Wandering Home

A/N: I apologize for untimely manner in which this comes to you. There has been so much work to get done and I have had to put my darling hobby aside for too long a time. Not to mention my laptop deciding to die and lose all the work I had done. But that's another tale you don't want to hear.

Now on to the tale you actually want to hear told…

Chapter 4: Romanization

Little can be said about the following weeks. Arthur's instructions to the sisters were quite clear. One toe out of line and they would be left to the mercy of the wild. Much to their chagrin, the rules that existed offered no room for bending or breaking. The Romans had an iron fist over the place. Outwardly, there was no hint from the common people of the fort that they still harbored the old ways.

"Bloody Christian and Roman movement," Alannah muttered one day while they were doing their wash at the river's edge. "They just can't wander in and expect everyone to obey them!" She angrily wrung out the skirt she was washing.

"An army will convince many to obey," Grainne pointed out. "Many would rather live under strict laws then be destroyed. People think of their families."

"Hrumph," Alannah said indignantly. "Meara," she implored of the middle sister.

Meara pushed her copper curls away from her face. "We must be cautious. Grainne speaks truly." She pulled out a length of leather cord and began to tie back her voluminous long curls. Under her breath, she growled at her wild hair.

Alannah gave her sister a scandalized look. "This, coming from a woman who almost became a warrior-priestess! Surely, the Shades cloud your judgment. So we are to abandon our way of life just to please some Roman pigs?"

"Mind your tongue," Grainne snapped. "If these Christians here ye talking so they'll hesitate not to make an example of ye."

Picking up her basket of wash, Meara began to walk away from her sisters.

"Where are ye off to?" Grainne called.

"I have some things to tend to." She crested the hill and was gone from sight.

"I still can't believe that she's asking us to give up our way of life."

Grainne eyed the youngest sister. Sometimes her innocence about politics was disturbing. "Don't ye start thinking about being a martyr. We've been through tougher times than these." With her simple piece said, Grainne gathered up her things and followed Meara's example, leaving Alannah to fume.

Goddess only knows how long Alanna sat by that riverbank before someone found her. It was Vanora, herding all of her children down for, what would hopefully be, a bath.

"Alright you lot, bath time," Vanora announced in a no-nonsense voice. "One, Two, come on, bath." Vanora looked at the six children that were assembled around her. How did she manage to get this many children? Then she remembered Bors' insatiable thirst. "Come on kids, get a move on."

The oldest two, aptly named One and Two, were running about, doing everything in their power to avoid a bath. The younger ones were just there, being pains.

Alannah looked up from moping in her wash to see Van trying to get the children to behave. She smiled slightly, but still furious at her older sisters. "Need some help?" she inquired.

The redhead turned around. "Ah, Alannah. Wonderful to see you. Yes, some help would be lovely."

Somehow, between the two of them, the women managed to get all the kids settled down and into the river for a bath. "Van, can I ask ye something?"

"Yes dear?"

"Does anyone at the fort uphold the old ways?" Alannah asked cautiously. She waited for Vanora to answer. She noticed how Van looked about her surreptitiously before answering.

"Tis best not to speak about it." She scrubbed one of the children's hair. "It is still practiced, but very discreetly. If the Romans ever knew, we'd all be murdered in our beds. We think of the children when we keep the old ways hidden." She saw the look of disbelief on the younger woman's face. "I know it doesn't make too much sense, but it's for the best."

Knee deep in river water, Alannah looked like a stunned deer. All she could do was blink at what Vanora had said. The concept of living in fear had never really been a part of her life. Her older sisters knew something of it, but not her.

"Come dear. Let's have some tea back at the fort while these little rascals take a rest." Herding all the children in front of her, Vanora took Alannah by the hand and brought her back to the fort. In the comfort of a warm fire to chase the autumn chill, Vanora began to explain to the young woman what it was like to live under occupation of a foreign power.

Meanwhile, Grainne was doing some work in the stables. She had asked Jols about getting some work, and he had gladly given her some. He has said that he understood what it was like trying to get your feet in a new place. So here was Grainne, working in the stables, trying to figure the best way to control her frustration.

"Well here's something new," a voice said behind her.

"Great, just wonderful," Grainne muttered when she encountered the face of Lancelot.

"What was that?" he asked.

In a tone not too far from disgruntled she said, "Can I help ye with something?"

"Yes, actually. Would you mind helping me with a little problem?"

She eyed the Knight suspiciously. Tact was clearly needed in case she got herself into something she could not get out of. "What kind of problem?" She was always wary when Lancelot came around. He was always up to something.

"It's a bit of a personal problem really. I was hoping that you could take care of it." He paused and flashed what he thought was a prize winning smile.

Rolling her eyes, she waved an absentminded hand at him. "Have one of the tavern wenches help ye with that. Nothing I can do for ye."

She turned back to her work and left a stunned Lancelot standing in a pile of old straw. There was no way that she was going to be one of those silly milksop wenches who gladly warm any bed.

Later that night, Grainne and Alannah found Meara sitting in their quarters bent over a blade. Her concentration was fixed on the metal between her hands as she worked the edge with a whetting stone.

"Where have ye been today," Grainne demanded of her sister, hands firmly planted on her hips.

"Working," she muttered while still working the blade.

Grainne peered at the blade. "Isn't that the blade you filched from that storeroom?"

"Mmm." Meara murmured absently. She ran her white calloused hands over the edge of the blade, drawing blood. "Much better," she said to herself.

"Meara Deirdre O'Cearnaigh!" Grainne bristled. "This is not the time for games! Do ye realize we're trying to make a life here?"

In a sudden flash of movement, Meara was up and held the newly sharpened blade to her own sister's throat. "I know better than ye what it means to try and make a life. If ye remember, the life I had was taken from me." She withdrew the blade, leaving a slight trail of blood. "Ye'd do best to remember what happened to me." Meara grabbed her storm blue cloak and left the room.

Alannah blinked at the spot where the middle sister had just threatened the eldest. "What just went on? Is there something that I have not been told?"

Grainne fiddled with the whetting stone that Meara had been using. "Aye, there are things that we have not spoken of. In my anger I forgot what Meara had gone through. But that is her tale to tell. Give her time; the warrior spirit still lives deep within as her little display showed."

The two sisters sat down to a silent meal as each contemplated what the evening's events would show. The past was starting to rear its ugly head and there was great potential for all that they were attempting to accomplish to fall to pieces in a matter of moments.