Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur. From now on, this applies to the rest of the chapters. Potential sue-ees, take note!

A/N: There'll be a pronunciation guide at the end, just in case none of you are Picts/Woads from ancient Britain. Also, thanks for the lovely reviews! They're really encouraging me to write more, so thanks for taking the time.

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Chapter Two: Friendship and Fire

The wind whirled around the solitary figure standing at the edge of a grove of trees, small flakes of snow borne on the icy chill. Winter is fading, thought Banna absently, squinting slightly as the snowflakes were tossed into her face. It was not a good time of year to be out, but ultimately it was not her decision. And in any case, they would soon be returning to camp, so she squared her shoulders and tried not to think about the cold. Most of us will be returning to camp, she corrected herself, and her stomach clenched with renewed grief and dread. Though the warriors died a noble death, she hated to see the faces of their families when a warband returned home without their loved ones. Pryderi. Emrys. Ethne. Emrys had been only fifteen, and Ethne had two young children and a husband that loved her. Pryderi was her cousin. He was to be wed next year.

She stood downwind of her group, excusing herself earlier for a few moments alone. Banna was a solitary creature to begin with, but after spending two moons on a training exercise with the same eighteen people, she was ready to run for the hills. Screaming. This was the last time she was volunteering to train the young warriors of their tribe, no matter how Grainne cajoled her. Her older friend was the weary veteran of more than six such exercises, causing Banna to treat her with a new awed respect. To endure so much was almost beyond the young tracker's belief. Grainne was surely something more than human.

Banna stiffened suddenly as she heard the sound of a boot scraping an exposed tree-root. With a smile, she relaxed, recognising the loping gait.

"Still here, then, Ban?" asked Donaith, laying a hand on her shoulder as he came to stand beside her.

"Still here. Is the fire nice?"

Her friend sighed dramatically. "More than you'll ever know. Irnos is beside himself with joy." Banna snorted at the image of the dour old hunter being excited about anything. Unlike Grainne, Irnos seemed something less than human, often resembling a scowling stone or piece of dried-up old leather. One could always count on him for a miserable comment to sum up any situation; which, depending on the mood, either made him dryly amusing or deeply depressing.

"And how is Brennus?" she asked. The warrior had received a nasty head wound from a Roman whose throat he had tried to slit. The Roman hadn't been too happy, and had left Brennus in an unconscious, bleeding heap in the mud, almost dead.

Donaith's mouth twisted doubtfully. "He's as well as can be expected. In and out of consciousness, but he's better than he was. Let's go back to the campfire – it's freezing here."

"I don't know if I can bear it…"

"Yes, you can. They're just inexperienced."

"It's not their inexperience that bothers me, Donaith – it's their natures. Especially Murchadh and Iurnan." She gritted her teeth as she thought of the two young men, heavily tattooed and cocky beyond all belief. It had been easy to dismiss them as merely annoying before the battle, but after witnessing their brutality towards the Romans, Banna felt a twinge of unease when she was around them. Murchadh in particular worried her, having initiated the vicious attack on one of the mounted Romans. The brothers had truly mutilated the man, leaving the rest of their warband sickened. Other tribes may fight like that further south, Grainne had raged at them afterwards, but we kill with honour. We are from the north, and we are hardened and fierce. We earn respect in the eyes of men and gods from fighting cleanly and worthily, and so you have shamed yourselves and your tribe this day. Any fool could have seen that their leader's wise words had no effect, however.

"They're even worse after the battle," her friend agreed, taking her arm and gently guiding her back into the trees, towards the small fire. "I would not be surprised if they had some Saxon in them, judging by the battle-rage that seemed to come upon them. They will be disciplined when we return home, no doubt. I'm merely glad we're their allies and not their enemies!" Banna smiled half-heartedly, the false cheer in Donaith's voice not going unnoticed. So, it's not only me that feels uneasy about them.

As they walked back into the camp, Iurnan turned to look at them silently, his narrow face and dark colouring giving him a slightly pinched look in the play of shadow and light over his face. Banna met his stare coolly, suddenly glad of the lime in her hair and the charcoal smudged around her eyes. It helped her see better when she was scouting, but also lent her a feral look that sent others scurrying. If he looked menacing, she was sure that she looked ten times more so. She shifted her spear slightly so that the firelight glinted off it, and then followed Donaith to the other side of the fire, hoping her small display of dominance would cause the strange and violent young man to back off. Somehow, she thought it wouldn't.

"Banna. Saw you anything of note?" asked Grainne quietly as Banna hunkered down beside her friend.

"Nothing. Merely snow, and thickening cloud. We should be heading home soon – the wind is blowing colder, and we must deliver the news to the families of the dead." Grainne nodded in agreement, holding her hands out to warm them in front of the flames. Her long blonde hair, braided and matted, was golden in the firelight, and her eyes were tear-stained and red. She did not take easily to losing those under her leadership, and Ethne had been a good friend to her as well.

"How long will it take us to get home?" asked Fearghus, one of the warriors in training. He was a pleasant lad, though not cut out for war. Banna had held his long hair back from his face as he had emptied the contents of his stomach after the skirmish; and had heard his tearful, ashamed confession that he would rather be a smith, but that his father would not allow it. She hated to think how the graceful, soft-spoken young man would cope with the carnage of a real battle. He had barely seen seventeen moons. Banna and Donaith had decided to take him under their guidance, and Banna planned to have a word with his father. Belligerent as Henwas could be, he was not foolish enough to irritate the best tracker and hunter of their small tribe. If Banna had her way, Fearghus would have his apprenticeship by the summer.

"In answer to your question, lad," grumbled Irnos sourly, "It will take us too long to get home, if certain people keep disappearing." Banna looked up sharply, checking to see if anyone was absent from the group.

"Where is Murchadh?" demanded Grainne, standing up and looking around.

"Oi! Where's your brother, Iurnan?" barked one of the other warriors, cuffing the young man on the back of his head. Iurnan answered with a swift, painful punch to the warrior's chin before Donaith wrenched the two apart.

"Grainne asked you a question," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Where is your brother?"

Iurnan wriggled free and pulled back with a disdainful look. "How should I know? I haven't seen him for hours." Banna cursed silently, wondering where he had gone off to. The menacing silence deepened, and Iurnan squirmed uncomfortably. "He'll be back soon, I suppose. Said he was going hunting."

"Banna. Donaith. Find him." Grainne's cold tone brooked no argument, and the two were on their feet in an instant and striding towards the horses. "Which way did he go?" she snapped at Iurnan, her anger palpable in the small clearing.

"South," spat Iurnan, raising his chin in defiance.

With an internal groan of annoyance, Banna mounted up and nudged her mount in the side. As she and Donaith trotted off into the thin curtain of whirling snow, she sent up a silent prayer to the gods that they would not run into any trouble caused by the young man. Well, any trouble at all, she thought, looking south and trying to ignore the knot of dread in her stomach.

Keep us safe. Please.

Back at the camp, Iurnan smiled coldly.

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A/N: A note on the pronunciation of names:

Donaith – DO-nee (rhymes with "bonny")

Grainne – GRAWN-yuh

Murchadh – MOOR-a-chu

Iurnan – YOOR-nun

Ethne – EN-ya

Fearghus – FEAR-a-gus ("gus" rhymes with "puss")

The others are pronounced the way they look. These guys are Picts, by the way, which are the same as Woads (the terms are interchangeable). They're from further north, in modern Scotland. Sorry I'm not writing them with an accent – you'll have to imagine it! :D