Notes: nameless girl is original character (thanks to Devon Aoki picture I saw in some magazine, lol). NO family relations or romance, she just helps to open or show some sides of Tristan, I guess.
Feedback: sure thing
Dogs were first who started to howl inside the delusive snow mist. Smell of fresh blood cut the frozen air where all the other smells seemed to die, it drove them mad. Domestic or not, they had the spirit of wolves inside them, but unlike them, they were ready to lower themselves to the ground, wave their tails and shamelessly ask for food. Hypocrites. Roman soldier shuddered and froze like he was put under the spell, his eyes were covered with thin crust of fear. His fellows' drunk cheerfulness was blown with the wind. Inside the formed cell of dead silence one could hear snowflakes touch the earlier layer of snow.
Unreal bright emerald eye didn't even blink when blood leaked inside and covered some green with red. Two colorful glimmering spots inside the grey stone composition lit all around. Blood merely continued to soak the girl's face, for the fist moments, one could bet, she was sure it was her own blood, but darkness didn't come, green eye continued to observe high rude brick wall and hazed features of the forest behind it. With soldier's knee pressed hard between her shoulder-blades and wooden plate, where they probably flayed animals and those who they considered as animals, holding itself with all its splinters against her other cheek and eyelid, she directed her eye to the source of warm liquid.
Hand was holding the sword by the blade firmly. Soldier was fooling around first, he raised the sword up threateningly under the encouraging yells, threw it down through the air, but at the last moment stopped it. Each time laughter echoed stone corridors, such an amusement. Game could go further and further, they wanted to make her scream or at least tremble. But eye continued to watch the forest through the wall, even eyelashes didn't move each time agonizing sound approached the neck.
Tristan moved his eyebrow slightly. Soldier finally turned back from a statue to a human and followed his eyes. Blade continued to lay inside Tristan's palm, if executor applied more power for the strike, he would cut his hand in two. But Tristan just knew the moment when to catch it. He always just knew the right moments. Fingers released the stone grip on the steel and Roman pulled the sword out the deep cut, almost running back as far as he could without turning his back on the knight.
Tristan observed the capitulation calmly, then leaned down and gripped a handful of snow from the ground and gathered his hand into the fist. White turned red, bloody flakes fell down heavily. Then he finally turned to Arthur who stood among soldiers still holding his horse.
"What is happening here?" the leader asked, approaching.
Soldier had to raise his voice to guide his words through the curtain of snow, he didn't dare to come closer to Tristan, who was busy with changing his snow tissue again. The devilish bird could be somewhere around, and in general, looking in the eyes of the scout for a short moment, the desire to grab demons by the tail died inside him forever.
"She was found in the forest during the morning beat, Arthorious. And didn't wish to talk."
"You decided her death can be more useful than her silence?" Arthur's eyes darkened. Girl was still laying motionless.
"She can be a scout of woads. We examined her and found drawings... Saxons do not have drawings."
"Examined?"
"All of them, some – even twice." Tristan mumbled standing behind leader's shoulder. "She is not a woad". He raised his voice just slightly, but echo accelerated it and gave it enough power to sound in each head. "Woads have marks all over. And they must include enclosed circle. It symbolizes protection." He grabbed girl by the hair and made her stand up. She wasn't really standing, rather twisting like a rag in the wind in his iron grip. He yanked her head back so everyone could see her face with two mirroring diagonal drawings across her cheeks. "Sharp lines denote freedom of any kind of protection and faith in the power of your own. She is from some Eastern tribe. No wonder she didn't will to talk". Tristan dragged the girl with him to the wall and turned around back to the wall. Arthur met his gaze and read the maneuver. With torches light beating right into their faces, Romans couldn't see clearly anything Tristan was planning to show them. He yanked girl's jaw down: "No tongue. She is dumb. Her tribe preferred to chase her off while moving. She is mine now." He closed her mouth, teeth clicked so loudly Arthur thought she would lost her tongue really now. He spent too many nights in watching enemies approaching, even standing behind the crowd he saw the tongue in the cradle of her jaw.
Without spending more time on worthless talking, Tristan grabbed the captive around her waist and disappeared in the snow, mutely, like he always did.
Tristan was always a mystery for the women. Some of them found him handsome to spend the night with, but they were afraid to even confess to themselves. According some gossips he could read thoughts since his mother was the real magician. He scared them to death and attracted like a poison beverage. They sneaked into his chamber when he was away to rustle their fingers through his secrets, but there were no secrets to know. His bed was always untouched and clean, sometimes covered with thick film of dust, repeating each wave on the blanket. Dirty plate with bloody spots stood on the table, right in the middle of it, like he spent hours to adjust it in the special position. Chair was always in the center of the room, turned to the small window. If he ever slept, he slept there. After untouched candles turned into cracked wax nobody brought him new ones. All his wealth consisted of his horse, hawk, armor and weapon, all of it he carried away with him. Women returned disappointed. After agonizingly long and slow minutes of shivering from fear in Tristan's tiny chamber (he never complained about it, though), forgetting how to breathe, expecting for him to appear from the darkness of the corner each second, they had nothing to gossip about again. The man was spending every night in the room which looked and smelled like no one crossed the threshold of it in years. After Tristan came up to one of the women, leaned to her ear and said: "Next time don't trace the table with fingers. They leave lines", visits became even more rare, but doesn't stop.
Tristan released his grip right after he closed the door behind them. Girl threw herself in the corner, bringing her knees to her chest and trying to be even smaller than she was. Her eyes shone so brightly, they even created illegible hints on contours of Tristan's shadow printed on the bricks. Hawk seemed to be more interested in her than his master was. Tristan was quite comfortable with her silence and place she chose, comforting corner... his first years here he acted the same way. Panic will grab her by the throat only when he approaches her, when she realizes she cornered herself. Ironically. He moved his hand slightly so hawk he picked in the stable while dragging her here, took its usual place on the back of the chair. Romans were even worse gossips than women around. They showed too much interest to his horse, saddle and things they thought he could hide under it. They may think they left everything as it was before, but Tristan always noticed the smallest displacement of the saddle, rows of fingers on the horse's side... Hawk stopped circulation of the interest – each one who planned to touch something belonging to his master risked to be left with sad empty reminding of eyes on his face.
He removed his armor, light interlacing of a few chains – he never dressed himself fully in metal – it steadied his motions and he found it quite irritating. His life was on the short string, if even protecting clothes were limits, he preferred leather. It made his movement soundless and light, like a blow of the wind, but deadly as his sword. Then he made a few steps towards the girl. Her sharp and worn features and miniature body made it difficult to define her age. She was slightly younger than Galahad, though. Panic captured her as her eyes grew wider and she started to scratch her nails against the wall and push herself back against the bricks like she was trying to come through them like a ghost. Now he actually heard alive sounds coming from her – her breathing accelerated and began to fill the room.
He captured her chin once again pressing his fingers against the spots behind her ears which paralyzed her head and froze it in the needful position, eyes to eyes. Watching Tristan in darkness was a dead trick. Every other person could give himself away with breathing or glimmering of the eyes, any kind of movement. Tristan could become really dead when he needed to, moreover – his eyes never reflected light, they were dull like the night itself. But he looked directly at her.
"You are not dumb". He noted. "Your eyes are clean".
He let her go quickly and appeared on the other side of the room in the moonlight in the next moment. Room was small, but his move reminded of some kind of magic trick anyway. Girl jerked convulsively, scratching her nails against the stone, like a captured bat.
"Dumb man has everything he can't say in his eyes. Layer after layer, so eyes are lost in mist."
He continued to watch the yard through the window when Vanora entered the chamber. She left the door open so lights from the outside could guide her to the table where she planned to put the plate. People in the dinning room started talking. Mostly they were saying Tristan finally made up his mind and found a woman for the night. If she didn't know him for so many years she would ask him thousand of woman stupid questions boiling inside her head. But it was meaningless – she knew he wouldn't answer. She stumbled against the threshold trying to find the girl in the corner, cursed and left with her curiosity horribly unsatisfied.
Smell of fresh blood filled the room, which awakened a new motion in the corner. Surprisingly, but hawk stayed motionless before the big plate of fresh meet, although its wings shivered in anticipation. Tristan moved to his bag too busy to notice food. He took out the piece of rag and tied up the mark from the sword. Rude fabric irritated fresh wound, he didn't care until the feeling didn't still the motion. He moved his fingers and, satisfied, turned to the table with his knife.
"I can bring something more suitable for you". He said.
No answer followed. He thought so – during his first years here they had to feed him against his will. He choke, his throat bled, but whether he wanted or not, food filled his stomach. When you are captured, every food is a poison. Plate was removed on the center of the table unconditionally, he slowly cut the piece of his bloody feast and clicked his tongue. Bird grabbed the piece of meat from his fingers. He cut another one for himself – he lost too much blood, this storage needed to be filled again – and swallowed it. The feast of two hawks didn't last long and their behavior didn't differ one from another much. Except the fact one of them could use the knife and drank the vine afterwards.
Unconditionally again, Tristan brought the chair in the center of the room, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaned forward with his hands crossed between his knees, it wasn't difficult to find the girl in the embrace of darkness.
"Two options. Your lands lost its wealth and village elder decided to move. You got lost and found wrong place to be found. Or you are one of them. One of the children who's eyes were too bright, features too sharp, child they found in the forest. No one knows who they are, those who come alone from the forests, but in the beginning common sense is stronger, so they grow the child as their own. Then conversations start. About magic and evil, so gossips become stronger than common sense and they all chase the child away, back, to the origins. Which are you?"
Question was left in the air, lighted by torches outside. Tristan maintained his position when yells, singing and laughing reached its apogee, like sleeping, yet watching. Then sounds outside started to fade down as it always happened in last few hours before down. Everything dived into the silence. He suddenly moved from his chair. Girl didn't shudder anymore. Right after the question was asked, her shiver stopped, Tristan could tell.
"If you will to live, follow me." He said carelessly, opening the door.
He managed to make a few steps before felt her presence behind his back. Leather closing had many advantages – it didn't make noise like armor. Although people noticed long ago, that Tristan was moving very quietly in any case. Corridor, lighted by torches, lead them forward.
"Soldiers are asleep now." He said turning left. "There is the door for provision delivery, guarded by two of warriors, but now they are deadly drunk." He stepped into the frosty wind and crossed the yard, looking around. They approached the door hidden among columns. "Like I said" he nodded to snoring pile in the darkness. He reached the door and tried it – it opened quietly into the world of freedom. After dancing outside someone forgot to lock it. It happened often, Tristan knew, he was observing – it was his duty. He could walk through this door for many times... but he knew his friends would be punished for his departure. His duty was to hide inside the forest and watch the enemy... he could walk away and go wherever he wanted to, but his friends could never see freedom then. This opened door was like the dagger inside his heart. He watched the forest in the darkness for a short moment. "Not yet". He told her, turning around.
Sword's blade was much more alive than Tristan's eyes. At least it could shine in darkness. "I fell asleep. You waited, gained courage, took my sword and hit my head, because either way I would wake up when you tried to escape. Then you followed the path you saw when I brought you here and saw the door. Both guards were asleep, you tried it – it opened".
Her eyes widened when he handled her the sword. All the soldiers she saw on her way, except those who were born on the lands she used to call home didn't hand over the weapon this way. And her home was so far away... Knight stretched his hands forward with sword laying flat on his palms.
Instinctively, she touched the handle.
"No. By the blade. If they know you know how to use it, they will decide you are a scout and there is an army somewhere in the forests that sent you. They will send the expedition that will capture you again and then I won't be able to save you anymore. You are just lost child, take it as you would take a stick to chase the rat away."
She took the sword from his hands. Now he was helpless, wasn't he? He wasn't. What this man did earlier was the strongest weapon one could imagine.
"Now you will strike me here". Tristan crossed imaginary circle on his forehead. "If you were a warrior you would chose the temple to kill me, but you don't know the most weak places. So you aimed here. But you will have to strike harder to knock me out. You have to strike to really knock me out. Understand?"
Her eyes grew even wider, impossibly big to fit her face. And before they were young moon-shaped, like Tristan ones. Her shocked gaze studied the sword, then – his face, then it like found his savior, stopping on the hawk.
"Doesn't attack those I don't wish to attack".
Loosing the last hope, she lowered her head. Then suddenly she brought her face up, sharpness of the movement pushed her hair from her cheeks, baring her fully.
"Why are you doing this?" she quietly asked.
"You have my mother's eyes".
Tristan put the end of conversation, the way he always could. She suddenly brought the hand to her chest and tore the chain around her neck with unknown for Romans symbol on it. First her hand touched his chest, but place was too easy to notice and start the rain the questions and suspicions. Tristan just stood in darkness as she looked at him, at his hair which was always riot, with strands of grey hair despite his relative youth. She reached up and attached the chain to the thin braid, where it was immediately lost among silver-grey strands.
He didn't close his eyes when she stepped back and aimed. But he supposed to be sleeping, so he didn't see the handle of his own sword leaving the smashed mark on his forehead and big headache for the whole next day. His sword hit the floor in time with his body. First option was gone with the strong winter wind, leaving the son of the second option on the stone floor.
When the fear of being noticed let her go, she found her ability to feel again, ability which betrayed her today and nearly cost her life and felt someone's eyes on her back. Wall was behind her, forests and her tribe ahead, but she turned around. Someone was standing on the wall with strictness and calmness of a leader. Her savior called him Arthur, she heard. She couldn't see him then, but somehow she knew it was him. Their eyes met through the snow and the distance, then he turned away first. She waited for a moment, then continued to walk.
She had a long road ahead.
THE END.