Disclaimer: Nothing that you recognise belongs to me.
I am a good girl. Despite what you will read, know this: save this one moment of madness I have always done what I have been told. I honour my parents, I honour my homeland and I fought in the great battle at Hadrian's wall when the world was turned to smoke and screaming, blood and bravery. I am one of the true Britons - a Woad, although now we follow King Arthur and his knights. Once killers of our kin, now allies in the war against the Saxons.
Ours is a united country now; although the tale I have to tell was before this time of hope, before I should have had anything but loathing for either Samartians or Romans. I don't know why I did what I did, but I know that I don't regret it, although I have never spoken of it to anyone. These words are my secret, and I ask you keep them as safe as I have all this time.
I was a girl of fifteen summers when it happened, awkward in my body that seemed not to belong to me anymore. The boys that I had played with since infancy suddenly looked at me differently and I was unsure of my place in the world. My father was keen to marry me to a boy of our tribe, and although I understood his reasoning, I was angry and confused. I was good with a bow, good at tracking. Married or not I knew that I would fight if I were called to do so, but why should I take a husband? Why should I defer to a boy that I knew I could beat in a swordfight? It was with irritation and harsh words that I went to the river that day. My mother called after me with worry, my brothers with mocking taunts, but ignored them. I was young and I was foolish, and in my anger I dared the gods to challenge me, for I thought that I could face them all.
By the time my temper had abated and my reason returned, I felt a little foolish; certainly contrite enough to apologise to my mother who had done nothing wrong, if not my ever irritating siblings. I suppose that I should have returned home, but it was such a beautiful day, and I disguised my selfish desire to go to the river with the excuse that if I caught a couple of trout it might serve as a peace offering. Have you seen the river that lies beneath the shadow of Hadrian's wall? If you have then you would not blame me for sliding out of my dress and wading into the cold water. The river whispers dark secrets and beckons the unwary to the treacherous depths below the river bend, the willows brush their long branches into the water as though to wash away their leaves, and despite the noise of the water there is a silence below that cannot be found anywhere else.
I kept a net hidden in one of the willow trees. The life of a Woad is transient at best even now, and it is better to keep the things that you love or need tucked away in secret places. Neither Saxons nor Romans gave any warning at that time, and the brief seconds between running and searching for treasured belongings were often enough to determine life or death. There was, still is as far as I know, a hollow in a tree that holds my fishing tackle by the twisted oak tree by the river bend . Good luck to those who find it say I, for they were never much good to me.
The rainbow trout were spawning, and it was not long before I caught one of a decent size, bashing its head on a rock and tucking it away at the bottom of my bag. Preoccupied, it took a moment before the sound of hoof beats registered in my mind, and by the time the big black horse turned the corner of the path on the opposite side of the riverbank, there was nowhere to run. Sliding into the water, I tucked myself against the reeds and held my breath. With luck the rider would have passed by without a glance and continued upon his way, but alas, fortune was not so kind.
He was clad in the armour that marked him as a knight, he was handsome and terrifying, and when he pulled up his horse and dismounted, I bit my lip so hard that it bled. I knew of the Sarmartian knights - I knew of people lost to their swords and deadly arrows. I knew that some said they were victims of Rome and others who said that they were demons, but at that moment all I saw was a tired young man.
Quiet as a ghost I watched him unbuckle the armour from his body, watched each greave fall heavily to the ground, watched him pull his hauberk over his head without moving or uttering a word. He rubbed a tired hand through his dark curls and swallowed hard. Such things are not for maidens like I to watch, and had I had any sense of decency or decorum, I would have fled; slipped under the water with nary a ripple and swum swift and strong back to my kin.
I did not. I forgot my lessons, forgot the fish that even now whisked by in the cool water. I wanted to watch him, and even in the cold water my skin prickled and flushed with heat, my heart dancing a strange tattoo in my chest. So smooth and pale the ripple and curve of his torso, the faint shadows of his ribs, the shiny slash marks of battles long fought and won. Black hair and dark eyes. The smooth cheeks of a young man and the weariness of a warrior. A Roman fighter that killed my people, would surely kill me if he knew that I watched from the shadows.
And oh, how I yearned to touch him.
He washed his face and shook his hair free of water like a dog. The shallow water was surely warm, but he shivered, reaching for his shirt, and it was with disappointment that I watched him pull it over his head and settle down onto the long grass. With a last look around that had me flinching backwards as though I could make myself part of the riverbank, he laid his head down, dark lashes fanned upon his cheeks, weariness succumbing to warmth of the summer sun.
I stood there for a long time, or perhaps it was only moments. I dared not venture closer and I did not want to move away, so I waited for a brief eternity watching the rise and fall of his chest under his shirt, the light upon his face. He was deeply asleep, and it was only luck that a glint of silver caught my eye from the hills above. Saxons. Only a few from the looks of things - a scouting party perhaps, but more than enough to cause damage and it would only take one to kill the both of us. Every instinct told me to run, everything I had ever been taught told me to leave the young knight and leave him to our common enemy. Even now I can't explain why I scrambled up the riverbank towards him, even now I don't know why I bent before him and kissed his lips. My first kiss. Not my last, but the one that I still remember with bittersweet fondness. He muttered in his sleep, a lazy but powerful arm reaching up to pull me to him, his mouth opening and draining away my will so that I seemed but a puddle of a girl, an idiot without the sense to pull back.
His eyes suddenly shot open, the hand that had pressed me against his chest suddenly pushing me back, and I sat heavily on my rump, eyes wide, my heart slamming against my ribs.
"What?" He raised himself to his knees groggily, looking at me with confusion. He paled a little when he saw my clothing and reached for his sword, but I held up my hands to show that I was not armed and nodded towards the hillside. The Saxons were closer now, and I was truly afraid.
"Girl?" He looked utterly confused, and I suppose that I did too. Catching sight of the approaching men, he swore in a tongue I did not understand, and I fled. Half swimming and half struggling through the water, I reached the other riverbank and scrambled up it without looking back. I ran all the way home, my warning of approaching enemies redeeming me somewhat when I returned to my tribe who had been about to send a search party out for me. I told them about the Saxons but not the knight, and although I knew that I should have hated him, I could not help but wish that he had escaped. Later, much later, when even my brothers were exhausted and we made camp in a folly fifteen miles west, I lay awake and remembered the taste of him, wondered why I had warned him and hoped that he had escaped.
That was a year ago. A year that has brought peace and bloodshed, alliances as fragile as spider webs. The knight I… I cannot say rescued, for perhaps he would have awoken before I kissed him, is still alive. Galahad is his name. I have heard tales of him, and I am glad that he lives. He fought beside me although even if he remembered me he would not have recognised me beneath my battle paint. He lived through what the naïve call the last battle, and I am glad.
I am married now and it is a good match. I love my husband, I find peace in the new world that Arthur Castus is even now forging, but sometimes I dream of cold rivers and warm skin. The whisper of willows and the sweetness of a first kiss.
A/N: Saxongirl345 gave me the idea of a "Little Mermaid" story, so many thanks to her. Ugh, I hate writing in first person, but it seemed to work better for this little fic. Sorry to Mr H.C. Anderson for messing with his story. Feedback is welcome.