Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the movie King Arthur or the Tristan and Isolde legends.

The Shadow of Doubt

AN: So, I finally thought I would try my hand at a Bors and Vanora piece (of course with a good measure of Tristan thrown in there as well). I hope you enjoy it, and please R&R.

Vanora was in labor again. Bors had been thrown from his hut three times and was now pacing the battlements with a jug of mead in one hand and a sword in the other. One would have thought that after the first ten labors, Bors would have become used to the excitement by now. After all, Vanora had given birth to ten healthy children without so much as a frightened glare. Even the first time she had been with child at only seventeen, she had stood proud, prepared for anything. She was a strong woman; Bors wouldn't have loved her if she wasn't. She was the only person who could stand up to him when he was out of line, and she was the only one he needed when feeling lonely.

Now, Bors was worried out of his mind for her well being. Vanora was no longer seventeen. Her youthful face may have fooled many men, but her body was aging even if it did not show. A woman did not bear ten bastards without it taking its toll. Though she was still the strongest and feistiest woman Bors had ever met, he worried that she might not be cut out for this anymore.

What frightened him most was that his service was nearly complete. In less than a year, he would once again be a free man, but what good would his freedom be if he did not have Vanora by his side to share it with. He always joked that he would never marry, but in reality he already considered himself wed to his fiery redhead. What would he do without her fiery temper to clash with? How would he live without her bright smiles that were only for him? How could he continue to live without the love of his pathetic life to stand beside him?

Eleven this would be. Eleven children and he still treated her as though she were nothing more than a passing fancy. What if this time she woke up with her new babe in her arms and finally came to her senses. What did a beautiful woman like Vanora want with a fat, bald, boisterous man like him? What was so special about him that someone like Lancelot couldn't provide? No, this time Vanora would realize that she was a fool to want him and would set her sights on a more handsome target. What if she had already realized that he was not for her? What is it was not his child that she carried? Another scream pierced the quiet British night, and Bors took another swig from his jug before launching it at the side of the wall. The clay jug shattered and the remaining mead dripped down the wall. Bors let out a strangled scream of his own as his frustration continued to build.

Bors grumbled and mumbled to himself for a long moment before he noticed the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Bors prayed that it was Dagonet because he was fairly certain that he would kill whoever it was, if it was not the kind giant. Dagonet would know exactly what to say in order to ease Bors' paranoid mind; however, Bors was not to be so lucky this night. As the footsteps reached the top of the stairs Bors turned to see who had joined him. The large night was shocked to see the scout sat perched on the battlements looking down upon the dark fields and forests as a king would his kingdom, but Bors figured that the wilderness was Tristan's kingdom so it was not so far fetched.

Bors began to bristle at the intrusion when Tristan neither spoke nor even acknowledged Bors presence. The dark scout simple crouched upon the wall of the battlements gazing out at the stars over the dark earth. Bors wished that he had not destroyed his jug of mead, now that he was struggling to control his temper. Just as he was about to open his mouth to address the scout, Tristan spoke.

"You worry greatly, but she has given you no cause to trouble your self," came the cryptic greeting of the scout. Bors nearly stomped right over and strangled the feral knight, but somehow held himself back.

"No reason to worry… no reason to worry," he nearly screamed as he swung the short sword around like a man possessed. In reality he was possessed, possessed by the worry and need to protect his lover. "She could die in there just as easily as she could live. Don't try to tell me that everything shall be fine, you've never had the woman you love give birth to your child," Bors grunted as his blade slammed forcefully into the stone of the battlement just feet away from where the scout perched.

"Vanora is strong. She will do fine just as she has done ten times before this," Tristan said with mild indifference, as he pulled at a loose string on him tunic.

"Leave me scout. I do not wish to hear you hollow words. One must be able to feel in order to understand worry," Bors growled bitterly as he looked out over the village toward the hut that housed his growing family. He did not notice the flash of hurt that passed over Tristan's expressive eyes or slight tensing of his already too tight muscles.

"Dag sent me to make sure that you did nothing foolish while he stands by to help the midwife if she needs anything. Therefore, I cannot leave you," Tristan stated emotionlessly as he continued to stare out at the open land. There was a wall far more massive that that of Hadrian's surrounding Tristan's heart, but even the most magnificent of structures could be torn down for the right reason.

"I said leave me," Bors bellowed once again when Tristan made no sign of moving. He swung his blade sloppily toward the scout, but Tristan didn't so much as flinch as the blade stopped mere centimeters from his neck. "Are you deaf as well as stupid," Bors growled with his blade hovering just beside the scout's neck.

"You are a lucky man to have a woman who loves you as much as Vanora does. It is not often for one to find such a mate," Tristan's voice was almost wistful as the words lilted off his tongue. Bors nearly gaped at the gentleness of the scout's tone. There was almost a reverence to his statement that Bors could barely comprehend.

"What do you speak of Tris," Bors reverted back to the nickname he had given the scout early in their service. It was the only endearment Tristan allowed them to use, but he was barely spoken to enough for the nickname to truly catch on. Scout was the title he was most referred to by, and he made no complaints about the distance that came with the title.

"Vanora is a wonderful woman. You are lucky to have found her," Tristan stated simply as he finally glanced away from the landscape and toward Bors.

"Yeah, Van is one of a kind," Bors said with a sigh as he slowly lowered his blade from Tristan's neck. "But what would you know about such things," Bors asked with derision.

"I may not be as Lancelot, among the wenches or Galahad with the village maidens. I may not be Gawain with his wild romps or Dagonet with his quiet liaisons, but I have not been a stranger to women as you all make me out to be," Tristan explained softly as he watched his fellow knight carefully.

"Is that so," Bors said in mild disbelief. Slowly, he placed his sword upon the wall beside where Tristan still crouched. Tristan had somehow distracted him from the worry and pain that was his wait for Vanora to give birth.

"May I tell you a story," Tristan asked solemnly as he turned his gaze back to the open fields. His long braided hair covered most of his face making it impossible for Bors to read his expression, if he even wore one.

"If you wish to," Bors consented with a sigh. Tristan never shared anything, so Bors was not about to deny the rare offer. Carefully, Bors pulled himself up to sit beside Tristan on the wall.

"As you know I was eighteen winters when I was enlisted by Rome," Tristan began with a long sigh. "As you saw when you rode through my village, there was a large funeral pyre," Tristan continued slowly as though waiting for a sign of recognition from Bors. Bors simply nodded as he urged Tristan on. "It was for the daughter of the chieftain. She had been struck by disease swiftly. One day she was smiling brightly as she aided the less fortunate of our tribe, such as the widowed and orphaned, and the next day she lay on what was to become her deathbed.

"She had been a lively spirit, always giving and never asking for anything in return, but being a good soul does not save you from the horrors of this world. Iseult was her name, and she was as beautiful as that name implied. She had gone against her father's wishes when she took her husband. She was supposed to wed the leader of another tribe as a sort of peace offering to end the feud between the two tribes. However, before the arrangements could be made, Iseult swore to her father that she would sooner take her own life than be forced to marry for any reason other than love," Tristan paused to think of his next words. As he glanced back at Bors, he noticed that the boisterous knight was actually quite entranced by the story.

So Tristan continued, "You see, Iseult was in love with a mere warrior. No rich blood ran threw his veins, only the blood of earth and battle. He had saved her during an attack on their tribe, by the very tribe she was to marry into. By saving her, he had nearly lost his own life, but she tended his wounds and he survived. Though he never pursued her or even entertained the thought that she would ever love him, they both loved each other secretly. When Iseult told her father of her love, he nearly killed the man himself. However, he saw the love and pain in his daughter's eyes and could do naught to hurt her. He told her that she could marry who she wished, but her power would be stripped from her. Her husband would never be chieftain.

"When the young man heard of her exclamation of her love, he sought her out immediately. They were wed and loved each other for over a year, before they heard that the Romans were coming to recruit new cavalrymen. It seemed as though their wonderful life together was about to be shattered. It was barely a week after word arrived that Iseult was taken ill. Some said it was a broken heart that killed her, while others say it was simply the will of the gods. All I know is that Iseult died three days after she fell ill and one day before the Romans arrived. The entire village mourned the loss of their most spirited princess, for though she gave up her right to lead the tribe by marrying her love, she was still beloved by all who knew her sacrifice. They spent all night building that pyre so that at dawn, she might find her way to the afterlife."

Tristan paused once more as he recalled a memory then asked, "Do you know what her last words to her beloved were?"

"How should I know Tristan," Bors said, not unkindly as he hoped Tristan would enlighten him. Bors did not understand why, but he was desperate to hear the end of the story.

"She said to her husband, 'Do not fret, my love, because I die a happy woman. For how many can boast that they were so privileged as to have found their true love and woken everyday beside them? My life may have been short and our marriage shorter, but I would not have given a moment of it to live another lifetime without you by my side.' Her beloved never forgot those words. He carried them with him like her memory itself because without them he was just another lonely man, but with them he was still man in love," Tristan sighed as he finished his tale. The moon had found its way out from behind the clouds. It was nearly full, only missing a sliver of its side just as Tristan was missing a sliver of his heart.

"That is a sad story Tristan, but what does it have to do with Vanora and me," Bors asked in curiosity, not having put the pieces together yet. "And how do you know so much about this man," Bors asked as he ran his large hand over his haggard face.

"As I told you, I do not have the reputations with women that the others do, but I am not unfamiliar with the ways of the heart. I told you this Bors because you worry over Vanora's well being, and then you worry about her loyalty to you. I have witnessed the purest of romances, old friend. Not all women shall cry out their love for you in front of an entire tribe of disapproving faces, but that does not mean that they do not cherish every moment that they share with you. Remember that Vanora could have had any man this fort had to offer, but it was your lap that she sought out. She chose you for a reason, whether you see it or not. Women are romantic creatures to the core, she sought you because she knew she could love you and you would always love her. Any woman could bed Lancelot for a night, but few are willing to stay once the sun rises. Remember that and cherish every moment you have with her, and there is nothing more that you can do," Tristan explained himself quietly before pausing to her the silence of the night. As they stood there in quiet acceptance, Tristan's large hawk swooped down to perch between them.

"The commotion has ceased," Tristan said stoically, his mask once again in place as he stroke the predator's chest feathers. "You should be going to her side. Vanora will wish to tell you how much she never wishes to bed you again," he said with a smirk.

Bors seemed to waken from the thoughts that had been brought up by Tristan's wisdom. He had never thought Tristan to be sage or compassionate in anyway, but tonight he had seen the wisdom in Tristan's words. Quickly, Bors sobered and began to rush for the stairs of the battlements, "Oh gods she best be well, I have much to tell her," Bors growled as he moved.

"Bors," Tristan called as the large knight moved. Bors turned his head and paused for a moment to hear what the scout had to say. "Congratulations," Tristan said without turning from the scene before him.

Bors studied the scout's hunched figured. His tattered cloak and wild hair made him look far more menacing than he truly was. Bors was saddened by the fact that Tristan never allowed himself to be part of the group, and instead opted to stick to his own solitude. Without realizing it Bors heard himself ask, "Tris, what was the name of Iseult's beloved?"

"Tristan, Bors. His name was Tristan. Now go, your lover awaits you as does your new child," Tristan answered with a slow sigh. Bors was shocked but knew that he could say nothing more to the scout. Tristan didn't want pity or compassion or anything else. He had shared his story not for his own wellbeing, but for Bors to understand his own love for Vanora. Without another word the large knight made his way back to his hut to see his exhausted lover and new child.

Tristan did not move from the battlements once Bors left. Instead he sat there looking out over the calm land. "I wish you were beside me again, Beloved, but I do not mourn you for I know we shall meet again," Tristan whispered as he finally took his leave of the look out, and sought his own bed, and hopeful dreams of the love he once had. His hawk simply cocked her head to the side and watched him leave. She watched over him as he walked to the barracks as one would watch over the one they love, before the hawk too took her leave of the battlements.

Vanora scream countless profanities as Bors burst into the hut. "You good for nothing pig, I swear I shall never bed you again so long as I live. I shall never bear another one of your bastards," she cried as Bors swiftly knelt by her side taking in the scene of her holding his newborn son in her tired arms.

"Forgive me, love, I am sorry for everything I've ever put you through. I'm sorry for ever doubting your love," Bors mumbled endlessly into her long sweat soaked hair as he embraced her passionately. "I love you Vanora," He finally whispered as he stole a chaste kiss from her before climbing onto the cot beside her, cradling their child between them as they drifted off into a pleasant sleep.

"What has gotten into you Bors," Vanora asked in lazy confusion as sleep threatened to spirit her away.

"Someone made me realize just how precious you are to me," Bors answered as he kissed her temple lightly and stroked her soft hair.

"Who could have possibly gotten through that thick skull of yours," Vanora laughed exhaustedly.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Bors replied with a small laugh.

"Try me," Vanora challenged lightly as she shifted their child into his arms with a tender smile as her eyes began to drift shut.

"Tristan," Bors whispered as he took in the deep blue eyes and soft round features of his newborn son. The child looked up at him with the most pure love he had ever seen, and he felt his heart go out to the scout for never getting the chance to experience this, but for cherishing every moment of his life all the same.

"I always told you there was more to him than met the eye," Vanora sighed as sleep finally took her as she snuggled closer to her beloved. Bors had no words for the love her felt for the woman beside him, but he understood completely what Tristan meant by his story. Bors had found his own Iseult and would cherish every moment he had with her because the life he lived could end in a moment, but his love would last for eternity.

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I hope you enjoyed this. And yes, I know Tristan's story deviated greatly from the Tristan and Isolde legend, but it served my purposes. Anyway, please tell me what you thought of this.