Author: Triane
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.
Summary: Things go sideways in the worst way.
It was dark by the time they reached the hill overlooking the Saxon's camp, a fact that chafed at Dagonet. Arthur had imposed caution in their riding, wanting to save the horses for the return journey - and while Dagonet understood his reasoning, he still resented every second it took to get there. Finally they were standing on the hill, just inside the tree line, looking down at the dozens of brazen fires and glowering at the idiocy and arrogance of the company that posted just two sentries.
They slipped silently down the hill, moving like shadows or ghosts in the night. Almost at the very edge of the camp there was a small copse of trees where they gathered for one last moment. Something reflected in the moonlight and caught Lancelot's eye, so he motioned for Gawain to follow him a few steps into the trees. They found the body of a woman, starved skinny, naked and severely beaten, her hands tied tight with thick cords that had cut into her wrists. For one heart-wrenching moment Dagonet watched as they carefully rolled her over, his knees sagging in relief when they motioned that it wasn't Iona. Fury tightened his face into a mask, and he adjusted his hold on his sword.
The first sentry unwittingly strode right past the copse, totally unaware of the seven men waiting in the shadows. At the last possible second, Tristan grabbed him and dragged him into the trees, a hand over his mouth and a knife at his throat. The Saxon looked up in fear at the towering fire-eyed giant in front of him and what seemed like dozens of blades pointed at his mid-section. The giant's voice was a low rumble straight from hell.
"Where is she?" The sentry promptly wet himself, blubbering silently behind the iron grip over his mouth.
"Dagonet, look." Galahad was pointing at the sentry's hand, at the ring that barely fit onto his littlest finger. A low growl came from Dagonet's throat as he grabbed the man's hand, drawing a knife and swiftly cutting his finger off, throwing the offending digit to the side, his hand curling around Iona's wedding ring. The man's shriek of pain was cut off by Tristan's blade slitting his throat, the scout smiling grimly at first blood.
The men dispersed, moving like angels of death through the camp, killing everyone they found. They slipped in and out of the tents; dispatching the inhabitants silently, fear for Iona making their movements almost a blur of speed.
Tristan ducked into one of the last tents and ducked out just as quickly, whistling low to get the attention of the other knights. Dagonet ran towards him, his heart racing, pausing for a moment at the entrance of the tent to steel himself towards what was inside. Then he lifted the flap of the tent and entered.
The tent smelled like a horrifying mix of blood and sweat, with other odours that Dagonet didn't want to think about. It was fairly small, with a torch in a stand providing light to the entire room, and there was a pile of filthy furs along one wall. His wife was laying on the bed.
She was completely still, without a shred of clothing on or a blanket of any type to cover her, curled into ball on her side, the torchlight glinting dully off her hollow eyes. For one terrifying moment Dagonet thought she was dead and the world seemed to collapse down onto him, but then he saw one shallow breath, then another. He sunk down onto his knees, unable to move for several moments, just staring at her.
Her hands were bound like the woman in the trees, the cords far too tight and cutting into her wrists. Blood streaked down her arms to her swollen hands. She was a mottled mess of crusted dirt, bruises and bloodstains from her head down to her feet, and he could see what looked like whip marks starting on her shoulders and probably continuing down her back past his range of vision. Her torso, what he could see of it, had a strange pattern of small wounds that looked as though they had started as tiny punctures and then dragged slightly to make shallow cuts. When he realized what they were, bile rose in his mouth and a red haze descended in front of his eyes. Studded tunic like mine…they left it on when they…
He rose again with the image of his injured and violated wife burned into his mind, ducking out of the tent and striding with stiff legs several steps away. He looked up to see that Tristan had anticipated him and had quickly conducted his brothers-in-arms to round up what Saxons were still alive, prodding the dozen or so men into a ragged clump.
A berserker rage came over Dagonet as he looked at the barbarian men in front of him, all sound filtering out until he could only hear the pounding of blood in his ears. He saw Iona in his mind's eye, saw how she would have fought valiantly and skilfully. He saw how dozens of men would have rushed to overpower her, saw how she would have laid waste to as many of them as she could before being brought down. He saw how they would have whipped her, felt every lash she received tear into his own shoulders. He saw how they would have beat her, fists and feet and elbows smashing into her small frame. He saw how they would have raped her, over and over again, taking the beautiful body that she gave to him willingly and exuberantly and passionately and treating it like worthless garbage. And through it all, his wife wouldn't have made a sound – wouldn't have cried out, wouldn't have even whimpered. She would have waited, the light slowly going out of her eyes as she waited for him to come and rescue her, waiting a night and a day that would have seemed like a thousand years.
Dagonet slowly realized that he was breathing harshly, sweat making his eyes sting and the muscles in his arms screaming at him. He gradually became aware of his surroundings again, looking down to see his axe clenched tightly in his hands, gore dripping from it. He looked up in surprise and saw the dozen Saxon men completely obliterated in front of him, limbs and heads and chunks of torso scattered about like rocks. Just beyond them were the other knights, clumped together and staring at him like he was an unpredictable wild beast, wariness and fear in more than a few eyes. Only Tristan and Bors met his gaze squarely; Bors who had a woman of his own, and Tristan who understood vengeance in the face of helplessness.
The axe dropped from Dagonet's grasp and he stumbled back slightly, turning stiffly to walk back to the tent. He fumbled with the clasps of his armour as he went, ripping his studded tunic off and dropping it like it burned him, then grabbing a Saxon's cape to wipe the spattered blood from his arms and face. After a split-second of thought, he undid his own cape from its fastenings on his armour and rolled it up under his arm, knowing that Iona would need some sort of covering.
Everything was exactly the same inside the tent; Iona was in the same position, still staring at the torch. Dagonet walked towards her on cat's feet, crouching down an arm's length away. Her eyes glinted at his approach, in recognition of another person in the tent, and then slid shut, a small tear leaking out of the corner of her eye. Dagonet felt his heart break all over again.
"Iona…." Nothing at first, but then a small movement under her eyelids. Dagonet swallowed thickly and tried again.
"Iona." Movement again, this time immediately. Her eyes cracked open slightly, not far enough to see, but enough to give Dagonet hope. He quickly scanned the small room, finding a water skin in the corner and returning to hold it to Iona's cracked lips.
"Here, love. Water." At first it just leaked out the corner of her slackened mouth, but then the taste and sensation registered in her fevered brain and she gulped greedily, clutching at the skin with swollen hands. Dagonet let her drink for a moment, then pulled the skin away, not wanting to make her sick. She instantly lowered her head to the bed again, but her eyes were more animated than they had been.
Dagonet drew a small dagger from his greave, grasping her bound hands with his other hand. A small cry escaped Iona's lips and she drew back from the knife in alarm, trying to pull her hands out of Dagonet's grasp, but he just tightened his grip, cutting the cords as gently as he could. He used more water to soften the leather bands, and then pulling them away from her wrists. The disruption of her wounds caused them to start bleeding again and Iona winced, but Dagonet didn't stop until her hands were free.
As soon as he let her go, Iona stiffly scrambled away from him, cowering against the wall of the tent. Tears gleamed in her eyes, and Dagonet choked back tears of his own. Using slow, deliberate movements, he unfolded his huge cape and offered it to her, letting go immediately when she grabbed it and held it to her chest, staring at him like a cornered wildcat. His jaw clenched and he sat back, letting his gaze roam everywhere but to the woman in the corner. His voice was soft.
"It'll be good to get you out of here, Iona. Go back to the fort. Vanora and her brood are worried sick about you." He shot a glance at her, noting that she was still looking at him warily, and then looked away from her again.
Iona's hand was inching towards the water skin again, but she snatched it back when she saw him looking. He nudged it to within her reach with his toe, leaving his leg outstretched, his other knee bent and relaxed. She paused for a long moment, then braved his nearness and grabbed the skin, bringing it to her mouth and drinking slowly, her eyes on him constantly.
"No one even hesitated when I went back, you know. Not one of the knights. They all love you like a sister. They're all here now, came to help me get you back." Something flickered in Iona's eyes and she lowered the waterskin, letting it fall from her hand onto the bed and pulling his cape more securely around her. Her eyes were different now, more alive, and Dagonet felt hope pull at his heart for the first time since she responded to her name.
"Bors is the loud one that likes to drink. Lancelot is always teasing you, always trying to get you to leave me. But you never even considered it. Well, as far as I know." He chuckled slightly, watching out of the corner of his eye as she started to creep towards him, agonizingly slowly, her wide eyes on him the entire time.
"Tristan taught you how to shoot a bow, remember? That was the same time I taught you how to ride a horse." Iona blinked, her voice cracking as she spoke in a whisper.
"Ardin…" Dagonet nodded, watching as she inched closer bit by bit, longing to sweep her up in his arms and never let her go again.
"Yes. She's your horse. I'm afraid I tired her out on the way back to the fort. I was in a hurry, though. Didn't want to leave you here any longer than I had to." Iona blinked again, recognition flashing in her eyes as she remembered. Dagonet swallowed, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Couldn't stand leaving you here. Thought it was a bad idea. I've never ridden so fast in my life. Felt like it took forever to get back once I got the other knights." Iona was now within arm's reach, and it took all Dagonet's concentration to stay still.
"I found your ring, Iona. Your wedding ring." Her eyes snapped to his and she froze, glancing down at his right hand, and then looking at her bare finger. He watched as emotions filled her gaze, flashing through her brown eyes as she stared at him. She lifted her hand towards him, clenching and unclenching her fist several times before placing it, feather light, on his arm. Dagonet's eyes slid shut at her touch, tears pricking behind his lids. With a super-human effort he stayed motionless, his muscles tensing. Her hand slid up his arm and across his chest, icy cold fingers skimming across his collarbone and up his neck to rest on his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly and met her gaze, tears brimming at the corners of his eyelids, her face just inches away from his. Iona's eyes flickered one last time and Dagonet saw complete recollection flood her gaze. Tears welled up in her brown eyes and her voice was a whisper.
"Dagonet…" He nodded, tears starting to flow down his cheeks.
"Yes, Iona. Your Dagonet."
She collapsed brokenly onto her husband's chest and sobbed.