Title: Stolen Moments
Disclaimer: I do not own them, this incarnation of King Arthur and his knights belongs to Franzoni, Bruckheimer, and Fuqua.
Summary: A small girl comes to realize something will sitting in the grass.
A/N: Ok, this (while being my first pure KA fic) is connected with Protector
. I had a dream, this is what happened, more or less, in the dream. Opinions, options, criticisms, and whatever else are greatly appreciated. Otherwise, I just end up thinking I’m a hack.Stolen Moments
A small red-haired girl of no more than five years sat in the grass beside her family’s modest hut near Hadrian’s Wall. She twined broken grass blades together in her moment of freedom. Her mother had not beckoned her yet to come help care for her younger siblings, and her older brothers and sister had not yet come to chastise her for being a lay-about. Vanora, for that was her name, craved these moments of peace and calm. They came few and far between for the child, what with the rash of Woad attacks that had plagued the knights stationed at the wall.
Vanora felt her young heart twitter. The knights were so bold, so strong, so brave. Her mother had said so plenty of times, and young Vanora fully believed it. She smiled when she heard a loud noise coming up the road. Vanora peeked her head up out of the tall grass, having forgotten her father’s warnings to never play in the tall grass so close to the fortress. One of the knights could mistake her for a Woad, or worse, a nice fat rabbit begging for the stew pot.
Down the roadway sitting atop his ‘borrowed’ horse, Bors could just make out the small flash of red that poked it’s head out of the grass. He stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out just what it was. His gut instinct was that it was one of those murderous bastards they’d heard about. Bors was the oldest of the group at sixteen. He’d been two when the Romans had come to collect the Sarmatian warriors of his village the first time. He hadn’t been so lucky the second time. Bors absently touched his cheek as he remembered his mother’s not-so-sorrowful good-bye. Magda smacked her son’s cheeks sharply as he scowled out at the Romans. He was startled as the grizzled old woman thrust his father’s first dagger into his hand. Life had not been kind to Magda. She had lost her husband to the Romans only months after they had been united under the gods. His fifteen year term had ended early when Bors had been five. She’d been nineteen.
“Don’t rush to get yourself killed, boy.”
“Don’t.” She eyed the younger boys in the caravan. Some weren’t much older than eight, while a few were in their teens like her boy. She spotted one big shaggy haired boy who, while looking much older, still had the tender look of a child. If he kept it, it would get him killed. “Look out for that lot, Bors. You’re the oldest.”
“Don’t mother me, boyo. Do as you’re told. Look after them, and when you get to your post, you lop off all that silly hair.” Magda barked, tugging on the short strand of her son’s blond hair. “Don’t get yourself killed.”
Magda had said it so quietly, he wasn’t sure he was even supposed to hear it. When he stared at her in confusion, she slapped him upside the head.
“What are you waiting for boy? Can’t keep the bloody Romans waiting much longer.”
“Bors, what do you see?” Dagonet, the shaggy haired boy riding beside him asked quietly.
“Someone’s little bastard.” Bors said gruffly as they passed the little red-haired girl.
Vanora felt anger well up inside her. She wasn’t someone’s little bastard! Her parents had been united before the gods. She clenched her fists in the tangle of grass. Her left hand connected solidly with a hard clump of dirt.
Bors spun around when he felt something hard connect with his head. For a second he thought it was his mother. There with dirt streaking her cheeks stood the defiant little bastard. Narrowing her eyes, the little girl made a rude gesture before darting back through the grass.
“Bloody little bastard.” Dagonet only laughed at this.