autumnsprite; BlackPaintedWhite; Nymbis of the Underworld; KnightMaiden; LANCELOTTRISTANBABY; ElvenStar5: Thanks for reviewing, glad you liked it. Here is the next chapter,back to a bit of serious again. BPW - no the Saxons aren't going to attack, I just sort of wanted to give Tristan something to do and also establish that the Saxons are around and are a factor in their world now. They haven't just gone away.
Ailis -70: - Mine is NOT better than yours, it's just different. I have every bit the same amount of self-doubt that you do. I read Cardeia's stuff and just think I should pack it in. But there are different styles and if all stories were the same it would be boring. Yeah, I was kind of fond of the bird scene myself. Hey, I've BEEN dive-bombed by a raven. It's scary! I thought a bit of foolishness would be fun there. It's not like anyone saw him or anything, so hey, it didn't really happen, did it:) I've been meaning to review your story as well - I've read it, but sometimes I can be so bad at getting back to doing the reviews.
Cardeia: Thanks so much for beta-ing for me on that last one. I've told you how much I enjoy Lancelot - I like him as that guy who teases you unmercifully, makes you want to smack him, but is such a good guy underneath. The guy who you think - 'well, maybe'... and then'no, better not'. Because you know he's going to break your heart. He won't mean to but he will. For some reason I always see Galahad as a guy who gets kind of picked on. Maybe because he's the kid, maybe because he's so cranky and people like to poke at him. I liked Tristan and the baby bird also. He's so unused to subterfuge that he wasn't sure he'd do it very well and was scared she'd see through him.
Disclaimer: same as it ever was. same as it ever was. same as it ever was. same as it ever was. You get a cookie if you can name the band.
Rating: Meh, whatever.
After Tristan left the next morning, Damara lay in bed, lost in reverie. She relived every sound, every kiss, every caress; over and over in her mind. Never had she dreamed it could be as wonderful as it had been with Tristan. He'd been very patient with her, in fact perhaps a little too patient.
His kisses, soft, slow and deep, had gone on forever, and it had been sweet torture such as she had never imagined. He had brought her to the brink with his lips and hands, but had not allowed release. When at last he had entered her, she'd exploded, sobbing and shaking in ecstasy.
They did sleep, but in holding each other, would awaken to seeking hands and mouths. Morning came too soon and it was with regret and the promise of a quick return that Tristan left.
Over the following weeks, Tristan did keep that promise. He was at her door and in her bed as often as he could spare the time and Damara would likewise find herself at the keep, seeking him out. They found that she had become wonderfully wanton where Tristan was concerned and she often successfully tempted him into clandestine rendezvous in hidden alcoves or empty storage rooms.
When Damara was around it became not uncommon for Tristan to be the last one on the practice field or late to meetings, adjusting his clothing as he arrived. The other knights would snicker and cast knowing glances in his direction. Lancelot was the exception to this, as he for some unknown reason had been increasingly surly of late.
On one such occasion, Lancelot took Tristan to task for his tardiness. "If you cannot keep your hands off the wench then maybe you should share an abode. Get your fill of her at home and be prepared to come here on time, with your mind where it should be!"
Arthur was prepared to break up a fight. His two best knights had ever been adversarial. He'd thought to speak to Tristan himself, but would have done so in private, using more diplomatic terms. To his surprise, and to Lancelot's for that matter, no knives were drawn, nor fists thrown.
Tristan had begun to bridle at Lancelot's terming Damara a "wench", but the thought of moving in with her, having her by his side every night, dissipated his irritation. He only wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself.
He suggested it to Damara that night and after some thought she happily agreed. She felt a twinge of regret that she would be leaving the home that had been such a happy and serene place, but that regret was forgotten almost as quickly as it came.
Some weeks later she was walking with Bran in the courtyard when she saw Lancelot. He looked as he usually did of late, distracted and in ill humor. She called out to him, and he raised a hand in greeting.
"Come, sit with me," Damara said. "We haven't spoken in a long while."
He agreed, and they went to the tavern where he ordered drinks. The healer demurred, wishing only for water due to the early hour.
"It is only late morn – is it not early to start imbibing?" Damara asked of Lancelot.
"Am I not a grown man, well able to decide when and if I will partake?" he said grouchily. He was leaned back, slouching in his chair, and he shot a resentful glance at Damara.
"Indeed you are, I only wonder why you feel the need," Damara replied easily. She did not take offense at his demeanor, for she knew it was not directed at her, but at whatever it was that had made him so surly.
"I am thirsty. Does a man need another reason?" He took a deep swallow of the wine that had just been set down before him. "Was there some reason you wanted to see me that didn't involve nagging me like an old wife?"
Damara was quiet for a few moments as she watched Lancelot. "I always enjoyed our time together and merely wished to speak with you as friends do," she said. Carefully, she measured her next words. "I see that your old wound has not healed, but only gotten worse and festered," she said.
"What old wound do you speak of? I am unharmed," Lancelot said in confusion.
Damara shifted Bran to her hip and leaned forward to place her hand on Lancelot's chest. "You know the wound of which I speak," she said quietly.
Lancelot was weary of holding in his secret, of pretending that he didn't feel what he so obviously did. He nodded at Damara. He knew that his friend did not judge him, and would tell no one. It would be a relief to speak with her again. "You've known from the beginning," he said. "Even before I knew myself."
Damara looked at him with sympathy. "The wedding is only a week from now, is it not?" she asked him.
Lancelot nodded miserably. "How can I love and hate two people so much at the same time?"
He took another deep drink from his flacon. "I cannot look Arthur in the eye – I've done nothing to betray our friendship but I cannot say that I never would. And I hate myself for that."
Distractedly, his fingers ran through his hair . "Arthur himself would know that something is amiss if he were not so besotted. He knows me better than anyone and I him. One day he will open his eyes and see, and he will either hate me or pity me."
Lancelot looked in Damara's eyes and she ached for him at the pain she saw there.He spoke softly, with the sting of defeat in his voice. "It is only a matter of time before people know, and then I will be seen as a pitiable fool, a laughingstock. It would be far better if I were to leave, yet, this is my home. Arthur is my home. Where else can I go?"
Damara had no answers for him. She merely put her hand on his in silent empathy. Lancelot held on to her hand as if it was a lifeline. Picking up her hand and kissing it, he held it against his mouth, head bowed. He sat still in his sorrow for a few moments, then with great effort he forced it back into hiding. When he looked up at Damara, she could still see scant traces of pain in his face, but he forced himself to behave as the Lancelot of old.
With a devilish look at her, Lancelot smiled. "I should have bedded you that night. Then it would be me, and not Tristan who you were tempting into dark corridors at the fortress." He laughed at the blush that stole across Damara's cheeks. Then his laughter died away and he said wistfully, "We could have loved each other, don't you think?"
"I think for a time, maybe we could have," Damara said. "But I am not the woman to keep you faithful and I would have nothing less than a man's entire heart." She looked into his eyes. "But know that I do love you, very much. As much as you often try my patience, you are also very dear to me."
"And you to me," Lancelot returned with a wistful smile. "Here – let me see that boy of yours," he said in a more hearty tone. Damara handed him over and Lancelot hefted the baby's weight in his arms. "Such a big boy! You're such a small woman; I wonder if he takes after his fa…" he broke off.
"I'm sorry," he said, shamefacedly.
"Don't be," Damara said quietly. "It is something I struggle with. What to tell him, and when. I've thought of lying to him, telling him that his father and I were deeply in love and that he fell bravely in battle. But someone else would tell him the truth, if I did not. It's no great secret."
"You've never really spoken of it, and I don't mean to pry…" Lancelot began.
Damara waved her hand at him to continue. She knew his greatest secret, it seemed only fair to share with him whatever he was curious about.
"Does Bran not remind you? Is it not difficult to look at him without remembering a bad time in your life?"
Damara smiled at him. "I choose not to see him as a reminder of a bad time, but as a gift. I love him and would not be without him. He brings me much joy – without what happened to me, I would not have him." She made faces at the boy, who blew spit bubbles at her in return.
"So that is it? You choose to see things a certain way and it's just that simple for you?"
"Not quite that simple," said Damara. "I don't dwell on it, try not to think of it, but it's always there whether I like it or not. Memories sometimes come unbidden, sometimes at the most inopportune moments."
She blushed as she said this last – things that happened in the bedroom between herself and Tristan were not for discussion, especially with Lancelot. She had confided in Vanora, but that was different. Sometimes, in their more frenzied moments, an unbidden memory would come forth and in terror Damara would lose herself, push at Tristan, try to get away from him. He was always very understanding but Damara would be mortified. It served to remind her that she wasn't over the experience, that despite what she told herself, she had not mastered her fear. She felt helpless in her realization that the Romans still held power over her. Indeed, she wondered if they always would.
"Anyway, that is enough talk about unpleasant things for one day," she smiled. "You certainly have a way with children – maybe you will be blessed with your own some day. Those not being raised by Bors, of course," she joked.
Lancelot gamely tried to smile, but failed miserably. "I have a request," he said.
"Anything – of course," said Damara.
"I cannot possibly miss the wedding. There would be too many questions," he stated. "As you know, I left the keep when the announcement was made. Arthur was hurt enough at that - to miss the wedding would be inexcusable."
Damara raised her eyebrows slightly and leaned forward, waiting for him to go on. "Yes?"
"But I don't see how I can make it through without the whole world knowing what I'm feeling." Lancelot hesitated and then sighed. "Is there something – an elixir, a potion, anything – that you could give me? Something that will numb my feelings, make me not care? Forever would be preferable, but at least for that little while?"
Damara shook her head. "Lancelot – I'm a healer. If you have a fever or a headache or a stomachache then I can help you. I know nothing about the kinds of things you speak of."
"You healed Tristan," Lancelot said urgently. "I saw his wounds – we all did. Those were not wounds that men recover from!"
"And yet Tristan did recover," said Damara flatly.
Lancelot looked around before speaking, lest he be overheard. "It's been whispered that you went to Merlin for aid, that without the dark magician's intervention Tristan surely would have died…"
Lancelot broke off as Damara glared at him. "Who whispers this?" she demanded.
"You could go to him, seek his counsel. He surely knows of something," Lancelot persuaded. "I obviously cannot go to him – he'd want to know why I needed such help."
"And you think he wouldn't ask me?" Damara asked.
"You could think of something to tell him so that he would not guess your purpose," Lancelot said. He leaned forward anxiously. She had to help him!
Damara put her fingers to her temples and began to massage them. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Merlin was the last person she wanted to see. She tried her best to avoid him, hoping that he would forget that she owed him a favor for intervening on Tristan's behalf. She definitely did not want to go to him begging yet another favor when the first one was as yet unpaid for. She looked at Lancelot's hopeful face.
As if sensing she could be persuaded into giving in, Lancelot further pressed his case. "I do not have it in me to watch him wed her and pretend happiness for the both of them. How would you feel if it were Tristan? If you had to watch him gazing into another's eyes, pledging his love, being tormented by visions of the wedding night to come? What if you had to watch it all and smile convincingly? Could you do that?"
Damara tried to envision what he described and knew she could not do as Lancelot would be expected to do. She looked at Lancelot, saw the depths of pain in his eyes and reluctantly she nodded. "I will ask him," she said.
Lancelot closed his eyes in relief and gratitude. "Anything you want from me – just ask. If you can do this for me you will have my eternal gratitude."
"I will tell that to Merlin," she said. "And let you pay whatever price he demands for this favor." Lancelot looked at her with a questioning look on his face, but Damara raised her hand to stop him from asking. "I will let you know, one way or the other," she said.
She got up to leave, and Lancelot also rose to his feet. He handed her the baby and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you so much. You're a great friend to me." He looked into her eyes and with that flirtatious demeanor of his that she knew so well, said to her, "I really should have bedded you."
Damara laughed and with great affection, kissed him lightly on the lips. "Until later, my friend." Her good humor faded when her thoughts turned to the task at hand – to find Merlin and request yet another favor.
ooooo
Merlin had not been surprised to see her – indeed Damara wondered if anything ever surprised him. Or maybe he just hid it very well, which would be a valuable skill if one wanted to cultivate a certain mystique, she thought cynically. He had not appeared surprised by her request and did not need to be told who it was for. It seemed he was already well aware of Lancelot's feelings. Damara realized that he probably would be aware of anything involving his daughter Guinevere.
"I can make an elixir to dull the senses," Merlin said. "But one must be careful in its use. It will lose its potency over time, with more and more being needed to gain the same effect as in the beginning. With too much use, the pain of life without it would become unbearable." Merlin thought for a moment. "Come to me tomorrow and I will show you how to make it for your friend."
"No!" Damara cried. As Merlin regarded her, she lowered her voice. "I mean, I would prefer that you make it for me and give it to me. I do not need to know how to make it."
At that, Merlin did appear surprised, Damara thought with amusement. "You do not prefer to do ityourself?"
Damara thought for a moment. "He may well ask me again to make it for him. If I do not know how then I cannot."
Merlin nodded. "Come to me tomorrow anyway. We will talk some more."
The next day, Damara left Bran in the care of Vanora's older children and went to see Merlin. When she got there, he handed her a small vial of brown liquid.
"It's not yet ready to be consumed – it must be made to sit in a dark place for 3 days to reach its full potency. He should drink the entire contents and the effects will last much of the day. He should also expect to feel unwell the following morning."
Damara nodded her thanks to the sage. "I am grateful to you, Lord Merlin," she said. He twitched his lips in a small smile at the title, but said nothing. He had his vanities and enjoyed the respect. He stood and regarded Damara, and confused she asked him, "was that all you wanted of me?"
He waited a moment and then said, "I wish you to come here to me once every week. There are things that I wish to teach you."
"What…kinds of things?" Damara asked.
"The making of this elixir, for one," said Merlin, watching her closely.
"I am a healer, Merlin," said Damara. "I am uninterested in learning anything that does not have to do with healing. Anything…unnatural."
"Come, nonetheless," he said. His voice brooked no opposition. "Though I am interested why you would not thirst for this knowledge. Do you not know the people you can help, the good you can do? The power that could be at your fingertips with the knowledge that I possess?"
Damara shook her head. "I want no power – with power comes responsibility and necessitates great wisdom. Wisdom which I am sadly lacking."
Merlin nodded thoughtfully. "What of the visions you described to me? Would you not like to cultivate the ability to see what you wanted, when you wanted?"
Damara shook her head firmly. "No, I would not," she said.
"Without your visions, the man you love would be dead," Merlin reminded her. "What if your child is to meet some fate that could be prevented merely by looking forward?"
"If that knowledge were to come to me, then I would use it. If I were to seek it out – would I be able to stop there? Or would I look into the future of everyone dear to me and meddle where I should not? And choosing not to meddle, would my heart survive? No, Merlin – this is something I want no part of."
Merlin smiled at the young healer. "Do you not realize that there are those who would do anything – even kill – to learn what I know? And that you would be thought foolish indeed to refuse me?" He regarded her carefully. "What if I were to tell you that there is a way that Lancelot could be forever stripped of his feelings for my daughter? No more pain; no more unrequited longings? What do you think he would pay for a service like that?"
"He is in agony now and I imagine he would be quite eager to be rid of it. He would give a great deal, I should think." Damara, suspecting that there was more that Merlin had not told her, asked, "And what other effects would he suffer for this great relief?"
"Suffer? None. His heart would be immune to any pain. Imagine never again feeling the agony that comes from knowing the one you love is in the arms of another," Merlin said.
"What of the joy of finding another love? Would he ever know that?" Damara questioned the magician.
Merlin was silent, watching her.
"As I thought. Then no, I would not tell him of this cure of yours," she said firmly.
"You would take from him the choice to be rid of his pain?"
Damara considered carefully and then nodded. "I would."
"Because you know better than he what is good for him?" Merlin asked, eyes watching her carefully.
Damara blushed. Put that way, it sounded like arrogance. She tried to explain herself. "Because I would have to live with the consequences every bit as much as Lancelot would. Because every time I saw him I would know that I had been the one to kill his heart. Though he made the decision, it was my action that brought him to that decision. Does that make sense to you?"
Merlin smiled. He was well pleased with Damara's answer. "That sounds like wisdom to me." He turned back to his work. "I will see you next week, then."
TBC