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The knights had been busy, Llynya noted as she made her way into the main street. A small crowd of villagers milled beside the pig pen, watching as Bors and Dagonet hefted a huge log down towards the barn. Llynya watched them struggle with their burden and shrugged. She had an idea what they were doing, but supposed that she would find out for sure later. A short joyous bark announced Lark's arrival, and Llynya bent down to pet the dog, grinning as it licked her fingers and danced around her legs.
"Llynya." Tom walked over to the girl and unsuccessfully tried to bring Lark to heel. "Did you sleep well?"
Trying not to blush, she nodded. "Like a baby," she said innocently, without meeting his eyes. "Is everyone well?"
"As well as to be expected," he said with a yawn. He glanced at Llynya and then at Gawain, who was wandering over towards them. Both the knight and the girl looked tired but happy, and he stifled a smirk. It was obvious that sleep had been the last thing on their minds when they had retired to their chambers.
"Tom." The blond knight placed a possessive hand on Llynya's shoulder and nodded at the old tracker. "Have you seen Arthur this morning?"
"He's over at the tavern," Tom jerked his head towards the large building. "He'll probably want to see you both, it won't be long before everything is ready."
"Alright." Gawain glanced at Llynya, feeling her muscles tense beneath his fingers, and bit back another attempt to talk her out of risking her life. She had already made her choice - any attempts at changing her mind were doomed to failure; he would just have to make sure that he kept a careful eye on her. "We had best be off then."
Llynya gave Lark a last pat and smiled at Tom before following Gawain to the tavern. She was nervous, the first trickle of adrenaline buzzing through her veins and tightening her belly, and in search of comfort she slipped her hand into his. He looked down and smiled reassuringly at her, squeezing her hand, and she felt some of her apprehension slip away. She wasn't facing this alone; Gawain, Arthur and the knights would be with her, she trusted them to keep her safe.
The tavern was buzzing with activity. A small boy raced from the doorway, skidding in front of Gawain and looking at him with wide-eyes, before scampering off down the road, a large length of rope looped over his shoulder. A dozen villagers were in deep discussion with Arthur and Galahad, Lancelot sitting nearby and obviously questioning a reluctant Balan. Several people looked up and nodded or smiled at the new arrivals, a few looking at Llynya with a mixture of apprehension and respect. She gave as best a smile she could to them and followed Gawain over to Arthur.
"Gawain, Llynya. I trust you slept well?" There was an unmistakable flicker of amusement in the big Roman's eyes, and Galahad was doing nothing to disguise his smirk. This time it was Gawain's turn to look uncomfortable.
"Fine. How long before the trap is ready?"
"A couple of hours perhaps. It's coming on faster than I could have anticipated - of course guaranteeing when the beast will turn up is a different matter." Arthur turned his gaze to the dark-haired girl before him. "Are you sure that you want to do this Llynya? No-one will blame you if you have changed your mind."
She shook her head emphatically. "No. I'm ready, tell me what to do and I'll do it."
"Very well, I admire your courage."
Llynya blushed at that; she admired Arthur, but it was still a little overwhelming for a nonentity like her to be complimented by a Roman commander, and a legendary one at that. "Thank you Sir," she mumbled. "I will do what I can."
Arthur smiled down at her. " You are not needed for the moment, would you check Louisa? I fear that she is a little overwhelmed by recent events."
That was the understatement of the century, Llynya thought to herself. Giving a brief curtsey, she went to find the tavern owner.
"Brother." Lancelot's dark eyes studied Gawain appraisingly as the blond man approached him. "How are you faring?"
Gawain shrugged. "As well as anyone else I suppose. What about you? Are you healing?"
"I'm fine." He flexed his shoulder and winced, earning himself a rathersardonic smile from his companion. "What about Llynya, have you managed to talk her out of this foolishness?"
Gawain shook his head, his expression momentarily hidden by his mass of blond braids. "She's made her mind up. Short of locking her in the cellar, there is not much I can do."
"You could always shut her in the attic," Lancelot said, only half joking. "Given my present state I'll probably be hiding up there myself by the end of the day."
Gawain noted the bitterness in his friend's voice and guessed the cause. "Heal, Lancelot. Live to fight another day. There is nothing to be gained by getting yourself killed." He gave a short laugh, "besides who's going to keep Arthur in line if you aren't here to argue with him?"
"Idealistic idiot," Lancelot muttered, running a hand through his dark curls. "I don't know why he doesn't get down on his knees and pray for his God to strike Tauleas down with a lightning bolt."
"Ah he's Roman," Gawain shrugged. "You know they have to make a big production out of things."
"Hmmph," Lancelot snorted. "Tauleas is Roman and he's certainly taken his revenge pretty seriously. If he had gone after Dynadan then I'd understand it, but children, women, Charlotte?" he almost choked on the last word. "This is mindless slaughter, not revenge."
"And it is up to us to stop it," Gawain said quietly. Squeezing his friend's arm, he pushed himself away from the table he had been leaning against. "She will be avenged, all those who died at his hands will be avenged. Do you know where Tristan is?"
"On the roof, where else? Him and his bloody bird, not sure which of them has the sharper eyes." Lancelot gave a half smile and watched his friend walk over to Arthur. "Gawain, " he called suddenly.
The blond knight looked back at him. "Yes?"
"You love her don't you." Brown eyes met blue, and Gawain nodded his head. "Keep her safe, don't let her out of your sight." Turning his head away, Lancelot slid off the table with difficulty and headed to Arthur, his friend watching and wishing that he could take away his guilt along with his pain.
Llynya settled Louisa as best she could. She brushed out the woman's long dark hair and managed to get her to swallow half a cup of yesterday's soup, but it was obvious that the woman cared little for what happened either to herself or those around her. Settling her into the chair beside the fire, and at a loss as to what else she could do for her, Llynya went to the kitchen. There was a joint of cured ham in the cellar, and someone had left several loaves on the sideboard. She wasn't hungry, and from the activity in the main room most people probably didn't have time to eat, but it gave her something to do, and it was far better than sitting and dwelling upon what was to come. She looked at the newly mended kitchen door as she carried the food to the others and repressed a shudder. How many times had she re-lived that moment? The crash of the beast through the door, the thunder of her heart, Charlotte's small fingers clutched in hers. Shoving the memory aside, she set the tray on the table and poured a small goblet of wine from the pitcher that had already been set upon the table. Feeling the welcome burn as the liquid hit her stomach, she sighed. She would need all the courage she could get today, and if a little alcohol would numb the fear slightly then she would take it, and gladly.
"Rather early for that isn't it?" Glancing around, she found Lancelot watching her, his eyebrows raised above his wicked dark eyes.
"When you offer yourself asdinner for the beast, then and only then, can you tell me what to do," Llynya said crossly. "I'm not getting drunk if that's what you are implying."
"I wasn't implying anything." He looked pale and tired, and Llynya shifted uncomfortably, a little embarrassed at having snapped at him.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, "is there anything I can get you?"
He gave something between a laugh and a sigh. "Don't fuss over me Llynya, you have enough to worry about as it is. Sit down, eat, drink. Let this lot take care of themselves for a moment."
"I'm alright sir," Llynya wasn't quite sure how to react to this newly introspective Lancelot. He had not looked at the two girls who were obviously Balan's sisters, and ignored their flirtatious glances. The witty banter was gone, as was some of the arrogance that had seemed as much a part of him as his hair, his eyes, his skin.
Llynya picked up her goblet and sat down beside him, for once not intimidated by the dark knight. Taking a sip of wine, she licked her lips thoughtfully before speaking.
"What was Charlotte to you?" At any other time she would never have spoken so boldly, but after all, she reasoned, if she could risk her life then she could risk his anger.
He looked surprised at the question, studying her for several moments before he replied. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I liked her, I liked her spirit. She was young and beautiful, and when she needed protection I was not there."
"I wasn't there either," Llynya said quietly.Looking down at her goblet, she searched in vain for the right words. "You were unconscious, there was nothing you could have done. I watched her run off, I wasn't fast enough to catch her. She didn't deserve to die like that."
"No," Lancelot sighed heavily, "she didn't." Glancing over to his commander and fellow knights, he watched Gawain shoot him a warning glance and almost smiled. "He loves you," he said, nodding towards the big blond man.
"And I love him," Llynya whispered. "If anything happens, I mean… You are brothers, you take care of each other don't you?"
"Aye, we do." Lancelot quirked an eyebrow at her, "but I won't have to look after Gawain. That's your job now, and if you think any of us are going to let anything happen to you then you are sadly mistaken. You don't get away from him that easily."
Llynya laughed at that. "With friends like you I'm surprised he bothers fighting Woads; his efforts would be better spent closer to home."
"He knows better than to face me," Lancelot replied with a little of his old arrogance. "I knew him when he didn't know his axe from his arse."
"Nice image," Llynya muttered, sliding off the table. Bors had just entered the tavern, and with a sinking feeling she realised that the trap was probably ready. The big man spoke several words to Arthur, and when the Roman turned his head to look at her, she nodded to show that she was ready, and hoped to the Gods that she did not look as afraid as she felt.
"Llynya." Lancelot's voice was gentle, and she glanced at him with wide, frightened eyes. "It'll be alright."
She didn't say anything, just patted his arm in thanks and walked over to Arthur and his knights, towards the men with whom she had entrusted her life.
Tugging her borrowed cloak around her, Llynya shivered a little in the breeze. It was late afternoon and the sun was slowly sliding behind the hills, it's light gilding the village buildings and turning the forest to copper flame. How long had she been out here? Twenty minutes? An hour? A year? It was hard to tell, and although sheknew that she was watchedby the knights, all were hidden and none were able to speak to her. At first she had been terrified; sure that as soon as she set foot outside the beast would pounce, or she would suddenly find an arrow embedded in her chest. Silly thoughts given that she had crossed that very same path only hours before. Gawain had been with her then however, and there had been other people to nod to, other people to shout at the first sign of danger. Now she was alone, the meadow vast before her, the long grass whispering secrets she did not understand, the forest unfathomable behind it.
Brushing her hair from her eyes, she made a show of scrubbing the bucket that she had dragged from the well. She had already made a show of feeding the chickens, her hands shaking so that the seed fell in erratic patterns, and had given up collecting eggs after she had inadvertently crushed the first one she had collected when one of the chickens sqwarked behind her. The terror had subsided to a jittering underlying fear, and truth be told, a little boredom. She had to keep herself busy, for even someone as mad as Tauleas would find a girl standing idly in full view of the beast suspicious. With any luck he would see her attending her chores and merely think her as half-witted as Balan. Wrinkling her nose as the cold water splashed her ankles, she glanced back towards the village. The villagers were safe beneath the barn, although it had taken Tom and a local lad to get Louisa to move from the tavern. Had she not known better she would have thought it a ghost town, for nothing moved save the ghostly shape of Tristan's hawk wheeling high above.
For a moment she mistook the shrill sound for the bird's cry, and looked up curiously, only to realise that the hawk was no longer in sight. Sliding in the mud, she turned back towards the meadow and froze. The beast was leaping through the grass, racing at a speed she barely thought possible, it's eyes a flash of green fire, it's coat as bright and beautiful as the setting sun. Unable to move, time stretched and flowed around her. The pail she had been holding fell to the ground almost in slow motion, her heart seemingly taking years between each beat.
"Run!" She wasn't sure who was shouting, but it was enough to break her trance, and stumbling backwards, she turned and fled, falling to her knees, she barely noticed the stones scraping her palms or her muscles protesting as she scrambled to her feet. Her breath sharp in her lungs and her heart beating a wild tattoo in her chest, she forced herself faster, the surroundings a blur, the stony ground flashing between her pounding feet. She was close, so close, putting on a last burst of speed, she let out a sharp cry as her foot caught on a jagged rock, sending her tumbling to the ground and knocking the wind from her lungs. Oh Gods, not fast enough, not fast enough… Gasping, she pulled herself to her knees and looked back. The tiger approached slowly, teeth bared, the huge paws padding inexorably towards her. Well aware that there was no hope of outrunning it, Llynya closed her eyes and almost stopped breathing. She could smell the rank smell of it's breath, feel the warmth of it's body as it approached her. Swallowing hard, she prayed that death would be swift.
A/N Giggle sorry - couldn't resist a cliff hanger - feel free to call me rude names. I promise I will update very soon ( internet is sorted, yay!). Thank-you very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.