Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur (Duh). I do, however, own this story line. It is not stolen, and the original characters (most notably Helena and Livia) are of my own creation. The events depicted within this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.
Author's Note: Thanks to janell for reviewing!
Chapter Two
The girl was in poor condition, there was no doubt to that. When Tristan had first seen her, he had sensed the weariness of her character, a sort of fought-off exhaustion that was quickly catching up with her. Accompanied by the way she had been so protective of her sister, he had his suspicions that it wasn't a Woad's arrow that pierced the girl's side. However, he wouldn't bring it up with Arthur until he was absolutely sure. Tristan had never been wrong before, but he was hoping he was wrong this time. There was something about these girls that made him hope that they weren't common thieves or murderers on the run from the law, and there was a part of him that knew that there was something else going on. Something he couldn't begin to understand.
When he reached the inner walls of the fortress, Tristan was almost immediately bombarded by Roman soldiers, curious to know who the beautiful young woman asleep against his chest was. However, when they noticed her blood stained shirt and the fierce look in his eyes, they quickly backed away and back to whatever they had been doing previously. He lifted the girl with him from the saddle and as graceful on land as he was on a horse, made his way to Dagonet's room bearing the light load without any difficulty. The girl was unusually light, in Tristan's experiences most women actually had a bit of a heft to them to remind you they were there. However holding this girl was like holding the slight weight of his hawk. As if, if he were to drop her, she could fly away. However, Tristan wasn't about to test this hypothesis, and instead kicked open his fellow knight's door. Dagonet had been sitting at the window when Tristan marched through the doorway, but his expression of confusion quickly changed to one of seriousness upon seeing the bloodied girl in the scout's arms.
"Put her on my bed," he commanded, grabbing his kit off of the dresser. Dagonet's father had been a local healer back in Sarmatia, and coupled with the things he had picked up from being a soldier, Dagonet had always been a capable medic in difficult times. There was rarely a time when he wasn't put to use for such things.
Tristan stood in the corner and watched as Dagonet worked, waiting any command the soldier might give him. The large man quickly removed the girl's tunic, beneath which they found a bloody bed sheet wrapped around her torso, apparently an attempt to stay the bleeding, though it didn't seem to work at all. He removed the bloody sheet, dropping it to the flagstones, and found a shaft of an arrow protruding from her flesh several inches out. Dagonet cursed in a way that reminded Tristan oddly of Bors, then turned to his fellow knight.
"Call to a maid, have her bring boiling hot water, some bandages and a few herbs," Dagonet rattled off a small list of herbs which Tristan immediately committed to memory.
Much to their luck, a young maid was just making her way down the hallway when he stepped out and he signaled her down, giving her the order and adding 'and quickly or you'll pay the consequences' at the end for added effect. She quickly scurried off and Tristan ducked back into the room, where Dagonet was digging through his kit for anything he could use to take the arrow out with. Already, a spool of thread and a needle rested alongside the bed on a table, and a candle was lit to sterilize the tools with. A few moments later, several maids arrived with the items Dagonet had requested, and hurried right back out of the room upon the sight of the bloodied maiden. Dagonet used the boiling water to clean the wound, and Tristan winced, remembering all the times he had been given the same treatment. It was certainly a painful one, and the girl was lucky to be unconscious.
"This is worse that I thought," Dagonet muttered and Tristan stepped forward, looking over his shoulder. The wound seemed much wider than where the arrow shaft protruded.
"What's that?" Tristan asked, confused by the sight.
"She must've had this for a few days, and I bet she's been riding with it. The arrow's been shifting with her movements, making the wound wider. She'll be lucky if she doesn't die from this."
Tristan frowned at this. The girl had only said she carried the arrow for a day. Had she been lying to them? Most likely it was so. It seemed she and her sister had something to hide, and if Tristan couldn't get it out of Livia, then he would get it out of Helena. He watched as Dagonet carefully cleaned the wound, wiping out dirt from the deep gash along her side. Tristan silently cursed whoever had done this to her as he watched. Women weren't to be fired upon, they were meant to be taken care of and respected. It was troublesome that no one else saw it that way, even men who claimed to be 'better' than a Sarmatian scout that killed for the fun of it.
With a slightly forlorn sigh, Dagonet removed a tool from his bag, one that made Tristan clench his fists. The tool was specially made to remove arrow heads, a new invention sent to them by Rome, but it hurt like pigs covered in spikes being nailed all over your body. Just looking at it made the old scars Tristan bore sting as if they were fresh. He did not envy the girl this experience, but luckily she had yet to awaken, something that was no doubt for the best. If the healing process was enough to make a man like Tristan uncomfortable, he didn't want to think what it would do to a young girl who wasn't experienced with such wounds. He had been tempted to say 'used to such wounds', but the truth was you never got used to them. No matter how many times one was shot with an arrow, it hurt the same the first time as it did the last. There was no getting used to pain like that, there was only learning to grit your teeth and bear it like a knight rather than complain about it like a child. With the squeak of bad hinges, the arrow remover closed in on something within the girl and Dagonet gave a strong tug, removing the entire arrow, head and all. However, the removal of an arrow also constitutes the loss of a great deal of blood, and Tristan found himself surprised by how quickly she was bleeding out.
"Tristan come apply pressure to this while I do something," Dagonet commanded and Tristan obediently took Dagonet's place perched on the side of the bed, one hand finding the rag Dagonet had placed over the bleeding wound and pressing down on it, though not hard enough to cause her too much pain. He tried not to concentrate on the fact that the girl was completely naked from the waist up, only her long hair preserving her dignity, and instead concentrated on examining her face, which he felt was far more appropriate.
She had a fine brow, which was knitted slightly as she slept, as if perhaps she was having nightmares. Helena's lips were thick and a brilliant red that stood out starkly against her pale skin. Her jaw line was soft, her cheeks only slightly full with the roundness of youth, placing her at nineteen or so years old. He would've thought her a noblewoman if it wasn't for the wiry build that was revealed upon Dagonet removing her shirt. The girl's father probably had her work around the house and the lands more than most women did. Tristan found it odd that her twin did not have the same bearing. While Helena had a vaguely strong and defensive air to her, Livia's was more of a quiet dignity. Of two girls of the same age, and brought up in the same household, it was odd to see them differ so much in kind. Even Livia's clothing was different from Helena's. While Livia wore a fine, soft Roman-styled gown of a pale green, Helena wore the more boyish blue tunic made of a softer fabric than normal, and tailored to fit her shape along with a pair of rough work pants and boots. Perhaps Livia was the favored child.
"You can move now," Dagonet motioned and Tristan stepped out of the way, watching his friend smooth a poultice he had prepared over and into the wound, before heating the needle and dipping the spool of thread into the hot water. So began the slow, agonizing task of stitching the girl up and occasionally stopping to clean the blood leaking out of her wound off of her torso. Once the job was done, Dagonet smeared another poultice onto the neatly stitched wound before binding it carefully. He looked over his work with approval in his eyes before turning to Tristan.
"So who is she?" he asked him, and Tristan couldn't help but be surprised that the man hadn't asked before he had treated her. It just showed was a kind-hearted man Dagonet was. He would've treated the girl even if she was a Saxon or a Woad and thought nothing of it. It was an admirable trait, something Tristan knew he was sorely lacking in.
"A half Roman, half Sarmatian who wandered past Hadrian's wall with her sister," Tristan replied absently, lifting the arrow Dagonet had removed from the girl off of the rag it had been placed on and examining it closely. "Curious," he stated plainly, not elaborating.
"What's curious?" Dagonet finally asked, staring at Tristan with confusion clearly written in his eyes.
"This isn't an Woad arrow," Tristan replied, eyes shining brightly.
Days had passed since their arrival at Hadrian's Wall, and since then Helena had only awoken twice, once in the presence of Dagonet to ask for water, and again when Lancelot had rudely poked her awake to make sure she was still alive. Livia sat by her sister's side nearly every moment she could spare, wishing there was something she could do for her besides weep and speak to her unconscious form. She felt so lost without strong, smart Helena advising her as to what the wise path was to choose. That was the best thing about Helena. Not once had she ever told Livia to do anything, she only pointed out the paths she could take, gave a word or two of advice and then left it to Livia to decide what she wished to proceed with. Sometimes, it felt like Helena was several years older than her, rather than several minutes. Perhaps it was all of the babying that Livia had been given throughout her life that made her twin so protective and caring of her, but Livia expected it was out of sheer love that Helena took care of her, and that belief alone was what kept Livia going every day.
The dreams had been getting worse, and what was bad was that Livia couldn't interpret a single bit of it. There was vague images flashing across the back of her head every moment of every day, but it was just out of her reach, so she could only be slightly aware of them as opposed to the other things she could pick up as a reader. Every day was more and more tiring than the rest as Livia attempted to cope with the constant intake of information, trying not to be driven mad by the constant noise in the back of her head. When they were children, their mother used to hold Livia whenever she had an 'episode', trying to calm her. And when they got older, it was Helena who had looked after Livia so kindly after the worst of her nightmares. It was their connection as twins that made it so much easier for Livia to come to Helena for help. It was as if her sister already knew what was wrong before Livia had to say anything. In fact, Livia had originally assumed that Helena was a reader as well, the way that she could assess people so easily upon reading them. However, Livia was the only 'cursed' one, as she referred to it. Helena would never know what it was like to never have a moment of tranquility and silence.
Her sister stirred slightly in her sleep, and Livia felt a flash of pain that was not her own as Helena's brows knitted from the pain she felt in her sleep, before her face softened again. She couldn't help but pray her sister would awaken soon, Livia had to side step every single knight in the fortress, not an easy feat when they seemed to be everywhere at once even though there was only a few of them. She wouldn't say a word until she spoke with Helena first. And personally, she wanted her sister to do all of the talking.
"Wake up, Helena. Please wake up," she pleaded with her sister as she had been doing for the past few days now upon the realization that she was completely lost without her. "You must stop being sick and come help me. It's no fair to sleep through everything and leave me to all of the hard work, Helena. You know you're the only one that's any good at all of that. You're supposed to be taking care of me."
"Do you think she can hear you?" came a voice from the doorway, and Livia jumped in surprise. Leaning in the doorway casually was Tristan, who she had been avoiding the most out of all of the knights. From what she had gleaned once they reached the fortress and he reported her sister's progress, he suspected something. This definitely wasn't the situation she wanted to be caught in without Helena to help her out.
"I pray that she can, so she may return to me," Livia replied, rising from her seat and curtsying, the way her mother had taught her to greet people of a higher ranking. Tristan ignored her greeting and stalked into the room, though his boots made no sounds on the floor. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his eyes flickering over her sister before returning to Livia.
"Tell me, what is it that your sister is protecting you from?" he asked her bluntly, and Livia recoiled slightly as if having been physically struck. She hadn't expected this from him. And she had no idea what to say. She was no good at lying on the spot.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she attempted, though her voice got higher-pitched at the end of the sentence so it sounded more like a question than anything. Tristan advanced upon her, and a flash of memories being echoed from his mind told Livia that this man would kill in an instant without thought or remorse. Livia let out the smallest of sighs. She didn't notice her sister stir slightly on her bed at the sound.
"I think you do know what I'm speaking of," Tristan replied in a hiss. "And I..."
"Oh good Lord, I'm still alive," came an annoyed grumble from the bed and Livia thanked whatever gods had given her sister back to her at the opportune moment. Tristan was immediately distracted by her, grabbing a cup of water off of the sideboard and helping Helena drink it. Livia looked on in confusion. A moment ago, he seemed to be threatening her, and now he was tending to her sister with all of the care of a friend.
"It figures you'd come back to consciousness with sarcasm on your tongue," Livia finally greeted her sister, with a barely contained smile of thankfulness. "You've been out for a while now."
"How long?" Helena croaked. Good lord, she sounded awful. Livia supposed it had something to do with not speaking for so long.
"Five days," Tristan replied for Livia, and Helena looked vaguely surprised.
"I slept for five days? Five whole days?" Tristan nodded in response, and Helena gaped slightly, though for some reason Livia felt her twin had heard the exchange between herself and Tristan moments before and was now just bent on distracting him from his question.
"I'll send in Dagonet to look after you," Tristan offered, rising uncomfortably from where he had been so attentive to Helena just moments before. He left without another word.
"What a strange, strange man," mused Helena, shaking her head in bemusement at the closed door. "He was acting as if we were going to attack him."
"Yes..." Livia replied, lost in thought.
"So what great trouble did I save you from?" her sister asked, a wide smile on her face the likes of which Livia hadn't seen in a very long time, not since their parents had died.
"I thought you had heard us!" Livia replied and sat down in bed next to Helena. "He was asking after our past. He knows that you're protecting me."
"Does he know from what? Does he know what you are?" Helena sounded like she was about three words from jumping out of bed, wound be damned, and grabbing a sword so that she might challenge Tristan to a duel to the death. For some reason, Livia wouldn't put it past her sister to attempt to rise after such a dreadful wound.
"No, sister, I didn't tell him anything," she replied. "But I was getting rather worried there. It seemed like he was going to attack me if I didn't."
"Well, I want you to stay as far away from him from now on as possible, and if you happen to be stuck in a room with him, just avoid eye contact," Helena wasn't suggesting it this time, and Livia understood why.
"But what if he manages to corner me and ask me again?" she asked, worry evident in her voice. Helena put a comforting arm around her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze.
"Then you tell him to come to me, and that I'll tell him everything," Helena replied. Surprised, Livia pulled away from her sister.
"You'll tell him... everything?"
"No, no, don't be stupid. I don't know him or the other knights well enough to even suggest what the truth is. If worse comes to worse, I'll kick him in the shin and run away. I won't be telling anyone anything about us until we know we can trust them, and I hope you might do the same. Have you made friends with any of the knights?"
"I met a few others after we got here. Bors, Galahad, and Gawain. And then there's Dagonet, who I suspect will be barging in here any moment to take care of you. I think you'd like them. They aren't as scary as Tristan or intrusive as Lancelot," Livia replied thoughtfully.
"And what do you think of Arthur?" Helena asked curiously.
"Yes, tell me, what do you think of Arthur?" came a voice from the doorway and both of the girls jumped, Helena's hand instantly reaching for the candle next to her bed as if she planned on hitting someone with it. However, when they realized it was none other than Artorius Castus himself standing in the door, Helena let the candlestick go and Livia immediately calmed, standing from her position on the bed to greet their new visitor. Secretly, her heart was pounding, praying that he hadn't heard what had transpired.
"Oh, hello," greeted Helena awkwardly.
"Good morning, Arthur," Livia added, having become more comfortable with the man over the last few days, though they had only spent a fraction of her time together, mostly when he came in to check on Helena and ask how she was faring.
"Good morning indeed. It's good to see you've awakened, Helena," Arthur greeted her, stepping into the room. "You had myself and my men quite worried for a time there. I'm surprised that you've recovered as quickly as you had, however."
"Oh, it's in my blood. We don't cry in our family, but we do bleed a whole lot," both Livia and Arthur smirked at Helena's comment. "It's a good way to off-put the enemy, that bleeding all over them. They get so perturbed that they just slowly inch out of the room."
"That's truly a gift," Arthur replied with a chuckle. "But perhaps one you won't be displaying for quite some time, if we are fortunate."
"Only as long as you can guarantee me no paper cuts or splinters for a while," she replied with a slight smile. "Otherwise you'll be mopping up a whole ocean of the stuff by the end of the week. It's a self defense mechanism, like a porcupine's quills. But it's much better than what Livia's used to be."
Livia sighed, "Please stop telling this to strangers."
"When we were younger," Helena continued, heedless of her sister's words. "Livia used to be so shy that whenever she met someone, she'd throw up all over them. Everywhere. It was awful for the poor maids. We didn't receive visitors for a great long while when that got out in the open."
Arthur was laughing now, and as mortified as Livia was, she had to admit that Helena had a talent. When the leader had first come in, they had both thought of the worst. He was going to ask them then and there who they were and why they were running from something. And if Helena explained, he'd probably kick them out. If she didn't, he'd probably have them killed. That by making a few jokes about vomiting and gushing torrents of blood, Helena had managed to save their necks for at least one more night, Livia could bear the humiliation of that story at least one more time. She was just glad that Helena didn't tell it at special occasions like her father used to.
Dagonet entered the room so quietly that none of them had noticed his arrival until he was already standing right next to Helena. Livia had spent a great deal of time with him over the past five days while she kept watch over her sister and he did much the same. They had moved Helena out of his room shortly after the emergency arrow removal, though Dagonet had insisted that he didn't mind and could sleep on the floor, and had instead placed her in a room two doors down, between Tristan and Livia's rooms. It didn't matter that she was no longer in his room, however, as Dagonet slept on the floor near the fireplace regardless so he could watch over her for any signs of fever or infection. Luckily, Helena had managed to avoid both, quite possible a sign of her stubbornness.
"Lift up your shirt," he commanded, and Helena did so dutifully, blushing slightly when she remembered that Arthur was still in the room. Much to both she and Livia's relief, his eyes did not roam her body as Dagonet changed the bandages on her wound, though he did glance at the nasty looking gash across her side.
"You'll have quite a scar there," he commented, "and quite a story to tell."
"Oh, not a very interesting one. Only a Woad scout that I hadn't noticed and a stray arrow meant to take down my horse. I always do have the worst of luck," Helena immediately responded before Arthur could say anything more. She really did know what she was doing with all of this. Livia was counted among the impressed audience.
Unbeknownst to her, there were several more audience members just beyond the doorway, one of which was holding a very peculiarly carved arrow they had pulled out of the girl only five days before. An arrow that was not from the Woads, nor the Saxons. No. Tristan had never seen an arrow quite like this before.