War Dreams

Part 1: Little Girl Lost

Chapter 2

Arthur Castus waited impatiently for the Honorius family to get themselves together in order to leave this godforsaken place. His attention was drawn when he saw the young heir, Alecto, arguing with his father so viciously. But his attention was quickly diverted when he noticed the hasty walling up of a doorway. Soon enough, he had his man Dagonet breaking down both the bricks walling up the door, and then the door.

Lancelot, Arthur, and Dagonet descended the pathway that the door led to. Arthur's heart seized when he reached the bottom of the stairs. This was a dungeon - nay, a torture chamber. "Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" A priest demanded, stepping into the Knights' way.

"Out of the way!" Arthur ordered, shoving the priest aside. His most trusted Knight, Lancelot, a tall man with dark eyes and darker curls peered at their surroundings with disgust.

"Is this the work of your god?" Lancelot spat. "Is this how he answers your prayers?" he scoffed. Arthur glared at his friend.

"See if there's any still alive," Arthur ordered, and his Knights quickly went to do as asked. Dagonet found a boy; and Arthur soon found himself looking into the eyes of two young women. The two could not look more different from each other, but the two were curled together as if sisters. Arthur drew his sword, swinging it against the chain that held the cell shut. The grate fell with a hideous bang as the chain broke. "Lancelot," Arthur called. "I need your help," he added.

The dark-haired man trotted over quickly, gazing into the cell. "Well, hello there, my sweet. Can you climb out?" he asked gently, his eyes focusing on the younger, smaller girl inside.

The girl grimaced and began to shift, but the woman held onto her fast. "She will bleed again, if she moves," She uttered hoarsely.

Arthur and Lancelot traded glances, the latter nodding. "Alright, then I will come in," Lancelot said undeterred, climbing in carefully, picking his footing through the bones carefully. The woman let her hold on the girl relax as Lancelot gently slipped his arms around the girl, lifting her from the ground. The girl let out a cry of pain, her hold tightening on Lancelot's sleeve.

Lancelot froze at her sound of pain, his eyes shooting to Arthur, full of anger. He climbed out of the cell with the girl held like a treasure in his arms. "Two children, Arthur," He hissed to his friend once he'd straightened and held the girl securely. "This is who your god punishes? Women and children?"

"'m not a child," the girl interjected, her eyes half-lidded.

"So you say, my sweet," Lancelot uttered in response, his expression showing a little amusement.

Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked back to the woman, whose gaze had not strayed. "What of you? Can you climb out?" He asked. Her gaze narrowed at him, and she moved forward stiffly, grimacing as she moved out of the cell. She made it just past the lip of her cell when she winced, showing her pain. Arthur quickly swept her up in his arms. "You're safe now, miss," he told her, frowning at the scoff she returned with. Then he made for the stairs, carrying her slight weight in his arms.

!

When Lancelot emerged from the dungeons, the girl in his arms had completely fainted, her arms swinging limply and her head lolling on his arm. "Dagonet!" he called urgently, drawing the attention from the other Knights' who had been caring for the young boy Dagonet had found.

It was Lancelot's desperate appearance and the girl's long black hair blowing in the wind that first caught Tristan's attention. And then it was the hint of blue he thought he saw on her cheekbones. His eyes widened in shock. Dagonet hastily, yet carefully, passed the boy to Bors, approaching Lancelot to look over the girl. The healer Knight cautiously trickled water down her parched throat. "She has fainted from the pain," he announced. "She is in no danger," Dagonet added.

The large knight caught sight of the cord around her neck, and curiously looked at the stone hanging on that cord. "Aeres," Dagonet sounded out, reading the stone's surface. "These markings…Tristan," he called, brushing the hair from the girl's face carefully.

Tristan was glad to have an excuse to sate his curiosity. He handed the reins of his horse to Galahad, and walked over briskly. The slight girl in Lancelot's arms bore blue-black tattoos on her cheekbones just as Tristan did. Hers were four little ovals in descending size; while his were sharp like arrows. "She is of my tribe," he said, anger growing in him. "She is a royal," Tristan added, shocking the others. "Those markings are given only to my tribe's king and his kin," he explained, holding his arms out to Lancelot.

The dark-haired Knight merely stared at Tristan in confusion. "She is of my tribe, so her care falls to me. It is my duty," Tristan said coldly, gesturing for Lancelot to hand the girl to him. Lancelot carefully did as bid, still looking confused.

"If that girl is of our royalty…how did she end up here?" Dagonet asked as Tristan wrapped the girl in his cloak, before lifting her into his arms.

Galahad glared at the others. "Don't you see what this means?" he uttered. "If our royalty is enslaved, what has happened to the others? Our families, our tribes?" He continued, laughing bitterly. "They're all gone. I say that's what this- this girl- means,"

"You don't know that. So don't you dare tell us that," Lancelot warned Galahad angrily.

"You know, there's a chance that this girl- our Princess, I suppose," Gawain received a nod from Tristan- confirming the girl's assumed rank. "She might know if something has happened. If something happened," Gawain continued simply. He turned to Tristan, helping the Scout mount the horse with the girl in his arms.

Tristan wasn't sure how to feel. He had seen many other Sarmatians, enslaved by Rome in more than one way. But never once had he met someone from his own tribe- a royal and his princess, no less.

Their tribe, the Siraces, were the dominant ruling tribe of the western edge of Scythia- Or Sarmatia, as they preferred to call it. By the markings on Aeres' cheeks, she was Tristan's princess…if not his queen. Tristan's own markings declared him as a şahin, a personal guard of the king's family. He had been meant to return to his tribe once his years for Rome were up, and finally become the şahin he had been destined to be after his king- likely Aeres' father- had chosen him as a youth.

'What a cruel twist of fate it is…the fickle bitch,' Tristan chuckled darkly. Tristan had found finally found his charge…enslaved and imprisoned by Romans; thousands and thousands of leagues from their home.

Tristan did not know about his brothers-in-arms' tribes, but seeing Aeres here, now, as a slave; meant that his tribe had been wiped out. For Aeres' father, King Attaces, would rather and probably had died before letting his kin be taken and enslaved by Rome. The scout was eager to speak with his new charge, but he had to acknowledge the chance that she did not remember her home or her father.

Aeres was young - so young that it burned Tristan to see her body bruised and abused as it was. She could not have seen more than fifteen or sixteen winters pass, though Tristan leaned towards the former. He thought he remembered that the Queen had been heavy with child when Tristan had left to serve Rome.

Her warm cheek shifted as his horse, Iseult, pawed at the ground and their company began to move forward, moving to press her already chilled flesh against his cold cuirass. Tristan gently pulled the cloak he'd wrapped around her up to cover her flesh from his armor and the icy winds around them.


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