Chapter Text
Tristan didn’t even have the courtesy to look up when he caught the mug Galahad flung at his head. Instead, he placed it on Vanora’s tray with his own.
“Careful, pup, you could have hit the lady.”
“I WANT IT BACK!” Galahad fumed , marching toward the small gathering of Sarmatian knights still mulling over their breakfast s. His glower was enough to cause Gawain to scoot out of his path and Bors to tuck Vanora behind him. Tristan, however, remained annoyingly calm in the face of Galahad’s rage.
“Then you shouldn’t have thrown it.” Tristan took the mug from Vanora and offered it back to Galahad. The younger knight slapped it out of Tristan’s hand.
“I want my bracer back, Tristan.” Galahad held out his hand. Tristan raised an eyebrow.
“What use would I have with your bracer, pup?” Tristan snatched at Galahad’s arm, dragging the knight into his lap. He forced the younger man’s wrist up. “I couldn’t fit into anything made for these dainty wrists.”
Galahad shoved at Tristan, righting himself. He could hear the snickers of Bors and Lancelot behind him. Gawain had stood, poised to break up the oncoming fight.
“Your damn bird took my bracer.”
“What?”
“That ridiculous chicken that follows you everywhere, she dove down as I was changing this morning and stole my bracer.” Galahad could feel his face redden. Tristan merely blinked.
“Sounds like your quarrel isn’t with me, boy.” Tristan took an apple from his pack and began to cut it. “I can point you to the tree she favors if you’d like to ask her about your bracelet. Be careful with your tone though, she’s not as kind as I am.”
Galahad glared at Tristan, thrusting a finger in the knight’s face. “I want my bracer returned, by the end of the day.”
“Careful Tristan,” Lancelot called between giggles. “Arthur might have to have the bird whipped if she steps out of line again.”
Galahad grabbed the apple from Tristan’s hand, throwing it at Lancelot. He stomped out of the tavern to the sound of laughter.
The bracer had been on his bed when he returned from his patrol. Galahad lifted it to his nose, it smelled of grass and bowstring oil – a sure sign the scout had placed it on his pillow. He considered marching to Tristan’s bed chamber and yelling at him some more. Galahad pictured pushing at the knight’s bare chest, holding him firm to a mattress, biting at that infuriating smirk until the scout was moaning beneath him.
He dropped the bracer.
Galahad walked to his dresser on unsteady legs and grabbed his pitcher of water, splashing his face. Seeing Tristan right now was clearly a poor idea. It always was for him. Galahad wiped off his face and fell into his bed, clutching the bracer as he waited for sleep.
“I KNEW IT!” Galahad glowered at the bird nesting in his shirt. He rushed toward Tristan, sending droplets of water flying with each step. “If you can’t keep that feathered thief from my things, I’ll put her on a spit!”
“Is that your shirt, pup?” Tristan didn’t look up from the map splayed over the round table. “I thought she’d found some scrap for her nest.”
“That thing swooped out of the sky when I was bathing and attacked me.”
Tristan raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You couldn’t defend your shirt from a bird?”
Galahad sputtered, leaning over Tristan. “She scratched me, sliced at me while I was naked. She sho-”
Tristan’s warm hand on his chest stopped Galahad cold. He had run to the round table from the baths, only pausing to drag his leathers over his soaking hips. He hadn’t felt naked until this very moment.
“You’re dripping, boy.” Galahad allowed Tristan to push him back, strong fingers pressing into his bare chest. “Arthur won’t be able to read the map if you wet it.”
Galahad stared blankly at the hand that was still on his chest. He wanted to keep it there.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” Galahad looked up, confused and panting. Tristan smirked and nodded at the bird. “Get your shirt back.”
Galahad reached for his shirt in a daze. The hawk snapped at Galahad’s hand. He drew it back with a gasp.
“Now, now Isolde, it’s not becoming to be jealous,” Tristan scolded, holding his hand out to the bird. She hopped to Tristan’s arm, ruffling her feathers and casting a cool look at Galahad. “Would you like me to clean that shirt, pup? You could have one of mine in its stead.”
The young knight fought the urge to snarl at a bird, snatching his shirt and trudging away. He shook the garmet, frowning when a feather fell out of it.
As he tried to yank the linen over his wet head, Tristan called to him. “Leave it off. That creamy skin could use some sun.”
Galahad flushed bright, cursing himself as he fled from the scout’s gaze.
It had been a hard practice. Galahad was distracted, allowing Bors and Gawain to best him several times as they traded blows. It was hard to focus on the man in front of you when you were worried about a hawk swooping from the sky and attacking you.
Tristan watched the whole humiliating practice with a small smile playing at his lips. Though he was clearly focused on Galahad’s matches, Tristan managed to best Lancelot in both of their bouts. It was infuriating.
Worse still, Tristan whispered a few words to Arthur and left the training session early. Galahad scowled at the retreating scout. He thought of calling out to Tristan, challenging him to a round when Bors cried Look fast! A bird! causing him to duck. When no talons grabbed for him, Galahad looked up, only to find Bors and Gawain holding raven feathers and pretending to fly around him, laughing .
Throwing his wooden sword at Gawain’s ankles, Galahad stormed out of the training area. He let his foul mood hang over his head as he stomped through the town. He managed a meager smile for a shop girl as he purchased an apple, but it fell from his face when he heard a familiar cry.
Before he could spot the damnable beast, the hawk and swooped down and grabbed Galahad’s apple with its talons, taking to the sky. Galahad reached for his arrows, sighting the bird as it flapped for the trees.
Something stayed his hand from loosing the arrow. He thought of Tristan cooing at the hawk, feeding it bits of meat and rubbing his chin along its crest of feathers. With a frustrated grunt, Galahad lowered his bow. He slung the bow over his shoulder and ran after the bird. He may not kill the bird today, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find the scout she belonged to.
He lost the hawk when he entered the grove of cypresses, but he could guess where the beast was going. Tristan favored a small inlet by the nearby brook, just deep enough to wade into during the heat of the summer. Galahad had stumbled on Tristan laying naked in the waters last summer . The scout had smiled, telling Galahad he turned a maidenly shade of pink and inviting him to enjoy the water.
Galahad had fled – flushed, panting, and half hard beneath his hauberks. In his dreams, he would occasionally join Tristan in the stream, running his hands over a furred chest and tracing battle scars.
Galahad bit his lip, banishing the thoughts. It was no use to think of things that would never be. He stomped through the brush, not bothering to hide his steps from the sensitive ears of the scout.
Clearing the tree line, Galahad came upon Tristan, straightening the edges of a soft basket and unpacking food from a basket. The hawk cried once, dropping Galahad’s apple from some branch above Tristan. The scout caught the apple absently, still fiddling with his lunch. When Tristan looked up from his task, he took a bite of the apple and offered Galahad a smile.
“Hello, pup, out for a walk?”
“You know damn well why I’m here.”
“You wanted to share lunch with me?” Tristan’s mouth curved into a grin, an expression Galahad thought of many nights as he lay alone in his bed. Tristan flopped on a soft blanket, gesturing to a basket overflowing with food. “There’s room by me and plenty of food.”
Tristan tossed the apple in the air over and over, a lazy game for his sharpened reflexes. Galahad fumed. It wasn’t bad enough that he had to tamp down on his feelings toward Tristan, now the beautiful feral knight and his stupid chicken had made a game of mocking him.
“THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN THAT FEATHERED MENACE STEALING FROM ME IS THE THOUGHT OF SHARING A MEAL WITH YOU!” Galahad’s roar could probably be heard in town. He no longer cared. “It’s vexing enough that I must to look at you every day, put up with your odd ways because Arthur trusts you. Now I have that thing swooping in constantly, reminding me of just what a nuisance you both are!”
Tristan’s hands faltered, the apple falling to the blanket and rolling to the grass. Galahad squinted, he’d never seen Tristan miss a catch.
“I’m sorry, Galahad. I’ll keep her penned when I’m not with her.” Tristan’s voice was even, but there was something odd about the tone. Too soft for the gruff scout. And when had Tristan ever called him anything other than boy or pup? “We won’t bother you again.”
“Good.” It was an unquestionable victory, yet Galahad felt a severe sense of loss. He shook his head, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach. “See that you don’t.”
Galahad marched away, not daring to look back.
Tristan’s absence from dinner settled into the pit of Galahad’s stomach, making his ale taste sour.
“Where is Tristan?” he asked finally, flushing slightly at the amused looks he got. “Did that lunatic bird finally fly off with him?”
Arthur looked up from his conversation with Lancelot, an odd set to his eyebrows. “He’s patrolling the coastline.”
Galahad scoffed. “The Romans do that, why do they need our scout?”
“He asked for the task and I obliged.” Arthur turned back to Lancelot .
Galahad picked at his food. The patrol would take five days, seven if the weather didn’t hold. Something felt wrong about Tristan’s sudden departure, it didn’t sit well with the young knight as he pushed carrots through his gravy. He rose, he had no taste for food or ale tonight. Perhaps it would be best to simply go to bed, start fresh in the morning.
“Where are you off to?” Gawain asked.
“I’m to bed, I find myself tired.”
Gawain smiled softly, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll mood will clear in a few days.”
“Five, I’d wager,” chuckled Bors. Vanora slapped at the back of his head.