Author: Triane
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.
Summary: Iona is thrust into another situation over which she has no control.
"Oh, c'mon! You have to try!"
"Watch the hands, boy."
"Nice one, Ector, you nearly had him."
"I am trying! You're just fighting dirty!"
"Gawain, you're next."
"Defend yourself, then, and I won't take off your hands."
"Not so hard, Dagonet. You nearly took off my arm last time."
"Woads don't fight fair, Gaheris."
"Give him a break, Tris. You're just toying with him and he knows it."
The shouts of the knights and the clash of their blades echoed across the compound from the practice yard, and Iona smiled as she sauntered down to where the men were, carrying two heavy baskets. Lancelot saw her coming and whistled at her, which took the other men's attention away from their sparring matches.
"Oh stop, Lancelot. You just saw that I am bringing food, and you are hungry." Lancelot's grin was wolfish.
"Hungry for you, Iona. Aren't you tired of Dagonet yet?" She gratefully surrendered one of the full baskets to him, and then kicked him in the shin when his hands were full.
"The day I tire of Dagonet and turn to you will be the day the sun rises in the north." Iona ignored Lancelot's yelping and hopping around, smiling up at Dagonet who took the other basket and kissed her.
"Do you think Vanora sent enough food?" Iona laughed.
"She always packs more when she knows she does not have to bring it down herself." They smiled at each other and climbed the fence to stand in the practice yard with the others, who were quickly ripping open the baskets and dividing up the contents. Dagonet bent slightly so he could kiss Iona's ear and speak into it softly.
"I have something for you." She raised her eyebrows, a question in her eyes. His smile was devious.
"I'll be right back." She frowned at him, but turned back to the knights as he slipped towards the stables. Bors was telling a dirty story that the other knights had obviously heard before, and Iona joined in the laughter as they teased him and stole the punch line away. A few minutes later, Dagonet's low voice called from the stable entrance.
"Iona?" The second she turned, Dagonet threw a sword end over end, with such force that the men behind her shouted in alarm and jumped to pull her out of the way. At the last possible second, Iona stepped to the side, away from their reaching hands, and snatched the sword out of the air by the handle. She stared at Dagonet with complete shock.
"Dag!" The giant shrugged and sauntered over, giving Arthur a look that Iona didn't understand. She released a breath she didn't even know she was holding.
"You get rid of all your women this way? Three months and you throw a sword at them?" Dagonet just smiled an infuriating smile.
"I knew you would catch it." Iona gave him such an icy and angry look that Gareth whistled low under his breath and all the knights looked at each other with warning expressions on their faces. Dagonet shrugged again.
"It's a gift, Iona." She put a hand on her hip.
"Why, Dagonet?" The men watched the conversation between the two with bated breath. Dagonet grinned.
"Because the blacksmith tells interesting stories." Understanding dawned on Iona's face, and she straightened, relaxing noticeably.
"He does, does he? What kind of stories does he tell?" The knights immediately looked to Dagonet.
"He says that almost the minute we leave on patrol, you are in his shop, practicing with a sword. And that in return, you are teaching his son how to read." Iona smiled slightly, now studying the blade in her hand as the knights behind her murmured in surprise.
"He tells true stories, then." Dagonet nodded.
"So the sword is a gift. Now you don't have to borrow one." She squinted at him.
"Now I have to repay you somehow, as well as teach Holger how to read?" Lancelot snickered suggestively.
"I'm sure he's got something in mind." The other knights laughed, but Iona was watching Dagonet's face.
"You do have something in mind, Dagonet." He just smiled at her, and then at Arthur. Iona sighed.
"Are you going to tell me what it is?" He shrugged again, an action that Iona was beginning to loathe.
"That depends." She glared at him pointedly.
"On what, Dagonet?" He grinned at her, cheekily.
"On if you can disarm Galahad." Galahad yelped in surprise, but Iona just smiled.
"Ah."
It took a few minutes of good-natured ribbing from the knights before Galahad had his sword and was standing in the middle of the field. In the meantime, Iona gave her new sword a good once-over. It was a beautifully made bastard sword, with a long, wide, double-edged gleaming blade, a short, stocky, curling cross-guard, a grip wrapped in black leather sealed with cured pitch, and a round pommel the size of a newborn colt's hoof. It fit well in her hands, and she tested the weight of it by swinging it in circles with her right arm, her left, and then both hands together. When she felt comfortable with the feeling and weight, she turned towards Galahad with her left hand on her hip, and her right holding the sword relaxed, the tip almost touching the ground.
"Well, Galahad?" The young knight looked apprehensive.
"I don't want to hurt you, Iona." She smiled and chuckled low in her throat.
"So considerate." And with that, she attacked.
It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Two quick lunges towards the boy, three wide, swinging arcs with the sword, and Galahad was flat on his back with his spatha scuttling across the ground. The knights were silent for a full five seconds before erupting into cheers and catcalls. Iona ignored them, however, retrieved Galahad's sword for him, and pulled him to his feet. Her voice was brusque.
"Again. This time, be ready for me."
This time the fight lasted for almost fifteen seconds before ending in the same way as the first. Galahad got the distinct impression that he was being played with, so when he ended up on his back in the dirt, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was Dagonet who offered him a hand up, and the big knight pounded on his back, removing most of the dust and causing Galahad to gasp for air.
"Ready for another go round, lad?" Galahad started to sputter, but Iona's voice cut across his refusal.
"You want to see what I can do, do you not, Dagonet?" Her lover nodded, squinting at her.
"Then let me fight someone else. Not the pup." Dagonet chuckled low in his throat.
"Who would you fight, lady?" Iona's voice was calm, matter-of-fact, and nonchalant.
"Tristan." There was silence for a moment before the men started hooting. Iona ignored them, however, and just looked at the scout. He shrugged.
"You'll need armour." She mimicked his shrug.
"Take yours off." The ghost of a smile crossed Tristan's face as he reached for the buckles of his armour. Dagonet grabbed Iona's hand.
"Are you certain, Iona? You've seen Tristan fight." She looked up at him with one eyebrow raised.
"What else did the blacksmith say?" Dagonet pursed his lips at her without replying, remembering how the normally brusque man waxed eloquent over 'that foreign one' as he called her.
Iona patted Dagonet's arm absently, and stepped away, knowing what the man would have said. Her whole being was instantly focused on Tristan, who walked into the middle of the practice ring with a drawn sword and a bare chest.
They stood and studied each other for a long moment, both with relaxed posture and their swords held loosely at their sides. Then a small smile flickered across Tristan's face as he looked at her from under his shaggy hair.
"Lady." Iona smiled slightly as well.
"Knight."
Their swords met in the air, softly, almost like a kiss, the blades singing as they rubbed together, as Tristan and Iona walked in a slow circle around each other. Then, out of nowhere, they began; later none of the knights were able to say who started it, only that it started.
They lunged and retreated, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they tested each other. First Iona danced forward several steps, beating Tristan back, then Tristan advanced a little faster, a little farther. Their feet moved lightly, softly, across the dusty ground, almost like they weren't touching it at all. The only sound was the crash of the blades together. The men watched silently. Tristan was definitely stronger than Iona, but what she lacked in strength, she more than matched him in speed and agility. She also had a knack for forcing him into situations where he couldn't use brute force and had to respond with dexterity – something that she could counteract easier. After several minutes, they spun away from each other and continued in their slow circle, sword tips flicking towards each other.
Joined again, this time faster, more fierce. Their actions were bigger, their strokes broader and wider. Now Tristan had the advantage, now Iona. Their fight became more of a dance, their feet skipping over the ground as they twirled and separated, their arms moving in graceful arcs.
They broke apart again, circling each other with an almost feral grace, their faces intent on each other, their posture bent and loose and ready. They lunged for each other savagely, Iona running a few steps and launching herself at Tristan, who met her sword in the air with a stroke so heavy it spun her away. The fight was vicious now, vicious and deadly, and they kept their movements controlled, tight, within a small range of motion so they could move faster. Both Tristan and Iona were breathing heavily, their hands starting to slip on their sword grips. Finally Tristan's sword flicked out and a line of red appeared on Iona's arm, and Iona reached just far enough past Tristan's defences to scratch a thin mark into his ribs. They whirled on each other, their swords crashing in the air above their heads and flying apart to land in the dirt on opposite sides of the practice field. Nothing was left except the two warriors gasping for breath and staring at each other.
Arthur was the first to move, his face thoughtful, as he strode across the field to retrieve Tristan's sword. By the time he returned, the other knights were chattering excitedly. Arthur's calm voice cut across the babble, his grey eyes intent on Dagonet.
"She'll need to ride." Dagonet nodded and Arthur pursed his lips.
"She'll need to shoot a bow."
"I'll teach her." Tristan voice came from where he was re-buckling his armour. Dagonet smiled slightly at the scout, and then turned his attention to Arthur.
"She'll need to be supplied." Arthur nodded as well, his eyes calculating.
"I can take care of that." Iona looked between Arthur and Dagonet, her eyes narrowing.
"Why do I get the feeling my future is being decided for me?" Bors grinned at her and pushed her good-naturedly, so hard she almost fell down.
"Because it is, girlie." She punched him in the arm and he grinned even wider.
Arthur smiled.
"Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos, I am conscripting you into the Roman cavalry. You will fight with my knights." Iona's eyebrows shot almost into her hairline and her jaw dropped.
"I will do what?" Arthur smiled.
"You have read absolutely every piece of paper this fort holds, Iona. There is nothing more you can learn here. You need something else to do, other than working in the tavern. Dagonet suggested we see if the blacksmith was telling the truth. You fight as well as my knights, and we can use your sword." Iona sputtered.
"But your knights do not want to fight with a woman!" Gawain shrugged.
"Sarmatian women fight. Our mothers all did. We have no problem." The other knights nodded, grinning at her. Lancelot smiled silkily.
"Besides. It'll be nice to have someone as beautiful as you to look when we are out patrolling." Iona just rolled her eyes, feeling helpless.
"I have no choice?" Dagonet grinned, sweeping her up to his side and planting a kiss on her cheek.
"No choice at all, Iona."