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Chapter Twelve: Fall-Outs and Followers

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To say that Mordred was having trouble accepting Tristran's story about Isolde would be an understatement. The three Picts sat off to the side of the clearing; eating barely-cooked pieces of a rabbit caught by Tristran, and watching the argument between the two Sarmatians unfold with ill-disguised interest.

"Are you joking, Tristran?"

"I don't joke."

"So you're telling the truth?"

"I don't lie."

Mordred sighed. "So not only are we riding north into dangerous territory to avenge the death of our friends, but we're also going to try and locate your long-lost love by means of ingratiating ourselves with one of the fiercest Pict chieftains in Caledonia."

"She's not my 'long-lost love'," muttered Tristran mutinously.

Mordred threw his hands up in despair. "Are you capable of giving me a straight answer? Forgive me, if I am finding all this a little hard to take in. And I'm also noticing a distinct lack of anger about the fact that Arthur's deceived you regarding the death of someone you love!"

Tristran's scowl deepened. "For the last time, I do not love…"

"You're not fooling anybody!" barked Mordred, his temper rising. "Why else would you have dragged us both into this?"

"Arthur is our commander," stated Tristran stoically, "and I would trust him with my life. He may not have received the letter. Even if he did, he would have had good reasons for keeping it from me."

"Tristran…" groaned Mordred, pacing back and forth angrily. "It is so obvious that he did it to keep you from going after her! It's selfish, cruel…"

"You will not speak of our Commander like that!" exclaimed Tristran, his voice low and angry. He could hardly believe the disloyalty that Mordred was showing towards their trusted leader, and felt an uncontrollable surge of anger rise up in him. "You shame yourself, and the rest of us Knights. How can you show such disrespect for Arthur – he who raised you up to a position that you do not deserve!"

"So speaks the scout," said Mordred, his tone laced with poison. An ugly sneer was beginning to form on Mordred's normally cheerful face, and Tristran felt the strangest twinge of triumph. Not as easy-going as you would have us think, Mordred, he thought. The second-in-command continued, stepping right up into Tristran's personal space. "Running back and forth, back and forth; all for a cause that is not our own! You risk your life every day, for what? To grovel to the Romans? Do you want to be second-in-command?"

In the background, the three Picts shifted around uncomfortably, pretending that they had stopped listening. The two Knights didn't even notice.

"I do it for my brothers," whispered Tristran, his voice so low that Mordred leant in even closer.

"What?" asked Mordred, his voice mockingly inquisitive. "Speak up – I value your opinion greatly!"

"I said, I do it for my brothers," replied Tristran, keeping his voice calm and even with a supreme effort of will. "For you, for Arthur, for our fellow Knights. I want to keep you all safe; I want us to return to Sarmatia together. Yet all you do is mock me, dismiss me, pass me off as strange and unlikeable." He paused, taking a deep breath and trying desperately to keep his composure. I don't normally do this, a small part of him complained bemusedly. What am I doing? Despite his inner horror and embarrassment, however, the words just kept coming. "You wonder why I am always distant? It is because I'm thinking of ways to keep you all safe. I'm constantly watching for dangers; constantly picking out paths, trails, places to hide. And still you mock me." He shook his head in disgust at Mordred's rapidly paling, shocked face. "Quite the revelation, isn't it? Percival and Arthur were the only ones who recognised me as an equal. Only Arthur ever acknowledged the continuous struggle I go through to keep you all from dying."

An awkward silence followed his words, Mordred staring at Tristran as though he'd never seen him before.

And it's true: you haven't, thought Tristran bitterly. For you and the others, I'm just a part of the landscape. Barely human at all.

"Tristran…I…" whispered Mordred, all earlier signs of nastiness wiped away, "I'm sorry, I didn't… I didn't think…"

"None of you ever do," replied Tristran quietly, turning away to go and find something to eat. "That's my job, apparently."

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Banna watched the exchange between the two Knights with surprise and sadness. She kept her face blank as Grainne quietly translated their angry words to her and Fearghus; privately shocked at Mordred's cruel words to Tristran. How could you talk to your friend like that? she wondered, fingering the lime in her hair and feeling it crunch and crackle under her fingers. I could never speak to brutally to Donaith.

"I thought he was the nice one," whispered Fearghus, watching Mordred with narrowed eyes as Tristran walked away.

"Who – Mordred? I never liked him," whispered Grainne, taking a bite of rabbit and wincing slightly. "Gods! Who cooked this?"

"I did," said Banna reluctantly. "Sorry."

"Perhaps I'll prepare it next time, eh?" said Grainne, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"That bad?" sighed Banna, despairing at her lack of any cooking skill whatsoever.

"Worse," confirmed Fearghus, earning himself a cuff on the ear from Grainne. Banna rolled her eyes, and tore off a hunk of rabbit meat for herself. Putting it in her mouth, she chewed it for a while.

"You're right," she said after a moment. "It's foul." Grainne and Fearghus sniggered at her pained expression, but their amusement quickly died down as the scout approached. His face was carefully vacant as he sat down beside Fearghus, reaching out to rip off a chunk of rabbit meat.

"Ohh, you don't want to do that," exclaimed Banna warningly, pushing his hand away.

"What?" asked Tristran, making the Pictish word sound strange with his heavy accent. Grainne quickly translated for him, and he nodded grudgingly; instead pulling a water-skin from his belt and taking a long swig. Mordred remained at the other side of the small clearing, pretending to check his horse's saddlebags. Banna watched both their movements carefully: Tristran gazing steadily and deliberately away from Mordred; Mordred's actions furtive and quick. He's mortified, realised Banna, as well he should be. Though she had liked the Knight initially, this side of him was decidedly less agreeable.

"Well," she said out loud, trying to distract herself from her troubled thoughts. "We should probably set a watch, while we get some rest."

"No," said Grainne suddenly, standing up and stretching her long legs. "We can't."

"What do you mean?" asked Fearghus incredulously. "Aren't we going to stay here?"

"That's what we've been doing," said Grainne firmly, holding out a hand to help the grumbling boy up. "Come on, go and ready your horses."

Banna swallowed back a cranky retort, straightening her shoulders and walking over to check Peigi's saddle straps for any loosening. She was utterly exhausted, her head was throbbing, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a few days. But Donaith's killers were getting away, and Grainne was her leader. She was utterly loyal and dedicated to both causes, so she shut her mouth and prayed to the Gods for strength and speed. The woad paint was stiff on her forearms, and the charcoal under her eyes made kept the wintry glare of midday at bay. She was no longer simply a hunter and tracker.

She had to be a warrior, now. For the sake of her friends.

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Meanwhile, an hour or so behind Tristran, Mordred and the Picts…

"Why have we stopped?"

"Well…"

"Oh, we haven't lost the trail again, have we? How is that even possible?"

"I knew this was a bad idea."

"It's worse than bad, idiot. It's fu…"

"Language, Bors," sighed Arthur wearily, scrubbing at his sleep-deprived eyes with a limp hand. They'd been riding for hours, having quickened the pace after discovering the camp full of dead Picts. Arthur had absolutely no idea what was going on, unable to think clearly due to the constant squabbling between Lancelot and Galahad, Bors' filthy language, and Gawain's constant morose commentary on the whole sorry situation. All the Commander knew was that he had to find his two Knights and bring them back to the Wall safely. That was all he cared about right now.

"Who'd like to place a bet on our time of death?" called Gawain suddenly, as they were all bending down looking for any sign of a trail. Not an iron-shod hoofprint in sight, groaned Arthur internally. Curses upon curses.

"I'll bet two siliquae on… three hours hence," said Lancelot drily, poking around in some bare, twiggy bushes.

"Tight-arse," rumbled Bors, chuckling to himself, "I'll put four on two hours from now."

"Can we try to be more positive, Knights?" called Arthur, from where he was examining some animal tracks beside a nearby stream. "I'll place five on us making it back to the Wall safe and unharmed."

"You really don't understand the concept of betting, do you Arthur?" said Lancelot, smirking. "You're supposed to place likely bets that will actually earn you money. Or are you being a good Christian and providing alms for us poor, pagan Sarmatians?"

Dagonet cuffed Lancelot soundly over the ear. "Show some respect, lad."

"Yeah, Curly," called Bors.

"At least I have hair!" snapped Lancelot, his face darkening.

"You're so precious about your hair, anyone'd think you were a woman," remarked Gawain mildly, crouching down to examine a patch of disturbed ground.

"Oh, that's the pot calling the kettle black!" said Lancelot, starting forward threateningly. "Your hair is…"

"I've found the trail!" cried Galahad excitedly, beckoning them over. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, and not only because his Knights had momentarily stopped their bickering. Sure enough, two sets of iron-shod hoofprints were leading off into a thicket of dense trees. The youngest Knight beamed as Arthur clapped him on the back.

"Good work," the Commander said, heaving himself into the saddle once more. "Let's follow that trail!"

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A/N: Ooh, SO tempted to insert an El Dorado quote in there… ;D

A bit of a quick update this time, but oh well. Ah, the joys of having a cold and little to do! Thanks again for your reviews – they're really helpful, and please do let me know if there's anything I should improve in this story. While I enjoy writing it, I also want to make it enjoyable for people like you to read :) Hope you liked this chapter!