A/N: Okay, how has time gone by soooo fast? I feel like it was only two weeks ago that I had updated. But it's been almost a month? Oof. I know I don't have many readers, but I hope the few of you who continue to read this new edition are enjoying it. I sat down to make an outline and uh... I have quite a bit more to go lol. I wonder if I can complete this story before the 20th Anniversary of the movie.
It was a rather dreary day, matching his mood just perfectly. Or, perhaps it was making his mood worse. Tristan had dozed off several times on the back of his horse, catching himself from falling off each time. Not exactly unusual having to nap while riding. Just, he couldn't get her out of his mind.
"Stubborn woman," he grumbled to himself for the hundredth time.
Young, strong-headed, idiot! She probably felt that she was invincible with her special ability her gods blessed her with. But those injuries, they were bad. He could see the pain they caused her. She put on a face, pretending her injuries were more of an inconvenience. But they weren't. The wounds had been cut deep to maim. Whoever had attacked her didn't want her to escape.
Roman? It would have made sense, except, the symbol etched into her skin on her upper left breast wasn't Roman in origin. A ritual gone wrong then. That was the only conclusion. The question was, a ritual done by her people? Or strangers?
"He tried to steal my gift," her panic voice echoed in his mind. Her eyes were wide and horrified. She looked as if she'd been betrayed by someone she trusted.
It does not concern you, he chided himself yet again.
He was no hero. He didn't ride into villages to save young maidens. The other knights did that. They got the credit and glory while he stayed in the shadows. He liked the shadows. Liked being a mystery. His only loyalty lay with Arthur and his fellow knight brothers. Once his contract was up he would be returning home.
To what? He wasn't sure. Did he even have a home? A family to go back to? He'd know soon enough. That is if the gods deemed it fit for him to live that long. There were still a few months left of servitude for the Romans.
Gods.
Tristan still held onto his beliefs of his old gods as did his fellow brothers. A belief that many of their other brothers under other Roman commanders were unable to hold onto.
Arthur was a devout Christian. And yes, he did spout his beliefs in a single God as often as he could to the knights. But he didn't force them to believe as he did. He allowed them to carry on with whatever heathen practices they chose. As long as they didn't harm people, that is. A unique man, and quite frankly, a man almost out of his time. His thoughts and beliefs were strongly influenced by his mentor.
And yet, Tristan couldn't help but wonder. What would he think about the young pagan woman who could turn her body into that of an animal?
Blessed by his God? Or cursed by a demon? Either way, her unnatural act proved that perhaps Tristan may very well be on the wrong side.
What would the Romans do to her if they found out?
Break her. Turn her into a weapon for themselves. He shuddered at the thought and shook his head. She needed to be more careful. But, she wasn't as old as he was. She had most likely been sheltered.
She is none of your concern now.
Tristan pressed his hand against his hip, touching his dagger. It was rather stupid of him, insisting she keep his dagger. It was a fine and expensive blade and had cost him quite a bit of coin to have made. But that silly part of him wanted her to have it to protect herself. And yet she flew off without. Probably a good thing in the end. Her having his dagger meant she still had a part of him. This way, they were separated. Soon, she'd be nothing more than a faded memory of a crush. They were enemies. They could not be any more than that.
Tristan leaned his head back and looked up into the cloudy sky. It would be getting dark soon. He'd been traveling all day long. Although, he did have an early start, he was just barely making it his normal camping spot. He'd had to make several more stops than he wanted to take quick naps.
A bird let out a chirp then the branches of a tree shuddered as it took flight along with a couple others.
She was probably home at this point. Her ability to fly meant she could cover more ground far faster than he could. It would be nice to be back in his own bed and sleep comfortably for the night.
His skin rose as he recalled her blood curdling screams while her bones cracked and her body contorted into unnatural poses. Perhaps it wasn't so much of a gift. It looked painful. Maybe too painful. Her eyes had widened in surprise as if she didn't except the change. And then, from his point of view, it looked as if she were fighting it. Struggling to stay human. But, she knew what she could do. So it confused him. Why resist?
There was a moment, a brief moment that he felt as if she was about to die before his very eyes. As if her body was about to rip apart in front of him. And then she relaxed.
It was quick after that. One second a contorted mess, the next a hawk tangled up in a wet nightgown. Was she even aware that she was once human? Did she keep some sort of conscious? He couldn't tell. She had stilled in his arms, but much like a wild bird, her mouth hung open as she waited for the right moment to attack. Except, she didn't attack. Once she was free she flew away.
Never to be seen again, he could only hope.
Tristan's eyes focused on the grey clouds. It must be nice though, being able to change your body at will and fly into the heavens. Oh, what he would give to have one day where he could be a bird in the sky. To feel the wind beneath his wings. What was it like up there?
His horse sidestepped an obstacle, making him focus back on the present. He was coming up to his camping spot, and just on time.
"Woa," he said softly as he pulled the reigns on his horse.
Three figures stood on the side of road further south. He frowned. Two Roman soldiers and it appeared as if the third was a peasant. The third man was sitting on the ground, hands bound in front of him. It was strange though. Roman soldiers this far north?
Patting his horse's neck, Tristan urged it forward. He kept his stance relaxed although he was on high alert. Something didn't feel right.
He nodded his head to them as he slowly rode by. The Roman soldiers nodded back, but their eyes were cold and wary. He didn't recognize them. Then again, he never bothered to familiarize himself with any Roman soldier. It also didn't help that the sky had darkened considerably. It was almost night. But, the Romans would at least recognize his mount and clothing.
His whole body tensed the moment his back was to them. He should have gone into the forest, instead of continuing down the road. He felt his skin rise in warning of an attack.
An animal shrieked. No, not just any animal. A bird… a hawk. An arrow whizzed by Tristan's head. He pulled on the reigns of his horse and turned the beast.
One of the Romans had a bow in one hand and the other covered his face. He cried out in pain. The second Roman soldier was running at Tristan, sword raised.
Tristan jumped off his horse, unsheathing his own sword. He had just enough time to raise his blade to block the hit meant to injure him.
The Roman attacking him swung and stabbed at him with uncoordinated and desperate movements. A soldier but young and reckless. Tristan easily parried and blocked the attacks to his person. It wasn't very long till he saw the sweat trickle down the man's face. The man was getting winded, using all of his energy to try and end the fight quickly.
In the background, Tristan heard the second man shouting as a hawk screeched at him.
The Roman attacking Tristan lunged at him. He felt the blade slice through his leather vest, piercing his skin. But the soldier had left an opening. Tristan didn't hesitate, slicing up the Roman's chest, before running his blade through him.
The man didn't even have a chance to react. His eyes immediately glazed over and he dropped to the ground.
The hawk's scream caused Tristan's head to jerk up.
The second man was running away. Both of his hands were wrapped tightly around a bundle he had made of his cloak. Clearly, he'd wrapped her in it and was running. Tristan looked behind him. His horse wasn't too far away. He could run after them, or-
He swiftly went over to his steed, pulling out his bow and an arrow. Nocking the arrow, he turned, aimed and fired
The running man cried out as the arrow hit him in the shoulder. His grip on the hawk loosened and Tristan couldn't help but feel slightly amazed at the way she exploded out. She looked rather glorious. Her talons dug into the man's skin while at the same time she flew away.
Tristan nocked another arrow and let it loose before the man could react. It hit the man more in the center of his back. The man cried out and staggered as Tristan walked toward him.
The hawk didn't fly off as Tristan had expected. Instead, she landed on the ground with little grace.
Tristan gave her a quick glance but returned his focus to the last Roman soldier. He let a final arrow fly. That was all he needed. The soldier choked, but his life was done. The arrow had gone through his neck. Tristan stopped just shy of the final soldier, arrow nocked and ready to be aimed and let loose if he needed. The man didn't move.
Turning his attention to the ground, he spotted the hawk. Myrina. There was no way it wasn't her. So, she did retain some form of consciousness apparently. He took a step toward her and she immediately rose up and flew back a few feet away from him.
She landed back on the ground again. Her chest moved dramatically with each breath she took. Her eyes watched him keenly.
Afraid of him again? Or was the animal back?
He let out an internal sigh. He'd check up on her later. His eyes moved to the third and final man. The peasant prisoner. The man still sat by the roadside. Hands bound in front of him. His eyes moved from the hawk to Tristan.
Tristan didn't say a word as he walked back to the man and his own horse. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the hawk follow him. She partly flew, partly hopped, making her way closer to the prisoner and his horse as well.
Exhausted. Injured. Would she change in front of this man too? Perhaps she knew him. Yes, that actually made some sense. She probably made it home and was quickly dispatched to help save the prisoner from the Romans who were clearly escorting him to the Wall. She'd done that before.
Fools. Her injuries of the previous night undoubtedly still hurt her. Or, was some other kind of magic involved that the Woads were also hiding. Her siblings?
"Thank you, friend," the man said as he raised his hands, interrupting Tristan's musings. The man spoke with an unusual accent. He didn't sound like a Woad.
Tristan helped him onto his feet then withdrew his dagger. He cut through the rope then sheathed his dagger again. There was a brief moment of regret and uncertainty at his actions. The soldiers must have bound the man for a reason.
"Beautiful hawk. She yours?" the man said as he rubbed his wrists.
Tristan glanced behind the man. His eyes widened slightly but he managed to keep his face composed. She wasn't a hawk anymore. She lay in the tall grass. Her skin and long dark brown hair stood out though. She'd changed back.
"Yes," Tristan stated as he tried to think of something to say or do. For some reason, he felt the urge to protect her. To keep her identity secret. He still wasn't sure about the man. And, perhaps her magic had finally tapped out, forcing her back into her true form.
Didn't matter. He didn't want to kill an innocent man or have her feel the need she had to kill the innocent man to keep her secret.
He needed to keep the man from turning around and seeing her. Although, how he was going to do that was beyond him. He wasn't much of a talker, even less of a friendly person. Lancelot could do it. Or Galahad or Gawain, hell even Dagonet would have an easier time distracting the man than he would.
At least the man started with his back to her. Tristan looked away as she rose to her feet. He unclipped his cloak just in case he needed to wrap it around her.
He half expected her to run into the forest and away from them. Except, she rose to her feet and then stormed toward the two.
So, she does know the man?
"There is a village if you make your way west, that way," Tristan said as he put himself beside the man with his back to Myrina. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to direct the man toward their little village on the Wall. Or in the direction he'd come from toward Elaine. His senses just told him not to trust the stranger.
The man nodded his head. "Once again, I thank you, my friend," the man said. "Those Romans were accusing me of-"
Tristan felt her fingers by his side for the briefest of moments as she snatched his dagger and unsheathed it. She didn't hesitate, didn't ask questions, didn't give him any time to react. Her speed was fast and lethal. She ran Tristan's dagger over the man's throat, slicing it open.
The man quickly covered his wound and staggered away in surprise. He choked in desperation, his eyes were wide with shock. Blood ran out from his wound. He reached out his hand to her then collapsed onto the ground.
"Why did you-" Tristan's question was cut short as she tackled him. Her weight caught him off guard. The two dropped to the ground and the wind got knocked out of him momentarily.
Before he could gather his wits about him, he felt her scramble on top of him. She quickly straddled him and placed his knife against his neck and leaned in closely. A sharp sting shot up, sending a warning to his brain of danger. She'd cut him.
He looked into her wild brown eyes. They were wide and full of fear but also determination. She mouthed something, but no words came out.
She was going to kill him.
Myrina didn't think about her actions. She couldn't. She had to kill him. Make it quick and painless. She meant to slit his throat while he had his back to her, but she had to kill the Saxon "prisoner" instead. Luckily, Tristan still didn't except her to attack him, giving her that edge she needed.
I'm sorry.
She pressed his dagger against his neck. The one he gave her because she "won" it. Despite her best efforts, she knew her eyes were wide and darted wildly.
Kill him. Kill him to release the curse. It was the only thing that made sense. Her breathing deepen as her eyes focused on his skin. She couldn't look into those blue eyes of his. They'd stop her.
He didn't move. He brow furrowed as he watched her. He was confused. And he had every right to be. He'd done nothing for her sudden aggressive turn. The two had worked together to kill the men who attacked him and now she was trying to kill him.
Kill him! You have to.
Her muscled tensed.
His warm hand caught her by surprise as he wrapped his fingers around hers.
Kill him before it's too late!
"You're safe," he said softly but firmly.
But you're not. I have to. Don't you see! Can't you feel it? I can't have you own me.
He cautiously pushed her hand with the dagger away from his neck. A tiny line of red appeared. She'd cut him. The sight of his blood renewed her determination
"I'm not," she said as she fought to place his knife at his throat again.
His muscles immediately tightened, stopping her from returning the blade back to its dangerous position.
"Myrina," he said firmly. "It's me. You're safe."
Her body trembled, partly from the cold, partly from frustration at her own lack of ability to kill him. She had to do this. Had to release herself from the curse. He was dangerous. He was her enemy.
Was?
He didn't take the knife from her hand as he pushed her away, while sitting up. She slid down onto his lap. Her skin rose from the cold but she ignored it as she demanded her body listen to her.
Kill him!
He grabbed his cloak from the ground and wrapped it around her. She hadn't realized just how cold she was starting to feel until the cloth settled on her. Then, without another word, he pushed her off and stood up. She dropped her hand that held the knife but stayed on the cold ground. Tears threatened to slip out of her eyes.
That damn witch.
Bound by blood.
The thing was, she could kill him. The curse wasn't preventing her from doing that. Nothing but her own damn brain was keeping her from killing him.
"Can you not return to your people without killing me?" his voice brought her out of her thoughts.
She shook her head, although it was a good excuse. "You vex me," she said softly, not looking back at him.
"You followed me because I vex you?" he asked.
I followed you because I have no choice.
She shook her head again. "I wasn't following you," she said. "I- I happened to spot you and I saw that man pull out his bow." The gods or luck was on her side in this matter, giving her a perfect excuse to show up yet again.
She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. A lump rose up in her throat, making it impossible for her to speak anymore.
"Is one of your villages nearby for you to reach?" he asked.
She nodded her head and looked into the forest. Part truth, part lie. She was sure there was a village nearby that she could reach. However…
I can't be very far from you.
Myrina glanced over at him. He mounted his horse so gracefully she felt her heart flutter, making her look down at the ground again.
Enemy, Myrina! Enemy. You need to kill him.
She slowly rose to her feet, wrapping the cloak tighter around her body. This was a problem. She needed clothing. She'd wait for Tristan to leave and then undress one of the dead men and put on their clothes for the night. Find a nice spot to rest and figure out what to do.
She heard the horse trot over to her and looked up at him. Her fingers automatically clutched his cloak tighter to cover herself.
"I know of a safe resting spot just off the road," he said. "Come." He held his hand out to her.
She hesitated, but then grabbed his hand. He helped her mount the horse behind him. She wrapped her arms around his chest to hold on as he directed his horse away from the main road.
The witch's cruel smile flashed in her mind and she rested her cheek against' Tristan's back.
Blood tying blood.
The witch had meant to tie her to her brother. Make it impossible for her to escape. Except, for some reason it didn't work out that way. Who would have thought the spell would backfire and bind her to a Sarmatian knight instead?