Again, thank you for all my lovely reviews!

Camreyn-OK, the next two girls will appear in the fifth chapter and maybe one of them in the fourth, I haven't decided yet.

Chiefhow-Yeah, I am the girl with the iron stomach! The torture aspect was the thing I actually had fun writing...I like being cruel to my characters (and my sibling). Congratulations on your Rebekah of the Woads fic, it's really good. Originally, in mine, there were only three charactars, but I changed it so it didn't end up like yours. I didn't feel like I wanted to follow your story!

ElvenStar5-Thanks! I hope that you like this chapter as well.

slightly-psychotic-I'll write in more romance as we go along, and hopefully, a bit more action. I prefer that to romance really, but it didn't work any other way.

Le Fay-Thanks! You think that this is the best one you've read so far based on two chapters? Damn, I'm good... (joke!)

WarAdmiral-Well, I have a few more surprises up my sleeve...

I have about 20 pages of this stuff, equal to about 9,300 words, but I'm a little behind, so be patient with me. I'll try to stick to schedule (every other day, at least) but

You know the process; read and review. If you have any ideas about where you want this to go, please put them in your review, and I'll try and add them in.

Blessed Be

ChiaraStorm

Chapter III: Trust

The knights stood by respectfully, watching the Woad woman sob. Suddenly, the hawk sitting on the leather glove of the braided man flew away and landed on Aibhilín's shoulder. She felt the feel of its talons through the ragged fabric of her robe, but it was a good feeling. It was good to feel things other than pain.

The hawk then flew over near to Guinevere's body. It looked at her quizzically through its small, amber coloured eyes, and for a moment Aibhilín felt comforted by its presence. The bird then landed on Guinevere's stiff pale face, and scratched her with its talon, leaving a vivid red mark on her cheek. The knight made to come forward and collect his bird, but before he reached there Guinevere drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

"Bloody hell" one of the knights swore.

Aibhilín gasped in disbelief, and started crying again-but this time from happiness. She clumsily picked up the waterskin and quenched her sister's thirst. Guinevere drank, nearly collapsing with the effort. Every breath was laboured, but she was not stopping, if anything, she was getting stronger. "Sister" she breathed.

Aibhilín put her arms around Guinevere again tightly, as if to stop her going away from her again. Guinevere gave a small, repressed shriek as she started to open her eyes to the sunlight. Aibhilín placed a cool hand over them, shielding them carefully.

"Let her breathe" one of the knights said, placing a gentle hand on Aibhilín's shoulder. He sat her down and placed a hand on Guinevere's forehead. "No fever" he murmured. One of the other knights turned to Aibhilín.

"I am Galahad; this is Tristan, Lancelot and Bors. The one with the boy is Dagonet and the one with your sister is Gawain" one of the knights introduced everyone. He did not need to introduce Arthur. "Who are you?"

"We are Guinevere and Aibhilín" Aibhilín said, motioning towards her sick sister and then herself.

"You are not from around here" Tristan said softly.

"No" Aibhilín replied guardedly. She had been taught as a child that knowledge is power. Give a potential enemy any information about you and they can use it against you. If she had not been asked, she would not have even told them her name. She could see herself getting forced into giving up information, so she changed the subject. "What is that noise?"

"Saxons" Lancelot said. He was the other knight who had pulled her out of the dungeon. "They are close. We must be going soon"

"My sister cannot ride, and-" Aibhilín touched her foot tenderly. "-neither can I"

"You and your sister can ride in the wagon" Aibhilín bit her tongue, as usually she would have argued such a point. However, she was in no state to walk. She started to struggle to her feet, and Lancelot picked her up. She settled into his arms comfortably, feeling the rings of his armour beneath her tattered shift. He carried her silently to the wagon, and gently put her down on a pile of rags. It was then that she still realised that she was still wearing the cloak. She meant to ask Lancelot whose it was, but then Galahad brought Guinevere into the wagon. Aibhilín forgot and fussed over her sister, making sure that she was comfortable. Finally, she fell back against the pallet of rags and slept as soon as her eyes closed.

Aibhilín woke up to pain, more pain. For a nostalgic second, she felt that the last day had been a dream, and she was back in her cell. She expected to see what she saw every morning; the wall opposite her bed, with its pattern of mould and dank climbing upwards. Instead she saw a knight in armour, fussing about her feet. An unnatural pain ripped through them, and she let out a small cry in protest.

The knight looked up. "I am sorry, my lady" He sat down. "We believed that it would be best to administer cauterising rods to your feet when you were unconscious rather than awake. We thought that it would be less painful".

Aibhilín looked at her feet. The wounds, which yesterday were open and oozing pus and blood were burnt and sealed together. She knew that it was for the best, and that soon she would be able to run. She gave a small nod of her approval.

"I must seal your back now, lady" Aibhilín turned over onto her back, with a sheet covering her legs. The knight passed her a leather strap, and she bit on it, and steeled herself in anticipation of what would come. She knew that she only had four holes on her back, and they would not take long to seal. She clamped onto the strap, her eyes raging with power and determination.

Suddenly, she saw the knife sail through the air and land in the snow outside. She could feel the knight's carefully concealed surprise, and she knew what had happened.

"I knew it!" Guinevere blazed. She pulled up a dagger and held it to his throat. "How dare you harm us! How dare you touch my sister!"

"Sister, they are helping us" Aibhilín said calmly. She of all people knew how to handle Guinevere. "He was healing me"

Guinevere looked into her sisters eyes, looking for a lie. When she found none, she slowly let the dagger drop. The knight seemed amused. "Your last wound is not deep, it should not need burning"

"Thank you, Artorius" Aibhilín said, using his Roman name.

He flinched a little. "In this country I am Arthur"

Aibhilín did not press it. He came and took her hand, examining it with skill, whilst Guinevere watched with distrustful eyes.

"Some of these fingers are out of place" he said, pressing down on her knuckles so gently that Aibhilín did not feel it. "I will have to reset, or you will lose the use of your hand"

Aibhilín nodded, and steeled herself against the pain. A sharp, severe pain shocked her hand, and she could not suppress an involuntary cry. The distrustful look left Guinevere's face, and instead she went to her sister and took her hand.

Arthur sat back, and watched her flex her fingers. "Thank you" she said sincerely. He held out his hand to Guinevere. "Do you wish to be healed as well, lady?"

After a pause, Guinevere nodded. She let him reset her fingers, and she too cried out. She slumped against Arthur "They tortured us...with machines" she whispered. "They made us tell them things we did not know to begin with"

Aibhilín nodded a little, her mind still in that dark and dank dungeon. She kept her tongue firmly latched though. Guinevere was not cautious enough sometimes. She made a small secret motion that told Guinevere to stop talking. Her sister shot her a sharp glance, that Aibhilín felt that Arthur did not miss. He reset her sister's fingers silently, and left without another word. As soon as he was gone, Guinevere sat next to her sister.

"What do you think of them?" she asked in the Celtic tongue.

Aibhilín considered this carefully. "I think that Arthur is a good leader and a strong man, but I don't trust the others. I think that we have no significance to them"

"They are as much prisoners as us, I could see it in their eyes" Guinevere observed.

Losing interest in the conversation, Aibhilín looked out of the wooden wagon, its sides covered with cloth. She let out a small cry of surprise. "Honorius and Valnoria are here!"

Guinevere scrambled over as best she could. "Why?"

Aibhilín looked to the nearest knight, the one who had pulled her out of the dungeon. "Why are they here?" she said, pointing.

The curly haired knight turned to look at the noble Roman family. "A Roman bishop sent us here to rescue them from the Saxons" A small flicker of disgust crossed his face, and Aibhilín repressed a smile. It was clear that there were others who detested the Romans.

"Why do you fight for a country not your own?" she asked quietly.

Lancelot looked at Aibhilín closely. She was very perceptive, and her clear green eyes were intense. He did not feel like he could lie to her. "I am made to. We all are. We should be free men by now"

Aibhilín nodded, and would have talked more, but the cold snow made her shiver, and Guinevere pulled her in. "You frown upon me for talking to Arthur, yet you freely converse with a knight!" she hissed in the Celtic tongue.

"He does not wish to fight for Rome"

"Still, if Dauídh thinks that your loyalties are wavering..."

Aibhilín reached for her dagger. She did not unsheathe it, merely closed her hand over it in a massive gesture that Guinevere did not miss. "Don't doubt my loyalties" she said deliberately, with no sign of the anger that closed about her throat.

Guinevere stared out of the wagon, towards the mountains. "We must speak to him" she said very quietly, just a breath on the air. "We must get him to Dauídh"

Aibhilín nodded. "How?"

"I have an idea..."

Arthur rode his horse close to the wagon, his mind full of thoughts. He was pulled out of them when he felt someone's eyes on him. He turned around and saw Guinevere leaning against the side of the wagon.

"My father told me great tales of you" she said in a rich voice that was tinged with amusement.

"Really?" he asked uninterestedly. "And what did you hear?"

"Fairy tales. The kind you hear about people so brave, so selfless, that they can't be real. Arthur and his knights. A leader both Briton and Roman. And yet, you chose your allegiance to Rome, to those who take what does not belong to them. That same Rome that took your men from their homeland" Guinevere dove deeper into the conversation, still in her playful way.

"Listen, lady. Do not pretend you know anything about me or my men".

"How many Britons have you killed?" she asked, seemingly casually, but her eyes were still fixated on him.

"As many as tried to kill me. It's the natural state of any man to want to live.

"Animals live. It's the natural state of any man to want to live free... in their own country. I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?"

Arthur was silent, but quickly said something so his silence was not interpreted as weakness

"How's your hand?"

"I'll live, I promise you. Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart?" Guinevere knew that she was unsettling him, and she was glad. This man needed to remember where he came from. "Your own father married a Briton. Even he must have found something to his liking"

"Do not talk of my father" Arthur snapped. Guinevere began to see the cracks in his mask.

"Is he dead?"

Arthur nodded.

"He died in battle?"

"It's a family tradition" he snapped at her. Taking that as her cue, Guinevere withdrew into the wagon, full of new knowledge.

Aibhilín let herself be led off by Valnoria, into a different wagon. She did not fear this weak Roman matron and she understood the woman's struggle between duty and compassion. She wished to help the prisoners, but it was suicide to disobey her husband. Aibhilín's mind, however, was full of more than Valnoria. She was still inwardly fuming with Guinevere. She could not believe that her own sister would accuse her of breaking her blood allegiance to their people. And yet...the whole idea swirled around her brain ceaselessly, playing on Aibhilín's own fears. If she was asked to kill these men, could she? Would she? Should she? It was all out of her hands, and she did not like this feeling of powerlessness. She was restless and aching and sore. She had to find some relief.

Valnoria settled her in a tub of melted snow and started cleaning the blood off her back and out of her hair. Aibhilín could feel the disgust in her touch as she traced the blue tattoo designs on her back. Aibhilín closed her eyes, and relaxed into herself. She had to let go of all the confusion, and accept that fate was not always up to her. She also had to let go of her anger with Guinevere. In the tribe, whenever they quarrelled, Aibhilín would go and brood in the forest, then find her friends and let them put her in a better humour. When she was happy, she would find her sister and apologise. In fact, by now she didn't even go to the forest. She just let Leofwen and Ealusaid amuse and sympathise with her, and she would be glad to make up with Guinevere. But they were gone, maybe to their deaths, and all that Aibhilín had left was her sister. They had to stay united, or they would fall and fail.

She opened her eyes slowly and saw a figure watching her through the filmy cloth that surrounded the wagon. In the lamplight he appeared only in a shadow, a silhouette. It was only the eyes, the dark shining eyes that gave him away. She'd seen those eyes before, and she'd seen that soul before. Her clear green eyes raked his, and she saw everything that he was feeling. It was good. She delved deeper, until she found what she was hunting for...

Valnoria moved in front of her to clean some of the wounds on her arm and blocked her view. Aibhilín craned to see around her, but by the time she moved, he was gone, and only a set of footprints in the snow told her that he had ever been there.

Valnoria gave her some clothes to replace her bloody rags; a grey tunic, brown breeches and leather boots. Even as distracted as she was, Aibhilín was glad for the clothes. If she and Guinevere were dressed like knights, it would not be so noticeable when they left the wagon and safety of the knight's guard. She knew now though, that she was being watched for reasons that had less to do with protection and more to do with desire.

She dressed and walked back across the snow to the wagon where Guinevere reclined. It was not natural to either of them to sleep enclosed and within walls, so every night they snuck out to the stars to sleep. It was their lullaby that induced them to sleep. However, they kept up the pretence around the knights from Sarmatia.

Aibhilín moved through the camp, past the knights at the fire and the serfs in a sloppy circle around that. She stopped as she heard her name. "Aibhilín!"

She turned around to see Bors calling to her from the fire. "Have you seen Lancelot? We do not know where he is"

Aibhilín smiled secretly. "No" she lied, adding under her breath. "But I have been seen by him"

This shows more sisterly interaction, but they are definitely warriors! I would kill to hold a knife to my brothers throat sometimes...ah well, I suppose forcing him to watch Charmed (which he detests), and especially drooling over Drew Fuller. He can't understand it, but then again, I would be a touch surprised if he did (lol).

Blessed Be

ChiaraStorm