Chapter Three: Everything to Lose

Alyanne had been moved to her own quarters now, being well enough to stand on her own two feet, but still she was not allowed to leave the confines of her room being as Guinevere did not think her fit to be walking about. Personally, she would not have heeded her cousin's words, but she was indeed too weak no matter how much she denied the fact.

At that moment though, she was alone. Alone with the thoughts that plagued She sat in her room looking towards the window. It was by far a pleasant looking evening and she was in need of fresh air, only to be provided by her small window. She was thinking of the past. How things used to be. It was so much simpler then. There was nothing, no care in the world. Only her small tribe.

The winter was a time of peace for the Woads of the North. There was no threat of the Saxons or Romans due to the fact that the weather was too cold for them to attack. It was when Alyanne was most at peace, because her father was home most of the time and her mother was not worried sick.

It was nightfall and the entire tribe was gathered around a huge fire. Music was playing around. The beats of the drums was elating. Alyanne was known for being an excellent dancer. Her sense of rhythm was indeed a marvel and it was so alluring to stare at her as she danced. Her form seemed to emulate the swaying of the fire as the wind blew through the trees. Each beat of the drum resulted in an elegant movement from her body.

Guinevere was there along with her father, the wizard Merlin. They were of not kin in anyway and this was the first time she had come into contact with the little girl. She seemed to be jubilant in every way possible and was a most agreeable companion. They had a connection between them and it seemed like it would last their life time.

While Merlin and her father, the chief Ieuan, talked of matters of a more grave nature, she and her new a kindred spirit to whom danced among the embers with and twirled to the strikes of the percussion.

It had been so long ago since she had experienced a joyful winter solstice with Guinevere. Things had gotten in the way and the cold weather no longer became a hindrance for the Saxon attacks.

The trees all around her were burning and the sound of the Saxon war drums had replaced those of the celebrations. The children were being dragged from the scene as to keep them safe, but Alyanne would not be taken away. She kept screaming and screaming! Her her father was now in fierce combat with a Saxon mercenary. It was horrible. She could not bear it. She wanted nothing more than to pick up a sword and charge into battle to help her father. She struggled from the grasps of her keepers and finally broke through their grip. She took a blade from the floor and started to fight her way through the invading horde. The way she fought was indescribable. She had been taught by her father well. Alyanne slaughtered every Saxon that came her way, desperate to get to her father.

Suddenly a burly man of flaxen hair blocked her way. She cried out, screamed, as she clashed swords with him. He was twice her size but her determination was keeping her a float as she fiercely fought the man. She was angry, letting her emotions go with every blow. She had just seen her mother die. Tears fell from her eyes as she heard the metallic twang of the weapons all around her. She needed to defeat this adversary so she could reach her father and help him. She lost one to the Saxons; she would not lose another parent. She stuck harder and harder, pressing through, making the Saxon back up. But then, she heard it. The sound of pure and utter pain. The sound of death. With a split second glance, she saw her father with a sword through his chest, convulsing a little, before falling down to the ground, lifeless. It was then that she screamed with the might of all the emotions that she was feeling and plunged the sword through her opponent's body. She shoved it deep inside his abdomen that it came through in the other end. She thrust him with the sword as deep as she could and twisted it to make him scream as loudly as she did. He wanted to hear his pain so that she could forget her own.

Alyanne looked at the moon as it was revealed by the clouds. It was bright and full. Beautiful. Her reverie was broken when a light knock came to her door.

"Who is it?"

"It is I cousin."

"Come in."

Ever since Alyanne found that her cousin missed the Woad tongue, she made it a point to use it to speak to her whenever they talked. She could understand Guinevere's weariness. If their places had been reversed, she would crave for any memory of home as well. Unfortunately, the situations were unchangeable, she would never delight in her memories.

"Hello dearest. You look better than you did yesterday; you have more color to your cheeks now." The Queen smiled as she took the seat next to her kin. She placed a hand atop her cousin's and held it. It had been too long since she had seen her. She missed her terribly.

"So does that mean that may I leave this god forsaken room?" she asked with raised eyebrow, smiling the faintest of smiles.

"Not on your life."

Alyanne would have laughed if her current disposition had allowed her to do so. She stared once again at the heavens. They were beautiful, but their splendor only brought her further in thought. She sighed at their sight, saddening by what she saw.

"Care to share the burden of your thoughts?" Guinevere looked supportively on her. She knew Alyanne to be increasingly contemplative as the years passed by and it was only aggravated by solitude.

"The moon is blessed don't you think? It has all the stars to keep it company. It will never be lonely. It will always shine in the night sky with all the others. The sun has no one to share the vastness of the sky with, only clouds that roll by and leave." She said in a hushed tone that people were now finally accustomed to hearing. She spoke as if everything she uttered was a secret and could not be divulged to eavesdroppers.

"Oh Alyanne." She enfolded her cousin, who was to her as good as a sister. "You have been the sun for too long. When will you allow yourself to become the moon of which you so envy." She told her, trying to emulate empathy rather than pity.

"I am not strong Guinevere, nor do I try to be." Alyanne whispered with a tone of finality.

Guinevere looked at her cousin. She did feel for her in a way that others didn't Alyanne was supposed to be happy by now. If only Bragdon was not killed…but no. It was not healthy to dwell in what ifs. Tarrying on them would make one mad. She conceded not to say what was in her mind. Bragdon was now in peace, but she couldn't help but think that he would have fought to live, harder than he did, if he had known that this would be the result.

"Oh dear Alyanne." She kissed her forehead. "Strength can be found in more ways that one. Believe me when I say that it is within you"

"No it is not. I have always leaned on you for the strength. It may have been I who once led the men to victory, but it was always you whom I depended on. I am not strong."

"Keep saying that to yourself and it may just come true Alyanne."

"When will you see that it already is?" Alyanne looked at her cousin with a melancholy look in her eyes. She was not as strong as all believed her to be. In the end, she was just like everyone else…afraid. She was so afraid of what may happen. Being a leader did not mean that you were fearless, in fact it meant the opposite. In Alyanne's case, being a leader meant that you have the deaths of all your men on your head. Each and every one of the fallen had a name, a family, a life, and it was taken away with the blink of an eye and the thrust of a sword. With every man that they sent floating on the Lake, she could feel the force of guilt for his death.

"It is not." Guinevere spoke with insubordination in her tone. Her cousin was too tortured to be weak. She had survived more than anyone ever knew and still she stood. If that wasn't strength then what was? "You are as stubborn as ever. How did I put up with you all those years?" She laughed. They grew up as sisters, the two of them. Ever since Ieuan died and Alyanne took the leadership of the Northern Woads, Guinevere begged her father to stay. She was her kindred spirit and the sister she had never had.

"I have no idea." She turned to her, smiling despite her self in the remembrance of their childhood together.

"But you were the one with reason among the both of us. I was too impulsive for my own good. Look where it got me, in a dark tunnel and tortured." Guinevere laughed. She did not notice the sudden change in Alyanne's expression.

"It should have been me." Guilt over ran her. It killed her to think of her in that dark torture chamber, experiencing God knows what. It had been her decisions that had cast Guinevere to that hollow and she never neglected to remind herself of that. She lived with it everyday.

"Do not say such things." Guinevere hushed her, tightening her grasp on Alyanne's hand. "It was not your fault."

"No Guinevere. It should have been me. They wanted the leader of the Woad rabble and had I not given up my sword, you would not have had to suffer so much." Her hollow eyes now had a twinge of guilt ridden in them. Her eyes betrayed her, for it showed only a small fraction of what was tearing up her heart. It was her that was to blame and no one else. No one.

"As I have said, it all ended up for the best. Had I not been in that dungeon, I would have never met Arthur and would not be his wife." She comforted the woman with utter and complete bliss in her eyes. She was happy now. She had a husband and one day she would hope to give him a child. She could see her entire life before her eyes and it all fell into place. Guinevere was content and she had no regrets.

"You forgive so easily."

"You should too."

"Aye, but my wounds are far too deep Guinevere. Yours healed through herbs and medicine. The only thing that will heal my wounds is my own death." She turned once again to the night sky, watching the moon twinkle with all of her stars.

"No. Time is what will heal them. Give it time." She looked at her cousin in her reflection. "Will you ever tell me why?" She never knew what happened. She never did tell her. For all her good graces, Alyanne's greatest was that she could keep a secret to her grave.

"As you said cousin, in time." She sighed. "I will tell you when I am strong enough to face it."

On that last note, Guinevere smiled at her cousin. She stood up and left the door, leaving Alyanne with her thoughts once again. Against her better judgment, it came out of her before she left the door, "Bragdon never doubted your strength." Guinevere left and closed the door, terrified of the fact that she had just mentioned her cousin's name to Alyanne.

-o-

Lancelot walked into the tavern to find Bors drunk and asleep, Galahad challenging Tristan in a game of daggers (under the impression that he had improved), and Gawain drinking the night away with a barmaid on his lap. Everything seemed alright in the world. The only thing new was that Arthur was with them at that very night. It was rare to find this man in the tavern now a days and Lancelot took this as a sign of the Gods to make him pay for his earlier comments.

It was enjoyable being in the tavern in the evening. It was a ritual that the Knights had done since their arrival to the wall. The ale, the merriment, Gawain's rosy cheeks and Bor's snoring. They were all part of the night's events in Arthur's forces. It was a time to bond and talk. This was your chance to get everything you wanted out of your fellow Knight, taking advantage of his drunken state.

"So Arthur, Guinevere let you out of the leash tonight? Or mayhap you had to sneak out from her hawk-like gaze?" Lancelot smirked as he sat down next to his dear friend and signaled Vanora for a tankard of ale.

"It was hard to squeeze myself out of the window." He laughed as he clasped arms with Lancelot in greeting. Was he truly such a leashed husband that his own men wuld think he had no freedom with his wife? At any rate, he didn't mind. He was happy. Utterly content. Anyone who would say otherwise would have to be mad.

"It looks like someone is being kicked out of the bed of wedded bliss aye?" Gawain laughed as the maiden stood from his lap and he took a huge swig of his ale. He was indeed the worst drunk of all the Knights. He giggles like a woman, he would sing like an out of tune lute and he would fall face first before the night was over. All in all, he provided the evening's amusement.

"Ah there, laugh all you want, but remember that I have a loving wife to come home to every night and all you have are your horses to keep you warm."

"Oh, I wouldn't call Lancelot's companions as horses. But if they were such, then please introduce me." Gawain laughed, obviously drunk beyond his wits.

"Sincerely, why have we the honor of having the King of Briton's company this evening?" Lancelot said with an air of sincerity and a small dose of jest.

"Guinevere is speaking to Alyanne so I thought I might have a drink with Sarmatia's finest men." He toasted to them and drank from his mug. It had been long since he had spent time with his men without Guinevere at his side. Being a happily married man did have it draw backs when it came to spending time with other people other than his wife, and other than from within a locked bedroom.

"And how is the maiden faring?" Asked Galahad, aiming for the target in front of him. He still had his little delusions of grandeur in beating Tristan in the game. When would this young pup learn?

"She is as well as can be expected for one who has just crossed the border between life and death. Silent as always."

"She is indeed silent that one." Murmured Tristan as he watched Galahad fire his dagger, hitting the bull's eye.

"Look who's talking. The ever stoic Tristan is calling the Lady silent." Giggled Gawain, his face was as red as a tomato right now.

"Alright Gawain, I believe you have had enough." Galahad snatched his drink and turned to Tristan who had just launched his dagger right in the middle of his dagger's hilt. "I will never cease to be amazed." He shook his head.

"I told you, aim for the middle." Tristan let out a faint smirk and returned to his seat and his ail. Though Tristan may not have shown it much, he did have a sense of humor and it was utterly rare for them to get that reaction out of him. To have it otherwise would be urgent cause for concern.

"You can sense the sadness in her, though her eyes guard her secret well." Contemplated Lancelot as he swirled his drink in the tankard. "You can't blame her for one who has suffered so much."

"We have all suffered. Why should she be so different?" Asked Gawain tactlessly amidst his intoxicated state. He was imitating Vanora by placing his hands on his waist and wagging his fingers inches from Lancelot's face. It was a pretty sight.

"Be careful. With your long, golden and feathery locks, one might mistake you for a true woman. Ugly, but a woman nonetheless." Galahad laughed as he mocked his best friend. All in the name of good natured fun. And besides, it was not as if he would remember any of it in the morning.

"I will have you know I am very pretty." Gawain flipped his hair, but ended up flipping himself to the ground as well.

"She had more to lose than we." Tristan replied from the corner on which he sat. In battle, none of the Knights had anything to live for other than the hope of seeing home once more. All they had were dreams. What Alyanne had was real. She had a family. She had more to come back to than anyone else in that tavern, save Arthur and Bors. And she lost them all. Tristan could understand her pain, for he too had experienced it once a long time ago.

The gravity of the conversation was suddenly broken when Bors fell from his chair and was pushed into the land of the waking. They all laughed at the sight, of course.

-o-

Alyanne could no longer stand being all cooped up in her room. It was lavish and grand to say the least, but she was a Woad and Woads did not take lightly to being caged up no matter how gilded it was. She felt stifled in her room. She was used to roaming free and for an illness to take that freedom away from her was madness. Deep in the night, while all lay in sweet slumber, save she, Alyanne slipped from the furs that covered her body and stood up. She opened her door, creating as little sound as possible. She stepped as light as a feather. She did not want to make a sound in fear of being led straight back to the dungeon that was her quarters.

She climbed the stairs. Winding and long were they as it took all her strength to reach the top. She wanted to see the sky from more than her window. The view was beautiful from her room but nothing compared to the open sky. She panted a bit. Apparently the fever had weakened her significantly. She didn't mind it though. Though she panted, it took a lot to tire out Alyanne. She climbed, seeing the door at the end. She opened the latch and marveled at the sky's view from atop the battlements.

She had forgotten what it was like to be up so high. It had been a long time since had climbed the trees in the wood. As a child, she used to practically live on those branches, but as of late, she found little use for such frivolities as that. There was always a battle to plan or, in light of her recent actions, things to be thought upon. She had forgotten life's simple joys, once again taking things for granted.

The moon was right above her and the stars circled it like a halo. She twirled a bit. It felt like an eternity since she had last seen the majesty of the night. She lay down on the floor of the battlements and kept her head to the sky. She closed her eyes and felt the wind course through her body. The gentle breeze was tickling her skin. She wished like she could stay like this forever. But experience taught her that contentment never lasted as long as one wanted.

"You can come out now." She said, her eyes still closed. She felt the presence of someone, though she had no idea as to who it was. Alyanne heard footsteps approach her and she opened her eyes to see the rugged scout looking right at her. "Hello." She said quietly, closing her eyes once more, staying as still as possible.

"How did you know that I was there?" he asked, as she heard his movements as he sat beside her on the floor. If she had not been so close to him, she would never have heard his actions. His movements were as silent as he. His steps could hardly be heard.

"The wind told me." Was her ambiguous answer. She had always trusted the wind to tell her the secrets of the world. It carried news from far away. It was free.

When she was little and her mother still lived, she was taught that the wind was a Woad's most constant companion for it would never leave you. You should learn to trust the wind and learn to listen to it when it tells you the secrets you surrounding have. Before any battle, she would just lie still on the ground and listen to the wind for guidance. The wind never let her down and it always told her when danger would be afoot.

"You would make a fine scout Lady." He mentioned. She opened her eyes and turned to him. He looked unreadable to her. His eyes were hidden amidst his locks and braids and did not even seem to smile. He was passive, stoic. His eyes never betrayed him.

"My husband taught me well." She said quietly. It was Bragdon who was her scout. He was just like this man, quiet and incomprehensible. One had to have patience when dealing with him. It took years for them to warm up to each other. Somehow, Alyanne regretted that, for if she had only known of his affections earlier, they would have had so much time together. She felt like it was all wasted, the years that flew them by.

"You mourn for him still." He consoled her. "It can not be helped."

"You mourn for someone too, am I not mistaken?" She had never met a person who understood her pain. It was always people who told her that it was long ago and that her husband would have wanted her to be happy and not sulk in the darkness all the time. No. Tristan understood, just like a man who had experienced it for himself.

"Did my eyes betray me Lady?" he asked her, turning to Alyanne. She looked into his eyes. They were a void, as was her own. Though they were the stunning shade of blue, his eyes carried no emotion whatsoever. They were blank and their emptiness could mean nothing but pain.

"No. It was your words that told me your secrets." She remarked at his question. "Most people tell me to move on."

"It is not easy to forget. They haunt you." He turned to the sky and extended his arm to which his hawk rested. He spoke with a soft and soothing voice. One would think that such a man would have a voice terrifying enough to scare any enemy, but his voice brought calm to her. It was such a shame that he spoke so little.

"Who was she?" Alyanne asked, as if reading his thoughts. A man like that would have loved and lost. Loss was something that marked a man, as it had done to them both. It changes you.

"My daughter." The answer was unexpected. She had not taken him for the type to be a father. He seemed too war torn and blood thirsty to care raise a child. Judgment was her curse. But then again, she realized long ago that she was a poor judge or men when opinions were made at first glace. Talking with him now, she could see how wrong about him she might have been.

"I will not press it any further." She looked back towards the sky.

"No, it is alright. We are the same you and I. We have lost. Isolde was taken from me during childbirth. The healers had deemed her too weak to bear a child and advised her against it. But she was stubborn my Isolde. She wanted to give me a child. She wanted us to have a family. She had taken into a fever much like you. Eiddwen was all I had left of her." He said, a spark forming in his eyes at the mention of his daughter's name. It was apparent that he held his daughter in the deepest of affections for she took him as the man who rarely showed any reaction.

"Eiddwen. Beloved one."

"Aye. She had her mother's hair, fiery mane. A head full of red hair. Her eyes were the most brilliant color of green that you've ever laid your eyes upon. They shone like gems under the proper light. I would sometimes even think that she was the exact copy of her." The stress seemed to lift from his face as he reminisced. Fond memories they must have been. She knew that when she thought of Bragdon, her problems would vanish. A euphoria would envelope her. But memories were much like ghosts. As Tristan had said, they haunted you.

"How did she die, if I may ask?" She did not want to press him into saying anything. Privacy was something she herself valued more than anything.

"She was out in the fields, playing one day. Romans caught sight of her. They asked her where her village was, and she would not answer. She was a shy one my girl. It was the only thing she got from me." The little happiness in his face seemed to melt with every word. That was the hardest part in remembering, when it comes to the part that you remember how you lost them. Anguish would constantly follow. "They took it as insolence and killed her on the spot. They brought back her body to the village and took me to serve as a Knight. I could not even give her a proper burial."

"There is no justice in that." She conceded. There was no honor in killing a child. She was shy and there was no fault in that. To kill such an innocent child had to be heartlessness at its finest. No man should ever suffer that, to have his life murdered and his freedom taken away. No father should ever live to bury their child.

"Aye. But there is no justice in the world either. Did you think there was justice when your husband was taken from you?" He returned her question, once again turning to her.

"In that, I agree with you." Her eyes darkened. There was indeed no justice in the way Bragdon died. She shook her head, forcing herself to repress the on coming memory. She did not need to be reminded of it. No. She was finished staining her pillow with salty tears of sorrow.

"Guinevere tells us that you never told her how it happened. How he died."

"Retelling the story would be accepting the truth."

"Then you are fortunate, for you have just witnessed a man accept his daughter's death." He did not seem happy about it, but no one would after they had been so much. It seemed that Tristan was just Tristan, neither happy nor in despair. He just was.

"You are fortunate good sir. I fear that I am far from accepting it." Though it had been two summers ago, she refused to recount the tale. She did not want to remember the throbbing in her heart when she saw what was left of him.

"You will one day. Just remember that no one is hastening you." He was a comfort to her. To have someone speak to her in such a way was greatly appreciated. She did appreciate what Guinevere was trying to do, but she did not understand what it felt like to have life ripped from you as you slept in peace. She did not know how it felt to burn a husband's body and scatter the ashes. Tristan was someone who spoke from the knowledge he had gained form experiencing it himself. She could not imagine what she would do if a child of hers was killed and then have to be forced to serve her murderers. It took a strong man to do that and keep his sanity.

"You are wise Tristan." She told him, sitting up and looking into the man's empty eyes.

"I thank you my Lady." He nodded to her, watching the dead stars twinkle on the earth. "You are much like her. You have strength beneath your silence." He told her without looking her way. "Eiddwen used to listen to the wind as well."

Alyanne did not speak; only felt a large surge of pride and gratitude in being able to remind a man of the thing he loved most. They just sat there for a while, not saying anything, not doing anything, just sitting still and basking in the comfort of finding somebody who understood.