This chapter gets a little (cough) intense so those who are revolted by a little sexuality shouldn't read. Thanx for all's support!

Arthur and his men rallied to the Bishop's aid as the contingent was set upon by hordes of blue painted Woads. Woads. Untamed Britons, the wild men and women of this isolated island. The Romans had long since accepted that the Woads were barbarians and as such were inferior in the eyes of the mighty Roman Empire. The very name was an insult and identified not a people but a weed that grew prolifically on the isle, and which the warriors harvested to obtain blue dye to paint their bodies before battle. Such an aggressive, invasive plant needed to be controlled or at least contained. Likewise these Woads, who repeatedly interrupted life in the region by attacking soldiers and civilians, were dealt swift and brutal justice by the Romans.

Emperor Hadrian had tried to restrain them by organizing the construction of the wall some three hundred years earlier. Indeed the wall did stabilize the northern frontier, as a result communities south of the wall flourished but north of it, while limited trade agreements existed; it was still a wild frontier that had occupied Roman resources for centuries. This attack, however, was significant, not because the Woads attacked but because these Woads were south of the wall.

With Arthur in the lead, the knights raced to engage the insurgents. Tristan, on the far right of the group as they galloped towards the melee, saw the battlefield before him; his fellow knights, some dismounted, others still on their horses, hacking and slashing as they fought one attacker after another. As he neared the edge of the battle, Tristan spotted Lancelot, twin blades swinging wildly, as he stumbled backwards to the ground and was set upon by a Woad raider with a bloodied blade raised ready to plunge it into the helpless knight. Without concern or care Tristan released the reins, turned to his left, raised his bow and fired a single arrow at the attacking Woad. It found its mark and the Woad fell to the ground mortally wounded.

Unfortunately for Tristan he was sitting astride his steed, upper body twisted to the side and moving at full speed. He had no reins in hand and he was focused on the safety of his friend. As a result he was not aware of where his steed, guided by the spirits of fallen Sarmatian warriors so they say, was taking him. He and the speeding mount failed to notice the small jagged rocks, hidden by the grass that had been thrown onto the field by the road makers who had recently re ploughed the nearby track. Just as Lancelot rose from the ground to continue the fight, Tristan felt his horse stumble as it tried to gain a footing on the rocky section of field. In that brief moment before he too fell, Tristan felt time slow down and he realized, albeit too late, that he should have been holding on to the horse and not the bow, as bows are more easily repaired than knights. His last thought as he plunged headlong to the ground was that he hoped someone would notice his now precarious situation and protect him until he could gather his wits and his weapons.

Nearby Arelenne watched in horror as the scene unfolded before her eyes. The inevitability of the fall was all too evident to Arelenne, particularly as she had already seen Lancelot lose his footing on the rocky ground. She was too far away to help in Lancelot's situation and was relieved to see Tristan power through the throng and slay Lancelot's attacker. However, the sheer speed that Tristan's horse now traveled at and the fact that Tristan wasn't holding on to the reins meant disaster was but a stride away. As the horse sped in Arelenne's direction, it stumbled on the obscured rocks causing its unsecured rider to fall to the unforgiving ground.

Without purchase, Tristan fell heavily on his left side, hitting his head hard on the rocks as he rolled uncontrollably over them before coming to rest on his back. There winded, dazed and bleeding, his eyes wide open staring but not seeing the crystal blue sky overhead, Tristan lay, too stunned to move, too sore to get up and too confused to comprehend that lying on the ground in the middle of a battle was extremely unwise.

The sun shone far too bright for his eyes and his world began to spin. Distantly he was aware of the din of battle but he simply couldn't concentrate to understand that he needed to protect himself. Instead he merely laid there squinting against the sun's glare and idly wondering where his falcon was.

Where is she? He thought she'll come, she always comes to me…

He began to raise an unsteady arm for her to perch upon. What he failed to remember in his confused state was that she would only come when summoned by his whistle and whistling was a little beyond his capabilities at the moment. Unfortunately his movement summoned other less savory attention. Tristan's desperate attempt to lift his arm was a signal to the nearby Woads that this knight was not dead.

Suddenly his outstretched arm was wrenched sharply and he was dragged to his feet and steadied by a solid arm about his waist. The earth tilted but his protector kept him from falling over. Slowly he regained some of his bearings and looked about dazedly. He saw the blue decorated faces moving towards him and then he heard a distant voice, familiar yet detached, it seemed to be calling his name.

"Tristan." He heard the echo of the name and tried to focus on where the sound was coming from.

"Tristan." Arelenne shouted, as she supported the knight with one arm while wielding her long blade in the other defending them both from the charging Woads.

"Tristan" she screamed again more desperately. This time she seemed to get the other man's attention, as Tristan turned to the sound of the voice and stared at the blonde girl supporting him with unfocused eyes and a gentle smile.

Arelenne raised one startled eyebrow at her bewildered friend and promptly propelled them both towards the relative safety of one of the wagons. There she propped Tristan against the side of the wagon all the while talking to him and patting Tristan's face trying to get him to concentrate.

"Tristan where's your sword?" she asked "get your sword now."

The persistent voice seemed to break through the fog but while Tristan understood what Arelenne said he simply couldn't think straight enough to actually unsheathe his blade. The sheer effort involved in trying do what was asked made him dizzy and his knees buckled. He would have fallen once more had not Arelenne caught him and braced him back against the wagon with a pale, long fingered hand on Tristan's breastplate.

"I've got you" she stated evenly "It's alright, I've got you."

Tristan gazed at the hand on his chest and slowly brought his own up to hold it. His thumb moved lazily over the back of Arelenne's hand as he tried to comprehend what Arelenne had said.

"…I've got you" he heard the words again and vaguely understood that he was safe because Arelenne held him.

Arelenne, groaned in part because what Tristan was doing felt good and partly because she knew that while the battle was waning they could ill afford to be preoccupied when there were still Woads about. Arelenne was well aware that Tristan was injured but she hoped that he was still capable of fighting if they were attacked. With some regret she removed her hand from under Tristan's and grabbed Tristan's sword from its scabbard. She then thrust the weapon into her fellow knight's hand demanding that Tristan stand fast and fight if needed. Plunging back into the struggle, Arelenne kept one blue eye on her opponents and the other on a curiously serene knight who stood with his back to the wagon, weapon ready and eyes glazed.

As the last surviving Woads retreated to the safety of the forest, Arelenne lowered her blade. She immediately returned to Tristan, removed the sword from his grasp and sheathed it once more. Now was neither the time nor place to ascertain the extent of Tristan's less than obvious injuries. He was undoubtedly injured but not gravely, so Arelenne was satisfied if she told Tristan to stay where he was then Tristan would not wander away. The last thing she needed was to have to locate a stunned and lost Sarmatian knight one day before they were freed.

"Tristan I need to check on the others. Stay here" she commanded.

Without waiting for a response Arelenne headed off to ensure the others had survived the brief battle unscathed. She chanced upon Gawain and Bors checking the Bishop's carriage.

"This can't be good" she heard Gawain grumble.

A look inside the carriage revealed a cleric, dead from an arrow to the heart. This did not bode well for their future she thought as she continued on her way checking on the rest of the men. In the distance she saw Galahad, somewhat wearily, wandering around the battlefield, retrieving spent arrows. Arelenne's attention was diverted from the young knight as she the heard the seething tone of Arthur's voice as he interrogated a Woad prisoner demanding an explanation for the attack and why Merlin had sent them over the wall. Lancelot stood nearby, face troubled as he watched his commander and friend. Arelenne, like Lancelot, knew Arthur normally wouldn't kill an unarmed man but at the moment Arthur was incensed.

Maybe this attack was one too many, thought Arelenne.

Indeed the Bishop's demise would impinge not only on the imminent release of the Knights from Roman service but also on Arthur's return to Rome. As Arelenne watched, Arthur finally reined in his anger and released the prisoner, who fled to the cover of the woods before Arthur or his knights changed their minds about his life.

Content that all the knights had survived, Arelenne then searched the area where Tristan had fallen looking for the man's bow. He found it undamaged and surmised that Tristan must have let it drop rather than have it break when he fell. She then turned her attention to retrieving their mounts. A brief scan of the area revealed their horses grazing contentedly on grasses not far from the battlefield. She whistled and a large black and white Clydesdale stallion trotted up to her.

"Eugepae, Xavier." She whispered to the large stallion who nuzzled her neck.

As she led the horses back towards the wagon where she had left Tristan, she passed the surviving legionnaires of the Bishop's contingent and observed Arthur greeting their commander. Arelenne was surprised to discover that the officious officer was actually Bishop Germanius, the very man they had thought had died in the carriage. Extremely relieved and impressed by the Roman's ingenuity, especially for a cleric, Arelenne once more felt that the future was bright if this man was canny enough to consider an attack this side of the great Hadrian's Wall.

She continued on her way to Tristan and as she approached the wagon she found the man still standing there, a look of childlike innocence about him as he gently held his hands to his chest and absentmindedly played with his fingers. Arelenne couldn't help but smile at her friend who was just not himself after that fall, but Arelenne admitted she liked it that Tristan needed her at the moment, as Tristan so rarely allows anyone close enough to help him or so it seems.

Well thought Arelenne, not this time Tristan. This time you get my help regardless of what you say or do.

Tristan slowly turned his head and saw Arelenne leading their horses and carrying Tristan's bow. He took in the scene before him but the nuances of the moment were lost to him; his head ached, it hurt to breathe too deeply, his stomach was rolling and he was bone weary. He failed to notice the look of concern that passed Arelenne's face as she saw the pale and preoccupied scout.

"Tristan what's wrong?" she asked, concern lacing her angelic voice.

"I fell," was the simple reply.

"Yes," responded Arelenne "but I found you."

"Come on," she prompted "on your horse now."

With the obedience of a child Tristan moved to the animal. He tried to climb into the saddle but his chest hurt too much. Arelenne heard the sharp intake of breath and watched with concern as the scout clutched his chest and doubled over in pain. Arelenne felt that Tristan had mostly likely cracked a few ribs when he fell but it was unlikely the man could actually articulate what he was feeling in his confused state.

"Tristan what's wrong?"

Unfortunately it was a poor choice of words by Arelenne, for even in pain the scout locked on to the one thing he knew for certain and faintly replied…

"I fell."

"I know," sighed Arelenne "but I helped you."

A little more forcefully this time she asked, "What is wrong with your chest?"

"Hurts" was the response.

Obviously! thought Arelenne.

Arelenne had earlier determined that Tristan needed some treatment for his injuries but in the light of these rather disconnected simple conservations, the sooner they returned to the fort the better. Arelenne gently helped Tristan to straighten and with her hands holding Tristan's upper arms she urged the man to listen to her. She explained they needed to get back to the fort and to do that Tristan must get on the horse. So she instructed him to hold on to the mane tightly and put his left foot into Arelenne's cupped hands and as he was being hoisted up to swing his right leg over the horse. Tristan obeyed and finally with much staining by Arelenne and even more wincing and groaning by Tristan, the task was achieved. For its part, the steed stood steady and seemed to understand that while its usually alert rider was in the saddle, his mind was in the stars.

Once astride his horse Tristan relaxed a little although he was obviously in pain. He didn't speak unless spoken to, but at least he seemed focused on Arelenne and followed her faithfully as they rode to rejoin their friends who were now mounted and waiting to escort the Bishop to the fort. The Bishop looked up and saw his neice approaching, he smiled at her but she didn't return it. She didn't like Germanus much, to religious.

Bors greeted them heartily and then noted with some concern the scout's pallor.

"Tristan, what's wrong" he asked, in his booming voice.

Arelenne groaned as she knew that this question would not actually explain fully to Bors what was wrong.

Tristan, nonetheless, feeling he didn't have to think too hard to answer this question turned towards the bulky knight and proudly announced with a toothy grin, "I fell."

Bors' eyebrows shot up. He rarely encountered people who seemed happy to have falls. He looked past Tristan to Arelenne hoping the girl would enlighten him. Arelenne merely shrugged and said "He hit his head."

"Oh" mouthed Bors.

It all made sense now, "I see" Bors chuckled, "a case of the lantern is lit but nobody is home eh."

Arelenne smiled but the whole conversation washed over Tristan who was still trying to concentrate on staying upright in the saddle while riding a horse, not an easy feat considering his circumstances. However, as his mind was still cloudy and he wasn't sure just what those circumstances were.

Around him the knights chattered and teased each other. They discussed how they might receive their papers, what they would do tonight in celebration and whether Bors should name his children or simply continue to number them.

Tristan didn't really hear the discussions and instead stretched out his right arm, turned his face to the sky and whistled. From aloft, swooped a majestic falcon that glided gracefully to perch on her companion's outstretched arm. Arelenne watched the pair intently. She was amazed that Tristan had the strength to whistle at all and was fascinated by the knight's obvious love for the creature. She noticed how relieved Tristan seemed to be that she had eventually come to him and she saw the knight tenderly nuzzling her head in gratitude. However, Arelenne was not happy when realized that Tristan wasn't talking to the bird, something he usually did.

Without a doubt, Arelenne determined Tristan was going to get a full going over when they returned to the fort.

Arelenne smiled to herself thinking of what a rare opportunity she had to really be with Tristan. Unfortunate, yes, that her friend was injured but this might be the opening she needed to at least finish their conversation from before the battle about returning home together. She really wanted to let Tristan know how she felt about him, that she enjoyed being around him and that she cared about him.

Yes this was quite the opportunity. She mused.

Arelenne rode along happily thinking of the future, chatting with her friends and frequently glancing to Tristan to ensure the man was still upright and conscious. As they neared the fort, Galahad looked to Tristan and realized that their scout had been unusually quiet during the ride. He also noted the knight looked decidedly ill.

"Tristan" he asked sincerely "what's wrong?"

Both Arelenne and Bors rolled there eyes as they knew what was coming…

Tristan turned to face Galahad and with pride in his achievement he declared solemnly "I fell."

Somewhat surprised by the man's response Galahad opened his mouth to ask another question but before he could even speak, Arelenne turned to Tristan and said "Yes, but I caught you."

Tristan looked at the pretting young lady and seemed to mull over what Arelenne had just said and finally, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, nodded his agreement.

They were greeted in the courtyard by Jols, the knights' senior attendant, and his assistants.

"Welcome back, Arthur, Lancelot," he said as he took hold of their horses' bridles and the knights dismounted.

Arthur and Lancelot acknowledged him amiably, pleased to see their friend and comrade again. As the knights dismounted, they jovially greeted all of their loyal attendants. Tristan was the one exception; he remained silent as he released his falcon, and Arelenne carefully helped him down from the horse. Jols looked on with interest at the mysterious knight, who lingered in the courtyard. It seemed to the squire that the world passed before Tristan's eyes. Jols was about to ask what happened to the knight but Bors headed off the question.

"Woads attacked the Bishop and we stopped to help," he stated. Nodding towards Tristan, he added, "He fell off the horse, hit his head, probably broke a rib or two. Stubborn scout, anyone else wouldn't have been capable of standing, let alone riding a horse back to the fort, bird in tow."

Further conservation was interrupted as Arthur welcomed the Bishop to the fort. After the appropriate formalities were dispensed, the Bishop retired to quarters, promising to discuss the knights' release later in the evening.

Once the Bishop departed the courtyard the knights were free to meet family and friends. Bors' wife, Vanora, and their eleven children eagerly awaited the knight's attention.

"Where've you been? I've been waiting for you!" demanded Vanora.

"Oh, my little fire...such passion, Bors teased as he grabbed her and kissed her passionately. She swatted at him playfully but he backed up, hands in the air in mock defense, laughing raucously. Turning to the many faces pressed against the iron fence nearby, he called to his favourite son.

"Where's my Gilly?" The small boy, also known as number three, rushed out from the throng and into his father's embrace.

"Gilly. You been fighting?"

"Yes," replied the child.

"You been winning?"

"Yes." The boy proudly answered.

Bors ruffled the boy's hair fondly and then summoned the rest of his family.

"Come on, all my little bastards!" The courtyard erupted in a tumultuous yell as the rest of Bors' children ran to their father.

Bors tried to kiss Vanora again but she pushed him away, saying, "Go and clean up, you stink."

Bors grumbled at her complaint but, as was the Roman custom, they bathed daily when at the fort. He and his fellow knights began to make their way towards the bathhouse to clean off the dirt and blood from their earlier encounter. Arelenne looked at Tristan, who remained in the courtyard.

"I need to check your injuries. Go to the baths with the others and I will be there shortly with fresh clothes and balms," she said.

Tristan heard what Arelenne had said, however movement was simply not on his agenda at that moment. The noise in the courtyard echoed in Tristan's head. The sun shone too bright and his head ached fiercely, but the worst of all was the waves of nausea that rolled through his belly, and he found himself taking huge gasps of air to settle the unpleasant feeling. He was too terrified to move lest he bring up everything he had eaten in the last week. Unfortunately, his choice to remain rooted to the spot was usurped by a big beefy hand that grabbed him by the arm and gently yet purposefully propelled him towards the bathhouse.

"Come on number twelve," Bors declared, "time to clean you up."

Arelenne left her private quarters a little later, clean blonde hair glimmering and the remedies to ease Tristan's pain in tow. On her arrival in the disrobing room she found Tristan was missing. His armor was laid out neatly on a wooden bench but there were no discarded clothes or any other sign that the knight was actually in the bathhouse.

"Where's our scout?" asked Arelenne as she entered the cleansing room looking for the injured knight.

"Outside praying to the gods," Lancelot remarked, "Bors is with him."

"Oh," Arelenne sighed, realizing it was going to be a long night, as she headed out to find the pair. She found them near the back wall, Tristan on his hands and knees vomiting uncontrollably, with Bors next to him talking words of comfort and rubbing his back. It was certainly a different perspective of both men; Tristan, the independent solitary scout, now vulnerable and Bors, the loud and imposing warrior now the caretaker.

Bors looked up at Arelenne's approach.

"We didn't even make it to the door," Bors stated indicating the prone knight, "Gawain and Galahad managed to get his armour off and took it inside."

"I saw," replied Arelenne.

Tristan had stopped heaving but was too worn out to try and stand up.

"Let's get you inside out of this sun, eh," Bors said, indicating to Arelenne to help him get the now exhausted Tristan on his feet. They each took an arm, placed it around their shoulders and then, careful of his damaged ribs, put their arms around Tristan's waist and hoisted the scout to his unsteady feet before half carrying, half dragging the man to the dimly lit baths.

Once inside they rested Tristan on a bench leaning him back against the cool marble wall. Now in the subdued light of the bathhouse, Tristan opened his eyes and silently watched as Bors stripped off his own armour and Arelenne ,most of her clothes except a short, low-cut, thin undershirt and her tight riding pants before proceeding to undress him. He wasn't concerned by their nakedness; after all he had known them for over half his life, they had no secrets. But his helplessness troubled him as once more he was lifted to his feet by his companions and assisted to the bathing area to be washed and tended to.

I suppose once in a while a man can let someone else take control Tristan reasoned as his friends gently lowered him to the marble benches in the steamy room.

Arelenne retrieved their bath oil and shaving kit from the other room and kneeling between Tristan's legs began to apply the oil to the man's body.

"Need help?" asked Bors quietly.

"No, we'll manage. You go get cleaned up and join your family," replied Arelenne as ahe poured the oil onto his hands and then applied it to Tristan's chest; gently carding her elegant fingers through the triangle of dark hair that spread across the man's upper chest, before it tapered to a point at the base of his throat.

Arelenne picked up Tristan's small dagger and with long steady strokes she moved the instrument almost lovingly over the man's body, first scraping the blunt blade over the skin, then flicking excess oil off the blade, and then repeating the process. He moved the blade down his long legs, along his arms, across his shoulders, down his chest and she was especially careful as she moved the blade across the man's now obviously bruised and battered ribs.

For his part Tristan merely sat there, dimly aware of the other knights but only half listening to their hushed conversations. He closed his eyes again and let his mind drift, as Arelenne continued to tend to his damaged body. Tristan was too tired to concentrate on anything in particular, but somewhere in the back of his mind was the notion that Arelenne always managed to make him feel safe and, dare he admit it, cherished, but he had neither the energy nor the inclination to reveal such private thoughts at the moment.

The other knights finished washing and went to the plunge pool in an adjacent room, but Tristan and Arelenne remained where they were. It was slow going cleaning someone who was not able to participate in the process. Indeed, while they had often tended to each others needs in time of illness and injury, this situation was new to both of them. It was the most intimate moment the men had ever shared with their lovers and Arelenne watched keenly to see if the necessary intimacy bothered the injured man; but other than an occasional slight hitch in breath, Tristan did not react nor even open his eyes. Indeed Arelenne thought her friend had actually fallen asleep.

Probably for the best she reasoned, considering Tristan's injuries.

Tristan had drifted into a light sleep, soothed by the gentle touch. In his reverie he felt the familiar flutter in his belly as his lips were touched by another pair, softer and silker than his own.

"Arel," he moaned, barely a whisper but audible all the same.

"Tristan," replied the sultry voice of his phantom lover. Yes, this was a very good dream.

"Tristan, wake up," commanded the strong and very real voice of Arelenne, wrenching Tristan painfully back to reality.

Suddenly he was aware of another hand on his wrist stilling all movement. He opened his eyes in frustration and then in shock and not a little panic as he discovered his dream was in fact reality and he stared at the unflustered face of his friend.

"I…Arelenne I…" he stammered struggling to control his laboured breathing while desperately trying to put to words what had happened.

He needed to say something but he felt that his actions had bared his soul, the very thing he never intended to do. How could he explain what had just happened? They had never shared more than a friendly slap on the back, and yet, in the space of a day, he had gone from trusted friend to a needy, helpless loner.

Arelenne had removed her lips from Tristan but still held her friend's hand, keen to show him that she was not concerned by what had occurred.

Not in the least if the truth was known, thought Arelenne, as she looked at her distraught friend, in silent understanding.

"It's all right Tristan," he said soothingly. "You're injured and exhausted and I was cleaning you, you simply confused the feeling that's all. You don't have to explain, it's an honest mistake on my part, no harm done my friend"

Tristan looked in wonder and admiration at Arelenne's attempt to ease his dented dignity, but his heart was pounding and his mind was reeling. Fatigue and pain were warring with his need to explain. In the end he took a steadying breath, squeezed Arelenne's hand, and said the only thing that he honestly understood at the moment.

"I liked it, I…want to kiss you again," he admitted hesitantly.

Here he was, Tristan thought, injured, sore, bone weary and sitting in a public place stark naked trying to explain to his not equally naked friend that having unintentionally played his hand literally, he was now trying to say, in as few as words as possible, that he cared for her. Somewhere in all the years they had worked and fought together Arelenne had become more than a friend. Tristan never intended to admit that to anyone, least of all Arelenne, but that didn't mean he intended to give up the fantasy of being touched by the woman, being wanted and needed by her. He was a warrior not a lover, but he was also a man and to that end sometimes he craved comfort and wished he had someone to share his life with. It was his dream; the reality was harsher. Up until now his solitary warrior lifestyle simply didn't have room in it for another. However, was not their way of life on the brink of change?

Arelenne looked startled as she digested the implications of Tristan's revelation.

"You liked it?" she asked incredulously.

Tristan nodded his agreement.