Greetings all. Welcome to Chapter Seven.

For Disclaimer and story warnings: See Chapter One.

Authors Note: About historical accuracy appears at the end of this chapter, if anyone is interested.

Many thanks again to all the reviewers, its really encouraging to have such great folks on board.

Chapter Seven – Woods, Wolves and Woads

Gawain woke with a start, heart racing in his chest. There had been a sound that had woken him; something primeval and terrifying had jerked him abruptly from dreams of peace and grassy plains. He froze, listening intently, and there!

Somewhere in the forest. A wolf's howl. Far too close for comfort.

Gawain looked about with heavy eyes; night had fallen fully around him, and he cursed himself for falling asleep. He should have kept moving, and found somewhere safe to wait out the night. Well, it was too late now, and now the wolves were on the hunt. And the way he was bleeding, he might as well be waving a torch around to attract attention to himself.

The wolf howled again, at its call was taken up by another. Gawain struggled to his feet, snatched up Excalibur and began to move, as fast as he could. They might be a mile or two away yet, but wolves were deadly fast in the forest, and he was not.

He had heard Arthur's voice in memory just before he fell asleep, but it was Tristan's words that now sounded in his mind. "If you can hear the wolf, fear the wolf."

If they caught his scent, he would have no possibility of outrunning them. He sniffed the air; there was little wind so there was a chance. His only hope was that he could get far enough away that would not bother to chase him, or that they might come across a more attractive prey.

Travelling through the forest was difficult enough during the day but at night was nearly impossible. Undergrowth caught at Gawain's boots and legs, low hanging branches snagged at his hair, trees loomed up in his path with no warning. He tripped in a ditch and struggled painfully to rise again, exhaustion and dizziness dragged at his strength. Had he been cold earlier? Well he was warm now, almost too hot. The exertion of the near-run through the forest was causing sweat to bead on his forehead and prickle between his shoulder-blades. The Knight suddenly remembered he had not re-wrapped his injury before falling asleep. The big man laid his palm over the bandages; they were sodden through, and he could just make out a dark stain of blood on the side of his pale breeches. "It's still bleeding," he muttered.

"Need to bind it, Gawain." The voice now sounded like Dagonet.

The wolves had stopped howling, but that was not a good sign. It meant they'd caught a scent and were silently hunting, and running at a lope that was easily twice as fast as he was moving. He was never going to make it. Gawain touched the pommel of Excalibur, and smiled, humourlessly. They wouldn't find him an easy meal.

Suddenly, through the near complete darkness, Gawain saw a flicker of movement ahead, and froze. He thought the wolves were still behind. Had they been driving him into a second pack lying in ambush? The tactic was not unknown. Silently as he could, the injured Knight slowly drew Excalibur from his belt. The blade glinted dimly in the dark, and the weight of it was reassuring in his hand. Cautiously, he took a few steps forward. The dark shapes moved behind a tree, and the Knight tensed, ready to strike. Perceval steadied his arm, and murmured; "Ready, Gawain? Three, two, one..."

Gawain spun around the tree with a shout, swinging the sword round at deadly speed. In less than a heartbeat his brain finally interpreted what his eyes were seeing, and it took all his strength to pull the blow.

The two Woads crouched on the ground in front of the tree, looked up with shock as the Knight burst from the forest; he could see somehow he'd managed to take them by surprise. The male gave a snarl and scrambled back, pulling out a blade of his own, the other curled back against the tree with a small cry. Gawain stumbled back, but held his sword out, ready, his mind in turmoil. First wolves, now Woads! He hesitated; for some reason railing against the instructions his mind was giving him to instantly leap forwards and slaughter them both. These were the first Woads he'd met who weren't trying to kill him first. The Woad with the sword quickly dropped to a defensive crouch in front of his companion, blade out and eyes fixed on Gawain. The Knight circled round slowly, Excalibur ready. It would be a short fight if it came to that.

"What are you waiting for?" said Bors' voice, impatient. "Just kill 'im and get out of there!"

"What am I waiting for?" Gawain growled back. "What is he waiting for? I don't have all night..."

The Woad stayed crouched, blade raised.

But neither of them attacked. Gawain saw the blue native's eyes flick over his body, taking in his bound up arm and blood soaked armour, but he didn't leap forwards to take advantage of his enemy's weakness. The Knight glanced at the second Woad, the one crouched by the tree, and saw she was female, and from the way she was curled up, probably hurt too.

He realised how young the Woad in front of him was; he couldn't be older than Galahad, and at the thought of his young friend, Gawain found his anger melting away. He was too weary. All of a sudden, Gawain found himself speaking.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you."

The Woad didn't relax his guard.

Gawain nodded towards the woman. "She's injured already. There's wolves about. We have enough problems without fighting each other."

The Woad still didn't give any indicator that he understood, but then again, why should he? Gawain didn't speak any Pictish. Why should a Woad know Sarmatian?

The woman gave a little whimper of pain, and that decided him. Lost for any other mode of communication, Gawain slowly lowered the sword, until the tip rested on the floor. The Woad male narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and rocked side to side, clearly confused by the gesture, but didn't lower his own weapon.

"Fine," said Gawain, tiredly. "Be like that." and he turned to walk away. A sudden voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"Tu es Artor equites?"

Latin? The Woad spoke Latin? Gawain was startled for a moment. But then again, Tristan supposedly knew some Pictish he'd picked up from his scouting missions. So maybe it wasn't so unlikely.

None of the Sarmatians liked speaking the Roman tongue, the language reminding them too much of their slavery, but they all could. Their early Commanders had drummed or beaten it into them well enough.

Gawain slowly turned back to the Woad, and answered in the same language. "Yes. I'm one of Arthur's Knights."

The Woad slowly licked his lips looking anxious, but finally nodded and lowered his own knife. The two enemies looked at each other.

"Alright," murmured Gawain. "So now what?"

A sudden crash behind him had them both spinning around to face the forest, just as three grey shadows came darting snarling from the trees. He'd forgotten all about the wolves! Gawain gave a shout and dragged Excalibur back up just as the first wolf leapt into the air, aiming at his throat. He struck out with the long sword, slicing across the wolf's belly. The creature fell with a yelp, and Gawain spun to face the next. Two creatures growled and leapt for him together, claws and teeth flashing in the night. He stabbed one through the heart; the beast dropped, but not before its companion latched its jaws onto Gawain's good arm, teeth sinking deep into the leather of his vambrace. The Knight fell back with a hoarse yell, Excalibur wrenched from his grasp. Just then he saw a flash of movement beside him, and a blade seemed to sprout from the wolf's throat. The lupine issued a horrible dying squeal and fell to the floor. Gawain stumbled to regain his balance and saw the Woad pull his sword from the wolf's body, just as more howls sounded in the trees. Three wolves down, the rest of the pack to go.

Adrenaline coursed through him, numbing his injuries, and Gawain turned back to the Woad.

"I'll hold them off. Take her and go."

The Woad didn't react, so Gawain forcibly pushed him towards his injured companion.

"Go! Vado!" he shouted, just as another three wolves burst from the trees, and Gawain just had time to see the Woad man lift the woman into his arms and vanish into the forest before he was once more fighting for his life.

Gawain kneeled on the cold earth, panting and dizzy. He couldn't remember how many wolves he'd killed, each attack blurring into the next. He wasn't even sure anymore if he'd got them all, or if the rest of the pack had slunk off to find an easier prey. He had, miraculously, escaped further injury but for a parting souvenir; a lucky swipe of claws had left a shallow slash across his cheek and down across the side of his neck. Gawain dragged open heavy eyes, the clearing was scattered with blood and wolf bodies. That would soon attract other predators. He had to move.

The voice was back, and this time it was Galahad's. "Come on, Gawain. You can do this. You have to!"

"I'm tired, Galahad." His head seemed impossibly heavy, his hair hiding him from the world like a curtain.

"Get up, Gawain!" And now it was Lancelot. He growled in irritation, but the other Knights were right. He had to move. He drove the point of Excalibur's blade into the ground and used the sword as a crutch to push himself up to his feet. Gawain wobbled, but held his ground.

"Ow," he mumbled.

"Now go, Gawain. Stop complaining, you sound like a Roman. Go!"

"Shut up, Lancelot." He was really beginning to hate that voice.

He took one step. And another. And a third, and then he was stumbling away through the dark trees, leaving the blood and wolf corpses cooling behind him. He was utterly exhausted, down to his bones, but he didn't dare stop in case he never got up again. Was he still going south? The ground in front of him was sloping downwards, so hopefully that meant he wasn't going in circles, but he didn't really know, and caring took energy he didn't have.

Minutes turned into hours, and still he walked, numbly and blindly. Now and again one of the Knights he could see walking beside him would speak up. Ector coaxed, Bors threatened, Galahad wheedled, and Gawain stumbled on. His thirst was worse than ever, the apples he'd eaten yesterday seemed to have turned to vinegar in his stomach. The night was too hot for the time of year, and the dryness of the air burned his throat and skin. If he made it back to the Wall, Gawain decided, he was never leaving it again.

He stumbled over a tree root and fell to the floor, and in that moment, all his strength was gone.

"Get up," he murmured to the sky, "Get up!"

But somehow, even when the other Knights appeared and stood around him, calling and shouting, he couldn't rouse him enough to move. It was as if, finally, his strength had just been used up. He focused everything on his hand, the fingers twitched slightly, and at last he managed to pull Excalibur to him, and drag the sword up to rest on his chest. As his eyes closed, he knew he was honoured to die with Excalibur in his hand.

"Sorry," he murmured to his brother Knights. "I'm sorry."

They fell silent and drifted away.

He floated for what felt like a long time between darkness and waking, trapped in a burning twilight of exhaustion and pain. He could smell blood and death; feel the trickle of it on his cut cheek. He was so sick of that smell.

Gawain thought he heard a voice somewhere, but a different, new voice in an odd language; not one of the Knights. There was movement too, and it roused him enough to open his eyes, just as hands descended on him from the darkness. "No!" He shouted hoarsely, and struggled furiously, kicking out at his captors. "Get off!"

But he was too weak to put up much of a fight and there were too many of them. The sword was knocked easily from his grasp and they pulled his arm from the sling and wrenched his hands behind his back. He kicked out at unseen ankles but a fist struck him hard in his injured side and as he crumpled to ground, a hood was pulled down over his face and he saw no more.

TBC...

Author's Note

Exciting stuff, no? Thought it was time to pick up the pace a little... Hope it wasn't too confusing, all will be made clear in time. Sorry about the lack of other Knights in this chapter; don't worry though, they'll definitely be showing their bearded scruffy little faces before too long.

If anyone's interested, I've included a brief note on a couple of points regarding the historical accuracy of this and following chapters. Feel free to pass on by if you're not worried about all that jazz.

Gawain - Gawain as the bearer of Excalibur is not my invention; in some early Arthurian French stories, Excalibur is initially owned by Sir Gawain instead of solely by Arthur. Thought it might be fun to play with that in relation to the movie. I was right. It was fun.

Language - Basically, I am an archaeologist, not a linguist. A tiniest amount of Latin appears in this chapter, and subsequent chapters will also have little bits of 'Pictish' (I've used Scottish Gaelic to represent this), and I'm afraid I totally made all of this up from sources on the internet. Making up an Iranian 'Sarmatian' dialect was well beyond me! But if anyone cleverer than I was able to provide a better translation for what I'm trying to say I would be more grateful than words! I'm putting any errors down to 1700 years of history in the way...

Rome and the Army - following chapters will also cover a few aspects of Roman law and military organisation, and again I must apologise for my ignorance in this field, Romans are completely out of my specialism! So bear with any historical inaccuracies you see for the sake of the plot (but do let me know so I can get it right next time!)

Sarmatia - A certain amount of creative license was necessary in the descriptions of Sarmatian religion and ritual in later chapters, as there really isn't much known for it, and it was likely highly diverse. I've used a Scythian model mixed with Germanic/Norse elements to suggest the type of beliefs and ritual that might have been taking place, on top of what we have from the film. Hope it rings true for everyone. I thought about having the boys strip naked to dance round a bonfire a la Lancelot, but then again he was probably just being sarcastic. Still... :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed Chapter Seven. Real life is being particularly pesky at the moment; I'll try get the next chapter up on Friday, but I hope you will forgive me if it doesn't appear until next week.

'Til then, folks.

Nienna.

P.s. The female Woad was not Guinevere. No Guinevere in this fic. Ever.