They were Sarmatian’s. They were knights. They had been brought to the far outpost of Britain to fulfill a bargain struck by their ancestors; a bargain selling them to Rome.
Tristan was such, a Sarmatian clan prince, taken by the Roman’s to live out his life as a soldier. But he would not be there alone. Galahad had been drafted right alongside him.
Months flew by, turning into years. At the five year mark Lancelot, Gawain, Dagonet, and Bors convinced Tristan and Galahad to celebrate.
Tristan wanted to refuse, he wanted to be alone with Galahad, but his intended had convinced him to join in. He stayed close, glaring at others who looked the wrong way at his Galahad.
It was easy to glance at the young man, his smooth skin, the long curls of hair, and confuse him for a woman, but upon a second look another man would realize his mistake.
Tristan never made such a mistake. Galahad was his and he belonged to Galahad.
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