Chapter 9- Singing of Glory
They stopped and rested another night deep in the shadows of the forest. Elayne, in Galahad's view, seemed very silent and her taciturnity developed around their trust. It troubled him slightly. It was such a difference from her stubborn views before in the afternoon. Galahad figured out that Elayne had probably never before shared the events of her life since her village's destruction till she told him. She was very vague, a little cautious, but had finally warmed up to the knight who shared in her rescue and healing. Like the way Lucan clung to Dagonet, Guinevere to Lancelot and Arthur, so Elayne held onto Galahad and Gawain. Galahad couldn't help but feel a little self-righteous. Elayne however, during the silence that followed at the end of their long ride, seemed to speculate and contemplate the effect Galahad had on her.
They both did the same to each other and yet wanted to deny it. She had never found herself so open to anyone but her own father. As the bond between them grew, Elayne couldn't help but wonder what new feeling was arousing. Galahad didn't seem to graciously express the feeling either. He probably never had felt it before. But when Elayne felt his strong arms help her down from the petulant beast, the feeling she felt and saw wasn't faked. Elayne gathered the blanket around her cold shoulders, giving a slight shiver. Galahad held his arms around her for a brief moment, looking down at her bowed head with a tender face. He mumbled something and then walked over to Gawain. A soft bundle nudged her shoulder. Elayne turned around to see Tristan hand her a dark green cloak. The wool was thick and warm, feathery soft under her fingers.
"I had an extra just in case." Tristan's voice had a slight insinuation of benevolence to meet the merit in Elayne's eyes. She smiled warmly as she gazed down yearningly at the cloak. She threw the blanket aside on Galahad's horse and unclipped the cloak, throwing it around her body. She pulled the hood over her head, fingering the metal clasp. It was another Sarmatian symbol, Elayne guessed. Its knotted design was beautifully crafted. "The symbol means courage," Tristan added as a side note. Elayne felt special to be adorned with such a gift. She spun around, the hood slipping from her face, the wind catching her hair. But Tristan was already galloping away, back into the looming darkness. The glows of the fires caught the edge of his sheathed saber-like sword. Elayne was astounded at the fierce beauty of the weapon. As she gazed at the legendary knights of Arthur, she wondered how deadly and how glorious they were in battle.
Each moment here had mended a broken piece of her since her separation from her father. Elayne thought of her life before the Saxons came, before her mother died, who she remembered vaguely. Her mother had the face of an angel and a lyrical voice. Her gentle soul always seemed so sad and torn, broken. Elayne could only imagine a mournful look on her gorgeous face. Her shining beauty hindered by her saddened gaze. Her father refused to speak of Elayne's mother after she died. Elayne could only whip up the memories she held in her mind. Whenever her father looked down on his daughter, he was always reminded of his lost love through her eyes. Her father would hold Elayne close and instantly say he saw her mother through the same eyes, as if she died and her soul had sought Elayne's body, a reincarnation. That was the only resemblance the mother and daughter shared. Elayne had her mother's eyes and figure. But her light hair and skin was her father's. Her mother was a tall, and flawlessly slim woman and had a tan complexion and dark black hair. Elayne looked up to the stars that twinkled brightly. Songs filled the air, the soft tunes her mother had sang to her while Elayne drifted to sleep. As Elayne heard those songs now, she closed her eyes, the wind humming past her.
Elayne gazed down at the small campfires that grew, to the one with Dagonet and Lucan snuggled into his arms, to the one where Arthur and Lancelot conversed secretly. Elayne felt a deeper union sweep in her that related her to the heritage of the knights. Elayne just had yet to discover what it was. She was now searching for a past her father kept secret all those long years, and the identity that came with it.
An uproarious laughter exploded from the fire where sat Bors, Gawain, Galahad and an arrived Lancelot. The loud booming sound of Bors chorused with Gawain's hearty laugh. The hoots of amusement sliced through Elayne's thoughts in a jolt. The knights playfully rocked back and forth enjoying themselves, water bags full of a thin wine. Elayne couldn't help but smile. The knights were like revelers waiting for a long awaited festival. Elayne knew it was their laid back mood that blocked the grimness of the assignment from Rome. And it was the only way, to be joyous and uplifting, to cope with the hardships of fifteen years.
"Elayne!" Galahad called, motioning for her to join. Gawain turned around, a wide grin as he patted the blanket next to him. Galahad gave a boyish grin, all the complaints the two shared before thrown aside as to not spoil the moment. Besides, their arguments were pointless, just an endless stubborn squabble between the two. The grin made Elayne blush, thankful for the safety of the dark night to hide her red cheeks. Pretending a resentful mood, as if she hated the idea of sitting with savage men, she shambled slowly over. Galahad held out his hand, aiding her in the usual way to the ground to ease the bruises on her calves. The look shared however, revealed that the clever ministration was hardly needed anymore for healing wounds.
Bors took a quick swig from the leather flagon, passing it on to Lancelot. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, his eyes looking up and down at Elayne. "Dags cleaned you up well."
"Ah, Bors, what are you talking about, she didn't need the cleaning," Lancelot winked at Elayne. "Besides, I like them dirty anyway." The knights burst out laughing, Elayne flushing and turning away. Galahad spied the look, covering his smile as he tried to restrain his laugh. However, he found himself scanning her body up and down, the folds of the dress traveling perfectly over her budding body. Galahad was trapped starring at her and Gawain saw the entire action.
"Seems Galahad has already found the best of the girl," he said, pestering Galahad. The young knight's head snapped up. Elayne looked sharply at him. Galahad waited for her to swat him across the arm, but the scold came from Tristan as he sauntered by.
"We spend the whole day running from Saxon, and your loud-mouthed voices are only going to bring a spear to your gut," Tristan scoffed in his calm voice, then shrugged unconcernedly. "It'll be different waking up to that bloody scene I guess. I'll miss you," he added sarcastically.
"Aw come on," Bors complained. "We're just having fun, especially with Elayne's company and all." Tristan's eyes met Elayne's through the dark thick locks that always fell into his face. A shiver ran down her spine.
"How's the cloak?" he said in a witty tone. A pang of jealously crossed over Galahad's face. He watched Elayne wrap the cloak closer around her body.
"I suppose it will suit me," Elayne said stylishly, countering Tristan's question in mischief. Bors grunted a laugh, Gawain grinning as he took another sip of wine. Tristan excluded himself from the group, building his own makeshift bed next to his dozing horse. Unconsciously, Elayne wormed her way closer to Galahad and was leaning on his chest. She peeked over the fire at Tristan. The knight out-dressed himself of most his leather armor, and was whistling quietly as he sharpened his sword. Elayne watched his smooth motions, the flames' shadow dancing across his face and glinting off the sword. His eyes shot up so quickly Elayne didn't have a second to even think of looking away. She gave a silent gasp. The resemblance and quick thinking suddenly reminded her of her father.
There was a brother, a few years older than her and her father's pained look as he was stolen from him to fight in the war among savages. It was faint, Elayne couldn't even create a revisualization of the home she lived in or the brother she lost. The only home she knew was the one her and her father built with the other rebels. All the images suddenly swarmed into her head.
"Don't pay too much attention to Tristan Elayne, we all thought your mind was already made," Bors' voice made Elayne spring from Galahad's arms. The knights all shared looks, Galahad looking quite uncertain about what to do.
"What song were you humming?" Gawain asked, trying to change the subject. Elayne gave him a confused look. Gawain looked at his companions, making sure he wasn't hearing things. They all shared a peeked interest. Elayne thought about it, and then realized the song that ran through her head with the memories that quickly left it.
"Oh, just a tune my father used to sing to me when I was little. My mother taught it to him before…she died." Elayne felt unsure about sharing her past. This made Galahad all the more proud to know it.
"Well, sing it for us," Bors said. Elayne protested. Bors greedily snatched back the wine from Lancelot. "Sing!" Elayne gave a weak smile, her eyes staring into the orange glow of the fire.
Today my love, today is special,
The days of freedom are soon at hand.
Long battles fought and blood is shed,
We pay the price for other's lust.
The dread of night disappears,
With dawn's first light,
Their armor shines so bright.
Our sons, our sons, victors wield,
Strength and honor,
Love and glory.
Fear not my love, they shan't be long.
The years will pass in fortune glory,
The blood it seeps beneath the ground.
The hellish night will not abound.
The dread of night disappears,
With dawn's first light,
Their armor shines so bright.
Our sons, our sons, victors wield,
Strength and honor,
Love and glory…
The song faded softly from Elayne's lips, a gentle breeze catching the last notes towards Tristan. The others remained silent, even Tristan himself was frozen in the spot. They all had faces of grave, somber and grim moods. Elayne saw them give pained and forced smiles. Galahad and Gawain feigned warm glances. Lancelot closed his eyes, shaking his head distraughtly. Bors hide his glower in his hand. But they all faced the now coming dawn with renewed strength and might.