Fealty
By Cerasi
Chapter 7: Culmination
A/N: Sorry for you kids who considered this lot too young for… activities. But they're not, really. But enjoy, all the same. And, pray tell, what do you think so far? I need to know for the continuation… direction and whatnot. :)
"Galahad! Tighten that parry, you're letting his sword too close to your body!" Arthur called across the practice yard. Galahad nodded and turned back to carry out the instruction. He and Gareth had been paired due to their closeness in size, but still neither had enough experience to make their partnership work.
Galahad had grown slightly over the months since their first battle, but Gareth had grown more. In that space of time both Gawain and Gaheris had celebrated another year passed since birth, now fifteen and seventeen contrary to Tristan's original guess at their ages, and each had been gifted with a fine sword from Arthur, and many drinks from the other knights.
Across the yard Arthur paused Tristan and Lancelot's sparring and begged Tristan's leave. Lancelot hid his smile quickly and Tristan nodded, strolling away and tossing a grin in Lancelot's direction.
He wandered among the other boys to observe in Arthur's stead. Though he walked silently, and each of the Knights felt slightly unnerved as he passed by, a fact that he enjoyed immensely.
"Tristan, what d'you think you're doing? You'd think you were our commander, strutting about like that!" Bors laughed as he and Dagonet paused for water.
"Better me than you." Tristan observed quietly, and with a smirk.
He turned about to watch Gawain and Gaheris battle, axe and club against sword. Of the two of them Gaheris seemed to be the better, but Gawain was gradually approaching the same level. Clearly Gaheris was putting in his own tuition for his brother. For a moment Tristan mused that he might well have been hard pressed to beat either of them. Then he laughed as he recalled that he was the best swordsman amongst them… with the exception, perhaps, of Arthur.
Tristan looked over to Galahad and Gareth's corner of the yard, and saw the fault Arthur had seen. Galahad swung wide in his guard, and constantly allowed Gareth's short sword through his defences.
Tristan stalked silently over and stood behind Galahad. When the young boy lifted his arm up to parry a downward-strike to the head, Tristan caught his arm and shifted it slightly to where it should have been.
Galahad's astonishment and annoyance were written plainly on his face. When he saw how the parry worked, though, he sighed and subjected himself to Tristan's guidance.
A few more corrected steps and Galahad was able to walk himself through the movements. Tristan stepped back to admire the boy and backed straight into Gawain. The younger lad smiled briefly and stepped aside, somewhat embarrassed.
Tristan vaguely noted Gawain's lingering hand; it had shot up to catch Tristan, and remained on Tristan's lower back for longer than, perchance, was necessary. Before Gawain could return to practice, Arthur's voice rang out.
"We break for the day." He said. "You've all done well. Go and find yourselves a well-earned drink." The Knights smiled and stowed their weapons. The day was beginning to fade and all were glad for a drink and some food.
In the Sarmatian courtyard they scattered themselves amongst the few tables. On cue, the young women seemed to appear from nothing to be at their sides, and food gathered on the tables. Tristan ducked his head to remove himself from the attentions of all present, and began pilfering food from the main table into his own corner.
As soon as Tristan fancied himself settled for a quiet eve of observation and contemplation, Gawain appeared beside him, much as the women had not moments ago. Tristan started and then relaxed, pushing his platter of food between them. Gawain smiled and added two slices of meat and a small loaf of bread.
"You're not socializing?" Gawain asked with a cheeky smile.
Tristan returned the smile. "It's not my style."
"Your style?" Gawain laughed and broke off some bread, adding cheese and meat to the top of it and wolfing it down.
"Yes." Tristan smiled again and took some meat from their stash.
"And what, pray tell, is your style?" Gawain asked with a querying look.
Tristan scanned about and then rested his eyes on Gawain, narrowing them slightly as he probed as much as he could. What was this lad about? He wondered. Gawain held the gaze for a moment before looking around, his eyes settling on the table after a moment. His food, apparently, was very intriguing.
"Why is it that your speech is so different from any other I've heard?" Gawain asked after a moment. This seemed to be an appropriate conversation change.
"What do you mean?" Tristan asked, pretending to be utterly insulted. Gawain was confused for a moment, before he noted the smile pushing itself on Tristan's face. They both laughed and Tristan took a sip of his drink.
"I wasn't always in Sarmatia." Tristan explained. "I was born there, and raised there until my mother died. Then my father took me to the very ends of the Roman Empire, as far as we could go. He showed me as much as he could. Mostly we went east."
"How many years did it take to change your tongue?" Gawain asked.
"My tongue?" Tristan raised and eyebrow. "I don't believe it has changed at all." He stuck his tongue out of his mouth for a moment to inspect, and Gawain punched his arm with a glare. Tristan just smirked. "My speech, you mean? I don't know. A few years, perhaps."
Gawain nodded and finished off as much food as he felt he needed, and took another drink. Tristan drank down what was left in his own mug and picked up the pitcher to pour more. Gawain seemed to think this an excellent idea and both of them had had much more to drink before the conversation between them died down.
"Tristan?" Gawain slurred, his eyes drooping closed and his head rolling around on his neck and shoulders.
"Yes?" Tristan replied, equally as drunk.
"Shall we, um…" Gawain paused and then looked up at Tristan. His thoughts seemed confirmed and he nodded to himself. "Shall we go for a walk?" He asked.
Tristan's heart skipped a drunken beat and he nodded, rolling to his feet. Despite his intake of drink, Tristan's body seemed to have remained much more coordinated than his mind, as had always been the way with him.
Lancelot made sure to subtly pinch Tristan's behind as he passed, and Tristan swung around to glare. Lancelot grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.
"I won't be returning to our chambers tonight." He said with a grin and a wink, jutting his head towards Gawain. Tristan nodded conspiratorially, as his drink-addled mind seemed to indicate was necessary.
Tristan turned and followed Gawain off, and they walked about in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, as they passed through an unlit alley, Gawain seemed to think it high-time that something was said or done.
"Forgive me." He muttered quickly as he turned Tristan and pressed him against the cool wall. Tristan suddenly knew what he had expected of Gawain the other night, and he also became aware that it was about to happen, exactly what he had wanted.
Tristan's eyes closed as Gawain pressed their lips together, and both felt long-desired surge of passion. Tristan felt a smile coming as he noted Gawain's tentative movements. Taking charge, he turned the younger man against the wall, their positions exchanged, and began running his hands through Gawain's hair.
A moment later, Gawain having gained courage, they broke apart and Tristan rested their foreheads together, his hands dropping to Gawain's shoulders. Gawain raised his hands carefully to Tristan's waist and pulled slightly, a concise indication of his own desires. Tristan nodded and turned his head to look to his left.
"Shall we go back?" Gawain asked, somewhat nervously. "To the sleeping areas, I mean."
"Yes." Tristan nodded.
They walked quickly through the back alleys to the Sarmatian area, and Tristan guided the young Gawain down the hall and into his own chambers. As promised, Lancelot was nowhere to be found. Tristan kissed Gawain quickly and guided him to Tristan's own bed.
As they reached the bedside, Tristan felt Gawain hesitate only momentarily. This, for Tristan, was more than enough information. He paused and held Gawain's face in his hands, staring carefully into the younger man's eyes.
"What is it that you want?" Tristan asked quietly.
Gawain breathed quickly and deeply, building up his courage.
"I want you." He said. Tristan nodded and moved his hands about carefully and tenderly.
"Perfect." Tristan said and smiled quietly. He gripped Gawain's hand and began to shed their clothing. He could already feel Gawain's literal tension growing against his leg, and had no desire to spoil it for the lad.
When they had nothing but their breeches left, Tristan lowered Gawain onto the bed, his spare hand searching for the oil he knew he had somewhere. Gawain lay still on the bed, utterly uncertain.
"Tristan?" He said. The fear in his voice made Tristan wince, but he knew what he was doing, and Gawain's fear would be utterly gone shortly.
"Yes?" He asked, kissing Gawain's neck slowly, his hands resting about Gawain's waist.
"Do you hear something?" Gawain asked.
Tristan lifted his head from Gawain's shoulder and looked into the boy's face. "Hear something?" Tristan repeated.
"I, there's… sound. Listen." Gawain whispered. Tristan paused and listened, his soberness returning and his carefully honed ears now picking up what lust had eliminated not moments ago.
He heard it now, scuffled footsteps and quiet voices. Men, he thought, several of them. And something else was there, a muffled voice, a protesting voice. He sat up and moved silently to the door, cracking it open to hear better. Someone seemed to lose their grip over the protestor's mouth, and an angry cry let loose in the hall, but only for a moment before it was silenced with a violent blow, and someone snarled angrily and gave instructions.
Tristan and Gawain looked worriedly at each other. "Galahad." They muttered simultaneously. "And Ronus." Tristan growled.
A/N: So, are you worried? Yea or nae? ("Which one means yes?")
