Shattered Ice

Title: Shattered Ice, part 9
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 9

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Tristan stormed into Arthur's room and slammed the door shut behind him. Unsuccessfully, since it merely swung nonchalantly open again behind him. Seething with rage he slammed the offending door shut again, this time making sure it would remain closed before storming over to gather his things. His things. In Arthur's room...when had he done this? Become so comfortable with the monster to permit himself to bring his belongings here?

The thought that he had allowed himself to be lulled infuriated him. He kicked a chair over in anger, but it brought no relief. He picked the chair up (the one Arthur had sat in) and hurled it against the wall. It didn't break.

Tristan stared at the chair, so angry for a moment that he couldn't even move. It was Arthur's chair, so of course it wouldn't break. No, it would. He would MAKE it break. Lifting the chair once again, Tristan slammed it into the wall, was pleased when he heard a creaking sound. He slammed it again into the wall and the chair began to splinter. With the final blow small pieces of wood flew in the air like falling deadwood in the forest during a thunderstorm, leaving Tristan standing there, chest heaving with only the remnants in his fists.

The scout examined his handiwork. There was a sizeable dent in the wall from the chair, and the chair itself could never be repaired. Good.

Tristan began to gather his things again, a little calmer this time, until his gaze fell on the bed. He'd slept there last night. How dare Arthur accuse him of being untrue to his word. He'd made a vow! Given his word! A red haze grew in front of Tristan's eyes. When it cleared, he was sitting in the middle of the bed, pieces of the tattered blankets still airborne, feathers and dry straw from the pallet bled out onto the floor. He blinked and looked at his hand, where his dagger was still poised... Each time something tore or shattered it should have made him feel better but it doesn't, just makes his anger hotter and brighter and more THERE.

Why wasn't it making him feel better? Tristan snarled and scrambled to his feet. Pacing the room, he felt the liquid hatred inside him mold itself to his heartbeat. The rising thunder of it swallowed him up and flowed over him until all he could think of was HOW MUCH he wanted to...

The pitcher of watered wine from the morning sat still on the table. Tristan grabbed it and threw it with all his strength, watching with satisfaction as it shattered against the wall and the pieces rained blood red trails down the plaster. How he despised Arthur! His gaze wandered the room, looking at the mess he'd made. Vanora had done something similar just weeks ago when she'd been angry with Bors.

Tristan laughed, a hollow nearly hysterical sound. He was acting like a jilted woman. 'Arthur's whore' the voice in his mind said, 'Arthur's slut'. Releasing a howl of rage to drown out the voice, Tristan paced the room mindlessly. Rage. Anger. The more he let it go, the more it grew until it threatened to choke his sanity into oblivion. But it felt good to have his blood boil, to feel the heat in his face rise as he contemplated his fury. It all felt so much better than the soft cotton nothing he'd been wrapped in before. He thought of the cold that had numbed him inside until he was nothing but grieving sorrow and still acceptance of what was. Yes, the heaving broiling anger that licked shiny tongues of pain behind his eyes was vastly pleasurable compared to the frozen broken thing he had been lately.

He halted under the drawing of Artorius that he'd made during his captivity. The fury boiled over, erupting out of him before he could contain it. Tristan slammed his dagger up across the hated image with such force that a small explosion of plaster rained down on his head. Yanking the dagger back out, the enraged scout stabbed again and again at the drawing. The last blow was so forceful that the entire section cracked, raining chunks down to the floor, and his dagger stuck fast in the underlying lathe of wood.

"This-is-all-your-fault!" Tristan snarled at the remnants of the drawing beneath his feet as he yanked ineffectually at the stuck dagger. Furious at himself, at Arthur, at the situation altogether, Tristan dropped his hand in disgust and went over to his equipment stacked neatly in the corner, crushing bits of 'Arthur's' face into the floor. He struggled in removing a strip of leather that he used to lash his bag of spare arrowheads to his saddle, his hands shaking with the intensity of his hatred.

An animal-like growl escaped Tristan's throat as the knot simply wouldn't come UNDONE. He would have used his dagger to cut the leather free of the bag, but OF COURSE his dagger was still stuck in the ceiling. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then another and the knot loosened on the third try.

Tristan took up the uncooperative strip of leather and tied the damn thing noose fashion around his dagger's handle. The scout tugged ineffectually at the leather line. Grinding his teeth in irritation, Tristan tugged harder, finally yanking the leather at an angle in frustration. The dagger moved slightly. Tristan pulled more forcefully on the leather noose from the full length of it at more of an angle and the dagger fell heavily to the floor, landing on the remnants of 'Arthur's' face, crushing the last bits of it into nothing more than dust.

Tristan grinned toothily at his dagger, then scooped it off the floor, brushing any remaining bits of 'Arthur' from the hilt and the blade. He examined the dagger carefully, looking for even the slightest hint of damage from his unbridled angry tantrum. Surveying the mess he'd made of the floor, eyeing the broken crockery and shredded cloth, Tristan mused on the damage he might have done to a person while he was giving in to his fury.

What if it had been one of the boys? What if Arthur had walked in? He knew that sooner or later he must confront Arthur, but right now... he was liable to leave the man and any who tried to stop him bleeding out upon the floor. Jols. Tristan bit his lip until he drew blood and the metal tang in his mouth focused him. He had to get out of this place. He had to get FREE ... if only for a while... even if it wasn't real.

Tristan hurried across the room and scooped up his things. When he returned... he had a place of his own, a room of his own and he was going to use it from now on. At the door he turned to check one last time to make certain he had everything that belonged to him. Tristan grimaced at the mess of plaster dust on the floor as he noticed the prints of his boots in the pale bits. He looked down at his feet and lifted up one foot and then the other to brush the clinging grains off the leather. Tristan looked back and knew that when he returned he would not be the same. Hefting his gear across his left shoulder, he turned and made for the kitchens. Maybe Jols could supply him with some bread and meat for the ride.

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Tristan strode further into the stables in a deliberate manner, half-hoping Arthur would be there so he could sneer as rode away no matter how Arthur demanded he not go. Half-hoping he would get a chance to strike Arthur down the same way Arthur had lashed out at him. As he dropped his gear onto the stall gate, he thought of the shambles he'd made of the weapons rack and was only half-glad that Arthur wasn't there. He knew he was a breath away from doing permanent damage to the commander he'd been trying to hold together. What a waste of his time. Arthur wasn't worth the breath it took to curse his name. Not now.

Tristan muttered to the muleheaded gelding he was getting ready to saddle, "Why is it the only Roman officer we've got that can manage to plan a battle is the one driving me MAD? If I kill him, what incompetent jackass will they send us next, eh? I just want to kill the Woads. Percival..." Tristan paused. "Percival needs to have his memory honored and how can I do that if I can't spill the blood of the people that killed him?"

As he dropped his saddle onto his gelding Tristan felt a large presence come up behind him. For a moment he thought it to be Arthur and tensed angrily. It was only a moment before he realized the scent was all wrong and the person was taller still than either Arthur or Lancelot.

"Dagonet."

"Tristan, Galahad speaks in the infirmary of you standing between Arthur and him when Arthur would have castigated him. He speaks of things he doesn't understand and I fear I do."

Tristan didn't answer - just continued putting his gear on his mount with determination.

"Are you going to stop Arthur from this? Or am I?"

"Would you be like HIM and try to take all my choices from me?!" Tristan
hissed the words between his teeth, not only because he was angry but because his jaw was fast turning into a mass of pain where Arthur's fist had struck bone. "He doesn't own me. I make... I made my own choice. I chose to be his. I decided. Me. Don't be like Arthur, Dagonet. Give me that much, please."

Dagonet shuffled his feet. Tristan never asked for anything, let alone begged a man to listen to him.

"No, I would not do that to you, Tristan. But I can't stand by while he... while you... This is WRONG, Tristan. I do not care what you think. This can't be any better a course of action for him than you. It is eating you both."

Tristan whirled his head around even as he punched the side of the stubborn horse he was saddling to pull the cinch tight when it sucked in a startled breath. Dagonet put a hand out as if he would turn Tristan's head to see the rapidly blackening jaw better, but when Tristan flinched back he put his questing fingers back by his side and clenched them there.

"We can speak of this later, Dagonet. When I return from my ride."

"As if I'd believe that again, Tristan. 'I'll speak to you later of it' seems to be your favorite way of saying 'I don't want to talk about it'. Speak to me now, Tristan. Tell me what happened so that I may decide what to do about it."

"It is for me to decide what to do about it. Not you, Dagonet. I ... I let this happen. I have to think. I need to get out of here. I need some FREEDOM for a while. When I get back..."

"When you get back, Arthur may not be here." Dagonet's face was gravely solemn and he seemed completely undisturbed by the fact that he had just pronounced a death sentence for his once-loved leader.

Tristan snorted. Dagonet didn't give when he wanted something. It was nothing short of a miracle that he'd been able to put Dagonet off for so long. He nibbled at his lower lip while he considered but then the words flew from his mouth without stopping while he continued strapping his gear to his saddle. He spoke of his grief over Percival and the whipping where Arthur had given in to the impulse to take him. He spoke of Arthur's guilt and the endless penance that resulted in a man unable to command. He spoke of looking on Galahad and the realization that sooner or later what was inside Arthur would demand another outlet for the hunger. He told Dagonet of the night Dagonet had seen, when Tristan had given himself to Arthur, given his WORD to Arthur ... and there he stumbled and faltered to a stop before turning to Dagonet. Tristan was bereft and yet furious.

Dagonet would have taken him into a comforting hug as he would have any other knight but once again when he raised his hands, Tristan winced and moved back out of ... disgust it looked like. Dagonet resolutely put his hands behind his back and folded them there. Tristan was not able to accept another touch yet. Perhaps never again. Dagonet's jaws hurt from the tightness with which he clamped them together to keep himself from screaming 'I will kill Arthur for this.' Tristan was right. He was capable of making his own decisions, even if Dagonet disagreed with them.

"Dagonet, I gave him my WORD. And he acted as if I would betray it. Am I nothing at all to him? When he isn't ... when he isn't TOUCHING me, he treats me as an equal. He asks me what I think we should do, where we should go. He depends on me to find ways for him, to find options for him... I... I ... Am I nothing but a body to him?" Tristan swallowed as the red haze rose in his eyes again. "He HIT me. Treated me like a dog to kick, as if I would come still to his hand after. I know - he has done worse to me and I let him. It should be no different that he raised his hand to me and struck me as if I were worse than nothing. Yet it is. I gave him my WORD, Dagonet. How dare he strike me for breaking it when I never would. That Roman prick needs better manners. He can't treat me like that!"

Tristan gathered the reins of his fully loaded horse and started walking out of the stables with it in tow. Halfway to the entrance, he turned back to Dagonet. "Go ahead. Do it. Kill that jealous bastard for me. Kill him so that I don't. Then I won't be responsible when the Woads descend and kill us all. Your blood, the other knights' blood won't be on MY hands!"

Dagonet stood speechless as Tristan mounted. Tristan had just dumped the fate of Arthur, the fate of Tristan, and the fate of them all into Dagonet's hands. Damn the boy.

"Tristan," Dagonet started to say and stopped there wondering how he could put all that he felt into words when he had no gift for it. Tristan twisted in his saddle to look at the larger Knight, and saw the pride aimed at him in Dagonet's face as he looked with a combination of exasperation and concern at the Iazyge. Tristan lowered his head and nodded in understanding.

"Don't be gone long." Dagonet said, knowing that Tristan had understood what he wanted to say.

The words washed over the scout, calming him and Tristan replied faintly, "I... there is something here worth returning to." He exchanged a last glance with Dagonet and swung away down the lane out of the fortress proper. For a little while, freedom and then back to this sort of home - where he had a family of sorts still.

The soft light in Dagonet's eyes died as Tristan fled from the fort, fled from the monster that was their leader. Arthur. Dagonet clenched his fists as the familiar rage flooded him again. This time Arthur had gone too far. The only restraint that kept the giant Knight from killing the Roman bastard were Tristan's original words before he let his ire speak for him. 'Would you be like HIM and try to take all my choices from me?! Don't be like Arthur, Dagonet. Give me that much, please.'

A slight shuffling caught Dagonet's attention, and for the first time he realized he and Tristan hadn't been alone in the stable. Gawain was standing in the shadow of a stall, his blue eyes wide and standing out against a face pale with unhappiness. The youth still looked to be in shock over what had happened, and Dagonet had to tamp down the rising tide of rage. Did Arthur KNOW how many people he'd hurt through his selfish actions?

"Dagonet?" Gawain's voice was unsteady. "Is it true? Did Arthur... has he really been-" Gawain stopped, not even certain he could say the words. His commander never would have done that; never would have hurt Tristan on purpose with no purpose other than to hurt. And yet he had done that very thing just a short time ago. "What happened to him?"

"I truly don't know, Gawain. But yes, Arthur has been... mistreating Tristan." Dagonet replied, struggling to keep his own voice under control. He didn't want to betray all the rage he felt right now. If he did, he might frighten off Gawain and the lad needed to talk this out, to come to terms with what he'd witnessed.

Gawain licked his lips nervously and shifted from foot to foot as he absorbed this information. "Are you going to kill Arthur?" The mixture of emotions on the boy's face told Dagonet that Gawain wasn't opposed to the idea, though there was fear and worry in those large eyes.

"How long have you been in here?" Dagonet questioned gently. He needed to know what Gawain knew before he answered.

Gawain looked down and scuffed a guilty foot. "Not long, I promise. Just since Tristan told you to go ahead and kill Arthur. So are you?"

Dagonet put a hand on the youth's shoulder and shook his head. "No... not now. For now I will stay my hand because Tristan asked it of me before he let his anger speak for him. It was merely an ill trick of his to put the same dilemma he was dealing with in my lap so I would understand. Kill Arthur and let some Roman fop command us who would feed us to the Woads, let the Woads take us all; or let Arthur live and be a guilty wreck of a man who could not lead us; or let Tristan continue to deal with Arthur so that he remains a leader we can survive with." Dagonet laughed as he realized the truth of his words. Damn the wily Iazyge. "An ill trick to serve me right for trying to take his decision from him. It is not as if Tristan couldn't kill the man himself if he thought it needed." Dagonet smiled at Gawain. "Nothing is ever simple with Tristan, now is it?"

"Tristan will come back, won't he?" Gawain's soft voice almost didn't reach Dagonet.

The giant Knight nodded definitely. "Tristan always keeps his word, Gawain. It's the one thing that everyone knows to be true about Tristan." Except perhaps one green-eyed Roman who couldn't think straight. Dagonet ran a considering hand over the bristle on his jaw. "He will return to us. And to Arthur... who will find a considerable lot of things changed, I think." He shared a small wicked glance with Gawain who met it with enthusiasm.

Gawain nodded shyly. Hesitantly, he said, "I think I can go back now. If what Tristan said earlier... I only heard part of it... he said he did it to protect us. It was only when Arthur and Lancelot came to check on Galahad that I grew afraid of Arthur, because of what Tristan said. Maybe I should be there with Galahad, between him and Arthur?"

Dagonet's eyes narrowed, "Maybe I should go with you."

"Don't bother. Let the lad go on his own. I left Bedivere to stand guard over the boy and sent Arthur off to check some granaries where the mice have been overeager of late. Told him to give Tristan time and space enough to cool off." Lancelot's dry voice sailed down from the loft where the hay was stacked. He waved Gawain off and the boy took the hint. Likely he wanted to return to his friend's side anyway, not believing until he'd seen that Arthur hadn't chewed on the other boy.

Dagonet turned to greet the darkly bitter man that was leaping down from the loft in graceful bounds across boards and stall edges. "... and how long have you been here?"

"Oh, I was here for it all. Here to listen to Tristan's words remind me of how awful a commander I have been, to see how rotten a leader I am that a boy must seek you out and not me to alleviate his fears." Lancelot smirked. "Damn Tristan. Protecting everyone and making me a fool in the bargain. Not that I needed any help. I should have seen what was happening with Arthur and Tristan, but all I could see... " was my Arthur with someone I despised. Lancelot's shoulder shrugged, "I'm a selfish man, Dagonet. But I thought I was a better leader than a man. I should have... I should have..." He looked toward the front of the stables. "It's going to take a LOT of time for Tristan to cool off. He's gone out, hasn't he? Wish I could go as well." Lancelot stared through the open door of the stable wistfully. "To go... away..." He sighed.

"Hm, well, if you're about the business of remembering you're in command again, there ARE a few things I've been meaning to talk to you about." Dagonet eyed Lancelot with something that was neither pity nor scorn. "How about you come with me to the alemaster's tables and we discuss them?"

"Only if I get to drink wine like a civilized person."

"Sometimes, Lancelot, you act much like a Roman yourself."

Lancelot winced and looked shamed. Dagonet abruptly wished he could take the comment back. Now there was no Roman they could look to without seeing the rot. Awkwardly he patted Lancelot's shoulder and pushed him toward the door. A little ale and a little wine should go a long way to patching the gaffe over.

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He was drunk. That was the only conclusion Lancelot could come up with for why he'd suddenly become so clumsy, or why his vision wavered in and out of focus. He'd started drinking before sunset with Dagonet, and hadn't stopped. Now he stumbled through the cemetery in the dimming light, seeking a place for some solitude, seeking a place to try and numb the shock.

He stopped, his body swaying slightly as it took a few moments for his mind and body to get in sync with each other. The jug of wine nearly slipped from his fingers, but Lancelot clung to it stubbornly, determined to find a place to sit and get drunk enough to forget about Arthur, to forget about Tristan. But where to do it...?

Dark eyes fastened on a familiar sword, and Lancelot laughed raggedly at the irony - Percival's grave. Perfect. He hadn't been here since the burial. He staggered over to the grave, noticing that it was well kept. Tristan's doing? Lancelot clumsily raised the jug in salute to Percival's sword and tipped the clay container so a small amount of wine poured over the grave.

"To you, Percival. you stupid bastard," Lancelot slurred, and took another swig from the jug. He glared at the blade. "Why'd you go and die?" Lancelot demanded angrily. "If you hadn't died, then none of this would have happened!" He waved his arms in a general arc that took in the whole world, a small bit of wine sloshing from the wildly waving jug onto the ground.

"Tristan wouldn't have been left alone. And Arthur wouldn't have whipped him." Lancelot took another drink. "Arthur would never have looked at Tristan and WANTED him... and maybe Arthur would have looked at me. Eventually." Lancelot paused and lowered his head.

"No..." he admitted, sounding forlorn. "He wouldn't have." Slender fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled to gain control of himself. "Arthur didn't want me. He doesn't want me." The sadness welling up inside of him was replaced by surging anger.

"Look what Arthur did to Tristan! What he could have done to Galahad!" Lancelot shouted at the silent grave. "...and gods above and below, I still want him! I love Arthur! I love him! Why? WHY? Not only do I want what I can not have, I want a gods-be-cursed ROMAN!" Lancelot said Roman as if it were a curse all by itself. "The one Roman I believed in has turned out to be the worst of them all. And all the worse for the years he was a good man, a brave commander to follow, and a man who sought out the right thing to do." Lancelot laughed hollowly. "If he'd given in to the less noble instincts a man has from time to time, maybe he wouldn't be so awful now."

Furious, Lancelot kicked a stone by his foot and heard it skitter away into the grass. "And what's even more disgusting is that Tristan took all this on... and I didn't see it. My JOB is to watch out for you, all of you... and I failed." Lancelot buried his face in his hands again, fighting off more waves of seasick emotion. "I FAILED..." He drank heavily from the jug this time, wishing he could stop all of his thoughts, but now that the gate was opened they continued to haunt him.

"I was a bastard." Lancelot confessed. "I could have killed Tristan. I wanted to kill him. He's always protecting us, whether scouting, or now with Arthur... And I wanted him DEAD!" Lancelot felt both horrified at the thought and mortified - because he'd do it again. "I would. If I didn't know what Tristan was doing, if I didn't know he was protecting us, I'd still try to kill him. I'm a monster, as much as Arthur."

Hanging his head between his knees, the last bit of anger seeped from Lancelot. He was getting sleepy, a haze enveloping his mind. He finished off the wine and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"I miss you, Percival. The way you'd tease me." Lancelot mumbled. He thought he heard something moving nearby, but whether it was a Woad or a wild animal he was too comfortable to be bothered to look. "I could never stay mad for long when I was around you." Slender fingers plucked aimlessly at grass near Percival's blade. "Out of all the men, I believe you and Arthur were the only ones who could truly see me. I know I'm a mean bastard, but I thought... hoped Arthur saw more in me than that. That he could see I NEEDED him."

Too tired to remain sitting, Lancelot slumped onto his side, partially lying on Percival's grave. "But now you're both gone. Gone... and I have no one left to talk to. Gods, I miss just TALKING to the man. It was before you died the last time we actually spoke together about something other than orders and duty." Lancelot snorted scornfully. "It was before he took your damn brother to his bed more like. I lost my chance, not that there was one, and my friend both." He closed his eyes tiredly. "I'm only... " He paused, "What am I now? Who am I? I don't know...I don't know."

Lancelot was too weary to hear the leaden steps that paced from a grave further back and came to a halt beside him. He was drifting into darkness when a set of cautious fingers smoothed back the wild curls soaked by liquor induced sweat. A voice softly murmured, "I don't know who you are to me either, Lancelot. Only that you grow dearer to me the more I come to know you. How have you hidden so well all these years?"

Arthur sank to a squat next to his drunk second and after a few minutes took the watch. Time enough to begin speaking to Lancelot when he woke in the morning. Arthur's lips twitched. More like a few hours after he woke in the morning. Arthur couldn't remember a time he'd seen Lancelot this far gone on wine. He'd seen Lancelot lost to blood lust in the killing and lost to fury over some Roman slight and lost in passion inside a woman, but he'd never seen him lost to honesty in drink this way before. Not five minutes before he'd been speaking with similar honesty to his foster brother Cei's grave, not that the dour man would understand now what he'd never understood in life. Arthur wondered if it was all as simple as Lancelot had said - that if he'd only given in once in a while to his less noble instincts before, that they wouldn't be so hungry now.

Inside of him something stretched languidly and purred satisfaction as it viewed Lancelot's distress and thought about ways to torment the man. No, Arthur decided, it was never that for him. The hunger in him couldn't be appeased by feeding it. It only grew as it had in the days since Tristan came to his bed at his demand. It only grew with the pleasure and yet when he denied it, it ruled him entirely until he couldn't think because he was so wrapped up in keeping it at bay. Once again Arthur felt he had part of a key, but he couldn't find the lock.

Lancelot slitted one eye open and smiled to see Arthur. "Now I know 'mm drunk." He grinned half-hearted and said, "You look just like me sometimes, my pretty. All hungry and selfish and NEEDING, needing to fuck - to hurt - to take. I see you like that on the battlefield and when it's over, you push it away. Why'd you do zat? I like you anyway you know. It duzzin matter to me, that you're hungry. I am too. I like the feeling. I like when you take from me, why doan ye' do it more?" Sighing deeply, the eye closed and Lancelot drifted off again.

Arthur's mouth gaped open and closed slowly. Lancelot had seen the hunger in him before? Before Percival had died? Had seen it and WANTED it? Mystified, he watched the slow rise and fall of Lancelot's chest. Lancelot really saw him. It wasn't just a matter of hero worship or blind gratefulness. Arthur stretched out lengthwise next to the prone Sarmatian to examine Lancelot's face closer in the moonlight. The man had seen what he was ... always. And still loved him. The hunger curled round and round in his belly until it was banished by a new warmth. Lancelot knew him inside and out. Perhaps it was time he came to know his First Knight.

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TBC and all...
Peek and Surreal