Chapter Seven: Distraction

Alyanne stood atop the battlements that morning. The sun still had not come out, yet the dawn had already brought a spectrum of colors to the sky. The wind was blowing to the east. It caressed her skin with it's cold yet welcoming touch. She looked towards the forests. As much as she loved being with her cousin, as much as she appreciated their hospitality, she missed her home. She missed him so much.

"My Lady." A voice came from behind her. For a moment there, the tone of the voice, the way the words were said, she was almost fooled into believing it was him, come to look for her and make sure that she was alright. But no. She knew within her that that voice would never come upon her ears again. She was not delusional. She knew that he was dead, one with the Lake he had protected for so many years. She knew he would not come back. But there were times, times in which she just felt like he was there. She turned around. She was right. It was not him.

"Oh. It is you Sir Lancelot." She greeted him in the kindest way possible, trying to disguise the disappointment in her voice. The sun was now slowly rising in the eastern fold. The colors were now blending into each other, oranges, reds, yellows, purples. It was the start of the new day. "What brings you to such a place at this hour?"

"I was never one for slumbering late into the morning." It was a lie to be assured. Lancelot was one to sleep way into the hours of the day, unless he was to be awakened by a threat to battle. But it was still peace time. There was no impending threat, not at that moment. There was no call to ride from Arthur. And yet, he found himself awake that day, even before the sun had come up. Truth be told, he hardly slept a wink since the previous night. He had been looking for her most of it, but even when he decided to give up the search, he could not bring himself to slumber. "Yourself?"

"I hardly sleep at all." Alyanne hardly slept anymore. Ever since she heard Merlin's words, she could not bring herself to sleep. She was afraid of the consuming darkness. She was afraid of her dreams. She did not want to dream anymore. What sleep she got, was merely fleeting moments that faded as soon as she felt her dreams looming in on her.

Lancelot suddenly became aware of the fact that she wore nothing but a thin garment, insufficient for the cold air that accompanied the dawn. She was pale, though he was not certain if it was from the chill or due to her prior illness. In any case, he did not like the looks of it and quickly shed off his cloak to offer her. "You look cold." He reached out the clothing towards her.

She eyed the piece of clothing with eyes half-amused, half-confused. "What of it my Lord?" Alyanne looked surprisingly at him. Never before had a man offered his comfort for hers. Even her late husband was not such for he knew that she was used to the cold, as was he.

"Here, take this." Lancelot persevered in his offer towards her. It was cold, he realized, as he had taken off the thing that had previously provided him with warmth. She was not making it easy for him to be gallant to her, but he unknowingly welcomed the challenge of her sagacity.

"I can't…" She insisted.

"I insist." He persisted.

"My Lord, I am from the North where the mountains are covered in frost. This morning air does not chill my bones for one moment. You need it better than I."

"Will you deny a Knight to perform an act of chivalry for a maiden he deems in need?"

"What makes you so unsure of yourself as to have the need to portray your chivalry or think that I may be deemed in need or in distress?" She raised an eyebrow towards him.

"Call it a Knight's intuition."

"I will take your offer" she finally gave a defeated sigh and took the cloak. "…but only because I pity you my Lord." Alyanne quickly added with a faint smile gracing her lips. "Such a desperate need to make an exhibition out of yourself is a sin of vanity that pleas for praise from that whom you believe a victim." She continued playfully as she put it on. It was big on her to be certain. He was certainly larger in build as compared to her small frame, but it was comfortable and served its purpose. It smelled of cedar wood, a breathtaking smell indeed.

"I assure you my Lady, that many think me a vain man." Many had such impressions of him. He could not contest nor attest to those notions for he knew not which was which. To him, his actions were none out of the ordinary; so naturally, it would take an upright observer's pair of eyes to truly judge.

"But I am certain that you are not and rest assured that I will not be persuaded otherwise." She said with conviction. For some reason unknown to him, he put more weight on those words of hers than of any who evaluated him in the same matter. He found that her opinion mattered to him, almost the same as those he would call bosom friends. But how could it be when they barely even knew one another? "At any rate, thank you kind sir for your gesture."

"It is I that should be thanking you."

"Think nothing on it my Lord Lancelot."

They both remained quiet for a while. None knew what to say to the other. For Lancelot's part it was as if he had a million things to say, but he treading lightly around her as of now to say any them. Somehow, he felt as if she would care not whether he spoke them or not. Alyanne seemed comfortable in the silence, just enjoying the presence of another. But there were things in his mind, his conscience, that needed to be said, however reluctantly.

"My Lady, I came to apologize for last night's events. If it had caused you any distress…" Lancelot felt partly at fault in the whole thing. He was the one who brought up the topic of dance. He felt had he not even spoke of it, he would have spared her the tears that he had seen her cry last night. Strange as it may seem, he never wished her any sadness. Even though he knew so little of her, Lancelot felt as if she had already had her life's share of unhappiness.

"My Lord, please…I would rather pretend it never took place."

Lancelot granted her wish, keeping himself quiet. He thought himself an idiot. Why did he even bring it up when it was cause for such distress? But he did not want her to bear such a burden on her own. He looked at her. Her hair was plaited into a braid that she threw upon her left shoulder, the shoulder nearest to him. He watched her as she ran her fingers on the end of the braid. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. It seemed to help her think. He wished that she could have left her hair loose and wild like the night before. It became her, when her hair was dancing in the wind.

He noticed her looking towards the forest with intent eyes. He seemed to be searching for something. He could see it in her. She was longing for something that lay behind the thick curtain of trees. She was yearning for home.

"You long for home?" He asked her. Who was he to be told of her innermost thoughts? He was merely a witness and not a confidante to her life. He asked the question, merely as a way of comforting her somehow, so that she would know that someone else cared on how she felt.

"I do..." Came her soft reply. She missed her home. She missed his smile. She missed how he walked up to her whenever he came back from his scouting rides. She missed how he would just suddenly break out in laughter while they argued, and make it all go away. She missed how she would wake up to his touch every morning.

"They say that home is where the heart is." Lancelot replied. He knew what it was like, to miss home. Sarmatia had been painted in his mind ever since he left. It never tarnished, never aged, never faded. Sarmatia was his home and he missed it dearly.

"No." She said immediately upon hearing what he had said. "No. Home is not where your heart is. Home is your heart. Home is not simply a place on a map or a patch of dirt in the earth. It is where all you love reside. It is where you feel most at ease in. It is where you feel most content in. Home can be anywhere of your choosing, My Lord, and with whom so ever you chose to live it with." It had been two years since she had such a place and such a person. She missed it with all the yearning her heart had to offer.

"Sarmatia is my home."

"Is it really?" she turned to him for the first time, looking in his eyes, seeing him with her own. "If it was your home, then no force the Earth could muster would force you to remain here within these walls." She told him. He looked confused to her. He looked as if he didn't know where home was…where he belonged. He was a Knight, the very embodiment certainty and conviction, but many forgot that Lancelot was also a man…a man who knew nothing of what he wanted. She saw him. "You are not who I thought you would be." Alyanne said more to herself than to the man in front of her.

"Who did you think I would be?" he asked with all sincerity. He took a step closer, strengthening their eye contact. He looked into her eyes. They were still empty to him, as empty as they had been the first time he looked into them. No. Maybe he was wrong. They were not empty. They were full. He just couldn't understand what was in them.

"Someone else entirely." Alyanne whispered to him, so only his ears could hear.

"Then, I do hope that your change of heart is for the better."

Suddenly, her eyes changed. She closed them briefly, and then opened them. She looked away from Lancelot all too abruptly. She didn't want to look into his eyes anymore…more importantly, she didn't want him looking into hers. "I have not decided yet."

She walked away from him.

-o-

Elaine had been awake since before the sun rose. For once in her life, she could not find sleep. There was a persistent feeling within her, keeping her awake. She walked around the fort for the better part of the evening, only to find that her feet had brought her to the most familiar place of all. A place of unsurpassable comfort.

They were majestic. Horses were the only things that she thanked the Romans for bringing into the Isles. She walked careful steps around the room. She missed the stables. It had been such a long time since she had been in them. The smell. Normally, people found the smell of horses slightly distasteful, but to her, the smelled of home. She came up to a large mahogany mare. Beautiful. It's mane was black in color, and silky, like midnight silk. She was beautiful, well groomed. She had a feeling that she would like the owner of this horse. Most warriors preferred stallions to mares because they were thought to be stronger and faster, but they were wrong. Mares and stallions were equal in speed and in strength, what mattered was their rider. Any horse's ability depended on the rider it bore on its back. The horse nuzzled her neck. Whoever the rider may be must be someone of genteel nature to have such an affectionate horse.

Elaine's ears perked up lightly. Steps. Pacing steps. She smiled. "Come in. I do not bite." She turned her head to the door and saw a man come in from the courtyard. He had brown, curly hair, much like the Sir Lancelot…but his face was kinder, less troubled. She had barely seen him around the fort, but it was also true that she had not been there long enough to know them all.

"You are more observant than I would have thought." The man said as he came in, making his way to her. It seemed like he was the rider of the fine mare that had caught her affections.

"Did you think me visually impaired good as well as deaf my Lord?" She laughed as she continued on to dote on his horse.

"No. Not at all. It is just…" It was amusing how he stumbled about his words.

"Don't worry sir Knight. I am only jesting. Pardon my distressing sense of humor. Some people would find it cause for offense. If you have taken it as such, then know that it was not my intention to inflict that upon you."

"There is no need for remorse my Lady. I must say that you are fortunate that I am impetuous and tactless in my words. You will never find yourself short of entertainment." The man laughed boyishly. He was the youngest of the Knights and somewhat the most light hearted as well. Though he could brood quite well when it suited him, he could be as pleasant as any most of the time.

"Thank you for your kind offer Sir Knight. I will be sure to invoke upon it whenever the need arises." Elaine laughed with him. "It is a fine horse you have here my Lord." She took but a few steps back and to watch him pick up a brush and groom the horse. He was not like most riders she had seen. The way he brushed the horse, it seemed to her that he was doing it as if brushing his daughter's hair. She smiled. This man was just like…no. She stopped her thoughts as they came to her. No. Not now.

"She is." He replied with pride, not noticing her smile as it slowly faded, but not entirely. She was watching him. It was not often that he would have the eyes of a woman on him. He was certainly no Lancelot. He did not dwell on his thoughts all that deeply. It was easy for him to misread women anyway.

"I am Elaine." She spoke, her eyes following the horse's master as he ducked out of her view to groom the beast's hind legs. She smiled to herself, knowing that he could not see her as well. She sat quietly

"I know…I mean, Galahad at your service." He stumbled still. She remembered something in Guinevere's letters. Galahad was the youngest, the brash one. But this man looked not brash, but gentle and calm. She could tell so much by how a man handled the beast that carried him into battle. By the way Galahad was caring for his horse, it seemed all too obvious to Elaine what kind of a man he was. "It seems I talk better with horses than I do with women."

The other Knights left this job to Jols, but Galahad liked doing this himself. His horse was his most loyal companion, next to Gawain. He treated it with the same respect as he would any bosom friend. As such, he found that grooming it was the perfect time to spend quality time with her. Caoimhe would always kick Jols whenever he tried to do it anyway.

"I am certain you belittle yourself my Lord for you are doing just fine with me." She assured him. Elaine took a seat on a nearby stool in the corner. She watching him tend to his horse, talk to it. He was smile at her once more and she did not mind the sight. "So Sir Galahad, tell me why you have been pacing outside the door for the better part of an hour." Her curiosity tickled her brain once more.

"I saw that you were inside and did not want to disturb you. I thought it best to wait till you left before I invaded the premises." Galahad could not have been more adamant in his reply. He had been waiting for her to finish. He did his best not to be discovered as he constantly looked inside, checking on her. Out of respect, he allowed her the privacy she sought.

"And rob me of the pleasure of your company? What ever shall I do without a willing jester?"

"Then please accept my most ardent apologies. It was entirely my fault. How could I be so selfish as to deny you that laughter of which you so crave." Galahad smiled upon hearing that, knowing that he could not see her. He was delighted to know that he was not the intruder he deemed himself to be. As he brushed the hind legs of his horse, Caoimhe, took a peak slightly at how the Lady was doing. She was sitting on a stool, resting her chin on her palms. She was beautiful and elegant, even in such a childish position. Again, he retreated to his job, grooming as he went.

"It will be difficult, My Lord, but I am certain I will find it in my heart to forgive you for such grievous wrongdoing."

"Thank the Gods above that you are so benevolent."

"Sir, as much as I do enjoy our meeting, I am, however, compelled to ask you for the reason behind such early a visit to the stables. Is it not too early an hour to be tending to your horse?" She asked, walking behind him without his knowledge. He was surprised to see that the she was there, looking at what he was doing. Again, it was a well known fact that Galahad did not deal so well with women.

"It is my task to patrol the area this morn my Lady." He answered as he stood up, beginning to saddle up Caoimhe. He was careful and gentle in fastening every load to her. Elaine noticed that as he did this, he would coo to her, assuring her that everything would be alright.

She stepped back, giving him space to move around. She had not realized that her little trip had caused him the time he could have used to go about his duties. She felt the pang of guilt in her actions, as she hung her head low, parallel to the ground. "Then I have kept you from your post. Forgive me."

Galahad turned to her, lifting her chin so that her eyes would be looking into his. He smiled at her. No Lady bearing such beauty should wear such an unattractive feature such as a frown. But from what he saw, the expression robbed her of nothing. "Fear not my Lady, for yours was a welcomed distraction."

"You flatter me Sir." Her cheeks turned crimson at the complement.

"I assure you that I am sincere."

"I will keep you no longer my Lord. I bid you farewell." She curtseyed to him, taking her leave of him as he mounted his horse.

"No my Lady. Not farewell. Simply, till we meet again."

"What makes you so confident that our paths will cross again Sir Galahad?"

"It is not as large as fort as you think it of dear Lady. Our paths will be cross once more and quite soon if I have anything to do with it."

She smiled up at him as he trotted towards the exit of the stables. She read this man perfectly, to the very letter. He was a tamer of horses.

"Farewe---I mean, till we meet again Galahad." She waved towards him as he galloped outside the gates. She knew he could not hear her, but the words had escaped her mouth with little of her knowing.

Galahad sped out in the open grasses of the meadow around him. He could feel the sun kiss his face and the cold air pierce his bones. He looked towards the fort and smiled. "Till we meet again Elaine."

-o-

She was twirling and twirling around him. The fire danced on both of their faces, hers filled with mirth and his filled with incontestable contentment. He could hear her laughter, such a melodious sound it was to his ears. To see her so happy was an unparalleled delight to him. He did not move. He froze himself to the spot on which he stood, fearful that any action would end such a fleeting lapse in time.

"Dance with me Tristan. Please dance with me!" She called out to him as she continued circling him. Her very eyes pleaded with him to sway with her, to sway with her to the powerful beat of the drums. But he could not find himself to move. All he could do was watch her, flow, glide, float. "Please dance with me my love." She whispered in his ear. Love. It had been so long since he had heard that from another's lips. He watched her move, everything about her invited him, lured him, enticed him. How could he refuse her? He knew not but to grant her every wish.

He walked towards her, nearer and nearer to the blazing fires. Slow careful steps. He made careful not to do anything brash. He reveled in the moment. He reveled in her very presence, her very sight, calling him to dance with her. She was face to face with him now, her skin lustrous in the pale moonlight. He leisurely elevated his hand and caressed her soft, alabaster cheek. Her eyes closed with hidden passion at his sudden touch. She ran her delicate fingers in his hair, making him run wild with consummate desire and longing. Tristan gently slid his hand around her waist and drawing her closer to him, bridging the gap that had separated them for so long. Still her fingers ran madly though his hair. It drove him to distraction.

He swayed them both, slowly, divergent to the overwhelmingly quickened pace of the drums. Perhaps, the drums matched not their movements, but their beating hearts. Her breath teased his neck and her very being set his soul a blaze. She took the hand he had rested on her cheek and kissed it gingerly, finger by finger. The sensation was euphoric. He took in her scent; the smell of lilies flooded his nostrils as if smelling the flower itself. Gods above! he loved her. He loved this woman more than anything else the Earth could offer him. She was the only person in existence who could make him act as such. She was the only woman he would ever be such with.

He retrieved his hand from her lips, delicately sliding it to the small of her nape, drawing her closer…kissing her. She wrapped her subtle arms about his neck, closing in their already none existent gap. Still they swayed in each other's arms. Swaying to the beat that had already long disappeared.

It is said that a kiss could hold more than a thousand words. One kiss could tell the story of love, friendship, sorrow, pain, renewal, surrender. A kiss was to bear your heart to another, and delve deep into hers. Tristan was a quiet man. He didn't care much for words, for they could be heard or ignored. He relied on this kiss, this single passionate kiss to tell the woman he loved all his unsaid sentiments. His kiss had recited poems of devotion, sonnets of intimacy, ballads of passion and epics of love. A kiss could hold more than a thousand words. The saying fell severely short in this moment. His kiss held much more than all the empty words of man.

"I have missed you so Tristan." She murmured in between her gasps for air. Such passion had they both for each other. Both pulled the other closer and tighter, though there was no fissure to close. He felt her eyes beginning to water. Tears cascaded down her beautiful face. He reluctantly broke the kiss, fearful of anything that had made her so grief-stricken. He carefully grazed his thumb over her cheeks, wiping the tears away. "Do not weep." He whispered earnestly to her.

Her expression did not change. Guilt passed through her. She was about to do the most horrible thing she could have done to her husband. He could see her inner battle in all of it. Her mouth opened and spoke as if her heart broke with every syllable. "I am sorry my Love. But you need to wake up now."

Reluctantly. Abruptly. All visions of her were gone. He kept his eyes closed in hopes that he could return, return to her arms, return to their dance. It was all in vain. The light of the sun had already pierced his eyes. His eyes begrudgingly opened to see, not the fire and open fields he had been in, but the four corners of his quarters in the fort.

He sat up on his bed and buried his head in his hands. Her warmth still filled him. His lips throbbed with the remembrance of her kisses. She always loved to dance. Till this day, regardless of how much time he had lived with out her, still…he loved her to distraction.

Tristan woke from his slumber with only one word escaping his breath. "Isolde."

Alyanne finds a momentary distraction in itself, a haven from her thoughts in the eyes of our dear Knight Lancelot. She dares herself to look into them and see him for the first time, but she looks away scared that he might see her in the process.

With Elaine and Galahad, they find a bit of solice in each other. He sees her as a refreshing sprinkle of peace in his life dominated by war and violence. She is given a bit of jovial peace with her brief encounter with the Knight. Elaine sees Galahad as a friend now, but what does he see in her?

Now finally, we have our dearly beloved Scout, Tristan. He has loved and lost, but her memory is still vivid within him and his dreams. He loves her still. For Tristan, the memories will be enough for him, until they meet again...but are they truely?

Now I pose very important questions upon you all. Please answer them with all honesty.

1. Who do you think suits Alyanne for the best? Lancelot or Tristan or someone else entirely? (I know I listed this as LancelotOC in the summary, but now I am not so sure)
2. What are your thoughts on the OCs characterization? Mary-Sue? (please state for both Elaine and Alyanne)
3. Should I keep writing as I am now? Old-ish language style...
4. Should Tristan find love again or should he remain faithful to the memory of his 'life's completion' Isolde?
5. Galahad and Elaine? Love or Friends? (Personally, I think it is the former, but I would like your opinion since it is still debatable)

If you could answer those questions, I would be more than grateful. To those who will give constructive criticsm, I would be ecstatic in accepting them.

I am aslo glad in announcing my future OCs, just so you will know what to expect

Verinia - Rosamund Pike
Mylor - Paul Curran (the one in Merlin yet again...he plays Arthur there)
Gavin - Alexander Fiske-Harrison
Rhyddwen - Gerard Butler

and by the way Elaine is now portrayed by an actress called Rachel de Thame, a wonderful British actress I saw in the movie Merlin, by Hallmark Channel.

PS: This is my new fic tradition, I will be giving out little pieces of Trivia either regarding the Arthurian Legends, the Medieval Ages or The actors I have picked for my OCs as well as the actors of the actual KA movie.

Did you know that... Paul Curran arrived at St. Peter's College, Oxford University in 1994 along with friends Hugh Dancy and Alexander Fiske-Harrison! Cool! I know! Total coincidence that they are all reunited in my fic.

And did you know that...Mads Mikkelsen (our fave Scout) used to be a professional DANCER! Eight years of it to be exact!

Hope you had fun this chapter, please R&R! Creative criticsm is very much welcomed!