Title: Forever More
Author: There once was a scrawny little Thoroughbred named Seabiscuit. He was understated in every possible way. But one day a jockey that understood the cruelties of their life brought him to victory. That jockey was Red Pollard. Their determination and courage inspired a young girl, whose other name is now in memory of them. Hehe. Not really just felt like saying that.
Author's Note: Hello everybody. How do you like it so far? I'm kinda pulling at straws when naming the chapters so please forgive me if they are bad or….in other words suck. I can't believe I'm on Chapter 14. I guess strange compellations and obsessions drive you to this extent. Oh and guess what. This is really random but today I went volunteering and a poked a screwdriver in my eye. Don't ask how, but rather why? Hm… indeed. Why did I poke a screwdriver in my eye? I swear to god I did though. Oh and I decided that I would add a sort of Tristran/Kera and Kera/Lancelot thing. Makes things much more interesting.
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur. King Arthur do I not own. King Arthur I have not and King Arthur that shall never be mine. (Kera tis mine)
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Chapter 14:†Resting for the Night†
Lancelot urged his dark bay into a gallop down the trail. Maneuvering precisely through the procession of villagers, he finally found himself riding next to Kera and the now sleeping boy.
"Kera," he said. "Arthur is not a bad man. He treasures each one of their lives as if it were his own. He only wishes to travel faster so that the Saxons will not catch us from behind. They draw nearer every second we speak."
When he got no answer he leaned over and placed a hand on her shoulder to turn her around.
"He is tired."
Kera spun her head towards him, her pale eyes staring daggers into his face. He was shocked to see the large purple circles around her eyes, her face looking gaunt and old.
"So am I Lancelot!" she cried, drawing the attention of Dagonet who sat just inside the covered wagon which held the sick or too weak to walk on their own. "And so are they!"
Arthur had pulled up his hood around his head so that Kera would not recognize him. Yet even though he rode only several feet ahead of her, he heard everything she said. Hanging his head, the words that lashed from her mouth stung as they rained down onto his back. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gritted his teeth and held back from the tears which he refused to shed. Dagonet noticed him, even though his face was nearly hidden within the shadows of his hood.
"Come Arthur," he said. "Rest for a moment before you continue on."
Arthur was too tired to complain and with a feeble nod, slid into the wagon. Dagonet sat near the opening of the wagon, in his arms slept the small boy named Lucan. Dagonet pulled his cloak over the slumbering boy's body and looked up to Arthur with solemn eyes.
"How is he doing?" Arthur asked, nodding towards Lucan.
Dagonet shook his head, his eyes dark and gloomy as he stroked the hair on the boy's head fondly.
"He burns Arthur," Dagonet whispered.
Lucan gave another shuddering sigh as his whole body shook in the cold. Dagonet quickly unclasped his cape and covered the boy even more so that the only thing that could be seen from underneath the layers of blankets was his small head. Arthur sat next to Lucan for several more moments before making his way to the back of the cart. There the girl lay, covered in many blankets. Her arms rested above the sheets, and Arthur saw that her fingers had been wrapped in torn cloth. He reached out to examine her hands but she recoiled, sitting up and pushing herself into the corner. When Arthur continued and picked up her hands, she made no motion but stared all the while into his face, trusting him every step of the way.
Peeling the strips of cloth back, he saw that her fingers were purple and bent at an odd angle.
"They dislocated your fingers," he explained, taking a firmer grip on her hand. "If your fingers stay like this you will never be able to use them again. I must push them back into place."
Kera and Lancelot rode near the cart when a peal of cries emerged from underneath its cover. Lancelot peered inside to see the girl pressed up against Arthur's chest as he in turn pushed each of her limp fingers back into their sockets. The girl hissed loudly and gasped as the pain rippled up her arms. When the ordeal was over, she collapsed against him, her breath completely knocked from her chest.
The girl somehow found the strength as each of her fingers were relocated and moved her face closer to his.
"I am Guinevere…" she said, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "You are Arthur."
He nodded and swallowed. After a moment, her firm grasp on him loosened and he gently lowered her back into the blankets. Leaving the cart, he remounted his steed, averting his eyes from Lancelot, and rode on ahead.
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Upsettingly, it did not seem as if the snow would let up. No one rushed or slowed as the snow continued to flurry down. Nonpareil would occasionally toss her head and stick out her tongue, trying to catch a snowflake. Kera smiled at the horse's antics. As she rode on silently beside the wagon, she saw the young woman named Guinevere situate herself at the wagon's opening. Around her was wrapped a thick coat of furs. Kera shivered just looking at it, silently envying the girl's warmth. Guinevere was probably several years older than her yet Kera was probably taller. She had always been tall to start off with.
Fulcinia crept towards Guinevere, wary not to tread upon Lucan and handed the girl a piece of bread. Guinevere smiled her thanks and bit greedily into the bread. She spotted Kera watching and ripped off a piece of bread and offered it to her.
"No thank you," Kera declined and watched hungrily as Guinevere shrugged and popped the bread into her mouth.
After a moment of silence, Kera spoke up, her arms still cradling the young boy whose name was Thomas.
"I heard you are Guinevere," Kera began uncertainly, "the one that Marius placed in prison for refusing him."
Guinevere wrinkled her nose at the mention of her tormentor's name.
"Marius," she spat. "He was a pig-headed fool. Never could see past his own nose. Cares for no one but himself. Even his wife is behind him."
"Do you have no other family?" Kera inquired.
Guinevere chewed on another piece of bread thoughtfully before answering.
"I have no mother. Or none that I ever met. My family has broken up and I have not seen them for the longest time. In that prison, you can't tell the difference between day and night. All you have to count on is that you will die just like your cellmates around you. You have no idea what it is like to sit down there, the smell of the dead rising everyday and you know that one day, you will be contributing as well."
She stopped herself, looking a bit embarrassed yet furious at herself by being carried away. Kera pursed her lips and willed Guinevere to continue.
"I tried calling out. Maybe one of the monks would take pity on me. Maybe he would see that Marius was a fraud. But the monks were as good as dead. My only friends were the rats which scurried around my feet and bit at my fingers. Whenever there is rain, it floods terribly. The stench of decay is mingled with the water and I would some days sit ankle deep in filth. We are not given any food and after several days without sustenance, it gets to everybody. Even the strongest of men are beaten down by his cruel ways. Oh the cries…" she trailed off. "Sometimes they yell so loud that even when I press my hands to my ears, I still hear them. And even now, now, I can hear them."
"You know that boy?" she said. "Lucan they call him. He was strong. But he is only a child. He wailed for hours until his voice grew hoarse. His mother was in the same cell as him. She had died long before her boy realized it. He held her dead body and cried until he slept."
She had run out of things to say. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and she hurriedly wiped it away.
"I am sorry. But what is your name?" Guinevere asked.
Kera let everything she heard sink in before she answered.
"Kera. My name is Kera."
And with that she kicked her horse lightly in the flanks and turned away.
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Arthur continuously found himself thinking of Guinevere. When he finally returned to the wagon, Kera had long left its side. Guinevere still sat at its open, the small morsel of food quickly disappeared from her fingers as she fed it to a goat that followed.
"How are your hands?" he asked when he had reined his horse in.
With a sly smile she said, "I will live. I promise you."
"I have heard so much of you," she continued, turning her chin up so that the snow lighted upon her freckled cheeks.
"And what did you hear?" Arthur said, a bit uninterested.
"Fairy tales," Guinevere replied. "The kind you hear about people who never exist. People so brave and selfless they cannot be real. Arthur and his knights. A leader both Briton and Roman. Yet you gave your allegiance to Rome—to those who take what does not belong to them. The same Rome that tore your men from their homeland."
Arthur whipped his head around, unprepared at her bold comments.
"Do not pretend to know anything about me or my men!" he snapped at her firmly.
"And how many Britons have you killed?" Guinevere said, unfazed.
"As many as tried to kill me," Arthur said lowly. "It is the natural state of any man, to want to live."
Guinevere smirked.
"Animals live! It is the natural state of man to live free in his own country!" she replied smugly. "I belong to this land. Where do you belong?"
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As night fell over the caravan, Arthur became uneasy for it was incredibly difficult to see where he was going. Nearby, Bors and his horse slipped ten feet down the slope as they skidded along a rectangle of ice. He quickly regained his poise but stayed where he was to make sure none of the villagers would make the same mistake.
"We will sleep here and take shelter in the trees," Arthur said. "We move out at dawn."
Some people sighed with relief after the exhausting days trek while others complained.
Lancelot protested, "We should keep moving."
"And spend tomorrow burying bodies?" said Arthur. "No, we will give them rest."
Arthur said, "Tristran, I need you to go out again."
Tristran nodded. "Gladly," he said. "Better than freezing to death in my sleep."
As Tristran turned his dapple stallion, he spotted Kera talking to an elderly woman. After several seconds of converse, Kera nodded and gently lifted the young boy, Thomas, from the saddle and handed him to the woman who tearfully brought him back to a tent that had already been set up. Kera sighed and turned her eyes towards Arthur and his men and caught Tristran's eyes. She smiled shyly before looking away and towards the mountains.
Lancelot sat nearby and saw her smile at Tristran. He instinctively flexed his hands but after taking a long breath, turned his back towards her and tried to forget everything for just a moment, willing sleep to come.
"Care to come with?" Tristran asked.
Kera looked startled for a moment but nodded and followed him at a brisk canter. She felt awkward, but at this moment, it seemed as if the only person she could connect to was him. Guinevere had her eyes set on Arthur and she could sense it. Bors and Dagonet were still a mystery to her and she hadn't really spoken much to Gawain or Galahad before. Then there was Lancelot. She chuckled to herself. She couldn't pinpoint what Lancelot was feeling. He always seemed to have some sort of shield up when around her.
After a while, Kera found herself becoming more serene, her breathing growing steady to the constant beat of Nonpareil's hoof beats. They rode noiselessly side by side until the trees cleared away and the ground ended abruptly forming a steep drop of a hundred feet. Below was a vast frozen lake. The last rays of the sun shimmered off the glassy ice. Two separate valleys grew on either side of the lake.
"We will have to cross that," Tristran mumbled.
A look of alarm filled Kera and even her mare could feel her unease. Tristran smiled comfortingly and placed a hand on Kera's cheek. Turning her face several inches to the side he whispered, "Look."
Above in the sky, a vague form of a bird circled overhead, its wings spread out to its full length. Letting out a call, it quickly folded its wings back to its side. Kera gasped as it began to plummet. At first it just fell through the air, but as it neared the lake, it began picking up speed. Like a speeding bullet, the air around the bird seemed to bend as it nose-dived towards the ground. At the very last second, when it was within inches of the ice, it spread its wings out skillfully and skimmed the ice slowly, its talons tucked safely away.
The sun began to drop away, the reds and oranges mixing in with the black, leaving one very beautiful light show as it shimmered off the ice caps of the mountain. The bird flew its way vertically up the cliff until it was hovering before Tristran and Kera. The sunlight shined a colorful outline around the bird, making its wings seem to double in size and majesty.
"It's beautiful," she whispered as the hawk obediently landed lightly on Tristran's outstretched arm.
Cooing, the hawk preened herself carefully. Tristran grinned and brought the hawk nearer to Kera. She stretched out a hand warily towards the bird.
"Go on, it's alright. She won't bite. 'Less you're a Saxon," Tristran said.
Kera's fingers brushed against the hawk's neck feathers and the hawk let out somewhat of a sigh and nuzzled her head into Kera's hand. Kera bit her lip and beamed, happy to not have been bitten. The sun finally disappeared behind the mountains, spreading darkness over the land. The two of them began to ride back to camp when Tristran stopped cold in his tracks. Kera had to yank a bit harder on the reins that she had intended to keep from crashing into him.
"What is it Tristran?" she said, aware that she was whispering.
Somewhere in the far distance, came the very faint noise of drums. Both of them knew what that meant.
Saxons.
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Back at camp, Lancelot had tried to block out the sounds as Kera and Tristran rode off to who knew where. He wasn't normally a jealous person, but ever since he saw her stumble out from the trees, bloody yet strangely beautiful, he had felt that it was his job to protect her, whether she needed it or not. Turning on his side, he pulled his cape up over his neck and tried to settle in for the night.
Hearing a rustling noise, he quickly threw back his cape and stood up, but only found that it was Galahad who had just appeared from the trees. He sat down next to Lancelot, his elbows resting on his knees.
"Who is that girl?" he asked Lancelot.
Lancelot frowned and stared at his feet for a moment. Almost everyone had approached him since they saw him rush from the banquet hall to see if she was alright. After chewing on his lower lip methodically, he explained to Galahad how he had found her and so on.
"So do you fancy her?" Galahad laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, that's a rhetorical question. Lancelot, that girl is different. Not like that Guinevere or all those other Sarmatian beastly women. Hold on to her for you never know…" he paused dramatically. "Tristran is always on the prowl."
Lancelot snorted in disgust and stood up. Turning away he began to walk away from grinning Galahad when he found himself looking at the wagon. A small gust of wind blew open the canvas door which covered the opening of the wagon. Inside rested Guinevere and Fulcinia. Her head inclined towards Lancelot, Guinevere sat gloriously naked, her long hair draped over her back as Fulcinia meticulously scrubbed the grime from her skin. Lancelot swallowed and looked away but somehow found himself shamefully looking back. Guinevere saw him but did nothing as slowly, layer and layer of grunge was lifted from her.
As the flap fell back closed, Lancelot finally tore his stare away and found that his brows had broken out in a sheet of sweat. Hurriedly wiping it away and found a place to sleep. Arthur sat nearby, his back hunched up against a tree as he tried to keep himself awake. Lancelot's eyes began to grow heavy as the hours without sleep and days filled with stress began to settle in. As it neared midnight, he found himself restless. Taking his water flask he took a quick drink he saw Guinevere suddenly slip into the trees. Her eyes were focused on something that only she could see.
Not long after she vanished into the shadows of the undergrowth, Arthur stood up and followed. Lancelot spotted him retreating after Guinevere and bitterness flowed through him. He suddenly blinked back in shock. Mixed feelings were twisting all inside him and he felt as if he was betraying his original feelings. His thoughts swam back to that feeling when his horse was clawing at the loose earth of the hill as he made his way up the hill to see that presumably young girl appear from the trees, her eyes wide with fright at what she had just experienced. He himself did not hold such a great hatred for Woads as Arthur did but he could only imagine having to face them on his own.
Where was she exactly at this hour? Tristran had not returned yet. Sighing, he closed his eyes and lay down at the base of a tall oak tree. Taking a quick glimpse around the camp, he saw Dagonet resting on his side underneath the makeshift tent that was set up next to the wagon with Lucan curled in his arms. Bors was lying on his back near the fire, thunderous snores every so often winding from his mouth. Gawain was sleeping near his horse who had decided to lie down after the long days march. Galahad was sitting up against a tree, his arms still resting on his bent knees, his head bobbing as he wavered in and out of the dreamland.
Sighing, he decided that he would visit that land himself and save all worries of women and fighting to the morrow.
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Author's Note: The ending was a bit strange but I guess it was okay. Now to Chappy 15.