Blue and Yellow
And it's all in how you mix the
two
And it starts just where the light exists
It's a feeling that you cannot miss
And it burns a hole through everyone that feels it
Chronology: Tristan is 18. Raja is 8.
A young deer. Perfect. And as horrible as it sounded, there was no Raja to
save his prey from his arrow. She was told by her uncle to stay in bed. It was
too cold for her to be out anyway. It was late October, and frost on the ground
this early morn. It had been raining more than usual now that autumn had
arrived.
Tristan remained quiet, positioning his bow to aim his arrow for an
immediate kill. Even though he was an expert hunter, he didn’t like his prey to
suffer a long death. He always made sure the kill was as swift and clean as
possible. He nocked his arrow, getting ready to pull the bowstring back. But
before he could, someone pounced on his back.
“Run, Pebbles!” yelled Raja.
The young deer recognized her voice.
“Run! Jalla! Jalla!” she yelled again.
The deer took off.
“No! For fuck’s sake!” Tristan seethed.
Raja’s small frame was still on his back, arms locked around his neck.
Tristan knew she was smiling triumphantly. She held firmly to Tristan, her legs
wrapped around his torso. She was light as a feather; he made no move to
dislodge her from his person. But he was officially pissed.
“Raja...” he could barely get the words out. She lightly jumped off his
back, looking up at him.
“Ana asif, Tristan,” she apologized. “But I could not let you kill
him. He has a family.”
His eyes were molten gold, staring down at her sincere face. He could only
think of vicious oaths to utter, so he just slung his bow over his shoulder,
putting away his arrow, and walked off, biting his lip to keep his words locked
in his throat. He had only taken about ten steps when he realized that she
wasn’t following him as she usually did...after sabotaging his hunt. He looked
back to see her standing by a tree, looking up at two squirrels flitting about.
Tristan walked over to her when he saw her ready to climb the tree. His long,
silent strides had him near her in seconds, grabbing her by the waist, tossing
her over his shoulder.
“How dare you!” she censured. “Nobody tosses an Egyptian!” Her defensive
ministrations to impede him with her fists were as effective as grapes being
thrown at his back.
“Well, good thing you’re half Sarmatian. That makes you an exception to the
rule.” He held her firmly by the waist.
“Put me down!” she commanded. “You’re only doing this because I ruined your
hunt!”
“No,” he denied. “I’m doing this because when you tried this last week, you
fell out of the tree and sprained your ankle. And,” he added, “your ankle still
is not fully healed. How the hell you managed to-”
“Set me down! Allow me some dignity in front of the woodland creatures!” She
continued to struggle vehemently.
“I’ll set you down if you promise not to run off,” he compromised. He could
practically hear the wheels turning in her head, mulling over her options.
“Hmmph,” she conceded. “Fine, I promise. Let me down.”
He paused a moment, then set her down gently so as not to put undue pressure
on her ankle. She pursed her lips and straightened out her jacket. Raja turned
her head when she let out a few harsh coughs. Once again, Tristan cursed
himself for not being able to stay angry with her. Instead, he observed her
pale face.
“Come on,” he said. “Your uncle is going to be pissed you snuck out of your
room. Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” They walked at a steady gait back to
the fort.
“I can’t sleep.”
He nodded without saying anything. He knew she couldn’t sleep. Because of
the rain and thunder, her nightmares, she had been crawling into his bed more
often, finding comfort with him, and always, he with her. Sometimes she would
tell him of nonsensical, silly dreams that she had. She liked to tell him about
those, those dreams that had nothing to do with THEM.
Tristan looked at her again, concerned, when she let out another series of
sharp coughs. His keen sight saw that she was favoring her left leg, as her
right ankle was probably now throbbing from the strain she put on it before it
was fully healed.
He sighed. “Why do you do this, Raja?”
“Do what?”
“Sneak out of bed when you should be resting. You make it worse.”
“Ah,” she waved it off, “who wants to be cooped up in bed? Besides, my uncle
expects me to sleep, and I cannot. He said if I don’t though, he was going to
insist on giving me herbs that would make me.”
“I don’t blame him.”
She scoffed. She was taking more weight off of her injured appendage.
“Let me carry you, Raja,” he offered, even though he knew she wouldn’t like
it.
“I can walk!” she insisted.
“You’re going to make it swell,” he warned.
“Are you a healer now?” She raised an eyebrow at him, a slight teasing in
her voice.
He waited until her attention was averted and swiftly swooped her up in his
arms.
“Tossing me like a sack of grain!” She flicked his ear. “I warned you.
Tossing Egyptians is bad luck.” Nevertheless, she wrapped her tiny arms around
his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. Absently, she grabbed hold of one
of his braids.
“So you say,” he replied with a slight grin.
“You have grey hair!” she exclaimed.
“No, I don’t.” Do I?
“You do, right here in your beard, and some near your temples. But it’s
okay, the ladies will find it very dashing.”
He scoffed at the notion. Tristan walked and carried her in silence, the
wind whipping at their faces.
“Am I too heavy?” she asked.
He scoffed good naturedly. “It’s almost insulting that you’d think you’re
too heavy for me. You can’t weight more than 70 pounds.”
“Hmmph. Just wait; when I get bigger I’ll be hauling you around like a sack
of manure.”
“You get to be grain, but I’m manure?”
“We all have to make due, Trissy.” Her voice was becoming drowsy. “Will you
do me a favor?”
“Hmm, depends on what it is.”
“When you hunt, and I’m not around to stop you, will you save the remains of
the animals so I can bury them properly? And maybe leave their hearts in their
bodies?”
Damn, she almost made him feel guilty for going on a good hunt. Since she’d
arrived, she was acquiring deceased animals and burying them with reverence.
There was a clearing near their place in the woods where she buried the
animals. Four birds, two squirrels, three cats, one kitten, one dog, two
rabbits and five mice. She wrapped them in crisp, immaculate white cloth,
placing them in individual graves, marking their resting place with a rock.
The trees that surrounded the cemetery had Egyptian symbols carved in them.
An Ieb, which represented the heart, the part of the body that Egyptians left
in the body after death. She had the Eye of Horus carved high in every tree,
watching over the land. There were also Ankhs, the symbol of eternal life,
Shens, symbolizing eternity and protection, Maats, which represent truth,
justice, morality and balance, Kas, souls or spirits, Sesens, a lotus flower
symbolizing the sun, creation and rebirth, and Sas, symbolizing protection.
He nodded. “I can do that.”
“Kattar cherak,” she said.
Thank you. A half smile spread on his lips. Gradually he was learning and
understanding phrases in her language.
When they arrived back at the fort, Tristan knew but didn’t care that some
people snickered at his friendship with the young Egyptian girl. He’d learned
his lesson. Ardeth was standing there calmly, knowing they would arrive soon.
He had a stern expression on his face, but an almost imperceptible twinkle of
amusement in his dark eyes. Tristan handed Raja over to the capable arms of her
uncle. She looked up at him sleepily, her head drooping on his shoulder.
“Can’t toss ‘Gyptians,” she muttered.
“Pebbles?” Ardeth inquired to Tristan.
“Yeah,” he replied with a wry grin.
-------------------------------
Raja sat in the large, cushioned armchair by the fire, a warm mug of tea in
her hands while her uncle tended to her swollen ankle. He set and wrapped it
tightly in a clean cloth, slipping her thick sock back over her foot.
Ardeth leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin.
Raja looked at him over her mug. “Are you mad at me?”
He titled his head at her with a wry expression on his face. “What am I
going to do with you, little one?”
She set her mug on the table, twiddling her thumbs on her lap. “I didn’t
want to stay inside.”
“You mean you did not want to sleep.”
“Please don’t give me the herbs,” she pleaded quietly.
He sighed, not without compassion. “You have to sleep, Raja, you know that.
For your health.”
She bit her lip, a somewhat forlorn expression on her face. “I suppose.” She
resuming taking small sips of her hot tea.
Ardeth looked at his niece, delicate, yet strong-willed, far too young to
have experienced all she has been through in her eight years. He remembered the
months after her parents had been killed; she was in shock when she was
rescued, and remained in a delirious state, high with fever for many weeks. She
didn’t utter a word for over six months, only agonizing screams poured from her
lips. She had allowed no one by her side save for her uncle, he had infinite
patience with her. He cradled her when she was shaking uncontrollably, humming
or reciting an Arabic lullaby that her mother had sung to her to either wake
her up or lull her to sleep. Those words calmed the young girl as if it were a
spell. Over that year, a streak of white hair began to grow among her raven
locks.
Since he had brought her to
And perhaps one thing that should have worried him - did not. He had gone to
check on Raja late in the night, as he usually did to see if she were calm, but
she was not in her bed. It had been raining that night, and one thing he knew
she would never do was escape out into the night. But he let his instincts
guide him, which lead him to Tristan’s bedroom door. Quietly, he opened the
door just a bit and saw Raja laying peacefully upon Tristan’s chest, his arms wrapped
around her protectively. It had been the most serene sleep he had seen her in
in over a year.
For now, as it wasn’t even
“Well, shall we continue with The Iliad?” he asked. They were now on the
fifth book out of the twenty-four installments of Ovid’s masterpiece.
She grinned, nodding happily.
--------------------------------
Later that evening in the tavern, Tristan was sitting in his usual corner.
He saw that some of the women were giving him odd looks, and come hither
smiles. The scout never really assessed his aesthetic qualities, looks weren’t
important to him. That was for someone like Lancelot. Some of his brothers
waved him over to their table; with his mug of ale he joined them in the throng
of bawdy wenches and drunken bastards.
A woman refilled his mug, bending over unnecessarily to show her ample
bosom. Tristan was a man; he couldn’t help taking a discreet look through his
brown tresses that covered his eyes. He also couldn’t help but smell the other
men she had obviously been with that night, and the tang of sweat and other
post-sex odors. A few minutes later, after having finished her shift, she came
and sat across from him at the table. Tristan had bedded her before, didn’t
remember her name, but he did recall having slept with her. Or rather screwing
her from behind, fully clothed, making a departure not a minute after he was
finished.
The blonde haired woman leaned forward, her breasts practically spilling out
of her blouse. She stared at him lasciviously, her gaze never wavering. Cursing
his male anatomy for responding to her, especially when he mentally wasn’t in
the mood for what she was offering. But it had been almost three months since
the last time he’d had a woman.
“You look like you could use something tonight, love,” she whispered,
leaning further over the table.
Gods, he hated it when they spoke like that. And if he consented they more
than likely thought it was their proposition that lured him in. He had a
reputation with women, known as the knight that wasn’t gentle, didn’t
communicate, didn’t like the women talking. None of them had ever been in a bed
with him, and they never would be. Tristan knew he wasn’t the most upstanding
citizen in the world, or even in the whole fort, but he still held no respect
for the woman. Not because she sold her body, everyone had to make a living,
but because, not once, had he ever heard an intelligent word from her.
With a twinge of resignation, he downed the last of his ale and stood his
cue that he’d take her. To his chagrin, she held onto his arm as if he were
courting her as they walked straight to his hut, quickly, not caring if she was
having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Tristan didn’t like the
women in his room in the keep. That space was for him, free of the smell of
strong perfume mixed with the odor of other men. He opened the door to the
small room, the fireplace unlit, no candles alight. There was only a slight
cast of moonlight from the window.
Before Tristan could even latch the door, she pushed him against the wall,
her breasts rubbing against his chest, locking his mouth in an aggressive kiss.
She invaded his mouth with her tongue, but he pushed her away from him,
swearing he tasted something sour in her saliva, and the aroma of a man’s seed
on her lips. He took her by the elbow, making her face a small table, turning
her back to face him.
“What’s the rush, love?” she asked breathlessly, turning her head to look at
him. She faced him, placing her palms flat against his chest. “Is this coat
new?” she purred. “Nice stitching on this.”
He rolled his golden eyes, annoyed, but let her do what she was doing. He
had an urge to slap some sense in her, but he was hard pressed to hit a woman
for no reason. She placed her hand on his erection, and he pursed his lips, his
groan of pleasure sounding like a growl in his throat.
She got to her knees, untying his breeches so his phallus sprung free, throbbing
with the need for release. The woman began her ministrations, and like always,
he closed his eyes, clearing his mind to only focus on his inevitable release.
Tristan thrust his hips, his fingers tangled in her hair.
“That’s right, love,” she crooned, “better with someone your own age, isn’t
it?”
Her words hit him like an axe to the head. He abruptly drew away from her,
lacing his breeches in the process, almost defensively. She looked at him,
confused.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he hissed.
She rose, chuckling at his ignorance. “Everyone knows, love. The maids have
seen her leaving your room in the morning on more than one occasion.”
A fire kindled inside of him, taking lethal steps towards her until her back
was against the wall. The moonlight lit his face, his golden eyes harsh and
menacing. She was not easily intimidated, though she would not deny that his
gaze did send a slight chill through her.
“No need to be defensive. Granted, she is rather young to be plucked, but if
you have a taste-”
His fist slammed against the wall next to her head, causing her to flinch.
She was used to a man’s temper, but she also knew of this blood-thirsty
knight’s reputation. Perhaps it was the ale she had consumed that loosened her
tongue.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He wanted information. The maids
could only be referring to one person, but facts were being left out.
“The maids,” she repeated, as if she were speaking to a child, “have seen
the odd Egyptian girl leave your room in the morning. All that time you spend
with her.”
He seethed at her deprecating tone when speaking of Raja. His rough hand
clenched around her neck. “She has a name, whore, and don’t ever use that tone
when you speak of her.” His hand squeezed tighter.
“Did you expect people to not figure it out?” She looked at him as if he
were an idiot for thinking otherwise. “Let go of me. You’re crazy if you prefer
that little freak over someone better suited for you.” She tried to push away
from him, but that only caused him to slam her against the wall so strongly
that her breath left her body.
“I should cut your throat for that,” he growled.
She boldly spat in his face for his threats. “I ought to tell your commander
about this! I doubt a Christian would tolerate one of his knights screwing the
youngest slut in the world!”
A preternatural snarl emanated from his throat, punching the wall so hard
that the wood split. The only thing that kept him from wringing the woman’s
neck was the thought of Raja knowing that he had hurt someone smaller than him,
someone incapable of defending herself. Had it been a man who uttered those
words, he’d have died a thousand painful deaths. Tristan looked at the whore in
front of him with his eyes full of contempt and animalistic rage.
“Don’t you ever call her that again. The only slut here is you. Now
get out before I do something I’ll regret.”
She didn’t hesitate abiding his order. He stayed in the small room until his
breathing returned to a relatively normal pace, and he was not seeing red. He
went to the bath house, scrubbing himself thoroughly before drying himself off
and donning clean clothes. The bath had soothed his skin, but the whore’s words
still rang in his mind. She’d called Raja a slut, a freak. And once again, his
blood boiled, falling into a fitful sleep.
---------------------------------------
Tristan woke to a sharp knock on his door. He dragged himself out of bed to
face Dagonet.
“Arthur wants to speak with you,” he told him.
Tristan nodded, not asking what it was about. He put on his boots and coat,
and headed to his commander’s office. Arthur had a serious, yet somewhat
uncomfortable look on his face, as if he did not like what he was about to say
to Tristan. Tristan sat down waiting for Arthur to speak.
Arthur cleared his throat. “It seems a woman is claiming that you beat her
severely last night. Her words,” he added.
Tristan stared at him placidly. He knew this was coming, it wasn’t a
surprise, and he felt no guilt.
“Did you, Tristan?” Arthur asked hesitantly.
Tristan took a breath. “I was rough with her. But severe beating is an
exaggeration.”
He nodded. “Her neck is badly bruised, and her back is also.”
Silence.
“She also brought some serious accusations against you.”
Tristan snorted.
“I take it you know what they are then?”
He nodded.
“Her words against you are ridiculous, I know,” Arthur said, “that there is
no truth to them. But Ardeth did say he would like to speak with you about it
after we are finished here.”
“Are we finished?”
“I do not know for sure what she said to provoke you, but if it had anything
to do with what she is claiming, I still think that you should try to control
yourself better.”
Tristan nodded, and left to speak with Ardeth.
--------------------------------------
The Egyptian was waiting at his large desk as if he knew Tristan would be
coming to see him at that moment. He motioned for the scout to shut the door
behind him and take a seat.
“You know what this is about,” Ardeth stated.
“Yes, and what that woman said is not true.” The constant reminder of her
words made the hairs on his neck stand up in agitation.
“I have no doubt,” Ardeth agreed. “A despicable thing to say, I did not
appreciate it in the slightest.” Ardeth’s face was slack with seriousness. “I
am well aware of the whispering that has been going about lately.”
It was well and good that Ardeth did not believe what the woman was saying
against Tristan, but he felt he had the obligation to let him know that one
thing she did say was true.
“Something you wish to say?” Ardeth asked.
Tristan looked him in the eyes. “The maids most likely have seen Raja
leaving my room in the morning.” He left it at that.
Ardeth steepled his fingers, ever the wise man. “Because she sleeps in your
bed with you.”
Tristan’s eyebrows rose.
The Egyptian smirked genially. “Yes, I know. I went to check on her before I
turned in for the night a couple of months ago, that day you returned from
patrol. Perhaps I am going senile in my old age, perhaps I should be more
concerned, but I trust you completely with Raja, and I know you would do
nothing to hurt her. I have seen her open up more in the months we’ve been here
than in the year after her parents died. You bring peace to her, and if it is
in your arms that she finds it, I would be doing her more harm than good by
trying to separate her from you.”
Tristan couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at his words. Having
Ardeth’s respect was an honor, as a man and as a warrior. He was humbled that
he trusted him completely with Raja.
“People often try to turn something like what you and Raja have into
something perverse because they cannot fathom the notion of having a
relationship devoid of corruption. Some people live a lifetime without sharing
a connection such as the two of you have. I hope that these events will not
change your countenance with Raja.”
Tristan shook his head. “She’s my friend.”
“Good,” Ardeth said. “Because I think you need her as well.”
--------------------------------------
After eating breakfast in the tavern, ignoring the looks he was given, he
took care of Dyne, his horse, and went to see Raja. She was sitting on the
large cushioned arm chair, a chess set on the table. She turned and smiled at
him, telling him to sit down. She was nibbling at an apple, alternating with
sips of a hot mug of tea.
“What happened to your hand?” she asked, grabbing it over the table with a
concerned look.
It always amazed him at how soft her touch was, and how she worried over the
littlest cuts and bruises on someone she cared about. “Nothing, hit it on a
wall.”
“When you were angry with the lady?”
The first wave of shame hit him then. He didn’t want to see disappointment
in her eyes, but he felt that it was coming.
“I saw her bruises,” Raja said. “You did that?” So far her expression held
no judgment.
It took all his willpower not to turn his head away in disgrace.
“I know what she said, but she must have said something else.”
“You don’t want to know, Raja,” he told her grimly.
Staring at him, her eyes seemed too big for her face, and her body much too
small for the chair she was sitting in. So delicate a creature, and he wondered
why it was he that she held no fear of.
“You know,” she said, placing the apple on the table, “there was this man
back in
“What did you do?” Tristan asked.
"I took hold of his wrist and bit him as hard as I could."
She said it with such stark calm that Tristan was speechless. But he
believed her. He had never seen her commit an act of violence – unless he
counted her shooting Lancelot with a dart – but he definitely believed that she
would not hesitate to defend her loved ones. He saw it when she stood next to
her uncle among strangers, as if she would do anything she could despite her
size to protect her uncle.
“I don’t like it when people speak ill of the people I love. No matter how
small the insult, they will get their comeuppance.”
Raja was understanding Tristan. Like her, his actions did not equivocate
with the words that were spoken by the woman, but because of love, loyalty, the
venom of those words could not be ignored, no matter the person who uttered
them.
“Do you think I’m ugly now?” she asked. She was now worried that her
confession would change his idea of her.
“No,” he assured her. “You’re still the best person I know.”
“And you are still the most beautiful person I know,” she told him.
He gave an inelegant snort. “Men aren’t beautiful.” Yet, he was touched by
her comment. How many people could see straight through a bloodied warrior’s
armor?
“One day you will see, Trissy,” she said, arranging the pieces on the chess
board again. “Grab an apple, sir, we have a game of chess to play.”
And you never would have thought
in the end
How amazing it feels just to live again
It's a feeling that you cannot miss
It burns a hole through everyone that feels it
-The Used