LANCELOTTRISTANBABY: Glad you liked it; here's another. I like writing Lancelot and I hope you like this chapter because I wrote some stuff for this one that I am fond of.
ElvenStar5: Thanks for reviewing. Yeah, we're almost there. It won't be much longer now.
BlackPaintedWhite: Interesting, huh? Okay, I'll take that. Thanks for reviewing hope you like this one. It's a little short but I'm on my way out of town to the ass end of nowhere for a little league game.
KnightMaiden: Here's the next chapter!
Cardeia: Thanks for the review and the kind words. This was another chapter that I was a bit hesitant over, but I just went with it. I had two concerns – one, that she not just "get over" what Tristan said to her. I think she had to come to understand that that is how Tristan works. He was hurt and he lashed out, and when she feels that same kind of hurt she begins to understand. He had to get to a place where he could apologize and she had to get to a place where she wanted to hear it. And two, that her deciding that it was time to be with someone sexually be believable. She had something taken from her and I wanted her to decide that it was time to take it back, but also to be apprehensive about it. You're right, hurt, pain and the mind do strange things. Mix that up with alcohol and you get all kinds of reactions. There were walls between Damara and Tristan and the dropping of inhibitions and heightening of feelings was the key to breaking those down.
I thought Tristan had been way angry for long enough. At a certain point you just get tired I think. He realized it was his fault he was miserable and owned up to it. And you're right; they've been together too long for a woman to come between them. I like Lancelot and I didn't want him to be a heel in this. I think he is a flirt and gets around and he likes to needle people but he is also decent. He may be tempted but he knows what is right and wrong. So I wasn't going to have him do anything underhanded that would hurt either Damara or Tristan. He might want to, and be tempted but even if she hadn't called Tristan's name he would not have gone through with it.
A special thanks for Cardeia for being my Beta for this chapter. Sometimes you write and go over things so much that you just can't tell if you like it or notand that's where I was with this one. So, thanks so much Cardeia for your input and reassurance.
Disclaimer: The same as everyone else's
Rating: M for mature situations.
Damara awoke early the next morning, feeling fuzzy and thickheaded, plagued by a horrendous thirst. She was nude, which startled her – she normally didn't sleep that way.
Gods – what had happened the night before? Her memories were a blur of drinking and dancing. Oh…the drinking. The appeal had been obvious the night before, but the morning after had little to recommend it.
She'd spent much of the evening with Lancelot, and remembered wanting to take him to her bed. What had seemed like a good idea when inebriated seemed like the worst idea in the world in the stone cold sober light of day. She did not feel as if she had been with a man but all the same, her memories were so fragmented and incoherent that she couldn't be sure what had happened. The fact that she was disconcertingly naked weighed on her mind, however.
With a groan, she heaved herself out of her bed and the sloshing of her brain immediately caused her to sit back down. This was intolerable – once knowing the effect of wine, why would someone deliberately expose themselves to the consequences? Damara determined at that moment to never imbibe again.
She got up again and this time managed to stay on her feet. Tottering uncertainly over to the wash basin, she splashed water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She felt slightly better and harbored a fervent hope that this unpleasant feeling would not be with her long.
Her stomach growled, though the thought of food was not a pleasant one at the moment. She supposed she should get something to eat, and hoped that she might feel better once she did.
She picked Vanora's dress up off the floor and shook it out. Once she was dressed and had run a comb through her hair she felt a little better. With a small bit of breakfast and some water to quench her horrible thirst, she thought she might start to feel vaguely human again.
She felt uneasy at the thought of running into people she knew. What if she had utterly humiliated herself last night? She remembered the despair she had felt, watching Tristan with Sorcha. Had she lashed out, made a scene?
Lancelot would know, and she dreaded having to ask him. She knew that he would torment her unmercifully with the things that he knew and she did not. Eventually she would get the truth from him, but she would have to endure his merciless teasing until he deigned to tell her.
Having decided to speak to Lancelot and get a meal before leaving for her home, she opened the door to leave. As she started down the hall, she saw Tristan walking back to his room from the privy. He looked as rough as she felt. At the sight of him Damara felt an unexpected surge of tenderness. His hair was mussed and he was shirtless, absently rubbing the hair on his chest as he wandered towards his quarters.
She flew back into her room before he glanced her way, not wishing to see him. A stab of jealousy ran through her as she wondered if Sorcha was still abed, waiting for him. All the more reason to quickly gather up her child and be on her way. She was weary of all the emotions, the ups and downs, and yearned for the peace and quiet of her home.
She cracked open her door to see if the way was clear but heard the voices of two of the knights engaged in conversation down the hall. She sighed and sank to the floor, waiting for them to leave. Leaning back against the door, Damara closed her eyes and her mind wandered to the evening before. Her thoughts skittered over the night's activities and suddenly her eyes flew open wide.
There was a bizarre memory fragment that she could make no sense of. She vaguely recalled wailing like a banshee while Tristan's tongue had been…
Her face burned bright red. That could be no memory, but a dream. And such a wicked dream it had been. It served to reinforce her vow to never again touch wine, if it would be the cause of dreams such as that one.
Once again, she checked the hallway and upon hearing no one there, slipped out of her room and quietly down the hall.
She went down to the kitchens hoping for something to eat. Her stomach roiled at the thought of food, but she knew she should get something in her stomach before leaving for home. Lancelot was already in the dining hall taking his morning meal. He waved her over and she went to him with not a small amount of trepidation. She'd wanted him to tell her what had happened the night before, but now thought that maybe she was better off remaining in ignorance.
"Good morning!" he said jubilantly. "Feeling well today?"
"I feel well enough," Damara said, watching him closely. She wished he would not be quite so loud. "And you?"
"Good, good," he said as he shoveled food in his mouth. "Never better." He handed her a piece of bread, which she took gratefully. "So – how was the rest of your night?" he asked her, eyes twinkling.
Damara wondered if there was some hidden meaning in his words. Something about the way he said it. Carefully she said, "I don't really remember much. I remember dancing, and a lot of drinking. But really it's all sort of a big blur."
"I took you back to your room – do you remember that?" Lancelot asked.
Damara furrowed her brow, thinking back. "I remember you taking me back but not much beyond that. I must have fallen asleep straight away, I suppose."
"Fallen asleep? Not hardly," said Lancelot, a smile playing about his lips. "I'm wounded. I thought I had been quite memorable."
Damara's eyebrows rose. "Meaning?" she asked him.
"Nothing really," Lancelot said, eyes dancing merrily. "It's too bad you can't recall because we had quite a time, you and I."
Damara groaned and buried her face in her hands. "You didn't…I mean, we didn't…?"
Lancelot placed his hand against his chest in mock pain. "You wound me! As if being with me was the worst thing in the world! I'll have you know women line up…"
"Lancelot! Just tell me!" Damara cried in exasperation.
The dark knight threw her a wicked smile and she didn't know whether to slap him or swoon. He was a devilishly handsome man, but right now she was leaning more towards slapping him. Finally he spoke.
"No, to answer your question, we didn't. If you must know, nothing happened."
He noted Damara's thankful sigh of relief and felt a little insulted. Would it have been so bad if they had made love?
"Well, nothing much happened anyway." At this proviso, Damara's head snapped up. She regarded Lancelot as he smiled widely at her, and she wondered what exactly constituted 'nothing much'.
He let her stew for a moment and then went on. "Not that I didn't want it to, of course. But there we were having the most wonderful time…" Lancelot sighed dramatically. "But when you called me 'Tristan' it sort of threw a wet blanket on the whole thing."
Damara's face flamed. "I didn't!" She looked at Lancelot who nodded in the affirmative.
"I'm afraid so," he said. "Quite a blow to the ego, that was."
'How humiliating,' Damara thought in mortification. "I am so, so sorry," she cried. She buried her face in her hands.
Lancelot chuckled. "I do wish I'd have known you wouldn't remember a thing about the evening's events - I would have taken full advantage."
Damara threw a scornful look at him. "No you wouldn't have -I know you better than that. You pretend to be a cad, but you're really a very decent man."
Lancelot smiled at her. "No…I can be a cad."
Looking at that smile, which if rumor was to be believed, had caused countless women to succumb, Damara thought that he probably could be a cad at times. A charming and completely forgivable one, but a cad all the same. She heaved a sigh and buried her face in her hands again. How embarrassing that she had called out Tristan's name while in Lancelot's arms. Wouldn't Tristan just gloat over that?
"I still can't believe I called you his name. I am so sorry, Lancelot. Gods, just don't tell him. I would die if he knew."
The silence that greeted that request was deafening. Damara looked up at Lancelot, to see that he was suddenly intensely interested in the contents of his plate. The blood ran from her face. He would not have told him – would he have?
"Lancelot! You didn't!"
"I'm sorry! I ran into him at the tavern after I left you and…"
"You're such a gossiping old woman! Have you no discretion whatsoever?" The young healer thought that this had to be absolutely the most humiliating moment in her life so far. Bar none.
"Why would you do that?" Damara stood up in preparation to leave, while Lancelot tried ineffectually to protest his innocence.
At that moment, Gawain and Galahad walked up to the table, plates in hand. "Damara," said Gawain in greeting, as he sat down to eat. "Have a good time last night?" The twinkle in his eyes gave her pause.
She drew herself up. Maybe she was just overly suspicious but there seemed to be some sort of big joke here that she was not aware of. "What do you mean by that?"
Out of the corner of her eye she caught Lancelot gesturing madly at Gawain. She looked at him to see what he was on about but was too late to see anything but the look of feigned innocence that crossed his face.
Galahad, having just sat down, abruptly stood back up. "I'm going to get more bread. Anybody want some? No?" The young knight asked as he beat a hasty retreat.
Gawain shoveled some food in his mouth and said, "From the sounds that were coming from your room last night you seemed to be having a pretty good time. I was just making mention of it."
"What sounds?" she said, her voice growing strident. She turned to Lancelot, who had put his head on the table. "I thought you said nothing happened."
"I said nothing much happened, " protested Lancelot.
Damara glared at Lancelot, who relented. "Alright, alright – I sent Tristan to your room. I thought I was doing you two a favor, since he was the one you wanted…"
Damara once again buried her face in her hands. Gods, that the ground would just open up and swallow her whole. Suddenly that odd, half-remembered dream made some sort of horrible sense. The banshee wails had apparently been no dream. Her face flamed. She was going to die. Literally, she was going to die.
She whirled around to leave, and saw Lancelot staring down at the table, shamefaced; and Gawain, whose shoulders were shaking with laughter that he was trying desperately to control. Incoherent, Damara could only utter a small shriek of outrage at them before stomping out the door.
Unfortunately, Tristan chose just that moment to enter the dining hall. A look of surprise passed over his face as he caught sight of Damara, madder than a wet hen, storming towards him. She paused for a moment in front of Tristan. "And YOU!" she howled at him. She pulled back and slapped him across the face and was gone.
"What the hell was that?" asked Tristan, rubbing his face. Gawain was falling out with laughter, and after a moment, Lancelot joined him. Puzzled, Tristan looked down the hallway after the fleeing Damara before sitting down at the table.
Tristan had been having a very pleasant morning, remembering the night before with Damara. Things were right between them again. He'd been deep in reverie about how loving and sweet she was and then all of a sudden, there she was before him. But she'd inexplicably turned harpy on him. Women – who knew what went through their minds?
Seeing Galahad's momentarily abandoned plate, he pulled it over to him and started eating, just as Galahad arrived back at the table with more bread. "That's my plate," he informed Tristan.
In response, Tristan looked at him coolly and continued eating. "Get another. Why did I just get slapped?"
As Galahad once again left, grumbling, the remaining knights looked at each other. "I've been nothing but your friend in this," said Lancelot. "Talk to that one." He gestured at Gawain, who was still happily eating.
Gawain swallowed his food and then burped with great satisfaction. "I merely made mention of her rather loud enjoyment of whatever you were doing to her last night," he said innocently. He smiled broadly. "What were you doing anyway?"
Tristan's eyes narrowed. "Damara's no bar wench to be bantered about at the breakfast table," he said.
"So…no details?" Gawain asked forlornly.
"No details," Tristan confirmed. He finished eating Galahad's breakfast and got up from the table. "I guess I'd better go find her."
Lancelot grinned at him. "I don't envy you, my friend. She was spitting mad when she left here."
Tristan ruefully rubbed his face. "I know very well how angry she was. Thanks to all of you, I'm going to have hell to pay." He gave the knights a look that promised future retribution. "I'll be seeing you all on the practice field later."
As Galahad arrived back at the table with another plate of food, Tristan shoved the near-empty one back over towards him as the young knight glowered. "There's your plate back," Tristan said amiably.
As he went down the hallway, he heard Jols call his name. He turned to see what the squire wanted.
"Arthur wants to see you, Tristan. He's sending you out."
Tristan sighed. For now, Damara would have to wait. Tristan followed Jols to Arthur's study to find out what his mission was.
ooooo
Damara had been home for about two weeks, and was glad for the serenity she found there. Her days fell into a routine pattern, which she found great comfort in. Her nights, however, were another matter. The snippet of memory haunted her, and if she did not fantasize about Tristan, she dreamed about him. She was in a near constant state of arousal from the memory of him and it galled her.
For the first few days Damara had waited eagerly for Tristan to arrive at her door, for surely he would come to see her. As days went by, and then a week, she took it to mean that he had lost interest and would simply not be coming. When the second week was well underway, she resolved to consider the whole thing a figment of her imagination, for to dwell on it brought her nothing but pain. She supposed that one day she would simply stop thinking about him altogether and resolved to bear it as best she could until that day arrived.
ooooo
Tristan came riding back to the keep. Two weeks, he'd been gone scouting the north for signs of Saxon activity. There were a couple of small villages that had been overrun, but the Saxons seemed content for now to remain where they were. The worry was that they would become staging areas for a larger Saxon invasion. They would bear watching.
He had thought about Damara the whole time that he'd been gone. He needed to see her, to see if they could make things right between them. He was hesitant – she'd been very angry with him. What if she thought he'd taken advantage of her; what if she hated him?
He'd been given relief from duty for the next day and took the opportunity to ride out to see the young healer. He was nervous, anxious, and didn't know what he would say to her. What if she slammed the door in his face, rejecting him outright? He waited on horseback, observing her hut from the cover of the forest. Maybe she was not even home.
He observed a small fox pup limping in an enclosure in the yard and smiled. Back to healing the animals, was she? Suddenly he saw her emerge from behind the house with Bran in her arms. She threw the baby in the air and danced with him around the yard as he giggled hysterically with delight.
His heart melted, even as he began to doubt. What would she want with him? She'd loved him once, briefly. But their reconciliation had been a drunken encounter that she apparently didn't even recall. Or if recalling she may have assigned evil intent to Tristan's actions.
He wished he'd been able to speak to her straight away. But it had been two weeks and who knew what she was thinking by now? He dreaded going down there and risking rejection for he knew his heart would break. Tristan had never given his heart to anyone, had never even considered it before. He knew that he could go to her one time, and if she rejected him it was not in him to ever try again.
If only there was some way to get the lay of the land before committing. Some way to find which way she was inclined. He needed some sort of excuse for being there, a way to save face. She was a healer - could he feign illness or injury? But then he thought about Lancelot's blister and the other lame excuses he used to spend time with the healer. He, Tristan, was not nearly buffoon enough to attempt it. Anyway – there were healers at the fortress. If he were truly injured he would not need to come all this way for care.
No, that excuse would not work. There had to be something else. As he wracked his brain, an idea began to form. An injured animal, such as the fox pup limping in the enclosure at Damara's house. But where to find an injured creature? It wasn't as if they were just lying around the forest waiting to be picked up and healed.
He supposed he could catch one and injure it but that seemed a bit mercenary even to him. As he considered his options, the croak of a raven caught his ear and he brightened. A hatchling, fallen from the nest, would be a perfect excuse to see her. All he had to do was locate the nest – how hard could it be to steal one from it?
He looked up and began searching for the raven's nest. After some time he located the nest and he thought it looked promising. The tree was high, but easy enough to climb. And as a scout, he was very adept at tree-climbing. This would be simple.
At first, it was. He reached the top and snagged one young raven out of the nest. He carefully put the screeching baby bird in his shirt for safekeeping, and started back down the tree. Unfortunately, the hatchling's cries of distress had attracted the attention of its parents.
Tristan found himself beset by the angry birds. They dive-bombed him, beating him with their wings and pecking at him with their large, sharp beaks. Holding on to the tree with one arm, he frantically smacked at them with the other. "Aaahhh! Nasty winged rodents!" he cursed at them. He felt blood dripping down his head from where a blow from the deadly beak had landed.
After what seemed an eternity, he heard a familiar cry, and he breathed a sigh of relief as his hawk swooped in, tearing at the birds. Preferring to protect their nest than avenge their stolen chick, they retreated to where their other hatchlings were, unattended.
Back on the ground, Tristan mopped at the blood running down his head. It was not serious, but as with all head wounds, it bled profusely. He checked on the hatchling in his pocket, making sure it had not been injured during his climb back down the tree. A smashed baby bird would be of no use to him.
His reason for seeing Damara safe and alive in his shirt, he got back on his horse and headed for the healer's hut.
She was no longer outside when he got there, so he dismounted and went to the door. Hesitating, he started to knock and then stopped himself, remembering the bird in his shirt. He scooped the baby raven up and held it gingerly in his hand. Satisfied, he then knocked on the door.
Damara opened the door, and before her stood Tristan. A bloody, bedraggled Tristan. In her concern for him, she forgot to be self-conscious at seeing him again. After a shocked intake of breath, she cried out his name.
"Tristan! Are you all right? What has happened?"
Tristan froze, wondering how he was going to explain all the blood. Instead of speaking, he merely thrust the baby bird at her, which she took from him, puzzled.
"Where'd this come from?" she asked, cradling the ugly little beast.
"It fell out of the nest," he said. "I went to pick it up and the parents came down and attacked me." He was pleasantly surprised at how quickly he'd come up with that. Well, it was mostly the truth, anyway.
Damara examined the little raven carefully. "No broken bones…after such a great fall?" She looked askance at Tristan. "A very lucky little bird this one is."
Stone-faced, Tristan nodded, hoping his guilt didn't show on his face. "I remembered you had a raven once and thought you might like to take care of him."
Damara flushed with pleasure. "How kind of you to help this little bird, and to think of me." She put the little hatchling in a small bird box that she had made. "He'll be warm enough in here and I'll tend to him in a little while. You, on the other hand, I'll see to right now."
She brought him into the hut and bade him sit in a chair. "Ssshh…" she put her fingers to her lips. "Bran's sleeping. He's teething and has been horribly cranky. I just got him to go down."
She got a basin of water and a rag, and quickly wiped the blood from his face. She then turned her attention to the cut on the top of his head, examining it closely. "You won't need stitches," she said. "It's just a small cut and has almost sealed itself. Just let me get this clean – I don't want to risk infection."
As she stood there in front of him, she felt his hands go around her waist. She closed her eyes as he pulled her towards him. She pulled his head to her breast and they held each other silently for a time.
"I'm sorry," Tristan said softly. "For everything. I wanted to come to you but Arthur sent me away…"
Damara's heart soared. "And I'm sorry, too. I got so angry the last time I saw you," Damara said. "I thought I had driven you away completely, that you decided I was not worth the trouble."
"Trouble? You've been that," Tristan smiled, remembering the first time he had said that to her, when he'd had to find her on the trail. "But you're worth every bit of it."
He pulled back and looked at her. "I've asked you this before, but you wouldn't remember. I want to ask you now. Do you forgive me for the horrible way I treated you that day?"
"As long as you promise never to do it again, I'll consider it," Damara said, smiling gently.
Tristan knew she was joking and that he was forgiven, but he took her face in his hands and said earnestly, "I wanted to hurt you, and I would spend the rest of my life showing you how much I regret those things I said."
Tears sprang to Damara's eyes. "Don't make rash promises, Tristan. I would not have my heart broken when you tire of me," she said.
"I can't imagine ever tiring of you," Tristan said. He pulled her head to his in a deep kiss.
She surrendered to him, moaning against his mouth all the longing that had haunted her since their last encounter. Moments later, they lay on the bed together, Tristan slowly and reverently disrobing her, before momentarily abandoning her to shed his own clothes. Damara watched him and shivered, covering herself with her hands.
"Cold, my love?" asked Tristan.
"Just a little," Damara said, trying to cover her nervousness. What she wouldn't give for a tankard of wine right about now. But no – she had to do this sometime, unaided by alcohol, and there was no time like the present. She reached her hand towards Tristan. "Come warm me."
Tristan joined her on the bed and buried his head in her throat, raining soft kisses on her delicate skin. She closed her eyes but as his hands began to roam, she stiffened, pushing at him with her hands. Tristan stopped, and gave her a quizzical look.
"I'm sorry," Damara said, shame in her eyes. "I'm a little frightened." She gave little laugh, trying to keep her tone casual and light. "You'd think I wouldn't be – it's not like I haven't done this before."
She looked up at him and saw the serious look on his face as he gazed into her eyes. "No, love. This – you haven't done before. And I'm the lucky man who gets to be the first."
She was touched deeply by his words. With a somber demeanor she said to him, "I fear that I will not please you."
Tristan looked into her eyes and stroked her lovingly on the cheek before bending his head to kiss her on the lips. Against her mouth, between kisses, he spoke softly, sending shivers down her spine.
"You couldn't displease me if you tried. But until you're ready for more let me concentrate on your pleasure." His lips moved to her ear, nuzzling it and sending shocks of desire through her body.
"There was something I did the last time we were together that satisfied you greatly." He moved back and looked into her face, noticing with amusement that she had reddened. "Would you like me to start with that?"
Embarrassed and unable to meet his gaze, she said softly, "If that is what you would like to do."
He laughed and said. "It is." He nuzzled her neck and she sighed with pleasure. "I have only one request," he said.
"And what is that love?" Damara groaned as Tristan's lips started moving down her body.
"Try not to let your screams wake the baby," he chuckled.
For her part, Damara did try.
TBC