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Chapter 4: The Rains of Change
The soft breeze weaving through his thick braids succeeded in melting away the troubles Tristan had brought with him on this ride. He could feel the sleek muscles of his powerful stallion stretch and relax as the horse finally was able to run freely. How good it felt to be free, if only for a moment. Tristan found himself simply breathing in the crisp afternoon air as he let his horse carry him where it willed. No one could bother him out here, not even the Woads would pester him as he rode alongside the wall wandering the vividly green hillsides.
Tristan had no need for another to occupy his time as he felt the freedom of not knowing where he was going, but instead putting his faith in his mount to get him there safely. His hawk glided on the drafts overhead as Tristan leaned back to watch her. He was at peace as he rode. He remembered the times he had found Abigail out here while returning from a mission and ending up roaming with her. She was the only other person that he knew who loved the simplicity of riding without a purpose.
Most people at the fort thought that Tristan only enjoyed one thing, and that was killing, but Tristan found joy in simple things as well. He would never admit it, but he immensely enjoyed a steaming bath after a grueling mission. He enjoyed Vanora's sweet singing at the tavern on lonely nights. He even enjoyed how Vanora and the other knights actually took an interest in his affairs. It was possibly the only thing that truly assured Tristan that they cared for him. Words were hollow, but actions spoke the truth.
Abigail's actions had spoken a truth that Tristan had feared for a long time. She had chosen her father's whim over her lover's heart. Tristan could not fault her for her decision because it was the most dutiful one, but he could not trust her with his heart again because others might already be held closer by hers.
Most of the villagers and even most of the knights believed that Tristan was fearless, but Tristan feared as did all the rest of them. He feared dying a useless death such as from illness or infection. He feared losing another brother to this enslavement they had to endure. But most of all, he feared losing what remained of his heart. Tristan's heart was a fragile thing because it had given itself away too freely in the past. A bit had died with his father, his mother, his sister, his village, his first steed, his brothers, his first and only love. Tristan had but a meager portion of what was once an abundant passion, and he feared risking it on one who had already abused part of it.
She was back; there was no denying that fact. She still had that bright spark in her eye that had first entranced him. She was still as outgoing and troublesome as ever, and Tristan still felt his chest constrict when she frowned. But Tristan was not the same man he was when she left. What wasn't even a full year had seemed to age Tristan beyond his twenty-eight years. All of a sudden Tristan felt the gap between their ages open up to what it really was. Before she had gone, ten years seemed only moments to them as they had enjoyed each other's passion for life and love. Now ten years seemed like a ravine that any feelings he still felt for her would fall into never to be reciprocated.
Her acceptance of another's proposal had shown Tristan that perhaps he was too old for her. She deserved a man as young and lively as she. Tristan was a warrior and with that came age beyond his years and death before his time. Tristan could not offer her the happiness that she could find in a man her own age.
Tristan became incensed with himself as he realized that he had not stopped thinking of Abigail since Dagonet had informed him of her return. He had banished her from his mind for over eight months, but now the feelings came rushing back like the opening of a flood gate. Tristan ran his fingers through his hair then looked about him. The clouds had yet to disperse but the rains had ceased for the time being. Tristan could feel the change in the air at night's approach and decided to return to the fort before he had to camp out in the open.
The dapple grey stallion enjoyed the swift gallop back toward the fort while Tristan once again enjoyed the feeling of the wind against his ever stoic face. As they reached the final rise before the Wall Tristan caught a glimpse of another form upon the hillside. Slowly he released a breath, knowing only one other person who enjoyed such rides. Tristan could have been stealthy and snuck past his former lover, but there was no use. She was very adept at sensing his presence just as he was at sensing hers. Slowly Tristan let his mount wander over to where she lay in the tall grass, beside her acquired mount for the day.
As Tristan moved closer he realized that it was Galahad's gelding which stood contentedly beside a breath taking Abigail. She lay in the grass with her dark red locks sprawled around her face in a blood red hallow. Her eyes were closed as she savored a piece of fruit and caressed the soft grassy earth. "You lied," the words slipped from her mouth in a breathless sigh attesting to her utter contentment.
Tristan frowned behind his braids as he watched her from atop his horse. "So I did," he replied emotionlessly.
Abigail tossed the core of her apple to Galahad's horse before she turned on her side to glare up at the knight. "So I should not believe a word that comes out of your mouth? I never knew you to be a liar, Tristan. You could have simply told me that my presence bothers you and taken your leave. I might have even been obliged to move back to Londinium if you had truly despised my presence," she said angrily as she plucked at the grass.
"Your business is your own as is mine," Tristan said as he felt his horse move a little closer to Abigail by its own will.
"Yes, but your business caused me to ask Galahad what mission you were scouting for. At that he told me you all had a free day. Do you know what I did the rest of the day while you got to roam free? I had Galahad following me around the entire fort because he thinks us a smart match," her voice oozed irritation. "'Much smarter than Tris and you, don't you think,' were his actual words," Abigail groaned as she got to her feet slowly. Her figure had changed if nothing else. She was much fuller and less the little slip that he had chased about the open fields so many times during their courtship.
"So you saw it fit to steal his horse for you enjoyment," Tristan remarked amusedly.
"If he doesn't have his mount, he can't follow me," she replied proudly as she mounted Galahad's steed. Tristan just rolled his eyes as Abigail flashed him a bright smile. "And I thought that you could use the company. Do you know what Vanora told me, the other night," Abigail asked with mischief in her warm brown eyes. Tristan just shook his head once as an answered and waited, knowing that she would more than willingly tell him. "She told me that you haven't taken a wench since I left," Abigail said quickly, then glanced at him to gauge his reaction.
Tristan just glared at her, and she knew that the rumor was true. She almost felt bad for bringing it up because most men didn't like to admit they were suffering from a period of abstinence. However, as a former lover she knew she could get away with it, and so on she pressed. "No women! Tristan, when did you lose your passion," she asked teasingly.
Tristan wanted to say, 'I lost it when I lost you,' but instead he replied, "What wench would I desire to bed at the fort?" He asked in a tone that belied his state of disgust, for it was true. There was not a single woman at the fort who he would wish to speak to, other than Vanora, never mind bed. Tristan was startled by Abigail's soft laugh, which was also something new. Abigail had always had a bright cheerful and loud laugh that most young girls tended to have. However, now Tristan heard the soft and airy laugh of one who had outgrown her childish ways.
"Tristan you are too harsh on everyone else. There are plenty of pretty girls at the fort, you're just too stubborn to go after them," Abigail said sweetly as she left Galahad's mount move closer to Tristan's so that she could see his eyes clearly through his hair.
"What one would want me," Tristan asked darkly. Tristan rarely let on to anyone that he noticed the whispers spread around the fort, but Abigail had always known of them. There was no use trying to hide it from her now. Even if he did not wish to be hurt by her again, he knew that she would always be kind to him. She would not throw such secrets in his face.
Abigail's face acquired a deep frown at Tristan's words. She had never thought that Tristan would have trouble coaxing the fort's women to his bed. He had always been so confident in her presence that she tended to forget what an introvert he truly was. She always thought that though most of the women of the fort tended to gossip about the scout, they would surely have no qualms about bedding any knight. However, Abigail reasoned that she was still young and knew little of other women's motives. "Perhaps if you smiled from time to time, the women would not be so cold to you," she replied calmly.
"You are still too young to understand," Tristan said not unkindly, but he had never used her age against her in the past. Abigail realized that Tristan was upset with her, but he was too kind to tell her openly that he wished his solitude.
"Perhaps I am, sir. I shall leave you to finish your ride in peace. I would hate to disturb you with my childish views," Abigail said almost snottily, completely embodying childishness. As she finished speaking, she kicked her mount into a gallop way from the fort. She may have rubbed it in his face, but Abigail left to honor his unspoken wish. She still cared a great deal about the scout, but he managed to frustrate her to no end, simply by being himself.
She rode hard, forgetting her own troubles and enjoying the dampening air. It would rain again, and she knew that if she didn't turn now she would not return in a dry state. However, if she turned now, she would meet with Tristan again and she refused to do that. So, on she rode with the spirit of an innocent but the experiences of one far from untainted. "Stupid scout! Will he never learn to enjoy life? Must he always be so… frustrating," she called to the darkening sky. "Any woman would be a fool not to welcome his meager affections. He is far more honorable than some of the others, such as Lancelot. And far more passionate if cared for. Women are fools, and I suppose I am one of them because I let him go," she ended on a whisper, regretting her past choices.
Tristan let Abigail go without complaint. Her presence only proved to unnerve him. She knew him better than anyone within the walls of the fort, and he found himself speaking to her even if he didn't want to. Solitude was the best way to avoid complicating the situation even more. She was a villager and he a knight. They had their own duties and there was no reason for them to interfere in each other's lives. This thought, however, did not last long.
Tristan was just entering the gates of the fort when the heavens renewed their assault of the already sodden land, and the storms began again. Tristan was happy that he could simply settle his horse then find warmth in his desolate room. That was when he heard the distant rumble of thunder over the rolling hills. Without even meaning to, Abigail came to mind. The girl, herself, was not fond of thunder. She loved rain, but thunder made her shake. She had braved storms before, but Tristan knew that Galahad's horse became very skittish during storms.
They had been out on patrol during a storm once, and a branch had fallen due to a lightning strike. It had missed the horse by mere inches, but it had clipped Galahad, causing him to fall from the saddle. The horse had bolted, leaving Galahad at the mercy of the elements. He was found the next morning by the rest of the patrol, and had only suffered a concussion and small fracture to his ankle. He had been fine within a couple of weeks, but the horse had not weathered storms well ever since. Now, Abigail was out there on a horse that would sooner throw her than stay out in the rain.
Tristan groaned as he turned from the gates. The guard on duty looked down at him with a confused expression, but Tristan ignored it. He was probably the only one who knew she was out there, and it would be his fault if she or the horse didn't return because he should have brought her back immediately. Tristan's mount turned with his master's guidance, but was anything but cooperative as the headed straight into the storm. Tristan's horse loved to run, but it had had its fun for the day, now it too wanted to settle in for the night. Tristan pushed it harder and harder as the thunder rumbled yet again. Lightning streaked the sky causing an eerie glow against the smoky backdrop.
Arthur was called to the wall, as Tristan vanished into the distance. "What is he doing out there," he asked to one of the guards. The soldier just shook his head in confusion, and Arthur sighed deeply. "He better return safely," was all Arthur said as he made his way back into the fort.
Tristan ignored the fact that the rain had instantly saturated his thin tunic because his heavy cloak was rolled tightly in a pack on the saddle. SO now his tunic stuck uncomfortably to him as he rode through the open fields. Only Abigail could succeed in causing the scout so much discomfort without even trying. He pushed his mount harder as he saw Galahad's gelding come bolting over the next rise. It was rider-less, and Tristan felt his heart plummet. He prayed to whatever god would still listen that she was not dead. He had seen Galahad's horse nearly trample Jols, who was well trained at handling wild horses, and he hoped it had not done the same to Abigail.
Abigail lay curled into a tight ball in the deep grass. Her long work dress was completely muddy from lying in the sodden field. She could feel her heart hammer with every bolt of lightning that lit the dark sky. She had never felt as alone as she did now. Galahad's horse and reared at the first sound of thunder. She had been thrown before she could even attempt to calm the creature. She had not sustained any terrible injuries upon her fall but her wrist was very tender now. Abigail just lay there hugging her legs, praying that someone might realize that she was missing.
She had little hope that Tristan would return for her because he had most likely arrived at the fort before the storm had hit, and didn't realize she was still out there. What seemed like hours, but in reality only minutes, passed as Abigail felt the tears of abandonment roll down her rosy cheeks. She was freezing in the chilled rain because she had left her cloak at the fort, hoping to return before the storm. She felt like the silly child Tristan had called her because of her foolish actions.
Abigail felt her eyes begin to droop as her teeth chattered, when she first heard the pounding of hooves against the ground. She prayed for anyone, whether Roman, Sarmatian, or even Woad at this point. She just wanted to be found by someone. Slowly and very weakly due to the bruises she sustained from her fall, Abigail lifted herself to her knees. She was shocked when she saw Tristan's powerful steed racing toward her.
Tristan was off his mount and crouching in the tall grass beside Abigail as soon as he came to a stop. His horse stood perfectly still in the torrent of rain and thunder as Tristan knelt before his soaked lover. Abigail was shaking violently as Tristan pulled her into an embrace. She was the only person who knew what it felt like to be held by the scout, but she was too upset to think of that at the moment.
"Abigail," Tristan whispered in her ear as he removed his heavy cloak from his pack and wrapped it around her tightly. "Are you injured," he asked as he rose to his feet. She began to cry harder at the loss of his touch. Quickly he came and lifted her into his arms so that he could place her on his mount. He heard her hiss as he jostled her slightly, and he repeated the question.
"My wrist," she bit out between shaking lips. Tristan immediately mounted up behind her, and clutched her to his chest. He turned his steed back toward the fort. As they rode he carefully removed her swelling wrist from his cloak. It was not terribly swollen yet, so he could rather easily feel that it was broken. He cradled it gently in his hand, while he had the other wrapped around her shoulders to keep her on the mount. His horse rode swiftly but smoothly careful not to jostle its load because Tristan was barely holding the reins in his hand as he let the horse guide them.
Thunder roared again above them and Tristan felt Abigail clutched him to her as if to hide from it. He pulled her closer to him and gently stroked her sopping hair as they made their way through the gates of the fort. Arthur was sitting in his study as the pair came galloping into the courtyard. Galahad's horse had been found rider-less at the gates only an hour earlier which had been odd because Galahad had never left the fort. Now Arthur saw who was responsible for the skittish horse's little adventure. He sighed with relief that Tristan had returned her even though the scout wanted as little contact with her as possible.
Jols was waiting for Tristan as they entered the stable. He held the reins as Tristan slipped off his stallion's back with Abigail still in his arms. Jols nodded dutifully to the scout before Tristan disappeared into the night with the small woman cradled in his arms. Abigail had been lulled into a light slumber by the scout's gentle caresses and enjoyed the little warmth his cloak provided her. Tristan marched through the village toward the outskirts to where Neasa's hut lay. He didn't bother to knock as he entered the small abode.
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Thank you to everyone who reviewed and just read the last chapter. Your comments are greatly appreciated. I hope you liked this chapter, and please let me know what you thought.