Thanks as always for the reviews, and to Nance for beta reading!
*small issue at the bottom of previous chapter regarding who was speaking has been fixed.
"Quit following me. I do not require a nursemaid."
"No, but I'm sure you could use a friend."
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"The fact that you seem to have none, to start with."
Tristan spun on Vivienne before realizing that she was half-joking with him. It had been many years since someone had called him 'friend' and truly meant it.
As a noble, young bard he'd had many adoring fans. Lords would pay him well for a ballad proclaiming their deeds...even if those adventures were fraught with no more peril than taking the back stairs leading to the dining hall.
Gorlois, his beloved foster-brother, had been the only one unswayed by Tristan's blinding charisma. Amazingly, his brother had found a woman just as unyielding to marry.
The ageing smuggler could still remember the day he first laid eyes on the priestess. Her raven hair and pale skin gave her an ethereal quality which turned the heads of many a man; old and young; commoner and king. He had thought to charm her away from her intended with his songs and endearing compliments, but Vivienne only had eyes for Gorlois.
She laughed and tossed her head, seeming to play into his advances before a snide comment would pass her lips and put him in his place. He saw at once the mixture of admiration and skepticism she held for him. Through her actions and Gorlois', Tristan found a strong friendship growing with his sister-in-law.
Many times he had dreamt of having a love as strong as that which held the Lord of Tintagel and his bride together. He watched them with fondness as they welcomed a beautiful towheaded girl into the world.
There had always been fighting between kingdoms, but that all seemed to come to a halt when High King Ambrosius died. After a short period of mourning, the kingdoms were thrust into a brutal war.
The Kingdom of Cornwall pulled away from Camelot. Being out on the southern peninsula, it was almost too easy for them to be forgotten as the fighting escalated further inland. In order to obtain allies, he was sent as an ambassador to Ireland to retrieve a girl meant for his uncle, the King of Cornwall.
That was when destiny took his heart. He returned to the kingdom with Princess Isolde at his side, and on the night of her wedding, he stole her away. She was just as in love with him as he was with her. Searching for sanctuary, he found his way to Tintagel. He was certain that if not Gorlois, at least Vivienne would hear his words and understand the depth of his feelings.
"You weren't at Tintagel when I came to you for help." He heaved a deep sigh of regret. All his boisterous pride seemed to melt out of him. "I had promised Isolde that you would be there for us. I trusted you, Vivienne, and you were not there."
"No, I wasn't. For the safety of my husband and my daughters, I fled. Uther had tricked me into his bed wearing the face of my husband. He knew that Morgana was not Gorlois' daughter. Morgause was sent to the Isle of the Blessed; hidden away from his madness. If I had tried that with Morgana, he would have hunted her down...hunted us all down. As I was the only one who knew the truth of her birth, I ran."
He'd sunk to the ground as she spoke, feeling guilt weigh heavily upon him. The whisper of her skirt against the grasses of the meadow was the only sound that invaded his ears.
"I wish I had been there. I would have loved to have met your precious Isolde."
"She would have loved to have you as a friend and sister."
"Don't you wish for your daughter to feel the same love? She cares for Sir Gwaine deeply, as he does for her."
"He is no good for her. He will get bored and leave her alone while he chases another."
"I don't believe that, and neither do you. I seem to remember the handsome harpist who stole the hearts of many women before he met his true love. You and he are very much alike."
Tristan scowled, as Vivienne looped her arm through his.
"There is nothing he wouldn't do for her."
"The best thing he can do is to leave her alone."
"You don't mean that, Tristan."
"Of course, I do!"
Vivienne sighed and pushed away. "There is a darkness of hate consuming you. If you would only open your eyes and see..."
"See what? If not for him, I wouldn't have needed to drag my daughter with me when I followed Bran!"
Fire flared in Vivienne's eyes. "She would not have been in need if you hadn't made a deal with that devil, Alvarr!" She took a few deep breaths to center herself. His emotions were infectious. The priestess drew on everything she had learned in her life to bring up a wall around her own soul. "I am going to head back. You need to calm down, Tristan. We all thought you were going to die. Aylass worried that she would never be able to speak to you again. We should focus on finding her, not bickering about who is at fault. She needs you. She needs her father to support her."
"Like you are one to talk," he scoffed. "You just admitted to me that you left your own child behind."
"That was different." She was through arguing with him. Standing up, she brushed the dried bits of grass from her skirt. "When you are ready to help us save her, you know where we'll be."
Tristan remained sitting in the tall grasses of the meadow, as he watched her retreat back to the sanctuary of Taliesin's home. Reaching down, he grabbed a stone and threw it in the same direction, though it purposely fell far short of its mark. He wasn't aiming for his old friend, but the anger inside him demanded action of some kind.
Feeling a bit of relief at the physical outburst, he reached for another. As his hand wrapped around the smooth surface, it trembled underneath his palm. For a moment he stared at the stone, wondering how it seemed to vibrate on its own. Then, a sound came to his ears. Hoof beats.
His first instinct was to lay low in the grass, as he watched a large vangaurd of mounted soldiers begin to pass by on a road not far from where he was. They bore strange banners and rode with a purpose toward the nearby city.
Heavily guard in the middle of the throng, rode two men and a woman. Tristan didn't pay any attention to the men, but instead was transfixed by the golden waves of hair cascading around the woman's shoulders. She turned and laughed at something said. That was when Tristan saw her face.
