Disclaimer: Pretty much anything that you don't recognize from the movie is mine. I think we all know this by now.
A/N: A special thanks to Camreyn for being my beta on this chapter!
Chapter 2: A Cloak of Indifference
Spotting Aldric, Orainne ran forward and grabbed the large man by the arm, her face tight with worry.
"Aldric, where's Dayn? Caireach said he was hurt! And something about Caderyn and Lancelot…" Orainne broke off as Aldric looked down at her with confusion, and she realized belatedly that he didn't understand her. Frustrated, she turned and looked around helplessly, mentally berating herself. Oh, why did I tell Caireach and Muireann that I would be fine without them—I need one of them to translate! Now what am I going to do? "Where is Dayn?" she asked again, her Latin stilted, but understandable.
"Come with me. He's this way," Aldric told her kindly. He led her through a maze of passageways before finally coming to a stop by Dayn, who was resting comfortably. Orainne grabbed his hand as she sat down beside him, holding it tightly against her heart. He opened his eyes, smiling up at her lovingly.
"I was worried," she said softly.
"You shouldn't have—it's not good for the little one," he said, placing his hand on her stomach, his eyes softening. Though she barely showed, he was already thinking about the child growing inside her, wondering what the babe would be like. "Do you think our child a girl or a boy?" he asked, meeting her eyes.
"Which would you prefer?" she countered.
"I care not. I shall be happy either way." She smiled then, her face softening as she placed her hand over his on her abdomen. Her smile faded and her eyes stared seriously back at him.
"Dayn, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, love. The arrow did little damage. Lance was hurt worse than I." Orainne's eyes widened and filled with tears.
"Lancelot is hurt? He's not going to die, is he?" Without waiting for an answer, Orainne began to cry, and Dayn fought back a smile as he painfully leaned forward to envelop her in a hug. She proceeded to bawl all over the front of his tunic and Dayn ruminated over how far she'd come. A few days ago, she was terrified of Lance, and now she's crying over him.
"Orainne, Lance isn't dead. He's going to be fine," he murmured, stroking her hair. She sat back suddenly, looking at him suspiciously.
"Really?" she sniffled.
"Really," he said with a smile. Her face turned an alarming shade of red, and she stood, her hands fisted and planted squarely on her hips.
"So you let me think he was dead? How could you do that to me, Dayn?" she asked incredulously. Confusion swept over him as she railed at him. It wasn't like her to get angry this way. Usually, she gave him the silent treatment. Actually, she hardly ever became angry—Dayn's temper was more than enough for the both of them.
"What ails you, woman?" he blurted out, knowing it was a mistake the second the words left his mouth. Her face darkened with fury, and he started trying to backtrack and apologize. "Orainne, I…"
"What ails me! You let me think that a friend was dead, and you ask what ails me!"
"Two days ago, you didn't even like him!" Dayn argued, shaking his head in disbelief.
"That was before he saved me from Roman hands," she replied indignantly. "You sat there and let me get all upset and I'm sure you thought it was amusing."
"You're getting upset over nothing!"
"So now our friend's life is nothing!"
"That's not what I meant!" Dayn could feel his face heating as the argument continued, and finally, Orainne gave him a scathing look and turned her back on him. "Where are you going?"
"To see Lancelot. At least he's sensible." Dayn's jaw dropped as she stalked away from him, her chin held high as she left him standing there.
"Forget it, boy." Dayn turned to see Aldric standing beside him with a rueful grin.
"Forget what?"
"Trying to figure her out. She's a woman, and we're just not meant to understand them." Dayn smiled, and shook his head.
"I think you're right. And it sure is exhausting to try."
Hummingbird held Caireach's hand in her left hand, and Muireann's hand in her right hand, laughing happily as they swung her between them.
"My mama will be here soon," she told them with a smile. "Aldric said so, and he's always right. He said Galahad went to fetch the caravan back, so they'll be here soon, I just know it! Oh, and you can meet my brothers and sisters, too!"
"Do you have many?" Caireach asked, quite charmed by the exuberant little girl.
"Yep. There's eleven of us in all!" Suddenly, she paused, her face lighting up at the sight of the wagons returning. She let go of Caireach and Muireann and raced toward the wagons. "Mama!"
Vanora leapt from the back of one of the wagons and ran for Hummingbird with her arms outstretched. Hummingbird flew into her mother's open arms with a happy cry, squeezing her tightly with all the strength in her small frame. Everything's good now, Hummingbird thought, basking in the love and affection of her mother.
Tears ran down Vanora's face as she held the filthy little girl to her chest, uncaring of the blood and dirt caked on Hummingbird, just happy that her child was safe in her arms once more.
Niamh jumped out of the wagon behind Vanora, looking around eagerly for any sign of Tristan. Galahad rode up beside her, smiling down at her with amusement.
"Tristan's alright, Niamh. But don't expect to see him right away—he's with Arthur. They went with Bors and Gawain to the Saxon camp."
"What? Why?"
"We have a chance at peace with the Saxons. Arthur thought it worthwhile to pursue. Don't worry, Niamh, I'm sure Tristan will be fine."
Niamh bit her lip nervously, hoping that Galahad was right. After spending the entire day worried sick about him, she had hoped to find him here waiting for her. An end to the worry…but it was not to be, for he was gone again. She rubbed at her eyes tiredly as Galahad looked on sympathetically. She gave him a smile, but it did not reach her eyes as she turned to walk back to the wagon. I might as well help with Dagonet. He'll need to be returned to his quarters.
"Galahad, what about Caderyn? Is he well?"
"He's with the healers, now. He's alive." Well at least there's that.
"Was anyone else hurt?"
"Lancelot and Dayn, but their injuries aren't life-threatening. They're both resting."
"Well, you might as well help with Dagonet, Galahad. We could use the help getting him back to his quarters." Galahad nodded and dismounted, following her back to the wagon where Dagonet was. They paused, watching Hummingbird squeal happily as Vanora swung her around happily. "Vanora was so afraid, Galahad. I can see why—she's such a precious child."
"She's something alright," Galahad agreed with a grin. They watched a moment longer before they finally turned and walked to the wagon where Dagonet rested.
"Did everyone make it?" Dagonet asked softly, as they carefully helped him to sit up.
"Yeah, Dagonet, we all made it," Galahad said with a smile.
Brushing aside pain and fatigue, Lancelot watched Caderyn with worry in his dark brown eyes as the other knight moaned softly in his sleep. Caderyn, why do you have to be such a hero, huh? You almost got yourself killed today, and for what? But then he thought of Hummingbird and he knew that he would've done the same. He reached out and placed his hand on Caderyn's forearm, ignoring the pain elicited by the movement. Caderyn fell quiet once more and Lancelot slowly withdrew his hand, watching Caderyn's face relax into peaceful sleep.
Lancelot slowly eased back down and tried to calm the adrenaline that had yet to wear off after the battle. The arrow in his chest had been removed and Lancelot found his breathing somewhat restricted by the bandaging around his chest.
A familiar voice caught his attention and he looked over to see Orainne hurrying toward him anxiously. With a happy grin, she sprung for the bed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly between her own.
"Oh, Lancelot, I'm so happy you're alright! The gods be praised!" He had no idea what she said, but he smiled at the glee on her face.
"I guess this means you're happy to see me," he said with a smirk as she cradled his hand.
"Dayn let me think you'd been killed," she said, continuing to speak despite the fact that neither understood the other.
"I have no idea what you just said to me," he murmured.
"She said that Dayn let her think you'd been killed." The answer came from behind Orainne and he looked up to see two Woad women coming forward to stand at Orainne's shoulder. They were a study in contrast, and Lancelot couldn't help but think about how much fun he could have with the two of them.
One of them had long, wavy reddish-blond hair and gray eyes that showed a hint of green in their depths. Those eyes can't quite hide her emotions, despite the expressionless face she wears, Lancelot thought. The other woman was taller, with ebony hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes were a light amber brown and she looked down at him with a guarded expression even as she translated for Orainne.
Orainne smiled up to the two of them from where she sat on the side of Lancelot's bed. "Caireach," she said, pointing to the dark-haired woman, "and Muireann," she said, pointing to the other.
"It's a pleasure," Lancelot said, his trademark grin in place. Caireach rolled her eyes, but the quieter one blushed a pretty shade of pink, a testament to her fair coloring.
"Is Arthur alright?" Orainne asked, bringing Lancelot's attention back. Caireach translated the question, and Lancelot's face darkened with a combination of annoyance and worry.
"He went with some of the others to help the Saxon."
"The Saxon?" Orainne asked after Caireach translated.
"During the battle, a Saxon came to my aid."
"Why would he do that?"
"I don't know. And that's what worries me."
Darkness began to descend as the sun slowly sank below the horizon. Arthur stood on the Wall, watching the Saxon camp in the distance with worry in his eyes. It had been hours, and yet there'd been no sign of Wulflaf.
"You're worried," Gawain said from behind him, coming to stand beside him on the Wall.
"Yes. He's our only hope for peace, Gawain. Without him, I fear this war could go on for years." Gawain looked down and said nothing, hoping that Wulflaf was trustworthy. "The others—are they well?" Arthur asked, changing the subject.
"Tristan is with Niamh, and I imagine she's taking good care of him," Gawain said with a grin. "Dagonet is resting in his quarters once more, and Dayn and Lancelot are in the infirmary being kept company by Orainne and the two Woads that accompany Orainne. Caderyn is there as well."
"Ah, I see. And Bors?"
"With Vanora and the little ones. Trying to keep an eye on Hummingbird, I'm sure. She scared them."
"She scared all of us, I think. But what of Aldric and Galahad?"
"Seeing to the horses last time I checked. They've no doubt headed for a tavern by now." Arthur nodded, and silence fell. But Arthur had a feeling it was a deceptive silence. He turned back to the Saxon camp, watching and wondering at the apparent stillness. Fires burned there, and Arthur burned as well, burned with a curiosity to know what was happening and with a gripping anxiety to know the outcome. "Do you think there will be peace, Arthur?" Gawain asked quietly, breaking the silence.
"It seems too much to hope, doesn't it? But we must have faith, Gawain. My God has brought me this far, and I do not think he will abandon us now. He will not lead us astray." Gawain frowned at Arthur's answer, but didn't comment, deciding not to mention that he didn't have Arthur's faith in the Roman's Christian God.
"The Saxon appears to be a formidable opponent…but is he capable of holding off all who challenge him? There seemed to be considerable amount of discontent among the Saxons when he stepped forward."
"Yes, I know. Though by all rights he should be their ruler, they were not overly accepting of him. That's what worries me."
"Arthur, the hour grows late--" Gawain began.
"I will stay until the Saxon returns, Gawain." Gawain leaned wearily against the wall, deciding to remain with Arthur despite his tiredness. If Arthur wants to be foolish and remain out here until the Saxon shows up, then who am I to leave him alone in his foolishness. Besides, he wasn't sure he trusted the Saxon enough to want Arthur left alone with him when he arrived. If he arrived.
Gawain knew not how long they waited until a cry from one of the Woad sentries jerked him out of an exhausted stupor. He straightened as Arthur was alerted to the appearance of three figures stepping out of the early morning mist. The sun had not yet risen, but Gawain could tell by the position of the stars that a considerable time had passed since Arthur had last spoken.
"Open the gate!" Arthur called, rushing down the stairs with Gawain at his heels. The heavy gates creaked open to reveal Wulflaf and another Saxon stumbling toward them with a third man held between them. Wulflaf's eyes were piercing as he raised his head to meet Arthur's gaze, staring coolly at him as Arthur stepped forward. Though Wulflaf was covered in blood, Arthur suspected that most of it was not his own as the Saxon warrior did not show any weakness. The Saxon Wulflaf supported appeared to have taken a blow to the head and was bleeding from a gash at his temple. The other Saxon, like Wulflaf, seemed weary but unhurt as he helped Wulflaf support the Saxon between them.
"Halig is hurt," Wulflaf told him as Arthur hurried forward. "Take him. I have to go back. There is another I must return for—he is injured as well."
"What happened?" Arthur asked as he stepped forward to place Halig's arm over his shoulder.
"The tribes are splitting. There are men who would fight by my side, men that I will need if I am forced to fight the tribes who oppose me."
"The tribes are splitting—what does that mean?"
"I have not the time to explain it to you now—later," Wulflaf said impatiently. Lufian will stay here with Halig," he said, nodding towards the second Saxon.
"Wait. I'll gather some of my knights—we'll follow you."
"Very well, but go quickly—I haven't time to spare." Arthur could see the weariness that Wulflaf was struggling to hide, and he knew how hard it was for the bold Saxon to accept Arthur's offer of aid.
"Gawain, fetch Tristan. I'll go for Bors—we know their whereabouts for sure! Go quickly!" As Gawain hurried off, Arthur called out to one of the Woad sentries, motioning for him to approach. "Help these men—see to it that they are taken care of." The Woad sneered but stepped forward to do as Arthur commanded, taking Arthur's place at Halig's side.
Arthur quickly ran through the garrison to where Bors and Vanora had made their home, pulling a reluctant Bors from his sleep. They hurried back to the gate, Bors buckling on his sword belt as they met Tristan and Gawain running from the opposite direction.
Wulflaf was waiting there impatiently, kneeling in the grass with his sword in hand. When he saw them, he straightened and turned without a word, heading straight back toward the Saxon camp, confident that they were behind him.
As they neared the camp, Arthur could at last see the chaos that had engulfed the Saxons. Sharp, guttural yells filled the air, mingling with the sounds of steel clashing as the Saxons had turned against one another. Wulflaf led the way, seeming to know exactly where he was going amidst the disarray that had overtaken the Saxon camp.
"Is this wise? I mean, we're walking into the heart of the Saxon camp with only four knights and a Saxon who is clearly not well-liked by many of his comrades," Gawain commented to Bors as they followed Wulflaf.
"Probably not," Bors said with a grin. "But then, that's never stopped us before. Why would it now?"
Wulflaf led them through a maze of turns, darting between tents and fires alike, before he came to an abrupt halt in front of a man tied to a post buried in the ground, his eyes glazed with pain as Wulflaf knelt before him.
"Offa," Wulflaf said, looking grimly at the warrior before him, and as Gawain neared, he winced in sympathy. A spear protruded from high in his leg, near the juncture of his thigh, effectively pinning him to the ground. Sweat beaded the man's forehead, and he was obviously in tremendous pain. Wulflaf reached for the spear, but Tristan's hand shot out, grabbing his arm before he could remove it.
"Wait. If you do that, his lifeblood will spill before you could get him to a healer." Wulflaf's eyes narrowed as he turned an icy, blue stare on Tristan.
"What would you have me do?"
"Is there a healer that can help us?"
"We are Saxon—we do not have these 'healers' you speak of." Gawain shook his head in disbelief at Wulflaf's answer. Savages, all of them.
"Suppose we fetch one of ours," Bors remarked.
"Our healers have had no rest all day—they're busy with our own wounded," Gawain said pointedly, shooting a look at Wulflaf.
"What about Orainne, Arthur?" Tristan suggested. "She's had some training."
"Dayn will never go for that," Gawain countered.
"So don't tell him," Tristan said coolly, staring up at Gawain with dispassionate eyes.
"Very well," Arthur said. "Tristan, take Bors and go for Orainne. And be discreet—Dayn doesn't need to know." Tristan and Bors hurried off while Wulflaf busied himself with cutting Offa's bonds. The gentleness with which he helped Offa lie back belied the indifferent air that he wore like a second skin, and Gawain thought the contradiction puzzling.
"Wulflaf, you have to find Sæthryth," Offa murmured, his voice tight with pain as he fought not to succumb to the pain and darkness that threatened to envelop him.
"I will take care of it soon," he told Offa as Arthur and Gawain stood guard around them. "When they return with one of their healers." Offa appeared ready to argue, but one look from Wulflaf told him it was pointless to argue. Offa knew that Wulf would only act when he was ready to act, though it pained him to let the matter go.
As they waited for the others to return, Wulf burned to fight, and it was only his ironclad control that allowed him to resist the urge to look for someone he could kill—anyone to quiet the pain and anger that tormented him. He did not offer comfort to Offa, because it would not be welcomed, nor did he know how to comfort. That part of him had died long ago, leaving behind a cold, unfeeling shell of a man who found very little in this world worth comforting.
"I am sorry for your friend's injury," Arthur said, breaking into Wulf's thoughts.
"He is not my friend."
"No? Then what?"
"A potential ally, nothing more. I do not know him well enough to count him as a friend." Wulf didn't mention that he did not have friends. It was not in his nature to make friends. He cared only for the few men who were loyal to him, and he kept himself distanced from them, now, as well. Now, he only involved himself with those who served some purpose for him.
"Why was he tied up and left this way?" Arthur asked.
"He refused to fight."
"So why didn't Cerdic just kill him?" Gawain asked. "He doesn't seem the type to tolerate insubordination."
"Killing Offa would have had repercussions that Cerdic could ill afford at the time. He would have killed him eventually, but for the time, he needed him alive for strategic reasons."
"What's so important about him?"
"Offa is heir to one of the seven tribes, sent to fight in his father's stead," Wulf told him evenly. "If Cerdic had killed him on the eve of battle, it would have meant rebellion among Offa's men."
"Wait—I thought Cerdic was your leader…"
"My leader, yes. Offa's no. At least, not initially. What you fail to understand is that though we are all Saxon, we are not of one people, nor are we of one mind. My father simply had the strength to command—he took control of four of the seven tribes, and they fought for him. Some did so willingly, others not so willingly. Offa's tribe was one of the latter. They did not care for Cerdic, but they lacked the strength to resist. Offa thought he should defy Cerdic on his latest decision, and refused to fight in the battle against the painted people. Now he pays the price for his defiance."
"So your army is composed of many tribes then?"
"Yes. But as I said, the tribes are beginning to splinter, now that Cerdic is dead."
"And this is because Cerdic is dead or do they dislike you that much?" Gawain asked.
"Both, neither—pick one."
"Well, will you seek to keep them together?" Gawain continued.
"Perhaps."
"What do you mean? You either will or you won't," Gawain said impatiently, tired of the Saxon's enigmatic answers.
"It means what it means." Wulf was not in the habit of sharing his thoughts with anyone, and he had no intention of starting now. He could sense the mistrust the blond knight held , but he cared not for what the Sarmatians thought of him. Just as he cared little for what anyone thought of him. He had long since stopped caring about anyone, not even himself. His eyes suddenly shifted at the return of the knights with a young woman—a girl, really, Wulf thought disdainfully—followed by one of the painted people, a female with dark hair.
"Who's this?" Arthur asked, nodding at the Woad who accompanied Orainne.
"Caireach," the woman said. "You didn't want Dayn to know about this, and you need someone to translate. I'm it."
Wulf watched as the girl knelt down by Offa with sympathy in her eyes as she looked over his injury.
"You bring this girl here? How will she be able to care for him—she is nothing more than a child."
"She's old enough. And she's has some skill in the art of healing," Arthur said, ignoring the belligerent tone in Wulflaf's voice. Orainne's voice cut in, and Wulflaf turned at the sound of her words. He knew not what she said, but he admired the musical way in which she spoke. He shook off his admiration, though, and turned to the other woman for the translation.
"The spear pins him to the ground, yes?" Orainne asked. Wulflaf nodded in answer to her question. "How long has he been this way?"
Everyone's eyes went to Wulflaf, and he looked squarely back at each of them before shrugging. "It is hard to say. But it would have been since before the battle, obviously." Hell of a long time to be left like this, Gawain thought with sympathy.
"We should not remove the spear until we return to your Wall, Arthur," Orainne continued. "But we need to break it off, so that we are not hindered by it when we move him." She eyed the spear, and when Wulflaf heard the translation, he realized what she meant. The spear was as tall as she was, and though it was not one of the longer spears, it was still enough to make a journey back to the wall difficult and no doubt painful. Orainne looked around at all of them for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. "Tristan, your sword is sharpest, but I think Bors has a more powerful swing—hand him your sword."
Tristan complied without a word, and Orainne continued. "You must help Arthur and Gawain to hold the Saxon—we cannot afford for him to move when the spear is broken." The three men moved forward to hold Offa down, and Wulflaf looked at Orainne, waiting for her to tell him where he was needed. "You, Saxon…I am small. You'll have to help me hold the shaft of the spear so that it remains in place when Bors cuts it." She placed her hands low on the shaft, and looked up at him expectantly. Slowly, he reached out and placed his hands below hers, his eyes betraying the effort it took for him to trust her.
"This will hurt you, and for that I am sorry," Orainne said, smoothing Offa's hair back from his face with a sad smile before one again placing her hand on the spear. Offa knew not what she said, but he didn't need to. Her tone told him all he needed to know, and he nodded at her, closing his eyes in anticipation of the swing. "Bors, swing with a steady hand," Orainne told the large knight. Bors nodded at Caireach's translation and stepped forward, angling himself so that he would not hit any of the others. The knights tightened their hold on Offa, pressing him firmly against the ground as Bors swung. Orainne buried her face in Wulflaf's shoulder, even as her hands held tightly to the shaft, and Wulflaf looked down at her small frame before turning his attention back to Offa.
Tristan's sword cut through the shaft cleanly, and Offa let out a harsh yell that was quickly cut off as he succumbed to darkness. Orainne moved quickly while he was oblivious to the pain, slipping her hand underneath him to see how deeply the head of the spear was embedded in the ground. She motioned to the men to lift Offa gently, while she kept her hand on the spear, pulling the tip from the ground even as they lifted Offa.
"We must hurry," Orainne told them, coming at last to her feet, her hands going to the small of her back to rub at the ache that was settling there. Wulflaf watched her with speculative eyes, before a motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a familiar figure darting furtively between the tents. He suddenly sprinted forward, and grabbed the figure by the neck from the shadows, pulling him toward the light while the others looked on with curiosity.
Wulflaf's hand closed around the scrawny figure's neck, his cold gaze burning as he practically lifted the man from the ground.
"It would appear that the information you gave my father was gravely mistaken," he told the spy with the hint of a malicious smirk on his face. The unfortunate Briton gazed at Wulflaf with terror-filled eyes, his breath coming in great gasps as fear overwhelmed him. "But perhaps I will give you a chance to redeem yourself. Would you like that?" he said, his eyes gazing at him without feeling. The Briton nodded fearfully, or as much as he could with Wulflaf's large hand around his throat. "The woman. Where is she?" Wulflaf asked. Geoffrey fought to loosen the grip that Wulflaf had on his throat, struggling to speak.
"I don't know," he told Wulflaf with a gasp.
"You lie," Wulflaf said coldly, his fingers tightening around Geoffrey's throat as he stared dispassionately at the simpering Briton.
"No!" Geoffrey croaked, his fingers pulling at Wulflaf's hand with no effect.
"If you lie to me again, I'll kill you. Now where is she? I will not ask again."
"Cynric ordered us to take her to his tent. He wanted to have her when the battle was won." Wulflaf stared coldly at him, his icy gaze searching the spy's face for signs that he spoke falsely. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he turned back to the others.
"Go on without me—I will follow you soon enough," he told Arthur.
"Do you need one of us to remain?" Arthur asked.
"No. The fighting is scattered now, and I won't be long." Besides, he had no desire for them to watch his every move as they most assuredly did when he was around. Wulflaf knew that they all wanted to know what his motives were, but he had no intention of letting them find out. There were a few others to gather to him, if they were willing, but he knew they would be less likely to follow if the Sarmatians were standing there.
"You're certain?"
"Yes. There are others that I need to find, nothing more."
"Others?" Gawain asked. "So we're to let the Saxons have free run of the garrison, now? Just how many are you planning to collect?"
"Gawain," Arthur said, a warning sounding clearly in both tone and look. All of the knights were wary of the Saxon, and Arthur didn't blame them, but he knew well enough that they couldn't afford to alienate him. And as much as Arthur hated to admit it, they needed him. "Wulflaf, is it necessary to bring others into the garrison?"
"They are men who will stand with me, Artair," he said, ignoring Gawain as he addressed Arthur. "Without their help, your peace will not happen. I cannot stand against those who would oppose me without them. And without me, these lands will fall under constant attack."
"Is that a threat?" Gawain asked, his eyes narrowed.
"No, it is the truth," Wulflaf said, turning his chilly gaze on Gawain, his hand still wrapped around Geoffrey's throat. Suddenly, a small hand on his forearm ripped his attention away from Gawain, and he looked down to see Orainne staring up at him with a plaintive expression on her face.
"There is no time for this." Caireach repeated Orainne's words, and Wulflaf nodded, seeing the truth in the girl's words.
"Go, now. Take care of Offa. I will follow." As Wulf watched them hurry away with Offa, the sun was just beginning to rise, cutting through the mist as its rays of warmth hit the earth. Wulf turned back to Geoffrey, and pulled the spy even with him, so that he could stare him in the face. "Come. If she is not where you say, you will find that I am more my father's son than you know. I too do not forgive."
A/N: For anyone who is curious, Artair is an Anglo-Saxon variation of the name Arthur. I figured it would be more realistic to have Wulflaf use the Saxon name for Arthur…that, and it just sounds cool. Also, I know there are some of you who are just dying for more Tristan/Niamh scenes, and I just wanted to let you know, I'm working on it. These first chapters are forcing my hand, so to speak, because I've got to get the foundation laid for the new characters before I can get back to the others. But don't worry, I'm not forgetting you T/N fans!
anonymous: Um, you didn't leave a name…so, I hope you know who you are, and that you get this message. I'm glad you're enjoying my stories! I'm sorry that you have to wait for updates from me, but as I am working on three stories at once, it takes me awhile to get to each one. And I don't like to do short chapters, so writing something substantial can be time consuming. School also interferes, so I get to them when I can. Anyways, keep reading and reviewing for me!
Amirra: Hey, glad you like my Saxon…how do you like the new ones? Of course, none of them have developed characters yet, but that's coming. There are several more Saxons that are still to come—they'll show up in the next chapter. Glad you like Hummingbird as well—you haven't seen the last of her!
Camreyn: Thanks again forbeing a betafor me! I always appreciate your insight. Anyways, I'm glad to know that someone reads my URL, and that I'm not wasting my time putting update notes on there. And I'm glad you like the Southern accent—lol!
chiefhow: Yeah, Cynric was kind of a jerk…but then, he was a product of his upbringing, so some of its not his fault, I suppose. But for my purposes, he had to go. And as for Caderyn—I just couldn't kill him off—he's one of my favorites too!
ModestySparrow9: I'm glad you find Wulflaf interesting…I'm going for the mysterious angle with him…keep everyone guessing a bit. And I'm glad you enjoyed the Tristan scenes. Sorry I couldn't add any good ones in here, but I'll get back to him as soon as I can.
dmitchell1974: Glad you enjoyed Peril of Secrets, and I hope you'll keep reading! Thanks for the compliments concerning my character development—I give special attention to my characters, and it's nice to know that someone noticed!