Disclaimer: No KA characters belong to me, fic is just for fun.
A/N: This is my attempt at a Tristan character-study, eventually including some events from his past which make him the way he is. I'm not really sure if it'll work out...(I hope it will)...so let me know what you think of the start!
With Me Forever
'It's that time of year again' Tristan thought with an ill-concealed scowl as he regarded himself in the polished copper mirror. The air was turning mild, green buds were appearing on the trees, and rain no longer turned to frost overnight. The layer of accumulated dirt, grime and old sweat which had acted as insulation throughout the harsh winter was no longer needed.
It was high time for a bath.
In a quiet growl, Tristan ordered some hot water brought to his room. As the servant scurried off, Gawain appeared, grinning, round the corner.
"Shaving?"
The strawberry-blonde fingered his own mass of beard, thoughtfully regarding Tristan's. The scout shook his head, lank braids dancing.
"Worse"
Gawain frowned.
"A bath" Tristan explained.
His friend chuckled at his obvious discomfort. It was a rare thing which could unsettle the normally stoic scout. Funny that it should be something as seemingly innocuous.
Tristan's scowl only deepened beneath his fringe, and Gawain shrugged as the servant reappeared hefting a large earthenware pitcher.
"Call me if you drown"
Tristan grunted and disappeared into his room, waiting until the servant had left to shut and lock the door.
He regarded the pitcher and half-full metal bathtub suspiciously, as if they might wake up and start conversing at any moment. In a fluid movement he swept his leather jerkin over his head, barely breaking eye contact with the water. A broad, sculpted chest, patterned with pale scars like comet trails, bravely faced its coming fate. Strong legs soon followed as trousers were removed to lie in a heap next to neatly-placed boots.
With sure fingers, Tristan unbraided his hair, blinking as it got in his eyes and reminded him why he had tied it up in the first place. Finally, he stood completely naked, skin goose-pimpling in the slight breeze coming in through the tiny window.
Rarely finding himself in such a condition, the scout spent a few minutes examining his body, noting where new blemishes had joined the old on the surface of his skin. An angry red mark crossing the bone of his left shoulder wasn't there last year. Neither were a series of scratches, like claw marks, along his forearm. Although his eyes were calm in their appraisal, he sighed inwardly. At this rate, he'd be nothing but a mass of scar tissue in ten years.
'If I live that long...'
Tristan rarely thought of the future...the life he lead didn't allow one to plan ahead. What was the point in having goals for life after service to Rome, when the morrow could bring another battle, another opportunity to die?
He couldn't deny that a deep, secret part of him wanted to live beyond these fifteen years. It was the part of him which made him pick up golden goblets to sell or use as currency, which made him search the pockets of men he had killed for valuables. There was a certain degree of forward-planning in these actions...although what he was planning for, he wasn't sure.
Bors would horde wealth for his children...Lancelot would save up to live the life of a nobleman, drinking his way around the country and buying the favours of pretty young maidens...what would Tristan do?
There had been a time when it had all seemed so clear...
There had once been something to live for. Someone to live for...
Carefully pouring hot water into cold, Tristan let his mind go blank, watching the silver droplets catch the sunlight, and the shimmer from the bathtub as it danced along the flagstones.
It seemed like another lifetime. And in a way, it was.