Shattered Ice

The trees were different. That was the first coherent thought Tristan had after pulling his tired mind out of the darkness that had sucked him under so many hours before. The memories of the terrible accident and the days of digging out from under his horse’s corpse were blurred and faded, but Tristan was certain that the trees near him had been different. He’d had a lot of time to observe the trees, and these were definitely different. And his dead horse was gone. That was important. He hadn’t quite figured out why it was important, but he knew it was.

His head was propped up on something soft. That was different too. A blanket covered him now and not just a cloak. Tristan frowned as he slowly became aware of something else that was different. The sound of a fire crackling nearby …he could hear again!

Flames…could mean danger. Still uncertain about the circumstances he found himself in Tristan turned his head toward the sound to see if the fire posed any threat. The world spun and faded around him from the movement, the dull throbbing of his head becoming a sharp pain that took over his entire being. He was dimly aware of a cool cloth being placed on his head and of a frantic voice calling out something, but the pounding was simply too much for him to handle.

Tristan lost some time after that, sinking helplessly back into darkness where the pain couldn’t reach him. He would have been happy to simply stay there in the black void and remain oblivious of the world around him, but a sound gently pushed its way into the black mists holding him. At first Tristan couldn’t understand the words or recognize who was speaking but finally the jumble of words sorted themselves out.

“…wake up….Tristan? Can you hear me? Gods, please! I don’t know what to do!” An image crept into Tristan’s sluggish mind. Golden hair, dancing blue eyes. Gaheris? No. Gaheris was gone.

“Gawain…” Tristan muttered in recognition. How had Gawain come to be here? Tristan tried to think back to what had happened. Had Gawain been with him? No...Despite the fog over his memories Tristan remembered that Gawain had ridden past the broken path, intent on not falling on the crumbled ground himself.

“Found me…” Tristan forced his heavy eyes to open. A blurred image shifted before finally sharpening into the features of Gawain’s young, frightened face. The boy had come back, found him…moved him. “Good tracking…”

“No, Tristan, stay awake!” Gawain’s voice was sharp. Tristan blinked, surprised to realize that his eyes had closed at some point. Gawain sighed with relief. His hand had been reaching out to grasp the scout’s shoulder before he caught himself and stopped.

Tristan had been watching him warily, almost with anger. When Gawain’s hand dropped back down to his side Tristan whispered, “Thank you.”

A few moments of silence passed between the two men. Gawain seemed to be gathering his thoughts while Tristan allowed himself to fade out again. Once again it was Gawain’s voice that brought him back to awareness. Blinking drowsily, Tristan focused on the golden-haired Knight. The youth was holding a water skin in his hand and looking at Tristan cautiously.

“You need to drink, Tristan.” Gawain said. “I don’t want to offend you, but I think I will need to help you.” Tristan shut his eyes. He hated being touched now. Athur had stolen that pleasure from him. The thought of Gawain touching him was appalling and yet he knew he needed water.

He was out of choices and opened his eyes. Gawain was watching him, his blue eyes sad and understanding and Tristan was hit by the sudden realization that this was not a defeat. This wasn’t Arthur. Gawain had the compassion and kindness in him that their violent lives hadn’t destroyed and that Arthur seemed to have lost. Gawain was didn't want to possess him, consume him. Gawain was not Arthur.

Some of what he had been thinking must have shown on his face, because Gawain smiled and gently lifted Tristan’s head, tipping the water skin so that the cool water trickled into Tristan’s dry mouth. “Thank you.” Tristan said quietly when he was finished, and Gawain eased his head back down onto the rolled up cloak that served as his pillow. “What now?”

“Tristan, I’m not sure what to do.” Gawain admitted with a worried expression on his face. “I think I need to move you but I’m afraid it’ll hurt.” Tristan agreed with that assessment. It hurt to lie still; moving would be sheer agony.

“We don’t have any other choice.” Tristan responded his voice a little stronger now that he had drunk the water. “You should get all the gear together…pack up, get the horse ready.”
Talking was an effort but Tristan forced himself to keep going. “Then bring the horse over. You’ll have to help me. I have no idea how long I’ll be able to stay conscious while I’m being moved. I know you’ll do what needs to be done.”

Gawain bit his lip and looked down. “You’ve done well, Gawain. You really have. Gaheris would be proud.” Tristan said quietly. He paused for a moment and sighed. “We have to get moving.”

Gawain decided it was best not to argue with Tristan, and simply sighed in agreement. “I will refill the water skins now as well.” Gawain said, realizing that once Tristan was on the horse he would not be able to get back off. That meant he would have to stay on the horse as well to support the scout.

It only took a few minutes to gather up all that was needed and to put everything on the horse. The only thing left was the bedroll, and Gawain had decided it would just have to remain behind. Getting Tristan up and on the horse would be enough of a hassle without worrying about small things that could be replaced.

The blonde youth led the horse over to where Tristan lay. The scout looked terrible, the deep bruising on his face and his torn, bleeding hands were terrible to see. Lines of pain were etched deeply in Tristan’s face, but then he opened his eyes and looked up at Gawain, giving the younger man a nod of encouragement.

“Good. Help me sit up.” Tristan suggested. He had to lean against Gawain when the vertigo hit. He hadn’t realized just how much his head hurt until now. Thankfully the dizziness passed and he was able to push away from the youth a little. Tristan looked up at the horse and inwardly moaned. The distance looked too great to even attempt.

“Ready?” Gawain looked pale. Tristan nodded. Then he stopped thinking for a while as a searing pain and darkness took hold of him. He remembered waking once, and Gawain told him that they had been on the horse for nearly a day and that they would be back at the fort soon (false reassurance, but Tristan accepted it wholeheartedly). Tristan had gratefully sunk back to sleep - where the pain didn't go.

Gawain would get them home.

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Something tickled at his nose. Arthur reached up with his right hand and tried to brush it
away. Only the tickle was attached to a warm softness that beguiled his fingers into gentle combing. As Arthur swam back to consciousness, he slitted eyes that felt as bad as the time a deserter had thrown gritty sand and blinded him in a desperate attempt to escape. Lancelot was curled up at his side with his head tucked into the hollow of Arthur's shoulder. Some sneaky thrill shot through his spine as he considered what he could do to Lancelot. He could ask anything, order anything of this arrogant warrior. Lancelot would merely give him a pair of unhappy glances and bend his neck or his knee to obey.

He didn't deserve Lancelot. Never in a thousand years would he. A terrible thing was inside of him and no matter how hard he tried to be a good man, eventually it crawled out. When he was younger there had been less temptation. Control was easier to achieve. But now? Arthur shuddered at what he'd done to Tristan and yet... He would do it again if he had the chance. Tristan's surrender made him... whole.

Even Lancelot's humiliation and punishment hadn't filled Arthur with the rapture that possessing Tristan did. He didn't know why this hunger of his was so set on the slender Iazyge scout. But when he dreamed at night, he worshiped Tristan's body. In the dark of his soul only Tristan would do. But perhaps he could feed the urge of his body with more willing prey. Arthur heaved himself up and looked down at a pair of eyes that barely opened.

"Lancelot?" Arthur wasn't certain what he was asking for, but Lancelot nodded his head in answer.

With tender care, Arthur bent his head and breathed on the skin of Lancelot's cheek. Beneath his arm, the warrior - of such mercurial temperament and viciously moody - stretched like a cat being stroked. Arthur applied his mouth and teeth to the silken neck. He sucked a great red splotch to the surface then nipped at the cord of tendon.

Suddenly in need, Arthur stroked a long hand between the legs and sought proof of Lancelot's ready compliance. The hard shaft was as a heated brick in his palm. The warmth soaked into the skin and muscle to soothe him.

"You want me, Lancelot?"

"Gods, yes! Please, Arthur."

"Why?" The question was strangled, the gasp of a dying man's soul.

Lancelot wrapped his arms around Arthur's chest and pulled the entire weight of his commander onto his body. "I want you because I want you. You are beautiful to me. More than that. You have been good to me and to the others. Not until... " A deep breath and Lancelot began again. "You're a man and like all mortal men - sometimes we cannot turn away from things we want that are... unwise. We are all given needs and pleasures that sometimes come at the cost of hurting others. Your need is equally deep and driven as your honor. On the one hand, you are above us all - a truly formidable leader and with kindness, justice, pure good in you. Is it not understandable that what you fight against in yourself would be of equal weight?"

"Tristan," Lancelot's eyes flashed to meet Arthur's, guaging his commander's mood quickly, "Tristan thought you of worth enough to feed that hunger in you, did he not?" Lancelot rubbed at Arthur's back gently. "He believed in you and gave himself to you instead of striking you down or fleeing. Arthur, you must believe that he saw something in you worthy of his gift. Can you not see that?"

"No. For I am not worthy of it. I am not worth the gift you give me either." Arthur pushed Lancelot's hair back out of his eyes and smiled. "I will not be foolish enough to mistreat you again, Lancelot. I need you."

"You NEED Tristan." Even as Arthur tensed in Lancelot's embrace, the dark Knight continued hurriedly. "I know now how you tried to leave him be. I know now that fighting against it, you become... unfocused... undone. We, all of us here, we need you whole and Tristan knew that. He believed that you, whole, could keep us all alive. Is that not why he came to you?"

Arthur closed his eyes and nodded, accepting and confirming what Lancelot and he already knew.

"Then why, Arthur, why would he have left? Having made the decision to save you at the cost of himself, why would he give up now? He told Dagonet that he would be back. When has Tristan ever broken his word in any way? He'll be back. And Arthur, when he comes back, you must take him to you again." Lancelot huffed. "I can't replace what he is. You need him. Though I suggest you learn to be less of an ass. A little spoiling wouldn't come amiss either. Apologies, gifts... try to hold him a little less closely. Can you not try to be less of an idiot?"

Arthur stopped the flow of words with a kiss that sucked all the air out of Lancelot's lungs. Moving down the virile Knight's body with kisses and tasting the soft skin of Lancelot's belly, he answered, "Yes. But I'm going to need vast quantities of help from you." Without waiting for an answer to that, Arthur stuck his tongue out and laved Lancelot's shaft thoroughly.

Just like that, Lancelot could no longer speak. Arthur vowed to remember the fact that he could render Lancelot speechless any time he liked. It might come in useful some day. But even as he worked Lancelot into a frenzy, in the back of his mind Arthur grieved that it was not Tristan beneath him. How much sweeter it was to drive himself into His Knight. Though Lancelot was delicious in his mouth when he came, though Lancelot moaned delightfully as he surrendered to Arthur's ministrations, it could never match Tristan's face reluctantly surrendering to the pain of Arthur taking him. It could never replete his hunger as much as forcing Tristan to experience pleasure at his hands.

Arthur came with Tristan in his mind's eye and Lancelot's skin under his hands when they switched positions. It was nearly as good.

Perhaps this would be a way to spare Tristan his attentions.

Arthur prayed desperately for God to watch over His Knight. Lancelot had convinced him that something had happened. Something ill had befallen his wild creature. Please, Arthur begged silently, let Tristan survive.

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Dagonet coiled the rope he'd oiled carefully. It was a fine loop. Strong enough to tug a bullock over and slender enough to use as a snare. Tristan had little time these days to see to his things what with Arthur constantly hovering over him.

A hesitant cough alerted him to the presence of another. Galahad shifted impatiently from foot to foot, clearly overwrought and in need of counsel. Dagonet beckoned him into the tack room with a peremptory wave. The boy had been on the verge of words a dozen times or more since Gawain had snuck out to look for Tristan. Since whatever the young Knight had on his mind was clearly tormenting him, Dagonet suspected that it had much to do with the recent events between Arthur and Tristan. This time he would not allow the boy to leave until he'd gotten his concerns off his chest.

"Speak. Take a deep breath and say whatever you need to say and don't think about it."

"I was just wondering what... I mean, why did... Tristan hasn't been in his room and I want to kn...I mean," Galahad fumbled to a stop. "Arthur said Tristan promised to be his. What did he mean? Why were they fighting? Why isn't Tristan here and why did Gawain go out? Why is Arthur acting as if he were crazed?"

"That's better, Galahad." Dagonet steadied the boy's trembling frame. "Gawain went out to look for Tristan. Arthur is going mad because Tristan is missing. They were fighting because Arthur is like any jealous idiot and imagining things. He thought Tristan liked you the way he desired Tristan. The most important thing you need to know is that... Tristan is as a woman to Arthur. He looks upon Tristan as his. It does craze him a bit. Do you remember when Lamorak wanted the trader's woman? Do you remember that he nearly got himself killed because he tried to force himself upon her?"

"Yes. He said he looked at her and he couldn't think. All he thought of was her. It drove him mad."

"So does Tristan affect Arthur. Except that Tristan agreed to be Arthur's even though he did not feel the same."

"I should say not! Everyone knows that the only one he lies with is Ginnade. And he doesn't love her or want her really either. He just goes to her because sometimes he must."

Dagonet stared at Galahad with a new appreciation for the lad. He saw things that most had not. Almost all the other Knights had believed him Percival's shield brother. They had thought the two shared much more than a room. He shook his head and muttered, "You see clearer than most. Most of us believed him Percival's lover. Though I knew he was a childhood companion of Tristan's, I sometimes thought they shared more than a past. Arthur believed it so. When Percival was no longer standing there as a bar, Arthur looked on Tristan and wanted him. Tristan went to him, but Arthur is... possessive. What is his is his. He started imagining things and the day you sparred with Bedivere, he voiced those imaginings. His anger got the better of him. Tristan was very angry in return when he left."

"Arthur is a fool then. Tristan would never betray a promise. Sometimes he's a complete idiot about that. Remember when he told that baker's wife, when she was pregnant and wanting odd things to eat, that he'd bring her some of those little berries that grow by the creek? He couldn't find any, remember? He went all the way out into the territory of the Woads by himself and found a whole sackful before he came back. He was exhausted and bloody when he returned. Stupid honor drove him to it. A man should use a little common sense don't you think? Ha, she didn't even want them by the time he returned."

Dagonet replied dryly. "Learned to be more careful of his promises, didn't he?"

Galahad nodded emphatically.

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He was moving. Or maybe it was what he was draped over that was moving. What was going on? Maybe Gawain would know. Gawain had been with him…“Gawain?” Tristan mumbled as he drifted back into awareness. The movement under him stopped briefly and a hand touched his back. Frowning, Tristan tried to recall where he was and what was happening.

Oh yes. Broken leg. Horse. Back to the fort. But wasn’t Gawain riding with him? “Tristan? Do
you need something?” Gawain sounded worried. “We are nearly there. Just hang on.”

Tristan mumbled an agreement and he was gone again before Gawain could respond. Commotion woke him the next time. There were lots of people around and someone shouted, “Move, Gawain!”

“I can’t! He'll fall.” the youth responded, sounding as if he was crying. Tristan pried his eyes open in time to see Arthur impatiently shove Gawain out of the way from the side of the horse. Wild green eyes looked at Tristan, and the scout could clearly see the fear in them. Why was Arthur so upset? Arthur…there was something Tristan needed to remember about him.

Someone pulled him down from the horse and eased him to the ground, holding him in their arms. Tristan felt the bones of his leg shift and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it hurt. His mind was insisting it felt like sharp stinging wasps and burning coals, but he was so very tired that he could no longer care.

“Bring a stretcher now!” shouted Arthur. The commander gently stroked Tristan’s hair. “You’re safe now, Tristan.”

If he had possessed any strength Tristan would have pulled away from Arthur. He didn’t. In fact the darkness was beginning to seep into his vision and exhaustion tugged at him. All he wanted to do was to sleep but then he remembered what he wanted to ask Arthur.

“Did you hurt him?” Tristan demanded. Arthur looked at Tristan blankly. “Did you touch Galahad?” Tristan asked urgently. The darkness was almost there…

“Never.” Arthur promised him. “I never touched him. I never will. He isn't you.”

Tristan looked steadily up at Arthur, searching those green eyes for a sign of deception and saw none. The darkness was taking over and Tristan gratefully let go of the waking world.
“Good.” He mumbled drowsily. “I can rest now.” Golden eyes rolled into the back of his head and he went limp in Arthur’s arms.

Arthur flung back his head, lifted his eyes to the sky and snarled, "If but once you would listen to a prayer of mine then give me this. Do not let him have lived thus far to die now that he has reached safe haven. This is MY fault. All mine."

Gawain sank to his knees by Tristan's side and fumbled cold fingers at Tristan's neck, trying to feel for a lift of air, a flutter or a whisper of a beating heart. He barely caught the slight warming surge under the skin before Arthur pushed him away.

"Do not TOUCH him."

"He's breathing, Arthur. He's breathing."

Arthur smoothed sticky tendrils of hair from where they caught in Tristan's long eyelashes. "For how long? For how few moments left?"

Dagonet knelt by Arthur's side and started prying fingers stiff with fear off Tristan's shoulders. "He's lived this long. He wants to live. Now let us get him on the stretcher and into the care of the medicus, Arthur. LET GO."

"NEVER." Arthur bit the words out. "I can never let him go."

"I know, Arthur. He knows. But come, help me with him. The medicus needs to set the leg better. He needs elixir. He needs heat. You need to bring him. Come..." Dagonet's tone wheedled gently.

Arthur nodded and gradually let Tristan slide out of his arms into others. Then he leapt to the side of the stretcher and held on to the limp and unresisting hand to reassure himself.

Behind Arthur's back was the nearly unconscious figure of Gawain still on his knees in the mud. Arthur knew he should care but Tristan's plight drove every other thought from his mind. His entire focus was on the sharp bones of the proud face. So white and still and far away...

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Dagonet stepped out of Gawain’s room and closed his eyes. The boy had been exhausted but too wound up from worry over Tristan to sleep. The Roman surgeon had already dosed Gawain with a large amount of valerian tea and was finishing up his exam while Lancelot took Gawain’s account of what had happened.

The door opened again and Lancelot came out, followed by the Roman who nodded at Dagonet and walked off down the hall.

“He’s sleeping. Probably will be until tomorrow, judging from what the surgeon said.” Lancelot told Dagonet. “The horse tired too much attempting to carry both of them. Gawain's feet are blistered and raw from walking in the rain to spare the horse. His boots are ruined. The surgeon had to cut them away from his feet. Between the blisters on top of blisters and the spots where he simply walked his feet to raw meat, Gawain will be off-duty for the next two days and on merely light duties for some time to come."

Dagonet nodded. “We’ll send Galahad to sit with him a bit, eh?” Dagonet asked and Lancelot nodded. Bors was approaching and he had a strange look on his face, a firmly set and resolved look. “I will deal with Bors. You go see to Arthur.” Dagonet suggested. Lancelot looked from Bors’ stony face to Dagonet’s mild expression and nodded.

“He knows, I think.” Lancelot murmured as he walked off. Dagonet snorted. The whole fort probably knew at this point. It was a testament to how much his men liked him that the fort hadn’t rioted already from Arthur’s behavior. His odd focus on Tristan and unconcern for Gawain when they had come in had only heightened the level of unsettled whispering.

“Dagonet.” Bors said tightly. Dagonet smiled tiredly at his friend and motioned for Bors to enter his room, away from Gawain's door. Bors agreed and entered. As soon as the door shut he began pacing the length of the room.

“Bors.” Dagonet said mildly, trying to calm his friend down a little with just the sound of his voice. Bors glared at Dagonet and began pacing again.

“How long have you known?” Bors stopped his pacing again. “I’ve suspected for a while. How long have you known for certain, Dagonet? How long has he suffered while we have done nothing?”

Dagonet rubbed his head and damned Arthur for his weakness. “It’s been a while. Tristan asked me to not interfere. Kept saying he'd talk to me and then avoided me for days on end. ” Bors looked at Dagonet closely as Dagonet explained carefully and softly, “Arthur needs Tristan. He cannot be the leader he once was without ... having... Tristan.”

Bors thought about this for a moment and shook his head. “It isn’t worth it. The men will not stand for it though few of them have any liking for our Tristan. They already know something is wrong with Arthur. What are we going to do if they find out what he has been doing? Making one of us a ... What is he to Arthur anyway?”

“I am going to speak to Arthur, when Tristan is well again.” Dagonet said quietly, with total determination. “We will discuss the terms then. It would be useless now. If Tristan dies, I believe Arthur will too. But when the time comes, when Tristan is well enough…Arthur will listen to me. Things must change between them.”

Bors didn’t look convinced. “And if he doesn’t listen?” Dagonet’s cold smile gave him the answer. “And for now…what do we say to the men?”

“Start by saying nothing. If there are those who begin to grow uneasy, leave them to me.”
Lancelot said from the doorway. He had the familiar cocky smile on his face but his dark eyes looked worried. “Tristan is in bad shape but they think if the fever breaks then he will live.”

“You will speak to the men?” Dagonet asked with relief. At Lancelot’s nod Dagonet said, “What will you tell them?”

“That things are under control. That Arthur has been ill with a malady of the soul but is now slowly recovering. Not all of them know anything is going on. Only a few know enough to be upset. Because of Bedivere and I, most do not care what happens to the Iazyge.” Lancelot stopped speaking then, not sure if he could continue speaking. "We managed between us to make them turn from indifferent caution to outright hate of him."

“It is good you realize how much you have to atone for.” Dagonet said to Lancelot. “I will see to Tristan and Arthur - no doubt Arthur will not leave his side until Tristan begins mending. Perhaps a diversion would be a good idea? Something to keep the attention off of them?”

"It will need to be a good one. Arthur will not leave Tristan's side."

Dagonet groaned. "That in itself will be a problem. They will see it as proof Arthur prefers the Iazyge to them. Or they will see it as proof that Arthur has taken leave of his senses and hounds the man."

"Both of which will be true." Lancelot hesitated, what he had to say was a foul thing but it would work if Dagonet backed it up. "We could let it be known Tristan has become Arthur's shield brother. They would accept it. They understand that."

"No!" Dagonet surged to his feet. "It would be foul to suggest such a thing. Evil in the eyes of gods to say that a man brought to this against his will is doing so out of LOVE!"

"But it's not against his will, is it? Dagonet, he went willingly to Arthur. Chose it so. Arthur welcomed him as he will never welcome... any other." Lancelot's voice was soft and relentless. "They are nearly as one now. Tristan was never a whole man to begin with - even with Percival. All believed him to be Percival's. If not his lover, then his other half. With Arthur, he has purpose. What will he be without such focus, now that Percival is gone and he has no other to look out for? What will Arthur be without him? I no longer believe Arthur can be Arthur without Tristan." Lancelot closed his eyes as if to deny what he'd just said. Then continued, "There will have to be some changes, yes?"

"YES." Dagonet's voice was firm but then wavered, "You are right in that one thing. There will be changes between them. If Tristan does not do so, then I will see to it. I think Arthur will find Tristan much changed when he wakes again." He smiled grimly anticipating that. "Much changed indeed. As for explanations, there will be none. Tell them, if any ask awkward questions, tell them to ask Tristan if they care so much." Dagonet grinned wolfishly, "I am thinking that not only Arthur will find Tristan changed. No longer will he allow any offense against him, I think. Except for Arthur's."

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Tristan spent weeks fading in and out of consciousness while his body struggled against the fever and terrible cough that had settled in his chest from being outside in his weakened state. Arthur barely left his side, but Arthur was never alone with Tristan for any length of time. Dagonet, Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad and even Bors spent the long days on watch in Tristan's room.

Arthur would not allow anyone else to touch the scout but he did let them bring in food and water, blankets and other items when it was needed. And he didn’t dare order Dagonet or Lancelot away. They knew and they were watching him to make certain he did not take advantage of Tristan’s weakness.

Tristan was so weak at times that all Arthur could do was lay on the bed beside the scout and pray frantically as he stroked Tristan’s face with a cool cloth or simply hold him up when the coughing was so bad that Tristan had difficulty breathing. Arthur prayed as he never had before, begging God not to take Tristan from him.

Finally there came a day when Tristan lay silently on the bed, only the occasional cough breaking the silence in the room. Arthur looked out the window while Dagonet carried in some fresh blankets. The soft rustling sound seemed to revive Tristan and he stirred on the bed.

“Arthur?” The voice was faint and weak, but it was the first coherent thing Tristan had said in nearly four weeks. Arthur sat on the bed gently, careful not to bump the splinted leg. Golden eyes looked up at him in sleepy confusion, and then at the room he was in. “Where --?”

“You’re in the care of the medicus.” Arthur said and rested his hand on Tristan’s cool forehead. “Your fever finally broke. You had me - us - quite worried, Tristan.” Arthur said to the scout, noticing the shadow that seemed to slip over the golden eyes. He swallowed and leaned over to softly whisper to Tristan with a cautious eye on the large watchdog warrior briskly clearing away the remains of Arthur's uneaten meal. “Tristan. Please. I promise…give you my word... that I will not hurt you while you recover.” Arthur said, feeling shamed that he could not promise that he would never harm Tristan again. “I’m so thankful that you have stayed with us…” Arthur’s trembling hand stroked back the dark hair from the golden eyes with great gentleness.

Tristan sighed and forced his tense body to relax beneath Arthur touching him gently. Arthur had promised him…that meant something still, didn’t it? He drifted off into sleep still pondering the question.

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“How is he?” Dagonet asked from the doorway. Arthur looked up from the pile of blankets he had been settling on what used to be Percival’s bed and frowned at Dagonet. He hadn’t touched Tristan in weeks other than to care for him, so why was the giant Knight still shadowing him? The frown deepened when Dagonet stepped into the room and stopped in front of the bed that held Tristan’s sleeping form.

The still splinted leg was propped up on several furs. The medicus was quite concerned about the way it was healing. The leg was quite raw in spots and the bones still hadn't knit properly. One of the scout’s hands laid limply across his belly while the other one rested palm-up on the pillow. Tristan’s face was completely relaxed and his breathing was deep and even.

“The surgeon gave him something for the pain after we moved him in here.” Arthur said stiffly. “You can come back later when he’s awake.” Dagonet continued to ignore him, instead gently resting a large hand on Tristan’s cheek, then onto his forehead to gauge his temperature.

“Arthur.” Dagonet said quietly, moving away from the sleeping scout. “We need to talk. Since you won’t leave him, I’ll have to do it here.” When Arthur moved to speak, Dagonet shook his head.

“No. Arthur, you listen to me. I let you have Tristan though I wished to stop this altogether because he told me that he could handle it - that it was what he wanted.” Arthur looked shocked. Obviously he hadn’t believed that anyone other than Jols and Lancelot had known about the terrible things he'd done. “And as much as I want to allow Tristan his own way, I cannot allow him to suffer continuously. It tears me apart watching it. I know all you have done. Before he left, he told me everything. You cannot continue to treat him this way."
Arthur swallowed with difficulty. Neither man noticed that the rhythm of Tristan’s breathing had changed slightly, nor did they notice the golden eyes opening briefly to look at them before they quickly slipped shut again.

“I cannot leave him alone. I want to…God knows I want to. I just... I can't. Every time he is near, I... Dagonet, I wish I could be content with touching him like this - gently and with loving care, but I know it will not always be so with me.” Dagonet didn’t look very sympathetic but he didn’t seem to be boiling with rage either. Arthur hung his head and groaned. "I tried to deny it. To drive it from me. But then he told me to take him. And I did. I cannot drive this out now."

“I know. I know you can’t, and he knows it too. But you have taken over every aspect of his life. He needs some freedom, somewhere to go where you can’t touch him or bother him.” Dagonet cocked his head as he watched Arthur , "He needs the right to go away from you as he wishes. I will guard him, drive you from his side if I must. When he comes to me, you will leave him be. Until he returns to you." The words were spoken with bitter finality, and Dagonet’s normally gentle blue eyes flashed with anger.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Of a certainty. Dagonet," a pair of green eyes sparkled brilliantly with happiness, "I believe that will be best. When he goes to you, I will not follow. I will wait." Arthur seized Dagonet's arm with a grateful hand. "I am indebted to you. You protect what I love most from my own greed and I thank you for it."

Dagonet said sternly before brushing Arthur's arm off, "See to it that you show him your better side more often than the other. Show us all you are still the man we believe in." He caught a pair of gold coin eyes slitting open for a peek and grinned. "At least prove Tristan right in this. After all, HE believes in you. One wonders why though."

Arthur muttered, "I don't understand it myself. But it brings him to me. And I will try to honor him by being what he wishes of me."

"Good."

Arthur bowed his head in agreement and sat down on Percival's bed to wait for Tristan to awaken.

Dagonet gave a hard look to the man pretending to sleep and then left.

The rest of it they'd have to work out for themselves.

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TBC...
Surreal and PeeK