Almost Had It All
I'm sorry you guys! I know some of you are shocked that I killed off Aylin, but it was going to happen no matter what! Like I said at the end of last chapter: she was dying! And Aylin isn't the type of character to sit around, getting weaker and weaker, just to die from illness. So the only other option was to stay and fight in the last battle. If you've forgotten the part of the story where her illness is spoken of (which is totally my fault, for not posting soon enough and keeping you up-to-date), it's in Chapter Ten: Birth to Memories.
Epilogue:
Now it seems I'm fading Seems you're wanting me to stay Push me under Push me under Now it seems you're leaving Push me under Push me under And I've been waiting so long So I wait for you to Push me under Push me under And I've been waiting so long So I wait for you to
All my dreams are not worth saving
I've done my share of waiting
And I've still got nowhere else to go
So I wait for you to
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
But my dreams would surely waste away
And I still have nowhere else to go
So I wait for you to
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
Pull me further
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
Pull me further
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
But we've only just begun
And you've still got nowhere else to go
So I wait for you to
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
Pull me further
Take me all the wayTake me all the way
Pull me further
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
And I've been waiting so long
And I've been waiting so long
Take me all the way
Pull me further
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
Pull me further
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
And I've been waiting so long
And I've been waiting so long
Take me all the way
Take me all the way
"Take me Under" Three Days Grace
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
470 A.D.
Hadrian's Wall...
Though it had been a month since the battle on Badon Hill, loss was still an emotion deeply felt within the Wall's inhabitants. The peasants had returned, along with Vanora and her children, which made Bors happy, though his plans for governor seemed unimportant now.
Vanora had spent the majority of the month watching over Dominic. The poor boy was grief-stricken when the news had reached them. Ganis, one of the former serfs who had stayed to fight, had been sent to give word to the caravan and had escorted the people wishing to return back to the Wall.
The environment had been sober and depressed, despite the recent victory, Vanora had noticed. At first, she had attributed it only to the burning piles of dead bodies. After all, when they'd entered the courtyard, the men had been standing there to meet them. It'd only taken her a moment to realize that one knight was missing.
Aylin.
One look in Bors eyes, and she'd known what had happened. She didn't need to see the covered cart near them to know what it held. Bors had merely wrapped his arms around her as the tears had begun to fall.
Dominic had remained withdrawn, even more so after Aylin's burial on Badon Hill, her grave next to her brother's.
And the people who had come to know the young woman behind 'Marsile' mourned.
oOoOoOoOo
Dominic sat on the grass and looked out on the field, the sun setting on the horizon. He knew this was the one place that he could go and no one would bother him. They didn't, because they felt it would be intruding.
He moved his gaze to the hilt of the sword–his mother's sword–and felt hot tears well up in his eyes once more. He was so tired of crying, so tired of feeling alone.
He blamed himself, of course. He had told her he hated her. He'd known then that he hadn't meant it, had planned on apologizing the next time he saw her. He hadn't thought it would be the last thing he said to her.
Dominic stayed until the sun had set, then made his way home. He knew that Vanora–who looked after he and Lucan like her own children–would want him there on time for supper.
He sat at the table long after the other kids had finished, picking at his food. He could hear the low voices of Vanora and Bors in the other room.
"What are ye talkin' 'bout, Van?"
"She gave me a letter to give 'im. But, I'd forgotten all 'bout it, what with the burial and all," Vanora replied softly. At mention of the burial, Dominic payed closed attention.
"What does it say?" Bors asked.
"I don't know. She didn't tell me and you know I can't read Latin!" Van retort in an exasperated tone.
"Alrigh', Alrigh'. We'll take the damn thing to Arthur and he can read it to the lad."
"Do ya think, 'e would do it now? I feel 'orrible not rememberin' it 'til now."
"Yeah, I'm sure he would. Grab the letter and get the boy, we'll go now," Bors said.
Dominic saw Vanora poke her head into the room and spot him at the table.
"O, good, you're still 'ere! Come on, Dominic. We need to go talk with Arthur."
The boy stood from the table and slowly followed the couple out of the house and into the fort. Bors asked one of the maids if she would tell Arthur to leave his bloody maps and get his arse down to the Meeting Hall.
The maid blushed and hurried off to do Bors' bidding, though Dominic suspected that she would use a gentler fashion when passing on the message to the future king. It was one of the only things that amused the boy nowadays, this joking banter between the men and their former commander. Despite, the people of Briton's petition for Arthur as King–and the man's hesitant agreement after a long talk with his friends and Merlin–the fellowship between Arthur and the knights was as strong as ever.
The trio waited at the Round Table for only a few minutes before Arthur strode in. Before the large doors to the Hall were shut, Dominic saw the scout, Tristan, walk past. Though he'd never really spoken to the man, Dominic felt some sort of connection to him. Only the man didn't look at him. When he'd asked Vanora about it, she told him that 'perhaps he sees much of your mother in you. It hurts him to see it.' He hadn't quite understood what she meant then, but over the past couple of weeks, Dominic had begun to realize. He'd seen Tristan out by her grave some mornings, just standing there, staring in some sort of daze.
Dominic was pulled from his thoughts when Arthur asked him a question and he realized that they'd already discussed the letter.
"Would you like me to read the letter for you, Dominic?" He asked again.
Arthur sat in one of the chairs and took the parchment Vanora handed him. Breaking the wax seal, Arthur gave one last glance at the others before opening the letter. Sighing softly, he began to read.
Dominic,
I write this letter in hopes that, one day, you might understand why I did things the way I did. To do that, you need to know some things about my life. I know that you're old enough to be aware of the circumstances of your birth and deal with it. You asked me once about your father... it is a hard question to answer, as I don't know who he is. I wish it wasn't so, but I learned long ago that wishing doesn't make things any different. But know, that I made my decisions based on your best interest. You might not agree with me and that's fine. Your care was entrusted to Fulcinia Honorius, a woman who had been kind to me during my enslavement, as I knew that, with me, you would never be safe. I was too focused on avenging past hurts that I couldn't care for you properly. And my vengeance had earned me several enemies... Enemies who wouldn't hesitate to kill a young boy if they knew it would hurt me.
You've always been in my thoughts, though for years I never even knew what you looked like. But when I saw you in Rome... you looked so much like your Uncle Kavan, and your grandfather, Tiran. You have our family's hair and eyes, my brother's nose and my father's chin. I thanked the goddess every day after that meeting that you looked nothing like your father–whoever he was–and every bit a Sarmatian.
I know that I'm not the mother you need or deserve. I've never known how to be one... my mother died before anything could be explained to me. But I kept you in my heart.
I'm sick, Dominic. As you know by now, I never intended to leave with the others. If you are anything like me, or Kavan for that matter, you'll understand stubbornness. I refuse to waste away. And, I guess it's the reason why I kept you at a distance... why I kept everyone at a distance. I felt it would be easier for you to except that I was gone if you never really knew me.
I'm certain that, through my actions, you'll be able to live a wonderful life, safe from those who would wish to harm simply because you were mine. That's all I've ever wanted.
I love you,
Aylin
oOoOoOoOo
Tristan worked the brush over the shiny black hair meticulously. Ever since Artay had been found on the battlefield flustered without his rider and with an arrow-pierced hindquarter, Tristan had taken care of the beast. It was where he'd spent a lot of his time in the last month. The stallion had seemed to know that Aylin was dead and had become unresponsive and fidgety around people, refusing to allow anyone close enough to deal with the wound.
It had taken a few days of constant vigilance and murmurs, but Tristan had finally calmed the warhorse enough to remove the arrow and begin treatment against infection.
It was his way of staying close to her, he knew. She'd gone so suddenly he was still reeling from it. And her last words hadn't left his thoughts, or his dreams. We almost had it, didn't we?
Yeah, and he'd give anything to have another chance at it, too.
He hadn't spoken more than a few terse words to anyone since it happened. The men knew that they could find him either here in the stables, on the training field, in the tavern, or on Badon Hill, but that he wouldn't talk about the battle. That, he kept inside. Even when Dagonet tried to talk to him about it, Tristan kept silent. So his friends were resigned to waiting until he dealt with it in his own time.
He continued the brushing, whispering soft words to Artay, who flicked his ears back. The sound of soft footfalls and sniffling reached his ears. He turned to watch Dominic slowly round the corner of the stall, then come to a stop when he noticed Tristan there. Dominic didn't say anything, but he sat on the stool just inside the stall door and looked up at the horse.
Tristan said nothing either. The two waited in silence, waiting for the other to speak.
"What's the matter with you?" Tristan asked gruffly, unsure of a child's tears and what he should do with them.
"She left me a letter," the boy replied softly, but the scout heard him.
"She told me why she'd left when I was young, why she'd stayed. Bu–but, I still miss her," Dominic's voice shuddered.
Tristan couldn't help but agree with the kid's last statement. But when Dominic's eyes overflowed with thick tears, Tristan was on unsteady ground.
Steeling himself, Tristan moved quietly over to the boy and hesitantly touched a hand to his shoulder. His breath hitched in his throat when Dominic rose tear-filled eyes to his, reminding him so much of Aylin.
Why did they have to have the same damn eyes, he asked himself.
"Artay needs exercising. Do you want to do it?" He asked bluntly, unaware that he was using the same tactic with the boy that Aylin had.
Dominic stared at him for a moment and Tristan had to resist the urge to fidget. He didn't have much experience with kids, but he felt like he could at least relate to this one.
After a minute, Dominic nodded his head and did what Tristan instructed as they led the horse from his stall.
oOoOoOoOo
When Tristan entered his room later, his mood was shaky. He stood looking at his bed, thinking of when he'd held Aylin there, loved her there. Clenching his teeth, he kicked out at the mattress, sending it flying to the floor, upended the table and throwing the chair. He didn't even flinch when his weapons clanged to the floor, something that should have bothered him. And he kept on throwing things until all his pent up emotion had been released.
Sinking down to the floor, he wondered how in the hell he'd fallen in love with someone so quickly, when he barely knew her. Setting his hand down to steady himself, Tristan felt something under his hand. Looking down, he saw a folded parchment sealed with wax.
His heart skipped a few beats as he opened it, realizing that she must have put it on the table that morning, but he hadn't noticed. And as he read the letter, taking in the curving script, Tristan knew how it was that he'd fallen.
It was because she'd had fallen with him. It seemed they were more alike than he originally believed.
oOoOoOoOo
Late 470 A.D.
Camp of the Eastern Legions, Asia Minor...
"I don't care, Rufio. I want those maps now!" Cornelius sighed. He leaned back in his chair, looking over the papers on his desk, then around the tent that had become his makeshift headquarters for the past couple months. Shortly after Aylin left with the Bishop's caravan, Cornelius had been called east to quell a mangy rebellion. Personally, he felt that the whole thing was overdone, as it did not take his legions to stop a group of mutinous peasant soldiers in an outer province. But what the Emperor wanted, the Emperor received.
It had taken more time to move the army to the province than to put out the rebellion, and Cornelius was looking forward to his upcoming leave, when he could return home to Greece for a short while.
Rufio, his secretary, returned with the requested maps, but he wasn't alone. Pausing at the tent threshold, Rufio nodded respectfully and announced, "Bennett, Captain of the Third, with a message for you, Sir."
Cornelius stayed in his reclined position for a moment, as his brown eyes swept across the soldier in close scrutiny.
"What is a captain from the Third doing all the way out here, hmm?" Cornelius asked, propping his chin in his hand and looking at Bennett with little interest. His curiosity was digging at him, but he always used this routine on visiting officers, to make sure they knew who had the power.
Bennett saluted the general, and stepped forward. "I carry a letter for you, Sir."
His attention captured, Cornelius leaned up. "And what is a captain doing delivering a message?"
"It was asked of me as a personal favor, Sir. By Marsile." Bennett stated, his eyes forward.
"Marsile?" Cornelius whispered. That was unexpected. "You were the commanding officer for the Bishop's caravan, were you not?" He went on when Bennett nodded the affirmative. "Then Marsile should have returned with you."
Bennett hesitated, glancing over at Rufio. "If we might speak privately, Sir, I could explain the matter better."
Cornelius dismissed his secretary with a wave, his eyes demanding an answer when the two were alone. "Have a seat officer." He said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.
"Sir," Bennett began from his seat, "The Bishop and most of his entourage were slaughtered by Woads, a tribe of native Britons, on our return journey several months ago. Marsile's letter, I am told, will explain the events that befell her in Briton. But she asked me to spread word of her death. That is all I know, Sir, as she said no more on the subject."
Cornelius reached out for the letter and gazed at the writing on it. Looking up once more at Bennett, he said, "Thank you for your diligence in the matter, Captain. Tell my secretary to find you a meal and a tent, you will rest as long as you need."
Bennett stood and saluted once more before leaving the tent.
With shaky hands, Cornelius opened the parchment and began read his friend's scrawl.
My dear friend and comrade Cornelius,
If you haven't heard already, news of my death is spreading throughout the empire and most importantly, Rome. Obviously, as you are reading my hand, I am not dead... yet.
I should have listened to my instincts more closely, my friend, for then I would...
The more he read, the more furious Cornelius became. At mention of her son, Cornelius paused, amazed that she would find the boy amid such circumstances. His fists clenched slightly as he read of the scout, Tristan, but relaxed again when he could practically feel the emotion in her words.
She deserves happiness. Even if it's not with me, he mused.
But reading of her illness and her confession of Morpheus use (he was only a little surprised she believed he hadn't known) and her plan to stay and die in battle, rather than waste away in a sickbed, caused him such pain, as her earlier words came back to mind.
I am not dead... yet.
And in his heart, he knew she was. Once she set out to do something, Aylin stayed at it until it was completed.
Nothing I could ever do would repay you or your father for all you've done for me the last eleven years. Your friendship and love is what kept me going in times when all I wanted to do was quit. I thank you for that. I will always remember you.
Iniga
Gently setting the letter on the desk, Cornelius placed his head in his hands as grief overcame him. His closest friend was gone. He knew it. It was then he decided that a visit to Hadrian's Wall was in order. Calling Rufio, Cornelius began writing instructions on parchment, telling his secretary to bring in his second-in-command, for he was taking leave earlier than expected. But he needed to make a stop in Greece before continuing on.
oOoOoOoOo
471 A.D.
Hadrian's Wall...
The fields were the greenest Cornelius had ever seen when he approached Hadrian's Wall, a few months after receiving Aylin's letter.
He still couldn't quite believe that she was gone, but knew that he needed to see her grave to finally gain closure. He traveled quickly, and alone. He'd needed to be alone, to grieve. He and his horse were dusty. It had been several days since his last shave, so his cheeks and chin were shadowed with stubble, giving him a haggard look.
He rode up the hill and found himself looking out on a slope of graves. Air chocking in his lungs, Cornelius wound around them, looking for her sword. When he finally found it, Cornelius slid off the horse and knelt by the grassy mound. Closing his eyes, he prayed. He had known what he would find, but the reality of it knocked the breath from him. He stayed there for a while, before saying goodbye to a lost friend and remounting.
Walking his horse through the fort gates, he gazed about his environment. The marketplace was full with chattering merchants and consumers. Children raced along the streets laughing, while the older men and women clucked at them in stern amusement. Cornelius continued on to the open gates of the inner compound, noticing that, while there were guards, people moved freely in and out. He had heard of the new King Arthur and his kindness, the openness a sign of philosophy on equality.
Dismounting, Cornelius grabbed his pack from the saddle and handed the reins to a man waiting on him.
"Visiting, Sir?" Jols asked the dirty and road weary man.
"Yes, I am actually hoping to speak with the King."
"Ah, Arthur and his knights are over there, playing," Jols replied with a smile, pointing to the training yard.
Nodding, Cornelius looked over and saw a group of men sparring and jokingly insulting one another. As he neared the fence, he tried to fit the men to Aylin's description of them in her letter. Glancing over, he noticed a man with dark, braided hair instructing a young boy at the bow.
" 'O, Arthur, looks like we have a visitor," Bors said loudly, jerking a chin in Cornelius' direction.
Arthur backed away from an armed Lancelot and looked over at the fence.
"Can I help you?" He asked of Cornelius, who stepped forward to introduce himself.
"I am Cornelius, son of Gattus," he said.
Arthur looked shocked for a moment before saying, "General of the Eastern Legions."
"Yes."
"A Roman?" Galahadsaid lowly.
"Galahad!" Arthur said sharply, then focused back on Cornelius. "You were friend to Aylin, correct?"
He nodded, and said, "I received a letter from her a few months ago. From her writing, I knew what had happened. I stopped at her grave before coming here." Cornelius lowered his gaze.
Arthur looked back at his men and saw the brief shadowed looks of grief in their eyes.
Tristan and Dominic came closer and drew Cornelius' attention. His eyes swept over Dominic from head to toe.
He looks like her so, he thought.
"You must be Dominic. You look just like your mother," Cornelius said quietly.
Dominic looked up at Tristan, then back at Cornelius. "You knew my mother?"
"Yeah, I knew her. My father took her in when she was about your age, raised her like a daughter. We were good friends."
Cornelius looked down at the pack he was holding and said, "When I read that she'd found you here, I thought you might want this." He pulled out a scroll-like object. "Even though she hated it with a passion, I knew you would appreciate in a way that she couldn't."
Dominic peered curiously at it, and Cornelius unrolled it with a smile.
Dominic stared in awe as the painting came into view. There, just in front of him, was his mother, beautiful in her blue dress and loose hair. He stepped closer to it and ran his fingers across her painted face. The men watched in silence. Though battle-hardened warriors, they recognized the precious moment for what it was.
"My father had it commissioned. It was amusing watching Iniga fight him every step of the way," Cornelius said.
"Iniga?" Dominic asked, confused at the name.
"What my father named her. 'Fiery', to match her spirit." He replied, and handed the portrait to the boy. "I thought it would be more at home here, than in Greece."
"Thank you, sir," Dominic whispered.
Arthur cleared his throat before saying, "I think we should let you clean up, rest and eat, General."
"Call me Cornelius," he stated.
Arthur nodded and said, "Follow me?"
The men left the yard, Gawain telling Dominic that they would hang the painting in a place of honor.
Cornelius hung back a bit, and walked near Tristan.
"You are Tristan?" He queried.
The scout stopped and looked at the General, before nodding.
Cornelius stared at him a while, then gave him a respectful nod accompanied with his thanks. Tristan stayed where he was and watched the Roman follow the others into the building. Despite the man's position in Roman society, Tristan found himself approving of Cornelius. As he was the only person that Dominic had mentioned his fear–fear of forgetting what Aylin looked like–Tristan respected him for his gift, though he was unaware of its true value to the boy.
With a thoughtful glance up at the Hill–at Aylin–Tristan turned back and walked into the building, closing the door behind him.
Everything would turn out all right. In time, everything would be fine.
Fin
That's all folks! I just want to thank you guys soooo much for all the reviews–they kept me writing at times when I really considered stopping. It might have taken awhile, but Almost Had It All is finally finished.
Please, send in a review and let me know what you thought. I'd appreciate it!