Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters from the 2004 movie King Arthur by Touchstone Pictures. I own the sole rights to my characters which I have developed for this and other stories.

This is my first King Arthur story I hope you enjoy it. This is a revised chapter, only changing a few things here and there. Thanks for all the reviews and support for Lorna and Tristan.

Chapter 1- Home Coming and Memories

Her eyes scanned the broken terrain, ever watchful for anything that might be out of place. The air was still crisp and cool with the ending of winter. Lorna leaned her head slightly back, closed her eyes and inhaled the familiar aromas. As her nostrils filled with the smell of the nearby forest, her mind was brought back to wonderful and pleasant memories. She was home, home to her forest, her glen, her meadow. These were the places that she knew like her very own soul. These were the places where as a child she played and explored into her youth.

A wisp of a smile crossed her lips while her eyes sparkled with the joy of being home. A soft cool breeze blew her thick long hair as though it was pulling her. The breeze crisscrossed throughout her curls welcoming her home.

It had been nearly four years since her family left Britain, to return to her father's homeland in Sarmatia. Morlang felt the sudden need to return his family to his birth place. A need he wasn't fully sure why but knew he must follow. There was not much left of his homeland that remained as he remembered. Sarmatia, the place where at the age of 14 he was ripped from his family and all he ever knew to serve as a knight for Rome.

Morlang, served as scout under Arthur's father. His legend for being one of the greatest scouts earned him great respect and privileges among the people who lived in the surrounding areas. Like Arthur's father, Morlang, married a Britain.

Morlang was a man tall in stature, towering nearly 6'4" with broad shoulders and auburn hair that was sprinkled with more strands of gray then he would like to admit these days. He married a local merchant's daughter Moira; she was a beauty even now that the years had claimed her youth. When she was younger her hair was the color of a raven's feather, shining like silk with eyes as blue as a summer sky. Now as time filtered past Moira's hair became grayer than raven, yet still she held her beauty.

Morlang chose not to leave Britain once his 15 years was served and his freedom granted. Instead he set his family up comfortably just near Hardin's Wall. Their home was about a half hours ride south from the fort. Just far enough away from the bustle and mayhem of the fort yet close enough for him to make a decent living raising and training horses for the soldiers and of course the knights. He was a joiner by trade as well, making the most beautiful furniture in the countryside.

They had six children, five daughters and one son. Their eldest daughter Lorna was the mirror image of her mother's beauty. Lorna had her father's spirit and love of nature and became his shadow. Just as he trained most of the young Sarmatia knights, he taught her all that he knew. He had trained her to be an excellent scout, archer and swordsman. She absorbed everything she could. Watching her father and the knights she learned much.

She honed her skills daily, mastering her own way of things until soon it became second nature for her. She felt more at ease in the forest or the mountains then around people. Handling herself in nearly any situation and was proud of that fact. To the dismay of her mother Lorna spent far too much time in leather trousers, tunics and, even barefoot most of the time. But Lorna loved the freedom that trousers allowed her. She could run she could jump but mostly climb trees and perch herself so she could be ever watchful and out of sight.

As Lorna road atop Alomar, her trusted dapple stead, she was closely followed by Sharma, the wolf she rescued when they first arrived to Sarmatia. She loved him, trusted him, after all she had raised him from a pup. He was her protector, her companion eyes and ears when they hunted. Together they made an inseparable team. Sitting tall in the saddle, then she was tall for a girl anyway, nearly 5'9" with a slender muscular build. Lorna's figure was much more developed and womanly from when she had left Britain four years prior. Her neck long and slender sat atop her broad sleek shoulders. Her arms were slender yet very muscular, a gift from wheeling a sword so many years. Her long legs were a perfect match to keep up with Sharma. She found them even handier for crouching in the woodland thickets or scaling up tree trunks.

She rode just ahead of the wagon that held her family and the others who rode on horseback. Comfortable being alone; it gave her time to think in her own solitude. She pulled the bear skin fur cloak over her shoulders as the wind whipped heavier. Her mind floated back to the time when she left her home. She was but 14 years of age at the time. This was the time when she had seen him last.

It was the night before they left for Sarmatia. Arthur and his knights came to pay their respects and say their goodbye's to their former teacher, comrade and friend. They dined with the family as they had so often done. Lorna watched the scout from atop the stairs hidden behind the railings just out of view. It was her perch, one of many she had, where she was free to gaze, adore, study and take in his entire splendor. She had come to know Tristan well over the years. So much time spent scouting and hunting together. Even though he thought of her as a young pest, she was tolerated being around. It was out of respect for Morlang he would tell himself, but if truth be known he enjoyed her company. She was not like most children her age for she had an old soul. She was not like any girl he had ever known either. He liked her, something he did not do with most people.

She had come to know what all his facial movements meant and what his many moods were. Although, not many people realized the feared scout truly had but more than just the one scowl mood that he was so famous for, but she did. She knew he smiled even when most people thought he was in deep thought. They became as one when they hunted knowing each other's movements and signs. Like she and Sharma had become. Perhaps that is why she loved that wolf so much, he reminded her of him. Lorna knew Tristan better than he knew himself sometimes.

Supper was winding down and the men sat around the table talking and laughing over several vats of wine. They spoke of old battles and times when they were but young knights still wet behind the ears, told tales, swapped what little fond memories of their life at the Wall was they could remember. While the older knights boasted about their skills they took the advantage of making light at the younger knights. Lorna took this time to slip out and head to the stable.

Lorna loved being in the stables almost as much as she loved being in the forest, she loved the horses. The sheer power they invoked was something to behold. Lorna had a way with animals; it was almost a kindred spirit. Knowing the horses well having raised and trained, or at least assisted her father in training most if not all of the knight's horses. Aron the dapple mare was her favorite, the twin to her own horse Alomar. Also, she was glad when Arthur's scout had taken her for his own five years past. Tristan's horse, the one which he had for over 6 years, had been killed in battle. Knowing that he had the sibling to her own made her feel more connected to him in a small way.

She caressed Aron, gingerly stroking her neck just under her silky mane. As she slowly took in the smell of the horse flesh she leaned her head against the animal. Closing her eyes Lorna could feel the rhythmic beating of her own heart with Aron's. Slowly she moved to the back of the saddle where the scout's saddle bag was fastened. Suddenly she stopped. She could feel her stomach tighten as she looked down at her hand which clutched a leather wrapping. Frozen for a moment, she debated whether or not to go through with it.

Would he think her a foolish stupid little girl or realize just how much he meant to her? Closing her eyes she clutched the wrapping and took in a deep breath. Moving closer to his saddle bag she quickly unfastened it, slipping the gift she had made for him in. Just at that instant her back stiffened, she felt movement, sensed that she was no longer alone in the stable. She held her breath again.

"What are you looking for…. girl?" From the end stall she heard a low familiar growling voice with its thick foreign accent.

"I wasn't looking for anything," she replied quickly with a sting of nervousness in her soft voice.

"Hum," is all he uttered as he came closer.

She could feel him close the distance between them and she need not turn around for she knew he would be upon her swiftly.

"I….. I …, "she stuttered nervously as she felt the warmth of his breath so near to her.

"You…you," he mocked her as though she were his little pet.

Normally his teasing she would take in stride even enjoyed it for the most part. It meant that they had a connection, a bond. However, this time his mocking angered her. The infamous scout was not one to joke around much, at least not with most people. Although she had hated it so when he treated her like a child, even if in his eyes she still was. She didn't want to be treated like a younger sister, not by him anyway.

She turned around and glared at him. Her face contorted into a scowl, eyes tightened, her brows knitted, her fists were now clenched. She glared up at him and muttered under her breath.

"I was placing a gift for you in your saddle bag…old man," she said gruffly as she stormed off past the scout bumping purposely into his left arm as hard as she could.

"A gift….For me?" He sounded amused, he spoke without turning around.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she reached the end of the stalls realizing that this might be the only moment she would have to tell him. She turned and hurried back to him. Standing in front of him she looked more like a young Sarmatian boy in her trousers and tunic (which hid her ever developing body) than she did a girl. Her mangled wild shoulder length hair had bits of straw and twigs nestled in it. Her face had scuffs of dirt on her upper right cheek and just above her left eyebrow. He looked down at her, looked deep into those eyes of hers. Her eyes were so blue and captivating even at her young tender age. For a moment he held his breath, something was different about the way she was looking at him and it unnerved him. A feeling he was not accustomed to at all.

She mustered all her bravery, closed her eyes and just quickly blurted it out.

"I made it for you …so you will not forget me ….," she said softly. "Tristan, wait for me (her voice lowered to almost a whisper)…"I leave as a girl but I will return as a woman…please do not find another, please."

And with that she opened her eyes, gently grabbed his forearms, tipped up on the balls of her feet and quickly kissed him on his mouth before running away. True it was an inexperienced kiss, quick, tight and closed mouth. But for her it was like a dream. She had done it, said it and now he knew what she had known since she was but 11 years old. She loved him and wanted nothing more than to be his wife, someday.

Tristan stood there motionless, not sure of what just happened nor how he should handle it. He watched as she darted off like a scared rabbit they had hunted so many times in the forest together.

This is Lorna, Morlang's daughter; she is just a child, like a little pest of a sister…isn't she? He scolded himself in bewilderment.

Finally he shook his head; rolled his eyes and snorted out a laugh. He turned his head, eyed his saddle bag for a brief moment before walking over to it. Tristan took his right hand and scratched at his beard just looking at the flap that was unfastened. Slowly reaching his hand up he opened the flap, reached in and took out the leather wrapping she placed in it. For a moment he just held it in the palm of his large hand looking at the package.

Fourteen years old. He thought to himself as he untied the leather string.

She is only fourteen, only but a girl. He thought to himself once again. Why, most girls were married with a child at this age. Vanora was that age when she first became Bors' lover and mother to his bastard children!

Shaking his head as to snap himself out of his thoughts he snorted again saying out loud this time.

"She is just a child and knows nothing of love. Silly whip of a girl," he grumbled.

As he unraveled the leather wrapping it revealed a soft snow white rabbit's tail at the end of a brown braided leather necklace. He admired the workmanship of the braiding on the necklace. It was very detailed. He stared at the thing for a few moments. He began to smile at the thought of it…of her… remembering back when she had first braided his hair ….it was her that had placed the four braids in his hair. His thoughts were carried away to that day.

He remembered it being a warm summer afternoon. Lorna sat on the benches of the stables while her father spoke with Arthur about the new horses he brought. Tristan entered the open stable doors only to catch himself stopped dead in his tracks at the site his eyes beheld. There was Lorna not but 10 years old. She sat next to Gawain as she braided his long golden locks.

"Be still," she proclaimed "You are worse than my little sisters!"

"I am trying to sharpen my axe little one," he answered as he used his wetting stone in attempts of sharpening his weapons.

"I'm not your little one," she protested with knitted brows.

"Hurry all the same girl," he added with a grunt.

He made way over to the pair, as he passed Gawain the scout looked in his direction with a cocked eyebrow and shook his head. He took his usual seat near them. He took out his own wet stone and began to work on his sword. All the while he gave Gawain a look of disbelief.

"Your next my friend," Gawain said with a pull of his head. "Lorna! Be done with this child!"

"I'll not," Tristan uttered loudly.

"Are you afraid of a little girl Tristan?" Lorna asked.

"I fear no one little one," he growled "Least a pest girl like you."

She moved her face nose to nose with Gawain and stated softly, "I think he is afraid of girls... don't you think so Gawain?" Popping her head back up the child proclaimed. "There you are done."

"I think you are right, little one," Gawain replied with a wink and smile.

Lorna moved in toward Tristan she sat on the bench just above him. As her hands reached for his hair he pulled his head back and away from her grasp, giving her a look out the corner of his eyes.

"I have to practice Tristan be still!" She firmly stated grabbing a fist full of his thick brown locks.

With that Tristan gave a snort then low growl. He knew it was best to just let her do the task at hand so she would be done and gone. Parting the hair in the middle of the left side of his head she began her handy work. Reaching the end of the braid she wrapped a leather string around it tightly. She moved to the other side as she repeated the same pattern. With that she jumped off the benches and stood in front of Tristan. Standing with her right hand on her chin she glared at him. Her head began to shake back and forth in what was no doubt her displeasure at her handing work.

"No that will not do," with this remark she climbed into his lap.

"What are you doing girl!" He inquired in a rather annoyed tone.

"Two isn't enough. Just does not suit you at all. No, no that will never do." She said shaking her head and grabbing a section of his hair just off his forehead.

When she had finished with that braid she grabbed his chin and moved his face to the left so she could make the match. Leaning slightly back with arms crossed she admired her craftsmanship.

"Lorna... will you get off Tristan and stop pestering him! Why he puts up with you I don't know?" Her father's voice sounded as he, Arthur and Lancelot entered the stables.

"I was practicing my braiding father," she stated matter of factuly.

"He is Knight Lorna, not your pet. Off you go girl." Morlang rebutted his daughter.

"He looks more like a wild dog father," she said as she ran out of the stables.

"Suits you," Lancelot said with his ever famous impish grin and cocky attitude.

Tristan only huffed as he turned and resumed tending to his weapons.

He was brought back to the present as he gingerly rubbed the soft tail. At first he kept the braids out of amusement, but he had grown to like the look of them. He thought of what she had done for him. Another smile crept across his mouth. This time he thought of her kissing him. Then he shook his head with knitted brows and uttered a deep gruff growl under his breath as he snorted a deep and defiant-

"NO!" He sternly shouted aloud.

Tristan tossed her gift back into his saddle bag and fastened the latch. Stroked Aron on the neck a few times before returning to the house where Arthur and the other Knights waited.

Mumbling again lowly to himself as he entered the house.

"NO DAMN IT! NO!" He repeated loudly.