Dragon’s Wish
Chronology: Tristan is 18. Lancelot is 16. Raja is 8.
“What are you doing?” a harsh voice demanded.
Raja turned around to see her cousin looking at her angrily.
“Brushing Adonis,” she said casually. Adonis was Lancelot’s
horse.
Her cousin stomped over to her and snatched the brush from
her hand. Adonis nuzzled her head affectionately.
Lancelot sighed, irritated. “You don’t even know what you’re
doing.”
Raja looked at him quizzically. “Adonis didn’t seem to have
a problem with it. He likes me.”
“You think all animals like you,” he retorted. “Besides, he’s
already been groomed.” He put the brush back to its original place.
Raja scuffed her foot against the ground. She didn’t
understand why her cousin didn’t like her. When he wasn’t ignoring her, he was
teasing her, and when he wasn’t teasing her, he was berating her.
“You act like all these horses belong to you,” he continued.
“Like that little stunt you pulled last week.”
The week before Raja had released all the horses from their
stables. It had been a nice morning, so she thought they could all go for a
walk. The young stable hand was snoring in the corner and Jols hadn’t been
around. Her and the horses, including her Uncle Ardeth’s walked around in the
forest. When Jols had arrived to see that all the horses were gone, and the
young boy knew nothing about it, he was incensed. When the rest of the knights
were told that their horses were missing, they were angry. One of the Roman
guards told them that he saw “that little Egyptian girl” leading them away into
the woods. Just as they were about to go search, Raja and her companions were
already heading back to the stables. They shot questions at her, but were
relieved to see that their horses were all right.
“What did I say about this, Raja?” her uncle reproved.
“Nothing went wrong,” she insisted. “I would have protected
them with my life. We just wanted to go for a walk.”
The sincerity of her explanation mollified the outrage of
her actions. They could even be a bit amused. Jols was befuddled of her control
over the horses, damned surprised they hadn’t just run off. The only one that
wasn’t placated was Lancelot, now he was especially wary of his cousin being in
Adonis’s company.
“I apologized,” Raja told Lancelot. “I said I wouldn’t do it
again.”
“Damn right you won’t,” he snapped.
It was near dusk, the horses were being settled in for the
night. Tristan and Dagonet entered the stables to see to their horses, only to
find Lancelot lecturing Raja again. They minded their own, even though they
were just as confused as to why Lancelot was so short with his cousin. But it
made Tristan more than confused. He knew Lancelot’s barbs hurt Raja much more
than she let on.
Raja had stepped over to her uncle’s horse, Ra, to see how
he was doing. She had been spending most of her time in the stables now, ever
since her old mare had died less than a month ago, the cut of her mare’s passing
was deep. She brushed Ra gently, murmuring soothing Arabic words that she knew
he liked. Tristan kept a discreet eye on her to monitor her emotions. Ever
since her break down two months ago he had become more protective of her.
“Why do you have to be so impatient with her?” Dagonet
reproved quietly to Lancelot.
“She bloody thinks she can talk to animals, acts like she
runs the damned stables,” he hissed.
“She does not,” Dagonet countered, still whispering. “She
loves animals; you know she would do nothing to harm any of these horses.”
Lancelot scoffed. “She ought to go play with skunks,” his
voice rose a little. “With that hair she could be mistaken for one.”
From the corner of his eye, Tristan saw Raja wince and touch
the white streak in her hair. He knew she had not been born with that, and also
was aware that she was sensitive of it. He saw Raja swallow heavily, put the
brush down, pat Ra on the head before exiting the stables.
“She heard you,” Tristan said, giving Lancelot a deadly
glare.
Lancelot looked towards the stable doors before rolling his
eyes. “She’ll be fine.”
“She better be,” Tristan warned.
“Oh, there he is again,” Lancelot mocked, “Sir Tristan to
the rescue. Raja’s hero.”
Sir Tristan took a menacing step towards Lancelot. Dagonet
held up a hand, ever the peace maker. He wanted to punch Lancelot’s face in as
well, but he reigned that urge in. Tristan clenched his fists and left lest he
carry out his original intentions.
Dagonet shook his head at Lancelot, disappointed. “What the
hell is your problem?”
For the first time, Lancelot looked slightly contrite. “She
knows I was joking,” he said dismissively.
The other knight sighed.
-----------------------------------------
Dagonet, Arthur, Bors and Lancelot were already in the
tavern eating their breakfasts. A few moments later, Tristan and Raja walked in
and took seats next to each other at the table. Greetings stopped short when
the men noticed Raja’s hair.
“Uh...why did you cut off the white?” Bors asked.
She smiled and touched the area where the white strip of
hair had been. The night before she had chopped it off, shaved it down as close
to the scalp as she could get. In the morning she put some ink on the shaved
area, and then rearranged the parting of her hair to make it look more natural.
“I never liked it,” she said. “It was ugly.”
Dagonet looked at Lancelot pointedly.
“What?” Lancelot shrugged. Then he noticed the increasingly
unsettling gaze Tristan was giving him. The curly haired knight looked away.
Food was placed before Tristan and Raja. The little Egyptian
dug into her porridge hungrily, while the scout chewed slowly, methodically, an
ice gold stare pinned to Lancelot.
“I liked it,” Dagonet said.
Raja took a sip of her drink. “That’s nice of you, Dag. I
really should have cut it off a long time ago. It wasn’t natural.”
“Well, if you were born with it-” Arthur said.
Raja’s face subtly tightened. “I wasn’t born with it.”
“Oh,” Arthur was surprised. “I thought-”
She shook her head.
“How’d you get it then?” Lancelot asked.
Tristan kicked him hard in the shin underneath the table.
Lancelot’s face turned read, groaning in pain. The scout’s face betrayed
nothing as he continued to eat his food.
“What was that for?” Lancelot demanded.
“Sorry,” Tristan said, “muscle spasm.” Couldn’t the idiot
tell that the subject was a sensitive one?
Raja’s shoulders were hunched as she shoveled spoonfuls of
porridge into her mouth. When she was finished she hastily excused herself, she
had homework to complete.
“Don’t you think you could be a little nicer to her?” Arthur
asked. He was amazed at his friend’s aversion to Raja.
“What? I should coddle her like the rest of you?” he
defended.
“Nobody’s coddling her,” Bors said.
Lancelot scoffed. “Spoiled brat,” he muttered.
Tristan kicked him in the other shin, causing Lancelot to
howl even louder than before. Other patrons turned around to stare at the
commotion. Dagonet cocked his eyebrow at the scout.
Tristan shrugged. “Muscle spasm.”
-------------------------------------------
It was evening. The tavern was loud with laughter and
drunken babble. Tristan sat in a corner, sipping his ale and ignoring the
wenches that approached him. He had taken one two days ago; he could make do
for another few months. Then a voice, which certainly was not a wench, spoke
quietly in his ear.
“If you’re looking for a pretty lady I’ve seen a couple that
have been eyeing you rather voraciously,” Raja said.
She had been holed up in her room all day. She rarely came
to the taverns in the evenings, it wasn’t as if her uncle had forbidden her
from doing so – but what did an eight year old have to do among drunks and
whores? Raja sat next to him, holding a mug with both her hands, further hidden
in the shadows. The little imp was quieter than Tristan. How did she get into
the tavern and around all the tables without anyone noticing?
“Being small has its advantages,” she told him as if she had
read his mind. She took a gulp from her mug. “So, which ones are you looking
at?” She scanned the area.
“Are you drinking?” Tristan asked.
“When in
He wanted to take the mug away from her, but that was
something for a parent to do. How old had he been when he first drank? He
couldn’t remember.
“You didn’t answer me, Trissy. Which ones are you looking
at?”
“I’m not looking at any of them.” A few months ago, speaking
of this with her would have made him uncomfortable, now it seemed completely
natural.
“Oh,” she shrugged acceptingly. She gulped more of her ale.
“What will your uncle say about that?”
Raja stopped mid drink and looked into her cup. “You know, I
didn’t think of that.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Well, I’ll just
finish the rest and call it a night.”
Tristan smirked and finished the rest of his ale.
“I need your help,” she told him.
He raised his eyebrow. “With what?”
“An operation of the utmost importance.”
“Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Some sort of commander.”
She paused. “I didn’t realize I was. It must be all the
extra reading I’ve been doing. Anyway, I need your muscle; I can’t carry him by
myself.” She looked at Lancelot across the ways.
“Interesting.”
-----------------------------------------
Tristan and Raja huddled in the corner of the alleyway. It
was the middle of autumn and the wind was sending a sharp chill through Raja’s
body.
“I’m certainly not in
Tristan took off his cloak and draped it over her. He had
never seen someone so affected by an autumn breeze.
“Thank you,” she smiled, gathering up the large piece of
cloth. It could have covered two of her. “Won’t you be cold though?”
“Hmmph. I’ll be fine,” he told her,
smiling in the dark. “There he is.”
She looked and saw Lancelot coming down the ways with a
woman attached to his person. Raja took from her satchel what looked to be a
very thin wooden dart with a colorful feather on the end. Then she put the dart
into a wooden blowpipe.
“What is that?” his voice barely above a whisper.
She struggled to hide her devious snickering. “You’ll see.
Be ready to silence the woman.”
Raja got into place to do whatever she was going to do. She
put her lips to the end of her foreign apparatus, aiming it carefully. When
Lancelot was in the perfect place, she blew the wooden dart from the tube,
right into the side of Lancelot’s neck. He looked confused for a moment, and
pulled the dart from his neck. Before he could say a thing, he collapsed to the
ground. And just as Raja knew, the woman would scream, but Tristan came behind
her and put his hand over her mouth. When the woman saw Raja, a tiny little
thing, her panic simmered to confusion.
“Don’t scream,” Raja told her.
Slowly, Tristan uncovered the woman’s mouth, no scream was
forthcoming.
“You killed him,” she squeaked.
Tristan was thinking the same thing.
“No, no,” the little one said, waving her hand dismissively
at the notion. “He’s just unconscious. I promise.” She bent down to pick up the
dart. Then she took out three pure gold coins. She took the woman’s hand,
dropping the loot into it. “For your silence.”
The woman looked at the coins, confused.
Raja sighed. “Oh all right.” She dumped five more gold coins
into the woman’s hand. “I’m not going to hurt him,” she assured her. “But I
need you not to tell anyone. For tonight, anyway.”
The woman couldn’t stop looking at the gold she held. “I
won’t say a word.”
“Thank you,” Raja said, “I appreciate it.” Now she was back
to business. “Okay, I need you to carry him,” she told Tristan. “I would drag
him, but I doubt I could even do that.”
Tristan decided to remain silent for the moment. He had
never seen a weapon such as the one Raja used, nor someone with that many coin
– and gold coin at that – on such a young person. With almost little effort,
Tristan had Lancelot over his shoulders.
------------------------------------
Using great stealth, they forwarded themselves to Lancelot’s
hut. Raja opened the door, holding it open for Tristan.
“Okay, I’ll need him in a chair for this.” She pulled one
out and steadied Lancelot as Tristan plopped the immobile body onto it.
“Are you going to fill me in now?” he asked.
Raja went to stoke the fire, adding more light to the room.
Then she moved towards the bed where there were other small satchels, and
organized them on the table.
“I am going to mess with his heads,” she told him gleefully.
She readied her tools; all of them sharp save for a comb and a jar of liquid
oil.
“Raja,” Tristan hesitated, seeing her arsenal of tools that
looked like a pocket sized version of the armory.
“Just a haircut, Trissy,” she said. She began to snip off
Lancelot’s raven curls with scissors. “You asked what I was using. I used a
wooden dart from the jungles of
Tristan sat down on the bed, interested in this new weapon
she spoke of.
“Do you have more?”
She beamed a conspiratorial smile at him, which he returned.
“There’s apples in my larger satchel,” said Raja.
He didn’t hesitate to take one. He used his dagger to slice
pieces of it off.
“As for the coin,” she spoke, “nobility has its perks.” She
finished cutting off Lancelot’s hair. She took one of her sharp objects used
for shaving and dipped it in a liquid oil, humming a cheerful melody as she
worked. Tristan watched as she worked steadily and methodically, admiring her
sense of ingenuity. In a matter of time, Raja had shaved a crude target on
Lancelot’s head; two concentric circles, with a bull’s eye of hair in the very
center.
Tristan chuckled at the thought of Lancelot’s reaction in
the morning. Hopefully it would be humbling. Especially as he now saw Raja
shaving off Lancelot’s facial hair that he had been growing and painstakingly
grooming, then she removed his eyebrows.
“Done!” Raja announced with
flourish. She ignored her cousin’s prone body while she gathered up his fallen
hair with her hands before throwing them into the fire. “Now,” she grinned
widely, “for the finale.”
“There’s more?” Tristan asked, wondering what else she could
do to cause him embarrassment.
“Would you place him on the bed for me, please?”
He shrugged and complied.
“All right, I need you to assist for this one,” she told
him, two especially sharp objects held in each of her tiny hands.
“What are you going to do?”
Her smile could only be characterized as sadistic. “I am
going to deface his other head.”
“Huh?”
She looked at him, eyes aglitter. “You will now witness your
first bris.”
“What is that?”
“It is the Jewish rite of circumcising a male child on its
eighth day of life. But one does not have to be Jewish or eight days old for it
to actually be done.”
Tristan said nothing; he was still stuck on the word
‘circumcising.’
The little one saw the look of clarity pass over her
friend’s face. That’s what she meant by “his other head.”
He stopped her when he saw her going to untie the man’s
leather breeches. “I don’t think you should do that.”
She sighed impatiently. “Is this a sympathizing male thing?
Or are you becoming squeamish?”
He puffed up at the thought of being considered squeamish.
“No, but...”
“So it’s a male thing,” she repeated.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he averted answering
her question.
“I’ve seen one performed. It’s just cutting off some skin.”
This time he swiftly grabbed her weapons of defamation from her hands as she
went to untie Lancelot’s breeches.
“Excuse you!” she exclaimed looking betrayed.
He almost relented. Almost. “It
isn’t that I’m sympathizing with him, but you don’t know what you’re doing.”
It was her turn to be indignant. “It isn’t complicated. If
you don’t want to help, then don’t. I appreciate you getting him here, but I
have work to finish,” she went to grab her tools back, but he sidestepped her.
She hopped up and down trying to retrieve her implements, but Tristan was
taller.
“I’m not joking, Raj,” he told her.
“Is this about seeing his privates?” she went on. “You don’t
have to watch; I just need you to hold it up while I cut it off.”
Tristan’s male anatomy shuddered at the thought. She was
partially correct; it wasn’t Tristan himself sympathizing with Lancelot, but
rather his own privates that cried out for mercy on Lancelot’s behalf.
“Well?” Raja tapped her foot.
Tristan shook his head. Raja wilted, disappointed and a
little hurt at Tristan’s refusal to help.
“I thought you were on my side,” she accused.
“I am.”
She scoffed. She quickly began to pack up her tools,
muttering a slew of Arabic and Sarmatian obscenities. She held her hand out for
the two blades Tristan had in his possession so she could put them away.
Reluctantly, he gave them back. Before they were about to leave, Raja stopped
and looked back at her inert cousin. She put her satchels back on the table and
walked over to him. She took off his boots, undid his belt that had his dagger
attached. Then she tugged the blankets from underneath him and tucked him in
snuggly.
Raja slowly pulled the ruby-eyed dragon trinket from
underneath Lancelot’s tunic. She held it in her hand and then pulled hers out
from underneath her tunic, looking at them both to see if they were similar.
She supposed no hand carved objects could look exactly the same; hers was a tad
bit smaller.
Tristan looked on and his heart tugged to see her trying to
form a connection with her cousin. Damn him, Tristan thought.
She tucked Lancelot’s trinket back under his shirt, kissed
him on the forehead, and they left the room.
----------------------------------------
Lancelot sat hunched in his seat at the Round Table. His
cloak was pulled around him, the hood covering his head and most of his face.
He’d woken up disoriented, a little woozy. The last thing he had remembered was
walking towards his hut with a beautiful woman he had had his eyes on for
weeks. He felt a prick in his neck then...nothing. He had rubbed his hand down
his face, wiping away the vestiges of sleep. He felt the lack of facial hair,
the cool draft on his head. And adding insult to injury, the culprit had the
nerve to attempt to soften the situation by tucking him in.
The other knights were gathered around the table, wondering
what Lancelot was doing. Tristan knew, his smirk was tight, trying to keep it
hidden.
Ardeth was sitting to the right of Arthur. He sometimes
attended as a consultant, guiding the young commander. Ardeth was also a good
friend of Pelagius, Arthur’s surrogate father who resided in
“Is there something wrong, Lancelot?” Arthur asked.
“No,” he muttered.
“Cold?” Tristan mused.
“No,” the newly bald knight replied tersely.
“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind dismissing the theatrics so we
could begin the meeting?” Arthur assumed his commander’s tone.
Lancelot heard the tone. Arthur might have been his best
friend, but he was also his commander.
“Lancelot.” Arthur repeated.
“I was attacked last night,” he blurted.
The room went silent. Attacked?
Arthur’s voice was a mix of confusion and concern. “Could
you elaborate?”
Lancelot told him. He was walking to his hut with a woman,
then out of nowhere a sharp object pierced his neck, then he woke up in his
bedroom this morning. “Like this!” he exclaimed, pulling off his hood.
There was a split of silence before the room erupted into
laughter. Even Arthur, who usually tried to retain a commander’s poise during
official meetings, openly laughed.
Lancelot’s face turned red. “It’s not funny! Someone
attacked me and you all laugh?!”
“Indeed,” agreed Arthur, struggling to suppress his
laughter. “Men,” he cleared his throat, “Lancelot’s right, we shouldn’t,” he
choked back a grin, “be laughing, this is a serious matter.”
Ardeth sat erect with steepled fingers, contemplating what
the young knight had said about the sharp object.
The grand amusement quieted down to a hushed level, but no
eyes were taken off Lancelot, even after he had donned his hood again.
Ardeth caught Tristan’s eye and raised his eyebrow. Tristan
instantly knew that the Egyptian knew that he had been an accomplice in
Lancelot’s “attack.” To Ardeth, the tale sounded eerily similar to something
his little niece had done to a young man back in
Ardeth cleared his throat, immediately commanding the
attention of all in the room. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I believe I
can clear up this matter.”
“You know who it was?” Lancelot asked. “I’ll kill him!” he
pounded his fists on the table.
“I think not, Lancelot,” Ardeth stated definitively. “This
hardly calls for a death sentence. I will speak to the person behind this, and
if said person wishes to confess, that will be completely up to the
individual.”
“So I’ll only know the bastard who did this if he chooses to
confess?” Lancelot whined indignantly.
“Lancelot,” Arthur warned the offended knight of his tone.
“Sorry,” he said to Ardeth.
“I understand.” He stood up. “I believe this can be
remedied.” He bowed slightly and left the room, but not before giving Tristan
the most discreet of smiles.
----------------------------------------
Lancelot was sulking in his room that was in the keep, too
embarrassed to be seen. He wanted to get his hands on the bastard who had done
this. Probably Romans! A gentle knock interrupted his furious thoughts.
“Who is it?” he snapped.
“Raja.”
Great, just what he needed. “Go away.”
Pause. “I want to talk to you.”
“Not now.”
There was silence, he wasn’t sure if she had walked away or
not, she was as quiet as a ghost walking through the halls. He sighed, and lay back
on his bed. His cousin. His blood.
Imagine his shock when Ardeth told him three years ago that he had known his
father, and his father’s brother. Lancelot could remember his father talking
about his one and only brother, how they always had each other’s backs, getting
into mischief. His father also told him that his brother had the same dragon
trinket. Lancelot was even named after his uncle.
Lancelot would have liked to get to know his cousin. He had
little sisters, they had to be a few years older than Raja, but it hurt.
Sometimes he felt like Raja had been brought here to be a replacement from the
family he had been taken away from. He cursed himself for the thought; for he
knew he wasn’t true. She had lost her family, same as him. She had that lost
look in her eyes, same as him. Although, hers seemed more lost, empty. Maybe
he’d have made more of an effort to get to know her if Tristan wasn’t always
around. What did Raja need her cousin for anyway? She obviously liked Tristan a
hell of a lot more than him.
Before his thoughts could continue, he heard the fiddling of
the lock on his door, before he could even reach it, the door opened and the
small body of Raja stepped in.
“Picking locks is not difficult, Lottie,” she told him,
shutting the door behind her.
He flinched. “Don’t call me that.”
“Your wish is my command, Lottie.” She plopped down in front
of the fire. “I am the one that ruined your hair,” she said unremorsefully.
He let the words sink in, his face growing red, mouth
opening to speak.
“Before you say anything,” she interrupted, “I have to tell
you that I do not feel sorry for what I did, so you won’t be hearing an
apology. I had a choice to confess, so I did. I knew once my uncle heard the
circumstances of your “attack” he would know it was me.”
Silence. Speechless.
All the horrible things he had in mind to say to his assailant flew out the
window. He sat down on the end of his bed.
“This is because of what I said about your hair,” he stated.
She brushed off invisible lint from her tunic. “Yes.”
Lancelot sighed heavily. Despite the fact that his looks
were ruined, until his hair grew back, he knew he had it coming.
“Why don’t you like me?” she asked quietly.
His eyes widened. “I like you.”
Raja snorted in disbelief. “I can take most anything from
anyone but a lie.”
“I’m not lying. It’s just-”
“You think I’m trying to replace your family. We resemble
each other slightly through our fathers. It hurts you, and it makes you angry.
It hurts me, too, the only difference is, is that I’m not angry. I can’t
replace your family, I wasn’t even trying. If you don’t want me to talk to you
anymore, just tell me. I won’t hold it against you.” She stared at him from the
fire place, the flames casting wispy shadows on her face.
“It’s something like that,” he conceded. “And I don’t want
to stop talking to you.”
“Really?” her eyes lit up. She got up and plopped down next
to him on his bed.
He smiled against his will. They talked about their fathers,
their families they had lived with on different sides of the world. Raja
remembered more Sarmatian songs and tales than he did; she told him she would
play some of them on her nai. She would refresh his memory on Sarmatian
folklore, and he would tell her some of the songs and tales that she didn’t
know.
They talked until it was late, Lancelot having forgotten
about the absence of his hair. When she yawned, a tender feeling came over him,
and he thought about how she had trouble sleeping, the screaming he heard
coming from her room at night. He wanted to ask her what haunted her, for such
a young person she had so many mysteries surrounding her. But he decided to
save his questions for later, after they got to know each other better.
She gave him a big hug, to his surprise, before she left,
and a kiss on the cheek. Just as she was about to close the door behind her, he
spoke.
”Raja.”
“Yeah?”
“One thing I haven’t figured out. How did you get me from
the street into my room?”
Raja raised her eyebrows.
“I mean, I know you didn’t carry me...” A light of knowing
came into Lancelot’s eyes. “I’ll kill him!”
“No! No! You should be thanking him,” she insisted.
“For this?” he pointed at his head. “Why should I thank
him?”
“Because he helped you.”
“How is this,” he pointed to his head again, “helping?”
“Because,” she giggled, “I was going to circumcise you.”
The door shut behind her, leaving Lancelot with his mouth
agape.