Disclaimer : I don't own anything except Kele

Rating : T

Summary : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.

Author's Note : Thank you so much for all the reviews! Seven for one chapter is pretty much a record for me, so thank you for making me so happy with just a few words!

Oh, and ella, I can't reply to your review as it was unsigned so I'll quickly say something here. When it comes to Tristan's personality I have tried to keep him in character, but at the same time I'm doing my own take on him, and the way he is in this is how I've interpreted him to be. I don't think chapter 2 has too much OOC Tristan, but if you think differently then fair enough. I think this chapter does a lot to explain how he feels and what he is thinking (in my mind at least.) With the fact she was bleeding and injured, I'm not saying that it was love at first sight, just that he felt compassion for her- which again, I think this chapter explains. I hope that clears a few things up and you continue reading.

Annyway, this is pretty much the main chapter of the fic, it is the central chapter as there will only be five, and also pivotal in the plot. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it! Let me know if you like it, or if it sucks, which I really hope it doesn't…

Chapter 3

"We'll sleep here. Take shelter in those trees." Arthur turned to his scout. "Tristan."

"You want to go out again?" Tristan spoke to his hawk, and sent her soaring into the sky, before turning his horse to carry out his unspoken order.

The dappled grey mare cantered swiftly along the forest floor, the layer of snow crunching under her hooves, branches whipping at Tristan who was bent low to the horse's neck to avoid them. The area surrounding the make shift camp was clear. The Saxons wouldn't arrive tonight.

Tristan turned and returned to the camp, his sense of direction and his instincts telling him of the way. They had never been wrong yet. On his arrival he reported to Arthur, then allowed Jols to take his mare to cool her down and feed her.

Free for a few hours, until his next scout, Tristan walked towards the fire and leaned against a tree, pulling an apple from his pocket and his dagger from his boot. He started to slice off pieces of the apple, eating each slice slowly. His eyes scanned the camp, past all the villagers. After fifteen years, he still wasn't used to Arthur's incomparable compassion. He saw Lancelot, settled at the base of a tree. Dagonet, lying with the small boy. Finally, his eyes settled on a figure hunched by the fire. Kele. Why was she sitting outside? It was freezing, and she had only a thin cloak over her shoulders. He watched her for a few moments, chewing idly.

As if feeling eyes on her, Kele turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him. Tristan froze, then flicked his eyes back down to the apple. He cut off a large chunk and started to raise it to his lips, then paused and walked swiftly over to the girl. "Here." He offered her the apple. Smiling her thanks, she took the food from him, her fingers brushing his. Tristan made to step away, back to his tree, but he stopped and chose instead to settle himself on the floor, a few inches separating him from Kele.

XXX

Kele stared into the flickering frames as they danced and sparked before her. She did not allow herself to glance sideways at the scout sitting silently beside her, but from the corner of her eye she could tell he kept looking at her for a split second before turning away. She smiled to herself. Maybe he was quiet because he was simply shy. What ever the reason, his silence intrigued her.

He seemed to be fighting a silent battle with himself. He would glance at her then look away with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

She did not know what the battle was, but it looked like he was losing.

XXX

Tristan tossed his apple core into the fire, hearing it hiss as it met the flames. There was something he wanted to do, but at least eight times in the past ten minutes he had stopped himself from doing it. It was something he never did, would never have thought of doing, but somehow now he couldn't stop himself.

Despite the warmth of the fire he could sense Kele shiver, and with a sideways glance saw her pull her knees to her chest and hug them to herself. He sighed, losing the battle of wills with the voice in his head that told him this was entirely unnatural for him, and grasped the edge of his cloak.

Silently, staring straight ahead at the fire, he extended his arm, holding out his thick cloak. He refused to let himself look at her but he could tell she had turned to look at him, and could imagine the quizzical expression that would be on her face. After a few moments she shuffled closer to him, and he wrapped the cloak around her body, letting his arm rest stiffly around her, steadfastly ignoring Galahad and Gawain, who were smirking at him from the opposite side of the clearing. She laid her head on his shoulder and his body tensed. This was completely new for him, but somehow, he liked it.

XXX

Kele's eyes flickered open. Letting her vision adjust to the gathered darkness she sat up, rubbing her eyes and wincing as her hand caught the deep cut on her cheek. The fire in front of her had died down, the embers glowing a comforting orange, the charred wood cracking and popping softly. Reaching out a hand her fingers met empty space, where Tristan's warm body had been when she fell asleep, his soft breathing lulling her into slumber.

A smile came to her lips as she realised his warm, heavy cloak had been draped over her. Standing, she pulled it tightly around her body and surveyed the makeshift camp. Villagers and knights were scattered across the clearing sleeping, huddled together for warmth. Her eyes sought the dark scout who had aided her, but her quick search was fruitless.

Hearing a slight sound in the forest a smile flitted across her face, and she turned and walked into the shadows of the trees. Branches waved lazily in the cool breeze, catching at her arms and her face, the frozen dirt crunching under her feet. Trees loomed out of the darkness like potential assailants, but she kept walking, until she reached a small clearing. Sitting on a fallen log, she waited.

It wasn't long before she knew he was behind her. Silent he was, but in the short time she had known him she had learned enough to know that he would come. She would never have considered herself a good judge of character, but to her, somehow, the mysterious scout was like an open book.

She counted down in her mind, a smile playing on her lips. '5…4…3…2…'

"You should not be out here alone."

The smile turned to a grin as he spoke. "I'm not alone, am I? And what harm can befall me when you are here to protect me?" Tristan had no response to this, his only reaction being to walk around the edge of the clearing until he was in front of Kele, a dark pillar in the blackness of the forest, his eyes which gleamed in the meagre moonlight being the only display of life. "You have killed many men, haven't you."

Tristan snorted. "You have a knack of posing questions as statements."

"You didn't answer the question."

"It wasn't a question."

"Then tell me if my statement was correct."

Tristan fell silent again. He sighed, a long exhale of breath that clouded in the frozen air, before replying. "Yes."

"I wish I could say that I had killed." Even with the distance between them, Kele could see his eyes widen in shock before he had crossed the space in three long strides and sank to his knees in front of her.

"Never say that, Kele. There is no pride to be had in murder, only remorse and guilt, until the killing becomes so frequent that even that passes, and all that is left is an empty shell of a man." He would have betted that that was the most he'd said in one breath in fifteen years.

"But those men, those Saxons - I was weak, Tristan, I – I begged them not to hurt me, I begged!" Her eyes glistened with tears and the pain he saw there shocked him. "And I thanked them. I thanked them, Tristan, for sparing me." Her voice was hollow. "I wish that I had had the strength, the power, the courage to kill them."

"Killing does not take courage. I am not a courageous man."

"Then maybe we are more alike than you think." Her eyes searched his and he stared back at her in a battle of wills until, perhaps for the first time in his life, he gave in first and cast his gaze to the shadowed ground.

"You have a warrior's spirit," he told her softly. "And a desire to kill. But I think that perhaps you would not kill a man, even if you were handed a sword and ordered to. For you are full of compassion."

Kele reached out and placed a finger beneath his chin, gently tilting his head upwards until his eyes met hers. "And you have a gentle spirit," she whispered. "Your actions have been demanded by your circumstances." His eyes dropped once more and she forced his head up again. "You are also a compassionate man. You could have left me in the forest."

He stared at her, eyes burning in the darkness, hidden behind a braid that had fallen across his forehead. "I have shown no compassion to the thousands I have killed on the battlefield." She reached up and gently brushed the braid away from his face, waiting for to him continue, the tips of her fingers gently tracing the tattoo of his cheek. His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation, until reality hit him. Reaching up his hand he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand down, resting it back in her lap. "I am not a good person, Kele. I do not allow people to care for me. And I do not allow myself to care for them."

She gave a curt nod, her face an impassive mask, but her eyes betraying her hurt. She stood, smoothing down her dress, and walked swiftly across the clearing to return to the camp.

Tristan stood and watched her go. Alien emotions were flooding his mind, most notably the one that had been telling him to kiss her. For the first time in a long while he felt ashamed of what he was, of what he did. Shame was a feeling he usually kept hidden deep down inside, but tonight that had changed. Normally he didn't care one jot what people thought of him but suddenly, desperately, he wanted Kele to understand, to trust him, not turn and flee from the cold-blooded killer he was.

"Kele." His voice sounded in the darkness, one short word that flooded the air and seemed to hover as an unasked plea. She stopped walking and slowly, ever so slowly, turned around, waiting. "I – I kill people, Kele. And I do it without feeling, without remorse. But I want you – no, I need you to know, that I don't enjoy it, like people think I do. I have to do it, and I have to do it well, so I can survive and return to my home. So long along, I managed to come to a point where any emotions I feel are hidden away. So I don't feel anymore."

He watched her, eyes pleading with her to understand, to accept him for who he was. He couldn't expect her to like him, but she could accept him. Maybe that would bring peace to the heart he hadn't felt in so long, that was now surging with emotion. He hadn't felt for a long time, that was the truth – but he had met her, and now he did. And it scared him.

She considered him for a long while until eventually her face softened, and she smiled slightly. "I understand." He smiled in relief. "But, Tristan?"

"Yes?"

"Just because you don't feel anything on the battlefield doesn't mean you have to be afraid of emotions in other areas of your life."

With those words she disappeared into the trees, leaving Tristan in a turmoil he never thought it would be possible for him to feel.