Dragon’s Wish
When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you
Chronology: Tristan is 18. Lancelot is 16. Raja is 8.
“You look very pretty,” Raja told Adonis.
“What are you doing?” a harsh voice demanded.
Raja turned around to see her cousin looking at her angrily. Her previous elation ebbed.
“Brushing Adonis,” she said timidly. Adonis was Lancelot’s horse.
Lancelot’s face turned a beet red. “There are flowers in his mane.”
“Aren’t they pretty?” she asked. She was standing on a bale of hay to boost her up. She had braided Adonis’ mane with careful plaits and then stuck small flowers here and there within the twists. Her cousin stomped over to her and snatched the brush from her hand. Adonis nuzzled her head affectionately.
“You have molested my steed’s hair!” He looked genuinely aghast at the offensive flowers.
“But he likes them,” Raja said quietly.
Lancelot turned a furious face to her. Even though she was propped up, he still towered over her. “Oh?” he replied snidely. “Did he tell you that?”
Raja bit her bottom lip. Actually, Adonis had told her that, but she had a feeling saying so to her cousin would make him angrier. She was used to people not quite believing her when she said she could communicate with animals, but the bald contempt she received from her one and only cousin stung her.
Lancelot snorted. “He’s already been tended to.”
The little Egyptian girl stepped off of the bale of hay, thoroughly chastised, although she wasn’t certain what she had done wrong. She only knew she had, once again, put herself on the outs with the cousin she wanted so desperately to like 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 stalls. 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 a part of the forest that wasn’t at all far away. 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!” Her chest puffed up, but deflated from her uncle’s stern glare. “We just wanted to go for a walk,” she’d told him softly.
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 said I was sorry and I wouldn’t do it again,” she was now telling him, hoping that he would forgive her.
“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, completely oblivious to the fact that she was near tears.
“Lancelot,” Dagonet said.
The curly-haired knight whipped his head around at the intrusion. Raja took that moment to go to Lord Ra, her uncle’s mount. The big black bent his head down and nuzzled her. She hid her forlorn expression in his nose.
While Dagonet spoke to Lancelot, Tristan was keeping an eye on Raja through his tangled bangs. He stood two stalls down from her, his horse, Dyne, poking around for apples about his person. He heard her whispering Arabic words to Lord Ra. Since her break down some two months ago, he had become more protective of her. Often, she would shuffle into his room at night, and burrow herself deep against him for comfort, often bringing one of her mouse friends along.
“She is just a little girl,” Dagonet censured quietly to Lancelot.
“She bloody thinks she can talk to animals, acts like she
runs the damned stables,” he hissed, taking no such pains to be as discreet as
the taller warrior.
His first comment was true, Dagonet thought, but still, “It does no harm to anyone, Lancelot,” Dagonet countered, still whispering. “She loves animals; you know she would do nothing to endanger them.”
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, and pat Ra on the head. And as seemed to be the way, just then, Ardeth entered the stables. He instantly noticed his niece’s low mood. She lifted her arms up to him like a child much younger to be held and he obliged. She tucked her head in the crook of his neck.
Ardeth looked at the three men, but only nodded in greeting and farewell before leaving the stables with his niece.
“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 reined 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.
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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, his mouth partially full of bread.
She smiled and touched the area where the white strip of hair had been. The night before she had chopped it off, cut 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.” She nodded her head in confirmation. “It was.” Just then, Jiminy the mouse crawled out from her tunic and onto her head. “Good morning, Jiminy,” she said, her eyes rolling up.
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 on Lancelot.
“I liked it,” Dagonet said.
Raja took a sip of her drink, two small hands holding the mug. “That’s nice of you, Dag. I really should have cut it off a long time ago. It wasn’t natural.” She shook her head, another confirmation to her words. “No.”
“Well, if you were born with it-” Arthur said.
Raja’s face scrunched in part indignation, part sorrow. “I wasn’t born with it.”
“Oh,” Arthur was surprised. “I thought-”
She shook her head. “No, no.”
“How’d you get it then?” Lancelot asked.
Tristan kicked him hard in the shin underneath the table. Lancelot’s face turned red, 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 studies.
“Perhaps you should censor your words when she is about,” Arthur suggested. 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 defensively, now a piece of meat bumbling his words.
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.”
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After her uncle had tucked her in, she’d waited about an hour before she commenced her plan. She had never snuck out of bed to leave the keep, and had never been out at night by her lonesome, except for that last time. Raja was already in her nightgown and cotton hose. She put a tunic on, and boots, then gathered her satchel which was already filled with the stuff she would need, and put it over her opposite shoulder. She put her cloak on last.
“Let’s go, Jiminy,” she whispered. She plucked him off of her pillow and let him wiggle himself inside of her bag.
Careful to be extra quiet, she tiptoed down the halls. The torches cast eerie shadows, which sent a shiver down her spine. But she bucked up, trying to be brave. She had to pass her uncle’s study to get out of the keep. It was partially open, and she heard Arthur’s and her uncle’s voices discussing this and that. She waited for the right moment before passing by.
Out of the keep, it was like a different place. Not that many people out, of course, but sentries were ending and beginning their shifts. She was small, so it wasn’t particularly difficult to shield her presence in the shadows. She’d been careful to wear her dark blue nightgown, hose, tunic, and cloak this night. Her long tresses blew lightly in the soft evening breeze. As she made her way towards the tavern, she ducked behind barrels and into dark alcoves whenever someone passed by. Some ladies were laughing loudly with the men they had next to them, and Raja figured it was past their bedtime too.
The area became brighter as she neared the tavern, it also became louder. The outside part of the tavern was raucous with drunken slurs (which Raja didn’t understand) and female tittering. Yells for more ale abounded in the night. Behind a large barrel, Raja scanned the area for Tristan or Lancelot. She noticed Bors pulling Vanora onto his lap. Raja went the long way around, now she was nervous about being caught, more than before.
“We have to be quiet, Jiminy,” she whispered to her small friend. “Okay?” She waited a moment for her friend to reply. “Good, good.”
When she was where she figured she needed to be, a dark alley that smelled icky, but it was where the windows that looked into the tavern were.
“Oh poop,” she said quietly. The windows were too high for her. She would have to hop up and down to see inside, and that just wouldn’t do. The light from inside was the only illumination she had to see around her. There were crates and barrels, “Why would they leave this outside?” she asked Jiminy. But she figured it was better for her. There was one only slightly to the right of her, “Oh, it’s empty!” No wonder they were outside. She pushed with all her might to get the empty crate under the window. She was panting, having only gotten the crate halfway underneath where she wanted it to be. That would have to do, she thought.
She didn’t think to test the quality of the crate for her to stand on, instead she just went atop it, and she still had to stand on her tiptoes to see in the tavern. Jiminy took that moment to leave his place in the bag and place himself on the top of her head, which she, for once, did not notice.
She had never seen inside the tavern at night. It was very much different than the mornings or afternoons. It was certainly more crowded, and louder. The words inside were muffled. There was a table near to the window where she was, but broad backs were to her, but she still tried to be discreet. Her curious eyes roamed the room from behind the window, which was smudgy. A lot of people were in her way.
“Poop,” she muttered. She used her sleeve to try to clean the glass for better viewing, but the smudginess was from the inside. Raja frowned, frustrated. Her eyes became slits, making the best of her loss.
Finally, she spotted her cousin, who had a lady on his lap. His arms were around her waist, and Lancelot was nuzzling her neck. How could he be so nice to this lady, but he always seemed uncomfortable when she asked for a hug? Raja was hurt. She saw Lancelot laugh loudly with the lady, and Raja wished he could be that full of laughter with her.
With a sigh, her eyes left her cousin and a few tables away, she spotted Trissy. He was sitting alone, nursing a mug of ale. Raja would have joined him to keep him company, but by now, the loudness was making her uncomfortable. From around the corner, there was more rambunctious things going on. Raja thought briefly of abandoning her foolhardy plan, but she hadn’t come all this way for nothing! She could be as brave as her uncle, her baba, and walida. Even Trissy! He would never retreat.
Raja looked back to her cousin, then back to where Tristan...
Raja’s brow scrunched. Where was Trissy? He had just been there! She strained on her tiptoes, craning her neck to see more of the tavern. She didn’t register the teetering of the crate – which was moldy, and the wood was weak and splintered from being left out in shoddy weather – or anyone approaching her.
Raja jumped when she heard a deep “ahem.”
She squealed, and when she tried to turn around, she lost her balance and would have fallen onto the ground had not steady hands caught her.
“Lemme go!” she screeched, fear filling her. She struggled.
“Hey, watch the fists,” the man said.
She instantly recognized Trissy’s voice and stopped squirming. Relief filled her. “Where’d you come from?!”
He balanced her before letting her go, and stood above her with arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing out here?”
“How did you know I was out here? I was being extra careful! I was!”
“I saw you from the window.” Just because it appeared he wasn’t aware of what was going on around him, didn’t mean he wasn’t, because he always was.
Raja opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. “How did you know it was me?” She was thoroughly disappointed that she hadn’t been as stealthy as she thought.
“The mouse gave you away.”
Raja’s hands flew to her head, feeling Jiminy. “Oh, Jiminy, you were supposed to stay hidden!”
Tristan smirked. Then turned serious. When he’d spotted her from his vantage point, he was surprised, but knew he was seeing Raja, although she should not have been out at this time a night, especially alone, around the tavern. He’d instantly abandoned his drink and walked out of the building before someone besides him noticed her. And even though he hadn’t been far away, and his swift, graceful strides would take him to her in less than a minute, he still dreaded that someone could have already gotten to her.
“Come on,” he said.
Raja instantly took his hand, and after a brief moment’s hesitation – he’d never held her hand around other people – he clamped firmly to her small hand, which was drowned in his. They stepped into the light, away from the reek of the alleyway which smelled of piss. No one said anything as they walked, and he knew no one would dare approach him, but he was on his guard anyway because he had precious quarry with him.
Raja was oblivious to anything else but talking to Jiminy about his behavior, but Tristan heard the comment, “Ain’t she a little young for ya, man!” Deep, scathing laughter was clear to Tristan’s ears. Still walking, he turned his head, letting the light of bonfires illuminate his face. He took in the man’s appearance – beer belly, fat face, greasy blond hair, poor complexion and everything that would identity him. Tristan committed it to memory, because he would be using it as soon as he could. The cold glare on his sharp face and the promise of a future meeting clear on the slightest upward curve of his lips, halted the laughter of those men, for they instantly recognized him. Tristan turned his head away.
“I’m glad you’re here, Trissy,” Raja said, tugging on his hand. “I need your help.”
He looked down at her. “For?”
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They waited outside Lancelot’s barracks, after Tristan had evasively explained that Lancelot most likely would not be heading back to his room in the keep. Raja had not questioned Trissy’s judgment. So after she had explained her “plan” to him, he’d reluctantly decided to help her, because he had a feeling she was determined to go through with it. They hid in a corner by Lancelot’s barracks, quiet around these parts.
“You be quiet this time, Jiminy,” Raja said to the mouse.
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Not too long after, which was good because Raja was dozing off, leaving Tristan as look-out, Lancelot came traipsing down the semi-dark road, by his lonesome. The little Egyptian took a blow-gun and a thin, wooden dart with a red feather on the top, from her satchel. Tristan cocked an eyebrow at the odd weapon he’d never seen before.
“From
“And you?”
“Um...big targets. I think I will aim for Lancelot’s rear end or thigh.”
Tristan was dubious. He had seen Raja at archery, and she was fair at twenty yards, but with an even smaller target, he wasn’t quite sure. Lancelot’s whistling became louder as he approached, and Raja put her mouth to the blow-gun with comical concentration on her face. Tristan had to give her credit for trying at least. From where they were hiding, she was only three feet away from Lancelot’s thigh, and through sheer dumb luck, she blew, and the dart lodged itself in her cousin’s thigh.
Lancelot cursed. He looked down and plucked the odd weapon from his person. He had a mere moment to examine it before his eyes rolled in the back of his sockets and he fell to a heap on the ground.
Raja popped up from her hiding place like a cobra on the attack and ran to her cousin. She took the dart from his hand and put it carefully back in her satchel. Tristan stood next to her, gazing down at the “sleeping” Lancelot.
Raja pulled on Lancelot’s arm, trying to get him to move. She heaved, and Tristan simply stood there in silent amusement. Raja took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips.
“Poop.” Then she looked at her satchel in a beat of silence. “No, Jiminy, don’t try to help. You might get crushed,” she said.
When she bent to try again, Tristan decided to take charge and he easily got a hold of Lancelot and flung the man over his shoulder.
“Oooh,” Raja breathed in awe. “Come on! Come on!” She hurried down to Lancelot’s barracks and stood at the door, waiting for Tristan. Raja opened the door and they walked in, Tristan unceremoniously plopped his baggage on a chair.
Raja locked the door and then started the fire. She was muttering instructions to herself under her breath. She took some things out of her valise, placing them just so on a table.
Tristan saw scissors, and a shaving implement. He wondered whose satchel this was. He sat on the end of the bed, procured an apple from his pocket, and began to shave off slices with his dagger.
Lancelot’s head lolled backwards like a drunkard. Raja put her small hand on his head, elongated one of his curls and let it spring back into place. She had a regretful expression on her face. She already had the scissors in one hand. She snipped off a few curls and placed them in her pocket.
Snippety, snip, snip she went until all Lancelot’s glorious dark brown curls were laying like fallen soldiers at her feet. She placed the scissors on the table and picked up the shaving implement.
Just as she was about to start “shaving” Tristan stopped her. “You can’t do it like that,” he said.
She looked at the blade, then at him. “Why not?”
“You have to have oil to put on his head so the blade doesn’t end up taking off his scalp.”
Raja gasped at his words, horrified that she might have caused undue harm to her cousin. Tristan stood up and picked up the jar of oil on the table that Raja hadn’t taken thought of.
“Is that what that’s for?” Raja asked. “Oooh. Good thing you’re here, Trissy.”
Tristan gathered she was completely out of her element here. He gestured for her to hand over the blade and he proceeded to finish what she had set out to do. He slathered some of the oil on Lancelot’s head, letting it sink in, then deftly took off the remaining hairs. He was rather enjoying it. The dark knight was vain about his hair, and the rest of him for that matter.
Raja plucked a few more curls off of the floor and put them in her pocket. She gathered the rest with her hands and threw them into the fire. Tristan decided to take off the rest of Lancelot’s hair, his eyebrows, and beard which the warrior took such pride in.
Then came a knock on the door.
Raja gasped.
“Lancelot,” a woman’s voice called in a sing-song way. “Open the door and I’ll open for you.”
Raja was staring at the door as if it were a foreign entity. Tristan hoped she didn’t understand the woman’s words, and figured she didn’t.
“Should I answer it, Trissy?” Raja whispered.
“Tell her he’s not here.”
Raja nodded dutifully, and opened the door just slightly, and peered up at the woman she recognized as the one who was sitting on Lancelot’s lap at the tavern.
“Oh!” the woman said, surprised. From her standing point, she could see neither Lancelot nor Tristan. “Who are you?”
Jiminy climbed on Raja’s head and the woman held a visible sign of disgust and fear on her face.
“This is Jiminy,” Raja introduced.
The woman nodded.
“Um...Lancelot is using the facilities,” Raja said.
“The facilities?” she echoed.
“Yes.” Raja nodded and confirmed her words, “Yes, he is.” Then, “He has the squirts.”
Tristan smirked from inside the room.
“The what, dear?” the woman asked.
“Squirts,” Raja said perfunctorily. “He ate bad berries.”
The woman caught on to what the “squirts” were. “I see.”
“It gave him a rash,” Raja went on.
To this, the woman reacted as if the little girl had said Lancelot had contracted the plague. “A rash?!”
Tristan knew in the woman’s line of “work” that a “rash” was nothing to joke about. But he was thoroughly amused, nonetheless.
“But he’ll be okay,” Raja said, taking the woman’s aghast countenance as worry for her cousin.
The woman was backing away from the door. “Yes, well.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll just be...going now.” She hurried away, and Raja closed the door, bewildered.
She turned to Tristan, “It’s just a rash.”
Tristan chuckled, and by then, he was finished. Lancelot now lacked any hair on his entire head. Raja giggled a bit.
Raja took Lancelot’s boots off, and Tristan put the knight in bed. While he cleaned off the implements, Raja tucked her cousin in. She pulled his dragon trinket with the ruby eyes from under his jerkin and compared it with hers. Tristan saw the sad look on her face. Raja put the trinket down and put her small hand on Lancelot’s forehead. She bent down and kissed him on the tip of his nose.
“You sleep good, Lottie,” she said sincerely.
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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 barracks to prepare himself for a long, erotic night with a tavern whore, whom he could not recall the name of. Then, he’d felt a prick in his leg...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 about. Tristan knew, his smirk was tight, easily hidden.
“Is there something wrong, Lancelot?” Arthur asked.
“No,” he muttered.
“Cold?” Tristan mused.
“No,” the newly bald knight replied tersely.
“Are you ill?” Dagonet asked.
“No,” Lancelot answered gruffly.
“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. “It is not cold in here.”
Lancelot fairly growled and then pulled the hood off of his face. There was a booming moment of silence before the men broke out in raucous laughter. Lancelot sneered at each and every one of them.
“Shut it, all of you!” he snapped.
Bors was coughing and laughing. “You look like a penis with clothes on!” And this made the knights laugh even harder.
“Men, men!” Arthur attempted to subdue his knights. Although he was hard pressed not to burst out laughing as well.
“Pissed off the wrong woman, did ya?” Bors guffawed.
“Knights!” Arthur rose his voice, his face tinged rouge with suppressed amusement. The men piped down. “Let us get on with the meeting.” He cleared his throat and began to speak. “There is a matter of a man killed just last night. His neck was broken, found in the alley near the tavern...”
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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! His beautiful hair and well coiffed beard...gone! A conspiracy if there ever was one. Not to mention, there were rumors around the whore community that he had some sort of rash, and the women were giving him odd looks and avoiding him like the bloody plague. When he got the hands on the bastard who did this...
His silent rants were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Be gone!” he yelled.
“Lancelot,” Ardeth’s voice sounded.
The knight bit his lip. He got up and opened the door with a contrite look on his face, ready to apologize. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“Quite all right.” He looked down at his niece, who had her head down, and Jiminy on her shoulder. “I believe Raja has something to say to you.”
The little girl looked up at her uncle with wide eyes, but he did not give in. He had heard about Lancelot’s little problem, and connected it with the guilty expression on his niece’s face. After sitting her down and looking at her sternly, she blurted out the whole story before he could even say a word. He was upset that she had ventured out into the night by herself, he had made express instructions that she was not to do so, ever. She rarely went against his wishes. Raja left out Tristan’s part in it, even though Ardeth needed not for her to say so, because he had surmised it himself. He was grateful that Tristan had looked out for her.
Now, they stood in front of Lancelot. “Raja,” he said gently but firmly.
Raja then help up a small draw string bag to her cousin. After a brief pause, Lancelot took it and opened it. He pulled out a familiar curl.
“You!” he accused.
Raja leaned closer to her uncle.
“Perhaps the two of you would like to speak to one another,” Ardeth suggested.
Lancelot was still stunned. Raja was holding her uncle’s hand in a death grip. When he said something softly to her in Arabic, she nodded and then sighed.
“I’m sorry, Lottie,” she whispered.
His entire head was blushed. His jaw was clenched.
Raja scuffed her shoe on the floor.
“I will be in my study,” Ardeth said. “I think the two of you have some clearing of the air to do.” He took Jiminy from his niece’s shoulder and place the small mouse on his own.
Lancelot was speechless. He was leaving him alone with his young cousin? Oh, may the gods help him. He took a deep breath and stepped to the side so his young cousin could enter the room. She plopped on a chair, and twiddled her thumbs. Lancelot sat on the end of his bed.
“You,” he said again.
Raja nodded contritely.
“What did I ever do to you?!”
Raja stared at him with wide, guileless eyes. “You were mean.”
Lancelot was ready to scoff, but he once again saw the lack
of white streak in her hair, and then he knew why she had done it. Any derisive
comments died in his throat. Gods, she was so small. Smaller than his own
sister had been when he had left
“I guess I should apologize, too,” he finally said.
She was visibly surprised.
“I should not have said what I said,” he went on.
“It hurt my feelings,” she said quietly.
Stick the knife deeper, he thought. If he wasn’t so sure she was abjectly sincere he certainly wouldn’t feel like the biggest heel on earth. Then he heard her sniff. Oh, gods she was crying, wasn’t she? When he saw her wipe her face, he knew she was. So, he gathered his wits and went to stand next to her. Tentatively, he put a hand on her small shoulder, and was always amazed by how utterly small her bones were.
“I am sorry I hurt your feelings,” he said.
“You don’t like me,” she sniffled.
“I like you,” he said, and was surprised to find he spoke the truth. “I’m just...not used to children.” He dragged a chair over so he could sit next to her, and she promptly scuttled to sit across his lap. Well, then! It wasn’t the first time. Only now, he put his arms around her more readily, and let her rest her head against his chest.
“You look like my baba,” she said. She looked up at him. “I miss your hair.”
Lancelot chuckled. “So do I.”
And they sat like that for a while, her small presence bringing him a sense of peace, and he felt loved and cared for in such a pure way he hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever.
If your heart is in your dreams
No request is too extreme
When you wish upon a star
As dreamers do
~Cliff Edwards “Jiminy Cricket”
Edited: 2/12/08