a/n: A fellow writer got me thinking about King Arthur and writing again, so thanks for that, Mandamirra! This isn't connected to my other King Arthur fics, but assume that this is after Arthur is made king, and that Tristan survived, while Lancelot did not. Bors won't be in here either, but let's just say he moved on to rule his family elsewhere. I finally needed to stretch creatively and write something, so pardon my long absence. Thanks!

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The rocks were vastly unpleasant to grip, but Tristan held tight anyway—his life depended on it. He pressed his frame against the cliff's face, hoping his fingers wouldn't go numb. The waterfall next to him drowned out all other noise as it spilled into the river below. That river was a long way down . . . .

Tristan climbed down further, just getting new footing in the rocky cliff when his fingers slipped from their hold. He over-compensated in grabbing for the rocks, only to make his boots slip too. And he fell.

The spray from the waterfall was at fault, he decided, just as he hit a part of the cliff that stuck out and broke his fall. His breath left him with the impact. Tristan clawed at the rocks, feelings chunks tear up his nails and skin. He didn't feel any pain though. Two more important things were on his mind: stopping his fall, and rescuing Arthur.

He stopped his fall with a grunt, wincing when that pain in his hands started to flare up. His body dangled from the natural ledge. Glancing around, he saw another spot to step to, hopefully with more success than his last. He could see a dark opening to a cave behind the waterfall, not too much further down.

It was five days ago that Arthur had been captured by Saxons. And then the attack came, a rebuilt Saxon army, placed to tear down Arthur's kingdom in his absence. With the threat against the kingdom and all the people at the Wall (not to mention everyone else throughout the land), Britain could not focus solely on restoring Arthur to the throne. This was unacceptable to Tristan and the knights.

And after some heated deliberation, Gawain and Galahad saw what must be done. They remained to defend the fort and drive back the Saxons. Tristan went on to find Arthur alone.

Tristan leapt towards that dark hole behind the waterfall. The spray pounded him, forcing him down, but he cut through enough and hit the floor of the cave that lay behind the falls. He rolled too far, into the cave's wall, and the brunt of his impact made him groan. He stilled, hoping no one had heard him. Listening, he seemed to be alone still. He got to his feet.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, enough that he could see blood glistening on his raw hands. He frowned; that could hinder him later. Tristan ripped some of his tunic and wrapped it around each hand.

And then, Tristan moved deeper into the cave.

Tristan figured Arthur was alive. A message from the Saxons included the demand that the Britons surrender to receive their king back unharmed. Of course that would never happen—it flew in the face of all that Arthur stood for. Gawain, in their debate before he left, told Tristan he feared Arthur would be killed if they refused. It was a risk, but Tristan knew Arthur was alive.

Arthur's god would keep him alive. And besides, Tristan knew his king and commander would outlive him by far.

His footsteps sounded wet. They echoed in the cave. Tristan slowed his pace to be quiet. He came to a fork in the cave. He stopped, hoping to hear something to help direct—

Suddenly a man appeared, scratching his chest with a yawn. His eyes met Tristan's, and he froze.

Tristan dove at him, clapping his hand over the Saxon's mouth while yanking hard to the side, hoping to have enough force in his motion to snap the man's neck. The Saxon groaned, but the sound grew louder. He struggled against the scout. Tristan grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head to the ground.

The Saxon stopped moving. For good measure, Tristan repeated the action and then stabbed him.

He stood and went the way the Saxon guard had come.

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Blood dripped from his lip. It pooled into a nice spot on the uneven ground. One of his captors hit him again, making Arthur's head whip to the side. He fought back any sound of discomfort.

The Saxons laughed at something another said. Arthur gave up trying to understand; he didn't really care at this point.

His hands were bound behind him. His feet were bound together too and behind him, hog-tied to his hands. He lay on the ground, although the Saxons kept sitting him up to kneel so they could hit him better. One grabbed him now, bringing him back up to his knees.

"Command your people to surrender, and you'll be set free," one said clearly enough. Arthur didn't even glare at him. The Saxons laughed, and Arthur was struck again.

His jaw jarred against the ground when he fell. For a moment, his vision faded out, and in the blackness of his mind, he saw Guinevere surrounded by his knights, protecting her against an army. As frightening as the impending attack was, the knights' presence comforted him.

He let himself slip away, for now.

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Thirteen guards remained inside the cave. Tristan had stumbled on one more as he moved through the cave, but he managed to kill him cleanly. The rest were well positioned towards the main entrance of the cave, but weren't aware of the way through from the waterfall. Or maybe they are, and that's an escape route, should they need it.

He figured there would be more Saxons hidden in the woods outside the cave, just in case someone found them. When he scouted there yesterday, he saw at least two, but he stayed out of their way. He knew, depending how things went, that he'd have to lead Arthur through those Saxons. But for now, he just needed to plan.

The thirteen guards inside the cave were scattered well enough to prevent someone coming in from the front, or to keep Arthur from escaping. He had yet to see Arthur, but from the heavier cluster of Saxons coming from one vein of the cave, he could guess where he was.

Tristan crouched down in the shadowy cave. He looked back towards the way he'd come, and retreated.

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He waited until nightfall, or what he figured was nightfall—the Saxons started winding down. They had already eaten, and now began laying around and drifting asleep. He wondered that the men he'd slain weren't missed, but he wasn't complaining.

Tristan stepped over a sleeping Saxon. His steps were quiet but confident—one of the Saxons he had killed was obliging enough to lend Tristan his clothes. The disguise wasn't fool proof, but with the guards sleeping, he stood a better chance.

He made his way down the tunnel. Someone was snoring lightly ahead. Tristan glanced behind him, making sure no one followed. He drew a dagger.

Three men were in the end of the tunnel—two Saxons, by the look of them, and the only half-Roman Tristan respected. One of the Saxons was the snoring culprit. The other looked towards Tristan as he entered.

The Saxon said something, but Tristan didn't understand. His eyes went to the form of his commander and king. Arthur opened his eyes, but did not move.

The Saxon was waiting for an answer. Tristan had to wait to attack until he got closer. His disguise confused the Saxon—but then he saw Tristan's dagger.

The guard sprang to his feet and drew a deep breath to shout a warning. Tristan dove at the man, running his dagger into his chest. He covered the man's mouth with his hand, and the Saxon groaned a final breath. The sleeping Saxon stirred behind Tristan.

Tristan finished off the first guard just as the other saw what he'd done.

"Attack!" he shouted, or something garbled enough like it. He drew his sword. Tristan threw his dagger without another wasted second. The guard slumped to the ground.

Tristan grabbed the dagger again and turned to Arthur. The confusion on his face was clear, until Tristan removed the furred helmet he'd taken.

"Tristan," he breathed with relief.

"Hold still." Tristan cut the ropes that tied Arthur. His eyes surveyed the king; he was beaten badly enough that Tristan knew he would be alone in fighting their way out.

Voices came from other parts of the cave.

"We don't have much time," Arthur said unnecessarily. Tristan helped Arthur to his feet, only to have Arthur stumble until caught. Tristan looked for injuries on his legs.

"Are you hurt?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'll be fine. Lead the way." Tristan didn't bother to admire the king's resolve; no time.

He handed Arthur the dagger, and drew his own sword.

Footsteps pounded towards them. Tristan ran ahead, keeping close to the wall of the cave to stay as hidden as he could. They had to make it out of this tunnel before the Saxons closed them in. It wasn't much further—

Just as he saw the cave open up, several Saxons closed the gap. He stopped and put out an arm to stop Arthur. The king was slow to catch up. When he did, he saw the group of Saxons coming towards them.

"Tristan, you shouldn't have come," he said. Tristan ignored him, knowing already where he was heading. "You should hide. Let me convince them I tried to escape." Always ready to sacrifice himself. Tristan bit back a smile.

"Follow as close as you can," he said. And then Tristan ran full-speed at the Saxons.

He slashed his sword back and forth as he yelled a battle cry at the Saxons. It worked enough to make them stop and think. Not wanting to be cut or killed, the Saxons started to back up even as Tristan advanced on them. Surprise was in his favor.

But the Saxons raised their swords and fell back to the open space of the cave. Tristan quickly engaged them. He blocked a blow from a Saxon's sword, but another swiped at him. He jumped back, bumping into Arthur.

"Tristan—"

But he attacked again. The benefit of the cave was that only so many Saxons could get a chance at him at once. As such, Tristan faced groups of three or four Saxons at a time. He cut down two easily, but they were replaced by more. Tristan turned abruptly, dodging a stab, and then thrust his sword into a Saxon's gut.

Two Saxons descended on him at that moment, knowing his sword was momentarily trapped. Tristan fell back to the ground, his grip on his sword firm to yank it from the man he killed. Just in time he blocked a downward blow, but on the ground he was disadvantaged enough. A blade nicked his shoulder. Tristan rolled to his stomach, kicking out behind him at the Saxons. He got to his feet and felt the stinging pain in his shoulder while he slashed at the Saxons.

The front of the cave was blocked—the alarm was raised. Tristan pivoted closer towards the tunnel he'd entered through. He held out one arm behind him, shepherding Arthur that direction. The king was sluggish in his movements, enough that Tristan looked back quickly at him.

A Saxon leapt at Tristan in that moment. The heavy weight of the man collided with Tristan and forced him brutally into the cave wall. His head hit the wall, already compounding the force with which the impact made him breathless. The Saxon moved to punch Tristan in the face. At the last second, Tristan moved his head, and the Saxon roared in pain. His brothers-in-arms grabbed Tristan and Arthur.

Four of them had him by each limb. Tristan still had a grip on his sword. He twisted his wrist back and forth, managing to knick the Saxons. He wretched his leg free and kick a man in the face. Furious, the Saxon by his left arm pulled out a knife, plunging it down upon him—

Until Arthur collided with the group. Tristan thought he was being held by some other Saxons, but somehow he was free enough to help. The Saxon's knife clattered to the ground, and thanks to Arthur, Tristan fell as well. He grabbed the knife and stabbed it through a Saxon's foot, then popped up on his feet to face his enemies.

Two more sought to attack him from both sides. A bit shaky, he stabbed one and kicked back the other.

"Arthur!" he yelled without daring to look.

"Yeah?" came back a breathless but alert reply.

"Head down the tunnel, now!" Tristan blocked another attack. There were just four Saxons left, but he saw one running out the main entrance of the cave. He's calling for reinforcements.

Tristan blocked a swipe at his body, twisted and shoved a Saxon away into the other three. He turned and ran after Arthur, hoping they could outrun their enemies—and the crossbows he saw in one of their hands.

Ahead of him, Arthur limped. He steadied himself with a hand against the cave wall. Tristan caught up quickly and put Arthur's arm over his shoulder. He winced, Arthur's weight straining the slice in that shoulder.

"Where does this lead?" Arthur asked. Tristan ignored the question. No sense worrying Arthur yet.

A crossbolt rammed into the rocks by Arthur's head. Tristan twisted to protect Arthur from any others. He pushed Arthur faster.

They ran through the darkness that Tristan memorized on his way in. Around a corner, and they stepped over a body. Tristan could hear the water.

Arthur could too. "Tristan?"

They saw the water ahead, a powerful sheet blocking them.

"Keep going!" Tristan yelled. The roar of the water just intensified with the Saxons raging behind them. Suddenly a bolt pierced Tristan's thigh. He tumbled forward, taking Arthur with him.

"Tristan!"

Gritting his teeth, Tristan pulled out the bolt. The Saxons were reloading and still coming after them.

"No time," he muttered. He stood with a little help from Arthur, and forced them both towards the falls.

"What are we doing?" Arthur yelled.

Tristan spared a glance at his commander. Arthur saw the look in his eyes.

"Trust me," Tristan said. He didn't slow down, not with the injury in his leg or shoulder, and not with Arthur's hesitant weight. He ran, arm around Arthur for support, and launched himself and the king over the cave's edge.

They crashed through the waterfall until the force of the water pushed them down.

Tristan's mouth flooded when they hit the river.