Author's Note: I do not own King Arthur, Dagonet, or anything you recognize.

I don't know when I wrote this. I was going through some folders and found it. Funnily enough, I couldn't remember writing this at all. I was reading it thinking "when the hell did this happen? Did I even write this?" until I reached the end and remembered. ...This actually happens a lot.

Her head rested against his heartbeat. Slow, steady. Constant. Just like him. He was older then her, more then her family liked. If they knew she was here...

They wouldn't listen, didn't know how he had worried for so long over their ages, how he still asked her if she was sure. After all, he was just an old man waiting to die. The last time he had said it she had slapped him. He was not an old man. And if he was waiting to die then why did he bother defending himself in battle?

"Live for me if you won't live for yourself."

She brought a hand up next to her face, resting it against his warm skin and feeling the familiar thumping of his blood as he slept, his big arms wrapped around her. She felt so tiny next to him, no mean feat when she compared her size to some of the other women in town. She wasn't fat, certainly her family couldn't afford food like that, but what she did eat stuck to her bones. He said he liked it, made her seem more real then those heaps of skin and bone. She had made a face at the mental image, and his stern face broke into a smile before he had swept her up into his arms and destroyed all of her thoughts with a kiss.

I love you. She stared at the skin before her eyes, her hand gently stroking his opposite shoulder. I love you because you're so kind, not at all as terrifying as you seem to want people to think. Because your kisses make my legs weak and it doesn't phase you at all, you just lift me into your arms. Because when I hug you I can rest my head against your chest and listen to your heartbeat and prove to myself that you made it back safe. Because you picked wildflowers for me. Because when I watch you ride out of the gates you always look back one last time to smile at me and it breaks my heart.

"I love you."

She looked up into his face, his eyes sleepy and lips curved slightly. And I love you because you just said it first, she added to the list in her head. She scooted up the bed to rest her head next to his, smiling as he rolled to his side and threw and arm over her waist so they could look eye to eye. Her smile became an outright laugh at the look on his face as her cold feet brushed his shins.

"I love you, Dag." She nuzzled her head against his shoulder. Because I feel safe in your arms. Because you make the rest of the world disappear.

"You know I'll be back soon." He wasn't a man for many words, but she didn't need them. She had already cried in his arms tonight as she heard the news that it wasn't his last day as a knight after all. That his life would be on the line again. Oh, how she wanted to run away with him to a place where there were no Romans or Saxons. Where they could love each other in a land without slavery and danger. Where he wouldn't die before his time. Where they could get married.

"Soon," He murmured, as if reading her thoughts. "Soon I won't be a slave and I'll be free to wed the woman I love."

"Promise me?"

"I promise. I'll take you as my wife and you'll never be rid of me."

She kissed him, one hand reaching up to stroke the back of his head. He pulled her closer, and when they finally broke apart she whispered against his lips that she wished they could lie like this forever.

She was numb. Six riders. Not seven. The hand that hung beneath the blanket had dried blood on it. He was supposed to ride in tired, with a smile just for her. Like he always did, even when it was especially bad. Even when he was injured. This couldn't be real.

She was in the background as they buried him. Not many knew of their relationship. Not even most of his brother knights or his commander. They were quiet people. She stayed as the rest drifted, and wasn't entirely saddened to find Bors already sitting by the grave by himself. He didn't seem surprised to see her either. He just patted the ground on the other side of the fresh dirt, and passed the jug once she was seated.

"Get drunk." He muttered, pouring a healthy libation over the grave before passing it to her. It didn't matter that she wasn't a drinker. This was for Dagonet. This was to take the pain out of remembering.

Bors cleared his throat, handing her a familiar ring. "Lucas thought you should have it. Guess Dag talked about you while he was tending him."

The ring kept falling from her thumb. She untied the leather thong around her neck that held her mother's wedding ring and added Dag's to it. It settled against her heartbeat as she tipped back the jug. To remember. To forget. To stay numb.