Before I start with chapter two, I would like to thank all the people who reviewed! Your reviews are what keep me alive and breathing :D

I hope that as I continue on with the story, you will enjoy it just as much. I'll do my best.

banatic66- Thanks! I'm glad you like it. I had my doubts at first on how good this would be, so you're reviews really cheer me up:D

camlann- I'm happy to hear that you're interested in Vrena's background. I'm still adding more to it, so the full story may not get out until this chapter or chapter three. I like to make my beginnings short and sweet, because everyone wants to get to the real plot.

katemary77- Vrena is the name of…well, Vrena, and Arvin is the name of her horse. It's a breed of Finnhorse, one of the oldest I could find. I also discovered today that looking up 'horses in 400-500 a.d.' doesn't really help.

Urhallucinating- thank you for reviewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Anyway, now on with the story!


Chapter 2: Vrena

(revised)


(A/N: this is right after the knight's first battle with the Woads in the movie, when they're delivering the Bishop to the other side of the wall.)

He noticed that it was a clear day for once. It was as if his and the other knight's moods –now positive after a superb defeat against the attacking Woads from earlier- had lifted the clouds and fog. It was the clearest any had seen the island in a while, though it still remained unpleasantly cold.

"Well, now that we're free men, I'm gonna drink 'till I can't piss straight!" Bors said to them as they made their way up the dirt road that would lead into town.

"You do that every night…" Gawain snickered.

"I never could piss straight. Too much of myself to handle. Down there."

An awkward silence, so silent, you could hear a horse neigh from a mile away. Or, at least Tristan could...neighing?

He turned his head, but only saw the horses and carriages. None far enough away to have made the noise. He turned his head back around. It was probably one of the horses on the other side of the wall.

He must have tuned out some of his friend's chattering while looking around, because now they were on the topic of Galahad.

"Galahad, do you still not know the Romans? They don't scratch their asses without holding a ceremony." Gawain joked to his comrade.

"Why don't ye just kill him, and then discharge yourself after?" Bors interrupted.

"I don't kill for pleasure. Unlike some." Galahad responded. Galahad, unlike Gawain, didn't enjoy endless killing as much. Gawain seemed to be quite use to it already. But after so many years, it's a shocking feat that the younger man had not yet succumbed to the thrill of killing.

"Well, you should try it someday; you might get a taste for it." Tristan said to Galahad. He never really spoke much, even to them-- so whenever he did, it seemed that everyone would turn and watch as if he was some kind of foreign artifact to be examined.

But Tristan didn't catch what Galahads retort was, for he had again been distracted by a distant cry of a horse. He could hear what direction it was coming from now…not too far east.

But whoever was riding out there wasn't his concern at the moment, though he would remember to keep an eye out. It could just be a lone rider or a soldier, but you never know.

Then he saw a familiar shape in the sky.

He did his customary whistle that would bring his closest colleague back to him. The hawk, whom he had never given a name, soared down to its owner and landed flawlessly on his left arm.

"Where you been, eh? Where you been?" He spoke to the animal and let it perch itself onto his shoulder. He and this bird went far back, nearly as long as his time spent as a knight. On days traveling when he is sent ahead of the group, it is always the hawk whom he sends up, scoping out danger. Never has it failed Tristan.

They had now made it to the gate, where work horses from the other side began to heave it open and revive its hinges, which released a loud moaning as it creaked open.

Off to receive their discharge papers, or so they hoped.


A hundred feet away.

A hundred feet away from the wall, that was were Vrena's poor, tired and wounded horse had decided to fall on its side.

But poor Arvin was almost as badly beaten as she, so forcing him to keep running and support the both of them was too much to ask. The weakened stallion just couldn't ride anymore, and –thank the powers above- landed in a position as to not hurt Vrena any further. It was a fine thing that she had woken up only a few minutes after fainting; or her leg would probably have been trapped under Arvin, had she no time to yank herself away from the large beast.

However, falling in the first place had definitely done another number on her…a lot of numbers had been done on her within the last day, if that's even a way to state it.

After she had woken back up from her unconscious state, she remained stomach to the saddle, gripping the reigns with her left hand as Arvin trotted through the forest around all kinds of trees, thin and thick, limping all the way. They had ridden another few hours, she suspected, though it could have been longer.

Arvin had been knocked over by one of the stronger townsfolk, been laughed at and spat on as they kicked and threw objects at the poor beast. She remembered it too well, walking out of her house to see her horse being beaten.

"What the hell are you doing to my horse?" She hollered as she darted out of the home that once belonged to her and her sister…only her sister now that she had been chased away.

"Shut your mouth, demon!" Shouted a man she knew, Mr. Barne. She remembered not understanding the meaning of his rudeness. Demon? Was this some kind of cruel prank? She had lived in the village of Tirth for four years, surely this was a joke?

But, of course, in the end, it was as real as anything.

Though when she found out the reason for the madness that had overcome her village, the pain in her heart hurt more then the stinging and open wounds still on her body.

Her own sister.

Remembering her wounds, she struggled to pull herself up by her arms and guide herself over to the nearest tree. The injuries hurt much less then they did when she had first received them, though she knew if they were not treated soon, she would definitely die within the next day.

Grimacing, she remembered what her sister had taught her.

"If you have an open wound, and you are out all alone with no medicines, you must make your own. Or die; either one will solve the problem."

Her sister's voice ran through her head, making her grimace. She still couldn't believe it was her sister's fault for her pain. Or had she been framed? There had to be another explanation.

She quickly recalled the ingredients for a herbal solution that did well with large gashes, such as the one on her upper cheek and left leg. They were still open, even though the heavy bleeding had stopped. These hurt the most, and would take the longest to heal. The others… smaller, but still slightly open ones, and the small little scratches would be fine. Most of the blood had dried up now thanks to time.

In a recent turn of events she had decided it best to stay away from the wall; surely people would be suspicious of her condition and want to know the cause. A cause which she will, for now, keep to her self.

She noticed then that most of her needed ingredients were very few here. Some she could see from where she was sitting, and some only found further into the forest, near Woad territory. But she had no choice. She would die here, or probably die trying to save herself.

Focusing her energy to her feet, she gripped the freezing ground and tightened her cloak around her. She was lucky enough that Tirth's church founder, bishop Agustius, had pulled the townsfolk away for a "celebration" before killing her. She still choked in disbelief that someone would accuse her of such things. She even attended their services weekly, and was kind to all of them. It seemed so wrong.

But she had managed to travel behind the houses and make it into her home, get a few of her things without confrontation with her sister, help Arvin off the ground and set off at the fastest pace they could ride without collapsing. It was a miracle she could walk then when she could barely walk now. But then, she had been frantic and desperate to get away, running on her instinct to survive.

They had gotten far away now, and it had been a good twenty hours before the whole nightmare had begun.

She was lucky that there was no snow here, and looking at the sky, she could tell that there would be none soon. She was fairly warm in the clothes she was occupying, and was thankful for the time she had been blessed with to grab her heavy hooded cloak –one that had belonged to her deceased mother. She had been very fortunate.

'Three down, three to go…' she thought to herself as she scanned the woodland for the familiar plants, limping and feeling the after-burn of being whipped and beaten.

'Four' she counted as she found another one of the plants. There were two more missing, but she would have to pray for the best. She would pray hard, even though she didn't think her prayers would make it to anyone.

Vrena was not too fond of the Catholic or Christian god, their disciples, all their protestors…it just wasn't something that caught her interest; so she had decided to live with the fact that something is out there, and humanity just isn't worthy enough to find it. Even easier for her to believe right now.

Perhaps that was what her sister had told the villagers?

That she was a god-hating nonbeliever who secretly wanted to burn their livestock and crops and homes, perhaps eat their children?

She spat some saliva out of her mouth, which still tasted horribly of dried blood. Listening to the wind, she could hear the slight lapping of a nearby lake or river. She took a peek down at the small canteen she had found at the last minute, and remembered the small bowl stuffed into one of Arvin's satchel pockets. She would end up using a stick to mash and mix the herbs…

She tore the last plant she needed and shuffled toward the sound of the river. She was now beginning to feel dizzy, as if she were drunk. She would have to get this water and head back to Arvin quickly.

It took her only a few minutes to make it to the stream. It was small, but big enough for her to dunk the canteen in and fill it to the top. Eagerly and slowly she bent to her weak and scratched knees, nearly dunking her whole head in.

As she let the water lay back to its flat state, she tried to scan for her reflection. When she spotted it, she was horror-struck.

More damage had been done to her face then she thought. Once warm and bright; now streaked with mud from the wet roads they left behind.

Mud, and she saw now how bad the cut on her cheek was.

It reached from just below her eye to the side of her face, and there were many other cuts elsewhere, but they would heal in time.

She looked like she had been in the middle of a war.

It was a good thing she decided not to go to Hadrian's Wall, or their folk would surely be suspicious. She quickly placed the cork back into the canteen and walked a bit faster back to Arvin, following the landmarks she remembered, Limping worse then ever.


It was getting later into the day, and they had still not received their discharge papers.

Something about the Roman bishop they had helped deliver made Tristan curious. It just didn't seem roman-like to let them go so simply, after their stories and rumors had been spread in all directions for the past fifteen years. The 'heroes' always get grand finales, and he suspected the battle with Merlin's Woads back near the forest was not their last.

The other knights besides him and Arthur, however, were joyful still. It seemed as if nothing would break their mood, and now they were all headed into the deeper parts of the small town, for Bors' wife to serve them beer and rum until they're dead drunk. Arthur had a grave look planted on his face.

He felt the way Tristan himself did, and knew that the end was not near just yet. Seeing his friends so happy made this even worse on the leader…he had promised them their freedom, and Rome was forcing him to delay it.

It was almost dark now, and when the night is young, men drink, women dance, and participate in a bundle of other festivities Tristan really had no interest in.

But of course, if he didn't join them, he would be bored stiff the rest of the night. Besides, he did enjoy throwing knives. This was also one of the only times he ever got to throw one without pulling it out of a dead body afterward.

He headed to where the many torches had been lit, and saw Lancelot gambling with a few other men, clearly loosing with the sour look on his face. Bors was holding one of his many children, Dagonett doing nothing in particular, and Gawain and Galahad tossing throwing knives at a dartboard. Arthur was nowhere in sight.

He took an apple from a near-by basket and bit into it, letting the sweet juices run down his throat for the first time in a long while. Traveling, they hardly ever got a chance to eat something that hadn't just been killed.

Picking up a knife, he threw it with his usual accuracy towards the board, the blade stabbing the end of Galahads. Him and Gawain both looked at it with wonder and turned to him.

"Tristan!" Gawain exclaimed.

"How did you do that?" Galahad stared in disbelief.

"I aim for the middle…" He said as-a-matter-of-factly and took another bite from his apple. Looking back over to the gambling table, Lancelot now had a nice flock of women surrounding him from all sides.

Tristan never had time for a relationship, and still didn't, whether they be one-night stands or long months or years. None of them he was interested in the slightest bit, and he didn't mind. The company of a woman always felt too forced and awkward to him.

"Arthur!" A few men said cheerfully as the Roman commander finally appeared. His face was more sullen then before.

So he had been right.


She tried to stop her arm from shaking as she mashed the leaves and plants and mixed them with the stream water. The temperature hadn't seemed to change, a good thing. But now she was shaking for no reason...perhaps the stress was getting to her.

Her stomach growled hungrily, she would have to hunt for something later. But her bow –another prized possession that belonged to her mother- was at the moment trapped under Arvin's heavy body. She would have enough of her medicine for them both.

She would need to help him up, which would prove to be a task and a half…since Arvin was a huge thing for his size, but a white beauty, and a smooth runner. She was lucky to have raised him since he was but a foal.

She finished mixing the herbs and began to spread a small amount onto her facial cuts, and more overtop the cheek gash, which began to sting and cause her to curse and whimper…then tried as hard as she could to bear it. Whatever was in those plants that were supposed to heal her was obviously working, which she was happy for.

She applied the mixture to the rest of her cuts, and at one point had trouble with her back. The gashes were long and thick and bloodied, hard for her to reach and seared with pain when she touched them. She was thankful when it was over, and she could put her clothes back on, not caring if they would stain. She had to keep warm.

She moved over to Arvin, who was still on his side, and looked almost dead. She felt guilty. Guilty for even thinking of leaving him there while she wandered, guilty for having to share her pain that only she deserved.

"C'mon Arve, you need to get up. Please?" She begged him, and stroked his white mane.

He snorted in reply, and swished his tail a little at her voice. He kicked one of his legs a bit, and shook his head, causing Vrena to jump back a bit. He rolled over and his neigh crackled a bit. She would have to lead him to the river later that night-- morning could not wait.

She had a better view now of his wounds. With his white hair, it was easy to tell where he was wounded. She removed the saddle, making him shake a bit, and then allowed her to pull it off the rest of the way. There was a long, deep scar on his neck; someone had probably whipped him before she came out to his rescue.

His back left knee, she noted, was very bloody and obviously damaged. He would probably be limping for a few weeks, months even. This was not good.

She smeared the medicine onto his several other wounds, in which he had so many that she almost ran out of her mixture. Such a bad shape they were both in. She was thirteen when she had gotten him, she recalled. So he was about ten years old now. She was twenty three, so it was close enough.

She would lead him to the river after a few minutes, then they would have to camp without a camp, for lack of better resources. She peered off into the distance from her safety on the hill and saw the tip of the wall through the trees. So close…but she wouldn't risk it.


Well, as it turns out, he had been right. As of morning, they would head back into Woad province, and pass through dangerous land to reach a Roman village before a supposable great collection Saxons killed them.

For him, who had seen it coming, this was no big deal. They would just have to wait for their discharge papers a bit longer. Not like they hadn't been doing that for fifteen years now.

"I'm a free man! I will choose my own fate!" Bors shouted in his loud, booming voice.

Tristan just took another bite of his apple, uncaring of Bors' fury at the situation. They all should have seen it coming; they knew the Romans better then that.

"Yeah yeah, we're all going to die someday. If it's death by a Saxon hand that frightens you – stay home." He said loudly enough so only the men he was directing it to would hear.

"Well if you're so eager to die, you can die right here!" Galahad shouted at him. When exactly did he say that he was eager to die?

He knew that if he didn't get rest now, he would be this irritable the rest of the journey. Lancelot was now holding Galahad back from trying to murder him, and everyone was now in a horrible mood.

In the distance, he could see the clouds returning to haunt them.

Tomorrow would be a long day.


That was long…I just started writing and couldn't stop…but then, I know people prefer long chapters over short ones, and I really want to get to them running into Vrena.

Well guess what, you have to wait! Reviews are necessary for writers to have a healthy, joyful life!

:D

See all of you next chapter.