The Savage Kind of Courtesy

by SilverHeartShine

She was aware of what he was, and what he thought himself-and while the two were similar, they were not the same and somehow she knew she must show him that. Jaisel has walked the line of woman and monster, Lady and Savage, and come back whole. Now, it's up to her to see Tristan does as well. Sequel to FTYF.

Hey people! I've started my sequel to Senna/Dagonet's story, and it's about Tristan, yayy! I think this will be a shorter story as Tristan is not a character I well-empathize with but I'm expanding my creativity by working on him! Only the Prologue will be from Tristans POV, the rest will be from the female protagonist Jaisel. I would like reviews to know I still have readers out there, so if you can spare a moment please drop a sentence or so. Have fun!

PROLOGUE

It was easy to feel nothing, though he knew he could allow himself to feel the cracks in his heart if he tried. It would be a pointless exercise, however and it was so much easier to just keep the cold.

Tristan walked away from his celebrating brothers in arms. Dagonet and Senna were at the center of it, and it was too hard for him to keep his eyes off the sun-blessed Roman girl. He wasn't prey to any obsession. He wasn't a boy, fool enough to think himself in love with her—but the fact remained that she had stirred something inside him that had been still for a decade, and it disturbed him. He knew he would give his life for her in a heartbeat, partly because she'd saved him and in part because giving up his life wasn't a concept he feared.

"Tristan!"

Bors's voice rang out echoed by the calls of a few others and Tristan clenched his jaw, stilling for a moment before lifting a hand in a batting motion and continuing on his walk. He was in no mood for company. There was a stronger ache beside the coldness in his heart, and this was one he more easily embraced—that glorious feeling of hunting for the kill, looking for a man into whom he could send an arrow or sword. There was no outlet in Arthur's new Camelot for such a thing, but he could damn well see fear in the eyes of a few men in the practice yard.

A small smirk played at the corners of his lips as he gathered his weapons from his room. He made his way over to the faux battle-field at a leisurely pace, enjoying the feeling of tension in his arms and the quickening of the blood in his veins. A few of the men in the yard quit their practicing to leave before he approached, and the sight gave him a peculiar rush of disdain and arrogance. Pride kept most of the others on the field, forcing them to spar with him even as fear crept up in the corners of their eyes. He'd had enough of celebrating their victory over the Saxons, had enough of the questions of what he wanted to do in Sarmatia.

He wanted to get out of this fortress, away from all the people. Arthur hadn't sent him scouting in a month. He would go, he decided as he caught a blow just short of sinking too deep into his opponents arm. He was a free man, and he was less bound to the knights than some of his brothers. He didn't give much care to where he'd be going, he could decide that later. It didn't matter as long as it wasn't here.