Randomisation, Morwen of Greensdale, KnightMaiden, plzkthx101: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I'm sorry it takes me so long between updates but sometimes it's just hard to sit down and write. Real life intruding as it does.I hope you enjoy this chapter, I liked writing it.

Furibondo: Thanks so much for reviewing. This isn't going where I intended it; but over time I've sort of changed my mind on where the characters should go. I'm glad that the twists and turns haven't lost you - this thing really should have been over a while ago! Yes, Tristan can be a bit prickly, but I'm trying to loosen him up a bit and hopefully not lose what makes him Tristan in the first place. It's hard, having so little of the character from the movie to go by. Anyway, I know this has been a while in coming and I hope you enjoy it.

Cardeia: Thank you for your compliments. I know there are a few chapters that I sort of thought, okay, it's been a while, I need to get this out so let me post it. I'm trying not to do that anymore. Reading your work has made me sort of look at my own and think okay, this is a bit sparse, could do with a bit more description here or there. I wanted to leave Merlin a bit ambiguous - is he or isn't he? I see him as someone who is very good at reading people, at taking advantage of situations. And part of his mystique is that people don't really know. There are rumors that fly about him, but those please him. They help keep people off guard. And he may have a bit of magic about him, he sure knows things that he shouldn't, and appears when you don't expect him to. Maybe he has more magic to him than he likes to let on, maybe he doesn't have as much as people think. I didn't want him to be some guy witha wand who turned people into toads. When I began to delve into the whole mystical aspect of it I thought that it could be hokey, and have tried hard to stay away from that. Tristan, I'm trying to bring along - he has a life he never thought he'd have, sort of wondering if the rug's going to be pulled out from under him. So he hasn't been able to be really confident in this whole thing, but he's getting there. I hope you like this chapter.

Disclaimer: Same as the other chapters

Tristan awoke to the feeling of being watched.

"What is it, woman?" he growled playfully.

"Just thinking about how beautiful you are," Damara answered. Her voice was far away, and thoughtful.

Tristan's lips twitched slightly in amusement. Sometimes she came up with the strangest notions. "Men aren't beautiful," he informed her with a yawn and a luxurious stretch.

There was a pause as Damara watched his body flex and coil. "You are," she said softly. He heard the slight catch in her voice and opened his eyes to her liquid blue-green ones peering at him.

Damara blinked and as Tristan watched, a single bright tear trailed its way down her face. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear.

"It's going to be all right," he said softly. "Nothing to worry about."

Damara sniffled and dashed her hand over her eyes to wipe away the remaining tears that were threatening to fall. "I think your lips are my favorite," she said with a slight smile as her eyes lowered to study them.

"Are they?" he asked, bemused.

Her fingers brushed them lightly, and Tristan closed his eyes in enjoyment at the gentleness of her touch. He kissed her fingertips, and then he felt her hands move upwards to cup the sides of his face.

"But you have such strong cheekbones," she murmured. He could feel her fingers stroking the tattoos upon those cheekbones, and her lips brushed against his mouth before moving upwards. Each side of his face received a soft kiss.

Her fingers continued caressing his face, stroking his forehead, running through his hair. Tristan swallowed heavily. On any other morning he would have taken her ministrations as an invitation to something more intimate. Today the thought crossed his mind that she might be committing his face to memory, taking the chance to touch him while she still could. He pushed his fears out of his mind. He would find the words to convince her to stay – Merlin was not going to take this from him.

"Open your eyes," she said.

He did as she asked, and she smiled gently. "One might think they were brown, you know, but they're not. They're golden. Such beautiful eyes..." Slowly she lowered her head and placed a tender kiss upon each eyelid.

"I could spend my life looking at you…"

Her voice caught, and Tristan pulled her down upon him, holding her tightly against his chest. Into her hair he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."

Closing her eyes, Damara nestled against him, reveling in the bristly feel of his chest hair against her cheek. His words reminded her that he had, in fact, gone somewhere the night before.

Of necessity he would sometimes leave and arrive at odd hours, and while she no longer stayed awake and anxious until he returned, she was always aware of his absence even while sleeping. Things just seemed…incomplete when he was gone.

"I felt you leave as I slept," she said. "You went to see him, didn't you?" Tristan always made her aware when he would be riding out early, so she would not wonder where he was when she woke. He'd said nothing of the kind the night previous and Damara knew his unplanned departure could have only been for one purpose.

"I did," he said simply.

She raised her head from where it rested comfortably upon his chest and regarded him. "I should have told you last night," she said. "I'm sorry for that. It was just…"

Tristan shook his head. "No matter. I would have seen him anyway," he said. He thought back to his conversation with Merlin, which had been an odd experience, to say the least. In the morning light, it seemed as if it had barely happened, as if it had been a dream.

"He knew I was coming," Tristan told Damara. "He was waiting for me in the forest." Falling silent for a moment, he remembered how unsettling Merlin's unexpected presence had been. And how equally disconcerted Tristan had been by the other man's seeming disappearance into thin air when he had declared their meeting at an end.

"What did he tell you?" Damara asked softly.

Tristan looked down into her face as he replied, "He said you were going to leave me."

Damara cast her eyes downward, suddenly unwilling to look at Tristan. With a heavy sigh, she lay her head back down upon his chest.

"You can't believe that story of his," Tristan said. "He's manipulating you. Surely you see that."

Damara wished she could be as sure as Tristan was. She had doubts, but there was something about Merlin, something that felt old and powerful, which made her unwilling to completely trust those doubts.

She began running her fingers idly through the hair on Tristan's chest. "If not for him, you would not be here now," Damara said. "No one believed you would live, but here you are. If Merlin can do that, can he not undo it?"

"Look at me," Tristan said. When she hesitated, he asked again. "Damara, look at me."

Reluctantly she dragged her gaze up to meet his. His eyes were golden and intense as they bored into hers.

"It was not any power of Merlin's that saved me, but you. I felt your presence; it was you who brought me back." Tristan's gaze was direct, his demeanor earnest.

Damara wondered if Tristan truly believed that. He had always been uncomfortable with the notion of powers and knowledge from beyond. He scoffed, but the question of what had really happened to him was one he'd never dwelled upon.

Damara wished she could believe that she had saved his life, but in her heart she knew it wasn't true. Something…other had saved Tristan. Oh, she had helped, but it hadn't been all her doing, by any means.

Damara took Tristan's hand. "I'm flattered by your faith in me, but…"

"Marry me."

Her voice trailed away, and she looked at Tristan's face. She was unsure of what she'd just heard, but it had sounded like…

"Marry me," Tristan said again, softly. Outwardly he was calm, his voice almost nonchalant, but he wondered that she did not hear the pounding of his heart, for it felt near to leaping from his chest. He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but now that he had, the only thing to be done was to wait for her answer.

As he watched the awareness of what he had said and then the happiness steal over her face, his heart slowed and he realized he had been holding his breath.

"Tristan," she murmured, smiling at him. Her face was radiant and he felt his stomach do a flip. Gods, she was beautiful.

Damara would be happy to be with Tristan just as they were. A ceremony would not bring them closer, but all the same she was ridiculously happy at the thought of being his wife. She was on the verge of telling him so when she remembered Merlin.

Tristan watched as a shadow began to cross Damara's face, marring the happiness that had briefly shone there. The specter of Merlin, banished for a few moments, hovered over them again.

Before she could say anything, Tristan pulled her tightly against him. "Don't even think about him," he said. "He has nothing to do with us."

Damara clung to him, wishing fervently that were so. Merlin had told her that she had time to prepare. How much, he did not say, but she did not want to think about him now. Time enough for that later.

ooooo

Merlin's ultimatum was a subject that was never far from Tristan and Damara's thoughts, and it dominated their conversations in the following days. Damara was torn with doubt and Tristan strong in his conviction that Merlin was a trickster with no real power. Away from Merlin's influence, Damara began to be swayed by Tristan's arguments.

He had told Damara of Merlin's reluctance to name a time frame for Tristan's supposedly imminent demise. "He ended our conversation as soon as I asked him - he only bluffs to get you to do his bidding. The old fox would not commit because he fears being exposed as a fraud when his words do not come to pass." Seeing the doubt on her face and hoping to press his advantage, Tristan went on.

"Every time that I ride out could be my last," he said. "You live with that now – what is it about Merlin's words that changes any of that?" He watched her and could see that his words had made an impact.

Everything Tristan said to her made perfect sense. It was true – though war with the Saxons was not yet upon them, Tristan lived a dangerous life. There were no guarantees that he would always come home to her. She did not live in fear of it, but she lived with the knowledge of it. It could happen tomorrow, or never. What did Merlin threaten that was any different?

Their conversations did not all center on Merlin, and were not all peaceful ones. At times they had bitter arguments, especially when they would turn to the topic of marriage. Damara had thus far avoided giving Tristan an answer to his proposal and her refusal to do so hurt him deeply. For her part, Damara desperately wanted to speak the words that would end his pain, but she could not – not while she remained so unsure of the future.

The question of Merlin was one she continued to push aside for later consideration. He was unseen, and the fear that had squeezed at her heart upon hearing his ultimatum began to recede.

A week passed, and then another. As Tristan's opinion of Merlin began to sway her, Damara began to think they might have a future. When he again broached the subject of marriage, instead of refusing an answer, Damara deflected it by asking him who would marry them. Their options were to be married by Merlin, or at least by another under his authority, or in the Christian church. Neither choice was palatable to them, and Tristan hadn't considered the details of a wedding, only the end result.

Seeing the consternation on his face, Damara went to him. "No wedding ceremony will ever bind me closer to you than my heart already does." She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. "Do you not know that?"

Tristan kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tightly. "Aye, I know it. In my heart, you are my wife already, but I would honor you with a public declaration. I would have no one say that I do not love you enough to marry you."

"Since when do you care for what other people think?" Damara asked him teasingly.

"I don't – they can think what they like about me," Tristan returned. "But you are another matter. I would have you looked down on by no one." As he said the last, his tone was intense, almost angry. Damara pulled back to look at him.

Damara wondered if he knew of the sidelong glances, the whispers and giggles that sometimes followed her as she went about her daily business. Of the rumors that she had been a whore to Romans, the proof of which was the bastard she carried on her hip.

Though she held her head high and was sure of Tristan's love, in darker moments she wondered if he might not be better off without her. Most of the time she paid no heed, for most people treated her kindly, with those who scoffed at her being ever fewer in number.

She smiled at Tristan. "Any woman who would scorn me for not being your wife only hides their jealousy that they do not have a man such as you. I stand proudly by your side, whetherwife to you or not," she said.

"You are wife in my heart," said Tristan, bringing up his hand to cup her face, "but I would one day wed you all the same." His eyes searched hers, hoping to find the answer he sought in their blue green depths.

Damara reached up with her own hand and stroked Tristan's bearded jaw line. There was a touch more gray in it than there had been when they met, she thought.

"One day, when things are right," she agreed.

A look of comprehension dawned over Tristan's face. "Did you just say yes?" he asked her, not quite believing.

Smiling, Damara answered, "I believe I did."

With a triumphant whoop, Tristan wrapped his arms around her waist. He picked her up and pulled her against him, twirlingher around and around as her feet flew through the air. Damara laughed and shrieked, pounding his back with her fists until he stopped and put her back down.

She had barely caught her breath when his mouth came down on hers and took it away again.

ooooo

Several days later, Damara stood outside the hut that Bors and Vanora shared, looking around in amazement.

"That is a lot of chickens, Vanora!" she exclaimed.

Indeed, there were chickens everywhere, a veritable cornucopia of them, scratching and pecking at the ground. The low clucking noise they made rose occasionally to outraged squawks as the children laughingly attempted to see who could catch one first.

"We've had them over a week now, and I've yet to see more than a couple of eggs out of the lot," Vanora complained. "I should have sent Bors back straight away when he came from market with them." She heaved a big sigh, but then smiled as she watched the antics of the children. "That will teach me to let him go on his own."

"He wasn't exactly on his own, as I recall," said Damara. "How do three men go to look at horses, and come home with a wagonful of chickens?"

Vanora glowered darkly. "Bors had the idea that we could make money selling the eggs, and that there would at least always be fresh chicken to eat. Galahad and Gawain of course, didn't bother to try to talk sense into him."

There was a small uproar as Damara's raven landed in the midst of the flock and began pecking at the ground. He quickly decided that this food was beneath him, but his companions were of mild interest. The chickens settled down, but gave him a wide berth as he strutted about amongst them.

"So, Bors fancies himself a chicken farmer now, does he?" Damara grinned.

"Oh, no, not him," said Vanora. "The children. 'It's about time they made themselves useful,' is what he said to me. He intends that they feed them, and gather the eggs to sell around the village, only there have been precious few of those. The only thing that I foresee is more work for me." She flapped her hands at the children. "Go on, now! You find yourselves something else to do. Those chickens will never lay as long as you keep them in a frenzy like you do!"

The children made general noises of discontent, and one or two of them made last frantic grabs to catch a hen, which failed miserably. "Come on, Bran!" one of the brood shouted as they trailed away.

"NO!" came the reply.

Damara turned her head to see what her child was up to. "Bran! You heard Miss Vanora! You go on away from there and go with the others!" she said.

Bran turned around and shot a baleful glare at his mother. His finger pointed sternly at her and his brows lowered. "No!" he said peevishly.

Vanora stifled a giggle while Damara sighed heavily in exasperation. She strode swiftly across the yard towards her son, who began to wail in misery with the knowledge that his good time was about to be over. Chickens scattered and clucked their distress as her skirts swept past them.

"Do you want to go home and have a nap?" she asked Bran as she picked him up.

"No!" he shrieked, flailing about madly. "Chicken!"

"Well, you can't have the chicken," Damara explained, her patience wearing thin. Bran nearly toppled from her arms as he flung himself backward in despair at the bad news.

This was intolerable. Damara set her son on the ground and squatted so that she was eye level with him. "That is enough! Do you understand me?" She was frustrated by his behavior lately and worked hard not to let her temper get the better of her, though she wasn't always successful.

The boy rubbed his eyes, smearing tears into the dirt on his face. Tracks of clean worked their way down his cheeks as more tears followed. Suddenly remorseful, he reached for Damara, who after a moment relented and held him close. Bran continued to cry for a few moments and then rubbed his face into her shoulder, wiping tears and snot on her blouse.

"Lovely," she sighed.

A tiny voice piped up. "Maybe Bran would like to see the kittens," Damara heard from beside her.

Bran's head popped up from where it lay on Damara's shoulder. He blinked and squirmed out of Damara's grasp, obviously over the chickens and on to the next new thing.

"But you have to promise to be good," said the little girl. Damara knew it wasn't one of Vanora's children, but wasn't quite sure which of the other villagers she belonged to.

"Thank you, Roswynn," said Vanora. "Make sure you all are nice to the kittens."

"We will!" said the little girl as she grasped Bran's hand. She walked out of the yard, explaining the rules of looking at the kittens while Bran waddled eagerly at her side.

"You poor dear," Vanora laughed, looking at the frazzled Damara.

"I don't know what to do with him," Damara said. "He used to be such a sweet-tempered child. Suddenly it's like he's become somebody else. So much defiance and oh! The temper tantrums he throws!"

"They all get like that around his age," said Vanora. "Some are better than others of course, but he'll get past it. Some of mine were so bad they would have had Bors pulling his hair out if he had any!"

Damara made a face of mock disgust. "Oh, Bran is nothing but good for Tristan," she said. "He says I am too soft on him, that is why he misbehaves."

"Pah, men!" snorted Vanora. "What do they know of it?"

"Well, it doesn't help that Bran behaves for Tristan and not for me," Damara said sourly. "Now Tristan thinks he is an expert." She giggled suddenly.

"You should have seen it yesterday," she said to Vanora. "Bran was being obstinate, and Tristan happened to come home. He scolded Bran for not minding me, and Bran was devastated. He just can't stand for Tristan to be cross with him."

"What did he do?" asked the redhead.

"He followed Tristan around with his arms up, wailing, 'Daaaaaa!' until Tristan could finally take it no more, and picked him up and held him until he fell asleep." Damara snorted. "But I am the soft one! You should have seen the sheepish looks he was giving me."

"I've seen that look a time or two myself," said Vanora. "Like when I caught Bors promising them sweets if they behaved!"

"I hope he doesn't share that tactic with Tristan," smiled Damara.

The two women laughed, and after their laughter faded, Vanora said, "Tristan is a good father. I've known him for many years and never would have thought it."

Damara smiled. He was a good father, a good man. Her only wish was to give him a child of his own. Though it would be a daughter, she knew Tristan would be pleased. Thus far, there were no signs of one. She was about to voice this thought to Vanora when the redhead spoke.

"So I hear there is a marriage in your future."

Surprised, Damara said, "Tristan told you?"

"Not exactly," smiled Vanora. "He told Bors, and Gawain, and Galahad, and I think he may have even told the blacksmith and the stable hands."

Damara felt stricken and the blood ran from her face. What if word got around to Merlin? "The blacksmith and the stable hands?" she asked. "Why would he tell them?"

Vanora looked at her curiously. "I was joking, dear," she said. "I don't think he has told anyone but the knights and maybe Jols. I just meant that he seemed very pleased about the whole thing."

Damara's face began to relax a bit and Vanora asked her, "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no," Damara laughed nervously. "It just didn't sound like Tristan to be so open about it, I didn't realize you were joking."

Vanora considered her friend carefully and was about to say something when a sudden cry rang out from the gate.

"Riders approaching!"

The two women looked at each other in surprise. "Everyone is here, aren't they?" asked Vanora.

"Except for Lancelot, and it's too early to expect him back," Damara replied.

People came to the fortress every day, mostly men looking to help defend against the Saxon incursion. So many arrived, in fact, that their coming was no longer announced, unless it happened to be somehow noteworthy. Men on horseback were noteworthy, though they were generally the knights of the fortress returning from some business.

The men who came were mostly untrained and on foot, and usually sent by Lancelot who had made it his mission to help raise an army. He rode from village to village, speaking of Arthur and the need for good men to help him defend against the Saxons. It kept him away from the keep while giving him a plausible explanation for staying away.

He always seemed so at peace when he returned, and within a few days would be champing at the bit to be off again. He would seem thinner, more drawn, faded somehow. It was not readily apparent to everyone, for Lancelot fought hard to keep his feelings under wraps, though as gossip attested, not as well as he assumed. Around Damara, however, he would relax his guard and it seemed to her that he would go somehow colorless at those times. Damara worried for him, worried that the thing that ate away at him would somehow be his end. His eyes, while sparkling and merry upon returning from his travels, would soon return to their now more usual troubled state.

It had occurred to Damara briefly that his feelings might not be entirely natural. The rapid change from peaceful to haunted when he was at the keep and closer to Guinevere, the intensity of his state. This was not love that she could discern, but something more akin to obsession, need. With a bit of hate thrown in for good measure. Hate for himself, certainly. Hate for Arthur, who had always been as a brother to him. And even some for Guinevere for being the root of it all. These were not feelings that would come naturally to the Lancelot she had known previously.

To satisfy her curiosity, Damara had sought to question the dark knight, but he had snapped at her and would not discuss the matter. Shortly thereafter he had left yet again, and she had swept her suspicions from her mind. Surely she was blowing it all out of proportion. Anyway – what purpose would binding him to Guinevere serve anyone? It made no sense.

He was her friend and she loved him dearly, but of late she'd had problems of her own to try to solve. Merlin remained in the back of her mind, much as she sought to forget he existed and enjoy her life with Tristan. Her stomach churned at the thought of Merlin, and as was her custom, she dismissed him from her mind.

Bringing herself back to the present, Damara turned to her companion. "I wonder who the riders are?" she asked.

Vanora shrugged. "Who knows? Could be farmers riding in on their plow-horses. I suppose we'll find out if it's anyone of consequence."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Damara returned. "I'd better go gather up Bran and get him down for a nap." Wearily she added, "That is, if he is done playing with the kittens."

Saying goodbye to her friend, Damara left to go get her son and take him home.

TBC