History Books Forgot About Us by Teenage Anomaly
A/N: Hellooooo, beautiful people! I normally write LOST stuff, but I was watching King Arthur a few weeks ago, and this just sort of popped into my head. I absolutely adore OCs, too, so, I mean. What else can you say, really? I've already got most of this written (it's going to be a little over ten chapters, I think) so updates will be pretty frequent. I'll post the next chapter once I get a couple of reviews. (couch cough). Anyway, hope everyone's having a lovely summer!
Summary: After a car accident, Evelyn Bond is thrown back through the ages to land smack dab in the middle of the camp of the Sarmation knights. Speaking very little Latin and not knowing how to ride a horse, she has to travel with the knights as they go to fetch Marius Honorius and his family. However, as she and certain knights grow on each other a little too much, history and hearts are set at a crossroads. Lancelot/OC/Arthur, Lancelot/Guinevere/Arthur.
Rating: T for language, sexual content and some language.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own King Arthur or the songs featured at the beginnings of each chapter. The title of the story is taken from the song Sampson, belonging to Regina Spektor. I own Evelyn and the plot that isn't connected with the movie. THIS IS THE DISCLAIMER FOR ALL FOLLOWING CHAPTERS.
And history books forgot about us and the bible didn't mention us You are my sweetest downfall
And the bible didn't mention us, not even once
I loved you first, I loved you first
Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads
But they're just old light, they're just old light
Chapter One: Body Odor and Dead Languages
Evelyn was not the kind of girl you'd call significant. She was short, a little chubby, she cackled when she laughed and snorted when she tried not to laugh. She was loud, the kind of loud that signifies a person who isn't used to being listened to, and she was crude, but she was also kind. She had a shoulder that had been softened by so many tears it was basically a pillow, and piercing blue eyes that could freeze your heart or melt it.
She was in her purple mini-van, bag filled with clothes, toiletries, sketchbook, iPod, camera and computer in the passenger seat, singing along to music as she drove to her friend's house. The day was grey and cloudy, but not yet raining. It was the kind of day in which one almost expected something extraordinary to happen.
It wasn't a dangerous intersection. And the accident definitely wasn't her fault. It was the boy in the white truck's fault, the boy with the sad smile and the bedroom eyes, when his brakes went out suddenly and he went skidding right into her. Time slowed down, and when she looked up to see his panicked face, she actually smiled at him.
-
When she woke up, she expected to see the white of a hospital, at the very least. To her a soft hum of machines and the voices of nurses and doctors. But instead, she heard voices speaking in a language she didn't understand, the crackle of a fire, and the soft braying of horses. She felt grass pressing against her sore back, scratching her face, and she smelled grass and horses and unwashed humans and blood-
She opened her eyes, very slowly, and groaned. She could see trees rising above her, and patches of the night sky here and there. Smoke rose from the fire and swirled over her face. She screwed her eyes shut again.
The voices were familiar, even though the language wasn't. Or was it? It definitely wasn't English, but there was…. something…
"Operor vos reputo puella mos excito sursum nunc?" (Do you think the girl will wake up soon?)
If only her head wasn't pounding as badly as it was…
Latin. She was taking Latin at her high school, and though she was not exactly an attentive student of the language, it was very recognizable… they were speaking Latin, a dead language.
She forced her eyelids open again, ignoring the stinging smoke, and rolled her head over. Her vision, still swimming, focused on a group of men, all sitting around the crackling fire. They all seemed to be… shiny?
One of them had dark, curly hair and a very intense face, and he seemed to have been the one who'd just spoken. Another man, built like a tank and bald, answered him in what had to be the Roman equivalent to a cockney accent, but his language was different. Still latin, but not completely latin.
She recognized them, but she couldn't think where from. A movie, maybe?
Her head hurt. Her head hurt, and her stomach hurt, and she felt like pins were being stuck into her shoulder. She felt the weight of something on her left arm, and the material felt like that of her bag.
Good, she found herself thinking sluggishly. At least I'll have some clothes.
Another man, tall dark and handsome, with a serene face and beautiful eyes, seemed to realize she was awake, and he said something to the other knights (knights? Why did she think knights?) who then all turned to her.
"You have pretty eyes," she heard herself say to the serene one. The men just stared at her, then the tank-like one laughed and said something in his garbled speech to her. She tried to shake her head and moved to sit up, clutching the grass with one hand and her head with the other. The world swam dizzyingly in front of her, the men swimming in circles. The men tensed and backed away slightly, as though they thought she was dangerous. That struck her as funny. When she removed her hand from her pounding head, she found that it was covered in blood.
"Oh, shit," she said, staring at it. She was beginning to wake up more now, the picture in front of her gaining focus, the faces of the men sharpening, the smells ripening. The men seemed to understand, at least partially, what she'd uttered, and there was laughter, mainly from the big guy, a man with long blonde hair, and a younger looking man with thick, curly brown hair who was unbelievably gorgeous.
The man who seemed to be their leader, the serene and serious one, asked her a question in Latin. She just shook her head.
"I don't speak Latin," she said, very slowly. The man stared at her, uncomprehending. It was beginning to register in her tired and dazed mind, where and when she was, and she knew she'd freak out later.
"Roman," she said, reaching out to the man- Arthur. The man called Tristan's hand twitched toward his dagger, but Arthur gave him a look that stopped him. She smiled at him in what she hoped was an encouraging way, then touched her hand to her own chest.
"American," she said, knowing full well that this would mean nothing to them, but hoping that it would let them know she wasn't from around here. Arthur shook his head almost apologetically, his eyes not leaving hers.
" ego - ego operor non -" (I- I don't)
She knew enough latin to get the basic gist and nodded, digging through her mind furiously.
"Um… sum, eh, Evelyn? Evelyn Bond."
She stared at him. "Sum Evelyn."
I am Evelyn.
He nodded very slowly. "Eve-lyn."
A grin spread across her face. "Yes. Um… ita… vero?"
"Yes," he repeated, his gravelly voice unsure, and she nodded again, feeling very proud of herself. "Ita vero."
"Yes," he said again, more confidently. He turned and said something to the rest of the knights, and whatever it was, they didn't like it. The tank-man, Bors, who had been shaking his head, now interrupted in a stream of angry Latin and…. Gaelic? He was staring at Arthur, but gestured angrily at Evelyn. The man called Lancelot said a few biting words, and she wasn't sure if they were aimed at Arthur, Bors, or herself. She watched in fascination, amazed at hearing dead languages spoken aloud by people who actually… knew them.
Arthur answered back, his words sharp but not harsh. Bors shook his head, shouted something else, and gestured to Evelyn.
"Exsisto unus lemma!" (She could be one of them!)
She wasn't stupid. She knew who these men were; she knew what they were fighting. She opened her mouth to say something (what, she didn't know), but Arthur beat her to it.
"Est parvulus, Bors." (She's a child, Bors.)
"Parvulus vel haud parvulus , is venit ex nusquam per livor totus super suus somes quod a cruentus vulnus in pars of suus caput capitis! Quam operor vos TENEO est non unus lemma?" (Child or no child, she came outta nowhere with bruises all over her body and a bloody wound on the side of her head! How do you KNOW she ain't one of them?)
Lancelot interrupted, shaking his striking head. Evelyn's latin was not nearly up to these standards, and she was lost in the conversation. Galahad moved over to her, smiling gently, his clothes rustling, and put a hand over his heart.
"Galahad," he said, and she nodded.
"I know," she said. He merely looked confused, and she sighed.
"Est knowledgus?"
Nothing.
"It was worth a try," she informed him. He smiled, confused, and shook his head.
"Operor non agnosco." (I don't understand.)
"Yeah, I know," she sighed, before looking back up at him with a brilliant smile. She put a hand to her chest.
"Evelyn," she said. "Sum Evelyn."
Gently, he grasped her small hand in his large, calloused one, and brought it to his smiling lips, eyes never leaving hers.
"Iucunditas, Ev-a-lyn," he murmured. The blonde man- Gawain- nudged him and laughed, and then Galahad punched him in the side.
Lancelot and Arthur were talking in low voices, Dagonet and Tristan were ignoring her, Gawain and Galahad were now wrestling quietly, and Bors was glaring at her.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and tried not to cry as she stared at the men around her.
-
She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she woke up to feel hands on her shoulders and rolled over with a panicked gasp to see Arthur. He held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, and then gestured to the cloak he'd just covered her with- the one off his back. His face was sincere and beautiful; he had the kind of face that one immediately turned to for comfort or confirmation. The clearing was filled with the snores of Bors, not exactly romantic, but Eve had to fight back a wide grin and an "awwww". It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for her. High-school guys in the 21st century weren't exactly chivalrous.
Arthur smiled at her again, an expression that didn't quite reach his eyes, before he went to lay back down.
Eve pulled the cloak tighter around her shivering shoulders. She'd thankfully brought a pillow in her bag, so she had that, and now Arthur's cloak.
The sky was beginning to lighten now, into a very dusky gray, but she fell back asleep, her stomach churning.
-
When Eve awoke a few hours later, the pain in her head and the pain all over her body (from the wreck and sleeping on the hard ground, she supposed) caused her to roll over and immediately throw up in the grass. Her body heaved as she clutched at the ground, and then she collapsed, tears rolling down her white face. There were footsteps, quiet crunching noises, and boots came into her vision. The legs attached to the boots crouched down, and then Galahad's sympathetic face came into her view. Not caring that she was crying, not caring about anything, she simply stared up at him. He gave her a small smile and then reached a hand out to her.
"I'm so tired," she informed him, knowing full well that he didn't understand. He merely nodded and gestured with his hand, the meaning clear: c'mon, girl.
Mustering all her strength, emotional and physical, she grabbed the knight's hand and he pulled her to her feet. She stood up for the first time since the crash only to find that Galahad, one of the shorter knights, was almost a head taller than her.
"Gratis," she said to him, and he nodded, a wide smile breaking across his face, and he began speaking in rapid latin, but she shook her head, and he trailed off, looking a little disappointed.
"I only know a few words," she said slowly, holding up two fingers, then doing the duck move with her hand to mime talking. After looking at her in confusion, understanding dawned on Galahad's face.
The rest of the knights were waking up as well, getting the horses ready to leave. They didn't seem to care about her anymore- or, at least, they wanted her to think that. But she saw the looks they gave her when they thought she wasn't looking.
When they were finally ready to leave, Galahad gestured to his horse, speaking in that odd mix of Gael and Latin, and then mimed lifting something onto it. The horse neighed and its intelligent eyes fixed Eve in a stare. She moved to it and gingerly reached out to pet his long snout. He snorted, but allowed her to pet him.
Lancelot said something, and Dagonet replied in a laughing tone. Eve bent down slowly to pick up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder and turned to Galahad, motioning to the horse like he had done.
"Ita vero," she said. "Yes."
His face widened into that easy-going smile again, and he lifted her onto the horse, almost effortlessly. The other knights laughed when she gasped and clutched at the horse's mane. Galahad raised himself up in front of her, then grabbed her wrists and pulled them around his waist, grinning the entire time. Tristan said something she knew couldn't be polite, because Lancelot gave a low whistle and Bors erupted into laughter with Dagonet and Gawain, and even Arthur smiled.
Eve flipped them off, which had no effect on them what-so-ever.
---
It only took a few hours of horse back riding for Eve to decide that she didn't like it at all. Her butt was sore, her back was killing her, her headache was going full-throttle, and to top it off, she felt greasy and dirty and really wanted a shower.
Not a good day.
She'd put on all the socks she'd had with her that morning, as she only had a t-shirt, canvas shorts, and now Arthur's cloak to protect her from the cold. One of the pairs of socks was of the kind that went up to her thigh (and had Jack Sparrow's face on the side). She was glad that her friend's house was perpetually cold, leading her to bring more than was probably necessary. The knights seemed amused by her clothing, but even they- womanizers, if what she knew and what she'd seen was any indication- were also a little scandalized by a woman running around in what they considered underwear.
If they saw her underwear, she thought wryly to herself, they'd probably fall off those horses.
Gahalad and Gawain, who seemed to be very good friends, rode together and laughed and talked, but there was still an undertone of tension and focus, as though at any second they could go from laughing men to soldiers. They could. She knew they could. But what if they were attacked? What about her?
She shuddered and tightened her arms around Galahad's waist, looking out at the dark forest that encompassed them, imagining painted blue faces.
It wasn't that she blamed the Woads- the Picts. She'd fight for her freedom too, if it came to that.
But if they attacked, now, she didn't know what she'd do. She was stronger than she looked, with cool nerves and head on her shoulders in a crisis, and she could fight with her hands, but fists weren't much compared to metal so sharp it could cut you with barely a graze.
And she knew about that, she thought, looking down at her arm, which she'd nicked on Galahad's sword.
She supposed she would hide, maybe take a weapon, and try to stay alive. If she had to, she'd join the Woads, if the unbelievable happened and the knights died.
But as she looked to the front of the pavilion, to Arthur, she didn't think that was going to happen.
-
Using the bathroom was very, very awkward. Being the only female in a group of seven guys was a factor, as was that they could just stand up and whip it out and she had to go somewhere secluded and squat down and pray that they didn't think barging in on her would be funny.
"Stay," she said very forcefully to Arthur, who made to follow her when they rested. She pointed to the ground he was standing on, then to him. He looked at her, that perpetually thoughtful and sad look on his gorgeous face.
"I'm going to the bathroom," she said, pointed at Bors, who was doing his business with his back to them. She held out a hand and moved two of her fingers across it; walking.
"I'll be right back," she said, and then disappeared into the forest.
---
Arthur went back to join his knights, still keeping half an eye on the place where the girl had disappeared.
Came out of nowhere from the forest, then disappeared back into it like she belonged there. Spies were above Woad intelligence, but the girl almost made him wonder…
"She's nothing like them," said Tristan absentmindedly, sharpening his dagger, and Arthur looked over at him, but said nothing.
"Different style of moving, language that I've never heard before, clothes that I've never seen…" he shook his head, shaggy hair swaying with the movement. "She's something different altogether."
"That's little comfort," said Arthur, and Tristan held the knife up to the light to examine it.
"I know," he said. "But it's a comfort."
The girl emerged from the woods a few seconds later. That bewildered look she wore seemed almost plastered onto her pretty face, which, given the circumstances of her appearance, was understandable. The right side of her head was covered in dried blood, but she appeared to have tried to clean some of it off. Her hair was now pulled back, not in a bun, as was the style, but as the Briton man wore his hair- a tail, but higher on her head.
She glanced around the camp, pretty blue eyes nervous, scanning all of the men, almost as though she was sizing them up. When her eyes reached Arthur's, he was still staring at her, and he nodded to her. She smiled a crooked smile at him, those eyes crinkling up as she began to walk over to him. She had a very identifiable gait- she swaggered like man, instead of swaying like a woman. In a lot of ways, she was very masculine. And in a lot of ways, pure woman.
She sat down next to him, on a dead tree that had fallen over, and said something in that awkward, clunky speech that she had. She gestured wildly, her voice full of emotion and she turned her big, pleading blue eyes onto him.
"I don't know what you're saying," he informed her, and she sighed, shaking her bloody head. She said something else, then followed it by the familiar phrase, "Ita vero."
"How do you know that?" he asked her. She stared at him, uncomprehending. "How do you know some words, some phrases?" he asked her very slowly. He tapped his forehead, held up two fingers, then pointed to his mouth. Understanding lit up her blue eyes, and she asked him something. He repeated the words, slowly, hesitantly.
"Took a latin class?"
A bright grin lit up her face, transforming her momentarily. She was suddenly not just a misplaced, bewildered girl, but also a stunning young woman. Arthur found that he was smiling back at her involuntarily.
"Took… a… latin… class," she said, very slowly. He knew the word "latin", of course, but the others were unfamiliar.
"Class," she said, then began miming something. She looked almost like a teacher, standing up with a very stern look on her face and gesturing to the rock she had been sitting on, and then she was sitting back on the rock, one leg crossed over the other, staring at where she'd been standing a second ago, face intense, nodding.
Teacher.
She was educated, but in a different language, and she'd somehow learned part of his language from another teacher.
She saw the understanding dawn in his eyes, and nodded. "Class," she said.
The other men were now on their horses again, ready to be on the move. Lancelot rode over to the two of them, his dark face intense.
"Arthur," he said. "The men are ready to move out." His eyes flicked to the girl, who was studying him with an almost detached interest. She grinned at him, when he caught her looking, but he merely turned away.
"Is she going to slow us down?" he asked Arthur as the older man raised himself onto his horse. He saw Galahad extend a hand to help the girl up. She smiled at him, saying something.
"Gratis."
Not answering Lancelot, because he wasn't really sure what to say, he rode to the front of the group, and they were off again.
---
They stopped only once more that day, excepting when they slept that night.
Eve's arms were chaffed from Galahad's rough shirt, her legs were chaffed from gripping a horse, her butt was spectacularly bruised, her back was killing her, and she needed a shower very desperately. When Arthur finally called a halt for the day, she slid off Galahad's horse and simply collapsed onto the damp, cold ground. Her back cracked almost five times and she lay there, spread eagled, clutching her bag and telling herself that a normal person would be crying.
But then, she'd never been normal, had she?
The knights were laughing at her and Dagonet bent over to say something to her that was probably rude, but she simply gave him the thumbs up.
"That's awesome, dude," she said.
The knights didn't exactly have sleeping bags. They slept on the bare ground, wrapped up in a thin blanket, and there was always at least two of them awake, keeping watch. Eve was growing used to them, to the latin and Gaelic, to their smell (which wasn't exactly pleasant) and to the angry looks that all of them except for Galahad and Arthur gave her.
However, that didn't mean that she wanted to be like them. So when she heard the stream near by, she grabbed her bag and disappeared into the woods after trying to explain to Arthur what she was doing.
---
To say that the knights were unhappy about their newest addition would be a grievous understatement. While the girl was undoubtedly pretty, the knights seldom thought about women while on missions. They tried to stay focused on the task at hand, and the girl would be a distraction, at best. She would also slow them down, and now, they would have to worry about protecting her if they had to fight- and most of them knew that they would have to fight. Galahad didn't seem to mind her, but he was still of the young and happier age where every woman was beautiful and worth protecting, and Arthur cared for everyone, but the others would be happy to leave her behind.
The two who were the unhappiest with the current situation were Lancelot and Bors. Bors simply didn't like being hindered, especially by a woman, and Lancelot didn't like that Arthur seemed to want to protect the young thing, and he despised himself for being distracted by her.
Considering what was about to happen, that was very ironic.
Lancelot wasn't big on wondering aimlessly, but after the girl had been gone for fifteen minutes, Arthur asked him to go check on her. As much as Arthur ever asked anything, anyway. He'd never force anyone to do anything, but there was a power and grace in his being that made you want to obey him. So with a dark look, Lancelot entered the woods where the girl had last been.
Tracking her was easy. She wasn't graceful, and she had that large, odd-looking pack with her. He followed her trail until the woods opened up and he saw the river he'd been hearing, along with the girl- completely naked, in the water up to her waist, with her back to him.
He smirked, and called out to her. She shrieked and ducked completely into the water that had to be freezing, before turning around and yelling at him. They didn't have to speak the same language for him to understand what she was saying. Under the water, her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, and she was shivering. Lancelot closed his eyes and turned his back to her.
"I'm not looking, you moronic woman," he said. "Get out of the damn water before you freeze to death. Actually, in that case-"
He was cut off by biting words, very close to him, and he opened his eyes in time to see a leg disappear underneath the deep red of Arthur's cloak. The girl was glaring at him, her hair wet, shivering. She smelled different. She smelled odd, and floral.
"Your smell is different," he said, and she just raised an eyebrow, before saying something sarcastically.
"Haven't you realized that I don't understand you?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow as well. He was unaware that she had just uttered the same thing.
In that instant, all the fight and fire seemed to go out of her and she slouched over. Pulling out a hand from underneath the cloak (he once again caught a glimpse of skin, this time a stomach, and she was tan for a woman) she flapped it (her hand) at him, the universal, timeless sign for "get the hell away from me".
He gave her a short, sarcastic bow. "As you wish, my lady," he almost snarled at her, glaring at her before heading back to the camp.
---
"Where is she?" asked Arthur once he reached the camp. Lancelot shot a look at him.
"She's bathing," he spat.
---
Eve felt much better, albeit very embarrassed after her encounter with the handsome knight that seemed to hate her.
She felt clean, she looked clean, she smelt clean, and she had half a mind to try and make the knights bathe too, because, to be frank, they stunk. The only one that didn't reek was Arthur, and she supposed that came from his being Roman, having public baths and all.
When she got to the camp, all the knights were sleeping (and snoring very loudly) except for Arthur and, as her luck would have it, Lancelot.
"What's up?" she greeted, sitting down next to the future king. He simply looked at her before saying something. She sighed and shook her wet head, pulling his cloak tighter around her cold shoulders.
"I know we probably need to talk to each other, so that we can learn how to communicate," she said, "but I'm too freaking tired right now." She patted the man's iron clad knee before pulling out her pillow and turning over to sleep.
TBC...
"Sampson" by Regina Spektor.
PLEASE REVIEW!
Love, Sarah