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: I've said it before and I'll say it again: I have no idea where this story is going. These characters seem to have taken up a spare room in my brain and are throwing plot twists and bungie-jumping into my subconscious at every turn. There is an end coming and possibly a sequel. After all, I completely ignored most of the knights. And that's just not right. Not right at all.
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VISIONS OF DEATH
Chapter Eleven: Contemplation
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Six weeks after Badon Hill and Tristan had finally been released from bed-rest. Gawain had been in the saddle for two weeks by the time Brigid released the scout from his forced convalescence. Tristan had actually followed the little healer's instructions, learning in a month and a half of close proximity that it was not wise to anger the healer.
Dagonet had watched Brigid mothering the scout as she finally let him out of the healing rooms. She was fussing with his collar and rattling off instructions and orders even as she looked for latent illness. The scout had become a surrogate little brother, even if he was older than she by several years. She even stockpiled apples from a source that even Dagonet couldn't discover so that her patient would be at least a little contented while she held him captive.
Dagonet watched as she sighed wistfully, watching the scout disappear in the morning light. She rubbed her arms and headed back into the healing rooms, oblivious to the Sarmatian's careful watch, her mind mulling over the comforts of family.
Dagonet sighed and his body seemed to collapse as he sat down on a low bench, the closed door to the healing rooms goading him. He and Brigid had shared pleasantries and greetings but both were very careful around each other, almost as if they were trying to avoid another eruption. What he wouldn't give to tell the Hibernian that he had overreacted and for her to tell him that that night had been as magical as he remembered. He stood and started towards the healing room door, his hand raised to knock on the door.
He paused and shook his head. He'd already put his heart on the line once with this strange woman. If she wanted him she would have to make the first move.
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Brigid pushed back her hair and stirred the stew that had been warming for hours. The smells that rose from the thick stew reminded her of home. She had been up since before dawn baking bread and preparing for the day's cooking. With the knights no longer under her care, her attentions had moved to her new position as tavern cook. The knights would be leaving tomorrow before dawn to go on a scouting mission and would soon be descending on the tavern like ravening dogs as if the food they ate before they left would be the last they would ever eat. There was also cause for celebration since this was the first time that both Gawain and Tristan would be allowed on patrol since Badon Hill, their pleas finally causing Brigid to relent from telling Arthur that the men should be on light duty only.
It had been Dagonet, his voice soft but firm, who had convinced Brigid to allow the knights to go on patrol. He had looked into her soul with his sky blue eyes and offered a sad smile as he explained the need the men had to have Gawain and Tristan back among them. It had taken all of her self-control not to touch his cheek and try to take away that sadness. He had seemed to sense her impulse and stood from the table they had shared for their conversation.
The moment was gone in a breath and Brigid retreated to the kitchens where she had hid until the evening. She frowned as she ladled stew into wooden bowls and set them on a tray for the serving girl to take to the men. Why was she acting like a frightened rabbit? Dagonet was a gentle man who deserved more than she was giving him at the moment. He deserved her honesty, not her fear.
Swinging the cauldron from the heat, she set the ladle on the nearby table and made her decision. She pulled off the apron, straightened her riotous hair as best she could and stepped from the heat of the kitchen to the bustling tavern. She spotted the knights scattered near the front of the tavern, Lancelot losing a dismal game of knucklebones, Tristan slicing an apple into sections and sliding the juicy flesh between his teeth, Gawain and Galahad throwing daggers at a stool they had set up as a target. Athur and Gueneviere were talking with Lancelot across a table, the soon-to-be married couple sitting very close on the bench opposite the notorious lothario. Vanora was seated on Bors lap, giggling at something the sturdily built knight said.
Dagonet was nursing an ale, shoulders slumped as he looked at some far away place only he could see.
Brigid stopped, holding her breath, as she neared the knight. He certainly had not noticed that the tavern's cook had appeared from the kitchen but the others had. Gawain was sipping from his cup of ale, eyes taking in the look of apprehension then determination that passed over Brigid's features as he waited for Galahad to throw his knife. He flicked his blue eyes to Tristan's, knowing the scout thought the same thing: either things would go very good or very bad in a matter of minutes.
Dagonet looked up, suddenly realizing that his companions had ceased their conversations. Blue eyes widened when he found Brigid standing in front of him, a hand reaching out to him. He rose quickly and took the proffered hand, not caring where she was leading.
They stopped just outside the tavern, still protected by the overhang from the slight drizzle that fell from the sky but beyond the range of listening ears.
Or so they thought as Galahad listened intently, waving off Gawain who was trying in vain to give their silent brother some privacy.
"Dagonet, I'm an idiot. I know that I did everything wrong that night but I had to tell you…" she trailed off as Dagonet lifted her chin so that she wasn't looking at the middle of his chest.
Dagonet shook his head, starting to speak, only to have a soft hand placed over his lips.
"Don't stop me, Dagonet, or I won't get it all out." She searched his face, trying to determine his reaction to her speech. "You asked me if that night meant nothing. That night was wonderful. I won't tell you that I regret that night." She had a mutinous set to her chin.
Dagonet stared down at the woman, his eyes looking for the truth and finding it. She, not being a mind-reader, took his silence for disdain.
"I won't trouble you again, Dagonet," she offered, turning from the Sarmatian to hide her tears.
The hand turning her none to gently back to him stopped her escape.
"I overreacted," admitted Dagonet, pulling the healer to him, inhaling the scent of her hair as he brought her even closer. "I, of all people, should understand duty."
Brigid sniffled against his tunic, small fists caught in the fabric. For the first time in weeks she felt safe.
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Fulcina ran the brush through her still damp hair, watching in the mirror as the door opened from the hallway. Dark curls and darker armor slipped through the door and Fulcina smiled. She was enjoying being a wanton, she decided. She had been tasked with helping Gueneviere manage the care of Castellus. She had run a household for Marius Honorius and running the household of Castellus was not that different.
All day Lancelot would spar and train with his brothers and Fulcina would tend to the castle, making sure that beds were made, chamber pots emptied, clothes washed, and the knights tended to.
They had fallen into a routine of sorts. Lancelot would go to the tavern with his comrades while Fulcina would have her final meeting of the day with Gueneviere to update the soon-to-be queen with the status of the household and then retire to her rooms. In the bedchamber, Fulcina would lay in a bath to relax after a full day then prepare herself for bed. Sometime during her preparations, Lancelot would appear.
Fulcina watched as the man she had come to share her body and bed with dropped his armor on a chair. Watched as he ran his hands through his thick curls. Watched as he dropped onto her bed and met her eyes in the polished bronze mirror.
"Don't you tire of watching me?" he asked ruefully.
Fulcina shook her head, still watching him in the mirror. "Never."
Lancelot pulled his tunic over his head, his body stretching catlike in the candlelight. The light dusting of hair on his chest swept in a narrow line to disappear beneath his breeches. The muscles that he used in battle were well-defined but not bulging like some of the stongmen Fulcina had once witnessed in Rome. Everything about her lover bespoke power, grace and deadliness. If she were honest those words could describe all of the knights and their leader.
"You leave tomorrow."
Lancelot nodded and pulled off his boots, dropping them heavily on the wooden floor. "Before dawn." He looked at the woman whose bed he had possessed for over a month. "I want you to stay near Gueneviere. She can protect you."
This caused Fulcina to turn in her chair, arm resting on the back of the chair as she met Lancelot's eyes. "I worry about you," she admitted softly.
The candlelight did not hide her beauty, thought Lancelot as his brown eyes took in the milky skin, the rounded curves, and the intelligence in her eyes. He rose, knowing that they would have to make the most of their time. "Gods, woman, come here," he commanded with a grin.
The Christian woman went to the arms of the pagan with a sigh. She found herself pressed against his half-clothed form, breasts pressed against his bare chest, only her simple shift separating them.
The silk garment drifted to the ground and Lancelot lowered his mouth to Fulcina's, nibbling her bottom lip as her arms laced behind the back of his neck. They fell back onto the bed together, determined to memorize each angle and plane of the others body.
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Tristan stroked the breast feathers of his hawk, a contemplative expression on his angular face. He had heard Brigid whispering to Fulcina one night when they were tending to his wounds about visions and the future. He hadn't known what to make of it until the tiny healer had retired to a cot under duress and Dagonet had taken up the role of healer in her stead. Then he had heard from Dagonet of her visions. He didn't know what to make of this tiny woman who could frighten even he, one of the most frightening of the Sarmatian knights, into obeying her commands.
He started to understand why the seers on that far off island had sent the tiny flame-haired woman south. He watched the sky deepen to near black from his perch on the battlements. Soon they would ride out into the forests of this strange island and Tristan itched to ride.
He knew that the women that they left behind were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Nevertheless, he whispered a silent prayer to the gods of his father that all would be safe while he and the knights did their duty.
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Brigid stretched carefully, looking to her right to find that Dagonet's presence in her bed was not a figment of her imagination. Of course the soreness in her body should have told her it was not a dream as did the memories of hours of shared pleasure. Her body had the familiar sated warmth that had filled her the night before Badon Hill. She reached out and stroked the stubbled cheek of Dagonet, earning a soft sigh from the sleeping giant. The sun had not yet risen and Brigid could hear the soft jangling of the horses bridles in the still air. Her lover's time was Arthur's, not hers.
"Dagonet," Brigid whispered, hand resting on his bare shoulder.
Dagonet blinked awake then rolled on top of Brigid, his forearm pressed against her throat. The strangled gasp beneath him brought him back to himself and the Sarmatian quickly rolled off Brigid and sat up, running his hands over his face. "I'm sorry."
Brigid laughed softly, shaking her head. "Now I know not to wake you in arms reach," she offered lightly, trying to soothe him. He was not the first warrior to attack when woken unexpectedly. Her own father had nearly gutted her mother after an exceptionally bloody campaign. She slid her legs off the edge of the bed and stood, reaching for a thin shift and slipping it over her head.
Dagonet watched as she slipped a gown over the shift, noting that the gown was the same shade of blue worn by the Woads. "Promise me that you will be safe."
Brigid looked over her shoulder at the giant in her bed, a wistful glitter in her eyes. "I expect the same promise."
Dagonet grinned and rose from the bed, reaching for his breeches and quickly pulling them back up his sinewed legs. He began to lace the breeches closed, his eyes on the red-haired woman. She was staring down at the courtyard, her body tense. "I will return," he reminded gently.
Brigid smiled and turned at her lover. "Of course you will. All the same," she stepped to him, taking his hand and pressing it to her heart. "Return to me," she whispered.
Dagonet leaned down and captured the young woman's lips in a kiss so gentle that it reminded the healer of a breeze. "Always."
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Black eyes watched the wall, gnarled hands clutching a knotted staff with a strength belied by her obvious years. The woman in the brown cloak knew that her quarry lay within the stone walls and that it would only be a matter of bait to draw her out. In the meantime, she would be safe hidden within the woods until she could draw her prey to her.
The old woman grinned, rotting teeth glittering wetly in the moonlight.
Soon all would be set right, she promised.
TBC….
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To My Wonderful Reviewers:
homeric: I did a happy dance too when I didn't kill the knights. I'm glad you like the Vanora angle--we'll be seeing more of her in upcoming chapters. And I'm glad you wanted a reconciliation.
BleedingTwilight: Yay! Glad you are enjoying that I didn't kill Tristan. And I hope you enjoyed the reunion between Dagonet and Brigid. There is more and it's coming straight from some dark corner of my brain.
shariena: Glad I'm keeping you curious. Now just to keep you curious.
Samantha: I'm so glad you are enjoying the evilness that is matchmaking. As requested, more Lancelot and Fulcina.
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