Chapter Fourteen: He Had Found Her
It was strange, Gawain thought, hearing the girl talk about her past as if narrating, as if talking of someone from history. He gazed up at her tired face, and his heart ached. She looked so fragile, so infantile; he couldn't believe this was the same girl as the one who had killed his brother. She was just a child, a motherless child, lost, so far from her home.
Dagonet helped her up, and they walked together from the hall, her leaning against him, leaving behind a discontented silence. Bors stood up and took a swig from the cup of wine grasped in his hand.
'Well that explains a lot,' he snorted. 'She's had the best life, eh?' Galahad coughed, looking up at Gawain, whose eyes had narrowed at Bors' comment.
'At least we know now,' the youngest of the Sarmatians said.
'Know what, Galahad?' Arthur questioned.
'We know she was telling the truth – she did come here for vengeance, not as an assassin.'
'We can't be sure of that.' Tristan's voice surprised the others in the room – they had forgotten that their Hyrci scout was standing against the wall. 'This could be another ruse.'
'No, Tristan,' Arthur disagreed, his voice flat. 'You saw her this morning, and now... she wouldn't make this up. This has to be the truth.'
'Besides,' added in Lancelot, 'after what you did to her I'm pretty sure she wouldn't lie anymore.' He smirked across the room at Tristan, whose normally calm composure slipped slightly.
'You think I don't regret it? You think I enjoyed it?'
'Well, you have a bloodlust none of us here could compete with,' Lancelot taunted.
'Enough, enough!' shouted Arthur, and Tristan had to bite back his spiteful retort. 'She's telling the truth. You can't doubt that now. Tristan, you're watching over her tonight. She's still unwell, but I'm not sure we can trust her alone yet.' Tristan's temper cooled, and his face resumed its usual passive expression; he turned and stalked from the room.
Gawain, who had been watching his fellow knights' childish exchange with little more than boredom, pushed himself out of his chair.
'Vanora's?' The question was directed at Galahad, who, after a quick look at Bors, nodded; the three knights left together, leaving Lancelot and Arthur in an uneasy silence.
'So what do we do?' Lancelot surprised himself with his words. Arthur turned his eyes heavenwards, gazing at the painted ceiling. It was a typical Roman picture – Gods, naked women and wine. Arthur sighed quietly.
'We go back to how it was before. We have three more years to live through Lancelot. But just think of it – peace, finally. After our fifteen years of blood, you will be able to see the sun rise over Sarmatian land once again.'
'Yea,' agreed Lancelot, standing. 'And you, Arthur? You will return to your beloved Rome, gaze at the pale stones of the coliseum and think of the knights who laid down their lives for you, for Rome...' Lancelot threw open the door, suddenly angry, and slammed it shut behind him. He leant against the cool wood, breathing deeply. Sunrise over Sarmatia? Lancelot thought bitterly, imagining the pale colours brought to life by the flaming sun. I will die before I see that, my friend.
Dagonet slipped from under the girl's arm, helping her onto the bed.
'Thank you, Dag,' she murmured. She tried to turn away from him, but Dagonet gently touched her arm and she looked up at him.
'That was very brave, what you did,' he said quietly. 'You didn't have to tell them everything, but you did. I must say, I admire it.' The girl smiled wearily, slight dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth.
'Dag,' she said cautiously. The Roxolani healer nodded, a little apprehensive. 'Can I have something to eat?' Dagonet nearly laughed. He had been sure the girl was going to say something truly important.
'I'll go to the kitchens now.' He turned to go, then seemed to remember something. 'Tristan can bring it up – he's watching you tonight.' His voice was slightly hostile, but the girl dismissed his cold manner regarding the scout.
She lay back in the pillows and her eyes flickered shut.
'I'll wear it forever, Tris,' the girl said, her voice full of love. Water dripped from her fingers and onto his. He fastened the cold chain around her neck and she grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. 'Until you come back. Then we can be together again.'
A sudden movement in the room woke the girl, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the bright sunshine in the room, she made out the shadow of a person seated by the bed.
'Tristan?' she mumbled. The scout held out a bowl full of some sort of thick, steaming liquid. The girl pushed herself up, and took the bowl; sniffing it cautiously, she put a spoonful in her mouth and relaxed. Warm porridge.
Tristan sat back in his chair, slicing up an apple with a long, bone-handled hunting knife. To the girl in the bed, he seemed very alert, and a little intimidating. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, and finished the porridge quickly.
Tristan put down the apple core and stabbed the knife into the arm of the chair, where it stood erect like a soldier. He looked up at the girl through his fringe, and she met his gaze evenly. As he stared at her, a small furrow appeared between her eyebrows, creasing the pale skin.
'I...' Tristan began, then stopped. You can do this, he told himself firmly. 'I wanted to give you this.' He reached out his hand, and for a second the girl stupidly thought he wanted her to kiss his fingers. But then something slim and silver dropped from his hand, swinging and glinting in the sunlight. She gasped, and snatched the necklace from his hand. She fastened it round her neck and sighed as the cool metal of the hawk pendant settled just below her collarbone.
'Where did you find it?' she asked, a note of distrust in her voice. Instead of an answer, Tristan's hands went to the back of his own neck, fumbling with something there. He held out his hand again and another necklace fell into her lap. She picked it up, and then looked in horror and disbelief from the necklace dangling from her fingers to the man staring at her with a mix of caution and hope in his golden eyes.
'You? You're my...?' She launched herself out of the bed, and threw the necklace at him. 'You are NOT my brother.' She ran to the door and threw it open.
'No wait, Cavan, wait...' as he said the name, she turned and gaped openly, still gripping the door's handle.
'What did you call me?' she hissed.
'Cavan. It's your name, sister,' Tristan whispered yearningly.
'No. Get away from me. My brother is dead!' Her eyes flamed furiously. 'You are no blood of mine!' She flew out of the door, pushing past Gawain who was walking casually down the corridor.
'Avi?' he shouted after her, then was knocked aside again, but by Tristan this time, as the scout rushed after the fleeing girl. 'Tristan? What did you do?'
Slightly dumfounded, Gawain stared at Tristan's hastily receding back. 'What in the name of the Goddess Aine...?' he asked the silent, empty corridor.
'Cavan? Dammit... Avi?' The howling silence stretched out before Tristan like a road: bare and dismal. The room was empty, as was the next one. Tristan pushed open the door to Arthur's room and looked around. Empty.
'Tristan, what's going on?' Dagonet's deep voice came from behind him. 'I went to check on Avilon, and she's not there.' His voice was low and threatening. Tristan turned to him, eyes flashing.
'She escaped,' he said slowly. I'm trying to find her.'
'She didn't escape. She isn't an animal, Tristan!' Tristan turned his back on the healer and started to jog down the corridor. Dagonet's resounding orders of 'You'd better find her' echoed behind him.
Stupid, overprotective healer, thought Tristan. She's my sister.But then again, Dag didn't know that. The only person who might have a tiny inkling of Tristan and the girl's relationship was Gawain. He's too thick to have worked it out though, Tristan told himself. I'll tell people when Cavan's ready.
She was leant against the wall, looking out over the mass of fields and trees that was Britain. The wind snatched at her hair, longingly caressed her skin. She breathed in deep the pure air and sighed. The sound of boots on stone steps behind the girl made her jump; she took a few steps away from where the steps melted into the ledge on which she stood.
' Cavan?' A soft voice spoke carefully and a hand fell gently on her shoulder. 'I'm sorry – I thought you knew already.'
'I did know. I knew you. The first time I saw you, I knew. I just hid it deep down. I didn't want to believe... Or maybe I wouldn't let myself.' She turned and looked up into his eyes. She saw herself in the sparkling golden orbs, the girl she was before her brother had left.
The small cut on his cheek, the one she had made by throwing the necklace at him, dripped red. 'I'm sorry,' she said, touching his face.
'I've had worse,' her brother replied roughly. She kissed his cheek, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. The necklaces at their chests clinked gently.
'Now we can be together. You have returned to me.' Cavan's voice cracked and she sobbed into Tristan's shoulder. Suddenly exhausted, she looked up at him and said, 'Dagonet must be so angry with you because I ran away. I think we should go back to the room.' She started towards the steps, but her legs wobbled and threatened to give way beneath her. Tristan caught her and lifted her into his arms. She buried her face into his hair and breathed deeply.
'When was the last time you washed, brother?' A silence met her words, then Tristan laughed.
'The day you woke up,' he replied, carefully making his way past the entrance to Vanora's tavern. Galahad and Bors looked up from their drinks and stared. The Hyrci scout had never picked upa girl. He had never even looked at one. The only things he showed such kindness to were his horse and his sword.
'Well you need to wash again,' Cavan stated, unaware of Galahad's gaping, 'o' shaped mouth. They passed the tavern and stables, and Tristan put her down as they reached the knight's quarters.
'So tell me,' he said cautiously, 'why is Dag so angry at me?' Cavan looked up at him, a little bemused.
'Well, just in case you don't remember, you did throw me around quite badly,' she joked. Tristan looked down at the floor. He wanted to apologise, but the words wouldn't come.
'He's mad at me for that?' he asked instead.
'Well, it's understandable. I'm a girl, obviously, and eight or nine years younger than you. I guess it's just his fatherly instincts kicking in.'
'Yea,' Tristan agreed, feeling a little stupid that he hadn't worked that out. As they continued down the corridor, Tristan felt her eyes on him, but whenever he looked at her, she was always staring straight ahead.
They reached Dag's door. Inside were three knights. Dagonet's eyes were blazing, Arthur was trying to calm him down and Lancelot was watching the exchange with uninterested eyes. He turned as Tristan and Cavan came through the door, his eyes lighting up a little at the sight of her.
'Dag,' Lancelot warned softly.
'There you are, Avilon!' the healer near-shouted. 'What did he do to you?'
'Nothing,' Cavan laughed, amused at Dag's fussing. 'We talked.'
Arthur stared at her in disbelief.
'You talked?' he and Lancelot said in unison. Cavan sat down on the bed, helped by Dag, and looked up at the two knights.
'Yes, we talked. It did, of course, take him about an hour to find me.' She smiled at Tristan. Lancelot's eyes moved quickly from the grinning girl in the bed to the scout stood in the corner, whose lips were twitching.
What was going on?
'Oh, and Dag,' the girl continued. 'I've chosen a name.' Dag looked up, a little confused.
'How did you know?' he said.
'I heard you talking about it.' She smiled at the Roxolani, then her eyes flicked to Tristan. 'You can call me Cavan now.'
She blinked drowsily and yawned. Dag saw and frowned.
'Out, please,' he ordered the Sarmatians. 'She's had a tiring day and she needs to rest.'
'Until tomorrow,' Lancelot murmured, winking and bowing at Cavan. The rest of the Sarmatians followed him out, save for Dagonet and Gawain. Tristan, who had not moved since he had re-entered Cavan's room, also still stood in the room.
'I can watch her tonight,' Gawain said, smiling at Cavan. She blinked at him and blushed slightly.
'I will.' Tristan had not moved, but the words had come from his corner. Gawain frowned, but backed from the room with a nod to the girl on the bed.
Dagonet motioned for Cavan to lie down, and he drew the covers over her. He picked up the remains of Cavan's porridge and left the room.
As soon as he had gone, Tristan moved to her side and sat in the chair beside the bed. She reached over and took his hand. For a second he didn't know what to do, but then he curled his fingers around hers and she smiled sleepily at him. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her breathing slowed.
He brushed the hair from her face, softly, trying not to disturb her. He remembered doing the same thing to her when she was but a tiny child, and he saw her for the first time, in his mama's arms.
'Home is behind, the world ahead,' he started to sing quietly in his own tongue, the one song that he remembered from home. 'And there are many paths to tread, through shadow, to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight. Mist and shadow, cloud and shade. All shall fade…' As the song drew to an end, Cavan mumbled in her sleep and rolled over, her hand slipping from her brother's.
Tristan looked down at the sleeping girl beside him. Now that he had realised who she was, he could not understand how he had not seen it earlier. But he would have had it no other way.
'Sweet dreams, sister,' he said quietly. He was happy. He'd found her.