Story: Volare: the Latin word for Fly. I thought it fit Tristan well and it makes a good title for this story
Summary: Fate never treated Awen kindly. She's learned to live with it the best she can, sacrificing her life for the sake of another. Love was but a distant fairytale and death was sure to be swift and accurate. Awen hadn't counted on Arthur and his knights getting involved.
Pairing: TristanOC
Warning(s): This chapter is M for violence. Later chapters will contain sexual content, language and violence.
Beta: The lovely and awesome princesspomegranate. She's an amazing writer and I'm proud to call her my Beta. ;)
Italics are flashbacks.
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Chapter 2:
A Taste of Benevolence
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Time leaked by; days seemed like years, hours like weeks and each moment passed Awen by with great detail. Each moment forced her to relive the mistakes of her past as well as the obstacles she had yet to overcome. The tortures of time played in her mind endlessly. How long was it since she had last seen a piece of her clothing not spotted with blood? How long since wine had not reminded her of the lives she took? How long before her life became her own again?
It was selfish, truly it was. Awen knew from the very moment she'd dropped on her hands and knees before the Bishop, begging for the freedom of her people, her friend, that it was to be a long journey ahead of her. Though, the memory did not stop the rare feelings of regret that clouded her thoughts every now and then.
The sun was sitting high in the sky when Hadrian's Wall came into view, signaling early afternoon. The sudden urge to be rid of her company disappeared when she imagined what awaited her behind the stone fortress, her hand pulling back the reins without her knowledge. Umbra obeyed without hesitation, sensing the ominous feelings of his master. She knew what awaited her inside the fort. Her usefulness to the Romans only stretched out here in the wilderness, away from their guarded hiding places, and she was in no rush to give up the fresh air and day light. Most of all she would miss the dead calm of night, with stars sprinkled across the black sky.
It was easiest at night to close her eyes and travel far away to beautiful laughter, familiar faces and the soft singing. Quiet nights were the closest to freedom Awen had known for nearly a year.
Stifled coughing shook Awen's head clear of all impractical liberties. She could sense Horton's efforts to be as little a burden as possible throughout the ride. Arthur had long since abandoned the wagon in exchange for his horse and Awen futilely wondered why she was still forced to carry the load behind her.
As if on command, Horton slid down from Umbra the instant the wagon's door opened, welcoming him back to its safety. His haste both pleased and irritated Awen all at once. She took the opportunity to trail farther from the group, slipping to the back. Silent but not unnoticed. Her eyes were trained to the ground, feigning interest in the clouds of dust that ghosted up beneath Umbra's hooves.
She could hear the knights as they jested amongst each other, her gaze sneaking up beneath her dark hood and lashes, observing the men before her. There was a bright, golden haired knight; Gawain. He easily resembled a lion; an exotic animal she'd heard of in countless tales of lands overseas. Of course, she'd never laid eyes on such a beast, but she expected if she did, it would look something like Gawain.
The others gave themselves away just as quickly. It may have been harder to put names to the faces had Bishop Germanus and his men not spoken of them so frequently during their travels. Their judgments aside, Awen had met them once before. It was so long ago, at an age where memories were blurry and picked apart at best. The only salvageable remembrances she did have were of horror and pain. Memories she tried to do without.
They were young then, little more than boys armed with over-sized weapons, fear and anger in their eyes. She had understood their emotions so easily because she felt that anger and fear as well.
Arthur, with his lifted chin and proudly donned red cape, required no effort to recognize. To Arthur's right, with the similar curly dark hair and intelligent, witty eyes was Lancelot, rumored to be just as sharp with his charm as on the battlefield with swords. Tall and intimidating was Dagonet. Loud and crude, with a humor that Awen had not taken a liking to in the last few hours, was Bors. The youngest one of them all was Galahad. He adorned a childlike smile on his face and too-happy an attitude for their circumstances.
There was one more, Awen reminded herself, inching her head to the side when she finally registered the presence beside her.
He was watching her. His eyes were unreadable and cold, piercing through hers with an intensity that she couldn't understand. No words were spoken between them, just the intent look that made it nearly impossible to break away. She managed to escape from the unnerving stare, although with great difficulty, dropping her eyes to the white-knuckled grip on her reins.
His attention on her seemed to remind the rest of the knights of her presence. Without warning the laughter ceased. She refused to look up, knowing she would be greeted by many pairs of curious eyes.
"A Woad fighting alongside Romans… An interesting sight, is it not?"
Awen lifted her head just enough to regard Lancelot with a blank look. She was pleased by the shadow her hood provided. It gave her comfort to know she could hide any distasteful emotions that were certain to get her in trouble later.
Lancelot appeared unhindered by her lack of response and leaned on the horn of his saddle, bending to consider her from a different angle.
"Is it their joyous company or the blood of your own kind that attracts you?"
It was situations like this that Awen strove so hard to avoid; new surroundings, new people and new threats caused her unrest. The disdain and sarcasm dripped heavily from his words, contradicting the charming smile hinted on his lips. His eyes darkened after a few moments, pulling away as if he'd never spoken to her.
She idly wondered if the skeptical and bitter nature would still be present, had his life not been stolen from him before it had truly begun. So many lives, so many people, all tangled in the horrifying web of Rome's war and greed.
Awen bit the inside of her cheek until the subtle metallic taste of blood assaulted her tongue. Her body felt weak and heavy so suddenly. She couldn't find the strength to care when they came upon the thick armored doors, watching indifferently as they opened with a loud groan of protest.
The rest of the ride was lost to her; beyond the walls the usual procedures would take place. She was rarely ever given enough time to look after her horse.
Awen finally came to at the sound of loud feminine shouts and a sharp slap. Her head turned to watch the burly knight in a seemingly one-sided argument. The rough treatment from, who she assumed was his woman, did nothing to discourage Bors' obvious enthusiasm. It rather stimulated him further, and Awen watched in wonderment as Bors threw himself into a hearty kiss.
She did not allow herself to marvel at the scene unfolding.
Happiness was scarce in these lands and such an act of affection among these knights, knights led by a Roman commander no less, lit a small amount of hope in Awen that she immediately rid herself of.
There was so much cluster and noise; it was enough to make Awen's head spin. She was accustomed to the relative quiet of the unclaimed lands North of the wall, often keeping a great expanse of distance between herself and the soldiers she traveled with. It made it more difficult to adapt to the large crowds and deafening noise of civilization. She imagined she could adjust, given the right amount of time within such commotion, but she was never given the chance.
It was probably for the best.
She appraised the dirt area, searching for a small space out of the way to dismount. Her legs felt light and unsteady from the long ride. Softly stepping from one foot to the other, Awen shook free of the familiar sensation. In her heart, all she wished to do was slip back on top of Umbra and ride out to the inviting open land outside Hadrian's Wall.
"There she is. Been lookin' all over for ya girl. Where ya been?" barked the man with rotten teeth and wrinkly skin, the kind that suggests he'd spent too many years out in the sun.
Awen also recognized him as one of the few Roman soldiers that hid under wagons to save his own hide at the first sign of a battle. She jerked back when the soldier unexpectedly reached forward, trying to escape the smell of sweat and filth emitting from the closeness of his hand; an entirely unpleasant mix.
Her hood was tugged back roughly for her resistance, catching on a few chunks of her wavy hair. Awen lifted up her chin, a futile attempt at showing how the cold metal being clasped around her wrists did nothing to frighten her. Her neck would be next and the tugging would start, half-dragging and half-leading her down to a metal-barred cage. She wondered what state she would discover her new cell to be in; determining that more times than not, conditions of imprisonment were a reflection of a fort's leaders.
Would the stories of Arthur's selfless and compassionate nature prove to be true? Although what she'd been told about the commander made it nearly impossible to envision any measure of confinement existing in his fort.
"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur's voice bellowed over the noise of the crowd.
Awen clicked her tongue, annoyed and trying desperately to ignore the undivided attention she was now faced with.
The guard hesitated, unsure of how to reply, as if he hadn't felt that there was anything wrong with what he was doing. To all but the knights and strangers of the fort, witnessing the savage girl in chains was nothing new.
Awen did not wish to make the happening a big event. And as the crowd around them grew thicker, her desire for the concealment a cell provided arose. She had never been one for attention; a feature that was unlikely to ever change.
"She is a prisoner of the church and must be treated as such!" the Bishop never gave the Roman officer a chance to speak, shouting at Arthur as he positioned himself between Awen and the commander. "Do not attempt to interfere, this does not concern you."
His voice trailed off at the end of his outburst, before releasing a nervous chuckle. Awen couldn't blame him, Arthur look anything but impressed by the Bishop's reasoning.
The other knights started to gather behind Arthur. They looked far beyond intimidating.
"The dungeons of this fort are reserved for murderers and rapists; those who have committed heinous crimes." Arthur said, lifting his sword effortlessly and gesturing to where Awen was standing, "She will not be among them."
"The girl has taken many lives. She is not unfamiliar to the dark corners of a cell."
The Bishop's face brightened, a smile easing the troubled wrinkles above his brow. It was an expression meant to ease the tension, falling far short in its endeavor.
"From what I saw, she fought with, not against, the Romans. She is no guiltier of murder than me and my men, or your men for that matter."
Arthur's tone left no room for dispute. It caused the Bishop's hands to curl in tight fists at his sides, his smile replaced by a deep frown.
"Surely you do not expect me to allow her freedom? She must not be trusted."
Arthur's eyes swept over to Awen, staring for what seemed like eternity. It felt like a thousand pounds atop her shoulders as she remained motionless under the scrutiny. Arthur nodded eventually, signaling his knights forward. They spoke in whispered voices and try as she might, Awen failed to read the expressions on their faces.
When Arthur turned back to her, she felt her lungs constrict and her palms begin to sweat. Something about the warning in his eyes, tinted with regret, made Awen very cautious and alert. She could sense she would not like what was to come and that she would be unable to stop it.
"It is settled. She will stay with one of my men, they will watch over her until other arrangements can be agreed upon."
The Bishop's expression held an air of utter scandal, his mouth moved slightly, unable to form any sound. Awen let a small smile grace her features, despite the worry eating at her insides.
"Jols," Arthur addressed a loyal follower without releasing the Bishop from his stare, "if you would."
The man nodded in acknowledgement, swiftly making his way to the silent girl and relieving the soldiers of her restraints.
"Come on lass," he said kindly, "best to leave Roman business to the Romans."
With a quick wink, Jols turned on his heels, giving her a moment to follow without tugging her along. Sparing one last glance to the spat still taking place, Awen took a few long strides, slowing down right behind Jols.
Her nails dug into the palms of her hands, a welcome distraction from the metal chaffing against her neck and wrists. She was still unsure and weary of Arthur and his men. The commander's actions on her behalf only succeeded in confusing her further. Observing Bishop Germanus' fall from grace had provided Awen only a few short moments of indulgence, leaving her to ponder whether she would be the one to pay for Arthur's defiance.
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Author's Note: So here is the second chapter. I'm working on the third one right now, getting in a bit of Awen's history for you all, so you can get a better feel for her character. I'm hoping to squeeze in a bit of Tristan and Awen interaction next chapter.
Reviews are loved and appreciated so much. Thank you guys for reading I hope you liked it. Feel free to contact me with any questions!