MedievalWarriorPrincess wouldn't you just have loved that apple to have hit him? lol! I know I would!I am thrilled that you are enjoying this story so much; I am having a lot of fun re-writing it! Thank you so very much, my friend!
Lucillaq LOL! Tristan a 'sorry mutt!' – So true, I love it! You have to feel a bit sorry for him though don't you? He's led such a loveless life, I guess he never really considered himself worthy of someone's genuine affection before and the poor lad certainly has no idea how to reciprocate it. Morwen12 Thank you so much, I'm working hard on getting these updates out as quickly as I can, I promise. I'm really touched that you like this tale.
Knightmaiden – Thank you too, so very much. I'm desperate for them to be together as well but you know that Tristan – he's so unpredictable!
A huge thank you and heart felt gratitude to you all for reading, my only hope is that you continue to enjoy it.
CHAPTER 3
Prue stood in the stiflingly heat of the kitchen, her back to the open door way, her head bowed in her hands. The tears fell readily, but silent upon her now ashen cheeks. As she wept, her sorrowful moment was broken by the sound of a familiar, deep and gentle voice
"Are you alright, Prue?"
Startled, Prue looked swiftly over her shoulder to see Dagonet stood there. His mighty frame filling the doorway and his huge hands held in front of him as he began rubbing the length of each of his fingers, in a rather shy and apprehensive manner that was so conflicting with his fiercely powerful stature.
"Forgive me, Dagonet," she replied, hastily wiping away the tears from her face. "I'm fine, honestly."
Prue immediately lowered her head and began shuffling around the bowls and plates on a large wooden table in a vain attempt to appear in a steady disposition.
But Dagonet was not fooled by the charade and seeing how pale and desolate she looked, he felt desperate to sweep her up into his arms and soothe away her demons. But the shy and hesitant nature that always became him when around this woman, held him fast to the place were he stood.
It was her very air of sadness that had drawn him to her all along. He had always held a natural and over whelming desire to care for and protect those in need. Although a fierce and brutal warrior in battle, he was also an incredibly noble and honourable man. A man of deep feeling who bore only too well, the visible and the unseen scars of torment left upon his kind and courageous heart - torment born from years of mindless conflict and slaughter.
Night after night he had sought her company, in the hope that with his gentle offer of friendship, he would be able to lift her spirit and ease the sorrow that so visibly shadowed her face.
It was never his intention, but over time, his concern and consideration for Prue had grown into an emotion far deeper and more loving than he ever would have expected.
Although she had never spoken of it to him, Dagonet was well aware that it was the agony of the unrequited love she held for his friend Tristan, that was the cause of her unhappiness. One look at the expression her eyes wore whenever the scout walked into the room told the whole story. Only a fool could be blind to such deep and intense emotion. He also knew Tristan was no fool and it was this knowledge that had made him feel somehow responsible; as though he was duty bound almost to make amends for his friend's shameful disregard and thus had impelled him to befriend her.
"Why do you allow him to do it, Prue?" Prue looked up sharply at the sound of Dagonet's question and still in a ridiculous attempt to hide her distress, replied hastily.
"I don't know what you're talking about Dag, really I don't" continuing her pointless clattering of dishes from one place to another as she spoke.
Dagonet sighed and considered his reply carefully. It was now or never. This was the moment he had waited for. If he didn't confront her now, he never would.
"You know of whom I speak, I am no fool Prue," his voice was steady and gentle as always but as he continued his tone began to rise "You lay your heart at his feet and he just tramples right over it. He is my brother Prue, I love him dearly but when I see how cruelly he throws your love back in your face I could just…"
"No Dagonet!" Prue stopped his rising words of anger immediately. She left the table and stepped quickly up to him, placing a hand high up on his chest beseechingly. "Do not speak so, I beg you. I will not stand here and let you speak of your friend that way. He did nothing to encourage my attention, nothing at all. God knows he has done everything but! My pain is of my own doing. You must not blame him!"
Dagonet instinctively gathered up the hand at his chest and enclosed it tightly within his own. He looked down at the pleading face staring up at him and longed to reach down, take it tenderly into his hands and kiss her tiny quivering mouth.
Fighting his need, he cleared his throat nervously and continued
"I know that your heart is a prisoner of another, Prue… and I know that I can never hope that you could ever love me as you do him, but….. your affection and respect, I know I do have and that would be enough for me if….."
"Dagonet, I…." he silenced her words quickly as he placed a gentle finger upon her trembling lips. With a long, deep swallow and an anxious intake of breath he persisted
"Please, you must let me speak now, my lady, or I may never again find courage enough to do so."
He took a moment of composure and went on "I would be a good man to you, Prue; you have my word and I have enough love for both of us. I know this scarred face of mine is hideous and..."
Prue reached up high and held his face, fresh tears now glistening in her eyes
"Dagonet, sweet Dagonet. Your face is not hideous, you are a fine man and one any woman would be proud to call their own."
Dagonet looked down sadly at Prue, wishing desperately that the words she would speak next would be the words of reciprocal love, but knowing they would not be.
"And I do love you, Dagonet…. but as a sister loves a brother. I can offer no more than that while Tristan holds my heart. I know he will never love me, but I still love him and it would be a cruel and wicked sin for me to deny it to you." Her tears began to flow; the pain she was causing him tearing at her soul.
Dagonet anxiously grabbed Prue's arms and pulled her closer. Her weight, nothing more than that of a feather in his giant's grasp.
"Do you think I don't know that!" he pleaded desperately "It is of no matter to me! I love you, Prue and in time your love for him will fade, I know it! I am a patient man and I will make you happy, I swear it!"
"But I will not make you happy! Do you truly believe you could lie by my side content and at peace knowing my love for Tristan still burns? NO! You would be wondering always 'is it him she thinks of as I hold her in my arms!'" She cried "I can not do that to you Dagonet. Jealousy is a demon that turns the most faithful of brothers into enemies and the dearest love into vileness. I can not live with that. You deserve so much better"
The tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to sob. "Do not hate me, Dagonet. You will find your lady some day. One worthy of your love. I only wish it could be me, but until I am free of him, I will not …..Can not, give my love to another."
Dagonet swiftly gathered her up into in his strong arms, unable to bear the sight of her tears, any longer. She went into their safety like a tiny lamb in to the arms of her shepherd. She felt him kiss her hair, just once, lightly and then heard the sigh of his heavy heart. They stayed this way for what seemed an eternity. Dagonet knowing this would be the last an only moment he would ever feel her heart beating next to his own - Prue, swimming in the comfort of his strong and loving arms - neither, wanting the moment to end.
"I understand, my lady." He breathed at length, refusing to relinquish his hold until the very last. "I will love and protect you always – as a brother – if it must be that way."
Defeated, he gave her one last embrace and then reluctantly set her tiny frame down. He stood and regarded her for a moment, a sad but understanding smile upon his face.
"I am honoured to have your friendship Prue…. I will strive always to keep it so"
"It is my honour, dear Dagonet and one I will cherish until I die." She replied, nothing more than a whisper. "You truly are the very best of men."
Dagonet then bowed and lightly brushed her hand with his lips. With a heavy heart he turned and left.
Prue stood and quietly wept.
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Tristan had had just about all he could take for one night. It was not so much the jesting of his comrades - that, he was used to - it was that damned woman again! Why did she always manage to creep under his skin? What was it about her?
Her last words weighed heavily on his mind. 'Filthy, heartless shell of a man' she'd called him. Was it any wonder really? And now he had pushed her straight into the arms of Dagonet.
As Tristan left the tavern that evening, leaving the cackling of his companions behind him, he stole a look through the kitchen doorway as he past. Knowing full well Dagonet had followed after Prue as she had stormed away.
What he witnessed as he glanced through, stopped him dead in his tracks. His tall friend was stood embracing Prue, his Prue! He could see her delicate arms encircled around Dagonet's waist as he held her tightly and he saw him bend low and kiss her hair.
Tristan's face grew terrifyingly dark and the muscles in his jaw flexed painfully as he ground his teeth in an attempt to stay the steadily growing rage within. He strode away quickly, grabbing a full flagon of ale that stood as if waiting just for him, on a nearby table as he passed by.
His pace quickened with every stride he took as he made his way in silent fury, across the court yard and up to the door of his quarters. Taking a long swallow from the ale flagon in his hand he threw open the wooden door, stepped into the dark and bare room then turned viscously and precisely and kicked it shut with a terrific crash which shook the whole building.
He stood completely still for a moment, the only movement being the rise and fall of his violent breath. The crash of the door still echoed in his head, he swallowed another mouthful from the flagon and then began to pace up & down the length of the small room looking ever more like a caged, stir crazy animal. He continued to drink as he went. He had never been a heavy drinker, he being a man who wanted always to be in command of his mind and body, but at this moment he welcomed the warm, woozy feeling of the brew as it began to take control.
Tristan wanted no one in his life, needed no one in his life. Emotions were for the weak minded, he always told himself. Emotions caused distractions that a warrior, such as he, could ill afford on the battle field.
He had been alone for as long as he could remember and it suited him that way. Any memories of a loving mother and family, long since gone - had been suppressed and locked firmly away, deep inside the darkest recess of his agonized soul long, long ago and there it had stayed.
But pain and loss have a way of their own to break free from time to time and even Tristan was not unfamiliar with the experience of the terrors of the night. Sometimes he would wake, heart pounding, sweat pouring from his brow, trembling from the fear of some unknown demons lurking deep down in his sub-conscious.
Recently though, he had taken to awakening in the dead of night with a different beat in his heart. Sometimes confused, always aroused. He knew secretly, it was thoughts of her that crept into his dreams and stirred his hunger.
Despite his fellow knights' jests about his lack of female company, Tristan was by no means a stranger to partaking of the relief a whore could give a man. To Tristan it was nothing more than a way to satisfy a natural frustration. The act itself was always cold and emotionless. No intimacy, no warm caresses, no kiss. He felt nothing but the expected and welcome release. Just the way he wanted it.
It was no secret that he was far from being a favourite among the prostitutes of the community. They found him a little disturbing and unnatural. The only reason they took his money was the simple fact that it was quick and effortless but they all still breathed a sigh of relief when he left.
But this woman made him feel. It was unnerving and Tristan was beginning to wonder what was happening to him. Why did he wake in the night feeling want and desire? Why did he feel the need to touch her so badly? What in Hell's name was she doing to him?
'She's a brassy one, I'll give her that!' he thought often to himself. No one had ever dared to confront him as she always did. But that was it, wasn't it? When he looked in her eyes he never saw the usual uneasiness, fear or loathing. Her eyes had always sparkled and it had made him feel so good.
He had no idea how long he had stalked the floor of his tiny quarters that night. Ranting away to himself - his rage and fury rising more and more with every step. But his head was throbbing mercilessly as he stopped and threw the now empty flagon furiously against the wall where it shattered angrily to the floor.
He leant forward now, against the wooden door, his whole weight borne on his outstretched arms and his head hung low between his shoulders. He was silent but for the heavy rise and fall of his breath. Thoughts of her were driving him insane, the alcohol swimming through his veins loosening his normally steadfast control. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest and tiny beads of sweat began to trickle down his tense, angry features. She despised him now. He had seen it in her last look and it gave him such pain.
He imagined them together - she and Dagonet - kissing each other, bodies entwined in a passionate embrace that he would never know. He felt the powerful throb of his mind and thought it about to explode.
"Damn you, DAMN YOU TO HELL!" He yelled, punching wildly at the wooden door.
Blood began to seep from his swollen knuckles as he grabbed the latch and flung open the door. He had to escape the stifling confines of his desolate room. He couldn't breathe, he had to get out. He didn't know where he was going, somewhere, anywhere! He breathed in deeply the warm night air as his head spun wildly from the alcohol. The hour was very late and all was quiet in the courtyard. As he wiped his dampened forehead with his sleeve Tristan saw the low, fading glow of the tavern torches across the way. It seemed deserted now, but for a split second he thought he saw a shadow pass across the open kitchen doorway. His eyes rested once again on the dying glow of the torches and they seemed to be beckoning to him, calling his name….
He stood quiet for a moment; absently lifting his wounded hand to his mouth, he tasted the sweet blood that lay there, running a moist tongue deliberately across his lips as he did so, all the while never once taking his eyes from the torch light ahead.
Slowly, like a moth to a flame, he made his way towards their bidding light…..