a/n: I have mapped out (and remapped out) the story, and am excited—which is good, because when I'm not excited, everyone suffers. Thanks so much for awesome reviews and feedback! Enjoy!

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Chapter 7

The horse leapt over a fallen tree. Tristan didn't brace himself for it, and as a result his chin slammed into Guinevere's shoulder with the horse's landing. His teeth rammed through his tongue. Blood seeped in his mouth.

He glanced over his shoulder. A few riders and horses were behind them, and he saw more on foot trying to follow.

The only advantage they had was distance. He urged the horse faster. Having Guinevere in front of him made it tricky, but she leaned forward as much as she could so he could maneuver.

He leaned left with the horse as the animal cut past some boulders, then back to the right to avoid some brush. Guinevere peeked over the protection of his arm.

"Don't," he said loud enough that she moved out of the sight of their pursuers.

With a whine, the horse stumbled suddenly. Tristan leaned to the side, checking the horse. Nothing looked wrong, but the horse's pace slowed.

He glanced behind him. An arrow had struck the animal's rump. Tristan saw two riders gaining on them. The horse wouldn't last long, not with both him and Guinevere on it.

"Take the reins," he shouted, handing them to her. He pulled loose his bow from the pack on the horse, and drew an arrow from the quiver attached to the saddle. He turned and drew the bowstring back. His target bounced with the movement of both the dapple gray horse and the enemy's.

He let go of the string. The arrow slammed into his target. Tristan drew another arrow.

"Duck!" he heard from the queen.

He obeyed just as they passed under a low branch. It brushed by his head. A little more notice next time, he thought. He drew back his bow again.

His target was doing the same. Tristan released the arrow. So did the enemy.

He leaned to the right, grabbing Guinevere so she wasn't exposed. The shifting of his weight threw his horse off balance enough that it stumbled again, this time leaning with Tristan and hopping to stay on its feet. The enemy's arrow ended up in a tree.

Guinevere corrected the horse's direction, shifting her weight back to help him. Tristan didn't have a moment to admire her handling. He checked the enemy. The man was on the ground, but standing. Tristan's arrow hadn't killed him.

He couldn't see any other riders, but they were out there. After a few more minutes of riding hard, Tristan slowed the horse to a trot. The horse whinnied. Foam dripped from the animal's mouth.

"The caravan," Guinevere said. Tristan shook his head.

"We can't go back yet." He could feel the blood in his own mouth still. He turned away from Guinevere and spit it out.

"What happened?" she asked.

He pulled up on the reins and dismounted. "Bit my tongue." He examined his horse. He was okay, but tired. Blood dripped in a line from the arrow wound on the animal's backside. He stroked the horse's coat a few times before yanking the arrow out.

The horse protested and pawed at the ground.

"Sorry," he said. The arrow was intact. The wound would heal.

Guinevere got down from the horse. She rubbed her own shoulder.

"Come on," Tristan said. He ushered her between him and the horse, and they kept moving.

The woods were quiet. No sounds of running hooves or feet. An occasional bird chirped, but that was it. Guinevere didn't talk, which Tristan respected. She knew it was safer to be quiet.

Tristan turned and walked backwards a few steps, watching the way they'd come. He turned back around when he saw nothing following.

A breeze swept through the trees, snapping weak twigs and sending them down like a rain. The sky looked gray. The air grew colder. Tristan frowned. A storm was coming, probably snow. He hoped they could find safety before the snow fell. Snow would give away their position. And realistically, there was no safety nearby. From the twists and turns in their escape, he had no doubt they were farther away from Pendragon's village now than where they were attacked.

He hoped Gawain was all right.

The thought left him when he heard the twang of bow strings. He tensed and reached for Guinevere. She had heard it too.

Several thuds announced the arrows' target: his horse. The gray beast squealed and fell to the side, towards Guinevere. Tristan grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the horse's way. The animal fell over. Seven arrows lay deep in his horse's side. Just as many men charged them from the bushes.

Tristan scrambled to his horse and grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows.

"Run!" he shouted, and followed Guinevere as she took off through the trees. Tristan glanced back; his horse would die. The men had killed it to try and trap her beneath the horse's weight when it fell. They were cleverer than he thought.

Tristan caught up with the queen. He held out a dagger to her, which she took in stride.

The sound of hooves beating against the ground reached his ears. He swore. If their pursuers were on horseback, Guinevere had no chance.

His eyes came across a cluster of trees, surrounded by bushes. It was an obvious hiding place. He grabbed Guinevere's hand and pulled her back.

"What?" she whispered. He looked her up and down. She wore a cloak. The dress she worth beneath it was long-sleeved and looked warm enough.

It would have to do. Without a word, he took her cloak and tossed it in the cluster of trees. He pulled out one edge of it so it was just barely visible.

And then he turned back and grabbed Guinevere by the hand, leading her away from the decoy.

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The snow began at nightfall. Her skin was raised with bumps from the cold, but she would not bemoan the loss of her cloak. Tristan's decoy must have worked, because they had managed to avoid their hunters ever since.

She felt his eyes on her and looked his way.

"You're cold," he whispered.

"No," she answered. He raised an eyebrow.

"We'll stop there for awhile," he said, pointing to a thick group of young trees. They didn't provide much cover, but there were boulders nearby that made up for it.

"They'll suspect we're there," she pointed out.

"If they find us, yes."

The enemy was looking for them in the dark, and in the same cold. Guinevere hoped that would be a disadvantage for them too.

She weaved through the trees until she came to a sort of center of them, and sat on the ground. She shivered.

Tristan sat next to her. He kept an arrow notched in his bow, his hands ready to fire. His eyes scanned back and forth for movement. Guinevere tried to watch as well. But the cold distracted her. She crossed her arms over her body, and tucked her legs closer to her chest as well.

Tristan looked her way.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded. If she spoke, she feared her teeth would chatter.

After several minutes, Guinevere struggled to keep her breathing even.

"Tristan." She hesitated. "Can I sit against you?" He didn't answer for a moment. "The cold," she added.

He nodded. He set the bow and arrow down and pulled her towards him. Guinevere tried to relax and not show any awkwardness at their proximity, but she was still stiff from the cold. He sat her between his legs, leaning against him. She hugged herself. Tristan added his arms around her, foregoing the bow and arrow for now. She thought about protesting that, but his body felt too warm to give up even one arm around her.

He wrapped his legs over hers, effectively cocooning her. She shook, but it was getting easier to control. The warmth of his limbs seeped into hers.

She let her chest expand with his as he breathed. Slowly, she relaxed.

Snow fell through the trees, coating them. Every now and then Tristan brushed it away. Guinevere suspected he was cold; the snow had to be melting into his clothes. But maybe the armor he wore fended it off.

She closed her eyes, feeling more comfortable than she had felt since her husband passed away. . . .

How much time passed, she didn't know, but she heard the crunch of snow. Tristan's body tensed. Neither moved.

She saw them, three men. They walked spread out from each other. One was armed with a bow and arrows, and the other two had swords in hand.

There were no tracks to follow, since the snow fell after they stopped. But their hiding spot was an obvious choice. Guinevere tried to move for the dagger, but Tristan tightened his arms around her. The men looked their way.

And kept on walking.

Several minutes later, when she couldn't hear the men anymore, Guinevere felt Tristan's arms loosen.

"Stay close," he whispered. His breath tickled her ear.

They got to their feet. Tristan picked up the bow and arrow. And then they heard the distinct metallic sound of a sword being drawn. Guinevere whirled around. A man was watching them from the path. Behind him were three others.

"We found her!" the man bellowed. Tristan drew back the arrow and let it fly. In the tight cluster of trees, the arrow ricocheted off a trunk and fell harmlessly to the ground. Guinevere clutched the dagger Tristan gave her earlier. The trees were close enough together that they would protect her and Tristan from arrows. But if the men advanced, she had limited space to maneuver.

Tristan dropped the bow and arrow and grabbed her hand. He led her through the trees, away from the men. They weaved back and forth. The men shouted behind them, raising the alarm to anyone nearby. One clamored behind them through the trees. The other three were finding another way around.

Guinevere saw one coming from the side. His sword was drawn, and he lunged towards the trees. Guinevere shrank away out of reach. She pulled her hand from Tristan's and kicked at the blade, knocking it against a tree trunk and out of the man's hand. Tristan broke out to the open woods and with a quick slash cut open the man's chest.

The others closed in. Guinevere grabbed the man's fallen sword and cleared the trees as well. She stood back to back with Tristan, watching the men circle around them. It had been some time since she fought. That didn't matter; she smiled confidently. It wasn't so long ago that she wielded multiple weapons on Badon Hill. Her skills were not forgotten.

The men attacked.

Two of them set upon Tristan, leaving Guinevere to take the remaining man. She raised the sword to block his strike and spun around, swiping at his chest. The man jumped out of reach, then tried again. The jarring impact of blade on blade was familiar to Guinevere, reminding her of battles she'd been in all her life. She threw her weight into a lunge, and when she missed, she rolled out of range of a counterattack.

Once on her feet, she saw she had two attackers now. The second man who had been fighting Tristan switched to her. Both stood brandishing their weapons and gauging the queen. Tristan looked her way frantically.

They had separated her from Tristan.

She frowned. Though Tristan was the bigger threat, they clearly were after her. The remaining man fighting Tristan had only to keep him away. Guinevere glared at her attackers. They think I will fall so easily. She would change their thinking.

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Tristan put all his energy into dispatching his opponent. He swung back and forth as he relentlessly attacked back. His sword nicked the man's arm, and as the enemy recoiled from that sting, Tristan spun around and drove his long sword through the stomach.

He kicked the man away, freeing his sword, and turned to face Guinevere's attackers. She was enduring; Tristan knew the queen was a good fighter, but she was outmatched.

One of them raised his sword for a kill strike, while the other lunged towards Guinevere. Tristan jumped in their midst, blocking the kill strike. He kicked the man back, and stabbed at the other man. He missed.

Guinevere took a few steps back, as did Tristan. He could hear her quick breathing.

"You hurt?" he asked, his eyes not leaving the last two men.

"No. You?"

He shook his head.

"Give up the queen," said one of the men, a taller man with a crooked nose. "Do it now and we'll kill you quickly."

Guinevere scoffed. "That's no incentive."

Tristan took in the men's armor. They weren't Saxons, or Romans, or Woads. They were just men—from Britain. It chilled him. Saxons were bad enough, but an attack from within was worse.

Tristan lowered his sword. "If I do it, what would happen to her?"

Guinevere stared at him. He hoped she understood why we was playing along.

The tall man shrugged. "Depends on her." Tristan had hoped for a more concrete answer, though this one told him something of the enemy's motives. It would have to be enough information for now. He raised his sword.

The tall man charged him.

Tristan never considered himself at a disadvantage, no matter what the fight, but his focus was divided now. He fought back against the tall man, but his eyes kept going to Guinevere. She darted away from being stabbed, and fought back strongly. But the danger remained.

She was knocked down. Tristan retreated and stood in front of her, blocking her from both men. They grinned at him, and attacked from both sides. He twisted to the left and swung at the tall man, just as he saw the other man stab at him. Tristan brought his sword around and tried to impale him, but the man ducked and ran full-speed into him. They fell to the ground. The impact sent his teeth down hard on his tongue again.

The tall man knocked the sword from Guinevere's hands. Tristan pushed the other man off him.

"Guinevere!"

He pulled a knife from his vest and threw it at the tall one. The knife sunk into his throat.

"Behind you!" Guinevere shouted. He turned just as the last man ran at him. With a pivot, the blade glanced by him, and Tristan followed through with an elbow to the man's back. It sent the man further forward, towards Guinevere. She had recovered a sword, and with one slash cut upwards from belly to neck. The man's momentum did not give him a chance to stop.

He fell without a sound.

Guinevere viewed the body without emotion. She glanced from it to the others.

"Thank you," she said.

"You too," he replied. His words came out just a touch funny. Blood dripped from his mouth. He wiped at it.

"Are you all right?" he heard the queen ask. She came to him, moving his hand away and tilting his chin for her to see.

"Bit through my tongue again." He turned away and spit out the blood.

She raised an eyebrow. "Does that happen so often?"

"Today it did."

He wiped off his sword and knife on one of the men's clothes. Guinevere went back to the trees, and returned with the bow and arrows. Tristan sheathed his sword.

"We should go," he said.

"You're bleeding."

She tore a small strip of her dress and handed it to him. "For your mouth." He wiped it with the back of his hand; more blood. "Put it around your tongue to stop the bleeding." Though doubtful it would stop the blood, Tristan did as he was told. His tongue felt bruise and swollen. Not a great injury to have.

"Let's go," he said, and Guinevere laughed. It came out as gibberish because of the cloth. Tristan groaned.

"My apologies. I shouldn't laugh," she said, but the smile on her face lingered. "Lead the way."

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The dawn light was a welcome sight for Guinevere. It was nice to be able to see more clearly. She and Tristan headed south again, towards Pendragon's village, but they kept off main trails. Help would be looking for them; so would danger.

"They mean to kill me, don't they?" Guinevere asked quietly. Tristan glanced her way. He nodded. "Why, when they were just trying to capture Arthur before?"

Tristan took the cloth from his mouth. She winced when she saw it; it was soaked with dark blood stains. He tossed it in a bush, out of sight.

"Whoever's behind this means to take over the kingdom," he said. His words came out a bit gingerly. She felt bad for asking anything at all, but he didn't act like it pained him to speak. "If they captured you, they would make use of it."

She stepped over a fallen log.

"Like using me to hold the kingdom hostage?" she asked. He glanced her way, but didn't answer. Is that a 'yes'? "Tristan?"

He drew a breath. "I think to force you to marry, so there would be a legitimate king."

She did not care for that thought. It was logical the more she thought about it, but she was impressed that Tristan came to that conclusion so quickly. He was better at analyzing a situation than she thought.

"If that ever happened, I would sooner take my life."

Tristan stopped in his tracks. He studied her long enough that Guinevere wondered what was so baffling. Could he expect her to just go along with a scheme like the one he described? Or was it something else that bothered him?

He turned to face her fully. "It won't happen." There was a force behind his words, determination—and in his eyes, hidden behind that fringe of hair, a sincerity that spoke of his devotion. Guinevere's breath caught in her throat.

"No, it won't," she agreed softly.

They walked on.

Guinevere couldn't help watching Tristan. What was it that made him so faithful in his cause? Yes, Arthur had asked a heavy promise of him. But would he really see to it even if it constantly endangered his life? That was not fair to him. She knew he would fulfill his promise, but Guinevere yearned to release him from it. Tristan deserved his own life, one that wasn't filled with fighting other people's battles. Her eyes roamed over his form, remembering injuries she knew he'd sustained in recent years. Crossbolts, cuts, bruises, stabs . . . How many more would he suffer? And in her behalf?

He caught her gaze.

"Sorry," she said. "I was just thinking about those men. I suppose marrying a strong leader might be the best course to deter them."

Tristan stopped again.

"It doesn't have to be."

Guinevere tilted her head to the side, wondering what he meant.

"If you never married again," Tristan said, "you would still be protected."

"By you," she filled in. He nodded. "But what if I don't want that?"

Tristan looked away.

"What if I want something better for you?" she clarified. "You can't protect me forever from everything."

He paced. "Yes I can. Until you or I die, old and gray."

She smiled at the image of a graying Tristan.

"That wouldn't do for the kingdom, unfortunately," she said. "I'll still have to marry, and produce an heir."

"No, you don't."

She peered at him curiously. "Do you not want me to remarry?"

He stopped pacing to choose his words. "I want what you want."

Despite his circuitous arguments, Guinevere felt the sincerity in his words. And it touched her. She'd not known another man to care for her on such a personal level other than Arthur. If only I could have that in one of the suitors.

She stilled as another thought came to her.

But horses approached, breaking her concentration. Tristan drew his sword and stepped in front of her. There was no time to hide; the horses and their riders appeared around a turn in the path.

She recognized the first man.

"Gawain!"