Author's Note: Hey! THANKS AGAIN TO ALL THE REVIEWS YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE SENT ME!!!!!!!!!! I truly love you all!! You see how quick this chapter came? wink wink, nudge nudge hehe unfortunately, because this chapter came so fast, I don't have time to write individual thanks to everyone, but to all of you, just know that you all made me sooooo happy and you all had a hand in making this chapter come faster!
Again, this chapter is a bit on the short side, but I wanted to end it here because it just felt right in the way I have the entire story set up in my mind......I won't say any more, but trust me-it's better this way! This chapter features JUST Lancelot, but don't worry, the others are coming next time.... Hope you enjoy!!!!!!
Chapter Three
He awoke in a blur of semi-consciousness, jerking out from the oblivion of the dream world as one does when they realize something is wrong. After the initial panic wore off with his increasing awareness, he lay still and analyzed himself and his surroundings. The first thought that came to him was that he as cold. Once that thought appeared in his mind he realized that the cold was unbearable, a cold that penetrated his inner core and worked its way through his body- so much so that he felt as though he was radiating frosty air from his frozen bones.
He realized then that he was lying on the ground without a blanket above or below him. The grass, covered in patches of snow, was soaking into his clothing, which was slowly being frozen by a chill wind that blew down from the night sky above him. It seemed his body had been dumped unceremoniously on the ground in between a fairly large campsite and the surrounding woods. His armor and weaponry had been stripped away, leaving him in sodden, half-frozen boots, trews and long sleeve tunic.
The campsite seemed quiet, the low sound of numerous men slumbering at once drifting over to where he lay. Seeing no sentry on duty, or any man tending the fire, he decided it was his chance to escape. He sat up slowly, but once his head left the ground, it began to spin violently again. His stomach lurched and he felt himself immediately breakout into a sweat. He lay back down quickly and took a few deep breaths to calm his stomach. He had been so intent on the situation he was in that he completely forgot about the way he had been feeling that morning. He momentarily cursed his bad luck, and his pigheadedness-which got him into this predicament in the first place.
After allowing his spinning head to slow, he rolled over and peered over to the campsite, his eyes slowly adjusting to the pitch-blackness of the night. With the aid of the flickering firelight, he was able to make out the silhouettes of the men he was sharing a campsite with. Above the forms of the men he saw a banner planted the hard, frozen soil. He squinted at it for a minute, trying to decipher what was on it, or what it was made out of. When he finally realized what it was he was looking at, he felt the need to retch again. The banner as mounted on a tall post that was crossed with a smaller post near its peak; similar to the cross he had seen so many Christians worship. But what was so horrific about cross was that it was draped with the skin of a human man.
He stared at the dangling empty limbs, which were flapping sickly in the wind, and felt his stomach tie itself into a tight knot. Fear suddenly laid hold of him, its cold fingers wrapping closely around his heart and sending him into a moment of utter despair. The Saxons. He was a prisoner of the Saxons.
When dawn's golden fingers touched the black sky, pushing away the night, he had come no closer to finding a way out of this black state of affairs. He had attempted to escape once more during the night, but aside from his worsening sickness, he had found that his leg was shackled to a nearby tree, dashing his remaining hopes that this nightmare might end before it had even really begun. But now he found himself fighting to stay warm and to remain conscious and wondering what new horrors the day would bring.
It was not long until the Saxons had roused themselves and began to eat. He dragged him self into a sitting position and leaned against a tree, swearing to himself that he would not lose his dignity and would remain defiant throughout the ordeals to come. As he sat and watched his captors sluggishly stuff themselves, he felt a heavy wheezing build itself up in his chest. He tried to resist the urge, but finally it over came him and he doubled over in a bought of racking coughs. When it finally subsided and he looked up, he realized that he had attracted some attention. The men nearest to him were looking more awake and one of them stood and walked over to him. As the Saxon drew close, Lancelot felt his heart sink. He recognized this man. This was the last face he saw before he had passed out on the battlefield. The man whose brother he had killed.
"Feeling any better Princess?" The man asked him in strongly accented British. Lancelot swallowed hard and raised his chin an inch.
"Not really actually. You wouldn't happen to have any soup?" The Saxon stared at him for a moment and then lashed out and struck him hard across the face. Lancelot's head reeled and he stuck his arms out beside him to prevent himself from tumbling over to the ground. As he stared at the ground, attempting to stop his vision from whirling in circles, the Saxon crouched down in front of him.
"You took my brother's life. Now you will spend the rest of yours making up for that mistake." He stood and addressed the rest of the Saxons. "This man's life is mine. If any of you hear him speak out of line again," he glanced back at Lancelot, a cold smile spreading across his face, before turning back to the men and saying, "you have my permission to take his life." He raised his voice to a loud shout. "What's mine is yours-this man killed many of our own, and so he serves all of us!" The others roared their approval and the Saxon turned back to Lancelot, who looked up at him defiantly. "My name is Osric. Learn it well boy-I'm your master now." And he struck Lancelot again (to the joy of his comrades), before striding back to his breakfast, leaving Lancelot's head spinning and his soul darkening with despair.
There you have it!! Review please please with sugar on top!! Thankee kindly....yes, a long thanksgiving weekend with the family HAS driven me mad.....
Again, this chapter is a bit on the short side, but I wanted to end it here because it just felt right in the way I have the entire story set up in my mind......I won't say any more, but trust me-it's better this way! This chapter features JUST Lancelot, but don't worry, the others are coming next time.... Hope you enjoy!!!!!!
Chapter Three
He awoke in a blur of semi-consciousness, jerking out from the oblivion of the dream world as one does when they realize something is wrong. After the initial panic wore off with his increasing awareness, he lay still and analyzed himself and his surroundings. The first thought that came to him was that he as cold. Once that thought appeared in his mind he realized that the cold was unbearable, a cold that penetrated his inner core and worked its way through his body- so much so that he felt as though he was radiating frosty air from his frozen bones.
He realized then that he was lying on the ground without a blanket above or below him. The grass, covered in patches of snow, was soaking into his clothing, which was slowly being frozen by a chill wind that blew down from the night sky above him. It seemed his body had been dumped unceremoniously on the ground in between a fairly large campsite and the surrounding woods. His armor and weaponry had been stripped away, leaving him in sodden, half-frozen boots, trews and long sleeve tunic.
The campsite seemed quiet, the low sound of numerous men slumbering at once drifting over to where he lay. Seeing no sentry on duty, or any man tending the fire, he decided it was his chance to escape. He sat up slowly, but once his head left the ground, it began to spin violently again. His stomach lurched and he felt himself immediately breakout into a sweat. He lay back down quickly and took a few deep breaths to calm his stomach. He had been so intent on the situation he was in that he completely forgot about the way he had been feeling that morning. He momentarily cursed his bad luck, and his pigheadedness-which got him into this predicament in the first place.
After allowing his spinning head to slow, he rolled over and peered over to the campsite, his eyes slowly adjusting to the pitch-blackness of the night. With the aid of the flickering firelight, he was able to make out the silhouettes of the men he was sharing a campsite with. Above the forms of the men he saw a banner planted the hard, frozen soil. He squinted at it for a minute, trying to decipher what was on it, or what it was made out of. When he finally realized what it was he was looking at, he felt the need to retch again. The banner as mounted on a tall post that was crossed with a smaller post near its peak; similar to the cross he had seen so many Christians worship. But what was so horrific about cross was that it was draped with the skin of a human man.
He stared at the dangling empty limbs, which were flapping sickly in the wind, and felt his stomach tie itself into a tight knot. Fear suddenly laid hold of him, its cold fingers wrapping closely around his heart and sending him into a moment of utter despair. The Saxons. He was a prisoner of the Saxons.
When dawn's golden fingers touched the black sky, pushing away the night, he had come no closer to finding a way out of this black state of affairs. He had attempted to escape once more during the night, but aside from his worsening sickness, he had found that his leg was shackled to a nearby tree, dashing his remaining hopes that this nightmare might end before it had even really begun. But now he found himself fighting to stay warm and to remain conscious and wondering what new horrors the day would bring.
It was not long until the Saxons had roused themselves and began to eat. He dragged him self into a sitting position and leaned against a tree, swearing to himself that he would not lose his dignity and would remain defiant throughout the ordeals to come. As he sat and watched his captors sluggishly stuff themselves, he felt a heavy wheezing build itself up in his chest. He tried to resist the urge, but finally it over came him and he doubled over in a bought of racking coughs. When it finally subsided and he looked up, he realized that he had attracted some attention. The men nearest to him were looking more awake and one of them stood and walked over to him. As the Saxon drew close, Lancelot felt his heart sink. He recognized this man. This was the last face he saw before he had passed out on the battlefield. The man whose brother he had killed.
"Feeling any better Princess?" The man asked him in strongly accented British. Lancelot swallowed hard and raised his chin an inch.
"Not really actually. You wouldn't happen to have any soup?" The Saxon stared at him for a moment and then lashed out and struck him hard across the face. Lancelot's head reeled and he stuck his arms out beside him to prevent himself from tumbling over to the ground. As he stared at the ground, attempting to stop his vision from whirling in circles, the Saxon crouched down in front of him.
"You took my brother's life. Now you will spend the rest of yours making up for that mistake." He stood and addressed the rest of the Saxons. "This man's life is mine. If any of you hear him speak out of line again," he glanced back at Lancelot, a cold smile spreading across his face, before turning back to the men and saying, "you have my permission to take his life." He raised his voice to a loud shout. "What's mine is yours-this man killed many of our own, and so he serves all of us!" The others roared their approval and the Saxon turned back to Lancelot, who looked up at him defiantly. "My name is Osric. Learn it well boy-I'm your master now." And he struck Lancelot again (to the joy of his comrades), before striding back to his breakfast, leaving Lancelot's head spinning and his soul darkening with despair.
There you have it!! Review please please with sugar on top!! Thankee kindly....yes, a long thanksgiving weekend with the family HAS driven me mad.....