JUST BEYOND TIME
by VINTERSORG
Was raised in a place I'm not sure anymore
You hold out your arms to me like never before
Stir up the ashes I know you despise
Sometimes we cover our eyes
- Michael Merenda
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Chapter III
Outside the hut a spring storm raged, yet Isolde woke up feeling both warm and safe. Safeness was a strange feeling, she lived after constant vigilance and had done so for as long as she liked to remember. But an unbidden memory came to her of a time when she used to feel happy and safe.
Safeness... Feeling safe was something she had always associated with walking up snuggled against her brother as a small child outside their parent's hut. Both of them wrapped in their father's huge fur cloak. The cloak had never been there when they fell asleep watching the stars, but their father always wrapped them in it instead of waking them up and taking them back inside the hut. Fuzzy safeness when Lancelot would give a great yawn and wipe his nose at the back of his hand and asked softly Castor, you awake? and she would snuggle closer and mumble a few more minutes, Pollux . Then their mother would exit the hut and give them a stern telling off for sleeping outdoors before she went off to find Henzil and give him one as well for letting them do so.
This was a different kind of safe, though. She wasn't sitting, leaning against her brother, she was lying tucked against someone's chest, wrapped in strong arms. The small part of her brain that wasn't engulfed in sleep told her it was Tristran's chest below her cheek.
She snuggled up closer to him, breathing in his scent. He smelt of horses and of smoke from last evening's fire; and then those smells that mixed and made him uniquely Tristran: green grass, leather, dried blood and bird plumes. In the logy state of mind she was even sure he smelt of sunshine and stardust.
Tristran had been awake since Iseult and Drejan had left the hut a handful of minutes earlier to help with the morning meal. He ran his hand over the left side of Isolde's back to rouse her from sleep – not that he minded her unselfconsciousness and the small content look she wore on her face just then. Having Lancelot's sister nestle against his side was only a nice fantasy that would earn him an earful if she woke up to find he'd done nothing to stop it. She had asked him about Arthur, Britain and the knights every given moment — and why wouldn't she? — and seemed excited in her own way to get there – or at least anxious.
Pulling the blanket closer around her body Isolde sat up, finding out it didn't help to keep the warmth.
« Slept well? » Tristran asked, his voice almost drowned out by the storm outside.
« Yes, and then you had to wake me up » she accused and glared at him in mock anger.
« We should stay until this weather dies » he said, effectively changing the subject and Isolde nodded in agreement.
Twisting her body around and leaning back she grab two tunics that were flung across the closest saddlebag. She handed Tristran his dark brown tunic and then proceeded to change out of her white sleeping tunic into the long midnight blue Sarmatian styled one she picked up for herself.
He had already finished dressing and was watching her intensely when she finished strapping on the greaves over her wool breeches and low boots. She tilted her head in question when she caught his gaze.
« What's so fascinating? » Isolde asked aloud when he wouldn't answer her unspoken question.
« You » he truthfully answered, still watching her and shaking his head slightly when she arched an eyebrow inquiring him to elaborate, although she knew he would say nothing more.
« Later » assured Tristran and crossed the foreroom to where she sat crouched down and bent down to kiss her forehead softly before grasping her hand and pulling her up.
Tristran grabbed his old travel-worn cloak, putting it around his shoulder and fastening it at the collar before pulling taking Isolde's fur rimmed one around her.
« Come, let's brave the weather. »
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The rain was pouring down as if someone opened the dams of heaven all the while thunder and lightening cracked across the sky, occasionally hitting one if the tall iron bars that had been stabbed into the ground around the outer edge of the camp so that the lightening would leave horses, huts and humans alone.
Drejan was struggling with the preparations for the morning meal. The fire was hardly burning, the casserole was more like a watery soup than anything and the bread was as doughy as if it never been fried. All the while he battled against nature his wife did all to win over the weather's forces. Iseult had looked high and low for a canvas large enough to be put up as a shelter over the cooking fire, along with people willing to help set it up.
When Tristran and Isolde finally came to the fire a few of the tribesmen were battling the tarpaulin that certainly did not want to cooperate and Iseult had left them to their owe device in favour of saving the fire.
Drejan gave the two a knowing smile at their late arrival before he returned to cover the pots and pans. He had decided the two were lovers in denial and would have put in a snide remark if it hadn't been for the storm.
Isolde shrugged her shoulders and went to help the men with the canvas as Iseult called Tristran over to help tending the deceasing fire. A few minutes later the shelter was finally standing, keeping out most of the rain and the fire grew until it was fit to cook over again.
By now most of the adult population of the tribe had gathered, and some of the children as well, to get their breakfast. The casserole was still more like a soup than anything, but the bread was baked and both warmed in the wet weather.
As Iseult served Tristran his food she noticed the cloak and broke into a large grin. She recognized it for the previous evening when he sister had worn it.
« We should have traded those bear hides for metal » muttered Drejan as if out of the blue when a particularly large bolt of lightening hit one of the iron poles. « We could have had at least five good swords for tempering. »
Tristran couldn't help to arch an eyebrow and glance over at Isolde. His statement seemed so random he couldn't help wondering if the man was a bit mad.
« We stick swords hilt down into the ground during thunder storms » explained Isolde to Tristran's unspoken question. They were sitting close together under the shade, eating their meal in relative quiet save for the storm. « When lightening strikes the blade it makes them stronger. »
« A Sarmatian custom? » Tristran ask softly, he couldn't remember much of his home.
Isolde nodded, offering him a piece of her bread when she saw he was out and he took it gracefully awaiting her answer. « Sarmatian blades are well sought after. Apart from skins and horses, that is what this tribe barter with. »
« And your own tribe » he asked, « What do you barter with? »
« We have no dealings with the Romans, East or West » said she, not able to keep a small smile out of her voice, something which was highly unusual for her. « Only when we make war with the border governors. »
« Better not tell Arthur that » he answered, a tiny smile of his own giving colour to his voice.
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The bare steppe land of the east had never truly given good protection from anything, yet it was home for so many. Its sky and its earth were gods due to their might, stretching on for ever it always seemed, always until you reached the edge and for ever was not long enough.
During days when lightening split the sky and thunder rolled in the hills it was as far from safe as could possibly be. Days such as the one that was was down right dangerous and the only protection they had were the tall iron bars stuck into the ground around the camp. Even though physics were a term strange to their ears experience had taught them that lightening always stroke the highest point, and especially if that point was metal.
Still, even if the poles protected them none felt it too safe to walk outdoors. Days when thunder and lightening played chase across the sky were days best spent indoors, doing small things as mending shirts or making dagger scabbards.
Inside Iseult's and Drejan's hut, in the middle of the large foreroom where Isolde and Tristran had spent the previous night, was large copper saucer holding burning coal. Around it was all who at this moment were considered family — or were so at least in the eyes of both Iseult and her husband as well as their two children, if either Isolde or Tristran considered the latter family they didn't say so out loud — doing some kind of indoor work.
Iseult was making arrows while Drejan fixed a scabbard that was falling apart, Jasna was making herself a doll out of leftover cloths and Zdravko was practically lying in Tristran's lap while the man was mending clothes. The latter was a perfectionist and you could only see there had been a tear in the first place if you looked close enough. The young boy's happiness over their prolonged visit amused Isolde to no end, though it only showed as a slight twinkle in her eyes whenever an aggravated Tristran caught her eye. She was continuing a leather work Drejan had started long ago, braiding thin leather straps together to a jacket for Zdravko.
Sitting in that hut with men doing women's work doing men's work and the other way around, made Tristran reflect over how very different the two cultures really were, and how easy it was to forget only to remember by being in the middle of it.
He couldn't help but to mention it to the woman next to him, « Sarmatia is so very different from Britain » he said sotto voce. « You never know you miss it until you're back. »
« I will have to take your word for it » she replied, turning her head slightly to look at him while her fingers still played over the leather and braiding it. « But tell me: How so? »
Isolde already knew before he shook his head and said not only the obvious, I can't explain, but you'll see that he would not answer the question. She was however not prepared for her brother-in-law's comment that followed their hush toned exchange.
« Aren't you like a tiny family – now aren't you cute! » Drejan boomed with a huge grin on his face, making Zdravko squeal in delight and snaking himself more into Tristran's lap making the silent man frown to no avail. « What are you two whispering about? »
Before anyone could answer anything Iseult replied by jabbing her husband in the arm. He wasn't helping any in her mind, just embarrassing the two who would probably try to deny any feelings whatsoever even more by it.
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As it is with all weather, it passes no matter how nasty it is, and so was the case this this spring storm as well. By midday the rain was still dripping down, but it was a soft spring rain and no longer anything unmanageable.
Once again Tristran and Isolde packed their horses with a Sarmatian family as an audience, but this time there was no sobbing which was rather nice the two silently decided. The only distraction from their task at hand had been Iseult's and Zdravko's pleas about them staying one extra night, but those had soon died down when as the pair effectively ignored them.
Isolde hugged her brother-in-law, nephew and niece goodbye before she was pulled into her older sister's tight embrace and held there for moments that seemed to drag out into eternity before the woman decided to take a small step back and speak.
« May the gods bless your journey and keep you safe » she told her little sister and Tristran, then she leaned towards Isolde and whispered with a smile on her lips and a mischievous twinkle in her eye: « Visit soon – bring Tristran. »
- - -
The two rode until sunset and beyond, it was long after nightfall the two finally decide to stop and break for camp. By now it had become almost a routine, them silently dividing the chores between them and carrying them out almost soundlessly. Once again Tristran was preparing food and Isolde taking care of the horses, but neither minded it the other way around as well.
« What did you sister mean? » Tristran asked after a while when she was spread both their bedrolls on the ground and was otherwise finished with her part.
They both knew what he was alluding to, even though he wasn't supposed to have heard, but nothing about this man would ever suprise Isolde. He was like a great mystery, yet he was as plain as daylight.
« Not only the eyes of a hawk, but the hearing of one as well » she praised with a half sarcastic, half ernest tone to her voice.
He was moving around behind her back she could hear, but at that moment the texture of her bedroll seemed far more interesting.
« Nothing, she's half mad and imagines things » answered Isolde, rising but not turning to face him, her eyes still firm on the brownish cloth on the ground.
« I don't think so » he replied, sounding very near and she had to turn around just to find out how near.
Her objection got stuck in her throat when she came up face to face with Tristran; he was standing even closer than she imagined. They are so close together they were touching and once again she was lost for words – liquid eyes stealing them from her before they even reached her mind.
He cuped her face with both his hands and leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips before repeating his words again, « I don't think so. »
It was not a magical kiss, they never seem to be, but still it managed to wreak turmoil in Isolde's soul. And while her world tumbled down around her Tristran took away his hands and calmly walked back to the fire and poured two cups of tea for them, offering one to her as if nothing ever happened.
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A/N: These half stressed chapters seems to be an ongoing trend of mine, seeing as last one was one too. I'm sorry, and aside from that it's really short... Sorry again. I've been too caught up in life off the computer lately and have only had time to write sporadically, which has made this chapter feel a bit like a patchwork. I'll try to have the next chapter up quicker, and to speed this journey along so they can finally get to Britain!
Once again, it's not as well read through as I wish it to be and there might be a few spelling errors that the spellchecker's taken for correct (seeing as it can't understand I might mean so when I write do , etcetera).
Castor and Pollux are two half brothers/twins in greek myth who loved each other very much (they are the constellation Gemini). When Castor (who was mortal) died Pollux (who was an immortal) went to his father, Zeus, and begged to share in his brother's death. Zeus took pity on the him and let Castor share half his life with his Pollux, so that they would be allowed to live half their lives on earth and half in heaven. Though, it has been wildly debated weather they are always together or always apart, ie. one in heaven while the other's on earth. I personally think they are always together and this is my story.
Yes, I've read the sword tempering thing somewhere. I think it was an old paper written by some Professor who was discussing the Arthurian myth all the while talking about the connection between Magyar culture and the Sarmatian.
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A very big THANK YOU to all my lovely reviewers:
LANCELOTTRISTANBABY, op, newsieskane, stephanie, Priestess of the Myrmidon, sarmatian-woman, June Birdie, Lauraine, Sandies and A.k. Anonymous.
newsieskane: When I finally get my ass in gear it doesn't take all that long for me to finish writing a chapter, mainly because I have most of it already made up in my head. Thank you (smiles) Once they're back in Britain the real drama can begin and then I'll have more characters to reflect the two against, too.
Priestess of the Myrmidon: Defenitely you should (grins)
Sandies: Thank you for a GREAT review! And once again I dragged out on the time – but it hasn't been as long as last time (at least there's something). I'm happy you like the way I'm writing Tristran, I just hope I didn't destroy him in this chapter; I somehow feel I have, though, I'm not entirely sure how. I'm glad you like it, I'm always slightly afraid that the way I mix history, myth, knowledge and my own ideas will stick out the wrong way – happy that isn't the case. / Yes you certainly must, Mads is a great actor! Though, I hope you don't mind subtitles too much because most of his movies are Danish (but they're generally great nonetheless).
A.k. Anonymous: You're all too kind (smiles) I'm happy I managed to capture Isolde's and Tristran's relationship the way you imagined it, I hope I haven't spoiled it with this chapter.
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Please, please, PLEASE REVIEW! It really makes my day and gives me loads of shiny new inspiration to keep me continuing writing.