A/N This is my first King Arthur fanfic, so please be nice. Please Review. I'll take any ideas or suggestions. This story is pretty much starts out with this prologue and then jumps to roughly the movies time.

The girl combed her hair down to her waist. She had been told of her upcoming marriage. She had no desire to marry whom she was sent to. She knew that if she could just hold out long enough that she could make it. There were many tribes that would currently be happy to see her father dead.

She put aside the wooden comb and slid her fingers along the wooden table she was seated at. She fingered the cool iron of the dagger. She had been given it as a small means of protection. She slowly pressed the blade to her ivory skin. She closed her eyes. Her lips were parted and her hair was combed and spread across her back. She felt her nerve strengthen as she heard noises outside. She once again lifted the blade and pressed it pale throat.

The wooden door suddenly splintered open. She dropped the dagger. Her father's guards were facing her and a single figure. He had risen from the ground and drawn his sword while she continued to stare in awe. She could see the guards advancing upon him. She stared at his armor; she had seen it before somewhere. She heard a familiar voice.

"Enough. This is one of the Sarmatian Knights." She heard the guard's laugh.

"He's just a boy. Can't be more than seventeen summers. " All the other guards started to laugh.

"All the same, he is here to escort the princess to her betrothed lord. He is not to be harmed. Get him something to eat and drink. They'll be on their way by dawn." He still had his swords drawn. She saw them lower their swords. The knight kept his sword raised but slowly walked out of the entrance to her room. The men all bowed to her.

"We are sorry for the interruption, princess." She nodded slowly. They all cleared. She knew that the door would have to be replaced immediately. She sighed thoughtfully. She glanced regretfully at the dagger. She ran her fingers along the blade. She would bring the weapon with her.

"You are the one that has been sent to escort my daughter, the princess, to her betrothed lord?" Her father looked at the knight skeptically. The knight didn't say anything. She looked at him curiously. She was hiding by the door, and listening at a crack in it. The young mad had dark hair that was wildly braided. She could only see the back of him, but he appeared to be muscular as well as heavily armed. He didn't answer her father.

"Well boy, are you going to answer me." She heard the foolish knight give a dry laugh.

"Aye, I'm the one sent to escort your daughter." His voice was clipped and accented.

"I'm surprised that the would send you. They do not send a more experienced knight, or perhaps your commander, or even an emissary of my daughter's betrothed?" The knight shrugged his shoulders.

"I go where my commander sends me. The older knight fight, they do what Rome beckons and attempt to subdue rebels." Her father seemed to accept this.

"Very well. You are to leave with her at dawn. Do not disappoint me. Do not let harm come to her or her betrothed upon arrival." The knight shrugged his shoulders. He bit into an apple and turned to leave. She scrambled back to her room. Her traveling clothes and dowry and such had already been set and ready. She returned to the monotonous task of combing her hair.

It was dawn when she was set to leave. A wooden cart had been attached to the knight's horse. Cushions and a shelter of cloth had been arranged for her and her belongings were tied in the back and underneath.

"Go my daughter. Meet your betrothed. Respect this man. Watch this knight." He motioned to the braided man. She nodded. She carefully was situated in the cart and turned to stare as her home disappeared from her view.

They had been traveling all day. They hadn't said anything. The boy had been busy making sure that they where on the right road and she could tell that escorting her to her future husband was not the task that he most desired to be given. It started to rain. He seemed completely oblivious to her existence and to the fact that she was getting soaked.

"Knight. It is raining." He glanced around at her and narrowed his eyes.

"I've noticed… Princess." She sighed. She knew that she certainly was covered like a princess. There was a blue shawl over her head and white veiling covering her face. She could feel the water starting to leak through the cloth canopy erected above her head.

" 'Tis almost dark now and 'tis raining. We should stop." He glared at her, obviously not happy about her ordering her. He seemed about to refuse when he looked at her covered frame and fair hands. He then did the unspeakable. He started to laugh. She knew he couldn't see but she glared. She knew that he was aware of her body stiffening. He sighed and kept laughing.

"We'll spend tonight by those trees." He didn't say anything more. They got settled and he made sure she had a slightly dry spot. He was about to offer to make her some food. She could tell that was what he would ask. She snapped at him.

"I have things to eat." She pulled a bit of bread. She looked at him. He rolled his eyes and turned away while she lifted the veil over her head and started to nibble on the bread. She coughed.

"Here. Take this." His voice was clipped and rough. In one fluid motion he handed her a flask. She took it from him. His back was still turned. She sniffed the opening. It smelled like water. She took sip gratefully. He rolled his eyes. She started to shiver. He sighed gruffly and through his cloak on her while she hastily secured her veil. She could sense his evident dislike of her.

"So what makes a great Sarmatian knight escort me?" He snorted.

"No choice of my own. I'm more of the scout. I was the most likely to not get lost. What brings an Irish princess to be betrothed to a Roman Lord?" His voice was filled with evident disgust. She felt a surge of anger. How dare he address her like this. She was… She was about to marry a Roman pig.

"In life we make choices. You chose to scout?" He looked at her veiled form.

"I was a scout before I became a knight. It chose me." She felt disgust creep into her voice. Her accent became a little stronger.

"You choose to slaughter people. You choose to fight. You don't have to be enslaved." His breathing became ragged. In a flash there was a knife at her throat. She looked into his dark eyes. There was a myriad of emotions. Anger. Loss. Grief. Hatred. She kept very still. Maybe this foolish knight would save her the trouble of using her own dagger.

"Don't presume to tell me about the life that I and my fellow brothers lead. I could kill you with one move and I would enjoy it." She didn't know why, but she pitied him.

"That's one more choice that you make." He stared at her, pressing the knife closer to her.

"Cloth-headed lady," he spat, "Did you chose on your betrothal to a Roman." She slowly raised her smooth hands from her sides.

"I didn't chose. I don't choose to love my enemy, though." He laughed when she said this. She slowly brought her hands to cup his face.

"I'm not so different from you, knight. I want something that can't be had. You want something that can't be had. We aren't so very different." He jerked back from her hands as if he had been burned, but he lowered the knife. He pitied this princess. She was sold to Roman, which would probably like nothing more than to kill her.

"How did an Irish princess end up betrothed to a Roman?" he asked again. She sighed this time.

"My father feels that it will forge an alliance with the Romans." She laughed dryly. The knight laughed as well.

"Then, princess, your king is a fool." She nodded.

"How long have you been a slave to the Romans?" The young knight shrugged.

"I was taken when I was thirteen. That was five years ago. " She peered at him.

"Then you are eighteen summers?" Her voice sounded incredulous. He laughed and handed her a slice of an apple.

"You sound awfully surprised."

"It's just, you are so young to be a knight. You seem very… very lost." His jaw tightened.

"I'm the one with the weapons, princess." She didn't say anything. They sat in silence. He stood. He motioned for her to sleep.

"Get some sleep. We leave at dawn. I'm going to go scout the terrain." She stepped forward.

"It is not wise for you to leave an Irish princess alone with so many rebels and enemies." He laughed bitterly.

"I'm sure that your incessant speech could stop any attacker in his tracks." She glared. She didn't move. He stepped forward. He was about to say something when he stiffened. He could hear something in the trees. He slowly moved his hand towards his sword.

"Don't move." She had noticed his slow movements and she had heard the whistling air. She could feel people watching them. The next thing she knew there was an arrow imbedded in the ground at her feet. The knight had whirled around. Figures dropped from the trees. She bent and grabbed her dagger from where she had strapped it to her leg. The next thing she knew there was a large hand clamped over her mouth. She saw the knight fighting his way towards her when she tightened her hold on the dagger and stabbed her captor.

"Look out." It was too late; the knight's shoulder was pierced with an arrow. She pushed past the men he had wounded towards him. The rebels had all disappeared into the forest. She knew that they were probably one of the tribes of Celts that her father had greatly offended. Many tribes were rebelling over her betrothal to a Roman. One last man appeared with dark green swirls painted around his eyes. She brandished her knife.

"Leave or I'll kill you." She said in the Celtic tongue. The man stared at her and she lurched forward and pushed the knife into his leg. She ripped it out and threw it on the ground. He dragged himself into the trees as fast as he could. She rushed over to the knight, who was now trying to stand.

"Don't stand. The arrow has gone through your shoulder." He looked at her through narrowed eyes.

"I was aware of that Lady. Now if you would be so kind." He pushed her away and yanked the arrow out himself. She watched him intently, waiting for him to pale. He did almost instantly. She sighed. Her hands were shaking. She slit the hem of her dress and strapped it around his shoulder. He was barely conscious. She sighed.

"Rest here." She had taken off his top layer of armor. She knew that they were to far from her home for her to try to go back and get help. She didn't want to go into the trees so she bent and crawled along the ground, searching for suitable twigs.

He opened his eyes slowly. He could feel sweat dripping down his forehead. He felt in a daze. He could vaguely make out the glow of a fire and the form of a woman. He racked his brains, trying to remember who she was. Then it came to him, she was the Irish princess that he was bringing to the Roman. He tried to move and gasped as he felt an acute pain in his left shoulder.

"Aren't you accustomed to being shot with arrows?" He looked at her weakly.

"Yes but… it's poisoned," he said thickly. She nodded. He couldn't tell if her face was still covered.

"Aye, it won't kill you though. Just rest." She walked towards him and wiped his forehead gently with a cloth that seemed to appear from nowhere.

"Shh. Rest. It would have been better if you let me get die." She sighed and leaned forward. He closed his eyes.

He was vaguely aware of the girl moving. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. She stumbled forward. She walked towards him.

"Don't even think of running away." She laughed.

"Just tell them that I was killed in the skirmish if any ask, which I doubt." He made to grab her but she pulled back. He tried to stand when he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. She lifted her veil back. He stared at her. She had fair smooth skin with a dusting of freckles. Her eyes were a dark blue. Dark red tendrils cupped her face. She leaned forward and touched her hand to his forehead.

"Be free, knight."