War Dreams

Part 1: Little Girl Lost

Chapter 4

Tristan returned from scouting ahead to see his commander arguing with the Roman boy, Alecto, with Lancelot at his side. He paid them no mind, instead riding on back to the wagon that held Aeres and the Woad woman. He was surprised yet pleased to see the girl was finally awake. He was, though, struck with an uncertainty of how to introduce himself - or communicate with her at all.

But their conversation started so easily - and suddenly! The girl glanced at him, her eyes growing wide when she saw the marks on his cheeks. She clambered towards the side of the wagon despite Guinevere's protests, and leaned on the open side. "You have tattoos like mine, well, not exactly like mine," Aeres remarked brightly.

"Yes," Tristan responded quickly. "Do you know what mine mean? And what yours mean?"

Her expression shifted to befuddlement. Aeres raised a hand to trace the tattoos on her cheeks. "They mean something?" She inquired, brows furrowing.

"Yes," Tristan murmured, pondering on how to ask her about her past, or more specifically how much she remembered before being enslaved.

Aeres rested her chin on her arms. "I think my father had these…" she mused.

Tristan looked up sharply. "What do you remember of your father, Malekeh?" he questioned.

"What does Malekeh mean?" Aeres asked in return.

"It's your title," Tristan offered simply, hesitantly.

He was bewildered by her sudden downtrodden expression. "Does it mean slave?" Aeres asked, the corners of her lips pulling downward.

"Quite the opposite, actually. 'Malekeh' means queen." Tristan responded. "Those tattoos on your cheeks mean something. You are no simple slave, Aeres." He told her.

It was clear that the young girl did not understand by the expression on her face. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, and her pale blue eyes were blank, empty of any comprehension. So Tristan repeated his question. "What do you remember of your father, of your tribe?"

Aeres' plump lips parted, and it was a few moments before she has formulated an answer. "I remember little, Knight, before the Romans came," she answered, eyeing him carefully.

"I am Tristan, Malekeh. We are of the same tribe," he told her. She again looked at him in bewilderment.

"How do you know this?" Aeres questioned.

"Those markings on your cheeks," he answered, gesturing to her face. "Only our tribe, the Siraces, bear those markings,"

"What do they mean? These markings?" she asked, raising her hand to brush her fingers along the slight raised skin of her markings.

"The tattoos on your cheeks mark you as royalty,"

"Royalty? I'm a slave." Aeres said, brows furrowed.

"That is what Rome made you. It isn't who you are. What you are. Never forget that," Tristan spat, a hot rush of rage coursing through his veins.

It was clear by Aeres' expression that his words were a shock. Her gaze fixed on the ground passing by them for a few moments. Then she lifted those familiar pale blue eyes to meet Tristan's. "And what do your markings make you?" she asked softly.

Tristan hesitated. It had been his duty to protect this girl's family, but he hadn't, not in their hour of need. It wasn't his fault, he knew, but the injustice, the outrage at all, sat like a stone at the pit of his stomach. "My tattoos mark me as a şahin, a protector of the king's family. Your family, Malekeh. Your father gave me these markings just before I left to serve my sentence to Rome. When I returned, I would have taken up my post."

"The king? My father? How are you so sure I am who you think I am? Anyone might have given me these markings," Aeres said, laughing bitterly.

Tristan fixed his piercing gaze even more firmly upon the girl. "I know those eyes, Malekeh. They are your father's. And that hair, those dark curls, those are your mother's. I knew them, and I see their child before me. There is no doubt in my mind." he told her, voice clear with emotion.

Aeres' eyes filled with tears. "Even if that is who I was born, it is not who I am any longer. I am a slave," she said quietly.

Tristan led his horse closer to the wagon and held his hand out to her. After a moment of hesitation, Aeres reached out and took it. Tristan squeezed her hand, a rare gesture of affection and comfort. His brothers-in-arms riding nearby watched with surprise. "Not anymore," he promised lowly. Aeres looked at the older man in pure shock before Guinevere called her back to rest.


Tristan sat with his brothers-in-arms around the campfire. The caravan had finally slowed to a stop for the night, allowing the whole company to rest. After Tristan's talk with Aeres, the girl had been coaxed to rest by the Woad. Unfortunately, Aeres had found the bumpy travel too painful to sleep through, so the stop for the night couldn't have come too soon for her. Now she rested peacefully in the wagon with only the Woad to guard her. It made Tristan uneasy, but he had been sure to position himself close to the wagon

"Brother," Galahad called, trying to stir Tristan from his thoughts. But Tristan stayed locked in his mind, staring into the flames of the fire before him. "Tristan," he tried again. After a moment, Tristan glanced up, expression blank. "What did the girl say of our homeland?" Galahad questioned.

"Nothing." Tristan replied tersely.

"Nothing?" Gawain asked.

Tristan growled, taking a swig from his wineskin. "I asked her what she remembered of her father. Of her tribe. She said that she remembered little. I did not want to push the girl, when she is so clearly fragile." He turned to glare at Galahad, his last words clearly meant as warning to the youngest knight.

"I'm sorry that wanting to know what happened in our homeland is such a terrible thing," Galahad said angrily. He sighed, and his shoulders slumped, suddenly looking not angry, but sad instead. "I don't wish to frighten her, Tristan. She's just a girl. But she's ours, and she must know something,"

"She's not just a girl," Tristan bit out. "Aeres is our queen, and it is your duty, all of our duty, to protect her. To free her,"

"Tris, how can you be sure she's our queen?" Gawain asked. The others sat up, listening carefully.

"Because I knew King Attaces and his Queen Lysippe. They would have died before they let Romans enslave their only child." Tristan answered. He looked coldly at the others.

"Perhaps you forget, brothers, that I was a man grown already, when the Romans came for me. Attaces was only a few years older than I, and a warrior the likes of which I have never seen. It was Attaces who gave me this blade, and these markings," Tristan said, gesturing to the curved sword at his side, and then to his cheeks.

"So they are dead then," Dagonet said.

Tristan nodded. "If not the whole tribe. If not our whole people,"

"A dark day, this is," Bors remarked, grumbling around a mouthful of bread.

"No," Lancelot interjected. "The dark day was the day, many years ago, when our ruling tribe was likely wiped out, all except for this girl Aeres, our little queen," he said darkly.

"Do you know what the name means, brothers? Aeres?" Tristan asked, staring into the flames. His brothers grumbled around him. "War. It means war." he continued lowly. "The queen Lysippe was Greek. She came to our land as a wanderer, a warrior, and fell in love with Attaces, before my very eyes. She claimed to be the descendent of Ares, many generations ago. It is no surprise that she named her daughter thus," he explained, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"If our people are gone, what is there to go back to?" Galahad posed in a melancholy tone.


A/N: Please review :)