Disclaimer: I am poor and own nothing. And because I'm poor, this is my only source of entertainment, so please do not sue.
Authors Note: In case anyone is curious, Roxana means Dawn. And Cornell means horns. Oh and I'm dedicating this story to Tracy137.
Tracy137: You know you make me laugh? I laughed so hard at the email you sent me. I'm glad you think I captured Tris well. I hope you still think so after this. So you know, I'm only continuing with this cause you want me to. Seriously, when I told you if no one liked it I wouldn't keep writing it, well I meant you so enjoy!
Chapter One: Lost Love
"Come Tristan it is not natural," Lancelot slurred drunkenly as he leaned against the table and looked over at the silent scout. "We have been here three months shy of fifteen years and never once have you bedded one of these beautiful creatures," he leered over at the barmaid next to him, who quickly turned into a giggling mass. "You must tell me why."
"You've already had them all," came the easy reply as Tristan continued to eat his apple.
Galahad and Gawain snorted and Dagonet rolled his eyes while Arthur chuckled slightly.
"True enough!" Lancelot laughed loudly and pulled the girl into his lap, looking over to were Bors fussed over Van, who was rich with child. He'd have to remember to poke some fun with him later, he thought before turning back to his current choice of prey. "Then tell me this, who is she?"
"Sorry?" Tristan looked up at him and arched an eyebrow.
"This woman you are being so faithful to. There must be one. A wench back home perhaps. Tell me, is she beautiful?" He leaned forward, eager to find out the Scout's secret. For fifteen years they had all been trying and he was bound and determined to figure it out before their commission was up.
Raven black hair, eyes bluer than the ocean and a smile that lit the very skies flashed in his minds eye, but his face remained impassive as he spoke. "I merely do not wish to have your leftovers."
"Liar. For if that were the case you would have bedded one when we first got here, and claimed her as Bors did," Lancelot pressed.
"So you say," Tristan replied, finishing his apple and rising to head to the stables.
"Mark me, I will find out your secret!" Lancelot called after him, taking another swig of his ale.
Tristan said nothing as he continued on to the stables, walking in and over to his horse. The animal snorted in greeting and happily took the apple core from his hand. He rubbed her lovingly before setting to work brushing her down.
"Some things never change," a familiar male voice said from the opening to the stall. "Still the lone wolf."
"Cornell," Tristan looked up surprised to see one of his old playmates and walked over, taking the man's forearm in his own. They shook and for the first time in a long while Tristan smiled. He took in the man before him, he was as tall as Tristan with long black hair, pulled back into a ponytail and dark tanned skin and bore a single tattoo on his right cheek. "Still the ladies man eh?"
"Upon occasion," Cornell smiled as Tristan exited the stall, closed it up and went to sit on a nearby bale of hay. "Still the silent warrior?"
As you say, some things never change," Tristan stated as Cornell sat next to him. "When did you arrive?"
"Not more than six months ago. It is a long journey from home as you well know, and finding you has been no picnic in itself," Cornell's father had not been one of the sons of the Calvary, so when the Romans' came, he was left with the tribe, something some viewed as an insult. "But I knew I had to be the one to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Tristan felt his blood run cold as he gazed at the man before him.
"There was an attack on the village, not yet one year ago," Cornell said solemnly, looking down at his hands. "Saxons. They burned it to the ground. Killed everyone there." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Your mother was feeling unwell, so she didn't leave with the hunting party that day," he stressed the word she, knowing Tristan would know who he was speaking of.
"What are you saying?" Tristan asked, leaping from the hay and glaring at him, his face unreadable as anger, fear and grief filled his eyes as the answer formed in his mind before Cornell could speak it.
"Roxana is dead Tristan. As is your mother and her own. Your sister had gone with us on the hunt. I am so sorry," he bowed his head as Tristan continued to glare at him.
Without another word Tristan turned from Cornell and stalked out of the stables, his heart frozen forever. Once alone, a slow, menacing grin spread over Cornell's face.