There were times, Tristan thought moodily, when he was damn glad he was a scout. Almost a month had passed since he had left Alennia in the forest, but every day he could feel the place, like a brand, where her fingers had burned his cheek with their caressing touch.
He knew the others had noticed a change in him. He had noticed a change in himself. Slowly he was distancing himself from them, withdrawing more and more, spending increasing amounts of time patrolling and less time with the group.
Tristan didn't even know why he was retreating from his friends and comrades so much. It was something to do with them not understanding. But then again, even he didn't fully understand.
He didn't understand why the slightest touch could have been imprinted on his heart forever. He didn't understand why leaving had torn his heart in two. He didn't understand why every dream he had now had a lithe woman, with dark hair and enchanting eyes, in it. He had never dreamed before she had come along, but now she seemed to be haunting his every footstep, and the things that disturbed Tristan most, he decided, was that he didn't particularly mind.
Dagonet rode, also pensively, as he watched the retreating form of Tristan in front of him. Something had changed about that man, he decided. It was as if he had built some sort of armour around him, protecting him from something, though Dagonet could not work out what it was.
Lancelot, having noticed Dagonet's thoughtful expression, pushed his horse forwards to ride beside the quiet giant. Dagonet turned his head to acknowledge Lancelot's company, but neither man spoke for some time. It was Lancelot who first broke the easy-going silence.
"It's a woman," he shrugged.
"You know?" Dagonet asked, turning to study Lancelot's profile.
"No," Lancelot conceded. "But I know what a man in his state looks like."
"But he's never around the garrison any more," Dagonet pointed out.
"Avoiding her?" Lancelot suggested.
There was a short silence, before Dagonet spoke again, his words careful and measured.
"Unless she's not at the garrison," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly.
Lancelot turned to look at Dagonet, shock on his face. "You don't mean…?"
"A Woad," Dagonet said grimly, nodding.
"He wouldn't be that stupid," Lancelot protested.
"You never know…" Dagonet left it hanging.
Suddenly, Lancelot's mind was a whirl of doubts. Tristan volunteering to scout when it really wasn't necessary, the long absences and sudden return with no explanation, his increasingly short temper and irrational behaviour.
Lancelot glanced over to Dagonet. "Do you think we should tell Arthur?" he asked.
Dagonet shrugged. "You know Arthur better than me. How will he take it?"
Lancelot was torn for a moment. When he did speak, his voice was full of indecision. "Well, you know Arthur isn't one for taking unnecessary risks. He'd probably stop letting Tristan off on his own."
"By the looks of the state he's in, Tristan would probably ignore that order," Dagonet mused thoughtfully.
"But if he's putting all of us at risk," Lancelot said in an agonised voice.
Dagonet glanced over at the usually decisive Lancelot and grinned. "Well if you don't have the guts to tell Arthur…" he left it hanging, knowing it was all the instigation Lancelot needed.
Spitting with indignation, Lancelot threw a foul glance at the chuckling Dagonet, and pushed his horse sharply forwards to catch up with Arthur.
Arthur was, as always, riding at the head of the column, and looked curiously at Lancelot as he rode up.
"What's eaten you?" he asked enquiringly, noticing Lancelot's scowl.
"Nothing," Lancelot answered shortly and they rode in silence for a moment, as Lancelot risked a glance back at Dagonet, who was watching with mock innocence.
Turning his back deliberately on the amused face of Dagonet, Lancelot began. "It's about Tristan."
"Oh?" the Roman asked, raising one eyebrow.
"You've noticed he's been acting a little…strangely lately?"
"Yes."
Deciding that Arthur was not going to get any more cooperative, Lancelot ploughed straight into the subject. "I…I think he may have gotten himself involved with a woman. A Woad woman," Lancelot said, eyeing Arthur nervously.
"And that's why you're so worried?"
"Well, he may be compromising his own, let alone our safety."
"I don't think you've got too much to worry about," Arthur said gently.
Detecting something in his friend's voice, Lancelot looked over sharply. "You know something, something you're not telling me!" His brows furrowed as he tried to read the impassive face of his commander. "You know who she is!" he finally said.
"I do," Arthur said, nodding.
There was an expectant silence on Lancelot's part, and when he realised he would have to beat every scrap of information out of his commander, he burst forth impatiently.
"So?"
"She is a woman," Arthur said, nodding sagely.
"A Woad?"
"Yes," Arthur concurred.
Lancelot glanced over at Arthur, and seeing the smile playing around the corners on his mouth on his otherwise inexpressive face, he realised that he was being teased.
"Arthur! Who is she?"
Arthur grinned openly this time, enjoying his friend's annoyance.
"As you said my friend, she is a woman. And a Woad."
"Arthur!"
The Roman laughed, and grinned fondly at Lancelot. "You have no idea how easy to wind you up it is, my friend."
Lancelot just scowled at Arthur, making him laugh even harder.
"She's the commander of the Wolf Clan: the ones that fight the Saxons," he finally relented.
"What's she like?" Lancelot asked pensively, chewing over this morsel of information.
"Very pretty. Long, dark hair. Enchanting eyes: dark as thunder sometimes, but a pale chestnut colour at others. She's thin, agile, obviously trusted by Merlin, and knows how to handle weapons."
"How do you know all this?"
"I watched them when they met once. She was a representative of Merlin. Tristan was my representative. Merlin and I talked for hours, but those two never took their eyes off each other, or said a word to each other, until the end."
"Was that their first meeting?"
Arthur shrugged. "I don't think so, but I don't know when they'd have met otherwise."
"Tristan's always off on his own," Lancelot pointed out.
"True," Arthur conceded. "But don't worry about them. They're both too sensible to do anything foolish."
"You're not going to say anything to him? Lancelot asked curiously.
"Why should I?" Arthur was genuinely surprised. "He has decided not to tell us for a reason, and I trust him well enough to make that choice."
Lancelot sighed slightly. "But…?"
"No," Arthur said, more firmly this time. "You are not going to go sticking your overly long nose in where it doesn't concern you."
"Do I have a long nose?" Lancelot asked in a hurt voice, tugging at the offending body part thoughtfully.
Arthur laughed, and shook his head in mock despair.
A/N – there you go guys! A nice long chapter to compensate for the last one being so short. Again, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Slowly my ideas are beginning to come together over what's happening to my hero and heroine (!), well, Tristan's not exactly mine, but what wouldn't I give for him! Sorry, quietly drooling all over my keyboard. What was I saying…? Oh yeah, one thing – do you think I should brush over their separation, and get them to meet up in the next chapter or so, with that wonderfully useful tagline –two years later, or should I write bits about them during their separation? I know that there's at least one, maybe two chapters that I have to write about Alennia before they can meet up again, but I'm not sure whether I should stretch that out even further. Please give your ideas! I live on them : )