Wow, thanks everyone for all the positive comments! I'll try to keep updating as quickly as possible, but next week might get a little hectic (stupid finals). Anyways here's the next chapter.
---------------
It was already mid-afternoon and still I had gotten nothing accomplished. My morning had been spent at Hadrian's Wall trying to find a viable mate for that damn antisocial scout, and believe me, it was not an easy task. Why couldn't he be like the other knights and actually take a bloody interest in the opposite sex?
Instead, he stalked around the fort like a wolf in the night, skulking through the shadows, observing, never participating. He probably thought it made him appear dangerous and intimidating, but I saw through that. Tristan was no better than Lancelot, just putting on a show to prove something about himself. That's how all of us are, really.
Tristan was even more antisocial than usual lately, a state for which I knew I was partly to blame. The only people he ever came close to engaging with were the knights and thanks to my scheming, they had been otherwise occupied as of late. Every day, Gawain and Anna would take long walks in the meadows---before something else started taking a walk in another meadow. Galahad and Eleanor could generally be found romping around in the hay stacks of the stables---riding each other instead of the horses. Bors and Vanora went pretty much anywhere---and tried to remember what number came after eleven. Arthur and Guinevere would wander off to a secluded location to play sword in the stone, though it was never secluded enough because Lancelot always managed to secretly make himself their audience while giving his own sword a vigorous polishing. He was one sick bastard.
Anyways, that left poor, single Tristan all to himself, though he seemed not to mind too terribly much. Nevertheless, I had to find him someone soon, mostly because I just wanted the job to finally be over and done with. All this love business was incredibly tiring and I could not understand why people had such affinities for it. Finding the right person for Tristan seemed anything but hopeful, seeing as he had, in my opinion, too little of a personality with which to even attempt to match compatibility. The stoic scout wasn't much help either, as he appeared completely indifferent to every female he crossed paths with. I wished I could figure out what went on in that dark head of his, but until that happened I could not with a clear conscience wish that downhearted outcast on even my worst enemy. I pitied any woman who might take him as a lover. I could just picture the happy couple with their apple orchard and nest of baby hawks.
No, Tristan was a killer and would always be a killer---plain and simple. I had to admit he earned a tiny amount of respect from me for that, despite the fact that it was making my task nearly impossible. I had spent all morning at the Wall thinking about who I should condemn to be his lover when finally I threw my hands up in the air and simply gave up. I decided that it really didn't matter anyway. I would just shoot him with the damn arrow and let him fall for the first woman he laid eyes on. If the woman turned out to be a pock-marked old grandmother, so be it. I'd hit her with the potion-stained arrow as well and soon the scout and unfortunate soul would be permanently attached. I just hoped none of the female members of Bors' clan of bastards would be the first to catch his sight. That could be disastrous---but I was willing to take my chances.
Later in the morning while I was still at the Wall, Arthur had ordered Tristan to scout out the woods for any possible threats. I couldn't help but find the situation a bit humorous. The incident of the arrow in Lancelot's buttocks had been shrugged off as a harmless prank, but the anonymous attack on the defenseless maiden Anna could not be so easily forgotten, particularly by her new found protector, Gawain. It was therefore decided that Tristan should head out into the forest in order to detect any possible assailants that might be lurking in the trees.
I decided to venture off into the forest myself to see if any opportunities of infecting Tristan with the potion would present themselves. I limped along the forest floor with that cursed lame leg of mine for a good long while until I became fatigued and stopped by the lake to get a drink of water. I looked down at my reflection, but as usual I did not recognize myself. The Unspeakable had altered me from the inside out. If you had asked me what exactly was different about my appearance, I honestly could not have told you. But something had changed. I felt the pendant hanging around my neck that He had given me and quickly willed those thoughts to the outer fringes of my mind. There was no need to go back there.
Fortunately, at that moment, the rustling of footsteps interrupted my train of thought and provided a much appreciated distraction. I peered out from behind a tree to find the diligent scout advancing through the woods and carefully studying his surroundings. Well, granted, he must not have been studying his surroundings too carefully since I managed to evade his perception.
In yet another turn of good fortune, I noticed a small group of Woad women congregated in a clearing just ahead. Everything was falling into place and though I did not believe in fate, I could not help but feel that a no more perfect opportunity could have presented itself. I drew my bow from where it had rested around my shoulder and retrieved a potion-stained arrow from my quiver. I drew back the arrow and took aim at the scout's thigh, hoping to incapacitate him enough that one of Woad women would be required to come to his aid, receiving in thanks an arrow wound of her own. They would then nurse each other back to health, fall deeply in love, and I would be free of this romantic nonsense once and for all.
I was about to release the arrow when a sharp spasm ran up my defective leg, as was known to happen from time to time. I winced involuntarily, more from the suddenness than from the pain, and closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds. When I opened my eyes, however, the scout was nowhere in sight. My heart stopped, petrified, and I could scarcely take air into my lungs. Suddenly, a body flew from out of nowhere and rammed into my side, sending me crashing to the ground and sending my previously poised arrow straight up into the heavens.
It was his dark tousled hair that I conceived first, those queer-looking braids of his brushing across my face as his weight pressed my body to the ground. I struggled beneath him, writhing this way and that until finally I managed to knee him in the crotch with my good leg, sending him rolling and groaning to the ground next to me.
Doesn't it figure that whenever my luck runs out, it really runs out? Just as I managed to push the scout's body off from on top of mine, the arrow that I had let slip into the sky came zipping back down, embedding itself in my shoulder. My body tensed and I gasped at the sudden penetration that shot pain down my entire arm and throughout my chest.
Once the initial shock of the injury wore off, I quickly sprang into reparation mode. I wrapped my fingers around the end of the arrow that protruded from my shoulder and gave a forceful tug, pulling the bolt from my flesh. I won't pretend that it was painless. On the contrary, it hurt like hell---but I was all too familiar with pain and it no longer affected me so much. I had suffered through much worse than an arrow wound during the Unspeakable.
It wasn't until I had torn a piece of cloth from my shirt to make an impromptu bandage, that I remembered the scout's presence. The muscles of his face were tense and fierce, his almond eyes penetrating me deeper than the arrow had. He stood over me menacingly and I noticed that he had drawn his sword, daring me to try to make a run for it. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction, though. I nonchalantly began wrapping the cloth tightly around my blood-stained shoulder, letting him know that his presence did not intimidate me.
After I had finished my handiwork, I got to my feet and looked at him severely. "What the hell do you think you're doing jumping on people like that?" I demanded.
His expression did not change. "What the hell are you doing shooting arrows at people?" he asked.
I rubbed my shoulder and looked at him disdainfully. "As far as I can tell, I'm the only one who's been hit with an arrow," I said bitterly, "So it's really none of your business."
With that, I tried to turn and walk away, but before I could take another step, I had a curved sword at my throat. "Why do you want me dead?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"You are obviously mistaken," I replied firmly, "I don't want you dead."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow that told me he didn't believe me. "I saw you with your bow," he said in his no-nonsense tone, "You were aiming at me."
"Yes," I affirmed, "but I wasn't trying to kill you."
This clearly made no sense to him. "Then what were you trying to do?"
"Well, I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"It's too complicated."
"Try."
"No."
We had reached a stalemate, and it was clear that neither of us were willing to bend. Instead, we simply stood there, staring indignantly at each other. That was when I first became aware of my stomach twisting itself into knots and the warm blood coursing through my veins. I had never felt such a strange sensation. The throbbing pain in my shoulder, however, quickly slapped me in the face with the sudden realization that I had accidentally poisoned myself with Merlin's concoction!
I looked warily over at Tristan, my heart quivering in my chest. For the first time I noticed his height---he was tall; lean, but strong. His eyes flickered with specks of gold behind the vagrant strands of hair that fell across his brow. If that were not torture enough, he slid his tongue along his lips to moisten them against the dry air. Cruel, cruel man! I felt the sudden urge to leap on top of him as he had done to me but moments ago. I wanted to feel my body once again pressed against his chiseled frame. My head felt light and dizzy, my cheeks hot and flushed. Why had I suddenly forgotten how to breathe?
My state of sheer panic was fortunately interrupted as he let out an exasperated sigh. His face remained as stoic and calm as ever, though, as he said, "Well, I can't wait around here forever, so you can either start explaining or I can just get on with killing you."
He was bluffing. I knew he was bluffing---but then his sword started to dig deeper into the skin on my neck, and I wasn't so sure anymore. "No! Stop! Please!" I cried desperately, as a drop of blood trickled down my neck.
"Tell me," he ordered.
What could I do? I began rambling nonsensically, "Merlin told me that I have to find lovers for all of Arthur's knights---I don't know why. He's just a crazy, meddling old man, and he thinks things will be better if all the knights are settled down---and you're the only one left---and there's a group of women just over there in that clearing---and I thought if you were wounded---not severely or mortally or anything, but just a little wounded---that they could come to your aid---and then maybe you might like one of them---" And so I strung phrase after ridiculous phrase together in an explanation so unconvincing that by the end, I was starting to doubt it myself. Upon reflection, I realized that I had been careful to leave out the minor detail that Merlin's potion happened to be the key ingredient to inducing the attraction and, more importantly, the love that I had been assigned to produce. I could not very well disclose that part of the plan to Tristan, though. He would then surely ascertain that I had accidentally contaminated myself with the potion, that my head went fuzzy every time our eyes met, and that I was now permanently under his spell. I would be forever humiliated!
To my utmost dismay, however, the absurdity of my story did not seem phase Tristan in the slightest. He listened very intently to everything I said and when I was finished, replied seriously, "So it was you who shot the maiden by the lake?"
"Yes," I said softly, unable to make eye contact.
"And you shot her with an arrow to make her fall in love with Gawain?"
"Yes---so that he would rescue her, and they would fall in love."
"And just now you wanted to shoot me with an arrow so I would fall in love with a Woad girl?"
"Yes."
He removed his sword from my neck and I exhaled with relief. "Well, don't do it again," he said with a shade of rebuke in his voice. I couldn't believe it. 'That's it?' I thought, 'Don't do it again?' Tristan's eyes drifted over to the jar of Merlin's potion that lay next to my bow by the tree. "What's that?" he asked.
"Nothing…" I answered, trying to sound as innocent as possible, "Just Woad war paint. I'm sure you've seen it before."
He gave me a scrutinizing look, and there was something in his eyes that told me he saw right through my lies. To my relief, he did not press me further, however, and simply said, "You shouldn't meddle in other people's affairs."
"It's not like I have a choice about it!" I cried in protest, offended by his superior attitude, "I have my orders." And if this wasn't enough to convince him, I spat, "You should know all about carrying out commands against your will."
That was a low blow, reminding him of his previously forced service to Rome, but I didn't care. Nothing could get a rise out of that man. He looked at me with his usual indifference and said, "Nevertheless, my concerns, romantic or otherwise, are my own and no one else's. I don't want your help."
My heart sank at the sting of rejection, but I found myself blurting out, "You may not want it, but you clearly need it."
"I'm well enough off on my own, thank you," he replied mockingly, "I have no desire to form any attachments."
Oh, harsh, scathing words! I wanted to beg him, plead with him, to want me---to love me. But I knew that it was just Merlin's potion making me think these things. This was terribly inconvenient. I didn't feel that way really, not truly deep down inside of me. I had to resist the urges that my poisoned blood was fueling. I couldn't let that damn concoction gain power over my free will. I was stronger than that.
I watched as Tristan put his sword back in its scabbard and whistled for his horse, apparently satisfied that I wasn't trying to kill him and that he need not remain any longer. I decided that nothing had changed, really, except that I would have to be extra discreet in my next attempt to infect him with the potion. My unfortunate blunder would not alter my plans. Tristan would have his fair maiden yet, and I would just have to learn to forget him in time.
I staggered over to where my bow lay, and slung it over my shoulder. I blushed at the realization that Tristan had seen my limp. "Did I hurt you?" he asked with a concern that seemed almost sincere.
"What?" I asked, confused at first, then realizing what he meant, added, "No, no. It was like that before---not always, but---before."
"Oh," was all that he said. I felt angry---angry that he had brought up my leg, angry that he had reminded me of the Unspeakable. I wanted him to go away. I wanted to be alone.
"Who are you?" he asked suddenly.
"Kira," I answered, "And you're Tristan." I tried not to blush as I said his name.
"Yes," he said, and there was an awkward silence until he asked abruptly, "So you could really find someone to be my lover?"
Now he was just humoring me because he felt sorry for me. I hated that. Just because I had a lame leg did not make me completely pitiful. Nevertheless, I replied, "Yes, I could."
He paused for a moment with a thoughtful look on his face. "Alright," he said, "But I want to be involved in the arrangement. No more of this sneaking around and scheming behind my back."
"I'll let you pick whoever you want," I offered. At least that would save me the trouble of having to finding someone for him.
"Whoever I want?" he repeated skeptically, "You think you can make anyone fall in love with me?"
"Yes, I know I can," I replied confidently, though it broke my heart to think of it.
"Okay, then. Prove it," he dared.
And that's exactly what I intended to do. I would prove to that stubborn scout that I could make any maiden fall at his feet with amour. I would prove to myself that I could conquer the raging desires of my heart that Merlin's potion had produced. I would prove that I could never fall victim to such synthetic love.