Author's Note : Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate every one.
A couple of quick notes – firstly, I was reviewing a couple of my plot lines, and I have changed the injured knight to Lamorak. Hopefully it will work better later on now. Also, a note for this chapter and future ones – I've been doing some research, and anything I say about Roman or Sarmatian practises I've found online, unless I state otherwise. With the knights, some of their characteristics I have taken from a website about the Knights of the Round Table, but I have shaped them into characters myself.
Enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 2 : Infuriation at the Baths
Smoothing down the skirts of her simple blue dress, Rowan considered herself in her mirror, a sheet of highly polished metal mounted on the wall in her simple bedroom. Despite being able to live in breeches, tunics and shirts during the day, if they chose to, it was tradition for the women of Avalon to wear dresses for dinner. Although not her first choice of outfit, she was rather fond of this dress, that Eris and one of the Priestesses, Briella, had given her for her birthday. Or at least, what they called her birthday.
Shaking that thought from her mind Rowan quickly tidied her braid, tucking a few stray strands behind her ears and pushing a small bone comb into each side. Satisfied with her appearance (though not particularly concerned about it, she liked to look presentable) she exited her room and walked down the corridor to the staircase at the end. She descended the steps swiftly, meeting Briella on the first floor as was usual, and going down a second staircase to the ground floor.
"Is Eris still with Lamorak?" Rowan asked her friend as they clattered down the stone steps.
"Yes, and I think she's going to have to be there all night. He's bad, Ro."
Rowan glanced sideways at her. "Really bad?"
"Yes. He took a turn for the worse this afternoon. Don't mention it to the knights – no need to worry them yet."
"Why would I speak to the knights?" she snapped.
Briella came to a stop and grasped her friend's arm to halt her. "Why are you being so defensive?" The woman gasped before Rowan could summon an answer. "You like one of them don't you?"
"No!" Rowan exclaimed. "They look like they've been rolling around in mud for the past week!" Briella just raised an eyebrow, and Rowan sighed. "Sorry, Bri. That damn brother of yours was winding me up."
"You know as well as I do not to take any notice of anything that old pig says!"
"I try my best. And no, I won't say anything to the knights. Like you say, no need to worry them – hopefully he'll pull through."
With that, Rowan took the final few steps to the door that opened into the dining hall. Opening it, she saw that to the left an extra wooden table had been constructed for the knights. They were sitting around it, still relatively quiet, but the sound of laughter drifted from them. Still worried, certainly, but their moods had been lightened by word of Lamorak's condition. Rowan only prayed that they would have so reason to fall into brooding silence again as they fretted about their comrade.
There were two other tables in the room, one in front of the two women, and one to the right. Slipping between the knights' table and the one next to it, they took their usual seats at the far end of the middle table. One of the serving girls that worked at the temple placed a tray of fish in front of Rowan.
"Thanks – Calia, isn't it?"
"Yes, miss," the girl replied, bobbing a slight curtsey. Rowan waved away the formality, wondering how old the girl was – she had a mature face, but was almost impossibly petite.
After eating a plateful of fish and vegetables, Rowan was talking quietly with some of the women who remained at the table when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she found the warm brown eyes of a young, dark haired knight looking down at her.
"Sorry to disturb you, my lady, but one of the men is still up at the infirmary – he refused to leave for dinner. Could we possibly have some food for him?"
"Of course, I'll arrange it," Rowan replied, again noting the warmth and consideration these knights had for one another. The serving girl had returned to clear the plates, and Rowan caught her arm. "Calia? Could I please have a plate of food readied to take to the infirmary?"
"Of course, miss. I'll see to it immediately."
"Thank you, my lady," the knight said to Calia, giving her a charming smile as she blushed furiously and scurried back to the kitchen. Rowan stood to follow her, and the knight took her hand. "I'm Galahad."
"Im –"
"Rowan," the knight butted in, grinning. "Gave us quite a fright earlier, waving that bow around."
Rowan had the good grace to blush, before nodding to Galahad and making her way to the door that led to the kitchen. Calia emerged a few moments later, handing Rowan a laden plate. She smiled her thanks and turned, only to find herself face to face with another knight.
Gawain.
"Let me take that," he smiled, taking the plate from her hands. Again, Rowan smiled a thank you, and led him through the temple to the infirmary.
"Why is the man still waiting outside the infirmary?" Rowan asked as they walked, to break the silence which had been echoing in the stone passages. "Is Lamorak of special importance to him?"
"Percival is his cousin," Gawain answered with a sad smile.
"Are a lot of you family?"
"I am brother to Gareth and Gaheris. Other than that, no. We just fight as brothers."
Rowan smiled. "For what it's worth, I think it's wonderful how you care for one another."
Gawain gave a gruff laugh. "Don't go making us sound soft, my lady."
Rowan snorted. "I'd like to learn more about your company."
"And I would like to learn more about the mysterious Avalon," he returned.
"I could give you the grand tour tomorrow, if you wish," she offered.
"I'd like that," he grinned as they reached the infirmary. Rowan smiled back, but her face quickly fell at the sight of the man slumped in the corridor, head tilted back against the wall. He looked exhausted, and pale with worry. Gawain hurried to his side with the food as Rowan averted her eyes from his suffering and knocked on the door, slipping quietly inside the room.
Lamorak lay on the bed, a sheet pulled to his waist. The wound on his side was stitched and dressed, and Eris stood beside him, dabbing at his forehead with a damp cloth. His chest and face were gleaming with sweat.
"Fever?" Rowan asked quietly.
Eris gave a jolt, having not even realised her presence. "Infection," she concurred with a weary nod. "He's bad, Ro."
"You need me?"
"No, I'm fine. Briella and Kaira are coming to help soon. Hopefully we can get him through the night."
Crossing the distance to the bed in a few short strides, Rowan gave her friend a quick hug. "Good luck," she whispered sincerely before leaving the woman in peace.
XXX
Rowan stared at the ceiling in the dim light. Moonlight was playing against the stone, creating shining patterns which danced above her, but even that was not enough to lull her into sleep.
Heaving a sigh she rolled over in bed, twisting herself in the sheets. Despite the tiring events of the day sleep would not come to her. Or perhaps, it was because of the happenings that slumber eluded her.
With a groan Rowan sat up, untangling herself from her sheets and swinging her legs out of her bed. Standing, she padded softly on bare feet to the far side of her room and opened a wooden chest that sat there. She pulled a simple robe on over her nightdress, then pulled out a linen towel and her linen bathing bag, which contained all her supplies for a trip to the baths. She had felt dirty all day from just being near the knights, caked in mud and blood as they were, and thought perhaps the warm waters of the baths would calm her and enable her to sleep.
She slid her feet into her sandals and was soon treading the familiar path through the temple, the passages still and quiet, lit by flickering torches mounted on the walls. Opening the side door as quietly as she could, cringing at the creaking of the hinges, she stepped out into the cool night air.
The building that housed the baths was only a few steps from the temple and she was soon inside, entering the apodyterium. Slipping off her robe she hung it on a hook there, then slid her nightdress off over her head and folded it loosely, placing it on a shelf next to her robe. She then stepped into the tepidarium, seating herself on a bench and placing her bag next to her. Rummaging through it, she retrieved a bottle of sweet-smelling oil and began to apply it to her skin, rubbing the liquid all over her body. Once she was covered in it she pulled out her strigil, and began to run the curved metal down her left arm, dragging the oil from her skin and with it the dirt that clung to her.
Once all the oil had been strigiled off, Rowan tucked all the items back in her bag and kicked off her sandals, sinking into the pool in the middle of the warm water. She laughed aloud at the sensation of the warm water washing away the last traces of oil, finally feeling clean. She loved the baths - the Romans had been good for something, at least.
After a few minutes revelling in the feeling of cleanliness she dragged herself from the pool and slipped back into her sandals. She needed them for the next room.
Opening the door to the caladarium, the blast of heat hit her instantly. This was what she had been looking forward to most – the steamy room, heated by the hypocaust underneath the tiled floor, which contained a large pool, maybe thirty feet in length and fifteen wide. Placing her bag on a bench and her towel next to it, ready for when she was finished, she descended the shallow steps into the hot water and submerged herself in it, the water instantly relaxing her.
Surfacing again, Rowan retreated to the far end of the bath and sat on the submerged ledge that ran around the perimeter of the pool, tipping her head back and idly stirring the water with her hands.
She had been there for a while when the sound of the door opening made her lift her head. The far corner of the room was hidden in shadow, the room only lit by a few flickering torches, and she could not see the newcomer. She heard shuffling footsteps and a slight grunt and stiffened – it was a man.
A dark shape became visible, and as it moved into a pool of light cast by the torch nearest the door Rowan could make out a muscular body covered only by a towel around the waist, and dark tousled hair. He turned slightly and the light caught his face, reflecting off dark, brooding eyes.
Tristan.
As he moved to drop the towel Rowan came to her senses and realised she should alert him to her presence. She cleared her throat and he gave a jolt, clutching his towel tighter as he turned to squint through the steam and shadows that overhung the bath.
She lifted her hand and waved, splashing a little as she did so, and the spraying droplets caught the light, glinting as they cast graceful arcs through the air. He nodded once to let her know he could see her, and loosened his hold on the towel once more.
"Shall I close my eyes?" she called, half mocking and half serious, her voice echoing in the quiet of the room.
Tristan shrugged and, with a speed and grace that surprised her, cast the towel to one side and was in the water before she could blink. He settled against the wall of the bath at the opposite end to her and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. They sat in silence for a while until the silence became almost unbearable to Rowan. She could tell this man did not like to waste words, but she certainly did – silences were often uncomfortable to her, and she would come out with any nonsense in order to dispense of them.
"What brings you here at such a late hour?"
He lifted his head and stared across the distance at her. "I needed a bath." His voice was deadpan.
"I asked for that, didn't I?"
He nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, then relented. "I haven't bathed in a long while."
Rowan chuckled, the sound amplified by the stone. "I had noticed, sir." She wrinkled her nose in teasing distaste.
"Not much chance of a bath on a mission," he told her in his deep, gruff voice.
Raising an eyebrow in surprise at him continuing the conversation, Rowan decided that perhaps he wasn't so irritating after all. "I suppose in the life of a knight, bathing isn't high on the list of priorities."
"No."
"You're from Sarmatia, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"And Arthur is your commander?"
"Yes."
"A Roman?"
"Half Briton."
Rowan glowered at him across the distance. His short answers were incredibly frustrating when trying to make conversation. But at least he was speaking. She decided to give it one last try. "You must have a lot of faith in him."
"It is hard to trust him, sometimes."
"I know you trust him," she replied with a knowing smile.
"You do?"
"Avalon is seen as a myth, as a legend. People say you can only find it if you believe it is there. You are here – you must have believed Arthur, when he said it existed."
"I didn't think of it like that," Tristan mused. "It was easy to believe him, though, as he has been here before."
"He has?" She was surprised.
"Don't you remember? That woman – Sophia? – said it had been a long time since she had seen him. When Lamorak was injured, Arthur said he'd been to Avalon before, seen what your healers can do, and it would be worth the risk to bring him here."
"I would imagine that is the most you've said in a year." She thought she saw a ghost of a smile, but wasn't certain, and quickly cast around for another conversation starter. "Do you go on a lot of missions?"
"Yes."
"Are they dangerous?"
"Sometimes."
"Have you ever been injured?"
"Yes."
Now he was irritating her again. "Are you going to stop giving one word answers?" she snapped, her patience vanishing. He didn't reply.
Growling under her breath Rowan dipped under the water again, if only to escape the exasperating man's presence for a few moments. When she emerged she was disconcerted to find him still looking at her.
"You have an unusual name," Tristan commented quietly, his soft voice carrying across the water.
"You have an unusual face," Rowan retorted childishly, still irritated even though he was talking again. "From what I can see of it, at least."
"My tattoos?"
"Yes." Rowan looked at him pointedly, waiting for him to explain, but he smirked and stared straight back at her wordlessly. She rolled her eyes, realising he would not idly share information, and settled back in the water. Then a mischievous smirk came to her lips.
"It is difficult for me to see your face, with your hair hanging in your eyes so."
Tristan shrugged but was silent. Rowan slowly moved through the bath towards him, torchlight dancing on the water she stirred. She stopped in front of him and silently challenged him with her eyes, to move or to speak or to do something. His passiveness was beginning to irritate her.
But he didn't move.
Lifting her hand, droplets falling from the skin, Rowan gently laid her fingers against a braid that hung into his eyes and began to push it away from his face. Tristan flinched and, again surprising her with his deftness, grabbed her wrist and stilled the motion. His grey eyes obtained a steely glint, and he looked almost threatening in the dim light. Despite herself, Rowan felt a shiver of fear. She quickly pulled away from him and moved swiftly to the steps, walking out of the bath and wrapping herself in her linen towel. Grasping her bathing bag she hurried out of the room, away from the first man to have scared her in many, many years.
A/N : You would not believe how much fun I had writing the bath scene! Naked, wet Tristan – yum!
Also, remember that it is now Lamorak who is injured, so don't be confused by Galahad being at dinner!