a/n: Hey, I updated, and pretty quickly too! I caught my second wind. Anyway, please review—I'd love to receive some feedback. Thanks!

Cutting Ties

The knights' pace was rapid to get to the seaport. Arthur pushed the ship to leave as soon as possible. He couldn't hide his joy.

They were going home, and Tristan was most likely on his way. From what Gawain reported, the scout would beat them by a few days.

There was a bit of nagging doubt in his mind. Tristan left, yes, but Decia Quintas didn't even know where. It didn't matter; they would go home, and the sadness Arthur felt would be relieved. Perhaps Tristan would feel more comfortable as well. Arthur hoped so—Tristan deserved it, especially after the hell he'd been in for the last several months.

The ship dipped forward and gently lulled backwards. Arthur gripped the rail of the ship to steady himself.

Just a few weeks, and he'd be home.

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Tristan had been unusually quiet as of late. Decia waited all evening for him to appear for dinner. When it became apparent that he wasn't coming down, she sent a servant with a platter to him. Now, the platter sat outside Tristan's door, with the food dried and untouched.

At first, she thought he might be down in spirits—well, she'd never seen him ecstatic—and so she let him be. But it was noon the next day, and he was still not eating. What she had to tell him wouldn't help, but that didn't matter too much to her. Arthur and his knights left that morning. She planned to make sure Tristan knew that.

She couldn't wait any longer. She knocked on his door.

"Tristan?"

Decia stood still, her head inclined at the door. No sound came to her. She knocked again. Is he asleep? The thought brought a smile to her lips. She loved how innocent and peaceful he looked as he slept.

One of her servants came down the hallway, bowing to her. She stopped him.

"Have you seen the scout?" she asked. The servant shook his head. Decia eyed the door and tried to open it. It was locked. She motioned to her servant. "Open it."

The servant looked uneasy, but he tried the handle.

"It is locked, my lady."

Decia rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I know that," she snapped. "Go get the key." The servant bowed and quickly ran away for the key. When he returned, she snatched the key from him.

As soon as she opened the door, she felt a twinge at the back of her neck. Goose bumps covered her skin. She stepped cautiously into the room.

"Tristan?" she called out. His bed was unmade, but vacant. She moved around the room, checking every nook or obscured corner.

"He's not here," her astute servant announced. But he was right.

More than that, Decia realized none of Tristan's things were in the room either. His sword, his armor, a few changes of clothing—all of it, gone.

The room seemed to spin as the brunt of it hit Decia. Tristan left.

With Arthur? On his own?

Why would he leave without telling me?

She felt hurt for a moment before anger took over.

Ungrateful scout! After all she'd done to help him, and after being so close—he just left!

She uttered the scream of a woman scorned. Decia stormed from the room, her servant following behind.

"Go to the port. Find out if the scout left with Arthur this morning," she ordered. "And send the guards in at once. I must speak with them."

The guards came leisurely at first, but seeing Decia so beside herself, they quickly claimed that they never saw Tristan leave. She was sick of their excuses, although in the back of her mind, she knew Tristan was skilled enough to get by any guard.

"I want your men ready to leave within the hour," she commanded to the captain of her personal guard. "We'll travel northwest, beyond Rome. And quickly."

"We?" the captain repeated. "Are you coming, Lady Quintas?"

She nodded, but her eyes were on her servant, who ran through the gardens to her side.

"My lady," the man started breathlessly. "The British King left this morning, with three knights."

"Just three?" she asked. The servant nodded. Decia turned back to the captain of her guard. "Prepare immediately."

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Night time. It was alarmingly cool. For some reason, the nighttime air in an area of desolation left no warmth. Tristan added his outer coat over his clothes, the most he'd worn for some time. He certainly didn't need so many layers in Rome.

The horse he'd stolen was holding up well, and was all too eager to graze on the sparse weeds. Tristan tied the horse loosely, and turned his attention to settling in for the night.

It felt remarkable to be out here. Nothing surrounded him—no walls, no tall buildings, not even street noise. He heard small insects and the wind sifting over the bare landscape.

Tristan grinned.

He didn't light a fire, despite the cold air. He wasn't too far from Rome, and didn't want attention. But he slept quite comfortably on the ground. He had missed the natural feel of the earth beneath you. Feathers and cushioned beds were a luxury, and there was a part of Tristan that simply preferred a harder life. He slept dreamlessly.

And awoke suddenly.

Someone was nearby. Tristan sat up and grabbed his sword. He stilled and listened. Horse hooves. Several, actually; that signaled at least three or more travelers.

He guessed he had about a minute before the travelers came upon him. He snagged his sparse belongings from the ground and tossed them in a dip in the earth. Tristan hid behind a boulder. His presence wasn't invisible, but hopefully the travelers were honorable, and would move on.

They appeared, outlines in the dark. One, two, three . . . six total. Five larger figures and one smaller. Woman. They all slowed as they neared, as if they knew exactly where he was. Tristan tightened the grip on his sword.

"Find him."

His brow crinkled, confused. He knew that voice, but he didn't think she would pursue him out here. He stood up straight and stared at the party. They hadn't yet seen him.

"No need," he said aloud. The six figures all jumped and turned to him. "What do you want, Decia?"

She dismounted. Tristan was actually surprised that she could ride a horse. She strode to him, her pace even but the moonlight showed a glint in her eyes. Decia didn't look like she would stop, but she did just inches from him. And then she brought her hand back and slapped him.

The sound of it echoed across the dry land. The force of it made Tristan's hair slip and fall into his sight. He waited for an explanation, slowly bringing his eyes to hers.

"How could you just leave!" she started. "I kept you hidden! I helped you escape, and helped you when Germanius would have tortured you!" She leaned closer and closer to him, her anger growing with each inch. "I gave your messages to Arthur. I've always looked out for you, even when I knew nothing of you. We talked, Tristan, we became close, did we not! And this is how you repay me? Slinking off without any appreciation or even a goodbye?"

She drew a large breath, enough that Tristan felt he could get a sentence in.

"Are you finished yet?"

Her eyes widened. "Agghhh!" She lifted her arm again to strike him, but Tristan caught the hand and shoved the frustrated woman away. She stumbled repeatedly until she just fell on her backside. Tristan didn't spare her any sympathy, although his eye was drawn to the five guards with her. They drew their swords but stayed put.

"You only did what would help you," Tristan said. His voice was quiet, but Decia listened raptly to every word. "You told Arthur what you wanted. You lied to Gawain. I heard you."

Again, her eyes widened. She stuttered, but Tristan cut her off.

"Don't deny it, Decia," he said. "I owe you nothing." He turned away.

"Seize him," he heard Decia mutter behind his back. The guards moved for him, and Tristan heard the tell-tale sound of armor, metal and a skirmish. He almost grinned again.

He waited, his back turned, simply listening. Closer, but less confidently, the guards approached. They knew he was well aware of their proximity.

There. A scuff in the dirt. A sharp intake of breath. It started.

Tristan twisted from his spot and raised his sword. With one step forward, he brought his blade down on the first guard. The scout was onto the second guard before the first hit the ground. The second tried to attack, but it just didn't work. Tristan slashed the man across the chest and stepped ahead for the third guard.

The third, fourth and fifth guards were very aware of their plight. Their fallen comrades were lesson enough. So they huddled together, but with their swords up as if they would attack. Tristan did not wait for it. He took a long, fluid step and slashed up and across. He felt the sword slice the fourth and fifth guards. The third was yet unscathed. Tristan stared into his eyes, and saw fear. Justly so, he had to admit. He had a feeling his own eyes showed indifference. Tristan thrust the blade into the man's chest.

Someone was gasping for breath behind him. Tristan fully expected it to be one of the guards' last breaths, but it was Decia. She shakily got to her feet.

"You killed them," she hissed. For a moment, Tristan thought she might be angry for the loss of life. "What will it take to tame you, scout?"

Tristan smirked at her. "You don't want a tamed scout. You want a personal slave." She squinted her eyes at him.

"I never said that," she said. Why did everything she say sound like hissing? "But whoever said being my slave would be . . . unpleasant?"

"Is seduction the only way you know how to get something you want?"

Her eyes flashed again. Tristan was amused at this, repeatedly. He gave her another smirk, and it just goaded her.

"You will do anything for Arthur, but for me, someone who truly cares for you, you run away." She shook her head. "Perhaps Germanius had the best way to tame you."

"I cannot be tamed," Tristan said, stepping towards her. She flinched. "Even by Arthur. And you don't care for me."

"Not anymore," she spat. "I will send all of Rome after you and your precious knights. You will pay for—"

Tristan seized her by her hair and pulled her after him. She shrieked and tried to pull away, but the pain and her vanity made her follow him. Tristan threw her to the ground by his belongings. He cut a section of rope from his pack and wrapped it tightly around Decia's wrists.

"What are you doing!" she shrieked again. "Release me! I am a lady—"

"You don't act like it," he muttered. Her jaw dropped. Tristan smirked at her. His eyes held only contempt and amusement at the reversal of so many things. He loaded his things on one of the guard's horses and then mounted his own. He grabbed Decia by the back of her willowy dress and pulled her in the saddle in front of him. She squealed when the fabric tore.

Tristan didn't care. He gave a low whistle to the pack horse and nudged his onward.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded. "All of Rome will come looking for me. The senate—"

Tristan sighed. Faster than she could have anticipated, Tristan hit her in the back of the head. The words stopped instantly, a blessed relief to his ears and sanity. She slumped in the saddle.

And the scout just smiled.

-0-0-0-0-

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Decia had a terrible headache. Her first thought was to call for a bath and some fresh fruit. Then she opened her eyes.

Four men and a woman hovered over her. They were dressed in the manner of peasants, but not Roman. Their skin was darker, deeply tanned by a hot sun. They spoke rapidly to each other, in some tongue she did not comprehend. One reached out to touch her fine dress.

Decia shrieked and tried to move. It was then that she discovered her hands were bound, and her feet as well. And her dress was tattered, dusty and utterly ruined.

Someone was chuckling. She stilled and listened, looking for whoever was laughing at her. Her jaw dropped.

Tristan.

He laughs?

That didn't matter right now. He stood, speaking in the same weird tongue with one of the big foreigners. And he was watching her. The foreigner held his hand out, with a bag dangling from it. Tristan took the bag and nodded. He turned to Decia.

"Tristan!" she yelled. She hoped the venom in her voice translated to these savage foreigners. Instead, it seemed to make the men angry, and the female rolled her eyes.

"I wouldn't behave that way," Tristan said, his accent lilting a bit. "They're your masters now."

"What!"

Again, that smile. Before, it was so rare—nonexistent—but she saw it repeatedly when she least wanted to now. Tristan gave her a mock bow and turned his back on her.

Her blood boiled. He wouldn't…

"I suggest you learn their language first," the scout called over his shoulder.

"Tristan!"

He never turned back, though she screamed his name a dozen times after. The last thing she remembered before one of the men finally hit her over the head was Tristan riding off.