Time Heals All Wounds
The stars shined brightly against the pitch black of night. Not a cloud in the sky, the almost full moon seemed gigantic as it gleamed down in soft rays upon Hadrian's Wall. It wasn't a particularly busy night, most of the villagers and farmers were too tired after working in the fields all day, preparing for the harvest that would soon be upon them. The streets were almost completely bare, and the usual rowdiness that filtered out from the Tavern was all but gone. Yet, for all the lacking merriment and cheer, the now seven Sarmatian Knights of the Wall sat around their usual wooden table.
Besides some broken small talk, the knights sat in relative silence. Vanora stared at the men from her spot behind the bar. She sighed, shaking her head in a mixture of sadness and pity. The men had lost many of their brothers in arms over their charge, witnessing their death, honoring them at their burial, and mourning their loss for days, even weeks afterwards. Vanora had loved the young Lamorak as a close friend and brother, just as the men did, and she too grieved his death. But it pained her even more to see the men like they were. They deserved to have happiness together.
Lifting her freshly refilled tray from the bar, Vanora made her way slowly over to the knight's table. Bors looked up at her arrival and gave his lover a half-smile, but ultimately his sad eyes slowly fluttered back down to stare at the rough grains of the wood in the table. Vanora sighed, as she looked at the face of each man. Lancelot's jaw was a little tight, his head tilted as he spun a dagger on the table, staring aimlessly at the unique design of its hilt. Galahad and Kay shared the same expression, a bored and sad look, as they both sipped their ales little by little. Dagonet was watching his finger trace the creases in his palm intently, going back and forth. Gawain simply stared off in the distance, focusing on nothing in particular. His eyes were sad, almost lifeless, as he was deep in thought. Tristan was the only one who possessed his same look. He sat back in his chair, quietly picking at his fingernails with the point of a knife, completely aloof.
"Here you go, boys. A fresh ale for all."
Vanora placed a mug in front of each man, trying her hardest to cheer them up even the slightest bit. But the only responses she could acquire was either a hasty smirk or low grunt. Vanora sighed, placing her hands upon her hips and standing back.
"Well," she attempted once again, "you all must be excited for the Harvest Festival. I know that each of you enjoy the cheer."
Bors gave her another brief half-smile, but it only lasted a few seconds, much like the first. Finally, Vanora gave up, slowly turning on her heels and walking back to the bar. She groaned, rubbing her belly that was already swollen. She prayed to the Gods that the child that was growing fast inside her would never have to experience the life his or her father had endured for so long. She prayed that they, and all her children would remain free, and never have to encounter the death and loss.
The men remained silent, even after Vanora had left them, practically unnoticed. Then, a smile sluggishly spread across Galahad's face, as his eyes began to glow with light, staring at the ground.
"Do you remember that one Harvest when Lamorak was about nineteen or eighteen?"
Kay smiled, "The time he got the most drunk he'd ever been in his life?"
Bors started chuckling at the memory, and Lancelot's famous smirk shone brightly, "Yeah, he was so drunk, that he started to believe that he could fly."
Gawain shook his head, desperately trying to fight the smile that was quickly overtaking his features, "But you told him that he'd never make it with all his clothes on, cause they'd weigh him down."
Sporadic chuckles and half laughs erupted across the table.
"And he went up to the top of the Wall, striped down naked as nature made him, and jumped off with his arms flapping."
Finally, a huge burst of laughter exploded, the men near tears and clutching frantically at their sides. Even the stone cold scout, couldn't help but chuckle and smirk at the memory of that night years ago.
"He was in the infirmary for a week with a broken arm and sprained ankle. Gods, do you remember the look on Arthur's face when he saw Lamorak high above on the Wall?"
Bors roared with laughter, "Arthur was escorting that old Roman hag, what...Lucilla something or whatever to the main hall. She fainted on sight!"
The men once again laughed as hard as they possibly could. During their reverie though, no one saw the scout suddenly get up and leave, all save for one, who silently watched the knight exit through the Tavern and disappear into the darkness of the night.
The laughter eventually died down, as the men smiled at one another, each lost in their own special memories of the young comrade. He had been so young and full of life, as well as so innocent that he easily fell pray to the endless teasing and badgering of the older knights. But Lamorak had an honorable and pure heart, never holding a foolish grudge or taking anything too seriously.
Kay was the first of the men to break the now happy silence. He lifted his mug of ale to his lips and said, "He was a good boy."
"No," Gawain said, staring off in the distance once more, except this time with a warm smile on his face."
"He was a good man."
He didn't bother knocking on the heavy wooden door, because she already knew he was coming. It was late at night, and they had promised to meet once in the early morning and once late at night until his hands were fully healed. Tristan reached out, pushing the light door, and making his way into the healing chambers. She was sitting at the small desk off the right, quietly filling empty glass vials with a ground up herbs she had just prepared. Her back to him, she took no notice of his arrival. Silently closing the door behind him, Tristan walked over to her with light steps, and still she didn't hear him. He smirked. He loved to do this to her. Just as he stood inches away from her occupied form, Tristan reached his long arm around her, causing her to jump high up in her seat at the sight of a bright red apple suddenly appearing in her face.
She whipped around, but not before grabbing the apple from his hand, "Tristan! You never grow tired of that do you."
"No."
She sighed, rising from her seat, and narrowing her eyes at the scout as he proceeded to make himself comfortable, leaning his back against the post of the sick bed, as he smiled slyly back at her.
"You know one day, I'll turn my back just in time to catch you in the act."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
A beautiful smile appeared across Elaine's face, no matter how hard she tried to fight it back. Finally, she chuckled, her cheeks blushing as she moved back to the desk to retrieve his medicines from a secret chest. Tristan watched her with an amused look, which she made a face at for, as she moved to the empty sick bed, rolling our all her supplies neatly upon the bed, before taking his hand. She peeled back the bandages slowly, and smiled when she saw his skin.
"What are you smiling at?"
"This," Elaine showed Tristan his nearly perfect palm. The wounds that he had privately inflicted upon himself were entirely gone, not even a little scarring remained.
"Impressive, healer."
Elaine turned her nose up at his smart remark, "You have seen nothing yet." She turned, taking his bandages and unnecessary medicines back to the desk, swaying her hips purposely behind her in a sort of mock confidence.
Tristan huffed, "Such arrogance."
"Such shrewdness."
"Hey, I brought you the apple remember."
"Oh, I know."
Tristan shook his head, his heart actually swelling with their banter and teasing. He truly enjoyed conversing with her, even if he only spoke a few words at a time, or let her do all the talking, which she was usually prone to doing anyways. He huffed at the thought, turning his eyes to look around at the room. They quickly stopped on the objects carelessly hidden under the bench at the far side of the room. Tristan frowned as he pushed himself of the bed, stalking over to the bench and yanking the barely concealed items below with great force.
"Care to explain this?"
Elaine turned around quickly in confusion, but immediately froze when she saw what the cunning scout had detected. Her smile faded as she looked back at Tristan with an almost defiant look.
"Going to do a little hunting after our visit, hmm?"
Elaine stalked forward, trying to grab her bow, quiver and riding sack out of Tristan's hand, but he swiftly brought them out of her grasp. She groaned, holding her hand out like a mother would to a bad child.
"Tristan, give them to me."
"Tell me what you intend to do with them first, and I'll think about it."
"Nothing!"
"Yeah,yeah."
He threw the bow and quiver harshly down upon the ground and pushed passed Elaine roughly. He paced like a wild cat, rubbing his hand against his chin. Elaine gulped, but managed to bend down and gather up her supplies. When she dared to look up at the scout again she found that Tristan was inches from her face, his anger fuming through him.
"Let me guess. You sneak out of the fortress in the middle of the night, ride hard into woad territory and try to hunt down the one who slew Lamorak. How am I doing?"
Elaine winced at his calm, but immensely fierce voice. "Yes."
Tristan's jaw tightened, "You are not a fool, Elaine. Don't act like one."
"I am a fighter, Tristan. This is what I do!"
"You go out into a forest you know nothing about, and try to kill one man while surrounded by hundreds just like him? That is what a fighter is to you?"
Elaine shook her head, "You don't understand."
"Enlighten me."
"You know nothing about honoring a fallen one. Lamorak was murdered, you said so yourself."
"I know nothing of honoring Lamorak. Getting myself killed won't honor him."
"I am going to avenge his death."
"No, you are not."
"You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do."
"No, but I can stop you."
With that, Tristan snatched the bow from Elaine's hands, snapping it in two between his strong hands, before grabbing the quiver and taking all the arrows. Elaine stared at him in utter disbelief. Before she could say a thing, the scout stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Elaine stood there for a moment, in the rubble of her bow, replaying the encounter with the man she had recently discovered that she loved over in her mind. She fell to her knees, tears falling freely as she sobbed in her hands. Tristan heard her sobs from where he stood outside, leaning hard up against the door. He hadn't meant to be so cruel. It was only because she was thinking straight. His heart ached in pain, for he had caused the women he now knew he loved, surprising even himself, to cry again. He just couldn't believe that he loved her. Tristan had always thought of love as a weakness. But as he stood against the door, painfully listening to her wept, he thanked the gods for the strength his love for her seemed to give him. For he had to be strong enough to hurt her, in order to keep her safe.