Disclaimer : I don't own anything except Damek and "the girl". No suing please…
Rating : T
Summary : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.
Author's Note : Well, here it is, my first attempt at a Tristan fic. When he comes into the story, please let me know how good or bad a job you think I'm doing of writing him!
And just as a warning, this story will be pretty short and enclosed in a small time frame, and the chapters won't be particularly long either. It's just an idea that won't leave me alone!
So, enjoy, and let me know what you think.
Chapter 1
On a crisp winter morning in fifth century Britain a scream ripped through the cold air, a scream as chill as the breeze that ruffled the grass and lifted the hair of all those outside.
The scream came from a girl, who had seen no more then twenty such winters. Her eyes as grey as the winter sky had watched her home burned to the ground, her mother and sisters and brother killed by marauding Saxons, her life destroyed in a few minutes, eyes which were now marred with fear as a Saxon forced her onto the ground.
She screamed again, the wind whipping her fiery red hair around her face and carrying her terror to the ears of the smirking Saxons surrounding them.
The weight of his body pinned her down, and she fought with as much strength as she could muster, hitting at him with small fists and determinedly twisting her head, turning her face away as his lips searched hungrily for hers. His hand tugged at the skirts of her blue dress that had faded to a dirty grey, and which was stained with dirt from the muddy ground. His breath was disgustingly warm and foul-smelling against her delicate skin, and the rough furs he wore scraped against her. She closed her eyes as she continued to struggle, feeling her strength waning, when suddenly unexpected aid arrived.
A heavy boot swung through the air and connected with her attacker, the man falling off her. The girl quickly scrambled upwards, and half-crawled to a safe distance away, cowering in the shelter of a dry stone wall. She watched as her attacker was chastised by his leader, trying to control her breathing, which was coming out in sharp short bursts, clouding white in the frosty air. She gasped as the leader slayed her attacker with a swift motion of his sword, the blade glinting in the weak winter sunlight.
Crawling forwards, her blue woollen cloak falling off one shoulder, she grasped the rough leather breeches that clad his legs, thanking him in a voice full of relief but still tinged with terror. The man grasped her chin with a calloused hand and stared down at her face for a moment, while she gasped at the pain he was causing in her jaw. He let go and turned away.
Sinking back to the ground, shaking with relief, the girl watched him walk away. She hardly caught the next words, spoken in his low, gruff tone.
"Kill her."
"No!" she screamed as the words registered. Two Saxons grasped her arms and dragged her away. All her energy and fighting spirit came surging back and she fought with every last ounce of strength she had, but the men easily overpowered her. One gave her a sharp slap across the face to subdue her, and gave a short laugh at the cry she gave at her stinging cheek.
Another Saxon, this one taller than the others, appeared in front of them. He looked down at the girl and she was sure she saw in his eyes a flash of pity.
"I'll take her."
"No, Damek. She is ours to do with what we wish."
In an instant the man who had spoken was gasping for air, the larger Saxon's hand clenched around his throat. The man quickly released his grasp on the girl, the other following suit, and she fell to her knees, rubbing her arms where finger-shaped bruising were already appearing. The one they had called Damek released the Saxon who shot him a glare and strode off.
The large man lifted the girl off the floor and half-dragged, half-carried her away from the army of Saxons in silence, until they were almost out of sight. There, he dragged her behind a stone wall.
"Please," she spoke, her voice low and toneless. "Make it quick."
The man grasped her chin, much more gently than the leader had, and tilted her head so her eyes met his, eyes which had lost their sparkle and become deadened as she accepted her fate. "It is too late for me to flee," he said softly. "I cannot escape this life. But you can."
She stared up at him in shock, hardly daring to believe what he was saying. "What – what –" she stammered.
"Head west," he ordered. "There is a village on the far side of the forest. Warn them we are coming, give them a chance to escape, and then run. Run as if the hounds of hell were snapping at your heels. I doubt I can save you twice." She continued to stare, and he gave her an impatient but gentle push in the direction of the trees. "Go."
Finally she came to her senses. The briefest of smiles came to her lips as she whispered her thanks, then turned and fled to the cover of the dense forest.
Trees loomed out of the dimness, roots trying to trip her, but she dodged the obstacles, running and stumbling in her desperation for freedom. Branches tore at her, bark and thorns tearing at her skin. Blood oozed from the wounds, and dripped from a particularly deep cut where her chin had been whipped by a branch, but she was numb; numb from the pain, but not the fear. The fear flooded her body and filled her mind, driving her onwards, through the trees, taking over her mind until nothing else mattered except running as fast as possible in the direction of safety.
She couldn't keep up the pace for long, physically and mentally exhausted as she was. She got slower and slower, until finally she staggered into a clearing and fell to her knees, clutching her winded stomach. She rested for a few moments then tried to stand, but darkness clouded her vision and she passed out, falling to rest on the frozen ground.
A/N : Well, I hope you like this intro to my first foray into Tristan-centric fic. If you like, please review, as it will make my day!