I'm just on a roll! Who's the update goddess?
Hehehehehehehehehe.
Chapter Three: Sotrarr'lun
That night Fulcina convinced Dag and Bors to drag out the tin bathtub and fill it with hot water. They grumbled and muttered, but did as the Roman woman asked. Lucan had the first bath, and Guinevere and Cerelinde waited for him to finish.
"You like Arthur, don't you?" asked Cerelinde quietly, and Guinevere turned several shades of magenta, and spluttered protestations.
"Why, why on the Goddess's green earth would, would you think that I like Arthur?" she said. Cerelinde smiled so only the pointed tips of her incisors showed.
"I asked if you like him. You're acting like I asked if two were in love. You have a dirty mind, Guinevere," she shook her head in mock consternation. Guinevere turned away to face the forest, and suddenly inspiration lit up her face.
"Well, you and Tristan seem to be getting along wonderfully," she laughed.
"You got that from the what, seven, words we've exchanged?" Cerelinde queried. Guinevere raised a single dirty, but nevertheless elegant, eyebrow.
"The two of you seemed pretty cosy by the fire the other night." As her friend's pale skin flamed, she continued. "You see, he had to carry you in, and of course I watched the show. He's incredibly nimble. I doubt I would have seen him if I wasn't already awake. You have fun?" Cerelinde snorted and pushed Guinevere off the lip of the wagon into the snow.
When Fulcina dumped Lucan into the care of Dag, she called in Guinevere. When her friend disappeared between the curtains (well, she didn't really disappear, because the so-called curtains were nothing more than gauzy scraps of air nailed to the back of the wagon), Cerelinde had slipped away to the knights' campfire to snag some dinner.
She passed Lancelot, who was on rounds. He stopped by the wagon, and Cerelinde watched from the shelter of the trees as his eyes widened at the sight of Guinevere's bare back. There was something there, hiding, that Cerelinde didn't like.
This will be troublesome, she thought to herself, and promptly forgot why.
She waited for Lancelot to wander off before taking a circuitous route to the fire. All the knights had assembled, and Lucan was curled up by Dag in his protector's jacket. Cerelinde slid into the empty space between Tristan and Bors, and as the scout handed her a small haunch of something that looked to be rabbit, she reddened at Guinevere's jab.
Trying to avoid notice, she buried herself in the small dinner.
When the white bone was stripped clean, she stared into the fire and half-heartedly listened to the boisterous talk of the Sarmatians.
She remembered another conversation she had heard that day, earlier in the morning. She and Guinevere had been wrapped in stifling furs, sitting in the open face of the wagon, letting the air bite the dirt off her face. Then Arthur had ridden up, and the conversation quickly changed to suit him.
"My father told me great tales of you."
"Really? What did you hear?"
"Fairy tales. The kind you hear of people so brave, so selfless that they can't be real. Arthur and his knights. A leader both Britain and Roman. And yet you chose your allegiance to Rome. To those that take what does not belong to them. That same Rome that took your men from their homeland."
"Listen, Lady, do not pretend to know anything about me or my knights."
"How many Britons have you killed?"
"As many as tried to kill me. It's the natural state of any man to want to live."
"Animals live. It's the natural state of any man to want to live free, in their own country.
I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?"
Cerelinde held her breath, waiting for an answer that for some reason held great interest for her.
"How is you hand?"
"I'll live, I promise you. Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart? Your own father married a Briton, so there must have been something to his liking."
The knight didn't reply. Unable to face the deep eyes, he guided the horse towards Tristan, who had melted out of the trees like liquid velvet.
"He avoids the question, Cerelinde. But I think I already know his answer." There was a lengthy pause as the wagon was stopped, and all unpacked for the night.
"Wait. Tonight, I meet my father in the clearing. Will you come?"
"Yes."
"Cerelinde?" The woman in question looked up to see a very beautiful Guinevere, glowing in a blue dress that flattered her slim figure. Dirty, she had been beautiful, but clean Guinevere radiated sunlight.
"Yes?" Cerelinde asked, looking down.
"You can use the bath now." Cerelinde nodded, vacated her seat, and returned to Fulcina. The water had turned lukewarm, but she didn't want to wait for it to be refilled. The dirty shift shed, she slid into the large tub, and dunked her head under the water.
When she rose up, shedding water like a sea creature, dirt floated in large, muddy chunks on the top of the water. She fished most of them out, and with Fulcina's help began to scrub away the grim that had accumulated during her stay with Marius.
She scrubbed until her fingertips tingled, and as Fulcina rubbed soap into her scalp, she closed her eyes, and let the insistent fingers tug through the knots in her black hair, and remembered someone else's fingers digging and gently pulling apart the tangles in her curly hair. It had always been untamable.
But when she metaphysically reached for the memory it vanished. Cerelinde dug frantically for it again, but it was as if a trap door had closed beneath her feet. Deep in the cellar of her mind, she knew that this person, and all of her other memories, hid.
Suddenly Fulcina's fingers stopped, and then the flat of her hand thrust Cerelinde's head under the water.
Come now, little one, it's just a bath.
Just a bath.
What, are you afraid of a little water?
Never.
Then get in.
Darkness, emptiness, heavy and pushed down on her body. Open yourself and let go.
No.
NO.
Cerelinde thrashed for a moment, her hands seeking purchase, and then she grabbed the sides of the tin and heaved her body upward, along with most of the contents of the tub.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Fulcina blinked behind her, eyes wide, dress matted with dirty water. The pale green dress that had been the only thing she could find to fit Cerelinde's unique frame was drenched as well. As she watched, the shift floated out of the wagon on a tiny torrent of bath water. It fell over the edge into the snow.
"Oh! Fulcina! I'm so sorry!" Three knights skidded around the edge of the wagon, swords drawn. They took in the sight of Cerelinde, her bare back turned to them, and a soaking Fulcina. The shift finally settled at their feet.
"'Tis alright," said Fulcina, smiling. "I've been thinking this dress needed to be cleaned anyway." The knights laughed and sheathed their swords.
Gawain was the first to recover. "Been in any boating accidents, Cerelinde?" he asked, and picked up the shift. It had begun to freeze, and was stiff.
"Don't joke," shivered Cerelinde. Her eyes, only visible because she was looking over her shoulder, were wide and deep green. Suddenly the knights realized that she was naked sitting in a tub half-full of water, and they backed up.
"Thank you for your gallant efforts in fighting off the sea monster," said Cerelinde, trying to lighten the tension hanging around them, but her voice came out hoarse from the scream, and it didn't help.
They awkwardly left, leaving Cerelinde, clean but clothes-less, and Fulcina. The Roman started to stand, but Cerelinde was struck by inspiration. "Don't," she said, and stood. Ignoring the gawking of Fulcina, she grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She stopped before getting out, however, because the bottom gaped open in an – uncomfortable – place. So she peeled it off, and wrapped it around her chest, looping under her arms. It dropped a bit in the back, revealed to the small of her back, but Cerelinde was immune to cold. She stepped out, and stormed past the knights' campfire in the direction of Marius' tent.
The Sarmatians, who had been in the middle of a very funny story about Galahad, a whore and a rabbit, all stopped talking at the sight of an all-but naked woman stomping past them. In silent agreement born of years fighting together, they all stood and followed her.
"Marius!" she yelled, and yanked on part of the tent as an impromptu knock.
The guards appeared, and stood stonily under her glare. "Where's your leader?" she snapped, and they laughed. Thus they were off-guard when she punched the first one. He fell like he had been slapped with a brick.
"Where's Marius?" she demanded again, and when the guard refused to get out of her way, she hit him to. Only in somewhere slightly more valuable to his family's continued existence.
"Marius!" she bellowed again, and the Roman appeared, a snarl on his face. Before he could snap at her, she poked him in the chest. "What'd you do with my dress?"
Gawain had to hold down a laugh.
"Your dress?" asked Marius, confused, and then with remembrance, curled his lips in a grim replica of a smile. "Oh, I have it somewhere. You can have it back. For a price." His leer told her exactly what his price was, and she tensed her back, ready to lunge at him, but Tristan caught her before she killed him. She was much shorter than him, and he looping his arms around her waist and heaved her off the ground with little effort.
"Not a good idea," he whispered into her ear. She snarled at him, and waggled her hands in the general direction of Marius.
"Give the lady her dress," advised Bors, hand straying to the large sword strapped to his side. "As you can see, she's taken. I wouldn't get on the bad side o' him." The small grunt from Cerelinde made it seem as if she'd swallowed her tongue.
Grumbling, Marius stalked inside his tent, and returned a few moments later with his arms full of green fabric. Smirking, he dumped it in the snow.
By then, Tristan had released Cerelinde, and she picked up the gown, shaking it with one hand to rid it of any snow.
"Thank you, gentlemen," she said, and stalked between them back to her wagon. They all watched her pale back disappear into the darkness, then returned to their fire and food.
Tristan waited longer than the rest, before going to Lancelot to relieve him of watch.
Cerelinde had slid on the dress, and laced up the back with some guesswork on her part. It was really a dress meant to be put on with help from a small army of ladies-in-waiting, but Cerelinde had checked her belongings, and she didn't have any.
Guinevere appeared as Cerelinde was braiding her hair, and her impatience was obvious by her posture and the clenching of her fists. Finally Cerelinde gave up on taming her hair and dropped the ribbon dejectedly.
They passed through the sleeping knights like wraiths. Guinevere glowed, as if the sunlight flowed, barely contained, under her skin. Her dress whispered around her feet as she stepped carefully around the slumbering warriors.
Cerelinde, however, flowed like silver. The mysterious green dress made no noise over the leaves, nor did her bare feet. The untamable black mass of hair paired with her green eyes and pale skin made her look ethereal in the darkness. Like the moon.
Guinevere's feet were not as silent and something crinkled (or maybe something crackled; he wasn't sure), and Arthur awoke. His eyes latched onto the pale figures sliding between the trees and without a moments hesitation followed them.
Lancelot was still awake. Though Tristan had freed him from his watch hours before, Lancelot found himself unable to sleep. There was a tingling feeling the back of his neck and through his chest that had something to do with Guinevere.
As he sat, watching his commander, and competition, disappear into the woods, he fingered the pendant from his sister. Such a long time ago . . .
Tristan returned from the watch, and made to awaken Bors. "Don't," whispered Lancelot. "I'll take it." The scout's eyes opened a little wider almost imperceptibly, but he nodded, and made to return to his pallet.
But once Lancelot had gone off, he backtracked, and followed the footsteps out of the campsite into the woods.
Arthur caught up to them quickly. Guinevere paused in a new clearing. She turned back, and as Arthur came closer, another man, leading a large shadow, appeared. Arthur stepped back, and Excalibur rang like a bell as it exited the scabbard.
"You betrayed me!" he exclaimed wildly, taking Cerelinde and Guinevere in on his accusation.
Guinevere stepped forward, arm outstretched in peace. "He means you no harm."
The man floated elegantly into their sights, for all of his scraggly looks. His body shimmered with silver light, surrounding his body like an aura. Confidence, as well as wisdom, oozed out to cover the clearing. Both Cerelinde and Guinevere felt instinctively that this was between the two men.
Merlin (for whom else could possess such magic?) began. "Peace between us this night, Arthur Castus." He walked down the incline to meet Arthur. "Soon Rome will leave. The Saxons have come. The world we have known and fought for is ended. Now, we must make a new world."
Arthur shook his head violently. "Your world, Merlin. Not mine. I shall be in Rome." He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Away from your daughter as well."
"Then the Saxons will come to Rome," murmured Merlin.
"My knights trust me not to betray them to their enemy." Merlin's body shook at the accusation.
"Rome was my enemy. Not Arthur. We have no fight between us." But Arthur refused to listen. He backed away, eyes rolling like a horse in battle.
"You tell that to the knights you killed before my eyes! Whose bones are buried in this earth!" To accentuate his point, he gestured to the frozen ground. But Merlin hardened, and with a voice echoing of the pain of loss replied:
"We have all lost brothers."
"You know nothing of the loss I speak! Shall I help you remember? An attack on a village. The screams of an innocent woman." Thunder rolled above them in the heavens, and Cerelinde felt herself watching through Arthur's eyes.
"Mother!" Nothing I can do, nothing I can do.
"Artorius!" Mother! Lightning crackled as madly as the fire whose flames licked above the dark-haired woman.
"Mother! Mother!"
"I ran to the burial mound of my father to free her. To kill you." Excalibur's tip was pointed at Merlin's heart. Cerelinde was wrenched out of the present, and back into the past.
"Father! Please let loose your sword!" The sword was stuck deep in the stone. The village boys had played games, thrusting daggers into the veins of rocks, and then pulling them out. But this was a sword, not a small dagger. It was large, heavy, and was beginning to meld with the rock.
Father! Desperate now. But with an arc, the sword was free, heavy in my grasp, burning as if it belonged there.
Mother! Gone. The barn had collapsed, and with a suddenly rolling ball of heat, the ground appeared almost friendly.
"I feel the heat of that fire on my face even now." Cerelinde's consciousness rushed back into her body with a snap, and her head lolled on her shoulders before she could see through her own eyes again.
Merlin's voice was laced with sorrow. "I did not wish her dead. She was of our blood. As are you."
Arthur let Excalibur fall, and the strain in his arms betrayed his weariness.
"My men are strong but have need of a true leader," Merlin coaxed. "They believe you can do anything. To defeat the Saxons, we need a master of war. Why do you think I spared you in the forest?" Merlin walked behind Guinevere, and put his hands on her shoulders. As Arthur turned to leave, he muttered, almost as if Arthur wasn't meant to hear, "That sword you carry is made of iron from this earth, forged in the fires of Britain. It was love of your mother that freed the sword, not hatred of me. Love, Arthur."
And then he was gone.
Guinevere followed a moment later, but as Cerelinde turned, Merlin caught her arm. He had strength, even though he looked half-starved.
"I have your things, milady," he said, and the shadow stepped out, revealing itself to be a horse. The horse that had visited her in Marius' prison. She neighed softly, and shuffled forward. The sapphire eyes were soft with love, and Cerelinde ran a hand through the silver mane.
"How good to see you again, my friend. I've missed you, Faraday." As she threaded her fingers through the silky mane, Cerelinde ran her other finger over the bare back, and without looking she knew where the bow was.
The Sotrarr'lun.
Tied with a green ribbon, the large bow and it's quiver lay dormant against Faraday's neck. In her mind, Cerelinde knew that those arrows flew true every time, and they were fleck with the feathers of a man, not of a bird.
She turned to thank Merlin, but he was gone.
OOOOOOHHHHH!
Look — what's the bow and horse for? How will the knights react to Cerelinde's new thingy-ma-jiggy?
And just what exactly will I come up with when Cerelinde, a bow, and Tristan are all stuck together?
Sotrarr'lun is rudimentary italian for moonstealer ('cause I didn't have a latin or gaelic dictionary handy). Sotrarre is to steal, and lun is short for luna, which is moon. So technically, it's The 'to steal moon', but that just doesn't have a ring to it.
Review so I'll update and you can find out!