Night had drawn and with it came the curtain of blackness that Tristan not only loved but depended on nightly.
Seeing his white breath in the night sky made Tristan smirk a bit; it was proof that he was still alive, still breathing.
It is all that the knights have in these remaining days in this world. Life. So many before us have died and yet, here they stand, still breathing.
Tomorrow Tristan parts to go South, Galahad to the West, Bors to East, and Lancelot to the North. But what of Gawain?
Tomorrow, these knights will never see each other again; tomorrow, they go home to their respected homes in Sarmatia. Which means for Tristan, tomorrow is the last time he will see Gawain and tonight is the last night he will have Gawain for himself.
Tristan concentrated on the sounds of the forest and allowed himself to let his guard down, if only for a few moments.
Where would Gawain go to?
Off to the West with Galahad? That would certainly make Galahad the happiest man in the world, he has wanted Gawain for years now, and yet Gawain spent night after night in the arms of Tristan. The thought made Gawain smirk a bit.
Perhaps, he would stay here with Arthur. Always wanting to protect their commander. No, no, Gawain wants to go back to Sarmatia, back... home.
Home, if that's what one calls Sarmatia. Unlike Galahad, Tristan never knew what a home was. Being taken from his mother at fifteen and immediately put on a horse and given a sword, Tristan didn't enjoy killing, oh; of course he had his few moments of pride and satisfaction, what didn't? But killing was the only thing Tristan has ever known and might ever know in this life.
What home did he have in the South?
"Do you know how many nights I spent outside," Gawain approached Tristan from behind and smiled when he saw Tristan instinctively draw his sword and turn to face him, "freezing my ass off just watching you and trying to understand what it is that you were thinking?"
Tristan's' stoic face never faltered and with a sigh, sheathed his sword.
"Did the thought never occur to you to simply ask me?" Tristan asked turning back to the stars.
"Would you have told me?"
Silence answered Gawains' question.
"If I ask you now, will you tell me?"
Tristan let out a sigh, once again noticing the white breath and remembering his previous thoughts.
"Yes." He answered softly.
"What were you thinking of?"
Tristan considered lying to Gawain and telling him that he was simply thinking of the stars or of him, but decided that in their last few hours together, honesty was least possible thing Tristan could give to Gawain .
"Of Sarmatia... of home."
It was Gawain's turn to be silent.
"What direction will you head off to when tomorrow comes? To the West with Galahad? Everyone knows he yearns for you. Or perhaps to the North with Lancelot where he will spend time with that pretty Sarmatian wife of yours. Where will you go?"
"I go where I want to go." Gawain said rather hastily and sounding a bit like a child.
Tristan could not help but smile at the immaturity of Gawain's voice, Gawain always sounded younger when he was getting upset.
"And yet," Tristan said, "you still don't know."
"Where will you go Tristan? Hmm? Will you just disappear off the face of this earth or live in a forest with your bird? Or perhaps-"
"I go to the South." Tristan interrupted Gawain. "To find my mother, whether she is dead or alive. If she is alive I will spend my time with her and remember the years we did not spend together, and if she is dead then I will pay her my respects."
Tristan speaking of his family surprised Gawain into silence.
"Please, Gawain," Tristan said, finally turning to face Gawain, "let us not spend our few hours left quarreling. Instead, let's spend them in each other's company."
Tristan walked toward Gawain and gently lifted his face to his. Staring into Gawain's face, Tristan kissed him and took a deep breath of Gawain's scent.
Letting go of Gawain, Tristan walked back towards camp.
"Who is to say that these hours have to be our last?"
Tristan froze in his steps.
Gawain walked toward him and reached for Tristan's hand.
"I have spent fifteen years in this life, never knowing if I will live to see another day much as less my family. Arthur and his knights are my family; they have grown up with me, laughed with me, and bled with me. And it is within this family that I have lost my heart to one... you. And so if you go to the South, I also go to the South, it's where I want to be."
Tristan turned around and looked at Gawain. He reached out is hand and lightly touched Gawain's face. Gawain pulled Tristan into a kiss; deep, powerful, soothing, and loving. They both knew that with this kiss, they sealed their fate and lives together. They had explored each others bodies and lives, yet never each other's soul and heart.
As the kiss deepened and they explored each others mouths, Tristan felt Gawain's hands creep under his shirt.
They heard footsteps and pulled apart to see who was trespassing on their private gathering. Upon seeing Galahad come through the tress they pulled apart further, not out of embarrassment or secrecy but of guilt that Gawain was with Tristan and not Galahad.
"Lancelot says that there is something that we should all see, outside the wall. Jols went to wake Arthur." Galahads eyes glanced back and forth from Gawain to Tristan, allowing his anger shine through. "Lancelot says it's important." He said with more than a hint of bitterness.
Galahad quickly turned around, his steps resonating with anger and jealousy from seeing Gawain and Tristan together.
Last night they had seen the thousands of Saxons and went to sleep in each others arms fearing tomorrow, this morning, they had agreed to stay and fight with their commander and good friend, and now, standing upon the hill wearing armor and ready to fight, Gawain and Tristan turned to each other and within their deep stare, they exchanged silent words
You stay alive, and I will.
Bowing down onto the wet earth, Gawain felt his knees sink into the cold grass and he inhaled the smell of moss and rain.
Weary and exhausted from riding for three days and three nights, Gawain let himself close his eyes and relax a bit. When he closed his eyes, he felt the memories flood him and nearly drown him; Tristan's look before riding into battle on Badon Hill, Gawain searching for Tristan during the killing, finally finding Tristan's body... slain and bloodied, the funeral and the burning of Tristan, Arthur's wedding to Guinevere, the look of Bors and Galahad as Gawain rode away immediately after the wedding.
Gawain choked out a scream and had to wait for a few moments before even breathing again. Finally letting himself go and not care, Gawain finally collapsed onto the ground and cried. Cried for everything that happened in the past few days and the last fifteen years; he tried to forget them and relive them at the same time, forgetting the way that Tristan kissed him on their last night and desperately trying to forget the image of Tristan's body on the ground. But it was impossible; you remember one, you remember all of them.
Gawain cried for minutes, hours, days, it did not matter to him. Tristan was gone, he was dead and Gawain would never again feel his hands upon his body or his lips upon his.
After what seemed an eternity, Gawain was able to regain some strength and pull himself from the floor and onto his knees. With shaky hands, Gawain took Tristan's sword from his satchel on his horse. Gawain held the sword in his hands, his eyes tracing it over and over again, and with all the strength he could muster, he sheathed the sword into the ground, right next to grave.
"He would have wanted you to have this." Gawain muttered before turning away.
Getting back onto his horse, Gawain turned back to look once more at the grave and sword and as he rode away, he knew that leaving behind that sword, he was also leaving behind a part of himself.
Gawain remembered the last unspoken words that were shared between Tristan and him, you stay alive and I will. Tristan didn't stay alive and with Tristan's death, something in Gawain also died, something that belonged to only Tristan... his heart.
Still sniffling a bit, he slightly dug his heels into his horses' side and quickly rode away.