Give us, O Lord, a steadfast heart, which no unworthy affection may drag downwards; give us an unconquered heart, which no tribulation can wear out; give us an upright heart, which no unworthy purpose may tempt aside. Bestow upon us also, O Lord our God, understanding to know you, diligence to seek you, wisdom to find you, and a faithfulness that may finally embrace you.

-Thomas Aquinas

Maeve almost comes skittering to a crash, narrowly avoiding the tall row of shelves filled with numerous bottles and jars of medicinal items just to her left. Coming to a stop at the last minute, she avoids the fall, throwing her hand out in front of her to steady herself and ensure she doesn't drop the bowl of porridge she's carrying with her. Blinking against the bright afternoon sunlight streaming in through windows high above her, she curses under her breath, looking back to ensure the group is with her. They are and appear to be keeping good time. Normally she wouldn't be moving so fast, especially considering this is the older part of the infirmary; she's always found the cracked and faded, almost 300 year-old mosaics and frescos to be fascinating. They cover not only every part of the walls, but the ceiling as well, their creme-colored backgrounds still bright, the red, brown, gold and other colors impossibly brighter. The various old Roman pagan figures and animals are like nothing she's seen elsewhere besides in other older parts of the citadel. The Romans no longer allow such things now that they've become Christian. Most of the decor is newer and religious based, the stiff pictures of pointing, haloed people illustrating the lives of various disciples and martyrs that litter the apocrypha. Far more appealing, the older pagan works document an assortment of things: day to day life, animal sacrifices to the gods, the long-forgotten rituals of the various secret cults that used to be epicenter of Roman religious life. Even the clandestine customs of the legendary Vestal Virgins are rumored to be hidden somewhere within these frescoes, if one knows where to find them. But right now, she has little time to think on how to unlock the mysteries of the now-dead pagans. There are far more pressing things.

"Come on, make haste!" she says in hushed tones, looking behind her.

"Steady on!" Heraniae retorts in exasperation. She doesn't know why Dagonet insisted on having her take Artorius to the infirmary. After all, she was the one who knew where Ceridwen was and was on her way to fetch her when Dagonet suddenly shoved her onto the other side of the young captain, deciding to find her himself. She honestly didn't mind at first, but Artorius proves a lot heavier than he looks and she's beginning to get a little tired, especially after the two story climb up the stairs to the third level. The infirmary is also quite a ways from the dining hall of the officers' barracks. Thankfully, Bedivere seems content to take on more and more of his captain's weight, the young Roman soldier not saying much in his usual stoic manner.

"We're almost there," Maeve counters, rolling her eyes.

"Good, good," Heraniae mutters, blowing a wisp of her blonde hair out of her eyes. She readjusts the way in which Artorius' arm is slung across her shoulder, making his heavy weight more bearable for her. The noise of their movements echoes along the walls, almost eerie compared to the usual sounds of chatter that typically fly along the corridors of the infirmary. For some odd reason, everyone seems to have to have disappeared. Probably off to supper, Heraniae thinks, which reinforces the fact she's hungry as well. But more important things take precedent right now.

Maeve finally comes to the proper room, knocking to ensure it's unoccupied. It is, but she's having a difficult time pushing open the heavy wooden door, especially with bowl in her other hand.

"Can you take him?" Heraniae asks Bedivere, but he's already in motion, Artorius' weight balanced in his arms as Heraniae shoves open the door. All enter, Bedivere helping a rather groggy Artorius take a seat on the pallet. He then moves to the windows, flicking open the shutters to let in some fresh air. Maeve immediately gets work, undoing the rather complicated straps on Artorius' cuirass, her years of helping her father get into the unwieldy armor and watching various others do the same paying off. Her small fingers quickly work through the ties and the other two slip it up and over Artorius' head. Bedivere then gets him out the heavy chain mail, tossing it to the floor, leaving the captain in his under tunic.

"Can't keep letting them do this to you mate!" he says quietly, deep voice rumbling with concern, his dark eyes wide with unease.

"It's not so bad…" Artorius mutters.

"It wasn't so bad when Pellinore beat the stuffing out of you last week," Heraniae grumbles, as she takes inventory of the ways he groans as he shifts his position. Apparently the bruises from that incident are still on him. She shoves the sleeve of his under tunic up and begins dabbing at the nasty, wide and bloodied cut on his forearm with her handkerchiefs. "This time, you might have some broken ribs. Try to make sure next time you decide to go into a dead faint, you don't hit the table on your way down."

"Someone…drugged me," Artorius replies slowly.

"Lucky it wasn't poison," Maeve intones, sniffing at the contents of the bowl she has. "Smells like…Rue. I think you Romans know it as Ruta graveolens." She stops suddenly, wrinkling up her nose and looking up at him in confusion. "Did you even bother to smell this before you ate it? It reeks!"

Artorius does his best to shrug his shoulders. "I was hungry…"

"You don't say?" Maeve retorts.

"Just got back from morning exercises and…waking up before dawn," he counters. "Put anything in front of me…I'll eat it. I'm…not going to…?"

"Die?" she replies, voice hitching with fear at the word. "N-no. It's usually used to treat, um, bites and bad eyesight," she says with a snap of her fingers, happy to know she's remembered its uses. "You'll live, but you'll be out of sorts for at least a day or so. Whoever, er, did this really, uh, doesn't take kindly to you."

"It could be any one of the men," Artorius mutters.

"Drink this," Maeve says, placing a cup of dark, foul smelling liquid in Artorius' hand. His attention snaps back to her as he arches an eyebrow in question. "A draught to drug you," she says. "You'll need it for the stitches, I think," she continues. He looks doubtful at first but then knocks back the liquid, trying not to gag on it. Within a bit, he starts to feel even groggier, fighting to stay awake.

"Again, mate, you can't keep letting them do this to you," Bedivere intones.

"Especially when it keeps landing you in my infirmary, Ceridwen says, walking into the room. She has her usual impassive expression in place, though her eyes flash with annoyance and even anger. "Dagonet told me everything," she continues. "Thank you two," she says to Heraniae and Bedivere. "I've got him now." The other two quickly move to leave, both knowing how Ceridwen's territorial attitude when it comes to her infirmary. Then again, she is best healer in the citadel, earning a right to run the place as she sees fit. They quickly nod in goodbye, heading out door.

"Maeve, fetch me the needle. He'll need stitches. Also, get started on the paste for the compress for that lovely bruise starting to form on the side of his head."

"Aye," the child replies, taking the needle and thread from a leather case sitting on the table behind them and handing it off. Looking through the jars on the shelves that line the wall underneath the window, she finds the proper ingredients. Wetting a bandage and squeezing the excess water from it into the bowl filled with the herbs, she makes a paste, quickly wrapping it in the bandage and handing it to her grandmother.

"Good to see you're learning," Ceridwen says flatly as she presses the compress to Artorius' head. He accepts it gratefully, holding it in place. Silence falls as Ceridwen finishes cleaning the wounds on his arms, Maeve watching carefully and mentally taking note.

"You can't keep doing this, you know," Ceridwen says flatly after a while, even as Artorius lets out a groan of pain, head lolling against the wall behind him as he fights to keep his eyes open. Maeve continues to watch, fascinated despite the appalling sight of the blood as her grandmother threads the needle with a fine string of silken thread, then plunging it into the young captain's forearm. Her aged hands work surprisingly fast as she uses the tiniest of stitches to suture up the open wound. Wiping down the now closed cut with the disinfectant herbal water, she firmly shakes Artorius in an attempt to get him to remain conscious.

"I know she gave you quite a dram of the drugs so you wouldn't feel the pain, but you've got to say with me, boy," she mutters almost derisively. If not for the worry reflected in her eyes, one might accuse her of being cruel as she lightly slaps the soldier's face. "Wake up!" she murmurs, "Got to see if you've got any broken ribs. Or worse."

"I'm not asleep," Artorius drawls as he moves at an achingly slow pace to sit up straight. Dropping the compress and wincing, he lifts his arms above his head almost unconsciously, letting out an annoyed sigh as Ceridwen pulls off his shirt. Clucking her tongue at a rather large bruise across his lower torso, she quickly runs her fingers down his chest and pokes along his back, asking him if it hurts to breathe or cough.

"No," he murmurs with a frown as his eyes suddenly snap open at the feel of her cold hands.

"Well that's good," she replies. "At least we know you won't die now. Maeve, hand me those bandages and then take his tunic to laundry. When you're done with that, go find either Bedivere, Cador or Cai and tell them that Artorius here will be spending a few days here in the infirmary. It's nothing serious, as you can see, but he needs his uninterrupted rest and I don't want any of those idiots bothering him while he's on the mend. He can afford to miss a few exercises and whatever else they make them do there in the yard."

"But I wanna learn…" Maeve implores

"They'll be plenty of time for that," Ceridwen retorts, mouth clenching in warning, which immediately causes Maeve to stop her questions and gather up the captain's shirt. His armor is too heavy for her to carry, so she leaves it where it sits on the corner.

"Artorius," Maeve asks in a hushed voice, walking over to him and shaking his uninjured arm to illicit a response. "Are you goin' need anything out of your quarters?"

"No…but thank you. They'll know what to bring," he says languidly, looking down at her, his face softening a bit at the concern etched all over her face. "I'll…be fine."

"Hope so," she whispers, looking him over again and giving his hand a squeeze of reassurance. Her unusual move causes him to give her the briefest of grins before he closes his eyes again.

"Off you go," Ceridwen says, pulling her away from him and shoving her out of the room. Shutting the door behind the child, the older woman swiftly spins on her heel, stalking towards Artorius, the anger on her face extraordinarily evident. "This is roughly the 5th time in as many weeks you've been here, Artorius!" she begins, voice rising.

"I think it's been six or so," he replies, sitting up straighter.

"Apparently the drugs also bring out a bit of cheekiness too!" she snorts as she takes a seat in front of him, roughly tossing him a spare under tunic, which he proceeds to put on. "I'm growing weary of seeing you in here again and again," she continues. "You're all bruised up, not to mention you've already had four sutures, suffered one concussion, badly scraped your leg, broken your wrist…"

"A bit of a mishap," he mumbles.

"Of course," she retorts, completely unconvinced as she distractedly brushes back some strands of grey hair that are falling out of the complicated bun at the nape of her neck. "And now this," she adds, gesturing at the cur. Suddenly she sighs. "It's not that I don't like you, boy," she begins, voice softening as she wrings her hands. "Quite the opposite…"

"You seem to have an odd way of showing it," he says flatly.

"I'll ignore that little impertinence and blame it on the drugs, as well as your general annoyance with the fact that you're here," she counters. "You shouldn't be back, frankly. The plain fact is you've to get your men under control. I think words are wasted at this point, considering it's been eight months since you've all arrived…"

"It's been that long?"

"Augustus, September, October, November, December, Januarius, Februarius, and now it's Martius. That's eight by my count, at least by your Roman calendar," she replies, counting out the months on her fingers. "Artorius," she implores, "How long are you going to let this go on? We're almost up to a year and they still see fit to hold you in such contempt that it leads to injury…"

"There're still some…things to work out…"

"I believe you Christians call it 'martyrdom,'" she interrupts. "Frankly, it doesn't become you at all," she sniffs, rising from her seat and turning her back to him to reorganize the bottles and jars that line the shelves on the opposite walls.

"Pardon?" he questions, his mind immediately coming to attention despite the fog of drugs currently invading it.

"You heard me, Artorius. Ravenna is hundred of miles away, on the mainland. We're here on the frontier, at the edges of 'civilization' as you Latins call it. That world has ceased to exist out here at the border of the empire. You're not Uther. You can't take on your father's burdens, trying to save everyone all for the sake of some antiquated code of honor from Rome. After all, that sort of thing gets people injured and eventually killed."

"Ceased to exist?" he begins, sitting up stiffly. "You've no right…" he continues, voice rising, only to be cut off by her.

"I most certainly do," she replies evenly, back still to him. "You'd be surprised at how long I've been here and what I've seen," she continues, turning around to face him, the look on her face oddly compassionate despite the detached sound of her voice.

"H-how would you even…know?" Artorius begins, hands clenching at his sides as the memories come flooding back. "You weren't even there when he…was cut down!"

"Neither were you," she points out.

"T-that's beside the point!" he continues, voice catching in his throat. "Were you there when the message came, talking of how he was 'a good soldier' and how he 'gave his life for the empire?' Were you there when my mother collapsed in the dirt, the grief overwhelming her every senses? You didn't see her, hear her wails as they carried on into the night, only to fall silent as she sat there, staring, saying nothing, doing nothing, sitting in the dark for days on end afterwards!"

"Artorius…" she murmurs.

"I don't lash out at them because it would be completely beneath me. I refuse to be some child who falls pray to his impulses, lives without control, exists outside the rules that govern our conduct. I am commander of these men! You think I take it all from them because I'm a martyr? For you? For them even? I don't do any of this for you!" he all but yells, cutting her off completely, trying to get to his feet but failing due to the lethargic effect of the drugs. "I don't even do it for your husband! I do it to preserve their memory of what they wanted to preserve; for honor, for the memory of Rome, as far away from this place as it is. That is what Uther died for, no? It is what I will die for! And you've no right to bring my father into this! I am his child, his only progeny. It falls to me along to commit his memory to this land!" he pants, eyes glittering and sweat pouring down his brow.

"Artorius…" she murmurs again, reaching out to steady him. But he flinches, moving away from her, causing her to frown.

"It falls to me along to commit his memory to this land!" he repeats. "D-don't!" he utters as she reaches out to him again. He finally gets to his feet, taller than she remembers, for she's now forced to look up at him as he stares her down. "I'm fine," he gasps. "I know what I'm saying!"

"You don't…"

"I damn well do!"

"Artorius, stop this!" she finally yells, taking him by the shoulders and giving him a good shake. "Sit down!" she bellows, shoving him so that he lands with a hard thud on the pallet.

The jolt of it causes him to immediately fall silent, though his chest heaves as tries to catch his breath. Suddenly he looks up at her again, blinking rapidly to prevent the tears that threaten to spill down his cheeks. "By all that is holy, I-I don't know what's come over me!" he whispers, breaking the oppressive silence between them as his shoulders slump with resignation.

"I believe it is called 'anger,'" Ceridwen replies evenly, taking a deep breath and sitting down in front him once more. She passes him a piece of clean cloth, which he uses to dab at his eyes as subtly as possible. Taking his uninjured hand is in hers, she says "Not quite surprising for someone dealing such pressures as yours."

"Forgive me," he intones.

"You have nothing to ask forgiveness for. You cannot be faultless all the time. I believe your god is the only one capable of such things. However Artorius, you must forgive me," she sighs.

"There is nothing to forgive," he replies shaking his head emphatically. "I-I've completely taken advantage of your consideration…"

"There it is again, the martyr complex," she says resignedly, though a grin tugs at her mouth. "Just accept the confession and give the proper absolution. And it's not consideration on my part, it's my duty. I do run this infirmary after all."

"You are forgiven then," he murmurs. She squeezes his hand in reassurance, then dropping it into his lap.

"More often than not, you forget that you're still just a boy of fifteen seasons…"

"Sixteen," he counters with a half grin.

"Aye?"

"The 28th of Februarius," he adds.

"Well why didn't you say anything?" she retorts. "I am an old woman, you know. I cannot possibly remember everything."

"It didn't prove important," he shrugs.

"It does for us. Constinian would've done something at least. Besides, you're not a grown man yet, Artorius, no matter how much you attempt to fool people into thinking it so. You don't have to act as such all the time. There are others who would willingly share your burdens, if only you let them. Cai, and Bedivere immediately come to mind, not to mention many of the older knights. You're not as hated as you think. 'Tis only a few rotten apples…"

"Except…"

"Except nothing. I've seen plenty of men who think they may do it all on their own, with only the blessings of whatever God they pray to. Men who think others are two weak or innocent to depend on, who take on the burdens of others, only to let it eat away at themselves. Two of them are dear to my heart. And both have paid the price for such hubris."

"Truly?" he asks, surprised at her unusual show of candor. She's never spoken of anything in her past.

"Aye. One of them is my husband. The other, your father." Artorius quickly swallows, willing himself to remain silent.

"Your father was a great man," she begins, rising from her chair and starting to pace the room. "His courage, His empathy, his zeal, his ideals," she sighs. "He was everything to…everyone. A sight to behold."

"You didn't…love him…did you?" Artorius questions, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

"Aye?" she says, spinning around to face him. "Uther? Not in the simple way in which you think. I loved him as one would love his captain, or any person who loves one who exemplifies ideals which he himself can never aspire to."

"Oh," Artorius says, the relief in his voice evident.

"He was one of the kindest men I met when I first came to this fort so many years ago. A mere acolyte from the Orcades sent by the high priestess Viviane, I came as part of the envoy out of the north to warn of the invading Scotti," she says, lifting the sleeve of her dress to show Artorius the inside of her left wrist. The faded telltale blue tribal tattoo of the icy islands far to north is easy to see in the bright light of the afternoon.

"We always came to warn the Romans of such things since they maintained the precarious order of this island. We were their scouts in a sense, especially considering many were warrior priests and priestesses, while others, such as myself, chose to be strictly healers. Because we were and still are so far outside Roman command, it proves more of an alliance rather than outright colonization." she continues.

"Uther had yet to become commander, but I knew even then he was destined for it. While the other Romans treated us barely above contempt, he strove to ensure that our accommodations were befitting those of Viviane's brood. One of the only other Romans to do that as well proved Constinian. And while I did not know it then, I would come to love him for such benevolence. The Sarmatians were rather humane as well, though they didn't say much. I suspect they mostly acted as such out of empathy, for they too are outsiders, knowing all too well how it is to be treated without even the most minor of considerations. As for Uther though," she pauses, closing her eyes in an effort to help conjure up the memories, "He was so far above us all in spirit and truth, is was truly impossible to even to begin fathom. But I'm sure you know that."

"After a month or so, the envoy left, I going along with them. Almost immediately, I begin to notice to I yearned to return, despite the slights from the rest of the Romans. At first I thought proved the result of Constinian's rather attractive advances. You may not think it now, but he proved rather charming. Charming enough that when I finished my six years of guidance under Viviane, she immediately assigned me as emissary to the citadel, knowing where my heart stood. Spring and Summer I spent here, Fall and Winter back on the island. You must understand, while marriage is not strictly forbidden by Viviane, sacrifices are made, as in if one gets married outside of the priests and priestess in the Orcades, you loose their most exalted status."

"That seems to go beyond normal sacrifice," Artorius yawns, the drugs beginning to take their final effect.

"To the contrary," Ceridwen replies, taking a seat in front of him again. "One simply cannot expect to keep up with the constant vigilance and rituals the Goddess calls for if she's so far away. And children are necessary to provide new acolytes, so someone has to beget them. Hence those who leave, while encouraged to return eventually, cannot be expected to stay, at least while they rear their children."

"Anyway, I held out for four years, the call of the most exalted Goddess stirring within me. That is until Boann, the goddess of fertility, finally ensnared me. Thus, I married Constinian, bidding farewell to Viviane, leaving part of my old life behind. However, I soon found I left behind much more than initially thought; had it not been for both Uther and Constianian, I would have surely gone mad in those first few years, the adjustments to Roman life far more difficult than I initially thought.

"I see," Artorius replies, stifling a yawn. She gives an odd grin at his apparent boredom, deciding to finish.

"What I am trying to say through all this rambling, Artorius, is that Uther proved an older brother to me in all but blood. He looked after me, ensured I adjusted to daily life here at fort, inspired me to become known as more than just his Tribuni Angusticlavii's wife. He moved me to come into my own. But what proves even more extraordinary is not the fact that he watched over me but rather, the fact that he watched over us all with such equal enormity…"

"'Tis what I strive to do," Artorius says, cutting her off.

"And I do not fault you for that. However, you must remember you are only a man, not a god. You cannot protect everyone all the time. Sometimes, you have to let the little ones who refuse to follow you fail. They will either find their without your aid or go astray. You cannot rule your entire fate, nor the fate of others."

"But…"

"Artorius," she counters with warning, looking into his eyes. "You are only a man. Uther…well, he thought otherwise. And I don't mean that in a blasphemous manner," she quickly adds, seeing the anger flooding to the young captain's eyes. "Uther thought he was beyond such little things as letting other people die when he couldn't save them. It was a noble and righteous cause, yes. But it still resulted in his death."

"He died defending a village along the Antonine Wall," Artorius retorts, shaking his head.

"Where he should never have gone."

"But the people needed his help…"

"They…they were long dead before he even arrived."

"He would never have gone had that been true!" Artorius counters.

"He did," Ceridwen sighs. "He went, knowing it was true. Viviane's scouts told him as much, as few of them even dying before they made it back to the citadel, ambushed by Woads. But he departed anyway, insisting that the people needed protection. It proved a trap, created by the invading Hibernians of the great island to the east of this one. Those who went with him, a mixed company of Romans and Sarmatians, were wiped out, Constinian's brother among them. Constinian…was scheduled to go, but could not, due to a fall from his horse a few days before," she says, voice raspy with the emotion.

"The…bodies?" Artorius questions, his own voice hitching.

"Viviane's scouts, what was left of them, brought them back. They followed the company on the rear. Most of them massacred were as well. The ones who survived played dead. Only two came out completely unscathed."

"My God," Artorius whispers, making the sign of the cross. "I-I thought it was a simple Woad attack."

"Artorius," Ceridwen begins, taking his hand. "I-I helped Constinian draft that terrible message your mother Ingraine received. We sought not to worry you or panic anyone else with word of a possible invasion. I-it was I who…dressed Uther's…body," she says, sniffing back tears. "After…witnessing what they did, the pointlessness of the doomed mission, how much pain his death caused this citadel and countless others who lost friends and family, I swore to never let a man's pride blind him to reality, never let his inherent goodness be snuffed out in such…a wasteful manner." The tears are openly spilling down her cheeks now as Artorius fights to hold back his own.

"When you arrived here on that first day," she continues, grip tightening on his hand, "Looking so much like your father, with your mother's vivid eyes, it was as though I had been hurtled back in time; Uther's face haunted me, Ingraine's eyes were staring back me, your father's voice ringing in my ears, his own sword sitting there on your hip, gleaming in the sunlight for all to see." Artorius' eyes go wide, her words echoing in head.

"I knew I could not let it happen again," she says. "I could not let the pride and nobility of the Castus clan be its undoing once more. After all, there has already been one martyr. Let enough time pass in what you call 'heaven' for your god to get used to the idea of accepting another one. Your time is not at hand," she chokes out.

"N-no, it is not," Artorius replies, voice hoarse with emotion as he leans back against the wall.

Silence falls between them, save the muffled cries of their grief.

After a while, Artorius looks up. "Wait, you said Constinian proved the other man with such hubris…"

"A story for another time, when you have learned other lessons," Ceridwen counters, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath and quickly getting up. Seeing the uncharacteristic melancholy in her eyes, he decides to save such inquiries for later. "Now," she says, voice becoming distant again, though she bites her lip in order to concentrate, "I assume you are hungry considering you apparently did not finish breakfast?" He nods in response, the words stuck in his throat. "Good," she continues. "The larder has just been restocked, so I'll have one of the pupils bring something up. In the meantime, you may have your pick of the rooms. Do you prove able to stand?" she asks, holding out her hand to him.

"I will manage," he replies steadily, slowly getting to his feet, using the pallet for leverage. He stumbles suddenly, resting his hand against the wall to regain his balance. She arches an eyebrow at him, taking inventory of his measured movements.

"There are others who would willingly share your burdens," she intones quietly, bright blue eyes narrowing in concern, her hand still outstretched. He frowns, brow furrowed with confusion. Suddenly, he gives a deep sigh and reaches out to take her arm, steadying himself. Testing his first few steps, he gains his footing. Leaving the quarters, they cannot deny the change in the air is palpable; rather than the usual oppressive silence of words unspoken, there now lies the quiet resilience of faith and hope of things to come.