A/N: Thanks to Topaz1302, theladyismine and makedpainter for their reviews.

So here's the second chapter, slow I know.

Review and Enjoy!


Two figures stood in a quiet copse of trees on what should have been a beautiful autumn morning. Birds were singing in the surrounding trees, welcoming the new day. Two horses were grazing happily nearby while a large dog was half-heartedly chasing rabbits in the distance, enjoying the mild morning.

One person was not enjoying the mild morning.

"Uggh," a muffled and rather mournful voice groaned from the figure braced against a large tree.

"I told you not to eat those berries," a second voice scolded softly from a few feet away.

The first figure answered with a series of coughs and splutters as she vomited against the base of the tree. The second figure sighed, and idly watched the dog running around the trees. "At least your body's getting rid of it all. That's good thing, right?"

"Easy for you to say," the first woman managed to gasp before once again bending over, this time dry heaving, her stomach having nothing left to give. After a few moments, the second woman spoke once more, sympathy in her tone.

"Can you ride? I think we're less than an hour's ride from the Fort. We can find you a healer there."

"I'm a bloody healer!" the first woman moaned, bracing her pounding head against the cool bark.

"Well I'm not, but at least I knew well enough to leave those stupid berries alone!" the second woman snapped back, before once again sighing. "I'm sorry Veta, but if you pass out, I can't do much to help you. I'd feel better if we were someplace safe, where someone with training could take care of you."

Veta nodded grudgingly and pushed off from the tree. Her companion steadied her, leading her to her horse, but leaving her to mount alone. A Sarmatian woman had to be dead and buried before she asked for help with a horse.

The second woman let out a sharp whistle before mounting her own horse with considerably more ease and grace. The large dog came bounding up with a friendly bark before setting into a happy gait alongside the riders.


"How much longer'll they be gone?" the feisty redhead asked, holding her youngest close as her eldest wrangled the rest of her large brood.

The older man sighed wearily. "I've told you already Vanora, I don't know. They were s'posed to be gone a week with the trouble to the south, but only depending on the time to took. They could be back and any point in the next few days. I. Don't. Know!"

She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could speak there was shouting from the nearby ramparts at the main gates. The both rushed up to see if the knights had returned. Instead they saw two riders, one of the hunched low in the saddle and swaying slightly. The other was shouting back at the guards in Latin, a vicious looking dog next to her.

"Please, my friend is sick, and in need of a healer!"

"Well we'll not have you bringing any illness here!" the guard shouted back, looking unhappy that his morning had been disturbed.

The rider shook her head in exasperation. "There's not illness! Just poison from the wrong berries! Please!"

Jols turned away to find Vanora staring at him expectantly.

"What?"

"Well don't just stand there, let the poor girl in!" Vanora scolded.

Jols shook his head, but went over to give the guards the orders to let the riders inside. He watched closely as the two entered, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. They didn't seem like Woads, but it was rare to have visitors this far north and this close to the wall that didn't come with heavy guard.

He reached them just as the heavy doors slammed shut behind them. Looking closer at the riders, he was surprised to find they were both women – and young ones at that. The lead rider was tall and lithe, although by no means boyish. She had ink-black hair held back from her angular face in many tight braids.

She was dressed in heavy riding leathers, which judging by a few scratches, also doubled as light armour. She had a heavy brown cloak pulled tightly around her in defence against the chill air. Her violet-grey eyes were watching everything around her, and Jols was willing to bet from her alertness that she had some kind of martial training. He filed it away to tell Arthur when he returned.

The other woman was about as opposite to the first as she could be. While the first was pale and dark, tall and lean, the second woman was short and curvy, with a sweet round face and pale brown hair. She too, was dressed in heavy riding leathers and a brown cloak. However, she was hunched over in her saddle, her brown hair stuck damply to her flushed face despite the chill air.

Her friend was right, she needed a healer. Unfortunately the only healer at the Fort besides Dagonet had gone with the knights to help the wounded villagers. Jols sighed. He knew he'd have to do something to help, not just because of Vanora's disapproving glare, but also because his own conscience told him too.

"Come on then, let's see what we can do for her, eh?"


They ended up in one of the empty rooms in the knights' quarters. Jols chose them because they were better guarded, and he could keep an eye on them both until Arthur returned. He believed the woman, Marika, when she said they meant them no harm, but she also refused to tell him their business, and Jols' gut told him they were trouble.

He noticed something else strange. While their clothes were cheap, old and worn, and their supplies meagre and stale; the horses they rode where worth their weight in gold. Strong, fast, well-trained and healthy, they were too well-bred for two poor travellers. Jols wondered if they had stolen them from one of the Roman estates to the south. He searched for a brand, but found none. Still, it was very odd.

Vanora had taken on the task of nursing the sick girl Veta, and after being shown the berries, had confirmed that was the cause of the sickness. Apparently one of her children had done the same thing a few years ago. Jols wasn't surprised, the terrors would get into any kind of trouble they could find.

Vanora, after fussing about, feeling the Veta's forehead and heartbeat, pronounced that the girl would live, she just needed a few days to recover and get her strength back. The redhead was now bustling around, always the mother hen, building a fire, clearing the dust, and getting them settled.

Marika was now sitting next to Veta, not seeming inclined to leave the girl's side at all. The large dog, much to Jols' disapproval, had followed them inside, sniffed cautiously around the room, then settled in front of the growing fire with a soft huff. Not that Jols was going to argue with the great beast. He valued his fingers.

Vanora had chosen to simply ignore the large dog, and after a rudimentary sniff of her skirts, it chose to do the same. Like the taller woman, the dog appeared relaxed, but gave an air of readiness and suspicion.

Jols looked away to find himself being watched by disconcertingly knowing eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, he tried to fill the silence, telling himself he was just doing his job, getting as much information as possible for Arthur upon his return.

"You can stay in these quarters as long as she needs to recover, but after that you're on your own. And you'll have to find some work if you're wanting to stay. Arthur doesn't allow layabouts at the Fort. You'll make yourself useful, or you'll make off. No trouble from any of you." He said, nodding towards the dog to include her in his warning.

She nodded, looking thoughtful. "I doubt my business will take too long. Veta…" She paused, looking towards her unconscious companion. "…that will not be up to me." Another pause. "Arthur…he is the commander here, correct?"

For the first time Jols noticed that her accent was not Britain, but something elusively familiar. He nodded. "Artorious Castus is the Roman commander here, yes."

She nodded once decisively. "I wish to speak with him concerning an important private matter."

Jols watched her for a moment, but she didn't elaborate. "He's out with the knights, taking care of some trouble to the south. When he returns, I will let him know of your wish to speak to him, but it is his choice to grant you an audience or not." He paused, considering if he was pushing his luck. "If I could tell him what it concerns, he might be more inclined to—"

"He will see me," she interrupted with a faint smile.

He shrugged non-committally, but she was already turning back to her companion. With nothing else to do, he told Vanora to be careful, then returned to his preparations for the knights' return.


Marika watched her sister as she slept, conscious of the friendly redhead bustling around the room. Three of the women's children had descended on Mysi and the big dog was lying there good-naturedly while they tugged on her ears and clumsily petted her fur. Another older child had been sent to retrieve some broth from the kitchens.

From what Marika could gather, the older woman, Vanora, was the lover of one of the knights, and the children running around were their offspring. Marika got the impression that the woman's fussing was as much to keep her mind off her mate's absence as it was true concern for she and Veta's well being. Marika didn't mind however, the feisty woman was harmless, and the brew she'd given Veta had her sleeping peacefully.

Arthur. Artorious Castus.

She had, of course, heard the name before on their journey from the east, sometimes spoken in awe, other times in scorn. She knew he was the commander of the knights, the man who had been in charge of their safety for almost fifteen years. She knew he would see her, just as she knew he was a reasonable man.

It was not Arthur she was worried about.

She was drawn out of her thoughts as her friend stirred beside her.

"Mar…?" Veta murmured groggily.

"Hush, I'm here," she replied, gently stroking the damp hair off her friend's forehead. The younger girl was still hot to the touch.

"Here, get here to drink some water. It's clean, I boiled it myself not an hour past," Vanora whispered, filling a chipped but clean clay mug with clear water from a larger vessel.

Taking the cup with a grateful smile, Marika gently lifted up Veta's head enough for her to drink, and held the cup to her dry lips. The sickness seemed mostly gone from her, but she was still weak from the ordeal. After a few strong gulps, Veta sputtered a little, and Marika withdrew the mug.

Licking her lips to spread the moisture, Veta looked around with bleary eyes. "Where are we?" she asked, slipping into their native tongue, her voice still a little hoarse.

"Fort Bandon."

"We made it?" Veta asked with a dreamy smile.

"Yes little sister, we made it. The knights are away, but they should be back soon. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. You just sleep and get some rest," Marika replied soothingly. The younger girl nodded, her eyes already drifting shut.

Marika looked to find the redhead watching them, a puzzled look in her face. "You were not speaking Latin. Or Britain," she asked in their common tongue, that of Rome.

"No," Marika answered, and Vanora had just opened her mouth to ask more when one of her older boys came bursting through the door, causing both Marika and Mysi to leap to their feet.

Barely noticing them, the child looked to his mother, his eyes shining with happiness. "Da's back!" he panted.

Marika saw relief and joy flash across the older woman's face before she replaced it with a mask of disgruntled exasperation. "About bloody time! I've got better things to do that wait around for your father all day!"

Marika understood the woman's reasons for hiding her feelings, she didn't want the children to see how worried she was when he was away fighting.

With a quiet word to Mysi to stay and watch over Veta, she silently followed the growing crowd of children following the redheaded woman as she marched towards the stables. But instead of following them to the knights, she made her way up onto the wall around the Fort, watching the arrival from a safe distance.

She watched as they entered, their horses heading happily for the stables. They were British horses, not Sarmatian, but still fine steeds. The lead rider was tall, medium built with dark wavy hair and Roman armour. Marika was willing to bet this was the Roman commander Artorius, although from the stories she was expecting someone older to go with the wisdom she had heard tales of. She of all people should know better.

She counted six other men, all in slightly different dress, all unmistakeably Sarmatian. At least to another Sarmatian. The commander rode his horse like he'd been doing so all his life, but they looked like they'd been born to it. And they had. For all Sarmatians, riding was as natural as breathing, and just the same for the people of the steppes, it was life itself.

She took them all in, noticing the differences and the similarities, the weapons and the armour. But there was only one that truly caught her attention. The last to come in, more focused on the hawk on his arm than the other knights laughing in front of him.

He looked older, of course, and messier than even the other knights, but it was unmistakeably him. He'd grown taller, and had filled out his lean frame, all sleek muscles. Marika felt something coil low in her stomach at the sight if him and frowned. This was not why she was here.

Before she could ponder it further, his hawk gave a shrill cry and shot into the air, circling ever-outwards above their heads. She watched confused as the knight disappeared after the others, and then with amusement as Venora waited, finally greeting the shorter of the two shaved-headed knights with a hearty slap followed by a passionate kiss as their children cheered them on from the sides.

Despite her curiosity about the other knights, Marika quickly returned to Veta. Finding the other girl in a sound sleep, she proceeded to tidy herself as quickly as possible, going so far as to strip off her riding leathers and giving herself a makeshift sponge bath. She ran her fingers through her braids to remove the worst of the leaves and other signs of travel.

Dusting off the worst of the now-dried mud from her leathers, she put them back on and removed her weapons. The ones that could be seen at least. It wouldn't do to meet with the legendary Arthur Castus looking like a mud-spattered barbarian, even if that was what she truly was.

Checking on Veta one last time, she sat down, awaiting Jols' arrival.


As soon as the knights had settled their horses and retrieved their packs, Jols made his way quickly to Arthur. Lancelot and the others were still nearby, but Jols knew Arthur had no secrets from them.

"Jols, get the word out, we need another healer in these parts. The Woads have been busy and it's too much for one person alone to handle," Arthur spoke as soon as he caught sight of the ever-faithful servant.

"Bess has not returned with you, sir?" Jols asked after the old healer who usually served the Fort, worried about the sick girl. Vanora had said she would be fine, but Jols always found it beneficial to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

"No Jols, there were too many wounded, and they have not had a healer for many years. I left a unit there to keep the Woads at bay, but they can't stay there forever." He sighed, and Jols pitied his master for his worries. Arthur shook his head and smiled. "What news at the Fort?"

"We've got visitors, two of them. Women. Foreign would be my guess. One was sick, but Vanora agrees she just ate something bad. The other wants to talk to you, but won't tell me why," Jols relayed, hoping the whole situation would not add to their troubles.

"Where are they now?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"I put them in one of the old quarters," he answered, not having to explain what he meant. "What would you like done with them, sir?"

Arthur looked thoughtful, then sighed again. "I will see her, and it might as well be now. Have her brought to the main room, she might as well tell the rest at the same time. I hate having to repeat things."

"Sir, if feel I should warn you. Something isn't right with them. They're hiding something," he cautioned.

"Who isn't these days?" Arthur muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and stubbled jaw. "Alright, keep an eye on them, if you notice anything suspicious, let me know. Perhaps they will choose to share their secrets tonight. Lancelot, get the others, make sure they go to the main room before the tavern this time."

"I'll do my best," Lancelot replied jokingly, and with a smile and a nod, he was off to round up the others.

"One day's peace. That's all I ask," Arthur grumbled. "One bloody day."


Tristan glared moodily into his wine goblet as he waited for the others to arrive. It had been a good hunt, plenty of Woads to kill, and he had been looking forward to having a few drinks at the tavern and getting some sleep, but instead they'd all been summoned to some stupid meeting. What did he care for meetings? All he needed was directions from Arthur, and he could do his work. The rest was all...pretty words.

The door banged open and Bors came in, complaining loudly, Dagonet following behind, quietly admonishing his boisterous best friends.

Gawain and Galahad were next, laughing over some rude joke, and Lancelot followed behind, quietly taking his seat just as Arthur entered, still dressed in his battle armour.

"We have guests, two women. One is sick, nothing contagious, and the other wished an audience. Jols is suspicious of them. Let's please hear them out, and quickly, so we can all return to our much anticipated rest," Arthur spoke briskly as tired as the rest of them. His last comment was greeted by a few "Here, here!"'s and raised goblets.

Tristan continued his brooding as the door swung open behind him, and he didn't even turn to see who it was. Just another bloody Britain looking for some shelter. Not worthy of disturbing his rest, that was for sure.

"I understand you wish to speak to me, and in fact refuse to tell anyone else you are here. I am Arthur Castus, and these are my knights…" He proceeded to introduce each in turn, and when Tristan's name was called, he nodded, still not turning in his seat. "If you would be so kind as to give me your name, and tell me your purpose here at Fort Bandon."

There was a pause, then a familiarly soft voice spoke, and Tristan froze.

"My name is Marika, and I'm here concerning my ward, Veta."