Hello!
This is just a one shot about Gawain's thoughts after Tristan's death.
It has nothing to do with my other story "The sound of silence", it was merely written when I was suffering from writer's block.
I hope you like it and please review this story if you read it...Reviews make my day!
(-;
Greetings, Sachita :D
More than a thousand words
***
It's just another evening at the tavern, just the same.
The knight sighs drunkenly, content. The bar wench on his lap giggled when he started playing with her hair. Hair, dark and long: It almost reaches her waist and has small ringlets in it, he notices. Why is he doing this anyway? Why is he doing all of this anyway?
Suddenly sober he pushes the girl away, doesn't listen to her annoyed shouts.
He just wants to get away. Far away from everything, this absurd tavern, the little room, the drunken atmosphere, just away. He doesn't even know why.
Galahad comes from behind: "Gawain , you wan' to make a knife throwin' contest with me ?"
Galahad is drunken, he notices it at his slurred way of talking.
But he is grateful for the distraction. No disturbing thoughts anymore.
Galahad aims. The dagger is embedded deep in the wood.
He motions Gawain: "Your turn now."
But he can't move. He is frozen, the blue eyes fixed on the dagger…another dagger, another time.
"How do you do that , Tristan?"
"I aim for the middle."
These words, spoken quietly in his calm, yet emotionless way.
Yet soft brown eyes, holding much more emotion than those bland words, are still focused on the dagger.
Something like amusement in them, but before Gawain can be sure, the flash is gone.
He shakes his head. Wants to get out of here. Needs to get out of here.
Quickly, he makes his way towards the door. Isn't listening to Galahad.
Just another one who is confused by him this evening. He is confused by himself, too.
The knight stumbles out of the tavern. In the stables.
Why, he doesn't know. Everything is just a big blur.
The stable of Tristan's horse is empty. It's already far away, finally receiving his freedom.
Freedom.
Tristan didn't get it. Free. The word tastes bittersweet on his tongue, like the mouldy aftertaste of old ale. He sits down and his hands traces lightly the Sarmatian symbols on an old saddle.
After all, he never really understood Tristan. Sometimes, when they talked he could make out somebody else behind that cold exterior, someone with feelings that ran as deep as his own. Somebody who cared, somebody who even loved, behind the icy scout.
Yes, it has been here, right here, where he sits now.
Gawain rose from his seat in the tavern, drunkenly heading for the exit.
"Where're ya going'?" "Just for a little walk outside. N-need to clear my head."
He stumbled forwards and backwards a bit. Then he composed himself, noticing that he really was incredible drunk. He made his way towards the stables.
The stables were dim, and nothing interrupted the silence than the rhythmic chewing of the horses. But there, there in the corner, flickered the light of a candle.
Curiously, Gawain approached it. He peered round the corner.
It was Tristan, their ever-silent scout who sat there. The calm watcher, with the frightening blood lust, that came over him sometimes.
But somehow, Tristan looked different. He had bloodshot eyes, dark circles under them and a mug of ale in the shaking hand. Suddenly, because he had heard Gawain's footsteps his head spun around, but the normally sharp dark eyes were strangely unfocused and soft. Gawain could smell the scent of alcohol in the air all around Tristan. Was he drunk?
It seemed to be the last possibility to Gawain. His fellow knights were often so drunk that they needed to be carried to their rooms, but it was never Tristan who drank so much. Never him.
Suddenly concerned, Gawain seated himself opposite of the dark knight.
None of them spoke. Then Gawain said worried: "What are you doing in here?"
For a moment he thought he wouldn't get a reply.
Then, Tristan spoke. But it was nothing like normality.
His voice sounded rough and his words were slightly slurred: "Getting drunk."
Gawain was suddenly sober. "Tristan" he began "what is it? That's not like you."
Tristan didn't do anything, just looked at Gawain with those unclear eyes.
"C'mon , you can tell me, you know. I am your friend."
Tristan looked strangely angry now. Bitter. Gawain thought that it was amazing ,that he could even read Tristan's emotions so clearly , because normally he never let anyone come through to him.
"Friend? I don't have friends. Me, I don't care about anybody and nobody cares about me."
Gawain was startled at this reply. But then, his own anger began to grow.
He roughly grabbed Tristan's shoulders.
"Well, you have to know, whether you like it or not, that we're your friends and that we'll be here every time you need us. You're one of us, Tristan, and we never, never abandon one of us. " With this words, he angrily headed to the exit once again.
Turning around he shouted back, not knowing what came over him:
"Even if you don't love anyone, we do and you belong to us, even if you don't want to."
It was a hoarse, quiet voice that called him back: "Gawain."
Gawain stopped dead in his tracks, then turned around and faced the scout.
Tristan had stood up, on shaky legs he walked over to Gawain,
"Bloody hell" he breathed" drank far too much."
Gawain grinned. Typically Tris , he thought. Drunk in a stage, where other people fall snoring on the ground, but he's still able to control himself.
Tristan was standing before him now, only inches away from Gawain.
His next words however were able to wipe the stupid grin of Gawain's face.
His eyes were glittering a bit dangerously and perhaps he didn't know what made him tell Gawain his tale that day. Perhaps he wanted to prove him something.
Gawain doesn't know and he doubt he'll ever. However, he'll never forget the talk they had that day.
"You know, even me, even I've loved someone. She was called Isolde, an Irish princess.
We were to escort here to her promised husband,I am sure you do remember.
I loved her. And she loved me. There's no more to say. Arthur didn't like it, I am sure of it. However, we didn't care. She married her promised however…
Her husband was violent to her, beat and abused her. Somehow she managed to flee. I don't quite know how, but she was on her way to the wall. She got in the way of some Woads.
They killed her, but not quickly. Painfully they killed her, waiting until she bled to death.
She was almost dead , when I arrived. I carried her in the forest then and she took her last breaths in my arms. And- and…" Tristan's voice shook, but only so much that it almost couldn't be noticed:
"…her last words were: "I love you and don't worry for we'll meet soon again."
And when I said, that I loved her too, s-she just smiled."
Tristan took a deep shuddering breath, closed his eyes and said nothing more.
He just turned around and went away.
The Gawain of this reality smiles. He feels bitter.
Yes, he remembers Isolde. She had hair like fire, eyes like the sea and a smile that could melt ice.
She could dance like a feather, her feet twirling and stomping on the ground.
All of them had gotten hypnotised by her, but to Lancelot's attempts at flirting she had always smirked mysteriously and declined politely. Gawain knows now, why she smirked like that. At least he thinks he does, but who could be sure of that...?
Occasionally her glances would wander to Tristan and the scout would look up through his dark fringe of hair.
The golden-haired knight wonders how he could have missed it.
He never told anything about Tristan's confirmation to the others, though. Tristan wouldn't want it, he thought, because he was, after all, terrible drunk when he told his sad tale to Gawain. Gawain knew nobody was supposed to know. But he did, then. Next morning after that night, he wasn't sure if Tristan remembered anything at all, but for being as drunk as he was, it had been quite the wonder that he could even stand. Gawain closes his eyes and recalls was on his way to the stables, when he saw Tristan riding off in the direction of the gates.
"Tristan!" he called. "Where are you going?"
"Scouting" was the gruff reply. He didn't receive anything else.
He closes his eyes and the moment has passed. Things between Tristan and himself didn't change then, however. Nevertheless he started defending him from the others, when he couldn't do it himself, because he was off scouting.
The others thought him strange, because he was defending the crazy scout, the one who liked killing and was nothing else than sarcastic or sullen to everybody.
Of course he was their friend and brother as well- but that didn't stop especially Galahad to make comments from time to time.
But Gawain knew- the truth, perhaps. Now, when he admits it to himself, he didn't catch more than a quick look at the man behind the mask.
It had been another heated argument about Tristan.
"I swear, this man is crazy. " Galahad said.
As always, Gawain defended the scout.
Later, he was on his way to the practice fields , when he suddenly had a cold blade at his throat. He tilted his head up, only to look in Tristan's sharp, dispassionate eyes.
"Quit defending me, Gawain. I can pretty much defend myself."
With these words, the blade left his throat. Gawain stared after Tristan's retreating back, feeling quite put out. And then, without even bothering to turn around , the scout called:
"Thanks."
Gawain stands up. He feels cold. Suddenly he can't stand being in the stables anymore, too.
So many memories. Names. Some full of meaning, others seemingly not making sense whirl around in his head.
Tristan, Lancelot, Dagonet, Gareth, Percival, Bedivere, Kay. Badon Hill, an icy lake, a clearing in the forest
He runs. Soon he comes to the graveyard.
"Sad little place" Lancelot always said when he saw it, and his dark eyes were suddenly full of hatred. And then Arthur looked away.
Lancelot, yes Lancelot. And Dagonet.
Two of the most loyal persons, Gawain ever met. But today, today it's Tristan's death that hurts the most. Many comrades have fallen, but today, today everything reminds him of Tristan.
Some other days, everything remembers him of Dagonet or Gareth and Agravaine, his beloved little brothers. But not today. Today is Tristan's day.
A hawk screeches in the sky. Gawain recognizes it immediately.
It lands on the handle of the curved sword that is sticking out of the small hill, where grass is already growing. Soft, green, delicate grass.
Gawain stares again at the bird. It chirps and then it suddenly flaps its wings and takes off in the red sunset. And then, as if that was a signal , suddenly a strong wind blows, taking the bird with him on his wings.
" I understand, Tristan. I finally understand." Gawain whispers and his voice is carried away by the wind. But Gawain smiles. Because he understands.
They are free. Finally free!
Won't be long soon, old friend.
And even if he doesn't say it aloud, he had a feeling, that Tristan hears it.
Tristan understands.
Because silence says more than a thousand words.
He heads back to the tavern.
"Where have you been?"
"Just for a little walk to visit an old friend, nothing more. Just for a little walk."