I live! It lives too! Ok, so I finished my research paper…and promptly good writer's block. The good news is…and I probably shouldn't mention it because it might go away…but I may have an idea for a fourth story, as I do have another planned after this. Anyway, writer's block is gone and finals are almost over which means, another chapter! So, thank you all so much for your reviews, I'm certainly glad you're enjoying this story. There will probably be one more chapter after this and then I'll start on the next story unless some plot bunnies decide to bite for one-shots. This chapter is rated PG for violence, but it's not too bad, I could be worse, LOL. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel..-er..chapter…literally. So, enjoy.
Chapter 5 – A Hero's Heart
Arthur winced as the bandage was pulled tight over his side. "Sorry," Lancelot whispered beside him, quickly knotting the cloth to keep it in place.
"Since when have you started apologizing?" the Roman smirked slightly, trying to lighten the hovering cloud of discontent that had covered the village.
Lancelot snorted, "Since you started admitting pain." The knight's fingers moved quickly over the buckles and leather ties of Arthur's armour. He did not agree with the captain's decision to stand with his men in battle, he was still weak, whether he admitted it or not. Lancelot could tell. But he was also in no place to question, since they were desperate for men. "There," Lancelot announced. He paused for a brief moment, "Arthur-…what will you do if-.."
"What I have to," his friend replied coldly.
Before Lancelot could speak again, the first few raindrops struck about them, hitting their armour with a plunking sound. "Wonderful," he muttered glancing up at the angry sky.
Standing up on the hill overlooking the village was Galahad, his loose curls blowing in the slight breeze, not yet weighted down by the rain. He watched the quiet woods. No birds sang, no creature rustled underbrush. All of his being told Galahad it was wrong and had he not known the Woads were coming, it would have unnerved him to the bitter end. But as it was, in the silence that he was alerted to the enemies presence.
Galahad's young legs took him quickly down the slope into the village. No voices were raised, but everyone knew that the Woads were close. They could feel them.
The forest held its breath and waited. The clouds grew darker, the rain increased in strength. With a battle cry, the Woads attacked. Blue forms merged out of the trees, dissolving from every edge, every corner of the forest. They came like a flood; waves crashing against the barrier of the knights.
In a second, everything moved. Swords became a blur and arrows rained with the drops of water from the sky. Tristan's skilled eye picked out targets and one by one the Woads fell to his deadly bow. Taunting and shouting, Bors brandished his knuckle blades for any man with courage enough to challenge him. Next to him was Dagonet, gripping the massive sword that matched him perfectly. The giant's eyes crossed the field, watching Gawain and Galahad leaving a trail of bodies behind them.
At the edge of the clearing which contained the village, Arthur and Lancelot were holding their own against the Woads. The younger knight's twin swords did not sing as loud, his dark eyes were occupied watching out for his captain.
With the familiar weight of Excalibur in his hands, Arthur no longer felt the pain of his wounds nor the fatigue of his body. His mind was solely focused on this task and no other. Any Woad that approached him was cut down by a mighty stroke, until they ceased coming. But Marcus didn't. He circled around, and Arthur and Lancelot only saw him out of the corner of their eyes before he struck.
A cry left his lips and suddenly Marcus sprung forth, slamming into the Roman, and sending them both tumbling down the sloped bank into the creek. Lancelot ran to the top of the slope just as they were getting up, Marcus circling again like a wolf waiting to feed. The knight tried to run down there to them, but Dagonet was at his shoulder, holding him back. Dark eyes pleaded to let him go. The other knight's grip never softened.
The rain nor the creek and slippery rocks slowed the pace of the battle. Rage burned Marcus' face red; his attack was fierce. On the other hand, Arthur's face was calm, but his eyes were afire. Swords clanged together, sparks flew, even in the falling water. When it seemed that Arthur had the upper hand, Marcus landed a forceful kick square to his chest. Arthur fell back into the creek, Excalibur flying from his hand against the bank. He didn't have time to reach it before Marcus stepped on his arm and held his sword to Arthur's throat.
Suddenly Lancelot broke free from Dagonet's restraining grasp and ran down the hill, plowing into Marcus. The boy growled, edging Lancelot on, "You defend a murderer, knight."
"I defend my captain and friend," he shot back, twirling his twin swords in his hands and then making the first move. Arthur rolled out of the way, panting, blood oozing down his side.
The battle in the creek continued, the other knights coming beside Dagonet to watch their brother in arms below, but none interfered. Picking up his sword, Arthur felt the weight becoming more than he could bare. His arms were growing tired, and he leaned on the bank, trying to gather his strength as Lancelot fought his duel for him. Like the clouds above, a storm settled deep inside him.
Lancelot's right blade slashed down across Marcus' chest. The action only made him more angry, his attacks became stronger despite the blood staining the fabric of his tunic. Marcus was fuelled by his rage; he brought his sword down, slicing into Lancelot's leg. Crying out, the knight stumbled.
The same rage that ignited the boy's attack was mirrored in Arthur's face. Gripping his sword until his knuckled turned white, Arthur lunged at Marcus, pushing him away from Lancelot. Marcus' sword flew from his hand, and Excalibur bit into his side. He screamed and charged into Arthur, once again knocking him into the creek, the sword falling from his grasp.
They struggled in the water, turning it red with blood. Marcus reaches for his dagger, pushing it towards Arthur's throat. The Roman's hands grabbed the boy's wrists, pushing against him. But Marcus, with all of his strength, slammed downward. Arthur moved quickly to one side, the dagger only cutting his cheek. The movement left Marcus unbalanced; Arthur made a reach for the dagger and the struggle started again. Lancelot watched from the bank of the creek, his hand clamped over his leg, as the two men rolled in the water, grasping for the dagger, until finally Arthur let out a cry.
Marcus pushed himself up, triumphantly standing over Arthur. The captain grasped at his left arm, the dagger lodged under the armour of his shoulder, the red blood streaming out into the water. A sinister grin painted across his face, Marcus picked up his fallen sword from the creek and advanced on Lancelot. "So now, Arthur Castus, you will have the same pleasure of watching your loved one die before your eyes," he cried out, loud enough for the knights on top of the hill to hear as well. But his mistake was to turn his back.
Pulling the dagger from his arm, Arthur stood again, drenched in water and blood, stalking towards Marcus. His grey eyes were never the like that anyone had seen before, only glimpses in battle of pure rage and darkness. A shadow passed over them. Arthur grabbed Marcus' shoulder and spun him around. Surprised, the boy brought up his guard, but it was too late to defend himself. He pushed the dagger forward until he would go no further. Marcus struggled in his arms, flailing and trying to escape, to no avail.
Lancelot looked up at his friend, unmoving. The dark red liquid poured over Arthur's hands, the body stopped moving, and yet the Roman's look never changed. Arthur gritted his teeth, still trying to push the dagger farther and farther. "Arthur!" Lancelot cried, his voice sounding as if it were as far away as the clouds.
Marcus fell to the creek, the water washing away his blood, and Arthur stood above him, looking down at his still face. The rage was suddenly gone from his eyes, he stood there, blank. The other knights slowly moved down to them, knowing earlier not to interfere with their captain's fight, no matter what the cause.
The rain had stopped. Villagers dragged blue painted bodies of the Woads off and looked for their own wounded. From the creek bed at the edge of the clearing, the knights returned. Arthur walked stiffly by himself, Tristan supported Lancelot and Dagonet carried Marcus' body.
Victoria looked up as they approached. She was covered in blood, but not her own; she had been helping Antonius with the wounded. Opening her mouth in a silent gasp, she quickly went over to them, taking Marcus' face in her hands and bowing her forehead to meet his in sorrow. When she looked up again, no tears trailed her face.
For a long time she stood, her eyes looking at the ground, not at the face of her son, nor anyone else. The knights left, taking Lancelot to Antonius and the others going to help the villagers with the horrible aftermath of the battle. Arthur remained.
"I knew this day would come," Victoria said softly. "I knew someday you would come and he would do this. I never knew how it would end."
"Victoria…I never meant-.." Arthur started, but stopped as the woman looked up at him.
She looked into his eyes for a long time. "You have taken my husband and my son from me. They were harsh men, they believed in themselves only. You believe in others, you are different. I know that there is no punishment for you because you will carry this on your shoulders for the rest of your life." Victoria paused and looked again towards the village. "We have give sacrifices to the greater good, Arthur. I have given two that I love dearly, as will you. But know this…Marcus killed himself long before he ever threatened you with a sword. Your hands may have committed this, but your heart did not." Turning back to him, Victoria said what Arthur had never expected to come from someone such as her. "You are a hero, Arthur Castus."
He shook his head, "No…no. I am not a hero. I am a man, I am a flawed man, I could never be a hero."
"That is what makes you one," Victoria replied, touching his hand, and then turning to return to help her husband with the wounded. Arthur stood on the field of battle, her words etched in his heart for all eternity.