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: For the record, I am of the firm opinion that none of the knights are bad looking. I happen to think that Antoine Fuqua is a god for casting seven beefcakes in a movie that I love. And I have adored Ray Winstone since he played Will Scarlet in Robin Hood.
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VISIONS OF DEATH
Chapter Fifteen: The Morning After
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Fulcina paused in her nightly ritual, watching as Lancelot slipped into her room. His eyes were dark and caught her brown eyes in the mirror. She caught her breath at the heat that suddenly filled the room.
"Good evening," offered Lancelot as he shut the door behind him.
Fulcina set down the brush and rose, turning to face the knight. "Welcome home," she whispered, stepping towards Lancelot.
Lancelot was confused. He had wondered at the way Dagonet had carried Brigid from the tavern, the way that Gueneviere and Arthur shared warm looks and the way that Vanora hovered just out of reach of her lover, a smile playing over her lips. He had wanted Fulcina there, to enjoy the company of his friends and their mates.
Not for the first time he wondered at the fact that he and Fulcina had been brought together. She was a Roman and a Christian. He was a Sarmatian and at best a pagan. She was warmth and welcoming. He was all sharp edges and distance.
Fulcina watched the emotions play over this man, amazed as his mobile face showed each feeling and thought so clearly. Lifting her hand to his bearded cheek, she stroked the dark knight.
His eyes widened. How could she know what he was thinking so clearly? He leaned into her touch, eyes closing.
Fulcina waited as the man got his bearings. He was an enigma to her. Her life had never had the darkness and fire that she found with Lancelot. He shook her from the safe existence of wife.
There were no regrets.
Lancelot saw that in Fulcina's eyes when his opened and he crushed her to him, accepting all she gave and giving back even more.
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Vanora was still asleep. It had been a late night after Dagonet had disappeared with Brigid. Tristan, Gawain, and Galahad competed in throwing daggers, as much to amuse themselves as the barmaids who flitted around trying to catch their attentions. Lancelot had disappeared soon after Dagonet had carried off the cook, a small smile on his lips. And Arthur had attempted to keep his eyes and hands off his intended bride.
After Gawain, Galahad, and Tristan had collapsed in various poses of unconsciouness thanks to copious amounts of ale and mead, Bors had taken his lover in his arms and smiled down at her. He had watched her keeping the peace in the bar, separating a more than inebriated Galahad from a mocking Tristan before the two knights could come to blows, and wondered that he had won this fierce beauty.
Bors knew that he was far from the handsomest man among the Sarmatians. He didn't have the mystery of Tristan. He didn't have the dashing wit of Lancelot. He didn't have the tragic nobility of Dagonet. And he didn't have the boyish charm of Gawain or Galahad.
But Vanora chose him. He still remembered the day that she had sashayed to him and planted herself on his lap, whispering dirty jokes in his ear until he had nearly fallen off the chair laughing. They had become lovers soon after and he had never regretted their lives together. Eleven children and fourteen years together had taught him that he should never underestimate his Vanora.
The eldest knight lay on his side, dark eyes watching the majestic mother of his children. For fourteen years he had been a slave to Rome. He had been forbidden from marrying the mother of his children, condemning his children to bastardhood.
His thick fingers swept a dark auburn lock from her forehead, his lips quirking in a smile. Even now, at twenty-nine summers, she was the most beautiful woman in the fortress. She met him blow for blow, shout for shout, and breath for breath. She was his match in every way.
A movement brought him back from his reflections and he found Vanora looking up at him, brown eyes warm and inviting.
The tavern could wait.
Training could wait.
Everything would wait but Vanora.
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Brigid stirred, a powerful arm draped over her waist. Blinking, she found herself facing a sleeping Dagonet. She reached up, touching his cheek. He looked like a far younger man asleep, the years dropping away as he dreamed. Biting her lip, she wondered at what he had seen in his fifteen years of service to Rome. All she knew was the fierce, funny man who had stolen her heart. Dagonet shifted in his sleep, pulling Brigid closer to him. The candles had burned down and out, casting the room into deep shadows. Brigid stretched up, her lips finding Dagonet's in the darkness.
Dagonet's eyes blinked open to find his healer wide awake and kissing him.
"Good morning," she whispered.
Dagonet's lazy smile greeted her. "You slept soundly," he noted.
Brigid blushed. "I fell asleep in the bath, didn't I."
Dagonet nodded, winding a dark red curl around a long finger. "Yes. I thought I was poor company," he teased.
Brigid shook her head, pushing up on her elbow so that she leaned over him. "Not at all, love. Blame the bath but never you," she reassured before she caught the glitter of humor in Dagonet's eyes. "Oh," she growled, smacking his arm playfully.
Dagonet chuckled and gathered his healer to him, reveling in her smaller body pressed to him. He had missed this woman fiercely while they tracked Saxons and fought renegades. For the first time in fifteen years he had something to come home to. Even as the men sat around the fire, sharing stories and jokes, he had kept to himself, smiling at the thought of the woman who was now pressed to him.
While Bors complained good-naturedly about his bastards and the woman who was all but his wife, Dagonet had imagined his return to Brigid.
Never had he imagined that she would fall asleep during his seduction.
"Dagonet?" came the soft whisper.
"Yes, Brigid?" he responded, pulling her a little tighter and running his hand down the length of her arm.
Brigid bit her lip, moving closer to Dagonet and lacing an arm across his waist even as she asked the question she had been dreading. "Will you go back to Sarmatia?"
Dagonet frowned and considered the question. "It has been fifteen years since I saw Sarmatia. My village was burned by the Romans and all my people are dead. I have nothing left to go back to."
Brigid nodded, resting her hand on his heart.
"And you? Will you return to Hibernia?" he asked quietly.
Brigid sighed. "My family died years ago. There is nothing left for me there," she admitted.
Dagonet nodded, holding her tighter, both of them lost in their thoughts.
Brigid lifted her head again, searching his blue eyes. "But I have you," she added. "And you are here. So here is home."
Dagonet's solemn face cracked into a smile and he hauled the healer on top of him so that she straddled him. "I couldn't think of a better home," he whispered before he captured her lips.
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Gawain frowned into his ale and looked around the tavern. The ovens in the kitchen were cold, indicating that the tavern's cook had not yet arrived. The serving maid lacked a certain vicious wit, indicating that Vanora had not yet descended from her quarters above the tavern. And their commander and his second in command were nowhere to be found.
Tristan looked as thrilled as Gawain felt. Galahad groaned from the floor where he had slept the night before. Tristan had at least slept flat on a tabletop, though his hair was now matted with spilled ale. Gawain, meanwhile, had slept slumped over the table and now had a back that ached as if a dozen Saxons had been pounding on it.
A gasp drew his gaze and he found a horrified healer gazing at him. "What in the world did you do?" she demanded, fists on her hips.
Gawain held his head in his hand. "Quieter, please."
Brigid arched an eyebrow and pointed to the fountain outside the tavern. "All of you, into that water. NOW," she commanded, grabbing Gawain from his seat on the bench.
Gawain let loose a manly whimper as his eyes got their first glimpse of morning sunrise. He shut his eyes and staggered to a halt.
Brigid frowned at the unmoving knight. She had gotten him just beside the fountain pool and the reek of stale ale was about to make her lose her small breakfast. She smiled, glad that the knight could not see the devilish glint in her eyes and pushed.
Gawain gasped as he felt himself falling backwards and then felt water splashing over him. He sputtered and sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
Brigid was laughing at him, hands holding her belly as she valiantly tried to stay on her feet. She was not watching behind her and therefore did not see Tristan and Galahad creeping towards her. She did however feel herself being lifted off her feet and dumped unceremoniously into the fountain.
Laughter filled the courtyard, causing the two drunken men who dunked her to hold their heads in pain. "No more!" pleaded Galahad.
Brigid shook her head, pushing her red hair out of her eyes and grinning at the knights. "You'll get no breakfast unless you get in here," she warned.
Suddenly there were two splashes and like shaggy dogs the three Sarmatians began to rinse off the smelly remains of their previous evening.
"Good morning," came the amused voice of Dagonet. He watched as his lover sat in the fountain, splashing water at his fellow knights. Galahad, Tristan and Gawain all had the looks of drowned rats. "Having fun?"
Brigid nodded and stood in the fountain, water running down her clothes and dripping from her hair. "Of course, love," she replied, holding out her hand as Dagonet helped her out of the fountain. "Now, I must make some breakfast for these men since they no longer smell like old ale." Shaking like a wet dog, she showered Dagonet with water droplets before heading towards the tavern, leaving a trail of water behind her.
TBC….
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To My Wonderful Reviewers:
Homeric: Heeheeheeheehee. Yay! I'm glad that you enjoyed Dagonet's reaction--it was fun to write. And I just had to treat Tristan (he's one of my favorites). Don't worry, Brigid can handle Dagonet (maybe) and you seem to read Dag's mind quite well. Brava!
BleedingTwilight: I'm so glad that you like it. And I love that you're enjoying Dag. He's such a sweetie. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. J
chrissynmh: I'm so glad that you're enjoying the story. I love Dagonet (gee, never would have guessed) and am glad that you're enjoying his relationship. Yay!
Samantha: I'm glad. I'm enjoying keeping things interesting. And, as requested, here's more Fulcina and Lancelot. J
shariena: Here's more. Hope you keep enjoying. I'm having way too much fun writing this.
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