Ailis-70: Thank you so much for your kind words. Upon Cardeia's recommendation I read your first story, and have started on the second. I like them very much. I also wanted to say that while we see Tristan much the same there are other similarities. Metallica, Disturbed, Godsmack. For my part I must also add Audioslave. I was in the Army for 4 years and in fact I was going to mention in my review of Cardeia's story an incident very similar to one you related. One of the guys' best friends died back at home. He was having a very hard time of it and started to break down. As the lone female in this group, I was ushered out. Guys closing ranks and all that. I'm so glad you like my story and honestly every time I go to post I'm scared silly. Hope you like this chapter. I'm rather fond of it.
dellis: Thank you for your thoughts and honesty. I think it's too bad that the filmmakers did not give us more to go on than our imaginations. My feeling is that while Tristan would not treat a more "honorable" woman in such a way, he would feel a prostitute/bar wench is there for a purpose, a service that he paid for. And that while rough and brusque, I'm not sure I would consider it abusive, at least in context. Now, if he went home to his wife and did the same thing I'd say he had a really big problem. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.
LANCELOTTRISTANBABY: Here's the update. Hope you enjoy it.
BlackPaintedWhite: Yeah, it's possible I overdid it a bit – we all have our notions of what these characters are like and I'll hopefully come close most of the time to what others think.
Cardeia: Thanks for your input – I take a lot of what all of you say into consideration when I go over the chapters I haven't yet posted. I do like to write the humor and the lighter stuff, and there are some things later on in the story that I'm quite fond of. The story can be a little dark but I try to lighten it up a bit at intervals. I liked writing the knights as being a bit out of their element with the baby stuff. Of course, Bors is an old hand at it. Quite the softy though, so I could see him being torn up over Vanora's labor pains, but lusty enough to soon forget. Yes, Lancelot is a big flirt, and he is pretty much harmless. I think Lancelot likes Damara and sort of naturally flirts with anything in a skirt, but his heart is really reserved for Guinevere. Poor guy. Of course, in your story he is so wonderful with Cerys and I just love those two. I actually think you do humor quite well, along with everything else that you write. You are very, very talented.
Miggyrow: Sorry things haven't been going well for you lately; I hope everything is okay now. I'm so glad you like the story and I hope you continue to do so. Every time I post a chapter I sort of think it's going to be crap. I always hesitate before hitting that submit button, but I am very gratified to hear that there are some out there who look forward to my scribblings.
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, but not really in this one.
Galahad and Lancelot knocked lightly on the door, and then quietly pushed it open. "Damara?" Lancelot said in a soft voice. He looked at Galahad. "She's probably sleeping."
Galahad nodded. "Let's just take a quick look and then leave," he said. Lancelot rolled his eyes but nodded his head in assent. He wasn't horribly interested in babies. He had really just wanted to leave the tavern and get away from Tristan before something happened that he would regret.
Quietly the two knights crept into the room. Damara lay in the bed, with a small mound in swaddling lying on her chest.
Galahad tilted his head to get a look at the little bundle. He looked at Lancelot and gave him his verdict. "Bors and Gawain were sort of right," he said softly.
"Right about what?" came a sleepy voice.
Flustered, Galahad looked at Lancelot. He opened his mouth to say something, but had no idea what.
Smooth as always, Lancelot took over. "They said that your baby was likely very beautiful, if he took after his mother at all."
In reply he received an amused giggle. "Somehow I doubt that is exactly what was said. The only ones who think newborns are beautiful are usually their mothers." She sat up laboriously and turned the baby so that Galahad could see him more fully. She smiled impishly at him and asked, "But what do you think?"
Galahad looked at Lancelot for help but this time none was forthcoming. The dark knight stood there with an expectant look on his face and a glint of humor in his eyes.The child somewhat purple in color, grimaced as if some mighty internal struggle was taking place. Galahad was a bit taken aback. Finally he said, "I'm sure he'll be a fine looking lad when he gets older."
There was a quick snort of laughter from Lancelot and Galahad's face turned pink as he realized he'd put his foot in it. While Damara tried to look offended, she failed miserably and a merry peal of laughter rang out.
Galahad shot a look at Lancelot, who was clearly enjoying his brother knight's discomfiture. Damara saw the look of consternation on the young knight's face and when he turned to leave her laughter died away. "Don't go like that, Galahad," she said, still amused. "I've made you uncomfortable and I'm sorry for laughing at your expense."
Galahad turned back around, mollified by her words though he noticed Lancelot still wore a smirk on his face.
Damara held out her hand to Galahad, and he stepped forward to take it in one of his own. "It was very kind of you to come by to see us and I thank you for that." With a smile, she squeezed his hand and let it go.
With his dignity intact, Galahad inclined his head in acknowledgement and bid her a good night. As he walked out the door, he glared at Lancelot, whose sounds of amusement followed him out into the hall.
"I would not normally have done that," said Damara "You're a bad influence on me."
Lancelot laughed. "I don't think you need any influence of mine," he said. "You seem to take to it quite naturally." He stepped closer to look at the baby, since it was only polite. "May I see him?"
Damara held him so that Lancelot could see. The knight leaned forward, considering the very small bundle before him. How impossibly fragile was this tiny life. "He's so small," said Lancelot.
"Isn't he?" Damara said. She gazed at her child for a moment. He was so very small and completely dependent upon her for everything. If something happened to her – gods, what if something happened to her – what would become of him? There was no one else. She was completely and utterly alone, and the realization overwhelmed her. Tears began to fill her eyes, and she squeezed them tightly in an attempt to hold them back.
"What is it?" asked Lancelot, squatting beside the bed to look into her face.
Damara smiled through her tears. "Nothing – just a new mother's silliness." She exhaled sharply and turned the subject to Lancelot. "I wanted to apologize to you for what I said the other day." At Lancelot's questioning look she continued. "About Arthur and Guinevere. Your feelings on that are your own and I should not have pried at them."
Lancelot nodded, accepting her apology. Her words had weighed on his mind at first, but had been forgotten with Dagonet's death and all that had occurred since. His thoughts on that matter disturbed him and had remained largely unexamined. He worried that his feelings were so transparent, however. He would have to guard against that.
Damara had been watching his face and said, "Do not worry that you wear your heart on your sleeve for all to see. It is my habit to observe people closely and I often see things that others don't."
Lancelot felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. How had she known he'd been thinking that? "Are you a witch that you read people's minds?"
A smile twitched on Damara's lips. "Of course not. It is merely a natural conclusion that you would wonder, and I only sought to reassure you."
Not wholly convinced, Lancelot merely nodded at her, eyes regarding her warily.
Damara thought it was time for a change of subject before she once again frightened the dark knight away. "Have you seen Tristan? I asked for him earlier but maybe Vanora forgot to tell him."
Damara turned her gaze from him to the newborn in her arms which relieved Lancelot because he was about to lie to the healer. He did not want her probing eyes on him as he did so. "Arthur has had him occupied. I am sure he will be in to see you as soon as he can get away."
Damara nodded and then spoke hesitantly. "Is Tristan all right?"
"He is fine," said Lancelot. "Why would he not be?"
"He seemed…unlike himself today. In the hallway," Damara said carefully.
"You were frightened," Lancelot guessed.
Damara nodded. "There was so much blood, and he looked so wild," she said. "It was unnerving."
"I imagine it was," Lancelot said. "For you are not accustomed to the blood lust a man can fall into during battle." Lancelot hoped that the explanation he gave would ease the girl's mind regarding Tristan. Though Lancelot had his own worries about the scout, he was not about to discuss them with Damara. "Tristan is a good man. I trust him with my life - we all do."
Damara nodded, reassured somewhat by the dark knight's explanation . As he said, she was unfamiliar with what occurred on a battlefield. What a horrible thing was battle, to turn a man into such? She looked at Lancelot with new eyes. Here was a smiling jokester, a shameless flirt. He also was a warrior, a very fearsome one if people were to be believed. Did the things he had seen and done haunt him? Did he scream at night? Had he ever looked as Tristan had, feral and covered in blood? She shivered.
Seeing her shiver, Lancelot asked the healer, "And how are you faring from your experience this morning? Are you unharmed?"
"I'm fine, and very relieved that the baby was delivered safely," she said. "I haven't really had time to think about it, and not sure that I want to." She smiled at him. "Maybe it's just something better left alone."
"At least you will never be bothered by that man again," Lancelot said. He hesitated and then said, "if you don't mind my asking – who was he?"
Damara gave Lancelot a measured look. He was merely asking, not insinuating or joking as he had been before. "He was just a man who thought I should belong to him," she said simply.
Lancelot was about to request a further explanation when Gawain stuck his head in the door.
"Lancelot? You need to go to the wall right now. There's something you need to see."
ooooo
Tristan and the other knights were clearing out their things. The Roman detachment would be leaving the next morning along with the knights who were to escort the family of Marius Honorius to safety.
The mood of the knights was a somber one. Fifteen years here and it all boiled down to one night to pack up and get ready to leave. They'd thought they were more than ready, but this place had been their home. With the bad times there had also been good, and the place was full of memories. But it was more than just that - Arthur had decided to stay and lead the Woads into battle against the Saxons. They were heavy-hearted at the thought of leaving their commander, but he was as free as they were to leave and make a good life for himself. It was a choice he had made on his own.
Bors had just returned from making arrangements for Vanora and the children to accompany him. "You've got anyone that wants to go, you'd better move," he said. "There is almost no room left for anyone."
The knights looked at Tristan. "What?" he growled at them.
A mumbled chorus of "nothing" was the answer he received.
Tristan continued hurling the few belongings he had into his trunk. He knew what was on the other knights' minds. Damara was. She was in no position to secure her own passage from the wall and certainly was in no shape yet to walk. Someone would have to arrange passage for her, and it was looking like that someone would be Tristan. He looked around. Where was Lancelot? The one time his interference would have been of use, and he was gone - taking council with Arthur.
He slammed the lid of his trunk. Very well – he could do this one last thing. He could go see the girl, arrange for her passage to safety and be done with the entire matter. He stalked from the room after a glowering look at the other knights.
When he got to Damara's room, he took a deep breath. How was she going to react to him? Would she back away, avoid looking at him? Why did he care so much, anyway? He could feel the flutter of nerves in his stomach and he felt a surge of irritation. With a low growl, he entered her room. Damara was standing at the window, looking out. In her arms, she held her new son.
She heard him enter the room, and turned around. Upon seeing him she called his name and smiled at him, a smile full of warmth and happiness. His breath caught in his throat but he kept his tone cool.
"I'm going to arrange passage for you to leave here with us tomorrow. The Saxon army stands on the other side of the wall, waiting to attack. You won't be safe here."
She shook her head. "No, I'm staying here."
"You can't," Tristan said, disbelieving. "You'll be killed – Arthur may well not succeed against that army. If they take the wall, they will kill everyone here."
She walked over to the bed and put the sleeping baby down. "I'm staying," she said with finality.
Tristan didn't understand, but knew from the tone of her voice that she would not be persuaded. Maybe it was the thought of being in his presence again that made her want to stay. He'd thought she was happy to see him, but who knew with women? Bitterly, he asked, "Do you still think I'm the kindest man you've ever met?"
She looked at him, puzzled. Then she remembered she'd told him that the first night they met. "What does that have to do with anything? And yes, Tristan - I owe you my life –"
"I didn't ask you that!" Tristan's voice was tortured. "I saw the look on your face after I killed him. For you, I killed him. And you looked at me like I was a rabid animal. So I'm asking – what do you think of me now? Do you still think I'm a kind man?"
"Rabid animal? I would never think that of you!" she cried. "All that blood – yes, it frightened me. But Lancelot told me that men are like that in battle, and helped me to understand. You saved me from someone who has haunted me for a long time. And I am grateful to you for that."
"I don't want your gratitude!" he spat.
"Then what DO you want from me?" she cried in frustration.
His eyes blazed at her. "You don't know?"
She stared back at him, caught in his gaze for a moment before she cast her eyes downward. She'd seen that look before in the eyes of men, and knew what it meant. "You think I owe you for all you've done for me?"
Tristan went cold. "You actually believe that of me?"
She stood there in silence, looking at her feet. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Answer me!"
"I don't know!" she shouted. "I don't want to think that of you. I want to believe…"
"What?" asked Tristan. His heart was pounding. What was she trying to say? Softly he said, "what do you want to believe?"
She closed her eyes, tears running down her face. "Knowing what you know about me, how could you want me? How could you see me as anything other than ugly and soiled?"
Tristan's heart lurched. Was that truly how she saw herself? He took her face in his hands. Damara tried to pull away, refusing to meet his gaze. "Look at me," the scout said.
"I can't."
"My love…look at me."
At his words, Damara hesitantly brought her eyes up to meet Tristan's. He continued, "I could never see you that way. You are in my heart. I don't know how, but you somehow got in there and I can't get you out. And the gods know that I have tried."
Damara looked at him, disbelieving. Was he toying with her? No, he wouldn't, not Tristan. Her eyes searched his for the truth and found it. Incredibly, he did care for her. And she looked into her heart and knew that she loved him – this gentle, kind, wild man.
"Tristan... " His very name was beautiful to her.
He looked at her, hopeful, yet full of fear. A man who feared none on the battlefield, yet dreaded mere words from a woman's mouth.
"I love you," she whispered.
At first Tristan wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. She loved him? He looked down into her eyes and saw the unshed tears; the look of hope. His hands cupped her face and slowly his lips descended upon hers. Startled, she pulled back, but slowly warmed under the gentle insistence of his kiss. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close.
If this was happiness, then he was happy, something he could never really remember having felt before. Maybe he wasn't himself anymore, but then maybe he didn't need to be. His servitude was over; his life would change. Why could he not change along with it? He pulled back and looked into her beautiful face.
"I have to go, and find room for you and little Bran with someone. But wait here - I'll be back as soon as I can for you," he said.
Damara's heart sank and the smile faded from her face. "Tristan – I told you that I am not leaving here. There is going to be a battle – I'm a healer. I have to stay."
Tristan couldn't believe what he was hearing. "The Woads have healers of their own. You don't have to stay!" Tristan said forcefully. "To hell with those filthy savages!"
Damara drew herself up to her full height and her eyes blazed. "Those filthy savages you speak of are where I come from! Do you think because I stand before you clean and fully clothed that I have always been thus? They are my people; you would have me abandon them?"
"I would have you come with me. I would have you safe in my arms." Tristan's voice broke slightly and he hated himself for that. It felt like pleading.
Tears streaming from her eyes, Damara simply shook her head. "I can't."
Tristan looked at her, then in pain and anger he turned and began to walk out of the room. Damara hurried after him.
"Tristan. Tristan, please!" She caught his arm and he shook her off, but he stopped to hear her out. "I can come to you after. We will be together, but right now I have to stay."
He rounded on her. "You stay then, if that's what you want. Die, if that's what you want. Just know – this time I won't be here to save you. Come morning, I will be leaving," he stated with finality. He walked to the door and stopped. In a softer voice he said, "if you change your mind, you know where I am." Then he was gone.
Damara sank to the bed, sobbing. More than anything, she wanted to leave with him, to be by his side. But there was a feeling that she could not ignore – she had to stay, and didn't know why. Damara just knew it was more important than anything that she be here. How she wanted to ignore those feelings and run after Tristan – tell him she'd go with him wherever he would take her. If she let him go, she took the chance of never seeing him again. The healer wished she could explain to Tristan why she had to stay – but how, when she didn't truly know herself?
She pulled little Bran against her and fell asleep, crying inconsolably.
ooooo
The caravan departed on schedule the next morning. Though Tristan had looked hopefully for Damara up until they left, he did not see her. She had not even come to say good-bye, he thought bitterly. She had said she loved him, and last night he'd believed it but her actions spoke to him much more loudly than her words.
The mood of the departing knights was subdued. Finally, they were leaving this horrid place but they were leaving a brother behind to fight alone. It didn't sit well with any of them, but this was what they had waited fifteen long years for – their freedom. When the Saxon drums began to pound the knights' horses fought to answer the call to battle. The knights looked at each other – they heard that same call. For fifteen years they'd had no choice, but this time they did. What kind of joy would freedom bring for them, knowing they'd abandoned Arthur, the man who had led them, cared for them for so long? Of their own free will, they made the choice to stand with Arthur and answer this last call to battle.
ooooo
Damara had watched the caravan leave from the window of her room. Watching Tristan, her eyes drank him in as if they'd never see him again. How she ached to go to him, to make things as right as she could between them. But she did not dare. She knew that one look at his face and her resolve would crumble like old parchment. And there were preparations to be made.
She went through her medicine bag – it was not as well stocked as she would have liked. The healer decided to visit the infirmary and see what supplies she could rummage from there. With Bran gathered up in her arms, she started down the hallway and passed the room where Tristan had recently lived. Curious, she entered it andlooked around. There was a single bed in the room – his bed. Maybe she would take this room as her own. Damara longed to be close to him, even if lying in this bed was as close as she would ever be to him again.
Damara shook herself. There would be time enough for this later. As she headed towards the infirmary, the Saxon drums began to beat. She felt a queasy roll in her stomach; her heart began to pound. It was beginning. She dreaded finding out what the day was going to bring. Whatever it was, she hoped she was up to the task.
As she stood there listening to the drums, she suddenly fell to her knees. The blood left her face and she could not breathe. Tristan was coming back. He was coming to stand at Arthur's side. And he would meet his death on the battlefield.
TBC