a/n: Okay, another long but hopefully good chapter. Don't get too worried at the end. I'll post another chapter on Thursday or Friday. I didn't even want to break up this chapter, but it's so long as it is! Anyway, enjoy! And review! I love the reviews!
Trying Something New
Tristan had stayed in his room at the Wall for two days now. Vanora said that he was healing fine, but was very weak. Jaelynn noticed that when she visited him briefly. He appeared thinner even.
She was getting restless now. Jaelynn wanted to go see him again, but she didn't want to disturb him. Plus, Vanora's kids were constantly begging for her attention. It seems her absence was hard on them, and based on how they all tackled her when she got back, she imagined Vanora was relieved too—if nothing else, the kids had their favorite person back to pester.
She was happy to be back, but two things weighed heavily on her mind. The first, obviously, was Tristan and his recovery. For him to actually stay tucked away in his room for two days was an indication. She still felt guilty for pulling those spikes from him, before she escaped from the marauders. But she knew it was the right thing to do—maybe, though, not the gentlest method.
He didn't hold a grudge. When she managed to find a moment to speak with him on the journey back, he had smiled tiredly and said she did well in finding Arthur. He even thanked her. She'd blushed, of course, but then Galahad piped up some boring talk among the knights, and she lost her moment to thank Tristan for . . . everything. For saving her from that guard. For giving himself up to protect her. She wanted to apologize too: for not being able to do something to save him from the torture the marauders dealt him.
She sighed wearily. She could still hear his screams at night. When she closed her eyes, she saw him writhing in agony, with spikes jutting out from his skin.
The second thing that bothered her was what she'd noticed between Nasica and Tristan. It wasn't just their exchange at the camp the other night. The rest of the journey back to the Wall, his gaze kept drifting to Nasica. When they stopped, he didn't speak to her, and she didn't speak to him, but Tristan was being more than observant.
She was being silly, she told herself. Tristan wasn't courting Nasica. And he wasn't courting Jaelynn. She wished it at times, but other times she was well aware that Bors, Vanora, Gawain and even Galahad teased Tristan about her. It was an awful feeling, being the end of a joke. It made her wish that she'd never been so obvious, or rather, that she just didn't feel anything beyond friendship for the silent scout.
Maybe what she saw between them was just enough to torment her and remind her that she didn't stand a chance with Tristan.
Jaelynn groaned to herself. She needed something to do, something other than sulking.
She went to the healer's area. The healer, Hilden, was a shorter man with shorn black hair. He was probably Arthur's age, and was well-reputed. He fit in well at the wall, and Jaelynn found him agreeable.
Hilden looked up from a book he studied when Jaelynn came in.
"Ah, Jaelynn," he greeted, setting the book aside. "Do I need to check on Tristan?" He stood up, but Jaelynn shook her head.
"That's not why I'm here," she said, forcing a pleasant smile on her face. "I wondered if . . ." How do I do this? "I've been looking for work, and thought maybe, if you were all right with it, I could work with you."
Hilden raised an eyebrow, but he didn't come back with a speech about her being too young. Jaelynn was tense in anticipation of such a reaction. She was so used to people perceiving her as a girl, instead of a young woman. She straightened up as Hilden spoke.
"Well, I imagine I'd have to teach you a lot," he said. "Are you willing to learn?"
Jaelynn nodded. "Of course. I can read and write, and I could study your books or try anything." Hilden chuckled.
"Are you sure, though?" he asked, his laughter dying off. "People don't just have slight fevers and splinters around here. One of the knights, for example, could need help. They could be bleeding, near death, and I would need you to be calm."
The image of Tristan writhing on the cave floor came to her mind. She remembered the blood when he'd been shot by that crossbow two years ago. She remembered her father, dying quickly after the Saxons spilt his blood.
She held her head evenly and looked Hilden directly in the eyes.
"I understand," she said. Slowly, Hilden smiled.
"Then welcome to earning your keep in medicine," he said. "Hey, I thought you were to become a seamstress."
Jaelynn shook her head. After the disaster at the tavern, Jaelynn had gone to the dressmakers and asked for a job, but she knew it was not for her within the first two days. And after that, well, the marauders came.
"I want to do something . . . better," she said. Hilden offered her a tame smile.
"I understand." It started to hit Jaelynn then that she did indeed have a job now—something she would be proud of doing. The elation and glee descended on her, but she fought to keep it contained.
"Well," Hilden said, turning to a bookshelf. "You can start by reading this, after, of course, you come with me to check on Tristan."
Jaelynn's stomach dropped, but she kept up her smile. Hilden doesn't think that's why I want to do this, does he? Was he in on the so-called joke about her and Tristan? But for all her worry, Hilden didn't seem to be winking at her or nudging her side as if it were a joke. She watched as he gathered some ointment and bandages, and then turned to her expectantly.
She didn't know if she was ready to see Tristan again, now that the moment was upon her. She shook her head to herself. Now wasn't the time. She was working—it wasn't anything to be nervous about.
Jaelynn threw that thought out the window when she and Hilden entered Tristan's room. The knight was propped up so he was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall—and he was shirtless.
Maybe more, for he grabbed the covers of his bed and pulled them tighter around him. Jaelynn tried not to blush, and just followed Hilden's manner.
"Time for some more ointment," Hilden said, nodding like a comrade to the knight. Tristan nodded. "How's your throat feeling?"
Tristan shot him an expressionless look. "Does this answer your question?" he rasped. Jaelynn fought back a smile as Hilden frowned at the scout.
"Jaelynn, come help please," Hilden said, leaning over Tristan. She froze. Then it dawned on her how it would look if they saw how awkward she was acting, and she set the book down that Hilden had given her, and moved to his side.
Hilden was checking Tristan's arm, but didn't seem to think it was in need of the ointment.
"Lie back," he said, pushing Tristan before he could object. Jaelynn could see the tension in his muscles, but she tried not to make it worse by staring too much.
"Jaelynn's going to learn healing," Hilden said. He pulled the bandages away from Tristan's torso and passed the used cloths to Jaelynn. Jaelynn tried not to stare at the blood and fluids on the cloths. There wasn't much, so Tristan was healing, but still . . . She quickly folded them and set them aside. "Look here," Hilden said, drawing her attention. She leaned over the patient, and tried not to make eye contact with him. You're being stupid! Stop acting like he's just some stranger. She swallowed, and focused on what Hilden was showing her.
He applied the ointment to the small circular wounds in Tristan's sides, and also the ones over his stomach. Jaelynn noticed how defined the scout's muscles were there, and she sensed she would blush if she didn't do something quick.
"Have you seen your hawk yet?" Jaelynn blurted out. She didn't know why she chose those words, especially since they were so random, but both Tristan and Hilden looked at her. Tristan's eyes softened, and she could see him breathing easier. The tension let up from his body.
"No," he whispered. Jaelynn smiled.
"She's been around," she said. "I see her circling the fort a lot. She must miss you."
Hilden turned back to the work at hand, but he didn't interrupt the talk. Jaelynn found it easier when the healer handed her the next bandage.
"I'll look for her later today," Tristan said.
"Make sure you have someone with you when you leave the room," Hilden said. "You cannot strain yourself."
Annoyance covered Tristan's face, and Jaelynn frowned. She tried to ease the scout's mood.
"If you want, I can come back," she offered, again hoping she wasn't turning red. "Or I can find Bors or Arthur."
Tristan didn't say anything but he gave her a short nod. What that meant, she didn't know, but her attention was drawn to his legs next. Hilden passed her the ointment.
"Apply it gently over the wound, and cover beyond it," the healer instructed. "It's always good to cover a little more, to prevent infection." The ointment was warm and thick, but her hands felt shaky as she tended the wounds in Tristan's legs. She tried not to focus on the pink flesh showing beneath the skin. Her eyes wandered, and she noticed that his pants, thankfully on him, were rolled up to his knees. Probably so it doesn't aggravate the wounds.
She felt proud of herself briefly for that little observation.
"Well done," Hilden said. He pulled the bedding over Tristan's legs as if he'd get cold otherwise, and then gathered the dirty bandages. Jaelynn tried to help, and then grabbed her new book to study.
"Make sure you eat, Tristan, or you won't be walking far," Hilden said, a scolding look on his face. Tristan shrugged back.
Jaelynn followed Hilden out the door, but turned back and flashed the knight a smile. She felt relieved when he smiled back.
"You did very well, Jaelynn," Hilden said, interrupting her moment to bask in the smile she'd just received. "You have a great bedside manner."
Jaelynn frowned. "What do you mean?" She wasn't familiar with the term.
"You make the patient feel comfortable," he explained. "That's difficult to do when someone is ill."
Jaelynn tried to shrug it off. "I know him."
"Yes, but we all know he's a difficult one, the scout," Hilden said, chuckling a bit. "Just remember to try and be their friend while you tend them, and you'll be better than me."
He strode ahead, leaving Jaelynn behind in the hall, caught between feeling awkward and pleased with herself.
-0-0-
Tristan cringed as he walked through the fort. His lower legs were still tender, but he could walk steadily enough. It was time he just got over the pain, accept it or ignore it. Hilden, the healer, had been after him about going out so often, so soon, but Hilden always over-worried.
He'd been back now for five days. After being in Rome and returning to the wall, he had felt awkward and out of place. That feeling was back now.
The people cast glances at him, and he saw the usual gossips whispering to each other. He wondered what they were saying, but didn't really care enough to find out.
The market area was mildly active. Tristan strolled through, his hand covering his left side—though he didn't realize it. Two Briton women were speaking over some fruit, and they stopped mid-sentence to stare as he passed. And then they smiled at him.
Tristan frowned. Maybe the sea urchin's poison wasn't completely gone from his body.
He turned and cut between a couple of market stalls, and down a path between a bakery and some other merchant. Ahead was a blacksmith's shop. Tristan entered, and felt a warm rush of steam and fire. It was pleasant for the moment, after walking around in the cold.
"Sir Tristan," the smithy greeted. Tristan shot him a look. No one addressed him as 'sir,' and the smithy was well aware of it. The man grinned, baring a few missing teeth. "I thought you were still bedridden."
Tristan renewed his glare. The smithy was just rubbing it in now.
"Well, what do you need?" The smithy turned to the fire and stoked it. A rush of ash flooded the air, making Tristan's throat tickle. The scout glanced around the shop. He saw an assortment of blades on the wall, and frowned.
"Sword," he said. His voice was returning a bit, but it still sounded like a scratchy rasp, and not his normal smooth accent and lilting intonation.
"What happened to yours?" The smithy went to the wall of swords and started pulling down a few.
"Lost it," Tristan said. He felt a renewal of bitterness run through him. He couldn't remember where exactly his sword had been left, but he didn't have it anymore. The smithy stared incredulously.
"That's what you get for not taking care of it," he chided. Tristan resisted the urge to react or jump at the man and slit his throat with one of the swords. "Here, try this."
The smithy handed him a generic sword. It felt too light and short in Tristan's hands. He shook his head and passed the sword back. The smithy began to hand him another one.
"Not these," Tristan said. The smithy looked briefly offended, but Tristan didn't care. He went over to a piece of parchment and a well of ink, and began to sketch exactly what he had in mind. As it came together, the smithy whistled.
"It'll cost you," he declared. Tristan stared blankly at him. "I'll get working on it." The scout nodded, and left the smithy's shop.
On his way back, he stopped by the council room. He expected to find it empty, but instead, he heard voices talking animatedly. Tristan knocked once on the doors and entered the room.
The other knights were there, as were Guinevere, Arthur and some Britons. His eyes found one of them immediately—Nasica.
"Tristan," Arthur greeted. "You should be resting." Tristan glared at him, and took his usual seat. A slight chuckle rippled through the company.
"What'd I miss?" Tristan asked. He instantly regretted speaking, for his voice cracked and cut out all together. It drew a laugh from Bors, but Tristan showed no reaction to it. He noticed Nasica grinned, but at least she kept herself silent.
Arthur cleared his throat.
"A caravan of Romans was sighted," Arthur said. Tristan suddenly felt a little cold. "They're two days away."
He knew everyone was staring at him. He wondered if they thought the Romans had come for him. He doubted it, after two years, but he still didn't leap for joy any time Romans were around.
"We were not expecting them," Arthur continued. "We ride out tomorrow to meet them. I'd prefer if you stay here."
That, he figured, was not just because of his health. He nodded once.
The council continued making little plans for a few more minutes, and then dispersed. Tristan stood slowly. He suspected Arthur would want to talk with him, and it looked like Arthur was delaying to do just that. But Guinevere called to him, and the couple left.
He turned to leave, and ended up meeting Nasica at the door. There was an awkward moment as both fumbled to leave first. Tristan mumbled an apology and stood aside. Nasica smiled tightly, but she didn't leave.
"So it's true then," she said. Tristan frowned.
"What?"
"You and Rome," she said. "You were an assassin there. That's why Arthur wants you to stay behind."
Tristan stood stiffly. Was he supposed to answer that?
"Did that have anything to do with the marauders? Is that why they tortured you?"
She was blunt and to the point, he had to give her that. Tristan wasn't sure if he should just walk out or stay. For some reason, he stayed.
"Yes."
Nasica looked surprised that he said that. Her gray eyes lightened.
"Well." She shifted her stance by the door. "No matter what, no one should suffer like you did." And then she left.
Tristan stared after, confused. Was she just condemning him, or forgiving him? Not that she had any direct consequence from his past, but still . . .
He shook his head, sending his hair covering his vision. He needed a drink.
-0-0-
"How do you like the healing arts?" Vanora asked. Jaelynn stood by her side, washing the linens from their makeshift home. The whole family lived inside the Wall now, but only until they could rebuild the estate. It was a bit snug, but Jaelynn liked being at the Wall.
"It's confusing," Jaelynn admitted. "Not everything, but the books Hilden has me read are very detailed. I just don't understand it all."
Vanora chuckled and passed Jaelynn a damp linen to hang.
"You've barely started learning," she said. "Hilden doesn't expect you to perform a surgery on anyone yet. You're helping him."
Jaelynn shrugged. "I guess."
"Do you not like it?"
"No, no," Jaelynn quickly said. "No, I really like it." She smiled to herself. "I'm doing something, earning my way. It's good. And I'm helping people."
Vanora smiled. She took another linen and submerged it in a basin of sudsy water.
"I think it's great you are learning a skill and working," she said. Vanora stopped what she was doing, and watched Jaelynn work. "You've grown up so quickly, even in just two years."
Jaelynn smiled tightly, but said nothing. These moments with Vanora were dear to her, but Jaelynn felt she was too old for them. Vanora wasn't her mother.
"Bors and I have been talking," Vanora said, turning back to the linens. "We think we can rebuild the house when it gets warmer." She sighed wistfully. "It'll be nice to be back in our own home, don't you think?"
Jaelynn nodded, but inside felt differently. She opened her mouth, shut it, and tried again.
"Vanora," she started. She took a deep breath. "Do you think I should find a place of my own, when spring comes?"
She didn't dare look at Vanora's face, but she heard the redhead hesitate before soaking the linen again in the water.
"Are you really asking," Vanora said, "or do you want to be on your own?" She offered a small, knowing smile. Jaelynn slowly returned the smile.
"I don't know," she decided on. "I just . . ." She wished she had thought this through more. Actually, she'd thought it through plenty, but she wished she knew how to explain it. There were plenty of girls—women—her age who were now on their own. Or already married, but she was glad that wasn't the case for her. And she really didn't want to burden Vanora or Bors anymore. They had their kids, and while she felt accepted there . . . it was time to move on.
Jaelynn cleared her throat. "I thought, if I'm any good at healing, I'll be needed here." She tried to sell the reason by looking steadfastly at Vanora. The redhead grinned, and nodded back.
"Of course."
Jaelynn knew she'd failed, just from Vanora's tone. The woman was humoring her. But she wasn't angry. When Jaelynn looked up, she could see that. Vanora understood. Jaelynn would always love that about her. As they resumed their housework, Vanora cleared her throat and said:
"Well, I can help you find a good room here."
Jaelynn grinned. She was so relieved that Vanora hadn't been hurt.
"Jaelynn!" Someone came running into the room. It was Nasica. The Briton's hair was wind-blown and her face was flush from running.
"Hilden needs you, now! My friend is having her child!" Nasica blurted out. She quickly turned for the door, but waited enough to wave for Jaelynn to follow.
Jaelynn blinked once as the urgency set in and then ran out the door.
-0-0-
The birth was long, and loud. Jaelynn found herself never wanting children after what she witnessed, but somehow she held it together.
She spent the excruciating hours bringing cold and hot water in, removing cloths and bringing in new ones, and generally trying to not throw up. How Hilden did this—no, how women did this, she did not know.
But she bit her lip and tried to dull her hearing amidst the screams of pain. The woman in labor was a widow. Her husband died from an accident months ago. Nasica seemed to be the woman's good friend. As the intensity of the final birthing moment came, Nasica was still there, holding her friend's hand.
Hilden delivered the child, and then showed Jaelynn how to clean the child—a boy—and hand him to the mother. While the mother and Nasica admired the new babe, Hilden tended to the mother and sent Jaelynn out for fresh water.
The cold evening air hit her, and it was the most pleasant thing for her at that moment. Jaelynn stopped to enjoy it. She needed it before she carried on. The wind tossed her brown hair, and Jaelynn leaned back a bit and stared up at the sky.
She let out a long breath.
And then sucked it right back in when she looked ahead of her and saw Tristan staring at her.
The knight stood stiffly, watching her with eyes that were so alert and intense she almost wondered if she was in danger. But that look. . . his amber colored eyes were glowing.
And then she heard footsteps shuffle behind her. A woman's voice cooed, and Jaelynn had to turn and see who it was.
It was Nasica, holding the newborn. She had a tender smile on her face as she looked down on the baby boy.
Jaelynn's heart skipped a beat, painfully. She glanced back at Tristan, who wasn't staring at her. He never had been. He was staring at Nasica.
Jaelynn's chest shuddered as she tried to breathe. She scurried away to fulfill her duties.
-0-0-
Tristan watched from his room. Arthur and the knights and a number of Britons left yesterday to meet the Roman convoy. He expected they would return some time today.
Arthur had caught up with him before the party left and tried to ease things between them. Tristan didn't hold anything against Arthur; he was being cautious, simple as that. Arthur, as usual, wasn't convinced at Tristan's ease, but left with his head a little higher.
The scout left his room, and stopped at the smithy first. The gap-toothed man looked up from his work once and merely directed the scout with his eyes. Tristan followed the look and found the sword he'd commissioned laying on a table. Tristan picked it up. It wasn't completely polished and ready, but the work was there.
"Try it out," the smithy said. "Bring it back this evening and tell me what you still want."
Tristan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He took the sword and left the shop.
Headed for the training yards, Tristan tested the sword's weight in his hand. It was good for him, probably even with his last sword, but it felt a little heavy. He frowned. He hadn't practiced with a sword since confronting the marauders. His right shoulder and forearm ached, but they would have to adjust.
He heard someone gasping as he entered the training yard. Nasica was there, her sword drawn and sparring with the other Briton who'd come for him—Lennor. Tristan sat aside, and watched.
Nasica was surprisingly limber. Each time Lennor swung, Nasica dodged masterfully. She would lean so far back that Tristan thought she would lose her balance. Then she would right herself as if it were very natural to bend back and forth. Nasica twirled around and set her foot right behind Lennor's, and then hit him with her elbow in the chest.
The hit made him move, and his movement made him trip over her foot. Nasica turned out of the way of his fall, and watched until he hit the ground. She brought the tip of her sword to his throat as a signal of her victory.
She grinned, and then lowered her sword. She offered a hand to Lennor, who accepted with a humbled smile.
The faintest trace of a smile came upon Tristan's lips. He stood and went to the open space of the yard. Nasica noticed him quickly, and he noted the surprise on her face.
"Are you supposed to be sparring yet?" she asked. Tristan looked blankly at her, and merely held up his sword as a challenge to her.
She sighed, but adapted a fighting stance.
He didn't overextend himself. His lunges were short, and his pace steadily slow. Her speed was just as quick though, and Tristan was grateful she wasn't slowing down just for him. The blade felt a bit heavy still in his hand, and his shoulders let him know every time he swung. When his sword met hers, an annoying shiver traveled up the blade. He frowned; the blade would need to be strengthened. That would make it heavier, but he could train more and adjust.
He heard the rush of air being sliced by a blade, and ducked. The movement stirred up a twinge in his side, but he ignored it and jumped back when the blade was clear. He blocked Nasica's next attack with an upward swing. She quickly repositioned herself and twirled around him.
He felt her foot hit just behind his heel. He smiled; she was setting him up like she had Lennor. Her elbow was coming towards his chest the same way.
Tristan dropped his sword and caught her elbow before it could hit him. That didn't stop her enough. Her eyes darted to his sword, lying on the ground, and she brought hers up in one sweep towards his neck.
He picked up his foot and tangled it around hers, the one that was meant to trip him. He buckled his leg, and brought her down. He braced her sword from falling on him, and swatted it away.
He hit the earth, and she fell on top of him. She pulled from his hold on her arm, and rolled from him, but Tristan followed. He pinned her.
"Can't use the same trick twice," he said choppily between breaths. She glared at him, and then bucked her hips up so forcefully that it sent Tristan forward and into the dirt. He felt her scramble free from him. Tristan rolled away once and got to his feet.
Nasica held her sword, her eyes gleaming at him like he was prey. Tristan grinned. This was good.
His sword lay at her feet, a bit dirty now, but he didn't care. She would rush him. She held the advantage, and would use it. But she just stood there, her blade held horizontally at him, even though there was a good fifteen feet between them.
Does she think this is over? He may not have a sword in hand, but he was not defeated. He frowned.
"Enough," she said, lowering her sword. "Not bad. I expected better, but maybe it's your health." Her words tasted bitter.
"I'm still standing," Tristan pointed out. Nasica shrugged.
"So?" She sheathed her sword and tossed her blonde hair out of the way. "I'm finished. Am I supposed to keep fighting just because the infamous scout has shown me something other than indifference?" She huffed. "I'm not after such an honor."
She left the training yard, the wind at her back as if she took it with her. Tristan stood, baffled. What just happened?
He went to his sword, remembering the adjustments the smithy would have to make. When he turned to leave, he noticed Lennor was standing aside, having watched the sparring match.
"Did I offend her?" Tristan asked in Lennor's direction. Lennor shrugged.
"It doesn't take much," he said. "I don't think she likes you." There was no meanness to his words, and Tristan appreciated that. The scout stared after the blonde Woad as her form hastened through the town.
"What did I do to her?" he wondered aloud.
He heard Lennor come behind him, and clap him on the back.
"Nothing, to her," he said. "Good fighting, by the way." Lennor left, following Nasica's path to the town. Tristan stayed behind, stared at the sword in his hands, and tried to understand what went wrong.