Falcon's Beginning

Disclaimer-I do not own the Knights, or anything else you recodnise!! I own only Falcon and other characters you don't recodnise. i don't own the knights...*sob*


Chapter 1- Journey

Snow fell to the earth, the trees around the small encampment offering no protection from the open skies. Fastening the straps of the small bag full of medicines and bandages, Falcon looked up into the clouds, wondering whether the sun had yet set, the darkness round them was hard to judge, the trees and the clouds making the task a difficult one. The knights grouped around the fire chattered amongst themselves, and it was not for the first time she noticed that Tristan, the scout, was sat apart from them again. The young man had only joined the convoy to Britain a few days ago, and so far, Falcon was the only one of the group he had spoken to in depth. The raucous laughter that erupted from the fire drew her gaze, and she saw Fardira, the mischievous sister of Haylie, another of the young women in the group, dancing in the most peculiar manner. Standing by the horses, Falcon knew she was hidden from the others. Leaning against a tree, she opened the small pot of salve, soothing it carefully over her aching fingers. It was the cold weather, she reasoned, that was making the joints seize up. The cream seemed to heat up her hands, making wriggling the pale digits much easier.
“You should be careful.”
With a gasp, Falcon spun, ready to wallop the intruder with the pot of cream if necessary. Tristan stood behind her, snowflakes in his dark braided hair, the cold making his cheeks white as the snow that fell from the sky, the tribal tattoos under his eyes standing out. Throwing a glance to the Roman Soldiers, grouped at the other side of the clearing, Tristan seemed to shift uncomfortably. “I get…” He cleared his throat, “I get the same trouble sometimes, but I just bear it.” Falcon tilted her head, teasing him with her dark eyes so like his own. “You think I am weaker because I do something about it?” She asked in a mock-angry tone, turning her back. She heard his startled intake of breath, and the shifting of leather. “I didn’t, I mean…no,” He tried to say, turning red. Falcon turned back to him and laughed, patting his shoulder gently.
“Tristan, I’m joking. It’s alright.” She said consolingly. He seemed to sag in relief. Pulling out her sleeping mat, she settled it down with the head at the base of the tree, and wrapping herself more firmly in the thick black cloak she wore, the young woman sat, smiling up at the scout and motioning for him to sit. Tristan sat, wrapping his cloak around himself, as if seeking comfort from the warm material. He looked at his hands for a moment, and Falcon saw the briefly pained look as he straightened them. Reaching out, she took his hand in her own, the much larger fingers cold in her own small, slender digits. Smoothing the salve over his hand, she began working the soothing cream into the rough skin, working the joints and bringing clear relief. As she worked, she asked, “Why do you sit away? Why do you prefer to sit alone?” Tristan was silent for a few moments before answering.
“Why do you watch me?”
Falcon’s hands faltered.
“That’s not fair. Answering a question with a question.” She muttered, pinching the skin between his thumb and forefinger lightly. Tristan pulled his hands from hers and took the younger girl’s face in his hands. Studying her. She really was a work of art. A pale, perfectly formed face, high cheekbones, a neat nose, arched eyebrows over almond shaped dark eyes, full lips and long, silky tresses of braided and curled auburn hair. A lithe, fit figure and a frighteningly good fighter, as the group had seen already, Falcon was one of the most wonderful things he had ever seen. He ran the pads of his fingers over her mouth, tilting his head, studying the small, confused frown that marred her features. All sixteen years of his existence had been spent in the wild, the only company he had was an old man, who had taught him everything he knew, who had passed over when he was thirteen, leaving the young man to fend for himself, living like a wanderer. He had never been in the company of so many people, and he liked to watch them, getting to know them without sharing too much of himself. Falcon brought her hands up to cover his, saying quietly, “Tristan? Are you alright?” He smiled, taking his hands from her face and leaning back against the fir tree behind him.
“You are possibly one of the most confusing people I have ever met.” Falcon said, shaking her head with a rueful smile. “We should sleep, it’s a longer journey tomorrow, for we reach the port.” She added, curling up in a foetal position on the bed mat, smelling the deep loam beside her. Tristan lay his mat beside hers, and quietly laying himself down, he watched her eyes close, and the sounds of her breathing lulled him. He had made a friend.


Cracking her eyes open, Falcon took a deep breath, feeling the freezing cold air wash unpleasantly into her lungs. Her gaze focused, bringing into sight a slumbering Tristan, his handsome face crinkled slightly in a sleepy frown. Grinning, she gently reached over and plucked a strand of his long dark hair and tickled the end of his nose with it. Tristan frowned and grumbled, shifting slightly. She continued, gently playing the strand over his eyes and nose, tickling the scout.
“That tickles. And it’s too early.” He mumbled, eyes still closed. Falcon gasped slightly and dropped the strand of hair, flushing bright red. “You could have told me you were awake, you swine!” She muttered, pulling herself up into a sitting position and wrapping her cloak around herself, staring into the grey skies just visible through the treetops. Tristan leant his head on one arm, looking at her, a small grin on his face. She really was very pretty. He frowned. What if she dies? He thought, sitting up and stretching, watching her from the corner of his eyes. He made a promise then. He would not let his new friend die.


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