The Borderlands The Memoirs Of Lord Tristan

Part 2-Chapter I

The following is in accordance with my Lady Genevah's records. I am writing this in courtesy of Aaliyah and the Queen and King of Cascata.
My story is by no means finished yet, but I intend to do it justice. My name is Tristan Belmont son of Lord Faedin and Lady Lena. Before I begin, Reader, you should know that Genevah was the one who made my heart soar, and I have loved her ever since we met.
I believe it is best to pick up our story where Gena last left it. The evening before the battle.

...oOo...

It was dark and I sat wide awake in my room. It was long past my usual bedtime, but sleep was evasive. How could anyone sleep when one's nerves were so strained?
I fidgeted with my boot knife twirling it between my fingers and testing it's sharpness. Occasionally I would throw it into the wall. It would hit dead centre each time. I was now a betrothed man, and my mind told me multiple times that I would be a dead one too, if I went into battle. Unlike Gena, I was a pessimist and my mind wandered like no other. I sat in my cushioned chair and stared at the door, my heart beating fiercely against my ribcage. I was very aware of all the natural functions of my body. The thought that I might be dead within 24 hours made me feel more alive. My heart hammering against my chest, my breath as I exhaled and the pulsing in my temples ignited a tingling fire. I felt more alive then, than any time before or since.
All was silent throughout my Manor and the grounds. In my mind's eye I went through all the moves I had taught Gena. I deeply regretted the heated response I had given her earlier. I would not allow her to go into battle.
Suddenly my heart rate accelerated. I had heard the squeak of a floorboard. I was curious who could be up at such an hour. It was easily an hour or two passed midnight. Then I heard it again a groaning creak, it was undeniably the one at the top of the stairwell. Having no candle previously lit, I did not bother to light one then.
The most unnerving thing about the apparent person in my Manor was that it sounded like someone who was trying to be stealthy. Not to mention, all the inhabitants of the house knew better than to step on that particular floorboard. I slowly rose from my chair, making sure not to cause anything to squeak. I avoided the hazardous floorboards in my own room. And travelling to my right, I came upon a secret door that blended very effectively in with the wall. I dug my finger into a small hole that served to open the door. I pulled the small door open without a sound and slipped through. I was now in a secret, and undetectable labyrinth.
My Manor had long ago been built by an ancestor from a couple centuries before. He had built these passages to be used as an escape if someone tried to kill him. I, of course, did not have that fear at that moment, but I was curious, and as darkness often does, unnerved.
I came upon a peephole to the landing. All I saw was the hem of a dark heavy cloak and the glimmer of a small knife. The figure had entered my room. My heart caught in my throat. I hurried down the passage in the direction of my mother's room, which was closer than Gena's. I exited the passage and entered my mother's room.
"Mother, wake up," I said.
I grabbed one of her many shawls from off a chair and shook her awake.
"Tristan? What is it?" she asked.
"You must come with me, immediately."
I helped her to her feet and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. I led her back through the passage and closed the passage door just in time. My mother and I watched through a peephole as her bedroom door creaked open. The same cloaked figure I had seen earlier; entered. I could not see his face as he wore a hood and a mask over his mouth and eyes. He was of regular build and about six foot tall. His dagger glinted as the moon shown through the window. I heard my mother's frightened gasp beside me. I did not wait to see what the man would do. I took my mother by the arm and we made all possible haste to Gena's room using the passages. Luckily her room was just past my mother's. It didn't take long.
We got there in time. She was fast asleep in her bed. Her curly white blond hair spilled over her pillow and her face had an angelic serenity about it. Though it was dark I could clearly see her thick dark eyelashes resting on her cheeks.
"Gena, wake up," I said.
She stirred, but did not open her eyes.
"Gena," I said.
I put my hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. Her eyes fluttered open revealing her mesmerising green eyes.
"Tristan, what is it? Why are you in my room?" she asked.
I put my finger to my lips and threw a shawl around her shoulders. I took her small warm hand in mine.
The door opened.
The man stood there cloaked all in black. His dagger was now sheathed. In that instant both he and I reacted. He stared in my direction, a look of evil purpose glinted in his eyes. He unsheathed his dagger. With a flick of my hand a knife imbedded itself into the man's throat. His look of anticipation turned to surprise. The man fell to the ground dead.
"Tristan!" exclaimed Gena.
I was already on the ground checking for a pulse, there was none.
"Light a candle for me," I ordered.
My mother shakily handed me a lighted candle, the flame flickered sending ominous shadows throughout the room. I took off the man's mask. He looked like an average man with an abundance of scars. The things he wore and had on him were of the simplest make, and the bare necessities. His effects were two daggers, a garret, a simple warm cloak, black trousers, gloves, boots and obviously his mask. Just the tools for an assassin. But on one of his daggers was a crest. I couldn't make it out in the dim light, but it looked familiar. My mother took the dagger up in her hand to examine the crest. I broke the silence with a simple, but meaningful, sentence.
"Somebody wants me dead," I murmured.
"Tristan what is all this?" asked Gena, fearfully.
"Looks like an assassin to me, but he is quite dead now. We best all be getting back to bed," I said, and sighed.
"But you just killed someone!" exclaimed my mother.
"Yes, and there is going to be a lot more of that tomorrow," I said, quietly. "I'll go tell Avan to dispose of him, I'm sorry for getting your bedroom floor dirty Gena."
I left the room and awoke Avan, he dealt with the body and asked a minimal amount of questions.
Gena and my mother slept in my mother's room, due to the events that took place, they did not want to sleep alone. I returned to my bedroom and continued to think. My mind fretted over what could easily go wrong. After all, my chance of survival if I went into battle the next day was about 2%. I smiled sadly to myself.
Somehow I managed to fall into a sort of doze, until the sun pricked the horizon.

That morning everyone was at the end of their temper, very nervous and jumpy.
Though I tried every tactic I knew, Gena absolutely refused to stay behind. I wasn't her husband yet, so I had absolutely no grounds in which to order her to stay. As our very small convoy rode out to wait for the feared arrival of the Raiders, Gena came with. She had grown more beautiful each day. Her face was now full and youthful. Her eyes sparkled with life and she held her chin high and proud. She wore a woman's breastplate and other pieces of armour, but her head was bare, no helmet sat upon her head to save her from a possible stray arrow. I sighed and a tear made it's way down my cheek. The truth was that I had no hope of a victory. It was a wrench letting Gena ride into battle with me, but once the Raiders defeated us they would certainly attack the Manor. It all depended which way was better to die. In the last stronghold, or on the plain of battle?