Author: Triane
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.
Summary: Business as usual?
Iona had never tried any drugs or even over-indulged in alcohol more than a handful of times during her university days - but galloping across Britain's green hills with the knights in a rolling, shifting mass felt to her like the best high in the whole world. This was where she belonged - on the back of her horse, with her sword and her bow at her side, and her brothers constantly around her. Feeling the effects of her long convalescence rolling off of her like so much dirty water, Iona spread her arms wide and closed her eyes, guiding Ardin with her knees and breathing deep; loving the feel of the wind on her exposed skin. Low chuckles echoed around her, and a smile split her face as she opened her eyes to see the men enjoying her delight with grins that matched her own. She rode close enough to Lancelot to punch him in the shoulder.
"Ow, Ai!" Lancelot's ever-present smirk fell into a pout as he rubbed his shoulder with feigned distress. Iona just shrugged.
"You were looking too full of yourself again, Lancelot. These boys haven't been cutting you down to size regularly enough." Lancelot's eyelids drooped seductively as he came alongside her and wrapped his arm around her waist.
"It takes a woman to regularly handle my size, Iona." Shouts of laughter flew around the group while Iona rolled her eyes, and Dagonet neatly rode between Lancelot and Iona, pushing Lancelot almost out of the saddle as he did so. His voice rumbled in his chest.
"Yes, but it takes a man to handle this wild woman - not a boy." Lancelot grinned.
"All the more reason for her to be with me."
Iona shook her hair out of her eyes, grasping the shoulder of Dagonet's armour and pulling him towards her.
"Did you boys ever think..." she kissed him, then lightly slapped his cheek. "Did you ever think that maybe I was the one who had to handle you? You lot take so much looking after."
Gawain grinned at her from beneath his lion's mane of hair, giving her a sideways hug as he rode past.
"You can look after me any day, Iona. If Dagonet's more relaxed appearance today is any indication, you handle your men well."
Iona's response was cut short as the eight knights came to a stop at the crest of a hill, looking down into the valley below to see a small, enclosed carriage accompanied by a group of Roman soldiers on horseback. Gawain's voice was suddenly more serious.
"As promised, the bishop's carriage." Galahad's smile was quick.
"Our freedom, Bors." Bors grinned back at him, his eyes closing in mock ecstasy.
"Mmm... I can almost taste it." Dagonet reached for Iona's hand and enfolded it in his warm palm. His voice was a rich timber that made her stomach swirl with pleasure.
"Your passage to Rome, Arthur." Iona glanced over to see Arthur silently acknowledge the comment, his eyes intent on the carriage below. It's his freedom as much as theirs, she thought in surprise. He was also just a boy when their servitude began. She sighed, suddenly feeling very old and very motherly towards these once-boys and all their lost years. She felt Dagonet squeeze her hand and looked up to see him watching her, a question in his eyes. Iona smiled and lifted their linked hands to plant a kiss on his fingers, speaking softly in English.
"Our leader deserves his freedom as well." Dagonet nodded and was about to reply when a sudden roar from the plain caught their attention.
Woads poured out of the forest towards the carriage, arrows flying towards the Roman soldiers who moved to surround the small vehicle. Almost as one person, the knights and their commander spurred their horses and thundered down the hill, falling quickly into formation as Arthur drew Excalibur and shouted a war cry. Urgency sped their movements and weapons were unsheathed as they raced, desperate to reach the bishop in time.
After what felt like aeons but was really only heartbeats, they reached the edge of the battle, crashing through the ragged line and felling Woads as they went. Iona's pulse thundered in her ears as the familiar chaos of battle surrounded her; first Lancelot dismounted, drawing his twin swords as he ran - then Dagonet launched himself off Agravain towards to Woads and the river. Iona threw a leg across Ardin's neck and jumped, hitting the ground at a run and slicing through two Woads in quick succession. A feral smile crossed her mouth as she fought, feeling blood pulse through her veins again after what seemed like years of inactivity.
Wait... A trick of the light or her eyes, she wasn't sure - but for a moment the Woad running toward her had flaxen hair instead of dark. Iona shook her head, blinking furiously, her movements almost dangerously slow for a split second as she moved to defend herself. There, again. She stumbled back, grinding the heel of her hand into her eye, trying to clean the image of a swarthy blonde man in furs from her mind. The man grinned and raised his sword, bringing it towards her with skull-crushing force. She parried weakly, head reeling, smelling the stench of the Saxon tent. The force of the blow knocked her backwards and sent her sword flying. She fell, the breath knocked out of her, the dark tattooed Woad standing over her. No - the Saxon. She watched dumbly, paralysed, as the sword was raised to deliver the killing blow, a mocking laugh on a cruel face.
And then... and then the Woad was standing, shocked, the blade of a sword protruding from his chest. Iona's breath returned painfully as Dagonet was there to lift her to her feet and press her sword into her nerveless hand, his eyes dark with concern. Iona scrambled to get her wits back, chest heaving to catch breath, grounding herself on the lifeline of Dagonet's eyes. She could hear Bors bellowing a war cry in the background and nodded, absently patting Dagonet's arm.
"I'm fine... I'm fine. Just tripped." Dagonet nodded with a slight frown, but followed her to where Arthur stood with his sword at a Woad's neck. Their commander's voice was hard.
"Why did Merlin send you south of the wall?" The man responded with a guttural voice, defiant even in the face of death - and for one last brief second, Iona again saw a Saxon in his place. She shook her head to clear it, realizing that Lancelot had called her name, asking her to translate what the Woad was saying to Arthur.
"Ah... he said that killing him... would make him a martyr." She turned woodenly and walked to Ardin, past the group of Roman soldiers whose commander watched her intently. Concentrating briefly on cleaning her sword and sheathing it, she paused for a moment to press her forehead to Ardin's neck. Come on, Ai, pull yourself together. No more Saxons. She took a deep, cleansing breath, and then another, feeling her heart rate return to normal. When she felt herself back under control, she turned and strode purposefully to join the line of knights backing Arthur, who was speaking with the Roman commander. Not commander... the bishop. His voice was cultured, refined, his manner regal - and Iona instantly disliked him. As she slipped into place beside Dagonet, she shook her head so that her hair partially obstructed her features, hooded eyes watching the bishop through the thick fall of dark hair.
"And here are the great Sarmatian knights we have heard so much of in Rome!" He dismounted, his gaze travelling over each one in turn, lingering on Iona in a way that made her skin crawl. His voice was brusque as he walked with Arthur towards the carriage.
"I thought the Woads controlled the north of Hadrian's Wall." Arthur nodded.
"They do, but they occasionally venture south. Rome's anticipated withdrawal from Britain has only increased their daring." The simpering man behind the bishop piped up nervously.
"Woads?" The knights exchanged glances before Gawain and Galahad explained, as if to a child. The bishop's eyes were calculating.
"Who leads them?" Lancelot leaned back in the saddle, his voice low.
"He's called Merlin. A dark magician, some say." This seemed to give the bishop pause, and Arthur smoothly stepped in before anyone else could speak. Sending Tristan to scout the road ahead, he turned back to the Roman.
"Please do not worry, Bishop. We will protect you." The bishop smiled in an oily manner, and Iona felt her skin crawl again.
"I have no doubt, commander. No doubt." He ascended the carriage steps regally, his major-domo scurrying behind him, muttering.
"Dozens don't worry me nearly so much as thousands." Lancelot glowered behind him, his voice dark.
"Thousands?" The knights looked at each other silently - then as one moved to mount their horses and follow the carriage.