Dazzler420 - Yes, I could just see Tristan as a midwife. Not quite the type to rub your back and feed you ice chips, is he:)
Cardeia - Thank you so much for the generous review! I'm so glad you like it. I enjoy doing the banter between the knights because that is a part of the movie that I really liked. I wished that the DC version of the film had not cut so much of that out. It helps you see who they are. Like when Bors got all soft talking about his kids and then tried to play it off. Anyway, here is another chapter and I hope you continue to like where I take the characters. Oh, and I enjoy Lancelot as well - he's fun to write.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.
Rating: M for mature content - not in this chapter though!
Some time later they came upon the caravan, and Tristan slowed their pace. The ride had been frightening yet exhilarating and Damara regretted that it would soon be over. Her cheek lay against the knight's back and she could feel the hardness of his chest beneath her hands. She felt safe with him, and she enjoyed feeling the strength of his body. That in itself was unexpected because she thought never to find joy in such a thing. The hardness and strength of men had only ever meant pain and degradation. It felt strange to appreciate the very thing that had previously only frightened her.
Tristan pulled up next to the wagon and signaled for the driver to stop. He dismounted and Damara slid off the horse into Tristan's arms. "You will stay with the wagon," he said. "You understand?"
She nodded her head. She'd be happy to. She stopped Tristan as he turned to leave, and stood on tiptoes to kiss him on his cheek. "Thank you. Again," she said; her eyes full of emotion. Tristan nodded, a little uncomfortable. He didn't usually do things that induced feelings of gratitude and this was the second time in as many days. He remounted his horse and joined the other knights.
As he pulled up alongside the others, Lancelot gave him a sidelong glance and chuckled. Tristan looked at him, his eyes promising death if he said a word. Lancelot only laughed louder, but wisely kept any comments to himself. Tristan spied his hawk flying above and called to her. Within moments she had rejoined him. The knights rode on in silence, listening to the faint sound of drums.
Damara rode in the wagon, trying to lie as still as possible. She tried to get some sleep, but the drums in the distance kept her awake. The knight Lancelot came by the wagon, and spoke for a time to the Woad girl Guinevere. Damara could see he was attracted to her. He wore a mask of mocking humor and blithe charm but it covered up something deeper, a side of him that she doubted many people ever saw.
Occasionally Guinevere would leave to walk for a while and stretch her legs. Damara envied her that but did not dare try for fear the pains would return. Lancelot rode up to the wagon on one such occasion. Damara saw him and called out, "Guinevere is not here – I believe she is walking by the one called Arthur – your leader, is he not?"
Lancelot looked in Arthur's direction. Guinevere was indeed walking next to him. Some uncomfortable emotion tugged at Lancelot, one that he was unwilling to explore at the moment. He told the girl, "Actually, I came to speak to you."
"Me?" Damara was surprised. "Your blister has gotten worse? Or perhaps something else ails you now? A hangnail? Or maybe excessive wind."
Lancelot had the grace to look slightly embarrassed and he chuckled.
"You made me wonder if the tales of the Sarmatian knights had been greatly exaggerated, that one could be felled by a tiny flap of loose skin on his hand," the healer continued.
Lancelot laughed out loud. "I admit, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you. Beautiful women affect me that way."
Damara looked away; skeptical of his flattery. "That is a beautiful woman," she said, looking at Guinevere and Arthur.
"She's pretty enough," Lancelot said carelessly.
"Your eyes follow her frequently for one you only consider 'pretty enough'," she said.
"She is one of the enemy – if my eyes follow her it is for that reason alone."
"If that is what you say," Damara said.
"It is. There is nothing more to the matter." He gazed off into the distance for a moment and then casually said, "Do you know that Tristan attacked one of the Roman soldiers this morning? He seemed to think the man had a hand in your disappearance." He studied her face for a reaction and noted with interest that the healer's face had colored.
"I am indebted to Tristan for his kindness," she said. "But there is nothing more to the matter."
Lancelot laughed aloud. It would be a challenge getting information from this one. He saw that Tristan had turned around at the sound of the dark knight's laughter. Tristan wore an inscrutable look on his face and Lancelot gave the scout a wide smile.
"So, why do you think Tristan did something that is so unlike him?
The girl said, "Why don't you ask him?"
"Because he won't tell me," Lancelot admitted. "Oh, come - it's a long journey. There is little to do but talk," he smiled.
'This is a charming one,' thought Damara. 'Exasperating, but charming.'
"So – who is the Roman? A lover, jealous of the attention our scout has been paying you? Tristan would not have put that bruise on your face, so one can only assume…"
Damara cut him short. "No, he is not a lover. I have no lovers," she said.
"No lovers - then you must be The Goddess herself, to bring forth life on your own."
Damara was growing increasingly perturbed with his questions. "I'll tell you what, sir knight. I will answer any question you choose, if you will first answer one of my own."
Lancelot cocked his head. That sounded intriguing.
"When you watch the two of them together," she indicated Arthur and Guinevere, "you get a certain look on your face. Why is that?"
"There is no look on my face," Lancelot protested.
"There is. Very subtle, but it is there. Something in your eyes... Will you tell me what it is I see there, or shall I tell you?"
Lancelot gave the girl a measured look. He smiled at her, and then started to chuckle uncertainly. She'd asked him a question that was unanswerable. How to explain something that was only in her imagination? His smile slowly faded away. Or was it?
She gazed at him evenly, her eyes boring into him, and said finally, "You have no answer?"
Unnerved, Lancelot's usual wit failed him and he could only reply with, "I have no time. Regrettably there are duties I must attend to. But we'll talk again." With that, he rode away.
Damara felt ashamed of herself for diverting his questioning with such tactics. The handsome knight obviously had feelings he was hiding or not prepared to acknowledge and she had deliberately poured salt in a wound. It was cruel, and beneath her. She would apologize the next time she saw him, but thought that he would probably stay far away from her. Would she never learn to keep her observations to herself? The knowledge that he would now avoid her made her sad – as exasperating and obvious as the man could be, he was also friendly and charming. She liked him.
When Lancelot had left, Tristan worked his way over to the wagon and rode along beside it. "How are you feeling?" he asked her.
"I seem to be doing well. No pain since I have been cooped up in here."
Tristan nodded. "That's good. No one has bothered you?"
"No. A few hateful glances from Morag, but I am used to that. Everyone else has been very friendly. Your friend Lancelot is particularly charming."
"You're a beautiful woman – he would be," Tristan growled.
Damara's face flushed with the compliment. Lancelot's flatteries rolled off his lips with the ease of much practice - Tristan was more plainly spoken. She'd never considered herself beautiful, but it pleased her that Tristan seemed to think so.
Suddenly Arthur's voice rang out, calling for his knights. Tristan rode quickly to the front with the others. The caravan came to a halt before a lake of ice, which lay before them. After a brief conference, it was decided that the only way left to go was forward, across the ice.
Everyone was told to get out of the wagons and spread out in an effort to distribute the weight more evenly. The going was slow and the ice creaked with every step. The Saxon drums were getting closer, creating a sense of urgency among the group.
The knights looked at each other, all thinking the same thing. The blood drained from Damara's face as she realized that the knights had decided to stop running. They would hold the Saxons back while everyone else moved on.
Damara didn't see how they stood a chance – there were maybe hundreds of Saxons and only the seven knights. Guinevere's decision to stay added only one more bow. This was foolhardy -they could still run. She watched the knights prepare and her eyes drank in every move that Tristan made. She desperately wanted to speak with him, but did not wish to interrupt his preparations. She couldn't bear the thought that she might never see him again.
She watched him as he spoke with Ganis, who had been charged with getting the people safely to Hadrian's Wall. After they were done speaking, Ganis nodded and moved to the head of the caravan, which began slowly moving forward. Damara's eyes remained locked on the knight, hoping desperately for one more glance from him. She was rewarded when he turned to seek her out with his eyes. She held up her hand. After a moment he returned the gesture and then he turned to join the other knights.
The hours that followed were excruciating. Damara could do nothing but stare out the back of the wagon, looking for any sign of their return.
Finally the knights appeared as specks in the distance and everyone cried out shouts of joy. But that joy turned to sadness when it was realized that one of the horses carried the body of its master.
TBC