Note: I've written this series around a very vague main female character for a reason. It's intended to let anyone see themselves as the object of Tristan's affection.

Let me know if it works- reviews are love!

A shout of laughter caught her attention as she carefully wiped down the battered tables. She allowed herself a glance and a shy smile at the men sitting out in the sun. It was a rare afternoon in the fort: all of the Sarmatian knights were actually within the walls. The woads had apparently chosen to stay on their side of Hadrian's Wall, and the knights' patrols had been brief. Now, of course, the men had congregated at their favorite establishment- the tavern. They'd actually dragged a pair of the tables out of the bar and into the air, relishing in the shining sun. That, too, was rare for Britain. She'd often heard the foreign knights complain that there was only ever rain, and if not rain, snow, and if not snow, fog.

A sharp cry split the air, and she looked up in surprise as a hawk fluttered down to land on one particular knight's shoulder. She sighed; now that was truly a sight. Of all the knights, Sir Tristan, he of few words and a wild gaze, was the only one who'd truly caught her eye. Watching the knight and his hawk, she thought she'd never seen a pair more at one with each other. She moved her gaze to the table before him, noting that he hadn't eaten. She would get him something to eat; that would be as decent an excuse to approach him as any.

She turned to the kitchen and found herself shoved aside. "Too late," crowed Mara, one of the more "friendly" barmaids. She'd vowed to have each of the knights eventually. There was a rather vicious betting pool at the moment; Vanora led the ladies who were sure Mara'd only get her claws into Lancelot. She had, of course, and now was focusing on Tristan.

She sighed as she watched the other girl flounce toward Sir Tristan's end of the table. With Mara on the prowl, it seemed less and less likely that she'd even get near the scout. She shook her head, preparing to return to wiping down the tables. A new set of shrieks caught her attention, and she laughed out loud. Apparently Mara had flounced a bit too near for the hawk's comfort. Mara was now in hysterics, and Sir Tristan's attention was focused solely on calming the large hawk.

She watched for a moment more. Sir Tristan was ignoring the food. She bit her lip, considering and then spun to the kitchen. The cook raised his eyebrows at what she asked, but finally handed her the platter, as she requested. She balanced the tray and headed back out to the tables.

She took care to approach slowly on the far side of the table to give the hawk time to accept her presence. Drawing near to the knight, she set the tray at his elbow. "Sir, for your lady…" she said, nodding to the hawk. She ignored the other knights' shouts of laughter and Bors' typically lewd suggestion, waiting to see what Sir Tristan might say.

He merely glanced at the heaping tray of raw strips of rabbits, and then up at her, dark eyes considering. Slowly, he nodded, and reached for one of the strips, delicately handing it to the bright hawk.

She smiled to herself; she hadn't expected the more effusive gratitude the other knights might have granted her. She only hoped Sir Tristan might take note of the young woman who'd seen to his hawk. She turned to return to her duties, but a touch on her wrist stopped her. She glanced down to see the knight's deadly hand wrapped around her wrist. She trembled; the touch was almost devastatingly gentle.

"Hey." She lifted her eyes at his rough voice. "Her name," he nodded slightly toward the hawk, "it's Isolde." He held her gaze and her wrist just a moment more before releasing her. It was that moment (even more than Gawain's surprised exclamation that he'd never guess the featherhead had a name) that told her what a gift the words were.

She smiled and nodded, moving from the table as the knight returned to his "lady's" care. "I knew you were a smart one," Vanora mentioned, softly, coming up behind her. She grinned at the younger maid. "I doubt Mara would agree, though." The pair laughed together, as they watched the knights. Vanora suddenly sighed, "Oh my… That's enough to make me wish I had feathers." The younger woman followed her gaze to Sir Tristan. He was softly stroking Isolde's breast feathers with the crook of one finger.

She bit her lip, and tried to ignore Vanora's knowing look. Lancelot's voice caught her attention at that moment. "Tristan, you continue cosseting that bird, and she's likely to be the only lady you have anytime soon," he called out mockingly.

Tristan replied mildly, "You think so, then." After a moment, he lifted his gaze purposefully to her own, still softly caressing his hawk. She felt herself blush and ducked her head in an attempt to avoid his intense gaze.

"Oh, would that I had feathers," she whispered to herself.