Disclaimer: As before, please for the love of God, don't keep making me write it out people:O)

'The tie that binds' and 'to cut the pain' that Tristan carries out are actually a true custom carried out in some Celtic and other similar traditions. The poem that is the song Bethan sings is my own.

All reviews, and constructive criticism, gratefully received – but no flaming please; and I will try to update regularly.

'Thoughts'

"Speech"

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KING ARTHUR:

Fallen Knights Return

Chapter Eight – Returned

After five sleepless days and nights of watching Sandrina toss and turn, and constantly checking to ensure she hadn't pulled any stitches; Tristan felt he had a better understanding of the woman lying in the bed before him.

She was definitely at one with nature as he was…. He remembered the strange wind blowing round her on the battlefield, and his hawk resting on the windowsill screeing quietly every so often, as if aware that something was badly wrong; Midnight, who would not leave the room unless forced to, and who would constantly nuzzle his hand for reassurance.

He had also heard from Lancelot that they could do nothing with either his horse or Sandrina's; even the other horses in the stable were fractious. Nay, the animals knew she was sick; and they worried for her as much as the humans did. He had also noticed it had rained solidly for the last five days, as if the heavens themselves shed tears for her.

Checking her stitches regularly had also allowed him to see the scars that criss-crossed her body in more detail; whilst being very careful not to look at her private parts which were only just covered by wrappings for modesty's sake, as he would never take advantage, he saw they were brutal and extreme.

He clenched his hands at the thought of what she must have gone through to endure scars of that severity. No wonder the other injuries she had sustained in the battle had not even slowed her down.

At the training camp he had, as had the others (even Arthur), been regularly beaten if their commanders didn't feel they were up to scratch – but they had never endured beatings to produce scars like this. Even some of their scars gained in battle were not that severe.

He admired her strength, her courage; her resolution to do what she thought was right no matter the consequences. Though what, in the name of her God, she thought she was doing following them out there he would only know when she awoke….and she would….he knew…..eventually.

She moaned again, muttering his name, and he was instantly next to her. Kneeling by the bed, he smoothed her brow and whispered gently into her ear, the one thing he hoped she understood "you will not leave me, you will not. I could not face this existence without you now. You are for me……..Sandrina……. hear me…you are for me….."

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Merlin stood outside the door, listening, hearing even the whispered words of the knight inside; so the choice was made, the die was caste. Fate had made its decision. He was well pleased; the scout was a good man and had a natural affinity for the earth – a good match for her……not the one he would have chosen, but a good match he was pleased with.

He moved to allow Lancelot to step into the room. This had become a daily ritual since they had returned from the battle; first Lancelot, then Dagonet (with Lucan and Bethan), then Bors, then Gawain and Galahad and finally Arthur and Guinevere with himself.

Bethan would usually creep back then and spend the rest of the day curled on his lap, companionable silence keeping them both from losing their minds with worry.

"How is she?" Lancelot asked quietly, nodding at Tristan.

"The same."

"Any improvement?"

"Her fever has stopped rising."

"That's it?"

"If there was more, do you not think I would tell you?"

"You never say much as a rule…" there was a slight smirk in his voice and Tristan had to smile.

"Well, I would this time..."

Lancelot reached down and stroked her forehead "do not be too keen to leave us sister – if we lose you, we all lose a piece of our hearts." He leant closer and whispered "and one of us would lose our soul as well…"

He kissed her cheek and left.

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A few minutes later Dagonet entered as usual, with the children. He had taken Bethan in with him and Lucan, as the two children were inseparable, and it was felt that it would be better to keep them together.

It had crossed his mind how he would be feeling if it were he that fate had chosen for her; indeed for a time in the beginning he had wondered – Lucan and Bethan were inseparable, Lucan looked on San almost as his mother as much as he was his father.

He also spent a lot of time playing with the other children too, so he thought that maybe…..but instead he had watched her gravitate increasingly towards the isolated, independent and, he thought, lonely scout.

At first he'd been surprised – but then as he'd watched them together, particularly Tristan with Bethan, he realised they were a match. As Gawain had said that day, if ever Tristan had a soul mate, it was San - and he knew that to be right. Looking at the exhausted man before him, he knew that to be truer now more than ever.

He also knew better than to offer to take a stint of sitting with her, they had all tried but none succeeded. The only time Tristan left her was to use the latrine and wash, on those occasions him or Lancelot were allowed to sit with her. Tris even ate his meals sat next to her; if you could call the food he picked over a meal. Mostly he ate his apples.

It was funny how he, Lancelot and Tristan had formed some kind of inner circle where San was concerned…with the exception of Bors, who had also formed a strong attachment to the woman.

They felt theirs was down to her 'bringing them back', as Lancelot put it, and Bors was….well, she was a fighter – she gave as good as she got verbally and physically, didn't judge and could be counted on if there was trouble; just like him really. Plus she had brought him back, and Bors was his best friend, his brother.

He often thought back to that night and how things might have turned out if he and Tristan hadn't seen her…….he looked again at the man slumped in the chair; well this wouldn't be happening, she would probably have moved on…literally.

He sighed, and all their lives would have been the worse for not knowing her – whatever the outcome of this – especially Tristan's.

"How is she?"

The same."

"Any improvement?"

"Her fever has stopped rising."

"Well, that's something."

The children had been sat quietly on the bed just watching San. Dagonet stroked her cheek, "Don't think about leaving us San….who will keep Lancelot under control?" Tristan stifled a smile, as Dagonet leant down and whispered "and Tristan's heart would break…."

As he drew the children out; Bethan hugged Tristan and buried her head his neck "I'll be back soon." he nodded.

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Next in were Bors and Vanora;

"How is she?"

The same."

"Any improvement?"

"Her fever has stopped rising."

"Well, that's something - maybe she has turned a corner?"

"We can only hope so."

Bors looked at the unconscious woman, Vanora squeezed his hand. They both loved her, for a lot of reasons; for bringing his Dagonet back, his brother or the closest to it in this lifetime - and helping them whenever she could with the children.

She was a strong fighter too…Nay, a warrior, for you could not call her anything else after this; and loyal, you couldn't ask for a more loyal friend.

He remembered her on the battlefield, that look they'd shared as they'd rushed to help their friends; those scars of hers too. Aye, she was definitely a warrior.

He thought how he would've made that thing of a man suffer, if he'd known about Sandrina back when they had Marius; the death he got on the end of one Guinevere's arrows was too good for him…certainly too quick.

He couldn't understand though why she did this to herself, had risked her life to aid them; but they would have to wait for her to wake up to find out ….and she would wake up, she had to – what would they do without her and, more importantly, what would Tristan do without her?

None of them had realised his depth of feeling for San, until now. Or Bethan come to think of it - the little 'un was devoted to him; and spent every spare minute, that she wasn't with Lucan, with him.

He glanced over at the scout, who looked exhausted – but they all learnt on the first day not to try and cover for him. It was only if he absolutely needed to that he left her side. He ate and slept, both only a little, by her bed.

He looked at Vanora, would he be like this with her? He knew he would; he better than all the others, except for maybe Arthur, could understand what is like to love a woman to the point where you would do this to yourself rather than let her die.

He touched Van's shoulder as an indicator to leave; he knew the others would be on their way in.

He leant over the woman in the bed, "don't you think of bloody going anywhere wench…we'd all be lost without you" he leant down and whispered "especially the scout".

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Gawain and Galahad came in next deciding it would be better together than apart as usual, as they felt these constant interruptions were wearing their friend down.

"How is she?"

The same."

"Any improvement?"

"Her fever has stopped rising…" how many more times would he have to say this?

"Well, that's something…."

They both regarded the exhausted Tristan and feverish Sandrina. They exchanged looks; they had both been shocked at the scars all over her body, but admired her spirit for dealing with that kind of brutality and yet retain her heart like she had.

She was one of them now, always would be…..and they hoped it would be that way for a long time yet.

They knew how their friend felt about her; they only hoped she survived long enough for him to tell her, for he wasn't very open with his feelings. Yet they felt that was what had drawn her to him in the first place; they were a lot alike, Guinevere had mentioned that after first meeting San.

They loved her like a sister; both had long acknowledged that and, whilst maybe they didn't share the bond she had with the three she'd brought back, they would mourn deeply her loss if she passed. They could only hope that didn't happen; not only for them, but also their silent friend.

Galahad leant over her "you are a sister to us San, so you mustn't leave us; how would we cope – the horses would pine as much as we, especially Hunter."

"And Tristan, he would be lost without you." whispered Gawain in her other ear. They quietly left the room, only casting worried looks at their exhausted comrade.

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Now left alone; Tristan looked at Sandrina again, worry creasing his brow - it had been far too long; he had to do something, and suddenly something came to him. Something she would know too, as he knew her tribe practiced it as well.

He took her bindings and tore a long thin strip off it. He tied it round her wrist and, moving his chair much closer, he tied it round his own.

"With this cloth I bind your soul, both to this earth and mine. If you die and leave me, you will take my soul with thine.

San…listen to me I have done the 'tie that binds'? Remember that? I have tied your soul to mine San, if you….." he took a breath "die now, you'll take my soul with you, and what of Bethan then? So you can't die."

There was also one other thing he could do. Taking one of her daggers and some salt from his plate he spread it out in a small rough circle on the floor by her bed and then stabbed her dagger viciously into it saying "to cut your pain, to cut your pain in two".

He sat quietly as the minutes passed then whispered finally "You're in every beat of my heart; every breath that I take…you exist in every fibre of my being."

He sat back; well, that was it…he could think of nothing else, but at least he felt he had done something.

Arthur and Guinevere entered with Merlin, a few moments later; saying nothing despite witnessing what he had done. Merlin was impressed, he had remembered the old ways; yes, the boy was the best match.

Before any of them could say anything, Tristan spoke calmly though his eyes held his emotions plainly "she's the same; her temperature isn't rising any more, merely holding firm and yes, I suppose that is a good thing. But all I want her to do is open her damn eyes."

"I think you've obviously been saying the same thing a lot this morning." Smiled Arthur sympathetically.

"I'm sorry….it's a bit wearing to keep saying the same thing and hearing the same reply." He rubbed his hand over his eyes; they felt like spiky red hot coals.

Guinevere walked forward, Merlin had told her of the scars as had Arthur, and then yesterday on applying a salve to the main wound she had seen them herself; she was only glad she had killed that man.

She and Arthur both looked at the woman in the bed. They both loved her like family and could only hope and pray, in Arthur's case, that she would recover. Neither of them wanted to contemplate the consequences on the rest of the knights in general, and one in particular, if she did not.

They both admired her spirit; and Guinevere had secretly applauded her going out onto the battlefield to be with them, because she felt a threat was there beyond the normal enemy. If she had had the same feeling, especially about Arthur, she would have done the same. She silently added Lancelot's name to her husband's also, but only in the deepest part of herself.

Merlin merely looked at the girl and willed her to wake soon, she knew his feelings for her; feelings of warm affection which had grown stronger since their renewed friendship here at the fort. If he had ever had a daughter he would've been happy for her to turn out like Sandrina; and not merely because she was an elemental like he was. There were other reasons he would have to explain to her……

They left Tristan alone once again, but not for long……a few minutes later Bethan crept back in and crawled into his lap; never questioning the thin strip of white cloth binding his wrist to her mother's.

Once again a strange peace stole over him, and the child, as it always did when they were together- one comforting the other - and they slept.

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A few hours later, after waking and feeling like he was not quite the ghoul he thought – he checked Sandrina's stitches again just in case she'd pulled them while he slept, felt her forehead and noted with relief her fever seemed to be waning; he then settled back into his chair, pulling Bethan onto his lap.

She sat quietly for a few moments and then began to sing:

"The birds tell me I'm a sorry fool,

To pine so for your love –

To care for you in secret,

To think you're an angel from above.

I hold my breath when you are near,

I long to feel your touch -

You'll never know my soul is yours,

That I love you very much.

The breeze whispers of my longings,

Telling me to seize the day -

To caste my doubts upon the wind,

And follow my heart where 'ere it lay.

But I find I cannot do it,

Though my soul leaps at your voice -

To lay my heart before you,

Is not a simple choice.

So though I watch you from a distance,

See your eyes flit everywhere –

I know you never see me,

To you I'm never there."

Her clear young voice rang out and, as the last notes faded, Tristan asked her how she knew such a haunting song.

"Mama taught me – she said she knew it from when she was little. Her Mama taught her, like she taught me. She said it always makes her think of you; you see her and yet you don't see her."

Tristan looked across at Sandrina, 'so she thought of him like he………..' and noticed her eyes flutter open, hold his gaze and smile briefly before shutting them again.

"Quick, go tell them she is waking up….." his voice level and face passive, not betraying the way his heart suddenly soared.

"Mama? Mama is waking!" she flew across to her mother "Mama? Are you come back to us?"

She was rewarded with a faint smile. Bethan flew from the room crying and laughing "SHE IS COME BACK! SHE IS COME BACK!"

Tristan knelt beside the bed "where did you go that you wanted to stay for so long?"

"Heaven…"

"I hear it's a nice place, so what brought you back?"

"You…..you called me… then you said…you said…your soul….."

"Shh, sleep now…..sleep….." he stroked her forehead.

Her good arm reached up and touched his face before she drifted into a normal slumber.

Tristan, the scout who never betrayed his feelings, who never mourned or laughed to any great degree, who seemed glad to be alone, bowed his head onto the bed and wept silent tears of relief.

That was how Lancelot and Dagonet found him, clasping her arm, his wrist tied to hers with white fabric, when they skidded to halt at the door moments later.

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But Fate had still not finished on this path….so once again the wheels of destiny turned.