The Tristan Effect

*yeah I know there are ORIGINAL CHARACTERS starting with this chapter and MOST of them
are female. The good news is that they're not going to get the guy(s)! They're all here to
illuminate Tristan's murky past for his lovers, so get a grip on your Mary Sue hatred (because
though they may SEEM like it, they're not) and read on. The last part of this story is being
worked still but it is done - just being rewritten in parts (as of 4/3/05). Be patient as I'm trying
to finish it before my surgery on the 12th but may not be able to. (Some of you have been
patient since November I know!)*


Title: The Tristan Effect
Part 3 - Soothing Tristan, part 2
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty@yahoo. com
Type (slash/het/gen): slash
Pairing: Tristan/Lancelot/Gawain
Rating: NC17, as usual, sooner or later
Summary: Soothing Tristan's soul would be easy for Gawain, if Tristan would let him.
Archive: Feel free and if you can do better with this idea, help yourself.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings do NOT belong to ME.

Soothing Tristan, contd.

Gawain

There was something hard and pointy poking into his side. Gawain shifted trying to rid himself of the stick or stone or part of Lancelot's body that was interrupting his precious sleep. He'd been the last one back to the patrol campsite and the most tired. He'd flung down his catch to Galahad, muttered something about not eating and dropped into a ball among the roots of a tree covered by his cloak. The others had let him rest as Tristan had returned from scouting the road ahead.

Whatever it was it wouldn't let him alone. Gawain's eyes snapped open and a sharp remark was already on his tongue for Lancelot. Except that Lancelot was on his knees with both hands behind his head next to him. Gawain's eyes traveled upwards, noting the sword and the sea raider on the end of it. Laughing eyes, seawater grey but somehow merry for all the storminess of the colour, met his. Gesturing up with his sword, the man backed off and allowed Gawain to find his feet.

All around, both knights and soldiers knelt or sat cross legged with their hands clasped behind their heads, raiders pointing the business ends of sharp swords in their direction. Over by their horses, a plume of red horsehair bobbed just on the other side of Tristan who was busy saddling his mare. No swords were pointed at Tristan's neck. Tristan seemed to be deep in thought as he listened intently to whatever the Red Knight was saying.

Gawain turned to eye Lancelot. It was unnerving to look at him, but Gawain forced himself to watch hoping to catch Lancelot's eye, wanting to let his lover know that HE was still there, still Lancelot's. The burning zeal inside of Lancelot was consuming his soul, had been since the day they'd chased the ghost of the Red Knight into the forest. Gawain wondered at Tristan's seeming betrayal but he had faith that Tristan would let no harm come to them except what he himself caused by being withdrawn and aloof.

Gawain sighed. Lancelot had no such faith. He would take this as a betrayal in many ways. Turning back to watch Tristan, he winced. There was one more betrayal. Tristan took the Red Knight in his arms and clearly smitten, bent his head down to kiss the lips of the short knight. Gawain bowed his head. He remembered Tristan's words bitterly.

'This, this is all I have for you, Gawain. Nothing more than this. Just the pleasure of skin and touch, not the caring you need. I only desire your body, your mouth, your pleasure. I will put you on the bed and take what I want until I no longer want it.'

Lancelot

Feverish to kill, he quivered with hate. Focused entirely on his quarry, Lancelot didn't even fully comprehend Tristan's betrayal. There was the enemy, the wielder of the lash that had eaten Tristan's skin, the bringer of death to knights he'd never been able to avenge. A haze had narrowed his vision to the bobbing red plume and swirling red cape next to Tristan.

The only other thing that entered his mind was 'where are my swords?'.

Tristan

The Red Knight glanced beyond Tristan and seemed caught in some trap. Voice low, the question sauntered carelessly into Tristan's receptive ears.

"What is their problem?"

Tristan glanced back at his brother knights upon the ground. Bors had two swords to his neck and he was itching still to fight. His face contorted repeatedly in snarling epithets. Tristan was certain that no few of them were directed at the back of his head. Gawain sat miserably watching Lancelot with a resolutely turned back to Tristan. Tristan's gut rolled... that... more than anything...He closed his eyes in pain before looking at the barely thinking Lancelot.

"Bors, the big one, and Lancelot...." Tristan's voice trailed - the search for the right words to describe the mercurial knight leaving him puzzled.
"The dark thundercloud?"

"Yes." Tristan looked over at Lancelot. Many words came to his mind but none he would voice just now. "They were there."

"He thinks..."

"Yes."

The Red Knight turned to survey the others.

"He wants to fight." The merest twitch of a smile passed over a face that rarely knew joy. "Let him."

"Should I tell him first..."

"NO. No."

"You might find it a challenge. He fights with two hands."

"Most of us can fight with either hand."

"At the same time."

"Ah." Fangs slipped out in a hastily hidden grin. "Get him his weapons."

Tristan gracefully inclined his head and flowed across the space separating him from his lovers.

"Wait."

Tristan halted obediently as the Red Knight caught up.

"What is HIS problem?" A jerk of a stubborn chin indicated the slumped Gawain.

Tristan turned to look at Gawain, turned back to look at the Red Knight. He let his misery show in his eyes and then turned to look at Gawain again. Every feeling he felt when in Gawain's presence; the lust, the tenderness, the hungry possession, his eagerness to submit his very essence to Gawain; Tristan let it all show.

The Red Knight inclined a face hidden by helm in understanding, patted Tristan on the shoulder and moved off to acquire a bit more shielding in the way of greaves and gauntlets. Tristan continued on to the spot he'd removed Lancelot's swords to. Carrying the twin blades, he offered them to Gawain.

"Get Lancelot ready to fight."

Lancelot

Tristan's words came like welcome warmth provided by Vanora's heated wine in the cold of winter. Gawain helped with mail, cuirass and bracers. Lancelot flopped back to the ground to lace on his greaves. Gawain strapped his own dagger onto Lancelot as well as the thick heavy handled one Lancelot carried. The thin blade was different than his miniature sword. It was meant to stick into small targets, like eyes and the hollows under the throat or between the ribs in the back where you could rob a man of breath and life.

Gawain touched the highly strung Lancelot on the shoulder in mute appeal. Lancelot lifted his own hand to Gawain's and let his NEED TO KILL show. Gawain muttered, "Don't let me lose you both in one day."

The words didn't penetrate Lancelot's focus. He was on the edge of a long drop into madness and the first step had already been taken into the abyss.

Gawain

It was odd. The sea raiders had wanted to watch and had nudged all their captives into a ring. Basically, they were all standing side by side with the enemy. The fight had begun quickly. The Red Knight had returned and dropped cloak into Tristan's arms. He'd barely stepped into the ring of bodies when Lancelot had snicked out his swords and charged. The appreciative murmur of many voices went up.

It was with some amazement that Gawain realized the raiders were making their own complimentary comments about Lancelot. They grinned, nodding at Lancelot and made quickly passed asides as Lancelot drove in relentlessly attacking. The speed with which the Red Knight returned block after block reminded Gawain of Tristan patiently and repeatedly meeting Lancelot for practice. He remembered the times that he himself had faced Tristan with his axes and knife in hand. The same precise grace inhabited both the Red Knight and Tristan.

Lancelot

Lancelot's right sword went flying out of his hand somehow. The surprise of losing the sword in his stronger hand caused a slight stumble. The Red Knight's sword whacked him hard, with the flat behind the knee and he tumbled over. Rolling quickly away, Lancelot regained his feet and had Gawain's dagger in hand. His was down his left leg, because usually when he lost a weapon, it was out of his weaker hand.

Somehow the Red Knight managed to slip through Lancelot's bladework and flat side down, whacked his right wrist. Numb, his fingers let loose the slender blade. Lancelot resolutely drove in with his left sword. Back and forth across the ground they danced. Lancelot began to see the pattern and moved faster to beat it. But he was a fraction of a second too slow, overextended when the blow to his ribs came from a foot. He'd been so focused on the blade that he hadn't seen it coming.

Falling to the ground, he came to a frozen stillness as the other stepped on his left hand and put the sword to his throat. He refused to yield and merely waited for the other to put the sword through his throat. A low rumble rose from the sea raiders watching and Lancelot could see a ridiculously pleased Tristan watching him get humiliated.

The Red Knight backed off, gestured at Tristan and barked a low order. Lancelot sat up to his knees as Tristan came forward to bring him the lost blade. A sea raider handed over Gawain's dagger with something like awe in his eyes. Another offered a cup of water which Lancelot refused. Tristan shrugged and walked back into the waiting press of onlookers. Gawain looked confused and met Lancelot's gaze with tentative dawning hope.

Again the Red Knight stepped forward and again Lancelot began the attack. This time he'd learned from before and began pulling out every trick he knew. Again his blade went flying and two minutes later the other. Again a blade was pressed to his chest and again he refused to yield.

The sea raiders brought him his blades this time. Many reached out to touch him and murmur his name. Why they were so impressed by his defeat remained an enigma. This time, when the water was offered, Lancelot drank it and met Gawain's eyes. The blood lust had burned away, but the desire to kill was still there. Unfortunately, he was just starting to realize that he wanted to live.

Over and over. Lancelot doggedly kept going. Defeat after defeat. The Red Knight had bruised and cut him many times. All the wounds were small, the kind you received when you practiced with a brother knight and had carelessly left your guard open inviting your brother to teach you a much needed lesson. The only thing that seemed to be happening was that he was getting more and more weary each time he picked up his swords.

The sea raiders were openly cheering him on now, calling his name when he managed to get near to touching the Red Knight or when they particularly admired a move he made to recover. Each bout was getting longer and it seemed that he was getting closer to his goal of actually putting a blade somewhere into his enemy.

Finally his hand trembled when Tristan handed back his sword.

"If you ever cared for me, Lancelot, yield this time."

"Never."

"Then for Gawain."

"I cannot..." Lancelot's voice shook. After all this, he could not give in, he could not submit to this stranger who was playing with him. He was a mouse caught in between claws, but this mouse had teeth to fight with and he would. He would fight until the Red Knight finally put the blade through his throat or he managed to kill the other by some lucky chance.

This time he managed a small bite of his own. His blade, swung wildly out of blind exhaustion, fell across the Red Knight's bracer and bit the skin on the outside elbow. A silence descended among the watching enemy. Lancelot fell back astonished. His blade had managed that thin stream of blood.

Lancelot shook himself back into the world and with renewed vigor, attacked with a small hope inside his breast. It proved fruitless. Once again, he ended on the ground with the sword to his throat. The cold bite trailed up the pulse of life under his skin. The sword made his chin tilt up to meet the faceless gaze of his opponent. The Red Knight's helm hid most of his face. This time when he was let up, no one returned his swords.

Lancelot endured the offer of water and wet rags to wipe his face with stony expression. They hadn't given his swords back. The sound of metal striking metal brought his gaze up to view the shedding of armour by the Red Knight. Maybe it was over. They weren't going to let him try again.

A hand at his left knee startled him. Tristan had removed his broad dagger, short sword really, and now pressed it into his hand.

"If you die, there will be no one for Gawain."

"You'll be there. You love him. You always take care of things that are yours."

"Lancelot, I swear that if you die... there will be no one for Gawain."

Lancelot gazed deep into Tristan's face. He thought about what Tristan said and stubbornly repeated himself. "You'll be there."

"I will ride for Woad territory." Tristan narrowed his eyes. "After I put Gawain out of his misery."

Lancelot bit back words and then considered. Tristan seemed sure he was a step away from the grave. "You cause all his misery anyway. The least you could do is end it."

A new rumble of sound drew Lancelot's eyes away from Tristan towards his opponent. It was the Romans and Sarmatians this time exclaiming loudly in surprise.

What he saw made his mouth drop open.

"She's not the one, you know. It was her brother."

The uncovered face that turned to Lancelot in eager anticipation made things happen to parts down below. It wasn't beauty. Vanora was lovely, womanly and everything a woman should be. This was something entirely different. This woman was .... a redhead. Lancelot smiled wolfishly back. He loved redheads.

Gawain

Without the protective plates, clad in just leather and tunic, dagger in hand, braids of hair swinging down the back... she was magnificent. It wasn't until she closed with Lancelot and they came tumbling nearly to his feet that Gawain saw the scars. She wasn't being gentle this time and blood dribbles welled to the surface in many places on Lancelot's skin. Her face was as much a snarl, the expression eager to rip out the throat of her opponent as Lancelot's was.

Gawain eyed the white lines across her face and arms. He could not see more, but he would have bet his horse to a Roman infantry soldier that they were there. Lines marking every part of her until she too - like Tristan - resembled nothing so much as a Tyger in the moonlight.

Tristan paced back and forth watching the pair of them. Gawain wondered who it was he hoped would end up dead. Lancelot managed to cut her more than once but in the end it was she who ended up the victor. Lancelot's dagger had been divested with a girl's trick. She'd bitten him. Her blade ended up at Lancelot's throat AGAIN. Her eyes were locked with his as her blade bit the skin at Lancelot's throat. Lancelot still would not yield.

A cold blade suddenly met the skin of his own throat and Gawain froze. The familiar scent of Tristan behind him both broke his heart and made him desperate. Let me go with honour he thought. Let me be brave enough to die by his hand.

"YIELD, LANCELOT."

Tristan roared. Everyone turned to see Tristan holding a shaking blade to Gawain's throat. Everyone except Lancelot and the Red Knight.

"You won't do it." Lancelot's voice was certain.

Tristan shifted his dagger and it cut further into Gawain's neck. This time he knew there would be no greedy licking of the blood afterwards.

"Please Lancelot, I beg you. Yield or she WILL kill you. Don't make me...please don't ..." Tristan WAS begging... his voice pathetic. In the beginning he must not have believed Lancelot would get this far or be so stubborn.

"We'd be better off dead anyway. Things will never change will they?"

Tristan's voice strengthened. "Yes, they WILL."

Lancelot turned his gaze to Tristan as best he could.

The Red Knight smirked. She said something of her own language and then asked Lancelot to yield in Roman. Lancelot closed his eyes and nodded. A roar went through the sea raiders. She got off him and laughing went to let others attend her wounds.

Tristan laid his head beside Gawain's and pressed lips to ear in a quick kiss. He pushed Gawain away as he sheathed blade and made for Lancelot. The dark knight had been lifted to his feet and wounds were being quickly tended to.

Lancelot

Lancelot tilted his head at Tristan. Something was going on here that none of them understood yet.

"Why are they so happy?"

"You agreed to give her an heir."

Lancelot's quizzical expression pondered the possibilities of that statement. Finally he looked at Tristan with confusion.

Tristan sighed. Lancelot was as thick as rock sometimes. "You are the new royal stud. Until she gets with child."

Lancelot's eyes were stunned. "Royal?"

"ai yeh. "

"What's a.....why are they here anyway?"

"I sent for them."

"You ... sent for ... THEM!?" Lancelot's voice started at a roar and rose so that everyone heard him say it.

Tristan winced. "You're in charge. Get everybody to the fort. The watch I had them set says the Woads are nearly finished massing. You didn't think it had been this easy did you? That the Woads would simply stop fighting? Don't let the Romans kill off our new reinforcements before the Woads get a chance to do it."

"Where are you going?"

"To call in another debt. We need more fighters."

Lancelot raised an eyebrow in mockery. "How much do we not know of you?"

Tristan twitched his small smile. The merest hint of wry amusement passed his lips. "Forgiven me so soon?"

"NO."

"You know the only things about me that are important to know."

Lancelot waited. He wasn't going to make it easy for Tristan by asking. Tristan was going to have to tell him. Tristan had said things would change.

"I love Gawain." The words came breathlessly in Sarmatian. Tristan paused. He stepped as close to Lancelot as he dared. "I love you. You stubborn pigheaded bone deep stupid bastard. Don't get yourself killed while I'm gone."

"What am I supposed to tell Arthur?"

"Feed the nice people who are here to kill off Woads, don't kill any. We are going to need them." Tristan's face was ridiculously proud for a moment. "I can't take her. No one has. You did well to fight Elaynt so long. She took to the sword like a fish breathes water."

"I still don't understand why they're so happy. I am no blood of theirs."

"It's their way. Elaynt cannot choose among her people, but must have new blood. Blood proven worthy to father princes."

"Why not you? You were with them long enough."

Tristan looked at Lancelot with disgust. "Sometimes you ... " He sighed gustily. "She was a snot-nosed brat back then," Looking over at Elaynt, Tristan winced. "... and her scars were barely healed then, and mine were not."

"What happened to you, it happened to her?"

"At the hands of Romans."