many many thanks to those who have reviewed the previous chapters!
here's the next chapter...chapter 5. 12 chapters total, so this story got some more ways to go. hope this chapter flows like the rest...parts of it seemed a bit off to me, but overall i thought it ok.
same disclaimers, notes, warnings, etc.
Chapter 5: Seeing you as you're seeing me
Slowly she became aware of the soft pillow. She snuggled into it, breathing deep a most pleasant and unfamiliar combination of pine and earth. Certainly not Tristan's—she would have remembered such an intoxicating scent. Finding her eyes drifting open, instantly she saw the dark unfamiliar linens on the bed…the navy blue sleeve of her dress from the pervious day. Her mind grew increasingly alert as she felt her throbbing head, a sure sign she'd drunk too much. 'But I didn't drink…did I?' She looked to her right and met instantly with Arthur's expressive eyes and small smile. 'Oh no…I didn't…' her mind raced, inwardly pleading as her eyes sank shut.
"Before you think anymore on the suggested implications of the situation, let me assure you your presence here is only by necessity." Arthur's calm, assuring voice said, pulling her eyes back open.
"Necessity…?" She questioned confusedly. "What happened to make it 'necessary' for me to come here?" She asked, a clipped, biting edge to her voice.
"You slipped in a mess of spilled wine and hit your head on one of the tables. You were brought here only because it was the closest place for Dagonet to stitch up your wound. How is your head?" He asked concernedly, leaning forward with a wet cloth to wipe at her head.
"Painful," she quickly said, raising a hand to her forehead and gently feeling around the line of stitches, "but it's manageable. At least for now anyway." She said, cracking a hopeful smile as she gingerly moved, trying to sit up.
"You think that is wise?" He asked her, watching as she pulled herself up.
"I have occupied your chambers long enough. I feel well enough to be on my way, thank you Arthur." She said, propping herself up against the pillow, letting her mind adjust to the new found position. "Please tell me you did not sit with me all night—you should not have if you did."
"No, I have only been here for a short time. Tristan sat with you through the night." Her ears perked and she quickly turned her head to him.
"He did?" She asked, her voice small and full of surprise. A knowing smile crossed Arthur's face as he watched the light that filled her eyes.
"He volunteered to." Arthur said comfortingly, watching as a small smile crossed her face. "You've quite a soft spot for him don't you?" Arthur questioned gently, already knowing it to be true. Her look still remained soft, yet now had a surprised, truthful edge to it.
"So what if I have," she said defeated, knowing she could trust Arthur, "nothing will ever come of it." She shook her head, smiling downheartedly.
"You may be more wrong than you know." She cocked her head at his statement.
"I've never it worded that way before…."
"Saying 'right' instead of 'wrong' would almost be lying." He quickly said, watching as her brows furrowed. Did she still not understand or see it?
"Yes…well," she said quickly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed slowly, "I should be going—I've been here long enough." She said resolutely. Arthur instinctively moved to help steady her as she still looked woozy from the hit to her head. Gently, with Arthur's assistance she rose from his bed, and surprisingly, she felt ok on her feet. Her head throbbed surely but it was manageable and did not affect her movement. She thanked Arthur one last time before slowly making her way towards her chambers, yet still she felt Arthur's eyes on her.
"I think I can make it fine, Arthur." She said certainly, turning back to face him, meeting his small smile.
"I think you can too…I can see now what he admires and loves you so for." There, he had come out now and said it, since she didn't seem to catch his meaning earlier. She did not even have to ask who it was Arthur talked of.
"No…he doesn't. He has no reason to—"
"Since when do reason and love have to coincide? He would not have sat with you all night if he did not."
"He doesn't." She shook her head slowly.
"Then you do not know him as well as I thought," she locked her eyes with his, "hope you feel better." He smiled and nodded respectfully before turning down the hallway. A silence fell on the hall as she found herself standing, thinking on Arthur's words. Was he right? Were Tristan's emotions that visible? A faint smile played across her place face at the thought. At the mere thought, the hope—'Tristan loves me—the hope that deserved to be killed!' Mirran turned and quickly fled to her quarters. Such wishful and hopeful thinking only lead to one thing—heartache. 'I'll have no more of that,' she thought definitively as she automatically stopped at a window, her gaze fixed outwards. The knights were out in the courtyard, Tristan among them. He and Galahad were practicing archery and she watched in awe as Tristan aimed before releasing an arrow that split the previous one in the target's center. He lowered his bow and he brushed a stray hair from his eyes before moving back.
Somewhere in that moment she knew where her heart lay. This man and this man alone had managed to capture it. Finally she admitted it, powerless to stop her hopeful and excited thought. 'I love him…I do,' she thought almost downheartedly, knowing well the dangers associated with love. She moved from the window and walked on, her heart alight with
XXXXXXXXXXXX
By later on however, Mirran was recounting every tale she knew of hell and couldn't imagine it being much worse. The stitches in her head were murder. A constant throbbing that never seemed to stop, and had all day long made her bristly. Every little comment seemed to get to her although she tried not to let it show. And Magda, having seen Mirran up and about deemed her fit enough for work. So, begrudgingly, Mirran set about the usual evening tasks, fighting to ignore the pain and keep smiling.
"Mirran!" The call ripped through Mirran's aching head. "Magda needs more wood!" Her eyes narrowed and rose from the tray she was filling. Only one person would ask her to do such a task in such a state. "Mirran—hop to!" Halaga's face appeared in the doorway, smiling darkly, "and don't forget—Magda likes a lot." Mirran grumbled incoherent curses under her breath as she returned Halaga's dark smile, throwing her cloak over her shoulders.
She walked towards the gate, dragging the small firewood cart behind her. A bitterly biting wind swept through the gateway as she left towards the woods, sending shivers up and down her spine. 'At least it somewhat numbs my head,' she thought, relieved. That was about the only good thing she could say about it as already her fingers and toes felt frozen. 'You are being watched…by the one you watch…but whom you don't see, yet hope to see and be seen….' 'Now what the hell does that—'
"You should not be out here alone." She spun quickly around, eyes wide with sudden fright. But wait…she knew that voice, those dark eyes.
"But…," she sputtered, "I am not alone." She said knowingly. His eyes narrowed seriously.
"You were alone before I cam upon on, and you should not be," he repeated slowly, a note of annoyance in his voice, "not outside the fort walls, and certainly not wounded."
"I can fend for myself if need be." She said sharply as she turned from him to place the wood from her arms on the small cart.
"I find that hard to believe." He said, doubting her words. In his experiences, people always thought themselves tougher then they were, which only ended in trouble. And to look at her, she certainly looked weak and borderline ill—there was no way she could defend herself.
"I don't need your or anyone else's protection." She said coldly before turning her eyes to the ground and resuming her search for firewood. Tristan watched her, amazed at her brashness and carelessness. She had no weapon with which to significantly ward off an attacker and she wandered about the woods outside the fort walls full of roaming Woads and other dangerous folk. Plus, she was deathly pale—as though she wasn't fair enough in the midday sun, against her dark clothing and dark hair, she looked white as stone. 'No thanks to her head injury. ….she's freezing cold,' a voice in his head whispered concernedly. Sure enough, he could see her shivering—even though he knew she was doing her best to hide it.
"Come on…," he said softly walking towards her, "let us return."
"You may go back if you so wish." She let her eyes, smoldering with annoyance, rise to his.
"I cannot in good conscience leave, knowing you are still here." He said, his annoyance with this woman's stubbornness returning.
"I am not done yet. There is still more wood to gather. Magda expects—"
"If you stay here much longer, you could be done for." He suddenly said, catching her by surprise. She looked up at him with a truthful, feigned-shock look. Did he really care? Had it been that noticeable how cold, and in pain she was? She'd tried desperately not to let him see it, but he had. She turned from him, laying the wood out on the cart willing her sudden shivers at the blast of wind to stop as she drew in a sharp breath. A warm, heavy drape fell about her shoulders, instantly blocking the biting wind and relaxing her tired muscles.
"I thank you for your offer Tristan," her voice was laced with exhaustion, "but I do not—"
"Do not lie. Your stubbornness is overwhelming. It is as though you would rather die than inconvenience another or have them know your weaknesses."
"You and the other knights are the same—"
"Wrong. We have been tested and tried for nine years—we know our limits well." His words betrayed a controlled anger that coursed behind his stoic face and dark, unreadable eyes. He found this woman was borderline impossible, but why could he not get her out of his mind!
"Still…I do not need your—"
"Indulge me then," he suddenly said, surprised at the gentleness of his voice, "whether or not you need it, just keep it to indulge me." He barely smiled and found all annoyance with Mirran vanish as she smiled thankfully and warmly up at him.
"Thank you." Her voice was a mixture of defeat, gratitude, sadness, happiness. She was reveling in the warmth, loving every bit of it, but at the same time, hating herself for loving it so. She wished herself stronger then she was. And she hated the reality of her own physical weakness—'damn my sore head.' She snapped from her thoughts when she heard the rumbling sounds of the cart against the roots and rocks of the forest floor.
"Tristan! I can get that; you do not need to—"
"Woman, will you let it rest?" he suddenly snapped, turning to face her, finding it effective to cut her off mid sentence, however improper it seemed, "I do not think you weak for letting me help." He finished a bit more harshly then he meant to. She instantly was taken aback and her eyes fell from his. He'd hit a nerve—and despite his words, something in his voice lead her to think otherwise.
"Very well." She said her voice small, all protest lost. She began to walk back towards the fort, followed closely behind by Tristan. And this man was the one she had claimed to love? This man treating her as though she was made of glass…? She found nothing more to say to him or him to her, and they walked on in silence, contemplating the other and wondering.
XXXXXXXXXXX
No more words passed between them that night. She had nothing more to say to him. Without trying, he had wounded her pride. That accursed pride of hers. She strongly disliked it, but at the same time it's what kept her strength up through the years of living alone. Pride at being able to do things herself, and strength to do things most women would not do. Women in the forts were on the whole treated to the more delicate tasks in life—housekeeping, cooking, washing, mending—and were on the whole regarded as weak. Mirran loved the whole idea of being just as strong, being on equal terms with men. And Tristan last night, shattered that whole idea. Not only had he proven to her she would never be as strong as she hoped, he had treated her like…like a child almost—unable to do anything for herself.
Fortunately for her, her head hurt less the next day—her skin having grown used to the thread binding the wound together—or else she just might have attacked him the next time she saw him.
She had spent the whole of last night, laying in her bed, convincing herself she felt nothing for this man. How could she when he had angered her so—and she would have been just fine on her own last night. Of that she was convinced. 'Who knows what could have happened…maybe he knew something I didn't…' a tiny voice in her head whispered. She glanced up from the mugs she was washing when she heard the tavern door open again. In filed Svent, Grenham, Bors and Lancelot, with Tristan last. Her eyes narrowed slightly, belying the excited feeling in her heart. Fortunately enough, Falia had seen the knights enter and rushed quickly over with ready mugs, no doubt as to inquire where Galahad was.
'Good thing too,' Mirran thought silently, for she honestly didn't know what to say to Tristan about anything anymore. And the last thing she wanted a public scene of awkwardness between them. But she kept finding her gaze throughout the evening involuntarily wandering over to the knights table, in particular to Tristan—always checking to be sure he was there. Something about the knowledge he was still there seemed to make her work a bit more diligently and efficiently, as though aided by some strength she didn't know she had. She glanced up and over, for what must have been the hundredth time, and noticed him leaving the table. He walked unnoticeably to the door and slipped quietly out. 'Where does he go at night? He always leaves sometime earlier than the rest,' she silently wondered, curiosity filling her eyes. Without waiting, she grabbed her dark brown cloak and threw it airily about her shoulders, ducking out the tavern door quietly.
The moon was full tonight but shrouded behind wispy clouds that cast elongated shadows on the world below. But still she could see him and easily, quietly follow him. His movements seemed that of mere shadow—silent, swift. 'Those of a true scout,' her mind whispered. He did not use the main gate, but instead stole away to a concealed passageway leading directly into the woods. 'Most likely for emergency escapes,' she guessed as she followed behind him a good distance. Once in the dense forest, it took much more effort to discern him from the tress and wildly growing vines—and to make no noise, for she knew if he heard one branch snap or a leaf crunch, he'd spin around. He stopped ever so often and cast his eyes skyward, letting loose an airy whistle as though trying to summon or contact something. He stood still just long enough…Mirran drew quietly closer.
"Now that I find you here alone, can I scold and drag you back?" Only his eyes registered the true shock he felt—he could have sworn he was alone.
"Mirran…" his voice while sounding a bit annoyed also had a distinguishable not of gladness about it which made her heart race.
"May I ask what has brought you outside the fort after you told me it was no place to be alone?" She asked, careful to reign in the bitterness in her voice.
"Injured in your case," he started before quickly turning his eyes skyward, "I came to look for my hawk. She has been out hunting and not returned as usual—I fear these shadows may have slowed her some. And I enjoy the peace it affords me." Mirran nodded her head. His last comment drifted in her mind, but what she thought on was the shadows and shrouded moon. 'I could fix that.' "I know you could change that—the shadows." He suddenly said, surprising even himself. He cursed himself mentally for letting that slip; she was Merlin's, a wizard's daughter, so why shouldn't she have magical powers? But the way it sounded, it smacked of being selfish and uncaring for her. She held too dear a place to him for him to ever want her to believe such things.
"Wha…how?" She sputtered, completely surprised, all anger and resentment lost in the suddenness of his words. 'He knows of my powers. HOW?' Her mind was reeling and there was clearly not point to deny it. Silently he brought a hand up, then lowered it swimmingly just as she had done that night she was wounded, the night of the storm. She knew right away what he meant. Words were not even needed.
"Natural elements, yes, I bear some power over." She softly said, lowering her eyes, seeing no reason to lie to him.
"That is quite an ability." He said, his voice retaining its usual indifference, his eyes showing admiration. She did not nod, say anything or meet his eyes in return, for fear she would find herself lost in his eyes—as her heart was wanting—but instead looked skyward. The wispy clouds had grown somewhat thicker, furthering the weak moonlight. She lowered her eyes, closing them gently and raised a hand. Gracefully, and smoothly, her fingers wove tiny circles in the air. The clouds thinned and disappeared altogether, flooding them both with moonlight. He looked at her, noticing the moonlight in her sharp sapphire eyes. What about her captivated him so—made him want to hold her close?
"You have no power over people?" he heard himself ask.
"No…my father did, some others do—but I do not. My realm lies only within nature." A screech sounded out of the darkness and a hawk flew out of the trees landing airily on Tristan's arm. He raised a hand and gently stroked the hawk's feathers.
"There you are, girl. Not hungry anymore? Ready for sleep?" Never before had she heard his voice so laced with emotion—so sweet, so soft, so caring. 'As though talking to a child…or a loved one…'
"You care for her a lot, and she obviously has a similar affection for you." Mirran said, walking over closer to him.
"She was just a hatchling when I found her and has since been my friend." He said softly, gently. The bird turned and cocked her head, regarding Mirran curiously. She took from Tristan's arm and landed swiftly on Mirran's arm. Startled, Mirran looked at the hawk carefully in its dark eyes as she cautiously raised her left hand to it. The bird studied the fingers for just a second before allowing Mirran to gently stroke her feathers.
"I am surprised she is so readily trusting of others." Mirran curiously said.
"She is not usually. She senses the trust I have in you and trusts that." He said, crossing closer to her. She turned and looked warmly at Tristan, finding it even more impossible for her not to give her heart to him.
"Thank you…," she softly said, meeting his dark eyes, "most when they learn of my magical abilities lose all trust and faith in me."
"I have no reason not to. You could have easily lied about them to me, but you did not. You proved it even more." He could not believe he was saying so much to her. Never before had he found himself able to speak to anyone so freely. Without warning, the hawk lifted from Mirran's arm and soared silently away into the night. Mirran, fascinated with its grace and swift movement, watched its every move until she could no longer be seen.
"More hunting?" She shortly asked.
"No, she's off to sleep now."
"Should we not be getting back as well?" She asked, lowering her eyes from the starry sky to Tristan. He did not say anything or nod, but let his eyes meet hers. She felt herself melting…she loved the feeling such a focused look sent through her. 'Who am I trying to fool?' She wondered pointlessly—she loved him and no amount of nights could ever convince her otherwise. 'If only he felt the same…' she wondered, pleaded. They stood silently; mere inches apart, studying the other as if to learn the other's thoughts. Instantly their lips were locked together, hers gliding smoothly over his as he kissed her fervently back. It was so right. This kiss…was what she had been wanting. His arms wrapped gently around her pulling her in close against him. She felt so good in his arms. Her arms pressed him tight as their kiss deepened, never wanting it to end. Neither one was sure who started the kiss, but both were equally glad it happened. She laid her head on his shoulders for a brief instant before they pulled apart and made their way silently towards the fort.
They walked side by side—and without warning she reached over and took his hand in hers. While surprised at her forwardness, but also finding something endearing about it, he smiled to himself and laced his fingers through hers before squeezing it gently. Her heart swelled. He had to feel the same as she. That kiss had been no lie…and never before could she recall such a feeling of happiness, excitement, relief. They made it back to the fort, slipping through the passageway unnoticed and sharing only a hand squeeze before parting ways.
there ya go. hope you enjoyed...sorry if too cliched at the end, but it just seemed to work and i thought it sweet (i'm a hopeless romantic...what can i say...?) review if'n ya want. i hope to get the next chapter up byearly next week, but i've 3 exams and a speech to write...but this story will be updated at least once by end of next week.
