Finally! I know I've taken ages to upload this chapter.I had many problems; I had to change my PC, restart the intenet a thousand times, and I was up to my neck with exams, but eventually I've managed to finish this. I will be editing thing or two, but since I've taken so log, I'll upload anyway. Thank you very much for your patience and forgive my delay <3
Don't forget to vote and comment, it really means the world to me <3
*thirteen years ago*
Devnet felt her throat burn and her eyes cry, though she was far away from the smoke, safely protected between her father's arms. The little girl buried her face in the man's chest, sobbing. She was terrified. In the distance, the hellish glimmer of the fire soared towards the night, and the wind brought, along with the smoke, the sounds of battle from the village, were the roman defenders struggled to repeal the woad assault, though their disadvantage, if not defeat, was quite clear.
After some time, Devnet dared to look around, pulling the long strands of her hair away from her pale round face. Her eyes skimmed through the small crowd. The young sarmatian knights clustered around Sir Aynor and Bayard, some sombre, others scared, most pale. The young, boys barely older than Devnet herself, clung to the elders, and yet every single one of them was in silence and did not shed a single tear. They'd been brought to that island to fight, to face danger and to kill. They might as well get used to those situations from the start.
-Dada? -Devnet tugged at a single braid that extended from her father's short hair, and hung below his shoulders. Aynor was staring gravely at the fire, it's flame projecting a game of light and shadows over his eyes, but when his daughter called him for the second time, he blinked and turned.
-What is it, little poem? -he asked, trying to keep his voice as soothing as possible as to not alarm her.
-Where's Arthur and his momma?-.
Aynor's features froze beneath his beard. His eyes went empty and wild, as he turned to look back the flames with horror.
-Fuck-he muttered under his breath, momentarily forgetting his daughter was right there in his arms.
-What?-asked Bayard, seeing his superior's expression.
-Ygrane. She and Artorius were supposed to be at the village tonight-.
Bayard lifted his eyebrows with shock before frowning-We must aid them before it's to late. I'll get the horses!-.
-There is no time-replied Aynor. His mind, as strategically sharp as always after a lifetime of battle, was already thinking ahead on what he should do. Though he hated to leave Devnet precisely in that moment, he told himself that she was already safe, while Uther's son, his best friends heir, and his wife, were not.
-Lancelot-he motioned to that grave young boy that always studied everything with an amazing seriousness considering he was only ten. If it weren't because the boy was the spitting image of his father at that age, Aynor would've never guessed he was Bran's son.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl Whose Name Was A Poem
Historical Fiction"For years the Roman Empire has used descendants of the Sarmatian cavalry to guard their empire's fronteirs, enslaving them in an unfair contract made centuries before their birth. They dream of freedom." Devnet Allaine, daughter to a celtic prieste...
