SEMPER LIBER

Summary: A dying man's final request sends a young woman to a new life at Badon Hill. TristanOC.

Disclaimer & Author's Note: I like to think that Malory would have his legends of King Arthur belong to the ages, but I cannot lay claim to them nor to those responsible for the 2004 film by the same name. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

Chapter 15: Rain

"You must call each other something," Cariad insisted. She wrung out one of Kay's shirts and tossed it into the straw basket by her side on the riverbank.

Next to her, the ten-year-old shook her head. "No." The redhead scrubbed one of her baby brother's blankets against a wooden washing rack.

Cariad flexed her chapped hands. Vanora's eldest, two of the three girls and more than five years older than the third, were never seen very far apart. They were near enough to twins to seem to have their own language. She supposed that if she spent every waking moment with a sister that close in age and appearance, she might not necessarily need a name for the other girl.

The skies opened up.

The eleven-year-old shrieked, grabbing up her basket. As the cold rain splashed down over Cariad's head and shoulders, she leapt to her feet, hastily packing away the knights' half-washed clothes. The younger sister just laughed.

"Come on, come on!" shouted the eldest through the roaring rain.

Cariad ducked her head uselessly against the onslaught. Cold water rolled off her hair and down the back of her dress, plastering it to her skin. She hurried the ten-year-old in front of her and followed the sisters at a clumsy run up the muddy bank. The girls waved their goodbyes upon reaching their home, then rushed into the warm shelter of their kitchen.

Shivering with the delightful cold and freshness of the storm, Cariad kept running.

-

The rain began the moment Tristan set foot outside of the stables. No sooner had he crossed the courtyard than the stones began to run with rivers of mud. Tristan walked easily through the narrow streets, his face tilted towards the sky. As a child, he would have been out of his clothes by now, screaming down the grassy beach towards the water in pursuit of his cousins and friends and brothers.

It was near enough to evening to justify disappearing into himself for a little while. Dinner would not come for at least two hours, and in the meanwhile, he thought, perhaps he would watch the storm rage out the window or doze for a while to its unique living melody.

The two-room suite was empty. Stalks of lilac hung drying over the board in the front room, their scent mixing with the smell of damp earth and stones that seemed to penetrate the country on the whole. There was half a loaf of bread on the board, a pitcher of water, and a small jar of honey secreted away from somewhere, some favor or sleight of hand to satisfy her sudden sweet tooth.

Tristan had been in the room no more than a few moments when the wooden door flew open and slammed shut. Turning, he watched with amusement as Cariad nearly stumbled through the doorway, tripping on the exhilaration of her escape from the storm. She dropped her basket and stared at him for a moment.

Then, Cariad began to laugh. "You look like a drowned rat!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Tristan raised a brow at her. Her grey dress clung to her skin from shoulder to boots. Her hair hung in limp, dripping tangles down her back to her belt. Her skin was pale from the chill and flushed from her charge up from the riverbank. He smirked a little.

"Oh, quiet," Cariad laughed, wringing her hair out into wet puddles at her feet. She shook her hands off and planted them on her narrow hips. "What are you staring at?"

"Come here," Tristan said.

Cariad raised her chin slightly and bit back a smile. "Why?"

Motioning with his hand, Tristan repeated his command. "Come here."

"No." She shook her head, lips pursed around the teasing rejection. She took a deliberate step around him towards the kitchen board, the loose lace of one of her boots slapping against the stone floor.

Tristan reached out with animal-like speed and precision. He wrapped his hand around her elbow and swung her around. She yelped. "I said, 'Come here,'" he said a third time, voice dangerously low.

"No!" she laughed.

Tristan pulled her close, tangling his free hand in the hair at the base of her neck. He tipped her head back to watch the spark that had taken up in her eye. She was serenely quiet now, meeting his gaze like a tablet waiting to receive words, but he knew she still laughed at him, somewhere in that spark, hidden behind her lips.

Tristan kissed her, holding her damp and chill against him, and thought there might be something else he might do to the tune of the rain.

-

Rich pines and rowan lined the merchant road they traveled. Tristan did not mind days such as these, the short, damp hours of spring followed by the days of summer when the sun's path from horizon to horizon widened the sky until it almost matched the breadth above the steppes.

By his measure, they were almost ten leagues southwest of Badon Hill. He turned his horse and rode back towards the other knights, away from the far off but tempting smell of the Erin Sea. There was nothing along the road that spoke of woads, only the fresh green of midsummer and a blanket of faded pine needles beneath his horse's hooves.

"There's nothing to be seen between here and the crossroads," he said as he approached Arthur.

"Small favors," Arthur answered, his mouth set in a grim line. "Kay and Galahad have gone down the south road and report the same."

"It is a large country," Tristan muttered.

"As long as they are not targeting the merchant roads," Arthur said. "And they will not approach the coast."

Tristan agreed with a subtle nod of his head.

"We will take the road south through Hyrford, then follow the loop back north to the Wall." Arthur turned his stallion, spreading his message to the rest of his knights.

Gawain angled his horse alongside Tristan's with the deliberately obnoxious familiarity of a friend and brother. "Where do you suppose the blue devils are hiding?"

Glancing sidelong at his fellow, Tristan answered, "I do not know." Instinctively, he kept one eye on the trees around them, searching the thick branches for the deceptively straight shaft of an arrow or the dull gleam of an axe head.

"Perhaps they are enjoying the sunshine," Gawain mused.

Tristan spared Gawain an incredulous stare. Towards the head of the line, the youngest of them had his face tipped up towards the light streaming through the trees. "They would get along well with Galahad," he said dryly.

"Have you completely lost the ability to make conversation?" Gawain asked, grinning.

Tristan faced forward again, dutifully ignoring his tribesman. He had not, but his thoughts were better occupied elsewhere. Inside the fortress, there was no such life as that flourishing around them. The clip of his horse's hooves was more alive on the merchant road than on the dirt of the narrow arena or the poorly fit cobblestones. The air actually moved.

"Galahad has found himself a girl," Gawain mused, trying to draw Tristan out of his vigilant reverie. "Nearly as pretty as he is."

Smiling a little, Tristan caved. "Briton or Roman?"

Gawain scoffed. "Briton. The smith's girl. All sixteen years of her."

For six days, near to bliss as any of them could come in their invisible shackles, there were no ambushes, no blue shades, no blood. There was only the half-light of British sunshine, its sparkling glare floating down the creeks that flowed through the trees, and the luxurious breath of fresh air in their lungs.

-

"Where are you getting that?" Vanora asked, eyeing the small jar of honey in her friend's hand.

Cariad paused, her finger half-way to her mouth. "Jols gave it to me." Raising one delicate brow, she dared Vanora to challenge her.

"Jols," Vanora mused. "And where did Jols get fresh honeycomb?"

Cariad shrugged and popped her finger into her mouth. Leaning against the hearth in Vanora's kitchen, she peered into the oat mash cooking over the fire. She grinned up at her friend. "I do not know, nor do I care," she said smartly.

Vanora chuckled knowingly. "You have been here since November, and you have never wanted for sweets until three months ago. And you barely take anything else. You are too skinny." She watched the girl's face for any sign of comprehension.

"I have learned my lesson, Vanora," Cariad said to the half-smirk on her friend's lips. She sat at the table, rolling the jar of honey in her hands. "Do you suppose I have been punished enough?" she asked softly.

Vanora smeared a slice of dark bread with plum spread. She snatched the jar from Cariad's hand and put the plate of bread in front of her. "You have done nothing wrong and have had no punishment," she said firmly. "The gods decide who lives and dies." She paused, then pressed her next words firmly into the space between them. "Your mother's death was not your fault."

Cariad sighed and took a bite of rich bread. "You must not tell anyone," she finally said.

Vanora frowned. "Why ever not?"

"I do not want them to worry over me," Cariad answered.

"Stupid girl," Vanora said harshly. "You torture yourself by keeping it secret."

"No," Cariad argued vehemently, her eyes bright with conviction. "Galahad has barely forgiven himself, Gawain follows me like my own shadow if I so much as sneeze, and Tristan… has more pressing matters to think of than me."

"You are a sad company," Vanora said, rolling her eyes. "If any of what you say is true, they are all as stupid as you are." She patted Cariad's hand lightly, motioning towards the half-eaten bread in the other woman's hand. "Eat. It's a child, not a curse."

Cariad set down her bread and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "I will die if it happens again," she whispered.

"Smile, my wonderful girl," Vanora said, squeezing Cariad's hand encouragingly. "There is no happiness greater than motherhood. I promise you, nine times over."

-

Dagonet laid a broad hand on the black's forehead. The young horse bobbed its head, brushing its muzzle against the knight's shirt repeatedly. "Hey, lad. Hey, lad," Dagonet murmured. The horse snorted and leaned his face into the man's hand.

The horse nearly jumped out of the stall when Dagonet opened the door, his hand wrapped firmly around the stallion's halter. "You will stand still," Dagonet said quietly, slipping a rope through the loop beneath the horse's chin. He let the lead dangle to the floor.

Lifting the animal's right fore, Dagonet considered the quality of the hoof. The sole was healthy, and the long toe could be corrected easily enough by the farrier. He set the hoof down and ran his hands up the leg from cannon to knee to forearm. The horse was remarkably well formed, considering that he had not been bred for it, Dagonet assumed. In any case, the ragged, weary country girl that claimed him now could not have bought a horse such as this. From poll to croup, the horse was as near to perfect as any of those in Arthur's care.

The horse nipped Dagonet firmly on the shoulder, then greeted the soft footsteps in the aisle with a near scream. He pushed Dagonet aside in his effort to get to the girl, almost knocking them both to the ground in the process.

"Ryn," Cariad said sternly. "That was not nice." She grabbed up his lead and turned it over in her hand, as if considering a rare stone or piece of jewelry. At last, she looked up at Dagonet, who had watched the motion of her small hands with curious interest. "Do you suppose Arthur could use him?"

Dagonet answered her with a nearly blank face. "He is yours."

Cariad pursed her lips, then forced a smile. "He would be happier with something to do, I think. He is still young enough to train."

"You need him," Dagonet said softly.

Cariad smiled genuinely when the horse lipped at her hair with unbridled affection. "He will still be here." She brushed a patch of dirt off the horse's cheek and spoke into his eye, finding comfort there in the familiar layers of brown and black and purple. "I cannot give him the exercise he needs." She shrugged. She approached Dagonet with a few hurried steps and forced the rope into his hands. "Take him. Please."

Dagonet's hand closed around the lead automatically. "He is yours."

Cariad nodded, smiling past the tears in her eyes. "I know."

Dagonet nodded in understanding. "Come on, then," he said gently. He stepped around Cariad, leading the young horse easily out into the courtyard and towards the gates. "Let's go for a walk."