Disclaimer: I own nobody by the characterizations of Bedivere, Lamorak, Percival, and Kay (now 'Cai'). I would like to obtain the rights to the knights of 'King Arthur', but sadly that would be near impossible.

Author: Boadicea

Rating: PG-13 (some references)
Summary: When searching Sarmatians, what is noted above all is their history of warrior women. I am surprised, and slightly appalled, that they made no mention of this in the movie 'King Arthur', so I did. Happy day! I actually decided to add on to the one-shot! It's kind of a small back story; there might be a few of these. Tell me how I did!

Brothers

For some time we traveled in silence, but a young man, about my age, rode up beside me. "My name's Percival," the stout blonde said, he was my height, and I had been tall for a girl, "what's yours?"

"Bedivere." I replied quickly, keeping my head down.

The boy turned to me in curiosity. "That was my uncle's name. I'm coming to join my brother; he went to Rome only a year ago."

I smiled tentatively. "That's nice."

"You look famished." Percival said and then brought out a pouch. "I have some dried meat if you'd like it."

"Thank you." I agreed shyly, taking the pouch he handed me.

"I caught the boar." Percival said proudly. "My mother smoked and dried it for me."

'Lazy little twit' I thought, but the smell of the jerky was wonderful. I took one piece and couldn't help but take a few more. "It's good, isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied through a mouthful and handed him back his jerky, "thanks again."

"Keep it." Percival insisted with a smile. "You need it more than I."

I glanced over my shoulder, my home now out of sight. Guilt swept over me for keeping the food and when I tried to swallow, it lodged in my throat. There is something to be said about boys and girls: they are more alike than they wish to believe. It is when you are aware of the distinctions there is a rift, but when you are embraced, as a true equal, without any trace of difference, that is when you are truly a person. I was like every other boy, a little small and perhaps slightly more fragile, but that was overlooked.

Being accepted as a boy, I grew stronger and I began to retain a form, though I grew very careful of it. When we arrived at the camp, there were many other boys there, some who arrived at the same time as myself, while others had been there for years. The camp was in a place called Britannia, a rainy island far from Sarmatia.

Upon arrival we were instantly given 'sparring' partners (boys we'd fight against to gain strength), who would also be our bunkmates. A large officer named Ectorius, with a hulking son named Cassius at his side, announced our partners, boys who had been at the camp for a time.

I received a quiet boy named Tristan, who had been there for only a year in training, but like all boys they had been brought up to fight and survive. Silently, Tristan walked past me, ignoring me and going toward a series of tents. I stood in confusion, watching after him as all the other boys picked up their belongings and off they went. Sighing, I picked up my small pack and followed after Tristan in a huff.

Entering a small tent after Tristan, I waited for a signal, but he only threw himself on a cot and got to sleeping. Annoyed, I threw my things down, making as much noise as possible while going about, tidying things up. Stop that, I told myself, you're acting like a girl. "What are you doing?"

I looked to see Tristan still lying on the cot, annoyingly enough, and he scratched himself without regard. Out of all the things I should have said, I remained civil, noting the dryness in my throat from the jerky. "Where's the nearest spring?

The dark eyed boy saw my discomfort spying me with uncertainty and then tossed me his canteen. I caught it and nodded to him, taking a wary drink. "Thank you."

Tristan turned and buried his face in the pillow. There was something about him I already didn't like.

"Sweet dreams." I grumbled and left the tent only to come face to face with Percival.

"Bedivere—oh good!" Percival said excitedly. "This is my brother Lamorak, and this is Galahad."

"Hello, Lamorak." I nodded the older, thinner version of Percival, and then to Galahad. "Galahad." I turned back to Percival. "Is he your brother, too?"

"No," Percival laughed, "he's only just arrived, like us, but with a different party."

"Percival says you have jerky." Galahad insisted.

"May we have a bit?"

"Certainly." I brought out the pouch. "My stomach isn't much for eating right now."

"What's he doing in there?" Lamorak asked, spying Tristan and then chuckling. "Good old Tristan—oy! Trist! Wake up!"

Let me tell you this, men are pushy, physical in all ways, and incredibly pushy. Some are pushy from the beginning and get pushier towards the end and some become timid when they're older, but they're all pushy. Without even excusing himself, Lamorak shoved me out of the way and went inside, attacking Tristan. "Wake up!" He leapt on the young man without hesitation.

"Go away!" Tristan growled. "You bastard, Lamorak!"

The two broke into an instant brawl. I was terrified—was this how men behaved at all times? "Come on now, Trist!" Lamorak broke free of Tristan's grip on his lovely blonde hair. "You've no time for sleeping, you've got to show Bedivere here around."

"He can find out for himself," Tristan sent a glance in my direction to see my reaction as he stood, helping Lamorak to his feet like a common friend, "you can find your way around here on your own, right, Bedivere?"

I was already furious. "Of course I can."

"Good." Tristan smirked. "I'm going back to bed."

"All right." Lamorak sighed, looking to us. "You may come with us then, Bedivere—if Tristan's going to act like some emperor over there."

At that, Tristan came towards me. "Come on."

I would have rather gone with Lamorak, but was swiftly pulled away by Tristan, who had a firm grip on my collar. Several young men called Tristan's name, saying hellos, but he only waved and moved on. One stopped us, asking my name. "Who's the runt?"

A large boy made his way toward us, another at his side, slightly taller. "Bors, leave the boy alone," he commanded, then looked to Tristan with a smile, "aye, Trist."

Tristan nodded. "Dagonet."

"What's the matter?" Bors growled, coming closer to my face. "Cat got your tongue?"

I frowned at Bors, the smell of his breath atrocious. "You're very rude, you know that?"

At that Bors grew in rage, his pride weakened by my boldness in front of the other two, who now chuckled. "Oh am I, pretty boy?" Bors snapped. "Do you know who you're speaking to?"

I was sick of my treatment amongst these fools. "I don't rightly care."

Suddenly I was on the ground, the left side of my head throbbing—Bors had clapped me one hard enough to send me into the netherworld. Bors came for me again, but one of the boys was quick to stop him. "That's enough Bors, leave him be," the one names Dagonet defended, "I think he's learned his lesson."

Bors glared at me. "He better have."

With a spit in my eye, Bors hulked off as I wiped his phlegm from my face. "Dag!"

Dagonet sighed looking at me in pity and then to Tristan, who could have cared less. "Look out for him, will you, Trist?"

Tristan shrugged as Dagonet walked off. "Has to learn somehow."

I glared at Tristan, hoping somehow, I could hold some sort of power over him—you know that womanly glare you could give a man to send chills down his spine, but when you're a boy it's seen only as weakness. Tristan only gazed at me nonchalantly. Wordlessly, I lifted myself up, dusted myself off, and started back for the tent. "Don't you want to finish the tour, your highness?"

A cruel mockery, but I didn't acknowledge his stupidity one bit. Instead, I only wiped furiously at my stinging eyes while I went back to the tent. "I'll run away," I told myself softly, "I'll get off this rainy old island and—"

No, I couldn't. I couldn't run away for the world—what would they do to my family? The Romans had put salt into the already barren fields, so as to keep us from having any crops. Tristan came in silently behind me as I opened my small package of items. I had eaten the meager loaf of bread my father had given me, but there was still more there than I bargained for.

Already I had learned to hide my gender, taking quick breaks for the bathroom alone and bathing at midnight. I was no foolish girl. "What are you doing?"

I barely acknowledged the cur. "I thought you might have gotten it through your thick skull that arrogance gets you nowhere here, boy—unless you're in someone's favor."

"I see you've been properly taught in these ways." I shot back.

Tristan took a seat as he laughed at me. "Bitter little boy," he mocked, "do you miss your mother so?"

I glared at Tristan. "Be glad you were here last winter, in the comforts of the Romans, while your own people gathered meager rations from your emperor."

"He is not my emperor." Tristan defended swiftly and then his face softened a little.

With that, Tristan exited the tent, leaving me on my own. I was never so terrified in my life—left alone with men surrounding me. "Trist—oh!" An unfamiliar boy stepped. "Hello, are you his sparring partner this year?"

I glanced around nervously, then looked to the ebony haired boy. "I am."

"What's your name then?" He came him, his demeanor cheerier than most.

There was no pain in saying it this time. "Bedivere."

A young, but callused hand stretched toward me. "Hello, Bedivere, my name's Lancelot."

I took his hand timidly. Lancelot was no more than twenty, Tristan probably his age as well, like Bors and Dagonet, but he was so incredibly handsome…I could barely take my eyes from him. Eyes like midnight, like that curly mop of his, and that lovely formed face that was beginning to come about. "Hello…Lancelot."

"You're a lucky one, getting Tristan, he's one of the best swordsmen we have," Lancelot insisted and then grinned, "second to me, of course."

Always boasting—I was learning already and laughed, but I had no place to boast…yet. "So what tribe do you hail from, Bedivere?"

"My father's family name was Drenis, but my mother came from the north." I explained. "She never told me where she was from."

"You have light eyes," Lancelot replied, taking notice, "I'd not be surprised if she came all the way from Gaul."

I could not blush—no, no blushing—I smiled in reply. "She was quite a woman."

"Yes, all mothers are," Lancelot gave a nod, but then the tent flap opened, "Tristan!"

"What are you doing here?"

How inviting, I thought. "I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to sparring with me tomorrow in front of the General Ectorius—you're the best man for the job."

"I'll be there." Tristan grunted, something large hiding under his shirt.

"See you there." Lancelot left and gave me a slap on the shoulder, nearly knocking the wind from me. "See you, Bedivere."

"Nice meeting you…" I replied, angelic dreamy form disappearing and my confidence draining, "Lancelot."

When I glanced back at Tristan I saw he had a whole cask of wine. "What in the world—"

Tristan slipped the cask beneath his cot and then looked at me with a grin before lying down on the cot. "Go and frolic for a while, boy, you bore me."

I kicked dust up at him before running from the tent.

The days passed slowly at first. I was used to waking up early, but not clear before the sunrise, and I was used to doing hard work, but not the entire day without rest. Tristan was rather easy going compared to other sparring partners, but when we brought up arms he was incredibly swift at correcting me. Although we fought with wooden sword, twice he had broken my own, once he had poked me in the eye, and another time he drew blood on my arm.

Still, I found my place amongst the men. I found I laughed at their crude jokes that had once been insulting and we shared everything from food to water, just as my twin brother and I had done all our lives. Percival, Galahad, and I were closest, due to us being the same age, and when we had extra time we rarely spent it apart, except when there were private matters.

While some boys were beaten, taunted, tormented, or worse by their older sparring partners, this being handed down, I can only remember one time that Tristan beat on me and that was when we moved to real swords. We had been sparring and I made a move to open myself up to anyone. I was nineteen and he was twenty four, he bowled me over with one punch to the chest and then pulled me back to my feet, chastising me for how I could have gotten killed if he was a Saxon, but that will come later.

For now, it was only a month into my hell when Tristan revealed his portion of casks he had pilfered from the Romans. He had five under his cot—I believe that was the first time I actually felt some respect for the cur.

When I walked into the tent, the party had already begun. "Ahh! There he is!" Galahad cried. "Bedivere, this is Arthur."

A shy looking young man lifted his hand in salute and I did the same. "Hello Bedivere."

"Arthur."

"So you spar with good old Trist, aye?"

I nodded in reply and Arthur chuckled. "Pity you."

They were all slightly drunken already as they laughed and Tristan ignored their comments. "Let me have some, Lamorak!"

"Not too much, Percival," Lamorak insisted as he allowed his brother only a sip of the wine, "that's enough."

"But Lamorak—"

"Shut-it!"

I stood up, no longer feeling safe amongst the growing odor of alcohol wafting into the tent. "Where are you going, boy?"

Gawain, the sparring partner of Galahad, was staring right at me. "Out to the lavatory."

Bors, the riff raff, glared at me in suspicion. "He'll tell."

"I won't," I assured the boys, trying my best to win their favor, "I won't tell anyone, I swear."

"On your mother's grave?"

Dagonet frowned. "Bors!"

"He won't tell." Tristan assured, seeing my discomfort.

With that the boys went back to drinking as I tried to escape from the tent, but a huge figure came bounding in. "What's going on here?"

All the boys looked horrified, then looked to me. "Welcome," Tristan smirked, "sit, Cai, and have a drink with us."

Cai, the son of Ectorius, who's real name was Cassius, glared at them, everyone held their breath, and finally, the huge boy assented. "Give me some of that."

Relieved, the boys laughed and allowed him to join. I exited the tent then, passing by a dark haired figure. "Bedivere!"

I turned to see Lancelot and smiled brilliantly, the dark night making him unable to see my blush. "Hello Lancelot."

Like I was some sort of hound, Lancelot rubbed my hair around. "Tristan gave me word," he laughed, "how far along are they?"

At first I didn't understand and then I chuckled. "Tristan's far beyond his limit."

"Good," Lancelot put his arm around my shoulders, guiding me back to the tent, "tonight you drink as a man, Bedivere."

I woke up in an awful state, Tristan had to tip my cot to wake me up. "You bastard!" I growled when he flung open the tent to reveal the first light. "Shut the damn tent!"

"Wake up, boy," Tristan laughed, nudging me with his foot, "you drank enough to kill a boar last night—but you still have a duty to do. You'll learn to hide it soon enough."

When I didn't stand up, Tristan grabbed me by the collar of my tunic and dragged me out of the tent. Before I knew it, Tristan dunked me into the frigid water of a horse's trough. I sputtered and coughed in reply, but Tristan only dunked me again, this time I came up gasping for air. "I'm awake!" I shouted before he could do it again. "I'm awake!"

Tristan chuckled, reassuringly patting my back. "Good."

This time Tristan dragged me off to get the mornings rations. "Eat."

I looked at the food knowing I should, but my stomach was not in it. "I can't."

"You'll be sick all day if you don't," Tristan's tone became commanding, concerned almost, "eat, boy."

Seeing this as torture, I kept my mouth shut and did as he said, hoping Tristan's temper would not turn on me as other young boys' sparring partners had before. Part way through, I ducked my head under my meal and vomited. "You'll be all right," Tristan assured, patting my back, "just keep eating."

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I continued to eat, my stomach on fire. Tristan glanced at me, his eyes conveying some pity. "I shouldn't have let you drink last night."

"I'm fine." I said bitterly, not wanting any pity from him.

"Here," Tristan offered me a clay cup, filled with a strange liquid, "drink this."

Lamorak had once filled a similar cup with piss and given it to Percival as a drink—I wasn't taking chances. "Drink it, boy."

"I don't trust you."

"Do you trust that I'll hit you if you don't drink that?"

I surveyed Tristan's face, knowing he would keep his word and wordlessly I took a drink of the bitter, but effervescent fluid. "Its peppermint tea," Tristan informed, "it will help your stomach."

Nodding in reply, I felt a little better and then gave him back his clay cup. "Thank you."

Tristan only nodded, taking it back, and he finished his breakfast. Later that day, when we sparred, Tristan went easy on me, seeing that I was going rather slow, but he warned me he'd not do it again. "If you can't handle the drink I'll insist you leave the next time." He warned, making me rouge severely for my handling of liquor.

I promised myself that I'd never let that happen again. Over the months Tristan taught me well, he gave me some of his wit and cleverness—the old fox. Without even noticing it, we'd become like brothers.

"How do you fight with all that hair in your face, Trist?"

Tristan smirked and laughed at my curiosity. "Why do you ask so many questions?"

I only smiled and then Tristan continued. "I'm not very good at braiding hair."

"I can do it for you." I assured him, then stopped myself immediately. "I mean, my—my mother only had boys, so she handed it down to us so that—"

"No, it's all right," Tristan laughed, clapping my shoulder with a grin, "but thank you."

Suddenly a familiar fist came swinging at my face and I ducked instantly. Bors laughed loudly and embraced me like a brother. "You're learning now, aren't you, lad?"

"Soon I'll be sending you to the dirt with a lump on your head, Bors."

Now Bors found my boldness hilarious, because he knew my threats would forever be idle. "That so, boy?"

"Oy, Bedivere," Dagonet said, outstretching his knuckles to rub them into my skull, "you're getting better at that."

"Thanks, Dag."

"Trist, we're goin' to the village tonight," Bors said, lowering his voice, "heard there's some pretty wenches near Hadrian's Wall."

"Aye," Tristan shrugged, his refusal already apparent, "and I've bedded most of them already."

"Come on, Trist," Bors insisted, "it'll be fun—don't be a sore sport. Bring the lad up for a try."

Tristan glanced at me, observing me warily, and then looked back at Bors. "Sorry."

No one refused Bors. Dagonet saw Bors grow red and instantly separated the two. "Come on, Bors, it'll be too late to go if we don't start off now."

Bors just glared at Tristan. "Don't you start goin' soft on me now, Trist."

"I'll be there next time." Tristan assured. "You don't want me stealing all the wench's hearts again, do you?"

"Leave that to Lancelot!" Dagonet laughed as Bors calmed quickly enough.

The two men departed and Tristan turned to me. "Don't ever go near that village, boy," Tristan warned, putting his arm over my shoulders for the first time, leading me to our tent, "full of them demon women who look like angels. You know what I mean, not good for young boys like yourself."

I smiled and nodded, feeling cold in the pit of my stomach. It was that night that I met Cai for who he truly was. When I woke with a start to the shattering of glass, I heard men outside and saw the shadows of three large bodies illuminated by some kind of lantern. I looked to my left, where Tristan should have been, but he was gone.

Quietly, I tried to go back to bed, until the men threw open the tent. "Trist!" The drunken son of Ectorius bellowed. "Where are you, you bastard?"

Shivering in silence, I listened quietly beneath my covers as Cai began to tear the place apart. "Stop that, Cai, you'll wake somebody up!"

"Shut-up!" Cai growled. "I'm the son of a general!"

The pig. In moments he tore off my covers and threw me out of bed. "Where's that shit, Tristan?"

"I—I don't know…" I replied startled as I tried to get to my feet.

"Stay down there," Cai snarled, putting his foot on my back, "like the whimpering dog you are."

"Please," I begged, my voice quivering, "I don't know where Tristan is."

Cai released me momentarily only to bend down and observe my face. "You're pretty for a boy, aren't you?"

A callused hand gently caressed my face and I shook at his touch. "Cai!"

Cai stood immediately, seeing Arthur and a few others now in the tent—Bors and Dag were taking care of the boys outside. "Arthur," Cai laughed nervously, helping me to my feet and dusting me off, "where'd you run off to?"

I backed away from Cai, quickly being sheltered by Tristan. "Get out of my tent," Tristan commanded, "and if I see you near my page again, I'll not think twice about using my sword."

Glaring at Tristan, Cai looked to Arthur for defense, but the dark haired young man only crossed his arms in reply. "You're drunk, Cai." Lancelot snapped.

Arthur sighed, going to his step-brother. "Let me take you to your father."

Cai growled at reply, but Arthur was able to escort Cai from the tent, shooting me a look of concern. Lancelot faithfully followed his best friend as Gawain slapped my shoulder. "You all right, Bedivere?"

"Yes." I nodded, trying not to show my embarrassment as I wiped my face on my sleeve.

"You're bleeding," Tristan said and grabbed a bed sheet, handing it to me, "tilt your head back—don't worry about soiling the damn sheets, boy."

I did as Tristan said and soon we were alone. Finally, he permitted me to let me look forward, both of us no sitting on our cots. "I thought you said you weren't going."

Tristan shrugged. "I changed my mind."

For a moment I thought Tristan was reverting back to his old days of hating me. "Why…didn't you take me?"

"Because I wouldn't take my own little brother there, let alone you." Tristan replied, lying down in his cot. "I'm tired."

With that Tristan turned away and I slowly going back under the covers, glad Tristan had come when he did. "Tristan?"

"What?"

"You're the best friend I've ever had."