Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is familiar to you; my characters/interpretations are mine.
***Author's Note: To begin, I am not dead! I deeply regret my long absence but have never intended to give this story up; college is now finished and work takes up most of my time, but I absolutely intend to finish this story (and my numerous others). This particular work has been constantly in my mind over the past several years and, after taking a course in Arthurian Literature at school, I am eager to do some revisions and continue. When I first began this work it was intended to follow the movie and only borrow the name of Isolde as Tristan's traditional love interest. While this fic will, for the most part, continue in the vein of the film, I am intending to work in some of the elements of the Arthurian legends. For those of you who read the original version of the story, you will notice some changes immediately, particularly regarding Isolde's name; other aspects of the original legends will appear from time to time. I want to be clear that I am handling the original works and historical accuracy very loosely so that the various elements of this story will work together. Please enjoy!
~o~
"We were doomed from the beginning, an ill-fated love that would end with dire consequences. This is a tale of adventure, romance, and betrayal, a story of knights and warriors, of battles and discovery, of a fight for freedom and free will. This is the account of how I died." ~ Yseult
Guinevere moved stealthily through the misty forest; her long, somewhat knotted, ebony hair hung loosely down her back, swaying slightly as she stepped over a moss-covered log. With her skin still dyed the eerie blue that aided in camouflaging her people, she had the appearance of a wood nymph. As she passed others of her kind they gave an automatic nod as a sign of respect to the daughter of their leader. Guinevere returned the gesture subconsciously each time, concentrating too hard on finding her elusive cousin to pay much attention to her surroundings. She sighed as her quest continued; where could that girl be? Though an able warrior and promising scout, the daughter of her father's long deceased sister could be the most infuriating and childish person in Britain; though, if you asked the girl in question, much the same could be said of the Woad princess.
Guinevere was more than frustrated now, she had been almost everywhere she could think of; her missing cousin was not with the horses, listening to the older warriors tell their tales, sharpening her weapons, or teasing the young children. She also wasn't in the meadow surrounded by old oaks, the caves they so often went exploring in, or in the crystal clear pond. A thought suddenly struck her, one last place to look before she gave in and sent out a search party. The young Woad made a split-second change of direction and began sprinting towards the river.
Upon reaching the ridge that overlooked the deep, smooth water, Guinevere slowed to a walk before descending down a narrow trail to the bank below. She immediately headed upstream, where in the distance, a waterfall rushed over a ledge and into a wide pool below. Quickening her pace to a jog, she hurried towards the waterfall, all the while searching the area for any sign of her father's sister-daughter.
The roaring of the waterfall blared in Guinevere's ears as she approached, finally seeing the slim, muscled form of her cousin. The young woman was standing waist deep in the water, facing the torrent of rushing water that fell from the cliffs above. The water surrounding her was a bright, unnatural blue in contrast to the clear liquid in the nearby area. Guinevere watched her cousin impatiently from the rocks as the girl completely submerged herself in the water, removing the last traces of blue dye from her lithe body. The Woad's dark hair, even darker from the water, hung to her waist in a dripping curtain, covering most of the pale skin above the surface. She stayed in that position for a few minutes, her head thrown backwards, the moonlight reflecting off her damp face. Then she slowly turned to face Guinevere, a light smirk upon her visage, grey gaze glinting wildly as she stood unabashedly bare.
"Hurry up! He requests your presence immediately," Guinevere stated bluntly, traces of annoyance creeping into her voice as she observed the girl in the water.
The young woman blinked coyly at the disgruntled figure on the shore. "Oh, 'requests my presence' does he?" As she watched her cousin flex her hands in an attempt to control her anger, her mouth quirked into what may have been the beginnings of a smile before returning to a neutral position.
Guinevere sucked in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. Her nerves were frayed from her long search and the girl in front of her was definitely not helping. No, Guinevere suspected this was the girl's game, seeing how long it took for the elder cousin to snap. Guinevere didn't have time for this. Her father had sent her out hours ago in search for her 'missing' cousin, and seeing that it did not take the girl in question that long to bathe, even with a good swim in the process, Guinevere suspected that she had been following her around, laughing silently at her frustrations before slipping away to the secluded pool where she could feign innocence.
"Yseult!" Guinevere nearly shrieked. "You are to come out of there right now, it is a matter of great importance and father expected you hours ago."
"Aren't you going to say please?" Yseult asked sweetly, cocking her head to one side, and blinking up at Guinevere in faux innocence.
"Yseult!" This time Guinevere really did shriek, her normally elegant face contorted in anger.
Adreya barely concealed a grin as she exited the pool, water pouring off of her while she shook herself before slipping into her earthy, leather garments. She armed herself with practiced ease and began wringing out her long hair as she trod up the path to where her fuming cousin stood.
"Really, Guinevere, you should learn to control that temper of yours, it's not very becoming," Yseult commented as she passed her infuriated elder.
At this Guinevere nearly throttled the other girl, her hands jumping and flexing as she took off after her, sprinting in the direction of the main camp.
~o~
As both girls entered the clearing where the Woad leaders sat, Yseult only slightly ahead of her cousin, Merlin, leader of the Woads as well as Yseult's uncle, turned towards them, his face schooled but his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Now that the two of you have finally decided to grace us with your presence," he began, shooting a look at his daughter as she began to open her mouth in reply, "there is a very important matter that must be discussed with the both of you."
All signs of immature behavior vanished from the youngest inhabitants of the clearing. Yseult stepped forward, her face serious, and, getting straight to the point, asked, "What's the matter?"
Merlin held his hands up to pacify his sister-daughter before turning and walking back over to the fire, throwing some dry logs onto the dying flames as he sat down. Guinevere and Yseult followed silently, seating themselves on the other side of the growing warmth.
"As both of you know, the Romans, with the aid of Arthur and his knights, have defeated us several times in the past months. Not only that, but they have been expanding, adding to their fort at Badon Hill and the surrounding area. We need information on these expansions and what important individuals from Rome will be arriving and departing."
He paused for a moment letting his words sink into the young women across from him before continuing. By the looks on both girls' faces they knew, or at least suspected what he would be asking of them.
"The Elders and I have discussed this and we have come to an agreement. One of you must disguise yourself as a Roman lady and live at the fort for a time. Your mission will be to discover information and plans which will aid out fight and then report periodically to the other."
Merlin left it at that for the time being; the girl who would go to the fort would be briefed later on. For the moment he was content to just let them think a bit.
"Who?" came the whispered question.
Merlin looked over at his niece. The normally strong, fierce warrior was white-faced and was gripping the handle of one of her knives tightly in her hands.
Merlin sighed. He had foreseen she would be like this. Yseult would have suspected from the start that she would be the one entering enemy territory. He kept silent, observing her. Guinevere was also looking at her, a slight frown marring her features.
"Who?" The question came again, more forcefully than before.
The leader of the Woads unconsciously braced himself as he looked into her wary eyes and softly answered, "We, no, I, had hoped that you would, given past circumstances."
He gave a sigh of defeat as she sprang up and made her way out of the clearing, heading deeper into the surrounding woods.
~o~
Yseult sat in the shade of one of the many towering oaks in the forest. Her muscled arms were tightly wrapped around her body as she huddled against the bark of the ancient tree. 'I should have known,' she thought to herself, over and over again. 'I knew I would have to one day face my past, but why this?' It wasn't the danger of the mission, nor the thought of Arthur and his famous knights. She had faced them in battle often enough, and had enough scars to prove it. It was amazing even to Guinevere, that having faced them so many times, Yseult remained for the most part unscathed, at least compared to others. Of course, she often fought from the trees, being a skilled archer. Also there was the fact that the knights were not as terrifying and all powerful as many of her people believed. She herself had killed one of them only the year before. He had been about to take Guin's head off as the warrior princess parried with one of the Romans, but Yseult had gotten to him first. She found, looking back, that he was the only man she had ever felt sorry for killing. She had stood over him for a minute, after she had plunged her long knife into his body, as he lay there on the ground, dark brown hair fanning out about his face, dull, brown, sightless eyes staring into oblivion. A moment of sorrow for the man, who was really more of a boy, had passed over her before she had been swept back into the battle, nearly losing her own life when one of the dead Sarmation's brethren bore down upon her, his rage making him twice as deadly. The scar on her abdomen where his blade had managed to lodge itself still ached at times.
Yseult was brought out of her reverie by the quiet rustling of leaves that signaled her cousin's approach. Guinevere waited beside her as she stood stiffly, brushing dirt and leaves off of her clothes and legs. She smiled at her cousin, and Yseult returned the gesture. They headed off in the direction of camp.
Merlin was the only person left in the clearing when the cousins returned. He was sitting in front of the fire, staring into the dancing flames, as he waited for the girls to sit down. The three sat in silence for a few minutes before Yseult broke the calm with a soft whisper, "I'll do it."
The Woad leader looked up slowly, until his wise, older eyes were staring into her fierce ones, the eyes that reminded him so much of his spirited sister. In his heart, Merlin had known she would accept the mission regardless of the past, the pain she had undergone because of her father's family. It was a good thing they had saved her when they had, otherwise there might not have been anything left to save, and now they were throwing her back to the wolves. As satisfied as he was that she had relented without much of a fuss, he was also worried; even now, after so many years, there was still a shadow in her bright gaze, a sadness and pain that would not disappear, no matter how happy she was. He wished he could find a way to bring the spark back completely, to make her whole on both the inside and the outside, and he was afraid that this mission would do more harm than good, at least for her. But there was no other way, both he and the two young women before him knew it. No other Woad could pass off as being a Roman as she could. She was the one who must go.
Merlin gave a slight nod to his daughter, and Guinevere stood and walked away, placing a hand on Yseult's shoulder as she passed her. Uncle and niece sat for a few moments longer, enjoying each other's company as well as the night itself. Then Merlin looked at her again and began to fill her in on the more detailed information she would need.
"We have a few Roman dresses of fine enough quality from a raid a while back," he began. "You will be escorted to the outskirts of a Roman settlement, and from there you must find transport to Badon Hill. You will need to come up with a good cover story, and you already have a Roman name, so you won't have to come up with one for yourself."
Merlin paused a moment before continuing with a long list of what he expected her to attain, how she would contact Guinevere, and finally how she would be 'escaping', as it were, from the fort when the time came.
Once he had finished, Merlin stood and left Yseult to her thoughts. He had done all he could; the rest was up to her. He only hoped that she would return from this mission unharmed, physically and mentally.
Yseult did not know how long she remained in the clearing after her uncle had left, only that her limbs were stiff and numb with cold when she came to her senses and got up to leave. She had to decide what she would be able to bring on the mission and get her things together, for they would be leaving within the next few days and she wanted to be ready to go at a moment's notice.
~o~
The days following Yseult's agreement to the mission were hectic and filled with an unusual amount of disorder. Both men and women could be seen dashing through the main camp making preparations, as well as running deeper into the forest, acting as messengers for Merlin.
During this time, Merlin sent several Woad women to Guinevere and Yseult, supplying each of them with clothing and other things they might need, Yseult more so than her cousin.
Yseult had been given a small compilation of Roman dresses. She sat among the dull greens, reds, and blues, her fingers absentmindedly running over the familiar thick, slightly coarse fabric. Not for the first time, unbidden, unwanted memories, spun though her head…
A small dark-haired girl skipped though a flourishing flower garden. She was clothed in a billowing dark red gown and was an image of happiness at the age of four summers. A shadowed pair walked gracefully behind the child, moving at a leisurely pace, their arms entwined. The young girl ran back to the slower pair, laughing when the slimmer figure scooped her up in her arms. The little girl raised her eyes toward the figure's face and…
Yseult found herself blinking up at Merlin. He was staring down at her, a hint of concern in his kind eyes. She suppressed a sigh of disappointment. She had almost seen the figure's face, she had never come that close before.
"Are you all right child?" her uncle asked. Merlin was worried about the girl. These 'spells' were becoming more frequent and lasting longer. She would sometimes sit for hours at a time, staring off into the distance, her eyes glazed over, seeing nothing but the images inside her mind.
Yseult peered up at her uncle. She could hear the worry in his voice and read it in his eyes. The young Woad looked down a moment before nodding silently, refusing to meet Merlin's gaze. She knew that he and Guinevere were worried about her; the concerned glances they shot her way whenever they thought she wasn't looking told her that. Truthfully, Yseult wasn't sure why she had accepted this mission. It would only lead to pain, so why did she agree so easily? Perhaps it was because she wanted revenge on them. Maybe she wanted her people to finally be able to drive them back. Regardless of the reason, she had accepted and was now bound to complete it.
Yseult felt an old, yet still strong, hand grasp her shoulder, silently telling her that it was time. She rose slowly, Merlin already disappearing around a corner. All of her things were packed up and tied onto her makeshift saddle.
Normally Yseult preferred to ride bareback, to feel her stallion's rippling muscles and untamed power. It made her feel as if she were one with her horse, free to run tirelessly as long and as far as she desired.
Wistful dreams, she thought, sighing, not for the first time that day as she buckled on her long knives, daggers, and quiver, lastly slinging her bow over her shoulder.
Yseult walked silently through the Woad camp. It was unusually quiet, the normal sounds missing from the air, even the children were hushed. The silence was unnerving to her. Normally she preferred the calm of solitude to the noisy bustle of the main camp, but this quiet was disconcerting and out of place.
She was almost relieved when she finally made it to the other side of the encampment where Guinevere and the Woads that would be accompanying them to the small Roman outpost were waiting. Yseult mounted her steel-grey stallion, Aherin, and the small group of riders, after saluting their people, whirled their horses and took off at a gallop.
~o~
Yseult let the smooth, rocking, motion of Aherin's stride, and the light misting rain take over her senses as they sped through the dense forest on invisible paths. In front of her were Cuan, on his tough little mare, Mairsile, and Keegan, with his small, tawny gelding, Oisin. Guinevere rode beside her on her delicate grey mare, Liadan. Bringing up the rear were Bronagh, on her midnight black mare, Ciara, and Eber, on his bay stallion Daithi.
Each of the Woads in the company had proven himself time and again in battle, and Yseult wondered why her uncle had sent so many when, besides Guinevere, two would have more than sufficed. She absentmindedly shook some of her damp hair out of her face and leaned in closer to Aherin's neck, shielding herself from the force of the wind that had suddenly picked up, and drawing comfort from his heat.
The six Woads continued riding far into the night, only stopping when even the strongest of the horses could not go much , Guinevere, Cuan, and Keegan huddled by the small, smokeless fire they had built, while Bronagh took first watch, and Eber disappeared into the nearly impenetrable darkness in search of food.
The next morning shone bright and clear; the dark, stretching branches and thin spears of grass sparkled with drops of water, while the sun sent deep pinks and oranges across the pale sky. Yseult was on watch, lounging in the fork of a sturdy tree, her silvery eyes constantly scanning the forest below. She exhaled gently, her breath causing a cloud of white mist to form in the chilly air.
As the warming rays of the sun spread across the quiet lands, she regretfully swung herself out of the tree. How long would it be before she could have the luxury of climbing trees again? It was one of the many activities that were looked down upon by the Romans, at least for girls.
She bit back a curse of frustration, not wanting to wake her sleeping companions too early. Everyone had to make sacrifices in order to get rid of the Romans, and if hers was no fun or adventure for a few months, or even a year, she would bear her burden gladly, for the sake of her people. Even if it meant going back to them, she could, and would sacrifice her happiness for her people, and for her land.