The Danger of Memories
"RUS!"
Bors's war cry rang out over the bloodied battlefield. Bodies lay all about their feet, but none of the Knights showed any sign of remorse or pity. This was their charge, and after nearly fourteen years of killing and death, none of them truly felt much any more. Except, perhaps a longing for home.
"You'd think," Lamorak said as he yanked out his sword that had been buried in the belly of a dead Woad, "that if these savages insisted on spending so much time painting themselves blue, they'd perhaps spend some of that time considering about proper armor."
Bors, Dagonet, Tristan, Lancelot, Lamorak, Kay, Gawain, Galahad, and their commander, Arthur, stood side by side on the field, chests still heaving from the victorious battle. The Woads had ambushed them while they were surveying the defenses in the South. Of course, nothing truly caught the legendary Arthur and his Knights off guard.
"These savages, as you say, just put a rather large hole in the backside of your armor, Lamorak," Gawain said with a weary smile. He lifted up his friends loose chain mail with the tip of his axe.
All the rest burst into a much needed bit of laughter, as the youngest Knight made circles looking for the tear in his armored suit. Even Arthur gave a small smile towards Lancelot, who in turn rolled his eyes at Lamorak's antics.
"Knights, let us return home." Arthur said as he turned back towards his stead. The eight men soon joined him as they all mounted their own horses.
"Finally, we can drink!" Bors said as they rode at a steady pace towards the fortress.
"You just had a drink, not but an hour ago," Kay said, who rode alongside Gawain and Dagonet behind the veteran knight.
"What are you talking about?"
"From the skin there under your saddle bag," Galahad pointed towards the rear of Bors's horse
Bors's brow formed a puzzled look as he reached back behind him and retrieved the wine skin. "Ahh! To Victory."
"Vanora's going to have you're head you know," Lamorak chimed in.
"What she doesn't know won't harm her," Bors replied as he took another large swig of wine, lifting his chin up in fake arrogance.
"She'll smell you a mile away, and that's enough for anyone," Gawain said.
"Well you're not to peachy, either," Kay chuckled as he bent over towards Gawain, balancing himself upon his horse with his thighs, and sniffed his fellow Knight.
Dagonet chuckled behind them, and Lamorak poked Gawain's side, "What will Sienna think?"
"Sienna's the red head right?" Gawain chuckled.
"No, she's the brunette," Kay replied.
"Actually, you're all wrong," Lancelot smirked devilishly, "Sienna's a blonde."
"No, her hair is as dark as yours," Kay argued with a smile.
"No, Kay, she's a natural blonde."
"How do you know?" Lamorak asked with a genuine innocence.
"I have my ways, boy." The group erupted into laughter as Lamorak finally got Lancelot's implication. All but Tristan, who rode alongside Galahad. He had seen his hawk up above him, and held out his arm. The bird of prey swept down and landed on Tristan's outstretched arm.
"Where you been, eh?" Tristan stroked the majestic hawk's neck as he spoke soothing words to her.
Lancelot rode up to Arthur who lead the knights. He had noticed his friends pensive behavior that morning when they had awoken, that still remained, and he had become concerned.
"Well Arthur, are you going to sulk all day, again, or will you tell me what troubles you? And don't tell me you've got God on your mind, or I'll hit you over the head with the hilt of my sword."
Arthur smiled to his best companion. Lancelot knew him so well. Yet, Arthur's face quickly fell again and her turned forward once more as he spoke.
"I dreamt of her again, last night. About the night she was taken."
Lancelot's countenance fell. He felt for his brother. Arthur had lost so much that had been so dear to him.
"Arthur, she's gone. You cannot dwell upon her forever. She was an angel, and she loved you, but she's gone."
Anger grew in Arthur's eyes, "Do not speak as though she lay buried in some shallow grave!"
"Arthur, you must see the truth. The reality."
"She isn't dead. I would have know." Arthur sighed and looked down upon his hands, "I would have know," he spoke quietly.
Lancelot sighed, "Forgive me, Arthur. I was harsh."
"It is all right, Lancelot. I just..."
"You just need to come to the tavern tonight , bed some pretty barmaid, and drown yourself in ale."
The two laughed as the tension of only moments ago was lifted. Neither of them saw that the dark scout had ventured up near to them as they spoke. Tristan had heard of Arthur's dream. It brought back old memories that he thought lay buried in the depths of his mind. He silently glanced around at the Knights. All were men now, nearing the end of their charge. Lamorak and Galahad, the youngest, still had Sarmatia fresh in their minds, especially Galahad. The man daily spoke of his disdain of Rome, and of his longing to go home. Yet, for the others, himself including, Sarmatia had become just a distant memory. His thoughts lead him back to their first night in Briton ,when he was only still a boy.
The first night that they had become Arthur's Knights.
Tristan sat upon a low stool, near the stall of his father's horse. With a knife, that his mother had once given to him, Tristan sliced a wedge of the bright red apple in his hand. He had never seen this kind of fruit before; there were no apple trees in his land. Slipping the piece slowly into his mouth, Tristan savored the morsel as if it were the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. The sweet juices filled his mouth, and he closed his eyes as he swallowed. It had been five months since he had left Sarmatia. Five months that he had traveled on horseback, through snow, rain and unbearable heat, all just to reach Briton. Tristan felt, that because of all he had faced, all that he would face, he deserved some sweet reward. This apple, he thought, would do fine. For now.
Gawain sat on the dirt ground beside Tristan, wiping his eyes, desperately trying to free himself from the fatigue that had consumed them all.
"Ahh, I can't wait to leave this island! We've been here only an hour and I already loathe the damned place," Gawain kicked at the ground in front of him, causing a puff of dirt to soar up into the stale air of the stables.
Lancelot, who was leaning against a beam, let out a sarcastic chuckle, "Fifteen years. With those feelings, you won't last a week."
"Boys!"
Twenty, young, Sarmatian eyes turned to the Roman commander who had lead them to the Wall, standing in the door of the stables. They soon noticed that a boy, about the same age as most of them, stood beside the Roman. He stood straight, with a proud air about him, despite his disheveled appearance, and soot ridden clothing. He was obviously Roman. The Sarmatian's probably would have despised him that very moment, had it not been for the boy's eyes. They were kind, innocent, and frightened, just like theirs.
"Arise, and meet your Commander. Lucius Artorius Castus."
The boys looked around at each other with a confused look, but still rose on the Roman's word. The Romans must be fools, if they truly expected this pale, thin boy to command them in battle.
"I'll leave you, milord." The Roman said, not completely accustomed to giving such respect and honor to only a boy.
Arthur stood there for a few moments, staring intently at the face of each of the knights before him. He wanted to know each of them well, and treat them all with respect and equality.
"I am Arthur, and I want you, all of you, to gain the freedom that is denied to you now. It pains me to know of the sacrifices you've made, that you will make. But if you carry at least one belief with you in this charge, let it be this one: that I will fight with you, at your side, I will lay my life down for yours, and I will honor you as an equal, not as a servant of Rome. We were all born onto this earth, and we must all bear this burden. Let us do it as brothers."
The entire room was silent, each boy taking in what the young Roman had just said. Never had they heard such language in their lives, especially from a Roman. Yet here stood Arthur, a long sword in one hand, as he offered them his regard and his trust with the other. All the Sarmatians, hearing these words that day, pledged their lives and loyalty to Arthur alone. From then on, they would serve him as brothers in arms.
Bors, who had been standing behind with Dagonet, made his way through to the front. The giant form of the twenty-year-old towered over the boy of only eleven. He than knelt down in front of Arthur, turned to everyone else to follow suit, banged his fist to his chest and cried, "Rus!"
"RUSS!"
Arthur smiled the first smile he had given all night.
From his place on the ground were he knelt, Tristan suddenly spotted a tiny form in pink kneeling in the shadows of the stable corner. As the other boys dispersed and went to greet their new commander, Tristan kept his eyes on the tiny creature, not entirely sure if it was human or not. Silently, he rose from the earth, and made his way over to the corner. None saw him disappear into the shadows, not even the tiny creature. It was not until he stood over her, that the girl, as he determined, jumped and stared up at his presence.
"Who are you?" a small, sweet voice questioned him. Tristan wasn't one for talk, not even with the other boys. But as he studied her delicate face, he realized that his mouth could find words a little easier. But only just a little.
"Tristan."
"Oh, well you frightened me!"
"Well, I wouldn't have if you weren't lurking here in the shadows," Tristan pointed out.
"I suppose your right." The girl frowned and looked back at the scene. Tristan followed her gaze, which seemed to be fixed upon his new young commander.
"What are you doing here?"
"Arthur is my brother." Tristan eyes grew wide slightly. The girl turned back up him with a beautiful smile. It was then, in that very moment, that Tristan lost his heart.
"I'm Elaine."
Her mystical face still haunted him, though he was sure that the love he had felt that singular night had all but dissipated. Fourteen years of battle had hardened his heart, the way his parents death had hardened it before he met Elaine that night. The same way it had hardened again that very night, when she was taken from both Arthur and his lives forever.