A/N: Thanks, everybody, for reviewing. I really appreciate your thoughts on the characters and the story!

I've changed the rating to M, because I think there is a description of violence and a conversation that, though brief, are a bit too graphic for T, in my opinion.


Young Heiresses

Tristan was saddling his horse, while a servant from Caer Brannum filled his saddle bags with food, hiding his yawns every so often. The boy had obviously been plucked straight from his bed to see to the knights, and Tristan thought he probably owed his provisions to the efficiency of Heledd, the cook. Eirian had been so absent-minded that he doubted she'd thought of anything this mundane.

He took Fedir and walked to the courtyard, where she was waiting with the king and queen. Rhodri was standing slightly behind her, a hand wrapped firmly around her elbow to steady her.

Tristan bit back a growl at the sight of it. If it hadn't been obvious before, it was so now after the way they had acted around each other this night. No commander was this familiar with his lady. Gods, he was sick of all this. He had half a mind to tell the woman to go to hell with all her lies, but her sister did not deserve this. No, his mind added darkly, she was much better off in a marriage that Eirian would no doubt arrange with her own best interests in mind. Unmarried, the girl was too much of a threat to the older sister's position.

Even married, she could still be a risk. There would always be claims through marriage to Tegwen. Eirian would marry the girl to a man who could be soothed by gold, rather than a lordship. Aye, Tegwen's dowry would make someone a very rich man, all for the sake of Eirian's hold on her father's lands.

It was ridiculous. Tristan had not stayed in Britannia to deal with this kind of nonsense. He had stayed to help keep the peace in the kingdom Arthur had created. His brothers had bled for it, he had bled for it, and this girl was willing to endanger it, all for her own lust of power.

Her father should have put her in a nunnery. Tristan had not converted to Christianity, but in his opinion the religion did have its perks. Let Eirian act out her little political games behind stone walls. Good riddance.

The knights gathered in the courtyard with several of Caer Brannum's scouts. Tristan watched their faces closely – these were the men that had eluded him on his journey here. It did not help his mood in any way. Tor appeared next to him, blond hair tied back and green eyes only half-awake.

"Wake up," he snapped at the young man. "You're no use to me with your eyes closed."

"Sorry, sir," Tor apologised, jumping nearly a foot in the air.

Eirian said some trembling words to the men, but Tristan ignored them and mounted Fedir, impatient to leave. He fell into the back of the line with Tor as they cantered through the gates and into the town.

Tristan twisted in the saddle to look back, only to see Eirian clasping a hand over her mouth and turning to Rhodri, who wrapped his arms around her, one hand protectively around the back of her head. The young commander locked eyes with him, but instead of letting Eirian go, he sent a savage look to Tristan and led her back into the villa.


The search party split up outside the town, taking off in different directions. Tristan kept up the pace. Tor, realising what was good for him, took pains not to fall behind. They were heading east, towards the mountains that separated the Britons from the Saxons.

Rhodri had told them that three horses were missing from the stables, one for Arwel and two for the guards who had fled with him. Which meant that Tegwen was riding along with one of them. One horse was carrying extra weight, which was an advantage to the pursuers.

Tor and Tristan meticulously checked every spot where a trail led away from the main road, but it seemed that if Arwel had headed this way, he'd chosen for speed instead of cover and stayed on the road.

If they continued to follow this road, Tristan knew, they would come upon a crossing, one way bending north towards some of Eirian's vassals and eventually Arthur's own lands, one way south heading into the Saxon kingdom of Bercia. The only way further east was through a small path, nothing more than a goat trail, through the mountains, on the other side of which lay more Saxon lands and the eastern shore of the island.

Tristan thought it highly unlikely that Arwel would risk contacting one of Eirian's vassals when he had abducted her sister. He would either seek shelter with one of Arthur's more ambitious allies, or he would defect to the Saxons altogether.

Bercia's king would rather appreciate the possibility of incorporating Caer Brannum into his own dynasty through Tegwen, whereas Arthur's allies might still have some reserves about doing so. At least, for as long as Arthur's stand on the whole matter was undecided.

"Sir?" Tor asked. "Do you think Arwel would have taken a main road?"

"Depends on what he wants to achieve," Tristan answered. "Get as far away as soon is possible, or disappear. We are not acquainted with the land here well enough to know all the paths and hiding spots, so the lady's men are searching the land. We take the roads."

"What do you think he'll do, sir?"

Gods, Tor had obviously woken up during their ride.

"It matters naught. He might hide for a few days, but he'll have to leave Caer Brannum's lands eventually. He needs allies. Even if he takes Tegwen for a wife, he'll have to fight for his claim through her."

"Tegwen? You've met the young lady, sir?"

"A few times."

"Do you think she could be turned against her sister?"

Tristan looked at his pupil. "I doubt she'll have a say in the matter."

"It's a right bloody mess here, isn't it?"

Personally, Tristan thought that the bloody part of the mess had yet to come, but he nodded anyway. "Keep your eye on the road."

Arwel's party was two hours ahead of them at the most, and they had one horse with two riders, which slowed them down. Early as it as, the sun was already peeking out from between the mountains in front of them, and it meant that they would be able to search any tracks much faster than before.

When they reached the crossing, Tristan decided to go south to Bercia, since the freshest tracks he suspected were Arwel's went that way. The tension that came with entering enemy territory wrapped around him like a second skin.

"How far until we are in Saxon land?" asked Tor quietly.

"Three hours, at this pace. We'll gain on them once we're able to go faster."

The young man nodded silently. With approval Tristan noticed Tor's increased alertness as they neared the border.

Tor leant over to have a closer look at the ground.

"See anything?" asked Tristan.

"I'm not sure, sir. There are footprints here and it looks like someone fell."

They both dismounted to examine the tracks, but the footprints didn't lead anywhere.

"Looks like a struggle," Tristan noted. He pointed at the hoof prints continuing down the road. "Seems they got back on the horses, though."

"We're heading in the right direction, aren't we, sir?"

"Aye."


Tristan snapped his fingers and pointed at the bend in the road. They had dismounted earlier, at the edge of the woods, and they were leading their horses by the reins.

Tor tapped his ear, indicating he had heard the voices too. After they had bound the horses loosely to a branch, they advanced quietly. It was not the Saxon language that they could hear, it was the Briton dialect of this area.

Tor looked at Tristan excitedly. The commander nodded back. They'd probably found them.

They crept towards the turn in the road, around which, they could now see, was a small clearing a little way off the road. They could see the still figures of horses in the twilight, but no more was visible. The horses' riders had not made a fire.

Tristan motioned at Tor to follow him closer to the clearing. Silently, Tristan pulled a knife from his belt, and after a moment Tor did the same. Tristan placed a hand on his apprentice's shoulder. "We need at least one for questioning," he said quietly.

Tor nodded.

In silence they crossed the road, keeping as low as possible. Tristan held up his hand and Tor stopped moving. They were on the edge of the clearing. Tristan could see Tegwen sitting next to a guard. She seemed to be in relatively good health, though her head hung forward and she was hugging her knees. At least she was sitting up on her own , Tristan judged, which meant no serious injuries. Everything else could be determined later.

The second guard was sitting opposite of the other one, while Arwel was standing a little further away, near the horses. Tristan considered aiming to kill, but the horses were blocking his sight. Tristan sighed and stood up, taking the only option they had.

He stepped into the clearing. The guards jumped up in complete surprise. Tristan smiled. At least he wasn't losing his touch yet. "Let's take the girl back now, shall we?" he said to Arwel.

Arwel's hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

"Don't," advised Tristan. Tor came to stand next to him.

Judging from the rapidly changing expressions on his face, Arwel was considering his possibilities.

"Be reasonable," said Tristan. "It's over."

Arwel glared at him and scoffed. "Kill her!" he shouted.

One of the guards grabbed Tegwen's hair and yanked her head back. Tristan swore and used the instant the guard needed to get a good grip on his knife to jump at him, knocking the man off his feet. Tegwen cried out in pain, a lock of hair ripped from her head, but Tristan dragged the guard away from her and she scrambled out of their reach on hands and knees.

The second guard had engaged Tor, leaving Arwel free to mount his horse and take off into the night. "No!" shouted the young knight. "He's escaping!"

Tristan grunted, but could not do anything with his opponent still at him. Tor punched the other guard squarely in the face, sending him sprawling, and ran out of the clearing to get his horse.

"Tor!" Tristan barked, but the young knight did not listen and headed after Arwel.

Tristan's opponent clawed at his throat, and the knight was forced to turn his attention to finishing the fight. He pulled a knife from his boot and thrust it upwards into the guard's stomach, finishing it an instant later by slitting the man's throat.

Tristan wiped his knife on the guard's clothes and turned around in search of Tegwen. She was sitting in the grass, her eyes and mouth wide open in horror. Tristan reckoned she wouldn't go anywhere on her own and stalked over to the guard that Tor had apparently knocked unconscious.

He fetched a rope from the guard's saddle and bound him with it, heaving the man onto his horse, tying him securely to keep him from falling off. Once they got back to Caer Brannum, they could extract valuable information from him, not in the least Arwel's destination.

Tristan sheathed his knife back into his boot and wiped his hands on his trousers to get rid of some of the blood, before he went over to Tegwen. She scrambled away from him, whimpering.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he told her.

She said nothing, but merely stared at him.

Reigning in his impatience, he said calmly, "We should get back to Caer Brannum. It's not safe here."

"No," whispered Tegwen. "I can't go back."

"Come on, girl," Tristan pressed. "We're on Saxon land. I do not have time for this."

"All I wanted was to ask him if it was true," said Tegwen tearfully. "And he said it was. And I went with him – I went…"

"Did he harm you?" asked Tristan gruffly.

She blinked and looked pleadingly at him. Gods, Tristan thought, her eyes were exactly like her sister's, dark blue and slightly almond-shaped. Only Tegwen's eyes were without the wariness and slyness that veiled Eirian's.

He looked for something else in Tegwen's eyes, but could not find it. He relaxed a little. Arwel did not seem to have gone very far with his plan. Tristan could be wrong, of course, but it was not his place to ask more personal questions.

"Tegwen," he said more gently. "We must go now."

Tegwen shook her head. "She'll never have me back. She'll never forgive me. I believed Arwel, even after he took me away. I thought he would keep me safe. But then we crossed the border to Bercia, and I knew… I knew then… I tried to get away, but they put me back on the horse. I was such a fool. Eirian will never want to see me again."

Tristan had no comforting answer. He had no idea what Eirian would do. He extended a hand to Tegwen, ignoring the blood still sticking to it. "She may. She may not. But sitting here on the ground won't change any of that. Neither will running away. Get up, Tegwen. We're going back."

Silently, Tegwen wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed his hand, letting herself be pulled to her feet. For a moment, she looked at the blood that had rubbed off on her fingers, before she lifted her face to meet his eyes. "I understand."

With something akin to regret, Tristan witnessed the change in her. He knew he would not be bringing a child back to Caer Brannum.


They arrived back at Caer Brannum just before sunrise. Tristan quickly led the horses through the town, wanting to reach the villa as soon as possible. They halted in front of the entrance. While Tristan helped an exhausted Tegwen down from her horse, Eirian stormed down the steps in a whirlwind of black and blue silk. She pushed past the knight and embraced her sister to tightly that the girl staggered backwards.

" Eirian…" Tegwen choked.

Eirian grabbed her sister by her shoulders and shook her. "You idiot girl!" she shouted. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Tegwen began to sob.

"Oh God, I was so worried about you," moaned Eirian and pulled Tegwen into another hug. Tegwen's small fists grabbed the back of Eirian's dress when her sister continued, "What am I supposed to do without you, you daft child? You're all I have. If you ever do anything like that again, I swear to God I will lock you up until your hair and teeth fall out."

"I'm sorry, Eirian, I'm so sorry," cried Tegwen.

"I'm sorry too," said Eirian. "You must believe me. I didn't harm Ifan and there is nothing but friendship between Rhodri and me."

"I know," nodded Tegwen. "When I realised we were going south to Bercia, I knew he'd been lying to me. It was very foolish of me. I never should have believed him. But I just wanted to know what was going on."

Eirian looked pained. "This is all my fault. I have abandoned you since Father died. I didn't want to worry you."

Tristan's eyebrow shot up. Eirian was admitting a mistake?

"I'm not a child anymore, Eirian," Tegwen protested weakly.

"I know that," the elder sister replied. "But you are my little sister and my only family. I have to keep you safe."

"Telling me nothing is not protecting me," Tegwen answered. " I am still your heir, am I not? I should know what's going on."

Tristan smiled wryly. Adulthood in Caer Brannum seemed to go hand in hand with claiming hereditary positions.

Eirian caressed her sister's fair hair. "You are. Come, we must talk, but not outside."

"Wait." Tegwen stepped out of her sister's arms and curtsied for Tristan. "Thank you, sir."

He inclined his head politely at the girl.

Her sister placed a hand on her shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you, Tristan."

Tristan nodded uncomfortably. "I brought back one of the guards for questioning," he replied. He nodded at the man, who was still unconscious from the second time he'd received a knock to the head, from an irritated Tristan who'd had enough of his struggling. "The other one is dead. Arwel escaped into Bercia, but one of my scouts went after him. I will follow their tracks."

Eirian gestured at a soldier to take the captured guard from the horse and sent a messenger to Rhodri. "I will have my kitchen staff supply you with food."

"You're not going alone, are you, sir Tristan?" frowned Tegwen. "Not to Bercia?"

"None of the other search parties have returned yet," said Eirian. "Do you require a company of my men?"

"I will ask Lancelot to come with me," he answered.

"You're going into Saxon territory with only two men?" replied Eirian, after a slight hesitation.

"We'll be quicker that way and less likely to be seen by Saxons."

"We were already in Bercia when they found me," Tegwen told Eirian.

Instantly, Eirian's brain started going over the implications, Tristan could tell. "Bercia," she mumbled. "Yes, I suppose you are right, sir. It is better to remain hidden. Now is not the time to provoke our Saxon neighbours." She rubbed Tegwen's arms. "Come on, let's get you inside."


An hour later Tristan was on horse again, accompanied by Lancelot. And seven hours later they found Tor's body, a large, ragged abdominal wound clear evidence of the cause of his death.

As he waved his hand to chase off the flies that had already gathered on the young scout's body, Tristan remembered Tor's words. "It's a right bloody mess here, isn't it?" It had indeed become just that, Tristan thought angrily.

Lancelot and he bound Tor's wound so that he could be brought back to Caer Brannum on horseback.

With Tor's heavy, lifeless body lying across his thighs as they rode back, Tristan could not help but think about the consequences. Tor had been a promising scout and a good warrior, his youth making him a bit rash, but Tristan had had faith that he would have become more level-headed in a few years. Arwel had taken that away, and for what?

Tristan would retaliate. His mind was already set. Aside from the fact that Tor had been in the high king's service, he had been one of Tristan's men. He'd lost one of his men to that absurd struggle between Arwel and Eirian. It was not acceptable. He realised he was making this personal, but he had absolutely no intention of changing that. As far as he was concerned, this was personal.

"Arthur will want satisfaction for his death," said Lancelot. His jaw was tense and he was brooding even more than Tristan. Of course, the advisor had larger consequences to try and oversee.

"Arwel is a dead man," said Tristan, so calmly that Lancelot looked disturbed.

And he was really going to have to put a lot of effort into not assigning Eirian the same fate.

After their return to Caer Brannum, Tristan insisted on taking Tor back to Camelot and his family himself. He had to deal with a distraught Tegwen, who was blaming herself for the young scout's death, and he had to deal with his own temper, when he saw Eirian standing over Tor's body with an utterly blank face.

Griflet, the other young scout and a friend of Tor's, wanted to come with as well, and together they left Eirian's lands, heading north to Camelot.

It turned into one the most unpleasant weeks Tristan had had in quite some time. Because of the summer heat, he returned Tor's body in a state that made hardened men swallow with difficulty, let alone his young and heavily pregnant wife.

Judging from her reaction, the two had married out of love. She went into a screaming fit of grief, finally passed out from exhaustion, and when she woke up again, her labour started, postponing the burial for which Tristan was staying. It took her a full day and night to give birth, and screaming women had never been Tristan's forte. Leaving, unfortunately, had not been an option.

Aggravated within an inch of his self-control, he returned to Caer Brannum with Griflet ten days after they'd left, riding all the way in such ominous silence that Griflet all but turned into a nervous wreck.

The young scout sighed in relief when Caer Brannum finally came into view, but his eyes widened when he saw his commander's expression. Tristan's anger had been building steadily for a fortnight and he knew just the person to take it out on.

He tossed his reins to Griflet the moment he dismounted, ignoring his apprentice's anxious "Sir?" and strode into the villa. He grabbed the first servant he saw by the arm, growling out, "Your mistress?"

"Her rooms, sir," the man squeaked, blinking after the scout with a slack jaw as he stalked away.

Tristan didn't bother knocking, but walked in and slammed the door shut behind him. From her sofa beneath the window, Eirian stared in shock at him. The handmaids in the room all whirled towards her, unsure of their lady's response.

Tristan saw her throat move when she swallowed. "Sir Tristan," she then said. "What an unexpected visit." The sharp edge in her voice spurred him even more.

"Leave," he barked at the maids.

"I beg your pardon?" said Eirian indignantly.

"I lost one of my men because of your scheming," he snapped. "Is that something you want to discuss in front of them?"

She paled, her eyes shooting from him to her servants. "Go," she told them softly.

"My lady?"

"Go," repeated Tristan, his glare so fierce that two of them stepped backwards. The room was empty within a moment, but it seemed to spark Eirian's anger.

She stood up from the sofa. "If you think that you can order my p – "

"Be quiet," he growled at her. "I do not give a damn about your people, your status, or your problems."

"That's nothing new to me," she bit back. "And it is certainly nothing of interest to me. You've come here to pick a fight – that's the only reason you're here."

Tristan fixed her with an ice cold stare. "I am here to tell you that I informed Tor's wife that her husband and the father of her unborn child was killed as a result of an unnecessary quarrel between you and Arwel over who can sit their pompous arse on a throne they think they both deserve."

She did not even blink at his inappropriate language. "I did not kill Tor," she said calmly, adding mercilessly, "and I doubt this is the first time you've had to take the body of one of your men home. What on earth makes you barge into my chambers like this?"

"You don't think the needless murder of one of my men enough?" he retorted.

She scoffed. "Needless? Tell me, when is a murder ever needful?"

Tristan sneered. "You tell me."

She paused, shaking her head bitterly. "I think I have tolerated just about enough from you. Leave."

"No," said Tristan. "You will take responsibility for this. You will be aware of the consequences of your actions."

"Ah," she said derisively. "That is what it comes down to. Your vendetta against me again. All of this is my fault, I have disrupted your peaceful elderly days with my wish to keep my father's lands safe from greedy hands, I should have just given over Caer Brannum to Arwel, because it is more convenient for you."

Elderly days? Tristan thought irritably. Perhaps. But he'd be damned if he let a mere girl, who'd seen nothing more of the world than the adoring, sycophantic faces of her servants, speak to him like that.

"And speaking of Arwel," she continued angrily. "What about him? I have not seen you treating him the way you treat me, while he was still here. Which he isn't anymore, because he abducted my sister!"

She shouted the last words at him.

"You're behaving like a child," he told her off maliciously. "Arwel is to blame as well, but it does not mitigate your share. Pointing an accusing finger at someone else won't clear you of guilt."

He tilted his head. "Did I tell you that Tor's wife had to take my word for it, that it was her husband I was bringing back home? He was so swollen and discoloured he was unrecognisable. And the smell… Have you ever smelt a corpse after a week? Especially one whose guts have been ripped apart?"

Eirian gaped at him, horror and disbelief evident, before she forced her features back into cool composition. "No, but I have seen my late husband's head loll about in ways it shouldn't after he'd broken his neck. Does that count for anything with you?"

He had to hand it to her, she did not back down easily. "Not much," he replied just as coolly. "Seeing as you caused the state of his neck."

But that seemed to have been just the right remark. Eirian bared her teeth, marched over to him, and hissed in his face, "I did not kill Ifan. I don't know who did! And you think I don't feel guilty over Tor's death? He saved my sister's life! He died because I did not guard Arwel well enough. And you think I don't care? Good God, Tristan, what kind of monster do you think I am?"

"The kind that would use anything for her own benefit," he retorted icily. "Spare me the act, woman."

This time he was prepared for her. He grabbed her wrist before her hand connected with his face and tightened his grip when she tried to break loose. "Once, Eirian," he threatened. "I let you do that once. The next time I will hit back."

She froze, standing suddenly very still as she looked at him. Tristan could see a million different things going on in her head, making him curious as to what would come out on top. Slowly, an arrogant sneer formed on her face.

"Do that, Tristan," she drawled. "Do that, and you will find out just how well I can act. You might be a callous, violent brute, but I doubt your king is the same. What would he think when his royal knight abused a poor, defenceless, weak woman who is half his size? Hit me, and I will show Arthur the marks, weeping miserably as I do it." She smirked. "My skin bruises spectacularly, you know. It will really add lustre to my act."

She stared pointedly at her wrist, but Tristan kept his fingers locked around it, though he wanted nothing more than to shove the little snake away from him. But she would not win this battle so easily. "Admitting that you're weak and defenceless?" he countered. "I think not."

"Well," she replied. "If it benefits me, why not? Didn't you just say so yourself?"

"I might have overlooked an exception," said Tristan, pulling her closer by her wrist. He smirked back at her, leaning over so close their noses were nearly touching. She did not avert her face, lifting her chin in defiance instead. Tristan's smirk widened. "After all, you convinced Guinevere with the help of my appalling behaviour, but you never told anyone you let me open your robe."

She shot backwards, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. He let her, enjoying his triumph. Trembling with rage, she stood in front of him. "Get out!" she snarled. "Get out, you disgusting excuse of a man!"

He mocked her with an impeccable bow. "My lady."

"Get out!"

Tristan sent her a last, knowing glance over his shoulder as he sauntered out of her rooms.