Well, I've finally got an update written for all of you! Thanks for everyone who reviewed, it really means a lot. I've started the next chapter, but knowing me it'll take a bit before I've got it good enough to post up. So don't expect a new chapter too soon, sorry! This chapter is just kind of one of those... you had to write it kind of chapters, where I was inbetween writers block and everything, so please bare with me! I'll make sure the next chapter is better!
The Voice Within: Thanks so much for reading! I still have to read all of your story, but I'm getting to it, don't worry! And actually, I kind of go from the movie... so everything doesn't come from my head, lol. So a lot of the lines in my story are from the movie, such as the heaven ones, and like... I think basically the whole conversation between Guinevere and Lancelot, but not all of it! You should rent the movie and watch it, it's very good; although slightly disappointing... because I saw the movie right after I read The Mists of Avalon. Anyways, (I could type forever) Thanks for reading, and I'll review your story soon!
Keelin: Thanks for reading! I try to make it as interesting as possible, for myself as well as all the readers ;) I hope you like this chapter!
dw: Thanks for reviewing, and I know exactly what you mean; I read a lot of the stories here but then just can't always bring myself to review, I very much blame my laziness. But thanks for reading! Galahad is one of my favorite characters, so I had to stick him in the story, hehe.
Okay! Enough of my ramblings... here it is!
Chapter 4, Death of A Knight
"Dag!" I yelled, my head snapping in horror as Dagonet went down, a slash to the side without even so much as a yell. I ran as fast as I could, my breath as heavy as ever, my legs feeling as bricks; and I faced myself with Dagonet's opponent. He grinned as me, a grin that made my blood run cold for a moment, pointing his sword toward my chest. Everything surrounding us disappeared, and I saw only his face, only his flesh, only what I could kill.
I shifted my feet, circling around him, as he did the same; my teeth gritted tightly, my hands clasping my two swords, ready to lunge at the man. He yelled something at me in his own crude language, and charged toward, his axe heading straight toward my chest. Instantly, my hands by reflect stopped the axe, pushing him away with the little bit of strength I had left. My breath was even louder in my head, and my heart beat echoed constantly, over powering the sounds of battle surrounding me.
The Woad laughed, mocking me, before rushing toward me once again, his axe almost overpowering my blades. We were locked by our own weapons, and I couldn't beat him… I couldn't…
"Lancelot!" my head snapped back, where another Woad was rushing toward me, a large axe in his hand. He stopped short, and fell by my feet, a large arrow stuck through his back. The other Woad had taken advantage of my sudden distraction, and I felt an excruciating pain siege me from my thigh, a large gash already oozing blood without forgiveness. I yelled out, not knowing if it was in fear or fury, or the pain that exploded in my leg, but I rushed toward the man, knocking us both to the ground. In a moment he had me pinned beneath him, but the next thing I remember was finding his weakness, and stabbing one of my blades into his exposed skin near his stomach. He collapsed onto me, his eyes clouded over, expression of shock on his face.
I felt no pity. I felt nothing.
Galahad jumped off his horse, rushing forward to help me stand, and he pushed the dead body off of me as if it was nothing; he was growing colder these years. I grabbed onto his hand, and clasped his arm, leaning on him for support. He smiled at me slowly, patting me on the shoulder before turning away to shoot down more Woads, taking no pause or risk with time.
I sighed, until my eyes fell on the fallen body of Dagonet, and instantly I rushed toward the giant, dragging myself, wincing from the pain that seeped from my leg.
"Dag!" I yelled, throwing myself on the ground next to the large man, only to see a large wound to the head, blood seeping from it with no cease. "Dag…"
Angrily, I struck my sword into the soft earth, submitting to tears this one time; we were loosing another knight, another great warrior, another friend. And I couldn't handle it, Dagonet was one of the best men I knew, how should it be that he should die now, when we had been through so much together?
"Lancelot! Dagonet!" it was Bors, he came up riding swiftly, only to stop and jump off his horse quickly to fall by the fallen knights' side. "Dagonet?"
Bors looked up at met, his face filled with grief and question, but I could only shake my head, wiping away blood stained tears with grimy hands, hands that had killed so many in such a small span of time, and yet hands that failed to save a friend in time. But in an instant, the whole world seemed brighter, and the sun shined down on us for a moment.
"Dag!" Bors said cheerfully, lifting up his friend as the man coughed, his rough hand reaching instantly toward the gash in his head, his face showing no pain, as usual. I sighed, picking myself off the ground, sick with relief.
It wasn't the same; there was no light that shone down on us from the sky, nothing to comfort us as we knew the task of burying another one of our own was upon us once again, there was nothing. It wasn't the same, not this time.
Not this time.
"Lancelot," Arthur called, drawing him from his memories, and Lancelot turned to see Arthur and Gawain struggling with the body of Dagonet; trying to heave the dead body over his stricken horse. The black stallion refused stubbornly, neighing loudly each time the men walked toward him, for he understood what they carried so solemnly. Lancelot quickly bounded over, keeping careful to look away from Dagonet's face, which was frozen cold and pale, though Arthur had closed his eyelids as a sign of death. But he couldn't bear it; death, especially when it was a knight. He marveled how he could kill so many without thought, and yet when one of his own was cut down, he couldn't believe the sight, he couldn't watch death come over ones he loved. Hundreds of men he had killed, brothers, sons, lovers, fathers; it was countless, and yet he felt no emotion but hate while his two swords stained blood onto the earth.
After minutes of coaxing the poor stallion, they finally managed to secure Dagonet's body onto his back, and Guinevere rushed over with cloak to lay over him. Gawain nodded solemnly at Lancelot, before walking away toward his own horse, and Arthur as well patted Lancelot's shoulder, before turning away. Guinevere stood in front of Lancelot, her slim figure shaking slightly in the cold surrounding them. Lancelot took a step closer to her, and closed his eyes tightly, daring to place his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She jumped at the touch, turning to stare at him, and he was surprised to see tears forming in her dark eyes, giving off a light of her that he had never seen before.
"Lucan will be devastated," she said calmly, her eyes searching his with deep emotion, "I won't know what to say to him."
"Don't you scare us like that again," I scolded Dagonet, who laughed heartily despite his wound. Vanora had tended to him all night, and when we were finally allowed to see him, we found him in good shape with a large bandage strapped across his head. He was even smiling for a change.
"Ai!" laughed Galahad, "I think Bors almost cried!"
Instantly Bors reacted, punching the youngest knight rightfully hard in the stomach, and he went down with a small yell. We all surged with laughter, as if we all had spent the night getting quite drunk, dealing with the worry over Dagonet by draining ourselves in ale; which wasn't too far from the truth. Galahad held his stomach painfully on the ground, though his laughter could be heard just as loud out as the rest of the knights. Gawain held out a helping hand for him, and he took it quickly, wiping off his tunic out of embarrassment. We laughed even harder, and Galahad flushed a brighter color of pink.
"Knights," I turned around quickly, the laughter subsiding quickly, and there stood Arthur, a small smile on his lips. "Each one of you today fought well, and earned this honor. Dagonet, are you feeling well?"
Dagonet nodded gravely, a sudden change in the atmosphere in the room made the laughter that was just previously loud and joyous sound silly and too loud for my ears. It was silent, and Arthur mirrored Dagonet's nod, looking in turn to each of us, before leaving abruptly. We all looked around at one another, solemn and sad almost, before Bors cleared his throat loudly.
"Get some rest Dag," he said gruffly, leaving the room, as the other knights followed him, leaving me the last in the room.
"Dag," I stopped at the doorway, and Dagonet turned his head to me lazily, "I meant what I said, don't you do that to me again." Dag smiled, and I returned one, before leaving him to his recovery.
Lancelot watched Guinevere helplessly, not knowing what to say to her, but he had not thought of all the others who waited anxiously for them at the wall. Dagonet had always been a large part of the life at the wall, strong and hard, and whenever he spoke it was the most important thing, and they all listened. His voice was more commanding than even Arthur's, for he only spoke when it was worth the breath, and when the words meant something strong.
"Dagonet was the closest thing he had…" Guinevere sighed, as a tear slipped down her cheek, glimmering as it froze slightly from the cold, and she paused for a long moment, as if regaining her thoughts, "to a father."
She waited to hear him speak, and when it was clear he wasn't she looked away, regretting she had ever said anything. It seemed to her that Lancelot would never be ready to open himself to her, and she wasn't going to wait around for it. He watched her just as anxiously, watching his breath appear in front of him in the cold air, although for some reason he felt as if he wasn't breathing, and everything went dream-like again.
"Ready?" I strode toward my horse, stopping to pat his head a moment before jumping up on him. Dagonet nodded, and continued sharpening his sword, carefully and slowly, concentrated. It was only a week after his almost fatal injury, but he couldn't be held from missions for too long; we needed him, and he needed us. It had been at least ten years into their service to Rome, so they years still daunted me terribly, but I went along quietly enough, doing what I did best; killing. I didn't, I couldn't, believe in anything that I couldn't physically kill, anything that put a man on his knees.
Galahad and Gawain followed behind me, both nodded in greeting toward us.
"I can't wait to leave this island," Gawain said with a shake of his head, as he started to saddle up his horse. I nodded in agreement, as Gawain continued, "If it's not raining, it's snowing, and if it's not snowing, it's foggy."
"And that's summer," I said thoughtfully, earning a chuckle from Gawain and a smile from Galahad, though Dagonet stayed quiet. All that could be heard was his constant and continuous sharpening the rest of us fell silent.
"So much for home though," Gawain commented slowly, "I've been in this life too long."
"Aye," Dagonet's voice rose loudly, causing the three of us to stare at him in wonder, as we always did when he spoke. Dagonet nodded his head, as his eyes wandered off as if in memory rather than in the present time. "Me too."
"We should return to the Knights," she said slowly, gathering up her voice and trying to hide her tears that lay sheltered on in her eyes. Lancelot marveled to himself; she had never seemed so beautiful in his eyes, perhaps it was his love for damsels in distress, but he could feel his voice returning to him, perhaps even his old wit the women seemed to love of him.
"Or maybe we shouldn't," he replied somewhat stubbornly, as Guinevere eyed him sharply; he instantly regretted ever opening his mouth, but there was nothing to be done about it now. "Arthur will want to be moving on now."
She nodded, liking this response better, wrapping herself tighter in her cloak. Lancelot hung his head in respect, but she stopped in front of him, her eyes searching his with a small glimmer that made Lancelot nervous under her gaze. He waited for her to speak.
"We cannot mourn forever," she said thoughtfully, her frown deepening in concentration, "And I know that Dagonet wouldn't want his brothers to be taken from their freedom."
She walked closer to him, so her chest almost crushed against his, and she reached out to hold up his chin to face her. Her eyes had grown colder, and the tears that she had just moments before been shedding were gone without evidence. Her voice ripped through him, as she commanded with force, "Go home."
"First thing I will do when I get home is find myself a beautiful Sarmatian woman to wed," Gawain remarked with a smile, as I rode behind him and Bors. Tristan rode beside me, uninterested in all conversation, but kept his eyes up to the sky, searching for his hawk.
"A beautiful Sarmatian woman?" Bors found this comment funny, and I knew he had a remark to rebut the fair haired knight, and how true I was, "Why do you think we left in the first place?" he mooed loudly, and continued to laugh, with Gawain laughing by his side.
"And what about you Lancelot? What are your plans for home?" Bors asked me as I rode up beside him and Gawain, both of them eyeing me curiously. I confessed to myself that I had been thinking a lot about home the last year or so, but now that our last day was here, I really didn't know what to do with myself. Even the word sounded strange to my word, for we had only the meaning that was left in our memories, who knew now how much that image had changed these long years. I winced just for a moment, feeling my companions' eyes on me. I quickly put on a sly smile and nodded at Gawain.
"Well, if this woman of Gawain's is as beautiful as he claims, I except to be spending a lot of time at Gawain's house," Bors laughed openly, looking at Gawain with a grin. Gawain nodded at me with a disbelieving look, he took my jokes very well. "His wife will welcome the company," I assured Bors.
"I see," Gawain replied, staring off away from me, as if imagining the scene in his head, "and what will I be doing?"
"Wondering at your good fortune that all your children look like me," I said simply, while Bors roared with laughter, and I kicked my horse to ride up next to Arthur. Gawain wouldn't go down that easy, and retorted with a small humorless laugh.
"Is that before or after I hit you with my axe?"
Home.
We're going home.
He could barely breathe under her steady gaze, her hand never letting up to leave; they just stood there, neither knew how long, surveying the other with mournful eyes. And Lancelot knew at that moment that this was not meant to be, not them, she was destined for another. But who, for who he would never forgive himself. Her fingers gently caressed his face, tracing the lines in his face, her chocolate brown eyes watching her own fingers, as he watched her.
Go home.
And in a moment it was over, Guinevere was hurrying away from him, her hand being received by Arthur himself to help her into her carriage. And she looked at him no more.
He gruffly pulled himself away from where he was standing, walking slowly to where his horse stood, and neighed nervously as Lancelot almost angrily glared at the horse. Quickly his anger subsided into affection, and he assured the beast calmly under his breath before climbing onto his back swiftly. Galahad rode up beside him, nodding grimly in greeting, his frown deeper than any of the six companions; he was still too young for this.
Go home.
Home.
