Hello all! Sorry for the long silence – things got super hectic in 'real world'. Some of it was wondrous and lovely, other parts were disastrously stressful. In between these extreme highs and lows I found solace in mapping out the rest of this fic. Seriously, there is a huge piece of paper *covered* in connecting lines, lists and OCD diagrams of forts, camps and battlefields.
Disclaimers: I do not own anything except the aforementioned plan, plot, OCs and the laptop on which this has been written. Even the internet connection has been paid for by my parents. Any and all mistakes/typos herein that escaped my notice are my own (obviously).
Beside me, Kahedin stiffened and I felt his hand tighten painfully around mine. We both knew and thoroughly disliked that voice.
Gaheris.
I realise that at this moment in time, it might be unfair of me to prejudice the readers against this man, but I hope that subsequent evidence will at least partly validate my opinions.
He stepped out of the shadows and his white-blond hair shone silver in the moonlight.
"Why are you lurking in the stables at such a time?" Kahedin snarled. I tried to squeeze his hand in warning, but my knuckles were already being pulverised in his angry grip. Hadn't I suffered enough today?
"I just wanted to make sure we were all accounted for, especially after such a dramatic evening." Gaheris said, but his expression bore no relation to his words. His ice-blue eyes were cold and mocking as he glared at us. I deeply regretted being unarmed, but it would have been too chancy to work around Arthur all day and risk being discovered with a knife.
"Really? How thoughtful of you," Kahedin said loftily. He was staying calm, which was a good sign, and I just hoped it lasted longer than the deceptive conversation.
"Just looking out for my fellow Sarmatian brothers," Gaheris affirmed, his face twisted into an ugly sneer.
I felt my stomach turn over as Kahedin's grip suddenly slackened. Oh no… he was going to push me back and then launch himself at Gaheris… I grabbed at his limp fingers and squeezed them as hard as I could, ignoring the pain in my own knuckles at the effort. I really didn't want Kahedin being goaded into a fight with Gaheris. The scout may have been leaner, but he was also a lot faster.
However, if Gaheris could land even one serious blow on him, Kahedin would be slowed long enough for the tables to turn. I knew every knight's fighting style, and this was one match I never wanted to see. When two men hated each other this much, any contest between them was likely to dissolve into a murderous endeavour.
I could only hope that Kahedin had more self-control than Gaheris.
When my effort to physically shake him from the stand-off failed, I moved out of my companion's shadow, so we were standing side by side, facing Gaheris head on. "Don't do this, he's not worth it," I whispered coldly, forgetting myself and speaking in modern English. I knew neither man would understand me, but it was the sentiment, rather than the words that mattered in that moment. I really needed to break the staring contest as soon as possible.
It seemed to do the trick. Kahedin answered me in Sarmatian, the language that the knights spoke when they didn't have to use Latin, and which he had been talking to Gaheris in. "Let's go, Kat – Tristan's expecting you." He tugged me away, his gaze sliding off Gaheris with searing contempt. We climbed the stairs to Tristan's room in tense silence, leaving the pale knight in the stables.
Kahedin stormed into Tristan's room, dragging me behind him. We saw our host, already changed for bed and cleaning his nails fastidiously with the tip of a knife. He looked relieved to see us.
Had Tristan and I gone past being allies to actual friends? I wondered to myself. Kahedin had assured me of his genuine concern this evening, but I wasn't ready to commit to such a belief without sober proof.
I threw my blood-encrusted clothes in a heap by the door, resolving to deal with them in the morning, while Kahedin launched into a hushed, but fevered diatribe against Gaheris. He made several references to an 'accident', which, by its description, sounded more like a premeditated crime to me. I silently put away the wash kit in an open trunk that I had taken as my own, and pondered when Kahedin would sod off so we could all go to sleep. I was feeling dreadfully vulnerable after his glances in the caldarium and the brief, but highly unpleasant, encounter with Gaheris had only shaken me further.
Something about the mention of 'Sarmatian brothers' had stung Kahedin's control more than anything else. I would have wondered upon the meaning behind this further, but Kahedin's whispered tirade was more distracting for its raw vitriol.
"… and then he has the audacity to say he worries for the rest of us! Calling us 'brothers' indeed! I would sooner be kin with a viper! That bastard's luck on the battlefield is only testament to how utterly repellent even the Woads and Saxons find him!"
Tristan was nodding sympathetically, but I noticed his eyes were lit with tolerant amusement. I stuffed down my own smile and kicked off my boots. As I moved over to the pair, my increasing sleepiness sent me stumbling into Tristan. He caught me easily and propped me up against his side, one arm holding me upright around my shoulders. I yawned again and blinked blearily up at Kahedin's slightly blurred features.
Tristan was saying something, but I only caught the end of it: "… all tired. We will talk tomorrow."
I forced myself to focus and smiled. "Thanks for the baths and the clothes." I mumbled – I wasn't making very much sense. But even though I was almost asleep on my feet, I could clearly discern from their glares that I was in trouble. But I wasn't sure what I'd done. Both men then exchanged dubious looks above me about some silent issue and shrugged resignedly.
With a sigh, Kahedin relented in his glare and a tired, blank expression lifted a hand to ruffle my non-existent hair. Then, remembering the wound, he pulled back and let his fingers fall onto my shoulder.
After a small moment of quiet, Tristan sucked in a breath and broke the spell of waking sleep that had settled over us. "Bed," he growled, gently wheeling me around and pushing me down onto the aforesaid piece of furniture.
I managed to untie my sash and shrug off the tunic, but the rest failed me. I threw them onto the floor, and curled up under the covers with a sigh and closed my eyes. If Tristan and Kahedin were still talking, I didn't hear their words. I was too exhausted.
The door shut with a soft thud, and I felt the bed rock slightly as Tristan joined me. He was out like a snuffed lamp seconds later and the warmth of his back against mine was a comfort. I joined him in Dreamland seconds later.
TRISTAN:
He awoke sluggishly and the small form at his side was snuffling softly into her pillow, her arm dangling over the side of the bed as she lay on her stomach. The noise was simultaneously irritating and amusing. He rolled onto his back and stared at her. What drew his gaze was the wound that curved round the back of her head in an ugly red crescent.
When she felt his weight shift, she jerked awake and sat up in one swift, violent movement. "Ugh…" she put a hand to her forehead, her eyes closed in discomfort. "Please tell me yesterday was some hideous aberration of the mind…"
"If that was the case, you would still have all your hair and the most shocking incident of yesterday would have been that everyone else, including Arthur and the prisoner, suffered the same waking nightmare last night." He said dryly.
She sighed in disappointment and glared at him through her fingers. "I have to tell Arthur what happened, don't I?" she mumbled.
"Yes."
"Hmm… I'd rather spend the day trying to unravel the mystery of who sent the spy into the fort." She said, and stretched. "Can I go see the prisoner first?"
"Only if we go now."
That goaded her into action. Throwing off the blankets, she nearly fell over in her haste to get to her clothes. Tristan denied himself the smile that threatened to break across his face at her rushed clumsiness. The livid injury on her head was more than a little sobering and declared to all his utter failure to protect one girl. What good was he, if he couldn't do that?
Kation was selecting a bunch of clothes and dashed out, doubtlessly hurrying to fetch some water.
For someone who had been attacked twice the previous evening, she seemed to be frightfully energetic. But at that moment Tristan didn't have the inclination to delve into her past or her sinister personality, wisely assuming that whatever it was would be ultimately useless and disturbing.
He swung his legs out of bed and wandered into Kahedin's room.
"We're going to the prison." He informed his yawning friend, poking his head around the door. "You're welcome to tag along."
Kahedin's reaction was just as hasty and amusing as Kation's. The knight shot to his feet, grabbed his boots and charged for the door, nearly crashing into Kation who was returning to their room. Water slopped from the bucket and onto the floor as they both recoiled; Kahedin made another attempt to get past, making a garbled explanation as he disappeared round the corner. Kation turned a puzzled look onto Tristan, who shrugged and returned to their room to dress.
Later at breakfast, when Vanora caught sight of Kation's latest fashion accessory (the stitches) and the accompanying new hairstyle, she had immediately dealt a mighty blow to Tristan's arm and glared at Kahedin. They had only stopped by the tavern for a quick breakfast, but Bors' lover waylaid them with inescapable verbal torment. She had then produced a wool hat which she had made for Bors, and insisted that Kation cover up the 'dreadful wound'. Despite being no follower of any recognisable human fashion, even Tristan could confidently say that the thing was extremely ugly. Clearly the woman's talents lay elsewhere.
Kation waved it off, with murmurs of healer's orders to allow air to get to the wound. Vanora was doubtful, but wouldn't contradict an expert's instructions.
"At least don't go visit the monster that did it," she begged, looking extremely worried.
Kation smiled slightly and flicked her grey eyes to Tristan for a single moment, but did not reveal it was her ally who had torn her head open. "No, I must. I have to report what happened to Arthur." She shrugged unhelpfully and snatched up a lump of bread and an apple before making to flee. Vanora was too quick on her feet, and despite her advanced state of pregnancy, she grabbed Kation's arm and pulled her back into a strong embrace.
"I am glad that you are going to be alright." She said, and her eyes glistened. Pregnancy made women's emotions terrifyingly changeable.
After a moment, Kation extricated herself. "So am I," she said, with a very serious look on her face.
They ate on the go while taking the quickest route to the prison. As she nibbled on the honeyed slice of bread, Kation's face was pensive.
"Would you wait outside while I talk to him?" she asked quietly.
"I suppose…" Tristan grumbled. "But we will be listening through the door."
Kation pulled a face, but couldn't forbid it. She knew her words would fall on deaf ears.
"After a brief review of a few papers, I might be able to shed better light upon the matter." She threw a concerned look at them both. "Would Arthur permit me to join the… investigation?"
"You are better acquainted with that archive than the rest of us; I think your involvement will be essential." Kahedin said seriously. His hair was particularly wild, still neglected and untamed from sleep, and he kept throwing oddly loaded glances at Kation.
Tristan resolved to have a few quiet words with Kahedin while the girl had her conversation with the prisoner.
We were immediately waved through the doors and into the prison. Tristan escorted me to the cell and then landed a heavy kick on the bars, startling the man chained to the wall into wakefulness.
He had bandages on his face, but was otherwise unharmed. I felt no sympathy for him – he had murdered me in cold blood and I was tempted to have a little fun before getting some straight answers from him.
The man jerked, and looked at us, tension in every line of his body and face. At the sight of me, he let out a scream of pure terror. I allowed myself a faint, close-lipped smile and clasped my hands behind my back innocently. Tristan threw me an alarmed look as he glanced between the panicking prisoner and my calm demeanour.
"What a wonderful start." I remarked evenly over the din, and threw an amused look at Tristan, who was now staring at me with great suspicion and a little uncertainty. "I will be perfectly fine. Now go have that talk with Kahedin."
His expression canvassed his surprise that I knew about that unspoken decision of his, but to any woman it would have been painfully obvious that Tristan had been extremely doubtful of Kahedin's conduct in the baths. With a final loaded look he left, hands clenched at his sides.
I turned back to the prisoner and crouched down in front of the bars. He had finally stopped screaming, but had dissolved into unceasing whimpers.
"See here," I began – the man flinched and tried to fold himself into a smaller space in the corner of the cell. This would take forever. "What do you think happened yesterday?"
"Demon!" the man howled, pointing a trembling finger at me. Any onlooker would be fully justified in believing the man to be mad. Only I knew it to be a rather dramatic and superstitious manifestation of dread.
"Perhaps," I conceded, inspecting my fingers as if this whole thing was very boring, which it was. "And if you don't want to meet my great and terrible master in the afterlife, then you must answer my questions."
"N-no… no…" the man sobbed, his eyes never leaving mine.
I sighed. "You have not gone mad. I am from hell, sent to serve the pagan knights and the holy warrior Artorius Castus, son of the slain Pendragon." I said, with as much gravitas as I could muster. I then pulled a piece of twisted metal from my pocket and began to pick the lock. Once open, I ignored the man's renewed wailing and stepped inside.
"Be silent!" I barked, for once having to raise my voice to be heard as I stood over him. "I will not harm you, mortal, if you talk to me."
The man stopped wailing, but it was clear from his incessant trembling and moaning that he was not going to calm down further.
"Who owns the knife you used to cut my throat?" I asked slowly, tilting my head back and tugging my scarf down to reveal a completely unblemished neck.
The man cringed, hesitating. I sighed and crouched down, just out of his reach.
"You're a dead man, either way. If you tell me what I want to know, then I will see to it you have a quick end. You don't have to be tortured, because I can tell you are not in charge. Perhaps you could tell me who asked you to spy on Arthur?"
The man looked thoroughly spooked, but I could be patient. I waited in silence for him to answer.
"It… it was a servant of Baron Donatus…" he whispered as softly as possible.
I blinked, but otherwise steadied myself enough not to openly react. Paulus Donatus was one of the most powerful land-owners along the eastern region of the northern territories. He was rich in agricultural profit, and had significant influence over local politics.
To think that he was now controlling a network of spies and was poking about in Arthur's business was a chilling thought. For a start, he had almost limitless sources of wealth to tap into, and a list of his friends and business associates read like an ancient Who's Who.
We were more than a little screwed.
I leaned forward, glaring fiercely. "If you're lying—"
"I'm not! I'm not! It was him!" the man cried, covering his face with his hands. "It was the servant Iustus! He handles all his masters' affairs. He paid me to report all the meetings held by Arthur and his knights." He was babbling now, and I nodded encouragingly.
"And the knife? Why did you cut my throat, when all you had to do was hit me round the head?"
"I was told to get rid of anyone who might witness me… if they would not be missed."
I sincerely hoped he would repeat that in Tristan or Gawain's hearing.
I stood, brushing off my knees and tried my best to loom over him. "Arthur will question you later today. It would be better if you would be even more forthcoming about all this with them, mostly because it is in your interest to do so." I said emphatically. "If you are not, I will know. I will be listening, even if you can't see me." Because lying on the roof of the prison building wasn't a crime. "And if you do not tell all this and more to Arthur, then I will make sure that you are tortured to death."
And with that final extremely brutal promise, I exited the cell, shut the door behind me and left. The sound of the man's sobs reverberated off the walls as I knocked on the prison door. Kahedin opened it and ushered me outside, looking concerned.
"More screaming then," he said a trifle wearily. "How did you get any sense out of him?"
"Never mind that, what have you done with Tristan?" I snapped, looking around in concern.
"What makes you think I did anything to him?"
I rolled my eyes. "I knew Tristan was going to have a talk with you about what happened in the baths. So… what was said? Does it have anything to do with why he isn't here?"
"You are quite the little interrogator, Washboard." He said with a grin, as if this situation was somehow cute.
"This is no time for joking. He gave me some clues that I need to go and investigate immediately." I snapped. Tristan and Arthur would have to wait. "I'm going to the records room."
"Wait! They want to talk to you!" Kahedin said, chasing after me.
"Then they know where to find me." I said, my voice steady, despite my rising ire. This was not good. "Has Arthur reported the capture of a spy? How many people know about this?"
"Um… the infirmary knows, since someone had to check him over and make sure he didn't die before we could question him…" Kahedin said, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
I suppressed a snarl of frustration and walked faster. The orderlies were some of the worst gossips the fort had. "Who else?"
"Vanora knows, but I think Bors told her to keep quiet about it."
"Let's make sure."
KAHEDIN:
"Vanora!"
The redhead looked up. The baby was growing rapidly and Vanora was forced to rely ever more heavily upon Brenna for support. It was only going to get worse for the poor, beautiful blonde in the coming months.
Kation was getting scarier by the minute. The way she looked increasingly closed off and how penetrating her gaze had become. They marched over to Vanora and the girl whispered to Bors' lover in a fierce undertone.
"Did you say anything about last night to anyone?" she said. "Who knows?"
"No. I didn't say anything. But I did hear some people whispering about an arrest of a local," Vanora said, looking worried. None of them had seen Kation looking this tense before.
"Are you sure no one knows what the man was really doing? Or where he was arrested?"
"Well, only Brenna, but she wouldn't tell anyone."
Kation's jaw clenched, and she glanced at Kahedin: "Can you find her and bring her here, please?" She said in the same urgent whisper.
Kahedin didn't understand the urgency, but fetched her back.
"Um… is something wrong?" Brenna asked, her gentle voice tinged with concern at her friends' worried expression.
"Yes," Kation said bluntly. "You are now part of a very privileged group of people who know the truth of what went on last night. However, if we are going to fix this problem and defeat our enemies, we must keep it a complete secret. I may need you and Vanora to spread lies around the tavern and fort…"
"What? Why?" Brenna looked shocked. She was a good Christian woman, lying was a sin to her.
"Because we must confuse our enemies. They have spies who are always listening and it is imperative that they don't know what we're really doing." Kation explained patiently. "Can you do this? I know it seems bad, but you will save lives. Including mine."
It was a nice touch, since Kation looked so vulnerable in that moment: her hair shorn off, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale and pinched with pain and anxiety. But she was determined and resolute.
Brenna's resistance wavered and broke under three pleading expressions. "Very well… but I will have to pray a lot to absolve myself." She said, sounding wretched.
"Whatever, just so long as you don't talk to anyone about this," Kation said. "Now that's done, I have to go." She let Vanora squeeze her hands, and nodded to Brenna, before spinning on her heel and marching off. Kahedin sighed and followed her.
Where did she get that energy from?
Once in the records room, Kation opened a cabinet and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "How fast can you read Latin?" she asked, slamming the papyrus onto Arthur's desk and turning back to the shelf for more.
Kahedin gulped. "Not very…" he said, feeling embarrassed.
Kation groaned. "Very well. Do you know someone who can?"
"Um… Jols?" Kahedin guessed.
"Right." She strode past him, heading for the stables.
"Does that mean I can go back to running around after Tristan?" Kahedin shouted after her sarcastically.
"Do what you like, just don't talk or get in my way." She threw back over her shoulder in her 'boy voice'.
He saluted mockingly and stormed off. When she was this focused and dismissive, she wasn't even remotely good company.
TRISTAN:
"Where is he?" Arthur said impatiently. They had been waiting in the stables and Lancelot had now joined them with a bundle of bread and cheese for breakfast.
Tristan didn't immediately answer. He was thinking about the spy. And although he had no idea who sent the man, he had a very good idea where to start asking questions… the dark, red and black thoughts running through his mind retreated to the shadows when he spied Kation charging into the stables, head held high and looking about with an urgent, sharp gaze.
"Ah, Kation!" Arthur raised his arm and beckoned the girl over. She saw their group and visibly sagged, diminishing with every step until she was standing in front of them – pale and small.
"Where have you been?" Tristan growled, feigning his irritation.
"I was looking for your enemies," she mumbled, staring stonily at her boots. She sounded cross.
"I think you've had enough encounters with such people already." Arthur said, his voice tinged with concern. "Where did you go?"
"The records room."
"What? Now the Woads are trying to read the mail?" Lancelot said with a teasing sneer.
Kation's jaw clenched, but she said nothing, not even lifting her head.
"We need you to tell us what you remember about yesterday." Arthur said softly. "Perhaps somewhere more private?"
They all tramped back to the records room and Arthur sat at his desk. "So what happened?" he said.
"I was waiting to be called back in, when I heard someone walking down the hall. They were trying to be sneaky," and here Kation pulled a derisive expression, "but it was a truly pathetic attempt. Just as I was about to confront him, he ran at me and hit me across the back of the head with the pommel of the knife. I was down before I knew what was happening. I awoke sooner than he expected, and must have surprised him because as I tried to reach him, he screamed. Then you slammed the door open, and it struck us both." She shrugged and looked at her boots again. "I think he is a little mad, he screamed when I went to see him this morning."
"You visited him this morning? Why?" Arthur sounded shocked and a little annoyed at this.
"I was curious."
And that was probably the best answer that they could expect. It was clearly a lie, but none of them could see the point in demanding the truth. After all, it would be unfathomable and probably insane.
"And?"
"Nothing sir. He overreacted. It's rather embarrassing, though – he thinks I'm some sort of demon. I took the liberty of not correcting his assumption."
"Why ever not? Do you realise how dangerous such rumours are?" Lancelot said sharply, speaking up for the first time.
Kation finally showed a little more assertion. She glanced at Lancelot incredulously and then slid the look to Arthur, who frowned slightly at her audacity. "Because if he fears me, then we need not physically torture him for information," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He has already said he will tell you anything you want to know."
"Why would he do that?" Arthur asked suspiciously.
"Because not only is he convinced that he shall see me in hell, waiting for him; I also promised him a quick death."
"Who are you to make such promises?" Tristan said sharply, barely resisting the urge to smack her round the head. The sight of her livid wound still made him cringe.
"Your representative, of course, master." She replied promptly, standing a little straighter.
As Lancelot laughed and Arthur repressed his smile to a mere twitch of the lips, Tristan did smack her lightly on the arm. She smiled, knowing that she'd won, and continued. "I really do think he'll talk."
Arthur stood, and his expression was grim and closed once more. "Let's go talk to him, then," he said.
As they all left for the prison, Tristan hung back, detaining Kation for a little private talk. "Since when did you start taking charge?" he growled, standing very close to her. She tipped her head back to glare up at him. The force of her cold expression seemed too great for the situation.
"I have already conducted a most informative interview with that scoundrel; I know who sent him and who we must investigate—"
"And who is that?" he interrupted.
"Baron Paulus Donatus." She replied promptly, not a trace of guile in her voice. "We need to know why he is doing this and what information he was after. To do this, I need another able-minded person to go through the records with me."
"Jols may help… but I think he has to consult Bedwyr about something." Tristan said. "Do you know of anyone else?"
"No. And we can't afford to let anyone else know what's going on. I'll just have to do it myself." She sighed and scrubbed a hand through the crown of her head, ruffling the hair into wild spikes. She winced and the rictus of pain that flashed across her face made Tristan realise just how quickly she had tried to resume her normal activities.
"You ought not to push yourself, so." He murmured, even more quietly than their previous hushed tones.
She waved it off. "I'll be fine. Now go to Arthur – and don't let word spread of this. We must stay as quiet as possible. Our enemies cannot know that we are now hunting them, or they will start to think of ways to retaliate. We are not ready for them to make a move against us."
Tristan nodded, it made sense. "I will convince Arthur." He promised.
"We need to be as fast and silent as wolves," she said, her face alive with keen anticipation. "Come find me after Arthur is finished interrogating the prisoner. Tell me everything."
He barely had time to question her orders before she'd clapped him on the arm in retaliation and stalked back to the records' room.
As he made his way to the cell where the prisoner was being kept, Tristan pondered this new side to his 'slave'. To receive such commands from her was a preposterous notion and an insulting deed. And yet he had not questioned the appointed tasks because he was convinced she knew what she was doing. Her mind was proving to be an engine for tactical thinking and she was clearly, albeit perversely, enjoying herself.
Well, well… Things are getting exciting, no?
Sad news: I will be away for the next ten days. Then I will formally resume my studies. So while I will not abandon this fic, I will be unable to write so speedily in the future.
Apologies to all loyal readers and newcomers – your unceasing support means the continuation of this fic, and I would not be here without you.
~ Leraika.
PS: Would you like romance? Several have expressed interest, but I am still hesitating. If you do (or if you don't), let me know your thoughts. Your *detailed* thoughts... ;)