Thanks for the feedback and alerts etc. and as always, I am very grateful. Here is the final chapter that I have planned for this story! I hope you like the way it ends as I spent a lot of time thinking about the right way to round off the romance of Tristan and Isolde. In particular, I hope the metaphorical aspect of Camelot for Isolde is clear enough at the conclusions of the chapter, but if not, let me know and I can explain or change it.
On another note, although this is the final chapter according to my original plan, if you believe that an epilogue would be appropriate, then just let me know and I am sure I can more explicitly describe their future!

This chapter is dedicated to all of my wonderful readers and fantastic reviewers, who have encouraged me to keep writing in such a special way! Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur or any of the characters from the film. This is written purely for entertainment purposes.

Chapter 35

Where All Roads Lead

The day had arrived and with it surfaced all the cold dread and melancholy that I had imagined would affect me. Only yesterday, I had received a plaintive invitation to attend the friendly and quite possibly lively dinner with the knights, Arthur, Guinevere and Vanora too. Cowardice provoked me to plead that a headache rendered me incapable of enjoying their company as I should like and so instead I sought solace in the privacy of my room where compassionate eyes would not see my despondency. I had no right to darken the celebrations of my friends because of my concern over our separation. In fact, I had already been pressganged into swearing a solemn oath to pay them a prompt visit after I had alluded to my intentions of setting up shop here at Badon Hill in a recent conversation with Gawain and Galahad. Their vehemence seemed encouragingly genuine, but as we parted ways I had been struck by a sneaking wariness at the sight of the sly, mischievous glance they had shared, accompanied by a knowing roll of the eyes. I readied myself to remain on guard for some form of humorous trick or prank if I ever did decide to accept their offer and frequent the regal hall of Camelot.

Yet this dawn there had been a veritable eruption of diligent activity from all sectors of the fort with well-wishers and members of Arthur's newly formed entourage hastening to finalise preparations for the passage south. Although I had initially resolved not to pay any heed to this uproar in the street below, I was soon drawn to the window from where I could fully appreciate the sights and sounds of the settlement that buzzed with vitality and industry similar to what one might expect if one riled ants in their nest. Formidably armed warriors, originating from both sides of the great Wall, strode proudly down towards the gates, often followed closely by frantic traders attempting to flatter them into purchasing some product or other for their important journey. Numerous carts laden with supplies of all sorts imaginable trundled past, drawing nosey stares from passers-by who wished to know the intimate details of the King's household. It was uncanny for someone like me, who knew Arthur from before the Saxon invasion to contemplate how he had risen meteorically from a humble provincial cavalry commander to the revered high king of a nation without any great time interval between the two disparate statuses.

The more I thought about my friends and even the political and military challenges that would confront them in their dramatically altered lives, the more I realised that I could not lounge idly in my chamber without even wishing them well on their journey. It would be doing them all a great and unforgivable disservice. Surely I was not so utterly weak of character that I would be incapable of withholding my tears for the short time required to earnestly bid them luck and affection, I berated myself severely.

I was lost in the crowd – a curiously empowering sentiment of anonymity washed over me, but it would not serve my purpose today. Ignoring the looks of disgust and indignation that my fellow well-wishers sent my way, I edged my way through the stubborn figures towards the royal party who were already waiting next to their horses. I had not chosen my moment to have a sudden change of heart a minute too soon thankfully. Once I had emerged onto the road and ducked apologetically around a huddle of blue-hued Woad guards, I slowly approached Arthur, Guinevere and the four Sarmatians, who were conversing freely and obviously in good spirits.

"Isolde, my dear," cried Bors with startling volume and a warm grin. "Thought you'd never make it out of bed in time to see us on our way!" I blushed slightly at the implication of my idleness, but smiled nonetheless at the group in general, always avoiding directly staring in Tristan's path.

"How could I not? Good luck on your journey," I managed with credible brightness of tone before I was forced to stop to swallow the developing lump at the back of my throat.

"May we have a word, Isolde?" Arthur requested seriously and led me a few paces away by the elbow alongside his lovely young wife. "Forgive me for not coming to visit you at your new home; it was most remiss of me." Was this still a matter of concern to the King of the Britons?

"Arthur, I did not expect it of you," I replied truthfully, engaging his wide green eyes in placation for I would not wish him to leave with any remnants of guilt on my behalf. His posture softened almost imperceptibly, but it appeared that there was more that the pair wanted to discuss with me.

"I was sorry to learn that you do not intend to move to Camelot with us. Is there anything that would alter your resolve in this matter? I sincerely hope there is something we can do to convince you," he assured me softly and I was overcome by the sense of kinship with the man that brought a glazing of bright tears to my grey orbs. Unable to speak immediately, I glanced down at the muddy rutted road at our feet and shook my head sadly, willing him inwardly to understand my reasons for remaining here despite the personal cost.

Guinevere laid a gentle hand on my arm and spoke up to reinforce her husband's sentiments with touching compassion and candidness, "Know that you shall always be welcomed with open arms at Camelot." Camelot: a place name that had swiftly acquired an almost holy veneration, but was currently synonymous with isolation and regret in my own opinion. I murmured my most heartfelt gratitude and turned to leave them since the very last of the carts had now been fully loaded by the willing assistants, enthused by the tangible excitement in the atmosphere.

Upon a whim, I decided to make my way to the top of the fort's wall so that I would be afforded the optimal view of the departing train of people and necessities as they headed southwards. This also allowed me to pass the carriage in which the whole of Bors' family was going to travel on the passage to Camelot with Vanora attempting to keep all eleven children firmly in line. The wizened man who was driving the horses that pulled the peculiar passengers along already seemed a little resentful of his lot and sent me a look that was both pitiful and exasperated at the same time. This at least brought a little smile to my face during these sad farewells.

"Goodbye Vanora," I called over the incessant din that permeated the canvas canopy of the brimming carriage. Instantly, she gently handed over her youngest baby to an elder daughter and stepped down to meet my fond embrace. I would miss the easy chats that we had shared so regularly, but I was undeniably happy that she who deserved so much from the world was finally setting out on a fulfilling new chapter in her life. Before we could exchange any last words of farewell a petty albeit piercingly loud argument broke out from amongst her brood of offspring and with a tearful smile I retreated to permit her to deal with them as only a natural mother could.

It took me several more minutes to weave my path up onto the wall and walk further along until I had space and peace enough to hear my own thoughts properly at last. A disadvantage of that situation was that I succumbed to the remorseless tears that coursed like scorching fire down my cheeks. It was a raw, self-pitying form of grief and sobs caught harshly in my throat whenever my friends' faces surfaced in my mind's eye. Most of all and without a moment's hesitation, I wept most wretchedly for the loss of Tristan whom I had not even dared to show my face to today despite the overwhelming emotions I still harboured for him.

Below me, the fort's gates were pulled open and as the entourage mounted their impressive horses, a series of wild cheers emanated from the audience whose joy for their idolised sovereigns was unfettered by the sorrow of losing close contact with loved ones. I did, however, bring myself to my senses sufficiently to wipe my tears away impatiently with the edge of my dress sleeve if only so that I might have a clearer view of the majestic scene that would soon unfold. I had learnt from the overheard gossip on the streets that the King and Queen would depart last of all in order to bid farewell to their people, granting the slower carriages and carts for supplies to gain a slight lead.

Indeed as I turned to look inwards over the more interesting scene unfolding within the walls, I caught sight of the first vehicles being drawn by horses striking out on the long, straight road alongside a safe number of armed guards for the vulnerable convoy. They certainly would not be able to escape any enemy attentions through stealth alone if Vanora's children had their own way and so I was reassured by the sight of the mounted warriors who would lay down their lives for the innocent. Guinevere and Arthur were inching along the lines of their subjects, addressing them with ready smiles and lacking any vestiges of the superiority that one might expect of royalty or power – a factor that elevated them immensely in the opinions of the onlookers without question.

I sighed heavily and swept a loose tress away from my visage that had previously been obscuring my vision. Once I had done so, I unleashed sharp gasp at the sight of Tristan standing not more than a couple of paces from my side, regarding me intently through his own unkempt dark hair. Perhaps I was so startled by his unexpected arrival that I had been so fervently wishing for deep within in me that caused me to lurch backwards and seize hold of the cool stones of the wall for support. My reaction seemed to affect him for his bearing softened slightly as if he was dispirited by my shaken response to his presence. My mind virtually froze, all except for the sole distressing thought that he was going to desert me now.

"Wait and listen," he ordered quietly, but his words scarcely registered in my consciousness and I began to hasten away from him. His melodic tone lacked its usual authority or else I would still be bound there by invisible chains. Alternatively, it could have been my recent act of defiance that had somewhat loosened his commanding hold over me, but my physical strength was certainly no match for him and so when he snaked out both his hands to prevent my retreat I was unable to leave. "You're not going anywhere till you hear what I have to say, woman," the scout growled as I briefly tried to disengage his iron grip. Returning to my right mind, I ceased to struggle in complete futility since I knew that I would be forced to hear him out even if his economically selected words were not to my liking in the slightest. He relaxed his grasp when he understood that I had settled for compliance with this request of his, but when I unconsciously rubbed the place where he had tightly seized hold of my forearms, I saw his gaze flicker downwards and a fleeting frown of regret contort his fine features.

"I thought that you had to depart with Arthur now," I uttered numbly, more for want of some phrase to speak than a genuine reminder of his duty to his king and comrade. He shrugged nonchalantly, casting a careless glance at the milling entourage below us; I supposed that they could function perfectly well without Tristan's presence and expertise for a little while.

"I do, but first…" he began again before appearing to falter in his train of thought momentarily in a manner that I had never witnessed from him before. "Look, I'm no good with words, but I made some mistakes," he continued with a wince and I am sure that my mouth fell ajar at the thought of the cost to him of admitting such an aberrant error of judgement. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as if he was a caged wild beast undergoing some traumatic taming exercise. "What I mean is that…" once again he broke off in mid-sentence with a sigh of exasperation, but this time instead of attempting to persist in this evidently discomforting preoccupation, he acted decisively and elegantly as only he knew how to: sweeping me into a firm, enveloping embrace, he engaged my lips in a passionate yet undemanding kiss. Strategically, it was an unequivocal victory and when I had recovered from my shock, I returned the kiss wholeheartedly. The mutual underlying sentiments and meaning in that one charged kiss made my heart soar within my chest – it made my world perfect in that instant.

"I love you, Tristan," I whispered into his shoulder once we had parted breathlessly, feeling utterly blissful. I inhaled deeply, revelling in the woody, individual scent on his soft leather tunic. After a few more moments, he stepped back a pace to look me in the eye, but I was glad that he made no move to remove his arms from around me.

"So you'll come then?" he questioned and the invitation broadened the already beaming smile that was resolutely affixed to my radiant countenance. "As my wife?" Whilst the first query had only heightened my sense of effusive happiness, the second that followed after a laden pause forcefully struck me dumb and mute. I wondered fearfully if this entire situation had been a figment of my wildest dreams and that I was even now slumbering peacefully in my lonely lodgings.

However, a flash of plain uncertainty passed briefly over my lover's face too and his arms dropped slackly from around my body, leaving me suddenly cold and alone. It was time to respond in kind: with an uninhibited cry of pleasure, I flung my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his for a second time. I did not doubt that he would misunderstand that simple, wordless affirmative reaction. I never wanted the idyllic moment to end.

"Hurry up, won't you," boomed Bors impatiently from his mounted position several feet below us, startling nearby members of the crowd. His perceptible glee penetrated the callousness of his words and I could clearly picture the likely delighted expression on his round, seasoned face. He would definitely enjoy informing his lover of Tristan's successful venture today. We both silently decided to ignore our friend and carried on kissing, right there on the apex of the fort's almighty walls.

"Yeah, you're keeping royalty waiting here," jested Gawain and I could not help but laugh more openly than I had in quite some time. Observing the scene in the road, I was mildly abashed to see that Tristan and I had drawn a great deal of attention from the hordes who had gathered there – a remarkable feat when in the presence of Arthur and Guinevere, I thought to myself with private mirth.

We would both come and follow the road to Camelot, which was no longer such a dark, forbidding place to me, but a true symbol of contentment, both for the nation and for myself. After all, it seemed all roads lead to Camelot, both in reality and in metaphor.