A/N: To those who have still been watching for this update - thank you for your patience. And thank you also to everyone who has favourited, reviewed and supported this story.

Consciousness came slowly to Veta, clarity a lot longer. Light snuck around the fur covering the small window and pierced across her eyes, turning the pounding in her head into a knife digging around behind her eyes. Her mouth was dry and fuzzy, her lips felt stretched and cracked. She wasn't surprised, between the vomiting and the sleep tea.

But she felt, for the first time since she'd eaten those damn berries, like she could actually move without throwing up. Of course, that may have just been because there was nothing left to purge.

She really should pay more attention to what Marika was saying.

She tried to wet her lips with her tongue, but it didn't help much. Turning her head, she spotted a small clay mug on the table beside her head, and reached out a shaking hand. As her fingers closed about it and she felt the weight of liquid inside, a small grunt came from across the room. As she pushed herself up and brought the cup to her lips, a heavy weight came down on the bed next to her. Mysi rested her furry chin on the bedding, her big grey eyes looking up at Veta with sympathy.

The liquid was warm, but tasted like heaven as it slipped down her throat. She tried to go slowly in case her stomach rebelled once more, but felt so good, the liquid was quickly gone.

'Better?' a soft voice asked from the shadows.

'Here to gloat?' Veta rasped, though in truth she wasn't surprised to find her old friend sitting vigil. Marika was a constant in her life, her safety. Vera never truly worried, because her older friend would always look after her.

'Of course,' Marika replied blandly. There was a pause as Veta struggled to sit up. Marika didn't offer to help, but Veta felt the other woman's eyes watching her closely. Not helping was Rika's way of punishing Veta for making her worry, but at the first sign of real distress she'd drop it and be at Veta's side. 'Tristan knows we're here.'

Veta paused, her eyes wide as she looked at Marika. 'He's alive?'

'I told you he would be,' Marika huffed, giving Veta a dark look.

Vera swallowed the information. Rika had always assured her it would be the case, but Veta had always worried…especially after her father's death. It wasn't that she didn't trust her friend's uncanny gift, more than she didn't trust fate not to kick her in the teeth. Now that she knew…he was really alive. They'd really be a family again. Her heart swelled with happiness, with possibility.

'He wasn't too happy to find you sick.'

'I said I was sorry!' Veta grumbled. 'Is he here?'

'Yes, he's hiding under the bed.'

Veta stuck out her tongue.

'He visited last night, after the knights got back. I haven't been out yet this morning,' Marika explained. 'Once you get cleaned up I'll go looking for him.'

'Help me up, the sooner I can get out of this room, the better,' Veta groaned, wiggling on the bed. Marika frowned at her, and Veta rolled her eyes. 'I'm fine, Rika. But I need some fresh air, I need to see some sky. Please, I'll take it easy.'

Rika didn't reply, but she finally moved from her chair in the corner and came to Veta's side. She'd told her friend the truth, she was fine, but she was tired and weak from the poison berries. It would be a few days before she stopped feeling shaky, but she knew from her own patients that sitting around in a sick room would only make things worse. Food, water and clean air would make all the difference.

With Rika's help - and disapproving glare - she was soon washed and changed into her spare dress and ready to shuffle out into the daylight.

Tristan stepped easily out of the way as Galahad's sword arched past him. The younger knight was a formidable fighter, but way too hot headed. When they trained, it was ridiculously easy to get under his skin, at which point Galahad lost focus and signalled every move before he made it.

And of course Tristan's repeated dodges just frustrated him even more.

'Would you just stand still?!' Galahad demanded, exasperated, and the others looked over with varying shades of amusement.

'Kind of defeats the purpose, hmm?' Tristan muttered, parrying another blow and slapping Galahad across the back with the flat of his blade. The corner of Tristan's lips curled up with amusement at the indignant look on his comrade's face, but it quickly slipped away as he caught sight of two women and a giant dog standing under the arch that led from the indoor stables to the outdoor training area.

Before he knew it, he was on his back in the dirt, Galahad's sword at his throat. The younger knight looked as surprised as Tristan felt. The dark look he sent Galahad's way warned him not to say a word where he normally would have gloated. The others had noticed the women's arrival, but that didn't stop Bors roaring so hard with laughter that he couldn't stand up straight. Beside him, even Dagonet had an amused curl to his lip.

'Take the win, Galahad,' Dagonet's soft voice called out. 'He's not likely to let it happen a second time.'

Galahad finally seemed to unfreeze, flashing a bright grin and offering Tristan a hand up. He took it reluctantly, more angered by his own distraction than Galahad's victory. It was good that his brother in arms was such a good fighter, for all of them, and he had no desire to bury another knight, not when their freedom was so close.

'My lady,' Lancelot dipped his head at Marika, a mildly flirtatious smile on his face. He stepped toward the two and turned to Veta, taking her hand and bowing. 'I am Lancelot, and you must be the lovely Veta. May I say, in the best possible way, that you look nothing like your brother?'

Veta watched Lancelot curiously, her hand still in his as she leaned sideways to mock-whisper at Marika. 'I see what you mean.'

Lancelot looked slightly off-put by the cryptic statement shared between the two women, but based on their smug smiles, they weren't going to enlighten him any time soon. The other knights were crowding around to introduce themselves, and the dog was having a grand time sniffing all the new people, but Veta ignored them all as her eyes settled on Tristan. The talking hushed as they watched each other. She was still the same girl he'd left on the steppes, life and happiness and joy spilling from her rose-cheeked round face. Yes, she was older, calmer, but it was still his baby sister. And the boy that he was wanted to run to her, scoop her up, show her how much he missed her, even if he couldn't find the words.

But while she hadn't changed, he was most definitely not the same boy he once was. So he stayed where he was, watching her without expression. She stepped towards him, Marika flanking her a few steps back, until his sister was standing in front of him.

She gave him a cautious, hopeful smile. 'Hello brother.'

He watched her, his eyes noticing everything that was different and everything that was the same about his sister. She seemed to wilt a little under his inspection - or perhaps it was his silence - and he felt a pang of guilt, for she had done nothing wrong.

No, that wasn't strictly true. 'You shouldn't be here,' he said softly.

She swayed back minutely, as though his thrown words were a physical thing. But then she lifted her chin in an expression he recognised as borrowed from her dark-haired protector and friend. 'Where else should I be?'

He had no answer to that, so he stayed silent.

Her bravado was brief, and she started worrying the inside of her cheek like she always did when she was nervous. Marika seemed to notice too, and place a hand on Veta's shoulder, giving Tristan a disgusted look that his sister couldn't see. He was being cruel, he knew it. She just wanted family, but he couldn't be what she needed - better she find it out now that down the line. But his brothers were glaring at him, seemingly already taking his sister's side over that of a man they'd fought with for almost fifteen years.

'You've grown,' he finally said, stating the obvious.

It was a small thing, a useless comment, the kind he usually avoided, but he saw a spark of pleasure in her eyes. Her smile was bright, as though he'd said something kind and loving. It was enough to break the tension that had fallen over the group. Gawain slapped a hand on Tristan's shoulder, ignoring the dark look sent his way. Gawain was the youngest of them, but he had a calm, unflappable manner that his older cousin Galahad was sorely missing. 'That's Tristan, eloquent as always,' he joked.

Veta laughed, and for a moment Tristan wished he could be the brother she'd once had - the brother she deserved. But he'd long ago accepted who and what he was, and it would do none of them any good to pretend he was anything other than a killer.

Marika watched Tristan as the other knights swallowed up Veta's attention with greetings and introductions. She found herself torn between amusement at his obvious uncomfortableness, and anger at his cold treatment of his sister. Not that she'd expected grand gestures - but after nearly fifteen years, a quick hug wouldn't have gone amiss. Veta deserved better, and the Tristan they'd known before had at least an indulgent smile for his younger sister.

Of course, she didn't know that she'd be any better if she had come face to face with Geheris. A pang of guilt spiked in her chest at the thought. Tristan might have thought her indifferent from her reaction to his death, but she felt that pain. The problem was, she'd felt it all those years ago when she'd watched them ride off with the Romans and the other boys. She'd know then that she would never see Geheris again. All her tears were long spent.

'Here now, look at you miss, up and about!' Vanora called as she stepped out of the stables, a huge basket over her arm. Veta looked a little confused as the redhead walked towards them, her eyes seeking out Marika's as Vanora reached for her and examined her face with gentle but brisk tilts of her chin. 'Aye, you'll do.'

Marika grinned at the bewildered look on Veta's face, while Mysi sniffed hopefully at the basket. 'Vanora is the one who tended to you.'

'Oh. Oh! Thank you,' Veta's confusion melted into a smile, and she hugged the other woman, who gave a surprised laugh before pinching her cheek.

'No trouble, my dear. One more to tend, makes no difference to me,' Vanora shrugged, but her smile made it clear she was teasing.

Bors slipped a hand around her waist and over her slightly swollen belly, his face pressed against her neck. 'Mmm, good thing, since we're nearing a dozen.'

'And some of them are even his,' Lancelot quipped, earning himself a glare from both Bors and Vanora.

Then Vanora seemed to remember herself and smacked Bors lightly on the face. 'Who said I was talking about my children? You lot are more than enough to look after. Jols said you'd trained through lunch again,' she remarked with an accusing look at her husband.

'Lancelot was finally starting to figure out how not to end up on his arse in the mud,' Bors defended himself with a flagrant fib. 'Only fair to give him a fighting chance.'

Lancelot pointed a finger at the older knight, but there was a grin on his lips. 'You'll pay for that one, Bors.'

'Bring it on, pretty boy!'

The two of them squared off, unarmed, and Vanora sighed with clear resignation. Marika raised an eyebrow in question as Veta watched the two men start to tussle with wide eyes.

'We might as well get started, they'll be at it a while,' Vanora answered, plonking her heavy basket on a long table that was set to the side, bench seats flanking on either side. Veta and Marika helped her unpack the fare, while the other knights gravitated toward them - more for the food than out of any desire to help, Marika noted. Like them, she kept one eye on the fighting knights, noting technique and weaknesses.

Bors was strong, and could take the blows Lancelot managed to get past his guard, but he was slow for it. Lancelot escaped most of the moves Bors made, but when they hit he visibly reacted. Not that he was down and out with one hit, but he would feel them for a while. But Lancelot was cocky still. Granted, he had more focus when he fought, a darker edge, but all his attention was on Bors. It was fine for one-on-one training, but it didn't serve well for combat. Bors was less methodical than Lancelot, going with his gut rather than his head, with mixed results. It was clear they'd trained and fought together however, as they each knew how to exploit the other's weaknesses.

'Don't worry miss,' Dagonet's soft voice broke her pondering, and she found him talking to a worried looking Veta. 'They do this all the time.'

'Come little sister,' Marika steered her toward the table. 'Eat. You need it. They'll be fine. Perhaps they'll knock some sense into each other,' she smiled, and the other knights chuckled.

Even Vanora's lips twitched, but she fought to keep the disapproving look on her face as she passed out some bread. 'That'll be the day.'

'Arthur! Will you not join us?' Gawain called, and suddenly everyone was standing out of respect for the arrival of the Roman commander. He'd seemed like the fair sort to Marika, she felt he was no danger to them, but she was still unsure of her position in the town, and so she decided it was best not to risk insulting him.

'There's plenty to go around,' Galahad added, white teeth flashing from his beard in a quick smile.

'I…' Arthur looked as though he was about to refuse, but then nodded with a tired smile. 'I think I will, if it is not too much trouble.' He gestured for them to sit and slid into an empty spot, resting his arms on the table. He looked as though he hadn't gotten much sleep, and clearly felt there was no need to stand on ceremony - literally in this case. Marika did not envy him the weight of responsibility of being commander of these knights, the soldiers of the Fort and defecto chieftain of the town that surrounded it.

'Everything well, Arthur?' Dagonet asked, his strong hands deftly cutting thick slices of ham off of the huge lump of meat Vanora had pulled from her basket. Mysi's eyes were fixed with adoration, but she didn't do more than lick her lips hopefully.

'Two soldiers were found unconscious last night, attacked within the Fort,' he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Marika felt the weight of Tristan's gaze on her, but refused to look his way. There were general grumbles and worried looks passed between the knights. There was little love lost between the knights and the soldiers, it was clear, but they still seemed unhappy at the idea. Not that she could blame them.

'Who is responsible?' Gawain asked. Marika toyed with her cup of weak ale.

'That is the frustrating thing. There were no witnesses, and when they woke, they refused to name their attacker. They said it was simply a misunderstanding. But they refuse to tell me the nature of that misunderstanding, even when I gave them an order,' Arthur sighed, his fingers toying with the edge of his wooden plate.

'Will they live? I could tend to them-'

'No.' Marika and Tristan spoke together, interrupting Veta's kind-hearted offer of her healing skills. They exchanged a look, silently agreeing that the gentle girl would go nowhere near the two soldiers.

The others were looking at them strangely. Tristan shrugged and went back to eating his meal, leaving Marika on her own. She looked around and met Arthur's concerned eyes, before looking down at her own food. There was a distant bellow from where Bors and Lancelot were still dodging back and forth, but it did nothing to draw attention off of her. She wet her lips, eyes still down, trying to chose the right words. After all, she'd promised she intended no trouble, and yet she'd done so on her first night at the Fort.

'If there was some kind of…misunderstanding…perhaps they don't want to confess the truth because they know they would no longer be the innocent victims,' she said softly, with more calm than she currently felt. Arthur may not have felt like a danger to her, but if he pressed her enough for details, he may feel duty bound to act. And in Roman law, it didn't much matter what she said the soldiers were attempting - she would be the one to be punished.

There was silence at the table, and Marika chanced looking up to see them all looking at her, expect Tristan who was ignoring everything. Veta was staring at her with understanding - in their travels it had not been the first time they'd been in such a situation, but usually it involved moving on quickly before authorities could catch up with them. There would be no running now.

Arthur cleared his throat. 'Am I to understand that you were involved in this?' She didn't answer that. After a moment, he seemed to grasp her fear. 'Do you think then, perhaps, that their injuries might have been deserved?'

She opened her mouth to reply, but Tristan's muttered voice broke through. 'That and more. If it had been my fault, they'd be dead.'

'You'd kill someone for sneezing in your direction,' Galahad muttered, and Tristan just shrugged his agreement.

Understanding flashed through they eyes of the rest around the table, along with a pity that she couldn't stand. She was fine, she was strong. It was not an easy world for women, and well they knew it. But she would not let that make her an object of pity. She glared them all down, until only Arthur remained.

'Well, if they refuse to tell me what happened, I have no-one to punish. If there's no lasting danger to the rest of my…' he paused, a curl of amusement at the corner of his mouth. '…noble soldiers, then I suppose there's nothing else to be done.'

Marika felt a swell of hope at his delicate phrasing. For those men that had attacked her were far from noble, and he seemed disinclined to blame her for defending herself, now and seemingly in the future.

Veta watched these men, these brothers of her brother. She knew she did not watch for the same things as Marika. Instead she watched the easy camaraderie between them, the familiarity. They way they teased and poked each other's ire only to laugh and joke at the outcome. Rough Bors and the charming Lancelot had joined them before too much of the food had disappeared, and now even the knights were slowing on devouring the mountain of food Vanora had pulled from her basket. She found she quite liked them, all of them. Good men, good friends, and from the little she'd seen, good fighters.

'Where are the others?' she asked Gawain beside her. 'Do they ride on patrol?'

Silence fell on the group, mugs set down and eyes dimming to sadness.

'There are no others, my lady,' Arthur answered, not unkindly. 'These lands are an unforgiving place.'

Veta frowned. She'd been aware of the dangers, she'd worried from Tristan, which only Marika's assurances that he'd be fine. She knew it was likely that some of the boys gathered would not make it fifteen years to freedom. But these men couldn't possibly be the only survivors. If only because...

'But where is Geheris?' she looked around, noticed the glances the knights shared while avoiding her own eyes. Until they all eventually led her to focus on one face. 'Marika? Where is Geheris?'

Marika looked up, but said nothing. She didn't need to. The truth was there to ready in her friend eyes, easy for her to read. Not only was Geheris dead, but it had not surprised Marika. 'No,' she whispered, feeling a different kind of sickness take her. 'No. All these years, the months travelling here. We were all to be together! You were coming for him as I came for Tristan!' She was standing now, shaking with her anger. There was nothing she could to against Marika, she knew that, but it didn't stop her wanted to lash out. 'You lied to me? You made me think-' Veta cut off, unable to look at the woman she'd trusted.

'I'm sorry, Veta. We thought you knew…' Galahad called, casting an angry glance at Marika.

But it was too late, and tears pricking her eyes, Veta fled.

Tristan watched his sister go, understanding her anger. It was the same he felt at Marika's deception. In giving him hope, once, that his best friend would survive. Marika didn't run after Veta as he'd expected she would, instead she kept her seat under the prying gazes of the rest of the knights.

'I can understand her being hurt you didn't mention your brother's passing this morning,' Lancelot began with a thoughtful air, lighter than the current mood seemed to warrant. 'But I find myself confused that both she and Tristan expected you to know of your brother's passing beforehand.'

The question hung in the air. Marika didn't like talking about it at the best of times, he knew, and so Tristan spoke for her. It was spiteful to push the conversation on her, yes. But he was no longer feeling the need to defend her as he hand when Arthur had asked about the injured soldiers. She'd made Veta cry.

'She's a Seer,' he grunted, still nursing his ale.

The expressions between he knights were mixed, reflecting their different beliefs. Galahad was reverent, Gawain curious. Dagonet seemed unaffected entirely, while Bors grunted in surprise. Arthur looked confused and a little skeptical, while Lancelot just grinned, clearly skeptical. That one was confused in his head. Claimed not to believe in anything but his sword, and yet still spouted off the superstitions of their homeland. Claimed he needed no god but took every opportunity to point out to the Christian Romans that he was a Pagan and proud.

'You believe you can see the future?' Arthur asked, his voice carefully diplomatic and neutral.

'I don't believe anything,' Marika muttered, but it didn't appease the curious stares. 'Do you not get a feeling, when you know you are being watched. When you know your enemy is waiting with a trap?' She looked around almost accusingly. 'Does your heart not tell you things that your head does not know?' She was sneering now, and he wondered how her quiet acceptance of her gift had turned into disdain for it. 'Ahhhh! The god speak to me!' she cried, shaking her body, lifting her arms and looking to the sky. Then she ruined her little act by straightening and placing both palms flat on the table. 'I'm not an idiot. I'm not delusional. I feel things, about people sometimes…' she shrugged, looking away. 'It is what it is. I knew my brother would not return from these lands. I knew when he rode from home that I would never see him again. Perhaps I am simply pessimistic and it's chance that I was right.'

With that, she stood and walked calmly away with the dog at her heels, leaving the rest of them to ponder what she'd said. What went unspoken between them all was that while the odds were good that her brother would have died in Britain, there was no way she could have guessed when and how it would happen. Not even Lancelot had a response to that.

The days light was fading as Veta walked slowly up the hill overlooking the Fort. She'd stayed in her room, alone, crying over Geheris and over Marika's lie. She knew better than to think her friend would come console her with sweet words. It was better that way, for they would have been lies. Marika didn't make mistakes, as least as far as she herself was concerned, and any apology would have been as false as her promises.

Only, of course, she hadn't made any promises. Veta had realised this with startling clarity as she'd paced the small room, working herself into a tizzy and imagining all the witty, biting things she'd never actually say aloud. Marika had never promised Geheris' survival. She'd never promised they'd all be together, or even said her reasons for travelling so far. The woman's words had been careful, any conversation redirected - and Veta too trusting to notice. It wasn't the first time, and Veta knew, despite herself, that it would not be the last. But it was the sheer scale of it that hurt most. For this was not a easy lie. This was a lie of years, of both time and effort. And she'd loved Geheris, like a brother, and his loss hurt deeply. That Marika had kept it…she couldn't comprehend it.

She'd asked the nice man who seemed to be in charge of the running of things where the knights were buried. If they were buried. He'd pointed to the hill with a kind understanding, although he could not know the real reason behind her hurt. He'd told her to be careful and quick, as the day was almost over and it wouldn't do for her to turn her ankle in the dim light.

Like she was some weakling.

Though of course, the truth was he was probably right. She wasn't strong and sure like Marika, even though she tried. She couldn't stare in stoic silence, instead she blubbered and ran away like a child.

A part of Veta wasn't surprised when she found her friend there, sitting by one of the many swords but looking out over the land below. Mysi was snuffling around at the forest's edge, clearly wanting to explore farther, but too well-trained to go without permission. Marika didn't move an inch or even flick her pale eyes toward Veta as she huffed up the hill.

There was no name proclaiming the grave, but the blade was familiar, even to her. The markings were the same as the long knives Marika carried at her waist, both originally from the same set that belonged to their father. She sat down on the grass on the other side of the grave, careful to ensure she was not sitting atop some other poor soul. Smoke drifted toward her from small oil lamp burning at the base of the sword. She wondered if Marika had lit it or if it had been burning before, as some of the other graves were doing. Did anyone else mourn Geheris? Tristan would, but in his own way, and even Veta couldn't see him coming up the hill daily to light a wick.

'You should have told me.'

'You didn't need to know,' was Marika's frustratingly calm reply.

'I deserved to know!'

Marika looked at her then, and nodded, once. A single, brief admission that Veta had a valid point. It took the wind out of her sail and she slumped down, suddenly exhausted. It was hard to stay mad at her best friend, especially when they were sitting on either side of her brother's grave.

'Were you telling the truth about Tristan?' she asked, scared of the answer.

'Yes.'

Veta breathed a sigh of relief.

'But…' Her heart pounded at the single word. 'But I'm not certain.'

'What? How…not certain of what?' Veta asked, trying to keep calm. Sometimes it wasn't Marika being Marika. Sometimes the other woman just didn't know how to express her instincts.

'I see him free. Alive and free,' she added, acknowledging that she'd said the same about Geheris. 'But after…it's just smoke and sky...'

Veta frowned. 'What does that mean.'

Marika shot her a dirty look. 'How should I know? It feels bad, but…not the same as what I felt for Geheris when I felt his death.'

Veta clung to that. 'Well that's good, right? I mean, if it's not the same as Geheris' death…?'

'Mmmm,' was Marika's only response. She was still looking thoughtfully over the Fort. 'I didn't like hiding it from you, Veta. I didn't do it to hurt you.'

Veta realised she was back to talking about Geheris. 'I know,' she sighed. 'But I don't understand why you didn't just tell me the truth.'

'We travelled together. For each other,' Marika answered. 'You let me protect you, you let me keep us safe.' What went unspoken were all the ways she'd done it. The deals Veta knew Marika had made but that they'd never spoken of. 'Would you have let me do it all if you'd known it was just for you?'

Veta's stomach churned, and she understood. Still didn't agree, but she understood. 'No,' she replied, though they both already knew the answer. 'No, and I'd imagine we'd be the worse off for it.'

Marika's only reply was silence, and it stretched between them as they watched the sun set over the distant settlement.