I am pleased to finally present the next chapter, which focuses first of all on the passing of Lamorak and then on Isolde and Tristan. I hope you enjoy it and understand the motives behind Isolde's actions, but feel free to suggest any improvements. Reviews, of course, would be received very gratefully!
Disclaimer: I do not own the 'King Arthur' film or any of its characters. This is written solely for entertainment purposes.
Chapter 21
Funeral of a Friend
Vanora and I instinctively assumed responsibility for Celia and under the guise of her guardians, we left Lamorak's eerily still deathbed after a period of reflection that was testament tour innate respect for the fallen knight. She herself did not resist when we accompanied her home into the care of her solemn father, having descended into a somewhat protective trance. In all honesty, I could not decipher which of Celia's two drastically disparate moods was worse to witness, for her silent despair wrenched at our weary hearts as forcefully as her plaintive wailing. The seamstress stumbled repeatedly over the roughened surface of the road and I tightened my grip on her forearm in passive solicitude for her physical wellbeing; then, her emotional welfare was hopelessly forsaken and only the passage of time might heal those unseen scars.
"Thank you, girls," Celia's father said gruffly when we reached their shop. "Will you remain here for a moment? I've something to tell you." Although neither of us were young enough to be considered mere 'girls' in polite society, I supposed we must have resembled lost children when we arrived on his doorstep and even Vanora's strong façade did not completely hide her grief. Vanora gave my hand a comforting squeeze as we awaited the old man's return, but I noticed that her other palm rested tenderly over the curve of her pregnant stomach. She would have the eternal love of that infant's father and the welcome distraction the babe itself would bring not long hence – as yet, I had no such solace, even if I might sometimes dream of finding it in unlikely quarters.
When Celia's father came back from settling our friend in her room to rest, he began candidly, "I intend to take Celia away for a time. Her mother's sister dwells in a settlement further south and there she may recuperate as much as she is able, away from the memories of this place." Initially, we were speechless and uncomprehending; we had lost one friend, but now must another of our dearest companions be lost to us?
"Celia has friends here, who'd be willing to support her unstintingly," Vanora replied with a steely, albeit brittle edge to her tone and I internally applauded the truth of her sentiment. Without doubt, Celia would need her family's devotion now more than ever in the absence of her lover, but we could not conceive that she would wish to distance herself from the ones to whom she had bonded so affectionately to during her blossoming relationship with Lamorak.
"I am aware of that," he said heavily, almost resentfully as if we were impediments to his daughter's happiness. "Do not believe that I am ungrateful for your support, but I only seek to ensure Celia's wellbeing. However, I shall do no more than advise her and she need not trouble herself until after the funeral." All of us were aware that no common consensus could be reached on this important matter and that the decision would lie ultimately upon Celia's shoulders, so we took our leave courteously. Outside, the cloudless sky above seemed incongruous and distasteful to my eyes and I was not sorry when I had reached the familiar, homely confines of the knights' household; nothing stirred within earshot and I sequestered myself without reproach in my chambers. Finally, I took stock of the situation at hand and I simply wept without attempting to stem the flow of tears, sinking gracelessly to the dusty, unswept floor. My hair which had recently been smooth and luscious, now wholly shielded my face in an unkempt torrent of curls. The heights of happiness and freedom which I had attained since my arrival at this northern Roman stronghold had been temporarily demolished by the passing of such a valiant and generous Sarmatian as well as the prospect of the separation from a most compassionate confidante.
Two days passed before the inevitable occasion of Lamorak's funeral became a dreaded reality for us and the strain of the previous few days were etched heavily on the faces of the man's brothers-in-arms. There had not been a great deal of interaction between any of us, but once or twice, an outpouring of grief morphed into anguished, often directionless attacks. These were largely maintained behind the privacy of closed doors and were rapidly diffused by Arthur whose calming presence was an invaluable aid at this time. His burden appeared to cause him physical pain as well as emotional torment for I often gazed pitifully at his haggard countenance or aggrieved grimaces. It was not completely evident whether he was wounded more by the death of a member of his company or the fractious mood that threatened bonds of over fourteen years old.
Whilst on a visit to check on Celia's morose state with Vanora, I was informed that this tense atmosphere was not novel, but perhaps more virulent than ever before for one pressing reason: "Lamorak was so very close to obtaining his freedom. The knights all contemplate their futures now, even if they don't admit to considering anything other than wenches, ale and bloodshed." She could have confidence that her own fate would be intertwined with that of Bors, either here in the forts of Britain or on the wild steppes of Sarmatia. I too had wondered how these men could just return to their former lives that would surely be so alien to them now, forgetting the fellowship that linked them.
The funeral itself was to take place in the cemetery that lay in the shadow of the fort's walls – perhaps a lasting symbol of his escape from Roman dominion where death was but an alternative path to freedom. I alone elected to accompany Celia, so that she might have an ally in her bereavement and Bors would have his own stalwart companion at his side. I felt as though I had expended all my tears and Celia herself was not crying as we made our way to the graveyard. Our fine dresses attracted curious eyes as we traversed the fort's busier quarters, but we paid them no heed and nobody sought to interfere, potentially due to the looming presence of Dagonet and Tristan.
There was little ceremony in the sad affair, but Vanora steadied her beautiful voice enough to sing a haunting elegy that struck all the mourners keenly. I was unable to comprehend that Lamorak's own body was in the coffin that was lowered ritually into the damp earth by Bors, Lancelot and Galahad. Celia let out a slight whimper as the coffin struck the base of the grave with a gentle thud, but otherwise retained a façade of a dignified woman, mourning for her brave warrior. There was a strange finality in that moment and I cast my glance at the commander, whose lips moved in silent prayer before he unobtrusively crossed himself in a pious gesture that went unnoticed by Bors, who would had ordinarily mocked it endlessly. The scout who so readily commanded my own attention was rigid and immobile as a marble statue of a demigod or emperor and he did not meet my gaze. Each man was bidding Lamorak farewell in his own private fashion and I wished to offer up a prayer for the fallen knight, but it seemed that I had forgotten how. At last I simply murmured, "Be at peace." I had been indebted to Lamorak as well as to all his comrades both for my very life and liberty, but there was a good deal more to our bond than mere compunction – loyalty and affection existed in harmony.
Next the cool earth was shovelled over the coffin's surface until it had piled into a curved mound that marked out Lamorak's final resting place here in a foreign land. Gawain and Dagonet themselves had chosen to fulfil this physical task and the exertion seemed to offer them a welcome channel for their grief. When the knight's sword had been plunged into the ground nearby to denote the warrior's grave, the mourners drifted away slowly until only myself and Celia remained. She knelt down and hesitantly stretched out her trembling fingers to graze the surface of the piled soil as if she could reach out to her betrothed via this medium.
"I asked myself whether I regretted falling in love with Lamorak today," she told me softly with a bitter, humourless smile. "It was a foolish thought; I could never repent wishing to be at his side always, but minor trivialities haunt me here and there. The others probably told you that I rejected Lamorak's advances twice before finally deigning to acquaint myself with this stranger from a distant, exotic land…such a silly, girlish fear that was! If I had not and had only followed my heart, we would have had just a little more precious time in each other's company. Now I believe I shall visit my aunt for a while and wait until the recollections grow less agonising." I could find nothing coherent to reply to such a profound, unsettling remark and so I knelt down beside her, wrapping an arm around her slender frame, yet berated myself for my inability to relieve her pain as one could reduce physical symptoms with concoctions of herbs.
The pair of us had spent over an hour at the gravesite in pensive silence, surrounded by the graves of Sarmatians, Britons and Romans alike. Therefore, when I returned home, sleep came surprisingly easily to me, so much so that I scarcely had the presence of mind to divest myself of my formal gown and scant jewellery before I fell into a dreamless slumber even prior to the onset of evening.
Consequently, I awoke in the midst of night and the vividness of the constellations and crescent moon against the dark blanket of the sky indicated to me that dawn was still a long way off. The chill on my bar arms roused me to full alertness, but had a distinct fortifying quality that provoked me to slip on a light robe and leave my chambers barefoot. I decided to take advantage of the fresh air and peace of the overlooked courtyard; it would provide a form of solitude conducive to my reflective, sorrowful state of mind.
The thrill of such a midnight venture did not register with me today, but I relished the icy sensation of the cracked flagstones beneath my feet and I fancied that I was moving in a waking dream. After a short while, some instinct or unconscious sense made me turn and I watched wide-eyed as Tristan stepped through the door into the courtyard. His expression or bearing gave no clue as to whether he expected to find me out here, but I had no difficulty recognising the mutual grief. The scout's face appeared more unguarded by moonlight, which somehow invoked in me a powerful wave of tender emotion, especially since I had been verging on the precarious edge of vulnerability since the funeral ceremony. I hastily blinked back my tears as I was glad that he had joined me in spite of everything else, but some tears escaped the sweep of my lashes, glinting luminously against my fair complexion. Suddenly, his sight was trained penetratingly on me and he reached up to brush away these tears with a rough, calloused thumb. I was unspeakably moved by the sensitivity of his action, but he drew his hand away almost as swiftly. "He lived and died a warrior," he said bluntly, referring to his comrade and countryman's honour. This could not offer me solace for I lived for more than just the raw bloodshed of the battlefield. "Never forget that," he continued fiercely and I realised that he no longer spoke of Celia's dead lover alone, but also of himself and the others. Without allowing me any respite to ponder his words, his bowed lips crashed down on my unprepared ones. It was hardly a tender, romantic kiss, but was again full of fire, need and urgency, which I impulsively responded to, particularly spurred on by Celia's haunting words of regret for lost hours, days or years with her beloved. I felt a moment like this was immensely valuable, even if the future remained fragile and uncertain.
The sense of stillness that enveloped us when we broke apart, resting our foreheads together for proximity and I was encouraged to lay aside my weariness, sadness and fear during that passionate scene. Love genuinely was a cure for all ills and my feelings for the man soared with renewed vigour. Tristan consumed my mind and I presented no opposition when, after he examined my trusting, longing expression, he led me indoors again with a gentle, but insistent hand. At his door, I realised that I was ready and willing to spend the rest of the night with Tristan because although we needed the comfort of one another at that time, I had never experienced such sentiments of blind love for any man before. For this fleeting occasion, I truly believed he could make things right once more.