I much more prefer to describe those sections of the stories which actually hold little importance in the light of forming an actual plot, meaning my forte is certainly not these action filled whatnots, they piss me off to write. That's why my little Gawain sub-story is much more fun, well not necessarily fun but uh fulfilling if that makes any sense to my multitudes of readers. Lol. WELL something has to happen to Tristan and Galahad, but what is it?? Find out.
If this was a typical fanfic story, you would be guaranteed that the P.O.V. would switch to a remarkably beautiful O.C. who would have been a prisoner in the castle, previously sent there by Tristan for her remarkable fighting skills but due to her loyalties was imprisoned. Another possibility is that she was one of the mercenary knights. Or that she is revealed to be female after hiding in a knight's costume. Buuut no. This would be a rare fic. where against all odds, there are more male O.C.s than female ones. AMAZING NO??
Tristan easily solved his issues at the castle (not necessarily easily, but simply would be more apt a word), leaving just formalities to write about. In a nutshell he sent the Vikings and Das Vernad on their merry way to invade some other country but only after the agreement with him and the Knigts of Orange had settled their differences. Seeing as Tristan had taken an obvious partiality to the mercenaries, he had it settled much to the general contentment of both sides based on their prior arrangements, meaning that Crufix was to be killed by the mercenaries. As planned, however under substantially different circumstances, Crufix was decapitated by the Knight, and was buried in a nameless grave with the sword and the bloody leather glove used in doing of the deed. And in concern to the Viking position in Britain, Tristan replaced Crufix, his position as lord, with one of the Vikings. Since the Vikings really had little choice in the matter, this turned out relatively well for them, seeing as their only other option was nothing or death.
Since, technically their agreement was fulfilled; the Vikings had to return their unknown captive to the Franks.
"Give him back!" was all they had to say.
Tristan had by this time adopted the small army of two score dangerous men into his before relatively empty castle. They set up for a week of festivities for the upcoming return of their reveled prisoner.
On the last night, while they were casually drinking, awaiting the arrival of said prisoner, Tristan asked out loud, "Who is this prisoner? Why is he so great?"
Pietre Como, the Knight of Orange, almost spat out his red wine. "Wonders you have not asked till now!" after he composed himself. "Purio and Parlionne, my younger siblings are coming. Surely you have heard of them! They are legendary. Lost were they for fifteen years, some said they had been kidnapped by the Japanese, changed for the fairies, made kings of the savages. It is lore. When they returned to us they would not talk of their travels. Some suggest they rode around the world on their pair of gray horses, some suggested that they raised them in the Pine Forest. Haha, no one knows for now. Well, when they returned we had a feast, and at the end they fell asleep and could not be waken. While taking them to the witch, they were kidnapped, and helpless. Word reached us that they were being held by the Vikings. And we had to have them back. Two warriors such as them." He sighed, and the rest of the room which had been listening now sighed as well.
"Look! Lights!", one knight jumped up pointing out the tall windows of the hall.
Lights there were, thousands of tiny lights floating in the dark.
The men quickly ran to the entrance. Tristan, right infront. When he threw open the doors however, the lights were gone. No blinding glare in his eyes, no feeling of relief of finally figuring out this great enigma of a person. Nothing at all. No warmth, no wind. The stale air stood still as if challenging Tristan to make the first move.
Tristan blinked. He looked around slowly at his men, still standing within the threshold, half expecting them to be stone.
He called out "Who is it that walks on my land?"
His only reply was the whispers of the wind.
He called out again "Who is it that dares travels where in the darkest land?"
His only reply was the soft hooting of an owl.
He called out for the third time "Who is it that will not show themselves in the only light this night will provide?"
This time, there was no reply.
AN. After a long wait... I have updated... and I totally know what I'm doing! I had a dream... this is actually true so no laughing! I might re-post this one and make it abit longer latter. Stay tuned, don't wear it out.