Author: Triane
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.
Summary: Iona's past catches up with her, as well as her present.
The fort at Hadrian's Wall was fascinating to Iona. All the records she had studied in her research were amazingly accurate, so it felt like she was exploring a town she had grown up in and then returned to after many years. Arthur became her greatest ally in this, making the fort's records and his own personal records available to her. Dagonet, also, shared and helped in her exploration when he wasn't patrolling the land around the wall or practicing with the other knights. His deep voice quietly explained the ways of the Sarmatians, the ways of the fort, and the ways of the knights, and they spent hours talking together, developing a deep friendship. Iona spent her days immersed in scrolls and records or wandering around spending time with the people, and her nights with the Sarmatians in the tavern. In this way, seven months passed quickly.
It was a zoo, that tavern. Peasants, Romans, Sarmatians…everyone came together at night to drink, carouse, womanize, and gamble. It was run by a fat pig of a man named Antonius, but everyone knew that Vanora was in charge. The fiery, redheaded mother of Bors' seven children had instantly taken the wounded Iona under her wing, providing clothes and shoes from her own wardrobe even though the slim woman practically swam in curvy Vanora's dresses. In return, Iona helped Vanora serve ale to the knights and soldiers – something she had gotten used to doing when she was waitressing her way through university.
"Iona! More ale!" Vanora's voice had a lilting laugh to it as she pulled away from something Bors was whispering in ear, and Iona grinned as she came out from behind the bar with a full pitcher.
"You cannot still be thirsty, Bors! You are not going to be able to walk straight." The big man looked at her with bleary eyes as she filled his empty mug.
"Innithat the point, then?" Iona laughed and muttered something in what the knights now recognized as English. She filled Galahad, Dagonet, and Ector's cups, and then topped off Gawain and Lancelot's, careful to keep her hands clear of where they were playing with their daggers. She quirked an eye at Tristan, who shook his head, drained the last of his ale, and strode silently out of the tavern. Lancelot smacked her on her behind as she passed, and she cuffed the side of his head in return.
"It is a wonder you have survived so many years, Lancelot, without being able to control your hands." He leered at her drunkenly.
"You would be amazed to know what I can do with my hands, Iona." She grinned and scoffed in response, shaking her head as she walked past a table of Roman soldiers. They watched her as she walked past them, and then suddenly one of them reached out and grabbed her by the arm.
Iona cried out in alarm, but her reflexes were quick. As the soldier was pulling her down onto his lap, she slammed her fist down onto the handle of one of Gawain's knives and flipped it into the air, where she caught it and pointed it at the man's throat. She landed clumsily, half in his lap and half off of it, but the knife point never wavered.
A shocked silence filled the tavern, and the knights who had half-risen to her aid stared at her in surprise. Without taking her eyes off the Roman soldier, Iona clambered to her feet, returned the knife to Gawain, gathered the pieces of the pitcher that had broken on the floor, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Noise gradually returned to the tavern, although a bit more subdued than it had been. Dagonet waited to make sure the Romans wouldn't cause any more trouble, then rose silently and followed Iona.
He found her standing with her back to the door, staring into the fire with one hand on her hip and the other holding the pieces of pitcher loosely at her side.
"Iona?" She started violently and dropped the pottery again, whirling, her hands held ready like she was expecting a fight. Dagonet quirked an eyebrow at her and frowned in concern.
"Ai? What's wrong?" She stood and stared at him for several heartbeats, her mind racing and her mouth attempting to form the words to explain. Dagonet frowned again, then gently took her by the hand and led her to sit by the fire where he crouched in front of her, holding her small hands in his big ones.
"That's not the first time you've touched a blade, is it?" She blinked owlishly at him, and then shook her head.
"I have trained to fight with swords since…well, really, since I was big enough to hold one." Dagonet nodded, and then bent his head so he could look her in the eye.
"You've dealt with men in the tavern before. What happened, Iona?" There was a long moment of silence before Iona dropped her head and took a deep breath.
"Back home…when I was married. My…husband…was unfaithful. He had several other women that I did not know about." Her grip on Dagonet's hands grew tight, but he just sat patiently, waiting and listening.
"I finally found out about the other women and confronted him about it. He did not…react well." Dagonet's brow lowered in anger, already guessing what she was going to say.
"If I have a sword in my hands, I can defend myself very well. But without a sword…Alex was much stronger than I. He broke my arm, my right arm. And dislocated the shoulder. He broke my cheekbone, my nose, and several ribs. There was plenty of bruising, and some bleeding inside, as well. I was in the hospital for several weeks." Iona met Dagonet's gaze and held it for a moment, but then had to look away because of the anger in his normally gentle eyes. For the first time, it sunk in that these men – that this man – killed people. And looking into Dagonet's eyes right then, she believed that he was capable of it.
"I-I suppose…I suppose I was just remembering what had happened. And I reacted like I could not, then. I did not know what was happening, what Alex was about to do. I had no way to defend myself, no knife lying on the table, no one around to help. Not like I did tonight."
There was silence as Iona watched Dagonet, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his eyes fierce. Acting on a whim, she cupped his rough face in her small hands, and forced him to meet her gaze.
"I know you wish he were here right now, Dagonet. I know you wish you could have been there in my defence." She leaned forward so they were almost nose-to-nose, one of her thumbs absently running over his cheekbone as her voice dropped to a whisper.
"But if that had not happened, I do not know if I would be here right now. I had been offered a job in a different city…and if we had moved, I would not have been crossing the street when I was. I would not have been hit by that truck…I would not have met…you…" Iona's voice dropped away into nothing as she sat, cradling Dagonet's face in her hands and staring into his calm, warm blue eyes, her heart racing. It was almost like a magnetic force was pulling them closer together, until it was absolutely nothing for Dagonet to capture her mouth in the softest of kisses.
"Just a minute, Bors!" Vanora's loud voice announced her presence in the kitchen, just seconds before she actually appeared. Iona and Dagonet jumped apart guiltily, the knight rising quickly to stand on the other side of the fireplace. Vanora squeaked in surprise when she saw them.
"Oh! You two are still in here? I thought you had gone!" Iona cleared her throat.
"No…Vanora…I apologize. I will come back out to help you." The other woman shook her head.
"No need, Ai. Almost everyone is gone now. It's just the knights, and I can handle them." She looked at the two of them and their uncomfortable, strained posture, and smiled.
"It's a nice night…why don't you two go for a ride? The lake would be beautiful in the moonlight." Iona shot a look at Dagonet from under her lashes, and the giant cleared his throat as well.
"The lake. That's a good idea." He helped Iona up, and then escorted her out the door with a hand at the small of her back. Vanora cast a knowing look after them.
"You two have a good time, now."
And when they had gone, she giggled.