Fields of Battle
By Goody
Miles behind the knights, hooves pounded against the earth. Several lines of horses galloped through the unfrequented trails within the forest, a faster but less enjoyable route than that of the constantly used Roman road. Each horse had a rider, armed and seeking vengeance. At the head of the pack was a grand black stallion, and in its saddle was Eviran, a heavyset, powerful man with pulled back black hair and the leader of the mercenaries. He shed no tears for his fallen son but vowed revenge instead and now he channeled all his rage and anger into spurring his horse forward and into motivating his men to do the same.
The wagon carrying the only survivors from the battle had reached Thieves' Haven an hour before sunset with news of the devastating losses at the raid. All of the remaining men under him had been shocked and at first did not believe so many could have died, until they heard that Artorius, best known as Arthur, had led the assault. They now knew it had been a trap, in which they had been caught and paid dearly for.
Eviran was fuelled by anger, at the loss of his son's life and for such a wicked deception, robbing him of half of his men. The Romans had been wrong in their guess of the number of thieves that worked together, for they never sent out nearly all their resources for any attack. There were still nearly a hundred men left at the Haven and nearly all of them had saddled up with Eviran to seek out the knights and have their revenge.
Barely more than a dozen remained behind to watch over the Haven and all the riches that were kept there, the others all set out to have blood for the loss of their brothers and friends.
They were hours behind Arthur and his knights but the determined group rarely slowed and would only rest when it was absolutely necessary. Also, they were taking the less trodden paths through the backwoods, cutting several hours from their journey. The battle's only survivor had also said one of the knights had fallen, meaning the others would likely be slowed to care for him.
Eviran's horse led the pack and practically guided itself through the narrow trail they rode on for Eviran had only one thought on his mind, revenge. And he would have it through any means necessary. Coming from the back of the line, Turin urged his own steed forward and pulled beside the man they followed.
"If you don't mind me asking, how exactly are we going to find these knights? We could have passed them on the road by now for all we know," he pointed out.
Eviran did not turn to him, "They are still ahead of us but we'll meet them at Omiscrus, it's the only village we don't control for miles and they'll need help for their companion. We'll trap them the same way they did us."
Turin hesitated before he spoke again, knowing if he angered Eviran in his already combustible state that the man would not think twice of killing him.
"We've been riding hard for hours, we'll need to rest soon."
It was not anger that Eviran responded with but complete dismissal, "We'll rest when we're dead, and so are they."
Turin drew back to his position in the line and said no more.
The morning came swiftly and the first rays of sun to strike the trees of the forest encompassed the small group of knights, who were already prepared to face the new day.
Tristan had left before dawn to scout behind them to determine if any of the mercenaries were pursuing them, while Arthur and the others remained at camp, eating quickly and preparing their horses. Lancelot had woken last and only due to Arthur's relentless determination to keep him awake and well nourished. The injured knight ate sparingly and then slipped into a lighter sleep until they were ready to move on.
It was nearly an hour before Tristan returned, having been very thorough and precise with his duty as always.
"No sign of anyone behind us, at least not for several miles," Tristan reported to the group. His hawk had not indicated it saw any signs of life behind them and he too had seen nothing after climbing several of the highest trees to check their trail.
Arthur had been awake most of the night contemplating his next move and considering the lives of his knights, his friend, and any innocents that may fall to the mercenaries. Now with his decision made he frowned as he pulled on his gloves, "That might make our next job a little harder then. We're going back."
Most of the knights took on a look of confusion at this announcement, having believed they were heading home, while only Tristan nodded in understanding. Many eyes turned to Lancelot who still lay on the ground sleeping, but before anyone could argue Arthur had continued.
"Some of us at least. Lancelot is nowhere near fit for battle and I will need two of you to escort him to the village a few hours down the road. The rest of us are going back to wipe out what remains of these mercenaries before they hurt anyone else. We cannot return home knowing more innocents may die in our absence."
The knights took this in without complaint or protest. They knew their captain all too well and understood that his morals and beliefs would not allow him to leave until the thieves were eliminated as a threat to Rome and to any who may come across them. It was clear he could not bear to have the unnecessary blood of innocents on his hands.
Reacting quickly and with a feeling of obligation, Galahad stepped forward, "I'll go with Lancelot."
It was not unusual for the knights to watch each others' back in battle, but Lancelot had been injured saving him, the least Galahad could do in return was ensure his swift recovery.
Narian also lifted his head and stepped forward, indicating he would go as well but as always did not speak.
Arthur nodded his agreement, "Thank you. Tristan will tell you how to find the village, the rest of us will double back on the road. With luck we'll meet our quarry coming after us, but if not then we'll continue to the village we were told the thieves have taken over and dispose of them there. We'll meet up with you when we're done, don't leave until we return or you hear news from us. The rest of you, get ready for battle."
"And I thought the fun was all over for this trip," Bors commented with a sly wink and grin as he pulled on his armor.
"Watching you try and show some sort of skill in battle has always been quite amusing to me," Gawain said as he walked past. Tristan and Dagonet chuckled nearby. Bors huffed and picked up an apple which he threw hard, aiming for the back of Gawain's head. Gawain may have dodged or caught the apple, but he never even knew it was thrown as Tristan reacted amazingly fast and snatched the fruit in mid-air, preventing the collision. Bors glared at him but the archer just smiled as he took a loud bite out of the fruit and walked away.
Across the campsite, which had now been mostly packed away, Arthur knelt by Lancelot's side, shaking his shoulder gently. It was not nearly as difficult to wake the knight as it had been the previous day when he was seriously and freshly concussed. Now Lancelot's eyes opened swiftly, focusing easily.
"Morning," Lancelot greeted his captain, smiling for his head felt much clearer and his vision was righted, though his skull still pounded where he had been struck, as did his open wound.
"And to you. We are leaving shortly, you should try to rise," Arthur said and watched Lancelot slowly push himself to a sitting position. He continued on reluctantly, "We'll have to move out shortly, do you think yourself well enough to ride alone?"
He personally did not think the knight was fit to ride by himself, if not only due to the pain involved than because of the danger. Lancelot was quite weak and could fall easily from the horse, but Arthur had the highest respect for his dear friend and felt he had to offer him the choice for pride's sake, as well as respect his decision.
Lancelot looked about him before answering and saw his comrades suiting up for battle, "We're going back?"
Arthur nodded, "Yes, we are."
Lancelot smiled in triumph, infinitely glad his friend had considered his request. Personally he did not worry or care greatly about the lives of any strangers who may be attacked by these mercenaries, especially Roman strangers, but he knew that Arthur cared, perhaps too much, and had turned back only because of him. If Lancelot had not been injured then Arthur would have undoubtedly stayed to fight and he refused to cause his friend unnecessary guilt.
"Well in that case I shall definitely need a horse, as well as my swords, where are they?" Lancelot asked eagerly, pushing himself slowly and gingerly to his feet. Arthur never moved away and rose with him, ready to catch his friend should he falter but Lancelot's movements, though slow, were surprisingly steady.
"I believe Galahad has them but you will have no use for them. We are going back to stop these thieves, you are not." Arthur announced, his tone so firm that Lancelot's features fell in disappointment. "Galahad and Narian will go with you to Omiscrus, it's a village about four hours from here. The rest of us will put a final end to these murderers and meet you there as soon as possible."
"So while you go in to battle and glory I am to run like a dog to lick my wounds," Lancelot accused, scorned to be left behind from such a fight despite what he said the night before.
"No, you are to rest my friend, and recover fully. I despise to force my rank on you but this I will order. You are no good to any of us half dead, which is what you practically are. You have suffered a grievous wound, you must give yourself time to regain your strength," Arthur's words held wisdom and truth, but Lancelot was known for his stubborn refusal of such things.
Lancelot now stood at his full height unaided; one could only tell he was injured from the pallor of his skin and the hand resting loosely over his bandaged torso.
"And if I refuse and follow you instead?" Lancelot asked, testing the ground he held in the argument.
"Then I will turn around and escort you back myself," Arthur replied smoothly and without humor.
Lancelot nodded and a small smile crept to his lips as he accepted Arthur's decision, "This is the best choice I will get I am assuming."
"It's that or you stay here tied to a tree until we come back."
Lancelot pretended to consider it, "I think I shall have to take option one."
"Good idea, but Bors will be quite disappointed. He had the rope ready and everything," Arthur threw back, smiling as he did only when jesting with his best friend.
"Then that makes it well worth it, to know I have ruined Bors's day," Lancelot smirked, walking slowly with Arthur towards his horse.
"It will get better when he starts cutting throats," Arthur said, appearing casual but really watching his best friend closely for signs of pain or fatigue. He knew they were there but Lancelot was crafty and hid them well.
"Something I will miss, sadly enough," Lancelot pointed out, making it his final attempt to change Arthur's mind.
"I'll tell you all about it when we get back," Arthur promised as they reached the horse, already packed and saddled.
Lancelot took in a steadying breath, knowing what was coming next. Most of the others were mounted and waiting only for Arthur to lead or Lancelot to escort.
"Do you want a hand?" Arthur asked, noticing for what seemed the first time how high a horse stood.
Lancelot's pride screamed "No!" but his common sense told him that if he tried to mount the horse alone he would most likely fall, which would be more damaging to his pride and body than asking for help. Setting his jaw, he nodded resolutely. With one hand bracing the saddle and the other grasping his bandaged torso, Lancelot put a foot on Arthur's cupped hands and swung onto the saddle. The pain that ignited in his abdomen was intense but swift and as he leaned forward it receded to its normal constant ache after a few deep breaths. This journey would not be fun, he knew, for his skin had already become two shades whiter from the exertion, but he would see it to the end.
"Rest a minute, I have to speak to Galahad before we go," Arthur instructed once Lancelot was safely perched on the steed. Lancelot acknowledged him but said nothing.
Arthur mounted his own horse with natural ease and speed and trotted up next to Galahad. The young knight was checking his blades but stopped as his captain approached and leaned in close when it was obvious Arthur had things to say that not all were to hear.
In a bare but firm whisper, Arthur gave his orders, "Get him to the village and straight into a bed and then a good meal. He will protest and he will fight and he will lie about his health, just make sure he rests. He should be in bed for at least two more days."
"Do you think me a miracle worker, now?" Galahad chuckled, not able to imagine Lancelot willingly laid up for so long a time.
Arthur saw the humor as well and smiled, "Your best is all I ask, strap him down if you must. Also, be cautious when you arrive, these thieves and killers have caused much anxiety in this area and it would not be hard for the village to mistake you as an enemy."
"I understand. Anything else?"
"Take care," Arthur replied sincerely after a pause.
"I will, but you must promise me the same," Galahad said, reining his horse to move away and come up beside Lancelot. Narian was already there by the injured knight, ready to leave.
Arthur drew his horse next to Lancelot, "You should have all you need my friend, travel safely. Be aware that this time Galahad commands in my absence, I expect you to hold to him the same respect you do me."
Lancelot turned slowly and offered his friend his most arrogant smirk, "You're a funny man Arthur, a very funny man. I shall laugh at that later when it will not be so painful."
"I'm serious," Arthur reiterated, but Lancelot clucked and kicked his horse forward, ending the conversation and starting his own journey.
"Of course you are," Lancelot called back, leading the way.
Galahad pulled up beside his captain and sighed.
"I did try," Arthur assured him.
"I know, I wasn't expecting much at any rate," Galahad replied, then bowed slightly to his captain, waved to the knights behind him and took off after Lancelot, Narian not far behind.
Arthur watched the three until the sound of their horses' hooves faded, and then he turned to his own charges, all saddled and prepared for battle.
"Let's not leave these villains waiting," he called out, exciting his knights for battle.
They roared and lifted their weapons to the air. Joining in their call, Arthur lifted Excalibur and then turned to the south, galloping at his fastest gait. His men were directly behind him, eager for more blood and to continue their unfinished battle.
Three hours of silence.
The wind blew, the horses trotted, and the animals chirped of course, but these were all the background sounds of life, thought Galahad. Silence could only be broken through speech and he didn't think there would be any of that in the near future. Narian at least had an excuse, having no tongue he communicated through a series of facial expression and several hand gestures, so none could blame him for his silence, but only three paces ahead of him, Lancelot had no such excuse. With a fully functioning tongue (and quite adept, according to his lady friends), Lancelot should have had something to say, anything, within a three hour period, but still silence remained their fourth companion on this journey.
Despite, or perhaps in spite, of Arthur's words, Lancelot stayed at the head of the group, always leading the way and scouting ahead. Every half an hour or so Galahad would increase his fast trot to overtake the injured knight and check his health. He said nothing of course, for this would break their precious silence, but he took in Lancelot's pallor, posture and expression. Always the knight stared straight ahead, not making eye contact as he sped up and left Galahad's scrutinizing gaze once more.
In truth Lancelot despised being injured, but more than that, he hated others seeing him that way. He knew there was no dishonor in taking an injury in battle, but it did prove that he had made a mistake while fighting and that could not be denied. So in order to appear in fit health Lancelot stayed ahead of his companions as they rode, always staring straight ahead and pushing the pain and fatigue he felt from his mind. By riding in the lead he did not have to worry about them noticing the trembling of his limbs, the drooping of his eyes or the flinches of pain every time they rode over more than the smallest pebbles.
They were moving faster than they needed to since Lancelot was pushing himself harder than necessary. After three hours though Galahad knew they should rest, if not only for the horses than to get out of the sweltering heat for a few minutes. A shaded glen appeared beside them and Galahad reined his horse to the left.
"Lancelot!" he called out when it was clear the other knight had not noticed he and Narian had stopped. Lancelot turned around startled, for they had not spoken in their long hours together.
"What's wrong?" he asked trotting back to them.
Galahad shook his head, "Nothing, we should rest a while."
Lancelot rolled his eyes as Narian and Galahad dismounted their steeds.
What he means is I should rest a while, Lancelot thought bitterly as he moved his horse into the shade. As much as he wanted to remain angry though, he was exhausted and in pain, a short rest would do him well. He eased off the horse as gently as possible to join his companions but the impact upon landing shook his battered body so badly he had to lean against his steed for support.
Galahad moved to help him but before he reached the knight, Lancelot had regained his composure and moved to sit with them on the ground. His weariness quickly became encompassing warmth and relaxation as Lancelot leaned against the tree, his hand lying gently on his abdomen though he was almost without pain for the first time all day. A few minutes passed and he soaked in the moments of rest. He was so content that almost his eyes closed in sleep but a flask suddenly appeared before him and he saw it was Narian holding it out to him. Almost he turned down the water but Galahad urged him on.
"You haven't had any all day; you know better in this kind of heat," the younger knight said, taking a large swig of his own flask.
Lancelot nodded and took the water, "Thank you."
Narian smiled and sat back down with his horse nearby. When the flask was nearly drained Lancelot set it aside and leaned his head back against the tree, eyes sliding shut. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and hissed as his cauterized wound stung him relentlessly.
Next to him, Galahad could hold back his concern no longer, "Are you all right?" he asked, feeling somewhat guilty for having not enquired earlier.
"I'm fine," Lancelot replied curtly without even opening his eyes.
Galahad ground his teeth together in frustration, finally having had enough of Lancelot's silence and dismissive attitude.
"You're not," he pointed out, then, moving with purpose, Galahad stood over the resting knight and kicked him in the side. Before he had pulled away Lancelot's eyes shot open as he gasped and rolled over to try and get his breath.
"What the hell ...?" Lancelot breathed.
Only now able to clearly inspect his companion for the first time that day, Galahad saw the lines of pain creasing Lancelot's face as well as the bags beneath his drooping eyes.
"You are nowhere close to 'fine'. Clearly you are in incredible pain and near the point of exhaustion and …" Galahad thought he noted a strange glaze in Lancelot's eyes. Kneeling next to the knight he placed a hand on his forehead. "… are running a serious fever."
"Bastard," Lancelot mumbled when he was able to breathe again, "What is your point?"
"Why do you hide your injuries and lie about your health?" Galahad asked, finally breaching the true subject. "It hinders your recovery only, and fools no one."
Lancelot almost chuckled but was too occupied at containing his anger at the younger knight, so pointed out, "Battle wounds are not something to gloat about with pride."
"I said nothing of gloating, I meant only that it is possible to simply talk of one's injuries when they are sustained," Galahad replied, trying not to be exasperated by the prideful, cocky knight.
"They should not even be talked about, t'is shameful," Lancelot said, his voice becoming softer as he spoke honestly at last, with his eyes firmly focused on the grass beneath him.
"Why?"
Lancelot looked to the sky as he slowly formed his response, "To be injured is to be proof that mistakes were made in battle, that you alone made an error in judgment on the battlefield and paid for it with blood. Our entire life is battle Galahad, it is all we know, yet if we are not even skilled enough at that to avoid injury than what purpose can we serve? What value can our lives truly hold?"
"I have seen you fight Lancelot, men would give their first and second born to achieve the skill you have with a blade. When faced with impossible odds we all falter at some point. Yet you show concern for your comrades even as you fight for your own life and the only mistake I saw you make yesterday was being distracted by saving my life, something I hope you do not regret, for I have yet to thank you for it," Galahad said sincerely and watched as Lancelot turned this over in his own mind.
"I have no such regrets Galahad, your life is very valuable," Lancelot replied with just as much sincerity but then his lips also quirked up into a smile. "Not worth nearly as much as my own but since I do not plan on dying any time soon, it hardly matters. Now help me up, we should get moving."
Galahad smiled and stood to offer a hand of support. Lancelot took it and Galahad frowned feeling the heat coming off his body. Reaching out, he touched the man's forehead once more.
"You really are quite warm," he said with concern, knowing a fever and a wound such as his probably meant infection.
Lancelot nodded, quite aware of his state of health, "It may just be the heat, but either way, staying here will not help. We should be coming close to the village Tristan spoke of, I'll rest there."
Galahad believed that, knowing he had just broken through a few of Lancelot's many barriers, making it much easier to speak to and interact with him. Behind them Narian mounted his horse, silent as ever; he smiled and nodded to the two, glad they had had their conversation and said several things that needed saying. Galahad wordlessly helped Lancelot into his own saddle, trying not to flinch as Lancelot did, and then jumped atop his own steed.
They were now ready to move on and though Lancelot clucked his tongue first to spur his horse into a trot, he no longer led the way along the road. Instead he pulled back and rode side by side with his companions until they reached the village of Omiscrus.
TBC
More to come, but I don't know how soon. I'm moving into university residence this week and it's probably going to be crazy. But I have great reviewers that I must thank:
Trinity Day – Hopefully I will not let the story die (I have done so with others in the past and feel horrible for it). I visit KA sites often to keep my inspiration up but I'm going to university next week and writing may be slow. I also felt I had a better groove chap 3, I just had a good writing flow going. If only I could turn it on like a switch.
Jemiul – Despite the briefness of your review I had to respond. So many people encourage authors to "hurry up and write more" (myself included) but you kindly said you would wait and that meant the world to me. Thank you for such a delightful and non pressuring review.
Shauna – A long lovely review, your theories and ideas are fun to read and even inspire slightly. The plot's not set in stone in my mind yet so all little suggestions help build it. Keep up the hypothesizing. Europe? That sounds awesome! And you thought of me when you got back, thank you so much.
PadawanMage – Don't apologizing for reviewing slowly, I should apologize for posting slowly. Getting ready for university is tiring but I should put more time into my writing. I liked that line a lot too, I could just picture Galahad's and Lancelot's face as it happened.
Elven writer – those are the qualities I like about Lancelot too, his passion and his strong friendship with Arthur. The two will probably stay separated for the next chapter or so but then there will be a reunion of sorts. Sorry I had to split them up for now but they'll meet again.
Holiday1081 – Oh, so many compliments that I don't know how to thank you. Every word of your review was a wonderful treat and I appreciate that you commented on many different aspects of my writing such as characterization and battle sequences. Lancelot is definitely the best character but Tristan is nice and complex (which makes him harder to write) and I hope to have a little more of him in the next chapter.
Ragweed – Only three Canadians? That can't be right, there's probably lots more. I have no idea where most fanfic authors are from that I read, the rest of the Canadians are probably just hiding. I'm in New Brunswick right now though, where are you?
Gingerbread Cat – Yes, Narian is one of the knights, in this fic anyway, I just made him up myself. And though Arthur killed the guy's son, he may not necessarily be the one in the most trouble. Thanks for reading and thinking about it though.
Flashgriffin – Lancelot will probably be spending more than just the beginning of the fic wounded, but he's my fave and gets the best dialogue so I think that makes up for the pain. Thank you for the cauterization details, I really had no idea, I didn't do any research like I should have. All I had to go on was this scene in Braveheart where this real strong guy needs a wound cauterized and no one will do it because they're afraid of him so they all hold him down instead. H/C stands for hurt/comfort, it's just a story category, kind of like drama or angst but directed more towards getting your favorite character purposely injured like Lance is here.
Your patience is greatly appreciated as I take my time getting new chaps up, I really will try to be quick about it. The action should be starting up again next chapter, but since most of you seem to like the characterizations the best anyway, I may just hold off.
Anyway, hope you all stick around and thanks so much for your great support. Catch you around, Goody!