Chapter Twelve: My Sister?

'How long has she been awake?' Tristan asked Galahad as they hurried towards Dagonet's room.

'Oh, about an hour, maybe less. Dag wouldn't let anyone go in until Arthur started to threaten him.' Tristan's lips twitched. It sounded like Arthur. They took the stairs two at a time and pushed open the door leading to the knight's corridor. Bors, Gawain and Lancelot were waiting outside, looking sulky and, in Gawain's case, rather worried. As Tristan and Galahad grew closer, Gawain pushed himself off the wall and put his arm out, blocking the door.

'You can't go in,' he said. Tristan raised an eyebrow and gave Gawain a slanted look. Gawain pulled back his arm but remained standing, his posture defensive. 'Dag won't let anyone in 'cept Arthur, and he had to nearly kill Dag to gain entrance.'

There were raised voices from inside the room, and after a few seconds Dagonet stormed out. He stopped short when he saw the five knights gathered in the corridor, then gave Tristan a glare and turned on his heel. Tristan gazed in angry disbelief at his retreating back, and turned to the open doorway. A loud yet slightly feeble voice pierced the surprised silence that had swelled between the knights, making Galahad jump visibly. Bors muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'good luck with that,' and followed Dag's resounding footsteps with an air of relief.

'No! Get out!' the voice yelled from within Dagonet's room. 'Get Tristan back in here for God's sake, I don't care! Kill me, do whatever you want! But stop boring me with your incessant questions!'

Tristan, deciding on the spot to enter the room, ducked his head under the doorframe and crossed the threshold. It took him a while to actually locate the girl. The bed – sheets rumpled and half falling from the frame – was empty, as was the graceful roman-style chair behind the door. The girl was standing by the window, wearing naught but one of Dagonet's old shirts and her hair tumbling, dishevelled, down her back. Her fiery glare was fixed unwaveringly on Arthur, whose brow was furrowed in disappointment and annoyance.

As Tristan entered, both the Roman and Sarmatian turned to gaze at him.

'What are you doing in here?' Arthur murmured.

'Well, she asked for me.' Tristan's lips twitched as the girl sent him a look that could curdle milk, and grinned back, enjoying her anger. 'What won't she tell you? And why was Dag so angry?'

'Avilon -'

'That is not my name!'

'She won't tell me anything. Except that she was here to kill me, which we've obviously already established. But she now says she doesn't want to kill me.' Tristan shook his head, then looked up at the girl. Her fire had faded away, and what was left was a thin girl with prominent cheekbones, hair and skin starkly contrasting. She was breathing heavily from her rage, and her hands were shaking.

'Well, why don't I try asking her?' Tristan grinned maliciously. 'We could pick up where we left off...'

The girl laughed bitterly.

'Dagonet, my valiant protector, wouldn't let you closer than you are now.' Tristan took a step forwards, testing her resolve.

'Tristan,' Arthur warned, his voice low. 'It is not the time for foolish games.' Arthur turned back to the girl and asked, with a note of pleading in his voice, 'Why are you so stubborn? Why will you not talk to us?' The girl's eyes snapped up, and she took a step forwards.

'Fine! I was seven when my parents were burned in front of my eyes. I was taken as a slave to Rome, and then Ireland. I was raped, tortured and beaten for ten years until finally I killed myowner and came here! Happy?' Her voice was slightly sarcastic, but the look of pain on her face echoed the years of torture she had suffered. Tristan took a step back. That was why she could resist his beatings. She had coped with worse.

The girl stumbled forwards and collapsed onto the bed. 'Go away. Get out,' she mumbled into the blankets. Arthur started to cross the room to the bed, but the girl lifted her head and glared at him.

'Get out, get out, get out!' she screamed.

Arthur let his hand drop to the floor and he pushed past Tristan on his way out. Tristan stared at the girl for another minute, and left. The girl lay her head down, and her body racked with sobs. Maybe they will leave me be now,she thought hopefully, but she knew that they would be back.

Outside, Gawain was staring in utter disbelief at Arthur as he recounted what had happened inside the room.

'Well I guess that's why Tristan's... methods... had no effect on her,' Gawain said quietly. Galahad snorted, shaking his head.

'I'm going to Vanora's. She's so much less... dramatic.' The young curly-haired knight stalked away, followed by Lancelot, leaving Gawain, Tristan and Arthur staring desolately at Dagonet's closed door.

'We can try to talk to her again later,' Gawain suggested, as the sobs coming from inside Dag's room subsided. Arthur nodded, looking away and up at the pale ceiling. He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his eyelids, trying to rid himself of the weariness that had suddenly taken a firm hold on him.

'If you need me,' he said, already walking away down the corridor towards his own room, 'I shall be asleep.' Tristan smirked at Gawain's worried glance that flickered between Dagonet's closed door and their Roman general's back.

'You worry too much,' Tristan thumped Gawain on the back and pulled an apple from his pocket. 'Arthur is just tired, and she -' he indicated to the door to his left '- is just stubborn.' He turned from his friend and strolled casually away from him, taking large bites from his apple.

'Yes, but I'm still worried,' Gawain murmured with quiet affection, sweeping a heavy swathe of tawny hair away from his face. As he turned to leave, thinking of Vanora's tavern and the wine that awaited him, he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

'So you're finally leaving her alone...' Dag's deep, soft voice echoed slightly from the high ceiling. Gawain turned and smirked at his friend's glower.

'She got angry with Arthur, and I could have sworn even Tristan was put out by her. Yea, our fearless, emotionless scout – put out!' Dag's lips curled into a half smile, and he pushed open the door a crack. The girl was asleep, her arm dangling from the bed, face covered by the mass of black hair.

'You know,' Dag said as they walked together down the corridor, 'I was thinking of some names for her. Just so we don't have to call her 'the girl' anymore.'

Gawain stopped in his tracks, staring at Dagonet.

'Really? That's...' A good idea. I should have thought of that... 'That's nice. Can I give you some suggestions? What have you got so far?' They started walking again, Gawain shadowed by Dag's enormous form.

'Only a few,' Dag mumbled, a slight blush forming on his cheeks. 'Some names from home. Roxolani names. Vidgis, Ingrid, Astrid, Indra and Megan. I thought they were all very fitting for her.'

'Aye,' Gawain laughed. 'Vidgis means 'the blood,' Ingrid is 'the traveller,' Astrid is 'raven' and Megan is 'black warrior.' Very fitting...But Indra is pretty, no? Maybe you should put the names to her, see if she wants one?' Gawain looked up at his tall friend, whose eyes were sparkling, and grinned. Dagonet nodded, and said quietly,

'But maybe she wishes to be known as 'the girl' for ever more...'

Night had settled over the fort at Hadrian's Wall. In Vanora's tavern, Two and Three still hadn't given up their game. Six had long since gone, bored with her brothers' game, but the boys were still enjoying poking fun at Arthur's dogs.

'Bite him!' Two laughed, shouting at the greyhounds. A shrill whistle brought the children's game to an end. The greyhounds ran to their master, who bent down and stroked their slender backs.

'Arthur! Arthur!' Three cried. 'We were playing.' His bottom lip wobbled and he pouted, then ran back to his brother and they both yelped with laughter. Arthur watched them as they went over to where his fellow knights were seated and tugged at their father's jerkin.

'Good boy, Cabal,' Arthur murmured, stroking his dogs. 'Good boy, Kerberos.' He crossed the open square, followed by his dogs, to the table where Gawain, Galahad, Bors, Dagonet and Lancelot sat. The table was overflowing with five or six clay pitchers, and twenty-something clay beakers, some half-filled with wine, others drained of their former contents. Galahad, Bors and Gawain were quite drunk, Lancelot a little less and Dagonet nearly completely sober.

It appeared that Dagonet had had half a cup of wine and had gotten into a fight with Tristan, which was why the scout was no longer sat at the table. The reason for the fight was, inevitably, the girl in Dagonet's room. Gawain had mentioned Dag's plan to name the girl, and Tristan had laughed outright, said that the dead needed no names, especially those that no one would remember; Dagonet had thrown his beaker across the table and swung a punch at him. It had taken Bors and Lancelot just to merely restrain him while Tristan made a quick exit.

Frowning down at Dagonet, Arthur decided he should tell them about the girl.

'She's ready to talk,' he said, picking up a half-full beaker of wine and downing it. 'I was discussing it with her – she wants to tell us everything.'

'Why the damned wait?' Galahad growled. Bors raised his eyebrows and nodded, looking up at Arthur through glazed, inebriated eyes.

'She's afraid we wont believe her. She doesn't want us to -'

'Believe her?' Galahad jumped from his seat, and slammed his beaker on the table. 'And why should we? She murdered Gareth. What reason has she given us to believe her?'

'Gareth was my brother!' Gawain yelled furiously. 'You have no right to bring his name into this conversation!' Galahad sat down, humbled yet bitter. 'I believe her – I will listen and not judge her for her past,' Gawain continued. 'And so should you.' Dagonet nodded in agreement, and Lancelot looked up at Arthur.

'Now?' he asked.

Arthur laid his hand on his friend's shoulder, nodding slowly.

'Bors, Galahad, sober up a little and meet us in the hall.'

Bors and Galahad left together for the bathhouse, where the cold water would cleanse their bodies and minds of the alcohol.

'Come, Lancelot, Dagonet.'

Lancelot stood, followed quickly by Dagonet, and they left in the direction of the fortress hall.

'Gawain, when you are ready, come to the hall,' Arthur added, touching his friend lightly on the shoulder.'

Gawain nodded and turned back to his wine. His hand went unconsciously to his neck, around which hung a fine silver chain with a hawk pendant. He rubbed it between two fingers, and stood to leave. Before he even knew what was happening, rough hands grabbed his throat and pushed him against the wall. Gold eyes glinted beneath a heavy black fringe.

'This is mine!' Tristan hissed, ripping the hawk pendant from Gawain's throat. 'Where did you find it?'

Gawain shoved him away, trying to snatch the necklace back.

'In the cell she was in! Get off!' Tristan let go of the handful of Gawain's tunic he had grasped, and turned away.

'The girl's cell? Why was this there...?' Tristan fastened the chain round his throat, where it clicked gently, hitting against another necklace. Wait, Tristan thought. I only wear one... He felt round his neck again and pulled the two necklaces off. They lay in his palm, identical silver pendants, two hawks side-by-side in flight.

'What the...?' Tristan looked disbelievingly at the pendants in his palm. His sister? His sister had been in the girls' cell? And then it came to him, two sparkling images, side by side.

The girl in Dag's room: prominent cheekbones, dark, bottomless eyes, night-black hair framing a pale face. Her slender neck, thin arms and long, elegant fingers. So alike to the picture beside it: a younger face, cheekbones and jaw easily visible, shadowed eyes, hollowed from lack of sleep, curls of black hair, so dark against the near-white skin. Her graceful hands, slim fingers, dirty nails... Tristan's sister.

'She's my sister?' he gasped. Did she know? Did...? Tristan couldn't think. So many memories, so many pictures. How could he not have seen it before? She was his sister, his flesh and blood. How could he not have seen?

Tristan raised a hand to his eyes and rubbed them fiercely. Gawain was staring at him, shocked.

'Tristan?' he asked, worried. The one word seemed to snap Tristan from his reverie.

'Let's go,' he said gruffly. 'Now.' Tristan's golden eyes glittered, reflecting the torches that hung on the tavern walls. 'Oh, and I'm sorry about... You know.' Gawain shook off the apology, wondering as to what could trouble his friend so. He said something about a sister... Gawain threw his thoughts aside. He should turn his mind instead to the matter in hand: the girl.

As they entered the fortress hall, Gawain looked round, searching the room for the girl. She was huddled inside Dagonet's leather jacket, curled up in one of the chairs around the circular table. Tristan left his side and crossed to the far wall, the furthest from the girl. Gawain took a seat about seven chairs round form her, next to Galahad. His hair was very wet, dripping onto his shoulders and the table. Gawain looked across at the girl just as Dagonet sat in the seat beside her. It was strange, thought Gawain, that the Roxolani healer had taken such a protective role with the girl, even after all that had happened.

Gawain's silent musings were interrupted by Arthur's calm, deep voice.

'Go ahead, when you're ready,' he said, and the girl breathed deeply.

'I...' She coughed harshly, and looked up at the knights surrounding her: Dagonet was worried, Arthur calmly accepting, Tristan glowering, Gawain staring at his hands, Galahad was looking anywhere but at her, and Bors had an air of boredom around him. Lancelot, however, was gazing slightly apprehensively up at her, eyes half-hidden beneath his overgrown, curly, black fringe.

She started again, determined.

'I was born in Sarmatia, in the northern half. I remember very little of my childhood, except those memories of my brother. I have forgotten my family – my memories of them were chased away...'