No One, But You

by xx-mads-xx

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the movie King Arthur. Thank you.


The feeling of jerky rocking woke Isolde from her slumber. She half expected to be back in the dungeon, hanging by chains but instead she found herself in a caravan on a bed of furs, covered with a blanket. She slowly turned her to her right and caught sight of Guinevere sleeping peacefully.

Isolde smiled at that and looked to the end of the caravan, she saw the bald giant caring for the small boy he'd brought out from the dungeon, with the help of Fulcinia, the Roman woman. Isolde had decided Fulcinia was the only good Roman in the world, she had helped them whenever possible, stealing food down to the so called "sinners" when the priest and her husband weren't looking.

The giant seemed to have noticed Isolde was awake and gently smiled. She regarded him somewhat suspiciously for a moment, but noting how he cared for the boy, she returned his smile with her own small one. Suddenly, the caravan flap opened and there stood the braided idiot. He looked at the giant, giving a nod and pulled himself into the caravan. Isolde narrowed her eyes as he spoke lowly to the gentle giant, who handed over a bowl of something. The idiot nodded again, and stalked towards the back of the caravan to Isolde. She immediately tensed and tried to pull her legs up, but they were still to sore and she only succeeded in causing herself pain.

He came to sit next to her and set the bowl down next to him. "Give me your hands," he said, softly in a deep, accented voice.

Isolde just glared at him. Why should she? How did she know he wouldn't try to hurt her? She didn't even know his name! He just sat staring at her, waiting. She kept glaring until he finally reached over and tried to take her hand. She quickly hid her hands sat up straighter.

"Give me your hands, girl," he said, a little more forcefully.

"No," Isolde said, in an accusing tone. "Why should I?"

"I need to put this salve onto your hands," he told her, holding up the bowl. "It will help them heal."

She eyed him for a moment, "Tell me your name first."

"Why should my name matter?" he asked. His voice and face never changed, never showed an ounce of emotion. It was just unnatural.

"I've given mine, twice," she said. "I still do not know yours."

He sat a moment, thinking, and then showed the tiniest hint of understanding. "So you are the same girl," he said, quietly. "Tristan."

"Tristan," she repeated. He nodded, holding out his hand. Slowly, Isolde brought out her left hand and placed it in his; he held it gently and looked it over for a moment. Glancing up at her face for a moment he dipped his fingers into the salve. It was thick and green in color, it smelled slightly sweet. He brought it up to her hand and slowly rubbed it in, going over each digit, knuckle thoroughly, and then turning her hand over to do the same for the girl's palm.

The whole time he did this, Tristan noticed her hand and fingers never moved. He looked back up to her face, "So, Dagonet was right. You can't use your fingers."

She scowled at him, "What would you expect? I was hanging from my wrist for two days."

He just continued to stare; it was slightly unnerving to her. When he finished rubbing the salve into her hand he began to move her fingers and massage them, almost digging his fingers into her skin.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, annoyed.

"Your fingers can't move because your blood flow was cut off," he said, his stare never wavering. "This will help get your blood moving."

No more was said as Tristan put her left hand down and repeated the whole process with her right. Isolde turned her head to look out of the caravan, wanting nothing more than for him to stop staring.


The ride in the caravan had been boring since Tristan had helped with her hands. Isolde now sat at the end of the caravan, having traded places with Guinevere, who had moved to the back in order to get some rest. The two sat huddled together for warmth in the corner, wrapped in the furs they had been given, watching the giant, Dagonet, continue his care for the boy, Lucan.

Guinevere had just had a conversation with Arthur and had practically bored Isolde to death talking about stories her father had told her and if Arthur loved any part of this land at all. Guinevere always had to get involved and make people aware, sometimes in an almost manipulative way, but Isolde had to admit, it usually worked.

Isolde looked at the faces of the knights as they rode on. She knew that so far she liked Dagonet who seemed to care greatly for Lucan; she also had heard the knight who had rescued her was obviously the youngest. He was older than her, but she was more mature than him, it was slightly odd.

She felt Guinevere settle next to her, resting her head on Isolde's shoulder. Isolde wrapped the blanket around them a bit tighter on their shoulders.

"I though you were asleep," she said.

Guinevere smiled, "I was, but now I've awoken."

Isolde smiled turning her head back to look at the knights again. Guinevere moved her head to see what Isolde was looking at. After minutes of silence, Guinevere finally asked, "Why did you come to look for me? Why did Kalen not come with you?"

Isolde looked down to her hands and quietly said, "I came because I needed to redeem myself."

"Redeem?" Guinevere asked, puzzled.

Isolde sighed, she looked back toward the knights, "You see that one, with the braids?"

Guinevere moved her head forward a bit so she could see around Isolde and sought out the knights. She spotted them and said, "Two of them have braids."

"The one with shorter hair, and the markings," Isolde ground out, her teeth clenched.

Guinevere let her eyes rest on Tristan and took him in. He seemed to keep himself away from the group slightly. "What of him?" she asked.

Isolde mumbled something Guinevere couldn't quite hear. "What?" she asked leaning in to hear.

"He defeated me in battle," Isolde hissed, angrily.

Guinevere just sat staring at her for a moment letting the words sink in. Then slowly a grin formed on her face. "Did he really?" she asked, taking Isolde's slight nod for a yes. "Oh, just wait till she finds out. She will be so happy."

"She doesn't need to know!" Isolde whispered, almost frantically, her eyes getting wide and almost filled with fear. "I'm not telling her, and you will not tell her either."

Guinevere settled back down, once again resting her head on Isolde's shoulder, "She will find out anyways, and once she does you know what she will do."

Isolde ignored her comment, crossing her arms. She knew it was true but she decided to try to live in ignorant bliss a little longer.


They had made camp that knight near water. The camp was obviously a divided one, Marius and his mercenaries to one side and Arthur with his knights on the other. In between them was the caravan. Isolde tentatively stepped out of the caravan as Fulcinia bathed Guinevere. Isolde still had on the rags she'd worn in the dungeon and had a blanket wrapped around her for protection against the cold.

She looked to the small tent that had been set up next to the caravan. Dagonet was sitting inside and helping the small boy, Lucan, get ready for bed. Isolde could only stare in wonder as Dagonet treated and cared for the boy exactly as a father would his son.

Hearing laughter she turned her head to see that four of the other knights sitting around a fire. She looked around, wondering where Arthur and the last knight were. She found the knight; he stood under a large tree and looked toward the caravan. Quietly, she went too his side and turned her sight to what he was watching. It was Guinevere, bathing. Isolde grimaced, knowing that Guinevere had already fancied Arthur. How she could so soon, Isolde wasn't sure, the two had only just met.

"Something caught your eye?" she asked the knight.

He jumped, slightly. "Oh, no, just looking around," he said, turning away from the caravan, trying to act like he'd been scouting the area.

She just nodded, silently. He looked at her closely then. "You're the lady from battle," he said, giving her a charming smile. "Isolde."

She smirked at that, "Why would you remember me?"

As she asked him, he had started to walk, almost knowing she would follow, toward the other knights.

He sat himself down next to the fat, bald-headed one, "One does not forget a beautiful woman's name."

She stood next to him and snorted, "Please knight, do not believe me a fool and make an ass of yourself."

"Lancelot," he said, smiling again. "I am Lancelot."

She looked to the other knights. They were all watching her intently, as if unsure of what to make of her. "This is Bors," Lancelot said, motioning to the fat, bald man.

"I am Gawain," another said. He was handsome, with long fair, hair. "And this," he said patting the young knight who had saved her. "Is Galahad."

She nodded to them and then glanced toward the last one. Tristan sat staring at her again, sharpening his blade and never said a word of greeting. They stood in awkward silence for what seemed like forever, Tristan's stare never wavered and Isolde found herself wishing she'd stayed in the caravan.

"My lady," Gawain said. Isolde waved her hand, "Please, call me Isolde."

"Isolde," Gawain nodded. "May I ask how did you end up going from battle, immediately to a dungeon?"

She shifted her weight, thinking how to answer, "I went to save Guinevere."

"But aren't there others, large groups, who could have gone instead of just one woman?" Galahad asked, confused.

"I asked for it, she is too important in my life for me to give her up," Isolde told him.

"No friend is so important, that one would go in completely alone," Lancelot said, in a factual tone.

"She is not just my friend," Isolde glared at him. "She is my sister."

"Then explain," Tristan spoke up. "Why Guinevere is a Woad name, and Isolde is Sarmatian."


A/N: Read and Review, people! Read and Review!!!