Conor emerged from the meeting room as the sky was beginning to darken. He felt as if he had just returned from the battlefield, only it was his brain, not his body that was fatigued and spent. The meeting had been slightly successful. He felt that maybe two of the four would consider unification.

As he expected, Colin was not in favor of alliance. He knew that the rough man would be voting against uniting with the Confederation.

Conor shuddered and finally realized that he was standing in snow halfway to his knees. A single thought crossed his mind. Catlin. Catlin was out in this snow. There was no way she would make it through the night. Trudging through the drifts, he made his way back to his hut. Quickly scanning the room, he grabbed his sword and the blankets from his bed. He rushed out to the stables.

"Conor?" It was Aisling.

Her face was barely visible in the folds of the large green cloak she was wrapped in.

"What is it?" he said barely turning. He was busily cinching the saddle around his horse.

"It's... Um... Ian's gone out to find her," she stammered.

"What?" He stopped and turned.

"Ian's already left to find Catlin... About an hour ago." She looked down at the ground.

"Good," he nodded. His eyes wandered left and right of the girl, but could not stop to look her in the eye. He turned back to his horse and continued to ready the animal.

"There was a Roman patrol out searching for her..." Aisling spoke quickly.

Conor stopped, but did not turn. Icy fear gripped his heart. Longinus. It wasn't over after all; the dreams were coming true. As if to steady himself, Conor rested one hand on the neck of the horse.

"Is there a faster route south?" He still did not turn to face her.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I've never been aloud to travel alone outside the village walls... I'm sorry." There was a sadness in her voice.

Conor swung himself into the saddle.

"Conor, you shouldn't go... It's too dangerous," Aisling pleaded, her voice full of fear.

"I have to go. I'm not going to let Catlin die," he nearly shouted at the girl as he turned his horse and headed toward the village gate.

"But Ian knows these lands better than anyone. If anyone can find her, he can..." she called after him, futilely.

Conor did not stop to acknowledge her plea. As he galloped towards the gate, he found Colin and seven other men, all armed, blocking the exit. He brought his horse to a stop.

"Let me pass." He stared directly at Colin.

"No... No one is to leave the village tonight. These were Ian's direct orders," Colin's gravely voice echoed in the still dusk. The other men stood motionless, but at the ready to attack.

"Colin, this doesn't concern you. I am going alone. This has nothing to do with your village."

"You will not leave." The scarred man's eyes narrowed. Colin rubbed his stubbly chin with his hand and looked back to his men. "Eion, Dermot, why don't you escort our guest back to his quarters and make sure he's comfortable for the evening... We wouldn't want anything to happen to him."

As the two approached, Conor weighed his options. He could fight the men, but the odds definitely weren't in his favor. One against eight was not a battle easily won. If he were to fight, it would destroy any chance at all of unification. With a heavy heart, he dismounted his horse and let the men lead him back to his quarters.


Longinus entered Diana's bedchamber on silent feet. The queen was wrapped in furs and lay sleeping on her left side. Her left hand was curled at her forehead as if she were solving a puzzle in her dreams. Captivated for a moment, the ancient centurion almost forgot the pain that lived in what used to be his heart.

His mind floated back to when they had first met, to when they were new to each other. When just the sound of her voice or the tilt of her head would elicit desire. The attraction had been instant and immediate. In 400 years he had loved many, but Diana had been different. She was beautiful, yes, but she had ambition and cunning. Her mind was rough-hewn jewel. If only she had the patience and wisdom that 400 years of experience would provide.

But things had changed. They always did. Eventually no woman could stay with him. Longinus had changed too. In the past, he had always had the relentless pursuit of the Spear. He had always had the hope of salvation. Now he had rage. He had hate. He had destruction. Those had become his pursuits. He didn't blame Diana for reviling him. He supposed that no mortal could understand the depths of his emotions, the chasms of his pain.

He sat down at the edge of Diana's bed and gently stroked her hair. She shifted slightly in her sleep. He leaned down and kissed her softly. In the haze between the waking world and the dream world, Diana recognized his touch.

"Longinus," she whispered, still sleeping.

Her arms reached for him. He brought her hands to his face and gently kissed them. He stood up and leaned over her. Again he caressed her hair and kissed her forehead. As he turned to leave, her hand reached out and caught his arm.

"Don't go Longinus," she spoke in her sleep.

It's too late, he thought.

"It's not too late..." she trailed off, as if she had read his mind.

As if her sleeping words had pierced his soul, he gasped for air. Quickly he turned back towards her. Her eyes remained closed and she was still asleep. In that brief moment, he felt feelings that had been buried inside for so long. He felt love. He felt hope. The moment, however, was fleeting. As if the door had been slammed shut, the feelings left him. He closed his eyes and tried to bring them back. They would not come. He exited the room as silently as he had entered it. In her sleep, a silent tear flowed down Diana's face.