Alright. WOW. I can't believe I finally wrote this. I had almost given up on this fic-but inspiration/guilt/holiday from school kinda slapped me in the face. I am incredibly sorry for taking so ridiculously long to update. My computer problems lasted me a good while-and starting high school has been VERY stressful. I know it sucks, but I'm forced to put schoolwork and such ahead of fanfiction. And I know, I know this is just a bunch of excuses-but I hope you all can understand. I will be trying to update more frequently, though I make no guarantees. I think I want a BETA type person. Maybe just someone to read ahead of time and tell me what they think. I dunno-if you're interested e-mail me or tell me about it in a review. It would be MUCH appreciated. Again, I am soooooo incredibly sorry for taking this long to update. It really is inexcusable, and I hope you aren't too angry with me. Thanks.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING ALL MY AMERICAN CHUMS (as far as I'm concerned, anything that gets me 2 and a half days off of school is worth celebrating, no matter how dumb it is.)

NOTE: The first part of this chapter takes place when Arthur sets Guinevere's fingers. Merlin will be coming back in the next chapter-which should be up soon-ish. I know that chapter four said they would meet merlin in 2 days-but we're changing it to 1. I hope that's alright. BTW: Lauria is mentioned in this chapter. She is Fulcinia's handmaiden person-she was in another chapter for like 2 seconds and will most likely be coming into the story a bit later. I just didn't want you guys to be confused....

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for my own characters. Anything/anyone you do not recognize belongs to me. I may use lines and/or quotes from other sources, which are not my own, later on in the story. I'm not quite sure though-so I'm being un-specific. Those (if I do choose to use them) also do not in anyway belong to me.

Mad props to FALLEN KNIGHTS a KA fansite where I was able to find lines I needed.

Annnnnnnnd here we go.......

Choices

Chapter 5: Etta, Eve, Exhaustion, and Home.

She could hear as Guinevere cried out in pain. Lena could feel Arthur's presence-she could sense the pity he was feeling for her dear cousin as he set her gnarled fingers. She knew all this, however, she refused to open her eyes. She did not wish to see Guinevere suffer, so Lena pretended to sleep......again.

Guinevere let out strangled heavy gasps as Arthur pushed her dislocated fingers into their proper places. She was trying to control her wild breathing, but instead she let out a startling noise. Some strange thing that had made itself in her pain, then, with great difficulty, found it's way past her lips.

"He tortured us. With machines." she cried softly. "Made us tell him things we didn't know to begin with." Guinevere spoke tearily. She let out a breathless whimper, as she rose slightly-
coming nearer to Arthur's face. "And then, I heard your voice in the dark."

A strange feeling rose within the knight's gut. He was tempted to brush the dark locks away from the woad girl's face, but restrained himself, and continued to listen as she spoke.

"I'm Guinevere. You're Arthur, of the knights from the great Wall." She informed him.

"I am." he said simply.

"Famous Britain who kills his own people." and with that, Guinevere collapsed in exhaustion.

Lena watched, or rather heard, as all of this transpired. She felt as Arthur made his way across the wagon to her.

She was slightly surprised by he closeness of his voice when he spoke to Dagonet. "How has this one been?" he asked his companion.

"She's healing- not been any trouble-sure as hell can't stay still, but she's healing." he stated matter-of-factly.

Arthur nodded slightly. He glanced down and found that Lena's fingers, unlike those of Guinevere, were in fine condition.

"Why do you think they did not hurt her hands..." he asked more to himself than Dagonet-which was fine considering the healer gave no response.

Lena had to keep herself from laughing, a smile itched to spread itself across her face. The monks had tried to hurt her hands. The monks had also happened to be blinded by images of men being brutally slaughtered every time they tried to harm her hands. Just one of the benefits of her "sight". Many a time, Lena received visions without trying to when she made contact with others. When she wished it, Lena could receive, give, or prevent either of the two. The foolish monks had, had enough sense to learn to leave her hands alone.

There was a bit of shuffling, and what sounded like Arthur leaving the cart. Lena finally opened her eyes when she was satisfied Arthur was gone. She felt rather awake-and after so much continuous travel-she was not willing to give up that feeling.

She slipped out from beneath her warm covers, and fashioned the lighter blanket of the two around herself, making a kind of shawl. She was now wearing rather thick white slip Fulcinia had forced her into. It laced up in the front, was dirty (though not nearly as dirty as her former garments) , and quite uncomfortable-but it was in fact warmer and in better condition than anything the woad currently had. Fulcinia had promised she would bathe and dress the girls properly tonight, but for now Lena was made to wear the much too large under-dress of Lauria. She had much smaller breasts than the handmaiden, was taller, and weighed much less-which made the dress fit her awkwardly .

Making sure she was decently covered by her blanket/shawl and getting what she took as an approving look from Dagonet, the woad carefully jumped out of the slow moving wagon. She began walking, and again felt a bit wobbly.

She overcame the feeling quickly and, slowing her pace, let herself fall back into the throng of walking people.

As the woad listened to soft crunching of her feet through snow, she let herself smile.

Lena watched a young mother attempting to carry both her baby boy, and young toddler. The little girl dropped a toy doll and began to cry frantically. The mother, who was quite occupied with her other child, did not notice the fallen doll-and became rather confused as to why her daughter was screaming.

"SIIIIIIIITAAAA!" the youngster cried painfully.

"Sweetheart, shhh, shhh. Whats wrong darling?" the mother inquired worriedly.

"SITAAAAAAAA!" she screamed again, hot tears streaming down her face.

Lena, walking quickly, located the doll and brought it to the small family.

"Uh, Sita?" Lena asked politely while holding the rag doll in front of the girl.

"Sita!" she cried happily, a broad smile spread over her features and no trace of sadness remained. The girl reached out and grabbed her toy merrily.

"Oh thank you!" the mother began. "I hadn't even seen it fall-I'd no idea why she was crying so. What do we say, sweet? Thank the nice lady." she told her daughter.

"Thank you, Lady!" the girl yelled.

Lena smiled. "Of course."

"I'm Etta." the young mother introduced herself. "This is little Eve, and this is Brice ." she said, indicating to her children.

"It's nice to meet you...all. I'm Lena" the woad replied kindly.

Etta shifted the children in her arms uncomfortably. "Sweet, Mother needs you to walk now." she said guiltily. Eve had already walked a good deal of the time-it was clear that she was quite tired.

"I can carry her-If you'd like." Lena offered hesitantly. Perhaps the woman would be uncomfortable having some stranger hold her daughter? Perhaps it was rude to offer? Maybe she should just-

"Oh, would you? You'd be an angel! Thank you!" she declared as she handed her daughter over.

Lena froze. Sights passed before her eyes-but this time, they were not ugly, retched things. Children jumping into a cool pond. A girl asleep among soft grasses. A marriage. A small home, soft smoke floating from its chimney. There was a young woman-Eve-with long hair, the color of her mother's. She smiled down at a little butterball babe while bouncing him on her hip. An aged Etta was present, as was a man with curly whitening hair. Lena could not see his face, and before she had time to take a closer look it was over.

She smiled at Eve. The little girl would know a happy life.

Lena had been carrying the girl for over 3 hours now. 3 long, tiring, painful hours. Eve was fast asleep in her arms, and Lena's legs were nearly ready to fall off. She was sure she had acquired a few blisters, and a wind had just picked up-making things unbearably cold.

'I'd better be a blasted angel...' She mumbled to herself. 'Not so bad once the numbness set in....I suppose.'

At least she had Etta for conversation. They had been talking quite a bit for the last few hours-and Lena was pleasantly surprised to have found someone interesting.

Lena studied Etta as they walked together. Her hair was auburn, and even in the dim, cold light it's color sparkled radiantly. Her skin was smooth and lightly tanned and her hands looked calloused and rough. She was slender and of medium height, and rather lovely. Her dark eyes held an odd flare about them, she smiled and laughed quite easily-one could tell she had spirit.

Etta was a sweet girl-too young to have 2 children. Her husband had been a fairly prosperous merchant. She had been married to him when she was only 17, and he was a good 30 years older than her at the time. It was an interesting story, and Etta had been sharing it with Lena for the last half hour.

"I hated my father. God, I do miss him now-but that man. It was like I was being sold! A daughter for 50 ducats, 3 sheep, and a sow! I'd barely even spoken to the man he was marrying me off to!" Etta spoke vehemently of her arranged marriage. "Oh, I cried night and day, begged, pleaded-but neither of my parents gave a wit! Told me Edmund was a good Christian man who could provide for me, that's all they cared."

"But where is your husband now? Does he not own a wagon you might ride in?" asked Lena.

"A wagon! Ha! I've not a cent to my name thanks to him!" Laughed Etta, genuinely entertained by the girls question. "Good old Edmund! Dies and leaves me with all his debt!" At Lena's concerned look she added "Oh, don't worry-I didn't like him nearly as much as my parents thought I would. Wasn't a very nice fellow after all. He sold land that didn't belong to him. Got himself in some grand trouble, then went ahead and died!"

Lancelot, who had been riding near the rear of the caravan, was slowly making his way to the head. He slowed his horse as he came upon a crowd of people too thick for him to cut through. Spotting Lena, who looked rather exhausted, he chuckled and made his way towards her. As he approached, Lancelot could hear a woman speaking enthusiastically.

"That's how I ended up working for Marius. Well, Marius's wife really. Edmund sold him a vineyard that didn't exist, and by the time he'd figured it out Edmund was dead and gone. Took everything we had, that pig did. Told me it was my responsibility to pay him back." Etta sighed sadly. "And then, said he was kind enough to offer me a position as a housekeeper. Oh he's kind alright! Kind as a bloody a-"

"A ride, milady?" He interrupted smoothly, patting the saddle in front of him, as he came up next to Lena.

Lena, who was very much interested in Etta's story, started slightly, surprised to find the knight riding alongside her. "Ahh! I-I'm...I'm quite fine where I am, thank you." she insisted.

"Lena, take no offense, but you look as though you-" he stopped, noticing for the first time that Lena was carrying a child. The woman he had overheard looked about the same age as Lena, her dark eyes searched him curiously. In her arms was a babe, no more than 1 year old.

Seeing as Lancelot had momentarily abandoned his sentence, Lena took the opportunity to speak. "Thank you, but I could not possibly leave Etta here to carry both her children through the cold, cold snow." She said, putting extra emphasis on the word ''cold''.

"Oh don't be silly! Of cou-" Etta stopped mid-sentence at a look from Lena. "Ahem..I mean....no! Eve is asleep, we wouldn't want to... wake her." She mumbled, nodding towards her daughter.

Lancelot, seeing Galahad not far ahead, yelled out the younger knight's name and motioned for him to come over.

"The caravan will be coming to a halt shortly. Galahad, give the fair lady and her children a ride until then." Galahad nodded and Lancelot continued. " Lena, I will take you back to the wagon. I believe Dagonet will be expecting you." A victorious grin set itself upon his face.

Lena was at a loss of words, while Etta was simply happy to be off her feet. She smiled graciously as Galahad dismounted his horse. He helped Etta up, and took a seat behind her as Lena handed up Eve and Brice.

"Em..I-I am Galahad." He introduced himself nervously. This woman was quite pretty-he did not wish to look foolish.

"Etta." she said simply. "Thank you, Sir Galahad, I greatly appreciate your kindness."

"My pleasure." He said with a bit more confidence.

Lena smiled from her position on Lancelot's horse. Galahad and Etta appeared to be having a nice chat.

'Good for them' she thought pleasantly.

Lena gave a sigh of relief. It was nice to be on the horse and out of the freezing snow. She sat in front of Lancelot, his body providing a bit of warmth.

"And you wanted to walk?" He asked knowingly, a smug smile across his face.

"Well, I didn't want to leave Et-" She cut herself off. "yes, I suppose I did think I'd rather walk." she confessed.

Lancelot was surprised at her honesty. He found himself with nothing to say-making for an awkward silence. The beating of Saxon drums made itself increasingly obvious.

"Bloody Saxons...." mumbled Lancelot uncomfortably.

"They will be upon us soon." Lena stated. "a fight cannot be avoided."

"Who's fight? Certainly not mine." he vented.

"Only if you choose it not to be." She replied calmly.

"I have payed my dues. I will not die fighting a worthless war for a land not my own." Lancelot failed to cover his frustration.

The wagon was coming into view, though a heavy crowd prevented the pair from traveling any quicker than the pace of the slow moving people.

"A land not your own? Have you not lived here fifteen years of your life? Have you not fought for these people and bled for this land?" asked Lena softly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Lancelot did not respond. He merely pondered Lena's words. He had lived here most of his life. He'd been taken from his home at the age of 13, and more of his years had been lived in this life than the one left behind. He had fought, and he had bled, but he had never thought of the island as home.

Then again, how much of a home was Sarmatia now? He remembered it, yes-but vaguely. The fields of wheat were not quite as golden, his father's face was not so clear. His mother's voice was nothing more than a distant memory of her singing a song he had forgotten the words to. His sister was grown now. Probably married with a family of her own-and all he knew of her was that she had blonde hair and once owned a doll named Animalia-or was it Anatolia? That life had been seen through the eyes of a boy unfit for war. It was a shell of something left far behind-it was no home. He had no home.

Lena sighed. "I know where I belong, Lancelot. Perhaps you've yet to find it for yourself." Still he said nothing. "Being in-between does not leave you without a home. Things left behind are often too far from us to truly return. And things forced upon us often blind us through resent." she said knowingly. "You will find your place. In time, you will know where your heart lies." she said understandingly.

For the second time that day, Lena had surprised him. She had understood exactly how he felt-and managed to comfort him a bit.

The wagon was near enough for Lena to have left Lancelot's horse and returned to her cousin-but the pair rode on together anyway. They did not speak-but merely rode in silence, both feeling slightly at peace for the first time in a long while.

Guinevere sat at the mouth of the wagon with the front flap pulled back so that she might watch the people outside. She pulled her blankets tighter around herself, but let the drifting snowflakes melt on her face as they pleased.

When she and Lena had been younger they had loved to play in the snow. Most children had hated it. The others wished for clear and warm and lovely days. Snow and rain had been lovely to Guinevere.

Guinevere caught sight of Arthur up ahead. He turned and returned her stare. Casually, he dropped the pace of his horse until he was close enough to the woad to speak.

She locked eyes with the knight, then shifting her gaze to the clouded sky, Guinevere began to speak. "My father told me great tales of you."

"Really?" He asked, slightly surprised. "And what did you hear?"

"Fairy tales.' she said dreamily. "The kind you hear of people so brave, so selfless that they can't be real." she sighed. "Arthur and his knights. A leader both Britain and Roman." Again, Guinevere held his gaze "And yet you chose your allegiance to Rome. To those that take what does not belong to them. That same Rome that took your men from their homeland."

"Listen, Lady, do not pretend that you know anything about me or my men." replied Arthur angrily. What right did she have to judge him?

"How many Britons have you killed?" she asked cooly.

"As many as tried to kill me. It's a natural state of any man to want to live" countered Arthur.

"Animals live!" for once Guinevere let her emotion break through the composed front she had created. Calming herself, she resumed speaking. "It's the natural state of any man to want to live free, in their own country." once again averting her eyes, Guenevere continued. " I belong to this land. Where do you belong, Arthur?"

Arthur, not knowing how to answer such a question, remained silent. For the first time, he did not know where he belonged. Rome. It had always been Rome. Civilized, educated Rome. But after meeting men like Marius and Germanis-he was beginning to think his Rome was nothing but a dream.

Pushing those unwanted thoughts from his mind, Arthur did the only thing he could think of. He avoided Guinevere's question by quite obviously changing the subject.

"How's your hand?"

The woad smiled at his pathetic attempt to divert her attention. "I'll live, I promise you." Sighing, she spoke one last time. "Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart? Your own father married a Briton. Even he must have found something to his liking."At that Arthur rode away. He did not wish t have such a conversation with Guinevere.

Though he could no longer see her, the woad's dark eyes burned brightly in his mind, and her words echoed through his brain.

"Where do you belong, Arthur?"

OOOOOkay. So I hope you all liked it. Tell me what you think. How's everyone liking Etta? I'm not sure about her yet....but I wanted someone with some pluck, so I figured why not?

I would love you forever and a day if you reviewed. Advicebetter story. Okay. Well I think the next chapter will be much more interesting. And it should be up pretty soon. Thanks for reading!

(the very very extraordinarily sorry) Blue