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The Tristan Effect	By : pharaohskitty Category: G through L > King Arthur Views: 4357 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Snaring Tristan
Author & email: pharaohs_kitty@yahoo. com

Official Muse and Beta Credits: sue_ductive and neldluva
Type (slash/het/gen): slash
Pairing: Tristan/Lancelot/Gawain
Rating: NC-17, for explicit sex
Summary: How do you snare a hawk?
Archive: Feel free and if you can do better with this idea, help yourself.
Disclaimer: Characters and settings do NOT belong to ME
Author's Notes: Homosexual Sex, that is what slash means.
Gawain

Galahad�s mouth was still open. Gawain had counted up to twenty twice now.

"I�m just asking, Galahad."

"Move out of our room, but... you... my things," Galahad looked around at all of his things piled up on the wall. The chest full of clothes, the huge pile of woven blankets (gifts from very pleased women), the pile of leather against the wall for repairing.

"It would be easier if I moved wouldn�t it?" Gawain looked back down at the metal plates he was sewing onto a piece of leather. He only had the pack at the foot of his bed and the weapons on the wall to move. The women seemed to like him well enough. They sought him ought when they needed cheering up, but the compulsive urges to give something that overtook them after they�d lain with Galahad, well it never seemed to happen with him.

"Did I do something wrong, brother?" Galahad had set the boot down that he�d been oiling. His dark face was usually either sullen or sunny. Right now, it had the oddest expression of fear on it. Galahad tried to think of what he might have done to anger Gawain. Had he poached one of his women? Interrupted him during lovemaking once too often? Although it had never bothered either one of them before to fuck their women with the other coming and going out of the room.

"Galahad, never! You know you are my brother always don�t you? It�s nothing you have done or not done. I just need ...ah, some privacy for a while." Gawain hoped the rising color in his face would not betray him.

"Oh." Galahad looked at Gawain with something like relief. "You know we�ve been in this room together for nearly ten years now. It would be odd not to have you there."

"I know." It troubled Gawain too. Somehow he just couldn�t picture bedding down with Tristan in the same room with Galahad though. He needed someplace of his own. Gawain looked up at Galahad in all seriousness. "I won�t miss you after you�ve been drinking though. The smell." He held his nose pointedly with two fingers.

Galahad picked up a tunic and threw it at Gawain�s head. A thought crossed his mind. Gawain had no intention of making Galahad move, he�d planned to be the one moving all along. "What room did you have in mind?"

"Ector�s. Tristan has taken over Percival and Agravaine�s rooms on his floor with all of his pretties. Ector�s room is the next best one."

Galahad�s eyes narrowed. Just yesterday Lancelot, citing the need for a bigger room to hold his weapons, had moved into Gareth�s old room across the hall from Tristan. Now Gawain wanted to move into Ector�s room right next to it. All these years as the rooms had gone from four knights to two to one to none and Gawain had NEVER wanted one of his own.

"You want to tell me what exactly is going on, Gawain? All this week you and Lancelot have been closer than I have ever seen you or fighting like the scenting dogs."

Gawain grimaced. He should have known he couldn�t avoid this conversation. Idly he wondered how high he was going to have to count before Galahad�s mouth closed this time.

Lancelot

His inner wolf was getting the better of him. Right now he wanted to leap across the table and rip young Gawain�s heart out. Make that beautiful, sunny, kind, wise AND young Gawain who had no trouble getting near Tristan. NOT that Tristan paid any attention to him. Gawain might have been invisible for all Tristan noticed.

Lancelot would be foaming at the mouth if he could. Mad, absolutely insane he thought. The weeks of pursuing the silent Tristan through the halls and the yards unable to voice his now all-consuming NEED of Tristan. If Lancelot did not know that Tristan was unafraid of anything now, if he did not know that Tristan would stand still in the middle of a field of Woads unmoving while they passed by... well, he would swear that Tristan was avoiding him. Maybe he�d even, like the little boy who wanted to take the focus off the fact he ate his mother�s newly baked bread and poked the paper hive making the wasps mad enough to sting him, maybe Tristan had poked a stick in the Woad�s collective asses to stir up this current constant skirmishing.

Every time he saw Tristan now, it was either in the distance riding out or in the company of Arthur giving a report or making plans to fight. Gawain at least got to speak to him of things other than the constant spilling of blood. Galahad seemed to be standing in his way every time Lancelot tried to join them. Damn Gawain and his beautiful sunny face. Damn him, damn him......

Gawain

Tristan was so busy watching Lancelot over my shoulder......

Lancelot

"We�ve been going about this all wrong."

Gawain�s head lifted up from the boar he was busy dressing out. Blood spattered his face with little speckles and still he looked like the bloody morning sun. Lancelot wondered how long he was going to want to strangle Gawain. Jealousy. It really bit.

"I�m slaughtering this boar just fine. I might add - without any help from you."

"You stabbed it, you clean it. Nice work I might add. Spear right through the artery and pinned him while he bled out. Too bad the monster weighs a ton."

"Didn�t have much choice now, did I? He was coming after you. I TOLD you not to get down on foot with that much pig crap lying around."

"I thought I saw some footprints."

"Trust me, if Tristan is around here and that�s a huge IF given the events of the recent weeks, we are not going to know, Lancelot. When does a ghost leave a trail? And that�s all he is anymore."

"Which brings me back to my point."

"Which was?" Gawain sort of waved his knife in an exasperated twirl.

"Which was that we�ve been going about this all wrong."

Gawain closed his eyes in exasperation, "Lancelot, WILL you get to the POINT?!"

"Two hares chasing the hawk. It�s not going to work."

Gawain

Gawain considered their fruitless endeavors of the past six weeks. Tristan neither saw him or stood still long enough for either of them to speak to him. If he didn�t know better... He tapped on the boar carcass with the knife. Thinking, thinking....

"Lancelot, I believe you�re right." It hurt, but he�d said it.

"Knew I was." Lancelot didn�t look any happier over it.

"What does the hawk want? The hares. What do hawks come to?"

Lancelot smiled. In a soft husky voice he said, "The lure."

Gawain grinned wickedly.

Lancelot

Lancelot's heart stopped. Air ceased to exist. Is this what
Tristan sees when he looks at Gawain? This naughty creature that
resides inside the placid and optimistic peacemaker we all know, is
that what Tristan desires when he thinks about Gawain's mouth?
Somewhere in his jealousy he'd overlooked something important.
Tristan desires Gawain. Beautiful, sunny Gawain.

Lancelot got up and walked away from Gawain before he gave in to the urge to stick his dagger between Gawain's ribs. He paced the clearing impatiently while Gawain continued dressing out the boar. Lancelot kept sneaking glances over at Gawain while he was thinking. Oh, well, maybe thinking wasn't the right word. Feeling madly jealous. Feeling angry. Feeling .... defeated.

If Tristan ever stopped long enough to look at either of them, if Tristan saw the desire in both sets of eyes, which one of them would he choose?

In the middle of his pacing, Lancelot stopped and looked at Gawain. He looked at Gawain and saw that if he was Tristan, there would be no doubt to the choosing. Tristan NEVER looked at Gawain anymore if he could help it, he looked over Gawain's shoulder at whatever would distract him long enough to keep from looking into Gawain's eyes. He looked then at Lancelot. Tristan could control himself around Lancelot. Lancelot saw who Tristan would choose and it was Gawain. Beautiful, sunny Gawain.

Lancelot surrendered.

Gawain

Lancelot had become his own personal guard. He'd taken to begging Arthur to accompany whatever patrol Gawain was sent on. Whenever Gawain set out hunting, Lancelot was right behind him. Lancelot had ceased to be his sarcastic, passionate self and had turned into the very shadow of Gawain's footsteps. A very grim shadow.

Gawain covertly eyed Lancelot as he rode at the head of the patrol with the Roman captain. Where had Lancelot's laughing blackness gone? The endless teasing of his brother knights had vanished. None of them viewed this as a good thing. Galahad watched Gawain watch Lancelot and when Gawain turned to him with questions in his eyes, Galahad shrugged. He didn't know either.

Gawain wondered at the change in Lancelot. For weeks, they'd been competing to get Tristan's attention and yet since the day in the woods when Lancelot had suggested they needed to change tactics, Lancelot had stopped trying to talk to Tristan. Instead, he'd started following Gawain around as if Gawain were seventeen again and needed someone to cover his flank.

Gawain was still working on the problem of acquiring Tristan's attention, but Lancelot's behavior had him more concerned. Galahad at first had suggested that perhaps Lancelot's affections had changed and he was now pursuing Gawain. But neither of them believed it. Lancelot didn't talk to Gawain, hell, he'd stopped talking to anybody except Arthur. When the others went to drink or whore or dice, Lancelot went to his room and firmly closed the door. Lancelot had always been a little like Tristan, just a little apart and different, but now they might be twins in their ways.

Lancelot

He nearly hadn't been in time. The Woads attacked suddenly when they were separated by the creek they were crossing. Gawain and Galahad had taken the brunt of it. The Woads had waited for Lancelot and the Roman calvary to be on the other side of the creek before attacking. Perhaps they'd thought the two younger knights easier targets. They'd been wrong.

Galahad had scythed through the Woads. For all that he detested the endless bloodshed, Galahad had no wish to be the one shedding his blood. For one thing, Galahad hated to be stitched up. Gawain had taken out the ones to the left of Galahad with his usual efficiency, but neither of them saw the archers just beyond the main fight firing at them. Lancelot had.

He'd sailed his horse over the creek heedless of the probable stone injuries, of the possibility of bones cracking among the rocks. Lancelot had descended upon the archers with both swords out and only at the last second had they switched their aim to him. He'd taken an arrow through his left arm before killing them. He'd been unnecessarily brutal about it, making sure they were cut several times before he killed them.

Gawain and Galahad had reigned in beside him as he dispatched the last one on the ground. They'd looked down at him with concern in their eyes. Lancelot had merely looked at them to make sure they were well before ripping the arrow the rest of the way through his flesh. He was still furious. He spat on the Woads as he remounted.

He nearly hadn't been in time.

Gawain

"I want to take a look at that arm, Lancelot."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not fine. You only bound it up and I know it needs cleaning and stitching."

"I'll get someone else to look at it."

"No, you won't."

Gawain stood in Lancelot's way as they were exiting the stable. Galahad gave them a wide berth as he went around the two of them. He caught Gawain's eye as he went by. Gawain shook his head at him, so Galahad kept going. Gawain's patience was at an end. Galahad knew what that meant, but Lancelot didn't have the benefit of years of being in the same room with Gawain. Stupid Lancelot.

Lancelot started to go around Gawain. All he wanted was to get back to his room and flop onto his bed to sleep, dirt and all. He screamed in pain as Gawain grabbed the injured arm and hooked him behind his knee dropping him onto his back on the ground. Gawain dropped onto his chest with his dagger at Lancelot's throat.

"I'm going to take a look at that arm."

Gawain was pissed. He hoped Lancelot could see in his eyes just how much he was pissed. He let Lancelot up, half-hoping Lancelot would argue some more. He wanted to hurt Lancelot until he fought back. Gawain wanted the old Lancelot back.

Neither of them noticed the shadow up on the wall.

Lancelot

Lancelot looked at Gawain carefully stitching up the last bit of flesh. All through this torture he'd been watching Gawain. His braids swung enchantingly every time he bent over Lancelot's arm to wipe a bit of dirt out of the wound. Gawain was always completely focused on whatever task was at hand, but Lancelot had never noticed the way he was meticulous before. He'd never been in Gawain and Galahad's room, so he didn't know if the sparse furnishings and precise way everything was sitting in the room was typical of Gawain or not.

The fire had been quickly built up because Gawain left the fire banked and wood stacked in another corner. If they'd gone to Lancelot's room, it would have been some time because you'd have to fetch more wood and coals from another fire first. He often went to bed cold and woke up cold because he was too lazy to fetch what was needed.

Gawain had a crock of fresh water drawn that morning ready on the table and a kit with cloth, needle and suture material. All of that would have been absent in Lancelot's room. Lancelot compared his natural messiness with Gawain's room. He thought absently of the absolute care Tristan took with everything he owned. He'd been in Tristan's rooms once when Tristan had offered him a new dagger for one lost in battle. Lancelot had gazed in wonder at all the small treasures there. Shelves covered every wall and chests every inch of floor space. Tristan had smacked his hand for picking up a goblet and setting it back in a different spot. They were two of a kind Lancelot thought, Tristan and Gawain. Except Tristan was a magpie.
It didn't hurt as much as it had thinking of them like that. Tristan and Gawain.

When Gawain turned to him after binding up his arm, Lancelot didn't even hesitate. He grinned happily, reached his good right hand up and tugged teasingly on Gawain's braid.

"Just like Tristan."

Lancelot left the speechless Gawain behind.

Gawain

Gawain was tracking the deer and Lancelot was tracking him. He knew Lancelot was right behind him somewhere. With the rebirth of Lancelot's smiles and teasing, the shadowing was much easier to take. It wasn't so bad having Galahad on one hand and Lancelot on the other. They'd never been close to Lancelot because of the age difference, but now they felt more like his younger brothers than nuisances that he dearly wished would disappear. Gawain just wished Lancelot was a little quieter when they were hunting.

Gawain settled in the ferns and waited for Lancelot to catch up. He'd spotted a fine stag but it was too far away for a good shot. He was the better tracker, but Lancelot had further range and accuracy when it came to archery. Gawain looked behind and Lancelot had come up to his horse. He motioned Lancelot up next to him.

Lancelot settled next to him with inquiry in his eyes. Gawain pointed out the stag drifting in and out of the trees on the other side of the river. In a moment another one joined it. Gawain looked at Lancelot as he examined the area and the wind. When Lancelot was sure, he fired with such silence that the stag behind fell in place even as he was firing at the stag in front. Gawain nearly cracked Lancelot's ribs with a hug as the second one fell. He whooped and ran for the horses. Lancelot lazily following after.

"We're close enough that we can take them back for butchering, Gawain."

Gawain looked down from his horse at Lancelot. He nodded in agreement and started for the river. He was just looking for the best place to ford the river when he heard a squealing sound behind him. He whipped his head around just in time to see a huge sow crashing through the brush toward the still on foot Lancelot. His breath caught as she plowed into Lancelot's legs and started attempting to crush him.

He rode up on her and whacked her in the head with his axe to get her beady eyed attention. Screaming at her, he drew her away from Lancelot until he could get a clear shot. He threw his axe and it sank into her eye. Squealing she ran off into the brush, stopping every now and then to attempt to dislodge the axe on a tree.

Lancelot sat up even as Gawain was dismounting next to him.

"Gods, Lancelot. I thought you dead from the way she was tossing you around."

"No luck. She left me alive to suffer."
Hacking, Lancelot spat blood out of his mouth. Gawain paled. Bleeding from the mouth often meant death from broken parts inside.

"Get some water, Gawain. I seem to have bitten my cheek and I'm swallowing blood."

Gawain nodded in relief. He grabbed his water skin off his horse and knelt next to the still coughing Lancelot.

"It hurts. Gods, it hurts."

Gawain rode back in behind the swimming in and out of consciousness Lancelot. He dumped the deer with the cooks and continued on to the stables. Dagonet and Bors came running when they saw Gawain dismount at the stables. They lifted Lancelot down to the ground carefully. He swore every inch of the way.

"Lancelot was trampled by the boar's mate. He's stiffened up on the ride home. Take him down to the baths and soak him in the heat, Bors. I'll come down after I've put up our horses and gear."

"Dagonet will take him and you down to the baths. I'll take care of your horses," growled Bors. "You both look like you need it."

Gawain opened his mouth to protest, but promptly closed it again after eyeing Bors. He trailed behind the rapidly disappearing Dagonet.
Dagonet helped hold Lancelot up long enough to strip him since he wasn't steady enough on his own legs. It was only after they got his clothes off and they could see the blackened skin, that they realized he couldn't be left in the bath on his own even for a minute.
Gawain sighed, stripped off as much as he could while Dagonet held Lancelot up and waded in still half-clothed. Dagonet gathered up their things as Gawain held up the silent Lancelot on the bench in the heated pool. Dagonet looked at the two of them in the pool and nodded as he left the steamy room. Gawain hoped that meant in Dagonet's odd substitution of actions for words that he'd send someone back with clothing for them.

"Gawain."

"What, Lancelot?"

"This is kind of nice."

Gawain felt Lancelot shift in his arms until Lancelot's chest was leaning against Gawain's shoulder and Lancelot's head was alongside Gawain's breathing into his ear.

Yeah, it was kind of nice.

Neither one of them saw Tristan slip into the room and leave their clothes.

Lancelot

Someone had been in his room and built up the fire. When Lancelot had stumbled into his room with Gawain's support and laid down upon the bed, he'd felt the loss of Gawain's body heat immediately. Gawain had tucked a blanket over him and left. He felt abandoned and cold. It didn't matter how warm his room was or how warm the blankets were. The chill was inside of his soul. Tristan and Gawain, Gawain and Tristan. There'd be no room for him.

He was nearly asleep when Gawain came back into the room. He was balancing a tray of bread and hot soup. Lancelot felt Gawain settle onto the bed next to him.

"I know you're nearly asleep, but you need to wake up long enough to eat, Lancelot."

He opened his eyes and looked into Gawain's concerned pale blue eyes.

"Did you know your eyes are the same color as morning sky?"

"Ah, see, now I know you need to eat. You're babbling like a girl."

Gawain's hands pulled him upright and his head spun dizzily. He felt breathless and weak as he braced himself against Gawain's shoulder. Gawain was warm, he was strong. Strong enough to hold him while the world tipped sideways. He laid his head on Gawain's shoulder and groaned.

"Someone has tilted the world. It's all crooked."

Gawain just laughed at him and passed a piece of bread from the tray to Lancelot's hand on his shoulder. With steady hands, Gawain held the soup mug up to his mouth while Lancelot sipped at it. Gawain patiently shredded the bread into small enough bits for Lancelot's swollen mouth. When Lancelot was done eating, Gawain helped him lay back down on the bed.
Lancelot looked up at Gawain as he drifted off again. He wondered how long it would be before he started getting cold again. As soon as Gawain left?

"Tristan," he mumbled just before he fell asleep.

Gawain

Shocked blue eyes looked down at Lancelot's curly hair and closed eyes. He was shocked at what he'd so suddenly felt. Jealousy. Lancelot had spent the day with him, Gawain. It was he who'd taken care of Lancelot all evening, who'd held him and steadied him, and fed him. Why had he said Tristan? It was he, Gawain, who sat with Lancelot.

Lancelot shuddered in his sleep. He seemed colder now. Gawain put his hand to Lancelot's face. His skin was turning greyer, icier. Gawain snatched up some furs and huddled them over Lancelot. He built up the fire and went back to check on Lancelot. Lancelot�s face was less grey but still he shivered under the coverings.

Gawain hesitantly stripped his outer garments off and crawled into the bed with Lancelot. It wasn't that much different from sharing a bed with Galahad on a cold winter night, was it? He wrapped himself around the cold skin of Lancelot and closed his eyes against the pain in his heart. How had he come to this? Jealous of Lancelot because of Tristan. Jealous of Tristan because of Lancelot. He hugged the somnolent Lancelot closer as tears slipped down his face silently.

Lancelot

The days of idleness were wearing on him. He felt stretched thin, like leather scraped too finely. Any moment now, he'd break apart and spill out his insides. The only good thing about the lengthening span of uselessness was that he had more company every day. The Woads were settling down again, presumably into preparing for winter. Tristan was back in the fort and ghosting through the halls at night. Lancelot could hear the doors down the hall open as he lay in bed suffering from the endless ache at night. Tristan only came in at night.

Gawain had taken to alternately driving him crazy with too much companionship or vanishing into the woods to hunt with Galahad fast upon his heels. Lancelot was glad someone else was watching the increasingly moody knight. Gawain would spend hours being amusing with games and stories, then suddenly become sullen over some slight and storm out of Lancelot's room.

Lancelot found himself sitting in the dark once again waiting to hear the door close across the hall. He'd heard Tristan walk quietly down the hall in the shadows to enter his own rooms. Lancelot had discovered he could move today without pain. Now he just needed a certain aggravating young knight to come home and slam the door to his room.

Lancelot was nearly asleep even though he was sitting on a bench with his bare back to the chilly wall when the softest sound reached him. Evidently Gawain had decided to be considerate when he returned this night and was readying himself for bed quietly. Lancelot waited for several more sounds to go by before getting up. It was time to confront Tristan.

Gawain

The loud voices and bangs down the hall woke him. He'd barely time to get to his door with his axe in hand when it crashed open. Tristan slid carefully by Lancelot's two swords and backed into Gawain's room with his dagger in hand. Lancelot barred the door with his body, sweat dripping off his chest with the effort it had taken to drive Tristan down the hall.

Lancelot growled, "Now close the door, Tristan." His eyes glowed in the dim light from the dying fire. Gawain gaped as Tristan dutifully closed the door against the fierce visage of Lancelot both swords in hand and bloodlust in his eyes. Tristan's dagger shifted hand to hand in his mute fury. Snarling, Tristan rounded on Gawain who carefully opened his hands and dropped his axe while backing up to the fireplace.

Tristan turned away from Gawain and paced furiously. Gawain watched him glide from one side of the room to another with the grace of a caged wild thing. Tristan opened the door once but Lancelot was still there, both swords in hand.

Gawain began to see what Lancelot was up to as he watched Tristan's hair drift across his eyes. The dark tattoos on Tristan's cheekbones ate the small light left from the fire in the room. Tristan's dark eyes glittered with fury, but Gawain could only see them when Tristan turned from one side of the room to another. It was only a split second here or there, but Tristan's eyes settled on him as he turned. Barely a glance.

Gawain quickly tired of watching Tristan ignore him. The anger he'd been lashing out at Lancelot with, the anger at Tristan for so thoroughly ignoring him for all these years when he'd been blindly worshiping Tristan from a distance, it all surfaced at once. Gawain walked into Tristan's path and snatched Tristan's dagger out of his hand.

"What game are you and Lancelot playing at, Tristan?"

Tristan didn't answer him. He seemed lost in thought as he looked at his empty hand. Gawain was furious. Couldn't Tristan, just for once, really LOOK at him? Tristan's dagger in hand, he threw open his door to yell at Lancelot. Frustration tore through him as Gawain discovered the hall empty. He slammed open the door to Lancelot's room and found that empty as well.

"Aaarrgh!"

Gawain stalked back into his own room seething. His chest felt tight from all the anger he'd been holding in. Tristan stood in the exact same spot. Gawain grabbed Tristan's hand and slapped his dagger back into it. Without thinking about the possible consequences, he wrapped his hands around Tristan's shoulders and shook him.

"Why don't you LOOK at me?"

"I am not Galahad, Gawain. I cannot look at you with the eyes of a brother bent on sharing mischief with you. I am not Arthur. I can no longer look on you as a father or uncle does with pride in my eyes for your accomplishments."

Tristan looked into Gawain's eyes finally. There was nothing there but an animal need to HAVE. The husky voice in the shadow held in Gawain's arms built a fire inside of Gawain's belly that had nothing to do hunger or fear.

"I am not Lancelot. I cannot look at you with ....

Tristan's arms snaked around Gawain's waist. He roughly pulled Gawain up against his hauberk and bent his head to cover Gawain's mouth completely with his own. Gawain closed his eyes and accepted the pleasurable feel of Tristan plundering his mouth with lips and tongue and teeth. Tristan's left hand wound through Gawain's hair as he ground his hips against Gawain's obvious welcome.

"This, this is all I have for you, Gawain. Nothing more than this. Just the pleasure of skin and touch, not the caring you need. I only desire your body, your mouth, your pleasure. I will put you on the bed and take what I want until I no longer want it. Then as surely as the rain comes, you will hate me. I don't want you to hate me, Gawain."

The words were hoarse against Gawain's ear, bitter feelings spewed out into the dark just as too much rotten ale cannot be kept down forever. Tristan pushed Gawain away from his body hesitantly, reluctantly. Gawain tried to look Tristan in the eye, but the light had entirely died away. Tristan walked out of the room and Gawain said nothing to stop him.

Lancelot

Arthur seemed intent on killing him this morning. The ready grin on Arthur's face as he sparred with Lancelot gave the lie to that thought. Finally, Arthur stepped back as Lancelot's arm began to tremble with the effort it was taking to lift it yet again to meet the onslaught of Excalibur.

"As I thought. You are in no shape to be leaving the fort yet, Lancelot."

"I only want to go hunting, deer not Woads."

"You know as well as I that the Woads hunt us daily. Did they think you an easy target, then you would find yourself the deer for the day."

Lancelot's head dropped to his chest as he let the weariness show. Arthur slapped him on the shoulder in sympathy as he sheathed Excalibur.

"I know you tire of these walls. Perhaps you tire more of watching Gawain go hunting with Galahad and not you."

Lancelot lifted his head to gaze into Arthur's concerned eyes. The teasing light he saw there made him flush with embarrassment. He turned away to face the Wall as he sheathed his swords.

"Only a blind man would not see that something has changed between you and Gawain, Lancelot. We are none of us blind. I have noted that I never find you at Vanora's tables any longer stealing women out from under the others. I never find Gawain there now either. The women make much complaint of that according to Bors."

Arthur laughed at Lancelot's thoughtful expression. He reached out with a brotherly hand and ruffled Lancelot's hair before putting a helping arm around Lancelot's waist. Lancelot was trembling further down than his arm. His legs seemed weary beyond the simple act of sparring with Arthur. Grateful but shamed, he leaned upon Arthur.

Arthur's voice whispered in his ear as they staggered back to the hall. "Not to mention that Tristan is upon the wall and you have not ONCE looked up to fall entranced by the sight."

Lancelot flushed even deeper.

"Tristan's furious at me anyway, Arthur."

"Tristan's anger is like the snow, Lancelot. It falls to freeze you to the bone, but it melts away in the light of the sun."

"I don't think he can see the sun these days, Arthur. It doesn't matter how brightly the sun shines, it never warms him."

"Ah, I see what you mean. Perhaps it will take more than the sun then, perhaps the heat of a wolf pelt in his bed."

Lancelot looked at Arthur in amazement as they stopped before the door.

Arthur shrugged. "None of you are any use to me if you do not start focusing on the here and now. I do not wish to lose my second because he was careless of his own safety in the pursuit of another's. I do not wish to lose my scout because he lets himself freeze to the point of insanity. I do not wish to lose any of my knights. Sort this out, Lancelot."

Gawain

Gawain lead his fractious horse dancing past a nearly prone Lancelot on a bench at the stable doors. He knew Lancelot would follow him inside. As he dragged the saddle off the horse (who was still shifting and snorting beneath his hands despite the long day and having been walked out thoroughly), Gawain could feel Lancelot's gaze on his back. A patient Lancelot, would wonders never cease?

Gawain hefted his saddle over to the wooden rack to dry out. Lancelot merely moved quietly out of his way and even picked up the bucket of grain to hand to Gawain for the horse's trough. A helpful Lancelot, another miracle had dawned upon this Earth.

Gawain resolutely ignored Lancelot. He was in no mood for Lancelot's questioning over the night before. He had no answers for those questions.

Gawain thoroughly brushed off the mud from his horse's legs and dried off the sweat from where the saddle had sat upon the horse's back. Sores could develop easily in this eternal damp. Finally, he could find nothing more to do for his horse, so Gawain turned his attention to his tack only to find Lancelot had beaten him to it. The bridle was neatly hung on it's peg, the saddle cleaned and oiled on the rack. His gear was tidily stowed on a hay bale and Lancelot sat upon another, waiting. Waiting as a hawk waits for the rabbit to break cover.

Gawain nearly choked with shock.

"Now, Gawain, sit and speak to me."

Gawain eyed the softly spoken Lancelot with unease. What would Lancelot ask? What could he, Gawain, answer? Tristan had said 'I cannot look at you as Lancelot does...'.

"You may not have noticed when you came in, but Tristan was up on the Wall staring out at the northern forest."

"I noticed."

"Ah. So did things go well with you last night? No? I knew they did not. It was but minutes that he stayed and even as I believe in Tristan's skills, I do not believe that would have been long enough for what SHOULD have happened. After all my hard work, as well." Lancelot patted the hay bale in front of him.

Gawain reluctantly sat on it. It was far enough from Lancelot to give him some sense of safety. He looked at Lancelot's face and decided that amusement was what was written upon it. Relaxing but a little, Gawain leaned toward Lancelot and asked with sheer confusion, "WHY, why did you DO that?"

Lancelot's eyes went all dreamy and soft. The normal darkling look faded into something much sweeter, kinder and scarier. Gawain's hands itched to trace the line of that soft look across Lancelot's cheekbone, down the cheek to the corner of his mouth to check the reality of that change in his demeanor.

"I thought it would be the best thing."

"Tristan thought it would be the stupid thing."

"Tristan isn't always right, Gawain. He especially isn't right when it comes to remaining alone. None of us should be alone, Gawain. It's too damn cold."

"It's still summer, Lancelot."

"According to Arthur, it's freezing. I thought Tristan needed the sun, but now I'm sure of it."

"How did Arthur get into this?"

Lancelot laughed. The familiar dark wickedness filled his eyes. Gawain relaxed and had to laugh too. He didn't really follow what Lancelot was saying, but he could read Lancelot's eyes perfectly well. Wickedness and sin were painted there as surely as the Woads painted themselves with black symbols on blue skin. An answering grin spread across his face as he thought of wickedness with Lancelot, with Tristan. Pure male anticipation.

"We won't catch Tristan in his rooms again."

Gawain nodded. We. He liked the sound of that.

Lancelot

Galahad had enlisted Bors and Dagonet to help. He was currently prying every tip for fighting Woads he could out of Tristan. Bors and Dagonet were filling Tristan's mug of ale every chance they got while playing a little game of dice called Legion. Every time a perfect twelve came up, it was time for the winner to pass the dice on and the loser to drink. So far Tristan was drunk enough that he'd apparently not noticed that the dice kept coming to him from both Bors and Dagonet. He was drinking twice as much, twice as often, but they had twice the capacity he did.

Even drunk, Tristan was dangerous. A dagger was only a twitch away. So all three of them were being very careful to keep Tristan in a pleasant mood. Not all of the scars on their bodies were from Woads or Romans.

Vanora bustled over and mopped the table off yet again with a rag. She smacked Bors up side the head as she sniped at them all, "About time you all was for your beds, I'm thinking. I have children to look after in the morning so I can't spend the whole night out here looking after you."

Galahad nodded and left the table gravely. He only grinned after he was far enough from the table that no one could see. Bors and Dagonet grumbled and growled and sucked down the last of their ales before lurching to their feet. They wandered off into the night, side by side, with Dagonet promising Vanora that Bors would make it to her bed soon.

"Well," Vanora said to the last occupant of the table, "be off with you then, Tristan."

"Be off where? It's all the same, Vanora."

"Wouldn't be, if you had half an ounce of wisdom, but likely you'll just wander off out there into the wood as usual," Vanora whispered as she turned away. Sharply, she snarled at Tristan, "Well, get on with you. I've cleaning to do and you're in my way."

Vanora turned away from Tristan and started bustling busily. She looked up long enough to meet Gawain's eyes around the corner. He was leaning quietly against the wall and waiting. She jerked her head at Tristan and shooed Gawain off. Gawain slipped off into the night to meet Lancelot outside the gates.

Tristan finally attained his feet and wove a path out of the fort. Like an owl more than a hawk, his eyes seemed adjusted to the night darkness. Moonlight lit his path, but clouds kept passing over it and covering everything with veils of shadow. His eyes seemed to have veils in front of them tonight as well. He kept stopping to lean against a wall, a post, a fence. Eventually he made his way out into the night.
Outside the fort, his feet followed a path of their own, as they did every night. He was just drunk enough to not see the two shadows following him, but he knew they were there. They'd been following him every night this week, a little further into the forest each time.

Lancelot was waiting up ahead of Tristan. He was crouched behind a large deadfall where they had last lost Tristan. Both he and Gawain were getting closer to where Tristan spent most of his nights, maybe? Neither of them knew if this would work, but so far Tristan had given no sign that he knew they were tracking him to bed at night. Where else could they corner him? Tristan didn't stay anywhere long enough except on top of the wall, and while he and Gawain had come to grips with their desire for Tristan - it didn't extend to seducing Tristan in full view of their brother knights and every snickering Roman for miles. The only catch was that Tristan was the one who'd taught both of them to track and neither pupil had excelled the teacher.

Glancing over the deadfall, Lancelot kept wait. He'd wait eternally if it meant that he could perform his devotions to the gods of living on Tristan's body. Lancelot smiled at the thought of that. He'd thought about taking Gawain into his bed first. After all, Gawain wasn't hiding from him anymore. It hadn't seemed right to him to do that. Lancelot and Gawain had become one together in their pursuit of Tristan. It was only right that Tristan be the first thing they shared.

Breath seemed lost to him as Lancelot watched Tristan's shape come into view as the moon parted to reveal the quiet grey ghost flitting through the forest. Lancelot waited for Tristan to pass and was startled when Tristan looked directly at the deadfall on the way by. Tristan's teeth flashed brightly in the moonlight as he started singing a bawdy song. The natural smooth glide of Tristan's gait wavered as he caught his balance once or twice. Lancelot mused that it was a lot easier to track a drunk Tristan than a sober one.

Gawain caught up to Lancelot and whispered in his ear, "Tristan isn't himself tonight, is he?"

Lancelot shrugged. He, himself was never the same twice when he was drunk - sometimes morose, sometimes furious, sometimes full of naughty pranks. Gawain was always a cheerful drunk. Well, Gawain was just about always content and happy, except when he was storming out of Lancelot's rooms after Lancelot had needled him once too often lately. It was what he loved about Gawain, that even keel that kept him steady even in the worst of times. What he loved? Had he just thought that?

Lancelot watched Gawain track Tristan in the moonlight. When he turned towards Lancelot, his face was full of mischief. Lancelot's heart turned over and dropped straight into his stomach.

He loved Gawain.

Huh?

Gawain

Tristan disappeared among a tumble of stone and fallen trees. A wide ravine dropped away before the two of them. Gawain motioned to Lancelot that he was going down a small path that wove down to the narrow stream below. Lancelot nodded in resignation. Scrambling down rough terrain was never to Lancelot's liking. He just hated getting dirty.

Gawain smiled at the thought of Lancelot having to clean up yet again. The older knight loved the baths. He spent more time there soaking up the heat and scrubbing his skin raw. The thought of Lancelot trailing a rag over his skin wiping off the dirt made Gawain stumble. Certain parts of Gawain apparently thought that was a nice thing to think about. Those parts were making themselves known, with a feeling of urgency.

If they couldn't find Tristan tonight... Gawain thought....why should they go back to the fort? It was a warm and pleasant evening. This stream would provide more than enough water to wash Lancelot's skin clean .... of whatever was necessary.

Suddenly the view behind him started to seem more important than following Tristan's tracks.

Gawain wasn't really paying as much attention as he ought when he rounded a free standing boulder by the side of the stream. It was easy for Tristan to put the dagger to Gawain's throat. Gawain stilled and breathed very carefully.

"What have we here?"

Tristan's voice was husky and slurred. The dagger was just slightly shaking on Gawain's skin. The cold steel bit into his neck every time Tristan's hand trembled until a slow droplet of blood drew a wet line on his neck. Tristan got in front of Gawain as Lancelot came up behind him. There was no way for Lancelot to go around the two of them without stumbling through the deepening stream. Gawain just breathed slowly and tried not to move. The hawk had done his own trapping - a pair of rabbits apparently.

Tristan seemed fascinated by the blood trail on Gawain's neck. He lifted the dagger off of Gawain's neck and leaned onto Gawain's body. Lowering his head, Tristan breathed deeply of Gawain's hair and he pulled Gawain into a tight embrace, dagger still in hand. Gawain closed his eyes as Tristan's head descended to his neck and Tristan's mouth closed over the trickle of blood. The feel of teeth on his neck made his belly contract and his cock stand to attention.

Tristan let go of him and stood back. Rejected again thought Gawain with bitterness.

"Not here. Come."

Three little words to turn his world around.

"Both of you."

Three more to light Lancelot's face with unholy intensity.

Lancelot

The feeling of being lost swept through me when Tristan put his mouth to Gawain's neck. I had nothing. A morass of sadness dragged my soul into the hells beyond this earth. I was ready to fall upon my knees to pray as Arthur did to his unanswering God, but me I would have prayed to die - quickly and soon.

Then, even as self-pity narrowed my vision down to Tristan with Gawain and excluded the world around me, Tristan said 'Come. Both of you.'

Exultant excitement seized me. At long last we would have what we desired, longed for, dreamed of. My eyes sought out Gawain's face to reassure myself that a mutual joy bloomed there. He might have had Tristan all to himself, every square inch of deadliness and pain and skin all to himself. Likely I would not have been so quick to share did I not know Tristan would always choose Gawain before me. Selfish me.

But then... I know that feeling of being lost had more to do with Gawain than Tristan.

What would I be now without Gawain?

Nothing.

How can you be anything without your heart?

Gawain

Lancelot wavered as Tristan flitted away before us. Every trace of Tristan�s drunken state had vanished. I took Lancelot's hand in mine, savored the warmth of it and the roughness of his calloused skin, and dragged him after me. We would share Tristan together.

Following Tristan proved effortless. He only went a short way until we came to a pool in the stream. A deep depression in the rocks formed a natural cold bath. It lay black in the moonlight awaiting company.

Tristan stripped off his leathers without once looking our way, seeming oblivious to our concentrated watchfulness. We both drank in the sight of his body with enraptured passion. The white lines writhed across his skin as revenants of his pain. I longed to run my tongue over the ridged tissues down to where I knew my mouth would be welcomed.

Diving beneath the surface, he swam as purely as the silvery fish we caught for our dinner in the great river. I knelt at the side of the pool and just watched for longer minutes than I wish to admit to. Finally clean, he climbed out upon a rock and lay upon a bare rock to rest. My breath caught at the long lean lines of his wiry strength.

�Gawain, swim with me?�

Lancelot�s voice had a curiously tentative quality, as if he wasn�t quite sure I�d agree. It took me but moments to answer him by stripping my hauberk, tunic, boots, and chausses. He mirrored my actions so completely that I ended up laughing.

What must we look like to Tristan? Two sides of a coin, one bright, one dark. In no way were we the same. I�m built broad like the chest of a bull and Lancelot is deep like the steeds of war we rode. My face is perpetually good-natured and Lancelot�s face is the storm. One minute his face glowers, the next it�s flashing sharp with temper or heated with passion. His moods roll swiftly from temper to playfulness to concentrated wickedness.

We dove together, a blind leap of faith in Tristan, a blind plunge into that black water.

It was in the coolness of our immersion, with the water cradling both of us like a mother, that Lancelot kissed me. His mouth upon mine proved to be more powerful than the feel of Tristan�s lips caressing me. I nearly passed out from not breathing, from delighting in the essence of Lancelot.

Tristan tasted of wanton desire.

Lancelot tasted of love.

Lancelot

I had to tear my mouth off of Gawain. If I had waited just one heartbeat longer, I would have disgraced myself in the water. The great seducer, Lancelot, undone with a kiss.

Tristan rose to his feet on the stone. The white lines resembled the markings of the fabled tygers of the Roman Coliseum. An appropriate animal to compare Tristan to. Impressive. Solitary. Deadly. Slinky.

Gawain and I scrambled out of the pool. Neither of us possessed Tristan�s inherent grace and it was a moment for laughing at yourself as we exited the waters fully erect. Not that the mad giggling affected either of us. If anything, it made it worse.

Tristan picked up his weapons and proceeded to wander away naked into the forest. Gawain and I looked at our things and imitated Tristan. Should some mischievious Woad make off with our clothing, it was a short walk back to the fort. Shorter still would be the explanations. Weapons could fend off both hostile Woads and impertinent Romans and therefore, were the only real necessity.

We tagged after Tristan, not knowing where we were going, not caring either. He entered under the interwoven branches of a deadfall and there lay Tristan�s bed beneath the graveyard of trees in a small hollow overhung by a slab of tilted stone. Skins tented the area to keep out the wind and protect his small firepit from view. Rich pelts with luxurious furs, heavy woven wool lengths, and small down-filled pillows lay abundant beneath. Tristan�s treasures, even here.

Tristan lay his weapons aside, as did we. Kneeling in the magpie�s nest, he dug up a wineskin and goblets. Naked we sprawled as Tristan built a small fire to warm us. I know not if this had ever entered Arthur�s mind, but I smiled to think that soon all would be �sorted out�.

I had expected him to go to Gawain � beautiful, young, sunny Gawain. When Tristan came to me, I fumbled in my eagerness to TOUCH. To run my hands over that silken marble he called skin, what Heaven of Arthur�s could compare? To lick the salty, woody flavour up and hold it in my mouth, I nearly expired of ecstasy. My cock was a hardened staff of steel against his leg as we tumbled together wrestling to taste, to touch.

Somehow I had thought Tristan would want Gawain beneath him, but � no. He turned me over and a small vial of oil appeared in his hand from beneath the furs. I melted as soon as I saw it in his hand. I had dreamed of this, this possession by Tristan. He tenderly cradled me in his arms and his voice spoke in my ear, begging.

�Lancelot, let me...?�

I had only to nod to set Tristan shaking as he covered my body with his own. I buried my face in my hands as his fingers became slick with oil and invaded the crevice between my legs. His index finger slipped so easily inside of me that it was a surprise to both of us. I shuddered with rapture and clutched my buttock muscles together against that welcome delving into me.

Tristan�s other hand stroked the long muscles of my back and massaged my neck until I could relax again. Panting, I feared what was to come, but Gawain lay next to us and took my left hand to his cock. As I relaxed against Tristan, his finger smoothly pressing into my anus and wriggling in there to press that spot deep within, my hand clenched around Gawain�s rigidity. My right hand reached over my head and Gawain placed his arm beneath it so I could grasp that as well. My face to his, my eyes to his, was it Tristan I was trusting? or Gawain?

Tristan spread me open, the feeling became blissful as his fingers stroked me into docility. His hands slicked oil across his own firmness and I could hear the sound his fingers made upon his cock. I was ready. Gawain steadied me, his eyes devoured me, and I was ready for Tristan to take me.

The thickness of it startled me and I tensed as Tristan imbedded himself in my body. He shushed me with tender words that brought me to tears. When again, I had released the fear and welcomed the mastery of my body, Tristan could be gentle no longer and thrust deeply into me. There was bright pain and tears came to my eyes, but Gawain licked them away even before they could fall. The sensuous sweep of Gawain�s broad tongue across my eyelids and cheekbones soothed away the fear.

Tristan waited until I stopped shuddering from that deep invasion. His body began rocking into and out of me such a little at a time that I could no longer bear the smallness of the pleasures. MY voice trembled but I begged for more, just PLEASE more.

Eventually, Tristan could no longer hold his passion in check and he began to truly take me. He thrust and wriggled and pumped his cock into and out of me with great sweeps. The pleasure rolled over me and my seed spilled out unattended. Gawain, too, spilled from the relentless flexing and unflexing of my hand upon him in time to Tristan�s thrusts. Finally, Tristan exploded into me and shook as he collapsed on top of my body.

Gawain�s right hand traced little patterns upon my shoulder and little trails up my neck. I could only lay and enjoy the feel of Tristan�s weight upon me and Gawain�s touch across my skin.

What Heaven could compare to this?
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The Tristan Effect