Ailis-70 and LANCELOTTRISTANBABY: Thanks for reviewing. Well, here is the next chapter and I hope you like it. There were two things that I thought should not have been done in the movie, and I decided since it's my fanfic I will correct anything I didn't like. So I hope you enjoy this.
Disclaimer: I write for my own amusement, not for profit (obviously), yadda, yadda, yadda.
Rating: The story is rated M, the individual chapters will range anywhere from PG to M. So there you go. Anything that might be offensive I will put an extra warning on.
The previous chapter ended with Damara having a premonition that Tristan is coming back for the Battle of Badon Hill and that he will die on the field of battle. Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming:
Damara fought the urge to dissolve into hysterics. Tristan was supposed to be safe; he was supposed to be on the road leading away from Hadrian's Wall. Instead he had somehow changed his mind and that decision would be the death of him.
Damara tried to tell herself that she worried for no reason – that she was being foolish. How could she know for certain that Tristan was coming back, never mind that he would die today? But she did. In her bones, she knew. And she was determined that she would change his fate.
Her mind raced as she frantically tried to decide what to do. Her first priority was to find someone to care for Bran for a while. She needed to be able to direct her full attention to the tasks at hand today. He would have to be safe and well cared for if she were to be able to concentrate.
She hurried from the fortress. The people from her village had set up a camp when they'd arrived, and she hoped that they had not all left when the Romans did. While she had been shunned by many of them, she also knew and had treated most of them at one time. As sad as it was, these people were the closest thing that Damara had to family. And she could not believe that in times like these, her plea for help would be rejected.
She saw Ganis directing a work crew in preparations for battle. He'd always been one the villagers had looked to, and since leaving the estate he had really come into his own. He'd also been a kind man, always. She hoped that he would be appreciated and rewarded.
"Ganis!" she called to him.
He looked around to see who was calling him. When he saw Damara, he came over to see her. "What are you doing here, girl? I thought you'd left."
"No, I am staying. I thought there would be need of my services after the battle."
He nodded. "I'm sure there will be, though I wish there weren't. What can I do for you?"
"I need someone to watch my son for me. Is your sister still here, or did you send her away?"
Ganis replied, "The very young and the elderly are going to the forest to stay in the Woad village. It is hidden and well protected, so I am told. She goes with them, since her child is only three months old."
A sense of urgency gripped Damara. "I'm sorry Ganis – I have very little time. Do you know where Deirdre is right now?"
"Helping to gather supplies. Look over in that storehouse; that is where I last saw them."
Damara thanked him and left hurriedly. Poor Bran was getting fussy, and needed to be fed. She just wished she had more time. She stopped and opened her shirt. Once Bran was happily feeding, she went about finding Deirdre, Ganis' sister.
She entered the storehouse and found Deirdre, who was willing to watch little Bran for as long as Damara needed her to. "I hope to come and get him tonight, but it may be longer depending on how many wounded there are," said Damara.
"I have milk enough for the both of them so never you mind. Take as long as you need," said Deirdre.
Damara reluctantly handed over Bran, who had finished feeding and fallen asleep. She took out the coin that had been given to her by Lancelot, what now seemed like years ago. As she proffered it to Deirdre, she looked her in the face, pleading with her eyes. "Please, treat him well. I know he is nothing to any of you, but he is all I have."
Deirdre looked ashamed. She and all the other children had tormented strange, quiet little Damara when they were young. Damara's own father hadn't wanted her around, too much like her mother's Woadish family for his taste. He would beat her for any offense, always trying to rid her of the things that made her who she was. If there was nothing else to do, teasing Damara until she cried had always been a fun pastime for the children. Deirdre had grown up and left the cruel little child that she had been far behind, but she knew that many of the others had not.
She was quiet for a moment and then said, "Keep your coin. I'm sorry for the way you've been treated – we were children then and did not know better. But we all grew up and many of us still do not know better. I am not among them. And the shame of it is when we've needed your aid you've never refused any of us, no matter what offenses we committed." She looked at Damara, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Your child will be safe with me. I will treat him as my own and will protect him with my life. I give you my word."
Damara was touched and surprised by the woman's apology and smiled warmly at her. She gripped Deirdre's hand and thanked her. Then she said, "I must leave now – I wish you a safe journey. I'll come get him as quickly as I can."
Deirdre turned away with the baby and Damara's heart tore in pieces. It was too soon to be away from him, much too soon. But she knew he was in good hands and resolved to put her worry aside. She still had Tristan to worry about.
She was still weak and sore from childbirth and knew that she would have to take it easy or she would find herself of no use to the scout when he would need her most. Her child now well taken care of, she was free to concentrate on Tristan. She went to make preparations.
ooooo
When the battle started, Damara ran to the wall and climbed the battlements, searching for any sign of Tristan. She nervously watched the stairway, but Ganis and the others seemed to be holding it against the Saxons. She had replenished her medicine bag as best she could and had changed her clothing.
She was dressed all in white – she had been compelled to wear white, and now did not question any of her intuitions. She would follow them unflinchingly, for she would need every advantage if she were to save Tristan.
She had looked through clothing that had been left by behind by Vanora. Unable to take everything when they left, Vanora had said she could have anything she desired from their hut. There were baby things there that would come in handy, but Damara doubted anything of use or value would still be left by the end of the day. She'd seem some people looting already. The knights were gone, the place was in confusion – who was there to stop them?
Damara did not understand why she'd needed to change her clothes, but had some idea. Her white apparel would be a beacon, Damara thought. Tristan would see her standing on the battlements and she could warn him.
Looking down now at the chaos beneath her she thought what a foolish idea that had been. How incredibly naïve. She was staggered by the sheer size of the conflict that roiled at her feet – how could she have thought it would be as simple as Tristan seeing her and being magically saved? Her knight was somewhere down there in the madness that churned below, and she could not even find him, never mind warn him.
The sight of the battle horrified her - how could people do such things to each other? Occasionally she caught a glimpse of a knight whose face she knew. But in that teeming mass of bodies hacking and slashing at each other, it was never Tristan. She was growing increasingly frantic. Time was running short - she could feel it.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a stillness on the battlefield. A place of wide berth, that the other warriors avoided. Directing her gaze, she saw something that made her heart stop. In the center of that stillness was Tristan and a Saxon warrior – the sight of whom filled her with dread. This was the man who would stop her love's heart from beating if she could not prevent it.
"Tristan!" she screamed, her voice cracking with the effort. 'You fool!' she thought. Even if he could hear her, she would only distract him.
In despair she realized that he would never hear or see her where she stood on the wall. She would have to go out there. Her knees turned to water at the thought of stepping onto that blood-soaked field - she couldn't do it. She herself would be killed. People were blindly hacking at each other, chopping off heads and limbs, eviscerating each other – this was a world she was terrified to step into, a task she was unequal to.
She didn't know if she could find it in herself to help Tristan. But if she did not she knew he would die. 'If you don't do this, you will spend the rest of your life knowing you never even tried,' she told herself. 'You will live in torment and you will deserve every minute of it.'
She closed her eyes, gathering herself. 'Don't think…just move.'
She ran towards the stairs that were being held by Ganis. "Ganis!" she screamed. "I need to get down there!"
"No – you're crazy! Stay where you are!" he shouted back as incredibly, he fended off two large Saxons.
"Ganis, please! Now, or it will be too late!" Damara was growing frantic.
He jerked his head in assent, and she got behind him. He worked his way down the stairs, clearing a path for her. She kept alert, ducking and dodging axes and swords. When Ganis got her through the gate, she threw him a grateful look and took off at a dead run.
She didn't think – if she stopped to do that she would lose her nerve. Her eyes remained fixed on the place where she had last seen Tristan, and she worked her way towards him, hoping that she would not be too late. Damara did not think about what she would do once she got there, but trusted that her intuition would guide her.
ooooo
Lancelot had lost count of how many Saxons he had killed. Dozens, maybe more. He was untouchable on the field - taking out first this enemy and then that one. Even the second in command of this army had been less than he had expected. He dispatched yet another Saxon and then turned to see who was next.
A flash of white caught the corner of his eye – were his eyes deceiving him, or was it a woman, running across the battlefield? He turned back to see, but she was gone, if she had ever truly been there. Suddenly he grimaced at a stabbing pain that went through his upper arm. He looked down to see an arrow deeply embedded in his left arm. He looked up and saw the shaven Saxon that he had so easily dismissed, holding a crossbow.
The Saxon's face contorted in anger when he saw that he had missed his mark. Lancelot realized that had he not turned to see the phantom in white, the arrow would have pierced his chest. He was not dead, but he had lost the use of his left sword-arm for the time being and in fury he hurled a sword at the man who had cost him that arm. With satisfaction he watched the Saxon die - impaled by the sword that met its mark. He retrieved it and continued fighting at Guinevere's side.
ooooo
Damara kept running, oblivious to all but her need to get to Tristan. She took no note of the horrors around her for; if she did, she would dissolve in terror. Her eyes were on the big Saxon, for she no longer saw Tristan. She prayed to whatever deity would listen that she was not too late.
As she ran up to them, she cried out. Tristan was down, whether dead or badly injured, she did not know. The Saxon loomed above him and bent to pick him up. Damara saw Tristan move and knew that he still lived. But not for long - the Saxon meant to finish him off.
In blind panic, Damara ran towards the Saxon and slammed into him as hard as she could. "No!" she screamed.
Cerdic turned to see who had interrupted his kill. Mild surprise registered on his face – this was no fierce Woad warrioress, it was simply a small insignificant woman who had no business being on his battlefield. He swatted her like an insect and she landed, dazed, some feet away.
The healer watched in horror as the huge Saxon turned his attention back to Tristan. She was unable to move. Damara had exerted herself too much, too soon after the birth of her child, and was dizzy from the blow to the head that the Saxon had dealt her. Though she tried to get up, she was unable and fell back to the ground. Tears born of impotent fury fell from her eyes. She watched helplessly as the Saxon prepared to deal Tristan his death blow. Sobbing in anguish, Damara wanted to look away, but to do so would be to abandon the knight entirely. She would watch as he died – he would not be alone.
Suddenly a large form rushed past her and dealt the Saxon a mighty blow. The big man dropped Tristan and turned to see who had dared to interrupt him yet again. It was Arturius Castus himself, come to aid his embattled comrade. An unholy light gleamed in the Saxon's eyes as he engaged Arthur. Damara watched the combatants as she crawled towards Tristan – Arthur was magnificent in battle; in his fury over his fallen man.
Tristan lay, watching his hawk circle him overhead. He hoped that she would have a good, long life – find a mate to hunt and raise young with. He thought it appropriate that the last thing he would see in this life was his beloved friend. He wished that he could look upon Damara's lovely face one last time and regretted that they had parted badly. He'd never be able to right that wrong.
He opened his eyes, determined to watch his hawk until death closed his eyes, and instead saw Damara looking down at him. 'Have I died already?' Tristan thought. 'Is this what comes after?' He started to close his eyes – content. Then his world dissolved into blackness.
"Tristan! Tristan – don't leave me! Tristan!" Damara screamed. She leaned forward and felt for his pulse. It was there, weak but still there. Frantically she yanked at his armor, fingers fumbling to loosen the straps that held it in place.
The battle was ending. Having no one else left to fight, Gawain came running up and began helping her remove Tristan's armor. She left it to his more efficient hands and turned to grab her medicine bag. She needed to get his bleeding stopped.
Once his clothing was removed, she assessed his condition. Her heart sank. So much blood lost - so many deep wounds. Would she be able to heal him? This was beyond anything she'd ever before attempted. Damara swept aside her self-doubt and determined she would simply take it one wound at a time. She called for water, and water was brought to her.
Her first task was to get him as clean as possible. She knew that after the initial injury, the biggest threat would be the festering that would follow. She cleaned and stitched, stitched and cleaned. Each wound was packed with marsh woundwort before she moved on to the next. She was barely aware of the knights around her. Gawain and Bors were caring for Lancelot, with Arthur hovering anxiously over both his wounded knights and helping where he could. Galahad sat silently, passing clean rags and getting water for Damara, threading needles when she required it.
She kept checking Tristan's pulse – it was still weak but she thrilled to the fact that he still had one. After what seemed like hours, she was finished. She was still terribly worried, but at least Tristan was stitched up and he still breathed.
Her legs were cramped and she was only able to stand with Galahad's assistance. Once he removed his steady arm she almost collapsed from weakness. While Tristan was carried off the field on a pallet, Damara was carried behind him in Galahad's strong arms.
Tristan was taken tohis room in the knight's wing. The infirmary was filled to the brim, and his room was more comfortable and private. Besides, his hawk would be able to come and go through the window. She knew that the bird's presence would be comforting to Tristan, whether he knew she was there or not.
Tristan was still and gray, and Arthur was worried. The healer had done a good job, but Arthur knew that gut wounds were very hard to survive. Almost impossible, if he were to be totally honest with himself. And it was a hard death. He went to speak to Damara, who had not left Tristan's side.
"Going out on the battlefield was foolhardy, you know that," said Arthur.
"I suppose so," said Damara. "But I could do nothing else. He was going to die and I couldn't allow that."
"I would not have even seen him if you had not been there," Arthur said. "Your white garb caught my eye and I looked to see where you were running. That's when I saw Tristan." Arthur choked with emotion. "If I had only gotten there sooner I could have saved him."
Damara put her small hand on Arthur's rough and callused one. "You did save him, though. He's not dead. He's badly injured, but he'll come out of it; you'll see."
Arthur looked at Damara. He didn't want to tell her, but he owed her the truth. "Damara – Tristan is not going to make it. The wound he has – I've never seen a man survive such wounds. The best you can do for him is to make him comfortable until the end."
Damara looked at Arthur incredulously. "You're wrong – look at him. His breathing is good, his heartbeat is getting stronger all the time." She got up. "I can't listen to this. I'm going to the infirmary – Tristan is going to need a lot of care and I should replenish my bag."
Damara fumed as she stormed down to the infirmary. She would not listen to anyone who thought that Tristan was dying, she didn't care if it was Arthur himself. It simply would not happen, because she would not allow it.
As she went through the apothecary, a Woad healer stopped her, wanting to know for whom the medicines were meant.
"They are for the knight Tristan – he recovers in his room upstairs."
The healer took the bag from her hand. "I'm sorry," the healer said. "I can't allow you to take these. Everything is running low and we can only use them for those with the best chance of survival."
Damara's eyes narrowed to tiny blue-green slits. "I am taking these and you will not stop me. If I need more later, I will come and get them," she hissed. "If there are any problems, Arthur himself will hear about it and the matter will be dealt with that way. Is that understood?"
The man drew back. "I am following Merlin's orders – you must speak with him."
"I will," she snapped. "In the meantime you will give me that bag or you will lose the hand that holds it." With that she snatched the bag away from the other healer.
"Is there a problem that I can help with?" came a calm, sage voice from behind Damara.
She turned and came face to face with Merlin. She'd never been introduced of course, but she knew who he was. She ducked her head in reverence. "On your orders, this healer will not allow me the medicines I need to care for one of Arthur's knights."
"These are indeed my orders…that which is in short supply should not be wasted on those who are dying." Merlin said, not unkindly.
"But Tristan will not have a chance without them. He must be given that chance!" Damara said.
Merlin placed his hand on Damara's head in a comforting gesture. "And how many others will die that your one knight may have a small chance to live? It is a hard thing, to have to make these decisions. But they must indeed be made."
Frustrated, Damara asked Merlin, "But you haven't seen him! You don't know. How can you judge that he cannot be helped without having seen him?"
Merlin sighed. "I know the condition of all gravely wounded here. My healers keep me apprised. There is only one knight that has been so wounded and I have been told he is beyond our help. But if it will ease your mind I will see him."
Damara bowed her head in thanks. As they made their way to Tristan's quarters, Damara told Merlin all about the scout's condition. What poultices and infusions she had used, what others she was considering. Merlin had a wealth of knowledge at his command and Damara knew he was aware of remedies that she had not even thought of.
Arthur stood up when Damara entered the room with Merlin, of all people. He exchanged a look with the Woad, andArthur's look told Merlin all he needed to know – the scout was indeed dying. To appease the girl, Merlin gave Tristan a thorough examination. He admitted to himself that her care had been very good, but the knight's condition was precarious at best. He would not survive another two days.
When he turned to speak, his heart broke at the girl's hopeful face. There was no hope. Even the herbs for pain needed to be rationed – the scout's death would be a hard one. He looked at Arthur, and saw the pain in his eyes. The Roman knew the truth, agonizing as it was. He hoped Arthur could help the girl accept it. Merlin shook his head. "I'm sorry – there is nothing to be done for this man. He is dying."
TBC