Okay, well I've started college this week so things are going to get pretty hectic with me. But I promise to try to keep updating as much as I can. How's this: I won't let two days or morego by without updating.

Enjoy!

Chapter 30

Festival Part Two: Target Practice

Tristan's hands moved slowly across the tiny smooth hairs of his gray horse, brushing it firmly with each single stroke. The steed neighed softly, enjoying the feeling of being groomed properly by the trained hand of it's master. It was quiet in the stables, much unlike the annoying bustle in the streets outside, which Tristan of course preferred. The other knights were out probably getting drunk, or getting ready to get drunk already. Galahad and Gawain always tried their hardest to see who could get completely intoxicated the most before passing out, or in Galahad's case, regurgitating all the drink back up somewhere in the streets. The men had always looked forward to Harvest. But Tristan really couldn't find what they usually did at the festival at all different from what they did every other night in the Tavern. It was an excuse, nothing more. He knew that he'd probably find the festival boring, which he usually did, but it did have some rather good chances for watching the people.

When he was finished grooming his steed, the scout patted it's neck softly, before turning out of the stall. Grabbing a red cloth from a nearby table, he quickly dipped part of it in a barrel of fresh rain water at the end of the rows of stalls, as he made his way to sit on the benches. Tristan climbed all the way to the highest bench, where a small window was cut out of the wall. When he got to there, Tristan sat and opened the shutter of the window so that the sun could shine through, as well as fresh air. Then he turned and pulled his long curved sword from it's tough leather sheath. Pointing it out in front of him, then to either side, than down below him, the scout's dark and keen eyes scrutinize the sharpness of the blade. He carefully ran his nimble thumb and forefinger down the length of the sword's edge, skillfully able not to draw a drop of blood from his skin.

He sighed, taking the damp red cloth in his other hand and cleaning the blade's edge accurately. As he worked the sword, his mind ultimately drifted back to the annoying subject it had been on moment before. Elaine. Not only had he tried to escape the aggravating people outside with their frivolous preparations for that coming night, but also to get away from the evident presence of Elaine everywhere. For it seemed to him, that no matter where he went, everyone and everything reminded him of Elaine in some form or another. That morning, right as he was leaving the dining hall, a small girl with long dark brown and wavy hair ran passed him giggling. Than, he's seen someone walking around with a blood red hooded cloak, a new bushel of golden apples, and he swore that he had heard her laugh once, but when he looked back he had not found her in sight. If he didn't stop thinking about her so much soon, he was sure he'd be completely mad come sundown.

Dropping the now dirty cloth on the bench beside him, Tristan stretched his back and reached his finger up to rub the side of his cheek, right over the spot were his black tattoos rested. His finger lingered there for a moment and his face grew stone cold when the memory of the day he had received those marks suddenly came flooding into his mind.

His father bent down so that he could look down into his young eyes, as his mother came up from behind him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders.

"Tristan, my son," his father had said in a calm and serious tone. "You must be brave today. There will be great pain, but you must be brave."

"Yes, father."

His father's dark eyes shined as his smile reached across his entire face.

"You make me very proud son."

Tristan only nodded, as his father raised and looked across at his mother. They all left the hut together, walking slowly towards the village square where the holy man was waiting by the bonfire. It was a dark night with the stars shining brightly in the sky. The entire village was awaiting the arrival of Tristan, the boy they said was the first ever in their tribe to receive this rite at such an early age.

Tristan lowered to his knees before the wrinkled holy man. His old hand reached down to take the boy's face in his hand, and acted quickly taking the boy by surprise with the sharp needle. Tristan flinched as the hot metal pierced the flesh of his cheek. A searing pain coursed through his whole body with every movement, every scratch, until eventually his tears began to mingle with the dark ink that seemed to dry fast on his youthful. But he did not cry out or grimace. Men more than half his age had cried out before him, but at only ten years, Tristan stood absolutely still. Suddenly the holy man drew away, letting the young boy fall to the ground with an unceremonious thud. He groaned, but managed to look up at the crowd. His eyes soon met the eyes of his father, whose one swam with pride, for his son had made his first kill and now was a man. Tristan stood on shaky legs, lifting his fist into the air as he did. There was silence for a split second before the village erupted into a loud roar.

"RUSSSSSSS!"

Tristan shook his head, attempting to loosen the old memory from the tight grasp of his mind. It was to dangerous to delve into the past.

"SQUAWK!"

A smirk rose on the scouts knight, but he did not look up to see that his hawk was standing upon the sill of the open window just beside him. That was until something red clasp in the bird's claws caught his eye. It was a rose. Tristan had trained the hawk to find them deep in the Woad forest for him, just in case. This time though, the bird had brought the flower all on its own will.

"What do you plan to do with that, hmm?"

The hawk's head darted about, and his claws tightened around the stem of rose. He let our another cry, as if he was giving the scout an answer.

"Traitor."

Arthur and Lancelot walked slowly together, side by side, down the long hall leading out to the top of Hadrian's Wall. The two men had just gone out riding along the southern side of the Wall together, to do some last minute inspection of the woad surrounded area. They wanted to be especially careful on a night like the one they were expecting that night. With everyone in the throes if celebration, they were clearly vulnerable to attack.

"We should post more guards along the southern wall tonight," Arthur said, almost more to himself than to Lancelot.

Yet, the knight hadn't heard his commander and friend in the first place to have remarked on Arthur's overprotectiveness. Lancelot was lost in a world of jumbled thoughts, and he even grimaced as he desperately tried to sort all the things that soared through his mind. Arthur quickly took notice of his best friend's unusual silence.

"What troubles you Lancelot?"

The dark knight gave the Roman a swift smirk, before he looked back down to the stone ground as they continued to walk together.

"I suppose I can say the same about you, Arthur. You only make that worried, scrunched up face..."

"Scrunched face?"

"When you are troubled with something, yes."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head back and forth. "The troubles that plague my mind are the troubles that seem to always plague my mind."

Lancelot sighed with his famous smirk across his face, "Arthur, Arthur."

"Lancelot. You're avoiding my first question."

Lancelot chuckled, and smiled as his companion pegged him down correctly. The knight had spent almost the entire day thinking about Elaine, and the strange, foreign feelings her felt for her. He wanted her. Plain and simple, he longed for her to be his. But not just in the normal sense, for what he felt inside for her wasn't normal. He wanted her to want him. And now that he was with Arthur, he wanted to tell him what he felt. The words that Lamorak had said to the commander, were on the very tip of his tongue. How he wanted Arthur's blessing! And this shocked him so much, for he actually cared for Elaine.

"Lancelot?"

"It is nothing Arthur. I'm just trying to decide which lucky wench will be on my lap tonight during the festival. Decisions, decisions."

Arthur smiled, looking across at his friend. When they finally came to the open end of the Wall that looked down upon the training and shooting ranges, Arthur turned to Lancelot.

"I must leave you here, there is some Roman guards tha..."

Lancelot waved off Arthur, "No, no I don't want to hear it. Not today."

Arthur just smiled, patting Lancelot's back before wandering swiftly down the stone stairs that ran against the great Wall. Lancelot sighed, shoving his long fingers through his black curls. He was such a coward.

A sudden series of quick movements on the shooting ranges below caught Lancelot's attention in the corner of his eye. He stared down below at the interest, leaning down to rest his forearms on the stone edge of the Wall. A genuine smirk ran quickly across his features as he watched the strange scene down below.

"What have we here?"

Just moments before, Gawain, Galahad, Dagonet and Bors all sat about the wood benches that ran along the edges of the shooting range, at a safe distance from any flying arrows. The men laughed and spoke of the Harvest that would be upon them that very night. Gawain and Galahad stood after a few moments, and began sparring together with short swords. The two older knights watched with mild interest, calling out insults and banter as the fight went on. Finally, Gawain put up his hands, panting with the hard excursion.

"Fine, you win."

Galahad laughed, "You're damn right I did!"

Gawain frowned and shook his head, "I am saving my energy for tonight, as should you."

"Yeah, yeah. Excuses won't work," Bors said, not looking up as he wiped the blade of his small axe.

"Well what's this," Gawain said, ignoring Bors and looking at ahead as he leaned back on the bench behind him.

The men looked up at once, just as an approaching Elaine came upon them, baring a new bow and quiver in her hands. She smiled at them, setting her equipment down upon the bench beside Dagonet, before she began to string the laces of the arm band on her forearm and slid on the leather finger guard. The knights just stared at the Lady with an amused look on each face. It wasn't everyday that one would see a Lady of the Wall, dressed in a long brown gown, standing in the shooting ranges stretching and testing the string of her bow.

As she glided over to the area where archers could shoot ahead of them where targets stood yards away from them, the men chuckled.

"What are you doing there little one?" Bors said.

"Be careful, Elaine. We wouldn't want you to prick your finger on the arrow," Galahad added with a quick snicker.

Yet, despite their teasing, Elaine simply went on smiling, as if she knew something that they did not. She reached into her light brown Celtic quiver, and retrieved a single arrow before notching in to her bow.

"Doing well so far," Dagonet said.

Gawain stood and made to walk over behind her, "Would you like me to help show you how it is done, my lady." The men erupted in laughter, but Elaine simply went on smiling, aiming her bow as she did.

"See that one way over there, in the farthest target," Gawain said right next to her ear, pointing his finger to the far end of the range where an arrow sat in the middle, "That's mine."

The men laughed again. Elaine forced a laugh, her eyes meeting the men's amused ones. Suddenly, while her eyes still remained on the men, she raised her bow and shot. The arrow soared through the air with a slight whistle, before it lodged itself right into the middle of the target, splitting Gawain's own arrow right down the middle. The men sat in shock, each's own jaw was hanging low to the ground.

Gawain stared at the target completely dumbfounded, "That...it...split the arrow."

"You did not even look where you shot!" Galahad said, standing and moving behind the lady beside Gawain to get a better look.

Elaine shrugged, "It isn't nice to tease a woman. Especially one trained for fourteen years by the Celts."

Bors broke the shocked silence with a roar of laughter, patting Dagonet's shoulder hard. Elaine joined him as she began to shoot arrow after arrow expertly into each target. After a while, the men settled down and watched Elaine with special interest.

Just as Elaine had shot another arrow, and as it soared through the air towards it's destination, another arrow shot out from behind her, wisping past and miraculously striking Elaine's arrow in midair before it hit the target. Shards of wood exploded in the air, as the second arrow hit the farthest target right in it's middle. Elaine gasped as she looked at the remains of her arrow, before she spun around to see an aloof Tristan behind her. He walked right to her, than turned to be at her side.

"Tristan!" Bors laughed at Elaine's surprised look.

"That was a little rude," Elaine said, bending down to scoop up another arrow from her quiver.

Tristan simply huffed, notching another arrow in his own bow, "I know."

Elaine frowned at him as she shot another expert shot into the middle of a target.

"I see you've gotten yourself another bow," he said as he shot his own arrow into the same target, his going in a bit better than hers.

Elaine groaned in annoyance, making the scout smirk in amusement. Bors took notice of the slight banter and competition between the two, and an idea instantly shot into his mind.

"Eh, you two. Perhaps you should settle your differences in a friendly little competition?"

The ears of the men perked up and a slow smile spread across the face at each. Elaine and Tristan gave each other a curious look, before they turned back to the older knight in a silent agreement.

Bors clapped his hands together and rubbed them against one another, as he smiled mischievously.

"Okay, here it is. Ya both get twenty-five arrows each, put in your own quivers which will be on your backs. When I say go, you both have to shoot five into the shortest target, ten in the longest target, nine directly into the middle target, and one must hit an...apple here that Dag will through up into the air towards the end. First one to finish, wins"
"Nice job counting," Gawain joked, making Bors to glare down at him.

"Fine," Elaine said as she began to fill her quiver once again.

"Fine," Tristan added, doing the same. The men smiled as Gawain began to take bets from each.

When they were prepared, the two stood poised side by side, and Bors stood up on the benches. He took out his sword an raised it high in the air. "GO!"

The two were off seconds after Bors lowered his sword, and the first five of each archer was into the shortest target before the other knights could turn their heads. Elaine had a slight lead going into the second target, as the two hit ten arrows directly into the center. Yet, it seemed as though Tristan was holding back for something he had stirring in his mind. As the pair hit the last nine into the middle target, Elaine notched her ninth and final arrow and shot. But, before it could hit the target, the wood of the arrow exploded as it was struck with Tristan's ninth. As if on cue, Dagonet let loose the fresh red apple high up into the sky, just as Tristan shot his final arrow before Elaine. The apple spun violently around in the air as the last arrow pierced it right through the middle, and fell directly into his waiting hand. The men stood and applauded.

"She's your match Tristan," Galahad yelled.

The scout turned to the waiting lady, who leaned down upon her bow with a beautiful smile on her lovely face. He walked over to where she stood, plucking the arrow from the apple and taking a rather large bite through it's skin. Elaine giggled, and grabbed the apple from his hand to take a bite from the side of the apple that had remained untouched. He watched her intently.

"Yeah," he said just above a whispered. "She might be."

Lancelot laughed hard as the competition below him ended. He was so amused with the scene down in the shooting range below, that he did not notice that Kay had arrived at his side, leaning down just as Lancelot was on the edge of the Wall. Lancelot raised up, finally seeing Kay, and patting his good friend on the shoulder before turning to leave.

"Those two are an interesting pair, are they not?"

Kay watched as Lancelot left laughing as he went, and shook his head before his sight traveled down to look at the scout and the lady below.

"You have no idea."