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“Kiss thee once, than sorrow filled me.
I loved thee for a day and have left thee for a lifetime.”
The waves still lapped against the ship, the moon casting gold on the sea. His eyes could not close. Isolde lay on his chest, breathing steadily, her golden hair flowing over Tristan’s chest. She could not sleep either. Brangaine’s faint sobs from the other side of the door struck the confused hearts of the two figures entangled in the bed.
At some random moment when the sobbing stopped, Tristan laughed, his shoulders shaking.
“What makes you laugh,” Isolde wondered, “or is this funny to you?”
“No,” he whispered, “I just wonder if you remember the madman who killed Morholt and was healed by you years ago?”
“I do.” She was silent for a beat.
“That madman was me too.”
Isolde looked into his eyes, her pale brows furrowing slightly.
“I know.”
“You saved the man who killed your uncle, and slept with your future husband's nephew,” he laughed again, “you don't like uncles much, do you?”
And she sat up, the golden moon shining on her porcelain skin, the sea outside not as blue as her eyes, her red lips curled in displeasure. Tristan stopped breathing. The elixir could not make him tease his future queen like this, the petty petulance shared between lovers. Tristan lowered his eyes, murmuring an apology.
Another moment passed, her pearly hand lifting his chin and wiping away a tear he had not known had fallen.
“We will die,” he whispered.
“I know,” she repeated, more softly.
She took his face in her free hand. Her blue eyes stared into his, also filled with tears.
“I know,” her voice broke.
The venerable King Mark had treated him like family. His budding knighthood was on the rise. The princess who was to become his queen was beautiful and talented. The alliance between Cornwall and Ireland was about to be sealed through this marriage.
His eyes met hers, and all that was gone. Only the fire in his chest burned. Bitter, dry, sour. But he did not want to stop.
So he leaned in and kissed her.
____________
“A toast to Tristan, my dear nephew, who has brought us this beautiful queen!” King Mark shouted, and the party cheered.
He would rather have killed ten more dragons than be here now.
She sat high on her throne, jewels woven into her gown, her hair braided, fitting her perfectly, nestled in Mark’s arms.
“A toast to the beautiful queen,” someone else shouted excitedly, “she will bring the king a beautiful child!”
The queen’s hair swayed, accidentally touched by her cupbearer. The crown on her forehead pressed her thick locks back from the wind that was stirred by the laughter.
But he remembered the feel of her hair, falling softly on his shoulders like melted gold, fluttering in the moonlight sea breeze.
Tristan left his position. He was very drunk.
“A madman does not remember, and a drunkard does not grieve.”
____________
He held her again. The saddle was narrow, his arms wrapped tightly around her as he galloped.
“He’s almost there,” she said urgently.
“I know.”
“Go faster, I’m scared.”
“I’m scared too,” he said softly.
The scent of flowers in her hair had been lost since the day she had ordered Brangaine to be tied up. But the golden strands that touched his nose still felt familiar. He rode away quickly, disappearing from the shadow of the army rushing behind him.
____________
Mark is here. His back was to him, tense, sweat running down his cheeks. He was so close to Isolde, any moment now Tristan would run his naked sword through his uncle. He couldn’t let him take her, he’d rather die here, if things got too bad he’d push her into the saddle befor–
Mark left.
When his footsteps were no longer audible Tristan sprang to his feet, pushed the naked sword aside and hugged the sleeping Isolde.
Tears welled up in his eyes, he choked, holding her tight in his arms, his whole body shaking with fear.
“You have to go back.”
____________
Tristan had another song, as sad as the last. The girl who had been watching him for the past month still came to hear him wandering around singing.
“Let me wander alone
Embracing the bitter cold, thinking that thou, my love, have come”
This place is far from his homeland, strange. He has won a few victories, but it is of no use. He only wants to wander and sing. There is no sea here, only cold winds and wild forests. The forest echoes with his plaintive song, the silent forest hears his heart sobbing.
He sings of a golden bird locked in a red cage. A bird with blue eyes and bright yellow feathers.
For five days he has not wanted to eat. The light of his eyes and head tilts and the sky is so blue that it is blinding. The forest calms him but also drives him mad. Why has Dinadan been gone so long?
"What is your name, wandering knight?" the maiden asks.
"What right do you have to demand my name?"
Her white hands encircle his back.
"I am Isold—" and his ears ring.