Too lazy to do any comments on comments ;-;

This chapter is long enough already.

Oh, and if you review, try to answer the questions at the bottom. Some are important :P

And there will most definitely be some Vrena/Tristan scenes in this chapter. –grins evilly-

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Chapter 14- First

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It had been three days her sister had been gone. Well...escaped. Fugitive on the loose. She could take no more of this. Whatever was wrong with her, she was about to end it. Without a doubt, she knew for a fact that she was going mad. Mad like the lonesome women who had lost lovers in battles, like tyrants who had absorbed power like sponges, only to be wrung by the hands of a successor, squeezed dry until their last bit of sanity and life was gone…

Much like Vejha's own.

She had wished her sister dead.

Her own flesh and blood. How could she have done such a thing? What part of her mind was telling her that this was what their mother wanted? The Sarmatians knights at the battle so many years ago…had they not been forced to fight against their will? Dragged from their homes without a choice, such as what happened to her and her sister?

She was a day or more away from Tirth now. She had ridden hard all night, and now thedawn was approaching. She had hoped her sanity would return to her if she tried to catch up with it, but she still felt it: Like she was herself, but under control by something in her mind. As if one thought had power over all the rest.

You hate her. You hate them all. Do what you were born to do, kill them all!

What reasons do I have? All my reasons mean nothing.

Kill them! You hate them! Filthy beings that killed your mother, nearly you and your sister!

Did I not, just three days ago, have my sister sentenced to death by the same men who had attacked our village? What I am doing, what I am thinking, it is all wrong! This has to end!

She gazed over the cliff, down to the forests and valleys below it. A beautiful view…fields of grass covered by the year's snow, trees painted green and white…the sky above was splattered with dark clouds. A storm was heading this way.

Kill them! Kill them all! Find them!

Vejha clapped her hands over her ears, but ended up grabbing her hair instead, and began yanking at it. Screaming in pain and frustration, she let go and punched herself.

What is wrong with me! This is not the answer to my troubles! I have gone mad, dear god…

She felt herself moving closer to the rim of the high tor, overhanging what seemed like the world itself.

Sobbing now, she clawed at her own face, trying to scrape the voice from her head. But it was still ringing loud and clear. My poor sister! I have tortured her so, in ways that she did not deserve!

She deserved it!

May she find peace were I could not…

The top ofVejha's shoe curled over the rocky edge, and she looked down. Forest and trees, miles long…they looked so comfortable, so welcoming…beautiful from the bird's eye view of the earth…

She felt herself tip slowly, her body falling towards nothingness…at first it felt normal, like falling down onto a floor, except the fall did not end, and her body began to feel as if it was being compressed. She wanted to scream in horror, but she couldn't, her lungs would not let her. Her eyes shut tighter and tighter as she braced herself for the wood of the trees, the pricking of the leaves, then soon the other-worldly comfort of the soft dirt.

The fall was not as long as she had expected. She felt the pains rack her body quickly, but instead of looking up at the sky, she was looking at her self…like some odd out of body experience, the kind the priests said were the work of the devil. Was it really the work of some dark demon? Was she a demon? If she got better, would her sister welcome her back into her heart with open arms? She doubted it.

She couldn't feel her body move, and instead of feeling in pain, she felt as if she were pain itself. This pain that filled her entire being…a pain sharp in the back of her mind, as if something had been torn from it, or had disappeared…she could no longer hear the deluding second-consciousness…she felt like Vejha again. The woman who had sent her own sister to her death, being the mad, insane being she was. The pain was disappearing, and she heard a voice, that was not the one she usually heard...

"Vejha, you are my only sister, not my enemy. I loved you so much, why did you betray me?" spoke the faded voice of her sister.

"It was not me! I am still here, Vrena! Can you hear me? I am still awake inside this wretched mind! I think I am better, please, help me!" She cried and sobbed, the pain returning to her body, causing her to convulse sharply on the ground. She felt herself shake violently, her face burning from when she had clawed herself, every limb in her frozen with pain.

She could not hear the voice. She was thinking freely…she felt as if she had woken up from a dream.

Have I escaped madness?

But Vejha's thoughts, her normal feelings and senses coming back to her...all of them. She felt fresh, clean, untouched. Alone.

Then, her shaking dieing down, she gasped a breath, and lay motionless.

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Guinevere had heard the shouts from across the campsite, and retrieved a bow and arrow from a nearby horse –she did not know whose- and ran toward the sounds. Arthur and Lancelot, whom she had been speaking with before the distraction, were behind her, walking quickly- Lancelot unsheathing his twin blades, Arthur resting his hand on the hilt of Excalibur.

When they made it to the scene, at first Guinevere did not know how to react. The boy was being held with a knife at his throat by none other then Marius, and Dagonett was cornered by three mercenaries, all wielding weapons. If anyone made a move, both would die, no matter how strong they were.

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Vrena watched from behind one of the storage wagons only six yards away, as Marius was holding the child Lucan by the neck with a dagger pointed to his throat. Dagonett was surrounded by three of Marius' mercenaries. They were overpowered.

She saw Guinevere from the other side of the crowd; bow brandished, but did not know what to do. Naturally she would shoot the arrow, but then there was a chance she would hit Lucan, not to mention the Mercenaries would go at Dagonett with all their strength.

She watched from the side as Fulcinia ran over to her husband and tried to pry the child from his arms, but Marius immediately pushed her back, and she hit the ground hard, letting out a yelp of pain.

Vrena's blood began to boil and her heart raced. How dare he?

She had had enough. Gripping the bow tighter, she mounted the arrow and aimed for Marius' chest, which was not a bad distance away considering she was coming in from the left. She walked around to the other side of the storage wagon quickly, and prepared to fire.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Bors coming in on his horse, axe wielded in defense. Knowing that he would take care of the mercenaries while she took care of Marius allowed her mind to ease, and she removed her fingers from the hilt of the arrow, letting the string shoot it to its destination. At the same time, she saw another arrow fly from Guinevere's bow, finally getting a good aim at the man as he shifted Lucan in front of him. Not a wise thing to do.

A few gasps were released from the crowd of serfs, and a few stares toward the direction of her arrow, as she stepped out from behind the wagon. Guinevere gave her a grin, and Lancelot shot her a disappointed glare that clearly said 'women steal all the fun' as he slipped the twin blades into their scabbards on his back.

Bors came over a few seconds later, nearly running over one of the Mercenaries.

"Artorius!" He shouted to his commander. But then turned towards the dead Marius, and then aimed his axe towards the direction of one of Marius' guardsmen. "Do we have a problem?" He asked them. Dagonett retrieved his axe as well, now defended against the men.

"You have a choice. You help, or you die." Arthur said as he advanced forward. The mercenaries gave him a panicky look, and they nearly shook with fear, not knowing what to do.

"Put down your weapons. Do it, now!" Yelled the head mercenary as his men dropped their weapons. A man she did not recognize was ordered by Arthur to retrieve them from the ground, and he did so.

Vrena looked to her aunt, who looked a mix of sorrow and joy. She was still clutching her back with her left hand as the right held her off the ground. Vrena quickly moved across the area in between them, walking bluntly overtop Marius' body, pulling out the arrow she had fired.

She would have screamed, but the movement was too fast, she had not seen it coming. Marius, using the last of his strength, grabbed her ankle tightly, his face scrunched and furious. She quickly fastened the arrow she had retrieved from his chest and mounted it to the bow, firing right into his head.

But just as she had done that, another arrow at the same time came from the other side, piercing the right side of Marius' skull. But this arrow was not Guineveres.

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Tristan had not seen a great deal as he neared the camp site. No one had seen him come, but in front of him down the path, he saw the man called Marius holding a knife to a little boys' throat, whom he recognized to be the child Dagonett had retrieved from the dungeon the day before. He watched as a woman from behind a wagon aimed and fired a bow with excellent precision. Studying the woman clothed in a pale-green dress and a familiar cloak draped around her shoulders, he knew immediately who it was as her eyes fixed on her target.

Vrena.

She did not look much dissimilar besides the change in attire, but he noticed that her skin nearly glimmered in the dawning light of the sun, and her hair waved past her shoulders, about to her waist. He had not taken the time to notice these things before, because he had been too preoccupied. He watched as she lowered the bow, she advanced towards her aunt, who was lying on the ground.

The mercenaries belonging to Marius dropped their swords, and it was then that he noticed Dagonett had been cornered. A plan they had definitely schemed, but were unaware of how faulty the idea was.

His senses went on high alert as his eyes wandered to Vrena, who was now walking over the dead body of Marius, pulling out her arrow from his chest, and reacted quickly as the nearly-dead man's hand griped her lower leg hard and tried to throw her down.

Quickly he snatched up his bow and an arrow, firing quickly at the man's head, while Vrena –bless her swift self- fired the arrow she had taken from his body, and caught herself with her hand before she could fall afterwards.

She sent a look in his direction, and their eyes met.

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Tristan. Tristan had returned and seen Marius try to bring her down, and fired at him. Indeed, she had to admit, his aiming was much better then her own.

Their eyes held for a long time, it seemed, and they held the contact even as he lowered his bow and made his way forward, attracting the attention of the other knights.

She noticed some red bleeding through the fabric of his cloak that covered his shoulder, and more staining a cut on his upper arm. He was injured- But she had no idea how badly the shoulder was pierced with his cloak in the way. Her stare of awareness turned into one of worry, and he replied by galloping his horse forward, diverting their eye contact.

"How many did you kill?" Bors asked, also seeing the wound on his arm. She doubted he saw the one on his shoulder, though, because the cloak now covered it entirely.

"Four." He stated plainly.

"Not a bad start to the day." Bors replied as him and a few others laughed. Strange, Marius now dead seemed to brighten their mood instead of taint it. Deciding that she would ask about his wound later,Vrena moved toward Alecto, who had not spoken nor moved since his father had been eradicated.

"Do you hate me now, cousin?" She asked the boy quietly, but he just gave her a cold stare, normal for him. He shook his head, closed his eyes, and then looked back up to her.

"His death does not sadden me, or my mother. Thank you." He spoke and turned around, walking towards his mother, who embraced him weakly.

Vrenastood still for a few minutes, gazing at the ground where Marius had laid dead, but had been moved over into the woods. He would have no proper burial. The ground was stained with his blood, and no one seemed to notice it.

She turned around and headed towards Arvin, who swished his white tail and shook his head in excitement.

She, on the other hand, was not feeling all that thrilled.

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It got colder as they went, and Vrena was happy her hair had dried already. Had it still been wet, she'd be frozen.

They had just started riding off, leaving behind the thick forests and high trees. Being out in the open was not too bad. If there was an attack, the enemy would have to get into range to see you, and then there was nowhere to hide. That could be bad on both parts, sadly. But it was no time for worrying.

She traveled ahead of the caravan along with all seven of the knights, Fulcinia and Lucan riding on the same horse, both tired from walking. The sun rose high in the sky and the snow was falling lightly, though it would eventually stop.

Arthur, who had been speaking with Alecto, rode to the head of the caravan with them; a gloomy expression on his face.

"You look happy." Vrena stated sarcastically. Arthur didn't laugh.

"Same to you." He replied solemnly. It was true, indeed. Vrena had not smiled once since she had killed her uncle. It was her first time killing a human…not once as a Woad child had she brought death to a living being, except maybe an animal for food. Today, she had taken hunting a step further. But that did not upset her, for some reason.

She felt a bit shaken…and confused. Confused about her feelings, about Tristan riding in front of her, her sister, whom she had once loved…Arthur's answer to the Merlin in which he had discussed with Guinevere back at the camp. Everything seemed so foreign all of a sudden, and it made her want to cry out.

Looking to Tristan again, she could see more of the blood stain from his shoulder wound seeping through the cloak. Still bleeding? It has been a long time, probably longer for him. Should it not have stopped now?

Did she dare drag him away from the rest of the knights as they were all around them?

Her old indifferent thoughts began to appear.

Of course.

She rode Arvin ahead and placed him in between Tristan's horse and Galahads. Kicking the scout in the leg once, he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"A word." She said, nudging her head to the side and riding off to the left of the caravan again. The knights who were in front turned around to see their scout again be dragged off by the lady.

When they had disappeared to carry on their conversation near the wagon that held Guinevere, the six –eight, including Lucan and Fulcinia- began to talk amongst one another.

"I wonder what that might turn into." Lancelot laughed.

"I never really imagined Tristan the ladies man…" Gawain chimed in.

"They argue like an old married couple!" Lancelot added, making the others chuckle lightly.

"Indeed, it must run in the family." Said a light-hearted Fulcinia. It was the first time she had spoken since they had traveled from the camp. The nights glanced at her, interested looks in their eyes. Fulcinia blinked.

"Aye, those bits of unanswered questions has been in my head for a while now. She's so beautiful…not the kind of fiery beautiful you see in some of those Woad ladies, but the kind of beauty that reminds you of home…" Gawain rambled on, the other knights grinned at the man being so forward to the elderly woman.

"It should. Half her blood is from your home." Retorted Fulcinia seriously, cradling a tired Lucan in her lap.

"Are you joking, lady?" asked Galahad, an astonished look on his face.

"Oh, for heavens sake, she told you that she was half Woad, what could the other half possibly be! Surely not Roman, I am merely her mother's half-sister, which does not even make us related by much. Never the less, no Roman blood taints her veins." Fulcinia spoke clearly. The men seemed a bit taken back by her change in mood.

"So, she is Sarmatian as well? I'll be damned. Your theory has finally been proven wrong, Bors." Lancelot laughed as Bors made a sour face.

"Well, 's true most of the time."

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When Vrena was sure they would not be heard, she and Tristan rode side by side next to Guinevere's wagon. But at the moment, she did not care if the woman listened in or not. That was her own choice.

Her heart was fluttering quickly in her chest, and she tried as hard as she could not to blush or let chills crawl up her spine. Just being this close to him was making her short of breath. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, until Vrena could finally speak the only thing that came to her mind.

"I'm…sorry." She said, not looking at him, but down at her feet lodged into Arvin's stirrups, and to her hands clasping the reigns.

"I should be the one apologizing. It is not often I argue with anyone." He said, looking over to her once, then back to the world in front of them.

Herself being to his left, she had an excellent view of his injured shoulder, still covered by the cloak. She moved her hand to lift up the fabric covering what she wanted to see, but his hand quickly shot up and grabbed her wrist- not hard, but enough to make her catch her breath.

"Do not. It's only painful if you do." He warned and released his grip.

"If it is painful, you should bandage it."

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"I have dealt with worse."

"Let me see it."

Tristan gave her a look of defeat. He would not argue with her, not so quickly after their last quarrel. He reluctantly allowed her to move the cloak away with her small, thin hands. Her eyes widened, and she gave him another good blow to his lower leg, which was very much in range.

"That's got to be bandaged, you fool! You can't just walk around with-"

"Ride. Ride around with." He corrected her, watching with amusement as her brow creased and she sighed loudly.

"RIDE- around with open wounds such as this!" She finished her sentence. When he didn't retort, she growled in frustration.

"Let me dress it, then. Dagonett left some things in the wagon that I can use, and there is plenty of cloth that Guinevere and Lucan have not used up." She said, her voice becoming quiet and calm once more. He had a choice- he could tell her it was not necessary and ride back up to the other knights, or let her fix his wound. Taking a quick glance at the blood covering his tunic, he decided he should probably listen to her. An infection was possible, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from the air.

They both dismounted their horses and let them wander along-side the wagon. They were smart enough not to run off. Even though the carriage was moving, both of them made it in easily, to find that Guinevere was sleeping peacefully in the corner, covered by at least three blankets.

They were alone.

This would prove interesting...

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It felt so awkward in here with him…but it was probably just her who felt this way. Her heart was beating fast in her body, and as she pulled out one of the long strips of cloth used to wrap wounds, tried to keep herself steady, knowing that he was sitting behind her. But when she looked to see what had been used to clean the wounds of the wagons other occupants, she saw that they had been using merely alcohol. A large bottle of it was sitting next to the rest of the supplies.

Vrena laughed a bit, and turned to face him. He had already taken off the armor and tunic he usually wore overtop, and was now only in the thin leather-like shirt he wore when indoors. She forced away a blush that was threatening to rise to her cheeks as he undid three of the buttons, giving her access to the wounded shoulder.

Seeing it now, she should have whacked him upside the head with the glass bottle for allowing such a thing to go unattended to! Did this man think that he was bloody immortal or something? There was not one, but two deep cuts into his shoulder, most likely from arrows. Saxon arrows.

"Idiot…" She murmured under her breath as she poured some of the alcohol onto a small piece of cloth, soaked it, and then gently applied it to the wounds. She knew as he closed his eyes that it was painful, even for him, but he showed no other signs of hurting besides that.

She dabbed the cloth a few times as a blush rose to her cheeks, heating up her face. No, not good! She quickly removed it and tossed it to the side. She tried to hide her face as she reached over to pick up the long strips of cloth to wrap the wound in. But it was too late, he had noticed.

"You seem uptight." He said, stating the obvious.

"It's been a bad week." She said as calmly as she could, trying to get the red from her face. She lifted up his arm and began to dress the wound so that nothing could possibly get to it. But it was too late to push thoughts from her head now. Her hands started to shake as she tucked one part of the cloth under the other so it would stick, and quickly folded her hands into her lap. She was too close to him. They were nearly an inch apart, she was sure he could hear her quick breaths.

But as she was about to move, a pain struck her throat, and she let out a few violent coughs. She quickly covered her mouth, and afterwards took a gasp for air and tried to calm herself down. But then she began to feel light-headed…and things seemed hotter then before, but it was freezing.

She felt Tristan's strong hand rest on her forehead. It felt soothing, the cold against her hot head. But…hot head? She had not been warm before, what was this about?

"You're warm. Do you feel ill?" He asked, for once looking concerned. His hair swept in front of his face as he shifted in his position on the floor of the carriage. Was she warm from blushing, or was she indeed falling ill? Whatever it was, she did not want to be in this place any longer. But as she went to get up, her knees did not want to move under her weight. Before she could control it, a tear streaked her face, but she rubbed it away. She had to get out, now…

But as she began to turn towards the door, Tristan's strong hand take hold of her wrist again.

"You're not well, you should stay in here." He suggested. Well…it wasn't really a suggestion, more of a command. But no sooner had they both realized how close they were did they hear drums in the distance.

Saxon drums, the beat pounding and throbbing in her head, giving her a headache almost instantly. She looked to the silent scout once again as he quickly put on his tunic and armor, fastening them tight. Guinevere woke up behind them, awareness in her eyes.

"The drums…Saxon drums?" She questioned Vrena, though everyone already knew the answer. The three of them quickly jumped out of the moving wagon, which was now closing in on a long patch of ice. Retrieving their horses, they rode up to the front of the caravan again.

Looking at the large frozen lake, she knew that this was not good. She and Guinevere gave each other worried looks as Arthur turned to Tristan.

"Is there any other way?" He asked his scout, who still remained unemotional and collected, though they could be walking to their death.

"No, we must cross." He answered, and the knights all looked gloomy again. All of themstared at the ice, wondering how thick it was, or how thin it was…

"Get them all out of carriages. Tell them to spread out." Arthur commanded, and the same man from earlier who picked up the weapons of the mercenaries ran off to report to all the townsfolk. If they could make it overtop this, perhaps the Saxon army could not. Those large brutes were dumb enough to break anything, perhaps frozen lakes would count.

Making their way overtop the ice, Vrena glanced at Tristan, who was leading his horse across the cracking ice. It may be cracking, but maybe it would not break under them entirely? But as the drums got louder and louder, and the ice cracked more and more, Arthur spoke up.

"Knights." He gave the silent order. They all knew what he was commanding of them. There was no way they would make it across this ice in time.

"Well, I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my ass is hurting." Bors spoke with true optimism.

"Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway." She heard Tristan say from a few feet away.

"It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket." Gawain said. Vrena laughed despite her sore throat, and chimed in.

"If you don't mind, I'm not leaving the lot of you behind by yourselves. You deal with the armed ones, leave their drummers to me." Vrena said, taking her bow out from Arvin's satchel bag along with a huge bundle of arrows she had carelessly thrown at the bottom. She saw Tristan give her a worried look, but none of them could deny that she was skilled with the bow. If the Saxons came within range, she would simply move back.

"We'll finally get a look at the bastards." Galahad smiled.

"Here. Now." Dagonett said eagerly, already brandishing his axe and bow. Lancelot seemed to be the only one who was disappointed in their situation. He shook his head and took his bow from his horse's bag.

The man whose name she did not know ordered two men behind him to gather up the eight horses to be taken along with the caravan. Vrena pet Arvin's mane one last time before he was dragged away, letting out loud neighs of disapproval. But halfheartedly he trotted on, following the lead of the man who had taken him.

"Ganis, I need you to lead the people. The main Saxon army is inland so if you track the coastline until you're well south of the wall, you'll be safe." Said Arthur to another man behind him.

"You'reeight against two hundred!" He yelled back to the Roman commander, shocked at how willingly they were defying the laws of nature. To him, they were doomed. To them, the Saxons were doomed. It all depended on whose eyes you were looking through.

"Nine. You could use another bow." Said Guinevere, who marched up to stand beside Vrena. They both smiled. It was now seven men and two women, nine all together. Arthur told the mercenaries from earlier that the man named Ganis was to be their temporary leader. Vrena prayed that they would not try anything stupid.

They all watched as the entire caravan, excluding them, disappeared behind the frozen hills to the right. The little boy Lucan waved to Dagonett sadly, and was soon out of sight. The Saxon drums were just around the hill now. Untying the string around her arrows, she was -for the first time in her life- ready to kill for a good reason.

"You'll keep your promise to kill those damn drummers, right?" Gawain yelled to her from further down the line. Vrena smiled, and could see from the corner of her eye that Tristan had smiled as well, along with the others.

"Count on it."

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Whoa…I think this is the longest chapter I've written so far! And there was fluff! Goody goody fluff :D

Hope you guys enjoyed it. Questions: Did I screw up at all? Do you all hate me? Should I allow Vejha to live? Should Dagonett die in the next chapter, or perhaps I can be convinced to find a way around it?

III Cari III