A/N: I realized I never do this unless someone PMs be about it. But I really want to say thank you all those who've read my stories and responded back with positive reviews. You have no idea how much I appreciate them and how encouraging they are. :)

Eyes of Truth

Chronology: Tristan is 40. Raja is 30. Ardeth is 14.

Ardeth clumsily fumbled with his breeches when he heard voices entering the stables. Sandrine, a curvaceous sixteen year old smoothed down her hair and straightened her dress. It was hot in the closed stall; she and Ardeth had been fooling around for the past half hour. For a male two years younger than her, she thought him incredibly mature, and the gods knew he was a sight more attractive than a lot of the older men around the fort. With his light golden skin and golden eyes, raven black hair, sharp cheekbones and lean body, he was a most worthy competitor for other men.

Sandrine stifled her giggles at Ardeth's flustered demeanor. She gathered she was the first woman who had the honor to give him his first cock-sucking. A lot of other girls fancied him, and one of the things she liked about him was that he didn't lead them on. He was a flirt, certainly, but not to a disrespectful degree. He didn't touch the girls solicitously, or bad mouth them. Sandrine surmised that it had something to do with his great love and respect for his mother, who everyone knew had been taken by Saxons eight years ago, and everyone knew what Saxons did to women – whatever they wanted.

"Shh," Ardeth shushed her.

The clip-clop of two horses leaving the stables had Ardeth letting out a breath of relieved air. He opened the stall doors, letting Sandrine exit first, just as Lancelot was sauntering in. He raised his eyebrows, then smiled indulgently at the young man, his nephew – although second-cousin by blood.

Ardeth's heart raced. "Uh...Uncle Lancelot."

Sandrine smiled. Despite the fact that Sir Lancelot was married, he was still a legend as one of the most gifted lovers among the fortress.

"Ardeth," Lancelot continued to smile. "Don't let me interrupt you and your...lady friend." He winked conspiratorially.

Ardeth knew his Uncle Lancelot wouldn't tell anyone, the man was all too familiar with romps in the stables...and probably every other place there was. But the young boy wouldn't dream of asking Lancelot to keep this a secret from his mother. His father, being a man, father to son, knew that Ardeth was discovering his liking for the ladies, and never chastised him about it.

It was late in the afternoon, so Ardeth and Sandrine parted ways. Sandrine went to the two bedroom domicile she shared with her father. Her mother had been dead for the passed ten years. Her father had a liking for drink, and often came home in the middle of the night, stumbling and mumbling, often falling asleep with his boots on. They were not close, and because of her father's drunken states, debts for gambling, which she knew were high, he often took it out on her. He took the money she earned as a laundress, though she tried hard to hide it from him. She was saving up to move out, perhaps she would share lodgings with one of the other women whom she was friendly with. There was another reason she desperately wanted to move out. Ever since she began to develop into a woman, her father had become overly strict with her. He bad mouthed her, calling her a slut in one of his drunken bouts, convinced that she was sleeping around. But she often caught him looking at her, in a way that a father should not look at a daughter.

Sandrine had only bedded one man when she had been fifteen. It was a wonderful experience. He was a soldier in the legion, at least ten years her senior. He might have known her true age and didn't care, or perhaps he simply thought she had been older. Her body hardly resembled that of the average sixteen year old. Her breasts were ample, her waist expanded into modest, seductive curves. Her skin was fair and flawless, her brown hair shone in the sun.

To her disappointment her father was home early from work. He came out of his bedroom with a filthy wench, her blouse showed most of her bosom, her hair was all over the place.

"Ah, my dear daughter," her father slurred.

"Hello, Father," she said amiably. She nodded at the woman and then walked to her bedroom which was upstairs. She closed her door, hoping that her father would leave with the wench, and not come upstairs to harass her. After a quarter of an hour when she heard no more, she changed out of her good dress and into an old one. It was summer and she and the other laundresses often did their work when it was cooler in the evenings.

Just as she was about to put her old chemise on, her father opened the door without knocking. She gasped and covered herself.

Her father was silent, his eyes were bloodshot, but they shone with lust, which he did not care to hide. Then, he scoffed. "You're growing..." he said, his words a bit muttered.

"Father," she said hesitantly, "may I have some privacy?"

"Privacy?" he said loudly. "This is my house daughter, I can come and go anywhere I please."

Her eyes opened wide, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Quickly, with all the haste she could muster, she turned her back and slipped the chemise over her head.

"I must get to work, Father," she told him, her voice a bit shaky.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Sure you're not going to meet some boy?"

"No," Sandrine said clearly. "I have to work. If I don't leave now, I'll be late."

Her father was silent for a moment while he gave her a once over from head to toe. His lips curled upwards in a contemptuous grin. He let her go to work, and she all but ran to the laundry.

--

"So?" Lucan turned to his best friend Ardeth. Ever since he had been adopted by Dagonet eight years ago, Ardeth had befriended him and they became inseparable. Lucan began to study with Ardeth who was taught by his mother, Raja. In the past eight years, Lucan learned how to read and write Latin as well as Ardeth. Raja was teaching them the Celtic language as well.

"So what?" Ardeth replied.

It had been a few weeks since Ardeth's escapade with Sandrine. He and Lucan were in the stables tending to their steeds. Ra, Ardeth's large mount was strong and steady, he had named the horse after his great-uncle's own horse. Taranis, Lucan's horse was white and grey, a fast rider, his hooves were hard against any surface, which was why Lucan had named him what he had, it meant "thunder."

"That woman you were with? Sandrine?" Lucan smirked at his friend.

As the young men they were, Lucan, too, was finding his admiration for women. He was a bit shyer than Ardeth, although he was handsome. His dark blond hair went to his shoulders, he was tall for his age, but lean like his friend. He fought well with both sword and axe, his hunting skills were excellent.

"She sucked me," Ardeth said quietly, even though there was no one else in the stables.

Lucan's brow rose. He hadn't gotten that far with a woman yet. "You haven't bedded her?"

"Ah, no," Ardeth shook his head. He hadn't bedded any woman. In fact, he didn't want to bed a woman he didn't truly care about. It was pathetic for a male to think that, but when a boy had parents like his, you couldn't help but appreciate and want something similar.

Lucan bit his lip. "Was it good?"

"Felt better than kissing," he replied.

The two young men laughed.

"And you?" Ardeth asked.

Lucan blushed and shook his head. Most other friends probably would have teased him, but Ardeth wasn't like that.

"Sandrine and I hardly meet anymore though. She begged off a couple of weeks ago." Ardeth shrugged, he wasn't particularly hurt, but he had been a bit disappointed at the time, and also a bit confused. One minute she was all over him, the next she was wary and distant. Women.

They stopped their talking when Raja entered the stables. At thirty, she still did not look a day over twenty-five.

"Hello, boys," she said with an affectionate smile.

"Hi, Walida," her son said.

"Hi, Raja," Lucan said.

"Are you two off to somewhere?"

Ardeth paused. "We were just going out riding." He averted his eyes.

"Oh," was her short comment. "Hunting then?"

Lucan turned away as well. He knew Raja didn't like hunting, she was an animal lover through and through, and had a special connection with all of them.

Ardeth nodded his head. He knew his mother didn't intentionally make him feel guilty, and he knew that she harbored no ill feelings that he did go out hunting. He treated his prey with respect, his father having taught him how to make as swift a kill as possible.

"Okay, well, don't stay out too late, love," she kissed him on the head. "Your father should be back this afternoon."

Ardeth's spirits lifted knowing this. Tristan had been gone with the other men and the soldiers for two weeks already. She gave Lucan kiss as well before they left. Raja sighed and turned towards Odin who had been with her since she was nine years old. He was getting old, and it burned her heart to know that the more he aged, the less time she had with him. Horus cawed from the rafters and she grinned up at him.

--

Ardeth and Lucan had not arrived when Tristan and Dagonet came home. Raja greeted her love in the courtyard. He gave her a hearty kiss and a strong hug, having missed her terribly. Their love for each other could not have been any stronger, having never wavered in twenty-two years.

She gave the rest of the men loving embraces, always happy when they came home safe and sound. In their chambers, Raja helped Tristan strip off his armor. Seconds alone in her presence he was hard and wanting. He still smelled of his sweat and Dyne's, he was filthy, but Raja accepted his advances with fervor.

Tristan slipped his rough hands under her skirt, feeling the silky firm skin, all the way up until he cupped her buttocks. He squeezed gently, admiring the feel of her body. Raja moaned when he cupped her moist sex, her fingers threaded through his tangled hair. He wanted her so badly, their coupling was always fierce and passionate when he came home. She unlaced his breeches and he plunged into her ardently, his strokes were hard and precise. He locked her lips against his, their breathing was fast. He buried his face in her neck, smelling the clean scent that was his Raja. He groaned her name, still thrusting, every stroke becoming more persistent than the last. Her channel clasped his phallus like an iron vice, saturating him, driving him on.

"Oh, god, harder Trissy," she moaned.

He was all too happy to oblige her. On the clean bedding he snaked his arms under and around her thighs so her feet were over his shoulders. It gave him better access. She met his every move.

"Harder," she demanded through her ecstatic keening. "Harder."

He growled, his hips pumping, invading her. Raja's hands clawed into the bedding, steadying herself, wanting to take him as deep as she could. He hit her womb again and again, they both peaked and came in simultaneous cries of satisfied lovers. He slumped against her for several moments before removing his weight. Now he smelled of sweat and sex. Raja's sex.

She prepared a warm bath for him, taking care of his person tenderly as she always did when he arrived home. She unknotted his hair, washed it twice. Scrubbed his back. All this done in serene silence. Afterwards, she prepared the basin of hot water and soothing oils for his blistered feet, bringing him food while he relaxed.

"Thank you," he said with a gentle, lingering kiss on her lips.

"Of course," she replied.

After he was finished eating he spoke. "And where is Ardeth?"

"He went out hunting with Lucan just a couple of hours ago. He should be back soon."

Tristan nodded.

"I need to discuss something with you before he comes back, though," Raja told him.

"What about?" He led her to the armchairs in front of the fire.

"I really think you should speak to Ardeth about what it means to lay with a woman," she said promptly.

Tristan stopped mid-slice into his apple. "I had that talk with him less than a year ago."

Raja smiled knowingly at him. "I know you, Tristan. And it was a brief talk, wasn't it? 'Be careful who you lay with, son'," Raja mimicked.

Tristan snorted.

"I do not know if he has taken that step, but he is discovering his manhood, and it is no secret he is popular with the girls around here."

"We cannot stop him from bedding a wench, Raja," he told her.

"I know that! But the consequences of doing so. What if he were to get a girl with child? He is young. What would he do? Would he claim it?"

"I think that is something we should deal with if it comes to that."

"Yes. It is girls a few years older than him that he spends time with."

Tristan had a look on his face that said he was proud of his son. Although, he himself had not been one to woo ladies in his past, it was nice to know that his son was personable. He was proud of his son in everything. With his mother teaching Ardeth all that her Uncle Ardeth had taught her, his son was extremely learned, which was rare these days. With the Romans gone for years, illiteracy was extremely common. And his son was a skilled archer and swordsman, a hunter, horseback rider.

"I just want him to understand, fully understand, what he might be dealing with," Raja said. "I would speak with him about this, but I believe he would be more comfortable if it came from you." Her tone suggested that she wished her son would be at ease discussing it with her, but he was a young lad, and although Ardeth loved her, when it came to matters of the flesh, the father was always the one to go to.

Tristan put his apple and knife on the table, got up, lifted Raja off her chair to cradle her in his arms, then he sat back down with her on his lap. He kissed and nuzzled her neck affectionately.

"Ardeth is a smart boy, I don't think we have to worry about him too much," he said.

"I know. I know," she replied. "I cannot stop him from maturing, and I do not begrudge him his activities, but I just want him to be safe." She sighed. "I very well can't demand that he cease, I was a mere two years older than he when I bedded you."

Tristan smiled fondly remembering that time. He recalled every detail. Tasting her sweet nectar for the first time, and her whimpering sounds of desire that urged him on to sate his thirst. Cupping her breasts for the first time, sucking on her taut nipples, and then entering the haven of her body, becoming one with her, body and soul. The feeling of her thighs clamped around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. His warm seed spilling inside of her as she quivered beneath him. And how he had reached out to her several times that night, not able to get enough. His want for her had never lessened or diminished, and he felt himself becoming aroused just thinking of it.

"Tristan," she chastised playfully.

"I think we should use this time for ourselves before our son comes back." And with that, he carried her back into their bedroom.

--

Sandrine's father, Connor, stumbled his way through the streets and back alleys, aiming his way to his house without falling on his rear. It was dark in the living area, the fire was out. It was late, he knew, and he was drunk as a skunk.

Inside her bedroom, Sandrine heard her father come home. Her door was closed, and she curled up under her blankets. She could practically smell the alcohol from there. She heard him curse when he bumped into something, then she heard his bedroom door close, and she let out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. She fell into a fitful sleep.

A few hours later, she felt a draft on her body and she shivered. She must have kicked the blankets back. Her eyes fluttered open, and she sensed a presence hovering over her. Her eyes shot open, fear instantly causing her heart to pound. Her father was standing over her, stark naked, plainly aroused.

Connor looked at his daughter lecherously, the ale he had consumed had worn off just a tad. "You look more and more like your mother every day," he said in a gruff whisper.

Sandrine swallowed a painful lump in her throat. In vain she tried to cover her body, suddenly feeling that her nightgown was too sheer. Her body was frozen on the bed, she tried to will her legs to move, to run, but they wouldn't obey.

Connor sat down on the bed. He reached out and stroked his daughter's cheek. "So soft." His one finger trailed down her neck, to her chest. "Soft."

"Father..." Sandrine pleaded.

"Father?" he spat, going from hot to cold in a second. He chuckled callously. "You know...all these years I've wondered if you were truly my blood." He tipped his head to the side, observing her only by the moonlight. "But you look nothing like me. And God knows your mother was a whore." His large hand curled around the back of her neck, he tugged her head forward, his breath choked her.

Sandrine finally managed to struggle when she felt his dry, cracked lips on hers. "No!" she said, using her hands to push him away. She fell out of bed clumsily.

"Get back here," he snapped. He was standing over her again, he backhanded her across the face.

Sandrine fell back to the ground, and she felt the weight of her father on top of her. She fought him, but he was stronger. She kicked her legs, he hit her again and she tasted blood. He moaned, fondled her breasts, kissed her neck, kissed her mouth. Finally, she felt his rough hands under her nightgown.

"No!" she cried. "Please!"

"Shut up! The neighbors don't need to know our business."

Sandrine felt his erection against her stomach, she fought to keep the bile from rising out of her throat. This couldn't be happening. He had her wrists pinned above her head.

"Let's see if you've been plucked." Without preamble, he shoved two fingers inside of her, moved them around, up and down. "Just as I thought. Whore." Then he slammed his phallus inside of her. She cried out, both in surprise and pain. His panting breath was hot in her ear, his thrusts were merciless. Her backside rubbed abrasively against the wooden floor.

Sandrine shut her eyes, and gritted her teeth, waiting for it to be over. Waiting for the nightmare to end. She didn't know how long he went at it, but finally she felt him release his seed inside of her. His heavy body collapsed on hers. She lay still, in shock. Tears trickled down the sides of her face.

--

Two days later Arthur and Guinevere listened to the complaint of Connor Alban. The king and queen listened in stock silence as Connor recounted the tale that his daughter had told him. They both hid their shock when he mentioned Ardeth's name. Ardeth would never rape a girl, never. Knowing what his mother went through, it was implausible, unthinkable.

"I demand justice," Connor slammed his fist against the table.

Sandrine flinched, continuing to avoid the eyes of the king and queen. Her face was swollen, there were finger marks around her neck and wrists. Her privates still hurt from her father's relentless assault. It was only because Sandrine had ran out of the house blindly that they were here forming an official complaint. A barmaid and her companion had encountered her as she fled to nowhere in particular in the night. She was too ashamed to admit that it was her father who had caused her this turmoil. And now Ardeth was implicated. Her father knew of Ardeth and whom his parents were. His father was one of the great Sarmatian knights, his mother of noble blood. Connor had seen coin in his plot. He was in debt, and if he could somehow blackmail them into paying him into silence, his troubles would be solved.

"Naturally," Arthur began, "we will have to hear Ardeth's side of the story." He had already sent a guard to Tristan's and Raja's wing in the keep to fetch the boy. Just then, Ardeth and his parents entered the room.

Ardeth looked uncertainly at his parents, at Arthur and Guinevere. When he saw Sandrine's beaten face his face was a mask of worry.

"Sandrine, what happened?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Don't address my daughter, boy," her father snapped.

Tristan's posture became defensive, knowing that whatever this was about was not good.

"Please, take a seat," Arthur said to them, greatly dreading this entire encounter.

Ardeth sat between his parents.

"You were summoned here because this man-" Arthur was interrupted.

"You raped my daughter you scum!" Connor spat.

Ardeth's eyes opened as wide as saucers. "What?!"

"That is a lie," Raja said with vicious calm.

"Arthur?" Tristan turned to his commander and friend, deadly serious.

"Silence," Arthur said sternly to Connor. "Do not interrupt me again."

Connor preened but kept his temper, shooting daggers at Ardeth. The man may be a brute, but he was not brave enough to meet the scout's eyes. A reputation for being the most cold, calculating and savage warrior for miles and miles, Connor was afraid that he might see the truth.

Arthur continued. He told Sandrine to recount what had happened. With hesitance, and pauses, she sniffled through her tale. She had been in her bedroom, it was late. Her father had not yet arrived home. Ardeth snuck into the house and tried to seduce her. When she denied him, saying that her father might come home any minute he became angry. And he forced her into submission.

"Lies!" Ardeth jumped up indignantly.

His parents calmed him, Raja spoke to him softly in Arabic and his hackles came down.

"What proof do you have?" Tristan asked Connor coldly.

"My daughter's word is all the proof needed," he said haughtily.

"My son would never so much as a raise a hand to any girl or woman," Raja said with utter conviction. By the gods, the very thought of her son committing such an act was unbearable. The fact that he was even being accused of such a thing stoked the rage within her.

Connor scoffed. "Rape is punishable by death, is it not?" He turned to the king and queen for confirmation.

"You mind your tongue," Tristan said, his tone slithering across the room like a venomous snake. "Do not threaten my son. Your daughter is lying. You are lying, and no one is laying a hand on my boy."

While Raja clutched her son's hand in comfort, she looked across the table at Sandrine. Raja knew the look of a woman violated, she knew the look all too well. The girl was not lying that she had been raped, but she was lying about who had done it. It was not her son.

Sandrine felt steady eyes on her, and she looked up from beneath her eyelashes to see silver eyes gazing at her with both scrutiny and sympathy.

Raja barely heard the repressed anger in the arguments going on in the room. She only held steadfast to her son and the torment in Sandrine's eyes.

"You are blinded by your son's deception," Connor accused.

When Raja spoke, the room fell silent. "I said before – my son would never do such a thing. To accuse him of such is a crime in itself, not to be taken lightly. I think you best look in the mirror and tell yourself who the true aggressor is."

"Raja?" Guinevere said. Over the years, Raja had become her closest confidante second to her husband. After what she had been through, it was probably a knife to the heart to hear her son accused of the very things that were so cruelly done to her.

The Egyptian woman stood up, her face empty, but her eyes burned like molten silver. She said something to her son in Arabic and he stood as well.

"I will not sit here and listen to you accuse my son of such a despicable thing," Raja announced. "And if you or anyone else touches a hair on his head, I will kill you." And before she left, she said one last thing. "Sandrine," – at her tone, the young girl looked up – "tell the truth. It was not your fault."

--

Overwhelmed by guilt and grief, Sandrine did tell the truth. Her father was outraged and denied it until he was blue in the face. But he was taken to the cells and locked up, awaiting his fate. Rape was indeed punishable by death.

Ardeth was still shaken by the morning's events. He never thought he would be on the receiving end of such an accusation. He despised men who mistreated women. He had the utmost respect for his mother, Aunt Vanora, Guinevere, Sophia. He would never raise his hand to another woman. Never take one against her will. It made him sick.

Raja poured him warm tea in the antechamber. She let her son sit in silence for a while.

"Do you truly believe me, Walida?" His golden eyes looked at her with boyish sadness.

"Of course!" she said. "Ardeth, my love, there was never a doubt in my mind. I know you would never commit such an act."

"And Baba?"

"No doubt in his mind either."

"Why would Sandrine say it was me?" Ardeth blurted. "I never said one unkind word to her, ever! She and I have never even-" He checked himself.

"Laid together, I know, Ardeth," his mother finished for him. "But I know why she blamed you. A woman violated feels enough shame as it is...but to be violated by her father...perhaps you can understand how desperate she was to hide that."

"Her father?" Ardeth asked incredulously. Then he took a moment to think about that. "How do you know?"

She was silent for a moment and stared deep into her son's eyes. "I know."

Slowly, he nodded, understanding. "What will happen to her?"

Raja was touched by her son's willingness to forgive Sandrine her lie. He had a good heart. "Well, her father will be hung. Good riddance," Raja declared baldly. "I do not know if she can pay the rent on her home by herself."

"She told me that she wanted to move out, perhaps stay with one of the other laundresses," Ardeth informed her. "Now I know why she was so eager to."

Before the conversation could continue, Tristan walked into the chamber. "He will be hung either today or tomorrow," he said without pity.

Ardeth gulped, not sure he could meet his father's eyes. When he did, Tristan stared at him in contemplation, and Ardeth wondered what he was thinking. Tristan took a seat next to Raja, poured himself some ale.

"I would rather kill him myself," Tristan said.

Raja patted his hand.

"How do you feel?" Tristan asked Ardeth.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, trying to find the right words. "Why couldn't she have chosen someone else to blame?" he blurted. "Everyone around the fort will hear about it and even though I'm declared innocent, they will still wonder! I don't want to have that on my name!" His face was turning red, having held in his frustration for too many hours.

"Ardeth, anyone who would even doubt your innocence is a fool," Raja said. "The people who love you believe it, and if anything were to be said otherwise in their presence you can surely believe that the slanderer will be forcefully corrected."

Ardeth was still troubled. He excused himself and went to his quarters. Raja sighed and Tristan put his arm around her. "Come here."

She sat on his lap, her arms around his neck for comfort.

"I wish he would not be so hard on himself," Raja said.

"He'll move on from it," he assured her. Tristan looked her in the eyes, searching for any remoteness or emptiness that the events might have brought upon. He feared that it might have resurrected old ghosts.

"I'm fine, Trissy," she said, kissing him on the forehead.

--

Later that evening as Raja slumbered, Tristan got out of bed, kissed his wife gently, and trudged across the antechamber and to his son's room. He grabbed two apples from a bowl of various fruits. He heard breathing of someone awake. He knocked.

"Come in," he heard his son say.

Tristan walked in to see Ardeth lying on the bed, legs crossed, staring at the ceiling. He pulled up a chair next to the bed. The boy had skipped dinner, and hadn't left his room since he'd gone in earlier that morning. He tossed his son an apple.

Ardeth smiled and sat up in bed. He took his dagger from his bedside table and began eating the apple in the same manner as his father.

After several moments of silence, Ardeth asked the question he'd been wondering about all day. "Have you ever been accused of violating a woman?"

Tristan arched an eyebrow, taking his son's question in stride. "Not that I can remember." But he leveled with Ardeth. "But wenches, in the past, complained that I was too rough with them."

"Were you?"

Tristan swiped his tongue over his teeth. "I was not known for being the most gentle man around the fort. Are you ready for this talk, Ardeth?"

He nodded.

"You are a boy becoming a man. It's a difficult time. And all the more so when you add women to it."

"You can say that again," he muttered in return. "They're complicated."

Tristan chuckled. "That is true."

Ardeth cleared his throat. "Was...Walida complicated?" Even though he couldn't imagine his mother to be flighty and indecisive, accusing men of false actions.

As always, thinking of their earlier courtship, Tristan's face softened, and his lips curled into a gentle smile. "No. Your mother was very different from any woman I had ever met. And I've yet to meet any woman who comes close. I doubt I ever will."

"Should I be so lucky to find a woman like that," Ardeth said.

"You're young yet, son," Tristan said seriously.

"So I should sow my oats in the mean time?" Ardeth jested, earning a laugh from his father.

"Be very careful what field you sow your oats in, Ardeth. It always seemed the wisest to just pay a woman, no strings attached." He scratched his beard. "But, then again, there is the occasional whore who tries to get a marriage proposal out of you."

"You?"

"It was usually Lancelot," he replied.

"I can believe that."

"You're smart, Ardeth. Not a boy to be led astray easily. And if you veer off the path, your mother and I will be there."

8/8/07