The Prince's Thief

To Beg For a Life

             Images of an injured, dying Tristan haunted my sleep. I spent most of the night turning on the earth, unable to truly settle down and rest. My nose twitched as a cold air hit it, sending a small chill throughout my exposed skin. I opened my eyes to find it was still dark, the forest as silent as bird whom had lost its singing voice. William was asleep just ahead of me, Tristan to my left, between the fire and myself. I lay awake for more time than I bothered to keep track of, as the forest slowly grew more visible through my adjusting eyes. I was unsure when I fell back to sleep, though I believe it was not long after midnight. 

When I woke again, the sun had begun to rise into the sky. Any one of us could easily tell that Arthur was wanting to be on the way again, but said nothing. He knew as well as William or I that Tristan should not be moved in this state.

" You should go on ahead, without us, or you shan't reach the mountains of Gorlaues in time. I will stay behind with Tristan and do my best to make him well, or at least well enough to travel. He will need a physician far more skilled than my knowledge, which is poor at best, if he is too recover." I suggested, the words tasting bitter coming out of my mouth. I had dreamed of nothing but a quest such as this for many years, and a day after I had been given the chance, it seemed it would be taken back. After all, how could I abandon the friend that had stood by my side for years? The only true friend I had?

" Absolutely not." Arthur replied firmly. I was surprised, to be quite honest.

" I will not leave a knight behind, unsure of his fate. I will not leave a good knight and a good friend behind. And I will not leave you behind. But none of us are safe in these parts of the woods. Elyhas, take two or three more men with you and look for a more sheltered and protected area to make camp, something harder to attack and easier to defend. Something more protected from the elements. Tristan won't last long if he should take ill due to the weather." Arthur replied, coming to crouch beside Tristan.

" We'll have you well looked after. When you are fit enough to travel, we will get you home to Calber. Don't you worry, you will live to swallow another of Issiels disgusting remedies." Arthur told him with a grin as he squeezed his shoulder. Tristans face became a smile, a small laugh escaping his lips.

" His potions truly are dreadful." Tristan commented, wincing.

" Faye, if you will tell Sir Aiellach the description of the herbs you require, I am sure he is capable of gathering them." Arthur told me, and I nodded, handing him a leaf of yarrow.

" I trust you know the smell of mint, and I haven't any left to show you. You will not find saffron, for the plant it comes from does not grow in these parts. The yarrow and mint will have to do. Oh, and if you can find any garlic, it would do Tristan good." I told him. The young knight nodded, and his brother, Sir Caelich, follow just beside him, sword drawn.

" Where did you learn such remedies?" Arthur asked me, eyeing me with a mixture of thoughts in his eyes, guarded by an unreadable expression.

" The father of my mother was a physician, milord. When I was a young girl, she would take me out to the forest and meadows with her to gather herbs, and to the markets to trade for those she did not have. She helped her father prepare some of the medicines, and made some to store should they be needed later. I spent so much time doing so with her that I began to pick up a few things." I replied quietly.

" Does your mother still do this?" Arthur asked, and I swallowed, shaking my head.

" No, milord. My mother died when I was still but a child." I replied, still feeling the tug at my heart after all these years.

" Then I suppose we have something in common. My mother died when I was a child as well." Arthur spoke is a wistful tone, before standing and walking away. It was then that the seriousness of Tristans injuries truly settled with me. Tristan might die. It dawned on me that he was in fact very pale, almost as pale as my mother had been, or as those whom had I had seen die from their wounds. Not quite as pale, but nearly. I kissed his forehead as my mother and father did had done for me when I was ill. Tristan eyes were shut, and if not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, I might have thought him dead already.