Post by Lancelot on Mar 17, 2013 4:25:28 GMT -6
Proposals, Alliances, and Connectivity
Lancelot and Uriell
Banna... also known a Birdoswald
another fort east of Hadrian's Wall Main Gate
Mid-November, 468 AD
The four-day ride from the Vale, back to Camelot, was longer than it should have been… but Lancelot reluctantly was leaving something behind he now considered valuable… Uriell and Arn. As he sat on the black stallion, overlooking the last valley he must cross before arriving at Camelot, he fingered the blue agate stone, wired in copper, hanging from a leather thong. It had been her gift to him… Did she believe it would cause his memory to reflect on her? He needed not something tangible to remember her.
Lancelot was lauded to be back at Camelot, as Arthur and the other knights welcomed him back with open arms… And not long after, they all, save Arthur, sat around the tavern drinking and joking around. And as usual Lancelot was teasing Vanora in front of Bors again.
It was Gawain who moved thru the tavern each hand holding two tankards of ale for the men assembled at the table, as Vanora and the other girl were serving the other tables with knights… all welcoming Lancelot back from his Journey's... "I swear we were mounting a party to search for your bones... Thought to find the She Wolf gnawing on them in that cave. Good thing you came back... I was not looking forward to the task of your burial." he jested as the tankards were settled on the table...
Lancelot held the tankard high saluting his friends and comrades… “Nay, I was in no danger… though the She Wolf has her claws, she does have a good side…”
"Leon was chomping at the bit to go find you, maybe to take your Role as First?" Gawain was ever the jokester, and poke fun at everyone equally, all in good nature...
Lancelot was drinking the ale when Gawain commented and he almost spew out his brew… “What say yu?” and in a smirked tease… “Leon, needs to put Sofia away first before testing me… I believe she takes his strength away…” then he laughed and quieted the laugh with a drink off the mug.
Gawain settled down near Lancelot… pulling a busty young maid into his lap with a pinch to her bottom, his arm banding about her waist to hold her there.. "Warm my lap love…" he murmured shifting her a bit playfully before raising his glass. "To Lancelot's Return..!" and the cheer in the tavern went up, all drinking down the stout ale before Gawain smirked at Lancelot once more…
Bare-topped breasts could always refocus a man’s attention regardless of marital status, or social inclinations… and none less was Lancelot’s… as the woman’s breasts were looked at, Lancelot just smirked. And to the toast, Lancelot banged his ceramic mug to the others as they were held high. “Salute…”
"So... tell us... is she really half-bitch-wolf under all those furs... will she be whelping a pack of young Lancelots?" everyone who knew Lancelot knew he was a lady’s man and none too shy of it... hell most of them envied the ease in which he kept his bed warm!
Lancelot’s facial expression changed when Gawain spoke… and ire coursed his body, but he restrained himself and sneered at Gawain as he stood. “I know not… but Uriell is a good person… protective of what is hers…” Lancelot drank the contents of the mug quickly, setting the container down. “Excuse me.. I must speak with Arthur about Banna.” and he slowly turned away as the knights look confused and unknowingly at a possibility of reassignment already...
No longer was the womanizer willing to womanize… nor abide with his friends should they speak ill of Uriell… or the She Wolf… But he who betrayed Arthur more than a year ago, and who was forgiven by the same, should not, nor will not, discuss his unhappiness at being at Camelot; for she had not come… nor could he go… Yet! Still he had to request duty at the Wall somewhere… somewhere closer to the Vale.
Hours turned to days… long days… and those long days and nights turned to lonely weeks. But alas, he had a duty to Arthur and Britannia… and those duties kept him busy… and the only time he thought not about Uriell was when he focused on his training of new recruits, or when he was passed out from drunkenness.
The next weeks were agony, and the Saxons paid dearly for her confusion, for the ache that never seemed to fully go away, her emotions took turns warring within her… sometimes angry at herself for even thinking of the Lady’s man, he was probably back in Camelot with the smell of rose scented whores smeared all over him… or perhaps the Lady Guinevere’s fine hands. She had not missed how his voice softened when he spoke of the Lady, nor the dear inflection given to the word "Our.... Lady" as if he owned a part of her... these things would fuel her anger and rage at herself that she even cared of these things... woe the Saxons hordes who felt the wrath of her spear and pike when those thoughts had been crisscrossing her mind.
It had almost been two years since the affair ended… a period when Lancelot and Guinevere set theirs, and everyone else’s, lives to a new frontier of hurt and sorrow… And for the past near half year, Lancelot and the Lady Guinevere had been forgiven by Arthur… Lancelot had just readjusted to a sober and a somber life, when he met the She Wolf, and her cub… and now the lonely, sleepless nights with her upon his mind would be filled with ale, in order to wrangle sleep.
No longer did the thought of Guinevere linger in his loins… but in his mind as only a sister could. Thoughts like those were reserved for only Uriell… the emptiness in his heart, now yearned for her and the boy’s presence… October was a long month, and so November would prove cold as well… and already in its first part, Lancelot would welcome the move to the Wall…
And then there were the nights, longer still, freezing-cold, and still another warm body wrapped about hers would have been welcome, a warm body that smelled of leather and soap, with a wry teasing smile, and sparkling dark eyes full of mischief... a warm body that lips seared her soul and stole her breath… often those were the thoughts that accompanied her sleep, but the dreams were worse... desire-laden hypnotic dreams that disappeared when she woke, leaving her feeling empty and alone…
Day after day, Lancelot trained Arthur’s men… Night after night he slept alone… And finally Arthur called Lancelot to the Round Table. Lancelot sat down next to Arthur, his swords upon the table. “You summoned me my lord…?”
“Yes Lancelot, I have received word from the northern province, just north of Baden Hill…” he pushes the paper before Lancelot… “Seems the She Wolf has been on the warpath with the raiding Saxons… offering no quarter, no mercy… and now, a reward has been posted for her head…” and the two men continued discussing the invaders, and her reactions… and Lancelot informed Arthur of the Vale’s desire for alliance… and to his surprise, he canted his head. “Why have you not reported this before…?”
“M’Lord, they feel leery of armed men… they only desire protection, not intruders… and depend on the She Wolf…” he sat back in the chair.
Arthur laughed and sat back in the chair as well. “I feel that something more is amiss my brother…” he smirked… “Hence the true reason for request of assignment to Banna…”
Lancelot had been asked by Arthur for the truth… and now he would tell his friend and commander the whole story… all the while fidgeting with the blue stone.
Arthur had stood, patted Lancelot on the shoulder… “Go to Banna, take 10 men, and two knights of your choice… reinforce the Vale…” Arthur smiled… and started to leave Lancelot to his own accord, but stopped and looked back at the First Knight… “If yu love her Lancelot… go to her, tell her… and someday, make her your own… live life to the fullest, let nay the past tarry longer of the mind… I love thee and wish only happiness... for the both of us.”
Lancelot rose, and went to his friend… “My sword and my brotherly love shall always be yours to command...” By daybreak, Lancelot was enroute to Banna. There he would be less than half day from the Vale…
Of course, the Pict scouts of the Vale knew the First Knight and his men had arrived at Banna... to add to the numbers there. They reported back to the Vale, but it would be days before Uri knew of it… She had been back to the Vale only once since she had left over a month ago... Raiding the Saxon camps along the river that wound south and into her territory, like some mythical Harpy, she struck in the night, in the day, even while they ate their breakfast, there was no rhyme or reason to her attacks, no way to prepare, some by ambush, some by forward attack bold as brass. Rumors abounded within the Saxon ranks, doubled, and added too, by the fact she left Saxon scouts hanging in trees, stripped naked, and marked with woad, the sign of a wolf on their chest just above their eviscerated bellies, that she was a wraith, a ghost, a demon. Perpetuated no doubt by the woad colored sight of her in battle, the silence in which she attacked... and the sheer lunacy of her tactics... and yet she prevailed, with very few losses and wounds to her men… devastating the Saxon Hordes… one day... though as it always happened, her luck would run out... the tides would turn and fate would not be so kind.
But not today... today, fate indeed was kind and not to the Saxons... it had been a bloody few days of raiding for the She Wolf and her Men... now they had turned south, heading home, the weather had broken at last and it was a clear cold day, as they traveled thru the forest single file, the snow pack muffling the sounds of horses hoofs. She signaled for them to halt. They were following a high ridge that looked down into a valley, thick evergreen trunks, dark and grey blended well with the white woad smeared on the horses to camouflage them in the snow, and when the group came to a halt, they all but blended into their surroundings, clothed in grays and whites of winter.
It was the sound of thundering hooves, of war whoops and screams of the dammed being chased... Icy blue eyes trained on the movement in the valley, two scouts, of Arthur’s men, ran on foot... one dragging the other along, already wounded it seemed, from a fight... and behind them no less than ten Saxons followed on horseback... their manner was that of a wolf, playing with its quarry, they called out slurs, and jibes at the men... surrounding them... corralling them. The leader mocked the two… "Run Roman Dogs..!"
He laughed a sound that ran up her spine like lightening, her anger flaring at the callousness. She, for one, never teased her foe… a quick death was an honorable thing to give. Before she could stop herself, the cross bow was lifted... fitted and knocked... it seemed in one smooth motion, then the arrow loosed, sending the leader tumbling from his mount... and then all hell broke loose. Her men descended like demons from on high, tumbling down the incline on horseback and crashing into the Saxons… it was over in minutes... the Saxons all dead... the Roman scouts... shocked and awed at the Pict's devastation...but thankful to be alive.
When they left the valley, it would be decorated by the Saxon's hanging bodies, all nude, and displaying the sign of the Wolf in blue woad on their chest... their entrails dangling for the birds to feast on... a warning to all who dared enter the She Wolf's territory. The Roman Scouts were assigned to Banna, they informed her. One, Felix, was horribly wounded in the thigh, and could barely ride, the other, Dervan, rode with his compatriot, heading south to Banna with the She Wolf and her Men in escort.
Three days later, the horn at Banna would sound, signaling incoming riders. How shocked would the Romans, Arthur’s men, be to see the She Wolf riding out of the wilds. Ahead of their scouts down the stockaded road outside the fort... Her second in command, Gerard, at her side, while the rest of her men stayed in the tree line, no doubt a many arrow was trained on the fort as they rode forth.
She was the epitome of every rumor and myth about her stoic, silent, amazon of a woman upon a painted stallion, covered in furs and carrying a roman lance... a painted demon in white and blue woad. They stopped just short of the fort, while Felix and Dervan rode on to the gates. Felix half slumped in the saddle and Dervan keeping him there by sheer will. Their wounds had been tended as best they could on the way there, but she had pushed them to get them men back to their fort, even passing up the Vale to see them home... she felt responsible for them... and as they had traveled she had found that indeed they Knew Lancelot, and while not under his command, they were of Camelot. When the men made the gate, she lifted her hand in salute to the sentries on the wall... and nodded her head softly, reigning the stallion in tight to turn him, heading back to the tree line... and home...
Lancelot had been in the commander’s quarters, his feet propped upon a table, his fingers turning the leather thong, which spun the blue agate stone, wired in copper… his mind far away. There had been no word from the north, nor the Vale since his arrival. Things at Banna had kept the First Knight busy… the entire Hadrian’s Wall more dependent upon the enhanced, and experienced, guard forces now stationed there.
Pict warriors were plentiful… but they were warriors, not soldiers. The Saxons were both. Arthur’s army was so undermanned with experienced soldiers, that he remained dependent upon his knights, and what few Roman soldiers remained. The Knights, and the few Roman officers that stayed with Arthur, often spent as much time as possible training those that could fight. Arthur’s biggest concern was the Saxons. Though considered unruly, wild, and murderous, Cerdic and Cynric had an army… and should they cross over Antoine’s Wall in force… there would be another major war. .
The alarm sounded within the fortress Banna… and Lancelot grabbed his twin swords on the way out toward the main gate. By the time he arrived, and found no real emergency or attack, Dervan and Felix, were being assisted by other soldiers, on their way to the Infirmary. With a look past the closing gate, he got an odd look upon his face… Then rushed up the stairs to the gatehouse and looked to the horizon… and he smiled seeing a familiar sight.
She had not come to Banna, nor brought her son with… but, she took the time from her patrols to bring back his men… and, she did not stay… Was this her way to make him yearn her more… if that was possible? He was determined to section time out for her… even moreso now… he had to… And he cursed her a bit, knowing she was determined; nay, hard-headed enough to go out of her way to make him want her more and more. He twirled the blue agate stone wired in copper, hanging from the leather thong around his neck. “Damn you woman… Leave the Saxons be, and come to my bed…” he mumbled in silent prayer, either to her, or his gods.
Perhaps his prayers were heard, carried on the wind to tease along the back of her neck, making her hairs raise there prickling with an uneasy affliction. That made her rein in the stallion just short of the treeline... She twisted in the saddle… a trophy from a fallen roman long ago… a fine tooled leather saddle, branded with the sign of the Ninth Legion. Icy blue eyes settling on the familiar figure upon the parapets... A sudden jolt of energy raced up her spine at the sight of him, his tall lean frame and dark hair setting him apart from the others, a head shorter than he...