Chapter Eight

A week had passed since the incident without any problems. The Cardinal was unceremoniously kicked out of the fortress, though several of his men volunteered to serve Arthur, proclaiming that they'd rather be 'eaten by ravenous cannibals' than forced to endure the trip back to Rome with the man. Amongst the men to stay behind was Alaric, who Arthur was more than happy to keep on as he had proven himself to be a worthy guard and a quick thinker. No one had known what to think of Helena's recklessness when the Cardinal had threatened her sister, though many assumed it was madness and didn't bother with her very often, which suited her fine. Livia hadn't quite forgiven her sister for nearly getting herself killed, but had been so grateful to see Helena walk back into the fortress under Tristan's arm, looking mussed by alive, that her irritation had immediately been forgotten as she flung herself into Helena's arms. And, as Helena had predicted, Lancelot had been barraged by his wenches about his constant philandering and was forced to stay in his room for several days or leave in a disguise to escape the thrown food and furniture the young women hurled at him.

"I must know," Tristan asked one day as he and Helena sat alongside the river that ran through the forests near Hadrian's Wall. "How did you know about that guard of the Cardinal having only three more years on his contract?"

Wearing men's clothing again, her hair tied back in a low, messy ponytail and her feet bare, Helena was stretched out in the sun next to Tristan with her feet in the water, daydreaming and looking up at the clouds. Her attention wasn't so diverted, however, that she didn't hear his question and she sat up lazily, looking scruffy with her shirt sliding down and leaving one shoulder bare.

"I don't really remember. I think I overheard him say something of the sort in the tavern one evening," she replied with a shrug. "So many things happened so quickly, I wouldn't be surprised if I just guessed."

Tristan's hand rested on her bare leg where her baggy pants had been rolled up so she could wade in the stream, and he lazily drew invisible symbols on it with his fingertips while he thought. He and Helena had been growing closer and closer over the week, and spent more time with each other than ever, sharing a few secretive kisses and embraces here and there when no one was looking. He didn't know what to make of it, other than it being the best thing that had ever happened to him. Tristan had never cared about wenching as the others had, nor had he intended to settle down with the perfect woman for him as Bors had done(well, sort of done). Women hadn't been on his agenda at all until Helena had stumbled headfirst into his life, ready to flash around a bright smile and overly good intentions along with an almost obscene understanding of himself and the ability to forgive almost everything that was done to her. She was almost too good a person, when he considered himself of the neutral, bordering on questionable sort. Perhaps that was why they suited each other so well. Tristan brought just enough evil in her life to keep it interesting while she brought enough good in it to give him moments like these, just sitting in the sunshine by the roaring river, eating wild berries and speaking about everything and nothing.

Helena lay back on the ground again, and Tristan stretched out next to her on his side. All of this was so new to him. Most of his days were spent working almost non-stop, doing menial tasks to keep himself busy while he wasn't training with the others or out on some mission with Arthur. He had to admit that this whole relaxation thing suited him well. He had never slept so well in his life, not even after a full day of battle without rest or sustenance. Helena gently took his hand into her own, resting it on her bare stomach where the ill fitting tunic had moved up to reveal skin. Tristan hadn't known that an entire person could be as soft as Helena was, and he reveled in the feeling of her skin against his own as they lay there in a comfortable silence.

"What are you thinking about with such a serious look upon your face?" Helena asked, turning to him with a placid smile gracing her lips, her thumb stroking the back of his hand.

"You," he replied truthfully, moving closer to her so that their noses were almost brushing.

"What about me?"

"Everything."

"Why? Am I getting fat?" she said this with a feigned look of panic on her face that Tristan would've thought was real if it wasn't for the person that he was sitting with. For some reason, Helena always teased about the strangest of things, a habit that turned out to be one of the only things that could make him smile. Often he would lay in bed at night and reminisce, and he would remember some stupid/strange thing that Helena did or said and would smile or laugh again even though it had been hours since it had happened.

"No, you're beautiful but you already know that, I suspect," he replied, leaning in to kiss her softly.

"Livia still hasn't forgiven me for saying I was the prettier one when I was saving her life," she commented with a laugh. "Did you know that you're the only person that's ever said I was 'beautiful'?"

Tristan was surprised, "Really?"

Helena nodded, her smile growing even more. Tristan could feel his heart rise at the sight of her smile, and he shifted slightly so he could kiss her again. Helena responded quickly, smiling into their kiss. When they finally parted, they were both smiling. Tristan rested his head on Helena's shoulder, one arm across her stomach. She kissed his forehead, one hand stroking his hair, and the other resting lightly on the arm across her stomach.

I didn't know it could be like this, Tristan thought in genuine bliss for the first time. He didn't realize he had said it out loud until Helena answered his thought.

"Neither did I," she said softly.

North of Hadrian's Wall, a conversation was taking place at almost the exact same moment that had nothing to do with happiness or love. And there certainly wasn't any cuddling. Several men were encamped in a large clearing of the woods, dozens of tents set up, painted in varying shades of greys and blues to make them difficult to distinguish from their surroundings. Along the borders of the clearing, others patrolled, their swords drawn in the event of a Woad attack. They had been followed, they were all sure of it, but they weren't sure when or where the Woads would attack, as attack was inevitable. A large fire was crackling merrily in the center of the clearing, impossible to see from the outskirts because of the many tents surrounding it, and around it were the four men who were leading the others that were currently in a state of camp preparation and security control.

The first man, who wore only black, his face heavily shadowed by the hood of his cloak, was the first to speak. His heavily accented voice made it quite clear that he was not British, nor was he Roman. The others didn't actually know where he was from either, and had never bothered to ask. They had all seen him kill his own soldiers with his bare hands. They weren't about to cross him or annoy him.

"We are close. Very close. I am sure of it now," he said, taking a swig out of the flask he carried with him and wiping his mouth with his black shirt sleeve. "She will be ours very soon. We will no longer have to worry about any interference on our plan."

"How can we be so sure that they've stopped at Arthur Castus' fortress?" asked the second man, who was of the big, burly sort, with enough brains to realize that the other man was glaring at him, but not enough to cower.

"Because, Ermeus," the man in black explained in a slow, irritated voice. "She is not stupid. She knows that Arthur will protect her and the reader. He seems to have quite the affinity for damsels in distress, and she probably played that to the largest extent."

"For all we know, the eldest is dead somewhere from that arrow wound, and the reader's scampered off somewhere else," argued the third man, who tended to argue nearly everything, a fact that irked his companions a great deal. However, he did have a good point.

"That is possible, except that it hasn't happened," the man in black assured him in a voice leaving no room for dissension. "Helena would never allow her sister to run about without a guard of some sort. If she has died, she has gotten the reader to safety first, and without the eldest twin running about then our lives have just gotten much easier."

The fourth man said nothing, couldn't say anything. Several weeks before he had been in an argument with the man in black and had his tongue sliced off with a sharp dagger. He had been forced to command his part of the forces via writing, and when that didn't work, he'd have one of the other men interpret for him. There was nothing like a game of charades to get a soldier's mind up and running. The unfortunate thing was, the fourth man's wound had gone untended to for far too long, and was badly infected, slowly turning black within his mouth, a sight that greatly disturbed many. There wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that the infection would eventually spread to his brain and he would be killed by it if his darkly clothed comrade didn't beat him to it. At the moment he was holding himself, shivering even though he was next to the fire. The other men looked at him, their brows not creasing with even the pretense of worry. Perhaps he would die sooner than they thought though. How inconvenient.

For years now they had been tracking the twins as they desperately fled through the countryside, occasionally circling back around and taking odd paths, as if the two were trying to lose their stalkers. It was all for naught, except to tire out their horses even more, and stretch themselves to beyond their own capacities. No matter how many times Helena and Livia packed up and left in the middle of the night without warning, no matter how often they checked into one inn only to sleep in one on a completely different side of town, their followers were always close behind. And now it was time to move in and finally take what they wanted.

Livia was a witch, there was no doubt about it, and there was only one thing to do with a witch: you burnt it, plain and simple. They planned on dragging her out in front of Arthur Castus' fortress and burning her to death for all to see, though they wanted to have a little fun with her first, as they had done with her sister. Helena had been less than satisfying when it came to torture, only screaming the first few times around, then immediately falling so silent while they tried out new methods on her that they were sure that she had fallen asleep. A young woman that was no longer afraid of them wasn't the greatest morale booster, one of the reasons why he hadn't kept a higher guard on the eldest twin. It had been a mistake, obviously, as Helena was in better condition than originally supposed and broke her twin out of her cell, both of them escaping in the dead of night. No one had even noticed what had happened until the next morning when one of the guards was found unconscious and both of the cells were empty, their doors wide open. That hadn't been a very good day, considering that the man in black had killed five of their guards on a whim.

They would have to make a move soon if they planned on getting to the reader before her sister got spooked and decided to move off to find another shelter again. From what his spies within the fortress had told him, Helena had grown rather close with one of the knights, a fact that would probably cloud her judgment sufficiently enough to keep her from wanting to leave any time soon.

That's going to cost you, little girl, the man in black thought with a sneer. It's going to cost you your sister. And if we can't have her then I'll be more than happy to take you back. I'm sure you've been missing our little 'sessions'.

The man's sneer widened to a full-fledged grin, remembering the young woman fondly.

God knows I've been missing you. I certainly hope we'll be seeing each other again soon.

Livia rolled over in her sleep, her body tensing as she felt a new vision coming on. For weeks now she had been having horrific nightmares, visions of what was to come, but she couldn't make any sense of it. They had begun to trouble her so greatly that she was barely sleeping anymore, and allowing herself to fall out of good keeping. Her face had grown pale and drawn, and dark circles were beginning to form under her eyes. There was only one thing that Livia could do about it. Rather than fighting the vision that was coming, she was going to have to accept it and see it in full. Most of the time her visions weren't so persistent, but apparently she wasn't going to get off easily on this one.

Livia's body let out a loud sigh as if she were still awake, accepting the fact that her mind was elsewhere now, her eyes moving rapidly beneath their lids. After a moment of intense concentration, Livia's subconscious finally reached the place it need to be, the part of her mind where the visions came from, and there it rested, waiting.

It didn't have to wait long.

Swords clashed and rang loudly on the battlefield, and though most of the visions were distorted, Livia could easily tell that they were still somewhere near Hadrian's Wall. Blood misted into the air as men fought each other cruelly, slaughtering one another without any thought. Very few of them were wearing armor, she realized with horror, watching as a man who's face was blurred, took a sword in the side but continued fighting as if it hadn't happened at all.

Her subconscious zoomed through the crowds of men battling each other, searching for someone or something though Livia wasn't sure what. Suddenly, she found herself standing in front of a man dressed all in black, his hood falling off of his head to reveal a face that seemed vaguely recognizable though Livia couldn't put a name to it if her life depended on it. She was kneeling before him. She could feel the weight of armor upon her shoulders, and looked down at her own hands. What disturbed her was they were her hands, though she had expected to see the hands of a man. The darkly clothed man in front of her raised the huge sword he was carrying, the wolf's head pommel gleaming in the sunlight.

But Livia wasn't there anymore, now she was standing somewhere else, no longer a part of an entity, but a spectator once again in the cruel sport of war. It seemed as if the battle were nearly over, many were laying dead or dying in the field and in the distance, Livia could see Hadrian's Wall and Arthur's fortress beyond. As she moved closer, gliding over the blood-slick grass, she found herself standing near a man dressed in oddly familiar armor, armor that was a little too light for a battle but perfect for riding around and taking out Woads. What kind of surprise had caught them so quickly that none of them were dressed in proper battle gear? As she moved closer she realized that the man was Tristan, his face half covered with someone else's blood, his sword hanging limply in his hand.

Livia had never thought of Tristan as a man of great emotion, but when she saw him fall to his knees on the ground in front of something that she couldn't quite see, her vision blurring it so that all she could see was Tristan and a little ways beyond him. She kept her eyes fixated on him as he kept his eyes fixed on whatever was on the ground, a look of absolute shock on his usually placid face. His eyes were rather wide, his mouth slightly agape, panic flashing over his features in a way that she had never seen, though she had seen similar looks on Helena's face before.

"No," he moaned, barely over a whisper. His voice was choked with sorrow, his eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears. "Not you... please, no."

Livia couldn't stand to see that look of sorrow upon the man's face any longer, feeling like a voyeur and hating herself for it. She willed her subconscious to find her sister, desperate to find out what had happened to Helena during the course of the battle, but for some reason, it didn't move a single inch. What was this? Livia usually had better control over her visions than this. Why couldn't she find Helena? She tried again, and to her discontent, stayed quite persistently right in front of Tristan's kneeling form. Deciding there was quite clearly something that she hadn't noticed yet here, something that she needed to see, Livia forced herself to move closer to Tristan, turning around so she could see what he saw.

The moment the vision that had brought the strongest man she knew to his knees met Livia's eyes, there was only one thing she could do: she screamed.

"Livia! Livia wake up, it's Helena, everything is okay sweetheart, you're just having a bad dream!" the familiar voice broke through Livia's mental boundaries, and she immediately stopped screaming, realizing that the sound had carried over from her subconscious state to her conscious one.

"Oh my God, Helena!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at her sister and embracing her, weeping into the nape of her sister's neck, allowing herself to be enveloped in the warm scent of spices and pachouli that had been her greatest comfort for several years of bad dreams. Helena hugged her back, her warm arms squeezing her tightly while one hand stroked Livia's hair in a comforting manner.

"It's all right now, Livia. No one's going to hurt you, it was just a dream," Helena whispered softly, planting a kiss on the top of Livia's head. "I'm right here. You don't need to be scared anymore."

Livia calmed slightly in her sister's arms, breathing deeply, committing the moment to memory. Finally, she released Helena, sitting back on the flagstones. Much to her relief, her screams hadn't heralded any of the knights, who were probably more than used to the sound by now and had just slept through it or didn't bother coming when they heard Helena leave the room. Livia always felt bad when she woke up the others with her nightmares/visions. The knights needed all of their strength for their training, lest they be attacked in the middle of the night, and didn't get enough sleep as it was with their drinking in the tavern until all hours of the night.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Helena, a comforting hand resting on Livia's shoulder. Livia gave her a weak smile and shook her head 'no'. This definitely wasn't something that Helena needed to hear about. She loved her sister too much to expose her to the evils that invaded her subconscious. Helena was far from innocent, thanks to the darkness that had disrupted their world, but Livia took comfort in knowing that as much as Helena protected her, she could reciprocate the action at least a little. Helena sighed, but didn't push the matter.

"How about I make us a pot of tea, and we can sit up and have some girl talk?" Helena suggested, recognizing that Livia wasn't planning on going back to sleep any time soon. "We haven't had that in a million years, that's for sure."

"Alright," Livia replied, her smile at least a little genuine.

While her sister was gone, Livia spent the time trying to erase the vision from the foreground of her mind, wanting to actually be able to enjoy the time she spent with Helena. But how could she enjoy it when... Livia caught herself.

No, I can't be thinking like that, she reminded herself, tidying up her room a bit so it was a bit more presentable, not that Helena's room was as clean as a convent. Once Helena came back with a pot of tea and two tea cups balanced precariously atop of one another, the two sat at the small table near the window, drinking tea and chatting about everything while the sun slowly rose.

"So I hear that you snuck Tristan out of training yesterday," teased Livia, picking a light-hearted enough subject that she could keep Helena slightly flustered with and lead away any talking about her vision. "I think Arthur's still laughing about it. He said that he just turned around and Tristan was suddenly gone. Lancelot said the same, and he was sparring with Tristan. You seem to have quite a talent for making the scout disappear without warning."

Helena was blushing slightly, which made Livia smile. Her sister had gone so long without any romance in her life that Livia was starting to wonder if she was putting herself up for sainthood, or perhaps adjourning to a nunnery once their pursuers gave up. Livia had known all along that something was going to happen between Helena and Tristan, and it didn't take the sight to know that. All she had to do was see the way that he had immediately rushed to her when she had woken up after being asleep for five days when they first arrived, and Livia knew that there was something unspoken and undiscovered between the two. It was about time that they finally discovered it, Livia had been getting impatient.

"Well?" Livia prompted Helena. "Where did you go off to?"

"Just off to the river that cuts through the woods," Helena said, but her face broke out into a real smile at the memory. It was such a rare sight sometimes that Livia took great pleasure in seeing her sister smile like that. "Oh, Livia, it was wonderful. I don't know how to properly describe it to you, it's like I had this big hole in my soul but now I feel full again. That sounds horribly corny doesn't it?"

"Even worse than that," Livia teased. "So did you...uh..."

"No!" replied Helena kicking her sister under the table. "Nothing of the sort, we don't know each other well enough to even think about anything like that. But..."

"But what?" Livia asked.

"We have kissed," Helena replied, turning a dark shade of red. Livia laughed at her.

"That's so sweet, I have a great amount of hope riding on you two, so you better not do something stupid, Helena," Livia warned her.

"Stupid like what?"

How did Helena do that? Livia opened her mouth about to allow her vision to pour out of it when she realized what had happened and shut it immediately. How was it that her sister could twist a conversation so easily? Had she even done it on purpose? Either way, Livia had to watch what she said.

"Like pretending you're me and nearly getting yourself beheaded in front of our newest home, for example," Livia replied. "As kind as it is of you to stand up for me, I really hate when you put yourself into such danger. Couldn't you have thought of something else? Like sending one of the men up claiming that I was you, and you going to hide somewhere?"

"Well, I didn't necessarily have a battle plan lain out with Arthur over what to do if you get captured by an over-zealous Cardinal who wishes you dead, sister, but next time I'll be more prepared," Helena's reply was tinged with irritation.

"I don't mean to offend you, Lena," Livia immediately said. "I just don't like the idea of you getting yourself hurt for me especially after... you know."

"Are you still stuck on all of that?" Helena asked, taking Livia's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's nothing but a shadow to me, it happened so long ago. I don't even think about it that much anymore."

"You're a liar, but I love you for it Helena," Livia replied with a weak smile, sitting back in her chair. She glanced out of the window, unable to keep the look of apprehension off of her face as she caught sight of the very field that her vision had occurred. As always, Helena noticed this look and her brows knitted as she looked at her sister.

"There's danger coming, isn't there?" she asked.

"Yes, but I'm not sure what kind," Livia replied softly, feeling the warmth of the sun as the light finally pierced through her window. Helena was practically bathed in it by the position she was sitting in, glowing like an angel sent down to earth. Her appearance was almost divine.

"How bad is it going to be?" Helena asked, her voice softening as she turned to look out of the window as well, though there was no visible trouble even to her trained eye. Livia debated as to whether or not tell her the truth before deciding that it was for the best.

"Very. More than you can possibly imagine," Livia confided in her.

"I can't leave him Livia," her twin stated plainly, the first selfish thing she'd ever uttered in Livia's presence.

"I know," Livia sighed, blinking away tears. "I know you can't."