SEMPER LIBER

Summary: A dying man's final request sends a young woman to a new life at Badon Hill. TristanOC.

Disclaimer & Author's Note: I like to think that Malory would have his legends of King Arthur belong to the ages, but I cannot lay claim to them nor to those responsible for the 2004 film by the same name. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

A/N#2: I wrote three completely different chapter fives. I don't know that this is the right way to go, so... I hope it's acceptable. Special thanks to TRO.

Chapter 5: Fight

A week of pale sunlight melted the snow, leaving behind a thin crust of ice that glittered in the moonlight. Tristan climbed the stairs from the knights' quarters to the battlements above. The sky was crisp and cold, and it washed through him like a drink from a fresh spring stream. He laid his hands atop the watch-wall and sighed. "You'll catch your death," he said to the black edges of the forest.

Cariad said nothing, nor did she move from her perch inside an embrasure not five feet to Tristan's right.

"Your mother was a Briton?"

"Yes, though I never knew her."

Tristan spoke to the stairs. "She gave you her life. It's an honor."

"No," Cariad said, shaking her head in the darkness.

-

Vanora crossed the busy tavern and ducked into the kitchens. She draped her heavy cloak on the table at the center of the room. Cariad turned from her washing and smiled wearily. "You, my wonderful girl," Vanora said, taking the younger woman's shoulders in her hands. "What've you fed them tonight?"

Cariad swung the pot from the hearth with a thick towel. "Potato stew, same as yesterday. Bors and Dagonet brought back a deer this morning." Reaching brazenly into the pot, she pulled out two soft pieces of venison and handed one to Vanora. "I told them they'd better prepare it if they wanted it cooked." She grinned suddenly and popped the meat into her mouth. "Your Bors was quite offended."

"But I see his stomach won out, as usual." Vanora sat heavily on the bench beside the table.

Cariad took a seat beside her new friend. "How do you have the time to care for them all?" she asked quietly.

"Tired?" Vanora laughed.

"I've never cooked for more than two in my life. But that's not what I meant."

Vanora pressed her hand to her softly rounded abdomen. "Someone has to care for them," she said simply, but her eyes shone.

"You've got eight children of your own. Ah, nine," Cariad added with a blush.

"Arthur treats them fairly and with the utmost respect and compassion. But they all could use a woman's touch." Vanora smiled wryly. "A sister, a mother. Many of them were not fifteen when they arrived. They grew up with swords in their hands." She paused. "Your father was one of them."

Cariad turned quickly. "He was."

Vanora slid an arm around the younger woman's shoulders and pulled her close. "They all knew within an hour of your arrival. Percival does not have the most prudent mouth among them."

Cariad frowned. "Is that why none of them will leave me alone?"

"Maybe," Vanora said, reaching for a piece of leftover bread from dinner. "Except for Lancelot, of course. He'll follow any girl so long as she's pretty."

"So you say," Cariad mused, blushing. "He does know that his behavior is ridiculous, does he not?"

"I dare say he does," Gawain said, appearing in the doorway behind them. "There are many silly girls running around this fort and he's got quite the reputation among them. His ego is well and consistently fed."

Cariad stood quickly and helped Vanora to her feet.

"Bors is looking for you," Gawain said, mirth sparkling in his blue eyes. "He's overdone it tonight and the littlest one won't stop crying for his mother."

"And I suppose you did nothing to encourage him," Vanora said, slapping Gawain lightly on the cheek.

"Good night, Vanora," Cariad said softly. Not for the first time, Vanora chuckled at the juxtaposition of the girl's character. She was kind and polite in her own way, but she kept a sharp tongue and a sharper wit behind the sweet, innocent veil of her face.

Vanora smiled in return. To Gawain she said, "I hope your night is terrible, you awful excuse for a man."

He grinned as she bustled out the doorway and into the night. When she was gone, he looked brightly to Cariad, extending his hand. "Your chariot awaits." Cariad laughed.

-

"What are they doing now?" Kay asked, grinning.

Tristan shook his head slowly. "Teaching her to play at Seven Hills."

Across the tavern, Percival laid out a set of seven cards. He looked at his own cards, then played one with an air of careful deliberation on the hill card farthest to his left. Cariad frowned, pursing her lips as she considered the cards in her hands. Beside her, Galahad pointed to a card, then gestured to one of the cards already laid out on the table. Cariad looked at him dubiously. He explained the move with a boyish grin.

Kay narrowed his eyes. "They're cheating."

"I know," Tristan answered calmly.

"They're not playing for anything, are they?"

Tristan smirked, watching the dishonest game play out in Percival's favor. "No."

"Small favors," Kay muttered. "You're just going to let them play her?"

"She'll figure it out," Tristan said, taking a bite of his apple.

Kay clapped his friend heartily on the back. "You like her," he said knowingly.

Tristan cocked his head to the side as if considering the object of his fellow's estimation. He shrugged noncommittally. He watched, hawk-eyed, as Percival dealt again. He offered Cariad the first turn. After a few plays, Cariad stood from the table and pointed at Percival.

"Shenanigans!" she cried, turning her accusing finger on Galahad.

Tristan swallowed his long-anticipated amusement behind pressed lips. He crossed the tavern purposefully. He took Galahad by the collar and removed him from the table. "Sit," he said to Cariad.

"Hey!" Galahad protested.

Cariad raised a brow, lips parted in an incredulous half-smile. "You knew," she said to Tristan, laughter behind the charge in her eyes.

Tristan sat, pulling Cariad down beside him with a gentle tug on the sleeve of her dress. He raised a dangerous glance to his cousin. "Deal again."

Cariad pushed her cards toward Percival and turned to study Tristan's profile. "How can I be sure you won't cheat me, too, sir knight?" she teased.

Tristan took another bite of his apple, chewing thoughtfully. "You can't."

-

Cariad hated winter. The days were too short, and twilight came too soon. She lay on her back in the loft of the stables, gazing absently through the oxeye window over the entrance. There were no stars to speak of, only flashing suggestions of light. She blinked, and they disappeared.

She heard footsteps in the stables below and waited. At a horse's welcoming whicker, she turned carefully onto her side, hoping to remain unnoticed. She kept her breathing even and low. Tristan looked around, expressionless. She smirked at the top of his head when, thinking himself alone, he selected a stiff brush from the shelf along the wall.

Tristan let himself into his horse's stall, shouldering the grey away when it made to bite him. "Nothing from you," he muttered gruffly. He brushed the stallion with firm, determined strokes. The animal groaned and leaned into the brush. He raised his noble head suddenly, scanning the stable, then pressed his face to Tristan's chest, nibbling at his master's gloves.

"You're a funny one," Tristan said softly, with the barest trace of affection in his voice. "Best make sure no one sees you like this. You'll ruin your reputation." He rubbed the grey's ears, his smile not quite hidden behind the tangle of his hair.

Cariad held her breath behind a mischievous grin. "And what of your reputation?" she called down.

Tristan shrugged, calm as ever. He glanced up to the loft with undisguised amusement dancing behind his eyes. "Come down," he said simply.

Cariad sighed and obeyed. "Does nothing surprise you?" she asked, annoyed. She searched for a hint of the dangerous darkness she'd felt between them the second night, but found only mild affection. She wasn't sure which Tristan she was more comfortable with. There was nothing so impersonal or completely familiar as the deep, gutting loneliness they both knew, and nothing so frightening as the warmth of true affection.

Tristan appraised her openly over the stall door. He smiled slightly, but said nothing.

-

"I don't understand why that pompous Roman ass can't send his own men…"

"Galahad, shut it," Gawain barked.

Galahad tugged on his horse's girth, checking the leather strap. "As far as I'm concerned, a few dead Roman nobles would be an improvement to the landscape."

"Knock it off, boy," Dagonet said, not unkindly. He patted his horse's shoulder firmly, as if apologizing for the weight of his axe hanging from the animal's already heavy equipment.

"We'll be back by tomorrow afternoon," Arthur said, taking his horse's reins from Jols.

Lancelot smirked openly at his friend and commander. "Barring any unfortunate circumstances," he added.

Arthur nodded in the dark knight's direction. "Ennius has requested armed transport to the fortress for his wife and daughters. His scouts have reported woads lurking too near to the village's forest border for his comfort." He mounted his horse and turned to face his knights as they followed suit. "We go for the women and children."

"And none of the other nonsense," Bors proclaimed loudly.

"Let's go on then," Kay said, angling his horse out into the courtyard to join Arthur.

Percival guided his mount into step with Galahad's. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return," he grumbled, eyeing the darkening sky. "That is, if the snow doesn't bury us all before sundown."

Tristan rode swiftly past his cousin, sharp, open reprimand burning in his dark stare.

-

He'd had too much to drink, but the sensation was warm in his stomach. He stumbled across her by accident, a basket of the foreign knights' clothes under her arm. As her figure blurred to the left, then snapped back to the middle, he recalled blond rag's harsh grip and the girl's insolent attitude. "Hey!" he called out.

The skinny mutt turned, frowning. When she saw him, she resumed her steady pace towards Arthur's barracks.

"Hey! Where are you going?" He jogged after her, slipping a little in the fresh snow. She bent her head and walked faster. "I know you're not busy, you Sarmatian slut! Or do you prefer sleeping in their filth? Arthur must pay you very well," he guffawed.

She took up a run, but his strides were longer. When he grabbed her arm, she whipped around, her boots sliding across the icy ground. She dropped her basket, freshly mended clothes spilling across the ground. "Let me go!" she yelped. She twisted violently in his grasp.

He pulled her back against his chest, his hands spreading a sick, cold feeling across her stomach. "Settle down, little one," he said, his breath hot and wet against her ear. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be without company." He pressed his lips to her neck.

Her dagger drove uselessly into the leather edging of his vest. She screamed her frustration at her inability to escape her attacker. She slipped and fell to her knees, her hands scraping painfully across the cold stones. She reached futilely for her dagger as it skittered across the ice. He grabbed her hair and pulled her back up. "Stupid bitch," he growled.

He flung her against a wall. She slid to the ground, her teeth clenched together in pain and anger. She stretched her arm towards the dagger. With a cry of pure fury, she took up the dagger in her left hand, its sharp blade slicing across her palm.

He swayed drunkenly as he leaned over her. She plunged the blade awkwardly into his chest with her left hand. Barely three inches in length, the dagger slid in and out of her attacker's flesh with a slick, wet sound. He cried out, clutching at his right breast. "Whore!" he shouted, staggering backwards.

The bloody dagger still in her hand, Cariad stood and stumbled away, her knees shaking.