TO ALL: For those who did not receive my e-mail because I could not find your address, I warned as many people as I could that my motherboard messed up, and it took a while for my dad to fix it. Thus I could not get on to write at ALL, which depressed the crap out of me. Sorry if it took so long! ;-;

ALSO, to those who were wondering- yes, I did write that song in the last chapter. Took me a whole day to even THINK of xD…

Calliann- The song I wrote myself, did you like it:P

Dw- Ah, English is your second language? What's your first?

Op- Dude, thanks xD

Etraya- I think we can all compare :3

Charlie- Hmm…I'm not sure if it will be a real smexy scene cough…but if everyone else agrees that it would go with the story, maybe I can add in some…snippets of things XD…oh, and do feel free to give me whatever ideas you think would brighten up the story. I accept all suggestions!

Modernprincess- Yep, I wrote the song :P Glad you liked it. Wow…I can't wait until tonight then. ER will be pretty interesting.

SpectralLady- Yea, I haven't had a tootsie pop in such a long time…we just don't buy them anymore for some reason.

Babak- Maybe she will sing a song for Tristan (and Tristan only) later :3 -insert evil grin-

elvenstar5- Glad you liked the ending :D

booya- xD…the last time I had a tootsie pop, I remember always biting them just to get to the chocolate.

Nakeevka- Wow, French? Do you use the yahoo babble fish translator, or do you read English?

k9t- Love the emotional trauma :P

OnceUponaDecemeber31- xD ok, ok.

Story story…

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Chapter 13- Blue Paint

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Minutes seemed to fly by like seconds, each time he swung his sword into flesh.

No doubt he should have expected this: Saxons may be aggressive brutes with their minds only on killing whatever they could get their hands on, but they still had enough brains to send out scouts of their own.

So as Tristan had been heading east to check further into their army, indeed did he happen to come across a few blood-thirsty Saxon savages, whom he would have gladly avoided if given the chance. Other then that, he was pleased to let out his stresses on something- these four men attacked him at a good time.

It wasn't exactly pleasure he felt in his mind after killing. It was hard for even him to explain, how he could always remain so calm when fighting, as if it was the most common thing in the world.

For some, it was about confidence. When you fought and won, it allowed you to believe that you were better then your opponent. But with Tristan…no. It was something entirely different. It was as if it was what he had been born to do, to end lives that did not deserve to exist in the first place.

His sword pierced the middle of the next Saxon's chest, and retrieving his sword from the body covered in blood, did not pay heed to a sharp pain that erupted into his shoulder, or the other that came a split second after it.

He turned to the other two creatures as they ran forward, unsheathing their Saxon swords; and no sooner had they reached him did he pierce the first man's gut, avoiding the blade that carelessly grazed his arm, digging into his skin. But that did not matter right now.

Slicing the head clear off the last Saxon scout's shoulders, he returned his sword, dripping with blood, to its scabbard on his horse. Then took a look at two arrows sticking out of his shoulder. They were not deep by any means, nothing that couldn't be healed later.

Ripping both arrows out at once, he grimaced slightly as blood came pouring out of the open wounds, red seeping into the forest-green sleeve of his tunic. More also came from the sword cut on his upper-arm, but that was not as serious.

None the less, the wounds were not as painful as they should be. The sun began to rise over the icy hills, and the trees began to glimmer on the frozen leaves. Picking up one of the dead Saxon's crossbows from the ground, he mounted his horse and rode off.

He would tend to these wounds himself once he made it back to the caravan.

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She watched as the trees began to shine a light brown with the newly rising sun, and took in a breath of the fresh air. Not that it helped her mood at all. The night had been tough and long, and the events replayed themselves in her head.

She remembered feeling scared, scared and afraid. But for some reason, Guinevere seemed the exact opposite. The woman was no doubt smiling, after convincing Vrena that she fancied Tristan more then your average 'fancy'. Indeed he was a man of mystery, and her heart began to flutter when he was mentioned or seen.

She was almost in a state of panic, but out of the blue, Arthur came from the trees that lead to the camp. He gave the two concerned looks, turning his head to look at both of them at least twice. Then, looking to something behind them, his eyes widened and he quickly drew Excalibur. Vrena spun around to see none other the Merlin himself, who had silently appeared from nowhere.

Leader of the Woads and Blue Ghosts, she had often heard. A dark magician, they said, though she was not sure to believe it. All she really knew is that her mother had praised his man.

"You betrayed me!" Arthur shouted at Guinevere, looking furious. Vrena just stood where she was near Guinevere, not knowing what to do. If anything, this was not her problem. She was still thinking too much about the scout whom she had kicked so many times.

"He means you no harm." Guinevere coaxed him in a calm voice. Then, the voice of the Merlin spoke, causing her to jump.

"Peace between us this night, Arthur Castius," Said the old man, painted in blue and clothed in many strange articles of animal skin, wielding his large staff that could have touched the sky.

"So Rome is leaving. The Saxons have come. The world we have known and fought for is ending. Now, we must make a new world." He finished.

"Your world, Merlin. Not mine. I shall be in Rome." Arthur retorted. Vrena felt her breath nearly leave her as the Merlin's eyes scanned the people standing before him. When they rested on her, only for a second, she could have sworn he had looked right through her like a translucent light.

"Thank peace the Saxon will come to Rome." He finally said, taking his gaze from Vrena and back to Arthur.

"My knights trust me not to betray them to their enemy." Arthur argued.

"Rome was my enemy. Not Arthur. We have no fight between us."

"You tell that to the knights you killed before my eyes! Whose bones are buried in this earth!"

"We have all lost brothers."

"You know nothing of the loss I speak! Shall I help you remember? An attack on a village. The screams of an innocent woman." Arthur began to remind the elder. She did not know what Arthur found so evil about him, because to her he seemed nothing but a wise old man. Arthur must have had some event in his childhood that caused his hatred to stir.

"I feel the heat of that fire on my face even now." Arthur growled, though his sword was again resting at his side. At least he knew that the Merlin only meant to come in peace.

"I did not wish her dead. She was of our blood. As are you." Merlin spoke serenely. Vrena thought of this for a second, but only a second. Arthur had Woad blood? That indeed explained his bright eyes, though it was also a Roman trait, who knew.

"My men are strong but have need of a true leader. They believe you can do anything. To defeat the Saxons, we need a master of war. There was more then one reason for which we left you alive in the forest." Said Merlin, and Vrena shrunk back as the old man sent her a quick glance. But Arthur had begun to walk away.

"That sword you carry is made of iron from this earth, forged in the fires of Britain. It was love of your mother that freed the sword, not hatred of me. Love, Arthur." Heeded the Merlin to the departing man, who looked once at Excalibur, then continued to walk away.

After Arthur was gone from sight, both Guinevere and Merlin turned to face Vrena. If there was one thing she hated more then failing to educate Tristan on the subject of manners when it came to women, it was when she attracted more attention then she wanted. For instance, in situations like these.

"My lord Merlin, this is Vrena, the daughter of Saelia." Guinevere spoke, and Vrena's heart began to pound at the sound of her mother's name, which she had not heard in years. If the Merlin had known her mother, indeed he would also know that she was half Sarmatian. She did not know if to him, that meant good or evil.

"Ah, I should have known…indeed I recognized her in you the moment I set my gaze in your direction, but I did not know what to make of it." He said to Vrena in a calm, almost grandparent-like tone. And he was smiling, which meant that she would be dead in the next few seconds, or he was truly glad to see her?

"I knew that the two daughters of Saelia had escaped the massacre all those many years ago, but had yet to see proof. You have your father's eyes, child." His smile faded, as if reminiscing something.

"Did you know my father?" Vrena asked curiously. Never had she known anything about her father, only that had had been Sarmatian. Nothing about how her and her sister came to be, and what became of him.

"Ah, yes, yes…I have to say, you look more like him then your mother. Your hair as dark as your mother's, yes, but your hair flows freely like a wave cast from the ocean, not such as Vejha's, whose is strait with the blood of the picts running through her veins…no doubt she is the spitting image of Saelia." He said. Vrena frowned.

"Do you not know of my sister's state?" She shook her head, remembering the scars she still bore on her body.

"I am, in fact, aware of your sister's well being." Said the Merlin. "And I am deeply sorry for the troubles that you have faced, for you did not deserve them. But, had your sister not driven you thither, where would your heart be now?" He spoke, grinning knowingly.

If Vejha had never tried to kill her, and she had never ran off…she would have never met the knights. Including Tristan.

"But what does this mean?" Vrena spoke her thoughts out loud. "Should I run back and thank her for making my life a living hell? But then…" Her voice trailed from furious to perplexed, questioning to curious.

"Fate has interesting ways of leading you through life." Merlin mumbled quietly as he headed back towards the trees.

"Wait!" Vrena shouted. She had so many questions, all unanswered. He could not just leave her so!

"We will see each other soon, child." Said his voice, trailing off into the distant thick woodland. Abandoning hope to run after him and demand answers, she stood next to Guinevere and watched him disappear, almost like mist, into the green and brown of the forests.

The sun rose further now as she recalled the memory of not many hours ago, and felt soothing against the cold, retreating winds of the night; its heat reflected off her body, warming it only a bit. She looked down to her long, worn and blood-dirty tan skirts. Her oversized matching undershirt was even dirty now; she knew that she refused to spend any more time in these clothes.

It was still early morning, and Fulcinia was still sound asleep. But did Vrena need permission to borrow clothes when they were desperately needed? Indeed no.

She made her way over to one of the storage wagons, and took a peep inside. Lucky her, it did not take long to find some of the dresses her aunt had carelessly thrown on top one of Marius' chests. She shuffled through them, seeing none that suited her tastes, when a voice from behind made her jump and slam her head onto the top of the wagon.

"Do you need clothes?" Came the voice of Guinevere, looking as tired as she herself was. Neither of them had gotten much sleep from the night before, evidently enough.

Sitting down Fulcinia's frilled dresses and gowns; she answered a simple "yes", and jumped out of the wagon's entrance. Guinevere, still clothed in the same blue cloths from earlier, was holding out a green one similar, except thefabric was a fine wool, thick yet thin- while Guinevere's was as thin as parchment. How the woman survived in this weather, she would never know.

"Wear this. Both of these were given to me by one of the townsfolk who claimed to be an excellent knitter and did not mind giving them up." Smiled the woman, in which Vrena returned the grin.

"Thank you, I will try and fitit on." Vrena said with respect, and filed herself back into the storage wagon, allowing the curtain to fall over the entrance. There was just enough room to change.

Though there was no mirror, she examined herself from her eye's view.

The cloth was indeed comfortable, but the sleeves became loose and dangled at her elbows, leaving her scarred forearms available for everyone to gaze at. Many of her bruises had also not disappeared from that dreadful beating.

A dark, forest-green sash held up a plain, yet beautiful green skirt; she was pleased when it covered up all her legs, leaving only her boots to show, which clashed with the outfit nonetheless. The upper part of the dress was elegant, one which you would imagine seeing worn by a fairy-tale priestess or angel, something of the sort. It was the same fabric as the skirt, and hung tight to the ends of her shoulders.

The tightness of the fabric at the top prevented it from slipping, thank god. It indeed went right across her shoulders, leaving everything above it bare. And there were not many frills or excess decorations, which she was again thankful for.

It was colder then before, so she decided to stick one of Fulcinia's underskirts beneath the green one for extra warmth, and flung her cloak over her shoulders, but did not insert her arms into the long sleeves. For now she would simply keep it over her shoulders as a blanket.

She stepped out of the Wagon, the sun gleaming into her eyes, causing her to shrink back a bit. But she turned to face Guinevere, who seemed pleased with Vrena's new look.

"Now, come with me." Commanded the woman. Vrena had no reason to protest wandering off, except that everyone would wake soon and they would have to hurry and depart. But that would not be a good enough excuse for the Woad warrior.

"I've been waiting for this to bloody heat up. Thanks to the chill in the air, it took longer then I expected." Explained Guinevere as they neared a kettle over a burning fire. The sunset began to shade everything in pinks, reds, and oranges; amazingly beautiful. Guinevere removed the kettle from the wooden stand supporting it from left and right, and walked away, gesturing Vrena to follow.

Without a word, nearly in the middle of the campsite where anyone could see them, she forced Vrena to sit on the ground, and then placed a towel made of thick wool overtop her shoulders. Next to her was a large dish of water, which Guinevere held up with both hands after forcing Vrena to bend forward andallow herlong locks dangle in front of her, as if she were about to wash her hair. 'Aye, so that's what this is…' Vrena thought.

"Brace yourself." Guinevere warned and dumped the entire bowl of freezing water over her bent head. Vrena shrieked from the shock of the cold water and heard some shuffling coming from some sleeping folk near them. She felt a bit of the wetness drip down the front of her dress, but she was shivering now and didn't care at all were the water went.

"'s bloody c-cold!" Vrena shook with chill now, though the rest of her body was warm from her cloak, her head felt like it had been dumped into a bucket of ice.

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"I can imagine. Stay still!" Guinevere directed the woman whose hair was now dark and dripping, head soaked to the scalp, no doubt. But the towel had ceased the water from going everywhere else, good thing, because that dress suited her well. Green was indeed a matching color for this woman.

She reached over to the bowl at her side, in which she had mixed many things to clean Vrena's hair. Not much honey, many herbs, warm water, a few cleaning substances that could be found in plants around the woods, and even a bit of alcohol to get some of the dried blood off the hair. Over all, it had become a thick, cream-like formula, and felt like a soft balm on the hands.

Guinevere dipped her hands into the bowl and picked up as much of the mixture as she could, but eventually gave up on that, and bluntly picked up the whole bowl and allowed it to pour onto Vrena's bent head, sopping down the long dark locks.

Pleased, she allowed her fingers to massage in themixture until the girls wet hair had blended with it; it began to smell like chamomile, such as the kind she had added. Good.

In a way, she was doing this out of pity for Vrena. Indeed, only as the night was young, she had forced her to realize her feeling for the fierce, yet silent, unemotional Sarmatian knight named Tristan. Guinevere had seen it in both their eyes when she first saw them speaking together, both exploring the other without even realizing it.

Earlier when she had spoken with Arthur, he had told her that if anything, he and his men should feel ashamed that she is even kind to them- for they had been at the massacre that killed her Woad family. Guinevere at that time had been the same age as Vrena, but even so remembered going with the Merlin and other Woads, to help bury the bodies of their dead kin…

She swerved her way around the corpses, helping as one by one they were lifted and placed over by the hill, were the village they fought to defend had been destroyed. Her eyes glanced to the man who was more of a father then a mentor, no matter his age. Merlin was over farther towards the forest, glancing down at the body of a dead woman, sorrow in his eyes.

She ran over to join him, her small adolescent legs not as quick as some of the other warriors, but would be so over time. Looking down to the limp corpse the Merlin was stairing at, she examined it. Beautiful, she thought. This woman was beautiful enough to be the goddess they worshiped, the loving mother, and for a moment felt as if she was looking at a saint.

But her eyes drifted down to see the many stabbings overthe body, where swords had been pierced and dug into the flesh, blood splattered everywhere. This was no saint at all, but an honorable Woad who had died fighting for her people, as they all did.

"There is no sign of the children my lord, there were not many here in the village after all. Only one has been found dead, andit does not belong to her." Reported a Blue ghost speaking in the native tongue, whom had run over to the Merlin. The old man nodded solemnly, and then looked back to the corpse of the woman. Looking at her, Guinevere guesses that she was in her early thirties…some lines on the bloodied face proved that.

"Who is she, lord Merlin?" Guinevere asked, not wanting to intrude, but felt too curious to keep her thoughts hidden. The Merlin merely smiled a sad smile.

"Saelia was her name, young one. She was cast out of our dwelling in the woods to live here with other people like us many years ago to bear her children, and never returned. A wonderful fighter, she killed off many Saxons and Romans as a young sprite such as yourself." The old man rambled. Guinevere stared intently. This woman was special.

"Is that not all that makes her important, my lord?" She asked.

"Some bold questions you ask, but the answer is yes. This dead one you see here is my daughter. The other men tell me that no trace of her children have been found as of yet, but there are horse tracks heading east, just beyond the tor over there, planted in the mud…" He said and pointed his staff into the direction of the large hill that overlooked the village.

"Perhaps they got away, then." She said sadly. She indeed hopped that the Merlin's grandchildren had made it to safety and were in a warm bed somewhere. But they had no way of tracking them now. Guinevere looked again to the dead Woad woman. Black gossamer hair, strait like the faerie folk, whom her bloodline must trace back too.

"Whom may I ask gave her children? Was it really bad enough to send her to this place for so long?" Guinevere asked, though now felt slightly cruel for intruding. But Merlin answered anyways.

"She married a man whose people brought on her death." He said, picking out an arrow from the dead woman's lower leg- she immediately recognized it. An arrow crafted by a Sarmatian, for she knew of their handicraft well.

A Woad bore children that had half Sarmatian blood? It seemed odd at first, butmaybe they had been in love. Not wanting to be a bother to the Merlin any more, she nodded and walked away.

Indeed what the Merlin had spoken of earlier was true. "Fate has interesting ways of leading you through life," She recalled. Indeed it did. She was now washing the hair of the daughter of that poor dead woman caked in blood and wounds, and the interest in men must have been passed down.

She wondered what Vrena's mother would think if she knew that her daughter was also falling for a Sarmatian man.

Vrena was now shivering, and Lancelot had woken up to the left of them, a perplexed and tired look on his features. Picking up the kettle of hot water, which was now only as warm as it needed to be, she poured it gently over Vrena's hair, washing out the mixture she had rubbed in. The hot scent of Chamomile and herbs filled the air, and a few around them sat up from their make-shift beds, smelling the sweet fumes.

She removed the -now damp- towel from around the woman's shoulders and began to dry the hair, wiping and rubbing it with the towel. When it was as dry as she could get it, she lifted Vrena's chin and told her to look at the sky as she pulled out a comb of fine brittle hair, sweeping it through the dark hair.

The hair was not curly, but not strait, either. It has a slight wave to it, but could be mistaken as strait if she felt like being seen that way. Aftercombing the wet hair of her friend, she looked at Vrena's face, now seeing how much she resembled her mother.

"Without a doubt, you do look like your mother." Guinevere said to the woman, who merely looked down to the earth below them, replying with a quiet 'thank you.'

More were awake now, and a few –including Lancelot- had come to gaze at the Vrena they had never seen. The Vrena whom before had been encrusted in dirt and blood, hair matted and dirty now shimmering and bright with the sun encircling it like a halo.

The two of them stood up, and she watched as Vrena let her hair blow in the cold air, drying it quickly, the green of her clothing bringing out her dark locks.

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She thanked Guinevere again for cleaning her hair…it seemed that now she felt better just by getting the red blood and brown dirt out of it. She felt clearer then she had in weeks, though her mind was still glued to the scout that would be returning soon. She felt herself flush and become nervous at the thought of him coming back, and walked into the direction of Arvin.

Petting him on the head, her fingers played with the end of her bow that had belonged to her mother so long ago. She had not used it in days, and yearned for a target for a few moments, but was interrupted by hoarse shouting from across the camp site.

A shout and a few pounding noises…Dagonett.

"No!" Screamed a young voice…Lucan, the child from the wagon. But immediately he was silenced, and she heard Marius' fiendish voice fill the air.

"I have the boy! Don't move!"

Grimacing, she grabbed the bow from the satchel.

Something had to be done, even Fulcinia had hinted to it. Tristan would also blame her if the fanatical man did any harm to anyone. She pulled an arrow from the bottom of the satchel, and with grace fastened it to the bow and headed into the direction of the yells, swerving around sleeping townsfolk and luggage, prepared to aim at the first victim.

This madness she would end today.

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Yay for updates -

I don't know if Vrena will end up shooting Marius, or Guinevere…or maybe both at the same time? XD…

The possibilities…

And if I didn't mention it before, the vote for a nice intense Tristan/Vrena scene in later chapters was voted 'YES' about a million times, so it's now my duty to come up with some good ideas :3

Feel free to help suggest.

Oh, and someone e-mailed me last chapter why I always seem to use 'east' so much in the story. My answer: it's just my way of leaving my semi-trademark. East coast represent! xD...

III Cari III