Final Chapter
The hour was getting late now and Tristan had been gone some time. Prue was deathly pale and silent and her breathing becoming increasingly more shallow and weak. Vanora prayed desperately that it was just shock and exhaustion – Dagonet knew it were more.
He could see she was deteriorating before him and he was powerless to stop it. Experience told him all too well that more than the loss of her child had resulted from that single brutal blow she had suffered.
He wished desperately that Tristan would return. If ever there had been a time when she needed him, it was now.
Vanora watched as Dagonet kept unfaltering vigil over their patient.
"She'll be right as rain come morning, Dag – you'll see" She offered gently. Vanora felt she must speak some word of reassurance, as much for her own peace of mind, as well as his. She knew how much he cared for Prue, it was natural he should worry so. But as Dagonet turned his head to face her, the fearful look that shrouded his eyes sent her cold.
"She's lost a lot of blood, Vanora," He said quietly as he met Vanora's gaze "I fear she still bleeds."
"No Dag, she will rally, you know that? She just needs rest, that's all" Vanora replied shakily, helpless to stop the tears gathering. She could not allow herself to believe that Prue might die. Dagonet had to be wrong.
Dagonet did not reply. Instead he turned back to Prue and began gently, to coax her to speak.
When she did not respond, Dagonet spoke once again and this time her lashes fluttered open and a shadow of a smile passed her pale blue lips.
"Dag..." she whispered weakly "dear Dag..." Dagonet smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss her cool, clammy brow.
Hearing the distant sound of Dagonet's deep and gentle voice had pulled Prue from her inner sanctuary, where she tried vainly to seek refuge from her torment.
Her body still racked with a burning pain that had slowly but surely began to creep it's way through her tiny frame until it had rendered her so helpless and weak, that she could no longer fight it. The only movement now, was from a tiny tear that trickled down her ashen cheek and came to rest on the corner of her lips.
Where was Tristan? She cried inside. She was frightened and she needed him. She so desperately wanted Tristan. She tried to call out his name but as she did so another wave of overwhelming agony took hold of her frail and broken body once more and a pitiful moan was all that left her lips.
And then, just as she felt the agony would tear her in two - there was peace.
-----
Tristan had walked back into their room just as the panic had begun to subside and unbearable grief had replaced it.
Vanora had cried out as the blood had once again begun to spill rapidly forth from her dying friend's body and Dagonet had scrambled about desperately trying to stem the flow, even though knowing any attempt to be futile. It had all been over so quickly, leaving the two heartbroken friends, shattered and stunned.
Tristan stood motionless in the doorway. The tunic he wore bore the dark, damp tarnish of another's suffering. At his neck, could be seen the faint trails of blood oozing from the claw marks of someone's desperate grasp as they had tried vainly to hold on to life.
He stood silent as his throbbing mind and crumbling heart took in the unbelievable scene that met him.
Prue was in her last moments of life, her breathing shallow and slowing gently.
"I'm so sorry Tristan…" was all Dagonet could say, the tears already falling.
"Get out" he murmured, his voice nothing more than a broken whisper.
Dagonet gently took hold of the weeping and distraught Vanora and quietly did as he bade them.
------
The agonising cry of devastation echoed terrifyingly across the courtyard. Vanora, who sat across the way in hopeless vigil, stood up and took a sharp intake of breath. For a few moments she could neither move nor make a sound. Prue was gone.
Vanora felt her legs give way as she fell into the strong arms of Bors. She sobbed uncontrollably as he held her tightly and whispered words of comfort and sorrow.
The fellow knights, who had all come together and sat waiting in solemn respect for their brother, lowered their heads. On hearing Tristan's cry, Arthur stepped forward in order to go to aid of his scout but he was stayed by Lancelot's firm hand upon his shoulder.
Looking at Arthur from beneath his dark brow he said.
"No Arthur! Leave them be." His gaze unyielding, he continued, a thin veil of contempt lacing his tone "The words of your merciful and righteous God will not be welcome this night."
Arthur stared gravely back at his first knight for a moment, knowing his words to be true. With a nod of reluctant compliance, he turned and walked sombrely back to his quarters.
No one seemed to notice the devastated Dagonet slip quietly away - his own personal grief, unseen by all those around.
------
All through the long night hours, Tristan held her limp, lifeless body in his arms, weeping in silent torment as he rocked her gently and kissed her now cold and ashen face -never once letting her slip from his grasp.
It wasn't until the first rays of the dawn sun came creeping through the shadows of the room that Tristan finally laid her down.
The sunlight now shone gently across her face. She looked so peaceful to Tristan as he reached out and brushed away a whisper of hair that had fallen across her resting lashes.
A quiet, tranquil sorrow had now enclosed itself around Tristan's heart. The morning sun had calmed Tristan's raging torment and his sanity was now returning. Tristan knew that the time for their last farewell had arrived.
He sat and lovingly stroked the length of her long hair and smiled to himself as he remembered how she had so relentlessly pursued his attention from the very day their eyes had met. He'd been such a stubborn, surly brute and yet never once had she faltered. If only he'd realised then what happiness she was to bring into his life, he swore he would have swept her up off her feet and claimed her as his own from that very first day.
After a moments thought, he reached for the blade at his belt and gently cut a lock of her long tawny hair and then carefully began to weave it within his own. Binding them together for always with a thin leather lace he cut from the neck of his tunic, Tristan left the single long braid of hair to rest comfortingly upon his shoulder.
With one last kiss upon her lips he whispered
"Wait for me, my lady. I will be along soon"
He then stood and walked out of the room into the brilliant morning sunshine.
-----
Tristan laid Prue to rest on the banks of the hill over looking the South road. Vanora wanted it that way. It was, she said, their special place and that Prue would be happy there. They had spent many wonderful times there as children and in the years beyond. Indeed, was it not the very place they had laid side by side together gigging with excitement and watched for the first time, the approach of the Sarmatian knights and with them, their destiny?
On the afternoon that followed Prue's death, another grim discovery had been made by a young Roman guard in search of a little female company. He had called upon the prostitute, Morin, only to find her twisted broken body lying in a pool of her own blood. She been beaten badly and her throat severed, the rumours said. It had been a slow, torturous death, by all accounts and her suffering profuse.
Arthur had made the enquiries and Vanora had gone forward to say that she had indeed seen Morin in the tavern that night, with the same two men who had attacked her friend and she believed they must have been the culprits. 'Maybe she hadn't performed to their standard,' she had added bitterly.
Arthur was satisfied with that and saw no more reason to investigate. Besides, the life of a common prostitute was of little concern to the Romans. Vanora had left his quarters with a sigh of relief.
------
Tristan stood alone and quiet beside the earth that held his lady - serene and dignified. His hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed to his chest.
He felt a warm breeze ensue, enticing him from his silent grief. He lifted his head high so as to feel its welcome caress upon his face. Closing his eyes for a moment he fancied he could smell his lady's scent once again and feel the warmth of her delicate fingers whisper across his cheek.
He stood captivated, when all of a sudden came the beckoning cry of a hawk up on high.
Opening his eyes, he watched her circle the clouds above him, sounding her haunting call once more.
A faint, sad smile passed the scout's lips. One day, he knew she would call for him that way and he would look to the skies and follow her willingly - to be delivered into the comfort of his lady's waiting arms.
But until that day came, he would seek out death upon every battlefield he fought and when he found it, he would embrace it with dignity and grace.
The End
And so ends the story of Tristan and Prue.
Grateful thanks to all of you who have read my story and thanks again to every one who has taken time to review. I know that maybe this isn't the end that some of you would have wanted but as you all know, we have to go where the muse takes us! It makes his death seem just that little easier to bear for me, thinking that maybe now, he has found his peace. I hope no one's too disappointed.
I would love to know what you all thought of this, my first long story.