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Chapter 3: Chance Meeting

Tristan rose before dawn out of habit, though he had nothing to coax him from the threadbare covers on this morning. Arthur had given the knights a day of rest from their daily routine of practices and battles. Arthur himself had matters to attend to, so he couldn't be there to monitor them anyway, which was often necessary if Lancelot decided to irritate some Roman officials. Tristan glanced at the open window above his bed to determine whether to go back to sleep or actually get up and brave the day.

The first thing Tristan saw was his hawk's deep brown feathers fluffed like porcupine would its quills. Her feathers were all standing on end, and Tristan knew without even looking outside that the rains had come. As he actually looked past the bird and into the sky, all he could see was dark grey with the rare streak of gold or white passing through it. "Not fun to fly in, eh," Tristan said mirthfully. The bird obviously didn't take kindly to his attitude, and nudged a dead and sopping mouse off the ledge and into Tristan's lap. Tristan just glanced at it with little emotion and watched as the bird glided down to retrieve the small meal. She always knew how to put him in his place with little effort.

Tristan knew that he should probably get up and start his chores for the day, but as he turned on his side to rise, he felt his eyelids disagree. He had been scouting for several days, and his body finally decided to enjoy some much needed rest.

Several hours past what would have been dawn, had the clouds dispersed, saw Tristan emerge from the knights' barracks covered in a thick cloak. Tristan was not in the mood for company on his lone day of relaxation. He planned on retrieving a meager serving of bread and cheese from Vanora, then disappearing on horseback for the rest of the day. As Tristan entered the kitchens, he saw Vanora arguing with a very disheveled Bors.

"Just because you do not have duties to attend to on this day, does not mean that I can just forget my own," Vanora yelled while wielding a stew covered ladle. Tristan smiled because he knew exactly what the argument was about. Every time Bors had a free day, he would argue with Vanora in order to get her to stay in bed with him all day. It was entertaining to watch the couple argue, but Tristan knew that Vanora always own, only to give in several hours later when the other girls came in to cook.

"Come now, Van, I might not live to my next day off," Bors tried as he hugged the angry redhead to his chest.

"You said that the last time you had a free day. I'm still waiting for you to get killed. If it doesn't happen soon, I might do it myself," She said loudly even though they both knew there was no fire in her words. She worried every time they rode out, and she was the first to greet them when they returned. Tristan just turned to the oven where several loaves of bread were baking. He was about to slip one out when Vanora turned to him. "And what do you think you're doing," she bellowed.

"Morning, Vanora," Tristan said emotionlessly as he licked the finger he had burned when she yelled.

"Don't morning me, scout! I worked all morning on those loaves, and you're just going to steal one to share with all the woodland creatures when you go out riding. I don't think so. If my lover can't have what he wants, what makes you think you'll be so lucky," she said as she came at him with ladle in hand.

"Perhaps because what I seek shall not leave you with another babe on your hands," Tristan replied as he tried to ignore the gibe about sharing his food with his animals. "I only seek a loaf and some cheese. It is less that you feed me during meals, which I won't be attending today," Tristan explained patiently knowing that Vanora was simply having a bad morning. Vanora usually took very good care of the scout, so he tended to be more accepting of her mood swings, while she was pregnant, than most of the knights.

"I'll give you your supplies on one condition," Vanora said with an evil glint in her eyes.

"No I shall not speak to Abigail. If you are unwilling to supply me food, then I shall go elsewhere. Good day, Vanora," Tristan said knowing her line of thought even before she did.

"Why won't you speak to the lass? She's done nothing to warrant your scorn," Vanora said irritably.

"Perhaps you forget, but she chose to leave me for a Roman soldier. I owe her nothing nor does she owe me. I prefer to leave it that way," Tristan said as he headed for the door at the back of the kitchens.

"You were friends first, Tristan. Do you value friendship so little that you would end one because of a decision that wasn't even hers to make," Vanora called as the door to the kitchens shut silently.

Tristan pulled his hood over his head again as he walked toward the market. It was unlikely that any vendors would be doing business in this weather, but it was the only chance he would have to get fed this day. As he trudged through the deep muddy puddles of the fort, Tristan popped the side of his burnt thumb into his mouth in attempt to sooth the offended digit. The scout had had many injuries of far greater proportions, but he loathed burns with a special passion. He still carried a scar from a burn he had acquired during childhood.

Running down his side was the scar tissue he had received while his mother had been birthing his younger sister. Tristan had been but seven winters old, and he had snuck into the hut where his mother was in labor. It was deep winter at the time, and he had simply wished to find some warmth, away from the chilled steppes. He had inadvertently snuck up behind the midwife as she had retrieved a caldron of heated water for the birthing. As she turned with the pot, she hadn't expected to find Tristan standing there. She was so startled that she had spilled half the contents of the caldron before she realized it. Tristan's entire side had been burned even through his thick clothes. Tristan had never minded scars a great deal, but it was the fact that the day he acquired that one was the day he lost not only his mother but his newborn sister.

Tristan entered the deserted market with hopes of nourishment quickly dwindling. He could already hear the few villagers in the streets begin to whisper about him. Words like outcast, monster, beast, and demon were commonly heard while one spoke of the aloof scout. Tristan attempted to ignore their comments as best he could, while he went in search of a meal.

Tristan was at the end of the marketing area with little more than a headache and a sopping cloak to show for his efforts. At least the end of the market ran beside the rear of the stable. Tristan was just resigning himself from the idea of finding a meal when he heard a voice call out to him.

"Well if it isn't Arthur's loyal scout," the words had an edge to them that was sarcastic while still remaining friendly. "What brings a man, such as you, to our humble part of the fort," Abigail asked sardonically.

"Abigail," Tristan said by way of greeting as he stepped toward the stand she leaned against. He heard Vanora's words in his head, and felt that he could at least be civil to his former lover.

"I am honored that you remember my name, sir knight. Have you come to find yourself another unsuspecting farm girl to whisk away," She said with a cruel smirk.

"I came in search of food, nothing else," Tristan replied as he stood before the much shorter woman. Abigail's dark hair was once again tied back in a thick bun; however, the heavy rain made several strands stick to her lightly freckled face.

"Are you not served enough in the tavern? Must you come down here and steal our poor rations as well," Abigail asked playfully as she stepped closer to the scout.

"I do no such thing. I come with coin to buy bread or fruit," Tristan answered civilly.

"Is that so you can wine and dine another…" Abigail was cut off mid sentence by the scouts accented voice. They were mere inches apart by this point and Abigail had to stand on her toes to see into the scout's eyes beneath his hood.

"You act as if I was the one to abandon you, yet I remember it the other way around," Tristan whispered in emotionless defense.

"The silent scout has found his voice after all these years," Abigail said as she leaned just a little closer to the scout's angular face.

"Only when wrongfully accused," Tristan replied as he stepped around Abigail to inspect the stand that she tended. Abigail stood for a moment not having expected him to step past her so casually, as though he could dismiss her with little thought.

"Wrongfully accused," she arched a brow at his own accusation.

"I hear that you have been enjoying Galahad's affections as of late," Tristan said casually as he smelled a sack of herbs hanging from a post on the cart.

"Is that what this attitude is about? Well, Galahad is an affectionate boy, but he is too childish to be considered much else," Abigail dismissed the notion as she took the sack from Tristan's gentle hands, and returned it to its place.

"Do not condemn others for attributes that you yourself are in possession of," Tristan said harshly as he moved away from the stand.

"You are still bitter, Tristan? Even though you made no objection to me leaving," Abigail said sadly as she watched his form glide over the muddy earth.

"I don't have time to argue, Abigail. I must scout," Tristan lied knowing that Abigail would continue until she got the answers she wanted out of him, if he didn't just leave.

"But you have not rations to feed yourself with," The young woman reasoned as she watched him turn to her once again. "Come, Neasa always has enough bread to feed an entire village. And if you're good, I might be able to persuade her into parting with one of her apples," Abigail said with a sigh as she slipped into the street and led the way toward the hut she was staying in. Tristan rolled his eyes as he followed the one person he had hoped to avoid that day, toward her own abode. She hadn't changed during her absence, he attitudes still changed with a slight breeze.

As they walked, they could hear people whispering the latest gossip about Tristan. Abigail had never been one to take the villagers insults lightly because she was one of few people that knew that their comments actually hurt the scout in some way. Upon hearing the cruel commentary of their journey, Abigail dropped back to walk beside the scout and slipped his hand into his larger one. Tristan tensed while continuing to walk. Abigail had always been an affectionate girl, but Tristan was not one to revel in unexpected contact. It was simply a self-preservation instinct.

"I missed you," She said as she rested her head against his shoulder while they walked. Tristan just sighed and allowed her what she wanted; little did he know that she was simply doing it to irritate the villagers. "Did you miss me," she asked as she shifted her head to glance up at him. Tristan grunted in answer and Abigail playfully hit him in the chest. "It's not nice to grunt at people," she scolded half heartedly. Tristan just replied with another grunt. Abigail sighed and detached herself from the scout's side. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the small hut that housed the elderly healer and the young villager.

Neasa sat outside grinding several different types of herbs when Abigail approached with the scout. The hunched and frail healer didn't even seem to notice the thick droplets of rain as they pelted her where she sat. Abigail smiled widely at the old woman and embraced her in a tight hug. "Neasa, Tristan needs some bread so he can go scouting. Can't I give him a loaf," the energetic woman asked her hostess.

"Give him whatever you wish, dear," Neasa replied as she picked up her mortar and pestle once again. Abigail smiled and slipped into the hut, leaving Tristan outside with the quiet healer. "You are lying to her already," the woman said without stopping what she was doing.

Tristan just looked at Neasa and remembered why he avoided the woman. She had an even more frightening ability to know a person's thoughts and actions than even Tristan. However, the elderly woman never judged what she learned of people. That was the reason she was often sought out when an unsavory task needed completing such as terminating a pregnancy or finding the right poison for a job. "Everyone lies," Tristan replied coldly.

"You wish to avoid her because you still love her," the woman asked without listening to his previous answer. "You want to believe that she came back for you, but you're too stubborn to believe that anyone would do such a thing for you of all people."

"No, 'tis simply that I wish to go for a ride. It is already midday and it will only get later if I am left to listen to her banter. I am not free as she is, I do not have the time to constantly enjoy myself," Tristan replied briskly as he watched Abigail appear from within the hut carrying a cloth full of bread and cheese. Neasa just smiled at his excuse. He probably believed it himself, but Neasa knew better than to believe such an idea.

"I hope this will suffice. It will not last you more than a day, but you have never starved before, so long as you carried your bow," Abigail said kindly as she handed him the small bundle. Tristan took it without a word and turned to head back to the stable so that he could actually complete what he had set out to do. "I pray that you have a safe journey," Abigail called as he walked away vanishing into the curtains of rain.

Neasa turned to the beautiful Briton, once the scout had left, with her worn face looking peaceful. "You frighten him," the woman said knowingly.

Abigail laughed lightly before replying, "Tristan fears nothing, especially not a small woman such as myself."

"He may not fear a small woman, but he does fear what she might do to his heart… what she has already done to his heart," Neasa said with a small smile.

"Tristan doesn't have a heart, Neasa. When we were together, he told me that he believed in only two things: his weapons and the fact that he would always have someone to use them on. Not exactly what I would call romantic," Abigail laughed.

"Yet you've known him to be otherwise," Neasa said as she rose from the ground holding her new concoction.

"I have known Tristan to be a good listener who is not as fierce or wicked as everyone says he is. However, I have never known him to be passionate about anything but war," Abigail sighed as she aided the elderly healer into the hut.

"Perhaps his love lies in the fact that he allowed you to see him as something other than a battle hardened warrior. As you said, no one knows him as anything else," Neasa pointed out sagely as she sat beside the hearth. Abigail didn't reply, but instead thought on her friend's wise words.

XxX

Another chapter that I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think of this so far because your reviews definitely help inspire me.