Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the film King Arthur, nor do I own the myth, or anything else, Dzerassa's character. This story was written for entertainment purposes only, no money was exchanged. Please don't sue, just tell me if I need to change something.
To anonymous reviewer, (and everyone else too)—oh, you're right, my chapters are awfully short aren't they? Sorry, it's just that I've had the ending of this story in my head forever, so I know how it's going to end, but am having trouble with the middle part. And I can't just write the ending because, you know…it's the end. Should I fill it up with more random adventures and escapades, or just cut to the chase and end it (in a few chapters) how I originally envisioned it?
Chapter Eleven: Revelations
We make our way back to the fort later that night, very slowly. Everyone is asleep. Tristan is kind enough to carry me to the healing halls and tend to me there. He cleans the wound properly, and sews it up as best he can, and then gives me a nutty tasting tonic for the pain. However, he won't give me back the band I use to bind my breasts, either because it could cause the stitches to break or he is mean. I suppose it is the former, but I am anxious nonetheless. I ask him what he thinks I should do.
"Do?" he questions drowsily,
"Yes! What should I do? They will notice that I left as a boy and came back like – this!" I motion broadly, hurting my side, and he grabs both my arms and pushes me back towards the bed.
"First of all, I think you should STOP MOVING!" I shrink back down; I've never heard him sound so menacing. But a few moments later I start laughing, ruthless Tristan is concerned for me! Is it because he thinks I'm some damsel in distress. I'm not! Well, actually, I have been in need of rescuing lately…I grow solemn again. Tristan is looking at me strangely, "I could have sworn that that was a sedative I gave you." I start laughing again, "No, I don't think so. Maybe an anti-depressant…I haven't felt like this since….I stole all of Marius' shoes and replaced them with slightly smaller sizes…" I laugh again, hurting my side, but suddenly grow concerned, I look at Tristan meaningfully. "But don't tell him! Please don't tell him, Tristan, you don't know what he'll do…" Tristan looks horrified, and pulls me close to him to keep me from trying to escape the confines of the bed. What kind of medicine did he give me? I feel my rationality giving way to panic, but meaningless panic, all my fears I can see vividly before me, so real! Tristan just holds me.
He is worried: I must have given her the wrong medicine; it was supposed to calm her, not make her a paranoiac, a hysterical nervous wreck. Alright, he swears to himself, from now on, I will ALWAYS get the healer before fooling around with medicines. He couldn't even fetch the healer now, because that would mean leaving Dzerassa alone in the state she was in and who knew what she would try to do. He feels guilty. He was only trying to help. He just holds on to her until she stops shouting and crying, until her breathing returns to normal, until she sleeps.
I wake up late the next morning; the midday sun is already flooding the room. A loose, colorful shawl is all that covers my chest, allowing the wound to breath. Tristan is asleep; head slumped over on my stomach. I feel as if I have the worst hangover. All last night seems like one fuzzy, painful blur. I look at an empty bottle resting near the foot of the bed. It is labeled "Serus periclitatio –onis," or "experimental serum." I sigh. Obviously someone never learned to read. The empty space on the shelf tells me it was located right next to the bottle labeled "sedative." Tristan must have grabbed the wrong bottle in haste. Oh well. I try to figure out exactly where in the complex I am by the scene I can observe from the window, and it is now that I realize that we are not alone in the room. In fact, we are very, very much not alone. The other knights were waiting on the other side of the room, and they quickly cross the distance when they see that I am awake. I move my leg, kneeing Tristan and waking him up. He gruffly mumbles "Eh? What you want den?" He seems rather dazed, and has left a large drool spot on the sheet.
The others are all either glaring or grinning down at us. Gawain tentatively reaches out to shake Tristan, "Eh Tristan, you left with a boy..." Tristan grunts, and I cross my arms defensively across my chest. Bors laughs so loudly that it's painful, "yea, now, why does our apprentice seem to have breasts?" I wince at his immodesty. Gawain still looks amused, Tristan still hasn't woken up completely, Dagonet is as non-committal as always. Galahad looks slightly concerned, and a little bemused, and Lancelot is leaning against the wall, observing with a scowl that could mean anger or amusement. I don't quite know how to react to this, but thankfully, Tristan answers for me in as few words as ever, "Well, now, that's just how women are, Bors." He gets up, swaying slightly, and ushers everyone out of the room.