Too long they were out in the wild and patrolling the Wall, the need to return to the safe confines of their fort beginning to gnaw at Galahad. Though there was the usual banter between traveling companions, neither Galahad or Tristan spoke about the promise made that night, if it even was one. It was almost like a dream to Galahad in some aspects, wondering what would occur when they returned. He wasn't so innocent or naïve as to not know what may happen, what they might do with one another. The offer made in the dark lay like a bond between them, strengthened further by looks held too long between them or touches that lingered well past the point of accidental or casual.
If the others noticed, they mostly kept it to themselves behind knowing looks and smug grins that Tristan ignored, but made Galahad flush all the way down to his neck whenever Bors chortled too loud or Gawain couldn't hold his tongue any longer. As much as the others liked to make fun of his virtue and youth, Galahad knew the touch of another, had sought pleasure when and where he could from milky breasts and the sodden gash between maid's legs. There was no love there, no devotion though, just a fulfillment of need.
What was laying claim to Galahad's being went deeper than occasional roll in the hay with a pretty face and a willing body. Galahad had always thought such things like adoration and passion only existed in poems and songs, pretty notions meant for others.
Even now this dream was built on sand, Galahad knowing that it could never work, the tides of the real world working against them. Even if they were free men and not servants to the whim of Rome, Galahad knew that they thought too differently. Both men looked at this life of theirs from entirely opposite points of view. Galahad hated all of it- the killing, the blood that seemed to coat him as easily as rain, and the death that followed him wherever he went no matter how far they rode. On the other hand, Tristan seemed to live for nothing more than to further his skill and sharpen his blades on loss of life, each victory he took another facet made towards his perfection as a killer.
"That is not a happy face. What are you thinking about so hard it curdles your good looks?" Gawain chided, interrupting Galahad's internalization. It made the younger knight's scowl deepen in response.
"Things I have no hope of changing." Galahad muttered, avoiding looking over at his friend. He could never keep a sulk for long with the cheerful man around, and he wanted to dwell on his thoughts.
"Then why think of them at all?" Even now, Gawain's flippant nature was already beginning to raise his spirits.
"What else is there to do? Besides stare at a horse's backside?" Galahad sighed, letting go of his sour nature. He needed to resolve this, but this was neither the time or place.
"I know whose backside you'd rather be staring at." Gawain smirked, waggling his eyebrows in a lecherous manner.
"Lower your voice." Galahad said, shooting the other knight a warning look.
"Why? Tristan has ridden far ahead to check the road. He won't get jealous of me speaking with you." Gawain grinned, shameless and knowing how to twist Galahad in and out of shape, and back into good humor.
"I despise and loathe you." Galahad laughed, finally breaking out into a smile.
"That's the spirit. I wouldn't want to get on Tristan's bad side by making him think that you were fond of me." Gawain said. Having enough teasing and wanting some peace, Galahad rode up ahead alongside Arthur, hoping for some silence. He realized his mistake when he found his leader studying him with that penetrating stare of his, like he was studying Galahad's spirit.
"Have you come to a decision?" Arthur asked point blank. Roman upbringing or not, the man was not one to waste time on niceties when it counted.
"Yes…of a sort." Galahad mumbled, wishing he could fall back out of this conversation. Gawain's teasing didn't seem so bad now.
"Make sure it is one you can live by, one that we all can live by. We travel this road together. If you do not think that you can be with Tristan, tell him now." Arthur told his knight sternly, his bright hazel eyes hard and piercing. "If you put it off, he will feel betrayed, and that will not sit well among the others. I will not have dissent among my men. Do you understand?"
"Yes…." Galahad swallowed the rest of his answer as he stiffly nodded.
"Good. You two are very different from one another, and I can not tell you why Tristan chooses to do half the things he decides upon, but you will not find anyone more true, more honorable than him." Arthur gave his knight a slight smile to soften his hard-bitten tone. Tristan was one of his most unique knights, one that seemed to live by his own moral code, but a man of grace and honor none the less. He would like to see him happy, and not the kind he looked when he was on the battlefield.
"I know all this. That is what worries me. Our differences. That and we do not lead long lives." Galahad voiced one of his fears. It was one of the reasons they were not allowed to wed. Any woman would be a guaranteed widow, and any children orphans. Not that it stopped Bors from producing nearly a dozen bastards or made Lenora love him any less.
"We will all die someday, Galahad, but if you choose to pursue this, at least you will have known something other than blood. This is your decision, one you are free to make." Arthur said, his eyes turning morose. He knew the burden that was carried by his knight, all his men, even felt it himself living under Rome's thumb. Not one to hold his tongue, Galahad was the most vocal about it. No one could beat the rebellious words out of him though many had tried.
"One of the few freedoms I have." Galahad grimaced, the truth of the matter leaving a familiar bitter taste in his mouth.
"Then do so wisely."
OoOoO
The tree was so loaded with fruit, its boughs practically touched the ground, its branches crooked and heavy with its bounty. Following his nose, Galahad knew that he had smelled the sweetness of rotting fruit, tracking the odor down to find this lone tree hidden in the woods. It was a green god's gift that it was apples.
Grinning to himself, Galahad loaded up as much as he could carry upon his person to bring back to camp. He wasn't supposed to be out this far while on foot patrol, but the sweet scent carried in on the wind had peaked his interest. The discovery that it was apples only made this unexpected gift the all more sweeter.
In his thoughts of late, Galahad knew that Tristan loved apples. The warrior had few vices. He didn't pursue women, rarely drank, and never indulged in gambling. Having a weakness for anything sweet, Tristan did love his fruit and honey though, apples in particular the man rarely seen without one when they were in season.
The fruit would be for all the men to share in, but the gift of what it was would be solely meant for Tristan. Pleased with himself, Galahad found he should have been paying more attention to his surroundings than gathering his spoils when an arrow embedded itself in the tree's trunk, right beside his head. From his up-close and personal view of it, the arrow's make told the knight it was of Woad origin, and if he didn't want to meet its sender that he best leave now while he still could.
Running through the woods, zigzagging when and where he could through the underbrush, Galahad dodged arrows and flung stones like strange, deadly hail. Feeling the knick of blades and bruise of stones on his legs and arms, Galahad's chest began to tighten. To his surprise, it was from more sorrow than panic. He wasn't afraid to die. It had always assumed that his death would bloody, a fate chosen for him by unseen masters and the gods' whim.
Warriors used panic to stay alive, taking the energy and quickness that came from it to aid in their attacks and their escapes if need be. It was the sorrow's presence that was confusing to Galahad, and not the kind he expected. Part of him had accepted that he would never see his people or homeland again in this life. It was an old grief.
The mourning he was experiencing as he fought to keep ahead of the onslaught was the loss of a choice. In that moment between quick breathes, Galahad realized that he could never truly get to know Tristan or why the odd man had set his sights on him. He would never experience the moments that he had only heard about from bards, was greedy and envious of others for, though he would never admit it aloud. To live a life where he could have known an ardor that few ever got the chance to feel.
The sudden answer to all his earlier doubts and questions struck Galahad heavier than any projectile, causing the knight to stumble over his own feet. As he fell forward, Galahad knew he was a dead man. The loss of momentum was all the chance the Woads would need to overtake and butcher him. Galahad cursed at the earth he fell upon as he heard the Woads move to close in on him.
The air was filled with the sounds of the dying, though to his surprise, none came from Galahad. Three Woads fell, one after the other in precise quick order with an arrow shot cleanly through their eye. The fact it was all in the left eye told Galahad that it could only be Tristan, the knight scrambling to his feet now that he had the chance to do so.
More arrows flew in rapid succession, all past Galahad and into their blue skinned enemy, keeping them back. Their once superior numbers greatly depleted within mere moments made what was left of the Woads give up the ghost and depart as silently as they came.
Having tempted fate enough for one day, Galahad kept with the idea of running or at least tried to. He found himself dissuaded from this notion when he was grabbed and slammed up against a tree. As a strong arm pinned him firmly in place, Galahad found himself staring into brilliant amber eyes, more incensed with rage than their usual calm.
"What are you doing out here this far in the woods by yourself?" Tristan growled, refusing to let up or even allow Galahad to move an inch. His bow lay at their feet, the tattooed archer providing cover up till the instant he grabbed for the knight. This was still a dangerous place for them to be, one in which they should not linger, but there were things that could not be left unsaid.
Instead of answering right away with words, Galahad reached down to free something from his pouch, the bag on his belt filled heavy with a great many of something. Of all things, an apple was produced into view, the sweet fruit slightly battered and fragrantly bleeding juice.
"It seemed well worth the trouble at the time." Galahad said softly as he watched Tristan's eyes flit from the fruit to his face.
At first, Galahad thought that Tristan had struck him, his lips sore and bleeding in an instant, his vision blurred and his head dizzy. As his brain caught up, he realized that the man was kissing him hard, brutally and suddenly enough to have their teeth knock painfully against each other, cutting into their flesh. Hands upon the sides of his face kept Galahad from moving now even if he had wanted to, strong fingers moving around and up his scalp to grip at his curls in a tight hold. A heavy armored body trapped him up against the tree, the metal scraping together and gouging bark as Galahad was sandwiched between a rock of a man and hard place.
It was a consuming kind of kiss, one that Galahad had never experienced before as he tasted the sweetness of longing and desire along side the sourness of fear. He knew Tristan didn't fear for himself so its presence there between them meant that he had an effect of the other man, that his death would wound him. There was desperation there at well, the need to know every inner recess and to connect on some level.
The kiss left Galahad breathless and light headed with heady knowledge as Tristan invaded his mouth and stole his breath because he could, he was the only one allowed to do such a thing. Need for oxygen was the only thing that parted them, both men panting the same space of air, their lips still moist and touching.
"You are a fool." Tristan snapped though his rough voice had already lost most of its anger. Finally releasing Galahad and drawing away from the younger knight like the man was temptation himself, Tristan took the apple that Galahad had somehow managed to cling to during the amorous lapse in judgment. The tattooed warrior hoped that he hadn't scared the other man away from him by showing Galahad how much he wanted him. Tristan had given away much in that kiss.
"Yes, but I am your fool." Galahad said without thinking. His admittance stunned them both for a moment, either trying to read the other. Galahad prayed he had not spoken too hastily as was his nature and sometimes his own downfall. "If you want me…"
"I do….." Tristan said, the look upon his face thoughtful yet fond as he chewed his apple. "….so I had better do my best to keep you alive then."
Both men knew they had to return to camp soon before the other knights came looking for them, but they had the journey back to enjoy each other's company. Few words were exchanged, but then again, not many were needed for understanding. There would be time for long conversations later at the Wall and in bed, the thought of which warmed Galahad from within, and made the younger man feel strangely giddy.
It was that sensation that made him reach for Tristan before they came into the camp's view camp and in the sight of the other knights, the younger man catching the end of the archer's braids to bring him to a halt. Before his new courage failed him, Galahad leaned in to quickly brush his lips, once, twice, against Tristan's inked cheeks. The thrice kiss was a chaste promise placed to his lips, Galahad smiling into the finish of it.
"We will keep each other alive."
OoOoO
TBC