A/N: This is just a little something that popped into my head so I whipped it up and made a one shot out of it. It's not the greatest, but you might enjoy it anyway. I don't know why, but I just can't leave poor Tristan alone. Oh, well.

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur or its characters but I would most certainly love to borrow Gawain and Tristan. Just for an hour? Please? Pretty please?

Be There

It was a very rare thing for the cursed island to have such a warm and clear night. The stars shone brightly in the blackened sky and a soft breeze picked up Tristan's dark hair and tickled his cheeks and forehead. It was nights like these that he enjoyed sitting along the fort's parapet, looking out over the vast expanse of land, and ruminating. He was close enough from the tavern to still be able to hear most of what was going on, but far enough for the din to be background noise.

As Tristan made his way up the stone steps to the parapet, a woman came into view. He recognized her familiar small frame the instant he saw it. She was Dagonet's younger sister who had arrived at the wall two months prior, baring news that their parents had passed on. Though she was no more than a year younger than Tristan, she was unmarried, saying she wished to return to Sarmatia with her brother before wedding.

Physically, she was the opposite of Dagonet. Where he was tall and brawny, she was short and petite, looking as though the wind could carry her away. Her curly brown hair hung past her shoulders with two braids beginning at her temples and connecting at the back of her head, effectively keeping the wild curls out of her face. Fleetingly, Tristan had wondered if her brother would have similar hair if he let it grow.

Personality wise, the siblings were not so different. They were both quiet and listened carefully when others spoke, and both showed great kindness and care to those they liked. However, where Dagonet would offer advice on a problem, his sister was far more inclined to show empathy. She had a profound understanding of other people and Tristan had spent many nights on the parapet, thinking to himself with her quiet presence beside him. In two months she had become something of a friend to him, though they spoke very little. He may even go as far as to call her a sister figure.

The moment Tristan reached the top of the stone steps, he realized something was amiss. His dark eyes took in the fact that she had her back to the field beyond the wall and her head was hung. She had managed to draw into herself as much as she possibly could, making her seem even small than she already was.

Tristan approached and stood before her. She looked up and he saw that her cheeks were tear-stained and her blue eyes were red from crying. He didn't have to speak; he let his eyes ask the question his voice would not. He knew she would understand.

Sniffling, she looked away from him. "Last night," her voice was hardly audible, even to him. "A Roman followed me from the tavern. He dragged me into an alley and tried to..."

Her voice broke off and her hand covered her mouth as she suppressed a sob. Tristan waited, tensely, giving her time recover and finish her story, though he could easily guess where it was going. If it was going where he thought... he pushed away the thoughts of what he would do and concentrated on her as she began to speak again.

"I managed to get away before he..." She shook her head and continued to stare at the ground.

"Have you told Dagonet or Arthur," he asked in quiet, intense voice.

She shook her head. "Arthur would want to bring the man to justice but he would deny any accusations against him and there's not proof to condemn him. It would be pointless to tell him." She met his eyes. "I was going to tell Dag tonight but I don't know where he is and I'm afraid if I go anywhere alone..."

Once again, she trailed off and looked down. She didn't have to finish her sentence for Tristan to understand. She was afraid her attacker would attempt to finish the job.

"Bree." It was the first time he had ever spoken her name and it effectively got her full attention. He took one of her hands in his own and she absentmindedly ran her thumb over his knuckles, feeling the rough calluses against her soft skin. "Go find Dagonet and tell him. If anything happens, call for me. I'll be there to take care of it."

She nodded dumbly before she could find words. "Thank you," she murmured.

From the tavern, Tristan could hear one of his brothers calling for him. He gave her a curt nod before turning and leaving. She watched as he disappeared down the stone steps and into the darkness. Her mind was racing trying to process what had just happened. Tristan had spoken her name. Held her hand. He had said he would be there for her. Had that all been a dream?

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she began to move towards the steps to begin her search for her brother. As she did, her mind returned to Tristan.

It was clear to her that Tristan thought of her as a friend or a maybe even a sister. They had come to a new level in their relationship, though. She could sense the unspoken agreement between them. He would always be there for her, even when her brother couldn't be. She sighed as she made her way down the stone steps.

Gods did she love that man.