By the third snowfall, Galahad was feeling able to walk on his own and accomplish tasks without help. As a result, he'd asked Tristan to give him some space, if only to accommodate back to his old lifestyle. Tristan had nodded and obliged without a word, spending his days around the stables or scouting with the hawk. Galahad had taken his bow and arrow out to the field with a target, his fingers itching to be active again. His time of healing was the longest time span in which he had been completely inactive and he felt as though he were quite useless without those abilities.
He exhaled slowly, watching his visible breath in the air as he shivered slightly, rubbing his arms and lining up the bow. As he fired a few arrows, he noted that he'd lost some of his accuracy, but that wasn't too difficult to gain back.
He reached down to grab another arrow, but the sound of twigs snapping behind him made him stop. He slowly turned. Tristan had a habit of sneaking up on people, but he would never give himself away like that and anyone else would say something. Galahad dropped the bow, one hand slowly moving to his sword as he turned around completely to find one of the…
"If we kill you, there'll be no mourners. And it doesn't matter how much you plead for your life, if it's just with your eyes, you're still pleading. You don't want to die. And I'm not going to let you go slowly. You're going to die in pain."
Out of the forest, bloodied, dirtied and limping, one of the Romans that had tied Galahad to the bed and tortured him came stumbling out, a primitive crossbow in his hands. Galahad froze on the spot, urging himself out of the paralysis. His feet wouldn't move and his heart was beginning to pound in his chest. He mentally called for Tristan, but didn't move a muscle.
"Drop it," the Roman directed, nodding to Galahad's sword. He laughed darkly. "You didn't," he stopped, turning to the side and coughing up blood, "think that I was through with you? Your Knights killed all my men, but not me."
"Saving the best for last," Galahad spat at him, dropping his sword to the ground and wondering if he could get close enough to snap his neck. It was that damned crossbow, if only he didn't have it. "You're just next in line," Galahad threatened, taking two small steps towards the Roman.
"Stop," he commanded darkly. "I will shoot. Not to kill, but to continue with our little fun that I started the other night."
By now, someone must have noticed that something was wrong, Galahad thought. Tristan must have noticed that he hadn't returned yet. Someone would come to his rescue, it was only a matter of time. He kept repeating that to himself as the Roman inched closer and closer until he had the tip of the arrow just a foot away from Galahad – yet still too far for Galahad to attack physically.
"It was only a matter of time before we got to you," the Roman said quietly, spitting at Galahad in the face. That was the last straw. Galahad didn't care that he was at arrow-point, he was about to lunge forward and tackle the bastard when…when the Roman crumpled over right in front of him, an axe sticking out of his back. Galahad looked down in wonder before looking up, his eyes wide and pleased.
"Gawain!" he exclaimed with ecstatic relief. "I have never been so happy to see you in all my life!"
At his back, there was a warm hand and Galahad looked to see that it was Tristan. He had shown up. Gawain sauntered over, plucking his axe out of the Roman's back and tucking it back into his armour before tugging Galahad over and into his arms, hugging him tightly. Galahad fell into the embrace, finding that he was shaking slightly. It was just like the nightmares. But the nightmares were over now, weren't they?
His gaze flitted back to Tristan and he gave a smile while Gawain patted him on the back.
"You've healed nicely," Gawain commented, pulling himself away, but still keeping Galahad in his arms. He studied him with scrutinous care, taking a step back and narrowing his eyes. "Galahad, you've got stars in your eyes," Gawain remarked slowly, his gaze shifting rapidly between Galahad and Tristan. "Did you go and fall in love while we were away?" he laughed uneasily, something akin to true worry flickering over his features. Galahad found he was grinning quite widely, unable to stop the smile from painting his face. "Or else you've done something else to make yourself so damned happy. Tristan, have you been drugging him?"
"Whether a man drugs someone is his own business," Tristan remarked coolly, a playful smile on his face. Gawain stepped over and pulled Tristan into a hug – shorter than the one with Galahad and much less warmer, it appeared. "And whether Galahad is in love is his own business as well."
Gawain was watching them, Galahad's own attention turning mainly to Tristan.
"Where were you?" he asked quietly.
"The stables, someone on the watch said you were in trouble. I came as quickly as I could," Tristan replied, just as quietly, his gaze always jumping over to Gawain, as though to ensure he was not going to run away. "You seemed to have a savior though," he remarked. "Everyone's returned?"
Gawain nodded, his voice seemingly stolen from him. Something like betrayal was in his eyes and Galahad shifted, feeling uneasy. He ducked his gaze down and cleared his throat, avoiding looking anyone in the eye.
"The others went straight to the table for refreshment. It's been an interesting hunt. You would have enjoyed it though, not a single Roman escaped without the most brutal of punishments," Gawain was saying.
"It does sound like my kind of fun," Tristan replied. "I'm going to go see if they need any help. Galahad?"
Galahad looked up now, turning and blinking in surprise.
"I'll see you up there," Tristan continued.
He hadn't been waiting for an answer and somehow, that comforted him. Galahad watched Tristan go, recalling that he needed to breathe. He turned back to Gawain and the look of betrayal had spread to taint every feature on his face now. Galahad cleared his throat. Gawain was not taking his eyes off of him, not for a split second.
"You did," Gawain accused quietly. He was covered in the blood of others, likely himself, and dirt as well. "You fell in love."
"I…I don't know," Galahad stumbled.
"With Tristan?" Gawain continued, narrowing his eyes and grasping Galahad by the biceps, giving him a slight shake. "Look at me," Gawain instructed. When Galahad met his eyes, there was panic there. "There were three weeks. Did you…the two of you, you…" his gaze flickered down to Galahad's neck where Galahad knew there was a bite mark from the other night. Galahad closed his eyes tightly, feeling trapped. "You did," Gawain remarked quietly, releasing his grip on Galahad.
"I don't know if this is love," Galahad replied, his voice strained. Gawain was pacing away, but Galahad was following him as quickly as he could.
"Yes, you do," Gawain turned and snapped. "You know, and you think it is. When…we were only gone…I didn't think you'd…Galahad, you idiot!" Gawain exclaimed angrily, storming off.
"Gawain, stop!" Galahad pleaded, trying his best to catch up. "I can't help what happened when you were gone…"
"Three weeks. It took you all of three weeks to…" Gawain began with indignation but stopped, shaking his head. He scoffed, paused and then laughed finally, casting his gaze downwards. "All that time, I thought you wouldn't understand." He shook his head with disgust. "You understood. I was the stupid one. Fine," he remarked blithely, waving his hand around. "Let's go."
Galahad looked down. "I'm sorry," he quietly replied.
"What for?" Gawain tiredly asked.
"I think I might…love him," Galahad continued uneasily, risking a glance at Gawain. "But, you were, you were angry with me. I'd," he looked down again and wasn't sure if Gawain would even hear him now. "I'd given up hope."
"You were sleeping with Lara, and before that there was Bridget," Gawain went on. "There was no hope in the first place. Don't fool yourself and most important of all, don't dare taunt with me with that."
And this time, he did storm off, too quickly for Galahad to catch up to. Galahad made his way back up to the village slowly, wincing as the cold began to seep into him and the dreadful encounter with the Roman still sat heavily in his mind. He was about to dart through the stables to head to the table when he heard voices. Swiftly, he ducked around a corner and kept quiet, peeking every so often.
"I was just seeing if he would be open to advances," Tristan was saying calmly.
"And I take it he was," Gawain snorted. "Let me guess. You did that and found that you enjoyed it, so you kept on enjoying to your delight."
"I'm just a man," Tristan shrugged. "I'm no type of larger-than-life religious figure, or one of Arthur's saints. You weren't around and I owed nothing to you. Besides, this may just pass its course."
"But he thinks he's in love with you," Gawain snapped, his voice strained.
"You were never so forward or adamant with me," Tristan was remarking with mild amusement. Galahad could just see Gawain pacing back and forth, swinging his axe as he went. Tristan was ever unmoving, his sword resting flatly over his shoulder. "If I recall, you propositioned me and within a week, you were content to let it fade away as though it never happened."
"I was never so taken with you," Gawain grumbled, turning and sticking the axe down in a block of wood. "Besides, that was five years ago, I was young."
"And he is young now," Tristan replied. "This is mostly your fault, which I suppose is besides the point now. If you had just come out and asked him if he was so inclined, or maybe made the first move, I wouldn't have had to get involved."
"Is he…behind closed doors and when you two are intimate," Gawain hesitantly spoke, every word slow and calculated. "What's it like?" he quietly asked.
Tristan paused and Galahad found himself unable to tear himself away.
"I can see why you love him so," Tristan finally said, swinging his sword forward and planting it in the ground. "And I can easily begin to understand how a person can fall quite easily for his charms, appearances beside the point."
"Do you?" Gawain asked.
Galahad held his breath, turning around slightly when Tristan's gaze flitted across the doorway. He turned, still able to hear, but no longer able to see. Unfortunately, this was one of Tristan's wordless answers.
"Oh," Gawain gave a dark laugh, giving Galahad no real indication as to what Tristan's response had been. Galahad forced himself to breathe, kicking himself for being so attached to Tristan's answer. He had never expected Tristan to be in love, so why was he so hung up on this answer. "Thank you though, for taking care of him."
"He's been having nightmares," Tristan said simply. "Screams in his sleep, terrible noise."
"He's not the only one," Gawain remarked. "On the second day out, Bors had to wake up Dag using a bit of force. He's such a quiet one, so when he started shouting so roughly in his sleep, everyone was worried to say the least. What did you two see when you burst into the room?"
Galahad closed his eyes, tried to picture himself bloodied, bruised, beaten and helpless.
"What we saw was inhuman. We weren't there in time to prevent it," Tristan replied evenly. The sound of a sword being pulled from the ground was heard. "Will you at least be civil with me? I doubt Galahad would like it if you killed me."
"I'll set Lancelot on you. He doesn't give a care whether Galahad is upset or not," Gawain said. "He's a bastard like that." There was a pause and Galahad heard warm laughter from Gawain. "I thought he was in your special society for bastards. You must aggravate this many people to join."
"We're all in that alliance," Tristan replied nonchalantly. "Perhaps not Dagonet. You should go eat, rest up. I can't imagine that the three weeks away have been especially kind to you and your return has been less than perfect."
"You're smart," Gawain murmured tiredly. "A right bastard and a thief, but smart."
The sound of shuffling footsteps echoed, a door slammed shut and then there was silence. Galahad exhaled with some degree of relief, but jumping then when Tristan rounded the corner and raised an eyebrow silently.
"Don't do that," Galahad admonished, his heart pounding away at being caught.
"Enjoying yourself?" Tristan asked, only sounding mildly interested. "I'm taking you out to help you get better at scouting. You were terrible. I could hear you and see you lurking about out here."
"My tracking skills are not sub-par," Galahad snapped defensively. "Have you ever considered that maybe you're just incredibly good at what you do?" Tristan was moving his hands up and down Galahad's upper arms, not quite looking him in the eyes. Galahad frowned, his thoughts still on their conversation. "Gawain is…taken with me?"
"He was upset with you simply because he wants you, yes," Tristan confirmed, glancing up at Galahad. "Before you say anything else, this is your will. Whatever your will is, follow it. I'm not keeping you trapped."
"I know," Galahad murmured distractedly, pressing his forehead to Tristan's shoulder and furrowing his brow. "I know," he repeated, even quieter than before.
"You understand," Tristan pressed his lips to Galahad's ear. "Be true to yourself, Galahad. Listen to what you truly desire and that won't lead you astray. It's not the caged hawk that finds its way to where it wants to be. It's the one you set free. Be true to your heart, and find what you want."
"Right now," Galahad murmured into Tristan's skin. "Right here, I want you. Is that true to myself? Is that true enough for you?"
"If that is what you desire…"
"I do," Galahad cut him off. "I can't have true freedom. Not for years yet, but I want this for now. I want as much freedom as you'll allow me." He exhaled slowly, content to simply rest there on Tristan's body, ready to let the world drift away and most certainly ready to forget that he may have broken a part of Gawain he had never thought he had control over.