A/N: So sorry about this long wait. First hand, I got too tired after work to dare posting, and second hand I grew tired of everything and didn't bother moving my fingers on FanFiction. Everything I'm writing is waiting for me to shake a leg. But this was already written, so here it is. Last chapter on Sunday, and if you don't see it by Monday morning, feel free to shout at me. I deserve it for being the worst procrastinator in history.
Chapter fourteen: Badon Hill
Leera remained hidden in that dark alley until her breathing had gone back to normal. The kiss she had shared with Tristan still unnerved her, but she knew that she had more important things to focus on. Saying goodbye to the rest of the Knights for example.
She tightened her fists and sighed heavily before quickly heading to the Knights' quarters. Surely, she saw Gawain and Galahad putting bags on their horses' backs, and she approached, eyeing around if she didn't see the object of her attentions.
"Hey, Leera!"
She smiled sadly at the youngest Knights and bowed her head in response. "You're packing."
"Aye we are, little madam." She smiled at Gawain's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm sorry to tell you that Bors and Dagonet have already gone over, with your cousin if I recall well."
She nodded. "I've asked him to take Lucan with him. He'll be better with a father figure than an untamed Woad as a cousin, don't you think?"
Galahad's smile faded and he came to stand in front of her, putting two careful hands on her shoulders.
She ignored where that came from, but she launched herself at him and embraced him tightly for a short moment. Then, she did the same with Gawain. "I do wish you well, Knights."
"We'll see you later, Leera, do not worry."
She smiled sadly and nodded again, before heading back inside towards her room. Her instincts told her she'd find Guinevere dressing up for battle.
And sure, Guin was already dressed in her leather straps, compressing her breasts and rending her figure even slighter than usual. She was mixing the content of a wooden pot, and Leera knew instantly. The war paintings.
Guinevere watched her as she carefully took her tunic off and put it on what used to be her bed. Then, she turned around and sat next to her fellow Woad, and watched as the pigments already formed the bluer paint she had ever seen.
"You wish me to put some on you, archer?"
Leera stared at her permanent tattoos and decided that only her face needed to show her nature more than her attire already did. "My face needs to frighten the filth."
"You'll already frighten them only by your figure, sister."
Leera smirked. "Talk about you, sister."
Guinevere smiled and put the spoon down, plunging her long fingers in the blue paint and drawing complex lines on her belly and arms.
Leera watched as the symbols that stretched on her friends' body reflected both her rank and threat. The daughter of a general, both as skilled with a blade than with a bow. A triple threat, so to speak.
Guinevere then touched Leera's cheek tenderly with the paint, and at the forms she drew on her skin, Leera's eyes widened. She had drawn, on her left cheek, the same symbol as Tristan's tattoos.
Guin smirked and drew another line on her right cheek, this time Arthur's coat of arms.
"There. They'll know who you belong to now." Leera didn't have to ask for an answer to follow. "I know that you don't wish to go back to our people. This is a tale I wish to hear sometimes, but not now."
She put the bowl down, and grabbed a leather belt she swiftly wrapped around her fragile hips.
"Shall we go, Leera?"
Leera shot up and grabbed bow and quiver, nodding gravely. "Let's teach them a lesson."
Guinevere smirked and both women escaped the comfort of the room, returning to the coldness of the night and into a deserted courtyard.
"They have left. Good. They will be long gone when the sun rises."
But Leera knew that at least a group of men would still camp on the edges of the village, waiting for the last moment to go, so to protect the others in case the battle was lost.
She gritted her teeth. They wouldn't lose.
"Guinevere! Leera!" They headed to where Arthur was standing, clad in his armour, his cape floating as he made his way towards them. "These paintings suit you." He stared one moment longer at Leera's cheeks but made no comment. Her face stayed blank.
"I have to rejoin my people at the edge of the woods, Arthur. Do you wish me to deliver a message?"
"Yes, do tell your father that he and his men can camp down the hill for tonight. They'll be on place that way." Guinevere nodded and after an exchange of blazing gazes, she hurried towards the woods.
Arthur then turned to Leera and they stared at each other for a long moment before he opened his mouth.
"I'd wish you to camp on the walls with your men, Leera, if that's okay."
She nodded and smiled a little. "I am their captain, I will take care of them."
He nodded gravely and then chuckled. "That's strange, isn't it? I've killed many of your people, and you mine, and yet we are mixing sides."
She shook her head. "We're not mixing sides. We've always been on the same side, but it took time to realise."
He smiled and bowed his head. "I'll see you on the battlefield, Leera."
She bowed back. "See you, Arthur."
The Roman parted, leaving Leera alone in the middle of what used to be a crowed place. She sighed deeply before climbing the few stairs heading to the walls, and she soon spotted Cort, who was eyeing the sleeping Saxons with a dark eye.
They didn't exchange words, just acknowledged each other with a bow of the head, and both directed their gazes towards their enemy.
A few hours passed like this. Leera and Cort were sometimes joined by some other of their squadron, and when the sky started to turn from back to ink blue, she turned to her man.
"We need to arm ourselves."
He nodded and followed her into the armoury, just at the top of the stairs, in the hall they had had a meeting in not a day prior.
All 75 men soon were all armed and ready to kill. No one dared to make a comment about Leera's paintings or her obviously Woad attire, probably because of the stares she gave everyone. A few men had had to tear their tunics apart to leave the arms free, and many had decided to go bare-chested, as Cort.
"Men of Badon Hill, I am happy to fight alongside you today. Each and every who should fall today will receive my respects and will be granted the highest regards my people can offer to their dead."
Few mumbled words between their breaths, some bowed their heads in gratitude, most exchanged dark glances. They would be butchered, that was a sure thing, but knowing their long-time enemy would honour their death was something still.
Cort lifted his bow in the air and shouted, followed by the entire company, and Leera herself.
Then, three groups departed, all silent and as swift as the early wind. The still dark sky would provide them time to hide behind the walls.
Cort and his men were the second to part. Leera and him exchanged respectful bows again, and they were both off.
With the 25 men under her command, Leera felt outnumbered, but she knew their strategy was an important part of Arthur's plan.
As she rejoined her spot behind a high part of dark stone, she turned around and saw Arthur himself, on his white horse, flag in hand, eyeing the whole place as a god would do his creation.
On the far horizon, she could see a company going back to life and departing.
When a bird flew towards a man, her heart twitched. Leera shook her head, and convinced herself that it was a better thing that Tristan was leaving.
She just hoped that, should they decide to turn back and help them, Dagonet would do no fool thing and remain at Lucan's side. If he didn't do so, she'd kill him.
Leera smirked when she heard Bors' call to Arthur, and repressed her will to shout "Ruuus" back to her bold friend.
Arthur called back, and planted his flag when the Briton traitor, actually a man of Woad blood, waved a white flag in front of the heavy doors.
The Roman rode towards them, and Leera quickly gestured to two of her toughest men to discreetly get down the walls and open the doors for Arthur. He bowed his thanks, and passed them, covered in the smoke that now rose from the village ashes.
Cerdic, the Saxons' leader, was waiting for Arthur in the middle of the field. Regal on his horse, the defender of this land advanced, and both exchanged more than a few words before Arthur leaned in towards his enemy, his green eyes blazing with fury.
And he was back inside, Leera's men closing the doors back behind him.
She longed to kill those men. She saw it on Arthur's face. If he himself had such an air of pure hatred on his features, then she could plaster one onto hers as well.
Then her breath heavied. She could precisely make several other horses climbing the hill to join Arthur, and they didn't belong to Merlin.
The dark stallion that was mounted by Lancelot stopped next to Arthur's, and Leera could perfectly picture the smile between the two friends. Then, Gawain and Galahad both took their spot, followed by Bors, and Tristan, clad in his strange armour, looking even in the distance more dangerous than his brothers-in-arms.
Leera couldn't contain herself any longer, and took opportunity of the smoke hiding her from the Saxons to notch an arrow and fire it.
When it landed at Tristan's feet, and even from such a distance, she could hear the faint echo of Bors' laugh, and smirked to herself.
As long as he got the message...