Starcrossed
Chapter Ten
Tristan/OC
Usual disclaimers apply. Please review. We are rapidly approaching the end of this story. Won't be long now. I'm currently at my sister's in Berlin, so I don't have that much time to write. I'll try not to take too long, however. :)
More torches were brought swiftly, bathing the courtyard in soft flickering light. The knights gathered around Arthur and Guinevere, the tension in the air crackling like lightning. The Woads were unarmed, their postures relaxed and proud at once. The men kept their eyes on Arthur, only Caillean looked at Tristan, a slight smile still on her face.
Arthur stepped forward, his back straight and his broad shoulders set, his bearing that of a man born to lead. Nothing in his expression betrayed any hint of surprise or discomfort at being face to face with a man he had considered his enemy for the better part of his life.
"Merlin," he greeted the leader of the Woads evenly, ignoring the hushed whispers coursing through the steadily growing crowd at the mention of the name, "we meet again. And I see you meant what you said earlier."
"Greetings to you and your men, Arthur Castus," Merlin replied and likewise took a step forward, "I have come to discuss with you what we merely mentioned when last we spoke. As you see, we come unarmed and in peace."
Arthur's eyes roved once over Merlin's companions, taking in their empty hands, belts and their somewhat neutral expressions.
"Very well," he agreed, "we can discuss this in private. As long as your people behave peacefully, they are welcome here."
Lancelot frowned, pushed past Tristan and grabbed his commander's shoulder.
"What's to discuss? This is not Rome's fight, Arthur. It certainly isn't yours!"
Another wave of murmurs swept across the people and many of them exchanged worried glances. They had all heard of the coming Saxon force and with the Roman soldiers and the knights gone, there was little or no resistance they would be able to offer.
"Do not worry!" The deep, soothing timbre of Arthur's voice resonated through the courtyard and the whispering died down. "We have time... and we will think of something. Merlin..." He made an inviting gesture and then looked back at Lancelot, unmoved by the worry and anger in his friend's dark eyes. "We will talk later."
The Woad leader motioned to one of his men to follow him, a young man with startling blue eyes whom Arthur recognized as the one he had spared not long ago.
Together, they crossed the courtyard, Guinevere following them with a self-confident air, and disappeared into the main building.
The crowd dispersed slowly and after a few moments, only the four picts, the Roman guards and the knights remained.
Lancelot shook his head and muttered darkly, "He will convince him to stay, I know he will!"
Galahad scowled grimly. "He wouldn't do that! By the gods, we've given more than enough to this place!"
Suddenly, a low female voice spoke up and all the knights, save Tristan, flinched in surprise. They had not heard her come close and turned their eyes on her, Lancelot in amusement, the others a little suspicious. She stood behind them, a slight figure in the dim light, her bony shoulders squared as best she could. Her companions watched her closely, their expressions wary, but they kept to themselves.
Tristan shook his head slightly and her eyes narrowed in defiance.
"The boy is right," Caillean said calmly, ignoring the dark look Galahad sent her at that, "none of you have any further obligation to Britain. It is not your duty to die here."
She spoke softly, barely audible over the raucous voices of the Roman soldiers.
"And just who are you to tell us anything?" Gawain asked, folding his arms across his chest and looking down at the small female, who instinctively took a step back.
While Gawain's tone had not been forceful, there was something in his voice that made his calmness seem more volatile than Galahad's constant growling. She held up her hands, her eyes darting once more to Tristan.
"I'm just saying... I know that Merlin wants your commander Artorius to lead our people into battle. I know he would like for all of you to stay. But none of you have a reason to!"
"Caillean!" one of the picts snapped angrily, "curb your tongue! You speak out of place!" The other two had dropped the pretense of not listening to their conversation and whispered a few harsh words, but the man brushed them off and strode over to her, grasping her arm tightly and tried to pull her away from the knights.
Within one instant, Lancelot's hand clamped onto the man's shoulder and Tristan had moved in front of Caillean, shielding her body with his.
"Let her go," he growled and let his hand drop onto the hilt of his sword in a none too subtle threat. The pict dropped Caillean's arm as though it burned him and took a step backwards. His expression changed from surprise and fright to mistrust and anger within a heartbeat.
Tristan gave him no time to voice his thoughts. He turned away from him, put his own arm around Caillean's shoulders in a possessive and protective gesture and dragged her away.
Bors, Galahad and Gawain had yet to recover the use of their faculties and trailed after them quietly. Tristan led them to the tavern's deserted courtyard and Lancelot shut the gate behind them before turning to Caillean and giving her one of his brightest smiles. The poor girl looked simply overwhelmed and a little intimidated.
"What is this, Tristan?" Galahad demanded, finally regaining his voice and immediately making use of it. He glowered at the scout, his boyish face set in lines of grim disapproval.
"What do you think?" Lancelot answered before Tristan had the chance. "It's a woman, what you have been trying and failing to get!"
Gawain snorted once, and then he and Bors started chortling. Galahad's scowl darkened. "She's a Woad," he snapped.
"A pict!" came the biting response from Caillean, who glowered up at the tall knights, one hand still clenching Tristan's tunic. The scout drew her a little closer, the pressure of his arm against her shoulders warning and calming her at the same time.
"Her name is Caillean," he said quietly, a tone of voice the others knew all too well. Tristan was seething with rage and aggravating him further would mean risking injury. "And you, Galahad, will keep your opinions to yourself!"
Lancelot disarmed the situation by smiling once more at Caillean and bowing slightly in her direction. "Welcome to Badon Fort, lady. My name is Lancelot, these men are Bors, Gawain and the skeptic here is Galahad. I'm glad to be able to put a face with the name."
The dark Sarmatian's charm once more diffused the situation and Tristan felt Caillean relax against him. Her grey eyes swept across the knights and the ghost of a smile appeared on her lips.
"I mean you no ill, sirs. I am telling you... leave here and save yourselves. Don't put yourself in danger for a country that is not yours." Her gaze sought Tristan and her tone turned beseeching. "Promise me."
Gawain cleared his throat. "Come on, Galahad... We'll see what's keeping Arthur. You too, Bors."
Bors nodded. "Right... c'mon, pup!" he told Galahad, who was still staring angrily at Tristan and Caillean.
"I'm supposed to ignore this?" he lashed out, shaking his arm out of Gawain's grasp. "When one of our own is sleeping with the enemy?"
"Enough!" Lancelot growled, stepping between them once more. "Do not judge until you understand, boy! And now we'll leave them alone!"
It was a tense moment. Galahad and Lancelot stared at each other, the youngest of the knights no match at all for Arthur's trusted second in command in this battle of wills. However, it was easier to look into his dark, fiery eyes than into Tristan's icy tawny gaze that promised trouble if he kept arguing. Finally, he relented, grumbling angrily into his beard as he turned on his heel and stalked away into the darkness. The others followed him more slowly, Lancelot left after clapping Tristan onto the shoulder once and bowing once more to Caillean, a flirtatious glint in his eyes.
Silence fell after the knights had left, a comfortable lull that allowed both of them to catch their breath and regain their calm.
Caillean let her head sink against Tristan's chest while his arms came around her to hold her close.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I caused trouble for you, didn't I?"
He shook his head. "Don't worry. Lancelot already knew and he'll keep Galahad in check. I think you caused more trouble for yourself."
She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering in the half light. Having him so close again, for what she knew would be the last time, almost strangled her and made her lungs strain to breathe. This man had become as important to her as the very air she breathed, in the mere span of a few months time.
She nestled up against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He dipped his head down, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was by now achingly familiar.
His hands cupped her face, the calloused fingertips tracing the outer shell of her ears gently before drifting lower, caressing her neck and finally resting beneath her shoulders. The kiss was gentle, unhurried and tender and Caillean had silent tears streaming down her face at the end of it, tears Tristan brushed away with the pads of his thumbs.
"This time it really must be goodbye," she answered the unspoken question in his eyes, her voice cracking a little. "You have to promise me to leave with the others. I know Merlin wants you to stay and fight, but you have to make it out of here alive! Promise me! If you love me at all, you have to survive!"
He remained silent for a long moment after she had spoken, the only sounds in the air the sizzling of the torches and the distant and muffled sounds of the fortress' other inhabitants. Finally, he nodded slowly.
"I'll leave... if you come with me."
Caillean could feel her heart clench in her chest as the urge to simply do as he asked became almost overpowering. She knew now that she loved him, knew it with every fiber of her being. Fresh tears filled her eyes as she shook her head and saw the small bitter smile curl his lips. His hands slipped from her back and she could almost see him draw the wrong conclusion from her refusal: He thought she did not love him, or at least not enough to want a future with him.
"Don't worry, Caillean," he told her, his voice neutral. "You are right. I have nothing to hold me here."
By then, she knew him well enough to know that the neutrality was in truth coldness.
Still, if it meant that he would leave and stay alive, she could not correct him. Nor did she make a move to stop him as he turned from her and left the tavern's courtyard without speaking another word.
After he was gone, she sank to the ground, curled up into a little ball and cried until she thought her heart would burst.
...
"The Saxons are here!"
The cry was carried through all of Badon Fort in a manner of minutes and soldiers, knights and civilians alike hurried to the Wall to catch a glimpse of the enemy. It was a sight to make many a grown man quake with fear. In the darkness, only the fires and torches shone like bright beacons in the night, not giving away just how many men had made camp outside Hadrian's Wall, but the many spots of light seemed to echo the stars in the night sky.
Merlin and Arthur had been called to the Wall together and it took the picts' leader no further words to explain or convince the knights' commander of the desperation of their circumstances.
"Knights," Arthur announced gravely, "my journey with you must end here!" He turned his back on the sight of the Saxon army, his face a mask of control and detachment. Lancelot, who knew Arthur's face better than his own, groaned in frustration and sprinted after him down the stairs and into the courtyard.
In vain, he tried to convince him that it was not his place to die for Britain, that it was not Rome's and therefore not Arthur's fight, but in the end, he could see it in his friend's clear green eyes, a message as loud and clear as if Artorius Castus had yelled it from the highest mountain. He loved this land, he had found his home here, and after Rome had betrayed him, Arthur would live and die for the only country he could call his own.
Lancelot could have screamed with rage, with disappointment and with sadness. He turned away from the hustle and bustle of the late night activity the sighting of the Saxons had stirred up and sought some peace and quiet. Without any conscious decision on the matter, his feet carried him to the stables.
Like any Sarmatian, the scent of horses, hay and leather calmed the dark knight's heart. As he passed the stalls to reach his black stallion, he suddenly stopped and stared in surprise. "What on earth are you doing here?"
Tristan was with his mare, brushing the dapple grey's pelt with long, practiced strokes. He looked up once, nodded slightly in his friend's direction, but said nothing.
"I thought you'd be with Caillean," Lancelot insisted. "We're leaving in the morning, don't you have to, I don't know, make plans?"
The scout ground his teeth slightly, the knuckles of his fingers whitened as he gripped the brush tightly.
"She's not coming with me," he pressed out between clenched teeth. Nothing about his tense posture invited further inquiries, but Lancelot had been one of the few people who had never been intimidated by Tristan's glowering. He put his hands on his hips and frowned.
"One more reason to be with her, if this is the last time you two will be together. A blind man could see that the two of you are in love."
Tristan's lips formed an even tighter line and he remained silent. After a few more moments, Lancelot gave up and continued to his own horse. He had troubles enough without borrowing someone else's.
...
It was a damp and foggy morning as the Saxons formed up outside the massive gate in Hadrian's Wall. Their battle cries resounded over the plain and served to make the blood of the civilians left behind the Wall curdle.
The clamor drew closer, the drums started to pound and the ceaseless beat seemed like the pounding of a gigantic heart, throbbing within the monstrosity of the Saxon army.
Tristan, Lancelot and the other knights heard the commotion as they left Badon Fort via the southern gate, their little group part of a massive caravan of fugitives. The Romans were leaving, the peasants were leaving if they had somewhere to run.
The Woads, Tristan knew, were stationed in the woods right behind the Wall, their archers waiting for the Saxons to cross through the gate. And there, up on Badon Hill, a lonely figure against the horizon, was Arthur.
He was decked out in full battle armor, his banner and the plume of his helmet blowing in the stiff breeze. His gelding, too, was clad in armor and shook his magnificent head as though eager for battle.
The sight of him alone left a foul, ashen taste in all their mouths. Bors drew his sword, spurred his horse to a gallop and saluted Arthur, yelling the Sarmatian battle cry with all his might. Arthur returned it and Bors rejoined the column. They rode on in silence for a few more moments. Their horses, picking up on their masters' distress, whinnied and bucked. Finally, Lancelot heaved a sigh and turned to his brothers, seeing the resolve he felt in his heart reflected on their faces.
Tristan met Lancelot's gaze squarely and felt a weight lift from his heart. Of course they would be going nowhere. Once more it held true that fifteen years of brotherhood could not be forgotten. Rome might hold no more sway over them, but the bonds of friendship did. They would stay and fight and, if the gods willed it, they would die with Arthur.
This was his home and after half their lives, it was their home, too.
One last time, he stroked the feather of his faithful hawk, who was once more perched on his arm. She looked at him with wise amber eyes and cocked her head.
"Hey," he told her softly, "you're free!" And then he cast her at the sky, followed her ascent into the clouds with his eyes.
"We are, too, aren't we..." Galahad mused, a small smile on his lips. "All of us." Gawain nodded.
"We are."
...
They prepared for battle in swift, practiced movements, gathering their armor and weapons from one of the carts and donning them in silence. Only once, Lancelot grasped Tristan's arm and leaned towards him.
"I don't know what happened between the two of you last night," he told him quietly, "but know this, and take it from someone who knows what he is talking about: the woman loves you, and you her! And I pray that you both survive this."
He did not give Tristan a chance to answer, but the scout would not have had one either way. Still, the thought stayed with him as he slipped his daggers into the many sheaths hidden about his person and strung his bow.
If he survived, he might just see her again after all.
...to be continued... It'll be one more chapter and the epilogue, I think.