Somewhere

Chronology: Tristan is 31. Lancelot is 29. Raja is 21. Ardeth is 5.

Lancelot watched as Tristan got himself drunk for the fourth time this week. It had been near three months since Raja had been captured by Woads and Tristan's behavior and appearance had deteriorated. Not even his son, Ardeth, could bring him out of the dark hole he was in. Lancelot had been devastated when his cousin was taken; often tearing up in the privacy of his room. All of the knights had searched fervently for her, but to no avail. If ever Lancelot or Tristan got their hands on one of their blue enemies, they were interrogated relentlessly.

Naturally, Tristan searched the hardest. He would disappear for days without leave, hoping that Raja would just appear, for once as a scout he felt useless, a failure. Sometimes he would just go sit at their place in the woods, hoping she would just show up, or be there.

Tristan brushed off another wench who tried to proposition him. His hair was stringy and greasy, his clothes filthy. He had aged passed his years in the interim, more grays mixed with his dark brown locks, the wrinkles around his eyes were deeper, he had lost weight. How many jugs of ale had he downed tonight? He didn't know. All he wanted was to drown the pain and sorrow of Raja's absence. Dimly, he thought of his little son, scared and confused, but he couldn't bring himself to raise himself from his seat and his cups to comfort him.

Lancelot sighed and stood up, exchanging a grim glance with Dagonet. The two of them had been the ones keeping Tristan as straight as possible. Raja had always asked Lancelot, if anything happened to her, to watch out for Tristan. The two knights approached the scout cautiously, not wanting to appear as if they were ganging up on him.

"Tristan," Lancelot said as congenially as possible, "maybe that's enough for tonight."

A pair of golden eyes, rimmed with red, shot at the man who spoke. "Mind your own."

Lancelot bit back any remarks. He knew the pain the man was feeling, but he dared not tell Tristan that, because he already knew what he would say. To Tristan, no one felt the agony he felt. Raja was his soul, his everything, without her, he was nothing. How could anyone else's pain compare? Even...his son's.

"Please," Dagonet chimed in. "Ardeth needs you."

Tristan slammed his cup down. "Do not throw my son in my face." It only made him feel guilty, he knew he should be comforting his little boy, but he couldn't even comfort himself. He had no words for the small boy. Even Lancelot was more of a help to the boy.

Then, as if summoned, Tristan heard the forlorn voice of his son.

"Baba?" Ardeth stood there, wide golden eyes looking at his lost father.

Tristan could only stare blankly at him, Ardeth was so far away. Often he would hear him cry every night for his mother, screaming in the middle of the night. For days and weeks he had asked his baba where Walida was until Tristan just snapped that he didn't know.

When the father didn't answer, Lancelot took charge; no good would come of this father and son exchange.

"Hey," Lancelot approached Ardeth when Tristan turned his head around, "come on. You shouldn't be out here. Way passed your bedtime." He smiled at his blood kin, the only he had save Raja.

Ardeth looked up at his Uncle Lancelot and raised his arms. Lancelot instantly swung him up, putting a large, soothing hand on the boy's back whose head was buried in his shoulder. A lump rose in his throat, remembering how he would often carry Raja like this when she was younger, so small she had been. Lancelot nodded at Dag and strolled out of the tavern, away from the smell of sweat and ale. Ardeth clung to him like a vise.

"Will Baba come tuck me in tonight?" he asked hopefully.

Lancelot doubted that. As gently as possible he answered, "I don't think so, Ardeth."

The boy sniffed, used to the fact that his father seemed to longer be with him. "When will Walida come back?"

Oh, gods, that question killed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the tears. "I wish I knew," he whispered. "I really wish I knew."

"Can I sleep with you tonight, Uncle Lancelot?"

"Of course." Ardeth had often been a company to him for many nights in a row, the older man foregoing any company of women. When they got to his room, Lancelot took off Ardeth's small boots and tucked him into his bed. Lancelot situated himself to ready himself for sleep, then slipped into the large bed next to his nephew, somewhat of a surrogate son.

Ardeth curled up in a ball and moved closer to his protector. "Will you tell me a bedtime story?"

Lancelot smiled in the dark, and started to recite the story of the small boy and the dragon that helped him find his way home – the same bedtime story he had often told Raja.

--

Dagonet had finally gotten Tristan to his room, where the man instantly fell onto the bed he'd once shared with Raja. He didn't bother to light the fire, shooing Dagonet away, wanting to be left alone. He stared up at the ceiling, his arm reached out to the empty space beside him. Briefly, he wondered where Ardeth was, then remembered Lancelot taking him away. The father knew his son was safe.

When Raja had first disappeared, he had all the hope in the world that she would be found, just as she had been found when she'd been taken by Woads when she was nine. She had not been found so easily. The elder Ardeth had been here, the leader, Raja's ultimate protector.

Tristan fell into a fitful sleep, dreams of Raja in his mind.

--

Tristan shaped up over the next few days, as he often would after a drunken binge. He washed and shaved, donned clean clothes, spent more time with his son, trying for a semblance of normalcy. He could tell his son reveled in his attentions, missing all the time they had usually spent together. It was hard to go on like this, without Raja, as if she were never coming back, which she most likely would not.

Tristan took Ardeth hunting, practiced his archery and sword skills with a wood scimitar. A miniature replica of his father's sword. By now, Ardeth was old enough for a pony, and named the dark brown animal Ra, the forename of his great-uncle's Arabian horse.

They trotted quietly through the woods, spring was just emerging, the flowers were blooming.

"Look, Baba!" Ardeth said with a big smile on his face. "Fresh daisies! Can I pick some?"

Tristan managed a small snort of amusement. His mother had gotten the boy into that. He remembered the snippy, good natured argument they had had about that.

"Boys do not pick flowers, Raja!" he had said obstinately. Then he had looked at his son sitting in front of the fire with a basket of daisies, making daisy chains. But Raja had only smiled fondly at her son.

"He seems to enjoy it," she had replied. "If it makes you feel any better, he will probably grow out of it anyway."

Tristan had sighed, shaking his head as Ardeth completed a third crown of flowers. "He won't wear it," he capitulated.

"I recall you wearing one, Trissy," Raja reminded him playfully.

"And you promised no one would ever know of it!" he reminded her. He could still hear her laughter.

"Baba?" Ardeth asked.

"Yeah, son, go ahead," Tristan said.

They both dismounted and let their horses graze as Ardeth picked some flowers before plopping himself down beside his father.

"I'll make this one for Walida, for when she comes back," he said perfunctorily.

Tristan said nothing.

"She will come back," Ardeth told his father with utter conviction. "She would never leave us behind." He nodded his head staunchly. "Never ever," he said, hushed. "Never ever."

A minute later, Tristan heard the sniffles coming from his son. "Come here," he said gently, and picked his small son up, placing him on his lap. For the first time in a while, Tristan held his son tightly, finding comfort, hoping he gave comfort in return. He bit back his own tears and let his son's fall like heavy raindrops. Several moments later, he found himself singing that lullaby he'd often sang to Raja, the lullaby the elder Ardeth had taught him to soothe Raja when she was hysterical.

The little boy calmed, eventually falling asleep. Tristan held the sleeping boy in his arms as they rode back to the fort.

--

Two weeks later, Tristan and the knights returned from a patrol. Vanora and Thea were standing in the courtyard looking anxious, but with wide smiles on their faces.

"Tristan!" Vanora said, out of breath even though she had only been standing. "It's Raja!"

It took a moment for Tristan to let that sink in. Only, he had expected the worst.

Thea saw the look on his face. "She's alive!" she hurried on to say. "In your room, with Ardeth."

Tristan stood their stupidly, like a statue. The other knights had heard, asking questions as if they could not quite believe it either. Then, Tristan bolted, running to their bedroom. The door slammed open, and there she was, breathing, little Ardeth curled up at her side with his head on her chest.

Raja's eyes opened. She was gaunt, her pallor sickly. "Trissy," her mouth moved.

Feet sounded in the halls, and the rest of the men stood behind Tristan in the doorway.

"Baba!" Ardeth grinned wide. "Walida came back! See?" He hugged his mother tighter.

Tristan was breathing heavily, his heart pounding like a million drums in his chest.

Thea came, telling the men to give them a moment. "Ardeth, come here sweetie. Let your parents have some time alone, hmm?"

Ardeth frowned, clearly not wanting to leave his mother who had only returned four days ago. Raja whispered something to him and kissed him on the head. He left with Thea reluctantly, the door closing behind him, Tristan and Raja enclosed inside.

Tristan still stood across the room, completely still. Raja raised herself up in bed, she was a bit too weak to get up. "Come here to me, Trissy," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

He ran to her, falling to his knees, his head in her lap. Harsh, gasping sobs wracked his body. He sat next to her on the bed, taking her head in his large hands, stroking her face which had tears streaming down to match his. "Is it you? Is it really you, Raja?" he choked.

"It's me, Trissy," she replied through her own sobs. They held onto each other, feeling one another after what to them seemed a lifetime.

He couldn't help it; he kissed her passionately, craving her touch, wanting to drive it into himself that she was not an apparition, that he was not dreaming. Raja didn't care how weak she was, she kissed him back with just as much fervency, her tongue mingling with his.

"Inside me, Trissy," she said breathlessly.

He heard her, responding. His clothes came off, hers as well, and he was inside her warm sheath, under the covers, on top of her frail body. For minutes he just let himself feel the warmth of her, then he moved, sure strokes, and with each thrust the reality of everything became brighter. They cried, pressing themselves against one another, even after they had come in great explosions.

"Oh, gods, Raja," he wept. "I love you. I love you so much. My Raja."

"I love you, too, Tristan."

They made love again, Raja fully spent afterwards. They caressed each other, memorizing parts of each other they already knew by heart and touch. It was a couple of hours later that Tristan got dressed again, finally able to wrench himself away from her presence, but not for long.

"We have all the time in the world, now. Go take care of your needs," she said.

Gods, he did not want to leave the room. "I'll hurry."

While Tristan washed, Lancelot got to see his cousin. He tried to hold back his tears, but he could not, they rushed down like a waterfall. Raja held him in silence. He lifted his head, face streaked with tears and looked deep in her eyes. He tried to speak, but there were no words.

The rest of the day was filled with greetings and tears and awe.

Tristan, Raja and Ardeth had dinner together, Raja not able to eat much, but she managed. Ardeth had already told her everything he'd been doing while she'd been gone, never leaving her side those four days. With some prompting from Thea, she coaxed Ardeth out of the room once again, to let his parents have a night to themselves.

In the night, the fire crackling, Raja told Tristan how she'd manage to escape. She hadn't let on that she could understand their language, which was an advantage to her. He listened, taking in the words, but mostly he was just glad she was with him again. He held her that night, as hard as he could without injuring her brittle bones.

The next morning, the parents were greeted with an ecstatic Ardeth jumping on their bed between the two of them. The parents smiled at their son fondly. The three of them. Together again.

7/25/07