Disclaimer : I don't own anything except any characters you don't recognise from the King Arthur movie. And this will be the same throughout the story, so I don't have to keep repeating myself and boring you.
Rating : T
Summary : Hidden in the mists is an island, home to women who heal the wounded and fight like men. When the Sarmatian Knights arrive at Avalon, their lives are changed forever as they are in turn affected by the mysterious isle and its inhabitants.
Author's Note : Yes, I know, I need to finish A Life Spent Longing and Free Spirit. But this story has been in my head for almost a month now and I finally gave in to temptation and started writing it! I really don't like ALSL anymore, but I'm enjoying writing this, and writing should be fun, right? But for anyone who reads ALSL don't worry, it will get finished. And there is only one chapter left of Free Spirit so, hey ho, here we go… (Wow, that rhymed!)
Chapter 1 : Arrival at Avalon
Warm spring air filtered into a grey stone room, the sunlight splaying across the stone and brightening the plain area. Slouched in a chair, booted feet resting on the window ledge, a young woman stared out at the island that she called home.
A long, tree-lined avenue led away from the building she was in, until it reached an impressive, wrought-iron gate that allowed passage through the thick stone wall that surrounded the area. On the right a lush green plain stretched to the edge of a forest, trees beginning to regain their life after the bare months of winter. To the left of the walled garden was a worn track leading to the island's village. Behind, the woman knew, was a rocky gorge carved by the motions of a fast-flowing river, and beyond that the sparkling ocean.
The island was Avalon, and the building was its temple.
The woman leaned forward slightly, squinting, as she became aware of movement in the distance, hidden in part by the swirling mists that surrounded the island, offering protection and creating a sense of mystique and intrigue. As she looked a company of maybe a dozen on horseback came into view, having crossed the water to the island and seemingly intent on coming to the temple. The gates stood open and welcoming, as they usually did, but even from this distance she could see the weapons that the men carried.
Cursing under her breath the woman swung her feet down and stood, grasping the bow that sat on the floor next to the chair, the restringing of which had caused her to be there in the first place. Readjusting the short leather waistcoat she wore over a long-sleeved white shirt and swinging a quiver of arrows onto her back, she exited the room and ran down the spiral staircase, the soft soles of her boots making no sound on the stones.
Reaching the ground floor of the temple she dashed outside and down the shallow flight of steps that led to the path, intent on making sure the gatekeepers closed the gates. She cursed again as she realised she was too late, and the mysterious riders had already passed into the garden. Darting into cover behind the row of trees to the left of the path, she hurried a little way towards the gate, before swinging herself up into a tree and perching there. Drawing an arrow from the quiver on her back she lifted her bow and nocked the arrow, ready to fire.
She watched, eyes narrowed in suspicion, as the company neared her hiding place. They were moving slowly, peering from side to side. The majority looked apprehensive, whilst one appeared bored with the happenings, and one looked downright suspicious. She noticed that this man was tightly grasping the handle of his sword. Only the leader carried any semblance of trust and confidence as he rode in the lead.
As she watched, the suspicious looking man glanced up into her tree and his eyes narrowed. Before the woman had time to blink he had his bow out, and was aiming an arrow at her heart. The company came to a halt and peered up into the branches, clearly not possessing similar keen eyesight.
"Tristan?" the man in the lead questioned. The older man simply nodded towards the tree, his bow not faltering.
"Are you going to kill me?" The woman spoke at last, breaking the tense silence. Her tone was mocking, and quick as a flash the man readjusted his bow and fired an arrow, which embedded itself into the tree trunk inches from her head. The woman gave a short bark of laughter and fired her own arrow, the feather-tipped wood landing in the dirt an inch from the front left hoof of the dappled grey mare that the suspicious man was mounted on. The horse gave a snort and took a step backwards.
"Show yourself!" the leader ordered, grasping the handle of his sword. The other men were slowly reaching for their weapons as the woman dropped out of the tree, landing easily on two feet, her bow barely wavering.
"I'm afraid, sir, that your men are trespassing on my homeland. So if you don't mind, I shall be the one giving the orders and wielding a weapon."
The man dismounted his horse. "With all due respect, my lady, I am usually the one who gives the orders. And my men answer to no-one but me."
In an instant, the woman's bow was pointing directly at the man's heart, and the bows of many of the riders were pointed at her. The stalemate was broken by the sound of the heavy wooden doors of the temple opening, and footsteps sounding on the stone steps.
"Rowan! No!" The woman turned and found the High Priestess of the temple hurrying towards her, grey hair escaping from her bun, white robes flowing. Despite her age her blue eyes were bright and sharp, and brightened her wrinkled face with youth. "Lower your bow."
"Sophia, these men are trespassing," Rowan replied, realising with some disconcertion that the leader of the group had turned quickly to stare at her when Sophia shouted her name, and had not taken his eyes away.
"Is it not our way to welcome newcomers and trust them absolutely, unless we have reason not to?" the woman responded, her words sharp but her voice gentle. "Lower your bow." With a sigh, but an expression of respect, Rowan did as she was told. Sophia took a second look at the men before her, and a look of shock and joy spread across her features. "Arthur! Arthur Castus!" She stepped forward and flung her arms around the man, who towered over her, and leaned down to return her warm embrace. "Look how you've grown! It must be ten years since I saw you!"
Arthur pulled out of her arms and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Sophia's hand flew to her mouth. Arthur hurried to speak. "Unfortunately, my lady, we do not come to talk with old friends. One of our number has been deeply wounded – I fear even your legendary healers cannot save him."
"But it is always worth trying," Sophia reassured him. "Where is the knight?"
"Knight?" Rowan echoed.
"Not now, Rowan! Arthur?"
Several of Arthur's men moved their horses aside, revealing a black stallion over which the slim form of a dark-haired man was laid. On either side was an anxious-looking blonde man, one with a long tousled mane of messy hair and braids, the other with shaggy, short hair. Another man, with a shock of black hair, was standing by the horse, holding the reins of both that animal, and his own mount.
Sophia moved forwards and grasped the wrist of the injured man, nimble fingers feeling for a pulse. Her brow furrowed but relief was on her face. "He lives, but he is fading quickly," she murmured, almost to herself. She lifted a makeshift dressing to see his wound, and recoiled at the ugly sight of the slash down his side. She looked at Rowan almost desperately.
"You need Eris?" Rowan asked, referring to the best healer out of all those who resided at Avalon. The older woman nodded. "She's at the village, visiting her mother. I'll fetch her."
"Thank you, Rowan."
The young woman nodded and turned back to the man who was still eying her with distrust from atop his mare, the one Arthur had called Tristan. "I need your horse." The man eyed her with disdain, and didn't grace her with a reply. Rowan frowned impatiently. "I need to ride to the village to fetch Eris, or your friend will die. It will take too long to fetch my own horse."
"She doesn't like strangers," Tristan replied grumpily.
Growling, Rowan stepped forward, offering a hand to the mare. The horse eyed her for a moment with as much suspicion as her master. Rowan started to murmur to her, comforting words in a lilting tone, almost singing. The horse snorted and thrust her nose into Rowan's proffered hand. Smirking, Rowan looked up at Tristan, patting the mare's neck. The man stubbornly glared at her, refusing to move.
"Tristan, let the lady take Ailis," Arthur ordered. The man looked quickly at his commander in fury.
"With every second you waste, your friend slips a second closer to death," Sophia said in her quiet, calming way. With a grunt of acquiescence Tristan dismounted and thrust his reins at Rowan. The woman grinned, grasped the reins, and swung up into the saddle. Turning the horse, she touched her flank with her heels and the mare obediently sprang into a swift canter, leaving in her wake a company of knights blinking in surprise at what had just occurred.
XXX
Air rushed past Rowan as she crouched low to the mare's neck, steering her out of the gates and into a sharp turn, until she was cantering back the way she had come but on the other side of the wall. It was only a couple of minutes ride to the village at this pace, and she was soon rushing past bewildered villagers, yelling for Eris. Drawing Ailis to a halt outside the home of Eris' mother, Rowan paused for a moment to appreciate the horse's speed, agility and obedience before unfastening the latch on the gate and hurrying up the garden path. Bursting into the modest home without knocking, Rowan gasped her apologies to the older woman seated in the corner, before turning to the young blonde who was looking at her in surprise.
"Eris, Sophia needs you. A man has been brought to the temple, he's in a bad way – he's going to die, Eris."
The woman nodded and swiftly crossed the room, planting a kiss on her mother's cheek. "I'll come back tomorrow, mama," she promised, before hurrying outside after Rowan, blinking in the bright sunlight as her eyes adjusted from the dim light of the hut behind her. Eris untethered her own horse, Akio, and mounted, as Rowan remounted Ailis and pulled the horse into another sharp turn, urging her again into a fast gait.
The women didn't speak as they completed the short journey to the temple, swinging out of their saddles almost before the horses had stopped moving once they reached it. Both knew speed was essential. Eris looked at Rowan, who laughed and grabbed the reins of the blonde's bay gelding. "I'll take him to the stables." The healer smiled her thanks and hurried up the steps, ready to do whatever she could to save the life of the man who floundered near to death.
Turning, Rowan clicked to the horses to move so she could lead them round the back of the temple to the stables behind it. Before she could take a step, she jumped as she almost collided with Tristan, who had emerged from the shadow of a tree and stood in front of her, arms folded across his chest. Rolling her eyes at the man's action, and inwardly berating herself at being spooked by such a cheap trick, she complied with his unspoken request and handed Ailis' reins to him.
"You've trained her well," Rowan told him, feeling the situation required some speech but unable to think of anything better to say. Tristan gave a curt nod and turned, leading Ailis away. "You could say thank you!" Rowan shouted after his retreating back.
He didn't respond.
She hadn't expected him to.
XXX
"Stupid, arrogant, rude…" Rowan muttered under her breath as she vigorously brushed at Akio's glossy coat.
"Speaking 'bout the horse, Ro?"
Rowan jumped for the second time in an hour and turned angrily to complain at whoever had spooked her this time, but softened when her eyes landed on Farrell, the stable boy. At least, he was called the stable boy, but at twenty two summers was very much a man. However, the charge of the stable was granted to his father, so a stable boy he would remain until the charge was passed to him.
"Actually, I was talking about you," she returned.
Farrell looked wounded. "Your words are like a dagger to my heart, my lady." Snorting, Rowan grabbed the comb that rested on the ledge next to her and hurled it at his head. Farrell danced aside, grinning. "I forgot, you aren't a lady." Rowan merely growled. He leaned on the door of the stall that Rowan and Akio were inside, resting his chin on his folded arms. "What has got you in such an impressive mood, eh? Or should I say, 'who'?"
"What are you talking about, Farrell?"
He smirked infuriatingly. "One o' the dozen men that showed up 'ere earlier?"
Rowan shot him a withering glare. "You mean one of those men who smell like cattle that have been standing in their own muck for a week? And don't look much better?"
"Struck a nerve, 'ave I?"
"You're a bloody idiot, Farrell."
"Language, Ro!" Snatching up a handful of grain from the bucket on the floor next to her, Rowan threw it at him. Farrell jumped backwards out of range, laughing at her. "Don't be messin' up my stable now, or my pa'll be after my arse with a whip."
"You deserve it. Now leave me alone!"
"Wildcat," he taunted, a grin still on his face as he finally left, his boots tapping on the wooden floor of the stable as he walked down between the stalls.
Rowan turned back to Akio, grumbling under her breath, promising revenge on both Tristan and Farrell for infuriating her so. Determined as she always was not to let Farrell get under her skin, it seemed she had failed once again, and in the newcomer she could already see someone with the power to make her want to commit murder even more than Farrell did every day.
Finally she had brushed out enough of her annoyance on Akio, who seemed thoroughly delighted with all the attention. He whickered softly and nuzzled her shoulder as she gave him a final pat, before slipping out of the stall and bolting the door securely. As she walked through the dim, peaceful stable she felt tranquillity settle upon her. The smell of hay and the sound of contented horses always calmed her.
Her contentment was short-lived, however, as Tristan once again stepped into her path out of the shadows, this time from a stall which must have been given to him for Ailis. Cursing under her breath Rowan swiftly sidestepped him and walked past the irritating man.
"Thank you."
Her pace faltered for one step as she tried to decide if she had really heard those words, quietly spoken as they had been. She knew he had said them, and grudgingly accepted them as she picked up her pace once more and exited the stable.
XXX
Entering the cool shade that the stone temple provided, Rowan wiped her hands on her breeches and hurried up the stairs and down the corridor to the infirmary. All the knights, save for Tristan, were waiting outside the door. Some were sitting, some were slouching against the wall, and Arthur was pacing.
"Any word?" she asked, speaking to no-one in particular.
"No," Arthur responded shortly, running an anxious hand through his dusty hair. Rowan grimaced slightly at the dried dirt and blood loosened by his fingers that fell to the floor. It hardly mattered – the corridor was already dirtied and stained by all the mucky substances that covered the knights.
Rowan knew better than to disturb Eris and the other particularly gifted healers that were working on the young man. She had been taught to heal herself, but had nowhere near the skill of her closest friend. Rowan had shown more aptitude at fighting, a skill the women of Avalon were trained in from a young age. Eris always teased her by saying she'd rather wound a man than save him, but both knew Rowan had no desire to kill – she'd do whatever she could to save someone. Although she was beginning to think she could quite happily run a sword through the maddening Tristan.
She sat herself on the stone floor, slumping against the wall, ready to wait with the knights for news. She looked at the man nearest her, the one with unruly blonde hair that she had noted outside.
"What's his name?"
The man looked at her in surprise, blue eyes shadowed with worry. He seemed to take a moment to register her query. "Lamorak," he replied eventually.
"You seemed to be looking after him outside – is he your brother?"
"Only in arms," the man replied with a hint of a smile.
"So you're all knights?"
The man seemed surprised again, then laughed at himself. "I was stunned for a moment that you didn't know who we are, then I realised –"
"That you were being completely full of yourself?" the woman asked innocently.
The man, who she had expected to be angry, gave a bark of laughter. "No – that Arthur's Sarmatian Knights are seen to be as much of a legend as yourself, a Priestess of Avalon."
"I'm not a Priestess. And I'm surprised you haven't called for my head, a woman being so impertinent."
"Nay, lass, it takes more'n a comment from a sprite like you to anger old Gawain here," a larger, older, bald man standing across from them chuckled.
"Besides, we don't have disgusting Roman attitudes towards women, do we boys?" A man with dark curls and dancing brown eyes spoke up.
"Aye, Lancelot, that we don't – 'thou shouldst be for all ladies courteous, and fight for their quarrels' – right, Arthur?" the older knight bellowed.
"And 'thou shouldst never hold a lady or gentle woman against her will,'" the one called Lancelot continued, throwing Rowan a smirk. "So have no fear of us, my lady."
"I should have no fear of you anyway, sir," she replied politely. "For as soon as a man like you came near me I would knee him so hard in the groin he would never make love to a woman again."
The men howled with mirth at the look on Lancelot's face. "Make 'em feisty here, eh Lance?" the bald man roared, his laughter rumbling in his chest.
"Nothing I can't handle, Bors," the curly-haired knight grumbled. The other knights just laughed harder.
Rowan turned to look again at the blonde seated next to her. "What was that? That they were quoting?"
"The oath of the Knights of the Round Table," Gawain replied.
"That's us," the man on the other side of Gawain confirmed. Rowan recognised him as the man who had been leading the horse that bore the injured one, with his shock of black hair and sparkling green eyes. "I'm Gaheris." He offered his hand and Rowan took it in order to shake it. Before she could, he swiftly raised it to her lips, and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. Rowan glared at him and tugged her hand out of his grasp as the knights roared once more.
"Watch out for that one, lass," Bors advised, chuckling. "As much of a charmer as old Lance, is Gaheris."
Before Rowan could think of a suitable response the door to the infirmary swung open. The seated knights scrambled to their feet as the others straightened and turned their attention to Eris, who stood in the doorway. Her white apron was splattered with blood, and her face was weary and drawn. However, a slight smile was at her lips, her eyes bright.
"I think he shall live."
A/N : So, let me know what you think of my new venture!