Tristan sighed his relief, the weight lifting from his chest. He remained kneeling on the floor and closed his eyes, enjoying the peace, the evening breeze against his face. For the first time since he'd awoken back in his own body, he could breathe freely.

When he was ready, he squared his shoulders and climbed to his feet. Guy was watching him, leaning against another old trunk, his arms folded across his chest. Their eyes met, and Guy smiled.

"Thank you for your help tonight," Tristan said, "I was glad of the company."

Guy nodded, stood, and closed the gap between them. Tristan offered him his hand, and Guy obliged him, their hands closing around one another's wrists.

"You didn't need me, Your Grace," Guy said matter-of-factly, "but I was happy to come along."

Tristan considered him. There was something familiar hiding just beneath the surface. He felt less of a stranger than he should have done. The small, sad, only-just smile reminded him so forcefully of his father, it was almost painful.

He shook his head and released his hold.

"I suppose we'd best head back to camp. If we make it back before Mace, I might not have to tell him what happened. I don't think I could handle another disapproving look right now."

Guy smiled again.

"I know the feeling, and that look. Don't worry, Your Grace, it can be our secret."

Tristan nodded his acknowledgement, as Celidon bumped his head against his hip. He reached out and rested his hand on the cu-sith's head.

"Come on," he said, looking around at them all, fairy and familiar, "let's get back."

They walked in silence, Guy and Altair hanging back. Tristan glanced back at them a couple of times, and judging by the expression on the lieutenant's face, they were deep in silent conversation. He didn't interrupt them.

"Are you okay?" Celidon ventured, his soft voice brushing against the edges of Tristan's mind.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "I think I know what we have to do next, but I have no idea where to start."

"That's okay," Celidon said brightly, his wagging tail ricocheting off the back of Tristan's legs. "You've got me, and your friends. We'll work it out."

"Your Grace?" Guy interrupted, "...Tristan?"

He'd stopped walking. Tristan glanced back over his shoulder, and the expression on Guy's face brought him to a total halt. He turned slowly to look at him, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Guy hesitated.

"I um...I need to tell you something. And I should have told you the other night when I first got to camp, but I've been trying to think how best to do it." He broke off, looking pained. "Only, I don't think there's a good way to say it."

"What...what on earth are you talking about?" Tristan wondered.

"I don't want to hurt you," Guy insisted, "that's the last thing in the world I came here to do."

Had he gone mad? He looked like a man torn, half way between running away and standing his ground, wrenched by indecision. He'd been robbed of his usual easiness.

"Alright," Tristan nodded, fighting to keep his voice steady, confident, "why don't you tell me what you did come here to do? We can go from there."

"To help you," Guy replied, "to help you defeat Mordred and take back your kingdom."

"His kingdom now, technically," Tristan replied, "but go on. I don't see the downside yet."

Guy took a deep steadying breath as he fidgeted with his gloves.

"Our father sent me," he managed at last, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Tristan's stomach dropped, his breath caught in his throat, for the second time that evening he flirted at the edge of panic. He looked Guy over again, his eyes settling finally on the rosary at the lieutenant's neck.

"Our Father?" Tristan ventured, lifting his own cross out from beneath the collar of his shirt. He gestured between the two. "You have visions, Guy?"

Silence.

Tristan tried to ignore the growing unsteadiness in his legs. His breathing echoed in his ears, louder than it should have been. It took a Guy a long time to look at him again.

"No, Tris. Our real father."

"No." It was out of his mouth before he even realised he'd decided to say it, and louder than he'd have wanted, more heated, more shaken. "My father is dead, and before he died there was just the two of us, me and him. You're older than me, Guy, and my father would never have betrayed my mother. I can't believe it, it's impossible, not unless..." He stuttered to a stop.

"No."

Guy seemed to have aged decades. He removed the glove from his right hand, and held up his fingers. Some were missing at the knuckles.

"They came for me in the cold, in the middle of Lorraine's winter," he said, "they drugged me, but not well enough. Their plan went wrong, and we ended up lost in the middle of the snowy wastes. We fell through the ice into the freezing water. Two of them died, the remaining pair pulled me from the water and dragged me through a portal. I woke up on a stone floor, painted with a sun, my fingers blackening..."
"No!" Tristan shouted, scaring birds from the roosts. They took hastily to the wing, breaking the otherwise hushed silence of the wood. "Everyone knows the first part, and you could make up anything after that. My brother's dead, he's been dead a very long time."

"I couldn't get back!" Guy insisted, "I tried Tris! For years, I tried. The people who took me, they did something. I could go anywhere in the universe, except here!"

Oh God.

The smile. And now he was looking at him, he could see it. They both had their father's long nose, Guy had his slightly flattened chin. Guy...Guy of Warwick, Tristan had inherited the book from his brother, a medieval romantic hero, like...

No. No. No.

"You can't be!" he insisted, "you can't.

"Tris..." Guy ventured.

"Don't!" Tristan demanded, throwing up his hands, "stop it. You can't be him. It's impossible."

Tears burned hot at the back of his eyes. The world was spinning. All he wanted to do was run.

"Mallos checked, Tris. I couldn't have lied to him, even if I'd wanted to..."

"You're not him!" Tristan insisted desperately, "Mallos made a mistake. It wouldn't be the first fucking time!"

"Tris..." Guy repeared, quietly, "this...this is good news, isn't it? We're not alone, either of us. This was how it was always supposed to be, wasn't it? You and me against the whole world?"

Tristan clenched his jaw, forcing back the sob threatening to choke him.

"You're not him," he repeated, quietly, firmly.

"Why?" Guy asked softly, he looked on the verge of tears too.

Tristan shook his head. "I would have known!" he cried, "If my brother walked into my camp, I would have known! No matter how many false fucking names he gave me, I would have known."

He couldn't take it.

"Don't follow me," he managed to spit as he turned on his heel, and marched off into the trees.

I should have known.

put all your faults to bed

TristaN

you can be king again