Disclaimer: As always, Atlantis is not mine.

Authors Note: More medieval-ness, if you don't like it, this story is probably not for you.

Chapter 4

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Awakening before the birds began to sing; Emily rubbed the sleep from her eyes and grabbed her rough cloth towel. Just because she slept with the horses did not mean she intended to smell like one. Wandering down to the river she stripped and waded into the water. It had been a month or more since she became Liam el Trouney, and she was fitting into the life of a squire well. But moments like these were dangerous, to be female was difficult, the life was to be a servant or a whore, unless you were of noble birth. She washed and dried as quickly as possible and returned to the camp.

They'd moved from Earl Thomas' within the last week, and were on their way to lay siege to a castle in the North. Rebellion was stirring, and several factions had bonded together in mutual hatred of King Richard. Richards own brother, Henry, had sided with the rebels, making childless Richard reconsider his heir. Thomas, as Richard's oldest and closest male relative, was the obvious choice.

The fortnight spent at Thomas' keep however would not prepare Emily for the forthcoming battle, whilst Lord Simon promised to keep his lad safe, there were no guarantees. 'A baptism by fire' Emily mused, 'or by blood.'

Whistling, she entered the camp and began kicking her companions awake. They had happened upon a village where the local ale-wife had just finished a fresh brew, the men, using the excuse that it would sour in the heat, had drunk the house dry and were now suffering the effects. Many a thick head would be experienced this morning. Smiling to herself she whistled louder, eventually having to stop as she couldn't continue for laughing, groans and complaints washed over her as she wandered over to the food tent to break her fast.

"Fair morning young one," smiled the cook, displaying his remaining teeth. "I have a fresh batch of cinnamon bread with your name on it if you're interested?"

"Fair morning Damon, and I am very interested, thank you." She reached for the bread the old man was handing out. "Damon," she enquired, "how old are you?"

"Forthright young man aren't you?" he laughed, "but you're free enough to ask, I've more years than three score, but less than Emmeline." Emmeline was the camp midwife, and in high demand. Much of the camp followers were made up of wives and whores, both groups in constant need of a midwife, especially in a camp this large. The old woman was very knowledgeable, but also very old, and the odds of her living much beyond her current age were slim indeed.

Conversation moved onto the upcoming battle, rumour had it that the King's brother Henry was actually in the castle they were to lay siege to. If he was killed in the fight, Thomas' place as the future king was practically guaranteed.

By the time she had washed her cinnamon bread down with watered wine the camp was moving, albeit somewhat unsteadily.

"Boy!" Lord Simon bellowed from the tent flap, making several men wince, "thick-headed this morning are we?" he ignored the other men, addressing only Emily.

"No my Lord, I was from my bed afore the sun, I have washed and broken my fast, and I go to tend my horse sir." Bowing, she left the tent.

"The boy needs to bed something if you ask me," said one of the men, Evan el Sellit, "there are plenty on women, why does he not take one?"

"Hold your tongue, el Sellit," Simon spat, "he's fine as he is."

"Yes," replied Sellit, "very fine, maybe he prefers to be a fine lad to the older men, rather than a strong man to the women." Loud guffaws greeted his comment, and Simon stormed out of the tent.

His search for the boy was cut short as it was announced that they must break camp immediately, word had been sent that Prince Henry intended to hire more men to defend the keep, if they intended to lay siege, they must reach it within the week.

Simon swore and ran to the stable, only to find his horse fully clad in saddle and rein, Emily's gelding the same. The packhorses were nowhere to be seen, hurrying over to where his tent was pitched, Simon saw Emily demolishing it with much haste.

"Liam, I take it you've heard?"

"Yes my Lord, messenger was talking to the Earl as I walked by, I took the liberty of pre-empting your actions, I hope that is acceptable." Emily continued to work as she talked, her liege lord haphazardly gathered blankets and pots. Emily grimaced; he was making more work for her doing it like that, "My lord, would you not be better talking to the Earl? I believe he intends to send for all his knights."

"Of course boy, of course, you will be alright here?" Simon replied, hurrying off to see the Earl before Emily even had time to answer. Smiling to herself, she continued to pack, grateful to no longer be hindered.

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In the Jumper bay, Ronan was grumbling. John didn't think he'd ever known him to grumble before, brood yes, but never grumble. He wanted to go to the mainland, it had been weeks since he'd seen Teyla and he was getting tetchy. To be honest John was looking forward to the trip too, it would be nice to see her again.

"You ready?"

"Yes John, I've been ready for an hour."

"Ok then."

Sitting down at the controls John let his mind wander, last time he'd been over to the mainland Emily had been with him. He pushed the thought away, it was too painful, and besides, he'd never drive the Jumper in a straight line if he didn't concentrate. Guiding it smoothly out of the hanger, he glanced over at Ronan, "This is nice, just like old times," he said.

"If it were old times Sheppard, Teyla and Dr McKay would be with us, and Dr Weir would be waiting for our return."

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

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