Almost Had It All Chapter 2: Prologue, a king arthur fanfic

Almost Had It All

Prologue:

Pick me up
been bleeding too long
Right here, right now
I'll stop it some how

I will make it go away
can't be here no more
Seems this is the only way
I will soon be gone
these feelings will be gone
these feelings will be gone

Now I see the times they change
leaving doesn't seem so strange
I am hoping I can find
where to leave my hurt behind
All this shit I seem to take
all alone I seem to break
I have lived the best I can
Does this make me not a man?

Shut me off
I am ready,
Heart stops
I stand alone
Can't be on my own

I will make it go away
can't be here no more
Seems this is the only way
I will soon be gone
these feelings will be gone
these feelings will be gone

Am I going to leave this place?
What is it I'm running from?
is there nothing more to come? (am I Gunna leave this place?)
Is it always black in space?
Am I going to take it's place?
Am I going to leave this race? (Am I going to leave this race?)
I guess god's up in this place?
what is it that I've become?
is there something more to come? (more to come)

"Alone I Break" Korn

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465 A.D.

Eastern Province…

The smell of death loomed overhead, a persistent fog, holding on with hands of mist to the bloody earth, reluctant to allow the sun to prevail. The anguished cries and moans of the dying sliced and pounded through the thick air.

Shredded and burning flags of a rebel nation littered the area, along with the fallen men from the same. Though, too, the standard of Rome could be seen, stabbed into the ground near their dead carriers, wavering as the air rushed in circles around them.

Several figures could be made out among the bodies through the fog. The few beams of sunlight reflecting harshly off the bright red plumes in their dull metal helmets. Ironic that the color of escaping life, pooled on the ground beneath could be found there as well.

Included in the figures, one could be seen who did not mirror the color. Black cloak and hair flying behind, caught in the vicious wind; stern face, bruised and bloodied from battle; cold blue eyes, assessing the mayhem before them; sword by side, for now in rest, but ready to do harm if need be. If one looked closer, shock might be felt at such a person on a field of such brutality. But if one actually felt surprised at this person – this woman – found in such surroundings, then one is less knowledgeable than one might think.

Marsile looked about her, searching for the two people she hoped had survived the long fight. Her gaze, though hindered by the dense fog, eventually settled upon those whom she sought. The kneeled man by the prone body brought about a sharp pain in her gut, quickly striking up to grasp her heart, pulling it up to lump in her throat.

"Oh, no…" she whispered, almost inaudibly against the wind.

Sheathing her sword, Marsile slowly wound her way around dead men to the other side of the fallen man, kneeling, as the man on the opposite side did.

The glossy brown eyes of her mentor stared up into oblivion, never to crinkle in amusement, crease in concern, or boil in anger again.

Gattus, General of the Eastern Legions, was dead.

And here, beside him, was Cornelius, his son and second-in-command, and Marsile, his student, prized warrior and his Iniga.

Marsile reached out and gently closed those eyes for the last time. With her hand still on Gattus's head, she bowed her own, and said a Sarmatian prayer she would never forget, to help speed his spirit to whatever heaven he chose to believe in.

"Unrest will no longer be yours, the Goddess take your soul, brave warrior, to a place where peace reigns, and pain will no where be."

Marsile looked over to where Cornelius sat in silent despair, staring at his dead father. She reached across and gripped his hand, trying to squeeze comfort into his motionless body.

"I am sorry Cornelius. Your father was a great soldier, and an even greater man. He is revered in such a noble death."

After a moment of silence, Cornelius spoke, still not moving his gaze.

"You, of all people, say that death in the name of Rome is a noble one? Would you wish for your end to be met in battle? "

"Yes, there is no better death for a soldier than death in battle. And no, I do not believe that death for Rome is noble. Death for what one believes in is. Your father was a Greek man who died protecting his homeland. I respect him for not only his loyalty to his people, but also for his non-Roman heritage…" she trailed off, giving the last bit alighter tone so that maybe the man would look away from the death and toward the life left behind.

Fortunately, the ploy worked. Cornelius looked over at her, the shadow of the smirk she knew so well around his mouth.

"Luckily for me, only half of my bloodline is Roman, huh? Otherwise, you might not like me as much as you do."

With a sad smile, Marsile replied jokingly, "Who said I liked you at all? But I guess, this once, I'll let the insult slide." She stood and held a hand out to him. "Come, we need rest. Once we have our strength back…we can deal with what is left."

When they were both standing, the two made their way toward the camp being erected at the edge of the field, stopping only to order a soldier to gather the General Gattus and his belongings and lay him in a tent for burial preparations.

Walking into the tent set up for him, Cornelius began stripping off his heavy battle armor, followed by Marsile, slowly taking off what armor she herself wore. He mentioned a concern for the risk she took wearing so little protection, but she wasn't listening. Despite her dry eyes, she felt the agony of loss welling up inside her again.

After placing his armor and weapons in the tent corner, Cornelius noticed Marsile just standing still, looking dejectedly at the dried blood of others on her hands. Walking toward her, Cornelius told her to sit in the chair while he brought the water.

Methodically, he washed the blood away from her hands and dabbed at the splatters on her face and neck.

When all was finished, the dam holding back her pain broke and she spoke in a low whisper.

"If I had paid more attention…"

Placing his hands on the sides of her head, Cornelius raised Marsile's face to his.

"You are not to blame, Iniga! We all choose our own fates; make our own decisions. And you blaming yourself for my father's death is a wrong decision!" He finished by resting his forehead on her brow, watching her eyes until she finally closed them and nodded.

When Marsile opened her eyes again and her gaze latched onto his, she saw the despair she felt reflected in his brown eyes. They both knew what the other needed: release to ease the emotional pain.

Cornelius leaned his head down to capture her lips with his own.

Just as eager as he to let the hurt slip away and knowledgeable to the fact that he had always been caring with her in bed, Marsile gave in to the kiss, responding in like to Cornelius' passion.

Cornelius, in turn, pulled her from the chair, gripped her legs, and wrapping them around his waist, carried her behind the curtain that sectioned off the sleeping quarters.

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A week or so later…

Cornelius and Marsile stood side by side as the lid of Gattus' coffin was nailed into place.

There weren't many people present on the hilltop where Cornelius' ancestors were laid to rest: just Marsile, Cornelius himself, and the few servants that Gattus had employed at his estate. Though they'd had a time for the soldiers to honor their fallen general, all that was allowed now was family.

Marsile stepped forward and placed her hand on the wooden box.

"Goodbye my friend. Rest well," she whispered slowly.

She looked back at Cornelius, who only shook his head. Marsile understood. He wanted to say goodbye alone. Moving back, she nodded to the servants, their faces drawn in mourning for their deceased employer. Slowly they lowered the coffin into the grave.

Marsile walked over to Marcus, one of the stablemen, and said low enough for his ears alone,

"Tell the others to leave for a few minutes, to give Cornelius some time. They can come back later and finish."

The man nodded and spread the word quietly. Once she saw that all were gone, Marsile glanced back at Cornelius, who stood looking down into the grave, and then walked to the neighboring hilltop and sat, looking out on the land below, remembering.

"Sirs, there is someone in the water!" A soldier called to the general and his twenty-year-old son, Cornelius, also his Second.

Gattus dismounted and rushed to the riverbank just as one of his men pulled the person from the raging waters. Kneeling down beside the person, he realized that it was a young girl. Gattus began to apply pressure to her chest, pushing the water from her lungs.

The general picked up the girl and carried her to his horse. Little did he know then the effect he would have on the girl's future.

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"Pick up the pace Iniga!" Gattus yelled.

Nodding, she moved her feet and arms faster as Cornelius came at her, his sword a blur as it swiped in front of her. One movement too slow and she ended up on her back, looking up at her friend.

"Watch your opponent's eyes and do not focus on his weapon's movements, otherwise you will become dizzy and miss a block," the young man said, reaching down to help her to her feet.

oOo

"Come on my Iniga! Is having your portrait made so horrible?" Gattus asked exasperated.

"Yes! When I have to wear this!" she replied, looking pointedly at the beautiful thin, blue gown Sara insisted she wear.

"I don't understand you sometimes! You look as glorious as the goddesses of old!" the man said with a chuckle as she huffed out of the room.

oOo

"For you Iniga. No true Sarmatian can go without a mighty horse," Gattus said, watching the girl he considered daughter stare in awe at the young black stallion standing in the stall.

"He is magnificent!" She stated in shock.

"He is all yours," Gattus replied with a fatherly kiss to the top of the girl's head.

Several minutes passed by before Marsile felt Cornelius sit down beside her. Neither said anything, just looked out on the Greek estate that now belong by right to Cornelius.

The bright blue sea stretched up to join with white sands, the green grass surrounding the two people making a perfect contrast. The enormous villa was a blinding white, made even more so by the shining sun. The large stable set back in the valley, while the many horses it housed galloped in the fields.

Back at the estate, a door opened and an old servant woman stepped out. Up on the hill, Marsile and Cornelius could hear Sara yelling at them to get out of the heat and come in and eat their noonday meal. With echoing chuckles, the two did as their old nanny bid them.

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Later that night…

Marsile lounged on the chair in Gattus' study before the fire that had been lit to combat the cooling night air, staring scornfully at the portrait of herself hanging above it.

"I wish you would take that thing down."

Cornelius didn't stop his work for he already knew of what she spoke.

He simply said, "No, Father loved that painting", and he rather liked it as well. It showed the feminine side of Marsile, something not often seen.

"Only you would find some paperwork to do when there is none to do," she said, changing the subject resignedly, her voice tinged with irony.

At the desk, Cornelius stopped writing and looked at her incredulously.

"There is always paperwork to do!"

"Only the way you do it," she replied slyly.

Before he could retort, a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Cornelius said.

The door opened and a servant came through, followed by a messenger.

"A message from Rome my Lord," the servant bowed and closed the door behind him.

The man bowed to both Cornelius and Marsile, and then stepped forward to relay the message to Cornelius.

"The Emperor was saddened to hear of the General Gattus' death. He wishes you and the Knight Marsile to take a few days to mourn, for he knows how close you both were to the late general, but then he expects you to report to him personally in Rome."

With a nod, Cornelius replied,

"It will be done. You can tell the Emperor that we shall be in Rome a week from now."

The man bowed and left the room for the stable. When carrying a message for the Emperor, one never stopped for rest the first night.

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Rome, a week later…

The streets of Rome were always packed full of cheaters. Or at least, that was the opinion of Marsile.

As she rode her black stallion, Artay, behind Cornelius, Marsile was sure she had seen at least ten quick handed thefts, twenty sly money exchanges, and half a hundred merchants talking up their "special products".

Their small group of Cornelius, Marsile, and a couple soldiers soon came to a stand still as an apple cart upended, sending apples and people scurrying across the street.

While the apple merchant and soldiers tried to stop the theft of the fruits, Marsile's attention was drawn to a side street where a wagon was being loaded with several pieces of furniture. "Expensive pieces," she thought, "probably some rich senator clearing out his assignation house." As she watched, a little boy, no more than six or seven, came out of the building staggering beneath the weight of a heavy chair.

Scoffing at the carelessness of giving a small boy such a large burden, Marsile led Artay into the alley, dismounted and lifted the chair from the boy. Frozen in fear, the boy looked up at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

Rolling her eyes, Marsile shifted for a more comfortable hold on the chair and looked in the boy's general direction.

"Are you going to just stand and stare at me or tell me where I can put this chair?"

After a moment the boy closed his mouth and pointed to the front of the wagon, where a space was left to fit the piece.

Nodding, Marsile moved and packed the chair in tightly. Once sure that it would stay, she turned to look at the boy.

He watched her with blue eyes, somewhat hidden by his unruly dark hair. For a moment they both stood still, staring at each other. The inherent sense of familiarity unnerved Marsile, because she had a fairly good idea who the kid was.

"Boy, you better not have dropped that chair or I'll whip your hide! I want to get these items to Britain in perfect condition!"

Both woman and boy turned to the angry male voice coming from just inside the building.

Glancing back at the boy, who had gone pale with fear, Marsile watched the fat man walk out the door, and fluster when he saw her standing there.

Instant recognition brought the fire of hate to her belly as she stared at the man, gaping like a fish before her.

Curling her lip back in a snarl, Marsile spoke words that could be considered nothing less than poison,

"Perhaps, since you worry so much about the condition of your belongings, you should not give them to a young boy to carry and load, but get your own fat ass up and do it yourself."

With another glance at the boy and snarl at the man, Marsile swung up on Artay's back and left the alley.

Marius Honorius stood frozen in disbelief for a moment, before turning and ordering the boy back to work.

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Imperial Compound…

"Why won't you tell me where you went?"

"It's not important, so just drop it," Marsile replied as she dismounted Artay in the compound courtyard, giving the reigns to a stable boy.

Cornelius shook his head in resignation and did the same. A servant waited on the stairs to show the two to the guest wing.

Following the servant toward the guest quarters, they heard the man say that the Lord Herminius was looking forward to visiting with them.

With a silent groan, Marsile prayed to the Goddess that the visit would be short, and her next assignment far.

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Later that day…

All too glad to escape the dining hall and the "accidental" touches under the table from the Emperor's son, Herminius, Marsile gratefully entered the hall where a servant awaited her.

"My Lady, the Cardinal Crassus wishes to speak with you," the man said with a bow.

And just like that, the light mood dissipated.

With a curt nod, Marsile dismissed the man and reluctantly made her way to the Cardinal's council chamber.

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The next morning…

Cornelius stalked into the stables and right up to Artay's stall, where Marsile was busy gathering her things.

"Where in the name of God are you going?" He questioned sternly.

"On assignment."

"Where you planning on telling me of your departure?"

With a sigh, Marsile stopped her ministrations. "I don't have to report to you my comings and goings. I am not your knight and I am not your wife!"

He couldn't mask the hurt that statement caused. Still he kept asking,

"Where are you going?"

"Gaul, first. Then who knows where I'll be sent."

Seeing the tension in her shoulders, Cornelius asked more,

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. Just Crassus being his usual, charming self…"

Before he could say anything else, she added,

"I have to go Cornelius. I shall write you once I reach Gaul."

And with that, she was mounted and gone.

Next Chapter: Nightmares and Moving Out