Falcon's Beginning

Disclaimer: i think you have the gist of things by now. Please review!! Thank you to Sheiado, my most beloved first reviewer, and to Me, who i'm thankful to too!!


Chapter 4-Understanding Wild Animals.

The door nearly shattered under the weight of the pounding. “Falcon! Open the door!” Bellowed Lancelot, furiously pounding his fists on the heavy wood. Falcon froze, halfway across the room, eyes glued to the door and horror written all over her face. She heard another voice, this time, she was pretty sure it was Bors. “Lancelot, shift over.” The pounding resumed, though now, the door was visibly bouncing inwards on it’s hinges. “FALCON!” Bors roared. “OPEN THE DOOR!” Sighing, her mind concluded that she would not be able to run forever. Though she wished she had time to wash before they saw her. “Alright! Alright, I’m coming.” She yelled, dragging her feet on the floor as her hands sought the bolt and drew it slowly back. There was only silence as she opened the door. Bors, Lancelot and Tristan stood outside. Oh Gods. Tristan. For some reason, he wouldn’t show his face, instead, hiding behind his dark hair. Lancelot started yelling, rage evident on the knights handsome features. Bors bodily restrained the knight. Tristan stalked inside her rooms, pulling her with him. Bors and Lancelot stopped, shocked. The scout closed the door in their faces, slamming the bolt back in place. There was silence. Total, deafening, silence. “I can explain…” Falcon began, reaching out a shaking hand to the shoulder of her best friend. Even when she moved to pull him around to face her, Tristan was silent. “Tristan? Look, I know you want to look out for me, but..”
“I don’t just want to look out for you.” He whispered, cutting her off. It was then that he turned to face her, pushing his hair back from his face. Falcon stared at the bruising scrape on one cheek, just under the tattoos of his tribe. “ I did look out for you.” Falcon’s gut went cold.
“W…what did you do?” She finally asked, her voice shaking with rage. Stalking up to him, Falcon grabbed his shirt collar, shaking him. “What did you do?” He kissed her then. His strong arms wrapping bodily around her, his mouth soft and yet harsh against her own. Falcon struggled slightly, then seemed to realise what was happening, opening her full lips and welcoming him, his tongue sweeping her mouth, her own, teasing. The wall met her back, and Falcon smiled against Tristan’s mouth, a not so long ago memory creeping in. Breaking, so they might draw breath, Falcon slumped in his arms. Tristan looked concerned, seeing a fragility in his warrior that he had never seen before. He pressed her slightly closer to the wall, trapping her with his body.
“Ow.”
Falcon whispered suddenly, arching her back off the wall. “What? What is it?” Tristan asked, sliding his hands around to probe gently at her shirt and the skin underneath. Hissing in pain, Falcon jerked into his chest, blood soaking the wall and her shirt as his fingers probed a cut. “Take your shirt off.” He instructed quietly, backing away from her and crossing to her washstand, wringing out a rag and keeping his back turned. Falcon hesitated. “I should just go to the healers.” She said finally, leaning back against the wall, trying to find comfort in the cool stone. “Falcon, I’ve seen your back before. Take off the shirt.” Came the stoic answer. Sighing, Falcon pulled off the bloodied garment and flung it into a corner, wincing as her arms pulled the skin over her back tight. Her breast band was in a tattered, but stable condition. Leaving that on, she went to take the cloth from Tristan. He held it out of her reach, the cool amusement clear in his dark eyes. “No. Lie on the bed.” He told the frowning, bloodied young woman, touching her shoulder gently. Sitting on the wooden frame of the cot, Falcon held out one small hand for the cloth. Tristan frowned. Setting the cloth down, he hooked one hand under her lags and the other was carefully placed on her back. “What are you-ai!” Falcon screamed as she was swiftly flipped onto her stomach, full length on the cot. Hot tears gathered in her eyes as the cuts pulled sharply and re-opened. “I’m going to bathe the cuts and bind them, where are your bandages?”
“In the corner, with my saddlebags.” Falcon whispered, thinking to herself, ‘I will not cry. They are cuts, I will not cry.’ Tristan looked down at her, pity in his gaze. Gently, he sat on the edge of the cot and draped the warm, wet cloth over one large cut, his heart wrenching as she flinched under his touch. Silence reigned once again, though the sound of the wind picking up, implying another storm, pushed through the trees on the other side of the wall. After a few minutes, Falcon asked, “What did you do to him?” Tristan sighed, his dark eyes, almost sad. “I killed him.” Falcon tried to get up, furious and horrified at the same moment. Placing his hands on her shoulders to hold her down, Tristan listened to her fury: “TRISTAN! I don’t believe you! Do you think I cannot look after myself? Do you think I need someone to defend my honour? Will you bloody get off!?” She screamed, thrashing against the restraining hands, the cuts opening further and soaking the sheets below her in redness. “Stop moving!” Tristan yelped, startled at her reaction. Falcon collapsed back to the bed, crying. The humiliation, pain and fury bringing a maelstrom of emotion shooting through her veins. The sobs wracked her small frame, her hair spilling over her shoulders and becoming wet with blood. Tristan’s heart broke, his guilt pushing through to the stoic face, pity, an emotion that was rarely there, and sorrow, twisting his handsome face and making a hole in his heart. “Falcon, please don’t cry.” He pleaded, stroking her hair as she sobbed. “Falcon, I’m sorry, please don’t cry. Please!”
“I...I think...t-t-that you should g-g-go.” Came the soft, sob-wracked voice from under buried arms.
“I’m not leaving you like this. So get used to it, sprog.” Tristan said gently, using the pet name the knights often used. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed finally, raising her head and wiping her beautiful eyes of tears. “I just-I’m sick of everyone treating me like a child. I’m sad because of Fardira, and I think I’m just going soft.” She finally finished with a chuckle, the laughs quickly turning to a hiss as Tristan bathed one of the cuts. “Sorry” He muttered. Silence reigned yet again as he worked, until finally, all of the cuts were bandaged and cleaned. Rising from the bed with a wince, Falcon turned to face her friend. He stood close, his dark eyes studying her. “What?” Falcon asked, stepping back slightly, only to have the back of her knees hit the cot frame, almost toppling her. A hand grabbed her shoulder and steadied her, and Falcon flushed. Trying to stop her self from crashing forward, she waved her arms a little. Tristan chuckled. Looking up into his eyes, Falcon grinned a little, suddenly, everything seemed alright.