Blue and Yellow
And it's all in how you mix the two
And it starts just where the light exists
It's a feeling that you cannot miss
And it burns a hole through everyone that feels it
Chronology: Tristan is 18. Raja is 8.
A young deer. Perfect. And as horrible as it sounded, there was no Raja to save his prey from his arrow. She was told by her uncle to stay in bed. It was too cold for her to be out anyway. It was late October, and frost on the ground this early morn. It had been raining more than usual now that autumn had arrived.
Tristan remained quiet, positioning his bow to aim his arrow for an immediate kill. Even though he was an expert hunter, he didn't like his prey to suffer a long death. He always made sure the kill was as swift and clean as possible. He nocked his arrow, getting ready to pull the bowstring back. But before he could, someone pounced on his back.
"Run, Pebbles!" yelled Raja.
The young deer recognized her voice.
"Run! Jalla! Jalla!" she yelled again.
The deer took off.
"No! Damn it!" Tristan seethed.
Raja's small frame was still on his back, arms locked around his neck. Tristan knew she was smiling triumphantly. She held firmly to Tristan, her legs wrapped around his torso. She was light as a feather; he made no move to dislodge her from his person. But he was officially pissed.
"Raja..." he could barely get the words out. She lightly jumped off his back, looking up at him.
"Ana asif, Tristan," she apologized. "But I could not let you kill him. He has a family."
His eyes were molten gold, staring down at her sincere face. He could only think of vicious oaths to utter, so he just slung his bow over his shoulder, putting away his arrow, and walked off, biting his lip to keep his words locked in his throat. He had only taken about ten steps when he realized that she wasn't following him as she usually did...after sabotaging his hunt. He looked back to see her standing by a tree, looking up at two squirrels flitting about. Tristan walked over to her when he saw her ready to climb the tree. His long, silent strides had him near her in seconds, grabbing her by the waist, tossing her over his shoulder.
"How dare you!" she censured. "Nobody tosses an Egyptian!" Her defensive ministrations to impede him with her fists were as effective as grapes being thrown at his back.
"Well, good thing you're half Sarmatian. That makes you an exception to the rule." He held her firmly by the waist.
"Put me down, Trissy!" she commanded.
"No," he denied. "I'm doing this because when you tried this last week, you fell out of the tree and sprained your ankle. And," he added, "your ankle still is not fully healed. How the hell you managed to-"
"Allow me some dignity in front of the woodland creatures!" She said she in her child voice while she continued to struggle vehemently.
"I'll set you down if you promise not to run off," he compromised. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head, mulling over her options.
"Hmmph," she conceded. "Fine, I promise. Let me down."
He paused a moment, then set her down gently so as not to put undue pressure on her ankle. She pursed her lips and straightened out her jacket. Raja turned her head when she let out a few harsh coughs, covering her mouth primly. Once again, Tristan cursed himself for not being able to stay angry with her. Instead, he observed her pale face.
"Come on," he said. "Your uncle is going to be angry you snuck out of your room. Aren't you supposed to be resting?" They walked at a steady gait back to the fort.
Raja slipped her hand into his. "I'm not sleepy."
"You always say that." He nodded without saying anything. He knew she couldn't sleep. Because of the rain and thunder, her nightmares, she had been crawling into his bed more often, finding comfort with him, and always, he with her. Sometimes she would tell him of nonsensical, silly dreams that she had. She liked to tell him about those, those dreams that had nothing to do with "They."
Tristan looked at her again, concerned, when she let out another series of sharp coughs. His keen sight saw that she was favoring her left leg, as her right ankle was probably now throbbing from the strain she put on it before it was fully healed.
He sighed. "Why do you do this, Raja?"
"Do what?"
"Sneak out of bed when you should be resting. You make it worse."
"Ah," she waved it off, "who wants to be cooped up in bed? Besides, my uncle expects me to sleep, and I cannot. He said if I don't though, he was going to insist on giving me herbs that would make me."
"I don't blame him."
She scoffed. She was taking more weight off of her injured appendage.
"Let me carry you, Raja," he offered, even though he knew she wouldn't like it.
"I can walk!" she insisted.
"You're going to make it swell," he warned.
"Are you a healer now?" She raised an eyebrow at him, a slight teasing in her voice.
He waited until her attention was averted and swiftly swooped her up in his arms.
"Tossing me like a sack of grain!" She flicked his ear. "I warned you. Tossing Egyptians is bad luck." Nevertheless, she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. Absently, she grabbed hold of one his braids.
He grunted dubiously.
Raja gave a small yawn and he felt her relax further in his arms. Her hand still had a gentle hold on his braid, and he could feel her fingers tugging it ever so slightly. Tristan walked and carried her in silence, the wind whipping at his face, while hers was tucked into his neck for protection.
Her voice was drowsy when she broke the silence. "Will you do me a favor?"
"Hmm, depends on what it is."
"When you hunt, and I'm not around to stop you, will you save the remains of the animals so I can bury them properly? And maybe leave their hearts in their bodies?"
Damn, she almost made him feel guilty for going on a good hunt. Since she'd arrived, she was acquiring deceased animals and burying them with reverence. There was a clearing near their place in the woods where she buried the animals. Four birds, two squirrels, three cats, one kitten, one dog, two rabbits, and five mice. She wrapped them in crisp, immaculate white cloth, placing them in individual graves, marking their resting place with a rock.
The trees that surrounded the cemetery had Egyptian symbols carved in them. An Ieb, which represented the heart, the part of the body that Egyptians left in the body after death. She had the Eye of Horus carved high in every tree, watching over the land. There were also Ankhs, the symbol of eternal life, Shens, symbolizing eternity and protection, Maats, which represent truth, justice, morality and balance, Kas, souls or spirits, Sesens, a lotus flower symbolizing the sun, creation and rebirth, and Sas, symbolizing protection.
He nodded. "I can do that."
"Kattar cherak," she said.
Thank you. A half smile spread on his lips. Gradually he was learning and understanding phrases in her language.
When they arrived back at the fort, Tristan knew but didn't care that some people snickered at his friendship with the young Egyptian girl. He'd learned his lesson. Ardeth was standing there calmly, knowing they would arrive soon. He had a stern expression on his face, but an almost imperceptible twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes. Tristan handed Raja over to the stern arms of her uncle. She looked up at him sleepily, her head drooping on his shoulder.
"Can't toss 'Gyptians," she muttered.
"Pebbles?" Ardeth inquired to Tristan.
"Yeah," he replied with a wry grin.
--
Raja sat in the large, cushioned armchair by the fire, a warm mug of tea in her hands while her uncle tended to her swollen ankle. He set and wrapped it tightly in a clean cloth, slipping her thick sock back over her foot.
Ardeth leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed.
Raja looked at him over her mug. "You mad?"
He titled his head at her with a wry expression on his face. "What am I going to do with you, little one?"
She set her mug on the table, twiddling her thumbs on her lap. "I didn't want to stay inside."
"You mean you did not want to sleep."
"Please don't give me the herbs," she pleaded quietly.
He sighed, not without compassion. "You have to sleep, Raja, you know that. For your health."
She bit her lip, a somewhat forlorn expression on her face. "I suppose." She resumed taking small sips of her hot tea.
Ardeth looked at his niece, delicate, yet strong-willed, far too young to have experienced all she has been through in her eight years. He remembered the months after her parents had been killed; she was in shock when she was rescued, and remained in a delirious state, high with fever for many weeks. She didn't utter a word for over six months, only agonizing screams poured from her lips. She had allowed no one by her side save for her uncle, he had infinite patience with her. He cradled her when she was shaking uncontrollably, humming, or reciting an Arabic lullaby that her mother had sung to her to either wake her up or lull her to sleep. Those words calmed the young girl as if it were a spell. Over that year, a streak of white hair began to grow among her raven locks.
Since he had brought her to Britain, to his happiness, she improved drastically. Raja had formed a strong bond with her Sarmatian kin, she and Lancelot were now getting to know one another better. She trusted these men, which was a good sign that she was healing; though, not without the occasional setbacks. But what was really unexpected was the deep connection she had formed with the reclusive scout. Ardeth trusted Tristan with his niece; he knew he would never do anything to harm her. It seemed the more time the little Egyptian and the scout spent together, Ardeth heard more childlike giggles emanating from her mouth, and her precocious, care free demeanor showed as well.
And perhaps one thing that should have worried him - did not. He had gone to check on Raja late in the night, as he usually did to see if she was calm, but she was not in her bed. It had been raining that night, and one thing he knew she would never do was escape out into the night. But he let his instincts guide him, which led him to Tristan's bedroom door. Quietly, he opened the door just a bit and saw Raja laying peacefully upon Tristan's chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively. It had been the most serene sleep he had seen her in in over a year.
For now, as it wasn't even noon, he decided to dispense with topic of an herbal remedy to get her to sleep. There was no point in distressing her unnecessarily.
"Well, shall we continue with The Iliad?" he asked. They were now on the fifth book out of the twenty-four installments of Ovid's masterpiece.
She grinned, nodding happily. She put down her mug and gingerly took the few steps to her uncle's chair and settled herself on his lap.
--
Later that evening in the tavern, Tristan was sitting in his usual corner. He saw that some of the women were giving him odd looks, and come hither smiles. The scout never really assessed his aesthetic qualities, looks weren't important to him. That was for someone like Lancelot. Some of his brothers waved him over to their table; with his mug of ale he joined them in the throng of bawdy wenches and drunken bastards.
A woman refilled his mug, bending over unnecessarily to show her ample bosom. Tristan was a man; he couldn't help taking a discreet look through his brown tresses that covered his eyes. He also couldn't help but smell the other men she had obviously been with that night, and the tang of sweat and other post-sex odors. A few minutes later, after having finished her shift, she came and sat across from him at the table. Tristan had bedded her before, didn't remember her name, but he did recall having slept with her. Or rather taking her from behind, fully clothed, and then making a departure after catching his breath and straightening his clothes.
The blonde haired woman leaned forward, her breasts practically spilling out of her blouse. She stared at him lasciviously, her gaze never wavering. Cursing his male anatomy for responding to her, especially when he mentally wasn't in the mood for what she was offering. But it had been almost three months since the last time he'd had a woman.
"You look like you could use something tonight, love," she whispered, leaning further over the table.
Gods, he hated it when they spoke like that. And if he consented they more than likely thought it was their proposition that lured him in. He had a reputation with women, known as the knight that wasn't gentle, didn't communicate, didn't like the women talking, and more often than not stripping down to nothing but his undershirt, for he liked it quick. Tristan knew he wasn't the most upstanding citizen in the world, or even in the whole fort, but he still held no respect for the woman. Not because she sold her body, everyone had to make a living, but because, not once, had he ever heard an intelligent word from her.
With a twinge of resignation, he downed the last of his ale and stood; his cue that he'd take her. To his chagrin, she held onto his arm as if he were courting her as they walked straight to his barrack, quickly, not caring if she was having a hard time keeping up with his long strides. Tristan didn't like the women in his room in the keep. That space was for him, free of the smell of strong perfume mixed with the odor of other men. He opened the door to the small room, the fireplace unlit, no candles alight. There was only a slight cast of moonlight from the window.
Before Tristan could even latch the door, she pushed him against the wall, her breasts rubbing against his chest, locking his mouth in an aggressive kiss. She invaded his mouth with her tongue, but he pushed her away from him, swearing he tasted something sour in her saliva, and the aroma of a man's seed on her lips. He took her by the elbow, making her face a small table, turning her back to face him. She was almost heavily inebriated, and he knew this would be one of those nights when he did not fully bed with her.
"What's the rush, love?" she asked breathlessly, turning her head to look at him. She faced him, placing her palms flat against his chest. "Is this coat new?" she purred. "Nice stitching on this."
His face betrayed nothing even though he was annoyed, but he let her do what she was doing. She placed her hand on his erection, and he pursed his lips, his groan of pleasure sounding like a growl in his throat.
She got to her knees, untying his breeches so his phallus sprung free, throbbing with the need for release. The woman began her ministrations, and like always, he closed his eyes, clearing his mind to only focus on his inevitable release. Tristan thrust his hips, his fingers tangled in her hair.
"That's right, love," she crooned, "better with someone your own age, isn't it?"
Her words hit him like an axe to the head. He abruptly drew away from her, lacing his breeches in the process, almost defensively. She looked at him, confused.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he hissed.
She rose, wobbly from her drunkenness, chuckling at his ignorance. "Everyone knows, love. The maids have seen her leaving your room in the morning on more than one occasion."
A fire kindled inside of him, taking lethal steps towards her until her back was against the wall. The moonlight lit his face, his golden eyes harsh and menacing. She was not easily intimidated, though she would not deny that his gaze did send a slight chill through her.
"No need to be defensive. Granted, she is rather young to be plucked, but if you have a taste-"
His fist slammed against the wall next to her head, causing her to flinch. She was used to a man's temper, but she also knew of this blood-thirsty knight's reputation. Perhaps it was the ale she had consumed that loosened her tongue.
"What the hell are you talking about?" He wanted information. The maids could only be referring to one person, but facts were being left out.
"The maids," she repeated, as if she were speaking to a child, "have seen the odd Egyptian girl leave your room in the morning. All that time you spend with her."
He seethed at her deprecating tone when speaking of Raja. His rough hand clenched around her neck. "She has a name, whore, and don't ever use that tone when you speak of her." His hand squeezed tighter.
"Did you expect people to not figure it out?" She looked at him as if he were an idiot for thinking otherwise. "Let go of me. You're crazy if you prefer that little freak over someone better suited for you." She tried to push away from him, but that only caused him to slam her against the wall so strongly that her breath left her body.
"I should cut your throat for that," he growled.
She boldly spat in his face for his threats. "I ought to tell your commander about this! I doubt a Christian would tolerate one of his knights fucking the youngest slut in the world!"
A preternatural snarl emanated from his throat, punching the wall so hard that the wood split. The only thing that kept him from wringing the woman's neck was the thought of Raja knowing that he had hurt someone smaller than him, someone incapable of defending herself. Had it been a man who uttered those words, he'd have died a thousand painful deaths. Tristan looked at the whore in front of him with his eyes full of contempt and animalistic rage.
"Don't you ever call her that again. The only slut here is you. Now get out before I do something I'll regret."
She didn't hesitate abiding his order. He stayed in the small room until his breathing returned to a relatively normal pace, and he was not seeing red. He went to the bath house, scrubbing himself thoroughly before drying himself off and donning clean clothes. The bath had soothed his skin, but the whore's words still crawled through his mind like lice. She'd called Raja a slut, a freak. And once again, his blood boiled, falling into a fitful sleep.
--
Tristan woke to a sharp knock on his door. He dragged himself out of bed to face Dagonet.
"Arthur wants to speak with you," he told him.
Tristan nodded, not asking what about. He put on his boots and coat, and headed to his commander's office. Arthur had a serious, yet somewhat uncomfortable look on his face, as if he did not like what he was about to say to Tristan. Tristan sat down waiting for Arthur to speak.
Arthur cleared his throat. "It seems a woman is claiming that you beat her severely last night. Her words," he added.
Tristan stared at him placidly. He knew this was coming, it wasn't a surprise, and he felt no guilt.
"Did you, Tristan?" Arthur asked hesitantly.
Tristan took a breath. "I was rough with her. But 'severe beating' is an exaggeration."
He nodded. "Her neck is badly bruised, and her back is also."
Silence.
"She also brought some serious accusations against you."
Tristan snorted.
"I take it you know what they are then?"
He nodded.
"Her words against you are ridiculous, I know," Arthur said, "that there is no truth to them. But Ardeth did say he would like to speak with you about it after we are finished here."
"Are we finished?"
"I do not know for sure what she said to provoke you, but if it had anything to do with what she is claiming, I still think that you should try to control yourself better."
Tristan nodded, and left to speak with Ardeth.
--
The Egyptian was waiting at his large desk as if he knew Tristan would be coming to see him at that moment. He motioned for the scout to shut the door behind him and take a seat.
"You know what this is about," Ardeth stated.
"Yes, and what that woman said is not true." The constant reminder of her words made the hairs on his neck stand up in agitation.
"I have no doubt," Ardeth agreed. "A despicable thing to say, I did not appreciate it in the slightest." Ardeth's face was slack with seriousness. "I am well aware of the whispering that has been going about lately."
It was well and good that Ardeth did not believe what the woman was saying against Tristan, but he felt he had the obligation to let him know that one thing she did say was true.
"Something you wish to say?" Ardeth asked.
Tristan looked him in the eyes. "The maids most likely have seen Raja leaving my room in the morning." He left it at that.
Ardeth steepled his fingers, ever the wise man. "Because she sleeps in your bed with you."
Tristan's eyebrows rose.
The Egyptian smirked genially. "Yes, I know. I went to check on her before I turned in for the night a couple of months ago, that day you returned from patrol. Perhaps I am going senile in my old age, perhaps I should be more concerned, but I trust you completely with Raja, and I know you would do nothing to hurt her. I have seen her open up more in the months we have been here than in the year after her parents died. You bring peace to her, and if it is in your arms that she finds it, I would be doing her more harm than good by trying to separate her from you."
Tristan couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at his words. Having Ardeth's respect was an honor, as a man and as a warrior. He was humbled that he trusted him completely with Raja.
"People often try to turn something like what you and Raja have into something perverse because they cannot fathom the notion of having a relationship devoid of corruption. Some people live a lifetime without sharing a connection such as the two of you have. I hope that these events will not change your countenance with Raja."
Tristan shook his head. "She's my friend."
"Good," Ardeth said. "Because I think you need her as well."
--
After eating breakfast in the tavern, ignoring the looks he was given, he took care of Dyne, his horse, and completed his other duties, when he was finished it was a little past noon at which time he went to see Raja. She was sitting on the large cushioned arm chair, a chess set on the table. She turned and smiled at him, telling him to sit down. She was nibbling at a slice of an apple, alternating with sips of a hot mug of tea; Dory the Mouse was on her head.
"What happened to your hand?" she asked, grabbing it over the table with a concerned look.
It always amazed him at how soft her touch was, and how she worried over the littlest cuts and bruises on someone she cared about. "Nothing, hit it on a wall."
"When you were angry with the lady?" She tipped her head to the side like a small bird.
The first wave of shame hit him then. He didn't want to see disappointment in her eyes, but he felt that it was coming.
"I saw her bruises," Raja said. "You did that?" So far her expression held no judgment.
It took all his willpower not to turn his head away in disgrace.
"I know she said mean things."
Tristan nodded slightly.
Staring at him, her eyes seemed too big for her face, and her body much too small for the chair she was sitting in. So delicate a creature, and he wondered why it was he that she held no fear of.
"You know," she said, placing the slice of apple on the table, "there was this bad man back in Egypt that had wanted to marry my walida. He was a fat, ugly man with stinky breath. And when my walida married my baba, he was very mad. He was rich, and my baba was not, the ugly man thought that my baba had no place with a woman of noble blood." She 'hmmphed' primly. "And when I was four, I heard him say really mean things about my baba." She now looked at Tristan with sparkly silver eyes, recalling the memory. "It made me very angry. So I did something bad, and I still do not regret it." She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I do not."
"What did you do?" Tristan asked.
Raja hesitated. "I spitted on him!" she slapped her hand on the table, but winced at the impact.
Tristan fought to hide his smile.
"Right in the eye!" She nodded. "I did."
He saw, to Raja, that spitting on someone was an egregious act, at least at four years of age. In fact, he could not recall ever having seen her spit. She sneezed in little squeaks, she covered her mouth when she coughed; if she burped they were as loud as a bubble popping, and she would always say a contrite pardon or excuse me after. Maybe it was a thing that only people of noble blood could pull off.
"It wasn't a lot of spit," she protested. "But he was mean and he deserved it." Raja let Dory scuttle off of her head and into the palms of her hands. "Do you believe I did that?" She was now worried that her confession would change his idea of her. "Because if you don't, you can ask Uncle Ardeth. He was there."
He half-grinned. "I believe you."
Raja looked relieved. "Have you ever spitted on someone?"
"I might have in the past."
She grinned. "So, you don't think I was mean?"
"You're still the best person I know," he told her sincerely.
Her smile reached her eyes. "And you are the most beautifulest person I know."
He gave an inelegant snort. "Men aren't beautiful." Yet, he was touched by her comment. How many people could see straight through a bloodied warrior's armor?
"Well, I think so, Trissy." Raja nodded. "I do."
And you never would have thought in the end
How amazing it feels just to live again
It's a feeling that you cannot miss
It burns a hole through everyone that feels it
-The Used
2/22/07