I can't believe I'm starting another story already, but here we go. This is probably an incredibly strange idea for a fic, but it is loosely inspired by the myth of Cupid and Psyche, which if you can't tell by my penname, I rather like. I'm sure that as most of my fics tend to do, this one will end up dripping with sentimental sewage, but oh well. Also, for the sake of this fic, Lancelot and Tristan survive the battle at Badon Hill.
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Warriors make the best lovers and the worst lovers. They are the best because they understand passion, intensity, and fervor. Loving and killing are not so very different in that sense, but warriors have trained themselves when the battle is done to bury the emotions that killing arouses. What makes them the worst lovers is that they also bury the emotions that loving enkindles.
I don't know any of this from personal experience, though I'm not particularly sorry about that. I have never loved anyone, least of all a warrior, in that way. My authority on the subject comes from the fact that my business is the love affairs of warriors, specifically Arthur Castus' Sarmation Knights of Hadrian's Wall. That sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Allow me to explain.
I used to myself be a warrior---before the Unspeakable happened that left me crippled. Being the daughter of the Woad leader Merlin, I was an incredibly lethal killer. I excelled at archery and sword fighting, earning the envy of even the most conceited boys my age who thought the most important blade was the one in their pants. After the Unspeakable happened that shattered the bones in my left leg, however, I wasn't able to fight, not even on Badon Hill, the most important battle of our history.
It was just before the battle of Badon Hill that my humiliating career as a matchmaker began. Believe me, this base occupation of meddling in other people's sordid love affairs is the last thing I wanted to be doing with my life. I should have fought that day on Badon Hill, even if it had meant my death.
Instead, a few days before the battle, my father Merlin gave me an assignment involving my older sister, Guinevere. To be completely honest, I had always been a little jealous of Guinevere. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen and everyone, particularly the male everyone, had always loved her. I remembered how all the boys in our tribe would always bring her flowers. It's not that I wanted to be Guinevere. I loved who I was. I just wished other people would love who I was too.
The assignment Merlin gave me seemed simple enough. He believed that if Arthur Castus were to fall in love with Guinevere, then she would surely be able to persuade him to stay and help us fight the Saxons. I was perplexed as to how my irresistible sister could possibly need my help to woo the frigid commander, but Merlin, dark magician that he was, explained to me that he had developed a concoction that could make people fall in love. Once a person was infected with that potion, they would fall madly in love with the first person they saw of the opposite sex (I know what you're thinking, and yes, Merlin developed a similar concoction for same-sex love as well).
I know this must all sound crazy, and believe me I had my doubts, but who can argue with the results? I watched the caravan carefully move across the frozen lake from my hiding place in the trees. I watched as Guinevere and the knights lined up to face the Saxon army. There I sat poised with my bow and my arrow dipped in the potion, waiting for the right moment. When Arthur ran out onto the ice in vain to save his knight Dagonet, I let loose the arrow and watched it graze the side of his neck. It was a perfect shot and at just the right angle to make him think it had come from a Saxon crossbow. I must admit I was rather proud of myself. More importantly, however, as you may have already ascertained, the product of this injury was the melting of Arthur's heart at Guinevere's seduction and his consequent decision to stay and fight for the freedom of Britain.
That's what started all this matchmaking business. Merlin, my crazy old bastard of a father, was so pleased with the results of the Arthur and Guinevere pairing that soon after Badon Hill he decided I should find matches for all of Arthur's knights. It was so insulting. I, who could have been a great warrior, had been reduced to conniving and meddling in others' romantic affairs. I suppose I should have just refused, but what had a cripple like me better to do?
My name is Kira, by the way, and I've always liked my name because it starts with the hard 'K' sound that let's people know I mean business. I think that a person's name is one of the most important things about them. Parents should never name their child something silly like "Lancelot." Names with aesthetically feminine letters like 'L' and 'S' should be given only to girls who have nothing better to do than sit around and make themselves look pretty. No wonder Lancelot always felt the need to overcompensate.
Good names for boys start with strong letters like 'G'. Galahad and Gawain had very intelligent parents for exactly this reason. Tristan is an alright name, I guess. It's actually very fitting for Arthur's scout since it means "sad" or "melancholy." I think that was why Tristan had always been my least favorite of the knights (not that I much fancied any of them, mind you). What had he to be so melancholy about? He had fought at Badon Hill and survived despite injuries that would have killed any other man. And yet he was always so damn depressed all the time. Well, perhaps he was not actually depressed, but he was certainly never happy either and so he frustrated me. I couldn't stand people who found no joy in life.
Anyways, you'll have to forgive me. I tend to run off on tangents. As I was saying, Merlin was so pleased with my handiwork that he decided I should make matches for the rest of the unattached knights: Lancelot, Galahad, Gawain, and Tristan.
My first target was Gawain because he seemed to be the one most desperate for love. For some time, he had been infatuated with a village girl named Anna who lived just a half a mile south of Hadrian's Wall. Every day, Gawain would stalk off into the forest to watch as Anna brought two buckets to the lake to gather water. He had never known a greater pleasure than watching how she would pull back her long brown hair as she stooped down to dip her bucket into the lake or how she would dry her hands on the hem of her skirt.
Gawain had never actually been able to conjure up the courage to speak to Anna until one day I set into motion events that would force them into an acquaintance with each other. I filled my quiver with love-inducing arrows and hobbled off into the forest towards the lake. Now, there was no need to hit Gawain with any of Merlin's potion because he was already sick with love for the maiden, but there was no leaving to chance her returning his affections.
That day, when Anna leaned over to scoop water into her bucket, an arrow flew from the trees, embedding itself in the back of her leg. She cried out in pain, tears welling up in her pretty hazel eyes. Just as I had intended, Gawain burst forth from where he had hidden himself and rushed to the maiden's aid.
Anna seemed frightened at first by his appearing out of nowhere and probably thought it had been he who had shot the arrow. Her first instinct therefore was to shrink away from him with a look fear and distrust. Gawain, however, proved himself to be a gentleman of honorable intentions and easily gained her trust by assuring her in the gentlest way possible that he meant her no harm. Anna then allowed him to pull the arrow from her leg and soon found comfort in leaning her tear-streaked face against his shoulder. Not to boast, but I daresay I am quite gifted at this romance thing, after all.
Next on my list was Galahad. He was the youngest knight and seemed a bit too naïve and overly passionate for his own good. He needed someone more mature, an older woman perhaps. Bors' lover Vanora had a friend who worked with her at the tavern named Eleanor. Eleanor had raven black hair and a womanly figure. She had experienced many hard times in her life, but they had not made her bitter. Instead, Eleanor was one who always spoke freely, but sensibly with a sound mind and strong values. Galahad needed that kind of direction in his life.
It just so happened that Galahad was at the tavern one night while Eleanor was working and as fate would have it, he sat at a table that she was responsible for serving. Galahad, not paying any particular or special attention to her, ordered one mug of ale as he was accustomed to doing. Eleanor was an efficient worker and hustled to retrieve his drink. Little did she know, I had managed to limp my way over to her station without arousing any suspicion and while she wasn't looking, I poured some of Merlin's potion into Galahad's mug of ale.
Eleanor plopped the mug down on the table in front of Galahad who immediately took a swig of the ale. His face turned a sudden shade of gray and he wrinkled up his nose in disgust. He forced himself to swallow the potion contaminated drink, which as I had suspected, tasted of a mix of bile and refuse. "There's something wrong with this," he managed to utter hoarsely, pushing the mug away from him.
"What?" asked Eleanor, placing one hand on her hip and raising a skeptical eyebrow. She wasn't in the mood for nonsense.
"It tastes funny," Galahad replied weakly.
"Let me see," said Eleanor impatiently, snatching the mug from the table and taking a sip for herself. She nearly spit it out. "You're right!" she exclaimed with repugnance, "It's terrible!"
Galahad and Eleanor looked at each other and laughed. My job was done.
Lancelot was my next victim, but he was quite the conundrum. You see, in his case, Merlin had instructed me that I was not actually supposed to allow him to fall in love with anyone who would ever return the sentiment. Apparently, there was discontent among the Woad men now stationed at Hadrian's Wall who were continuously losing their women to Lancelot's bed. They demanded justice or else they would take their own revenge on the promiscuous knight. Realizing the rift this vengeance would create between the Woads and the knights, Merlin hastily struck a compromise with his men that Lancelot would be punished with eternal celibacy and would never steal another one of their women again.
That's where I came in. Merlin figured that if Lancelot were to fix his attention on someone unattainable, it would keep him out of the other maidens' beds. To me the whole plan seemed a bit harsh, but I supposed Lancelot had it coming. The problem was that there didn't seem to be any woman on earth immune to Lancelot's charms.
I needed to find someone who for whatever reason would never let herself be tempted by Lancelot's magnetism and charisma. I was at a loss. I decided to consult Merlin because, after all, it had been his idea in the first place. Merlin was sympathetic to my predicament and thought for a long while on who could possibly withstand Lancelot's seduction.
He finally came to the rather shocking conclusion that Lancelot should be made to pine after none other than Guinevere. In a strange way, it actually made sense. Guinevere was a warrior like I should have been and was above such petty pursuits as love. Her only goal in life was our country's freedom which she ensured by her politically motivated marriage to Arthur. Merlin knew his eldest daughter's heart and knew that her sworn duty to her people could never be broken by any man, no matter how attractive. He also knew that Lancelot's own loyalty to Arthur would prevent him from acting on any feelings he would render for his friend's wife. This plan seemed plausible enough to me.
While Lancelot was busy grooming his horse, I sent an anonymous note to Guinevere to come down to the stables. Despite my lame leg, I managed to climb up into the window sill where I was safely hidden by the hay stacks. I reached into my quiver and pulled out a potion-stained arrow. I took aim and the second that Guinevere appeared at the entrance, I released the arrow, which soared down and embedded itself in Lancelot's butt (even I have a sense of humor). He yelped in pain and spun around to ascertain from which direction the attack had come, but the only person he saw was Guinevere. I quickly hopped down from my position in the window and staggered away.
So that left only Tristan yet to be attached, and to be perfectly honest, I was not at all looking forward to the challenge. I wondered if he was capable of love even with Merlin's ridiculous potion. I supposed I was about to find out.
