A/N: Hello!!! Yes, I am still alive! I apologize immensely for the great delay! I have been SO busy with school and life! Ahh...the drama of friends and boys...anyhoo...also, my mom has to read and approve of my writing now before I can post it to make sure nothing's inappropriate, so that took a while. I've already written the next chapter though, so you can expect that pretty soon. Thanks for hangin in there with me. I will also reply to all my new reviews next time, but I REALLY need to just post this. Please, do continue to review...its what keeps me going. Thanks!

Chapter 7: Battle on the Ice

When morning dawned on the sleepy travelers, the caravan slowly awoke and was again on their way to the Roman Fort. Adima woke late and was not given a chance to converse with Tristan; in part, she avoided him. She hadn't thought of what she'd say to him when given the chance and she wanted some time to think upon it.

The dawdling caravan slowly made its way through the snowy path as the warm sun rose higher into the sky, partly hidden by silver clouds. Flurries of snow rained upon the weary travelers, causing their dimming spirits to slowly, and steadily crumble under the heavy weight of their tiring journey.

Arthur felt detached from it all; still as a statue he silently prayed to his God that the people would survive, from not only the Saxon army following them, but the treacherous elements as well.

He looked past the group to the path well ahead of him, hidden partially through the trees. Recognizing Tristan approaching by the swift pounding of Passebreul's hooves against the frozen earth, Arthur headed toward him.

"What have you seen?" Arthur asked warily with concern upon his frozen face. He only had to look at Tristan for a swift moment before realizing there was trouble ahead.

"A frozen lake-" Tristan began, looking his commander in the eye.

"Then we will go around it," Arthur interrupted. "It should not take long and hopefully there will be a path that will lead us closer to the wall," he really hoped that it was that simple.

"No, Arthur," Tristan explained. "There is no other way around. One side is covered by mountains too far to walk around, and the other is thicketed by trees. The Woads are there, and I don't think the wagons could fit through. There's hardly space to move," he added, depositing a concerned glare upon the caravan in front of him.

"The only way is to go over it. I've walked half the length; it should be safe enough." Arthur looked like he was about to protest. He definitely wasn't pleased by this news.

Tristan was silent for a moment, awaiting a reply or some orders. "I could look for another way around. Perhaps there is a far off hidden path leading-"

"No," Arthur shook his head. "We'll go through it. You're right; and we don't have enough time. These people won't last much longer in these conditions, and the weather's only getting worse."

Tristan smiled a little. "This will slow the Saxons down; we can use it to our advantage. It will take longer for them to cross."

At that very moment, both Tristan and Arthur turned their heads and looked toward them, at the distant sound of pounding drums.

Adima, again walking beside the wagon that carried her sister, heard the drums too. "You hear that?" she asked Guinevere.

"Yes," she said worriedly. "Saxons."

"They're close," Adima said somewhat shakily, her soft breaths leaving lingering puffs of air around her mouth. Adima instantly turned around and saw the little boy and girl looking behind them as well, a frightened glance upon the little boy's face. He was too young to understand what was coming, but the now growing tension among the serfs was quick to upset him.

Within a matter of minutes, the caravan reached the icy edge of the frozen lake. Hushed whispers fluttered through the befuddled crowd.

Arthur, presenting no fear of the ice, wandered abroad on his steed's back. He quickly dismounted, and his knights immediately did the same, following his silent order. The serfs huddled all together as the walls of the mountains around them left a vibrating echo of Saxon drums in the still, cold air.

Adima's eyes darted around searching for Tristan. She found him ahead on the ice with the others. Arthur turned. "Get them all out of the carriages," he commanded Jols, his good friend, and helper. "Tell them to spread out."

Jols turned to the people of the still caravan and instructed them to do so. Guinevere slid out of the wagon and crossed the ice to her sister. Everyone knew the ice was treacherous and were careful crossing and taking every step, for they knew it could be their last.

As Tristan and the knights turned, Adima quickly caught his eye with a frightened glare. Everyone who was seated upon an animal dismounted, and the wobbly carriages were emptied of people spreading out across the ice.

Adima held her breath tightly within her freezing chest as she heard the cracking of the ice beneath her. It moaned viciously under the weight of the caravan, sending fleeting looks of terror across the serfs' pale faces.

Horses whinnied wildly with fright, their riders attempting to calm them. Guinevere looked down at the breaking ground beneath her feet. Tiny spider-web like cracks spread swiftly through the ice's snow stained surface.

The Saxon drums echoed louder all around them. The knights looked at one another, now realizing what they must do. Arthur turned to them, gravely, but with confidence gleaming in his eyes. "Knights," he stared simply.

Guinevere stopped in her tracks, her eyes keen on Arthur. Adima stopped too. "What is it?" she asked worriedly, assuming Guinevere had noticed a weak spot in the ice.

As she noticed the concerned look upon her sister's face, Adima realized something was awry and she followed Guinevere's gaze. Without a single reply, Guinevere glided over to the wagon where she retrieved a spare bow and arrows that Arthur had hidden there. He had shown Guinevere and Adima where they were hidden so they could keep watch over the mercenaries' weapons.

Bors sighed. "Well, I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting."

Tristan scowled. "Never like looking over my shoulder anyway." Dagonet smirked in agreement.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," Gawain said, thinking of the drums pounding in his ears.

Galahad smiled. "We'll finally be able to look at the bastards."

Dagonet, getting ready to be done with this mess, began removing his weapons from his horse's saddle bags. "Here; now," he confirmed aggressively.

Lancelot shook his head disapprovingly. He didn't feel this was the opportune moment to face their haunting shadows. His eyes found Guinevere and he looked upon her dotingly as she started for them back from the wagon, with weapons in hand. His attention was swiftly pulled back to Arthur.

"Jols," Arthur commanded.

Jols turned and commanded the men standing behind him. "You two take the horses," he ordered. As Tristan handed over the reins of his horse, he gave the man a threatening glare. He wanted to make sure this man knew not to do wrong to his horse in his absence.

"You're not staying," Guinevere demanded coldly as Adima shadowed her across the ice, her own weapons in hand.

"Yes, I'm staying," Adima replied.

Guinevere stopped walking and turned to her sister. "You must stay with Lucan," she looked Adima boldly in the eye. "If the Saxons get passed us, you will need to take care of him and keep him safe. This is your duty," she added quietly at the protest of her sister.

Adima's eyes flickered for a moment to Tristan. "Guinevere, I can fight."

"I know that, but your fight is not here," Guinevere placed a loving hand upon Adima's shoulder. "Lucan needs you now more than we do."

Adima scowled. She wasn't afraid of the Saxons, so why would she run from them? Her brow furrowed in disappointment, but she made her way toward Lucan without a further complaint.

The knights began unloading their weapons to prepare for a face off. Arthur turned to Ganis, the serf who'd been helping him. "Ganis, I need you to lead the people," he said sternly. "The main Saxon army is inland, so if you follow the coastline until you're well south of the wall, you'll be safe."

Ganis looked at him, unsure of his orders, trying to gather the strength within to lead the people. "You're seven against two hundred!" he protested with a foul glare.

"Eight," Guinevere corrected him as she approached. "You could use another bow," she cocked her head and smiled at Arthur, expecting him to be impressed. He did nothing to prove to her that he was.

Hesitantly, Ganis spoke. "I'd rather stay and fight," he began, but to no avail.

"You'll get your chance soon enough," Arthur assured him. He then turned to the mercenaries. "This man is now your captain," he said. "You do as he says; am I understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the mercenary promised submissively.

"Go, go," Arthur instructed a worried Ganis.

Gathering up his courage, Ganis yelled. "Right, come on then! Move on!" With that, the caravan slowly continued on its weary way across the ice.

On her way towards Lucan, Adima repeatedly turned her gaze to Tristan. She feared for Guinevere, and for Tristan. She wanted to be there to protect them. She caught Tristan's eye, hoping for some sign that he would bid her goodbye, or something.

He turned a blind eye to her gaze; it was his way. All he needed to do now was to focus on the Saxons that had begun appearing through the forest.

Dagonet waved and smiled sadly as Lucan was taken away from him by the little wagon, followed by Adima. Lucan sadly waved back.

The knights began assembling in a row behind eight piles of weaponry. The Saxons, having reached the border of the deadly ice, slowly began to cross it, as carefully as they could. Cynric led them, his eyes fiercely glaring at Arthur; the man he wanted most to kill. He wasn't sure exactly which knight Arthur was, but he assumed it was the last one to join the row of warriors, dressed in Roman armor.

Arthur's knights and Guinevere stood silently, waiting for his command. Guinevere stood next to Lancelot near the left end of the row; Tristan on the other end.

These Saxons, Dagonet thought to himself, looking ahead of him. They will pay the price for following us. I won't let them hurt Lucan, nor my friends. We've lost too many over the years, he shook his head slightly, not wanting to be reminded of this truth. His lips curved in a slight grin. Too much blood has been spilled on these lands; these honorable lands that we have fought and died for. Let's see your faces, he demanded of the Saxons.

Galahad was growing nervous thinking of the battle awaiting them. How will this end? He thought. There is no telling. Please let me live and fight well for my friends. Just give me the chance I've been longing for; let this be the end of it. Soon, he thought hopefully. Soon, I'll be home. All he wanted to do was get this over with and return to the warm home he so longed for all these years.

Please God, don't let my knights fall this day; not any of them, Arthur prayed in his mind to his God.

Tristan eyed the Saxons now him. His hawk still perched on his shoulder. "Hey," he spoke to it softly. "Go now. Follow the caravan." As though the bird acknowledged his words, it spread its great wings and took flight. Tristan suddenly felt a warm heat rising in the air beside him.

He slightly turned his head to Adima, holding her bow and arrows in both hands; her sword lay at her feet for later use.

He thought about saying something but was interrupted by Arthur's words. "Hold until I give the command!" he ordered.

Lancelot turned to Guinevere, a sly grin on his face. "You look frightened." He sighed, "that's a large number of lonely men out there."

Guinevere turned to him. "Don't worry, I won't let them rape you," she assured him with a grin.

"Shouldn't you have listened to your sister's orders?" Tristan scoffed, glancing at Adima from the side.

Without even looking at him, Adima answered coldly. "My business is that of my own, Tristan. I surely do not need any advice or help from you," she snapped. "I am not a child."

Tristan looked away, frowning. He only asked her because he wanted her to obey Guinevere and retreat to safety. He knew he should have expected such a cold reply.

"Archer!" Cynric called out. A Saxon archer stepped forward and released an arrow into the sky. The arrow landed and skidded across the ice pathetically, far from the knights. Cynric glared angrily.

"We're out of range," the Saxon commander noted.

Cynric scowled and shot him an icy cold look. "I can see that!" he spat angrily.

Arthur smiled. "I believe they're waiting for an invitation; Bors, Tristan." Both knights aimed their arrows high.

"We're far out of range!" Guinevere scoffed.

A smile was conceived upon Arthur's face. His eyebrows raised, he turned to Guinevere for approval as Tristan and Bors both shot their arrows high into the sky.

Both arrows landed straight into Saxon hides, killing their enemies quickly, without falter. Guinevere glared back at Arthur, preparing her own weapon for firing. She still had not noticed the arrival of her sister.

Cynric, furious now, began marching out onto the ice, his men faithfully following him. A passionate anger and hatred for Arthur flowed within him. He thought of the glorious day that he would tell his father that he had killed this man atop a frozen lake. He smiled to himself, and then drew his attention back to the battle that lay ahead of him.

A Saxon huddled together with his friends shouted, "Let's go!" in excitement.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks," Arthur ordered strictly. "Make them cluster."

Adima and Tristan both lifted their bow and arrows to the sky, preparing to fire. Adima pulled back tightly on the string of her bow, locking it securely against her jaw and cheek. She held her left arm out straight, and singled out her chosen target.

She glanced quickly at Tristan before firing. Her arrow, with the others, was imbedded in Saxon hides. Adima smiled at her flawless aim.

As the Saxons huddled closer together, they began falling heavily one by onto the crackling ice. Cynric looked all around him in a heat of anger. Adima could hear the ice rumbling beneath them. More arrows flew through the air in both directions. Although the Saxons were slowly decreasing in number, they were still forcefully walking onward, and with far more numbers than Arthur and his companions.

"Hold the ranks!" Cynric called out above the thunderous call of the ice beneath them. He looked down at his feet as the ice he stood on began slowly breaking away.

"Hold the ranks!" a Saxon commander echoed. "Hold the ranks!"

Adima's muscles shuddered beneath her skin. The Saxons were getting ever closer.

"Hold the ranks!" Cynric yelled furiously, his temper always rising. "I kill you myself!"

As the Saxons continued their march, the ice cracked less and less. As they were beginning to reach the center of the lake, the ice was thicker and could hold them. "They're not breaking through," Adima whispered.

Tristan shot a concerned glance at her, but said nothing.

"Arthur," Guinevere began, not sure of what they were to do next.

Arthur turned to her, then his eyes glided up and down the line at his knights. He thought of their safety and their will to return home. He knew he would soon regret his words. "Fall back," he ordered. "Fall back and prepare for combat!"

Lancelot reached back, pulling out his two deadly swords. They clanged against their sheaths as they emerged into the air, gleaming in the sun. The rest of the knights prepared for combat.

Again, in a worried rush, Tristan turned to Adima, who failed to notice, as he unsheathed his curved sword.

Bors noticed Dagonet fidgeting with his sword. He gripped it tightly in his hand, staring all the while at the army in front of him. "It's alright Dag," Bors assured him. "We'll kill them all." They made quick eye contact. "All the dirty bastards."

Only half of Dagonet heard what his friend had said. Part of his mind was focused on a little boy, only minutes away from where he stood. Lucan gave his life meaning; a much higher purpose than he'd ever had before. He had to stop these Saxons. They were a threat to Lucan to the rest of his friends, to the serfs, everyone. He had to stop them; he had to.

He suddenly dropped his sword. He picked up his axe, and surprising his friends, ran out onto the ice, not far from the Saxon hand. He yelled furiously as he ran, a hounding battle cry that drew Adima's attention towards him.

"Dag!" Bors yelled, trying to stop him, but it was too late.

Dagonet was already far ahead of them. He fell to the ground in a fury, and began hacking away at the frozen ice beneath him.

"Cover him!" Arthur shouted, worried for his friend.

The knights fetched their arrows again and began shooting any Saxon that they could, as they gained on Dagonet. Bors especially, aimed well with anger.

The ice surrounding Dagonet cracked ever more, shaking the surface he was perched on. Forgetting his own life was in danger, Dagonet continued to hack away at the ice, bending and breaking it to his will. Adima admired his strength and will. She knew he was doing this for Lucan.

Cynric violently pushed his weary soldiers forward. "Shoot him!" he shouted. "Bring him down! He'll be the death of us all!"

A much larger crack surfaced above the ice. As the Saxons neared Dagonet, the ground beneath them shook and broke apart, sending them to the icy depths below.

Dagonet's spirit lifted; it was finally working. Lucan will be safe, he thought.

Just as this peaceful thought entered his mind, he felt the cold sting of an arrow's point against his chest. Warm blood spilled from his wound. He bowed his head to look at his wound in awe.

"DAG!" he heard Bors scream behind him.

He felt one last shot of strength surge through his trembling body. He raised his arms, lifting his axe high above his head, and pierced the ice one last time with its powerful blade. He barely noticed three more arrows hanging from his side. The pain soon became strong; he longed for death, so his pain would release him.

He looked up to see Saxons falling to their deaths around him. A smile of satisfaction crossed his face. Arthur had dropped his bow and arrows and was running to Dagonet's side.

Dagonet slowly felt his body submerging into the water beneath him. He was falling forward, into a hole in the ice he had created. He felt Arthur's warm hand as it grabbed him and pulled him out of the water.

"Dag!" Bors yelled in fury. He grabbed a shield from the ground and ran to aid his friends. He held the shield in front of them, blocking many blows from enemy arrows. Arthur was dragging Dagonet backwards toward the others.

"Pull back, Arthur!" Lancelot shouted.

"Kill them! Kill them!" Cynric called to his soldiers.

Adima grew tense on the waiting sidelines. Archery wasn't her calling, and she knew she would be of better use to her friends in combat. In a single moment, she dropped her weapons and picked up her sword, screaming.

"Adima!" Guinevere shouted as she saw her sister running toward the enemy.

Tristan's gaze fell on her as she ran onto the battlefield, making contact with several Saxons. He did well to cover her with his arrows, but he was quickly running out, as were the others.

"Help us!" Bors demanded of the other knights. Gawain and Galahad rushed forward, helping to bring Dagonet.

Tristan, Lancelot, and Guinevere continued covering their friends. Adima turned around and charged her sword forward into the stomach of a Saxon soldier. Ice crackled beneath her feet. Three more Saxons approached her. She began combat with two, just as several more came.

As she beheaded another, Lancelot came up beside her, killing two more and then facing another. The two fought together, nearly back to back, as the Saxons encircled them.

"Look out!" Adima shouted in warning as a Saxon crept up slyly on Lancelot. Lancelot quickly brought death to this man.

"Thanks," he said smiling.

As more Saxons came, the ice began to break weakly underneath them. Adima faced a pair of Saxons. She was busy with one as the other ran up beside her. Just as she sliced her blade across one's chest, the other raised his sword to her head.

A single arrow pierced the side of his head, before he could bring his blow to Adima's neck. Adima quickly turned around and saw Tristan starring right at her. She nodded a simple thanks, and then ran forward, towards more Saxons.

As she ran over a spot, the ice seemed to be thinning. She began thrusting her sword at more Saxons even as arrows killed some of them. She felt her left foot slip into the cold water beneath her and quickly looked down. She backed away form the spot, right into the sharp point of a Saxon sword.

The blade didn't cut too deep before she spun around, the sword sliding across her flesh, ripping into her thin dress and drawing crimson blood. She slaughtered the bearer of the sword with a quick blow he was not expecting.

Her senses sheathed in pain, Adima stumbled to the ground. Both Tristan and Guinevere noticed. Adima's heart climbed into her throat. She tried to call out, but no words could escape this sharp knot.

The ice below Adima began to crumble beneath her weight, and the weight of the herd of Saxons running towards her. Slowly, she turned her head to see them running for her. She saw in a blur, Lancelot flying in front of them and more arrows followed.

"I kill you!" she heard someone scream.

Adima looked up and saw a large Saxon man standing over her. An arrow shot through his chest. Adima was not given time to slide out of his path. His bloody body crumbled on top of her, and the ice beneath her gave way. As she plummeted into the icy water she saw Lancelot in front of her, dodging more Saxon blows form both arrows and blades.

"Adima!" Tristan heard himself shout.

She was submerged under the water, oblivious to the world above her. She fought to reach the surface of the ice, but the heavy Saxon laying over her was carrying her to the bottom of the icy lake. She gathered her strength, swimming out from beneath him.

She began to reach her arms toward the surface of the water but was pulled under by a weighted force. The Saxon's hands were wrapped around her legs, pulling her under with him.

"No!" she screamed, but only bubbles and precious air escaped her mouth. Her eyes quickly became blinded by the bloodstained water.

A lifeless Saxon body floated past her. She held her breath, treasuring every moment she had, trying as hard as she could to free herself from the Saxon's tight grasp. She had dropped her sword in the water when she was pulled under.

She used her nails to scratch the Saxon's hand but he refused to let her go. Adima thought this was the end; precious air was leaving her, along with her life. It was slipping away from her, as was the surface of the water.

Her entire body was numb; she could no longer feel the Saxon's grip on her legs. She wondered if he was still holding onto her. He wasn't. His body was drifting to the bottom of the lake.

Adima could taste the fresh blood in her mouth when she opened it again in attempt to yell for help; it would be her last attempt.

"Adima!" Tristan yelled again. When he received no reassuring answer, he too dropped his weapons ran forward, toward the Saxon army.

"Tristan, no! She's gone!" Gawain yelled after him. "TRISTAN!"

Guinevere and Gawain knew Tristan had no way to protect himself. They aimed their remaining arrows to cover him. Lancelot was still fighting, bravely, now joined by Galahad as well.

Adima's world grew black. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, feel or taste. She no longer heard her heart pounding in her chest, nor felt the stinging pain in her back. She was numb to the world around her.

Spinning arrows darted and streaked through the water from holes in the surface of the ice, barely missing Adima.

Tristan dove swiftly into the icy water. His eyes caught a quick glimpse of Adima's face through the bloody water. He swam quickly to her. His hand reached out to hers but she disappeared again into the darkness.

He swam further under, brushing up against the dead Saxon's limp body. Again he reached for Adima, this time; he felt soft cloth under his fingertips. He wrapped his numbing arms around Adima's waist and began swimming upwards.

As he reached the surface of the water, he took a deep breath, then pushed Adima out of the water. He was greeted by Guinevere, who drug her sister upwards. Guinevere laid her sister on the ice.

Tristan pulled himself up and out of the water. "Come on," he commanded, grabbing Adima again and picking her up.

A Saxon blade nearly hit them as they ran towards the other knights. Tristan gripped Adima's cold body tightly, wishing to the gods that she was still alive. He couldn't feel her breathing, and he surprised himself with his abundant worry.

Adima's head hung back limply as he carried her, bouncing up and down as he ran.

"Stay with me, Dagonet!" Bors shouted, holding his friend's icy hand. "Stay with me!"

Dagonet tried to lift his head to speak, but though he mouthed words no one could understand, no sound emerged from his pale lips.

Arthur and his knights were a safe distance from Cynric and his men, who were swiftly retreating to the edge of the lake at Cynric's regretful command.

"Here," Tristan whispered, laying Adima's body gently on the snow covered ground beside the lake.

Guinevere nearly pushed him out of the way. She pressed against her sister's chest, something the knights did not expect to see. Tristan wasn't sure what she was doing.

Memories fluttered through Guinevere's mind of a time, long ago, when Merlin had taught them a wise lesson. Guinevere pushed again and again against Adima's chest.

"Don't hurt her," Tristan found himself begging.

"I won't," Guinevere shot back through falling tears. "I know what I'm going." She inhaled deeply, and brought her lips to her sister's, exhaling into her mouth. Adima's pale face began flushing with a light hint of color. She began coughing up mouthfuls of red tinted water.

Someone!" Guinevere shouted. "I need dry clothes. We must warm her!"

Arthur untied his blood red cape and quickly handed it to a panicked Guinevere.

Tristan, who was leaning over her, almost fell back at this haunting sight. "She's alive!" Guinevere screamed. "Tristan, help Dagonet; she will be fine."

Adima coughed up more water and her chest rose high with a mouthful of air as she gasped for much needed air. "Ahh!" she screamed, now feeling again the biting pain in her back and side. Her eyes shut tightly in the agonizing pain that unmercifully filtered through her and she arched her back so not to rub it against the surface of the snow.

"She's hurt," Tristan said. "She's been stabbed."

"I know, I know," Guinevere echoed herself, frustrated.

"Dagonet!" Bors sobbed shakily, holding his friend's cold icy hand in his. Both Guinevere and Tristan turned to see Dagonet's lifeless body, now sheltered in Bors' arms. Arthur stood over him, misty eyed and hateful.

Lancelot glared at Arthur menacingly, breathing heavily as he wiped a bit of blood from his lips. He knew they shouldn't have fought there, he knew it was a bad idea.

A young Saxon soldier watches the procession of men and women leaving the lake. "Soon," she promises. Smiling, she turns and walks away.