The Morning After
The early morning sun shone brightly through the open flap of the tent, a chill in the air, as Arthur gradually opened his eyes. Unable to move, for it always took him a while to register in his mind exactly where he was that morning, the Roman gazed straight up at the pointed tent ceiling, beams of light coming through tiny holes that had appeared in the strong material over time. Suddenly, like the whole breadth of Hadrian's wall had tumbled down on top of him, the memory of the previous night hit Arthur, and he groaned, closing his eyes once again. He couldn't believe the way he had acted; he had yelled and berated Elaine as if she were a common peasant. 'Wonderful, Arthur,' he thought to himself as he rolled over on his side, clutching his head in his hands. 'She has finally returned, and you insult her. Way to rebuild sibling ties.'
Groaning once more, he looked over at Elaine's bed and noticed that she wasn't there. Her sheets had been pulled back, her cloak and slippers missing from their spot, and, as his eyes followed her supposed path, he noticed the tent flap was thrown open.
Sitting up, he closed his eyes. "Oh dear God, I beg you to give me patience, and to forgive me for my actions towards Elaine. Fill her with your forgiveness, so that she may look upon this wretched soul with kind eyes once more."
"Now, wouldn't you rather be waking up to a pretty wench than with your God?"
Arthur turned as Lancelot poked his head into the tent, before entering and sitting upon Elaine's bed.
"Why must you always question my faith?"
"Because, Arthur. Your faith is a waste of your time. While you sit in here praying, Elaine sits alone sulking in her carriage."
Arthur's head shot up towards Lancelot, causing the knight to smile. "You two must have had a pretty heated conversation last night."
"Is she alright?"
Lancelot shook his head as he looked about the tent, gently stroking the soft sheets of Elaine's bed with his outstretched palms, enjoying the flowery scent of the frustrating woman that still remained.
"She was already awake when we got up this morning, collecting kindling for the embers of the fire. It looked like she had been keeping the fire for quite a while. Nice of her, wasn't it?"
Arthur sighed, standing up so that could he begin to dress for the day.
"Has she had anything to eat yet?"
"Actually, she had collected a surprising amount of berries from the woods for us. She made a sort of sweet soup with it," Lancelot chuckled, "Lamorak had at least four bowls. You should watch out for that one. We wouldn't want the enchanting lady's heart to be stolen by one so, inexperienced."
Arthur stopped, arm grieves held up above his wrist midair, and glared at Lancelot with a gaze that could kill an ox, but was ignored by the knight, who smirked looking down upon Elaine's bed.
"Perhaps I should be watching out for you and not Lamorak."
Lancelot laughed hard at his friend's threat, not taking it seriously in the least bit, which enraged Arthur even more. The knight didn't respond, but only looked back at the bed with a gleam in his eyes.
"Lancelot."
The knight finally stood, "Get dressed, Arthur. " He clapped the Roman's shoulder and gave another hearty laugh as he exited the tent. Arthur sighed. How he was to separate his brother in arms from his sister by blood was going to be a problem.
"Hey, ready to go out again, hmm?"
Tristan caressed the beautiful feathers of his hawk, before lifting his arm up as he took flight. The majestic bird screeched, soaring up towards the heavens and disappearing through the canopy of the forest. Tristan watched until the bird was out of sight, before he nudged his gray steed towards the camp. Soon he was racing with great speed. His long braids flapped against his face, brushing his tattooed cheeks before being picked up by the wind once again. As he burst through the tree and into the camp, Galahad jumped a mile, frightened by the scouts sudden appearance.
"Damn, Tristan."
The scout smirked with accomplishment as he swiftly dismounted. He had always enjoyed picking on the two youngest knights in his own way, which usually meant either humiliating them or frightening them to death. Galahad was especially oversensitive about being made a fool of, which of course was perfect for Tristan.
"Where you bin all night, eh scout?" Bors asked the scout as he packed up his supplies.
"Scouting."
Dagonet chuckled as Bors frowned.
"Ass," he murmured.
Tristan wandered over to where Lamorak was collecting the bowls and pots that the knights used when they could catch some sort of game while on a mission. He passed the young man, nodding as he did, than searched about, lifting the pot lid and smelling its contents.
"What the hell is this?" he looked down at the blue broth with disgust.
Lamorak turned ignorantly towards Tristan, than down at the pot. "Berries."
"Where's the meat?"
"There is none. We had the berry soup for breakfast, while you were still out," Lamorak said, crossing back towards the horses. "Elaine made it, said it was better for us than meat. It's actually good, Tristan."
Tristan huffed out air from his chest in annoyance, as he sat down, dropping the lid. "Women."
Elaine sat upon her hunches inside the carriage that she had journeyed in from the British shores to its mainland. Her hands drifted over the various bottles and bags of herbs and oils that she had taken out from their crates, laying them out upon the carriage floor. Elaine skimmed over each label that contained the medicine's name written in elaborate Celtic texts. Rosemary. Burdock Root. Cardamom Pods. Sage. Chamomile Oil.
Making note of what she had, and what she might need, in her memory, Elaine expertly began to slip her stock back into its crate, categorizing each by first importance, than substance, and finally by size. Of course, Elaine didn't truly need to do this. After she had left Tristan, Elaine had tried to sleep again in Arthur's tent, but she was still so worked up from her encounter with the infuriating scout, that she had risen once again. She spent the first half of the early morning, before the sun rose, brushing Luka and cleaning her saddle, restringing her bow, and replenishing her quiver with burrowed arrows from the knights. After a while, she watched the knights sleep, bringing extra blankets when they stirred, and rekindling the fire. Than she made them breakfast, and after making sure that they were satisfied, she had spent the rest of the morning organizing and reorganizing her healing tools.
She paused and sighed exasperatedly, "I've gone mad."
Carelessly tossing the remaining herbs back into the crate and slamming down the lid, Elaine dropped back down upon a soft fur, groaning when her shoulder blade crashed into a sharp object. She lifted, annoyed, reaching behind her to find the cause of her sudden pain. It was one of her long knifes. With a slender hilt and slightly curved blade, the weapon was light for a lady, etched with gold Celtic inscriptions down to the point. It's twin was exactly the same. They were not the usual type of weapon, especially on this island, because it was smaller than a sword, but the blade extended from about the same length of her elbow right down to her middle knuckle. Elaine just found it easier than a sword, though she possessed one of those as well.
As she examined the knife, the memory of the night before came crashing down upon her, like a wave on the shore. Her grip on the hilt tightened as she remember her confrontation with Tristan and its abrupt ending. What a fool she had been, to open her heart like that? But had she truly expected him to be as he was when he was a child. Yet, when he had given her that 'test', she instantly loathed the crass man. Anger filled her once again, so much so that she sat up and threw the knife. It soared through the air, at great speed, before it embedded itself into the post in the front of the carriage, near its entrance.
Seconds after the knife had hit the post, Arthur's head appeared in the door way. Elaine's eyes grew large, as she prayed that her brother would notice the knife.
"Elaine, we leave in a few moments," he said crawling in closer to her, apparently not seeing the knife.
"Oh," she said, a tension enter the carriage as she remember their encounter as well, "alright. I am prepared."
Elaine turned her back on Arthur as she began to stuff clothing into her brown sack. The way she brushed him off deeply hurt Arthur. He neared her, his chest practically touching her shoulders.
"Forgive me," he whispered softly.
His sister froze in her movements, as her own heart broke into a thousand pieces. 'I am no better than a Woad,' she thought. 'How could I be so cruel?'
Elaine turned, sadness in her face. "Oh Arthur," she said she took his face in her hands, gently stroking his cheeks, his stubble making tiny scratches on her skin. "There is nothing to forgive."
His smile returned hers as he bent down, and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead. He couldn't bare to have her angry with him. His life hadn't felt complete for so many years, and only yesterday, was the void finally filled.
Elaine chuckled, pushing Arthur back a little, "Now go, I must change."
"Into what?" he said, nudging her back in a childish manner.
She smiled at him, "You brute! Into my riding pants."
"Pants! I've never seen you wear pants."
"Well, I do when I ride."
"Humph," he said itching his nose, "I still can't believe you can even mount a horse."
"Arthur! I've know who to ride since I was seven."
"And that horse, I'm afraid, is a little to strong for you. He might throw you."
"Ahh! You've grown into a brute!"
"Ahh, and you've grown into a Woad."
Elaine frowned and pinched Arthur's arms, "OWWW!"
"Take that back, brute!"
"No."
"Take it back."
"Fine, you're not a woad. You're a Sarmatian."
The woman yelped as she grabbed Arthur's earlobe, tugging with a gentle force.
"AHHH, WOMAN!"
She finally released him, falling back in laughter when Arthur's lower lip stuck up in a childish way, as he rubbed his soar earlobe.
"What's wrong with being Sarmatian?" Gawain called from outside. Elaine shot up, realizing that their whole banter had been heard outside the carriage. Arthur laughed heartily.
"Nothing," Bors replied, "unless you're a Sarmatian woman. MOOOOOOOOO!"
"Bors! That's terrible!" Elaine called back, despite her laughter.
Still smiling, Arthur stood and made his way out of the carriage, "Make haste, little Woad."
Elaine stuck out her tongue as her brother chuckled and turned to the entrance. His eyes were quickly met by the sight of the unusual knife embedded into the wooden post. He reached forward with curiosity, pulling the knife from the wood, and examining the blade. Elaine's smile fell as Arthur looked over the knife and over the hole that it had put into the post.
"How'd this get like that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was the Woads."
Arthur nodded, not truly believing her, for he had seen the inside of the carriage after the attack. This blade hadn't been that way. But perhaps he hadn't noticed it.
"Well," he said, tossing the knife in front of Elaine's feet, "if it's from the Woads, than you can keep it. Since you have become one."
Elaine smiled as he left, but quickly punched the carriage floor with her fist. She was such a fool.