Cruel Intentions
Ten figures sat silently around the famed Round Table of Hadrian's Wall, as the night grew later in the darkness. The Samartian Knights all stared anxiously towards their Roman commander and the lady Elaine, who sat beside her brother in a vacant seat. She peered down at the table before her, slowly following the carving of the fallen knight's name with her tiny finger. Percival. Elaine silently wondered what this Percival looked like. How had he died? She imagined him looking tall and handsome, like the other knights, and fighting gallantly by Arthur's side. She was sure that every man that had his name etched into the table's surface had been a noble, brave fighter, serving Arthur loyally, even to their death. She sighed as her finger slipped away from Percival's name, looking up at the faces of the men before her. Elaine slowly scanned each face, but her eyes ultimately fell back upon the scout who sat directly across from her. His own eyes were hidden to her, under his thick, unruly braids, so she allowed herself the chance to stare at him freely; he might have been staring right back at her, but because she couldn't tell for sure, she risked that time to look unreserved at him. The memory of their secret moment during her song in the tavern floated into her mind. She had never felt so much heat and emotion before in her life, and all it was was a simple stare. But those dark eyes. They had completely consumed her whole self. Elaine realized, as she stared at Tristan from across the room, that the feelings she had for him were strong, although she wasn't sure just yet what those feelings were. Whenever she was around him, she felt nervous and unstable, which was not traits she had usually kept. Not as a fighter. Elaine could easily find herself comfortable around the other knights, but Tristan was a completely different story. Afraid she would do or say something that the scout would find foolish, and that he'd just belittle her in his silent way and ignore her, Elaine's heart thumped hard in her chest. She didn't want Tristan to find her silly, nor did she want him to see her as just one of the men, so to speak. Elaine shook her head, hesitantly drawing her eyes away from Tristan. The only thing she wanted Tristan to see was her.
Tristan watched as Elaine turned her eyes away from him. He knew she couldn't tell that he'd been staring directly back at her that moment, a technique he had perfected over the years as Arthur's scout. The entire time she'd gazed at him, Tristan had to furiously labor to control his breathing. Her eyes bore into him, and he feared for the first time in his life, wondering if she could see what she was doing to him. Did she know what she had made him become? Could she tell that he had dreamt of her every night since she had entered his life once again? Was she able to discover that she'd driven him to seek out blood? Did she know how he gazed from out of the shadows at her, mesmerizing every luscious curve of her body, secretly desiring to stroke the soft skin that lay hidden from his sight? Did she know that he'd die for her?
Tristan sat up straight at his last thought. He would die for her? His heart pounded in his chest. Yes. He would. He would of as a boy, and he'd do so now as a man. As his gaze turned slowly back at Elaine, he wondered if she saw how he saw her. The real her, the beautiful woman she was. Would she ever see him beneath his carnal facade?
Lancelot's countenance was the most agitated and angered than any of the others in the room. He unconsciously tapped his long fingers against the hard wood of the Table, impatiently sighing as the silence continued throughout the room. It was Rome again, but this time it concerned Elaine, not the knights, which surprisingly made Lancelot more angry than ever. Rome would only want one thing from her. Hatred for the empire burned as it flowed through his veins. They wouldn't hurt her, he vowed silently to himself. Lancelot stared over in Elaine's direction, noticing her alarmed state. Even when she was nervous, she was absolutely stunning.
"Well, Arthur?" he finally spoke up, breaking the silence in the room. "Are you going to make us sit here all night or will you tell us what you brought us here to tell us?"
Arthur shifted in his seat and heaved a heavy sigh from his chest. His head ached in pain and his face seemed permanently contorted into a state of complete unrest. Noting her brother's crestfallen exhale, Elaine took pity on his poor soul, reaching across the space between their chairs and gently stroking his leather clad arm. He turned to her at her touch, searching her eyes for an answer. She smiled calmly, continuing her touch up to his face, cupping her hand around it's stubble edge. He smiled back wearily, before taking her hand in his as he turned to finally address his men.
"Men, I have received an order from Rome, concerning what is to be done with Elaine."
"What is to be done with her? You speak as if they plan on branding her like an ox and shipping her off to the Roman market," Bors said. Elaine shot a look at him from which he smirked at her.
"I wouldn't be surprised if they did," murmured Gawain.
Arthur ignored them both as he continued, "Rome had issued me an order to detain the Healer of the Celts here at the Wall, until a Roman Lord, Marcus Octavius, arrives here in a day's time."
"Detain me?"
"What do they want with her Arthur," Lancelot questioned tiredly, desiring the outright truth to the whole mess.
Arthur sighed once again, tightening his grip on Elaine's hand for support. She squeezed his hand right back, reassuring him silently to continue.
"Rome has commanded me to place the Healer of the Celts under formal custody of the Empire. The Healer is to remain in...bondage and prepared for the journey to Rome. I am also ordered to extract certain information of the location of Shalott from the Healer through rigorous interrogation, before I turn her over to Marcus Octavius who will take her to Rome. Once she is there, the Healer will be named a servant of Rome, turning over her procedures and medicines, as well as herself, for the remainder of her life."
A dead silence filled the room as the Roman commander finished his account of the message. Arthur let out a labored breathe, hanging his head down helplessly in shame. The men sat with there mouth's hung open. All but Tristan, of course, whose fingernails burrowed deeply in the wood of his chair. His hands tremble with anger as he stared at his commander than at Elaine.
"That cannot be true," Lamorak shook his head.
"It is, I saw the scroll myself," Kay said, scratching his short brown beard. He was the only one not surprised by the news, but he was effected nonetheless.
Galahad chuckled sarcastically, "And you just going to place Elaine under bondage? Your sister in chains."
Arthur glared at the young knight, "No."
"They can't do that to her," Bors shouted, standing suddenly, toppling his chair as he did so.
"They wont."
Suddenly, all the knights rose from their seats.
"She is to become a slave then, hmm," Lancelot's eyes flashed in anger. "Arthur, is she to become a slave to Rome? Stripped away from her home, her family, and placed under eternal bondage!"
"DO YOU HONESTLY BELIEVE I'D LET THAT HAPPEN TO ELAINE, TO ANYONE?"
"YOU ALLOWED IT TO HAPPEN TO US!"
"LANCELOT, YOU KNOW ABOVE ALL ELSE, THAT I DESIRE NOTHING MORE THAN TO GRANT YOU THE FREEDOM THAT HAS BEEN DENIED TO YOU FOR SO LONG. THAT IT PAINS ME TO SEE YOU ALL SUFFER AND DIE UNDER MY COMMAND? ELAINE WILL NOT GO TO ROME."
"Oh, and how do you plan on doing that, hmm?"
Arthur drew up closer to his second in command, his words coming out from his lips cold and sure, "I would defy Rome, the Church, God himself to keep her from that fate. I'd lay down my life before seeing her in chains."
Lancelot raised up, looking respectively towards his friend. Arthur turned back to the rest of the men.
"Why would Rome order this?" Lamorak wondered out loud.
"What are we to do? We will all do anything that can be done to stop this," Galahad spoke up.
Tristan's eyes had never left Elaine during the confrontation between the knights. The woman just sat there, staring down at the table. He could not detect fear or nervous, or anything for that matter, coming from her. Elaine just sat quietly by herself, bravely accepting her fate. This only angered Tristan. How could she just sit there?
Arthur sighed again, sitting down at his chair once more, "I do not know what to do."
The men sat in silence once more, each desperately searching there minds for a plan, a device, anything that would save Elaine from the life of slavery she faced. None of the men wanted to see her as they were.
"The lord won't know who she is."
Nine heads shot up in the direction of the calm scout, who sat back in his chair, carelessly biting at his knuckles, his gaze not meeting anyone else's.
"What? What do you mean, Tristan?" Arthur questioned, confused by his scouts sudden, calm words.
Tristan looked up, his face looking unaffected by the gravity of the situation. He shifted his legs around.
"If you don't want Elaine to be taken, than you make the lord not ever set eyes on her."
Elaine's heart skipped at the first time she'd heard Tristan say her name aloud. It slipped off his slightly accented tongue so smoothly, and made her feel weak.
"And how do you propose we do this?" Lancelot shook his head in disbelief.
Tristan glared right back at Lancelot.
"We kill her."