Disclaimer: I don't own anything from King Arthur

Green Eyes

His hawk glided overhead as his horse wandered beneath him, leading him to his destination at a pace belying the urgency of his mission. She had returned. That was all his troubled mind could process as he traveled toward Woad territory. She had returned again after the horrible news she had carried the last time he saw her. He had told her that her presence would forever sicken him after being told that his only chance at fatherhood had been extinguished even before he knew of it. Líadan could have warned him before her sister aided in the child's demise, but she had chosen to tell him after it was too late to stop it.

He had forgiven Abigail long ago for destroying their child for she had been but a child herself not knowing what to do. However, Líadan had known long before of what would happen, and instead of informing him when he could have changed things, she chose to manipulate him into giving Abigail up out of anger. Well, his anger toward the feisty Briton had died even before the dust had cleared from the carriage carrying her away from him, but his anger toward the old seer still festered like the flesh of a rotting corpse.

His bird swooped down to perch itself on his weary arm as they continued through the thickening forest. Looking into bright golden eyes, Tristan let out a deep sigh. "How am I to forgive what she has done to me," Tristan asked the hawk who sat preening upon his forearm. "She has had another vision. That is the only reason she would return to the fort. She feels that it is necessary to meddle in my life again, or else she would never have come," Tristan released another sigh. "I am beginning to think that it is best to leave things as they are. Had I never met Líadan, I would have died long ago and none of this would have come to pass. Perhaps, things would have been better as such," Tristan said as he smoothed the feathers of his hawk's breast.

The bird nipped harshly at his fingers suddenly, and Tristan laughed softly. "I suppose you don't agree with me. Next you'll tell me that I should forgive the old bat and take her advice," Tristan smiled as the bird looked at him approvingly. "What do you know, anyway," Tristan laughed good-naturedly as he lifted his arm so the bird of prey could take flight. With an impressive spread of its wings, the dark hawk took to the skies once again, and Tristan watched in silent appreciation. "Maybe your right," he sighed under his breath as he watched the bird disappear into the dark forest.

It seemed that the Woad activity that had been reported by other scouts was only paranoia on the Romans part. There were no Woads on this side of the Wall from what Tristan could tell, so he turned his horse about and began to head back to the fort where he would have to face his past once again. Tristan could feel the weariness in his soul from the many disappointments and heartaches that he had faced since meeting Abigail, but he knew that he would sooner die than give up a single moment he had shared with her. He had heard of her betrothal from Vanora. He had tried to hide his disappointment, but Vanora had seen through it and simply told him that if he weren't such a fool then he could have had her instead. Tristan knew that that was not the case because neither of them was truly ready to forgive themselves for their past actions, but now it didn't matter. She had found happiness once again, and he had reconstructed the walls around himself that were impenetrable to anyone but her. A long sigh escaped Tristan's lips as he saw the fort just over the next hill. He didn't need Líadan to tell him that his time was growing short; he could feel it in his bones that he would not be returning to the steppes of Sarmatia or raising a brood of children to rival Bors' with Abigail. Death was the only freedom that awaited him, and at this point he was ready to embrace it.

XxXxXxX

"I told you not to confuse her, Líadan. She is but eighteen summers old. She should not have such troubles thrown upon her fragile shoulders," Neasa scolded her sister as they sat beside the hearth separating herbs.

"She is much stronger than you give her credit for, sister," Líadan corrected as she braided several plants together.

"Whether she is strong or not does not matter. She is just a girl. Perhaps it is best if she forgets about Tristan. She will face fewer heartaches if she forgets all about him," Neasa argued coldly as she poured some tea for them.

"Yes, she will face less heartache if she forgets him, but then again she will have no heart with which to feel such pain. They are bound whether you like it or not, dear sister. I know that you did not approve of my mentoring the barbaric child that was dragged into this fort by two of his fellow countrymen, but you were not the one who saw what his death would have brought upon this fort. Overrun by Woads or burned to the ground by invaders. Tristan is invaluable to this fort whether its inhabitants realize it or not. He is invaluable to her whether she realizes it or not," Líadan said as she rose from her seat and glided to the doorway. "I can feel his return. He is weary not from travel but from the burdens that his own life has placed upon him. Unlike Abigail, he has no one who is willing to share his burden and therefore his weighted down by it all on his own. He feels his own death, and I fear that he has resigned himself to it."

"Why do you care for him so much, Líadan? I never understood how you two could tolerate each other when you could not even stand the company of your own family," Neasa asked tiredly as she approached her sister near the doorway.

"Contrary to what you believe, it was not I who sought out Tristan. It was he that came to me one night barefoot and hungry. He was only fourteen, and he had had a vivid dream he told me. He said that he had heard whispers of a witch who lived in the forests around the fort, who could interpret dreams. So, he came to me seeking help. He said every time he went to sleep he saw the same pair of emerald eyes. 'Greener than the hills around the fort after a good rain, and brighter than the Sarmatian sun,' he said. Sometimes the eyes were clear as the depths of a still pond, and other times they were as stormy as the sea they had to cross to reach this island. They were always the same eyes, but the night he came to me he saw tears in them. In the tears, he saw an image reflected. He said saw himself, much older, laying on the field of battle bleeding the last of his life's blood," Líadan sighed as she felt a slight figure approaching the hut. "He saw the death that has haunted my dreams of late, sister. He saw it through her eyes," she said pointing to Abigail who was making her way home. "We could tolerate each other because we could understand each other better than anyone else. Does that answer your question," she asked as she left the doorway to move back to the hearth.

"When he was fourteen she was only four years of age," Neasa said in disbelief.

"He had had them since he was but ten, he told me. Ever since she was born, they have been connected whether you choose to believe or not. She will mourn his death even if she is bound to another, but only she can stop him from dying," Líadan sighed as she sipped the tea that was now growing cold.

XxXxXxX

Abigail was thoroughly exhausted as she trudged home through the mud laden roads of the fort. Everything that the strange woman had said continued to play through her mind and she didn't know what to think of it. Darius had seemed just as perturbed as she, all night long. Instead of walking her home as he usually did, he had told her that he had something else that needed his attention. It was very unlike him to run off without explanation, but tonight his mind was a thousand miles away.

The growing winter was cold as Abigail tried to close her cloak to the wind but it did little good. She could see Neasa's hut from where she was, but it seemed miles away as she slipped in an especially deep puddle of mud. Falling to her knees in the mess of thick sludge, Abigail let out a small cry of disgust. "Why can't I just walking home without incident," she cried as she put her hands into the mud in attempt to push herself to her feet, but it only proved to dirty her sleeves because she was too exhausted to push herself up.

"Perhaps you are not meant to arrive home yet," a deep voice said from behind her. She hadn't heard it in nearly two months, but she could never forget it. Before she could retort, two strong arms were lifting her from the ground. "I would have thought that you would have outgrown playing in the mud by this point in your life," he whispered into her ear as he held her body tightly against his own.

"Get off of me," Abigail growled as she pushed away from his firm body, only to tumble forward toward the mud again. However, before she could make contact with the mud again, she was caught and turned to face her former lover.

"You look beautiful even when covered in layers of filth," Tristan said softly from beneath his hooded cloak. Abigail nervously wiped a strand of stray hair from her face, but it only served to smudge her face with the mud from her fingers. Tentatively, Tristan reached out and wiped the pad of his thumb across her cheek, removing the mud with a soft sweep.

"Your flattery is unwelcome, Sir Tristan. Please let me leave," Abigail said with calm detachment.

"It is not flattery, only fact, and you are free to leave whenever you wish. I shall never hold you against your will," Tristan responded in a tender voice. He went to turn and leave her to her business, but her own voice stopped him.

"I am recently betrothed, you know," she found herself saying as he turned to leave her alone again. She didn't know why she needed to tell him, but before she could stop them the words were slipping from her lips. She saw no noticeable change in the scout, but he stopped and turned to her removing his hood.

"Yes, I do. Congratulations. Darius is a good man," Tristan said as he looked into her gentle green eyes. He saw love in them, but not for Darius.

"You are a good man too, Tristan, even if you can't see it yourself," Abigail found herself blurting out. "I'm not marrying Darius because he is a good man, but because he does not fear being a good man. For some reason, Tristan, you fear being anything but a solitary creature."

"Perhaps solitude is all I need," Tristan retorted as turned to leave again, but he didn't get very far.

A small hand spun him to face a very stern looking Abigail who looked up at him with fire in her eyes. "If all you needed was solitude, you would not have clung to me so tightly the night we made love. You would have bedded me, like the others, and tossed me away before dawn came. You would not have promised to be devoted to me and no other for the remainder of your life. You may fool yourself, but you are fooling no one else, Tristan," she argued heatedly as she stood her full height before him.

"For a woman who is soon to be married, you speak very candidly about our affair. Tell me, does Darius know that you are not as pure as the other maidens of this fort, that haven't been ravaged by Lancelot? Does he know that your heart still belongs to me even though your curse my name to those around you? Does he know that you carried my child until you killed it," Tristan asked coldly as he leaned down to intimidate her. All Abigail could do was gasp and clamp her hand over her mouth. "You thought that I would not find out what you did? Remember that I am a scout; nothing gets past me, even your deceit," he tormented her as he watched her eyes fill with tears. He knew he should have kept it to himself, but he was in no mood to be ridiculed by her for doing a good deed.

"She said that no one would ever know," Abigail whispered tearfully. "T-Tristan… I had no choice. He would have killed us all if he found me with child," she said hurriedly as she grabbed Tristan's sleeve.

"It matters little now," Tristan said as she pulled from her grasp.

"How can you say it matters little? That was our child. Our child! You act as though it meant nothing to you," she screamed to his retreating back.

Tristan stopped but did not turn as he said, "Why should it mean something to me, if it meant so little to you that you could kill it without even telling me of its existence?"

"You bastard," she screamed as she leapt at him. Tristan hadn't expected her to do anything drastic because of his words, so he was shocked when he felt a searing pain in his shoulder accompanied by two small fists pounding into his back. Tristan pushed Abigail away with his good arm before turning to see her land in the mud once again. "I loved that child more than you can possibly imagine," she cried out pitifully. She was now completely covered in mud; even her hair was coated in it.

"Do you try to kill everything that you love," he said stoically as she reached back and wrenched the knife out of his shoulder. Abigail was silent where she sat in the mud, too exhausted to continue to fight. Tristan looked down at the bloody knife, he now held in his hand. A smile crossed his lips as he looked at the knife he had been missing for over two months, the one that he had won Abigail with. "So you had it all along? I suppose it is only fitting that our friendship began and ended with this knife. You may keep it if you wish," he said with an oddly contemplative expression on his face as he tossed it to her. It stabbed itself into the mud between her bent legs, sending a splash of sludge onto her already soiled dress. "Perhaps if you ever find love for Darius, you will need it to murder him," Tristan insulted before disappearing into the cloak of night leaving a small trail of blood in his wake.

Abigail just sat weeping in the mud as she watched him walk away. She wanted to run after him and beg his forgiveness for all that she had done and said, but she was too weak to move or grovel. She wanted to tell him that Darius would never feel the blade of that knife because her heart was incapable of loving anyone or anything other than Tristan. She just wanted to feel his presence beside her, as they would to sit beside each other and know each other's thoughts and fears, but she had lost him. Tears filled her green eyes as she watched him disappear into the night, and tearful green eyes filled Tristan's dreams as he fought a restless sleep that night.