thank you so much all reviewers! its because of you guys' supportthat i keep posting each chapter.
alright, next chapter: chapter 12 (how ironic is that: chapter 12 on the weekend my team lost in the Big 12 conference...oh well..). only one more chapter to go after this. enjoy!
Chapter 12: Life Anew
Two knights had fallen, as well as many Roman soldiers and peasants. The woads just knew how to hit them this time. Knew the weakness of the fort gate, knew to keep the arrow bombardment going while woads moved into the fort. Tristan, bloody, sweaty and dirty stood somewhat in a daze. The battle had come from nowhere and had just barely been a victory. Just one more fallen knight and the woads might have won. Tristan, Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Dagonet, Bors, Grenham, and Marvlin were now all that remained. What struck them all was the Woads attacking the weaponless, the people of the fort. Some buildings were burning, the gate smashed, smoke polluted the air, and bodies were strewn about. It sickened them all.
The knights walked about the fort, helping those that they could, and surveying the damage done. Lancelot's blood splattered face was a twist of rage, sadness, helplessness—he could not believe they had been so unprepared for the Woads' attack. He thought back to the arrow Arthur had found this morning…and it all made no sense. He saw a woman crying and wailing over the body of a man, presumably her husband, and those feelings surged powerfully through him again.
"gods rest these souls." He said quietly, more to himself, more as a soft plea and prayer. He raised his head and continued surveying, despite searing pain from a sword wound in his arm. He'd been lucky though—compared to many others, his injuries were nothing. Suddenly his breath clenched in his chest, his heart sunk. Dark auburn curls lay mated in the dirt, the pale skin of a face just barely visible, and a dark red stain covering the lower back.
"No…Mirran…." Lancelot took off at a run towards her. He flew to his knees beside her, silently pleading. Her skin felt as cold as ice and no breath issued from her lips. He rolled her gently over onto her back and saw the gaping, still bloody would slicing through her midsection. Lancelot's blood boiled. Too stricken to form thought or word, he looked up, searching for somebody…anybody. Almost immediately he spotted Tristan across the fort. A casual turn of Tristan's head found his eyes locked on Lancelot's overcome eyes, and soon at the figure at Lancelot's knees. Fearing the worst and instantly knowing it to be true in his heart, he broke into a run over to Lancelot, sinking to his knees at Mirran's side, his face a mess of unreadable confusion. Lancelot fought to keep from screaming as he watched Tristan take in her gaping wound and closed eyes that would never open again. He did not even turn around at the heavy footsteps that approached him from behind, not caring who it was.
"Oh gods…." Gawain's soft voice, laced with grief filtered down to Lancelot and Tristan's ears. Tristan had remained unmoving since he'd come to her side. He had promised to find her when the sun set…but then this damned battle—he was supposed to be killed in battle—not her! He closed his eyes tightly and breathed deep, fighting back a growing anger. Slowly, he leaned down to her still face and placed a final loving kiss gently on her lips. Reluctantly, he raised his head, a single tear falling from a dark eye and landing softly on her pale cheek. Only then did Lancelot and Gawain fully understand the lengths at which Tristan loved her, for hardly had he openly kissed her, and never in all the nine years stationed in Britain had any of the other knights ever guessed him capable of crying.
Gawain watched solemnly, feeling involuntary tears springing to his eyes, arms crossed across his chest as Tristan rose from Mirran, his eyes never leaving her. Tristan's eyes sank shut and he breathed deeply as though letting go of every emotion that raged in his heart. A sudden wind picked up, bringing with it a crispness and a cleanness that seemed to wash away the heavy air of battle that hung thickly around them. 'Let me go…I am with you always…tell me now that you hear…tell me now what you see.' Tristan immediately opened his eyes, scanning all around for something to see. Another sudden gust blew through the fort grounds, brining with it a string of fallen leaves—leaves that should have all been buried in ice and snow or already consumed by the ground. He held out his hand gingerly, feeling their rough yet fragile texture and gentle airiness against his calloused fingers. Just as quickly as the leaves had come, they were gone, leaving them all with just a memory…much as it was with Mirran.
His eyes lowered back to the ground. Instantly he honed in on a curiously shaped blade with unmistakable markings. He moved from Mirran, packing ice around his heart and picked up the abandoned dagger. 'Saxon…we should have known…,' he thought darkly and turned to find Arthur, leaving the body that was Mirran behind.
Gawain watched Tristan carefully, noticing him pick up the fallen blade and walk off in another direction, presumably to find Arthur. He turned his eyes once more to Mirran, feeling a tear escape his eye as he knelt down beside her body. He noticed the small wooden cross with a gem the color of her captivating eyes in her loosely clenched hand and could not believe she was gone so easily.
please don't kill me (braces for impact) and sorry so short! and as i mentioned in the beginning, there is one more chapter that follows this and its a bit more happier. but i love bitter-sweet endings, and this story most certainly has one.
review if'n ya want. next & final chapter will be up tuseday morning-early-afternoonish. thanks again reviewers!
