Hey. For those who are not afraid of a little sport, I have been thinking about this ever since Tobiramamara said this: Tristan deserved some happiness, or at least one good adventure underneath the sheets before death would meet him. So you have her to thank for regarding this unplanned addition! Damn, I'll have to change my rating!

For those who have issues with smut, you can skip to the next chapter and it won't change a thing, scenario-wise. Cheers

He had not even bothered to knock such was the late hour. His intend was simple; to return the little device to her bedside and disappear altogether. Stealthy like a scout, he saw no reason to wake her up. A single ray of moonshine illuminated the room, the curtain half dragged over the opening. Not that he needed it; Tristan could have found his way in the dark. But it gave him a very unique sight, one he would never forget. Frances was curled in the covers, long strands falling haphazardly upon her face and upper back. Tristan took a few silent steps forward, leaving the mp3 on the nightstand before retreating. Or such was his intention until he noticed her expression. Even in sleep, a slight frown marred her forehead. She was worried, with excellent reason.

Tristan had long ago accepted his death in battle. But Frances couldn't possibly have. And if she died, her betrothed would fade, her family despair. So many depended on her. So much to lose… The scout crouched by her side, his breaths even to avoid waking her. His conscience was yelling at him, in very chosen terms, to leave now. But his eyes couldn't detach from her form. Curled on her side, one hand supporting her head, Frances looked every bit the little fairy. The silvery rays created a set of shadows upon her silhouette, her full lips hidden under a stray strand of reddish hair, the curls unfurling over like a blanket. She was so beautiful, so innocent … and very much naked! Eyes widening in the dim light, Tristan realised that her skin was bare under the waterfall of her hair. Didn't the damn woman wear a shift ? She'd probably shifted in her sleep, chasing the cover away from her lovely shoulder.

In a gesture unusually tender, the scout picked the scratchy wool and pulled it slowly over her form, mindful not to let his fingers graze over her offered skin. How he longed to touch her, to caress the smooth expense of her shoulder and collarbone! But resist he must lest he dishonoured her!

— "Tristan?"

A set of hazel eyes met his, confused, yet appeased by his presence. How trustful, that she wouldn't lash out or shy away when he intruded on her sleep, touched her without permission. Especially in those troubled times.

— "You'll get cold if you uncover yourself," he chastised her.

The young woman slightly shifted, as if to meet him.

— "I am always cold here," she whispered.

His face was but inches from hers, her eyes set on his face, begging him. For companionship, reassurance, for love or friendship. So close that her breath fanned on his face, that her hair nearly mingled with his unruly braids. Resisting with all his might, Tristan retreated, shedding his leather vest to drape it over her body.

— "There," he said, his hand gently pushing her shoulder below the garment so that she would lie back down.

— "Still cold," she slurred.

Was she even awake? Tristan shook his head; her intoxicating scent was driving him crazy and he needed to escape. Fast. Just as he was about to retreat, her hand shot up, grabbing his wrist. The scout lowered himself in an awkward position, one of his knees balancing his body on the mattress.

— "Little fairy," he ground out in warning.

Frances straightened on the bed, the covers forgotten, revealing the strange undergarment that covered her breasts. It took all of his willpower to avert his eyes. A mighty temptress she was! Then she prowled forward on her knees, one of her hands reaching for his cheek. Tristan shuddered as her breath caressed his face.

— "If I'm dying tomorrow, I refuse to spend a miserable night."

There was a glint in her eyes, something akin to desperation. Any honourable knight would have pushed her away. Arthur would have, knowing the reasons that motivated her. But Tristan had no qualms; he'd attained his breaking point, chivalry be damned! The knight reached for her nape, his grip so strong that she couldn't have resisted. Pulling away, though, couldn't have been further away from her mind as she flung herself forward. Her lips crashed onto his with such passion that Tristan stumbled backwards, dragging her body in his lap. His world tumbled upside down, his mind blank. But in matters of the heart, the spirit held no sway. Her tongue brushed his lips, begging for entrance. Never before had Tristan been so happy to relent.

His hands had a will of their own as they roamed her barely covered body. Her skin was so smooth, so soft under his calloused fingers that he almost felt self-conscious. Almost. He couldn't get enough of her. His lips kissed and nibbled, his hands caressed every bit of her, fingers digging into the silky waves of her hair. Frances moulded around him, against him, driving him crazy. Her thighs enclosed him in the circle of her presence, her hips so tempting above his. His shirt was discarded by her deftly hands and the contact of her skin upon his chest was enough to make him gasp. So sweet, so soft, so warm… her fingers massaged his nape and shoulders as she devoured his mouth. One moment of clarity was all it took for him to flip her over, his breeches the only garment left upon his body. Her appreciative smile touched him as much as the heated glint in her eyes; she obviously loved what she saw. The fear he instiled in people prevented women from seeing how handsome he really was, and it never bothered him. Until Frances. But she saw him, body and soul, and the present she was offering now was priceless. A token of truth, a token of love.

The young woman got rid of her strange undergarments herself, unveiling her magnificent body for him to gaze upon. Tristan paused, mesmerised by the beauty of her pearly skin covered by reddish curls. Full breasts, narrow waist and rounded hips cored with efficient muscles. She was every bit the fairy he imagined her to be.

— "It is cold, Tristan," she purred.

His breeches were discarded with haste, and she pulled him in the circle of her open thighs at once. His throbbing desire pulsated against her bare flesh as she kissed him once more, tongue coating his mouth with her enthralling taste. Her arms circled him, her hands roaming his scarred back, little fingers sending tingles all over his bare skin. The contrast of the cold air compared to her touch created trails of fire, and the rise of her hips to meet him was enough to make him crazy. Tristan tried to reign his desire, to prevent from plunging into her depths like a wild animal. She was so intoxicating ! Never before had a woman be so willing so pull him in. Tristan's mouth migrated from her lips, eliciting a disappointed sigh before he dived for her neck, suckling at the soft skin. Frances moaned, arching her whole body to give him a better access. The friction of her hips against his was almost too much to bear and Tristan gasped in pleasure. What came next…

He was a man, a warrior, and he had always been in control. It was his gift; to be the one in charge. But Frances had other views as she arched her hips once more, capturing the tip of his manhood into her folds. He just had to push himself in, sliding in her wet core with a grunt of pleasure. Her hips rolled once more, her knees pulling at him, and Tristan found himself fully sheathed without even knowing how it had happened. The feeling of her warm flesh pulsating around him, though, exceeded his wildest dreams. The tightness of her muscles was so different from the tavern wenches; she almost felt like virgin. The long, sensual moan that escaped his lips was answered by her own sigh of pleasure. A communion.

Soon, very soon, they were but a couple dancing the most sensual of dances under the covers. Joined as one, her body heaving to find his, her back arched in pleasure, her hips following his every move, meeting him, encouraging him. Never before had his lips feasted upon such a tasteful lady, never before had his senses been so overridden that his control was thrown down the gutter. Never before had he known such completion, such bliss that his breath was taken away. His climax took him by surprise, an explosion so brutal, so powerful that a hearty groan escaped his lips. Writhing below him, Frances couldn't refrain her moans. Her arms spasmed around his shoulders, her hand grasping his neck tightly, pulling him with impressive strength as she muffled her cries on the flesh of his shoulder. The wave kept them high for a long moment, his thrusts long and deep as he tried to join their bodies, she encircling him with her legs. Who said that physical love was unholy?

There was no talk after this; what could possibly be said ? Frances kissed him gently again, her tenderness so overwhelming that his eyes misted over. When Tristan fell asleep, his body intertwined with hers, he swore that he'd never been this happy.

He was wrong, for he realised that nothing could rival the feeling of waking up beside his little fairy. Their combined body heat had created a bubble of warmth, her skin soft against his, her presence much sweeter than the scratchy sheets. Dawn was near, and he nuzzled her neck. Very soon, they would have to prepare for battle. For the moment though, Tristan basked in the sensation of her body against his. His lips gently kissed every inch of skin available, playfully, slowly. His beard was a tad too long, leaving a rash upon her lovely skin. He would have to cut it shorter if…

Albeit her eyes did not open, Frances' breathing changed. She was awake. And her reaction was more heated than anticipated. Shifting sensually against the length of his body, the young woman wove her fingers in his hair and turned around. She proceeded to kiss him senseless, leaving him so stunned that he could not remember north from south. Then she pushed him back under the covers, caressing the skin of his chest slowly, her lips bestowing kisses on the fur that marred his skin, hands roaming the broad expense of his scarred flesh. She explored him, slowly, sensually, her tongue tracing scars here and there, studying, worshipping his body like no one had ever done.

It didn't take long for him to long for more, his hips rising from anticipation; it took even less for Frances to guide him inside of her with a moan. Tristan started, the wave of pleasure so sudden that his body arched, hands reaching for her small waist. Surely this was a dream, for he'd never known a woman so ready to accept him without the reward of a coin. But the expression of rapture on her face wasn't faked, and when her deep chocolate eyes found his, he could only stare in disbelief.

She rode him sensually, controlling her every move, letting him contemplate the loveliness of her features as she pleasured him. Wonder gleamed in his eyes as he gazed upon his little fairy. His hands roamed her body forcefully, fingers relishing in the softness of her skin, the roundness of her hips. Until he couldn't handle his passivity anymore and sat upright to circle her with his arms. His lips found hers once more, their dance intensifying as the light became stronger. Dawn. Soon, very soon, but not now! Tristan's hands massaged her thighs, her hips, his fingers caressing her spine, grabbing her shoulders, circling her waist as he pulled her further down into him. As if they could, for a moment, become one. How he loved that woman! How he wanted her! Wanted to hear her cries, wanted to kiss every inch of her. Frances plunged her gaze into his eyes, the heat so intense that it would have burnt a lesser man. But not Tristan.

The familial tightening in his lower belly told him he was close, too close. But then, so was she. Her hair fell wildly around her shoulders and breast, loose strands creating a space for both of them, to enclose their mutual love and admiration in a silken cocoon.

— "I love you," she murmured in his ear. "I love you, Kristan."

Kristan? His hair seemed strangely lighter, shorter as well. It stuck awkwardly as Frances roamed her hand on his skull, massaging, caressing, enjoying the feel of this lighter version of himself. There were no braids, only silken strands of brown and ash that fell into his eyes as she pulled him to her. For he felt different. Less angry, more joyful, as if he'd lived a different life. Frances' orgasm washed over them like a tidal wave, strong and slow, blowing everything away. Tristan was swept off his feet, falling heavily on the bed, taking her with him. All control forgotten as he tightened his hold upon his lady, his body responding to hers as a heavy groan escaped him, hips raising to sheathe himself to the hilt. Frances collapsed on top of him, panting heavily, a dreamy smile on her lips. She was so beautiful in bliss!

A screech echoed loudly at the window, and his eyes opened brusquely. Tristan groaned. Dawn was upon them … him! For beside him, no one slept. Coldness crept into his bones, the familiar setting of his room greeting his morning. Alone, leather jacket resting beside his armour, the mp3 player sitting by his beside. The scout's heart clenched. A dream … just a dream. For a while, Tristan tried to linger into its recesses, trying to remember how happy, how beautiful love could be. He committed this feeling to memory, stowing it in a precious corner of his mind. Then, he pushed himself up. Battle was upon them. It was time.

And who the hell was this Kristan ?