I noticed I left the 'unfinished' sign on the document. xD Oops. Forgive my clumsiness. I fixed that now. It was finished and I have changed nothing in this edit besides the absence of the unfinished thing. Thanks for the reviews! I forgot to add them in aswell.
KnightMaiden- Ah, the coupling shan't be obvious and shan't be what you will think.
Exile of Numenor-As am I, as am I. I know the end, the beginning, but the middle eludes me as it does you.
Note: On devART I gave a few hints as to the clues I left in this chapter. I encourage you to journey there and read those clues. The major one was: Names are the key to our past, present, and the furture of our lives. 3 Good lucky. I also left a link to a website I recommened to start your research from. Lmao. Go to my page, find my devart ID, and then venture there. Search for my deviation titled:THC Fly me Home - Chapter 5. Enjoy, my friends.
Chapter Five
The girl rode off, her image bleeding into the trees as the light of morning finally started to curse its gift on the clearing, showing all the lifeless bodies. He had coughed when she bluntly insulted Rome, Arthur, and the knights. Though, more so the first two. For, he too saw them as prisoners. They were bond by something they had not agreed to and it had come at too high a price. Many of them died in attacks like these. How many of them would survive the next five years? Not many, that he knew. He didn't welcome his death, but he didn't fear it. He would grasp it with open arms of his gods called his name. Who was he to deny them of their punishment after life? "Tristan, go after her. Do not return unless you have her."
"Arthur?" He cocked his brow, "do you honestly think we should grad her back here?" Then commander only glared at him. "Fine, I shall go get our prisoner, Arthur," his words dripped in acid and he didn't show the smirk that was clear in his head as his commander winced. His hand ran down the neck of his horse and he was rewarded with a sweet nicker from the pinto mare.
"I'll go, Arthur. Save Tristan the bother. He obviously does not want to go." The black knight stepped forward, his eyes not even touching Tristan's or Arthur's. No, instead his dark eyes held the path in view. Only the trail she had made before gracefully pulling off the deer trail into the forest. "I can track her. She's—she's not that hard to track." Tristan's eyes looked to Lancelot, sensing the sudden change in the knight's voice and mood. He had meant to say otherwise but had caught himself before he could.
"Ah, Lancelot, I believe she knows how to not be tracked." The cold eyes of the dark knight turned on hi, sending shivers through his mind. "No, I'll go and I'll be back before high noon." He felt Lancelot's ice stare follow him as he drew his leg up to his mare's stirrup. Tristan gripped the horn of the leather saddle, worn from years of being ridden, but a strong hand grabbed his arm. In a low whisper licked Tristan's ear like fire did Lancelot say, "bring her back here, reasonably unharmed."
Her hand went to the metal hilt of her unjeweled sword as her ears prickled, sound passing the cartilage and escaping down into her brain. The roan stopped, sensing his rider's sudden stillness. Her eyes disappeared behind four fronts of thick lashes as she tried to deepen her hearing. There was something there or, perhaps, someone. She let her fingers reach for the bow upon her back; it nested perfectly into her grasp. Her left arm extended over her chest, resting against her right thigh, her bow gripped tightly. The right of her limbs notched an arrow then fell to rest upon the string, ready to draw back at the slightest movement.
A rift of scent filled her nostrils, echoing in her memory. The trees, pine trees, spruce trees, and maybe a hint of something else lingering together, spinning and turning in the air as she breathed it all in. Something spicy and maybe even sweet. A pink snake whispered across her lips then hid in the shadows of her mouth only to be followed as her teeth dragged across the pink cliff. Yes, she remembered the smell, the sound even. It was like millions of voices singing in the most beautiful swish all blending into a sea of motion. Every voice floating in the wind, singing to the beat of the horse beneath. The deep lingering smell moved, switching to her other side. Close, the smell was close. Sweet, spicy grass. Home, she smelled the scent of the grass.
In an instant her bow rose, like lightning did her right hand pull the string back to her ear. Her eyelids split, staring at the mounted warrior. The edge of the arrow quivered slightly as her fingers twitched. "You shouldn't have followed me, Knight." She smirked, but did not lower her bow. Her arms stayed taught but not stiff and rigid like many archers. She had learned well. Arms strong, unable to be hit out of place, but loose enough to swing to another target or to switch weapons.
"And I would have not followed if I was not ordered to do so." His blank gaze touched her mind again. He was probing her, sending tendrils into her head, trying to feel what she thought. Her jaw clenched, ignoring his obvious yet oblivious attempts to search her for emotion. To be true, she never was one to mask her emotions, though she could control them. She had the overwhelming feeling that she had to look away, break their eye contact before he could read her thoughts.
"You were ordered?" She raised her brow, forcing her eyes on his hands that fingered the edge of his own bow. "Who ordered you? Did Lancelot?" I bet he did. Can he do that?" Her bow arm fell, the arrow tip hitting Arvakur's soft body; he swung around to hit the knight's horse. The mare neighed as it made a sharp turn, trying to evade the stallion. Leilia leaned back, gazing down at the knight. "Mmm, not steady are we?"
The sudden personality shift had got him off guard. One moment she was stone, only worrying about whether he knew what she was thinking. Then the next, as soon as she said Lancelot she changed. Her bow had hit her horse who had, in turn, spooked his mare who had jerked so suddenly he fell from her back.
A snort of hot air ruffled his hair as the pinto mare sniffed him. He pulled himself to a stand, masking his embarrassment in his fall. Tristan looked at her eyes again, they betrayed her emotion. Her stone expression could not cover the laughter in her eyes. For an odd reason he felt the need to smile as he remembered how she had laughed earlier. The same bell like sound emitted from her eyes. He hadn't felt the need to smile in so long now. It reminded him of something.
An image flashed in his mind, a hawk flying above the clouds, dipping its wings to allow itself a slow descent. Then in one fluid motion it pulled the wing muscles back and its beak dove down, angling into a fast dive. Its body hurtled towards the ground at unnatural speeds then suddenly stopped, levelling into a silent glide, tranquility taking over from the thrill of the dive. Then with a few strokes of its wings, it climbed again only to fall into a dive before levelling. Yes, the last time he had felt the need to smile was once when he lay in the tall grass watching the beginnings of his most cherished relationship blooming. The freedom he felt with his hawk.
This woman so familiar in her accent, her appearance, and the skill of her weapons remind him so much of home. But there was something else that gave a tang, a twist to her familiarity. He couldn't quite place what it reminded him of. She had this different air about her then any other person he had met. She held herself so different, with something he didn't remember ever seeing. Not pride, she wasn't humble. It struck him, freedom. She had freedom and she held herself up with the thought of being able to go anywhere and to be anything.
A wave of bitterness came over the knight as he glanced back to the archeress, he envied her freedom. "Lancelot did not order me to follow you. My commander ordered that I bring you back or not return." She sat up straight, suddenly rigid again. Something panged as the laughter in her eyes withered as if it were a candle and diminished into nothing, into anger. Her teeth grinded together. "It was Lancelot who said to bring you back no matter what and that you had to come back reasonably unharmed." A smirk played across her lips then as she whispered the words back to herself.
Then her eyes turned on him again, but this time they brought yet another side of her. Still the odd unconnected, still the laughing, still the anger, still the stone, and yet, something totally different. "Fine scout, you may bring me back to your commander if you can out do me. If you cannot then you must swear to not try and bring me back. Understood?" He nodded, unsheathing his curved sword. The pinto mare moved away with a small tap on her hindquarters. She dismounted, pulling her sword from her hip scabbard then reaching over the horse and drawing another. Two long, thin swords grasped in her hands fell away from her legs at an angle. "Ready scout?"
"You fight with two swords?" She watched his brow raise as she nodded. "Like Lancelot, I know. We had the same teacher, he was--" The swords slipped from her mouth slowly and then stopped coolly. Her eyes scoring deep holes in his own. "He was a skilled teacher, he travelled many tribes." A smirk rounded her lips, she knew he would be able to tell when she lied. That she had picked up since he had tried to read her. So, she naturally, assumed the tactic of not lying, nor telling the truth wholly. Her teacher had been skilled and had travelled to many tribes. That was no lie. She spotted the slight disappointment with the rest of her statement as he sighed. "Shall we start or shall we sit here like Roman woman and gossip about the past?"
"Fine, it is your fate to return to our camp." She narrowed her eyes, standing still and watching. They spoke no more, letting what was to come to happen. They both knew that neither could possibly expect to win. No, they had both seen each other fight, or rather, Tristan had seen her and she assumed he was a skilled fighter. She knew better then to assume, but in this case, she was more then assuming. He had that air. He was confident with his sword, that she could tell by the way he had unsheathed it. One motion and it was clean out and ready to attack even in his relaxed stance. They just watched each other. Not daring to take the first move. She gazed around the trees, searching for something to her advantage. There was nothing to help either of them. The trees could work for a shield, but what coward would hide? Her eyes slid over a high elm and she hissed, seeing the Woad. But there was no time. She wanted to finish this with the knights first. Then she would slaughter the lower class pests.
The knight took one step and she countered with another. That was how the dance started. One step forward, one to the left, one back, one the right. Their swords remained poised at their sides, ready to strike at any moment. She felt the Woads watching them, feeling the tension. She longed to strike with her sword, to feel the metal spark against metal. It had been far too long since she had fought a true sword fight. She groaned, stepping forward, and then smiled as he to took the step. They were now only a sword's length away. Either of them could swing and strike. It was her move, this she knew. One sword parted the air above her head as the other swung around the side, the blade first. He blocked both attacks and his sword dived in to attack. But one of her one came and clashed, the other flying above her head again to come crashing down.
But he moved out of the reach of her swords. She growled, swinging her swords around. They were like batons in her arms, moving constantly. Under her arm, over her head, around her torso. But each time failing as his sword stopped them. She backed off, breathing for a second and watching him as he watched her. "You fight well; this teacher was very skilled, what was his name?" She stepped forward, snaking her sword between his and his body. He jerked back carelessly and her other sword whipped out to nick his cheek. "His name was Pant," she spoke softly, almost reverently towards the name of her teacher. She let her swords sit at her sides, not lifted and not ready to attack, her mistake was made then for he took this chance.
Air swished pasted her ear as the blunt end of his sword hilt smacked against her head. Her head reeled as her knees fell into the mossy woodland ground. A blade of metal rested on her jugular. She growled, sensing her defeat on her heels. But, no, not yet. She wouldn't give up even if it all looked bleak. Ah, she had learned that too in another lifetime. "Seems you have caught me, Knight." The knight did not show a smirk of triumph, nor seemed to be even affected by his thought-to-be-win. He didn't even appear to have thought he had one for he did not remove his blade from her neck. She knew he was waiting for her to admit her defeat. Yes, yes he was smart. He knew when to accept a win because you need two to dance. "You win, Knight."
The blade at her neck didn't move for many moments like he was truly waiting for her mind to accept her lose. But he would gain no such triumph from her. A minor defeat didn't mean she was defeated. No, she could still win this fight. He had outsmarted her in that moment, feeding off the weakness that came when she remembered her teacher. It was like a wound reopening after a scab had covered, like blood creaked through the crevices. Finally, his removed his sword, sheathing it before putting his hand out to help her up. "Such manners, you should really learn better ones." He gave her a glare, perhaps the most emotional thing he had done since they had drawn swords. Then he looked away and Leilia pounced upon her chance as he had earlier.
There had been no sound, no sign to warn him of what she was doing. He had been careful; waiting until he was perfectly sure she wasn't planning anything. But, obviously, he had not waited long enough. She had hit with the thud of a boulder, sending him flat onto his stomach. His arms were pinned beneath him as he had tried to break his fall, she perched on his hand. Her fingers snaked into his hair, yanking it back so his entire head followed, and then her dagger slid into place on his throat. "I do believe, Knight, that I've beaten you." She smirked, hearing his groan. She took the dagger away, only to pull his sword from his scabbard. "I will take these to ensure my safety. Now, stay where you are or I'll have to kill you." She moved, patting down his frame for anymore weapons. She found the daggers in his boots, the throwing knives in his armour, the dagger in his belt, and many other weapons. The entire time he did not budge to her surprise. "May I move now then?"
"Fine, you are free to move." She packed his last dagger into her saddle bag, turning to watch him stand, rubbing his head. "Sorry about your hair, it was necessary." He glared at her, walking towards his horse. She then realized she hadn't searched his horse for weapons. Her eyes widened, waiting what he would pull out. But again to her surprise, he drew no weapon. She even had his bow and arrows safely with hers. "You aren't even going to try and get your weapons back, Knight?" She had never been confused more in her life. No, she had been. But that was so long ago. Too long ago that she did not remember the moment when she had been so confused, so lost that she completely blocked that time from her memory. Though, she had blocked so many things in her lifetime that there were blank periods she could not recall.
"I play fair," he spoke softly, condemning what she had done. She sputtered slightly, opening her mouth, closing it, opening it, and closing it again. He turned to face her, his arms crossing his chest. "You lost, I had won. But you broke the rules. I don't have to fight. You're coming with me." Her eyes widened, words still failed her miserably, only making her feel more stupid each second that silent granted its life to her lips. "Stop gaping, get on your horse. You'll be giving my weapons back soon enough. We both win that way. You get the triumph of getting all my weapons. I have the triumph of defeating you in swordfight." She shook her head, she would not go. She would not go with him.
"No, I won. You did not triumph. You don't fight with truth; you fight with deceit and everything you can do to win!"
"You are wrong, woman. You fight with a sword and fight fair. You fight as dirty as a Woad." Her eyes flared, anger spilling into her veins. Her teeth grinded together as her fists clenched into balls. Her nails dug into her palms, tiny cuts forming with blood oozing slowly from them. "You are angered by that, woman?" A question suddenly struck her. Why would he call her woman? Why not use the common lower class term of wench? Why not call her Lady like the other knights? Why not even by her name? Why did he call her woman as opposed to the more accept terms?
"Tell me, Knight. Why do you call me woman?" Silence granted its life again, gifting them into its deadly embrace. He looked to be thinking his answer over, chewing it until it was a tasteless pulp between his teeth. His hand stroked his beard slowly, almost with an absent minded air. He would choose his words carefully, that she knew. But why with this question? He spoke so freely about everything else. Why now?
"Why do you call me Knight as opposed to my name as the other knights call me?" She stamped her foot angrily, trying desperately to understand this man. Arvakur moved behind her, nudging her slightly causing her body to stutter forward. Her head whipped around to see the great head of her mount turn away and look off into the near trees, watching the watchers. The horse grunted, his eyes moving madly around, worry flooding his normally calm face. Her own face turned to the knight to see if he too had noticed and he had.
The Woads were climbing from their trees.