The Tristan Effect

Title: The Tristan Effect
Part 3 - Soothing Tristan, part 3
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.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Due to the large number of OTHER ORIGINAL CHARACTERS, this story now technically qualifies as an ALTERNATE REALITY fic. LOL... however, still in the movieverse as far as I'm concerned. Just happened prior to it. Don't worry, our boys still end up with each other... not any of the OCs. They're just useful instruments for revealing Tristan's past and providing serious dilemmas for Gawain and Lancelot.


Bors

Tristan was kneeling in the dirt, sketching out with rocks and sticks the local countryside to the Red Knight that wasn't the right one. He growled. After what Lancelot had hurriedly explained to him, Bors wasn't going to get to kill the right one either from the sounds of things. TRISTAN had SENT for the sea raiders and they came to his call as tame as the hawk when Tristan whistled. They'd come to fight Woads with them.

Bors gritted his teeth. Somehow, Tristan had long since made his peace with these raiders that had raped him, whipped the skin off of Tristan's body and killed brother Sarmatian knights. No few of them leaned into the circle of Tristan's instruction asking for points of explanation. Does this river? and these hills? Are the Woads more likely...? How long do their arrows range? How do you tell who is in charge among them? ....

Tristan patiently answered in both their strange language and Roman. The questions seemed to come in a variety of languages and the words slipped back and forth, in and out of ones Bors could understand. Finally, Tristan stood and gestured for his packed mare to be brought forward.

Bors stomped for Tristan's side and laid a hand on the shoulder of the man that once he thought he knew. Tristan turned from checking the cinch straps to the troubled gaze he'd been avoiding. Bors started to speak, "Tristan...", stopped and turned away from Tristan to watch sea raiders breaking the camp. Lancelot was slowly going from group to group of the Roman legionaries, speaking rapidly and turning them loose from their captors' care to gather up their gear.

"Tristan. You can't go alone."

Tristan merely waited for the rest, his face the same cold distant Knight he'd always been since... Bors swallowed. It was always like talking to the Wall itself. But now, it was a Wall he'd thought both familiar and safe gone strange and unknown, a quality he'd never thought to find in a brother Knight.

"You have to take Gawain with you." Bors hawked and spat into the spring muddy grass. "Lancelot has to... make Arthur accept this. Now that I know what is coming, we'll need these sword bearing bastards, whoever they are. So Lancelot has to ride in front to keep them alive while we come in." Bors growled and turned away from Tristan completely.

"I have no idea where you're going or WHO or WHAT you'll come back with this time, but Lancelot said you're fetchin' more fighters. If like these, they come for a debt owed, you'll have to stay with 'em and show 'em... stuff. These say the Woads are moving and fast now. We'll be under siege by the time you get back. Who'll you send in that we know is a messenger and no enemy, eh? Take Gawain. The boy is canny, like you and will make it through. None of these Romans could."

Bors humphed and stomped away, passing Lancelot and Gawain walking together with Gawain's gelding to Tristan's position. Lancelot was seething but focused, but the boy....

Such agony was in his eyes.

On impulse, Bors stopped and grabbed Gawain in a bear hug. With a ruffle of Gawain's braided hair, Bors barked, "Get both of you back here, lad, I expect some help with the shedding of Woad blood."

Lancelot

Tristan looked as if he was going to object but then nodded as they joined him. Lancelot eyed the man he thought he loved some days, but now didn't even know. It was easier to turn to Gawain, the man he knew they both loved and say goodbye with something solid that he knew WAS real. In spite of the watching Romans and strangers, Lancelot hugged Gawain the same as he hugged him in private - pressing lips to cheek and temple. He'd be damned if he cared what they thought.

"Come back to me."

Lancelot's voice sounded pathetic in his own ears, a little boy pleading for the return of his favorite plaything instead of the deep wound that was in his soul and growing larger, louder, wider by the second. They had to do what needed to be done. They were probably going to get killed doing it. It had never mattered to him before - this probability of his life ending because of someone else's weapon. It mattered to him now. He had something he wanted to live for. But more than that, it mattered to Lancelot whether GAWAIN lived or died.

He desperately wanted Gawain to live. To live long, be well, and know happiness.

As Lancelot watched Gawain and Tristan mount up, he wondered if the agony would ever leave Gawain's face again. Lancelot rushed over and caught at Tristan's leg in the stirrup. With a hiss, he said, "Things WILL change... " and let Tristan move out. Lancelot hoped that Tristan would understand that he, Lancelot, expected the rift between his lovers to be healed by the time they returned. He just hoped he'd be alive to see it.

The raiders were speaking of hundreds of bands of Woads approaching the Wall to the east of them, a direction they'd never come from before. Massing together above the small fort of Corstopic to the east, they would come through the river there going south to turn and come at them from the east. The southern side fortifications weren't as strong yet as the Wall itself holding the northern border of Vercovicium. They'd be lucky to hold it even with the thirty-two new warriors who'd just joined them at Tristan's call.

Lancelot swallowed. Corstopic was a doomed place and the Romans within, probably already corpses. He'd pour wine for them, even though they were Romans. He hoped he wouldn't be pouring wine for Tristan and Gawain, whatever they were fetching was their only hope. There'd be no time to gather the various Roman troops and center them to meet the Woad incursion.

A mellow voice at his shoulder startled him, "Don't look so black. There'll be fighting soon and plenty of it. Always lifts my spirit."

Lancelot glanced down at the uncovered face of HIS Red Knight. Her hair tangled sweatily down the side of her neck and he absentmindedly moved to pick it off and brush it back. She flinched backwards and stepped away as his fingers approached her. Huffing, she stalked off to her horse, a monster steed built for battle. As Lancelot admired the neatness of her backside, he wondered just how he was supposed to get her pregnant if he couldn't touch her. He wondered why he was even thinking about that since they'd probably be dead soon enough.

The camp was broken now and the two troops melded into one as they moved out. Lancelot pulled alongside HIS Red Knight, noted her gleaming eyes and laughed sardonically. Trust him to impress a She Wolf like this enough to be wanted for breeding. Though she reminded him of the women warriors at home, he'd never wanted one for himself... a woman was for softness and giving to your taking. Like the temperamental but cuddly Vanora that Bors had won. It was disconcerting and disturbing to know he was supposed to bed someone that could, that WOULD cut his throat at will.

He wondered how he was going to explain this strange day, this world that had gone upside down to his commander and best friend, Arthur. Lancelot started practicing soothing words inside his head. He was going to need them.

Gawain

Tristan had set a grueling pace without comment. Heading south and east from the Wall, they'd ridden both day and night with short naps and small stops. Gawain brooded as he followed Tristan through the farmlands and forests. He'd thought he'd known Tristan best. Of all the Sarmatian Knights, he'd known Tristan longest - since he was a small child and Tristan had joined his people at their fires. Now...

"They're across the river on the east side. We'll have to ford it. I don't think the Woads have come through the Corstopic river gate yet, but they may have scouts out. We'll cross it tonight."

"Who is on the other side?"

Tristan didn't answer, but knelt on the ground to check the forest floor. Through the trees Gawain could see a wide river flowing lazily. IT had all the time of the world for its' needs, but his were gnawing at him. Gawain dismounted and let his gelding rest. They'd come a long way in a short time and he was barely standing.

Gawain had just barely finished relieving himself, still adjusting the drape of his tunic, when Tristan appeared at his side. He shivered and fought the urge to step away from this creature he didn't know. Tristan could see his unease which was quickly building to fear. The smell of it seemed to attract Tristan as he crowded Gawain's shoulder and leaned in to sniff at Gawain's hair. Gawain trembled remembering the ease with which Tristan put knives to his throat, the ease the Red Knight mimicked Tristan in putting blade to Lancelot's throat.

"Stand still, boy."

Tristan's voice was husky. The same tone Gawain had heard a thousand other times in the privacy of their beds. A thousand other times that he'd hoped Tristan would FINALLY claim Gawain's body. And now... Gawain didn't want him to.

Obediently though, Gawain stood still. Tristan, leaning into Gawain and petting his body through the layer of clothing, whispered, "Should I take you now? Now that you hate me as I said you would, should I let myself sink into you?"

Tristan's teeth closed on his ear and Gawain's well-trained body quivered with eagerness. A tongue poked into the hollow behind his ear and lips suckled his ear back into warmth again. Tristan's hands covered the front of Gawain's crotch and clutched the hardening cock beneath.

A lazy female voice broke in with amusement in a language that Gawain didn't know. Tristan drew back slowly and turned to meet it with a scornful laugh at himself. Gawain turned to view what amounted to a female Tristan. She was every bit as sharp-boned, darkeyed and bore matching black stripes across the cheekbones.

Tristan inclined his head and answered her. Gawain watched them closely and came to the conclusion that not only did Tristan not know her, he hadn't expected her. Grey threaded her hair more liberally than the small sprinkles among Tristan's beard and her eyes were tireder, bitter, and plain older.

"This is Fleta. We're to follow her. They forded the river about fifty miles south of here and are making for Vercovicium. The Woad scouts they sent south are being picked off so Merlin will not know we have reinforcements coming up from below."

Gawain suppressed his questions. It was clear that Tristan wasn't going to answer him. A sharp whistle brought Fleta's mount up to the pair of Sarmatian Knights. Or was it to the Sarmatian Knight and ...two of something else entirely?

Tristan

"Don't tell the boy, would you?"

The older woman turned in her saddle to glance back at 'the boy'. "Looks like a full grown man to me. Maybe one worth riding."

Tristan snarled. "He's mine... and I don't share."

The small icy sneer that answered him looked just like his own face, but he wouldn't know that, having never seen himself other than in still water. "That is NOT what I have heard. Aldora speaks of you babbling over another one... some Lancelot."

"You speak to Aldora?"

A small tight smile warmed into a softer one. "Of course I do. How would any of us live without the lovely things she brings us, and the news from home? My family thinks me as dead as your family believes you are, son of a KING."

"I stopped being his son the day he let my brother kill me."

"ai yeh... look really dead to me or about to be."

Tristan smiled back boyishly, "ai yeh", and ducked his head abashed.

Twin coldeyed smiles met, eyes bouncing together then apart, and they dug heels into horses to move faster. Somewhere the enemy was moving and Tristan was determined to meet them at the gate of the fortress. He would stand with the Knights who were his family now.

Gawain

He heard them before he saw them. The sounds of calvary were as familiar to him as that of Lancelot snoring in his ear. The stomping hooves of horses eager to rest tired legs, the smell of cooking fires, and the murmur of voices laughing tightly all gave notice of a fighting force making for a battle.

They passed sentries who challenged but then on seeing Fleta and Tristan didn't wait for an answer but melted away to continue their rounds. They rode by strings of horses being led to the water's edge by young boys that had long ago lost their innocence. The eyes that glanced up at them as they rode by were as full of the knowledge of killing as any Sarmatian Knight. Older warriors were bringing in meat, tending cookfires or tending their weapons. Some seemed lost in putting the perfect edge on their blades.

Gawain felt at home instantly. This is what it had been when they'd first come to Arthur. They'd been a force to be feared and reckoned with. The sheer number of them caused the Woads to retreat. Over the years, they'd learned to be deadlier, faster, and hate harder in order to survive as the Woads picked them off one at a time. He was filled with sorrow and filled with comfort. This was where Gawain belonged.

A council seemed to be in progress before a tent that was larger than the rest. They dismounted and a boy came to take their horses to hold while they joined this group of warriors.

Fleta barked in yet another tongue strange to Gawain and the backs of warriors flowed apart leaving them a path. She led them up to where a grizzled grey beast of a man sat listening to reports from his men. His hair was pulled back in loops of leather adorned with claws. A great mantle of some beast's fur surrounded his shoulders and made him seem even bigger than the monster he already was. To each side stood two young women, swords on their backs and their hair in identical plaits interwoven with hawk feathers. One of them handed a large hawk tail feather, red ribbon braid twisting from the shaft of it and tied to a small ring of black hair braided into a loop to the old man. Attached to the ribbon at intervals were claws.

In Roman the old man intoned, "I redeem the token you send for the debt owed. We have come to fill the debt that I should have payed long ago."

Tristan hawked and spat into the dust, "Not paid until my family is safe."

"You have no family now."

Tristan shrugged. "For the purpose of the debt, my brother Knights."

The old man smiled sardonically. "I knew that. Why do you think I have come?" He looked around at his men and shouted, "Blood and glory."

"BLOOD AND GLORY!"

Gawain stood confused as these warriors echoed the slogan of the Fifth Legion. It only took a little while as Tristan was outlining the situation of the fort for him to figure it out. This was one of the famed Alan auxiliary units stationed to the South with the Fifth legion. They were stationed to fend off various Northmen from raiding the fat farmlands of goods and women in the Eastern lands of this island breadbasket called Britannica.

Gawain occupied himself with counting the warriors listening intently to Tristan's words. There were at least fifty. He'd been torn between staring at the man who'd become a complete alien to him and the tribe that his people had been warring with for so long they'd become simply "The Enemy".

A movement at his elbow caught Gawain's attention. Looking to his right, he saw the two sword bearing young females looking at him curiously. One reached up to tug at the braids in his hair, a practice he'd learned from Tristan to keep his hair back when he was fighting. The one smiled at him from behind the other cautiously as if he were a wild animal that might bite any moment.

"You must be tired and hungry. If Aldora has spoken truly of this kin of mine, Tristan will be off as soon as he's satisfied that we can make it to the fort on our own. He won't wait for our slow progress when he can fly to his commander's side."

The abrupt Roman spoken by Fleta to Gawain's left startled him. He'd been caught looking hungrily at the two girls. He'd been with Tristan and Lancelot alone for over a year now. Lancelot took his ease with women still when he got the urge, but Gawain hadn't felt the need since the first night in the forest. Now that Tristan had turned into some outland stranger the appreciation of women had woken once again inside of Gawain.

"Corliss, Daralis... take this man and go feed him. I advise tucking him up somewhere for a nap. He'll likely need the sleep."

Sweet soft assenting murmurs rose from the pair of girls. The bolder one spoke quietly, "Since our lives are the gift of the Hawk, anything we can do is what must be done."

"Spoken like a true daughter of the Alan. This is part of the Hawk's family. See to him."

The girls led Gawain away to one of the cookfires and fetched him wine, food. When that hunger was sated they led him to the large tent. Outside, men came and went from the council and voices rose occasionally in argument. Tristan's voice was clipped and wandered in and out of words that Gawain had no clue to the meaning of. The girls pushed him down on the bedding in the large tent and then both of them shyly curled up on either side and snuggled into his chest.

"Sleep now."

Gawain wondered how the innocents thought he was going to be ABLE to sleep with two clearly nubile young women tucked under either arm. He lay listening to Tristan's voice and the steady murmur of it lulled him to rest. His last thought was that the innocents were right after all. He COULD sleep.

Tristan

"Wake up, boy."

Gawain stirred, untangling himself with care from the two sleeping girls who'd wound themselves tightly together over him in the night. The false dawn was rising. The night lightened into grey already.

"Time for us to go."

They ducked out of the tent where many slept now. It must have been the tent of the old warrior because only he lay on an actual pallet of straw and furs. Gawain sucked in the morning air beside Tristan trying to wake up.

Fleta came forward with their mounts all packed and ready to go.

"Can't talk you out of this can I, kinsman?"

"No." Tristan's face hardened. "Your northern scouts came in and said the Woads have come through Corstopic. The commander there did well before he died and got most out to safety. They're coming down the river now. The soldiers who get here before dawn will join you in the march to Vercovicium." Tristan's eyes got distant. "Arthur will need to know how many, what weapons, and when he can expect them."

"There's no way for you to get there ahead of the Woad force, my lad."

They'd been speaking in Sarmatian out of politeness for Gawain. Tristan turned to the younger warrior and said, "You don't have to go with me. You can stay with the Alan and fight with them."

Gawain's face darkened. Tristan never suggested that a warrior could take the safer path. Whatever he planned was dangerous in the extreme. "I'm going with you. I don't care if it's to the fires of that Christian Hell they're always on about. I AM going with you."

Fleta nodded at Gawain and mused in another language altogether, "Your lover there has fire."

Tristan twitched a smile, more like himself than he'd been in days. "You have no idea."

Tristan turned to Gawain. "We go north to SEE them, the Woads. Then we'll go up through the Wall at the same river crossing they came south through. The Wall curves down to the south and they'll have to swing wide from the east as they go west. We go north through the Wall and cut across to the west in the shortest path possible. We'll arrive home before they get there."

"NORTH of the Wall." Gawain's voice was faint.

"ai yeh." Tristan smiled with all his teeth. "We'll be fighting most of the way, except in the territory of the Huntress."

Fleta's eyes narrowed. "The Woad's big bad evil witch, a grey eyed grey haired gnarled demon. I've heard Britons tell tales of human bones littering the forest and bodies pinned to trees to warn off trespassers from that evil place."

"ai yeh. She doesn't like visitors. We'll be going through there. The Woads won't follow."

Gawain turned white and gulped.

Fleta snorted, her threaded white braids dancing a little and muttered in that language that only she and Tristan spoke. "Son of a KING. Arrogant and determined to have your own path. heh!"

Tristan leaned toward her and said quietly, "I am no son of his, old woman. I learned my stubbornness at Arthur's side, who is a true King of men."

"I wish to meet your King Arthur then. I wish to see this man that makes proud and arrogant Knights call each other family."

"You will. He's a little hard to miss on the battlefield. Large white horse, major target and killing the most Woads...." Tristan sighed, "...or letting them go free. Stupid man and his ideas of mercy."

Fleta barked laughter. As Tristan mounted up, he leaned over to speak in Sarmatian once more. "The little kits have grown up nicely. Keep a tight guard over them once you reach the fortress. Some of the cursed Romans think they can take whatever they want."

"Their lives were saved by the Hawk. They have devoted their lives since to learning the sword to be worthy of the gift. They can take care of themselves."

Tristan grinned. "I thought as much. They look much better less drowned!"

"You were mad to save them though. Full Flood and you dashed INTO it among the grinding rocks and corpses of trees to pull out two small girls. They weren't worth it."

"Apparently, they were." Tristan lifted his hand and rode away with a pale determined Gawain following.