JUST BEYOND TIME
by VINTERSORG

And falling came so easily
And for the first time
You took life lightly
And would it be worth trying
- Our Lady Peace

- - -

Chapter I

"Arthur, I can't!" the voice rang out across the training-grounds.

The ten knights and one commander had been out there for hours - sparring, shooting arrows, throwing daggers and wrestling. As Lancelot had 'brought down' Kay and made him yield Arthur had decided to ask him something, right then and there in front of all the knights.

They had all known about the engagement, but save for Arthur only Lancelot knew who the lucky woman was. Arthur had taken Lancelot a bit aside, but not too far and asked his friend when he could leave for Sarmatia and bring his sister, Arthur's fiancé Isolde, back with him.

"Don't get me wrong but I just can't." Lancelot pleaded with his best friend and commanding officer.

Arthur was stunned, this was the first time in all the eleven years he had known Lancelot that the dark knight had refused to do what was asked of him. He was even more stunned because he knew that if he had been in Lancelot's boots he would have jumped the chance.

"Why not?" he asked, wondering if his friend didn't like the idea of Arthur and Isolde. He really couldn't blame Lancelot for that, the girl was his younger sister after all.

"Why can't you ask Tristran instead?" Lancelot inquired, annoyed with his friend because he just couldn't take a no. "He's perfect for this job."

"Why, Lancelot?" he was confused, very confused. "I thought you'd jump the chance at seeing your family again."

"I..." the Sarmatian began, sighing and shaking his head softly, "I'm afraid that I would betray your trust, that I won't return if I meet them with only two years left in Roman service."

The other knights had gathered around the two, curious about what was going on and a bit surprised to find out Arthur's fiancé happened to be Lancelot's sister - a real Sarmatian princess. None of them had really thought about Lancelot has a prince for many years and no-one ever thought about Arthur as half-Sarmatian, although they knew he was.

"I'm sorry, Lancelot," the commander sighed, patting the other man on his shoulder in a way of saying there was no hard feeling between them. "I didn't think about that."

"Send Tristran," advised Lancelot with a smile, "I'd love to see my sister again, she was eight years old last time I saw her."

"Okay," Arthur smiled in return, turning to the silent knight who also had walked over to watch the exchange, "When can you leave to the Roxolani tribe and fetch my fiancé Isolde?"

"Tomorrow. At dawn." the man answered shortly, leaving to make ready for the long trip across the Empire.

- - -

The journey was both harder and easier than Tristran had expected. It was a bit longer than it had seemed on the maps in Arthur's study, but to make up for that he didn't run into any Roman patrols anywhere. Even though most of the journey was outside of Roman territory both he and Arthur had suspected that there would be some Romans somewhere at least.

Roughly four weeks had been spent inside the Empire, two from the Wall down to the south coast of the Britannian Province, three days on the boat from Britannia to Gaul and then almost one and a half weeks going east to Germania. Then he was supposed to go south-east for almost two months until he reached the western coast of the Black Sea. Five months, that was how longe that took, but he didn't complain. Tristran liked being on his own, and with his horse and falcon he was never truly alone.

That was the easy part of the journey, because after that it was a matter of finding the Roxolani tribe. They could be anywhere from the Danube and way up north from there. No, scratch that. They could be south of the Danube as well, in the East Roman Empire.

Lancelot, who of course knew all about the tribe he had left thirteen years ago at mature age of twelve, had said that they most likely had their winter-camp at the western or northern shore of the Black Sea. Tristran had already prepared himself for months of riding around Sarmatia looking for the tribe, he had his money on them being in the north-east, but decided to see if Lancelot was right first.

- - -

The sun had reached zenith and was on its way west across the sky as Tristran finally spotted a Sarmatian camp somewhere off the the horizon. It took him almost an hour to reach it. With each passing minute he noticed that it was a rather large camp just by the water, people walked around doing this or that. Some he noticed were sharpening knives, daggers and the occasional sword while others were preparing food.

"This is the Roxolani tribe?" he asked more than stated in the Sarmatian tongue, silently wondering if his eastern accent was too strange for them to comprehend, his voice almost daring them to contradict him.

"It is," a tall man said, he was in his late fifties but was still strong and broad shouldered. It took Tristran a moment to understand what the man said, their accents were actually quite different. "Who are you?"

"I am Tristran," he answered, bowing his head slightly in a sign of respect, this was probably their king, Henzil. "Artorius Castus sent me to fetch princess Isolde."

A woman, also in her fifties, walked up next to the man. She eyed him suspiciously, before speaking.

"I am Fiona," she introduced and then nodded to the man who spoke earlier, "This is my husband Henzil." Adding with a slightly mocking tone, "We are the king and queen."

Although he had guessed who they were he was slightly taken back. They looked just like the other tribesmen, save maybe for their tattoos and they didn't seem to take their titles very seriously. Had they been Roman they would each have looked like a jewellery shop and would be holding court in a large silk tent. They were not Roman of course and because of that they didn't think they were holier than anyone else, they were equal to all and none.

Tristran nodded and dismounted his horse, wondering who of the growing number of tribe members gathered this mysterious warrior princess was. He almost laughed at himself himself when he thought of her like that, she most likely only referred to herself as a warrior, the princess part was added by the caravans to make her sound more exotic in their numerous tales.

"Have you by chance heard anything about a Sarmatian knight named Lancelot?" the queen asked, her tone was slightly hopeful.

"He is also stationed at Badon Hill." Tristran didn't want to make the woman disappointed in her son that he had passed up the chance of seeing them, but he didn't want to lie either. Half the truth is true even though often misleading, he thought silently.

The look on her face was hard to read. It looked like the wheels in her head spun around, but she didn't seem very angry.

"Stay for dinner," she said with a small smile, there was something about her look now that made him think her sly, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Isolde is not here right now."

"This is Gareth, Lancelot's and Isolde's brother," introduced Fiona, dragging a boy of fifteen or sixteen summer out from the gathered crowed. "He'll help with you your horse."

The boy lead Tristran to the other side of the camp where the tribe's horses stood in a makeshift enclosure. Gareth looked just like a younger version of Lancelot, something which was slightly disturbing. The boy was trying to engage the strange visitor in conversation, but found himself only receiving monosyllables in answer.

"Nice, they're going to have a perky ride," Gareth joked as he took a seat next to his cousin by the fire. "He seems just a stoic as she is."

"Who?" a woman's voice asked and the boy looked up almost scared.

Tristran had already seen her ride into the camp, though her brother had apparently missed the dark woman on the huge black horse. The instance Tristran had seen her he was sure of who she was. There was something royal yet wild about her whole appearance, like the tales caravans from the east had brought with them of her.

She looked tall, maybe just a few inches shorter than he was, her long hair was black and curly like her brother's and she wore strange markings tattooed on her face. An upside-down turned Y with two dots on each side and four below it just above her nose between her eyebrows. Three vertical lines above and below her left eyebrow, left to her eye, each the same length but descending diagonally to the left. Last, but not least, a large knot of vines on her left cheek going up next to the vertical lines and a little down her neck.

Her clothes were the usual Sarmatian breeches and tunic, although her boots seemed Roman or maybe even Greek. On the horse's saddle there was a quiver filled with arrows next to a traditional Sarmatian scabbard holding a sword, her bow was secured on her back next to another scabbard with a sword. She had apparently been out hunting, because tied to the saddle was also five dead rabbits.

"Isolde!" Fiona called and walked over to her daughter. Gesturing to him she said with a forced smile, "This is Tristran, he has come to bring you to Britain to meet with your fiancé Arthur."

"Wonderful," the woman said sarcastically and dismounted her horse gracefully. Well on the ground she looked over at Tristran who's eyes had been on her as her mother had presented them. She gave him a small nod in way of greeting and acknowledgement and he returned it.

Silently Tristran wondered how happy she and Arthur could get. He would probably find her too cold and exotic for his liking and she would probably hate the way he would treat her like a delicate thing that would easily break, allowing her little to no freedom for hunting and such. At least the other knights would have something to amuse them.

- - -

"Take this," Fiona told her daughter, handing her two cups with some kind of warm liquid in. "Give him the other one," she nodded once in the direction of the knight from Britain who had come earlier that day. "It's chill up there and you'll be spending months on the road together, better get acquainted."

Tristran was sitting up on the hill overlooking the sea, Isolde could see the wind playing with his hair and braids. To her he looked like some sort of animal, an arrogant, wild animal. With a small sigh she nodded and started walking towards the hill.

"Here," she said and gave him one of the wooden cups, taking a seat next to him. Although they were western of the Black Sea in a broad sense the camp was at the southern shore of a small bay so the sun set over the water from the west shore of the creek.

He nodded his thanks and sipped the drink, finding it was some form of tea he took a bigger gulp and continued to watch the sea.

"What should I expect to see when we reach Britain?" asked Isolde after a while, sipping her drink as well. It tasted like warm water with some kind of strange extraneous flavour to it, but it wasn't an unpleasant taste.

"Rain," he answered before finishing his drink, his eyes still on the sun-rays playing across the water.

"Great," she said sarcastically, drinking a bit more and then curling her fingers around the wooden cup. Birds were flying low over the surface of the water, she noted. Sometimes striking down on a fish, most of the time they came back up with an empty beak or empty talons.

"Tristran, may I ask you a question?" she had finished her drink now and was feeling a lot warmer than she had moments earlier, she was looking at him from the corner of her eye. He was rather handsome, in a caveman sort of way.

He nodded, turning his head to look at her, "I thought you just did."

"Well then, may I ask you another question," she asked, quickly adding, "One that has nothing to do with asking about asking questions?"

"Go ahead," he replied, still looking at the woman next to him. He was feeling slightly amused and he didn't know why, he never felt like that in the company of anyone.

"I figure you're from way east," she stated, he nodded although he knew this was a simple observation and not the actual question. "You've been away for over ten years - mostly in Britain, I guess - do you ever miss it? The far east?"

"Occasionally," he admitted, "But anyplace is as good as the next to me."

"Must be nice," she said and caught herself smiling, she never smiled, that was strange. "Being able to feel content wherever you are."

- - -

Isolde's smile hadn't gone unnoticed down by the camp, at least not by her father. Henzil narrowed his eyes at the two figures at the hill. One was the strange man that Arthur had sent to bring his daughter away from her family to Britain, the other was Isolde herself. His daughter Isolde who never smiled or joke, who rarely spoke and only if it was important. She wasn't one to waste breath or chatter. The last time he had seen her smile was a week after the Romans had taken her brother Lancelot away, a day before she finally realised she might never see her beloved brother ever again.

The man had also been very silent, very much like Isolde, although he seemed more emotionless. Something was wrong here, something was at work and it was right before his eyes.

"What have you done?" Henzil accused his wife who had come to stand by his side, also watching the two on top of the hill.

"Nothing," she purred, understanding her little potion had begun to work its magic. "I've done nothing at all."

Fiona smiled happily, thinking about poor, poor Arthur. The man deserves no better, she thought, sending someone other than my oldest son to take my daughter away from me. No, she had done nothing but helping nature a little.

She knew her daughter was one of the Original Warriors, old souls walking again in new bodies. There were only a certain number of those souls and she had guessed Tristran was one as well. The souls was said to belong to the first twenty horse masters that the goddess Ilona had put on the earth - ten men and ten women paired off.

Fiona had given them a small brew that would make their souls see each other, putting her hopes on the Lady of Luck, one in ten and their souls belonged together. What if it the result just served her means, she couldn't help that, now could she?

Just trust Fiona to get the wrong idea about thing, but I guess Tristran didn't help her any (grins). This was fun writing and I hope it was fun reading too!

• The idea of old souls comes from the Celtic mythology, which is connected to the Sarmatian by the Magyar culture.
• Ilona is the name of the Magyar Mother of Life (i.e. Mother Earth / the earth goddess)

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