Disclaimer: Okay, Bruckheimer owns his version of King Arthur. And I own mine. But I admit, I was clearly influenced by the movie. So…kill me. :)

Author's Note: This story shouldn't be too long. It just covers Skye's past and journey to Hadrian's wall.

Chapter One

Grandfather used to tell me I could do anything I set my mind to. After I lost my sight, he took to quoting scripture every time I gritted my teeth and did the impossible.

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Thought outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all."

But Grandfather's favorite part was the last verse. "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

For what is unseen…

Yeah.

Cadfael left. He left early one morning, and never told me. Father said he'd left because he was angry. He was angry at God for withdrawing, from me, the greatest revelation He'd granted humankind. Father said Cadfael was traveling to Rome, seeking some cure for me. But I know he just couldn't bear to be around me anymore. The knowledge that he was partly responsible for my blindness wore on him day by day.

Maybe he felt better running, pretending to himself that it was going to mend everything.

Sure it would.

I did learn to fight, though. Cadfael may have not believed in me, but I knew my Grandfather did. He patiently helped me to relearn all the techniques that had grown rusty over the many months of rehabilitation. He taught me to use the bow—and be able to hit my target by just listening. Because I wouldn't be able to see an opponent's moves, we mostly stuck to things I could do on horseback and with a bow. But in case I ever got "grounded" as my Father called it, Grandfather taught me to fight with not one, not two, but three knives. I got to the point if I could throw it, shoot it, or punch it, I could kill it.

But of course, my skills were never tested. And my abilities were never needed. That was made clear from the beginning.

So things really hadn't changed after all.

Everyone told me Marion was ugly. A mix between a shepherd and some mangy wild dog that had come up out of the swamplands. The portrayal always reminded me of Moses. Coming up out of Egypt. Out of slavery. Out of bondage.

I liked to imagine Marion was a wolf. He was gray, people said, and I could certainly feel for myself that he was tall and broad and muscular. His hair was coarse and often stood up on end. Particularly on dark, rainy days. Then it would frequently be accompanied by a growl or two. I never did find out what he rumbled at, but my faithful mare, Niwliog, never seemed upset, so I kept cool myself.

After my grandfather died, I took over watching his herd of sheep. I guess nobody ever considered me able to do or be anything above a shepherdess.

Sheep are stupid creatures. Wherever one goes, the others will follow. Marion kept them together and I directed them to the best pastures. I got to know the land by the hills. The largest one was close to our village. Farther on, the hills smoothed out and began to feel the same. But I never worried about becoming lost, though I couldn't see where I was. Marion always nipped the sheep and herded them after us while Niwliog led the way home.

One year later

There was a light mist falling and dampening the sheep's woolly fleeces as Marion, Niwliog and I made our way past the "big hill". The jingling of the bell on the ram's collar sounded on my left and I smiled. Deme was the most well behaved ram I'd ever met. He even let me touch his nose from time to time. And he never charged me.

Marion suddenly let out a low growl and I heard the soft padding of his paws stop. I could sense his hair rising along the ridge of his back. I reached down and touched the handle of my knife for comfort.

Then Niwliog suddenly perked up, coming suddenly to a halt. I turned my head to the side as I listened. I heard Marion dash off to stop the sheep, still growling deep in his throat. I touched Niwliog's shoulder and could feel that her muscles were tense. I frowned. There was something wrong. I pulled out my bow from behind the saddle and listened once more.

Then I heard it. Hoofbeats. They weren't coming fast, rather at a steady clip-clop, clip-clop. As they drew closer, Niwliog exhaled and relaxed a little. I let out a breath of relief. They weren't too threatening then. Even before my blindness, I'd noticed that Niwliog had a keen sense of right and wrong situations. She'd been the one to alert us to the woad that had been trailing us on That Day…

The hoofbeats stopped about ten feet away. I could tell it was more than three riders and my heart started beating faster again.

"What do you want?" I demanded. Such was my most common greeting when anyone approached me nowadays.

"M'lady, we are seeking Dewey of the Eirans. We heard he resides in these parts."

"Why?" It wasn't a question. It was a mandate for an explanation.

"We heard that his people were recently attacked by a large band of woads. We need information in order to prevent another massacre."

So that was what had happened! I felt my cheeks drain of color as I realized that the shouts I'd heard from the village the other day had not been from joyous children. I'd wondered when Niwliog had refused to venture back beyond the big hill. She had balked for nearly two hours before suddenly conceding and heading home. When we'd arrived, it had been so silent. I could tell something was wrong, but nobody would answer my pleas as to what had happened.

I felt my throat constrict as I realized they'd lied to me. Indirectly of course. People never did it on purpose. They just took advantage of my blindness.

"M'lady?"

"I'll take you to him. He's my father."

I felt one of the riders studying me. I couldn't tell which one, but my strong sixth sense provided me with the opportunity to throw a glare in that direction.

"What are you looking at?"

He said nothing, but I could tell he'd turned his gaze.

I kicked Niwliog into a gallop as we headed toward my village. I couldn't smother a smile when I realized the others were hard put to keep up. I could still outride anyone I knew. At least that hadn't changed.

Note: Scripture quoted is 2nd Corinthians 4:18