Legend's Lost

Faces stoic, Aete and Tristan slipped past the bodies on the ground before going inside the main principia entry way. The two scouts sauntered past their friends and comrades to take their seats at the massive, polished round table; Aete first to sit as she drained the cup of wine before her. A boy bearing a pitcher of the rich, Roman red wine ran toward the woman to fill her cup, not surprised when he was relieved of his burden and sent back to the kitchens.
Tristan poured his cup of wine then set the jug before Aete, “The only decent thing Rome has ever provided.”
The woman with the lioness/hawk’s features gave her companion a half grin as she filled her cup, “They have their moments.” A definitive thump indicated the jug was on the table, not up for being shared.
“What’s this little gathering about?” Bors greeted with a short cough then lifted his cup of wine, “Must be good if you’re preparing to get drunk.”
“Arthur has gathered us together so we can discuss plans regarding greeting the Bishop five days from now,” Aete poured more wine in her and Tristan’s cups then looked up at her friend, “He has three quarters of the 11th with him yet still we are called to bring him in.”
“Are they any good?” Gawain asked as he poured some wine, taking a moment to eye the girl who took the jug from his hands with a coquettish smile. The sound of Aete’s nails striking the polished surface of the table drew his attention back to his question. Gawain leaned forward with a grin on his lips, “So – are you going to tell us or not?”
Aete cocked her head to the side, “When we ran with the 11th, we were the best Rome had to offer.” She lifted her cup to her lips and paused as she thought of the men she had served with so long ago. Some of them had died while she and Tristan had served along side of them; some of them retired after losing a limb or two while others had moved on to live out their lives campaign by campaign.
“Marcus Cassius Longinus was our General,” Aete’s eyes gleamed brightly a moment, a signal the men knew meant she had fond if not intimate memories of the man. She placed her cup to her lips, “We served 7 years in his cohort – survived countless battles…”
“And rounds of combat in the arena,” Tristan added as he added more wine to his cup, “At least that was your exercise regimen.”
Bors rolled his eyes, “Not more fucking stories of you killin’ in the arena!” He gestured to his brother, “Dag! How many times have you heard those stories?”
The large, quiet knight settled back in his chair and regarded Aete with a small, barely noticeable smile. He had the utmost respect for the woman who trained them from his late adolescence and the boyhood of the others.
“The stories never get old,” Dagonet raised the cup in his palm to Aete, “It’s not often you find yourself part of what will someday be legend.”
Bors scoffed as Aete raised her cup to Dag, “Consider it a joint effort friend.”
“Are you done stroking each others back?” Lancelot’s lip curled to the side, “Or at least talk about something that will amuse us all.”
Aete stretched then got up from her seat and began to pace. She hated to sit still for long unless she was scouting or tracking, not pleased that Artorius had interrupted her afternoon. Her fellow knights watched a moment then returned to their talk, knowing full well there was nothing they could say or do that would make the woman stop stalking the edges of the hall.

A short time passed when the doors opened and Artorius strolled into the room, his brow furrowed as he took his seat, making room for the scrolls in Jols’ hands.
No one had seen Aete cease moving around and fading into the shadows but her smoky voice caught their attention.
“Why is your face so worried?”
Artorius – Arthur – glanced up and focused on the corner of the room, “I’d rather you didn’t question me while lurking in the darkness.”
“And I’d rather you didn’t attempt to hide your thoughts from those who have done nothing more than keep you alive these past 15 years.” Aete stepped from the shadows and stood along the edge of the table, “Out with it.”
Arthur leveled his gaze with the woman who had trained him from youth, the woman he admired more than any other he had ever met and would lay down his arms to save her life if need be.
“I hide nothing from you… you’re my teacher and read me better than any one else.” He gestured to her customary seat, “Please… we’ll talk as we always do.”
Aete regarded her commander a moment then lifted her chin into the air in defiance, “I have duties that require me elsewhere.” She bowed a small bow then quickly left the hall, her adorned braids ringing upon her plated mail tunic. A moment passed by then Dagonet cleared his throat and got up from the table, abandoning his cup and leaving the room in silence.
Arthur looked at the remaining men, focusing a moment on the normally stoic Tristan. The older man cocked an eyebrow then gestured to the others assembled, “You were saying?”
A titter of chuckles rippled along the table as Arthur shook his head slowly, “When you’re through gentlemen…”