Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.
Author's note: Wow. The ninth chapter. We're almost to the end, people. Please, keep the feedback coming.
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VISIONS OF DEATH
Chapter Nine: The Goodbye
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Brigid stood in the window of the tower, her eyes fixed on the giant Sarmatian. He sat ramrod straight in his saddle, his face stony. How the idiot would think that her night with him meant nothing was beyond her. Didn't he understand her duty?
She remembered the blood on the sheets and Dagonet's surprise and the tenderness that followed. She closed her eyes and took a breath. Maybe if she pretended that he didn't exist, the pain in her heart would go away.
"Brigid?" called a familiar voice.
Brigid opened her eyes and turned slowly, her grey eyes registering Fulcina before her. "You should go, my lady. The caravan will be leaving soon." The last place this gentle Roman matron belonged was in a cold castle with Saxon hordes set to descend and tear apart all that the Romans and Sarmatians had built.
The Roman woman, who seemed to have dropped ten years since her husband collapsed on the snowy earth, smiled at the younger woman and came to stand beside the healer at the window. "No, Brigid. I am staying." She looked down at the snowy ground, her dark eyes wandering over the knights. Her brown eyes lingered on a knight with dark curls, who shifted uneasily on his horse.
Almost as if sensing the Roman woman's gaze, Lancelot turned in his saddle, his brown eyes drawn to the window of one of the towers. There stood Fulcina beside Dagonet's red-haired healer. He spun his gaze to Dagonet who sat behind him. Suddenly he noticed the grim expression and the stern gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Ah," Lancelot said. His gaze flitted up to the two women who watched them from above.
"Ah, what?" asked Gawain, bringing his horse alongside Lancelot's.
Lancelot looked from Dagonet to the window and then back.
Gawain looked up and swore. "What are they doing up there?" he demanded.
Lancelot shook his head, his gaze rueful. "I believe, brother, that they intend to stay."
Gawain's expression said it all: he thought the women truly mad. "The Saxons will take the fortress and they will die."
Lancelot frowned and looked up again, his eyes meeting Fulcina's. The night before had been unexpected, to say the least. When the Roman woman had led him to her chambers, he had expected a cold, staid woman such as they had seen accompanying Marius. Instead, the slim woman had shown a fire and beauty unexpected of one sold into marriage to a brute. She had met him as an equal, not a fawning servant girl or a bitchy aristocrat. She was earthy and funny and they had laughed in bed as they made love. Suddenly he did not want the Roman woman to die.
"I'll be back," he announced, tossing his reins to Gawain, who caught them in surprise. He pushed past the servants bringing belongings to the carts of the evacuation caravan and took the stairs up the tower two at a time. Finally he was at the door to the tower room he'd spotted Fulcina and Brigid in. He started to push the door open, but the sound of Fulcina's voice stopped him.
"I won't go, Brigid. I have to make up for Marius's sins."
An exasperated sound issued from Brigid's lips. "Lady, your husband's sins are his own, not yours. Just because you were tied to a monster doesn't make you a monster."
Lancelot winced for his lover. Dagonet's healer had the bedside manner of a Saxon.
"Brigid, my mind is made up."
Lancelot raked his hand through his curls.
"And what of Lancelot?"
Lancelot's ears perked up.
The Roman woman was strangely silent.
Suddenly the door opened and Lancelot was face to face with Fulcina. The Roman gazed at him, her face unreadable. Leaning forward, she captured Lancelot's lips in a searing kiss. A moment later, even before Lancelot had realized what was happening, the door was shut and he was alone in the hallway.
He turned to go down the stairs, his eyes flickering back up to the wooden door as he started to descend.
In the room, Brigid stared at the Roman woman whose back was pressed to the wooden door, her mouth agape. For Fulcina to give Lancelot a goodbye kiss was not part of her reality. "My Lady?" she questioned, taking a careful step towards Fulcina as if the Roman woman might explode.
Fulcina opened her eyes and turned her gaze on Brigid. "I think we should prepare for the wounded, don't you?"
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The caravan moved slowly forward, the knights moving with them. They had fallen silent after they could no longer see Arthur through the smoke.
The sound of drumming carried on the wind, the horses wheeling and neighing, startling their riders.
Bors's horse threw its head and wheeled, followed by the others. "Whoa," said the oldest knight softly to the horse, stroking its neck to soothe it.
The knights pulled on the reins, hushing the horses as they calmed them. Lancelot leaned forward, his hand stroking the pelt of his horse. He wondered at the horse, then reminded himself of what his father had said before he had be taken from Sarmatia: There is a legend that fallen knights return as great horses. The horses had turned themselves back towards the wall and the Saxons. He looked at Bors, then Gawain and Galahad, then Tristan and Dagonet. The same thought seemed to be in all of their eyes.
Tristan turned to his hawk. "Hey," he clicked his tongue. "You're free," he said, lifting his arm. The hawk rose into the air and wheeled away, its keening cry echoing above them.
Bors looked back at Vanora, then at his children. He hadn't wanted to leave in the first place, thought Dagonet as he watched his fellow knights.
Lancelot looked at Gawain, and the golden knight offered a half-smile. Galahad grinned and Tristan stretched the string on his bow. They were warriors, not glorified bodyguards. For once, thought Dagonet, their fight was one they made, not one they fought for a far off empire.
Like the hawk, they were free. And as free men, they would fight for the homes they had fashioned from this strange land.
TBC….
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To My Wonderful Reviewers:
Bleeding Twilight: Well, he's a very tall, very big Sarmatian and, yes, he is hard-headed. I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter and I enjoyed writing the scene between them. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. More is coming.
parixs: I'm glad you're enjoying. I feel the same way--I don't want anyone to die in this story. Sadly, this story is writing itself so I have no idea where it's going. Blame my muses--they're having a joyous time at the expense of my brain. I also am glad that you like Lancelot/Fulcina and I'm very glad that you want to read more. Hopefully I'll keep you interested through the rest of it.
Lady Marek: Yay! I'm glad--I like them together as well. And I'll try to keep everyone alive but this story is writing itself. But I'll try, promise.
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