Scars

A/N: Good Gravy! I never thought I'd get quite the response that I did with 'Curls.' It was truly something to pass my time. I never in a million years thought it would speak to so many of you. This one I've had for a while. I've based part of Teagan's personality on this.

So to all of you who reviewed 'Curls,' THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Summary: Another thing I have been wondering about: How did Tristan get some of his scars?

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own a darn thing. Not anything remotely connected with King Arthur. I am making no money from this.

Nearly every day I sit and watch the knights as they practice with their weapons. Some with a bow, some with a sword.

And in Lancelot's case, two at once.

These men are at it for hours, pounding on the straw men that are secured to wooden posts. Sometimes, bits of these straw men are missing pieces of their anatomy when the knights are thru with them.

One day, I watched as Dagonet took a long swing with his broadsword, taking not only the head of the man off, but half of the post as well.

"Dag! You need to getta woman!" I remember Bors laughing with his friend. "Can't keep taking your frustrations out on defenseless men like that."

On this particular day, I watch Tristan as he uses his amazing sword. It's so long, longer than my arm. And sharp. He has no trouble going through wood either.

Only when he does hit wood, it must be because he doesn't intend to. He lets out the most colorful curses that I have ever heard.

Not being Sarmatian, I can't understand a wordhe is saying.

Maybe one day I will ask him. For though he doesn't talk much to anybody, I don't seem to have that trouble.

Oh, it's not often that he will strike up a conversation with me, but will answer just about any question that I may ask him. We spend most of our time together in what I like to think as comfortable silence. Neither of us needing to talk much.

He is the most serious of the knight, save for Arthur. But I don't see much of Arthur, he's always somewhere, planning.

But Tristan and my conversations are not what I wanted to think about.

As I said before, I was watching Tristan practice with his sword.

And on this day, it is incredibly hot. So hot that the knights before me had decided to take off their shirts. Much to the amusement of the ladies and young girls gathered to watch. Myself included.

Every last one of them was gleaming in sweat. The sunlight making their bodies shine. Making them bronze. Every muscle in their arms and chests showing to absolute perfection.

Except Bors. I suspect that he was a fair skinned boy in his youth. Today, he has turned a marvelous shade of pink.

No, not pink. Red. Red like those apples that Tristan is so fond of eating.

He'd hear about it later tonight from Vanora. She will fuss and haw so much that he'll eventually find himself a quiet spot somewhere in the stables.

So, apples bring me back to my first thought.

Tristan.

Today though, I notice an angry red mark on Tristan's side. The line of red going from under his arm to disappear somewhere below the belt line of his trousers.

This was new. I had not seen this one on him before. I wondered how it happened. Or rather, who had done this so I could bash their face in for marring that body.

Frustrated at my sudden bout of jealousy over Tristan, I decided that I had had enough of watching for this day.

0o0o0o

It was several days later when I finally saw the knights again.

They had just come back from a mission and thankfully, no one had been hurt. And no one had been killed.

I had been having headaches for some days, so I decided to stay to my room. I wasn't really up for company and the darkness of my room suited me fine.

I remember that it was late in the night. How late, I wasn't so sure. I had a fire going in the fireplace and was sitting on the deerskin close to the fire.

Arthur had lent me a book. And knowing that I read Latin, he had thought that I would enjoy it.

And I was. The book of poems was calming the raging inside my head. Between the warmness of the fire and the calmness of the book, I found the throbbing in my head subsiding.

I was so absorbed in what I was reading that I hadn't heard the door to my room open. Nor the footsteps of Tristan as he made his way silently to me.

I almost threw the borrowed book into the fire as Tristan cleared his throat, startling me so badly as he did.

Only his quickness saved the volume from being fodder for the fire.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He said softly to me as he handed me the book.

"It's okay." I fairly stammered as I tried so hard not to look at his bared chest. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

I looked up into his face. And though he wasn't smiling, his eyes looked like they were filled with amusement.

"I wasn't sneaking."

I gave a snort. "Right." My gaze was again drawn to his chest. The light of the fire playing off the curve of the muscles in his chest, his arms, his belly...

I shook my head, trying to not look. But, he looked so good standing there. I felt the heat rising through my body.

"So why are you in my room? And half naked at that?" He didn't have any boots on either. His toes were bare and I saw the darkest hair covering his toes.

Toes? I'm thinking about toes? I looked up at him again, this time knowing that I was blushingso much he couldn't help but notice.

But, Tristan didn't say anything about it. "I need your help." He held out his other hand. This one holding some fine black thread and a stitching needle.

And that's when I saw it. The ugly red scar. The newest amongst many. It looked to have broken open and was bleeding in several places.

Carefully he sat down beside me, placing the thread and needle into my outstretched hand. I would do it. I've done it many times before.

Nodding to him, I motioned for him to lay on the floor, his wound facing the fire so I could see it better.

I heard the barest of grunts as he did so. It must still be causing him pain.

"Why didn't you go to Dag?" I asked him as I held the needle up to the light, threading the black thread.

"He's drunk." I watched as Tristan closed his eyes, his arms going to the back of his head, his legs stretched out before him.

Damn. He looked so good laying there, with the firelight caressing him in all the right places.

"Right." Much in the same tone I had used before. He obviously needed an excuse to come here.

And I wasn't about to begrudge the man that. I welcomed his company.

0o0o0o

It hadn't taken be long to stitch him back up. So when I was through, Tristan sat back up.

He didn't move to leave, in fact he scooted closer to me. Not saying anything, just sitting there.

His sitting there was making me nervous. He wanted something. I just wish I knew what.

I tried to fidget as I felt his gaze on me. I picked the book up, thinking I would read a page or two.

Oh, Gods. Who was I kidding. This quiet knight, whom I've known so much of my life, was sitting here beside me.

I had secretly been dreaming of this very thing for so long now...

I nearly lost the book again as I felt Tristan take a bit of my hair into his fingers. His rough fingertips rolling the strands of my hair in them.

This gentle action of his brought my eyes to meet his.

His look was so soft, so gentle. One I did not expect on one who loved the battle as much as he.

So, I found myself tracing the lines of his eyes, my own fingertips finding another scar, this one old and faded. Barely noticeable after all these years.

"So tell me, where did you get this one, right under your eye."

Tristan smiled, his eyes crinkling at the sides. A low rumbling came from deep within his chest. "Don't you remember?"

It was a wondrous sound to me. This silent man didn't laugh very often, it was a pleasure to hear it when he did.

"No. Should I?" I knew I was blushing foolishly. Just the way he was looking at me was...

This time he let out a short laugh, his hand coming to my cheek "It was you who put it there."

I was appalled. I had done no such thing. "Did I?"

Tristan's finger traced the edge of my chin, trailing down my throat. Then making their way slowly to the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him.

"We were children. I pulled your hair as I recall."

This time, I laughed, remembering so long ago. "You did. And as I recall, I punched you in the eye."

"You gave me my first scar."

A/N: Well? Was this one okay? I'm finding these small one shots very theraputic to the migrains I seem to be getting. And Cardeia? Read my reviews for 'Curls.' Aparently, there is one who thinks we should collaberate.