:Summary: Arthur's sister was raised apart from him in Rome for most of their lives, but Aemilia has never fit well with holy Roman ways. When she begins to fear for her life she flees to Briton to reunite with her brother once more; will she find freedom along with the knights, or will she be swallowed whole by the shadows that follow her?

Movie Canon with several changes made along the way.

:Disclaimer: I do not own 'King Arthur' or any characters associated with the film or legends. All I have is my imagination and OC.

Also, I thought I'd note that even though the fort in which the knights and Arthur reside in at Hadrian's Wall is never mentioned in the movie I've gone ahead and used its name for this story. The fort in the film was based on Vindolanda, a Roman fort built around 80 AD just south of Hadrian's Wall….

Hour of Need

Aemilia did not remember her father, perhaps her brother harbored his memory, but not she. She knew his name had been Artorius, Arthur, as her brother was now so named. She knew he had been Roman and a great warrior to his people. She knew he had loved her mother, or at least enough so to marry her and have two children by her before his death. But Aemilia didn't remember the man so much as she remembered the name; if she was asked to describe his face or the sound of his voice or the touch of his hand, she couldn't tell you a single thing. She imaged her brother must look a great deal like him now, but even her memory of her brother's face was a blurring image in her mind; what was left of it belonged to a young boy, not the man he'd undoubtedly grown to be during their separation. She remembered his green eyes though; green as spring grass and so tolerant… she wondered vaguely if his eyes would be so accepting when he saw her again? Would he even recognize her face?

It had been fifteen years since they'd shared in each other's company. They had been close when they were young, yes, but fifteen years is a long time. Time changes many things; letters were written every year between them, but you can only know a person so much through a letter. Words on paper are not the same as words spoken from the mouth.

A brother's love written in ink is nothing like love shown face to face.

And Arthur had been raised Roman through and through for years. He was taught to believe in one God, trust in that God and in the church. The church was always right; to defy the church was to defy God himself. What would he, a good and strong Roman Christian, want of his heretic sister who believed in the devilish pagan ways of their damned mother? She was a heathen according to the church, a dangerous sinner that must be done away with quickly – they'd already rid the world of her beloved mentor and guardian, Bishop Pelagius, a man who'd been as much a father to her as a teacher since her childhood…

Speak too loudly of any negative opinion you might have against the Pope and his church, reveal a fault, and you lose your head. Become associated with the heretic and everyday you live the public crucifies you with their words and accusing stares. They cut open your throat with their whispers, and burn you alive with the fire in their eyes. And even after a year most were still too lost, either by fear or blind devotion, in the decree of the church to see that she was no threat to any man, woman, or child.

She was the heathen wench who evaded the executioner's blade by the name of her brother and his name alone.

Despite her worries and fears of rejection, Aemilia still swallowed her breath and pressed her pen to parchment. She wrote to her last remaining kin, her brother by blood; what else was there for her to do? She had nowhere else to go and Rome had provided her no warmth or comfort since Pelagius' death – Hadrian's Wall was her final hope for survival, her brother the only hope for a home and belonging she had left to her. And she told him this. She told him everything. She told him of Pelagius' murder and the fear she harbored with every passing day. She told him of the sleepless nights she spent listening to the rattle of her door and shouts from the streets from the drunkards emboldened by their liquor who found quarrel with her ways. She confessed her weakness to him in black ink; she confessed her mounting trepidation that should she remain in Rome she would not survive another year.

If she was not to be victimized by the church, then she was certain the people would see to it themselves. She was sure there were those who counted on it…

She explained it would take some time for her to arrive at his gates, but by the time he received this letter she should be half through the journey already. She prayed him well and in good humor when he read this, hoping that he would at the very least willingly accept her arrival with the tolerance he had shown as a child if openly embracing her, welcome as kin, was out of the question.

Aemilia sealed the signed parchment, pressing a kiss to the front with nervous breath and a whispered prayer to whomever would listen – be it God or spirits or some other being.

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Brought together for reasons unknown to them, the remaining six knights of Briton chattered mindlessly with one another from their individual places around Arthur's unorthodox round table. Goblets of ale accompanied them as they tossed good natured insults around the table at one another; each guessing at what kind of urgency would cause their leader to call them together now so soon after a safe return. The Woads had calmed their rage and thirst for blood for now; both a blessing and a cause for weary concern. Clearly, they were scheming; of what exactly no one could really be certain.

The Woads were crafty devils, if nothing else.

"Two pints says we're to go gallivanting off on some other damn mission," Galahad leaned far back in his seat and shook a coarse hand through his curls. Irritation sharpened the expression on his young face, "It's always another mission."

The others could not argue. The humor amongst them sobered at Galahad's admission; they were all bitter and each of them knew it to be true. A few days peace was sure to be broken for one reason or another; if not because of the Woads, then the Saxon or some other sort of man deemed an enemy by Rome. There never seemed to be an end…

All the men lifted their heads as the doors to the chamber where flung open, the wood crashing back against the stone walls with a loud clank that echoed throughout the room and sent vibrations up the legs of the chairs the knights sat in. They stood as Arthur entered, each mindful of the man's agitated gait and shared wondering glances at it; their nerves suddenly jumping and hyper aware. There were few things in this world that made Arthur anxious…

"I take it this meeting brings no good will to us," Lancelot observed as Arthur made his way to his place at their near empty table.

The commander braced his hands on the back of his seat, his jaw flexed and his eyes roamed the table top. Arthur Castus looked shaken and in turn so did his knights now look much the same; he shook his head and looked to the dark knight down the table to his left. "No," he breathed, "I bring no ill news, my knights, do not worry. The news I bring… it is good."

"Then what the bloody hell are you shakin' for?" Bors demanded and Gawain nodded the same.

"I've received a letter-"

"From who?" Lancelot barked out around a laugh, "Your God himself?"

"From my sister." Arthur finished, looking only mildly riled by his friend's interruption.

The expression on the faces of his men shifted swiftly, swinging from one to another in the time it took to blink. Even Tristan, stoic as always, looked surprised. Arthur nodded as though answering a question none had managed to ask yet; certain now that they at least somewhat understood his unease.

"Sister?" Gawain exclaimed, looking utterly dumbfounded by this new development, "You have a sister?"

"Since when?" Galahad joined in the questioning, looking as thunderstruck as his blond companion, "And why the hell is this the first time we are hearing of her?"

"Since I was two," Arthur informed. He turned an uncertain eye over the rest of his men and to the door tight shut beyond them. "And…I've not seen her in some fifteen years."

"That's no excuse for keeping such a secret from us!" Galahad huffed, looking to Gawain for support and finding it there in his nodding head.

"How did her letter read?" Dagonet asked from the side, expression inquisitive as he pulled Arthur's attention away from the two younger, eager knights.

"She asks for refuge here amongst us," Arthur explained. He looked anxious once more while he spoke slow and clear, "She has been met with dissension in Rome… her safe keeper was deemed a heretic and killed. She fears she will meet the same fate as he should she remain in Rome."

"She is a Roman?" Galahad interjected, "What a waste!"

"Waste? A woman's a woman," Gawain countered. "What does it matter so long as she's soft and fair?" Lancelot laughed and agreed, arching a teasing brow at Arthur and smirking when the man only frowned at him.

Galahad's face scrunched in a mix of humor and disgust, "They turn a bed to ice! Besides," he quipped, "when you take a Roman to bed with you, you take the Pope and his Church as well." Gawain and Lancelot joined the youngest knight in a bantering laugh.

"Ah, shut up, you idiots," Bors barked at his fellows and then jutted his chin out thoughtfully to Arthur, dark eyes narrowed, "When should we be 'xpecting her?"

"In another two weeks, three at the most," Arthur sighed. "She'll come by caravan most likely; amongst traders or other travelers like herself. Or perhaps even alone; from how she told of it, it didn't sound as though she wanted much of anyone to know she was leaving or to where she was leaving…"

"And what name should our ears keep open to when she arrives?" Lancelot asked thoughtfully.

"Her name is Aemilia," Arthur answered easily enough. He'd spent his late evening hours the night before reading and rereading the young woman's letter, applying her script to memory and wracking his brain for every recollection he had of the girl – they'd been few and far between, but he managed to unearth a satisfactory amount. "Aemilia Castus, or so she was called when we were children…"

"What's she like?" Galahad asked.

"What do you care what she's like?" Gawain chuckled, "Looking to bed the Pope?"

Galahad frowned as the rest laughed at him, "Very funny… But honestly! I think it's a reasonable question to be asking." He gestured around himself, "If she's to be living here shouldn't we know something of her before she arrives? Other than that Rome apparently has as much a dislike of her as it does us."

"Yes," Lancelot arched an amused brow, "but are you inquiring as to her manners and charm or to her looks?"

"I think knowledge of both would be highly beneficial to us all," Galahad answered and shared a grin with Gawain. The young knight gestured towards ever silent Tristan, "Wouldn't you agree, Tris?" But the question was met with the man's usual silence; he looked rather bored, actually. Galahad waved the man off, rolling his eyes, "Ach! Never mind. It's no use even asking him… he'd rather bed his hawk then a woman anyway."

"There will be no bedding. Ever." Arthur warned his knights, Gawain and Galahad especially, brows lifting threateningly as he looked between their teasing faces. "Aemilia is my little sister and she is to be greeted with the utmost respect and honor for so long as she chooses to stay. Understand?"

"Of course, of course," Galahad grinned at his stone faced commander and friend, "We only jest, Arthur. Nothing to worry about…" He made a beckoning motion with his hand, "Now come on. What's this sister of yours like?"

The men around the table all turned their eyes up expectantly to their commander and Arthur took the time to look them each in the face before turning in on himself to answer. His shoulder shrugged slowly, brows lifting as he shook his head, "I will be learning of her as much as you all will be when she arrives. It has been many years since I've shared her company…"

"But she's your sister," Gawain frowned. "Surely there is something about her you remember?"

"Not nearly enough to rightly call myself a brother…" Arthur shook his head. "I recall her being very much like our mother – she shadowed her in everything she did. She sang and helped mend and make clothing… she was a normal young girl I suppose."

"And how does her face fair?" Galahad asked impulsively. The look Arthur gave him, however, made him back over his words and revoke them, looking sheepish as he did.

"What of the Woads?" All heads turned to Tristan as the solemn man spoke up for the first time since they'd gathered together. The scout ignored their stares, looking to Arthur, "They've a knack for ambushing caravans and wagons…"

Arthur's brow knitted together under the hefty weight of the notable threat, "…In the weeks to come a patrol party shall venture out to meet any and all passing travelers. If the Woads are to attack they will do so were roads are closest to the forests, no more than an hour's ride from here." He looked around at his men, "One knight will travel with each patrol to guard and welcome Aemilia to Vindolanda and the wall."

The men agreed with the purposed plan and decided amongst themselves who would accompany the first patrol when the time came. Dagonet volunteered to be the first, Gawain the second, and Lancelot the third; Tristan was decided fourth, Bors fifth, and Galahad brought up the rear with sixth. The order would remain the same after all six had gone through their designated patrol, starting again with Dagonet should Aemilia not turn up before the end of Galahad's turn. It was decided that Arthur need not share in their patrols; his place was here at the wall after all, even if Aemilia was his sister. He could greet her upon her safe arrival – leave her travels to the knights.

"We will see to it that your sister arrives at Vindolanda safely," Lancelot assured Arthur, nodding his head and smiling confidently.

"Thank you, my brothers," Arthur nodded his sincere thanks to the men standing around the table with him. Their loyalty and devotion to him was palpable in the air around them; he knew he could always count on these men, in battle, with his own life, and with the lives of those he cared for.

"What a wonder…" Gawain grinned with a slow shake of his head at Arthur, "Reuniting after near two decades of separation."

Arthur nodded. It was a wonder… he'd never thought Aemilia would come to him here. He'd always believed he would see her again, but he had thought that time would come after his duty in Briton was done and he crossed over into Rome. Having her well on her way here to him was a shock; it had shaken him for some reason that still evaded him. And her vague news of Pelagius, the man that had been their father and Aemilia's safe keeper for so many years… hearing of the man's death in the same moment that he learned his sister was fleeing Rome to reside with him in Briton had floored the commander completely.

His mind was still reeling from the blow.

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Two weeks passed like slow torture for Arthur, the last of the two spent sending a new patrol out each day in waiting of his sister. Of those days, only two yielded traveling caravans on the roads and only a dozen lone travelers on foot or horse through the week – none answered to the name Aemilia Castus and Arthur was beginning to grow anxious. A thousand and one possibilities filled his head, thousands of worse case scenarios that made him fret in a manner his knights rarely saw in him.

"I'm sure she's fine and on her way, Arthur," Lancelot assured the nervous commander one evening at the end of the second week. The patrol and accompanying Galahad had just returned with a caravan, but there was no Aemilia among the travelers and Arthur's disappointment had been palpable upon discovering this. "The road from Rome to Briton is a long one."

Arthur had only nodded, knowing his first knight was right, but frustrated nonetheless. Lancelot noticed this and patted his friend on the back, casting a baiting grin sidelong at the man, "If the girl is anything like her brother then I know for a fact she will be fine…"

Arthur managed a small smile in return, but it was swept off his face almost too quickly to see. "That serves me no good. I do not know what she is like any longer, whether it be like me or you or something else entirely."

"What a nightmare!" Gawain exclaimed as he passed the two along with Galahad and Dagonet, "If you're ever to pray to your god again, let it be that she is nothing like Lancelot!"

"It would serve her well to be like me," the dark knight scowled at the younger man and the humor on everyone's faces at his expense. "What a sight she would be!"

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REVIEWS ARE HIGHLY APPRICIATED!

:EDIT: I've decided on the pairing! Thanks to those who voted for your input!!