Denial, Ch. 47; I'll Carry You Home
Title: Denial, Ch. 47; I'll Carry You Home
Author: darkentwisted
Characters/Pairings: Much/Carter, King Richard, Rahiim (O.C.) Mentions: Robin,
Rating: PG-13 (For mention of slash, M/M, angst)
Genre: slash, angst,
Words: 2670
Disclaimer: BBC & TA own; I just want to play in their universe
Notes: This continues the 'Round-Robin' fic 'Denial'.
Personally tested and sanitized for your protection by robinfanatic & wastingyourgum, poor souls with an unenviable task.
Summary: A tragic tale told backwards How will it end for our two lovers?.
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Previous Chapters: Summary of previous chapters...
He stood over the lifeless body of the man who had come to mean everything to him in the short year they had been together. "You shouldn't be here. I should have left you with Robin in the forest. You would be safe now."
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He remembered the last sound his love made as he watched him go. Even as he lay dying, Much was more concerned with the man before him than himself. The pitying look in his eyes seemed to say, "What will become of you now?"
Carter held his lover as the poison shut down his lungs and he gasped for air. There was no hope left, just comfort for the dying. "It's all right, my love, just let go," Carter calmly pleaded as he smoothed his squire's blond hair. Much looked up with sad pale blue eyes and Carter wished he could give up his own breath that Much should live. When the time came, he went softly, eyes focused on the man he loved, his last laboured breath leaving his body in a soft sigh. Carter cried out and clutched his lover in fury and anguish. He had never felt any pain like it before and never would again.
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Tears. He remembered tears and the soft whimpering sounds that were all the poor man on the bed could make as the shadow of death overtook him. Carter had come to realize during Much's last hours what each sound was as the paralysis from the evil Turk's toxin robbed his squire of his most prized possession, his voice. "What is it, my love?" he said as he ran to his squire's side. "Oh it's all right," he smiled as he changed the wet bedding. "You can't help it. You will get better I promise you. The old healer has no idea." Moist blue eyes echoed his false hope. Deep down both men knew it was a lie and worse lay ahead.
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Uncoordinated fingers scrawled across the slate. Carter mainly let him try because it gave him hope. Some of the words were even legible. Much would motion as best he could to get his master's attention when at last he finished what he wrote. Carter made out the word 'home' and 'please'. Carter frowned crossly at his patient. "I told you you're not going to die!"
Much glared at his lover and pointed as best as he could to the scrawl with his right hand having lost the use of his favored left one the day before. Carter wished there was more the healer could do for his squire and the wait was becoming agonizing. At least the dreadful shakes and sweating was past. What seemed like a relief was actually a bad omen. As the healer said, the exotic poison that tainted the Saracen's dagger was shutting his lover's body down as it worked through his system.
Carter put on a brave face as Much pleaded silently. "For the last time you are not dying! But if that ever happens," he relented, "you know I will carry you home...on my back if I have to." He took the slate from Much's hand and eased his ailing lover back down on the cot. "Now please? No more of this. Rest."
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The shivers had started again. Carter added more blankets, although he was already covered in a sheen of sweat. Much pressed harder against his lover for warmth. "I'm sssssssorry," he gravelled through partially paralyzed vocal cords. "Sssssss-so cold."
"If it should keep death away I would place the coals in bed with us," Carter soothed as he held Much tighter. He hoped the healer was right, the poison would go no further and his squire would be able to sweat it out. His own comfort mattered little.
"I l-love you always, rrrrrremember that," Much said through clenched teeth as another wave of chills befell him.
"You will live to tell me that till we are old and gray, my love," Carter chided as he hugged the shivering man tighter. It would be the last time he would hear his lover's voice. By morning, all Much could manage was a whimper. Carter cried for the first time while his lover feverishly slept.
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"No change?" the king asked as Carter went to the mess tent to pick up food.
"No change, Your Majesty," Carter replied. "He can hardly move and cannot eat anything more substantial than porridge. He can barely talk and I have to feed him." He lifted the spoon and let the watery gruel drip off of it. "Much hates porridge."
Richard grabbed his knight's arm as the young man's eyes misted. "He is strong, Carter. He will fight this."
"But what if he doesn't?" Carter gazed at the monarch.
"We could all die in our beds tonight if the Turk chooses," Richard replied. "I love him too, Carter, but we must keep it together."
"I have to go back to him." Carter looked down at the hand on his bicep then beggingly into Richard's blue eyes. "Pray for us."
"You know I will."
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"How is our soldier today?" the King called out before entering the tent. Much struggled to raise up but his legs had failed him the day before.
Carter placed a hand on his squire's shoulder to steady him. "No need to rise. He understands, Much."
Much relented and lay back down in the bed. "Still breathing, Sire." He smiled as the regent took his hand.
"You are a brave soldier," Richard replied. "Rahiim will have you up and around in no time." He motioned jocularly at Carter, "Sorry to leave you with such an unattractive nursemaid."
Much rolled his eyes and whispered conspiratorially. "He is pretty to look at, Sire, but a little too fussy."
"See if I tuck your cold feet under the blanket again!" Carter snorted.
"What's the point. I can't feel them!" As soon as Much uttered the phrase, all three men sobered.
"Get better, Lord Much. I need a word with your master." The king led his knight out of the tent. "So the poison is progressing?"
"We found out he couldn't walk yesterday," Carter replied. "The healer said whatever was on that blade was just enough to assure a slow death unless he is strong enough to fight it." He leveled his eyes at the monarch. "Rahiim says the worst is yet to come, chills, convulsions then death. He said he has seen it before but the onset is usually much more rapid."
"Yes 'frozen death' they call it, because the victim is paralyzed before dying. Do not worry. Much is strong and the wound he got was slight." The king placed his hand on Carter's shoulder. "He will recover."
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The previous day's events left both men bruised, wounded and exhausted. Carter turned in the first light of morning. He wasn't too concerned when his squire failed to wake before him and draw the water to wash away the grit and sand that covered them as they slept. He nudged his lover as he rose to prepare himself. "Time to get up, Much...things to do."
"I'm awake," Much answered, the tone in his voice echoing the fear in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" Carter asked as alarms rang in his head.
"It's nothing." Much tried to sound calm. "I'm sure it will pass."
"What will pass?"
The squire blinked back tears as he looked at Carter. "I tried to rise an hour ago, I can't move my legs."
Carter was dressed and at the entrance to the tent in seconds. "I'm going for the healer. Everything's going to be fine, Much."
The squire watched helplessly from the cot as his lover ran toward Rahiim's tent.
"I hope so," he sobbed.
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"You are very lucky," the old Saracen lamented as he stitched the small wound on Much's chest closed with the fine thread. "You should be dead."
Much grimaced as he gripped Carter's arm feeling each deft stroke of the needle through injured flesh. "I don't feel lucky!"
The healer applied lavender oil to the sutured wound and bandaged it. "Come back in two days for me to check the wound or immediately if paralysis sets in."
"Paralysis?" Carter looked at the old man with widened eyes.
"That dagger, the one you brought that wounded him, it is tainted." Rahiim pointed to the green, tar-like substance that coated the curved blade. "'Frozen death.' He is lucky. I washed out the wound as well as I could. That he is not dead already is good." The healer pointed at Carter. "You watch him, any change, you come, you pray to your God."
Much's pale face and large eyes betrayed his fear as Carter reassured him. "You'll be fine. Rahiim's just being cautious."
"But if I die?"
"You won't die."
"Carter...promise."
The knight sighed and uttered the line he had rehearsed every time his panicked manservant got like this. "Yes, Much. Should anything befall you I won't let the desert take you. I will carry you back to England...on my back if I have to." He smiled and touched his forehead to his lover's. "I'll carry you home."
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Blood, drums and the ever present heat overwhelmed them as they were caught up in battle. Too many men and it was hard to see who was friend and who was foe. Much found himself constantly at war with protecting his master and protecting himself. It was too late when he saw the dagger swing toward him. Reflexes honed by years of battle and muscle memory took over and he curved his body away from the blade as it swung down. He almost laughed out loud as it sliced through his shirt then skin. He could tell the wound wasn't deep and his assailant failed in his task. He was sure he would live to fight another day but his attacker would not. Much deftly thrust his sword into the Saracen's abdomen, making blood shoot out of his enemie's mouth as the warrior's entrails were pierced. "You missed!" He cried out victoriously.
The Saracen grinned with his dying breath. In Arabic, he spat at his murderer, "I didn't miss. You will follow me in death soon enough, infidel!"
"What did he say?" Much asked Carter as he looked down at the fleshwound he received. "Oh...my best tunic too."
Carter paused, frowning at the dead man. "He said 'you will follow him in death'." He picked up the evil looking blade and gazed at the sap covered edge. "We need to get you to Rahiim and have you looked at."
"It's just a fleshwound, Carter," Much tutted as he looked again at the wound then down at the dead Saracen. "I received worse in Sherwood cleaning squirrels for dinner."
"Ugh squirrel," Carter groaned. "What you outlaws were forced to eat." He grabbed his squire's arm and pulled him over the corpse. "Humour me, lets go see the healer."
Much shrugged, "Well... all right but I'll be fine. You'll see."
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A noise at the tent entrance stirred him from his memories. He looked down at Much's still form then up as King Richard joined him.
"He was a fine young man, Carter, and a good knight."
"He was more than that to me and you know it, Sire." Carter glared through tear-reddened eyes.
"I do." Richard smiled. He tried best he could to console his knight. "You have to let him go now, it's been two days. The healers are worried he will cause a pestilence if he is allowed to be unburied or unburned for much longer."
"I won't let you cremate him!" Carter spat. "Better the desert take him!" He affectionately stroked the cold cheek of his dead lover. "He wanted me to take him home."
"To England." Richard shook his head. "If only we could. We can cremate him and send his ashes back to be scattered."
"No cremation!" Carter's eyes glared with fury. "He wanted to let the sweet soil of his own country take him. He told me so."
"Wouldn't we all." The king reasoned, "We'll let the desert take him first. He will not decay. I've seen what the sand does to the dead. Much will be dry as leather in a month." Richard looked at the distraught soldier. "It's the best we can do for him now. When the time comes, we will disinter him and you can take him with you when you go home."
"Without him I have no home," Carter lamented. "If my time comes here, Your Majesty, make sure I lie beside him in death as I did in life. Let the desert take us both."
"I will see to it, Lord Carter." Richard gripped the young knight's shoulders then held him as he wept.
Before Richard could summon the men to retrieve the body, Carter stopped him. "One last goodbye...please," he looked at the men waiting outside the tent. "With no one else present."
The king nodded solemnly as he gestured for the two men who were about to enter to turn back out of the tent.
Carter leaned over his lover one last time. "I'll carry you home, Much, back to England." He kissed the still lips, then paused.
"Carter..." the king interrupted, losing patience with the young man.
"Do the dead weep?" the knight said as he touched the corner of his squire's eye in fascination.
"Carter, enough of this foolishness..."
The knight quickly grabbed a small silver tray and held it under the corpse's nose. He waited, his own breath failing him. Slowly, condensation formed. "He breathes!"
King Richard wasted no time, running himself, to get the healer.
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The crumb of bread sailed past Carter's ear as he ate.
"I'm bored!" Much huffed as he lay propped up on the cot.
Carter retrieved the morsel and tossed it back at his impatient squire. "For someone who was dead two days ago, you certainly have rallied. Now behave and rest as Rahiim ordered."
"And for someone who mourned me two days ago, you have a horrible bedside manner," the former outlaw tutted back
Carter came over and checked his lover's arm. "You can throw again, that's a good sign."
"I'm still a little numb but the feeling is returning," Much said as he wiggled his fingers. He grabbed his unsuspecting master and pulled him into bed next to him.
"Much, this isn't resting!" Carter protested as his lips reluctantly met those of his patient.
"We are in bed are we not, Master?" Much nodded.
Carter relented with a sigh as his tongue swept over his lover's. He then shot bolt upright. "Oi!"
"Oi?" Much repeated.
"I almost forgot."
"Forgot what?" Much echoed again.
Carter fumbled in his pack and retrieved a neatly wrapped parcel. He smiled as he handed it to his questioning squire.
Much excitedly unwrapped the gift and grinned as he opened the paper. "A new tunic. For a moment there I thought it was just more..." He stopped as Carter presented him with a large dried bundle of their favourite flower.
"Happy first anniversary, my love." Carter grinned
"It is indeed," Much whispered through tears as their lips met.
The stage is set. This way please.