A/N: Chapter 2! All in on day. :D

Happy reading!

Henny, that lucky Penny!

Now Found

The first thing that the girl remembered as she lifted from the heavy cloud of unconciousness, was that she was on a horse. The second thing she remembered was that she could hear a lot of voices. All the voices spoke Latin. She could hear birds and mules. Children giggling and shrieking as they played with one another. And so much Latin.

The lithe girl could feel all the bones in her body. Every ache and pain came from deep in her bones. Her body didn't like being laid upon the back of a saddle. Her hair was still acting like a curtain and she couldn't decipher her whereabouts. The soreness in her jaw is what had woken her from unconciousness. To loosen the muscles in her mouth, she repeatedly opened and closed her jaw, trying to work out the stiffness. It kept her occupied as the Roman idiots took their time in getting to their final desination. With her hands tied behind her back, she couldn't move much of her body. That was fine with the girl. She was trying to build her strength for when she could make her escape.

This time, she wouldn't botch it up.

The area smelled like people. She could smell the sweat and waste of humans and animals alike. She hated towns with lots of people. It always stank. It was always dirty and it put too much pressure on the land. Her small tribe rarely grew bigger than seven or eight families. They were a nomandic people. They liked to travel and not be tied down to one area. It kept the enemies at bay. But never the Romans. No, they always managed to find them and collect the boys that were of age.

The girl had to blink those thoughts away. She heard the command for the horse to halt. A smirk spread along her lips. A Sarmatian war horse didn't need voice commands if it was trained right. Simple clicks and whistles were enough. Even applying pressure in the right area could get a horse to stop. Being one with your horse kept you alive longer. A war horse was a precious thing to have. They kept you safe and alerted you to danger that you sometimes couldn't see. She missed her horse very much.

"Let's take her to the meeting room, Teritus." a gruff command came.

"Why don't you call it what it is? It is a Round Table, Korbin." the one named Teritus mocked the other Roman.

"It is unnatural, is what it is." Korbin answered.

The girl felt Teritus grab her forarms again and lift her body as if it was weightless. She waited a until she felt her boots touch the hardened dirt before she twisted from his hold and nimbly evade his quick hands trying to grip her again. She fought against her stiff muscles and encouraged them to keep moving through the tightness. A command from one of the Romans who had brought her in and suddenly she had broad bodies blocking any exit she could set her eyes on. A wave of panic rushed through her system and she frantically glanced around to look for any way of out this.

Before she could work out a plan of action, two sets of hands were gripping her upper arms and she was being dragged away. She, of course, struggled. The girl fought and shouted and kicked. She was drawing a scene in the courtyard in front of the stone fortress. She didn't care. She didn't want to end up rotting in some cell and be made as a Roman plaything. She was not a boy, they couldn't make her fight like they did with her lost one. She was a girl, almost of age, and they could make her do things.

"Let me go, you filthy Roman dogs!" she shouted in her mother tongue. She felt superior in the knowledge that she could insult them and get away with it.

"What did she say?" one of her captures asked the other.

"You bastards are going to rot in whatever Hell you believe in! I'll curse you and your filthy sons!" she ignored them. Her voice echoed off the stone walls as they hauled her down a hall to a set of double doors. The girl began to fight harder. She didn't want to witness the horrors behind those doors.

"Fuck! Hold her steady!" she could hear them panting. She allowed a small smirk to grace her lips before she started shouting again.

"Release me! Get your dirty, Roman hands off of me!" she screamed right before the doors swung open and the two Roman soldiers threw her to floor, grateful at being rid of her.

"And who is this?" someone asked in Latin. The girl growled at the knowledge that she was being presented to a Roman commander.

"Swine! Fucking Roman swine!" she grumbled as she shook off the pain in her shoulder.

The girl, much to everyone's amusement, twisted and rolled, trying to get her body to sit on the floor. Her hands were tied so tightly behind her back, she couldn't move them to assist in her struggle. It took her a few minutes, but she managed, despite the hearty chuckles from all the bastards in the room. The room she still could not see through her hair.

"All of you are yellow bellied bastards!" she hissed, still speaking in her native tongue.

Startled noises could be heard from most in the room. A few confused ones as well. Did she just speak the Knights' strange language? But through all the noises of shock and confusion, the girl just wanted a free hand to get the hair from her face so she could memorize the faces of her wardens. She wanted to memorize them and recognize them. So the day that she figured how to get out of this cyst pool, she could kill them all.

"Lancelot, could you please translate?" a young man asked his right hand Knight. An uncomfortable cough filled the room.

"Well, the first time we heard her, when we didn't believe our ears, she said some highly vulgar words. Are you sure you want me to repeat them?" a new voice spoke in Latin. But how did he understand me? The girl thought as she listened to the happenings around her.

"Carry on." the first voice replied.

"The girl said, 'Swine! Fucking Roman swine!' and the second part was, 'All of you are yellow bellied bastards.'" the second voice translated perfectly. This worried the girl.

"Nothing important. You could have just said that, Lancelot." the young man said with a sigh.

"It amuses me." the man named Lancelot said with a smile in his voice.

The girl had had enough of not know what was going around her. She flicked her partially out of her eyes and was able to see a table with chairs. No one was sitting in the room. Her shouting had put them on guard. She could make out a number of people standing and waiting for a command. A smirk once again found its way onto her face. Trained dogs for Rome.

"Ask her what her name is." the one in charge, it would seem, ordered.

Footsteps could be heard approaching the girl and she started to scramble backwards. A boot in her back prevented her from getting far. And a young man dropped into her field of vision. He had dark curls and dark eyes. They were shining with mirth. A small smile curved his lips. He didn't look too imposing, if you didn't take heed of his weapons. Daggers were lined on his belt. But despite the girl's fear shining in her eyes, he still reached a slow hand to brush her hair out of her face.

"What is your name, girl?" Lancelot asked in their shared tongue. The girl didn't react to someone conversing with her in something other than Latin. She just watched him carefully.

Instead of answering, she pushed spit to the front of her mouth. And before Lancelot knew of her plan, she launched it to his person. The spittle landed on his face and he shot out of her vision quickly. Curses could be heard under his breathe as he wiped the moisture from his face.

She does't know how it happened. She doesn't know when it happened, but suddenly she was being lifted by her hair to her feet. She didn't even hear anyone else move. She felt the tight grip secure in her long black locks. A whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it. It was painful to be moved around by your scalp. And quick as lightening, a hand enclosed around her as if to keep her still as pain radiated from her skull to her neck.

"What is your name, wench?" a snarl in Sarmatian had her eyes widening.

"Tristan!" the leader shouted as a command.

The girl gasped and desperately wished she could see.

"Tristan? Brother?" she whispered in disbelief.

"Brother?" the voice lost the snarl and sounded confused.

The fingers released her hair and cradled her jaw instead of wrapping around her throat. A gentle hand began pushing her hair behind her ear. As her vision cleared, she was met with beady dark eyes. They were familiar. As were the small tattoos on this young man's cheeks. Shock registered behind the steely eyes and then they went blank.

"Gwyndolyn?"