Only If
If you really want to,
you can hear me say
Only if you want to
will you find a way.
If you really want to
You can seize the day.
Only if you want to
will you fly away.
-Enya
Chronology: Tristan is 32. Lancelot is 30. Raja is 22.
Raja sat in a large tree, knees to her chest, her thickest
cloak wrapped around her shivering body with the hood masking her face. It was
dark and raining steadily, her brothers were gathered around the campfire
sipping their ale to warm their insides. They were all on their last order of
their service to
Raja had taken the news stoically. She was mostly upset at
the injustice done to her family. She may be in the legion, too; yet, she never
considered herself a knight. It was by incident that she had been drafted.
After her Uncle Ardeth died six years ago, her Uncle Memnon had come to
She listened to the easy banter of the men, shaking her head
at Lancelot ribbing Bors about the husky knight’s numerous children. They were
going back to
Raja coughed coarsely, tasting the familiar copper tang of
blood that had long been plaguing her. Her health had worsened, too much strain
from five and a half years of the arduous “warrior’s life” – a life she was
never meant to live. Another series of coughs wracked her body, pummeling her
lungs fiercely. She dug in her pack that was slung over her shoulder to take
out a small bottle of medicinal tonic that had been concocted for her years and
years ago in
She looked out into the night, feeling Tristan’s eyeless vigil over her as he sharpened his sword, constantly aware of her person but never turning his eyes towards her. She looked sideways with a circumspect movement of her silver orbs at Lancelot, seeing his sorrow filled eyes, his defeat, although he hid it tightly, unseen by all save her. Her heart beat painfully for him, still holding hope that he would be free and happy one day, something she felt he deserved ever since she was a young girl. Raja’s eyes closed but she did not sleep, safeguarding her family.
----
Anger surged inside of Raja as Arthur inspected the blocked door on Marcus Honorius’s estate. The Saxon drums beat loudly, but Arthur ignored both Galahad’s and Lancelot’s insistence that they leave immediately. It was bad enough he was taking the villagers with them, which would surely slow them down, but now Arthur continued to jeopardize his knights’ safety on an already suicidal mission to satisfy his boyish curiosity of the small structure. All Raja wanted was for her family to return to the fort alive, she didn’t give a damn about the villagers.
She watched, her agitation increasing, as Dagonet broke down the door. She dismounted and followed Lancelot, Gawain, Arthur and Dagonet into the dark edifice into hell. Skeletal remains were chained to the walls, their mouths locked opened by rigor mortis in the last moments of their agony. As the others searched for survivors, she walked towards the large Bible that was placed on a dusty podium.
Around her she heard the protestations of the fanatical monks, then the sound of Lancelot’s sword stinging through one of their bodies. She closed the book, carrying it out of the darkness underneath her cloak. She wrapped it carefully in a blanket and put it into one of her larger sacks, harnessing it to Odin’s rump. Her silver eyes flashed around her, taking in the chaos. Gawain shoved the monks onto the cold, hard ground, the two live prisoners, a young boy and a waif of a woman carried out into the light. Raja had by then remounted, observing from high upon her horse. As Arthur aided the woman in drinking from his flask, Raja’s mind reeled at the familiarity of the gaunt...
“She’s a Woad,” Tristan said with scorn.
Guinevere, Raja thought, her lips quirking in a mordant smirk. The sweet, sweet irony of the situation.
Arthur yelled for the monks to be put back into the dungeon...alive.
----
They traveled on the snowy road, slowly, much slower than they should have been. With every trot and hindrance of their mission, Raja had to swallow the animosity that built inside of her. She still opted for leaving the villagers to their own devices, as cruel as it was. Her incredulity towards Arthur fueled her acrimony. Sweet Isis, what the hell is wrong with him? His goodness always bordered on zealous righteousness. Now she was truly second guessing his judgment.
Dagonet called for her from the carriage, and within minutes she was kneeling next to him in the small, moving structure that held Arthur, Fulcinia, Marcus’s wife, Lucan, the sickly boy, and the Woad, Guinevere, who had yet to recognize Raja. Raja could tell Dag had been deliberating carefully about the request he was about to make. But she preempted him, taking one of her special tonics out of her purse.
Dagonet smiled, amused that she had already known his question. He knew she needed those tonics, always carrying several with her.
“He’s small, so he’ll only need half right now, perhaps a bit less,” she explained. Years ago, the first time her Uncle had resorted to administering these powerful tonics to her again, Dagonet had been stupefied at this concoction he knew nothing about. An expert herbalist, along with Ardeth, had made it especially for Raja when she was a mere toddler. “It tastes horrible without mixing it with something,” Raja added. Behind her she heard the painful cries of Guinevere as Arthur pushed back her dislocated fingers.
Dagonet nodded. “Thank you. I know you need these, too.”
She waved off his thanks.
“The famous Briton who kills his own people...”
Raja turned her head at Guinevere’s words, seeing her slump against Arthur in exhaustion. So much for gratitude. Arthur saves her life and she’s already lecturing him. During Raja’s imprisonment with the Woads, Guinevere had been one of the Woads who had especially grated on the Egyptian woman’s nerves.
----
Tristan rode off to find proper shelter for them at Arthur’s instruction. Everyone was halted on the road until he returned. Raja came around the bend to see Lancelot in a flirtatious conversation with Guinevere. She rolled her eyes...even in the face of danger her cousin could not keep himself from mooning over a woman. They hadn’t noticed her, and their words were faint to Raja’s ears, but years of training from her Uncle had honed her ability to read lips. Horus shuffled his feathers.
“I don’t believe in heaven...” Lancelot told her. “...too long in this hell.”
Raja swallowed heavily. Of course he didn’t. It began to rain and hail, Raja pulled her hood over her head in exasperation. As Guinevere stared at Lancelot in awe, Raja urged Odin forward. The woman was as big a flirt as her cousin. She had been flirting with Arthur only minutes ago.
“Cousin,” Lancelot greeted her.
She raised her eyebrow in reply, then she looked the Woad straight in the eyes, her silver irises and black pupils piercing Guinevere like sharp knives. After a minute, recognition flooded her face, her lips parting in poorly hidden surprise.
“We meet again.” Raja bowed her head slightly, her eyes cold, her full lips curving in scornful amusement. Odin let out a furious snort, and Horus cawed at her as if she were prey.
Guinevere said nothing. Lancelot looked back and forth between them.
“Old friends?” Lancelot queried.
“Hardly,” Raja replied, her face now expressionless. “I’ll explain later. Or maybe she can.” She clicked her tongue at Odin to trot. She had trained him to respond to certain sounds and words, never able to use spurring to drive him into motion. In the distance she saw Tristan returning. “We’re leaving..”
----
As everyone settled themselves in their own areas in the forest, Raja found a small creek. She quickly stripped, only going knee deep into the water. She washed the dirt off of herself, then dried off, donning a clean pair of the same black, tight fitted breeches and tunic. She sat on a boulder as she changed her socks. Raja fed Odin oats and an apple, some dried meat to Horus. She walked back to camp, settling herself far enough where she could be in solitude, but close enough that she could see Dagonet and Lancelot from her vantage point. After she started her own fire, she unsaddled Odin and brushed him down, then she massaged his neck, stretching it forward when she hit a good spot.
She let Odin graze around, never tethering him to a tree. Raja took out the large, stolen Bible from her sack, situating herself comfortably in front of the fire to flip through it. Only a short time later, she heard the soft footsteps of someone behind her.
“Guinevere.” Raja turned her head back to the fire.
When Raja had been captured by the Woads, Guinevere was one of the people in her village that saw over her. The Egyptian woman watched, sometimes, from a pulley cage up in a tree as Guinevere and her people trained, as they talked in their native tongue of the injustices done to their people. Just as she had done thirteen years ago when she had been taken captive by a group of Woads, Raja feigned ignorance to understanding the Celtic language. It was how she had escaped after three months. Listening carefully to their plans, who was where and when. Raja had killed six people to escape, not without injuries of her own. Guinevere had been one of the people she had battled with, and despite Raja’s condition to her captivity, she had bested the Woad to the point of bloodshed, and she would have killed her, too, if it had not been for a woman coming to Guinevere’s aid. Raja had killed the woman, finally making her way to freedom. Yet, Raja held no resentment to the entire population of Woads, she had not been brought up that way, to judge a race by an individual. She had simply taken a dislike to the Woad warrior, who had constantly preached and lectured her about the Romans and Sarmatians. She talked of things she knew nothing about, something Raja had little patience for.
“Would you like to sit?” Raja asked.
Guinevere silently took a seat on an empty log, her eyes fixed on the Bible. “I do not know how many times I had to listen to those Monks read their condemnations from that book. It should be burned.”
Raja looked up at her with raised eyebrows, firelight dancing in her eyes. “No one has the right to destroy another’s words. Besides, it is not the contents of this Bible that are tainted, but the Monks.”
Guinevere smiled ruefully, pulling her cloak tighter around her. “I suppose there’s nothing I can say about our meeting each other again.”
“I suppose not.” Raja closed the book, returning it to her sack.
“I almost died from our last fight.” She grinned to show that she harbored no ill feelings. “I had never seen anyone fight like you before.”
Raja shrugged lazily. “I had a great teacher. The best.” She stoked the fire. “You’re a strong fighter, as well.” Her words were interrupted by her coughs, tightening her lungs for minutes. She felt a glob of bloody mucus in her mouth and spit it out to the side.
“Are you all right?” Guinevere asked.
“Fine.” She coughed again.
“I remember you throwing up blood when you were with us.”
Raja cleared her throat, taking another tonic from her purse and downed the contents. “Yes, well, those cold mornings and nights did nothing for my health.” Many cold mornings and nights that wreaked havoc upon her, and when she had made it back home it took months for her to regain her strength. Strength she still had not fully recovered.
But it didn’t matter now. So few things mattered now.
----
Lancelot sat against a large tree, his dragon trinket in hand. He thought of the conversation he’d had with Guinevere. He thought it ludicrous that she thought they were a lot alike. She was a believer, for her people, for a better life, while he, like he had told her, would have left her and the boy there to die in that death-ridden dungeon. The woman had a certain sway for Lancelot, despite the fact that she was a Woad. He now knew that she was the woman his cousin had told him of a year ago – the female Woad that had constantly barked justice for her people. Yes, he could see the likening to Guinevere and Raja’s perception of her.
He had been surprised that Guinevere hadn’t seemed embarrassed or even upset that he had so blatantly stared at her as she sat nude in the wagon. It was by complete accident that he happened upon her. For a warrior, and for a woman who had been tortured so recently, she had few scars, or none that he could see. Arthur was attracted to her, that he could tell, and Guinevere was especially preoccupied with the Roman-Britain as well.
He turned when he heard the snapping of twigs and the crinkling of leaves under the feet of Arthur. He smirked when he saw him following Guinevere deeper into the forest.
----
Now that Marcus Honorius was dead by Guinevere’s hands, and his soldiers under the command of Arthur, the journey was less tense, and now they only had to watch their backs for the Saxons. The next obstacle was crossing a span of ice, the only safe route to their destination. Then they were presented with another hurdle, staying and fighting...and so they did.
The nine of them, Guinevere had insisted on joining them, stood in a line, bows and arrows in hand as they approached. Dagonet, Bors, Galahad, Gawain, Raja, Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot and Tristan.
“We’re far out of range.” Guinevere interjected.
Raja rolled her eyes at the woman’s constant haranguing.
“Bors, Raja, Tristan,” Arthur said.
Raja nocked two arrows, then the three of them let loose their arrows, five of them soaring through the air, killing five Saxons. The wind bit at their faces, the ice wouldn’t break, Dagonet ran with his battle axe, trying to shatter the frozen water. Raja’s heart leapt in her throat. Not Dagonet.
She ran towards him, hearing Lancelot and Tristan shouting her name for her to stop. But she did not stop. The arrows sped by her, hissing past Dagonet, grazing his upper arm, his thigh. Raja took some grey pellets from a drawstring bag that was tied to her waist. She flung them at the feet of the Saxons as hard and as far as she could, the balls exploded against the hard ice, spreading noxious fumes in front of her enemies. The distraction relieved Dagonet from the volley of arrows, she was further ahead of him, doing her best to keep clear of death. She continued to throw the pellets, the Saxons screaming at the burning of their eyes and the smell of smoke. For a split second, Raja met the eyes of the Saxon that was leading the men opposite her. He looked at her with fear...thinking her some sort of witch, and also with scorn at her actions. The ice broke beneath her, she could feel the increasing explosions of cold foundation, she stumbled and hissed when an arrow grazed her thigh, and Tristan was there, picking her up, dodging the cracked ice as he took them to solid ground.
“You foolish woman,” he growled.
Raja rolled her eyes and ignored him. “Is Dagonet all right?”
“Flesh wounds, he’ll be fine.”
He sat her down on the ground, packing snow onto her wound to staunch the blood flow.
“It won’t even need stitches, Tristan.”
He ignored her, tearing a piece of cloth from his cloak to wrap around her thigh. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”
She snorted. “We all could have.”
He looked at her with stern eyes, not finding any amusement at her capricious behavior on the ice. Tristan gently helped her to her feet, not sensing any sign of pain on her part. He squeezed her hand, savoring the flesh to flesh contact before he left to scout ahead. His eyes said I love you.
In minutes he was gone, and Raja turned her head back to the Saxons, the leader berating his men for something. The familiar feeling of anger welled inside of her, and she snatched up a stray bow and arrow, walking determinedly to get in range to shoot him. She nocked her arrow, aim true...
“No!” Guinevere yelled just as Raja let loose her arrow, flying high...lodging itself through the Saxon’s head, leaving his cohorts in an uproar.
Raja turned towards the female Woad, bewildered at her opposition.
“I was to meet him on the battlefield!” she remonstrated.
A puff of wry amusement came from Raja’s lips. “I wasn’t aware you two had an appointment.”
“Good aim, dear cousin,” Lancelot commended, stepping in line next to her. He grinned at Guinevere’s indignation.
----
So there were no deaths on their side on their last mission. For that, Tristan was grateful. They all dismounted in the courtyard, dirty and tired. Lancelot handed them their papers, and before departing Tristan took the box that had held them. Dagonet was spirited away to the infirmary, things calmed to a certain degree. Oddly, Tristan felt nothing when his hands touched the parchment with words that declared him a free man. It all seemed for naught now that he no longer had Raja. His doing, separating himself from her, too painful to be a husband witnessing her fighting for her life. Since then he had slept in his barracks, alone, without his arms securely around Raja’s small body. Not a day went by that his body did not ache for hers.
So intense was it that six months ago, for the first time in seven years, he had bedded another woman that was not Raja. The smell of her was unpleasant, the look of her was unpleasant, but it had dawned on him later that it must have been her dark hair that had drawn him to her. That first time he laid with her was because he could take no more. Seeing Raja talk to other men infuriated him, only because now she was free to lay with whom she wanted, even though he knew that it was unlikely. Yet, the men approached her now that it was common knowledge Tristan had no claim on her. And that is what had thrown him over the edge.
He always took the whore from behind, they never spoke, he did not even know her name. He had almost been unable to get an erection, but Raja’s face emblazoned itself in his mind, and his penis hardened, the constant visage of his love the only thing maintaining his hardness. Her name always came from his lips while he spurred himself into the faceless woman, and she never said anything about the name he called out repeatedly. Three months later he bedded her again, and he had not since then.
Such were his thoughts that were interrupted by a pounding on his door to go to the Wall. Everyone was there save Arthur. Tristan stood to the right of Raja as she gazed out at the mass of Saxons. She sat between the parapets, her right leg bent on the surface she sat on, her left leg touching the safety of the opposite side of the wall.
He saw Arthur fly up the stairs to the Wall, the Woad woman behind him. Arthur said he was going to stay, bidding them farewell. Lancelot followed him.
“Guinevere,” Raja called.
Guinevere stopped in her tracks, intent on following Lancelot and Arthur. Raja stood up, straightening out her dark blue dress that was made of soft material. Behind her, Tristan could not help but take her in, how the cloth hugged her curves.
“Leave them be,” she said to Guinevere. “They are not your concern.”
Bors, Galahad, and Gawain looked at each other, almost as if they were expecting a fight.
“Why not?” she challenged. “They are discussing the fate of my people.”
“No, they are discussing the fate of their friendship. It has nothing to do with your people.” She paused, cocking her head to the side. “Or you, for that matter.”
By then, Arthur and Lancelot were finished arguing, there was nothing more to see that night. Tristan found himself walking Raja to her room, accompanying her there in silence. It was familiar, the only difference being was that he wouldn’t be walking through the bedroom door with her. She coughed, causing Tristan to wince.
“Is there blood?”
Raja licked her teeth, not looking at him. Her silence answered Tristan’s question.
“I’m staying with him,” Raja told him.
He was put off by the non sequitur, but understood her. “No. You’re going with us.”
She raised her head towards the sky, grinning at his ever controlling self. “You can’t order me around, Tristan. I don’t have anywhere else to go, anyway.”
The meaning behind her words broke his heart, knowing that it was he who had caused her this feeling of abandonment. He wrapped her tightly in his arms, the words he wanted so desperately to say lodged in his throat. The smell of meadowsweet filled his nostrils, and her delicate frame that pressed against his body stirred him.
Raja felt his growing erection and pushed herself away from him. “Good night, Tristan.”
----
Raja was not the only one who ended up staying to fight with Arthur. They all died, and they all survived. Tristan and Lancelot were injured, but within a month they were back on their feet. The Egyptian woman had enlisted Dagonet, Lancelot and Bors into helping her build a small cottage near what used to be her and Tristan’s place in the forest. Raja could barely nail two pieces of wood together, much to her dismay. Lancelot, too, wasn’t the greatest person to use a tool, but it was her attempt to pull him away from Guinevere.
Guinevere was working herself between both Arthur and Lancelot, and Raja was not the only one who had noticed. It bothered her, churning her stomach into clumps of ill bodings. The feeling of dread only worsened when Arthur and Guinevere became engaged, and the flirting between she and her cousin still continued. It also enraged her. She kept her eye on them when they were around, they didn’t seem to notice how close they were to the unforgivable hands of betrayal. Another month passed, two now since Badon, and Guinevere was trying to “bond” with Raja. Despite her engagement to one of her brothers, Raja still could not help but dislike the Woad.
Guinevere had convinced Raja to accompany her to the training grounds of her people where the women sparred. Odin and Horus came with her.
“They’re all interested in you,” Guinevere told her.
“I’m sure,” she replied dryly. She had had enough of people being “interested” in her over the years. Man or woman. It wasn’t who she was that intrigued people, but what she looked like. Her freakish silver eyes, her hair that was darker than a demon’s soul. The white streak, and her brown skin. It got old.
Guinevere was afraid she had offended her. “No, I mean your fighting skills. They’ve never seen anyone fight like you before. You’re better than a lot of men I know.”
They approached the sparring ground, there were eleven women in all. Raja had not intended to participate, so she stood to the sides with Guinevere as she observed the women spar with each other. They were good, strong. Some of them seemed a bit too sure of themselves, trying too hard to prove that they were warriors. She stood out like a sore thumb among them. They were all in brown animal skin, some covered in their traditional blue. Raja was clad in her black garb: tight fitted breeches, sleeveless tight tunic, black sash wrapped around her waist, her dagger sheathed, and black boots with three buckles on each side.
Then a woman was challenging her.
“That’s Turga,” Guinevere said.
Raja raised her eyebrows in surprise at the woman’s vehemence. She really didn’t have a good reason to say no, and now all people present were looking at her. With an inward sigh she took one of the fighting staffs, gripping the wood in her hands. They parried around each other, getting a feel for the other’s movements. Turga sprung at Raja ferociously, but the Egyptian woman blocked her hit, using a series of combos that had the Woad flat on her back in seconds. She bared her teeth like a wild animal, hauling herself up from the ground in anger.
“Bitch,” Turga said in her language.
Raja showed no signs of understanding the woman’s insult. It wasn’t the first time she had been called a bitch. As Turga came at her again, Raja stopped the attack by moving her right foot in front, turning slightly to the side, her staff hitting underneath Turga’s, making an upward thrust that caught the Woad underneath the chin. Then Raja twirled her pole in the air to gain momentum, turning with the staff on the last rotation, bringing it to the back of Turga’s knees, knocking her down again.
The other women that were standing around talked amongst themselves as they saw their companion being bested continually. Some of them looked at Raja with contempt, as if she were purposely trying to hurt the woman. Sparring was sparring to Raja, she never made any quips, she took no haughty satisfaction when she made a hit. She was taught to respect her opponent. Raja walked to Turga, holding out her hand to help her up, but she was only met with more disdain.
Apparently Turga was not finished, she seemed intent on delivering something to Raja, but the Egyptian woman did not know what. They blocked and attacked each other again, Turga ended up on the ground for the third time. Her back was to Raja, and before she knew it, Turga swung around and hit Raja in the shoulder with a fist-sized rock. She grunted in pain, immediately angered at the cheap shot the woman had taken. Was there no honor in sparring? Turga came at her again, thinking her temporarily impeded, but Raja grabbed the fist that came at her, twisting her around by the wrist, so Raja was behind her. She kneed her in the kidney and Turga dropped to the ground. Before she knew it, the other women were coming at her from all sides. She heard Guinevere trying to stop them.
The women got a few hits in, but the rage that the Egyptian felt coursed through her, sparking her energy. She used a roundhouse kick to one of the woman’s stomach, as two came at her from each side, Raja stepped clear at the last second, causing the two of them to collide. Turga was up on her feet again, shouting, everything was chaos. Raja felt the sting of a blade against her waist, and she unsheathed her own dagger, ducking and twisting her body so fast that Turga didn’t see her reappear at her side, but only felt Raja’s dagger burying itself deep into her shoulder.
The spill of blood halted the commotion, Horus cawed, flying around above them, Odin whinnied and reared, stamping his hooves against the ground. Raja watched as the women collected themselves, all beaten and bruised at some point or another by Raja’s hand. Guinevere knelt down by the injured Turga, and Raja was forgotten. She wiped the blood from her weapon and rode away with Odin.
----
Later in the evening, Raja was summoned to Arthur’s study. She had cleaned herself up, leeched the bruise that had swollen like a grapefruit on her shoulder. The slash that Turga had made on her waist was completely superficial, she had sucked in her stomach and bent her back just in time to alleviate her attack. She was also sporting a bruise on her cheek and ribs, but for the most part she was unhurt.
Raja sat in the armchair across from Arthur’s desk, crossing her legs and arms, waiting for him to speak. She already knew what this was about. She was still angry about being jumped by eleven woman, pathetic. They had no honor or dignity, and apparently the only way they could have beat her was in numbers, but they had underestimated the Egyptian’s fighting skills.
Arthur rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb. “The woman, Turga, will live in case you were wondering. But she will never use her arm as easily again.”
Raja shrugged half-heartedly.
He was surprised at Raja’s aloofness, expecting more compassion, which she had in abundance. “What possessed you to attack her like that?”
Her silver eyes looked back and forth in confusion, locking on him as if he should have already known. “What exactly were you told? And by whom?”
“Guinevere explained everything to me. You and Turga were sparring, you had the upper hand, then she hit you in the shoulder with a rock.” Arthur looked at her wound as if seeing it for the first time. It was grotesquely black and blue, and it looked extremely painful.
“And?” Raja ignored his scrutiny.
“Why don’t you tell me your side of the story.”
She sighed. “That first part is correct, yes. After she hit me with the rock, I used an offensive maneuver and kneed her in the kidney. When she went down all the other women, eleven of them, came at me at once.”
His eyebrows rose in comical disbelief. “All of them?”
“Yes. I suppose Turga recovered during the melee and she swiped at me with her knife, but I moved just in time for it to only graze my waist. That was when I stabbed her with my dagger.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I wasn’t aware that she pulled a knife on you.”
“I suppose your betrothed left that part out,” she said scornfully.
“She must not have seen it, Raja.”
The Egyptian sat there, straight-faced, not quite believing that conjecture. “If you say so.” Neither of them spoke for a moment.
“Did Turga look familiar to you, at all?”
Consternation ticked between her eyebrows. “No. Should she have?”
“Turga claims you killed her sister during your escape last year.”
After a pause, she nodded. “Who was her sister?”
“Her name was Brianna. She had been coming to Guinevere’s aid when you were fighting her.”
Everything came into place then. She distinctly remembered the woman who helped Arthur’s wife-to-be. “Guinevere failed to mention that when Turga called me out. Did she have an explanation for that?”
“She did not think that Turga would try to seriously hurt you among a group of people.”
Raja laughed, a dry, caustic litany of eerie notes. “Maybe she will think twice about using underhanded tricks to spite someone from now on.”
“You could have killed her, Raja.”
“I was defending myself from a hoard of wild banshees. Was I supposed to just stand there and take it, Arthur?” Her voice rose to a semi-high pitch, appalled at the side Arthur was taking, a side that was not hers.
“No, but-”
“But what? There were eleven of them, Arthur. Eleven. They were trying to kill me, or at least seriously cripple me. And you sit there taking her side? Their side? Did you lecture them? Scold Guinevere for not mentioning that Turga had me on her To Kill list? That might have prevented this entire mishap.”
“All right, Raja. I understand.”
“No, you really do not understand Arthur.” She stood up, sneering disdainfully at him. “You should be on my side. Mine.”
Arthur watched her leave the room without another word to him. The lack of concern for the woman she had stabbed disturbed him. The Raja he knew would have at least asked about Turga’s welfare. His sister, for that was how he always thought of her, had seemed not quite herself for some months. She did not even seem happy when he told her that he was engaged to Guinevere, saying nothing for what seemed like an eternity. Then her words were uttered: So soon? He desperately wanted Raja and Guinevere to be friends, but his sister was not warming up to her. The only reason, he knew, she was treating Guinevere amiably was out of love and respect for him. Arthur sighed heavily.
----
Raja had headed straight to the tavern for some ale. She rarely drank, or drank much, but she could use some of the inebriating effects of alcohol at the moment. Lancelot called her over to his table where he sat with the rest of the men, save Tristan. She sat down across from him as he slid a full cup of mead to her. None of them failed to notice her bruises.
“I guess she did a number on you,” Galahad commented. “But from what I hear you got that woman better than she did you.”
Raja smirked and took a sip of her drink. She took no satisfaction in her defensive actions.
“Did you take care of all your wounds, Raja?” Dagonet asked, observing the rather prodigious one on her shoulder.
Raja nodded.
“Arthur told me all about it,” Lancelot said.
“Eleven of them came at you at once and you pulverized all of them!” Bors cried out with pride. “That’s my girl!”
“Brother Osiris,” Raja objected. “Does everyone know?”
“You should be proud!” Gawain held up his cup to her in salute.
Suddenly the ale did not seem as good an idea as she thought, and she pushed it away in disgust. “Arthur took their side.”
“That was probably not his intention,” Dag assured her. “He is just trying to keep the peace.”
“Probably worried that you might have hurt Guinevere,” Lancelot pointed out casually.
At the sound of her name coming from his lips, Raja tensed. She looked at her cousin through squinted eyes. “Actually, he said nothing of a sort. You’re the only that brought up the idea of her being injured.”
Dagonet and Bors looked at each other, then Galahad and Gawain caught on. They were all aware of the flirtations between Lancelot and Guinevere.
“Funny, cousin, how you always manage to integrate her into a conversation.”
Lancelot stared at her, preening to her implication. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She snorted. “None of us are blind, Lancelot. Especially me. Stop doing what you’re doing, because it’s disgusting.” Raja pushed her chair back and left the tavern. She went straight towards the stables, only occupied by Tristan.
He said nothing to her, only scanned her body. When he’d heard about the skirmish between Raja and the Woads, every protective instinct in him flared up. He was pissed that they had attacked her en masse, but secretly proud of his Raja defeating all of them.
The two of them groomed their horses. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just fine.” She smiled at him. “Everyone seems to know about what went on.”
“Hmm.”
“How are your wounds? Are any of them causing you trouble?”
“Nope.” Warmth spread through him being in such close proximity with her...just her. Gods, he wanted her.
“Do you want to go for a ride? My hut is almost finished.”
“I’d rather walk,” he told her. It would allow him to spend more time with her.
“All right.”
----
Another month passed, Raja and Tristan spent more time together. Her bruises were gone, and eventually her encounter with the Woads faded from topic. One thing that did not fade, however, was the pull between Lancelot and Guinevere. Arthur and she were to be married in one month, and the first knight was still making swooning eyes at the bride. The track they were taking was not good, and the spiked ball continued to press inside of Raja.
She talked to no one of it, mostly because they were all adjusting to their new lives of freedom. Raja was happy that they no longer were bound to fealty, but as her brothers gradually left behind the wenches, settling down with one woman – Gawain and Dagonet had – she felt as if her place in taking care of them was no longer required. For fifteen years she had gotten used to being the main girl, then female in their lives. But now things were changing rapidly, so she accepted it, attempting to adjust.
It was
Raja woke up with a start, her breast heaving, cold sweat trickling down her spine. Her body shook with the aftermath of her nightmare – Guinevere and Lancelot in her sanctum, playing the parts of betrayers. She had held it in too long, and could no longer keep herself from confronting her cousin. She was certain that they had done nothing to this point, but her stomach still cramped when she saw them together, even if there were other people around.
With unsteady legs she swung herself out of bed, stripping off her damp shift in place of breeches and tunic. It was the middle of the night, but that did not stop her from walking determinedly to Lancelot’s room. And if he were with a woman, he would simply have to postpone his tryst.
Raja could hear nothing behind his door, and she did not hesitate to knock. She knocked again and again until he finally opened the door, wearing only his breeches, with a disgruntled look on his face, which turned to a mix of confusion and worry, seeing his cousin looking troubled before him. He stepped aside so she could enter, and no sooner had he closed the door, she spoke.
“Do you love her?” she blurted.
“Eh? What are you talking about?” He splashed water on his face to wake him up. “Are you all right?”
“Do you love her?” she repeated, ignoring his inquiries.
He looked at her blankly.
“Guinevere.” Raja plopped onto a chair, not able to hold herself up anymore.
“You came here in the middle of the night to ask me if I love Arthur’s betrothed?” There was incredulity in his voice. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at her through dark eyes.
“I am not blind, Lancelot. None of us are. We can see that you and she are drawn to each other. So answer my question.”
Lancelot could see Raja was shaking, that her eyes held fear and distrust. “What are you trying to say, Raja?”
She was silent, never breaking eye contact with him. “I am saying, for the first time, I feel my trust in you wavering...and it frightens me.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears.
She could not have hit him any harder had she taken an iron flail to his head. And now it was he who was frightened – frightened of the prospect of his cousin losing hope for him, something that he had not realized, until now, that he needed. He needed her to trust him. Ever since she was a little girl, she had constantly stood by him, even when he made the most grievous mistakes. She had comforted him when he lost Sophia due to his stupidity. It was Raja’s reaction that he had most feared. She had an impenetrable loyalty for her family, and betrayal was a one way path, there was no going back, no forgiveness. Yet, instead of being met with scorn, she had held him while he sat next to her, crying like a child in her lap.
“I...can’t deny that I am attracted to her. But I do not love her and I have never acted on my feelings.”
Raja nodded wearily. “I had a dream about the two of you kissing, and with that one kiss, the sky fell and the earth broke open in flames.” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat.
Almost earnestly he said, “You believe me don’t you?”
“I believe you, Lancelot,” she whispered. “I was thinking though, if ever the two of you were to transgress...I would deny the blood we share” - Lancelot’s face drained of color – “and you would cease to exist to me.” It was now that a renegade tear slid down her face.
Lancelot was instantly at her feet, kneeling in front of her, clasping her hands tightly. She was the only woman that did not make him uncomfortable when women cried. “I would never risk losing your good favor, Raja, nor Arthur’s. Although, I have a feeling he would be far more forgiving than you would.” A poor attempt to make jest. “I need...I need you to keep believing that I have a good heart.”
Raja rested her forehead against his. “I know you do, Lottie. That’s why a betrayal would be so devastating.” She kissed him on the forehead.
----
Returning back to her hut, Raja sat on the boulder in front of the lake, listening to the wind and the waterfall that cascaded down the rocky edifice into the crystalline waters. Like a dream, Tristan appeared beside her, taking her hand. They sat there for hours, saying nothing as he rested his head on her shoulder. They lay in the same bed that night, for the first time in over a year. They did not make love, but they held each other as the lovers they once were. The next morning he asked her if she still loved him...words were had, pains of a year gone by. Of course she still loved him.
It took two backhanded hits across the face to get him to listen to her, and when her words were purged, he locked his lips to hers, swearing he would never abandon her again. Their clothing led a trail back inside of her room, and they were naked before they hit the bed.
Tristan had wanted this for so long. The feel of her body, her kisses, her touch.
“Raja.” His voice was husky, rife with need. He plunged himself into her, and she clenched her thighs around his waist, meeting his every thrust.
They climaxed together, and as her juices rushed out of her tunnel, his mouth was there to drink her in. “Gods, Raja, I’ve needed to taste you for so long.” His words were said in one breath before he plunged his tongue back into her vagina, teasing and taunting her with his fingers and mouth. She made loud keening noises, her body rocked with orgasm after orgasm.
“Tristan, no more,” she moaned. Her hips bucked, but he clamped his forearm across her waist to hold her down. Fire engulfed her inside and out as he continued to suck her dry, paying no heed to her protests. “Tristan! Gods I can’t breathe!” Every orgasm that hit her, small sparks then long, crashing ones coursed through her heated body. “Tristan!” She screamed.
He ignored her, having gone too long without her sweet nectar to satiate him. He drank her until his jaw was sore, and by then his sex was raging, and he buried himself deep inside of her dripping channels.
Raja yelled. “Harder!”
He grunted hot air into her neck, coaxing her legs up and her feet behind her head. She was wide open for him to pound ferociously into her, his shaft making contact with her womb. She squeezed his tight buttocks, urging him forward, faster, harder, until they exploded. By then, Raja was a crying mess, lying underneath him as she sobbed into his neck, sobbing from pleasure and the thrill of having him in her arms again. Tristan knew what her tears meant, and it killed him that he was the one who had caused them. He could only whisper to her that he loved her, and that he would never leave her again.
----
It was two weeks before Arthur’s and Guinevere’s wedding. The lust that was once in Lancelot’s eyes for the Woad had dissipated into a platonic camaraderie. Raja was still uneasy seeing them around one another, but with Tristan by her side she felt more at peace.
Tristan and Raja sat at one of the tables in the tavern eating breakfast. Dagonet and Bors joining them minutes later. All talk around the fort was of the wedding.
“Are you fussing over what you’re going to wear, too?” Bors asked Raja. “Because Vanora is up in arms over the kids’ outfits.”
“I don’t have to worry about wearing anything, because I’m not going to the wedding.” Raja said it like she decided she wasn’t going market. Even Tristan stopped eating to look at her. She had already made him a new outfit for the wedding, and during that time, not once, did she ever mention the fact that she was not going.
“It’s Arthur’s wedding, Raja. You have to go.” Dagonet said.
She shook her head resolutely. “No, it doesn’t. I do not support this union, and I never have.”
“When did you decide this?” Bors asked.
“The day Arthur told us of his engagement.” She finished the last of her porridge and pushed the bowl aside. Getting up from the table, she stared each of them in the eyes. “I’ve made up my mind.”
----
“There you are.”
Raja had just been saddling Odin for their daily ride. “I figured you would find me sooner or later.”
Arthur approached her solemnly. “Where are you going?”
She shrugged. “Just for a ride.”
“Do you want company?”
“Sure.”
And so they both readied their steeds and rode out of the south gate, letting the two mounts take the lead. After a while, the horses slowed in an easy trot.
“I was told you are not going to attend my wedding.” Arthur glanced sideways at her.
“I thought you would hear it soon enough.”
“Were you planning on telling me?”
“I thought about it. But then I did not see the point in putting a crimp in anyone’s plans too soon. It was only by happenstance that Bors found out when he did.”
Arthur sighed. “You’re still angry for my stance on the mishap with the other Woads.”
Raja’s eyebrows climbed high on her face. “I actually had not thought about that in weeks.”
“Then what is the reason for your absence?”
Now it was her turn to sigh. “I do not support this union, Arthur.”
He gaped at her in hurt surprise. “Why?”
“Your marriage will be rooted in politics and duty. Not love, as it should be.”
“What makes you think Guinevere and I do not love one another?”
“I never said you did not. But was it love that sparked the beginning of this relationship?”
Arthur caught her off guard by chuckling.
“What’s amusing?”
“Ever since you were a child you always talked about how marriage should be for love, going on and on about your mother and father, and your mother’s mother, and how the women in your family have refused to marry for anything but love for generations.”
Raja waited for him to continue.
“Why do you not like Guinevere?”
The change of direction knocked her again. “I don’t trust her...or her father.”
“Why is that?”
“Honestly?” She raised a skeptic brow at him.
“Of course. I would never want anything less than the truth between us. And I know the only reason you have held your tongue about Guinevere is because you love and respect me, and I thank you for that.”
“Hmm. I find Merlin to be manipulative and self-serving. I think he pushed Guinevere to seduce you into staying here to fight the Saxons in the first place.”
“That may be. But in the end it was my decision to stay. Raja, you are my sister, and your concern for my happiness means everything to me. I can only ask that you trust me now, as you have all these long years. I know Guinevere loves me, and I her. I also cannot deny that there are politics and duty involved, but it does not change the fact that love does exist between the two of us.”
“She is the person you will fall asleep next to, wake up to in the morning.”
“And I look forward to it.”
----
In the end, although she had not been entirely decided after her conversation with Arthur, Raja attended the wedding. She stood between Lancelot and Tristan, her heart filling with joy for Arthur’s happiness. The way she saw Guinevere look at her husband settled something inside of Raja, there was definitely love in the Woad’s eyes, and for now, that was all she could ask for. The rest was yet to come.
----
The moonlight danced over Raja’s nude body that straddled Tristan. He laced his fingers and put his hands behind his head, leaning back against the pillows to watch his Raja as she gently, and slowly rocked her hips. Her small hands fluttered over his chest and torso, her eyes were closed, and he knew when she bit just the tiniest bit of her lip that a tingling orgasm was fluttering through her.
Gazing at her was like gazing at a goddess – her brown, velvety skin, firm, high breasts, a toned abdomen that curved into an enticing waist that swayed back and forth when she walked. No doubt people were still celebrating Arthur’s wedding this evening, but he and Raja had left early, never ones for large ceremonies.
His love continued to contract her vagina around his member, saturating his idle phallus
with her warm nectar. Tristan must have made a sound for Raja’s eyes fluttered opened, meeting his golden gaze.
She smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, you must be sore.” She made to slip off, but his hands held her waist down.
“No, stay there,” he ordered in his gruff voice. “I was enjoying looking at you. Keep going.”
She began to move her hips again, and when he hardened, they moved together in perfect synchronicity, never missing a beat, a rhythm between them that had continued to flow even during their lost year together, and now they were just picking up where they had left off.