MonDieu666- Uh I pronounce it Iz-sohl-day. Could be wrong but that's what I thought it was supposed to sound like. Modron is Arthur's half sister's daughter. In the legend she was his actual half sister, but that was just a little too much for me. I mean the fact that she's his niece in my story grosses me out, but the sister thing would have been too weird to write. I would have hurled or something while writing.
Brandy Lebeau- Yeah, looking back over it, the entire chapter is one long conversation. But I wanted emphasis to be placed on that conversation because it's going to be half the plot of my next story.
Sunlight filtered through the window directly into my formerly closed eyes. I smiled pleasantly. I pushed all thoughts of the looming feast away. The day was mine. Mine to spend with my knights. Lancelot, Bors and Dagonet. I stood up and slipped on a tunic. I peaked out of the window and looked at the roof tops of the city. The sun was out and the puny layer of snow was glinting violently as if fighting back against the heat. With Pata by my side, the only other weapon I needed was my bow. I smiled fondly thinking of the last hunt Galahad and I had been on together. I lined my eyes with kohl for protection against the harsh glare of sun and snow. My green coat was adorned, and I was off. I stole and entire loaf of warm bread from the newly discovered kitchen and set off for the stables. Lancelot, Bors and Dagonet were already saddling their horses. They were not the only ones however. Tristan was completely ready and in conversation with Mordred. Behind Mordred stood Lucan and Gilly.
"'Lo Lucan. 'Lo Gilly." I said laying a hand on the last one's shoulder.
"Papa says I shouldn't let women call me Gilly." Gilly said with a smile, knowing his father had meant to give me a hard time. Lucan smiled along with him, much improved from the frightened boy Dagonet had rescued from a dungeon like hell.
"What should I call you?" I asked letting my curiosity show. I had never heard the boy referred to as anything else. He mumbled something.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Don't worry about it¼" He said with a slight blush. "It's stupid."
"Galehodyn! Galehodyn!" Bors chanted.
"Are you the child or are they?" I asked Bors as he stuck out his chest proudly.
"Galehodyn's a fine name." He said throwing a glove at his son. Gilly rolled his eyes at his half mad father.
"Hm." I said tossing around the name in my head. "Not bad."
"Can I ride with you?" Mordred asked turning towards me as I slipped Scosin's saddle on him. He pawed the ground with excitement. Kolaksay would have stood perfectly still¼
"Absolutely." I said with love for the boy. It made me feel special to know he didn't care if his friends saw him riding in a woman's lap. Making sure my quiver was full, I helped Mordred haul himself into the saddle. Once he was situated, I swung myself up behind him. Lucan and Galehodyn sat in their own fathers' laps, or in Lucan's case, fatherly figure's lap.
"Can't wait till Geraint's big enough!" Lancelot said nearly bouncing in his saddle. I pretended to weep for the infant, and Lancelot leaned over and prodded my leg with an arrow. I slapped his unprotected head.
Bors made a disdainful sound.
"Calling me a child¼Tristan needs to ride between the two of you to keep you from pulling each other's hair!"
And Tristan did just that as we rode out of the stables and down the streets to the gate. No Yseult to coddle him. Apparently Lancelot was thinking along the same lines.
"Hey Tristan. You sure you can go a whole day without a kiss or a caress?" Lancelot said wickedly. I kept the smile from blooming across my face.
"Oh yes!" Bors said with an even more serious voice. "Are you sure you will be able to make it?"
Tristan favored them both with a frosty look.
"Papa says you're a kept man." Gilly said with a look of innocence I knew was fake. I choked on my bread while Dagonet kept his head bowed to hide his laughter. Tristan said nothing in defense of Yseult and it pleased me. Modred tilted his head up at me and gave me a knowing look.
"Can you pull that bow string back?" I asked meaning the bow he had made in Sarmatia. We were fairly deep in the forest. He shook his head and dark locks patted my neck. I pulled my bow out and held his hands in the right places. He was seven and it would be a while before he could draw his bow, but practice would quicken it.
"Sarmatian bow is harder to pull back. But once you grow used to it," I said devoting all my attention to the boy and bow. "you can fire an arrow farther than any Briton or Roman bow."
"When you have time, pull the string back as far as you can and hold it." Tristan said looking over at the boy.
"That way, each day it becomes easier to pull in back." I said in agreement. I let go and watched as Mordred pulled the string back as far as he could. A little more than an inch. I smiled and burrowed my face into the child's hair. I remembered when I had done the same thing years and years ago.
"You must train your arm." Tristan's voice was slightly deeper this time.
"It takes time though." I added. Mordred nodded, taking it all in.
"He's good with a sword." I said looking at Tristan. "You should see him."
"You've been training him?" Tristan asked as Mordred gave up for the moment and began fiddling with my tunic edge as he watched the forest for game.
"Yes." I said sitting up straighter. I scanned the forest for any sign of life.
I waited another moment before bringing up a subject I had not mentioned to any one else.
"The tribes are moving west." I said quietly. Tristan's shoulders stiffened for a moment.
"How far?"
"I couldn't say. My own clan has moved over a fortnight to the west." I said not looking at him. The Huns had forced the Sarmatians to west before I was even born. Atilla had been dead some years now, but more and more barbarians seemed to pour in from the east. It was a worrisome thought…I felt a cold hatred for the Romans. We had been great once. We could have withstood the tide of easterners…
"They'll be in Europe if they keep moving." He said without much emotion.
"I think we'll survive." I said looking around Tristan's shoulders. Lancelot had fallen behind us, seemingly to watch for deer. I refrained from shaking my head in irritation. I wanted to tell Tristan how I felt. We were alone, and I had nothing to lose as far as Tristan was concerned. I didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable with him, but it felt like there was something else in between our horses besides air. Yseult and my unspoken confession. How could I tell him I had been stupid? That I had done him wrong by not knowing from the beginning that he would never expect me to…to be something I wasn't…I pushed it all down. I wouldn't say anything until I knew how to say it. The last thing I wanted to do was to make myself look like some lovesick puppy. Once again I found myself cursing my pride.
"Deer!" Dagonet called back in a quiet voice. We stopped and dismounted. We tied our horses up, and quietly slung spears and arrows over our shoulders. Tristan laid a brown hand on Scosin's white crest. He looked at me with a slightly concerned expression.
"Kolaksay belonged in Sarmatia." I said using a cord to secure as much of my hair as I could at the base of my neck. Chaotic strands and braids fell out hopelessly. I let Mordred carry my quiver, but I made sure to take out two arrows so I would not need to reach for him if the deer was spotted. I shuffled my arms. It was cold, but my thick coat might hinder me. I turned to lay the coat on my saddle and found Tristan looking fixedly at my neck. I touched the two marks idly.
"Wise." He remarked simply and began testing his bow. Mordred and I followed the others in the direction that the deer had gone. We all walked a fair distance apart. Mordred had spent his entire life in a forest and was frighteningly quiet as he trekked across the fading snow. Many of the animals had already committed to their winter sleep so there was little life to be found.
We crept through the trees for nearly an hour without speaking. Diluted sunlight filtered though the trees, half of which were barren of leaves. Bors froze for a moment, listening. Dagonet held his spear at the ready. Tristan began edging to the east as I notched an arrow. The boys were watching us with large, excited eyes. Dagonet lunged and hurled the spear. I watched it travel through the air as graceful as an arrow. As it neared its destination, I finally noticed the stag I had not seen before. The spear missed the animal by mere inches it seemed. There was a flash of brown and the stag was gone. Bors took off for it with Lancelot close behind. Dagonet ran to retrieve his spear while Tristan shot off in the direction he thought the beast would go. Mordred grabbed my tunic and pulled me in a different direction.
"This way." He said with a strange, knowing look. I put my trust in him and followed. We darted through trees until we came to a thicket. It looked impassible at first, until Mordred ducked his head and disappeared into a rough tunnel at the bottom of the thicket. In my lupine state I barely noticed the thorns and leaves that savaged my hair and hands. Long moments of darkness and the smell of dirt…Decaying leaves…We burst out through the other side, and Mordred led me through another string of trees. Suddenly we were standing on the edge of a hillock. There, not far below us, stood the stag in a small, shaded clearing. His head was up and alert, staring in the direction that he had fled from. I took in the beauty of the animal. He was free in a way men and women could never be. Just as swiftly as the thought passed, I knelt down and pulled Mordred in front of me. I notched an arrow and pulled back the string. My arms encompassed the fey like boy as I offered the bow.
"I will give it flight. You tell it where to go." I whispered. Mordred didn't hesitate. His small hands joined my own and he moved the bow to where he wanted it. I didn't check to see if the aim was correct. He nodded and we both let go. The arrow had a few glorious moments of exodus before embedding itself into the ribs of the stag. I stood up immediately and squeezed Mordred's shoulder. He looked at me and gave a small smile. We loped down the fairly steep side. The deer was dead. It had been a good shot. Lucan and Dagonet rushed into the clearing a moment later. At the same time I saw Tristan emerge at the base of the hillock.
"Damn you! Bloodthirsty siren!" Bors roared as he burst in with Lancelot and Gilly.
"Glory hog…" Lancelot muttered.
"I didn't shoot it. The boy did." I drawled while stretching my arm. Mordred looked confident, but not boastful as the other two boys looked at him with newfound admiration. I had a brief image of an older Mordred leading men into battle. I shook my head and smiled at Dagonet. Mordred, the brave hunter, once more wound a hand in my tunic. I smiled at the thought of a grown Mordred still clinging to my tunic. He looked imploringly at me and I bent over to pick him up. I had forgotten for a moment how young he was. Only six…My guilt was swept away after one look into eyes that resembled Arthur's. Mordred was fine. The killing of the animal had not fazed him. Gilly, although a few years older that Mordred, looked as if he would have loved nothing more than to be picked up by his own father. Lucan looked tired as well.
"We should get the young ones back." Dagonet said firmly.
"Yes. And get this meat cooking for tonight!" Bors said clapping Tristan heavily on the shoulder.
"Yeh…" Tristan said in a low voice. "You're getting fatter."
Bors roared with laughter.
"And you're getting older!" Lancelot said with the arrogance of a younger man. "While I'm in my prime…"
"Well I'm younger and prettier than all of you." I tossed in as Dag hefted the stag over his shoulders.
"I'll drink to that." Lancelot said while lunging towards Lucan. Lucan cackled as Lancelot threw the boy over his shoulders like the stag and began to head back to the horses. I was glad the boy was here with us. I felt cold at the thought of Lucan and Guinevere wasting away with the rotting bodies of that hell.
We rode back to the walls of Caerleon just behind another caravan. I groaned.
"More of them…" I said pitifully. "Of course, we could just sent Tristan to talk to them. They'd be so offended they would resort to couriers forever more…"
Tristan quirked his bowed lips.
"Or you. You'd make them cry." He remarked looking ahead. His hawk flew down and landed on his outstretched arm. Her beak was bloody from her last meal. She hopped on my shoulder for a moment and nipped my ear.
"She remembers you." He said as the domus came into sight and the falcon returned to his shoulder.
"Of course." I said assuredly and we finished the rest of the way in a familiar, companionable silence. My stomach rumbled and I decided my first stop would be the kitchens.
"Ah the hunters return!" Guinevere called out loftily. Lancelot gave her a gallant smile, and she smiled even more warmly.
"Yes, a stag for the queen's table." He said as if he had brought down the beast himself. His flop of curls swayed in the wind. Arthur was speaking stiffly with a group of men with skin like bronze and leather. He looked over at us and motioned us over. We didn't look very imperial, but we didn't need to. The knights strode purposefully over to the Roman king. We stood at his side and examined the newcomers. I new instantly that these were the Saracens March had spoken of. The apparent leader was a hale man of around thirtyish. Roughly hewn ebony hair capped a proud head. Strong, straight features and sooty eyes. He was smooth faced with only a small, closely cropped patch of hair on his chin. In my eyes he was no Tristan, but he was handsome nonetheless.
"These are some of my knights." Arthur said affably. We bowed our heads slightly to the man in acknowledgement. I looked at his companions. The leader, Palomides if what March said was true, had a brother I assumed upon seeing the man at his side. The similarities between them were unmistakable. There were several other men in his retinue, some swarthy, some white. Had this Palomides set himself up as a prince? Or a chieftain? Or perhaps just a warlord? Their body language spoke of humble men.
"Sarmatians." Palomides said appraising each of us. His gaze fell on me and he held it there. "Another civilization marred by the Romans."
Galahad would get along marvelously with this Saracen.
"They took your women as well?" The brother asked curiously of me.
"When our families run out of sons." I said facilely. I kept my face a mask as I watched these newcomers. Some of their men muttered. Outrageous. Shameful. Honorless. Apparently these Saracens thought it was an evil thing to steal women from their homes. Having had this reaction from numerous people, I was rather bored with the routine. Arthur was too.
"Isolde, Tristan. Will you escort them to the other domus?" Arthur asked us. Tristan looked as if he might refuse.
"Yes." I said putting aside my dreams of crumbling cheese and warm bread for the moment. Tristan relented and nodded.
"Until tonight." Arthur said and excused himself. Stupid king… I mounted Scosin again and waited for the Saracens to do the same. Tristan and I rode ahead for the brief journey down the cobbled street. We entered the gates of the domus and a few servants came rushing out. They were rather frazzled it seemed. Already they were serving several guests; now more were coming. They made clumsy bows and began to unload the Saracens' belongings.
"The baths are nearby. Ask one of these women," I said motioning to the busy women helping the Saracens. "And they will show you to them."
"Thank you lady." Palomides said in a thickly accented voice. I eyed their swords. Large, curved blades. I wondered if any of them had a spare… I nodded and turned to go. Tristan and I made our way back to the royal residence.
"I like the baths." I said suddenly. Tristan looked at me oddly. "The baths are nice. So are the rooms. But I liked the Wall better."
At this he nodded. This was all new and grand to me. Perhaps this new life was not as extravagant as a Pharaoh's or an Emperor's, but it was very different from the simplicity of wall life as I thought of it.
"I'm returning in the spring." Tristan said after a moment. I wondered if Yseult would go back to her own people… Gods I hoped so.
"Gawain and I will probably join you if he has returned by then." I said lazily. It was well after noon. I knew that Gawain would not likely enjoy all this pomp.
"I could use the company." He said and I snorted.
"Poor, lonely Tristan." I said monotonously. He leaned over and popped my shoulder.
"Isolde, that ring's too big for you." He said looking straight ahead. I looked at the gold ring on my thumb. Antlers sprawled across my thumb. I had taken to wearing it since I had returned. I didn't think it would be appropriate to give it to him as I had originally planned. I wondered what had happened to my coral ring that I had left him. A brief image of it on Yseult's finger flashed through my mind. I pushed it away. I knew Tristan too well to ever think he would do something so callous.
"I'll return your ring." Tristan said as if reading my mind. "You didn't die so there's no reason for me to keep it."
I could only nod. We were almost at the gate.
"March?" He asked after a moment. I wanted to tell him. I couldn't. I hated my pride. Hated it.
"No. Over." I said simply. I loved reverting to one word sentences with Tristan.
He made a vague sound.
"Speaking of love and such, are you and Yseult to be the next wedding?" I asked as we entered the gates. My face was blank and my voice was neutral. Gods, I should have been a spy or even a diplomat.
"Unlikely." He said stiffly. "She wants to."
"That must be a delightful subject." I said wryly. My mood had suddenly brightened. The pathetic winter sun suddenly seemed bright and warm. La la la…
He grunted.
"Do you love her?" I asked knowing I shouldn't. Tristan looked taken aback. Oh gods how obvious could I be…
I watched as several emotions played across his face. He looked positively flummoxed.
"Never mind." I said quickly. I hopped off Scosin and handed him to Jols. I was running away for all purposes. At least I managed not to run. I kept it to a quick walk... This was all too dramatic. I made my way to my room and laid down on my bed. I had never in my life been so unsure of everything. I didn't feel like myself. This was not Isolde. This was… Some stupid girl who had ruined everything. She had left a man she loved for some silly fling and then left for over seven months. What had I expected? I was Isolde. I was cold in many ways that other women were warm. I was merciless and bloodthirsty. Tristan had found another woman who was willing to love him. Yseult was warm, doting, soft…I took a deep breath. I remembered how I had pushed away thoughts of Branwain until I was numb to her death. I always did that to things out of my control. If I could not change it, I let it go. I thought of a man with high cheekbones, ragged hair. I loved him, but he had gone another way. I couldn't make him love me. So I would let him go. No more thoughts of Tristan. I left my friendship untouched, but anything more I would push down so deeply that it would never trouble me again.
I slept easily after that, but my dreams were lonely and colorless. I woke up after sunset. The sky was a dark, orange nothing. I stood up and undressed. The rest of the guests would have arrived by now. My duty was to make sure Arthur's reign succeeded. Tonight, that meant being impressive. I combed my hair out and let the strands fall where they wished for the time being. I lined my eyes darkly with kohl and bit my lips to make them red. I put my dangling gold ear pieces through the holes my mother had made in my ears during my visit. It had not been a pleasant experience.
My hair was not curly and past my hips like many women's, but it was smooth and wavy at the ends. I would make the most of it. I pulled large pieces of hair at my temples down to the nape of my neck and braided them with more hair. Arbitrary strands fell out as usual, but I didn't bother with them. Finally I put my dress on. I felt beautiful. The red silk was fitted snugly to my torso. It was not belted; instead it outlined my hips and began to fall loosely after that. Deep crimson silk and gold embroidery made my sun darkened skin glow. I suppose this is why Galina loved to wear dresses so often. It was a floaty feeling…
"Isolde!" I heard a bang on the door. It was Lancelot. I opened the door and he froze and didn't speak.
"Have the others gone down already?" I asking looking around. I did not enjoy the thought of the grand entrance of a straggler.
"Do you need me to tell you how beautiful you look?" Lancelot said finally. I looked up at him and smiled. We made our way to the roundtable room. Since the guests did not number in the hundreds, it would serve us well. We entered the room and saw that most everyone was already there. At least, nearly all the chairs were taken. I was going to sit next to Lancelot, but a wave from Guinevere stopped me. I made my way to where she and Arthur sat. I took a seat to her left and noticed that I was also next to Palomides.
"Now I see why did not leave this land." Palomides said good-humouredly. His voice was deep and pleasant. "The women on this isle are majestic."
He tipped his chalice to Guinevere and I. Both of us actually blushed like young girls.
"Oi! Isolde! You look nice!" Bors yelled across the table. I looked over to where he, Dag, Lancelot and Tristan sat. And, oh marvelous. Yseult.
"If you had to choose between me and eating the stag, which would it be?" I called out to him. He had the audacity to pretend to be torn.
"I'd eat the stag, and let you wear that dress some other time!" He said in what he thought was a reasoning voice. I gave him a mock deadly look. Lancelot was leaning around Arthur and making kissing motions in mine and Guinevere's direction.
"Lancelot, are you planning on running away with Guinevere, or Isolde?" Arthur asked with a huge smile. Lancelot clapped him on the shoulder.
"Both, you Christian ass." Lancelot said easily. Arthur tipped his head back and laughed. Only Lancelot would call Arthur an ass. I shook my head. A pair of dark eyes caught mine. Tristan held my eyes for a moment and then looked away. Yseult was already looking pointedly away from Tristan and me.
"Isolde, this is my brother Safir." Palomides said while putting a hand on the shoulder of the man who resembled him closely. I nodded.
"We were discussing the warriors on this island. The women in particular. Are most Sarmatian women raised with a sword?" Palomides asked with genuine interest.
"Yes." I answered glad to have something to talk about with these men. "From the time we can walk we learn to ride and shoot a bow. Then we learn swordsmanship."
"What of things such as weaving and cooking?" Safir asked bemusedly. "How do the women have time to run the household if they pursue war craft?"
The food was brought out and we piled our plates while continuing to discuss women as soldiers. The table was filled with the low hum of eating and talking. Guinevere soon joined our conversation.
"If a woman does not wish to be a soldier, she will not be forced to. But all woad women learn to handle some form of weapon." Guinevere explain to the men.
"Ah! So it is a…how do you say… preference?" Palomides said as he began to understand. "Like if a man chooses to be a soldier or a blacksmith or a farmer?"
"Exactly." I said elatedly. These men seemed to be open to the idea of female warriors.
"What of marriage?" Safir asked as he bit into a piece of meat. Guinevere turned to answer a question Arthur had asked her.
"Yes, do your men prefer women who are warriors?" Palomides seconded. I shrugged.
"It depends on the man." I said. Palomides black eyes twinkled warmly.
"And what of you lady? Are you to marry one of these men?" He said gesturing to the knights. I laughed and shook my head.
"Ah. You are opposed to marriage?" He said sitting back in his chair.
"No." I said simply. Palomides gave me a smile and turned to speak with his brother. I took the opportunity to look at the new faces around the roundtable. I saw that Ealasaid was here. She saw me looking from her position next to her brother and gave me a kind smile. I nodded and looked at her companions. On her other side sat two young women. One was a ebony haired girl. She wasn't beautiful, but she had a pleasant face. The other girl had the palest blonde hair I had ever seen. She was dainty looking with a delicate nose and dark eyebrows. Next to the girl with pale hair was a middle age man with a full, dark beard that hung to his chest. He was deep in conversation with Modron. Next to Modron was Uriens with Galehault. Leading back to my area of the table, next to the other Saracens, were two men who looked as if they would rather be beaten with the flat side of a sword than be sitting there.
"Who are they?" I asked Guinevere who looked lovely in a russet gown. She was angelic looking, but I would never forget the girl who killed a Roman lord without hesitation. She scowled when she saw the men I referred to.
"Caradoc and Turquine." She said eyeing them as if she would love to stake their heads to the city gates. "Bastards. They are the brothers who have been causing us so much trouble. Arthur sent a messenger some weeks ago…He never returned. They of course deny any involvement. My father thinks otherwise."
"Do they act alone?" I whispered. She gave them one last cold look before turning her gaze to me.
"I suspect they consider allying themselves with the enemies of Britain quite often." She said as her eyes became unfocused. She laid a hand on her belly and looked deep in thought.
I sat back in my seat and wondered at all of it. It seemed the Saxons who attacked the south did not have the same single minded goal that Cedric had. He had been bent on destroying every trace of the inhabitants of Britain. These Saxons, and their allies the Angles, did not appear to be above making deals with Britains.
"Arthur, Bors and I have been thinking-" Lancelot began but was interrupted by Tristan's disbelieving snort. "Ahem. That we could use the amphitheatre For ourselves."
"That would be a good area to train with the horses." I said thoughtfully to Arthur.
"It would be a good place for the races and tournaments on holy days." Guinevere said in agreement.
"Absolutely." Arthur said immediately. Any further discussion of the subject was cut off by a thick, gruff voice.
"When can we expect our dues to be paid?" All eyes turned to Caradoc. Dues? What dues?
"My lord, I thought I made it very clear that I will not be paying Rome's debts." Arthur said reverting back to the cordiality he used when speaking to high class men. Of course, looking back on the treatment of Marius, cordiality meant nothing.
"We have suffered much. Our people need aid-" Turquine began but was cut off. Looking at his extravagant girth and fine clothes, I somehow doubted that the man was living a scanty life. Compared the woads, the man was the Emperor of Rome.
"All the people of Britain are suffering, Including those here in Caerleon. I cannot dole out funds to all the peoples of Britain-" Arthur said and this time his voice was hard.
"Of course. You should start with the neediest." Caradoc said while a drop of wine dribbled down his meaty jowls. By neediest, I assumed he meant himself and his brother. Arthur's mouth was a thin line.
"We will decide who is in need of our assistance and who is not." Guinevere said the last part with a stoniness that made her point very, very clear. All the talking had stopped completely around the table. My backbone felt like it was made of iron as I sat stiffly next to the young queen. I made sure not to glare at the mutinous men, but I was sure that my expression wasn't exactly pleasant.
"Perhaps this discussion should be at another time." Modron said smoothly. I doubted Arthur wanted to Uriens and Galehault and the Saracens to be witness to this…discussion. Modron had saved us from a bad situation I noted. Arthur nodded, and everyone resumed their previous doings. The night wore on for another hour or so. Finally, Arthur stood, made a toast, and everyone began to leave. Bors grabbed my arm on the way out.
"You're comin' with us girl. Off to have a drink we are…It's time for the real socializing." He said and led me out of the domus grounds. Tristan, Bors, Dagonet, Lancelot, Jols, and I made our way to a bar near the soldier barracks.
"Oh thank the gods. I need a drink…" I muttered as we sat down at a table. It didn't much resemble the yard at Hadrian's wall, but it would do. I was seated between Tristan and Dagonet. Lancelot disappeared and returned with enough drinks to keep us drunk for days.
"Farewell my sober friends." Bors said raising his cup. I didn't wait for the cheers. I downed mine in a matter of seconds.
"You have the stomach of a wild boar. Scrawny Lancelot here would be puking if he did that." Bors said cackling. He tipped his own drink back and attempted to guzzle it all down. It was rather strong stuff he realized too late. He gave a choking cough and some of the fiery liquid bubbled from his nostrils. We burst into laughter as Bors' eyes watered. I laid my head on the table as I laughed violently. Lancelot was crying he was laughing so hard. Dagonet's laugh was a deep boom while Tristan's was a low sound. The scout shook as he laughed and laid a hand on the small of my back. He kept it there even after the laughter died out.
"I don't think I'm the one who needs to worry about my drinking." Lancelot said as he wiped the tears of mirth off his face. I struggled to breathe normally again and Dagonet patted me on the back.
The absence of Galahad and Gawain was painfully obvious to myself, but that did not keep us from enjoying ourselves for many hours.
"Hey- hey Tristan." A drunken Lancelot slurred. "Where's your bonny maid?"
Bors cackled madly. Whether it was due to the nickname Lancelot had bestowed upon Yseult, or to something else entirely, I couldn't judge. Tristan, hand still on my back, shrugged.
"Angry at me." He said and lifted his cup to his mouth. He brought it back down and stared at it. It was empty though it had almost been full a moment ago. His eyed traveled to mine. It was full to the brim.
"You stole my drink." He said simply. I looked at him and laughed.
"I'm holding it ransom. I want my ring back." I said matter-of-factly. I scooted my cup out of his reach.
"You gave it to me." He said reaching for the drink.
"You said you'd give it back. Besides, not going to fit you." I said trying to keep my balance. I snatched the cup away from his almost victorious hand. I managed to drink half before he pulled it away. There was a superior look on his face as he held it across the table away from me.
"Now, I-" He began but stopped. There was a slurping noise. Our heads turned to the direction of the cup. Lancelot's head was hovering over the cup as he quaffed at the ale. Tristan yanked it back and glared at the other knight. I looked in the cup. There wasn't much left, and on the top there was a floaty layer of something that looked suspiciously like spit. Tristan slid the cup back towards Lancelot with a disgusted look. I sagged against the scout.
"We've lost the ale…" I groaned. He made a sad sound.
"I think we are all very drunk." Dagonet said promptly.
"You think so?" Bors asked doubtfully. Most of the bar patrons had already left. I was fairly tired and most certainly not sober.
"Alright…Fine…Let's go." Lancelot said standing up.
"Dag, come with me for a moment. Vanora's made you a new tunic." Bors said hauling Dagonet off to his home. Lancelot gave me a wicked look.
"Vanora you say? She must miss me. Especially our, I mean your children…" Lancelot called out and ran to catch up. Which left…Tristan and I alone. Smooth Lance. Real smooth.
His arm stayed around my middle for a moment as we left the bar, and then slid off. I was still in my heavy silk dress I noted. Tristan opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it.
"You asked me if I loved her." He said after a moment. The domus was across the city. Please don't ask me why I asked. Please. "I care for her. But I think love is something else."
Apparently that was all he had to say on the subject. We walked in silence for sometime after that. The small, silly part of me hoped I would fall and he would catch me and we would- I quickly silenced that. We were at the gates of the domus and I had not managed to trip. My pride would not let me trip on purpose either, so I would have to go without being in his arms. I was content at that moment. I wanted Tristan to be happy, but I couldn't help but be glad that he didn't love her. Finally we reached the all where our rooms were. Tristan laid a hand on my arm for me to wait. He disappeared into his room for a moment. A moment later he reappeared and deftly slipped the ring on my finger. I stared at it for a moment. It was home on my finger. The ring had been with me ever since I had left my homeland for the first time. I had no idea which woman of my tribe it had belonged to. I took the other ring off my finger and held it out to him. He looked at the intricate weave of stag antlers for a second before putting it on. I didn't bother telling him to hide it from Yseult.
"Tristan." I said. He looked at me. "You need to take a bath. You smell."
He looked at me strangely for a moment before cracking a smile. It brought back memories of all the times I had bullied him into taking baths. I had even threatened to abandon his bed on a number of occasions. He looked away at the wall and then turned back to say something.
"You look different." He said letting his eyes travel over me. "More beautiful."
I gave him a quiet smile and entered my room. That was enough for tonight. Enough for me.
Sorry about the wait, but I think some feedback is in order. After all, it was extra long and there was chorus of angels singing Tristan!
