Heya again, so this is something little that was inspired by the game. The last little section is actually from the game, the rest of it except the lines that we all know and love, belongs to the dusty little place inside my head. Anyway, this is my first time really writing for Tristan in a major part, so if I didn't quite write him correctly, don't eat me. If I get eaten, then I can't write anymore…unless I get a computer in there or something, but that's totally off the subject.
"Ugh" Gawain groaned, looking up towards the dreary sky"I can't wait to leave this island! If it's not raining, it's snowing. If it's not snowing, it's foggy."
"And that's the summer" commented Lancelot with a smirk.
"The rain is good" Bors added, a seriousness in his tone"It washes all the blood away."
Dagonet snorted"But it doesn't help the smell." An amused laugh circulated the small camp. But none of their voices reached the ears of their captain, who sat a little further away.
Tristan glanced over at him; Arthur seemed deep in thought. He seemed troubled actually. There was something about attack on the Bishop's carriage that had changed. Tristan was a scout, he noticed these things and doubted that any of the others, save perhaps Lancelot, had seen it. It was so small that he wouldn't blame them really.
Bors' voice broke Tristan's thoughts. "Dagonet, she wants to get married, give the children names."
"Women.." the largest knight snorted again.
Half smiling, Tristan had heard it before. They all had, really. "The children already have names, don't they" he asked.
"Nah, just Gilly.." Bors replied"It was too much trouble, so we gave the rest of them numbers..."
"That's interesting, I thought you couldn't count" remarked Lancelot sarcastically.
In the background Arthur stood up. No one noticed, except Tristan. He watched as his captain walked over by the horses, out of earshot of the others. The scout quietly followed him, and yet still no one else noticed. Not even Lancelot.
Arthur didn't look up, he knew who had come. They both stood there in the dark, the faint sound of the rest of the men laughing occasionally breaking the silence. Snowy gently nuzzled her master's arm, receiving a few pats on her neck. Sighing, Arthur looked up, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with the rain water. "Before we left," the Roman said softly, "Lancelot asked me if I believe in this mission..." He paused to look up at the falling rain, the rest of the statement implied.
Tristan leaned against a nearby tree. "And that's why we all believe in you, Arthur."
"It's different this time…" Arthur sighed again, "There's-..something." He rubbed his face, "How many Woads have we killed? How many of them have been sons and brothers and fathers?"
"Too many," the scout replied, glancing at the ground. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them. Normally Arthur confided in Lancelot, his most trusted friend, but tonight it was Tristan who heard what was wearing down his proud shoulders. Why? Who else of them would know exactly what Arthur felt but the mysterious Tristan. And he did know. He had felt it too.
"How many of them shouldn't have die? Did any of them truly deserve this fate?" Arthur asked, not so much Tristan as himself. "And by that same idea…how many more of us will not live to survive this mission?"
"Arthur.." Tristan started with a sigh, walking towards his commander, looking him straight in the eye. There was something deep, embedded in Tristan's soul that others had had perhaps only a glimpse of…what Arthur now saw in the scout's dark eyes. "The truth is none of them deserved to die. And all of them deserved to die. In battle there is no hesitation; a movement such is that is what kills the greatest warrior. But outside? Your mind kills. You cannot stop to think."
Arthur shook his head, "Then we are nothing but animals."
"It is the animal that survives." Tristan paused again. "I have seen you in battle, you have more rage in your eyes than all of us combined. You are a powerful force, Arthur. But you are also a leader, one who commands men who are not here of their own will. If you loose your way then all of us will fall."
Sighing, frustrated, the Roman ran a hand across his wet face as the rain still fell upon them, and looking to the side into the woods. "I haven't lost my way, it's-…" unexplainable, he thought.
Tristan nodded, "I have seen your what is in your eyes before." Arthur looked up at him again, and the knight continued. "You haven't lost hope that we can prevail, it is what we are fighting for. You are a Briton, Arthur, these are your people. If we were fighting Sarmatians, would all of us not feel the same way?"
Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but he found that no words came to him at that moment. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to try to clear his mind. Tristan was right. There was a wisdom with the scout that could only be acquired by experience. It was the reason Arthur always trusted his advice on the trail and it was why he believed him now. The Roman nodded and Tristan offered a small smile, putting a hand on his shoulder in support before Arthur walked back to the others.
We'll be alright, Tristan thought.
Not more than a day later, the six Sarmatian knights and their Roman commander sat each on his own horse in the middle of the Woad village. Crudely constructed houses surrounded them and blood mixed with mud in the rain that hadn't stopped since a few hours after they left the fort. Bodies lay strewn about…everywhere. It was silent, save for the sound of the rain or an occasional snort from one of the horses.
Arthur looked around the village. Destruction, everywhere. Everyone had either been killed or had run off into the forest. He heard Tristan ride up behind him, but didn't turn around to face him. He couldn't take his eyes from the dead.
"We made it through," the scout said, "Didn't we, Arthur?"
He nodded wordlessly, and nudged his horse forward, the others following as they slowly rode away from the silenced village.