The knights' fifteenth year of service, and their final mission.
Dagonet rode in with his usual casualness: he could have been born in the saddle for the ease at which he moved with the horse, never seeming to weary of the swaying motion. His eyes looked almost closed, and a casual observer could be forgiven for thinking that perhaps he was half-asleep.
This however, was as far from the actual truth as could be. Dagonet often spent weeks in the saddle, and when he had to stay up throughout the night on watch, or scouting for the next day's ride, he had soon learnt to rest as much as he could when riding. But despite his drowsy appearance, he was alert. Every fibre of his body was ready for the moment when they might come under attack, his half-closed eyelids concealed eyes that looked warily around, and every sense was attentive for any motion or sound that may betray a watching enemy.
It was cold. The skies were grey with snow, not yet fallen. The land looked dead and lifeless: plants had either died in the harsh frosts or were left leafless and barren, while all animals had fled the cold, retreating to warm burrows where they slept the winter out. The only sign of life, besides the knights riding warily across the desolate land, was a hawk wheeling high above them.
Tristan could always be located by that hawk, Dagonet thought idly to himself, as he looked absently up into the overcast skies. He wondered whether Tristan would have any news on the Saxons, as he pushed his horse forwards into a faster canter to catch up with Arthur at the head of the line of knight.
"Arthur!" he said, in his customary unceremonious manner. "Tristan's back," he nodded at the hawk circling in the grey sky.
Arthur followed Dagonet's gaze and nodded. "We will need to move faster to get there before nightfall. Tell the others," was his reply.
Dagonet nodded and wheeled his horse away towards the column of knights.
Tristan emerged from the woods about half an hour later. His face was perhaps even grimmer than usual, and his voice was abrupt and harsh.
"Saxons coming from the north. An entire army. We have to move faster if we're going to have a chance," he told Arthur bleakly.
Arthur nodded. "We're almost there. Another hour, perhaps two?"
Tristan looked up into the sky. "We won't make it back before nightfall," he decided.
Arthur nodded. "I know."
"Camping in Woad territory?" Tristan asked. "Sheer foolishness."
"When I want your opinion I will be sure to ask for it!" Arthur snapped, feeling increasingly short-tempered, as the mission seemed more and more likely to fail.
Tristan smiled slightly, setting Arthur's teeth on edge, and, pushing his horse forwards into a fast gallop, disappeared back into the trees.
Arthur watched Tristan until he disappeared, and then turned and shouted over his shoulder. "Get a move on or you'll be entertaining the Woads and the Saxons soon!"
The tired knights pushed their even more fatigued horses on, and the group set off at a fast canter across enemy territory as the snow began to fall.
A/N – I know, I know, it's been ages since I've updated. Sorry! I got caught up with another fanfic I'm doing – very distracting as I'm sure you know! But I'm back on course now, juggling the two of them, so you'll have to forgive me if I'ma bit slow in updating. As you can see, it is the last mission of the knights – rescuing Alecto, so I'm sure this will be familiar territory to you guys.
In response to a question I got from Sailor Earth (I think it was you…correct me if I'm wrong): yes I did have a sequel to this on the site, but I took it off, and it is currently being re-worked. It will be back when I find some time to sort it out and get it back on the site. Please hang on until then!
Another point that I've just remembered – the title, 'Where Are All The Ragged Heroes' is taken from a poem by John Tams: 'Where Are All The Ragged Heroes?'