(A/N: Ok, here's the latest chapter. I hope you like it. Please review. OMG, I had this dream that I was talking to Til Swcheiger (Cynric) and I was like 'It must be so cool to work with Mads Mikkelsen…" it was really weird…Anyways…on with the story…
Chapter Twelve: The Arrival
Adima's heart raced as the image of Tristan's face stood in her mind. She couldn't wait to see him. How would he react when he saw her again? What would Briac think of him?
Adima sighed, her heavy heart nearly breaking under all the baggage that clung to it. Loving Tristan was all she wanted to do- but she'd nearly forgotten about Briac on her long voyage with the knights.
She had only been engaged a day before she left to find Guinevere. Briac was a good man. He was smart, brave, and loyal to his people, but Adima didn't love him like she loved Tristan.
Tristan, to her, was a man of mystery, heart, and soul. Briac was just an old friend. But Briac would not care what her opinions were- would he?
Adima nearly slipped off the horse's slender sides yet again as he leaped over a small boulder. Her fingers tightly grasped Briac's broad and bare shoulders. She felt a stirring sickness in the pit of her stomach as she wondered what thoughts of her were coursing through Briac's head.
He was most likely thinking about her; and that's what she was worried about. All day she'd spent thinking about what she would do in the circumstances she'd put herself in.
If she denied Briac, what was left of her family and tribe would shun her- it was their way. She'd seen it happen before. And Briac- Adima would hate to see him hurt by her denial of him, but wouldn't it be worth it to be with Tristan?
Tristan was after all, a knight. Her tribe would not like him at all. Adima wondered if Tristan would even take her back, after she'd left him and the others. He was a loner after all.
Adima shook her head. She didn't want to think anymore of such things. They hurt her too much. Her insides turned as the burning threat of the future loomed in front of her. Adima wished she could change time, and return to the past forever.
"Saxons," Briac whispered, his mount slowing speed.
Adima and Briac looked to their right in a clearing of the forest, where over a thousand Saxons trudged through the slushy snow.
Adima's eyes widened. "They're headed for the wall," she breathed in horror.
"Yes," Briac grunted. "We must hurry," he kicked his steed in the sides, and they sped off through the forest, hidden in the abundant cover of the trees and looming mists.
"Well Tristan," Gawain said with a gleaming smile. "We're home."
Passebreul kicked up quite a bit of mud as he trampled through the slippery path into the Roman fortress. The large door opened, and the knights, along with the rest of the caravan slowly trudged on and into the busy fort.
"This was never home," Tristan muttered almost to himself.
"Aww, don't worry," Galahad tried to cheer him up. "We'll all be home soon. We'll go home."
"He won't," snapped Bors, casting a fleeting glance back at the dark horse which carried Dagonet's lifeless body. The smiles that had been on any of the knights' faces slipped away at his comment.
As the knights finally departed from the rest of the caravan, Arthur called to all the weary travelers. "You are all free now," she proclaimed. "You are all welcome to live here for now, if you wish. I do not think you'll be returning to your former home."
Several Roman soldiers cast each other fleeting glances wondering of that was allowed, but none of them stood up to Arthur.
The knights and the wagon which carried Alecto and his mother carefully entered a large courtyard. "Ah! Good! Christ be praised!" shouted a gleeful Bishop Germanus. He raised his hands in praise and smiled. "Against all the odds Satan could possi- Alecto!" he shouted, noticing the boy dismount from the carriage. The bishop seemingly ignored Alecto's solemn expression.
"Let me see you! You have triumphed young Alecto. Let me see you- you are here!" he placed his hands on Alecto's cheeks to show his happiness, but Alecto didn't share his mood. The boy understood now all the pain the bishop had caused the knights, and so many others.
As the knights wearily dismounted and began handing Joles their steeds' reins, Lucan leaped out of the wagon, racing towards Dagonet's body. "Lucan!" cried Guinevere, as the young boy was approached by Roman soldiers. Galahad forced them out of the young boy's way with his knife.
Slung over his horse's back, Dag's body hung limp. Guinevere walked behind Lucan, watching as he slowly slipped Dag's ring off his pale finger. Guinevere sighed. The ring would not fit on the boy's finger, but she would think of a way for him to wear it in the knight's honor.
The Bishop chuckled to himself, though no one else seemed to find anything at all amusing. "Great knights," he began. "You are free now. Give me the papers," he said to his assistant who rushed him the box that held within it the knights' well earned freedom. "Come, come!" he shouted, holding a weak smile. "Your papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman empire. Take it, Arthur," he chuckled to himself nervously as all the knights glared.
Arthur moved closer to Germanus, making the bishop very uncomfortable with his given space. "Bishop Germanus," Arthur breathed, almost in a snarl. "Friend of my father." Arthur then backed away, heading toward Guinevere and Lucan.
Lancelot walked over to the bishop. With a menacing glare in his eye, he ripped the scrolls from the box, carefully handing them out to each knight, giving them, their everlasting freedom.
Though the knights knew they were free, none really felt in a mood to celebrate or rejoice. As long as they were to live in the Roman Empire, they would never be free like the Romans were free, they knew. They would always be treated as outcasts, barbarians, slaves to Roman will.
"You are free!" shouted the Bishop. "You can go!"
The knights ignored him. Lancelot stood before Bors, who stared blankly off in the distance, teary eyed. "Bors," Lancelot shoved two scrolls in front of him. "Bors," he repeated. "For Dagonet."
"This doesn't make him a free man. He's already a free man. He's dead!" Bors exclaimed, picking up and throwing the papers on the ground before the Bishop's feet. Bors stalked off angrily to get drunk.
Once all the papers were handed out, Tristan walked over to the two Roman soldiers that held the empty box that once held the release papers. After careful inspection, Tristan gripped the box's sides, and took it from the Romans who just looked at each other wondering what to do. Tristan knew just what he'd do with it. The box would soon belong to Dag; he'd place it on his grave as a final gift.
"There it is," Adima gasped as she and Briac came within sight of the Roman fort. Briac nudged his horse in the sides and they picked up speed.
Once they got closer to the door, one guard shouted. "Woads!" and arrows began flying.
"Stop!" Adima cried, as the horse beneath her began turning and swiveling around, skipping and charging away from the flying arrows as Briac tried to control him. "I'm a friend of Arthur's!"
"Wait! Stop!" Gawain ordered the guards to cease fire once he recognized Adima. Gawain stood at the wall, looking down on her, Talso by his side. "Open the doors!" he commanded.
Slowly but steadily the large door swung open and Briac led his nervous steed inside the village walls. Adima was the first to dismount.
Gawain, Galahad, and Talso all surrounded her. "Adima," Gawain said walking up to hug her. "What brings you back?"
"I'm come for Guinevere," Adima sighed.
Gawain chuckled. "And Tristan?"
Adima would have shared his enthusiasm, but instead she shot a fleeting glance back at Briac, who did not appear happy. He grimaced, glaring at all and everything around him.
"Is Guinevere here?" Adima asked forwardly.
"No," piped up Galahad. "She and Arthur haven't returned yet. They're still at the cemetery."
"Cemetery?" asked Adima.
"We buried Dag today," Gawain sighed. "Bors hasn't come back yet either."
"I'm so sorry," Adima sighed.
Just then, Tristan came into view. He caught Adima's eye, and gave her a quick smile; then it faded when he noticed Briac coming up beside her. Who was this man? he thought.
"Tristan," Gawain turned to his friend. "Told you she'd return," he smiled, though Tristan frowned, since Adima was not smiling.
It pleased the Woad so much to see Tristan. It was all she could do to keep a straight face and stand where she was. All she wanted was to run up and kiss him, and she was sure he felt the same, but she knew Briac held her back. Tristan would probably have not shown his affection in public anyway.
Tristan's eyes scarcely left Adima, and hers did the same as she spoke. "We've come for my sister," she said solemnly.
"Well, I don't know when she'll return," Gawain said. "Come; you and your friend should come have a drink."
Briac and Adima turned to each other. Adima spoke to him in her native tongue. "They say Guinevere is not here," she began. "She's at a graveyard, mourning the dead."
"Not our dead," snarled Briac. "When will she come here? We must hurry before the Saxons arrive and block our passage."
Adima frowned. "They don't know when she'll return. They've asked us to share a drink with them."
Briac glared menacingly at the knights. "He doesn't look too friendly," laughed Gawain.
Adima couldn't help but smile. "He is my kin. His name is Briac. He doesn't like knights. Don't worry; he doesn't know your tongue like I do."
"Oh, good," said Gawain. "So will you join us then? We can't be sure when your sister or Arthur will return. I think Lancelot's having a drink anyway…"
"She's with Arthur then?" asked Adima.
"Yes," Lancelot appeared from nowhere. He gave a subtle sigh. "She's with him."
"I see no harm in a drink," said Tristan, glancing at Adima.
"I don't trust these men," whispered Briac. "What do they want?"
"They just want to welcome us to their home," said Adima. "We are their guests here. We should do as they say." Briac glared at Tristan; something told him there was more to this dark man than met the eye.
"A drink then?" asked Lancelot, hoping the Woads would agree. He needed some ale about then.
"Of course," smiled Adima. "Could we have someone take his horse?"
"Oh, I'll do that," piped up Joles, who came to get Briac's stallion.
"Let him go, Briac," Adima chimed. "Trust this man. He takes good care of their horses."
"Not my horse," Briac stood in Joles's way of the horse.
"Briac," Adima repeated. "Let it go." Briac glared at Adima, and then did as she asked.
"A drink then," Tristan said, catching Adima's eye, his deep brown eyes half hidden in a tangle of black bangs.
"A drink," Adima breathed, her heart pounding.
Please review, and if you like The Phantom of the Opera, check out my new story, 'The Mask and the Mirror'. Thankies!
-Modesty