Took long I know, but I found out this weekend that at university they actually make you do work, I was pretty shocked myself. I should just start a fanfiction school or something, become an entrepreneur, screw university. Anyway, here's the next chappy, enjoy. And if you don't like angst, run along because this is where the good stuff comes. If you do like angst (like me) pull up a chair, grab some popcorn and scroll on down.
Fields of Battle
By Goody
"You're not well, I don't know why you insist on not resting," Alex commented as he watched Lancelot lay out the contents of his saddlebag. The healer's apprentice had been told the knight was asleep again and he could check his wound and temperature but when he had arrived at Lorin's home he found Lancelot to be very much awake and uncooperative.
"And I don't know why you insist on pestering me, it is no concern of yours," Lancelot replied, deciding emptying out the entire bag would be the easiest way to find his lost glove. In truth he had been resting only minutes before the boy arrived. After eating a hearty supper with Narian he had found himself near exhaustion once more; the blood loss had been trying enough before, but the fever afterwards had also drained him and though his wound was healing it still made movement and even breathing a trying chore. He had returned to Lorin's house and slept for several more hours; it was now dark and he was determined to take his shift at watch with Galahad and Narian.
"Perhaps it is my concern," Alex said, surprising Lancelot from his own thoughts.
"And why should I, a stranger, be any concern of yours?" Lancelot enquired.
Alex seemed hesitant for a moment and crossed his arms, "Well, I am a healer …"
"Healer's apprentice," Lancelot pointed out.
"Yes, a healer's apprentice and it's my duty to be concerned for my patients and …"
Lancelot waited for more, "Yes?"
Alex sighed in defeat and confessed, "I was told if you were not recovered and healthy by a certain time it would be my head."
"So, you are only concerned for me because my good health ensures your good health," Lancelot chuckled. Alex nodded and the knight seemed to truly look at him for the first time as he placed an affectionate hand upon the boy's head. "Self preservation, now that I can respect."
Alex smiled and asked hopefully, "So, are you going to rest?"
"Not a chance," Lancelot replied swiftly. "But I will see your life is spared if my health becomes questionable."
"That's fair," Alex said continuing to watch as Lancelot sorted through his gear, returning some to the saddle bag and laying most of it to wear. His armor, gloves, scabbards and swords were all there and he put them on piece by piece. When at last he reached for the twin swords Alex asked, "Why do you have two?"
Lancelot smirked as he twirled them and then placed them on his back, "That is a long story."
"I'm not going anywhere," Alex replied, his curiosity about the knights once more getting the best of him.
Lancelot looked at him and seemed to weigh the boy's sincerity. When it was clear he really did want to know, the knight motioned that he should take a seat. The boy sat at the edge of the bed and Lancelot removed his twin swords once more.
"I was about your age, eighteen I think, and under the command of a Roman legionnaire, Biretor. Now, Biretor had a brother who was a legionnaire of the same rank …"
But while Lancelot sat with Alex, regaling the boy with his coming of age battle story, Narian and Galahad remained outside on watch. They had sent their horses to the stables a few hours ago for some needed rest while the two knights remained near the road on foot, ever watchful of the village and any signs of their comrades. So far there had been nothing and as the last light from the sun vanished, they found it increasingly hard to keep watch.
"I'm going to go get a torch," Galahad said, turning back to the village. Narian nodded and stayed where he was looking towards the road.
Galahad walked casually into the village and found Lorin sitting with an old woman in front of a small home.
"Oh, good sir knight, I was just discussing how kind it is for you and your companion to keep watch over our village," Lorin said, his smile as open and thankful as it had been all day.
"It's no trouble, we don't do much else," Galahad explained.
The old woman's eyes became saddened at this and she stood to walk to her door, "Would you like to come in for a drink or something to eat?"
Galahad shook his head, "No, I will stay on watch, I'm in need only of a torch."
"Of course," Lorin said, and motioned for the woman to fetch one. She retreated into the house and came back with the needed object, unlit.
"Here you go," she said passing it to him. Her eyes were motherly with concern, "Be careful and make sure you get some rest eventually."
Galahad was not accustomed to such concern and stuttered over his reply, "Um, I will … thank you." Then he walked to an already lit torch across the street to light his own off of. The tip caught quickly but he did not turn around. A snapping noise to his right caught his attention and he froze, listening for it again. His eyes scoured the trees as his right hand unsheathed his sword. Another snap and he drew his head to the left, then there was another at his right again. Knowing that he was in grave danger, he slowly began to back away, his footsteps taking him back to the home Lorin sat in front of.
Upon seeing the knight walking back towards him, Lorin stood up and called to him, "Galahad is something wrong?"
The young knight knew better than to take his eyes off the trees and was about to reply when he heard another snap followed by an unmistakable twang.
"Get down!" Galahad shouted, dropping to the ground just in time to feel the air rush past his face. But Lorin was an old man and his reflexes hardly existed anymore; he had barely turned his head before the arrow lodged itself deep in his throat. His eyes rolled back, and a final futile hiss of breath passed through Lorin's lips before he fell to the ground, his blood only the first to be spilt that night.
From the ground, Galahad saw the kind man fall, "Damn it."
The old woman screamed in horror and grief, alerting and rousing the entire village. She ran to Lorin's side but it was far too late to offer comfort or support. Galahad grunted in anger and shot to his feet. Armed men were emerging from the trees now, smirking confidently. Some were strolling, as if choosing what to kill or destroy was their way of window shopping.
Screams came from everywhere and Galahad knew that the thieves were not only before him but all around the village. Women and children ran to find cover or shelter and he saw men picking up their farm tools to use as weapons. Most had no skill in battle, many had never wielded a blade, but they fought for their homes and were brave. Galahad saw their fearlessness and it fueled in him a new passion for battle. It was a passion he would be able to test out at once for he quickly found himself bombarded with enemies, all rushing forward to engage and kill him. Clearly he was the main target of their attack but he was ready for a fight.
The front men in the line did not stand a chance against his sudden rage, blood was spilled and limbs were hacked, but as the first of the thieves died more appeared and surrounded him, attacking one or two at a time. Galahad fought off each strike but killed few of them. There was simply too many and every time he moved to strike one down always a new man appeared just in time to deflect his killing blow, or his opponent simply moved from reach and another struck out. They were toying with him, knowing he would tire before them and could then be overtaken, and they were correct.
Meanwhile, inside the now late, Lorin's home, Lancelot's story was interrupted by the screams of terror coming from outside.
"So I pulled the swords … what was that?" Lancelot and Alex ran to the nearest window to peer outside and were both fuelled with emotion at the sight before them; Lancelot with rage, and Alex with fear. Men were emerging from the trees, lines upon lines of them, all with weapons and torches, clearly bent on destruction.
"Bastards, they followed us," Lancelot hissed, taking out his swords once more and stalking towards the door. Alex ran in front of him, his eyes terrified and voice panicked.
"You can't go out there; there's too many, they'll kill you," he exclaimed with certainty.
"They've tried that already and did not succeed, now move, unless you want to watch your village burn before you," Lancelot replied, pushing the boy out of the way.
"And when they kill you, who will save us then?" Alex asked, angry at the knight's arrogant behavior.
Lancelot actually stopped in his tracks and turned around, facing the boy and sizing him up, "Perhaps you will. How fast are you?"
"Average for my age," Alex replied honestly.
"And all the more faster when fear courses through you, I would guess," Lancelot said. He stared deep into the young man's eyes to convey how important his next words were, "You will run then, through the back way and into the forest. Do not let yourself be seen by the men attacking your village. When you think it's safe, find the road and follow it south. Five knights will eventually come past, tell them what is happening and bid them to make haste back here."
"But … but I cannot just leave my home and run," Alex protested; he did not want to fight, or know how, but fleeing seemed cowardly and wrong.
"There is little you can do here, my friends and I will protect all we can for you. This task is more important than any you would do here. But it is your choice, I cannot bend your will and I have no more time to convince you," Lancelot did not wait for the boy's reply. He turned and left the house, blades twirling and seeking out foes to destroy.
Alex stood for a moment, watching in disbelief as Lancelot left the somewhat safe home to engage in what appeared a hopeless battle. A scream came from outside and almost Alex ran towards it, but it was followed by a terrifying battle cry, clearly belonging to Lancelot and the young man was finally convinced that the knights would defend his home with all their strength, and better than he ever could. Taking a dark cloak from the closet, Alex slipped out through the back door, staying crouched and low to the ground. He did not see any more men passing through the trees and thought all the murderers must have now poured into his village, his home. A brief glimpse of flame caught his eye and a hint of smoke but he could not turn back now; he fled into the forest as fast as his legs would carry him. All his life he had longed to meet the legendary Arthur and now, as he ran, he wished nothing more than to encounter the brave knight, but it was no longer for the reason of boyish curiosity and wonder, it was for the survival of his home.
Lancelot trudged through the battle. His form was not perfect and his blows were not at full strength, but they remained deadly. One by one the outlaws charged him and one by one they died. He blocked an overhand strike with one sword as he impaled his opponent with the other, but as the man fell almost did Lancelot. His energy was failing him and breathing was becoming difficult, all due to the damn wound in his side. He breathed for a moment and steadied himself but his head shot up when a familiar battle cry caught his ears. Galahad was several houses away, parrying and slashing but taking down none of the men that had circled around him. His pace was intense, almost desperate. The younger knight knew he would be overtaken if he did not make a move quickly and kill at least a few of his attackers. What he needed was an opening to break through the tight circle, and luckily, Lancelot saw this as well.
An unsuspecting thief suddenly ran past Lancelot. The man was completely unaware of the knight, his focus was only on the young woman he chased, but he quickly noticed Lancelot when he grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him back. The man choked for a second, then recovered and faced him.
"What the hell …" the man began, immediately confused by the arrogant smirk on Lancelot's face.
"I'm sorry, but I need your help." Before the thief's confused look could deepen Lancelot ran him through with his sword, then he brought the impaled man with him several steps down the road, nearing Galahad's position. Lancelot's fiery eyes met the thief's dying ones as he took him again by the shirt collar, "Hope you have good balance."
Then Lancelot threw the man's body into the circle of men around Galahad. Three fell to the ground under the weight of the corpse and most of the others turned to see the cause. Galahad seized the offered opening and the man nearest him quickly lost his head. The next he sliced through the stomach. Then he spun to stop a blade from behind and exchanged blows for a moment before sliding his sword through another man's chest. When no more opponents rushed at him, he spun around to see a winded Lancelot had killed just as many of the murderers. They were clear of enemies for the moment but both could see the new lines of men forming to surge at them once more.
"We cannot win this fight," Galahad said. No fear was etched in his voice, he stated only what was obvious.
Lancelot smiled, not caring, "That's never stopped us before."
Galahad returned his grin and they both lifted their swords high and ran forward to meet their enemy.
Both knights fought with all their strength and courage, but Galahad had been right, it was a fight they could not win. Again the mercenaries used their strategy of wearing down the knights until they could no longer hold off an assault, only now they made sure both knights were kept separated and occupied.
Galahad eventually fell to the overpowering odds. Though several bodies lay at his feet, his strength eventually began to wane and as he blocked a stroke of a sword from the front, from behind two men tackled him savagely to the ground. He held on to his weapon and tried to rise but the two bodies on top of him pinned him and the men around him began to pummel him as his sword was kicked from his hand. Defense was impossible, almost so was breathing as boots and sword hilts struck him in the head, back and chest, so Galahad resigned himself to saying his prayers and good-byes in his own mind, knowing the end would not be far.
If at full form Lancelot may have overcome the great assault against him. His twin swords allowed him twice the defense and a great number of bodies littered the ground around him, but he could not deny the weariness seeping into his bones. The arrow wound he had suffered had not killed him immediately, but the after effects of the following blood loss and fever could very well be his end. As he laid an almost weak strike against another's sword he did not notice as he left his midsection open for assault. Surprisingly, it was not a blade but a fist that found its mark in his stomach, directly over his healing wound. Immediately the air left his lungs and his knees buckled. Before he could regain his senses, strong hands and arms were pushing him down, forcing his defeat. Boots found his ribs and back, hands struck his face, and fingers tried to pry away his swords from his unyielding grasp. Eventually pain overwhelmed him, his hands lost their grip, and unconsciousness, and probably death, were only a few more blows away.
Suddenly the hands and feet attacking both knights stopped and their blurry minds could vaguely hear the voice of their salvation.
"I said keep them alive you idiots! If you've killed another one of these knights I swear it will not be long until you join them!"
Eviran stomped towards the first circle of men around Galahad. His strong frame allowed him to easily push the men away, knocking some to the ground. Galahad lay almost motionless and Eviran kicked him to ensure he was still alive. When Galahad coughed and weakly rolled over the mercenary leader's lips curled in a twisted form of a smile.
"Good, tie him up," Eviran said, moving on to Lancelot as Galahad's arms were wrenched behind his back and tightly secured.
Since the assault had paused Lancelot had managed to roll onto his stomach and with great effort had pushed himself to all fours. Eviran approached and sneered at his persistence.
"Valiant fool," Eviran chuckled and pulled back his foot to strike again. But Lancelot refused to fall and when the blow came near he grabbed the leader's foot and twisted the ankle harshly, knocking the big man to the ground. Unfortunately Lancelot had no more energy to continue the assault and after grunting in surprise, Eviran kicked him viciously in the side of the head from his place on the ground. Lancelot fell to his back, his vision fading in and out but not disappearing.
Eviran stormed to his feet and slammed his boot into Lancelot's ribcage. If the knight had been capable of coherent thought he would have known a rib had been cracked but in his state he merely rolled with the kick and gasped for air.
"Stupid bastard, string him up, over there!" Eviran ordered. Men scrambled to fill his request, eager to see what their vengeful leader would do to the knight. Lancelot was hauled to his feet and dragged; he was more upset that he could no longer hold himself up than he was worried about his punishment. The men led him to a metal pole in the village square, made to hold torches to light the dark street.
Lancelot's wrists were tied together in front of him and the rest of the rope was thrown over the metal branch of the pole and secured tightly. Eventually Lancelot was hanging from his wrists, toes only barely touching the ground so his feet could take none of the pressure off his arms. He made no sounds of discomfort but he hurt all over and wondered where unconsciousness was hiding itself.
"Now you'll learn what pain really is," one thief whispered to him gleefully as he secured his arms.
"If it's not the stench of your breath I don't know what it may be," Lancelot replied smoothly. The man dared not strike him without Eviran's permission so instead he viciously pulled the ropes tighter around the knight's now bloody wrists.
"Thanks," Lancelot mumbled sarcastically, his fingers already going numb.
Eviran walked at the head of a group of men and moved to stand in front of Lancelot. The knight knew he was not an impressive sight; he was bloodied and bruised and breathing was becoming difficult but that did not mean he would bow his head in defeat to this tyrant.
Just then, two smiling, blood soaked thieves intercepted Eviran before he reached the knight.
"Round up's done. Hardly anyone made it out to the woods; they won't survive long anyway if they did. Most of the men are dead and the women are all being put in that farm house," the man explained, pointing down the road.
"Good, I'll be there later," Eviran said. He was the only man of any power in their group of thieves which meant he had first pick of women and treasure, but after he made his choice the others could do what they liked with all that was left. But Eviran had enjoyed women and riches every night for the past few months and he did not hurry to the farm house to seek pleasures of the flesh; tonight was his night for revenge.
"So these are the mighty sarmation knights we are supposed to fear so badly. You're not that impressive to me," Eviran noted, sizing Lancelot up and making his men laugh. "Not very bright either I'd say, fighting for a lost cause; I suppose you can teach a dog to fight but you can't make it any smarter. Guess that's why there's so few of them left."
Lancelot gritted his teeth and then changed to a mocking smile, "Speaking of which, your own numbers are looking slightly thin; shouldn't you have some more men?"
Fire ignited in Eviran's eyes at the mention of the losses he had suffered from Arthur and the others in battle. Moving swiftly he struck two satisfying blows to Lancelot's face and then a third to his midsection.
The strikes to his head barely phased him but the blow so close to his now open injury caused new levels of pain in Lancelot; his entire body tensed and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Eviran noticed this and lifted up the edge of his tunic curiously.
The big man chuckled, "That's a nasty arrow wound you have there; it must cause you all sorts of pain." Still laughing, he dug his thumb into the gaping hole in the knight's side, pulling at still healing flesh, and relished in the screams of pain to come. But there would be no screams from Lancelot.
Though his head was thrown back and he nearly bit through his lip, no sound escaped the knight's mouth except for a throaty hiss and his deep, labored attempts at breathing. Eviran's anger intensified when Lancelot refused to submit and he pushed deeper into the wound but still the knight would not scream.
Just a few yards away Galahad had been dragged to his feet as well and was being pulled towards his comrade and the mercenary leader. Though his strength was lessened and his body was bruised and bloodied, it was not broken and when the haze of pain lifted from his mind the first thing he took sight of was Lancelot holding back a scream of pain at Eviran's hands. As always with Galahad his first reaction was anger, and with it came a rush of adrenaline that fuelled him. He surprised the two men holding him up when he shouldered his way free and then kneed the first in the stomach and head butted the second. Both went down and he attempted to charge towards Lancelot and Eviran, planning on snapping the big man's neck, but had barely made it a step before four more men were on top of him, striking and subduing him. He went down once more, but with a fight, shouting and kicking at those attacking him.
This drew the attention of most of the men and even Eviran turned from his victim to see what was happening and shouted at his men to get Galahad under control.
"You worthless scum, can you not even hold a man down? Tie his feet if you have to," he suggested.
Lancelot collapsed at first and took the opportunity to take in several deep breaths but did not take too long a respite. He knew he could not allow Galahad to draw the attention of all these men to himself, for it would surely mean the young man's death, or at the very least serious injury which wouldn't do either of them any good. Eviran and another man stood in front of Lancelot, watching the group of thieves try and subdue the enraged Galahad. With a quick breath, and an idle thought wondering how they always got into these situations, Lancelot took a strong grip on the rope holding him up, lifted his feet in the air and wrapped them around the neck of the man in front of him.
The thief did not get the chance to yell out or make any sound at all before Lancelot snapped his neck; it was only the sudden movement and the sound of bones cracking that caused Eviran to turn around swiftly. Wasting no time, Lancelot released the dead man and just as quickly ensnared the mercenary leader. Eviran brought his hands up swiftly and managed to keep the strong legs from breaking his spine, but he could not escape the knight's strong grasp and no air reached his lungs.
Lancelot gritted his teeth in satisfied determination as he tried to gain more leverage so he could snap the man's neck. Unfortunately his actions had not gone unnoticed by all and before Eviran had run out of air strong fists descended on the knight. Some hit his back, others his face but still he did not release his hold on the evil tyrant; it took three men to pry each leg away and only then did Eviran escape his grasp.
The blows stopped as the men waited to see if Eviran was all right, and if he was, what was to be done with the knights. It took the big man a moment to catch his breath and Lancelot looked to Galahad; his feet were now bound as well as his arms, his face and body bruised. His eyes still burned with fire but there was little energy left in him to fight as he lay forced on his stomach as two men pushed their knees into his back to keep him still. Though his vision was hazy he had no choice but to look at his fellow knight and when their eyes met Lancelot shook his head, clearly telling Galahad not to fight anymore. The younger knight's brow furrowed in confusion and defiance, for he could not stand by idly as his comrade suffered, but Lancelot shook his head again only now an arrogant smirk touched his features, as if he was enjoying the situation or winning some sort of battle.
The smirk quickly vanished though as a fist struck his jaw, snapping back his head.
"You stupid bastard! Who do you think you are? You are beaten, accept it! You are fallen!" Eviran shouted, taking hold of Lancelot's hair to look into the knight's eyes as he spoke. Anger could almost be seen radiating off him in waves as he struck the knight again.
Lancelot pulled his head back before he could register the pain and hissed out, "No."
Eviran actually halted, his dark eyes amazed to have heard such defiance as never reached his ears. Lancelot noted his surprise, and first spitting blood from his mouth continued, "Destroy my body all you like, but I will not be defeated, especially not by an ignorant savage that ..."
Another blow kept him from finishing but Eviran was so taken back by this insolence to his power that his reply seemed weak and desperate, "You talk too much, you feeble excuse for a warrior."
He took a moment to breathe and in this time his anger changed from a sudden lightning strike to the beginnings of fire that emerge afterwards, starting as a simmer and eventually consuming and destroying everything.
"Do you want us to tie his legs too?" asked a man to Lancelot's right, holding out a piece of rope at the ready.
Eviran spotted a shovel on the nearby ground and picked it up, testing its weight. Hefting it up and smiling he said, "That won't be necessary."
With a calculated step forward he slammed the handle end of the shovel into the knight's torso, stealing away any thoughts he had of breathing for the next few minutes.
"Hold his leg," Eviran ordered to a man behind Lancelot. Smiling in anticipation the man knelt down and took a strong hold of the knight's right ankle. Lancelot did not try to kick him away for the grip on his leg seemed most insignificant compared to his extreme need for oxygen at the time. Because of his sole focus on obtaining air, he did not see Eviran turn the shovel so he held the handle firmly, did not notice the men backing away from him, did not hear Galahad's cry of warning and did not sense the rush of air as Eviran pulled back the instrument. All he felt was the shocking, stabbing strike of pain that erupted from his leg and this he felt acutely, in all its unforgiving fury. The feel of the sharpened edge slicing through the flesh of his ankle was clear, the force of the blow ricocheting through his body was horrible, and the sound of the bone beneath snapping was hideous. Suddenly there was air in Lancelot's lungs but it was quickly gone as he could not hold back a scream at this unexpected attack.
The scream was short as Lancelot forced it to be cut off as soon as it reached his own ears and instead he gripped tightly the ropes suspending him from the pole and concentrated on breathing and staying conscious. Galahad was cursing profusely somewhere in the distance, cursing the thieves to hell for their dishonor and so forth, and he focused on the younger man's voice, using it to stay rooted in reality.
"There, that should make you behave for the time being," Eviran seemed proud but did not relish in it for long; just as quickly as it had come his smile vanished and he was deathly serious once more. With one hand he took a hold of the knight's chin so he may meet his eye and with the other he hefted up the shovel once more, clearly in warning, "now though I begin to tire of you and your petty crimes against me, so I'll ask you this once and you will answer me now – where is Arthur?"
Lancelot gritted his teeth and tried to breathe, Gods that had hurt like nothing else. He would not be able to walk, even if they did somehow get free, but that possibility was not looking good. Concentrating on the present though, he continued his defiance of Eviran when he replied, "Never heard of him."
Eviran's grip on his jaw tightened, "Do not play games with me! Your captain, where is he?"
"Have you checked up your …" again Eviran's fists struck flesh, cutting the knight's reply short. The shovel was hefted once more but Lancelot's body was spared from further punishment as a voice came from behind.
"The Wall! He's heading back to the Wall!"
Eviran turned sharply looking almost surprised as his eye fell on Galahad, as though he had forgotten the younger knight was there.
"The Wall? And why is he going there?" Eviran asked, taking a step towards him.
Behind him Lancelot appeared to tremble with rage at this outburst and fought against his bonds as he yelled, "Shut up you traitorous filth, do not say another word!"
He was struck hard in the stomach for this and Galahad flinched noticeably for him. Eviran stepped closer again and kicked Galahad in the side for not yet answering him.
Think fast Galahad, he urged himself as he rolled with the blow. "He went ahead with the others to report your annihilation to our superiors; we thought we killed you all, accommodations would have been in order."
"So he went to claim the glory while you were forced to stop here with your injured burden," Eviran surmised, pointing to Lancelot. Galahad nodded from the ground, appearing broken and defeated but inside he was smiling. Fool believes me.
"Then I guess I have no reason to keep you alive at all," Eviran added, pulling out his sword and lifting it above his head.
This time Galahad's fear was real and his mind scraped for a life saving lie as the blade began to descend towards him, "Four days!"
Eviran halted, his sword an inch from the knight's throat, and quirked an eyebrow as if waiting for more.
"Four days, he said he would be back in four days if the three of us hadn't returned by then," Galahad rushed out, his eyes firmly fixed on the blade hovering over him. Eviran seemed to be considering the words and weighing their truth.
"You worthless rat, I'll have your head after I cut out your betraying tongue!" Lancelot once again exclaimed his anger. "Arthur gives you his trust and this is how you repay him you coward?!"
Eviran turned at this and saw Lancelot shook with honest anger, that he did not know was really aimed towards himself, and smiled, feeling victorious with this new information. Then his look became mocking as he leaned over the younger knight, "Three? I think you mean two, don't you? My men got a bit, ahead of themselves." A path formed in the group of thieves and a man in the back kicked an object forward. All eyes were fixed on it as it rolled towards them, and Lancelot and Galahad fought against their restraints once more, screaming in fury as the head of Narian slowed to a stop in front of them.
"Bastard," Lancelot hissed, as Galahad seethed silently in his own mind.
"I know. Well, it looks like we're staying a few days boys, let's settle in," Eviran chuckled as he looked at the still seething Lancelot and then changed his course to the tavern down the road. "First we can find out if this town has anything worth drinking."
The men holding down Galahad wished to follow as well so Eviran ordered, "Tie that one up with him, and you two, watch them."
"What? They're tied up, they're not goin' to do nothin'," exclaimed one of the men Eviran had ordered.
The mercenary leader grabbed the man tightly by the collar, "You'll do it because I said so, so no drinking. You watch them, and if they get away you'll be hunting them down yourself, without the benefit of all your limbs. Understand?"
He threw the man to the ground, who got up swiftly, nodding, "Yeah, we got it."
Galahad was dragged forward and thrown to the ground by the pole Lancelot hung from. After a few more kicks to keep him subdued, the men cut his arms free and then retied them around the pole. He was left sitting on the ground and no sooner had the men backed away then another kick struck him in the temple, this one from Lancelot.
"You villainous little worm, Arthur will walk right into their hands! You'll burn in hell for this!" Lancelot hissed, ensuring his words were laced with real hatred.
Galahad pulled away to the other side of the pole, out of Lancelot's limited reach and muttered, "Last time I try and save your life."
The men watching over them chuckled, as did the few that had yet to leave to find some other form of entertainment. Lancelot kept up the verbal abuse for a few minutes more for believability's sake, but soon exhausted himself. The lie had been well portrayed by Galahad and himself, both in timing and words, and he was thankful to the younger knight for his aid. But for now, he hung limply, Galahad beside him, trying in vain not to let his gaze wander to the decapitated head of Narian only four feet away. He and Galahad hadn't mentioned the other knight during the fight in hopes that their friend had escaped, and they did not wish to risk his discovery, but clearly their hopes were useless, for Narian had fallen early under the surprise assault by the mercenaries and now they could only pray for his soul.
When some time had passed and the thieves all became occupied, including their guards who sat across the street deep in conversation, the knights spoke.
"That was fast thinking, they won't be expecting an attack now when Arthur returns tomorrow, and from the south at that," Lancelot said, his face down so as not to draw attention and his voice only loud enough for Galahad to hear.
"Thanks, I'm told I work well under pressure," Galahad replied, trying to put on a lighthearted smirk. "By the way, you're an idiot."
"Yes, the physical torture wasn't nearly enough, please, feel free to abuse me verbally as well," Lancelot said sarcastically, not really feeling up to talking at the moment.
"I gave you an opportunity to be ignored and recover but instead you immediately drew the wrath of these men even more. It was stupid."
Lancelot shook his head ruefully, "How are you?" he asked strangely, with no hint of concern.
"I should be asking you that," Galahad sighed.
"How are you?" Lancelot repeated more forcefully. "Can you walk, run, could you fight if needed?"
Galahad considered it, he was bruised badly, and bleeding but there was nothing broken – with rest he could fight fairly well.
"Yes I can fight," Galahad answered.
"Well I can't which is obvious, so if we want to have any hope of getting out of here alive one of us is going to have to be in fighting form. So unfortunately, that means you," Lancelot explained, seemingly impatient but mostly just frustrated by the situation. "So, if me getting a few more bruises will help us get out of here, I gladly accept."
Galahad nodded in understanding; it was true, Lancelot would not be able to fight if freed, he probably couldn't even walk Galahad realized as he took a closer look at the shattered ankle; the cut was deep and bleeding and the bone underneath undoubtedly broken. Lancelot was strung up high enough that his feet just barely touched the ground, but even so the knight was keeping all his weight on the left, the right was kept in the air.
"How well are you tied?" Lancelot asked after a pause. Galahad pulled at the ropes; no give.
"Quite well actually," he replied. Lancelot nodded and looked around, as if an escape plan would simply present itself if he looked hard enough. He tugged at his own ropes vainly which simultaneously put pressure on his shattered ankle and pulled on his injured side; his eyes closed for a moment as he tried to breathe through the pain and nausea this caused.
Galahad flinched and though he knew Lancelot would not want to answer him, asked, "Are you going to be all right?"
"I'm fine," he replied through clenched teeth.
Galahad scoffed, "Last time you told me that I struck you for lying."
"Well then, it's a good thing I'm telling the truth," Lancelot smiled arrogantly but his eyes showed no joy. Both knew he was lying, he was far from well, he could not walk, had lost more blood than ever, and just then he coughed rather weakly as a chill passed through him from being exposed to the cold night air.
On the ground, Galahad said nothing and stared forlornly into the distance for long minutes pondering what their fate may be; would Arthur arrive shortly? Did these men intend to kill them? Was escape possible? All this he wondered but few answers came forth. Then suddenly his heart sank even lower at the sight before him and he prayed more would not come, but they came. Sighing, he looked up in disbelief as another raindrop fell, this one striking his cheek. Many more soon followed, falling faster and harder. You have to be kidding me, he thought disgustedly towards nature.
"I suppose saying things couldn't get any worse would just jinx us, right?" Galahad asked ruefully, looking up at Lancelot. But Lancelot gave no reply; he hung unconscious from his bonds, oblivious to all, with pure rain running over him and then falling red at his feet.
"Yes, you're fine," Galahad sighed and tilted his head back, as always accepting the rain and hoping things would be better come dawn.
TBC
Hmmm, perhaps they should get rescued. Then again, maybe not, peril looks good on these two. But I suppose you'll all be wanting to see Arthur and Tristan and them again? Fine, they'll be here next time. Hope you all enjoyed that though, it was very fun to write. Anyway, to those fabulous enough to review:
Evellon – wow, that had to be THE most creative review I've gotten, perhaps ever. At first I honestly thought it was some weird type of email, but it was most delightful and kind of desperate sounding, which made me smile. Quirky I would call it.
Yavanna – You were right about the fight starting, good call. There's only a little Alex in this chap but his portion of the story is not over.
Trinity Day – I know how it is to find a new chapter and review before you read it, or are coherent, so that's totally fine.
PadawanMage – Well really, if I didn't have cliffhangers, would you be coming back for more? Honestly?
Camlann – Oh, you said such nice things and then I went and killed the character you liked. I'm sorry. Thank you so much for your kind words, it feels weird to be the one that gets people into fanfiction, but I guess someone has to. Hope you stick around without Narian.
Elessar King – Man, everyone loved that line. If you're waiting for Tristan he's in the next chapter but that definitely won't be out until after Thanksgiving (Canadian)
Holliday1081 – What an insightful review, thank you for putting so much into it. Those were all my favorite parts too, what you pointed out. Your review especially sped this chapter along, so thank you again.
Jemiul – Romance? No, nothing like that, just friendship for me. Arthur will arrive eventually, whether he will be in time only time can tell. Or me, but I'm not telling so you'll have to wait for time.
Shauna – Wow, talk about being on the ball with the predictions, good call. Reading in class huh? I do that sometimes, but usually when I check my fave stories there's no update, but just in case there is, you really must read mustn't you? Hope this came out quick enough, thanks for the lengthy review, especially during school.
Templa Otmena – You review everything so closely it is really helpful, I'm glad you enjoyed the scene transitions, it's good for a writer to know what works as much as to know what doesn't so I'll probably keep using those. I'm glad everyone likes Alex, he's been … interesting to write.
Ashley A – such high praise from someone that has given so much to this fandom, thank you. I pride myself for action and I'm glad you're enjoying it.
And if I forgot you I'm sorry, I'm trying to post this before I leave for home for Thanksgiving weekend where I will have no internet. Anyway, don't know when the next chap will be but it will have Arthur, Tristan and the others as well as probably some more Lance and Gala angst, cause I'm enjoying it. Anyway, later, Goody.