Kahedin would have spent more of that evening musing about this strange turn of events. The situation would have consumed his attention and he was desperate for answers. But in that moment he decided it didn't matter nearly so much as the girl sitting on his lap who was nuzzling at his neck in such a lovely way… what was her name again?
"Kahedin!"
He looked round to see Lancelot striding over to him, his dark eyes glittering. "Hey Lancelot, how was the patrol?"
"Bloody awful! Bors couldn't spot a threat if it painted itself blue and started singing that dreadful song about girls from Coria."
"A Woad with a particularly sick sense of humour?" Kahedin elaborated with a grin. Lancelot caught his own unintentional joke and laughed. "Go get us some more wine, pet." The scout said, giving the girl a squeeze and releasing his hold around her waist. She smiled at them, although her eyes lingered on Lancelot's hungry expression slightly longer than necessary before she sashayed off.
"I think she just made a strategic shift in her attentions…" Lancelot drawled, secure in his victory over Kahedin after only a few seconds of mutual leering with the prize.
The lean scout frowned at him but didn't rise to the obvious goading, preferring to change the subject instead. "Tristan arrived back today," he said. "And he brought a little thing with him that he picked up in Uxelodunum."
Lancelot, disappointingly, didn't look even slightly surprised. "Bors told me – apparently the child is quite the curiosity."
"The kind who can read, write and is in possession of the most… beautiful features. For a boy, that is." Kahedin confirmed. "Honestly, he's got the face of a girl – and a pretty one, at that. And his hair is very long. It is a disquieting sight."
"So Tristan is made out of flesh and blood after all!" Lancelot laughed. "I always thought he was far too straight-laced to entertain such pleasurable pursuits as delicate chicks." It was Roman slang for such boys who kept for their looks and body – and the term was suggestive of the downy fluff that preceded a real beard.
Kahedin found the wording distasteful, but did not bother to correct Lancelot's words. He'd find out soon enough. "Neither did I. And what's more he's never shown interest in boys before, though I have seen him occasionally fulfil his needs with whores." he said pensively. "We may be missing something."
"Sod that, what that man does to relax would probably make us vomit – especially if it involves a boy. Best not to think about it and concentrate on our own needs," Lancelot advised, as the girl reappeared. He pulled her onto his lap before she could decide for herself and then took the jug out of her hands, pouring himself some wine. "Hard luck, by the way," he added to Kahedin over the girl's bare shoulder, before lowering his head to press his lips against her neck.
Kahedin remained calm, but decided he couldn't stand an entire evening of it. It was barely dark and he had plenty of time yet. So he shrugged, wished them a good night and left. Unfortunately, his luck did not improve – Gaheris was talking animatedly to Dagonet and Bedwyr; Bors was fussing over Vanora who was shouting instructions at the girls… and there seemed no particular corner for him to slink off to. Quietly cursing Lancelot's selfishness, he resolved to get a skin of wine and turn in early to ponder the mysterious slave.
He walked to Vanora who was relaying instructions to Brenna, her second in command. A pretty girl, with long blonde hair, curves to die for and warm brown eyes. She was a respectable young woman who had resolved to work in the fort rather than on her father's farm. Although many had tried to approach her, she had always rebuffed their efforts politely but very firmly. Kahedin liked her, despite the fact that she was excitable and shy – traits that belied her inner strength.
"Brenna," he called. Both women looked at him, and he waved jovially, despite the irritation still rolling in his gut. "Can I have some wine?"
"I though Lancelot sent Julia over for some more just a second ago," Vanora said suspiciously.
So that was the faithless wench's name. Oh well, no matter. Kahedin shrugged and gestured over his shoulder. "Well, they decided to get better acquainted, and I don't like to watch such things." He said, affecting an air of casual dismissiveness, despite the temptation to go back and uttelry humiliate Lancelot.
Vanora, sharp as a pin, looked to where he was gesturing and made a sympathetic face. "No one has the stomach to watch such things." She said, wrinkling her nose. Brenna peeped over his shoulder, blushed furiously, and then hastily turned back to Kahedin.
"Did you want that in a skin?" she asked, not looking at him properly. Kahedin nodded and she fled into the back rooms. Vanora waited until the girl was out of earshot before chuckling heartily.
"Even though she sees such antics all the time, she still blushes like she did on her first day." She said, holding her belly with both hands. Kahedin smiled, in spite of his terrible mood, and nodded. Brenna was an endless source of entertainment. "So… not staying then?" Vanora added slyly.
"No," he said shortly. There would always be other nights of fun and flirting.
He paid for the wine, and after a quick farewell to Vanora and Brenna, he left – heading for the stables. It wasn't where he usually went to do his thinking (too many potential passers-by), but he didn't feel like walking into any knights so soon. It was dark by the time he'd stomped into the courtyard, bathed in moonlight. Amandus, Mato and Jols had already gone home, so the place was silent save for the sounds of horses. His own horse Patias whickered at him softly and he went over to rub the horse's nose. The bay nudged at his hand, insistent, and he gave in, opening the stall and sitting next to his horse, who rested its nose on top of his head and exhaled noisily.
"Great lump," he said affectionately, working to pull the cap off the wineskin. After a big gulp of soothing wine, he leaned back against the stall, eyes drifting closed as he pondered.
Even though he'd only heard the slave speak one sentence, he was certain that Kation was actually a girl. Any unsuspecting individual would at least assume that if the slave was a boy, he had been castrated. The voice was too smooth, and the face was far too feminine when framed by that long, silky hair. She may be able to fool most with that utterly uninspiring body and the deepened voice, but he knew Tristan better than anyone else in the fort and there was no way Kahedin was buying this. But his friend clearly had his reasons for this elaborate deception, far be it from Kahedin to sabotage his plans…
A noise broke his reverie. It was a small, slithering noise that made all the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. "Who's there?" he called out sharply. The noise abruptly stopped. That made him even more suspicious; he stoppered the wine and got to his feet, not bothering to mask the rustling of straw against his clothes. The other person also moved, but Kahedin didn't hear the pounding of running feet. But no one belonged here at this time of night.
Staying in the shadows, he peeked over Patias' stall and saw a slender figure standing in front of Sarakos. He recognised the outsized grey tunic and long black hair that gleamed slightly in the moonlight.
"What are you doing here?" he said sharply, stepping out of Patias' stall and marching over to the slave, who turned around to stare up at him.
"I was checking on Sarakos." He (or she) said, in that smooth, effeminate voice that was so out of place. Like everything else about him.
"In the middle of the night?" Kahedin said incredulously.
"My master gave me dispensation," Kation said, not fidgeting under the hard stare. "That is all I require."
"Hmm, and what does your master require from you?" he asked. So much for mulling things over with some wine – he could simply try to catch the slave out here and now. "What are your daily responsibilities?"
"All the usual duties, sir. Nothing more."
Kahedin stepped even closer. "Do they include fulfilling his needs?"
Kation's eyes narrowed slightly, "No."
"But it's odd for a man like Tristan to buy a beautiful, educated boy like you – why would he do such a thing, when he has no need for someone like you?"
"It is not my place to question my master." The slave said stubbornly, but those grey eyes were blazing. Kahedin knew for certain then that this was not just a normal sex slave – Kation wasn't even a normal scribe. He had never seen a slave stare so boldly. "Please, if you will excuse—" he tried to move around Kahedin, but the knight stepped in front of him. Startled, the slave stumbled backwards and fell against the door of Sarakos' stable, his eyes wide.
Kahedin sighed and grabbed the front of the boy's outer tunic, hauling him upright with little effort. "That won't do, boy." He admonished. "Tristan does not accept failure from anyone. Honour him by being as fearless and dutiful as he is."
The slave's expression never broke as he pulled himself from Kahedin's grip. He then bowed slightly – an odd thing to do – and turned away. "Yes, sir." He said softly over his shoulder, and then disappeared up to the knights' rooms.
Kahedin noticed the slight limp, but didn't bother himself about it. It only made the child seem even more vulnerable.
And suddenly the wine didn't seem like such an appealing prospect after all. With a regretful sigh he went back to Patias, retrieved the wineskin, and wandered up to his room. He resolved to have a quiet word Tristan and his mysterious slave, and at least tell them that he wouldn't betray them, no matter what the secret was.
~oOo~
By the time I made it back to Tristan's room, I was one part exhausted, and two parts brimming with terror in anticipation of Kahedin confronting me with the truth. He knew, I was sure of it. My 'master' didn't seem all that surprised to see me return so quickly, but I didn't feel like explaining. Instead, I kicked off my boots and then stripped off my outer tunics and sash.
"Move over," I commanded, pushing my hair out of my eyes as I glared down the knight, who stayed exactly where he was: right in the middle of the bed.
"Fine!" I ground out, and grabbed the spare blanket from the open trunk and lying down beside him, wrapping myself up in it. When I say 'beside him', I mean right beside him. We'd have been snuggling if there weren't several blankets in the way. I faced away from him again and gritted my teeth against the urge to hit him repeatedly. Selfish, selfish bastard. I'd tell him about the surprise encounter with Kahedin tomorrow morning and ruin his day.