A/n:
To Wild Blood Rose: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you like the story so far. Lol, your name's really cool.
To Denethor's Angel: Thanks, yeah, I'm trying to add a little more Arthur/Guinevere in here. Lol, Denethor rules!
To Aurien: Thanks for the review!
To Goth Musician: Thanks for the review. Tristan's kind of a hard nut to crack...is that the right expression? I think so...yeah...lol, I don't know what I'm saying...
To Sheiado: I think I emailed you already but I can't remember. Lol, I'm still not sure if Dag is gonna live in this story or not. I think her did have a very honorable death in the movie, and Lucan can stand a little more torment! J/K; that poor kid. Well, I know I'll at least kill one of the knights to make it realistic. It'll be a surprise! Lol. If you want to write a story where Dag lives (or if you have already) I'd like to read it!
To Koalared: What do you need help with? If the chapter's confusing, you can email me and ask any questions and I can help you out. Thanks for the review! ï
To LeonisCordis: Thanks for the review. Tristan is by far the coolest character in King Arthur. They always kill off my favorite characters! It's horrible! Grrr!
To Annuna: Thanks SO much for the review. I felt so stupid after I realized I'd spelt serfs wrong. Lol, thanks for pointing it out to me so I could change it! ï
To Raynnach SilverMoon: Right now I'm not saying who I'll kill of, or not, or will, or who will wonder the earth half dead at the end of my story...lol...that would be cool. I'm glad you like the story though. You should write a KA fanfic. I'd read it! ï Thanks for the review.
Chapter 3: From Enemies to Acquaintances
Marius' wife, Lucinia tended to the deep gash in Adima's left thigh. She dipped a small cloth in a bowl of cool water and held the cloth over the wound, squeezing it slightly causing the water to drip into the cut. It felt refreshing to Adima despite the aching pain that shot through her thigh.
The woman gently wiped the cloth across the wound, and then dried it with another. She then wrapped an additional cloth around Adima's thigh to secure the wound so it wouldn't become infected and to stop it from bleeding. Adima, with another water bowl and cloth, cleaned her blood stained pants that lay beside her.
Just then, Tristan walked in front of the wagon peering in. He took one look at Adima and mortified, turned around at once. "Excuse me, miss. I didn't know-"
"It's fine," Adima said somewhat bitterly. "Just don't turn around."
"There," Lucinia smiled once finished.
"Thank you," Adima said politely. It was probably one of the nicest things she'd said since she joined the caravan earlier that night. Adima was offered a crème colored night gown to fit over her clothes. She hurriedly put it on, slipping her top off underneath it.
"You can turn around now," Adima scowled.
Tristan cleared his throat. "Arthur wanted me to check up on you; see how that wound was healing."
"Well, as you know, it hasn't had much time to heal, seeing as I just received it not long ago."
Tristan nodded and turned to leave. "Wait," Adima called after him. "What's your name?"
Tristan turned to face her. "Tristan," he said.
"Well, you can go now. You can also tell Arthur I'll be just fine."
Tristan nodded. He left the three women in silence.
Once he had gone, Lucinia put her hand to her mouth, and yawned. She leaned out the side of the wagon and poured out the remaining water from the bowl outside on the frozen ground. The wagon had stopped for the night.
Lucinia looked grieved.
"What's troubling you, Lucinia?" Guinevere asked, concerned.
"Oh, nothing; the day has just caught up with me, and I grow more tired by the minute. "I bid you both good night," she smiled warmly and turned to Adima. "Keep that bandage on there for now, and try not to move too much, the cloth might loosen."
"Yes, thank you," Adima nodded her head, assuring Lucinia she would follow her simple instructions.
"Sleep well, Lucinia," Guinevere called as the exhausted woman slipped precariously out of the wagon.
"Something troubles her," Adima stated the obvious.
"She doubts the goodness in her husband," Guinevere sighed.
"I can plainly see he has no goodness left in him, if he ever did. His heart is that of stone."
Adima shook her head in anger for the man. "He will never accept our differences."
Guinevere stared vacantly at one of her hands. Arthur, earlier, had bent her distorted fingers back in place. They still ached and shook when she tried to use them. They would heal, however, and she looked forward to that day.
"Your hand looks awful," Adima wrinkled her brow, starring at her sister's pale grey fingers.
"Your leg looks worse," Guinevere teased.
"MY leg will heal quicker; it will not damage me as much as the loss of the use of your hands."
"My hands will be fine," Guinevere assured her, hoping that day would be soon. She would rather her hands than any other part of her- they were what kept her alive. She needed them to be useful for her to survive. "Arthur was kind to fix them for me."
Adima through a thick, warm blanket over her and her sister and they laid down to rest, blowing out the candles near them that lit the small crowded space of the wagon. "It's strange," she whispered in the dark. "I've met Tristan before."
Guinevere struggled to understand what was being sad. "You've met him before?" she asked, perplexed.
"Yes, in an ambush, near the edge of the woods," Adima looked mystified. "How strange it is that I should be faced with this man twice and both times we tried to kill each other. I still don't know what they're motives are- the knights."
"I already told you," Guinevere rested her hand down on the floor. "They must take these people to the other side of the wall."
"I know, but I mean their motives, with us; with Lucan, too. Why are they keeping us alive?"
"These knights are good men, Adima. They would die before hurting us without reason," Guinevere said, turning over to face her sister. She couldn't see much in the dark, but she could see the outline of her sister's face and arms sticking out of the blanket. "If they wanted us dead, we would be dead by now. If they wanted to rape us, we'd already been raped. The way I see it, we're neither dead, nor raped, so I feel safe."
"Merlin always spoke so highly of them even though they are our enemies." Adima shook her head and smiled, confused by Merlin's extraordinary ways. "Perhaps you're right."
"Merlin is wise," said Guinevere. "He knows a noble man when he comes across one. I trust his judgment."
"That may be true," Adima thought a moment. She trusted Merlin, and what her sister had said made sense.
Guinevere turned around and closed her eyes, trying to find sleep. "Do not worry so much," she muttered. "These knights have no intention of hurting us."
Adima sighed, finally agreeing with her sister. She would try to rest easy tonight, trusting her sister's judgment of the knights.
Just outside the wagon, Tristan, with his hawk perched on his arm, sat on a small flat log beside an even smaller fire. It was his duty now to make sure this new traveler didn't stir up any more trouble. Arthur had ordered him to do this, whether he wanted to or not. He scratched the hawk's neck affectionately and whispered to it in the cold.
An icy wind picked up and ruffled the hawk's feathers. It stretched its wings, warning Tristan she meant to take flight. Tristan held out his arm and the bird leaped off and flew into the sky.
The next morning came swiftly to those few who slept peacefully that night. Adima awoke just as the sun was rising. She pulled a warm blanket around her to block out the frozen air swirling around her. She slipped on a pair of worn out boots and took a deep breath. Her hair frizzled and her eyes half open, she quietly stepped out of the wagon to get a breath of fresh air.
The wound in her leg was sore, but already it had begun to feel a little better. Startled by a loud flapping of wings, Adima gasped. Tristan's hawk had just perched itself on his muscular arm and her wings beat heavily against her sides as she landed. "Sorry, did she frighten you?" Tristan asked calmly.
"No, just startled me, that's all," Adima yawned.
Tristan was silent. Adima tried to flatten her hair out. If she would have only known someone was just outside the wagon, she would have checked her appearance first, before going outside. "Have you been out here all night?" Tristan nodded. Adima glared at him suspiciously, but said nothing more. She quietly walked back to the wagon to see if her sister had woken.
Within the following hour, the caravan was up and moving once more. Adima had been given a dark orange dress for clothing. For warmth, she had been given a blood red hooded cloak.
As the caravan steadily trudged on through the falling snow, Adima grew restless. She needed to rest her leg and stay as still as possible. If she moved around too often the wound could open even more and lead to a greater risk of infection.
She and Guinevere were both looking out the front opening of the wagon. Light snow flakes fell on their cold faces, but the sight of the beautiful lush mountains to their right, made them continue to look out of the wagon at the scenery around them. Guinevere smiled when she noticed Arthur riding up beside them.
"My father told me great tales of you," she told him with a smirk on her face. Adima reflected upon her stories her father would tell her and her sister. She smiled at the memory of him.
"And what did you here?" Arthur asked, slightly interested.
"Fairy tales. Of men so brave and selfless, they can't be real. Arthur and his knights. A lead of both Roman and British. And yet, you chose your allegiance to Rome, to those who take what isn't theirs. That same Rome that took your men from their home."
"Listen, lady," Arthur said somewhat angrily. "Do not pretend that you know anything about me or my knights." Adima didn't want to get involved with their argument. She kept quiet, taking in every word that the spoke.
"How many Britons have you killed?" Guinevere asked in a slightly rude manner.
"As many as tried to kill me. It's the natural state of any man to want to live."
"Animals live." Guinevere protested. "It's the natural state of any man to want to live free... in their own country. I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?" she waited for a reply.
Arthur tried to change the subject. He didn't want to be bothered by his decision in where his loyalties lay. "How's you hand?"
"I'll live; I promise you," Guinevere rubbed her delicate fingers tenderly. "Is there nothing about this land that appeals to your heart? Even your father married a Britain. He must have found something to his liking." She smiled haughtily.
Arthur was silent. Guinevere just smiled at him, knowing she was right, and perhaps she was getting to him. Adima couldn't stand the quiet any longer. With no commotion going on, she quickly grew bored.
"I'm going for a walk," she said, almost to herself.
"Shouldn't you rest?" Arthur asked politely.
"You shouldn't be concerned for my safety, Arthur," Adima said somewhat rudely. "I know my own strength. I'll rest when I need to." Adima carefully hopped out of the wagon, her leg almost giving out underneath her.
She stepped quickly out of the way of the wagon, careful not to get run over, and paced herself as she walked beside it. The sound of laughter echoed in her ears. She turned around and her gaze followed a pair of young children, running behind the wagon, chasing each other.
Adima smiled, reflecting upon her own childhood. She had not been reminded of it in a long time, besides the night before for she had been thrust into battle after battle for the last several months with the other Woads. Her mind loosened at the sight of the children, happy and ignorant to all the darkness around them. How innocent they were; a part of Adima wished he could be too.
The children then ran in front of her, dodging in front of the horses carrying the wagon, and back around to the rear of the wagon again. The horses whinnied, startled by the children's sudden movements. The young boy, being chased by the young girl, ran in front of Adima, heading right for the front of the wagon again. Adima reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Wait," she told him, picking him up. His sister stopped running too and watched her brother. Adima set him down again and they stopped walking all together. Adima bent over, leaning her hands on her knees. The boy stood facing her, a questionable look upon his innocent face. "Don't run in front of the horses," Adima admonished. "They get frightened."
The boy nodded, and figuring he was done with his punishment, and ran after his sister who was giggling loudly. They no longer ran in the horses' path. Adima smiled, watching the children play safely.
Adima had no idea, but she was being watched. Behind her, Tristan rode on his horse, keeping an eye on her every move, as he was instructed. The horse snorted and shook its head, ridding itself of the lightly fallen snowflakes powdered upon it.
Adima turned and looked over her shoulder. She made notice of Tristan's presence however, excluding him. She didn't know it for certain, but something told her he was watching her and it made her skin crawl.
Late into the day, just as the sun was going down, the caravan slowly came to a halt, giving everyone a chance to rest for the night. Adima sat on the end of the wagon sipping a bowl of warm broth and cooked vegetables. Steam rose from the bowl and she closed her eyes in the comfort of knowing she had something warm to eat, though the stew wasn't that much. She knew somewhere in the camp, her sister was enjoying it too.
She heard a loud snort and opened her eyes. It had startled her some. Slurping up the last sip of broth, Adima set her bowl on the wagon floor beside her. She scooted herself off the wagon and made her way towards where the sound came from. Tristan's back was to her, and he was apparently tying his horse to a small, young tree on the edge of the forest. He had just returned from scouting.
The horse's saddle and bridle had already been removed and it was being tied by a thin rope that wrapped around its face to join on either side of the head to make a long thin rope that Tristan tied into a knot around the tree.
A part of Adima wanted to go back to the wagon and rest, but the other part urged her forward. "This your horse?" she asked already knowing what the answer would be.
Tristan turned around, not surprised at all to see her. He had heard her jump down from the wagon and walk closer to him and his steed. "Yes," he nodded. "Should you really be up and walking around so much?" he asked her. Adima sensed by the tone of his voice that he didn't want company.
"I'm fine," she said bitterly. "If you want me to leave, I will."
"Oh, no, don't leave on my account," Tristan said calmly. Adima frowned, a little confused.
She slowly approached the large dapple grey from behind. "Stay away from his back end," Tristan scolded. His voice wasn't harsh, but stern.
"Sorry," Adima apologized. "I know little about horses; practically nothing."
"If you want to pet Passebreul," Tristan instructed," you must approach him form the side."
Adima heeded his word and stepped away from his back end. She made her way towards him again; this time from the side. "Horses have two blind spots," Tristan began. "One directly in front of them, and one directly behind them." He pointed a finger at the horse's head and then to its back end as he said this.
Adima nodded, then cautiously held her hand out to pet the horse. She reached a little closer, not wanting to be too close to the intimidating animal. Tristan smiled slightly. "Do not be afraid," he said, stroking the horse's flank lovingly. "They can sense fear," he told her. "It will only upset a horse if they know you're upset."
"That makes sense," Adima agreed quietly. Once she felt the horse's soft flank upon her hand, she moved a little closer. A proud smile crossed her face. Tristan only stood feet from her, adjacent to the horse's shoulder. He faced her, and she him, waiting for more advice. None came. He turned toward the horse again and fell silent.
"Am I doing it right?" she asked for support.
Tristan nodded. "If you pet him too lightly, he won't feel you through the thickness of his skin."
Adima tried it a little harder. The horse snorted and turned its head to look at her, its wide nostrils flaring. Adima had patted him hard enough. "See, he knows you're here now," Tristan said approvingly.
"He's beautiful," Adima said breathlessly. She felt the horse's muscles ripple under its skin. Passebreul leaned all his body weight to his right side and puffed out a warm cloud of air, his breath filling its lungs and pushing against his ribs. "What color do you call this?" she asked, running her fingers across the dark dappled spots on his side.
"He is a dappled grey," Tristan told her. "Eighteen years old."
"Is that old for a horse?"
"It's fairly old," Tristan said; then he was silent.
For a long several minutes, silence fell between them. Adima ran her delicate fingers under and on top of Passebreul's thick grey coat. The air was warm under his matted fur. "He's very soft," Adima broke the awkward silence. Tristan still said nothing, just nodded slightly. "He's very big, too," she mentioned. "His legs are long- far from the ground," Adima smiled, sheepishly, remembering falling off his back end during her first encounter with Tristan.
Tristan smiled, remembering that day too.
"I apologize for that, Passabreul." Adima buried her hands under the horse's long silver mane. She now stood adjacent to the horse's shoulder and Tristan had moved in front of the animal. The horse bobbed its head contently and blinked its round black eyes.
"We better let him rest now," Tristan gave him one last pat on the cheek before departing.
Adima followed. "He sleeps standing?"
"If he's not comfortable with his surroundings, yes," Tristan kept walking at a slow pace; knowing Adima couldn't walk exceedingly fast.
"I like horses," Adima said smiling. She felt a strange awkwardness filter within her. Tristan remained silent.
"So, you're one of Arthur's knights?" Adima asked warily. Tristan nodded.
He walked over to a large root emerging from the powdered ground. He dusted it off with his hands and sat down. Adima did the same with a nearby root.
"You knights are supposed to be brave and noble, selfless warriors," Adima said adjusting her weight on the make shift seat. "Sounds like a tough job."
Tristan again had nothing to say; he smiled faintly, but Adima could not tell for it was so subtle.
"My father says you and the others were taken away from your families at a young age; is this true?"
Tristan's face filled with sorrow as he reflected on the day when he left his home and family to join Arthur and his knights. Adima noted the sadness in his eyes; she felt sorry for him. "Yes, it's true. We were taken from our families. Many of us will never return to them." Tristan's eyes gazed up to the sky, then his gaze fell upon Adima who squirmed slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable.
"How old were you?" Adima asked.
"We were all in our early teens," he frowned. "I don't remember my exact age."
"When will you go home?" Adima asked hopefully.
Tristan shrugged. "I can't be sure until it happens, and I'm there." He tried his best to avert eye contact with Adima, and she noticed, feeling ever more insecure and a little frustrated with him.
"It is a dangerous job then?" Adima frowned.
"It is a dangerous duty, but one that must be fulfilled."
Adima thought a moment about how many knights must have been lost throughout the years. There must have been many; many who will never return home. "Yes," Adima whispered, slightly mystified.
"Well, that's I think the most I've ever heard you talk at one point in time, Tristan," Bors laughed, coming out from behind the tree, a bundle of sticks in his hands. Tristan ignored his comment. "I've got some firewood here, friends," he said cheerfully. "We'll be lighten' a fire over there," he pointed to where the other four knights sat in a circle; Arthur wasn't there.
He turned his head to Tristan who was silent and who stared into the distant beyond; into nothingness. Bors didn't seem surprised. He turned to Adima. "What about you, miss? Will ye be joinin' us this fine evenin'?"
Adima smiled, actually gratefully for the offer. She was about to say yes, when she noticed Tristan looking into the air. "I'll stay here, thanks," she said finally.
Bors shrugged his brawny shoulders. "Alright then," he said. "Ye can join us if ye want," he walked away.
"You don't have to stay on my account," Tristan said humbly.
Adima sighed. "I can't stay on your account, I can't leave on your account- I can't do anything on your account can I?" she smiled.
The silent scout remained silent. Adima frowned. "Where's your hawk?" she asked trying to break the awkward silence once more.
"Hunting," Tristan answered blankly.
"Oh," Adima smiled, happy to know she wouldn't be left hanging any longer.
"Adima?" Adima heard Guinevere call her name.
"Yes?" she and Tristan both looked up as Guinevere appeared in front of them. She gracefully glided across the snow to Adima.
"Forgive me for intruding," she said to Tristan. "Adima, the bath is ready for us."
Adima turned to Tristan who was lightly blushing. "Good night Tristan," she nodded. He faintly nodded back and Adima turned to leave with her sister.
As the sky grew darker, an icy wind rolled through the land, frosting the trees and freezing the lakes and rivers. Tristan's tiny fire swayed with the blowing of the wind. He sat on a large tree root in the small camp set up for the night by the serfs and the knights. His hawk sat near him on a smaller root, ripping pieces of flesh off a small rodent. Other than his feathered companion, Tristan was usually found alone, aloof form the other knights.
Adima and Guinevere sat in small bathing tubs filled with steamed water in the wagon. Two serf women bathed them with washing cloths, delicately running the soothing clothes down their backs.
"Guinevere, you're so thin," Adima frowned, noticing her sister's stunning weight loss.
"They don't feed you much in those torture chambers," Guinevere frowned. "Adima, I don't think I ever thanked you, for coming here and trying to rescue me."
Adima blushed. "Arthur got to you first; he's the one who saved you."
"But you came anyway," Guinevere smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad you're here with me. This trip back would be awful lonely if it were just me and Lucan."
"You have Arthur," Adima teased. "He and you talk surprisingly often."
Guinevere smiled faintly. "He'd a good man," she said sincerely. "They all are; all the knights."
"They are still our enemies," Adima protested.
"They are our saviors," Guinevere corrected her somewhat dreamily. "Arthur and his knights saved my life. "I don't see them as enemies anymore; at least not ours."
Adima thought about this for a moment. "They have done nothing to harm me, so of course I have nothing against them."
"They kill Woads, Guinevere. They tried to kill me."
"But they stopped once they realized you had only come for me, not to kill them," Guinevere scolded. "Didn't they?"
"Yes, that's true," Adima frowned. Her sister was right.
"So forgive them," Guinevere looked her sister in the eye.
Adima nodded," I suppose I shall."
(a/n: Well, what do you think? Sorry again for the delay) Sorry, this story was put on hold for a little while because of technical difficulties. Anyway, I thought I would go ahead and introduce myself, I am Justice3, ModestySparrow's main co – writer. So if there are any major problems with the story direct your comments specifically to me, and I will answer, and/or fix anything I can. Thanks, and enjoy!!!
To Wild Blood Rose: Thanks for the review. I'm glad you like the story so far. Lol, your name's really cool.
To Denethor's Angel: Thanks, yeah, I'm trying to add a little more Arthur/Guinevere in here. Lol, Denethor rules!
To Aurien: Thanks for the review!
To Goth Musician: Thanks for the review. Tristan's kind of a hard nut to crack...is that the right expression? I think so...yeah...lol, I don't know what I'm saying...
To Sheiado: I think I emailed you already but I can't remember. Lol, I'm still not sure if Dag is gonna live in this story or not. I think her did have a very honorable death in the movie, and Lucan can stand a little more torment! J/K; that poor kid. Well, I know I'll at least kill one of the knights to make it realistic. It'll be a surprise! Lol. If you want to write a story where Dag lives (or if you have already) I'd like to read it!
To Koalared: What do you need help with? If the chapter's confusing, you can email me and ask any questions and I can help you out. Thanks for the review! ï
To LeonisCordis: Thanks for the review. Tristan is by far the coolest character in King Arthur. They always kill off my favorite characters! It's horrible! Grrr!
To Annuna: Thanks SO much for the review. I felt so stupid after I realized I'd spelt serfs wrong. Lol, thanks for pointing it out to me so I could change it! ï
To Raynnach SilverMoon: Right now I'm not saying who I'll kill of, or not, or will, or who will wonder the earth half dead at the end of my story...lol...that would be cool. I'm glad you like the story though. You should write a KA fanfic. I'd read it! ï Thanks for the review.
Chapter 3: From Enemies to Acquaintances
Marius' wife, Lucinia tended to the deep gash in Adima's left thigh. She dipped a small cloth in a bowl of cool water and held the cloth over the wound, squeezing it slightly causing the water to drip into the cut. It felt refreshing to Adima despite the aching pain that shot through her thigh.
The woman gently wiped the cloth across the wound, and then dried it with another. She then wrapped an additional cloth around Adima's thigh to secure the wound so it wouldn't become infected and to stop it from bleeding. Adima, with another water bowl and cloth, cleaned her blood stained pants that lay beside her.
Just then, Tristan walked in front of the wagon peering in. He took one look at Adima and mortified, turned around at once. "Excuse me, miss. I didn't know-"
"It's fine," Adima said somewhat bitterly. "Just don't turn around."
"There," Lucinia smiled once finished.
"Thank you," Adima said politely. It was probably one of the nicest things she'd said since she joined the caravan earlier that night. Adima was offered a crème colored night gown to fit over her clothes. She hurriedly put it on, slipping her top off underneath it.
"You can turn around now," Adima scowled.
Tristan cleared his throat. "Arthur wanted me to check up on you; see how that wound was healing."
"Well, as you know, it hasn't had much time to heal, seeing as I just received it not long ago."
Tristan nodded and turned to leave. "Wait," Adima called after him. "What's your name?"
Tristan turned to face her. "Tristan," he said.
"Well, you can go now. You can also tell Arthur I'll be just fine."
Tristan nodded. He left the three women in silence.
Once he had gone, Lucinia put her hand to her mouth, and yawned. She leaned out the side of the wagon and poured out the remaining water from the bowl outside on the frozen ground. The wagon had stopped for the night.
Lucinia looked grieved.
"What's troubling you, Lucinia?" Guinevere asked, concerned.
"Oh, nothing; the day has just caught up with me, and I grow more tired by the minute. "I bid you both good night," she smiled warmly and turned to Adima. "Keep that bandage on there for now, and try not to move too much, the cloth might loosen."
"Yes, thank you," Adima nodded her head, assuring Lucinia she would follow her simple instructions.
"Sleep well, Lucinia," Guinevere called as the exhausted woman slipped precariously out of the wagon.
"Something troubles her," Adima stated the obvious.
"She doubts the goodness in her husband," Guinevere sighed.
"I can plainly see he has no goodness left in him, if he ever did. His heart is that of stone."
Adima shook her head in anger for the man. "He will never accept our differences."
Guinevere stared vacantly at one of her hands. Arthur, earlier, had bent her distorted fingers back in place. They still ached and shook when she tried to use them. They would heal, however, and she looked forward to that day.
"Your hand looks awful," Adima wrinkled her brow, starring at her sister's pale grey fingers.
"Your leg looks worse," Guinevere teased.
"MY leg will heal quicker; it will not damage me as much as the loss of the use of your hands."
"My hands will be fine," Guinevere assured her, hoping that day would be soon. She would rather her hands than any other part of her- they were what kept her alive. She needed them to be useful for her to survive. "Arthur was kind to fix them for me."
Adima through a thick, warm blanket over her and her sister and they laid down to rest, blowing out the candles near them that lit the small crowded space of the wagon. "It's strange," she whispered in the dark. "I've met Tristan before."
Guinevere struggled to understand what was being sad. "You've met him before?" she asked, perplexed.
"Yes, in an ambush, near the edge of the woods," Adima looked mystified. "How strange it is that I should be faced with this man twice and both times we tried to kill each other. I still don't know what they're motives are- the knights."
"I already told you," Guinevere rested her hand down on the floor. "They must take these people to the other side of the wall."
"I know, but I mean their motives, with us; with Lucan, too. Why are they keeping us alive?"
"These knights are good men, Adima. They would die before hurting us without reason," Guinevere said, turning over to face her sister. She couldn't see much in the dark, but she could see the outline of her sister's face and arms sticking out of the blanket. "If they wanted us dead, we would be dead by now. If they wanted to rape us, we'd already been raped. The way I see it, we're neither dead, nor raped, so I feel safe."
"Merlin always spoke so highly of them even though they are our enemies." Adima shook her head and smiled, confused by Merlin's extraordinary ways. "Perhaps you're right."
"Merlin is wise," said Guinevere. "He knows a noble man when he comes across one. I trust his judgment."
"That may be true," Adima thought a moment. She trusted Merlin, and what her sister had said made sense.
Guinevere turned around and closed her eyes, trying to find sleep. "Do not worry so much," she muttered. "These knights have no intention of hurting us."
Adima sighed, finally agreeing with her sister. She would try to rest easy tonight, trusting her sister's judgment of the knights.
Just outside the wagon, Tristan, with his hawk perched on his arm, sat on a small flat log beside an even smaller fire. It was his duty now to make sure this new traveler didn't stir up any more trouble. Arthur had ordered him to do this, whether he wanted to or not. He scratched the hawk's neck affectionately and whispered to it in the cold.
An icy wind picked up and ruffled the hawk's feathers. It stretched its wings, warning Tristan she meant to take flight. Tristan held out his arm and the bird leaped off and flew into the sky.
The next morning came swiftly to those few who slept peacefully that night. Adima awoke just as the sun was rising. She pulled a warm blanket around her to block out the frozen air swirling around her. She slipped on a pair of worn out boots and took a deep breath. Her hair frizzled and her eyes half open, she quietly stepped out of the wagon to get a breath of fresh air.
The wound in her leg was sore, but already it had begun to feel a little better. Startled by a loud flapping of wings, Adima gasped. Tristan's hawk had just perched itself on his muscular arm and her wings beat heavily against her sides as she landed. "Sorry, did she frighten you?" Tristan asked calmly.
"No, just startled me, that's all," Adima yawned.
Tristan was silent. Adima tried to flatten her hair out. If she would have only known someone was just outside the wagon, she would have checked her appearance first, before going outside. "Have you been out here all night?" Tristan nodded. Adima glared at him suspiciously, but said nothing more. She quietly walked back to the wagon to see if her sister had woken.
Within the following hour, the caravan was up and moving once more. Adima had been given a dark orange dress for clothing. For warmth, she had been given a blood red hooded cloak.
As the caravan steadily trudged on through the falling snow, Adima grew restless. She needed to rest her leg and stay as still as possible. If she moved around too often the wound could open even more and lead to a greater risk of infection.
She and Guinevere were both looking out the front opening of the wagon. Light snow flakes fell on their cold faces, but the sight of the beautiful lush mountains to their right, made them continue to look out of the wagon at the scenery around them. Guinevere smiled when she noticed Arthur riding up beside them.
"My father told me great tales of you," she told him with a smirk on her face. Adima reflected upon her stories her father would tell her and her sister. She smiled at the memory of him.
"And what did you here?" Arthur asked, slightly interested.
"Fairy tales. Of men so brave and selfless, they can't be real. Arthur and his knights. A lead of both Roman and British. And yet, you chose your allegiance to Rome, to those who take what isn't theirs. That same Rome that took your men from their home."
"Listen, lady," Arthur said somewhat angrily. "Do not pretend that you know anything about me or my knights." Adima didn't want to get involved with their argument. She kept quiet, taking in every word that the spoke.
"How many Britons have you killed?" Guinevere asked in a slightly rude manner.
"As many as tried to kill me. It's the natural state of any man to want to live."
"Animals live." Guinevere protested. "It's the natural state of any man to want to live free... in their own country. I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?" she waited for a reply.
Arthur tried to change the subject. He didn't want to be bothered by his decision in where his loyalties lay. "How's you hand?"
"I'll live; I promise you," Guinevere rubbed her delicate fingers tenderly. "Is there nothing about this land that appeals to your heart? Even your father married a Britain. He must have found something to his liking." She smiled haughtily.
Arthur was silent. Guinevere just smiled at him, knowing she was right, and perhaps she was getting to him. Adima couldn't stand the quiet any longer. With no commotion going on, she quickly grew bored.
"I'm going for a walk," she said, almost to herself.
"Shouldn't you rest?" Arthur asked politely.
"You shouldn't be concerned for my safety, Arthur," Adima said somewhat rudely. "I know my own strength. I'll rest when I need to." Adima carefully hopped out of the wagon, her leg almost giving out underneath her.
She stepped quickly out of the way of the wagon, careful not to get run over, and paced herself as she walked beside it. The sound of laughter echoed in her ears. She turned around and her gaze followed a pair of young children, running behind the wagon, chasing each other.
Adima smiled, reflecting upon her own childhood. She had not been reminded of it in a long time, besides the night before for she had been thrust into battle after battle for the last several months with the other Woads. Her mind loosened at the sight of the children, happy and ignorant to all the darkness around them. How innocent they were; a part of Adima wished he could be too.
The children then ran in front of her, dodging in front of the horses carrying the wagon, and back around to the rear of the wagon again. The horses whinnied, startled by the children's sudden movements. The young boy, being chased by the young girl, ran in front of Adima, heading right for the front of the wagon again. Adima reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Wait," she told him, picking him up. His sister stopped running too and watched her brother. Adima set him down again and they stopped walking all together. Adima bent over, leaning her hands on her knees. The boy stood facing her, a questionable look upon his innocent face. "Don't run in front of the horses," Adima admonished. "They get frightened."
The boy nodded, and figuring he was done with his punishment, and ran after his sister who was giggling loudly. They no longer ran in the horses' path. Adima smiled, watching the children play safely.
Adima had no idea, but she was being watched. Behind her, Tristan rode on his horse, keeping an eye on her every move, as he was instructed. The horse snorted and shook its head, ridding itself of the lightly fallen snowflakes powdered upon it.
Adima turned and looked over her shoulder. She made notice of Tristan's presence however, excluding him. She didn't know it for certain, but something told her he was watching her and it made her skin crawl.
Late into the day, just as the sun was going down, the caravan slowly came to a halt, giving everyone a chance to rest for the night. Adima sat on the end of the wagon sipping a bowl of warm broth and cooked vegetables. Steam rose from the bowl and she closed her eyes in the comfort of knowing she had something warm to eat, though the stew wasn't that much. She knew somewhere in the camp, her sister was enjoying it too.
She heard a loud snort and opened her eyes. It had startled her some. Slurping up the last sip of broth, Adima set her bowl on the wagon floor beside her. She scooted herself off the wagon and made her way towards where the sound came from. Tristan's back was to her, and he was apparently tying his horse to a small, young tree on the edge of the forest. He had just returned from scouting.
The horse's saddle and bridle had already been removed and it was being tied by a thin rope that wrapped around its face to join on either side of the head to make a long thin rope that Tristan tied into a knot around the tree.
A part of Adima wanted to go back to the wagon and rest, but the other part urged her forward. "This your horse?" she asked already knowing what the answer would be.
Tristan turned around, not surprised at all to see her. He had heard her jump down from the wagon and walk closer to him and his steed. "Yes," he nodded. "Should you really be up and walking around so much?" he asked her. Adima sensed by the tone of his voice that he didn't want company.
"I'm fine," she said bitterly. "If you want me to leave, I will."
"Oh, no, don't leave on my account," Tristan said calmly. Adima frowned, a little confused.
She slowly approached the large dapple grey from behind. "Stay away from his back end," Tristan scolded. His voice wasn't harsh, but stern.
"Sorry," Adima apologized. "I know little about horses; practically nothing."
"If you want to pet Passebreul," Tristan instructed," you must approach him form the side."
Adima heeded his word and stepped away from his back end. She made her way towards him again; this time from the side. "Horses have two blind spots," Tristan began. "One directly in front of them, and one directly behind them." He pointed a finger at the horse's head and then to its back end as he said this.
Adima nodded, then cautiously held her hand out to pet the horse. She reached a little closer, not wanting to be too close to the intimidating animal. Tristan smiled slightly. "Do not be afraid," he said, stroking the horse's flank lovingly. "They can sense fear," he told her. "It will only upset a horse if they know you're upset."
"That makes sense," Adima agreed quietly. Once she felt the horse's soft flank upon her hand, she moved a little closer. A proud smile crossed her face. Tristan only stood feet from her, adjacent to the horse's shoulder. He faced her, and she him, waiting for more advice. None came. He turned toward the horse again and fell silent.
"Am I doing it right?" she asked for support.
Tristan nodded. "If you pet him too lightly, he won't feel you through the thickness of his skin."
Adima tried it a little harder. The horse snorted and turned its head to look at her, its wide nostrils flaring. Adima had patted him hard enough. "See, he knows you're here now," Tristan said approvingly.
"He's beautiful," Adima said breathlessly. She felt the horse's muscles ripple under its skin. Passebreul leaned all his body weight to his right side and puffed out a warm cloud of air, his breath filling its lungs and pushing against his ribs. "What color do you call this?" she asked, running her fingers across the dark dappled spots on his side.
"He is a dappled grey," Tristan told her. "Eighteen years old."
"Is that old for a horse?"
"It's fairly old," Tristan said; then he was silent.
For a long several minutes, silence fell between them. Adima ran her delicate fingers under and on top of Passebreul's thick grey coat. The air was warm under his matted fur. "He's very soft," Adima broke the awkward silence. Tristan still said nothing, just nodded slightly. "He's very big, too," she mentioned. "His legs are long- far from the ground," Adima smiled, sheepishly, remembering falling off his back end during her first encounter with Tristan.
Tristan smiled, remembering that day too.
"I apologize for that, Passabreul." Adima buried her hands under the horse's long silver mane. She now stood adjacent to the horse's shoulder and Tristan had moved in front of the animal. The horse bobbed its head contently and blinked its round black eyes.
"We better let him rest now," Tristan gave him one last pat on the cheek before departing.
Adima followed. "He sleeps standing?"
"If he's not comfortable with his surroundings, yes," Tristan kept walking at a slow pace; knowing Adima couldn't walk exceedingly fast.
"I like horses," Adima said smiling. She felt a strange awkwardness filter within her. Tristan remained silent.
"So, you're one of Arthur's knights?" Adima asked warily. Tristan nodded.
He walked over to a large root emerging from the powdered ground. He dusted it off with his hands and sat down. Adima did the same with a nearby root.
"You knights are supposed to be brave and noble, selfless warriors," Adima said adjusting her weight on the make shift seat. "Sounds like a tough job."
Tristan again had nothing to say; he smiled faintly, but Adima could not tell for it was so subtle.
"My father says you and the others were taken away from your families at a young age; is this true?"
Tristan's face filled with sorrow as he reflected on the day when he left his home and family to join Arthur and his knights. Adima noted the sadness in his eyes; she felt sorry for him. "Yes, it's true. We were taken from our families. Many of us will never return to them." Tristan's eyes gazed up to the sky, then his gaze fell upon Adima who squirmed slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable.
"How old were you?" Adima asked.
"We were all in our early teens," he frowned. "I don't remember my exact age."
"When will you go home?" Adima asked hopefully.
Tristan shrugged. "I can't be sure until it happens, and I'm there." He tried his best to avert eye contact with Adima, and she noticed, feeling ever more insecure and a little frustrated with him.
"It is a dangerous job then?" Adima frowned.
"It is a dangerous duty, but one that must be fulfilled."
Adima thought a moment about how many knights must have been lost throughout the years. There must have been many; many who will never return home. "Yes," Adima whispered, slightly mystified.
"Well, that's I think the most I've ever heard you talk at one point in time, Tristan," Bors laughed, coming out from behind the tree, a bundle of sticks in his hands. Tristan ignored his comment. "I've got some firewood here, friends," he said cheerfully. "We'll be lighten' a fire over there," he pointed to where the other four knights sat in a circle; Arthur wasn't there.
He turned his head to Tristan who was silent and who stared into the distant beyond; into nothingness. Bors didn't seem surprised. He turned to Adima. "What about you, miss? Will ye be joinin' us this fine evenin'?"
Adima smiled, actually gratefully for the offer. She was about to say yes, when she noticed Tristan looking into the air. "I'll stay here, thanks," she said finally.
Bors shrugged his brawny shoulders. "Alright then," he said. "Ye can join us if ye want," he walked away.
"You don't have to stay on my account," Tristan said humbly.
Adima sighed. "I can't stay on your account, I can't leave on your account- I can't do anything on your account can I?" she smiled.
The silent scout remained silent. Adima frowned. "Where's your hawk?" she asked trying to break the awkward silence once more.
"Hunting," Tristan answered blankly.
"Oh," Adima smiled, happy to know she wouldn't be left hanging any longer.
"Adima?" Adima heard Guinevere call her name.
"Yes?" she and Tristan both looked up as Guinevere appeared in front of them. She gracefully glided across the snow to Adima.
"Forgive me for intruding," she said to Tristan. "Adima, the bath is ready for us."
Adima turned to Tristan who was lightly blushing. "Good night Tristan," she nodded. He faintly nodded back and Adima turned to leave with her sister.
As the sky grew darker, an icy wind rolled through the land, frosting the trees and freezing the lakes and rivers. Tristan's tiny fire swayed with the blowing of the wind. He sat on a large tree root in the small camp set up for the night by the serfs and the knights. His hawk sat near him on a smaller root, ripping pieces of flesh off a small rodent. Other than his feathered companion, Tristan was usually found alone, aloof form the other knights.
Adima and Guinevere sat in small bathing tubs filled with steamed water in the wagon. Two serf women bathed them with washing cloths, delicately running the soothing clothes down their backs.
"Guinevere, you're so thin," Adima frowned, noticing her sister's stunning weight loss.
"They don't feed you much in those torture chambers," Guinevere frowned. "Adima, I don't think I ever thanked you, for coming here and trying to rescue me."
Adima blushed. "Arthur got to you first; he's the one who saved you."
"But you came anyway," Guinevere smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad you're here with me. This trip back would be awful lonely if it were just me and Lucan."
"You have Arthur," Adima teased. "He and you talk surprisingly often."
Guinevere smiled faintly. "He'd a good man," she said sincerely. "They all are; all the knights."
"They are still our enemies," Adima protested.
"They are our saviors," Guinevere corrected her somewhat dreamily. "Arthur and his knights saved my life. "I don't see them as enemies anymore; at least not ours."
Adima thought about this for a moment. "They have done nothing to harm me, so of course I have nothing against them."
"They kill Woads, Guinevere. They tried to kill me."
"But they stopped once they realized you had only come for me, not to kill them," Guinevere scolded. "Didn't they?"
"Yes, that's true," Adima frowned. Her sister was right.
"So forgive them," Guinevere looked her sister in the eye.
Adima nodded," I suppose I shall."
(a/n: Well, what do you think? Sorry again for the delay) Sorry, this story was put on hold for a little while because of technical difficulties. Anyway, I thought I would go ahead and introduce myself, I am Justice3, ModestySparrow's main co – writer. So if there are any major problems with the story direct your comments specifically to me, and I will answer, and/or fix anything I can. Thanks, and enjoy!!!