Miggyrow: I'm so glad you liked the Galahad chapter. The problem I have with slash is a lot of times it is so improbable. Somebody puts two characters together and has them go at it like rabbits for no apparently no reason whatsoever.There was a bit of subtext between those two in the movie, well, to me anyway.Not as much as Lancelot and Arthur, but you could find it if you wanted to. And if you look at the times and who they were around - it was very normal in Roman society for men to be lovers, so why would that not have rubbed off on them? Anyway, glad you thought it was plausible.
Disclaimer: Obviously not making any money from there is really no reason to sue me.
Rating: M
Warning: This chapter contains a scene of violence/sexual violence and deals with the aftermath. It is not explicit but if you think that you will be disturbed please do not read it.
I changed for a time after my encounter with Tristan. I became louder, more brittle; trying to put forth the image that I was hard and callous. I would show off, compete with the other girls for attention. Anything to push away a man who might want to come to me for comfort, to be held, or who might bring anything to me that vaguely resembled emotion. In short, I acted like the cheap slags whose behavior I had once disdained.
Gawain noticed a difference in me and expressed his concern, but I told him I was fine. He believed me, which was just as well. How could I tell him what was wrong, when he was sometimes part of the problem?
Gawain was very good to me, and there was real affection between us. But sometimes he would come to me, speaking little. Quickly relieving his needs with me, he would leave shortly thereafter. It wasn't just Gawain – they could all be cold and impersonal, lost in their own needs. Couplings like that served as a harsh reminder of who and what I really was.
I was tired of men I cared about taking from me and leaving only coin in return. Oh, I had fun times with them, and I enjoyed myself often. And I knew they felt affection for me. But I often felt that when they left me I would not be given a second thought until they felt the need to ease their lust again. And if I was unavailable, there was always someone else. Any of us would do.
I began soliciting the lower ranking Romans more often, men that I didn't know well. When they got up and left right after the act I felt relieved, not lonely as I did with my more regular lovers. The sex with these men meant nothing to me and their coin was just as good.
Despite my crass behavior, Tristan sought me out again several weeks after our first encounter.His demeanor was subdued and my first instinct was to simply hold him, for I knew that was what he needed. He wanted the feeling that someone cared, to forget for a time whatever demons he fought this night.
But what about what I needed?
I could give my body, but not give of myself to a man who would throw a few coins on my table and call it even. So, when he reached for me I bade him to slow down and take his time. My intention was to undress for him, perform for him, and pleasure him as impersonally I would any other man.
He knew the difference right away, and it confused him.
"What are you doing?" he asked me. I was kissing and caressing him as I removed his clothing.
"Taking real good care of you, lovey," I said. "Just lay back and relax."
He did as I asked, lying on the bed. I continued and his body responded to me, but he gently pushed me away. "You are different from before," he said.
I thought about opening up to him, letting him know how much he'd hurt me, but then I realized his likely reaction would only be pity. I would rather him look at me with contempt than pity.
Bitterly, I said, "You buy a whore, that's what you get."
He looked at me with his usual unfathomable expression. "Is that how you want to be treated?"
"It's your coin," I said. "Do what you want."
He pushed me roughly back onto the bed. After quickly unlacing his trousers, he pushed my skirts up and shoved my legs apart. Settling himself in between them, he asked, "You're sure this is how you want it?"
I didn't. I wanted warmth and comfort, what we'd had before. I wanted to hold him and give him what he needed, in the hopes that he would think of me fondly. But what I would get for all that was the coin on the table, and the slam of the door afterwards. I looked past him, to the ceiling. "As I said, you're paying me. Take what you want."
He looked into my face, but I avoided his glance. I could feel his hardness against my thigh, along with his growing anger. He'd come here for comfort, not games. I hoped he would take me like this, roughly, coldly, for it would further harden my heart.
In the end he did not take me, but instead left with a growl of frustration.
I felt that same frustration. His compassion and decency was the last thing I wanted.
I went back to the tavern, seeking out baser company, men who would not invoke any feelings in me but relief upon their leave-taking. I found it in the form of two Roman soldiers, rough-looking men whom I would normally not give a second glance to. They were clearly interested in an encounter, but I had reservations – doubts that dissipated after glancing over to the knights' table and seeing Gawain with his latest favorite on his lap. I would not be missed, nor would they care. I was nothing to any of them. After a brief conversation and the exchange of coin, I followed the two soldiers outside.
Instead of going back to my room they took me to the alleyway where one pushed me to my knees. I knew what was expected of me but my earlier reservations came back in full force. I found myself looking around in dismay at where I was and felt a sudden sense of disgust and self-loathing. I was cheapening myself, debasing myself. I knew why - I sought to bring myself to a point low enough where I could never expect someone to care for me. That way I could not be disappointed when no one did.
Somewhere in the process I stopped caring for myself.
I thought of Gawain, who might sometimes walk out my door too distracted to kiss me goodbye but would never put me on my knees in the alleyway. Nor could I imagine any of them doing so. They did not love and cherish me, but neither did they degrade me. I thought of Tristan who had left me in frustration rather than take me as coldly as I had dared him to. Suddenly, the occasional disregard with which I was treated seemed such a small thing to be upset over.
I suddenly had to get out of there, away from this reeking alleyway, away from these filthy men. I got to my feet, reaching into my pocket to give them their money back. Though I tried to excuse myself gracefully, these were not the kind of men who accepted excuses. They were too far-gone with lust and drink to allow me to change my mind.
They needed little enough excuse for violence anyway, and my rejection angered them.
They hit me, knocked me to the ground and tore my clothes. I fought them, but the two of them were seasoned soldiers and my feeble blows and kicks served only to further inflame them. I tried to protect my face, curling into a ball on the ground. Cuts would leave scars, and men did not like a woman to look ill-used.
After what seemed an eternity of kicks and blows to the body, it was a relief when they stopped and got down to the business of why they were there in the first place. The first had his way with me on the hard cobblestones of the alley, while the other held me down. Not that it was necessary at that point, for the fight was gone out of me, and I would rather be taken than beaten anyway. He finished quickly and the second was getting ready to take his turn, when suddenly he was violently pulled away from me. Once he saw who had interrupted their sport, the first soldier released me and ran into the darkness, abandoning his friend to Tristan's not so tender mercies.
I crawled away, pulling my clothes around me, and watched as Lancelot arrived to pull Tristan off the soldier. I'd never seen them engage in anything more serious than a minor brawl in the tavern. Oh, I'd heard their tales, but hearing was not the same as seeing. Tristan was frightening and I could not imagine confronting him in such a state, but Lancelot handled him fearlessly.
I curled into a ball and buried my face in my arms. When Tristan came to me and picked me up I did not resist.
He took me to my room and set me down on the bed. I sat there and watched as he poured water into the basin on my little table. He searched for a clean cloth, and with my eyes I followed his movements around the room. Finally he found one, just when I had been considering that it would be easier for me to simply tell him where they were.
I thought I should say something, at least thank him, but I didn't feel like speaking. I found calm in being silent.
As Tristan brushed my hair back out of my face and began to clean away the blood, Gawain walked into the room.
"We got the other one," he said. "Galahad and Dag are dealing with him." He looked at me. "How is she doing?"
Tristan shrugged. "She'll live," he said.
Gawain looked into my face and called my name, asked me if I was alright. I looked past him. I was fine; I just wanted to be quiet for a while.
"Why isn't she saying anything?" he asked.
Tristan rinsed out the cloth in his hands and applied it to my swollen cheek. "She'll speak when she wants to," he said quietly.
Gawain took my hands in his. Gently he asked, "What were you doing out there with men like that?" He searched my face before going on. "Did you not know what would happen?"
I could have answered him, but it would have been more effort than I wanted to put forth just then. And what would I have said? That I was with them precisely because they wouldn't treat me well? Well, I'd gotten that, hadn't I?
"Gawain," said Tristan.
"What?" Gawain asked.
"Maybe you should give her the lecture later," Tristan said.
"I wasn't…" Gawain began, and then he trailed away. "Are you going to stay here with her?" he asked Tristan.
Tristan nodded his head.
"Good. There are some things that need to be taken care of," Gawain said. Then looking at me, he spoke to me again. "Is there anything you need?"
I could tell he was worried at my unresponsiveness, so I shook my head.
Gawain seemed relieved that I had responded in some way. He took my hand and said, "They'll pay for what they did."
I know that was meant to make me feel better, but it worried me. There would be repercussions. Roman soldiers being damaged for offending a whore would not be looked upon favorably.
Looking into my face, he said softly, "I would kill them if I could." He stroked my hair and said, "You must be more careful. I could not bear it if something happened to you."
I'd never heard him speak like that. I knew he cared, but he cared about many women. I put it aside in my mind as something to mull over later.
It was nice that he had shown concern, but I was relieved when he left. Tristan's calm was more comforting. He was right – I would live. It wasn't the first time I'd had a man that I didn't want – the Roman soldier was just one more, and it really didn't matter.
If I told myself that enough times then that would make it be true.
I watched Tristan's hands, and saw that his knuckles were bruised. I took his hand in both of mine and raised it to my lips, kissing it.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"For what?" he asked.
I was sorry that he'd hurt his knuckles. I was sorry for not opening my arms to him when he needed me. I was sorry for being angry with him. But to say all that would have disturbed my tranquility.
When I didn't answer he merely said, "You can tell me later."
I was grateful to him for not pushing me.
"You're a mess," he said "Do you want to wash up?"
I supposed I would. My clothes were dirty and I felt filthy. I nodded, realizing that he could not hear my thoughts.
Tristan dumped the bloody water in the basin out the window and poured new. Then he helped me to undress. His hands were gentle and efficient. A groan of pain escaped me as I raised my arms, and he probed was the beginnings of a fine bruise on my torso.
"You may have a cracked rib," he said. "I'll get Dagonet while you wash."
Inwardly I groaned. I did not want Dag to see me like this, but I did not feel like speaking the words that Tristan would only ignore anyway. "I'll be back shortly," Tristan said.
I walked over to the basin and found the soap, dipped the cloth into the water. I washed myself as best I could; I was sore and stiff.
When I was finished I wrapped myself in a blanket and went to the bed. I stared at the wall and allowed my mind to drift as I waited. I felt very peaceful, not thinking about anything in particular, not allowing myself to worry or fret or care.
I heard a knock at the door, but did not answer. They would either come in or eventually leave, it did not make a difference to me. After a moment, the door opened and Dag and Tristan came in.
As I held the blanket around my shoulders, Dag looked at the bruises on my face. He asked me the usual questions, if I was all right, where did it hurt. But I was fine. He kept trying to get me to talk but it was just so comfortable not to. I thought that it might be nice to stay as I was, not worrying about anything or caring about anything. Not speaking. Just sitting enveloped in the pleasant haze that had come over me.
He eventually gave up and told Tristan that my cheekbone did not seem to be cracked and that I would need no stitches for my split lip. I idly wondered if it would leave a scar.
Dag stood me up and gently pulled on the blanket, wanting to examine the bruises on my body. I held on to it tightly. He tried again with more insistence, uncurling my fingers from the edges and though it distressed me I allowed him to take it from me. I did not fear either of these men but felt vulnerable without the protection of my blanket.
Seeing my discomfort, Tristan wrapped the blanket around my waist and I felt somewhat less distressed. As Dagonet probed my bruises I made little noises of discontent. He told me that he wanted to wrap my ribs and that I was likely to have blood in my water for the next few days, and to let him know if it went on any longer than that. He asked me twice if I understood. I did.
He didn't like that I was not speaking and said as much to Tristan.
"She is resting," Tristan said.
What a perfect phrase for it - I was resting. I wondered how Tristan knew.
My ribs were wrapped and Dagonet was gone. I was back in my blanket sitting on the bed, Tristan sitting in a chair across the room.
A knock sounded at the door and Lancelot entered. After speaking softly to Tristan, he came to me and lightly stroked my hair. I could see the concern on his face, but he tried to make light of the situation.
"Leave it to you to liven up an evening! I was just thinking tonight how much I would enjoy pounding some Roman heads into the ground, " he said. "And here you provide the perfect excuse."
I did think it was funny, and so much like Lancelot. Had he been maudlin that would indeed have been cause for concern. I did not laugh, however. It confused Lancelot that I did not react to him, and he looked in my face, searching. I avoided his gaze. I wished they would leave me be.
Apparently deciding that attempting a conversation would be pointless, he reached for my hairbrush and sat me down on the bed. As he began combing through the snarls and pulling out bits of dirt, Tristan looked at him askance.
"What are you doing?" the scout asked.
"She likes having her hair brushed," Lancelot said.
I did, but I think it was something that he enjoyed almost as much. He always seemed to be so pleased to brush my hair until it shone, running his fingers through the length of it.
"Why don't you get her a clean shift?" the dark knight said. "They're in that drawer over there."
Again, Tristan looked at Lancelot oddly. "How do you know where she keeps her undergarments?"
"I have been here before, you know," said Lancelot.
"And you spend your time going through her belongings?" Tristan asked.
"Just bring it to me – or do I have to get it?" Lancelot said.
I allowed myself a small smile. I had once chided Lancelot when he had forgotten payment several times in a row. After that, when feeling particularly mischievous, he would hide coins somewhere in the room during the night so that I would think he did not pay. Upon being asked, he would direct me to wherever the coin was hidden, feigning outrage that I would think him so low as to try to cheat me. And from time to time he would leave a small gift or trinket hidden away for me to find later. I could imagine what Tristan would have made of all that, had Lancelot chosen to explain his familiarity with the contents of my drawers.
Lancelot saw my smile. "There you are," he said. "Are you coming back to us?"
Tristan found a shift and tossed it to Lancelot. Standing up, I raised my arms as he dressed me in it, and then I sank back down on the bed and yawned – it was quite late and I was very tired.
"I think that's my signal to leave," said Lancelot. Carefully he enfolded me into an embrace and kissed the top of my head. "You need to take care," he said. "If Myrna had not gone to the alleyway and seen, you might have met a bad end."
His embraced tightened, and then perhaps realizing that he was on the verge of showing an actual emotion, he smiled and kissed my nose. "And we can't have that - you're my favorite girl, you know."
If I had been myself I would have come back with a witty rejoinder. He had a favorite girl for every day of the week. Give him enough women and he would have a favorite for every hour of the day. But his flirtatious charm was one of the reasons I was so fond of him.
After Lancelot left, Tristan turned to me. "Get some rest," he said, and then he reached for the door latch. "And lock the door behind me," he said sternly.
I nodded absently and then he was gone.
I pulled my knees up and lay my head down upon them. I knew I needed to get up and lock the door, but that would surely wait for a few moments longer. My eyelids grew heavy and I closed them, just for a moment.
I was startled when the door opened again. "When were you going to lock the door – after a good night's sleep?" Tristan said impatiently.
I sighed heavily and lay on my side. Now even Tristan was buzzing in my ear.
I heard him grumble as he closed the door and locked it. His footsteps were heavy and I heard the chair creak as he settled himself. I wanted to tell him that he could leave, that I would be fine without him, but I had to admit that I found his presence comforting.
TBC