Author: Triane
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.
Summary: Iona learns the truth
Arthur and his knights had come upon the Woad battle almost at the end of it, just in time to break it up and send the victors scurrying for cover. There wasn't much concern in helping either side, only in making sure no peasants had been involved; so they stopped to water their horses at the nearby stream before continuing on their way back to Hadrian's wall. Then a crash in the underbrush to their left caught everyone's attention. Arthur nodded at Tristan who advanced on foot with his sword drawn, while the rest of the knights waited through the silence that followed Tristan's disappearance into the trees.
There was the sound of a brief tussle, and then Tristan dragged a woman from the woods and pushed her unceremoniously into the centre of the group. She stumbled and fell, her legs collapsing beneath her, her left arm stiff and useless at her side, with a ragged and bleeding wound in her shoulder. She was small and slim, with thick black hair, olive skin, and brown eyes that were dull with pain. She was wearing clothing like nothing the knights had ever seen before – a form-fitting green skirt that was now in tattered ruins, and a blood-soaked, white shirt of some soft-looking thin material. Tristan threw a few more items on the ground beside her: a jacket of the same green as her skirt, a small red bag with a long strap, and a pair of strange, impractical-looking shoes with ridiculous tall, thin heels.
Her breathing was harsh, but she slowly rose to her knees with her head thrown back, presenting an open target for any of their blades. Arthur gazed at her for a moment before speaking.
"What is your name?" No answer except the narrowing of her eyes. He tried again.
"Do you understand me?" Her voice was cold, hollow, with a heavy accent.
"Is this heaven?" The knights around her laughed in disbelief, but quieted when Arthur looked at them. He turned back to the woman.
"No, lady. This is Britain. Did you think you were dead?" She nodded, swallowing thickly and swaying slightly on her knees. Behind her, Dagonet made to move forward, but Arthur shook his head slightly and the large man stayed where he was.
"What is your name?" The woman blinked as if she was trying to get Arthur into focus.
"My name is Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos. How can this be Britain?" Arthur frowned slightly.
"Because it always has been, Lady Iona. Where are you from? How did you come to be here?" Iona laughed at that, and her laughter almost ended in a hysterical little sob as she sat back on her heels. She watched as if from a distance as the men surrounding her moved so she could see them all. There were ten of them, including the one who had spoken to her. He was dressed in what looked like an ancient Roman commander's uniform, except it looked almost brand new. All of the men were rough looking and fierce. Except…except that one, at the end of the line, to his commander's right. He was tall and broad, a giant really, and fierce as well, but his scarred face was gentle and his eyes were soft as he looked at her. The commander spoke again, gently.
"Lady Iona?"
With difficulty, she pulled her gaze away from the giant and back to the leader, with a look in her eyes as if she had made up her mind about something.
"You are Roman? And Christian?" He nodded, and she took a deep breath.
"Who is Pope?" His eyebrows flickered at that, but he answered promptly.
"Hilarius has been on the papal throne for almost three years, now." Iona's jaw almost dropped, and she could feel her heart start a frightened tattoo that echoed in her ears.
"Pope…H-hilarius? He followed Leo the First?" Arthur's lips curled slightly.
"He has been the only Pope Leo, so I suppose he was the first." Her face went instantly white and she slumped to the side, supporting her weight on her good arm and muttering something in a language they didn't understand. The giant was instantly by her side, his fingers gently probing at her shoulder. Iona winced and made to pull away, but his hands were insistent. With a quick motion, he tore the sleeve from her ripped, bloodied blouse and fashioned a makeshift bandage with it. She watched him work in a daze, her mind trying to wrap around what she had just heard.
When the man was finished bandaging Iona's shoulder, he gently helped her to her feet and stood behind her, supporting her with a hand under her right elbow. She looked back up at the commander and took a deep breath.
"I do not know how it happened, sir. Or what, in fact, happened. But you say that Hilarius is the Holy Father…" she fell silent and shook her head, her eyes pleading with the men in front of her.
"Please believe I am not insane. But somehow…somehow I have travelled through time to be here."
Dead silence.
The man behind her was the first to speak, his voice a rumble in his chest that vibrated through Iona's back.
"Through time, Lady?" Iona nodded.
"If Hilarius is in his third year, that means I have travelled…fifteen centuries into the past. I live here, in Britain, in a city that is on this very spot, but there are hundreds of thousands of people in the city, and it is filled with buildings taller than the Coliseum. I thought I was dead, because the last thing I remember from my time, I was about to be run over by a huge…vehicle. I shut my eyes, and when I opened them…I was here." Another silence, broken by a large, bald man with a gruff voice.
"How'd you get hurt?" Iona inclined her head in the direction of the dead bodies lying strewn over the ground.
"The battle. A wayward arrow. They did not know I was in the trees. I forced it through my shoulder and pulled it out…then I must have fainted and fallen out of the tree I was in." A note of desperation crept into her voice, and she looked at the commander.
"Please…do you know of anyone who can…any magician…I mean… Sir, I do not belong here." The youngest of the men laughed harshly.
"Neither do we." Iona looked at him quizzically, but it was the man behind her who spoke.
"We have been pulled from our homes to be here for a purpose. Maybe you have as well." Iona tipped her head back to look up at him, her frightened heart soothed by his kind eyes. She squinted slightly.
"Who are you?" The commander stepped forward.
"My name is Arthur Castus, and these are the knights I command. Bors, Gareth, Gaheris, Ector, Tristan, Galahad, Gawain, Lancelot, and Dagonet behind you."
As he listed the names, Iona's eyes got wider and wider until her whole face seemed to disappear into them. She tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again.
"D-do you…by any chance…sit at a round table?" Arthur frowned.
"Yes, we do. How did you know?" Iona shook her head.
"Oh dear."
And then she fainted.