Disclaimer: I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now 'Cai'). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

Rating: PG

Summary: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day! I actually decided to add on to the one-shot! It's kind of a small back story; there might be a few of these. Tell me how I did! More Trist-Bed Bonding.

Happy Birthday

"Tristan!"

The voice gave me the shivers—I was always so fearful of Cai. Quickly, I slipped out of the back of the tent when Cai's lumbering form pushed through the entrance. "Trist!" Cai called again. "Blasted fool…"

I was sure Cai would only linger for a moment, seeing Tristan was gone, but as I watched from where I hid I could see Cai go to Tristan's things. Digging through Tristan's pack, the only memories Tristan had from home, Cai lifted out a beaded necklace.

Tristan told me his older sister had given it to him when she had been married, but now I saw Cai toss it aside. What if Cai should find something he liked? What if Tristan came and saw me hiding?

Shoving through the tent, I entered unwelcome and Cai turned to me. It was the only time I saw fright in the large man's eyes. "What are you doing?"

At first Cai was uncertain what to do, but then his brutality returned and his eyes darkened greatly. "Tristan's little fool, come a spying, have you?" Cai moved toward me and I stepped back tentatively. "I'll teach you a lesson for that, boy."

Without a second thought I turned and bolted, knowing I was no match for Cai—even his huge form could move faster than I could somehow. In moments Cai caught up to me and shoved me forward, the bully.

I slid across the mud of the camp grounds, my face and shift covered in thick mud. When I turned I saw Cai coming right for me, I knew I was in bad shape already until a shadow fell over me, a dark haired young man moving between the monster and myself.

Lancelot held Cai back casually. "Leave him be, Cai, he's nothing to worry over."

Quickly I got to my feet, wiping my face free of mud as I watched Cai try to shove by Lancelot. "Shut-up, Lancelot, you beggar."

With all his strength, Lancelot held Cai back. "He's a boy, Cai, just a damn boy."

My leg was stinging, I had gotten the worst of the blow there when I'd come down on it in the fall. I cringed seeing Cai's scowl directed at me and then the behemoth glowered at Lancelot, who beheld Cai fearlessly. "What a saint you are, Lancelot, for defending the poor boy." Cai snapped and shoved Lancelot back before stalking off.

Turning to me, Lancelot sighed, his face red from all the effort. "You should have run, you stupid boy."

"I did run." I replied, my boldness returning. "Besides, I thought you found humiliating boys funny."

"I do." Lancelot shot back without hesitation and smirked.

When Lancelot did that, there was something so strange and familiar at the same time—that half grin, something riding the thin line between good and evil. I smiled in return and laughed. "Thank you, Lancelot." I said.

"Yes, well don't expect me to do it again," Lancelot retorted, coming toward me and locking my head in his arm, "I have a reputation to uphold, lad."

I pulled from of Lancelot's grip and laughed. "This is very fortuitous."

"For-what?"

"Fortuitous," I repeated with a smirk, "I mean, fortunate, sort of, because I was hoping to find you somewhere."

Lancelot grinned again, that same old grin I ever knew. "Find me, why little Bedivere, what for?"

"Tristan's birthday is coming up and—"

"Stop right there." Lancelot replied, stopping in his tracks and speaking in a strained tone. "First of all, you have been with us for two long years and second of all, you know better than to ever mention Tristan's birthday."

"Aye, I know that," I said with a shrug, "It wasn't like I was going to wish him birthday. That'd be cause for death."

"Yes, Gawain learned the hard way." Lancelot agreed and sighed. "Poor lad…so go on, where was this conversation leading to?"

Lancelot was one of the only men in the camp I could lead an interesting and intelligent conversation with. Everyone else either treated me like dirt or, like Tristan, just flat-out ignored me most of the time. "I wanted to get Tristan something for his birthday."

"Didn't we just discuss the repercussions of reminding Tristan it was his birthday?"

"Well what's so wrong with it—it's just his damn birthday!"

Lancelot shook his head, annoyed with me. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tristan? Tell me something?" I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "I think not, good Lancelot."

"Tristan was celebrating his birthday when the Romans came for him." Lancelot said; his voice low. "Now do you see?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with it?" I shot back. "My brother died on our birthday and I've no cause to hate it for that."

Lancelot stared at me, as if I was callous and foolish. "You're only a boy, you wouldn't understand."

"So much for asking you for anything." I commented shortly and turned. "And don't expect me to alert you next time Tristan's stocking up on his winery!"

"Get back here!"

I lay in the tall, sweeping grass as Tristan whittled away at one of the apples he had plucked from the tree overhead. Yesterday, Tristan had gone and hidden, as usual, because his birthday. "Tristan?"

The tilt of his head showed he was listening and I sighed. "Do you ever think of home?"

There was a long pause as Tristan cut a fresh slice and handed it back to me. "I do."

"What was it like?" I asked as my dark hair, which had grown far too long, swept into my face. "Your home?"

I took a bite of the apple slice Tristan had given me as he contemplated my question silently. "I'm not sure," he said and I was startled by his reply, "I'm not sure if what I remember is memory or…what I dreamt home to be."

Sitting up, I stared at Tristan, feeling sorry for him. "I can't remember my mother's face…" I admitted, "but I can remember her smell…and her voice."

Tristan smiled in memory and nodded. "Mother smelled like bread, always of bread and fresh fruits…" Tristan looked to his green apple, "before I left, she gave me an apple—it was so green…like an emerald."

I shuddered at Tristan's tale, how much passion he held for his family that he could barely remember. "Will you go home when your duty is over?"

"Yes." Tristan replied immediately and then looked to me with one of his clever smirks. "If I can find it."

I felt a blush come to my cheeks as I spoke. "When my fifteen years are done and you still haven't found your people…you are more than welcome to accompany me to my home. They could use a few strong men like us."

Tristan scoffed at my naivety and fell onto his back with a laugh. "You dream too much, lad."

I pulled my knees close to my chest—I had bared my soul to Tristan for the first time in two years, my true feelings, the girl I used to be and I should have been so much more careful. Although I was still young, I felt much older than most boys my own age.

"Thank you."

The wind swept the hair from my face, stinging my damp eyes. "Pardon?"

"Thank you." Tristan repeated. "No one else has ever offered their home to me."

"Then why did you insult me?"

"To keep your head from expanding," Tristan teased, "you're so daft already."

I leapt at Tristan, attempting to pin him to the ground, to try and threaten him, but Tristan only shoved me off easily and laughed at my foolishness. "Come at me again and I'll use my right hook on your chin."

"Come on, Trist," I kicked some dirt at him, "too afraid to take me on, boyo?"

Tristan got to his feet quicker than I imagined and attacked, knocking the two of us down and pinning me to the ground. "Do you know what a Saxon could do to you in this position, boy?" Tristan revealed his knife, pressing it to my neck while his knees kept my arms in place. "This cut could be lethal, right below the chin here, but they'll go for something much more painful…"

Finally I was able to free my hands and shoved the knife away. "Get off me, you oaf!"

Tristan shoved me back to the ground and chuckled. "Imagine if I were Bors."

"You'd crush me to death!" I shouted as Tristan threw back his head and laughed. "And if you were Lancelot, you'd probably put nettles up my nose!"

"That's right," Tristan agreed and stood, yanking me to my feet, "be glad my temper is short and only rises when I am drunk."

"That's when you're at your slowest." I teased.

Tristan rubbed my hair around playfully. "And the only time you can outwit me, little brother."

We stopped for a moment; Tristan stared at me with as much confusion as I must have been gazing at him with. "You really think of me as a little brother?"

"Of course I do." Tristan smiled. "Who else dares to pester a man so?"

I hugged him, for the first time, and I could have cared less, my arms around his waist. Men only hugged for certain occasions and hugs were never truly felt. For a few seconds Tristan put up with my behavior and then pried me from his body. "Do that again and I'll give you a left and right hook, lad."

"Wait," I said digging into my pack, remembering what Lancelot had suggested, "look, I found this at one of the markets—I've been saving up to get you something."

"What's this?" Tristan laughed as I revealed a small parcel.

"Open it."

Tristan's eyes flashed and for a moment I was sure he was going to kill me, but then he looked to the package and began to open it, to my relief. Excitedly I waited and Tristan opened to find a jar of amber colored liquid

"It's honey!"

With confusion and annoyance, Tristan raised his brow.

"It's good for all sorts of things," I said with excitement, "it's an adhesive, it heals wounds very good, and it's very good on any type of meal—well, that's what the woman told me."

Tristan chuckled at me and lifted the cloth covering the top of the glass. Dipping his finger into the thick, amber liquid, Tristan tasted it and after a few moments gave a nod. "An odd sort of taste…"

"There's more."

"Oh yes, sorry."

Tristan handed me the honey and then looked into the parcel, but could see nothing. "No, no—the parcel itself, Trist."

"Oh." Tristan smirked and held up the parcel, unfolding it, revealing a strange cloth with odd symbols on it. "It's the banner of my tribe…" Looking to me, Tristan furrowed his brows. "How did you find this?"

Oh no. Now I had to tell him I was digging through his things again—he'd give me a crack for sure. "Well—"

Tristan only laughed and took the honey, covering it with the banner again. "Thank you, Bedivere."

"Yes, well," I said nervously, "well, you should thank Lancelot, he's the one who suggested the honey and—and…and in the village there's a woman who dyes cloths and makes tapestries and she did it so well."

"All right, all right," Tristan laughed and put his arm over my shoulders, "thank you."

My faithful readers: thank you so much for keeping me going ;).

To answer a few questions: the first chapter is a one shot in entirety, these are just 'what could have been' things that I write to keep me up to par with my writing ability. Practice, keeps me inventing and coming up with things. Yes, my beta reader sucks. (it's me)