SpectralLady- Schools can be stupid sometimes xP…thanks for reviewing! It's ok, you can continue to be a silent reader. I don't mind it at all. As long as I know people are enjoying my story, I'll update as much as possible.
Op- Glad you still like it, and that you're not confused :D
Dw- It's a good thing you guys understand it, I don't see how it's confusing either…some people just skim ahead and forget to read important parts. Happens a lot here :P
Calliann- I never noticed that…but you're right, we've never had a bomb threat in the summer before xD…glad you agree with me on the story. And yes, I'm gonna cry when I have to type Dag's death ;-;
Amy- Thanks for the review, glad you agree :D
katemary77- I think you've got the story down now, but thanks for telling me that you were confused. And I still think I might make a family tree:P
HGandRHrforever- Thanks again!
Modernprincess- Yes, ER does rock! The last episode was depressing, with Kerry and her mother. Poor Kerry ;-;
Juju- thanks.
Story story…Oh, and just to make you want to read faster: Towards the end, there is some interesting yet depressing Tristan/Vrena arguing :3
-
-
Chapter 11: Trust
-
-
When she awoke, Vrenaknew thattwo things wrong.
One, was that it was still bright outside. Customarily she would wake up in a few minutes or so after fainting, scaring the bejesus out of anyone within a yards distance; thus waking up to the evening mists was not unusual. It was wrong because she needed the damn sleep, and these fainting tribulations were preventing that.
One and a half, she added as she opened her eyes to see that yet again she was clothed in merely an undershirt, the rest of her attire lying folded in a corner of the wagon.
And two, her abdomen felt as hollow as Lancelot's head was empty. She felt light, nauseated, and in dire need of things that would make her stomach feel well again.
Looking up to the top of the wagon, her body was now rocking to and fro, as if on a ship, with every snowy hill they skimmed over. It made her feel even worse, though she knew there was nothing left for her to heave up.
She was about to close her eyes again when the smell of wheat filled her senses, along with a warm feeling next to her. Opening her eyes, Vrena sat up slowly, leaning her back to the thick straw-built wall. She saw that two thick blankets covered the left and right sides, while the front remained open to allow in the light that had decided to come out from behind the clouds.
"Eat." Came a woman's voice, smooth and comforting. Looking at the individual who had been kind enough to make sure food had been ready in the first place, she met a pair of beautiful eyes, as bright a blue as the sky- right away remembering the Woad from Marius' dungeon. Vrena cautiously accepted the hefty loaf of bread she had been offered.
"We've been given some cheeses and wines as well. Kind men Arthur and his knights are." Said the beautiful Woad girl, who had hair much like Vrena's. Now having a chance to study the one she had help rescued, she saw that appearance wise, the two were very much comparable. Though this woman's cheek bones retreated higher in her face, and her lips much more full. Had Vrena's hair been a bit straighter, it would have added to the effect.
She took a huge chunk out of the bread, nearly too much for her mouth to handle at first. But after a few seconds of chewing, it passed through her throat fine, and she felt a pit in her stomach become satisfied with the welcomed substance.
While eating, she took notice to the young boy that had huddled himself in the corner across from them to keep warm. He was sheltered with numerous blankets, but a bandaged arm peaked out from under a cover. She also noticed that the one hand of the woman next to her was bruised and red, and when eating her own food and drink, could not bend the fingers.
"Is your hand immobile?" Vrena asked, hoping not to sound too rude. The woman whose name she did not know looked up from consuming her rations, no look of offense planted to her face.
"No, my fingers had been crooked and disproportioned earlier...but Arthur Castius was kind enough to push them back into their rightful joints. My name is Guinevere, what is yours?" Said the lady, misty blue eyes resting on her wine as she picked up the bottle and took a small gulp, then placed it back to the middle of them.
"Vrena." She retorted simply, not typically in a sharing mood. "Out of curiosity, how long have I been asleep?"
"No longer thenathreeor four milestravel. We're planning on stopping once the sun sets." Guinevere answered.
Not the answer Vrena was looking for.
'Oh, you slept the whole day yesterday! A tired thing you must have been to stay sound asleep till so late in the afternoon.' Would have been an answer she would have embraced with open arms. But no; again she had fainted, and again she had woken up quicker then you could think.
They finished eating their food in silence, both enjoying every second of the wonderful taste.
Guinevere had turned around and adjusted herself towards the opening in the canvas that surrounded them, peering out the front of the wagon as it was pulled by two brawny steeds. Vrena also looked out to see that snow was still among them, but dissipating as they moved forward. A good thing, because she bloody hated the snow.
She followed the Woads gaze and saw that it landed on Arthur, who was far in front of the caravan. She could not tell whether it was a look of interest or mere curiosity that set itself into Guinevere's eyes, but sensed an attachment. It was not a strong thing yet, but she verified her statement as Arthur turned around with a similar look.
She watched closely as Lancelot, who had been trotting next to his friend, also looked to Guinevere, then to Arthur, and back to Guinevere again. A look of frustration and disappointment crossed his face as he ordered his horse forward, leaving to ride ahead of the caravan.
Vrena watched as Lancelot rode past Tristan, who had been in front of Arthur while this small internal battle between three people was secretly being fought. She could have sworn she saw Tristan roll his eyes before turning his attention back to the path ahead. A smile crossed Vrena's lips at the knight sudden ill-tempered actions of the usually silent scout.
Deciding to leave Guinevere to stare at Arthur's back, she removed the covers that had been folded over her legs. She looked at the bareness of her left leg, seeing that the splint had been removed, and the longwound covered with newly-formed skin. A definite scar, no doubt about that.
Deciding to test her condition, she moved the leg up and down in the air, then bent it a bit. Feeling only a faint amount of soreness, she touched the new mark gently with a finger. She was pleased as only a bit of pain was released, and pressing harder, it did not become unbearable.
"Should you be doing that?" Asked a familiar voice that made Vrena jump, now remembering that she was only wearing a long white undershirt. She quickly pulled the blanket up across her bare legs andgazed up, Tristan looking at her with normal unemotional features. His eyes always seemed to get more readable as she was around him, nonetheless.
However, his face remained the same as Vrena shot her free leg up from under the blanket, out into the cold of the outside world, landing a perfect hit right below the scout's knee.
"I'll do what I want with my wounds, mind you! Now would you be so kind as to deliver me my horse?" She spoke in an angered tone. Though she was not at all angry, more among the lines between embarrassment and...embarrassment.
Tristan impassively turned his horse, trotting away from their wagon.
"A strange way you show your gratitude towards men." Laughed Guinevere as she finally took her gaze from Arthur and back into the wagon.
"He shouldn't have barged in!"
"He was merely checking up on your health, you needn't harm him with words. After all, he was the one who made sure you were in here and safe."
Vrena had no reply to this new information. Tristan had hated her from the minute he discovered that she was part Woad, though she still did not know if he was aware of her Sarmatian background. Why would he care about her well being, after finding out that she had the blood of the enemy?
"Clever men these knights are, for they can tell the difference between an enemy and an ally." Guinevere gave a final response before facing the front of the wagon again, Arthur on her mind.
'Allies Arthur and Lancelot will not be any longer, should you keep up your gazing' Vrena wanted to add, but then amended that she would be better off with this Woad warrior on her side. And before she could retort anything, Tristan had thrown open the curtain to the wagon again, Arvin trotting next to him.
Vrena did not know whether she ought to be surprised or not that the scout had done her bidding, and at any cost was at loss for words.
"Do you still yearn to get out of this cramped compartment?" He asked, not looking at her. For a few seconds Vrena was completely silent, and only the wheels of the wagon on the ground and chatting from some of the townsfolk could be heard. It was then that she realized that she was nauseous from being closed inside the walls of the cart, and had not had a breath of fresh air yet.
She found herself smiling.
"Let me get dressed."
-
-
Her sudden irritability caught him off-guard when he went to go check on her, after riding ahead of the caravan to check the status of the Saxon army. There were none in sight so far, so he decided to return early. He would go out again later, once the sun had fallen.
After riding in front of Arthur and Lancelot, he had to stop himself from adding in any remark on how both of them seemed to be turning their heads to gaze at the same Woad girl, whom they had recovered from the dungeon earlier. At one point, Lancelot saw Arthur and the woman gawking at each other (from his point of view) and rode off in annoyance. It rarely happened, but when Arthur and Lancelot did argue, they would clash until the other gave up and apologized.
He decided to head back to the wagon to see if Vrena had woken up. But when he pulled back the curtain, she did not notice him as she was examining the long scar on her leg.
Of course, he made her aware of his presence, and in return she gave him a nice jab in the knee. Her brown eyes sent him accusing looks as she demanded for her horse, which he fetched and brought to her. When he returned with the steed, he could not tell if the look on her face was of shock or curiosity, or both. Anyhow, his action seemed to brighten her mood as he waited for her to reassemble the rest of her clothing. Once she had finished, she looked her normal self again- full of energy and allertness.
However, he could not stay. The sun was now falling behind the hills, the path was becoming dark, and the townsfolk yawned with weariness.
"I apologize for my actions today. I have not had a customary amount of sleep in three days." She said with a laugh, tying up the last string on her long black cloak. She would need fresh clothing soon, since the ones she was still wearing had blood stains mounted here and there.
"Then once you are done getting your fresh air, head back into the wagon. You're much more pleasant when you're resting, in any case." He said, still cool and collected. She shot her head up, an aggravated look on her face.
"Well, maybe I'll stay here and keep you company then, how does that sound to your ears?" She shot back.
He decided not to reply for his own safety.
-
-
No reply came from the knight, who still remained straight-faced. By looking at his eyes, she could tell he had also not slept for a good while. His hair looked the same as it always did; loose but braided, uneven but still all shoulder-length. His armor was dirty, aswell as the rest of his attire. Looking at the other knights who were scattered around the caravan, they seemed no different. Vrena could easily compare, she she also had not had time to bathe or wash her clothes. Partly because she had no clothes to change into.
Tearing her gaze away from Tristan, she saw that Arthur had again turned around to glance at Guinevere. Lancelot again turned and let out another frustrated sigh.
"That might turn out ugly." She said to the silent scout, whom she knew had also been watching the actions between the three. Arthur and Lancelot seemed to both have a sort of magnetism towards the Woad.
"While I'm gone, keep them in order for me, if you can handle the task. If someone doesn't, we'll have two dead men by morning." He glanced at her, and she nodded. An easy mission she would make sure not to fail.
Seeing the interesting love triangle reminded her of a song her mother use to sing to them, that she herself had taken the time to learn. Had anyone an instrument with strings, she could have sung it. But not now. She remembered it clearly- the story of a woman warrior, who had fallen in love with two men, and they both lusted her.
A tragic ending, anyways. Most stories of love ended catastrophic for some reason. Perhaps it was just simply for the lesson to be more pronounced, or that the lone songwriters who invented them did not believe in successful relationships. Whatever the matter, the tune her mother had taught her about the woman Annaleeze was as addicting as the alcohol men drank in pubs.
"Watch out for him too." Tristan said, breaking her train of thought as he tilted his head towards Marius, who was whispering quietly with two of his mercenaries, far away from everyone else. She never really had liked her uncle too much; he always seemed strict, but friendly. Two things that did not go good mixed- for him, anyways. But seeing this Marius now, they seemed like two different people. She was beginning to loathe this one.
"If he causes any trouble, do not be afraid to kill him off. It'll rid us all the headaches." He added.
"If I remember how to. It has been long since I have lived among people like myself." She said, reminding him that for the past ten years she had lived among Catholics and Christians.
"The only time I have been able to fire an arrow is early in the morning in the forests, and I have never laid hands on a sword." She informed him. He gave her an interested look.
"What? Do you think that the Romans of Tirth would let any woman near a weapon? I had to hide this bow under my bed so no one would ever take notice of it, not even…" Her voice began to crack at this point, and she did not wish to take that sentence any further.
The knight gazed at her with his cool and collected face and nodded in an understanding way, moving his hawk from his shoulder to his forearm.
"You want to go out again? Here-" He said to the bird and lifted his arm higher, the hawk flapping its wings and soaring off into the sky. Gliding with ease, it circled overtop the caravan once, and then flew into the direction of the wall, to which they were headed.
-
-
They both watched as his friend flew into the air, getting a lead ahead of him.
"Be careful. The weather will only get worse as you head out farther." She said softly, looking in front of them at the head of the caravan.
"Should I take advice from a Woad?" He asked, not knowing if he was being serious or something else. She sent him a perplexed look.
"Do you not trust me at all, sir Tristan?" She questioned, slight exasperation in her voice. He took notice that this was the first time she had spoken his name aloud.
"That is not what I said."
"It most definitely is what you said! Do not perjure yourself."
"No lies have Ispoken toyou." His voice became firmer. Was this woman accusing him of finding her insufferable? She may be Woad, yes, but whatever she had going on in her head was complete nonsense.
"Oh, so you do not trust me after all? How much of your detest do you hide from view, Sarmatian knight of Rome?"
As if on cue, a spark lit up in Tristan that he had no felt in years. Pure heated argument he knew he was about to indulge himself into, but this lady was now insulting how he had forcefully been pulled from his home to fight for Arthur. This he would not stay quiet about.
"You condemn me in such ways, half Woad who travels and lives with Romans and Sarmatians." He retorted, raising his voice and loosing some of his composure. A few people had begun listening to them argue now, even a few knights had managed to turn their heads. Tristan and Vrena were paying no attention to them, only to out-witting the other.
"Who travels and lives with Romans and Sarmatians because it was Romans and Sarmatians who killed off her kind!" Vrena shouted, brow furrowed and brown eyes furious. This new fact stunned him, but only for an instant. He had figured before that some incident must have caused her Woad clan to leave her in the hands of Romans, but not something as intense as a massacre. His brain was trying to register something important, but he paid no heed to it.
"Then the hell are you here for?" He said through gritted teeth, even though he knew the answer to his own question. She's here because she is weak and even now remains injured, you oaf.
"You're right." She said, her voice beginning to waver slightly. Was she biting back tears, or fuming with hatred? He almost began to regret arguing with her, but her boot again locked with his leg, this time harder then she had ever kicked him before. This kick may have actually stung a bit, had he not been as strong and use to pain as he was.
"Why am I here?" She spat, almost to herself and not him. He felt the eyes of almost all the caravan on them now, and saw that even the Woad from the dungeon was giving him a hurt look, as if she knew how badly both he and Vrena had mentally beaten one another.
Even a few from the front of the caravan, including Arthur and Lancelot, had turned, hearing the intense argument.
He couldn't bear to stay in this position any longer, and rode forward, not even looking at Vrena has he trotted up to Arthur.
"Aye, someone has no experience with women." Lancelot sighed. Tristan shot him an angry look, and when Tristan gave someone an angry looked, it meant that they were about to die, or had broken the man's invisible boundaries. Lancelot quickly turned back around.
"Scout the area. You may go." Arthur said, looking at his knight with a sympathetic look.
He took no time getting away from the caravan.
-
-
Vrena held back the hot tears that were forcing themselves into her eyes. She was a mix of many things: Fury, pain, sadness, and hate.
Fury, because her heart was beating fast and she could feel her nails digging into her skin, even with the reigns in between them. Pain, because her heart was heavy with the regret of arguing with Tristan, whom she had not meant to argue with. Sadness because watching him ride away alone to scout the land made her wish someone would go with him and keep him company. Hate, because no matter how much she could try to convince herself that she hated this man, she knew the one that she hated most was herself.
But honestly! It was not his business at all to bring up her upbringing in front of so many people. But with the way they had been arguing, the whole caravan was watching her, some turning around now that the usual silent scout had left.
She regretted hiding in the forest near the wall, instead of getting help in the first place.
She regretted bothering them with helping her, saving her life.
She regretted how her heart began to feel heavy and the tears were now falling freely. She quickly pulled up the black hood, letting it shade her eyes, as she tilted her head low to hide her face.
Unfortunately, Lancelot rode off to the side of the caravan and joined her. She wished he would go away, go gaze at Guinevere until his eyes fell out of his head or something. It was bad enough being surrounded by all these people. She wondered where Fulcinia was. Probably wherever Marius was, and she did not wish to confront him right now either.
"You shouldn't be upset." another voice came from behind her, turning out to be Gawain's.
"Aye, he's right. You should be proud. I've never seen Tristan so verbally active. And we've known him for fifteen years!" Lancelot said, trying to cheer her up. Perhaps if this man would stop trying to comfort her and work on his own problems, Arthur would not be glairing at him for being too close to the wagonthat Guinevere was in.
"You're pretty talented if you could get underTristan's skin that easily." Gawain laughed. But she did not feel comforted, not one bit.
"If another word is spoken in my direction, I mightbringpain toan unlucky individual." Vrena said quietly, so only they could hear. She knew they had now seen the tears that streaked her face as the last of the sunlight reflected on them.
-
-
"Knights!" Called Arthur's voice from the head of the Caravan. The five made their way up to the front, swerving around people and carriages. Vrena was now at the rear of the procession, hiding behind another large wagon.
"I think it is best that we do not speak with the lady Vrena, or Tristan for that matter, once he returns." Arthur suggested. It was now dark, and a few people were lighting torches. They would have to make camp soon.
"For what reason? The lady seems mighty upset, and who knows what we'll have to live through once Tristan returns. I've never seen him angry with a woman before." Lancelot replied.
"Did you not hear what they were arguing about?" Galahad interrupted, taking sides with Arthur.
"Of course I did, I was only a few yards away. So what if the girl is half Woad, she has been good to us for rescuing her." Lancelot spoke back, brow furrowed.
"Did you not pay notice to how she spoke about her home?" Arthur questioned his friend.
"I heard her. But it makes no difference."
"It makes all the difference!" Galahad yelled back.
"Lower 'yer voices, the lot of you." Bors said calmly, looking back to the people behind them.
"How so?" Gawain asked Galahad.
Arthur and Galahad both sent each other looks. Galahad was not willing to speak of it, but Arthur was.
"She said that her home when she was a child had been attacked by Romans and Sarmatians from our army. Can any of you remember her telling you how long she had lived away from Woads?" Arthur asked all of them, only Galahad already knew the answer. The other knights had probably not paid enough attention, and Tristan they were unsure of.
"About ten, twelve years." Dagonett answered for the others.
"And how old does she look?"
"Halfway through her twenties, I presume. Though she looks younger." Lancelot said with a suggestive smile on his face, despite the situation.
"Do the counting, Lancelot. I know all of you remember our first mission with the Roman army as knights. We were all in the same regiment. Put two and two together." Galahad said solemnly, looking into nothingness.
Lancelot's face became strangely similar.
"Oh."
-
-
Every time she would wipe away the salty water with the sleeve of her cloak, more would start to fall. Eventually she gave up and just let herself sob uncontrollably.
Why the hell was she so upset over what that arrogant knight had said? Even back when Vejha would now and then question their blood, it did not upset her. But when he had yelled at her, his soft calm eyes penetrating, it made her wish she had stayed in Tirth. Allow herself to be burned and tortured. It would be less painful then these feelings that were stabbing at her.
All because of him.
-
-
Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was kind of difficult writing, trying to make Tristan as less OOC as possible ;-;…did I do a good job? Do I still suck? Feel free to tell me.
III Cari III
