Disclaimer: Still remains the same.

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Chapter 14: This Ends Part 1

By all the gods above, below and everywhere else they rule how can one fucking man talk so much about so little, Tristan's lithe body leaned back in the chair slowly lifting a filled goblet to his mouth. He closed his dark amber eyes inhaling as he did, taking within his breath as much wine as he could. He swallowed hard as he sunk down in the chair finally allowing his neck to rest on its back. Long legs slid farther under the table as feet crossed at the ankle. He stared at the ceiling. He had never really taken notice to its detailed adornments before. Closing his eyes he chuckled noticeably. There were a lot of things around him that he was suddenly taking notice to as of recent. The responsibility of his present condition he was convinced was solely and completely due to her. There he said it, thought it. Tamara, the mere whisper of her name in his mind stirred feelings he buried long ago. This girl was going to be the end of him if he was not careful. Of this fact he was certain.

He could hear the muddled sound of his commanding officer in the distant but his thoughts; soul and even heart were somewhere else. Soon he would ask her to be his woman, ask her to share not only his life but his bed. He would claim her to be his. She would be his and his alone….if she agreed that is. Tristan's brow creased drastically he sat up straight, curled his lips tightly releasing a low growl. Gawain he grumbled, feeling the bile rising in his throat. His chest tightened as the vision of that no good pissfucked golden haired Knight's hand on Tamara's slender waist flashed before him. The way he held on to her slipping his hand across the small of her back as she made her way through the tavern. He thought of how brazen that stupid fucking golden hair man was. How he dared escort her home while Tristan had been away on patrol last week. His fist clenched tightly around his goblet as his neck sunk into his shoulders.

With a sudden burst of fury the door opened, hitting against the wall behind it with a loud thud. The room fell silent and all eyes turned toward the figure standing in the threshold. There he stood said godsdamnitall golden haired Knight. He was dripping wet, soaked to his very core and he smelled, the kind of smell you get from a rancid dog with wet hair.

"Glad you saw yourself fit to join us finally Gawain," the sound emanated off the lips of that smart mouth second in command Lancelot who always had to be sure to add his two coins for good measure. "Next time see you find the bath house before you make your way."

Gawain remained firm in the threshold, standing there just glaring at the Scout. The pair locked eyes and Tristan returned his glare with that unmistakable death glare that he is so well noted for. Nostrils flared, breathes became heighten.

"Enough," shouted Arthur in an extremely pissed off tone. When the sound of his command goes unheeded he resorted to slamming his fist forcibly on the heavy wooden table. "I said enough!" Arthur stood up kicking the chair back with his boot as he did. "You two," he snarled, glaring back and forth between his two Knights. "I do not know, nor do I care what it is that has fallen ill between you. But I tell you this...this ends….am I understood?" He stormed toward the door stopping just as he met Gawain face to face. His nose crinkled at the smell. "Resolve it," he looked back and forth several time between them. "Resolve it or I will have the both of you flogged." He began to step out of the door before he stopped and turned to Gawain. "Find the bath house."

Galahad was soon at the door, his hands pressed against Gawain's chest pushing his out of the way.

"Move it Gawain, to the bath house with you," his voice low and concerning to his friend. He knew what the rift between the two was. "Come on, this isn't the time nor the place for this." Their eyes locked. "Come on." The younger knight's hand pulled on Gawain's arm until he reluctantly moved. "By all the gods you are rank." Gawain took one last look at Tristan, whom had not moved or flinched.

Moments later Tristan felt a strong hand grab his shoulder, shaking him. "Tristan," it was Dag towering over him. "Tavern….now, I'll buy you a drink." Strong hand lifted the material on his tunic, giving the Scout no option but to yield to his will. So he reluctantly complied with the demands of his larger friend.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Dag led Tristan into the tavern, his hand still held on to the Scout's tunic. The pair took seats at an open table just to the center of the open tavern. It was not long before Tristan smiled; his nostrils filled with the intoxicating aroma of her scent. It was a sweet mixture of herbs and cooking. His breathing slowed to a calm pace and he could feel the muscles in his body begin to relax. Then he felt the warmth of her hand on his back as she leaned in past his shoulder, placed a mug of ale in front of him and looked down to catch his gaze.

"I thought you might be in need of one after your long meeting with Arthur." Her smile was as warm as the sun.

He smiled as his eyes caught sight of the bare white flesh of her slender neck just there before him for the taking. Purposely and skillfully she tilted her head, dropping her shoulder ever slightly. His warm breath prickled her skin into small bumps as heat raged through her bloodstream. Her breath hitched and her mouth dried. She cleared her throat softly. "My lord," in a low sultry purr, knowing that would immediately engage his attention. She was right. He snorted and rolled his eyes. Lifting the mug to his mouth he drank then felt the warmth of her body press against his as she leaned over to place a mug in front of Dag. His eyes closed. She chuckled proud of her accomplishment.

Tristan watched her for the remainder of the night as she plied her services to the customers at the tavern, waiting tables, fetching food and drink. All the while Tristan was ever watchful for anyone who he remotely thought would give Tamara the slightest problem. He and Dag continued to share ale and moderate conversation.

A regular of the tavern wenches, Lucy, entered from the kitchen area; she was looking for this night's companion. Someone strong, hopefully handsome, warm body that she could love for the night and be whatever it was he wanted her to be for the right price. Then she spotted them and so began her prowl. Soon Lucy weaved her way to their table. Seductively trailing her hand over Tristan's shoulder, down his arm then maneuvered her fingers up the large forearm of Dagonet. Yes Dag, the mighty healer, a most gentle lover he was indeed and he would serve her rightly this evening. She was always amazed at how broad and muscular his shoulders were. Strong arms were his reward from years of wheedling a sword, but it was her pleasure to be held by them. It was he who was her favorite lover of all the Knights.

Dag let out a low moan as she continued to trace his tunic with just her fingertips, slowly leaning against his large frame as her arms wrapped around him. He felt a sudden tightening of his breeches as her lips trailed softly the contour of his neck. Always a welcome reaction when she touched him. He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat, tightening the grip on his mug. Warm breath sent sensations up and down his spin, pulse raced as she skillfully sucked just behind his earlobe before taking it into her mouth between her teeth.

"I know just what you are indeed of my healer," she purred in his ear, her hand continuing its path down his breeches. "Mmmmm, yes just exactly what you desire." She whispered. "Come let me pleasure you for the night."

Dag looked toward Tristan. The Scout's head leaned with one eye closed watching his friend's well deserved liaison. Tristan bore a foxlike smirk across his face, lifted his mug in an attempt to hide his chuckle.

"Well, I'm off then," the healer smiled as he drank the last gulp of ale in his mug. He stood up taking Lucy by the hand leading her out of the tavern and back to her room.

Tristan smiled, he knew what pleasures awaited his friend from that wench for she truly was skilled at her trade. He had known many pleasurable nights of the sweetness of her skills. He smiled, lost in memories when suddenly he felt heated eyes staring at him. He looked up to find Tamara standing across the table from him, her hands on her hips and eyes as cold as the blackest winter's night. He chuckled. She clenched her eyes. Suddenly he found her small frame leaned over the table, palms pressed firmly down on the table top.

"Is she what keeps you warm at night on your long lonely patrols," she growled firmly.

Curiosity got the better of him (although he knew women well enough to know prodding her would inevitably be a mistake) he still continued all the same. "What are you on about girl," he chuckled.

"I saw your lingering gaze at her while she walked away with Dag." She snorted. "Then that smile that came across your face." She turned to walk away before stopping. Her headed looked back over her shoulder; beautiful thick black mane tussled down over her shoulders, grey eyes hurtfully stared at him. "And the memory of you lying with her that brought the smile forth upon your lips."

He watched as she walked away, stopping to pick up empty bowls and mugs from the table. Her head down, a slow sadness in her gate.

She knew him far too well, could read his mind and seemed to know his thoughts even without him ever letting her in. Now she was hurt. For the first time since he had arrived he actually cared that he had offended someone. He mused over his ale for a few moments. Heavy sigh, a final drink and he was up. He caught her midway. Taking her by the arm he turned her around, tray still in hand. With a swift agile move he took the tray from her hand and placed it in the hands of one of the other servers. Strong hand gripped her elbow as she was guided to the kitchen. Just outside the door he turned her so her back was flushed with the stone wall. By all the gods she was tiny he thought as his hands braced the stone just either side of her head. Heavy soft breathes brushed her forehead the closer his lips came to her skin. Finally resting his lips upon her skin Tristan placed a kissed, before allowing his nose to brush across her temple. Whisker tickled the side of her face as he brought his head down to rest upon her shoulder.

"It is not you who has anything to fear," he whispered.

"What is your meaning," her expression confounded him, surly she knew exactly what he was talking about. Was she playing games with him?

"You mean everything to me woman," his voice low, almost saddened. "I have not felt this in so many years; I have not allowed myself to love again Tamara." There was silence between them. "Not since I lost Lujza and Crete." He felt her hands raise, slipping inside his tunic. Even through the material of his shirt he could feel the warmth of her skin. Leaning forward she kissed the base of his neck. "Tamara, never doubt what I feel for you is real, never."

Her head rose meeting deep darkened amber orbs. He was so beautiful, so intriguing, yet so mysterious. All she knew was that when she was with him her heart raced and her soul longed for him when he was away from her.

"You mean the same to me Tristan. Yet..." pausing to choose her words carefully, she was still young and inexperienced in expressing herself to a man.

"Yet," head pulled back slightly so he could look her in the face.

Her eyes faced downward, her head rested on his chest while her arms wrapped his waist. He took her in his arms and held her tenderly. Hoping against hope that she would feel how much he cared for her, loved her.

"Yet… you do not trust me when I tell you this." Gray eyes looked up for absolution in deep amber eyes. "Why?"

His entire body pulled back, taking several steps back away from her. He stared, did she really not know why he felt the way he did, what was the cause of his concern. Standing in front of her small frame he towered over her, darkly looming. She became afraid.

Tristan closed the distance between them, leaning closely in he whispered in her ear. "Gawain," he growled. "Gawain is in love with you ….and you show him too much attention for my liking," again he growled gripping her shoulders. "You are my woman and I will not share you!" He snarled.

His head flew back at the sound of her laughter. Was she foolish enough to mock him to his face? She could not be that brave, this little mouse of a girl. Quickly her small hand covered her lips, badly attempting to cover the humor she found in his statement.

"Are you mocking me girl," lips curled up in anger.

"Mocking you, no…oh no my lord, certainly never mocking you…. never…laughing at your ridiculous statement…aye." She was brave enough this little minx. Stretching on her tiptoes she placed her hands on his whiskered cheeks and kissed his lips with great tenderness and passion. "You ridiculous man you," her head braced against his lips. "I am in love with you." She kissed him again. This time he embraced her, pressing her against cool stone wall. He returned her kiss forcibly, wantonly more possessively.

Strong hands roamed, grabbing material of her dress as they did. He grabbed her bottom firmly lifting her up, her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Their tongues explored each other's mouths with great intent and commitment.

Breathlessly he whispered as he kissed her neck, "I want you."

"Take me, I am yours my lord," her voice gravely, barely able to speak the words out as his hands scorched the bare skin of her thighs.

"Not like this, I will not take you here … like this… I want … want you …in my bed." His words intermittently expelled between kisses lay upon the silky skin of her neck.

The bellowing sound of her name being called over and over echoed in their heads. Heavy breathes as foreheads braced. "Duty calls," she whispered. "Such as it is," her voice crackled with a low soft giggle.

"Such as it is, it is still your duty…..and it calls," warm lips briefly covered hers once more. "Will you stay with me this night Tamara, let me claim you as my woman?"

Her eyes melted into his, warm and tender. A smile graced her mouth that told him she would be his woman. Her lips meshed as she nodded her head.

He took her hands and brought them to his lips. "I will go unsaddle my horse and meet you back here when your shift is done."

Again her name being screeched broke their kiss. They both laughed.

"I'd best be going," she said quietly.

"Yes, you wouldn't want Van after you…..or me," squeezing her hand he left her side. His keen dark eyes watched to make sure she made it into the kitchen before turning the corner. Tristan headed for the stable to unsaddle his horse before returning to the tavern to when her shift ended.

He entered through the doors of the stable, took three steps past the first stall when the power of the first blow flung him airborn, feet flailed upward before he hit the ground hard. The sting to his jaw and the ringing in his head consumed him as he felt a pair of hands grab his tunic and hoist him up. The second blow knocked him stumblingly backwards onto the tack. His body bent hands braced on his knees. Slowly his body rose to face his attacker. He chuckled loudly wiping the blood from his mouth. He spit, blood and saliva mix barely missed his boots.

"Is that the best you've got you pissfucked sod," the Scout snarled in Sarmatian.

Gawain took a step forward before Tristan lundged at him, grabbing his midsection and forcing him to the ground. Once pinned Tristan's left hand grabbed a fist full of his tunic then doubled his right hand into a fist and struck a blow hard to Gawain's jaw. Blood spurt from his mouth. Grabbing Tristan's tunic Gawain managed to get in another forceful swing knocking him back. Both men scrambled to their feet bracing for a full-fledged fight, which happened.

Standing opposing sides staring at one another both men prepared to battle.

"You are not the man for her Tristan," heavy growl from Gawain in his native tongue, as he cocked his right fist thrusting it, hitting the Scout dead center in the nose. Forcefully jerked him backwards as blood splattered. Tristan collected himself once again wiping the blood on his sleeve. He laughed and looked dead center at his opponent. His eyes dark as death as he stared Gawain down. Both men now moving slowly in a circular pattern. Preparing.

"It is me she has chosen Gawain," the Scout grunted swinging his fists several times in an attempt to hit him but Gawain dodged being struct. A few more gabs before he landed an upper cut to Gawain's left eye. Moments later Gawain's fist punched hard to Tristan's stomach doubling him over as his right knee kicked the Scout's face once again knocking him to the ground.

"She will be mine I said," he growled through gritted teeth as he bent over Tristan.

"Fucking hell she will be," Tristan groaned as he plowed into Gawain knocking him over on his back. Tristan plummeted his face, blood covering his fist. "She's mine I said!" He growled, angered unleashed. Gawain would get the worst of this.

Just at that moment Tamara entered the stables accompanied by Bors.

To be continued…..