I would like to thank LJ Groundwater, Stahlfan125, Cameryn, Closer Hugo Closer (but how close, I wonder?), God (I never expected anyone so exalted as God to be reading this!) hornofgondor2, The Contessa, Gypsy Luv, Velven, ElleloveMax, methoslover, MerryTyme, mssparrington (thanks times nine, I believe!) and evilminx. Love you all.

This isn't really a chapter so much as an interlude in the angst...

Chapter Ten

Their lips were only pressed together for a second but it might as well have been eternity. Afterwards Lancelot did not look at Tristan but remained pressed up against the other man, close enough to feel his heartbeat. His own breathing was shallow as he fought not to disturb the stillest and yet the most charged moment of his life. For once, time seemed superlative- the world had frozen around the two men and their two racing hearts.

In the end, something had to be said. The silence could not last forever and Lancelot's bruised body had begun to ache from too much stillness.

"I didn't expect that," Lancelot said.

"No."

He pulled away from Tristan and walked to the arrow slit in the wall that passed for a window. The sun had vanished but the eastern sky was streaked with orange and pink and red. Towards the west, a purple twilight crept in.

Tristan stood behind Lancelot. He no longer appeared as a predator but rather as a hunted animal, every movement he made was silent and cautious. After a while he extended his hand and rested it on the bare skin at the back of Lancelot's neck, just below the dark curls. Lancelot sighed but said nothing. The touch of Tristan's hand was cool and he felt his flesh pucker beneath it.

"My intention was never to hurt you," Tristan said. His voice had a faraway, lilting quality to it. "I hope I haven't… scared you."

"I'm not afraid." I should be, but I'm not.

The orange and red of the sky melted softly into purple and then black. The shadow of a crescent moon appeared.

"You might as well be a stranger… for all I know about you." This wasn't exactly fair: Lancelot knew this as he took a careful step backwards, as he let himself sink backwards into Tristan's arms, as he inhaled the scent of pine and soil and straw that belonged to the older man. "Tell me something…"

"Yesterday, I told you something – something bad- about my mother." Now Tristan's voice was so soft and so quiet that it might have been made of moonbeams. "I could tell you something good about her too?"

Lancelot nodded.

"She used to sing- songs about rivers and valleys and countries so very bright with the colour green. She sang while she worked: while she cooked, while she cleaned, while she helped collect the harvest… I can still hear her voice- clear and strong like a lark in springtime."

Tristan nuzzled into Lancelot's neck- stubble rubbed against skin but did not burn. Tristan's breath was warm in Lancelot's ear as he murmured something half-remembered from a distant childhood.

"Follow the brook that shines like silver.

"Bubbling waters into clearest river.

"She was such a lovely singer." Tristan leaned forward and briefly kissed Lancelot's cheek. "If I close me eyes and concentrate, I can still see her face."

This was something Lancelot understood; he often spent whole hours at night trying desperately to recall the faces of the loved ones he had left in Sarmatia.

They grew fainter with the passing of every day.

"I never used to think of you as having feelings," Lancelot told Tristan.

"I have many..."

"What do you want with me?" Lancelot asked him.

"Nothing more than you are willing to give."

Lancelot considered. "There isn't a lot I can offer-"

"I know."

Lancelot turned around to face Tristan. He gave a soft gasp as he studied the older knight's appearance.

The change was as startling as the first green shoots after a barren winter. It was there in the clever dark eyes and the calloused hands that reached towards him.

Once more Lancelot pressed up against Tristan; rejoiced in the sensation of being held without fear.

"You're no longer a mystery," he said.

Tbc…