To You I Belong

Rain fell down
You were there
I cried for you when I
hurt my hand
Storm a-rushing in
Wind was howling
I called for you, you were there

Chronology: Tristan is 27. Raja is 17.

She had been awake for a while, Tristan's arm firmly holding her against his chest. The sun was barely rising, and she could hear the twitter of birds in early spring. His warm, soft breath whispered across her skin, his beard tickling the back of her neck. His already hard sex pressed against her thigh, his chest hair was like a warm blanket down the valley of her back. She took comfort in being solid with him, knowing that she was bound to come apart soon.

Raja's Uncle Memnon was arriving today. She had gotten a letter from him in late fall of the previous year informing her that come spring he would be paying her a visit. Thinking of Uncle Memnon made her think of her Uncle Ardeth, and that immediate, sharp pang of sadness hit her heart. She still mourned him, was not completely over his death. As if sensing his Raja's unease, Tristan stirred, his soft groan of waking rumbling against her. Lazily, he kissed the nape of her neck, his rough hand gently caressed her breast, and she smiled.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked her, his voice husky.

"Not long," she replied, turning over to face him.

Golden-brown eyes fixed on her, sweeping over her face. He leaned in and kissed her, they fell into tender love-making that lasted and quenched their morning passion. They held one another for a while before finally getting up to meet the day.

Tristan casually observed her as she washed and dressed. She combed her hair carefully, doing her long black and white locks in a half-up and half-down fashion. She looked beautiful and genteel in her blue cotton dress which set off the silver of her eyes.

As he put on his boots he heard her melodic voice. "Good morning Tippy," she greeted the mouse.

Raja ran her thumb gently over the small creature's head and fed him a piece of bread. She placed the mouse in its little home that she kept against the wall under the bed for Tippy to have a place to burrow. By now, he was used to sharing their bedroom with the occasional animal. Sometimes a rabbit that she had pilfered from one of his hunts, or a chicken or duck. But he had to draw the line to the ducks and chickens staying overnight, as they either clucked or quacked incessantly.

"I think he'll be here soon," she said absently, looking out the window.

But he heard the anxiety in her voice. Her Uncle Memnon was not the most amiable of men, and had always harbored a bit of contempt for his only niece's tender-heartedness which he thought bordered on weakness. Memnon had first come to visit when she was nine, and had visited occasionally over the years, never seeming satisfied with Raja's progress, or lack thereof. He'd often pestered Ardeth to return to Egypt, or at the very least to stop coddling their niece, entreaties that Ardeth had staunchly, but respectably, ignored.

Memnon hadn't seen Raja since her and her Uncle Ardeth's excursion to Egypt almost two years ago. What would he think of her now? He wasn't sure if Ardeth had written to his brother about Tristan and her, not that he cared what the man thought of it. The Egyptian certainly wouldn't have had the time to write about their marriage, having probably planned to mention it when Ardeth had returned to Egypt. Tristan felt a stab of regret that Ardeth hadn't lived to return to his homeland – alive, at least.

"Don't worry," he said to her, embracing her from behind.

She smiled, though it did not reach to her eyes.

"He's not staying long," he reminded her. Tristan ushered her away from the window and out of the room to get breakfast.

The sun washed over them when they exited the keep, people of the fort already going about their day's work. Raja smoothed her skirts, looking towards the courtyard as if her Uncle Memnon and his flock of Medjai would appear out of thin air. With a steady arm around her waist, they walked to the tavern that already occupied a smattering of soldiers eating their breakfasts before taking their respective posts or riding out to another location.

Vanora's and Bors' brood of four children were sitting fitfully at a table, their father occasionally berating one of them to calm down and finish their damned food. Vanora's round belly protruded under her humble garbs as she served the patrons.

"Morning," Raja said to them.

The children greeted her excitedly, their favorite "aunt." Minutes later and beleaguered Lancelot entered, looking well coiffed, despite the smell of rich sex lingering about him which indicated a busy night. He greeted his cousin with a kiss on the cheek, digging into the meal that was placed before him.

Raja tried to eat, but she did not feel a bit of hunger. For once, Tristan didn't prod her. It was left partially unfinished and Raja excused herself to go to the stables to tend to Odin and Horus. Her two friends welcomed her warmly. She fed Horus a scrap of dried meat before primping his feathers with the softest of brushes. Odin was next and the big black preened under her careful ministrations. It was a good distraction for her, and she contemplated going out for a ride, but did not want to risk missing her Uncle Memnon's arrival. She desperately wanted to make a good impression, knowing that she had never quite lived up to whatever expectations he wanted from her. And now she did not have her Uncle Ardeth to step in for her, placing himself between Memnon and Raja, a silent - NO! - you will not censure her. Her Uncle Ardeth, the man who had so cared for her after her parents died, loved her unconditionally, was always understanding and patient. Now, gone. Forever. She blinked back unbidden tears, swallowing the rising agony that had built into a painful lump.

A horn sounded. She heard a bustle outside. It broke through her sorrowful reverie.

"He's here," she said to Odin, and the horse nuzzled her hair, feeling her shaken nerves. Raja leaned into his comforts, then set her shoulders straight, walking out of the stables to meet her Uncle Memnon.

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Tristan and Lancelot were just leaving the tavern when the horns blew. Speeding up to the courtyard, they saw Raja approached her Uncle Memnon, his pack of Medjai standing erect behind him. Raja bit her bottom lip and stared up at her Uncle. As Tristan took his stance next to Raja, the Egyptian's eyes flicked to him, Lancelot then back to his niece.

"Raja," Memnon said.

"Hello, Uncle Memnon," she answered softly. Already, there was a sheen of tears in her eyes, gazing at the man who resembled her Uncle Ardeth on the outside, but was nothing like him on the inside. She took the tiniest of steps forward, aching to give him a hug, but he only stared down at her, daring her to cry in his presence.

His mouth quirked in a wry curve. "Tristan," he nodded, "Lancelot." They both returned the respectful nod. Memnon's eyes narrowed a fraction when Tristan put an arm around Raja's waist, gathering her close. Then he caught sight of the ring on Raja's left hand. "What is this?"

Raja opened her mouth to speak. "Tristan and I were married just before Uncle Ardeth left."

Memnon's eyebrow arched speculatively. "With his blessing?" he asked, a lace of dubiety in his voice.

"Yes," Tristan answered.

"Hmm."

Raja swallowed, her mouth dry. "Um, let me show you and your men your quarters. You're probably tired and hungry from your journey." She spoke fast, trying to disguise the quiver in her tone. She greeted the men welcomingly, introducing them to Tristan and Lancelot, and the rest of the knights who by then had showed up.

Jols and a stable-boy took the horses to be settled, and the Egyptians and Raja parted company for a brief spell so they could collect themselves.

Raja kneaded her fingers nervously.

"He's just as pleasant as always," Lancelot snipped, trying to ease his cousin.

"Uncle Ardeth didn't write to him about Tristan and I," she said, her eyes wide. Mentally, she counted the months from the time she and her Uncle had arrived half a year ago and from the time she and Tristan became lovers and to the time Ardeth had left. "I don't think he had a chance," she said, more to herself.

There was nothing Lancelot could say, so he pulled her close, arm around her shoulders in an attempt to reassure her. "He'll be gone soon."

Her cousin wanted to do more. When she had told him Memnon was coming he had not exactly jumped for joy. He respected the man, surely, but he had nary a word of kindness for his sensitive cousin, and now she did not have Ardeth to succor her from the hurt. Lancelot knew she had yet to fully come to grips with Ardeth's death, she sometimes even slipped and referred to him in the present tense as if he still lived.

Back in their bedroom, as she waited for her Uncle to summon her she reread the letter that informed her of her Uncle's death. She didn't acknowledge Tristan when he walked in, too caught up in the powerful words that had made an unfixable crack in her world. Tristan never said anything when he saw her reading the letter that was by now nearly worn by the constant refolding and unfolding.

Raja finished the letter, her finger skimming over the parchment like a caress. Her hands were small, the flesh a velvety brown. Her nails were impeccably manicured. She smiled at Tristan contritely as if she had been caught doing something wrong. He sat by her on the bed, looking at the open letter, the squiggles and dots that made sense to her but not him.

"Did you see his face when I said that we were married?" Raja broke the silence.

Tristan hmmphed with a grin. He took her hand and kissed her palm, his thumb rubbing the silver band that was etched in words of Sarmatian and Arabic.

"He wants me to go back to Egypt with him," she said.

"Maybe." His voice was firm with an unspoken warning to the man who was not present.

"Why else would he come here?" Her eyes held questions that Tristan could not answer, the corners of her lips were turned down.

"Do you want to go back, Raja?" he asked her gently. "Even for a visit?"

She shook her head. "No." The immediate, sure response pleased him. "I..." her voice cracked, "maybe one day to see...their tombs, but not by myself, Trissy."

For so long she had been trying not to cry, and Tristan wished she would let them fall, not liking her to hold her emotions back so fiercely when he was there to comfort her. He did not know if she was aware of it, but he often woke up to her crying in her sleep. So deep was her sorrow that even the reassurance of love-making could not give her solace, and they often went for weeks without doing so. But she always liked him to hold her tight, and if that was enough for her, then he would provide it.

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Never one to drawl things out, Memnon knocked on his niece's door a mere hour and a half after his arrival. Tristan answered the door, meeting the other man's eyes. Raja walked up behind Tristan, Tippy the Mouse on her shoulder, and he opened the door all the way.

She smiled at her Uncle, hoping that he would return it, even if it was just a tiny one. But he didn't, and he put his eyes disdainfully on the mouse on her shoulder.

"Are you rested enough to have an important discussion?" he asked Raja. "I know how you often need your sleep."

Raja hid her wince. Uncle Ardeth had always insisted that she nap, even though in later years the word "nap" became "rest."

"No, I'm quite fine," she replied with more strength than she felt. "Are you sure you do not want to rest some more, Uncle? You've had a lengthy travel."

At this, a hint of amusement glimmered in the Egyptian's eyes. "Perhaps we can speak in Ardeth's office," he said. "Alone."

Tristan's jaw ticked. He had no intention of joining them in the first place, and those words were a purposeful dig to Raja.

"All right," she capitulated, staring back at Tristan to tell him she would be fine.

He nodded. "I'll be here," he replied, bussing her cheek with a kiss, his hard eyes washing over Memnon, telling him to watch his words. He met Memnon's knowing expression with equal understanding, knowing that the Egyptian was rarely forewarned of anything. He took Tippy from Raja.

Tristan left the door open, hearing Memnon's and Raja's footsteps tap down the hall. He let out a sigh, and Tippy squeaked in his hand. "You can shit in his room if he upsets her."

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Raja kept what was once her Uncle Ardeth's study in immaculate condition. She often sat in here, a small fire going, as she watched the horses in the corral or Horus and Penelo flying in the air. When Tristan was away, she sometimes fell asleep in the study, not bothering to light the fire during those times. And at times she would go and stand in the bedroom Ardeth had once occupied, trying to catch a sense of him, and sometimes she did, but it went as quickly as it came leaving her bereft and cold.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked him. There was a tray of beverages and fruit on the table, the fireplace already alit.

"No thank you," he replied.

She did not take any refreshments for herself. Raja gestured towards the empty chair that was hers, and she took her Uncle Ardeth's, the idea of Memnon sitting in her deceased Uncle's chair a disturbing one.

As they sat across from each other, a table separating them, Memnon maintained an arid quiet that made Raja feel like a small child about to be reprimanded. Her hands were placed on her lap, her palms sweating, her fingers laced tightly. She did her best to keep her head up and shoulders back.

"When did you and Tristan advance your relationship?" he asked.

The question was not one she was expecting, at least not so soon. She wiped her hands on her skirts. "A couple of months after Uncle Ardeth and I returned here."

"And he approved?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't he?" she questioned boldly. "He likes Tristan."

Memnon's face went slack. "Liked," he reminded her, his eyes mere slits.

"Liked," she repeated.

"You said 'likes'."

"I know. It slipped out." Raja was beginning to lose the small bit of confidence she had bolstered.

He shook his head, letting the subject go. "It is not a matter of character," he went on. "I was thinking of the age difference, really."

Raja's brow rose. "Mywalida and baba were ten years apart as well."

"'Aisha was twenty," he pointed out, but then waved it all off. "Oh well. An irrelevant lecture. Though, I suppose, looking back, I am not all together surprised."

"Uncle Ardeth wasn't either. He said he knew it would happen someday."

A glimmer of wry amusement twinkled in Memnon's obsidian eyes. "He would."

And for a moment, Raja thought she saw wisps of sadness veil her Uncle Memnon's face, but it was quickly gone.

"But this makes it all the more difficult."

"Makes what difficult?" she asked, suddenly wary.

He dipped his head to the side. "There was an agreement that if Ardeth were to pass, then I would become your guardian. And you are hardly of age, so you are now my responsibility."

"No, I'm not your responsibility."

He was silent for a moment. "You do not belong here."

"I belong with Tristan."

"Romantic nonsense. I do not know what my brother was thinking leaving you behind here. But I will not."

Raja's jaw clenched. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying, you are not of age, I am your guardian, and you will return to Egypt with me."

Her blood ran cold, and she shook her head adamantly. "No. I won't. I'm married-"

"Your Sarmatian kin are not allowed to marry while they serve their time."

"I know. But we will after Tristan gets his papers."

He scoffed. "And when will that be?"

"About five years."

"If he survives."

Raja took a deep breath, determined not to be bullied. "Uncle Ardeth arbitrated the ceremony. So like it or not, I am not leaving here."

Silence. "And what if Tristan does die before his time is served? You will be alone here."

"What if you were to die if I was with you in Egypt? I would be alone there, too."

"It is your homeland."

"My home is wherever Tristan is," she replied with conviction.

He let out an oath under his breath. "All Ardeth's coddling has done you no good. You have always had someone to care for you, and you believe you always will."

"I know that Tristan could die. I know the possibility of being alone."

"But the question is – are you strong enough to stand alone?" When she made no sound, he went on, "Even now you refer to Ardeth as if he were still alive, and if not for Tristan or your cousin, would you have made it these past months?"

Now she had to fight back the tears, because she did not know the answer to that question. Or maybe she did. She doubted she could have gotten through the loss of her Uncle and baby without Tristan, Lancelot or the rest of her family.

"You have no sense of independence, Raja," he lectured. "Ardeth thought he was healing you, but it was only hurting you. He left you with no resources to care for yourself-"

"I can," she interrupted. "I can take care of myself. If it weren't for Uncle Ardeth caring for me as he did, then I would be worse off. Do not demean his love for me by saying it has made me weak, or that he was wrong."

Surprised by his niece's outburst he paused. "I do not mean to disparage Ardeth. But I see you and I see a woman-child. The woman is married and goes about being an adult, but the child still plays with animals, and harbors mice in her bedroom, escaping from the harsh realities of the world, pretending that she can speak to the creatures of the Earth."

Inside, Raja simmered at his criticizing, but it also hurt because she felt his words held a ring of truth. She still did a lot of things she had done as a child. She took care of wounded animals, picked flowers and made garlands, spoke to her animal friends...were these actions childish?

Memnon sighed heavily. "I wonder...if Ardeth would be alive today if he had heeded me and returned to Egypt years ago."

Raja's eyes settled on her Uncle unwaveringly.

"He stayed here because of you," he told her. "As long as you wished to remain here, he would reside here. Believing you were being healed," he said the word with contempt.

But she knew what he was saying beneath his words. It was her fault Uncle Ardeth was dead. Had she been selfish in declaring she wanted to stay here? Uncle Ardeth had told her he would never leave her, of course, she had been a child then. And it had been her choice to remain behind here while he went ahead. If she had been on that ship...she would have been dead, too. But if she had never returned here after their sojourn two years ago, her Uncle Ardeth would most likely be alive. Two tears ran unchecked down her face, that stabbing pain in her heart resurrecting its violent tattoo of invasion.

There was a gasping cry she did not recognize as her own as anguish ripped through her senses, blanking out the rest of the world.

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"I'm fine," she repeated, still shaken, face flushed from crying.

Tristan didn't believe her. He had been keeping an ear open just in case he would be needed, and not even an hour later, he heard Raja crying from her Uncle's study. When he had entered the room she was hunched over in her chair, body tense, taking in sharp breaths as Memnon had been standing over her, ordering her to compose herself. The Egyptian had looked at Tristan as if he'd been expecting him.

Tristan had kneeled down, his face close to her hidden one. He got her catch her breath and look up at him, and he was met with an abyss of pain in her wide pupils. He took her up to their bedroom where she was now telling him that nothing was the matter.

Raja wiped her face with a cool cloth, her back to Tristan, feeling the heat of his gaze on her. She shouldn't have broken down like that, especially in front of her Uncle. She hadn't even realized it until Tristan was next to her. Raja couldn't bear to look at her Uncle Memnon as Tristan escorted her from the room, she was so ashamed and embarrassed. She inhaled deeply, giving her hair a pat down before facing Tristan.

"Don't look at me like that," she lectured, trying for a playful tone. But her smile wouldn't hold. But she continued to try, and with a forced note of cheer she said, "He tried to tell me that I had to return to Egypt with him, him being my guardian now."

"He can't take you away," Tristan said firmly.

"I know. I told him the same thing."

He knew that nothing good would come from Memnon visiting here. He didn't like seeing Raja attempt to harden herself, it kept blinking on and off in her eyes, and he dreaded that it would remain permanently. Tristan gathered her close in his arms, holding tight to this Raja that he loved. He felt her resist for a moment, determined to stand on her own, but after a moment she leaned into him, accepting his comforting ministrations, lolling her into a state of fatigue.

It was past noon, but Raja felt as if it had been much longer since her Uncle had arrived.

"I won't let him take you away, Raja, don't worry," he said.

"I'm not worried about that, Trissy," she assured him, pecking him on the lips.

"Good."

But she remained in a melancholic repose. Raja sat down on her cushioned chair by the open window. Tippy ran along the walls to her, scrambling up the arm rests and into Raja's loving hands. Despite what Memnon had said, nothing could make her cease her care for her animal friends, nor make her ashamed of it. Not this.

Tristan watched as Raja was soothed by Tippy, petting the small creature like a lucky talisman. Animals always seemed to do something for her that no human could. And he did not want her to lose that.

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Tristan felt no choice but to confront Memnon. He never understood the man, and could not glean if he hated Raja because she kept Ardeth from returning to Egypt, or truly because he thought her weak.

In Ardeth's study, Memnon turned when he heard the footsteps. "Ah," he said, giving Tristan a half-grin, "I wondered when someone would appear to defend Raja."

He did not reply to the Egyptian's barb, but kept his face expressionless as he shut the door behind him. Memnon turned away from the window, facing Tristan head on who was leaning against the door.

"I don't know what you said," Tristan began, "but obviously it was nothing she needed to hear."

"That is where you are wrong," Memnon interjected. Then he chuckled ruefully. "You are so much like Ardeth in trying to protect her. I do not think he understood that he could not shield her from everything."

"He knew that."

"Hmm. Do you?"

"Yes."

Silence. He took a breath. "Any how, I told her she was to return with me to Egypt. And to my surprise, she adamantly refused."

"She's braver than you think."

"So you and my brother say." Memnon shook his head slightly. "She is still so very childlike."

"That's called innocence."

The Egyptian's eyes widened a fraction. "Innocence? She lost that years ago."

Tristan bristled. "You never understood, you still don't. It's pointless talking to you. And you'd do better to leave here."

He smirked. "I had not intended to stay long. And I had fully intended to take Raja along with me when I left." At Tristan's flashing eyes, he went on, "But I do not think I will press that issue. Her father never wanted her here, but so be it."

Tristan knew that. Raja often said that her father would never take her to Sarmatia as long as Rome occupied it. And her father would never see the need to go back to Britain either, the place where he spent fifteen years as a little more than a slave.

"My men and I will leave tomorrow afternoon," Memnon stated, staring back out of the window. "And if Raja should change her mind..."

"She won't," Tristan interrupted harshly. "She belongs with me."

"What is it you think you can do for her here? She had many more opportunities to further herself in Egypt. She is a wealthy girl, she is of noble blood."

With every word, Tristan's ire grew, but he tamped it down. Sometimes he used to think by wanting her here with him that he was holding her back for a greater future. He was a soldier, he was not rich, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that that did not matter. So he had learned over time. "That doesn't matter."

Memnon let out a heavy breath. "So be it," he murmured ominously. "So be it."

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Raja had wanted to speak with her Uncle Memnon further the previous day, but she could think of nothing to say to him. Her heart ached, wanting to unite the gap between her and her only living Egyptian relative. The closest connection she had to her parents and Uncle Ardeth. She watched as they mounted in the courtyard.

"Wait!" Raja rushed forward. "Uncle Memnon."

Memnon halted and stood before his niece. And was taken aback when she threw her arms around him in a tight hug. After a moment, his arms embraced her.

"I'm sorry I never could be whatever it was that you wanted me to be," she said.

His heart softened. "I am not my brother, niece," he told her, his voice the most gentle he had ever used. "I show my caring in different ways."

They pulled apart, and that gap was not completely bridged, but a little. Raja smiled at him, and even the stoic Egyptian lent his niece a smile of his own.

"Can I write to you?" she asked.

"I would like that, Raja."

Raja stepped back so he could mount his horse, and a moment later she watched as the dirt billowed under their hooves, and her Uncle Memnon rode off. Tristan had been standing a few paces away, and he now joined Raja.

"The last time," she whispered, "I saw an Uncle ride off from here, he died before I could see him again." She felt his arm go around her waist and his kiss that he placed on her head.

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TWO WEEKS LATER...

Arthur broke the official seal on the missive and began to read the words. His heart dropped in his stomach, his face went pale. He shook his head to clear it and read the letter over again, praying that he was misreading the words.

"Arthur, you look as if you've seen a ghost," Lancelot drawled as he walked into Arthur's study. "The Holy One, perhaps?" But his sly grin faded when Arthur stared at him with jade eyes filled with abject horror. "What is it?"

Arthur's hand held the missive a bit too tightly, but he extended the paper to Lancelot, looking down at his desk as he listened to his friend's mumbled words as he read.

"This is a mistake," Lancelot said adamantly. He looked at the other man beseechingly. "This is a mistake."

He shook his head.

"It is!" he insisted, his voice rising. "You'll have to write them back and tell them."

"It is not a mistake, Lancelot," Arthur said, his voice heavy. "It has an official seal of Rome."

Lancelot clenched his teeth, his face turning crimson with disbelieving rage. "This is horseshit!" he shouted. "Those bastards can't do this! She's female!"

Arthur expelled a breath of bitter air. "There isn't a written word that says women cannot serve."

He scoffed. "Why would they even care?" Moment by moment, his rage was waxing into dread. None of this made the least bit of sense. "Write them back Arthur, and tell them." The piece of parchment was becoming crinkled in his clenched fist.

He did not reply.

Lancelot slammed his fist on the desk and shoved his face in front of Arthur's. "Write them! Now!"

"I can't!" Arthur yelled, just as enraged, confused and fearful as Lancelot. "Do you know who told the Legate Commander about Raja?"

"What does that matter?"

"It was Memnon, Lancelot."

Lancelot took a step back. "Why would her own Uncle do this to her?"

"Because he wants me to be stronger."

Both men turned, hearing the soft, gentle voice of Raja. Tristan was standing next to her, fuming, only being held back by Raja's firm grip around his wrist. In her other hand she held her own letter.

"Did you know he would do this, Raja?" Arthur asked.

She held up the letter in her hand. "He gave this to me the night before he left and told me to open it after he was gone."

"And you didn't tell me," Tristan growled.

"There was nothing to be done," Raja said. She was calm, accepting, far more than the other three men. She almost seemed at peace with her lot. She stepped further into the room, letting go of Tristan's wrist.

Tristan grabbed the wrinkled parchment from Lancelot's hand and read it himself.

"Try not to be angry," Raja told them. "There is nothing anyone can do but accept this."

"But..." Lancelot was still lost. Gods, he didn't want his beloved cousin to be out there on the battlefield, to have blood on her hands, to suffer from the harsh winters on the outside, the long journeys.

Tristan stalked out of the room in fury.

Raja watched him go with sorrow on her face, then turned back to Lancelot and Arthur. The room was silent.

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"You wanted to talk to me Arthur?" Raja said.

Arthur smiled at her solemnly behind his desk. He had been contemplating all day how he could undo this, she was like a little sister to him and it killed him for him to know that he could do little about this. If he could not keep her from this completely, he would try to keep her from it as much as possible.

Raja sat down and waited for him to speak.

"I wish I could change this."

"I know."

"You are like a sister to me, Raja, and if I cannot undo this, then I will protect you from it as I can."

"How?"

"I was thinking of your health," he met her eyes straight on. "During the winters you will stay behind. During rainy weather you will stay behind. Any sort of climate that will ail you, you will not go in."

Raja was silent for a moment.

Arthur rushed on before she could contradict him, "You are a strong person Raja, but no amount of strength could guard you from the cold. And if you ever feel the slightest bit ill, tell me and I will do what I can to make it easier on you."

She bit her bottom lip. She understood that the cold was most likely a more formidable enemy than any Woad or Saxon in battle. But she would not shirk her duties. If Arthur wanted to stay behind during those times, she would, but as long as the weather held, she would go out there and do what she had to do. "My father survived this," she said with conviction, "I will, too."

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Tristan sat at their place in the woods, the wind blew, leaves rustled, the moon reflected off of the lake. Why? Goddammit, he could kill Memnon for doing this. Didn't he know? She was fragile. Her Uncle Ardeth would never had stood for this. Her spirit may be stronger than a thousand men, but what could her body do to fight the harsh conditions of a warrior? His Raja, his sweet Raja.

"Trissy?"

He turned to see her standing a few paces away, he hadn't even heard her footsteps. Her hair blew across her face like a curtain of silk, her eyes sparkled in the moonlit night, the innocence he adored exuded from her, his heart swelled. She sat down beside him and linked her arm with his, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I love you," she said.

Raja did not tell him about the stipulation in the letter her Uncle Memnon had written to her. It was in Arabic, so she did not need to worry about Tristan knowing. Memnon had written to her of what he was going to do, and at first she'd been angry, then horrified, but the storm had calmed inside of her and she understood to the best of her ability. And he wrote that she could avoid all this, if she returned to Egypt. Free and clear, no consequences. But she would not tell Tristan that. Because no matter how much pain it would cause him, he would want her to go, to save her from this plight.

But he could not protect her from everything, and she would not run away, she would not take the easy way out. He wouldn't see that that was what her Uncle Memnon was half expecting her to do. Tristan wouldn't care as long as she was not in the thick of battle. Both of them had told Memnon that they belonged with each other, and Memnon believed that every conviction should be strong, and should never be swayed by harsh realities. And Raja belonged with Tristan. Tristan belonged with Raja. Nothing could separate them.

"We'll survive this, Trissy," she whispered. "Nothing can take me away from you."

No, I won't let it, he thought. We belong together.

"I love you, too," he said.

"Don't forget, you said you would help me put up bird houses tomorrow."

He laughed for the first time that day. "I wouldn't forget." He nuzzled her head.

"Good. And I think we'll also pick some flowers," she chattered. "I can get twice as many garlands finished if you help."

He groaned.

She giggled, and tackled him to the ground, which she wouldn't have been able to do if he hadn't let her. "Don't snivel, Trissy."

He smiled and pushed her on her back. "No one's sniveling woman," he countered, and his lips met hers.

Whenever dark turns to night

And all the dreams sing their song

And in the daylight forever

To you I belong

-BWitched

9/13/07