Not Quite Bors

A/N: I own nothing here, the characters of Arthur and his knights belong to Sir Thomas Malory (save for Bors and Dag, for they were thought up in the movieverse). Branwyn is mine.

Updates for 'The Greenwater' are underway, the piece is a long process of research and writing and rewriting. As for Rugburn, that's as far as the story goes. And for anyone else who saw my glitch in calling Karl an Aussie in one chapter and a Kiwi in the next, I know I made a mistake, I have't fixed it, I KNOW he's a Kiwi. It was purely accident.

Anyway, I was inspired by the line in the movie 'All Bors', and Lancelot hinting that not all of Bors' children were actually his.

*****

It was hard being the oldest girl of Da’s children. I was only the fifth in line – and that’s what Da called me, Five – but it seems as though he always had more time for Gilly and the other boys. I don’t know why Gilly got a name. I don’t know why when Da looks at me sometimes his eyes are sad, almost painful. Oh, he’d never done anything to make me feel less than loved among the other ten children my mother bore him. Da always made sure that there was plenty of food on the table and that our backs were clothed and the fires warm and high, but sometimes, if I got to close to Da, or I looked at him just so or said something in a certain way, he gave me a funny look and sidled closer to Gilly and the boys, turning his broad back to me to show the boys how to wield a sword, how to kill a woad. Mum would take my hand and lead me to her stool where she heaped a pile of linens on me and made me take up a needle and thread and watch as she darned and repaired and altered. I hated sewing.

My best days were spent wandering the fort at Hadrian’s Wall. It had been my home since I was born. Yule was upon us again and I know that Mum was making me a new cloak for it was also to be my birthday; I watched her take measurements with her eyes. The Fort during Yule was a magical place, for there were those Romans who insisted upon celebrating the birth of some pale Christ (and they spend countless hours on their knees mumbling to only one God – how can one God ever be enough?) while the others, those of Sarmatian descent like our family, or of Celtic roots, gathered holly and ivy and mistletoe and evergreen boughs and roasted chestnuts and told of how the winter king will lay down to sleep on the longest night of the year and that after that, the days will grow longer and we will be well on our way to spring.

And so when I wandered the merchant carts and stalls and weave in and out of crudely fashioned Roman roads, I was in my own world, smelling the horses and the woodsmoke, hearing the gentle ting-clang of the blacksmith, feeling the brisk, cool wind rush through my hair. So caught up in my own senses that I often walked right by those I know or those that know my Mum or my Da and I blushed when I finally heard one calling my name. Of course I blushed. I turned at the sound of my name – not Five, as Da absently called me, but Branwyn, the name that Tristan gave me one summer’s eve when he found me sitting silently in an oak tree just outside of the Wall. He never told my Da that I had disobeyed orders and stepped into woad country, just as I never told Da that I liked the name that Arthur’s scout gave to me. The other knights called me this as well, and I think Da ignored it for the most part.

But right now, as I ambled through the market, it was Gawain who called my name and I felt my heart race as I peeked over my shoulder and took in the golden hair and the boyish grin. Gawain was so different from the others – he was not moody and silent like Tristan often was, he was not the hulking man that Uncle Dag was, he was neither petulant like Galahad nor fox-sly like Lancelot. Gawain was decidedly different and Gilly would tease about my secret crush on him. I didn’t care. Gawain had never treated me poorly, had never alluded to the fact that my crush was folly or silly or nonsense. He did not encourage it either, but rather accepted it as an older brother might accept a younger sibling’s fascination with him.

I was often found in the fort halls for Arthur had discovered early on my interest in learning and had taken it upon himself have me tutored in reading and writing. Mum agreed as long as it did not interfere with my chores. So it was late at night that I would make my way back from Jol’s watchful eye and often, I came across one knight or several, in various stages of disarray, disrobing, drunkenness, or in the midst of entertaining one or two or sometimes even three ladies. It was then that I would hide in the shadows behind a tapestry or a woodpile and steal visions through keyholes and doors that had carelessly been left open. The things I saw and heard made me blush down to my toes but I was riveted to the spot – there was Lancelot, making his way to the bed like a wolf stalking its prey, the woman laying naked and prone, shaking and watching him with wide, glassy eyes, and then she would open her arms and he would slip into the cradle of her thighs and sigh and grunt and she would scream his name and her head would hang off the far end of the bed as Lancelot drove her hard and fast, sweat-slicked flesh glistening in the lamplight.

There was Galahad up to his ears in soft female, grinning madly and sighing as ladies did what they pleased to him, and I watched his hands curl in their hair, clutch at bare buttock and thigh and breast and his tongue would press against a woman’s while another woman sat astride his lap. And across the hall was Gawain’s room and it was here that I spent the most time spying, for here I could catch a glimpse of Gawain as he was without his armor and his fellow knights. Here I saw Gawain as he was with a woman – and often I would envision myself as eighteen and in his arms. His broad shoulders and finely muscled arms and torso made me squirm with delight – oh, my Gawain was beautiful. One night he had a woman there with him with black hair like mine and slanted cat’s eyes and a beautiful face and beautiful, womanly curves – oh, that I would be so blessed when I grew up! And the way that he touched her…spoke soft, gentle words to her and they way his eyes stared down into hers as they lay with each other afterward…

A sharp tug on one of my curls brought me soaring back to the market place and my eyes focused on Gawain, now peering down at me with a questioning smirk. “Where did you go, little raven? Off on another adventure?”

I shook my head and smiled weakly, trying to banish the last of my thoughts from my head for the time being. “I am sorry, Gawain,” I apologized lamely.

Gawain shrugged and twirled a chunk of coal black hair around his finger. “Your head is filled with thoughts of Yule, I suppose,” he chuckled. “It’s to be expected at your age…”

I scowled at him and felt my heart sink. But of course I was only a child to him – not yet thirteen and still built like Gilly. I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. “I am not so young,” I huffed.

Fixing me with a bewildered gaze for a moment, Gawain’s face then broke into a dawn of realization. He smiled and nodded then. “Of course. Your birthday. Is it not at hand? And how old will you be?” He began walking, knowing that I would follow dutifully, and we ended up at the booth of a woman selling honey cakes. He purchased two and handed one to me, still warm and dripping with the sticky golden honey that clung to my fingers.

“Thirteen,” I answered haughtily before nibbling on the corner of the sweet. I delicately swiped my tongue at a glob of honey from my thumb. We walked together now towards the practice fields where the Sarmatian Cavalry gathered twice a day – once in the morning, and once before dinner.

Gawain whistled, long and low, and he laughed a little, dusting the crumbs of honey cake from the front of his tunic. “Doesn’t seem like that long ago you were born. I remember,” he started, and then he looked down at me with a smile not so joyful, like he was remembering something. Then he shook his head and waved me off. “It is nothing.” He looked back to where we were headed. “Do you wish to sit and watch today? Gilly and Six and Seven are already there, cheering your father on.” Suddenly he clamped his mouth shut and turned from me, as if he had said something he was not supposed to.

Sure enough, when we entered the grounds, Gilly and Six and Seven where whooping and hollering, watching as Arthur and Lancelot squared off against one another. I looked to Gawain for a moment, fixing him with an expectant gaze. Where was Da? I asked him as much.

“He was here,” Gawain mumbled awkwardly. He then grasped me under the arms and swung me onto a bench so that I may sit and watch. Gilly saw my arrival and he waved, and then he elbowed Six and Seven and nodded at me. Together, the trio made their way down from their own perches to join me.

Gilly plopped down on my right and whistled as Lancelot’s horse spun around Arthur’s. He pointed at the black mare and whispered, “Lancelot says that when Sarmatian knights die, they come back as horses.”

I nodded and watched now as the dark-haired knight executed a difficult move with his double swords and then laughed out loud as Arthur knocked the show-off from his saddle right into the muck of the practice ring. Lancelot fell square on his bottom and the whole company, knights and my brothers, joined in my laughter. Lancelot shook his hair from his eyes and narrowed his gaze across the field to where my brothers and I sat. Gracefully he rolled to his feet and he gathered his swords, laying them across his shoulders as he always did. He then made his way towards us as Arthur looked on from horseback.

“I see you find me falling on my ass amusing,” he grinned wickedly as he eyed my brothers. “Perhaps you would like to take a turn with Arthur? Think you may do better?”

Gilly and Six and Seven twittered and shook their heads with wide eyes, even as Lancelot chuckled. He then looked to me. “And you, Branwyn? Surely your mother does not know you are here, nor does your father.”

“Gawain said that my father was here,” I informed Lancelot. I watched now as the knight before me slid his green-gold gaze to Gawain in question. “Is that so?” He mumbled, almost to himself. Then his eyes were back on me, fixing me with his even stare, and I felt something shock my bones. I had never felt such comfort with a simple look. When Da looked at me, it was as if he looked through me, like I was not really there. Lancelot’s fine-boned hand settled on my hair…oh, my hair, the thing that troubled me most – Mum had thick, fiery waves and Da’s hair had been fair at one point in time, but my hair was thick and washed down my back like raven’s wings- hence the name that Tristan gave me. Lancelot then cupped my cheek, as if remembering my face through touch, and sadness washed over his eyes for a moment. It was fleeting, our moment there, as Arthur called out to Lancelot to join him once more.

“Is it not your birthday soon, Branwyn?” Lancelot asked as he gathered the reins to his horse and swung neatly into the saddle.

I nodded. “Yes. The same night as Yule, I think.”

Lancelot smiled broadly, his straight, white teeth glinting in the dull sunlight. “Then I shall bring a gift for you to the feast, child.” He turned then and walked his horse back to Arthur’s to discuss the next strategy.

I looked around to see if anyone had overheard my words with Lancelot. Da did not like Arthur’s first knight that much, but I had never learned why. Uncle Dag was within earshot and he was looking on with interest, watching now as Lancelot rode away. Da’s giant friend made his way over to me and sat down on a seat lower than mine so that he might not dwarf me so much.

“Good day to you, girl,” he said in his measured tone. He leaned back on his elbows and watched Lancelot and Arthur ride around each other again, this time calling out instructions as Gilly and Six and Seven looked on with the eager interest of future knights.

“And to you, uncle,” I returned. My Uncle Dag had a special place in my heart. While he wasn’t actually my Da’s brother, he was close enough, and he had always been there, since I was born. At times I wondered if perhaps he knew me better than Da, for it was Uncle Dag that took the time to ask me of my studies and of my riding and what sorts of trouble I got up to when I thought no one was looking.

“No chores today?”

I shook my head and slid down to sit next to my Uncle, suddenly craving closeness with someone. I linked my arm in his elbow and pulled my knees under me, curling into his side. “Mum shooed me out right after breakfast. I think she’s trying to finish my new cloak.”

Uncle Dag chuckled, the sound rumbling and shaking his body gently, and I heard a smile in his voice as he answered. “So sure that you are getting a new cloak, aye?”

I plucked at the edge of the cloak I wore now and held up a threadbare corner for Dag’s inspection. “Almost two years old. It used to be red; it is more like brown now. And I am much too tall for it.”

“Yes,” Dag agreed. “You have grown much over the summer. Towering over Gilly, eh? He must not like that.” My giant uncle shifted and gently disengaged my arm from his before looking down at me. “What did you and Gawain talk about?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. He bought me a honey cake and asked about my birthday and then brought me here, saying that Da was here.” I stretched in my seat, looking out to the practice field once more. “I still do not see him.”

“Your Da is at the blacksmith today. Needed to have one of his knives repaired.” Uncle Dag said this to me but his attention was elsewhere, first on Gawain and then on Lancelot. He stood then and made to return to the field. Turning back to me, he smiled gently and then leaned down to kiss the top of my head. “Tell your Da I will talk to him at dinner, aye?”

I nodded dutifully and watched as he bounded down the planks and made his way across the field to where the knights were gathering once more. Gawain had pulled himself into saddle and was riding his horse in a gentle canter about the ring, the wind lifting the golden waves of his hair and his laughter filling my ears. I rested my chin in my palm, content with watching Gawain for the remainder of the afternoon.

*****
TBC