Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
AN: Sorry this took so long to update, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. And for everyone who has been asking for more Cassia, this chapter is mostly her.
Chapter 36 Decisions, Decisions
As Tristan promised, he disappeared after his meeting with Arthur and the others. Tristan hadn't been in the fort in over four winters, but he still knew the premises better than most of its inhabitants. He was still covered in the thick cloak that Cassia had laid him upon, when he had rescued her from the Woads the first time. The thick earthen colored material still possessed the dark blotches where his wounds had saturated the fabric. However worn the fabric was, it still kept out the chill of the autumn winds, and Tristan was grateful for it.
Tristan skulked through the dark alleys of the fort as he made his way toward the outer gates of the village. Tristan could smell the dank stench of death as he moved past one of the many hidden dungeons that the fort possessed. He remembered the inside to those walls very well; almost as well as he remembered the feeling of his wounds beginning to fester as he lay in his own filth. The memories surrounded him like a black veil, distorting his vision of reality.
Tristan passed many pieces of his past as he headed for the only place he was still welcome in the realm of his past. The jagged stones and tools marking graves was the only indication that Tristan had reached the cemetery. He could feel the chill in his bones as he continued on, determined to face what he had been afraid to for the past four years. Tristan was numb but for once it was not the biting cold of the British winter that caused it. Tristan was numb to any feelings but those he still possessed for his former love. Not the damp ground, the icy breeze, the approaching clouds, or even the circumstances could penetrate Tristan's focus, which rested on the small bramble of a rose bush that marked the head of Isolde's cold grave.
Tristan silently approached the grave, careful to avoid stepping on another's. He glanced down at the small vine that had once produced so few blossoms, but now he could see that summer had seen brilliant life from the hibernating plant. Tristan stood for only a moment before he collapsed to his weak knees jarring his hip and ribs, but he didn't notice as he broke down. Silent tears refused to fall, but blurred his vision so that the world was a liquid reality. He felt as though he were the one that had been stabbed in the heart so many years ago, but his body had just begun to realize it. Tristan made no sound but sat in silent agony over a grave that should have been his own.
"Isolde," he began but paused for lack of words. Slowly he began again when the words finally came to him. "Isolde… I have failed you in every way I possibly could," he admitted then lapsed into silence once again. Without a word, Tristan relived his misdeeds and failings over and over. Unconsciousness swept over him when his injured body could no longer take the strain of his despair and disrepair. Dark shadows of dreams assaulted him for hours, but Tristan's body and mind were too weak to bring him back to consciousness. Tristan knew that he had a choice that he must make, but he was afraid of the consequences of either action.
To avenge his beloved was all he had asked for from the moment he lost her, but if he chose revenge, Cassia might never see another sunset. If he saved the woman who shattered the shell he lived in, he would have one less death on his conscience but little vengeance. Nightmares tore apart his fragile mind as fever broke his already crumbling body. Tristan was trapped in his own torment for hours and would have continued as such for far longer had soft hands not tugged at his cloak.
Tristan roused slowly as he felt small but tender hands rubbing his shoulder. It should not have been enough to wake him from his fever induced dreams, but he knew that touch all too well. "Isolde," he mumbled as he struggled to awareness. The hand stopped moving but didn't disappear as Tristan woke. He frowned as his mind told him that it could not have possibly been Isolde's touch since she was dead and the hand still touched him. Tristan slowly turned from where he lay on his side, to see the untamed fiery curls of his beloved's child. "Rosheen?" Tristan was a bit confused at how similar her touch was to her mother's since she had barely known the woman.
"Why are you at mommy's grave? Did you know mommy," the small girl asked still covered in the day's mud. Tristan grimaced at the glimmering hope in the little girl's green orbs. He saw the beauty that she would become, just as her mother had, and no matter how hard he tried Tristan could not find a feature on the girl that indicated that her father had any part in her creation. When Tristan didn't answer, the girl moved to uncover his face thinking that perhaps he was once again unconscious. Tristan stopped her quickly though his actions were more sluggish than usual from his fever and weakness.
"Yes," was all he said as he tried to sit up. His ribs protested the action, and he nearly doubled over with the effort and pain. Confusion marred Rosheen's porcelain face as she tried to understand how a stranger could have known her mother. "What are you doing here," Tristan asked as the world stopped spinning around him, and he realized that the sun had long since set. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I came here when Aunt Lena wasn't looking," the small girl admitted sheepishly as she watched Tristan closely. Tristan couldn't explain why all of a sudden he felt the wretchedness of anger envelope him, but he knew that Lena was the subject of it. Tristan knew the types of men that lurked these streets in the day when others watched and he knew that, though they were bold and wretch men, the one's who owned the night were far worse. He felt his hands involuntarily clench, but let his anger wash away as he gazed upon the rosy cheeks of his step-daughter.
"Come, you shall catch your death out here," he growled to Rosheen as he made to rise from the cold earth. Rosheen simply shook her head and made to dash away from him, but Tristan grabbed her waist and pulled her flailing body to him. "Calm yourself, I will not hurt you," he said softly as he covered her in his cloak while still enjoying its warmth himself. "You came to see your mother," he said as a question and received a slight nod from his frightened companion. "Are you afraid of me," he asked a bit saddened that she would fear him even if she didn't know him.
"You never show your face and you always growl," she said but snuggled closer to him as a harsh wind swept through the cemetery.
Tristan was hurt by the fact that though what she said was true, she was by all rights his daughter and she feared him. Tristan realized that his only hope of gaining her sweet trust was to reveal his identity or tell her a story of her mother. He opted for the latter because he still didn't believe himself capable of raising a child. Revealing his identity would eventually lead to his claim of her. Slowly Tristan spoke softly, "would you like to hear a story about your mother?" He received a small nod and he chose the happiest story he could think of in his time with Isolde. Slowly and with the greatest amount of care, Tristan told Rosheen about the day she was born.
When he finished the long story of the only day of his life that he had openly admitted his fears to his beloved, he noticed that Rosheen's breathing had evened out in sleep. Tristan sat silently for a long time thinking of the only other time her had admitted his fears aloud. That had been when he told Dinadan that he feared a death not as noble as his friend's. Dinadan had not been alive to hear the revelation, but Tristan believed that his friend had heard it because Tristan had been lucky enough to survive many an ignoble death. Slowly Tristan realized that it was not death he fear but his actions before it which would determine his valor. Forgetting his fever and unrest, Tristan rose quickly from the ground with his precious bundle wrapped safely in his arms. Tristan returned Rosheen to Lena and warned her to keep a closer eye on the only daughter he would ever have, before he took his leave and headed for the inn.
XxXxXxX
Cassia sat quietly beside the campfire that the Woads had just built in order to cook the night's meal. Each person had a task to do and the entire camp was at work. Cassia watched as women passed her carrying rabbits to be skinned while others looked for herbs and berries. One woman sat down beside her and placed a rabbit and a small dagger in Cassia's hands.
"Oh, I don't cook," Cassia started meekly as she studied the slain rabbit's once glossy fur.
"Not cook, skin it. See," the woman said patiently; as she demonstrated how skin the animal. The woman spoke very poor Latin, but her actions were enough for Cassia to grasp the full meaning of the words. Cassia nearly lost what little she had ingested that day as she watched the middle aged woman skin the rabbit carefully. Cassia simply nodded to the Woad as she lifted her own dagger. Cassia studied the woman beside her as she worked. The lady had obviously been a warrior in her time based on the fading scars running up and down her arms and legs. She was dressed in garments almost as tattered as Cassia's own. Her hair flowed down her back in long waves and one could still see the rustic brown of it through the silvery grays. Cassia decided that this woman could not have been more than five or six years her senior, but life had treated her roughly. Cassia began to think that perhaps all of her hardships were not so terrible.
The elders had been in council the entire day, and no one dared venture close to their hut. Cassia had waited patiently, but now as she sat skinning the poor beast her mind began to torment her with possibilities. As she watched the woman beside her skin the rabbit, she imagined them doing the same to her.
Cassia found herself wishing that Tristan was still there with her because no matter what happened, so long as he was their, she felt safe. Even with death staring them in the face, Tristan's presence brought her courage that she no longer felt on her own. Cassia began to wonder when it happened that she had given over her rebellious spirit and come to rely on and even enjoy the scout's presence. One thing Marcus had never given Cassia was a sense of security, but Tristan gave that to her even if he was unkind most of the time.
As the sun fell beneath the lush hills of Britain, Merlin stepped forth from the elders' hut. He passed through the camp silently while the Woads stepped out of his way in respect. He stopped before Cassia, who sat quietly contemplating what her life had become.
"Will you join me in my hut," Merlin asked politely even though she was his prisoner. Cassia silently rose and followed him to his small home, leaving her poorly skinned rabbit behind. Merlin ushered her in and offered her the same blanket on which she sat earlier. Cassia took it kindly and sat in front of the mellow fire. "I will not torment you by dragging this out," he paused only but a brief moment before explaining her sentence. "You shall be executed at dawn," he said calmly with a tired sigh. He had given too many orders that sent good men and women to their deaths. He had seen life snatched from the most brilliant of souls, and it kill him every time he sent another to their end. The Romans may have called him a magician, but even he could not prevent death. His bones were weary beyond his years, and his heart had long since withered from disuse.
Looking at the woman before him with her dulling eyes and wearing beauty, he couldn't help but wish to spare her. She was not a threat to them or anyone else. The faint lines running through her once lively face told Merlin that even if she was spared, she would die before her time for she no longer had the will to live.
He was woken from his thoughts when Cassia finally replied. "Very well," she said dejectedly.
"Why do you mourn so suddenly," Merlin asked concernedly.
"It is just that when I gave Tristan back his blade, I made a promise to myself. I promised that if anyone would take my life, it would be him because he was the only one who truly had a right to it. But when the time came and Tristan had the chance to end me, he spared my life. I don't know why he did it, but if he, who truly had reason, didn't killed me, why should anyone else have the right," Cassia found herself telling the wise man all she was thinking.
"Why did you given yourself for him?"
"Were my reasons before not to your liking," Cassia asked tiredly as she thought about the elusive scout. Merlin smiled softly as he watched the emotions playing across her face.
"Your reasons were fine, but they were not the only ones you had for your actions. You may believe him a better being than yourself, but that has never stopped you in the past from only watching out for yourself. I believe that you rejoiced when Lamorak was slain," Merlin explained thoughtfully, not hurtfully.
"It was different then, but you are right. I did have other reasons as well, whether I admitted it to myself or not. Had I accepted the freedom you offered me and let Tristan die by your hand, I would not be alive even now. If I had escaped, I would have had to venture to Eboracum for supplies even if I wished to run or return to Rome. If I entered Eboracum, I would have been recognized by one of the knights because I don't exactly fit in to the crowds looking like this," she said gesturing to her ragged clothes and paltry appearance. "If they found that I had survived and Tristan did not, they would execute me. Even Gawain would feel no remorse to see me die if I were the reason that another one of his brothers did not get to see his freedom," Cassia paused a moment to stifle a small sob. "So there you have it. I am not the honorable woman I pretend to be. I simply realize that no matter what; my time is up, but I refuse to have others sacrifice themselves for a woman you is already dead."
"Perhaps you do not see it in yourself, child, but you have honor. No one can take that from you. Only your own actions show how noble your soul is. You may not believe it, but sparing his life was honorable, even if it was only because you will die either way. Many would have let him die as well out of anger, but you still fought even when you had nothing left to fight for," Merlin paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "I cannot spare your life, but I can grant you a final request," he said respectfully.
"What could I request," Cassia asked skeptically as she rearranged the frayed bottom of her once floor length dress. She studiously inspected the once olive colored fabric which had become a sickly brownish green over days of travel and captivity.
Merlin looked on in pity for the fire he had seen in her had finally extinguished itself like a dying star. "Perhaps you wish to die free. We could remove these," Merlin suggested as he gently lifted her shackled wrists as he knelt before her.
"Wearing these does no make me a slave. I am a slave by choice. I could have given my life and died free by Tristan's blade, but I chose life and with it I chose enslavement. Just because you remove them, does no make me free of my pledge to him, only he can do that," she said as she slipped her weary hands out of the wise man's grasp. "These are simply a symbol of the only honor I possess still…loyalty… and you shall not take that from me," she whispered with defeated conviction.
"Do you have a wish then," Merlin asked as he rose to stare down at the woman at his feet. She was no more than a pile of rags and filth. Her hair was so matted in mud and sweat, that he was unsure of its original color. She was a pitiable sight, but Merlin found that he could no longer pity the woman. She claimed responsibility for all of her actions, and never complained at their consequences. He simply reached a wrinkled hand down and lifted her to her feet so that she might speak to him as an equal rather than an as his captive.
"If I could have any wish, it would be for a chance to say goodbye to them all, but as for a request," she paused for a moment swiping her hair out of her equally filthy face. "I would like to die by my own blade. It was a tradition in old time for a disgraced soldier to fall upon his own blade instead of dishonoring the empire. There is no honor left in the empire so the custom is no longer in existence, but I still believe in what once was." She stood before the leader of the Woads with her shoulders held straight and her chin high to look straight into his wise eyes. Merlin saw no fear, but instead the last threads of determination that the woman possessed.
"I don't know. That is a grand request," Merlin contemplated.
"You may do with my corpse whatever that you wish; it matters little to me. The gods did not think enough to give me beauty, so I doubt they will be angered by it," Cassia said wryly.
"So you are a pagan? You are not an average Roman, milady," Merlin said with respect. "I will see what I can do for you," he said before disappearing into the camp once again.
The sun had completely set and the stars shown bright in the dark sky when Cassia returned to the fire. Once again she retreated into her own thoughts when she watched the flames dance. Shortly after resuming her quiet seat, she felt a presence next to her.
"Have you come to take my solitude from me as well," Cassia asked without turning away from the bright flames that moved swiftly and gracefully, reminding her of the way that Tristan danced with his sword in battle. Tristan was much like the flames in that the only time one could see into his being was when he fought, and the fire within him glowed brightly. Cassia found herself wondering if Isolde had been able to see that fire every time she watched the scout. Cassia nearly missed what Guinevere said to her because she was so lost in her thoughts.
"I simply came to sit, if you don't mind," the girl said quietly, as she moved closer toward the flames. Guinevere was wearing very little as were most of the other Woads, but the chill of the night was causing her slight frame to quiver from the chill.
"It is your camp. You may sit where you like; I shall not be the one to stop you because you have been naught but kind to me," Cassia said as she moved to make room for the Woad. The pair sat quietly for several minutes just enjoying the silent company. Cassia began to understand why Tristan used to simply like to sit in silence with her. She could easily let her thoughts wander while still being connected to something or someone. It was a warm and gentle feeling that company gave one in the darkest moments.
Finally Guinevere spoke, "Father told me that you will be executed at dawn." There was a hint of sadness or even despair in the young girl's voice that made Cassia look into her warm pleading brown eyes. It was as though the girl wished her to deny that death was only hours away, which was something Cassia could no longer do.
"Yes. Death awaits me at first light, but it has been waiting for me longer than this night," Cassia replied lifelessly watching the hope die in the girl's beautiful but pained visage.
"I do not understand," The young Woad confessed with confusion.
"How old are you Guinevere," Cassia asked politely.
"Fifteen summers," Guinevere replied proudly. Cassia couldn't help but smile at the girl's spirit.
"When you reach my nine-and-twenty winters, you will understand many things that make little sense to you now. When I was your age, I still believed that Rome was the greatest empire civilization would ever see and that I would find the perfect man like my sister and we would live happily till the end of our days. My views have changed greatly in fifteen years. Now I realize that my life is simply the sum of my own choices. No one can choose fate for another. You will learn that if you live as long as I have," Cassia said sagely.
Guinevere was quiet for a moment as she too was hypnotized by the fire before them. Finally she blurted out, "I wish you were not a Roman because I could see us being great friends." Guinevere's cheeks turned an almost flattering shade of pink and Cassia knew that the girl regretted her words.
"What is stopping us from being friends, great or otherwise," Cassia asked lightly, hoping to ease the girl's embarrassment.
"You are a Roman, our enemy, and you shall be executed at dawn. How could we become friends," Guinevere reasoned sadly.
"Let me teach you an important lesson tonight, Guinevere," Cassia said seriously. You do not hate all Romans, for there are very many of us and I doubt that you know enough to condemn the whole lot. You hate the ideals that these men and women have been sent away from their homes and families in order to uphold. You will be a very lonely person if you hate everyone for the wrongs of a few," Cassia informed the younger girl as she placed and arms around her in sympathy.
"But Rome…"
"Is filled with just as many good men as cruel ones, but they, like you, are under the control of the cruel men who are hungry for power," Cassia said honestly. "So let us forget for tonight that we are anything but two people and let us be friends just for tonight."
"I would like that," Guinevere said with a calm smile.
"Very good then," Cassia said with a smile of her own. "So how long have you been a warrior," she asked curiously.
"I have been training since I was eight summers, but I have another year before father shall let me see battle," Guinevere said excitedly, and Cassia could see not only the flames dancing in the girl's eyes but a pride Cassia had never had for herself.
"You are lucky then," Cassia said and continued at Guinevere's questioning glance. "My master saw his first battle when he was fourteen and Galahad, another knight; saw his first when he was but eleven." Guinevere's jaw dropped at how young they had been. "I myself have never had to take up arms for a cause, but I know that battle is not something that I ever wish to see. I have seen what it does to even the strongest of men, and I do not wish to see it for myself."
"But to fight for what you believe is the greatest…" Guinevere was cut of by Cassia's soft voice.
"Yes, but I would still choose a peaceful slavery rather than a violent freedom," Cassia said with despair weaving into her voice. "For if you fight you will lose the one's you love and if you fight long enough you shall have nothing left. I have lost those I love, so I am less willing to throw away what I still have. I have watched the despair in each of the knights' eyes when they bring back a fallen brother…" Cassia trailed off.
Guinevere understood the pain that Cassia felt and decided to change the subject. "Can you tell me about the knights? Father always tells me stories, but I don't believe him," Guinevere asked excitedly.
Cassia smiled before answering. "Yes, what would you like to hear about," Cassia replied in a lighter tone.
"Well are they as handsome as legend says," Guinevere started, and Cassia couldn't help but laugh at the girl's train of thought. "I mean, I saw…Tristan, that was his name right?" Cassia nodded and Guinevere continued, "But he wasn't exactly… well he seemed a bit filthy even before we brought him in."
Cassia laughed even harder at Guinevere's words. "You cannot base your thoughts of the knights on Tristan because he does not live to impress anyone. I have seen him at his best, and he still looks as feral at a lion." Guinevere looked at Cassia oddly at the reference and Cassia just brushed it off by saying that it was a wild animal. "However, the others are rather handsome," Cassia paused a moment before laughing at herself. "I cannot believe I am discussing this with you. I've barely thought twice about anyone them, as far as looks go, since I met them, and here I am corrupting your young mind."
"I'm not that young. Girls have been married before they reached my age. And do you really mean that you are around that many good looking men all the time and you barely notice them," Guinevere asked in shock as her jaw hung near her ankles.
Cassia laughed once more and said between breathes, "I usually only see Tristan, unless I help at the tavern or catch one of them in their rooms when I am collecting laundry. And as far as Tristan goes, he is far from the type of man that would instill flutters in a girl's heart from anything other than fear." Even as the words passed her lips, Cassia knew she was lying, otherwise she wouldn't still be thinking of the scout's warm eyes and fluid movements in her last few hours of life.
Neither cared about anything other than their conversation as they enjoyed each other's company. Cassia spoke of her family and how they had disowned her, and Guinevere spoke of how she had very few friends because of who she was. Most girls were either jealous or didn't like the fact that Guinevere loved fighting. The pair laughed and spoke long into the night about anything and everything they could think of. It was mere hours before dawn when Cassia submitted to sleep because of her weary body, and Guinevere rose and slipped from the camp, like a specter into the shadows of the night.
XxXxX
Please don't hurt me; I know that I took an obnoxiously long time to update. I really have no other excuse besides laziness. I hope you enjoyed this chapter because there are only two (possibly three) more left. Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. Please continue to let me know what you think of it because I'm having one of those slumps where I think that everything I write is terrible and I want to tear it up. I have the next chapter half finished so I will probably get it out tomorrow some time, but I make no promises since every time I do something comes up.