Hey guys! Sorry for the abnormally long delay! I've been vacationing in Newfoundland (the Mother Ship as I call it) and half of this chapter I left at home. But here it is, posted and all, and hopefully it doesn't suck. I can only wish…
One reader (Dazzler, you opinionated rascal) requested I make Finn at least SOMEWHAT good in battle…so read on to find out whether I've turned her Amazon and kicks some serious booty or I've made her as good with a sword as me (and I'd probably knock myself out before I so much as nicked the other fighter)…
So any of you kids think I'm rushing the Lancelot-Finn romance? I don't wanna make this go too fast. Any opinions (and loooong reviews) are more than WELCOME! But FYI this story will not surpass 15 chapters… so let's make em count!
Hats off, Mickey
A disgruntled snore reached Finn's ears, and she broke from her dreamy state, her head lolling to the side to see the Woad who had been steering their wagon toss in his sleep. He'd not been feeling well, so Guinevere had taken over for him.
Finn peered back out through the hitch in the coverlet, watching the pale snow begin to fall over the green trees. It was a beautiful sight. One she'd come to love as a little girl. She inhaled deeply and swore she could smell the roasted nuts that cooked over the fire while she and her fellow villagers sat around it and complained about the snow. She never once did. Never once…
The caravan jerked forward as it hit a bumpy patch of the rough road and Finn heard the Woad gag. Poor man. He obviously wasn't used to the travel.
But the wagon slowed to a stop, which made Finn frown as she surveyed the wilderness outside. They were still many miles away from the village, and the cold gray sky hadn't even begun to darken. Why weren't they moving?
Finn swept her blanket off of her knees, half tossing it toward the sick warrior, before she crawled across to the front of the wagon, where Guinevere was perched. She sat stalk still, and Finn felt an eerie sense of wariness wash over her as she slowed her approach to her friend.
"Guinevere," she whispered as her green eyes slowly passed over the road, which was empty of the knights who should have been riding ahead, "what is wrong?" The cold wind blew flecks of snow in through the opening and she squinted against the stinging pain in her eyes. "Guinevere-"
The Woad princess swiftly raised two fingers to the other girl's lips, but did not make any move to turn. The two stood very still, and all became very quiet as the wind quieted. The only sound heard in the deafening silence was that of Finn's rapid heartbeat. She wanted to ask, why? Why were they stopped? And where were the knights and the rest of the traveling party?
A twig snapped, and Finn's breath caught as her head whipped to the side. Nothing was there, only a thicket of trees and shrubs. More sounds of crackling branches made Finn's stomach turn and she wanted to wretch with all the anxiety that was attacking her. The trees groaned and whispered as the wind blew through them, once again attacking with penetrating cold.
Quick as a flash, Finn heard something whistle past her and hit the framework of the wagon. She had only enough time to turn to see that it was an armor piercing, before Guinevere pushed her back into the wagon. Just as the Woad princess had dove from the seat of the wagon, at least five more armor piercings were launched into the wooden seating. Finn's heart jumped up into her throat as she slowly slid back along the wagon. Soon, as quick as rain, more thuds sounded against the side of the wagon, as thick arrow tips dented the heavy wooden siding.
The Woad warrior who'd been asleep was now fully awake and grinning, almost insanely, as he groped at his bow and arrows. He jumped through the front flap, a battle cry at his lips. He'd barely strewn the arrow across the bow when two arrows plunged deep into his chest.
Finn watched all this horrified, as the Woad disappeared from view, falling away, before she pulled at the loosened end of the coverlet and prepared to jump out. She hesitated for a moment, looking down at the dulled weapons lying on the floor of the wagon, wondering exactly what was going to happen next…
Suddenly a scream – not one of terror or anguish, but a battle cry – erupted from the road. It was clearly Guinevere, her voice raised in preparation for battle. Lancelot's eyes shot to Arthur, who was frozen for only a moment before he threw down the large wooden bucket he'd been holding up to his horse's mouth.
"Guinevere!" he shouted, one hand already to the hilt of his sword, as he ran toward the wagon. Gawain followed suit, grabbing his ax from his horse's saddle.
"Now this is more like it! Some real knight's work!" Bors bellowed. Gawain grinned as he chased after their leader, Galahad hot on his heels. The Woad warriors did the same, looking as exhilarated as the knights by the sudden prospect of fighting.
Bors beamed as he tied his horse to a nearby tree. "What are you waiting for lad?" he aimed at Lancelot, who stood steadfast by his steed, the animal continuing to drink greedily from its bucket.
"There is no need for all of us to go." Lancelot replied, not even looking up from the pail. Bors' smile faded slightly.
"Well the wagon'll have been pillaged by now." He said logically. "S'pose there isn't much use for you an' your sissy swords anyway." It was then that Lancelot felt ice trickle down his spine and his legs grew numb. The wagons… Finn… Before Bors could manage a chuckle, the water from the bucket had already begun to seep onto the forest floor. Lancelot sprinted as quickly as his legs would carry him and his heavy armor, toward the wagon. Cries erupted from the beaten road, and as Lancelot came upon it, a small battle scene was playing before him. There were probably three dozen Rogue Woads attacking from the Northern forest.
Arthur was in heated combat with a large Woad; probably a Rogue leader judging by the thick blue bands around his neck. Galahad and Gawain were double teaming all who found their way into their paths. Guinevere was fighting along side them, a wound gushing blood from her calf. She didn't seem to notice. The three or four Woad warriors they'd had escorting them were proving to be as good as they'd been acclaimed to be. The sound of metal clashing and ringing filled the once silent air. But all that Lancelot could hear was the fast drumming of his heart.
"FINN!" he called out desperately. A rogue caught sight of him then, and grinned toothily as he charged recklessly toward the currently unarmed knight. As he raised his long dagger to strike, Lancelot's arms shot back to lift his own weapons. But suddenly the Woad faltered and a long, unusually heavy sword protruded from his chest. He fell as Bors pulled it gruffly from his heart. "You're an idiot, you know." He referred to his unprepared friend as he walked past Lancelot and calmly into the raging conflict in the road. Lancelot disregarded him, his twin swords now out in the open if he needed them. Galahad was shouting his ridiculous number of kills to Gawain, who was laughing at the younger as he slashed away at a new enemy. Lancelot swept past them quickly, dashed forward to the wagon and pulled back the coverlet. It was empty. He moved to walk to the front when his foot hit something. He looked down, almost afraid of what he might see. It was the wagon driver, cold and dead, blood caking his lips.
"Finn!" his voice rang out again, a new sense of urgency in his tone. "Finn, where the bloody hell are you?!" There was a thud as an armor piercing hit the wagon, a few inches to his right. Lancelot turned to see one of the Rogues, furiously trying to reload his crossbow. Lancelot lifted his swords, about to end the Woad's life, when an arrow landed firmly in his neck. He began to sputter as he groped at his neck, trying to pull the arrow from it. He tugged at it lamely before he fell to his knees, eyes glazed in a deathly stare, before he fell to the ground lifeless.
Lancelot turned to see Finn standing at the outside of the fighting, Guinevere's bow in her hand. She stared at the dead Woad, and Lancelot thought that for a moment she might cry. Her face was ghostly pale, she had a small cut along the side of her brow and her eyes were large and rounded as she stared at what he supposed was her first kill. But no time for that. The waged battle was still afoot, and Lancelot was not about to let the twit get herself killed.
He hastened to her side, and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the wagon. He shoved her onto the edge of it and kissed her roughly, before he turned and sped to Arthur's side. He'd severely wounded the leader, who limped as they circled each other. Lancelot came to Arthur's side, but when his friend and king looked into his eyes, he knew that no one else was to touch Arthur's enemy.
So Lancelot turned in time to see another Rogue bearing down on him. He easily cut him down, his sword slashing the young Woad's side and instantly killing him. He fought through Rogue after Rogue, each proving to be an easy kill. Then came a woman Woad who was to face him. She had wild locks of ginger, and an insane face with clear blue eyes that radiated madness. She was chuckling to herself as she took on an offensive stance, ready to attack him.
He was careless. He was cocky and stupid enough to allow a woman the advantage of an easy defense. He deflected her sword only to receive a hard punch in the jaw. He stumbled backwards, but she had not relented and was delivering another solid knock to the side of his face. This time when he fell backwards, he saw that she'd welded hard metal to her knuckles.
She stood in front of him, that wicked smile still spread across her face. But a dull cry directed both their attentions toward four Woads, three of whom lay lifeless on the ground, the fourth crying out as two arrows stuck out of his thigh. Finn stood at the side of the wagon, bowstring pulled back far as she could muster, a determined look on her face.
Lancelot was dumbstruck, as were Galahad and Bors who momentarily watched in awe as she pulled another arrow by its quiver and laid it across the bow. Her posture was perfect and drawn back, and her movements elegant. It was enough to almost get Galahad killed when a Woad took advantage of his preoccupied attention. But not all were so surprised and Lancelot's assailant was the first to recover from the shock. After Finn's arrow was released and embedded itself in the crying Woad's torso, the crazed woman ran toward her, sword raised high.
Finn did not have time to restring her bow. She knew it, as did everyone who watched her attacker dart toward her. Finn bit her lip as she let the bow fall to the ground, and unsheathed the sword she'd had ready. She'd never even held a real sword before that moment. This was it. This was how she was meant to die.
Oddly enough. She found she didn't mind.
Lancelot spat blood onto the small, once white patch of snow next to him, before he hastened to his feet. The never ending legion of Rogues continued their attacks, tedious to Lancelot as he fought his way toward Finn. His mind was clouded, and all he wanted was to reach her before she was killed. The fool, why didn't she stay in the wagon? Why didn't she hide in safety, instead of involving herself in all this? Because she's Finn, a voice in the back of his head said. Ah yes. Because she was Finn.
The butt of a sword knocked into the back of his head and he fell to the ground, his forehead hitting rock and incising it deeply. One of the other knights must have come to his rescue, because the assailant soon dropped down dead at Lancelot's side. His vision was shaken, and his forehead stung as he touched his bloodied hand to his new cut. Must save Finn.
It was all he could think as he shakily hoisted himself up yet again, stumbled forward a few feet, before standing erect. His vision slid in and out of focus before it finally returned to normal. And by then Finn lay in the freshly fallen snow, a small pool of blood at her side. "Finn!" he croaked, running to her side and falling at her feet. He inched up so that he was beside her. He looked at her fresh wound, a long gash at her hip. It was not as deep as it seemed, but to Lancelot, it was the worst wound he'd ever witnessed. Blood trickled down her side and onto the red snow. "Finn…" he choked as she stared up at him. Her face was expressionless, as she watched his face contort in pain. A deep pain in his own chest. "I was meant to take care of you…" he rasped, as his hand clutched at her shoulder. He moved astride her and began cradling her head, his forehead against hers. So many times he'd been in battle and never considered that his own demise could be nearby. And here she'd been fighting to protect others and fate had felled her. He kissed her dry lips chastely before he leaned back to take in her countenance.
Still she did not move, but her eyes slid to over his shoulder. Lancelot's breath was torn from him as he felt rough fabric curl around his throat and pull tight. The crazed woman breathed heavily in his ear, laughter at her lips as she strangled him with a sack from the caravan. His eyes bulged as he gripped the woman's hands, and choked. They stumbled back, the woman now on his back, jeering in Gaelic to his ear. Finally he fell to the ground, the woman smiling in victory as he lay down in the snow.
Then the pressure eased. He stared up at the ginger haired Woad, as her smile softened and her eyes grew far off. Suddenly she slumped forward and fell heavily onto his chest. He pushed her off of himself and threw the sack with her. His hand went to his throat as he gasped for air. Guinevere stood in front of him, still for a moment. They stared into each others eyes. Their pact was done. He'd saved her life. She'd returned the favor. The Rogue party was depleted. Their leader was dead, and few had managed to flee. The road was littered with their corpses. Their party had only lost the wagon driver and one Woad warrior. They'd managed well.
Guinevere helped Lancelot to his feet and he gave her a slight nod to signify his thanks. He then turned to see Galahad and Gawain hobbling towards them; Finn's arms slung over either of their shoulders, a white sheet tied firmly into her side. She was alive.
Lancelot rushed forward, and everything became blurry as relief flooded him. Then he felt her fall into him.
Finn smiled as her head fell against his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as he gripped her tightly, and that familiar smell made him sigh inwardly. He stroked her hair which had grown damp from the snow, brimming with happiness that she had survived.
"Tell me," Arthur barked, and everyone's attention turned to him, "where did you get this?" he threw one of the Saxon crossbows onto the ground in front of a Woad warrior who had survived. She stared at his feet defiantly, her brown eyes hard and resolute. "Tell me!" Arthur ordered as he raised Excalibur to her throat. This drew her attention and her eyes rose, a twinkle of fear evident in them.
"Saxon." She said harshly.
"They gave this to you?" Arthur clarified. She nodded stiffly. "You've reached a truce with them?" he asked. It was the worst possible situation. A truce between Rogue Woads and Saxons.
"Truce." She repeated and a slight smile crept across her fair face. Arthur's features hardened and the small smile faded instantly. She raised her chin, ready to die, and the scene reminded Lancelot of a similar one from long ago. Arthur shook his head and turned his back on her. Just as he knew he would.
"What does this mean?" Galahad asked as he eyed the young Woad with distrust. She shook her raven locks and glared back at him. "Will they try and attack the Wall?" "Let me speak with her." Guinevere said, staring at the Woad with disdain. "I'll be able to get more from her." Arthur paused a moment, as he stared at his wife. She knew what he was thinking and her eyes hardened. "You may continue to be angry with me," she said, her voice pained, "but let me do this." All was quiet as everyone watched the two stare unblinkingly at each other. After a long moment Arthur nodded and Guinevere walked to the Woad and began speaking rapid Gaelic to her. Arthur sighed gruffly as he dragged a hand through his matted hair.
"We should move on soon." Bors said as he sheathed his sword. "Before this place starts stinking." Arthur nodded.
"We must bury the bodies." Galahad said in between breaths, looking to the Woad warrior and the wagon driver. Arthur nodded, and Galahad and one of the other warriors set about their work.
"Mount up. We leave as soon as possible." He said, his thoughts tormented with something other than the smell of rotting corpses. But only Lancelot seemed to notice as the others began to make their ways back to their horses. Arthur turned to Jols and began instructing the squire on saddling his horse properly, leaving Lancelot and Finn to stand on the side of the road alone.
Lancelot looked down onto the top of Finn's flaxen head, as she watched Guinevere. He could see sadness in her eyes; perhaps even pity. He hugged her even tighter and her eyes looked up into his own and she offered a weak smile.
"My ass is killing me." She said quietly. Lancelot nodded and looked down at her side.
"Is it unbearable?" he asked as he lightly stroked the patch of skin above the bandage. Her tunic had been torn from just below the curve of her chest, to her hip bone. She chuckled mirthlessly.
"Utterly." She said simply. She winced when his hand circled too low, and he sighed deeply before he began to lead her toward the caravan.
"I never knew you to be an archer." He said as he stroked her forearm soothingly. A small self satisfied smile spread across her face for a moment.
"I'm better with one of the Sarmatian long bows." She said, now looking at the ground coyly. "Unfortunately it's the only bit of warfare I know. I'm a dunce as far as sword handling is concerned and forget combat." "It takes learning and experience." Lancelot said, and she eyed his twin swords that were firmly clamped to his back. "You'd do well as a fortress archer." "Nah. I'm no where near the skill of most. Your da began to teach me when I was around the age that you were when you were taken. He used to grumble about how the Romans would probably soon be eyeing the women for soldiering." Lancelot laughed gruffly.
"Sounds like da." He said, a tone of nostalgia weaving through his voice. She studied him for a long time before she finally noticed his own injury.
"Your head…" one of her small hands touched his cut lightly, and he flinched. He lightly batted her hand away.
"I'm fine. It's not but a scratch." They approached the wagon's edge. "Trust you to throw yourself in harm's way for a girl." She said softly, and for a moment he thought back to the battle in which he'd almost died for Guinevere. He pushed that thought aside and focused his attention on her wound.
"Is it tender?" he asked as he experimentally brushed her side again. She groaned and nodded.
"Don't touch it." She whined and he exhaled deeply.
"You know, it figures you would become injured before I could seduce you. It'll be a long time before I can ravage you now." She slapped him lightly in the chest as he gently began to ease her up into the wagon. She let out a little gasp of pain before she collapsed onto a pile of pelts.
"Easy." He cooed as he hopped up and moved to her side. He brushed aside a stray hair from her face. Her eyes were dreamy, and he could tell she wanted to sleep. That it called to her. "Stay awake with me." If she fell into slumber, it was possible she'd never wake up. He took her hand and stroked it with his thumb.
The coverlet rustled and one of the Woad warriors entered, and crept to her side. He began to unwind her bandaging, and to his surprise, Lancelot refused to look at her wound. He continued to stare down at her face as it displayed the pain she felt while the Woad applied healing herbs and redressed the gash.
"You are so brave." He heard himself whisper in a tone of admiration. She chuckled tiredly as the clean bandage was wrapped.
"You just want to get me into bed with you." She teased, but inwardly, something in her swelled with pride. He shook his head.
"I speak true." He said softly. He paused and feigned a thoughtful expression. "Though, now that you mention-' "Finish that sentence, and I will be forced to inflict pain upon you." She deadpanned. He laughed lightly and raised his hand as if in defense.
"So violent. I wonder how it is I've come to love such an abrasive woman." He said half-jokingly. She smiled warmly when he mentioned the word love and the air of playfulness dissolved instantly.
"I love you too." She said softly, so much so he had to lean closer for her to repeat it. "I love you. I don't remember if I've told you. But I do." A grin spread over his angled face, his eyes sparkling with newly rekindled joy.
"I know you do, my dear. I know."
One reader (Dazzler, you opinionated rascal) requested I make Finn at least SOMEWHAT good in battle…so read on to find out whether I've turned her Amazon and kicks some serious booty or I've made her as good with a sword as me (and I'd probably knock myself out before I so much as nicked the other fighter)…
So any of you kids think I'm rushing the Lancelot-Finn romance? I don't wanna make this go too fast. Any opinions (and loooong reviews) are more than WELCOME! But FYI this story will not surpass 15 chapters… so let's make em count!
Hats off, Mickey
A disgruntled snore reached Finn's ears, and she broke from her dreamy state, her head lolling to the side to see the Woad who had been steering their wagon toss in his sleep. He'd not been feeling well, so Guinevere had taken over for him.
Finn peered back out through the hitch in the coverlet, watching the pale snow begin to fall over the green trees. It was a beautiful sight. One she'd come to love as a little girl. She inhaled deeply and swore she could smell the roasted nuts that cooked over the fire while she and her fellow villagers sat around it and complained about the snow. She never once did. Never once…
The caravan jerked forward as it hit a bumpy patch of the rough road and Finn heard the Woad gag. Poor man. He obviously wasn't used to the travel.
But the wagon slowed to a stop, which made Finn frown as she surveyed the wilderness outside. They were still many miles away from the village, and the cold gray sky hadn't even begun to darken. Why weren't they moving?
Finn swept her blanket off of her knees, half tossing it toward the sick warrior, before she crawled across to the front of the wagon, where Guinevere was perched. She sat stalk still, and Finn felt an eerie sense of wariness wash over her as she slowed her approach to her friend.
"Guinevere," she whispered as her green eyes slowly passed over the road, which was empty of the knights who should have been riding ahead, "what is wrong?" The cold wind blew flecks of snow in through the opening and she squinted against the stinging pain in her eyes. "Guinevere-"
The Woad princess swiftly raised two fingers to the other girl's lips, but did not make any move to turn. The two stood very still, and all became very quiet as the wind quieted. The only sound heard in the deafening silence was that of Finn's rapid heartbeat. She wanted to ask, why? Why were they stopped? And where were the knights and the rest of the traveling party?
A twig snapped, and Finn's breath caught as her head whipped to the side. Nothing was there, only a thicket of trees and shrubs. More sounds of crackling branches made Finn's stomach turn and she wanted to wretch with all the anxiety that was attacking her. The trees groaned and whispered as the wind blew through them, once again attacking with penetrating cold.
Quick as a flash, Finn heard something whistle past her and hit the framework of the wagon. She had only enough time to turn to see that it was an armor piercing, before Guinevere pushed her back into the wagon. Just as the Woad princess had dove from the seat of the wagon, at least five more armor piercings were launched into the wooden seating. Finn's heart jumped up into her throat as she slowly slid back along the wagon. Soon, as quick as rain, more thuds sounded against the side of the wagon, as thick arrow tips dented the heavy wooden siding.
The Woad warrior who'd been asleep was now fully awake and grinning, almost insanely, as he groped at his bow and arrows. He jumped through the front flap, a battle cry at his lips. He'd barely strewn the arrow across the bow when two arrows plunged deep into his chest.
Finn watched all this horrified, as the Woad disappeared from view, falling away, before she pulled at the loosened end of the coverlet and prepared to jump out. She hesitated for a moment, looking down at the dulled weapons lying on the floor of the wagon, wondering exactly what was going to happen next…
Suddenly a scream – not one of terror or anguish, but a battle cry – erupted from the road. It was clearly Guinevere, her voice raised in preparation for battle. Lancelot's eyes shot to Arthur, who was frozen for only a moment before he threw down the large wooden bucket he'd been holding up to his horse's mouth.
"Guinevere!" he shouted, one hand already to the hilt of his sword, as he ran toward the wagon. Gawain followed suit, grabbing his ax from his horse's saddle.
"Now this is more like it! Some real knight's work!" Bors bellowed. Gawain grinned as he chased after their leader, Galahad hot on his heels. The Woad warriors did the same, looking as exhilarated as the knights by the sudden prospect of fighting.
Bors beamed as he tied his horse to a nearby tree. "What are you waiting for lad?" he aimed at Lancelot, who stood steadfast by his steed, the animal continuing to drink greedily from its bucket.
"There is no need for all of us to go." Lancelot replied, not even looking up from the pail. Bors' smile faded slightly.
"Well the wagon'll have been pillaged by now." He said logically. "S'pose there isn't much use for you an' your sissy swords anyway." It was then that Lancelot felt ice trickle down his spine and his legs grew numb. The wagons… Finn… Before Bors could manage a chuckle, the water from the bucket had already begun to seep onto the forest floor. Lancelot sprinted as quickly as his legs would carry him and his heavy armor, toward the wagon. Cries erupted from the beaten road, and as Lancelot came upon it, a small battle scene was playing before him. There were probably three dozen Rogue Woads attacking from the Northern forest.
Arthur was in heated combat with a large Woad; probably a Rogue leader judging by the thick blue bands around his neck. Galahad and Gawain were double teaming all who found their way into their paths. Guinevere was fighting along side them, a wound gushing blood from her calf. She didn't seem to notice. The three or four Woad warriors they'd had escorting them were proving to be as good as they'd been acclaimed to be. The sound of metal clashing and ringing filled the once silent air. But all that Lancelot could hear was the fast drumming of his heart.
"FINN!" he called out desperately. A rogue caught sight of him then, and grinned toothily as he charged recklessly toward the currently unarmed knight. As he raised his long dagger to strike, Lancelot's arms shot back to lift his own weapons. But suddenly the Woad faltered and a long, unusually heavy sword protruded from his chest. He fell as Bors pulled it gruffly from his heart. "You're an idiot, you know." He referred to his unprepared friend as he walked past Lancelot and calmly into the raging conflict in the road. Lancelot disregarded him, his twin swords now out in the open if he needed them. Galahad was shouting his ridiculous number of kills to Gawain, who was laughing at the younger as he slashed away at a new enemy. Lancelot swept past them quickly, dashed forward to the wagon and pulled back the coverlet. It was empty. He moved to walk to the front when his foot hit something. He looked down, almost afraid of what he might see. It was the wagon driver, cold and dead, blood caking his lips.
"Finn!" his voice rang out again, a new sense of urgency in his tone. "Finn, where the bloody hell are you?!" There was a thud as an armor piercing hit the wagon, a few inches to his right. Lancelot turned to see one of the Rogues, furiously trying to reload his crossbow. Lancelot lifted his swords, about to end the Woad's life, when an arrow landed firmly in his neck. He began to sputter as he groped at his neck, trying to pull the arrow from it. He tugged at it lamely before he fell to his knees, eyes glazed in a deathly stare, before he fell to the ground lifeless.
Lancelot turned to see Finn standing at the outside of the fighting, Guinevere's bow in her hand. She stared at the dead Woad, and Lancelot thought that for a moment she might cry. Her face was ghostly pale, she had a small cut along the side of her brow and her eyes were large and rounded as she stared at what he supposed was her first kill. But no time for that. The waged battle was still afoot, and Lancelot was not about to let the twit get herself killed.
He hastened to her side, and grabbed her arm, pulling her to the wagon. He shoved her onto the edge of it and kissed her roughly, before he turned and sped to Arthur's side. He'd severely wounded the leader, who limped as they circled each other. Lancelot came to Arthur's side, but when his friend and king looked into his eyes, he knew that no one else was to touch Arthur's enemy.
So Lancelot turned in time to see another Rogue bearing down on him. He easily cut him down, his sword slashing the young Woad's side and instantly killing him. He fought through Rogue after Rogue, each proving to be an easy kill. Then came a woman Woad who was to face him. She had wild locks of ginger, and an insane face with clear blue eyes that radiated madness. She was chuckling to herself as she took on an offensive stance, ready to attack him.
He was careless. He was cocky and stupid enough to allow a woman the advantage of an easy defense. He deflected her sword only to receive a hard punch in the jaw. He stumbled backwards, but she had not relented and was delivering another solid knock to the side of his face. This time when he fell backwards, he saw that she'd welded hard metal to her knuckles.
She stood in front of him, that wicked smile still spread across her face. But a dull cry directed both their attentions toward four Woads, three of whom lay lifeless on the ground, the fourth crying out as two arrows stuck out of his thigh. Finn stood at the side of the wagon, bowstring pulled back far as she could muster, a determined look on her face.
Lancelot was dumbstruck, as were Galahad and Bors who momentarily watched in awe as she pulled another arrow by its quiver and laid it across the bow. Her posture was perfect and drawn back, and her movements elegant. It was enough to almost get Galahad killed when a Woad took advantage of his preoccupied attention. But not all were so surprised and Lancelot's assailant was the first to recover from the shock. After Finn's arrow was released and embedded itself in the crying Woad's torso, the crazed woman ran toward her, sword raised high.
Finn did not have time to restring her bow. She knew it, as did everyone who watched her attacker dart toward her. Finn bit her lip as she let the bow fall to the ground, and unsheathed the sword she'd had ready. She'd never even held a real sword before that moment. This was it. This was how she was meant to die.
Oddly enough. She found she didn't mind.
Lancelot spat blood onto the small, once white patch of snow next to him, before he hastened to his feet. The never ending legion of Rogues continued their attacks, tedious to Lancelot as he fought his way toward Finn. His mind was clouded, and all he wanted was to reach her before she was killed. The fool, why didn't she stay in the wagon? Why didn't she hide in safety, instead of involving herself in all this? Because she's Finn, a voice in the back of his head said. Ah yes. Because she was Finn.
The butt of a sword knocked into the back of his head and he fell to the ground, his forehead hitting rock and incising it deeply. One of the other knights must have come to his rescue, because the assailant soon dropped down dead at Lancelot's side. His vision was shaken, and his forehead stung as he touched his bloodied hand to his new cut. Must save Finn.
It was all he could think as he shakily hoisted himself up yet again, stumbled forward a few feet, before standing erect. His vision slid in and out of focus before it finally returned to normal. And by then Finn lay in the freshly fallen snow, a small pool of blood at her side. "Finn!" he croaked, running to her side and falling at her feet. He inched up so that he was beside her. He looked at her fresh wound, a long gash at her hip. It was not as deep as it seemed, but to Lancelot, it was the worst wound he'd ever witnessed. Blood trickled down her side and onto the red snow. "Finn…" he choked as she stared up at him. Her face was expressionless, as she watched his face contort in pain. A deep pain in his own chest. "I was meant to take care of you…" he rasped, as his hand clutched at her shoulder. He moved astride her and began cradling her head, his forehead against hers. So many times he'd been in battle and never considered that his own demise could be nearby. And here she'd been fighting to protect others and fate had felled her. He kissed her dry lips chastely before he leaned back to take in her countenance.
Still she did not move, but her eyes slid to over his shoulder. Lancelot's breath was torn from him as he felt rough fabric curl around his throat and pull tight. The crazed woman breathed heavily in his ear, laughter at her lips as she strangled him with a sack from the caravan. His eyes bulged as he gripped the woman's hands, and choked. They stumbled back, the woman now on his back, jeering in Gaelic to his ear. Finally he fell to the ground, the woman smiling in victory as he lay down in the snow.
Then the pressure eased. He stared up at the ginger haired Woad, as her smile softened and her eyes grew far off. Suddenly she slumped forward and fell heavily onto his chest. He pushed her off of himself and threw the sack with her. His hand went to his throat as he gasped for air. Guinevere stood in front of him, still for a moment. They stared into each others eyes. Their pact was done. He'd saved her life. She'd returned the favor. The Rogue party was depleted. Their leader was dead, and few had managed to flee. The road was littered with their corpses. Their party had only lost the wagon driver and one Woad warrior. They'd managed well.
Guinevere helped Lancelot to his feet and he gave her a slight nod to signify his thanks. He then turned to see Galahad and Gawain hobbling towards them; Finn's arms slung over either of their shoulders, a white sheet tied firmly into her side. She was alive.
Lancelot rushed forward, and everything became blurry as relief flooded him. Then he felt her fall into him.
Finn smiled as her head fell against his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as he gripped her tightly, and that familiar smell made him sigh inwardly. He stroked her hair which had grown damp from the snow, brimming with happiness that she had survived.
"Tell me," Arthur barked, and everyone's attention turned to him, "where did you get this?" he threw one of the Saxon crossbows onto the ground in front of a Woad warrior who had survived. She stared at his feet defiantly, her brown eyes hard and resolute. "Tell me!" Arthur ordered as he raised Excalibur to her throat. This drew her attention and her eyes rose, a twinkle of fear evident in them.
"Saxon." She said harshly.
"They gave this to you?" Arthur clarified. She nodded stiffly. "You've reached a truce with them?" he asked. It was the worst possible situation. A truce between Rogue Woads and Saxons.
"Truce." She repeated and a slight smile crept across her fair face. Arthur's features hardened and the small smile faded instantly. She raised her chin, ready to die, and the scene reminded Lancelot of a similar one from long ago. Arthur shook his head and turned his back on her. Just as he knew he would.
"What does this mean?" Galahad asked as he eyed the young Woad with distrust. She shook her raven locks and glared back at him. "Will they try and attack the Wall?" "Let me speak with her." Guinevere said, staring at the Woad with disdain. "I'll be able to get more from her." Arthur paused a moment, as he stared at his wife. She knew what he was thinking and her eyes hardened. "You may continue to be angry with me," she said, her voice pained, "but let me do this." All was quiet as everyone watched the two stare unblinkingly at each other. After a long moment Arthur nodded and Guinevere walked to the Woad and began speaking rapid Gaelic to her. Arthur sighed gruffly as he dragged a hand through his matted hair.
"We should move on soon." Bors said as he sheathed his sword. "Before this place starts stinking." Arthur nodded.
"We must bury the bodies." Galahad said in between breaths, looking to the Woad warrior and the wagon driver. Arthur nodded, and Galahad and one of the other warriors set about their work.
"Mount up. We leave as soon as possible." He said, his thoughts tormented with something other than the smell of rotting corpses. But only Lancelot seemed to notice as the others began to make their ways back to their horses. Arthur turned to Jols and began instructing the squire on saddling his horse properly, leaving Lancelot and Finn to stand on the side of the road alone.
Lancelot looked down onto the top of Finn's flaxen head, as she watched Guinevere. He could see sadness in her eyes; perhaps even pity. He hugged her even tighter and her eyes looked up into his own and she offered a weak smile.
"My ass is killing me." She said quietly. Lancelot nodded and looked down at her side.
"Is it unbearable?" he asked as he lightly stroked the patch of skin above the bandage. Her tunic had been torn from just below the curve of her chest, to her hip bone. She chuckled mirthlessly.
"Utterly." She said simply. She winced when his hand circled too low, and he sighed deeply before he began to lead her toward the caravan.
"I never knew you to be an archer." He said as he stroked her forearm soothingly. A small self satisfied smile spread across her face for a moment.
"I'm better with one of the Sarmatian long bows." She said, now looking at the ground coyly. "Unfortunately it's the only bit of warfare I know. I'm a dunce as far as sword handling is concerned and forget combat." "It takes learning and experience." Lancelot said, and she eyed his twin swords that were firmly clamped to his back. "You'd do well as a fortress archer." "Nah. I'm no where near the skill of most. Your da began to teach me when I was around the age that you were when you were taken. He used to grumble about how the Romans would probably soon be eyeing the women for soldiering." Lancelot laughed gruffly.
"Sounds like da." He said, a tone of nostalgia weaving through his voice. She studied him for a long time before she finally noticed his own injury.
"Your head…" one of her small hands touched his cut lightly, and he flinched. He lightly batted her hand away.
"I'm fine. It's not but a scratch." They approached the wagon's edge. "Trust you to throw yourself in harm's way for a girl." She said softly, and for a moment he thought back to the battle in which he'd almost died for Guinevere. He pushed that thought aside and focused his attention on her wound.
"Is it tender?" he asked as he experimentally brushed her side again. She groaned and nodded.
"Don't touch it." She whined and he exhaled deeply.
"You know, it figures you would become injured before I could seduce you. It'll be a long time before I can ravage you now." She slapped him lightly in the chest as he gently began to ease her up into the wagon. She let out a little gasp of pain before she collapsed onto a pile of pelts.
"Easy." He cooed as he hopped up and moved to her side. He brushed aside a stray hair from her face. Her eyes were dreamy, and he could tell she wanted to sleep. That it called to her. "Stay awake with me." If she fell into slumber, it was possible she'd never wake up. He took her hand and stroked it with his thumb.
The coverlet rustled and one of the Woad warriors entered, and crept to her side. He began to unwind her bandaging, and to his surprise, Lancelot refused to look at her wound. He continued to stare down at her face as it displayed the pain she felt while the Woad applied healing herbs and redressed the gash.
"You are so brave." He heard himself whisper in a tone of admiration. She chuckled tiredly as the clean bandage was wrapped.
"You just want to get me into bed with you." She teased, but inwardly, something in her swelled with pride. He shook his head.
"I speak true." He said softly. He paused and feigned a thoughtful expression. "Though, now that you mention-' "Finish that sentence, and I will be forced to inflict pain upon you." She deadpanned. He laughed lightly and raised his hand as if in defense.
"So violent. I wonder how it is I've come to love such an abrasive woman." He said half-jokingly. She smiled warmly when he mentioned the word love and the air of playfulness dissolved instantly.
"I love you too." She said softly, so much so he had to lean closer for her to repeat it. "I love you. I don't remember if I've told you. But I do." A grin spread over his angled face, his eyes sparkling with newly rekindled joy.
"I know you do, my dear. I know."