Chapter Twenty-Four: Home
It was mid afternoon by the time the caravan arrived at the lake. The knights stopped in front of the ice, the wagons stopping behind them.
"Is there any other way?" Arthur asked Tristan, anxiety evident in his usually calm voice.
The scout shook his head. "No. We have to cross the ice."
Dagonet was behind Arthur, and could see his shoulders sag slightly as he sighed, but he straightened up immediately, ever the hardened warrior.
"Tell them to spread out."
Dagonet dismounted and followed the others out onto the ice. He glanced back, and could see Lucan beside Guinevere in one of the wagons. Well, at least he was safe for the time being.
As they proceeded across the ice, Dagonet could hear the ice cracking and groaning ominously, and the horses skittered about nervously.
"Whoa there," Dagonet said, stroking his stallion's nose. "Whoa."
They were about halfway across the lake when they heard the Saxon drums: far away at first, but growing closer and closer. Dagonet watched as Arthur hesitated, indecisive for a moment, before swinging around to face the knights.
"Knights," was all he had to say. No other words were needed.
Dagonet suddenly felt an aching in his soul to fight. He had to prove to Adara that he could protect Lucan, to prove that he could fight for the son he had abandoned for so long.
"Well," Dagonet heard Bors say in his usual blunt fashion. "I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind my ass is hurting."
"Never like looking over my shoulder anyway," Tristan agreed in his guttural accent.
Dagonet grinned slightly with the strange euphoria he always felt before a battle. It was a momentary feeling that you were invincible, that no one could touch you, and it got him every time.
"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket," Gawain said.
"We'll finally get a look at the bastards," Galahad concurred.
Dagonet was already moving to get his weapons when he spoke. "Here," he said simply. "Now."
Dagonet was aware of Arthur's gaze passing to Lancelot, and the wiry knight just shook his head disapprovingly, yet Dagonet knew that he was far too loyal to Arthur to even consider refuting his commands, no matter how much he may dislike them.
Arthur called to Jols, but Dagonet was not listening. He took his weapons from his horse: his axe and the daggers, which he slotted into his boots, and he handed his horse over to one of the other men.
Dressing for battle was an age-old tradition. It was the same, familiar movements, spinning his axe in his hands, weighing it up, and accustoming himself to its weight. The same habits that he went through every time, so that they became as much a part of the battle as the arrows that would later fly.
He turned to see the man named Ganis protesting against their stupidity, or courage, however you wanted to think of it. "You're seven against two hundred!" he objected.
"Eight," Guinevere said, walking across the ice to join them. "You could use another bow."
Dagonet looked at the woman in amazement. He had not expected that much of her, and pleased as he was that she should stay and fight with them, he felt a reservation in his heart about leaving Lucan with the Romans. But he pushed this away. He had to fight for Lucan, for Adara, and the more bows that they had, the better a chance of survival.
He suddenly realised that he may never know how his son's mother died, but shrugged the thought away. What did it matter in the end? What mattered was her son, his son, and Dagonet knew, at that moment, that he would go to hell and back for that child.
And so they stood, eight against two hundred. The wind swept loose snow across the ice, and Dagonet stood watching the carriage that bore Lucan away from him. Dagonet lifted his hand in farewell to the small boy, and Lucan raised his hand to acknowledge the salute.
And then they arrived.
The drums beat out the rhythm to which they marched onto the ice, and lined up in orderly ranks facing the knights.
Dagonet could see a discussion going on at the front of the Saxon lines, and a minute later an archer stepped forwards, sending an arrow flying towards them, but the Saxon bows were far out of range, and the arrow ended up skidding across the ice, far from the knights.
"I believe they're waiting for an invitation," Arthur said, in a hard voice. "Bors! Tristan!"
"We're far out of range," Guinevere protested, and Arthur just smiled as the two knights raised their bows, several arrows notched each, and sent them sailing across the ice with such force that even at that distance, they pierced the leather armour of several Saxons.
Dagonet could not help but smile as Arthur raised his eyebrows at Guinevere, who just glared back at him. The familiar exhilaration was running through his veins as the Saxons started to march across the ice and the knights raised their bows.
"Aim for the wings of the ranks. Make them cluster," Arthur told them, his voice calm, and betraying none of the fear that was running through the hearts of the knights.
Dagonet loosed his arrows, but did not wait to see if he had struck true. It was the same with the other knights. They did not pause to watch the Saxons die, instead they had the next arrow notched and were aiming within seconds.
Dagonet noticed, with some relief, the groans of the ice, as the Saxons clustered together, as the knights calmly picked off the stragglers on the edges. And yet, for all the protests of the ice, it was not cracking, and the Saxons continued their steady advance.
"It's not going to crack," Arthur suddenly said in horror. "Fall back. Fall back! Prepare for combat," Arthur's voice suddenly sounded very urgent, when compared to the usual composure with which he usually directed battles. He drew Excalibur, dropping back a few paces from the piles of arrows, to give himself space to wield the sword.
The other knights were abandoning their bows, and picking up their swords as well, but Dagonet hesitated, looking from the solitary line of knights and Guinevere, across to the hoards of advancing Saxons.
'So this is where it ends,' a dry voice in his mind told him. 'Flanked by your brothers as you fought, not to save, but only to delay the death of your son.'
Dagonet knew, as well as any of the knights, that nothing short of a divine intervention would save them now. They would die, killed, not in a glorious battle, but as dogs, on a desolate frozen lake, outnumbered and cut down. And they would not even be saving the wagonloads of people fleeing from the Saxons. Once the Saxons had cut down the knights, they would simply march on to slaughter the people whom Arthur had sworn to protect.
Lucan's face floated before Dagonet's mind. He had known his son only a few short days, and he was abandoning him again. He hadn't saved his mother, and he couldn't save Lucan.
Suddenly, Dagonet looked out across the ice, and did not see the hoards of Saxons, but instead Adara's smiling face. She was laughing at him. Laughing because he could not see the obvious. Dagonet smiled softly to himself, and bent down to retrieve his axe, Adara's smiling face still in his mind.
And before anyone could stop him, he was running across the ice, screaming at the Saxons, screaming with a fury for killing his beloved, and trying to kill his comrades and his son. He distantly heard the cries of the knights, but these faded as he attacked the ice. He hacked at it, hearing nothing but Adara's laugh in his ears. Suddenly, there was a huge cracking sound and the ice began breaking, and yet still Dagonet hacked at it, swearing viciously, until an arrow hit him in the chest.
There was no pain, just a feeling of detachment, as if he was watching his body from afar. His arms did not seem to be working, and he felt his legs buckle underneath him.
There was a brief moment, as he fell into the water, when it felt like he was being stabbed by a thousand knives, as the ice-cold water engulfed his senses, but then even that pain receded, and there was nothing but blackness, oblivion.
And through the darkness came a light. A light that slowly grew brighter and brighter, until, instead of being surrounded by shadows, he was surrounded by a blazing glory of light.
And through the light, he could make out a figure walking towards him. A figure in a golden dress, with a cascade of hazel hair over one shoulder, and a laugh in her eyes.
Dimly, Dagonet could hear Bors' voice, shouting at him, pleading for him to stay, but Dagonet did not want to stay. He wanted to go to the woman he had waited so long for. He paused for a fraction of a second, before making up his mind, and stepping forwards to meet Adara's embrace. He was home.
A/N – Well, there you go. Finished. The end. What did you think? Sorry it took so long to update, but I've been slightly obsessed with 'In Your Arms' at the moment, and this was kind of put to a side. I think I'm going to go back through it and update it, because I was just reading through a bit of it today, and it sucks! Anyway, this is my last update of new material, so enjoy, and review! Especially if there's anything in previous chapters that you think needs changing. Happy Christmas!