Author Note: Yes, I know I promised several updates by the end of the week and it never happened but, well I blame the sun in all honesty! It chose to come out and shine all week and dazzle me with its light and warmth, and its so long since we've seen ANY sun at all here that...well, I just had to make the most of it while it lasted, lol. On the plus side though, sitting out in the garden in the sunshine with an ice cold drink gave me plenty of time to write, so here are the next couple of chapters to make up for my lack of posting recently.

Also on a side note, I did have time to watch a few more episodes of Merlin, and I've discovered that I've made a HUGE mistake regarding Gwaine. But, more on that next chapter. For now, enjoy Dante doing what she does best - lying through her teeth, lol.

...

Guinevere had gone to bed early - complaining of a headache and excusing herself after dinner - so Arthur was left to finish off the day's business alone. This included digging out the maps of Essetir and studying them over and over, trying to work out the best route to take, and the best plan of attack once they got there.

He'd been there before, of course, but that had just been raiders intent on stealing the villagers supplies, no real strategy -their attacks careless and reckless. Even then, to defeat them had taken the four of them from Camelot...himself, Gwen, Merlin and her, plus the entire village of farmers and the illegal magic of one very brave young man, who'd died to defend Arthur.

The group they had faced that day had not been a fully formed army of well trained soldiers with commanding officers and battle plans.

Tomorrow would be a whole different matter, entirely.

And despite all that, he didn't want to take his own army, firstly because it would leave Camelot - and more importantly Gwen - undefended. And secondly because meeting violence with violence was the quickest way to start a war. Ideally he wanted to take a small group, slip in, free the villagers and slip out again, undetected. He could worry about removing the threat later, after seeing the situation for himself.

It was half a day's ride to Ealdor, after all, but would it be more beneficial to ride for longer, scout round Ealdor and attack from the East, rather than the West? If Lot was expecting Camelot to retaliate, he would be fortifying the defences on the western border that joined Camelot. He wouldn't think twice about fortifying the east...or would he?

This was the other problem Arthur now faced. He had no idea how Lot went about things. Was he a straightforward act first, ask questions later kind of man? Or would he be willing to negotiate so that no fighting ever needed to take place?

After meeting the man in person on his birthday, Arthur very much doubted it would be the latter, but he couldn't exactly be sure. He needed someone who knew Lot, personally.

Just then, there came a soft rap at the door, and he glanced up from the maps he'd been studying. "Come in."

"Sorry to intrude, Arthur," Dante smiled apologetically as she peered round the door. "Is now a bad time? Perhaps I should come back later?" It had been decided, a while ago, that in private at least, the formalities could be dropped. Merlin called Arthur by his first name, and he was a servant, so why shouldn't the same privilege be extended to Dante? She was as much a friend to Arthur now as any of his knights, who also used first name terms when alone with him.

"No, no, it's alright," Arthur assured her, shuffling the papers into a neat pile on his desk and standing to greet her as she entered. "What can I do for you, Dante?"

"Well actually, I was hoping I could do something for you," She replied as he motioned for her to take one of the seats by the fire.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Well, I know you're busy planning this whole trip to Ealdor, and all, but I was hoping it would not be too late for me to jump on board? You know, tag along with you when you ride out?"

"I'm sorry, Dante, but it's too dangerous," he told her firmly, but gently, without even considering the possibilities of what she was offering. Clearly Dante had expected this reaction, however, as she smiled and nodded.

"Of course. But I am not asking to join the fight. I'm simply offering my knowledge to help you along the way."

"Your knowledge?" he asked, curious now despite the nagging voice at the back of his mind insisting that it was a bad idea.

"I was Lot's slave for eight years," she reminded him. "I rarely left his side, and as such, I learned his most intimate secrets...his tactics and strategies, his motives, his strengths and his weaknesses. I could tell you exactly how he'll attack the village, and more importantly, how he'll set up the ambush if he knows you're coming."

"You know all that?" Arthur asked suspiciously. "Why would a slave know all that?"

Choosing not to be offended by the way he'd so casually referred to her as being a slave - as if she was one still, she leaned forward conspiratorially, as if afraid the very walls themselves had ears and would overhear her. "I shouldn't really know any of it," she admitted. "But I often listened in on his conversations. I'm good at listening, after all, and nobody ever gave a slave girl a second's thought as I hovered in the background. But Lot found out eventually and swore me to secrecy under pain of death. Why do you think he went to so much trouble to get back a simple slave girl? It wasn't because I was pretty, or useful to him - he could have replaced me with anyone, at any time."

She waited, to see if Arthur would realise what she was trying to get at. And the King didn't disappoint.

"It was because you knew all his secrets," he realised with a grin. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"It never really crossed my mind," she shrugged again. This whole lying thing was coming quite easily to her now, and she found the various stories rolling from her tongue as easily as counting to ten. But then, she'd always been a master of stories since she was a child, able to fabricate and come up with the most intricate and believable stories imaginable. Often she'd get her brothers into trouble by making up stories about them, and her lies would be laced with just enough truth to make them believable. Her father had jokingly said that she had a silver tongue, which at the time had confused the six year old Dante. She'd spent the next week studying her tongue in the mirror, fearing that it would actually turn to silver. Now, however, it was really coming in useful and she could see she had Arthur's complete belief in every word she was saying, no matter how false they were.

"But that is why I come to you now, Arthur. I want to help you. But to do that, I need to see the village for myself. I learned Lot's patterns for dominating and 'conquering' as he often called it. Each village is different, and so were his tactics, depending on the layouts."

"It's still too dangerous," Arthur replied, shaking his head.

"But you'll let Merlin go, even though he's not a knight?"

"Merlin's quite capable of looking after himself...sort of."

"And Gwaine's been teaching me how to fight!" She protested petulantly. "Enough to defend myself, if I get into trouble, at least. I don't want to go there to fight. I want to help you. If that means staying with the horses, or I dunno, climbing a tree or something, just to stay out of sight, then so be it. But please, Arthur. Let me come with you?"

"Ladies don't climb trees, Dante. Besides, why are you so desperate to help when it's really of no concern to you?" Arthur frowned.

"Because Hunith helped me in my hour of need. Now it is my turn to repay the favour. Besides, I don't want anyone to get hurt. The more help I can give you, the easier I'll sleep at night."

"This really isn't a good idea," Arthur grumbled, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth. He was ready to refuse her once more, despite the help she was so generously offering, when she also stood, a steely glint in her eye and a brief flash of frustration crossing her calm features.

"Like it or not, Arthur Pendragon, I'm coming with you tomorrow, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"How dare you!" He snapped, his cheeks flushing with anger then. "I am your King! I will not be spoken to like that!"

"And you are also my friend, Arthur," she spoke softly, her frustration vanishing in an instant as she ignored his anger, rising and stepping towards him. Taking his hands in her own, she looked up into his eyes. "I do not want anything to happen to you...My King."

How could he refuse that look she was now giving him?

Wait...that look?

That's what Gwaine always complained about. The look she would unleash upon him, that he simply could not refuse. Was she using 'that look' upon Arthur now?

Because if she was...

Damn, it was working!

"Alright," he sighed, shaking his head and finally caving in to her request. "But don't come crying to me when it all ends in tears."

"You won't regret it," she beamed, standing up on tiptoes to plant a very light, delicate kiss on his cheek. "I promise."

"Yes well, make sure you get plenty of rest. We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and you'll need to be at your best," he replied, clearing his throat and trying to hide the blush on his cheeks once more as he tried to put on his best 'I'm the boss' look.

"Of course," she nodded obediently.

"And find some armour, or something. Can't have you ruining any of your...ah...gowns..."

Again she nodded. "Consider it done."

"And don't be late, or we'll go without you!"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"And...ah..."

She waited, eyebrow raised expectantly, and he floundered, trying to think of one last order to save himself.

"And when we're in public, you can't act like my friend. It's unprofessional."

"My apologies, Sire."

"Yes, well...that's better. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some last minute planning to do. Meet us in the courtyard tomorrow at dawn."

"See you there."

How could she stay so blatantly calm and blasé about it all? As she headed for the door, he marvelled at her casual attitude. Why couldn't everyone be as laid back about things as she was? She'd just volunteered to join him on a dangerous mission, without even giving a second thought to her safety.

Would she still be so confident tomorrow, when the fighting began? Only time would tell, he supposed.

She paused at his door, throwing him an easy smile over her shoulder, before bidding him goodnight, and leaving him to contemplate all that had happened, and what he'd just let himself in for.

"Women!" he grumbled to himself, collapsing back down behind his desk and grabbing the pile of parchment towards him once more.

...

Out in the hallway, Dante leant back against the cool stone wall and breathed out a long sigh of relief, her heart pounding furiously in her chest.

Admittedly that had been much easier than she'd expected, but now that she thought back on it, how the hell had she gotten away with talking to Arthur like that? Was she mad? Did she have a death wish?

Well, she'd just volunteered to walk into a trap, knowing that she stood little to no chance of survival, so yes, perhaps she did.

"I must be mad!" She exclaimed to the empty corridor. "I've lost it. I've actually, well and truly lost it!"

And then another thought struck her and she gasped suddenly, as if punched in the stomach by an invisible fist.

"Gwaine! How the hell am I going to explain this to him?" The more she thought about it, the more she realised there was actually no way to keep it from him. He'd find out sooner or later, anyway. And no matter how convincingly she'd lied her way through the conversation with Arthur, no amount of lying and convincing would EVER get Gwaine to agree to such a mad, hair brained idea.

"Oh boy," she groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead. "He's gonna kill me!" Then she took a deep breath and stood up straight again, steeling herself against the inevitable onslaught. "Well, here goes nothing..."

...

Gwaine was in the armoury, sharpening his beloved sword when Dante appeared. She had a very confused look on her face as she glanced around at the racks of weapons and shields and the piles of armour.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, just as surprised to see her as she apparently seemed to be about ending up in the armoury in the first place.

"Huh...well, this isn't the archives," she mused, her frown deepening as she glanced back out the door, mentally retracing her footsteps, it would seem. "I swear it was left at the green and yellow shield...Or was it right?"

"You're nowhere near the archives," he told her, putting his sword down and standing. Then he saw the glint in her eye. For all her pretence about being lost and confused, she'd just given herself away, whether she intended to or not. "So, what are you really doing here?"

"Damn, rumbled," she grinned, slinking over, hands clasped lightly behind her back and giving him 'that look' again. "Alright, I was trying to find you."

"Trying to find me? Why?"

"To ask if you'd care to join me for a drink," she admitted sheepishly.

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

"I didn't want to seem too needy," she shrugged.

He took her hands in his own, brushing the backs of them with his thumbs and feeling her soft, silky skin beneath. "What's brought this on, anyway? This isn't like you. Has something happened?" Now his suspicion had turned to alarm as he feared that something had indeed happened.

"I have some...news to tell you," she spoke after a moment, tentatively, as if suddenly afraid. Afraid of what, though? Surely not the way he'd react? Hadn't she realised by now that she could tell him anything? She could tell him she'd murdered someone, for all he cared, and he'd still give her no cause to fear his reaction.

"I just thought a drink might soften the blow."

"I'm getting the impression I'm really not going to like the sound of this, am I," he frowned now, as well, his anxiety rising.

"Humour me," she said then with a grin, mimicking his accented voice as she fluttered her eyelashes, trying to ease his nerves. It worked.

"Alright, hang on," he laughed, unable to resist. Fetching his sword, he slid it into his belt, then extended his arm to her. "So, My Lady - your room, or mine?"

"Well, does you room have anything that resembles wine...or something of a similar nature?"

"I have a secret stash of ale?" He suggested. She appeared to consider for several seconds as they walked, before she shrugged and grinned.

"Close enough. Your room it is, then."

"Are you sure this isn't all just a trick to get me alone?" He teased, giving her one of his famous smiles again. This time, she didn't ignore it, as she usually did. She blushed and looked away briefly, before clearing her throat delicately.

"Absolutely not. This is strictly business, I'll have you know."

"Shame."

...

As Gwaine fished about at the back of his large oak armoire for the elusive bottle of ale, Dante took a moment to look about his room. It was nowhere near as ornate or lavishly decorated as hers - plain flagstone floor, wooden shutter over the window, simple oak furniture. In fact, the only decoration in the entire room appeared over the mantle - the Pendragon crest, adorned by two engraved short swords meant for ceremonial occasions, rather than actual fighting.

The furniture was sparse, too. Bed, bedside table, dining table, four chairs, the armoire, a looking glass in the corner and a wooden screen. If ever there was an opposite to her chambers, this was most probably it. And yet Gwaine was content. He didn't mind the simplicity of his room, because after all, he barely spent any time in it other than when he was asleep, anyway.

"So, this news you had to tell me," he started, as he re-emerged from the wardrobe brandishing a dusty bottle in triumph.

"Drink first, then I'll talk," she insisted.

"Must be bad," he grinned, as they sat together at the table - on opposing sides. He glanced all about, then frowned. "I'm sorry, I have no cups."

"That's alright," she replied, taking the bottle from him, dusting off the cobwebs, then raising it to her lips and taking a large gulp. Ale really wasn't her thing, but she needed something to take the edge off what she was just about to do, and this particular brand went down quite easily, she was surprised to find.

Gwaine laughed at her unladylike manner, then took the bottle from her and drank deeply from it as well, relaxing into his chair. For a while, they chatted about general things, making small talk while Dante steeled herself to lead it all up to the big news about her accompanying the knights to Ealdor. Gwaine waited patiently for the first half an hour as they passed the bottle back and forth, the ale helping to relax the atmosphere and bring out many jokes and laughter from them both.

Eventually, however, he'd grown tired of talking about the weather, and the impending snow, and Dante knew that he was getting impatient. But still she could not find the right words to even begin to explain.

She needn't have worried, however, because Gwaine soon provided the opportunity for her.

"So...this news...you're being very vague. Do I have to give you the whole bottle to get you to talk? Because you know that I will."

Dante rolled her eyes but reached for the offered bottle anyway, which earned a triumphant laugh from Gwaine. "Now spill."

"It's about Ealdor tomorrow," she started, before taking another large sip from the bottle.

"Yes, I know. You'll miss me terribly. Is this all you wanted to say to me?" He asked, sounding relieved.

Dante eyed him then. "Actually, I won't miss you at all."

"Oh charming!" He exclaimed, insulted. But then he saw that she was raising her eyebrow at him. She had more to say? An explanation for that cutting remark, perhaps?

"I won't miss you," she repeated, holding a hand up to silence him before he could protest again, "Because I'm coming with you."

"Oh...well that's alright then," he visibly relaxed back into his chair once more, and Dante took another small sip of ale, carefully studying his reaction, as if waiting for something. She watched as slowly his relaxed look changed with the dawning realisation. The ale had clearly slowed his mental abilities, because under normal circumstances, it would not have taken him nearly half as long to react to what she'd said.

"Wait..." he sat up again.

She made a pretence of studying the cobwebs that still stubbornly clung to the bottle, though she continued to glance sideways at him the entire time.

"Did you just say...?"

Seriously, it was taking this long for him to realise? Maybe he needed some help.

"I'm coming with you," she said again, calmly.

A few more seconds of silence. Then...

"Absolutely not! I forbid it! Don't even think about it, Dante Leandra Quincailan!"

"My full name?" she mused. "Last time I was full named, I'd just bashed my brother round the head with a shield. That means I must be in BIG trouble."

"Too right you are! There is no way you are coming with us tomorrow, and that's final!"

She set the bottle back on the table and watched him calmly. "I'm sorry, Gwaine," she spoke after a moment. "Arthur has already agreed to it."

"What? You went to Arthur before you came to me?"

"Of course I did." She was amazed at how calm she was remaining. Usually their arguments became rather heated, rather quickly - and she was always the first to raise her voice, whilst Gwaine usually stayed so calm. This time, however, their roles had been reversed. "He is my King, after all."

"Dante," his voice had suddenly dropped to a more normal level again. Only now it held no anger, but desperation and pleading instead. "It's suicide. Please, don't do this. I couldn't bear to lose you."

She almost caved then, at his heartfelt request, but forced herself to stay strong, for his sake, as well as her own.

"I have knowledge that could give you a great advantage," she explained, pushing the bottle towards him as a kind of peace offering. "Besides, I've already promised Arthur that I'll stay out of the fighting. I want no more part in it than you, and I'll be the first to admit that I'm no skilled veteran. I'll happily stay with the horses, out of harm's way! But you can't deny that you need the knowledge I possess. Please Gwaine...I want to come with you. I want to help! You can't keep me shut away behind these stone walls my whole life."

Very reluctantly, he took the bottle and downed the remaining contents. Then he slammed it back on the table and rose.

"Gwaine?" she asked nervously when he refused to meet her eye. "Gwaine, don't do this. Please...Gwaine!"

He studiously ignored her, pacing back and forth for a bit like a caged animal, before finally he changed course and walked back over to his armoire. Reaching inside, he pulled out a large decorated chest, which he then placed carefully on the table in front of her, looking at her again.

And that was when she saw the resigned look of acceptance he was now wearing. "I suppose now's as good a time as any to give you this, then," he said, popping the lid of the chest open and tilting it to show her the contents.

"You...you had this made for me?" She gasped, amazed. "I...Gwaine, I don't know what to say..."

"Promise me you'll be careful?" he suggested.

"I promise," she nodded, rising and stepping round the table towards him. "I'll be careful. You're not going to lose me tomorrow."

Then she threw her arms around him and gave him a huge hug, unable to put into words how grateful she was, not just for his gift, but also for his acceptance, and for his permission to allow her to join them.

Gwaine was not at all happy about the idea, but then he had to remind himself as he held her close, that he did not own her. He was not her father, nor was he her husband. He was just her friend, and she was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions now. She was more than capable of taking responsibility for the consequences of her decisions as well, and as her friend, he should respect her choices, regardless of whether he agreed with them or not.

"If you die tomorrow, Dante Quincailan," he murmured into her ear, "I might just die with you."

For once in her life, Dante had nothing to say in return.

...

The next morning, bright an early as promised, Dante strolled into the courtyard to find Percival already seated on the stone wall of the water well in the centre of the yard, eating an apple.

"Good morning, Milady," he smiled as she approached. Then he studied her up and down for a moment. "Nice armour."

She was wearing Gwaine's gift to her - a sleek, slim fitting chainmail shirt, crafted of very fine rings of steel that were strong and yet at the same time remarkably lightweight and flexible, allowing for ease of movement. Over this was a thick leather vest for extra protection, along with silver gauntlets, black leather gloves and a brown belt with a very intricate silver buckle. She also wore a pair of brown trousers and knee-length boots, one of which had a small knife strapped to the top of it. Her short swords were in specially crafted sheaths attached to the back of her leather vest.

"Thanks," she stifled a yawn, sitting herself next to him and hearing the links of metal chink lightly and the leather creak softly. "Gwaine insisted that if I come, I wear it. Something about preserving his sanity."

For a moment they sat quietly, Percival munching on his apple, Dante yawning quietly, hoping he wouldn't hear. But he did, and just laughed in amusement.

"You're really not a morning person, are you." He offered his apple to her, but she politely declined with a shake of her head.

"I'm usually an early riser," she explained. "But this is pushing it, even for me."

"Well you could have had another hour's sleep," Percival shrugged. "Gwaine won't be down until his hair's perfect, after all."

They both laughed as Elyan finally emerged, pulling on his own gauntlets as he crossed over to join them.

"Morning all," he smiled, sliding his sword free of the loop on his belt and twirling it around a little. "Anyone fancy a bit of practice before we set off?"

"No ta," Percival replied, taking another huge bite of his apple and crunching quietly on it. Elyan visibly deflated at that, before he turned to Dante.

"Milady?"

She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, go on then. Will give me a chance to break this leather in."

So they spent the next few minutes trading blows back and forth to test the other's defences. They were using what was known as 'live steel' now - blades with sharp edges, designed for killing - so they couldn't afford to become any more competitive than the basic steps, but it gave them something to do at least. One by one, the others finally filtered out to join them - Gwaine unsurprisingly bringing up the rear, two apples in hand.

"Thought you promised me you weren't going to fight," he challenged as Elyan and Dante finally put away their weapons, giving each other respective bows of their heads.

"I was practicing defending myself," she retorted, catching one apple easily, as he threw it to her. He bit loudly into his own apple. "I have the right to defend myself, after all."

"Whatever," he said finally, through a mouthful of apple. "I've given up trying to argue with you."

Whatever retort she may have shot back at him was cut off then, by the loud clatter of hooves, as their horses were brought out to them. Not really that hungry, Dante studied the apple in her hand for a moment, then took the knife from her boot and cut it into eight segments, feeding one piece to each of the horses, noting their now familiar faces as she moved from horse to horse. All except the last, who happened to be a horse she didn't recognize. She did notice, however, that this must be her ride for the day.

This particular horse happened to be a beautiful chestnut mare with four white socks and a star on her forehead. She wasn't at all phased by the boisterous stallions around her, and seemed perfectly calm and at peace.

"She has no name yet," Arthur said as he watched Dante petting the mare and making a fuss of her as her saddle was put on by one of the stable boys. "She's new here. I thought perhaps she would save you from stealing Gringolet all the time."

"You're giving her to me?" Dante asked, stunned.

"Of course. Treat her well, My Lady, and she'll take good care of you in return. She's a beautiful creature."

"That she is," Dante nodded, stroking the mare's velvet muzzle. Then she lowered her voice, speaking to the mare, who's ears flickered in her direction as she listened intently. "So I suppose you need a name. And a pretty one, too. Give me time, and I promise I'll come up with something worthy."

The mare snorted lightly into her palm and she grinned, kissing her nose. "You take care of me, and I'll take care of you. Deal? We can be a team."

Again the mare snorted gently, and Dante took that as a sign of agreement.

"My Lady?" The stable lad finally said, holding out his cupped hands to help her into the saddle. But she waved him away with a smile and swung herself up and into the saddle with apparent ease. All that practice she'd been getting recently must be paying off. And not only that, but the mare was so well behaved, standing obediently on the spot, ears flicking back to listen to her mistress' commands as Dante settled herself lightly into the saddle and gathered the reins. Looking over, she could see Gringolet up to his usual tricks, prancing on the spot as Gwaine swung himself into the saddle. He let out a long string of curses, and the other knights laughed.

Dante, for some reason, felt a great deal of pity for Gwaine then, and gently nudged her heels into the mare's sides, manoeuvring her over to stand beside the highly strung stallion. As soon as he caught sight of the gentle, placid mare however, he calmed right down and finally Gwaine was able to jump into the saddle.

"Thanks," he muttered quietly so that the others wouldn't hear.

"Don't mention it," she responded, equally as quietly.

A few more checks of all their equipment later, the group were finally off on their next great adventure, riding in pairs out through the lower town towards the mountains and the kingdom borders way off in the distance.

Arthur and Merlin were at the front, naturally, followed by Leon and Percival then Dante and Gwaine, with Tristan and Elyan bringing up the rear.