a/n: Thank you very much for the reviews! I'm quite pleased. I'd love to receive them steadily!
Just thought about some reviews/comments: The point was raised about Tristan maybe talking too much. As much as he's seen as the silent knight, he's actually communicative when he needs to be. I don't seem him as a chatterbox, but he'll speak when necessary or when it suits his purposes. The movie only gives us so much to go on, and realistically, I've taken my view of the character and developed what could remain to be seen. That goes for more than his speech, and includes his behavior as well. I hope you all aren't disappointed. :o) I appreciate the feedback—it helps me as I continue to write!
Fallen or Not
Hadrian's Wall was getting back in order. The Woads and knights and townspeople worked hard to clean up the city, after the battle and after the Roman influence. For Arthur, it was hardly a difficult change.
After years of worshipping the city of his heritage, he woke up from the dream. He didn't hate Rome. But he certainly no longer desired to go there. No, he knew his destiny now. And he wanted to stay and build the city of his dreams, where people were equal, and peace could thrive.
The relative peace that was established still had its ghosts. Dagonet and Lancelot were dead, and Tristan . . . well, no one was sure.
"I still think he's alive," Galahad muttered over a mug of ale. Gawain grunted next to him. Surprisingly, he didn't have a mug of his own, but it was mid-day. The knights rested for lunch before going back to the work the city demanded.
"You're holding onto hope, boy," Bors grumbled before stuffing a chunk of chicken in his mouth. Arthur glanced at the youngest knight, seeing the familiar steaming rage on his face. A clap of Gawain's hand on his back made Galahad forget Bor's words.
Arthur stared into his mug. His reflection in the drink rippled back to him, and all Arthur saw was doubt. He sighed to himself.
"Why the long faces?" came a fresh voice. It was Vanora, balancing a baby on her hip and a tray in her hand. She passed the tray to Bors, who distributed a fresh plate of bread and drinks.
The men just grunted in response, Arthur included. Vanora chuckled.
"Well, I would think you'd want to see a familiar face." She pointed behind them to the roof top. The men quickly turned, and Arthur felt hope rise within him as he stood.
The squawk of a bird drew their attention up to the roof. For a moment, disappointment washed over them, but Arthur suddenly realized what they saw.
"Tristan's hawk," he said aloud. Bors, Gawain and Galahad stood by him, watching the scout's bird.
"I wonder where she's been," Gawain said. Suddenly, the bird left the roof and soared in a circle over the tavern square. Arthur's heart lurched for some reason, and his curiosity peaked as the bird circled twice and cried out.
The cries were loud, drawing attention. The bird was normally quiet and stealthy, much like Tristan. Abruptly, it changed course, and headed south.
Arthur frowned. He didn't want to see the bird go—it was a link, a remembrance of the scout. As if sensing this, or so Arthur thought, the bird halted and circled twice more. Again it cried out, and headed south.
Arthur exchanged looks with his men.
"Anyone feel like a ride?"
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Germanius swore something very un-Christian-like as he saw the riders approaching. Not only were they riders, but the bishop recognized the stance and form of the leader.
Arthur. He hissed an order to his favorite soldier, Ortegius.
"Shoot them if they interfere." He had no doubt that the soldiers would obey the order. Some of them knew Arthur, but their loyalties lay with Rome. Plus, the bishop's personal contingent of soldiers would make sure there wasn't even thought of dissension.
Germanius turned his horse to fall back to the wagon.
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Arthur realized following the bird probably wasn't the wisest thing, but something in his heart told him to keep it up. After a good two days of hard riding and trailing the hawk, they actually came upon something.
The hawk uttered a final cry and veered off as the caravan came into view.
The knights looked to each other, and continued forward. From the side of a wagon came Germanius, a man none of the knights liked. Even so, Arthur rode to the lead to meet the man.
The bishop waved with a smile.
"Arthur! You live!" he exclaimed. Arthur didn't believe the concern, but plastered a grim smile on his face in return.
"Bishop," he said with a nod as he slowed his horse down.
"You won the battle?" Germanius asked. Arthur nodded. He sensed his knights behind him.
"But not without casualties," he said. He felt his blood run quicker but willed himself to remain calm. "We lost Lancelot."
Germanius clasped his hands in front of him in some semblance of reverence.
"I am sorry to hear that, my friend."
The word 'friend' grated at Arthur. His teeth ground against each other. How he hated this man. He didn't think himself capable of feeling that way, but after so much death and misery, he wasn't above it.
"Tristan is missing as well," Arthur said, moving past the hate for now. "Have you seen anything?"
Germanius frowned and shook his head. "Nothing. Our travels have been quite peaceful."
"How quaint," Galahad muttered under his breath. Arthur shot a glance over his shoulder.
"Arthur," Gawain called out. He motioned for him to fall back with the knights for a moment, and Arthur did. The knights maneuvered their horses side by side, but their eyes never left the caravan.
"Something's fishy," Bors said.
"What if he killed Tristan?" Galahad hypothesized, his eyes fiery. Arthur laid a hand on his arm.
"Calm yourselves," he said. "We don't know if Tristan came here or somewhere further along this path."
"You're the one having us follow the bird," Galahad muttered. Arthur shot him a look.
"Look around," he said, pulling on the reigns. "And knights—be polite."
He didn't have much hope that they'd obey that, but he at least tried. Arthur turned back to Germanius.
"Bishop, tell me about Rome," he said, falling into line with Germanius on his horse. From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Bors, Galahad and Gawain fan out around the caravan.
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Tristan couldn't breathe, not with the Roman sitting on top of him. They'd gagged him, cut the ropes that tied him and thrown him to the wagon floor, and then they'd thrown a sheet over him. As added disguise, a soldier sat on him, as if he were a crate or supplies.
He tried to move, only to be rewarded with a jab to his ribs. Tristan grunted, and again was hit.
"Stay silent, scout, or the knights die," the soldier hissed.
Knights?They were here! Tristan at first started to struggle, but after repeated hits, he stilled. His chest heaved hard, trying to take in air with the weight of the lazy Roman on him.
He turned his attention to the noises outside the wagon. Horses danced around, galloping up the caravan line and back. He heard them circle around each wagon and cart.
He could utter a muffled cry, but something he heard disturbed him. It was that sound he knew in his sleep. The stretching of a bowstring, notching an arrow, and then silence as one took aim.
Tristan froze. Germanius wasn't bluffing. He would kill the knights. Every soldier was probably on edge, waiting for the command. The foreign sense of helplessness came over the scout. He had no choice.
The soldier swore as a horse and knight sounded near him. The bow and arrow dropped to the floor and was kicked to the side. Tristan wished he could get his hands on it, but that wasn't possible.
The horse snorted at the open end of the wagon, and Tristan knew it was a knight who sat atop it. How he wished he could see! The blasted sheet over his body prevented it.
"Eh," he heard a familiar voice say. It was low and mumbled. Gawain. "You seen our scout anywhere?"
Tristan felt the soldier on him shake his head. "No. Did he desert you all?" Tristan stiffened, even as he felt the man's heel scoot back harshly against his stomach.
Gawain never answered, but several moments later, Tristan heard him move away. Tristan shut his eyes, wanting to make this whole situation disappear like a nightmare. Again, he wished for death on that battlefield, even at the hands of a Saxon.
Arthur was speaking with Germanius about mundane Roman things, no doubt a ploy to distract the bishop as the knights searched the caravan. Search harder! Part of him wished for that. And part of him couldn't dare wish for that at the expense of another knight lost, or more than one.
It was maybe a few minutes more before the knights said goodbye and left. The fading sound of hooves galloping away depleted Tristan's hope.
It wasn't long after that when Germanius climbed into the wagon. Tristan could tell because of the dramatic sighs the man uttered. Immediately, the soldier moved away, and Tristan tore at the sheet. When he untangled himself from it, a sword was at his throat.
"Calm down, Tristan," Germanius said, the sword in hand. The scout, his hair tossed and scattered in his face, pulled away the gag and spat at the bishop's feet.
"Release me. I'll catch up with them," Tristan said, glaring at the man. He allowed his features to soften slightly. "I won't let them kill you either."
Germanius laughed openly. "I do not fear them, Tristan. Let them return, and I will cut them down." He stepped forward and backhanded Tristan. The scout saw it coming, but still fell on his side, wincing. He glared at Germanius and sat up.
"Bind him," Germanius ordered. The soldier moved forward and picked up the ropes that were cut. There was length enough left to tie him again, this time simply with his hands behind his back. The soldier bound his feet together too. He finished with a kick to Tristan's leg.
Germanius smirked at him. Tristan bit down on his tongue, pursing his lips together as well. The bishop turned to exit the wagon.
"Why are you taking me?" Tristan blurted out. He'd heard one answer before, but nothing that made sense to him. Germanius turned back, a gleam in his eyes.
"Rome is a difficult place, Tristan. You will make things easier there." That made little sense to Tristan, but that didn't stop him from glaring at the bishop. "You will begin to understand when we get there."
Germanius left him with the soldier, whom Tristan ignored. He scooted back so he leaned against the wagon's side. His side ached again, and he was feeling a little dizzy. He shut his eyes as his thoughts turned to the knights.