UNFINISHED
by VINTERSORG
'Cause me and you are same
I known you all my life
I don't know your name

- The Streets
- - -
Chapter I
- 12 years later -

A lone rider galloped across a misty field, the air was thick and heavy with the promise of rain -- loads of rain -- but seeing as the weather in Britannia are as predictable as a woman's mood the dark clouds might even part and the sun shine in a minute or two. The forest on both sides of the field were all but hidden by thick fog that seemed to float like some kind of magical liquid. If the rider would have bothered to look it would not have been able to make out the trunks of the trees, nor of the figures coloured with woad that watched it ride past.

The rider rode upon a large black horse, it was obvious it was a gelding that had been castrated when it was only a foal. A grey cloak flapped behind in the speed-wind as if it had a life of its own. From the clothes one could guess the rider was a knight or a warrior of some kind and that was probably what the Pict warriors in the woods thought.

Below the cloak one could see that the rider wore light armour: a thick leather jacket on top of a chain-mail shirt, from below it one could distinctly make out a long-sleeved riding-shirt in the colour of dried blood; the legs were draped in dark leather leggings and the boots were an even darker shade of brown. The rider's lower-left-arm had an arm-guard on its inside, this and the bow on the rider's back as well as quiver strapped to the horse's saddle spoke of it being an archer; though the hilt and scabbard of a large sword could be seen at the rider's hip and said that maybe the bow was only for hunting after all. The face of the rider was thin and young with lively, dark-brown eyes that scanned the field attentively, it was framed by a mop of unruly hair that was closer in shade to black than to brown and reached down just below the shoulders. A young boy they thought, maybe not older than seventeen, definitely younger than nineteen.

"He's in a hurry," Eoin observed, speaking in Gaelic to the Woad next to him. "Wonder who he is."

"I've got no idea," answered Phelan "But Merlin knows and says to let him pass, he has an important role in the things to come."

"I wish he wouldn't speak in riddles," Wynne complained with a sigh "Not all things that lay in the future are pleasant, we might save ourselves a lot of trouble by killing the boy now."

"Merlin says to let him pass unharmed and pass he shall!" Phelan snarled, suddenly angry that anyone even dared to question the judgement of their spiritual leader and war-chief.

"Could the three of you be any louder?" hissed a fourth Woad from high above the first three, he was the one who could see the rider most clearly as he were above the fog and mist crouching low on a high branch with a bow. Trevor was his name and he had begun to get slightly worried as the rider had slowed down his horse and begun to spy about as if something had made him suspicious.

A few moments passed and the Woads held their breath, nature too was holding its breath it seemed because everything was quiet, even the wind seemed to have died down slightly. Then as if the rider had found what it looked for the horse began walking again and was quickly urged on until they were galloping closer to their final destination again.

- - -

Five hours and a whole lot more aggravated Pict warriors later the rider was finally closing in on the milecastle of Badon Hill. When the knights' graveyard came up to the left the rider slowed its horse to a trot, looking at the mounds with wonderment. The several hundreds of grave-mounds, each with a sword buried to the hilt at its head, tore at the rider's heart. Two hundred years worth of knights, all dead at the hands of an empire none of them belonged to, dead carrying out a cause not their own.

"So, it is here all those boys that are abducted and forced to become slaves for Rome lie at rest when they die faraway from home," the rider murmured as in question to a higher power, head bent in silent respect of the Sarmatians that lay there.

A few minutes later the rider passed the gates of the milecastle, no-one tried said anything, the Roman guards only shared a worried look and then tried their best to act as if they had seen nothing. As the rider finally slowed down to a walking pace outside the gates to the stable square a young squire ran out, taking a good look at the rider and then smiling excitedly as he notice the many weapons and repairs made on the clothes.

"I bring with me a message for Commander Artorius Castus," the rider said to the squire and dismounted, a small smile playing at its lips as the face of the young man lit up at the mentioning of the Knight commander.

"He's in his study," answered the squire, "If you'd like to stable your horse in the fortress stable I could take you to him later."

"I am sure Sag would be grateful," the rider smiled, "We have ridden hard all day and most of last night too, he would probably welcome a few hours of rest, as well as some fresh water."

"I reckon," the squire agreed, leading both rider and horse through the stable gates and to a free stall, "You can put him here, do you need me to fetch you a few brushes and a rag?"

"No, I got my own, but a bucket of water would be great." He nodded at this and had taken a step away to go fetch said bucket when it occurred to him that neither one of them had introduced themselves, he of course knew some people thought they were too great to even talk to squires, but this person didn't seem the sort to put on the holier-than-thou attitude.

So he turned back almost instantly and introduced himself to the warrior who was pulling off the saddlebags and saddle, "I'm Jols by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Jols," the rider replied almost amused at the youth's outstretched hand and shook it. "I'm Nouri."

"You're from Sarmatia?" asked Jols, studying the other's thin face, he thought it almost looked as if it had been carved out of flesh coloured marble. Nouri nodded saying that initially at least, but the world was more fun. At that Jols too nodded and he looked at the large horse, something hit him then and he became quite curious.

"Why do you call him Sag? Doesn't it mean 'dog' in your tongue?" the squire asked, he did find it funny that anyone would call such a large animal a dog, but maybe he had got it all wrong.

"Aye, it does," the rider grinned, "When I first met him he was a foal and had just lost his mother, he took up following me everywhere just like a dog, so that's where the name came from."

A moment or two passed and Jols was once again in the process of fetching a bucket of water for the horse, but Nouri's voice called him back.

"Oh, I almost forgot," the rider said, almost as if it was speaking to itself, but Jols knew better than to think that. "Is there a knight called Bors somewhere around here?"

"Yes there is.." he answered, but fell quiet a moment later as if there was something he should have remembered but did not. "Well, there is, but he and some other knights are on a mission right now, they're not expected back until the week after the next."

"Okay," Nouri said in way of thanks for the information, adding an explanation even though Jols didn't seem to expect one "I was just wondering, I'll be long gone 'till then."

"Where you going?" he asked, but then figured that it was not his place to ask so he just shook his head and excused himself to finally go and get Sag his water.

- - -

Arthur sighed, pulling a hand over his face as if that would help him grow less bored. The Roman, who strangely enough was one half Briton and one half Sarmatian, was seated at the desk in his study going over last month's reports from the turrets closest to Badon Hill. Every month a new captain was stationed at each of the two turrets, mainly because he and the other two legionaries wouldn't have to die of boredom so far from civilisation, but this brought with it more work for Arthur. Even though the content of the reports were alike none of the captains used the same words or phrasing and that forced him to go through them all. One of these month there would be something important and then he needed to know because he too had to write long reports, but his superior was the general stationed in Londinium.

The oil lamp spread a flickering light over the desk and once again Arthur tried to concentrate on the reports. He noticed to his immediate annoyance that the captain in the turret to the west was absolutely fresh, probably hadn't been in the Province more than a few days prior his watch and knew little to nothing about the 'strange blue animals moving on two and sometimes four legs'. The captain didn't know how to spell well either, another thing that annoyed the bored commander greatly.

A knock on the door disrupted the little concentration he had mustered moments earlier and he sighed as he called for whoever might be on the other side to come in. To his great surprise it was Jols, the knights' squire, one who should have known better than to disturb him when he went though watch reports.

"Arthur, you have a visitor," he said, emphasising on the word 'visitor' to let the man know this was not a Roman captain or other Roman military riffraff, this was someone Jols at least found remarkable.

The commander only nodded, knowing there was no way he would be able to go back to the reports before he had this over and done with, it would be rather ill-mannered not to meet with a visitor that bothered to come all the way to the Wall.

This was all Jols needed for confirmation before he stepped aside and let Nouri enter.

"Yes?" Arthur urged while he looked at the visitor, still mighty bored though maybe a little less so now, wondering why this boy had come to visit him.

Nouri too were in the process of wonder, silently asking if this was the Great Arthur Castus who was spoken so highly of in Rome. When no answer came to the unspoken question Nouri took out a small package and a letter from one of the cloak's many hidden pockets.

"Pelagius bid me bring this to you," Nouri said, taking a small step forwards to hand him the two objects.

The visitor's cloak hadn't fallen back again after the objects had been removed from its pocket because it had beeen caught behind the sword-hilt, the movement only drew attention to the scabbard and Arthur couldn't help staring, it was practically identical to his own.

"Thank you," he absentmindedly said as he received both letter and package putting them down at the desk in front of him, but his eyes were at the sword's hilt. "Excuse me, your sword..."

"It was my fathers," Nouri explained with a sad smile, "I carry it in a way of honouring his memory."

"I'm sorry to hear he is dead." Arthur said, wondering if the young boy in front of him might be a Sarmatian. It somehow would make sense to him, but if he was wrong it would be very awkward.

"Were your father stationed here in Britannia?" he finally asked, because the silence was drawing on. He has probably been in contact with some of the more strict commanders, Arthur thought to himself, when it became obvious his visitor would say no more without encouragement.

"Yes he was, in fact, he was stationed here at Badon Hill - why do you ask?"

Arthur motioned towards a sword that was leaned against the wall next to the door in its scabbard, with a nod he told his visitor to fetch it for him, he had been too bored for too long to stand up, though this mystery brought him a new burst of energy.

As Nouri picked up the sword Arthur could see that the visitor too had noticed the great similarity between the two swords. He imagined that they were about the same size too and the same weight then obviously.

"Excalibur..." his visitor breathed as a realisation dawned on Nouri and their eyes locked.

"How did you know?" Arthur asked, growing more interested by the second, this was definitely a mystery worth solving.

"My father spoke of this sword, it is the 'companion' to Caladbold which I carry." Nouri paused and handed Arthur the sword, their eyes still pouring into one another's. "He spoke often of it and Uther Pendragon, well at least to me he spoke of it, but my father was an awfully quiet man otherwise to be honest."

A thought crossed Arthur's face and Nouri broke the stare as his face lit up as from the inside. All thoughts of boredom and watch reports all but blown away now, that all could wait for later.

"If my father knew yours they must have sparred together, so come, let us spar like friends as they oft must have!"


Wooha! This was fun writing, but about halfway through I was starting to get annoyed with myself and practically everything (add embarrassed laughter here), though, I'm sure what annoyed me to write has at least to a slight degree annoyed and confused you to read. I promise that it will be explained in the next chapter - promise x5!

Sag is Iranian/Persian for dog, I'm using Iranian/Persian/Farsi to represent the Sarmatian tongue. Caladbold is the name of King Arthur's sword in the Irish tradition (and that is the older version of the sword legend), the name have almost the same meaning as Excalibur and hints at something that has been fetch from a the water (at least in Magyar language, some British scholars would disagree of course).

Elfvamp1-13-97: Yay, my first review - thank you! Hope you liked this chapter as well, it doesn't have as much history in it, but I've tried my very best.

FlamezBlaze1: Thank you!

Ailis-70: Thank you, I'm happy you like it! I guess I see the story played as a movie inside my head and it's that I try to capture and put down in words. I've already written half of chapter 2 so that should be up tomorrow I hope.

Don't forget to review, this is after all my very first fanfic so all comments are welcome!