a/n: Again, thank you for the wonderful reviews! I'm struggling with the next chapter, just getting it written, so bear with me for the next update. I hope you enjoy this one—please review!
The Strangers
Nothing felt better than riding out in a crisp morning with a purpose. Tristan felt relaxed as soon as he headed into the woods. Above him, his hawk called out without alarm. It was her morning greeting, and Tristan grinned at it.
Yes, scouting was his life.
He rode for a few hours. The snow had melted somewhat, but there were still patches, especially in shaded areas. Nothing stood out though. Tristan found his mind wandering, going back to his time as a knight in Rome's service. He didn't remember enjoying scouting as much then, but maybe that was because he hated anything he had to do then, for Rome. Not that he complained—he had to deal with it, and complaining like Galahad wasn't his style. Maybe it was that he supported Arthur, maybe even believed in him and this new kingdom. Whatever it was, things were better now.
A stillness settled over the trees, and Tristan pulled up on the reigns. His horse halted immediately, his ears twitching back. Tristan dismounted, and knelt on the ground.
He stayed that way for two minutes, just adapting to the sounds and tone of the forest. The wind picked up a little, making a bit of noise, but it wasn't enough. Tristan scanned the ground in every direction.
Then he saw it—impressions by the tree trunks.
He frowned. The impressions were nearly on the roots, and barely bled over to the patches of snow. Footprints, definitely, but . . . were they trying to hide by walking so close to the trees?
Tristan looked around some more, specifically for hoof marks. Instead he found paw prints—a large cat-like animal or wolf, or perhaps be just a dog.
His horse wasn't pleased about being left behind, but Tristan had no choice. If the threat moved on foot, he would too. They couldn't be far. He tightened his belt and sword scabbard, and gathered some arrows and his bow.
-0-0-
He tried using their tracks, walking like they must have. It was difficult and clumsy, but also smart. It hid their numbers—Tristan knew there were at least three, but that was a very low estimate.
He had to be moving faster than they had, since he stopped using their tracks exactly. He followed them deeper and deeper, until he came to an open valley. Tristan knelt within the safety of the treeline. The tracks headed for the field, but he couldn't believe they would go so openly, not after the pain-staking routine in the forest.
"Night," Tristan muttered to himself. If they crossed at night, they wouldn't worry about being exposed. He glanced at the sky. It was mid-afternoon. He wondered if he should wait for night as well. If so, he'd be further behind them.
He wasn't keen on waiting right now. Tristan stood and crossed through the frozen, grassy valley. His eyes were on the trodden-down grass path when he heard his hawk. Tristan didn't hold up his arm for her—he needed her eyes still. By her circling, it looked as though no danger was near.
Regardless, Tristan rested one hand on his sword, and clutched his bow in the other.
-0-0-
The tracks picked up on the other side of the valley, right along the tree trunks again. Tristan followed them diligently, but night was falling. The tracks were fading from view.
Suddenly he stopped. The sound of gurgling water rose in the air. He tensed as he realized he knew exactly where the tracks led to. There was a village just beyond a stream—the stream he heard now.
Arthur's words repeated in his mind—no one has seen them.
There are tracks around the villages.
As if someone was watching them.
His stomach growled. Tristan rolled his eyes. Now was not the time.
He ignored the tracks and moved deftly through the trees until he came to the stream. He stayed put for another two minutes and then crept across the water, ignoring the freezing cold.
He snuck a drink from the stream before he disappeared back into the trees. Ahead, there was light from the village. If the strangers were watching this village, they would be around Tristan's vantage point. He felt uneasy, and it wasn't just because of the cold water dripping from him.
With the graceful agility of a cat, Tristan climbed a tree. He transferred his bow and arrows to one hand, and managed his way up. The bubbling stream covered any noise he made. He positioned himself on one tree limb, pressing his body against the main trunk and keeping his bow in hand.
Arthur hadn't said anything about killing these strangers—obviously, it remained to be seen if they were hostile. Tristan certainly didn't trust them, though.
He spent the night in the tree, tired but alert. It was a familiar paradox for him, one he had to reconcile constantly.
Suddenly a twig snapped. Tristan's eyes darted towards the noise. Darkness . . .
Another twig snapped, this time on the other side of him. He could see them. . . .
The figures were large, definitely men. Fifteen of them so far. In the moonlight, their strange apparel was easily noticeable. Tristan wasn't sure where they were from—he recognized one wearing a helmet that looked Saxon, but another man looked like a far easterner. Another looked . . . Roman?
They had come from the west. Tristan wondered if they'd circled around the village. Why?
The village was small, easy to take but without a reason . . . it wasn't a wealthy village by any means. The men gestured to each other without speaking. Tristan saw they carried weapons. He gripped his bow tighter.
Suddenly, the easterner looked up. Tristan froze. Not moving was key in hiding your position, but Tristan swore the man was looking right at him. The moonlight reflected off the man's teeth—he grinned!--but the easterner did nothing. He waited for several seconds.
He's waiting to see what I'll do.
The easterner signaled to his varied men, and the group moved off. A wolf ran among them, larger than most, but quieter too. The wolf growled until the easterner swatted it. Tristan held still as they moved on.
They headed southwest.
-0-0-
Tristan couldn't fathom why the man had not raised any concern when he saw him. Had he even seen Tristan? The scout was nearly sure but it still made no sense to his mind.
He took a hurried pace back through the forest and across the valley. He ran through the night, and reached his horse about mid-day. Tristan rode hard back to the Wall.
The guards on duty over the Wall relayed his return throughout the fort. Arthur waited for him as Tristan reached the courtyard. Tristan felt the eyes of the villagers on him. He followed Arthur back to the round table, but couldn't shake that watchfulness from the people. In some ways, it was better than before—they weren't talking behind his back or judging him with rumors. They were worried. Word must have leaked about the strangers.
The torches were lit throughout the Wall and fort. Tristan savored the heat from each torch as he passed it. His fingers were numb again, but at least he had dried off from the stream.
"Tell me," Arthur commanded as soon as they reached the round table. Tristan stood near a torch, rubbing his hands near the flames.
"Fifteen men."
"Saxons?" Arthur pressed. Tristan shook his head.
"Only one. I don't know who they are," he admitted. "There was an easterner, a Roman, . . . all different."
Arthur frowned.
"Why would such diverse men travel together?"
Tristan didn't have an answer. "They circled around a village north of here, but did nothing else."
Arthur sighed. He sat heavily in his chair, and Tristan could see the redness in his eyes. The king had been concerned for the last two days.
"There's something else," Tristan said. He withdrew his hands from the torch's heat and crossed his arms. Arthur nodded at him to continue. "He saw me."
The king sat up straight. "Who?"
"The easterner."
"You're sure?" Arthur asked. "And he did nothing?" Tristan bit down on his tongue.
He nodded.
"Take some rest," the king said. "I'll have some food sent in. The knights are in the tavern. I'll call for them to join us."
Arthur left Tristan, who sat down and started shivering. Now that he'd made it back and relayed what he could, the cold caught up with him. He hoped whatever food Arthur ordered was hot.
He must have closed his eyes too long. Bors came in with the others, and his loud, booming voice made Tristan jump. The knights snickered at that, and even Arthur looked sadly amused.
"Stay a little longer, Tristan," Arthur said. "I know you are weary, but hopefully we can reach a decision quickly." Tristan shot a glare at the king before straightening up.
"What decision?" came one voice. Tristan sat a little straighter. Guinevere entered the room, with two Woads in tow. Britons, Tristan corrected himself. Arthur was ever trying to unite the people, and referring to everyone as Britons was one of his ways. The two with Guinevere were her councilors. The knights were Arthur's, though he did interact frequently with Merlin and others.
"Tristan found the men that have been watching the villages," Arthur filled in. "A group of fifteen men of varying lands. They have not touched the villages, but I think we all feel something is wrong." He looked particularly at Tristan. The scout nodded.
"Where did they go?" Gawain asked.
"Southwest."
Silence filled the room. The knights and Britons looked to each other.
"You realize that could bring them here," Guinevere said. Her eyes bore into Tristan, and he felt a little annoyed by it.
"Why do you think I rushed back?"
"We ride out to meet them," Arthur declared. He directed a look at Guinevere's councilors. "Gather thirty men. We leave—"
"Father! Father!"
It was a young voice, and it came down the hall, rushing towards the council room. The knights stirred, and Bors stood expectantly. His son, Gilly, pushed his way past the doors and ran straight to the knight.
He was covered in dirt and soot.
"They took them!"
Tristan felt his blood freeze. Bors held his favorite son.
"What!"
"Men. They attacked us," Gilly said, his voice palpitating in his panic. "They took Vanora and Jaelynn!"