Cold. She was freezing inside, so cold that the rest of the world seemed warm. Tetanized, her limbs refused to move as she was carried in a hurry. For a moment, she couldn't discern if she'd died underwater, or if the mumbled words of Arthur were real. The grip of ice had nearly caused her heart to stop. Thankfully, the giant knight had fished her out before the lake had swallowed her entirely. A gentle voice tried to call her back, Arthur's. A hand on her frozen brow, Dagonet's. Desperate brown eyes, the golden hue hiding a world of sadness. Tristan's gaze, fixed upon her, his mouth set in a grim line. Eventually, Frances was settled on a blanket on the ground, warm blood seeping from her leg wound. Her whole being started to shake uncontrollably, so much that Dagonet called for someone to settle her leg. Arthur's unyielding grasp held her thigh as she mumbled about having to sew another pair of breeches. God! she was pissed. And not really coherent. A dagger sliced through the fabric of her pants, and Dagonet stated.

— "It needs stitches."

— "No," she moaned.

Arthur smiled at her reassuringly.

— "Do not worry, lady. Dagonet is pretty good at sewing people up."

Damn, they didn't understand. Stitches would have to be removed, and it was fragile as hell. She wouldn't be able to fight if needed, it'd be a mess. Trembling like a leaf, she protested.

— "No stitches … cauterise"

— "No"

The tone was final, coming from behind her. So close that her chest vibrated with the strength of its conviction. Unfortunately, Frances was too tetanized to turn around, and her mind too fuzzy to realise who had popped her against him. Above her, the knights stared in horror, hardly believing her request. The bolt had grazed the skin quite deeply, cauterising would leave a heavy scar. And the process was insanely painful. Frances lifted her head, and stared at her thigh, assessing the damage herself. It was the exact same spot she'd been sliced open during Helm's deep fight. With the cold numbing her leg, though, she nearly didn't feel the pain.

— "Damn it, not again!" she cried. "Does it say, 'please slice me here?'"

Her words were slurred through clenched teeth, but the relief on the knights' faces showed their concern. Galahad, for one, stifled a laugh.

— "What do you mean? You have no prior scar here," commented Dagonet.

True. She'd forgotten how all her scars had disappeared after coming back to earth, the miracle of the molecular destructuration and reconstruction of her body through the Valar's portal.

— "Never mind," she mumbled through shattered teeth. "Quantum physics. Come on, do it quick while I can't feel."

Dagonet nodded, his thread and needle at the ready. He shut out the rest of the conversation as he worked, marvelling that indeed, Frances didn't seem to feel the pain.

— "She doesn't make sense," came Bors' voice.

Frances eyed him warily, her mouth running once more without a filter. Her limbs were so frozen that she wondered if they were still attached to her body.

— "Yeah. Einstein and relativity are not a concept yet. Not that it relates with Quantum physics, mind you."

— "We need to catch up with the wagon," said Gawain, unfazed. "She needs a shelter from the wind."

But Bors had other ideas.

— "Should we give her a token? Against bad spirits. Clearly her mind is clouded by a lake demon, hear what she rambles about?"

Frances shook her head vehemently, the knight's word sending her brain into panic mode.

— "No, no and no. I'm just in shock. Let's go"

Behind her, a warm body prevented her from standing up, holding her against his chest. The water from her soaked tunic and cloak was seeping through his garb.

— "New clothes," she stuttered through shattering teeth.

— "She's right," came the smooth voice behind her. "She'll freeze to death if she keeps this on. And so will you Dagonet"

— "Our spare is in the wagon."

— "Don't care," Frances uttered.

Right now, survival was the key. To hell with modesty. Frances tried to get some warmth back into her arms to surrender them to her will. Once her fingers claimed their presence, she suddenly reached for her tunic and pulled it over her head. Forgetting that her cloak was still clasped at her throat, she got tangled in the mess of damp cloth. Horrified, the knights could only stare as her body was revealed, sports bras the only thing left on her. Arthur, who clung to her leg to ensure Dagonet's stitches would hold, turned beet red as Guinevere's laughed. Fortunately, Frances's head was stuck inside her tunic, and she missed the shades of her companions as her stiff muscles struggled to get free. Gentle hands unclasped the leaf broch that held the cloak, and freed her from her soaked tunic. Then, they rolled her into a warm crimson cape. In the meantime, Dagonet had miraculously finished his suture.

— "There. I'm done. The bleeding has stopped, and the stitches should hold."

— "Damn! Stiches!" she cried out, exasperated.

Dagonet stood, storing his supplied in the saddle bag. When he turned back to her, his blue eyes were earnest, his compassion stunning her.

— "Frances. It won't scar so much, and I cannot inflict that pain. Don't ask me too"

— "Well, thank you anyway," she grumbled.

— "It is who thank you. You saved my life," came the knight's quiet voice.

Frances nodded.

— "And you mine. Let's call it even"

Arthur turned his deep gaze to her, setting her up on her feet.

— "I can never thank you enough for your quick wit and courage. You are a lady knight now, one of us."

The statement caused Frances to blink back tears, holding the crimson cloak close to her chest. A Roman cape, his. The title stunned her. As hands grabbed her from behind, the silky voice sent shivers through her spine.

— "A frozen lady knight. Come"

Frances could only surrender to Tristan's will as he set her up on his mount. Climbing behind gracefully, the young woman could only remember how difficult this move was – a souvenir of Aragorn's rescue – , as how effortless it seemed to be for him, before his arm snaked around her waist.

— "You need body warmth," he simply stated.

And she nodded, too tired to protest about the situation. His body was hard behind her, muscles taut from the effort of holding her up. Yet, the warmth that seeped through her back comforted her, his scent of earth and horse strangely soothing, his touch gentle. The same he bestowed upon Lady Hawk when he ruffled her feathers. They rode in silence for a little while, an unsettling void stating that Tristan had something on his mind. She could almost feel it, the weight of his thoughts hanging above her head, and she wondered idly when his silences had become so eloquent. When at last he spoke, his voice was low, directed to her only.

— "Don't do it again, eh ?"

It was the first time his command came out as a plea, but Frances understood his meaning well enough. Her placement in the line of fighters on the lake, beside Dagonet, went against his wishes. Her vision, kept to herself. She had left Tristan out of the loop, and marveled that he wasn't mad at her altogether. If her assessment of his character was accurate, the scout hated loosing control more than eating dirt. But she didn't regret her decision; what could possibly have more worth than one life saved ?

— "I do what I have to do", she answered evenly.

There was challenge in her voice, the warning of the Keeper of Time stating that, no matter where her affections lay, she was the one and only judge of her own actions. Not that she didn't value Tristan's opinion, far from it. He had invaluable knowledge about this place and its workings. But the Valar had chosen her, Frances, to act upon her instincts and decide her own path. Knowing what she did about the future, she couldn't afford to stray from destiny. Her heart was her main lead; she wouldn't back down or bow to any warrior, any king. She never had, she never would.

Tristan's body tensed even further, the hand on her waist shifting a little. She would have given the world to know the thoughts that plagued his mind in this very moment. Would he lash out, telling her she was an infuriating woman, and leave her to be carried by someone else ? Frances' heart sunk. Exhaustion washed over her, she didn't want to move a muscle, let alone trudge in the snow to get behind another knight. Her thigh muscles were screaming bloody murder after the mad chase of the latest days, her whole body shivering, teeth shattering whenever she stopped controlling her jaw. No. The space of his arms was the best place in the world right now… and he was warm. But then, his fingers splayed over the crimson cape, pulling her further back in a tender gesture.

— "A little warning next time, eh ?"

Peace. He'd offered an olive branch when she expected scorn and anger. Too happy for her own good, Frances nodded.

— "Fair enough. This I can do"

And her head came to rest against his broad shoulder, tension leaving her body as she reclined against him in happiness. Within moments, Frances was asleep, passed out from the shock.

Buried under blankets in the wagon, Frances had yet to open her eyes. Arthur frowned once more; he would have no peace until she answered his questions. After hours of following along the coast, his memory had replayed the battle a thousand times, and something had spooked his tactical mind. Now that he could think clearly – the blasted weather was milder and Saxons drums quietened – he wondered how Frances has reacted so quickly. It was as if she'd known all along that Dagonet was going to be in danger. For the moment though, he could only speculate. His questions to Tristan had only elicited raised eyebrows from the scout, and a stern look. If his brother knew something, there'd be no torture device nor reasoning to make him spill it.

— "Ask her" was his only reply.

And so they waited as their caravan progressed slowly. And when eventually a fever claimed Frances, Arthur could only bristle in the saddle, praying to his God, to her gods, to anyone that would listen. At last, the lady seemed to regain consciousness, and the first sight that greeted her was Lancelot's playful smile as he told her.

— "You know, you're the only woman that shies away from me and gets Tristan to talk to you. You're weird"

Her laughter rose in the sky, so genuine that it made him smile.

— "He doesn't, you know. Talk to me"

At this, she tried to prop herself up, wincing as she did, and looked for the scout. Tristan was not far from sight, and their gazes locked for a moment, a silent conversation that confirmed her claims. There was a glint in his eyes, a small quirk of his lips, nearly imperceptible, addressed to her. Yes. Tristan didn't speak, not through words. But they could hold a philosophical debate without uttering a single sound. She could have been good for him, this woman. Mayhap she'd be willing to stay once this mess was over, after all, it was not often his scout agreed to be tamed. The matter of her betrothed, though, had yet to be sorted. And for the moment, the commander needed answers. Taking advantage of the flat terrain, he spurred his horse forward and reached the wagon.

— "Lady knight"

The title brought light to her countenance; a title well deserved.

— "Commander"

— "Something has been plaguing my mind ever since the battle. I wish you could put my thoughts to rest."

— "That was a lovely and very polite introduction, Athur Castus. I almost feel like I could be holding court."

Her sarcasm took him off guard. Beside him, Lancelot couldn't hold a chuckle.

— "Shoot," she added, seeing his crestfallen expression. "What do you want to know?"

— "Without you, I fear we might have lost Dagonet."

— "I'm quite convinced as well, yet it doesn't seem like a question."

Well. That was something he wasn't expecting. False modesty should have been the norm, not bluntness. Yet, she didn't gush, or boasted, only stating the facts. Not unlike a certain scout.

— "I only wished to convey my gratitude."

The cheeky little creature had to gall to send him an amused look.

— "Ah. But you've done so already."

This game was getting to him; it took his mind off the gloom of the Saxon invasion. Hence his deadpan reply.

— "I wished to renew it."

— "And?"

Silence. She knew he wanted more. There was no way to get around it. Somewhere behind the wagon, Tristan's eyes were glinting with mischief. He enjoyed putting him on the burner as much as she did. Those two would be the death of him.

— "How did you know?"

Frances seemed impressed by his statement rather than affronted.

— "You are rather observant, especially since you were quite busy shooting a bow."

— "So, you did know?"

Something akin to fear flashed through her eyes before she answered.

— "I did."

— "How? Please, do not be afraid of telling me."

Frances sighed, her gaze returning to the blankets.

— "I saw him fall, two bolts across his chest, taking a dive when I crossed the lake before the battle. I knew it was only a matter of time before he put himself in harm's way"

Lancelot's voice was a but a whisper.

— "A seer?"

Frances turned to the first knight, and for once, there was none of her usual playfulness as she stared squarely into his dark eyes.

— "Aye, somewhat," she answered. "Albeit I don't get many visions, I am sometimes granted a little knowledge. I'm getting better at understanding them, at least"

Tensing, she then turned to Arthur, her eyes holding the fear at bay.

— "Will you have me burn as a witch now?"

Arthur's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline, contemplating the enormity of her words. Was she afraid he'd killed her in the name of religion? He was a Christian, for sure, but his mother's people had taught him otherwise than to demonise the old ways.

— "Nay. My mother's people have seers, and magicians, and it is part of who I am. And you are a lady knight, now. You deserve praise, not death"

Frances nodded, her posture deflating slightly; his acceptance meant the world to her! She only hoped that the others – all of them – would be as open-minded as the commander. Surely Sarmatia had shamans and seers as well? In her mind ran the legends of King Arthur and his mighty knights. This could very well be the beginning of Arthur's long reign, bringing the reunification of Christianity and ancient knowledge. The only way to rally the Britons under one banner.

— "You will make the hell of a King," she stated. "And now, if you don't mind, I'll get back to my feverish sleep. Such a great perspective!"

King? Was it a seer's vision, or something else altogether? Arthur's eyes roamed her face, the flushed cheeks and bright eyes. She was right, she needed to rest. And he knew a dismissal when he heard one; even though he was the commander. Her authority and the words she had spoken were enough to send his mind reeling.

Behind the wagon, a very silent scout mused on her revelations. It certainly explained her strange behaviour while crossing the lake. A smile quirked his lips upwards. He understood now, her choice of placement in the line of warriors, and even more why her attention was solely focused on Dagonet. She'd been watching, devising on her strategy, and building up a countermove to save his brother. And managed when he would have accepted death. Smart woman. His heart was at peace now, even if, when his eyes closed, the sight of her slender silhouette disappearing through the ice would haunt him for a while.