A/N: Hi there! Lots of thanks to everyone who reviewed! This chapter is really one half of a longer one, but which turned out much too long, so I cut it in two. The next 'half' should be up soon. Enjoy!

Love, WoE

End of Summer

"Kay?"

"Hmm?"

"Kay!"

"What?"

"Are you even listening to me?" Isabelle asked exasperatedly.

"Of course I'm not listening to you. You've been twittering endlessly."

"I am not twittering endlessly!"

"Have you stopped talking since you came here?"

"What I said was important!"

"Too important to capture in a few short sentences?"

"Aye!"

"There you go. Endless twittering."

"What? That doesn't even make sense!"

"Is there a point to this conversation?" Gawain interrupted in a bored fashion.

"We are establishing the fact that Isabelle twitters incessantly."

"Such long words, Kay," Isabelle drawled. "Don't strain yourself."

"You've noticed this dagger in my hand, love?" Kay inquired pleasantly, waving his newly fabricated dagger at her.

"I'm very fond of you too. Kiss?"

"No," Gawain answered for the blacksmith.

Kay grinned. "Best not do that. You would leave him for me immediately. He knows he's nothing compared to me."

"Spare me!" Gawain snorted. "You're old and wrinkly. You're no competition at all."

"Kay is not old," Isabelle defended him. "He's…seasoned."

The blacksmith cast his eyes heavenwards. "You haven't mastered the art of flattery yet, I see."

"Do forgive me," Isabelle apologised. "Now what I was saying was I think you should talk to Andrivete."

Rolling his eyes, Kay put down the cloth which he'd been oiling the dagger with and leaned his chin in his hand. "And why would I want to do that?"

Isabelle bristled. "For a middle-aged man you do behave rather like a petulant child!"

"He always did have a nasty temper," Gawain chipped in, flashing his friend a wide grin in response to the glare he received.

"Listen, Kay," Isabelle tried again. "All I'm saying is that you should talk to her. She's here and I don't think she'll be going away anytime soon. I don't believe you if you say you have no questions for her."

"Questions or no questions, I don't need to talk to her. I know enough!" Kay snapped, his infamous temper flaring up.

Isabelle exhaled forcefully in agitation. "Vanora was right! Keeping it all bottled up inside until you explode, don't you?"

Kay's eyes flashed in anger. "I won't explode!" he bellowed, rising from his seat. "I don't CARE enough to explode!" He turned on his heels and marched into his smithy, the door closing behind him with a wall-shaking bang.

"Well, that's clear then," Gawain remarked. "He doesn't care."

The following week Isabelle saw little of Kay, mainly because he didn't leave his smithy and she didn't dare go there. Though Arthur had sent Gawain and the other knights on small patrol missions, she wasn't lonely. The last harvests were being brought in and the fort and the people living near it were preparing to celebrate.

There was an excited buzzing around the fort and everywhere the same delicious smells floated in the air. Roasted meat, baked apples, mulled mead; it was enough to make Isabelle walk around the fort with a rumbling stomach all day.

After her morning chores with Berwyn the trader Isabelle helped Vanora keeping her children occupied while the barmaid cut up apples and ground nuts for cakes.

"It's not a large feast," Vanora shrugged. "Not like the feasts when the harvests begin."

"I didn't see anything of such a feast," Isabelle frowned.

Vanora slapped the younger woman's hand when it tried to snatch another slice of apple from the pile that was already rubbed in with spices. "Of course you didn't," she said. "You were down south with the men, doing heaven knows what."

"Oh," Isabelle mumbled.

"Since I'm the only one with what slightly resembles a proper household, I'm the one who invites a group of friends for a traditional meal and we have a drink and a laugh afterwards." Vanora paused her cutting and frowned. "Which reminds me to tell Bors off for not picking up that mead the widow Mallt insists on bringing every year. She's a lovely old woman, but as weak as a newborn babe. She can't possibly bring that barrel here herself."

"The widow Mallt?" Isabelle repeated. "Who's that?"

"She's the great-aunt of a cousin of mine, but she hardly has any family left. She could do with a bit of pampering once in a while," Vanora answered. "I've invited those women Arthur brought up here as well."

"Oona and Dilys?"

"Aye, they need a few acquaintances around here and the people around here need to know they have acquaintances. It's not good for them to be alone."

"Who else is coming?" Isabelle asked casually.

"The men, of course. Arthur usually shows up too for a while. Kay always graces us with his loud presence – the children love him. I'm thinking of inviting Andriv– "

With a sharp look Vanora interpreted Isabelle's indifferent expression correctly. "Goodness, men! Gawain didn't mention it to you, did he? I told him not to forget to tell you about the harvest meal. You can't leave anything to them. Of course I want you to come too, you daft girl. Now stop pouting and tell me what you think about inviting Andrivete too."

Isabelle chuckled. "Thank you, I'd love to come. And about Andrivete, I've tried to talk to Kay, but that didn't go too well."

"You can't talk to Kay," Vanora sighed, rolling her eyes. "He never listens to reason. I suspect the man has no ears. You have to shove it under his nose to get him to do anything."

"And you think shoving Andrivete under his nose at your meal will do any good?"

"She's not leaving and nor is he," Vanora shrugged. "They are going to have to start speaking to each other eventually."

"Well, it's your party," Isabelle said hesitantly. "But I can already see lots of pottery flying."

"As long as Bors and the rest are there to keep him a bit distracted, all will go well," Vanora predicted.

Of course, to add more tension to an already strained situation, it was unclear whether the knights would actually be at the fort to enjoy the harvest meal. Isabelle had an ominous feeling about the whole affair, but fortunately it didn't come true.

Only an hour before dusk Arthur and the knights rode through the gate. The tight knot which her stomach turned into every time Gawain left the fort loosened when he winked at her and followed Arthur inside the main quarters.

Isabelle stopped wringing her hands and walked back to Vanora's home. It was unusual for Arthur to insist on a meeting right after he and his knights had returned, but not unheard of. Though it did signal something was not right.

At Vanora's Isabelle found four of her ten children playing outside, including Seven, who waved at her with enthusiasm. With an indulgent grin Isabelle ruffled the auburn hair of the six-year-old girl, from whose mouth immediately burst forth a flood of information about where she'd been and all the secret things and places she'd found.

Isabelle listened for a while, trying to appear serious and attempting not to chuckle, before she said she had to go inside to help Vanora, who filled her arms with mugs and told her to start putting everything on the table outside.

Obediently Isabelle walked in and out of the little house several times, while Vanora finished the last of the dishes she had prepared with her oldest daughter, Two.

Bors was the first to arrive and Vanora sent him away again for a visit to the bathhouse. He knew better than to argue. Not long after Kay entered his friends' home, ducking to get through the door. He had a child on his back and one hanging on to a leg. He looked longingly at Vanora's apple cake while he plucked the children still clinging to him from his leg and back and put them on the ground. Their mother shooed them away and called for another son after Kay had given her a kiss.

"One!" she yelled.

The thirteen-year-old boy stuck his head inside. "Aye, Ma?"

"Go and get the widow Mallt. I don't want her to get lost."

"Aye, Ma."

Never having been in Vanora's house, Isabelle stood a little to the side, enjoying the bustling feel of the place, which was enhanced by Kay squeezing her shoulder in a friendly manner to tell her he wasn't angry with her.

She smiled relieved at him.

Vanora sighed exasperatedly when a wave of children spilled into the house. "How am I supposed to get everything done?" she grumbled. "Keep them busy for a while, Kay."

The blacksmith stepped outside again, ushering the boys and girls out with him, and soon his thundering voice informed the children that he was coming to get them. Loud and excited screaming was their instant response.

While Isabelle helped Vanora putting everything out on the table, the first guests began to drop in. The widow Mallt, Oona and Dilys, and two people Isabelle didn't know but who turned out to be relatives of Vanora.

Bors returned, much cleaner and with Dagonet and Tristan, managing to greet his lover before several of his children jumped on top of him. Kay came marching around the corner, holding two boys like sacks of flour under his arms. He dropped them rather unceremoniously to greet the three knights.

Vanora set Bors, Kay, and Dagonet to work and turned to Tristan. "Good of you to come."

Tristan's black eyebrow shot up. "You left me no room to refuse."

"Indeed I didn't," Vanora answered. "Help yourself," she added, waving at the loaded table. She spotted a grubby child's hand reaching for the fruit on the table and gave it a smack. "Go wash, Five," she ordered.

"But, Ma," the boy whined, only to be grabbed by the scruff of his neck by his mother, who dragged him inside the house.

Isabelle grinned after them, before she turned to Tristan, who gave her a nod. "Isabelle."

"Tristan," she nodded back. She handed him a mug, which he accepted with another nod.

Though things were still quite formal between them, their fight had relieved Isabelle of a great deal of tension. It was as Vanora had said: it had cost her a friendship, but Isabelle felt that she could be at peace with it now. And in a way she was grateful to Tristan for confronting her.

The scout took a swig from the mug Isabelle had given him. He paused and his face contorted when he swallowed it. After a cough, he deducted, "The widow Mallt's mead."

"Aye," Isabelle confirmed, nonplussed.

"Don't give that to anyone unless they're already drunk." Tristan put his mug on the table and grabbed an apple, sauntering off to find a quiet place.

Hesitantly, Isabelle picked up Tristan's mug and smelled the liquid suspiciously. She took a sip and winced. She wasn't sure what the widow had done to it, but it certainly did not taste the way mead should taste.

Casually she emptied the mug under the table.

"What on earth are you doing?" an amused voice asked behind her.

Isabelle whirled around, cheeks flaming, and cleared her throat when she found Gawain watching her with folded arms, trying to contain his laughter.

"Nothing," she squeaked guiltily. "It was the widow Mallt's mead," she added.

"Ah, well, that explains everything," Gawain shrugged.

"Tristan told me not to give it to anyone who isn't already inebriated."

"So you're on speaking terms again?" Gawain inquired casually, examining Vanora's food with interest.

"Aye, I suppose," Isabelle said.

"Good." He looked up. "You shouldn't be at odds with someone in a place as small as this. Doesn't work."

"Speaking of odd," Isabelle quickly interjected. "Why did Arthur want to see you in the Hall?"

Gawain made a grumbling sound. "Saxons. Usually they retreat back over the sea at the end of the summer, but their attacks keep on coming. Arthur is worried they might stay on the island during the winter. They'll have no other choice if they linger much longer; the sea will be too rough for their ships."

Isabelle wondered if she would ever get used to the nagging worry that haunted her.

Gawain must have noticed it, because he said," Don't worry, we can keep them at bay."

Isabelle sighed and closed her eyes. "I thought winter was supposed to be a calmer period."

The feel of Gawain's rough hand on her cheek made her open her eyes again. "I've survived this long, haven't I?" he said softly. "Just a few months."

She nodded, comforted by the warm depths of his voice. "A few more months."

Her hand fisted itself tightly in his tunic when he bent forward to kiss her. He lifted his head to look her in the eye. "No more worries now. Vanora's harvest meal is always a memorable event. You should enjoy it."

She smiled and slid her arms around his neck. "Very well then," she said slowly, determinedly pushing any lingering dark thoughts to the back of her head. "I know what I'd like to enjoy first."

"Teasing me, eh?"

"What if I am?"

"I should warn you not to play with fire."

Isabelle gave him a languid smile. "Who cares about a few blisters?"

Gawain's eyes turned a darker shade of blue. The kiss with which he seared her lips indeed had her cheeks burn like fire.

"Have pity on my innocent eyes," a voice drawled. "I beg you."

"Lancelot..."

"Lovely to see you too, Isabelle."

"Here, have some mead," Isabelle offered sweetly, pouring some of the widow Mallt's brewing into a mug. She handed it to Lancelot, sent a smile to the newly arrived Galahad, and made herself scarce, leaving the three men slightly confused.

At a safe distance she looked back just in time to see Lancelot's disgusted face, while Galahad and Gawain stood beside him, smirking.

Vanora came outside with the last of her treats and her guests gathered around the table. Bors slid an arm around his lover and looked proudly at her.

Isabelle smiled. There was a peaceful atmosphere that was slowly seeping into her being. She sensed Gawain behind her and leaned backwards against him. He rested his hand on her hip and his chin on her head. For a moment she didn't have a care in the world.