a/n: Long, long chapter. Please review, b/c I need it! Thanks for reading!

In Limbo

Tristan jolted awake when he hit the ground. Wearily, he opened his eyes. He was in his room, by his bed and staring at someone's feet. Tristan looked up. Ortegius towered over him.

"Get up. Germanius wants you downstairs," he said. Tristan suppressed a groan and tried to push himself off the floor. His arms wouldn't respond though. They were tied behind his back. Ortegius sighed and rolled his eyes. He grabbed Tristan by the elbow, wrenching the scout up to his feet. The soldier pushed him ahead, and it took all the strength Tristan could muster to walk straight.

It was day now, and judging by the harshness of the sun it was near noon. Tristan stumbled down the stairs. He leaned against the wall to steady himself, but Ortegius just pushed him along. Tristan tripped and fell down a few stairs, landing at the base.

He groaned before he could stop himself. The fall just aggravated the soreness throughout his body. His limbs felt strained.

"Nice of you to join us," he heard Germanius said.

"Tristan!"

He looked up sharply, recognizing the voice. Suddenly Tristan felt ashamed, beaten and on the floor in front of Arthur. Galahad, Gawain and Bors all wore shocked expressions, and before his eyes he could see them changing to rage.

"I was just telling the British King about our arrangement," Germanius said. Tristan glared at the man. "About your services in exchange for your life which I saved."

Arthur stepped forward, jabbing a finger in the bishop's face.

"You said you hadn't seen him," he said. "You granted his freedom already. How can you take it away now?"

Germanius feigned innocence. Tristan had to look away before he got sick.

"I assure you Tristan is here quite willingly."

Tristan glanced at the man sharply. Beside him, Ortegius stepped forward, kicking Tristan slightly in the ribs. Arthur drew his sword and held it at the soldier's throat.

"Willingly?" he repeated. "And yet you beat him! I am not a fool, Germanius!"

The bishop smiled evilly. "No, you are not. Perhaps you should know what your knight has become." He motioned to Ortegius.

Ortegius grabbed Tristan by the back of the shirt and dragged him to a table. He pushed Tristan so he bowed over the table. The soldier ripped the scout's shirt at the collar, and Tristan felt the air hit his exposed shoulder—specifically his right shoulder. He shut his eyes.

Arthur gasped. "No," he said. He recognized what it was, but the knights looked to one another.

"What is it?" Bors asked.

"Yes," Germanius said, ignoring the question. "He became an assassin. It is I who saved him from execution. He is repenting, Arthur."

Tristan's stomach churned. The bishop was better at lying than the devil himself. He wanted to deny it, to shout out what really happened. But Tristan wasn't foolish. Arthur and the knights were sitting ducks here—they would be killed if they resisted at all.

"Tristan," he heard Arthur say. His voice was gentle, as if he were speaking to a child. "Is this true?"

From how the question was asked, Tristan knew Arthur didn't believe it. Germanius's eyes bore into his back. The scout tried to open his mouth but the lies couldn't come.

"Please, Arthur," he managed to croak out. "Leave."

Arthur didn't say anything. Tristan's body was tense. He hoped his commander would just do as he pleaded, without question. Instead, he heard the rustle of Arthur's clothing as he knelt by Tristan. He shot a warning look to Ortegius, who backed away enough so Tristan's body wasn't pressed into the short table.

"Tristan," he said again. The scout's heart pounded against his chest, in conjunction with his lungs rapidly expanding and contracting. He didn't dare look at Arthur; instead, his eyes remained focused on the floor.

The silence between them spanned far too long, but Tristan knew how to be quiet, and how silence itself was an answer. It was enough of one here for Arthur to give up.

He got to his feet, whirling around to Germanius again.

"Rome will not stand for this, Germanius," he challenged. "I will go to the Senate myself—"

"The Senate?" Germanius interrupted. "What—you, the leader of a foreign nation, to demand something of a country not your own?" He scoffed shamelessly. "It won't change a thing, Arthur. Tristan is in my servitude by choice."

Arthur jerked at the word. He looked again to Tristan.

"Then he should have the choice to leave," he said. Tristan's stomach dropped. No, Arthur. This wouldn't go anywhere good. Germanius was probably ready with a dozen men, waiting to kill Arthur. The bishop grinned and looked down on Tristan. He waved at him to rise. Tristan tried to balance himself even with his arms tied behind his back. He staggered, wavering a bit, and Arthur caught him by the elbow.

"Release him," Arthur hissed. Tristan didn't want to think about what he looked like, so beaten and restrained. He even felt crusted blood over his face, but he wasn't sure from what. It all felt worse with his former comrades as witnesses.

Germanius ignored Arthur. "Tristan, do you want to leave?" His dark beady eyes bore into the scout. Tristan tried not to sneer at the man. There is no choice. He shook his head.

"There, you see?" Germanius started. Arthur held up a hand.

"Tristan," he said, "I want to hear it from you. This is your chance!"

Tristan stared at Arthur. Was he so naïve to believe it was that simple? There was no chance here for him, and yet Arthur would wave it in his face. No, the scout thought. You know your answer, even if it denies you freedom while they enjoy it.

"I'm staying," he whispered. Arthur took a step back.

"What!" Bors yelled fiercely. Gawain clenched his fists.

"Tristan, no—"

"Come back with us!" Galahad said. Despite himself, Tristan cocked his head to the side. He and Galahad had never really gotten along well. It was odd to hear him now, after all their fights and goading. Tristan swallowed.

He shook his head, tossing his braids and hair in front of his eyes.

"There, you see?" Germanius said. "He's made his decision. And now I must ask you to leave." The bishop stepped towards the entrance and motioned to it. "You have created enough disturbance for one day, Arthur."

Arthur just glared at Germanius. Tristan felt his body tighten with the tension. Just go, he thought over and over again. And finally, Arthur moved to leave. But his eyes stayed on Germanius, warning him without words.

"We're leaving?" Galahad asked in surprise. Arthur's eyes softened as they laid on Tristan, and hardened again as they went back to Germanius.

"For now."

Tristan looked at the ground. He didn't dare move his eyes away from it. The shame he felt consumed him, even though his mind told him that this was best, a nobler cause and sacrifice. Yet being at Germanius's mercy ate at him. This is the only way. He heard the retreating footsteps of the knights. His heart sped up as his mind kept running in circles.

Call to them!

No, he told himself. No. Not this time.

Before he could waver further, Ortegius seized him by the neck. Tristan choked once as the soldier forced him towards the table, so hard and so fast that he lifted Tristan by the neck and slammed him on the table top. The scout groaned; his arms were twisted, bound behind his back, as he was forced to lay on them. Ortegius didn't care, and from the corner of his eye he saw Germanius smile and come to his side.

"I know what you're thinking, scout," he said. His lip snarled up, but Tristan tried to concentrate on breathing. Ortegius held him by the neck still as he lay face up. Tristan bucked under the hold, the pressure greater and greater on his throat. He arched his back and kicked out, more just to find some relief than to be defensive.

He gagged on his own throat.

"You think your friends are safe. Maybe you think they will come for you again," he said. Tristan immediately disliked where the bishop was going with this.

"I – didn't—" Tristan coughed and tried to speak between the mounting pressure over his neck. Ortegius grinned down at him.

"I'll have them all killed, Tristan," Germanius said. "All of them. If you tell them anything, or try to leave, it will be over."

Tristan kicked out again with his feet. They slid off the table. Orteguis laughed quietly, and in Germanius's voice he could hear laughter. Tristan tried to move his arms, to push himself up and break away from the chokehold Ortegius had on him.

The Roman soldier squeezed harder on his throat. Tristan opened his mouth, trying in vain to get some air. He shut his eyes as dark spots appeared in his vision.

"Do you understand, Tristan?" he heard Germanius say somewhere. He couldn't think about replying. Suddenly Ortegius released him. Tristan fell awkwardly back against the table. He tried to take a breath, but Ortegius hit him in the chest. He coughed and sputtered, rolling to the side as he tried to suck in air. The air wouldn't come though. He gasped, his mouth agape and his eyes wide in panic.

Germanius merely watched him. "Do you understand?" he asked again, this time with more disdain. Tristan shut his eyes and heaved against the floor. He tried to nod, anything to avoid more from the bishop and Ortegius. The blackness crept in, filling his vision more and more.

He shut his eyes and gave a final nod before passing out.

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Germanius's estate emanated waves of tension in the air. Decia felt it immediately as she stepped foot on the grounds. She trusted her instincts and moved ahead with caution.

A servant led her to the bishop, who poured over books in his study. He looked up with alarm and then delight when he recognized her.

"Decia Quintas," he greeted. His voice sounded cheerful but forced. Decia tilted her head slowly to the side.

"Bishop Germanius," she said with a nod. "I've come to buy your guard's services for the night." The man flinched at the word 'services,' no doubt suspecting the most lascivious thing possible.

Germanius leaned back in his chair, letting the pages of his book flutter and losing his place. "No," he said. "Tristan is . . . in need of some reflection tonight. He has disobeyed me."

Decia sighed dramatically. "I'll pay you double my usual price, Germanius."

The bishop swallowed awkwardly and shifted in his seat. He shook his head.

"He is unwell," he tried. "And I've had to bind him in his room." Decia rose an eyebrow over her delicate features. Slowly she showed a sly grin.

"Really?" she said. "Even better." She reached into her robes and removed a heavy purse. Without any consideration of rejection, she tossed it so it landed with a loud thud on Germanius's desk. The bishop eyed it greedily.

And he said nothing. Decia turned from him with a wave at her servants to stay behind. She ascended the stairs to Tristan's chambers.

A Roman soldier was outside the chambers. Decia waved him off as well. He blinked but moved away without question. She loved the power she had over men.

Decia let herself in and shut the door behind her. There was no light, no fires lit, just the natural moonlight that faintly spilled in from the balcony. She stepped quietly, listening to the stillness. She could almost feel the scout watching her, but from where she wasn't sure. He had to be, though—it was his nature.

She weaved her way through the room, coming to his bed, but it was empty. Perplexed, she went closer, as if he would suddenly appear in the dark. Yet again, nothing. Decia huffed and continued her search. The bathroom was empty, the stone benches unattended, and seemingly everywhere there was no Tristan.

The lady sighed. She ran a hand over her robes, smoothing out the fabric and feeling the silky softness of it. The hand moved up to her hair, tweaking it next. She drew a deep breath.

Something scuffed out on the balcony. Decia tilted her head to the side. She quickly went to the balcony. Her foot hit something as she stepped into the night air. Decia gave a small yelp, and at her feet was Tristan. He groaned and shifted away from her.

"Watch where you're going," he mumbled. His hands were tied in front of him, and his feet were bound as well. He was lying on his back on the stone balcony floor, his eyes closed except for a brief peering look at Decia.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a gasp.

"It's my room."

Decia sighed, frustrated. "I meant on the balcony." Tristan shrugged, making his tied hands rise a bit.

"It feels better out here," he said. He sat up slowly, and even though it was dark, Decia could see him grimace. But he made himself do it, and scooted back against a wall. Soft bluish light from the moon revealed little, but she could tell he was hurting. There were patches of discoloration on his face. His tunic was torn, and she saw bruises where his skin was exposed. She frowned in disgust.

Germanius.

That was one thing that separated them. Germanius used force, while Decia knew there were . . . other ways to getting what she wanted. Persuasion. Coercion. Simply proper motivation is all it took . . .

She blinked the thoughts from her mind and studied Tristan.

"Why don't you free yourself?" she asked, a nod at the ropes around his appendages. Again the scout just shrugged.

"They just put them back on," he justified. "Might as well save me some trouble anyway."

That certainly wasn't what she expected. What happened to the silent defiance and flare that the scout used to have? Germanius was drowning him, killing that spark. And yet, Tristan was ever mysterious and intriguing. Decia's eyes wandered over his body, lingering on the bruises and moving over the scrapes.

"Are you hurt?" she asked directly. Tristan didn't even flinch at the slight concern. He turned his head to look through the spaces between the balcony's stone railing, out over the estate. The shapes of the grand edifices of Rome stood out further in the night.

He didn't say anything. It might as well have been that Decia didn't ask the question. She suppressed a sigh and knelt down next to him.

She began to prod him, rubbing her fingers over his bruises. He flinched once, but then seemed to turn to stone as she continued. Her hands slid to his chest, over his shoulders and down the sculpted definition of his muscles. She thought she felt him shudder . . .

"Why are you here?" Tristan asked. His voice was barely above a whisper. Decia smiled, her lips turning up gracefully and softly. It bordered on compassion, and she was fine with that.

"Don't you want someone to look after you?" she asked teasingly. Tristan's muscles tensed visibly, and he pressed his body against the wall behind him. Decia laughed quietly to herself.

"Arthur sent me," she said. Tristan straightened up. "He knows you are hiding something and that the bishop is lying. He begs to know the truth, so that he may help you."

Was it just a breeze that caused it, or did he flinch when she said the word 'help'? The Sarmatian turned his eyes to his bound hands.

"Tell Arthur he must return to Britain at once," he said. His voice was as steel. "He should not waste any time or thought on me."

Decia smiled again. She knew it—yes, Tristan was protecting something, someone, but Arthur was blind to see who. The scout's insistence on Arthur returning gave it away. Germanius threatened Tristan's last link to his old life, his freedom—the knights. How interesting.

She hadn't thought Tristan would attach himself to anyone, but he was indeed noble. The warrior within him demanded honor, and it was manifested subtly despite his cool exterior.

He was watching her, observing her quiet thoughts. His eyes narrowed at her, not to threaten but to understand.

"What?" he asked. Decia shook her head.

"How did it happen?" she asked. "I know Germanius forced you into this. But how did he get past the fierce warrior?" His features hardened again. When he didn't answer, Decia cleared her throat. "Arthur won't leave when he knows you're protecting him."

He looked away, and through the darkness he saw him draw a slow breath through his mouth.

"Then don't tell him anything."

"I've barely met him, yet I know that would only fuel him," she said. "How did it happen?"

Tristan bit down on his lip. At first he shook his head, but he opened his mouth to give an answer. "Germanius interfered when I was fighting a Saxon," he said.

"Interfered?"

The knight sighed and looked away. "He stopped the Saxon from killing me." Decia opened her mouth to ask another question, but stopped herself. She remained silent, her eyes feasting upon Tristan, pressing him without words. It was a technique she knew would bother him.

Finally he turned to her, looking directly into her eyes. Decia felt her heart's pace increase and with it, a delightful sensation of excitement went through her.

"The Saxon got past me," he said in a rush of words. "I was hurt—enough so when I woke up, the battle was over, and Germanius had me."

Decia could almost see it. And it amused her—the gall of Germanius! Right on the battlefield, right under the noses of the other knights! If Arthur knew. . .

She tried to hide her amusement. The whole thing was unfortunate for the scout, and she didn't fault him or think him weak for even being captured. Perhaps it was luck anyway, because he was here now.

Decia raised her hand gently. Her eyes stayed on Tristan, staring back into his intimidating eyes, through those messy braids. She touched one of them, pushing it to the side. Her fingertips brushed his skin, but he didn't move. He just watched.

Inside, she felt encouraged. But she hid that. She dropped her hand slowly, her long fingers barely caressing his face, down his neck, and finally nothing but air. She raised her hand again, and brushed away some more hair. Her movements repeated, tracing lightly down his face. Tristan closed his eyes.

She could hear him breathe out. His shoulders dropped, and he actually looked relaxed for once. He never looked more inviting or handsome. Decia slid her body closer to him. He didn't flinch this time.

His lips, thin but delicious, parted slightly as he breathed. How wonderful they must taste. Decia leaned into him. Her body pressed into his, gently though since she knew he was sore. His eyes moved beneath his lids, but he didn't move away. Decia took it as acceptance.

She kissed him slowly. Her eyes closed as she savored the feel. All thoughts but one ceased in her mind: more. She deepened the kiss, pressing against his lips more fervently. His mouth moved against hers, pushing back into her passion. Though he wasn't as enthused, he did respond—and that was plenty for her.

It couldn't have lasted long enough for Decia. It might have gone on for a mere second or an hour, but she yearned for more regardless. Tristan, though, pulled away. He looked down at his hands, trying his best to keep his eyes from her. Something about it was adorable, and Decia leaned in to kiss him again.

"Tell Arthur he should leave quickly," Tristan said, cutting off a second, long kiss. He kept his eyes away from hers, and stared off into the night. The dismissal made Decia's blood flow quickly, and she felt the heat of rejection burn her skin.

But just as quickly as it spread throughout her, she bit back every remark she wanted to utter, every reaction, and just stood.

"Good night, Tristan," she said. It took every ounce of composure in her. She turned away, but stopped herself. With a seductive look back at him, Decia leaned down to him and cupped his chin in her hand. She brushed her thumb over his tattooed cheek and gave him a small smile.

And then she left. There was much to be done.