And it did. Summer was in full bloom around them, but the morning rose with a heavy, damp fog. It muffled all sounds – even the breakfast bell sounded distant. Bryanne wore the cloak she had been sewing the day before over her dress, and she and Lancelot made their way across the hushed courtyard to the hall. Breakfast was a simple affair, and the haggard faces told her that the other knights had continued 'celebrating' long into the night. Arthur smirked with her as they caught each other's eye. He, at least, looked none the worse for wear. There was a rapid knock at the door, and, before Arthur could summon them, Jols burst in.

"Arthur. They call for you. There's been an attack…" He didn't finish as Arthur swept from the hall.

"Bloody woads, can't they leave us to rest for one sodding day?" Bors grumbled. "Sorry, Bryanne. No harm meant."

"No offence taken." She answered quietly, looking to Lancelot. Secretly, she prayed he wouldn't go, but knew that he would never abandon Arthur. He managed a tight smile, but stared at his plate, the food barely touched, until Arthur came back. Without a word, Bryanne stood and left, as too did Lorella, cradling her baby. They waited in the courtyard until the knights came out and met them. Tristan stalked past without a word, and mounted his horse, releasing his hawk, before cantering out of the courtyard. Gawain, checking his saddle bags, was the only one to offer an explanation.

"A Roman noble was ambushed and slaughtered East and South of here. The guards with him claim that the woads are still nearby, and so have asked for us to make a safe passage." Lorella grumbled under her breath about there being no point, what with the noble dead, and besides, the guards should be able to handle themselves. Lancelot approached Bryanne.

"There is a family there. We'll be back soon, I promise." She nodded, and he kissed her on the forehead before mounting Solmyr and digging his legs into the stallion's side. "Ya!" He cried, and the knights followed Arthur away into the fog. Bryanne followed her inside, shaking the dew from her hair, and seating herself wearily in Lorella's room. Another long, nervous wait.

Lancelot rode beside Arthur, in silence, his brooding face telling all. Arthur sighed guiltily, and his friend looked at him.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Today should have been just you and her."

"It isn't your fault." Lancelot shrugged it off, and stared forwards again. "Just make sure we get back soon." Arthur laughed.

"You'll do that yourself, I'm sure." Lancelot grinned wickedly, before kicking Solmyr into a gallop. Arthur, eager for the challenge, followed suit, until the still air rang with seven horse's hooves and the whoops and yells of exultant knights. The shouts died on their lips as they came upon the caravan they were sent to protect. A wheel had been caught in a rut and some of the spokes had splintered. Arrows were dug in the wood of the van, and uneasy horses of the guards snickered and pranced at the sudden appearance of the knights. A guard stood up, sword unsheathed, unprepared for the intrusion.

"Who goes there?" He demanded.

"Arthur and his knights, from the Great Wall."

"Lower you weapons." He instructed the other guards, who had also leapt to your feet. "Thank God you've come Arthur, we can here those devils all about, but with this fog, we can't do a thing." Arthur dismounted.

"The family?" He queried. The guard indicated the van.

"Inside. They're terrified. My lord is dead and one of the servants too. The boy is injured, I think, but not so bad as to worry." Arthur opened the door to the caravan, counting three servants, a woman, a son and two daughters.

"Get them out and make sure you surround them for protection. Bors, lift this van out of the rut. Tristan, I trust you can find some wood to replace these broken spokes." Tristan nodded, and trotted away into the gloom, whilst Bors, Dagonet, Lancelot and Arthur lifted the now empty van out of the ground onto a steadier platform. Using swords and wooden pegs, they managed to fashion boles to replace the spokes, and fit them temporarily to the caravan. "It'll hold until we get to the wall, where you can get a replacement wheel". Arthur told the guards. "Surround the van when we're moving, my knights and will cover you." Gawain, Galahad and Bors were sent to back of the file whilst Dagonet and Lancelot rose with Arthur at the front, and Tristan kept a little way ahead, to be look-out. The sun had risen high now, and the fog was already thinning.

The wall loomed suddenly before them, and the road carved itself into a better trodden highway. Lamps flickered down either side of the road, but the fog had long been burnt away by the sun. Lancelot looked at Arthur, who simply nodded. Lancelot kicked Solmyr into a gallop once more, and thundered past Tristan, who shook his head at the impish antics. Bryanne had taken to her favourite spot in the paddock, and Lancelot quickly found her there, vaulting over the fence and landing with a thud next to her. After her initial shock, Bryanne laughed, a playfully pushed him away.

"You're a devil! Frightening a delicate woman!"

"Delicate!" He scoffed, but prevented her retort by kissing her fiercely, pressing her into the grass that was still damp.

"You were only gone a day." She laughed breathlessly, trying without success to push him off. He rolled away onto his back, legs and arms sprawled out and head tilted to the sun.

"But it felt like a lifetime."

"You are dramatic." She turned onto her belly and rested her chin on his chest, looking at him through lovingly scathing eyes.

"No." He looked down at her, and ran his fingers through the loose bit of hair that escaped her braid. "Just in love." Bryanne sat up, hugging her knees, frowning thoughtfully.

"That's just it though." She announced. "We've known each other just over four months… is that enough to love?"

"You tell me. I know what I feel is love. What is it you feel?" The woad paused, her breath shallow.

"Love." She whispered, and felt a sting of tears.

"Hey…" He comforted when he saw her cry, sitting up and pulling her close, his arms around her shoulders. She buried her head into his neck, feeling the cold metal of his breastplate against her cheek. "Sh, now." He laughed softly. "What is it you're scared of, hm?" She pulled away and looked at him right in the eyes, searching for something, desperately, hoping fiercely that she'd find it. She felt drowned by what she saw there.

"You." he replied hoarsely. "I'm scared of this…" She pointed to her stomach. "And I'm scared of this." She waved to encompass the Wall.

"Why?"

"Because God took it all from me once, why couldn't he take it from me again?" She sobbed. Lancelot was stunned. He fumbled for words, but found none. He pulled her close again, in the hope to help her find some safety.

"It sounds like you really have faith." He mocked.

"I believe in Him, Lancelot, but sometimes I find it hard to have faith. It's not easy to trust someone who has given you a family and taken it, and given you a home and taken it." She looked desolately at him. "Why should He not take you, as well?"

"Because I won't let Him." Lancelot replied fiercely. "In His eyes, I am a pagan… and therefore He cannot reach me. He cannot decide my destiny." Bryanne nodded, a nod that wished she could believe him, but somewhere she did not truly think so. "I love you, Anne. Can that be enough?" She clasped his head in her hands and smiled.

"That is all I will ever need." She gathered her skirts in her hands and stood. "Just say it to me everyday for the rest of our lives, and I will be happy." Lancelot stood, amused, and ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms until he clasped her fingers.

"I shall say it to you a thousand times a day, and you shall be ecstatic!" Her laughter sounded so pure that whenever he thought back on it afterwards, it still gave him shivers. She sprang away, feet flying over the grass across the paddock and to the wide fields beyond.

"Ecstasy is reached only in heaven, Lancelot!"

"Then let me take you there!" He shouted back, darting after her, her voice ringing in his ears like a song...

It was a comfort to talk to him. Arthur's voice was soothing, and his words were full of wisdom. He was like a warm fire after coming in from the winter cold. Bryanne smiled at him as he spoke, and his face lit up with a return curl in his mouth.

"You are the mystery, Arthur!" She said, after he had told her how ambiguous he found her for the hundredth time.

"How so?" He asked indignantly.

"You are a man of peace, and a man of freedom and free will." She leant her chin on her hand and cocked her head to look him closely. "And yet… you kill your own people. And your knights, they are neither free, nor have a will of their own. They are bound to you by duty. How can you say one thing and do another?"

"I am not a barbarian, or monster." Arthur answered hotly.

"No." her voice was slow, calculating. "Because, though you are so determined to see us all dead, you also save us. Like you saved me… and Genna. So you see, you confound me yet again, Sir." He smiled and shrugged. It had been a question that had plagued him in his dreams for years. He had never heard it spoken before. Why did he kill them, and yet save them? Was it his Roman half and British half fighting?

"I do not like to be an easy person to read." He gave in answer. "You know," at this, he leant forward as if revealing a secret, "a very wise man told me that some people had to give up their free will, so that others may live in peace and freedom."

"Is this what your knights are doing?" He pouted.

"Yes. In some ways."

"This man, he sounds very clever indeed."

"He is."

"Where is he now?"

"Rome."

"Ah." Bryanne sighed, sitting back and lowering her eyelids to hide her true feelings. "He is a Roman."

"I am a Roman, and I am not so evil. Not all Romans are evil."

"No, but contrarily, you are half Briton. Does it not ever occur to you that it is that half that fights for freedom – that saves those people you spare?" She rose from her seat, bowing her head to take her leave. "So, you see, you are only half evil." He laughed as she walked away, leaning back in his chair. "Arthur?" She paused.

"Yes."

"What is his name? This wise man?"

"Palagius." He answered, smiling fondly at the name. Bryanne nodded.

"Perhaps, if he were to come to Briton, I will meet him. Maybe he is only half evil too." With that, she left, and Arthur chuckled to himself at the simplicity of her words; the truth so openly and accurately spoken. Half evil… a man of God would never be evil. But himself… he wondered. Which half was evil? His father's or his mother's? It was a question that was not to be answered for years to come.