Disclaimer I do not own King Arthur, though I wish I owned Lancelot and Tristan -smirks-. Anyways, anything you do not recognize, such as an extra character or two(Like The Rogue Knight, and a Certain Woad that got her captured in the first place) belong to me! Any other beings or characters that you do not recognize also belong to me, or another of which I have asked permission to use the subject! Nor any songs that might appear.

Author's Notes (Current Soundtrack for my Writing Inspiration)

(P.O.D - LIT - Linkin Park - Evanescence - Red Tape(was on underworld))

-Not sure if I actually Did justice to the character Tristan and his personality -shruggs- sorry if I didn't. -sighs- I am also aware that I am prolonging everything -grins- oh wel..

-I actually got all the way to Chapter Four! WOOT! Anyways, this chapter was okay to write, not the worst not the best. -shruggs-. Considering how, I got the Saxon Scouts and the Scout Knights to meet slightly! Anyways.. More of Tristan then there was in the past chapters. But, Lancelot still has a high hold over the romance factor in this fanfiction. -sorry all Tristan lovers!- Maybe another story.. Unless Tristan wins. You never know. The tabs may switch in this chapter or the next bwahahah. -waddles off to write the fanfic-

Spelling mistakes might come up once in a while in both name and mere word! I am sorry for this, and must apologize further for my impatient chapters that might be incredibley short.

-Thanks for the Reviews everyone!!

Summary This isn't you typical, find a third prisoner within the walls of Marcus Honorius' dungeon that he had so cruelly sentenced Guinevere and Lucan to.

When the knights manage to find their way into the dungeon, they manage to find a third captive. However, their rage becomes even more so, when they find out that the woman isn't a woad warrior at all.... But one of their own. A knight.

-Pairing- Tristan/OC or/and Lancelot/OC, whilst the OC is currently ambiguous towards Lancelot.

The Rogue Knight

Chapter Four; You can have Anything. I want her


'Have you no compassion Rogue?' The lone woman huddled upon the ground, protecting her dead child's body within the forestry, just beyond that of a Roman farm. The boy child's head had been severed from his body. His neck still steamed from the heat that emanated forth from his inner reaches. The woman had heard the hellish neighs of a equine, had come running and found her son's head in the hand of a fairy tale. The Rogue Knight.

The Rogue steadied, their horse, the hellish steed whinniing his aggitation. Clutched tightly within the right hand of the Rogue, was a pale boy's head. Brown locks, was what the ghoulish Knight held tightly, the boy's mouth was ajar, his eyes white, and rolled into the upper most reaches of his skull. "Compassion? I? Have you not heard the tales young mother? The tales that are to frighten children into their beds! I am the Knight, that takes the heads of those children who seak trouble in the dark hours of the night. You have no compassion young mother! Allowing your son to venture after dark is a terrible thing to do." The knight laughed loudly, and through the severed head high into the sky, causing it to fall next to the mother, upon the ground. The woman dared to glance at it.

From the sky, came a voice, a voice of a raven, the soft cawing. "Eat Marcus.. Eat and find your salvation." As the raven circled down from the sky, landing next to the boy's head. The black bird began to peak, nonchalantly at the boy's lips, ripping the silky flesh from the cranium, the woman, screamed and hit at the bird, but the creature merely hopped away and peaked at the dead boy's eyes.

The woman finally turned her hateful gaze upon the Knight. "You are no Knight. You are a demon." She spit upon the ground, and the last thing that the woman ever saw, was the metallic arc of a bastard sword, as it's hateful wielder loosed it upon her throat.


Fen sat upright within the bright dawn. Her eyes flickered slightly and she glanced around, as if seeking to find someone whom had watched the dream she had had the night before. No, not a dream. She shook her head, a memory. A sinful memory that was coming back after six years. She shook her head, and brought her fingers to her face. She had been evil. She was evil. She had killed a boy child that had been dispatched from the safety of his mother and father's small cabin, to receive water from the well in the woods.

She shook her head, and glanced towards the form of her equine steed, which stood upright, nudging at the loose snow with his roman nose, seeking the green grass that lay beneath. She smiled, and stood up, stretching her cold limbs, allowing them to pop and roll around slightly beneath her skin. She groaned in a self serving pleasure before, she allowed herself to gaze upon her injured appendage.

Her left hand came towards her right hand, unwrapping the bandage slowly. She examined the wound, a hole through her hand, that would definately create stories for those who did not actually know what happened. The inside of the hole, was scabbed, it was pusy, ever so slightly, a small infection that was slowly seeping out in a white fluid.

Fen curled her fingers, and winced slightly. Her grip was okay, not the best it would ever be again, but not the worst it ever was. She wouldn't be able to wield a sword with her actual sword hand for a while. So, she would begin to practice with her left. She walkd towards her armour, reaching for a extra worn in, tunic and leggings that had belonged to Alecto. It was a simple outfit, not like his other outfits, perhaps he had played in them when he was not leaning over scripts of being a bishop. She turned her back to the rest of the camp, and began to undress and redress. She felt two pairs of eyes upon her nearly bare back, and turned ever so slightly, glancing over her shoulder to see who was the peaking tom.

Lancelot. Tristan. Her trademarked crooked grin crossed her features, twisting her scars in the most unpleasant manner. Dimwits, She thought blandly, before pulling her tunic off completely and quickly replacing it with the other, black tunic. Her leggings were soon replaced aswell, and she slowly walked back the furs she had slept in before. Pushing the furs and neatly knitted blankets away, her eyes fell upon the large saddle of her horse.


"Arthur wishes us to go scouting. To see if we are to run into any saxons." Tristan came up behind Fen as she tightened the girth of the tack upon her black equine, Maximus. The steed whinnied softly, and snorted, jumping backwards slightly when Tristan eyed the horse. Fen grabbed the reins, causing the steed to settle down, almost immediately. Fen was cloaked, armoured, and armed with her bastard sword attached to her left shoulder.

"Really? He is going to allow me to accompany you? In my health?" She held up her gloved hand. The same gloves which Marius had originally taken from her. A hole appeared in the middle, and it slowly opened into her own fleshy hole. "I would think he would rather have just you go."

"Why send one Scout out, when two are at your bidding." Tristan turned around, preparing to leave, Fen reached out and grasped his shoulder.

"When do we leave?"

"Ten minutes." Fen nodded and turned back to her horse. Maximus craned his neck slightly, nudging Fen affectionately. The lady Knight patted his roman nose, and whistled sharply, causing the black Raven that sat within a tree preening himself, to gently glide down to rest upon her forearm.

"Back to Scouting for Arthur is seems." She chuckled, and was accompanied with the cawing and neighing of her two companions.


The two moved through the woods, their avain companions soaring above them, chirpping or cawing now and then when they caught sight of some movement below, whether Arthur and his Caravan, an animal or something more dangerous. Tristan grudgingly took up the rear, whilst Fen gazed about the forestry, for any sign of movement. If she missed the slightest movement, she knew that Tristan and herself, might be returning home as spirits, rather then alive.

Her eyes grazed over the still foliage, her ears perked for any sound. And then it hit her.

The soft whisperings of a heavily slurred, accented voice. Scouts for saxons' no doubt. The woman grabbed her sword , unsheathing it slowly, and turning slightly in her saddle. She glnaced at Tristan, who in turn unsheathed his own sword.

Fen glanced up at the raven, the black bird was gliding around lazily in different directions, obviously aware if he circled he would draw attention to the two scouts.

The voices drew closer.

Echoing softly as the terrible saxon scouts laughed and joked.

The Two Sarmatian Knights sat.

Waiting.

Prepared.

"Whats that there Cynric? Come 'ere! What'd your father say to look for?"

"Knights! Stupid. God, shut up, what happens if that thing you see happens to be Knight Scouts?! They would have heard us."

Fen grinned, and glanced at Tristan. He in turn grinned aswell, darkness enveloping their hearts, minds, and souls as they thought of the oncoming battle of scouts. This is what the pair lived for, for the euphoria of battle as a sword came slashing near them. Fen slowly pulled her hood up, covering her visage from those that wished to gaze upon her.

"Wait." The man named Cynric spoke quickly. His horse lept from the foliage, and the two groups of scouts came face to face. "Well well. What do we 'ave here? Two lone Knights? Scouts?"

In the sky the raven and the hawk loosed their avian voices, allowing the Saxon Scouts to glance up for a moment. Cynric's eyes never left the clouded hood of Fenaliy.

"The Rogue Knight?" He asked, his brows shooting up, into the endleass mass of his forehead, and bald scalp. "I shall enjoy cutting you limb from limb." The man smirked, and Fen could only laugh, her harsh, rogueish vocales encircling all that stood within the small clearing.

"Let us dance." Fen coughed out, causing the Saxon to grin and leap from his horse. "Let us.. Let us.. Let us."

Fen too, jumped from her horse, smacking the creatures rump and sending it galloping into the foliage and away from the brawl. She twirled the sword about in her left hand. The sword was heavy, heavier then it would have been if her right hand been uninjured. She sighed heavily, but, it was lighter then it should be, that was good. Her left arm was nearly as strong in sword play as her right.

They lundged at each other, swords clashing, sending bright glistening sparks off in several different directions. The two began a dance of blades, their weapons slipping against one anothers, nicking each other's hands, legs. Fen found herself faultering slightly whenever the man managed to push his entire weight upon his sword. Her left arm was burning from the use of her muscles. She brought her wounded right hand up to the hilt, and held on tightly with both hands.

The two were oblivious to the world around them as they fought, Tristan was slowly dispatching the other Scouts with his scimitar. As he finished the last one off with a single swipe of his sword, he realized that Fen still fought with Cynric. He watched, and realized it was a loosing battle. The woman's wounded hand was already bleeding, the blood dribbling upon the black leather of her gloves as it slowly turned into small rivelettes and dripped upon the ivory snow.

Cynric noticed that the Knight he fought was slowly tiring, he noticed the blood that dripped from the hole within the Knight's hand. He smiled. With a single feinting maneuver, the Saxon lashed his sword towards the left side of the Knight's body, causing them to try and block the attack. Their right hand was bared to Cynric, and he quickly maneuvered his sword once again and dug the tip into the hole, piercing skin diagonally. Bone cracked, and was scrapped, a cry of pain errupted from the Rogue, and the Black Knight fell to their knees, dropping their sword and craddling their hand within their uninjured one.

The other knight/scout stepped forth, and Cynric merely pointed his sword at the other. "Step any further," He began. "And The Rogue will be missing more then just his limbs."

Cynric soon turned around, and grabbed the hood of the Rogue, pulling it back and expoing the soft, white flesh of Fenaliy. The Saxon stepped back and sputtered. "What?!"

Tristan grinned, as did Fen. "If you were implying about a penis, Saxon.. I'm afraid I don't have one to begin with." Fen hissed, and grabbed for her sword. Cynric recovered quickly and stepped forth, stepping on the woman's hand, she let out a cry of pain as she felt her fingers dislocate and move out of place. The Saxon pointed the top of his sword at the base of Fen's throat, causing her to tilt her head up and look down upon the steel blade.

"We can't have you doing that, Luv." The loud, defiant cawing of a raven broke into the picture. Swooping down from the sky, was Fen's black raven, his large wings beating against the air as he powered himself along. The Saxon looked up, only to be greeted with ebony claws digging into his features, and a black beak pecking at his right eye. Cynric screamed, flinging his arms around in a desperate attempt to save his eyeballs from the mad raven. With a final, desperate thought, Cynric brought his sword up, slashing into the raven's right wing, severing the appendage completely from the bird's bodice. The raven let out a cry of pain and fell from the man's face. Fen's own scream accompanied the raven's and she lept forth, catching the wounded bird in her arms. She cried in pain, not for herself, but for her companion.

The Saxon merely backed up, staring at the woman Knight, and her dying avian companion. The other knight was at her side immediately, craddling both the female Knight, and the Raven in his arms. He whispered not a sentence of soothing words, but merely glared at the slowly retreating Saxon. Fen soon ceased to cry, her sniffles still echoed, nearly soundlessly. She stood up, holding the raven in her own injured hand. She sprinted for her sword, sliding upon the ground slightly, grasping the hilt in her left hand. The Saxon laughed raucously, before he too turned and began to sprint off. Fen ran after him, yelling curses, brandishing her sword in a desperate attempt to rid the world of the Avian Slayer.


She held, craddled the dead body of Marcus the Raven in her arms. Her stallion followed Tristan's own horse, head low to the ground, and in a sense, mourning the loss of their winged companion. Fen looked at his small face, his large black beak, was caked with dried blood of the saxon, as were his claws, she smiled sadly, a tear streaming down her already tear streaked visage.

"Oh Marcus." She whispered softly, her voice carrying softly over the wind.


The two men sat within the large tent, feasting upon a grease covered carcass of a boar. Cerdic, and Cynric of the Saxons', ate like barbarians, their hands covered in the delicious grease of the boar, bones scattered the ground, and every once in a while, when they finished with a certain piece of meat with bones, they would toss the marrow filled bones over their shoulders, and start upon another piece.

"Tell me of the Rogue Cynric. A female was it?" Cerdic's son nodded, quickly, chewing upon the leg of the boar. "And she beat you in sword play?"

Cynric's lips turned into a thin line of dislike. He glared at his father, who in turn, glared back and slurred a husky curse. "Her bird, caused me to put my guard down, and so I cut it's wing off. She became a mass of tears after that and left me alone." It was the truth, but, Cynric had a very clear idea, of what his father would think if he also mentioned that he ran away when she began to chase him away towards his horse. "If we win-"

"When we win." His father corrected him.

"When we win, I want her."

"You can have anything when we win."

"Good. I want her."


Author's Note: Short.. I know. It's not as good as the others, apparently. My writing skills seem to go up and down when I read certain novels. -flails fists about, whilst cursing madly about A certain Star Wars Novel.- Anyways, read and Review!