A/N: Something that has been nagging me for months now. I will be finishing my other story as well!

This is post-movie and AU, because all knights are still alive ( yeah, I've gone all soft). You can find a list of characters on my profile. This story has no connection to my other one, though I have borrowed Dinadan's background from PPF.

I hope you will enjoy this story!

On Politics

Tristan did not like politics. At all. He was born and bred a warrior and had spent his entire life resolving conflicts with sharpened metal. In his opinion, it was an efficient and time-saving way of solving problems.

Arthur had orated time and again on the necessity of bringing the different tribes of Britannia together in peaceful and diplomatic ways. Bloodshed would only further antagonise tribes that had been rivals for many centuries, before Rome had imposed her peace on them for only a few hundred years.

Now that Arthur had united the rebels and most of the Briton tribes from the northern parts of the island and had established his rule as king, it was time to look at the territories around them, which had been formed after Rome's abandonment of the island.

There were some Romans that had stayed behind and built their own small realm, neighboured by native people who had returned to the rule as it had existed before Rome's occupation. Other Britons, who'd held power in the empire as magistrates and village elders continued to exert it under their own name.

Some were quick to join under Arthur's rule, while some were suspicious and even openly hostile. It had been eight years since Badon Hill and Arthur had spent every day consolidating his kingdom and establishing relations with neighbouring lords. Arthur's court was no longer established at the Wall, but at a more centrally located fort, which had been further fortified and expanded, quickly growing into a large settlement.

Diplomacy. Tristan snorted, leaning back in his seat and looking around the Round Table. He stretched his long legs under the Table, the leather of his boots protesting. An excuse for back-stabbing and scheming. And above all, time-consuming and utterly dull. Tristan spared the serving girl that was filling his cup barely a glance. "Sir," she said softly and moved to Dinadan, who was sitting next to him.

The Round Table, mostly vacant after fifteen years of fighting, had been filled again over the past eight years. New recruits that had proven themselves were sitting next to Arthur's own trusted knights and seasoned Briton warriors who'd retired from the Roman army, one of which was Dinadan. Banners and tapestries were hanging from the walls.

The politeness with which he was treated these days had taken Tristan some getting used to, but as the highest ranking men in the king's service, the knights' status was now a world away from the unwillingly enlisted soldiers that they'd been. Tristan found his new status more cumbersome than his old one, because Arthur insisted on having his confidants present at all negotiations and seemingly friendly visits, so he could inform himself of their opinions later.

Tristan appreciated the importance Arthur placed on his knights' opinions, but he thought diplomacy was a waste of time. Worst of all, every guest was treated with such care and courtesy that it often took up Tristan's entire day being present at meetings and feasts.

It was Arthur's Roman blood that made him so keen on ceremony, Tristan was sure of it. That, and the diplomatic trick of making his quests seem important with all this pompous fussing. He had to admit it was an effective trick, aside from the growing portentousness of the guests.

Diplomacy. Wonderful. Diplomacy was the reason why he'd probably be sitting in the Great Hall for the rest of this clear, bright summer day, listening to some neighbouring lord's whingeing and pretentious quacking, while Arthur maintained his usual calm attentiveness with a discipline that Tristan admired.

Lancelot was an expert at diplomacy. He charmed and talked everyone into revealing things they did not want to spill, having an uncanny knack for picking up on things that were left unsaid. Arthur brought him along on all of his travels. At thirty-five, the dark knight had not yet found a wife, though women of all ranks were still lining up for him.

Bors had finally married Vanora after Badon Hill and celebrated his new, honest status with three more children. His two eldest sons were sitting beside him at the Round Table, still wet behind the ears – in Tristan's view – but having earned their seat nonetheless.

Speaking of wet behind the ears… Tristan glanced at Galahad. He smirked behind his cup. Though the whelp was no longer the youngest knight, he had retained that trace of innocence he had always had, and which had caused the regular arguments between the scout and the younger man. Even after twenty-three years, Tristan could not help himself making the odd remark he knew would rile Galahad.

The whelp had married Bors's eldest daughter two years ago. Tristan cringed. He would never touch one of Bors's daughters. Not because of their appearance; some of them had inherited their mother's looks and Vanora still drew every man's eye to her. No, that wasn't why. It was the rather unfortunate circumstance that all of her daughters had inherited her temper. Being raised by Bors had further developed their personality into something Tristan found to be too loud, too quarrelsome, and too eager to throw pottery.

He supposed that was partly what had attracted Galahad – he'd always loved a good argument. Gawain was still the man best-suited to handle Galahad's temper, though it had simmered down somewhat over the years.

Gawain's wife, a daughter of a neighbouring lord, was a tiny thing, not even reaching her husband's broad shoulder. Ragnell nevertheless had the fierce knight firmly wrapped around her little finger, despite her fragile and mouse-like appearance, and had created a solid and warm home for the knight. Their two little boys took after their father in every way, from their unruly, tawny head to their open smiles and twinkling, blue eyes.

Tristan was actually rather fond of Ragnell and her quiet, yet strong presence. He visited their home often. Ragnell accepted his taciturn ways in the same unassuming manner as her husband had done so many years ago, at ease with his silent presence as she went about her household business or sat near the fire with her embroidery with her husband next to her. The boys had grown up with Tristan's regular visits and always ran out to greet him, something he enjoyed more than he let on.

Like Lancelot and Dagonet, he spent most of his time in his rooms at the royal fort, while the other knights had established homes with their family, only using their rooms when they were summoned.

Leaning back in his seat, Tristan saw that Dagonet had noticed him staring off into the distance and was grinning at him. They were waiting for the arrival of a man named Arwel, who'd commanded the warriors of a lord named Meirion, until the latter had died of sickness two months ago. Apparently there were some problems with the lord's heir, his daughter Eirian.

Lord Meirion had been one of the first and most staunch supporters of Arthur and it was important to the king to have the problem settled before it caused a true rift between the rightful heir and the man who'd been the late lord's confidant and military commander.

Arthur had summoned them both to court after Arwel had appealed to him.

The doors opened and Jols announced Arwel's arrival. A man of about thirty years walked in, his back straight, moving with the awareness and confidence of a battle-hardened warrior. Arwel had a mop of brown curls and a serious face with handsome features. His bow for the king and queen was impeccable.

"Arwel," Arthur greeted him. "It's good to see you again. How are you faring?"

"Well enough, my lord. Thank you," Arwel replied politely. "My lady," he nodded at the queen.

Guinevere inclined her head.

They exchanged more pleasantries, much to Tristan's chagrin. It would be a while before they would get to the point. Tristan let his thoughts wander again, but still following the conversation between the king and Arwel with one ear.

"Unfortunately the lady Eirian was unable to travel here, as her messenger informed me yesterday," Arthur said. His voice was calm and even, but Tristan picked up on a hint of annoyance underneath it.

It sparked Tristan's attention. This woman had refused to adhere to a summons? That was unusual. He turned his full attention back to Arthur.

"That saddens me," Guinevere remarked. "I would have liked to see Eirian again."

Tristan had to search his memory, wondering if lord Meirion's daughter had ever visited the court. If so, she hadn't made much of an impression; Tristan did not remember her at all.

"Could you tell us more about the current situation, Arwel?" Arthur requested, after glancing at his wife when she made her subtle comment. Tristan had been in their presence long enough to know Guinevere had just reminded Arthur that even though Eirian was not present, there were still two sides of the story to be gathered.

"Aye, my lord," Arwel obeyed. "As you know, I have been in lord Meirion's service since I was a boy and I came to command his men after Rome's departure, eight years ago. My lord never remarried after his lady Elen's death, even though they only had two daughters, of which lady Eirian is the elder and heir."

"Meirion held on to the memory of his wife," Guinevere said.

"Aye, my lady," Arwel nodded. "Six years ago the lady Eirian was married to a younger son of a Cymru lord. Their children would inherit Meirion's lands. Ifan thus moved to our Caer Brannum. It seemed that the succession was settled, but unfortunately Ifan died while hunting, without having produced an heir."

Arwel shook his head. "Lady Eirian should have remarried, but by then lord Meirion had fallen sick, and he listened to her pleas to let her care for him and her younger sister. The issue of another marriage was not brought up again. Lord Meirion asked me to vow to him to look after his lands and his daughters, having taken care of most of Caer Brannum's affairs for years. Of course I agreed to this."

Arthur listened closely, though most of Arwel's history was already known to the king.

Arwel ran a tired hand through his hair. "After my lord's death, I tried to speak to lady Eirian about the affairs which had to be taken care of. She did not want to speak with me, however. I do not know why. I have always been dedicated to lord Meirian and his family, but lady Eirian had no wish for my services. She had me and my closest men cast out of Caer Brannum, along with most of her father's advisors."

At this Guinevere's eyes widened and Arthur frowned. Tristan could feel his eyebrow rise in disbelief, quickly checking himself.

Arwel continued, "Lady Eirian is clever and quick-witted, but she has had a sheltered childhood and has not been taught how to rule. She is unprepared and vulnerable. Once our enemies get wind of her situation, they will pounce. I fear for her safety and for the future of my lord Meirion's lands. This is why I have appealed to the court."

There was silence after Arwel finished. Gawain and Dinadan's faces wore an expression of astonishment. Lancelot was already mulling every word over, revealed by a thoughtful look he did not bother to hide. Bors and Dagonet were speaking very quietly, heads closely together.

"Thank you," Arthur said. "I will consider your words and I will see you tomorrow morning to inform you of my decision. Jols will show you to your room."

Arwel bowed, thanking the king, and followed Jols outside. The doors were closed.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked.

"I've never heard such a strange story in my life," Lancelot answered. "Meirion has no male relatives to inherit Caer Brannum? That would solve this instantly."

"No," Arthur answered. "This is a delicate situation. Eirian and her sister are the only lawful heirs and as such, Eirian's actions are within her rights, though Arwel deserves far better than the treatment he has received at her hands. During Meirion's final years, he has kept Caer Brannum together."

"Caer Brannum is too important for us to leave this unstable," Lancelot said decidedly.

"Meirion should have married Eirian to Arwel in the first place," Galahad spoke and for once Tristan agreed with him instantly.

"What about the other sister?" Dagonet wanted to know.

"Tegwen is still a child," Guinevere spoke. "When I last visited Caer Brannum, she had only seen ten summers. This would make her thirteen by now."

"It might still come to a marriage between Arwel and Eirian," Lancelot pondered. "It's the only quick and effective way of resolving this. Eirian is of Meirion's blood and Arwel is Meirion's confidant. Together they form a solid pair that their people would follow."

"Eirian has thrown Arwel from his homeland, Lancelot," Guinevere said sharply. "I cannot imagine they could ever form an undivided pair now. And I would certainly like to hear her reasons for these rash actions."

"She has defied a summons from the king and has put her lands, and thus also our lands, in a vulnerable state. Our enemies will not hesitate to strike at a weak spot in our defence. Caer Brannum guards us from the Saxons in the south-east and its lands are the most fertile in the area. They will swallow it like hungry wolves. Eirian has just paved the way for a new war!" Lancelot replied heatedly.

Arthur looked at his wife. "I agree with Lancelot." He held up his hand when Guinevere's face darkened. "But I would also like to know why Eirian is behaving this way. I will go to Caer Brannum myself and speak with her. Gawain, Tristan, Lancelot, you will accompany me."

Lancelot pushed his seat backwards. "I will go and form an escort."

"Thank you." Arthur looked at Tristan, who nodded and stood as well. He knew what Arthur expected of him. The quickest and safest route to Caer Brannum.

"We leave tomorrow at dawn," Arthur concluded. "This must be dealt with as quickly as possible."

"I'll let Arwel know," Gawain said and followed Tristan and Lancelot out of the Great Hall.

The day was clear and sunny. Tristan and Lancelot were riding ahead of the column, a few younger knights behind them, talking excitedly. It was only a three-day ride to the south-east to reach the borders of Caer Brannum's lands and they would be passing through Arthur's own lands to get there.

After doing a thorough survey of the area, Tristan had allowed two apprentices to scout ahead and opted to stay with the king himself, having the young scouts report to him regularly. As he had expected, there was no sign of trouble and the day passed uneventfully, though he enjoyed not being cooped up in the fort. He planned to take the next few scouting rounds for himself again.

The sway of his horse's gait under him and the spicy summer wind in his hair eased a tension in his shoulders he hadn't known was there. He was spending far too much time inside, he realised. He looked up to the sky, searching for a familiar, circling black spot, but his trusted hawk was no longer in this world.

The loss of his companion made him feel ancient. Thirty-eight. Gods, he'd never expected to live this long. He felt the strange, contrasting feelings of contentedness and restlessness surface. They'd been fighting inside him for years, the restlessness stemming from his years in service and the contentedness from a later period, after Arthur's reign had stabilised and Tristan had unexpectedly found himself leading a somewhat regular life.

The peacefulness of the last few years had agreed with him more than he'd expected after an entire lifetime of bloodshed. But there was still a part of him that longed for it, as he longed for days on end in the saddle, with nothing around him but the wild. He'd never been able to reconcile those two aspects of him, not even when there were no more elusive, blue ghosts to be chased there, only flaxen-haired giants.

He touched the grey in his hair. It didn't bother him, nor did the scar that ran from the underside of his chin to his left ear, a white, hairless line in the black of his beard. A reminder of Badon Hill. His leg was hardly giving him trouble anymore, not after the amount of time and sweat Tristan had put into bringing himself back to full strength. It was only when he was truly exhausted that a slight limp was noticeable.

The stab wounds in his chest and side were pink scars now, already faded from the vicious red they'd been just after his near-miraculous recovery. Proof that Arthur's God existed, or so the king said. According to Lancelot, it was just confirmation that a weed like him was too hard to root out.

"You're brooding," the knight in question observed, looking sideways at his companion.

Tristan rolled his eyes. Trust Lancelot to state the obvious, instead of letting him be. The pestering would be next. "If it's conversation you're after, go find Gawain," he said evenly. He hoped the young scouts would return soon, so he could ride ahead in their place and spend some time alone in the land. Hopefully it would ease the restiveness that had been creeping up on him all day.

Lancelot turned in the saddle, looking at the king and Gawain, who were speaking quietly, surrounded by knights and soldiers. "Too serious, whatever they're talking about," he judged. His eye fell on Arwel, who was riding a few feet behind the knight and the king. "What do you think of all this, Tristan?"

"It's unnecessary," Tristan answered. "Meirion should have secured his succession by taking a new wife, or by having his daughter remarry. The obvious choice would have been Arwel himself."

"So you agree with Galahad?" Lancelot asked. "Surprising."

Tristan smirked at Lancelot's mocking tone.

"I can't remember ever having seen Eirian at court, can you?" Lancelot continued. Tristan shook his head in reply, and Lancelot gave a soft grunt. "Meirion must have left her at Caer Brannum when he visited Arthur. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Travelling is dangerous," Tristan shrugged.

"It adds to Arwel's mentioning her sheltered childhood," Lancelot said. "Meirion was a magistrate for Rome when she was a child. She wouldn't have wanted for anything. Hn, I've not asked Arwel for her age," he suddenly changed the subject. Seeing Tristan's raised eyebrow, he added, "To form an idea of her."

"I'll wait until we arrive before I form an idea," Tristan replied. He noticed Griflet's appearance, one of the young scouts, on top of the hill ahead of them. The young man raised his hand and cantered downhill to the road. Tristan relaxed; his easy tempo was proof there were no problems ahead.

"Sir!" Griflet called out to Tristan when he neared them. "Everything's clear."

"I doubt you'd returned so leisurely if it weren't," the older knight replied dryly.

Griflet flushed. "No, sir."

Tristan stopped himself from rolling his eyes, wishing Dinadan had come along on this journey. The Briton had served in the Roman army as a scout for another fort at the Wall and was the best and most experienced scout after Tristan. It would be folly, however, to take the two best scouts on a relatively short and safe journey, leaving the royal fort without either of them.

Plus, this trip was good practice for the younglings.

Tristan and Dinadan trained new scouts, who were given to them after they'd finished regular training. It was Gawain who'd commanded the king's army since Lancelot had gravitated towards politics soon after Badon Hill. Gawain's rock-solid nature and fierce reputation on the battlefield had earned him immediate respect from his men, and his insight in strategy had developed that into admiration.

Gawain had insisted on Tristan taking charge of a company of scouts, training and leading them. Tristan had very little patience with recruits, most of whom were terrified of him, but Gawain had been adamant, saying the only reason Galahad was as lethal with a bow as he was came from Tristan's tutoring.

Tristan had pointed out that he and Galahad were not exactly the closest of the knights. Gawain had only snorted and said, "I don't need them to like you, I need them to be the best."

Outsmarted, Tristan had grudgingly agreed, only to have Gawain add, "Besides, you and Galahad are brothers, no matter how much he gets on your nerves."

It was not long after he'd put together a small group of scouts, made up from former Woads and Britons, that Dinadan returned to Britannia and came to Arthur to join him. After he'd sworn loyalty to Arthur, Tristan immediately enlisted him, remembering him from his days at the Wall. Dinadan was now his second-in-command.

The young Griflet had fallen into line next to Tristan, waiting patiently for his commander to turn his attention to him.

"Tor?"

"He should be back soon, sir," Griflet answered. "He wanted to have a look at the copse just ahead."

Tristan indicated that Griflet should give his report and listened to the careful and elaborate description of the countryside. Next to him, he could sense Lancelot trying to suppress a grin at the boy's obvious attempts to impress his commander with his report.

All of the older knights took part in the training of recruits; Tristan was the only reluctant one and preferred to only mind his scouts. His training was merciless, though, and therefore Gawain often nagged him into handling the newest recruits for a day or so, just to separate chaff from wheat.

"I'd rather be trained by Tristan" had become a common saying amongst the soldiers when speaking about something they truly did not want to do.

There was no disputing his skills, however, and to be accepted into Tristan's scout company meant that recruits not only had to complete regular training, but also be recommended by one of the original knights as well as by Dinadan when he taught scouting techniques to all recruits, before Tristan would even look at them.

Griflet had just finished when Tor, the other young scout, came trotting up to them. "All clear, sir."

"Stay with the column," he ordered them and took off himself. It was warm and the scent of grass and flowers was heavy in the air. Tristan's ears easily caught the sounds of birds and small animals scurrying about in the underbrush. Nothing sounded unnatural or out of place. His scouts had given an accurate account.

He stayed out alone for as long as he could without worrying the column. Fedir, a grandson of the mount who'd brought him to Britannia, appreciated the free reign Tristan gave him, wandering the countryside with ears turned forward.

Tristan decided to take full advantage of the three-day ride and scout ahead himself as much as he could. On the third day, late in the afternoon, he followed the road until he came upon Caer Brannum.

Meirion's residence was a strange gathering of buildings. A Roman villa stood on top of a hill, with a stone wall around it. On the outside smaller, wooden houses and other buildings had been constructed and spilled downhill. Wooden palisades and a moat surrounded the community. The heavy, wooden gate was only half-open and was guarded by eight men.

Tristan turned Fedir around and headed back to the column, which was almost a half-an-hour ride behind him. "Heavily guarded," he told Arthur when he reached them. "As if they expect an attack."

"Well, the woman is not completely without sense then," Gawain quipped. "Do you want me to send someone ahead to announce us?" he asked the king.

"No," Arthur said. "The less time they have to prepare for our arrival the better."

The group wound their way into the fertile valley, on the opposite of which Caer Brannum was situated.

When they arrived, one of the younger knights, Hoel, announced the king. The guards bowed and stepped aside, pushing the gate completely open and allowing the company to ride inside. The residents of Caer Brannum were gathering to watch them as they rode uphill to the fortified villa, of which the gate was already opened. The sentries there also bowed and moved to the side. The king and his companions entered the courtyard. A woman with a stern face stood on the front steps of the villa. She curtsied deeply and elegantly.

Arthur dismounted and walked to her. "Eirian, my condolences with the loss of your father." He gathered her hand and helped her upright again.

"Thank you, my lord."

Tristan studied the lady's face. It was difficult to discern her age. She was wearing a simple black gown, with a transparent black veil drawn over her hair, revealing only a few strands of dark-coloured hair. Her face was pale and drawn.

"Quite a cheery picture," Lancelot mumbled next to him.

"We are honoured with your presence, my lord," Eirian spoke, her voice clear and audible. "Please forgive me for not presenting myself at court. I have not been well enough to travel."

Tristan scoffed softly to himself. Despite the lack of colour in her face, her posture was straight and confident and showing no sign of weakness or illness. She was lying.

"I greatly esteemed your father," Arthur replied politely. "Therefore I have come to see his daughter myself."

"We are most honoured," Eirian said again. "I have already prepared rooms for you." Her eyes swept over Arthur's company and Tristan caught a flash of shrewd, blue eyes. He noticed the slight tightening of her mouth when those eyes locked on Arwel. "And for your men."

He could no longer read anything on her face. Eirian was obviously quick-witted enough to say nothing about the exiled Arwel, as he was so blatantly a part of Arthur's company. And though she might not have been at court before, she had obviously learned how to conceal her thoughts. Something in Arwel's description of her had made her seem less… constrained. The combination of that blank, polite face with those sharp eyes was unexpected. If her actions were not those of a spoilt, naïve daughter who'd been out of control since she'd had a whiff of power, then what was going on?

On top of that, she had already prepared the coming of over thirty men. How could she possibly have known so far in advance? The idea of having been spied upon without him or his scouts knowing it, made Tristan extremely uneasy. And angry.

"No bloodshed yet," Lancelot said softly. "This is going better than expected."

Arthur thanked Eirian, who waved her servants forward to care for the men, while she guided Arthur into the villa herself.

Tristan dismounted, his glare intimidating enough to make the servant hurrying towards him to take his horse step back again, eyes wide. He gestured at the boy to walk ahead. The first thing Tristan would be doing after seeing to Fedir was to prowl Caer Brannum. And he would be making damn sure he was sleeping with one eye open tonight.