Chapter 15: Unravel

"She told you that?"

Tristan gave a slight nod, then added, "Implied it."

Arthur looked down at the map that was spread out in front of him on the Round Table absent-mindedly, wordlessly mulling over his thoughts.

"How long till they get here?"

"I would guess by tomorrow nightfall- earliest."

Arthur's brow creased. "We don't have enough time."

"Why?" asked Lancelot, a tinge of suspicion on his face as he eyed his friend with his fingers around his chin. "We just have to pack up the Roman family and leave. Today."

The knights looked at Arthur, and with his eyes set determinedly, they knew what exactly was going in his head.

"Arthur, you cannot expect the whole fort to empty," said Gawain in a low rumble, obviously suppressing his discontent.

"We take as many as are willing to come," replied Arthur firmly, turning to hold Gawain's annoyed gaze authoritatively.

"You're wasting time, Arthur," said Galahad through clenched teeth.

"As long as I can breathe I will not leave the innocent-"

A loud crash echoed in the great hall as Bors' fist made contact with the smooth, waxed table, and all jumped involuntarily at the unexpected noise.

"I have a wife and a dozen children," snarled Bors, his fisted hands shaking with anger. "I won't waste my time parading with a caravan of peasants when I could leave right now."

Arthur's face was passive, and his tone calm as he replied, "Bors, you know very well the Romans still have a hand in your fate."

Another loud smash thundered, this time with Bors' chair sent crashing to the marble floor.

"I am a free man!" hollered Bors, his face red with fury.

"Bors," said Arthur softly. "You know you are not. Yet."

The bald knight glared at Arthur with menacing eyes, his chest rising and falling with each furious breath, his fingers clenched at his sides. He was wrath itself.

With a grunt, he spun around and stormed out of the hall, pushing the door open roughly and slamming it shut with his full might.

The hollow reverberations of the slammed door rang in the hall, and when they died down, only the crackle of raving fire purged the deafening silence shared by five distressed knights. And each too proud to admit it.

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Abigail laid still under the warm covers, her eyes wide open, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. Once in a while, a piece of burnt wood would snap, and a shimmer of flame would glow before dying down amongst the black remains.

The fire was burning low, and she was aware of the chill in the room, but she did not bother remaking the fire, though logs were chopped and piled up neatly beside the fireplace. The very thought of getting out of bed, padding across the freezing floor, and heaving logs into the hearth, was too much for her heavy head to handle.

Oh yes, it was very heavy.

She sighed aloud and closed her eyes, hoping sleep would eventually come. She had been lying in bed for hours, since the last light of another winter day petered out behind the mountains. Vanora had brought her dinner, which sat untouched on the table beside the window. And fresh clothes- a thick black dress. She said her white one, which she was now wearing, was too flimsy to wear in this weather. Or anytime in the year on this wretched island, for that matter.

But Abigail would not bring herself to changing out of it. No, it was too big a task. She did not feel like doing anything at all.

That kiss, that brush of lips had stolen all the strength she had left in her exhausted body. His heated breath, the touch of his hands had broken down the remains of her ramparts. He had undone her in a matter of minutes.

She could not believe it. Him, a Sarmatian scout. A stranger. An enemy.

Abigail groaned and drew the covers over her face, screwing her face up tight in frustration. Enemy. She no longer knew what that word meant. She had no idea who was friend or foe anymore. The Saxons, the Romans, her own people.

She hated the Saxons, loathed them and cursed their every breath, but she was still their scout. She hated it, and though she had escaped her duties in these past few days, she could not banish the thought from her head. When they found her, she would be expected to take up her position again.

When they found her…

Suddenly, she could not longer picture her future. Or even the next hours. Everything was a whirlpool of colours- of green, brown, grey, black-

And red.

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Tristan lifted the door on its hinges so it opened with the slightest creak, then closed it in a similar manner after stepping into the dark room.

It was cold, and he knew why after glancing at the pitch black hearth. He quickly wedged a few logs into the fireplace, and lit a fire with the matches he found on the mantel. The small flames crackled briskly, and an orange glow illuminated the room.

She was a big lump on the bed, with only a few strands of her blond hair peeking out from the sheets. He strode over to the bedside, and peeled the sheets away, revealing her slumbering, flushed face. She could have easily suffocated herself.

He studied her face again. For how many times, he knew not. She was pleasant to look at, with her pale complexion and delicate features. And more so tonight, because for once, her face was peaceful, her brows a graceful arc instead of crumpled into a vicious frown or inclined to stop tears falling from her eyes.

His eyes slid down the smooth slope of her cheek to her lips, the bruise still an evident black amid the red.

He had wanted her, but he knew, not only out of lust. And he did not only want to take from her. He wanted to show her- show her that she was not the only one hurting, show her that he understood.

She did attract him- he could not longer deny that. Her nimble movements, her sharp eye, her sharper tongue, her involvement with the Saxons, her scars. She was a mystery. One waiting to be unraveled.

But he knew he would not have the time.

Gently, he removed the covers from her right arm, finding that she was wearing the same white dress the first time he laid eyes on her. The one that told him her name.

Keeping his eyes on the arm, he rolled the sleeve upward with a bit of difficulty, for it was rather narrow. When he had it secured above the wound, he took a corner of the sheets and slipped it under her arm. Then, he took the same flask of gin he had used that afternoon from his coat, unfastened the lid, and poured a small amount along the wound. She shifted as the liquid ran over her skin, but then sighed and stilled again. Wiping excess gin from her wound with the sheets, he found the bandages he brought along and wrapped the white fabric firmly around her quickly recovering wound. He then pulled the sleeve down again, and returned the arm to its original position under the warm covers.

"George?"

Tristan's head jerked up, and he found her staring at him through drowsy slits, a perplexed frown on her brow.

"Is that you?"

Her voice was no louder than a whisper, and her tone hopeful as she continued to stare at him.

Tristan shook his head slowly, leaning forward and pressed his palm gently to the side of her face.

"Sleep," he said softly.

A small smile graced her lips as her eyes fluttered close with a quiet sigh.

"Take care of Dolores for me, George," she whispered.

Her breathing gradually slowed down, an unhurried, leisurely rhythm as her body rose and fell with every breath. And he hovered above her, silently watching her, his hand, almost reluctantly, leaving her warm cheek.

Who was George?

"Sleep," he murmured again, more to himself, and soundlessly slipped out of the room.

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Hi! Sorry for the long wait, I've been busy studying for my mid-year exams, which are coming up next week! EEK! So yeah, unfortunately, it would be hiatus for this story until my exams are over on the 16th December :( Yes, I can hear your complaints, but school comes first… sigh…

Yeah, I know, this chapter is short. It's kinda interlude-ish, since it's the fifteen chapter already! Yay! Thank you all of you for sticking to this story this far, I really appreciate your reviews and encouragement :D

Speaking of which, it sucks that you can no longer post shout-outs -pouts- Oh well. I'll try my best to reply to all your reviews, so watch out :)

Have to go now. Tristan's gotten into trouble. With eggs. Err, it's a long story, you see. Well, I'm trying to teach him to cook. –smiles sheepishly- Lasagna, to be exact. –CRASH and curses- Well, I seriously gotta go now! Remember to review:D

-runs off to rescue distressed scout in a kitchen-