Title: Forever More

Author: Red Pollard

Author's Note: I've finally come back from London and I bought this great book about King Arthur and stuff. I really want to get the facts right. I missed the fricken King Arthur premiere! And it was like two blocks away from where we were staying. The irony is too much for me.

Disclaimer: Don't own King Arthur.

Chapter 8:†Breaking of the News†

By the time Arthur had joined the rest of his knights in the courtyard, everyone was in a joyous mood. Bors sat down next to a tall and very handsome woman named Vanora. Together they had had several children, how many, Bors couldn't remember. But the whole lot of them were illegitimate. This fact didn't seem to bother either of them. Bors pulled the cooing and drooling baby from Vanora's arms and cuddled it in a rough hug. Leaning over, Vanora gave Bors a lingering kiss and a knowing smile before getting up and meandering across the yard.

Nearby, Lancelot was throwing dice with a pair of Roman guards. Laughing he picked up the pile of money which he had won. As Vanora passed, she gave Lancelot a knowing smile similar to the one she had just given to Bors. Lancelot responded with a striking grin and nodded. Bors saw their exchange and began suspiciously checking the baby for any -resemblance to Lancelot.

A short distance away, Gawain and Galahad were hurling knives at a target on top of a turned over table. Galahad's struck the dead center. Tristran sat near them peeling an apple. Once the red skin was lying on the ground, he lifted his knife and tossed it languidly at the target. It struck Galahad's knife right onto the hilt.

"How did you do that?!" Gawain asked, fiddling with his knife.

Lifting a finger, Tristran pointed at somewhere beyond the table.

"I aim for the middle," he drawled.

Suddenly their attention was drawn to Lancelot's dice throwing game across the yard. One of the Roman guards threw down his dice in disgust and stood up.

"You cheated you Sarmatian scum!" he growled.

The guards reached for their daggers but in a flash, Lancelot's twin swords had cleared the leather and were pressed dangerously close to the Romans' throats.

"Speak… I beg you," he taunted with an icy smile. "Speak… so I can cut your heart out and eat it."

Dagonet was crossing the courtyard from Lancelot's side. Seemingly unaware of the Roman guards, he punched one of them aside and shoved the other one onto the ground. Shrugging his shoulders at Lancelot he said, "Sorry to spoil your fun, but they were in my way."

The small baby cuddled in Bors's arms began gurgling, cooing and staring googly eyed up at Bors. Waving a hand towards Vanora, he called her over. An idea popped into his head and on second thought, he turned Vanora around and pushed her gently to the center of the courtyard.

"Sing something for us!" he laughed.

Vanora blushed and shook her head. But the people whose attention she had attracted wouldn't take no for an answer. Galahad raised his goblet to her and cried out, "Sing!" other chorused in until Vanora bashfully obliged.

"Land of bear and land of eagle…" she began, her angelic voice negotiating the waves of the song in a graceful motion. Her song seemed to spread a momentary calm over the crowd, floating from her throat and wrapping all who heard in its spell. All quieted down as Vanora sung. Gawain had momentarily forgotten about the pretty girl he had sitting on his knee, and watched the woman singing, his heart appeasing.

"Land that gave us birth and blessing…" Vanora continued, her bright green eyes gleaming in the dark night.

Tristran sat on the edge of a table, his apple and knife held in his hand. But for that time he looked up and listened. Thoughts swarmed in his head as he thought of his home in Sarmatia.

"We will go home across the mountain…" Vanora crooned her voice growing stronger by the minute.

Bors's heart filled with pride as he looked first from Vanora to the now sleeping baby in his arms. Delicately smoothing a finger across the child's cheek, Bors wiped away a tear that had formed at the corner of his eye.

"We will go home, we will go home…"

Lancelot's expression softened as he forgot all else and stopped to listen to the melodious song. Normally the words didn't touch him but on this day, when he was to be free, he couldn't help but think of finally returning to his family after fifteen long years.

"…we will go home across the mountain…" Vanora concluded with Galahad mouthing the words with her, his eyes closed. Her voice trailed off and there was silence for a moment until—

"Arthur!" Jols said.

All the knights immediately dropped whatever they had been doing. Bors even dropped the baby in his arms in his haste to reach Arthur. The baby immediately began bawling until Vanora scooped him up in her arms and hushed her. The knights gathered around Arthur expectantly.

Arthur gazed somberly at his knights. After a pause he said, "We leave at first light."

Confusion spread throughout the group.

Lancelot said, "Leave?"

Arthur nodded. "Our final mission for Rome will take us far above the wall, where there is a Roman family in need of rescue."

The knights were silent, thinking they had heard wrong. But Arthur remained silent and his statement finally began to sink into their minds.

"Sorry. Must be drunk," Bors said shaking his head. "I thought you said we leave for a mission tomorrow."

"You had better get some sleep while you can," Arthur said looking down at his feet.

Gawain took a step closer to Arthur. "Above the wall?" he cried out. "That is Woad territory!"

"We have our orders," Arthur said quietly but firmly. "And when we return, your discharges of freedom will be here for you."

"But why?" said Gawain distraughtly.

"There are innocent people, a family, trapped in the north. They need to be brought out or they will die."

"Let the Romans protect their own against the Saxons!" he spat, chucking his mug at the wall.

"We are all going to die someday. If it is death at the hands of a Saxon that frightens you—stay here," Tristran said turning to Bors defiantly.

"If you are so eager to die," Galahad snapped at Tristran, "you can die right here! Some of us have something wroth living for."

"A noble death in battle," Tristran said calmly. "That is worth living for."

Dagonet, whose stare had never let Arthur, walked directly up to him. At his large size, he was even imposing to Arthur.

"The Romans have broken their word. Do we have the word of Arthur?"

Everyone held their breath as they waited for a response.

"Yes," Arthur said, returning Dagonet's look with respect and honesty. "You have my word."

That was enough for Dagonet who turned around to face the other knights.

"I will prepare."

Everyone followed Dagonet except for Lancelot and Arthur.

Arthur was deep in thought as he groomed his war horse. Placing the brush down, he groaned once and pounded his fist upon the wooden door. Kneeling down he folded his hands and said a short prayer when Lancelot walked into the stable.

"Pray—to whomever you pray—that we do not cross the Saxons," Lancelot said.

"My faith is my strength Lancelot," Arthur said looking up. "Why do you challenge this?"

Lancelot gestured to the ground and said, "I do not like anything that puts a man on his knees."

"A man does not fear to kneel before the god he trusts," he said staring hard at Lancelot.

"Answer one question," Lancelot said. "Do you believe in this mission?"

Arthur said in a monotonous voice, "These people need our help. It is our duty as soldiers to bring them out."

Fury burst into Lancelot's eyes.

"I don't care about your charge and I don't give a damn about Romans, Britons or this island!" he yelled waving his arm at the land outside the stable. "If you desire to spend eternity in this place, so be it Arthur. But suicide cannot be chosen for another!"

Arthur stood up, his temper growing.

"And yet you choose death for this family!"

"I choose life! For me and then men!" Lancelot yelled.

Arthur did not answer.

"How many Saxons are there?" Lancelot challenged, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips. "How many?"

Arthur looked up but the words would not come to his lips now. Lancelot stepped forward towards him, his cold look mitigating.

"Arthur," he said after a moment, "you fight for a world that will never be. Never. There will always be a battlefield… I will die in battle." he added as an afterthought, nodding his head. "Of that I am sure. And, I dearly hope, a battle of my choosing. But if it be this one, grant me a favor."

Their faces were within inches of each other now.

"Do not bury me in our sad little cemetery back on Badon Hill. Burn me," he accentuated. "Burn me and cast my ashes to a strong east wind."

There was a long silence before Arthur spoke up again.

"They are more important than you know, Lancelot," Arthur said suddenly with a soft voice.

Lancelot looked at Arthur with question.

"If this family is not saved, then Germanus will deny your freedom. No one will be released."

Lancelot looked stunned at the significance of the mission. He turned and walked to the door of the stable, looking out into the night as if to find a speck of hope in the darkening sky. Arthur walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, desperate to make his friend understand.

"Lancelot, tell me…" Arthur pleaded, "…what other purpose do we serve?"

The Saxon army was cast in the deep orange glow of the British village they had just set on fire. Nobody asked the Saxons why they randomly killed, but then, or course, nobody asked the Saxons anything. If you met one, it was safer just to run. No prisoners were taken and Cerdic, the Saxon leader, had made sure that no one had survived. The dreadful moans of the barely alive filled the air as the smell of sizzling flesh staunched the air. Supplies were being refreshed as the many Saxons raided each house and took as much as they could hold. Cerdic sat in the center of the village, surrounded by his bodyguards. He had long, matted, gold hair and a beard of the same color. His eyes were small yet held the same evil intent they had had for the past years. He was known as a leader of great courage and even greater cruelty. His Saxons obeyed his commands without question or hesitation knowing that any uncooperativeness would be met with the same savagery Cerdic dealt with his enemies.

Just behind him, a large rip appeared in the air. It looked as if the landscape had been just a painting and someone had torn a hole in it. Inside the hole swirled dark colors yet the edge of it sparkled a bright white. A leg emerged from the hole as if from another dimension. Following the leg was the rest of Cynric's body. Cynric was his malicious son. Not quite eighteen, Cynric tried hard to impress his father but lacked the fearsome quality that he so desperately tried to project. He had the same cruelty his father had but not leadership qualities. Though on his behalf, Cynric was unaware of the respect his light infantry had for him. Even his lieutenant, Raewald, despised him. He thought that his fellow Saxons viewed him as a great leader. But beneath this veil of arrogance was the only fear that kept him down. The fear of his father.

Cerdic stared at the burning houses around him, a sense of finality swimming over his senses. No matter how many times he ransacked villages, he was constantly intrigued by how the people reacted when in fear. Those who were being lead away in chains still fought to get back to their families. Crying mothers reached out bloody hands towards their children who were crying out in the same suit. He had never understood that concept. But then again, he had never felt a sense of fatherhood towards his despicable son.

Turning he saw Cynric and Andrew emerge from the portal. Throwing Andrew a hateful glance, Cerdic stood up.

"Did you find it?" Cerdic said to Andrew.

Andrew shook his head slowly.

"The old woman must have hid it," he said.

"Did anyone see you?" Cerdic said.

"I—um…" Andrew stuttered.

Cynric elbowed him in the side.

"Ok! Ok! My niece was there. I have no idea where she came from but she overheard us talking."

Cerdic's eyes grew cold.

"Where is she then?"

Andrew shrugged. This only enraged Cerdic more who took few steps to close the gap between them. Cuffing Andrew beneath the chin, he lifted him clear off the ground. Andrew gagged as he clawed at his neck for air.

"I-I—" Andrew coughed, "The portal may have closed without her—I don't know!"

Nearby, one Saxon was tearing at a young British woman's clothes. Cerdic heard her cries above the din and was surprised himself. Dropping Andrew, he went and pulled the Saxon off her he threw the man aside. The woman's eyes filled with tears as she threw herself at Cerdic's feet.

"Thank you my lord…" she wept.

Cerdic looked down at her in revulsion before stepping away.

"Kill her."

As the woman was dragged away kicking and screaming, the Saxon that had been thrown aside stood up rebelliously. Storming up to Cerdic he wavered uncertainly on his feet due to the large amount of alcohol he had just consumed.

"According to the law, no man may be denied the spoils of—"

Cerdic's hard glare quieted the man.

"No man may deny you?" Cerdic said pulling out his sword. "I am no i man /i ."

With a single motion, Cerdic ran the soldier through. The Saxon fell to the ground, writhing as blood bubbled to his lips. His eyes glazed over and he was still.

"Are there any more of you," Cerdic said, "not strong enough to forego a moment's temptation for the future of our kind?"

Cynric stepped forward and said, "Yet you kill our kind."

Cerdic looked around at his men and smiled as if to make up for Cynric's stupidity. Pulling his son close into a bone crushing embrace, he patted Cynric on the shoulder.

"Walk with me…"

As soon as they were out of hearing range of the other Saxons, Cerdic said, "If you question my tactics ever again, I will kill you. I will gut you like a pig."

Cynric shook fearfully and said worriedly, "I am your own son—your own blood."

"I will spill your blood—the blood of my own, as I spilled the blood of my own father."

Cynric just stared at his father in shock, too lost for words.

The next day, the army moved on to another small British village. While halfheartedly supervising the troops, Cynric looked up to see his British scout moving slowly towards Cerdic.

"We are two days from the Roman estate if we camp one night," the scout named Geoffrey said.

"What can we expect between here and the estate besides Woads," Cerdic asked.

"I would expect trouble from this direction," Geoffrey said pointing at a picture of Hadrian's Wall.

"What troops are stationed there?" Raewald said.

When Geoffrey hesitated Cynric commanded him to speak up.

"Sarmatian knights," Geoffrey said reluctantly. "Arthur Castus is their leader."

Cerdic looked up sharply at the mention of Arthur's name.

"Who is Arthur?" Cynric asked, noticing his father's reaction.

"A warrior of great fame. It is said he and his knights have never been defeated in battle," Geoffrey explained.

Cerdic smiled maliciously.

"When I kill him, my fame on this island will rise."

By nightfall, the Saxon army was prepared to leave the village. Cerdic raised his hand and called out to his men.

"Cleanse this earth!"

Immediately, dozens of torches were tossed into huts which bursted immediately into flames. Any remaining villagers were finished off by the swordsmen. When there was not a living soul still remaining, the Saxons moved quickly from the village, the raging fire burning white hot at their heels.

Author's Note: Done with Chapter 8. So tired………..