Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.


Scribe Note:

ElvenStar5: Thank you. Your encouragement keeps me motivated.

Winged Seraph: I blush at your praise. Such as we never see an ugly duckling until it is a swan, I did not see this chapter as one of my best, until your feedback. Thank you.

Rowan Dash: I am glad you liked my twist! I want to show Lancelot's complicated mind, yet give him the stubborness inherent in a man who only has himself to rely on. I am glad you have seen him the way I do, in my mind's eye. You have helped me to hold my muse with your reviews. Thank you.

DrewsGirl: You are welcome. Only by opening ourselves to our emotions can we truly communicate our thoughts. I apologize for missing your previous review, and thank you for reading along with my piece. I appreciate your encouragement!

History2: Anxiety is not an easy emotion to sum up with written word and I am glad you see it. Thank you for your review and your kind words.


Chapter 11 : Dawning Confession

The ring of hammer on anvil woke Cerys with a start. She rubbed her eyes and blinked. So early for Hywel to be up and working! She could hear the whoosh of the bellows as his assistant turned up the fire. Then Cerys remembered, frowning.

Ah yes, they men were leaving in two days.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and squinted fuzzily out the window across her rooms, noticing that dawn had not yet crept up over the horizon. She sighed, rose and donned a day dress and light cloak, gathered her tallies, some lambskins with field maps, and headed for the battlements. It was a quiet-enough morning she could perhaps get some work done while she watched the morning greet her. It was small pleasure in the face of the logistical nightmare she now faced.

She would be left with only sixty older men and a handful of the boys not yet fighting age. The women of course would do their part, but it would be a hard slog without the percuarii and lim­itanei to help. Frost would come before they got most of the harvest in, she was sure of that. In her head as she walked, she ran through the crops that could not freeze. They would come in first of course, the millet she could leave a little longer perhaps.

She laughed softly to herself as she realized she had referred to the herdsmen and guards by their Roman titles. Old habits! The Romans were gone, the native people taking over most of the forts and farmlands, but still she thought of this place as Roman. True, many of the Roman settlers had stayed and kept the lifestyle, but it wasn't the same. She chided herself. She must remember to think more like a native Briton, and not like the Roman she was raised as. She was thankful, in a way, that this smaller fort had transferred over to a more Briton way of life than had Vindolanda, which was still run by an older Roman general who had also lent himself to the Saxon defence. The life there was very regimented, and some of the blue-skinned Picts and Northern Celts gathered there chafed under his ideas at times. Here, there was a happy accept­ance of the new order, which meant a much nicer place in which to live day-to-day.

Cerys climbed the stairs next to the wall slowly, the steps still wet with the night's humid con­densation. She could hear the blacksmith in the distance, and could see the men in the stores moving barrels and sacks about, breath as they spoke rising quietly in the early morning air. She thought on how they would be working non-stop from now until they left. So much was needed to feed and arm 350 men for a month! Nothing would be wasted. She made note that she needed to speak with Ganis later about wheel grease. She needed a few drops for the cooking spits, and would want to get that before he began working on the wagons.

Cerys sat for a moment, once settled, with her chin in her hands and back to the wall, watching the horizon. Her thoughts immediately turned to her knights. Last night had been such a nice night, a quiet dinner with Lancelot and then happy banter in the common with the rest of the men. Bors and Lorina's newest baby had passed from man to man, all cooing like doe-eyed fools, while small fingers reached out to grab long braids and beards. How strong warriors turned to mush when presented with a small bundle of joy! Lorina and she had laughed at that, teasing them mercilessly. Even Lancelot had spent time with the baby, which was unusual for him. She had watched him play with the baby, rested against his chest, letting the child grab at his fingers and drool on his tunic. Cerys had felt odd watching him with the child, and strangely drawn at the same time. He had looked... right, with that baby in his arms.

Cerys yawned and glanced to her lambskins. Six fields of flax, not enough to put some away for cooking. All would have to be spun for linen. She began notching one for each field in the flax tally. She would have to ride out and check on the readiness for each field to be brought in soon.

Cerys' thoughts unconsciously turned back to Lancelot. Lancelot... What had happened with him? She noticed last night that he was acting a bit strangely, assuming his thoughts were to preparations, his own gear to pack. He had seemed nervous about something. She scratched an insect bite on her arm absently, and felt her shoulders warm from the memory of his arm around her, their calm companionship. It had been comforting having him with her last night. It felt nice to just sit and talk, share food, laugh. She knew these strange feelings she had around him were making her a bit self-conscious, and she had tried to ignore them, without much success. She had pushed them out of her head so many times she had lost count. Thank goodness that business of their kiss in the baths was resolved! She would hate for anything to come between them after so long together in friendship, especially something as silly as misinterpreted instincts on his part.

She needed some time off, perchance she was getting a bit tired and it was making her more vulnerable for company, feeling lonely.

Once winter came she could take some time inside, perhaps she would ask Arthur for one of his Latin books and she could get him to teach her more reading. She could read some Latin, but it was rough. She could do to learn more, and be able to write lists instead of making notches on countless sticks of wood.

A footstep on the stairs made her look up and Tristan's eyes met hers as he ascended. He made his way over to her and sat down, a handful of nuts and some cheese in his hand. He chewed slowly, handing her an almond. How had he gotten almonds? She wondered as she sucked slow­ly on it, moving it around in her cheek to savour the sweetness. The kitchen girls could never say no to the knights, they were all complete flirts.

He was shuffling through her maps, glancing at them, his eyes roving the names. He couldn't read, but he scanned the words anyways, and she smiled. This winter perhaps she could teach him reading as she learned more herself. Tristan would enjoy reading; such a quiet pastime would please him.

"Linum." She said, pointing to one of the larger flax fields. He nodded. He pursed his lips and fur­rowed his brow. He pointed to another word.

"Tr…Tri..." He said softly, "Tri-t-i-cum."

She smiled and nodded. He looked up to her again and he too smiled slightly. He put the maps down and looked out to the horizon again, hands clasped in front of him now. She could sense he wanted to talk this morning, which was rare.

"Hywel woke you as well?"

He nodded. She patted his arm and picked up another tally, to begin making notches for the wheat fields he had just identified. She would need ten notches for each of those fields. Her tongue protruded out of corner of her mouth as she worked, and waited for him to get whatever it was he wanted to talk about out of his head and onto his lips. She had time.

"You were... upset yesterday." He said, twisting his fingers together.

She stopped her knife and nodded. She had not realized that he had noticed her mood yesterday during counsel.

"I don't want the men to leave. It leaves me with no one to bring in harvest except old men and boys. It was a momentary panic."

He nodded, turning his head to look at her. "There's more."

She sighed. Tristan could see through her so easily, she should know better by now.

"I am not looking forward to having you and the men gone again. You have just returned home. I miss you when you go. I feel... vulnerable."

His gaze was calm and level with her, his eyes this morning a cloudy grey-blue. "And Lance­lot?"

She looked quizzically at him. "Of course! I will miss him as well... All of you..."

"You were upset with him when we hunted. You have resolved it?"

She nodded. Nothing slipped past this man, did it?

"Yes."

They sat a few more moments in silence. The sun was peeking up, turning grey to colour. A group of sparrows flitted along, shadows in front of the sky. Tristan watched them fly, turning left and right in unison, their singing quick and sharp. Cerys closed her eyes a moment and lis­tened. Such peace she could find in this place, amid the chaos of her duties. She treasured quiet moments, when she could fit them in.

"Rain's coming." He said quietly.

When she opened her eyes again he was gone, quietly slipping away. She smiled fondly. She would have to make sure she packed some nuts into his saddle bags before he rode out tomorrow morning. If nothing else, Isaac would be happy for the treat.


Dear Reader:

Tristan sees more than he lets on, and Cerys knows this. Their bond allows him to see her, and her to understand him. She cannot hide from him! Sometimes words are not needed to give comfort and understanding, and they have mastered that communication skill.

Thank you for reading along with me, as I endeavour to bring the knights and their relationships to life. I bid your sunrises are as open as Cerys with Tristan.

Cardeia