As long as she could remember, young Deirdre had been a complete fool over the knight named Tristan. Her cousin Vanora couldn't understand it at all, and often teased her about her infatuation. Tristan was hardly the most cuddly of men. Even the whores and loose women that threw themselves at Arthur and his knights tread carefully around Tristan. It was said that on the battlefield he was a swift and merciless killer.

But Diedre was still smitten. It started when she was the tender age of twelve. She had been outside the walls of the fortress that they all called home, playing amongst the huge oaks that lined the road, when she came upon an injured bird. Its wing was bent at an odd angle, and several of its feathers were missing. She had just pulled her wrap off of her head and was trying to think of a way to move it when Tristan had ridden by. Thinking back, she figured he had probably thought that she was the one who was hurt, and that was the only reason he had called out to her. After all, he hardly made a habit of consorting with little girls.

But nevertheless he had, and it had startled her when he suddenly loomed up in front of her and asked, "You all right?" She had shown him the little bird, which he told her was a sparrow, and had reset the poor thing's wing and wrapped it up for her. As he worked she had stared up at him, wondering about the tattoos that adorned his cheeks, and trying to see what color his eyes were. Then in what seemed like hardly any time at all, he had swung back up on his horse turned back briefly and given her a stern warning to feed it worms and crumbs, and continued on his way.

But that brief moment of kindness had set her young heart to beating faster and from that moment on he was the only man she would ever consider loving.

Now Diedre was sixteen and her little sparrow's wing was long mended and he had been sent on its way. But she was stilling pining over Tristan. Anytime he rode into the fort she was there, pretending to be working but really watching him out of the corner of her eye. Finally one day Vanora (who was older than Diedre and already had children) snapped that she was more than old enough to carry drinks in the tavern and moon at him from there.

"Oh, please don't say anything in front of him or the other knights," she pleaded. "Please Vanora! I'd just die. Really, I would."

Vanora sighed and shook her head, "You know I won't girl! But you know, you shouldn't be so smitten with him. There are plenty of other boys around here. Boys your age! And you're old enough to marry now."

Diedre rolled her eyes, "The boys around here are dull."

Vanora gave an annoyed humph and pushed several full mugs of beer to her. "Get on with it, Diedre."

And so Diedre became a fixture at the tavern. The other knights learned her name and some even flirted with her, but she brushed them off and was careful to be attentive to Tristan's needs. If his bowl was empty she made sure he got more, if he wanted apples she would pull out the best looking ones for him. But she could never bring herself to say anything other than the most cursory of words to him. Anytime she got near him her heart would pound and whatever clever thing she had thought of to say would slip her mind and she would blush and stammer.

"I'm sure he thinks I'm a dullard!" she moaned to Vanora one evening as they washed dishes. "I can't ever say anything. It all just dries up!"

"You're just shy. There's nothing wrong with that. Give it time. You're a pretty girl, maybe he'll talk to you."

"You really think so?" she asked, her voice full of hope.

"Well... There's always a chance." Vanora left out how Tristan never talked to any of the women, and only paid for whatever he wanted from them.

Diedre sighed glumly. "Yeah. I guess." But she really didn't think it would happen either.