Hello,

this is part of the Frances' series. you can find her timeline on my profile. The beginning of this story can be found in 'Frances in the stars' and is currently in progress.

This particular part happens ten years later. Frances had travelled in the past to the King Arthur time (movie 2004) and met Tristan. She fell in love with him; he died on the battlefield. Finding that the man has reincarnated (check my story 'the lone knight'), she is reunited with him.

for a long time, the SGC was not aware of her ability to travel through time. But now they know, and need her and her knight to help finding Merlin's weapon. ep 9x20.

Frances' life is rather complicated. I advise you read the stories in chronological order if you want to get the big picture. In standalone, there might be fuzzy parts to new readers. But if you like it, and want to ask questions, don't hesitate to pm or review.

We pick up right where chapter 12 of 'The long knight' has stopped, so I advise you read it first. cheers !

Kristan's throat constricted. He couldn't utter those little words couldn't name the feelings he harboured for Frances. Not yet, not now, not after throwing a fit of jealousy and grasping her wrist in a vice like grip. What would she think of him, his little fairy? That he was as unstable as his past self? Hazel eyes, slightly hooded by exhaustion, still watched him carefully. As if she expected him to blow a fuse in the corridor at midnight. The former scout straightened, his control sipping back slowly. He would show her how different he was from Tristan, how levelled headed and sociable he had become. That she needn't fear his outburst anymore. And if it took an apology for his angry questioning, then he would do so. After all, she owed him no explanation.

The ringtone of a phone saved him from finding the right words, the noise out of place in the quiet night. Didn't she put her phone to sleep at night? Startled, he watched Frances as she fumbled frantically, picking her phone up and answering curtly. The tension in her shoulder matched the worry in her voice.

— "Hey Jack! Got any idea what's the time right now?"

A flow of English answered her, and she sighed, eyeing him warily.

— "What, now? Are you serious?"

Another flurry of words, coloured at that, passed her interlocutor's lips. The young woman protested, interjected, but none of her answers made sense to him. Kristan could see when she relented, her shoulders slumping under an invisible weight.

— "I'll be ready in fifteen. That's all right for you? Yeah, super giddy"

Frances hung up, all anger drained from her face. As she came to him, long strands falling over her shoulders, her eyes glinted with need. Arms extended, the young woman landed against his chest, crushing herself to his taut form. Her hands tied in his back, marvelling that he was so slim that she could go all around him. His muscular form was softer than she expected, and she literally melted against him with a shudder. Kristan's arms wound around her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and for a moment, her exhaustion gave way a strong sense of belonging. He smelt of the sea breeze, with a smudge of his own discreet, and very manly, scent beneath.

— "I'm sorry," came her muffled voice, lost in his linen shirt. "We'll talk about it when I get back, all right?"

Worry settled in the pit of his stomach and Kristan tightened his arms around her, unwilling to let go.

— "From where?"

— "I have no idea," and this part was the truth.

Jack was adamant that she joined their little trip to a world he thought to be Camelot. Daniel had pestered General Landry to have her on the team, given her past adventures with the knights of the round table. It was funny, how the wheel went around. Now that she'd found Kristan, they took her away to hunt memories of his brothers. The Ori were trying to reach their galaxy; if they managed, the full-scale battle that should crush earth within months. Retrieving Merlin's weapon to kick their ascended butts was capital. It didn't make much sense in Frances' mind, but she hoped that in time, the puzzle would assemble. For the moment though, she was about to face the greatest wall of history. Sturdier than Hadrian's, unyielding and powerful.

— "You're not going anywhere without me, woman."

His words were final, and Frances knew that she'd hit the ramparts. Kristan had turned into battle mode Tristan; there was nothing to be done.

— "You cannot come," she told him, lifting her head to meet his eye.

The former knight sent her an unimpressed look, although the view was beautiful. His little fairy had settled her chin on his chest, and with their height difference, she fit rather well in his arms. Still, he wasn't about to let her deep hazel eyes tame him. He needed to think of a solution, fast, to prevent anyone to take her from him. And then, his devious mind remembered an item scattered in the mess of her guest room. Kristan hid his smirk with a quip.

— "I don' care. I'll attach myself to your leg if I have to."

The young woman sighed, untangling her limbs from his waist, taking a deep breath. She knew Tristan to be as stubborn as she was. Apparently, his modern self-had not worked much on the issue of pigheadedness.

— "Kristan. You cannot go against the US government."

The young man stood tall and proud; his eyes intense, his lean muscles flexing under the tunic as his fingers played with the bow.

— "I'll go against whom I please. If they don't want me, then they can't have you."

— "Kristan…"

It was a hopeless fight, and she knew it. And somewhere in the recess of her mind, a warm feeling spread at his words. Words his former self never would not have said, such was his quiet nature. But Kristan dared speaking his mind, and she welcomed it with light in her heart.

— "Don't! I care for you Frances. I have cared for you for a long time, as a spirit for fifteen hundred years, as a man today, and I think I even cared for you back then. That is, I would have, if Tristan had been in capacity to love."

His statement shocked her as she sent him a startled glare.

— "He was," came her stern reply.

— "I beg your pardon?"

— "Tristan could love"

The fierce expression of her face dared him to challenge her words. Kristan backed away, trying to reconcile the feelings he'd experienced while dreaming of his past self with his personality. Something in Tristan had felt so wrong, his lust for blood, the detachment with which he killed, methodically, without flinching.

— "Tristan was… I was twisted, and broken. I doubt his outbursts could ever be called love."

— "Yet, it was. Love for his brothers, love for Arthur … and for me, a little. This is the weakness that led him to his death"

Kristan's voice rose as he recalled memories he'd rather kept buried.

— "You defend him, even after he left those bruises on your throat?"

Frances's eyes widened slightly. Of all the shared moments that chose to resurface, this was not the most glorious one. Kristan took a step closer, eyes darkening, as if, for a moment, he had called forth the fury of the scout. His voice, usually so smooth, shook from the strain as he recalled his earlier dream.

— "I remember holding you to this tree trunk, mere second away from crushing your windpipe. It saddens me…"

— "Kristan"

Frances's hand shot up to reach him, but he swatted it away.

— "No! It sickens me… Had the hawk not showed up, you might be dead. I was … eager, for God's sake! How can you defend him?"

The man took a step back, panting. Horror marred his features, horror at the horrible feeling of his hands on her windpipe, his dagger at her throat. Yet, Frances didn't run away from him, meeting his gaze without disgust, without fear. Her voice was quiet, full of fondness for the man he'd been. Once more, he could only marvel at her ability to love.

— "I defend your soul, Kristan. You were a warrior, who'd lived many hardships. You couldn't trust anyone lest it endangered your friends. The stakes were so high. I do not blame Tristan for his actions. Never have, never will"

Stupid, stupid woman! Putting herself in harm's way in her desire to see the best in people! A flare of anger overwhelmed him, the feeling washing from his core, pulled back for centuries of irritation.

— "How can you accept such a thing? What I did to you? What I wanted to …? How could we become … friends?"

Frances grabbed his hand tightly, sensing his distress. Long fingers clasped her own, the callouses of his hands so similar to Tristan's that it made her breath short. If Kristan started to remember his past, he would probably live through traumatic events with the sensibility of a 21st century man. This could only bring him harm, and she was the only one who could help him out of this.

— "Times were different from now. Different education, different worlds, different concept of death and value of life."

— "But…"

— "No buts. Hear me out please"

Kristan nodded his assent, stormy eyes set on her face, heart thundering in his chest. Frances nibbled on her lips, a habit he'd noticed she had when nervous, and she let go of his hand to ponder her thoughts.

— "You cannot understand until you've lived in this place, Kristan. We, modern people, think we can project ourselves into the past and imagine what it was like. But nothing prepares a human being for this gap of conscience. Children withered, starving or beaten into shape by education. Women succumbed to mistreatment, childbirth and heavy-handed husbands or fathers. Men died from sickness and violence. Animals … animals were not even taken into consideration if not for food or companionship. Tristan was one of a few who could find a wounded Hawk, and nurse her back to health. What does it say of the man, uh?"

Silence stretched for a while, Kristan's fingers nibbling with the shaft of his bow as he turned her words around in his head. So when the doorbell rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Before Frances could spring down the stairs, he sent her a serious look.

— "Let them know I will come. I ask nothing back, you are not alone anymore. Where you go, I follow."

Sadness and pride alike washed over the young woman as she drank his sight. Kristan stood, tall and proud in the dim light of her corridor like the warrior of old as he professed his loyalty to her cause, his promise to be by her side. Would she let him, did she even have a choice? He cut such an impressive figure, his jaw set, his intentions loud and clear … so overwhelming that she felt like melting into his embrace again. How comfortable his arms were when so much weighted on her shoulders. Crushed against him, she felt so safe, so unconditionally accepted, as if nothing could reach her. Safe. Loved. Loved?

But there was no time to linger on this as the doorbell rang again, reminding her of the task at hand. Frances sprang down the stairs, cringing all the way from the noise that echoed in the night. Yanking the door open, she found a familiar figure in the silent street. The young woman suddenly deflated, all the tension, the hurt, and the uncertainty drained from her body as she faced the man who had become her closest friend. The man to whom she could tell anything, especially now he knew about the Keeper of Time.

— "Daniel," she whispered in relief.

Then she sprang forward and hugged the man fiercely. Blue eyes widened slightly as the archaeologist's strong arms embraced the young woman – a reflex. Although he was rather used to her hugs – their relationship had always been quite physical, bringing comfort by touches where the others kept their distance – such heartfelt welcome was usually reserved for long absences, or one his many deaths – a bad habit. After all, they had talked the week before. But the SGC needed her and her memories of the fifth century more than ever. When, at last, the young woman let him go, Daniel adjusted his glasses.

— "Er. Sorry for barging in at this time, but…"

The young woman shushed him.

— "Not a word," she whispered as she motioned for him to climb the stairs.

The archaeologist lifted an eyebrow, but knew better than to question her. When he passed the threshold of her flat, though, he understood. There was the knight, the ghost who had protected Frances on every past mission, in the flesh. The archaeologist had only a vague recollection of what he looked like as a spirit, courtesy of his ascended time. And to say that his form was impressive was an understatement. Even without the unruly mop of hair and tattoos, his high cheekbones and chiselled features complimented his steely gaze and coiled silhouette nicely. A knight of the round table, wow! A smile graced Daniel's lips, realising that at last, he would get to meet one of the famed figures that had populated is daydreams for years. This was, altogether, incredible.

Absorbed by his joy, Daniel did not get a second to react to the knight's swift move as he grabbed Frances' wrist. The sharp click of metal echoed in the corridor, restraining the young woman's arm with a handcuff. She whirled around with a choking sound, eyes wide in disbelief, lifting her wrist like a testimony.

— "Kristan ‼ What the hell ‼!"

Kristan, a new name for an old soul. Only one letter changed, but the whole meaning was askew. From the sadness of Tristan he became a Christian man, mused Daniel as his mind roamed the extend of his etymological knowledge. The former knight sent Frances a very serious look, his smooth voice too calm for a man who'd just handcuffed such a dangerous lady.

— "As I told you, little fairy. They want you, I'm coming."

A sudden, irrepressible laugh bubbled in Daniel's chest, and before long, he was wiping tears from his eyes. Either the man was crazy, either he came directly from the fifth century and knew his worth. Which was the case. And the nickname. Little fairy, how suited! Frances' glare sobered him up, though, for she wore her 'no nonsense' look a little too intensely. The one that happened before an explosion.

— "Thank you for your support, Daniel," she deadpanned.

The archaeologist lifted his hands in surrender, taking a careful step back to avoid any hits.

— "Hey, you laughed as well when Vala cuffed me with the Korma'k."[1]

— "I didn't…. I … argh!"

Frances lifted her hand in the air, pissed beyond measure, only for the shackle to bite into her skin. Frances cursed loudly in French. The former knight's expression faltered as he offered to have a look, but she waved him away angrily. Her accusing glare should have made her companion cower; Daniel hated it when she unleashed her wrath upon him – which almost never happened. The knight, though, stood stoically, waiting for her to decide whether she wanted to punch him or let it go. The archaeologist's blue eyes were glued on his peculiar face, evaluating, remembering the high cheekbones who used to sport tribal tattoos. The similarities between this man and the knight they had fought in Avalon were striking. And his devotion to Frances's heart melting, although his methods lacked subtlety. Perhaps that man had what it took to tame her; after all, he was from the fifth century. Or he might die trying for Frances didn't cope well with people stepping on her toes.

Daniel smiled, a wide, open expression as he took a step forward, earning a startling look from the former scout.

— "Ah, Kristan I gather? It's great to see you in the flesh. "

A firm handshake was shared – left-handed because of the manacles – Kristan's grey eyes assessing his blue ones. Damn, that was the hell of a gaze; his presence was so intense that Daniel nearly shivered. How much did those eyes see exactly? Knight of the round table one day… At last, the man spoke, his voice smooth and controlled.

— "Nice to meet you. I don't think we've met."

Daniel wondered how to answer his question. He couldn't possibly tell the man he'd met him in ascended form now, could he? Or that time was meaningless up there. Tip toeing around the subject, he chose instead to tell the truth.

— "I've heard about you, a lot. Unfortunately, from other sources than Frances"

The young woman was fidgeting on the side, her armour spread on the table with her sword, left hand enclosed in her metal binding. The sight was rather amusing with her sour expression, and Daniel pursed his lips. Although he had forgiven her for keeping her status as Keeper of Time a secret, the jab stirred her guilt. Sending him a square look, she lifted her right hand in the air.

— "All right, so. Kristan, meet Daniel Jackson, archaeologist extraordinaire. Now this is sorted out, Kristan, here, wants to come with me"

Sharp, and to the point. Damn she was tense! The archaeologist refrained a chuckle as he pointed to their shackled hands.

— "Yes, it seems quite obvious given the … uh."

Frances snorted, her ill humour pouring out like a waterfall over a dam. She couldn't cross her arms like she was wont to do when pissed, but she certainly was ignoring her companion.

— "Daniel. Don't. Please don't"

The archaeologist relented.

— "Good, good. I'll let Jack know, he'll throw a tantrum but I have a few arguments up my sleeve."

The young lady's eyes budged out of her head.

— "Wait. Daniel, wait. Are you saying, yes?"

— "Of course. The man has protected you for fifteen hundred years, he's quite entitled to be by your side. And we might need his memories," he continued. "Do you have some of your past life?"

Kristan met his gaze without flinching, seemingly unfazed that his reincarnation – and his role as protector to Frances – would be common knowledge. In the inside though, turmoil was brewing. But the former scout knew better than to expose his surprise; answers could come from Frances' friend, willingly or not.

— "Some, yes"

Daniel nodded in appreciation. For a man thrown into the unknown and whose deepest secrets were exposed so blatantly, Kristan was incredibly sturdy. Daniel couldn't help but be impressed. Maybe he could help the lad – the man, he was only a few years his senior – work with his memory. Perhaps the mechanism would be similar to when he'd lost his after his first ascension?

— "It's normal. Been there, done that, you know."

— "Erm. OK"

Very sturdy. The mean had a heart of steel. He'd need it; the situation was dire with the Ori, and Frances really was a handful. If the knight loved her as much as he thought – which he probably did if he felt confident enough to handcuff her! – the poor guy was in for a difficult moment. And he'd have to process the reality of aliens, ascended beings, spaceships and Stargate in less than an hour's time. Turning to Frances, Daniel dug out his phone.

— "I'll give a call, all right? In the meantime, maybe you can fill him in about the situation?"

— "But the papers?"

To say that Frances was startled by Daniel's acceptance was an understatement. Even if the archaeologist never was one for protocol, he still respected the non-disclosure agreement. But it worked in her favour; she hated lying to Kristan, so it sat quite fine for her. She only hoped that the former scout could take it all in stride. Given his reaction to the dark elves, she wasn't as worried as she should be. Daniel strode to the guest room, sending her a pointed look.

— "Papers will follow. You trust him?"

Frances nodded, her heart melting at the question. Yes, she was pissed at Kristan for pulling such a public and humiliating stunt, but it didn't change her blind trust in the man. Her confident look called a smile to Daniel's lips.

— "If not my wrist… With my life"

— "Then no secrets, right? With luck, you will even be able to use the time to sort THIS is out…", he added, his chin pointing to their cuffed hands.

The door closed, leaving behind two very baffled people. Frances lifted her hand, dragging Kristan to the sofa in the process. As she sat, glaring daggers at him, the knight almost flinched. Almost. Damn, she looked pissed.

— "So…", she started, her sweet tone laced with ire. "Handcuffs? You really had to do this?"

It was a strange sensation, this link between their hands materialised in metal that forced them to walk and move in synchronisation. Kristan sighed; he had only one chance to make this right, and hoped he wouldn't blow it. Too bad he sucked with words. Gathering his courage, the knight leant forward. Starting with an apology might be the best way to quell her anger; something Tristan never would have done. But Kristan was above this now, above the pride of a fifth century man. Honesty was the only way to go forward.

— "I am sorry, Frances. You are going to put your life on the line again. I couldn't let you go"

— "And you believed that putting me in shackles was the solution?"

Her voice, so deathly quiet, worried him; it felt like the calm before the storm.

— "Where is the key?" she asked, jaw tightening.

Kristan's lips pursed.

— "I … won't tell you until they accept my presence."

Her eyes turned so cold it would have frozen Svalbard over in the heart of winter.

— "Where is the damn key, Kristan!"

— "I am not telling you."

Frances stood suddenly, her control slipping away. Kristan lifted his right hand immediately to avoid the metal to dig into her wrist once more. He was already too sheepish for the wound it had inflicted. His arm went back and forth with her pacing and the former scout blessed his long limbs.

— "You are infuriating, you know that? Even Tristan never put his threats to execution, not with me! But you … you … couldn't trust me, couldn't you! You had to force this upon me, to stay in control, right?"

The blow took his breath away, a dull ache forming in his chest. Control. This is what she thought … and damn, wasn't she wrong? Kristan's mind was reeling; from Frances' comment first, and the multiple revelations that had occurred in less than five minutes. Most of all, though, he was appalled that she would interpret his actions as lack of trust.

— "I trust you, Frances, do not mistake my actions. But I don't know those people, and they put you in danger last week. Don't you see that it's them that I don't trust,"

Frances paused, her muscles coiled, like a cat who has spotted a mouse and awaits the right moment to attack? How dangerous she felt right now, a fairy bound to defend no matter the cost. Her head cocked aside, she bore holes into his soul, asking for more. Kristan was all too happy to oblige; the woman was stubborn, but not unreasonable. Her silence was a chance, an olive branch extended for him to take.

— "Please. I don't want you to run away once more, to jump into the fray without anyone watching your back."

She sent him a harsh glare, setting him on edge. Had they fought like this in the past, Tristan and the Keeper of Time?

— "You know nothing of it, Kristan. Daniel, Jack, Sam and Teal'c, we are a team. I always have someone watching my back. Those people are my friends. You assume too much, knowing too little."

The accusation made his veins boil and he jumped to his feet, towering over her. His voice was barely above a murmur, yet the harshness of his tone wasn't missed.

— "I watched you flee in the backcountry to be willingly slaughtered. Had I not been there, you'd be a corpse now!"

His voice cut like a knife into butter, her face blanching at the mention of her body resting, lifeless, under the trees of High-Languedoc. But Kristan wasn't done yet, his tone barely rising. Yet, it was enough to convey his concerns, and the dangerous anger boiling through his veins.

— "Last week, you came back with so many bruises that your skin is black and blue… What was I supposed to think?"

For a long time, Frances didn't respond, her shimmering hazel searching his face. Until her shoulders slumped in defeat. Her voice was barely a murmur when she eventually said.

— "Next time, you only need to ask."

Kristan swallowed the lump in his throat; he had obviously not been honest enough. His hand lifted on its own accord, fingers grazing her cheek in a makeshift apology. Frances froze, hazel eyes lifting to his in a questioning glance.

— "I did. You refused. I used the only solution I could find."

At last, she landed heavily on the sofa and Kristan regained his seat beside her, mindful not to tug on the chain that bound them together. The little silence was only interrupted by Daniel's voice coming from the guest room, a flow of heated words as he probably tried to convince the general. Frances cocked her head aside, trying to discern the content of their talk and assess the progress. Try as she might, she couldn't understand Daniel's rapid and muffled English through the door. He always talked so fast her mind couldn't decipher half of it.

— "Well," she sighed. "I'm surprised at Daniel's acceptance. If he supports you, the rest should roll."

— "Does he hold that much power in that military organisation? Is he that high in the chain of command?"

Once more, the right questions. Frances would never get used to his way of finding sensitive information in the blink of an eye.

— "He's … nowhere in the chain of command. But you have no idea how powerful his opinion is. He and Jack… They can make anything happen when they agree."

— "And when they disagree?"

Frances's eyes twinkled slightly, replaying in her mind the countless arguments her friends had locked in. How many times had Daniel swayed Jack's mind?

— "Daniel convinces him," she answered confidently.

Kristan's eyebrows rose slightly, and the young woman could only marvel at the expressiveness of his face. The phone call was still in full swing, so she decided to tackle the beast.

— "Anyway, you wanted answers… Are you absolutely sure you want a part in this?"

Kristan nodded, his feature set, but eyes betraying his confusion.

— "If it means I get to guard your back, then yes."

Frances pursed her lips. Kristan was about to embark on a dangerous adventure by her side, one that could very well be their end. A strange wave of nostalgia washed through her as she recalled the long hours she'd had with Tristan before the battle of Badon Hill. He, too, had stayed for her sake. And died because of it. Once more, there was no convincing this man to back down, and it terrified her. Despite the shackling, her affection for him ran much deeper than she thought. Now that she had found him again, Frances didn't know how she could survive another death. Anger slipped from her body like his blood on the battlefield until there was nothing left but worry and affection. Throat constricted, she could only contemplate how the light emphasised his high cheekbone while his eyes got lost in thoughts.

— "But before you start, how did Daniel got here so fast?" he suddenly asked.

There was the scout! The man who could put two and two together by wondering about geographical position.

— "Part of the answers. I guess the Daedalus is close by. I'll fill you in"

— "Deadalus?"

Frances patted his hand gently.

— "In time, honey"

The nickname escaped her lips before she could backtrack, and she kept her eyes set on anything but his as her face grew hot. Honey. The colour of his hair, the sweetness of his gaze. It was so cheesy … how shameful! Especially since a part of her was still mad at him! Fortunately, a flash of white light ranked her slip of the tongue at the bottom of the priority list. Kristan jumped from the sofa, taking a defensive stance as Jack O'Neill, in full uniform, appeared into her living room, beamed through Asgard technology.

[1] Vala, a woman who wanted to get the treasure of Avalon, tricked Daniel with bracelets that attached them permanently. An interesting lady altogether.