Not Quite Bors

A/N: I am very aware that this fic does not necessarily fit in with movie canon or its timeline, but I'm not that concerned! Thanks for the hits and the reviews!

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They had been gone so long this time.

It had been five years since I had learned that Lancelot was my father and not a day had gone by where I didn’t seek him out among the other Sarmatians. Now that it was common knowledge among the other knights, they took to calling me Branwyn quite freely, even though Da still had a hard time. At any rate, I felt as if a new door had opened for me; like there was something more waiting for me on the horizon. The spring before I turned eighteen was filled with so many emotions…I grew into my looks and no longer had a waxy pallor or stick straight hair. In the sun (when it was indeed sunny) my skin warmed to look like a golden peach and my hair began to curl gently around my shoulders.

I had grown in stature too, though neither Lancelot nor Mum could figure out how I had become so tall. I outgrew Mum when I was fifteen and now Lancelot was getting ribbed by his fellow knights that I could almost look him in the eye. Much to Da’s (and Lancelot’s) displeasure, I found I had a hand for the sword and Tristan gifted me one of his from when he was younger on my sixteenth birthday. I did not flaunt this newfound talent, but I practiced when I could, between my lessons which Arthur often taught himself. In his study I learned of history, religion, and warfare, and having mastered Latin, Jols now spent his time teaching me Greek. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed with knowledge and skill, and I felt that I was finally becoming close with the knights that made up my family – Da, Lancelot, Uncle Dag, and Arthur.

There was also sadness and a sense of loss that spring, as the Sarmatians took it upon themselves, under the leadership of Arthur, to scan the Wall and the outlying areas, fighting off raiding parties of Woads and Saxons. They spent many weeks north of the wall, and near the end of the summer word came that yet another raiding party of Saxons had breached the lines and were tearing a swath of pillaging along the countryside. Arthur took it upon himself to rid Rome’s land of the invaders, and so his knights dutifully followed him into battle. No one wanted to mention it, but the influx of Saxon raiders was becoming more and more frequent.

It became quiet in the fort, and my lessons with Arthur suffered. I had to busy myself with other things for I could no longer seek out Lancelot to go riding with, nor Uncle Dag to play a game of knucklebones. I even missed Da, more than I thought I would, and I missed him for Mum, too. But Gawain I missed the most, though I had not gotten any closer to him as I had grown. He and Galahad always seemed to be busy, with ladies, with dice, with wine. Agraviane and Cai were the same, as were all the younger knights.

From the time when the spring chill had left the air to the time when the grass was thick and green and the trees in full leaf, the fort was empty without the Sarmatians and their leader. The majority of the men left were Roman, with a handful of Britons and Celts thrown into the mix, but none had the personality of the knights. Steren was my constant companion, but our mums had different plans for us that unfortunately did not include hiding in the stables and dreaming of love. We worked hard, first in the weavers’ shop, and then, because of my schooling, I became a valuable asset to Jols and I often assisted him with the administration duties of the fort that Arthur usually took care of.

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“Branwyn!”

I glanced up from yet another list of inventory from the armory, thankful for the interruption. Steren stood at the doorway with wide eyes, dancing on her toes and dying to be granted permission to enter. It was, after all, Arthur’s study that I was sitting in, and it was only proper protocol for her to ask. I nodded and waved her in quickly, smiling at her obviously agitated state.

“What is it?” I asked as I watched her rush in, her cheeks flushed. She was out of breath. Had she run all the way here from her home?

“There…a scout…” she paused and gulped in a breath of fresh air desperately.

“Sit!” I commanded, standing and reaching for the water jug nearby. I poured her a cup and came around from behind the desk, thrusting the drink into her trembling hands. She swallowed gratefully, her dark eyes never leaving my face. When she was sated, she nodded her thanks and sat back, somewhat more composed. “Now,” I started, taking the cup from her. “What is it?”

“The scouts that were dispatched three nights ago have returned! The knights, Branwyn! The Sarmatians return on tomorrow’s eve!”

All at once, my decidedly boring summer was plunged into thick excitement. My heart raced at once and I felt tears stinging my eyes. “Are you certain?” I demanded, clutching Steren’s hand and squeezing tightly. “Who has told you?”

“Father was in the market when they made their return. An announcement was made…” she frowned, staring up at me. “Were you not there?” Then, not waiting for my answer, she glanced around the room, at the piles of scrolls and charts and the smoldering oil lamps. She wrinkled her nose at the stale smell and then looked back at me. “By the gods, Branwyn, have you spent your entire summer in here?”

I sat back on the edge of the desk, dropping her hand. “What?” I demanded hotly. Nervously I fingered my hair. “I have not…”

“You look as white as Galahad’s belly!” she cried, bubbling with laughter. It was no secret amongst the fort that Galahad was known to be pale, no matter how much time he spent under the sun, and I raised a hand to my cheek, feeling the soft, somewhat clammy texture of my skin. Perhaps I was a little bit pale.

“There’s been so much to do…with Arthur away…and Jols can only do so much…”

“Stop making excuses!” Steren scolded, pointing a finger at me with a wry smile. She stood then and grabbed my wrist. “Come on! You can’t very well welcome anyone back looking like that!” She shook her head at my everyday gown of undyed wool and the dark brown cloak at my shoulders.

“But I have work to do!” I protested, even though my feet were already following Steren out of the office.

“Aye, and so do I! So stop fighting me and get to the bathhouse!”

****
So, they arrived, and although there was a warm homecoming for Da and Uncle Dag at our home, I still felt empty. Mum assured me that I would see the others at the feast that night (and by ‘others’ I do believe she was referring solely to Lancelot) and she fussed about her and Da’s room, rummaging through trunks, looking for something as I perched on the bed and watched.

“Ah!” she finally exclaimed, turning to me with a bundle in her arms and a smile on her face. “I’ve found it.” She stood before me and unfurled the fabric in her arms to reveal a gown I had never seen before. I marveled at the simple beauty of it – I had never seen anything that color before. It was blue, dark, indigo blue, like the night sky when the sun first and fully disappears. The bodice and sleeves were fitted and the skirt was long – hopefully even long enough for me. I stood excitedly, smiling at Mum and daring to reach out to touch the wool with my fingers. For her part, Mum rolled her eyes at my hesitancy and she spun me around, and with one hand she snagged the ties of the gown I wore while she whipped shut the curtain that offered her privacy with the other hand.

“I wore this when I was your age…not so long ago, I think,” she sighed dreamily.

I stepped out of the undyed wool, now so drab that I had seen this. Mum held the dress out for me and I all but jumped in, unable to stop smiling as she pulled it up around me and helped to fit my arms in the sleeves.

“You should always wear this color,” she said softly, as I turned around to look at her. “This and red and green and…and not brown, girl. Not for a girl as pretty as you.” She looked like she was about to cry, and a tear or two escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

I smiled and grasped her, pulling her into a strong embrace. “Thank you,” I whispered into her auburn hair. I stepped back and she nodded once in approval before turning me round to help fasten the ties. Her hands were fast and I reached up to clasp the silver knot that still hung on a leather cord. Uncle Dag had bestowed another gift upon me when he returned; my feet were comfortably snug in a new pair of doeskin boots that he had traded for in a Briton township on the coast. The gown I now wore brushed my toes and I smiled, thankful that it was not too short. I twirled once and smiled at Mum, and at that very same moment, the curtain that separated us from the rest of the house was shoved aside, and Da stood, clutching something in his crushing grip, half of a smile present.

“We’ll be late if you two don’t stop prettying up in here,” he grumbled, even though he moved to kiss Mum soundly. “Here,” he said, almost as an afterthought, tossing me yet another bundle. “It’s not much, you hear? But yer Mum is always complaining about how you won’t stop growin’.”

It was a cloak of black wool, with a deep hood cut into it, and it covered me perfectly. I snagged the pin from my other one and donned the gift from Da proudly. He grunted his approval and then clapped his hands, turning back to the rest of the household.

“All right, my little bastards! We’ve got a fest to go to and we’re all going to behave!”

“Does that involve eating too much and then drinking till we throw up, Da?” Gilly grinned and ducked as Da took a swing.

“Don’t be talking back to me, y’hear?” He looked up to the rest of us. “That goes for all of you! Best behavior an’ all that, aye? We’re celebrating in Arthur’s hall, after all!”

****

I watched them enter from a dim corner at the end of the hall. I had begged Steren to take a place near the back, somewhere where I could watch the Sarmatians enter, but not close enough to draw attention to myself. In stepped Arthur, first and foremost, and following him his First Knight, my father Lancelot. Then came the others, and close to the end, Gawain. It had seemed like ages since I had seen him, and being so far away did not allow me to see him and the changes that had occurred. So I stood still at my station, Steren clutching my hand and Mum hovering near the front so that she could see Da and reassure him and Uncle Dag with a warm smile.

The knights were all dark – dark eyes, dark hair, dark clothing, save Gawain. He was a golden rod among his brothers and my eyes never left him as he was welcomed into the hall amongst cheering and laughter. His hair was longer, waving in gold and amber and bronze, and he was now sporting a beard, short and dark, and giving him an edge amongst the others. His face had always been open and welcoming, and now the new growth seemed to shape his features and make him look older, but no less attractive. He smiled at the warm welcome, but under dark brows his blue-green eyes seemed to be searching for something.

All too soon I felt Steren take my hand and tug me forward into the foray. The knights had returned and the small cluster of musicians seemed intent on beginning the festivities immediately. Music with a pulsing, deep rhythm swept through the hall and all at once the crowd exploded into eating, drinking, dancing, and shouting. It seemed like all of those that lived within the fort were crammed into that one space and I was nudged back and forth as Steren pulled me through the crowd. Then suddenly her hand dropped mine and I looked for her face, but she had vanished and now I stood, on shaking limbs, before a very bemused Arthur.

“Branwyn?” He asked softly, his face filled with wonder. Then he smiled and he shook his head of dark curls and stepped closer to me. His hands clutched my shoulders and he leaned down, touching his lips lightly to first one cheek and then the other. Then, he stood straight again and held me back at arm’s length.

“By all that is sacred, you have grown lovely, girl,” he announced solemnly.

I felt heat rise in my cheeks, but I was not put off. I had been ‘admired’ by many of those Romans in the fort, and sought after by the Celtic and Briton men. I knew that I was not ugly, but to hear such words from Arthur, from the Commander himself, was more than a girl could ask for. I smiled prettily and bowed my head, bending my knee in a formal greeting.

“My Lord,” I murmured, staring back up at him from under my lashes.

He seemed under a spell for a moment as he watched me and then he laughed, a short bark, and he held a finger up to me as if to scold. “Now I know that you truly are your father’s daughter – charming and bewitching, all the same!” He chuckled once more before taking hold of my elbow and pulling me close. Then he spoke lowly in my ear. “Now stop wasting your beauty on me! There are no doubt endless droves of young men who are watching now with broken hearts!”

“I am glad to see you, Arthur,” I smiled, balancing on my toes to press a chaste kiss to his whisker-roughened cheek. Then I let him go and searched for another familiar face.

But a face found me. All at once, everything seemed to stop, the music faded into the background and the singing and carousing became muted, like I was underwater. The sea of people before me parted like the Red Sea in Arthur’s bible. Time stilled, or stopped all together, and there, at the other end of the hall stood Gawain. His eyes held mine and for a split second he seemed to not recognize me. I tilted my head, unable to look away and I felt my heart race, heard the blood thundering in my ears. Then his eyes brightened. Oh, he recognized me, and I had waited years for him to look at me like that, and it was welcome like the bursting, gasping first breath after almost drowning. He stepped forward, closer to me. I could not move.

The people crashed back into place and our strait was swallowed whole by the crowd. The music seemed to blare back to life and there were smiling faces, grating voices, and spilled wine threatening to overcome me. Had I imagined it? Had Gawain not actually been there? I had to leave. I had to sit down and so I turned and pushed through people, my head down. Of course I bumped into someone and I looked up, startled, and found Lancelot staring into my eyes.

“Hello,” he offered casually, the ghost of a smile on his face.

I could not help but to smile back; he was a welcome distraction from my disappointment. I refused to greet him like I did Arthur. This man was my father, after all, and he deserved something more personal. So I hugged him, and although he was hesitant at first, I soon felt his arms settle around me and he held me close, his chin resting on top of my head. Finally, I had something of myself back. I had Mum, of course, but sometimes I felt that even she didn’t understand me. Lancelot knew me, and I knew him, and that was the way I saw it. There was no need to hide or to be coy or cold. I relaxed in his embrace and sighed before taking a small step back, my hands still clutching his tunic.

“I…” I didn’t know what to say! I fumbled for words, but I could not make sense of what I was feeling. Elation that my father was back, that this stone that I had been chipped from was standing before me once more, like so many other times. But, true to his nature, Lancelot seemed to know just what I was thinking, and I still hope that he was thinking the same thing of me. He nodded slightly.

“Come to the stables tomorrow.” He paused and looked at the cup in his hand. “Perhaps after midday?” he added with a raised eyebrow.

I laughed and nodded dutifully. We would talk, we decided, when there was no other distraction. Where we could and would talk freely and we did not have to try to keep up appearances.

I let go of him then and stepped back, but almost as an afterthought, he said to me, “You are lovely, Branwyn. And Vanora’s dress has never looked so beautiful.”

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