Almost Had It All
Chapter Three – Revelations
I want a normal life
just like a new born child
I am a lover hater
I am an instigator
You are an oversight
Don't try to compromise
I'll learn to love to hate it
I am not integrated
Just call my name
You'll be okay
Your scream is burning through my veins
Sooner or later your gonna hate it
Go ahead and throw your life away
Driving me under, leaving me out there
Go ahead and throw your life away
You're like an infantile
I knew it all the while
You sit and try to play me
Just like you see on tv
I am an oversight
Just like a parasite
Why am I so pathetic
I know you won't forget it
Sooner or later your gonna hate it
Go ahead and throw my life away
Driving me under, leaving me out there
Go ahead and throw my life away
Sooner or later your gonna hate it
Go ahead and throw our life away
Driving me under, leaving me out there
Go ahead and throw our life away
Throw our life away
Ooooo
Throw our life away
"Sooner or Later" Breaking Benjamin
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470 A.D.
Hadrian's Wall, Courtyard…The moment Jols and Marsile stepped through the doorway, Arthur slowly turned to gaze at his knights, standing silently, just as dumbfounded by the day's events as he.
With collective released breaths and shrugs, the knights and commander made their way to the stables to care for their horses. Leading them to their respective stalls, the men began to remove saddles, bridles, blankets of various styles and colors and rubbed down the great beasts.
"Now…who'd have thought that that 'Great Warrior' in Rome, was a woman?" Bors stated while checking the hooves of his dark stallion, finally voicing what the others were thinking.
"Certainly not I," Arthur replied. He stopped to think how ridiculous they must have looked with their mouths hanging open in surprise, shaking his head in amusement.
Tristan, annoyed that he hadn't noticed something – anything, for that matter - to hint at the fact that the rider from the caravan had been a woman, said nothing. As a scout, it was his duty to notice what others did not, and he wasn't about to admit that this woman had slipped past his senses.
"I don't think any of us have met a knight that looked quite like that," Lancelot quipped, remembering the face that the withdrawn hood had revealed. "If the rest of her compares with the face, then I can only imagine what the body must look-"
"Quiet Lancelot! She is a knight, same as us; and a Sarmatian," Dagonet interrupted sternly.
"Doesn't change what she looks like," the cheeky knight muttered under his breath, receiving a nod from Galahad in the next stall.
"And what was that you said about beautiful Sarmatian women Bors?" Lancelot added, receiving curses and mumbles from the man.
During the conversation Gawain had kept unusually silent. As he brushed the sweat from his horse's coat, he thought of the new arrival. "There's something about her that seems so familiar. What is it I'm missing?" he thought, remembering the hopeful look upon her face as she had scanned through the knights earlier. She had met his concentrated gaze, but had turned away before he could figure out why he felt like he had seen her before.
Pulled from his thoughts, Gawain raised his head to look at Bors, who was calling his name from the stable entrance, the others already making their way to shed armor and be at the tavern in time for the first round of drinks.
"I'll just be a moment longer," Gawain yelled out placing the brush on its hook and patting the horse's back as he walked around to his head.
"Rest friend," he said to the stallion.
On his way out, Gawain turned to look at the stall where the stable hand had placed Marsile's horse, Artay, and decided to get acquainted.
Rubbing his hand over the stallion's snout, Gawain whispered, "I'll figure it out eventually."
Then he turned and resumed the walk to his room and then the tavern, disturbed that that particular stall would only add more puzzlement to the question of Marsile.
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Guest rooms…
Aylin stood aloof, watching her home burn to the ground. Screaming did no good, she knew from earlier experiences. No matter how loud she yelled and screamed out, her past wouldn't change.
She shivered as, once again, she saw her father, then her mother fall under the blows of Roman blades.
"How many times must I relive this?" she shouted out, just to have the words echo back to her, unheard by any other.
Aylin could even count the beats from memory before two small figures rushed by her, unseeing of the woman who stood, watching the devastation.
She turned to follow the two children with her eyes as two Roman soldiers caught hold of them mid-stride, roughly pulling them apart. Aylin watched as the younger version of herself cried out for her brother as the young boy fought in vain to keep the men from harming her.
The soldier hauled Kavan off in the opposite direction, his screams becoming distorted and distant as the land around them started to fade…
Marsile lay there quietly with her eyes closed firmly. She had woken to more nightmares and it had taken her a moment to adjust to her surroundings.
It had been at least three hours since she had arrived at the Wall with the others and had been taken to this room to rest, but the memories that played themselves in her sleep drained whatever rest she had received.
Sitting up, she rested her head in one hand while the other reached over her bare shoulder to finger the raised skin of the brand on her left shoulder blade. With a sigh, she brought both hands to rub her face, trying to quell the sharp headache exploding behind her eyes.
Marsile blindly reached under the edge of the straw mattress for the bag she had hidden there when the maid who had come to draw her bath and take her clothes hadn't been looking. "This will put off the headache for a while," she thought.
After the pain seemed to recede a little bit, she stood and glared at the red Roman style dress the maid had draped over a chair. Sighing, Marsile reluctantly slipped on the dress, fastening the metal clasps at the shoulders and tying the thin rope under her bust.
"At least it's clean," she said to herself.
A knock sounded on the door and Jols voice could be heard on the other side.
"Marsile?"
"Yes."
The door opened and Jols peered inside.
"The others are waiting in the council room for the Bishop, but Arthur mentioned you had something you wished to ask him?"
Marsile nodded and followed the squire out of the room.
She had some questions that needed answers.
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Council Room…
When Jols opened the large doors to the council chamber, Marsile wasn't surprised in the least to see a continuation of the fort's Roman décor, but she couldn't say the same for the large round table set in the center of the room where the men where seated. Lighted braziers lined the walls, casting shadows on the table's carvings.
"Never would I have thought to see such a table in a Roman holding," she said out loud, casting the statement to Arthur, who sat a few chairs away from Lancelot.
The knights stood, a little shocked to see her in a dress, and waited until she took a seat near their commander before retaking their own.
Arthur turned in his chair toward her, and asked expectantly,
"You said before you wished to speak with me, Marsile?"
"Yes, I did. But first I must ask that you call me Aylin," she noticed Gawain stiffen at the name and continued, "Marsile was the name the people of Rome called me, but Aylin is my true name.
"Some of you, after hearing that, may already know what direction this conversation is headed," Aylin said, nodding at Gawain.
"Why don't you fill in the rest of us?" Arthur asked quietly.
"That's why you looked so familiar to me," Gawain said. "You have the same movements in battle, the same hair and eyes…"
"What are you talking about?" Galahad asked confused, the other knights nodding their agreement.
"Do you not see it?" Gawain questioned back, the others looking to Aylin for whatever it was Gawain saw.
"She does resemble him," Tristan said softly from his chair next to Bors.
"Would someone please explain to me what is going on here," the loud knight exclaimed.
"They are discussing my likeness in features to that of my brother, Kavan," Aylin said coolly, causing Arthur to look sharply at her.
"That is what I wanted to speak with you about. I learned on my own that Kavan had been stationed at this post under the command of Artorius Castus. By arriving here and not seeing him among you, I now know that my brother is dead. But what I wish for you to tell me is when and how."
After a moment of silence, Arthur said, "Kavan was killed in a Woad ambush about three years ago."
Aylin sat silently, her elbow propped on the table. She hadn't cried in eleven years and she didn't know if she could now for the brother she had lost, but had not seen since she was five years old. Her lids closed over dry eyes as she tried to her face emotionless.
Saddened, Aylin looked upon Arthur's face. "At least now he is at peace. I only wish the rest of us had the same luxury. And now I know his fate. It's better than not knowing at all, I guess."
"Yes. It's better than not knowing," Gawain said.
Tristan watched Aylin through the hair that hung in his eyes. There had been just a slight crack in her composure, so slight that had he not been looking for it, he wouldn't have seen it. He didn't fail to notice, as he watched Aylin replace the pain with the same impassive face she had showed them earlier after the ambush, that, like he, she wasn't one to show her emotions. "Unless, of course, when she's angry," he thought, remembering the hatred in her eyes when interacting with the bishop.
With a sigh, Aylin sobered her face and said, "Well, now you know my secret. Let us remove ourselves from sad thoughts, after all, this is our last night of service to Rome."
With a cheer the knights accepted the cups handed them by servants entering the room. Tristan took his with a nod of thanks, but kept his eyes on Aylin. For some reason he doubted that they had learned her only secret. But he promised himself that he would find out more of this woman who intrigued him so…the woman that turned out to be his late brother-in-arms' long lost sister.
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When Jols entered the room followed by the Bishop's secretary, Horton, a while later, the knights and Aylin were already simmering with impatience.
"Well, well rodent. How nice of you to finally join us," Aylin spat, causing the man to shiver under her cold stare.
"May I present His Eminence, Bishop Naius…Germanus," he said with trembling conceit, or what would have been conceit if he hadn't stuttered in fear of Aylin and upon seeing the round table set in the middle of the room, effectively ruining his rehearsed introduction.
The Bishop entered with a line of servants behind him carrying golden chalices, but stopped with a disgusted look on his face when he too saw the table.
Aylin heard Horton whispering harshly to Jols, who looked only too happy to inform the puny Roman of the reasons for such a table with a pleased grin on his face. She concealed a smirk. One point Jols, zero Horton.
Looking around as the chalices were passed out to the knights, the bishop spoke,
"I was given to understand there would be more of you."
With a scoff, Arthur replied, "There were. We have been fighting here for fifteen years, Bishop."
Aylin looked to the table as memories of her brother flashed through her mind. Then looked up again in annoyance as the Bishop began speaking of Rome's debt to these knights for their service.
"Like Rome really cares for the protection of outpost," Aylin thought, angered at Germanus's false praise.
"To your final days of service to the empire," the Bishop finished, causing Aylin to raise a questioning eyebrow.
She obviously wasn't the only one to catch the error, as Lancelot growled,
"Day. Not days."
Of course, the Bishop merely waved a hand in dismissal.
As everyone resettled in his or her seats, Aylin internally sighed, knowing that, once again, something wasn't going to go the way it was supposed to.
Though when the box carrying the papers of discharge were handed to the Bishop, every knight sat straighter in his, or in one case – her - chair.
"Knights…your discharge papers," the Bishop said unnecessarily. "But first…I must have a word with your Commander."
"We have no secrets," Arthur replied suspiciously.
Germanus didn't answer, but he did slam the lid to the box closed with a loud bang.
"Come, let's leave Roman Business to Romans," Lancelot said dangerously, tipping his cup in mock respect to man.
Slowly, Aylin and the others made their way toward the doors, but not before Tristan confiscated a one of the golden chalices.
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Compound tavern…
While Arthur and Germanus continued their talk, the others settled themselves easily, wine in hand, at the tavern. Aylin sat on a stool by the wall and watched a knife-throwing contest erupt between Galahad and Gawain. Amused at the former's glee at his success in embedding the dagger in a chair edge, Aylin stood and watched Tristan throw one of his own into the handle of Galahad's.
"Tristan…How do you do that?" Gawain asked, his words slightly slurred because of the large amount of wine his tongue absorbed like a sponge.
"I aim for the middle," the scout replied, nonchalantly biting into his apple.
He stopped, apple held in his mouth, when a brilliantly carved dagger flew past his head from behind and landed square in the center of his own knife, leaving now three knives, end-to-point, sticking from the chair.
Everyone turned to look at Aylin, who leaned against the wall with a mischievous grin.
"How did you do that?" Tristan asked around the piece of apple still in his cheek, surprised and, despite himself, impressed.
"I aim for the middle," she said, repeating his earlier words.
Laughing, she walked forward, pulled the daggers from the post. Sheathing her own, she tossed the other two back to their owners, before sitting at a table with Dagonet. Also sitting was Bors, with his lover (and mother of his elevenbastards, as Aylin had learned earlier), Vanora, on his lap.
"So Vanora, how is the recent addition fairing?" Dagonet asked.
"'O, he's just fine, starting to teeth, but just fine," she replied, filling Aylin's cup with wine from the jar she held.
"Yep, my Vanora here had to wait almost two whole days before our first was born," Bors stated proudly.
The wine Aylin had just drunk spewed across the table.
"Excuse me? You were in labor for almost two days?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes. Lucky for me, after the fourth one, they've justslid right out!" the woman proclaimed with a smile.
Aylin thought she might have just swallowed her tongue. "Why would any woman in her right mind go through such torture eleven times?" She asked herself, taking another drink of her wine.
Bors soon forced Vanora to sing, dragging her to the center of the open tavern, her baby held gently in her arms, while everyone laughed and chanted 'Sing!'.
Aylin listened sadly to the song of home. She wondered, recalling the earlier incident in the Council Room, how long it would be before she returned home; and if she even had a home she wished to return to now that she was without any family.
As the song ended, Galahad called upon Arthur, who had been standing in the shadows at the perimeter of the tavern. Looking at the expression on his face, Aylin silently abandoned any plans of leaving soon.
"Knights…Brothers-in-Arms. Long have we fought together, but now I must ask you for one further trial before our freedom is given…-"
"Drink!" Bors suggested.
"A Roman family is trapped in the North by Saxons. Our orders are to retrieve them and bring them safely to the Wall," he told the disbelieving knights.
"Let the Romans take care of their own," Bors stated.
"These are our orders Bors," Arthur replied.
"North of the Wall…is Woad territory," Gawain pointed out grimly.
Aylin watched as Galahad reacted sharply to a comment from Tristan and yelled at Arthur. Aylin smiled as Dagonet quieted the others and announced that he would prepare; she had only known him for a day, but she could already sense Dagonet's immense loyalty to those he cared for.
Arthur noticed her watching from her position at the table. "I am sorry Aylin, but these new orders apply to you as well," he said tiredly before turning on his heel and striding to the stables, Lancelot close behind.
Telling herself that all would be well, Aylin glanced at her palm, her eyes drawn to the bleeding crescents lying there. Okay, maybe she was just a little upset. She abruptly pushed her chair back from the table, stood and made her way to her room, heedless of those calling out to her.
Aylin sensed someone following slowly behind her, but she didn't care. The temper Gattus had nicknamed her for was clawing its way through her, and she desperately needed something to unleash it on.
"Oh, this is perfect," she mused as she sighted Horton scurrying down the hall, though stopping in fear when he noticed her there.
Grabbing him by the throat as he tried to flee from her, Aylin slammed the man back into the wall, cutting off his air supply with a tight squeeze.
"I don't know what game Germanus is playing, but believe me when I say this: when I get back, nothing will stop me from doing what I've wished to do to him. You tell him that. Do I make myself clear?" she questioned slowly as his eyes started to bulge.
At the man's affirmative squeak, Aylin released her grip on his neck and pushed him down the hall.
Taking a few deep breaths, she turned to face Tristan, who was casually leaned on the wall a few feet away.
"Did you enjoy the show?" Aylin asked, irritated that he would follow her.
The scout just nodded and left.
Shaking her head in confusion at the man's actions, Aylin resumed stalking to her room.
Next Chapter: Northern Country