Marie9000, LANCELOTTRISTANBABY and dellis: Thanks so much for reviewing. This chapter, and the next are a bit darker and also a bit longer. Hope you don't find them too much of a departure from the story so far.

MistakenLove and BlackPaintedWhite: Sorry to say, ML; that they're not going to kiss very soon. But take heart, they will! And the story's not coming to an end for a while yet, BPW. I sort of dance around with these two and this story turned out to be quite a bit longer than I thought it was going to be.

Cardeia: I'll be sure to check out your recommendations - glad you like the characterizations. I think it can be tricky getting Tristan to show emotion without it ringing false and I hope I keep it at least fairly believable in my journey with this character. Sometimes we all have our ideas about what the characters will and will not do and I hope mine jibe with the readers'.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that. (Do I really have to keep adding this dumb thing? Oh well.)

Rating: M for mature content.

WARNING: Tristan gets a little dark in this one. Scenes of violence and non-graphic sexual violence in this chapter. Death of a non-movie character.

The next morning Damara got up and ready to go to Dagonet's funeral. She put on her only set of clean clothing, smoothed her hair into a respectable bun and left early. She would walk slowly and carefully to avoid further strain on her body. The pains had largely disappeared since coming to Hadrian's Wall, but she wanted to be careful.

The funeral was well attended. Many of the villagers came to pay their respects, as did Alecto and some of the Romans. Damara was relieved that she did not see Aeneas among that group. The knights were all there of course. She tried to meet Tristan's gaze, but he did not look at her. No doubt he was feeling too saddened by the death of his friend to be bothered with her.

After the funeral, she made her way back to her quarters. It would be quiet there; the knights and Arthur were meeting at the Round Table. She supposed Tristan would be leaving soon and the thought made her sad. They'd only known each other for a couple of days; it was foolish to even think about him in that way.

And then there was the impending birth of her baby – a child of uncertain parentage to a woman of questionable moral standing. She supposed she would always be considered a whore because of her unmarried state. Whether those who sat in judgement knew she had been willing or not, it wouldn't matter to them. A decent woman would have killed herself rather than live with such dishonor.

Damara could not agree -why should the actions of some horrible men dishonor her enough that she should end her own life? She had a life to live and even if that meant never having a proper husband then so be it. No man would ever want her to wife now anyway, she knew that. Truthfully, she didn't know that she could take a husband even if she found a man who would accept her. The thought of performing wifely duties was repulsive to her. The dead weight on top of her, fetid breath in her face, the pain... She shivered in disgust. She dreamed of going somewhere else, where nobody knew her. She could make up a dead husband, killed in battle. And who would know? She'd live as a respectable widow and her son would no longer be a bastard. But those were only dreams, and her reality would be quite different.

She knew she was going to have a son. Furthermore, she also knew that he would be her only son. There were possible daughters in her future, but there would be no more boys. She sometimes had strong feelings of things that would come to pass, and knew things about people that they did not tell her. It was something that she never spoke of, though people sometimes sensed she knew more about them than she let on. Another reason why her villagers preferred to keep her at arm's length. She reflected that this knowledge was not always useful, and knowledge that would have been did not always come to her. All in all, her feelings were a curiosity, but had not been of any real value to her.

She made her way back into the keep and started up the stairs. She was feeling better and thought she might get her medicine bag and have a look around to see what sort of plants she could gather. Only for a short while, but she was not used to inactivity and needed to get out. She entered her room and her mind was preoccupied with what herbs and plants she needed to replenish, and when she was grabbed from behind it took her completely by surprise.

The breath was knocked out of her when Aeneas slammed her up against the wall. His hand covered her mouth so roughly she could taste blood.

"The knight," he hissed. "Who is he to you?"

Eyes wide, Damara shook her head. Aeneas lifted his hand from her mouth slightly. "Nobody," said Damara.

"Your nobody made a fool out of me in front of everyone. He did that for nothing?" He slammed her head against the wall. "Is he a lover?"

"No, I'm telling the truth, I swear," she cried. "I just met him."

"It doesn't matter," Aeneas said. "Whoever he was to you, it's over. You'll be with me from now on." He pushed her to her knees. "But first you're going to apologize nicely to me for the trouble you've caused." With his free hand he fumbled with his clothing, and his hand tightened in her hair.

As he assaulted her, Aeneas took pleasure in telling her his plans. She'd be smuggled from the keep in a trunk when the Romans departed. Once in Rome, he'd hire her out to whoever had money to pay. Her child would be sold as a slave - in all, he planned to turn a tidy profit.

Damara was terrified, but tried to keep her wits about her. If he managed to get her out of the keep, she was finished. The moment when he would be most distracted was approaching, and after that her chances of escape were nil. Weak with fright, barely believing she was daring to do so, she lightly touched the handle of the knife he carried in his boot and started to pull it loose. The soldier's breathing started to become ragged and labored. Digging deep for bravery she wasn't sure she possessed, she gripped the hilt of the knife and with all her strength, pulled it free and buried it in his thigh.

Aeneas howled in pain and reeled away from her. Damara staggered to her feet and ran for the door. Wild with terror, she ran down the hallway as fast as she could. A slash of pain ripped through her body, and she dropped to the floor. Through sheer force of will she got back to her feet and reeled down the hallway, breath coming in ragged sobs. She looked back over her shoulder and to her horror, saw Aeneas standing at her door, looking down the hallway at her. She re-doubled her efforts, but despite his wound he was upon her in a few moments. He grabbed her by her hair and threw her to the ground. She slapped wildly at him as he loomed over her and wrapped his hands around her throat. Blood from his wound flowed freely and stained her clothing. The coppery smell of it filled her nostrils and she began to feel light-headed. A mist began to descend upon her and the edges of her vision began to blacken.

Tristan sat at the Round Table with the other knights at this, their last meeting together. What should have been a celebration was instead a sad affair, with all eyes gravitating towards Dagonet's empty chair. Tristan stood up and as the other knights looked at him, he told them that he would be back shortly.

His heart was not in this, and Damara had weighed heavily on his mind. He had been drunk the night before and wondered if he'd behaved improperly. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, but he recalled the feelings she had aroused in him. He hoped he hadn't pawed her like some drunken lecher. He had been unable to meet her eyes at Dagonet's burial for fear of what recriminations he might see there. He could not remember ever caring about what a woman thought of his behavior, and the fact that he did now disturbed him.

What he did remember was being in her arms and breaking down in them. He, who couldn't remember having ever cried before. He remembered at the time feeling safe and warm in her arms, but in the cold light of day he was ashamed of his weakness. There was something about her that diminished him. He knew himself, how he would react in every situation. Somehow around her, that had changed. He'd lost control of himself in front of the other knights, lost his head with that Roman – because of her.

He supposed concentrating on something else would help get his mind off his disturbing thoughts. Something like packing up his belongings and getting ready to leave as soon as he could. He had no specific plans, other than just riding out. Maybe with some of the other knights, maybe not. He supposed he would find someone else to fight for. That's all he was good for now anyway.

As he entered the knights' quarters he heard the sounds of a struggle. He crept up the stairs with great caution, for the smell of blood was heavy in the air. His blood ran cold and he drew his knife, apprehensive about what he was going to find.

When he saw Damara on the ground, covered in blood, he went berserk. The Roman soldier kneeled over her, choking the life from her. Tristan hurled himself towards the man, knocking him away from the healer. He heard her cough and choke and relief washed over him at the realization that she still lived. Tristan slashed the Roman with his blade, again and again -all his anger and pain channeling into this furious attack. He kept hacking at the weakened man long after he stopped all resistance. Damara's screams slowly brought him back to reality and he looked at the corpse beneath him that was now nearly unidentifiable.

He staggered to his feet and towards Damara, his hand out to her. He had to know if she was all right. So much blood - was it hers? She recoiled and backed away from him, a look of terror on her face. He looked at her for a moment and then dropped to his knees in exhaustion. He was hurt by her reaction - he would never do anything to harm her.

He looked down at himself and saw his blood-drenched tunic, and once again noted his loss of control. He'd always been calm and deadly efficient – his coldness in battle was why he still lived. Still more evidence of this new weakness of his. He recalled the old woman's words on the trail and thought that maybe Damara truly was a witch to have changed him so in the short time he'd known her.

News of the commotion in the knights' quarters had reached the fortress hall, and the other knights had come running, weapons drawn. The sight that met them rivaled that of a battlefield. Blood streaked the walls and the floors and covered both Tristan and Damara. Something that was only vaguely recognizable as human lay in the hallway, lying in a growing puddle of still more blood.

Damara slowly gathered her legs beneath her and began to rise to her feet. As she stood upright, she was shattered by pain that wracked her body. She felt as if her womb was being ripped from her. She cried out in pain and fell back to the floor. Damara was on her knees, sobbing in pain and holding her belly. Lancelot looked at Bors and said, "Get Vanora. Quickly!"

Bors bellowed loudly for Vanora, running back down the stairs as Lancelot went to Damara. He picked her up, carrying her down the hallway back to her room and sat her down on the bed.

"The basin!" she gasped. "Please! I need…" Lancelot dashed over to get her the wash basin. She grabbed it and tried to vomit into the basin. She hadn't eaten, so she could only dry heave until she thought she would pass out. Weakly, she set the basin on the bedside table, and looked around for the water pitcher. "What do you need, Damara?" Lancelot asked.

"Water - I need to rinse my mouth," Damara cried. The taste of vomit and the Roman and the stench of blood coated her mouth and she was frantic to be rid of it all. Lancelot handed the water to her, and she began frenziedly rinsing out her mouth, spitting it into the basin. Lancelot sat beside her in sympathy, holding her hair and stroking her back until she collapsed against him, sobbing.

Gawain and Galahad walked in from the hallway, where they had been inspecting the body. "What in hell happened here?" demanded Galahad. Lancelot looked at him and shook his head. Arthur walked in behind.

"What happened here? Tristan?"

Tristan looked up at Arthur; eyes curiously blank. "He was killing her. I made him stop."

Arthur looked at Tristan incredulously. "That," Arthur pointed at the steaming corpse, "goes far beyond making him stop. That man's own mother would not recognize him now." He ran his fingers through his hair in consternation. "Is that the same soldier from the trail?" he asked.

Tristan nodded his head.

"Well, at least there won't be any more problems with him," Gawain drawled.

Galahad laughed involuntarily and then stopped himself.

Arthur shot a look at both of them. He strode over to Damara where she sat on the bed holding her face in her hands,Lancelot sitting, concerned, beside her. Arthur kneeled in front of her. "Damara – that is your name, Damara?" When the girl nodded, Arthur continued gently. "What happened here?"

In a halting voice, Damara replied, "he came here to take me back to Rome with him. I stabbed him so I could get away. He chased me down and began to choke me. That's when Tristan came and…." She shuddered with the recent memory.

"Why was he here to take you back? Is he your baby's father?"

Damara buried her face in her hands and shook her head. She was not going to tell her sordid tale and humiliate herself in front of a roomful of strangers.

"Arthur, that's enough." Tristan said softly. "Leave her alone."

Arthur's eyebrows raised slightly as he regarded Tristan. He was Tristan's commanding officer. Then he remembered that he wasn't. Not anymore. He nodded slowly.

"Just get this taken care of," he said. Then he turned and strode from the room. As he walked past Tristan, he said, "in the hallway if you will."

Tristan had briefly considered disobeying Arthur's order. After all, he was a free man now. But he respected Arthur and would hear the man out. As Tristan left the room, Galahad and Gawain followed, discussing the issue at hand.

"You know of anyplace we can stash a body where it won't be found?" Gawain asked Galahad.

"I don't even know how we'll get it out of here. It's dripping blood and it's a stinking mess. And no one's going to notice?" Galahad's complaints faded away as he and Gawain stepped out of the room.

At the far end of the hallway, Arthur and Tristan were talking.

"What is this about, Tristan?" Arthur asked. "You've not been yourself lately – and this…I don't even know what to say." He knew Tristan had the potential for some disturbing behavior but this was beyond anything he'd seen before from the scout.

Tristan didn't know what to tell Arthur - that he'd lost control because of his feelings for a woman? Not likely. "I've been distracted, but that won't be a problem now. And that's all there is to say."

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hands in exasperation. Having a conversation with Tristan had always been like pulling teeth. "What provoked all this? If the Romans come looking for answers I want to have them."

"He was her…" Tristan didn't know how to put it. "He raped her."

"Was he the baby's father?"

"She never said," Tristan stated. "But from him I didn't get that impression. She was held for a time at the estate, and there were many soldiers."

"I see," said Arthur. The last few days had been educational for him. He was disgusted with the atrocities that were done in the names of God and Rome. He looked Tristan squarely in the eyes. "Is there anything else I need to know? Any others who may have raised your ire, because God knows I don't want a repeat of this."

Tristan silently shook his head. "There won't be any more problems."

Lancelot joined them in the hallway. "Vanora is with her now."

Arthur nodded. "Good. And we've got a mess to clean up here."

Lancelot looked down the hallways where Bors, Gawain and Galahad were trying to decide how best to deal with the remains. "Thank you for this Tristan. Really, I mean it."

Tristan didn't even bother to throw him a dirty look, because he knew he deserved whatever ill feelings he got over this one.

TBC