Part I. Another Brick in the Wall
All in all
it’s just another
brick in the wall.
Now…
I sit in a far corner of the tavern hearing the raucous laughter of men on the verge of drunkenness and their calls to the women that saunter around them with their individual offerings all too clear. It was all vaguely familiar, the noise of conversation no longer sounded as if I were listening through a closed door. The smell of ale was stronger; the heat of bodies was now palpable. After years of being hidden away and experiencing these things from a second-hand vantage point; I was now a tangible part of his world.
At last, the man who always vehemently pushed me away whenever I got too close walked into the tavern. He was a sight to behold. He was taller now with shoulder length uncombed and clumsily braided hair that was a shade darker from his childhood days. His facial tattoos remained unaltered.
“Tristan!” a stout, bald man shouted. “Get your ass over here and have some ale!”
He walked over to the man, Bors was his name, with graceful strides, taking his time without being slow, like always. He sat down next to another knight with the name of Lancelot. My mother would have referred to him as “A man who thinks he’s a god with a dick made of gold.” She had a good sense of humor and could use the most vulgar language without losing any of her femininity. I took after her; although, if she ever heard me use words like that I’d get a good talking to. It was always with a smile though. People in the village would always tell her that kids grew up better with a good thrashing instead of lectures. She dismissed them, not believing in raising a hand to a child. “There’s plenty of violence in the world that you’ll have to face, and I’ll be damned if any of that comes from me,” she said.
I remained in my seat, waiting for Tristan to get comfortable in his. A “wench” as the men called them, came over and served them some more ale. He took his without a word of thanks. I frowned at this, although I was used to his rudeness. My mother raised me to say “please” and “thank you.” “You never know what words of appreciation can do to brighten someone’s day.” She had a saying for everything. I wondered if Tristan missed his mother, if he remembered her at all.
Tired of watching, I got up and made my way over to his table. I took a seat next to the knight with “the dick made of gold.” I suppressed a smile at this. The conversation stopped and the three knights looked at me.
Lancelot smirked. “Are you lost?”
I imitated his smirk. “No, are you?”
Bors laughed and Lancelot chuckled. Tristan continued to sip his ale, and for the first time I spoke directly to him.
“Hi, Tristan.” I smiled that genuine smile my mother loved. Some people thought it was sly because the right half of my mouth curved upwards before the left half. She scoffed, of course, and told me that anyone who couldn’t see the kindness in my smile was blind.
“Do you two know each other?” Bors asked.
We answered at the same time.
“No,” Tristan replied gruffly.
“Yes,” I said.
Lancelot snorted, amused. “So, which is it?”
“Well, he would say ‘no’,” I turned towards Lancelot. “It’s difficult to recognize someone when you’ve spent 15 years ignoring them.”
“Tristan, you rude bastard!” Lancelot joked, nudging him with his elbow.
Bors almost choked on his ale from laughing. He cleared his throat with a few coughs, and then promptly downed the rest of his drink before excusing himself to talk to a beautiful red-head.
Just then, Lancelot spotted a pretty wench and beckoned her with a rhyme he lamely devised upon learning her name a few months prior.
“
Tristan and I scoffed in the back of our throats; it was, without a doubt, a stupid rhyme.
Tristan didn’t say anything, but I saw him eye a woman near him. On the rare occasions when Tristan did take a woman, this was the women he would take. He took her often because she complied with his “hard fuck and quick departure” routine. I knew it was something more. She had dark long hair that was almost black. This was the first time he would be with a woman in four months. It was a release for him, nothing more. There had been only one woman in his life that he would ache for constantly. He still did. Tristan left with the wench without a word to me.
I followed them, several steps behind, to his room. I saw the door shut and expected the silence inside, save for the shedding of clothes.
I stood outside, knowing all too well what was taking place. She takes off her shift, skirt and shoes. He discards his tunic, breeches and boots. She gets on the bed assuming the usual position, on all fours. He comes up behind her and with no directive, he thrusts himself into her. She lets out a groan of pain, but she’s used to it. This is the way he likes it and she gets paid, so it doesn’t matter. She bites her lip, he holds on to her hips, head bent, eyes closed, uttering grunts of attempted relief of tension and all forms of feeling except for the feel of his dick grinding into her orifice eliciting heightened waves of pleasure among the shaft of his penis. This made him pound harder and faster until, finally, he cums, groaning another woman’s name, the same name he always calls, when he climaxes. Pulling out of her, he not only smells but feels the moistness of their after-sex and the tang of heated sweat that sex excretes from their bodies after a hard fuck.
She puts her clothes and shoes back on; he slips back into his breeches, then gives her the usual amount of coin. She takes them. All this is done in silence and it’s deafening.
I am still standing outside his door when she exits. She takes no notice of me. I do not exist to him, why should I exist to anyone else? I slide down against the door to sit, knees against my chest with my arms wrapped around them. I wait for the onslaught of the usual weight of approaching darkness. He is killing me. Softly and slowly.
Inside, Tristan sits on his bed watching the fire, listening to the soft crackling sound it makes, thinking about the one woman he loves. He always does this after fucking; he wills the heat of the flames to kindle the coldness he often feels inside. But not even the blaze from the bowels of hell could singe that cold. It’s too deep.
He sighs and lies back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Without knowing it he blocks off the oncoming heartache that accompanies such thoughts. These stones, these bricks he carries within himself, a manmade barrier to quell any emotion that could enfeeble the façade of invulnerability that he sacrificed so much to make. He closes his eyes for sleep, alone, as always. And there it is another brick in the wall.
Part II. Wait and Bleed
I've felt the hate rise up in me...
Kneel down and clear the stone of leaves...
I wander out where you can't see...
Inside my shell, I wait and bleed...
ONE WEEK LATER…
Now…
He couldn’t sleep. Something was gnawing at him trying to get out but he didn’t know what it was. This had been happening a lot lately, mostly in the past few weeks. It had been three months since the battle at Badon Hill and he hadn’t been in a combative confrontation since. Any person would have been relieved that fifteen years of compulsory fealty was over, but he simply felt lost. What was he supposed to do now after being a slave for half of his life? Perhaps this ache of his would not have been so, if he had not lost the one person he cared for most in the world.
Then…
Tristan could remember
the first person he killed eye to eye. The one kill he had to shut out. It was
four months after he had finished his training and was put under the command of
Arthur Castus. In the beginning, smiles and laughter still came readily and
during the time when he and his comrades weren’t working, practical jokes were
often played to pass the time. It was mid-morning, 15 years ago. He had been in
the tavern having a late breakfast with Dagonet, Gawain and a few others when
an officer hurried in to tell the soldiers to suit up; Woads were attacking at
the wall. The piece of bread Tristan was chewing became hard and got stuck in
the back of his throat. He managed to swallow and follow his companions. They
readied themselves, weapons at hand; Tristan could feel the beat of his heart
thumping in his head. The knights that had been there longer, Dagonet, Bors, were
calm and deliberate with equipping themselves and their horses. When things
were in order they rode out into the heat of battle.
It was chaotic. The
Woads were coated in blue, a pinch darker than the color of the sky. They were
riding into a blue sea that did not want to sooth them with salty water and
soft waves, but wanted to devour them and drown them in the chasms of death.
Before he knew it,
Tristan was taking them out left and right, maneuvering his bow and arrows with
flawless precision with the aide of his horse. Out of arrows, he dismounted and
unsheathed his sword; with each step he took he became more focused, assuming
an unconscious aura of lethality. The battle raged like a massive storm that
wouldn’t abate until every piece of earth was painted with its drops of poison.
The more blood that
flowed from the coils of mortality the quieter it became, like a bittersweet
hush. Tristan breathed, now it was calm enough to look around to find the faces
of his friends he hoped had survived.
“You! Boy!”
Tristan turned to face
a blood-splattered Roman eyeing him angrily.
“He’s still alive,”
the Roman said.
Tristan stared at him,
confused until he realized he was referring to a Woad a few steps away that he
had stabbed, but apparently not deep enough. The Woad’s blood gurgled in the
back of his throat; he coughed some of it up, spraying it out of his mouth.
“Well, what are you
waiting for, boy?”
Tristan turned his
head back to the Roman.
“Are you deaf? Finish
him off, I said.”
He head shifted back
to the Woad again.
The Roman sighed.
“Fucking idiot barbarians.” He grabbed Tristan by the shoulder, shoving him
towards the Woad. A dagger appeared, reflecting the light of the sun in
Tristan’s line of vision.
He stared at it.
“His throat,” the
Roman said.
The dagger was held in
front of his face. After a moment, Tristan grasped the hilt of the dagger with
a steadiness he did not feel and knelt by the Woad. The blue warrior’s head
turned towards Tristan’s so their eyes locked on each other. The Woad’s
breathing was labored, already near death, but the green orbs that reminded
Tristan of the lush fields of home, bore into his golden ones with a strength
that was overwhelming. It was a force of understanding and regret. Knowing that
Tristan was a Sarmatian and was brought to this island against his will and had
to kill his people because it was either that or die himself. Tristan
understood that the Woad fought for a similar reason. They weren’t being taken
from their homeland, their homeland was being taken away from them, and that
was why they fought.
With the slightest of
nods, Tristan put the blade to the Wood’s throat. The blue warrior nodded back
and closed his eyes, cutting off the vision of fresh meadows from Tristan’s
mind. Tristan pulled him up by his hair and dealt a fatal stroke across the
Woad’s neck. The spray of blood sprinkled his face and coated his hands,
filling each crevice. His gaze didn’t waver from the Woad; he still gripped the
dagger tightly in his hand.
“Boy.”
The Roman’s voice
broke through Tristan’s veil of thought. He didn’t look up at the man, but he
was listening.
“It gets easier.”
He listened to the
Roman walk away, forgetting to retrieve his dagger.
The blood was
trickling the remains of life from the Woad, the same blood that now covered
his own hands. Without thinking, he brought his hand close to his nose and
sniffed, the tip of his tongue touched his hand that tasted cool and slightly
bitter. He continued to lick his crimson stains, sucking on each finger trying
to will this substance that had coursed life through his green eyed victim to
make its way through his veins. He wanted a piece of the essence he had taken
to linger within him, giving himself something he stole to something he gave up
with every stroke of his sword.
“Tristan, what the
hell are you doing?”
He looked up, a finger
still in his mouth, to see Dagonet and Bors, alongside their horses, looking
down at him with bewildered expressions of their faces.
“Nothing,” Tristan replied.
“You were suckling
blood off your hands like a babe would his mother’s tits!” Bors exclaimed.
Tristan shrugged. “To
each his own.” He stood, sword in his left hand, dagger in his right and
whistled for his horse. He sheathed his sword and stuck the dagger in his boot.
Dag and Bors were waiting for him, already mounted.
“Let it go, Bors,” Dag
said.
“He needs some ale is
all! We’re gonna get you some ale when we get back, Tristan!”
Tristan got on his
horse, blinking back tears that threatened to spill down his blood dried
cheeks. He swallowed it down this time, the confusion, the ebbing pain and
those green eyes. The lump in his throat went down painfully, solid as stone.
He wouldn’t cry, not today, not now. He would not speak of this dark feeling
that was growing inside of him, changing him slowly. He’d bury it for now and
deal with it later. Bury it deep.
Bors was still going
on about ale as the trio made their way back to the fort.
“Tristan, when we get back,
I’m treating you to some ale! That’ll do the trick. Much better than blood.”
Dagonet chuckled and
even Tristan could not suppress a smile at Bors’ humor. But underneath it, the
shadows still lurked. Tristan’s smile merged into laughter at another one of
Bors’ crude musings.
“That’s more like it
lads! Tonight we’ll drink till we can’t piss straight.”
Now…
Bors’ words faded out of Tristan’s mind. He still couldn’t sleep. Thinking back on this he always thought of the person he went to after a battle. She always understood. He didn’t know how, but when he first saw her, he was certain that he had known her since before he was even born. She could look in his eyes and see deep in his soul. Over the past year and a half he had distanced himself from her. His lover, his wife in all but name she had been for six years.
“The hell with it,” he said to the empty room.
He kicked off the covers and put on his boots and tunic. Leaving his hut he headed to their place in the woods. She’d be there.
Part III. Vermilion
She is everything to me,
The unrequited dream,
The song that no one sings,
The unattainable.
She's a myth that I have to believe in,
All I need to make it real is one more reason.
And I don’t know what to do…
Now…
I followed him, oh so quietly, I managed to break free of him, but just barely. Tristan had been more reclusive lately, shutting me out to smother my silent screams. I feared for him, his humanity.
Then…
Years ago, I became
frantic. I could feel myself falling deeper; the walls were closing in and
escalating. But one day, my qualms were granted a reprieve. Tristan had taken a
walk through the woods and there he happened to come upon a fallen hawk. I knew
if I did not do something he would leave it behind. Perhaps this injured
creature was the answer to my prayers. The bird squawked in pain at its broken
wing. Tristan began to walk away, thinking it was going to die anyway, but I
could not let him ignore this. I shouted to him as loud as I could from my prison.
My despair grew stronger as I began to think this was all in vain. Yet, he did
not continue on his way.
“Fucking bird,” he
growled under his breath. He went and stood over it, looking down. “A weak,
pathetic thing you are.” He sighed again. “Raja would never forgive me if I
just left it here.” Tristan picked it up gently, “Crippled beast.”
I knew this poor bird
soothed Tristan’s soul over the years; his companion on long missions when Raja
wasn’t near. He could feel Raja’s healing power through the hawk, and it calmed
him.
Now…
Just as he had hoped, she was there sitting on a boulder
near the creek. Just a few paces away; there was her tiny one-roomed hut with a
fireplace, bed, table and desk that she wrote at and read as well. The moonlight was ethereal; it danced off the
gentle flow of the water and lit a path to his salvation. He stopped a little
ways from where she was sitting, the place where the two of them always sat
together. Her hair, darker than the night itself, shone blue from the glow of
the moon. The white strip of hair that shocked him upon first glance, many
years ago, was a strong contrast to the
Then…
Tristan had been
walking through the woods on a restless night, heading in no particular
direction and paying no heed to the time. He stopped and looked around, having
heard strange words coming from every which way. The words were indecipherable,
but it was without a doubt a melancholy song. With every turn he took, thinking
he was getting closer to the source of the spirit that pulled him, the music
would stop and the forest was quiet.
“Damn,” Tristan
muttered. He strained to hear, hoping to hear those words again, but he was
only greeted with silence and the rustle of leaves against leaves.
“Probably
hearing things,” he said. Then he heard it again. His ears perked, but not
quick enough, he had missed it.
“Maybe
it’s a ghost,” he considered. Then he rolled his eyes, “No such thing as
ghosts, you idiot. You’re just hearing things, suck it up, Tristan…why the hell
am I talking to myself!”
His
ears caught the noise again. This time he held onto it as it continued its
whispered toll. He followed it, hypnotized by the sweet aria, becoming more
audible as he drew near. Tristan came upon what had to be a girl, small on the
bulky stone under the full moon. The black hair that appeared blue with a strip
of white on the right side. The foreign words she sang were haunting and yet
her voice lulled him into captivation, singing its way into his heart.
She
stopped abruptly and turned, finding his eyes instantly.
Tristan
gasped and stepped back, tripping over a branch and falling on his ass. Her
eyes pierced his soul with their mythical gaze. He felt lost, not in gloom, but
in the light that was her being…and his. It terrified him and mesmerized him at
the same time. He stood up and when he looked again, her eyes had dimmed. She
had shifted her head under the moonlight, but they still shone like stars. She
continued to stare at him, never blinking.
“What’s
the matter?” her voice lilted. “Did I scare you?”
He
didn’t answer, the words choked in his throat.
She
got up from the rock and started walking towards him. “Are you okay?”
The
closer she came, the faster Tristan’s heart beat. He knew it was just the moon,
but it disturbed him that it made it look as if she were glowing. That
hair...those eyes...it was familiar.
“Get
away from me,” Tristan growled, finding his voice.
The
little girl stopped in her tracks. She wasn’t frightened, and did not even seem
to appear hurt by his tone. “I was just asking if you were all right.”
Without
a second word, Tristan turned around and began to walk away.
“Wait!”
she called. He kept walking. “Please, wait!”
Against
his better judgment, he stopped. “What?”
“I
got lost. Do you know the way back to the fort?” she looked at him expectantly.
“You’re one of the knights, aren’t you?”
Who
is this girl, he was thinking. Why is she having this affect on me? Emotions
swam in his chest; things he worked so hard to keep down were fighting their
way to the surface.
“If
it were light out, I might be able to find my way back, but it’s harder to find
my way when it’s dark. Could you take me back with you?” She took a step
forward. “Are you sure you’re okay? It seems like you’ve been crying.”
“I
don’t cry,” Tristan said contemptuously.
“Maybe
not out loud. But in here,” she pointed to her heart, “you’ve been crying.”
He
scoffed, moving on his way again. I don’t have to listen to this kid’s
babbling.
“You
won’t help me?” she called.
He
stopped for a moment, and turned his head. “Find your own way back.”
He
left her there in the forest; she stared at his departing figure until she
could see no more. She shivered, not accustomed to frigid night air in
Now…
I watched from behind a tree shrouded by bushes. He went and sat next to her on their throne of granite. What a pair they made, you could call them soul mates for lack of a better word. They said nothing for a matter of minutes, it was always this way. Sometimes more is said in silence than in words. Finally, he took her hand and his calloused fingers entwined with her smooth ones, even though she had wielded a sword for many years as well.
I had always liked her home. It was quiet and secluded but by no means formidable. Raja was a kindred spirit to animals. So connected was she that she didn’t eat meat. “Animals are pure,” she once told Tristan. “I couldn’t imagine spilling the blood of beautiful creatures.”
“Yet you would not hesitate to decapitate someone?” he mocked teasingly.
“I have no cares for them,” she replied.
Raja was half Sarmatian and half
Egyptian. Her father was first knight and scout to Artorius Castus’ father.
Raja’s mother’s brother, her uncle Ardeth, was a wise man. He spoke a number of
languages; he could read and write all of them. One of the most skilled and
fiercest fighters there was. He took a special interest in the first knight,
there was something about him Raja’s uncle could not ignore. With her father’s
family dead and his 15 years served, her uncle took him to
Raja was an only child, born into nobility. She would never strike someone as such; she liked to work, having no compunctions about dirtying herself or the splatter of blood on her face when she fought. She was not spoiled; in fact, her family did not have servants. They presided in a village that they looked over. When her uncle traveled; he left it in her father’s care. From the time she was 3, Raja began training. Her father taught her how to hit the butt of one dagger with another. “Aim for the middle,” he told her. She has passed on this knowledge. She learned the languages her uncle knew, but mostly she spoke Arabic and Sarmatian. She was as proud of her Sarmatian heritage as much as her Egyptian.
Her uncle brought her to
They continued to hold hands amongst the silence that caressed their fused persons. I saw him hang is head in what looked like a gesture of defeat, but I could feel it and I knew it was from an overwhelming barrage of emotions.
Say it Tristan! I implored as forcefully as I could from my mind to his. Say the words you haven’t uttered in over a year.
I waited, breathless with anticipation. But I could feel myself fade into the dark cave when all he did was lay his head on her shoulder, smothering the words he longed to say yet couldn’t speak. They knew they loved one another, if you asked them if they did, they would say ‘yes’. So why couldn’t they say it out loud to each other? Their love was stronger than time and I suppose loving someone that much gave them power over you. With one word that a lover could not take back could destroy the person the words were spoken to. I wilted back into obscurity.
Part IV. Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
All the fear has left me now
I'm not frightened anymore
It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh
It's my mouth that pushes out this breath.
Then…
I
approached her, desperate. I hadn’t wanted to do this, but she was my last
hope. Raja was in the woods with Odin and Horus, playing her flute. She must
have sensed my presence because she stopped playing and turned around. It was
as if all the animals had gone quiet, the wind stopped blowing. She didn’t
appear frightened, yet it was odd for me because I had never seen her face to
face.
“You
won’t give up on him, will you?” I implored.
Raja
stood up in all her 14 years of age now. Eight years had gone by since she and
Tristan had met.
“Who
are you?” she asked. “Do I know you?”
“In
a sense, you do. But there is no time for that. You won’t give up on him, will
you?” I pleaded.
“Give
up on who?”
“Tristan!”
“I
know you,” she breathed. She walked towards me and put her hands on my face. “I
know you.”
I
put my hands over hers.
“I
see you sometimes, through his eyes…when he smiles, or laughs.”
“Yes,”
I said.
She
nodded and let my face go and looked up at me. “I know his pain. I feel it,
too. I would never give up on him.”
“And
he feels yours. He needs you. Raja…you told him that means ‘hope’.”
“It
does,” she confirmed. “I love him, and he loves me. I would never give up on
him.”
“Thank
you,” I breathed, fading away once again.
Now…
For the first time in a little over a year, they slept in the same bed. After sitting with his head on her shoulder for an hour or two in silence, she took his hand and led him to her hut. The bed was just the right size for the two of them. She got under the covers, already in her shift. It stopped just above her knees, showing off her firm, light brown legs, one which had a long scar on her right thigh. Her ankles were encircled with tattoos.
He took off his boots and tunic, liking to sleep shirtless. Tristan crawled under the covers with her. She laid on her back and he on his side, head resting on her chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of each breath she took and the gentle thump of her heart beating. He liked to listen to that instrument that let him know there was life coursing through her. He had almost lost her too many times not to take solace and appreciate that small drum that played her song of life.
It was sunny that morning, he now had his arms wrapped around her, chin resting on her shoulder near the curve of her neck. The sweet smell that could only be Raja’s comforted him upon awakening. Her hair, silky and soft brushed his face.
She knew he was awake. They were both light sleepers, the scout in them was that well ingrained. Yet their sleep was more peaceful when shared together. The heat of their bodies warmed each other and the entwining of their limbs gave a sense of security and belonging.
Tristan kissed her on the shoulder; the first intimate touch of his lips in such a long time, the whiskers of his beard tickled her soft skin. She smiled and turned over on her other side, now looking deeply into his golden eyes with her silver ones. He inched forward until their faces were barely a hair’s breadth apart. He put his hand on her face, stroking the smooth skin lovingly. His hand trailed down to the nape of her neck, then her shoulder and down her arm that where indelibly etched tattoos wrapped around her upper arm and one around her wrist.
Tristan stared at her longingly. “Do you still love me, Raja?”
-----------------------------
“There you are!”
Tristan was on his way back to his hut when he heard Lancelot’s voice. He groaned inwardly.
Lancelot caught up with him, a sly grin played on his face. “And where were you last night?” He cocked his eyebrow, the grin unfaltering.
“Out,” grunted Tristan. He started back to his room.
“Ohh…out you say?” His smirk broke into a smile, his eyes twinkled.
Tristan rolled his eyes and turned back around. “Did I stutter?”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic now,” Lancelot said. “Let’s head to the tavern. Dag and Gawain are already there.”
Tristan bristled at the sudden change in subject. “Did you have something to say?”
“Have you gone deaf, man? I said let’s go to the tavern.” He lightly pushed Tristan in the other direction. “You know, I think these last few months have dulled your senses. Maybe another fifteen years in the legion would be good.” He flashed a smile at Tristan but all he got in return was the typical cold look and feral sneer.
“Raj!” Lancelot greeted, upon seeing her in the tavern sitting next to Dagonet and Gawain. He walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You get lovelier every time I see you.”
Raja rolled her eyes. “And how many women have you said that to today, Lancelot?”
“Well, the day is young, cousin.”
She punched him in the arm.
“But I mean it when I say it to you.” He gave her another kiss on the cheek, giving her a genuine look of affection.
Gawain and Dagonet laughed. They were used to Raja’s and Lancelot’s derisive banter, as was everyone else.
It had taken them a while to understand each other. They first met at seven and fifteen. Both were timid around each other. Her family had just died and he had just been taken away from his. What did you do when you met the only blood you had left for the first time?
Then…
For
a long time, Raja had always thought Lancelot didn’t care much for her. She had
finally had it seven years later, her fourteen, him twenty-two. Over the years,
traveling and training with her uncle, she worked twice as hard as most people
would have. She wanted to be as good as her father and make him and her uncle
proud. Though younger than the other knights, she could hold her own. For what
she lacked in brawn she made up with in speed and agility.
Raja
had beaten out Galahad, Gawain and Tristan, but not without taking quite a few
hits herself. She put up a good fight with Bors, but he managed to overcome her
with his stout physique. It resulted in a stalemate with Dagonet. She
maneuvered around him, dodging and blocking his hits, but he was sturdy on his
feet, and his height was a hindrance to Raja. She likened him to a tree. After
a half hour they called it even, and they remember that time with fondness and
laughter.
But
when Lancelot stood with Raja in the sparring ring, the fun was gone. She
wasn’t one to gloat or show off, or make comments while fighting. She was
taught to have an inherent respect for her opponent. It wasn’t about whether it
was a man or woman holding a weapon, but simply the person in front of you
holding a weapon. They sparred with their wooden staffs. He was cocky, and so
sure he could beat a girl, cousin or no. Raja hit him in the bend of his knee;
he fell to the ground on his back.
He
smirked. “Pretty good, for a girl,” he said getting up.
It
was like a knife in the stomach to Raja. She knew Lancelot harped on other
women like this, but her? Did he think so little of her? She tossed her staff
to the side and unsheathed the scimitar that she wore on her back. “One
more…cousin.” She spit out the word ‘cousin’ as if it were poison.
He
turned and when he saw her sword he became even cockier. He shrugged and
unsheathed his swords and the spar began. The knights and others that were gathered
around gave each other wary looks, some people put bets on it. Raja was cold
and calculating; keeping in mind everything she had been taught. She warded off
each of his attacks and retaliated with as much cunning and precision. Lancelot
saw that she was serious. This continued until Raja was able to fight Lancelot
to his knees, defenseless, and when she did she swung her sword as if to cut
off his head. She ignored the onlookers’ dissent, but once the blade touched
the side of Lancelot’s neck, she stopped. He looked at her with wide eyes.
With
the blade still touching his skin, she spoke. “What do I have to do to get you
to treat me as a human being?”
Now…
“Tristan, sit down and eat,” Lancelot said. He moved over making room for the scout.
Gawain and Dagonet greeted him.
Raja brought Lancelot and Tristan bread and meat, drinks already available at the table.
“Thank you, cousin,” Lancelot said sincerely.
“Thanks, Raj,” Tristan smiled.
She smiled back. No one missed this inside exchange of silent affection. One would have to be blind not to see that they loved each other, and new to the fort not to know that they were once lovers.
“Well, enjoy breakfast boys. Odin, Horus and I are out for the day.”
“When are you three not out for the day, Raj?” Gawain said.
Tristan snuck a final glance at Raja, which no one failed to miss. Dagonet and Gawain didn’t bother to conceal their smiles at Tristan’s poor attempt to hide his last look at Raja.
“So, Tristan, where did you say you were last night?”
--------------------------
“Do
you still love me, Raja?”
Part V. Night after Night
Like an angel you came
Every time when I prayed
Guardian of my dreams
Watching me when I sleep
Like an angel you came
Every time when I screamed
Now…
As the sun was setting, Raja was heading home, Odin and Horus in tow. Horus didn’t fly much, his crooked wing that was slightly smaller than the other tended to keep him close. Raja had made a small perch on the top of a strap on Odin’s head where Horus could set himself on when they trotted.
Then…
She
was eight, having been in
“No!”
she screamed, distracting the executioner.
He
lowered the sword as Raja jumped off hers and ran forward, Horus flying near.
“Move
back, girl,” the man said, not unkindly. “This one ain’t gonna make it”
She
kneeled by the small animal that looked so feeble her heart ached. Horus landed
on the ground next to Raja. “You can’t just kill him!” she exclaimed, her
animal spirit emerging. She turned towards her-uncle. “Uncle Ardeth?”
He
came and stood next to the man. “If it is not too much to ask, I will pay what
price you ask to spare this ill creature. My niece is a healer and I believe no
one could care better for this animal than her.”
Raja
was able to nurse Odin back to health. She and Horus stayed by him night and
day. Odin grew strong and eventually stood a finger’s length taller than most
horses. They were inseparable, these three.
Earlier that morning…
A breeze ruffled Raja’s hair, the evening a quiet one. A smile came upon her lips when she thought back to that morning.
“Do you still love me, Raja?”
It was a ridiculous question. He knew she still loved him, as she knew that he loved her. Her eyes flickered. She turned and sat up on the side of the bed, her back towards Tristan, her head in her hands.
Tristan propped himself up on his elbow, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Raja?”
She whispered, “You scare the hell out of me sometimes, Tristan.”
“What?” He paused. “Look at me.”
She didn’t move.
“Look at me,” he snapped.
She turned her head around, a confused and sad look on her face.
“You know I love you, Tristan...but...”
His jaw tightened. “But what?”
“I can’t hold the both of us up anymore.” She turned back around. “I don’t know if I have enough of me to give. Sometimes I feel as broken as you do, but I never gave up on you because he…” She hadn’t thought about the boy who had come to her in years.
Tristan’s entire body stiffened. His natural jealousy and possessiveness emanated throughout the room. “He.” He got off the bed, slipping his boots and tunic back on. Raja stood up and looked at him bewildered. “If there was someone else, you might have said something before I slept here last night.” He stalked out of her hut, trying to get as much space between them as he could. The mere thought of another man touching her filled him with inexplicable rage.
“Tristan, wait a second!” She rushed after him, grabbing him by the arm. “Would you just listen to me!” She paused to catch her breath. She was more tired lately, a few steps would set her heart beating rapidly. “This is what I mean. You always just walk away from me once you don’t understand something!”
He pulled his arm out of her grasp, but she gripped it again to turn him around. She back handed him across the face.
“What the-“
“You bastard!” she seethed. “Would it kill you to stop and listen!” She back handed him across the other side of his face.
He grasped her wrists tightly and brought his face close to hers. “Do not hit me again.”
“Well, at least I have your attention now. Let go.”
He released her and took a step back. “Speak then.”
“You left me, Tristan. When I needed you the most, and I still don’t know why you did.” Raja breathed deeply. “I will not chase after you again. I cannot keep setting things straight between us because you’re too damned stubborn to speak up. I feel a little weaker each time you come to me for support, and then pull away just as abruptly. I’m so tired. You have no idea how tired I am. I was drowning, the same as you, I can’t hold the both of us anymore.”
His expression softened, and his heart wrenched knowing the pain he had and was causing her because of his selfishness.
“It hurts, Tristan. My head. My heart.” She took a breath. “But I don’t blame you. I never told you, so I never expected you to know. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I knew you cared about me, too, I would be completely empty.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke before he could.
“You don’t have to say anything, Tristan. Please don’t say anything,” she told him, returning to her hut.
“Raja!” This time it was he that approached her. Tristan couldn’t stop himself, his lips found hers instantly.
Although it had been a little more than a year since their mouths had touched like this, the feeling of it was as fresh as yesterday.
“I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through,” his voice was deep with longing.
“Never again, Raja. I promise. I love you.”
Then…
“See
that star?” Raja pointed to the brightest jewel in the sky.
“Yeah,”
Tristan replied.
“That’s
the North star. It’s how you find your way home.”
“And
what if you don’t have a home?”
“Everyone
has a home, Trissy; it’s wherever your heart is. That’s what my mother told
me.”
Then my home must be with you, he thought.
He
turned his head to her. “I love you.”
Now…
Like the previous night, Tristan lay on his bed, reminiscing of the past. A smile played on his lips remembering the first night he said those three words to her.
Then…
She
was 15 when he had first touched her intimately. He had watched her grow from a
kid with too many years lived in her eyes into a beautiful woman with curves in
all the right places. He would grow hard just saying her name, imagining her in
her form fitting shifts that hung on one shoulder and stopped just above her
knees. Tristan hadn’t slept with any whores in months. There was no desire for
what he considered unwashed women with a price tattooed on their foreheads.
That
night she showed him the North Star, he had kissed her for the first time.
Raja’s soft lips sent a chill throughout his entire body. They were lying on a
blanket near their stone, moon beams alight. His hand rested on her knee as
hers caressed his face and stroked his hair. All time stood still. He found the
inside of her mouth, she stiffened for a second and he slowed down until he
felt her relax. His hand trailed up her thigh, under the cloth that he yearned
to remove to see what was underneath. He became hard against her leg and she
tensed up again.
Raja
was not ignorant to what happened during a couplings arousal. She had visited
enough villages that had their own slew of wenches who liked to talk about
their conquests. Raja listened, soaking up what she thought to be interesting
information, as if she were learning a new language. But she would not pretend
that just because she had heard detailed accounts about sex that she would know
how to react when or if her time came.
Tristan’s
hand was still firmly placed on the heat of her skin. “I can stop,” he said,
although he desperately wanted to continue.
She
looked away from him, far into the trees. Her breathing quickened, and she bit
her lip. “I don’t want to be just another woman you’ve bedded, Tristan.” Raja
whispered. “I don’t want to be used again.”
He
removed his hand from her leg and turned her head to his. “Is that what you
think you mean to me? That I would use you? As those bastards once did?”
Raja
winced at the reminder of what had happened to her in
“I
think that…just because you say you love me doesn’t mean that you will not bed
another woman if I’m not around. I’m not a jealous person, and if you chose to...”
she faltered, “I would not begrudge you that.”
“Do
you love me, Raja?”
“I
love you.”
“You
think I might grow bored of you?”
She
didn’t want to completely lay bare this fear she thought a weakness.
“I
do not want anyone else. I haven’t had a woman in months because my love keeps
me from thinking about anyone or anything but you. I don’t see anyone else,
Raja.”
Doubts
still lingered. Though not about his love for her, but she had been around too
many men who bedded woman after woman as they would down drink after drink. Yet
she knew it was not fair to judge Tristan by the majority. They had always had
something deeper than most other people could even hope for in a lifetime.
She
pulled him down to her by his collar, their tongues colliding again with
fervor. His hand ran back under the fabric of her clothing, this time moving
closer to where he could feel the wetness of her desire. He cupped her heated
mound, his penis throbbed painfully, begging to be set free from the confines
that so cruelly held it back. Her hands tightened on his shoulders when his
fingers slowly penetrated her tight sheath.
Raja
let out small gasps of air as Tristan nuzzled her neck and continued to knead
the walls of her soft cavern. She found herself unashamed of the juices that
saturated his fingers so they could glide smoothly inside her. She buried her
face in his neck, muffling the cries of ecstasy that broke through her body as
she came twice within minutes.
She
panted, hardly a breath left to fill her lungs. She put her hand over her eyes,
shutting them tightly.
“Raja,
are you okay?” Tristan looked at her covered face, worried he had done
something wrong. Had she said stop and he didn’t hear? “Raj.” He moved her hand
away from her face.
“I’m
all right, Tristan.” She opened her eyes and a smile slowly crept on her face.
Part VI. Building a Mystery
Cause you're working
Building a mystery
Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully
ONE
MONTH LATER
Now…
They began spending their days and
nights together. Making up for lost time and creating memories to look back on
in the future, making love every chance they could. The glow Tristan gave off, that only Raja
could create was brighter than it had ever been. I even felt some of the weight
being lifted from my shoulders as Tristan broke down some of that wall to let
the fresh air in. Good days were ahead, they could finally just be, especially now that they were both
free from serving
Then…
Raja’s
uncle had been a Roman citizen. Although it had been less than five months
since she and her uncle and returned to
As a lover and best friend to Tristan, this pulled at his heart and stoked his rage. He respected her as he would his other fellow warriors, but that did not mean he liked to see her in the heat of battle, despite the fact she could brawl as good as the rest of them. She dealt with her wounds better than most men and you could trust her with your life. She had saved his many times. Yet, a year before they were liberated, at the age of twenty-one, she had been out riding, and was ambushed by Woads. They knew when they saw Odin riding back alone with Horus trying to carry her sword with his talons that something had happened. They searched for over a month, but never found her.
Now…
“Do you remember when I asked you that when you died what animal would you want to come back as?” Raja lay with her head on Tristan’s chest in her hut.
A small smile played on his lips. “Yeah, that was a long time ago.”
“Mmm-hmm. I asked you that the night I was told I had to serve in the legion.”
Tristan tautened and made a grunt in
the back of his throat. Even after all these years a little surge of anger would
swell up thinking about the service to
“I remember,” he replied.
She rubbed her hand over the soft hair on his chest and the tension left his body. He held her tighter to him.
“Do not speak of your dying now Raja,” he said more harshly than he had intended. “Not even you could protect me from pain then, and the only pain I would feel would be of losing you. Only having you with me could heal that.”
He rolled over, covering his large frame with her small one. Tristan kissed her ardently as if it were the last time he ever would. “I cannot lose you again.” Heat rose between their bodies as their tongues dances together, limbs entwined. Tristan couldn’t wait. He entered her, her legs tightly wrapped around his waist. He impaled her with his deep, urgent thrusts; he put a hand behind her thigh to lift her, embedding his spirit deeper into her core. She aided him, arching her back and meeting his thrusts with equal voracity, one hand clinging to his back and the other tangled in his hair as she whispered love in his ear.
They rocked together, their bodies creating gentle waves of passion that lapped over them taking them to sea and back to the shore emerging as one.
Endearments cried from their throats as they came together, flashes of white blinding their vision and a pressure that locked them together. Their lips met, softly, sensually, savoring every stroke of each others’ tongues; her soft mouth against his rough one. Their foreheads touching and mouths cracked open, they breathed into each other. He rolled on his back taking her with him, her supple breasts pressed against his chest, he smelled her hair and she could hear the beating of his heart. Tristan stroked the scars on her back as she twisted a strand of his hair around her finger.
Raja could feel him smile.
“I missed that,” he whispered.
-------------------------
“Hello, Arthur,” Raja greeted.
“Good morning Raja.” He smiled at her familiarly.
They were at the round table; she had brought him some papers he had asked her to translate.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” She glanced at the map Arthur had been studying. Her brow furrowed.
“Saxons?”
He nodded wearily.
“Close?”
“They are gathering around here and here.” Arthur pointed to the locations on the map.
“The more there are the closer they can make their way here.”
“How is it in Merlin’s area?”
“About the same.” He rubbed his eyes and looked at her. “How are you, Raja?”
“I’m well, Arthur. Why the serious look?” She smiled at him.
“Winter’s coming.”
“Oh, yes. So it is.”
She was born frail. Winters were
brutal for Raja. Coming from
“Thank you, Arthur.” She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I think you should take a break. Even kings need a few moments rest.”
---------------------------
The men, save for Bors and Lancelot, were at the tavern eating breakfast. I was finding it easier to come around with Tristan in better moods. I took a seat next to Galahad, Dagonet on my right. I was once again across from Tristan.
“Hello,” I said amiably.
The conversation halted and they looked at me curiously.
“Hi,” Dagonet nodded and smiled. The others followed suit, except for Tristan.
“Did you just arrive here?” asked Galahad.
“No, I’ve been around for a while,” I replied.
“Never seen you,” he said, picking at his bread.
“I wouldn’t expect you to, Galahad. You came here a few years after Tristan.” I gave the scout a grin.
“Do you two know each other?” Gawain asked.
“How do you know my name?” Galahad questioned at the same time.
I turned to Gawain. “Yes, we do know each other.” I looked to Galahad. “I know all of your names. Gawain, Dagonet, Lancelot and Bors and Arthur aren’t here at the moment.”
“How do you two know each other?” Gawain asked.
“We don’t know each other,” Tristan said.
I sighed. “I spoke with you a little over a month ago, remember? Bors and Lancelot were sitting with you at that table over there.” I pointed. “Of course, we’ve known each other longer, you just don’t remember.”
“I don’t remember talking to you,” Tristan voiced.
The men listened to this odd exchange of words.
“We only talked for a minute. You left with that woman you normally frequent, without so much as a goodbye, I might add.” I leaned over and plucked a piece of bread from his plate.
Galahad snickered; it always amused him when anyone could get Tristan’s dander up. And I was doing a find job of it, although it wasn’t my intention.
Tristan shot him a look that could kill, and Galahad hid his smile behind his hand as Gawain stuffed a piece of meat into his mouth to keep from laughing.
“You were with another woman?” Dagonet looked at Tristan. “What about-”
Tristan straightened his back, obviously offended. “That was over a month ago.” He looked at me menacingly.
“What is this about another woman?” Lancelot came up behind Tristan.
Galahad was having trouble stifling his giggles. Gawain had his face buried in his plate.
It would not seem to the average eye that Lancelot would be protective of his cousin, but he was. He didn’t trust any man with her except for his fellow knights, Jols and a few others. As a woman among many men in the legion, she was often accosted and able to protect herself or not, she could not fight off a mass of men that had gone too long without a woman by herself.
“Don’t worry, it was over a month ago,” I interjected. “Hello again, Lancelot.”
He looked at the other men and then back at me. “Do I know you?”
“I met you a little over a month
ago, at that table over there.” I pointed again. “You left with
Gawain spit his food onto his plate, unable to stop the laughter erupting from his mouth. Tears ran down Galahad’s cheeks. Dagonet began to laugh as well.
“I don’t remember.” Lancelot sat down.
I felt heavy as Tristan’s ire grew, and I knew I would have to be off soon.
“How are you and Raja, Tristan?” I asked.
He bristled at the sound of her name coming from my lips.
“You know her, too?” Dagonet inquired.
“Yes, she’s very nice. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Beauty runs in the family,” Lancelot said.
I looked at him. “Hmm…I think it must have skipped over you.”
Lancelot gave a mock offended look and smiled, the only one not in good spirits was Tristan.
“How do you know her?” he huffed.
“I met her a long time ago. Fifteen years, give or take.”
Tristan didn’t like this. His hands were clenched into fists. How was it that he did not know of this? I knew he was thinking.
“I’m glad you two are together again, you are much happier in her company,” I said seriously. “Of course, if you hadn’t left in the first place...” I chided.
Tristan glared at me and I felt it was my time to leave.
“I should go now. It was nice talking to all of you.” I got up. “Oh, tell Raja I said hello, okay, Tristan?”
He was up before I knew it and had me by the cuff of my tunic.
“Tristan-” Dagonet tried to placate him.
“It’s all right, Dagonet,” I told him, my eyes not wavering from Tristan’s.
“Who are you?” he asked me in a hushed but dangerous tone.
I just stared at him, not saying anything. I wanted him to figure it out for himself. Perhaps something was becoming clear to him, because he let me go and stepped back.
“Tristan?” Raja walked in the tavern and to the table.
He looked at her, she looked at me, I looked at her, she looked at him, he looked at me, and back to her. Their eyes met. The men were staring at them, wondering what the hell was going on.
But when they looked back at me, I was already gone.
Part VII. Far Away
I have loved you all along
And I miss you
Been far away for far too long
I keep dreaming you'll be with me
and you'll never go
Stop breathing if
I don't see you anymore
Now…
Tristan had pulled Raja from the company of the tavern to his hut. He shut the door behind them, anxious, confused and furious. Raja knew what was coming, an interrogation and jealous ravings. And though she hadn’t seen that particular person in years, she felt she could not explain anything to Tristan. This was either going to be a very short or long conversation depending on how well he kept his temper. She decided to stoke the fire, feeling a chill, her body receptive to the slightest bit of cold.
He cleared his throat and ran his hand down his face, pacing back and forth, his eyes never leaving her. He watched her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair swept over her right shoulder so he could see her profile, the shadow of the flames beginning to wisp over her face.
Neither of them spoke, the fire grew larger and she stood up to sit on the bed, blanket tussled and the pillows in disarray. At her movement, he stopped pacing and stood at her side.
“Care to explain?” he asked, his neck was tense trying to hold back his agitation.
Raja looked up at him; he would have frightened her save for the fact that she trusted him. “What makes you think that I could give you any answers?”
“Because…” he grappled to find the right words and hissed under his breath. “You know something, dammit, and I want to know what you know.”
“I would not even know where to start. And even if I did, and I could tell you who that person was in the tavern, I do not think I would.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is not my place.”
He muttered a slew of obscenities as he resumed his pacing, and Raja sighed. He was still cursing under his breath when Raja smelled something repugnant. She sniffled and turned her body, pulling at the blankets, checking the odor warily. She did not even need to put it to her nose, for the smell wafted from the cloth like an onslaught of manure on a windy day.
She cursed loudly in Arabic. Tristan’s ramblings cut off abruptly as he saw her fling the blanket aside and pick up a ratty woman’s undershirt, examining it as if it were something foreign. She held it with one finger, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.
“That…I don’t know how that got there,” Tristan protested.
“I have a few ideas,” Raja said dryly. She tossed the filthy garment back on the bed. “Do you not wash your linens, Tristan?” She stepped away from the bed. “One year without me and you’ve reverted to living in a pigsty.”
He stammered. “I haven’t been in here for more than five minutes since…since I have been with you again.” Raja looked at him dubiously. “I swear it!”
She surprised him by laughing. “Trissy, I was not accusing you. I know where you have been laying this past month.”
His grip slackened and a soft smile marked his face. “You haven’t called me that in so long.”
“You never gave me a chance to.”
Then…
How
long had it been since Raja was captured? A month? A month and a half? The conversation
in the tavern was muffled, a cluster of incomprehensible noise. He downed his
umpteenth cup of ale, signaling Vanora for more.
“Tristan,
I think you’ve had enough,” Dag said lightly.
They
all missed Raja, and grieved her absence with as much sorrow as their other
fallen knights. Perhaps this one stung more, for really, none of them knew if
Raja was even dead. Would the Woads have killed her?
Tristan
slapped Dagonet’s hand away and mumbled something that sounded like “fuck
off.” Dagonet looked at Bors for
support, but the husky knight was as hopeless on how to help Tristan as he was.
Lancelot
observed from a nearby table, a wench on his lap. His flirtations these days
were half hearted and he did not get as much joy from his bedtime frolics as he
once did. His heart was heavy with missing his cousin. Seeing Tristan so
utterly distraught made her lack of presence all the more palpable. Lancelot
could see Tristan was on the verge of a breakdown, there was no stopping it. It
was getting heated at their table, Tristan was trying to acquire more ale but
Bors and Dagonet were not letting him and the scout was becoming hysteric. Had
Lancelot ever seen him hysterical?
“Give
me some ale!” Tristan shouted drunkenly.
Dagonet
tried to direct Tristan from the tavern, meaning him to rest. Lancelot excused
himself from the woman on his lap to help his lost friend. By now, everyone was
staring in Tristan’s direction, observing the ruckus he was causing as his
brothers tried to haul him from grabbing at drinks from others.
“I
want some fucking ale!” he screamed, fighting off Dagonet and Lancelot. “Get
the hell off me!!”
Vanora
came over trying to placate Tristan gently.
“No!”
he went on to curse violently in his native tongue. Lancelot and Dagonet took Tristan
by the arms, having to use all their force to drag him away. Even in a highly
intoxicated state, Tristan proved a match for them.
“I
don’t want to have to do this, Tristan,” Bors said. He nodded at Dag and
Lancelot to keep a firm hold on his arms as he bent and tightly held his legs
so he couldn’t kick. “All right, now, calm down!” Tristan thrashed as hard as
he could, but it was three against one and he tired quickly. They carried him
away, still cursing to the lowest level of hell.
When
they neared his hut his howls had subsided into slurred mumbles, save for one
word that was clear – Raja. Bors let go of Tristan’s legs to open the door,
Lancelot and Dagonet supporting Tristan to his bed to get him situated. Bors
picked at the fire to get it going, they all turned when the door opened,
Arthur, Gawain and Galahad looking in, apparently having heard the goings on
from the patrons at the tavern.
It
was no secret that Galahad and Tristan bickered, one about his constant whining,
and the other about his pleasure for killing and lack of emotion. Nonetheless,
his gut wrenched to see Tristan in so much pain. There was no pity from him,
but compassion.
“How
is he?” Vanora whispered, coming into the hut and shutting the door softly
behind her. “I brought him some bread
and something hot to drink, just in case.” She went and placed her offerings on
a small table next to the bed and sat down next to Tristan, smoothing his hair
back from his face and uttering soothing words to try to get him to sleep.
“Perhaps
one of us should stay with him tonight,” Gawain said softly.
“I
will,” Dagonet said.
Vanora
stood up, “We should let him get some rest then.” She wiped away a tear, for
Tristan’s sorrow and for Raja.
They
shuffled out quietly, Arthur stayed behind a moment with Dagonet, meaning to
say something but no words came forth. He looked at Tristan who had shadows
under his eyes, grey hairs that had not been there months before. He had aged
years in the span of a month. He cared for nothing anymore; sleeping until the
afternoon, disappearing for most of the day, Odin and Horus with him. He came
back at nightfall to drink the rest of his emptiness away. And on the worst of
days, he could not even raise himself from bed.
“Do
not begin to blame yourself, Arthur,” Dagonet said quietly, interrupting his
commander’s thoughts.
“I…,”
he paused, “have never seen grief like this.” Arthur’s green eyes stared upon
the mourning scout, a vast difference from the usually self-possessed man he
was used to. “I grieved for my mother when she died but…I felt I could go
on…I…”
“I
understand, Arthur,” replied Dagonet. “Get some rest.”
Arthur
nodded, smiled weakly at Dagonet and left.
--------------------------------
In
the next few weeks, it seemed as if Tristan was healing, he cut back on the
drink and was eating a bit more. He spoke to no one, and replied with
monosyllabic words to any inquiries if he could help it. His thoughts were for
himself, not having the life to confide in anyone. He moved through the days,
trying to pick up where he left off, ignoring the voice, my voice, within him
that tried to give him some hope to Raja’s survival, for she was alive. But he
could not afford to hope. Waking up every morning without her warm body beside
him was excruciating. He shut me out completely, trying to preserve his sanity.
It did not help when Horus would leave and come back with entwined strands of
stark white hair between his beak; dropping them in Tristan’s hand.
“Dammit,
Horus, stop picking out these hairs from the horses,” Tristan reprimanded with
no force, tossing the threads away. In truth, it drove him mad. The hairs were
softer than an animal’s and smelled of something that did not remind him of a
stabled horse.
I
tried to get through to him, but I was ignored, more invisible than ever. Why
could he not remember that Raja would always come back to him? One way or
another, she would. She would find some way to get to Tristan, to communicate
with him, the evidence there in his hand, but he would not let himself believe.
I hated him then. The person he had become. Could he not give the tiniest bit
of hope for his love? The beautiful love that was closer than he thought held
captive by the Woads. How could Raja live without his belief in her?
A
few days later, Horus came back with more than a few strands of hair. Clasped
in his talons was a thick, white braid, knotted at each end to hold it
together. The sun was setting and Tristan was in the stables brushing Odin down
when Horus flew in and dropped it at his feet. Odin snorted and stomped his
feet, seeing something that Tristan did not want to see. He picked up the braid
and clenched it in his fist as a sweet memory engulfed him.
How
old was she then? Tristan thought. Eighteen, him twenty-eight. He was meeting
her where they always met, he saw her sitting where they always sat, the breeze
caressing her hair, rays of sun shining through the trees. She had heard him
approach, and she turned to look at him over her shoulder, the wind covering
her face, it carried her laugh to his ears, and he saw her smile at him as she
tucked the flowing strand of white hair behind her ear, eyes sparkling. That
moment was emblazoned in his mind. And in that instant, something inside him
cracked.
“YOU’RE
DEAD!” he screamed. Odin stepped back and the other horses turned in his
direction sensing something amiss. “GET OUT OF MY MIND!” He flung the braid to
the ground and headed for the tavern, wanting to drown out these memories.
His
breathing was hard and erratic. I tried to assure him, knowing it was no use.
There was no getting through to him. The knights had seen him stomp in with a
look on his face that was purely maniacal. Tristan sat in a far corner, chugging
his ale straight from the jug, some of it missing his mouth and dripping into
his beard. He signaled for another, and a witless wench sauntered over, goods
in hand and sat down next to him with a coy smile as she watched his Adam’s
apple bob up and down. She licked her lips.
The
knights saw this, and knew this woman would be the final break for Tristan.
“You
know,” she said, putting her hand on his forearm, “the best way to get over a
woman is to hop onto another.”
He
paused, and the jug came down with a ‘thunk’ on the table. He looked at her
through his greasy strands of hair, taking in her scent of earlier male
customers, but his eyes lingered on her raven hair. He grabbed her harshly by
the wrist and dragged her as fast as he could to his hut. She hadn’t even got
into his room before he slammed it and forced her down on her hands and knees.
He lifted her skirt, untied his breeches and seized her by her hair so roughly
that she cried out.
“Don’t
speak, whore! I don’t want to hear your voice.”
From
pure fury he became hard and slammed himself into her without a warning.
“That
hurts, you bastard!” she cried out.
His
response was to thrust himself into her harder, ignorant to her shouts of
protest and feeble attempts to escape.
He
could feel himself about to come, and with every last charge he screamed Raja’s
name.
There
was pounding on the door as she stumbled onto her feet calling him a “fucking
bastard” as he tied his breeches back up. He ignored her insults, too busy
feeling disgusted at screwing another woman.
She
cursed more at him and collided with Dagonet and Bors when she pulled the door
open. “That man,” she pointed at Tristan, “is an animal. That’s probably why
his woman ran away from him!”
There
was barely a breadth of utter silence when Tristan screamed with all his might.
He took the table that was near him and hurled it across the room. He broke the
two chairs, pounding the remains against the wall. He grabbed his sword and
gutted the bed, tore the pillows, and flung what he could into the fire. He
swung his weapon around the room, destroying everything he could, incoherent
babbling mixed with the clarity of Raja’s name.
Arthur,
Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad had come up behind the other two knights and
witnessed the carnage that Tristan was wreaking upon his room. Arthur went to
stop him but Lancelot put his hand on his shoulder and held him back, shaking
his head. People gathered outside his room, whispering about the scout gone
mad. Galahad told them to “fuck off”’ and “‘mind their own business” as
Tristan’s roars of exploding emotions rose and fell, until finally, there was
silence.
There
was nothing to say. The knights knew there were no words to quell the agony
within Tristan. They left, Dagonet closing the door quietly.
One
last wail of Raja’s name emitted from the damaged room, and then nothing.
Tristan
sat there among the ruins until the fire began to die down and he mustered
enough energy to get up and leave. He walked to Raja’s room, their room, the room
they once shared, and crept in. It was dark and chilly, but he didn’t bother to
start a fire, he just curled up on their bed like a child, pulled a pillow into
his arms, burying his face in it, breathing in the scent of Raja that still
lingered upon it. The pillow muffled his sobs that wracked his body,
suppressing the name that cracked from his voice over and over.
“Raja,
Raja…gods, Raja…I need you…”
Now…
It was nightfall, and after they had made love Tristan bared his heart to her, the gut-wrenching pain he had felt while she had been gone.
“And when you came back, I thought you were a ghost. You weren’t real to me. I did not want you to be; because I was still hurting from losing you and having you back. I was ashamed of myself for being with another woman. I felt I had cheated you, I couldn’t look you in the eyes.” He sighed.
She moved closer to him, holding his hands tighter.
“I ignored the hair you sent with Horus. Gods, I knew deep down, as if there was this voice trying to reach me, telling me you were alive, but I couldn’t…the thought of you still breathing, but not breathing next to me…I couldn’t bear to look at you, knowing that I had given up on you, when you had never given up on me.” Tristan looked at her, wanting her understanding.
“I understand,” she kissed him lightly. “I do.”
He pulled her to him, face to face, kissing her deeply. “Never again, Raja.”
“Promise?” she whispered.
“I promise.”
They lay in quiet for some time, stroking each other’s bodies, sharing tender kisses.
“You remember what I said I wanted to do after we got out of the legion?” he asked her.
She thought back for a moment, and a quirky smile spread on her face. “Your wife in all but name.”
“Now you will be.”
Part VIII. So Far Away
Now that we're here,
it's so far away.
All the struggle we thought was in vain.
All the mistakes,
one life contained,
they all finally start to go away.
Now that we're here its so far away
and I feel like I can face the day, I can
forgive
and I’m not ashamed to be the person that I
am today…
THREE
WEEKS LATER…
Now…
The ceremony itself had been small; consisting only of their family. Raja and Tristan were not ones for large celebrations, but Bors insisted that no Sarmatian wedding was complete without a big reception.
“Ask her to dance, Lancelot.”
After 15 years of companionship, Raja and Tristan had finally made it to their wedding day. I breathed a sigh of relief and could hardly contain the bright smile on my face when Tristan went announcing to the entire village that he was getting married. No one had ever seen him so ecstatic; nothing could mar the exuberance he felt inside.
He looked at Raja from afar, dancing with Bors, Dagonet, Galahad and Gawain, each trying to snatch the bride away. Galahad was drinking her in, and when he wasn’t dancing with her he stole glances at her. And for the first time, Tristan did not want to strangle him for undressing her with his eyes. This infatuation he had with Raja since she was 13 and him 16.
She’s all mine now, pup. Tristan thought to himself. And she always was.
Arthur cut in a few times; mostly he sat next to Guinevere watching the festivities. Tristan had grudgingly danced as well, he and Raja knew every step the other was making, their dancing flawless.
“Why don’t you just go dance with her?” Tristan spoke, seeing Lancelot eye his ex-lover, Sophia.
Lancelot turned to Tristan and scoffed jokingly. “Am I supposed to take advice from you?”
Tristan shrugged, amused. “Well, I am the one that is married; I seem to be more knowledgeable about relationships than you now.”
“Relationships maybe. But women? Never.” He looked at Sophia, the only woman he had ever loved and let see his vulnerability and fear. Her thick brown hair sparkled under the sunlight, her tanned creamy skin lit up her deep brown eyes. She wore a forest green dress, his favorite color to see her wear that she had made herself. Sophia was the best seamstress for miles, many women and men coming to her for her assistance in making outfits for all occasions. But one drunken night had ruined everything they had had together. A glimmer of hope had him running to her room to ask her forgiveness a final time, but all he had seen was a fathomless agony in her eyes when he spoke, and out of love he let her go, not wanting to cause her any more pain. In the two years since they parted, he still felt her touch and whenever he happened to catch a glimpse of her, his heart would beat as loud as a drum, and warmth would fill him.
Raja came up behind Tristan and planted a kiss on his cheek. She took her seat next to him and he put a hand around her waist, squeezing her close. Raja followed Lancelot’s focus and saw he was staring longingly at his lost love, Sophia. Tristan gave her a knowing glance.
“Ask her to dance, Lancelot,” Raja said.
He turned towards her, a serious expression on his face. “What’s the use? We’ve hardly exchanged 10 sentences to each other in the past two years, and you think she would dance with me? After what I did to her?” But a shimmer of hope was in his eyes.
“Hardly 10 sentences, but a million wishful looks. And yes, I think she would. Love that strong doesn’t just disappear, cousin. Some wounds just take longer to heal than others.” She smiled encouragingly at him.
He said nothing.
“Oh, just go man! If you stare at her like that any longer, you’ll bore holes right through the woman.” Tristan leaned in to whisper to Lancelot. “Raja and I mended the gap between us; I think you and Sophia could, too.”
Lancelot gaped at him. “Who are you, and what the hell have you done with Tristan? Raj, I think you’ve married an imposter!”
Tristan smirked. “Get out of here man.”
“As a wedding present to me, cousin.” Raja smiled at him.
Lancelot reluctantly got up and made his way hesitantly to Sophia. Raja propped her chin on Tristan’s shoulder, holding his hand. Their eyes did not waiver from Lancelot as he approached Sophia and observed his blushing face and nervous countenance as he spoke to her. And to their joy, and Lancelot’s as well, Sophia smiled and took his hand, and a happiness that they had not seen since he had been with her, surrounded him.
“Sit down, you oaf. You’ve had enough to drink for now.” Vanora’s chastising voice rang clear as she pushed Bors into a chair and sat next to him.
“Why do you ruin my fun, Nora?” He looked at her adoringly as he said this.
She sighed. “I won’t have you ruining this wedding by drinking the whole time.” Vanora kissed him on the cheek.
“You know, Bors,” Tristan said.
Bors looked at the scout. “Wuh?”
“You lost the bet,” he smirked.
“What bet?” Vanora and Raja said at the same time.
“Bet?” Bors looked confused. “Uh…bet, bet…what bet?”
“You know, that you and Nora would get married before me and Raja.” He grinned. “You lost the bet.”
“WHAT!” Bors looked at him indignantly.
“Ridiculous!” Vanora punched him in the arm. “Men!”
“That was ages ago!” Bors exclaimed.
Raja turned her head to Tristan. “When was this?”
“Four years ago, and I was joking!” Bors interjected.
Tristan gave a grunt from the back of his throat. “If you say so.”
“I’m going for a piss,” Bors miffed.
Vanora sighed.
Then…
She
was 17, one of the worst winters, her health dire. She had been outside for a
mere moment, it was snowing, the wind like sharp nails against the face. Her
vision blurred, and she heard a shrill ringing in her ears, and she fell. Horus
flew overhead, sensing that something was wrong. Tristan was walking to the
stables, thinking Raja might be there when Horus dipped straight towards his
head, flapping his wings, sharp talons digging into his head.
One
of the stable hands came running out; he spotted Tristan right away, trying to
swat a bird off of his head.
“Tristan!”
he shouted. “Where’s Raja? Her damned horse is going crazy!”
Horus ceased his
attack and flew into the stable, Tristan following. Odin was stomping and
snorting incessantly. Tristan mounted him, bareback, and they followed Horus to
where Raja lay. Face down in the snow, her black garments a strong contrast to
sea of white. He jumped off Odin, and ran to her side. He turned her on her
back, saying her name, her eyelids fluttered. As if she were a feather he
picked her up, and they rode back to get her to safety.
Raja
drifted in and out for two weeks. Her breathing so shallow it was as if she
emitted no breath at all, and at times she would mutter things in a mix of
Arabic and Sarmatian. Coughing wracked her body, flecks of blood making their
appearance. Tristan did not leave her side, wanting to be there when she woke
up. But his scouting duties called him.
“I
have to leave for a couple of days,” he cleared his throat. “You’ll take care
of her Dagonet?”
“We
all will. She will be here when you get back.”
Tristan
nodded his head and left to complete his duties.
A
few hours after he left, her eyes opened. Lancelot was now by Raja’s side,
clasping her hand. Her eyes opened, just a bit, and she spoke.
“Father?”
she rasped.
Her
cousin’s eyes shot open, realizing that she must be hallucinating. She had once
said that her father looked a bit like him.
She
coughed, trying to speak between labored breaths. “Are you here to take me away
with you?”
What
could he say? “No, Raja, it’s not your time yet.”
“Oh,”
her voiced cracked and a single tear escaped her eye. She was silent again,
Lancelot thinking she had gone back to sleep.
“Is
mother with you? And Uncle Ardeth?”
Lancelot
cleared his throat, holding back his own tears. “They are.” Don’t you dare
leave, Raja, he pleaded silently.
She
smiled, tired. “Good,” she whispered. “Will you stay with me, until I fall
asleep? Don’t leave me ‘til then, okay?”
“I
won’t.”
“I
love you, father.”
“I
love you, too.”
Her
eyes closed and she lay still.
She
was too still. Lancelot put his ear to her chest, not hearing a heartbeat. He
felt her pulse, her skin burned, but there was nothing. He let go of her hand,
and put his ear to her chest again, thinking he was mistaken. He stood up,
knocking the chair backwards as he hurried from the room.
“Dagonet!”
he yelled. “Vanora!”
I
held every bit of my strength to call to her. I bent down on the floor and
whispered in her ear. Wake up, Raja. It’s not your time yet, wake up! Wake
up...
FOUR
WEEKS LATER...
Now...
“Hello,” I said.
Raja turned around abruptly. She was further in the woods, collecting herbs for the oncoming winter, a few weeks, yet. Odin was grazing a bit farther away, Horus fluttering from tree to tree. She was wrapped in a wool coat with an equally thick cloak. She was more sensitive to the chill than the others, the impending frost bone deep.
“Hello,” she smiled. “I was wondering when you would show up again. You left so suddenly the last time you came.”
“I think I might have overstayed my welcome that time.”
“Oh, well, you know Tristan. He can be a-“
“Grump,” we said at the same time.
We laughed. Hers was interrupted by a series of coughs.
“Are you all right?” I asked. Was the bite of winter seeping into her lungs already? I thought to myself.
“I’m fine,” she assured. “Will you walk with me?”
“I’d like that.”
We made our way through the forest as she acquired more of the herbs that she needed. We were silent for a while, just enjoying each other’s company.
She began to cough again. “I need to sit.” We sat in a small clearing.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked again.
This time she sighed. “For now. Perhaps this winter will not be as harsh on my body as the others. The first sign of fever, I know Tristan will do what he can to make sure I don’t step out into the cold.” She shook her head, a nostalgic grin played on her face as she wrapped her cloak tighter around her. “Is it easier for you to come around now?”
“Oh, it is much better! Tristan doesn’t push me away as often anymore. Especially since the two of you married. I hope you don’t mind, I stood at a distance watching everything.”
“Not at all. Why didn’t you come say hello?”
“Ah, I did not want to risk Tristan’s ire.”
“Of course.”
“Did you…did you tell him about me, last time I was here?”
“No. He asked me, but I told him it was not my place. I know you would like him to figure it out for himself.”
I nodded. “I would.”
“Will you be with him forever?”
I was silent for a moment, contemplating the answer. “No,” I said. “At least I hope not. As long as I am here with him, it means that he is not fully healed inside. Once he learns to hope and have faith on his very own will I be able to depart.”
“On his own?”
I turned to her. “On his own…even without you for him to lean on. He must learn to work through his pain and light a path through his dark periods. He can only do this by mustering the hope and faith that he buried deep within him long ago. Does that make sense?”
“It does. It sounds as if I have to die for him to do that; if he cannot lean on me.”
“You do not have to die for this to happen.”
A sharp wind blew past; she shivered and wrapped herself more securely in her cloak.
Part IX. Mad World
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I've ever had.
I find it hard to tell you
‘Cuz I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very, very
Mad world...
ONE
WEEK LATER...
Now...
Tristan
was running after her, calling her name. They were in a dark forest, thorn
bushes and massive trees, with long branches and sharp leaves that scraped
against their skin. He couldn’t get to her. With each step he took the distance
between them increased. She stopped when she ran into a group of men. They
grabbed at her and ripped the tattered clothes from her body. She was exposed.
She could hear Tristan calling her name. And she wanted to scream for him, but
no words came out of her throat. Each breath she took was agony. The men poked
at her. Trickles of blood ran down her body. Their hands pawed at her, she was
surrounded. She grew weaker, and Tristan’s voice grew faint...
“Raja!” Tristan shook her body. She breathing was labored and raspy, it sounded as if she were choking on something. “Raja!” He turned her on her back and put his hand on her cheek. Her skin was clammy and warm, warmer than it was before they had gone to sleep. He regretted now the love he made to her with such fervor hours before. Tears were now running down her cheeks. He propped her body in a sitting position, “Open your eyes! Raja!” He whispered something in Arabic to her.
Slowly, her breathing came back to normal, and her eyelids flickered. She mumbled something, but he did not know what. Her lips were moving, trying to push words from her mouth. Her crying became stronger, but she was waking. Finally, she managed a word, “No.” Her eyes opened and she began to shake violently. She looked him in the eyes, tears streaming, “No! Please, Tristan!” She moved, wrapping her arms around him. “Tristan!” She gasped, her sobbing muffling her words, she buried her head in his neck.
This was one of her stronger night terrors. Not just mumbling in her sleep, but crying, screaming, cold sweats. There was nothing to do but just hold her, and wait for it to pass. But the terror that still plagued her gripped his heart. He would relive those moments for her if he could.
She took a deep breath, words stumbling over each other, “There were...men, they can’t...don’t let them, Tristan. Not again. I’ll die. Please...They’re going to take me away...” She began to cry again. “It hurts...” she whispered. “I can’t...don’t let them.” He held her head between his hands, ready to speak, but the look in her eyes stopped him dead. Her pupils were big, silvery eyes masked with fear and a desolation that left him cold. Her eyelids flittered now, her tears slowly abated. She was falling asleep. He laid her back down and held her against him, face to face, holding her as tight as he could, as if someone would snatch her away any minute. He wrapped the blankets tighter around them, her shivering vibrating through his body. Would her demons ever abate? Since the day she came here they had tormented her, and there was nothing he could do.
------------------------------
“Tristan, I’m fine.” It was the next morning in the tavern, a few people were there eating their breakfasts. “I hate it when you look at me like that.”
“You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “It was one of your strong ones. You were heating up.”
Raja sighed. “Really, Tristan, you should know better than to pay attention to my senseless blubbering when I’m dreaming.” She took a bite of her bread, then a sip of her tea. He looked at her dubiously. She set her mouth in a straight line, “You’re worrying over nothing. My fever is gone, my coughing is gone,” she put her hand on top of his, “and if you don’t eat your food, it’s going to get cold.” She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I do not want to talk about it anymore.” She stalked out of the tavern before he could get another word in, almost bumping into Dagonet going out.
Tristan was rubbing his eyes in exasperation when Dag took a seat next to him. “Argument?” Vanora asked, setting the newly arrived knights’ plates in front of them. Before he could answer, Lancelot approached the two unaware of his entrance. “What’s wrong with, Raj?” he asked, eyebrow raised. There were noticeable nail marks on his neck, and a small bruise on his upper cheek.
They knew Raja hated it when they spoke about her like this. She was not a child, but if she was to pay no attention to her well-being, someone had to or she would be dead by now. She had always felt a bit of a burden, having to be taken care of like a sickly child when her illness rendered her to bed rest. She always insisted she was “fine,” even though that was well beyond the obvious.
“I passed her on the way to stables,” Lancelot sat down, “I asked her if she felt better, and she cursed at me in Arabic. I think I recognized the word ‘bastard’ in there at some point.”
Tristan gave an amused guttural scoff in the back of his throat. “She said the same thing to me this morning.” The men laughed a bit at this. Tristan deliberated whether he should tell them about the previous night, but decided against it. It was between the two of them, and for Raja to tell, if she wanted. He shrugged in defeat. “I’ll just leave her be for the while.” He took a sip of his drink and glanced at Lancelot and smirked, observing his small injuries.
“What?” Lancelot bristled.
-----------------------------------
Raja was grooming Odin when I appeared.
“Hello, again,” she said. She procured an apple and cut it in half. Odin gobbled one half, and she handed the other to me. I smiled at this and ate it heartily. I nibbled in silence while she continued to brush Odin’s coat. “I’m dying.” she mused quietly.
My head snapped up, mid bite. “Why do you say that?”
She turned her head and looked straight at me and put the brush down, then came to sit next to me on the bench. She was so graceful, her dress hid her feet, and it was as if she floated across the floor. The bit of my apple hurt going down my throat, settling in my stomach like a rock.
“Something isn’t right,” she whispered, her eyes were cast down to her hands folded on her lap.
“It was just a dream.”
Raja looked at me suspiciously. “How do you know about that?”
“I know what he knows.”
She simply nodded. After a moment she spoke again, “Saxons are grouping. We might have to fight again.” She was silent for a moment, the continued, “Tristan wouldn’t want me to go, of course. But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.”
What could I say?
“Ugh!” she shook her head to clear her mind. “I’m being silly,” she said with a forced smile, followed by a heavy sigh. “Some warrior I am, huh?” She let her head droop, running her fingers through her silky hair.
“Tristan won’t let you die,” I blurted. “He’d do anything to-”
“I won’t what?” a gruff voice sounded. We turned to see Tristan with a questioning look on his face. I regretted my abrupt statement, chastising myself silently at my stupidity. “You again,” he accused, advancing forward.
“Hello,” I said amiably. Why is it so hard to make peace with myself?
“Don’t ‘hello’ me,” he said, “you’re putting these ideas into her head, aren’t you?”
“Tristan!” Raja spat.
He turned his head towards her. “Don’t talk as if I’m not here,” she rebuked.
Cursing myself once again for speaking without thought, I said, “I’ll leave. Sorry to cause trouble.”
“Why don’t you just stay away?” he censured.
“That’s impossible,” I told him.
Raja held onto his arm, sensing his oncoming wrath. No one challenged him and left without a mark, very few, anyway.
“Don’t you know me?” I asked him. But I was distracted by the look on Raja’s face. Her eyes were blank and she wobbled and covered her ears. She turned pale and would have fallen if Tristan had not caught her. He picked her up, no heavier than air.
“You know Dagonet?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“Get him.”
Part X. Fade Away
I wanna be there when you call
I wanna catch you when you fall
I wanna be the one you need
I wanna be the one you breathe
THREE
DAYS LATER...
Now...
Raja slowly opened her eyes. The
first day had been the worst, but by
She’ll
insist on going, he thought. Stubborn
woman.
“Tristan?” Raja breathed, her voice was raspy from lack of use. She tried to lift her head but dizziness grasped her in her attempt.
He turned his head at her voice and sat next to her on the bed. He took her hand; stroking the “T” he had carved on her palm years ago. An “R” was etched on his.
“How long this time?” she asked wearily.
“Three days.”
She sighed and tried to sit up. “No,” Tristan said firmly, putting his free hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down on the pillows. Resisting was futile, so she rolled her eyes and complied.
“Here.” He poured her a cup of water and with great care, propped her head up with his hand and held the cup to her lips. Her eyes closed as she slowly drank the cool liquid.
“Thank you.” She turned her head slightly, inspecting him closely.
Tristan smirked and looked at her knowingly. “Yes, I ate. Can you?”
“I’m not doing a damn thing until I bathe.” With this she gathered all her strength and pushed herself up, her head lolling back against the headboard from the effort.
Tristan, exasperated, was losing his patience. “Eat first.”
“Bath first. I’ve been lying in my own sweat for the past three days.” She looked at him, challenging him with her eyes. “I am not asking you to bathe me; I will walk to the bath house on my own if I have to.” It wasn’t a far walk, just down the hall and around the corner.
He clenched his teeth, his jaw muscles tightening. “You try to eat, and then I will carry you to the bath.”
“Stubborn bastard,” she cursed in Arabic.
“I do know what that means!”
“I know; that’s why I said it.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, it won’t work. I will not lose my patience and storm out of here so you can be free to crawl out of bed.” He stood up. “I’ll get your food, and don’t even think about moving, or I will take your clothes and tie you to the bed.”
“Tristan, you wouldn’t take advantage of a sick woman, would you?” She smiled slyly at him.
His fists tightened, determined not to let her get to him. “I mean it.” He walked out of the room.
She looked around, wondering if she could get out of bed and to the bathhouse before he came back. She sat herself up a bit more, and as she pulled the covers back, Lancelot burst in the room.
“Not working this time, cousin,” he said triumphantly. “When will you learn, really, now?” He plopped on the bed, bouncing the mattress. His faced turned serious. “How do you feel?” Lancelot took her hand, significantly smaller in his larger one.
“You two plot against me,” she accused. Her head tipped to the side, distracted by the scratch marks on his neck and the slight bruising on his cheek.
“What happened to your face? And your neck?”
When he did not answer right away, the solution came on its own. “Make up with, Sophia?”
“Something like that,” he half shrugged.
“Hmm. Finally let it out, did she?” Raja knew Sophia fairly well; she never recalled her crying after her and Lancelot had parted ways. Her pride was hurt, trust betrayed and she was not the type to let show that she was devastated by flying into a rage.
He gave a bemused smile, and looked up at her. “Wasn’t until we bedded a few days ago that I fully grasped the hurt I caused her. Maybe it’s because she cried for it the first time, in my presence anyway. She’s been avoiding me.”
“Of course. She resisted the first time because of your reputation, determined to be one of the women who would not succumb to you, and when she did, she put her trust in you and eventually she was made out to be just like any other woman you’ve slept with.”
“How long have you been waiting to say that to me?”
“It just occurred to me,” she smiled. “Is Little Lottie tired of paying for pleasure and now wants something more than a cheap fuck?”
“Gods! You can be so caustic at times!” He laughed though, appreciative and grateful for her caring honesty. “Yes, perhaps, Lottie, nothing ‘little’ about me, thank you, would like something more.”
“Pigs can fly now.”
“She doesn’t trust me though. Never will,” he said, brushing away his hope.
“Well, not if you continue to flirt and pat women on their asses on a daily basis, no matter how innocent; which it never is with you. Any boy can get a woman, Lottie, but it takes a man to keep one. Gawain and Dagonet have found love and married. Galahad will follow along, soon.” She closed her eyes for a moment, growing tired. “Maybe even you, if you can ever get it through your thick head that you deserve happiness as much as the next person.”
He scoffed.
“No, Lancelot, I mean it.” All mirth was gone from her voice, wanting to have told him this long ago. “You say what right do you have to sons, but Bors has killed just as many sons as you. Do you think he doesn’t deserve the joy his sons and the rest of his children bring him? Do you think he has no right to them? Well?”
He said nothing.
Her breathing grew heavy. Why was she so adamant about this now, after all these years? Because they had survived when they thought they wouldn’t? Because, although she never showed it, or spoke a word of it, Lancelot’s intense bitterness could at times break her heart with the depths of his self-hate?
“Do you still believe in nothing?” she asked, her voice gaining a sharp edge. “Anything at all?”
“What does it matter?”
“You have to believe in something. Loyalty, friendship, love...you can’t have any of that without believing in it. And you have that, you have given and received it, so you can’t say you don’t believe in anything!” She was almost to the point of yelling.
“Raj, it’s ok, you’re going to exhaust yourself.”
She ignored him. “We are all damaged in some way or another. I know it is hard to want to cling to someone when you are accustomed to losing so many people you care about with the lives we’ve led. But people die! That is just the way it is!”
“Raja-“ he tried to placate her, holding her hand tightly.
“I am not finished!” she labored. “If you are going to go on with that kind of thinking, why do you even go on living at all?” She fell back on the pillows, breathing rapidly, catching her breath. “You know why?”
He looked at her, discomfited by her sudden outburst. “Why?”
She inhaled deeply. “Because deep, deep down, there is that bit of innocence inside of you that is whispering, telling you to hold on, that there is hope. And it only whispers because there is so little of it. While some peoples’ hope shouts inside of them and rings clearly, yours whispers. Sometimes mine does, too, you know. I see Tristan’s hope staring me in the face sometimes. He talks to me.” She was drifting out, struggling to keep her eyes open. “He talks to Tristan, too. Where is yours, Lancelot? I think they all come in different forms.” Raja gave a sleepy smile. “Maybe Sophia is yours. Who knows? If you give yourself half a chance, or if ever, you could have a daughter. Innocence reborn.” She patted his hand. “You’re a good person. I wouldn’t love you as much as I do if you weren’t. I wish I could make you believe that.”
The door opened and Tristan walked in with a tray of warm broth with vegetables, and a side of apple and bread. Lancelot got up so Tristan could place the tray over Raja’s lap. Lancelot bent down to kiss Raja goodbye, his mind absorbing everything she had told him. She was the only one who could slap him across the face without raising a hand. He said bye to Tristan and left.
After the vehemence she had used to speak to Lancelot, Raja was left short of breath. Her hand shook as she tried to raise the spoon to her mouth, and for once, without objecting, she let Tristan take over. Despite her fatigue, she ate all her broth, but split the apple and bread with Tristan. As was promised, a bath was given and Raja had to keep from falling asleep as he gently washed her back, unexpected tingles traveled down her spine when he swept her hair over her shoulder and kissed the base of her neck. He helped her into a clean shift then carried her back to the room, setting her in front of the fire while he changed the sheets.
“Will you come lay next to me, Trissy?” Raja asked after he had situated her in bed.
She did not need to ask twice. He
removed his boots and tunic and got under the covers with her. She scooted
herself closer to him placing her head on his chest as he stroked her damp
hair. The season was growing colder, battle might once again ensue, and these
worries plagued Tristan, it being different now. Now that they were no longer bound
to
him to see her fight for her life. That it killed him to be unable to protect her. That his pain was bearable, yet to witness hers was not. But how do you tell a warrior, a warrior who was not born to sustain the life of one, to put down their sword?
Then...
“Fucking
Romans!” Tristan screamed. He desperately looked for something to throw; his
eyes landed on a rock which he took swiftly and hurled it further in the woods.
“Damn them!” She had been free! Not shackled to this island like him. Had not
“Tristan,
it’ll be okay,” Raja tried to comfort him. Despite what this all meant, she had
taken the news calmly, and did not feel as angry as she thought she should
have. She sat on their rock in front of the small creek, the moon hidden by
clouds. Tristan looked at her, wondering if she fully grasped what was
happening.
“Do
you not realize that you are a slave now?”
When
she said nothing, he repeated it louder, “You’re a SLAVE!”
Raja
sighed. “I will serve the remainder of time here with you. I was tired of
getting left behind anyway while you went off to battle. I hate being left
behind. I’ve always hated being left behind.”
He remained silent, back facing her. “Tristan.” She could see him
shaking in the shadows, fists clenched so tight she saw in her mind his
knuckles turning white. Her head turned away from him, now focusing on the
depths of the woods, the same direction she had had looked to the night they
first made love. “They don’t own me, Trissy.” When no answer was forthcoming,
she slid off the rock and headed back to her room, leaving Tristan to the
night.
A
warm bath had soothed her, she sat in front of the fire drying out her hair
deep in thought when Tristan thrust the door open and slammed it shut, locking
it behind him. He lifted her with one arm and pushed her flat on the bed
pinning her arms to the bed. She could smell no drink on his breath, but his
eyes were wild with a passion so heated that it rendered her speechless.
“You’re
right. They don’t own you. I do.” He stripped himself quickly, his demeanor so
imposing that she did not dare speak to him. His mind was on one path right
now, and there was no use in trying to divert him from it. Tristan’s breathing
was hoarse, and she saw that he was fully aroused, his anger and pain boiling
his blood. He covered her again with his weight, taking her breath away with a
fierce kiss that both hurt and pleasured her. Tristan stroked her possessively,
nibbling her neck and kneading her breasts through the cloth. He sat up,
straddling her and tore her shift down the middle.
“Tris-“
He
grabbed a dagger from the small beside table and pulled her up by her right
wrist.
“Hold
out your palm,” he growled. When she did, he dug the dagger into her skin
forming two lines into a “T.” He paid no attention to how deep it went and the
blood ran freely. He caught the lines of blood with his hand and wiped them
away, kissing her wound, drinking in her blood. “You’re mine.” He bent and
kissed her again, his fervor returning with force, he entered her swiftly;
deep, hard thrusts rocked the bed and their bodies. She was now as incensed as
he, wrapping her legs around him and grabbing his firm buttocks to take him in.
He
became more urgent, murmuring more to himself than her. “They can’t take you
from me. You’re mine. They don’t own you.”
These
words were hot air in her ears, but as he came, and she came with him, his
words became clear and synonymous with every individual thrust.
“You.
Are. Mine.” He repeated this until they climaxed together, cries of ecstasy
filling the room.
She
took the dagger he had tossed aside on the bed and pushed him over onto his
back. She took his hand, meeting no resistance, and carved an “R” into the base
of his thumb on his right hand, where he had branded her with his initial. They
joined hands, blood mixing together.
“And
you’re mine,” she whispered to him.
“I
am,” he replied, pulling her down to him.
ONE
WEEK LATER...
Now...
They could put it off no longer. Get
to them first, or let them come here.
Raja was in her room, sharpening her sword. She had agreed with Tristan’s request that, at least for the winter, they should move back into their old room. She asked no questions, knowing already the reason why he had brought it up. She glanced up when he walked in quietly, an air about him that made her look at him closer. Something was wrong.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. He had been dreading this talk, it not going to be an easy one to have. He sat by her on the bed and sighed. No matter how many times he had gone over it in his mind, the words never seemed right. He knew the other men agreed with him. He and Arthur had discussed dismissing her from her knighthood, but Tristan wanted to try to get her to agree to stay back before they resorted to her dismissal. Was it selfish to want his wife to stay where it was safe...safer? Was it wrong to want to mention the weariness he saw in her eyes? She would never admit that her body was weakening. Fevers, battle, and wounds had taken their toll. No warrior wanted to admit that it was growing difficult to hold a sword, and her, at only twenty-two. Raja’s body had always been fragile, not meant to follow the rigorous actions of a soldier. Her mind, her mind that could absorb any sort of information, was her strongest point.
She slid her sword into its scabbard and placed it by the side of the bed.
“Something wrong?” She stifled a light cough and he grimaced.
He was silent for moments. “I want you to stay,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“Don’t be angry-“
“No, I mean, I didn’t hear you. You mumbled.”
Tristan looked her in the eyes, taking in the deep silver. He tucked her hair behind her ear and stroked the side of her face with his finger, the skin still slightly pale. “I want you to stay here.”
She was silent for a moment, her mind closing around the meaning of his words. “I go.”
Tristan sighed heavily. “I want you to stay here, Raja.”
She rolled her eyes and stood up; swaying slightly from rising too quickly, Tristan was standing there holding her by the shoulders when her vision cleared. “Please, Raj.”
“Please, what?”
“Just stay here.”
She looked at him, barely believing what she was hearing. “No. I will not wait here on the other side of the gate for someone to tell me whether you’ve lived or died. I refuse.” She shook herself from his grasp and made to leave.
“You think I’m blind to it, Raja?”
They faced each other. Of course she knew he was not blind to it. But would he throw this weakness in her face?
“Don’t Tristan.”
“I don’t want to. But I think I have to. What else can I say to make you understand that you cannot keep doing this? You do not have to fight anymore.”
“Neither do you.”
“It’s not the same.”
Raja scoffed. “Why? Because you’re a man?” She stood in front of him.
“That is not it, and you know it.”
“What other reason is there, then? Huh?”
“Because, I am not sick. I can bear the life of a warrior.” he blurted.
“I can’t help that!”
“Not then, you couldn’t. You don’t have to do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Pretending that you’re fine, when you’re not. Trying to stand, when you can’t, because your body cannot take what you’re doing to it. What you’ve put it through because you had no other choice. It’s killing you.”
How true these words were, although she was loath to hear them. Part of her did want to put down her sword, stop fighting. Yet the idea of not being there with them, as she had for so long, and waiting on the other side of the gate ignorant to those who had not survived fell heavy on her shoulders. She did not want to be one of those women who had to be told that her husband had lost his life in battle. She fought back tears, hating this truth that was washing over her.
She shook her head no.
“For once, let me be the one to protect you. I couldn’t all those years. Let me now.”
She swallowed painfully, shaking her head to his words. He embraced her, holding her tightly to him.
“This doesn’t make you weak, Raj. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
A sob escaped her body. “I will not sit here waiting for you.” But these were empty words. Hadn’t she said that she was tired of carrying them both? He was there now for her, no more fears save for the one that he would lose her. “I’ve had a sword in my hand since I was a child. Who am I if I don’t?”
“You are Raja. You took care of me, now it’s my turn.”
“Who will protect you? Take care of you?”
“You’ve taken better care of me, and have guarded me better than anyone in the world.”
The women were hugging their men goodbye at the gates and for the first time, Raja was one of those women, but she smiled slightly to see Sophia was among those women, Lancelot hugging her fiercely. It took all her strength to not jump on Odin and ride away next to her brothers and husband. Tristan and Raja had made love to each other with such urgency during the night that their bodies dripped with sweat, despite the icy weather. His kiss lingered on her lips and the I love you he spoke to her echoed in her mind as he mounted his horse and rode away, but not before telling him to not look back.
“Why is that?”
“Because you have to believe I am here. And if you are unsure and check, I’ll disappear.” She smiled at him. “I love you.”
“I think he is more worried that you will not be here when he gets back than you are worrying that he will not,” I said, walking up beside her.
She turned towards me. “Where else would I be?”
Part XI. Take This
I can't believe how far I've come
Watch me stumble and come undone
If you take away, these memories
All that's left is just me.
Now...
The seven knights passed through the decimated village that was pillaged seven days prior. On their nine day journey they had encountered small bands of Saxons, defeating them all, surviving for another day. When the fighting was done, all Tristan could think about was getting back to Raja; holding her tightly, looking deep into her silver eyes, the ones that held endless love for him. What his eyes saw now was a village massacred. Dead bodies riddled the ground, burnt houses, and a raid that had offered no mercy. It was nothing the knights had not seen before. In vain, by Arthur’s silent lead, they searched for survivors. There were none.
It would take another two days to reach the fortress. Tristan would have gladly ridden day and night to get home. A desperate need to see Raja’s face and embrace her consumed him.
“Ah, she’ll be there waiting for you when we get there tomorrow, Tristan,” Bors said, wrapping his cloak tighter around him. The wind was picking up; flecks of snow had already begun to fall.
The men sat around the campfire, as close to the fire as they could get to warm their bodies. They each looked forward to a warm bath, a full meal, and the warmth of their women beside them.
“Eager to maintain your marital duties,” Lancelot smarted.
“Eager to maintain being manhandled in bed by Sophia, Lancelot?” Tristan retorted wryly.
“Yeah, we saw the marks, Lancelot,” laughed Bors. “Gettin’ what you deserve now!”
The knights laughed at Lancelot’s abashed expression.
“It was one drunken night,” he mumbled.
The mirth died down as the chill grew deeper and exhaustion settled in. After all this way, home was tomorrow.
-------------------------------------
The women were waiting at their usual spot, despite the cold, as the men rode forward.
Tristan’s eyes searched for Raja, but she wasn’t present. Sick again? he worried. They dismounted, the horses were led away to be groomed and fed. I stood away with a heavy heart, my throat tight with grief for when Tristan would be told the news.
“Vanora?” Tristan called. But she was already walking towards him. He knew something was wrong. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Where’s Raja? She’s not sick again, is she?”
“No, Tristan, she’s not,” Vanora took a breath.
Something tightened in his chest. “Vanora.”
The air changed as the wind blew sharper and the sky darker. Tristan put his hands on Vanora’s shoulders. “Nora, where is she?” But she could not speak.
“Tristan,” Guinevere approached, Arthur beside her.
His hands left Vanora’s shoulders as he turned towards Arthur’s wife.
“The day after you left, she received a message that there was something wrong with the horses at a village a few days from here. They were very ill.”
Lancelot’s head whipped around, he had been standing near. “What village?” he asked sharply.
“I do not know. Just that it was a few days ride. She said she had been there before, and she knew the stable hands well. She had often been there to help with the animals, right?”
“Guinevere,” Tristan said, commanding her attention back to Raja.
“She left not a few hours after she got the message, saying she would be back as soon as she could. But...”
The wind howled, but that did not quiet Horus’ sudden caw up above. He heard the hoof beats of Odin coming near from the direction of the stables – without Raja.
Tristan’s hands tightened into fists and he put his hands on Guinevere’s shoulders as he had with Vanora. Only now, his demeanor was more insistent, harder.
“What happened, Guinevere?” Arthur asked.
“Two days ago, Odin came back without her. At first we thought that he was just wandering, as she usually let him. But the next day, she still wasn’t here. Then there were rumors that Saxons had raided a village. We do not know which one.”
“There was a village, about a three days ride from here that was pillaged and burned.” Tristan’s cold hands clenched tighter on her shoulders.
Guinevere paled and Vanora let out a cry.
“There were no survivors, not that we could see,” Arthur voiced.
“It’s the same village,” Guinevere whispered, looking straight into Tristan’s eyes.
His breath shuddered; Horus’ caw came again with the pattering of Odin’s hooves. Now Tristan was desperate, doing what he could to quell the shaking of his body that was not caused by the cold. He took Guinevere’s face in his hands and spoke deliberately, “Guinevere, you are sure it was the same village? There was no other one it could have been. She said a few days, did she not? There is no closer village.”
She paused and looked at Arthur. Guinevere bowed her head, “She said a few days, that it would not take her long.”
I came out of the shadows, and I felt the core of Tristan’s realization that Raja was once again lost. His hands were rough against Guinevere’s skin, his gaze was deep.
“That is what she told us, Tristan,” Vanora spoke up, a grieved expression on her face.
His rough hands dropped from Guinevere’s face and instantly spotted my presence a few steps away. He was now in a world of his own. Without her, he did not exist.
Remember your promise, I communicated to him.
He nodded and said to no one in particular. “I have to go back.”
Then the thunder boomed, and rain began to fall with the snow.
Part XII. Reply
You, you understand my pain.
From this I gather strength,
In that we are the same.
Then...
Raja
was humming to herself, collecting berries and apples that spring had seen fit
to provide this year. She had been on the
Still
humming, Raja did not hear the twigs snap behind her. The hairs rose on the
back of her neck when a shadow loomed over her, a shadow that was not
Tristan’s. In a split second she cursed herself for forgetting to be alert.
Always alert, a scout’s way. She sprang to her feet, but not fast enough for
the man grabbed her hair, and no matter how hard she struggled, he outweighed
her. She reached for her dagger, tied to her waist, but his big hand grasped
her wrist, bending it backwards until she had to let go.
“Pretty
little thing, you are,” he said. The Roman had her back against a tree now,
leering at her. “I’ve been watching you.”
Images
of that day in
“Don’t
get many...” he cocked his head to the side, stroking her body from head to toe
with his eyes. He paused at her breasts that had sprung prematurely, the curves
of her hips. She had never so detested her body as she did at this time.
“...women like you around here.” Abruptly, he pushed to the ground, she once
again tried to get away, but his weight crushed her as he held her wrists above
her head. She felt his erection against her thigh, throbbing menacingly.
One
thing she had never done to a man, something she knew was completely fruitless,
yet she did it at this time. She spit in his face. Raja knew a hand across the
face was coming, which meant that a hand would have to leave her wrist. When
she felt that hand let go, she tried to move to the side, but the Roman just
grabbed her throat and delivered a blow to her face with the other hand.
“Bitch!”
He spit in her face and his two massive hands grabbed her head and banged it
against the ground. Though it was on the grass, it was enough to make her head
swim.
Fear
paralyzed her, the one thing she dreaded the most, happening again. She still
had nightmares of that night in
She
felt another fist connect with her face. Raja was tired from struggling; she
was no match for this man. He cupped her breasts, squeezing them until they
aches. She averted her face when he attempted to kiss her on the lips, he
licked her neck as he gyrated against her. The Roman muttered, and slipped his
hands under her dress, which made her make one last attempt to get away.
“Let’s
see if you’re ready,” his voice was muffled in her neck.
Raja
screamed when she felt his finger penetrate her roughly. He used his forearm
and pressed it against her neck, also making it impossible for her to squirm.
She was dizzy from the violence done to her head. His hot breath blew on her
face, he was untying his breeches, Raja could feel his penis, even harder
now, poking on her thigh, aiming higher,
for a mere second she felt his prick on her sex before it was pulled away and
his body pulled from atop her.
She
rolled on to her side, and with her blurry vision saw who could only be Tristan
attacking the Roman with the look of the worst kind of hell in his golden eyes.
His dagger slashed the Roman, his chest, his gut, his face, his throat, blood
spewing and pouring, covering Tristan’s face and his clothes. Raja still lay on
the ground, vision clearing, head aching, continuing to watch the killing of
her attacker. She moved her lips to call Tristan’s name, trying to get air out
of her lungs. She coughed.
“Tristan.”
She coughed again. “Tristan!” she said more loudly this time. “Tristan!” She
began to sob. Not because of what she was seeing, she could have cared less
that the Roman was dead, but she was scared, and only wanted Tristan to hold
her. She could feel the Roman’s finger inside of her, the dirt, the filth.
Tristan
stopped, his name breaking through the haze of red he was seeing. He turned
towards Raja and saw the anguish in her eyes and ran towards her. He sat her up
gently and cradled her, stroking the massive bruises on her swollen face,
leaving streaks of blood. Raja held on tightly, arms around his neck.
“Not
again,” she cried. “Not again.”
He
comforted her, hugged her tightly, his heart hurt with every one of her sobs
that wracked her body; the person that meant the most to him in the world,
hurting. This was the first time Tristan had seen her cry. As her cries died
down, he wrapped her cloak and his snugly around her and carried her out of the
woods. He took a back way to the fort; trying to spare her the spectacle that
would be created if one too many people saw her bruised face and his bloody
one. As he rounded the corner to her room, he saw Vanora heading towards the
tavern.
“Vanora!”
he called.
She
turned and saw his face, covered in blood, and the figure of Raja in his arms.
A look of alarm masked her face. “What happened?” She pulled back the hood and
saw Raja’s broken face and gasped.
“Get
her uncle,” Tristan said. It did not bear repeating.
He
swiftly hurried to the keep, took her through the back door, and headed to her
room on the second floor. Tristan entered her room and laid her gently on the
bed. He retrieved the basin of water near her bed and a washcloth and dabbed at
her face, trying to clean it of blood. He felt helpless, he was no healer.
Whimpers
still escaped her swollen lips. “Trissy? Is he...gone?” she slurred.
“He’s
gone, Raja. He’s gone. I promise.” He continued to dab at her face with the
cool water, concerned, yet raging at what had happened.
To
his relief, the door opened and Dagonet, Arthur and her Uncle Ardeth stepped
through. Arthur’s and Dagonet’s faces were shocked seeing the small figure of
Raja, mangled from a brutal beating.
Ardeth
kneeled down and whispered in Arabic to Raja.
“Dagonet?
Could you get me some salve, cloths. She has a few bruised ribs.” Ardeth asked.
“Send for a bath, as well.”
“I’ll
get everything she needs,” Dagonet said, leaving the room.
Ardeth
talked quietly to Raja for a moment, quelling her sobs and then faced Tristan
with a hard look on his face. “What happened?”
Tristan
had to take a few deep breathes to speak through his rage. “She was attacked,”
he said, fists clenched.
Ardeth
took a step forward. The three men congregating in the far corner of her
room. “You need to tell me what
happened. And who the attacker was.”
“Roman,”
Tristan nearly spat. “Came up behind her and tried to rape her.”
“Did
he?” Ardeth was an imposing figure, a man not to be crossed.
“No,”
Tristan huffed. The fate of the Roman was contained in that one word.
“Where’s
the body?” Arthur asked. If it was a Roman soldier that had attacked Raja, and
a Sarmatian knight that had killed him, ramifications would be dire. “You will
have to come with us, we must dispose of it. When someone notices he has gone
missing, inquiries will be made.” With a worried look in Raja’s direction
Arthur left the room.
“She’ll
be fine. A strong girl,” Ardeth said, noticing the vast suffering on Tristan’s
face.
Raja
was curled up in a ball, hugging her knees. The whimpers had stopped.
The
scout nodded. “She is strong.” He went to leave the room, but turned around and
stared Ardeth in the eyes. “She said, ‘not again.’”
The
Egyptian stared at Tristan for a moment. “Hmm.” Ardeth nodded towards the door
and stepped out with Tristan, leaving it open a bit so he could still see Raja.
“Do you know how her parents died?”
“All
she ever said was that they were killed in a village raid, but she had seen her
mother die.”
“Yes.”
Ardeth looked back in the room and sighed heavily. “There was an attack on the
village, as she said, a raiding party of sorts. Her father went out with other
fighters to fend the pillagers off, but he was killed. When men came into their
house, her mother quickly hid her in a bureau just as three men entered the
room. Raja watched from that cupboard as her mother was raped and killed by
those three men. They found her in the bureau, one held her down and...a good
friend of mine and a friend to the family had gone to check on them when he saw
her father die. He walked in as Raja was being violated by all three of them.
They were executed, of course.”
Tristan’s
entire body shook with rage and sickness. He had suspected something like that
might have happened to her from things she had said in the past, but never to
this degree.
Ardeth looked pointedly at Tristan. “When
something like that happens, it kills something inside of the body. Pieces one
cannot get back, or pieces that only one person can fill from their own heart.”
Tristan
was silent, it was almost unfathomable that this had happened to his Raja. “She
survived that,” he said quietly.
“She
did.” Ardeth studied the scout for a moment. “You both seem to understand each
other very well. Two halves of a whole,” he said quietly.
Tristan
nodded, still stunned, and walked away, passing by Dagonet and Vanora as he
walked down the hall.
Now...
It was extremely early the next morning and having gotten his weapons together, Tristan was now saddling up Odin with determination, the black horse as ready as the knight. Then Lancelot and Dagonet walked in with their arsenal and began to prepare their steeds as well. Moments later, Gawain, Galahad, Bors and Arthur came in and did the same. Tristan looked at them for a moment. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you,” Lancelot said not looking up from his horse.
Tristan was about to say something when Arthur interrupted, “Our sister in arms. She would do the same.”
The scout nodded. Then he saw me walk in with a spare sword and other weaponry. I began to saddle up Dyne, the horse Tristan had been riding for years.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tristan said.
“Going with you.” I stared him straight in the eye.
“You think Dyne is going to let you ride him?”
The white horse was being cooperative with me as if he knew who I was. “He doesn’t seem to have a problem,” I told Tristan.
“Let him go, Tristan,” Dagonet said. “He cares, that is what matters.”
The anger from Tristan’s eyes abated, and he stared at me in that confused way once again.
I hope you will understand soon, I communicated through my eyes.
His words were once again interrupted by a sound, the sound of Horus. He flew in and dropped something at Tristan’s feet. He bent and picked it up, clutching it tightly.
“What is it?” I asked.
He opened his palm for all of us to see. In his hand he held a long braid of stark white hair.
A surge of hope went through him. “Raja,” he said. “We leave now.”
The nine of us rode out into the darkness of the early morn, with only the women the men loved to see us off. We left as nine, and we could only hope we would return alive...with ten.
Raja...
They
are hurting me. I sent Horus with a lock of my hair. And I can only hope that
Tristan received it. I know it is cold and I am dying inside. One man claimed
me after the attack on the village; his spoils from a successful pillage.
Occasionally, he shares me with some comrades, for coin or ale. I do not know
how many exactly I am among, but it is more than fifty. My captor is high
enough in rank to kill anyone who touches me without his consent. However, the
leader of this army, he found me intriguing, and he takes me when he sees fit.
While my captor is fucking me, the leader will interrupt him, throw him off and
fuck me without a word. Then he hands me back over to my captor. The things
they have done to me break my soul and spirit. I feel myself becoming inhuman.
I feel myself falling into darkness. My captor ties a loop of rope around my neck
that is tied to a branch of a tree. I cannot move or I will be choked. They
come to me when they want; using me as a means to satisfy their carnal needs
that does not end. It will not end. And though I want to see Tristan again,
with each moment that passes, with each man that takes me, I begin to lose the
hope that he will. I feel myself wanting to die from this shame.
Part XIII. Even in Death
Give me a reason
to
believe that you're gone.
I see your shadow
so I know they're all wrong.
Moonlight on the soft brown earth
It leads me to where you lay
They took you away from me
but now I'm taking you home.
Now...
It has been two days since the nine of us have rode out to find Raja, nine days since the attack and her capture, thirteen days since Tristan has seen her when he departed that morning. The search was strong, now that the Woads were our alliances, we had their support. Their people kept watch on Saxon invasion as well. In the three months after Badon Hill, Raja’s description had become known around a number of Woads. Light brown skin, jet black hair with a white streak and silver eyes. She had always stood out on this island like a sore thumb. A beautiful sore thumb. Communications were going between Horus, the Woads and our group. We know now that there are some Saxons in a fair proximity, but we’ve yet to hear the sinister beating of their drums. We rest only when extremely necessary. If the horses are tired it will slow us down. Tristan is mostly quiet, we all are. What is there to say? As the hours pass, hope naturally grows dim that we will find Raja alive or dead, or even if we find her at all.
It was near evening now, and we were following the direction that the Saxons were known to be traveling in. A light rain began to fall, the tips of my fingers perpetually numb from the cold. I could only imagine Raja outside with no coverage, suffering through this frigid weather. Just then, there were hoof beats behind us. We turned to see at least a dozen Woads riding towards us. Odin needed no prodding and he headed towards our blue allies.
“Any news?” Tristan asked.
“Changed direction,” the lead Woad said. “We encountered at least twenty Saxons, fives leagues that way. We took prisoners, asked about a woman that might have been captured at their raid. We described her to one of them, he pretended not to understand English, but his eyes flickered with some recognition.”
“Take us to them,” Tristan said.
The Woad nodded, and we all rode to their encampment, filled with a bit more hope.
Raja...
I
am losing track of time. It has been, perhaps, six, seven days since I have
been captured. After the fourth day, the rope was taken from my neck. They
could see that I was too weak to run. They gave me stale bread, why I ate it I do
not know. My will to live is faint. I have seen Horus flying near. Late last
night, he landed by my head, expecting me to rip a lock of hair from my head to
give to him. But I just stared at him, refusing to move. He fluttered around,
hopping on my head, clawing at the strands of dirt infested strings, pulling as
many as he could from my scalp. I did not wince when his talons scratched me; I
made no move to stop my old friend. Let him do what he will. I am cold, and I
am sick. I taste blood when I cough. My eyes are becoming swollen; my legs have
been kicked mercilessly, lest I try to escape. A few of my fingers are broken
as well. My captor gets upset when I do not climax. I remember each of their
faces, the men who have taken me behind a bush, a tree, or right in front of a
campfire with other men around. Eleven in all. That is not a large number, but
for me, all I ever wanted was Tristan. I wanted to be able to die saying that
the only man I ever slept with was Tristan, my love, my life. Now I will die saying
nothing. But I will hear the waves crashing in the distance...oh water, carry
me.
Then...
It
had been three weeks since Raja’s attacker tried to rape her in the forest.
Rage still burned in Tristan’s chest when he thought about it. He made her promise
not to go in the woods without him or one of the other men again. Raja just
smirked, and told him not to worry about her. She was putting on a strong face,
and he respected her for that. But he also knew that she screamed at night, and
caught her more than once just staring into nothing with a blank look on her
face, eyes filled with terror, a single tear trailing down her cheek. She told
him he didn’t have to say anything, and she would understand if he no longer
wanted her company. Life here would be even more pointless without your
company, he told her.
“Don’t
smirk, Raja. Promise me you won’t go into the woods without me.” He looked at
her, eyes burning with no mirth to the situation.
“What
am I supposed to do when you’re not here then? When you and the rest leave me
behind? Sit around and knit?”
“You’re
supposed to wait for me, and be here when I get back,” he said, as if it were
the obvious answer.
They
were sitting shoulder to shoulder against the rock, nibbling on apples in the
shade. She made no promise, and became silent. Tristan did not want to push the
issue knowing that she could be stubborn
when it came to people being overprotective.
“Have
you ever had a women do that to you, Tristan?” Her tone was serious, awaiting
an honest answer.
“Do
what?”
She
looked at him as if he should already know. “Put you in her mouth. Your penis.
Have you ever had that done to you?” She would say things like this. Forever
blunt, sometimes to the point of crassness. But there was something different
in her tone now, a deep contemplation within her. She sounded so grown beyond
her years.
He
did not know how to answer her question. He knew Raja was not blind to the
tavern wenches, and also knew that he and other knights must have bedded with
their fair share. She would tell one of the knights that this woman was looking
at him or to stay away from that one because she supposedly has a rash and
shouldn’t risk that. She’d threatened women countless times when they had hurt
one of her friends, or if she thought they would. Disloyalty, in some
countries, is punishable by death, she told one whore. That woman was more
careful with whom she frequented with after that.
“You
can be honest. I know you bed women. Certainly not as often as the other men,
but you do.”
He
cleared his throat, thinking. An interim of silence went by.
She
sighed. “You don’t have to answer. It’s all right.” She turned her head away
from him, seeming to have lost her appetite for the apple. “I know a lot of other
men have. I hear the women talking about the length of the men’s penises. Even
Lancelot, although, I could have done without that information. I really did
not want to hear that about my cousin.”
Tristan
chuckled, but it died shortly when he turned and saw that there was no
amusement on her face. Her eyes were getting that glassy, faraway look.
“I’ve
done it, you know.” When he said nothing, she continued. “Put a penis in my
mouth, I’ve done that. Three.”
“Raja,
you don’t-“
“Back
in
Just
as he was about to say something, she asked another question. “Have you ever
been in love? With any of the women you’ve laid with?”
He
paused; he had an answer to that question. “No.”
“Even
after all these years, you’ve never been in love?”
“No.”
“Haven’t
you ever thought you were?”
“I
never thought about it.”
“Do
you even enjoy the company of any of the women you lay with?”
“They’re
whores, Raja. You pay them and they leave.”
“Does
it at least feel good then? You don’t seem very satisfied.” She was shooting
off the questions in a rushed manner. An edge to her voice.
“Raja-“
“Why
can’t you just answer the question? It’s either a yes or a no.”
He
sighed. “Yes, it does feel good, sometimes.”
“What
does that mean? Sometimes?”
He
sighed. “I don’t know, Raja. It’s just...it’s
just a release, that’s all! They’re whores. That’s what they’re there for.”
“I’m
a whore,” she quietly said with conviction.
“You
are NOT a whore,” his tone severe. “Don’t ever say that. You’re better than
that.”
“I
am. You use whores. I was used, wasn’t I?”
“It’s
not the same, Raja.”
“It
is the same!” She threw her apple as far as she could in anger. “I’m a WHORE!”
she yelled. “You don’t like whores.”
“Raja.”
He lifted her up and cradled her against him, her head buried in his chest. He
laid his chin atop her head and comforted her. He felt her body shiver in his
arms. One of her hands instinctually held on to his longest braid, twirling it
around her fingers.
“You’re
right. I’m not a whore. I’m worse. Whores get paid,” her words were muffled.
The tears were let loose.
He
held her tighter. He wished he could promise that he would never let another
man touch her. But he knew it would not be comforting for her, or him, because
he could not be around to always protect her.
“I
don’t know if I could survive it happening again,” she whispered. “Sometimes it
feels like my insides are disappearing, and I become empty. Sometimes,” she
choked back a sob,” it feels like I can still feel them inside of me. And I see
it happening all over again.” She raised her head to look at him, “I don’t
think I can survive it, Trissy.”
A
lump formed in his throat, thoughts of him without her filled him with
conviction. “As long as I am here, I’ll never let you go without me.”
Now...
“I know you understand me!” Tristan punched the Saxon across the face repeatedly. We had been trying to get answers from him for about an hour. “Answer me!” The Saxon’s face was bloodied to a pulp, his eyes rolling in the back of their sockets.
“If you kill him, you’ll never get an answer,” I said.
We were in a dome shaped Woad establishment with four other Saxon prisoners chained up. There were three others in similar domes being interrogated by the rest of the men. We heard one of them scream in anguish. Tristan gripped his dagger tightly.
“Trissss-tannn,” a stout, foul smelling Saxon said. “Trissss-eeee.”
Our attention turned to this man. Trissy? How would he know that?
Tristan stood over him, and then kneeled on one knee to look the man in the eye. He looked so menacing; the Saxon actually flinched and recoiled. “Where do you know that from?”
“Trissss-eeeee,” the Saxon said again. “Trissss-eeeee.”
It was obvious this man was either simple-minded or insane. But there was no way he could know that name without having heard it from somewhere. Tristan allowed no one else to call him that but Raja.
Tristan grabbed him by his collar. “Where did you hear that! Tell me!” His fist struck a blow across his face. “Doesn’t anyone know their fucking tongue!” He regretted not taking Raja up on her offer to teach him Germanic. It might come in handy one day, Trissy, she said. You should know your enemies’ tongue, she told him.
One of the other Saxon’s chuckled, a tall, garrulous looking man. “He understands you. He is just slow. A little dim. He’s younger than he looks.”
“If you know where she is. Tell me.” He clenched his fist around the hilt of his weapon. “I lost the patience I never had about ten Saxons ago.” He had gone on a rage after getting no answers from the first Saxon.
“I don’t know. I am just telling you that he understands you.”
In an act of frustration, Tristan cut the throat of the first Saxon, blood spraying over his bearded, tattooed face.
“Stop. Stop. Noooooo.” The slow witted Saxon gave a half chuckle. “She yells in night time. Trissss-eeeee. Help meeeeee.” You could almost characterize this Saxon’s laugh as a giggle.
The tall Saxon said something sharply to the dim one. When the dim Saxon did not answer, he repeated it in a softer tone. After a minute, Tristan and I gazing intently on this exchange, the dim Saxon replied. The tall one nodded.
“She coughs blood,” the tall one said with a shrug. The dim one said something else. “She screamed,” the dim one continued to talk, “when men go near her, but then the screaming stopped.” He paused again, listening to the incessant rambling of the person who could lead us to Raja. “Whimpers, whimpers. I patted her head, like my mother did me....”
“Trissss-eeeee. Trissss-eeeee.” He made it sound almost wistful. He continued to talk.
“She was still,” the tall one translated, “left her behind. They say I killed her, but I did not. Made me leave their camp. Now I am here.”
Despite the roaring fire in the middle of the dome, Tristan’s body turned cold. “Left her where?”
“What village do you think she was captured in?” The tall one asked.
Tristan told him.
“Oh. That would mean she is with Rolf’s army. Or was.”
“Where is he heading?” Tristan demanded. A smoother tone, though no less menacing, lined his voice now that he was getting some answers.
The dim Saxon spoke. “Whoosh!” he said when he was finished.
“What did he say?” Tristan demanded.
“They weren’t right next to the ocean, but they must have been at least a day or two near it because this one wandered there.”
With a loud flutter, Horus burst into the dome scattering strands of black and white hair. He perched himself on my shoulder, and I gave him a scrap of dry meat.
“If they were by the ocean, and she was left there, you should go now. Before the snow covers the ground.” The tall one looked at Tristan, both knowing the meaning of this.
“Trissss-eeeee!”
“Go tell the men to prepare,” he ordered me. I nodded and left.
Tristan picked up some of the pieces of hair and gripped them tightly. He turned to leave when the Saxon said, “I hope you find her.”
Tristan was going to ignore him, but something compelled him to turn around. What he saw in that Saxon’s eyes, was a look and feeling he knew all too well. The pain that was etched deep into the lines of his face. The hunch of the shoulders that seemed weighted down by grief. The eyes that stared at nothing and everything. It was the look of someone who had lost the person that meant most to them in the world. A look of understanding passed between them, and Tristan was gone.
Part XIV. I Will Come to You
When you have no light to guide you
And no one to walk to walk beside you
I will come to you
Oh I will come to you...
Then...
The
fight at Badon Hill was raging. Raja deftly evaded the attacks coming to her as
she savagely killed those who tried to do the same to her. She saw Lancelot run
towards the Woad warrior, Guinevere. And not too far, she saw Tristan, fighting
the Saxon leader. She silently berated him for being foolhardy as she continued
to fight.
Now...
The nine knights headed near the ocean. They heard the drums, the steady beat of impending danger. They were so close they could smell the body of water where Raja was abandoned.
Raja...
I
crawl, slowly but determinedly. I walk periodically with a thick branch to aide
me. My limbs are heavy, but I smell the sea, my peace, not far ahead. Even I
can hear the Saxon drums in the distance, is Tristan near? Not far now. I will
reach the bluff, and let the ocean spray wash this filth from my body, and
carry me, the strong tide, towards oblivion. So close. So close.
Everything moved in slow motion. In the distance, they saw the faint image of their enemies becoming clearer as the volume of the drums increased. Woads were near, hiding in the nearby forest. It seemed as if the battle of Badon Hill was happening all over again. Only this time, Tristan was fighting through the mass of Saxons to get to Raja. Yells of attack came from the Woads, the waves of the sea crashing near the bluff. The sky grew thick with clouds. The weather sung no song of hope to guide the knights into battle. All the hope lay in their hearts. Horus and Penelo, Tristan’s hawk companion whose wing Raja had mended long ago, flew overhead.
Then...
Raja
wasn’t too far from Tristan. Her hair was soaked in blood, her face splattered
with red from her enemies. She saw the savage piercing of his arm – and felt a
sting in her own arm – and he dropped his sword. Instinctually, she fought
towards him. Now his leg, sliced. He went down.
Raja...
I
am here. Through my swollen lids, I can see the edge of the cliff. I fall to my
knees. And in the distance, they are there. It’s all a blur, rapid and making
no sense to my muddled vision. A knife goes through my heart when I hear
Horus’s call, Penelo’s following. Tristan is here. I pick myself back up,
leaning on the branch, heading up...up...towards the peak. The wind blows
stronger as I reach the precipice of my abandon. Although the wind blows
against me, I press forth.
I kept in mental contact with Tristan. I looked, further away from battle than the others. It was not safe, but safer. I followed the flight of Horus and Penelo, and there I saw her, Raja, climbing up the bluff, nearing the edge.
“Raja!” I yelled, knowing she would not hear me.
I turned, searching through the melee for Tristan. Tristan! The bluff! I imparted to him urgently.
I could see that he was aware of my
silent call, and for the briefest pause, he looked, and saw Raja, and fought
towards her. Her words of long ago echoed in his mind. I don’t know if I can survive it happening again. I don’t think I can
survive it, Trissy.
Sometimes when all your dreams
may have seen better days.
And you don’t know how or why,
but you’ve lost your way.
Then...
Raja
could feel his blood flowing, his life quickly losing substance. Since the
beginning, his pain was her pain, and her pain was his. Tristan was on his knees,
the Saxon, holding Tristan’s arm, readying to plunge the scout’s own sword into
his body.
“Tristan!”
she yelled.
Just
barely, she blocked the sword from imbedding itself into Tristan’s side. She
did not have to worry about the Saxon attacking her, for Arthur was now
battling the hellion that had almost taken her love’s life. She called Odin,
always nearby, and she hitched Tristan up on the saddle, and rode towards the
safety of the fortress.
Have no fear when your tears are fallin'
I will hear your spirit callin'
And I swear that I’ll be there
come what may...
Now...
“Raja!” Tristan yelled over the crashing of the waves. He took Odin up a ways, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to grab her in time if he was mounted. He alighted from Odin, his feet vigorously bounding up the rest of the way. She seemed so far away.
Raja...
Don’t
look back. Is that Tristan’s voice I hear? Don’t help me, Tristan. I need this.
I cannot live with these memories forever. I told you long ago that I would not
be able to suffer it happening again. Although it is the horizon in front of
me, it is your image I see in the sky. Despite the harsh wind and the cloudy
heavens, your face shines through like the summer sun. I will love you forever.
So if you feel that your soul is dyin’
And you need the strength to keep tryin’
I’ll reach out and take your hand...
It was a sign, the wind pushing him towards her.
“Raja!” he screamed again.
Raja...
His
laments tear my heart. I look back...I whisper I love you...
Tristan’s arm is in reach, his fingertips brush her hair...barely.
....and
fall.
I will come to you
Oh I will come to you...
Part XV. Answer
Cast me gently
Into morning
For the night has been unkind
Take me to a place so holy
That I can wash this from my mind
The memory of choosing not to fight
Now...
Raja teetered over the edge, suspended in air, Tristan’s arm around her waist, barely hovering over the cliff. I ran to them and pulled Tristan back to keep the both of them from falling. We three landed on the ground, and Raja cried out from her cracked and bloody lips.
“No! Let me go!” She tried to release herself from Tristan’s grasp, but she was far too weak. Her vision was still a blur, and the abrupt pull from her escape left her frantic. She screamed and flailed with what was left of her strength. Cries in Arabic and Sarmatian, prayers for release echoed in the wind.
Tristan managed to cradle her in his arms, holding her firmly to stop her struggles. “Shh, Raja. I’m here.” Holding her with one arm, he swept his cloak from his body and wrapped it around hers. She gave compulsive jerks, wanting to be let go. Her lips moved, but all that came from them were strained pleas for him to let her go. He bent his head close to hers, “I will not let you go.”
By now the battle was at an end, and an eerie silence of desolation warped the world around us. “I think it’s all right if we go down there. We have to get her warm,” I said. I could barely stand to look at Raja, her pain was my pain; her pain was Tristan’s pain. He picked her up and put her side saddle on Odin, he mounted and held her tightly to him. He didn’t need both arms to hold her, but he did so anyway. Wrapped in his cloak, she seemed dead, her movements had stopped, and the broken sounds from her throat had ceased.
We neared the field that was littered with corpses, riding towards Arthur and the rest of the knights who were all unharmed. The Woads sorted their own fallen comrades while checking for survivors. Looks of curiosity followed us as we rode across the span of flesh and blood as if it weren’t there at all. Galahad had spotted us.
“Arthur,” he said.
Their attention turned towards us, Tristan’s glance immediately turning towards Dagonet, the healer. The scout swooped down from Odin with Raja in his arms and gently set her on the ground for Dagonet to check. The giant knight pulled back the cloak, and it was Lancelot who swore first.
“She is hardly breathing,” Dagonet said. He examined her quickly. Broken ribs, broken ankle, scratches from twigs, bruises around her neck and arms...Her shirt and long black skirt were in tatters, her boots were muddy and wet. She was emaciated and smelled of piss, male sweat and their juices. The damage was too much.
“We’ll ride hard back to the fort, she needs care. I have a few things, but not enough,” Dagonet told him.
Tristan nodded grimly, the knights rendered into silence. Arthur was speaking to some Woads telling them that they found who they had been looking for. Lancelot shed his cape and gave it to Tristan for Raja to wear. I took off my tunic, and Tristan gently put it on Raja trying to cause her as little pain as possible and wrapped the two cloaks around her and saddled her back up again.
We rode fast, stopped for brief periods over the next two days. Raja managed to sip some water, but she was too weak to do much else. Dagonet reset her fingers and ankle, bound up her ribs. It was quiet, the only time there was a voice above a whisper was when Raja slept for mere moments and woke up screaming. Finally, it was only a day’s ride back to the fort. The camp was quiet. Tristan had made a tent for Raja, keeping her warm was always a challenge. We could hear her grating coughs and occasional whimpers that threatened to turn into full blown screams when she fell asleep.
“Will she die?” Galahad whispered, unaware that he had spoken out loud.
“No,” Lancelot said harshly. “Don’t even say that.”
“He meant nothing by it, Lancelot,” Arthur said gently.
Lancelot gave an indecipherable sound and walked off. A moment later, Galahad got up slowly and walked in the other direction.
I sat between Bors and Gawain, staring into the fire. “She won’t die,” I said, rather belatedly. My words were followed by the crunch of twigs and leaves as Dagonet walked quietly towards us. We looked at him expecting some good news. But by the look on his face, it was obvious none would be forthcoming.
“She is feverous,” Dagonet stated. “Tristan will not wait any longer, he is getting her prepared and riding as soon as he is ready.”
“Men,” Arthur said. All was clear in that one word. Gawain, Bors and I stood up and prepared our horses.
Horus and Penelo cawed, beckoning the two rogue knights to return. Moments later Lancelot came into light the fire cast. He saw the steady haste we were making and his eyes darkened questioningly.
“She’s worse,” I bluntly told him. “We’re leaving as soon as Tristan and Raja are ready.”
“Galahad!” Gawain shouted into the night, tired of waiting for him. “We’re leaving with or without you!”
A minute later, the young knight bustled towards us. The looks on all our faces impeded any sort of questions he had, he need not be told. A harsh cough sounded nearby and Tristan walked determinedly to the already saddled Odin with Raja in his arms. Tristan’s upper body donned only his hauberk, sword and long coat. He had put one of his wool undershirts on Raja and ripped the other to wrap around her feet, discarding her wet boots. She was now merely a figure wrapped in layers of cloth.
As Tristan readied to put her on the saddle, she suddenly came to life, struggling with what strength she could muster to detach herself from his grip. She was caught somewhere between life and death, and it was obvious her spirit did not know which way to go. Hoarse screams erupted from her throat, but Tristan managed to get her on the saddle, holding her firmly to him. He soothed her with a chant in Arabic, something he had learned long ago to quell her night terrors. Her sounds of agony slowly died, and we were ready to leave the dark forest, and hopefully arrive back at Hadrian’s Wall into light.
Part XVI. Run Away
The truth is that I'm not so good
at showing how I feel.
Or keeping my mouth shut
when there's something to conceal.
Or knowing how to love,
Love's not in my memories
How can I rise above
all my insecurities?
Then...
Tristan’s
eyes opened slowly, flickering as he adjusted his vision. The last thing he
remembered was fighting the leader of the Saxons, looking up at the sky,
prepared to meet his fate. But someone intervened. Raja...her face was blurry,
but he knew it was her patting his face with a damp cloth and pulling the
covers tighter around him. His lips moved.
“Tristan,
can you hear me?” her voiced echoed, sounding far away. “No, don’t move, now.”
He
felt the rim of a cup against his lips, he choked on the first sip, but as the water
soothed his throat he swallowed easier. She gently removed her hand from the
back of his head, letting it rest back upon the pillow.
Clearing
his throat, he managed to speak haltingly, “Raja.” His fingers twitched, aching
for the touch of her hand. A small smile whispered on his face when his hands
were grasped gently by hers. “How...long?”
“You’ve
been unconscious for two weeks. You’ll heal well.”
By
now his vision has cleared and he could see her face perfectly. She looked at
him tenderly and brushed a stray hair away from his face.
A
week passed, and he was able to sit up in bed. Raja helped him bathe, but would
not allow him more than a few steps unless it was to the bath or to the privy.
There were few words spoken between them, but they had always been content in
silence. But one evening, Tristan had to ask what was stewing in his mind.
“Why
did you save me?”
She
looked up sharply from the book she was reading to him. “I won’t even justify
that question with an answer,” she replied, snapping the book shut. “But I have
a question for you. What the hell made you engage in combat with that Saxon? He
was for Arthur. Did you think you were protecting him? Or were you just trying
to show off?”
“I
was trying to protect you.”
She
scoffed. “Horse shit, Tristan.”
“You
were near him. I saw him look in your direction. Even among a large crowd, you
are not a hard person to miss. One of those Saxons that survived from the lake
must have told him that it was you who killed the one that was leading them on
the ice.”
“That’s
ridiculous.”
He
shrugged one shoulder. “Nevertheless, I would not risk him hurting you.”
“If
you wanted to protect me, you should have fought next to me.”
“I’ve
been near you, Raja.”
She
shook her head. “No. No, you haven’t. I didn’t need you in battle, Tristan. You
were going to sacrifice your life, and leave me to pick up the pieces, weren’t
you? All those times I gave you an easy out, you would say that I was stuck
with you. But in one moment, you were ready to just leave me behind - again.”
He
stared intently at her. It was unfathomable the pain he caused her in the past
year. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he still wanted her,
dreamed of her, yearned for her. He thought that once they were free they could
make amends. That was all he wanted.
“Anyway,”
she spoke, breaking the tension. “Dagonet and Lancelot are helping me build a
hut in the woods.”
“You’re
leaving?”
“You
could call it that. It isn’t very far,” she smirked.
“Where?”
“By
the Rock. Where else?”
He
licked his lips and nodded.
“I
probably won’t be around much anymore. I’m hoping Lancelot won’t be either. He
and Guinevere are...well, I don’t have a good feeling. Maybe once you are
walking around, you might keep that scout’s eye on them.”
“I’ve
noticed. Even before the battle. How could anyone miss it?”
She
smiled conspiratorially. “For once, we’re on the same page again.” She got up
and placed the book on the nightstand next to him. “Is there anything else you
need?”
You,
he wanted to say. I need you. “No. Thank you.”
“All
right. You’re gaining your strength back, I’m sure no one will be able to stop
you from walking about soon. Dag will come by. I think I’ve done all I can for
you.” Raja walked to the door and opened it a crack, but then she paused and
turned around. “Take care, Tristan.” She left.
Now...
Our arrival back to the fort was sounded despite the fact that it was just a few hours before dawn. It was decided that Raja would be put in the room that had been meant for her and Tristan following their wedding. There was nothing else the other knights could do save rest and wait. Lancelot had no healing skills but he stayed with Dagonet and Tristan anyway. He started the fire in the bedroom, having already done so in the antechamber. Dagonet went to get more healing paraphernalia, passing Vanora on the way; Bors having woken her up to quickly relay to her that they had found Raja.
A large wash basin was already situated in front of the fire, without even a word Vanora helped Tristan gently pulled the sodden clothes from Raja’s broken body and gently lowered her into the warm water. He had to hold her up as Vanora painstakingly cleaned the dirt from body. It took everything she had not to sob in front of Raja, but she held strong and when Dagonet walked in with the healing supplied she breathed a sigh of relief. There wasn’t anything more Lancelot could have done, so he had been urged to clean up and get some rest.
After the grime, twigs and dirt were scrubbed and combed from her head, Tristan lifted her from the tub; Vanora quickly wrapped a sheet around her to keep her warm. He carried her to the bed and laid her upon it while Vanora retrieved a nightshift for Raja to wear. Dagonet cleaned her wounds, the bite marks that would permanently scar her body and cuts that covered her torso. He bound her ribs more securely, and reset her fingers and ankle. A hot soothing salve was tenderly massaged into her legs, her brown skin barely visible because of the mass of bruises. Vanora braided her hair, and then Raja was laid back on the bed, her head against the plush pillows, her body covered by thick blankets. Hot rocks wrapped in cloth were placed near her feet to further warm her. Through all this, she made no sound. She did not resist the ministrations, and she made no sound. Only her lifeless eyes peeked out from her swollen eyelids. Her fever remained but it did not increase in temperature – yet, and we could only hope that it would not. The sky must have been waiting for us to return home for it unleashed its torrent of white snow once we had adequate shelter. The wind howled outside, and the fire crackled in the fireplace. Raja would neither drink nor eat. And perhaps it was only visible to Tristan, because she was so still and quiet, but he knew she was awake; afraid to go to sleep lest the dark shadows claim her once again.
ONE
WEEK LATER...
Tristan awoke from his semi-conscious state to the sound of Raja’s screams. It was only when she woke up from a nightmare that he ever heard her voice. Her fever had dissipated, but she still remained resistant to nourishment. It was only with careful prodding that she would manage to drink some water and a bit of broth. Solid food was out of the question. Her jaw was no longer swollen, and the puffiness of her eyes was barely discernible; one could now fully see the stark terror or utter desolation that clouded her silver eyes. Tristan refused to leave her side, but with a gentle reminder from Dagonet that he needed to maintain his strength, he grudgingly ate and washed. Healer Dagonet was right, after all.
Lancelot would sit in the antechamber throughout the day and sometimes fall asleep there at night. Raja was visited daily by her family, but they were always brief, because what could they do? She would say nothing, do nothing, and her eyes held no recognition to her surroundings.
Once again, Tristan tried to soothe Raja, coaxing her away from whatever was holding her to the hell that swarmed through her mind. He sat in the chair next to her bed, tenderly holding her hand that was beginning to mend. He stroked the initial of his first name that he branded on her years ago. Raja’s fingers twitched and Tristan looked at her expectantly, longing for her to say something or look at him with familiarity. Her lips moved, and he moved his head closer straining to hear. She turned her head slightly, and for the first time her eyes shone with some clarity as she looked at Tristan.
His heart sunk in his chest when he made out her broken words: “You should have let me die.”
--------------------------------------
Not much changed as another two weeks passed save for a three day period when an intense fever ignited inside of her. She recovered from that, as much as she could recover from her already precarious state of health.
The sun had gone down and I could no longer keep myself away. Quietly I entered the antechamber and walked to her bedroom door. Tristan turned around, looked me up and down, and then reverted his attention back to Raja. He wasn’t completely adverse to my presence so I pulled up an extra chair and sat next to him.
After a spell of silence he spoke gravely and quietly: “Who are you?”
I didn’t answer right away; a bit frustrated that he was refusing to admit to himself what he already knew.
“You know,” I said.
“What makes you think that I do?”
“You’ve looked me in the eyes, Tristan.”
He shook his head, struggling for a salient answer. “What’s your name?”
“If you have to ask that you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”
“Fine,” he conceded. “At least tell me one thing.” He looked at me, waiting for confirmation that I would answer anything he asked me – I gave none. “Why are you here?”
I chose my words as carefully as possible. “A long time ago you buried me. And along with me you did away with any semblance of hope. Now you’re wondering why I’m here talking to you then. Think for a moment. I’m only able to be here when you are sincerely hoping for something. But you lose that sometimes, because you shut me out. You give up - because you’re scared.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” he said through clenched teeth.
“There’s no shame in being frightened, Tristan. My mother told me that.” I watched his form carefully, and sure enough I saw his back go rigid. “Yes, she told me that being frightened doesn’t make you weak. But what makes you strong is when you face that fear, so you may come to terms with it.”
He had all but stopped breathing.
I cocked my head to the side, boring my eyes into his head. “Do you remember your mother, Tristan? I remember mine. Dark brown, wavy hair, fair skin, a smile that reached her beautiful brown eyes. What was your mother like?”
He was like a statue sitting there.
“There’s no shame in being frightened, Tristan.”
“Get out.”
“It’s all right to be afraid, Tristan.”
“Get out.”
“What are you afraid of, Tristan?”
He slowly let go of Raja’s hand, gently placing it on the bed. He stood up, towering over me, “Get out.”
“I know what you’re afraid of.”
In a swift move, he dragged me out of the room, through the waiting room and into the hall. I did not resist.
He slammed me against the wall. “What the fuck do you know about me?”
“Everything,” I replied. His gripped tightened. “What are you afraid of, Tristan?”
Fire lit his eyes and he struck me against the wall again. “I’m not afraid of anything.” His voice sounded as if he were possessed.
“Is that why you ran away from Raja that night you met her?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You remember.”
“I’m tired of your fucking games,” he hissed, pounding my back against the wall again.
I looked at him – astounded, shocked to my core. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
“I told you I didn’t.”
“You don’t remember the first time you met Raja?”
“I met her for the first time when her uncle introduced us to her at the round table.”
“No,” I shook my head, flabbergasted by what I was hearing. “That wasn’t the first time you met her.”
He let out a grunt of exasperation and let me loose.
“How could you not remember?” I asked him. “You left her behind! She was singing, she asked for your help and you told her to find her own way back!”
“I don’t remember any of that! You’re delusional.”
“My gods...you’ve completely suppressed the memory of that night.”
“I didn’t suppress anything because there isn’t anything to suppress.”
“That’s why you can’t admit what you’re afraid of. You can’t even face it.”
He looked at me as if I had gone mad, while everything was becoming clear to me.
“All these years...”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I have to show you,” I said, the answer being abundantly clear.
“Show me what?” he asked, now on his guard.
“What you’re afraid of.”
“I told you-“
I grabbed his wrist before he could finish and I hurled us through time.
Tristan...Then...
“Mother!”
the boy called. “Mother!”
A
young woman bustled into her son’s room, her heart leaping to her throat at his
calls. She sat on the bed facing him, calming him down so he could speak.
“What
is it, love?”
He
took gulps of air before he could speak. “I dreamed of her again!”
It
took her a moment to process this, and she smiled adoringly at her son. He had
been having the same dream for months now.
“Did
you get to speak with her this time?”
Tristan
looked at his mother with a disappointed face. “No.” Then his face lit up. “But
she’s still as beautiful as she was before!”
“Was
she any clearer?”
He
thought back, recalling his dream. “I think so...maybe a little. She still has
the most beautiful voice though, even though I don’t know what she’s saying.
Her hair is just as dark as it always is, that white streak of hair is
blinding! And her eyes!”
Tristan
and his mother laughed together. Count on her to always encourage such dreams.
“Who
do you think she is, mother?” The young boy’s brow was knitted; he had been
contemplating this for months. Even though her young boy was only ten, he was
more sensitive and alert than most adults.
“Oh...perhaps
she is someone you met in a previous life. Or someone you will meet in the
future.”
“But
when?” he asked impatiently, flopping back on the pillows. “When!”
His
mother laughed. “One day, my love. Only time can tell.”
Tristan
sighed heavily.
“What
is it, Tristan?”
He
pursed his lips, thinking of what to say, but shook his head. “Nothing.”
“You
can tell me. It seems like it’s bothering you.” She stroked his cheek. “Never
be ashamed to say what you feel.”
“It’s
just...” he sighed again. “When...when she goes away...when she’s about to, I
get...scared.” His face blushed a bright red.
“Why
does that frighten you?”
“Well...what
if she doesn’t come back? I’ll never see her again.” There was obvious distress
on the boy’s face. “But I don’t want to be afraid, it’s weak.”
“No.
No, Tristan. Never think that. There is no shame in being frightened.
Understand?”
Reluctantly,
he nodded his head. “I suppose.”
“Do
not fret, my love. Just keep hoping, and you’ll never be in the dark.” She
kissed him on the forehead. “Do you think you can go back to sleep now?”
He
shrugged.
“Maybe
if you do, you might see her again.”
A
smile crept on his lips. The right half of his mouth curving upwards before the
left half.
His
mother kissed him goodnight again, but he had one more question.
“Mother?”
“Hmm?”
“If
I do get to speak with her...what should I say?”
“I
think the best thing to do first is introduce yourself.”
“Introduce
myself,” he repeated. He snuggled under the blankets and shut his eyes, hoping
that she would come to his dreams once again.
Part XVII. Deep Within
Is there a place deep within
A place where you hide your darkest sins
There's a strange kind of ambiance,
It’s surrounding you
As a songstress you lure me,
Towards the truth
Now...and Then
“Christ! What did you just do?” Tristan asked, irritated at our sudden departure.
I didn’t need to answer; this was no time for our talking anyway. He was rendered speechless when he looked around at where we were standing. It was night out, the moon was bright and the wind whistled mournfully. There was no snow on the ground, or icicles on tree branches – it was summer.
“What did you do?” Tristan asked again, this time warily, suspiciously.
“I’m showing you what you’re afraid of. What you’ve forgotten.” I didn’t look at him. “Look.”
He turned his gaze to where I had gestured my head. Seven year old Raja was sitting on the boulder, singing that melancholy lullaby in Arabic. Then there were footsteps, twigs snapping, someone fell.
Raja’s singing stopped. She turned
around. “What’s the matter, did I scare
you?”
“This isn’t real,” Tristan whispered.
He saw himself – at seventeen years old – scramble to his feet, bewildered and frightened of the little girl that stood before him. Even though he was watching, he could feel the heart that beat furiously from that seventeen year old body.
“Get
away from me.”
Tristan’s eyes widened when he heard the gruff voice that was lined with...
“Fear,” I said.
“Do
you know the way back to the fort?”
Tristan’s heart ached seeing Raja as she was fifteen years ago. So small, fragile and vulnerable. He watched this scene from his past, beguiled by what played before him.
“This...,” he paused, “that was her first day here.”
“It’s
harder to find my way back in the dark...could you take me back with you?”
Tristan saw himself in the past, just looking at Raja like as if she were a monster. Tristan wanted to go to her, carry her tiny body in his arms and take her to somewhere warm, bright and safe. He stepped forward to get closer. He stood next to his past self.
“You
look like you’ve been crying.”
“I
don’t cry.”
Standing so close, Tristan could smell the fear. He saw himself shaking. He was standing next to his past self, staring straight at Raja. Something sharp sliced through Tristan’s mind. A memory.
His past self started to walk away again.
“Where the hell are you going?” Tristan tried to pull the past back, but his hand went straight through him.
“You
won’t help me?”
They turned at the same time. The little girl’s eyes held pleading and sorrow. She did not want to be left alone there, amongst the unfamiliar.
Tristan turned his head to look at himself.
“Find your own way back.”
“What?” Tristan looked at Raja then back at his departing figure. “Hey! Get back here!” He ran after himself, but stopped when he heard a choked sob.
He turned back to Raja, still standing in the same place with tears streaking down her face – it was a visage of sadness, desolation. She wrapped her tiny cloak around her, shivering.
She took a deep breath, and walked back to the rock to sit. She pulled her knees to her chin, and wrapped her cape even tighter around her, so only her head was visible.
“I don’t understand,” Tristan said.
“What don’t you understand?”
“So...what? I just left her here...there?”
“Yeah...you did.”
Tristan looked at me as if he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. It was quiet until we heard Raja’s whimpers. I stayed where I was and watched Tristan walk hurriedly to her. He bent down in front of her, close to her face. He put his finger to her cheek, but felt only air.
“Raja. Don’t cry, all right?” His eyes seemed to mirror hers. Tristan’s hand once again tried to touch her face, but received the same result. It hovered near her, stroking lovingly as close as he could. “Don’t cry.”
I walked up behind him, witnessing his rather futile attempts to console her.
“Don’t cry, Raj. Please, I’m right here,” he insisted.
“What are you afraid of, Tristan?” I asked one final time.
He didn’t answer for a while; he only continued to look at Raja. A rumble in the distance made him look up. Raja looked up, too. Her shivering intensified, and shouts of terror built in her throat. Lightning cracked and then a blast of thunder roared, and Raja’s screams let loose. She sat there huddled on the boulder, her face buried in her lap, screaming at the noise.
“Tristan!” I shouted over the pouring rain.
He clenched his teeth, and when thunder rolled again, and Raja screamed louder, he shouted, “I was afraid she wasn’t real!” He stood up and came face to face with me. “All right! I was afraid she wasn’t real!”
“Raja, please, I’m right here. I’ll take you back, come on,” he said desperately, once again kneeling in front of her. He attempted to pick her up, but his arms held nothing. “I dreamt of her when I was a child. And...when I saw her, I knew she was that little girl in my dreams.”
Her screams had died down with the sky’s menacing sounds of destruction, but her tears still fell as plentiful as the raindrops that barraged her.
“What else?” I urged him.
He didn’t answer.
“COME ON! WHAT ELSE YOU FUCKING COWARD?!” I screamed. “WHY ELSE DID YOU RUN AWAY?”
“Because if there was a chance that
she wasn’t real, then there was also a chance I might lose her again!” He
yelled in my face. Furious at me for bringing this to a head. “I stopped
dreaming of her when I left
I shrugged.
“She is my LIFE! If she dies, I die! If she doesn’t exist, I don’t exist! If she isn’t breathing, I’m not breathing! That’s why I was scared! And now here you are! With braids in your hair, same eyes as me, same cheek bones, same fucking smile, dredging all this shit up! WHERE WERE YOU?!”
“Where was I?”
“Yeah! Where the fuck were you when I really needed you! Where were you that night I left her? No wonder...” he trailed off, once again looking at Raja, noticing that the rain had stopped, her tears reduced to sniffles.
“No wonder what?” I asked him.
He bent down in front of her again, putting his palm close to her cheek. “No wonder, deep down, she always thought it would be so easy for me to leave her behind.” He aligned his face with hers, and he looked straight into her eyes. “Her eyes always reminded me of the moon,” he said quietly. “Raja.”
Her head popped up as if she had heard something. She looked around.
“Raja,” he said again.
She didn’t react this time. She only curled up and closed her eyes.
Tristan blinked once, and then there was sunlight as the sun began to rise. He looked around, confused. He got up when he heard the sound of a horse’s gallop, and her Uncle Ardeth rode through, seeing his little niece curled up in a ball, shaking, on the rock. He dismounted, and instantly went to her, picking her up gently. When they were settled on the horse, he took his own dry cloak and wrapped it around her, and they rode away.
We watched them until they were no longer in our sight.
-----------------------------
Now...
When Tristan looked at me, it was snowing again. Our feet were buried in it, and the sun was just rising.
“We’re back in our own time,” I told him simply. “Looks like we’ve been out all night.”
“All night?”
“It was dusk when we left.”
“Raja!”
------------------------------
He ran all the way to her room, busting his way through the door. He stopped when he saw Arthur, Bors, Vanora, Galahad, and Gawain sitting in the antechamber.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan asked, alarm flooding his words.
“Where the hell have you been?” Lancelot hissed at him, coming out of Raja’s room. He looked the scout up and down, noticing he was covered in snow. “Have you been outside all this time? What the hell were you thinking – leaving her alone?”
Tristan pushed himself past him and into the room. Dagonet was checking her pulse.
“Dagonet?” Tristan’s heart pounded.
Dagonet looked up at Tristan with sorrow-filled eyes.
“I’m sorry, Tristan,” he said shaking his head.
The blood drained from his face. “No,” he said firmly.
“Her pulse is...” the giant knight cleared his throat, choking back his tears.
Tristan nudged him out of the way, bending over Raja. Her breathing was less than quiet, not even a whisper. But she still breathed.
“She’s not dying!” he said through clenched teeth.
“Tristan,” Dagonet said gently, “she hasn’t much time.”
“Get out,” he said. He turned to Lancelot. “Get out, and shut the door. I have to talk to her!”
Lancelot and Dagonet shared concerned looks. Arthur appeared in the doorway.
“Get out!” Tristan said harshly. “All of you. Wait out there if you must, but get out of here!”
The three others exchanged looks, and reluctantly left the room, closing the door behind them.
The fire crackled, and Tristan sat in the chair, holding her hand. Her breathing slower...and slower.
----------------------------
Raja...Then...
“Mother,”
Raja said between mouthfuls of food, “I dreamed of him again!”
Her
mother and father passed amused looks between them.
“Don’t
talk with your mouth full, Raja,” her mother scolded, but there was no hint of
reproof.
Raja
swallowed, and washed it down with some water. Her feet didn’t touch the floor
yet, so they dangled from the chair excitedly.
“I
dreamed of him again,” the young girl repeated.
“Did
you speak to him this time?” her mother asked.
“’Aisha,
don’t encourage her,” Raja’s father said, smiling.
“Why
don’t you like him, father?” Raja asked.
He
leaned over and pulled gently on her hair. “Because you are too young for
boys.”
Raja
and her mother laughed.
“Lancelot,
when men start vying for her attention you are going to have to beat them off
with a stick,” ‘Aisha said, looking at her husband lovingly, a look he
reciprocated with just as much depth as his wife.
But
Raja had a confused look on her face. “You would beat them with a stick,
father?”
Lancelot
grinned at his daughter’s innocence. She looked so much like her mother. “It is
just an expression, little one,” he assured her.
“Oh.”
She was quiet for a moment, munching on bread. “Did I tell you how beautiful he
was!” she said abruptly, her eyes sparkling.
“Yes!”
her parents said together.
Their
family meals were always animated and for months Raja could not stop talking
about the boy she dreamed about constantly.
“He
has golden eyes that remind me of the sun,” Raja said.
‘Aisha
and Lancelot gave each other glances again, hearts light at their daughter’s
exuberance.
“...soft
brown hair, sharp cheekbones,” she continued. “And his smile!” Raja declared
adoringly. “One half curves up before the other.” She sighed wistfully.
Later
that night as Raja’s mother and father tucked her in, she asked, “Do you
think...that the boy is someone I will meet?”
“Perhaps,
my love,” her mother replied, kissing her on the forehead.
“And
if he is,” her father said, touching the tip of her nose, “he’ll have to deal
with me first.”
Raja
squirmed and giggled when her father tickled her. “I’ll dream of him tonight.
He will come to me. And then we shall meet, fall in love, and get married and be
as happy as you two are!”
“Yes,”
her mother said, “but you will have to sleep first, won’t you?”
Raja
squeezed her eyes tightly, grinning from ear to ear. Her parents gave her
goodnight kisses and told her they loved her.
”I
love you, too,” she said. “One more kiss!” she insisted arms held out.
They
couldn’t help but smile. They gave her two more kisses, and just as they were
about to walk into the hall, her little voice rang out again.
“Yes,
Raja?” her father asked.
“What
should I say, if I get to speak with him?” Raja asked.
The
adults glanced at each other.
“Introduce
your self,” her mother said. They told her they loved her one more time and
headed for their bedroom.
“Introduce
myself,” Raja repeated, looking at the ceiling. “That is exactly what I’ll do.”
XVIII. Say My Name
Say my name
So I will know you're back you're here again
For a while
Oh let us share
The memories that only we can share
Together
Now...
It was difficult to find the words, and he hadn’t much time. She was fading. If only his lips could pronounce the feelings in his heart it would be so much easier.
“Raja,” Tristan whispered. “Raja...”
Raja...
I
am hovering between life and death. I feel as if I always have been. I want to
tell Tristan it is too late, to let me go. I am tired, everything hurts. Yet
his words catch my attention. Why does he speak of this now? After so many
years, it is hardly important. I thought he had forgotten. I had almost
forgotten. My love speaks of how he left me in the dark forest the first time
we met. I remember asking him for his help, but he left me behind – so easily
left me behind in the night.
“I was scared,” he said. “Seeing you there before my eyes, I always thought you were just a dream. A fantasy.”
You
dreamed of me?
“I dreamed of you,” Tristan answered as if he heard the dying whispers in Raja’s mind. “When I was a child, before I came here, you were always in my dreams. I never saw your face, but I knew you were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.”
Like
how I dreamed of you?
“I would go to bed every night, hoping sleep would come fast so I could see you again. It was the only place I could be with you.”
Don’t.
Please. You pull me back when all I want is to go beyond. It’s too late for
this.
“So when I saw you that night...”
Yes,
our first meeting. The memory still aches.
“...those dreams and memories came flooding back. I felt things I hadn’t felt since I was forced to leave my home.”
How
did you manage to forget me in the first place?
“I knew it was you, the second I saw you. Those eyes, that hair. You were the girl I dreamed of every night.”
Why
did you leave me behind?
“But I was afraid you weren’t real. I couldn’t stand the thought of...believing, hoping, and then having it snatched away from me. I was scared, Raja.”
Tristan felt a presence behind him, but when he turned his head slightly there was nobody there. Yet, warmth flooded within him, and he felt that he was not alone – he and Raja were not alone in this room. He felt a gentle pressure against his shoulder.
My
eyes are closed, but I see a blurry figure next to Tristan. My eyelids flutter,
and the vision if clearer. I want to scream for that little girl to go away. Do
not look at me with hope. She puts her little hand on his shoulder. To see me
as I was breaks my heart, to see my child self next to Tristan, whispering
inaudible words of hope. Why are they trying to bring me back? Why must I
always be the one to stay? He let me go, left me behind so easily – why do I
have to be the one to continue with my pain?
“I need you, Raja,” Tristan pleaded.
He could sense her internal struggle, her eyelids flickered. He could feel her spirit, pulling different ways; the same tugging he felt beneath his chest.
“I need you, Raja,” he repeated, trying to get through to her.
She whispers to me: It’s not too late. It’s not your time to go. Why can’t it be my time to go? I want to give up. It’s too much, I can feel Tristan’s pain, his sorrow – it fills me. His deep wont for me to live kindles the coldness inside of me. I want to fight it. Don’t fight it, she tells me.
“Please,” Tristan’s voice cracked. “Just whisper, say something, anything. You’re breathing, I can feel it. I know you’re still in there.”
Now
I see Tristan’s childhood self. He stands next to my past self and puts his
protective arm around her small shoulders. I want to laugh – even at that young
age he is so protective.
Slowly, tears fell down Tristan’s face. It had been so long since he has cried so openly, so unashamed.
We breathe the air
Do you remember how you used to touch my
hair?
You're not aware
Your hands keep still
You just don't know that I am here
“Just say my name, Raja,” he cried. “I love you.”
I
feel the warmth of Tristan’s hand on my forehead. I feel his tears fall on my
cheeks.
“It’s not easy for me to let you go. It never was. I can’t live without you. I’m nothing without you, empty, cold. You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing I think of at night. I knew you before we met, and I loved you before either of us were even born.”
Raja and I watch Tristan plead with Raja on her sickbed to come back to him. I take her tiny hand and pull her to the other side of the room where we watch our adult self’s battle against life and death. As they reach the culmination of their next chapter, little Raja and I reach ours.
“Please! Dammit, Raja,” Tristan sobbed. “Say something! Move! Stay with me, I’m begging you.”
Tristan’s warm tears soaked Raja’s face. The earthy smell of him engulfed her senses – mind, body, spirit.
Raja and I smiled at each other, and we could feel ourselves fading into a better place.
Tristan’s sobs receded into silent tears. He didn’t notice the flicker of Raja’s eyelids, or the slight opening of her mouth struggling for words. Tristan’s tears were on her lips, falling into her mouth. Just a few drops soothed the ache in her throat, just enough...
“Trissy,” Raja’s cracked voice sounded.
Despite the quiet of his name on her lips, he heard it, and his golden eyes met her silver ones, staring back at him with lucidity. Raja’s own tears cascaded down her face, their tears melding together.
“Trissy,” she said, this time more clearly.
“Raja,” he replied. The relief was palpable as he said her name. All the love he felt for her contained in that one word.
Finally, little Raja and I knew they would be all right. They would live, together – until it was their time. So we faded, leaving them to heal.
You touch my hand
These colors come alive
In your heart and in your mind
I cross the borders of time
Leaving today behind to be with you again
Part XIX. Give Unto Me
Fear not the flame of my love's candle
Let it be the sun in your world of darkness
Give unto me all that frightens you
I'll have your nightmares for you
If you sleep soundly
ONE
MONTH LATER...
Now...
Raja still screamed at night. Her physical wounds were healing well, but the same could not be said for the wounds that were not visible. Tristan continued to hold her at night; they huddled under the numerous amounts of blankets that sometimes did little to quell Raja’s shivering. When her ribs were well enough, she would crawl onto Tristan’s chest and he would hold her to him as he always would. She twirled his hair around her finger, and slowly, during these times, her demons would abate ever so slightly and she slept soundly.
She was eating a bit more, drinking water and broth liberally. She gave no resistance to Tristan’s aid; it was time for both of them to accept the help and care of one another without stubbornness or pride. People who loved each other took care of one another, not out of pity or obligation, but love. He massaged her battered legs with warm soothing oil every night. He carried her where she needed to go, Raja’s arms securely around his neck. Reluctantly, Tristan took her to the stables to visit Odin and Horus. Whenever she went outside he bundled her in her breeches, long skirt, two tunics, wool coat and cloak, and two blankets. He was not taking any chances. It would have been comical if not for the reason it was being done. Healer Dagonet agreed with this method.
During the interim of her convalescence, Raja had entered her twenty-third year of life and Tristan his thirty-third. October passed, then November. All was going smoothly until mid December when Raja developed a high fever. Despite it only lasting two weeks, she was more than weak by the end of it. The little weight she had gained was once again lost. By the end of January of the New Year, she was able to sit up in bed and eat solid food.
They talked but little, everything that needed saying was communicated through the touch of their bodies and the shine of their eyes. Yet when they did speak it was words of love and appreciation. She continued to have her long silences on occasion, not recognizing her surroundings, painful scenes of the past playing before her eyes. Tristan remained hopeful, and when they slept, he tried to inhale her pain to lighten her burden. When she cried silently he stayed close and let her tears fall.
The second week of February Raja was able to stand. Tristan supported her while they took small steps around the room, exercising her muscles. Gradually she was able to walk further distances at longer intervals. With Tristan’s arm around her waist, the two of them would walk in circles in the stables with Odin following, Penelo and Horus making squawking noises as if to cheer Raja on.
Lancelot visited her regularly, sitting in the ante chamber with her in front of the fireplace. Tristan was secure enough to leave Raja with somebody for brief periods while he attended to his own duties.
“How is Sophia?” Raja asked quietly.
Lancelot and she were playing a silent game of chess – a game which Lancelot had never fully mastered.
He looked up at his cousin, pleased that she was speaking.
A somewhat bashful smile donned Lancelot’s face before answering. “Good.”
Raja cocked an eyebrow. “Good? You think I don’t have informants on the outside? Tristan said you two stay in the same room now.”
“Tristan is feeding you gossip?”
“Hardly gossip, Lottie.”
For once Lancelot didn’t cringe or twitch an eye at the name.
“Besides,” she continued. “Someone has to let me know what’s going on with my family. I’m stuck in here.”
“You’re getting better by the day, Raj. Soon you’ll be trying to sneak out like you used to.”
Raja gave a tired smile and shrugged. “I really don’t think Tristan would take that in stride as he used to.”
“None of us would,” he marked, looking at her steadily.
“But you’ve changed the subject,” Raja pointed out. “How are you really? Have you finally given up the notion that you deserve nothing but a life of bitterness?”
He lightly chuckled. “Ah, well. I do feel...” Lancelot was never one to tap into his deeper emotions, but with Raja he would give it genuine thought because he knew she would not pressure him. She would ask once and let him get to it in his own time. “...good, with her.” He paused, contemplating his words.
“Yes,” Raja nodded in understanding. “Safe, warm, loved, accepted, content, comforted...” She made a hand motion as if to say so on and so forth.
“That fits.”
“It’s just you and Galahad now,” Raja said thoughtfully. “Well, Galahad is getting married in three days...”
“So that leaves me.”
“Only in marriage. You have someone to love who loves you back. That is what is important. No one’s forcing you. But I am really glad that I know you have found a semblance of peace; a haven.” She swallowed a lump in her throat and a tear fell down her cheek.
Lancelot was normally uncomfortable in the presence of crying women, most of them wanted him to do something and he didn’t know what, but Raja expected nothing.
“Don’t mind me,” Raja sniffled. “I cry all the time now. Pathetic, really.”
“It’s better than the alternative,” Lancelot said, referring to her times of silence.
“I suppose.”
They turned when Tristan walked into the room, returning from his duties. He gave Raja a kiss, neither of them noticing the look on Lancelot’s face in that brief moment. A sense of deep longing filled the dark knight, and he came to a decision, a positive decision, about something he never thought he would have ever done.
“You’re tired,” Tristan told her.
“Hmmph. When am I not?”
“You’ll rest now,” he said.
“Lottie and I have not finished the game.”
The two men knew that Raja must be feeling a little better now that she was putting up resistance to rest.
A look passed between the two men.
“Well,” Lancelot said, standing up. “You really should rest, Raja. I’m keeping you.”
“You men are in league with each other,” she said dryly. Then she sighed. “I would have won anyway. This will save me from your whining.”
“I am choosing not to respond to that.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and bade her goodbye.
Tristan assisted Raja to the bedroom and got her situated comfortably. Once her head hit the pillows, she was grateful that rest had been insisted on.
“Are you going back out?” she asked Tristan.
“No, resting here with you.”
Despite it being
“Tristan,” she breathed. She nuzzled her nose against him.
He could feel her body responding, yet he remained cautious. “Raja, I’ll wait for as long as...”
She interrupted him. “That’s what you said the night we first made love,” smiling at him. “I know,” she swallowed back her tears so she might continue, “that I was...many men...my body...” A tear escaped.
“No, Raja,” he consoled gently. “I hate what they did to you, but my need and love for you has not and never will change,” he whispered, kissing her deeply.
Her finger ran down his neck, sending shivers of wanting through his body. His body was more than ready now. He looked her in the eyes, no words, to see if she was truly ready to join bodies with him again. Tristan shuddered when he felt her hands pull at the strings of his breeches, untying them. She wrapped her hand around his hardness, grazing the length of him.
“This,” she said, choking on her words, “you, was the...” She could not finish.
He knew what she meant without her having to say the words. It was agonizing to extricate his body from her for the brief moment it took to pull off his tunics and pants. He lay exposed now. She looked at him with love, devotion and passion. She raised herself to her knees, kneeling with him. She stroked the hairs on his chest and breathed him in. He was hers, this body. Every part of him. She knew his person better than she knew her own. His erection pressed against her, and as they continued to meld their tongues together, he slowly untied her shift, sliding the straps down her shoulders as he caressed them, the cloth falling to her waist.
Raja was instantly on her guard, ashamed of her new scars that the Saxons had indelibly etched on her body. He whispered words of reassurance, and laid her on her back. He kissed and nuzzled her neck, moving down slowly, his tongue and lips soothing every one of her scars, even the tiniest ones. He kneaded her nipples between his thumbs, and when she exhaled, quivering from his touch, he brought his lips to her taut beads, nipping and kissing gently. Raja’s fingers ruffled his hair as he moved lower. He ran his lips over her hips and thighs, pulling the rest of her shift off before discarding it on the floor.
A sharp intake of breath sounded from Raja when the tip of Tristan’s tongue flicked the nub above the folds of her entry. Her body contracted in pleasure at his warm ministrations. While he tended to her nub, he slowly put one finger inside of her, gauging her reaction. When he received a positive one he continued, stroking inside her sex that was gradually becoming wetter, prompting him to put one more finger inside to aid the first. His name blew through her lips, she was nearly fully aroused, her juices beginning to leak. He looked at her while he sucked the evidence of her pleasure off of his fingers. Tears welled up in her eyes at this gesture, knowing for sure that he truly wanted all of her, still enjoyed her taste. Her fingers gripped his hair tighter when his tongue penetrated the opening of her sex. He massaged her nub while exploring her insides, taking in the essence of her divine nectar, a taste that always quenched his deepest thirsts.
Heat grew in her body and small moans escaped her. She came in tiny shudders, tears escaping her eyes at the feelings he always evoked inside of her. He rose to kiss her, his lips moist from her secretions.
“Raja, Raja,” he whispered, stroking her cheeks and kissing away her tears.
She could barely speak for the relief and goodness that she felt rendered her silent. Something built in her chest, an ineffable feeling that could only be communicated in tears. Tristan continued to kiss her, he knew what her tears meant, for what she felt was beating inside of him as well. His groin ached to be inside of her, he shifted slowly, holding himself above her, looking into her shiny silver eyes.
“I love you,” he soothed. He buried his kisses in her neck, repeating those three words, chanting them.
“I love you, Tristan,” she followed between tears.
His forehead was against hers, they looked into each others eyes as the head of Tristan’s phallus touched her wetness, gently inserting it deeper inside. He repeated her name the farther he went in, a slow steady glide into her being. Her walls hugged his shaft, welcoming it, saturating it with love that he produced. Raja whimpered at the feeling of being full and complete, securely joined with his body. Her hands stroked his back as he began to move his hips rhythmically, rocking the core of the oneness they had become. Raja managed to put her legs around Tristan’s waist, rising to meet him as he pulled out and pushed back in.
Their sounds of pleasure quivered and resonated throughout the room. Tristan felt the heat rising in Raja as it did in him. He felt himself at his peak, and he sensed by Raja’s body language that she was at hers.
“My Raja,” he breathed. “Beautiful, beautiful, Raja.”
More tears swelled in her eyes as they roared to their climax, the unity of their bodies branding the other’s mind, body and soul with their names. Raja shook as the rest of her orgasm coursed through her body.
He stole her lips, feeling her tears on his cheeks, her mind caressing his, her spirit singing with his, and her soul bound forever with his. They held each other as the horrors of the years drowned in the depth of their love.
Part XX. The War is Over
In morning dew,
a glorious scene came through,
like war is over now.
I feel I'm coming home again
The moments unfold
In the meaning of love
This war is over now
I feel I'm coming home again
FIVE
YEARS LATER...
Now...
Time coursed through its path as if it were a river. At times storms would provoke its wrath, but if not, the current would flow steadily and calmly. Yet, time was never feared. Days are better spent once a person learns to not dwell in the past or worry too keenly of the future. Certainly this was a lesson Tristan and Raja learned as the years went by. They lived for each other, soothing wounds as they came. Demons are not vanquished easily, but with a lover’s helping hand they can eventually be conquered.
The years at Badon Hill were both tumultuous and peaceful. Battles were still waged against the enemies, but the legendary knights along with their allies remained victorious. Raja waited with the other wives to welcome their men home from a safe journey, embracing Tristan fiercely and happily, reveling in his return to her. She no longer thought of herself as being left behind, for she was always with Tristan and him with her. He fought along with his brothers to keep their home safe.
They experienced the joys of marriage and the happiness of newborns with their family. Galahad had been married and blessed with three boys. Soon after, Lancelot married Sophia, to everyone’s awe but Raja’s. He could really no longer be referred to as the dark knight, for a light shone from him now, a light that radiated at beholding his beautiful wife and two twin girls. His smiles reached his eyes, his bitterness at his lot in life dissipated. There was something or someone, he now lived for, a reason for fighting, the blood he shed no longer shed in vain.
Arthur and Guinevere became mother and father to a beautiful young girl that bore her father’s jade green eyes. Dagonet’s family consisted of a devoted wife and three children, one of whom included Lucan. Bors and Vanora stopped their brood at eleven children. Gawain, of course, married, siring one boy and a girl.
Sadly, over the course of time, Horus, Odin and Penelo succumbed to the call of mortality. Raja mourned them fiercely, a dark shadow hovering over her, cloaking her in grief. She had them cremated, casting their ashes to the wind. It didn’t seem fitting to bury them into the soil, blocked from the sky.
It was odd for Raja to be in her twenty-eighth year of life. She felt so old, yet so young when she was with Tristan. She enjoyed calling him “old man,” as his head and beard sprouted with more grey hairs. She found him even more dashing, and his unorthodox charm still touched her.
She lay in bed now, not able to concentrate on her book. It was difficult to concentrate on much nowadays. She became so tired at times that she slept for two or three days. At times, bursts of energy would come, which she would wisely use to take Tristan ferociously. Yet, for the past month, she felt a heaviness settle over her. Autumn would soon come; it was already raining more often than it usually did. It made her bones ache, and her lungs burn with irritation. She knew, with a calm conviction, that she would not survive another winter. Perhaps, if it had not been for the years of battle in the legion, which had taken more than enough of her strength, she would be feisty with life at this moment.
Raja’s eyes fluttered open as she heard the door creak. She smiled serenely at the vision of Tristan, more handsome now than when she had first seen him.
Tristan looked at Raja, looking tiny lying in their large bed by herself. He knew, with a calm certainty, that she would not make it through another winter. His heart ached at the thought of not being with her, but whenever he was in her company he soaked in her aura and the life she breathed. He made sure the windows were shut tight; strong winds were coursing through the night.
He shed his cloak, boots and tunics, snuggling next to Raja under their large comforter. The scent of meadowsweet filled his nostrils and warmth covered his entire person as his arm pulled Raja closer to him. They faced each other for a time, communicating through their eyes.
“What would I do without you, Raja?” Tristan mused, planting a kiss on her lips.
Yet, there was a hint of seriousness in his voice, an allusion to the events to come in the near future.
She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “I had a dream that we met each other again.”
He smiled. “Hopefully, I took you with me then.”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I woke up.”
“Hmm. Well, I’d never make that same mistake twice.”
“You know, an old lady that lived in the same village as me said that true love can create miracles. Any miracle the lovers want. Second chances. Making mistakes but never the same ones.”
Tristan kissed her knuckles. “You’d never be in the legion then.”
Raja laughed softly. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yup,” he said, pulling her light frame on top of him, “that would be one thing.” He pulled the covers higher, tucking the two of them in a cocoon of soft cotton.
Their hearts beat against each other, a simultaneous dance of life. Tristan felt the familiar comfort of his hair being twirled around one of Raja’s fingers.
What
will I do without you? Tristan’s heart cried out. It isn’t right for either of us to leave the other behind.
“Trissy,” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“My heart is yours, and yours is mine. One cannot beat without the other. So no matter what, we’ll always be together. Do you believe that?”
He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “Yes,” he said absolutely.
He felt her smile against his chest. “No matter where or when we wake up, Tristan, we’ll wake together.”
He tightened his hold on her. “I love you, Raja. With all of me, I love you.”
“I love you, too. With all of me.”
--------------------------------------------
Tristan was late for morning patrol, something that never happened. Dagonet had waited, but could only surmise the reason for Tristan’s tardiness was that there must be something with Raja. He walked to their chambers and rapped slightly on the door. The warrior in him felt something was wrong. He slowly opened the door and noted the utter quietness. The windows were closed, yet there was a distinct chill.
He walked further into the antechamber, seeing nothing amiss. Their bedroom door was closed, nothing but stark silence on the other side. He knocked lightly.
“Tristan?” he called, putting his hand on the doorknob. “Raja? I’m coming in.”
The windows in their bedroom were sealed as well, but Dagonet once again felt a chill. He saw them lying in bed together, Raja atop Tristan.
Dagonet knew. Deep down...he knew. He inched closer, and when he was right above them the breath left his body. Slowly, he touched Tristan’s hand, then Raja’s. Cold...as ice...as death.
“Gods,” Dagonet choked out.
His thought was that Tristan was in fine health, there was no reason for this. Dagonet felt a sadness that his two friends were gone, but also a solace, because he knew the both of them were at peace, and together.
Their family mourned, but like Dagonet they breathed relief that they were together. None of them could imagine one remaining here on earth without the other. The next day, Tristan’s and Raja’s ashes were cast to the wind, their afterlife spreading throughout the world.
An arrow of freedom
Is piercing my heart
Breaking chains of emotion
Given a moment to pray
Lost innocence to find its way
Part XXI. Return to Innocence
Don’t care what people say
Just follow your own way
Don’t give up and use the chance
To return to innocence
Now...
Tristan heard strange sounds coming from every which way. He tried to follow it but kept continually losing his track, those foreign words of some song starting and stopping, pulling him forth then halting him in his steps. He pondered for a moment, thinking he might be hearing ghosts – sure, right, ghosts – when that sweet aria began again, flying through the forest to his ears. He grasped tightly to the sound, following it vigilantly until he came upon a small figure on a large rock under the full moon. Her long black hair appeared blue in the moonlight, and one white strip of hair gave off a sharp contrast to her waves of dark locks. Her voice was magical, sweet notes of a tongue he had never heard before swirled around him, captivating him in place. It felt familiar.
The singing stopped, and the little girl turned abruptly.
Tristan gasped and fell on his backside. Her eyes pierced him with their ethereal gaze, terrifying and mesmerizing him at the same time. He knew those eyes from somewhere. Tristan stood up quickly. She shifted her head from the moonlight and her eyes dimmed, but they still shone like stars. Yes, he recognized those eyes. She stared at him, not moving, not blinking.
“What’s the matter?” her voice lilted. “Did I scare you?”
He was paralyzed with an emotion he had not felt in years, one that was so unacceptable he refused to give it a name.
She got up from the rock and walked towards him. “Are you okay?”
Tristan’s heart raced. It seemed as if she were glowing, the moon casting strange lights upon her. It wad disturbing. Not so much the glow, but the familiarity of her.
“Get away from me,” Tristan snarled.
Her advancement stopped abruptly. She looked neither hurt nor scared at his tone.
“I was just asking if you were all right.”
Tristan ignored her and began to walk away.
“Wait,” she called. “Please!”
He stopped, though he didn’t know why. “What?” When he looked at her she seemed so tiny, so vulnerable his heart lurched.
“Do you know the way back to the fort? I got lost.” She looked at him, hoping for a reply. “You are one of the knights, aren’t you?”
Tristan felt a ridiculous urge to gather the girl up in his arms and take her to safety. Memories of lost dreams burrowed their way to the surface of his clarity.
“If it were light out,” she said, breaking the silence, “I might be able to find the way back on my own. But it’s harder to find my way back in the dark.” She scuffed her shoe against the ground. “Would you take me back with you?” She took a step forward. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look like you’ve been crying.”
The genuine concern in her voice was too much. “I don’t cry,” he snapped.
“Maybe not out loud,” she said. “But here,” she pointed to her heart, “you’ve been crying. I can feel it.”
He scoffed, not deigning to comment. He began walking away.
“You won’t help me?” she called.
He was about to say no, to just walk away and leave her there, but when he took a step a searing voice echoed through his mind: STAY! The reverberation was so dizzying that he fell to his knees and covered his ears.
“Are you okay?” a voice broke through his haze of bewilderment.
A refuge of security spread over him, and he realized that her little hand on was his shoulder and she was staring at him with a look of pure concern. All he could do was stare back. It couldn’t be. IT IS! that bellowing voice came again. He winced.
She removed her hand from his shoulder and placed it on his hand. “Breathe,” she whispered.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had shown such bald worriment over him. It touched him, and damn it, it shouldn’t have.
If you want, then start to laugh
If you must, then start to cry
Be yourself don’t hide
Just believe in destiny
She smiled softly at him, and plopped down on her butt right in front of him.
Then something occurred to him. “What the hell are you doing out so late?”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” A wave of grief covered her eyes and quickly passed. “What are you doing out so late?”
He smirked. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She giggled. “We’re two of a kind then.”
He grunted.
“You look familiar,” she said pensively. Her eyes bored into him.
“Anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” He was becoming more discomfited by intimacy of her presence.
She leaned closer to him and whispered, “I know you.”
Tristan looked sharply at her, wanting to throw a biting comment at this hellion for breaking down barriers he had worked so hard to put up. For presuming that they were two of a kind, somehow connected. ACCEPT IT, a voice screamed inside of him, causing him to grimace.
“I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
His defense went down hearing her voice. “You didn’t,” he said through gritted teeth.
Truth was, he knew her, too. The word ‘stay’ was still bouncing around in his head, making it difficult to hold down memories he didn’t want to remember. It was giving him a splitting headache though, and in the course of not even one full night, the brick walls he spent years putting up broke down, and the memory of the little girl he dreamed of sprung forth. The little girl he had talked excitedly to his mother about.
“What’s your name?” he mumbled.
“Raja,” she said eagerly. “What’s yours?”
“Tristan.”
“Hmm,” she wondered. “Tristan,” she pronounced it slowly, trying it on like a new pair of shoes. “It’s nice to meet you, Trissy.”
“Tristan,” he stressed.
Raja laughed. “No, no. I’m Raja. You’re Tristan.”
“Damn it, I’m-” he stopped, realizing that she was jesting with him. Her wide smile was contagious and he felt his mouth spread in laughter as well.
The wind blew past and Raja shivered.
She’s a minikin, the wind could take her away, he thought.
“Come on,” he said and stood up. Surprising himself, he offered her his hand.
Her soft hand was so small compared to his calloused one. He squeezed hers securely when the wind whipped past again. He didn’t feel so alone with her, his shoulders felt lighter, and he looked forward to the morning. He knew he had to keep this little person safe.
“Thank you, Trissy.”
He winced at that name, and sighed sharply. “Look, if you’re going to call me that, just make sure you do it when no one else is around, all right?”
Raja pondered that for a moment. “That’s reasonable,” she relented.
With Tristan’s knowledge of the forest, they exited it in no time and the keep came into view. They stopped at the edge of the brush, hands still clasped.
“I was frightened back there,” Raja said. She looked embarrassed at her confession.
He looked down at her reassuringly. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he admitted reluctantly.
This sharing of confidences emboldened her to speak frankly. “You know...you look at me like you know me, too.”
Unconsciously, he squeezed her hand tighter.
“Yeah,” he replied, shutting his eyes tightly, “I know you.”
“My parents said that I would meet you someday.” She was filled with awe that her dreams of the boy she imagined was standing right there next to her.
“My mother said the same thing,” he said, still anxious that she could disappear at any moment.
“We should go hand in hand more often then,” she suggested, securing her hold on him. “We can take care of each other.”
“Take care of each other,” he muttered, seeing how it sounded. When’s the last time someone took care of him? NO SHAME IN IT, TRISTAN! He turned his head away, hiding the pain in his head that caused him to flinch.
A ball of panic rose inside of her when he turned his face. “Please don’t go away.”
Tristan was silent for a moment, trying to calm the babbling going on in his head. When he made his choice, the voice calmed and Tristan accepted everything, her miraculous presence, the peace she was already bringing him, the feeling of belonging, and knowing he did belong, with her, and would never be alone again. He kneeled down, taking her in his arms, a gesture that surprised him. When was the last he hugged someone?
She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, the closeness of him bringing her an internal warmth and security she had not felt in so long.
“I’m here,” he assured her. “I’m here.”
Don’t be afraid to be weak
Don’t be too proud to be strong
Just look into your heart my friend
That will be the return to yourself
The return to innocence