A/N's and dedications at the end of the chapter. . . .enjoy my lovelies!
Chapter Twelve : Lancelot's Secret
Lancelot took the stairs two at a time as he stormed to the top of Hadrian's Wall. A Roman guard quickly moved to block his way, but just as quickly let him pass when he saw the dark mood that the Sarmatian was in.
Several long strides took Lancelot to a quiet, deserted section of the wall, where he stopped and leaned against it. His palms pressed into the cold, solid stone as he rested his weight against them and stared out over the darkened countryside. His chest heaved and his deep brown eyes were filled with unmasked sorrow as they gazed unseeingly into the night.
A hand on his shoulder startled him and he turned in one smooth movement, a hand going for the dagger in his belt. The hand stilled, and instead swiped angrily at his eyes when he realized that it was no enemy, but Brenna.
She stood quietly before him, pale eyes glowing in the darkness as she silently searched his face. Full of concern and love, the look was almost too much for Lancelot's shattered composure to handle. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Desperately trying to will away the tears that were threatening to fall.
Brenna continued to stand in silence, waiting for him to take the lead and speak first, if he so desired to. She watched the emotions play across his handsome face, fear, pain, sorrow, and her heart ached for him. She wondered what it was that had him in such a state, but said nothing. If he wanted to tell her he would, she had enough secrets of her own to be prying into those of anyone else.
Lancelot opened eyes bright with tears and met her gaze, before angrily turning from her, ashamed to let her see him cry. None had seen him this way before, none save Arthur. He was the one person in this wretched God forsaken island that knew why.
Why, while he had an outward appearance of happiness, inside he was crying.
Why he went through day after day, woman after woman, trying to forget, trying to convince himself. . . .
And why. . every once in a while. . .the pain in his heart became too great, and he could no longer hide it.
"Please just go away."
The words came out softly, as a plea, but Brenna ignored them. She had been gone too long already, and was not about to abandon him now.
A strangled sob escaped his throat as he leaned forward against the wall. The stone beneath his battle roughened hands as cold and unfeeling as his life without. . . .
He started once more, then leaned back into the touch, as he felt a warm body pressed against his back and a pair of arms encircle his chest. Holding him gently and lovingly, as the silent sobs wracked his body.
Brenna said not a word as she gave him comfort in the only way she could think of. She rested her cheek against his leather clad back and simply held him.
She was the one surprised a few minutes later however, when he suddenly turned in her embrace and crushed her to him with all the desperation of a man drowning. Her shock lasted but a second, before she tightened her grip on him. One hand rubbed his back soothingly, while the other entwined in his thick curls, pulling him closer as she whispered softly in Sarmatian.
The words she said were not of importance, just soft nothings, bits of old songs and stories strung together. It was the use of the language of home, of childhood, of safety, that truly mattered.
Lancelot buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply of the calming cinnamon scent. Thankful beyond words or actions for the warmth of Brenna's embrace and the solace it offered.
It was several minutes later before Lancelot loosened his grip and stepped back from her. He glanced into her concerned eyes, then down the wall at the guards on their rounds walking toward them.
"Walk with me? I could use some fresh air, this place stinks of Romans."
Brenna smiled and nodded, then reached for the hand he offered.
"Of course."
A few minutes later, the pair left the fort behind, passing through the huge gates and heading for a nearby hill. When they reached the top of the grassy expanse, Lancelot sank to the ground with a sigh. He patted the spot next to him as he lay back on the cool grass and gazed up at the velvety black sky with its blanket of twinkling stars. His head rested on his crossed arms, his mind awhirl with memories.
Brenna joined him on the ground, her long legs curled beneath her, and her weight resting on one arm. The other hand absently twirled a soft lock of hair, as she closed her eyes, tilted her head skyward and breathed deeply of the fresh, clean night air.
Without truly realizing what she was doing, Brenna began to sing softly in Sarmatian. Her words were barely above a whisper, but they were loud enough for Lancelot to hear.
She fell silent and her eyes snapped open, when he suddenly sat bolt upright, and she instantly went for the dagger strapped to her thigh under the dress.
"What is it? What is wrong?"
Her eyes searched the darkness, and her ears strained to hear any sound out of the ordinary. Not realizing that it was no enemy that had caused his reaction, but her.
"It's nothing. . .only. . .that song, where did you learn it?"
Brenna turned to him with a puzzled expression, searching his face in the darkness, as she slowly answered.
"Maelgwyn taught it to me, it seems an age ago. He would, and still does, sing it to me when. . . "
Her voice trailed off, and she quickly looked off into the distance, her fingers nervously picking at the long blades of grass surrounding her.
She'd almost said it, almost told him that it was the song that Gwyn had sung to her during her recovery, when the nightmares had come night after night, and she'd awoken screaming and sobbing.
And that he still did, for the dreams had never completely gone away, only become less frequent.
"It is the same one that she used to sing."
Lancelot's voice roused her from her own thoughts, and Brenna gladly shook them off and returned her attention to the dark Knight. Her brow knit in confusion, her pale eyes questioning, as she peered through the darkness at him.
"Who did?"
Lancelot slumped forward, resting his elbows on his bent knees, and running his fingers through his curls. With a sigh, he turned to meet her gaze, his own deep brown darkened further with sadness.
"Amara."
The second the name left his lips, breathed in reverence, he could not believe he'd said it. He had not allowed himself to speak the name aloud in over a year, not even to Arthur, his best and closest friend, and especially not to the other Knights.
They knew nothing of her, and that was the way he wanted it. For them he put on an award winning performance, smiling and laughing, and bedding as many women as he could get his hands on. But none of them, none save Arthur, knew that inside it was all merely an act, a ploy he enlisted in a desperate attempt to forget.
To forget the feel of her silky hair sliding through his fingertips. The sound of her laughter, rich and sweet. The sight of her beautiful face, her gentle grey eyes filled with love as she gazed at him. . .at him. And he had ruined it, thrown it all away in a fit of foolish male pride.
With a strangled sob, Lancelot violently lurched to his feet and strode several feet away. He came to a halt beside a large tree and paused, before slamming an open palm against it, rattling it to the very uppermost branches with the force of the blow. Welcoming the pain of the splinters that embedded themselves in his hand, he hit the tree again and again, venting his wrath on the young oak.
His anger left him suddenly, gone as quickly as it had flared, leaving him once again with an overwhelming sadness, and a gaping emptiness in his heart. He sank to his knees in the soft earth beside the tree, and buried his face in his hands.
Brenna placed a gentle hand on his back as she knelt beside him, her eyes now filled with sympathy and understanding. She pulled him into her arms, resting his head against her shoulder, as her fingers gently stroked his hair.
"Is she. . . . . ."
Brenna's words trailed off as Lancelot stiffened, and for a moment she was afraid she should not have spoken.
Lancelot sighed and pulled away from her, rubbing his uninjured hand wearily across his eyes.
"Dead? No, at least I don't believe so. I wouldn't know for sure though, I haven't seen her in over a year.
Brenna tilted her head to the side and gazed steadily at him.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
Lancelot was silent for a long while, absently picking at the slivers in his hand, but at the same time not really noticing them. Finally, he began to speak once more, his voice sad and tired.
"About two years ago, I was badly wounded in a skirmish with some Woads. Arthur and I were traveling from another fort farther along the wall, and were far from any help, except that of a small village. There they had two healers, a mother and her daughter. Amara was the daughter."
He sighed again and took a deep breath before he continued.
"I stayed in that village for three months before I was well enough to leave. Such a short time really, but more than long enough for me to lose my heart. For three glorious months, though I was injured, I had a taste of Arthur's heaven."
Brenna slid forward across the grass and laid her hand overtop his, where it rested on his bent knee.
"What happened?
Lancelot snorted and raised his eyes to meet hers, anger flashing in their depths.
"I happened, or more precisely . . . My foolish male pride. We quarreled, I left. By the time I realized what I'd lost, it was too late, the damage was done. I tried. . . .oh, how I tried, to win her back. But she would not even speak to me. Finally, on my third and final attempt, I returned once more to her village. But she was gone. The villagers either did not know, or would not tell me, where she was. That was a year and a half ago. . .I have not seen, nor heard from her since."
His voice trailed to a whisper, and the pair sat in silence for several minutes. Lancelot lost in his memories, and Brenna trying to think of some way to comfort him.
"Did she love you?"
Lancelot looked at her in astonishment and ran a hand through his hair, sending the curls into disarray.
"What kind of a question is that!"
"A simple one. . . . Did she love you?"
He was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes boring into her glacial green, trying to fathom where she was going with this.
"I believe so, yes."
"And did you love her?"
Her eyes seemed to search his very soul, calm and clear, the silver streaks glowing in the moonlight.
Yes. . . I still do. So much so that it hurts to breathe at times."
"Then you must never give up hope. If the two of you are truly meant for each other, then you will see her again."
"But she could be dead!"
Brenna smiled softly at this, and cupped his face between her hands.
"Do you truly believe that? What does your heart tell you?"
Lancelot stared at her for a long moment, his mind at war with his heart, until finally, his heart won. With a sigh, he spoke.
"It tells me she lives."
"Good, then all is not lost." She rose to her feet, and offered him her hand. "Gwyn and I searched for many a long year for you and Galahad, long past the time most would have given up. I knew deep down in my heart that I would someday find you, and though I had my moments of despair, still I clung to that hope. Now, here we are, together again."
He allowed her to pull him to his feet and lead him back toward the fort, as his brain mulled over her words.
He didn't know how Brenna'd done it exactly, but his heart felt lighter than it had in many months. Something niggled at the edge of his mind though, something she'd said that troubled him, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
Just as they reached the main gate, Lancelot stopped dead in his tracks, pulling her to a halt with him. Through narrowed eyes, he stared suspiciously at her, his mind frantically working to piece things together. Small snippets of conversations that when combined had to mean something, if only he could figure them out.
"Just how long have the two of you been traveling together?"
She gazed into his eyes, her expression unreadable, but he thought he'd seen fear flash briefly across her face, before she'd hidden it behind the façade of innocence.
He never got the answers he sought though, as Galahad chose that moment to come in search of them.
"Brenna, Lancelot, are you coming back to the tavern?"
Brenna turned to him as he approached them. She freed her hand from Lancelot's grip and gave Galahad a warm hug.
"Yes, we are. I am simply famished! I'm so hungry I could eat an entire cow."
Galahad slipped an arm around her waist and began to steer her toward the tavern. He glanced back over his shoulder at Lancelot who stood in the middle of the road staring into space.
"Are you coming Lancelot?"
Lancelot nodded and followed the twins, pushing his suspicions to the back of his mind for the time being. Instead, he allowed himself to be caught up in the excitement and happiness of just havingBrenna back again.
And as well, in the renewed hope that someday, perhaps his Amara would return as well.
A/N - The name Amara means eternal, and she is dedicated to DirrtyXtina87. . . .thank you so much for all of your help and continued support, it means the world to me!
Now as for all of my other lovely readers and reviewers, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know it was a bit short, and it's taken me forever to update, and for that I am sorry. The next chapter will be longer, and a bit more exciting, but for now. . .PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE Review! The more reviews. . .the more encouragement. . .the faster the update. . And the happier I am! Hehe.
Thank you so much to all of you who did review last chapter. .I love you all! You are my inspiration!