Disclaimer: I am poor and own nothing. And because I'm poor, this is my only source of entertainment, so please do not sue.
Authors Note: This story is dedicated to Tracy137.
lucillaq – Swearing is fine really. I do it all the time. Glad you like it enough for it to provoke such emotion. Hope you continue to enjoy it.
Chapter Four: Secrets Revealed
"Here, bring her here," Dagonet said as Gawain rode into the stables where the knights as well as Vanora stood waiting, her and Bors eldest holding their newest edition. Gawain stopped the horse and Dagonet walked over to him, taking the girl into his large muscled arms. "Dear Goddess," he breathed upon seeing her wounds.
"Help her old friend," Gawain said as he dismounted.
"I will," the gentle giant replied as he headed towards the room they used as an infirmary, Vanora at his heels.
"How bad is she?" Van asked, getting ahead of him and holding the door wide as Dag carried the injured woman in and over to the bed, closing it behind them.
"Bad," he replied as he peeled off the cloak to get a better look at the extent of her injuries. "We need to get the dress off."
Vanora and he set to work, peeling off her cloths and cleaning her wounds. While Vanora worked at her face, Dag set and wrapped her arm, noting the tattoos on the underside of her wrist which looked very familiar, amazed that she was still alive considering what had been done to her.
It was over an hour later and Vanora was cleaning the cuts on her legs while Dag examined her ribs. As he tried to determine the extent of the breakage, she began to stir and opened her swollen lives. Upon seeing them tending her, fear seemed to cloud her face and she began to scream, in Sarmatian, and struggle against them.
"What's she sayin' Dag?" Vanora yelled over her as she fought to hold the girls legs. She vaguely recognized the language, but it had been so long since she had heard Bors speak it she had forgotten what most of it meant.
Dag remained silent as he tried to hold her still and understand what she was saying. The dialect was different than his own and it had been a long time since he had tried to speak it. Something about letting her die…with her husband.
"Enough," he said, trying to match her dialect as best her could. "Let us help you."
She paused and looked at him, her eyes wide. "You are Sarmatian?" she asked, this time in the language of Britain, her voice hoarse.
"Yes," he answered, glad she'd reverted to a language that was easier to understand.
"Tribe?"
"Urgi, you?"
"Iazyges," she replied eyeing him closer.
Hm, that was Tristan's tribe. He was about to ask her if she knew him when she began to speak again.
"You are of the knights with Rome then?"
"Yes."
"Then you knew my husband," she stated.
Husband? For a moment he tried to think which of the four three other knights with Tristan were married, but couldn't think of any. "If he was taken to be a knight then yes."
"Good, then you will help me," she said looking at him. "Take me to his grave and let me die."
"Lass ya can't mean that," Vanora said, gripping leaning over to hug her.
"I do. I have disgraced him, and wish only to be near him while I take my last breath," the girl replied.
"What is your name?" Dag asked, as shocked by her request as Vanora was.
"Roxana," she replied, patting Vanora's head comfortingly.
"Roxana," Dagonet was hoping her name would ring a bell but it didn't. "Beautiful. My name is Dagonet, and this is Vanora," he paused and looked at her for a moment, wondering what kind of hell she had been through that would make her wish for death so much.
"Why don't ya tell us yer husbands name Roxana," Vanora said pulling back from the poor broken girl to look into her blue eyes.
"His name was Tristan, now please take me to him," she whispered, a far off look in her eye as she ran the thumb of her right hand over her the tattoo on her left wrist.
Dagonet and Vanora stood and looked at her in shock, neither one sure what to say.
"What?" Roxana asked, noticing their unease. "What is it?"
"But Roxana, Tristan is not dead," Vanora said, watching as Roxana palled dramatically before passing out in shock.
xoxoxoxoxoxox
Arthur and the others were waiting in the meeting room when Dagonet walked in, more silent than usual, a grave look on his face.
"Dagonet, how is she?" Gawain asked standing, Galahad following and looking at him with wide eyes.
"She will live," he replied, sinking into his chair. "Vanora is helping her to take a bath now."
"She has a woken then?" Galahad asked relieved.
"She has," Dag replied, glancing over at the chair that Tristan normally occupied, wondering if he should tell him all that he knew. He would have liked for the Scout to be there, but considering the circumstances, he felt the others needed to know. Besides, they would find out as soon as they spoke to her, and he knew they would insist on speaking to her.
"What is it Dag?" Bors asked softly, nudging his friend.
"Yes, what is troubling you?" Arthur asked, noting his friends concern.
Dagonet let out a sigh, leaning over on the table. "Her name is Roxana and she came here looking to die on her husbands grave."
Everyone looked at him in shock.
"She was on Baden Hill," Galahad murmured, looking down at his hands.
Lancelot was the first to speak the question that was on all their minds. "Who was her husband?"
Dagonet paused again before looking up at all of the assembled knights. "Tristan."
"WHAT!" everyone spoke at once, all turning to Dagonet for the answers that only the scout had.
"Wait Knights," Arthur said, holding up his hands. "Does she know he is not dead?"
"Aye, Vanora told her," Dag nodded.
"What did she do when she told 'er?" Bors asked looking over at Dag.
"She fainted, and when she came to, she seemed to be pretty numb. Hasn't said much, just asked if she could take a bath," Dag replied.
"I don't understand, why wouldn't Tristan tell us about her?" Galahad asked, looking around at the group.
"He must have had good reason," Gawain said.
"Well, it does explain some things," Lancelot stated, looking down at his wine. "Like why he doesn't touch the women."
"What should we do?" Bors asked Arthur.
"I don't know Bors," the commander began. "He won't be back for at least three more days."
A knock at the door sounded then, pulling the knights from their thoughts. "Come," Arthur said as Jols entered the room.
"Sorry Arthur, but Vanora and the woman are here to speak with you," he said, ducking his head into the room.
"Are they with you?" Arthur asked, rising with the other knights.
"Yes sir," Jols replied.
"Then let them in," Arthur said moving towards the door.
Jols moved out of the way revealing Roxana, in a clean dress, her cuts stitched closed, her head high as she walked into the room, Van at her side, incase she wavered.
"Bring them some food Jols," Arthur said moving to help only to be waved off by Roxana as she made her way across the room and sank into one of the chairs.
"I'll go help ya Jols," Vanora said, casting a look at Bors before following the Squire from the room, shutting the door behind them.
"You can all sit down, I do not bite," Roxana said, leaning back in the chair a bit.
The knights looked at one another rather awkwardly before sitting down.
"Sorry Lady, you've just caught us by surprise," Arthur said, noting her injuries. One thing was certain, Tristan would be less then happy upon his return.
"I understand. Vanora tells me my husband is on patrol with a group of Romans," Roxana said, cutting straight to the chase.
"Aye, should be back in a couple of days," Bors said.
Roxana nodded slowly, wincing from the movement, the pain in her head overwhelming for a moment. She brought her good hand to her head and rubbed above her eyes before continuing. "I suppose he never mentioned me?" she looked up at them and smiled as best she could, feeling the pull at the cut in her lip.
"Tristan isn't one to talk," Lancelot stated eyeing the girl closely. When you looked past the cuts and bruises, you could see how lovely she was.
"That he is not," she smiled again, looking down at the tattoo on her left wrist again. "It does not surprise me that he never spoke of me," she said looking up at the group. "And it does not hurt me. He likes to keep his secrets, and he always told me that I was his best one."
"How long have you been married?" Arthur asked, looking at her closely.
"Seventeen years. I was fourteen and he was fifteen. We married the day I completed my first kill," she smiled at them, a far off look in her eyes. "It is tradition in our tribe that women cannot wed until they have killed a man. So the day he asked me, I completed the task."
"I'm sure that made him happy," Lancelot smirked as Jols and Vanora entered with some stew, bread and water.
"He was. He told me he had never been prouder to call me his," she smiled again. "How is he?" she asked, offering Vanora a thankful look as she set the food before her before going to sit on Bors knee, and looking at Arthur.
"As well as he ever is I'm sure," Lancelot answered for him, taking a drink of his ale and Roxana began eating her stew.
"He has been quieter lately though," Gawain offered.
"Since Cornell arrived," Galahad added.
"Cornell?" Roxana's voice was cold as ice as she looked up at them. "Cornell was here?"
"He just left a couple of days ago," Galahad stated. "He said he had to go take care of some things. He planned to be back by the time Tristan returned."
They all watched as Roxana's knuckles turned white from clutching the goblet in her hand. "Will he now. Then I hope he returns early," she whispered dangerously.
"Why?" Lancelot eyed her cautiously, her face had become as impassive as her husbands, and a rage brewed behind her eyes.
"So that I may kill him before Tristan does," she replied coldly.
They all looked taken aback at the coldness of her voice and it was Galahad who spoke first. "Why do you want to kill him?"
"Because, he's the reason this happened," she answered, before she continued to eat her stew.
Authors Note: Okay, so I don't know if I'm that happy with this chapter. Let me know what you guys think. I personally think I need to watch the movie again.