Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur (Duh). I do, however, own this story line. It is not stolen, and the original characters (most notably Helena and Livia) are of my own creation. The events depicted within this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

Author's Note: Thanks to LadyOfThePlains, Readerfreak 10, LegolasIsMine, janell, Xanthe Corvinus and Mookie Moodoo (you gotta tell me how you came up with that name) for reviewing. And here's the moment you've all been waiting for...

EDIT: Sorry if you guys who have this story on alert get another email about this chapter, but penscratch pointed out to me that I made a mistake (can you believe I screwed up the twins near the end) and I wanted to go back and fix it so it doesn't confuse anyone. No other changes were made.

Chapter Three

Arthur knew there was something about these girls that they weren't telling him. In fact, he was almost positive that he wouldn't have known even if it wasn't for Helena's gift with artful distractions. Two days had passed since she had awoken, two days in which he had spent several hours speaking with her, and the entire time he hadn't gleaned any information about her whatsoever. In fact, if anything, Arthur was sure that he knew less about her now than he did upon first meeting her. For a while he had thought about attempting to speak with Livia instead, but the young woman was spending an inordinate amount of time within her own bedchambers and had requested not to be disturbed unless it was by her twin, so that idea was immediately shut down.

But if anything, the thing that truly gave away the fact that there was something he didn't know was Tristan's silence on the whole subject. Of all of his knights, it was Tristan that could read people the best, and he didn't offer an opinion unless he was sure of it. So when he refused to condone or condemn the sisters, it was proof enough for Arthur that something needed to be done. He needed to find out everything he could to see if these young women were going to become a danger to his fortress, and he was going to find it out even if he had to force it out of Helena.

When he had come to this earth-shattering conclusion, it had been nearly midnight, but for some reason Arthur still found himself walking the corridors to the empty room where Bedivere slept when he was still alive. Within, he knew, lay the answer to every question that he had over the past week. Every doubt, every belief could be assuaged or strengthened just by walking through that doorway to meet what was on the other side. Taking a deep breath, Arthur pushed open the door.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but he certainly didn't think he'd find Helena up and out of bed, sitting near the fire on the cold flagstones with Dagonet, drinking and talking. Of all of his knights, Dagonet was the quietest. He was the kind-hearted killer who barely said a word when he wasn't working. So to see him sitting on the floor enjoying a drink with a young woman he probably knew no better than one of the bar maidens really meant something to Arthur. This girl certainly had an ability to get everyone one her side, that was for sure.

"Oh, hello Arthur," she greeted him, looking over her shoulder. She wasn't wearing anything but a long white nightgown with a blanket draped around her, no doubt Dagonet's doing, and when the firelight shone on her face, she looked almost angelic. For an instant, Arthur immediately told himself that there was no need to confront this girl about anything and that she was just some innocent young woman who had been hit by a Woad's arrow, one out of a probable million. Then, he shook the thought off, reminding himself that he had a fortress to protect which he couldn't do if he was harboring dangerous people within.

Dagonet nodded his greeting to Arthur.

Damn, if only he wasn't here, this would go a lot smoother.

"I need to speak with Helena alone for a moment, Dagonet. Could I possibly steal her from you?" the words had left Arthur's lips before his brain had fully formed them, and he was immediately surprised by how easily it had come out. Dagonet looked slightly surprised by the request, but nodded his acceptance and rose despite the fact, exiting the room without another word. Helena moved to rise, but Arthur signaled that she could remain seated.

"What is it Arthur? Is there something wrong?" she asked, sounding bewildered and more innocent than she should have. The idea that she was a bad person kept sounding ridiculous to Arthur, who remained standing in front of her, but several feet away barely in the light cast by the fire.

"I'm sorry for coming to you so late, but I feel we must discuss something," he started and saw the curiosity in her eyes begin to dim the slightest bit to something else. What was it? Worry? Arthur couldn't help but wish Tristan was with them, as the man could tell him exactly what the girl was feeling in a glance.

"It's no trouble, Arthur, but please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?" Arthur waved off Helena's attempts to be hospitable, noting how quickly she had moved into another topic, attempting to brush past what he wished to ask her without his noticing.

" I know that you and your sister aren't telling us something. Now listen, Helena, I hate to do this, but you must tell me everything or I'll have to send for some of the Roman soldiers to escort you out of the fortress," Arthur replied, sounding exactly how he felt: as if every inch of him wished not to say it. He settled on the floor across from her, watching her carefully. For a moment, Helena only gaped at him.

"I– we... well, it all started when– ," Helena's stammering was immediately cut off by a piercing cry that made them both jump. For a moment, Arthur just sat there, not understanding what was going on. Helena jumped to her feet, and before he knew what was happening, she had run out of the room on unsteady feet with a painful limp, and he was following after her.

It wasn't a long voyage that she led him on, and she burst into the room next door, her hands in fists as if she was going to fight someone off. Arthur expected to see a woman being attacked within, but when he realized that the only person inside was Livia, he stopped outside in the hallway, watching as the scene progressed before him. Tristan and Lancelot were both at his side a moment later, followed quickly by the rest of his knights, all but Bors who was no doubt still within the tavern.

Inside, Livia was screaming and crying, shouting unintelligible phrases as she attempted to fight off an invisible attacker. Arthur slowly entered the room, his men close behind, curious as to what would happen next. At first, Helena had attempted to come straight to her twin, but was tossed painfully to the side by the young woman with a strength that Arthur wouldn't have supposed of her. There was a bleeding scratch across her cheek, but it was superficial and didn't need any treatment. Now, the young woman was kneeling on the cold flagstones, her arms extended in a calming position, as she tried to coax her sister out of her cowering position in the corner.

"Livia... Livia, sweetie, you're just dreaming. It's just a dream Livia," she kept repeating it over and over, and her sister was visibly calming. "There's no one here that's going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you, Livia. Wake up, dear. Don't be afraid, it's just a dream, it's okay."

It was as if she was approaching a startled animal, the soothing tone, the non-defensive position. Arthur guessed that by the way that Helena was acting, she had done this many times before. Livia was visibly calming, her whimpers becoming less common, and she wasn't screaming anymore. There were scratches on her arms where she had clawed at herself, and her blonde hair was mussed as if she had been in a fight. She was reacting to her sister's voice, and Arthur could tell Livia was attempting to fight off the sleeping state and return to the land of consciousness.

"Livia, it's alright. Don't be afraid, darling. No one can hurt you when I'm here. I won't let them," Helena was still whispering comforts to her sister, who crawled across the floor towards her, tears streaming down her face. For a moment, Arthur thought she was going to attack, before she collapsed into Helena's arms, sobbing as if her heart had been broken.

"What in the hell just happened?" Gawain asked in confusion, his voice so low that only the knights could hear him. The others looked just as confused as he, watching as Helena rocked her sister back and forth in her arms, still whispering calming words as she did so. It seemed almost like a mantra of 'don't worry' and 'I won't let anyone hurt you'. It wasn't long before Livia fell asleep in her sister's arms, and Helena stopped rocking her, instead turning to the knights with faint traces of worry in her blue eyes. Arthur realized that at that moment, the young woman looked an infinite amount of years older than she was, and couldn't help but wonder how long she had been doing this sort of thing.

"Please help me put Livia back into her bed," she asked, and Lancelot immediately stepped forward, lifting the small girl easily and lowering her to the bed she had thrown herself out of. Like a worrying mother, Helena tucked her sister in, kissing her on the forehead, before turning back to the knights, all of whom were still crowded together and looking genuinely confused.

"I suppose there's something you'll be wanting to hear," she said, a hint of sorrow in her voice.

"We can wait until tomorrow if–," Arthur started, and was immediately cut off.

"No, I'm ready to tell it, we'll do it now," she interrupted him, holding herself straight, though it seemed to cause her some pain.

"Follow me," he replied with a nod, and led her out of the doorway, followed closely by his men.

They were all seated around the round table not five minutes later, Bors having joined them when Arthur physically pulled him away from Vanora. Tristan seated himself between Bors and Gawain, grateful for the goblet of wine a servant set down before him, as he was beginning to think he was going to need it. While the men sat, Helena was not so eager to do so, and was only coaxed into resting by Dagonet's insistence that she would re-open her wound if she were not careful. She looked nervous and upset, which was a good way to describe how all of them were feeling as of late. After that strange episode with Livia, Tristan had a feeling nothing would be the same ever again.

"We've all gathered here to listen to what Helena here has to say, so I'd like you all to pay close attention, as I suppose she will not be so willing to tell it again, got it?" Arthur's voice was surprisingly awake, but he looked rather grave and weary. "Go on, Helena. Tell us what this is all about."

"It's a rather long story..." she started, but was immediately interrupted by Bors.

"Well then you better hurry up and tell it to us. It's too early in the morning for whatever feminine wiles you've cooked up to keep us from hearing this," he said in irritation and Helena glared at him.

"Do you want me to tell it or not?" when Bors remained silent, she continued. "As I was saying, it's a rather long story, owing to the fact that all of Livia and my troubles started the very instant we were born. My grandmother once told me such troubles were written in the very stars for us, but for Livia and I, it was more like they were engraved. We were born nineteen years ago, but on different days. I was born on All Hallow's Eve, and my twin was born two minutes later on All Saint's Day.

"My mother, as I told you earlier was Sarmatian. What I didn't mention was the fact that before she had come to Briton, she had worked as a mystic, earning money from the Roman nobles who would pay for the novelty of having their fortunes read. And she was truly talented. She could tell you your future forwards, backwards and upside down and every moment would come true exactly as she foretold it. That was how she met my father, a Roman soldier who had traveled through Sarmatia on a search for new knights for the Romans. When my sister and I were born, it was Livia who my mother favored from the beginning. I always thought it was because she was younger, but then I realized it was because there was something different about Livia. Something that my mother refused to tell me of, because she thought I would become jealous."

"Your mother was a mystic?" Galahad sounded incredulous and Tristan could see the brief look of annoyance flash on Helena's face before she immediately covered it up.

"Yes, she was," the girl confirmed. The blanket she had been wearing around her shoulders slid down, revealing her bare shoulders. Tristan couldn't help but notice a scar running across her collarbone, and was curious as to how it got there. "One of the best Sarmatian mystics in existence, she was taught by her mother, and she by hers before her and so on and so forth throughout time.

"While my mother kept Livia locked up in doors all day, it was I who helped my father run the colony he had been assigned by the Pope. When people came upon hard times, we would be out there in the fields with them, attempting to make the most out of their crop. He was a good man, and a good leader. But he couldn't hold his liquor. One night he and I were sharing a campfire when he let it slip to me about mother being a mystic, something I hadn't known about. From what he had told me, I realized that my sister was one in a long line of women who could see the past, the present and the future."

"You've got to be kidding me," Lancelot sounded fairly annoyed. "You've got us all out of bed so early in the morning to feed us this shit? I'm going back to sleep."

"Not so fast, Lancelot," Arthur warned the knight, who was glaring at him. Arthur turned back to Helena."What happened tonight? Why did Livia behave so strangely?"

"She was having a vision, a particularly violent one from what I could tell. If we're lucky, she should wake up by tomorrow, but there's a chance that she won't remember what she saw. When she has them so bad, she sometimes blocks them out."

"Well doesn't she know how to control it?" Dagonet asked it this time, and everyone in the room looked faintly surprised by his speaking up.

"Not really," Helena replied after a moment. "According to what she's told me, which really isn't as much as I'd like, she hears everything all the time. The visions are only when she comes in close contact with another person or when the matter it particularly urgent. Our mother died before she could complete her training, but I'm getting a little ahead of myself now.

"By the time Livia and I were sixteen, mother had already established a little business where people would come to our house from miles away to hear their futures from Livia. Mother had always told her to lie if a person's life was going to go badly so their clientele didn't get angry, but Livia rarely followed her advice. One day a strange man from out of the country wandered to our home and asked Livia for his fortune. She gave it to him, but it wasn't a happy future he was facing. His wife would die while giving birth to a child that wasn't his, his men would hate him, his people would fall to ruin. The man didn't believe Livia, but he paid and left for wherever he had come from. We never did catch his name. A year later, strange things began to happen around our manor. Animals were turning up inexplicably dead, and then people. One morning, I returned from gathering herbs to find my father stabbed in the throat. I had been only a few minutes too late, his blood was still warm. But the murderer was nowhere to be found."

The incredible look of pain on her face was enough to make a twinge of resentment for whoever had murdered her father run through Tristan, and his fists clenched around his goblet tensely. For some reason, he found himself hanging on to every word that Helena said, though he couldn't say whether it was because of genuine interest or because she was a good story teller. He noticed the paleness of her face and the slight trembling of her hands and wondered what would happen next. Before he could ask her to continue, however, Helena began speaking again as if she had read his mind.

"My father– my father was a very good man. One of the best. I have never met a Roman I liked other than he. He was good natured... and pure... and he always knew how to make me smile. Don't get me wrong, my mother was a fairly good caretaker as well, but she... well she was..."

"Inattentive," Tristan filled in the blank for her, and Helena nodded, her lips pursed slightly.

"She was so stuck on making Livia into a great mystic that she rather forgot that she had twins. But my father and the farm hands who raised me filled in the gaps well enough," she replied with a regretful look into her lap that made Tristan pity her.

He didn't remember his parents well enough to know whether or not they preferred his siblings over himself or anything of the sort, he had been too young when he had been taken to become knight by the Romans. But he did remember that horrible feeling in the pit of a child's stomach when their parent chooses one of their siblings over them. Much like being punched in the stomach. It was odd that such a sensation was so utterly rememberable to him when he couldn't even remember what color his father's eyes were, or whether his mother shined when she smiled. Tristan imagined Helena had felt that most, if not all of the time, when she saw her mother and twin together. The pain of not being able to do what her sister could. The jealousy that Livia could so easily steal her mother's attention away while Helena was cast aside to live like a stable boy and work as hard as her father's men. For that brief moment that Livia looked down into her lap in that manner, Tristan could see all of those feelings on her face. Somehow she became all the more human to him when he saw that, something that made him feel a little odd in her presence. Before, he had placed her as a noble girl that was truly noble. Willing to do things for her sister that a man wouldn't do for his king. He had placed her on a pedestal. But when he saw that look on her face, for that very brief instant, it was as if she was on his level, as if she had stood right beside him while they were children and he was feeling that upset jealousy. The odd feeling, he realized, was a connection that he felt between them. It made Tristan shift uncomfortably in his seat at the idea that he could connect himself with such a person when he had so effortlessly disconnected himself from everyone else upon leaving Sarmatia.

"My mother died not long after my father, murdered in my sister's presence. Livia had never told anyone what happened in the room that day, and no matter how often I ask her, she refuses to tell me. Both of my parents were buried, and for a while I played at running the manor while I could, but of course we could not stay."

"Why not?" asked Arthur, who had been listening intently, as if fascinated by every word that escaped her lips.

"Well I was not an heiress to the manor, of course. I was the oldest child, but I'm a female, not eligible to inherit. The property and all of the fields surrounding it went to a cousin of mine, who kicked Livia and I out before he even reached the border of the lands. We weren't out a day when we were attacked by the people who so easily had made my life into a living hell. Men dressed in dark clothing with cloaks. They took Livia and I to a strange place, but they could not tell the difference between us. They kept us for months, attempting to find out which one was the mystic and which was the useless twin. I refused to tell, and kept Livia from saying anything," she visibly winced at the memory, her face becoming drawn, as if she were trying to remove herself from the room and the memory without actually leaving.

"What happened to you?" Gawain had never been very good at taking cues not to say something, if not directed by her body language than by the fact that Arthur and Lancelot were both shooting him warning looks. When Helena looked up at him, Tristan could see the hardness that had replaced that moment of weakness moments before.

"That is not something I shall ever utter in any of your presences," she replied, her voice harsh and steely. "Even my sister does not know what happened there, and I will protect her from the knowledge for as long as I shall live."

"Who were the men?" Lancelot asked. "Romans?"

"I don't know where they came from. But I know who they came from. They were followers of the foreign man who had come to see my sister, whose wife really had died in childbirth, giving him a child that wasn't his own. From what I was led to understand, he killed the child, gathered together a bunch of lunatics and decided he would hunt down and kill my sister. But the legion is growing every day, getting larger and larger. Many of the followers are Catholics, who are prejudiced against my sister, believing her a witch. We've been roaming the countryside for ages now, attempting to escape their grasp, trying to find somewhere we can settle down in," she seemed to have finished her story, but Tristan could probably climb through the gaps that she had left within. However, they had been given enough information to get a feeling for what they were dealing with.

"I see..." Arthur seemed thoughtful, meeting Tristan's eyes for a moment before turning back to the girl by his side. "Tristan will escort you back to your room. I ask that you do not leave it until my men and I have decided what is to be done about it."

"Yes, sir," Helena replied, standing with a slight grimace on her face as her stitches pulled with the movement.

Tristan rose as well, knowing that Arthur and the others would hold off much of the discussion until he returned to them. He walked around the table and took the girl by the elbow, though not very roughly, and led her out of the doorway. She didn't resist too much, though he slowed down considerably to keep up with the way she was walking. Considering that she was raised by men, he figured the lady-like steps she was taking were only a result of her wound and an attempt to keep from pulling it more than she should, though he'd be surprised if she hadn't ripped out a few stitches bolting to her sister's room the way she had.

"Can we stop for a moment?" she asked as they neared a bench, and Tristan nodded patiently, allowing her to sit on the stone seat, standing in front of her to convey the idea that they weren't going to spend long there. She slumped slightly in the seat, her face in her hands, and for a moment, Tristan wondered if she was crying. However, Helena didn't seem the type, so he just waited patiently for her to stop whatever she was doing and explain herself.

"I can't believe I just told that to you all," she muttered after a moment, sounding tired and distressed. "My sister and I have kept that between us for so long I was starting to thing we were going to go mad."

Tristan didn't say anything in response, just watched her closely, curious as to what she would do next. Helena's hands dropped from her face and she looked up at him, her blue eyes intense in the moonlight, her blonde hair a halo of white. She looked like the angels that Arthur often spoke of. She didn't look willful or angry or anything that he expected of her. Instead, she had a rather pleading look in her eyes.

"Will you say nothing? Are you just a statue that stands before me, or is there a man in there somewhere?" she asked, her voice so quiet that the wind nearly carried it away before Tristan could hear it.

"There is nothing to say," he replied flatly, and immediately regretted it upon seeing the faint shine of tears in her eyes. However, they immediately disappeared and were replaced by a blank look that was rather unnerving.

"I can find the way back to my bedchambers, you can go back now," she spat, and began walking away from him.

"Wait!" he called, his hand shooting out and barely grasping her slender wrist before he knew what he was doing. Helena stopped walking and turned slightly, her gaze flickering from his hand on her wrist to his face with a wary uncertainty. Did she think he was going to attack her? "What I meant was that there was nothing that could be said. Your story is a remarkable one."

"So you don't believe me? Is that it?" she attempted to wrench her wrist from his grasp, but Tristan held on tightly. "Let go of me, Tristan. I must look after my sister."

"Like you have every other day of your life?" he was so put off by her anger towards him that the words fell out of his mouth before he could think them over. "At this point, I highly doubt it's your sister that needs someone to look after them. Tell me, Helena, when's the last time that you actually let yourself live? The last time you went somewhere without Livia, and didn't think about her the whole time? Can you even name a moment when that happened? A moment where you weren't concerned of her well-being over your own?"

"Stop it, Tristan. Just let me go," she was pleading with him now, weakly attempting to remove her wrist from his grasp. "Let me go, Tristan."

"You're a living being as well, Helena. It would do you well to remember that," he hissed before she managed to successfully disengage herself from his grasp.

For a moment, their eyes were interlocked, the eerie darkness of his own lost in the ocean blue depths of her eyes. Tristan took a hesitant step towards her, his heart pounding in his chest, unable to blink for fear that when he did it would turn out she was only an illusion. There was a clattering sound, and Tristan was immediately distracted, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of an intruder. When he found none, he turned back to Helena. Rather, to where Helena had been a moment before. He saw the flash of her luminescent hair around the corner, but didn't bother following. It would just scare her off if he did so. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked back towards the Round Table room, unsure as to what had just happened. When he entered, all of his comrades were staring at him expectantly.

"I believe her," was the only thing he could say.