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.
Chapter 15 and 16 are really short so i posted them at the same time...yep...
Chapter Sixteen: False Betrayal
TRISTAN'S PERSPECTIVE
It has been nearly a year since Dzerassa came. It's been months since she left. The bitch. Or whore, more like it. It doesn't matter. She is just another woman, another body. Even Galahad agrees, he says she couldn't be his sister. Just another trick, another deception. Women and their manipulation. She is just as meaningless as the rest. Just as unmemorable to me.
That is a lie. I know it is.
Today is supposed to be a day of joy. Today we were supposed to be granted freedom. We were supposed to be granted passage home. Instead, we are confronted with death. This is because of more deception, more lies, this time those of Bishop Germanus. I don't mind though. I don't care. I supported Arthur – no, that's not true. Dagonet supported Arthur, I supported bloodshed. I was harsh on Galahad. It doesn't matter. Killing gives me relief like nothing else. Unexpressed thoughts fly before my eyes as I inflict death. It is relief. Like Dzerassa was, for one night, before she left. Before she left me. Her brothers. Her protectors. Her saviors! I saw her get up. She wrapped her shawl around me like a mother, so tenderly that I did not even speak. But I watched as she walked down the mountain. I slept a little more, until the sun had risen in the sky, expecting her to come back. But she didn't. So I waited. And waited. In a fit, I sprung up and fled down the hillside, back to camp. Looking, looking. No one had seen her, not since the night before. I looked everywhere, I even questioned the Romans. I even went back up the hill, perhaps she went back there and was waiting for me, laughing at frantic search, and awaiting me with open arms and soft touch. Yet all I found was the knife. The one that I had given her. She had left it there, as if to spit in my face. She wanted nothing to do with me. Not my weapons. Not my friendship. Nothing. And so she will become to me. Nothing. Nothing, I tell myself everyday. And somewhere along the way, I got to believing it. She is nothing.