Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: Soon, I know, but I thought I owed you guys a treat after all those beautiful, wonderful reviews. I am positively overwhelmed by the number of reviews CM has been getting. Do you think we could make it to 200? Ooohh, I dunno, it's possible. Thank you everyone for that wonderful feedback to those questions, they've helped so much in me thinking about the next project I'll do. So thank you everyone! Hope you all enjoy this chapter. And sorry about making some of you cry in the last one! Even though that's what I was hoping for…

Summary: Years after the battle on Badon Hill, Lancelot has resigned himself to a loveless life, ever watching from the sidelines. But his hope is slowly restored when he meets a young woman, who fills his world with light, like the rising of the moon.

Crescent Moon

By katemary77

Chapter Thirteen: When Love is Done

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Francis William Bourdillon, The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

It had been dark when Corin arrived at Birdoswald. She hardly remembered calling out to the guards, Faustus rushing out to meet her. The Roman lord had kindly led her into the warm fort, where she was given warm broth and bread.

"Why have you returned, Lady Corin?" Faustus had questioned gently as she absentmindedly picked at her food. "Why have you left Camelot? I had thought that you would never return."

She didn't answer, only gazed blankly into the Roman's eyes.

He had nodded, understanding that this was something Corin would not share. "You can stay as long as you wish," he told her, his hand warm on her shoulder. "You will be no burden to us."

Now, Corin was lying awake in her cot, bundled in numerous blankets and shawls. Winter had come, and the rain was beating a steady rhythm against her window. She wondered vaguely if it was raining at Camelot, then cursed herself for allowing her mind to wander where she had not allowed it to the journey there.

Don't think about that! an inner voice screamed. Don't think about them at all!

But Corin couldn't help it. Couldn't help thinking about Guinevere, Lancelot, the knights, Arthur.

All that she had left behind.

All that she couldn't leave behind.

It's only for a little while, she assured herself. He will come for me.

But then, like poison, a tiny grain of doubt weeded itself into her mind.

What if he doesn't? What if he forgets about me?

A sharp, unexpected pain ripped through her body, and Corin gasped aloud at the ache.

What had she done?


"You, gel, what your name be?"

Corin turned at the rough, crackly voice that had addressed her. "I am Corin," she told the old, wrinkled woman who was sitting by the road, her gnarled hands steadily shelling peas.

"You not be from 'round here, eh?" the old woman questioned. "Can't hide much with that hair of yours."

Corin smiled, strolled to where the woman was sitting and eased herself down beside her. "No, I am from Camelot, and before that, Greece."

"Aye, now I remember you," the woman said. "You be the Grecian maid the King swept off to Camelot, months ago."

Corin nodded. "Yes, that was I."

"So what are you doing back here?" she demanded.

"Needed to get away from… something," Corin shrugged.

The old woman nodded wisely, her eyes sparkling with secrets. "I be May." She jolted her head backwards abruptly, indicating the tavern behind them. "I run the inn."

Corin nodded. "I know. I've been here for a while now. Seen you in there at night, bossing the men around."

May chuckled. "And that's the way it should be. How long you been here for?"

"A couple of weeks," the Greek answered.

May's brow furrowed, making her appear even older. "Then how come I ain't seen you round?"

"I didn't much leave the fort."

"Well, we can't have that!" May frowned. "Pretty lass like you not getting out and about. I'll tell you what," she said with a conspiratorial wink, "you help me shell these peas and I'll give you drinks on the house. What do you say, aye?"

Corin smiled, her first in weeks, and held up a peapod for close inspection. "You're on."


She sat and idly twirled the remains of a strongly spiced red wine around in her goblet. The raucous sounds of the tavern seemed faded, drowned out in her ears. She was used to this now. Corin had been at Birdoswald for two months.

And he had not come.

She spent her days buried beneath books in the fort's small library, or wandering the town aimlessly, wrapped in her pale blue cloak. The people of Birdoswald were used to her now. Used to her lingering presence in their town throughout the day, used to her lazy eyes surveying the empty backdrop of the Roman fort. Every night she spent in the tavern, lost in her own thoughts, occasionally conversing with May. Sometimes, Faustus came with her. He joined her in the library, and they poured over books on art, philosophy, science. Other times he walked with her through the city, not speaking, just a quiet presence to bring her back down to earth. And other times he came and sat with her at May's tavern, studying her as she studied her drink.

This was one of those nights. The Roman lord sat beside Corin, his long brown hands wrapped around a tankard of mead. Faustus's caramel brown eyes washed over the girl next to him, her silken hair, her empty eyes.

There was a rowdy cheer behind them, and the Lord turned to see a recently arrived group of mercenaries enter the tavern, shaking off their wet cloaks and jackets. Faustus didn't fail to notice the way the leaders black beady eyes landed upon Corin's frame. He sauntered over to the bar and ordered mead for the table in a gruff, deep voice. Faustus looked on with a sense of unease as the mercenary clapped a meaty hand on Corin's shoulder.

The girl barely flinched.

"Now, what's a pretty girl like you doing here all alone, eh? How but you come join me and me lads, eh?"

Corin turned slowly. "Thank you for the offer, Sir, but I am content to stay here." Firmly, she peeled the hand from her body.

The man's face turned into a snarl. "I asked you to come and sit with me lads and I, wench."

Corin closed her eyes for a moment and prepared to reply when a smooth, deep voice cut in.

"I believe the Lady asked you to leave," Faustus said pointedly, glaring at the man. "Now leave."

"And who're you?" the mercenary grunted. "Who're you to tell me what to do, eh?"

Faustus straightened in his chair. "I am Lord of this city," he told the man, "so if you want to stay in it I suggest you leave this lady alone and go back to your men."

The mercenary grunted again and turned, stalking back to his group.

"Are you alright, Lady Corin?" Faustus asked gently, covering her cold hand with his.

She nodded, releasing a shaky breath. "Yes. Thank you, my lord. I think…"

"Lord Faustus!" The captain of the guard came into the tavern, a few of his men trailing behind. "Come, join us for a drink!"

The Roman nodded, then turned to Corin. "What were you saying?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, my lord."

He smiled warmly. "I'll only be a moment."

Corin nodded and watched him leave absently. Standing, she bid her goodbye to May. She had to get out, get away from the noise and the people, and the stench of booze. She was walking out of the tavern when the same, meaty hand grabbed a hold of her waist.

"Now, lassie, I knew you'd come 'round."

She tensed, remembering the last person to touch her there. A rough, dark, callused hand.

Snarling, Corin ripped the man's hand from her waist. "I told you not to touch me, filth," she spat at him, before turning and fleeing from the inn.

She was half way down the road, the rain beating upon her face, when the mercenary caught up. His hands were on her shoulders now. She froze, not daring to breath. The mercenary's hands travelled down her arms and land on her hips. Taking a small step forward, he leaned in, and his breath wafted under Corin's nose. Still, she remained frozen. He smelt like stale mead and foul body odour. Lancelot smelt like cinnamon and fire.

She was soaked, her dress clinging tightly to her skin, her hair in a ratted mat upon her back.

Corin teared herself away from the man and sprinted down another dirt road, praying that this lead somewhere near the fort. The knowledge from wandering these streets came to her too late.

It was a dead end.

Corin turned to face the man, raising her fists as if to fight him. But everything Lancelot had taught her fled her mind. She struggled to remember something, anything, but all she drew was a blank.

Like lightening, his huge hand wrapped around Corin's throat and he slammed her into the rough brick behind. Corin gagged at the motion and coughed hard. She tried to pry his hands away from her neck and kicked at him, but the man would not release her. Tears streamed down Corin's face as she looked at the man who would murder her. She would die alone in a foreign country with no friends, no family to mourn her.

The mercenary gripped harder and Corin struggled to breathe. The harder she fought him the tighter he gripped her throat. She began to feel light-headed and she began to give up all hope. It was over.

Not like this…

Fight!

The man tilted his head and leered at her, baring sharp, blackened teeth.

Not like this…

Her heart bursting, Corin let out a strangled cry and lashed out with her hands, her nails clawing down the man's face.

"Bitch!" he roared, his hands grasping at his marred cheek as Corin slid down the wall, her fingers touching the bruised flesh at her throat, her tears mingling with the heavy rain pouring down on her.

She struggled to stand but her legs would not work, and she slipped on the wet ground that was soon turning to mud. Something slammed into her back so hard that the girl fell forward onto her hands and knees, breathless. The blow rattled her spine, her stomach, her insides…

Corin coughed, trying to get air back into her lungs, but her body, in a confused state of panic, objected. A metallic, slippery taste filled her mouth. In a nauseated lurch, Corin spat a mouthful of blood into the mud.

Weakly, she stood, her hands clambering at the wall, and faced the man before her. Before she could properly recover, he sent a punch to her gut that made her stumble, falling into the thick muck that the rain was beating up.

He clambered over her and breathed foully across her face. Grasping a handful of her tangled hair, the mercenary ruthlessly tilted her head back and slobbered onto her neck.

This is it.

It was over.

Corin gazed up blankly at the moonless night, the silvery orb covered by the clouds, as the man ripped apart the bodice of her dress.

Lady… help me…

There was no Lancelot there to save her this time.

She was alone.

Utterly alone.

She would never see the sun again.

Lancelot…

She would never see Lancelot again.

Lancelot…

NOT LIKE THIS! her mind screamed.

NOT LIKE THIS!

Blinking, Corin brought her knee to collide harshly with the man's groin. He reeled back, and Corin hurried to cover herself and scurry away. She felt around for something, anything to help her, and her hand fell upon a plank of heavy, rotting wood. Grasping it tightly, she rose shakily onto her knees and swung the wood mightily with all her strength, bringing it sharply against the man's skull.

The was a blunt clunking noise, a grunt, and then silence, the only noise the rain drumming upon the earth.

Covering her bare breast, Corin curled herself into a ball, swallowing a sob and tightly closing her eyes. Dimly, she became aware of feet pounding against the ground, a man urgently calling out her name.

"Here," she choked out weakly, her throat aching from the man's strong hands that had wrapped around it.

Faustus appeared before her. His eyes widened and he cursed under his breath, before whipping his cloak off and wrapping it firmly around the shaking girl.

"Can you walk?"

"Where are you hurt? Can you walk? It's okay, I won't hurt you," the handsome, curly haired knight asked her, smiling warmly, warily at her, as if she might break and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces at any moment.

"Yes," she told Faustus, burying her memories deep inside her.

"You don't have to carry me, you know," she told him. She could walk. She wasn't weak.

The man named Lancelot shot her a rakish, disarming grin, just like Branor, her sweet, kind friend had once said he would. "But it makes me feel so chivalrous. Like a knight in shining armour. Let us embrace the cliché for a moment."

She let her head fall back against his chest.

"If you must."

The Roman lord wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and, together, they made their way up into the fortress.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you, I promise."

"Don't leave… Please don't leave me! I love you… I promise…"

"I think I might be falling in love with you."

Warm hands caressed her skin, awaking feelings she never knew she had. His touch on her skin was like fire, his lips on hers like silk, he was completely flooding her senses.

Corin lay numbly in the bed. Faustus was tending her wounds. His long, elegant fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"He didn't… did he?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Good." He stood. "Corin, you need to get some rest."

She nodded. "Okay."

"I will come and check on you in the morning."

Before leaving, Faustus bent and pressed a gentle kiss to Corin's forehead. "Sleep well."

Once he had left, Corin clambered out from under the sheets and dug through the small dresser in her room. She pulled out an old shirt and pair of trousers, many sizes to large for her frame.

Dressed in the clothes Lancelot had given her, Corin slid back into bed and shut her eyes.

But she would lay awake for a long time that night.

A/N: Thanks for reading, guys. Drop a review if you want. Hope you liked it! Have a good weekend everybody.