Shattered Ice

Read at your own risk
There are no happy endings here.

Title: Shattered Ice, part 6
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty and surreal
Type (slash/het/gen): slash
Pairing: Tristan/Arthur
Rating: NC-17, rape, domination/submission darkfic
Summary: Arthur takes advantage of Tristan's grief
Archive: Feel free and if you can do better with this idea, help yourself.
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own in any way, shape or form the characters, setting, original plot or anybody or anything else mentioned. I make no money off of this to pay my never-ending bills.
Beta credits: surreal and my beloved


Shattered Ice Part 6


Arthur slept soundly this morning. Tristan eased himself off the bed, out from under hands that staked claim upon his body. Arthur sighed as his hands closed on air instead of warm skin but did not wake as Tristan fled from his suffocating embrace.

Looking down at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, Tristan dressed quickly, quietly, hurriedly. He wanted to hide himself away where Arthur could not grasp his skin with eyes that burned madly. Asleep, his commander seemed no different than the others, just another body lying there without care or worry or guilt. Arthur asleep was the same man he had been months ago before Percival had died. Arthur asleep was only a man, just flesh and blood. A heart resting in it's bodily cage. Arthur asleep wasn't the beast driven to conquer, driven to bash itself relentlessly trying to get out of the confines of the bodily prison Arthur had tried so desperately to keep it in with prayer and guilt.

Tristan squatted next to the bed and looked at Arthur. The dark hair curled from the sweat of the exertions the night before. Fragile eyelids held in the gleaming green fires of Arthur's gaze. Tristan eyed the black stubbled chin. It was a chin made for getting what it wanted; firm, strong and full of will. The beast that demanded Tristan's surrender, how had Tristan never seen it in this man before it had escaped.... no ... before it had been unleashed?

Tristan flushed yet again as he recalled the burst of pleasure he'd felt. That mouth... lips that nibbled and bit and sucked... that mouth had closed upon his ear. How had he felt such indescribable delight as that unwanted mouth had engulfed his ear? as an unwelcomed tongue had delved with firm stickiness into the hollow of his ear? Maybe he was fooling himself and down deep inside...he wanted what Arthur did to him.

Tristan shuddered and felt his skin creep, trying to make an independent flight of its own to draw further away from the sleeping monster. Tristan felt sick, his stomach heaving as he relived what had happened last night. He forced the nausea back and down as he considered what he should do at this moment.

He wanted to go to his room for a bit. He needed to .... Tristan shook his head. And what if Arthur woke with him gone after he'd told Tristan to stay? How would he react? He'd be furious with Tristan's disobedience. Tristan stomach rolled yet again. He had to consider these things now. He belonged to Arthur. The little voice inside his head was screaming but he carefully ignored it. He couldn't stop to think about it here. If he did... he hung his head. He didn't want to shatter, not here. Not in front of Arthur.

"Tristan?"

Tristan looked up to see Arthur's sated green eyes focused on him. He didn't move as Arthur's hand reached out to pet a fine trail of warmth down the side of his face. He was Arthur's now and he would have to wait until Arthur let him go.

How long would that be?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gawain walked down the hall, still trying to get his belt to fasten. He was up early so he could find Galahad and see if the rumors were true. Apparently Tristan had attacked Lancelot, though how badly Lancelot was injured was still being debated. Galahad had been there, and Gawain knew he could count on the boy to be a reliable source of information.

Gawain had finally managed to get the stubborn belt fastened and looked up just in time to avoid barreling into Tristan, who was walking towards the Knights' quarters. "Oh, Tristan! I'm sorry...are you all right?" Gawain asked, noting that Tristan's face was pale behind the messy tangles of hair, and that the scout's usual grace was gone, replaced instead by blind stumbling steps. Tristan looked slowly up at Gawain, and for a moment pure hatred shone in his eyes before he looked back down at the floor.

Gawain took a small step back, confused about what he'd seen reflected in Tristan's eyes. Maybe Arthur had already punished him, and that was why he was so upset. Tristan replied quietly in a quavering voice, "I'm fine, whelp." There was a nasty emphasis on 'whelp' that caused Gawain to take another step back. He was confused, but he remembered after his own brother's death how snappish he could sometimes be.

"Tristan, are you sure you're all right? Maybe I can help -" Gawain offered quietly, moving a hand toward Tristan in a placating gesture. Tristan took a stumbling step away from the younger Knight and ended up with his back against the wall.

"Don't touch me!" Tristan snarled at Gawain. There was a wild, haunted look on the scout's face that reminded Gawain of a cornered animal. "Don't come near me!"

Gawain moved a few more paces away from Tristan. Despite his denials, something was obviously wrong with Tristan. Since the Knight wanted to be left alone, Gawain decided to go, but he couldn't help himself from saying. "Tristan, I know what you're going through -"

A cry that was halfway between laughter and sobbing was torn out of Tristan's throat. He bit off the words as if they were shards of glass in his mouth. "You'll never know, NEVER!... What I'm going through..." Tristan's eyes went a little insane. How dare Gawain suggest he understood anything! "What do YOU know of my pains? ...of losing a brother like Percival?!"

Gawain had settled in on himself, the polar opposite of Tristan, who was shaking from his rage and grief. "Gaheris WAS my brother." Gawain responded quietly. "I thought maybe you were ready to join the rest of us again, but I guess I was wrong. I'll see you later Tristan." With those parting words Gawain turned his back on Tristan and left the barracks, determined to find Galahad and spend some time with the younger man, who would welcome his friend Gawain's company.

Tristan leaned against the wall after Gawain left and shut his eyes. Gaheris. Beautiful sunny Gaheris. Always ready with a joke or willing to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. Just like Percival. Tristan had watched Gaheris and Percival as the two beautiful Knights had been drawn together and become close friends. Tristan pressed his head harder against the wall as if it would stop the flow of memories, one in particular shoving its way to the front. Percival and Gaheris laughing over a shared joke, and Gaheris ruffling the hair of a gangly golden-haired boy, all elbows and knees who had been tagging along with the three older Knights.

How could he have forgotten that Gaheris had been Gawain's older brother? The image of Gawain's stricken face rose unbidden in his mind and he shut his eyes against the memory. He had been thoughtless, worse than thoughtless - cruel. Tristan opened his eyes and stared blankly out into the hall. Gawain had only been trying to help him. What had made him treat the boy that way? He could tell by the hurt look and the set jaw on the youth that Gawain wouldn't be approaching him again anytime soon.

He pushed himself away from the wall, suddenly feeling old. With dragging footsteps he walked to his room and shut the door behind him, a sense of relief and loneliness stealing over him. He didn't want to be near anyone, and yet he didn't want to stay in his room where the absence of Percival was the greatest.

Tristan slid the bolt home, wincing at how loud it seemed in the silent room. Without Percival's exuberance to fill it up, the room seemed hollow and dead. Tristan sighed and tugged his surcoat and shirt off. He wanted to wash them, but decided it didn't matter anymore. Arthur owned him now; washing his clothes would only be a temporary solution. He stretched out on his bed and began toying with the braid of Isolde's hair that he still wore on his wrist. What would she think of what he was doing now? Would she approve? Be appalled that he had given in? She had died rather than face her shame...

Drawing his knees to his chest, he glared balefully at the empty bed beside his. It wasn't FAIR. Percival had left him alone to this...this existence. Why hadn't Percival paid attention? How many times did he have to tell him to watch his guard, that he was too gentle with the younger Woads? He'd only looked away long enough to save Arthur, of all people. Why couldn't Percival take care of himself just that one time? Instead of abandoning Tristan to this hell? What had he done to deserve this? His eyes burning, Tristan angrily swiped a hand across them. He wanted to be angry. He didn't want to feel agony of how much he'd lost. His beloved was gone. Percival was gone. Arthur had taken what little life he had left in him.

With a muffled howl, Tristan bounded off the bed to the nearest wall and pounded on it. How dare they leave him behind?! Just leave him here with no one?! Over and over he slammed his hands on the wall until he could no longer be angry. He sank to his knees, huddled in on himself and froze inside until the world seemed muffled and far away. Once he gained the icy wastes of nothingness, Tristan wobbled back to his feet, stumbled over to his bed and fell upon it, drawing his knees up and curling inwards to find some small peace in the steady throbbing pain of his bruised knuckles and sore palms.

With the anger gone the memory of his argument with Gawain came back to him. The only person who'd tried to reach him he'd yelled at. He shouldn't have yelled at Gawain...but it hadn't seemed fair, to look at how young and beautiful and FREE the youth was, when his own world had shattered around him, taking his freedom with it. He was giving everything up to protect Galahad and Gawain, and they didn't even seem grateful.

As soon as the thought formed he berated himself. He was doing this so they DIDN'T have to know this monster that replaced Arthur. He had given himself over to Arthur to assure that they WOULD remain free...and he couldn't tell them. Couldn't tell anyone...how was he going to face Dagonet again? The man seemed to know what was happening. His presence had been comforting last night, but what would he think now? Would he tell anyone else?

Tristan buried his head in his arms and curled as tightly into himself as he could. He had other things to worry about, like Lancelot and his friends. He wasn't sure if it would be safe for him to leave his room, or to go anywhere without Arthur. The though made him sick to his stomach. Arthur. Everywhere he went the man was there. Would be there, forever now. Was this all his life would entail? Kneeling at Arthur's feet like a slave for the rest of his life? Even after they received their freedom, would he have to follow Arthur?

The idea of being tied to Arthur for the rest of his life was too much. Tristan barely made it to the bucket before he was sick. He clutched the rough wooden bucket tightly as his body heaved over and over again unil his stomach finally was empty. Drained of strength, he crawled on the floor and leaned against the wall, covering his eyes with a tembling hand, willing himself to not cry AGAIN. He was a warrior, a Knight, perhaps the deadliest of the Knights. He was NOT a whipped cur.

Slumped against the wall, Tristan fought to hold back the tears. He thought of Isolde, of her smile and the way she whispered to him as he held her. He thought of Percival and the laughter they had shared, and the smile so like Isolde's, and suddenly came to a realization. They hadn't left him alone. They had been taken from him. They never would have left him to this. They loved him. They loved him as no others had or ever would.

They would understand what he was going to do. He didn't want to but...he touched the beautiful braid on his wrist once more. Tristan had given himself over to Arthur. He BELONGED to Arthur now. He had loved Isolde and she was gone. He hesitated. This would be the final surrender to Arthur; no going back once he did this.

Tristan slowly stood, muscles screaming here and there of pain no less than his heart was, and walked over to the shelf that held Percival's things. His hand shook slightly as he carefully shifted a spare shirt and saddle blanket aside to reveal a small wooden box. He opened the lid of the box and peered inside. A braid of golden hair was curled neatly inside. Gaheris' hair. Percival had cut the hair and made the braid, then hidden it away, never daring to wear it. What right, he'd said, had he to hold to a love he'd never had the courage to speak of?

Tristan set the box on the shelf and removed the braid of hair from his wrist and kissed it reverently. He let the memory of Isolde's smile wash over him, felt the vibration of her speaking onto his skin as they lay beside the fire after making love. He let the colors of her hair flow through his mind as once the waterfall of chestnut had streamed through his fingers and then closed his eyes against tears making a dash for freedom.

With a grief stricken sigh, he let the braid drop into the box.
Maybe someday he would wear it again, but for now...he eyed Isolde's braid in the box, alongside the golden strand and replaced the lid. For a few moments Tristan simply held the box, somehow feeling as if Isolde had died all over again. He didn't want to set the box down. He wanted to rip the lid off, take the braid, reclaim his life. He set the box down on the shelf and covered it back up with the saddle blanket and shirt. He needed to get cleaned up and talk to Arthur.

He needed to find out how short of a leash his master held.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Tristan!"

Inwardly Tristan cursed. Arthur had finally told him to find his own room for the night and to get some sleep and he'd hurried to take advantage of that. He was in pain from Arthur's attentions of the night and weary from the myriad tasks Arthur had set him during the day. He only wanted to find his bed and fall into it. Hopefully, his tiredness would keep any nightmares at bay.

Turning to meet Dagonet's concern and hesitant questioning look, Tristan winced. What could he say to make Dagonet understand when he didn't really comprehend the change in Arthur himself? This day had proven his surrender to be successful in at least partially restoring Arthur's spirit. The man had reviewed every report that he'd received in the last three weeks and had called in every Knight of worth for their opinion on the last few weeks of attacks.

By tomorrow, Tristan was sure Arthur would have a plan of sorts to stave off the Woads until winter set in. The man hadn't prayed once today to his God for help. He didn't need it now that Tristan ... belonged... to him. Instead, Arthur had narrowed that olive green gaze bright with racing intellect and honed sharp decisiveness over maps and reports for the entire day. Only at the end, when Jols had come in to light the fire and it became too difficult to read by the light of the oil lamps had Arthur looked up and frowned to see Tristan wavering at his elbow. Only then had Arthur released His Knight to rest.

"Dagonet." Tristan's voice was flat and cold. Dagonet frowned to hear it. So unlike the bitter temper Gawain had spoken of this morning...

"Tristan, tell me..." Dagonet began, but never ended as Tristan interrupted him.

"Dagonet. I cannot... I... simply CAN NOT tell you. It's ... " Tristan gulped. "I can not speak of this, Dagonet. Accept that this is what I want. Please." Tristan's cold face met Dagonet's unspoken anxious distress. He could not find the words to explain his predicament, and even if he could... how could he make Dagonet see that what he was doing was the only path? "Leave me to Arthur, Dagonet, if you value all of our lives."

Dagonet stopped in the hall where he was still walking forward, trying to reach someone who WOULD NOT be reached. How could he help this man who clearly needed it?

"Tristan, I see things that I should not. Arthur is acting as a demon possessed, swinging this way and that. He wore you to shreds then imprisoned you until you nearly went mad. He ignores the needs of his command and the Woads .... see this. Tristan, tell me that Arthur isn't..." Dagonet faltered and still could not put in words his worst fears. Arthur had gone mad, hadn't he? Their commander had gone mad and forced a man grief-stricken to his bed. Even now Dagonet recoiled from a word that whispered revoltingly in the back of his head. Arthur had ... but Dagonet drew himself up awaiting Tristan's answer.

"I swear to you, Dagonet, that there will come a time I can speak of this. But it is not now. Please. Accept that this is what I want. I will be whatever Arthur wants of me. I will belong to Arthur and you must not interfere. Promise me, Dagonet."

"Only if you promise to speak to me of what's happened soon." Dagonet glowered. "This new Arthur is..."

Tristan smiled without pleasure. "I think the old Arthur will be back soon. Or at least something that looks and acts like him."

Dagonet backed off. "Come speak to me soon, Tristan. I fear for you."
"I will. Dagonet, I will when I can." Tristan watched Dagonet retreat into the shadows and worried. What could he tell him? That Arthur was still Arthur, but a monster drove him from inside to monstrous acts against Tristan? That he'd committed himself to feeding the beast in order for Arthur to resume functioning? How much sense would that make?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tristan had been avoiding him. If Dagonet hadn't seen the fear in Tristan when Arthur had come to his room, hadn't heard him mutter 'This is what I have chosen' with that beaten look to Tristan's posture, Dagonet would have assumed with the others that Tristan had taken Arthur to his bed to relieve the grief over Percival's death. He would have assumed with the others that the brawl with Lancelot was a spat of petty jealousy between two who argued over Arthur's bed.

Dagonet knew better. No man in love... no man in lust... no man merely drowning the grief of his heart in the use of another's body, in the depths of another's bed, looked so bereft of any shred of happiness ... or even any shred of life. There was no glint to Tristan's eyes anymore behind the still expression that spoke of humor or love, anger or hatred. There was nothing. It was as if Tristan was slowly smothering himself these past few days in deference to Arthur.

Dagonet frowned. Arthur had left the perimeter of camp with Tristan in tow some time ago. It seemed too long a time had passed to Dagonet. He had no doubt that when they returned, Arthur would be jovial, full of energy and satisfied with life. Tristan, however, would be the same frozen eyed statue he'd been since the night Dagonet had left him to Arthur.

This morning as they'd lay in wait for the Woads who'd been raiding in this area, Dagonet had finally managed to corner Tristan long enough to broach the subject of his 'relationship' with Arthur. A brief spasm of pain that flicked across Tristan's left eye was the only answer. Dagonet might have been talking to the Wall. Sometimes he wanted to take that head full of braids and shake some answers out of those closed teeth. Dagonet's own teeth ground in frustration. Abruptly, he decided to seek the missing pair out in spite of the unspoken rules of not disturbing those who sought relief in the darkened woods.

A hint of moonlight guided his steps and the slight sound of whimpering marked the trail to where Arthur and Tristan were. Dagonet hesitated each time a sound reached him. Were those sounds of joy? delight? or something other? He clenched and unclenched his hands with every step. What right did he have to check on a man who had demanded to be left alone in this carnal relationship? It was only a small suspicion after all and despite Tristan's odd phrasing in his requests to be left to Arthur, maybe they were together in more than friendship and he would be trespassing upon the privacy of two lovers. Maybe he was wrong.

The view unveiled by a flirtatious moon seemed to confirm that. Arthur was on his knees, mouth busy sucking at Tristan's cock and Tristan was bent backwards over a fallen tree, hands gripping the sides of the tree. Dagonet nearly backed away as Arthur worked Tristan into a climax that seemed almost painful with mouth and hands in the most intimate parts of Tristan.

Blushing madly and wondering how he could have been so mistaken, Dagonet almost missed the look of disgust of Tristan's face. It was only the revealing light of a moon suddenly made bold illuminating Tristan's face clearly that stopped Dagonet in his tracks. Tristan was biting his cheek and lip so hard that a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were screwed shut and the expression of his face was clearly disgust, his nose wrinkled and face screwed up in a blatant denial of desire.

As Arthur sucked and stroked Tristan to coming, Dagonet stood horrified. How could a scene that should be one of unfettered passion be so WRONG? Tristan whimpered as he came into Arthur's mouth and Arthur's hands. Laughing, Arthur pulled himself up Tristan's body, hands tracing the long length of Tristan's arms to the bindings beneath the trunk. Dagonet shivered. He'd missed that, missed entirely the fact that Arthur had bound Tristan into place to endure what Arthur did. Arthur stroked Tristan's now flaccid cock and scooped a stickiness up on his fingers to slather it over Tristan's blackened cheekbone. The words that accompanied this action rang loud in this clearing - even as far as the hovering Dagonet's ears.

"You'll feel what I want you to feel, when I want you to feel it. You're mine in every way, Tristan. Mine and no other's. All MINE."

----------------------------------------------------------------

Tristan turned his head away in denial, in submission and met the shocked look across the clearing in Dagonet's eyes. Pure ice covered Tristan's face, stillness sank into his bones as he turned back to Arthur and murmured agreement.

"Yours."

The word was soft and chill and Arthur felt it sink in to warm his skin. The heat within blossomed into comfort, his spine tingled with victory. Arthur sank gentle bites into Tristan's neck and drew himself off the trapped man.

"Stay." Arthur smiled wickedly as he withdrew. With a last bite at Tristan's skin, Arthur wandered off into the night to take care of more mundane relief. Tristan could do so himself once he was freed, but Arthur thought a few minutes of reflection on what Arthur had made happen would be ... painful. The beast inside him liked the thought.

Dagonet shook. His hands shook with the violence of his feelings. Anger twisted within making his gut undulate with unshed ferocity. He wanted to KILL Arthur, slowly and with the feeling of him struggling to get away a justified payment for what he'd done to Tristan. Dagonet met Tristan's gaze unblinking as Arthur walked away. He felt the pull of Tristan's intensity and surrendered to it, walking firmly and quietly through the bracken to the man immobile upon the tree.

Tristan's nakedness had no effect upon him, but his helplessness and the enduring of what had so plainly revolted him... Dagonet felt his blood rise, his heart race and his eyes fill with the bloody haze he experienced on the battlefield. The need to rend, to obliterate... it ate at him and it ate at his soul that it was all for Arthur. Arthur... the man Dagonet had once respected and followed with blind loyalty. Coming to a stop at Tristan's side, he reached to undo the ropes. Tristan should be freed, not bound like some animal put to domestic chores, to being a THING only for filling Arthur's needs.

"Dagonet, stop!"

Dagonet's hand halted midway to the ropes binding Tristan to the tree. He met Tristan's eyes which burned with LIFE now and were not deadened, blank with cold.

"I will kill him for you, Tristan. I will break his back upon my knee, reduce his throat to pulp and watch him turn black from the lack of air."

"Don't! You mustn't. Would you throw away what I've done? Make it all for nothing?! All this, THIS! for NOTHING?! Please, Dagonet, leave me be! This is MY choice, my decision. I belong to Arthur, as much as his saddle, his sword, his horse! Dagonet... Dagonet!" Tristan's voice was vehement, fierce, desperate. "Touch one hair on Arthur's head, Dagonet, and I will kill you. I swear I will."

Dagonet felt slapped. He'd wanted to defend Tristan, to save him. Not understanding, registering only that Tristan was rebuffing his sincere attempt to help, he felt wretched. Why didn't Tristan understand that Dagonet had to help him? Tristan didn't want to be where he was, Dagonet could SEE that. But the man was insisting that Dagonet should go away, that he abandon Tristan. How could he abandon one of his brothers to evil? For it was evil that Arthur was doing.

"I can't just LEAVE you here, Tristan. This is wrong. It's all wrong." Dagonet's voice was thready with the depth of his rage and the bottomless pit of his confusion only mired him deeper. He knew what was right. Leaving Tristan to Arthur's clear depravity was not right. But then rescuing a man who not only was capable of saving himself, but was repeatedly denying he needed help, that wasn't right. Dagonet wavered. "I can't leave one of my brothers to SUFFER, Tristan. I just can't. I can't and I won't."

Tristan sighed. He closed his eyes briefly. Dagonet was a pillar of strength for all of them, his steady resolve and moral courage were things that got them all through situations where they wondered how they could stand to carry out their orders. Arthur, too, had that way of finding the ethical purpose to their battles. He used to KNOW more than what needed to be done. Arthur knew what was the right thing to be done and simply did it. Tristan was desperately hoping that righteous part of Arthur would revive along with the physical ability to lead. Since he'd surrendered to Arthur, the decisiveness had returned and the brilliance of his battle planning, but Tristan had yet to see whether Arthur's sense of morality had returned. It was hard to tell when he was busy feeding the part of Arthur that was utterly immoral and selfish.

Lifting his head a fraction of an inch off the log, Tristan let his head drop back onto it. The pain felt good, better than trying to find the words to tell Dagonet anything. With a sense of satisfaction, Tristan banged his head on the tree a few more times. "Dagonet..." Tristan's voice was a hoarse ghost in the moonlight, an insubstantial thing hovering in the air. "Dagonet, Dagonet, Dagonet. What do I tell you? ... what do I say? You can't save me or you'll destroy everything. You can't free me when I've imprisoned myself and done it willing." Tristan opened his eyes. "It was Arthur's fault to start with. What he did..." Tristan shuddered, reliving the pain and the horror he'd felt at being USED by his beloved commander. "But he stopped. He did. I swear it. He would never have touched me again except that I made him. It was my choice and you must not interfere."

Dagonet shook his head blindly, a great beast rendered powerless by a strike to vital organs. He backed away. Tristan watched him go mournfully. There went a man who could have been his friend. Now... Likely he'd have no friends ever again. Arthur wasn't about to share him with anyone, for any purpose at all. He'd just driven off into the dark night the last vestige of friendship he'd likely get from his brothers in arms.

How much of a fool was he that he'd managed to drive from his side the only two Knights who seemed to care whether he lived and was well? In less than a week, Tristan reflected, he'd managed to turn Gawain's caring inquiries into icy disdain and now he'd cut Dagonet to the bone with his stubborn refusal of help. The noble lummox would never speak to him again without remembering that Tristan had threatened to kill him for wanting to help.

The sight that greeted Arthur as he returned to Tristan made the beast inside of him purr with sated glee and delight. Tristan was still bound to the tree, head bowed over, a desolate and lost expression on his face. Arthur was disgusted with his reaction. The hurt and sorrow that was on Tristan's face would haunt him for a long time. He'd taken this man who'd been drowning in heartache and forced him to abandon the ones he mourned. The morning after Tristan had surrendered to Arthur, the braid of hair (the same beautiful shade as Percival's- that once he'd assumed had been Percival's) that had circled Tristan's wrist for as long as Arthur had known him had disappeared. Arthur hadn't dared to ask why when Tristan was giving to Arthur all he wanted.

He wanted to make things right. The beast snarled at the thought; Tristan was HIS. It didn't matter if the Knight was comfortable or happy. With effort Arthur pushed the beast down and approached His Knight. It did matter to him.

Tristan didn't look up at Arthur when he approached. The beast snarled angrily at this seeming defiance from His Knight, but Arthur didn't give into the urge to grab Tristan's chin and force those glowing golden brown hawk eyes to look at him. Arthur cut the bindings, wincing as he realized just how tightly he'd bound Tristan to the tree. He helped Tristan stand, telling himself that it was simply the cool air that made Tristan tremble slightly in his arms. Once the scout was steady on his feet, Arthur picked up a damp cloth he'd dropped when he was releasing Tristan, and wiped it over Tristan's face... removing the physical traces of his cruelty from the skin of His Knight.

Tristan didn't acknowledge what Arthur was doing, barely blinked as Arthur ran the cloth over the rest of his body. Tristan was wordless, eyes sightless, looking at things only he could see. A chill ran down Arthur's spine. Tristan was behaving just as he had that first night when Arthur had broken the trust between them. Arthur would never forget how limp Tristan's body was as he dressed the scout.

Arthur couldn't bear the lack of life in Tristan's face. He wanted a Tristan that danced with his blade, a Tristan that couldn't hold back a twitch of a smile when something amused him, a Tristan that flowed one with the trees when he was hunting. He'd made Tristan into his bound pet and that satisfied some animal part of his soul, but Arthur grieved for the part of Tristan he'd been drawn to that seemed to no longer exist. Where was the arrogant, confident killer that he'd so admired? so desired to have? The fine bones of the body and the smell of the forest green in his hair in no way soothed that part of Arthur that wanted .... what?

Arthur dipped his head and traced a delicate path around the outside edge of Tristan's warm ear. Tristan shuddered a little before Arthur's tongue pressed a wet trail behind his ear down the neck a bit and back up. With complete ruthlessness, knowing how it affected Tristan, Arthur pressed his hot tongue into the folds of Tristan's ear and felt the body beneath him coming to life, squirming to get away from the tongue that made him FEEL things Tristan had no desire to. Arthur lifted his head to look into Tristan's face and saw the hatred burning in Tristan's eyes. His utter delight in this proof of life made him dip his head to kiss Tristan voraciously open-mouthed. His Tristan was in there somewhere.

When Arthur drew back from the kiss, Tristan hawked and spat on the ground. Only then did the scout shudder and look cautiously at Arthur in dismay to see his reaction. He'd done it without thought, spit in disgust, as Tristan would have had any other man kissed him. With startling humor, Arthur laughed loudly and ruffled Tristan's hair as if he were a small boy instead of a warrior quite capable of killing Arthur in an instant. He felt a hundred times better for that sign of arrogance on Tristan's part. This was His Knight. All HIS.

Tristan stared wonderingly at the laughing Arthur, tempted to laugh as well. His natural reaction to the kiss had been pretty funny to him and he was shocked that Arthur found it that way as well. It was just him and Arthur now. Tristan wondered if he'd get so hungry for touch, for caring that one day he'd welcome Arthur the monster into bed with a glad heart, grateful to be hurt by Arthur if only he'd show him a little tenderness afterward.

Tristan vowed he'd turn to ice before that.

-------------------------------

TBC and all...
PeeK and Surreal