a/n: Real quick thank you to Domovoi and Josje for their reviews—sorry, couldn't reply through the PM system. Thanks everyone for being understanding about the shorter chapter. I hope you all enjoy this next one—it certainly was a lot of fun to write!
Useless Resistance
"One. Two. Three. Four." A gasp. "One. Two. Three. Four."
Jaelynn counted aloud as she moved, just like Tristan instructed her. His method was different from Gawain's, in some ways more rigid, but she could feel an improvement in her movements. As she counted, sometimes aloud and sometimes just in her head, her body acclimated to the defensive and offensive moves Tristan taught.
"Good," he said, lowering his sword. He wasn't concerned about any danger training with real weapons, and that excited Jaelynn. Then again, for her to make real progress with a sword such as Tristan's (or hers, since he gave it to her), she had to use the real thing.
Tristan stabbed the sword into the ground and left it wobbling. He came behind her, encircling his arms around her. Jaelynn was too tired right now to mind or get jittery. He clasped his hands over hers and over the hilt of the sword. His fingers specifically tightened around her wrists.
"Keep your wrists strong," he said. "The slightest movement from your wrists can change a fight." He firmly wriggled her wrist back and forth, and with it the sword. She knew her wrists had been weak before, kind of dangling the sword in her hands. Jaelynn nodded.
"Good," Tristan said, releasing her and moving back in front of her. "How're your arms?"
Jaelynn grimaced before she could stop herself. He noticed and smiled.
"Tired," she admitted. She swiped one arm across her face and managed to catch her hair too. She imagined she looked incredibly messy and unkempt, but this was training—it was allowed.
Tristan, on the other hand, could look fine no matter what. Sure, he got dirty and bloody in battle and on his journeys, but it added to the intensity and mysteriousness. It just was Tristan. She wouldn't change that, or his longer hair and strange tattoos and serious yet blank expression—
Are you still training? Don't ogle him--fight him! Annoyed, she pushed back her sleeves of her shirt and then returned to a fighting stance. This was training, nothing more. She wanted it that way. She did not ask him to train her for any other reason than a need to learn how to use her new sword. The man who tried to attack her, albeit drunkenly, convinced her it was time, regardless if it was Tristan as her teacher or another. And Tristan made the most sense.
Tristan rotated his wrist, twirling his sword effortlessly. He nodded at her, and Jaelynn began again.
"One. Two. Three. Four."
After training until nightfall, Jaelynn felt drained and ready for rest. She watched numbly while Tristan added more wood to the fire, checked the horses, and surveyed the area for any danger. She wanted to help, but Tristan was used to the effort. She was not.
He finally settled down and sat by the fire. He was a good ten feet away from her. That bothered Jaelynn, but she didn't pursue why.
They sat in silence.
Silence was something to be respected, but with Tristan when it was ever-present, it became an annoyance. Jaelynn was comfortable enough with the quiet, but sometimes it led her to think too much about . . . things.
Luckily, Tristan broke the ban on talking.
"Your skill is better," he said without meeting her eyes. He stared at the fire.
"Thank you." Jaelynn sounded half-awake, but her mind rushed with his words. His acknowledgment of her improvement meant a lot to her—more than if it'd come from Gawain, Galahad, Bors, or even Arthur.
"I appreciate you taking the time and effort to teach me," she said. She wished she hadn't though, because her words sounded so formal. Was a nobleman near by? Who was she trying to impress with her stilted formality?
Tristan.
She scowled at herself briefly. The silence took its place between them.
Jaelynn wondered if she should just give in to her body's demands and sleep. Studying him as discreetly as possible, Jaelynn considered what else she could do to alleviate the awkwardness between them. She knew him enough and felt comfortable enough that she didn't always have to be talking, but lately, since she yelled at him days ago, it was hard to be herself around him.
"Doesn't the firelight make it harder to see around you?" she blurted out. Tristan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his mouth. But he nodded, much to Jaelynn's relief.
"Yes," he said. "The hawk will alert us if there's danger." Interesting. She never thought Tristan would relax enough to pass off scouting to the hawk, or any person. The Tristan she always saw before was always hunting danger and protecting. Not that she didn't feel safe now—Tristan's presence had a very comforting effect on her—but she wondered what made him relax.
It was good, whatever it was.
"She can see so well then? Even at night?" Jaelynn asked next. She wouldn't mind getting away from this topic she created, but at least it was something to break the silence.
Tristan nodded, making his braids jiggle.
"She has sharp eyes," he said, shifting so that he leaned back and braced his weight with his arms behind him. Suddenly he gasped and jerked his hands back. He scrambled to his feet and whirled to inspect the ground behind him.
Jaelynn saw something move there, and her breath caught in her throat. "What?"
Then she saw it. Something was slithering, just over the ground and heading for the tress.
"Snake!" she said in a whisper. She stood quickly and glanced around her. Tristan scowled at the retreating snake. He cradled his left hand with his right, gently rubbing and prodding the skin.
"Were you bit?" Jaelynn grabbed his hand as gently as possibly. Sure enough, there were two puncture marks in the back of his hand. They weren't deep, but she could see blood at the base of the mark, seeping weakly to the top on his skin.
Jaelynn hurried to her healer's bag, and dug out a vial of liquid, some crushed herb leaves, and a bandage.
"It's fine," he said, but Jaelynn already had his hand in hers. She rubbed the liquid over the marks, which were slightly red and swollen already. She frowned. Hilden taught her a lot, but snakes were not her strong point. She hoped the snake did not carry a poison.
She grabbed the crushed leaves, and worked them over the wound, but not too deeply. She couldn't let the leaves get far into the wounds themselves, or it could cause discomfort and maybe hinder the healing. Tristan gritted his teeth as she rubbed.
"Sorry," she said, easing up. She reached for the bandage, and wrapped it over his hand. "How does it feel?"
Tristan grunted, and Jaelynn rolled her eyes.
"What does that mean?"
He glanced at her, then back at his bandaged hand. "I'll live."
She laughed slightly. "I hope so. You certainly have bad luck, Tristan."
He shrugged. "You too."
The laughter died. "Me?" She didn't consider herself unlucky. Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"You want me to list them?" he asked. "Saxons, marauders, Romans, villagers . . ."
He had a point. Villagers. So he did know about the drunken man. Or maybe he was talking about Morlo. Either way, it kind of made her smile.
"At least I don't almost die every time I run into trouble," she said, poking a finger at his ribs. He jumped slightly, but grinned back.
"It's not on purpose."
Jaelynn patted him on his bandaged hand. "Good." She released his hand. "If you feel anything strange, let me know. I'll check it in the morning."
He nodded. For a moment, they stood in front of each other. Jaelynn was unsure of what to do, but she didn't want to move. You should. Nothing good would come of continuing to hope for Tristan. Everything she feared in being near him on this journey was coming true.
Tristan looked to the ground. He flexed his bandaged hand, and then glanced back to Jaelynn. She watched him, watched his eyes study hers, watched his good hand come up and near her face.
It hovered in front of her, as if Tristan were about to touch her. She could see him debate about what he would do next. Jaelynn's heart raced, and a sense of panic overcame her.
She turned away.
"Thank you," she heard him say behind her. She paused briefly, nodded and went to her bedding.
-0-0-
There was one more village, and Tristan was glad they were so close to being done with this trip. It was becoming torturous, and not because of the random mishaps like a snake bite that amounted to a scab.
It was bad enough to witness Jaelynn dancing with men. She was moving on, just like she said she wanted to. But it was worse being so near her, and yet unable to do anything about it.
Teaching her to fight was the ultimate test for Tristan. He couldn't focus. He kept urging her in his mind to make this move or that block and beat him. Not that he wanted to be defeated, but he wanted Jaelynn to succeed.
At the last village, the healer was not present—gone to visit relatives elsewhere. So the stop would be quick. It worked in Tristan's favor, he thought. But as Jaelynn was leaving herbs at the healer's home, a man ran towards Jaelynn.
"Please!" he said, though that didn't stop the instinct for Tristan to grasp his sword. The scout observed the man's face. He was panicked.
"What is it?" Jaelynn asked. She stood tensely, as if she didn't entire know what to make of this.
"My wife," he said, "she just fell. She isn't moving, and I don't know why!" He started to back towards the way he'd come, and waved his hand for her to follow. Jaelynn glanced at Tristan. He nodded, and both followed the man.
"What is her name?" Jaelynn asked as they entered a simple home. The wife lay on the floor by the hearth.
"Melinda," he said. "I am Donton." Jaelynn nodded, and knelt by Melinda's side. She started to look over the prone woman, and Tristan found himself standing off to the side. Melinda was young, probably just five or so years older than Jaelynn.
He wasn't sure what was wrong with the woman, but judging from Jaelynn's face, it wasn't good. He'd seen this look before, when Nasica was dying. But Jaelynn tended to the woman, with Donton anxiously hovering close.
"I need something from my pack," Jaelynn said some time later. Tristan stood to get it for her, but Jaelynn headed for the door as well. "Keep her warm. I will be back." Donton nodded.
Her eyes flickered to Tristan, and he saw a sigh escape her lips. He followed her outside. Glancing at her posture, the concern and tension throughout her frame, Tristan fell in step with her.
"What's wrong?" he mumbled. He heard her draw a breath.
"Her heart beats very weakly," she said, keeping her voice quiet. Other villagers were out and must have known that Jaelynn was attending to the woman. They eyed the pair curiously. Jaelynn kept her head low, as if she did not want to be seen.
"Why?" Tristan asked. Jaelynn shook her head. They reached their horses, and Jaelynn dug into her pack for a small bundle. She stared at it. Her eyes looked haunted.
"I think she fainted," Jaelynn said. "It's something inside of her." She didn't have to add that she wasn't sure what.
"Can you do anything?"
Her eyes flickered to the bundle in hand. They started back to Melinda and Donton's home. Jaelynn didn't answer Tristan's question.
So much for a quick stop. Jaelynn spent the rest of the day watching over Melinda. In the evening, the woman seemed so near death and barely breathing that Jaelynn finally opened the small bundle she'd retrieved from her things. Tristan found himself stepping forward to see what was in it.
The fire in the hearth shone on the metal instruments inside. He glanced at Donton, who just seemed confused by everything. But Tristan knew what those instruments were. He'd felt them on his skin and in his body before. No wonder she delayed in bringing them out. Jaelynn sighed to herself, and stared directly at Donton.
"I do not know exactly what is wrong," she said. "I can try something, but . . ." She looked down. Tristan saw a shudder run through her body before she looked up. "It may not work."
Maybe he was getting the message. Grief overshadowed the panic in Donton, but he nodded.
"Please. Anything you can do . . ." His voice broke. Donton looked at his wife while tears filled his eyes. "Please," he whispered.
Jaelynn nodded, and turned to the set of tools in the bundle. Tristan neared Donton and laid a hand on his shoulder. The man looked surprised, as if he hadn't really noticed the scout yet.
"You should wait outside," Tristan said quietly. This wasn't something a husband should see. Donton glanced to Jaelynn, then his wife. His gaze lingered there, until he nodded and wearily left the house.
Tristan watched the man leave and shut the door. When he turned around, he saw Jaelynn staring at him.
"Thank you," she said softly. He nodded, and knelt by her.
"What do you need?"
Jaelynn ran her hands through her hair. She twisted it into a rope and then knotted it so it wouldn't get in her way. Tristan wasn't sure what she was doing, but she gently felt the woman's neck, then her arms, and finally her legs. She frowned.
"Her calf is swelling," she said, pulling the woman's skirt high enough for Tristan to see. She lifted the leg and glanced at it from all sides. "I read that sometimes the blood flow stops in certain parts of the body."
She moved back to the woman's neck and felt the side of it.
"Her heart beats quickly, but it's very faint still," she explained, though Tristan still didn't know what that meant overall. She withdrew a small knife from the tools, and moved to the leg. She squared her shoulders and took another deep breath. "I need you to have cloths ready for the bleeding."
She's going to cut the woman. Tristan swallowed, and his throat rubbed uncomfortably. He grabbed some cloths Donton had retrieved, and sat by Jaelynn's side.
Jaelynn poised the knife above the woman's calf, where the swelling was, and then paused.
"Tristan," she said. He looked to her, and brushed his messy bangs away from his eyes. She opened her mouth to say something. But she didn't utter anything more.
-0-0-
It was nearing midnight when the woman died. An hour before, Jaelynn put away her knife and supplies. She bandaged the woman's leg, and just waited.
Tristan saw the nervousness and fear in her eyes. Somehow it reminded him of how she'd been in the sea cave. Donton came back in, and held his wife's hand. Jaelynn couldn't say anything to him, but Tristan figured that said enough to the man as it was.
When she died, Donton's cries made Jaelynn wince. She whispered her condolences and left the house. Villagers entered in after her, and Tristan left them to comfort the husband.
He found Jaelynn and some village leader speaking outside.
". . . helping her," Tristan heard the leader say. "We were fortunate you were here. We were fortunate you could tend to her."
Jaelynn's voice came out as a hollow whisper. "I'm sorry I couldn't save her."
The leader laid a calming hand on her shoulder, and shook his head. "Please, do not blame yourself. You should rest. We have a bed prepared for you."
Tristan walked up to them and stood by Jaelynn's side. She did not say anything, and Tristan knew why. He shook his head.
"Thank you," he said, which felt unnatural to him, "but we leave immediately." From the corner of his eye, he saw Jaelynn glance suddenly at him, but she didn't object.
"Perhaps some food for your journey then," the leader replied. Tristan nodded, and the leader went to gather food.
Jaelynn was silent as they rode away into the night. Tristan debated about stopping somewhere to make camp, but he wanted to be far enough away from the village. His hawk was sleepily perched on his arm, and he wondered if that was a sign to stop too. But his instincts told him to keep going. Distance.
It was windy. The trees swayed back and forth with a roar in their branches. The restlestness of it spurred Tristan on, with a glance to his side to make sure Jaelynn was all right.
She was awake. Her eyes were open, and she sat unmoving in the saddle. She looked numb. A sad frown pulled at her mouth, and her eyes appeared unseeing. In the patchy moonlight, Tristan saw tears unshed in her eyes.
"It's not your fault," he said. His voice rasped slightly from the late hour. Jaelynn slowly turned her head towards him. "You helped her the best you could."
She nodded along, but Tristan sensed she did not believe a word he'd said. The sound of the wind and their horses' hooves came back to his ears, and it was as if he'd said nothing at all. A few minutes later, he tried again.
"You did well."
He heard her scoff at that. Tristan pulled up sharply on the reins, and faced her in his saddle.
"I didn't know how to help her," she said, her voice bitter and quiet. Tristan nudged his horse towards hers to hear her above the winds. "Melinda died because I wasn't prepared."
She turned her horse to go around his, but Tristan blocked her path.
"You can't stop every death," he said.
"You're right," she said. "But Melinda wasn't supposed to die. Hilden could have saved her."
He thought about that. Yes, maybe Hilden could have done more, or differently. But the facts were that Hilden was not there, and neither was the normal village healer. Jaelynn was the woman's only hope. And she did all she could.
He jumped down from his horse, and held hers by the reins.
"Come," he said. "We'll camp here." She dismounted slowly with no energy to her movements. He led the horses and tied them to some branches. He didn't bother with a fire, but he grabbed the food the village leader had given them and sat next to Jaelynn. She sat stiffly against a tree, with her cloak wrapped tightly around her.
Tristan opened up the package of food, and broke off a piece of bread for her. He watched her chew it as if it were pure salt. He sighed.
"I don't understand medicine," Tristan said. "I only know if I think someone will live or die."
She had a curious look on her face, but she kept eating her food.
"When Nasica was wounded—" He saw her stiffen at the name; at least he had her attention. "I knew she would die. I didn't want it, but when you woke me . . . I wasn't surprised."
He felt like he was talking a lot and not making sense, and it frustrated Tristan. He didn't know how to tell her what he meant. Maybe he did know what he meant, but he couldn't portray it succinctly.
"It was the same with Melinda," he said. "Her husband knew it too."
She was looking at him now. Her eyes searched his face, and he wondered if she thought he was making things up to comfort her. He smiled softly, hoping she would smile back.
She didn't, but reached for some meat that the village leader included in the package.
"Thank you," she said before eating the meat.
They ate the rest of the meal, even though it was far too late to really think about food. Tristan leaned against the tree next to Jaelynn's. He kept watching her. He worried that she would torture herself about Melinda's death, even with as little control she had over it.
He waited for her to fall asleep, but Jaelynn stayed awake. It would be dawn in a couple of hours. Tristan was used to little or no sleep, but Jaelynn he knew was not. Finally, Tristan stood, but she barely acknowledged it. He pulled off his cloak and sat next to her.
Her eyes glanced at him, wondering what he was doing, but she did nothing more. Tristan moved and knelt in front of her. He grasped her arm and pulled her towards him, enough to get her away from the tree. She didn't resist. Tristan took her place against the tree, and pulled her back so she leaned against him now. With the cloak, he covered them both.
He thought maybe she would be tense or uncomfortable with the situation. He thought he might be, but it felt good to him. He sensed, though, that for Jaelynn she was still too numb to really care either way.
He wrapped his arms around her, sighing as he did so. After a few minutes, she let her head rest against his shoulder, and he felt her hair tickle his neck.
He ended up falling asleep, more comfortable and content than he ever remembered.
-0-0-
In retrospect, it was kind of Tristan to look out for her. His actions were very . . . brotherly. She imagined Gawain would have done the same. Although, she didn't feel anything beyond a brotherly or familial love for Gawain, whereas with Tristan, she did.
Still.
It made her feel awkward as they rode through the next day. She kept wishing that his actions, looking out for her and holding her through the night, meant something beyond his basic concern for her well-being.
It also bothered her that she had such need for care. It rubbed her as charity. Pity. All because she hadn't been able to help an ill woman.
In her mind, she knew she couldn't blame herself for Melinda's death. But she kept thinking about Donton, and how he would be alone for some time, maybe his whole life, because Jaelynn couldn't stop an illness from claiming his wife.
"We should be at the Wall in four days," Tristan said suddenly. Jaelynn cleared her mind enough to nod at his words. He had said a lot lately. It was odd really, but she found that she liked it. She liked that he spoke to her, even though it was purely out of friendship. Maybe that is enough.
For him, though. Not for me. A pain seized her heart. Jaelynn tried to shake it away and focus her thoughts and feelings away from Tristan. Things will settle down when you get back to the Wall. Life will go on, and you only have to see him if you choose. She could become very busy, with Hilden's help.
They journeyed till nighttime, and after eating a small animal Tristan shot, he drew his sword.
"Let's practice," he said. She raised an eyebrow.
"It's dark," she pointed out. He nodded.
"Not all fights happen with light." He turned and started swinging his sword, probably to loosen his muscles. He stood, ready and waiting for her.
Jaelynn sighed.
"Not now, Tristan," she said. She felt guilty about it because he was trying to make her feel better or distract her. But she had no conscience to abandon her guilt right now. He sighed and she heard the distinct sound of his sword being put back in its scabbard.
He sat next to her.
"You still think you could have done more," he observed. Yes, she thought. She couldn't stop thinking that if she knew more about healing, had asked Hilden better questions, had just thought about another solution that might have done better, maybe Melinda would be alive and her husband Donton would not be grieving.
She turned to him. "Don't you ever blame yourself?" She knew the answer was 'yes.' Tristan leaned back with a sigh on his lips, and stared at the dark sky.
"Yes," he said as she thought he would. She nodded, and the two fell into silence for a minute.
"I have a lot to blame myself for," he said. His eyes were still cast upwards. Jaelynn figured he was thinking of Rome.
"From what I've heard, Tristan," she started, "you had to do what others wanted in Rome." He shrugged.
"I assassinated 48 men," he said. Jaelynn almost jumped, jolted by the number. "I killed a few more that deserved it."
"But it was some bishop that took you, wasn't it?" she asked. She'd heard it from various knights and Vanora. "You had to do what he wanted, or you'd die."
Again, the scout shrugged. "It's not just Rome. A village was slaughtered because of me," he said, and Jaelynn figured that was about the marauders. "A boy's father is dead, and hundreds more because I was a knight for Rome."
Wait, she thought. She hadn't meant to drudge up his past.
"Tristan," she started—
"You have nothing to blame yourself for," he said. The guilt came back to her; how could she have been acting this way when Tristan had definitely suffered more?
"Neither do you," she said, and somewhere back in her mind she vaguely realized he had managed to divert her blame. He looked to her, his eyes curious at her words. She shrugged. "No one blames you."
The right side of his mouth quirked up.
"You don't listen to the town gossip, do you?"
Oh. He was right; she had heard a lot of gossip about Tristan. Was he saying the townspeople still talked about him? But they can't blame him, can they?
"Is that why you stay away?" she asked.
He shrugged again, which to her meant 'yes.' Jaelynn sighed. She tilted her head back and stared at the sky.
"I don't blame you," she said resolutely.
"I don't blame you," she heard Tristan say back. She glanced at him, and saw a slight smile on his face. Reluctantly, she smiled back.
"Fine," she said. "I won't blame myself then." He started to nod. "If you won't either."
The remnants of the smile disappeared from his mouth.
"It's only fair," she added. She wondered if he'd agree. When he nodded, she also wondered if he would really try. He stood up then, and grabbed her bedding and his.
"Rest," he said, as he did every night. "We'll train in the morning."