Chapter Twenty: Don't Let Go
To their credit, the knights did not over-react to the arrival of Dagonet, Bors and Tristran with Alennia cradled against his body. Arthur raised one eyebrow slightly as they arrived, and rounded on Bors.
"I thought I told you to keep them out of trouble?" Arthur asked, the flicker of a laugh in his voice.
Bors' grin widened.
"She won't survive the journey to the wall," Dagonet cut in, motioning to the unconscious form of Alennia in Tristran's arms. "Unless I can treat her immediately."
Arthur looked at him for a moment, and then snapped into action. "Gawain," he said, his voice resuming the air of authority that came so naturally to him. "Get a fire going. Galahad, sort out the packs: make sure they have somewhere to treat the girl. Lancelot, we'll be staying here tonight. I want you to scout around the perimeter and check the area out. Oh, and bring something back for us to eat."
Gawain scowled, and muttered something about Lancelot getting the best jobs, but the knights obeyed their leaders commands without thought, despite their sullen, but good-natured grumbling.
"Gawain," Dagonet said, swinging down from his horse and rummaging in his packs for his medical kit. "I need hot water."
Gawain complied, and soon Alennia was laid on a few blankets in the centre of the clearing, close to the fire, with her head resting in Tristran's lap, as Dagonet bent over her, examining her wounds with gentle hands.
Tristran was still trembling as he smoothed Alennia's hair. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask Dagonet. Would she be alright? Would she even live? If she did, would she be the same? But the doubts just echoed around his brain, unvoiced.
Even as Dagonet bound the wounds, stitched the cuts, and applied salves to the skin that was already beginning to bruise, he knew he had never seen anyone so bad as the girl who lay before him. His mind told him that she would not make it, but one glance at Tristran's face told him more than a thousand words. His friend would not be able to cope with the loss. And so Dagonet fought, fought for a life that was rapidly being taken away from him.
And then he found the arrowhead. He had almost overlooked it: a small wound among countless others, but his heart sank as he saw its position. Right beside the spine. The slightest slip of his hand as he removed it, and it could paralyse her forever.
Tristran was not unaware of the terse, worried look that had come into Dagonet's face when he saw the final wound. "What is it?" he asked curtly.
Dagonet looked up, and suddenly noticed that it was beginning to grow dark. The other knights were grouped around, sharpening weapons or cooking, and Dagonet had spent all afternoon tending to the girl's numerous wounds.
"There's an arrowhead in there," he said, indicating the cut. "It's going to be very dangerous to get it out."
"Why?" Tristran asked sharply.
"I could paralyse her."
Tristran blanched, but he made no comment, save to nod slightly.
Dagonet moved to where he could see the cut better, and glanced up to meet Tristran's gaze. "Hold her tightly."
Tristran's grip on Alennia tightened, and Dagonet very carefully pushed the flap of skin away to reveal the piece of metal, buried deep in her flesh. Slowly, carefully he pushed his fingers into the wound, searching for a hold on the arrow.
Alennia stirred somewhere between blissful oblivion and consciousness, and Dagonet knew that in her semi-conscious state, she could feel the pain as much as if she were fully awake. Alennia twisted in Tristran's grip, and he almost lost his hold on her.
"Hold her!" Dagonet barked.
And then, suddenly, he was loosing her. Dagonet was abruptly aware that she was slowly slipping out of his reach, going somewhere that he could not pull her back from.
"Tristran!" he snapped. "We're loosing her! Call her back."
Tristran immediately knew what he meant, and put one hand to her cheek, calling her name softly.
Alennia was drowning in a sea of pain. She had never known how much a person could hurt, and she writhed, trying to escape the agony, to loosen the unrelenting grip on her shoulders that would not let her rest.
And then she saw a light. A pale light in the darkness, and as she moved towards it, the pain slowly began to diminish. She moved towards it faster now, desperately fleeing from the suffering that the darkness brought. And then she heard a voice in the darkness.
"Alennia," it called to her. "Alennia come back. Come back to us."
"No!" Alennia tried to scream, a soundless scream that echoed around her mind. "Don't make me return to the pain! Let me go! Let me go!"
"Don't let go Alennia. Never let go," the voice continued, persistent and oblivious to the indecision in Alennia's mind.
And much as she wanted to ignore the voice, she couldn't. The strange accent, the gentle but rough tone: it was all so familiar to her, and fight it as she might; Alennia knew she wasn't going to win.
Dagonet relaxed with a sigh, as he felt Alennia's heart begin to beat faster. There was sweat on her forehead, and Tristran, exhausted, gently wiped it off. As if in response to his touch, Alennia's eyes fluttered open, although no recognition registered in them, only pain.
Tristran lifted her up, and Dagonet held a cup to her lips. She drank deeply, only semi-conscious, and a few minutes later she was in a deep, drug-induced sleep.
"Alennia?" he asked Tristran.
Tristran looked up sharply, and then relaxed. "Alennia," he concurred.
"She'll sleep for the next few days," Dagonet told Tristran, carefully covering Alennia with a blanket. "It'll give her body a bit of time to heal before I attempt getting that arrowhead out again."
"Will she live?" Tristran asked bluntly.
Dagonet sighed, looking down at the now-peaceful face of the sleeping girl. "I don't know. I just don't know."
Across the clearing, Arthur sat, staring moodily into the flames of the fire. It was dark by now and the knights were settling down after their meal. Dagonet made his way wearily across to Arthur, from where he had left Tristran still cradling Alennia's head. Arthur held a bowl of stew out to Dagonet, and the big man took it gratefully, sinking down beside his commander.
"How is she?" Arthur asked, his eyes on Tristran.
Dagonet shrugged in between mouthfuls. "There's only one serious wound. But if anything kills her, it will probably be blood loss. She fought without heed for her life. Most men will guard their bodies, but she threw herself in, and has earned a thousand minor wounds. She didn't mean to survive the battle."
Dagonet sighed and looked sideways at Arthur's pensive face.
"I tell you now, Artorius. If she dies, you will loose your scout."
Arthur glanced sharply up at him, and then his gaze wandered back to Tristran.
"Then we must save her," he replied heavily.
The two men sat in companionable silence for some time, before Arthur broke the silence.
"What happened?" he asked, not in the mock accusatory he had used with Bors, but with sincerity.
Dagonet shrugged lightly. "We were riding, and heard the sounds of a battle. We rode over, to watch from the edge of the trees. On the beach were a handful of Woads, but you could scarcely see them for the Saxons. An entire army, Arthur…Bors made some comment about it being good for us if the Woads and Saxons killed each other. I looked over to say something to Tristran, but he was as white as a ghost."
Dagonet turned to look thoughtfully at Arthur. "Can you remember Tristran looking worried? Or even concerned?"
Arthur shook his head slowly.
"Neither can I," Dagonet admitted. "Until this day. I looked back out to see what had made him fear so much, and as I turned back he was kicking his horse forwards. He charged straight into the Saxons, cutting them down as he rode through."
"I've seen Tristran fight before," Arthur reminded him gently, but Dagonet shook his head stubbornly.
"Not like this you haven't. He hacked a path through the men, leaving a trail of dead and dying behind him. Heads, quite literally, rolled. I have never seen him fight with such passion."
"Tristran never fights with emotion," Arthur agreed.
"Tristran never fought with emotion," Dagonet corrected. "I'm getting the feeling that things will change if she is in danger again."
Arthur nodded meditatively, and glanced back to Tristran. The fierce scout was still smoothing Alennia's hair with gentle fingertips, oblivious to the world around him.
"Tristran!" Arthur called out across the clearing, and the knight's head snapped up. "Get some sleep," Arthur ordered him. "Tomorrow we ride hard for the wall."
Tristran looked as if he was going to argue for a moment, and then nodded sullenly, and, putting Alennia down and covering her with several more blankets, leant back against a tree, guarding her even in sleep.
"I don't even know her name," Arthur mused.
"Alennia," Dagonet said quietly, as if afraid to break some spell. "Her name is Alennia."
A/N – For some reason I've had such trouble writing this chapter. Early signs of a developing writer's block, I fear. So please bear with me over the next few days/weeks etc, and I'll try to shake the bane of all writers off, and continue with the story!
I can't believe how many reviews I got for the last chapter! 7 at last count. Can we see if we can make 10 this week? Please? You know it will make me a very happy little bunny :D Love all you guys!