Conviction

by Peppermint Stick

Medieval Trory. Tristan had Rory's family killed, but she escaped. Years later she's brought to the castle, but until he figures out who she is, who's to say a king can't fall for a fiery peasant who hates him for reasons he can't figure out?

15. Chapter 15

Rory laid in bed with her body stiff and her back flat on the mattress, watching the firelight dance over the stone ceiling above her head. The covers were pulled up to her chest, her arms crossed tightly over them, and Duke was laying on her feet snoring quietly. She clicked her teeth together, the silence around her broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The sky outside of her window was as close to black as it ever got and dotted with stars. She'd already watched the crescent moon rise from behind the trees and pass slowly up the length of the window until it disappeared to trail higher in the sky. That had been hours ago. She turned over onto her side, pulling one of the pillows violently against her chest. Duke whined at the movement and shifted before he settled back down, curled against the side of her leg on top of the covers. She stared at the hearth, watching the flames quiver behind the metal grate. It was uncomfortable laying in her own bed. She couldn't sleep. Her mattress was harder than Tristan's. Her room was stuffier. And she was alone.

Rory watched the fire for another moment before sighing loudly and throwing herself onto her back restlessly, dislodging Duke. He growled at her quietly and jumped off the bed thickly; she watched him walk stiffly over to the fireplace and turn in two slow circles before laying down heavily, asleep as soon as he hit the floor. She shifted again, unable to get comfortable.

She kept replaying the past two days over and over again in her mind; today, when Tristan had gone nearly the entire day without stepping foot in her presence, and the day before, when he'd found out who she was. She didn't think he knew how to act around her. When he'd found out, after yelling at her and making her tell him why his father had died, he'd kissed her. He'd kissed her like he never had before and after a minute he'd pulled away as if shocked and stepped back from her, shaking his head lightly as if he didn't know what he was doing, lost for words. Then he'd walked away, ignoring her as she called after him. She'd stared at the doorway, lost to time, until Anna had come in and made her sit down. That had been two days before. She hadn't spoken to Tristan since. The previous night, after her entire ordeal, she'd passed the hours tossing in this bed just like she was now, not falling into sleep until the early hours of the morning when everything was finally silent in her mind and in the world.

She'd woken after only a few hours of restless sleep and had donned one of her nicer dresses and a soft burgundy cloak for the short walk to the castle's chapel, which was where she'd spent most of the day staring at the massive cross hung on the front wall. After several hours the priest had gently asked her if she needed anything but she'd just shaken her head quietly, looking down at her lap. She didn't know why she'd gone there. She didn't pray. She didn't talk to God. She didn't repent; she didn't think you were even allowed to repent for things you didn't regret. She'd just sat there, staring. It wasn't like she'd even thought of anything. Her mind had been blank for the most part. Mainly she'd sat in wonder, unable to believe everything that had happened over the previous four months and wondering what was going to become of her now.

At one point the door to the chapel had opened and closed heavily. She'd recognized Tristan's footsteps immediately and kept her head down, but he hadn't recognized the back of her bowed head. He'd walked down the aisle of the sanctuary towards the priest at the front but as he'd approached her his steps had slowed suspiciously. She'd known instinctively when he was almost even with her and she'd stood slowly, turning to face him. He'd stopped at that, staring at her as if he couldn't believe she was there; as if she'd stolen his last place of comfort from him. Invaded everything. He'd stared at her for a moment, his face tight with hostility, and silence had hung between them, thick like wax.

The priest had stepped forward, "Your highness?"

Tristan had acted as if he hadn't heard him and had just stared at her, indignant. Rory had looked back steadily, seeing the lines of fatigue and exhaustion that drew his body and face. He was hiding it well, though his skin was pale from lack of sleep and bags lined under his eyes. He hadn't been there for more than a few heartbeats before looking at her had caused his face to twist into a deeper scowl and he'd turned on his heel, walking away from her. She'd opened her mouth, wanting to call after him, but words refused to come to her. Instead she watched him walk angrily from the chapel, closing the door heavily behind him. Then she sat back down quietly, avoiding the priest's gaze, and bowed her head again.

Anna came in and sat with her once, late in the afternoon, to tell her that Logan and Marty had both come looking for her. Rory just shook her head lightly, keeping her gaze down. After a moment Anna sighed and stood, brushed a kiss on the crown of Rory's head before walking quietly from the chapel.

She'd come back several hours after that, joining Logan and Max for dinner. They both wanted to know what was wrong with her and Tristan. She'd said nothing, just stared at her plate and ate mouse-sized bites.

Rory twisted in bed again, bringing her knees up to her chest and turning her head to bury her face in the pillow. She was exhausted. But she was never going to fall asleep. She wondered briefly how late it was; she'd been tossing back and forth for hours already. And that was when a quiet knock followed closely by the door creaking open interrupted her solitude. She pushed herself up, her hands on the bed behind her, and looked over to the door just as Tristan, obviously trying not to wake her, raised his gaze to the bed.

His face opened ever so slightly, surprised, "You're awake." He took a small step into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

She nodded slowly, not pointing out that she was obviously not the only one awake at this ungodly hour. He didn't say anything for a moment, and she watched him in the doorway. He looked out of place here; he'd never come to her room before, "What's wrong?"

Tristan opened his mouth, uncertain. He sighed silently, watching her, "I can't sleep." he said finally, tiredly.

She knew the feeling. She would dare say, however, that she was wearing the exhaustion better than him. He looked ragged. She couldn't think of what to say, though, so she just tilted her head, looking up at him, "Why not?"

He clicked his teeth quietly, "You know, I've been laying awake asking myself that exact question for hours…" he trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor thoughtfully.

"And…" she supplied for him, tilting her head forward. Her hair fell around her face in full sheets.

Tristan glanced up at her, his lip quirking humorlessly as if he couldn't believe he was about to say what came out of his mouth, "And, as far as I can tell, I can't sleep in my bed," he paused, shaking his head lightly, "because you're not there."

Rory looked up at him, shocked and oddly touched. She knew it had to have taken a lot for his pride to let him come to her now. "Do you want to sleep with me?" she asked quietly, uncertainly. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Tristan scoffed in self-deprecation, looking away from her. The softness in his voice was almost gone, replaced with disbelief and frustration, "I have no idea what I want right now, Leigh. I don't even know why I came here."

She said nothing, just watched him gently. After a moment he looked back at her as if she could tell him why. Rory reached one hand over and peeled the covers back from one side of the bed, "Tristan," her voice was quiet and steady, "come to bed." He didn't move but looked at her, his face torn as if he still didn't know what he was doing there but wanted to do what she said. After a moment she touched the mattress next to her, inviting him over, "Please." she whispered.

And like always seemed to happen with them, she bent him until he broke. Her gentle implorations and quiet voice worked like a force of nature and he found himself coming to her slowly, unintentionally. He didn't lie next to her, though. He sat cautiously on the side of the bed so that they were facing each other, his legs over the side. She sat up straighter, realizing they wouldn't be going to sleep any time soon. Tristan licked his lips distractedly, looking over at her; when he spoke his voice was painfully gentle, "It's like I don't even know you."

"You do know me." She insisted quietly, wanting to shift closer to him but holding herself back.

"No, I don't. I didn't even know your name…" he trailed off, shaking his head lightly, "All the logic in my mind tells me not to trust you, but I don't know how to do that. I honestly have no I idea how to not believe in you." He looked over at her, his voice still breaking her heart, "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Rory didn't have an answer for him. She just bit her lip, looking up at him.

He sighed defeatedly, "Leigh, I have no idea what I'm supposed to think or what I'm supposed to feel right now." he shook his head, whispering, "Tell me what to do."

She pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her lips together, "I don't know what you should do." She answered honestly, swallowing hard, "But you can trust me." He looked at her, his expression unreadable. She looked back at him, not sure what else she should say. After a stretch of silence he sighed, his face softening. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face gently, trailing his thumb down her temple and slowly across her jaw. Rory closed her eyes, leaning her face into his hand. She turned her head, pressing her lips into his palm.

She felt him sigh quietly and tilt her head gently up so that her face was towards him. Her eyes opened reluctantly to look up at Tristan. He shook his head lightly, sliding his fingers across her skin, "You told me once that what I did to Christopher Hayden's family didn't make me a bad person." She looked at him steadily, saying nothing. "Did you mean that? Or were you just saying it because you thought it was what I wanted to hear?"

"I meant it." she said simply, raising her hand to cover the back of his on her cheek.

"How? Of all people, how can you say that it doesn't make me a bad person?" she shook her head lightly, shrugging. Tristan slid his hand away from her, turning his face away, "How can you touch me after what I did to you, Leigh? How can you not hate me?"

She exhaled quietly, shaking her head again, at a loss, "I used to hate you, but I don't anymore because I know you. And I know you aren't the same anymore."

Tristan shook his head, looking away from her, "I don't understand." He glanced back at her, "I hate Christopher Hayden, Leigh. I will always hate him for what he did. I know what you said was true, and I know that my father did terrible things, but I will still always hate him. And what I did to you, that was worse. How can you not hate me?"

She shook her head lightly, "Tristan, you didn't know my father. It's easy to hate someone you don't know. It's easy to hate someone who you've never seen laugh or smile or cry." She laid her hand over his on the bed, wanting him to look at her, "I used to hate you, I did, so much. But once I came here, once I knew you, I couldn't anymore. And once I stopped hating you…" she trailed off, shrugging. "I couldn't go from feeling so strongly about you to feeling nothing."

He stared at her, his expression unreadable, "But I took everything from you. Everyone." he whispered.

"I didn't know most of the people who died." Rory bit her lip, glancing down, "Tristan, when my family died, I was given another one that loved me just as much as I think my first ever did. Luke and Rachel and Jess, they love me as much as my parents and brother and sister did. As much as they could have. I didn't lose everyone, because even by the time my parents died, Luke and Rachel already loved me." She sighed, quietly, chewing on her bottom lip as her gaze stayed on the blanket, "I don't hate you, because I see how you feel. All you ever had was your father, but it was never like that for me. I had parents and brothers and sisters and grandparents who loved me. All the love I had spread out among them, for you, was concentrated in one person, in your father." She shrugged lightly, wringing the blanket between her fingers, "When my family died I was given another, but you weren't. After I realized that, I couldn't hate you anymore."

He watched her for a moment without saying anything, his face a mask of disbelief. After a stretch he dropped her gaze, his shoulders falling as he spoke quietly, "Maybe you don't hate me, but it still doesn't make sense to me."

Rory looked up at him, "What doesn't?"

His forehead scrunched, his face drawing to mask what he was feeling. His voice was so soft she almost didn't hear him, "How can you stand to touch me?" she said nothing at first and after a moment of silence Tristan went on, still refusing to look at her, "I know that before you said you pull away because you should hate me and you don't, but does it not bother you at all to be near me? How can it not?"

She didn't respond at first, not sure of how to answer him. She didn't want to hurt him but she didn't want to lie to him again. Ever. Rory chewed on her bottom lip, touching his neck gently so that he looked at her. She spoke gently, earnestly, "It does bother me. I've felt more guilt in the past month than I ever thought to in all my life." She shook her head lightly, moving closer to him reassuringly as she saw his eyes become metallic, empty, "But Tristan, the guilt I feel at wanting you is nothing next to the desolation I feel at the thought of not being with you." He glanced up at her, his expression guarded. She leaned her head towards him, "And I would take the guilt any day, Tristan, to be with you." He continued to look at her through slightly narrowed eyes, taking in what she was saying. She pressed her lips together, dropping her hand from his neck. She looked down, speaking quietly, "The guilt won't keep me apart from you, so if you can look past the fact that I lied about who I was-" she didn't get to finish. Tristan's lips were suddenly on hers, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Rory inhaled deeply, partly from surprise and partly from delight as her arms came on their own to wrap around him, pulling him close. He pressed forward so that she leaned back slightly to fuse their lips at an easier angle, one of his arms going to wrap around her waist and the other hand pressing against the mattress next to her. He kissed her deeply, his lips moving fully against hers like he needed her to breathe. It was a slow, burning kiss though, like he would never stop; not frantic or hard like he would die without it. The arm that was wrapped around her slid to the side, his hand trailing slowly across her back until it came to rest on her side. He squeezed her hip gently, slowly breaking his lips from hers. He kept his lips nearly touching hers, though, barely a breath apart. Rory stayed with her arms around his neck, breathing shakily. Her eyes fluttered open after a moment to see that he was looking at her, his eyes huge and fathomless.

He opened his mouth as if he would speak but it took a moment. His breathing was affected as well, "Can I?" Rory blinked slowly, her mind working sluggishly. It took her a heartbeat to realize where he held her. She looked down, taking in his hand that clutched her hip over the crest. Her immediate reaction was to say no. But she didn't. She didn't say anything. Tristan spoke after a stretch of silence, "If you don't want me to…"

She looked up at him, shaking her head lightly, "No, it isn't that…." She trailed off, still not giving him permission.

"I won't hurt you." He assured her, "I was…surprised before, and mad at myself more than anything. I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know." She whispered, still uncertain.

Tristan shook his head, at a loss, "Then what is it?"

"I…" she looked up at him, trailing off, "I don't want you to hate me."

His head cocked back, surprised, "Hate you?"

She bit the insides of her cheeks, looking up at him, "Doesn't it make you hate me?" his eyes narrowed in question and Rory blinked slowly, her voice quiet, "My crest."

"No." he said simply, honestly.

"No?"

He shook his head. "No. At first, I wished that it wasn't true. For a lot of reasons, really. But never because I hated you. Never because it changed how I felt about you." She said nothing, just looked up at him. Tristan sighed after a moment, pulling his hand away from her, "I won't, if you don't want me to. Forget I asked, I didn't mean to upset you."

Rory sat up straighter now that Tristan was no longer supporting her at all, "It's not your fault, I'm just…it surprised me. I've only showed it once, four years ago, to two of my friends back in Stars Hollow. They raised me never to let it show and I guess added to how hard I've tried to keep it hidden the past few months I just…" she trailed off again, shrugging. "I do, though."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, "You do what?"

She didn't say anything, just bit her lip nervously and leaned forward to kiss him gently before pushing the covers completely off of her. She inhaled slowly, pushing her hair back behind her, and leaned completely back onto her elbows, her body nearly flat before him, "Go ahead." She whispered.

Tristan looked down the length of her body, his gaze lingering on the hem of her skirt, before he came back to her face, "Leigh…" He said quietly, questioningly.

"I want you to." She replied, shifting her hips minutely.

He looked down at her, unconvinced, for another moment before he wrapped one hand lightly around her right knee. His other hand cupped against the inside of her leg, just above the bend of her knee, and slid gently up her thigh, taking the skirt of her nightgown with it. She watched as his hand crept higher and higher, the right ride of her skirt giving way to bare skin. Rory bit her lip as his fingers came to the top of her thigh, brushing the junction of her leg and pelvis, before his hand slid out to smooth over her hip, pushing the skirt completely out of the way. Her gaze snapped from his hand to his face, wanting to see his reaction. But he didn't have one.

Tristan's expression didn't change. He kept the same look of reverence, his eyes moving slightly as he took in the crest burned into her hip. An intricate pattern of spirals and swirls encasing an H the size of a walnut. She kept watching him, waiting for something, but he just looked down at it, tracing his fingers gently over the rough, raised skin. Different families marked their members in different ways. Burning was an older custom. The Haydens has still used it, but most families didn't anymore, including Tristan's. Tristan's family marking was a tattoo at the top of his back in between his shoulder blades, an inch or two below his neck. It was twice the size of hers, a sharp D placed before a sword and cross, a variation of his family crest.

They sat in silence, the king staring at her hip and her eyes trained on him. He moved his hand from her knee after a moment and put it on the bed next to her, supporting his weight as he leaned down to see it better by the firelight. She watched him, her breath held in. After another short stretch he shook his head minutely and gently smoothed out the skirt that had bunched just above her hipbone, bringing it back down to her knees to cover her legs. He came back and slid up her body, trailing kisses up her ribcage over her nightgown. His lips touched along the bare skin of her chest above her neckline and made a path up her neck and jawline before finally connecting to hers. He kissed her deeply, pushing her back into the mattress. One of her arms came back to wrap around his neck, the other sliding into his hair as her mouth responded to his.

Tristan's hand moved from the bed to slide under her skirt, pressing against the back of her leg and bringing it to wrap around his hips, his lower body pressing against hers. Rory muttered his name contentedly, her chest warm for the first time in four days. His lips broke from hers to trail across her jaw. He ran his teeth along the shell of her ear, his voice hoarse, "I'm sorry." She looked up at him questioningly but said nothing, tightening her leg around him. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted. When I realized who you were it was like…like nothing I'd ever believed was true. Like there was nothing real left in the world." He shook his head lightly, his forehead touching hers as he dropped his head down, "I have never been so dismantled in all my life, and I was horrible to you. I'm sorry."

Rory touched his face lightly, bringing his eyes back to hers, "Don't be." She whispered, "I should have told you. I was going to, but lost my nerve. You don't have to apologize." She felt him sigh as a weight passed from him and his body sank into hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His forehead rested on her shoulder. Rory turned her face, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear, "Will you sleep here?" she whispered. Tristan raised his head fractionally, turning it to look at her. She bit her lip, confessing quietly, "I haven't slept in two nights…I can't sleep without you either."

Tristan laughed lightly, pushing himself off of her. He grabbed the blankets from the bottom of the bed, pulling them over both of them and settling down next to her. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. She laid her head on his chest, burrowing into his side. Her hand snaked under his shirt for her finger tips to trail sleepily along his washboard abdomen, his skin warm to the touch. She slid her leg up to wrap across his hips, pulling herself closer to him, and closed her eyes, relaxing against him. He was staring up at the ceiling, his fingers tracing over her arm when he spoke, "Have you always gone by your second name?"

She shook her head against his chest, opening her eyes slowly, "No, I started using it when I came to Stars Hollow."

"You were called Lorelai before?" he asked.

"No." she pushed herself up on her elbow to look at him while she spoke, "My mother went by Lorelai, so to avoid confusion everyone called me Rory. My family and Lane and her fiancée still do."

He looked up at her, "Rory?" he asked, trying it out. She nodded. "It suits you," he said quietly, "then what do you go by? Leigh or Rory?"

"Rory."

He nodded once, curling a lock of her hair around his finger absentmindedly, "Rory…" he spoke slowly, thoughtfully. She smiled, laying down against him again. He wrapped his arm back around her, "Where did it come from?"

She shrugged, wrapping her leg back around him, "It's short for Lorelai."

He said nothing for a moment, waiting for her to make a joke. When she didn't he spoke, "…how?"

"I don't really know." She slipped her hand back under his shirt, sinking into his side, "I don't think anyone did."

Rory felt him nod, "My mother is the same way."

She looked up at him, "Cecilia?"

"No, that's her given name. But have you ever heard Stephanie talk to her? She calls her Catherine. Logan does sometimes too."

Rory thought back to when Tristan's friends had been there and she did remember, "I'd forgotten. Why does she?"

"When she was younger she couldn't say or remember Cecilia, but there was a girl who worked in her house named Cathy." He shrugged, "So that was what she called my mother and as she got older she started calling her Catherine, I guess out of habit."

"I'm surprised your mother put up with it."

"There wasn't much she could do about it."

"Oh. I guess not…" She trailed off in a yawn, sliding her fingers languidly across his chest. Now that he was laying with her she couldn't keep her eyes open. The days of sleeplessness were catching up to her. She felt him shift down, relaxing into the mattress. It moved his chest down so that she could no longer use it as a pillow. She sighed contentedly anyway, her head on the pillow next to his.

"Le…Rory." He caught himself.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, her eyes closed.

"Goodnight."

"Goodmorning." she muttered back, and she drifted off as his chest shook with gentle laughter against her, the sky lightening in the east.

-*-

Tristan woke slowly, light slanting into the room through the large window on the wall next to the bed. The light had moved from the floor to shine directly on his face, heating his skin and burning into his closed eyes until he was forced into consciousness. He felt a familiar warm weight on his arm and chest and knew without looking that it was Leigh sleeping against him…or, rather, Rory. The name still sounded strange. He wasn't sure that he would ever get used to calling her that. He heard her sigh and move gently, her breath dancing across his chest. He could feel her cheek against his chest through his shirt; her hand was still snaked underneath it, resting warmly on his abdomen.

The sunlight continued to beat against his eyelids and finally he opened them, squinting into the room. The light was hot and harsh against him, not a morning sun. Tristan glanced out the window, wondering how late it was, and saw that the sun was almost to the tree line. It was late afternoon. He swore and sat up, throwing the covers off of him. Rory protested quietly next to him as she slid to the pillows, her eyes not even opening as she rolled over and curled into the sheets. He pulled the blankets back up to cover her before jumping from the bed. His movements seemed to energize Rory's dog, Duke, who laid in front of the fire. He stumbled to his feet clumsily and ran after Tristan as he jogged to the door. He twisted the handle and threw it open. Duke darted through the open doorway, hitting Tristan's legs heavily. The dog sprinted down the hallway and disappeared as Tristan left the room, only getting a step out before jumping back in surprise.

Anna sat in a chair in front of the door, knitting quietly. She looked up as he exited. "How late is it?" he asked hurriedly, "Why didn't anyone wake me?"

The old maid shook her head slowly, "Go back to sleep, Tristan. The kingdom can survive a day without you. You need your rest."

He narrowed his eyes, "Anna."

She didn't waver, "You've barely slept in a week, Tristan. You need to. Now turn around and go back to bed."

He ignored her, "Where is Max?"

"Doing his job. Now go back to sleep. You're useless when you're exhausted and unable to function. Go rest some more, you can get back to ruling in the morning."

Tristan didn't reply but leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, "Have you been sitting there all day?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, going back to her knitting, "You've ordered me to look over Rory. When she's asleep there's nothing else for me to do." She glanced up at him, "Now. I'm done answering questions. Go rest. You both need it."

He watched her for another moment but knew better than to keep arguing with her, so he turned and went back into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Rory was still curled in the blankets but her eyes were open, her gaze on the wall but unfocused. She looked over at him as he approached.

"Hey." He said quietly, coming back to the bed.

Rory smiled gently, still not completely awake, "Hi." She pushed herself up into a sitting position and reached out to take his hand, pulling him onto the mattress. He allowed it, falling to sit next to her heavily. He might have wanted to say something but wasn't given the chance as her lips instantly came to his, fusing them together as her arms came around his neck. She did this, in the early morning before her common sense and inhibitions set in. She would grab him and pull him into bed, her lips insatiable. It wasn't that she wouldn't do it with a clear head, but when she was awake and alert she tended to make him work for it. When still drowsy, her libido kicked in and took him for a ride that left him tripping to catch up.

That thought was far from his mind, though, as his body reacted to touching her for the first time in nearly a week. She kept her arms wound around his neck as she slid seamlessly into his lap, straddling him without lightening the pressure of her mouth against his, kissing him deep and slow. He felt himself hardening already, unable to stop himself from responding to her. It felt as if he hadn't touched her in a year. Her arms slipped from around his neck and her hands came down to the hem of his shirt, finding their way under the cloth to press against his skin. He brought his hands up to cup her face and tangle in her hair, pulling it lightly so that her head tilted and his lips fused to hers at a better angle. He felt her shiver above him. She bunched the hem of his shirt in her hands and slid it up his body, her fingernails scraping against his aides the entire way. He felt his body jerk in response, his hands tightening on her reflexively. She grinned against his mouth. He lifted his arms above his head, grabbing the back of his shirt to help her pull it off. Their mouths broke only long enough for the material to slide from his body. As soon as it was gone her hair was once again tangled in his fingers and he captured her lips in his, taking control from her. Her fingers slid down his shoulders to his chest, where they stopped.

She kissed him hard, deepening the kiss for a moment before she broke away suddenly, her hand on his chest pushing him back minutely. His eyes flew open, surprised, to see what she was doing. He looked at her from mere inches away, their faces close enough that he could still feel her breath. Her eyes were closed and her face was angled down, her breathing deep as she attempted to get it under control. She licked her lips before pressing them together. She wanted to say something. He waited.

"Tristan," She said quietly after a moment. Her eyes opened as she went on but she didn't raise her gaze to his, "the days that we weren't….speaking, did you sleep with anyone else?"

He stared down at her, his eyebrows drawn together. He said nothing. After a stretch of silence she slid her eyes up to his, her worry shining through. Tristan tilted his head down and brought hers up, bringing their faces closer together, "Lei-" he caught himself, "Rory, since the night you walked into this castle, I haven't touched anyone but you."

Her forehead scrunched, "What?"

He shook his head lightly, "I haven't been with anyone else at all since I met you."

She raised her head to look him straight on curiously, "You haven't slept with anyone else?"

Tristan's head cocked back as if surprised by her disbelief, "No. I haven't touched anyone else at all. In any way."

She spoke slowly, still uncomprehending, "But you've kissed other people? Done something?"

"Rory, I haven't even looked at anyone else, let alone kissed them."

Her mouth opened slightly, shocked, "What?" she shook her head, "But you didn't even kiss me until more than two months after I came here."

He scoffed nodding as he slipped his hands from her hair to slide down to her hips, "I know."

She stared up at him, still trying to wrap her brain around what he'd said. She didn't think that he'd been sleeping with anyone else in the past month, except for the past few days when she'd barely seen him. But she'd never imagined that he wasn't sleeping with other women while he was trying to get her. Never dreamed that when she first came to the castle and met him he wasn't sleeping with a harem full of women. Rory closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head as if trying to figure it out, "But I was here for three months before we first slept together."

"I know." He repeated, his expression patient.

"You went three months without sex."

"I know."

She stared at him, her face drawn in confusion, "Why?"

He sighed heavily, leaning back against the headboard. He stared at the ceiling. "Have I ever told you that the first time I saw you, I felt like I knew you?"

"No." she said quietly, shifting on his lap.

"I did." He didn't break his gaze from the roof above them, "And you remember, the first few weeks you were here? When I came out to the training grounds we would always wind up talking?"

"Yes." She slid off of his lap, sitting next to him on the bed.

"I couldn't get you out of my mind." He shook his head lightly, his gaze unfocused, "Every time another woman came close to me, I couldn't make myself stop thinking of you. I mean, I wanted to sleep with you, of course, but that wasn't why I couldn't escape you. It was…I don't even know, I've never been surprised by a woman the way I was surprised by you. I didn't know whether I wanted to bed you or get to know you better." He fell silent as if considering how to go on, "I wanted to know you. I wanted to see what made you the way you were, so different from everyone else. But I thought that if anything did happen, I would lose any chance of knowing you better. I knew that it would never go any farther than just sex if it happened so soon." He shook his head, "It wasn't that I wanted to be with you or that I cared for you yet, it was just that I was curious about you. I wanted to understand you. Like anything that's confounding, I wanted to get it.

"I didn't know what I wanted to do about you yet, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting what happened because of it…" he trailed off, inhaling deeply as if he still didn't like dwelling on it, "Every time another woman came close to me, all I saw was you. And it wasn't even sexual, it was actually completely innocent; just your face or your smile or your laugh. I don't know why, I just…did. And the thought of touching someone else while the image of you still burned behind my eyes…I couldn't do it. They would come to me and as soon as I saw them I would tell them to leave. My body didn't even respond. It wasn't that I was pining for you or that I thought of nothing but conquering you, it was nothing like that at all. My want for your body was always almost rivaled by the fact that I wanted to see into your mind. That was why I never tried anything in the beginning, because I couldn't stand the thought of risking that.

"The night Logan had you brought to my room, I didn't know he was going to do it. I'd said something to him the first night I saw you but I never brought up wanting your body to him again. From the first time I spoke to you, I never again even considered speaking of you that way to anyone." He cracked his jaw, exhaling quietly, "That night, though, I would have given it up. It was the first time in two weeks that I'd had a reaction to a woman's presence. I saw your face when anyone else came close to me but when you were there it was almost more than I could take. I was so overwhelmed, like I was always drawn to you." He fell silent and broke his gaze from the ceiling to look at the cover on the bed. He sat up straighter, his forehead scrunching, "But that night you suggested that I-" he broke off. Forced himself on women, albeit unwittingly. He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

She reached out to touch his arm, wishing, not for the first time, that she could take back the hurtful things she'd said to him those months ago. "Tristan." She whispered, shaking her head lightly.

He kept his gaze on the cover, "No. No, I didn't bring it up to make you feel bad or apologize. That was another reason I never touched anyone else after you came here, though. Leigh, when you said that," he shook his head, not catching his slip of her name, "I don't even know, it messed with my mind. I would rather never touch anyone again than force a woman into something she doesn't want, whether it's purposely or not. After that night there were a lot of reasons I couldn't touch anyone else and there were also a lot of reasons that part of me hated you. Because added to the fact that your mere presence in my life made it impossible for my body to want anyone else, the things that you said made it impossible for my mind to even consider or wish for it.

"The thought that I would be forcing someone into something did a lot to stop me from touching anyone, but more than that it was the fact that I still wanted you. After that night I knew that I still wanted to know you, but I also wanted your body. I wanted everything, I wanted all of you in a way that I've never wanted anyone in my life. I would have thought that the blatant rejection would temper my condition of only being able to want you, but if anything it made it worse. And not only that, but after that night I thought you hated me. You'd been here for weeks and I still couldn't want anyone else. That had never happened to me before and I was starting to worry that I would never escape my need for you. Before that night I'd thought that eventually I would either have you or outgrow the desire to bed only you, but if you hated me then I knew I would never have you. And after seeing you that night I knew I'd never outgrow my want for you. I know it must have been irrational, but I was afraid that I'd spend my life craving you and you would spend yours hating me. When I told you that I was taking you off the guard, it was true that part of the reason was because I wasn't willing to put a woman in danger, but mainly it was because I couldn't be around you and want you so badly when you despised me.

"I'd planned, originally, to send you home when I told you that you wouldn't fight. But once I saw you I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand the thought of sending you away. I was still unkind to you after that, like I told you before because it was unhealthy for me to want you, but also because I wanted you so much it hurt, and I thought after you yelled at me about how I force myself on women you would want nothing of me. And even if you did, I knew that eventually I would wind up taking you. I didn't want to lose the chance to know you, but I didn't know that I'd be able to keep myself from touching you and ruining everything.

"But then as it came closer to your birthday I started really looking at you while you watched me and I realized that you didn't hate me. That was when we got better, but I still wanted to keep my distance. I never trusted myself with you." He looked at her thoughtfully, shaking his head lightly, "I think it was in my study, when I showed you the marriage proposal from Rivenlear and we started talking about love and marriage, that I stopped wishing I could want other women. That was when I gave up trying to fight this need for you and just accepted it. Before that I hadn't touched other women because they had nothing for me; I wanted all of you and nothing of anyone else because I was consumed by you, I had to have you because you had some physical pull over me and I was blinded. It was dark, and it was unhealthy and miserable.

"But after that, I didn't touch them because you overshadowed them all. It wasn't because I saw you every time I looked at them anymore. It was because I saw you everywhere I looked. I didn't have to have you anymore, I just needed to be part of you, the way you were already part of me. And I didn't want all of you because I was consumed by you. I wanted all of you because anything less wasn't enough. It wasn't any less driving, but it was so much lighter than before. I didn't have this black, burning, consuming desire for you. You became the only one I wanted because after seeing the possibilities that lied with you, touching anyone else would feel like a cheap imitation. I wasn't consumed by you anymore. I felt completed…" he broke off as if surprised at himself. Rory watched him, too shocked to speak. They sat in a thick silence for a stretch. Finally Tristan cleared his throat, looking away from her, "So there you go, that's why I haven't touched anyone else since you came here. By now the thought makes me sick." Still she didn't respond but just stared at him from less than a foot away, her face wiped of anything to point him in the direction of her thoughts. Tristan waited for another span of silence before he snapped his gaze back to her, "Say something, Rory."

She blinked, her face still slack. After a moment she shook her head lightly, her voice small, "I didn't know."

Tristan's eyebrows arched wryly and his head titled forward slightly, as if he hadn't quite heard her. "Really? I basically bear my soul to you, and all you can say is that you didn't know?" he made a sound of disbelief from the back of his throat and stood.

He turned to walk to the door but Rory suddenly came to life, grabbing his arm roughly, "Tristan wait."

He shook his head lightly, refusing to turn back to her like he knew she wanted. His jaw tightened in disbelief, his voice was saturated with self deprecation as he spoke, "No. You know, Rory, it's like you want to know everything that's going on in my head. You want to know every single little thing I think about you. You push and you prod and you coax me and again and again I wind up staring at the ground like an idiot, telling you how much you've changed me and how much you mean to me and how much I need you. And you push me to it and you push me to it and when I finally tell you, you just sit there playing dumb like it was the last thing you ever expected to hear and I feel like even more of an idiot because common sense tells me that means that you don't feel anything near the same. This happens every time. You push me until I break and I lay my whole pitiful, twisted sad little thoughts and feelings out on the table for you and you do nothing. You give me nothing. You have to know what's going on with me, but God forbid you ever once even show me a shred of what's going on with you. God forbid you ever admit the tiniest bit of need for me. You did admit once that you wanted me, but only because I'd found out you were a Hayden and you were afraid."

She shook her head, climbing out of the bed to stand in front of him, "Tristan-"

"No." he shook his head, cutting her off, "Don't try to deny it. You give nothing. You give me your body. Don't pretend that all this time you've been giving me more than that."

Her eyes widened, "I have!"

His eyes narrowed as he took a step back from her, "No you haven't! You can't give someone more than your body when you lie to them every time they look at you, Rory! And all this time I thought that it was enough, that my actions were enough to let you know what I feel and what I think about you, but it isn't enough for you. You have to hear it. You have to be praised. You have to know that I would do anything, fucking anything for you. You have to hear how much I want you. You have to know that you have some control over me but you never admit what you feel for me. You spend all this time trying to get me to share my feelings and tell you what you mean to me but you never say anything."

Rory stared up at him, her hurt and anger warring for dominance. The former won out, "That's not true."

Tristan scoffed, rolling his eyes, "It is, Rory. You always want me to reassure you, to tell you over and over that you're different from the others. And you are. Fuck my life, but you are. And no matter how many times I tell you, you have to hear it again. Forget the fact that you sleep in my bed, forget that I had the woman who raised me and who I love more than almost anyone I've ever known take care of you from the time you got here, forget the fact that I waited as long as you wanted before we had sex, forget that every single person you've spoken to has told you how different I am with you; you have to hear it over and over."

She shook her head, her anger building, "I never asked you for all that, Tristan. You made those decisions. I never asked you for any of it!"

He scoffed, "Oh please, Rory, save it. I'm not complaining about the things I did. I'm telling you that it's never enough for you. You have to be told."

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at him as she snapped, "Is it really that unbelievable that I want to be reassured, Tristan? You don't exactly have the best history when it comes to women and I can't imagine that you've never said things to them you don't mean."

"Don't." he growled, turning on her. His eyes snapped black fire, "Do not, after everything, even insinuate that I would ever treat you like I treated them. Don't presume to tell me what I've said to other women. How many times have I told you that sex didn't mean anything before you? How many times have you asked me how I could not feel anything for them? Are you really going to stand there, after everything that's happened, and accuse me of telling women before you that they mattered to me? Don't insult me."

"Don't patronize me!" she yelled back, her anger not quite matching his but respectable nonetheless, "You don't get a sex history riddled with hundreds of women without telling a few lies."

"Lies?" he said loudly, his eyes widening, "Lies? Since when am I a liar, Rory?! When have I ever given you any reason to believe that I've lied to you?" he scoffed in disbelief, twisting away from her, "Hell, forget me lying, who are you to say anything about anyone lying?"

"Stop using that against me!" she yelled, shoving his chest without thinking. It did nothing. He didn't even budge. "I had to lie about that, I didn't have a choice!"

"No." he sneered, leaning towards her, "You didn't, not at first, maybe. But a month ago if you had told me who you were do you honestly think I would have hurt you? Hell, if you'd told me a week ago, do you really think I would have let anything happen to you?"

She shook her head, her eyes narrowed, "I don't know Tristan, it's hard to know what to think when you're sleeping with someone who has a history so long that if you listed them all it would stretch from here to the northern border. How am I supposed to know what to believe from you?"

"When did I become a fucking liar in your book?" he exploded, yelling at her like he never had before. She gasped, jumping back, wide eyed. "Where is all this coming from? I tell you that I'm tired of feeling like an idiot for always telling you what I feel when you won't give me shit and suddenly I'm a liar? The girls before you don't bother you, Rory. If they did then you would have brought them up by now, but you haven't. The only reason you're bringing them up is because you want something to attack me with so you don't have to accept the fact that you're in the wrong."

She shook her head so hard that her hair whipped back and forth as she yelled, "You've never even asked me to tell you how I feel, Tristan!"

"Oh, so what, because I'm more subtle than a boulder over your head you think I don't want to know?!" he yelled back.

She shrugged, throwing her arms out, "How the hell am I supposed to know what you want if you don't say it?!"

"Fine!" he snapped, stepping closer to her, "This is me telling you what I want. I want you to say how you really feel. I want to hear that you want me so much you physically hurt on nights that I'm not next to you in bed. I want you to admit that you need me as much as I need you and I want you to tell the fucking truth for once about me and you!" he finished loudly and was met with silence.

Rory stared up at him, biting her lip, "You want the truth?" she whispered, feeling small tears of relief and fear and doom all pushing at the back of her eyes. She refused to let them fall as she went on, her voice quiet, "You want to know how much you mean to me? You want me to tell you that the only time in all my life of running and hiding that I've ever felt really safe was laying in your arms? You want me to tell you that the one person I should have been terrified of was the only one who ever made me feel like I could stop being scared? You want me to tell you that the only place in all my life that I've ever felt like I belonged was with you? That for the past month I've been terrified of you finding my crest, not because I ever thought you would kill me but because I thought you would hate me for it and I would rather die than see you hate me?" she swallowed hard, staring up at him steadily, "You want me to tell you that when you walked away after you found out who I was and didn't speak to me or acknowledge me I literally felt something inside of me die? I'll tell you how I feel Tristan.

"I want you." She said simply, directly, "I want you and I have wanted you since the day I first spoke to you. I didn't want to admit it even to myself because I was afraid. I was afraid that if I didn't hate you then I would be turning my back on my family. But eventually I just didn't care anymore. I want you." She repeated, her voice slowly getting louder as the tears dried from the backs of her eyes, never having fallen, "I want you, not just your body and not just your mind. I want both. And I don't care that you're the king, that doesn't do anything to increase how I feel about you or how much I want you. I want you all to myself. I don't want the wenching maids or castle servants anywhere near you. I don't want them to even look at you. I don't care what you did before or who you slept with, your past doesn't matter to me but now I want you, all of you, just for me. I don't want any of the rest of them to have any part of you. You say you don't need to possess me anymore; you just want to be a part of me? Well I want to possess you. I want you to be mine. Undisputedly and permanently mine. I have never wanted anyone or anything so much in all my life.

"I want you with me, every night. I don't care if it's in your bed or my bed or in the woods or in a barn, I want you all the time. I want to hear you tell me that I'm different all the time because I want to have you without a doubt. You think men are possessive, Tristan? You think you were angry about Marty and Callum? You have no idea. I want to hear that I'm different because I want to know that you aren't going to walk away when a pretty maid comes to the castle or Kira walks into your study wearing nothing but a ribbon in her hair. Because if that ever happened, if you ever cast me aside, if you ever touched Kira again, I would never recover. And, in all honesty, neither would she after I was finished with her.

"I want you, Tristan. I never want to be touched by anyone else, ever. And I need you. I feel like I need you to breathe. I have never needed anyone in my life, Tristan. I've lost more than most girls my age have nightmares about. Nothing scares me. Even as a child, after I came to Stars Hollow, nothing truly scared me. I worried, about being found out. When I came here I worried that someone would find my crest and figure out who I was. I was afraid because I thought you would hate me if you knew. That scares me unlike anything else ever has. The thought of losing you makes me break out into a cold sweat and wake up screaming. Because I need you. You said that no one has ever made you want only them? Well you're the only one I've ever wanted." She shook her head, staring up at him steadily, "I knew I was lonely before, but I never knew I was empty. Not until I met you and I wasn't anymore. I've seen you beat yourself up, Tristan, I know you think that you're corrupting me and damaging me, but you're not. You're the only one who has ever made me whole. Adoptive parents and an amazing cousin and two best friends couldn't do that in ten years and you did it in a few months.

"I need you to make me not empty anymore, Tristan." She sighed heavily, her shoulders falling. She looked up at him through clear irises, her breathing coming out ragged, "You're the only one." She whispered. He stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily. He said nothing. She went on, "Just because I never said how I felt doesn't mean that you have any less hold over me than I do over you. Do you want to know why I want you to belong to me? Why I want to own you? Because you own me. Whether you realize it or not, I am yours. Completely. You may not feel the need to have me anymore, but you do. You can break me if you want, Tristan. Like a twig. You can destroy me, and I would let you. No one has ever had that kind of power over me. But you do. And I don't care. I welcome it, I do. But it has to go both ways. That's why I have to own you. I want you to be mine because that's the only way that it's fair. I'm already yours, so I want you to be mine." Tristan stared at her, his eyes wide. He said nothing. Rory pressed her lips together, feeling the tears pushing at her eyes again. This time she didn't fight them. Instead she kept going, even after reason told her to shut her mouth, "Do you want to know why? Do you want me to tell you why I never said any of it before?" he didn't answer, but kept staring, slowly taking it in. She bit her lip, going on, "I was afraid. I was and still am so terrified because I know that one day you're going to wake up and wonder why I'm still here. You're going to move on and I don't think I can. If I say these things, if I make them real, then I can never walk away. I am so terrified that soon you're going to look over at me and wonder what in the world you were thinking-"

"Leigh." Tristan interrupted her, his voice soft as he raised a hand to cup her face gently. His expression wasn't the smug look she'd been expecting. He looked shocked. She wondered if he was feeling the same awe she did every time he confessed how he felt about her.

She went on, looking at him through tears, "And do you want to know the worst? What terrifies me the most? The real reason I wouldn't say it before? It scares me senseless because I know it's true. Everything else could happen, but this one is unavoidable and when it happens I will die-"

He shook his head, cutting her off again, "Don't talk like that." He said quietly, bringing his other hand up to brush her hair back from her face. He'd wanted to know how she felt, but he'd had no idea…

Rory finished quietly, "What terrifies me the most, is when I'm going to have to sit back and watch while you find a suitable wife." Tristan visibly cringed. She clenched her teeth against her tears, going on, "I'm going to have to see you pick someone to marry, court her, wed her, take her to your bed, have chil-"

"Stop." He cringed again as if her words caused him physical pain; his finger slid over her lips, silencing her. "Stop."

She looked up at him helplessly, her lip trembling, "But it's true!"

He shook his head gently, his voice quiet and reassuring, "No. Rory have you ever listened to anything I've ever told you?"

She shook her head, not really hearing him, "What are you talking about?"

Tristan brushed her hair back from her face, looking down at her as if pained, his voice quietly breaking, "How many nights have we fallen asleep talking about the future? How many times have I told you that I love you?"

She froze, her eyes wide with shock, "What?" she breathed.

Tristan pulled her closer, sliding his fingers through her hair comfortingly, "You thought I was delirious, that I didn't know what I was talking about, but I remember everything I ever said those nights. And I meant every word."

She stared up at him, her breath hitching. "No." she breathed so quietly he almost didn't hear it, shaking her head, "No. no. no." She could feel it. Her chest was caving in at the same time that her eyes were swelling. She could feel the tears pushing at the back of her eyes. She remembered. She remembered everything. All the nights she'd listened to him whisper into her ear as he drifted to sleep, his voice quiet and pained, whispering to her that she made him feel what no one else had ever come close to touching; that he loved her, wanted to marry her. She could swear she felt a gaping cave in her chest where her heart had just crumbled. Rory looked at Tristan, her throat closing as tears filled her eyes and brimmed over to slide down her cheeks. She let out a shuddering sob and turned away from him, raising a hand to her mouth in an attempt to curb the hysteria she could feel building.

"Rory." Tristan came to her, lost, and touched her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. She kept her head down, refusing to look at him as the sobs continued to make her shake. He shook his head, shushing her as he gathered her in his arms and pulled her to the bed, "Rory please, talk to me." She shook her head, unable to speak through her tears. "Hey." He pulled her into his lap and she buried her face in his still bare shoulder, her fingers raking across his skin as she tried to hold onto him. He held her, lost as to what to do. He didn't even know why she was crying. "Shhh." He whispered against her skin, kissing a trail slowly down her neck and shoulder. He traced a line of warm, comforting kisses back up her neck to her lips, where he laid soft, lingering kisses over her mouth, gradually bringing her down from her cries.

She allowed him to kiss her, her body still shaking and her breath coming out in gasps. As she calmed down she started to kiss him back, and at the sign of her recovery he pulled back minutely to look at her, his lips a breath away. He brushed her hair back from her face, "Rory-" he started to whisper, but she cut him off, her lips connecting gently to his again. She kept the kiss short and soft, like the other ones, and though she could tell he wanted to protest, she knew him well enough to be certain that he wouldn't. "Rory-" another kiss made him fall silent. Again she pulled back, but only for a moment before her lips met his again. When she pulled back he opened his eyes to look at her. She saw him surrender. He knew her, and he knew when she was tired or upset she was obstinate and he was nowhere near strong enough to deny her. She leaned down and kissed him again slowly, this time not pulling back. She felt his body relax as he gave up the fight. His hand came up to tangle in her hair as he pushed her forward, leaning over her until her back hit the bed. He kissed her deeply, his lips already whisking away her pain and hurt while his hands traveled down her body to push up her skirt.

Rory broke her lips from his, her head falling back as she arched up so that Tristan's hand could slide around her back to loose the knot that held her corseted nightgown in place. It took only a moment and then her back was once again against the bed, the nightgown pooling loosely around her body. The skirt of her nightgown was pushed up to her hips and Tristan's hand was sliding up the back of her thigh, bringing her leg up to wrap around his waist, skin on skin. Rory gasped shakily, her arms coming to wrap around his shoulders as if to support herself as she felt him pressed against her through a few layers of cotton, hard and ready. One of her hands released his shoulder to come up to tangle in his hair. Her lips made their way to his ear to speak into it, "Do you want me to tell you how much I want you?" she whispered, her voice earnest, "And how much it hurts?"

Tristan turned his head to look at her, his body hard and solid, though at her touch he shook lightly, "This isn't good for you, Rory. Talk to me." He pleaded. She shook her head, tightening her leg around him and pressing her hips into his. When he spoke his voice was weaker, "I don't want you to hurt." He whispered.

Her eyes opened, "But I do." She breathed again, connecting her lips to his, "I do so, so much. And I need you." She spoke into his ear, her hands finding their way down his body to the waist of his pants, "I need you to make it stop." She pulled the knot free and slipped her hands lightly over his hip bones, "Please." She whispered, scraping her teeth gently over his neck. He shivered, swearing quietly, "Please." Rory brought her arms up and slid them out of the sleeves of her nightgown, letting the bodice of it bunch around her waist, leaving her upper body bare from her navel to her neck. Tristan's eyes never left hers. She laced the fingers of one hand in his hair and lifted her head as she pulled his down gently, meeting halfway. Her lips connected to his in a deep, eternal kiss.

Rory slid her other hand down his bare back, scraping her fingernails against his skin. She pulled away from the kiss slowly and looked up at him through clouded eyes. "Please, Tristan, you're the only one who can make it stop." She whispered, sucking his lower lip gently, "The only one."

She felt him shiver and curse quietly, knowing that she was manipulating him so she didn't have to address what was really bothering her. But he was weak. He could never deny her anything. And so he kissed her deeply, hating himself, "Okay baby," he whispered into her ear, his voice breaking as his hand slid between her legs, parting them gently, "I'll make it stop."

**

Rory woke slowly, her head resting against a warm, solid chest. Her eyes were sore from the crying and her lower body was sore from Tristan's thorough comfort. She breathed in deeply, rubbing her cheek on his bare skin as she opened her eyes. It was still dark outside though the room was illuminated by a burning fire in the hearth. She wondered briefly how late it was; it must have still been the middle of the night. They'd woken up in the late afternoon and drifted back to sleep mid-evening after a fight unlike any they'd ever had followed by a makeup unlike any they'd ever had, never leaving the room.

Rory could hear rain hitting the roof. Tomorrow would be a miserable day, freezing and rainy. She pushed herself up to look around the room, the covers falling from her upper body. Stark shadows and harsh light cast by the fire in the otherwise black night made her squint to see the room. Duke was gone from in front of the fire. She thought that he must have been gone when she woke that afternoon, but she hadn't noticed. If he'd still been inside he would have been barking like mad at her and Tristan.

She shivered lightly; the stone walls, floor and ceiling radiated coolness despite the fire in the hearth. She brought a hand up to push her hair out of her face but it was hard to the touch. Sweat had dried in it where it touched her face, making it stiff. She twisted around, burying herself back under the covers and against Tristan's body.

She felt him shift, turning over to wrap his arm securely around her and pull her tight against him before settling back into the mattress again. Rory rolled over so that his chest was pressed against her bare back. Tristan yawned, burying his face in her hair, "How late is it?" his voice was thick.

"I don't know. The middle of the night." She answered, settling back against him. "It's raining."

"I hear." He mumbled, touching his lips to her shoulder sleepily. Rory bit her lip, about to speak, but didn't get the chance. Her stomach let out a loud rumble, protesting at being empty when she'd used so much energy before falling asleep. Her eyes widened in embarrassment and she sat still, hoping Tristan was too tired to notice. No such luck. He sat up, looking down at her in amusement, "Are you hungry?"

"No." she insisted, not turning off her side.

"Your stomach doesn't seem to agree."

"I'm fine."

He laughed, pushing the covers off of both of them. She protested loudly as the sudden cold. Tristan grabbed her, pulling her out of the bed with him, "I've seen you eat enough in one sitting to feed half of the army. We didn't anything yesterday. You're hungry."

She narrowed her eyes, checking the urge to stick her tongue out at him, "Fine." She grabbed a nightgown from her wardrobe; it was white and thick and warm, long-sleeved and knee length with a low square cut neckline. She grabbed a pair of boots that laced up almost to the bottom of her knee to keep her legs warm. When she turned Tristan was wearing the cotton pants and shirt he'd worn into her room. His hair was worse than hers had been, because it was short the sweat made it stand up in all directions.

His eyebrows arched when he saw her, "Nice boots."

She narrowed her eyes, "Shut up and get me food."

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her to pull her from the room, "Come on." He led her down the hall and the stairs towards the kitchen.

Her boots thunked heavily on the stone as they made their way down, her skirt swirled around her thighs. She looked up at him, scowling, "How come you walk so quiet?"

Tristan laughed, "What?"

She motioned towards his feet, "You're wearing boots too, but yours are quiet."

"That's because I don't stomp all over the place." Her eyebrows arched and he smirked, going on, "Besides, my legs are stronger. Your boots overpower you."

"Funny." She said dryly, not amused by his humor.

Tristan just grinned and kissed her temple, pulling her down the servants' corridor towards the kitchen. "What do you want?"

"Food."

He rolled his eyes as they came to the kitchen, pushing the door open to allow her to walk through ahead of him, "What kind?"

"Mmm…" she bit her lip thoughtfully, stepping into the large room. The constant fire roared in a huge open hearth on the far end of the room. Two kitchen servants were sitting at one of the counters, drinking something hot out of wooden mugs as they conversed. The kitchen was never completely empty because the fire was never put out. They looked up as Tristan entered and their eyes widened. They stood before sweeping respectful bows but he just waved a hand at them, inviting them to go back to what they were doing.

He brought her over to a large pantry and opened the door, pulling her in behind him, "What do you want?" he asked, looking around at the shelves.

Rory looked around as well, standing on her tip toes to see the higher shelves. "Ahh." She smiled reaching up to pull down a loaf of bread, "This. And…" she looked around, her eyes falling on a bunch of carrots. She grabbed some, "this." She turned around, handing her load to Tristan, "Here, hold that." Before turning back around to crouch in front of the lower shelves. She pulled out a jar of honey and held it up to him without looking back, "This is for you." He just smirked, amused, and took it from her. "Hmm…" she shuffled along the shelf, crouched down, "Cookies? Yes." She answered her own question, grabbing the jar and holding that out for him as well without waiting for his response. "I wish there was more to eat that we didn't have to cook." She muttered, tilting her head to see something on the shelf. Her hair slid out like a curtain. "Are there any potatoes?" she asked without looking up.

"Yeah, over on the other wall."

She glanced up where he indicated and chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, "I don't like them unless they're cooked."

Tristan's lip quirked, "You know, we can cook something if you want."

Her eyebrow arched, "Can you cook? Because I definitely can't."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I can cook."

Her face brightened, "Really?"

"Yes, really. What do you want?"

"Cake." She answered without hesitation, standing up fluidly. "Here." she grabbed the carrots from him and threw them back in with the rest, "We don't need those."

He held up the rest, "What about this?"

She grabbed the honey and reached behind her to put it back on the shelf, "No…no." she took the bread from him as well and put it where it belonged.

He held up the jar of cookies, "What about these?"

She turned, her eyes landing on the last article in his hands. She tilted her head forward, "Are you serious?"

"I'll take that as a yes." He tucked the jar under his arm.

Rory grinned, leaning up to kiss him, "I love when you're smart." She pulled back and turned to the shelves, "Now, what do you need for cake?"

They gathered the ingredients he needed and came out into the main part of the kitchen and deposited everything on a table. The servants had gone, leaving the two of them alone. Rory jumped up to sit on the long counter that ran down the center of the room, her legs dangling over the side. She pulled the top off of the jar of cookies next to her and watched Tristan as he moved around the kitchen, pulling out mixing bowls and utensils.

They made small talk, laughing and bantering the whole time. She was surprised that he could cook, and told him so. He said he was surprised that she couldn't. She said he made a pretty house wench. He pulled her off the counter and wrestled her to the ground. Somehow they wound up on the floor, covered in flour and laughing, Rory breathless from Tristan tickling her. Their laughter slowed and Tristan captured her lips in his, cutting it off completely. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Her leg came up to wrap around his waist, heavy from the thick boot. Tristan slid his hand up the back of her leg, moving his mouth deeply against hers. The cake batter still hadn't made it to the oven yet.

He broke away slowly, as if remembering where they were. Rory made a small sound of protest in the back of her throat and pulled him back, her lips connecting to his again. Tristan grinned against her lips and stood easily anyway, bringing her with him without breaking the kiss. She yelped quietly in surprise, her arms tightening around his neck and both of her legs going to lock around his hips as he picked her up. He walked over and sat her back on the counter, finally breaking the kiss. He laid another quick, light kiss on her still expectant lips before going back to the pan that he'd already poured the batter into. He slid it into the wrought iron oven next to the fire and wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, kicking the oven door closed before turning back to Rory.

She watched him, one leg crossed over the other. The foot on top bounced lightly. They stood in silence, looking at each other. Rory bit her lip, resting her palms on the countertop on either side of her, "So...."

Tristan nodded lightly, moving towards her, a bedroom look in his eyes, "So." He came to stand in front of her. She tilted her head affectionately and without another word he slid his hand up the back of the leg crossed over the top until it came to the bend in her knee. He pulled it up, sliding it off of her other leg and spreading them apart. His hands slid up her legs to clutch her hips. He pulled her forward so that she perched on the edge of the counter, her legs on either side of him. Rory bit her lip, grinning as she sat up straighter.

Tristan smiled gently, his face a breath away from hers. He moved his lips in front of hers as if he would kiss her; she tilted her face up, waiting for it, but he didn't kiss her. He just kept his lips a breath away from hers, barely touching, still grinning. Rory looked up at him from an inch away, biting her lip to hide a smile. Tristan slid his hand up from her hip to press into the small of her back, "Hey." He said quietly, his eyes bright.

Rory grinned, "Hi."

"How did you sleep?"

"Good. You?"

He nodded, "It was better than the past few nights, definitely."

She laughed lightly, bringing her hands to scrape her fingernails lightly up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair, "I think. We should sleep less." She said quietly, clenching her fingers in his hair suggestively.

Tristan chuckled gently, running his hands over her body to trail down her thighs, "Yeah?"

"Mhmm." She mumbled, nipping his bottom lip gently.

"And what could we possibly do instead of sleep?" he asked lightly, a smile in his voice. Rory just bit her lip and looked into his eyes, grinning. Tristan laughed, finally leaning forward to kiss her. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Rory?" he muttered against her lips, trailing his hands back up her body.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, breaking her lips from his for only a moment.

He kissed her deeply before pulling back, waiting for her to open her eyes before he spoke, his voice quiet, "Why did you cry yesterday?"

She blinked, nearly unresponsive, "What?"

"Last night when I told you that I meant everything I said before, why did you cry?"

She continued to stare at him, biting her lip nervously, "Can we not talk about that?"

She leaned forward to kiss him again but he pulled back, pushing her away lightly, "No, we can't. Why did you cry?"

Rory sighed heavily, pulling her arms from around him to rest her hands on the counter on either side of her, "Tristan." She said quietly, shaking her head, "All those nights, you said things that I wanted. Things that I still want. Things that I want so much it…hurts…to hear them, because no matter how much we want them, they'll never happen."

He shook his head, "Rory-"

She cut him off, "You told me months ago that you had no control over your life, that you can't just do things because you want to. Like this."

He looked at her strangely, "Are you talking about when we were in the smithery?" She nodded. "That wasn't what I meant-"

"Tristan." She said gently, placing a finger over his lips, "We both know what this is." She shook her head sadly, "By now we're just kidding ourselves. What we want doesn't matter. You told me that you couldn't choose to be with who you want so it doesn't matter whether you meant what you said or not. It doesn't change anything." Her voice was quiet. She thought if she spoke any louder her voice would probably break and she would cry again and it would be unintelligible.

He shook his head lightly, staring at her in disbelief. By now he knew her well enough to know that when she got this way, cold and cutting, it was because she hurt. Because he knew that he didn't get angry, instead he just crooked his finger under her chin, raising her gaze to his, "How can you possibly say it doesn't matter? That it doesn't change anything?"

She shook her head, trying to look away from him but he wouldn't let her, "Because I'm realistic."

He kept her face in place, his eyes boring into his, "No you're pessimistic. It isn't the same thing."

Rory's eyelids fluttered. Tears were pushing against the back of her eyes, "Stop it. This is just making everything worse."

Tristan raised her face, making her see him, "Rory…"

She shook her head, "No."

He ignored her, "Rory, I lo-"

"Don't!" she cried, slapping a hand over his mouth, "Don't, Tristan," she begged, shaking her head to push back tears, "please, please, don't do this."

He stared at her over her hand, his eyes burning. His hand slowly raised, curling gingerly around her fingers to pull them away from his face, "Why are you so afraid? You know it as much as I do. And you know that you feel the same."

She shook her head, her gaze locked with his, "Don't say it."

She saw his teeth clench, but mercifully he obeyed, shaking his head lightly and swearing under his breath, "Fine."

Rory bit her lip, raising her hand to trail her fingers across his jaw before she rested her palm on the side of his face. He relaxed his neck, closing his eyes as he let the weight of his head rest in her hand. She watched him, her heart breaking for him again, "Can't we just go back to the way we were before?" she whispered.

He opened his eyes and she was taken aback by how bright they were, open wide. He picked his head up and shook it minutely, staring at her, "I can't go back, Rory."

She looked down, letting her hair fall like a sheet to hide her face, "What is it that you want from me?" she whispered.

Tristan shook his head, brushing her hair back from her face, "I don't know." He whispered back, "I don't know."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rory watched Callum run through an obstacle course two days later, following his movements through the dense trees. They'd erected a challenging course through several hundred yards of forest, making the men utilize their agility, swiftness, and combat skills. There were hastily constructed wooden walls, ditches, and ambushes set up throughout it. Callum, of course, was breezing through it. Most of the other men weren't. She sat on a small platform built into the top of the trees, a bird's nest where she could watch the men make their way through the entire thing.

She wrapped her cloak around her, pulling the hood over her head. There was little cover this high to block the freezing wind. A creaking came from below and she looked down to see the top of a messy blonde head climbing the rope ladder that led to the platform she sat on. Logan moved up it quickly, much quicker than she had, and in moments he was at the top. However once he got there he stopped, as if just realizing she was there. He stared up at her, his expression guarded. He didn't move.

They sat like that in silence for a moment before Rory sighed, closing her eyes, "Tristan told you."

"Yeah…" he answered slowly, cautiously, watching her through guarded eyes as he pulled himself up from the ladder.

She looked up at him, standing in front of her in the miniscule place. She patted the bench beside her, "Sit." Logan's gaze shifted to the spot next to her. He seemed to consider it for a moment before taking her offer. When he actually did sit down he somehow managed to do it with enough space between them that no part of their bodies touched. It was impressive, she wouldn't have thought it possible in their confined space. Neither of them spoke. They sat awkwardly for a stretch, Rory watching Logan while he stared at the men darting through the forest below them. "So…" she trailed off, uncertain of what she could say to him, "Now you know."

Logan swallowed hard, nodding, "Now I know."

Rory bit her lip, glancing away from him, "And…?"

He shook his head, still refusing to look at her, "And…I don't know what to think." His eyes were narrowed in thought, "I don't think I've wrapped my mind around the whole thing yet."

"Oh." Her voice was small. She turned to watch the men below them as well, not used to this awkwardness with him.

They sat in a heavy silence for a while before Logan finally broke it, his voice muted, "You could have told me, you know."

She looked over at him, surprised, "What?"

"You're a Hayden. You could have told me." He repeated, his eyes narrowed in thought, "You didn't have to carry it around on your own."

Rory exhaled quietly, pressing her lips together, "I wouldn't have wanted to put you in that position. You only would have been in danger."

He looked over at her, his expression still guarded, "I would have helped you."

She smiled warmly, touching his shoulder, "That's sweet Logan, but if Tristan had asked you would have been duty bound to tell him and I wouldn't want you carrying that around."

He stared at her steadily, "You could have told him too."

Rory sighed, pulling her hand back from Logan's shoulder, "Funny, that's what he said."

"Well it's true."

"No." she shook her head, looking at him pointedly, "It's not. I could never have told him. I could never have told anyone here. That would just needlessly endanger people."

"So you haven't told anyone?" he asked.

Rory shrugged, "Anna found out a few weeks ago, and then Tristan did. Other than the two of them I haven't said a word to anyone." She looked over at him, "Who all has Tristan told?"

"Just me. And I think Max. Though he probably wouldn't have said anything to us if we hadn't witnessed his meltdown when he realized who you were. He didn't say anything to me about it before he had me take you to the East Tower, but I think he didn't want me to worry now that the two of you have solved your issues. He told me this morning."

"Oh…" was all she said, quietly. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"He won't tell anyone else." Logan assured her, "I doubt he wants it to get out."

She nodded slowly, still not looking at him, "Oh." She bit her lip, looking down at her hands, "What did he say about it?"

"Oh…" he looked down, his forehead tensing, "Uhm…he just said that you were the youngest Hayden. That you'd escaped when the rest of your family died and that he saw your crest…" he trailed off, knowing that that wasn't what she'd wanted. "He said that…when he realized that you were a Hayden…he felt the world fall away." He broke off, speaking quietly. Rory's head snapped around but he wasn't looking at her, "He said that it was like nothing he'd ever believed or had faith in was really true. I think because he has so much in you."

Rory bit her lip, dropping her gaze from him. Her hair fell between them like a sheet, "You mean had."

"No." he said quietly, looking over at her, "I mean has." She said nothing and Logan looked away from her. He bit the insides of his cheeks, grasping for something to talk about, "So then the story you told me about your family? Was that true?"

"More or less." She said quietly, shrugging, "I wasn't really four when my parents died, obviously, I was eight. They didn't die of a fever. And my father's cousin didn't die in a fire. Other than that it was true."

"Oh." He said slowly.

Rory looked over at him, "Can we get a new expression?"

Logan looked over at her, his lip quirking, "By all means."

"Thank you." She folded her arms, bringing the thick cloak tightly around her. She looked down at the people running through the course below them. The cold wind blew her hair back from her face and made her eyes water. She pulled the hood over her head, "It's freezing." She shivered, biting her lip, "does it seem colder to you?"

He shrugged, looking at the gray sky above them, "You've been up here longer than I have. I'm not as cold."

"Oh."

Logan's head snapped around at her use of the expression 'oh', his eyes wide, "You didn't!"

Her eyes widened, "What? Oh!"

"Leigh!" he yelled, grinning.

"Oh!" she shook her head, "No! No. Shut up."

He laughed, throwing an arm around her to pull her against his side affectionately, "Yeah, still the same."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Tristan."

"Mmm."

"Tristan." Rory whispered again, gently shaking his sleeping body, "Wake up."

"Nuuuugh." He mumbled, rolling away from her and burying his face in the pillow.

"Come on, get up." She pulled his shoulder, rolling him back over towards her.

"No." he muttered, grabbing her and pulling her back down to the mattress and against his chest without opening his eyes.

"Yeees. Wake up." She pushed his arms away and sat up, pulling the covers off of him.

He swore sharply, his body jumping. His eyes opened, "What is it, Rory?" He'd gotten better at using her real name. It had been two weeks since he'd learned who she really was and for the first few days of reconciliation he'd still called her Leigh without thinking. It rarely happened now, however occasionally he did it, usually when he was very tired.

She smiled brightly, "Come on, I want to show you something."

He squinted up at her, still half asleep, "It's the middle of the night."

Her grin widened, "I know." She jumped out of bed and walked into his closet, coming back with two thick cloaks bundled in her arms, "Come on, put on a coat." She threw one to him and wrapped the other around herself. It was cut for him, so it dragged several inches on the ground and absolutely swallowed her. She looked back to see that he was pushed up on his elbows, staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. She motioned towards the cloak next to him on the bed, "Come on, come on. Do it."

Tristan sighed, shooting her another look before rolling heavily out of the bed and pulling the cloak around his shoulders, "What are we doing?"

She smiled brightly again, grabbing his hand, "Let's go." She bounced over to the door, pulling him after her.

"Rory, what…?" he trailed off, knowing that she wasn't going to answer him.

"You'll see…." She sang, leading him out of his room and into the hall, "It's a surprise." She pulled him along through the silent corridors, devoid of people but lit by torches lining the walls. She led him up several staircases, not speaking but humming with some insane energy that no one should posses in the middle of the night.

He looked around them, confused at their direction as she led him up yet another staircase, "Rory? Why are we going to the North Tower?"

She looked back at him, "Because there are no balconies on the lower floors."

His eyebrows arched, "We're not going outside?"

She bit her lip to hold back a grin as she nodded vigorously, "Mhmm."

Tristan shook his head lightly, "But it's freezing."

"Exactly."

His face drew in confusion as they came to the top of the tower, "But…"

"Trust me." She pulled him across the room at the top and out onto the adjoining balcony, shivering as the wind hit her.

He swore quietly as the wind blasted him but he followed her out nonetheless, "Rory, seriously, what are we doing?"

She didn't answer but pulled him over to the railing before she stopped, inhaling before turning towards him with a wide grin. "Now." she bit her lip, still grinning as she trailed her fingers up his arms to rest on his shoulders, "Breathe in deep." He once again looked at her as if she'd lost her mind but did it anyway, his eyes not leaving hers as his chest rose and fell heavily. He said nothing. Rory tilted her head forward, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest, "Do you smell it?"

Tristan shook his head lightly, "Do I smell what?"

"The snow." She breathed, turning sharply away from him to lean out over the railing.

"What?" she could hear the disbelief in his voice, "Rory, it isn't snowing."

"It will." She said confidently, leaning her head back to look up at the black sky.

He shook his head, leaning sideways on the railing next to her so that he faced her, "It rained three days ago. It was freezing cold, but it didn't snow. It didn't even ice. Besides, there hasn't been a cloud in the sky all day."

She just smiled, still looking up at the sky as she shook her head at him, "I'm never wrong. I can always tell when it's going to happen. It's tonight."

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest, "You can tell when it's going to snow?" Rory nodded. "How?"

She shrugged, shaking her head lightly, "I don't know, I just can. My mother used to be able to and now as I've gotten older so can I." finally she looked over at him, still smiling, "I guess it's a family trait."

His eyebrow arched and he shook his head lightly, glancing up at the sky above them, "I don't know Mary, it isn't looking too likely."

"You'll see." She said lightly shifting closer to Tristan to allow him to wrap his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She laid her head on his shoulder, sliding her arms around him from underneath his own cloak. They stood like that for a stretch, neither speaking in the comfortable silence. Rory closed her heavy eyes, letting Tristan's warmth sink into her through their clothes, "Wonderful things happen when it snows." She said quietly.

"You think so?" he asked gently, laying a kiss on her temple.

She nodded, her breath warm on his neck as she spoke, "I don't know why, but they do. It makes all the world new like a gift. It's like a blanket. It makes me feel safe."

"Safe?" his voice was soft.

Rory picked her head up to look at him. She bit her lip, nodding, their faces only a breath apart. "Safe." She whispered.

"From what?"

Her gaze darted between his lips and his mouth as his face moved closer to hers, "Everything." She whispered. Her body swam with his warmth; he still leaned closer, his lips inches from hers. She felt her eyelids flutter closed expectantly of their own accord. His hands were warm and solid on her back, holding her tight against him. She tilted her face up towards his. And nothing.

His lips never touched hers.

Rory opened her eyes, her eyebrows drawn together. Tristan's face wasn't close to hers anymore. Instead he was standing up straight, though his arms were still around her, his head tilted back to look above them. She followed his gaze up into the endless dark sky. Fat white flakes danced above them, slowly falling through the darkness. Rory felt herself grin. She watched as the snow fell towards them, finally reaching their level.

She lowered her gaze to look at Tristan, the snow falling behind him and around him and landing in his hair. She bit her lip, holding back a bright grin. Tristan stared at her in amazement. "Snow."

She nodded, slowly releasing her lip, "Snow."

~*~*

---

Rory walked down the corridor towards Tristan's study late the next morning. She'd woken to an empty room and brushed her hand down Tristan's side of the bed, the sheets rumpled from his body but no longer warm. She'd looked towards the window to see that it was no longer snowing but the ground was covered in a thick blanket, so bright from the sun shining off of it that it made her squint. There had been no sign of him anywhere. But that was Tristan, waking up at ungodly hours to start his day even after she'd woken him up in the middle of the night. And so she'd dressed quickly in one of several dresses that had appeared in Tristan's closet for her several weeks before and run her fingers through her hair to get the knots out before setting off to find him.

She'd assumed he'd be in his study and she came to the door, knocking three times in quick succession, not waiting for an answer before pushing open the door. But the sight that awaited her on the other side made her freeze. Tristan was standing in front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl etched onto his face as he glared hotly at... Kira. The laundry maid's chest was rising and falling rapidly as if she'd been yelling, her face flushed and her pretty features drawn into a scowl as well. They both turned towards the door as she came in.

So many thoughts hit Rory at once that she had no idea which to follow. Part of her wanted to fly at Kira and part of her wanted to back out of the room quietly. It was obvious from the way they were standing that nothing had happened, and she knew that Tristan didn't want Kira anymore, but still in the back of her mind she couldn't push away the thought that Tristan had been sleeping with Kira for three years. It seemed like there should have been something there that she shouldn't witness.

"Did you need something?" Kira snapped, breaking the silence, "We're busy."

"Kira." Tristan growled, stepping towards her.

Rory felt her eyebrows arch, the familiar carnal satisfaction of knowing that Tristan was helpless against her and no one else rising in her stomach. Her lip quirked lightly, gloating, "Yeah, actually, I do." She closed the door behind her and came into the room, walking easily up to Tristan. Without missing a beat she smoothly slid her fingers up the nape of his neck and into his hair, bringing his lips down to hers in a deep, hot kiss. Tristan's hands were immediately on her as if in reaction. One arm wound around her, pulling her tight against him. The other slid up to tangle in her hair, holding her face close against his. Rory's arm came around his neck and clutched the back of his shirt as she raised up onto her tip toes, connecting her mouth more fully to his. She felt him grip her skirt over the back of her hip, pressing her body against his.

There was a scoff next to them, "Are you done?"

Rory broke her mouth from his and turned to Kira, lowering her feel flat to the ground. She smirked lightly at the older girl, one hand still on Tristan's shoulder, "Not even close. But you have to leave for the rest."

Kira's eyes widened slightly, obviously not having expected that from her. She folded her arms, not looking as angry as she had before, "Well well, that's something that I wouldn't have expected from you, Little Leigh. You may be more of an obstacle than I thought."

Rory just stared at her for a moment before shaking her head lightly, "You really don't get it." she slid her hand from Tristan's shoulder to cross her own arms, almost amused, "I'm not competing with you."

Kira almost laughed, "You don't think so? Then what the hell was that?"

"Not for your benefit." She answered. "I don't have to compete with you, Kira. It's done. Now, you need to move along so we can continue."

She stared at Rory as if she couldn't believe what she'd just said. "You aren't seriously presuming to tell me to leave, are you?"

Rory just arched her eyebrows in answer.

Kira's eyes cut to the king, "Tristan."

He exhaled lightly as if he couldn't believe she was seriously asking him to contest, "Out."

She shook her head, confused, "But-"

"Now." he said quietly, cutting her off.

Kira looked between them for another moment before shaking her head lightly, "You're serious about this?"

He locked gazes with her, gravely serious, "I swear, Kira, if you don't stop this right now I will have you removed from the castle. You'll go back to your home village. And you'll marry the fifty year old cobbler, just like your parents had planned before you came here. Understand?"

Kira flinched, her face darkening. She looked between them again, opening her mouth, but nothing came out. She shut it with a snap and just nodded stiffly before walking quickly from the room.

They stood in silence for a moment, the crackling fire the only sound. "So…what was that about?" Rory asked lightly, turning towards him again.

"Nothing happened. She came in a few minutes before you did. She still won't stop." His hands slid to her hips and he pulled her close, pressing her lower body warmly against his, "I tell her to leave, she doesn't listen, we start yelling, same old, same old." He leaned down to kiss her lightly, "Oh, very nice way of marking your territory, by the way."

Rory pulled back, grinning innocently, "What are you talking about?"

Tristan smirked, ignoring her faked innocence, "It's kind of like a dog."

Her eyebrow arched, "Marking my territory like a dog?"

He grinned, "Yeah you kind of did."

Rory bit her lip, shaking her head lightly, "I'm not done." She pushed him back, his lower back hitting the edge of the desk heavily.

His grin widened, "No?"

She shook her head, the corners of her lips tugging, "I have all kinds of places in this room to mark."

Tristan's mouth opened, laughing in amusement, disbelief and obvious pleasure as she leaned up to kiss him again, her hands already sliding under his shirt. "And to think you used to be so shy." He muttered. She just laughed, pulling his shirt over his head.

*~*~*~

Rory laid on her stomach in front of the fire several hours later, a blanket spread under her as well as one thrown over her lower body. Her arms were crossed on the floor in front of her and her head was laying on them. Her eyes were closed, resting peacefully. Tristan lay next to her. She could feel the tips of his fingers tracing patterns across her bare back. Her entire body felt fluid, weak after exertion. It always did after.

She felt his fingers slide down to trail over her hips and across her lower back, right above the sheet. "Christmas is in two weeks." He said softly, his voice muted.

"Mhmm." She muttered without opening her eyes, content to let the fire warm her and to feel his touch across her skin.

"There's going to be a Christmas Eve ball and banquet."

"Yes, I know. They measured me a few days ago for a dress."

"Oh…" He said quietly, as if he wanted to say more. She opened her eyes slowly, looking up at him. He wasn't looking at her face but rather his eyes were following his hand as it traced across her back, his gaze far off. He was distracted. "Everyone who came during my birthday will be back." He broke off, biting his lip uncertainly. After a moment he spoke again, his voice lightly amused, "Stephanie and Madeline have both written to inform me that if I have any desire to enjoy the rest of my life you will be present."

Rory felt herself laugh lightly, "Have they?"

His gaze swept up to her face, his eyes serious, "I was threatened with physical violence."

She felt herself smile at him but it was small. Tristan broke his gaze from hers; he was still distracted by something on his mind, his light words not matching his demeanor. She slid off of her stomach, turning to lay on her side so she was facing him. The movement made his hand slide from her back to trace over her stomach. She put her elbow to the ground and rested the side of her face against her hand, looking at him evenly. She expected him to look up at her face but he didn't. Instead his gaze stayed on his fingers as they moved from her flat stomach out to the curve of her side, trailing down the pale skin until they came to her hip, the cover slipping several inches. He gripped her hip gently, his thumb pressing against her crest. She watched his face, wondering what was going through his mind as he released the bone, tracing his thumb gingerly over the brand.

This wasn't uncommon for them. Many nights she rested against him, her eyes closed as she drifted off, his fingers tracing across her crest in wonder. He would stare at it, his forehead scrunched in concentration as if he still couldn't believe it was there. But he wasn't staring at it like that now. He was just looking down at it, his expression unreadable.

Rory bit her lip, touching his arm gently, "Are you okay?"

He looked up at her at that, his hand stilling on her hip. He stared at her for a moment as if making up his mind. After a stretch he sighed as if giving up, "What are you doing for the rest of the day?" she would have expected his voice to be quiet or bleak after the way he was acting. But it came out strong and genuinely curious. He was no longer distracted, evidently having made up his mind about whatever was bothering him.

She shrugged one shoulder and felt herself smile lightly, glad he didn't seem upset anymore, "I'm open to suggestions."

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully, "I want to show you something."

Her eyebrows arched, surprised, "What?"

He shook his head, "I can't…I can't tell you. I have to show you."

"Okay…" she said slowly, looking up at him.

Tristan stood and she followed his lead, wrapping the cover that had been on top of them around her. "Here." He held her slip out to her.

"Thanks." she pulled it from his hand, the silky material sliding to hit the blanket that was around her shoulders. Tristan started pulling his clothes back on and Rory let the cover drop from her body before pulling the slip over her head. This was one of the few she had that wasn't corseted, though the dress she'd worn that day was. She grabbed it from the floor and slid it on as well. Tristan was standing several feet away, his side to her; his lose pants slung low on his hips, rubbing his hand through his hair as if he were tired. He hadn't put his shirt on yet, it was still in a puddle at his feet from where she'd ripped it off earlier that afternoon. Her gaze trailed up his solidly muscled arm to his shoulder before sweeping over his defined back. Her eyes caught on his crest, the tattoo between his shoulder blades. She'd always known it was there, but had never thought much about it before he found hers. She took a brief moment and allowed herself to wonder though she knew it would never happen, how she would feel if they did have a child. It would carry his crest…never hers. It was true that Tristan was the only child of a father with no brothers. Logan was his cousin on his father's side, the son of the late king's younger sister. He held the Huntzburger crest. Not Dugrey. There were others, though, Tristan's father had male cousins whose children still were and would always be marked with the Dugrey family's tattoo. She didn't. Her crest was dead. After she died no one would ever bear it again. She forced herself to push the thought from her mind as he slid on his shirt. Thinking over it would do her no good. "Tristan?"

He turned towards her, "Yeah?"

"Can you…?" she motioned towards her back where the dress laced up from her lower back to between her shoulder blades.

"Oh." He nodded, stepping towards her, "Yeah."

"Thank you." She pulled her hair over her left shoulder to get it out of the way and turned her back to him. His hands were warm on her as he worked his way up her back, pulling the lace taught. She could feel the heat coming off his skin through her clothes.

His movements were slow, drawn out as if he didn't want to break his touch from her. They didn't speak, the only sound between them was the fire crackling in the hearth as he tightened her dress. When he got to the top she could feel herself shiver as the back of his fingers brushed against her bare skin while he tied off the corseted back. She bit her lip, letting her back press against his solid chest. His hands slid from between her shoulder blades, the knot done, and made their way slowly down her body to wrap around her from behind. He pulled her deeper against him as his lips fell to her exposed shoulder and back, leaving warm full kisses along her skin. He worked his way up her shoulder and neck to kiss her temple gently, "You're going to want to wear something warmer. We'll be outside for a while."

She turned her head to look at him, surprised, "Outside?" He nodded. Rory turned in his arms to face him, "Where are we going?"

Tristan looked down at her for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face to occupy himself as he considered what to say. She waited patiently, having no way to even imagine what he was going to show her. Finally he spoke, "Mitchum, Logan's father, has a huge estate to the west of the city. We're going there."

Rory felt her forehead tense in confusion. That wasn't quite the last thing she'd expected, but it was close, "Why?"

"There's something there I want you to see."

She continued to look up at him, lost, "At Logan's…father's…estate?" she asked slowly.

Tristan nodded, "On his land."

Rory exhaled heavily, "I'm confused."

Tristan smiled affectionately, leaning down to kiss her deeply. He pulled back after only a moment, "Trust me."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, "Bad choice of words."

He laughed lightly, brushing his thumb over her lower lip, "Trust me." He repeated, serious though still bright.

She looked up at him, chewing on her bottom lip suspiciously, "Warm clothes?"

Tristan nodded, "We'll be riding. So wear boots too." He tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully before opening his mouth again, "Unless of course you want a carriage. That might be warmer but it will take a few hours to get there. Riding it will take less than two."

Rory leaned back from him, her head back so that she could look into his face from this close. She didn't know what to think with his behavior, "What kind of surprise is this?"

He shook his head lightly, exhaling, "It's a good one, I hope."

"You hope?"

Tristan sighed and she saw a glimmer of worry, "Rory, I don't know how to explain it to you. Believe me, you'll want to see it for yourself."

"Okay." She said quietly, tracing his fingers gingerly down his arm, "Then I want to ride."

**

Half an hour later Rory was walking to the stables with Tristan, several layers of wool stockings covered her legs under knee-high riding boots lined with fur on the inside and around the top. She had several layers on her body for insulation under a warm dress that was light enough for riding and over all of it was draped a thick fur-lined winter cloak.

Tristan trudged next to her, though he looked much more put together. He had on warm clothes as well, she knew, and probably as many layer as her, but all she could see of it was brown pants tucked into a heavier pair of fur-lined riding boots and a long sleeved wheat colored shirt. There was also a warm riding cloak around his shoulders.

He led her up to the stables, casually waving to the man tending them. She noticed, of course, that while she couldn't go anywhere without being bombarded with questions about why she was there, Tristan was able to go where ever he wanted and take whatever he wanted and no one batted an eye. The man tending the stables questioned nothing as Tristan saddled two horses and led them outside.

"Here, this one is yours." He motioned towards the one to his right before crouching next to the horse and lacing his fingers, palms up, to give her a step up.

She put one foot in his gloved hands, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and the other on the horse's back. She stepped up easily and settled into the saddle, "Thanks."

He grinned lightly, nodding once before swinging himself effortlessly up onto his own saddle. "Are you warm enough?" he asked. She nodded, sliding her fingers over the horse's reins. "Okay," Tristan's jaw hitched towards the west wing of the castle, "Come on, this way." He nudged his horse with his heels and pulled at the reins, guiding it in the right direction.

Rory followed curiously, pulling her horse up to trot next to his. They rode in silence for a moment, Rory biting her lip. Once they reached the tree line that of the castle grounds and entered the forest she spoke, "So this thing you want to show me…it can't be reached by road?"

He glanced over at her, smirking lightly, "No, not really. It isn't off a road."

"It's on Mitchum's land, though?" she asked.

"Yes, it's on his land."

She shook her head lightly, "But you won't tell me what it is?"

Tristan didn't answer at first. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "I think…that it would be best if you saw it rather than me telling you."

"But why?"

He shook his head lightly, "Because I'm not sure whether you'll want to kill me or hug me when you see it."

**

Tristan was true to his word and it was just less than two hours after they started that he slowed his horse, bringing it to a walk. Rory slowed hers as well, staying even with him. He'd announced twenty minutes before that they were on the Huntzburger's land and they were almost there. She'd spent much of the ride through the forest trying to get him to crack and tell her what he was showing her but to no avail. Finally after more than an hour she'd given up and they'd passed the ride like they always did, laughing and bantering and joking.

"It's just up here." Tristan said quietly, suddenly back to the distracted state he'd been in earlier that afternoon.

She shook her head, following his gaze, "I don't see anything. We're in the middle of the woods. What are you possibly keeping out here?"

Tristan turned to look at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he looked back before them and cast his gaze towards the sky. He nodded through the dark, gnarled, leafless branches towards the sky a little ways away, "Do you see anything?"

She leaned her head back, looking in the direction he was focused on. She could see sharp branches…the blue sky that was clear now that it was no longer snowing…a few clouds…and…smoke? She turned to look at him, confused, "That's smoke from a house."

He nodded, "Yes."

"But the main house is a mile that way." she pointed to the left of the column of smoke.

Tristan nodded again, "You're right."

"You want to show me a house in the middle of the woods?" she asked, "You want to show me what's inside the house?"

Tristan sighed as if steeling himself, "Just…come on." He pulled the reins lightly, turning his horse in the direction of the smoke. She followed and within moments a strangely shaped building came into view. Vast and shaped like a normal home cabin, wasn't big as much as it was tall…four stories, she would guess. It was hard to tell exactly how high it was because the only windows were at the very top. Other than the windows the only break she saw in the solid walls was the large front door with two men dressed in the uniform of the king's personal guard flanking it. The skeletons of large trees dotted the small lawn and she thought that in the summer it must have been beautiful. Smoke curled from two chimneys, one on each side of the house.

Tristan led her into the yard and stopped the horses. Rory stared up at the huge house in amazement, speechless. Tristan slid from his own horse and she felt one of his hands on her thigh, the other on her waist to help her down. She allowed him to pull her easily from the horse and into his arms before he set her gingerly on the ground. She hadn't looked away from the house. "Who lives here?" she asked finally, in disbelief. It wasn't so much that she was shocked by the size of the house as that it was in the middle of the forest and higher than any building like it she'd ever seen.

Tristan pressed his lips together, turning to face her, "I am so sorry." He whispered.

Rory turned to look at him, her forehead scrunching in confusion, "For what?"

He raised his hand hesitantly to brush it through her hair, his voice pained, "I should have told you sooner."

"Told me what?" she asked, glancing between his face and the house. "What is this?"

He didn't answer but cupped her face gently, leaning down to press his lips softly against hers. He pulled back after only a moment, "Come on." He whispered, taking her hand in his and leading her to the house. She followed, lost.

One of the men in the uniform of the king's personal guard stayed at the door but the other came forward and dropped to one knee, "Tristan." He said quietly, bowing his head.

Tristan nodded to him, "Clay." The man looked up and Tristan motioned towards the house, "We're going to be inside for a while. Care for the horses." The man nodded but didn't say another word, obediently going to the animals.

Rory stared up at him as if she'd never seen him, confused by his informal manner and their unknown location. "Tristan." she said quietly, wanting an answer.

He looked down at her, his expression bleak. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her against him. The other hand came to trace across her bottom lip, "Come on. I'll show you now." he whispered, his voice saturated with the most profound sadness.

She opened her mouth to speak but he was already walking, the arm wrapped securely around her brought her along too. At the door the other soldier nodded to them, bowing his head to Tristan as he pushed the door open for them. They stepped inside and the guard closed the door behind them, staying outside and leaving the two of them alone in the entryway. Rory looked around her, amazed. The inside didn't look how she'd expected. It wasn't large, but tall. She'd been right in thinking it was four stories, but they weren't really floors, rather lofts that rimmed the walls of the cabin and were open over the main floor. The loft-like floors left the center of the room open all the way to the ceiling, almost like a dome, where light slanted in through a huge sunroof, lighting the house enough to make up for the lack of windows.

On the main floor, to their right, was a large hearth with a fire crackling in it and in front of it sat several comfortable looking chairs and a couch. The furniture was on a large ornate rug so as not to damage the wooden floors. Around the fireplace the wall was set with bookshelves and hundreds upon hundreds of books lined the wall. To their left was a small kitchen area with a counter, storage space, and a smaller hearth for cooking. The rest of the main floor was open, though books and papers and even clothes were thrown around as if it were very lived in. On the wall across from them was a sturdy ladder that connected the lowest floor to the second floor. It looked like a sturdy stone loft that ran around the entirety of the open cabin, eight or ten feet wide from one side to the other. What she could see of the second story was that it had a large bed and several wardrobes and changing screens, as if that level were a bedroom. There was a ladder connecting that to the third story, which looked to hold musical instruments and weapons, as if it were for storage, and in the highest loft she couldn't see anything, but that was the only floor that actually had windows. That just looked as if it were a place to go to relax. It looked to have several chairs as if it were a lounging area.

She'd barely finished taking in the house when a sound over by the fire made her turn. A young man, who had evidently been sitting in one of the larger chairs facing the fire, stood. He turned towards them, already grinning, "Tristan! It's been a…while…" he trailed off, catching sight of Rory.

He was about Tristan's height and build similarly, though very slightly slimmer. He looked to be Tristan's age as well and was surprisingly springy, fit and healthy looking for someone who lived in such isolation. There was something about his face, or maybe it was his expression, or the way he held himself, that made her start. That made her jaw drop. But that wasn't what struck her most. What struck her the most was his eyes…her eyes.

He stared at her as well, his dark hair disheveled and his bright blue eyes wide as if he'd seen a ghost. His mouth parted slightly as if he would speak. He seemed to have forgotten Tristan was in the room. They stood like that, staring at each other as if the ground had fallen from under them…as if the world had stopped moving and nothing was real. She saw his expression and knew that hers was the same…the exact same.

Silence engulfed all of them for a stretch before he spoke cautiously, his voice hoarse, "Rory?"

She felt herself gasp, her hand flying to her heart. "Richard?"

He nodded mutely, too shocked to speak, and Rory felt her legs move of their own accord. She shot forward and he held his arms out for her, unable to move forward before she crashed into him; her big brother caught her, stumbling back from the impact.

**

Tristan watched Rory and her brother for a moment, his heart falling strangely at the sight of them. He hadn't planned to stay anyway. He'd planned to bring her to Richard and then leave, only staying if they needed him to mediate conversation if it was awkward or uncomfortable. But looking at them now it seemed as if both were overcoming their shock quite easily. He'd never seen Richard particularly excited, but watching them now it looked as if Rory's tendency to shoot around like a ball of energy and babble faster than any human being had a right to were family traits. He felt uncommonly empty watching them and only stayed for seconds after the siblings had moved towards each other before backing silently towards the door, wanting to look away but unable to make himself.

He stepped outside into the freezing air, oddly refreshed by it. It cleared his head, made him think of something other than the Hayden brother and sister. Looking at them, watching them, made him feel hollow. Not because he didn't have siblings, it wasn't that. He couldn't put it into words or even an exact thought, but it was something about Rory's face when she'd seen her brother…the way they ignited and burned the moment they saw each other and everything in the world had seemed to shift and swirl around that cabin in the forest. It was the way she talk to her brother, the way she beamed. She loved him. It was a way she'd never looked at Tristan.

He knew, realistically, that anyone seeing their brother whom they'd presumed dead for ten years would react that way. He knew that he couldn't judge the way she felt about him by how she acted towards her brother. But still, a part of him had crumbled at the sight. He stood in the cold winter air, sunlight bouncing off the blinding snow and making him squint. He flexed him fingers inside his gloves, chewing on the insides of his cheeks thoughtfully. It was Rory. She wasn't alone anymore. He had realized some time before that he had already invested far too much in the girl, cared for her much too deeply. She'd become the only thing real to him, the only one he could touch and feel and want; the only one who understood him and didn't expect more from him than he was able to give. She saw him as a man, as a human with just as many limitations as everyone else. No one else understood that he was only human; they all had him built up on a pedestal so high he couldn't see the ground and could barely breathe. She'd released him from that, and in doing so had taken everything from him. She'd been the only one who had ever made him feel like he wasn't alone…like he had someone who would be there for him, who would help him and if need be even save him, no matter the cost or circumstances. He'd never felt the need to have someone to support him or believe in him and he'd certainly never felt the need for anyone to save him. But she did, without even thinking. When she said his name she breathed salvation.

When they'd met, she'd been as alone as he was. But not anymore. Now that she had her brother back she wouldn't need to cling to him so tightly. She may not even need him at all. He'd had the thought before that, possibly, she clung to him because she was lonely. He was the last thing she had connecting him to her old life, the only one who knew and understood her birthplace and the only thing that insured she didn't forget her family. Now that she had her brother back she didn't need him to keep her grounded. She had someone better equipped to make her remember who she was. Had she only clung to him to remember who she was? Now he would find out.

He was pulled from him thoughts when a concerned voice spoke from next to him, "My lord?" He looked up, caught off guard, to see that Clay, one of the soldiers charged with guarding Richard, was standing next to him uncertainly. "Are you alright?"

He nodded jerkily, clenching his back teeth against the grinding in his head, "Yes Clay, thank you."

The guard still looked concerned but didn't mention it again, changing the subject, "That girl," he started quietly, nodding towards the door behind Tristan, "she's Richard's sister, isn't she?"

Tristan looked at him without reaction, blinking slowly. It took too much effort. "Yes." He said quietly, "And she's going to stay here for a little while-"

"You aren't?" Clay interrupted him, surprised. The guards who kept Richard were Tristan's most trusted. They didn't feel the need for the same cold and informal relationship the rest of the soldiers had with him.

Tristan looked at him for a moment before shaking his head lightly, "No. There's no place for me here." Clay said nothing, unsure of what he could say. Tristan went on, "I need to get back. When she comes back tonight at least one of you escort her. Two if you can spare it."

"I'm sure we can." He assured the king, "It's always quiet here."

Tristan nodded, looking him in the eye, "Escort her back, but if she doesn't want to return to the castle…" he broke off, swallowing hard to make himself get through what he was saying, "…don't make her."

"Yes, my lord." He nodded in understanding.

Tristan nodded as well and started walking towards his horse. Clay followed him companionably and they moved in silence. When they got the horse Tristan hesitated, one hand on the saddle. "Clay." He said quietly, turning to face the guard. Clay looked at him attentively. "That girl is very…dear, to me." He nodded towards the soldier for emphasis, "Yes? Keep her safe."

Clay nodded, "Of course, Tristan." Tristan nodded distractedly, glancing back at the cabin. Clay spoke again, "But…you aren't riding back alone, are you?"

Tristan looked back at him, "Yes, I am."

He shook his head, "One of us should go with you."

"Clay, I'm fine."

"No." he shook his head, "Tristan, I really have to insist. You can't ride twenty miles back through the forest alone. I'm going to accompany you."

Tristan looked at him for a moment as if considering protesting. He realized it would do no good and threw his hand at Clay dismissively, "Fine. But I don't want any talking."

The guard laughed lightly and went to get one of the horses from the small barn over by the treeline. Tristan cast another glance at the house, his chest clenching coldly again. He swung himself up onto the saddle, making himself look away.

**

Rory shook her head in disbelief, clutching her brother's arms tightly as she looked over every inch of his face, taking him in. He looked just like their father with his defined jaw, forehead, and nose. He had laugh lines crinkling around his eyes already, just like their father. But his eyes were the same as hers, just like their mother. His hair was also darker than hers, nearly black like their mother's had been. They'd always looked alike, getting their mother's striking looks while their older sister, God rest her soul, had gotten the honey skin, lighter hair and warm eyes of their father. Rory still remembered wishing all of her young childhood that her dark hair would lighten in the sun and fall into waves like Victoria's had, that summer days spent outside would give her a golden tan like her sister rather than hot burn that cooled and barely turned her skin a shade darker than it had been.

She stared at her brother now but her mind wouldn't wrap around it. She just kept saying in awe, "I can't believe it. I can't believe it."

Richard smiled, his eyes crinkling and his laugh lines deepening. He squeezed her tight against him, "Rory, Rory, Rory. I've always remembered you for your articulation."

She laughed, too ecstatic and shocked to even bother telling him to shut up. Belatedly she remembered Tristan was behind her. He'd told her earlier that when she was what he was going to show her, he didn't know whether she'd want to hug him or kill him. She pulled back from her brother and turned, about to tell him that it was most definitely the first, but as she swung around she froze. Tristan was gone.

She stood still and tilted her head in confusion, looking at the place she'd been standing with him before. Gone. Richard touched her arm, getting her attention, "What is it?"

Rory shook her head lightly, "Where is Tristan?"

Richard looked down at her, surprised, "He left a few minutes ago. Why?"

She exhaled quietly in disbelief, "I didn't even realize he'd gone."

Her brother looked down at her for a moment, watching her expression, "…Tristan?" he said after a moment. She looked up at him. He pressed his finger under her chin lightly, bringing her eyes to his, "The way you say his name…" he trailed off, his head tilting suspiciously, "How are you on a first name basis with the king?"

Rory was surprised that she didn't get the urge to push his hand away like she usually did if someone other than Tristan touched her face. But she didn't want to answer his question, knowing how it would look. Instead she looked up at him squarely, her lip quirking playfully. She couldn't not be happy with him, "I could ask you the same thing."

Richard looked down at her, turning his head to the side to look at her slyly from the corner of his eye. His voice when he spoke was light and unjudgemental, "Yes, I might be on informal terms with him but he certainly doesn't look at me like he looked at you."

Rory laughed out loud and threw her arms around him again, pulling him so tight against her they could barely breathe. She held him close, her face buried in his shoulder. Feeling him solid and healthy and just alive under her made a presser build behind her eyes. As her initial shock and amazement and uncontainable joy sifted away she was left with the most intense thankfulness and warmth. She didn't know why it made her cry. She felt it in him, too; she couldn't say how, but she did. She felt the humor drain from both of them to be replaced with grateful reverence and seriousness.

Rory pulled back, "How?" she breathed through her tears, holding his face between her hands.

Richard shook his head lightly, staring down at her, "The servants in Grandfather's estate hid me, said I was one of theirs. After the searching stopped I went out on my own. They would have kept me but I didn't want to endanger them. How did you escape?"

"You know, I went to stay with father's cousin Laurel in Stars Hollow but I wasn't home that day, I was outside of town when the soldiers came and killed Laurel and Jason. Laurel's friend and her husband took me in." she sat on the ground, pulling him to sit right beside her, "How did you survive?"

He shrugged, "I was almost thirteen, I was old enough to go out on my own. I moved from place to place."

"You never had a home?" she asked, incredibly saddened by the thought. He shook his head. "But how were you caught?"

A look of bitter amusement flashed across his face and he patted his hip affectionately, "I was drunk one night and I underestimated a village girl. I didn't think she'd realize what it was, and even if she did happen to see it I didn't imagine she'd know what to do about it." He shot his sister a crooked grin, "Anyway, I thought she was too drunk to notice it. She thought there would be a reward. I'd say we were both disappointed, eh?" she smiled lightly, her mind still reeling. He went on quietly, the lightness leaking from his face, "They came two nights later…I was renting a room in a village close to the Gildren border. They came into my room in the middle of the night…I was holding my own until a fourth one jumped in on the ambush." He shot her a grin, "But they eventually got me and dragged me from the building. They knocked me unconscious and I woke up a day later tied up in a carriage. They brought me to the castle and locked me in the dungeon…I wasn't there for long before Tristan came. When I first saw the king…I thought, this is it. I'm going to die." He looked at his sister, "Have you ever heard it said that when you know you're about to die, you begin to see your life before your eyes?" she didn't respond, but he went on, his voice quiet. She could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes, the kind that didn't fall but swam eternally, "Do you want to know what I saw?" he voice was scratchy, barely audible. And she shook her head. She didn't want to think of him like that, practically dead, not after all this time. But he went on. "Do you remember two summers before it happened? We went to Grandfather Hayden's estate?" his voice was thick, "But no, I guess you wouldn't. You were so young." She'd been six, and added to the young age the fact that she barely remembered anything from her early childhood because of what had happened to her family, she most certainly did not remember that trip. She remembered flashes, but not the trip itself by any means. He went on, "The last night we were there, mother and father took us on a horseback ride, do you remember, you rode in the saddle with me? Father wanted you do ride with him but you'd only go if you could ride with me?" Rory shook as she nodded slowly, trying to push back tears. It wasn't working. He went on, his voice quiet, "I remembered that. Just us, all of us, together, riding through the woods and down the trails together. I remembered you holding me so tight because you had terrible balance." He smiled lightly, "And I just…I thought about that day, and I didn't care anymore. I didn't care if I died, because then I'd be with all of you again." He finished, his voice breaking.

Rory didn't know what to say. She was surprised when he went on, "But then Tristan looked at me…he really looked at me, and I could tell he was livid. He wanted to hit me, I swear. But then he just stared at me for a minute, and all of his anger faded away. He looked at me in shock for a moment and then just walked away. And the guards brought me here." He cast a glance around the cabin. "At first I was in shock, I kept trying to think of ways to get out but it's impenetrable, I swear. The walls are solid stone and thicker than any house I've seen. There only door is guarded every moment by two guards and there aren't any windows until the fourth level…I guess they knew I wouldn't jump that far to escape, I wouldn't get far with two broken legs. I wouldn't eat for fear the food was poisoned, but eventually I did. And after a few weeks Tristan actually came to see me. We were seventeen then, and I thought he'd come to kill me or torture me…you know they still don't know why dad killed his father?" he didn't wait for an answer before going on, "But when he came, he wasn't angry. He was frustrated, I think, about something to do with the army, and he started rattling on about it. He tried to talk to me for hours, but I wouldn't speak to him. Eventually he left, but a few days later he came back and started talking to me about jousting." He smiled lightly at his sister, shaking his head, "And I don't know why, but for some reason for the past five years he comes by every few weeks to talk to me. To practice fighting. To discuss ideas." He shook his head again, "I don't know what his plan is, but I never felt threatened again."

"Do you like it here?" she asked.

Richard sighed thoughtfully, his shoulders falling as if the question were more complicated than it seemed. He considered his answer for a stretch before speaking, "I know, really, that this is a prison. There are nine guards that switch out every week, always three at a time, to stay here. For the first year I couldn't leave the house, then I could go out onto the grounds. Now I could probably go wherever I wanted. Hell, half the time when Tristan comes here he wants to practice sword fighting. I sword fight with the king. They probably wouldn't kill me if I tried to run away…" he trailed off, thinking. He broke his gaze from hers, glancing down at his hands, "Rory, I know I'm a prisoner here but I would never go back to the way it was before I got caught. All the running…the lying and the hiding, never being close to anyone, never having any true friends for fear that they'd figure out who I was…" he shook his head lightly, "I would never go back to that. I mean, it isn't even really living. That's not a life." He glanced back up at her, "Tristan doesn't want me dead, but I think letting me go is too dangerous, and really it isn't bad here. It's a small space but I don't have to live in constant fear of being discovered. I don't have to keep everyone at arm's length because if they find out who I am it will endanger them." he sighed, flexing his fingers distractedly, "I know how that sounds, choosing imprisonment, but Rory, I can't go back to the way it was before. I can't."

Rory watched her brother quietly, unsure of what she could say. The silence stretched between then, "Do you hate him? For what he did?" she whispered finally.

Richard looked at her deeply, crossing his arms over his chest. He became thoughtful, "I think in the beginning, yes, I did. And part of me still does. I hate what he did to our family, yes, but I also understand why he did it. As for hating Tristan himself…" he trailed off, sighing, "He's a hard person to hate, Rory."

She almost laughed, "I know."

They sat in silence for another stretch before he finally spoke.

"What happened with you? Laurel's friend took you in? You were too young to be on your own."

Rory nodded and told him briefly about her life in Stars Hollow…."And then a few months ago the soldiers came through recruiting new men for the king's guard and because I'm so good with a sword they brought me." Richard whistled quietly, shaking his head. Rory smiled at him, "And I was only here for a few weeks before Tristan told me that he didn't want a woman in the guard. He said something about protecting women, and then told me that he wanted me to stay and help train the men." She glanced towards the skylight, her face screwing up in concentration as if she didn't want to go on.

Richard nodded slowly, "Yes, I see that. But I don't understand how you came to be on a first name basis with the king." She looked up at him and said nothing. So he spoke again, "I mean really, Rory, the way he was looking at you it was almost like…" he left the sentence trailing.

She looked down, biting her lip, "Like what?"

Her brother shook his head helplessly, "Like he loved you."

She slowly raised her head to look at him. When she spoke her voice was muted, "I don't know, I think…I think he might?"

Richard stared at her, almost as shocked as he'd been when he first saw her, but there was a sadness there too, "What?"

Rory exhaled heavily, dropping her gaze again, "When I first came here, he singled me out because I was the only girl who'd been brought with the new guard, but the longer I was here the more he…paid attention to me, I guess." She blinked slowly, staring at the ground before them, "And then about a month and a half ago…" she trailed off, looking up at her brother.

He watched her for a moment before realization stretched across his face, "Oh Rory…" he trailed off, shocked, "So then you…" he trailed off again suggestively. She nodded. "That's when he found out? How long had you been here?"

She laughed lightly, "Oh no, no that isn't when he found out. He didn't find the crest until a few weeks ago. And I've been here for almost five months."

He stared at her incredulously but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "Well, it is very small and easily missed." He stared at her for another moment, conflicting emotions swimming over his face, "But you…you and the king now…you're his…" he trailed off, but he didn't have to finish, it was written all over his face. Whore. She shook her head, "No. It isn't like that."

Her brother laughed, not unkindly, but sadly, "Rory, come on."

"No." she cut him off, "No, I know how that sounds, but it isn't. Richie believe me, it isn't like that between us. I thought it was too, that was why I never told him who I was. But when he found out…" she trailed off, shaking her head, "Richie when he found out I swear I was afraid he'd kill me that moment. But he wasn't even mad about that. I mean, he was angry, of course, but more than anything he was hurt. And he tried to hide it, he did, but I could see, he was hurt that I'd lied. That I hadn't told him the truth. I look back now and even though I know telling him would have been foolish, I know he never would have hurt me." She grabbed his hands, holding them close to her heart, "In all honesty, Richie, he felt lied to. He was hurt. The look on his face, it wasn't of anger or hate or rage. It was like…" she trailed off, her gaze far off, "It was like he was watching his best friend die." Her voice was quiet, "Logan, do you know Logan?" her brother nodded quickly, wanting her to go on, "I spoke to him later and he told me, he said that Tristan told him that when he realized what the crest was he felt his world was slipping away, like nothing he'd ever believed was really true. Like the ground was falling from under him." She bit her lip, "And Richie, honestly, I know what it must sound like, I thought I was just another one too, but the way he looked at me the first night I went to him, it was the night his father died and…Richie, he was more frightened than I was. I know how it looks, but I'm not like the others. Not to him."

**

It was late that night when Rory quietly pushed open the door to Tristan's bedroom. She looked over to see that he was asleep in bed, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth. She bit her lip, unable to hold back her smile as she watched him sleep. She pulled her stockings off and slid out of her dress, not bothering to take off her slip or put on a real nightgown as she slid into the bed. Tristan was on his side, facing away from her, and so she wrapped her arm around him from behind, pressing herself warmly against his back and burrowing her face into the back of his neck as she settled next to him, surprisingly tired after spending the day with her brother.

She felt him move, muttering something as he rolled onto his back, "Rory?"

She moved away from him fractionally, adjusting her body against his before relaxing into his side, her arm still around him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Tristan brought his arm over and wrapped it around her, holding her close, "I was half awake anyway." He said quietly, looking down at her. She smiled warmly up at him, biting her lip, but said nothing. Tristan's forehead creased, amused, "What?"

Rory pushed herself up, one hand on his chest so that she was over him, looking into his face, "Thank you." She whispered, her voice achingly sincere.

He sighed lightly, pushing himself into a sitting position as well. Rory sat back so that they were facing each other. Tristan spoke slowly, "I should have taken you to him sooner, I know. But I just didn't know how to-"

"Tristan." she cut him off, putting a finger to his lips. She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, "My brother who was dead is here. He's alive. Never apologize for that." Tristan's face relaxed. He sighed lightly, looking at her. He said nothing and silence stretched between them. Rory bit her lip, tilting her head, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tristan shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly, "I just…I didn't know whether you'd come back."

Rory almost laughed, "What?"

"I didn't know if you were going to come back."

She shook her head lightly, confused, "Of course I came back."

"I didn't know if you'd want to stay with Richard." He clarified.

Rory shook her head again, shifting towards him. She raised her hand to trace it along his jaw, "No Tristan, I want to keep Richard. I want to stay with you."

Tristan turned his head, kissing the back of her hand gently. He said nothing.

She bit her lip, her gaze following her finger as she slid it lightly across his lower lip, "I'm tired." She whispered, her voice barely audible. Her gaze swept up to his eyes, "Do you want to go to bed?"

"Yeah." He nodded gently, slipping one hand around her back; the other came to curl around the back of her head. He brought her towards him, his mouth meeting hers in a warm, solid kiss. He laid back, pulling her with him without breaking his lips from hers. And she curled against him, her mouth moving slowly against his as they drifted to sleep.