Thanks to my reviewers: op, KnightMaiden, maroonraspberry, LANCELOTTRISTANBABY!

Disclaimer: the usual...

Warning! Violence in this chapter. Read at your own risk. Also: dark Tristan. Like not, read not...But no flames, please. There is a point to all this.

Prisoner

It was not as bad as she had thought. After she was searched carefully for any hidden weapons, Arthur came alone to her cell. He asked questions, which she ignored. She stared at the wall, not acknowledging his presence. After a week she opened her mouth. "Did you know the left wall has 209 stones and the right one only 199?" she asked the Roman commander. "It's fascinating, really."

Arthur gave an annoyed sigh. "Anwen, you're only making this harder for yourself. If you don't start talking, I'll have no choice but to turn to other measures."

Anwen raised a contemptuous eyebrow. "This is supposed to scare me? Why don't I start pretending to shake with fear?" She turned her gaze to the wall again.

Arthur clenched his jaw and stalked out of the cell, followed by the woman's chuckles.

Anwen estimated she had been in the cell for an entire day, when footsteps headed her way again.

"I see my entertainment has arrived," she scoffed when Arthur, Galahad, and Tristan stepped inside.

"Get up!" Galahad snapped.

"Well, only because you ask so nicely," Anwen smirked and scrambled to her feet. She tilted her head to one side. "Now, gentlemen... Shall we?" She smiled so lovely it made her seem like an innocent girl. It took Arthur and Galahad by surprise and they hesitated for a moment.

Tristan curled his lip up in disgust and grabbed her arm. "Stop your devices, woman. They don't work."

Anwen shrugged. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

Galahad, embarrassed that he had fallen for the trick, grabbed her other arm and they brought her to a larger room. Arthur closed the door. They planted her on a seat and stood around her, forcing her to look up to them even more than when she stood on her feet.

"First, your name," Arthur said.

"Anwen."

"You've already told us that's not your real name", Galahad said.

"I lied," she drawled and grinned at the knights. Immediately Tristan slapped her across the face.

She touched her mouth and looked at the blood. "Bastard," she muttered.

"I said I was going to enjoy this," the scout explained stoically. "The more you refuse to cooperate, the more I will amuse myself."

Anwen rolled her eyes. "I'm a very caring person," she snarled. "I would hate to see you unable to amuse yourself." She leaned forward with a acid stare. "My name is Anwen."

Tristan didn't take the bait, but merely gave her a dangerous look.

"Are you really sixteen?" Arthur asked.

"Aye. No point in lying about that," she said.

"Why did you come here?" Galahad asked.

Anwen smirked. "Because I just love being a barmaid." It cost her another smack across the face, splitting her lip. She licked the blood away. "Not very inventive, are you, Tristan?"

"Don't want to scare you to death just now," he replied with a wolfish grin, "but soon I will." His eyes glittered darkly.

Anwen was unable to stop the ripples of fear crawling over her skin. She showed no sign of it to the scout. Instead she faked a yawn. "Promises, promises…" she muttered.

Arthur lowered himself to her eye-level, squatting in front of her. "You are only sixteen, and already an assassin and not caring to die. What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me. I love to kill."

"But you failed," Arthur stated.

"Nobody's perfect."

"Are you truly willing to let yourself be tortured to death to protect your master?"

"He's not my master!" she hissed venomously, leaning forward to lunge at Arthur. Realising she had just admitted she worked for another, she sat up straight in the seat again and stared at the wall.

"That was easy," Tristan scoffed. She shot him a deadly glare.

"Who is it that you work for?" Arthur asked.

She kept silent, staring at the wall again.

"Let me beat it out of her," Tristan requested in a cold voice.

"Not yet," Arthur denied, hopeful because of the reaction he had got out of her. Whether the man who had ordered the kill was her master of not, she didn't have warm feelings for him. Maybe she could be coaxed into telling them.

"Who is it?"

Silence.

"Anwen, who ordered you to kill me?"

Silence.

"Anwen…"

"Arthur, go fuck yourself or one of your knights and stop bothering me. It's annoying."

"Very well," Arthur said, "she's yours, Tristan." He stepped back with Galahad.

Tristan eyed the small dark-haired woman sitting in front of him. After a moment she looked in his eyes. It was there. Only for a moment, but he was sure he had seen it. Fear. So she was afraid of him. Good, he thought.

"His name, woman," Tristan ordered.

She rolled her eyes. Tristan moved in and slapped her. Dark bruises were already beginning to show on her face. It didn't bother him. She had brought this upon herself.

"His name."

Her tongue licked her lips, feeling the cut for a moment. She sighed, but said nothing. Tristan slapped her twice, not holding back once.

She cringed and tears of pain appeared in her eyes. She still refused to utter a single word. Tristan moved closer and wove his hand in her hair. He jerked her head back, making her look in his eyes. "I can keep this up for days, woman. Talk."

She stared back. The defiant gleam that had been constantly there earlier had vanished. "Do what you want," she said in a flat voice. "I don't care."

Tristan let go of her hair. He had seen this a few times before. Dead eyes. She would not talk now. He would have to lure her out.

"Take her back to her cell. We'll continue this later," Tristan told Galahad.

"What?" the youngest knight protested.

"Look at her. She has completely withdrawn herself from us." Tristan looked at Arthur. "This is not the first time she's faced torture. I may not be able to scare her into telling." He kept his voice low so she would not hear.

Arthur looked at the passive woman. Only sixteen. Then he braced himself and nodded. "Do what you have to do," he told his scout.

Galahad and Tristan dragged her back to her cell, dropping her on the straw sack that was her bed.

They met Arthur again in the Hall for a meeting with the other knights.

"Did your device work?" Bors asked.

"No," Arthur said, "she won't say a word."

"Damn that little whore," Lancelot hissed. "I suppose you'll keep this up then?"

"Look," Galahad piped up, "is there no other way? She's only a girl."

"She's an assassin, Galahad; one that nearly killed Arthur," Gawain growled, "not a girl."

"I'm as reluctant as you are, Galahad," Arthur sighed, "but Woads don't use people like her. Whoever is behind it, is Roman. And who knows who they will attack next? Or how far this goes? Other officers could be in danger and it is my duty to find out. One way or the other." He dismissed the knights.

Tristan went to Dagonet for compresses and to the kitchens for food. After having left her alone for about an hour, he went back to her cell.

She was lying on her back on the sack, fingering the bruises and cuts. She looked at him when he entered, raising a haughty eyebrow. "Back so soon?" She sat up and scrambled to her feet. "My, you do get bored easily. I'm impressed."

Tristan felt pleased. It was as he thought. Her provoking attitude was back. It proved she had seen torture before. She only withdrew herself as a means of protection. He would have to break through that wall. Eyeing the slender body of the woman, he estimated how much she could take.

"Sit down."

Anwen stiffened when she heard the lack of ice in his voice. She sat down when he approached her, every inch of her body tensed. This man was unpredictable.

He put a bag next to her and placed a jug on the floor. He handed her half a loaf of bread. She looked at his outstretched hand with disgust.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't want you to starve to death," was his simple answer.

"How very chivalrous of you," she scorned, but took the bread anyway. She tore a piece off the loaf and chewed on it, wincing because of the bruises.

Tristan sat next to her on the sack and noticed her tense even further. She stopped chewing and watched him from the corner of her eye. He fumbled in the bag, revealing the compress.

She looked at the compress for a second, but asked, "What's in the jug?"

"Water."

She stretched her hand out. He gave her the jug and she drank greedily from it.

"Let me see your face," Tristan asked after she had put the jug down.

"Why?" Her voice was filled with suspicion.

"So I can put the compress on it. It will stop the swelling."

She backed away from him when he tried to put it against her face. "Stay away from me," she hissed, eyes flaring up. He held the compress out on his hand.

She took it quickly and scooted a little further away from him. After establishing what she thought was a safe distance, she pressed the cloth in her hand against her face.

She leaned against the wall, tucking her knees under her chin. She watched him closely. "Well…?" she finally spat out.

"What?" Tristan said calmly.

"Why are you still here? I won't starve and the bruises won't kill me. You can go now."

"Why won't you tell me his name and be done with it?"

She snorted. "Whether I get killed by you or one of his men doesn't matter. You're all the same and I am already dead."

"You hold no affection for him. Why protect him?"

"I hold no affection for Arthur either. Why help him?" she retorted.

"I can offer you a quick death. Arthur may even let you live if you tell him. His religion teaches him forgiveness."

"I have no wish to live. Kill me now or after torturing me. It matters naught."

Tristan got up and left the cell. The next day he beat her much worse, while Lancelot and Arthur watched. She refused to say anything useful. Her taunts brought Lancelot to the point of fuming and Arthur had to hold him back.

Though the beatings got worse and worse, Anwen would not speak. She was brought back to her room when she lost consciousness, and retrieved the next day. In between beatings Tristan looked after the cuts and bruises he inflicted on her. It was a useful method to lure prisoners into talking, by making them want to see their tormenter's calm behaviour instead of the brutal one. After a while they would always talk, just to keep him from switching back.

After her ninth beating Tristan carried the unconscious woman back to her cell. He tended to her bruises.

"Why are you doing this?" her voice croaked. Tristan looked at her face. Her eyes were only half open and she breathed with difficulty. "Just get away from me."

Tristan ignored her and continued cooling the bruises with wet cloths. She was already getting confused from the different ways he treated her.

She gave an annoyed sigh and flinched when it hurt. "I think you cracked my ribs, you miserable bastard."

"Will you let me look at them?"

"Absolutely not. Just go away and leave me be."

"The hurting will be much less if you let me bandage you."

"I thought you wanted me to hurt. Is that not the point of torture?"

"No, the point of torture is to make you talk."

"Of course. And the pain is just an unwanted side-effect." She snorted and turned her face away from him.

He didn't reply, but changed the cloths on her arms and face. Her eyelids grew heavy and soon she sunk into a slumber.

Tristan left quietly. He went to the Hall where the knights were waiting for him. "She still refuses to talk." He lowered himself in his seat.

"We've searched the entire fort. No new residents have come to live 'ere recently. No new maids or kitchen boys, stable boys, nothin'," Bors joined in. "I think she was alone."

"But we still don't know who wants you dead, and that little bitch is tougher than she looks," Lancelot growled angrily.

"She hasn't seen Tristan at his best yet," Bors sniggered. "She'll talk soon."

Arthur looked at his scout.

"I've cracked a few of her ribs. I'm giving her a few days off, before I try something else." Tristan's face was completely blank.

"Why wait?" Gawain hissed.

"Because I don't want to kill her before she talks."

Anwen was awake the minute she heard the door open again. She expected to see her tormenter, but instead it was another knight.

"If it isn't the gentle giant," she sneered. "Come to gloat?"

"Tristan asked me to look after your ribs." Dagonet found it difficult to see the battered young girl as the assassin she had shown herself.

He looked at the bruises on her arms and face, knowing that there were more hidden under her dress. Tristan was good at this. Dagonet didn't think he could have done it to her himself, but Tristan had never shown compassion to his enemies.

"Ah yes, the man with two faces. How gallant of him. My ribs are fine. Leave," she ordered him.

"Are you sure you don't want me to bandage him? You'll breathe easier," he said softly, after listening to her shallow and careful breathing.

"So the scout can beat me up some more? Thank you for the offer, but no." She turned her head from him, staring at the wall.

Dagonet sighed and left the cell. The next three days Anwen was alone in her cell most of the day, prisoner to her thoughts. Tristan visited her to bring her food and water, trying to lure her into talking. She exposed him to a variety of curses in several languages. They were the only words coming out of her mouth.

Two days later Gawain and Arthur came for her.