Chapter Text
* Warning here : There is a sex scene in this chapter, and while it is not long it is still present.
The rest of the travels back to the Wall had felt like forever.
However, it was not as warm of a welcoming as they’d wished it could have been. While Dagonet was resting and burning off the fever he’d caught from the water he’d fallen into, Dindan had been lost. But the pains were not over yet.
Dagonet was drifting between death and life.
Arwen had not allowed Lucan to see Dagonet as they traveled, she feared letting the boy see him like this would damn the man’s soul and crush the boy. After listening to Bors weep over the two men, one she knew had been so much like a brother to him from the moment of being there in Briton, and the other being a man she had not known was even Bors’s real brother. When they’d arrived at the Wall, she had still been covered in blood. Her brown eyes full of pain.
When Vanora rushed her, the woman had begun to weep as she cupped her face gingerly, she looked Arwen over. “Bors? Wh-where is-”
“Alive,” Arwen whispered. “Bors is alive,” Arwen answered. And her tears slowly fell down her cheek, Vanora pulling her into her arms, the blood on her long ago dry. “And Dagonet?” she asked with a soft, weeping whisper into her long, curled, and pulled-back brown hair. “For now, he is alive,” she whispered in return. Arwen hadn’t the strength to tell her everything. She’d be told later.
For now, they needed to get Dagonet to a real physician. Flucinia’s family herbal mix had saved Dagonet’s life in truth. The herbal, pasty clay had stopped the bleeding after they’d mixed it with the wet clay and wrapped his wounds. Currently, soldiers from the Wall were following orders given to them by Arthur to gather Dagonet as carefully as possible and take him to the Healing wing.
“Ah, God! Christ be praised! Against all the odds Satan could muster. Alecto!” Germanus said with glee as he rushed from the Roman Military Fort Hall and approached the boy while Horton came around the cart. The bishop was full of happiness that the boy was safe and sound, soon to be returned to his rightful Roman people. “You have triumphed! Young Alecto, let me see you. You are here.” He said, grabbing his face in his aged hands, but the boy had backed away from him, the cart behind him had stopped the young man from possibly running from the elderly Bishop. His mother’s hand to his arm as the boy stumbled back. Letting the boy practically flee from him if he so wished. But he would return to Rome.
Guinevere had reached up to the horse to gather the boy, but he was not there any longer. Concerned, she looked around for him, only for her heart to slam into her belly and watched with fear as he ran after the man being carried on a stretcher inside to the healer. Truly, it was the Soldiers he would have to pass who had her fearful more than the idea of the boy seeing Dagonet. “Lucan!” She called for the boy with panic.
“You, boy! Stop!” A soldier called for the child as he ran past him and three others towards the Roman Fortress. He’d only reached for the boy out of concern that he did not need to see the death that was here, the man being taken inside to the healer had a high likelihood of not surviving. However, he and the other two soldiers by him all stopped the moment one of the two knights had pulled a dagger and the others removed their sword, leveling their weapons on the three of them, the tip of the dagger being pressed into his throat had stopped him quickly. With his hands up to surrender to the youngest of the knights, seeing the tragedy in the man's angry eyes, the shaking of his hands and his jaw tremble with loss as he lowered his dagger and replaced his weapon.
“Our great knights,” Germanus said with joy as he turned and looked at them all, “You are free now! Give me the papers. Come, come.” He said taking the box of their Release papers of Duty. “Your papers of safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire. Take it, Arthur.”
Germanus looked at the Commander with growing concern, at the cold stare he was being given. They’d been gone longer than 2 months. He’d feared they’d been lost with the coming winter. The mountains were already in winter with the high mountains, but it was clear that snow was coming to them soon. However, with the coldness the man was staring at him with, Germanus figured there was no need for the snow with how clod Arthur’s green eyes were upon him.
“Bishop Germanus. Friend of my father.” Arthur said coldly, holding up the scroll that Dindan and his sister had delivered to him. Germanus was no friend, nor ally, to him nor his knights.
Seeing the scrolled letter in Arthur’s hand, the leather stamped with his seal, Germanus swallowed the lump of fear that grew in his throat, “Arthur-”
“I shall hear nothing of it, Bishop,” Arthur said coldly to him and walked away to his sister and Vanora to speak with the woman. She needed to be prepared for when she returned home.
Now nervous, Germanus forced a calm smile on his face, to play the role he had given himself in life as he looked at the rest of the Knights standing before him, “You are free now. You can go.” he told them nervously. Hoping the men would simply take their papers and leave so he could pack and leave himself.
As the few of them started to approach him and the soldier holding the box of release papers, one had taken a scroll and then dropped it at his feet with a cold stare in his brown eyes. Another had walked up to him after two more had taken their papers and took the remainder of the papers. Only then did this man turn to him with a cold look, “Dindan is dead.” He said coldly. “As are the men you sent after us… We know everything.” He whispered, then walked to the bald-headed Knight, handing him three scrolls. But the man refused to take them.
Lancelot had taken his own scroll, plus three others, then he delivered the Bishiop the very words he always wished to say to the bastard. They knew everything. Handing the three scrolls to Bors, one being for himself, another for Dagonet, and one for Dindan. The man had made it clear he was no Roman, that he had not betrayed their people’s heritage by taking on the Romans. That he too was also still under their service.
“Bors,” Lancelot whispered to the man, but he refused to take the release papers, hell, he refused to look at him or the scrolls. “Bors,” Lancelot snapped a bit, needing to gain his attention. Bors looked as if he were ready to kill the Bishop. But if he did that then they were surely all dead. When Bors slowly turned and looked at him, his dark brown, nearly black eyes, burned holes into Lancelot’s soul as the tears rolled down his face. “For Dindan…. For Dagonet.” He whispered. He knew that this was over. “For your brothers,” he said softly.
With trembling hands and his heart being ripped from his chest as he looked to the cart, his brother’s body being taken from the back and walked past them inside, Bors gripped the release papers in hand and took one from the offered collection in Lancelot’s hands. “This doesn't make him a free man.” He said to the Bishop as strongly as he could. Sadly, his strength had not reached his throat as he spoke, his words were whispered and rasped as he glared at the confused and likely pissing himself under his robes. “He's already a free man. He's dead!” Bors snapped, throwing a scroll to the Bishop’s feet. His brother was dead. A brother he’d been blessed to have seen before he died, to have returned to him after he lived for years thinking their family were all dead. Now, all his family from home was, and Dagonet was possibly following right behind Dindan. But until the man was really dead, he was alive. So, Bors still had him, and that was something he’d sink into.
The grave was being dug as of now, Dindan’s body was being prepared by Vanora and Bors with the rest of the Knight’s help. “He wasn’t a Knight, Arthur,” Bors said, his voice almost void. He was so close to emotional death that it was numbing really.
“He fought by our side, saved us, saved Dagonet, he died a Knight. Your brother will be buried as a Knight. Our Knight.” Arthur said calmly.
Bors watched as Arthur left the room they left their dead in overnight for preparation. “We can do that? Bury him as a Knight?”
“I can, and I will- with your permission that is. He was your brother, if you do not wish for him to be buried as a Knight, or if you know how he’d prefer to be-”
“No, no, Knight’s burial would be… That would be right… For him. Thank you,” Bors said. Resting his hand over his brother's wrapped body. The shell of him was cold as ice. No blood was pumping in him to keep him warm. It was how he truly knew his brother was dead. Looking to the covered linen wrapping Dindan’s face, Bors felt his chin tremble, his eyes burn with painful tears and his head sagged. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The funeral had been a sad one. Dagonet was not yet awake, and Lucan refused to leave the sleeping man.
Bors had stayed at the gravesite, trying to drink his sorrows away.
Arwen looked from afar as she walked back to the fort, Arthur had knelt at their father’s grave, Guinivere kneeling by his side. Feeling a hand resting against her back, she turned and looked to see who it was, and she smiled at the man sadly.
He’d seen her turn back to look towards the graves with Bors then to Arthur speaking with the Woad woman beside him. He was just relieved Bors was not truly alone out there. Someone would have to carry him inside at some point. Resting his hand on her back, Tristan looked down at her as she turned to him and looked up with her sad brown eyes. He hated seeing her so sad. Cupping her cheek in his rough and callous hand, he leaned down to her and pressed his lips to her brow. “Come,” he told her walking her inside.
She walked all around the city with him after seeing Vanora and the children to their home, making sure they were alright then she made her way to see Dagonet and Lucan.
The boy was fast asleep on a makeshift bed on the floor by the man’s side. Arwen couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Grabbing a blanket from hanging over a nearby chair she draped the cover over Lucan, pressing a gentle kiss to the boys' temple and one to Dagonet’s sweat-covered brow before she left to let them continue sleeping.
It was chilly for the moment, but it would get colder in the coming days. Winter was coming close to them. Yet, her belly rolled with anticipation the closer she walked to her home with Tristan beside her.
Once inside, Arwen leaned back against the wall by the door of her room, Tristan standing before her and removing her cloak from her body, dropping the red fabric to the floor, his hands ghosting over her arms while she trailed her hands up his shirt covered chest, unclasping each wood-notched clasp of his jacket, and removing his shirt from him. Looking up at the dark-haired man of her dreams, Arwen gently brushed her hands over his arms and chest as she slowly wrapped her arms around his body, her nails gently tickling his strong back and held him close to her. “I love you,” she whispered.
Smiling at her whispered words, Tristan brushed his knuckles along her jaw and laced his fingers up into her hair as he leaned down into her mouth, kissing her sweet lips. She was nothing but sweet and tender, her lips reminded him of roses. Soft petals of lust, blooming in spring.
Gliding his hands over her arms and down and around her waist and legs, Tristan lifted her up, and her legs locked around his hips. He smiled at her excited giggle and her hands grabbing his shoulders. Turning, he walked them to the bed against the wall by the window of her room, laid her upon her fur covers, and moved her dress up her legs, taking his time in removing her dress from her body, admiring her. Slowly, he moved his hands over her body and with precise accuracy brushed his thumbs over her perking nipples, her burning core throbbing between her legs as she breathed in and gave him a light moan.
Finally, he got his dreams to enact the devilish things he’d always wanted to do to her, to see her blissful, sinful reactions while he played with her body. Admiring her figure and the scar at a two o’clock angle around her belly button where that fool had stabbed her when he attacked her in that barn years ago. She had done rather well in fending him off. That was until he and Arthur heard her screams that night.
Shaking his head to clear that enraging night from his memory, Tristan dipped his head between her legs. He was hungry.
Arwen was in bliss. This had to be sinful. But she didn’t care. He was hers after tonight, and she was his. She gasped with a mix of shock and delight as he breathed cool air against her liquid burning core, and the devilish flick of his tongue, her breath was taken from her. Her vision blurred and colorful spots hit her instantly, her belly tightened, and her heart thrummed in her breast. Closing her eyes, she laced her fingers through his mess of hair, her thighs flexed and relaxed every few seconds as he licked and lapped at her core. “Tristan,” she moaned his name with a breathless lung. “Hh-ah!” she cried out. Her back arching, her chest rising.
He couldn’t get enough of her, she was intoxicating. So sweet.
Leaving her core, Tristan brushed his lips over her left thigh, up her belly to her breasts where he took as much time as he wanted suckling and loving her small mounds while he went to work removing his trousers and boots. Laying himself against her bare body, he moved his hips between her thighs and claimed her lips. Then he claimed her.
She sucked in a breath of delight when she felt the crown of his cock tapped against her entrance before entering her. Her eyes rolled back into her skull at how wonderful she felt being filled by him. Arwen smiled, her cheeks blushing brightly as his hands laced in through hers’ pinning her into the bed as he rocked his hips into her, her skin burned against his touch. She giggled feeling him nipping along her chin and neck, and playfully nipping at her lips as he thrusted up into her making her shout and gasp for air. Her belly tightened with each thrust he gave her, each thrust pulling a cry of pleasure from her. And Arwen did something she never thought she’d have done.
Rolling Tristan onto his back, straddling him with a smirk Arwen grinned down at him and slowly rose her body from him, listening to the way he groaned and sank herself down his cock. Over and over she did this.
She gasped with surprise as Tristan thrust into her with a fury she had not known he had, over and over, his hands gripping her hips like a snake strangling its prey. Her breasts bounced and her mouth opened in a silent cry of passion. She could feel bruises forming on her hips as he held onto her firmly, and with one more fierce thrust she felt a release of pressure, followed by his own soon after.
In their moment of enjoying their release, to breath as they panted for breath, his head rested back into the bed. Her body was flushed with sweat and heat rolling off her skin, parts of her body ached that she never thought could have ached before. But it wasn’t a painful ach. No, it was a hungry and pulsing ach for more. And something in her clicked with an idea as she grinned, rolling her hips on him, Tristan’s throbbing cock still inside her grew for a second round.
Tristan sighed with release and a big smile on his face. He grunted with surprise when she shifted on him, his cock twitching back to life quickly as she shifted and rolled her hips, her hands running behind her over his exposed thighs, her hips dancing against him. She had him breathing heavy and throaty breaths as he moaned when she leaned back a little then back up, her hands massaging from his legs over his stomach and gliding up his chest to rest over his pets as she rode him. He couldn't remember the last woman to do this to him or make him feel this erotic.
Grabbing her hips once again, Tristan thrusted into her with a powerful thrust. The gasp she took had him smirking as he shifted them on the bed, pulling her into his lap and pumping his hips up into her, her arms wrapped around his neck, sharing heated and passionate kisses as they continued to join their bodies.
When they fell back into the bed, panting for breath, their bodies covered in sweat and exhausted, Arwen smiled big when Tristan pulled the covers over their naked bodies. Looking up to the window high above the bed, she softly laughed at the early morning light she saw. No one had bothered them the rest of the day, until that night when the people began to panic.
They’d both taken the time to relax and clean one another after their all-night and all-day joining. They’d simply been worn out and had wanted to lay in bed and hold one another. It hadn’t lasted long though when Lancelot started to hit her door. “Tristan, get to the wall.” He ordered.
Tristan looked at the door they had not locked. Thinking the man could have simply walked in and seen a sight he may have enjoyed a little too much. However, knowing that tone in his comrade, Tristan knew to not make them wait. “Get dressed.” He told her, rolling from bed and pulling his clothes and boots on before rushing from Arwen’s room.
“Wait, Tristan,” she called, dressing herself in a clean dress. the sleeves were tied at her shoulders and two more down her arms. Grabbing her light blue winter cloak after slipping her shoes over her feet, she ran after him. Making her way to the wall, she met her brother and Guinevere, the two women sharing a worried look with one another, and took hold of each other’s hands as they ran after Arthur up the stairs.
Looking over the wall, Arwen felt her heart drop, and her stomach twisted. “Merciful God,” she breathed.
Seeing the pending doom over them, Arthur looked to his sister gazing out over the wave of Saxons camping at their door. Then he gaze dropped over Guinevere. Oh, how he wished he could stay with them. But he had a duty. And they had lost too many already. He would not lose any one else. They were free, and he wanted them to live free. “Knights, my journey with you must end here. May God go with you.” He told them, he knew the Saxons would have been coming for them, but he did not anticipate them arriving this early. “The city must evacuate. Have everyone pack what they can and leave.” He told Jols, “Take Ganis with you, he with help prepare the people.” He told his friend.
Arwen’s head snapped after her brother as he spoke to his Knights and listened as he spoke with Jols to evacuate the people. Her heart dropped with fear. “Arthur-” she called, moving to run after him. But he turned on her as he moved down the steps of the wall and wrapped her up in his arms. “Live, Arwen. Pack your things, leave with the people.” He told her, looking up the stairs to Tristan standing at the steps with the others, watching them. Nodding his head to his friend, brother in arms, and one of the best Knights he had, Arthur kissed his sister’s cheek with a smile. “He loves you, take care of him. Take care of all of them.” He told her and left her standing there in shock to preparing himself for battle, and death.
The Woads would help him, he had that much going for him, but he knew if he fought alone, he would die on the battlefield.
She had no words to say. She didn’t know what to say. Turning to look up the steps of the wall, she locked eyes with Lancelot. Why was he just standing there! “Do something,” she cried. Thankfully her friend and Charming Knight was on it, moving down the steps in a flash of speed, he grabbed her face, kissed her brow, and rushed after Arthur.
“Arthur, this is not Rome's fight.” But he ignored him, “It is not your fight!” Lancelot called after him, pleading with him to flee with them all.
Arwen felt her heart hammering in her chest as Guinivere moved past her, kissed her cheek just as her brother and Lancelot did and rushed off somewhere. Hearing the soldier's call for the other soldiers to, “Stand fast!” had her running back to the wall. With warm arms wrapping around her, moving her from the wall and into his embrace, Arwen closed her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat. She held onto Tristan like a lifeline. Hell, he was her lifeline.
He was panicking, his best friend was going off to die. “All these long years we've been together, the trials we've faced, the blood we've shed. What was it all for, if not for the reward of freedom? And now when we are so close, when it is finally within our grasp-” Angry he was being ignored and his best friend fleeing to prepare for a battle he would lose his life to, Lancelot grabbed Arthur with both hands and yanked him around to face him, “Look at me!” he shouted. His heart thundering in his breast as he looked at his best friend, his comrade, and the whispering words in his mind he wanted to say so very terribly to him, but he knew it was impossible. Arthur would never understand, he’d never reciprocate his affection, not like that at least. “Does it all count for nothing?” he whispered plea fully.
Arthur knew Lancelot better than he knew anyone. He knew his deepest secrets, and he knew there was something he was hiding from him. But he was asking him to flee a fight that would only follow them for the rest of their lives. “You ask me that? You who know me best of all?”
Lancelot felt his heart clench with fear as he looked at his friend's weak and sad smile at him. “Then do not do this. Only certain death awaits you here. Arthur, I beg you! For our friendship's sake, I beg you! Leave with us.” He licked his dry lips, “Leave with me.”
Smiling, Arthur wanted to hug his friend, but he knew it would do nothing but upset Lancelot to know it would be the last embrace they shared. “Then be my friend now and do not dissuade me. Seize the freedom you have earned and live it for the both of us. I cannot follow you, Lancelot. I now know that all the blood I have shed, all the lives I have taken, have led me to this moment.”
“If not for our friendship, then for your sister’s sake. Leave with us. Please. I am begging you. She cannot lose you, Arthur. Tristan… Tristan cannot give her your love, he has his own love to give her, but she needs you! I… We still need you. We will always need you!”
His heart wanted to break at his friend's words, but he knew what he was doing was right. To fight the Saxon’s. “Then you and the others must give her my love in place of me,” Arthur whispered, grabbing his dear friend's shoulder.
Arwen was not happy with this as she watched her brother in full panoply riding up onto the hilltop, in full view of both camps. Surrounded by waves of the Saxon army, the Roman evacuation, and the lighting of the balefires as the caravan of the people left their homes. She sat in the carriage with the sick, with Dagonet and Lucan. Watching along with her. He’d finally woken up from his long sleep, his fever had broken, letting them breath with relief to know he was out of the darkness of the woods death waited for them all they had to walk through and fight for their lives from such wounds or illness.
“I wish…” Dagonet breathed through his exhaustion, his weakness as he blinked through his fuzzy vision. “I wish I were fighting with him.” He confessed.
Moving over to the man, she knew Dagonet was not used to this happening to him. But she knew, even now, that he was too weak to struggle to fight by Arthur's side.
Looking into the carriage as Dagonet whispered his wishes to fight by Arthur’s side, Bors looked out across the grasslands of their rolling hills to Arthur, looked to his fellow brothers, he pulled his sword from his horse's sheath and rode out a short way. “Artorius!” he screamed out for his Commander and friend. Raising his sword as Arthur turned to them, Bors raised his sword into the skies and called to him. “Rus!”
Feeling a warmth of blessing from Bors, Arthur removed his sword from his sheath at his waist and raised it high into the air. “Rus!” He called back. Strong and high into the heavens across the hills back to them. He would not seem them after this.
With the Woads covering the wood line, prepared to fight with him as their leader, Arthur turned his horse to the battle ahead of him as the knights rode with uneasiness. It hadn’t lasted long with the sound of the drums loud over them hammering into the skies and the horses which sat their Knights became uneasy, refusing to move any further.
Arwen watched as the Knights calmed their horses and they all shared a look with one another. She could see their decision. No words were ever truly needed between them. With Tristan setting his Hawk free, she had a sudden feeling of dread setting in. When he rode up the carriage, she stood up and held his face as he came to her atop his horse and kissed him, rested their brows to one another. She forced herself to withhold her tears as she stood by the carriage, watching them down their armor and weapons before riding off to the hilltop with Lancelot in the lead.
Arwen walked by the carriage for the a while, her stomach knotting with so many fears she had not heard Dagonet until Lucan came to get her. “Auntie, papa needs to speak to you.” He told her.
Worried, she climbed into the carriage and made her way to the man resting on the furs. “Dagonet, what is it?” She asked him with worry, thinking he was in pain or worse, passing on.
Grabbing her hand, Dagonet looked at her under hooded eyes. “You… You have to… help them… Arwen… My… my armer, the dagger, the dagger. Use it… Kill the Saxon… Kill him… Roses may be sweet… Arwen. But they also have thorns.” He breathed. “The dagger,” were his final whispers as he fell back asleep. His chest rising and falling let them all know he was still with them. But Arwen’s fears were confirmed.
Dagonet had the same fears.
Leaping from the cart, she rushed to the armory cart, pulling the horse to a stop, and started ripping things from it, pulling her armor onto her and her boots, grabbing her arrows and her swords.
Rushing to Arwen frantically pulling her armor on, Vanora was near tears, “What are you doing?” she pleaded. But she got no answer from the woman, she was ripping the Armory apart looking for something after pulling her own armor and weapons on. So, Vanora grabbed Arwen by her arm and yanked the woman around to face her, “Arwen!”
“Dagonet’s dagger, where is it, Vanora?” She demanded from the woman.
Shaking her head, Vanora began to break. Covering her mouth with her hands, she moved the woman aside and searched through the armory, pulling Dagonet’s things from the far back and handing her the man’s dagger. “You will come home.” She said through broken words as she fought back her tears. “You will.” She demanded.
Battle Of Hadrian's Wall
The Battle hadn’t gone as they had thought.
Arthur had watched from afar with horror as the Saxon’s Leader, their enemy’s King, had been about to cut down Tristan, the Archer and Knight smirked at him, ready to be freed from this world, yet bitter at being taken from Arwen. However, the Arrow wheezing past Arthur’s ear struck him with fear that he’d nearly been killed with an arrow to the back of his head. Only the Arrow pierced the Saxon mid-swing, dropping him to his knees with a cry, the horse’s cry in the distance as it rode past him had his heart seizing with terror. “Arwen!” He shouted.
Dropping from her horse, Arwen drew her swords against the Saxon as he ripped the arrow from his shoulder with a yell. His blue eyes glared hatred into her brown eyes. “You… Woman.” He snarled.
She wasn’t going to waste time talking with this fool. Charging, she engaged him. She was trying to make time for her brother, to keep this Saxon away from Tristan. But he was fast, and his sword was strong, with one good swing from his sword, she was disarmed in a simple few minutes. But she had him where she wanted him. Of course, being disarmed had not been her plan, but she was close enough to use Dagonet’s dagger. She ducked and moved out of the way of his swings and there, managing to cut him a few times with the dagger, but the poison needed to be in his system closer to his heart, deeper to work faster. Shallow cuts would do very little harm in a short span of time.
The sudden pain in her chest stunned her. Sucking a painful breath into her lungs, her eyes wide realizing she’d gotten a little to close and he’d gotten her. But she wouldn’t look. She couldn’t look. With trembling hands, she lifted the dagger, trying to stab him with it. But her hands felt numb. She couldn’t direct her hand where to go or what to do.
With the sword being removed from her, Arwen stumbled forward and the Saxon grabbed her behind her neck, leaning into her as she stumbled, his hold keeping her from dropping to the grass as Tristan screamed for her as the Saxon pressed his mouth to her ear.
“Swift, but not good enough,” he whispered against her ear and dropped her.
She couldn’t move, her body was in shock as she blinked, her vision fazing in and out as Tristan crawled to her, lifting her into his arms, being with her to stay awake as Arthur fought the Saxon. “Dagger,” she breathed, “Tristan… Dagger.”
Watching her go limp in his arms, Tristan gently shook her. Praying she’d wake up. “Arwen?” She didn’t awaken. “Arwen!” He screamed. Dropping his head to her as he wept, his arms tightly around her. It was seconds later, hearing Arthur's scream from his leg being sliced woke him, his brown eyes burning with promises of death. Reaching for the Dagger by her, Tristan through it, watching with a sick, burning pleasure as the dagger sank into the Saxon’s chest, giving his Commander the chance he needed to regain himself and slay the Saxon King.
Losses were great, many Woads, Lancelot, and others.
Six months later
They walked up the mountainside to an open area of tall, rock pillars where the wedding was taking place. Arthur and Guinivere had married here not too long after the Battle of the Wall, and the funerals of their dead had been prayed for at these rocks.
But today, they were here for another wedding.
The Sarmatian clans who had survived the Romans had been brought here, to Britannia. They had been shocked that the cultures hadn’t clashed at all, by most of the Romans leaving and returning to Rome, even if the church still stood for those who still retained their Christian religion, and those who held their own separate religion were not judged.
Everyone seemed to be getting along over the several months of the rebuilding of the Wall and the city inside, the cleansing of the burning fields and the regrowth of their crops seemed to bring everyone together.
Merlin stood before the couple, smiling at one another and grateful to the gods they had not died on the battlefield together. He was filled with happiness they were here today, and five months along in expecting their first child. “Tristan, Arwen, you join your people through love and children, do you take one another as husband and wife.? A union of your souls. For eternity?” He asked them.
“I do,” Tristan said looking into the woman’s brown eyes glowing up at him, her sweet smile always intoxicating him with her warmth. He’d almost lost her that day. It had been his worst fear nearly come true.
“I do,” she said, looking up at the man she loved more than breath itself.
“You are one,” Merlin said, wrapping their wrists with a white sash as they held the golden goblet filled with wine. They all watched as they drank from the goblet and kissed one another deeply, passionately. The gathering of people cheered and clapped as the two kissed one another.
Eight years later
They were resting in the large Lectus watching the setting sun of the last days of summer of their bedroom balcony, the open shutters letting them see outside as the city light with nightly activities. Tristan rested against the one arm of the laying chair, his warm arms wrapped around his Arwen and their two sons and three-year-old daughter fast asleep in their embrace as they slept soundlessly against them while their six-month-old son slept in the crib in their room beside their bed. Kissing the side of Arwen’s curling hair, Tristan breathed a blissful and hummed breath. “You smell of Roses,” he whispered into her ear.
Smiling at her husband’s words, Arwen turned her head up to look at him and playfully nipped at his lips. “I know,” she whispered in return
“Roses and thorns, my love, roses and thorns.” Tristan whispered, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her lips. He was at peace. Ever since he’d been with Arwen, Tristen had been able to sleep a full night’s sleep in her arms.
The Saxon, when he’d ran her through, had stabbed her through her right side under her collar bone, and while she had struggled to survive and heal, she had still survived. He thanked all the gods, even her own God that one time in his entire life thus far, she had lived through the Battle of Hadrian’s Wall and every day since then and through the difficult birthing of their second son. She had scared him even then that night. When the Physician had told them all she would not make it, Tristan had broken down, filled with remorse at the news. He’d held her close that night wanting her to die in his arms rather than alone, listening to their newborn son screaming for his mother’s comfort after the birth. But she’d lived, she had beat all the bad odds, fought to live. Their eldest was Eight, their second son had just turned six, she’d given him a beautiful daughter, and now, their son. She was a real Warrior in his eyes. To carry a child, and give birth to said child, lose so much blood and still survive. Tristan relaxed an arm from around Arwen and soothingly combing his daughters’ brown curls from her face as she slept soundlessly on her mother’s chest. She would be just like her mother. The only two women to ever hold his heart. His sons had his fighting spirit, and their mothers heart. Well, maybe not Cillian, his eldest son was a lot like him. Silent, a prodigy if anyone was to say. The protector of his siblings, mostly his young sister, Cecilia. The poor girl had been born blind- hints her name. Not to remind her of her visual shortcomings, but to remind her that she was beautiful and stronger than any other girl growing up today.
Tristan knew he was blessed. By which god he wasn’t certain, but he still knew. And he’d thank any and all of those gods out there this minute for being so blessed.
Tristan was whole.
Tristan was home.