An Optimist's Dream in a Time of Darkness:
Chapter 12: A Brush With Fate
A thundering scream pierced its way through the corridors of the Roman Villa arousing everyone within earshot. Aislin, who had been peacefully placed into a thick sleep fueled by exhaustion, now sprung from her warm covers in shock. The woman rubbed her eyes fiercely to try and rid them of their grogginess. Another shriek, somewhat quieter than the last, had spiraled up the stairs and under the oak door to Aislin's room. "What in the name of God?" She spoke breathlessly, still stunned from the thought of such outbursts.
The young woman dressed in her robes hurriedly, not minding how distraught she truly appeared, and stormed out into the hallway toward the stairs. Along her way through the corridors she saw much of the servants frightened and unnerved faces all looking to her with slight interest as she scaled the villa in search of the source of all of their awakenings. The screaming had ceased, it seemed to have simply disappeared into nothingness, and there were no clues to be found.
Aislin had slowed her search and inevitably put it to an end as she stepped out in to the cool moonlight of the winter season. Its large spherical shape of glowing light loomed over her head, nearly scrutinizing her with its holiness. She didn't want to give up the search, but it had become nearly impossible to find the particular woman who had been screaming, much less why she was screaming. It could have been a great many reasons. Aislin slid down the length of a decorative stone pillar, her bottom gently resting in the dirt and gravel of the path just outside the villa.
From behind she heard a faint almost hushed sobbing. At first it was rather distant, almost not real, but as she moved back into the enclosure of the villa its vocalization grew. She could hear the distinct depressed sobs, the frustrated sniffles. Aislin had come up on it and she could hear the cries perfectly, so she continued to walk quickly, though as she did everything became quieter, she had lost it. Her feet padded across the cold stone floor as she traipsed back to where she had heard the sobs and found no door, no passageway, nothing but a rug.
The curious woman bent low and lifted the rug from its place finding a wooden door. She pressed her ear against the door, listening to the sounds that were emitted from this secret place. There was a muffled scream and a terrible howl of pain. Aislin jumped backwards, covering her mouth to hold in her own voice of shock. She slowly crept back over to the handle of the door and gripped it tightly. With one forceful pull she had lifted the weighty trap door halfway and let it fall backwards the other half. She had not cared that she had caused a loud noise to reverberate within the cramped chamber; she wanted to be heard.
Her feet lightly descended into the hidden chamber, her robes washing over the gravel floor as she waltzed in. She took in the sight of the beaten woman bound and gagged in a stall, her forehead cut and blood running down the side of her face and into her light red matted locks of hair. Aislin's jaw dropped in horror; she quickly covered her mouth with a shaking hand and out of instinct began to back up until she was up against a wall. Tears of pity and remorse ran their course down her cheeks; she could taste their disgusting sorrow as they rolled aimlessly over her lips. The woman's eyes pleaded with Aislin and she couldn't help but watch her in shame.
"Lady Aislin, how wonderful it is that you chose to stop in to experience how effectively our interrogation is going." She understood his words but could not grasp the concept of brute force. Her terrified face found its way to the Captain of the Guards.
It took her a minute to grasp her anger, to find it buried within herself. "Interrogation?" She bit her lip and stepped cogently forward. "INTERROGATION! You bastard! This isn't an interrogation! This is brutal punishment! You can't do this to people!"
"It is our duty to Rome, to God, my fair Lady." He whispered arrogantly.
With one fierce movement Aislin's hand had flown across the Captain's face, leaving a burning red mark in its wake. "It is no one's duty but God's to punish those whom are deemed sinners! You have not the right nor the authority to do such things, and to do so is to mock God himself!"
The two Romans that were behind Faurcus came to life at Aislin's vicious act and were in stance to attack but the Captain hailed them away. "You speak poetically about God and his reign, of his control. But tell me, does your dear cousin follow God's reign when he is out on the battlefield defending Rome from the Woads. Or do you, for that matter?"
Aislin's face seemed to have glazed over in thought, "defending Rome… against the Woads?" A look of complete understanding swept over her entire being at that moment, and she knew what she must do. "Captain Faurcus, you will remove your men along with yourself from this room immediately. Is that understood?"
"You have no authority here," he stooped closer to her and spoke in a hushed tone, "in hell."
"Perhaps not, but you are still under the authority of my Cousin, Artorius Castus, the Commanding Officer of this Garrison. So if you wish to stay Captain of the Guard much longer I suggest you leave." The man bowed his head slightly, "and know, Captain, that each of you shall be punished accordingly… by God."
The older man stepped behind her, revealing his work as a torturer. A young man whose arms were strung up by ropes that had cut into his flesh dangled before her, his eyes open but unblinking. His blood had long stained the ground even before she had entered the doomed chamber. "Know, Lady," he brushed his hand over her shoulder, "how human's deal their punishment. It is far worse than God."
She closed her eyes and dropped to the floor, half listening to their heavy feet airily walking away, and half listening to her own cries of redemption. Aislin stood suddenly, tears blurring her vision, and ran to the deceased young man. She searched the ground for a dagger, a sword, anything sharp. The upset young woman found a tip of a spear and hacked away at the rope, catching the burden of the man's weight as he fell onto her. She rolled him onto the ground and examined his wounds; two sharp stabs to the sides and his throat sliced clean across.
Her tears dropped onto his body cleansing his wounds with the light of her sorrow. She had never wanted this, never knew that this would be born of her plan to save the garrison. She took all the blame onto herself, doing her best to turn it into something useful.
Above her sobs she could hear one other, the bound woman. Aislin rose to her feet emotionlessly. The tattered ends of her robes dragged across the broken rock, her feet dirtied and scratched, and still she walked on toward the young woman whose death she had managed to prevent. Their eyes gazed into one another's, each hollow and cold with despair. "I am sorry… sorry." The last few tears left within Aislin's soul glided angelically down her red cheek.
She bent down, taking the spearhead and sawing at the rope that bound the miserable woman to the frozen wall. The woman quickly jumped from the ground, nearly falling over in a panic, and meandered her way over to the fallen young man. She began spouting out prayers in the native language that had long been dead to Aislin's ears. The now Roman woman watched in curiosity as her native ally prayed for forgiveness and guidance.
"He was your brother?" Aislin spoke up, finally.
The woman simply starred back at her with those dead eyes. After a moment or two she nodded and turned her face back to the young man, her fingers running through his long hair.
"I'm sorry, if I had known that this is what would've happened… I wouldn't have-."
"Thank you," the woman was now standing, her face swollen from tears of pain. "Thank you for trying." In a matter of moments her tears overflowed from her eyes, nearly drowning her soul with the sorrowful liquid. Slowly she knelt down on the cool earth, her head bent in a humble way.
The young Roman crawled over to her sister of distress. "Please, do not cry. I… I need your help." The Woad's face lifted, still reflecting that of an upset child. "I…you loved your brother very much, so much that you would do anything for him, even if that meant forfeiting something you believe in. Perhaps, taking part in a battle that otherwise would prevent nothing? A battle that wasn't really a battle at all, only a death bed." she made a quick glance to the corpse lying not three feet from them. "That is how I love my cousin. Arthur is a good man, and I know he is your enemy, but so am I… it does not change anything, we are still humans and even humans can admit defeat, surrender and ask for aid. Please help me. I can't lose him."
The Woad woman outstretched her arms and embraced Aislin warmly, her tears heating the Roman's skin. "I will make sure that you are free once you have helped me find him. No Roman will bring harm to you, I swear it."
"I trust you, because already our souls were planned to help each other, my sister of the forest." Her red hair cascaded over Aislin's shoulder, mixing and blending with the long locks of blonde that draped down Aislin's back.
---------
"Joules, psst Joules! Wake up you big oaf!" Aislin hollered quietly at a door; her apparel now changed to a long powder-blue gown with a rope belt and black cape with a billowing hood. Saelyn stood just beside her, wrapped in a deep green cape fringed in fox fur. "Joules come on, open up!"
The door parted roughly nearly knocking Aislin into the room. "What do you want Aislin, it's not even dawn."
"Exactly." She whispered shakily as she constantly checked the corridors for any spying eyes.
"What do you need?" He sighed halfheartedly as he slumped against the door-frame.
"I need atleast a dozen reliable men who are good on horseback, enough horses to hold us all, and sturdy weapons."
"Aislin, what are you talking about? I thought this was just going to be the usual. A midnight ride on Ladiah and nothing more. What are you going on about, why do you need weapons and horses?"
"Look, Joules tell all who you must but try not to create a panic." She paused, watching as her statements intrigued Joules. "The Woad's are planning an ambush on the Knights once they reach the ship wreck, the Roman's who were aboard the wrecked vessel are most likely dead. It is only a matter of time before the Knights are, too. This is why Merlin put forth the useless battle this evening. It was a distraction."
He gazed at the young woman for a moment, her eyes swollen with fear. "You're serious?"
"Would I be here, dressed and ready, if I wasn't?"
"Well even so, how do you know that your hunch is correct?"
"Because, I have her." Aislin stepped to the side revealing Saelyn to Joules, who stood their baffled.
"You have a Woad as your guide? How do you know she won't just lead you in circles or something." He pondered aloud as he pulled his weight back on both feet.
"I trust her, and she trusts me. We have an understanding, her and I; one that you need not concern yourself with. Just believe me when I say that she will lead us to Arthur and the Knights." She stepped back up to her good friend, "please Joules. Please help me?"
"Right, give me a moment to change and I'll ready a few riders." He turned to shut the door, then faced Aislin once more, "you know, you're almost as persuasive as Lancelot." Aislin pulled the door closed roughly in his face.
"Lancelot?" Saelyn questioned, "who is this Lancelot, and why should the mentioning of his name anger you so?"
"He is no man of consequence, no man of importance… to me, atleast." Aislin held her chin up high and walked back out into the moonlight, allowing it to drench her with its cleansing rays.
"Oh," the Woad woman smiled and slowly followed.
--------
Arthur rode at the lead of his gallant knights. His white horse pranced across the ground angelically as it strode through the humid mist of the forest. Though Arthur at that moment was neither angelic nor demonic; simply put, he was human: regretting what he hadn't done, and praying for what he had done. He loved his life, loved his dream more than anyone he knew could comprehend, but to what end would he go to make it possible?
The commander knew that with success there is always sacrifice, so what in his life would he be willing to extend to heaven? Would he give his knights to their cause? No. He promised them freedom. Would he give Aislin to her Roman fate? No. He has loved her too greatly. Would he cast his people into the fire to aid in his dream? No. He has sworn to protect them from that fire. So what would he give? Himself.
"Do you think God ponders that hard over the lives he has taken?" That voice, that sarcastically sweet tone that floats through your mind and ignites a burning to either love or hate it with a blazing passion. Arthur heard this voice and couldn't help but to be in love with it, in the only way that a man is ever permitted to love another man: as a brother. His smile was as warm and charismatic as the day he first met the knights.
"Perhaps he does," Arthur conceded nonchalantly.
"Then it is a complete waste," Lancelot blundered out. "For why should two men be forced to think of the same thing when one could rightly be worrying about where his horse was trailing off to?"
Arthur quickly snapped the reigns taunt, halting the horse in place before he traveled off of the path and into an oak. The young commander brushed his fingers lightly over the horse's neck in a soothing way, almost as if stroking the tension from his flesh. "Lancelot?"
The older knight glanced up at his friend as they rode on side-by-side. "Yes?"
"If I were to ever fall…" Lancelot began to roll his eyes and complain at his companion's useless words. "No, hear me out. Please." When Lancelot had finally given up arguing over the pointlessness of this discussion, Arthur continued. "If I were to ever fall, or become ill to the point of death… I know Tristan would take care of her, but if you could just watch Aislin. Just watch over her, and nothing more. Would you do that for me?"
The impervious Knight thought over Arthur's words, he thought of everything that has happened since he arrived at Hadrian's Wall, and most of all he thought of Aislin. He questioned himself over and over trying to reject the proposition with everything he could. But in the end he couldn't. "Yes, if you ask it of me, then yes I will see it through."
He hadn't even heard Arthur's whispered gratitude or even the thumping of the stead's hooves as Arthur aligned himself back in the lead. Lancelot was too far gone in his thoughts to truly notice anything around him. This girl, no, woman that he had just sworn to watch over, to protect, in so many ways has been his rival for Arthur's affections. One was a brother the other a cousin, both competing for one man's love and acceptance, could there truly be a union between the two? He thought about Galahad's words; could they truly be two halves of the same whole? But his real question was: could he ever love her… or does he already?
----------
Aislin cautiously mounted Ladiah, doing her best not to create so much of a racket. Saelyn mounted her horse rather gracefully and with swiftness Aislin had never seen before. "We have much to learn from each other, I think." Stated the Woad curiously.
Aislin nodded and smiled, "I believe we do. Come, Joules should have the riders ready by now." They rode quietly out of the stables and waited for Joules just outside, hidden in the shadows.
There were two quick whistles and out of the shroud of darkness appeared their anticipated arrival. Joules rode up to them in full armor brandishing a bow and a quiver of arrows, which he handed over to Aislin. "What, no sword?" She questioned jokingly.
"I doubt your cousin would want you any closer to the battle than that." Joules enlightened the young woman.
"The guards at the gate?" She threw in as she finished plaiting her hair in one long braid.
"They are taken care of, you need not worry about them." He granted reassuringly. "Are you ready?"
Aislin faced the woman beside her, " you remember quite well where the ambush is to be?"
"Yes, I will make no mistakes, I swear it to you."
The young Roman woman nodded, "Then yes, we are ready."
"Good, the other riders are already assembled and are waiting just outside the gate." Joules explained. The three conspirators rode off into the night shrouded by its cape of stars and never relenting hopes.
--------
"Why does Arthur have us travel at such a slow pace when we could have helped those people and been back to Hadrian by now?" Pondered an aggravated Galahad as he leaned towards Bors for an answer.
"Arthur would rather us travel slowly through Woad territory and watch our backs, than race us off into their trap. It is the difference between a title of nobility and being noble. Arthur is a born leader and as such I trust him. Where he goes I go." Bors readjusted himself on his horse and gazed out at Arthur. "Tristan's returned, hopefully he's brought us good news."
Tristan's stead galloped hard and fast, kicking up dirt as it approached the halted knights. Once stopped Tristan was out of breath. "Woads, they attacked the ship. There was no one left."
"And the supplies?" Questioned Arthur with a firm tone.
"Taken," Tristan swallowed hard, "Arthur we have to leave now. I can't be sure how many, but there are a number of Woads trailing us. Several followed me. Their in the hills." The rushed knight gazed up from the valley and into the towering hills that loomed on either side of them.
"Knights!" Shouted Arthur as he withdrew his sword from its sheath. "We have fought together for ten years now and no battle will ever come close to the defeat we must strive for today! We are brave warriors crossing the threshold of life and waiting our turn to die, let that fateful turn not be today! The battle welcomes us knights, let us take it!" The band of knights roared with fiery breath that billowed smoke into the heated dawn. If God was watching he knew which men were destined for victory.
As if a moth to the flame, the Woads made themselves known through the dense forest of dead trees and snow covered ground. There was an entire army of rebels gathered there on that southward hill. An army that would have no doubt crushed the brave Sarmatian Knights if they had been without aid. But there was aid.
The Woads charged the valley on spotted horses and bare legs alone. Their barbaric nature taking root within their own humanity and becoming a part of them as killing has always been a part of man. The knights readied themselves in the shape of a pointed arrow each brandishing a weapon and a shield. Arthur stood at the point, his legs staggered to allow for a lunge of force. Sweat beads rolled down from his forehead onto his temples and across his cheeks. He prayed allowed.
"Holy father I beg of thee, protect my knights from uncertainty…" The beating of the horses' hooves echoed in his mind, as did the terrible war cries of their masters. "If they should fall to these barbarian's hands take them under your polished wing and extend them into heaven's light…" The enemy was not far off now, their horrid faces displaying that of a wild beast unleashed from hell. "As for Aislin, watch over her. Guide her with your heart, lead her with your knowledge, and allow her the gift of nobility to protect our people. I ask all of this knowing that I will not live to see it done. In your name I pray…" Two hundred paces away and their thundering stomps beat like drums in a tribal dance. "Amen."
Whizzing through the air, an arrow descends upon the Woads, plummeting itself into the thick neck of a spotted stallion. Arthur's head turned with haste following the path in which the arrow had departed on, and what he found stunned him. "Aislin."
There, on the northward hill, atop her sturdy mare sat Aislin, her bow readied with another arrow. "You missed." Reprimanded a rider not two steps behind her.
"No, I hit my mark." They watched as the horse fumbled and collapsed head first into the frozen snow, snapping its neck and taking its rider down with it. The horseman just beside the fallen horse was clipped as the horse collapsed and it too stumbled falling into peril. "Ready!" Shouted Aislin to the men lined up on their horses, bows drawn. "Set your mark!" She glanced over the men before setting her own mark. "Release!" A dozen arrows spiraled down onto the Woads, knocking a chunk of the front line to the ground, and clearing a slight path in front of the Knights.
Joules snapped his reigns, "We ride, Aislin stay up here and watch our backs."
The young woman nodded obediently; she had never known the thirst of killing, never felt it swim through her blood stream as it had while she watched that Woad fall to her arrow. Something in her was stirred to life, some part of her she had kept shut off for reasons she could not explain. Perhaps it was instinct, a killer, a lover, or simplistically enough passion for life. It was the will to survive.
It seemed as though she had been locked in a haze of thoughts for hours, her mind not noticing much. Saelyn's horse stepped up next to her, the frozen snow crunching beneath it's hooves. "You may leave now, if you wish. You are no longer a Roman captive, return to your people."
"Will you be safe up here?" The second woman questioned with unease.
"The battle is down there, I should be safe where I am." Aislin replied respectfully, smiling warmly at her companion. But there was some other sadness that had crept across Saelyn's face, a sort of depression. "What is it?"
"When I was captured… there was a young man. He is the one who caught me. He had spoken to me in a calm voice and was always kind to me. I don't even know his name, and yet he is right there. He is a very talented swordsman for a young man." She leaned towards the edge, her voice somewhat dream like. "There he is, do you see him?"
"Yes, I do." Aislin grinned girlishly and turned back around to finish her conversation with Saelyn, but she was already ascending further up the hill on her horse. "Farewell," she whispered to herself.
Aislin watched the battle with crazed emotions. She was there in the thick of it, she could feel the rush of power, the surge of death licking at your toes, and one by one her arrows rained down upon her enemies, taking their lives with their pointed edges. When she came up on her last arrow, she decided to move in closer for a better view.
Aislin pulled her hood up over her head as she led Ladiah down through the labyrinth of dead trees and fallen bushes. As she came up on her ideal spot she climbed down from the mare's back and cautiously crept through the snow. Part of her face was concealed behind the thick of a tree, though she could see the whole battle unfolding before her. She raised her bow, readied her aim, and watched as the arrow soared through the air wending its way into the chest of the Woad who would have taken Arthur's head.
"AISLIN!" The word flew from Gawain's mouth as he ran toward her, but he was more than twenty paces away and not nearly fast enough on his legs to make it to her in time.
Aislin flew around, starring a brute of man in the face just before he swung his ax. She fell to the ground out of breath and in shock as the ax caught itself in the rough bark of the tree. Aislin scrambled to her feet and mounted Ladiah as fast as she could. The horse bounded out of the forest, snapping twigs as it landed on the battleground. She rode through the cluster of dueling warriors, her hood down and her fallen hair whipping in her face.
The valley, like the hills, was scattered with bare trees, bushes, and natural obstacles. Aislin had decided to seek refuge in the denser part of the valley in hopes of losing the Woad rider behind her. Her face was flushed and her breathing staggered, the harsh winter wind impaled her face with every gallop of the horse, and still she rode on to survive. There were several bunches of immense sticker bushes just beyond the little dip in the land, and Aislin would be stuck.
Though, instead of slowing down, Aislin had increased Ladiah's pace and in one clean movement had forced her to jump over the deadly plants. As they landed they skidded across the snow due to a small layer of ice that had formed. The horse and panicked woman were now facing the bushes, Aislin's eyes were wide and she was nearly falling off the horse while she observed breathlessly as Lancelot fought brutally with a Woad. The Woad had been knocked to his knees after his one leg was lost to the heavy weight of Lancelot's descending sword. He now crawled for his own sword, which had apparently been flung, when the noble Knight thrust his blackened blade into the man's spine severing it in half.
Aislin's breath caught in her throat as she covered her mouth in horror, and for the briefest of moments they caught each other's eye. Her eyes had been so hollow, so dead, while his were very much alive and fiery. The moment of complete amazement ended suddenly as the Woad on horse back leapt over the sticker bushes and into their territory. While still in the air, Lancelot made his move by taking both of his blades and slicing into the horse's back legs. The Woad and his horse crashed into the ice-laden ground.
"RIDE! AISLIN GET OUT OF HERE!" His voice screamed in her head, and so she turned the horse and rode off into the darkness of the dead forest. Lancelot watched as she became further and further away, praying she would not come back.
Aislin rode hard on energy that she did not know she possessed. The ground shook underneath Ladiah's feet, and just when she thought she was a safe distance away from the battleground she found that the battle had followed her. Two Woad riders had been tracking her through the woods since she left Lancelot. She did not know how long she could keep running, how long before her will would end and she would waste away into the nothingness that is death.
Her horse's breathing became staggered as well as her own, she could feel exhaustion creeping up on her, and perhaps she would not withstand this battle. Perhaps death would take her as his bride tonight. Up ahead a wide stream crossed over her path, a stream that she would have no choice but to cross. And so she made the effort and slowed down to cross. As she came to the center of the stream she had realized that both Woads were no longer behind her, one had crossed the stream on bare feet while the other brought his horse up beside hers.
At that moment she knew her life was no longer her own, they held it in their hands, and when the second Woad leapt at her from a tree she knew that she would have to fight to regain her life. They both plummeted into the icy water of the deep stream. At their impact the thin layer of ice that had covered the running stream shattered causing pain for both people. She thrashed about, her head still under the water as the Woad tried his best to drown her.
Aislin let one of her hands leave her neck, as she felt around the streambed for any weapon possible. Once she had latched onto a rock of size she allowed her body to fall faint and act as if she had died. The Woad, believing that she had indeed died, released her, and turned back around to remount his stallion. In one swift action Aislin had rose from the stream, water cascading down her frigid body as she beat the weighty rock against her enemy's head. She beat him until blood ran the stream red and she could no longer feel the pain in her hand.
The drown woman reached down into the water and pulled the Woad's dagger from its place on his calve. Aislin could hear the other Woad coming back at her, stalking her as one would stalk a deer. She climbed out of the stream and waited, her body shaking from the cold. It seemed almost all at once that things had fallen into place, he was charging her, her back to him as she waited. He came closer and just when he was about to swing his sword and take her head clear off her shoulders, she fell on her knees and thrust her body around in a twist. It took the Woad a minute to register what had happened, and then he collapsed. As Aislin had turned she forced the dagger into his side twice, sinking the entire blade within his body each time.
She stood, straddled over the man watching him die, and in an attempt to give him some relief she drove the dagger one last time, into his throat. His crimson blood drained out, staining the snow with its red curse. Aislin removed her drenched cape and meandered over to their horses, she removed the woven fabric that had lain across their bare backs and used them as makeshift blankets to keep her warm. She then remounted Ladiah and headed her off in the direction of the battle.
The young half-breed had not known where her power to kill came from, before that day she hadn't even known it had existed. Aislin had merely acted on what she thought she needed to do to survive. People say that you never know what true potential your life has until that life is threatened and you are forced to fight for it, perhaps they are right. Though, it truly didn't matter now that she had killed, because the stain from that kill would never leave her soul, and the thirst for death would hunt her until the end of her days.
---------
The battle had run its course with casualties on both sides, and still the knights stood victorious in the name of God, Rome, and above all else, freedom. They had fought a gruesome and terrible skirmish, a battle that left them weak and bloodied. By nightfall the snow became the hill's open wound, marked with warrior's blood.
The clan of knights, and what was left of their reinforcements, continued their course through the valley to the wrecked ship where they would make camp. Once the camp would be set up and guarded, Arthur planned to go in search of his missing cousin, Aislin. He had not seen her for hours and insisted that she be found for fear of her death or capture. The young commander forced himself not to think of the possible outcomes, he tried to picture her as she had been the other day when they argued about the crops, when she would not relent. "She is a fighter," he reassured himself as they came upon the beached vessel.
Butchered bodies lay torn open in everyplace imaginable. Supplies were thrown about the ground, littering the earth with remnants of the Romans' needs. The ship itself looked as if it had waged its own battle with the heathen Woads. The Knights and Roman men spent the better part of two hours burring the dead, measuring what was left of supplies, and making a camp for the night.
Once everything had been completed, Arthur stood at the far end of the camp, starring out into the vastness of the decaying woods. "She's out there, you know." He reminded Lancelot as he stepped up beside him.
"I know. I've readied your horse, Tristan and Galahad are to accompany you in the search." Lancelot spoke hesitantly as he gazed down upon the snow, finding more interest in it than the painful topic they were surely going to discuss.
"No, not Galahad. I want you out there looking for her. Galahad is a great knight, and can ride better than even I, but he is neither a scout nor a tracker." He looked his comrade in the eyes, "I can't lose her Lancelot. She keeps me together, believe it or not. Just having to look after her, or protect, or talk to her gives me reason to live… if I lost that how could I command a garrison? How could I be fit to be any sort of a leader?"
It took a minute for the knight to give an answer, he was confused as well, and as of late could not make sense of his own feelings, but he knew he would not leave Arthur alone. "I will ready my horse and inform Galahad." He paused, and then grinned halfheartedly as he looked up at Arthur, "we will find her."
The whole of the winter moon floated above the knights' heads shinning its bright rays upon them and guiding them along their paths. It was an especially chilly night with dark clouds looming overhead in the sky, sometimes shadowing the moon in an eerie way. The knights eventually broke apart, each going their separate ways in an attempt to find her faster, one north, one south, and one in the valley. A soft wind rustled through the area whistling in the hollowed trees and cracking branches together in an exotic drum roll.
Aislin was slumped over on her horse, wondering aimlessly through the thick debris of nature in the valley. Her mind tipped back and forth in between consciousness and unconsciousness, her body nearly lifeless and frozen through to the bone. She felt the breeze stir through her tangled locks of matted hair and briefly glanced up, her eyes swollen and slightly iced over. She could see something moving towards her, it was tall and rather fast on its legs. The frigid woman tried to speak but her voice had tensed up.
"Aislin! AISLIN!" The horse's hooves echoed off of the hills as they smacked into the compact snow. She could hear the man's breathing and vaguely feel his arms wrap around her stomach to pull her over to his horse.
She starred up at him, her mind half asleep with the cold. His outline in the dark was familiar; she recognized the shady locks, the height, and build. "Arthur?" She choked out gradually. "Arthur," the young woman cupped her hand around his cheek and knew by the coarse hairs of his thin beard that she had made a mistake. "Lancelot?" Her eyes flickered slightly as her voice faded into hollowness.
"Aislin, no, stay awake." He called to her while shaking her to her senses. "You cannot fall asleep. Look at me." The knight shook her once more, her eyes now focusing. "Look at me," he said calmly, his face inches from hers.
"Are you frightened?" She smiled weakly, "you are, aren't you?" Her voice was no more than a whisper.
"Aislin, you cannot fall asleep. If you do you may not wake up. Do you understand? If you shut your eyes now, come dawn you may never open them again." Lancelot's voice was somewhat shaky as he held her to him, her breath warm on his face. "Your hands, they're icy." He pulled his leather woven tunic from his back revealing a soft black wool tunic beneath. "Here, wear this, it will keep you a little warmer." She sat with both of her legs on one side of the saddle trying to pull the warm tunic over her head.
"Would you miss me?" She asked plainly, in that frozen tone of hers.
"What?" His eyes gazed into hers, trying to read any hidden meaning within them.
"If I were to fall asleep and never wake up again. Would you miss me?" She gave him a moment to think and before he could speak his answer, she cut in. "No, don't answer that question. I don't think I want to know."
Aislin rested there in his arms, her head against his shoulder. She could hear his heart beating, and wondered why God had chosen now for her to fall in love, now when she was about to die. She could feel her life slipping from her; the cold was consuming her body and slowly freezing her soul inside her. Lancelot had reached over and took Ladiah's reigns to strap them to his horse's saddle when she began to feel the uneasiness of death latching onto her from the inside. She decided that she would take the leap and atleast die peacefully.
"It's ironic isn't it? How the one person I have spent the last ten years badgering and arguing with would be the man to hold me before I died… God must have a sense of humor… or is it that you wanted to find me. To be the last person alone with me, or simply to be alone with me?"
He held her tighter, pulling her closer, "you're not going to die. You'll live on past this moment, past this day, and you'll find solace in some amazing home somewhere with a large family who loves you deeply."
Aislin smiled warmly, her eyes closing softly as she leaned towards him, her cool hands pulling his face down to hers. Their lips touched chastely at first, merely brushing across each other, then more passionately as they held each other as close as possible. Her lips were cold on his, adding to the chemistry of the long awaited kiss. The tension had subsided between them and a new form of emotion had blossomed to life in that instant.
Though, they were not the only ones to have witnessed such an overcome of obstacles, Tristan stood on the lower ridge of the northward hill, peering down at them. He knew that this moment was in fact inevitable; it had been since Lancelot first spoke of Aislin in that harsh childish tone. It had always been destined to occur, and now that it had things would change drastically. Things that may lead to terrible deeds and wrongs that would never have the chance to be righted. He saw this not through any vision, but through the knowledge of history and how it repeats onto future generations what the past has already learned. As for tonight, he let them alone, there was no point in disrupting something that was inevitable.
The kiss broke sweetly, the taste of him still lingering in Aislin's mouth. She laughed nervously, "it's not as if I'm expecting to live much longer." Her voice had become faint, as did her breathing. "I just," she peered up at him with those big green eyes that had begun to swell with useless tears. "I just wanted to know what it was like…" she had to find her breath and coughed slightly in pain. "I wanted to know what it was like to see the other side of you, to know how it felt to be… loved…" her voice trailed off as her body went limp in Lancelot's arms. He no longer could hear her breathing or see those beautifully sad eyes.
"Aislin?" The unnerved knight shook her to try and wake her from her lethal slumber. "AISLIN! AISLIN YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP!" But her body stayed in it's comatose state.