Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except Llynya (and she'd probably be grateful for a kinder author!)
It took several moments before Llynya gathered the courage to return to her companions. As humiliating it would be to be thrust upon Arthurs' charity, it was still preferable to wandering the forest alone with a Saxon army nearby.
"I'm sorry." Giving a half smile to Tom and not daring to look at Tristan, Llynya walked over to their discarded belongings and picked up the shawl she had dropped earlier. "It has been a difficult day, I did not mean to appear rude." Tom smiled at her with a pitying kindness that made her stomach clench with embarrassment, and she did her best to feign interest in the scruffy slip that he held out to her.
" No harm done lass." Patting her shoulder in a paternal fashion, he carefully extinguished the remains of the fire. "Plenty of times Tristan's scared the wits out of me, but he won't hurt you."
"If he is a friend of yours then I have nothing to fear." Too nervous to look at the other man, Llynya twisted her heavy dark hair into a makeshift bun and smiled at the scout without meeting his eyes. "Forgive me for detaining you sir," she mumbled politely, "it would seem that I have lost my wits as well as my home."
"There is nothing to forgive." Giving a brief shrug, Tristan studied her intently. "You come from Hythe do you not?"
"Yes sir. That is, I mean that was, my home."
"You are acquainted with my brother." It was a statement rather than a question, and for a moment Llynya struggled to understand his meaning.
"Your brother sir?" Caught off guard, she looked at him blankly. There was no-one in the village who had borne any resemblance to this quiet, sharp featured man.
"Gawain."
"Gawain? You are his brother?" Startled, Llynya's curiosity outweighed her embarrassment, and she studied him openly. Gawain had reminded her of a lion stitched into a tapestry she had seen in Palomides' castle: all golden hair and sleek muscle. This man resembled the hawk that had announced his presence; his sharp eyes and silent grace making her feel clumsy and awkward in comparison. The two men were nothing alike. "You don't look like him," she muttered eventually.
"He is my brother by duty rather than blood."
"Oh." There wasn't anything that she could think of to answer that. Of course they regarded each other as brothers: they had fought shoulder to shoulder since they were little more than children, Gawain had told her that much. Llynya shifted uncomfortably, and aware that she had already spoken out of turn, she looked at Tom. "We should probably be on our way shouldn't we? There is still a long way to go if we are to reach Avebury before the end of the week."
"Aye, but there's no need to fret girl; Tristan is going to take us back with him. His company are camped nearby and travelling in the same direction." Mistaking her horrified silence for nervousness at the prospect of meeting a group of unfamiliar soldiers, Tom smiled at her reassuringly. "There is no need to be afraid, I know them well and none of them would do you harm. Besides, from what Tristan says, you are acquainted with Gawain - he will keep an eye on you."
Yes, he has kept an eye on me in the past, and more, she thought with slightly hysterical amusement. Men are not usually so enamoured of their discarded lovers when they turn up out of nowhere though… Llynya attempted a smile and let Tom usher her towards the pathway that snaked between the trees. He had been kind to her, he had saved her life and returned to their village when most would have fled. What would he think if she confessed that she had welcomed a man into her bed within two weeks of meeting him, well aware that he would be gone before the end of the month? What would Gawain say when she followed his friend to their encampment? He had wanted her, of that she was certain, but he had also left with little more than soft kisses and regretful eyes. There must be dozens of women scattered across the country that had the same fond memories: probably several unacknowledged children with blond hair and blue eyes as well.
Tucking her shawl around her shoulders, Llynya followed both men and bit her lip nervously. If she fled she would be lost and at the mercy of the forest, the weather and anyone who stumbled across her. Even if she found her way back to the village, what was waiting for her? Nothing but death and ruins, that's what. Her only hope was to follow Tom to Avebury and trust that he was telling the truth about his sisters' tavern. If she had to travel with Gawain she would do so - treat him with indifference and pretend that the past was forgotten. This situation was not one of her own making, and blinking back the sting of tears, she promised herself that she would not show weakness; she would be as silent and unobtrusive as Lark who trotted beside her.
It did not take long before they reached Tristans' horse. Tethered to an old chestnut tree, it watched their approach with mild interest, snuffling the scouts' shoulder as he untied him. Llynya shook her head in polite refusal when Tristan motioned towards the saddle. She was not a very good rider, and although she was grateful for the offer, walking gave her the chance to think without being watched. As they walked, the scout glanced at her from time to time, dark eyes almost hidden by the messy braids that fell around his shoulders, and she wondered what Gawain had told him about her. Did he look a her with pity? Contempt? Once he offered her half an apple which he had sliced with a deftness that made her uncomfortable, the steel sliding through the fruits' flesh easily and leaving a fleck of dried blood upon the portion he had offered. She had accepted it with a smile, but had rubbed the blood off when he wasn't looking. Gawain had mentioned that Tristan had a taste for bloodshed: she had not thought he had meant it literally.
There were three dead pheasants tied to the back of Tristans' saddle - presumably they were what had brought him into the forest. As they walked their blank eyes swayed with the horses' movement, and Llynya looked away, almost knocking Tom over.
"Alright lass?"
"I'm fine thank you." Embarrassed, she hunted for something to say. "How do you and Tristan know each other?"
"Long story, but let's just say that I owe Tristan my life, and he owes me a bloody good horse."
"Good horse?" Tristan snorted, "it was too short in front and half blind."
"It had sentimental value."
"Arthur mistook it for a donkey twice."
"Arthur had to be tied onto his saddle when I taught him to ride. He's lucky that his stallion has the sweetest nature this side of Wimborne tavern."
Llynya looked at Tom aghast and tripped over a tree root. Arcturus was a legend: to speak of him like that was unheard of, not to mention highly inadvisable when in the company of his men. Shrugging off Tom's attempt to help her up, she glanced at Tristan warily. He did not seem to have taken offence at her companions' comments, in fact there was nothing but mild amusement in his eyes when he looked back at her.
"You shouldn't say things like that," she hissed to the man beside her, "that is his commander of whom you speak."
"Don't fret Llynya, if Tristan wanted us dead we would never have made it out of the clearing." Laughing at her horrified expression, he patted her shoulder reassuringly. "I have known Arthur and his men since they were first brought over to Britain - I might be a trapper now, but there was a time when I bred the finest horses in the country, not everyone has forgotten that."
Tristan said nothing, and despite her curiosity, Llynya knew when to hold her tongue. Looking around for Lark, she searched the dark forest around them in vain: it seemed that either the dog had run off, or it did not share it's masters' faith in their companion. Tom did not seem worried, and mentally berating herself for her distrust, Llynya forced herself to watch the path they followed. The camp could not be far off, and she would need to be alert.
The encampment, when they reached it, was small and sparse. Expecting the usual trappings of Roman decadence, Llynya looked around in confusion when Tristan led them towards the fire glowing at the edge of the forest: there were no tents, no banners or carriages that would suggest the presence of a high ranking Roman officer. Half a dozen horses tethered in the trees looked up in interest at their arrival, but their quality was the only thing that differentiated the site from any other camp set up by poachers or travellers.
"Tristan!" A very handsome young man threw down the whetstone with which he was sharpening his sword and walked over to them. "What have you caught this time? Tom's a good hunter, but that doesn't look much like venison to me."
"If you're hungry, go catch something yourself Galahad," Tristan retorted. "Even you must draw the line at eating women."
"Wouldn't dream of it, especially when they are so pretty." Blushing at the lazy grin the young knight gave her, Llynya looked at Tom nervously, her worry slightly assuaged by the amused smile that lit up his face.
"Galahad. It is good to see you." Tom clapped the younger man on the shoulder and pulled Llynya forward. "This is Llynya, I'm taking her to Avebury. Tristan says that you are heading in that direction."
"I hope so - I've had enough of this bloody place. Two weeks here and all we've seen is squirrels and rabbits. Typical that the forest we get stationed to is the only one that even the Woads can't be bothered with."
"I wouldn't be complaining if I were you," Tom said ruefully. "There's a Saxon battalion not two days ride from here: enjoy the peace while you can."
"Saxons?" Galahad looked at Tom with consternation. "What are they doing this far south? Have you spoken to Arthur?"
"'course he hasn't, we've only just got here." Looping his horses' reins around a branch, Tristan motioned Tom and Llynya to follow him. "If you're still hungry then you can prepare these." With a faint smile he tossed the trio of pheasants that had been tied to the back of his saddle at Galahad's feet. "Don't overcook them." Galahad's reply was thankfully lost in the excited barking that marked Larks' arrival at the campsite.
Llynya had seen Arthur before, but the fleeting glimpse that she had caught when he was a guest at Palomides' house, did not prepare her for the for the unnerving vitality of the man that greeted her. His face was serious, and Llynya looked down when Tristan explained her predicament, not daring to meet his gaze. He had listened to her story quietly before taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it gently, assuring her that she would come to no harm now that she was under his protection. Llynya blushed and kept her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, but for the first time she understood why his men were willing to give their lives for him, why they killed in his name. A huge man that Arthur addressed as Dagonet approached at Arthurs' command, and with a polite nod, Arthur had turned her over to his care, his hazel eyes gentle despite the bloodstained armour that he wore. Llynya had not done anything more that curtsey and nod her thanks. Girls like she did not often meet men of such high rank, and although she had smiled when Tom and Arthur had greeted each other like old friends, it was with relief that she allowed the big knight to lead her towards a pile of blankets near the fire.
"You can sleep here." Dagonet's voice was low and stern, the scar that traversed his face making him seem even more formidable. Were it not for the kindness that lit his eyes and softened his expression, Llynya would have been too afraid to take the blanket that he held out towards her.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "I will try to keep out of everyone's way."
He studied her for a moment, and Llynya fought the desire to drop her eyes. "You need not fear us girl," he said eventually. "You are under Arthur's protection now, and there are none here who will allow you to be harmed. Rest, I will bring you something to eat ."
"That would be most welcome sir." With a rather wobbly curtsey Llynya watched the big man walk away before dropping to her knees and wrapping herself in the blanket. The fire was warm against her face, and although she fought her drowsiness, sleep came swiftly and unexpectedly. She did not wake when Dagonet placed a chunk of bread and a water skin by her side and laid his cloak over her, nor did she stir when the remaining knights returned to the camp.