Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for my own characters. Anything/anyone you do not recognize belongs to me. I may use lines and/or quotes from other sources, which are not my own, later on in the story. I'm not quite sure though-so I'm being un-specific. Those (if I do choose to use them) also do not in anyway belong to me.
A/N: Wowzahs. Guys, that is if any of you guys are still even reading this, I am so unbelievably sorry. This year has been so hectic and crazy and jam-packed with homework and school plays and working at the hospital that I have barely found anytime to write. This school year is really important, and my parents have gone a little nutzo on me. As much as I hate to say it (and as hard as try to imagine it untrue) there are about ten billion other things that come before fan fiction in my life (many of them are not by my choice, believe me). I have been, and will continue, to try my hardest to update, but I can't make promises. I hope you guys can understand that. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.
p.s. This chapter is kind of redundant, and not exactly the storm I was promising, but bare with me guys. I needed to just write SOMETHING, and this is what came out, plus it sets up so more important stuff.
Choices
Chapter 14: Strange Dreams and the Wait for Oblivion
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Lena stood in a thick fog. Men ran in and out of her line of vision but none could seem to penetrate the dastardly fog. She saw no one clearly, but this was obviously a battle. Blood soaked the earth beneath her, blood fell from the sky above her; the world was made of fog and blood.
Three for one
A voice whispered the same words she had heard during her vision on the wall with Balor. She could not identify it as her own voice this time, however. It was quiet and harsh, all together unnatural sounding. It was inside of her, surrounding her, a voice that was everywhere. It filled the air and made her cold, made her head throb, made her spine ache, made her shake from nerves and fear, made her hands clammy with cold sweat.
Three for one
Lena let out a cry and frantically tried to search through the fog for something, anything, that the voice wanted her to see.
Three for one
Balor. Balor was there, kneeling, defenseless before a Saxon. She knew this scene, this haunting scene. Lena knew what would happen next and she screamed hysterically because she could not move. She could hardly see through the fog, she could not see any more of the Saxon than she had before. Why was she seeing this? What could it show her that she did not already know?
Three for one
The voice grew louder and Lena screamed again. "Why do I have to see this!" she did not know who she was asking, but she felt someone had to explain. "What are you showing me? I don't want to see this!" The Saxon raised his blade above Balor's head, and Lena turned away. She would not watch this again, she could not. She turned sharply, and as she did the fog seemed to thin. The voice grew louder.
Three for one
She squinted her eyes and peered through the now lighter fog. Was it not over? Why was she still here when Balor was already dead? Two men were fighting, Balor and the Saxon? Did she have to watch the whole vision through before it would release her? No, no, these were not the same two men. The fog had cleared substantially, but it was still dense enough to greatly obscure Lena's vision. One of the men was a Saxon, a tall long-haired Saxon. The other she could not see as easily, but he did not look like a Woad. Metal glinted suddenly, reflecting sunlight and momentarily blinding Lena. A sword. It was a sword that had caught the light, a curved sword. Strange that it had shone so brightly when there was so little light in this place. A piercing cry came somewhere from above and Lena looked up, trying to locate its source. Nothing but fog was above her. When she looked back to the fighting men, one of them had disappeared. The Saxon remained, but had his back to her now. He was walking away and she could not follow.
Three for one
The voice was nearly yelling this time, it almost sounded frantic. An arrow shot out of the fog and whizzed by Lena's face. She let out startled scream and threw herself to the side. Lena got up quickly though, determined to see the shooter. No one stood in the direction the arrow had flown from, but in her minds eye flashed a very vague image of the man she recognized as Balor's killer. "It's the same man." She whispered to herself. But what was he shooting at?
Three for one
This time the voice was shrill and painfully loud. Lena turned to face the direction the Saxon had shot toward, and found herself too horrified to even scream at what met her. The fog had almost fully dissipated, and standing no more than a foot from her was Lancelot. His eyes were distant and clouded with pain, he could not see her and he could not see the battle. The arrow protruding from his chest had cause a wound that was, without a doubt, fatal. Lancelot would die.
THREE FOR ONE
Lena stumbled backward, covering her ears; the voice was unbearable. She tripped on something as she continued to back away and closed her eyes. She never met the ground though, and when she reopened her eyes she was in a room, a very dark room. A woman lay on the bed that sat in the center of the room. She was a sickly and familiar, although unidentifiable woman. Lena tried to move closer but as soon as she did she was assaulted again by the terrifying voice.
THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE
Lena covered her ears. The sound was deafening and shrill, the words were audible but no longer sounded as though they were being spoken by a human voice. The piercing sound of a sword being sharpened only magnified a thousand fold, or maybe the shriek of some unholy bird were the closest things Lena could relate the horrible scream to. Lena had to get closer though, she had to see the woman on the bed.
THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE
It grew louder and louder as she approached. "STOP!" She screamed back. "STOP! PLEASE!" It was excruciating. Lena tumbled to her knees, she could hardly see a thing. Her eyes were watering and her vision blurred. "LET ME SEE HER!" Lena screamed angrily as she attempted to crawl closer to the bed.
THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE
Suddenly her hands were wet. Lena removed them from her ears and found them covered in blood. Her own blood. She had started bleeding from the ears. She didn't care though; she was close enough to the bed to hoist herself up a see the sleeping woman. Her hands stained the bed frame red as she rose. She looked down on the woman, her vision still blurred by her watering eyes, but now also blurred by the blackness that seemed to be closing in on her mind. Lena shook her head fiercely, trying to clear her sight. She had to see this woman. Dark hair and a pale face greeted her. A face she had not seen in a very long time, but one she could not forget. She could not understand though. What could this mean?
THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE
"Mother?" Her whisper was lost under the sound of the terrible voice.
THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE, THREE FOR ONE
And then everything was black.
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A scream broke the silence of the dark night. A wordless but pained scream rattled through the halls of Hadrian's Wall, and made its way into the quarters of sleeping knights. Guinevere stirred lightly in her sleep. Another piercing scream. The Woad princess sat bolt upright and gasped at the sound, her movements waking the man beside her. It took her a moment to register where she was, but the night before came flooding back suddenly and Guinevere nearly blushed.
"What's wrong?" Arthur asked as he reached up and placed a comforting hand on the side of her face. She had come to his room last night after leaving the fortress wall. Things had, shall we say, progressed quiet rapidly there after.
"Did you hear that?" Guinevere asked worriedly.
"Hear wha—" Arthur's question was cut off by yet another scream. The couple looked at each other quickly before scrambling out of the bed, hurriedly locating their clothing on the floor, and dashing out of the room.
"I know that voice." Guinevere panted as she sped down the hall towards the infirmary. Some of the other knights were immerging from their rooms now and, seeing Arthur and Guinevere speed by, followed without hesitation.
A very sleepy and confused Galahad stepped out from his quarters. "What the bloody hell is going on? Who's making this bloody racket?" He grumbled before following the others. By the time he reached the infirmary all the other knights had long since arrived. A scream of "STOP!" caught his attention, and he immediately realized that Lena was in fact making this bloody racket. "STOP PLEASE!" The youngest knight looked around the room. Everyone was dead still save for Lancelot, Guinevere, and Arthur. The latter two seemed to be holding Lancelot back.
"You have to wake her!" Lancelot yelled.
"We can't!" Guinevere yelled back. Lancelot made a move to come closer to the suffering Woad, but Guinevere put herself in his way. "DON'T TOUCH HER!" The Woad woman cried with so much force that it surprised all of the knights.
"She is SCREAMING for help!" The knight attempted to move past Guinevere, but she threw herself forward and pushed him away.
"You DO NOT understand!" She put her hands on his shoulders and attempted to keep him back. "Arthur, help me please!" She called over her shoulder. The half-Roman quickly put himself between his best friend and his lover. He gave Lancelot a look that made it clear he would not get any closer to Lena than this.
"I UNDERSTAND that she is in PAIN, and that you choose to leave her there!" Lancelot yelled around his friend. He cast the young Woad Seer a look. "Look at her! How can you LEAVE her like that!" The entire room, which had been focused on the fighting Guinevere and Lancelot, shifted their eyes to Lena. Her breathing was heavy and erratic; her face was contorted in obvious agony.
"This is her purpose! This is her life and there is NOTHING anyone can do! I have NO CHOICE!" Guinevere spat the words angrily.
"Her PURPOSE? Her PURPOSE is to SUFFER!" Lancelot shouted with a disbelieving laugh.
"YES!" Glaring, Guinevere screamed the word from her place behind Arthur. Lancelot fell silent, his eyes trained on a spot on the floor, and Guinevere's look softened considerably. "Do not presume that you are the only one who cares for her, Lancelot. You are not the only one who suffers with her." The knight looked up at Guinevere and in his eyes she could she a somber apology. He was not angry with Guinevere; he had not wanted to fight with her. He was angry with himself, angry that he had been afraid of Lena's sight, and that by pushing her away because of it, he had only caused her more suffering. She had suffered enough by the looks of it, and did not need his stupidity to add to her burden.
The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence. One word broke it though. One simple and disbelieving word that caused Guinevere to run to Lena's bedside, brows knitted in confusion.
"Mother?" And then a gasp followed the simple question, a gasp like that of a man who long being held underwater, was finally able to breathe again. Lena shot up as her eyes snapped open and she gulped down the air around her greedily. Her eyes darted sporadically around the room before resting finally on one thing. A sword. It captured the dim light of one of the few candles in the infirmary, and glinted palely. A strange, curved sword. Lena's eyes moved slowly up the graceful blade, then the hilt, then a hand, next an arm, a chest, broad shoulders, tensed neck, and finally, a face. A passive, though keenly alert face. Tristan. Lena held his is eyes for a moment, and the detached, collected knight seemed almost unnerved by the look she gave him. The sword from the vision belonged to Tristan. Tristan, Lancelot, and Balor. Those were her three. If she could kill the bald man, fate would see to it that the three lived. Three for one, she thought to herself quietly. I can do this, I must do this.
Everyone was slightly startled when she spoke; the calm manner in which she let the words arrange themselves was entirely unnatural after such terrible and violent screaming. "Everyone needs to sleep." She stated simply. "Go back to bed. I'm sorry to have woken you."
"What have you seen, Lena?" Guinevere asked gently, kneeling by her bedside. "Tell me so you do not forget."
"I cannot forget this, you needn't worry over that." She replied with a humorless smile.
"Lena, you know you must tell me." Guinevere persisted.
"No." Something inside her told Lena that the voice was meant solely to be heard by her own ears. This was not to be shared. It was her duty and hers alone.
"Lena, it is not a ques—" Guinevere was cut off by a stern and decisive answer.
"This is not for you to know, cousin." The sharpness of her voice surprised Guinevere. "I am fine now. Everyone needs sleep. Please, you are all very kind, but leave now." The knights all shared a look of collective confusion, but obliged despite it. Slowly they exited the room and returned to their sleeping chambers, all except Guinevere, Lancelot, and Arthur.
"Lena, please, just tell me this; what did it have to do with your mother?" Guinevere made one final attempt.
"I do not know yet." Lena answered honestly. The need to help was evident in Guinevere's eyes; she wanted to understand Lena, to comfort her. Lena gave her cousin a brave smile. "I fear you love me too much, cousin. Please, sleep. You will need your rest." Guinevere opened her mouth as if to refute the statement, but Lena continued before she could. "Your presence alone has been more of a comfort than you could know. The only thing you could do now to help would be to sleep, so that I needn't worry over you."
Guinevere smiled disappointedly, but still reached out and squeezed Lena's hand lovingly before standing and leaving the room. Lena and Arthur exchanged respectful nods before the man followed Guinevere. Only Lancelot remained.
Lena looked to him with weary eyes. Weary not only because of the small bit of fitful sleep she had obtained this night, but weary of life. Weary of suffering, weary of her breaking body, and of her broken spirit. Lancelot could see the weariness. He could see how it had grown in the last few days. Days. It felt like lifetimes they had known each other. It felt like thousand of lifetimes reflected to him in Lena's eyes. Lifetimes that weighed her down, made her slow and sleepy. I'm sorry. The words sat on the tip of his tongue. I am sorry you are so incredibly pained. I'm sorry that I have added to it. I'm sorry that you have to be the one to carry this. I wish it were someone, anyone, but you. Lena held his gaze with those terribly weary eyes, waiting for him to speak. She was neither expectant nor hopeful, but simply waited with the patience of one of Arthur's Christian Saints. Her fatigued patience made Lancelot's heart twist painfully in his chest. It was so unfair that she was forced to become so…old under the weight of her terrible gift.
I wish it were me, if only so that your eyes were not so tired.
Lena let out a barely audible sigh before speaking. "Rest, Lancelot. It is very late, and I feel as though I could sleep ten thousand years. I know you are tired too. You are good to have stayed here with me after the others, but you need sleep as well." Lancelot felt himself nod and begin to move away involuntarily. The ground was slipping by under his feet, the door was approaching rapidly. But, no! He wanted to stay, he wanted to speak with Lena, tell her. He had to speak! Speak!
"Goodnight, Lena." His voice was hoarse and unusually high-pitched. Those were not the words he had intended. That was not what he was supposed to have said. Unable to face her any longer he exited the room, grimacing at what a fool he had become. He had been charming once. Smooth and charming and extraordinarily attractive. And though, he had to admit, he remained extraordinarily attractive, he had somehow become a dud. A giant, miserable dud. This was what love had reduced him to. But, he mused as he made his way to his quarters, he would not change it if he had the choice. He would not trade his pathetic, love-sick, dudly-ness for anything in the world.
Lena, meanwhile, still sitting upright in her bed in the now empty room, whispered a "Goodnight" in return, but Lancelot could not hear it, he was already gone. Lena let herself collapse into the cot. She lay, for a long while, simply staring at the ceiling before breaking into tears. The sobs that wracked her body felt involuntary, she could not control them, hard as she tired. Tears streamed heavily down her face, reliving a bit of the pressure that was caused by the overbearing weight on her chest, the weight that was always with her, constantly crushing her body from every angle. That weight, that terrible weight, she felt it was the only thing that kept her from falling off the face of the earth, into blackness and oblivion. But she welcomed an eternity of falling through nothingness. She welcomed oblivion. Anything. Anything was better than this constant, exhausting weight on her soul. And she was tired. She was so weary. As soon as Lena felt sleep start to tug on her eyelids she gave in.
Oblivion. It was the most beautiful word she had every heard, her drowsy mind thought.
Soon. Soon. But not yet. Something told her.
Three for one, three for one, three for one. The words were inside her, flowing through her blood. Soon, she could rest, but first she had to see through her most important undertaking. Her last.
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Okay guys, tell me what you thought, PLEASE, I'm dying for your thoughts on this one.
I heard a rumor that we aren't allowed to do review responses in the chapters anymore (which SUUUUCKS, motha effas!...uh, forget that outburst…please) but someone asked along time ago where I had gotten the KA script, and I just re-found the site. It's called Fallen Knights (it's a pretty kick-ass fansite, might I add), and here's the url hope it helps!
Love you all and, again, I am dreadfully sorry and completely at your mercy my darling readers,
BLue