Four - Pressure
((keep in mind this story goes back and forth between observation, i.e. when Lancelot returned to the post at about noon the following day, we still have half a day (yesterday) were Gawain and Lana haven't experienced yet, err or you just haven't read yet. Hope you understood that))
The feeling on his back wasn't so pleasant; it seemed the angrier they began, the more he was stuck in his spine. His wrists where stretched, and his legs bound. All he could do was watch her, the fire between them, and the knife pointed to her wrists. She bit down hard on the cloth closing her voice. Lana watched the blue Woad; his face covered in tattooed marking and his chest bore a single ring of fire step towards her, a knife in his hand.
Gawain leaned forward, his first natural instinct was to save her, and once that knife touched her skin, his eyes locked shut. His back was pierced with pain, yet again, a rough grunted was deep in his throat.
Her profound breathing increased as the man's animal like face hissed at her own. Lana want her sword to slash his throat before these on lookers. The knife, was her own, her teeth grinded hard, as her brow sweated from the blistering heat waving off the fire. Her dirtied face illuminated in the shadows of the trees. As he touched her collarbone with the knife, pressure was added, blood dripped from the long wound, holding her breath, her eyes never left her attacker.
Gawain opened his eyes, he could hear his name being called, and it was Galahad. Pushing the cloth from his mouth, he felt it nearly free from his teeth, another Woad called out and a right cross to his face cancelled any chance of Lancelot and Galahad to their rescue. Lana growled as the Woads collected around Gawain's now silenced body.
Untying the vines that locked his arms and legs, they laid him on the floor, and pushing his hair from his cheek, the knife which cut Lana, sliced his cheek, Lana screamed under the hushed cloth. Her eyes wide and blood running in her veins burned her skin.
They danced in leather made skirts and vine stashed around their biceps. Their feral locks appeared to have a mind of their own, twisting and turning with each move. About two dozen Woads crowded around Gawain, pulling at his armor, gripping what weapons he had lift, taking souvenirs while Lana pulled at the vines holding her still about a large tree.
"LANA!" Lancelot's voice was getting louder; she could hear his footsteps. She looked down, her daggers where taken, but they missed the concealed dagger on her back, shielded by the cape she wore. Crimson lines exited the wound, trailing down her armor, and dripping into puddles on the dirt. Her eyes watched as Gawain's body was no longer clearly seen through the fire that parted them.
A Woad, the same one who cut Lana stood up, and hearing the voices come near, he dashed over to Lana, and with the same punch given to Gawain, she was knocked out.
"Arthur!" There horses galloped so fast the wagon and the guard could barely keep up, dust coursed through the pathway, and rested in the out post. Lancelot dove off his stallion, with Galahad following suit. Lancelot ran past Bors and Tristan, but Galahad stopped slowly, and bending over, he rested his hands over his knees, Bors stood up, as the crowd was silence in the urgent moment.
"Galahad?" Bors asked he left his ale at the table and when Galahad swung back up to stand straight, he pointed to the wagon, while catching his breath.
"Gawain," He took a breath. "Lana, Woads," He huffed and puffed, it seemed like the sudden break on land to run wasn't the best idea. Bors stared at Galahad, he wasn't making the connection when uncertainty set in. Tristan, with his arms crossed spoke for Galahad, with no vital emotion leaving his lips.
"Woads have captured Gawain and Lana."
"WHAT!?" Arthur shouted, the wet cloth left his forehead, the blankets once over his body scattered over the floor. Death was echoing from his eyes, as they flew open and his face went pale. Gawain was one of his dearest friends, and Lana was family. He turned and without question, he took hold of his Roman armor.
"A thick fog took over, we searched until almost until dusk," Lancelot admitted as his hands opened up, and he begged Arthur not to be angry with him. Lancelot's facial expression hadn't changed, Arthur almost thought tears came down from his lashes, but Lancelot never cried, ever. Arthur pulled his armor over his chest, turning to his friend; he asked a simple question.
"How long of a ride?"
"A day if we hurry," Lancelot was out of breath, he watched Arthur tie Excalibur onto his waist, and he passed him, brushing his shoulder over his. "Arthur!" Lancelot shouted, he knew how much respect and trust would be lost because of this mistake. He was beyond worried for Gawain, and especially the state of Lana. And in imperative moment, Lancelot grabbed Arthur's arm, he spun around and his face lowered onto Lancelot's, his stare deadly.
"What Lancelot?!" Arthur hissed, trying to keep his voice at a calm tone.
"Lana, she's, she's with child." Arthur's eyes widened, he grabbed Lancelot's shoulders, and slammed his to the wall, and his voice wasn't what Lancelot worried about now.
"Did you know before hand? DID YOU?!" Arthur shouted, Lancelot braced himself, his best friend's face held an appearance of murder, and Lancelot's back felt glued to the wall as Arthur pulled away. "You knew, and you let her go on this mission, Lancelot your mind must be fading."
"Arthur, she's capable of taking care of herself!" Lancelot shouted as Arthur headed for the door, ready to ride.
"And yet she is now lost, in Woad territory, with child and possibly incredibly injured!" His voice boomed in the echoing room. "Feel lucky that Gawain is with her now, I hope." Lancelot shook his head while Arthur left, heading straight for his horse.
Bors, Tristan and Galahad watched as Arthur stomped near them, his eyes narrowed on Galahad, passion flowing from his face, he was infuriated. Galahad stepped back, until Arthur spoke.
"Bors, Dagonet, Tristan, come with me." Arthur turned his back then shouted. "Hurry up Galahad!" Lancelot came into view; he propped up onto his stallion, and waited for Arthur. Galahad sat on his saddle, next to Lancelot, whom was for the first time voiceless. Holding onto the rein like it was all he had left, once Arthur was in sight, on his horse, Lancelot turned, turning from the wagon, he lead the way, with Arthur quick on his heels. Tristan, Bors, Galahad and Dagonet close behind.
It was almost dusk, and Lana heard Lancelot's voice muffled in her mind. Her eyes closed tears where coming, but she couldn't allow herself to cry. When she finally looked around, she saw Gawain, next to her, he as well still tied up. But the scenery had changed, he was tied to a tree much like she was, and he had a perfect coal like black eye. Lana imagined she had one as well.
She licked her lips, and realized her mouth was no longer covered, nether was Gawain. He looked at her face, compassion filled his eyes, and she knew how badly he wished to get them free.
"How are you feeling?" She whispered, but as soon as she spoke, a near by Woad ran over and slapped her cheek, her face flinched, and her mouth tasted of copper -- blood.
"Hey!" Gawain shouted, the Woad pointed his finger and spoke in his native tongue, he yanked on the vines, they where to strong to jerk off. Walling up a ball of spit, she launched it onto her attacker.
"Bastard you wish to hit me? Release me and I'll show you how well I can repay your favor." The Woad bent over, his long brown covered fingers held her jaw still, and as his face came closer to hers, he whispered a few Woad words. Lana glared into his hallowed eyes, she begged for her arms to come free so she could injure him. Once his fingers swiped free from her jaw, he took his tips of his fingers, and rolled them over her wound, collecting the blood. Lana jolted back, her head hitting the tree trunk. Gawain made a 'shhhing' sound, telling her to keep her mouth shut.
Then without hesitation, the Woad stood in front of Gawain, he rolled the blood soaked fingers over his facial wound, and Gawain didn't flinch. Piercing the Woad with his eyes, he watched the man turn to the fire, and splash his dripping hand into the inferno. The blood sizzled violently, and as the blaze burnt down, then fixed it's self back into a large glowing combustion, the Woad turned to Gawain, obliviously irate. He was wound up, and after slapping Gawain, he drove a dagger into armor, near his left kidney.
Lana watched in slow motion as Gawain shouted in pain, the Woad drove hard, screaming war cries with passion. His companions celebrated chanting and shuffling brush into the blaze, causing cracking sounds, and small pieces of ash to float in the air, covering anyone near by.
It was strange, Woads usually killed, not captured. Gawain and Lana alive? This was never Merlin's style, the way his people worked. It was like fire with ice, how did detaining Lana and Gawain help them to get their land back? How did it help Britain? Then it hit her, whispers traveled about Britain, of Rogue Woads; this had to be them.
Hunched over, Gawain's breath heaved in and out he was throbbing with pain. Besides, a wound such as that with out quick treatment could kill Gawain. Lana stared helplessly, her face still stinging from the imprint left on her skin. Gawain took several deep breaths, his hair draping his face; Lana lowered her head, trying to view his expression. He lifted his chin, and no sign of pain was painted on him. His teeth clenched together, he looked over at her, his eyes where always his weakness, those blue gems gave everything away.
Lana swallowed before leaning her head back, a strong stinging rushed into her brain, and a thick spinning began to overwhelm her sight. The concussion she had suffered earlier, which lead to the tree tying was erupting again.
Then all went black.
((thanks to Gryffindor-Seeker!))
