a/n: Okay, I received some very thoughtful reviews/comments, and I certainly appreciate that! I have to say just one thing about writing. Sometimes I have to make sacrifices in what I write—some plot lines don't always work perfectly, and they are things that I think about and wince as I read and edit. Being that this is a pleasure/hobby for me, and not my bread & butter, I don't always have time to come up with something better. I also don't always know how to write one thing in at the expense of another part I've worked hard to develop over the entire story. With that said, I apologize for some things not being to everyone's liking. Thanks for the feedback. Please read, review, and most importantly, enjoy!

Unexpected

Decia gasped beneath Germanius's hold. Her neck was arched up, almost unnaturally with the great strain. The small knife poked into her skin, but the bishop waited. His eyes were fiery. His lips snarled with an unspoken threat.

"Release her," Tristan growled. Only cowards used an innocent as a shield. It just strengthened what Tristan always knew about the man—he held no honor. Tristan twirled his sword once and brought it in a ready stance.

Germanius stepped back, making Decia shriek as the knife's point pressured her further. Tristan narrowed his eyes. The bishop would not fight. He could not. Always he'd relied on soldiers he commanded, or men he could buy. Like you. He'd been bought—not with money, not even fear for his life. Tristan had to remind himself his price had been worth it. Even so, he felt sick that it'd taken this long for him to take matters in his own hands.

"I'll slit her throat, Tristan," Germanius said. His accent sounded even worse with such foreign words. Part of Tristan was surprised the man found the sharp end of that letter-knife.

Decia's eyes were terrified. Instead of the intriguing deep color of her calculating eyes, they were wide and light, and the pupils so small that she looked like an entirely different person. She stared at Tristan while she drew quick, sharp breaths. He could almost hear her pleading in his mind. He remembered the kiss on the balcony, the feel of her pressed against him.

Just as quickly as the thought assailed him, Tristan blinked it away. He softened his features, abandoning any feeling or care. His face was like stone, and he just stared at Germanius and Decia, unmoving.

"Then do it."

Nothing.

Germanius's jaw dropped. He quickly shut it, but his hand quivered. Decia whimpered, but Tristan didn't take his eyes off Germanius.

"You've never killed someone yourself," Tristan observed. He smirked at the bishop. Germanius glared at him, recovering somewhat.

"I'm not like you," he spat out. Tristan cocked an eyebrow.

"You're right," he said. He waved his curved sword, swishing it once in the air. He stomped forward, just a step but with it Tristan cut up with the blade. The tip of it sliced Germanius's robe, right by Decia's arm. She and Germanius flinched, but the bishop didn't move beyond that. Tristan held his sword steadily at the man's chest.

The two men stared at each other. Neither moved, but Tristan's easy smirk was working its magic. The small knife in Germanius's hand started to waver, until he slowly brought it down from Decia's neck.

Tristan did not relax his stance. He continued to stare at the bishop. It was unwavering.

Unnerving.

Germanius completely dropped the knife. Tristan glanced to Decia and nodded at her. Germanius released her.

"Tristan," she said, breathless. He felt her hands on his back. She hid behind him, and her hair tickled at his neck when she pressed against him. He shrugged her off and took a step forward again. Germanius gave a cry as the sword's tip pressed into him.

"I let her go," Germanius said, shaking his head.

Tristan just raised an eyebrow.

"You will spare my life," he said, more hoping than convincing. Tristan smirked. A braid fell into his view—he tossed his head to move it aside.

"I never said that," Tristan said. The bishop paled.

"Tristan," Decia whispered in his ear. Her tone was soft, but warning. He didn't care for that.

"Why did you kill all those men?" Tristan asked suddenly. He circled around Germanius as he waited for an answer. He heard Germanius swallow.

"You killed them."

Tristan didn't like that. He let his sword drop on the back of the bishop's legs. Germanius screamed.

Decia jerked back. Tristan noticed it, and for a moment he forgot himself and just watched her. Her mouth was agape, and she held her hand to her chest, bracing herself. She breathed heavily, and when her eyes met Tristan's, she looked away again.

He didn't dwell on that for now.

He cocked his head to the side as he watched Germanius. The man was on his knees, awkwardly nursing his wounds.

Kill him. Should he do it swiftly? Make it last, long and tortuous? Germanius certainly deserved no better. Kill him.

The sword felt heavy within his grip. He knew what he wanted to do. But something in the back of his mind was making him hesitate. Why? Even Arthur wanted to kill him. Justice certainly demanded it—not just for him, but for all the people he'd killed for Germanius.

Maybe I should die.

Like that hadn't crossed his mind before.

Tristan narrowed his eyes at the bishop, who was staring, baffled at the scout's hesitation. With one, fluid stroke, Tristan swung the blade over the man's shoulders. Germanius's head was severed from the neck. A spray of blood flew on Decia, and she shrieked and shrank back.

The bishop's body sank to the floor.

And Tristan felt calm, for some reason. It was a simple death—more than what Germanius warranted. Tristan wiped the blade on the lavish robes, and resheathed his sword.

When he looked up from the body, Tristan almost choked. Arthur stood in the doorway.

-0-0-0-

-0-0-0-

Each step Arthur had taken from Germanius's estate thundered in his ears. He could almost hear doom, doom as the distance grew.

Galahad hadn't stopped complaining since they left. Bors chimed in too, and for once Gawain was quiet. Arthur stopped walking.

"Wait here," he said with no room to argue. "I'll return shortly." Perhaps it had been his tone, or maybe the speed with which he retracted his way back to Germanius's, but the knights had obeyed.

About time, he thought.

Now, standing in the study with Germanius's body on the floor, Arthur wondered if he should have returned, or just left Tristan as the scout desired. Part of him did not want to know what Tristan would do. Some things were left better unknown.

Too late. Arthur swallowed. His skin crawled when he saw the blood flowing from Germanius's neck. His eyes started to look for the head, but he stopped himself.

Tristan stared at him, his eyes intense and cautious. Arthur could see the tension in his whole frame. His sword was still firm in his grip, but Arthur hoped it wasn't for him. Of course it's not, he thought. This is Tristan!

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, finding his voice.

"I told you to leave," the scout said back. He wiped a drop of blood from his face. It smeared, and gave Tristan a primal look that made the lady in the room, Decia, shrink back.

"We couldn't," Arthur said. "Not without you. Tristan—" Tristan turned away from him and stepped over the body, moving to the balcony.

"Tristan, wait!" Decia called out.

"Tristan!" The scout stopped when Arthur called him, but he didn't turn back to face him. Arthur drew a deep breath. "We cannot lose another knight. Dagonet, and then Lancelot . . . we mourned your death with theirs, but it never felt . . ." He sighed and shut his eyes, willing for the right words. "Don't make us mourn you anymore."

Tristan turned around. He swallowed and stared at the floor.

"You should go," he said, his voice rough and low. "When the Romans find the bodies, they'll suspect you."

"They'll suspect us more if we leave in the middle of the night," Arthur countered. It was true—he and the knights were guests here. How would it seem if he left so suddenly? "Come with us. You'll be safe."

Decia huffed, putting in her opinion.

"No," she said. "Too many people know Tristan guarded Germanius. He has to stay hidden."

"So we'll hide you," Arthur said, nodding to Tristan. The scout looked like he might interject, but Decia quickly spoke further.

"He'd be safer with me," she said. "He can hide in my home."

Arthur started to object, but then he thought about it. She was right. Too many people wanted to speak with the king of the Britons, and Tristan would easily be noticed. Not to mention that so far Tristan didn't seem thrilled about returning . . . Why?

He looked between Tristan and Decia, considering his options.

"Tristan," he started, "you'll stay with the lady until it's safe." He flashed a tight smile. He wanted to say more, but Decia's presence choked that opportunity. From outside, voices started to rise. Tristan hadn't said a word, but after hearing the noise outside, he simply nodded.

He crossed the room and snagged Decia by the arm. He was out the door before Arthur could say anything else.

Arthur stared after him.

"What's happened to you?" he asked for no one to hear. The heaviness of his heart had not eased since learning Tristan was alive, and even now with Tristan free, Arthur still felt guilt-laden. He would give anything to have things differently. Just a little while longer, and he could return to Britain, with four knights instead of the three he brought here.

-0-0-0-0-

-0-0-0-0-

The Roman streets weren't so quiet anymore. Hushed whispers and commands echoed off the clay and stone. Tristan's revenge was being discovered.

He watched from the shadows of a building, with Decia pressing against him. He tried to ignore that. In the flickering torchlight, he watched as Arthur led the knights back to the safety of their luxurious guest house. He thought about what Arthur had said, something he'd suspected after first seeing the knights in Rome.

Lancelot was dead.

Another loss, but another man free. Tristan clenched his fist, and stared ahead at the figures searching the darkness.

"Tristan," Decia whispered urgently. She tugged on his thick tunic. "Tristan!" He turned and glared at her. It didn't bother her. "We have to leave."

He turned his attention back to the sounds of the street. Somewhere nearby, a soldier shouted to another. Dawn was coming, so perhaps they didn't care about discretion anymore.

He felt another tug on his sleeve. This time he let Decia lead him away. It had been a long night anyway, and he was too weary to think or feel.

-0-0-0-0-

-0-0-0-0-

The scout slept. His hair fell across his face, shielding his eyes from the morning sun. He hadn't bothered to shed the layers of armor or weaponry, but it was just as well. He looked so divine, even battle-weary and dirty.

Something plagued him as he slept. It was the way he shifted ever so slightly, and gave almost an inaudible moan. Decia smiled. She swept that hair back from his closed eyes. He stirred a bit, but didn't wake.

She hadn't expected things to go . . . as they had. Just as well that Germanius was dead—she'd wanted that. But Asellio had been a surprise. It wasn't a bad thing; in fact it probably gave her more leeway. Yet the murdered Roman leader had his purposes, including a certain amount of control over Tristan.

No wonder he killed him.

Decia sighed in the morning air. Outside her estate she heard clusters of soldiers marching through the city. Her servants were in the markets, listening for any news. So far, she knew more than the rest of the city.

What now? It was just a matter of getting Tristan to stay—making him stay. She would not resort to the methods Germanius or Asellio had. Look where that had gotten them. No, she had a better idea. Her beauty would help, and her closeness with Tristan as well.

Decia leaned over his sleeping form and laid a gentle kiss on his lips. His mouth twitched, making his beard tickle her skin. She smiled.

The lady stood and left him to sleep. She failed to see the scout's eyes open, watching her shut the door of her chambers behind her.