a/n: Thank you for the reviews! This is a pretty long chapter, but I hope it's all exciting and entertaining to you. Please review!
Endurance
"Arthur, if he's dead, so help me—" Gawain started. Galahad sneered at them both.
"Help you," he said to Arthur. Gawain shot a look at the youngest knight, but Galahad ignored him. This wasn't about not respecting the king; it was about Tristan's very life.
"I shouldn't have sent him," Arthur admitted, more to himself than for Galahad's benefit. He shook his head and spurred his horse faster. They rode quickly, the three knights and their king, and a small contingent of woads, just in case. Arthur almost left the woads behind, but prudence demanded some extra protection.
"Do you think they've killed him?" Bors asked. His voice was unusually quiet, and the rare thoughtfulness in his eyes scared Arthur. It was evidence enough for him.
He had to get to Tristan, alive.
-0-0-0-0-
-0-0-0-0-
It was still night when Tristan awoke. Or maybe it was the next night. He winced at the pain coursing through his body, especially his head. Raising it, he saw that he was in a tent. He could hear a light snoring outside.
Guard, he thought. He tested his arms, but found them tied now behind his back, around a tall stake in the ground. He tried to slide himself up, but somehow the ropes were tied so he couldn't even do that.
He looked around the tent, and instantly noticed the girl from the village. Her eyes were wide, and she looked like she would cry at a slight breeze. Tristan said nothing, but stared at her. Her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes began to flood.
"What's your name?" Tristan asked, hopeful to pass an emotional breakdown. She drew a sharp breath, which he heard, and stared back at him. He waited.
"Jaelynn," came a squeak of a voice. Her brown hair was a tangled mess, not that Tristan could compare, but she also had streaks of dirt and tears that added to the frightened image she exuded.
He nodded at the name. "They hurt you?" he asked next.
She hesitated. It was a stupid question—how had anything the Saxons not hurt her? But she shook her head.
Again he nodded.
"Was that your father?" That probably wasn't the most sensitive question, but Tristan had never been that way. He saw the girl's—Jaelynn's—eyes well up again, but she swallowed hard and nodded. "I'm sorry."
The girl didn't acknowledge that. She bowed her head, avoiding the scout. Tristan wondered how the children of those he'd killed reacted. Some how, he thought they would be less . . . composed than this girl. He imagined more wailing, not that he wished it, but his guilt demanded such an idea.
Jaelynn interrupted his thoughts.
"Will they kill us?" she asked.
Tristan almost immediately said 'yes.' He had to bite his tongue as reason set in on behalf of the girl. He settled on a slightly tamer version.
"Probably, me at least. They may let you live," Tristan said. The girl's eyes stretched wider still. Maybe she didn't expect that truth.
She probably wanted comfort. Tristan wasn't much good in that area. He glanced at the front of the tent where he heard snoring.
"Can you get out of your bindings?" he asked. The girl moved a bit, bringing her hands up to view. Being bound with her hands in front of her would be useful, though Tristan didn't hold his breath for success. She shook her head.
"Can you come over here?" Tristan asked next. Suddenly she drew back, not trusting him. But a few moments later, she inched towards him. He nodded to her. "See if you can loosen the ropes."
It took several moments, but soon she escaped his view and began tugging at his bonds. Tristan flexed his hands.
"A bit more," he said. He felt the girl jerk back at his words. She's frightened of you. He didn't blame her. But she tugged and pulled, and Tristan found he was able to squeeze his hand through the loops in the rope. The rope scraped his skin, and he felt his joints pop out of place, but he at least had a hand free.
That was something. He turned and grinned at the girl. She shrank back; Tristan wiped away any expression.
"Thanks," he said. He pulled his other hand free, then motioned for the girl to come closer. He nodded at the ropes binding her. Quickly he freed her. She stared at him the whole time, a look of wonderment and fear ever present.
Tristan stood, his eyes fixed on the source of the snoring on the other side of the tent. He wondered if the night watch was still awake. It wouldn't help to be caught again. Suddenly a wave of dizziness passed over the scout. His body rocked back and forth like a ship on the sea. He steadied himself, and shook away the feeling.
"Will you take me with you?"
Tristan turned to the girl. He was a good three heads taller than her, and as he stood, she seemed even younger and more fragile. Does she think I'll just leave her?
In times passed, he might have.
Tristan nodded once.
"Stay here. I'll call for you when it's time." He turned to leave.
"What is your name?" she asked, a little too loudly. Tristan glanced hurriedly at the front of the tent, then back to the girl. Jaelynn bowed her head, recognizing her error.
"Stay back, hidden," the scout said. He turned to the front of the tent and neared it. At the last moment, he slightly inclined his head back and said: "Tristan."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Jaelynn smile shyly.
-0-0-0-0-
-0-0-0-0-
The guard outside the tent did not wake or stir when Tristan killed him. The scout used the man's dagger, and now searched for the next target.
The Saxons slept heavily, but he knew they weren't all asleep. There had to be a watch, and he didn't want to alert them to his limited freedom. Searching the dark camp, Tristan tried to find a horse or his weapons. Neither was obvious. He moved around the camp, as stealthily as possible. When he came upon a sleeping Saxon, he wondered if he should kill him.
Tristan killed three men that lay outside, exposed. The more he killed, the less he might have to face later. No sooner than he thought that, he felt the tip of a cool blade at his neck.
"Ambitious knight, aren't you?" Tristan slowly peered through the darkness. Standing to his side was the Saxon watchman, the leader. Suddenly he shouted something, and the camp stirred. The soldiers were startled, but quickly got on their feet, battle-ready.
Tristan swallowed. The fires were stoked and in the increased light, he could see two Saxons as they discovered their slain brothers. They yelled out in anger. Time was running out.
Tristan twisted away from the leader's sword and dropped to the ground. He kicked the leader behind the knee and brought the dagger to the man's neck. The leader's eyes widened, surprised at the knight's deftness, but then an icy stare replaced the look. Tristan seized him and brought the man's body in front of his, a human shield. It was a cowardly move, but Tristan had no choice.
The soldiers saw all this, and raised their weapons.
"Tell them not to move," Tristan said in the man's ear. The leader snorted at the demand, but Tristan was unfazed.
The leader shouted something. Tristan watched as the soldiers moved around, but none of them lowered their weapons. He saw one go for the tent where the girl was. Tristan's breath stopped as he went in and reemerged with the girl in his grasp.
"They'll kill her," the leader said smugly. "Submit, and the girl lives." Tristan felt a twitch go through him. His mind flashed to Germanius, to Asellio, to Decia. The threat was always the same. He pursed his lips together to the point of pain.
The soldier came closer, grinning like an idiot as he held the whimpering girl. Jaelynn's eyes pleaded with Tristan—not for anything that he could tell other than she was afraid, and sought him as comfort.
He might die as he stood here, but for once he would rather not. As glorious as death used to be, he'd seen it too often—dealt it too often. It was an honor that would be easier for him.
But it would not leave Jaelynn any honor. Tristan would leave her to death, perhaps dishonor at the hands of the Saxons. He could not allow that. He blinked the girl's image away and glared at the leader that he held.
"It's never that simple," Tristan said, and then he shoved the leader to the ground and threw the dagger at the soldier holding the girl. The dagger sunk into the man's head. Jaelynn gasped but looked to Tristan. He nodded at her, and she ran.
The leader snarled and kicked Tristan in the stomach. Tristan fell back. He scrambled to ready himself, but suddenly he was surrounded. A soldier swung at him with a blade, catching his shirt. Tristan spun on a heel and caught the man's wrist. He twisted hard, snapping the bones and capturing the sword. Everyone dove at him from there.
He blocked the attacks, but not all. He felt a cut or two, but put any pain from his mind. The Saxons roared around him, and it was deafening. They weren't playing either—they were trying to kill.
For a brief moment, Tristan saw the leader, smiling at the fight. The scout sunk his sword into one man's gut, and the smile faltered. The blade was trapped, but Tristan caught a downward blow aimed at his head from another attacker. He elbowed the soldier, and dodged another one's sword. That sword impaled a fellow Saxon.
He was winning, he knew. It was folly to think so, but the bodies that he tripped over were evidence that he might do some damage. Survival wasn't necessarily the victory for him, if Jaelynn stayed away. At least the girl escaped.
Another man charged him, slamming into Tristan's body. Tristan hit the ground and skidded over a few bodies. He looked up to see the leader with a crossbow in hand. The bolt flew and buried itself into Tristan's chest. He saw nothing for a moment as a white flash of pain and heat seared him. Just as quickly, it was gone, and Tristan got to his feet. The bolt was in the left side of his chest, embedded in his ribs, or so he suspected. He felt himself weakening, but discipline urged him on.
Blood dripped down his skin and reddened his thin shirt. Tristan fought on. It was automatic for him, but not as graceful or deadly. He was waning.
The neigh of a horse came from behind him. Tristan whirled around, expecting an attack. Instead he saw the girl, hanging onto the horse's mane for dear life. In her hand hung his sword, and he recognized some of his other things tied to the saddle. Jaelynn reached out with the sword, as if to give it to him.
Tristan side-stepped a thrust from a soldier to his already injured chest. He turned quickly and grabbed Jaelynn by the wrist. He hoped her hold on the horse was strong enough. Tristan jumped, and pulled himself behind the girl and onto the horse. Quickly he seized control of his curved sword and brought it just over a Saxon's shoulders.
He kicked the horse, and it darted away from the camp. Tristan let the horse run full-speed, even though each time the animal's hooves connected with the earth, it sent a jolt of pain in the side of Tristan's chest.
After an hour of riding, and sensing no one behind them, Tristan stopped the horse. He half-fell as he dismounted. Jaelynn looked at him, her eyes wide and docile with worry. She stayed atop the horse until Tristan motioned for her to come down.
The bolt was embedded deeply within him. His stomach churned, but he knew if he purged anything, it would only aggravate his wound. Tristan shook aside braids that blocked his view, and studied his chest.
"Can you get it out?" Jaelynn asked timidly. Tristan didn't answer. Two more inches, and the bolt would have missed him. As it was though, it was painful enough to have warranted a dead-center hit on him.
He gently touched the reddened mass, and felt a surge of fire beneath his skin. He clamped down on his tongue and waited for the pain to subside. Take it out. You cannot ride with it sticking out of you.
It would bleed more, but Tristan considered that the lesser of two evils. He wrapped his hand around the bolt and drew a deep breath. It couldn't hurt more than an arrow. Bolts did not have the large arrowheads. They were straight, sharp and dense, and hopefully less painful to remove than an arrow.
He shut his eyes and pulled hard.
A scream echoed over the land.
Tristan fell to his knees, heaving for breath and control over the intense torment. The bolt wasn't out. He'd withdrawn it a bit, but he could feel it at least two inches within him. The earth around him moved, waving up and down almost like the sea. He couldn't focus.
"Tristan," he heard a young voice say. It sounded familiar. Jaelynn He opened his eyes to see her reach out. He watched as both her hands took hold of the bolt. She bit her lip and suddenly she yanked hard on the bolt.
Another scream, and both girl and knight fell to the earth. This time, however, Jaelynn held the bolt, bloodied but free from the scout's body. Tristan bordered on unconsciousness. His eyes rolled back dizzily.
Stay awake! The Saxons!
He tiredly opened his eyes again, this time seeing Jaelynn trying to steady him. He felt himself stop swaying as he knelt on the earth. Jaelynn went to the saddle and removed his heavy coat and an extra shirt. She ripped the shirt, and Tristan vaguely felt the shreds being tied around his wound. Soon the coat found its way over his head. He was still hot from battle, or maybe fever, but the coat comforted him.
"Tristan?"
He wondered if the girl had been talking for some time. To answer, the scout stood.
And almost fell. She steadied him.
"Come," Tristan said, or hoped he said aloud. He gritted his teeth together and mounted the horse. He stretched the wound, and again it was agonizing. But he made it up, and stayed in the saddle.
Tristan reached down to Jaelynn. She took his hand and swung up behind him. They rode on. Tristan couldn't admit it, but he was grateful for the girl as she steadied him during the journey.
-0-0-0-0-
-0-0-0-0-
He felt better a few hours after the bolt was gone. After wavering on the edge of passing out, Tristan was awake now. He hadn't spoken to the girl, but he didn't see a need to.
The sound of thundering hooves coming towards them brought Tristan's adrenaline flooding through him. He drew his sword and squared his shoulders to block Jaelynn from view.
He waited, and the thought passed through his mind that he hoped it wasn't the Saxons.
It wasn't.
Arthur!
The king and the knights came around a bend along the wooded path, and behind them several woads. Tristan released a breath that he'd been holding, and lowered his sword.
"Who are they?" the girl asked. Tristan glanced at her over his shoulder.
"Arthur."
The king charged ahead, racing quickly to Tristan. He stopped suddenly at the knight's side.
"Tristan!" he exclaimed. "You're alive!" Tristan raised an eyebrow at that. "The Saxons—"
"Behind us," he said, "what's left of them." Bors came up next and chuckled.
"Good ol' Tristan," the bald one said. "We should have known they couldn't kill you."
"We received a message that you'd been caught," Arthur said. "We feared the worst."
Tristan shrugged. It immediately hurt his wound, and he cursed his stupidity, but held his emotionless expression on his face. Gawain and Galahad circled them all, and Tristan could sense their questions upon seeing Jaelynn.
"Saxons killed her father," Tristan filled in. "The village is destroyed."
Galahad muttered something, and Arthur looked pained.
"Your mother?" Arthur asked her. Jaelynn glanced at Tristan, then shook her head. "You'll find safety with us at Hadrian's Wall."
"I'll continue to the wall," Tristan said. He didn't want Arthur to ask him to stay and scout. He couldn't, and he wasn't about to admit it. Gingerly, he touched his chest, but not so the knights would notice.
Arthur nodded. "We'll find the rest of the Saxons." He signaled to a Woad, who came forward. "Take three men and follow Tristan back. Keep him safe."
Tristan shot a glare at the king, but Arthur pretended not to notice. The scout kicked the horse in motion. He felt Jaelynn's arms grip around him tighter.
-0-0-0-0-
-0-0-0-0-
As soon as they reached the wall, Tristan wanted nothing more than to sleep. He directed a woad to take the girl to Vanora. She'll know what to do.
Jaelynn called after him.
"Tristan!"
He turned and waited. The girl shrunk back into her shy shell when he looked back. It took a few moments until she was ready, but she smiled at him.
"Thank you."
Tristan nodded and left. It dawned on him while he weaved his way to his room that Jaelynn had done just as much to save him as he had her. If not for her and that horse in the middle of battle . . .
Tristan made it to his room without further detainment. He shed his coat and bloody shirt. The wound bled through the bandages the girl had fashioned, but it was slowing. Tristan threw some water on his face and onto his wound. Satisfied enough for now, he fell onto his bed. He didn't bother to consider how foreign the room was to him. It didn't matter right now.
He slept.