a/n: Shamefully overdue update, I know. I just got back in town, and had an overnight flight and everything—No sleep, etc. but I finished this chapter! I hope you all like it. Please send me your feedback, because I crave it:o) Thanks!

Exiled

When Jaelynn awoke, she had the weirdest sensation she'd felt like this before. She was leaning against Tristan's chest, except the last time that happened, he was tied to a tree and they both were being held by the marauders.

This time, she was safe. Tristan had his arms around her. Peeking up at him, she saw that he was asleep, sitting up but his head and back against the wall. And she was beside him, nestled against him and quite comfortable.

What will he think? She tried to move but Tristan's arms were rigid around her. She glanced at them. His knuckles were red and sported a few cuts. Unbidden, last night's terror came back to her. She shuddered, seeing Tacitus' face so close to hers, feeling his mouth on hers in what she hoped was a terrible kiss. She didn't remember when Tristan came, but she knew he had saved her.

He shifted in his sleep. Instinctively, Jaelynn shut her eyes and pretended to sleep.

He shifted some more and then she felt his chest tighten.

Suddenly she heard the door open, and Tristan flinched.

"You fell asleep?" came Galahad's voice. Jaelynn didn't move, but she listened as she lay against Tristan.

"Quiet," Tristan said. "Don't wake her."

"Is she all right?" That was Gawain, she noted.

Jaelynn felt Tristan nod.

Footsteps sounded down the hall. A voice she recognized well joined them.

"How is she! I'll castrate that Roman dog—" Bors declared loudly.

"Shut up, you dolt," she heard Tristan say. She almost laughed and had to shift a bit to act like she was still asleep. For some reason there was an awkward silence, and Jaelynn frowned. Did they know she was awake?

"You look quite comfy there, Tristan," Bors said, a snicker in his tone. Tristan tensed. Before he could say a word, another person joined them.

"Arthur," Tristan greeted. She wondered why he sounded strained when he addressed the king. "What happened?"

Arthur sighed. "Not what we wanted. The Romans left, before we even got to their quarters. And they left quickly—we found the scroll you told me about."

Tristan moved, and she felt his arms support her carefully as he shifted a bit.

"They were exiled, like you saw," Arthur said. "For plotting against Rome. And while we searched the fort and the town, they tried to take my son." Jaelynn gasped softly, but it was muffled—she hoped—in the scout's chest. "Gwen scared them off."

"They meant to kidnap him," Bors filled in. Jaelynn almost rolled her eyes at the obvious statement. "Maybe to force Arthur on something."

"Or to give up the kingdom," Tristan said. Despite the seriousness of what the men discussed, Jaelynn noticed Tristan's voice. Being pressed close to him, she heard his unique accent roll through his body. The deepness of his voice and the intonations of his speech comforted her. Charmed her. Stop being stupid, she warned herself.

"We're going after them," Arthur said. "I need you to track them. How soon can you be ready?"

She expected Tristan to jump at the chance, but instead there was silence. She felt him looking down at her.

"Leave one of us behind," he said, "just in case." In case of what? She wasn't sure what Tristan meant, but Gawain spoke up.

"I will stay."

Tristan nodded. He moved to the edge of the bed, and turned to Jaelynn. Carefully, he put one arm around her back and the other under her legs.

"I'll take her to her room," he said softly. Where am I? She thought she was in her room. The knights moved aside, and she felt Tristan's strength as he walked away. His movement seemed effortless as he held her.

"You can stop pretending," he said quietly once they were down the hall. Jaelynn nearly gasped, but she cracked open one eye. Sure enough, he was waiting for that. He smiled.

"How did you know?" she asked. He just smirked at her. "Well, then why didn't you say something sooner?"

He shrugged, making her bob up and down once. "You wanted to listen in." Jaelynn wasn't convinced.

"Then why did you tell Bors to be quiet?" she asked.

"I always tell him to shut up," Tristan replied nonchalantly. "He doesn't know how to be quiet." He stopped walking, and set her down. His arms stayed around her as she steadied herself.

That's when she noticed her dress. It was ripped. Dirt smudged it all over. She suddenly felt very vulnerable. Tristan pulled at a cloak she had over her shoulders, and he wrapped it around her like a blanket.

He stood in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, and he stared directly in her eyes.

"You're okay," he told her. She nodded, though she didn't completely feel it now. He stood back up and walked with her to her room. At her door, he went in first. Jaelynn wondered why, until she saw his hand on the hilt of his sword. In case someone is inside. Waiting.

He checked the corners of the room, and then returned to the hall.

"Gawain will be here soon," he told her from the doorway. His eyes looked her up and down, and she noticed he frowned. Self-consciously, she tugged at the cloak. He opened his mouth to say something, but it never came. He just nodded once at her, and left her.

She was left alone in every sense, feeling as if the close friendliness they just shared never happened at all. What was it that drove him away? Could they never just be comfortable with each other—for more than fleeting moments? Jaelynn sighed, and started to change her tattered clothes.

-0-0-

It had snowed in the few hours he had rested. It was snowing still, and Tristan didn't care for that. It would just cover the Romans tracks. Looking up to the sky, he wondered if his hawk would find anything. She wasn't back yet.

He'd neglected her somewhat, but the hawk seemed happy now that they were out again, scouting. It's what was most familiar to them both, and for Tristan it normally soothed him. Today, though, he was still too tense. He kept thinking how close he'd come to losing Jaelynn.

He sighed, and shut his eyes. The movement of his horse rocked him back and forth, and he heard the leather of the saddle creak. He heard the crunch of the snow beneath the hooves, and the hooves of the others behind him. In this moment of tuning his senses, he felt his hands stinging.

He opened his eyes and looked down. His hands were red and swollen slightly from when he'd punched Tacitus. Little cuts lined his knuckles as well. It wasn't real pain, but it was an annoyance. Tristan urged his horse forward further, to a cluster of trees. He reached for a lower branch and gathered the snow from it into his hands.

Packing the snow together, he used it to rub over his hands. The cold was biting, but it served its purpose to relieve his knuckles. He chucked the ball of snow away, and then noticed his dagger. Blood crusted the blade and handle, making Tristan grimace. He normally was very precise about cleaning his weapons.

Being Tacitus' blood from the night before, Tristan had no desire to keep any remains of the man nearby. Tristan drew his dagger, and used some more snow to clean the blood off.

The rest of the party neared him.

"Ah, sharpening your taste for bloodlust?"

Tristan turned his head sharply. Nasica was sitting atop her horse, unfortunately a member of this mission. Tristan had no problem with some of the Britons joining them, but Nasica was an awkwardly painful thorn in his side.

He hadn't really seen or spoken with her since he kissed her, but that was barely a day or two ago. So much had happened since them, things that were more important, and yet her presence now brought back that encounter and distracted him from his current mission.

Slowly, he digested Nasica's words. But he had no answer for her.

"Did you enjoy your latest kill?" she asked next, a mock-friendliness to her tone. She nodded once at the red stain the dagger left on the snow in his hands. Behind her, the other knights exchanged bewildered looks because of her direct and mean words.

Tristan kept his face blank. "Yes." He turned his horse away and gave it a nudge. He traveled ahead, eager to get away.

Running away wasn't an answer, but it was a solace for Tristan. If scouting had taught him nothing else, it was that being alone and away from the center of life's problems made the daily routine and drags bearable.

He hated what Nasica asked. Maybe because it was that he did enjoy killing. That wasn't a new revelation to him, or anyone else. Part of him wished she could see him in a better light—maybe how Jaelynn did.

Immediately, he knew that wasn't fair, in any shape or form. He and Jaelynn were close, yes, but he doubted he could ever be close enough to her as she wanted. She thought it would make her happy, but Tristan didn't want to hurt her. To him, protecting her from hurt—from him not being good enough to fill whatever void she sought—was a show of his affection. He knew she wouldn't see it that way. But it didn't matter; it wasn't a subject he was going to broach.

But you did with Nasica. Alone and without a soul watching him, Tristan rolled his eyes at himself. Yes, he had lapsed. He had dared to think an attractive, strong yet caring woman could stoop low enough to care for someone like him. That was foolish in hindsight. Except for the blind fancies of young love, no one would ever be able to see past what he was.

Suddenly, his hawk's cry drew him from his melancholy. Tristan looked up, and held his arm out as the bird swooped down.

-0-0-

As soon as the scout rode off, Nasica felt the heated gazes from his companions. Luckily, the one that mattered the most wasn't around; Arthur was trailing behind a bit, speaking with one of the warriors. It was odd, in that way. She always thought of Arthur as the parent you wished wouldn't hear you at the worst moment.

He was king though. And Nasica realized that the 'worst moment' probably meant she shouldn't have goaded Tristan. But she couldn't be blamed, could she? She was right, after all. Tristan even admitted it. Part of her was angry for his presumption the other night, just brazenly assuming she liked him, when in actuality it was pity.

She expected at least one of the knights to confront her. She sat squarely in her saddle atop her horse, and waited. But she frowned when it was Galahad who spoke to her.

"I know what you mean," he said. Nasica was startled by that. "I've seen Tristan over the years, and he kills for pleasure. Or rather, he takes pleasure in his kills."

Nasica wasn't sure where he was going with this. Galahad and Tristan didn't get along very well, a fact any person could observe.

"He makes too many 'kills,'" she countered. "I can't just forget that."

"I didn't say you should forget it," Galahad said nonchalantly. He seemed very conversational, just riding alongside a fellow warrior. "I haven't. And he certainly won't. It's all a bad nightmare to him."

Nasica realized she'd pulled up sharply on the reins, but it was something about the way Galahad said that . . . nightmare? That almost implied regret.

"I don't know every detail," Galahad continued, ignoring her baffled look. He stopped his horse's pace. "Tristan has never spoken of his time in Rome. But I know why he was there, and why he was an assassin." He glanced at Nasica, as if waiting for her to speak. Her curiosity was definitely piqued but she wasn't exactly sure what to say.

"It's because of his loyalty."

Nasica snorted. Sure, the assassin has a loyal streak. But one look from Galahad silenced her. In fact, the friendly tone he'd created before seemed to evaporate.

"I still hate him sometimes," the young knight said. "I hate how stubborn he is, and how he always gets himself in trouble. I hate the silent grin he wears after a battle." Galahad shrugged. "But he has his reasons."

Nasica had no idea what that meant.

"Sure he does," she muttered.

"Yes," Galahad said, plowing by her sarcasm. "When he was in Rome, the man holding him there threatened Arthur's life and even Britain's existence. It was Tristan's loyalty that saved us all."

Nasica stared at the young knight. He turned his horse towards hers, and the horse fidgeted from side to side. He clucked his tongue, drawing his horse's attention.

"I thought you should know that, before you really condemn him," Galahad said. And then he rode ahead with the others.

Her first impression was to argue with him. It felt like she'd just been scolded. Like she was wrong—and she hated being wrong. Nasica stewed between anger and reason as she rode behind the other knights.

There was something about what Galahad said that tugged at her heart. It was the same way she felt when she saw the marauders hurt Tristan. Pity. But beyond the pity now, there started to emerge a bit of respect.

She scoffed at that. How could she respect Tristan? Even if what Galahad said was true, that Tristan really was sacrificing himself before to protect others, didn't that make him pathetic? Or gullible? Couldn't he have found a better way than to slay innocent people to protect another innocent people?

Resourceful, Tristan was not.

She could see him now, riding ahead, his eyeline constantly moving. As she followed the group, the surroundings dissipated as she focused on the scout.

He bent forward in his saddle, dodging a low tree limb. Suddenly he looked up at the sky, and held his arm out. Nasica noticed the hawk was around, and landed on his arm.

For a brief moment, she saw the tiniest smile tweak at Tristan's mouth as he greeted the bird. The hawk bobbed its head, and then bounced on its feet atop the scout's arm. It seemed very heartfelt—playful, caring, and with a depth she didn't understand coming from him.

Maybe . . .

. . . just maybe, Galahad was right. She couldn't completely judge him, yet.

Suddenly, her revelry was broken. Tristan's posture tensed, and he launched the bird to the sky. As the bird climbed high, the scout grabbed his bow and drew an arrow.

He turned directly to Arthur.

"Stay here."

And then Tristan urged his horse forward, disappearing through the thickening trees and snow.

-0-0-

There was something promising in Jaelynn's request to go for a ride around the fort. Gawain saw it as a good sign—Jaelynn wasn't behaving strangely, even after yet another traumatizing experience. How this girl survived—thrived, even—on life-threatening situations, he didn't know.

She galloped side by side with Gawain. Their horses were quite happy for the ride, especially the one Gawain had chosen for Jaelynn. It was an older mare, used to more field work than actual equestrian fun. Jaelynn had a gleeful grin on her face as she held on tight.

Gawain grinned too.

It was flurrying, and the wind as they cut through it made Jaelynn shiver. Gawain noticed the shake of her body, and pulled up slowly on the reins of his horse.

"Why don't we give the horses a break?" he said loud enough for her to hear. She nodded, and did well in handling her horse. They both slowed to a trot, and for a moment, the winter over the land looked magical.

Peaceful.

But it wasn't. Gawain knew how close utter turmoil was.

He hoped his grim thoughts weren't the same ones darkening Jaelynn's face. The serene surroundings didn't seem so great anymore, and she looked down at the saddle horn. Gawain wondered how long before she spoke, but he didn't force it. She would talk to him when she was ready. That time came minutes later as they turned one corner of the Wall.

"Gawain—" She stopped herself with a deep, evening breath. Gawain just waited. The gait of the horses rocked them back and forth in each saddle.

"How long have you—" Again, she cut herself off. Jaelynn shook her head, obviously frustrated with herself. "I'm just going to say it."

Gawain nodded encouragingly, though inside he was beginning to worry.

"How do you think Tristan sees me?" She gulped after finally releasing the question. Gawain blinked. He wasn't thrilled at being cornered on this subject, but he was glad it was him she was asking, and not anyone else.

When he didn't answer right away, Jaelynn began to ramble.

"I mean, I know I'm younger. I know he rescued me, and I owe him a lot. But does he think he's my protector, or—"

Gawain cut her off before things got out of hand.

"Jaelynn," he started, and then sighed. "You're really asking if you and Tristan could have a future."

The way she lowered her head, somewhat bashfully, told him yes.

"Well, to answer your first question, I think Tristan sees you as his redemption."

She frowned. Jaelynn actually looked pretty when she frowned—most women did not, he thought.

"I don't understand," she said. Gawain nodded and went on.

"He cares for you, more so than I have seen him care for any other," Gawain said, and he almost cringed when her eyes lit up. "It's not the same as how I feel for Lucinda, but . . . . Maybe it's just me, but I think by protecting you, he thinks he can be a better man."

Again, she frowned.

"I still don't understand."

Gawain felt pretty warm now, despite the cold. He tried not to show he was flustered.

"Tristan has done a lot he's not proud of," Gawain said, trying a different approach. "He looks out for you. He protects you. You saw that last night—it drives him mad to know you're in danger. And if he can keep you safe, maybe he's doing some good, enough to make up for some of the bad."

It took a minute for her to digest what he said. Gawain hoped she didn't take his words in a bad way. Any sort of concern from Tristan was significant, but he didn't want her to get excited either. Love certainly wasn't an emotion that motivated Tristan.

"And if he fails?" she asked suddenly.

Gawain didn't like that idea. He didn't like the idea of Jaelynn being hurt either. She was the epitome of a woman growing up but still maintaining a fierce innocence and independence that Gawain admired. It was something they all admired in her—even Tristan.

But failure? What if Tristan failed?

"Tristan would at least avenge you," he said. He didn't say more. He hoped Jaelynn wouldn't really think about that, but one look at her face told him she already could see how Tristan would act.

Gawain wondered how many times she'd seen Tristan in action—when he first rescued her? When he faced the marauders? Last night even? Looking at her now, Jaelynn was somberly taking in his words and her own thoughts. The flurries stopped now, and Jaelynn brushed her fingers through her hair.

She nodded.

"He'll always see me as someone to protect, won't he?" she asked. "Unless I give him a reason not to."

What does that mean? Gawain didn't like where this was going.

"Jaelynn—"

"No," she cut him off, "Gawain, if I'm always the helpless little girl, how can he see me as anything more?"

Gawain pulled up on the reins, halting his horse.

"You're not a helpless—"

"I know, but I was," she said. Her brown eyes were alight with her energetic persistence. "I want to change, Gawain. I want to be better. Not helpless." Gawain watched her carefully. Her horse pranced a bit, emulating the same restlessness that her rider bore.

"What are you saying?" Gawain asked. He didn't really know that he wanted an answer, but Jaelynn needed something. He wasn't about to deny her it.

"Will you train me?" she asked. She gulped. "I mean, so I can defend myself."

Immediately he shook his head.

"No. You're doing this for the wrong reason," he said. He felt a little foolish saying that—hadn't he heard Lucinda and her gal friends talking similarly about another situation? But it applied here. "You don't have anything to prove, to anyone."

Jaelynn's eyes flashed briefly, and she leaned forward in her saddle. "I have something to prove to myself, Gawain." That fiery flare in her personality was coming out. "How many times have I been in danger, and can't do a single thing about it? I've watched, Gawain, when evil men have killed my own family. It's not just about me and my safety. What about everyone around me? I can't rely on fortune to fall favorably on me all the time, and I can't just hope people won't get hurt."

She shook her head angrily. Gawain saw the frustration and worse, the bubbling of emotion.

"Gawain, please," she pleaded softly.

Tristan won't like this. But Tristan wasn't the one Jaelynn was asking. There was a reason for that, and as much as Gawain hated to be caught in the middle, he would face whatever ire Tristan had from this.

Slowly, Gawain nodded.

-0-0-

She was still brooding guiltily over her verbal attack on Tristan when she heard him yell out. Snapping her head to the sound of his voice, Nasica saw Tristan suddenly burst from the trees. In his hands were his bow and an arrow. He let it fly, right at Arthur.

Nasica gasped, instantly thinking the worst. But the arrow flew right by Arthur's head, and thudded into someone behind him.

One of the Romans. Maro.

That's when the battle began. There were only four Romans left, but they had been waiting. Nasica saw one of her people trigger a trap, which sent wooden spikes through the Briton's thigh. Nasica grimaced, but she couldn't help him yet.

She drew her sword, and went into the fray. She joined a fight with Galahad, and the two of them paired against Cicero.

A grin came to her face as she took turns with Galahad, dueling against Cicero. The Roman didn't like being outmatched, but Nasica had no problem with it. These Roman dogs came, deceived and tried to hurt the king's son. They deserved to die.

She slashed at the Roman, and he lost his footing. Nasica stepped back while Galahad finished him off.

She turned and ran for another target.

And then an arrow pierced her, right below her rib cage.