How inconvenient it is when two people have only to uncover a coincidence of circumstance in order to solve every problem and clear up every miscommunication, but fail to see the truth of their situation hidden beneath fate's cloak. Galahad fancied Seanna from the moment he laid eyes on her, so his disappointment was considerable when he discovered she was already engaged to another. Of course, little did he or Seanna know that this "other" was his fallen brother in arms Lancelot who had died in battle only months before. How much easier things would have been if they had known.
Though her patient was recovering rapidly from his injuries, Seanna remained that day watching over Galahad. She sat in the corner with knife in hand, whittling away at a piece of wood and endeavoring desperately to ignore Galahad's constant gaze. It unnerved her, and she was not one to be easily rattled. She found herself overly self-aware. Her ability to concentrate on her work soon dwindled to the point where she had to cease her carving lest she chisel it down to the size of a wooden blade of grass from the anxious, incessant scraping motions of her knife.
"Is there a reason you keep staring at me?" she asked in annoyance, setting the carving down in her lap.
"You have great skill," remarked Galahad admiringly. He hadn't meant to cause her discomfort. In fact, he hadn't even realized he had been staring.
"If only that were true," Seanna scoffed humbly, "My talent for sculpting is average, but I do it purely for my own enjoyment, so it matters little. I like the feeling of scraping away the old to make something new."
"You are too hard on yourself," Galahad admonished, scooting over to sit beside her and taking the carving in his hands to marvel at it, "I wish I could make something like this. It's a horse, isn't it?"
"Yes," she replied, "Or at least it will be eventually. I've only just started."
"I can tell what it is already," Galahad assured her, "So that says something about your talent."
"Or about your ability to guess," countered Seanna coyly.
Galahad smirked. "You really can't take a compliment, can you?" he asked.
"I like to feel worthy of praise," she said modestly, her face reddening ever so slightly with embarrassment, "but thank you."
Galahad ran his fingers along the coarse edges of the carving, studying each groove carefully. "Will you teach me?" he asked.
"Teach you?" she repeated with uncertainty, "I don't know that I could---"
"Please," he insisted, "I have been trained to do many things with knives, but all of them involve only the art of killing, if it can be called an art at all. It would be a pleasant change to actually learn how to create something with them."
Seanna looked warily from the knife in her hand back to Galahad. She still did not trust him completely. He was practically a captive here after all, since Ben Sana would not let him leave until the passageways cleared.
Galahad sensed her insecurity immediately. "Look," he argued, "If I was going to hurt you, I would have just snatched the dagger myself instead of asking for it."
This seemed reasonable enough, though the thought that he could take her life in the ease of an instant was a bit disconcerting. Seanna handed over the knife cautiously to Galahad, who took it from her gently as a sign of his passivity.
"You are very good at killing?" she found herself suddenly asking.
Galahad shrugged. "Better at it than my enemies, at least," he replied guardedly, "Or else I'd be dead, wouldn't I?"
"You've seen many battles?" she persisted, though a dark shadow had clouded over the knight's face.
"I've done more than see them," he replied curtly.
"Forgive my insensitivity," she said quickly, sensing his reluctance to speak on the subject, "I did not mean to press you. I was just curious since---well, since the man I am supposed to marry was also taken into the Roman military. I know so little about it, always fearing the worst for him."
"Where was he stationed?" Galahad asked.
"I don't know," Seanna answered, "If I did, I would have probably gone to search for him. Waiting is an awful thing, never knowing if he is alive or safe or wounded or worse if he is…" Her voice trailed off.
"I wish I could reassure you," said Galahad solemnly, "and tell you that it's not as terrible as you imagine it, but that would be a lie. We lost many men during my fifteen years of service, friends I cared deeply for."
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "That must have been very hard for you."
"It's all just a bad memory now," he continued morosely, "Really, I was lucky. My commander is a good, just man. It is an honor to fight for him."
"Is?" she asked with a quizzical look on her face, "You still serve Rome?"
"No, we are no longer part of the Roman military. You see," Galahad explained, "I was stationed in Britain, the country from which the Romans recently withdrew themselves. To make a long story short, I, along with the other Sarmatian knights stationed there, helped our commander Arthur Castus defeat the Saxons so that Britain could be free and independent. I was required to return to Sarmatia for---family business---well, to bury my mother---but now I intend to return to Britain and continue to serve Arthur."
"I am sorry about your mother," said Seanna sympathetically, "But Britain must have been a wonderful place for you to once again leave Sarmatia to go back to it."
Galahad shrugged. "Not the country so much as the people," he replied, "They became my family. Towards the very end, there were seven of us including Arthur that were as close as blood kin. But then we lost Dagonet and Tristan and---"
The door swung open and a short, stocky middle-aged woman bumbled into the room. "My lady!" she beckoned to Seanna, "Come! We must make ready for the banquet."
"I'll be right with you, Angela," Seanna replied.
Angela nodded, shuffling back out of the room, while Seanna fixed her attention back on the carving and knife that Galahad held in his hands. "Here," she said hastily for she knew she must soon depart, "I will show you what to do."
Galahad nodded and Seanna took his hands in hers, guiding him through the correct motions of carving. "It's pretty simple, really," she explained, "Keep making small movements like this, taking off only little bits at a time. There you go. It just takes patience is all."
They were sitting very close now, Seanna leaning into the groove between Galahad's shoulder and chest to observe their work more closely. Galahad was a fast learner and soon no longer needed Seanna's help. She went to withdraw her hands, but he quickly caught them, his thumbs grazing over her knuckles in a gentle caress. He leaned in close, his hot breath on her cheek, and closed his eyes, drawing his lips closer to hers---but she turned abruptly away.
"I can't," she whispered softly.
"Because of obligations or because you do not want to?" he asked in complete seriousness.
"Because I can't," she reiterated, her voice steady and firm, "I must go."
Seanna stood promptly to her feet and walked purposely from the room, not looking back as she shut the door. Galahad sighed and turned his attention back to the carving. He sat there in silence, ruminating over what had just occurred and methodically running the blade across the small hunk of wood that was soon to take the shape of a noble black steed gracefully bowing its head. The fates were playing many tricks on this day.
A little over an hour later, Galahad rose and dressed himself cautiously so as not to irritate his tender wounds. He then exited his quarters for the first time since he had arrived and headed down to the banquet hall where what seemed to be the entire tribe had gathered to celebrate Uris' birthday. Galahad hesitated to enter at first, but Ben Sana quickly motioned for the knight to take a seat near him close to the head of the table. The vacant spot was located directly across the table from Uris, and Galahad had to squeeze himself uncomfortably between two broad-shouldered men.
"So glad you decided come," greeted Ben Sana, raising his goblet to him, "Your presence is an honor."
"I believe it was also mandatory," Galahad muttered, but Ben Sana was no longer paying him any attention. In fact, no one seemed to notice him at all, but continued on with their conversations as though he were not even there. This did not offend Galahad in the least. He was rather grateful of it, actually.
"And never forget that yours is a life considerably blessed, my friend," a man sitting further down at the table was saying to Uris, "You have seen many years of peace and soon you will be able to settle down with a beautiful wife and---"
"And we all hate you for it!" bellowed the man seated next to Uris, elbowing his friend playfully in the ribs and clamoring his goblet against the table.
"That's right," the hefty man next to Galahad added sonorously, "Meanwhile, the rest of us must look elsewhere to satisfy our needs." He made a crude gesture with his right hand.
"What's this about?" taunted Uris, his face glowing from the alcohol, "Garrund won't bend over for you anymore?"
The man beside him, who was apparently named Garrund, slammed his fist down on the table and stood up angrily. Uris laughed. "Sit down, sit down," he beseeched, "I was only kidding."
Garrund lowered himself slowly back down into his chair and muttered, "I'm not the one with something stuck up his ass."
"Anyways, Revelin," continued Uris, ignoring Garrund and turning his attention back to the man with the overworked right hand, "I'm just waiting for the day you go blind, you horny bastard."
"Bollucks! That's just an old superstition, isn't it?" asked Revelin, tittering with laughter in a futile attempt to cover up his concern, "It can't really cause blindness, can it?"
"Of course not," Garrund scoffed.
"I'm completely serious," Uris insisted, amused by his friend's distress, "Keep it up and you'll go blind."
"Yeah," Garrund snorted, "If you have it aimed at your face, maybe."
Their thought-provoking conversation was thankfully cut short by Seanna who presently entered the hall, sweeping gracefully across the room and taking her seat beside Uris who proceeded to rest his arm possessively on the back of her chair. She was a vision in a light blue silk gown that caught on all the right curves of her body. Her hair cascaded down her back with flowers woven into the waves of blond curls. Galahad swallowed hard and straightened his posture. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, but it was not brief or well hidden enough to escape Uris' notice.
"You," he snapped, looking directly at Galahad, "You're the knight we captured in the forest, aren't you?"
"Not really captured, my lord," Seanna interjected gently, "He is free to leave when the passage down the mountain is clear."
Uris wasn't listening. "Braden, the man you killed, was a good friend of mine," he continued bitterly, "My father grows more merciful with age, apparently."
"I am sorry about your friend," said Galahad calmly, but with little feeling, "I only defended myself."
"Rome made you a knight. Your business is killing," Uris reviled, "I doubt you've ever felt remorse for it, so why should you feel any now?"
"You're wrong, I take no pleasure in it at all," Galahad replied earnestly, "but I would have rather served Rome like a man than run away and hidden in the mountains like a frightened child."
Uris' nostrils flared with anger, but Ben Sana quickly interrupted them before the dispute could get any more heated. "As always," he noted, "politics does not make good dinner conversation."
The night drawled on from there as the men became more and more intoxicated. Galahad and Seanna seemed the only two in the entire hall who retained any sort of sobriety. They stole glances at each other from across the table throughout the night, but whenever their eyes would meet, Seanna would quickly divert her attention as though she'd been caught in some disgraceful act.
Eventually growing tired with boredom, Seanna leaned over to Uris and politely whispered in his ear, "It is growing very late, my lord. If you do not mind, I think I will retire."
"I will escort you," Uris slurred, stumbling to his feet and offering her his arm, which she took reluctantly.
Galahad watched them exit the hall and quickly excused himself from the table, trailing soundlessly after the couple as they made their way back towards Seanna's quarters. He was not sure exactly why he was following them, but in the end he was glad that he did. They had barely made it half way down the corridor when Uris pinned Seanna against the wall, reaching his hand up her skirt and sticking his tongue down her throat to muffle her screams. She struggled, trying to break free, but he overpowered her, throwing his weight against hers.
Within seconds, Galahad had charged to her rescue, pulling the drunken man off her and slugging him across the face. Uris fell to the floor unconscious before he even had a chance to consider fighting back. Galahad turned back to Seanna to find that she had slumped down to the ground, sitting with her back against the wall and her knees hugged tightly to her chest. She trembled and fought back her tears as she stared at Uris lying motionless on the floor. Galahad knelt down beside her, cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face to look at him.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently, his brow wrinkled in concern.
The tears were flooding Seanna's eyes now. "I can't do this anymore," she whimpered, "I can't. I'd sooner die than give myself to him."
Galahad pulled her to him, letting her head rest against his shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around her. "It's all over," he whispered soothingly, "I won't let him touch you ever again."
Seanna looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes that were blue like deep pools of water. In the place of fear, they now held curiosity. Who was this man who would so readily come to her rescue? Unable to resist for another instant, Galahad leaned down and captured her lips with his. She responded at first with soft, welcoming lips, but a second more jolted her back to reality. She pulled herself away forcefully and slapped him hard across the face.
"Is that all you want?" she spat indignantly, "You're no better than the rest of them."
With that, she broke loose from Galahad's hold and stormed off to her quarters. He sat there in confusion and dismay as he watched her go, cursing himself for once again doing exactly the wrong thing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wood carving. Rising to his feet, Galahad strode over to her quarters, silently placing the miniature horse on the ground outside the entrance, and walked away.