[ update 2011: I've had to reformat this chapter as the 'double-spacing' that characterised the scene-changes no longer seems to work ... huff!]

(A series of scenes that flip between flashbacks 6 years ago and the present moment in the story if you can't work out my madness!

Many, many, many thanks and bunches of flowers go to Janell who has set me off on the writing path again with many suggestions. This is just a couple of the trains of thought she has led me on, so this story can continue)

Chapter 10: The Two Wolves

Iseult was beginning to regret doing this. The abandoned villa was cold and the small fire she had lit she and had to put out once it had become dark. She had had to lie low for a while, as she was now so well-known around this area. She had some contacts who she knew would not betray her whereabouts to Arthur and they had tided her over for the past fortnight until this night. She could hear her horse snorting outside as he chomped down on the grass, ears undoubtedly pricking at the smallest sound. Iseult was glad she had not brought her son with her. He would undoubtedly be feeling the effects of this cold night by now. She had left him in the capable arms of one of her friend's wives, who could easily pass the child off as her own if it came to it, having 6 others of various ages. Iseult sighed and stamped out the last embers of the fire, sending orange embers flying out onto the floor of the villa and sat down, pulling a blanket around her as she briefly thought of the journey ahead of her, back to her lands, then shrugged those thoughts off; her brother had, from news travelling around the area, already left the fort a few days after she had, and was most likely in the Iceni homelands, making ready for her arrival. At least it would make her journey a little less difficult; but she didn't want to return to her people yet. She wanted to be with Tristan as long as possible, to make him stay as long as possible.

A snap in the trees ahead made Iseult leap up and curse herself for stamping on the fire. She moved to a wall and watched, still as she could be, to see who was coming towards the villa. There was no moon visible in the sky, but Iseult heard no more movement in the trees, which made her even more suspicious, although her horse seemed undisturbed from what she could tell. Iseult felt her heart slow a little as she thought that she was just being a little high-strung, when she realised that someone was sneaking up behind. She reached for the knife in her shirt and whipped round, hand out in front of her, only to have it caught and her body pressed up against the wall of the villa. Iseult struggled but the grip was just too tight and her hand eventually released its grip on the knife. She then heard a voice say:

"Good girl," and realised that she had been about to stab Tristan. She let out a long breath and giggled then caught another as his lips unexpectedly pressed against hers and his hands pushed her arms away from her body against the wall, holding her against it so she couldn't move-not that she would have. Her stomach kept flipping as she kissed him back and heard herself curse under her breath without meaning to. She didn't need to see Tristan's face to know that he smiled at that.

"I didn't think you were coming," she whispered into his ear. Tristan kissed her neck and chest then looked at her through the darkness.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

... ... ... ...

Lancelot paced the hut like a wild animal, his anger manifesting itself as occasional grunts and growls of frustration. He slammed his hand against a wall, then looked up at the high window in the hut that let in the high-afternoon sun. A beam shone through and lit up his bed. Outside, he heard the sounds that he had heard for the last week; the conversations in a tongue he was only just beginning to understand, people singing, and, the most heart-wrenching of all, children playing. Every time he heard one of the boys' voices, he wondered if it was Iseult's child. He still wondered if that child was his. As his mind wandered into daydreams, a tall guard entered and looked around before catching sight of Lancelot in one of the dark corners of the hut. He walked over to him.

"Come with me." Lancelot looked at him blankly and the man frowned before repeating what he had said.

"I heard you the first time. I thought I wasn't allowed out?" he asked him in the common tongue.

"Under orders from Ion, you are to be allowed to exercise, to strengthen yourself."

"Does Ise…Do the Queen's orders not count in her own land?" Lancelot corrected himself as he asked the man a little sarcastically.

"Do you want to be let out of here or not?" he retorted, before turning and walking out of the hut, not waiting to see if Lancelot was following or not. A wry smile crossed Lancelot's face as he crossed the hut and pulled back the curtain that had held him back for so long, stepping past it and letting it fall as he stepped gratefully into the sunlight.

... ... ... ... ... ...

The air was getting colder as Tristan and Iseult made their way to the hut where Taron was snuggled warmly between two other children, quietly sleeping. Iseult smiled as she looked at him.

"How has he been?" she asked her friend's wife at the door.

"Oh, he's been no trouble, my lady, no trouble at all. Quiet as can be," she told her, peering to the side of her to try and discern who the man in the dark was. He kept as far out of the light as possible, constantly looking about him and keeping on eye on the women in front of him. He didn't want this woman to recognise him, even if she was supposed to be trusted. Women were confounded gossips, especially after they had had more than 4 children.

"We must leave at morning light. I won't come in unless he wakes. The hay barn will be more than comfortable enough. The woman looked shocked.

"But my lady, you could not possibly sleep there. Among the animals!"

"Really, I have slept in worse places in my life, and it is crowded enough in that room there without another two bodies taking up space. And anyway," she lowered her voice. "My companion will never come inside. Much too…fidgety. Always alert. He hates confined spaces." The woman nodded as she eyed Tristan again and then insisted that they take some blankets with them. Iseult graciously accepted and then after the door shut she walked back over to Tristan and took his hand, pulling him towards the barn where some of the animals had been tethered. Iseult tied her horse loosely to one of the walls and set about making herself comfortable in the piles of hay and straw. She looked up as the moon broke through a cloud in the sky and illuminated Tristan standing guard at the entrance. Iseult smiled and turned to fold one of the blankets into a pillow. A screech made her turn around again, and she saw Tristan's hawk land on her Master's arm and playfully nip his hand. She heard him mutter something to the bird, and then she turned and flew up into a nearby tree, giving one final screech before becoming silent. Tristan looked back at Iseult seated on the straw and gave a brief smile. Iseult smiled back at him.

"I don't think we're in any danger, Tristan. Get some rest."

"Just…wait a moment," Tristan said as he cocked his head to one side, then the other, listening for anything that could be out of place. Two owls started hooting to one another and Tristan finally relented, turning back to Iseult. He lay down next to her and felt for her hand in the darkness. It was cold. He clasped it between his hands and pulled her closer. As they fell asleep, his hand didn't release her own.

"Tristan," she asked. "Why are you still holding my hand?"

"So I know you're still here," he whispered hoarsely. Iseult stayed silent, but got closer to him in the dark and quietly said,

"I'm not leaving you yet. Not yet." before falling into a deep sleep.

... ... ... ... ... ...

It took a few moments for Lancelot's eyes to adjust to the afternoon sun. He took a few steps forward, his arm over his face until he could see his surroundings clearly. He gradually let his arms fall as he looked around this village for the first time. He could already hear excited murmurs from people close to him, walking past, doing their everyday chores, cooking. Then some children ran past him, and Lancelot swung round to watch them run off, not noticing the warrior amongst them, too engrossed in their own world and their games. The guard stood watching Lancelot dispassionately, looking him up and down. This man hardly looked like one of the Sarmatian soldiers, as his father had told him they had looked like.

"Follow me, knight, before you attract too much attention to yourself." Lancelot turned and looked at the guard. "And don't think of trying to run away," he added.

"What made you think I'd do something as stupid as that?" Lancelot asked before turning away from the crowding villagers and followed the man towards the outskirts of the village to a stream. There, he saw the shaman Ion standing next to a brook that ran alongside the village. He slowed and stopped about 5 feet away from him, watching the old shaman as he chanted something over the river, making signs with his hands that Lancelot could not make out. Eventually, Lancelot became bored with standing waiting for this man to address him, and he didn't know how long he would be allowed to savour the delights of the sunshine, so he spoke to Ion in Latin, having heard him speak it years ago at the fort.

"Why have you let me out? The Queen told me herself that I was not to be let out until I was fit enough to rejoin Arthur." Ion stopped chanting and turned and smiled at Lancelot briefly.

"Luckily I am the only one amongst her people who has the authority to disobey her. I've seen many Kings and Queens rule over my people, Lancelot, and they all have a weakness, no matter how strong they may seem. For most of them, that weakness has always been the Romans, pillaging, killing, leaving, then returning again to make sure that we still crawl in the dirt beneath their feet. Some of our leaders, of course, never were scared of the Romans, and their weaknesses would be drink, money, power; all those things that were given as bribes."

"I don't see where this is going, shaman," Lancelot cut in.

"I mean, Lancelot, Iseult's weakness is different to all the others I have known in my years in this body. Her weakness is you. And that is why she wishes to keep you in that hut; away from her, so she doesn't have to be reminded of all she lost when she left you." Lancelot stayed silent, shocked by the words coming from the old man's mouth. She still loved him; that was what he meant. She still loved him after all these years. Ion continued.

"For some reason she found it easier to leave you in the North with Arthur, and bring herself and her son here. She thought perhaps it would make it easier for her, Lancelot. She thought that perhaps that way, she could eliminate you from her mind. It may have worked, but news travels fast. She heard about you taking a wife two years after she left, and that nearly destroyed her. More than once she nearly left us in illness, but then she recovered. I kept all news away from her after that. Is it true, about what happened to your wife?"

"Yes. She died in childbirth."

"Ah, I am sorry. She was meant to be a great beauty, was she not?" Lancelot's eyes welled with tears but he took in a deep breath and blinked them away.

"Yes…she was…Too fragile though," he whispered. The shaman nodded and turned back to the water, contemplating.

"So Iseult doesn't know about her. That she died?" Ion looked back at him, then at the floor, and back to the water.

"No. Now, you must go; walk a little more, Lancelot, strengthen yourself."

"Please tell her. She must know."

"Turn around, Lancelot," the shaman said without looking at him.

"I will not leave until you have told me you will-"

"Lancelot, turn around now before you lose the chance to see your son!" Ion snapped as he glared at the knight. Lancelot stopped speaking and realising what the old man had said, swung round. On the top of the sloping bank where he and just come from, a small boy stood, wooden sword in hand, staring at the knight, too awestruck to move. Lancelot stared back, equally dumbstruck, and let out a short burst of laughter. The boy finally found the will to move and ran off to join his friends, laughing. Lancelot stayed where he was.

"Taron", he whispered.