ALMOST HAD IT ALL
Chapter Five – History
Take me and let me in
Don't break me and shut me out
So take me and let me in
Don't break me and shut me out
I lit my pain on fire
And I watched it all burn down
Now I'm dancing in the ashes
And there's no one else around
Cause I wanna be apart of something
This is just a story of a broken soul
As days go by, my heart grows cold
I can't seem to let this all pass me by
So take me and let me in
Don't break me and shut me out
I'm burning in the heavens
And I'm drowning in a hell
My soul is in a coma
And none of my friends can tell
That I'm reaching out and getting nothing
This is just a story of a broken soul
As days go by, my heart grows cold
I can't seem to let this all pass me by
So take me and let me in
Don't break me and shut me out
Don't shut me out
Does anyone around me feel the same
Put your fist up and vent your pain
Does anyone around me feel the same
Put your fist up and vent your pain
Does anyone around me feel the same
Put your fist up and vent your pain
Does anyone around me feel the same
Put your fist up and vent your pain
As days go by, my heart grows cold
I can't seem to let this all pass me by
So take me and let me in
Don't break me and shut me out
As days go by, my heart grows cold
I can't seem to let this all pass me by
Take Me
Don't Break Me
"Take Me" Papa Roach
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
470 A.D.
North of Hadrian's Wall…
Once they had passed the gate, the knights broke formation and rode in random order and form, the way they liked best. This is how they rode for hours, occasionally slowing to walk, allowing the horses to catch their wind and rest strained muscles, as they were doing right now. Surprisingly, Horton had kept up decent pace, but he did look to be more exhausted than the horse he sat upon.
"Beware Christian, the Blue Demons native to this land eat your kind for supper," Bors said lowly, barely concealing his amusement in torturing the fearful Roman.
"E-Eat-Christians?" Stuttered Horton, "They actually…eat people?"
"O, yeah. The land is littered with the bones of Christians," he paused as an audible gulp came from Horton's direction. Looking around him, Bors could see the others listening to the conversation with smirks. "Christians…such as you," he finished.
Aylin turned her head forward again to ensure that Horton didn't see the wicked mirth that shone in her blue eyes. "Poor rodent, too gullible for his own good." She thought, listening as Bors continued his assault.
"Bors is known for his sarcasm," Dagonet mentioned quietly, but not without humor as he brought his horse over to hers.
"I can see that," she said back, mirth still in her eyes.
After a few moments of silence, Dagonet decided to keep her talking. "So, what are your plans for after we return and our freedom is given?"
Aylin thought for a while, remembering how many times she had almost been free, but had men like Crassus snatch all hope of freedom away from her grasp.
"I truly do not know. I've never looked to or planned the future. As a fighter, one cannot think too far ahead. I've never thought of what I might do with myself once I'm free. Freedom. It's an almost forgotten memory."
Dagonet nodded, for he too knew what it felt like to be unsure. Yes, most assumed he would stay with Bors and his lot, but a part of him did wish to go back to Sarmatia and see if his own family was still living. He was over thirty summers old, had been on this island for eighteen years - for the majority of his life. He returned his gaze to Aylin when he heard her coughing.
"Are you all right?"
After a few more moments of harsh coughing, she lied easily.
"I'm fine. The weather and the bishop delayed our travel several times. I guess I am suffering the ill effects of riding in constant rain storms."
Dagonet acknowledged her statement with a grunt while anger grew in his mind thinking of Aylin being forced to travel in horrible conditions because of a spoiled clergyman.
"No wonder their caravan had been so late in arriving!" he thought.
He turned to say so, but noticed that she was surveying the land and wasn't looking at him. His eyes were drawn to the reins and her fingers clenching and unclenching upon them, not a little surprised to see this nervous gesture from a woman he had only seen completely composed. But Dagonet told himself not to mention anything about it as Arthur called for a gallop again.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Late into the night, the knights stopped to gain a few hours rest for themselves and their horses. Tristan had found a fairly large clearing near a creek where they could refill their water skins and make camp.
Once the horses were given water and tied to trees, Bors was elected to gather wood for a small fire from the surrounding forest, while Tristan and Galahad searched for food. Once Bors returned with the firewood, Aylin took it from him and set about making the fire.
An hour later, they had eaten the rabbit brought back by Tristan; Galahad just a little snubbed that he hadn't caught anything. He had muttered something about "small, fast game is almost impossible to catch in the dark" and "bloody scout isn't even human."
Spread out enough to be ready in case of an attack, but still close to the fire for warmth, all the knights but Tristan settled on their bedrolls, their cloaks wrapped tightly about them. The scout was off doing whatever it was he did when the knights made camp.
Jols looked annoyed from his position by the secretary Horton, where Arthur had ordered him to sit while keeping an eye on the Roman.
Tired of the silence that encircled them, Galahad decided he would ask Aylin more about herself.
"Aylin?"
"Yes?" Came the unenthusiastic response across the fire.
"Tell us of your time in Rome," he urged. Aylin just stared at him.
"I don't think it is your place to ask Galahad – it isn't any of our business," Arthur stated sternly, remembering stories of the knight's great hatred for Rome.
"It was just a simple question," the young knight murmured.
With a sigh, Aylin said, "He's right. It is none of your business."
"Well, you certainly weren't away learning manners," Lancelot scoffed, causing the group to quiet down.
After a tense pause were the others looked back and forth between Lancelot and Aylin as the latter's eyes turned to flame, Aylin spoke, her tone was laced with an underlying danger.
"No, you're right. I didn't have much free time to spend learning to be polite to cocky son-of-a-bitches such as you, Lancelot. Less-than-kind soldiers took me, a mere five year old, from my home, after they tired of pleasuring themselves with the dead women of my tribe. Taken, and sold as a slave to a man named Lucius Canimas.
"Seven years I wished for death and it never came. But Lucius made sure that my fate was worse than death. I eventually escaped and Lucius finally got what was coming to him."
Aylin stood and noticed Arthur's incredulous expression. The commander had obviously heard of the senator's unexpected killing.
"Yes, Arthur. I murdered one of your precious Christians, was almost executed for it, and sentenced for ten years to this life because of it. And if I had to go back, the only thing I would change would be to kill him in a more painful way than just a knife in the heart."
Having said that, Aylin turned on her heel and walked away from the clearing, calling over her shoulder that she would take up watch.
The men sat in a stunned silence.
"Lancelot… Sometimes I wonder if your mouth is connected to your brain," Arthur sighed.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Sitting quietly on a rock in the woods, Aylin cursed the fiery temper she had inherited from her mother's side of the family. With a groan, she placed her head in unsteady hands.
"Great. Just great, Aylin. You try to earn their trust by telling them you're a murderer!" she muttered shaking her head, her arms swaying with the movement.
"We are all murderers here," a gruff voice said, causing Aylin to jerk her head from her palms.
"Shit! Why don't you make some noise when you're coming up to someone? That way you might not end up with a blade at your throat!"
"I am a scout. It's my job to be quiet. And you don't even have your sword drawn," Tristan pointed out.
With a glare, Aylin conceded that he was right, though it hurt the pride to admit it, even if it was only to herself. She had once preferred scouting; had been one of the best. But that was before her body had been unable to perform the duty safely and she had stepped back from the position without explanation.
"Well, you're not scouting me, so next time make some goddamn noise!" She said angrily, sliding down the rock to rest her back upon it, her head leaned back to allow her eyes the view of the stars and moon overhead.
Tristan sat next to her without asking or really caring if she wanted him to or not.
Several minutes passed while the two sat in companionable silence.
"I guess you heard," Aylin stated.
"Yes. You weren't exactly being quiet, but I was close enough to hear," he replied after a pause.
They returned to silence.
Aylin relaxed after a few moments, feeling that Tristan did not judge or pity her.
"When I was a child back in Sarmatia… I would watch the moon rise in night sky, and only after she seemed settled in her place with the stars did I go to sleep.
"My mother would jest that I would always be a daughter of the moon. Telling me stories of how I would rest peacefully in her womb at night… And only on the night of the new moon would she catch a glimpse of the spitfire I would be once birthed.
"Kavan told me that when I was born, our mother took one look at me and said that my eyes reminded her of the light that shines around the moon, and so named me Aylin."
Tristan listened quietly as she spoke. Indeed her eyes did remind those who looked into them of the moon. A pale blue circled around the black center, then faded into deeper blues.
"After they came, and every was gone, I would still watch for the moon each night… And imagine things as they once were: that I was still on the plain outside my home, losing myself in the night sky. But that was before I was sold and placed in a room with no windows. Seven years without the moon to help me remember."
As they both sat and watched the stars, Tristan thought on what Aylin had said. He had never once, in all of the eighteen years since he had been taken from Sarmatia, thought of the effect their ancestors' oath had on those left behind. Hadn't really wanted to. He was pulled from his cogitation by Aylin's voice.
"And what of you?"
"What of me?"
"What was your tribe like? Your life like before all of this?"
After a moment's hesitation, the scout began to tell her of his home.
"Mine was an eastern tribe. I lived with my father, mother and two younger sisters. My father had been one of the men that had survived his service. Some called him lucky, but I don't think he ever thought of himself as such. My mother said that he had changed from the boy she had known as a child: he was quieter, more watchful, no longer had the carefree air about him as he once did.
"I think he felt his freedom was received unfairly as most of his comrades had not lived to see their own. Now that I am to receive mine in the next few days, I can understand his sentiment," he stopped to see Aylin close her eyes at the indirect mention of her brother.
"How old were you when they came?" She asked softly.
"Fourteen. When my group was on our way to the training post, we passed through a burnt village off the western coast of the Sea of Azov." He sent her a knowing look. "I am sorry."
Aylin turned and gave him a sad smile. "You know… I think that is the most I've heard you say since I met you."
"I say it because you are a person who understands what I speak of."
She nodded and turned back to the stars. A moment passed before she spoke softly.
"I lied earlier."
Aylin didn't see Tristan's confusion, but she sensed it.
"At the fire. I said I would have found a more painful death for Lucius if I could. I lied. I didn't just stab him quickly through the heart and be done with it. I saved that for last.
"I didn't escape either. I was thrown into a river to die by the order of Lucius' wife. I was found by a Roman general of all people and taken in by him to heal. Once my injuries were better, I sneaked away and broke into the Canimas estateduring the night.
"I tortured him. I tied him to his bed while he slept off an evening of drink, secured his mouth so he couldn't cry out, and tortured him. I don't know how long I was there for: an hour, maybe two. I took my time. After I finished with him, I went to his wife's chambers. I didn't want to risk being caught, so I cover her mouth with my hand to ensure that when she woke, no one would hear, and slit her throat with the blade I'd used to kill her husband. They had tried to break my soul. Instead, they destroyed whatever conscience I had, ironically allowing me to kill them as I did."
Aylin looked over to Tristan and was gladdened to see that he didn't seem repulsed by her story. Of course, she wouldn't have told him if she'd thought he'd react otherwise.
"Unfortunately, I was caught trying to leave the estate in bloodstained clothes and arrested. I was to be executed for my crimes, but Gattus, the general who had helped me, intervened and convinced the Emperor that my skills and warrior heritage could be put to use. Before I knew it I was in Greece at Gattus' home training under his guidance. Now, here I am," she finished, looking the scout in the eye.
Tristan stared right back at her. This beautiful woman next to him had intrigued him before, but now that he'd heard from Aylin's own lips the story of her past, he couldn't describe the clenching in his chest.
"Why did you tell me this?" He asked gruffly.
Aylin put her hand down to shift her body toward Tristan to answer him. When her left hand accidentally brushed his, an unexpected shock went up both their arms. Quickly pulling her hand back, Aylin looked back in the direction of the camp.
"Because you understand," she answered, returning her gaze to him.
Tristan gave a small smile and nodded before standing and disappearing into the woods.
Once she was sure the scout was gone, Aylin leaned back onto the rock and brought her left hand up to her eyes for inspection.
"That was different," she whispered.
Further in the woods, Tristan awaited his hawk. When the bird alighted on his arm, Tristan leaned back against a tree and released a pent up breath, remembering the spark that had shot up his arm at her touch.
"Bloody woman," he muttered.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Later into the night, after Lancelot had relieved her of the watch – and apologized for his earlier comment – Aylin returned to the camp, but did not settle down for sleep.
Instead, she went to Artay and, after making sure the knights were asleep - she could have sworn Horton was sucking his thumb like an infant - retrieved a bag tied to the saddle set upon a stump, tucked under the blanket. With one last check on the sleeping men, she silently left the clearing and headed for the stream nestled deeper in the woods.
Stepping into the shallow stream, Aylin reached down a hand and brought up the cold water to splash on her feverish face. She did so several more times before she noticed the uncontrollable shaking of her hand.
Light from the moon overhead reflected across the water, letting Aylin see her own image looking back at her. Cool water mixed with perspiration, and even in this light, Aylin could see her enlarged pupils.
Quickly she brought the bag into the light, almost dropping it into the stream in her haste.
"Damn it," she whispered, trying to calm herself.
With a forced slowness, Aylin untied the thong that closed the leather. She sighed as the material fell open in her palm to reveal a pile of white powder and a small and crudely fastened wooden spoon.
Just as she was about to grasp the utensil, an inhumane cry echoed through the air, startling her to where she almost dropped the bag again. When the echoes died out, she reached for the spoon, but quickly pulled her hand back when the cry reverberated again. Only this time she recognized it.
A hawk. Tristan's hawk.
"Shit. I forgot he was out here," she thought furiously.
Searching for any sign of the scout, Aylin slowly backed out of the stream and turned into the woods again. After walking several yards, she leaned against a large tree, peering around the edge in case anyone had followed. When she saw no one, Aylin turned her head back, scooped the spoon into the powder and quickly put it on her tongue.
The bitterness made her eyes water and the texture of the powder itself made her cough when she swallowed it. Aylin brought her arm up and muffled the coughing with her upper arm, while wiping her eye with her lower. Within minutes, the shaking of her hands stopped, for a while at least. Tying the thong back around the leather bag, Aylin calmly walked back to the camp to lie down for a few hours of sleep ruined by nightmares.
A few trees away, Tristan stepped out into view, hawk on his arm, and watched her walk away.
Next Chapter: Ambushes
AN: The Sea of Azov is located off the northern coast of the Black Sea. I don't know if that was necessarily what it was known as back in the day, but that's what I'm calling it.