RandomDay and MistakenLove: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm glad you like it so far.

Marie9000: Thanks for reviewing. I've had to change a few things to post it here so you'll see some differences. Plus I'm always second-guessing myself on different lines or passages. So it's the same story, but hopefully a little better.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from the movie King Arthur, nor do I or would I attempt to profit from writing about them. Also, I am broke and in debt, so if you want to sue me, good luck with that.

Rating: M for mature subject matter.

Warning: This chapter contains a scene of attempted rape (not explicit).

Damara could faintly hear the knights' merriment as she walked further from their fire. It had been a long time since she had been around people laughing and having a good time. She was used to being alone, and in fact preferred it, but that did not stop her from being lonely on occasion.

As she walked through the darkness she saw the knights' horses, bedded down for the night. The healer recognized the horse of the quiet knight, and went over to him. He whickered a welcome and she stroked his long neck and talked to him for a while. She had always spoken to animals and people were sometimes uncomfortable with it. Her own father had thought she was dark and strange and never had much to do with her. Her mother had encouraged her to try to not be so different, to blend in with the others more. Damara preferred the company of animals to that of people, and took in any injured creature that crossed her path. People looked upon her with suspicion and she realized that she hadn't been her own best ally. Caring for farm animals and dogs was one thing, wild creatures were another matter. Any loneliness she felt was her own doing. She tickled the horse's nose and kissed the velvety softness of it. There was a prickle in her eyes as tears began to gather. It seemed she cried over nothing these days. Suddenly she was very weary and eager to seek her bed.

Trudging through the snow, she now wished that she had not camped so far away from everyone. She stopped and leaned against a tree to get her bearings. With her fire probably out she would have a hard time finding her way back. The tears began to prickle again and this time she buried her face in her hands and wearily began to cry.

"You need comforting, I'll comfort you."

Her heart dropped into her shoes at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Aeneas," she said. The most persistent of her Roman tormentors.

"Mmmm, " he answered in the affirmative. He turned her towards him and roughly pulled her close. His hand came up to pull her head towards his in a rough kiss. Her arms came up against his chest in a vain attempt to push him away from her and she twisted her head to evade his seeking mouth.

"Not tonight. Please, leave me alone."

"You're not happy to see me?" He pushed her up against a tree and continued his onslaught.

"I'm tired and I need some sleep."

"I won't keep you long." He took her head in his hands and forced his mouth down upon hers. She struggled against him, but was no match for his strength. His hand reached down to pull up her skirt and she felt ill when his hand slid up her thigh. She tried to push it away.

"I said I don't want you!" she cried.

"When have you ever?" He laughed. He burrowed his face in her neck. "Just be still. You can't run; you can't fight me. Just let me do this, it will be over in a few minutes and you can go on with your night."

He pushed her to the frozen ground and pinned her wrists down with one of his hands. He pulled her shirt open and she was disgusted to feel his tongue slide across her skin. She struggled, but realized it was futile. Maybe he was right. Just let him get it over with. The longer she fought him, the longer she would have to lay here freezing. Who would care anyway? He'd be done shortly, and it wasn't like she had any virtue to protect. She lay back and turned her head away from him.

He sensed her surrender. "Ah, that's my girl." She lay there, freezing, looking blankly into the darkness as his fingers and lips roamed her body. Her face contorted with revulsion and tears fell from her eyes as she waited for him to get started, and therefore, be finished. Despite what he'd said, he seemed to be in no hurry to begin the act.

As the hot tears streamed down her face she realized that she hated herself. She was allowing this to happen without a fight. When had she become so weak? She'd stopped fighting them because it never changed the outcome, but in doing so, lost respect for herself. And wasn't that worth fighting for, even if her body wasn't?

His weight pushed down on her, and the discomfort was almost unbearable. To lessen the pressure on her belly, she tried to shift his weight but was unable to move. She felt him push her legs open and her discomfort and repugnance gave way to rage. She felt around frantically for something to use as a weapon. She remembered the knife she kept around her waist to cut plants. Without thinking, she pulled the weapon from her side and brought it to his throat.

"Why can you never leave me alone?" she cried.

He stopped and his eyes grew cold. "You have taken leave of your senses. You know the penalty for this is death."

Filled with terror at what she had done, but unable to change course now, Damara answered, "better that than this."

Furious, the Roman easily disarmed her. He hurled the knife away and his hand cracked across her face. She felt his hands close around her wrists and pin them to the ground. She struggled helplessly as he renewed his assault on her. He moved into position to enter her and his weight pushed the breath from her lungs. Gasping, she wondered if this time she'd still be alive at the end of it. Suddenly he became still and his grip on her wrists lessened. She gulped air, trying to fill her lungs and looked past him to see Tristan holding a sword to the back of the soldier's neck.

"Get up" the knight said softly.

"You meddle where it does not concern you, Sarmatian," Aeneas growled. "You interrupt me with my woman." He slowly got to his feet, pulling Damara up with him.

"I'm not his woman," Damara protested.

Aeneas looked down into her face. "Do you forget who had you first? And many times since?" To Tristan he said, "She is mine to do with what I will. I could break her neck and face no punishment. By what right do you interfere?"

Tristan shrugged. "I interfere because it pleases me to. You could break her neck. And then I'd get to slit a Roman throat. If you have so little regard for your woman and child, why should I have any?"

The soldier laughed harshly. "I never said it was my child. It could be anybody's." He glanced down at Damara. "She has lain with many of us, and is not worth your efforts. She has a sweet face, but she is well-used to being on her back."

"Do not make it sound as if I was ever a willing participant in any of it!" Damara said angrily. "As for your disgusting attentions I will be glad to be rid of them."

Aeneas grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. "You'll never be rid of me," he said softly. Looking into her face, he said to Tristan, "She looks so innocent, doesn't she? It amazes me. Even after everything we've done to her…" he broke off as Damara spit full into his face.

"Stupid whore!" he growled. He hurled her to the ground and drew back to kick her, a heavy blow that landed squarely on her lower back. Damara cried out in pain, and as the Roman went to kick her again, he felt Tristan's sword come down heavily on his head. Turning back to the Sarmatian, he found the point of that same sword at his throat.

Aeneas knew that even had he been likewise armed, he would have been completely outclassed. Unarmed as he was, to press on would have been suicide. His eyes bored into Tristan's with a futile rage and then he raised his hands, signifying his surrender. The pressure of the blade was lifted and the Roman backed away. As he left the clearing he looked at Damara, and her gut churned. She knew if he ever caught her alone again, she would pay dearly.

Damara tried to get up. She struggled against the pain of the heavy blow to her back and the fear that turned her legs to water. Seeing her distress, Tristan offered her his hand, as he had earlier. She rose to her feet, but a sharp pain shooting through her body sent her back to her knees.

Tristan stood, uncertain of what to do now. Chivalry was not in his nature and he'd already gone far beyond anything he'd ever done before for a woman. Still, this was an inefficient use of his time, and he was impatient to get what sleep he could.

He knelt beside her and easily scooped her up in his arms. As he carried her back to her campsite, her head fell against his chest, and one arm curled around his neck. She smelled fresh and sweet, unlike most women of his acquaintance who doused themselves in perfume. When he reached her campsite he placed her gently near the fire and sat down opposite her.

"I am grateful," she said softly. "If you hadn't come when you did I might be dead now." She was quiet for a moment as she thought that she'd be dead or worse the next time Aeneas saw her anyway. No point in saying so to the knight – it wasn't his problem and he had done more than enough for her already.

She remembered the things Aeneas had said about her and was humiliated. "You think me a whore," she said softly. When no answer was forthcoming, she looked up at him.

"I think nothing," Tristan said.

Damara nodded and hung her head. The shame rightfully belonged to the Romans who had taken what was not theirs, and not to her. Still, she felt it deeply.

Tears threatened to fall, and she tried to blink them back. She turned her head as if looking into the darkness and dashed her hand across her eyes. Damara wanted no pity or sympathy and did not feel sorry for herself. Mostly, anyway.

She'd been luckier than the others who had been in the dungeon. Her torture had not been nearly as great and unlike the rest, she had walked out alive. Because of the punishment chosen for her, service to the Roman soldiers, she hadn't even had to stay in that soul-killing place for very long. She'd been housed separately, and every now and then taken back to that rotting hole so that the priest could ascertain for himself if she was truly penitent of her crimes. Of course, no matter how she'd cried and pleaded, he never thought she truly meant it, and back she'd go to her room in the soldier's quarters.

She was certain the others would have traded places with her in a heartbeat. If, for the gift of her life she had a few bad memories to deal with, then it was a small price to pay. Above all, she owed it to herself to maintain her dignity. When she turned back to face Tristan, her face was serene.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Tristan nodded his head.

"It is late and I know you must be tired," Damara said.

Tristan looked bemused. Was he being dismissed?

"I'm not telling you to go. You can stay if you want to…" the girl stammered. Her face flamed. "But I'm not saying…"

Amused at her discomfiture, Tristan raised his hand to stop her. "I'll stay. It may not be safe for you alone here."

He noted the look of relief the passed over her face. "You're very welcome. But I'll be fine if you have somewhere else you need to be."

"You already have a fire built. It will save me the trouble," Tristan returned. "I'll be back shortly."

After he left, Damara threw some more wood on the fire, and then gathered a few more pieces and put them next to the fire to dry. Then she sat, listening to the silence of the woods and munching on some bread she'd found in her pack. It was good, flavored with berries.

She doubted Aeneas would come looking for her, but she would feel better with a weapon close at hand. Digging through her pack, she retrieved her spare knife. She regretted the loss of her good one and wondered if she would have time to look for it in the morning.

She shifted uncomfortably. Her back ached where the Roman had kicked her. Her hands probed gingerly – the area was tender and would bruise badly. She thought about making a compress but was too weary to do anything but sit there. Wrapping a blanket around her against the cold, she sat with her knife clutched in her hands.

Her eyes were beginning to close when she was jerked awake by the sound of approaching footsteps. The sound was faint, but stood out in the dead silence of the night. Her heart began to beat faster and she listened closely, barely breathing. She saw an approaching figure and her throat went dry. Was it the returning knight, or had Aeneas found her? Slowly she got up, preparing to run or fight, as best she could.

When Tristan stepped into the circle of light, her sense of relief was so great she nearly cried. He looked at her quizzically as he threw his belongings on the ground. Damara sat back down and settled back in her blankets, closing her eyes. He likewise prepared his bedroll and settled in. After a few minutes he heard her voice.

"What's your name, sir knight?" she asked.

"Tristan," he replied.

She smiled. Sleepily she said, "Tristan…you're the kindest man I've ever known." With that, she drifted off to sleep.

TBC