Falcon's Beginning

Disclaimer- No, i don't own the knights, only the characters you don't know. I also don't own the first verse of Falcons song. That belongs to "Libera". I own the rest of it though...*grin*


Chapter 2- The Baggy Breeches

Knocking on the heavy oaken door, Tristan waited for the muffled, “ENTER!” Before striding in, the eighteen year old well accustomed with his friends rooms. Falcon appeared in the doorway leading from her wash chamber, hair tousled and wet, her face a little pink from scrubbing. “You look flushed.” Tristan said with a small smile, as she crossed the room to pull on a black tunic over her white shirt, tucking the pale linen into the brown leather breeches she wore before settling it over her clothes. Tristan laughed, “Where did you get those breeches from, Falcon?” She blushed, shuffling her booted feet on the cold stone floor. “Bors. I know! They’re too big and very baggy…Vanora took in the waist for me, so at least that part fits, but the legs are still too big and wide…” She replied, sliding her belt through the ties and fitting her tri-pronged knives into their sheaths. Tugging her hair back into a leather thong, she let the now waist length dark curls gather in between her shoulder blades. “Is everything ready?” She asked quietly, her eyes on the suddenly sombre scout. “Yes.” He replied, walking over to the window and staring out to the small cemetery where all the fallen knights were buried. He could see the few monks that the fort possessed overseeing the digging of a pair of graves.
“We shouldn’t have lost them.” Came the whispered voice from by his shoulder. “I know.” He whispered back, turning to see a teary-eyed Falcon standing centimetres away. Abruptly, she whirled away, sniffing, “Come on, we should get down there.” Tristan grabbed her wrist, pulling her back, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Falcon, I know you don’t like people seeing you cry, but this is me…” He murmured into her chestnut curls, rocking her slightly. She wrapped her arms around him in return and hugged the scout tightly. Standing here for a few moments, the friends simply let their grief wash over them, sharing it, as they did with everything else. Their solace was interrupted however, by Gawain and Galahad, who were passing.
“Come on, you two. Time enough for that later.” Gawain said, the grief clear in his voice, making the supposed joke fall flat in weariness. Breaking apart, Tristan and Falcon left her rooms, Falcon shutting the door behind her, glancing around once more at the room, her sad eyes taking note of the dress she had borrowed from Fardira, noting sadly that her friend would never be able to wear it again. She would never laugh in it again. She would never breathe in it again.


She, Gawain, Galahad and Tristan stood together, watching the burial mounds of Fardira and Aelfric being filled in. Falcon saw the grief stricken Haylie walking away, her shoulders stooped. Her younger sister had meant the world to her, and now she was gone. Aelfric had died trying to defend the fallen girl, not realising that she had died. He had fought bravely, bellowing war cries to the last. Tears clouded her eyes, and sighing, she knelt between the two mounds, touching her palms to both mounds, she began to sing. Something she did very rarely.

“You are everything I know,
Wherever I may go,
You’ll always stay with me,

Through the whisper of the trees
Through the gentle summer breeze
You’ll always stay with me

Wait for me, at the rivers’ edge,
See my high held head,
Someday, you shall see me,
See me again…”

Raising herself up, she looked to where she had seen Haylie walking away. The young woman stood there now, a soft smile on her face. Haylie inclined her head, a silent thanks, before continuing her journey to wherever she was heading. Arthur came forward and clasped her hands in his, smiling sadly, pain clear in his eyes. “It should never have been them, Arthur.” Falcon murmured to her commander, sighing. He nodded, raising his hand to her shoulder, clasping it firmly before releasing her and walking back to the fort. Turning, she saw her fellow knights, most with tears openly flowing down their battle hardened faces.
“Damn your voice, Falcon.” Bors chuckled through his tears, wiping furiously at his eyes. A murmured agreement followed, as the knights prepared to go back to the fort. Gareth slung an arm about her shoulders, guiding her with the rest of them. Tristan walked on her other side, silent and thoughtful. “You sing beautifully.” Gareth told her, hugging her gently as they walked. “I think you made Haylie feel a little better.” Falcon nodded, trying to keep in stride with the tall knight, who was taking fairly large strides, her smaller legs taking two steps to his one. Tristan noticed her discomfort. “Gareth, she’s only little.” He mentioned with a teasing grin. Falcon smiled tightly, waiting to get back into the fort so she could go to the stables and have some thinking time. She hated being in the fort. It was to much like a civilised life. A loud voice broke through her thoughts.
“Falcon! Those are my breeches!” Bors yelped suddenly. The knights laughed, the grief for their fallen companions a regular one, the need for normality already straining through. Falcon grinned, motioning to the baggy breeches. “I don’t know what it is you eat Bors, but I’m telling you, Vanora had to take these in a bit!” She laughed. Bors smiled smugly, looking at his fellow knights.
“Well, it’s not my waist, but, you know, what’s, down there…” He motioned with one massive hand below his waistline. “It’s too big for normal breeches.” He boasted, earning groans from the others. “No, really!! It’s a problem! It’s like…”
“A BABY’S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE!” Chorused the Knights as one, loudly and jovially. The tavern beckoned, and so, the knights went to the ale, the drink soon clouding their minds and helping them forget.
Night had fallen, and all except three were drinking. Falcon sat alone at a table, idly flicking darts at a post a few feet away. Tristan and Arthur sat at a table near the other knights, watching her. Tristan sighed, turning to Arthur, “This has hit her harder than any of the others.” He said, turning his gaze back to the young woman. Arthur nodded, a sad frown marring his handsome features. “I don’t know what to say to her. She and Haylie are the only women left in the group, and she can’t really talk to Haylie about how she feels-” At that moment, Gareth threw himself into the vacant chair at the table, making it tilt back ominously. The inebriated knight didn’t seem to notice. “Wha’s wrong with the sprog?” He slurred, pointing with a thumb over one of his broad shoulders. Arthur and Tristan exchanged glances, Tristan shaking his head slightly. Arthur patted Gareth on the shoulder. “Nothing, my friend, nothing. She’s still grieving.” Gareth’s happy features slid into a frown, sadness flooding his warm chocolate eyes. Nodding, he got up from the chair and staggered over to the bar, grabbing a barmaid and demanding more ale. Tristan looked back to Falcon, but started, seeing only an empty chair, a solitary table amongst the revelry of the tavern. “Arthur!” He said, motioning with surprise to the table. Arthur smiled sadly.
“She’ll have gone back to her room.” He replied, pushing himself up and looking down at the scout. “Which I am also about to do. You should try talking to her, Tristan.” With that simple statement, Arthur strode out of the tavern, stopping only to whisper something to Lancelot, who sat with a pretty wench on his knee. Tristan stood, decision made. He would talk to her.

Nervously, he shuffled his feet, one fist raised, ready to knock on the door of Falcon’s room. As his raised hand started a descent, a voice asked clearly, “Tristan?” With a barely concealed gasp, he whirled, unsheathing a dagger. Falcon stood in a patch of moonlight that shone though the large windows of the corridor. She looked as though she had been crying again. Not for the first time, Tristan noticed how beautiful she was, her hair covering half her face, arms wrapped around herself. He had harboured feelings for her ever since he had met her, but the nature if their lives stopped him from doing anything about it, fear of what could happen stopping him. Her shirt and breeches were wet, and dimly he realised it had begun to rain heavily.
“W…where have you been? I was worried.” He asked quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. Falcon looked away, seeming to compose herself before striding up to her door and entering, leaving the portal open, inviting him in. “Out..” Came the curt reply. Tristan frowned, following her in and closing the door. “Where?”
“About”
“With who?”
“No-one.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t up for the noise of the tavern.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Right. What’s wrong?”
“What is wrong with you?” She snapped, throwing down the dress she had been holding and turning on the surprised scout. “I’m fine! Gods, Tristan. I’m old enough to look after myself!” Tristan’s gaze hardened, his quick eyes noticing something on her arm. Suddenly, he strode over to her, grabbing the sleeve of her shirt and yanking it up her arm. Bruises were forming, harsh and dark against her pale, clean skin. “What are these?” He whispered. Fingering them gently, noticing how they were handshaped, rough. Her hair. Looking up, he reached to brush her hair from her face, but Falcon, realising what he was about to do, tried to dart away. Tightening his grip on her wrist, Tristan pulled the struggling young woman back to him. Falcon, however, had other ideas. Twisting sharply, she put her back into his chest hard, making him gasp. “Sorry about this.” Tristan heard her say quietly, before she brought his wrist up to her mouth and bit, softly, but hard enough to make him yelp in surprise and pain. Letting go of her wrist, the infuriated scout rubbed his own, cursing softly, Falcon grabbed a cloak, and then shot for the door, only to be grabbed viciously around the waist and flung to a wall. Feeling the air knocked out of her lungs, Falcon slumped forwards, coughing. Tristan grabbed her shoulders, pinning her back against the cold stone and bracing his body against hers to stop her moving. Breathing hard, Falcon could only close her eyes as Tristan drew her hair away from her face, listening to the gasp and growl of anger. Feeling the growl vibrate through him into her was an odd sensation, making a strange, tingling feeling rise in her stomach. “Who did this?” He asked, his quiet voice laden with menace and anger. Falcon opened her eyes, feeling both thrilled and terrified at the sight of his face so close to hers. “You should see him now…I think I broke his nose.” She said weakly, trying desperately to dispel the odd feeling that her old and dear friend was stirring up. She had always known there was something there, and the feeling that something would happen always scared her. “Who was he?” Tristan asked again, pressing her further into the wall and making her squeak as his leg slid between her toned thighs. “Stop…” She whispered breathlessly, her lungs working to draw air into her chest, needing sweet release from this torture. Tristan seemed to realise how close they were, and relished the feeling, startled at the strange sensations tumbling through him. “Tristan…please…” She begged, squirming. Tristan groaned harshly, dropping his head down into the hollow of her neck and breathing deeply. “Stop moving,” He commanded. Falcon stopped abruptly, terrified at what might happen. “I think…I think you should go…” She whispered, looking straight over his shoulder, out into the moonlight view of the woods. Tristan didn’t reply, instead releasing her wrists and sliding his hands up her arms, raising his head to look at her, cupping her chin in his long fingers. Archers hands, Falcon thought dimly, as his dark eyes bored into her own. Slowly, almost reverently, Tristan lowered his lips to hers, placing a gentle, chaste kiss on the soft skin before drawing back. Falcon had closed her eyes and seemed to be having trouble breathing, quietly, almost inaudibly, she whispered, “Please, Tristan, go.” Reaching out to her pale, flawless cheek, Tristan trailed his fingers across the wonderfully soft skin before smiling softly and stepping away, leaving without a sound. Closing the door behind him, Falcon took a deep breath and leant against the heavy wood, holding back a sniff as a tear worked it’s way down her face, lowering her chin to rest on her collarbone, Falcon slid down the door and put her head in her hands, horribly and totally confused.