Chapter 2: Healing
I tried, I mean I really, really tried to be unseen in the Tavern. Working my way swiftly into the back, shadowed table in the corner, I easily slid onto the bench, relaxing against the walls, when suddenly there were ferocious cries heard from somewhere in the bar in front of me.
"ANDRASTE!" they all shouted and I cursed the karma that was nibbling at my backside. Slapping a smile on my face, I went over to greet them, noticing with anger that Tristan had pointed me out.
"I thought you'd be gone by now!" Bors thundered, pulling me into another monstrous hug. Laughing softly, I shook my head.
"I'm only here as long as our scout needs me, then I'll be back to guarding my home." I replied, ruffling Galahad's hair. Next thing I know, there is a pair of arms wrapped around me and I'm being pulled into a lap.
"Ah, well, while you're here, keep me company too, eh?" Gawain mock whispered, loudly kissing my cheek. I dissolved in a fit of giggles, playfully slapping his chest.
"Stop that!" I laughed, wriggling in his lap to get away from him. He gasped and latched onto me, holding me still as much as he could.
"I'd stop wiggling, if I was you." He growled huskily in my ear. I froze, a smirk slowly sliding across my lips. He sighed and rested his head against my back. "Thank you."
His thanks were short lived as I moved my hips in a slow, circular motion. Gawain let slip a low, guttural moan, his fingers moving to grip my hips. I chuckled and removed his fingers, kissing his hand before leaping from his lap and moving to hide behind Dagonet. My tawny haired friend groaned softly, allowing his form to slouch forward, head resting on the table as he turned to give me a heated glare through his thick hair.
"That was not nice, Andraste." He growled voice low and rumbling. I stared into his darkened blue eyes, smiling at him and shrugging.
"What's wrong, Gawain? Got a little problem?" Lancelot asked, attempting, and failing miserably, to hold in his laughter. Said knight turned an icy glare on him and grumbled something about Lancelot's mother and a dog.
"That was not nice, Gawain." Lancelot chuckled, throwing his words back at him. Gawain groaned again and grabbed another wench to occupy his lap and attention. Lance turned his attention to me. "Does this mean if I'm mortally wounded you'll stay with me, as well?" he asked.
"No." I replied, a smirk on my face.
"Why not?"
"Because you're more like a brother to me and incest is frowned upon in both this society and mine."
"Damn."
"Even so, I wouldn't touch you with a pole."
"And why not?"
"You smell funny." I laughed, causing the others around me to laugh as well. Lance's face turned red before he gave over to the amusement in his eyes and joined us.
"Touche, dearest Andy." He replied. Tristan sat down and pulled me to sit beside him.
"Andraste, will you be training with us as you did before?" Dagonet asked, sipping the ale in his tankard, curious, kind dark eyes staring at me.
"I might, if you all don't mind being beaten all the time." I smirked, settling down beside Tristan, his hand discreetly resting on my knee.
"Ah, but you still can't beat Tristan, I'd wager." Gawain chuckled.
"Gawain, you know betting her isn't-"Galahad started, but I raised my hand to interrupt.
"I'm not the small little girl I once was, Gawain." I replied, my grey eyes as cold and hard as their blades. I nodded my head to the others and bent to whisper in Tristan's ear, "I'll meet you in your room." Then I set off, wild hair tumbling around me with the wind as I turned away from the tavern, old memories dragging themselves from their graves in my mind to haunt my thoughts as I made my way silently to Tristans' room.
~Meanwhile~
"That was unnecessary, Gawain." Lancelot admonished; his face different. Gone was his boyish and amusing charm, but instead, it was replaced with a hard, grim expression, worry filling his dark eyes. Bors and Dagonet fixed him with a hard, glare, chests puffed out in the old protective manner they always did when Andraste was younger.
"She was with us for years after we saved her from the Romans. She remembers the horrors of war. Do you not remember how she nursed you back to health after you'd been gravely wounded? She did so for all of us. Had it not been for her, Lancelot, Tristan and I would surely be dead." Dagonet spoke, his voice quiet and threatening, as it always was when someone disrespected her. Tristan turned an evil glare on Gawain and rose to stand in front of him
"Remember all she's done for you. The times she lied for you, took care of you, helped you. Remember how much she taught you. All these things should be kept in your mind the next time you wish to insult her to her face." He hissed, storming out of the tavern and back to the knights' quarters. He stopped before his door, hesitating only a moment, before bursting in on a sight he wished he could forget. There, sitting curled in a fetal position on his bed was Andraste. His eyes took in every detail, how her body shook with silent sobs, the way her hair cascaded around her, like a veil of blood; her boots were off, thrown haphazardly at the foot of the bed, her small feet tucked beneath her. Hesitantly, he walked over to kneel beside her, setting a hand gently on her arm. He was never good at comforting people, let alone women, but he'd known Andy for a long time, long enough to learn that she didn't always need words or caresses for comfort, just the knowledge someone was there, that someone cared.
"Tristan, why am I still belittled by them? Have I not proven myself a thousand times over? Was it not I that save them from the grasp of death? Or the Saxons?" she mumbled into the pillow, unwilling to open her eyes. On closer inspection, he realized tears were still pouring down her face, silent as death.
"They do not belittle you, they merely do not wish to think of you fighting wars the way we do." He whispered after a moment of silence, carefully thinking the words before he spoke them. "Why don't you have a soak in the baths? It always makes you feel better."
"Will you keep watch?"
"Of course."
(- switching POV btw—thought I'd warn you)
We left his room quietly, me hovering just behind him, and him boldly walking in front, eyes glaring at any and people who dared to stare. Upon reaching the baths, he kicked everyone out with a simple look and a point of one long, elegant, calloused finger. Fearing him, they listened, and I moved inside, knowing he'd bar the door with his body and keep others from entering easily. I slipped off my clothes and boots and eased into the steaming waters. I grabbed a rag, soaked in soap and oils, and scrubbed the ink off my skin, though the tattoos stayed as they were permanently etched into me.
Once done, I dressed in new clothes, though still of my people. The emerald cotton slid over my skin like silk, all the way down to my toes; the sleeves, only three fingers wide, hung off my shoulders; I tightened the laces of the bodice, cinching it to a comfortable squeeze around my torso; then put my boots on after brushing through my hair once and braiding the top half of it. I walked over to the door and knocked twice, letting him know I was ready to come out.
"Feel any better?" he asked, concern and amusement lacing his roughly smooth voice (yes contradiction, but listen to his voice, its rough but smooth).
"I do, thank you, Tristan." I smiled, neatly linking my arm with his. He placed a large calloused hand on my smaller, delicate one, a slight quirk of the lips on his face; His version of a smile, at least in public. A flurry of feet came towards us and Galahad came to a sudden stop, leaning forward on his knees.
"Arthur …requests our..presence at…the wall." He huffed, looking up at us through his curly hair. I nodded in response and, lacing my arm through his as well, tugged them both in the direction of the wall.