December 461

I arrived in early winter, the morning of the first snowfall. The air was crisp and it chilled deep in my lungs. The merchants I was traveling with had long since forgone their friendly nature and adopted the frank hostility that accompanies the cold. I had not escaped their fate; my posture too was slumped against the merciless wind.

I had seen the Wall hundreds of times and walked beside it as a child. Neither were the forts new to me; I had slept in my fair share. However, this one was foreign; never before had I been here. The heavy doors had only just groaned open but I could feel the change, sense something different behind the ancient stone.

This would be our last stop until Britain stretched her tired limbs and thawed away the winter's chill. I was content to spend the following months patron to this place – excited almost, as I saw the strangers mulling about.

Not two feet into the fort, Hector – one of the younger merchants – wrapped a burly arm around my waist and whispered in my ear, "Will you stay with me tonight? Keep me warm?"

I had found that with Hector a degree of vagueness was needed to keep him at bay. "Perhaps." It would not be the first time. Nor the second.

Hector grinned as if he had already won, turned, and left in search of his wife.

As was ritual, the men immediately started unloading their wagons to try and sell the last of their wares. The final pieces of my pottery had been bartered not three mornings prior and with their profit still heavy in my wallet I made for the tavern. I wanted to find lodgings before everyone else – there was never enough room for all of us and often we had to share. The image of sleeping between Hector and his wife propelled me forward quicker than I thought the weather would permit.

Despite the early hour, the tavern was full of people. I found a woman stacking mugs and approached her. She was lively but obviously weighed down and wearied from the child growing in her belly and the one clinging to her legs. Several more were scattered about her feet.

"Where would I be able to find comfortable lodgings?" I asked her, "I am with the merchant's train but would rather not share with one of the men."

The woman laughed and we exchanged a knowing glance, "We have no extra houses – everyone wants to live close to Arthur, so you'll have to double with one of the villagers. I'd suggest Gilly. He's too old to hassle you and just old enough to be quiet." She pointed to a withered gentlemen a few tables away, drowning the rest of his life in his ale.

My mother had taught me to take things in stride. At the mention of "Arthur" my mind sharpened like a knife but I kept my emotions in check. This was Arthur's fort. The Arthur's. Which meant that the knights that called this fort home were the legendary Sarmatians.

The first-born son's of Sarmatian men belonged to Rome. They were collected into what my mother called "slavery" for fifteen years. If they survived, they were released. My father, a Roman, had recruited a set of boys twenty five years ago and taken one of their sisters as his prize. She was nothing more than an object to him but she'd been everything a mother could be to me.

I was born in Britain where my mother and I had been abandoned. She died when I was thirteen and been buried far from her home. These knights were of the blood and culture I had never seen; they had once breathed the air my mother was born to.

"Then I'll go speak to Gilly." I had not needed time to recover from this revelation. I thanked the woman, who mentioned as I left that her name was Vanora.

Gilly or "Gilbert" as he insisted to be called was a thin old man, his beard ripe with yesterday's meal. He was kindly if not a little drunk and struck a fair bargain with me. As long as I paid him every once in a while, kept to myself and made him supper when he asked, I could sleep in the corner of his hut. During our conversation he remarked several times, "You look good enough to be married thrice now, what's stopped you?" Where I gently responded, "I have no desire." This was the censored side of my argument and for his sake I spared my anger. I had decided long ago to never marry and to never love a man. I had seen what became of women who trusted them – need I look any further than Hector's wife?

My lodgings found, I returned to Vanora and we carried on a lighthearted conversation on men and their mishaps. She had many stories to tell me of her "lover" Bors, one of the Sarmatian knights. As noon drew near the merchants began to find their way to the tavern.

Hector sought me out, draping his heavy arm over my shoulder and panting in my ear. "Kasais! You ran off quick. Tell me, is the ale as good as it looks?"

While we had talked, Vanora had poured me a healthy mug of ale to ward off the chill. It was a beautiful near-gold colour and Hector was eyeing my portion with envy. I took a long sip and smiled at him, "Better."

"Then I have to try it," he bent forward suddenly, and tasted it from my lips.

I withdrew immediately and swatted him, "You're wife is nearby!" I wouldn't want to rub it in the poor girl's face. I pitied her and had never met her gaze.

Vanora, who had started to laugh at Hector's enthusiasm started to roar when she heard my remark. "Wife!" She doubled over her swollen belly and pressed her fist to her mouth like a stopper to hide her struggling grin. She'd must have thought we were together, only to hear he in fact belonged to another woman.

"Have you decided where you're sleeping tonight?" His tone was playful, far from serious. I remembered his expression from earlier. He didn't expect me to deny him.

"Yes I have. With a man named Gilly."

Vanora, who'd just recovered, caught the rest of our banter and she, knowing full well who Gilly was and knowing that Hector didn't, doubled over again. Her children laughed with her – seeing their mother so happy must have pleased them.

Loud footsteps echoed on the stone floor and armored men filed into the tavern. It had already become crowded, but with their addition I felt the urge to slip away. I'd never liked being packed into places. However, it was the Sarmatians who had arrived. I did not deny them my curious eye.

Vanora straightened up and flew to a burly man with a shaved head. "You were expected back ages ago!" She lied, and then with more vigor than I expected of a woman as pregnant as she was, started kissing him.

Hector squeezed me closer, but the faces of the knights distracted me. I studied each and every one of them; there were eight in total. These men were of my mother's homeland. Possibly mine, but I had yet to figure out where I belonged.

I was startled when they all shuffled up to where Hector and I were sitting. One of them, a man with short curly hair pointed at me. "That man's wife is in my seat."

"Oh hush Lancelot," Vanora said, linked with Bors as she returned to her previous place behind the counter.

I looked this Lancelot in the eye and said carefully, "He is not my husband."

Vanora smiled at me, a knowing smile.

"But I am hers," Hector said and nodded to the entrance to where his wife had appeared. He got up and left to make amends with her for leaving her and their children alone. I still did not know her name.

Lancelot moved to take the vacated seat but another knight found it first. This one had chin-length dark blond hair which, when I saw it in the candle light, shone with strands of fiery orange.

"I'm Gareth," he smiled at me.

It was filled with such warmth that there was only one thing I could do.

"Goodbye Gareth." I said and got to my feet, paid Vanora for my ale, and left.

Night had worn on and the early hours of the morning caressed the Fort with her gentle hands. After I'd left the tavern, I'd stumbled upon Gilly who was complaining of an ache in his head.

He showed me to his small home. It was a cozy place; one room with rugs of fur overlapped on the floor. A steady fire burned in the corner and in the other laid a straw mattress. A wooden table and chair stood against the wall, so thin and worn I dared not touch them.

We spoke for a while about nothing, just exchanging words until he retired to his bed. When I left he was soundly sleeping. I brought with me one of the rugs from the floor, wrapped tightly about my shoulders.

I did not have a set destination, just thought to familiarize myself with the twists and turns. I'd never been able to sleep well and spent most nights staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Peace within was easily found when I wandered.

After a short hour, I decided it was time to return to Gilly's, but as I turned down a corridor the sound of a man and woman enjoying each other's company reached my ears. I caught a glimpse of Hector's dark hair beside that of a brunette's. From what I'd seen of her, Hector's wife was blonde.

I felt no envy at the sight of them, just silently turned back the way I had come. What I did feel was mild pity for his wife waiting up alone for him. I backtracked towards the tavern, which would take me closer to a direct route to Gilly's. What I did not expect was to find Gareth there.

He was alone at the tavern, buried in troubling thoughts. No drink was in sight. He looked startled to see me at such an hour, but I ignored him. After I'd walked past a few feet, I heard him stand.

"Why are you so cold?"

I turned to face him, drawing the rug closer around my body, "Because it is winter."

"That's not what I meant," he took a few hesitant steps forward until only a few feet separated us.

We stared at one another in silence. I didn't know if I should be offended but I was aware something inside me flinched.

Again he spoke, "You're like ice."

I must have made an expression because he immediately tried to make amends.

"Ice is beautiful, especially when the sun hits it just so. But its cold and hard and only the warmest of days can pierce it."

I had no reaction for him, just stared at the dark shadows that hid his eyes. I'd been careful not to look at them earlier.

Gareth sighed as if a heavy weight was pushing him into the earth below our feet. "Did I do something to offend you earlier? Is that why you left?"

"No." He seemed relieved.

"Then was it Lancelot? Galahad is sure that it was him that frightened you away."

Something hard formed in my soul and my fists clenched tightly to the rug, "I was not frightened away."

Gareth reached out a hand to me, as if in comfort, but I stepped out of his reach, "I doubt many things could scare you."

Heated suspicion rushed through my veins, "Are you mocking me?" I wouldn't put it past him.

"Never."

Silence descended upon us once again and I turned my gaze to the horizon. It was pink; we would see the sun soon. I turned to leave. Gareth reached out again, but stopped himself.

He said softly, "Won't you tell me your name? Vanora kept it secret."

The decision was made for me when Hector, his hand holding up his trousers, came staggering up to us. "Kasais," His drunken slur gave my name a serpentine sound. His arms wrapped around my body for support and his face dropped into my neck. He promptly passed out. Had I been any weaker, I would have collapsed under his dead weight – but I had experience.

"Hector, Hector, where are you staying?" I questioned gently, but agitation couldn't fully be erased from my tone.

My only response was a mumbled, "Thattaway."

When he'd spoken, his stubble had scratched my exposed throat and I'd felt wetness spread from his lips. He had started to drool.

I struggled with him for a moment, trying to turn him around but he was quickly whisked from my grasp. When I looked up, Gareth had a sturdy arm about his waist. He looked me in the eye and it was only then I saw that his were brown. He tried to communicate with me through our gaze but I could not understand.

"Kasais," he whispered cautiously, as if tasting it, "Why are you with him?"

I was shocked at his question and I felt my brow darken with the complexity that would be my answer.

"Is it because he is strong?" Gareth was referring to the size of Hector's arms. "Because many here have strength."

I turned away from Gareth, I had no answer. My eyes roamed the empty street, "I think he meant he's staying this way. I will know which house by his horse."

We walked on in silence, the scraping of Hector's boots dragging on the stones the only disturbance between us. Both he and I had soundless steps.

I soon recognized Hector's mare and I stopped in front of the house she was tethered to. He really should have had her in the stables, but he didn't care much for horses.

The door loomed in front of me and the thought of who rested behind it froze my hand. I wasn't able to knock. I had never faced Hector's wife before, never looked her in the eye. I doubted I'd be able too. Something close to fear – guilt – rose in my stomach and I thought I might empty my dinner on the door step. What she must think of me.

"I found him passed out on the street," Gareth's voice startled me. "I was directed to this house by a passing merchant who recognized him. You've been in your bed this entire time."

Somehow, he understood. My eyes found his closer than I had expected.

"Thank-you," were the only words to pass my lips. I had wanted to say much less – to just turn around and disappear into the morning.

Gareth nodded and waited until I was a safe distance away before rapping his knuckles on the door.

I returned to Gilly's house as dawn broke the night's final hold.

Author's Note: Now myself being a big history buff, I don't hesitate to mention the King Arthur movie is riddled with historical errors but this is a work of fiction and I won't be fully subscribing to what some may call "historical correctness" within the entirety of my work. I will, however, try my best to keep everything true to the movie canon. (:

Regarding the name "Kasais", I pronounce it like this: "Ka/say-iss".