So, it has been a long time since I last wrote creatively. 8 years, to be precise. While it feels good to get back in the saddle, I'm pretty rusty. I have more chapters to this (about 52k worth in words), but I'm going to take my time releasing them; maybe it'll be on a weekly basis?
I placed a trigger warning in the description because there is sexual violence on a woman in a later chapter.
Two weeks ago, I requested a section for Princess Arthur, but it looks like most Shall We Date games are getting dumped under Ninja Love, so here it lives, until updates by FF are provided.
If you haven't played Princess Arthur, you probably won't understand what is going on. This is an alternate ending to Tristan's story and I don't plan on recapping what has happened thus far. Hopefully, I'm not the only Princess Arthur fan who was/is searching for fanfiction. *hugs knees* *cold wind blows*
Con-crit appreciated.
"...If you insist on going to battle, someone will have to be there to protect you. If you stay away from the battlefield, that someone has the freedom to go after the enemies... How can you not comprehend something so simple?"
Tristan could feel Galahad's eyes piercing his temple.
Under the pink and orange glow of the sun rising at the army's back, his own words clung to him. Even with the temperature of the summer air rising, a chill was prickling in his spine that threatened to send shivers, trembling through his limbs.
"Is something wrong, Tristan?" Galahad's question, though it was asked in his typical, genteel tone as he sidled up to the older man's left flank, broke the trance of deliberation that had been holding him for the majority of the night.
Tristan cleared his throat then flinched his grip on his reigns, uncertain if the sound had given away his deliberation, or his ire at being questioned. Otherwise, he remained calmly poised as the sound of clopping hooves and feet encased in armor struck the seconds away.
"Should I assume you are afraid to face Lucius Tiberius?"
Without wrenching himself in his saddle, Tristan turned his head just enough to shoot the slender Galahad a warning glare. "Of course not." He paused to consider his words. "There are loose ends to be dealt with after this battle."
"You are confident in your victory then." Galahad's face never failed in its expression of bored neutrality.
With a click of his tongue behind his teeth, Tristan considered speeding up his horse to evade the younger knight's inquisition. The nagging in his mind gave him pause. Galahad would not bother him if he did not deem it important. He wondered if the other knight could be feeling the same apprehension that he was and resigned himself to a cautious offering. "Something is amiss."
Galahad's eyebrows rose slightly, the contrasting light and shadow of the early morning barely masking the flicker of worry that crossed his gaze. "Lucius is not an enemy to underestimate."
"Tell me something I don't know," muttered Tristan.
"You are the only one of us who has faced this man."
This return caused Tristan to grunt irritably. "Your reply would seem obtuse to anyone incapable of grasping your humor." Despite the biting remark, he grimaced at the weight of the other knight's comment and continued, "I'm not his fortune teller, regardless of having met him in battle."
With an intake of breath that could be construed as regret, Galahad gripped the reigns of his horse. "We must use all of our resources to prevent loose ends, as you say." As if to apologize, he continued, "I had hoped you would let me ponder any particular details that troubled you. If there are none, then my feeling is only a nagging fear and I must remain determined that we shall not fail."
The young man gave a slow nod and Tristan resigned himself to say nothing further. His regret over having a boorish mouth around the girl-king was a gut feeling; as Galahad said aptly, the nagging of fear egged on by guilt. He swallowed a dry throat and straightened himself in his saddle. "Thank you for your inspiring words." He clicked his heels into his horse's sides, spurring him to catch up to Lancelot, Gawain, and Perceval at the front of the column.
When Tristan was out of earshot, Galahad released an unsatisfied huff of agitation.
As his horse trotted to meet up with the front line, Tristan's mind wandered again to the words he had spoken to the young waif who served as their king. Something so simple, indeed, he thought. They needed more information about the movements of the Scottish army, but their scouts had one by one failed to return since they had departed early last night and had left behind their so-called king at the camp. His stomach turned at the thought of her. She was a distraction; he insisted inwardly, his concern should be with Lucius.
The notorious Scotsman was a key to his investigations of the past several months. Lucius's usurpation of the Scottish throne from King Oswald only appeared unrelated to other recent and closer events. In a significant turn, Lady Morgause, late King Uther's sister, had announced a pending engagement with King Tarquin of Wales. The entire round had been suspicious of her motives, but their concerns ended at her current ploys to gain power. There was a much darker shadow from her past that he was pursuing in secret. He had been the only one to throw support behind Morgause's potential nuptials, intentionally concealing his doubts so that he could investigate covertly. He often felt his position precarious, that many eyes watched him as he asked questions and tallied the truths he learned. The new king, if she could seriously be referred to as such, seemed to constantly stumble upon him, endangering the both of them with her clumsy questions and wide-eyed curiosity. She had become more reliable after the uprising at Elyngor, handling matters with a delicacy he had once thought impossible for her, but he doubted it would be enough to protect them both.
With that thought, he arrived at the front.
"Any news from the scouts?" Tristan cast his gaze directly to Lancelot with a shallow hope that the others would refrain from entering such an obviously directed conversation.
"None whatsoever." Lancelot's tone was curt but dignified, an echo of his posture in the saddle. "I have decided not to sentence any other men to death. We will gather what information we can when we arrive at visual distance."
Tristan grimaced. "We are at a disadvantage."
"Do you have some idea, then, of what his plan might be?" Lancelot's reply came with a deepening of his voice, lowered to a point that made Tristan and the other knights lean in to catch his words. "If you do," the leader of the round table gestured to the other knights at his sides.
Tristan avoided looking between the raised eyebrows and drawn mouths of the other two by keeping his gaze locked straight ahead.
Lancelot nodded in the silence. "Then I believe we have done what is best to prepare. We will win, Tristan. Our king needs us-"
"Your king," Tristan spat out bitterly, "I am here for my country." The impulsivity of his own response startled him. He noted a similar reaction from Gawain.
"As we all are," Lancelot replied dryly.
Tristan pursed his lips, struggling for a response that would recover his dignity when a shout from their youngest round table member, Perceval, drew their attention away. "Scotland is there!"
All at the front immediately turned their heads, the awaiting lines of Scotsmen, already assembled, coming into view on the crest of a hill. The murmurs of the men of rank and file decayed into an excited clamor. Their steps grew shallow as the army's momentum ground down, the men at the front digging in their heels to approach no further.
Tristan observed the rolling fields before them, as well as the uphill advantage Scotland had obtained. He threw one last harsh glance at Lancelot, who seemed not to notice him as he shouted orders. Tristan fanned out to the right as the ranks jerkily filed into position.
If he could not figure out the plot, then he would need to find and kill Lucius before he had the chance to enact it. As his anxiety whittled away his patience, the bearded knight drew his sword and muddled his grip on the hilt. He had known full well that it would be no easy task to find one man in this expanse, regardless of their positions. It was always much more daunting to actualize the ides of war.
Time quickened its pace.
Before long, Tristan found himself slashing and cutting enemies with a fury he often wished to forget that he had. Hours into the fray, in the early evening, he had yet to see a single member of the line of Scottish commanders. That nagging, panicked feeling in his gut was growing hot and labored along with his breath. It prodded him frantically. He felt pressured and lost, as if he was in the wrong place, wasting precious time.
With one last blow to an attacking enemy soldier, Tristan kicked his heels into the sides of his horse and took off across the field towards the west side of the battle. Hopefully, someone else had seen Lucius.
It took some time and maneuvering to make his way but he eventually found himself beside Lancelot, Gawain, Perceval, and Bors, who had formed a triangle of attack.
"Have you seen him?" Tristan could hear the panic that had set in to his own voice. He made no effort to quell it.
Bors glanced up with some surprise registering at Tristan's arrival. "We thought you would have found him by now." He grunted as his daggers downed an enemy with quick, successive slashes.
Tristan felt a pang of agitation.
Galahad rode up in a burst, knocking down a soldier in his path with sword and hoof. "The commanders... Lucius is not with them."
The knights looked pensive as they registered the look of concern that passed between Tristan and Galahad.
Tristan's pangs of agitation turned to stone, realization striking him in the instant and his face turned to the south.
"Lucius is not on this battlefield, " Galahad continued, "he must be after the-"
Tristan's horse burst into a gallop in a southern direction.
Lancelot wheeled around on his heel. "We have been deceived? Galahad, are you certain Lucius is not here?"
"Quite. I saw our scout, the first we sent out, with the Scottish commanders. He betrayed us. I suspect he killed or helped to capture those who came after."
The knights looked to the vanishing form of Tristan as he rode away.
Gawain's mighty axe thudded into an enemy with exemplary force. "You mean that bastard Tiberius doesn't have the guts to face us?"
"Not exactly," cried Lancelot, "Galahad, will you go wi-?"
In a burst of speed, Galahad followed Tristan's lead, disappearing in the direction of the camp.