Hey everyone! I have an extra long chapter for you guys this time because, well, I had a ton that I wanted to fit in and didn't really want to break it up, so yeah. etraya- thanks for your review! It's pretty much my intention that Lucia is dead now (finally). After this, I have two more chapters in mind, so things are coming to a close (Aww, it makes me sad to say that because I've loved writing this). Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! Eat lots of turkey!
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And even after he had pulled her to safety, she did not let go. Hand in hand Lancelot and Tarra raced through the winding halls of the crumbling estate. The fire seethed all around them, consuming everything in its path. Their eyes stung from the smoke that flooded the halls like water bursting through a canal. They swam through the murky grayness with Lancelot leading the way and Tarra holding on for dear life. She only hoped that Lancelot knew where he was going because she most certainly could not see a single thing in front of her.
"How can you even see where you're going?" asked Tarra between coughs as she gagged from the smoke that burned in her lungs.
"I can't," answered Lancelot with brutal honesty as he continued to lead them further into the obscurity.
"Well that makes me feel much better," Tarra retorted sarcastically.
"Just another moment now and I think we'll be out," he predicted, pulling her forward to quicken their pace.
"You think? Could you give me some kind of probability ratio? Like, ten to one we make it out or how about a hundred to one---I like those odds. Hundred to one we make it out alive! What do you say? We're going to make it out, right?" she rambled on, squeezing his hand tightly and trying to keep up with his momentum.
"Will you just shut up and trust me? I'm not going to let any harm come to you," he assured her.
"Why, how chivalrous of you!" she cried, pretending to swoon, "My knight! My hero!"
"You want chivalry? Fine. I'll show you chivalry," Lancelot pronounced and swept Tarra off her feet and into his arms.
"Hey! Put me down!" Tarra cried out in protest. She flailed her arms and legs, trying to get him to drop her, but his hold was too strong. Lancelot carried her through the last bit of smoke until they reached a set of doors leading outside. Lancelot kicked open the doors, and they burst into the fresh air letting it fill their lungs like two who have almost drowned breaking out of the water's surface.
A fit of coughing seized Tarra and she felt herself lean her head against Lancelot's chest as her body contracted in effort to expel the smoke from her lungs. When she was finally able to breathe again normally, she found that they had reached the outskirts of the estate's property where Arthur and the rest of the knights were waiting for them. Galahad and Gawain had been absorbed by the awe-inspiring sight of the building collapsing in the distance, but now found a more striking distraction in the sight of Tarra bundled up in Lancelot's arms. Needless to say, their jaws hit the ground.
The vision was fleeting, however, as Tarra quickly freed herself from Lancelot's possession, giving him a sharp punch to the forearm once she was back on her own two feet. "That was totally unnecessary and completely uncalled for!" she berated her deliverer.
"But undeniably worth it," replied Lancelot with a cocky grin. Tarra glared at him.
"Lancelot, Tarra, I'm so relieved to see you made it out safely," said Arthur in his own robotic earnestness. His thoughts seemed elsewhere---probably on the trouble at Hadrian's Wall, Lancelot supposed.
"Okay, what the hell is Tristan doing?" Tarra asked in dismay, completely ignoring Arthur. Tristan stood off to the side, leaning against a tree and cradling a baby---yes! A baby!---in his arms. "Has he been sniffing the Woad paint again or what?" she added.
"Ah, yes. That." Galahad said, "He found it in the estate and seems to be taking a liking to it. We were hoping you might be able to find out what's going on there."
"Me? Why me?" Tarra demanded, "Why don't you go talk to him?"
"Well, you're his sister and everything…" said Galahad, trying to come up with a good excuse---or any excuse, for that matter.
"You're not afraid to talk to him, are you?" asked Tarra provokingly.
"Me? Afraid of talking to Tristan? Certainly not," Galahad scoffed, "I just wouldn't know how to go about it. And besides, I could best him in a fight any day. I have no reason to be afraid, and I'm offended at the suggestion!"
At that moment, a dagger flew straight past the tip of Galahad's nose, embedding itself in the trunk of a nearby tree. Galahad's face turned white as he spun around to see Tristan smirking from afar.
Tarra laughed. "Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that." She then walked over to where Tristan stood and observed him with a perplexed look on her face. "You know," she said, "There's a Roman estate just over there that is being engulfed in a sea of flames. I mean, look at it. It's as if the earth opened up and the fires of the underworld leapt up and snatched the estate with their stinging claws. And do you smell that? That's the smell of scorching Roman flesh. And that crackling sound? That's the laughing of the fates at the Roman's for ever thinking they could get the best of us."
Tristan seemed to be ignoring her. She sighed, "But you're not enjoying it. You're too busy looking at that---that---"
"Child?" Tristan prompted.
"Whatever," said Tarra, "You're not planning to take that thing with you, are you?"
"Well I'm not just going to abandon him under a tree," Tristan replied; and suddenly after hearing his own words, his eyes seemed to be swimming with the shared recollection of their past that they both carried with them, "I would be wrong to do that."
"Yes, I suppose you would be," said Tarra with a look on her face that showed that her thoughts were in the same place as Tristan's, "But if it were me, I think I would come to forgive you eventually."
Tristan gave Tarra the slightest of nods. Their words may have sounded meaningless to anyone who might have been listening, but in that moment and with those words, they at last reached a true state of mutual forgiveness.
"Would you like to hold him?" Tristan offered.
"Hell no!" was Tarra's immediate reply. "And don't expect me to clean up after the mess he's going to make either," she added, "It's a boy?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Well good," she said, "Girls are insufferably annoying. Just watch his aim or he'll end up peeing all over the middle of your face."
"Tristan! Tarra!" Lancelot called over to them, "Come over here! Arthur has an announcement."
Tristan and Tarra rejoined the rest of the knights as Arthur spoke, "Knights, our mission here has been successful and I owe you my eternal gratitude for that. Unfortunately, we have further trials ahead we still must face. It is not but a few hours until dawn and at first light we must leave immediately for Briton. I pray that the fort at Hadrian's Wall has not fallen into enemy hands, but if it has, we have a long fight ahead of us."
"And I still say we leave now!" interjected Galahad passionately, "We mustn't wait another second! Every moment we waste puts the country in further danger!"
"Believe me, Galahad, there is nothing I want more than to leave this very instant," said Arthur solemnly, "But we are in unfamiliar territory, and we do not know if the trail is safe at night. The next ship departs for Briton late tomorrow afternoon. If we leave at dawn, we shall have no trouble making it on time."
"Wait a minute, can we back up to the part where you were thanking all the knights for completing the mission and so on and so forth?" asked Tarra peevishly.
"Alright…" Arthur said, not exactly sure what she was driving at, "What about it?"
"What about it? What about it? What about the champion of the whole affair without whose expertise the entire operation would have fallen apart!"
"Yes, of course, I could never forget to thank God for delivering us," said Arthur with the utterly undetectable undertone of a jest.
Tarra narrowed her eyes at him. "That's not who I meant."
"And thank you as well, Tarra," Arthur added with a laugh.
"You're welcome," replied Tarra begrudgingly.
As the knights settled down to take advantage of the two hours of sleep they could afford before daybreak, Tarra wandered off into the trees to take in the fresh night air and the moonlight. She needed to clear her mind. So much had happened and there was so much to process. Unfortunately, she wasn't given a chance as she suddenly heard the rustling of footsteps behind her. Tarra turned to see Lancelot peering down at her through his dark eyes. Her heart picked up speed as he advanced towards her. He extended his arm to reach out to her, but she quickly recoiled and backed away from him.
"So we're back to this, then, are we?" he asked with a mixture of frustration and disappointment.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, deflecting his question.
"Yes you do," he contended, "One step forward and two steps backward. Why can't you trust me like you did in the estate?"
"It had nothing to do with trusting. I just didn't want to die," Tarra explained simply.
"I didn't want you to die either," he said. Lancelot hesitated for a moment as if not sure exactly what he wanted to say next. Finally, he looked into her eyes directly and said, "Tarra, I want---I want to be with you."
"You want to be with everyone," scoffed Tarra, "How is Lucia, anyway? Did you two find time to rekindle the flame?"
"Oh, the flames were rekindled, alright, and very literally burned her to a crisp," Lancelot replied, "But that's not the point, Tarra. The point is that I want you and only you."
"Sure, and how easily you say those words. I'm sure you have had much practice with them," Tarra retorted.
"If you really understood me---if you really understood yourself, you would see that we are not so very different."
"Are you completely serious?" asked Tarra, unable to believe her own ears. "And here I was hoping you'd never find out about my promiscuous ways," she added sarcastically, "Honestly, Lancelot, we couldn't be any more different."
Lancelot was losing his patience. "Look, the reason why you don't like to be touched is not because of any mal effects you're afraid it will have on you, is it? Is it?" he demanded. Tarra shifted her weight nervously and avoided making eye contact. "The real reason," Lancelot continued, "that you do not want to be touched is because you despise yourself. Am I right? You believe that you are depraved and nefarious, which may be true, but more importantly, you believe that you are cursed. And to top it all off, if you touch someone---if you make that contact---you truly, utterly believe that you will infect them with your evilness and corrupt them with your villainy. Am I right? Am I right, Tarra?"
He could see the hurt in her eyes as she drew in a breath and cleared her throat. "All my life I've been trying to figure that out," she said in an astonished half-whisper, "And you make it seem so obvious. You see it all so clearly."
"But only because what I see in you is that which I recognize in myself," Lancelot explained, his voice comforting and kind, "I want to explain this to you because it's the only way that you will ever believe my sincerity when I say that---I love you. You see, I had resigned myself never to love anyone. I had spent my life fighting for a country not my own and killing those who had the rightful claim to it. Tarra, you may see vice in yourself, but I assure you it is no greater evil than I have seen in myself. So many lives have been taken at the edge of my swords that for as long as I could remember, I had convinced myself that I did not deserve the chance at a life of my own. I slept with many women, I will not deny it, but I did so only to pass the time until I would finally die in battle and join the souls whose lives I had stolen. When I did not die---well---I did not know what to do. I felt as though I had lost my direction---my predestination. Then one day you stumbled into Arthur's hall with your knife plunged in another man's throat---and you were so different from anyone I had ever met. But at the same time you were so familiar because I saw so much of myself in you. I felt like I understood you, like I had known you all my life. When I found out you had been hired to kill Arthur, I thought I could never forgive you because of my loyalty to Arthur. But I was wrong. I realized that the real reason I was so angry was because I felt I had been betrayed by the first person I had allowed myself to have true feelings for. What I'm trying to say, Tarra, is that I love you. I've loved you from the start. And I want to hold you. I want you to let me put my arms around you. I want to feel your head pressed against my chest. Please let me in. Please do not push me away any longer. I cannot bear it a moment longer."
"Kiss me."
"What?"
"You heard me. Kiss me."
Lancelot's heart beat rapidly as he slowly approached her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and unresisting, yet still holding a tinge of uncertainty and fear. He let his hands pass over her narrow shoulders, hovering over her skin as to simulate a caress without actually making the contact. A chill ran up Tarra's spine and her hair stood on end.
She felt her eyelids close and suddenly her lips were pressed against his. A shudder ran through her body as his fingers clasped about her shoulders. An unexplainable force came over her that made everything that had before seem so foreign now seem so natural. Before she knew it, her arms had wrapped themselves about Lancelot's neck and her body had sunken into his. Their kiss deepened, as he backed her up against a tree, running his hands through her dark hair.
His lips moved down to her neck, gently bequeathing a trail of kisses. He ceased for a moment to look at her face and found a tear rolling down her cheek. He brushed it gently away with his finger and tilted her chin up so that she would meet his gaze. "What are you thinking?" he whispered.
Tarra shook her head and smiled. "If I told you, I'd lose all respectability with myself," she said.
"Because you're supposed to be bitter and indifferent?" Lancelot asked mockingly.
"Galahad's going to be very disappointed in me," said Tarra with a laugh.
"He'll get over it," said Lancelot, claiming her lips once again with his own.
Morning was fast approaching, but Lancelot and Tarra had long since lost track of time. They lay sleeping together beneath a tree with Tarra nestled up against Lancelot's chest. Lancelot's arms encircled her slender frame, forming a protective wall around her. For the first time in her life, Tarra discovered what it felt like to feel safe. She slept soundly in his embrace, dreaming of two horses galloping through an open field.
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CRASH! The main gate at Hadrian's Wall rattled. A group of burly Saxons clad in animal skins swung a giant log in a joint effort to break down the door. They threw the entire weights of their bodies into the thrust, their guttural cries rising up to the ears of those Britons who watched warily from above. The few dozen left at the wall who had not evacuated had thus far been successful in defending the wall from any enemy penetration. A few dozen Woads who had been stationed at the wall stationed themselves along the parapets as archers, shooting any enemy that charged at the wall. In the back of each of their minds, however, they knew they could only stall the inevitable for so long. If aid did not come and if it did not come soon, the fort would soon fall into their assailants' hands.
Bors and Guinevere rushed to the scene above the main gate with a barrel of oil. Jillian followed closely behind with bow in hand. "Help us!" ordered Guinevere to the Britons who stood about gaping at them. Together with Bors and Guinevere, they poured the oil over the side of the wall, smothering the Saxons and their battering ram in dark, sticky goop. Jillian lit the tip of her arrow on a torch that hung on the parapet and took aim, gracefully drawing back the string. A faint, self-satisfied smile drifted across her face as she released the arrow and the battering ram and surrounding Saxons went up in flames.
Jillian had not slept in days, but she did not feel tired. In fact, she felt revitalized and more alive than she had felt since---well, she didn't like to think about that anymore. Her face was no longer pale and sickly, but flushed with vigor and vivacity. She had a purpose again and that was to fight for her country. There was no room in her thoughts for anything but killing every last attacker outside the wall and that was better medicine than all the bed rest in the world. It was as though she had been hungry for a long time and not even realized it, but now she was starving---starving to kill anyone who threatened their freedom.
Bors and Guinevere were equally invigorated by the battle. "RUUUUUS!" Bors bellowed at the sight of the burning Saxons below. He smiled triumphantly at Guinevere and Jillian for whom he had earned a new respect. He hated to admit it, but those girls knew how to fight. He was too proud to ever let them know it, though. "Don't let it go to your heads," he warned, "We can't hold them much longer. We may not live to see tomorrow."
"You've been saying that every day since we started fighting," countered Jillian with an amused smile, "When will you accept that it is we who have the greater advantage? We are fighting for something we believe in---the freedom of our country."
"And we will continue fighting down to the last man or woman," added Guinevere resolutely.
"Bloody idealistic women," muttered Bors with a roll of his eyes, "Ideals don't win wars. Skill and weaponry and strategy win wars."
"But ideals can never be broken nor can they ever be defeated," said Jillian firmly.
Before Bors could make a counter-argument, one of the young British men, a member of Guinevere's Woad tribe stationed at the wall, called over to him, "Sir! Come take a look at this!" The young man handed him an arrow that had been lodged into the wall and Bors studied the etching carved into its side.
"What is it?" asked Guinevere.
"The mark of the Papal army," Bors answered, trying to restrain his anger, "These are Roman weapons."
"What does that mean?" Jillian inquired.
"The Romans are supplying them with weaponry," spat Bors.
"Those bastards! Those bastard tribes chose loyalty to the Romans over loyalty to Arthur!" Guinevere roared, shaking with rage. She looked over the wall and scowled down at the scatterings of Woads among the Saxons. "I can't bare to look at them any longer," she muttered in a crazed state of anger and stormed off to the inner halls of the fort.
Jillian watched Guinevere go and felt suddenly very lost. Guinevere was their queen, their leader and thus far had making all the decisions. Now they were leaderless and something inside her told her that she must take charge. Jillian stared down at the members of the Itis and Udela tribe charging along side the Saxons against the wall. She felt her blood boil, and suddenly her feet were climbing up to the highest point of the parapet to stand recklessly before them, not caring if she made herself an open target.
"Fellow Britons!" she called down to them, "What are you fighting us for? Are we not born of the same earth? Do we not share the same blood? Why do you alliege yourselves with those who would conquer and oppress us? And those who have conquered and oppressed us?"
"We did not fight in the battle of Badon Hill to be ruled by a Christian king!" one of the Woads called up to her.
"Yet you make pacts with the Romans for weaponry and supplies?" cried Jillian in disbelief, "Are you so foolish to believe they are funding you out of the generosity of their hearts? They are purchasing back their power over our country! Yes, I said our country because together we must share it and together we must fight for it! But you want to give our country to the Saxons and the Romans who have no claim on it. Arthur may be a Christian, but he is a Briton as well. He is one of us. He believes in our right for freedom---to finally be free in our own country after hundreds of years of oppression! Can you imagine? My entire life and for your entire lives, as well, a free Briton was only a dream, but it does not have to be a dream any longer! At the battle of Badon Hill, we united together behind Arthur to declare to the world our right to choose our own destiny and the destiny of our country! And this is the destiny that you choose. Together we gave birth to a country of ideals and now you are killing it! Our country---our free country is a beautiful dream, but you won't let it be realized. You won't give it a chance to live. Why won't you let it live? Why couldn't it live?" Jillian choked momentarily, fighting back tears. She continued, "We have a chance for the first time to have a country that is our own. Fight for it! Join us in our loyalty to Arthur and ensure that Briton will stay free for generations to come. You, my fellow Britons, are my brothers and my sisters and I ask you to fight with me. Briton is our child and we cannot let it die!"
A cheer echoed up from beneath the wall as the Woads of the Itis and Udela tribes rose up against their Saxon comrades, pummeling them down into the earth, the earth of their homeland. Jillian raised her bow triumphantly in the air and let out her battle cry. "RAAAAAAAAAA!"