Shattered Ice

Title: Shattered Ice, part 8
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty and surreal_44
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_44 and my beloved!
Author's Note: This chapter had to be divided in Chapters 8 and 9 due to the length but they were meant to be together!

Shattered Ice 8

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Arthur extracted himself from beneath Tristan's sprawled body. Sometime in the night the aloof warrior had succumbed to such deep sleep that even his unconscious self had relaxed and forgotten where he was. Arthur was so pleased that he woke to Tristan's arms clutching him and Tristan's legs wedged over and under his own that he nearly laughed when it dawned on him that the octupus he'd been dreaming of had been HIS very own Knight. It was a vast bitter ocean of difference from the way Arthur usually woke - with Tristan teetering on the edge of falling off the bed as far from Arthur as possible.

Even the inevitable roll of the bed as Arthur removed himself didn't wake up the somnolent warrior. Taking a chance, Arthur reached down and plucked Tristan's hair out of the scout's mouth. Ruefully he regarded the one honey eye that slit open. He should have known better.

"Go back to sleep, Tristan. No need to get up until Jols brings our food." The one eye clouded almost immediately and the thin eyelid drifted down exposing the exotic length of dark eyelashes. Arthur wondered how a man so gifted with a pelt in all ways; from the abundant braids of hair to the thick soft beard to the fur mat of his chest and the thatch between his legs, not to mention the prickly hairs on both arms and legs and the girl's-would-kill-for lashes; how did such a man lack any defined eyebrow? Not that he minded the lack. Tristan was perfect as he was.

Arthur sighed as he scratched the back of his head and yawned. His mouth felt much like a small... no, make that a LARGE mouse had crawled into it and died. His teeth and tongue were furry dry and his spit tasted terrible, like the mouse had vomited on it right before it died to decompose quickly. Regretfully he contemplated the remaining two empty bottles of wine on the table. What was it they'd been celebrating? He'd quite forgotten.

Tristan had arrived (without being called) at his quarters with a large smile on his face and... oh... yes, Bors was to be a father again. The redheaded maid at the bar was in the family way. They'd toasted the new father and had wandered down to the tables to tease the burly Knight on his impending fatherhood. Somehow this had led to an enormous drunken bout of tomfoolery.

Arthur shook his head. Dagonet had seemed (as he always did lately) angry with him, but it faded as Tristan had made it plain that he'd brought Arthur down among them himself. Tristan had been at his most sarcastic and snidest as he wormed small phrase after small phrase under Bors' skin. If Arthur hadn't seen the broad grin and heard Tristan's enthusiasm about the baby himself in the privacy of their quarters, he'd never have known from Tristan's customary expressionless face that they were there to congratulate Bors instead of needle him. It wasn't until Bors sprang to his feet and nearly exploded when Tristan had finally grudgingly said, "Huh. I guess even YOU can do something right - catching a fine wench like Vanora. You'll have strong children off such a beautiful mother."

Bors had sank back into his place with a distinctly bemused expression on his face. A small smile had escaped Tristan's lips before he yawned and ordered Arthur to bed. Arthur had been so dumbstruck that he entirely missed the confused look on Dagonet's face and the softening of Dagonet's tense stance from the side of the courtyard. He had been so thoroughly befuddled that Tristan had had to come back and drag him to his feet after snagging two more bottles of wine off the alemaster.

When they'd gotten back to Arthur's room, Arthur had been loath to disturb the mood and had sat down at the table, propping his long legs up on it as he poured the wine into his goblet. Tristan had tensed the minute they'd entered the room and changed entirely. He'd drawn away from Arthur even as they walked through the door and had stood with his head hanging down, the ebullience drained away.

Arthur had been dismayed by the change. Part of him liked Tristan's abject behavior but even more than the beast within enjoyed that, his conscience sorrowed over the loss of the confident arrogant warrior he'd once known. It was Arthur that had clipped his wings and only for his own personal satisfaction.

No sooner than Arthur had begun to feel guilty though and Tristan had come claimed the chair at his side at the table. Arthur had stared at the change in Tristan as the scout had begun to tease him - with the INTENTION of angering Arthur. Far from the beast within rising to the bait, it was the commander who watched with hollow gut as Tristan alternately goaded him and behaved submissively. Tristan was attempting to make the worst side of him rise. Deliberately. Was this what he'd come to then? Arthur, no more than a monster to be fed.

Finally Arthur had been able to stand no more. "Tristan, please. Stop this." He'd risen to his feet and paced the length of his room. "Do you remember when I was no more than your commander? Do you remember how we acted? For I do not. I cannot remember HOW I sat here and looked on you without WANTING, without NEEDING. I can see you in my mind's eye standing there behind Percival, always there behind him saying nothing. I can see you on the battlefield fighting and you WERE a free thing and I looked at you and thought... what did I think? I can NOT now remember. How did I look on you then and not... hear this THING inside me that says to... to... "

"It doesn't matter now, does it? I am yours and you may do as you wish."

Arthur halted at the farthest point in the room from Tristan and stared into the dark corner he found himself in. "But I don't WISH to be always... hurting you. And I cannot bear that it is I that does so. You were once my friend. I believe it so. And I, myself, turned you into my enemy. Because that is true isn't it? No matter how much it is that you GAVE of yourself to me... you cannot give to me what I have already broken, can you?"

Tristan came up behind Arthur and awkwardly patted him on shoulders like an overgrown child who'd just discovered he could not put together again the toy he'd smashed in a fit of temper. "I could never give you that anyway, could I, Arthur?" Arthur's eyes were closed as he listened to Tristan's voice weave through his personal darkness. "I could never have been your... lover. I am not..." Arthur had sighed as he shuddered at what he had done, what he would continue to do because he could not find the strength in him to not WANT Tristan anyway.

"For tonight, Tristan, can we be just as we were?" Arthur's voice was a plaintive thready pleading, denying the hunger within desperately.

"As long as you promise to not fall to your knees and pray every time you feel ... when you... " Tristan swallowed and resolutely continued. "For tonight, you put aside both the need to ... have me and the guilt and I... I will put aside everything that has happened and we will pretend that Percival is still alive and waiting somewhere for me to return and tell him everything you've said." Tristan had then cuffed Arthur up side the head and said, "Come back to the table and we will sit as once we did..."

"Once there were always other people between us... " Arthur had looked at Tristan KNOWING that was the answer. Once there had been Percival, there had been Knights coming and going always from Arthur's side and NEVER had there been time to want what he should not HAVE. He'd known that was the answer and somehow he'd find a way to benefit from the knowledge of it. He lifted a hand and would have touched Tristan's face but his hand fell to Tristan's shoulder and he smiled brokenly. "Yes, we will pretend they are still there between us then."

Arthur looked at the man lying on his bed, undamaged for once. They had pretended and managed to tell stories, tell each other things that friends would share. They had poured wine for memory and thrown knives in drunken playfulness (Jols was going to be pissed at the holes in the plaster on the wall). When at last they could deny no more that there was NO ONE between them, they'd stripped off their clothes and fallen uneasily on the bed back to back to sleep fitfully until Arthur had felt an arm steal across his shoulders and a body snuggle to his back. With Tristan's protective covering, Arthur had finally sunk into a sleep that didn't tear him in two.

And Arthur had woke to a Knight bent on using him for his own personal pillow. He smiled fondly at Tristan who'd sprawled over the entire bed now. Arthur had but rinsed his mouth and combed his hair, splashed water on his face and was starting to wash the sweat from his body when Tristan began to dream. The arms twitched and body twisted to lie upon the bed as if Tristan were covering another body with his own. Tristan's voice muttered sweet toned mumbles and his hand stroked the air as if he would touch another body. Arthur stood transfixed as His Knight dreamed of love. He bit his lip and held back a groan as he too began to dream waking of a body in his arms, a body that DID NOT WANT him.

Tristan dreamed and Arthur suffered as his cock hardened and rose up. Quietly, so that he would not disturb His Knight's fleeting pleasures, Arthur took himself in hand and stroked hard, hoping that he could gentle the flaming NEED eating at him. On the bed, Tristan's hips bucked and he moaned a name that Arthur could not hear and did not WANT to hear. Tristan was HIS and his only. But Arthur knew he lied to himself even as he fondled the heat in his hands that drove his hunger. Lusting after the body on the bed that wandered freely still in places Arthur could not keep Tristan from, Arthur pulled and clutched, grasped and clenched hoping to bring himself enough. He would NOT wake Tristan... there must be another way, there HAD to be another way.

Tristan found his completion in his dreams and sank into deep darkness even as Arthur sank into a darkness inside of himself. He was five feet from the sleeping Knight when the knock came soft on the door, a patter of light raps. Arthur groaned. He'd been going to... Thank God for whoever stood outside.

Arthur pulled his breeches back up over his aching hard dick and stretched, trying to relax before opening the door. Whoever it was would just have to deal with the fact their commander was a man like any other and woke to morning needs and wants. It was probably Jols with their warm bread and other sustenance. No one else would dare to broach Arthur before he'd been fed a morning meal.

It was with some surprise that Arthur opened the door to a Lancelot burdened with a platter of dishes emanating the most wonderful scents. The shamefaced First among his Knights slid into the room quickly and dropped the tray on the table with alacrity.

"Jols is seeing to the couriers that just came in. He asked me to bring this the rest of the way when I came to tell him they were in." Lancelot looked at the floor instead at the commander he'd disappointed so much. "I thought it was a good opportunity to come tell you how much I regret what I've done."

Arthur stared past Lancelot's awkward apology and held down the rage that threatened to devour his good sense. "I am the wrong person to say that to."

"I know. Arthur, I will tell Tristan when ..." Lancelot stumbled to a halt as Arthur took his shoulder and turned him around towards the bed to see Tristan sprawled there in Arthur's bed. "Oh. He's sleeping."

"Yes, and you need to be quiet!" Arthur gripped Lancelot's shoulder hard, his fingers digging in as he hissed in Lancelot's ear. Looking beyond his second in command at the beautiful sight sprawled there, Arthur once again became lost in the view. Almost absently, he clutched at Lancelot's arm and his other hand spasmodically flexed his fingers on Lancelot's back. Arthur groaned as his lust rose again making the strength of his needs increase. He'd never get through the day like this. It was worse than when he'd been young and any sight sound smell would make him need to sneak off and relieve himself. Because right now the sight was Tristan's naked skin, the sound was Tristan's breathing and the smell was the scent of male warrior... just beneath his nose.

Arthur kept his eyes on Tristan as he inclined his head and sank teeth into Lancelot's unprotected neck. Biting and sucking at Lancelot's skin, he felt his second squirm both in surprise and delight as Arthur ravaged a trail of red from his collarbone to just below Lancelot's ear.

His hands clutching at Lancelot's body, Arthur moaned, "Tristan. Tristan..." only to feel the Knight in his arms jerk away. Lancelot had turned back to look at Arthur who was lost in contemplation of the sleeping scout, hands brushing at his breeches trying futilely to adjust things so he didn't feel the discomfort quite so much.

Arthur looked at the presence on his bed that he could not ignore and then back at the Knight he'd just used as a substitute for what he desired in truth. Raking a hand through his black hair Arthur flung himself into his desk chair and literally growled as he contemplated waking Tristan and ruining the tenuous peace they'd built the night before. Sooner or later he would break but did it have to be so soon? Once again he shifted in discomfort as his physical condition made itself known abruptly.

"Lancelot." The sharp call halted the proud dark Sarmatian who was taking his affronted self out of the room as quietly as possible. The hiss came again... summoning him back to Arthur's side. "Lanssssselot!"

For a moment Lancelot hesitated with his hand on the door. This was no military order and he was free to disobey if he liked. He turned his head to view Arthur seated at the table. Arthur was visibly miserable, suffering so much that normally he'd have run back to Arthur and sought a way to ease the man's torment. He'd wished for this, closed his eyes and dreamt of the moment that Arthur would call him to his side... call him because Arthur wished to touch him. But never had he thought Arthur would seek him out for this. Lancelot leaned his head on the as yet closed door, feeling the cool wood beneath the heated skin of his face. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed his pride and walked back to Arthur's side.

Arthur looked up at the sometimes insufferably supercilious Knight that had risen through the ranks like a meteor due to both his skills at personal warfare and his skills at getting them out of tight spots alive. No one could think as fast in the heat of battle as Lancelot - it was a place where his sharp temperament and quick tongue were at home. But right now, Arthur had a more pressing use for that tongue and Lancelot was damn well going to bend his stiff neck and submit to it.

"Lancelot. I find myself in need of... assistance."

Lancelot knew perfectly well what Arthur needed and didn't see why his commander couldn't wake the man who'd taken over his place at Arthur's side. He simply snorted and looked over at the bed pointedly as he turned his back on the man he'd desired for so long without any recourse of his own. Arthur stood up behind him and ran his hands up a line in the middle of Lancelot's back until his hands split and ran down the length of Lancelot's arms. Arthur pressed himself to Lancelot's back and rubbed himself across the tight expanse of the backside of Lancelot's breeches while breathing hotly on Lancelot's neck. Arthur snuck a hand up inside Lancelot's tunic to tease the skin beneath to heat of its own.

"This is what you wanted from me isn't it? This is what you think of when you watch me. You want my tongue to taste of you, my hands to take from you. Isn't that why? Why you did all of those terrible things to My Knight?" Arthur's mouth and hands continued their errant travels through Lancelot's clothing wreaking havoc with Lancelot's composure. "You owe Tristan. You owe ME. YOU injured what was mine, tried to keep from me what I wanted." Arthur's voice was harsh and lashed with a bitter edge at Lancelot's ears.

Arthur turned Lancelot in his arms to face him and ordered, "Make it up to me. Make it up to Tristan. He needs to sleep this morning and I... I need..." With fingers that hooked cruelly into the tender flesh on the back of Lancelot's arms Arthur leaned in toward Lancelot until Lancelot could feel Arthur's hot breath upon his cheek, could not evade the eyes so fierce and the voice so vehement as Arthur demanded payment for Lancelot's transgressions.

"You WILL... you WILL serve me this morning, damn you! I WILL NOT wake him when you may serve in his place. Bend your neck, you impossible brat. Bend your neck and your knees and PAY for what you did." Lancelot backed out of Arthur's hold again with an appalled look on his face and Arthur licked his lips as he tasted the fresh trepidation in Lancelot. Within him, the hunger took hold and bared teeth to pant in anticipation of repleted cravings.
Lancelot would do even if it wasn't what the beast WANTED.

Lancelot looked into Arthur's face and saw the hunger in him as Arthur looked over Lancelot's shoulder at the still resting Iazyge on his bed. Lancelot's face burned as he realized what Arthur wanted him to do. He blushed harder as Arthur sat down again in his desk chair, spread his legs and began to slowly unlace his breeches further. Arthur was right. He DID owe Tristan. Lancelot had tried to kill him over and over again in the last weeks when his mind had not been thinking further than the fact that Tristan had taken HIS place. A place that never was his and would never be his.

Lancelot bit his lip as he comprehended that he was merely accepting an excuse to do something that he WANTED to do anyway. When he sank to his knees in front of Arthur and pressed mouth to scorching skin, imitating the whores that had done this for him, Lancelot knew. This was only something he wanted to do anyway.

As Arthur slid long fingers into the dark curls of his hair to sweep it away from his face, Lancelot glanced up only to see Arthur's eyes riveted on his sleeping rival. Arthur remained still for only moments, not really long enough for Lancelot to get used to the way his mouth had to stretch to accommodate Arthur's heft and length. Lancelot could only cope as Arthur blatantly ignored him and fucked his mouth uncaringly while staring at the sprawled body of Tristan on the bed.

Again and again, Arthur bucked into Lancelot's mouth without consideration and repeatedly choked the air from Lancelot's lungs. Thrust after thrust down and into Lancelot's mouth bruised the delicate tissues there and rubbed raw the back of his throat. Lancelot barely contained the thick sticky mass as Arthur came too far back in his throat for him to swallow properly. As it was, Lancelot had to hold his breath for the endless moments it took for Arthur to finish spewing seed into the heated depths of his mouth.

When it was over, Lancelot bent over and gagged as he spit the gooey stuff out so that he could breathe again. He was still on his hands and knees heaving and gasping for great gulps of air when Arthur, having laced himself back up, stepped over him. Arthur only paused long enough to snatch up the rest of his clothes and some food. And then he was gone, leaving Lancelot rocking on the ground - his head whirling from the long lack of air.

"Ask Jols for the warm posset he brews. The chamomile in it will ease your throat."

Lancelot lifted his head from his view of the dirt floor to see Tristan propped up on his elbows on the bed. The honey brown eyes were steady and Lancelot could see no hatred in the scout, only pity. Wearily Lancelot nodded his head and he scrambled to regain a standing position. Lancelot leaned heavily against the wall as he fought to breathe normally. His pulse raced still and he still felt as if there simply wasn't enough air to breathe.

"Sit down for a minute, Lancelot, and bend your head down to get some of the blood back. You'll feel better in a bit if you do."

Lancelot couldn't answer so he just followed the advice. In minutes, he felt better... except for the gaping hole of his hopes and the million pieces of what was once his dream.

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Over the next week, Arthur walked away from Tristan more and more often as he caught Lancelot up more into his hunger. Arthur found that baiting the wolf gave him the strength to give his hawk more freedom. Every time he found Lancelot looking at him with admiration or lust, Arthur would be sure to lean into it and cause Lancelot's desire to rise. Teasing soft touches along Lancelot's legs and jaw were easily done even within sight of all the others. He would catch Lancelot's eyes while he drew off his clothes to wash up after patrols or training - the same thing he did every day, but now with the intent of flaunting his body in front of his First Knight. In the shadows of the baths, Arthur would play with Lancelot's body and then demand he come to his room later where Arthur would require Lancelot's 'service' once again, never allowing Lancelot the privilege of kissing him or lying with him.

When it was over, Arthur would laugh and scathingly taunt Lancelot, 'You want to serve, so serve.' When Lancelot asked to be allowed more Arthur snorted and said 'Why would I lie with a man who has known most of the fort? When I have Tristan in my bed who is more of a man and more of a warrior? I have Tristan, why would I want you?' and Lancelot would bow his head and knew it to be true until he would have given Arthur anything. Until the day came that Arthur demanded everything from Lancelot. Every scrap of pride, every shred of honour. And Lancelot gave it to him because he'd already forfeited his honour from what he'd done to Tristan.

They'd been sitting with the visiting Legate of the port town that they depended upon for supplies when the man had asked Arthur where one found relief for one's body inside of Arthur's walls. Arthur had been drinking heavily and snickered, "Well, it depends on your tastes, but I often find relief sitting right next to me."

The Legate had eyed Lancelot avariciously and muttered, "I had heard you were against the old ways."

"Not all." Arthur had poured more wine and handed the goblet to Lancelot, holding his eyes ensnared in his own olive ones. He'd smiled at Lancelot and drawn a finger down the side of Lancelot's face, quickening Lancelot's heart as he hoped that Arthur would ask him to his room again tonight. Any touch of Arthur's was better than none at all.

"You must be a brave man, Artorius, taking such a temperamental Sarmatian to your bed."

Arthur had laughed with gusto and freely said, "I don't take this Sarmatian to my bed. I just use his services from time to time. He is skilled enough with whore's tricks. Take him to your bed if you wish to, but he'll not grace mine." With that Arthur pushed himself away from the table. "I am to my bed." Lancelot heard the unsaid 'and Tristan'. Arthur stopped at the door and turned back to address Lancelot. "See to our guest's comfort, Lancelot." Wide startled eyes flew up to meet Arthur's grave gaze and then dropped. He was Arthur's and Lancelot no longer had the will to disobey him. Perhaps tomorrow Arthur would want him. Perhaps then.

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Arthur finished writing the report up on their latest skirmish with the Woads and stretched. As his knuckles popped loudly back into place the mild sound was nearly drowned out by a rumbling growl from his much neglected stomach. He rubbed the hollow spot under his ribs and eyed the sun's position outside. It was nearly noon and there would be food served soon. Reviewing reports was boring work - which was why he normally tried to finish them before breakfast on the days he could. The sheer monotony of reading the same information day in and day out might have led a lesser man to order his subordinates to only report what was out of the ordinary. However it was the ordinary gone subtly wrong that gave Arthur his biggest clues on where the Woads would strike next. So he waded through report after report from the milecastle tribunes whether he wished to or not.

During the tedious reading this morning though he was suffering from the urge to wake Tristan and bury himself inside the inferno. The rise and fall of Tristan's chest as he slept would catch his eye and his attention would drift to thinking about all the things he hadn't done last night. He'd determined to keep his hands off his skittish scout last night and he'd managed it by tumbling soused into bed. It was only the inability to perform that kept him from ravishing Tristan - not his will though. He'd lain awake for hours and kept watch over Tristan's peace, but not because he'd wanted it that way. Finally, he'd had to tell Tristan to leave his room before Jols had even come with their morning sustenance or he'd never have gotten anything done today.

Tristan had been given the morning off from dancing attendance on Arthur - this time to work with Gawain on hand to hand combat while Galahad was practicing his sword skill with Bedivere. Arthur had coyly suggested the night before that Galahad needed someone else to try his new artistry on. To Arthur's relief the scout had mused on it and decided that Bedivere needed to be 'apprised' of Galahad's need to work the new moves into muscle memory. Tristan had curled his lip as he agreed without question to Arthur's thoughts, had agreed without noticing Arthur's tense shoulders relax when he realized Galahad would not have Tristan's undivided attention AGAIN today. Tristan had been so caught up in the enthralling mental picture of Bedivere's potential humiliation that he completely missed the barely held back jealousy that Arthur pushed away.

The commander stood and walked out the door. He could send Jols to fetch Tristan he knew, but it was a nice day... and besides, he enjoyed watching His Knight. Tristan might still be busy sparring or watching the others practice. Being able to catch a glimpse of Tristan unguarded and totally at ease had become something of a hobby to Arthur. The moments Tristan let contentment fill him were rare and filled Arthur with a particular warmth when he managed to catch a glimpse of it. He liked for His Knight to be happy.

As he walked the courtyards to the fields outside the inner fortress wall, Arthur passed by Bors and Dagonet. The valorous giant grunted something and Arthur chose to mistake it for an attempt at 'hello' even as he chose to ignore the blatant glare coming from Dagonet meant to turn him to ash. Bors looked from his friend to his commander in puzzlement and opened his mouth to speak. Dagonet grabbed his shoulder with a firm grip as Arthur passed out of range. Bors opened his mouth to question his friend loudly when Dagonet mumbled, "Don't, Bors. Let it go." Bors watched the man he'd chosen for a brother walk off. Dagonet was a quiet one, but never like this - smoldering with unsaid curses. Bors raised his eyebrows in shock, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before he shrugged and followed Dagonet to their midday meal. Dagonet would let him know what was what sooner or later. He always did.

The sound of clashing swords and laughter swept thoughts of Dagonet and his strange behavior from Arthur's mind. He paused for a moment to watch the pretty scene unfolding in front of him, and he slipped into the shadows to further enjoy the moment. Gawain and Tristan were standing next to each other, both completely absorbed in watching the sparring match between Galahad and Bedivere. Tristan looked so relaxed and happy that Arthur just had to drink in his every movement. Seeing the scout so unguarded was a rare thing. Arthur waited for these times, to simply watch, as if Tristan were some rare wild creature to be studied.

"Lancelot!" Gawain's welcoming shout, drew Arthur's gaze reluctantly over to the approaching dark Knight. A thrill of guilty pleasure shot through Arthur as he looked at Lancelot. The direct opposite of Tristan, Lancelot looked tense and unhappy, his dark eyes still burning with pain and humiliation. The beast inside Arthur was finding Lancelot's anguish an acceptable substitute for Tristan's.

Lancelot waved in greeting to Gawain, careful to not look at Tristan, avoiding the pity he knew he'd find there in Tristan's eyes. He knew Tristan saw what Arthur was doing to him, knew Tristan knew he would accept whatever treatment Arthur meted out to him, knew Tristan pitied the fact that Lancelot so loved Arthur that he would do ANYTHING, accept whatever Arthur wanted. He often wondered what stopped Tristan from attacking him the way Lancelot had done to Tristan in the throes of jealousy. Did he not care that Arthur used him? Or was he nothing to either of them? The weary First Knight raised a brow as he watched Bedivere's losing battle against Galahad... Bedivere was getting the worst of it.

Bedivere was indeed getting the worst of it. Galahad had gone through his guard and smacked the slower warrior on the shins, in the ribs and... so like the boy... on the brute's backside. The boy danced out of range laughing. Galahad's teeth shone amid all the sweat streaked dust on his face. The boy was dirty and visibly stench ridden (Arthur HOPED someone was going to drag the boy to the baths afterward). Arthur's pulse raced. The boy at the baths. Where he could smile with that enthusiasm at his company. Arthur's focus on the match suddenly narrowed to Galahad. The boy, with his lithe young unscarred body, was a beacon of joyfully victorious energy. He was winning and he knew it.

No scars but small ones yet on the lad. His whole skin was smooth and whole - unpitted, unribboned. You could run your hand down the boy's back and feel nothing but warmth. Arthur, startled by the trend of his thoughts, looked to Tristan. His Knight was completely focused on the boy and his mouth... the carved lips smiled a flash of wickedness. HE never brought such a smile to Tristan's face. Tristan was watching Galahad intently with those golden-brown eyes, now softened with hidden laughter. Watching Galahad the same way he once watched Percival - with bafflement and pride. Arthur looked back again at the boy. Galahad. The boy was so like Percival.

Even Bedivere seemed to realize he was losing to a slip of a boy as he frantically fended off the flying wooden sword that seemed to creep up out of nowhere and the shield that acted as another weapon. Bedivere was having to behave as if he was facing Lancelot with his twin blades rather than a snot nosed brat. Apparently when the Knight realized that Galahad was finally a warrior worth fighting, it delighted him since he suddenly grinned and began laughing when the boy smacked him yet again.

He was laughing still when he stepped forward to parry a thrust of the sword from the boy, when he stepped on a stone in the short grass and fell forward onto Galahad. He tried to turn away from the boy as he went down but Galahad had picked the same direction to scramble away from the falling knight and ended up directly beneath Bedivere's full weight on his sword arm. He yelped in agony and it brought Gawain and Tristan to their feet in consternation. Lancelot was right behind them as they raced to the boy's side.

Bedivere rolled off of the unmoving Galahad and was roughly shoved aside by Tristan, who knelt beside the boy and ran his hands over Galahad's head, shoulders and torso in search of injuries. The moment Tristan's hands touched Galahad, the carefully created leash that held the monster at bay in Arthur snapped. Green eyes blazing, Arthur strode forward, barely noticing that Lancelot had sent Bedivere off in the direction of the surgeon. The beast howled in anger as Tristan's strong hands gently helped Galahad sit, as those long fingers skimmed over the youth's swollen wrist. How DARE Tristan touch Galahad?

Lost in his jealousy, Arthur didn't notice Gawain's alarmed expression as he stalked past the blond Knight, nor did he take note of how Lancelot and Tristan exchanged worried expressions. All Arthur could see was Tristan kneeling beside Galahad, touching the boy... speaking softly to the lad with loving kindness. Arthur was acutely aware of the impossibility of it, but he... didn't want anyone but him to hear Tristan speaking so.

Arthur towered over Galahad and Tristan, green eyes glowing baleful fire. "That, Galahad," Arthur said tightly. "That was the worst bit of sword play I have ever seen. Your guard was sloppy, and you were too busy trying to show off for your audience," here a scathing glance was sent to Tristan, "than to watching your footwork."

"Arthur." Tristan snapped, drawing the furious gaze of his commander away from Galahad, who appeared to be confused and somewhat frightened. Out of the corner of his eye Tristan saw that Lancelot was actually using his brain for once, and was motioning for Gawain to take Galahad away. As Arthur took another step forward, Tristan smoothly placed himself between Arthur and the two younger knights who were finding their feet. "Leave him alone."

"Don't you dare, Tristan," Arthur snarled. "You let him touch you! You promised that you would be mine and only mine!" Galahad turned ashen at that announcement, and Gawain had a worried, pensive expression on his face. Lancelot began ushering the two younger Knights away from the danger.

"I haven't broken my word." Tristan said angrily, his own golden-brown eyes flashing dangerously. "But don't think that I did this for you." Arthur drew in a shocked breath as a bitter smirk curled Tristan's lips. "Don't ever think I did this for YOU! for your needs. I gave you my word, Arthur, for the sake of the others. I hate all you've done to me. You've become nothing more than a driven beast and I hate that you either succumb entirely to it and act like a monster or you fall to your knees and act like a craven coward."

Arthur snarled and stepped forward towards Galahad. "You give to him what you promised to me! YOU touch him!"

"You…bastard. I gave up all that I was to you! I let you take my freedom, my will!" The shock was wearing off, being quickly replaced by anger. "To protect them!" Here Tristan waved a hand in the direction of the now frozen Knights. Not even Lancelot made a motion to leave. He was looking from Arthur to Tristan, with the dawning of terrible understanding in his eyes.

"What's he talking about?" Galahad asked Gawain in a frightened whisper. He'd never seen Arthur look so angry. Gawain shook his head and looked over at Lancelot for help, but the First Knight seemed totally focused on Arthur and Tristan even as he too put his body between Arthur and the boys.

"I did it to protect them." Tristan jerked his head in the direction of the two younger Knights. Arthur's expression was growing darker by the minute, so Tristan pressed on, hissing the words out quietly vehemently, trying not to let the boys hear the worst. "Every time you look at me my skin crawls - knowing what you want of me. I have to choke down my vomit when you put your hands on me. I have to keep myself from cursing your name every time someone else says your name. Arthur. The sound of that word makes me SICK."

A quick glance at Arthur told Tristan that his commander was still ready to pounce on Galahad, so he grabbed the strong wrist in his hand. "Arthur -" the scout started to say, but got no further as Arthur slammed his free fist into Tristan's jaw. Taken by surprise, Tristan stumbled backwards, releasing Arthur's arm.

"You - are - mine!" Arthur shouted, each word punctuated by another blow to Tristan until the scout stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Chest heaving, Arthur stood above His Knight, stunned at what he had done. Tristan's golden-brown eyes glinted up at him through a tangle of dark hair, and Arthur reached down to try to repair the damage he'd wreaked without thinking. Lancelot turned and quickly ordered Gawain to get Galahad out of there to the medic and they obeyed quickly, frightened to death of what was happening. Arthur NEVER acted like this. Where was their beloved commander?

Tristan only snarled and scrambled backwards along the ground until he could rise to his feet. Glaring at Arthur, he spat out blood and gingerly touched the split in his lip. With supreme contempt Tristan wheeled and walked away from Arthur, walked away from them all. Damn the man to his God's Hell! He was tired of this. Arthur needed to learn some RESTRAINT. With a snarl, Tristan whipped out his sword and cut down a small sapling tree for the pleasure of it as he walked away.

"Tristan, slow down!" Lancelot's voice penetrated the red haze in front of Tristan's eyes but little. Tristan's hands gripped the hilt of his dagger and flexed in readiness. If the love-sick fool thought to interfere... But Lancelot only stepped around in front of him to ask urgently, "Tristan, I... I ... you... eh, gods above. What do I say? Is it true? You've been placating Arthur? to protect us all? Tristan?"

Tristan didn't answer, just met Lancelot's eyes and let all the weariness show, all the anger be visible. A muscle in his cheek twitched in time with his pulse as he ground his teeth and nodded sharply, quickly - almost unwilling to admit it was true. Lancelot sucked in air quickly and put a hand on his stomach as if to hold back the pain there.

"How long? How long has he been like this? How long have I ... not seen?"
"Since Percival died." Tristan spat the words out. "It... opened a door to a cage that Arthur kept closed before. He is not our Arthur now and I don't know if he'll ever come back."

Lancelot nodded stunned and looked back at Arthur who was turning his hands over and over as if he couldn't believe what he'd done. He should hate Arthur for doing this to Tristan. He should hate Arthur for hurting a Sarmatian... Arthur had turned out to be a filthy Roman dog after all, hadn't he? He should be disgusted and reviled and seething with anger. But Lancelot could find none of that inside of himself. He turned to Tristan and said, "I beg pardon from you."

Tristan twisted his lips in a bitter mockery of a smile and said, "For what? I could pick a hundred things."

"For not being able to hate Arthur on your behalf."

"Ah, that. That needs no pardon. No man can hate the one he truly loves. No matter their ill deeds. You can pity them, but you can't hate them. What you love is still in there, Lancelot." Tristan took a deep breath. "What I loved is still in there. Just the other, the other... "

Tristan snarled as he recalled what had just happened. "I gave him my WORD. Lancelot, he doubted my honour. MY WORD." Tristan's temper began to rise yet again as he ground his teeth. "HE treated me as the others do, as a filthy Iazyge without any honour. That's what they believe in, what HE believes in." Tristan's eyes narrowed as he swung back to look a last time at Arthur. "HE HIT ME! in front of the other Knights! I am not some dog he can kick when he wishes to." Growling, Tristan stalked away in a hurry. He had to... He had to...

Lancelot watched Tristan hasten away with steps driven by demons. No, A DEMON. He turned to look at Arthur who was gazing after Tristan with horror and Lancelot sighed. Poor Arthur, he suffered from a sickness of the soul the same as Lancelot had. He had no words to tell Arthur with that what he wanted had never been and never would be, never could be. You cannot clip a hawk's wings and MAKE it want to be with you. It will only pine away seeking freedom the only way it can.

"Arthur, come. We will behave like good commanders and go check on Galahad's injuries." Lancelot walked up to Arthur and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Let Tristan calm down and you can attempt to apologize later."

"He'll never forgive me."

"No, probably not. I may never forgive you either. Not for what you have made me into, but for what you have just done to Tristan. He deserves better than that."

Arthur looked up into Lancelot's eyes to see the pained clarity of knowledge in them and closed his own. If only he could shut out the hunger as easily. If only he could not care that Tristan would never come to him... He'd destroyed any possibility of it - not that there had been any possibility of it given Tristan's natural inclinations.

"Galahad though...he is young and might forgive you. You need to apologize to him. You scared those boys to near death and I'm certain they are confused beyond belief just now. Go to the infirmary and behave as you would have before. Choose to behave as you did before and maybe ... with each choice, it will be easier to see things that way." Lancelot doubted it. Jealousy, as he knew intimately, did not encourage rational views of the world.

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TBC per usual
Peek and Surreal