Only Time
Who can say
when the roads meet
that love might be
in your heart
and who can say
when the day sleeps
if the night keeps
all your heart...
Chronology: Tristan is 24. Galahad is 16. Raja is 14.
Galahad flew up from the ground, his teeth clenched in a ferocious growl. Without thinking, he charged at Lancelot, his wooden practice sword raised over his head. But the older knight grinned slyly, deflecting the younger man’s ill defended attack. In three swift moves, Galahad was bested once again. He glared at his opponent, hating his superior smile. He cracked his weapon against his bent knee, splitting the thick wood as if it were a twig. Lancelot’s smirk faltered for a mere moment at Galahad’s unsuppressed rage. The practice sword was made of some of the thickest wood, and he had just broken it!
“Gods, Galahad! Don’t be a poor sport!” Gawain called from the sidelines. He approached the two sparring partners, bending to pick up the decimated piece of wood. He shook his head at the both the carnage and his young friend.
Lancelot had recovered by then. “Ah, no matter. He had no chance in the first place.”
Galahad pushed him as hard as he could, both palms against his chest. Lancelot staggered back, his good nature slowly dissipating. Gawain held the younger boy back, stopping the impending fight.
“Watch it, pup.” Lancelot shot his dark eyes at his aggressor. “I only have so much patience.”
Galahad’s chest was heaving, barely able to swallow his venom. Dagonet walked up behind him, placing a large, placating hand on his shoulder.
“Leave it, Lancelot,” the tall man warned.
Galahad shook Dag’s hand off his shoulder, spitting at Lancelot’s feet before stalking off.
“Don’t provoke him,” Dagonet told him.
“Me provoke him?” Lancelot scoffed. “I bested him fairly. Is that provoking him?” He took the broken piece of wood from Gawain and held it up to Dagonet. “He’s insane!”
“Aye, that could have been your neck!” Bors chuckled.
Lancelot snorted in derision. “I’d like to see him try.”
----
Raja sat high in the supporting network of branches in the oak tree. A conclave held her perfectly like a chair. Odin was far off, seeking the clear water of a spring. Horus was off hunting, but she knew if she played a specific series of notes on her nei, they would both come back to her. Now, though, she played a lulling melody, one of her favorites, but it was cut off when she saw a violent rustle of bushes, and an indistinct, but noticeably angry voice approaching. Raja was well guarded by the leaves, so she kept still, waiting for whomever to come into view. She took her dagger, ready to launch it if need be. Moments later, Galahad came into view. Her eyebrows rose, seeing his red face, and the almost uncontrollable malevolence that permeated from his person.
The young knight had only come to
He let out a groan of steam and began kicking and punching a tree with his bare fists. Raja knew despite his rough hands that he would cause damage to his knuckles if he didn’t stop. Galahad didn’t notice her climbing down from her tree, or her cautious advance in his direction. But before she could get within range of him, he spun around, and in his fury he only registered a person and swung at her. Raja ducked and took three steps to the right, letting him gain his bearings.
His world of red came back to the multitude of colors as he recognized Raja. Her face made him collect himself, controlling his breathing and tenseness. She waited there patiently, not in the least discomfited by his blind attack.
“What are you doing here?” he asked when he had regained his composure.
Raja shrugged. “I was up there” – she gestured towards the tree with her head – “when you came stomping into view.” When he offered no response, she spoke again. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he grunted.
“Hmm. Your knuckles are bleeding.”
He seemed momentarily perplexed at her comment, but then he looked at his hands, which were bleeding.
“Here.” Raja stood on her tiptoes, taking something that was hidden in a thick brush of leafy branches.
Galahad saw it was a medium sized satchel. “Sit,” she said to him. Raja placed herself gracefully on the ground, already taking items from her bag. She placed a cloth next to her, flattening it out. Then she took a small bottle of clear liquid, tweezers, and clean wraps out of her bag, arranging them on the first piece of cloth.
He sat across from her. “Do you always carry this stuff with you?”
“Usually. I never know when I’ll find an injured animal that will need help.” She took his right hand in hers, immediately picking the splinters from his knuckles with the tweezers. Raja was surprisingly gentle and methodical with her aid.
As she administered to his wounds, Galahad could not help but stare at her. She had been on this island longer than he had, but he remembered her welcoming him when he had come to the fortress. They didn’t speak to each other very much, but he always saw her around. When he had gathered that she and Tristan were good friends, he was damned near shocked because even after a few days in the scout’s presence, he surmised that the man had no real friends, despite the occasional camaraderie he participated in with the other knights. In fact, Raja was close to all of the men. Most of what he knew about her was from what other people told him. She had come to the island with her Uncle Ardeth – whom Galahad actually stood in awe of, along with the others – when she was eight years old. Her parents were dead, and she was Lancelot’s cousin, another fact that had shocked him.
Raja being in close proximity with him right now soothed him, especially with her soft hands holding his. It wasn’t until this very moment that he realized how utterly beautiful she was. Her hair was blue in the sunlight, the white streak in her hair almost blinding. Her light brown skin was flawless, her lips full and shaped to perfection, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Galahad had kissed a few women since he had been here, but as he rapidly approached his seventeenth summer, he was still a virgin. Oh, he certainly felt every bodily need to couple with a woman, as there were many comely ones at the fortress, but with the other more mature knights, and not to mention their constant patronizing of his youth, it was difficult to snatch him a wench. Gawain supported him, and last week Galahad had his chance with a woman three years his senior, but before he could even penetrate the woman, in his excitement, he came too early. It had been one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life. Gawain told him he needed to ease into it, and so the next night he had a woman take him into her mouth for the first time. And so he had received such pleasure for every night after that, gradually able to sustain an erection for longer periods of time.
Galahad hissed when Raja dabbed some astringent on his wounds. She wrapped his hands carefully with the clean bandages she had, declaring herself finished. She grinned at him, her teeth white and straight.
“Thank you,” he said. He smiled at her, suddenly a bit shy.
“You’re welcome.” Raja repacked her things. “Why were you so angry?” She looked at him for a brief moment, and then away to show that he did not have to answer her question if he didn’t want to.
Galahad let out a hiss of air, his ire kindling, remembering the earlier incident. “They treat me like a child.”
“Hmm, I noticed that.”
“Especially your cousin!” he spat. “Arrogant bastard. He can never win gracefully.”
Raja laughed. “He can’t lose gracefully either. You two were sparring then, I take it?”
“Yeah.”
She bit her lip. “Can I offer you some advice?”
Galahad quirked an eyebrow, shrugging in accordance.
“All right. You’re a good fighter, Galahad. But I’ve seen you on the training grounds, and you tend to lose your temper when someone has the upper hand.”
“What kind of advice is that?”
“You didn’t let me finish,” she said with pursed lips. “When you get angry, you become so hell bent on attacking your opponent that you forget to defend yourself in the process, which leaves your vulnerable. Try not to let your anger get the best of you, and you will see more clearly when you’re fighting.”
He mulled that over in silence, slowly agreeing with a suppressed grumble.
“Come on then.” She stood up, offering Galahad her hand. After a pause, he took it, his larger hand enveloping hers. He held on for longer than he should have, looking in her silver eyes. The connection was broken with Horus’s shrill caw, and the sound of Odin’s hoof beats. “I think Odin’s hungry now.”
“That makes two of us then,” he replied. “Would you...like to eat lunch with me?”
Raja felt something flutter in her stomach, the feeling unfamiliar, yet somewhat pleasant. “All right.”
----
The woman breathed heavily, rolling onto her back next to Tristan. They were both slick with sweat from a heated rutting. She stretched her arms and legs, sounding a satisfied moan while she looked at her lover beside her. The woman didn’t know what the other women around the fort were talking about; Tristan was a god in bed. Well, they did not exactly say that he was unpleasant in bed, but rather aloof and inattentive.
She rolled on her side, supporting her head with her hand, while her other stroked his chest, caressing him further down. “Tristan,” she breathed.
He suppressed the urge to swat her hand away. Melina. He had been bedding her frequently for the past few months. Why? He wasn’t quite sure, but there was something about her disposition that had him coming back. It was she who usually sought him out, but when he was extremely tense, wicked thoughts hammering his brain, Tristan would seek her company, taking her urgently in the first accommodating spot he could find. Whether it be a dark alley, behind a building, it didn’t matter. All he knew was that he had to purge the racing, guilty arousal inside of him. This was one of those nights when he had come to her. And now they lay in his barracks – thigh to thigh, arm to arm.
Tristan was vaguely aware of Melina’s fingers on his person – again. His mind drifted to earlier that afternoon, seeing Raja and Galahad talking and laughing companionably. What had initiated their sudden taking to one another he did not know, but he did know that whenever he saw them together, a green, acrimonious jealousy would course through him. That jealously led to ideas he couldn’t bear. How close were they becoming - she and Galahad?
The aching feeling of shameful excitement had begun months ago, he couldn’t quite find an exact moment. All he knew was that one night, when Raja had crawled into his bed, shaking from a night terror; he had felt more acutely the press of her bosom against his side, the softness of her skin, the sweet scent of her hair - meadowsweet, and the merest suggestion of her curvaceous body underneath the covers. Then, a few nights later as a woman was on her knees in front of him, bringing him to the edge of satiation, Raja’s face flashed in his mind, spiking his pleasure, causing him to come with extreme voracity. And when he had opened his eyes, the face that was staring at him was not the blond haired woman who had entered his barracks with him, but the raven haired Raja, with her luscious lips shiny with his seed.
The image had bothered him immensely, and the next day he could scarcely look at Raja without that vision hurling towards him. He was disgusted with himself for feeling that way, even though he knew he had not asked for it. She was his closest friend, and he couldn’t imagine what it would do to their friendship if his wanting overcame him. For it was a wanting. After the incident with the wench, he was plagued with erotic dreams, all of which involved Raja. Tristan would wake up, dripping with perspiration, his breeches damp with his semen. He had begun sleeping in his barracks on a regular basis, too disturbed at the prospect of Raja tiptoeing into his room and the possible awareness that he might wake up with his hardness pressing against her. No, he could never let that happen. He never wanted her to be afraid of him, or uncomfortable in his presence. If he lost her trust...
Tristan’s mind came back to the present. Melina’s hand now lay on his chest, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her thigh over his waist. She was sleeping soundly, fully content huddled next to him. He was spent, and had not the energy to wake her up and bid her back to her own quarters. So he lay looking at the ceiling, trying to bury the guilt in his heart.
Melina woke up in the middle of the night to her lover mumbling. She noticed he had an erection, his body quivering ever so slightly. Sleepily, Melina grinned slyly, her hand reaching down to clasp his member. Tristan’s groans grew louder, but what he said when he came was something she would have never thought to come from his lips.
“Raja...” he moaned, sated. “Raja...” He fell back into a peaceful slumber as Melina looked at the small smile that played on his lips.
----
After the night when Melina heard Raja’s name from Tristan’s lips, she could think of nothing but the Egyptian girl, and how her existence would apparently threaten her chances with Tristan. She did not know when she had fallen in love with the enigmatic scout, but fallen in love she had. Some of the other women thought she was crazy for spending so much time with him, but it mattered not to her. Then that night would replay itself, and an unbelievable frustration would overcome her, and she found herself hating that Raja to her very core. Of course, it simply could have been a mere dream of Tristan’s. He couldn’t be the only one to have unbidden fantasies in his slumber.
Melina sighed as she washed dishes in the kitchens with her closest friend Francine.
“Oh, what is it, Mel?” Francine put her washing cloth down, looking at her friend, hands on hips in a stance of exasperation. “You’ve been brooding about something for the past few days, and I can’t take it anymore."
“Oh, Frannie!” Melina hung her head in defeat.
“What is it?” She put a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It’ll do you good to get it off your chest. Come on, now.”
Melina sniffed. “It’s Tristan.”
Francine fought back the urge to make a snide remark about how he was bound to be giving her trouble sooner or later, but kept silent.
“He...while we were in bed, he was sleeping...” Her jaw clenched, shamed of her situation. “It’s that damned Egyptian girl!” She banged her fist against the counter in sudden fury.
“What about her?”
“He said her name in his sleep! When I was stroking him! It was her name he said. Not mine!” Melina’s wet hands covered her face, trying to hide her embarrassment.
Francine’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of speechlessness.
“I love him, Frannie,” she whispered.
“Love?”
“Yes, gods help me, but I love him.” She looked at Francine, hurting for reassurance. “Do you think...that maybe it was just a dream he was having, and that he does not have feelings for her?”
She shook her head. “I have not a clue, love.”
“I will not have her coming between me and Tristan. He comes to me nearly every night now, surely that must mean something?”
Francine narrowed her eyes. Melina was not a virgin, but this notion of hers was rife with naiveté. “That man never struck me as someone who felt much of anything.”
“Oh no, Frannie!” Melina stared at her with wide eyes. “I know he feels.” A look of determination masked her face. “I know it. Yes. He feels for me. He has to.”
----
“Are you ready?” Raja asked Galahad, standing next to him on the outskirts of the training grounds. The two of them had been practicing for the past few weeks in an open meadow. She was teaching him how to control his anger with meditation – which he was dubious about at first – and exercises that took so much concentration that it would be impossible to accomplish with rage leading your movements.
Galahad nodded a confident half-smile on his face. Now, he faced Lancelot, asserting a posed calm.
“Ready, kid?” Lancelot leered at him.
He shrugged, and took his fighting stance. So it began. It went on and on, and when Lancelot would gain the upper hand, Galahad stayed composed, using the bubbling ire to put concentrated strength behind his attacks, while defending himself simultaneously. Uncertainty gleamed in his opponent’s eyes at the younger man’s unanticipated aptitude.
The other men looked on as the two sparred, neither of them gaining or losing ground to the other. Tristan looked at Raja from a few steps away. Suspicion stirred as he saw her rapt captivation tuned to Galahad. He looked back and forth between them with circumspect ease, his bangs further hiding his observations. Raja and Galahad were spending more and more time together. Often disappearing for a few hours each day. The only one who knew for certain where they were was Ardeth, as Raja was required to inform him of her whereabouts. And the more time Galahad spent with her, the less time he did. But perhaps, that was more his doing. Tristan had been avoiding her as often as he could without appearing dismissive. He still slept in his barracks, usually with Melina who continued to stay with him each night. She would satisfy his nocturnal dreams so he did not wake up needing, wanting...and the less he felt a lust for Raja, the fewer cognizances he took at her plentitude of assets.
Tristan’s thoughts were interrupted when a cheer came from the sidelines. He turned his gaze back on the two sparring partners to see Galahad with his practice sword at Lancelot’s neck as the older man was submitted to his knees. Galahad did not gloat, he just held out his hand to help Lancelot up. He ignored the proffered intimation, standing up with as much dignity he could muster.
“I think the man deserves a good cask of ale!” Bors exclaimed.
“And it’s on me!” Gawain followed.
They patted Galahad on the back, ignoring Lancelot’s retreat to lick his wounds. But Tristan couldn’t ignore the pleased smile on Raja’s face as she went to congratulate Galahad.
The young knight put his arm around Raja’s shoulder, tugging her close to him. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.
Tristan couldn’t hear what he had said to her; all he knew was that he had to walk away before his calm abandoned him.
----
The next day Raja decided to tackle her yearly birdhouse making. It was a frustrating and tedious expenditure. There was a tool shed behind the stables among the large gated pasture where the horses could laze about. Right then, Odin and the other horses were doing just that, while two dogs wrestled playfully. She became increasingly annoyed as the pieces of woods threatened to collapse...again.
Galahad heard cursing outside, walking to the back door to see Raja near the tool shed with paraphernalia of wood, hammer and nails. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a wide smile on his face. The weeks he had spent quality time with her had been some of the best times of his time on the island. Raja was smart, graceful, humorous, and the more he got to know her, the more beautiful and alluring she became to his eyes. His body was completely aware of hers, and he had had to restrain himself from pulling her to him, caressing her skin, molding her lithe body to his, planting his lips on hers.
“Piss!” Raja seethed as her project fell apart.
“Having problems?” Galahad asked jocosely, walking to her with swaggering ease.
Her head snapped up, unaware that she had been being watched. “How long have you been witnessing my demise?”
Galahad chuckled. “Not long.” He scanned the various items on the table which were strewn about. “What happened?”
Raja let out a sharp breath. “I have no idea. The wood just will not stay together!”
“Have you tried using the hammer and nails?”
Raja cast a wry look in his direction, smarting at his sarcasm. “Yes, I have tried that. There is just something faulty with these tools.”
Galahad threw his head back and laughed loudly, her comment throwing him into a fit of cheer. Composing himself, he spoke on. “So, the fault lies with the hammer and nails, then, hmm?” He knew she had been only partially serious, but it made him chortle all the same.
The Egyptian raised her head in a haughty manner, her eyes glittering with jest. “I can think of no other reason.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Galahad stood beside her, looking over her supplies. Without a word, he began to use the implements with expert efficiency. She watched his hands, large and strong, as he easily put together what she could not. Her eyes drifted to his forearms, the muscles rippling with every movement. Raja was naturally observant, but her examination of the young man next to her was purely personal. He had curly, brown hair, a full beard despite his age. She guessed him to be near six feet. During their private training sessions, he had worn a sleeveless white shirt, showing off his toned, well sculpted arms. Throughout those times, Raja felt that mysterious flutter in her stomach.
“There,” he said with finality, setting down the hammer to present a well structured birdhouse with a slanted roof. Raja took it from his hands, turning it this way and that, inspecting from every angle, her grin of gratification spreading wider.
“This is great, Galahad.”
He shrugged modestly. “Just a few pieces of wood.”
Raja snorted. “But you made it so quickly. It takes me hours and it always comes out crooked, or it falls apart before I even finish.”
“Are you telling me that you can speak I do not know how many languages, but you have trouble nailing a few pieces of wood together?”
Raja flashed a sardonic face at him. “Well, everyone has their weaknesses. How did you learn to do this so well?”
“My grandfather was a carpenter.” Raja saw a flicker of sadness at his recollection. “I helped him build various things, and I just took to it.” Absently, he shuffled the objects around the table.
“Were the two of you close?”
He nodded. “My parents died when I was three and four, so it was just him, me and my grandmother.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It was.” A heavy sigh pushed its way out from deep within him. “Anyway, why are you making birdhouses? They can make their own nests, can’t they?”
“Of course. But these provide shelter and security. It’s taking me longer than I anticipated though. Tristan usually helps me, but he has his own things to do right now.”
He heard an undertone of hurt in her voice. “I can help you.”
Her face lit up. “Really?” Then the light dimmed. “Aren’t you busy...”
“Not too busy for you.” The look on Raja’s face pleased him to no end, knowing that he was the one to put that dazzling smile on her face. He was falling for her more and more each day. Galahad felt good with her, she treated him as an equal, like a man. And for that, he was maturing bit by bit in some inexplicable way.
For the next few hours he aided Raja with the building, finishing well before late afternoon. He went with her to put them up in the same trees she settled them in every year.
“That was the last one,” Raja called down to him. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the flawless structure, and in a rare accident of losing her grace on a tree, her foot slipped, but Galahad was there, catching her. He righted her, his hands holding her by the waist.
Mesmerized by her, he stood transfixed, every thing else around him faded out until all that remained was the two of them. Raja bit her bottom lip in uncertainty, suddenly nervous, her blood racing through her, that fluttery feeling fanning her anticipation. Slowly, Galahad bent his head, taking a step closer, one of his hands snaking its way around her waist to her lower back. Raja tipped her head up as his lips came closer. She placed her hands on his shoulders, steadying herself, shaping herself into his embrace. When his lips finally touched hers in a firm statement of desire, her eyes shot open at this novel event, which fluxed into a thrilling ease, her body relaxing, her mouth returning the avidity of his ardor. His tongue touched her lips, an invitation to join closer.
Galahad moaned softly when their tongues touched, exploring with relish. His facial hair tickled her nose, he smelled of faint sweat and the wispy aroma of the green around them. Their deep kiss ended with Galahad resting his forehead against hers, his heart beating at an unnatural speed, he breathed her in – sweet and soft, like a whisper of a cool breeze. He opened his eyes, fixing his stare to hers. They stayed still, one of her hands on his shoulder, the other over his beating heart. He cupped her face, caressing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Raja hoped she wasn’t quivering too noticeably – gods, her first kiss. Her knees shook, her heart raced...
Galahad smiled at her, seeing the same fascination in her eyes that was in his. “I want to kiss you again, Raja.”
They fell into one another, the world shut out.
----
“Hey.”
Raja jumped, momentarily frightened at the sudden intrusion of her thoughts. Her lips were swollen, her throat parched from the few hours spent in Galahad’s arms – the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue.
“What are you doing out here by yourself?”
She rolled her eyes at Tristan’s words, grinning drolly to show him that she wasn’t truly agitated. He stood next to her, gazing at her sideways. She had a faraway look in her eyes, a faint smile of secrecy dancing on her face.
Raja sniffed. “Are you wearing perfume, Tristan?” Her nose scrunched, catching the scent again as the breeze wafted passed them.
“No,” he grunted. But he could smell it, too. Melina.
“Oh.” She flattened her lips together, kicking herself for not picking up on that instantly.
Tristan felt as if he had been caught cheating. He said nothing.
----
Melina and Francine came out of the tavern, walking through the streets. They saw Raja heading one way, then a few moments later, Tristan came from the same direction.
“Damn her,” Melina hissed. “I was just with him not an hour ago!”
Francine sighed, looking at her friend with pity. Melina’s face turned red in the dark, the wheels in her head turning, devising a plan.
----
Tristan followed Raja to the stables, she always had to see Horus and Odin before settling herself down for the night. They both heard a tussle behind one of the doors, then a man and woman giggling.
Raja’s eyes went wide when she saw Galahad and an unknown female nearly fall over each other coming out of the stable. Their clothes were mussed, loose, some inside out.
“How was that for your first time?” The woman locked Galahad in a feverous kiss, then they noticed the two other people in the room.
Galahad’s exuberance faltered when he saw Tristan and Raja standing there, passing questionable looks between them.
“Uh...Raja...” Galahad sensed no rage towards him from her, but even through his semi-drunken stupor, high off the thrills of post-sex, he felt guilty for kissing her, and not a few hours later, laying with a woman.
“I just wanted to see Odin and Horus.” Raja tried to hide her smile. “I’ll let you two go back to what you were doing.” She left as naturally as she could.
“Hmm.” Tristan’s mouth quirked in a cryptic manner, his bangs hiding the amusement at the young boy’s situation. “Don’t let me interrupt you.” Then he was gone, like Raja.
----
“He used you,” the First of Them told her.
Raja lay on her side, away from the THEM. She shook violently, cold sweat lining her brow, forcing herself to shut THEM out.
The Second chortled viciously. “She always was a good thing to be used, though, eh?”
She swallowed a jagged lump in her throat.
“He didn’t fuck her though,” the Third added.
“Too bad,” the First mused. “She has a tight cunt. Doesn’t she, boys?” The Second and Third echoed the First’s sentiment heartily.
“Shut up,” Raja hissed between clenched teeth.
“Oh, she speaks!” the Second one leered. She could feel his gaze burning into her back. “You were never one for using your mouth for words though, were you?”
Her voice trembled. “Go away.”
“You’re not going to cry, are you?” The Third’s musky breath reached her, churning her stomach. “Your mother didn’t cry.”
“True,” the Second seconded.
“You know,” the First conjectured, “I rather like it when she cried. Made me excited.”
“Yeah, but then you went and stabbed her!” the Third pointed out.
“Shut up!” Raja screamed. “Get out!” Her demands were met with vile mocking. “When will you just leave me alone?”
“Leave you alone?” the Second scoffed. “Never!”
“You can’t get rid of us, girl.” The First tsked.
The Third. “We’re part of you. We’re inside of you.”
“The three of us.” The Second one reminded her.
“At the same time, too!” Their laughter grew to a malevolent shriek.
“Not time itself could ever take us from you!” the First declared. “Never.”
“Never.”
“Never.”
“Girl,” – the First leaned in close, his hot breath on Raja’s neck – “you should be grateful that your innocence is gone.” He stepped back, the Second came forward.
“Innocence cannot combat evil. It is only good for the good.” He retreated.
“And there is no good in this world. Besides, no one dies a virgin...”
“...because life fucks us all,” the First finished.
“You’ve been trying to hide behind your Tristan.” First.
“He can’t save you.” Second.
“He doesn’t even want you.” Third. “Neither did that Galahad.”
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Raja screamed. “Shut up!” She tried to lunge at them, but something held her back.
“Raja.”
“No!” she yelled. “Get out! Go away!” She flailed and fought, her tears scorched her face, simmered her soul.
She woke up in her Uncle’s arms, he cradled her like a child, singing that song that brings her back to the world. She heard sobbing, soon realizing that it was her own. When she calmed, Ardeth wiped her tears, wrapped her in a blanket, taking her from her room to sit in his. He stoked the brazier to a wild heat, then made her some tea that they drank together in front of the fire.
----
Raja walked towards the kitchens. She had not gotten much sleep the previous night and her uncle had sat up with her for most of it. Her daze had been interrupted by one of the cleaning ladies, telling her that Vanora wanted to see her. She didn’t reply, but simply made her way. Just as she was outside the door, she heard Tristan’s name.
“Tristan told you he loves you?!”
Raja was jolted out of her muddled state. She poked her head in the kitchen, making sure no one saw her. Two women, whom she did not know very well, Francine and Melina, were talking giddily.
“Yes!” Melina exclaimed. “We are in love.” Her voice was forced, as if she were reciting a line from a melodramatic play. “He wants to be with me constantly, but...”
“What?” Francine magnified her curiosity.
Melina sighed. “It’s her. That girl. All she does is follow him around like a beaten puppy. He doesn’t know how to get rid of her, and he says it’s driving him insane.”
Raja took their words in, confused. There was a beat of silence.
“He feels sorry for her,” Melina continued. “It is pathetic how she clings to him.”
“I am sure she is not a true threat. She’s most likely just infatuated with him.”
Melina blew out an exasperated breath. “Hmm...no. Some women who have been here longer than me, they have said that when she was a little girl, she would crawl into bed with him! They saw her coming out of his room every morning. Can you believe that?! And some suspect that she still does.”
Francine gasped with animated clarity. “No! Poor Tristan. Can you imagine waking up next to someone who looks like she does? He must truly pity her.”
Raja stopped listening, walking away as fast as she could. She had heard enough of that when she was younger, she heard enough of it now. As she rounded the corner, she bumped into Galahad.
“Oh, sorry.” His presence put her ill at ease. “I didn’t see you.”
Galahad mumbled. “I wanted to talk with you...about last night.”
Raja waved her hand, swatting away his worries like a fly. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I do,” he insisted, more vehemently than he had intended. “I hadn’t planned that...I...Lancelot surprised me. It was his way of congratulating...”
“Galahad, please,” she stressed. “You really do not have to explain.”
He eyed her painfully. Guilt riddled him. “I like you, Raja. I do.”
She nodded, a wistful pull of her lips. “I understand. It was that final leap into manhood, right?”
Galahad snorted ruefully, looking at the ground. “So...we’re still friends?”
“I would like that.”
----
The clouds billowed above, when they had formed she didn’t know, all she knew was she had downed one jug of ale, vomited, and now it was almost nightfall. Though the wind was keen, she did not feel the chill she normally would have. The alcohol warmed her. Her nightmares plagued her for the past three days. The men were out on patrol, arriving today, but she wandered out, not wanting to meet any of them. She did not want to see Galahad, despite the truth of what she had said to him, when she thought about how she kissed him, that tingly joy no longer was present, instead, only embarrassment...shame.
She did not want to see Tristan. Trissy, her nickname for him. Pity her? Feel sorry for her? It was a knife to her heart. Was she so blind? So blind that she had been suffocating, standing between him and his lady love. He could have told her, she would have stepped back, let him devote all his free time to Melina. How selfish she was, and at the same time angry, that he felt sorry for her. She never wanted anyone to feel sorry for her. Raja banged the back of her head against the tree.
“Raja?”
She stiffened at that voice. It was like a dream, surreal, unwanted. But she turned her head to see Tristan standing not three feet away; she hadn’t even heard him approach. “What do you want?” Her voice was a monotonous chill.
Tristan paused, taken aback by her icy tone, but he tentatively stepped forward. “I just wanted...” – to see you, he thinks. He’d thought about her the three days he was gone. He got little sleep on patrols for he was the main watch, and no sleep meant no dreams of her, instead, he could contemplate his situation without the lust.
“To what?” Raja set empty eyes on him, her lips a straight line. His presence had sent her hurt to bubbling outrage. She stood, wavering on her feet, using the tree for balance.
Tristan watched her closely. “Have you been drinking?” Another step forward.
“Get away from me.”
“Raja, did I do something wrong?”
She scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be spending your first night back with your woman? I doubt she would appreciate your being here with me.” How dry her words were. Clipped. “I’ll make it easy for you.” Raja walked away carefully, steadying her abused equilibrium.
“Wait.” He hated it when people walked away from a discussion. But this time he was more bewildered than annoyed. She had never been dismissive of him. “Explain, Raja. Don’t walk away from me.”
She sighed, exasperated. “Melina, your lover. I know everything. You do not have to humor me any longer.” Raja turned, but he caught her by the elbow, quick, possessive.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Damn it, Raja, I don’t know what I did to make you angry. Talk to me.”
“Oh?” Raja looked at him indignantly. “Like you spoke to me? Like you talked about me behind me back. Instead of to my face? If you wanted me to leave you alone, you only had to say the word.” Raja’s anger cooled, dissipating to the hurt she felt to her core.
“Leave me alone?” Tristan shook his head, clearing it.
“All this time, when I thought you cared for me, you’ve only felt sorry for me, pitied me!”
“What? I have never felt sorry for you, Raja. Never.”
“Liar! I know what you told her, when you should have been telling me. Don’t you know that I would have let you be if I thought I was coming between the two of you? Holding you back because you felt obligated to stay by my side?”
By now he was truly confused by her accusations. The pain inside of her, it was palpable, even more so as he did not know what had caused it. The alcohol had her making little sense.
“I always hoped you would find a woman you could really love. And now that you have, you have no room for me, which I understand. I only wish you had not felt the need to avoid me.”
“A woman I love? I love no woman, Raja.” He realized how that must sound; he tried to take it back.
“I see. But nevertheless, you got what you wanted. I’m leaving.”
His heart might as well have stopped. “Leaving? When?”
“Two weeks. My Uncle has some touring to do with his guild.”
He didn’t want to believe this. “How long?”
“No less than a year. So,” she filled his silence, “you will be rid of me, your burden.” Once again, she tried to make her exit, but he stopped her again, and enraged at his audacity, she spun around, the back of her hand connecting with his face. They froze, shocked. She had never hit him before. The smack resounding in the vast forest, so loud to them they expected the birds to flee their nests.
Tristan sniffed, dumbfounded, hurt.
“Never touch me, Tristan,” Raja whispered cryptically. “Never touch anyone that has the shadow of Anubis lurking near.”
----
Tristan walked slowly back to the fort, alone. His heart was heavy, squeezed by an iron vise. She was leaving. His Raja. Already he felt her absence, and it was his fault. He’d pushed her away in an attempt to salvage their relationship, but it only achieved the opposite of what he had wanted. He should have told her he loved her. Explained. But the words had remained undelivered.
He had been expecting to find his barracks empty, cold, but the fire was roaring, and Melina, the dark source of it all, lay on his bed, smiling at his arrival.
“Tristan.” She went to him, her arms around his neck, pressing her lips against his. She pulled back at his lack of response. He glared at her, emotionless, but hard. His body was as rigid as wood. “What is wrong, my love?”
His voice betrayed nothing. “What did you say to her?” To the point. Unfeeling.
“Say to who?” This was unexpected; Melina had waited hours for him, anxious for his company, his body.
“You know. Don’t play dumb.” He shook her off, disgusted, his skin crawled.
“Tristan,” she crooned. “Don’t be like that love.”
“I am not your love. What did you say to her? To Raja.”
Melina’s mouth formed a small ‘o’. “What would make you think I have said anything to her?”
“Don’t be coy, wench. I know you said something. Now, tell me, or I will force it out of you.”
Melina’s brow furrowed. She clutched her fists to her chest, putting space between them. He said nothing as she stared into the flames. “Know that what I did, I did for love.” She implored him with her doe eyes, wanting him to say anything, hoping he would say he loved her, too. “I never spoke directly to her; I just planned for her to overhear a conversation. Please try to understand, Tristan. I love you. Truly.” Her declarations of love had no effect on him; his face was granite, his sharp features more pronounced. “I said that you loved me, but...” – she sighed, - “felt that you could not fully commit to me because she was in the way. And that you knew not how to get her to leave you alone. I said you pitied her...”
Tristan really didn’t need to hear anymore. The damage was done. Seeing his retreat, Melina hurried to him, desperate. “Tristan, I love you.” She clutched to his coat. “Please, do not be angry with me. I did it for us.”
“There is no us.” He put his hands around her wrists to pry her off, but she held tight.
“If you would just give it a chance!” she pleaded. “I love you. In time, you could love me, too!”
Tristan’s lips pulled into a dark, small smile. “I could never love you.” He tugged her loose.
Melina cried out, as if she were in mortal pain. “Damn you! What does she have that I don’t have? What can she give you that I cannot?” Tears streamed down her face.
Tristan had his hand on the doorknob, his head tipped, looking at her mercilessly. And again, he wondered what had had him going back to her. But no more. He left her in his room, alone.
----
Tristan...
It has been two weeks since Raja has left. After my confrontation with Melina, I spoke with Raja the next day, I had to explain. The chasm between us was roughly patched; I was still consumed with guilt. As the days crept closer to her departure, the ache inside of me grew stronger. The night before she left, she met me at our place in the forest. She gave me her dragon trinket so I would know she would return. My sleep is restless and bleak. I no longer sleep in my barracks. The smell of Melina has seeped into the woodwork, which churns my stomach. I never did tell Raja I loved her before she left, but I hope she knows it.
I still feel her soft lips on mine from the kiss we shared that night. I live off that memory. I think back to the very beginning, trying to discern when she became irrevocably a part of me. She has always been the purity and innocence in my life. And though she does not believe she harbors any innocence, I do. I hear it when she calls me Trissy, a name I have come fond of, and when she says it, it warms me. I see it when she holds an animal, when she buries one in her animal cemetery, true sorrow on her face. I feel it when she snuggles close to me at night, tiptoeing into my room, seeking the comfort of my arms. The innocence is there when she twirls a lock of my hair around her finger; it is in her soft breathing when she attains a peaceful slumber.
Time almost seems to mock us, creating us ten years apart. I think...I think that our hearts always had a deep love for each other, connecting, enmeshed. It matured, grew stronger, and once that love was ready, it was our minds that had the catching up to do. She is my friend, my other half. I did not know I sought something I had long lost until I met her. A sense of goodness, she sees it in me. Love, she sees it in me. A heart that beats for another, she sees it in me. And what part of her do I fit in? Perhaps, my strength, I am her protector. I guard the innocence that is in her, that she believes does not exist. I protect her from the evil in this world, while she brings me the good of it.
Now, she and I are leagues apart, an ocean between us. Can two people stay on the same path, though their feet may not be on the same soil? I’ll see, I guess. When she comes back to me, she and I will be ready, face to face, deciding our direction together.
Who can say
if your love grows
as your heart chose
only time.
And who can say
where the road goes
where the day flows
only time
Who knows – only time
-Enya