"A child."
"Would it be mine or his?"
"I'd have no way of knowing, would I?"

Isolde's screams echoed through the dark forest. Birds hastened to fly from the surrounding trees, while all manner of nocturnal creatures scurried away from the clearing where the Princess lay, sweat shining on her face with Bragnae beside her, clutching her hand and urging her on. A fire burnt not far from them, the only light in the area, though its crackling could not be heard over Isolde's wordless shouts.

It seemed that hours crept by, though it was surely only minutes, before Isolde finally quietened - though the silence did not last long. It was replaced by wails that were quite different from the screams of before, and suddenly Bragnae was busy once more - and moments later was wrapping a great sheet of cloth (once her mistress's cloak) around a baby, wiping its face and body clean as she went. Fatigue lined her face yet her smile was youthful as she returned to Isolde's side, the precious bundle in her arms. "It's a boy," she breathed in delight, holding him out to Isolde. "You've got a son."

Sweat and tears were mixed together on the new mother's face, matured before her time, and Isolde was still half-sobbing as she accepted into her arms the most important thing she had ever held. He was so tiny, so delicate and fragile that she felt as though the frost that crept over the ground might freeze him in a second. She cradled him close to her chest, unable to tear her eyes from him.

Around her, Bragnae was once again busying herself, this time with gathering together the dirtied sheets, piling them up and sighing. "Oh, it should never've happened out here," she said ruefully, rubbing her hands clean. "Not in this God-forsaken land..."

Neither of them knew where they were. All they knew was that they'd travelled north from Marke's land, then followed the sea east until they could turn north again. After that Bragnae was sure they'd lost all sense of direction. They'd been lucky to last as long as they had, as far as she could see - two women alone with horses, working only when they could find an inn that would take them until they had earned enough for the next leg of their journey. It would be even harder now. She didn't know when Isolde intended to stop, or if she ever wanted to.

Isolde could not pretend to know either, but there had never been any question of remaining behind. She could not stay, although after his victory and Tristan's sacrifice Marke had offered her a comfortable life in Cornwall. She would not remain for him, nor even for the Roman ruins where Tristan now lay in an eternal sleep that she could not share with him.

Isolde had come to wonder if her heart had not been buried with Tristan, for where it should rest in her chest she had been feeling nothing but a terrible, aching emptiness that naught could mend.

But now... Looking down at the baby - her baby - Isolde felt a fraction of warmth steal back into her chest. As she watched, the child's eyelids flickered before opening to reveal deep, if unfocused eyes. Isolde could not look away, and her entire being softened. Perhaps she had had her heart all along, for now she was sure it was being stolen away again.

"What'll you call him?" Bragnae asked as she came to sit beside her mistress, warming her tired body in the feeble warmth of the fire.

Isolde smiled as she looked down at the precious life she held in her arms. "Tristan," she said softly, "Tristan. After his father."

The Princess did not look away from her son, and so did not see the grief and doubt cloud her friend's eyes. But Bragnae's silence spoke enough - she was sure there was no way to tell. She was sure they would never know.

But Isolde did know.

"If our two loves be one, or thou and I love so alike that none can slacken, none can die."

The baby had his eyes.