We made camp early that night, still a day's journey from Hadrian's Wall. I stayed inside the wagon with Dagonet, tending to his wounds. Fortunately, the arrows had not punctured any fatal areas of his body, but waterfalls of blood gushed from his ribs and shoulder. The torn flesh was ghastly looking. This was exactly why I wasn't a healer. I had become proficiently skilled in the art of herbs and medicines at the age of twelve and could have taken up an apprenticeship at that point, but sick people were simply too disgusting to look at day after day.

I was presently feeding a thread through the laceration on Dagonet's shoulder while he watched my work intently in the meantime. "Watch the angle there," he instructed, "Make sure the stitches run diagonal…"

"Will you let me alone?" I replied, the tenor in my voice rising. He'd been criticizing my work since the moment I brought over his healing bag. "I know what I'm doing," I assured him.

"Well, the last thing I want is to bust open the stitches," he said, "I'd like to avoid an infection if at all possible." Didn't he know it was rude to disparage another's healing skills?

"I've sewn stitches before, you know," I replied, trying to remain calm, "If you don't like the way I do it, you can sew them up yourself."

"Is that a promise?" he asked.

"Insufferable man," I muttered through gritted teeth as I finished feeding the stitch through the open cut.

"Now, pull the thread so that it's nice and tight…" he carried on, clearly not having listened to a word I had said.

Oh, yes. You can be sure I pulled that thread nice and tight.

"Oww! Shit!" he cried out in pain after I had given the thread a sharp little tug, "Are you trying to kill me, woman?"

I couldn't bear it any longer. I shot to my feet, hurling his healing bag to the floor with a thud. "No!" I reviled, "You seem perfectly capable doing that yourself!"

My sudden outburst caught him off guard. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"What you did out on that ice was suicide!" I cried, "What in God's name were you thinking?"

"I was thinking we were all going to die if someone didn't do something!"

"You had no right to do that," I raved, "No right to think you could leave us, to leave me—to go before I had the chance to tell you…"

My voice trailed off.

"To tell me what?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, sitting back down beside him, "It's not important."

I sighed, releasing the anger from my chest and pacifying my temper. A moment later, Dagonet took my hand in his. "Minnie…" he began.

"What?"

"I love you."

"You what?"

"You heard me."

"I did," I replied, "but say it once more so I can believe you."

"I love you, damnit."

I was blubbering now despite myself. "Then why—why was it easy for you to leave me?" I asked through my tears.

Dagonet stroked my cheek, brushing away a teardrop with his calloused fingertips that were rough on my skin, but with a caress that was soft and gentle. "To know that I could never let any harm come to you?" he said, "Yes, it was an easy decision."

"You fool," I laughed, shaking my head.

"What?" he asked, completely oblivious as to what was so funny.

"You really do love me," I replied with great amusement.

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"But you really meant it…"

"Of course I did," he replied, "Now who's the fool?"

I lay my head on his lap, wrapping my arms about his knees as he stroked my hair. I belonged to him then in a way I had never belonged to anyone before. And, strangely, I liked the way that felt. Damn these girlish emotions. I was a prepubescent virgin with her first crush all over again.

"Dagonet…" I whispered, turning to look up at him.

"Hmmm?"

"I love you too."

---------------

Arthur had pools of sadness in his eyes. His head drooped and his shoulders sagged as though the weight of his thoughts would topple him over. He had news, terrible news, to share and he had been putting it off all day.

"Jade…" he called over to his childhood friend. His voice cracked at the expression of her name. She could tell that something was not right.

"Yes?" she replied.

He looked as if he were about to say something, but then changed his mind. "How is Dagonet?" he asked.

Jade smiled reassuringly. "He's fine," she said, "Minnie is taking good care of him."

"I bet she is!" Bors called over as he passed by, chuckling in amusement. "I'm damn proud of him too," he added, "Finally found himself a woman."

Jade laughed. She too was happy for Dagonet and me. Arthur did not join in the joviality, but instead stared off with a conflicted expression carved into his face.

"Arthur," Jade said, her voice growing very serious, "What is it?"

The solemn commander hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. "It's about your father…"

Arthur then related to her everything that the young Alecto had told him. Pelagius' teachings had been condemned in Rome. Bishop Germanius, along with some other high-standing clergymen, had excommunicated and murdered her father. This, of course, also explained the assassination attempts that were made on Jade.

"I can only assume Germanius was behind those attacks as well," Arthur said, "I'm just grateful that you are here with us and not alone back at the fort."

Jade nodded, her eyes fixed at her feet. "Thank you for telling me," she said meekly.

Arthur took her hand and squeezed it consolingly. "I am sorry for your loss," he said, "Pelagius was like a father to me. If there's ever anything I can do—if you ever want to talk…"

"I know," Jade replied.

Arthur gave her hand one final squeeze and then moved away to allow her some privacy. He knew that she needed time to grieve and, at the same time, he felt completely useless to her. He had nothing to offer her but his own despair over the great man who had been her father, over the great city he had thought was Rome, and over everything he had held as true which was now being crushed beneath the weight of all the realities crashing down around him.

"Arthur…"

"Yes?" he replied, turning back to her.

"How can you still serve Rome?" she asked, "After all this?"

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head, "I don't know."

Jade stalked off quietly, wanting neither company nor consolation. She only wanted to disappear, to slip away into the night and become one with its darkness because she felt so very dark inside. There was no shining moon or sparkling stars in her soul tonight, only a black void that swelled inside her chest until the beat of her heart was only a whispered reminder that she was still alive.

Lancelot's footsteps crunched on the ground beside her. "Come," he offered, "Warm yourself by our fire."

The knights, including Tristan, were gathered around the campfire with the Honorus family guards. Now that Marius was dead, there was a truce between them. "No," Jade replied, "Not now." Lancelot shrugged his shoulders and continued on his way while Jade quickly veered off in another direction.

She had almost made it to the edge of the forest when someone caught ahold of her arm. "Hey," Tristan said.

"What?" Jade asked, annoyed that she couldn't just be left alone. There was mistrust in her eyes now as she looked upon him. He represented Rome regardless of whether he was Roman. And, at that moment, she could not reconcile the difference.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Nowhere," she muttered, jerking her arm out of his grasp.

"There may still be Saxons nearby," he warned, "Or Woads."

Jade laughed dryly. "Is that supposed to frighten me?"

"Yes."

"Well it doesn't," she said with sharp indignation, "The Saxons want nothing of me and the Woads are my mother's people. They would not harm me."

"Nevertheless," he said, "It's not safe."

"Or maybe," she replied pointedly, "You think I'm off to another secret, late night meeting with Merlin."

"Are you?"

Jade scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No," she answered, "But you know what? Maybe I am the traitor you accused me of being because, truth be told, I see things more clearly now than I ever have. I hate Rome and everything it stands for. Perhaps the one I should be afraid of is you."

"I'm no Roman."

"Why are you here, Tristan? Why did you come on this mission?" she asked, "Because Germanius ordered it. Germanius. I wonder what other orders you might take from him."

She darted into the forest before he could respond, leaving him with a puzzled look on his face. Like a wild animal that can think of nothing but escape, she ran and kept running, the trees blurring around her as she flew through the forest. Finally she stopped at an old oak tree, leaning her back against its trunk.

Jade covered her face with her hands, her breathing ragged and erratic. There was rage and it rumbled through her body, causing her entire frame to shake and tremble. She turned and struck the tree with her fist. The impact of her knuckles against the bark sent tremors through her arm, but the tree trunk stood motionless, unaffected by her assault. It angered her.

She struck the tree again, harder this time. It mocked her with its stillness. Provoked by its ambivalence towards her, she threw herself on the oak, beating, thrashing, clawing at its trunk. At last, the tree retaliated, stealing the skin from her knuckles, but even that was meaningless. She and her foe were equal in that neither of them was physically conscious of the affects of their battle Throwing all her weight behind her punches now, she willed the oak to bend to her force, determined to strike a dent in its resilient trunk. But, more importantly, she wanted to feel the impact for herself, to break through the deep pool of numbness in which she was sinking.

Two arms wrapped around her from behind and started to drag her away from her despondent adversary. She struggled to break free from their grasp, but they held her steadfast until she was stilled into submission. When they released her, she collapsed to the ground, embracing the forest floor as she would a spar adrift in the water.

Tristan knelt down beside her, pulling her up into a sitting position. He lifted her chin with two of his fingers, commanding her to look at him. She did and was met by a face that was not angry or bitter at her earlier outburst, but only looked upon her with an objective desire to understand.

"I take orders from Arthur," he said, "Not from Rome. Not from Germanius."

The truth was so very simple sometimes. Jade fell forward, burying her head at his feet in penitence.

"Arthur told us what they did to your father," Tristan continued, "You're right to hate Rome."

Jade lifted her head to meet his gaze, holding up her bleeding knuckles in front of his face. "I can't feel it," she said, her eyes wide with horror, "Why can't I feel it?"

The blood trickled down to her wrists. Without pausing for needless questions or words, Tristan quickly took her hands, tearing strips of cloth from his tunic and wrapping them tightly around the wounds. Jade, now docile and limp, allowed him to bandage her hands, but her body trembled as tears fell freely down her cheeks. It was the first time in a long time that she could remember being able to cry.

"Why can't I feel it?" she murmured.

"Shhh," he said, as he tied the final knot.

"Thank you," she whispered, "You can go now."

"I'm not leaving," he replied.

"Fine," she said, struggling to her feet, "I will."

She started to stumble away from him then, but he caught her and would not let her go. At first she fought him, writhing in his grasp, but he held her arms firmly to her sides until her every muscle relaxed back into submission. Then she crumpled into him, burying her face in his chest, her body heaving in and out with uncontrollable sobs. She clutched at the links of his armor with her slender fingers.

"Shhh," he said, running his hands along the curve of her back.

She looked up at him, sinewy trails of tears streaking down her face. "It hurts so bad," she whispered, touching her hand to her chest, "Inside. I can't bear it. It's a lie—that I can't feel pain. I feel it—inside."

"It's alright," he said and pulled her into his embrace.

Her body was cold and shivering, so he wrapped his cloak around the both of them as they sat beneath the tree, him cradling her in his arms. Resting her head on his chest, she closed her eyes and her breathing soon slowed into the easiness of slumber. Tristan kept his arms securely around her frame as if he were hoarding some kind of treasure beneath his cloak. In the sky, the clouds parted and the silver moonlight poured down into the darkness that had so long enveloped them.