A/N: I own nothing related to King Arthur.
Gawain and Galahad all but pounced on her the moment she stepped out of the infirmary. The pair of them had apparently thought it better to stay out of Dagonet's way and had been waiting outside with barely concealed impatience, eager to hear any news anyone might have to offer about their comrades. It looked as though they had come straight from the stables, because both were still wearing their light armor and both were still covered in blood and grime. She noticed that there was also a bit of a crowd loitering around nearby, though whether those people were also waiting to hear news about the health of the Sarmatians or not, Breck didn't know – nobody seemed to want to get too close to the infirmary, most of the people in the crowd eyeing the two rather intimidating looking knights with something akin to apprehension.
"Are they well? Will they live?" Gawain asked at once with a deep frown on his face.
"Tristan is well," Breck answered, which made both Gawain and Galahad immediately breathe sighs of relief. "As for Bors, Dagonet is still tending to him. He believes Bors will recover soon enough, though." The two Sarmatians looked immensely relieved and patted each other on the backs in a manly, albeit affectionate, way. "What of you two?" Breck asked, turning the conversation on them. "Have you any injuries Dagonet should know of?" She continued pointedly, trailing her eyes over both of them to check for any signs of secret wounds.
"None," Galahad said, evidently not believing the large gash on his forehead to qualify as an injury.
Breck pursed her lips for a moment, then looked pointedly to Gawain. "And you, Gawain?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at him.
"I am fine," he assured her with a nod and a small smile. Then he eyed her for a moment before quirking a brow. "None of that blood belongs to you, correct?" He asked, motioning toward her shirt.
She glanced down at herself and frowned when she saw that some of Tristan's blood was staining her clothes. It must have gotten on her when she was helping him into the infirmary and tending to his wound. Breck heaved and shook her head, already knowing it would take a lot of effort to get the stains out. "It is Tristan's," she answered, wiping at some of it even though she knew it would do no good.
Breck let out a heavy sigh then and rubbed her forehead for a moment, suddenly feeling drained. Between the encounter with Gerland, her dream in the meadow, and the injuries to Bors and Tristan, this day was certainly turning out to be a trying one. She knew that her trip to Vanora's would not make the day any better either, since Breck was almost certain the woman would be an emotional wreck by the time she arrived. And then, of course, there was the impending conversation that she needed to have with Arthur about Gerland, which would surely send him into a fit. She was going to be in need of a strong drink soon enough, that much was certain.
She must have gotten lost in her own thoughts or a moment, because Gawain suddenly moved closer with a worried expression. "Breck?" He asked gently. "Are you well?"
His close proximity was doing absolutely nothing to calm her nerves, but she did her best to ignore it and offered him a small smile. "Aye, I am well," she told him, "It has just been a very long, very troubling day. That is all." Gawain didn't quite look convinced, but he didn't pry any further.
For a moment, Breck and the handsome knight stared at one another in silence. The way Gawain was looking at her made her feel a little nervous, and though she'd never had problems speaking with him before, Breck suddenly could think of nothing intelligent to say to him. Galahad had not so discreetly moved off to the side to begin taking off bits of his armor, clearly stepping away so he could give she and Gawain a moment of privacy. Breck wasn't sure how she should feel about that – did Galahad still think there was something between her and Gawain? Did he feel like he was intruding on a moment? Is that what was happening between she and Gawain right now, a moment?
Unable to stand the silence any longer, Breck raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Have you seen Vanora?" She asked, changing the subject.
Gawain nodded. "Arthur went to collect her from the tavern and inform her of Bors' condition. I believe you shall find her at home."
"That is where I shall look, then. Thank you," she said with a smile and a nod.
Breck eyed him for a moment and then, in a moment of bravery, reached out to place a hand on his broad shoulder. Unlike Tristan, Gawain did not tense up in response to her touch. As a matter of fact, he visibly relaxed. "I am glad to see you in good health," she said sincerely. "The both of you," Breck added, raising her voice and smiling over at Galahad so he'd know she was speaking to him as well. He returned her smile and inclined his head, but otherwise stayed where he was.
"Worried for us, were you?" Gawain asked, now smiling down at her lopsidedly. Breck couldn't help it – she felt her heart begin to beat a little bit faster in response to his infectious smile. And even though there was Woad blood on his hair and face and neck and he desperately needed to bathe, he looked incredibly handsome in that moment.
"Of course I was, just as I will every time you men leave for a mission," Breck said, patting his shoulder one last time before retracting her hand. Gawain seemed oddly pleased to know that she worried for his – and the rest of the men's – safety so much. "I should go to Vanora now. She will be waiting for an update on Bors and I do not wish to make her wait any longer than she already had."
"Allow me to escort you," Gawain said, already moving to offer an elbow.
Breck just smile and gently shook her head. "Thank you for the kind offer, but I can see myself there just fine. No doubt you and Galahad are tired after your difficult journey and would like to get some rest." She paused to give him a once over, quirking an eyebrow. "At the very least, you are both in need of a serious washing," she told him with a smirk.
Gawain grinned at her words and nodded his agreement. Then after a short moment of silence, he suddenly raised a hand and brought it up to her face.
Breck froze, unsure as to what exactly he was doing, then could not stop her eyes from fluttering closed when his calloused fingertips swiped across her left cheek with surprising gentleness. The touch, combined with how close he was standing to her, made her stomach flip over pleasantly. She could not recall a man ever touching her in such a way. She had been hugged and held countless times by her father as a girl, she had been jostled around by overly affectionate gestures from Arthur and the men, and she had even been – very clumsily – kissed by a boy back in Ireland when she was younger. But Breck had never had a man stand before her, looking at her the way Gawain was and caressing her cheek in such an affection way. It made her feel a little weak in the knees.
Quite suddenly, the gentle touch on her cheek reminded her of the dream she'd had about Tristan earlier that day. Breck found herself leaning into the touch, wondering what it would feel like if it was Tristan, not Gawain, standing before her and it was his fingers gliding along her cheek. The moment she realized what she was thinking, however, her eyes popped open and she quickly pulled away from Gawain so that he was no longer touching her. The frown that crossed his features was immediate, but he concealed it just as fast, slowly lowering his hand down to his side with a clearing of his throat.
"There was blood on your cheek," he stated, as though he felt the need to break the awkward silence by explaining his actions.
She was fairly sure it didn't take quite that long to wipe blood from someone's cheek, but didn't dare voice that thought aloud. "Oh. Th-thank you," she said, her cheeks turning pink.
Breck glanced toward Galahad to see if he'd been watching her and Gawain, but, thankfully, the young knight had become very interested in his sword over the past few minutes. He was intently inspecting the blade, determined not to intrude on whatever was happing between her and Gawain. Unfortunately, the townsfolk loitering the infirmary were watching, and Breck cringed when she realized that several of them were whispering to their neighbors behind their hands and shooting pointed looks in her direction. Galahad had once told her that there were already rumors about her and the golden-haired Sarmatian – she knew now that they would probably only get worse from the display the townsfolk had just seen.
Deciding the time had come to make herself scare, Breck offered Gawain one last smile and stepped away from him. "I shall take my leave now. Goodbye Gawain, Galahad," she said, inclining her head respectfully to both men before hurrying away without a backwards glance, not even bothering to stick around and wait for a response from either.
Breck beat herself up the entire way to Vanora's.
Imbecile, imbecile, imbecile!, she chastised herself as she made her way through town, mentally cursing herself for the dozenth time. She kicked a rock that lay in her path, watching as it went flying away from her, before continuing on with a deep frown on her lips.
She had suspected Gawain to have more than just friendship on the mind since she met him, and it was starting to look like all of her suspicions had been correct. Gawain had never been so openly affectionate with her before, and though she was no expert in love or romance, the look in his eyes had been unmistakable. He had done nothing to hide the longing, nor the open admiration in his bright blue orbs. Any other woman – no, probably every other woman in town (even the married ones) would have given their arm to be in the position Breck had just been in. And what had she done? She had immediately begun comparing him to Tristan! Tristan – the man that loathed her, the man that was annoyed just by her mere presence, the man that usually only spoke to her when they were arguing over something!
Breck felt foolish, she felt mortified, and she hated herself for the way her stupid behavior had affected Gawain. When she had pulled away from his touch, there had been a split second in time where dejection had flashed through his gaze. Just knowing that she had caused him any kind of hurt made her heart clench with guilt. Things between them might've started to get a little muddy, but Gawain was still her friend. And seeing as true friends were usually few and far between for Breck, the last thing she wanted to do was lose one of them because of her own stupidity.
Despite her uncertainty with romance and her reluctance to become involved with anyone while she was at the Wall, Breck knew that if she had to choose a man that Gawain would, without a doubt, be the most sensible choice. He was handsome, kind, could make her laugh, and, if the legends were true, was a fierce warrior. All in all, he was a good man. And she did like him – she had since they first met.
So why was it that whenever she was with Tristan, she all but forgot that Gawain even existed? What was this pull that she suddenly felt toward the quiet scout? What did it say about her feelings for Gawain that her affections had been swayed so easily? And by a man that felt nothing but resentment for her, no less!
Breck was finally able to put a hold on her internal self-loathing when she reached Vanora's house. Inside, the house was dark and deathly quiet. But outside, some of the older children had posted up on the porch with impatient, albeit scared, looks on their young faces. Clearly they were waiting for somebody to turn up with news about their father.
Sure enough, the moment the children spotted her walking up to the house, they jumped up and came running towards her. "Is father well?" Three asked, concern filling his gaze. "Is he alive?"
Breck rested a hand on his shoulder and nodded, offering a gentle smile. "Yes, he lives." The children in front of her immediately rejoiced at the news, visibly relieved to hear that their father had not met an untimely end. Breck smiled wider, patted their heads, then she motioned them to follow her inside.
When she and the children walked through the door, her eyes immediately landed on Arthur and Vanora. They were sitting at the table, Arthur holding one of the distraught woman's hands in his own as he spoke to her in low, soothing tones – the rest of the children were scattered about the room with varying expressions of worry, fright, and confusion.
The instant Vanora and Arthur saw that Breck had arrived, they were out of their chairs and rushing toward her. Vanora pushed through her brood of children to stand in front of Breck and grasp her hands, a wild, fearful look in her eyes. "My lover – does he live?" Vanora asked, her cheeks red and tearstained.
"Aye, Bors lives," Breck was happy to tell her, "And Dag believes that, with a bit of rest, he will make a full recovery."
The news immediately made Vanora start sobbing with relief. She threw her arms around Breck's shoulders, hugging her tightly and crying into her shoulder – Breck returned the hug a bit awkwardly, patting the woman's back in what she hoped was a comforting manner. She looked to Arthur over Vanora's shoulder and, though Arthur's expression was a bit on the weary side, they shared a relieved smile. Arthur walked the few short feet to come and join them, resting a comforting hand on each woman's back.
"God is with us on this day," he told them, smiling at Breck gently. "We must give him many thanks – we might have lost two good men if not for the good fortune He has bestowed upon us." Breck nodded and tightened her arms around Vanora, hugging her more firmly as the woman continued to cry with happiness.
She didn't know why, but as they stood there in silence for a few moments, the words that Vanora had said earlier that week suddenly came rushing back to her. Vanora had described what it felt like whenever Bors was away from her on duty, how much it pained her to think of losing him – the two were always shouting at each other so much that it was easy to forget they were in love. Now, however, there was no mistaking just how deeply Vanora loved her rowdy Sarmatian lover.
Breck recalled her own moment of panic in the stables when she had realized that Tristan was one of the injured man. When she had seen him there, clutching his side and grimacing in pain, she had been so worried that he had been seriously hurt – seeing him that way had made her feel as though her heart had fallen into her own stomach. Was this the sort of feeling Vanora had described to her? Was this what Vanora had felt when she had heard about Bors being injured?
As though reading her mind, Vanora suddenly pulled back and frowned in concern. "How is Tristan?"
Breck flushed, wishing she hadn't ask in front of Arthur. "He is well," she answered with a nod. When she spared Arthur a glance, he seemed to relieved at hearing the news to be suspicious of anything.
"Good," Vanora said, finally pulling away from Breck so she could wipe the tears from her face, a half-attempted smile working its way onto her pretty features. "I will kill Bors myself for worrying me so much!" She finally said with a watery laugh, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "The stupid fool."
"As I am sure he will be expecting," Arthur joked with a smirk. Then he looked to Breck and raised his eyebrows in silent question. Knowing fully well that he was asking if she was ready to talk, Breck nodded her head. "I hate to leave you in such a delicate state," Arthur said to Vanora, patting her on the shoulder, "but Breck and I have business to attend to. Are you fit to be on your own?" He asked with concern.
"Yes, yes," Vanora said, still patting her cheek with the material of her skirt, "I shall be fine. Go," she urged, waving them off, "we will see each other soon enough."
Arthur nodded and then, after they had both said their goodbye's to the family, led Breck out of the house with a hand on her back.
Though he had washed the blood off of his face at some point, Arthur, like Gawain and Galahad, was still wearing the majority of his blood-stained armor. As they wove through town, more than one person shot him a wary look, obviously finding him a rather intimidating sight, and scurried out of the way as he approached. Breck also couldn't help but notice that a number of people were still whispering about her – it required a lot of self-control to hamper down the urge to scowl at them and tell them to mind their own business.
The moment they stepped past the threshold of Arthur's estate, Arthur rounded on her with a consternated look on his face.
"Speak," he commanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
Much like with Tristan, she briefly considered playing dumb to avoid the storm that was surely to come after this revelation. But, seeing as she was horrible at lying to Arthur, she decided it wouldn't do any good. "I know of Gerland," she finally just blurted out.
His frown, if possible, deepened. "For how long?"
"Over a week – since the mission you went on before this last one," Breck admitted.
"And how did you come to discover this?" He questioned. His tone was neutral, but his eyes were anything but. She could see something beginning to stir within the green depths, something she knew would come to life the moment she told him about her encounter with Gerland.
"You are terrible at lying to me, Arthur," Breck reminded him gently. "I knew when you asked me to stay with Vanora that you were hiding something from me. When I went to Vanora and expressed my concerns, the way she responded clearly said that she knew something. So I asked and she told me, that way I would be better prepared should anything happen," she explained quickly. Breck then paused for a moment before saying her next words in a rush, hoping to soften the blow. "Neither of us knew it was Gerland at the time, though, and I did not begin to suspect him to be the one Bors had overheard until I began encountering him myself. It was only just now that Tristan confirmed that it was indeed Gerland behind all this nonsense."
Arthur held up a hand to silence her. "What do you mean encountering him yourself?" He asked in a low, dangerous tone.
Breck chewed on the inside of her cheek. "He has approached me once or twice…"
"What did he do?" Arthur immediately asked, the expression fast turning into one of anger.
"Arthur –" Breck started in a soothing voice.
"What – did – he – do?" He asked again, emphasizing each word and letting her know with his sharp tone that he expected an answer. And now.
Breck sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. "The first time I met him he attempted to buy me a drink in the tavern, but Tristan appeared fairly quickly and frightened him away," she explained. "This past week that you and the men have been gone, however, I have felt as though someone has been watching me almost constantly. Then, today, I was taking Lugh for a ride when Gerland decided to approach me again. He stopped me on the road to point out that you men were gone and then ask me when I believed you would return." Breck almost told him about Gerland's cronies showing up, but after gauging Arthur's anger level – it looked like steam might start coming out of his ears at any moment – she decided against it. "I will admit the encounter today was rather…unsettling…but he has done nothing to openly threaten me. These have been minor incidents, Arthur. I have not been put in any sort of danger, I swear it."
"Not yet," Arthur corrected her with a scowl. He then Arthur and uncharacteristically ran a hand through his mop of wavy hair, heaving to himself for a moment before looking back down at her. "I do not think you are understanding the amount of danger here, Breck," he then proceeded to scold, his tone suddenly making her feel as though she were two inches tall. "You dismiss this as if it is nothing, but you have no idea the power a man can possess when he greatly desires something." Arthur heaved again. "Something must change," he said with a shake of his head, sounding more like he was talking to himself than he was to her. "I do not want thishappening again – I must find a way to keep you better protected."
Now Breck knew, without a doubt, that she was lucky to have a friend that was so protective of her and worried about her safety, but she couldn't help the feeling of annoyance that was beginning grow at his words. If there was anyone in the world who knew the power of a man possessed, it was her – after all, her entire family had been cruelly murdered by one malicious man seeking to avenge what he had considered a betrayal. And though she loved Arthur as though he were her brother, the fact that he continued to treat her as though she were a helpless, defenseless child was very much starting to grate on her nerves.
"Quite the contrary, old friend, I know exactly how dangerous a man possessed can be," she said, barely able to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Her tone made Arthur quirk an eyebrow at her. "Do not think me ungrateful of your over protectiveness," she continued, emphasizing the word 'over', "for I am thankful to have a friend so concerned for my well-being…yet how many times must I tell you that I am perfectly capable of handling my own affairs? I have been the one ensuring my own survival these past four years, and I am capable of continuing to do so. I do not need to be coddled as though I am naught but an insolent child."
Arthur stared at her in silence for a moment, as though processing what she had just said. Then, without warning, he wrapped a large hand around her arm and began dragging her along behind him, beginning to lead her through the maze of hallways in his estate. Breck, unsure what Arthur was doing, protested and tried to free her arm from his grasp. Unfortunately, her friend was much larger and much stronger than she was, and her struggling earned her nothing but a hard glare and the tightening of his grip around her arm, ensuring there would be no escape.
They eventually reached a door and he all roughly opened it, pulling her inside. Breck realized then that he had dragged her to his personal quarters. He slammed the door shut behind them before finally releasing her. While Breck rubbed at the ache in her arm and glared at his back, Arthur wordlessly moved to his trunk to begin rifling around in it. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him – it was difficult to resist the urge to throw something at him.
"I have never known you to be so barbaric, Arthur," she growled, seriously considering making a run for the door but quickly deciding against it, knowing he'd only come after her and would probably be twice as angry when he caught her. "Must be the Briton side of you showing it's true colors."
Arthur ignored her comments and stalked back over to her, shoving something into her hands once he was standing before her. Breck paused, her anger and annoyance faltering as confusion swept through her. She glanced at the old, crumpled parchment that was now in her grasp before looking back up at Arthur with uncertainty.
"Read it," he commanded.
Breck eyed him for one more moment before turning her attention back to the paper in her hands. It was obvious from its worn corners that it was old, so she unfolded it carefully, mindful not tear it – if Arthur had kept this in his possession for as long as he had, obviously it was something important to him. When she finally got a look at what was written on the parchment, however, Breck's jaw dropped. The writing on the paper, though not as bold as it had been upon first arriving, was one that she had seen before.
In that instant, she seemed to forget how to breathe – all she could do was look up at Arthur in stunned silence. He merely nodded at her, then motioned for her to read the letter.
Artorius Castor –
Many years have passed since our last meeting, young Artorius, and though this letter may catch ou unawares and cause you to feel some confusion, it is an important matter of which I write to you about this day.
Your memories may not be able to recall myself, but I trust that they may recall my beloved daughter and your dear friend, Breck. Do not fear, she is well and she is safe. I write to you now to remind you that I am a wanted man, though I am certain this is something you are already quite aware of. The life that I dedicated to war has earned me more enemies than I could possible count, and though I and your father know myself to be a changed man, there are many in this world who see me as no different from my bloodthirsty ancestors. My daughter and I are safe now, tucked away in the Irish countryside, but I fear this will not always continue to be.
As my daughter grows, it is impossible to overlook the anger and the thirst for vengeance that resides within her. It was to be expected, I must admit – she is, after all, her father's daughter and of Saxon lineage. I wish so greatly to cater to the girl she is, to try to steer her away from our sort of life, yet the warrior blood in her grows thicker with each passing day. When my time on this Earth has come to its end, which I fear it will soon, I know that my dear daughter will leave this place and seek the revenge she so avidly yearns for.
Yet there is still softness in her heart, young Artorius, only a small fragment that she reserves for myself and for you, the dearest friend she ever had. And when the time comes for her to leave, I know that someday she will come searching for you. This is what I ask of you now – if she returns to you, protect her, Artorius. My daughter has seen too many hardships in her young life. She deserves hope and trust and friendship, and I know she will find this in you. I wish only to see her be made safe and I know in my heart that if there is another in the world that wishes for it too, it is you.
I cannot say how much longer my life may be, for I know my former friend Cerdic still hunts for me, but my heavy heart rests easier knowing Breck has a friend in you. She will need you, even if she will be too stubborn to admit it. And I trust that when the time comes for you to decide what you must do to help her, you will know the right thing to do.
God be with you, Artorius.
-Kenrick
Her hands were shaking and her chest heaving with growing emotions by the time she finished reading the letter. It took a few moments for her to work through the tumult of feelings coursing through her and grasp reality. Her father had been in contact with Arthur while they were away? How many times had they corresponded? And were there more letters?
"Wh-when…when did you receive this?" She finally managed to ask, looking to Arthur with wide eyes.
"Almost ten years ago," Arthur answered quietly. "Based on your accounts when you first arrived, I presume it was sent some two or three years before he was killed."
It had been years since Breck had last cried, but as she read the handwriting of her father again, something she had not gazed upon in nearly seven years, the tears began to flow freely from her eyes. Arthur watched her silently for a few seconds, probably shocked to see her so emotional, but then he pulled her into a tight, comforting hug, securely enfolding her within the safety of his arms. Everything that she had held in, the anger and the sadness and the loneliness that had been bottled up inside her for so long, all came pouring out in that moment. She finally allowed herself to weep in a way that she hadn't since she was thirteen years old, clinging to Arthur and burying her face in his shoulder as her body was wracked with sobs.
"Do you understand why I am so protective now?" Arthur asked gently in her ear, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "I promised him, Breck. I promised your father and I promised God that no harm would ever find you if you were brought back to me again. It is a promise I have never forgotten and one that I intend to see through, no matter the cost."
Breck heard his words, but she was still too busy reeling from the turn of events to respond to them. "He knew he was being hunted," she whispered painfully into his shoulder as she tried to get a handle on her emotions. "He knew Cerdic would come for us, but he let me believe otherwise. Let me believe Cerdic had forgotten us when he had not."
"He did not wish you to know," Arthur responded, pulling back so he could meet her tearful gaze.
"Why then did you feign surprise when I told you of his death?" She accused, eyebrows furrowing together. "You knew it would come to be!"
Arthur shook his head, looking both sympathetic and remorseful. "I never wanted to believe the pair of you could be found – not by Cerdic or by any enemy," he said, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. "I was foolish to think that, but it was the only way I could keep myself from going mad with worry for you."
Breck frowned, then released a heavy sigh. "He lied to me," she said, shaking her head.
"No, he only wanted a normal life for you, one where you were not afraid or constantly checking over your shoulder for enemies," he corrected. His words finally made her see reason, and she nodded slowly in understanding, wiping the tears from her face.
"I share the same wish as your father, Breck," Arthur continued after a small moment of silence, "but I am no fool – I see you, friend, see the anger and the darkness within. You want to avenge your family and that will never cease, nor will a normal life will never be possible until you see your enemy defeated," he said. "Your father told me I would know the right thing to do should you ever return to me, and I finally have come to my decision," Arthur told her, a fierce look in his eyes now. He paused to place a hand on her cheek, staring intently into her eyes. "When the time comes and you go to meet Cerdic, I will be by your side. I will help you defeat him once and for all."
His words stunned her. Never before had Breck considered asking anyone for their help in her quest for revenge, nor had she ever considered whether she would accept such an offer if it were presented. But Arthur was her friend, her closest companion, practically her brother, and he was the greatest warrior in Briton. And despite his trepidations concerning her plans for Cerdic, he wanted to help her. If there was any person that Breck would want by her side for this mission, there was no question that it would be Arthur.
She finally managed a smile and pulled him into a tight hug, thanking God above for gifting her with such a loyal friend. "Thank you, Arthur." He squeezed her for good measure before they finally released one another.
They fell silent for a long few moments after that, neither seeming to know what to say now. After she could stand the silence no longer, however, Breck finally chuckled a bit and ran a weary hand through her hair. "Do you necessitate alcohol as badly as I require it?" She asked, finding that it was time she indulged in that drink she'd been thinking about.
Arthur laughed loudly, causing the tension to finally ease out of the both of them, and nodded. "More than you know," he said before placing a friendly hand on her shoulder and leading her out of his room. "Let us drink alone tonight, though," he requested. "It is not often we are allowed to do so these days."
She nodded her agreement, more than happy at the idea of just a quiet night in with her very best friend. "Aye, that would be nice."
Breck hadn't thought it possible for her to respect Arthur more than she already did, but she quickly being proven wrong. She had only ever thought him over-protective because of his own brotherly affections towards her, but now that she knew about this promise he had made to her father, she had to wonder at how truly amazing of a friend – and man – he really was. He had made a promise to her father to protect her, despite years of being separated from her and with no way of knowing if they would ever be reunited. And just knowing that the two men she loved most had made this pact, that Arthur had never once forgotten her in the time they'd been apart, suddenly made her feel as though a small part of her wounded, battered heart had begun to mend itself.
"Oh," she said as an afterthought as they made their way back through the halls of Arthur's estate to locate some alcohol to indulge in, "what of Gerland?" She asked – in light of the revelations just now, she'd nearly forgotten all about the reason she and Arthur had had this discussion in the first place.
Arthur immediately frowned. "I can do nothing so long as he does nothing, unfortunately," he said with a heave. "We will just have to be careful from this point on, and always keep a wary eye out."
Breck nodded, though there was something that felt distinctly ominous about that response. "I am certain he will not do anything now that you and the men have returned," she said, ignoring the feeling. Arthur didn't look very convinced with that. "I will always have someone at my side, though, if it would appease you," Breck continued, smiling gently at him.
"It would," Arthur confirmed.
Breck nodded, feeling like that settled the matter. "I suppose you may call of Tristan now," she said with a joking smirk, "I know he must tire of having to follow after me."
Arthur paused, then looked down at her in confusion, one eyebrow quirking upward. "What do you mean? I relieved Tristan of that command nearly a fortnight ago, friend," he said.
And just when she thought that she couldn't possibly be surprised anymore than she already had been that day, Breck turned her stunned expression up to her friend, unable to believe her ears.
Tristan hadn't been following her these past few weeks because he'd been told to do so. No, he had been following her on his own accord.
A/N: I am THRILLED with the feedback I'm getting. You guys are amazing!
And you totally thought Arthur was going to ravish her, didn't you? No dice, my friends. There won't be any hanky-panky between Arthur and Breck!