Author's Note: Okay, guys, here's your update! Sorry about the delay; I ran into a bit of writer's block and I couldn't think of anything to write, so I hope this chapter is all right. Enjoy!
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VI: A Romanorum ex Certamen
"No, it's fine," she told Arthur nonchalantly.
Tristan's eyes snapped towards her, where she stood, completely calm, looking up into Arthur's grateful face. It's fine? It's fine? Maybe for you! Tristan thought darkly. He felt a flush of irritation creeping up his neck.
Arthur clapped them both on their shoulders, smiling appreciatively. "Thank you both for being so cooperative," and he waltzed back up to where Varo stood, waiting.
Wait! Tristan felt like shouting, no one asked me if it was all right! Why couldn't she bunk with Arthur? She was, after all, his cousin. But no, he and Lancelot had things to discuss, as per usual.
But, he resolved not to say anything, almost to spite himself. He gritted his teeth, and was suddenly determined to make the best of this … this intrusive, improper, inconvenient, perfectly agonizing situation. He looked back towards her, watching her as she absently rubbed Syhier's ears after putting him on the ground, her black hair falling around her lovely, shadowed face. Damnit. He swiftly averted his gaze, staring into the bleak horizon.
"I expect you've all had a very tiring journey," Varo was crooning to Arthur, "Your quarters will be ready for you as soon as you have settled your horses."
"Thank you, Lord Varo," Arthur replied, with a slight inclination of his head. After an awkward pause, in which they received Varo's asinine smile, but no direction, Arthur said finally, "Your stables?"
"Ah!" said Varo, clapping his hands; "I knew I was forgetting something; to your right, then to your left after one hundred paces. You can't miss it."
Actually, the barn would have been easily missed, as it was buried behind all of the estate's buildings, and it would have taken significantly longer to find if four hostler boys had not passed in front of them, each leading big, beautiful carriage horses.
They followed behind the carriage horses to a huge barn; Eracura had thought that Arthur's barn was big, and this was at least three times the size. She had never seen so many horses in one place before. Eracura stood agape, eyes roving over the beautiful animals, until Astolat nudged Eracura impatiently. Eracura turned, stroking the mare's black muzzle, while Arthur addressed a hostler-boy, asking him where they were to go. He coldly directed them to a group of empty stalls near the back of the barn, and Eracura was actually stunned at the boy's blatant insolence for Arthur, who, surprisingly didn't seem to mind. He dismissed it with a flippant, "I've been treated worse by better people," while removing his stallion's saddle.
Eracura returned to Astolat, rubbing the mare down. Well, if his disrespect didn't concern Arthur, then she wouldn't let it distress her, either.
She tended to speculate though, if servants had treated them so, the men and women calling themselves nobles who had ghastly mannerisms bred into their blood since birth would surely not speak to them a fraction better.
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After tending their horses, she and Tristan were guided to their quarters by an attractive, petite servant girl by the name of Aurelia, who also happened to be very, very talkative. She informed them that dinner would be served in two hours, which would provide them with just enough time to wash in the bath house – their private bath house, mind, for every four rooms of the entire estate shared a bath house, she boasted, through an absurd smile that looked as though it had been plastered on.
Eracura found her quite vexing, especially the suggestive way she looked up at Tristan, batting her long eyelashes over her shining green eyes.
Aurelia ushered them into their quarters, a plain, but serviceable room with two beds on opposite sides of the room, and a large hearth in the exact center of the back wall, before which laid a large bearskin rug.
Eracura chose the bed on the south side of the room, and dumped her pack on the bed, making a show of removing her clothing in a vain attempt to try and ignore Aurelia and Tristan.
"You should come and see me tonight," Aurelia said, and Eracura whipped around after placing Syhier on the bed so that he could investigate. Aurelia stood close to Tristan, pressing her ample bosom into him, tracing her fingers along the stitching in his leather jerkin. She tossed her long, deep red hair over one shoulder, biting her full bottom lip. With a dismissive glance towards Eracura, who still had not shown her face, Aurelia added, "your friend can come too."
Tristan snorted, and Eracura bit her lip to swallow her amusement, dumping her swords and daggers onto the bed and was tremendously satisfied with the dull, but loud clunk they made. This startled Aurelia and made her frown disdainfully towards Eracura, who had removed her cloak and turned around to face them, hands upon her hips.
"No, thank you," said Eracura, smiling at the shocked way Aurelia stared at her. She stood rooted to the spot, unsure of what to say. "You're not my sort."
"You can go now," Tristan told her, in a coldly polite tone. Aurelia glared up at him, then back at Eracura, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted. She looked back to Tristan, making her way towards the door.
"You'd rather spend the night with a witch than with me," she jerked open the door, and stepped out into the hallway, "So the great Sarmatian knights are not so respectable, after all."
Tristan strode quickly to the door, and said, his voice like ice, "I don't think spending the night with you would make me any more respectable," and he shut the door in her furious face.
As much as Eracura hated to admit it, the girl's jealous words had struck one of her few and more sensitive nerves. She slumped down onto the bed, and Syhier climbed into her lap as she rested her chin in her hand.
"Not a very friendly place, is it?" Eracura shook her head in reply, even though his back was turned to her and she knew he could not see.
Tristan turned to look at her, and she was staring, as though transfixed at a dark stain on the cold stone floor while Syhier licked her arm.
"Hey," he said softly, touching her thin shoulder, "are you alright?"
"Fine," she replied shortly. Then, sitting up straighter to look up at him, she explained, "I've never been called a witch before."
Tristan gave a short laugh, "is that what is bothering you? Well, you aren't, so you shouldn't let women like that hassle you." Her only response was looking away, avoiding his gaze. "You aren't, right?" He didn't believe she was, for even a moment, but he had to ask.
"I don't know. I've heard the other men refer to my Father as a witch, so does that make me one, as well?"
"Who is your - " he stopped himself short, recalling the only Woad they had ever called a witch, "your Father is Merlin?" She nodded, and he sat down beside her, heaving a lengthy exhale and receiving a lick to his hand from Syhier, who was now nestled comfortably between them.
After a long silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity, Eracura said, "so what's your verdict?"
"You're not a witch. And neither is your Father."
She gave him a small smile, "My thanks."
He patted her on the back. "Come; we should clean up for dinner."
"I'm suddenly not hungry."
He gave her a measured stare through his forelock of dark hair. "Liar." She sighed, but did not say anything. "I'll have some food sent in for the both of you."
"Thank you," she replied. She followed him to the door; "Have fun," she said sarcastically.
He groaned, and continued down the hall to the bathhouse. She closed the door, and leaned back against it with a sigh, smiling in a way that could only be described as wistful.
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Eventually, Eracura got a fire going, and she sat on the bearskin rug beside it, playing with Syhier until he fell asleep curled up on her belly. She dozed off while rubbing his soft fur and watching the flames in the hearth, and it was some time until a persistent knocking roused her.
Eracura gently transferred Syhier from her belly to the floor, and trotted to the door, throwing it open to find a young girl holding a basket of food.
She curtsied shyly and said, "Your friend … the … knight … he sent me."
"Oh," Eracura smiled, and her stomach rumbled suddenly, "Well, thank you." She took the basket from the girl, whose brown eyes strayed downwards to where Syhier was lingering at Eracura's heels.
The girl's cupid's-bow mouth formed a small o and she crouched, holding out her hand. Syhier smelled her fingers, and licked her. "Oh how cute," she said.
"Uh, do you want to join us?" Eracura invited. The girl was rather emaciated; she could use some good food and some company.
The girl straightened immediately, looking shocked at Eracura's invitation. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "I am finished my chores. Would you mind much?"
"No," said Eracura, "come in."
They sat by the fire, and the girl, who Eracura learned was called Lindara, fed Syhier milk from an extra goat's-belly bottle that the wet nurse used when she wasn't feeling up to actually nursing.
During a companionable silence, in which a very full Syhier ambled over to Eracura, crawling into her lap and promptly falling asleep, Lindara seemed pensive, and Eracura watched her struggle through some inner turmoil.
"What's the matter?" she finally asked.
"Aurelia …" said Lindara.
"I don't like her," Eracura replied firmly.
"No, neither do I; I never have. She's going around the estate telling everyone you're a witch."
Eracura snorted. "Do you believe that?"
Lindara looked up at her, and shook her head. "I've never met anyone like you, before. You're one of the blue people, from north of the wall." It wasn't a question, but neither was it an accusation. It was a simple statement, and Eracura nodded her head.
"Yes, I am."
"How did you come to be here? And in the company of the knights?"
"You mustn't tell anyone; I'm not sure how it would affect his reputation," said Eracura.
Lindara's mouth widened, "you're the … the lover of the knight who sent me here!" she speculated. Eracura was taken aback, and was not quite sure that she had heard Lindara correctly. The childlike, expecting look on Lindara's face confirmed she had indeed heard properly. Then she laughed until tears ran down her face. "What?" Lindara demanded crossly.
She laughed again, and finally managed, "no, I am not his lover."
Lindara blushed deeply. "Sorry. Romantic fancies and all that."
"I am Arthur's cousin," Eracura told her finally.
"Cousin to the great Arthur Castus? But how? He is a Roman."
"He is half Roman," Eracura corrected. "His Mother was my Mother's sister. A Woad."
"Oh, I see."
Eracura smiled, "not nearly as interesting as your version." Lindara blushed again, and was momentarily lost for words.
"Have you ever thought about it?"
Eracura raised one eyebrow, watching Lindara as she took a bite out of a roll. "Thought about what?"
Lindara rolled her eyes impatiently. "Being that man's lover, of course; the one with the tattoos on his cheeks. I can see how you could; I mean … he is dreadfully handsome. Though, they all are. How I envy you."
Eracura smiled, and then sighed. "Yes, I've thought about it." Lindara looked at her, tilting her head to one side. "He wouldn't have me," Eracura assured the young girl.
"Have you asked?"
"Of course not!" Eracura laughed.
"Then how do you know?"
"He is a knight, and I am a Woad. His duty is to kill my people. For all intents and purposes, we are theoretically enemies."
"So? Sometimes a rivalry sparks the best romance."
