Chapter 17:

The first fires were lit shortly after nightfall. A shout from a soldier patrolling the wall had alerted Alecto and the others around him that the first Saxons were no more that a hundred feet from the wall. The few children who were still too young to understand the grim situation ran up the stairs of the stone wall to see what was so interesting. Some women around Alecto cried, while others began to pray. He looked at his own mother, hoping for some small comfort but even her smile could not ease the emptiness and restlessness in his own heart.

He wanted to fight the Saxons back at the lake, but Arthur wouldn't let him. Was his life so much more valuable than others?

He shook his head. We are all flesh and blood. I am no more than the old woman sitting next to me.

Yet, Germanius and others in Rome would not agree with him. His own father had taught him that it was God was determined who was to be a slave. His father had told him God had great plans for him, and he would be the Bishop of Rome one day.

Lies, all lies, he told himself.

"I do not wish to go to Rome," he said.

His mother looked at him helplessly. Years of abuse from his father had made his mother into a quiet woman who spoke very little. He knew she could not help him, for women in Rome had no power or influence. Yet the Sarmatian woman had intrigued him. She was a slave of Rome, yet she was also a soldier who spoke with such defiance and strength. She was a woman, yet all of the men had respected and feared her. It gave him a slight hope that everything he was taught was wrong.

"It is not fair that we leave all these people to their deaths. I must do something," he said desperately.

"And what would you do, my son?" his mother wondered.

"I don't know,' he replied timidly. "But I can't sit here knowing that we will be leaving this island while the Saxons are making camp, and this wall will remain defenseless."

His caught the silhouette of the female soldier, who was now conversing with the other Sarmatian knights. She was beautiful, he thought. Instead of the heavy cloaks and armor she wore, she was wearing a simple black tunic and breeches that hung so closely to her body, he felt his cheeks slightly blush. Her dark hair was braided, yet the wind had tossed the loose strands into her face. She almost looked like death's shadow; dark, beautiful and dangerous.

Taking a deep breathe and standing up straight, he slowly walked over to her. She had not noticed him at first, as she was looking at the increasing fires that shone like stars over the fields of grass below them.

"When do you think they will attack?" the blonde hair knight asked.

"Saxons are impatient. They'll most likely attack at first light," she replied.

"Will that give us enough time?"

"Even if the Woads do hold the wall long enough for the rest of the people to head south, the Saxons forces will eventually crush them, and it won't be long until they pillage their way to southern shores. I'm afraid we're just running now."

Alecto gulped and coughed, causing both knights to look at him. The blonde one glared at him, and tensed up, while the female one held a straight face, but bore no look of hatred or contempt. Alecto casted his eyes down. He knew the knights would blame him for their friend's misfortune. If it wasn't for them, they would have never been sent to North of the Wall.

"You should be resting. We leave in the morning," said Isolde.

"Is it true? We will not be able to avoid them?" Alecto asked.

"What's it matter to you Roman?" spat the blonde knight. "You'll be taking the rest of the Roman infantry with you back to Rome tomorrow, leaving everyone here to dig an early grave."

"Gawain!" she scolded. "It's not his fault – He's just a child."

Frustrated, Gawain stormed away, leaving Alecto feeling even more helpless than before. "Don't worry about him, Alecto. Tensions are running high right now," Isolde assured him.

"How can I help?" he desperately asked.

"There's nothing we can do, Alecto. I have orders to evacuate and bring you back to Rome. Bishop Germanius is adamant we leave as soon as we're ready," she said sadly.

"It's not fair, Isolde. I do not deserve any of it."

"Nothing is ever fair."

"Is there a slight chance we can defeat the Saxons?"

Isolde paused, her eyes scanning the growing enemy across the fields. "The Woads are passionate fighters, but they lack formation and leadership. They've never faced a battle like this since the Romans first came to occupy these lands. Even if the Roman infantry were to stay and defend the wall, the only way we can defeat an army that large is with a very good battle strategy, and someone to lead them."

"Can't you help them? I mean, the Woads…give them a plan? Tell them what do to?"

She bitterly laughed. "I'm no leader, Alecto. The Woads won't listen to me. I'm a soldier like all of them. I follow orders and I kill. I can maybe lead a handful of men and slaughter a scouting party, but I am no general."

"What about me?"

"You barely know how to handle a sword and you've never seen battle. What use will you be?" she wondered.

"You said your orders were to escort me back to Rome. What if I commanded you to stay?"

Isolde looked at him, her eyes studying his every muscle on his face. Alecto stared back, and mustered all the courage he had to remain strong. He was no longer a boy; he needed to be a man now.

"I don't take orders from you. I take orders from the Bishop."

"I will take care of that," he said reassuringly.

"The Bishop is not that easily persuaded, Alecto. If you mean to outsmart him, you best already have a plan in that head of yours."

The stables were the only place that Tristan could get away from all the unnecessary crying, yelling and whining that seemed to drown the streets. He went to his horse and stroked his side, while still feeling the slight heat on his cheek where Isolde's hand laid before.

For a moment, he lost control of his emotions.

He closed his eyes and began to control his breathing. Control, he thought. It was something that had kept him alive all these years. It was something that kept him from insanity.

I am already insane, he told himself.

Yes, you are. You're mad to just let her go.

I will not listen.

You must.

He let out a cry and released his dagger to a wooden post in anger, which neatly embedded itself within the grains.

"Save that for the Saxons," a voice piped in.

He inwardly groaned. It was not the voice he had wanted to hear tonight, but the gods had decided to be unfair. "Who said anything about fighting the Saxons? I'm going home," he spat.

"You? Go home? Since when does Tristan run from battle?" she mocked.

She was beside him now, giving affection to his horse while avoiding his gaze. "You cannot leave," she quietly said.

"Give me a reason not to," he whispered.

Her eyes hesitantly met his, and he noticed the tears that were threatening to drop from her eyes. He fought every urge in his body to stay still, but he wanted nothing more than to kiss those tears away.

"Arthur."

"I don't follow him anymore."

"If you bear any love towards him, you won't let him do this alone. Please, Tristan…" she trailed off.

"Why does it matter to you? You're leaving."

"I would stay if I had the choice."

"What for?"

She sighed. "This is my home, Tristan. I learned to heal, I learned to laugh, I learned to love, and I learned to cry here. I ran away from it once, and now I'm back after so many years of sadness and regret. I just can't leave it again on the eve of a Saxon invasion. This is my home, and it's yours too."

She hesitantly brought her hand up to brush away the strands of hair away from his eyes. She bit her lip out of nervousness, when he tensed up when her fingers brushed his skin again. She lightly traced the tattoos on his cheekbone and for a moment he closed his eyes as he felt her touch.

"Isolde…stop."

"A thousand times, I'm sorry for the hurt I've caused you," she whispered.

"Stop."

"No. I need to say this, and you need to listen. I lost the only family I had, and I was afraid I was being left in this world alone. I feared that if I couldn't save my brother, then I wasn't good enough to save anyone else. My greatest fear was that I wouldn't be able to save you, and I would be alone forever."

"You didn't have to run. You could have talked to me. I begged you to talk to me. You were never alone, Isolde."

"I know," she said quietly. "Do you hate me?"

He paused, unsure of what to say. Yes, he wanted to say.

Don't be a fool. Tell her the truth! She is everything to you.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards his body and brought his lips down upon hers with such ferocity and hunger, he was almost certain he would frighten her. On the contrary, he found that Isolde was returning with the same strength that he stumbled back a step or two to regain his balance. He tightened his grip around her waist, as her hands went through his hair and attempted to pull him closer.

Isolde pulled away to catch her breathe, but Tristan was hungry for her kisses, and tightened his grip even more. He moved his lips to the outline of her jaw, remembering that it always made her laugh.

"Tristan..please.." she begged.

She moved her hands and placed them on his chest, motioning for him to stop. Neither of them moved, but remained entangled with one another, not wanting to let go as if they both knew this would be their last moment together.

"I'm to go back to Rome," she broke out in a quiet sob, letting the tears falls down her cheeks.

He placed a kiss on each cheek, wiping away the tears that had stained her white skin. "I'll fight the entire Roman army to bring you back."

For the first time since she left, he heard her laugh. "You sound like a love-sick fool."

"That's because I am. It hurt so much not being with you, that I didn't want to live anymore."

"What happens now?" she asked sadly.

"We live to see tomorrow."

She rode down the streets, double checking the last soldier that was to follow them back to Rome. Dawn was breaking, which gave Isolde very little time to say her goodbyes to her old friends. For once, Bishop Germanius was awake at such an early hour, eager for their departure before the Saxons began their march.

"How much time do we have left?" asked Maximus.

"We leave as soon as the old man breaks his fast, I suppose."

"Shame we're leaving so soon. I was sort of hoping to swing my sword a few times at those Saxons," he jested.

"Yea…me too," she mused. Truthfully, her mind was on Arthur, on the Woads, on the knights…on Tristan. Her shoulders slumped slightly at the thought of never being able to see him again, yet her heart told her that perhaps fate would be fair to her sometime in the future.

She had spent her last night in the stables with him, like a pair of foolish young lovers. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember every last moment she had with him. They held each other in their arms, lying awake knowing what was to come in the morning. It was the happiest and saddest moment Isolde had felt in a long time. She must have dozed off at some point last night – when she woke, Tristan was nowhere to be seen, only a wool blanket that he must have found and draped over her shoulders.

A tear threatened to drop on her cheek, before she quickly blinked it away.

The Bishop finally emerged from his room dressed in his most extravagant robes. She heard Maximus attempting to withhold his chuckle, which made her smirk. Catching his eyes, the Bishop motioned for Isolde to move forward before swiftly entering his carriage.

She gave a huge sigh and a sad nod in response and proceeded to pull the reins of her horse to signal to the rest of the soldiers to begin marching. At the corner of her eye, she saw a lone silhouette on his horse at the top of Badon Hill.

It was Arthur.

He had decided to lead this battle and protect the people who had chosen to stay and fight. She wished so badly she could be there beside him; that she would have the honor in her brother's name to fight alongside Arthur Castus.

A war cry in the distance caused the horses to stir. The war drums which followed ceased everyone to freeze, and Isolde felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. She became suddenly afraid that Arthur would not win this battle.

She needed to stay and help. But how?

Oh, where is Alecto and that wonderful plan of his?

As if the gods had heard her, a rider suddenly came running up the ranks stopping by Isolde's side. "We must stop," he hastily said.

"What's happened?"

"The young boy and his mother…they're missing."

Wonderful plan, indeed.

She was careful to maintain a straight face, and not let any emotion compromise the supposed severity of the situation. If Alecto and his mother had somehow hidden themselves away, then who was in their carriage?

A decoy, she thought. Smart boy.

She gave a curt nod to the soldier. "We cannot leave without the boy, I have my orders. You will escort the bishop to the nearest inn and set up post there until my return. Defend it as if your lives depended on it. I'll take a handful of my men and return to the wall."

"And the Saxons?"

"I'll deal with them as they come. You better pray to your God they're not holding the poor boy for ransom, otherwise you'll never be going back to Rome. And you better pray Arthur wins this battle."

She turned her horse around and motioned to Maximus, who seemed to have caught the tail-end of her conversation. He was already gathering the few Roman soldiers that they had learnt to trust enough to go back with them. Maximus gave her a sided smile and hearty laugh. "Looks like we'll be getting some Saxon blood."

A/N: Up next: The Battle of Badon Hill! (phew, finally!)