Shattered Ice

Title: Shattered Ice
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty and surreal at yahoo.com
Type (slash/het/gen): slash
Fandom: King Arthur Movie AU
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 and neldluva ....cleaned up my mess! PeeK

Shattered Ice Part 1 -

It was a boy that stole Tristan's life. Just a young boy in his first fight whose sword was so big that he could barely lift it. Tristan watched the blade lift and bite so deep that blood gouted in heavy pulses of viscous rain. The young lad looked sick at what he'd done as he stole the very breath from Tristan's being.

Tristan's eyes glazed and he sank to his knees in the middle of battle, crying tears of fire. His heart was near bursting and he could not breathe. The air itself rushed away into the heavens. The boy backed away from the dying man and ran smack into Arthur who merely reached out to pluck the boy's sword from his hand. Bowing before the great Roman warrior, the newly blooded warrior waited for death to fall from Excalibur. Arthur patted the boy and told him to stay there.

Arthur knelt beside the dying Knight but there was nothing he could do. Percival's blood gushed out upon the ground taking his life with it. Beyond him knelt Tristan, clearly unable to move, frozen into shock. Arthur closed his eyes. Since the day they'd begged him to take both of them together into his service, he'd come to depend on them as a whole. They were glued to each other as if they were one person.

Tristan and Percival shared a room, slept back to back in the field, saw to each other's things and were as one in battle. They flew circles around the Woads, spying their enemy out and coming back to tell Arthur what they'd seen. A bitter smile played around Arthur's mouth. PERCIVAL had told Arthur what they'd seen. Tristan spoke but rarely, preferring to let his happier, more content other half speak for him. Percival had done all the talking really, even at play with the other Knights. Tristan was content to lean against a wall and watch Percival with intense eyes.

Arthur watched a man die before him and grieved. What must it be like to lose the other half of yourself? Tristan was as dead as the Knight on the ground he knelt over. Sighing, Arthur heaved himself to his feet and got on with the business of life.

Arthur ordered the disposal of Woad bodies in a fire, then sorted out those injured in his command who could be helped and those who couldn't. Giving the last cut sickened him, but he would let no man in his command do this thing for him. Those that were hurt beyond repair, he sent to the afterlife with Excalibur. They were his men. It was his responsibility.

"Arthur, what shall we do with the prisoners?"

Lancelot growled as he asked the question. He already knew the answer to that. Arthur the warrior he worshiped, Arthur the Christian was a suicidal fool.

"Let them go."

The Woads had surged to their feet and fled as soon as the Sarmatians turned them loose. The boy had looked at the dead Knight laying motionless where his sword had left the body and spat upon the ground. The boy had nearly reached the trees when three arrows suddenly sprouted from his back and he fell to the ground.

Tristan looked defiantly at Arthur and mounted his horse.

Arthur was furious, could not find the words to speak. He merely said, "I will deal with you later, Tristan. Return to the fort."

Tristan had been fishing with his sharpened stick. He'd been pretending it was a full spear like his da's and that the fish were their rival tribe of Sarmatians, the Koloi who'd stolen their lands. Every time they met now, the tribes clashed and the Iazyge got pushed further and further into the east. They wandered through the mountain lowlands and tried to avoid being killed by the mountain people. Threadbare were their things as no traders could come to a Sarmatian tribe that had no meeting place.

Looking up from the stream's edge, hidden deep among the reeds, Tristan had come face to face with the laughing blue eyes he would come to love. Two pairs of happy Roxolani eyes invited him out to play and Tristan discovered joy as he knew what is was to be a friend. In time he'd come to love one pair of eyes more than the other but that was only right. Man was meant to bond with someone, to be one with another. From the depths of childhood play to the tortured yearnings of a teenage heart, Tristan had grown with his love and knew it fully.

Tristan remembered laying naked beyond the fire with chestnut hair wrapped over his arm and blue eyes gasping up into his as he put fingers into places he knew would delight. She'd shuddered beneath him and wound her arms tighter to his. Percival had stepped into the firelight amused, 'We have to go now. They're coming this way and we need to get back home to our tribe.' Tristan had helped her dress, kissing her in between every movement, sliding his fingers through her beautiful hair. He'd hugged her goodbye and then Percival - not knowing it was the last time he'd touch happiness.

'Tristan, you are my brother, my blood, my family.' Laughing blue eyes stood next to his shoulder. 'Isolde has chosen you and I know no better man. I will speak to my father when I return and tell him I will allow no other to wed her.' Percival had laughed. 'SHE won't allow it either. She'd kill the man who touched her.'

The Koloi had swept over their tribe in the same way they had Tristan's. Percival had sought him out among the Iazyge and told him of Isolde's capture. Tristan hadn't been able to cry then. Tears froze inside into a block of ice in his dreams. He dreamt of cold and winter's death.

During their search for Isolde, it was Percival who had found her body where the Koloi had left it behind.
In the end his words had proved prophetic, 'She'd kill the man who touched her'. She'd cut the throat of the Koloi who dishonored her and then her own. The Koloi were superstitious of martyred dead and had left the two bodies where they fell.

It was Percival who had gone to Tristan. 'She belongs to you.' It was Percival who'd helped Tristan build the pyre. It was Percival who had patiently braided the loop of Isolde's hair that Tristan wore around his wrist. It was Percival who'd grabbed Tristan and said 'My brother always' before Tristan rode away to find the Romans seeking death in battle.

Percival had been held between two Romans as a tribune had stripped him, preparing to rape the boy. A sword had bitten through hands and necks leaving three Romans dead upon the ground. A hand had pulled Percival to his feet and the arm of a brother long lost around his shoulders had comforted him. Tristan led the way to the Roman officer Artorius Castus and begged for their safety, humbling himself to beg as he would to no other for Percival's sake.

Tristan broke his bow and dropped it on the body of the man he'd called brother.

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All the remaining Knights had gone to Percival's funeral. It was a ritual with them all to attend the burying of a brother Knight whether they had liked him or not. But Percival had been well liked and the tears flowed freely from gruff male faces that ducked their heads in sorrow over his grave, mumbling goodbyes. For all that his lover had been a silent filthy vagabond Iazyge, he'd been a great warrior and friend to all with kind words and a laugh that made the world brighter. Only one Knight was missing as Arthur spoke the final words before they parted.

Furtive glances shot at Arthur as his face thundered on the way back from the burying site on Badon Hill to the fort. They knew Arthur's temper when he'd been disobeyed and flinched unconsciously away from the aura of it surrounding him. Arthur had submerged his grief over Percival's death in anger over Tristan's defiance. A defiance that spread to the funeral itself when Tristan had turned and left when they came for Percival's body.

'He'd have preferred being burned than being buried in the wet.' Tristan's flat voice had startled them as they lifted Percival's washed and cloaked body. He'd come into the room behind them. 'It's the way of the Knights here to bury their dead with their swords.' Tristan shrugged and said, 'Do what you like', turned and walked away. They'd looked after him in disgust. In life he'd been Percival's shadow and now... now it was as if Percival was some dead Woad, less than nothing to Tristan. Lancelot had spat, "Damn Iazyge. Cold hearted bastards."

Tristan's mare was still in the stables contentedly munching her head off. He had to be here somewhere. Arthur had searched the fort then broadened his search outside the walls to the town where Arthur came across small groups of Knights lifting glasses of wine and ale to Percival's memory. Every group he questioned shook their heads. They hadn't seen Tristan since before the funeral. Every answer back deepened his fury. Where was he?

Arthur came to the tables where the new redhead was serving Lancelot and his friends. When he'd questioned the Knights, she'd fluttered away nervously. Arthur followed her back to the kegs of ale and was standing behind her when she turned, "Where is he?" His voice was winter ice and edged like a blade of steel.

"He went with Ginnade." She'd bowed her head and shook before Arthur, frightened. After Arthur stalked away, the biggest broadest Knight she'd ever seen had taken her into a hug and kissed her lightly. He'd chuffed her about surviving Arthur's temper and she'd fluttered back to her work with a smile for the man that promised things for later.

Arthur had thrown aside the door into Ginnade's small hut. Tristan had been sunk into her to the hilt, biting at her tits. She looked as if she was enjoying it more than the fact that Tristan would be paying her for it later. Arthur had snapped, "Get off her and come with me." Tristan had merely looked coldly at him and said, "In a minute." The girl had looked out of blue terrified eyes as Arthur stood watching while Tristan sped his thrusts into her until he let loose inside her. At the last moment he'd muttered a name and while Arthur could not hear whose it was, it hadn't been the girl's or Percival's.

Arthur stood immobile as Tristan stretched lazily. Arthur's breath caught at the sight of Tristan's lean body as muscles were popped with long arches of feet and hands. He'd shared whores with Lancelot many times and the sight of Lancelot's body was beautiful but it had never made him catch his breath like this.

Tristan dressed slowly, ignoring his commander the entire time. As he pulled on breeches and tied boots, Arthur had found himself looking for the scars he knew Tristan carried. A long one across the chest drew a line of silver in the pelt of hair that curled there. A deep one on his left arm where a Roman had tried to knife him during an argument. Arthur remembered knocking Tristan over as the knife had struck out for Tristan's heart. The fall had meant it only bit Tristan's arm instead. Arthur remembered his own dagger slicing through the Roman's throat for injuring one of HIS Knights. No one touched what was his.

The walk back up to the fortress was silent. Arthur seethed with anger and he had to discipline Tristan for the incident with the Woad boy. It was always a bad idea to mete out punishment when he was furious as he would regret later what he'd done under the influence of temper. Arthur tried to feel the cold, tried to become it as certainly as the warrior who followed him had. He didn't want to feel anything when he did what he must.

Arthur bottled some of his rage. He would have done the same as Tristan had and killed the Woad boy. However if he did nothing to Tristan for that act of defiance, the other Knights would feel betrayed by Arthur for letting one of them disobey his orders without consequence. Arthur dreaded what he had to do, but he would let no other be the hand that dealt out the pain. They were his men and it was his responsibility. The most he could do for Tristan was punish him in private.

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"You disobeyed my order to let the Woads go."

Complete silence answered Arthur, but then he hadn't expected anything else. Tristan stood in Arthur's room and eyed the items for discipline on the desk. The whips lay there stained with brown rust and the bowl of salve next to it for afterwards. Leather straps curled around a pail of water that waited with soft cloths folded neatly to the side. Jols had gathered these things at Arthur's order prior to the funeral with a stolid face.

"Strip."

Arthur was afraid for a minute that Tristan would ignore him yet again, making the matter even more serious. He was afraid that Tristan would push him into having him whipped publicly or worse, that he'd refuse to obey ever again and end up hung for mutiny. Tristan's eyes rolled like a nervous mare standing next to a snake. For a minute Arthur held his breath listening to the slow pulse of his own blood waiting for Tristan to decide.

Tristan's voice was clipped and soft. "You chose to keep us, Arthur. You could have left us to another Roman commander who would have had me killed and used Percival as he wished." Tristan's hands fumbled at the ties on his clothes. He drew off the green surcoat and dropped it. "You saved Percival's life when everyone else would have given him the last cut for the wound in his side. You made the surgeons save him." Tristan's hands grew steadier, unlacing the pale tunic blouse and drawing that over his head in a smooth flowing move. "You saved my life a hundred times when you stood between Percival and death. The wound you took from the lance in the thigh would have been his gut." Tristan kicked off his boots with emphasis.

Tristan stood before Arthur waiting. "You are my commander. Command me as you wish."

Arthur didn't need to tilt his head. Tristan stood nearly eye to eye with him, only a few inches shorter. Green gaze flickered with buried heat to meet cold golden brown ones. With a firm hand on Tristan's shoulder, Arthur took up the leather strap off the desk and guided Tristan to the side of his room to a wood pillar supporting the roof. Turning Tristan to face the pole, he bound Tristan's hands above his head tightly to the pole. Arthur didn't doubt that Tristan would have stood motionless for the whole beating without this, but this way Tristan could be less strong and use the pole for support.

It wasn't often that Arthur took the punishment of the Knights upon himself. Indeed, it had been long since ANY of his Knights had needed it. He gave them respect and cared for their lives as his own. In return, they gave him whatever he asked. It humbled him sometimes how they would leap to his orders and he gave thanks to God for it often in the chapel.

"Thirty lashes."

"It's supposed to be fifty."

"Thirty. Twenty with the flogger and ten with the viper."

Tristan's only answer was a shiver that ran through the muscles of his back. Arthur watched fascinated by the broad expanse of Tristan's shoulders. The endless practice with both bow and sword had filled his shoulders into those of a powerful lion. Tristan's back tapered down to narrow hips, like those of the boy pages. Arthur shook himself out of the contemplation of Tristan's physique and picked up the soft leather flogger, ten wide straps intended to inflict instructive bruising only.

"One." Arthur's voice was hoarse when he began and by the end of the twenty lashes, a mere soft whisper. "Twenty."

Tristan's back was a mass of wide red welts that tomorrow would be deep black bruises. Arthur had tried to spread them out so they would heal faster. By not layering the lashes one on top of the other, he'd kept the bruises from deepening down inside the muscle or so he hoped.

Arthur couldn't help what would come next any. He picked up the whip known here in Britannica as the viper. It too was a wide whip but the sides of it were bound with knotted rawhide strips and the end of it had two pieces of metal sewn to it. No matter how lightly he struck, Tristan would suffer from the bite.

Arthur began the count. His voice trembled as he drew back his arm and struck, "One." Bright blood left a small trail across Tristan's back. At each stroke, Tristan shuddered but only the heaving of his shoulders as he sucked in air betrayed the fact he'd felt the whip at all. By the time Arthur reached ten, those whip trails had oozed sheets of blood down Tristan's back until he looked as if he'd rolled in red paint.

Arthur dropped the whip on the floor and snatched up a knife to cut the limp body of Tristan free from the pillar. He hesitated for a moment as he considered freeing Tristan's bound hands. No, better to do that after Arthur had tended the wounds. He could have called for the surgeon or Jols to tend to Tristan but Tristan was HIS Knight and his responsibility.

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Arthur lifted up the nearly unconscious Tristan and dropped him on the bed. Jols would just have to find him other bedding somewhere. Turning Tristan facedown Arthur surveyed the damaged skin. He wet a cloth and washed the blood off as gently as he could. Some of the wounds still bled freely so he slathered on salve over them to help stop the flow. The balm supposedly took some of the sting of bruises away so Arthur applied a layer of it to Tristan's back.

One of the tracks of the viper whip had dipped below the edge of Tristan's breeches across his buttocks. There would be a nasty bruise there tomorrow. Arthur tugged the breeches down as Tristan stirred to back to life. Arthur overlaid the red welt that trailed down Tristan's buttocks with the thick cool ointment. Tristan sighed beneath his hands and quivered as fingers wandered back and forth over the mark.

Arthur was entranced by the curve of hip to the dip between the soft mound of bottom beneath his touch. Without thinking he pressed his fingers into the crack, delving into the darkness there to reach, to touch ....

"Arthur, WHAT are you doing?"

Tristan wriggled beneath him. Arthur leaned on him, pinning Tristan to the bed and kept exploring. His fingers greasy from the salve reached to press inward into Tristan.

"Arthur, stop."

Arthur's cock was straining inside his breeches. His belly heated with fire he'd never felt before. Tristan twisted beneath him and Arthur sucked in air so hot that the building must have been on fire. Tristan's body was a wild thing. Tristan was a wild thing, so untamed and feral. Only Percival had been able to reach Tristan, to bond with him.

Arthur remembered the arrogance Tristan had displayed earlier and abruptly his anger surged back to the surface. Tristan had shown disrespect to all the Knights by ignoring his own lover's funeral. Arthur remembered how they, Tristan and Percival, slept back to back always, in the field and in their room. The other Knights had come to show their sorrow and grief. Tristan hadn't even been there to see them honour Percival.

Arthur used his body to still Tristan's struggles. He pressed his finger slick with salve into Tristan's ass and then removed it to grip Tristan's buttock.

"Be still, Tristan." Arthur's voice wasn't a request. "Be still... " and Arthur's voice drawled sarcastically over the next words, "...for a MINUTE."

In response Tristan growled and writhed beneath Arthur, wriggling out from Arthur's hold, attempting to lift himself off the other side of the bed. Arthur snarled... how DARE Tristan disobey him AGAIN. Arthur got to his feet and grabbed Tristan, hauling him back to the center of the small bed. This time he took Tristan's bound hands and pinned them to the back of Tristan's neck with his left hand. With a swift move Arthur straddled Tristan's body with both legs and set his weight on the still flailing Knight's legs. Using his right hand Arthur pulled Tristan's breeches further down and this time he dug his thumb into Tristan's anus without care. Here in this tight warm spot, ... here...

"Gods, Arthur... please don't....that hurts."

Tristan tried to lift himself upward away from the thumb that filled his ass, that even now was shoving deeper in. As he squirmed away, Arthur became incensed with both fury and pleasure. Damn him, why couldn't he just be still? Arthur laid his body full length along the smaller Knight as his thumb felt the tight heat beneath. With his breath now in Tristan's ear and his firm grip on Tristan's body, Tristan's struggles slowed as he simply endured what Arthur was doing. The pain of the wounds on his back licked flames of agony every time he moved so he tried not to, but the thickness of Arthur's thumb HURT so he kept trying to twist away.

"Shush, Tristan... just be still ...for once be still for me."

Arthur took his thumb out and spat on his fingers. Using both fingers, he pushed into Tristan once again who lay shaking beneath him.

"Why... Arthur... why?...please ...no..."

Arthur breathed in the scent of Tristan's hair. His cock was fire beneath his breeches. Arthur shook as the need within built. He remembered Tristan's body stretching, feet arching twisting popping ankles. He wanted to ... and his hands were loosening the ties of his own breeches, freeing hot hard skin to cool air. He wanted to make Tristan... and he rolled over Tristan who took the moment of freedom to twist away again. Arthur grabbed Tristan by the hair and pulled him back down beneath him.

The rough skin of callouses on Arthur's hand pulled apart Tristan's buttocks as Arthur's knee pressed up between Tristan's legs. Even as Tristan bucked and tried to bite, Arthur relentlessly and implacably held him open to receive his cock. He grew more excited with every twist and turn of Tristan's body. The way in was tight but still greased from the salve on Arthur's hands and Arthur pressed in until he had buried himself in the writhing cursing warmth of Tristan. Without thought, just hunger, Arthur FUCKED Tristan uncaring of the whimpers and pleas. If anything it only made him want to possess Tristan harder deeper stronger more and more and more.

"no...no...no..." gasped Tristan until the pain of the unwanted invasion became a roaring monster inside his head and he could no longer protest, just suffer through the taking of his body. Arthur, his commander, the man he owed for so many things, the man he respected and yes, even worshiped for being good, right and honourable, it was ARTHUR who ignored him and was hurting him. Tristan grew numb with shock, becoming a still stiff body merely existing. Tristan endured the pain, unable to do anything else. He stared at the fire dancing in the fireplace, watching as the flames consumed the wood, even as Arthur consumed his body.

Arthur forced himself into Tristan over and over until the protests died away and the body beneath him stilled into acceptance. Arthur put both hands on Tristan's arms and pulled Tristan's body down to meet the driving force of his cock hammering deep within. The muscles clenched in protest against him swelled around his prick enclosing it in solid warmth that he forced apart again and again. When he came finally, the cum pulsing heavy beats of useless life into Tristan, Arthur collapsed under the weight of combined delight and agony. Tears of acid rained down his face to the unmoving back of Tristan.

God forgive him, because Arthur could not forgive himself...ever. What had he done?

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Arthur washed himself first then put his clothing to rights. Tristan still hadn't moved on the bed. Oddly pleased by that Arthur shuddered in disgust at himself. He gathered up Tristan's clothes before moving to the bed to cut the strap binding Tristan's hands. With a belly full of vomit that he choked back down, Arthur carefully dressed his silent Knight, replacing breeches by lifting limp legs and wiggling the cloth back upwards over the bony hip then sliding on the boots over beautiful sharp boned feet . He wound the soft cloths Jols had left around Tristan's torso after making him sit up, an unresponsive block of wood in his arms. Tristan was wordless, eyes sightless, looking at things only he could see.

"Tristan,...I..."

Arthur's voice trailed away, lost in the thickets of feelings he couldn't put into words. With shaking hands he pulled Tristan's tunic and surcoat over Tristan's head to hide the bandages beneath. He'd deeply wounded the man and the worst injuries were to things no one could touch and Arthur could never fix.

"Just go now, Tristan. Please go."

Tristan's head bowed and he wearily dragged himself to his feet. Arthur watched Tristan go with the sensation that he'd just destroyed whatever was left inside Tristan after Percival's death.

Tristan walked blindly to his room, eyes empty. It was clear to the servants who made way for him that he was in great pain. Going through the door at the end of the hall Tristan brushed by a young Knight coming in who looked after him in confused concern. Galahad continued on to Arthur's room to tell him that the other Knights were asking for him to come join their tales of Percival.

The knock on the door made Arthur look up from his intense study of the floor between his feet.

"Enter."

"Arthur...." Galahad's memorized invitation to Arthur from Lancelot and the others died away. His eyes locked onto the bloody viper laying yet curled on the floor resembling the snake it was named after. Gulping, he backed away until he was as far from Arthur as he could get. "Arthur. The others are asking for you to come and tell tales of Percival."

Arthur nodded mutely. It was an after funeral ritual for the remaining Knights, the telling and re-telling of stories about the fallen. What he wanted was to go to the chapel and find the words to tell God that he'd damned his soul; what he had to do was go before the remaining Knights and pretend that he hadn't just forcibly raped one of their brothers.

Tristan stumbled through the door of his room into the abyss of sorrow that he had been avoiding. Percival's things lay scattered right where he'd left them days ago. The bed side by side with Tristan's still bore the imprint of a body that would never lay there again. Tristan sat on his bed and reached over to touch the hollow place in his life.

Suddenly he jumped to his feet, ignoring the slices of pain inside and out, pacing from side to side in his room. Tristan ripped off his surcoat and tunic, upending a pitcher of water over his head. The shock of the cold water did little to free him from this waking nightmare. Falling to his knees he smothered a bitter wail and reproached himself in his head.

'You knew he was angry. You knew and you had to push. You had to mock his authority over you. You left him no room to forgive the death of the boy. You drove Arthur to this.'

Bowing his head to the floor, he remembered Percival's laughing face as he walked away with Isolde. He tried to see them in the red bright light behind his eyelids and couldn't quite clear the darkness away from his memory. Already they slipped into the beyond, leaving him alone in the world. Tristan rolled to the floor and gathered his knees to his chest, curling into a fetal ball. Would that he could cry, free tears from the ice inside him.

There was a hesitant knock on the door and Tristan didn't move, just shouted, "GO AWAY!"

Gawain's voice rumbled through the light wood panel that served as a barrier hoarding Tristan's privacy.

"Galahad says you're hurt. Let me help you."

Tristan snarled, "Go back to your woman, Gawain, and tell him to mind his own business."

"Please, Tristan. I know that you don't know me well, but I want to help you as a friend."

"I have no friends." Tristan whispered it softly. "I have no family." Tristan raised his voice and mocked the voice behind the door, "Lowering yourself to help a dirty Iazyge are you? What would a wet behind the ears whelp like you be able to help ME with anyway? GO AWAY! Leave me the FUCK alone!"

Outside the door, the sturdy lad who had been reaching through the door with his voice to offer the maddened wolf inside some comfort gave up. He patted the door with one hand and whispered, "When you're ready to live again... you'll find you still have friends."

Tristan pulled into a tighter ball and waited for sleep to sweep his pain and grief away but it seemed out of his reach beyond the ragged waves of misery. When sleep finally came Tristan kept dreaming of Arthur growing into a Giant and turning into a being made of fire that bent down and opened a maw full of sword shaped teeth to bite him, to chew him up. Why had he pushed Arthur so far?

The night came and went without Tristan moving. The pain in his back burned dully as the wounds rubbed against the bandages damp with blood and sweat. The acrid smell of the rosemary laced balm rubbed the pain of the rape raw in his head. The pain in his belly cramping so tightly that he hugged his knees tighter and suffered. Inside his head he remembered the disdain he'd had as Arthur had ordered him off the girl. Why had he done that when he knew Arthur was angry over the Woad boy's death? He'd taunted Arthur who took every death as his own personal failure, forced Arthur to what he'd done to Tristan. The sun outside climbed into the heavens and passed over the noon mark without Tristan moving.

It was the clatter of swords that shook Tristan back into the world. The ring of metal on metal as someone somewhere met blade with blade. He rolled onto his knees and stood carefully as the world tiptilted around him. He walked to the square hole they had termed a window but was really an arrow slit covered with hide. Pulling it back Tristan looked down from the barracks second floor where he lived on the familiar sight of Arthur training with Lancelot. Two great warriors, well matched, was a song made flesh and steel.

Tristan let the hide drop back into place. He remembered the horrible pain of it - Arthur biting at Tristan's skin as he ploughed waves of pain into Tristan's body, the whip gouging bites of pain into his back, the soul destroying pain of watching Percival fall. If only he'd been closer, faster, had turned a bit sooner and had seen the boy coming. The numbing awful finality of his grief ate at him. How could he bear this, live with this agony? The dagger blade was in his hand and the point of it digging into the skin of his elbow as Tristan prepared to let his life bleed out with a downward swipe of the blade to his wrist.

His door rattled with the pounding Gawain gave it as his voice yelled, "Woads. Attacked the northern village. All out. Battle ready."

Woads. There was something that he could live for, bear anything for. Kill the Woads.

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as usual TBC...
PeeK

Feel free to screech in disgust!