Toril awoke to a loud rumbling and swaying as the wagon made its way over rough ground, heading back to the Wall. At the front of the wagon she could see Fulcinia, the Roman's wife, sitting slightly behind Guinevere who was wrapped in furs and gazing silently at the scenery they were passing. She looked down and saw that Lucan had been placed at her side and was snuggled into her, still asleep. From the position of the sun, she saw that it was still early morning, and that it would be another chilly and snowy day. For several minutes she contented herself to look outside at the people who were walking and riding around the wagon, then with a quiet sigh she gently extracted herself from Lucan and stood unsteadily, her head bowed to keep from bumping into the roof of the wagon. Fulcinia looked up at her with a faint smile, and Toril smiled back.
"Good morning, Lady." The older woman echoed her greeting, and then motioned her to come over to where she was sitting. Toril did so, sinking gracefully to sit beside her.
"We need to change your bandages, to keep them fresh and to keep the infection from returning." Toril nodded immediately and rose to her knees, lifting her tunic away from the bandages wrapped around her stomach. Fulcinia unwrapped the long strip of cloth and looked at the healing wounds with a practiced eye, her gentle fingers brushing Toril's skin as she assessed the damage. For a moment her hand faltered and she rubbed shaky fingers across her eyes, wiping some unbidden tears away. Toril reached down with a strong hand and gently raised Fulcinia's face to meet her gaze. Her eyes and her voice were soft.
"We cannot control, or atone for, the things that others do. You may ache for what your husband has done, and your inability to put an end to it, but you were the one who kept the three of us alive, Lady, and for that we will be eternally grateful. We can live now, because of you." Toril smiled gently, and Fulcinia returned it with a shaky one of her own. After several seconds Fulcinia returned to the task at hand, rubbing more salve into the healing wounds and wrapping them in fresh bandages again.
"You heal quickly, Toril. You will most likely not even scar." Toril smiled again.
"I usually don't." The two women shared another smile, and then Toril moved to the front of the wagon and crouched beside Guinevere, who was now looking to where Arthur rode at the front of the column. Toril's voice was quiet.
"He is handsome." Guinevere laughed low in her throat, but didn't turn.
"He is a mystery." Toril smiled.
"He is a man. How much of a mystery can there be?" Guinevere shook her head.
"He is half Briton and half Roman, yet he wages war on us, his own blood, on the behalf of his Roman fathers." Toril gazed at the younger woman shrewdly, her eyes hooded.
"Ah." For several minutes there was silence between them. Finally, Toril placed her hand on Guinevere's shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Never was there a mystery that couldn't be solved by asking, Guinevere. Try to understand him. It will be worth it in the end." Guinevere's eyes swung towards her, but Toril was already gone, leaping silently out of the wagon to land on her feet in the snow. She breathed deeply, stretching out her shoulders and back that had become cramped with sitting in the wagon for too long. With a small smile, she turned and joined the people walking behind the wagon, her arms swinging freely and her gait relaxed. It was nice to be able to sit in the wagon and rest, but it felt a hundred times better to be out in the open air, moving under her own power.
An hour later, however, she was beginning to think that the wagon would feel wonderful. The after-affects of her wounds and her treatment were still wearing on her, and she was beginning to slow down, eventually finding herself at the rear of the group with a hand at her ribs, muttering under her breath. Not to mention that she could hardly keep her eyes open. Just as she was about to put on a burst of speed and make it back to the wagon, a hawk flew past her with a screech and she heard the sound of hoof beats behind her accompanied by a low whistle. A smile broke across her face. Tristan. She raised her arms in the air and waited, bracing herself. Seconds later she felt herself being lifted, and she landed in the saddle in front of the scout, who immediately wrapped an arm gently around her waist, bringing his cape around to shelter the both of them from the cold that Toril was just now noticing. Toril leaned back into him with a sigh, her hands pulling the edges of the cape closed and holding them there. Her voice was soft.
"Good morning." There was no answer from Tristan, and Toril smiled slightly, shaking her head. He was irritated with her.
"I promised you full strength, didn't I?" Tristan's low voice was clipped.
"By morning, yes. But you didn't say anything about the afternoon or evening, when you would be so exhausted from walking all day that your fever would return and all of Dagonet's work would be ruined, and we would be forced to find some other emergency means of keeping you alive." Toril's smile broadened. That was the most she had heard him say at one time since they met.
"I'd like to see you cooped up in that stuffy, closed wagon all day, with wounds that were almost healed, when fresh air and activity, however slight, was within your grasp." Tristan snorted, urging his horse into a smooth canter past the wagons, and then wrapping the reins around the pommel of the saddle, letting his hands rest at Toril's waist.
"That's different." Toril was grinning from ear to ear now.
"How is it different?" Silence.
"How is it different?" When he still didn't answer, Toril chuckled low in her throat, crossed her legs across the horse's neck and flipped around so that she was now facing Tristan, her legs straddling his, her hands on his chest for balance, and their faces barely two inches apart.
"How...is...it...different?" She had him now, and both of them knew it. A slight smile, hardly noticeable, broke across his face and Toril laughed.
"Well?" He shook his head, looking past her to the road ahead of them, his gaze taking in a large white owl that watched them silently from a tree beside the road.
"It is highly unusual for us to be accompanying a wagon. So if ever I am injured, my only mode of transportation is to stay on my horse. Besides...I still would have been out of that wagon long before you." Toril laughed again, her eyes growing wide in mock anger.
"And how do you know how long I have been out? I could have slipped out even before we started moving and have been walking all morning, Sir Scout." Tristan shook his head slyly.
"You've only been walking for an hour." Toril's eyes narrowed.
"You've been spying on me." Tristan nodded, and Toril laughed – a lilting, bell-like sound that filled the air around them and made Tristan's heart skip a beat. Toril looked up at him with her cheeks flushed with mirth and her eyes merry, her face so close to his that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek.
His eyes lowered to her full mouth, so close that he wouldn't even have to barely move...just dip his head and touch his lips to hers...and he would know the answer to the questions that had been plaguing him all morning as he rode and watched her; first in the wagon as she slept, then on the road as she walked with her head held high. What does she taste like, I wonder? How would it feel? Tristan was no stranger to what Lancelot and Gawain argued and bragged about constantly – every one of the knights, at one time or another, had taken women to bed with them...it was a way to release excess energy after a particularly difficult mission, a way to get their minds off the hardships and loss in their lives. Tristan knew the women of the fort well enough to choose ones who wouldn't gossip afterwards and wouldn't expect anything more, but never had he ever felt that a woman was more than just a way to release energy...never had he been so preoccupied as to wonder what it would be like to kiss a specific one.
He could feel Toril watching him and lifted his brown eyes to her wintry blue ones. There was no judgment in her eyes, no expectation or anticipation or distress; just clear and open honesty. She wants me to kiss her, he realized suddenly. But she'll let me decide when. Their gazes locked for a long moment, and then Toril sighed gently, laying her head on Tristan's shoulder. Her voice was almost a whisper.
"I have a confession to make." Tristan rumbled low in his throat, urging her to continue. His hands gathered up the loose edges of his cape and secured them around Toril, who closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his strong hands gently rubbing her back.
"I was on my way back to the wagon for a nap." Tristan's mouth twitched and he chuckled slightly as he gathered the reins up in his free hand.
"Do you want me to take you back so you can lie down?" Toril snuggled closer to him, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist and sighing again.
"Only if I'm in the way." Tristan's eyebrow twitched slightly before his face settled back into his neutral expression. Toril smiled as her body relaxed against Tristan's. They weren't turning around.