a/n: After the death threats to post, I figured I'd get the next chapter ready relatively quickly. But never worry, b/c I always finish my stories. Thanks for the wonderful reviews, and please keep them coming! Well, if I deserve it, anyway . . . .

The Fulfillment of Revenge

Decia stretched her limber and slight frame over Tristan's bed. She was surprised that he wasn't here. Germanius acted like he would be. But she didn't question anything, or ask about it. She just made herself comfortable, and waited.

Boredom plagued her. She wasn't a patient woman. She didn't like to wait, for anything.

And perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to come to Tristan, especially when Arthur would most likely attack the bishop. But Decia's need to see him overrode wisdom. She needed to continue her words to him, to lightly persuade him. That, and she ached for more contact like the long kiss they shared before.

Something crashed below on the main floor of the estate. Decia stood. There was shouting below as well—loud, angry . . .

Violent.

She moved to the chamber door and pressed her ear against it.

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When the doors gave way and swung inward, they slammed loudly, announcing a presence immediately. There was no surprise, except for the timing and the knights' ability to reach the building

Arthur motioned to his knights, and they spread out. Germanius's personal contingent of guards emerged slowly—no doubt they were asleep. Arthur wiped his face of any emotion and readied his sword.

"You have a choice," he said loudly above the scrambling. The guards halted, but were still poised to give battle. Arthur went on. "I come for your master, for his crimes against a free man. Leave now, and leave unharmed."

The guards looked to each other. Arthur prayed that they would leave. He had no quarrel with them.

It didn't matter. They raised their swords and charged at Arthur and the knights.

Bors yelled out his ferocious and intimidating battle cry. The soldier before him quivered visibly but raised his sword. Bors, with his hand-held blades, punched at the man, slicing into him. The man fell.

A soldier charged Gawain, and he twisted quickly to ward off the blow. He turned back and impaled the man with a dagger. Another guard came at him. Gawain grabbed his head and twisted quickly.

Galahad was blocking an attack, and turning it into an advantage. He felled two guards and charged at a third.

Arthur barely stained his sword with the guards' blood when it seemed they'd won. Not yet, he thought. Germanius came down the stairs, his eyes wide at the horror of the sight. He froze where he stood. Arthur pointed his sword at him.

"Come here, Germanius," he said. His voice was as steel, and the bishop could hold back no fear.

But he did try to mask it. Straightening his posture, the man stared defiantly at Arthur.

"Your entire nation will suffer for this," he said. Frantic footsteps sounded behind Germanius, and another Roman soldier appeared. It was the soldier who had beaten Tristan before. Arthur's grip on his sword tightened.

"So be it," Arthur said. His voice boomed although he did not raise it. The power of his presence was enough to fill the room. "I will not leave my knight and friend."

Germanius chuckled.

"You would risk Britain? Its people? Your Woad bride? And all for an assassin."

At the mention of Guinevere, Arthur sucked in a breath. This scum would not threaten her. With two swift steps, he closed the distance to Germanius and held his sword to the man's throat.

"Where is Tristan?" Arthur glared deep into the bishop's eyes. "I would risk far less to kill you."

"But I won't, Arthur," came a voice. Germanius and Arthur both jerked and looked at the entrance of the house. Tristan stood there, dressed in his battle garb and looking quite relaxed despite the intensity of the situation. He nodded at Germanius. "I'll take care of him."

The knights stood dumbly. Part of Arthur wanted to shove Germanius away and embrace Tristan, but something held him back. He sensed it was the same for his knights. Doubt nagged them. Who was this knight, this comrade of theirs now?

Tristan stepped over the bodies of the guards with no care. He nodded at Gawain, Bors and Galahad, but didn't stop until he was near Germanius and Arthur. Even so, he stood apart.

"I sent word for you to leave," Tristan said. Arthur did not hesitate in his reply.

"I will not leave you to suffer here," he said animatedly. He pressed the sword closer to Germanius's skin. Tristan seemed unmoved. How can he be so cold? This is his very life! Tristan put his finger to the tip of Arthur's sword and gently moved it away from Germanius's neck.

"Ah, see?" Germanius interrupted. "Your scout knows what will happen if you kill me, Arthur."

Tristan gave a quiet huff at that, drawing looks from all. He smirked, and Arthur marveled at that as well.

"Leave, Arthur. Return home tonight," he said, though looking at Germanius. "I will deal with this."

Germanius balked. "You cannot—"

"We won't leave you, Tristan," Arthur said. "Others will suspect you. It won't be safe."

"Nor for you if you stay," Tristan shot back. "Let them suspect me. It is better that way."

"They will come for Britain," Germanius spouted off. "I have seen to it—"

Tristan sighed, annoyed. He drew his blade from off his back and sliced into Germanius's arm. The bishop cried out sharply, and the Roman soldier behind him brandished his sword defensively.

"I killed Asellio," Tristan said. Arthur blinked. What? Who is Asellio? He couldn't help but feel ill at his knight's calm declaration.

Germanius looked shocked. He stuttered for a moment.

"There are others—"

Tristan grinned. "No." Germanius froze at that one word. He gulped, and Tristan turned to Arthur. "Leave, now. I will be just days behind you."

Arthur just stood there. How could he leave, now? Already Tristan has done much to protect Britain Not just Britain, but him and the knights. This was his chance to save him, to make sure he would come back from this hell, safely. He started to shake his head.

Tristan whirled from his enemies and turned to Arthur, the blade in his hand. He held his sword to Arthur's neck. The British king could not mask his alarm, and the knights all stepped forward. The sound of their weapons being readied was of small comfort to him, but then he saw the look in Tristan's eyes.

It wasn't hate. Nor Anger. Tristan stared at his former commander with impatience, and also desperation.

Arthur didn't understand. If Tristan would only let him help—

"Leave."

With that one command, Tristan turned back to Germanius and the soldier. He didn't look at Arthur or the other knights as they looked to each other for understanding or a collective decision. Arthur felt a part of his heart wrench.

"Come," he heard himself say to the knights. "We leave immediately."

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The doors shut. It was quiet in the house, and even in the city. No one knew of the bloodshed in Germanius's estate. That worked fine for Tristan. He stepped away from Germanius and Ortegius. His sword he dropped to his side, but still in hand.

Germanius clutched his arm where Tristan had sliced it. He nodded at Ortegius with a snarl.

"You will pay dearly for this," he said. Tristan was unmoved. Ortegius stalked to the open area of the room, his sword up and ready. Tristan just stood there.

Waiting.

Oretgius attacked first, yelling angrily. Tristan deflected the attack and struck back. Orteguis blocked it, and the two men exchanged blows, matching them back and forth. Tristan was somewhat impressed that the Roman had improved on the sword.

Tristan dropped to the floor when Ortegius aimed for his head. The breath of the blade tickled his neck. He didn't much care for that. Tristan rolled to the side and held his sword up to block another blow. Ortegius swung his sword above his head and sent it heavily upon the Sarmatian. Tristan blocked it again, and his arm hurt from the impact.

He stumbled back, and hit against a chair. It surprised him enough that he made a critical mistake. He looked to see what space he had, taking his eyes away from Ortegius. The Roman seized his moment. He kicked Tristan across the jaw, making Tristan fall on his stomach, spread-eagle on the floor. His sword was barely in his hand, and completely gone when Ortegius stepped on his hand. Tristan looked up at him just as Ortegius raised the sword to pin him to the ground.

Tristan flipped onto his back and kicked Ortegius in the stomach. The Roman soldier stumbled back, but he was still armed. Tristan rolled over the floor to his sword, grabbing it just as Ortegius recovered. He attacked again, and Tristan had yet to get to his feet. It annoyed him that he'd been this sloppy.

He blocked a swing meant to behead him, but as the momentum of the sword carried it past his head, Tristan found his opening. He lunged at the Roman. Ortegius saw his mistake quickly, and managed only to be caught in the arm by Tristan's sword. He dropped his sword.

Tristan felt his heart rise. This was it.

Or so he thought. Ortegius roared and charged him. Tristan brought his sword up but the Roman just plowed into him before he could skewer the enemy. The men fell back, with Tristan losing his sword again. He hit something, a table or chair. It cracked loudly as the men's weight destroyed it.

Ortegius swung at Tristan and hit him in the face. Hand-to-hand. He'd forgotten how much Ortegius liked that—simply because he held the advantage. The Roman hit him again, and Tristan fell back over the furniture, his feet flipping up after him when he tried to roll it off. Tristan's back hit something, and the soreness from the hits so far was starting to get to him.

He shook it off and staggered to his feet. As he righted himself, Tristan braced his body for Ortegius's next attack. The soldier grabbed a vase, and hurled it at Tristan's head. Tristan ducked. It shattered loudly behind him. As he stood up straight again, Tristan removed his small knife from his outer vest. He twirled it with his fingers, getting the ideal grip on it before throwing it.

Ortegius roared when it dug into his shoulder. He charged at Tristan again, mad as an elephant and just as threatening. He swung wide at Tristan, but followed with a punch right under Tristan's jaw. Tristan's teeth jarred against each other, and he felt them go through his tongue as well. Blood filled his mouth. From his dazed view, Tristan saw Ortegius's next hit. It landed in his stomach, the force from which made blood leak from Tristan's mouth.

Tristan looked for his sword even as he clutched his stomach. He held up an arm to ward off another hit, but Ortegius varied it by kicking him in the side. Tristan scooted back. Behind the Roman, Germanius watched. He still clutched the cut Tristan gave him, but his face was beaming with sick pleasure. Tristan glared at the man, at Ortegius. He swallowed the blood in his mouth, and just bared his teeth at the men.

It must have had some effect, because Ortegius faltered momentarily. Tristan used the time to slide further away from him. He winced when his hands hit the shattered vase. Even so, he grasped a shard, ignoring as it cut into his skin.

Ortegius closed the distance between them slowly, almost taunting his position over Tristan. He leaned down and grabbed Tristan by the hair.

"I won," he said smugly, and then he drew back his right arm for another hit. Tristan seized the opportunity. He brought the shard of the broken vase from behind his back and slashed it through the air, right in front of Ortegius. The Roman's eyes widened. He just froze, and for a moment, Tristan wondered if he inflicted any damage at all.

Then the blood flowed from the Roman's neck. It dribbled at first, and then poured. Ortegius didn't reach for the wound or try and stem the flow. He just stared at Tristan.

And fell over, death imposing quickly.

Tristan eyed the body, making sure he was gone. He shifted his gaze quickly to Germanius. The bishop flinched.

He started up the stairs, going backwards and keeping his eyes on Tristan. Tristan pushed himself off the floor. The blood in his mouth was still coming, but he spit it out this time. Impassively, he wiped away a speck from his lips. Never did his eyes leave Germanius.

As soon as the bishop disappeared from view, Tristan moved. He didn't run or hurry visibly. He retrieved his small knife from Ortegius's shoulder, and then calmly walked to his sword. He listened carefully as he ascended to the personal chambers of the estate. He knew where Germanius's were, but the bishop would not trap himself there.

Tristan headed for the man's study. As he neared it, it dawned on him that this might be the last time he set foot here. It brought a smile to his lips.

He turned and went into the study.

Tristan stopped immediately.

In the middle of the room stood Germanius, with a sharp letter-knife at the beautiful neck of Decia Quintas.