Cardeia: Yes, what Lancelot says is meant as sarcasm. I am a fairly sarcastic person, maybe I tend to see sarcasm in lines that others might not. I'll revisit that and see what I can do to make it more clear. I think Damara's reaction is one of shock to the immediate situation but won't really change how she sees Tristan, long term. I won't deal with that until chapter after this one; hopefully it will work. In this one I deal with Tristan and I'm not sure how well I convey how he feels - I sort of feel that it might be too drastic a change in his attitude. Please let me know how you feel about it after reading this chapter. With the abuse, Damara was more terrified about what was going to happen after than was he was doing right then. She hates what he does to her but it's not unfamiliar.

MistakenLove: I think Tristan has a lot on his plate lately and is reacting to all of it, not just Damara. She's just the catalyst I think. There is Dagonet's death, the fact that their freedom is now here and what he's known is all coming to an end. Freedom is good but maybe a bit scary after all this time, especially for him. What does he have other than battle?

BlackPaintedWhite: Glad you're enjoying the story. :)

LANCELOTTRISTANBABY: Okay, here's the update, but it's a long one.

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.

Rating: M for mature content. WARNING: Non-graphic sexual scene.

The body had been removed and cleanup was well on its way when Vanora came out of Damara's room. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell of blood that still hung in the air.

"Men!" she called. "I need you to get some things for me." The knights looked up at Vanora as she continued. "I need buckets of water, a pot to heat it in and a wash tub. Also, some clean blankets or sheets. Bors – will you go get one of my old shifts? She is a bloody mess and she has nothing else to wear." Tristan thought he saw Vanora cast him a look of accusation.

"What's happening?" asked Galahad.

"A baby's going to be born, that's what. A little early, but everything should be alright." As the men continued to stand there looking at each other Vanora snapped, "I don't have all day! Move!" The men jumped into action.

"Tristan!" Vanora called. "She'd like to see you if you have a minute."

"I don't," Tristan said shortly. He began to walk away.

"Tristan!" Vanora barked. The scout halted, but did not turn. Vanora crossed the distance between them. "You get in there now and see what she wants. She's in pain and she's frightened and she wants you!"

Tristan's eyes glittered coldly at Vanora, who suddenly felt that she was treading on dangerous ground. This blood-spattered and feral Tristan was one that she was unfamiliar with. She freely flayed the knights with her sharp tongue when they were up to nonsense, and Tristan took it as good-naturedly as the others did most of the time. But Vanora was suddenly reminded that this knight she knew was also a very dangerous and dark man.

"You tell her whatever you want. But I don't want to see her right now," Tristan said in a soft voice that made Vanora shiver. Then the scout walked away.

Vanora's temper rose but she wisely held her tongue. She turned and stormed back into the room where Damara waited. "We'll soon be all set, dear. The men arehaving water brought inand we'll get you all cleaned up and looking pretty to meet your new baby when he or she arrives."

"He," said Damara absently. "It's a boy."

Vanora smiled. She remembered being dead certain of the sex of a couple of her children and turning out completely wrong. "What are you going to name him?"

"I don't know – I thought I had more time to decide."

Vanora laughed. "Well, you do. A few hours anyway, maybe until morning."

Damara winced as another contraction started. Vanora took her hands and said, "No, no – don't fight it like that. You'll only make it worse. Just breathe – like this." She took a slow, deep breath. Damara tried it and when the contraction was over she said doubtfully, "I think that helped…a little".

Vanora snorted. "Darling, nothing is going to help much. A little is all you can ask for."

Apprehensive, the healer asked, "How much worse is it going to get?"

Vanora didn't want to lie to the girl, but she didn't want to scare her either. After considering what to say she finally settled on, "You'll do just fine, love."

For the first time Damara really faced the fact that she was going to have this baby and she was terrified. She'd done some midwifery and of course knew of the pain, but until now that pain had just been an abstract idea. Now that she felt it first hand she wasn't at all sure about this. "Vanora, I can't do this."

"Oh come now! If it was truly so bad, do you think I would have 11 children?"

"Eleven! You can't have! Why, you hardly look old enough…" she stopped as Galahad tentatively stuck his head in the door. "Van – is it okay to come in? We've got the things you asked for. And the water is already heated," he added helpfully.

Vanora waved him in, and Gawain and Lancelot trailed in behind him, bringing in the items she had requested, along with a few servants with more water. The tub was deposited on the floor and filled in record time. As soon as this was accomplished, the knights beat a hasty retreat. Last in the door had been Bors, holding several of Vanora's shifts in his huge hands, which he held out towards her. "I couldn't decide, so here you go." He flung them in her general direction and fled back out the door.

Vanora made a small, amused sound. "Men! They're only too happy to be there at the beginning but just try to get them to be around to help at the end of it!" She helped Damara over to the tub and began to pull her clothing off. "Into the tub with you, girl. You're a bloody mess and no mistake!" As Damara stepped into the tub she heard Vanora's sharp intake of breath as she caught a glimpse of her back.

"Who beat you so badly, child?"

Damara sank back into the tub and sighed. "The priest who oversaw the dungeon at Marius' estate. He allowed the soldiers to do with me as they would – he said it would teach me to hate my sin so that I could be free of it." She laughed; a short bark of amusement. "He didn't always think I hated it enough, I guess."

"It sounds like a horrible place."

"It was, but I was lucky, I suppose. I was mostly kept in a room in the soldier's quarters, as they were not allowed in the dungeon. It was a horrible place - full of the stench of death. You couldn't sleep because the rats would come to gnaw on you, as if there weren't corpses enough for them. If you could have seen the things they did to those poor people," she said sadly. "I'm still alive, and the whipping was as bad as it got for me. The other...well...sometimes it's hard to live with, but at least I live." Her eyes grew distant for a moment and then she pulled herself out of her memories and smiled at Vanora."My son is the one good thing to come from that place. No matter who fathered him, I'll love him and make sure he grows into a good man."

Vanora smiled as she helped the girl bathe. "I'm sure you will, love."

The knights all waited in the tavern, having no desire to be anywhere in the vicinity of their quarters and the room where Damara was giving birth. Tristan came in and sat down after he'd bathed. The other knights visited companionably, drinking and reminiscing, but Tristan was in a dark state of mind and the other knights were loath to engage him in conversation. His disturbing display of rage and the messy cleanup that followed were not mentioned.

He was an odd one, this quiet brother of theirs. He was one of them, true enough, but he had always set himself apart. He took their good-natured ribbing with equanimity but there were times when that dangerous glint appeared in his eyes and they all knew when to leave well enough alone. Lancelot, with his devil-may-care attitude, was sometimes the exception. But tonight even he kept his tongue still, for Tristan simmered with a dangerous kind of anger.

"I wonder how things are going up there?" Galahad mused.

"Why don't you go on up and see?" returned Bors.

Galahad's eyebrows shot up. "Me? No, I'm not going anywhere near there."

"Well, you're the one who is wondering. Not me - every time I see Vanora go through that I swear I'll never touch her again," Bors rumbled.

"And how long does that vow last?" Lancelot asked.

Bors' familiar gravelly laugh burst forth. "I usually forget all about it in a couple of weeks, and then have to wait a couple more until I can break it."

The knights, save for Tristan, laughed. Gawain said, "Where IS the midwife anyway?"

Bors shrugged. "I don't even know what she looks like. Vanora's all woman – she's never needed her. But Vanora knows what she's doing; she's got it under control."

Dimly, from the direction of their quarters, came the faint sound of a blood-curdling scream. Tristan's jaw clenched and his hand tightened around his tankard. The other knights paled and looked at each other, except for Bors, who calmly tipped back his pitcher and took a long gulp. "That, my friends, is why I try to be gone when Vanora's about to give birth. I don't need the guilt on my head."

The knights looked doubtful. Lancelot said, "That didn't sound good. Maybe someone should go up and see if Vanora needs the midwife. Just in case." Everyone was suddenly very interested in the contents of their pitchers. "Tristan?"

The scout's eyes flickered coldly and briefly at Lancelot, who took that to mean he was not interested in the job.

Lancelot threw back his head, downed the contents of his pitcher and stood up. "Well, since none of you are man enough, I'll go."

Lancelot made his way up the stairs and went towards Damara's room. He hesitated outside the door and then poked his head in. "Vanora?"

Vanora turned around and saw Lancelot in the doorway. She flapped her hands at him. "What are you doing here? This is no place for you to be!"

Lancelot looked past her at Damara, who was pacing the floor; a look of intense concentration on her face. "We heard the screams and thought…"

"There are always screams, you bloody fool! It hurts!" Damara said with exasperation.

"So, everything is going well?" Lancelot looked doubtful.

"Yes, yes. Everything is fine. It won't be much longer. Now go!"

Lancelot turned to leave, but stopped when he heard Damara cry out again. Vanora went to her and held her hand as Damara crouched, trying to breathe through another heavy contraction. She relaxed when it was over, and looked up to see Lancelot.

She took a deep breath and smiled wearily at him. She was tired and drenched in perspiration and tears stained her face. But he was surprised at how beautiful she looked to him. He waved his fingers at her and then fled to the sounds of Damara's tired chuckle and Vanora's tinkling laugh.

He arrived, breathless, back at the table where the other knights sat, drinking. He signaled to the barmaid for her to bring him another drink.

"Well?" Gawain asked. "What happened?"

"Vanora chased me out and said that everything is fine."

"Told you," said Bors, raising his pitcher to his lips.

"What was going on in there?" Galahad asked.

Lancelot thought how to describe the young healer wearing a white shift, legs bare to the knees, restlessly pacing the room. Her dark hair, damp and falling in waves over her bare white shoulders and the fine sheen of perspiration that made her appear to glow. He remembered her full-throated cry of pain, the rasp of her breath as she panted in exhaustion afterwards. She had been beautiful and primitive.

"Lancelot?" Galahad prodded him.

Lancelot remembered what he had laughingly called her on the trail. "It was like seeing The Goddess," Lancelot said thoughtfully. Then, embarrassed by his drunken philosophizing, he laughed lightly. "Speaking of Goddess," he bellowed, "where is she with my drink?"

"On my way, I'm only one person, love". The barmaid slammed the pitcher in front of him and he pulled the wench down onto his lap and fondled her. She giggled and whispered into his ear. He laughed in return and slapped her on her ample rear as he sent her on her way.

The knights jumped as Tristan slammed his pitcher on the table, cracking it and causing wine to leak onto the table. He stood abruptly and left, knocking his chair over as he did so. As he walked past the wench who had recently occupied Lancelot's lap, he grabbed her arm and pulled her after him.

"I have to get these drinks out!" she protested, but fell silent as Tristan turned and glowered at her. She hurriedly set them down. Tristan pulled her across the tavern, opened the door to the storage room and shoved her in. As an afterthought, he turned and grabbed a drink from the hand of a Roman soldier who was just lifting it to his lips. The soldier, a longtime resident of Hadrian's Wall, wisely let it pass.

As the door slammed heavily behind the couple, Lancelot rose from the table, concerned for his lady friend. Bors caught his arm. "Let it go, Lancey. She's a hale wench – he can't do her any damage." Disturbed by their friend's recent change in demeanor, the knights continued to drink in silence.

Tristan was livid. He didn't know if it was with himself, with Lancelot, or with the girl for coming into his life in the first place. If she'd just left his damned horse alone everything would have been fine. He was disturbed by his loss of control in slaughtering the Roman, for it had indeed been a slaughter. No finesse, no skill, no satisfaction at the well-won victory over an enemy. No, the Roman's death had been the work of a near madman. Then there was the hurt and anger he felt at the way Damara had pulled away from him. And Lancelot - he'd seen the look on the dark knight's face as he thought about her. What had that 'Goddess' nonsense been about? The thought of Lancelot wanting and working his charms on her threw him into a rage. The fact that he even cared about any of it in the first place frustrated him to no end.

He pulled the door closed behind them and the barmaid went to work loosening his laces as Tristan stood there and downed a mouthful of wine. Rarely a thoughtful or particularly gentle lover, his anger made him more careless than he might have otherwise been. He ordered her to her hands and knees - he didn't feel like looking at her. Impersonal and cold rutting was going to suit him just fine tonight. Pushing up her skirts, he took her roughly and without ceremony. Minutes later he finished, lying heavily on top of her, having in his frenzy pushed her flat to the floor.

After catching his breath he got up and adjusted his clothing. He pulled out a few coins and dropped them on the floor. "Bring me another drink. After you've got yourself put together," he added carelessly as he walked out the door.

Tristan staggered out of the storage room, breathing heavily. His physical needs were sated for the moment and he was in slightly better humor. He sat down heavily at the table and leaned back in the chair, heaving a deep sigh of satisfaction. Lancelot ground his teeth and glowered at Tristan who merely glanced at him in return.

The barmaid emerged from the storage room, looking somewhat the worse for wear. Her hair was tangled and she was attempting to put it back into some kind of order. Seeing that Tristan was not in the foul mood he had been previously, she came up to the table and lifted the front of her dress to show him her bloody knees. "I think I deserve a little extra for that," the wench snapped at him.

Tristan held her eyes with his cold steady gaze as he dug out a coin and flicked it onto the floor at her feet.

Lancelot was furious with Tristan and his hot angry gaze challenged the scout, who returned the dark knight's look with a cool one of his own. Bors put his hand on Lancelot's arm as a warning against starting anything with Tristan tonight. As the two knights eyeballed each other, Galahad spotted Vanora coming into the tavern.

"Vanora! Over here!"

Vanora walked wearily over to the table and plopped down on Bors' lap. She leaned against him. "I'm tired, love." She looked around, sensing the tension. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing. Just having a last drink with some friends," Lancelot said tightly. "So – what'd she have?"

Vanora laughed. "A little boy. She said he was going to be a boy, and she was right." Her brow lowered. "We'll have to talk to her about the name though. It's not right."

"Why, what'd she name the little bastard?" asked Gawain.

"Bran. She named him for a pet raven she used to have. Can you imagine such a thing?"

"Well, a raven is a filthy bird, but a name is a name I guess," said Bors.

"A raven is a bird of ill-omen. That child has enough counting against him without throwing that into the mix!" declared Vanora.

Tristan smiled slightly. He felt satisfaction that he understood her and her choice of a name.

"Well, can we go see the little guy?" Galahad asked.

"Why would you want to?" Bors asked. "They all look alike, ugly, red and wrinkled." Vanora smacked him across the back of his head. "What? They do!"

"She's probably sleeping now, but you can go see her if you want."

Galahad looked at Gawain. "You want to go?"

"No," said Gawain. "Like Bors said - red, wrinkled and ugly. You've seen one you've seen them all."

"I'll go with you, Galahad," Lancelot said as he got up. "I need to get out of here anyway." He left without another glance at Tristan, who was shooting daggers into Lancelot's back with his eyes.

Tristan turned to Vanora. "What did you tell her?"

"Excuse me?" Vanora turned her cool gaze to the scout. She was still angry with him for the way he'd spoken to her earlier.

"When I didn't come in to see her, what did you tell her?"

Vanora snapped, "She never asked." Then she turned to Bors and said, "let's go for a walk, love. We won't be here much longer, so one more time around this place, what do you say?"

Bors chuckled. "Maybe we can find a few places where we haven't made love."

Vanora slapped him lightly. "Sshh! You're a bad man, you know that?"

"Mmmmm," Bors rumbled and buried his face in her neck. "But that's why you want me so much."

Vanora giggled and wrapped her arms around his waist as they strolled away together.

Gawain heaved a heavy sigh and stood up. "Well, Tris, I'm off to find a wench that you haven't sent to the infirmary." He slapped the scout on the back and walked away.

Tristan sat there for a moment, and then got up. No point in sticking around here. As he left the tavern, he noticed people gathering at the wall. Wondering what the attraction was, he climbed up to join the others there and looked in amazement at the size of the army that camped on the other side.

TBC

Not sure if Tristan's anger worked in this one - maybe too angry? I think he's volatile but maybe I overdid it a bit.