Summary: Tristan vows to find Galahad in their next life. Hannibal has to live up to that promise.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hannibal or King Arthur
Rating: T
Pairing: Tristan/Galahad Hannibal/Will
MIRRORING THE PAST:
WOLF TRAP, VIRGINIA:
Jack Crawford, the Guru to some, stepped into the little farm house that Will Graham called his home. There was silence, not even a dog to growl a warning at him. That alone was enough to have his senses tingling. Then, confirmation was his when he saw two notes, one addressed to him and the other to Alana, were propped up on the dresser staring him in the face. He went over to them, where he picked his up, turned it over, and pulled free the paper where he read the words I was wrong in a hurried black scrawl. "Wrong about what Will?" Jack muttered.
Alana, after receiving the all clear from the tactical unit walked into Will's house. He was gone, just as Hannibal had vanished in the dark of night. She looked towards the bed seeing the rumpled sheets, trying not imagine what took place there. Something had been different about Hannibal that morning she had gone to him in an effort to locate Will. His demeanor had been off, but she hadn't noticed until now. "Jack?" She asked coming closer to him. He said nothing, just handed her a note with her name on it. She opened it without a second thought.
Dear Alana,
You're probably wondering what in the world is happening, wondering why I left you this letter. I don't really know myself, I just felt I had to leave you something. There are so many thing I wanted to say to you, needed to say to you, but there was never the right time. And now there never will be. You have always been a person that deserved the truth, and yet that's the first thing I must deny to you. There is nothing I could say, or write, that would ever make you understand.
Farewell
A Stray.
Alana had the impulse to crumple up the note out of anger, and out of frustration at the vague words scribbled on the white paper. She opened her hands, looking at the words again. Will wasn't coming back. He'd left the country with Hannibal. "He's not coming back, Jack."
"Will's note tell you that?" Jack tried not to snap at her.
"The dogs are gone." Alana lied.
"We can't just let them go." Jack grumbled. He pulled out his cell, sending a text for a crime scene team to come out and go over every inch of the room looking for anything he could use to hunt Will down. "They're not going to get away."
"With what Jack?" Alana asked. "What is it you think they did?"
Jack heaved a heavy sigh that he'd been carrying around for months, since before Will was released. "Will brought some concerns to me after Beverly died. They were the same ones he'd been making for months." He shook his head. "I don't know what is making me listen now." Jack looked to Alana. "Will was helping me gather evidence that Dr. Lectre is the Chesapeake Ripper."
"You're indulging this again, Jack?!" Alana exploded. It had been bad enough that, in his delusional state, Will had made the same accusations against Hannibal while the evidence against him had piled up. The death of Abigail had been the final straw as far as she was concerned.
"Yes, I am." Jack answered calmly, even though nothing about this situation was calm. Will was on the run with a dangerous man. Was he safe? Was he dead? What had made him drop everything and just leave in the middle of the night with a man he was convinced was a murderer? Jack looked towards the bed, nothing more than a double sized cot, to see the sheets rumpled, the pillows in disarray, and he didn't even want to posit a guess as to what had occurred there.
"Hannibal is not a killer." Alana stated vehemently. She had never gotten a bad vibe from him, and she knew that she never would. "He's not."
"I'm not so sure anymore Alana." Jack whispered to her. "All I know for sure is that we have to find them." With that said, he left the small farm house to go back out into the frigid air of winter.
SOMEWHERE OVER THE ATLANTIC:
Will took a couple of deep cleansing breaths as he sat next to Hannibal. They were half way through their journey and the hard knot of panic had finally started to ease inside him. Were they really free? How long could they stay like this? Will didn't know, and right now he didn't really care. He was with Hannibal and they had Abigail. His life hadn't felt this right in a long time. Looking to his left, he smiled at Hannibal's profile as his paramour had his eyes fixed upon the book in his hands. This was the Hannibal he cared about, but this was also the Tristan that he loved. Will reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing a few errant strands of Hannibal's hair away from his face. Hannibal smiled at that.
Even though Hannibal was seemingly reading his book, he'd read the same paragraph five times. He was more than a little distracted by Will at his side, by the gentle touch of familiar fingers going through his hair. Then he caught Abigail's eyes; she was staring at them like she had never seen them before. "Abigail, is something wrong?" Hannibal asked, taking Will's hand so he could lace their fingers together.
"You two are acting weird." Abigail stated. She hadn't wanted to say anything to them yesterday after their scuffle that hadn't lasted five minutes. Which, in and of itself was weird. Will hardly argued with Hannibal over the fact that she wasn't dead. They had spoken some weird language that both seemed way too at home speaking instead of English. And now they were here, on a plane bound for Europe. Now, she had the time to comment on their strange behavior.
Will tried not to laugh at Abigail's outright statement. To him, how he was acting with Hannibal was normal because of their past, of their habits. But to her, he could see how all of this was making her head spin, making her question all she knew about them, about their standing together. "A lots happened." He said, but it wasn't really and explanation.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Abigail asked, her eyes fixed on Hannibal holding Will's hand.
"It's hard to explain." Will offered up.
"That doesn't mean you can't." Abigail argued staring him down, the man who had killed her father, and who had tried to protect her.
"We have simply reached a new state of being." Hannibal said gently stroking his thumb back and forth along the outside of Will's. It was a nervous gesture he had from before.
"No…" Abigail shook her head slowly. "This is something else. You're demeanor has changed. Not to mention that weird language you two magically knew how to speak yesterday." She said. Their body language was off. Hannibal was angled towards Will, just as Will was angled towards Hannibal. They had this edge of danger, which Hannibal always had, but now it was in Will too. Right now, they seemed relaxed, but Abigail could see they were both poised and ready to attack any threat that came their way. "What's really going on?"
Will looked to Hannibal, this time Tristan was staring at him. Day by day their previous persona's emerged, stronger and stronger to override who they were now. Soon they would return to truly being Galahad and Tristan with only memories to cloak them in this modern world. "Do you truly wish to know?" He asked, the slightest trace of an accent filling his words. Abigail wasn't just any girl, she was a young woman his heart had adopted, a child he had claimed as his own after his actions had taken her father from her.
"Abigail," Hannibal called her attention to him and away from Will. She as more adept than he originally though she was or could be. "Once you step through this door, there is no going back."
"I killed someone, you helped me hide the body." Abigail reminded. "It's safe to say, I can walk through any door and handle what happens from there." She was getting a little annoyed now.
Will sighed, "To tell you what's happening, we have to give you a little history lesson."
"Ok," Abigail crossed her arms trying not to be rude or difficult while not really understanding what Will was talking about. That didn't mean she wouldn't listen.
Will licked his lips, squeezed Tristan's hand, and then sat forward. "There are things that happen when you least expect them. I was injured last week, and somehow I made it to Hannibal's house while losing blood, but it was not his name that tumbled from my lips. I uttered the name of someone I loved so much; Tristan." He turned from Abigail and looked towards his love. Even though Hannibal schooled his features into a placid mask of calm, he knew what was really going through the other man's mind. Tristan was uncertain of imparting this information to Abigail, but he wouldn't deter him from doing so.
Hannibal sat forward as well, this time he spoke as Will watched him. He wasn't want to talk, not when he had called himself Tristan but he would do it now. "When first Will and I walked this earth we did so as Sarmatian Knight's; the language you heard yesterday was the tongue of our fathers, our people. The man beside me, I knew as Galahad just as knew me as Tristan." This was uncomfortable to say the least. Except it had to be done. "We lived under the command of a Roman named Artorius, Arthur, as most of the world remembers him now." Hannibal noted that his voice was no longer smooth and cultured. He had returned to that gruff guttural tone he'd used when speaking to the Roman mongrels they served with.
Galahad took up the telling when Tristan fell silent. "Our forefathers were forced into a bargain with Rome after each side fought to a standstill of decimated forces. They sold their sons into service for fifteen years in the Roman Auxiliary. We were such sons, taken, trained under Roman rule to fight, to kill." He paused recalling the trek from the home to Britain. Galahad had hated every moment of it. "We were stationed in Britain, a vile island take over by Rome. We were housed within the confines of Hadrian's Wall. It was a 600 mile wall that separated the roman territory from the north where the Woads made their home."
Abigail didn't know when she had leaned forward, drawn in by the tale they were telling, but it had happened. "What are Woads?" She asked. For a little while she was going suspend reality, she was going to believe what they were telling her was in fact the truth.
"Woads were what the Roman's called the northern Britons; the ones they couldn't conquer with shear brute force." Galahad answered. "We were there fighting, barely surviving, for fifteen years and then one day, on the day we were to have freedom, all of it was taken from us. A bishop from Rome, from their church," Galahad spat in revulsion. "This arrogant man, came issuing a final order to us, through our commander to go to the north and 'rescue' a Roman family." He couldn't help but sneer. Even now it infuriated him that they had to preform one final task before freedom was theirs.
"What're you telling me?" Abigail looked from Will to Hannibal. The truth of their words were evident in their eyes, in the way they spoke, but she couldn't believe it. "How do you…?"
"We were there." Tristan stated. "A woman, today most would know her as the Lady of the Lake, told us that our lives were not over, that we would meet again, and so we have." He told her. "Abigail, from here on out, we won't be the same, not in the way you knew us, and yet, in other ways, we will not have changed."
"Are you still gonna kill people?" Abigail asked in lieu of anything better that sprang to mind.
"Abigail!" Will scolded.
"In defense of this family," Hannibal chuckled. "I will take life."
"Ok, so…" Abigail motioned with her hands. "You're telling me that you were Knights, you served 'Arthur'," She made air quotations, "And you were reincarnated because some lady said you would be. Is that about right?"
"Simply put, yes." Galahad chuckled this time. He knew this had to be too much for her to take in at once.
"You mean like 'King Arthur'?" Abigail did more air quotes. Hand gestures only happened she was confused and trying to understand. "Did he have a round table?" She asked.
"He wasn't a king." Galahad smiled. "Arthur believed all men were equal, and treated them thusly. In the fortress hall where we gathered to celebrate, to dine, to plan there was a round table." He answered. That seemed to be the popular, accurate detail that survived the centuries. "He would do anything for his Knights, for the people he defended, and for his faith. Arthur broke with Rome in those last days because they were going to abandon the wall and leave the land to the Woads and the Saxon invasion. When he gave his word, he followed through." Galahad looked to Tristan as he continued to speak. "Arthur gave us our freedom, he wanted us to return home, but we didn't, we could abandon him too."
"Ok," Abigail shook her head sitting back in her seat. "I can't hear anymore right now." This was too strange. Way too strange. She took out her iPod, put her ear buds in and blasted some music to aid the wheels spinning in her head as she sorted through all she knew of the King Arthur legend and what Will and Hannibal had told her. She needed the internet.
Tristan shook his head at the quick retreat of his adoptive daughter. When they landed a new identity for her, and their former identities would be waiting for them. In honor of their former commander, they had taken the last name Castus. It was also a precaution incase Jack Crawford and the FBI got curious enough to search for them. "Do you think she'll want to know more?" He pondered out loud keeping his eyes on Abigail. Her eyes were closed, her head lightly bobbing up and down in time with whatever music she was listening to.
"Perhaps," Galahad sat back, draping his right leg over his left. "She's had a lot to deal with at the moment. I think we should tell her more in increments." He glanced at his lover. "We have time to tell her all we know, all we've experienced, and of the lives we led." A smile crossed his lips when Tristan took his hand, lifting it to place a kiss to his knuckles. "I'm glad I found you in this life." Galahad whispered.
"As am I." Tristan responded just as quietly.
EIGHT MONTHS LATER:
The day was warm, the sky was clear, and the sound of swords clashing echoed through the clearing. Galahad took his stance opposite Tristan with a sword in each had. They had spent every day getting their bodies, their reaction times back up to where they used to be when sword and shield were the weapons of war. Sweat drenched Galahad's face, bringing errant strands of hair into his eyes. Tristan was in the same state. Silently they agreed to put their training on hold for a little while so they might catch their breath, take some water, and rest.
"I thought this was training?" Abigail asked from under the shade of a tent. "You two look like you were trying to kill each other." Hannibal had blood running from his nose, along his left shoulder, and Will wasn't any better off. They both were battling like their lives depended on it.
Tristan smiled taking a seat next to Abigail. "This was how we were trained to fight, to kill. We had to be more brutal than our opponent." He looked up at Galahad seeing some blood soaking into his sweat stained muscle shirt. Then he took stock of his own aches and pains. Galahad had landed a blow to his temple where he felt the skin split, his lip was swollen from the day prior, and copper flooded his mouth when he took a swig of water. Tristan recapped the bottle, set it aside, and then brought his aching right hand up to scratch at the stubble along his jaw. Each day, more and more of who he used to be returned to his face. It was a welcome sight.
"When am I going to learn this stuff?" Abigail asked. Since coming to this villa outside the capitol of France, she had done nothing more than brush up on her archery skills. She'd been sidelined from anything further, subjected to watching her two guardians battle each other day in and day out. One conciliation in all this, Hannibal and Will were teaching her archery, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to learn as much as they could teach her.
Galahad dropped into the chair on the other side of Abigail as he answered her, "It took us years to hone our skills in battle. Our memories have taken root in us, but our muscles, our reflexes need to be retrained before we even think about how best to instruct you." He showed her the practice sword, the edges dulled so as not to inflict major injury while still managing to teach a painful lesson. "With the blade, you have to become one with it so it's not just a weapon. As you well know with mastering the bow." Their actual swords were inside, sheathed, sharpened, and just waiting for their masters to return fully to the world.
"You've been saying that for eight months." Abigail pointed out. "Though, seeing how you two go at it, it doesn't make me that eager to be opposite either of you." She chuckled. "I just want to learn."
"And you will," Tristan promised. "We just have to be sure we're in control enough not to bring any harm to you while we begin your training. We're not Roman's. Our goal is not to brutalize." He looked up at the sky, an instinctive move from the past to search for the Eagle he'd taken as his own. The sky was clear, but time grew even closer for him to make his journey to the city. "Time to shower." Tristan stood, and stretched.
Galahad did as his paramour had done, he picked his body up from the chair, and went to his love. He brought his hand up to cup Tristan's right cheek, his thumb lightly testing the split he'd put there yesterday. "Are you going to be ok to cook all night?"
Tristan captured Galahad's thumb between his lips, lightly sinking his teeth into the pad before he answered, "Yes, I'll be fine." They had spent a few months living in the city while the villa was made ready for them. Tristan had gotten a job as sous chef in a new restaurant as a way of blending into the city that would be his new hunting grounds. Except, his desire to hunt had cooled down considerably. The urges were there, just not the need to quell them. "Come tonight, we'll have dinner on my break." He looked at Abigail as he said this.
"I've missed the city." Abigail smiled. She had made a few friends and longed to see them again. This city was still so new to her, and all she wanted to do was get lost in it. Turning her attention to Will, "Can we?"
"How can I refuse?" Galahad smiled. "We'll be there."
"Good." Tristan kissed his Galahad lovingly bringing his hands up to frame his face. He forced himself to take a step back. If he didn't then he would linger and be late. Tristan hated to be late.
"Wow," Abigail got up watching Hannibal leave. "He really loves you." She stated. Even though she was to call them by other names when they were in public, to her, they were still Will and Hannibal. They wouldn't be anyone else in her eyes. Sometimes, she even dared to think of them as her father's rather than just her guardians.
Galahad watched Tristan set off towards the main house, the sun shining down on his sweat soaked shoulders making him glisten like a god. "I really love him." He pointed out with a sigh. This was the life he'd longed for before he knew this was what he was missing. Eight months and not so much as a whisper of Jack and the FBI coming down on their heads. "Do you think you're really ready to learn how to use a sword?" Galahad asked holding the hilt of the one in his left hand out to her.
"Yes!" Abigail took the offered weapon, not entirely prepared for the weight of it in her hand. The tip dropped, extending her arm all the way. Defiantly she lifted it feeling the protest in her muscles. "How do you handle the weight?" She asked wrapping her other hand around the hilt.
"Practice." Galahad answered taking the weapon back from her. "When we feel you're ready, we'll find you a lighter sword to use, to build up your arm strength with. Until then, stick with the bow." He chuckled at the unfriendly look Abigail was giving him.
"Why, you just criticize me every time." Abigail argued, sighing heavily. She knew the reason for it though, they wanted her to be better and she was grateful for that. They were teaching her what they knew. It was what Hannibal had begun to do before everything fell to pieces and they had to leave the states.
"You know how to hunt, how to slow your breathing, how to fire between the beats of your heart, how to fire at a moving target." Galahad said. "But, you have to learn to be that moving target. It's not easy." He returned his weapons to the rack. There had been more than enough training for one day and more than anything he had to clean the cut above his eyes where Tristan had cracked him in the face.
"Yeah, but it's not like any of these skills are of use today, not when people fire guns." Abigail pointed out.
Galahad shook his head, "That's not true. These skills are very much useful now as they were in my time." Together they set off towards the villa while he continued to speak. "You have all the senses, you need to know when you're being stalked, but what you don't have is the ability to know what measure of force is needed in defense of your life. You gutted Nicholas Boyle out of fear. If you had been trained by us. Then you simply would have incapacitated him."
"How do you know, if I had these skills, I still wouldn't have killed him?" Abigail asked.
"Because it's what your training would have dictated with every fiber of your being. It would have been pure driven instinct." Galahad answered pulling the glass door open allowing her to enter the house before him.
"Do you prefer who you are now?" Abigail asked leaning on the counter in the kitchen.
Galahad stopped and looked at her. This had been the first time she had asked such a thing. It made him pause to consider his answer. "There are aspects of Will Graham that are still very present in my mind, in the way I act, but more or less, I'm Galahad. I've burned through the shell I was locked in to return to this life. I don't prefer one over the other, but am grateful what it's brought to me."
"You mean me?" Abigail couldn't completely refuse his answer as one she would give if asked. She preferred being here with him and Hannibal. Yes, she missed her mom, she missed her house, but all of that was some sort of stepping stone to bring her to this moment.
"Yes. I mean you, and I mean Tristan." Galahad clarified. "Even before, Hannibal and I considered you ours; our responsibility, it gave us a sense of fatherly ties to you." Back then, the only one of them to be elevated to the status of father had been Bors. He had taken up with Vanora, a bar wench that had taken a shine to him, and for whatever reason none of them could figure out, she kept letting him back in her bed. Secretly, Galahad had envied his loud mouth brother of the sword. Now, he got to know what it felt like.
"Hmmm…." Abigail sat on the tall bar stool. "I don't really remember who I was before my dad slit my throat." She mumbled looking at Will. It was odd to think that he, along with Hannibal, had become more fatherly towards her that she preferred their affections to the memories of her father. "That moment is split in my mind." She continued on. "I mean I still see him as the loving father who taught me to hunt, and then he's the monster who killed my mom."
"You may never be that person again." Galahad pulled out fresh food from the fridge so he could start to put together lunch for the dogs. "The moment Hannibal spoke to your father, it was all over. We are both forever changed by what he did to us, and it brought us to this moment, to this life we have now. Eight months, and it's been peaceful, dare I say it, we've all been happy."
"But you're still waiting for the FBI to come crashing down on our heads, to shatter this elaborate illusion." Abigail heard it in his voice, she felt it in her bones, and she knew that Hannibal probably had an escape plan for them should that ever happen.
"I think we all are, to some point." Galahad answered. He took in a deep breath, trying to breathe in the peace of the home he and Tristan were trying to make for Abigail so she felt safe. That's all they really wanted; safety. And yet, there was that small niggling feeling at the back of his mind prickling at him, warning him that something was coming to shatter their new found life.
