Okay, this is about a year previous to the movie, but Cora is sixteen, so bear with me. That will be my one anomaly in this story. At least for now...

Chapter 1

The small cottage in which Lancelot and his daughter lived was close to the Knights' barracks, and practically next door to Vanora's home. The Knights were not allowed to have families, really, (they were forbidden to marry as long as they were contracted, but any bastards they had were overlooked) and women & children were absolutely not allowed to reside in the barracks.

So Lancelot had procured the little cottage for himself and his then-infant daughter, and had lived there for the last sixteen years. Lancelot refused to reside in the barracks and leave Cora alone- except when Cora had become old enough to chase her father out of the house when he became too much of a pest.

But Lancelot had left his child more than he liked- when he was on missions. Cora's mother had run off when she was just days old, leaving Cora motherless. If it wasn't for Vanora, who had watched over Cora even before she became a mother herself; Lancelot would have probably come home from a mission to find his daughter dead.

All the Knights had had a hand in raising Cora, except for Galahad, who had been young enough himself to look at Cora more as a playmate then anything. He was a mere six years old when they had been brought over from Sarmatia, and Cora had been born within a year of that. And sixteen years later, not much had changed. Cora thought the curly-haired twenty-three year old was more annoying than anything else, and Galahad enjoyed pestering her.

That was a relief to Lancelot, as the youngest Knight had become popular with the women in the last few years, and he was sure Galahad would break his daughter's heart if she ever set her sights on him. But, luckily, Cora had not shown any interest in romance. She was far too clever, Lancelot thought, to just fall in love.

"Are you trying to say I stink?" Lancelot asked, feigning outrage.

Cora stopped for a moment, as she opened the door to their little cottage, seeming to ponder the question. "Most foul, Da, most foul," she answered making her father scoff in disdain.

Inside their cottage, Cora had hung a sheet across a small area to act as a privacy screen so Lancelot could bathe. "There's clean clothes behind the screen, Da." Cora told him, shooing him towards the bath.

"You're an angel, my love." Lancelot said happily, encircling her with an arm, and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Cora rolled her eyes at him, pushing him away. "Go. Bathe." She ordered, dramatically pinching her nose and waving her hand at him. Her father just laughed at her, peeling off his armor and hanging it in its place near the rafters, before going to bathe.

Cora started a stew in the heavy pewter pot hanging over the hearth, chopping up vegetables and a sparse bit of beef and throwing it in the broth. She thickened it up with some flour, and set a loaf of bread next to the hearth to warm.

Then she went and examined her father's armor. The black armor was probably as old as she was, and Cora could count the nicks and dings in the molded iron and leather armor. Every time Lancelot came home, his armor was in worse shape. But he never brought it to the blacksmith to be repaired. There was always something else his wages were needed for.

Cora heard the water sloshing as her father climbed out of the bath. She went to the old, wooden chest that held all her things and drew out a shawl, wrapping it around herself, suddenly cold. She gazed out the small window, as she heard her father's heavy steps as he came out from behind the screen. "Dinner is on the hearth. After we eat, I'm going to help Vanora at the tavern. Whether you want to come or rest, is up to you." She informed him, turning to face him.

Lancelot was wearing soft, clean black cotton tunic and breeches with his worn leather boots; his inky-black hair wet and dripping. He frowned at her words. "Since when have you been a barmaid, Cora? I don't like this, you know how the men there are," Lancelot replied with disapproval.

"Vanora asked me to. It's money we could use, Da. And I can defend myself. You've seen to that," Cora retorted defiantly, sticking out her chin daintily.

"When has money become an issue, Cora? I earn enough for the both of us," Lancelot argued.

"I know how much you receive, Father! It's not meant to provide for more than one person! And that means you have a choice- repair your armor, or cloth me! I know what you'd pick!" Cora cried, pointing at her father's battered armor.

"My armor is fine, Cora!" her father thundered. He knew she wasn't wrong, but they were both far too stubborn to admit as much. A genetic trait, it seemed. "You'll have a new dress and a pair of shoes, and that is the end of it!" Lancelot shouted, pointing his finger at his teenage daughter.

"I don't care about a stupid dress, Da! I care if you come home alive because your armor was strong enough to ward off a fatal blow! Your armor is not fine!" Cora shrieked, tears falling from her eyes.

Lancelot fell still at her words, the raw emotion in them. He moved forward, and his arms enfolded her into his embrace, pressing her face against the softness of his tunic. "Oh, my Cora…"

After a few moments, Cora pulled away, wiping at her eyes, and went to the hearth to stir her stew. "You'll have your armor fixed." She stated quietly, not asking, with a hoarse voice.

Yes." Lancelot said faintly.

"And you'll spend whatever you can to make sure you keep returning to me alive. You can't leave me all alone, Da. You're all I have." Cora continued, without turning to face her father. Lancelot voiced his agreement again. There was nothing he could or would say to dissuade her. He didn't want to face her tears again.

"And what of your clothing?" he asked quietly.

"I have some money saved up. We will see what is left over," she answered. Lancelot mourned how mature, how adult-like his little girl sounded. He hated that Cora fully understood everything that was going on, how she would sacrifice a simple necessity of just having shoes, all with the constant worry of if her only family would return to her.

"I can finish this, my love. Go bathe, the water's neither too cold nor dirty," he requested, striding over to the hearth, and pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter's head and mussing her hair playfully. "Surely you have one other frock not so bad off as this one," Lancelot wondered, eyeing the ugly thing she wore distastefully.

Cora nodded distractedly. "Vanora gave me one…from when she was my age, she said." She murmured.

"Good, go on then." Lancelot prompted her. Cora crossed the room to her chest of belongings, drawing out a dark blue dress and discarding her shawl there, before she went to bathe behind the screen.

Lancelot went to the hearth, listening for the splash as Cora got into the bath. Then he tossed in a handful of spices, glancing nervously at the screen separating the home. Lancelot peered at the appealing-looking stew.

There was another noise of sloshing water as Cora got out of the bath and began dressing. Then there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Lancelot shouted.

"Galahad!" a voice called from the other side of the door.

"What do you want?" Lancelot questioned.

"Dinner!" Galahad responded simply.

"Da, just let him in," Cora called softly from the other side of the screen.

Lancelot rolled his eyes, going to the door and letting Galahad inside. The youngest Knight had just been freshly washed and clothed as well, standing just inside the cottage taking a long whiff of the stew's scent on the air. "I've missed Cora's cooking," Galahad told Lancelot wistfully, glancing around the home. "Where is she?" He asked curiously.

Lancelot nodded towards the screen, where the young Knight could faintly see her shadow as she dressed. He immediately went pink, looking at the floor. This did not escape Lancelot's notice, judging by the flaring of his nostrils, turning to set out bowls and table-spoons. It was as Lancelot began to cut the loaf of bread to divide it up, that Cora emerged from behind the screen.

Vanora's old dress fit her much better than her other, showing off just how slender Cora was, as well as the soft swell of her hips and the modest rise of her breasts, even though she was rather flat-chested. Galahad couldn't help but look at the young woman appreciatively, watching as her hands traced down her sides, smoothing out the dark blue dress. There was a small furrow of concentration between her brows, and the curve of her lower lip captured between her teeth made Galahad suddenly wish it was his lip instead, being so tenderly worried between Cora's teeth.

Suddenly aware of Galahad's gaze on her, Cora glanced at him and bestowed a warm smile; making Galahad drop his eyes to the floor, fighting the blush that soon stained his cheeks. For gods' sake, Man, he told himself. You are a Knight, a man, not some lovesick boy. He didn't need to remind himself that Cora was different. She was not just some maid that he could bed and forget about. If Galahad even attempted this, her father and his brother-in-arms would kill him. And even if he could get Cora into his bed, Galahad doubted he could forget about her, and the fire that burned in his blood caused by her slightest touch.

And then there was the fact that Cora was his best friend. There was Gawain too, but that was different. Thankfully there was no confusion in his feelings for Gawain. Gawain was a friend, a brother, but nothing more. For Cora, however, Galahad held her in the highest regard as his friend, but the older they grew...the more he desired her.

And he didn't understand it. Galahad had never looked at Cora in such a way until a year ago. He had only begun to see her in that light when she had her first sweetheart. Guyon, the blacksmith's apprentice had been only a year older than Cora, and devastatingly sweet on her. Galahad had hated him. He had become instantly jealous of the time Cora devoted to her new sweetheart, time that she had previously spent in Galahad's company.

And only a few weeks after the start of Cora's first relationship, Cora had decided not to see Guyon anymore. But even now, over a year later, whenever Cora passed the smithy with Galahad, he could clearly see the look of longing on the apprentice's face. It took three short weeks to change Galahad's view of Cora, and subsequently his life.

"Galahad, I am glad to see you are unharmed." Cora remarked, closing the short distance between them and embracing her friend. Galahad immediately wrapped his arms around her in return, breathing in her clean scent, his hold tightening for a moment, before he released her. Cora looked a little confused, but she smiled at him nonetheless, patting his shoulder. "I must see if Da's ruined my stew," she murmured, turning towards the hearth and her father.

As Galahad glanced at Lancelot, he saw something burning in the older Knight's eyes. Galahad knew Lancelot suspected him of being sweet on Cora, and had been watching him closely ever since. He knew he should have been more discrete in Lancelot's presence, but he couldn't help it.

They had been gone for weeks, and Galahad had missed his friend desperately. He had been expecting to see her outside the gates after they'd been dismissed, but by the time he'd gotten out there, Cora had already gone with her father. So Galahad had crushed his disappointment, and rushed to the baths and cleaned up, before heading to find Cora, and have his own little reunion with her. And he didn't even care if he had to share it with Lancelot, as long as he was with Cora.

Cora stood beside her father, peering into the pewter pot. "What, Cora? Do you really think I could have ruined your stew by merely stirring it?" Lancelot questioned her as she sniffed the soup he had ladled out suspiciously.

"Oh, I never know, Da. But I have learned to not underestimate the lengths your appalling cooking may reach," Cora responded tartly. Galahad went ahead and sat down at the table, settling himself for what would be endless bickering between father and daughter, he was sure. He wasn't wrong, really.

Galahad watched disinterestedly, his chin propped up on his hand. He wished Cora would just feed him, so watching the pair bicker wouldn't be so boring. With a loud thunk, Lancelot put down a bowl in front of Galahad; the stew sloshing dangerously without spilling. "There! Galahad will taste it, he'll tell you! It's fine!" Lancelot exclaimed.

Suddenly the combined power of two ferocious glares were upon Galahad. He gave the stew a nervous look, if only because of all the fighting. He doubted it could be so bad, if all Lancelot had done was stir it as he claimed. He picked up the table-spoon and took a tentative heaping bite of the stew.

Galahad paled dramatically, faint lines around his eyes tightening as he put the spoon back on the table. "It's fine." He tried to assure father and daughter, weakly, trying not to swallow the noxious mixture. He made a great show of swallowing it.

"Oh, no it's not, Gal!" Cora cried, rushing around the table and running her fingers through his curls in a comforting gesture, before resting on the back of his neck. "Tell me you didn't swallow it! Spit it out!" She pleaded worriedly as Galahad's hands rested on his stomach, shifting uncomfortably before a hand leapt to cover his lips. "Get him a pail!" She ordered her father, who dashed across the room and back to do so.

And just in time, it seemed, as Galahad emptied his stomach into it the moment Cora pressed the pail into his hands. Cora soothingly ran her hand up and down her friend's back. "Da, go get something for his nausea from Dagonet. And some water, too." Cora requested.

Eager for something to do and to be away from Galahad, Lancelot was on his way without any further prompting. But he did hear Cora yell, "Bloody hell! What did he add to it?!" Lancelot slunk away sheepishly.

Cora wrapped her arms around Galahad's shoulders and helped him stagger a few feet away to lay on her bed. Galahad's soulful green eyes gazed up at Cora, completely miserable, as she attempted to comfort him, pail within easy reach. "I'm so sorry, Gal. I didn't think there was anything really wrong with the stew," Cora informed him, sitting down on the side of the bed next to him. She struggled to keep her face neutral, tears gathering in her eyes.

Galahad couldn't help but want to comfort her, even as his stomach rolled and pitched. He reached a hand up to cup her cheek, his hand clammy and even shaking a little. "Not...your fault," he said, struggling to finish his sentence before he lunged forward to retch in the pail. His stomach was already empty, so all that came up was a sickly yellow bile.

There he panted, his chest laid across Cora's lap as she stroked his chocolate curls. Galahad closed his eyes, trying to forget everything but the feel of Cora's fingers through his hair. As he tried to recover as Cora tended to him, Lancelot returned with Dagonet.

Cora looked up at the two men, blinking through tears. The sight struck Lancelot like a physical blow. Dagonet crossed the room to the young pair, touching Cora's shoulder and speaking to her softly. "Go with your father to the well, pet. Get some fresh air. I'll make Galahad comfortable," he told her gently, smiling encouragingly.

When Cora had still been a child, she had called both her father and Dagonet 'Da', for the simple reason that she could not pronounce his name. He had been her favorite uncle, and had climbed all over the gentle giant as a small child. Dagonet was so fearsome looking, but so gentle and patient, making Cora feel so utterly safe and comforted in his presence.

She nodded slowly at his instructions, glancing down at Galahad who waved her on and shifted to allow her to get up. Cora crossed the room to her father who gently took hold of her arm, and led her out of the house.

At the well, as Lancelot drew up a bucket of water, Cora decided to speak. "It seems you've gotten your way again, Father. I won't be working at the tavern tonight. Make sure to tell Vanora for me." Cora said coldly, taking the bucket out of his hands as soon as Lancelot had it. "Make sure to take your whore for the night to your room in the barracks." She continued, banishing her father from their home. Cora held a deep resentment for any woman her father attempted to bring into their home. She felt it a defilement of her home, for Lancelot bring any whore or prostitute into the same house his daughter lived in.

Cora took in the stunned expression on her father's face with a small note of satisfaction, before turning on her heel and walking away.

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