a/n: First off, I should only post on weekends, because the response was amazing! Thanks so much for the reviews! I love it! And one note: I know some of you have commented that Tristan wouldn't have survived his battle wounds as seen in the movie. I agree. But I never described it as being as deep or serious—not fatal. Anyway, just so you know. Please keep reviewing! This was an especially hard chapter to write.

Plotting

Arthur's continuous pacing was getting on everyone's nerves. He knew this, but he wasn't about to stop. He had too much on his mind. The sun was up, burning high in the heavens. It was late. She should have been back by now.

Perhaps he should have felt bad or worried for Decia Quintas—sending her in with a message from him was risky, especially right in Germanius's estate, under his very nose. But Arthur couldn't find any such sentiments in his heart. Something prevented it—maybe even the overriding outrage about Tristan's condition.

"We should just have killed him there," Bors said aloud. It came from nowhere, but yet each knight knew was he was talking about. Arthur had felt that rush within himself, that heated blaze of anger for justice. How much he wanted to run Germanius through with Excalibur.

But he didn't. Not after what Tristan confessed. But that even was bizarre, no matter how much Tristan was good at and liked to kill before. He was just a great warrior, a perfect knight in battle. Would he really become an assassin? Why? Why run from Britain

Why stay with Germanius as his slave? The very word of servitude caused Arthur to clench his fists.

"Here she comes," Gawain announced. Arthur looked up; sure enough, Decia strode towards them, her head high. Arthur felt his heart harden. Something about this woman . . .

Galahad leapt down from a stone wall he sat upon, landing in front of Decia eagerly.

"You've seen him?" he asked. Decia smiled sweetly and gave a nod. She turned to Arthur, though, and her face suddenly became grave.

"But he will not come," she went ahead and said. It hit Arthur hard, but he waited for her to continue. "He wouldn't reveal anything but he insisted that you leave as quickly as possible."

Arthur frowned.

"Insisted?" he repeated. He'd never seen Tristan insist on anything—it seemed too expressive for him.

Decia nodded. She opened her mouth to say something more, but then hesitated. Arthur wondered why. "Arthur," she started, "I think it is for you that he stays."

The tall Roman took a step back.

"Germanius has threatened you, and your men—and I think if Tristan does anything, the bishop will kill you all." Decia looked to each man, and Arthur knew the bewilderment he felt showed openly. The words repeated in his mind.

And then anger followed. Arthur clenched his fists. The very thought that Tristan was . . .

And for them! Suffering, when--

Arthur whirled around and smacked a vase, sending it flying across the room. As it shattered, the knights snapped out of their own raging thoughts.

Bors yelled, a mighty and dangerous shout to the wind. Galahad placed his hands on his hips and started to pace, and Gawain stood somewhat blankly, still processing it all. Arthur looked to them.

"We will not leave him to suffer, not while we live free!"

The men nodded to him. Arthur didn't see Decia behind him, smiling at the resolution.

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Germanius swirled the wine within his goblet, studying it dumbly. It wasn't the liquid that held his attention so raptly so much as what Decia Quintas told him that afternoon.

The sun was setting, and Germanius knew he had little time. Even so, he didn't hurry. Arthur would be careful, whatever he was planning, and caution could not be hastened.

So Arthur plans to free Tristan. He thought some trouble might come because of the scout. Decia confirmed it. Never before had he been grateful for the woman's mischievous ways, but he certainly was now. But Tristan was another matter. The threats clearly affected him. And judging by Decia's words, he wasn't fighting his duty with Germanius.

Perhaps that is what he needs now. Tristan needed to get back to life—he needed another assignment.

Suddenly an idea came to his mind. The bishop grinned as the pieces fell into place. There was a plan of action without violence—not that he abhorred that, but he would give this a chance first. Especially if it would alienate the scout from his comrades.

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He waited for darkness as usual, not because of the cover but because he didn't want light now. Tristan felt numb as he moved through the Roman streets, going to his next target's home. How he hated this.

But he couldn't bring himself to care enough. Or maybe he cared too much. Either way, he had a job to do. As he melded with the shadows and crept closer to the target's home, Tristan wondered where Arthur was now. Had his former commander moved on? Did he leave?

He hoped so. But if he knew for certain that Arthur left, Tristan could already feel bitterness about it. His mind waged war with his heart, hoping for . . . help—such a foreign thing for him to accept, but yet he wanted it. He hated this life.

Tristan climbed up a garden lattice. It creaked somewhat, but at this hour of night, it didn't matter. He reached a balcony of the home, and entered there. A sigh escaped his lips. His assignment was especially demanding this time—not on his skills but on his conscience.

"Kill everyone in the household," Germanius had said. Killing the man of the house, maybe a servant or two, was one thing, but everyone . . .

Tristan drew his dagger, holding it tightly with the blade pointing down and behind him. He moved quietly through the home, his footsteps only padding slightly on the hard and bare floors. All the night torches and lanterns were extinguished, making it both easier and harder for Tristan.

The scout stepped cautiously into the hallway, and headed down to some bedchambers. He shut his eyes briefly before entering one. The door made no noise. Tristan's pace didn't falter. He moved evenly to the bedside, and held the knife ready to slice across—

Suddenly the target moved. He whipped out something to block Tristan's knife, and then kicked Tristan in the chest. The scout grunted, but dove for the man. He had to do this, and quickly before someone heard. They collided, with Tristan's force shoving the man onto the floor. There was a tangle of arms and sloppy hits as Tristan tried to finish the job.

The man fighting for his life yelled out ferociously as he hurled Tristan off. Tristan stumbled back, sliding across the ground to slam against the door.

Run! This was too loud—any surprise was gone, and he couldn't succeed. In the darkness, Tristan saw the figure stand, and he took the moment to get to his feet as well. He yanked open the door and ran down the hall.

Feet pounded around him, behind him and below. Tristan scrambled around a corner and charged ahead. He knew there was a railing, separating the hall from the open ground floor. The outline of it came into view. He jumped and braced his hand on the railing, vaulting over it. A jolt of panic hit him as he realized he didn't know what he would land on.

It ended up being a table. Tristan bit his tongue as his feet plunged into the table, shattering it into splinters. He fell onto his back. The noise overall was deafening—not just to his ears, but to his mind, where he knew he'd utterly failed in stealth.

And failed in general. The bishop—how would he react to Tristan's failure? Who would pay for it? Tristan shook away the thoughts along with the splinters of wood.

He was on his feet again, running to the outside gardens when something sliced his arm just above his left elbow. It spun his body a bit, making him stumble. His fingers clawed at the injury, finding blood. Suddenly an arrow landed by his feet. Tristan shot a glare over his shoulder at the pursuing dark figures, who should have been dead by now if it weren't for his clumsiness.

"Hold there!" someone shouted ahead of him. Tristan whirled around to see a contingent of Roman soldiers. He tripped over his feet, and slid as he hit the ground.

"Don't move!"

"Halt!"

"Kill him!"

"Wait!"

The voices swirled over Tristan. His heart sped up faster and faster, hurting with each pound against his chest. Someone lit a few torches, and the light, even though it wasn't bright, made Tristan squint. The soldiers surrounded him, nudging him with their boots.

Why are they here?

And then he saw Arthur. Bors. Galahad. Gawain. Out of breath. Stunned.

Hurt.

And furious.

"We've been on alert about an assassin that escaped, sir," one of the soldiers said. "We heard the shouts."

Tristan's breath was short. His mouth felt dry. He started to shake his head, but the warning in his mind told him to do nothing. Germanius.

A trap.

A warning.

It was all too clear for Tristan.

"Tristan," Arthur started, shaking his head. The look on his face was confused. He seemed so lost. "Why . . ."

"No. . . ." That was Galahad.

A soldier held the tip of his sword to Tristan's throat. "On your feet."

Several pairs of hands seized him. They hauled him to his feet. Tristan hardly noticed. His eyes only saw the infinite sadness in the knights. The image burned itself into his memory. It remained with him.

Even as he was knocked unconscious and dragged from the house.

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"He wasn't himself," Arthur said aloud. It was the third time he'd said that.

"You're trying to convince yourself," Bors growled. "He almost killed Gawain!" Gawain tensed visibly, and that primal anger started to show again.

"No," Arthur said, "there has to be a reason. Tristan wouldn't . . . he wouldn't—"

"He pushed us away, Arthur," Galahad said hotly. "He told you to leave, and it's obvious to everyone now that he harbors some ill will to us! He tried to kill Gawain, as he slept. The coward!"

Gawain spun on one heel and pushed Galahad.

"Shut up, Galahad!" he shouted. The other men grew more and more tense, and Galahad looked like he would retaliate, until Gawain turned away and began pacing. He chewed on his thumbnail, just thinking.

Gawain had never been one for too many words, like Tristan, although mainly that was because he drowned himself in ale. Nor was he the fiery one—there were plenty of hot tempers among the men. He usually didn't add to them. But he held everyone's attention now.

"Germanius claims he saved Tristan from execution," he started, "because he was an assassin. Right?"

Arthur nodded and stood.

"Which is why he says he has a hold over Tristan's life," Arthur said. "Though we know now that Tristan was protecting us."
"Some protection," Galahad muttered. "Trying to kill us in our sleep."

Gawain shot him a look that instantly silenced the young knight. "He's still an assassin, Galahad."

The pieces fell together before them. Arthur nodded slowly. "And Germanius is controlling him."

Bors frowned.

"He sent Tristan to kill us?" the bald knight clarified. "Then why the soldiers?"

"A ploy to proclaim his innocence," Gawain guessed. "Tristan's probably back at Germanius's estate now."

"Does it bother no one else that Tristan obeyed?" Galahad pointed out suddenly, his tone hiding none of his bitterness. Gawain ceased pacing, and looked to Arthur. The young knight had them there.

"Who cares!" Bors said with a roar. "Germanius tried to have us killed. Are we going to do something about it!"

Slowly, the men nodded and looked to Arthur.

He drew a long breath. "We'll have to change our plans."

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Decia stretched her curvy and limber frame like a cat, not caring that Asellio watched. The Roman man eyed her with no shame, but his looks were relaxed, indulgent but lazy.

"Arthur won't be fooled so easily," Asellio said, reaching for a goblet in the morning light. "He'll come after Germanius."

"And Germanius will die," she said, unconcerned. "He has become sloppy. He cannot control the scout."

Asellio suppressed a chuckle. "And you can?" he asked. She glared at the smirk on his face.

"More than you know." She reached for some grapes on a platter and plucked one off. "I've already set things in motion."

Asellio raised an eyebrow at that. It was a question in itself. Decia smiled.

"Germanius is stupid enough to think his ploy will cut any loyalty between Tristan and Arthur. If anything, he'll just make Tristan harder to control. Arthur will fight to get the scout back."

"The scout isn't worth all this," Asellio said. "Why not kill him, and Arthur?"

Decia's eyes flashed in anger. "No," she said quickly. "You cannot just kill someone like Arthur."

"The scout knows too much," Asellio said back. "If the senate knew what he does, we all are at stake."

Decia smirked at that. She wasn't at stake nearly as much. She'd done nothing wrong, and she almost said as much. Instead, she just watched Asellio squirm.

"Fine," Asellio consented. "Tristan stays alive. And we'll wait to see how things play out between Arthur and Germanius."

Decia smiled and nodded once to the man.