Chapter 3
Arwen walked the now silent town in deep thought, her mind running circles around what had happened. The happiness that had lasted only so long. Then, it had been ripped away from them. Finding herself at the stone steps of the church her brother and other Christians there in Hadrian's wall attended, she stepped up the first few steps to go inside, yet, she could only stand there, looking at the open pillars of the building, only to sadly turn away and returned to her room.
Entering her home and room, Arwen sighed sadly as she rested back against the door.
"What is bothering you?" Tristan's voice smoothed as he stepped out from behind the small woven screen from around the corner of her changing area in her room, his knife peeling an apple with a gliding grace that she so very much envied.
Arwen's breath hitched at his appearance, his sudden voice. His feet were bare and his armor and shirt had been removed to reveal his fit chest and arms, the muscles she had only assumed he'd had under his clothing. But she hadn't known he was that fit. Realizing she was staring, Arwen inhaled in a soft breath and turned from him, facing her door and her hand covering her mouth to keep him from seeing her utter shock at him being in her room and so very much undressed, and clearly comfortable. Taking a breath to calm her shock, Arwen removed her hand top speak without being muffled, "Why are you here, Tristan? You should be resting. You and the others have had a long day as it is, and tomorrow-" she was silenced by the hands that glided around her waist, massaging her hips and dipping forward and down towards her thighs. The sudden appearance of him behind her, the sudden body rushing up behind her had nearly slammed her into her door. She had thankfully caught herself before she hit the wooden door and made a noise.
His hands slid around her hips rushing up behind her with his lustful desire, but he had almost shoved her against the door. Gripping her hips, he began to massage around them, over her waist, and around to her flat belly then downward. His hands burned through her dress, and his cock throbbed in painful lust for her. To be inside of her. His ears rang with imagination to hear her singing voice moan and mew his name. Pressing her back against him, Tristan breathed as calmly as he could, his heart thundering in his chest, he felt as if he were flying into the sun. She was the forbidden fruit he could not have, but fruit he had every intention of claiming. He'd willingly damn himself to have her for eternity.
He didn't know if it was lust or love. For a long time, he'd thought this, what he felt for her, but this lust was different. He'd lusted after women before, young women when he was a young man, a teenager even he'd had a woman when he'd lusted for her. He was not a shy man, just very private. He'd never loved anything, he had forgotten what it felt like to love, to be loved. His parents had died when he was young, and the village had looked after him, fed him, made sure he was clothed, and taught him to fight, and survive at a very young age. But to the older boys or a few older men, he was a target as a child. He'd never sleep fully asleep, he'd always been half asleep. Even here he would sleep particularly. Mostly because he feared it. But when she was near him, when she smiled at him, said his name, or touched him, he would feel warmth all the way up into his chest, his heart would warm and the ice would melt away for as long as she was near him or insight of his brown eyes. He smiled into her curling brown locks, and he felt a blissful peace with her in his arms. Gliding his hands up over her belly, his body and mind hummed with pleasure when she held the top of his hand, following up his path with him as he came to her breasts. Massaging the sweet mounts of flesh that he wanted to expose to his eyes and mouth and the heavens, to taste them, and her sweet nectar between her legs he knew that no one had touched. Her body was pure in every way unless it counted the groping that he was doing right now.
Her breath caught in her throat and her body burned with hot fire, she instantly melted into him. Pressing a hand against the door of her room, she leaned back into him, the heat she felt through her peach-colored dress, her other hand resting over one of his hands running his palms over her belly and up towards her small breasts, her head rested back against his chest, his breaded chine and smooth lips felt as if they were molten metal being rolled down her neck that seemed to cool the heat and sizzle like water made lava. She could feel the steam. Sucking in a breath of burning desire, a smile spreading across her lips as his lips trailed sweet molten kisses with his hot breath down her neck, his large hands gently squeezing her breasts and pressing his burning body against hers. With a hand remaining over one breast, he began messaging the small mound, she felt the heat of his burning palm graze up over her chest, the skin of his palm meeting the skin of her chest and up around her throat with his other continued hand traveling over her. Her head leaned further back, her lips up towards the sky. She felt bliss, desire, wanted, loved, and she felt absolutely gorgeous in his arms, especially like this. She felt her body sparking as if the skies lightening were slowly gliding over her body. When his lips came up to her brow, he trailed down to the tip of her nose over her lips then hovered in place where they both burned to have claimed.
He was so close, he could taste her. About to claim what he felt should be his, Tristan heard his Commander at her door and the soft knock he never knew Arthur could have.
"Arwen, are you here?" Arthur softly called through her door with a gentle knock.
Her brother's sudden presence had startled them both. Tristan stepped back from her, forgetting his knife and the apple, as he grabbed his shoes, and shirt before rushing over to her window and easily climbing out. Catching himself silently onto the stone road then went about dressing himself and headed for his room.
Feeling cold and empty upon Tristan leaving, Arwen softly sighed and opened her door, "I am here," she answered.
Sighing with relief, Arthur nodded, then reached out for her and cupped her face in his hand. Taking a peaceful moment to look at her. How grown she was. Nodding again, he kissed her brow. "Sleep, forgive me for disturbing you. Goodnight, dear sister," he told her then walked to a spare room he was taking up while the Bishop used his room during the man's stay. Thankfully, the spare room was just down the hall from his sister's room.
She hadn't been able to sleep since that moment with her and Tristan, her mind was sinful as she tossed and turned. Instead, she waited for the right early hour to begin cooking the men's breakfast before they had to leave. Her hand ached and was sore, stinging as she worked the bread dough and looked for the cheese and fruit and some dry, seasoned meat. She wanted to keep it light but still filling for them, as well as let them have some things to pack with them on the road. They'd be gone for some time, and she would rather know that they all had something with them. She knew they wouldn't be able to eat a lot on the road, having to stop for sudden and or possibly emergency relief took time and that took away from their journey to reach that family in time.
"How long have you been in here?" she heard Lancelot ask as he walked into the kitchen.
Looking at him in the doorway, she smiled softly at him. He looked as though he'd just woken up as he walked into the kitchen towards her, he hadn't even dressed in his armor and swords yet, but in a white shirt and his leather pants and boots. "Not long," she answered.
Smirking as he walked up to her, Lancelot leaned back against a stone counter and crossed his arms, and leaned over towards her just a little. "You're a bad liar, Arwen." He whispered.
"I wasn't trying to lie to you Lancelot, it simply does not feel-"
"Did you even sleep?" He questioned. She never slept well, or at all when they were told to leave on a mission, she always made them breakfast. And with her hand wrapped, yeah, he'd noticed that, he knew she had to of been awake for a while to get this far in breakfast.
"I packed you all a few things also, small things, but still, I want to be sure you'll all have something to kill the aches in your belly on your journey." She told him, avoiding his demanded question. She winced at his hard grip on her wrist, the one with the wrap around her palm. She tried to get her wrist released, but he was holding firm as he moved her from the table and over to the oil lamp and unwrapped her hand. As it was uncovered, she saw just how red and angry it was. No wonder it hurt.
Looking up from her cut hand, Lancelot pulled her over to a water tub and scooped water from the tub and into a bowl where he sank her hand into the cold water. When she softly gasped at the stinging pain, he snapped his head up to her, seeing her biting her lip to keep from likely crying. Looking down at her hand in the water he eased up from the roughness he knew he was always capable of, "Sorry,"
"It's alright, just stings. But the coolness is calming the sting. Just takes a moment," she whispered. It hurt, so much so that she worried if she spoke any louder her voice might have broken and betrayed how much this did hurt.
"How did this happen anyways?" Finally, he was able to ask an actual question.
Closing her eyes and trying to breathe through the stinging pain in her palm that burned like liquid fire, Arwen shook her head. "Nothing to worry about, it'll heal," she told him. She sucked in a gasp of pain, swallowing her scream, and clamped her other hand over her mouth as she flinched. The sharp pain had brought tears to her eyes when Lancelot had pressed his thumbs along the edges of the cut and glided the digits from the base of her fingers in a straight line to the base of her palm, making the wound bleed up into the water.
"It's infected, that's why it's so red. Now, how did you get this?" he asked her, his question was laced with an undertone of demand.
Breathing through the pain, Arwen steadied herself as she looked up to Lancelot, her brown eyes burning to cry, but she refused to let them fall. Dropping her hand from her mouth she took in a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly, "Picking up a broken jug. I didn't want Vanora having to do it, or the Shop Keeper, the old man has had enough wounds on his hands."
Smiling a little at her explanation, Lancelot nodded and returned to trying to be gentle as he pressed into her palm to get the blood and infection out of her hand. "So, you thought your lovely hands to be the sacrifice then? How heroic," he teased her. Lifting her hand from the water, he grabbed a clean linen cloth and tap dried her hand, pulled her a little way down the current stone counter towards the shelves full of herbs and looked for a few things then grounded them into a paste and gently applied it to her. He had to chuckle at her with amusement when she once again sucked in a sharp breath at the pain the past had given her open wound. He'd forgotten to tell her it would likely sting. He and the others were so used to using this past that it was natural to just not feel it anymore. "Sorry," he told her as he wrapped her hand again. Softly sighing, he smiled at her and placed his hand over her freshly wrapped hand, "Come on, let me help you take these dishes into the hall." He said, bringing his hand up to her cheek, he wiped away a stray falling tear then playfully tapped her nose and kissed her cheek as he had always done after getting to know her, and walked off towards the plates and covered platers taking them the hall and set them on the table as the Knights began to gather in.
They were silent as they walked in. Those who hadn't known about her making breakfast for them had smiled and hugged her with gratitude and kissed her cheek as they grabbed plates and picked up what they wanted to eat. But Galahad had surprised her, grabbing her hands he gently kissed her knuckles, turned her wrapped hand over and opened the palm and placed a gentle kiss on her covered wound. "Forgive me?" he asked her softly.
Smiling at him sadly, she kissed his cheek, "I'll always forgive you, Galahad. Now eat, you need food." She said with a smile. When she moved for the door, her brother had walked in and taken hold of her unharmed hand. "Stay," Arthur told her softly.
Smiling to her brother, she shook her head a bit, "I have a few other things that I need to finish up, I'll eat later. Promise," she told her brother and left the hall, letting them eat while she slipped a rolled-up set of bread, cheese, and a few apples into their small bags they'd be taking with them. The bread and cheese weren't much, just in case it got wet she didn't want it to get nasty in their bags as they traveled. If it wasn't snowing then it was raining, or vis versa.
With that done, she made her way to bathe herself, being sure not to get her hand wet. Since no one was in there in the bathhouse and she'd have a few moments of peace. Arwen sank into the water to relax after washing her body one-handed. It had been a little difficult, but not as difficult as she would have thought. But she finally got to relax. She'd wash her hair after her relaxation. But for the life of her, Arwen could not get last night out of her mind. The way she had felt in Tristan's arms, the way he held her, his hands running over her dress, wishing it had been her naked flesh.
"As beautiful as always," a man's voice said as he entered the bathhouse of Arthur's home.
Her brown eyes snapped open, and she instantly tensed, her head snapping around to see the man walking in. Covering her small chest with her arms, she turned away from him with a burning blush, "Gawain! You know better! … Wh-what are you doing in here?" she said, startled by his sudden appearance in the bathhouse. She must have forgotten to close the curtain to the building. Her cheeks were burning red with humiliation at being walked in on in the bathhouse.
Softly chuckling, he raised his hands in surrender to her and turned his back to her. "I came to bathe, honest. Didn't realize you were in here until I saw you relaxing so seductively." He said, teasing her a bit, but he as listened to the sound of water splashing and the droplets running from her body as she stood, the droplets falling from her body and back into the bath, the sound of her little feet tapping against the wet stone, and the shuffle of cloth being wrapped around her naked body. Gawain closed his green eyes, imagining the sweet image of what her body looked like under the drapes and his body began to heat up under his clothing. He felt very uncomfortable in his pants now. Listened to her feet tapping against the floors, sounding closer and closer to him, mostly her attempts to leave. "Arwen, you don't have to leave-"
"If you need to bathe then I shall leave you in peace of it," she told him with a rushed whisper as she attempted to walk past him. She would have made it out without a problem. However, Gawain grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back around to face him, walking her backward, back into the building away from the entrance and exit.
He only had a few short hours before they had to leave, and he wanted to get some answers while his mind was still circling a few things.
Her stomach was knotted with nervousness and butterflies fluttered in her belly when she came face-to-face with him, walking backward from him while he stepped closer after her. There was something in his eyes that burned her. Not of fear, but of lust, desire, wanting. Just as Tristan's eyes had burned just last night, the way her skin had burned at the man's touch, the way she ached for him to take her. But just as Tristan had looked at her, so did Gawain appear to look at her almost the same way. Only, there was a very subtle difference between them. She was young still, merely nineteen years. She'd been fighting herself for years, treading carefully around the Knights as she grew older. She'd had to change a few things about herself after her brother had taken her off to the side and told her to tread carefully. She'd been almost sixteen then. Apparently, a few of his Knights had begun to look at her differently, and while she had been attracted to a handful of them, it had never progressed further than that. Simple attraction. Arwen had learned her place with them as a friend, a confidant to listen to them when they needed an ear to listen to them, or a silent presence. But, it had come down to two that Arwen realized she needed to tread more than carefully in those dangerous waters. She knew the way they looked at her, or at least, she had thought she did. She did know, however, the way she looked at them, the way her heart fluttered and pounded in her chest, or the way she melted into Tristan. Her body would ignite. And she wouldn't lie, she was scared. In the end, however, she was merely scaring herself. But she'd never had a mother around to talk to her about anything, like her monthly bleeding or how a mother would prepare her daughter to share herself with another person. To find a husband and later have children.
Vanora had talked to her, Vanora had calmed Arwen when she first bled, she had calmed her fears when she had spoken to the woman about how she felt when Gawain and Tristan were near or when she thought of them. Vanora was more a mother and a sister to her than her own mother had been allowed to be since the dear woman had been killed when she had not too long after turned five years old.
Looking up into Gawain's green eyes burning with a heat that worried her, Arwen breathed in a slightly shuttered breath of worry, "Gawain-" she refrained from trembling when her back touched the stone pillar behind her, looking to see if it was a wall or a pillar, she found that neither realization had calmed her growing nerves. Nor when she looked back up into Gawain's eyes, his face leaning down into hers. Her heart thrummed in her chest so hard and fast she knew he could feel her heart racing.
Leaning into her, Gawain ghosted his lips and nose across her own, his nose brushing against her nose. He almost smiled feeling her pulse racing, he could feel it in her arm where he still held her firmly in place. "You've been treading water very, very, carefully the last four years around myself and Tristan," he stated that fact. "You have any idea what kind of men we are, Arwen?" he asked, whispering against her lips.
So, he'd noticed then. How embarrassing to have been figured out. Then again, how had she not been smart enough to not know she'd been figured out? The way she was with them, how she let them both hold onto her in certain manners. Taking in a heavy and slightly difficult breath, Arwen tried to steel herself. "Then why haven't either one of you done something to stop it if it bothers you so much?" she whispered against his lips in return. It wasn't like she could avoid whispering against his lips where they were right there. She hadn't done it to seduce the man, it was simply that he was so close to her that when she spoke, her breath tickled his lips. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment, and her heart fluttered down into her stomach with a feeling of shame when the thought hit her that he sounded just a little annoyed when he had said it that way. As if she had been a bother. She felt a little slapped.
Now chuckling at her, Gawain cupped her face with one hand and slowly brushed his fingers up her bare arm with his other, over the white cotton drapes clasped by a gold clip at her shoulder then down over her breast with the back of his hand, slowly brushing downward over her ribs and belly. Wrapping an arm around her waist Gawain pulled her up against him. His body ignited with fire, feeling her breasts, her belly and waist pressed up against him, the sound of her soft intake of breath, likely just a little startled at this. No one had touched her. Her body was foreign to the anatomy of men. She'd never been kissed before to his knowledge either. Aside from Tristan's almost-kisses last night. The way he'd melted her into him, how she felt pleasure as well as lustful, desired, and gorgeous. How she had become dazed in his hold, at his touch. It was intoxicating. "Because, we don't wish for it to end," he whispered against her lips, waiting for the moment to claim her mouth. He wanted this to sink into the forefront of her mind before he claimed her lips. Before he made a move. But deep inside he doubted himself. He did not want to be the cause of her feeling lowly if he truly did not love her. It was why he'd always stopped himself before he went too far.
Her body burned with instant fire, her skin littering with bumps and her nipples hardened instantly as his warm hand brushed up along her arm, the back of his hand traveling down over her breast and the rest of her body before he'd pulled her against him. The way he held her face. It all had her in a daze for a moment. His skin was hot under his sleeves and her hands pressed against his arms, her lips burned with the anticipation of him kissing her. She had wanted Tristan to kiss her last night. But he hadn't. She didn't know why, but right now, Gawain had the moment. Why wouldn't they kiss her? Heck, why couldn't she muster up the courage to kiss either of them when they made the action possible? Why couldn't she have mustered up the courage to stand up on her tip-toes last night to kiss Tristan? Maybe they were waiting for her to finish it? In that case, she had been the one to cause them all to miss their openings.
"Gawain," Galahad called from the bathhouse entrance, "We are leaving."
Sighing, Gawain softly laughed at his friend and little brother's bad timing. He really had come in here to get a quick bath, then he'd found her here. But he hadn't gotten any answer to his statement, accusing her of treading dangerous waters as carefully as she was, why was she treading as carefully as she was? Granted, for her it was likely safer, but to him and Tristan, the wait was killing them. But, they knew as long as she treaded as carefully as she was, then they could continue this until they had to really address it. He and Tristan were both very dangerous men, hell, they all were dangerous men. And truthfully, they had been wanting to avoid speaking to Arthur on the subject, feeling that their Commander would never condone such a match. The man was protective of Arwen. With good reasons. Letting her go, Gawain stepped back from her. "Sorry wildflower, I suppose I chose the wrong time for this." He told her, turned on his feet, and walked out with a light smile on his face.
The men smiled and began to tease him as he came out of the bathhouse. "Come on then, tell us, did you finally lay claim to those…lovely lips of hers?" Galahad said to the man with a smiling laugh. He laughed harder when he'd been shoved almost off his horse when Gawain mounted his horse after strapping on his armor and weapons. It appeared he hadn't had a few hours at all in the first place.
They rode out and made it to the front gates and kept riding. Gawain ignored their teasing, even Arthur was amused by it. Though Tristan was quiet, then again, that man was always quiet. But he had to ask his Commander something that was rattling around in his mind from the moment he'd left the bathhouse and seen the man sitting there on his horse while the others teased him. "Arthur, I have to ask. Are you not angry that Tristan and I have had our eyes on Arwen for so long?" he asked his Commander with curiosity.
Laughing at the man, Arthur sighed as he thought for a moment about his answer carefully. "Gawain, no matter if she ends up with you or Tristan, I know she would be well cared for. I have not been blind over the years, my dear friends. I know the way you both look at her. And I see the way she looks at the both of you. However, I believe she is conflicted. Not wanting to hurt the other if she decides to choose. Personally. If I may be frank, I don't think she has it in her to choose between you both." Arthur admitted something he'd been spinning his mind on for a few years, "She loves you both, and it confuses her to know what path to choose. She has many she can choose from, and I am saddened to admit this aloud, however, I don't believe her path lies with Rome." He said in confidence to his Knights.
Now curious himself, Tristan moved himself and his horse up on the other side of Arthur, and looked at his friend and Commander with his always honest face, his heart full of honesty he always gave people. Because honesty was what everyone deserved. "Arthur, if she must choose, which she will eventually have to," Tristan said to the two as he joined their conversation, "She will choose you," he explained. It was something Arthur needed to know. Tristan knew Arwen better than the back of his hand. As well as he knew himself. In the end, Arwen would always choose her brother.
Feeling a jolt of fear that if that time ever came and that became her choice, Arthur thought of what would likely happen. And all he saw in that image was a sad and lonely, bitter Arwen. "Then she would never be happy, and I would resent myself for what life I have left to live," Arthur told him sadly, riding his horse harder, further ahead of them.
The two men shared a look. Gawain had known she held feelings of lust and attraction towards them but loved them? It had never crossed his mind to that. They lusted after her. Wanted her more than anything they had already had from any woman today, so Gawain had known he had simply come to the conclusion that it was because they knew deep down that they could never have her. However, this new discovery left them feeling something entirely different. Worry, hope, and shame. If they had the chance to finally have her, would their craving for her come to an end? If yes, then she'd be a broken mess if they bedded her like any other woman they'd had before only to leave her in the night. If Arwen felt that intensely about them both, hinting why she had treaded far more carefully over the last few years with them, they both knew she did not deserve that treatment. She was no whore to be used as they so pleased. Frankly, no woman was a whore to be used as they had, but those women had welcomed their lust and felt the same as them when their fun had come to an end and the sun was up.
However, as Gawain looked at Tristan, he saw something inside the man's dark brown eyes that had Gawain curious. It was a look of challenge, and if he were right, a claim. He wasn't sure why that was the first thought that came to him. But, if that was the assumption his mind was coming to, then Gawain knew he needed to think very hard while they were away on this journey.
Tristan had made his choice last night when he'd jumped from her room window before Arthur could have possibly seen him. He wanted her, and he would have her. She was the only person that made him feel what he felt. Peace. All of the women in the past had done nothing over the years but sate his lust. What he discovered last night when he was prepared to claim her before they were interrupted, was that he felt too strongly to let this simply remain lustful emotions. Sharing a look with Gawain, Tristan saw the curiosity, the fear and shame, and the doubt in him. Tristan hadn't felt a gram of doubt the moment Arthur had rolled that path out to them both. Now the question was, would they both step towards it and later have to settle it the way their culture did? Or would Gawain back away and let Tristan spare him the taste of defeat? Because Tristan knew he wouldn't back away from her. Arwen was as good as his after this mission was done. Gawain be damned if he must.
She waited until no one would suspect where she was going. Sadly, it was hours behind her brother and his Knights. Thankfully, she knew where they were going and what route they'd be taking. She'd made her decision when she had seen the messages from Rome that Germanus had been going over in his time of staying in her brother's room, as well as the maps of Britain and the rest of Rome's 'territory'. The map, however, as she had looked at it, had a lot of information about the Clans the Knights had been taken from, three of them marked off. Arwen's heart skipped and then her heart dropped. She knew what that meant. The villages that had been there were now gone, whether people had been spared or ran to the next village was unsure to her.
Arwen had the intention to confront the man, unfortunately, she had come upon the Bishop speaking with a Roman Officer and overheard the Bishop giving a soldier orders to deliver a message to Rome of her brother's disrespect and fearing his potential disloyalty. He'd clarified to the soldier that "Arthur shall reap the day he ever threatened me." A threat her brother had likely done over the Sarmatian Knights. Arwen knew the moment that message reached Rome, her brother was as soon as dead the moment he returned to Rome, least of all here. And Germanus wouldn't have said a word of this until her brother was before Rome to be judged. He likely wouldn't even get a trail. Forgive me, brother.
Rushing to her room, Arwen opened her trunk and sighed at the hidden items inside at the very bottom of the trunk. Removing the items, she quickly dressed in the clothing and armor. A long blue dress for the cold weather she knew she'd be venturing into, the leather armor went over the top of her dress, hugging her waist and chest was a bit snug, however, it was supposed to be that way for protection. Wrapping her feet in a thin fabric before she slipped her feet into the boots to keep her toes safe from the cold and snow then strapped her swords to her, and the Quiver full of special arrows tipped with poison before she grabbed her bow and made her leave in the night. But she had made a quick stop at the shop to see her friend. She had to speak with Vanora in privet away from prying eyes and ears. "Keep eyes and ears on the Bishop. I am sorry I am asking this of you, but I do not trust that man." She whispered.
Nodding, Vanora pulled the young woman into her arms and hugged her tightly, "Be safe…" she told her, trying not to weep. If Arwen went out there, so many things could happen to her. And Vanora rather wanted to not think of that. When Arwen moved to leave, Vanora grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her, "Bring them home, Arwen, bring my family home," she whispered a pleading plea to her friend.
Nodding to the lovely and scared redhead, Arwen held her hand and gently squeezed Vanora's hand, slipping a small, leather-wrapped scroll into her hand. The silence was their final goodbye as she rode out on her grey horse. To say she was scared was crap. No, Arwen was terrified. She'd never been outside the wall. She had been born inside, here in Hadrians' Wall, and had only traveled to Rome once, and she had been with Guards the entire time. Here and now, she was alone.
Gawain wined at the rain coming down with aggravation. He was so tired of the rain. "Oh, I can't wait to leave this island. If it's not raining, it's snowing. If it's not snowing, it's foggy. And that's the summer!" he complained.
"The rain is good. Washes all the blood away." Tristan said with some amusement and a light chuckle.
"Doesn't help the smell," Bors said with laughter. His joke had the others laughing thankfully. A lightness to the heaviness of what they had to face yet again. Only worse this time they were facing both Woads and Saxons. Lovely.
Lancelot smirked at the opportunity to mess with the man yet again. Thus far he was lucky Bors hadn't killed him yet with all the teasing he'd done. "Hey, Bors, do you intend to take Vanora and all your little bastards back home?"
"Oh, I'm trying to avoid that decision... by getting killed." He joked lightly. Turning to his best friend, Bors forced a laugh, though, he really wanted the man's advice. "Dagonet, she wants to get married and give the children names."
"Women!" Dagonet laughed.
Chuckling at the man's loving complaining that would sound like dislike complaining. But they all knew he loved those kids, "The children already have names, don't they?" Tristan asked. Sliding his sword back into its' sheath.
"Just Gilly. It was too much trouble, so we gave the rest of them numbers." He answered his friend.
Amused, Lancelot laughed at the thought, "That's interesting. And I thought you couldn't count." He had said it to sound as if it were a compliment, however, it had sounded the opposite. Maybe Arwen was right, maybe he should tread more carefully with Bors.
Moving to ignore the man, Bors sighed with loving thought at his children. "You know, I never thought I'd get back home alive. Now I've got the chance, I... I don't want to leave my children." He admitted.
"You'd miss 'em too much," Dagonet told his dear friend. He was closest to Bors than he was to the others, they were like brothers, almost as Tristan, Gawain and Galahad were almost as close as brothers.
Nodding at that, Bors thought of something, "I'll take them with me. I like the little bastards. They mean something to me." Though, he felt as if it might not really be a joke. He was suddenly conflicted about that. He loved Vanora, loved his children. Could he really leave them here? Could he really make them leave the home they were all more familiar with and go to a place that would likely hate them? He wasn't sure he had that in him. "Especially number three. He's a good fighter." Bor's said it to try getting under Lancelot's skin, he knew all of his children were his. All his. He knew his friend and comrade only said and did things to get at him. And sadly, it always worked.
Laughing, Lancelot nodded, "That's because he's mine." He teased. The others had laughed, they all knew he was merely joking with the man, but he couldn't help it. Bors had a gorgeous woman and several children. The only Knight of them to have any children actually.
"I'm going for a piss," Bors grumbled and walked off from the camp to have a moment to himself. No matter what he said or did, Lancelot brushed it all off as if it were nothing! He didn't understand the man.
Laughing lighter at the joking between men, and how easily Bors let Lancelot get to him, Gawain looked to Tristan. He seemed as if she were in deep thought, yet again, he always appeared that way. "Tristan, about Arwen-"
"I'm going to speak to Arthur, when this is over. I know what I feel for her, Gawain. And if you wish to claim her, I will fight you for her. I do cherish you, I love you dearly, like a brother, but I love her more." Tristan said to him before Gawain could finish. He didn't wish to look at him, to possibly see the hurt of having a woman chosen over a brother. But he did. And he was. He'd had hours longer of the days to think about it. About her. About what he wanted. And he'd made his decision.
Smiling at the man, Gawain nodded, "Then I shall step away, my friend. For I value our friendship and brotherhood. And I was intending to say that either way before you interrupted me... While I know I care for her, I do not wish to hurt her if my emotions fade after having her. I value her far too much as well, I could not bear it if she were harmed because of my cruelness to bed her yet in the end not truly love her. She does not deserve that. Not our Arwen." He told the man. Smirking and then began to softly laugh when Tristan looked at him, a look of understanding, yet in his eyes, even in the dark, he saw the gratitude as well as some shock.
"She would not wish us to fight over her anyway, I'd fear what she may do if she found out or caught us in a fight to the death for her." Tristan said with a soft smile.
"That would indeed, not be a pretty picture to witness, nor to have painted," Lancelot said sadly. The idea of Arwen being harmed by anyone, or her harming herself to stop a conflict between them was terrifying. "Arwen loves us all, that much is clear, but her desire has been split between you both for the last several years. I am assuming that recently there have been moments where she is slowly discovering who her path may lead to." Lancelot admitted. His brown eyes glanced at Tristan.
Curious by their dear friend's words, the men looked at him curiously as the rain came down upon them, and with the subtle, and slightly disturbing path the conversation had turned, they were quickly feeling the cold rain sink into their muscles and bones. "Enough of discomforting talk, go back to teasing Bors," Tristan said to Lancelot as the man returned, missing the entire previously held conversation. He laughed when the others began to chuckle at their friends' perfectly timed arrival.
Riding as fast and as hard as she could to catch up with the soldiers, wanting to keep them in distant eyesight as well as not lose them in case they decided to change directions, spotted her, or separated. She waited in the night as it rained while they camped, waiting for the proper time to strike. With it being four against one, she figured to keep it long-ranged. Aiming her bow and two arrows notched. She needed to be quick. They were in enemy territory heading for Rome. There were still miles of nothing here. Thankfully they had chosen to camp in a nearby wooded area. Letting her stay as hidden from them as possible. She had decided to stay near the wooded side, even if the Woads were here she needed to stay out of their view.
However, the arrows fired that had struck the four soldiers several times, killing the Roman Soldiers had not been from her. Turning to face her coming appointee, she came face to face with Merlin and her heart jumped into her throat with fear at how he'd been so silent that he could have cut her throat in a heartbeat had he wanted to.
"Be still, child. I am no threat to you," he told her calmly. Even with her two arrows anchored and the string taught from her holding it back. Her heart hammered in her chest with fright that he had been standing there and clearly knew of her intentions to kill the four Romans. Her treacherous actions made her an enemy of Rome, like the Woads. Yet his people had saved her from having to fulfill that treachery. Glancing her eyes around the darkness the night gave them, the rain coming down she breathed her surrender, knowing she would either be killed or captured either way. Lowering her bow, she replaced her two arrows. "Why?" she asked the man. His eyes appeared to be cold from the distance, but standing as close as they were, she could see the sympathy, the pain of loss, and sorrow.
"You would have been a betrayer to your people had you fired those arrows, as well as captured and executed, after likely being rapped," he told her, the sound of grunts and shuffling, a struggle in the short distance as a Roman officer was forced down from the slope side by three Woads then forced down upon his knees, his brown hair grabbed and head yanked back with a knife to his throat. "This man has been following you since the moment you left the Wall with orders to capture and execute, by any means. He was even carrying this," he told her, one of his warriors handing him a roll of leather to protect a scroll inside for him to hand to her, "It will surely be your brother's death," Merlin said. "I am no enemy of you, Arwen, nor your brother. Rome is my enemy. But now, we have a common enemy. The Saxons are coming. We will need your brother and his knights in the end."
She watched the man and studied him carefully for a moment. "Then you will have to be the one to convince him, I am sorry, but if I attempt that then the Knights nor my brother will trust me. They just won't. I was not there when my mother died, I did not see nor experience what Arthur did. He's wounded, Merlin. It is a wound that has never healed." She didn't know why she had told him that, but she had.
"Yet he has you, little one…" Merlin said kindly, his heart warmed as he looked at the young woman, she was the second child he had watched grow from afar on behalf of a friend on her death bed, to watch her grandchildren grow. He had not meant for Igraine to be harmed. Pointing down a small, hidden path, Merlin nodded to her, "Follow that path, you shall meet your brother where he is going. But keep safe, Arwen, the Saxons, as I have said, are on their war path to us all… Keep that message close, I believe that and this man can shed some light upon his judgment if he returns to the Rome he so loves in imagination." He told her. Turning to the man beside him, he spoke to his warriors.
She watched as they drug the man to a horse and tied him to the mount. Nodding to Merlin and his Warriors who had truly saved her on more than just one thing, Arwen watched them carefully as they all vanished. However, she knew they were not truly gone. Searching the four dead bodies, she found, to her aggravation, no scroll and grabbed a horse for the man. She would not be slowed down by him on foot. Mounting her horse and secured the message in the small side pouch slung over her horse's saddle, checked the line tied to the man now her gifted prisoner, and took the reins of his horse he now rode upon and began to walk them down the path Merlin had given her.
Why she chose to believe the Woad's leader she wasn't sure, for all she knew she was heading right for the Saxons or a trap of theirs. Yet, she had gone down the path, their horses walking carefully so as to not harm the horses' legs. If her stead rolled his ankle then she was done for and was forced to travel by foot at a slower pace than she truly wished to be going. However, she was growing quickly tired of this man as he continued to casually talk, asking several questions that made her think he was not a born Roman from the way he was speaking. She ignored the man as best she could. Sadly, it continued for three days of her travel. When he finally fell asleep, she was grateful for the silence. With the rain no longer falling and the snow not yet coming down the higher up the mountain they went, she took the opportunity of the silence and looked at the scroll. And she found what she had overheard Germanus telling the soldier of the message. Only, there was much more to it. He was trying to inquire about the full execution of not only her brother, but his entire company of Knights and a way to premarital entrap the Sarmatian Clans for the remainder of their lives. "For as long as Roman blood is no longer spilled," that was what he had written, and more of course, but that had been what had grasped her attention. She wanted to toss the scroll. She truly did. However, she knew if she did that then she'd have no proof. Huffing, she rolled it back up and continued on their journey. It was peaceful for a while until she heard the drums in the distance. That had woken the Roman and startled the horses. She was grateful the Roman had not taken advantage of the horses being startled and knocking her off her horse to take off. He hadn't, in fact, he had helped calm the horse he was on.
"We should keep moving, they've changed their cores," he told her with a tone of nervousness. The last people he wished to be captured by were the Saxons.
Looking over the treetops on the mountainside path, the air-cooled several degrees, and the snow began to fall. "No, they've divided their ranks. We have to go, now!" urging their horses further on they both rode quickly.
"We won't make it to the family in time! They will catch up to us!" the Roman said, looking over his shoulder.
"Shut up and ride!" Arwen had to admit that she was relieved the Roman had been wrong. The Saxons had not caught them, though they had likely come close. However, they had run into a problem. Four Saxon scouts. When they'd circled their horses, Arwen looked at their laughing faces as they looked her up and down. She felt filthy just by them looking at her in such a lusting way. Turning to the Roman still tied, she wanted to growl at herself when she reached for the knife Tristan had left in her room, the knife she had hidden in her horse's leather saddle, and cut his ties and handed him the Knife. "Use the damn thing and be useful," she told him.
Kicking back an advancing Saxon who had reached out for her, likely to pull her off her horse, Arwen unsheathed one of her two swords strapped behind her back at her waist covered by her cloak, and swung down at the next man, he dropped instantly. She shouted with fright and aggravation when she felt hands grabbed at her waist from her other side, she hadn't seen this man come around behind her. He was dropped quickly when the Romans' horse came up around her and rose up on its hind legs, stomping the man into the ground. Turning her horse to the next Saxon, she grunted and struggled as another yanked her off her horse and threw her into the dirt. They seemed to be ignoring the man and aiming for her without a thought. With her sword falling away from her and left winded from the impact of being slammed full force into the hard ground, Arwen began to panic as the third Saxon laughed and pinned her to the ground. Bringing her legs up between them, she shoved her foot down into his hip and leg making him shout in pain. With the opening given, she grabbed his knife at his belt, slashed the dagger out at him, and cut his arm before she sank his knife into his throat and kicked him away from her as he choked on his blood, trying to make a noise. When she was on her feet and picking up her sword the fourth Saxon was already dead on the ground and she stared at the Roman soldier just sitting atop his horse looking at her.
"Well, we're running out of time, aren't we? Come on," he told her.
Honestly, Arwen was shocked he hadn't run for it or take her horse and the message Germanus had given him the task of delivering. She carefully approached her horse.
Rolling his brown eyes at her, he huffed, "I am not a barbarian, my lady, I had no intention of raping you, nor letting anyone have their way with you. I was merely following the orders of my superior. I merely told the Woads what my orders were. Not what my intentions were to do with my orders." He clarified. "My name, if you were ever wondering, though I doubt it, is Marcellus. Marcellus Janus. And you, are Arwen Castus, both Roman and Britain. And I believe, my lady, you have a task you must finish." Marcellus said.
Getting on her horse, Arwen turned to face the man. "If you betray me, you will suffer worse than death in the end." She told him coldly.
Smirking, Marcellus nodded, "I assure you, Lady Arwen, I have no intention of betraying you. You could have let the Woads kill me, you could have killed me, you could have left me tied or wounded me or my horse and left me limping to be caught by the Saxons to possibly stall them for a few more minutes, but you didn't. You freed me and gave me a weapon, even when I could have hurt you or killed you, or helped the Saxons dismount you and let them have you. Yet I didn't." He told her, holding her knife back out to her.
Keeping her brown eyes on the man staring back at her, she turned her horse away and continued on their path to the Roman Estate. "Keep it, you might need it."