Chapter 25

The smoke had finally cleared from the evening air and the cries of the battle field had slowly died down as the wounded men were either aided to the infirmary or left this world for good. Jols rode ahead quickly on the road to catch up with the women and to relay the news of victory. When asked if there were any casualties, the man frowned deeply. With a heavy heart he was forced to announce the death of Lancelot and the grave condition in which Tristan now lay.

For the first time in years Vanora sat down on the ground and truly cried. She shed tears of sadness at the loss of their lifelong friend and the weakened state that Tristan now rested in. Even the joy that her lover was safe from harm once more did little to comfort her this time. Halener, who was standing nearby, walked over to Jols and grabbed his arm. "Azalea...how does she fair?"

"Azalea?" Jols questioned.

"Yes. Tristan's woman. Have you heard news of her? Is she well?"

"Oh...Aye she is very well. Although she refuses to leave the mans side, even at Arthurs command." Jols answered. He climbed down off of his dark brown steed and tied the mare to a tree that grew beside the road. Jols began to help the women turn the carts around and to start their journey back to the wall.

"Yes, well that is to be expected." Vanora replied when she thought about an event six years ago when Bors had almost died. He had been struck down hard upon the head and the men were sure that he would not survive. It was the worst week of Vanora's life. To lose someone you love that much is painful. However, to sit and watch them slowly slip away from you knowing that there is nothing that you can do but wait, is the worst feeling that she had ever experienced. It was torture.

Vanora turned to yell at her children. "Come on you brood, get out and help. We're heading back home to find your father." All the children cheered, even baby Eleven cooed in her arms.

"I will ride ahead to see Azalea," Halaner called as she saddled her horse. She had to get back to her friend as soon as possible. Halaner could only imagine how Azalea was holding up under such dreadful circumstances.

"Tell her that we will be along shortly." Vanora yelled to the seamstress over the commotion. "Oh and do tell the dear to take care."

"It will be done," Hal said and then rode off without another moment's hesitation.

Back at the fort all was in chaos. The war for Hadrians Wall had ended and yet there still remained much to do in the aftermath. Yet night had fallen over the land and darkness prevented them from accomplishing all that was required of them.

"You need to rest!" came Arthurs command as he stood over Tristan's bed and looked down upon the woman who clung to the scouts motionless hand.

"I do rest," Azalea said.

"Yes, in a chair with your head upon a bed. I mean a proper night's sleep."

Azalea didn't look up at Arthur, she just continued to stare at Tristan's face. His left eye was almost entirely swollen shut, a purple bruise covered his right cheek, trailing down his neck and bloody gashes littered his chest and arms. Tristan had fallen in to unconsciousness the second that Gawain and Bors had carried him from the field and laid him down upon the bed in the infirmary. He hadn't woken since. It has been hours now and Azalea was exhausted. She barely blinked in fear that something would happen when she was unaware.

Gawain and Galahad soon came walking in to the room. They had been out on the field with the other men, moving the dead bodies in to piles and retrieving weapons. They allowed the families to take and burry whom they would. However, there were just too many casualties and the rest would have to be burned.

Now that darkness had set upon the land, the knights were relieved of their duties and wished to check on Tristan immediately. They were not happy with what they saw when they entered the infirmary.

Brene who was on the opposite side of the room, stood quickly from the bed of a young woad boy who she had been tending to and walked over to the two knights who had just entered. She flung her arms around the neck of a very surprised looking Galahad and leaned her head upon his shoulder. Then she finally pulled back and turned to look at Azalea and Tristan with a heavy sigh. "I have done everything that could possibly be done. It is up to Tristan now."

Azalea heard this and turned her head to the side. Finally she addressed the guests. "He will be well." Her face was set and her voice firm when she spoke. "If anyone can survive this, it is Tristan." Azalea then turned back around to look at her lover.

While Arthur, Galahad and Gawain turned to look at each other with sad eyes. They stared down upon the woman in pity. Azalea had a point. If anyone could survive an injury such as this, it was Tristan. They prayed that she was right. However, his condition did not look promising.

Vanora had arrived with the children more than an hour before. After she had embraced Azalea tightly, she instantly pulled Bors away to tend to the small wounds that had been inflicted to his body during battle. Halener who had arrived before the redhead had sat by Azaleas side for a couple of hours until she was persuaded by the Persian to get some sleep.

Azalea rested her hand upon Halaner's knees. "I thank you for your company. But all is well. I wish to be alone with him."

As hopeful and as confident as Azalea tried to remain, it grew exhausting when two days passed by with no change. If Tristan didn't wake soon, Brene feared that he would die of dehydration. Azalea was becoming a concern for her friend as well. She remained in the same chair, in the same position and did not move unless it was to stand or to stretch her back.

Halener would bring her food three times a day, which Azalea rarely ate. It was not that she wished to worry them, she just had no appetite. Azalea knew that she would be of no help to anyone at the moment. If she were to drag her body elsewhere, her mind would still remain in that room, by Tristan's side.

It was very late in the evening and Brene had just departed after checking on Tristan. Azalea was humming a soft tune in her native language when Azalea felt someone approach her from behind. "Have you forgotten something?" asked the Persian as she turned around to stare at her friend.

Azalea was shocked to see Gwenevere standing there. The beautiful brunette wore a long flowing gown in the style of the Romans which she had received as a gift of peace from the wife of Marius Anorius. Gwenevere's hair hung down wild around her face. If you were to look closely, you could still see a hint of the blue tribal tattoos on her skin. Gwenevere looked between the knight and then up at Azalea. "I am sorry for your loss."

"I have lost nothing yet." Azalea said shortly. Her distaste for the woman was ever growing.

"I know that his injuries must cause you great pain." Gwenevere was attempting to sound empathetic and yet she failed to do so. Her false remorse did nothing but aggravate the Persian.

Azalea turned around and clutched tightly on to the arm of the chair. Her face narrowed in anger. "As if you care. This is your doing. It was your war. You may not have wielded the weapons, but you are the reason that Tristan is laying here and you are the reason that Lancelot is dead."

"Do not speak of him!" Gwenevere screamed and then lowered her voice once more as to not disturb the other patients.

"They were only inches away from finding freedom." Azalea frowned at the thought. "The knights stayed behind because Arthur chose to stay and Arthur chose to stay because of you."

Gwenevere turned away from Azalea and talked to the wall. "Arthur and I will marry. I believe that you and I must find a truce."

"Is that what you believe?"

"I will be Queen one day and if you are to stay in my land, I think it wise and in your best interest if we learn to see eye to eye."

"Thank you for your concern. I know how to handle my own best interests. Arthur is a great man and he will make a great King. I will serve him proudly." Azalea glared at Gwenevere. "You will be my Queen. I will serve you only out of duty and out of loyalty to the man who gave me freedom. Not out of like for you. Remember that."

"Aye, I will remember. Why is it that you distrust me so?"

"You have everyone around you fooled. They know only what you are; I know what you will be."

"I see...well I have done what I could. I will take my leave." Gwenevere replied. The future queen turned around and left the infirmary quickly. Azalea said no goodbye and watched as she exited the room.

The next day passed by in a blur and soon the third night was upon them. Nothing had changed except for the weather. A winter storm had blown in from the north and covered the ground in a blanket of white. Azalea was sitting by the fire that she had built to keep the patients warm. Her eyes were watching the flames dance about when someone coughed behind her from one of the beds. Azalea turned in anticipation, sure that it was Tristan, only to be disappointed to find out that it was not. Azalea got to her feet and walked over to her lover. She pulled the blanket up and tucked them tighter around his body. Then she leaned in so that her lips touched his ear.

"It is time to wake up now Shaheen. I cannot do this without you." Azalea whispered as she took her regular seat beside his bed and laid her head down to sleep. "Come back to me." Those were the last words that she murmured before falling in to a restless unconsciousness.

Azalea woke an hour later to the soft pressure of a hand running down the back of her head. She swatted away the touch and yawned.

"Leave me be Halener, I am fine."

"Are you?" spoke a rugged voice that Azalea did not expect. Her head shot up in surprise and she turned to look in to the wide open eyes of Tristan. "You look awful." He stated factually as he continued to smooth her hair with his hand.

For a moment Azalea couldn't speak. Her pulse began to quicken and it took her a moment to realize that she wasn't dreaming. When she finally got ahold of herself, she smirked. "As do you."

At that moment Tristan could have told her that she was the ugliest woman that he had ever beheld and still Azalea would have been ecstatic that he was even awake. His voice was the loveliest sound that she had ever heard. It was one that Azalea had begun to believe that she would never hear again. Tristan was sweating and pushed the blanket down past his waist.

Azalea lowered her head gently and placed a soft kiss on his bare stomach. Then she turned so that her cheek was against his skin. "Where have you been?" She whispered. He could feel her warm breath on his skin.

Tristan didn't speak for a while. When he finally did answer, his voice was barely audible. "Far away." Azalea looked up at him. Tristan brushed her lips with his finger. "It was your voice that brought me back."

Azalea took a deep breath and shook away the tears. She promised herself that she would be strong and that she wouldn't cry. Instead she changed the subject to a more positive topic.

"The men were here to see you not long ago. They will be thrilled to see you that are now awake."

"All of the men?" Tristan asked and Azalea knew that he wasn't inquiring as to who had been in the room, but to who had survived the war. Tristan hadn't been awake since the end of the battle. He was intelligent enough to guess that the Woads had triumphed against the Saxons or he would not still be alive. Tristan just wondered at the cost.

Azalea turned away from him and began to stand. "We'll discuss that when you are well...for now just rest. I am going to call Brene to check on you."

Tristan grabbed her arm before she could leave. "Tell me what has happened."

She stared for a long while, contemplating on the best course of action and finally settled with the truth. Azalea sat back down. She took his hand in hers. "Lancelot is dead."

Tristan's face remained steady, and yet his hand tightened around hers almost to the point of pain. It was not the first time that they had lost a man and yet somehow it never got any easier. It was hard for Tristan to think of what life will now be like without Lancelot's ever present humor to relay the tension or to drive them to the brink of insanity. He could rile you up or cool you down easier than any man that Tristan had ever known. It was hard to picture life without any of his brothers because it felt as if they had always been there.

Lancelot, Dagonet, Gareth, Bedevere, Percival, Hamlock, Julien...Lucan and the list goes on and on. All his brothers, all great men and all had died by the hand of an enemy that wasn't even their own. They were enemies of Rome...of Britian, not of Sarmatia. Yet it was Sarmatian blood that was paid.

"How long have I slept?" Tristan asked once his heart had settled.

"This is the third night." Azalea said softly, brushing a hand across his forehead to make sure that he had not caught fever.

Tristan was quickly stunned. He turned to look at the woman whose head now lay on her arm at his side. "Have you left?"

"Why would I leave?" Azalea asked as if that was the most ridiculous question that she had ever heard.

"To eat, to rest!" Tristan emphasized the importance of taking care of her needs. "Surely you have not stayed by my side the entire time!"

"If I lie and tell you that I have not, would it make you calm?" Tristan glowered at her response. Her unyielding loyalty was beyond what Tristan had even imagined. It was a compliment of the highest sort and yet it worried him. Azalea was continuously putting his needs above her own. There had to be a limit, some kind of balance.

Tristan waved towards the door. "Go now. Seek your bed and sleep properly."

Azalea looked wounded. "Do not send me from your presence. Not now when I have only just gotten you back."

His resolve wore away quickly when he saw her love for him and realized what she must have gone through the past few days. Tristan could only compare it to what he had felt when she had been the one so very near to death. He shifted his position and patted the lumpy straw mattress. "Then lay here beside me. Truly you must rest. You look very ill."

Azalea ran her hand along his bandages. "You are wounded; do you really believe that to be wise?"

Tristan reached out and pulled her to his side. "Do not ever think my arms incapable of holding my own woman. Now no more words. I am exhausted."

Tristan moved over and Azalea climbed up next to him on the bed. She curled up on to his right side where his wounds were least severe. Neither of them moved for a very long time, nor did they sleep. Finally Tristan's voice broke the silence.

"I had a dream that I saw you upon the battle field." Tristan admitted.

He could feel Azalea tense for a moment and then she spoke. "That was not a dream, Shaheen."

Tristan sat up quickly nearly knocking her from the bed. "What do you mean?" Tristan yelled as he looked at her in disapproval and fought her as she tried to push him back down in to a laying position. Azalea flinched and could tell by the look in his eyes that he was furious.

"Do not be angry." She ordered. "We did as you told. I traveled along that road and all it brought me was pain, not refuge. With each step away from you, it was as if I could feel that you were stepping farther in to trouble. I cannot just abandon you Tristan."

"I told you to go! You could have been killed or worse!" The thought of what the Saxons could have done to Azalea, made Tristan's skin crawl.

"You were a moment away from death!" Azalea yelled back.

"It does not matter! You are the woman, it is my..."

"I love you Tristan, it matters to me!" Azalea cut off his words before he could finish. Tristan frowned at her and yet he kept his mouth shut. It was hard to find the right words when she looked at him like that. Her eyes hypnotized him.

It was then that Brene and Galahad came running in to the room. They had been conversing together outside when they were alerted by the sound of yelling.

They stopped in the doorway and looked around for any cause of alarm. Then they laughed loudly at the site of the couple who lay tangled up in each other's arms, arguing over whose life was worth more.

Galahad turned to look at the woman beside him. "Is this how all lovers quarrel?"

Brene shrugged, "I do not know." Galahad continued to stare at her, and she looked away in embarrassment. He just smiled and grabbed her hand.

"Come, let's get supper and tell the men that Tristan has finally awoken."

"But I must check on him." Brene said, looking over at the scout in concern.

"I do believe him to be in capable hands," Galahad replied as he pulled her towards the door.

Brene gave way when she laid eyes on Azalea. "Yes…I believe that you are right. If she does not kill him for all the trouble that he has caused."

"Surely woman, it was not as if the poor man could help it!" Galahad defended his brother.

"That is what all men say."

"All men?" the young knight asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye…all men." Brene emphasized her words with a nod of her head. Her brown waves bouncing as she moved.

Galahad reached out and gently brushed her cheek for a second before removing his hand quickly. "I will have to prove you wrong then."

Brene stood still for a moment in surprise and then she grinned. "Yes, I do believe you will."

He's awake! Even though nothing of great importance has happened in this chapter, I really enjoyed writing it. It's a nice break from the usual hectic pace. I decided to show Galahad a little love in this chapter. I think they all deserve it. Thank you for the incredible response that I have been getting on each chapter. You are the reason I extended the story. It was originally only going to be twenty four chapters. Now I have a few more left to go before the end. Also I wish to apologize for all of my typing mistakes. I write so quickly that I don't edit as well as I should. I hope you stick with me and when this is finished, I will go back to edit all my mistakes.