Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: On the ice

Several hours later they stood at the edge of a frozen lake, and Iona could feel a foreboding knot start in the pit of her stomach. Arthur's voice had a desperate undertone as he questioned Tristan, but the scout's voice was flat, with no options. They had no choice.

As they picked their way gingerly across the ice, spreading out to make as little an impact as possible, their hearts sank as they heard the Saxon drums behind them. What little head start they did have had been eaten up by their need to move slowly with the villagers. Arthur wheeled his horse around to face his knights, his grey-green eyes calm as he looked at them.

"Knights?"

There was nothing for it, and they all knew it. Pressed and harried, they had made it this far with enemies behind and enemies within, and they were tired of running. Down the line, shoulders squared, backs straightened, and brows smoothed as they each came to the same conclusion.

They were knights of Arthur Castus, and they would not run.

Arthur nodded once, decisively, and immediately began giving orders for a defensive line on the opposite shore. The wagons and peasants continued to trundle past, and Iona could see Lucan's worried face looking for them. Dagonet's arm came around her as the boy spotted them, his eyes looking scared even from a distance. All Iona could do was smile reassuringly, wishing that they could just grab him and ride, far and fast and away. Dagonet's voice was soft as he lifted his hand in the air, watching as Lucan returned the wave.

"He'll be fine." All she could do was nod, a lump in her throat as she remembered their happy moment that morning. Dagonet pulled her closer, wrapping both his arms around her and looking down at her with soft eyes. Iona sighed.

"Saxons behind and Lucan in front. I know where I would rather be." Dagonet smiled, briefly, and then bent his head to kiss her.

"I'd rather be with you." Iona smiled, her eyes shining as she looked up at her husband.

"I love you, Dagonet." He kissed her again, warm and loving.

"I'll always love you, Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos." A low call from the line behind them and they turned, making their way to join their brothers. Taking their places, they picked up their bows and notched arrows to strings.

And waited.

It took less time than any of them liked to think about for the ragged mob of Saxons to file opposite them. Spines stiffened again as they realized just how close their enemy had been behind them, and just how desperate the plight of the villagers was. Now, though, they could make a difference. Although there were only nine of them to the rough two hundred across the lake, they were better with action than flight.

Iona found herself taking deep, measured breaths as she looked across the ice at the rough furs and flaxen hair. These I can fight, she thought with no sense of panic. These I can kill. No surprises on a Woad field - these are Saxons, and they will die. The knights watched as the Saxon leader, a grim-faced princeling with a shaved head, ordered an archer to fire a warning shot. It fell well short, and the knights smirked. Saxon bows were not made for shooting distance over a wind-swept steppe, as the Sarmatian bows were - a fact which Bors and Tristan demonstrated with deadly result.

Iona could feel the familiar pulsing of blood in her ears as the fight approached, the Saxons marching forward across the ice as the knights continued to shoot. Aiming for the edges of the raggedy mob, they were forcing the Saxons together, hoping that the combined weight of numbers would cause the ice to break before they got too close. Wave after wave of arrows they sent across the ice, but it was not enough. The Saxons were too close now, and though the ice was cracking and groaning dangerously, it still refused to break. On Arthur's order, they fell back further, switching their bows for swords, waiting, knowing that they needed some sort of miracle now for the ice to break in time.

Iona suddenly felt Dagonet go still at her side, and she turned to look at him with a question half on her lips. He was already looking at her, with a curious expression on his face - and she knew, just knew that he was about to do something incredibly stupid. Her voice was warning, breathless, desperate.

"Dagonet..." but he was already gone, his axe in his hand as he raced across the ice, straight for the Saxons. Iona couldn't decide if her heart had stopped or was beating triple time as she grabbed her bow again, a scream of fury on her lips as she shot and shot and shot, desperately trying to cover Dagonet as he made it to middle ground and swung, burying his axe deep into the ice.

Again and again he swung, chopping at the thick ice to make enough of a dent that the pressure of the Saxons' weight would take care of the rest. The Saxon leader had gotten over his shock enough to order his own archers to shoot, and Iona's blood froze in her veins as she watched arrows fly towards her husband.

A hit. And another. Two arrows buried themselves in his chest and he fell, and suddenly she was running, running towards him, racing across the breaking ice with Arthur beside her, dodging arrows herself as she ran fasterfaster, trying to reach Dagonet in time. He swung again and again, and the ice cracked beneath them as they ran, ran between arrows and deep fissures, focussed solely on reaching Dagonet.

Too late. Finally overcome, Dagonet slumped to his knees and fell into the hole beside him, and Iona knew for sure this time that her heart wasn't beating. Sliding to a stop beside the ragged gash in the ice, she and Arthur both latched onto Dagonet's collar and pulled for all they were worth, oblivious to everything except getting Dagonet out. Slowly, painfully, they pulled him from the clutching water and hauled him back onto the ice. He was still, too still, his face too pale, but they pulled desperately, dragging him inch by inch backwards, the weight of his sodden armour slowing them down.

Iona's breath sobbed in her throat and everything was a blur around her as she pulled. Vaguely she felt an arrow strike her in the calf, and vaguely she registered Bors beside them, but nothing mattered nothing mattered except getting Dagonet to safety. Then others were there, and the going was easier. Together they managed to get Dagonet close enough to the shore that the breaking ice wasn't reaching them, and finally then did she allow herself to look down and register the colour of his face, the two arrows sticking out of his chest, the ice that was already beginning to form on his skin in the frigid air.

Everything was quiet. Her hands were on his face and her eyes were inches from his as his mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles, a smile that she pressed her lips to, wanting desperately to feel its warmth. For one split second she felt his lips press against hers, so cold, but there - and then... nothing.

Iona heard a gut-wrenching wail echo around the canyon, off the rocks and the ice, so full of pain it could pierce your heart and draw your life's blood.

Realized it was her.

Couldn't make it stop.