asked softly, a dangerous edge to her voice. Elaine smiled ruefully.

"Every time I have done as you asked there has been a price. My mother's death, you told me I could stop it, in reality you made sure I could not." She moved closer t the olde woman, circling her, on legs made stronger by the magic that filled the ancient stones around her. "The Saxon attack, you told me about it, you warned me that Loran would be in danger, you didn't tell me he would die." She stopped. "my father. You told me what would happen if the boy died, of those who would die because he would be dead and unable t stop their slaughter, you didn't tell me the price I would have to pay for his life..." she paused. "would be to kill my own father..." her words were a whisper. The olde woman did not move, made no sound.

"So, I ask again, what is the price that must be paid?" The olde woman took two steps towards her, and Elaine could feel her black glittering eyes watching her.

"I will show you the price... Of failure." Her hands made a sharp gesture and before Elaine could react an invisible hand had grabbed her and shoved her around, she was falling, falling, falling...

Fire lit a battlefield beneath a grey sky, around her a mixture of mist and smoke formed a barrier betwixt her and those she could hear crying out, the swords that clashed and the screams that sounded from those who fought.

Suddenly she became aware of someone behind her, she spun to see the tattooed knight upon his knees, she watched as a silver sword struck him from behind, she watched him falling to the soft earth. And looked away, her eyes stopping on the sight of Lancelot, her dark-eyed savior, he was staring at her with a mixture of pain and child-like confusion, and from his breast an arrow shaft extended. She backed away in horror as he fell to his knees, but as she looked away, she saw Guinevere crawling backwards from a Saxon, a mixture of defeat and pride warring on her cousins face.

She turned away, not wanting to see the end of her cousin, instead she watched as Arthur was driven to his knees, then smoke billowed across him and she turned away again as tears stung her eyes. She watched as young Woads were cut down, as a knight was pulled from his horse...

"Stop!" she cried. "Enough!" but the images kept coming, she saw Lancelot on his knees, his eyes looking at her in amazement before looking down in confusion at the arrow, as if he wondered at his legs buckling beneath him. "No, No, No!" she sobbed, as a young woad was struck down by a crossbow bolt to his chest, his bdy lying next to the knight wh had once been his enemy.

"Enough!" she cried again as she herself was driven to her knees amongst bodies painted with blue and blood. "I'll do it! Whatever it is I'll do it Wyrd! For their lives I will do what you ask!" She looked at the dark haired knight before her. "For their lives..." she sobbed.

The Wyrd watched the woman's tears. She looked abve her head at the dark haired knight. She had thught he might have that effect. For the moment all they felt was a subtle attraction, but it was so much more, it was fate, destiny. It was... Wyrd. She tilted her head t one side as the woman shuddered as the vision let g of her.

"I'll do it." She said, her green eyes piercing the Wyrd. The olde woman nodded. She felt an almost pain sweep through her. All the things she had shown Elaine were unchangeable, but she didn't have to know that, she just had to be Inish, 'Devil General' of the North, the Lady of Shalott one last time, it would seal her fate as Arthur's advisor and servant, and she would never look back. And she would likely never use the magic again, not once Lancelot was dead, for a part of Elaine would die with him at Badon hill. It couldn't be helped, for the only other choice was for Elaine to perish in his place, and that the Wyrd would never allow.

"Come then, you must look the part..." with obvious reluctance the tall woman climbed to her feet and with a glance at the sleeping knight for whose life she was going to break a vow followed the Wyrd to the stone in the center of the circle. Hidden beneath snow and dirt it's magic came alive and tingled through the frigid air.

Reviews:

MagentaLee: (interesting name) I based some of my stuff on books I've read i.e. Terry Brooks' 'The Word and the Void' series, David Gemmell's 'Rigante' book's, Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' if you would believe it! And on folk tales and myths both handed down through my family (I'm half-Irish/half-Scottish) and from books I have read on the Celts and their mythical beliefs. I also took the 'magical tattoo' idea from Janny Wurts' book "To ride Hells gate"(could have name wrong). Is that a long enough explanation? If not e-mail me!

2pnkrck4ths: Don't say that! I always thought I was a really bad writer, but I'm getting better! (very slowly) I hope this update was quick enough!

lindalee4: Yep, Elaine has met up with the knights again! Glad your enjying the story!

Throws Candy for all lovely reviewers

Please bats eyelashes review...