Lancelot awoke at dawn with Tarra's long dark hair strewn across his face. His first instinct was to brush it aside, but he found himself breathing in its enticing scent. He inhaled deeply and ascertained the perfumes to be a brew of ash from the previous night's fire and pine from the forest.
"Stop it," mumbled Tarra.
"Stop what?" asked Lancelot innocently.
"Stop smelling my hair, you creep," grumbled Tarra as she nestled her head back into his chest to catch a few more minutes of sleep. She was having a good dream.
Lancelot laughed to cover his humiliation at being caught in the act. He gently brushed her hair out of the way and began to stroke her head. "We should get up," he said softly in her ear, "Arthur will be wanting to go."
"Five more minutes," she muttered. This was a really good dream.
"Come on, up you go," coaxed Lancelot as he lifted her up into a sitting position.
Tarra groaned and rubbed her eyes open. She scowled at Lancelot who was consuming her with his eyes that were already wide awake. Apparently his sexual appetite was not abated by the earliness of the hour. "What's the matter with you? I look terrible in the morning," she said.
"You look beautiful," he replied, still not releasing her from his stare.
"You're a dirty liar," she retorted, "Or you're delusional. Either way, I suggest you wipe that smug look off your face or I'll knock it off with my fist. I warn you, I'm terribly irritable in the morning and not to be trifled wi---"
Her words were interrupted by Lancelot's lips that stifled hers into submission. Their mouths joined together in a waltz with Tarra's lips following Lancelot's lead through the steps of a kiss.
"There you two are!" came a voice that was Galahad's. He stopped suddenly in his tracks when he realized what he was interrupting. "Errr---sorry. Didn't mean to---uhhh---intrude on…" he stammered.
"It's not what it looks like!" Tarra protested, her face flushing with embarrassment.
"Oh, it most certainly is," insisted Lancelot, grabbing her to plant his lips on hers once again. Tarra pushed him away and stood quickly to her feet. Galahad laughed at the awkwardness of the situation. "Arthur told me to let you know that we're leaving now," said Galahad between snickers. He then strode off with an amused smile that hid the tinge of disappointment he felt inside.
Everyone was already mounted on their horses ready to go when Tarra and Lancelot joined the rest of the party. They were met with teasing looks by their companions who had been informed about their whereabouts and occupations from the loose-lipped Galahad. Tarra glared at them and said, "Yeah, yeah, put your eyes back in your sockets. It's not like you didn't see it coming."
"Yes," added Lancelot smugly, "We all knew Tarra has been vying for my affections since the moment we met."
Tarra rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him," she said, as she mounted her horse, "Lancelot thinks all women are vying for his affections, but really he just has selective hearing and fails to realize that they are actually dying from infections---probably of the sexual kind."
Lancelot snorted at her comment as he climbed up on his own horse. Before he could continue their banter, however, Arthur interrupted impatiently, "If you're both quite done, we really must depart." Arthur was a nervous wreck and clearly anxious to get back to Briton. His country was in danger, and it was up to him to see that it did not fall into enemy hands. Understanding his distress and in show of their support, Tarra and the knights said not another word and immediatly rallied behind Arthur. With no time to lose, they rode off down the trail, home to Briton.
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Jillian raced excitedly through the fort to find Guinevere. The queen would be so pleased to hear the good news that the Itis and Udela tribes had allied themselves with the Britons to fight against the Saxons. Jillian could hardly contain her own joy. It was as though the battle had already been won. The Saxons' numbers were quickly dwindling. It wouldn't be long now before the Britons would once again reign triumphant.
Jillian reached the quarters where Arthur and Guinevere resided and pushed open the door. Guinevere sat in the corner of the room with her head buried into her knees. Merlin stood over her, watching her with his mystical eyes. Where did he come from? How did he always manage to show up out of nowhere? Jillian had learned long ago not to try to figure out the mysteries behind their enigmatic leader. Merlin nodded to Jillian as she entered. He then strode out of the room, whispering cryptically in her ear as he left, "We choose our own paths and cannot blame the jagged rocks for scraping our feet."
Jillian furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement, but turned her attention quickly to Guinevere.
"My lady!" she exclaimed, "We turned the Itis and Udela tribes against the Saxons! They fight with us now! Are you not pleased?"
"They are fickle," Guinevere muttered, not looking up, "They betrayed us. They betrayed the Saxons. They'll betray us again."
"But not today," said Jillian firmly, "Today we shall be victorious."
"And what of tomorrow?" Guinevere countered hopelessly, "It is all for naught. My marriage---this country---it's all meaningless."
"What do you mean?" gasped Jillian in astonishment.
"I thought that if I married Arthur, we could unite this country and we could finally be free. I was a naive child," she confessed bitterly, "We cannot all have fairytale love like you and Tristan. And what's worse is that that's all our vision of this country is too---just a fairytale."
"Is that what you think Tristan and I have? A fairytale?" scoffed Jillian, unable to restrain her anger, "I'm sorry, but you are sorely mistaken. I love him. I do. And I want to believe that he loves me in return, but where is he now? He's gone. Even when he is here, he's gone because he locks himself away in his own little world. For awhile he let me into that world, but then I got pregnant and then---" She paused for a moment and then continued, "And then after---it happened---I locked myself in my own world and pushed him away. I should not have done that. If this is a fairytale, I'm afraid I have yet to see how to reach a happy ending."
"I'm sorry," said Guinevere, lifting her head for the first time to look Jillian in the face, "You know, it's strange. Lately, I've come to realize that I really do love Arthur and that it only grows stronger with time, but I did not marry him for love. Isn't that funny? I married him because it was right for the country. Now I am left with a deepening love for him, but the country is crumbling down all around us."
"I do not know what is in store for Tristan and me," Jillian confessed, "But I will not allow our country to fall. We have fought too hard and too long to give up now. I know now that---that my child will not have died in vain because its death has lit a fury within me. I'm mad as hell, and every last one of those Saxons out there is going to feel my wrath. Look into my eyes and witness my resolve. I am going to walk out of this room and I am going to fight. And I will not stop fighting until there is not a single Saxon left with breath in his lungs."
Jillian retrieved the axe that lay on the table next to Guinevere and stormed out of the room with the weapon in her hand. She held her head high as she marched across the fort ready to do battle with the devil himself, if she had believed in that sort of thing. She felt her fingers tighten around the axe's hilt as she spotted a group of Saxons up ahead. Once the Itis and Udela tribes had joined forces with the Britons at the fort, they had poured inside the wall, unfortunately bringing the Saxons with them. Jillian threw her shoulders back defiantly as she approached the Saxon giants. A hawk flew across the sky looking down on her, but she took no notice.
There were four of the Saxons all together, but three of them dispersed in various directions. The fourth, who seemed to be the leader, eyed Jillian maliciously with a toothy grin. He strode confidently over to her, swinging his broad sword cockily with one arm. Jillian narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. He wouldn't be smiling for long once she was done with him.
The enormous Saxon swung his sword at Jillian's head, but she quickly ducked and swung her own axe at his side. He blocked it easily with his sword and pushed her back. Jillian glared up at him with a scowl on her face, the blood surging through her veins. This time it was she who struck first, throwing her weight behind her axe and aiming it at the Saxon's thick neck. He easily blocked her attack once again, slashing his sword across her shoulder. She yelped out in pain as the blood trickled down her arm. Suddenly, something inside her broke and she lunged at the Saxon with such force that she knocked the sword from his hands.
Jillian no longer had control of her body. She raised her axe over her head and began hacking the hideous Saxon to pieces, throwing down the axe into his body time after time after time. His blood sprayed across her face with every strike, but she did not stop. The Saxon had ceased his struggle beneath her, succumbing to death, but she continued hammering her axe into his incapacitated body. "Don't you die, yet!" she screamed at him. His terrified eyes stared up at her in confusion. "Don't you die, yet!" she repeated, "You haven't even begun to feel pain! Don't you die on me, yet!" Her arms moved up and down repeatedly, hacking into the Saxon's flesh. Her mind was clouded, shutting out everything around her. All she felt was the rage inside her and the gratification of the violence. But then she heard a voice.
"Hey, little warrior. I think he is dead."
Jillian turned to meet two golden brown eyes peering down at her from behind dark tousled hair. She rose slowly to her feet, dropping the axe to the ground. Her eyes were out of focus and clouded over. Tristan walked over to her, and began to examine her wounded arm that the Saxon had slashed with his sword. Jillian seemed unaware of his gentle hands meticulously working to tie a bandage around the cut.
"You're bleeding," he said, tying the final knot. When she still did not wake from her daze, he put his hand to her shoulder. "Jillian? Are you okay?"
Her eyes shifted to meet his. "You left me," she said without inflection, without emotion.
"I'm here now."
"No. You left me. I needed you."
"You told me to go," Tristan replied simply. It was the truth, after all.
"And you listened?" Jillian asked indignantly.
"I always listen," he said, brushing away a strand of hair from her face.
"Well, never do it again."
"Never listen?" he asked.
"Never leave!" she corrected.
Tristan laughed. It was a soft laughter, and he tilted his head down to hide his sudden burst of amusement. Jillian gave him a playful shove. "It's not funny!" she reproached.
"Come here," he ordered, ignoring her reprimand and pulling her into an embrace. She laid her head against his chest and exhaled in relief. She had missed him so much. His fingers slipped under her chin and tilted her head up to his. They locked eyes for a moment until Tristan's lips crashed down onto Jillian's. He lifted her off the ground, pulling her closer to him and twirling her in the air. Their lips tangled together in serendipity.
Tristan set her back down and gave a slight smile despite himself. "Come," he said, "I have something to show you."
"What is it?" asked Jillian.
"You'll see," he replied, taking her hand and pulling her towards the main entrance of the fort. The Saxons appeared to be all but defeated, their corpses leaving a trail towards the main gate.
Jillian stopped suddenly in her tracks. Jols stood just up ahead, awkwardly holding an infant in his arms. He stood frozen in place as if the child would crumble to pieces at his slightest movement. Jols' face was wrinkled with concern as he stared down at the baby.
"Oh, give him here," said Tristan impatiently, "Haven't you held a baby before?"
Jols gave him a quizzical look. If Tristan hadn't been the one who had handed him the infant in the first place, he would have asked the knight that very same question. Jols blinked several times just to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. Perhaps he had really died fighting a Saxon and had been transported into some kind of alternate universe where Tristan apparently carried babies around with him. But this was not the case.
Jillian could not believe her eyes either. She looked over at Tristan with a mixture of shock and skepticism. "What is that?" she asked the knight who cradled the child gently in his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I found him in the prison at the Roman estate," Tristan explained, "He has no family, and I couldn't just leave him there. I thought maybe we---"
"Tristan," Jillian interjected seriously, "If you think you can just replace our---"
"I don't," he said quickly, "Of course, I don't. But he needs a home."
"Nevertheless, a child is not like an arrow, Tristan," she said, appealing to a subject with which she knew he would relate, "You can't just grab another from your quiver after one flies off into the sky."
"That may be," countered Tristan, "But you also don't give up on archery just because you've lost one of your arrows to the sky."
Jillian sighed and looked down at the small child that had settled complacently in Tristan's arms. "Do you want to hold him?" Tristan asked.
Jillian nodded hesitantly and let Tristan place the infant gently in her arms. The baby looked up at her with wide eyes, and she would have sworn he smiled at her. She could not explain it. She suddenly felt warm all over and light---light like a weight had been lifted off her chest. "What is his name?" she asked, fighting back tears.
"I-I don't know," said Tristan, furrowing his eyebrows and wondering why he hadn't thought about naming the child before.
"What about Gabilan?" Jillian suggested.
"Yes," he replied, "That is good."
"It means hawk," she said.
A faint smile crossed Tristan's face. He leaned over and kissed Jillian on the top of her head. Jillian cradled Gabilan close to her heart and kissed his tiny cheek. Tristan stroked his hand over Gabilan's little bald head. They were a family.
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"Damnit, we've missed the party," said a disappointed Tarra as she surveyed the Saxon corpses scattered about the fort.
"We could make our own party," Lancelot suggested, pulling her to him. Tarra shrugged him off. Ever since they had disembarked on the British shores, she had seemed distant---and sad. She had been consumed in thought the entire time they were on the ship and that had been followed only by a dark melancholy that settled over her like a storm once they had reached the shore.
Lancelot was about to ask what was troubling her when they were interrupted once again by Arthur and Guinevere. The king and queen strode hand in hand over to where Lancelot, Tarra, Galahad, Gawain, and Bors were congregated. Guinevere looked up at Arthur with shining eyes. Her country was safe and her husband was returned. What could make her more content?
Arthur beamed from ear to ear. "Thanks to Bors, Jillian, the brave people here at the fort---and my beautiful wife, the Saxons have been defeated," he announced triumphantly, "Tonight we shall have a celebration."
And a celebration they had. The lights shone bright at Hadrian's wall that evening. The Woads gathered around an enormous banquet in the middle of the fort with music and dancing and games. Arthur and Guinevere sauntered from table to table together presiding over the festivities. Galahad and Gawain sat guzzling their whiskey, balancing women on their laps. Bors stood off to the side with his arms wrapped protectively around Vanora. Jillian lulled Gabilan to sleep as Tristan's hand caressed her back in light circles.
At the outer edge of the celebration, however, Lancelot stormed angrily after a fleeing Tarra.
"Tarra! Get back here!" Lancelot demanded, trying to catch up with her.
"There's nothing to discuss," she called back, giving him a dismissive wave.
"Like hell there isn't!" he cried in protest. He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "Tell me what's going on," he demanded.
"It's just that I've done a lot of thinking…these last couple days..." Tarra began.
"And?"
"And I cannot stay here," she admitted finally, "I'm just not ready, I suppose. I must go. I need some time. Just a little bit more time is all."
"Time? Time for what?" asked Lancelot, unable to understand what was driving her away. They were in love---so in love. How could she leave? "Where will you go?" he asked.
"Anywhere. Everywhere," she replied with a shrug, "I need to figure out who I am---because I've been nobody for so long. And I can't do that while I only see myself through your eyes."
"Damn you," Lancelot cursed, "Damn you, Tarra. Every time I think we are making progress you shut down on me. When are you finally going to make that leap, Tarra? When are you going to love me at last?"
"I love you now---but I want to be worthy of you," Tarra explained, "And I want you to be worthy of me as well. Prove to me that I am worth waiting for. Prove to me that you are capable of waiting. Prove your fidelity, Lancelot, and I will prove that I am worthy of it."
"Haven't we been over this?" Lancelot asked with a sigh of frustration, "I love you---not despite your faults, but because of them. As for my own faults, I've already admitted that I have many, but that does not mean that you should walk away. I will never be perfect, and opening up to me---trusting me---will be a risk, but do it anyway, Tarra. Do it anyway."
"I don't want to get hurt," she confessed, "And I am not perfect either, so the risk is equally yours. I don't want to hurt you."
"You are hurting me now," he said.
"Don't you understand that it has to be this way?" asked Tarra with pleading eyes, "Like I said, I've been doing a lot of thinking over the past couple days as we made our way back to Briton. You said that we are so much alike because we both see such evil in ourselves. But is that really the basis for any kind of lasting love? We're the two most despicable people on earth, so we might as well be together, right? Well, I disagree. I've learned so much since I first came to Briton. Most importantly, I've realized that I am so---incomplete, and I have to change. I have to. I look at Arthur and you and the rest of the knights, and I see you do these extraordinary things---miraculous things. You're building a country based on ideals and freedom. By the gods, Lancelot, can't you see how incredible that is? Everything I've ever done has been of no certain consequence." She paused. "But not anymore. I need to find myself---I need to find my purpose. And I will return, I promise you. I will come back. If you can wait for me---until Spring comes---and if I can learn what it means to truly live---before Spring comes---then we will truly deserve each other, and we will have a chance at true happiness."
She covered his cheeks with her hands and kissed his lips. "Wait for me," she whispered and disappeared into the shadows.
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Will she stay gone? Will she come back? You'll have to wait till the next (and final) chapter! Mwahaha. :P