Timeless by SheWalksWithRavens

A/N: Surprise! I updated. I know it has been forever, and a day since I actually did update this story, but I am said to say I was a trifle bit stuck on where I wanted it to go. Writer's block is a horrid thing. But I told you from the get go, I would not abandon this story, and I don't mean to. So enjoy this somewhat fluffy chapter, I think and expect more in the future. I also thank all of you who have yelled at me since October to update, it really is helpful to me in terms of getting a chapter out to know that people are eager to read it. So that being said…Please Review!

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An ice pack over one eye and a bottle of Guiness in her hand, Isolde Pritchard sat wallowing in her own misery in the untidy kitchen of her flat. On the table before her was a box of keepsakes she probably should have chucked into the rubbish bin or burnt to ashes long ago. Filled to the top with things like photographs, movie ticket stubs and the odd mix-tape, it represented the physical remains of her relationship with a one, Vincent Verious.

"It's a bit early to be drinking, don't you think?" Shelby said as she entered the room still dressed in her pajamas.

"You are one to talk…" Isolde grumbled out as she took another deep swig of the full bodied liquor before her.

"Touchy…Miss. What's with the ice pack, did you finally realize that dark circles under your eyes are unattractive?"

Sliding into one of the empty seats around the table with a box of cereal and milk, Shelby proceeded to take a handful of the Cheerios pop them in her mouth, then drink a swig of milk direct from the carton.

"That is disgusting…you better buy new milk."

"I'll get on it…besides we have no clean bowls."

"And what, I'm the only one capable of cleaning a dish round here?" Isolde said with a huff as she slammed her empty bottle back down onto the table.

"Alright, what has gotten your knickers in a twist? Because frankly, you are acting as if your painters are in and your dog died." Shelby crossed her arms across her chest, and fixed Isolde with a glare.

"I saw Vincent last night…" Shelby's eyes widened with recognition of the name. It was impossible to live with Isolde and not know who Vincent was. He was akin to the devil in most respects, and Shelby was quite certain she had heard more insults associated with his name, than any other person on the planet.

"Please tell me that wanker, didn't give you that black-eye you are poorly trying to conceal with that bag of ice."

Isolde removed the pack from her eye and for the first time glanced at Shelby with both of her brown orbs. Shelby gasped slightly at the sight of it, it was black around the cheekbone, with pale yellow and purple making a circle about the eye itself.

"I'll kill him. Seriously we should call the coppers or something, and get that bastard locked up good and proper."

"He isn't worth it, Shelby. Besides, I think he might already be sitting in a jail cell. I didn't stick around to find out."

"Alright, well start from the beginning…"

Isolde relayed what had happened yesterday to Shelby, who continuously interjected her opinion forcing Isolde to pause after almost every sentence she took and when she finished Shelby looked about ready to murder someone. It had been Shelby who Isolde first came to live with when she abandoned Cumbria for London, and Shelby who had helped Isolde get over her relationship woes. Generally, Shelby's methods involved a lot of vodka and a night on the town, but it had helped. And seeing Isolde like this now, after she had been so happy with Tristan, was like going back to the starting block for her.

"Well…shit. Have you talked to Tristan, since you ran out on him last night?"

Isolde shook her head while looking at a picture of her and Vincent, smiling at a family holiday party. Wrenching the photo from Isolde's hand, Shelby proceeded to tear it up into a million little pieces and let them scatter on the ground.

"Why did you do that?"

"I did that because you need to take whatever strange screwed up hold, Vincent has on you and let it go. I say we burn it, all of it so there will be no more wallowing with a pint at bloody 10 in the morning. You will burn it, and you will get over him. Then you will do yourself a favor, and call that gorgeous man of yours and apologize for acting like such a drama queen. Then you will kiss and make-up, you will go back to living practically 24/7 at his apartment, and I will once more have free run of this place. I had just gotten used to being on my own, then pooft you pop back in. I can't be having that Ms. Pritchard, what if I had a man over and we wanted to shag in your room? Absolutely inconsiderate…"

By the time Shelby finished, Isolde was laughing and even managed to strike out and smack her friend on the arm. She knew that Shelby was right, and Tristan deserved an explanation for everything, it just killed her to know that she had acted so childishly in the moment before.

Following Shelby into the bathroom with her box of memories, she was instructed to dump all of its contents, except the mix-tapes since they were plastic, into the metal waste basket. Once it was filled to the brim, Shelby placed it in the tub, just in case it got out of control and passed Isolde the book of matches.

"You do the honors, Ms. Pritchard."

Isolde pulled a match free, running it across the back of the book to light it. She momentarily watched the small flame before dropping it into the basket, which slowly began to ignite. Placing her chin on her friends shoulder, Shelby watched the pictures of Vincent burn to a crisp.

"You know what we need right now?" Isolde said after a moment.

"What?"

"Marshmellows."

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Isolde had snuck out to walk about the fort, eager for the chance to be alone. Ever since she married Verious she found herself in his company or that of the maids he had assigned to watch her. Verious was not stupid; he had known of her affections for Tristan and wanted to be certain that his wife would not continue on the affair. Verious presumed that if any opportunity presented itself, Isolde would fly from him back into the arms of Tristan.

He presumed correctly. For with her hood up both for warmth, and as a form of disguise, Isolde stalked the grounds of the fort looking for the man with hawk-like eyes. She spotted him entering the stable, and as quickly and quietly as she could she made her way towards the stable entrance.

It would look strange for a maid to be seen entering the building, especially unescorted at this time of the evening. And she had to be extra-careful in case any of Verious's men were about. Once she was quite certain that no one was around to see her, she slipped into the building.

No sooner was she inside did she feel a hand pressed against her throat pinning her against the wall. She looked up to see Tristan staring at her hard, letting out breath she didn't know she held Isolde waited for him to release her throat. He didn't remove his hand, though she felt the amount of pressure he was placing on her lesson.

"Why are you following me?" He growled quietly.

"Do you really need to ask me that?" She responded softly.

His eyes pleaded with her, to let him go. To let his heart break cleanly, and for him to save some sort of dignity. Wasn't it enough for her that she knew she had his love despite all of this? Did she really have to rub it in his face, that he couldn't have her as well?

"Tristan… try all you like, pretend all you want, lie to yourself if that makes it any easier. But you know that you can never really run from this…run from us."

Tristan's hand released its grip on her neck and traveled to rest on her cheek. He stroked the pad of his thumb against her smooth skin, and she turned into his touch. Her cold hand reached up to caress his wrist.

"It kills me to see him with you, to know that he touches you that he lies with you at night." Tristan's voice wavered slightly as he spoke, betraying the emotion he struggled to conceal.

"And do you think it pains me any less, to have to be with him? To give him my body when I swore to only be with you? I love you Tristan, I could never love anyone else, I never would want to. Fate is cruel, our gods are cruel. We just have to accept what cards we have been dealt…"

Tristan sighed, moving his hand away from her face as he walked away from her resting his forehead on one of the stall doors. She moved towards him, wrapping her arms about his waist as she pressed her cheek against his back.

"This is going to be complicated…" He breathed out.

"We'll figure it out…we'll make this work, we have to or I'll go mad."

Turning in her arms so that he faced her, he abandoned all reason and decided to forget everything else except being in her arms if only for tonight.

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After sobering herself up, Isolde set about getting dressed. A simple pair of fitted jeans and one thick cream coloured sweater later, she was headed out the door. The entire car trip over, she talked to herself rehearsing the apology speech that she was going to give him. It went something like this: 'Tristan, I am sorry that I ran off the other night and acted like a complete ass. You were just trying to help and I snapped at you.'

However when she got to the door of his flat, with her hand poised to knock, all thoughts seem to leave her brain. She desperately fought to cling on to a coherent sentence, but none came to her. Isolde contemplated fleeing down the stair and making a getaway in her mini, but that was another childish and stupid idea.

Rapping her knuckles against the heavy oak door, she hoped that whatever came into her head would suffice for an apology. She waited for him to come to the door, for several minutes before knocking again. Still there was no answer and Isolde's hopeful yet nervous smile vanished. Either he was out, or he didn't want to see her. She hoped it was the former, but the annoying little voice in her head kept suggesting it was the latter.

Shoving her hands in her pockets she made her way out to the park across the street from Tristan's apartment. She needed to walk, to clear her head, and the best way to do that was to get away from everything else. Finding an empty bench to sit on, she tilted her head back and exhaled deeply. Her thought process however was interrupted by the sound of giggling.

Isolde looked back across the path and saw two young children playing with a rather large mutt who was delighting in knocking them over to give them lots of slobbery kisses. Smiling, she continued to watch the pale blonde boy get knocked over time and time again as his darker haired companion kept trying to climb onto the dog's back.

Then when the dog's attentions became too much, the blonde boy got up and ran for the closest cover, which just so happened to be Isolde's bench. Isolde barely had time to register the shock of white-blonde hair before it was firmly crouched behind her, peering through the cracks in the bench to see if the dog noted where he had gone.

"Whatever you do, don't tell Nana where I am." He said in a small voice.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Isolde replied.

"My mom named her Nana, after the dog in Peter Pan, she said we needed a nursemaid to look after us."

"Your mother sounds like a smart woman."

"Oh she is alright…Oh no… Oliver is running over here, now Nana will find me for sure."

True to his word, as soon as Oliver came running over to join his brother behind the bench, Nana came trotting over as well. But instead of going after the boys, she jumped on to Isolde's lap and began giving her face a tongue bath. Laughing uncontrollably, she couldn't push the large dog off her.

Luckily someone whistled, and the dog went trotting off in the direction of the sound. Following the path of Nana's shaggy white body, she saw Tristan standing there scratching the dog's ears. She smiled softly, and brushed her hair away from her face.

"That's Tristan, he watches us sometimes when Mom is at work." Oliver supplied.

Standing she made her way over to him with tentative steps. He looked up at Isolde and stopped playing with Nana, encouraging the dog to go back to harassing the boys.

"I'm sorry, Nana is normally better behaved." He said trying to conceal a smirk as he used his shirt sleeve to wipe slobber from her cheek.

"So, you baby-sit, Tristan? You never struck me as the type to love kids running about you…"

"I help their Mom out, she lives next door. Their dad left them a while back, so she works a couple of jobs. Besides, they are good kids and they are good practice." He shoved his hands into his pockets as he tossed his head to move the hair from his eyes.

"Practice? Were you planning on having some in the near future?" Isolde said slowly.

She and Tristan had never really talked about anything as serious as marriage or kids before and the topic was slightly awkward for them both. Eventually, they would have to have this talk if they continued their relationship at their current rate, but it still was a bit impromptu of a discussion.

"Perhaps. It all depends…" He turned his attention away from her momentarily to make sure that the boys weren't killing themselves.

"Depends on what?" She pried.

"You."

His voice was so quiet, she wasn't quite sure that she heard him. But the look in his eyes confirmed his words more than anything. So, Tristan wanted to have children with her. It was the kind of realization that made you feel warm and tingly inside, yet a bit panicked.

"I'm sorry about running out on you last night… it was just a bit of jolt back to memories I didn't want to remember." She said resting her head against his arm, as she watched Nana bounding back and forth with the blonde boy's shoe in her mouth.

"It's alright. I just want you to be able to trust me enough to be open with me."

"I do trust you…" She said reaching for his hand to give it a squeeze.

'…I just don't trust myself.' She thought.

Eventually it was time to head in, so she helped Tristan to herd up the boys and Nana, and bring them back to their apartment. The younger boy, whose name turned out to be William, was quite tired from his excursion, and Tristan ended up carrying him most of the way. Isolde watched him, enjoying this softer side of Tristan. He was an enigma, but she was determined to figure him out.

When they got back into the building, Tristan led them past his apartment toward the flat next door. He knocked quickly, and soon a woman with the same pale hair as William came to the door. She wasn't much older than Isolde, with a bit more meat on her bones and a few more lines on her face.

"Oh, thank you again, Tristan for watching them. I hope they didn't give you too much trouble."

"Hardly any at all, Elaine. Besides, Nana always keeps them in line."

"Yes, well someone has to. Oh, heavens, who is this charming woman?" Elaine said taking note of who accompanied Tristan.

Isolde stepped forward holding out her hand to Elaine, who shook it warmly while her eyes darted from Tristan to Isolde in knowing recognition.

"I'm Isolde. You have charming children."

"Those little hellions? Are you sure we are talking about the same children? William and Oliver? Ages four and eight?"

Isolde laughed, she liked this woman's sense of humor. She could feel the rhythmic deep chuckle of Tristan beside her and it sent a tingle down her spine.

"Well, I will let you two go. I have to get two children into a bath, and put supper on the table. But do me a favor, enjoy the freedom and peace and quiet for me? Maybe take her out to dinner, Tristan, eh?" Elaine winked, and bidding them a quick goodbye shut the door.

Isolde looked up at Tristan expectantly, with one hand positioned on her hip and one foot tapping the ground. Tristan looked slightly confused, and tilted his head to the side like a puppy.

"Well, Mr. Armenye, are you going to take Elaine up on her suggestion?"

"And what suggestion might that be?" He said playfully causing Isolde to swat his arm.

"You know very well, what I am talking about. Besides, she made a good point. We should enjoy the freedom while it lasts."

"Enjoy, the freedom while it lasts? Was it planning on ending anytime soon?" Tristan said nervously.

The last thing he needed at the moment was for Isolde to be pregnant. Though he hoped to have children with her someday, someday was not today. He wasn't psychologically ready for it, his apartment wasn't ready for it. Isolde noticed the glint of fear that struck through his body, and decided to let him suffer for a bit.

"I wouldn't say it was planning on it…just a spur of the moment kind of thing." For dramatic effect Isolde tapped her stomach. She could almost see Tristan's eyes roll to the back of his head before she started with a fit of hysterics.

"Oh, I wish you could see your face right now, its priceless." She managed to get out while gasping for air.

Tristan stopped to look at the giggling mess of a woman in front of him, and wanted to kill her.

"You…vixen. You made me think that—" Tristan started when Isolde cut him off with a kiss.

"Don't worry, I'm not pregnant. Though, one day I might be. And hopefully, should that occur, you might take the knowledge without almost fainting. I really think, I ought to tell Lancelot, Gawain and Arthur about this, they'd find it quite amusing."

"Tell them, and I'll have to kill you…"

"You would never kill me, you love me too much…" Isolde said sticking her tongue out at him childishly.

Tristan smirked at her, in total agreement before hoisting her up into his arms like a sack of flour and carrying her into his apartment.

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Isolde was crouched over her chamber pot, emptying the contents of her stomach for yet another morning straight. Wiping the corner of her mouth with a rag her maid presented her with, she sat back for a moment waiting for the next violent spasm which would rid her of the remainder of her breakfast.

Clutching at her stomach, she bit her lip in frustration. She knew what the signs were, her mother had told them to her long ago and she had seen them first hand when she worked for the Healer. Also, her courses had not come for nearly two moons now. It was only a matter of time before her maids would alert Verious to her pregnancy. And with any luck he'd assume it was his.

Isolde knew differently, the child growing in her womb belonged to the man she loved with all her heart. But Tristan couldn't know that this child was his. It would just be another thing to break him, to know that his own child was being raised and claimed by another was something she didn't want him to bear.

She had heard talk amongst the men, and hints from Verious that they might return to Rome soon. Perhaps, she would encourage him so that when she began to show, Tristan would have no idea of it. Her first child and it would have to be born away from a father who would truly love it.

Isolde didn't have time to think about the unfairness of the world, because her nausea returned and she was once again heaving into the clay container with a maid to hold her long hair back.

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A/N: I know, utterly fluffy. I didn't really discuss the main plot of the story either, but this chapter needed to be written so I could get to something juicier. And hopefully next chapter will be up in a week or so instead of a few months.