Hello Everyone! Here is my second King Arthur FanFiction Story. Unlike Eyes Of Faith, this story is not finished. I am writing it as I go, so bare with me. I just recently came up with this idea and I love it. I want to write it down so I don't forget. I will be continuing to update Eyes of Faith. So don't fear about that. I hope you enjoy this as much as I am :) Leave your comments and let me know how I'm doing!

love,

bwr

What Shall Become

Tristan took a deep breath that expanded his ribcage and closed his tired eyes with a sigh as he began counting out loud to twenty. The wind carried his voice through the warm air. His dark brown hair hung down upon his shoulders and was plaited in to random braids spaced sporadically about his head. Tristan could feel her eyes boring in to his skin. He could hear her shallow breathing even from where she stood in the forest. She was waiting for him to make his move, to find her.

He finished counting and slowly opened his eyes. The setting sun shielded his line of vision for a moment before they adjusted. Tristan turned around and began to walk slowly towards the trees. He could hear the sound of leaves ruffling as she rearranged her position. It came from his right. Instead of heading directly towards his prey, he moved slowly in the opposite direction. Tristan took his time. He wanted her to sweat. He wanted the anticipation to grow within her and so he allowed her to enjoy the brief satisfaction of success, before he made his move. It was more enjoyable that way.

Her heart was pounding rhythmically within her chest as her predator walked farther in to the forest. Each step that he took was taking him farther in the opposite direction from where she stood.

Had she truly deceived him this time?

Somehow she felt that this was impossible with Tristan. He had been trained by the elders since infancy. He was crafted to be hyperaware of his surroundings. For this she was thankful. She knew that if he was not, he would be dead. Tristan was the eldest male child of the tribe, which meant that soon the Roman military would arrive and take him away. It could be within days, or years. Either way, Tristan's very life depended upon his skill to survive.

Suddenly strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her swiftly from where her back was pressed firmly against the tree. The woman screamed in shock and then relaxed her body in to the familiar embrace. She would recognize his scent anywhere. He constantly smelled of pine needles and smoke.

"You breathe too loud," he said as his warm breath tickled the corner of her ear. Tristan placed his hand on her lower abdomen. "Do not allow your breath to sit here." He then placed the other hand gently on her throat, "but here."

The woman didn't speak; she just nodded her head and starred in to his golden gaze. Her name was Loralie. She was the granddaughter of the tribe elder. Their parents had been close companions ever since infancy. They had been thrown together since birth and had developed a undeniably close companionship throughout the seventeen years that they had been alive upon the earth.

"It is hopeless; I will never have your skill of evasion." Loralie sighed and lowered her head.

Tristan just smirked and placed his fingers under her chin. He lifted up her face to meet his own and his eyes held a suspicious glint. "That is because you do not wish to evade me."

"Ooh, is that what you believe?" Loralie asked, smiling up at the boy who knew her better than anyone alive. There was nothing that she could willingly hide from Tristan. With one look in to her eyes all truth was laid bare.

"That is what I know," he said. "Besides, I have seen you escape your mother quite successfully."

"Yes, that is true. However, she is not as equally skilled as you."

"Yes, and yet I believe she is equally as dangerous, especially with a broom in her hand." They both laughed goodheartedly at past memories and turned to walk back towards the village in which they had come. The sun was lowering in the sky and supper would soon be prepared. Smoke was billowing up towards the sky from the campfires that warmed the hands of those who built them. Mud huts with rounded roofs littered a grassy plain that stretched as far as their eyes could see. In the distance the sound of seabirds sent their melody dancing along the wind.

This was their home. It was the only place that they had ever known and it went by the name of Sarmatia. It was a country under the dominion of the Roman Empire. Its citizens were sporadic groups of nomads who traveled freely throughout the land. There were no large industrial cities. It was a culture that civility had yet to touch.

Their tribe resided along the southern half of Sarmatia. They were Siraces. Their people had originally migrated from the Caspian Sea and now moved along the coast of the Black Sea. The Siraces were hunters and fishermen. They learned to be one with nature and to read the land. Most of Sarmatia was open grassy plains. However, they chose to live among lush forest and thick vegetation.

The young girl broke the silence and turned to her friend. "I may not be able to hide from you, but I know the one thing in which I shall always triumph." Loralie said to the boy who stood by her side.

"And what may that be?"

Without saying another word Loralie took off at full speed down the grassy slope. He could hear her laughing as she ran towards the village. When Tristan realized her intension, he began sprinting after her. The woman stumbled and almost fell forward but she was upright within seconds. Even with the downward slope Tristan was no match for her swiftness of foot.

Loralie continued running, pushing her way past bewildered people, and hurdling over any obstacles in her way. She ignored their angry words of disapproval. Loralie could hear Tristan's heavy footsteps from behind and it only fueled her adrenaline further. She could see her father up ahead, hanging the venison that he had just killed that evening during the hunt. She smiled and knew that her mother would be proud. The man turned when his eldest daughter appeared suddenly beside him. Without warning she was tackled from behind and laid sprawled out on the ground. Tristan lay beside her. Both children were trying to catch their breath.

"You boy, are a bad influence." her father said, looking down with amusement at the couple.

"Ahh, you are mistaken Sir. I believe that the blame is deserved elsewhere." Tristan stood to his feet and dusted dirt off of his trousers and tunic.

Loralie continued to lie laughing on her back. She clutched her hand over her stomach and tried to calm herself. Her lungs began to burn. After a few moments Tristan reached out his hand and helped the girl to her feet. It was in that moment that her mother made her way towards them from across the field. Her expression was one of disapproval.

Tristan bowed his head in respect when she was close enough to be acknowledged. The boy looked up when she began to speak. "Tristan, I view you as a son. But you must learn to contain yourself. In case you may have forgotten, my daughter is a woman and she must not be tramping around across the countryside in such a manner. I did not raise my children in such a way." Loralie's mother was tall and proud. Her skin was tan and her hair deep brown, like her daughters. She was strong like most Sarmatia women. They were built to survive.

The young man nodded his head to signal his understanding as he turned to look at Loralie as she leaned lazily against a wooden post. Tristan's eyes traveled up her recently developed figure. Her body was slender and she stood tall, eye to eye with himself. Her waist was lean and her breasts small but their outline lay clearly visible through her cotton blouse. This was enough to arouse him slightly and his eyes continued to travel up her body. Loralie's complexion was fair and smooth from youth. Her hair was dark and hung straight, but wild around her shoulders. Finally his gaze landed on her face and met with her brilliant blue eyes that were shining with amusement. Tristan remembered that he was being watched and returned his eyes back to her mother. "Indeed, I have not forgotten that she is a woman."

Loralie swatted out her hand and hit him in the side. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him away from her parents. Her father was smirking from behind the children and her mother shook her head with a sigh. She turned to look at her husband. "What will I do with those two?"

"Must something be done?" He asked, as he watched Loralie and Tristan walk away towards the hut where Tristan's family resided.

"You do not believe so?" His wife asked curiously.

The man placed his arm around his wife and pulled her in to a passionate kiss. When they pulled away he smiled. "I believe that if something was to be done, it should have been done seventeen years ago. It is too late now to change the course of fate."

Suddenly a young boy of about ten winters came running up to the man. He tugged hard on his tunic to get his attention. Loralie's father let go of his wife and looked down. "What is it boy?"

For a few moments the child could not speak. He was hunched over trying to catch his breath. Soon he was upright and the words that came out of his mouth struck dread in to the hearts of the couple who heard it.

"The Romans have arrived."