Muccamukk (muccamukk) wrote in knightgasm,
Muccamukk
muccamukk
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Killer White Plot Bunny

Title: Number Three
Author(s): muccamukk
Warnings: PG-13: Domestic violence, adult situations. Not Bata'd. Spoilers for the movie and probably won't make sense if you haven't seen it.
Word Count: 287
Characters: Bors, Vanora and children.
Summery: Lancelot claimed to have had her, Bors wants answers.
Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure that Arthur and company are public domain, anything from the movie belongs to someone else. I am making no money. I have no money. Suing me would be pointless.



The night after they defeated the Saxons, Bors staggered home a little before dawn. He was drunk, even more so than usual, and in a red rage.

The collapsing door woke the house, but no one stirred. The children knew better. Vanora was too weary to care.

But he tore her from their bed, cursing, not noticing as her shift shredded in his grip. "Did he have you?"

She should have feared him, but she was angry beyond fear. How dare he? "You've no claim on me, man!"

"Did he have you?"

Her teeth rattled as he shook her. She knew her shoulders would be black for weeks. But she had had worse. How easily he could crush the life from me. "Yes," she said it with no guilt and only a little fear. She said it to hurt him, maybe for the last time, not because she was afraid. "Once," she added. Maybe a little afraid, then.

She crumpled to the bed as he dropped her. She could indulge no pain. He would be in the children's room by now. She cursed him as she followed, damning him, pleading with him not to harm her babies. He would not hear he.

He held their third high, hands easily encircling his small chest. Staring intently into his wet brown eyes. The boy didn't make a sound.

Bors easily swatted away her knife, sending her back into the wall, clutching the third to his breast with the other hand. "I knew this was his." His voice was softer now, no longer rattling the cupboards.

"Bors, please, I'm sorry…"

The knight sank to the floor beside her. Sobbing into the boy's black curls, cradling him to his heart.
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