Fealty

By Cerasi

Chapter 2: Sneaky and Satisfied

Halfway down the hall, Tristan turned aside into the chamber he shared with Lancelot, looking through his herbs to see which ones Percival had decided to use for fever. Percival was the best healer of all of them and Tristan constantly strove to discover his secrets. He had already elicited a promise from Percival that the knowledge was committed to paper and it would go to Tristan when Percival died.

Tristan wandered to the side of his small bed and began replacing the items in the drawer and on the shelf. He then heard the door close and swung around, fully aware that he had not nudged it closed, and painfully aware of the bolt sliding in place to lock the door. He saw Lancelot grinning wickedly at him and instantly knew he was in trouble.

"What use, indeed?" Lancelot replied to Tristan's earlier question. "When I have you."

"You only have me because you need to fill the time before you get Arthur." Tristan teased, pretending to be indifferent to Lancelot's predatory stare, even as the other man wandered over and wrapped his strong arms around Tristan's shoulders.

"I have you," Lancelot corrected, his hot breath on Tristan's neck, "because I want you. And I always get," he kissed the side of Tristan's neck, "what I want."

The remaining bags of herbs in Tristan's arms dropped to the ground as he leant on the shelf for support. By the gods, Lancelot's hands were talented! He leaned his head back and allowed Lancelot the access he wished.

Soon enough Lancelot had manoeuvred them to the bed and somehow disposed of all their clothing. Tristan fell back, hands clasped firmly on Lancelot's waist, and pulled the other knight with him. Lancelot grinned as he placed kisses over every bit of Tristan's flesh that he could reach.

"I hope…" Tristan said between gasps of breath. "I hope Arthur appreciates this treatment as much as I have." He let out a sound between a gasp and a laugh as Lancelot bit down on his shoulder.

"Not filling the time." Lancelot reiterated with a growl. "I want you, I have you."

"You cannot always have what you want." Tristan said, looking into Lancelot's eyes.

"Not always, perhaps." Lancelot conceded. "But tonight I shall."

Later the two emerged, having bathed and clothed themselves after their 'exertion'. Lancelot had insisted on washing Tristan's scruffy hair for the first time in what seemed like a very long time. He had taken out the leather strapping that held most of it to a single tail down his back. That which came loose each day generally stayed loose for several days until he deigned to retie his hair.

He felt strange with it all hanging loose now, and wet. It smelled fresh, though, and he somewhat enjoyed the herby scents that Lancelot had assailed him with. Though he would never admit that to the cocky man who walked beside him now, a subtle spring in his step.

They wandered down the hall and Tristan hung back as Lancelot boisterously greeted Bors and Dagonet. They continued along, loud talk filling the hallway. They turned when they reached the larger room of the five new boys and they were silent again. When they entered they found the four young lads seated about one of the fires, dressed in their new clothing and speaking quietly.

When they entered Lancelot was almost immediately accosted by the young Gareth. He looked up earnestly at the older man and seemed to bounce on his feet with a need to say something.

Lancelot looked enquiringly at the young boy.

"Thank you." The young boy all but shouted.

"I.. uh." Lancelot paused, a tad confused.

"I'm Gareth. Gawain and Gaheris are my older brothers." The boy told him with an eager look.

"Lancelot." Lancelot replied with a smile having regained his cool.

"Are you to take us to find food?" Gareth asked. The ten-year-old child was obviously fascinated by this older knight, having already chosen to look up to him as the idol all young children have.

"No, we shall wait for Kay to return." Lancelot said. "But why don't you introduce us all to each other while we wait."

The boy furrowed his brow for a moment and then took Lancelot's sleeve and dragged him over to the fireside. The others followed them and all eight of them were soon seated beside the warm fire.

Gareth sat down between Gawain and Lancelot, looking to each for approval. Gaheris sat on the other side of Gawain, closest to the fire and apparently feeling slightly odd suddenly having older men around. Tristan sat himself beside Lancelot, though technically he was not included in the circle. He sat himself back so that the firelight was not in his eyes and he could survey the group at ease. Galahad was, in a way, on his other side and he glared around at the new arrivals as if they might suddenly attack, except for Tristan whom he avoided looking at altogether. Then sat Dagonet with his legs crossed and his back straight and finally Bors who plonked himself down and leaned his back to the wall by the fire.

All was silent for a minute as they avoided each other's eyes and occasionally stole a glance at someone. Bors seemed the only one not to note the tension. He grinned and leaned back on the wall, completely relaxed as he scratched an itch that had been plaguing him for some time.

"Well, then. Welcome to Hadrian's wall." He said with a cheery smile once he disposed of the evil itch. "I'm Bors, and like to be the one that keeps you lot alive."

"If you don't kill him first." Lancelot said with a smile.

"And this here is Dagonet." Bors went on as if he hadn't heard Lancelot at all. "And the mysterious looking one that fancies himself some kind of elite is Tristan."

"Which one of those men earlier is to be our commander?" Gawain asked, looking about expectantly.

Lancelot laughed. "None of them. Though in their presence it is best to treat Bedivere as the commander. He is the one who's missing a hand."

"Missing a hand!" Galahad exclaimed. "I didn't notice. Which one was he, then, other than the one-handed?"

"The one who demanded your names." Dagonet said simply.

"And why should we treat him as our commander if he is not?" Galahad asked.

"Because he oversees the training of all the young Sarmatians." Dagonet replied. The knights nodded to this.

"And how long have you all been here?" Gaheris asked.

"A few months now." Bors told him. "We were in the first lot of villages they visited."

"Were there only four of you?" Gawain asked.

"No." Dagonet said solemnly. "Like you, there were more of us, but they have died or disappeared for some reason or another."

"There used to be more knights, but their numbers drop every year." Lancelot said. "You shall understand when you see the table."

"The table?" Gareth looked at his new-found hero questioningly.

"The round table." Lancelot nodded. "And that you shall see when Arthur returns."

"Who is Arthur?" Gaheris frowned.

"He is your commander." This time it was Kay speaking from the doorway. "And he returns four days hence so we shall have to get you well trained before then."

"This is Kay." Lancelot told the boys, mostly directing his comment to young Gareth. Lancelot felt flattered by Gareth's immediate respect for him, and had already warmed to the lad.

"How is Mordred?" Galahad asked with apprehension apparent in his voice. All the boys and young men in the room turned to hear Kay's reply.

Kay sighed and looked about. "He is less feverish, but he sleeps now." He shrugged his shoulders. "The journey has taken a hard toll on him, but a few days rest and he should be fine. But, come now. You must all eat before we retire for the night." And with that he turned and walked out of the room, not waiting for them to follow.

The group followed him out of the building and into a kitchen that worked near constantly to provide food for the officers on watch as well as the large group of men protecting the fort. Here the boys were given a plate on which to pile their helpings of meat, bread, cheese and fruit, and each took a mug of ale out into the courtyard unofficially reserved for the Sarmatians.

They sat around a long table and were soon joined by the other knights, except Percival who kept a vigil over Mordred. After not long, young women made their way toward the table to take a seat.

Lancelot perked immediately and pulled one young lass to sit upon his lap. She giggled and pretended to evade his capture but before long she was flirting outrageously with the handsome young knight. They did not even exchange names in all their conversation.

The younger boys watched this behaviour with apparent amusement. Even Tristan had to chuckle at the way the girl attempted to hold Lancelot's attention like so many other young women in the months they had been there and, indeed, the few years they had known each other in Sarmatia.

One young girl watched Dagonet with an interest that was not recognised and another girl of seventeen believed Tristan oblivious to her motions. He was, actually, perfectly aware of the way she shifted her body to aim her bosom toward him but, plainly, he was not interested.

Bors smiled when he saw Vanora, a woman of barely eighteen, make her way to his side. She worked in the kitchens and, when the knights were present, it was she that served them their drinks until the wee hours of the morning when she would be literally carried out by Bors.

Vanora smiled at him as she approached and leaped into his lap as soon as she was able. While all the men laughed at Bors' obvious attention it was the loving flicker in his eyes that held Vanora to him.

They had met originally in a village on the coast, the first village Bors visited on British soil. He had been devastated that they must leave, having only known Vanora for two days. None of them were aware, at that time, of a shadow that followed them each day just out of sight until she emerged just as they reached Hadrian's Wall. While the pretty young redhead was constantly eyed off by the other men at the fortress it was Bors she bedded, and only ever him.

Gaheris sat looking about the table, somewhat bewildered by the open way in which these girls flaunted their interest. He was not allowed to ponder this long before he, too, was joined at the table by a girl of roughly his years. She smiled at his shock and planted a tantalising kiss on his neck below the ear before sitting forward and taking up his drink for a sip.

"He's fast moving, this one!" Bors laughed, and then raised his drink in a salute to the young man.

Later, when the crowd had depleted and Gaheris had politely excused himself from the young woman, the boys escaped to their beds. Shortly thereafter Tristan had to roll his eyes at Lancelot, who raised an eyebrow at him suggestively as he was led away by the young woman of no name. He could not deny a pang of envy as he watched Lancelot depart, though he could not determine whether it was envy of the woman in bedding Lancelot, or Lancelot in bedding women.

Tristan drank off the last of his drink and moved silently around in the shadows to return to his room without confrontation. Along the way he spied Galahad sneaking about. He watched the boy in silence for a moment before deciding to follow. Just as he made to shadow the lad, however, his plan was complicated by the appearance of Gawain, with the very same intention.

Tristan paused and watched the boys for a moment before moving off to follow them both. Galahad's attempts at sneaking were abysmal. The dirt crunched heavily under his feet, though he could not have been particularly heavy. His 'shadowy corners' were not particularly shadowy and he didn't once look behind him to see if he was followed.

Gawain was better, but not by much. He at least seemed to remain hidden from Galahad, and he moved much more quietly. Unfortunately he, too, had poor choice in shadows and he was plainly visible much of the way.

Tristan shook his head and swore to himself to teach them both something of stealth next time he was in a position to. For the moment he trailed them on a path that seemed to be heading towards the stables. Galahad paused once and Gawain was nearly given away as he walked into a post because of his distraction.

It seemed that Galahad's intent was, indeed, the stables. He paused once he had the stables in his sights, but his next challenge was getting past the Roman guards stationed at the entrance. After looking about a bit he spotted a window shutter, left open for the cool breeze on the summer night, and made a dash for it. Fortunately for them all the guards were slightly drunk and chatting between themselves so they did not notice three figures slipping past and into the stable window.

As he dropped into the hay in an empty stall Tristan glanced quickly about for the boys. He spotted Galahad making his way to a stall near the door and quieting his own horse as he made to saddle her up.

Before Galahad could even lift the saddle off it's ledge, Gawain stepped out of the shadows by the stall and drew Galahad's attention with a deliberate crunch of straw. Galahad spun around with a look in his eyes that made Tristan willing to bet he would have taken on any full-grown Roman officer at that point. When he saw it was Gawain his fury died, but was replaced by fear and something akin to exasperation.

"Galahad." Gawain said wearily. "What are you doing?" He stepped closer to the stall and Galahad took a reflexive step back.

"I'm leaving." Galahad replied and, as if to reinforce the statement, he turned and made for another go at his saddle.

"No, Galahad." Gawain said, placing a hand on the younger boy's forearm and forcing him to lower the saddle. "If you leave now they'll kill you." He said quietly. "They nearly did last time."

"I cannot stay here!" Galahad said, a bit loud but it seemed to go unnoticed by those outside. He pushed Gawain's hand from his arm and tried to back further away from the other boy. Gawain took another step towards Galahad, coming between him and the saddle.

"Galahad." Gawain sighed.

"Come with me." Galahad offered. "We can escape together. We'll fight our way out of trouble, and hunt for food as we cross the country."

"And the sea?" Gawain asked. "How will you cross that? And yet the rest of the Roman Empire would still stand between you and Sarmatia." He looked sadly into Galahad's face. "Galahad, you can not do this. Some day we will return there, but not now. Now our only chance to live that long is to stay with the other knights and to complete our service. Then we shall return as free men, not as fugitives."

"I cannot stay here." Galahad repeated. This time Tristan saw how truly close to tears the young boy was. "I cannot stay here." Galahad's voice trailed off as he was engulfed in Gawain's arms. The older boy held tightly to the younger and they stood silently but for Galahad's muffled crying.

"You can stay here." Gawain said softly. "You can because you are strong, and I will be here with you." He swore.

Galahad sniffed once and wiped his eyes as he moved back from Gawain's chest. Gawain smiled at the young boy. He saw in Galahad a spirit that would not be truly broken. He had perhaps conceded to wait for a time but he would never be fully settled here, of that Gawain was certain.

"Let us just meet our commander first." Gawain offered. "If you do not like him then I'll personally see to your escape. We can swim the sea, if it comes to that."

Gawain smiled when he heard a soft laugh from the younger boy. At the same time Tristan heard the crunch of dirt outside the stable, just under the window through which they had come. He crouched low and focused on the sound, determining it to be two people, possibly drunk. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard a man's voice and a woman's giggling laughter. He turned back in time to see Gawain and Galahad walking back towards the window.

Tristan stood up and held a finger to his mouth for silence. Both boys were too shocked to need to be silenced further but they stopped and closed their mouths anyway. Soon they both heard the sound and the man was speaking Latin, so they deduced it was a Roman soldier. Realising this danger they immediately forgot the embarrassment of Tristan having been present and witnessing the attempted escape, and they both looked to him for help.

Tristan mused for just a moment, and looked about for other windows. The only other window opened out to the main courtyard inhabited by the Romans. That was not an option, given the irregular hours of sleep and passage of those on watch. Tristan, being a resourceful man, glanced up and saw a small gap in the rushes that thatched the roof of the stables. A further study of the stables uncovered a rope ladder.

"Wait here." Tristan told them, before running off to grab the ladder. With that over one arm he began to climb on anything he could find to get up to the hole in the roof. He used, first, the walls that separated the horses' stalls. He jumped from one of these to grab hold of a beam that crossed the structure. He pulled himself onto that and realised he was mere feet from the hole. Unfortunately it was lower than where he stood, and thus hard to get at. A study of the roof showed Tristan that he could, by gripping the roof beams, swing himself across to it and, using all the dextrous proficiency that only Tristan could possibly possess, he did just that.

He set the ladder down for a moment and rubbed his hands together. Readjusting the ladder over his arm he crouched down and jumped over to the first beam. He hung there a moment before swinging himself and launching over to the next beam. He heard the boys gasp and looked down to see them under his position, kicking hay to soften the potential fall, and staring up in awe.

Tristan breathed to calm himself and then finally made the last swing and found himself right by the hole. He swung his legs up through the gap and pulled the rest of his body through it. Making the hole wider, he lashed the rope ladder to the beams he had just clung to, and then dropped the rest of it down to the boys. Gawain encouraged Galahad up first, and stayed for a moment to kick the hay back into place.

At the top of the ladder Tristan hoisted Galahad up to sit beside him, precariously balanced on the edge of the stable roof. When Gawain got to the top Tristan moved aside and grabbed the boys arm to lift him the rest of the way. Tristan untied the ladder and let it fall back into an empty stall below. He fixed the roofing a little, so the hole was not so gapingly obvious.

"Follow me." He muttered, and he stood and walked quickly along the beam that took them to the back of the stables where they met with the wall of the fort. He turned back to see Galahad doubled over and using both hands and feet to walk along, and Gawain crouched low as he went so his balance could be more easily distributed. Both looked almost amusing and Tristan smiled to himself.

When they reached him Tristan turned and leapt off the building to land on a pile of wood that stacked high. It was only a few feet below, but his feet and legs punished him for the jump by instantly springing with pain. Nevertheless he turned and caught both boys as they dropped down from the roof. From the woodpile they all climbed layer by layer to the ground. Galahad made to walk off but Tristan grabbed his wrist first.

"Not that way." He warned. Then he turned and scuttled around the back of the Roman quarters. His path led them around the backs of several buildings until, eventually, they came to the Sarmatian building. He took them inside, past the rooms where the other knights dozed and led them up to their door.

As Galahad set his hand on the door Tristan nudged his shoulder with a slight smile.

"Next time you try to sneak about," Tristan said quietly, "see me first." He then turned and wandered back into his own chambers. He saw Lancelot dozing contentedly on his back, his hand splayed across his chest. Tristan was rather pleased to see no girl had come back with him, though only Sarmatians and Arthur were allowed in this building so he was not overly surprised.

Once disrobed and lying in bed, he heard a rustle of sheets. Again, the door was locked and Tristan sighed with a smile. Soon he felt his bed lower under the weight of his companion.

"I thought you would never return." Lancelot said sleepily as he nudged in beside Tristan.

"And I thought you had chosen a woman for the evening." Tristan smiled, wrapping his arms around the younger knight.

"I had." Lancelot confirmed, pushing deeper into the embrace and pushing his head up under Tristan's. "But she was terrible."

Tristan laughed and was somewhat relieved. He held Lancelot tight and they both fell asleep.

Tbc

A/N: And I promise, for all you Arthur/Lancelot fans, it will be so! Consider this filler.