Sacrifice
By Alone Dreaming
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from King Arthur or anything that is affiliated with the Arthurian Legend. If I did, this would not be posted under fanfiction.
Author's Note: This was a spur of the moment thing. It has not been beta'd and I fear there are a few mistakes in it. Please over look them. I don't think there is anything truly terrible in here. Enjoy the story.
THIS STORY CONTAINS: no slash, no pairings, AU-nature, character death, and mild violence and gore.
'...And if in Your wisdom, You should determine that sacrifice must be my life for theirs; so that they can once again taste the freedom that is so long been denied to them, I will gladly make that covenant. My death will have a purpose....'
They were greatly outnumbered. He had known that from the beginning but now, looking across the frozen lake at the Saxons, he got a true feel for it. There were hundreds of Saxons against himself and his six warriors. No, not six; Guinevere was there as well, and that made seven. Eight against at least two hundred; twenty five men for each man (and woman) in his own small company; it was an almost impossible feat. He could do it though. He trusted his knights. They had seen worse odds and prevailed.
This time they had to win, he knew, as he pulled back the string on his bow and aimed another arrow. There was no choice. If they did not prevail, his knights would not be able to go home. Their papers of freedom completely depended on the caravan reaching the wall in one piece. They had to defeat these Saxons, or at least hold them back long enough to escape. God help us, he thought solemnly as he released the arrow and killed another Saxon. Please, let us escape unscathed. Let my knights and Guinevere go home safely, happily. Let this be but a terrible nightmare they had once. Let it fade. Please, my Lord, I will do anything to make this happen.
The Saxons were continuing their advance and shooting was no longer an option. He and his knights were in range of cross bolts. The ice, though it groaned beneath the weight of the many armed men, did not give as he had hoped. They would have to fight. He glanced over at Guinevere and realized with a touch of fear that she only had a bow. She was defenseless otherwise. Even as he shouted the orders to prepare for combat, he realized that she would have to leave now. Her bravery was excellent but he would not let it turn to foolishness. He would not loose any life in this battle unless it was his own.
God almost seemed against him on this day, working to make sure he would suffer. Fear pierced his heart as he watched Dagonet rush forward with his axe. Immediately, he knew what the big man was thinking but he also realized that his friend was in great danger. Please, no God, he cried internally. Not my knights; anyone but my knights... Please!
"Cover him!" he shouted, picking up a discarded bow and loading it. He let the arrow soar and watched a Saxon fall. It was frightening to know that this wouldn't be enough. It wasn't going to help Dagonet; there were too many men with crossbows. "Aim for those with crossbows!"
He had to do something else. He had six excellent archers here. There had to be some other way to protect his strong, silent friend. My God, please do not take my rock. Lancelot was his best friend, his closest companion, the one who knew his heart but Dagonet was his rock. The times he had been struck down in battle, and thought death was upon him, he had always left his men in Dagonet's hands, knowing that Dagonet would care for the knights.
Grabbing a discarded shield, he bent low and rushed forward. He had to be careful. His knights had good aim but it would be a travesty if an arrow went astray and hit him. The lower to the ground he was, the safer he was. Keeping the shield in front of him to protect himself from oncoming arrows, he made his way to Dagonet's side, hoping that he could provide at least a bit of protection for his brave knight.
He managed to get the shield between his strongest knight and an arrow just in time. The force of it nearly threw him off balance but he kept his feet. Dagonet paused briefly, surprised by the other man's sudden appearance. He said nothing, as was his way, and soon was hacking away at the ice once more. The shield was protecting him just barely, his commander realized, just enough. God, please, do not let him die. Another arrow struck the shield, one meant to pierce the axe wielding Sarmatian's heart. Dagonet continued on but the shield bearer jerked as the arrows came thicker.
"Arthur!" Bors called. "Dag! Get out of there!"
They couldn't, Arthur realized, as he felt another arrow pierce the shield. This was the best way to stop the on coming Saxons. Even the Saxons thought so, for the arrows were becoming increasingly more accurate. Dagonet was making progress though, Arthur knew it. It would only take another couple of swings and they would be through the ice. Then, he and his knights could flee.
A command was issued from the Saxons just as Dagonet brought his axe down a final time. All the remaining crossbow bearers were aiming at Dagonet and Arthur knew he could not protect his knight from the every bolt with the small shield that he had. He could only do so much with what he had. Grasping Dagonet's shoulder, Arthur pulled him back.
It all seemed to occur in slow motion. The Saxons released their arrows just as the ice shattered. Arthur pushed Dagonet to the ground, covering their heads with the shield and the rest of his friend's body with his own. It took an eternity for the arrows to pass over and the few misaimed ones to strike. Arthur felt he had been lying there for years when the last arrow hit. He heard the Saxons screaming as the ice gave way beneath them and he felt the ice starting to shudder beneath himself and Dagonet as well. This was not over yet.
He rolled off of Dagonet and rose to his feet. No more arrows were flying their way but he knew it would only take a few moments before the few surviving Saxons tried again. Dagonet slowly got to his feet, his axe in hand. The ice beneath their feet was cracking and water was beginning to seep up around their feet. A pang of panic hit Arthur's heart. They could not fall into the water now, not after they had survived the arrows.
The other knights were coming towards the two of them as they slipped and staggered towards the edge of the lake. It all seemed a bit surreal to Arthur, almost as though something that should not have occurred had happened. He kept moving forward, sliding on the ever cracking ice and only regaining his balance because of the urgency in his heart. He seemed to be moving so slow but he had to be moving quickly for he could barely catch his breath.
Thank you, Lord, he thought as he looked over at Dagonet. His knight was in one piece, though he had a worried expression on his face. He will be free. They all will be free.
And then he couldn't breathe at all. He tripped and fell to his knees trying to take in enough air. It was as though someone was squeezing his chest, expelling the little bit of air he managed to bring into his lungs. He couldn't stand back up and keep moving. He could barely think straight. His full concentration was on pulling another lungful of air into himself. He managed a breath, but it wasn't enough. His arms were shaking from the lack of oxygen.
Then he was on his feet again, a strong hand holding him up by the arm. Someone tried to make him walk but his legs weren't cooperating. He could not get himself to move. Breathing was so hard; he couldn't spare the energy for anything else. Whoever had pulled him up, he couldn't recall who it was, swung him bodily over his or her shoulder and continued forward.
That's when the pain began. He didn't understand why he was in so much pain but he knew it had to be related to his inability to breathe properly. The ache was in his back somewhere but it spread until his entire body was throbbing. And when he thought it couldn't be any worse, he was shifted off the person's back and set upon the ground. A yelp attempted to escape his lips but it came out as a cough.
When one foul thing finished its course, another one was more than ready to take its place. As soon as the first cough escaped his lips, he found that he could not stop coughing. His body was revolting against him, clearly displeased about something he had done. The coughing was bringing something up, for something warm passed through his lips and ran down his chin. And for a brief second, he could breathe again. It wasn't for long. Just enough to get in a few wheezing gasps before another spell of coughing hit him.
Someone had his hand and was leaning over him. Worry creased the person's face and whoever it was, he appeared to be speaking. Those lips were forming words that he could not understand. He thought it could be reassurances but he wasn't sure. The only word he was sure of was his own name and that was slowly becoming foggy to him as well.
Blackness began to take over the edges of his vision and the pain became distant. I've been hurt badly, he thought in a vague manner. It didn't bother him this time though. In the past, he had often felt nervous or displeased about being hurt to this extent. Now, he felt strangely comforted that it was him and not someone else. And then, the pain came back full force, and he fell into the darkness that was calling him.
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"Arthur," a voice called gently. "Arthur, you must wake up now. No more time for sleeping, dear." A cool but comforting hand touched his face. "Arthur, child, you must open your eyes now."
The voice, though gentle and loving, was firm and his eyes opened. He was lying down on a grassy field near a lake he had not seen in a very long while. The blue waters rippled gently but there was no breeze. The green grass he was lying upon did not move. Above him, the sky was perfectly clear and the sun was shining warmly on his face. The entire scene called him to sleep once more but he could not. He had to figure out who the voice was.
A woman's face appeared in his line of vision. He felt that he knew her but he couldn't recall ever meeting her. He knew that he would remember her if they had ever crossed paths for she had a very unique face. Her face seemed very young, but at the same time was filled with a great deal of knowledge. Around her eyes were lines that showed she was very careworn but at the same time gave the impression that she smiled quite a bit. Long golden hair reached down to her shoulders and her eyes were an outstanding blue color. The same as mine, he thought. Her eyes are as mine are.
"Do you feel better?" she asked, and for the first time he realized that his head was resting in her lap. "You were hurting very badly before but you don't seem to be in pain now. Is everything well?" A hand lightly brushed his cheek.
Nothing seemed wrong and he could not readily recall anything being amiss beforehand. Frowning a bit, he tried to remember how he had gotten to this place but recent events escaped him. "No," he said. "No, I feel alright."
She laughed softly, and Arthur wasn't sure he had ever heard such a beautiful sound before. "I did not think so. I wasn't sure if I was correct but I felt no pain from you. I wasn't sure if it would be different now that we are together."
He blinked and slowly tried to sit up. She helped him, supporting his back until he seemed to be balanced. He felt very weary and he wasn't sure why. The woman sat next to him quietly, white robes covering her modestly. The grass didn't seem to stain them as Arthur thought it might have. In fact, it seemed to add to the cloth's whiteness.
There was a moment of silence before he decided to voice his confusion. "How did I get here? Who are you?"
The woman smiled and rested her head upon his shoulder. "I brought you here. It was my job to bring you here when your heart failed and your lungs stopped. My duty from your birth was to take care of you, to try to avoid that day where you would pass on for as long as possible. Any time I could, I was supposed to protect you from death, to bring you back from the brink." Curious eyes looked up at him. "Do you not remember me from the last time you were here?"
"This is a place from my childhood," he whispered. "But you are not a person from my past."
A giggle escaped her, "Oh but you silly person, I am a part of your past, your present, and your future. Do you know me?"
Arthur could only shake his head. "I do not know you, or how I came to be here. I-" And then what she said struck home. "Am I...dead?"
She sat up and took his hand, lightly tracing scars there. "It was my job to bring you here when your body could no longer stay fit within the world. Are you upset with me?"
How could he be? He did not even know who she was yet she seemed to know him so well. "No, if it was my time to pass, then it was my time to pass."
"Oh but it wasn't supposed to be," she sighed. "You were supposed to live so much longer. But, the Master heard your earnest prayer and granted your wish. He wished to take the one called Dagonet whom my sister watches over. He took you though, for you said you would give your life for your knights' lives."
Sister? This creature had a sister. He turned to take a better look at her and noticed something new. Around the region of her shoulders, there was something sparkling. Something was outlined there but it did not seem to really be there at all. He tried to figure out what they were but couldn't.
"Your back glows," he murmured, reaching out to touch the glittering air.
She drew back slightly as he reached out but did not cower away as he touched the air. Something soft met his fingers, something familiar. Feathers; there were feathers beneath his fingers. He looked down at the woman who smiled innocently at him and came to a new realization.
"You are an angel," he cried.
She corrected him, "I am your angel, not just any angel."
"You are far too beautiful to be mine," he said, in awe of the situation.
Perfect white teeth glowed as her smile broadened. "Angels only reflect the nature of their human's soul. I am beautiful because you are beautiful," she put a finger to his chest, "in here."
He looked away, feeling suddenly ashamed. How could something so beautiful and pure think him good on the inside? He had been fighting for a Rome that did not exist. He had killed hundreds of people to protect a kingdom that held foul morals. He had done terrible things when he did not even realize who he was actually doing it for.
"You are," she said, reinforcing the idea. She took his chin and let him look into her eyes. "You are a good person, Arthur, and never forget it. I would not be the way I am if you were not good. A good person has a beautiful angel. A bad person has a dark angel. An angel is only as its person is. I am as your soul is inside."
"A woman?" he joked softly.
A chuckle escaped her. "No, pure and lovely." Laughing. "You are most definitely a man on the inside."
"That is comforting," he remarked. "For I would hate to have spent so many years thinking I was a man and not be."
"Oh Arthur," she cried, flinging her arms around him. "I will very much miss watching you laugh and joke. I will miss your loving smiles and your happy looks. I will miss you sitting with your men. I will miss your prayers of thanksgiving, of mercy, of support, of help, of hope, of fear! I will miss your commanding air! I will miss how you were so gentle and yet so strong! I will miss it all!"
He frowned. "Will we not be able to be together now that I am here in heaven?"
She put her face into his chest and whispered, "This is not heaven but a place before heaven. I will be able to come with you but in heaven things are different. It will not be as it once was. Things that used to matter will be superfluous and things that always seemed distant will become very important. I will not be able to watch you as I once did."
He sighed and rested a hand upon her head. An ache had formed in his chest. There was something he needed to know but he did not want to ask. He simply wanted to sit here with this strange angel of his and – well, he could not think of anything else to do. He was tired, so perhaps he could sleep. The question was pressing on his mind and he had to relieve it, even if it hurt.
"I cannot remember," he began stroking her hair, "what happened. I remember crossing the ice and sending the caravan ahead but everything blurs there." He heard her sigh. "You were watching. You know what happened. I must have died when we faced the Saxons but.... my knights, are they all well? How- how did I perish?"
She did not respond right away, her eyes looking at the lake. "You were pierced by two arrows. One went through your middle and damaged you there. The other went into your chest and poked your lung. You could not breathe and you were in so much pain. It was very terrible. Your knights are as well as they can be."
Worry filled him and he questioned her again. "They are not injured, are they?"
"Not of the body," she answered, staring at the water. "But their hearts ache for they have lost their commander and they feel very....alone."
"But," he paused, not knowing how to respond. Had he not forced them on another mission? Had he not hurt them by taking them away on the day of their freedom? "I- I betrayed them. I made them go on a trip they did not wish to take. I made them risk their lives on a journey that was not theirs but Rome's. I nearly led them to their deaths."
She let go of him and looked him in the eye. "Oh, Arthur, do you know why they followed you? Don't you realize that they never cared what Rome thought but what you thought? They would have followed you to their deaths not because you were their commander but because you were their friend. You loved them and that was all that mattered. They knew that you would care for them no matter what occurred. Whatever the cause was, if it was yours they would gladly take it themselves. Everything they did was because they loved you, Arthur, and now, they mourn because they loved you."
Then he remembered the helplessness. The inability to breathe and how he had no strength in his body. He remembered how someone had to drag him off the ice and how he was carried out of range of the Saxons. He remembered shouts and fear. He saw his six surviving knights bending over him, chaffing his hands and calling to him. He saw their sorrow when they realized he was gone.
A tear rolled down his face and he saw that his angel was weeping as well. "I didn't get to say goodbye."
"I know," she whispered. "And it hurts me and you."
"I," the tears were coming faster and heavier. "Could I-"
She stood up and took his hand. "I knew you would ask," she commented, tears still streaming down her face. "And that is why we are still here. You can and you will. It will hurt us but it is worth it. You tell them what you need to but then that is all. You will have a hard time talking, you must understand. Thoughts will be hard to put together. Anything you planned to say will vanish. Maybe, goodbye is all that you will be able to formulate. I don't truly know but just remember; I'll be at your side. I always am. You will see your friend's angels but you mustn't speak of them until you are ready to go. After all," a soft laugh escaped her, "your knights already think you are a bit mad."
"You will not leave me?" he questioned, though she had already denied it.
"You will see me sitting with you," she whispered. "I am always there."
And suddenly, the ground melted from underneath him and he fell into the water. He could not swim in it. It was thick and dragging his limbs down. He felt his hand grasp hers and received a reassuring squeeze. And then the darkness was back to take him away.
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He was coughing and gasping once more, struggling to get in the air he needed. Every breath hurt and took so much energy that he could literally feel himself weakening. His eyes were closed and his body was aching with cold. All the pains that he was sure were simply bad memories were haunting him once more. A soft moan escaped his lips and he tried to keep himself from crying. He did not come back to be weak, he came back to say goodbye.
Prying his eyelids open, he saw a blur of people leaning over him and heard many voices talking. No, they weren't talking. They were shouting in a panicked manner. Hands were touching his face and rubbing his hands. Someone was snapping at someone else and a third person was trying to stop the two from fighting. Funny, he mused. I leave them for but a moment and they fall to bickering.
"Galahad, Bors," he mumbled, his voice weak even to his own ears. "Hush."
And then everyone was quiet. The person who was rubbing his one hand immediately grasped it tightly and leaned over him. He knew who it was, even though his eyes refused to work properly. It was so strange. Though he was in the pain his angel had warned him of, he felt he was thinking very clearly. A cough escaped him and he felt bad that he had sprayed the person with blood. A pierced lung seemed to be terribly nasty business that he was glad he would never have to worry about again.
"Arthur, don't speak," Lancelot said, fear lining his words. The normally witty knight was clearly very scared. "You need to save your strength."
Oh, my dearest friend, he mourned. Please do not be upset with me. I know that you are worried and will not accept the truth easily but please, please do not argue. Be strong, my Lancelot, for you always have been for me, even in times when you have felt second best. You have always stayed by my side, even when you doubted our friendship.
He thought he was smiling but he wasn't sure. A comforting presence was nearby and sent him encouragement. "I will not save strength when a cause is helpless," the Roman replied in a calm manner. "I am only here to say goodbye."
"Don't say such things," Galahad spat from somewhere nearby. "You will be fine."
"I won't be," Arthur said, feeling his strength rapidly leaving him. A warning was issued to him; a mental jolt that he had very little time. "Please, let me speak."
"Listen to him," Dagonet commanded and Arthur could not have been more grateful. Had he more time, he would have argued all day with his knights on whether he would live. But now, the sands of his life were slipping through his fingers and he was sure that he would not be able to say all he wanted before life fled him.
He searched around with his eyes and found that he could see somewhat better than he could before. He rested in Dagonet's arms with Lancelot holding his one hand and Gawain holding his other. Galahad was at Gawain's side, his eyes closed as though he was near tears and next to Lancelot, Bors squatted. Arthur wasn't sure but he thought he could see a tear upon the large man's face. Tristan knelt at his feet, his face unreadable. Tristan would often get such a look when he was dealing with feelings he would rather not have.
"I-" Oh, where to begin? Now that he had so little time, he had no idea what to say. His angel had warned him of this. She had warned him he would forget what to say to his knights.
"I am sorry," he said softly. "I am sorry for," a cough tickled his throat and he found himself hacking. Blood came to his lips. "I am sorry for bringing you here. I should have forced the Bishop to give you your papers instead of giving in and bringing you here. Please forgive me."
"Don't apologize for things which you have no control over," Gawain said firmly, squeezing his hand. "Save your energy for things more important."
"I have little else to say that is important," Arthur murmured, coughing a bit more. Someone wiped the blood away. "Please, bury me with the others, so I, like my father, can be with my fallen soldiers. Enjoy your freedom. Go home, all of you. Don't stay here; I know how much you hate it. Lancelot," he could not see his friend. His vision was too dark. "Go home. Live a life for me and if," he could not laugh for it hurt him, "it involves bedding Gawain's wife, please don't be foolish. Wait until Gawain is not home." He thought he heard a chuckle but it sounded more like a sob.
"You aren't going to die," Lancelot argued. "You can live your own good life. Stop speaking as though these are your last moments here."
He didn't have the time or the strength to argue. "Gawain, you may lock Lancelot up if you must. If your children do look like him.... well, allow him to watch over them. I'm sure that will be enough punishment."
"If they are even half as foolhardy as he is," the blonde replied, squeezing Arthur's hand. There were tears falling from his eyes. "It will be a worthy punishment."
"You promise not to take his life?" Arthur joked.
Gawain gave him a watery smile. "You have my word, Arthur. I may lock the brute up and torture him but he will not die by my hand. But I may keep Galahad around to take care of such business for me."
Arthur closed his eyes tightly as a fresh wave of pain hit him. He had to finish. The darkness was calling him back. This time it was going to be permanent. This time he would not be able to come back. He had to get this done now. "Then you shall take care of Galahad for me too?"
"I would not trust him on his own," Gawain responded. "He would do something impulsive."
Galahad's voice, though cracking, jabbed, "I am here and I can here you. Worry not, Arthur," a new hand was wrapping around his and Gawain's. "I shall make sure both these idiots do not die."
"I would expect no less," Arthur gasped, his breathing growing harsher. "Keep Lancelot away from Gawain's wife?"
"You have my word," Galahad said with a slight hitch in his voice. He pressed his forehead to Arthur's hand. A broken whisper escaped him. "Please, don't leave."
He had no time to tell his youngest knight that he had no choice. He had to say all his goodbyes. "Name the children, Bors. We all grow weary of remembering numbers."
"Is that all you have to say to me?" Bors growled in his manner gruff. Arthur knew it was to cover up the pain. "You're stronger than you think. As soon as we get those bloody arrows out of you, you'll be as good as new."
Arthur could not even shake his head. "Marry your lover. She needs a good strong husband. Move back to your homeland, away from Saxons, Romans and Woads. Settle down, start your own village and stay safe."
"You," Bors paused and turned his face away. "You have my word, Arthur, as always."
"I know," Arthur mumbled. His voice was growing so much weaker. He could barely form the words in his mind and get them through his lips. "Tristan....."
The quiet killer stood up and moved around until he was standing right behind Gawain. He nudged Gawain out of the way and stared Arthur in the face. Arthur could not see him clearly enough to see Tristan's expression but he assumed it was blank; as always. Tristan leaned over and placed a gentle kiss upon his commander's forehead.
"Waste not your time on me," he whispered into Arthur's ear. Arthur felt something wet drop onto his face. "I know what you wish to say. Save it. I promise you that I will do as you want." Another gentle kiss was planted upon his head. "You have my word, my oath, and my loyalty, Arthur."
He listened to Tristan and trusted him. He always trusted his tracker. It was becoming so hard to speak now but he only had a little more to say.
"Arthur, please," Lancelot pleaded, his hand shaking. "Please, don't give in to this. You can survive this. You've been through worse. Do not leave us now, not when we've finished our last task."
It was a request he simply could not comply to. When he listened to his friends' broken voices he wished he could but that didn't make a difference. His body was shutting down.
"Dagonet, protect them. Be what I can no longer be," he finished, feeling a strange sense of relief hit him.
"You have my word," Dagonet replied firmly. "Now rest."
And Arthur slowly started to comply. He could hear more begging but his mind didn't decipher the words. Instead, a new sort of sight came into his eyes and for the first time since he had come back, he could see his knights' desperate, hurting faces. However, those faces were not what caught his attention. Instead, what he saw were angels. There were six of them, each with their arms wrapped around his brave knights. They were all different than his own but gorgeous all the same. And at his feet, where Tristan was sitting before, his own angel stood, holding out her hand.
"I see," he choked out, "angels.....they will help you through this...."
And he reached out, grasped his angel's hand and left, knowing that his knights would prevail as they always did.
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The End
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Please review if you enjoyed it. I want to know if I should write more stories.