Chapter Six: The Things you do for the people you love
Iseult saw Tristan fall to his knees as her Uncle delivered another blow to his chest. He began to walk forwards to retrieve Tristan's sword which had fallen from his hand. Iseult could not let this happen. She took up a bloodcurdling yell which could hardly be heard amongst all the other cries on the battlefield and ran towards the figures. As her Uncle raised the sword, she connected sidelong with his chest, toppling him over. He got himself up quickly. Iseult stood in front of Tristan who was looking into the sky at his hawk, shielding him. The Saxon turned to face the insolent being that had prevented him from hitting at Arthur where it hurt the most. He was a little startled to see the girl standing in front of him, eyes wild and glaring, half-crouched. She smiled and hissed. He stood, unsure of this creature standing before him.
"Well, come on, Uncle-fight! You know you'd much prefer to kill the bastard daughter of your brother than a half-dead knight." She heard Tristan echo the word 'brother' behind her, and ignored it. Such things could be dealt with later. The Saxon was still staring at her, head cocked to one side as he understood who she was, and growled low in his chest. Then, suddenly, he flew at her, yelling. Iseult jumped back and cut a blow to his side, then ducked as he dealt a backhand, but missed the kick to the gut and fell back, winded, clutching her stomach and gasping for breath.
Arthur looked up and round after killing the stinking Saxon that had, moments before, been laying blow upon blow on him. As he was looking round, he saw the Saxon leader slam the butt of his sword into Iseult's stomach, sending her falling backwards into the mud next to Tristan. The Saxon moved forwards, and Arthur ran.
Iseult raised herself up onto her knees, but she was weak after the last blow her Uncle had given her, and the searing pain that ran through her left side, and turned her head to look at Tristan, gasping for breath, knowing that this was the end for her, and not regretting it. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the final blow-which never came. A sudden 'Oomph,' and
"Iseult, Tristan, move!" Iseult looked up and saw Excalibur connecting with Tristan's sabre. Gathering her strength, she stood, then turned to see if Tristan was alright. He was getting to his feet.
"I'll be fine," he said, reading her mind. Iseult nodded, not registering the dark look he had given her, and then looked round the battlefield, and saw, heart in mouth, as a few hundred feet away, that Lancelot was knocked to the floor by her cousin. She felt the blow as if it were her standing there instead of him. She quickly stabbed an incoming Saxon in the heart and ran forwards, only to be confronted by another. She ducked and slashed his unprotected thighs open in one move, sending him to the ground, howling. Then she ran, by the Gods, she ran.
Lancelot threw his opponent to the floor, and his concentration was now directed towards another foe who had attacked him from behind, but as Iseult ran, she could see what was about to happen. Her cousin was picking up a crossbow from underneath a dead Saxon and was winding it up, ready to fire. Iseult slammed an incoming Saxon in the jaw before he had time to attack her properly and ran forwards as her cousin took aim-and fired. She skidded to a halt in front of Lancelot just as he turned round and the arrow entered flesh.
At first she didn't know whether the arrow had hit its intended mark or not; Lancelot's face was so shocked, but when her knees weakened and she collapsed to the ground, she realised Lancelot was untouched. She smiled, let out a short laugh, and blood spilled out of her mouth, blocking her throat so she had to cough to remove it. She placed her hand over her stomach just below her rib-age and pulled it away, crimson blood covering it. Lancelot's shocked face moved away from Iseult and looked up at the perpetrator, who was standing; empty crossbow still aimed at them both, furious that he had hit the wrong person. Lancelot raised his sword high in the air behind him and yelled wildly, throwing it with all his available energy, letting it fly through the air and embed itself in the other man's chest. Iseult lay on her side on the floor and reached behind her, grabbing the end of the arrow. Lancelot saw that even though the sword had hit its mark, the bastard wasn't dead yet. He strode forwards, pulling out his sword and wrestled with the Saxon as the sword inched closer towards his neck. Eventually, the Saxon's arm bucked and the blade sliced through sinew and muscle, killing him instantly.
Iseult cried out as she pulled the arrow from inside her body. She looked at it, pain contorting her face, and was relieved to see that through the blood and lumps of tissue, the head of the arrow was still there. She sighed and lay on her back, closing her eyes, letting the darkness take over. She was dimly aware of the noise of the battle dimming in her ears, then a final voice,
"Iseult, Iseult! Oh, by the Gods, what have you done!"