Ardent Warrior, Faithful Heart
Summary: The story of Nimue - of life, love, loyalty, and loss.
Author's Note: I have long loved the legend of King Arthur and his knights, and while I was apprehensive at first about seeing the story stripped of its magic, I thought the movie was great. This story is an attempt to fit a common character from the legend into the Romanesque version given to us on the big screen. Among other things, Nimue has often been portrayed as Merlin's apprentice, but with no magic at work here, I have given her another role. I hope you enjoying reading it, as I am enjoying writing it. Reviews are welcome, and though it's young, this seems like a friendly and helpful fandom that I am excited to be writing in!
Chance Encounter
Alone time – that was exactly what Tristan needed right now. With recent rumors of Rome's intention to leave Britain, Arthur had taken his knights southward to Caerleon to meet with the Roman commander there. It had been a long journey from their hold at Eboracum, and it was turning out to be an even longer trip back as Arthur took them as far north as Hadrian's Wall itself to check their outposts there.
It had been a trying patrol to say the least, and Tristan largely credited that to the lack of fighting. One thing he had learned from fifteen years with his fellow knights, was that they got on much better when they had a common enemy to distract them. Unfortunately, their trip southward had produced few, lending to a steady rise in tension among them. Add that to a newly found resentment for their southern counterparts, and a growing anticipation over their upcoming discharge, and Tristan found himself appreciating his lone position of scout more and more. Not that any of his comrades found his behavior out of the ordinary, he had always been a solitary figure among the close knit group, and any change in the two months remaining before meeting up with Bishop Germanius' arrival party was unlikely.
Currently the small band of travelers was stopped at Luguvallium, a small fort located directly on the western end of the wall. It was by far their closest post to enemy territory in the north. Still, their was a strong Roman presence there for the time being, and the Woads had learned from experience that it was easily defended due to a strong vantage point. Therefore, when Tristan walked alone from the fort, leading his horse leisurely behind him for a little break from the others, he was surprised to find himself suddenly surrounded by four of his painted enemies not five hundred yards from the safety of Luguvallium's stone walls.
With a fleeting glance back at the camp to check for any hope of reinforcements, and settled for drawing his sword when there were none to be found. Sizing up his opponents, he attempted to determine the best course of action. He was obviously outnumbered, but in his favor was his skill. Though they were capable and courageous warriors, one alone was no match for any of the Sarmatian knights. Their short stature did not help much either. Still, in this case, with the odds stacked against him numerically, it was unlikely that he would come out of a fight unscathed. But then again, what choice did he have.
Gripping his sword in both hands, he assumed a fighting stance and waited for one of the Woads to strike. He did not wait long before one of them swung, forcing him to parry. Immediately the other three moved forward to strike, but unfortunately for them, the opportunity never came.
"DON'T TOUCH HIM!"
A deep, but characteristically feminine voice resonated loudly and the four Woads froze at the sound and stepped back. The language was not his own, but to Tristan, fifteen years in a foreign land did not seem so foreign anymore, and he understood the words clearly. Upon hearing them, his eyes flickered for a moment as he debated between looking toward the source of the voice and maintaining his gaze on his attackers. In the end, he seemed satisfied that whatever had stopped their attack to begin with, was most likely enough to keep him safe long enough to find out for himself. Turning his attention away from the present threat, Tristan found his inquiring stare met by a narrowed set of brown eyes framed by dark hair and black paint. Instinctively his gaze shot back to the Woads surrounding him when a sudden motion caught his eye beside him.
"I said, don't touch him," the woman repeated, and immediately the Woad who had dared to move recoiled.
"If we kill him now there will be one less of them later," the man standing directly in front of Tristan spoke up.
His argument went unanswered momentarily as the woman came forward and stepped up close, drawing a long, curved knife and pressing it close to the man's neck.
"Are you arguing with me," she asked him in barely a whisper.
Shaking his head no, the man immediately fell silent.
"Good, then all of you get out of here or I'll let him kill you one by one."
And with that, they were gone, just as fast as they had come. The woman lingered for only a moment. Her dark gaze boring into his without revealing any emotion of her own, but unable to read him as well. Finally, she sheathed the knife she had drawn earlier, gave Tristan a slight nod, turned and followed the others without so much as a glance over her shoulder.
Standing there staring at the spot where the she-Woad had disappeared into the trees, Tristan became aware of the sound of hooves approaching behind him.
"What happened?" He heard Gawain yell to him with concern as he brought his mount to a halt.
Turning slowly to face him, Tristan shook his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts. "She called them off."
"She, called them off?" Gawain repeated slowly, taking a moment to comprehend what he had just seen and heard.
With a nod and a shrug, Tristan re-sheathed his sword, mounted his horse and followed Gawain back to the fort. On the way he shot a final look over his shoulder where he was certain he saw a slender figure watching him from within the cover of the trees.