-24-

Lancelot was noble and gave Ryll the cot to sleep on. He settled down on the floor in front of the fire, trying his best not to look uncomfortable. Ryll gazed down at him as he adjusted his body, trying to hide a smile.

"Not quite as soft as the forest floor, is it?" she asked, laughing.

He looked up at her, dark eyes reflecting the firelight. He smiled. "No, somehow it makes even the hardest ground seem comfortable."

"Well, I did offer you the cot, but I'll say that it's probably not much more comfortable than the floor."

A gust of wind rushed past the small house, and Ryll felt the draft through the cracks in the walls. She shivered. It was then that she couldn't help remembering the comfortable four-poster bed and non-drafty room she had stayed in in Camelot. She silently reprimanded herself for being soft. Soft. Her bed had been so soft. She shook her head. Maybe if she pretended like she was sleeping in that bed. But that would mean pretending she was in Camelot. She shut her eyes. She couldn't think of Camelot. This was her home now.

"Are you alright?" Lancelot asked quietly. She turned her head to look at him, finding that he was suddenly blurry. She shook her head, unable to muster any words and feeling ashamed of the tears that filled her eyes. She pulled the blanket around her like a cape and crawled onto the floor next to where Lancelot lay. He sat up, wrapping an arm around her, and letting her cry into his shoulder. When had she turned into such a weakling? She hardly ever cried, and when she did, she tried her hardest to never let anyone see. Why now was she weeping openly into a stranger's shoulder? But Lancelot was her friend. She knew he wouldn't judge her.

He waited until her tears had subsided before asking her if there was anything he could do. She smiled at this. "No, but thank you. I'm sorry for breaking down. I guess I miss Camelot more than I knew. It really was a home and to have it ripped away like that… Well, you understand."

"Camelot was much more of a home to you than it was to me. You were there for some time, weren't you?"

Ryll nodded. "Long enough to make it hard to leave."

"Hard to leave someone perhaps?" he asked gently. When Ryll didn't answer for a moment, he added, "You don't have to answer that. It's none of my business."

"No, it's alright. I just miss my friends, that's all. I was pretty close to Morgana, Arthur, and Merlin." She left it at that.

"It's alright to miss something and someone," Lancelot soothed her. "It will take time to move on."

"It's been four months."

"That doesn't matter. Four months isn't long enough to get over a loss."

"I'm being selfish; you lost something too." She looked up at him, wiping the rest of her tears away. "You lost knighthood – a knighthood you rightly deserved."

He looked down. "That's true, although I'm sure there is much more I can learn before even considering myself suitable for knighthood."

"You're much too modest," Ryll told him, putting a hand under his chin to raise his head. He met her eyes. "Don't ever think you don't deserve to be a knight. Arthur knighted you after all. Even after he and Uther learned that you were not from a noble family, he still wanted you to be a knight. Arthur doesn't pick just anyone to trust."

"He trusted you."

"Yes, trusted being the operative word. Not anymore."

"That's not true."

"I made too many mistakes," Ryll said.

"You're too hard on yourself. You were a true friend, and did what you thought was best. You saved so many people, and yet you beat yourself up about everything. I'm not the one who's too modest."

Ryll laughed. "What a fine pair we make," she teased. "Arguing over which of us is more modest." Lancelot laughed too. Ryll felt so much warmer next to the fire and next to him and so she lay down where she was, tucking the blanket up to her chin. "I'll make it fair," she said. "We'll both sleep on the floor." She was asleep before Lancelot could argue.

…

Four days since their arrival in Meldoran, Ryll and Lancelot were settling in nicely. They'd done what they could to tidy up the small cottage, building a second bed using hay and blankets and filling in some of the drafts with wooden boards. Lancelot had found work at the blacksmith's. He had an extensive knowledge of sword-craft, Ryll had come to learn, and the job suited him well. She made note to challenge him some evening to see whose sword skills were best – always that flare of competitiveness in her. Finding a job for herself was a little trickier. Most if not all of the women in the village just worked the farm or minded their households. This did not appeal to Ryll in the least. She avoided telling anyone that her lifetime goal was becoming a knight of Camelot, but she flat out refused to play midwife, a job that was offered to her as the current midwife had developed a bad case of gout. Finally, she contented herself with fixing up the cottage and tending the overgrown plot of land behind the house, ignoring the strange looks the other villages gave her when they spotted her up to her elbows in dirt. She managed to repair an old, broken-down plow that had been left, abandoned, in the middle of the field and hooked Owl up to it. The dainty horse looked insulted at having been set to such a purpose, but with a little coaxing, she worked with Ryll. It was too late in the season to plant anything, but at least the ground would be neat before the frost hit.

By the end of the day, both horse and human were exhausted. Ryll took a long bath in the copper tub that sat behind a room divider, washing away the dust and dirt. Lancelot was due home in a few minutes, and after her bath, Ryll set to work making a quick meal. It all felt odd, as if she were living out someone else's life. This was exactly what other people did – normal people – but she had never been normal. Her life since she had lost her parents had been the complete opposite of normal. How many eighteen-year-old girls could claim to be skilled sword fighters as well as skilled archers? How many young girls had fought beasts and entered tournaments and wished to be a knight? It sounded laughable really. Not when she was in a place like Camelot, but here in this run-down village, her dreams sounded like the delusions of a madwoman.

Feeling disheartened, Ryll sat down at the table, scratching her fingers against the rough grains of the wood. The door opened and Lancelot entered, looking nearly as exhausted as her. He sat down across from her, leaning his elbows wearily on the table.

They were silent for a moment, and then he said, "So this is what it feels like to live a normal life."

Ryll laughed. "Not quite as relaxed as living out in the wilderness, catching your own food when you're hungry and lazing about the rest of the day if you feel like it."

"That smells good." He motioned to the pot boiling over the fire.

"I hope it tastes good. I'm good at making exactly two things: broth and broth with meat in it."

"That's good enough for me," Lancelot replied, grinning. "Let's make it fair – I'll cook tomorrow night."

"The perfect husband." They laughed at this.

"I'm getting the impression that the villagers think us eccentric," Lancelot confided.

Ryll snorted. "Well, I was out there in trousers planting our land earlier. They might talk."

"I had to make up the story of how we fell in love today, I hope you don't mind," he said. "The blacksmith's wife would not stop talking and asking me questions."

"And how did we fall in love?" Ryll teased.

"Well," Lancelot started, "it all began when you saved me from some horrible beast that attacked me. You fearlessly fought it off and saved my life. Naturally, we fell in love. We were both travelers, so we decided to marry and find somewhere quiet to settle down."

"You told her that?" Ryll asked. "Why did you make me out to be some sort of hero?" She didn't admit that she felt grudgingly flattered.

"Because it's the truth," he said, smiling.

"Well, thank you. I'll try to remember that story in case anyone asks me. So far I haven't gotten as much as a 'hello, how are you?'"

"They'll warm up. They're just not used to newcomers. The village is on the very outskirts of Mercia, so they don't get a lot of action. Only when Camelot and Mercia were at war. That's why they're so cautious of newcomers."

"Ah, of course, Uther would have to ruin a village that doesn't even belong to him."

"Let's not start that again."

Ryll made a face before getting up to tend the broth.

"So what is it tonight? Broth or broth with meat?" Lancelot asked, changing the subject.

"With meat actually. I had time to go hunting in the woods."

"You know, technically that's poaching on Uther's land."

Ryll threw him a look of disgust. "He's not going to miss one rabbit at the very edge of Camelot's land. He certainly eats well enough. We're the poor peasants now."

Lancelot held up his hands. "I never said I was objecting," he pacified.

Ryll smirked. "Good because I plan on getting most of our meals that way."

"Just don't get caught. We don't want a bad reputation."

"It might be too late for that. A couple of women saw me wearing pants and walked off in a hurry earlier. I think they were scandalized. I'm sure the whole village has heard about it now."

"Well, you're wearing a dress now, so they can't prove anything."

"I hope you're not suggesting I might get arrested for wearing men's clothing because I don't plan on stopping just because a few busybodies decided to gossip."

"You're going to have to play nice if you want any of the villagers to like you, you know."

Ryll huffed, stirring the broth more forcefully than necessary. "I will," she said. "I really do want a good life here. I guess it's just…" She took a deep breath before setting the ladle aside and turning to look at Lancelot. "If this is what every day of our lives is going to be – working hard all day, tending crops, cooking dinner, enduring idle gossip, well, that's not much of a life at all. I can't just sit around all day and cook and clean. I don't want to become a farmer or a midwife, and I certainly don't want to end up strutting around town looking for something to gossip about."

"You're bored already."

"I am not! I just…" she struggled for the right words.

"You miss the adventure and action that came from living in Camelot," Lancelot finished for her. "You miss wielding your sword and finding yourself in a number of dangerous situations. You miss your friends and you miss the uncertainty that came with not knowing when the next foe was going to present itself. You're not like most girls, Ryll. You want more from life and you're not afraid to get it." He stood, coming over and placing his hands on her shoulders. "And that's alright, but for now we need to settle down where it's safe, make a life for ourselves. If we're not happy, we can leave. This isn't forever if you don't want it to be. You wanted a home, well here it is. If it isn't what you want, then we can go somewhere else. I'm just asking you to give it a chance. We just need some time to get used to the idea."

Ryll sighed and nodded. "You're right. Of course you're right."

"But you're also right – this isn't the same as Camelot. This isn't the same as being a knight. But for now it's going to have to do. Besides, we can make our own fun. We can't lose our skill with the blade, so we might as well practice everyday."

"Is that a challenge?" Ryll asked, eyes gleaming. Lancelot smiled.

"If you don't mind giving the other villagers something more to gossip about."

Ryll smirked. "Let them talk."

"Fine." Lancelot released her shoulders. "After dinner we'll take our swords out back of the house. We'll see who's the better swordsperson."

Ryll turned back to her stirring. "Be prepared for a beating," she threw back at him feeling happier than she had all day.

…

Ryll's sword felt more natural in her hand than the broom, ladle, and pitchfork that she had used earlier. She was wearing trousers again and had her hair tied back in a braid that ran down her back. A few loose strands curled around her face.

Lancelot circled her as they each measured the other. He was muscular, but he wasn't hulking like some knights. He was lean and not overly tall. Ryll on the other hand was slightly shorter than usual, strong but slim. She'd never slight a girl for being small or judge her strength by her size, but she knew it was foolish not to accept that she wasn't as strong as a man. She wondered if Lancelot would go easy on her. Probably a little at first while he measured her skill. He was honorable and respected her as both a girl and a knight – well, a warrior anyway, but when he saw her skill, then he'd have to put everything he had into the fight if he wanted a chance at winning.

She watched his eyes. It was all about the eyes. The footwork was a dance, but the eyes were what could really give you away. Lancelot smiled, his dark eyes giving nothing away as he looked straight back at her. It was also the eyes that could serve as a distraction. She didn't break their gaze as she swung her sword up at him. He blocked it expertly, his eyes never leaving hers. A smile grew on her face. She could tell he was going to be a worthy opponent. She swung again and the dance began.

It was as if they had choreographed this all out together. When Lancelot stepped so did she, when she swept her sword up, he blocked, when one lunged, the other stepped back. As she thought, Lancelot held back at first, sizing her up. She let loose a torrent to show him she wasn't going to go easy on him. He fought back harder, finally giving her everything he had.

The metal rang out, and Ryll wondered briefly if they were drawing a crowd. Her eyes never left their fight, however. For the most part they watched each other, but when the sword thrusts got more violent, she concentrated on fending him off and trying to catch him off guard. For nearly half an hour they fought on, neither backing down even when they both started to pant. Ryll felt sweat freckling her forehead. Her arm was growing weary and burned with the effort of fighting. She'd practiced with her sword in the four months since leaving Camelot but not against someone – certainly not against a knight of sorts. Finally she'd had enough. She drew back.

"It's a draw," she said, panting. "I can't take anymore."

Lancelot fell back, pushing his damp hair out of his face. "Agreed. You're incredible."

Ryll grinned. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Next time I'll actually put some effort into it." His smile grew as she registered his words.

"Oh, well, I'll actually try next time. I hardly broke a sweat." A complete lie. Lancelot laughed.

"I'll bet you're not as fast as me though. That's always my advantage," she bragged. "Men are so slow. We girls are much speedier."

"Is that so?" Lancelot dropped his sword, rushing at her. Ryll screamed, dodging him before he could grab her. She sprinted through the field, headed toward the front door to their cottage. Before she could get far, Lancelot grabbed her from behind, swinging her around as they both laughed until their sides hurt. This was the most fun Ryll had had in four months, perhaps longer. She didn't care who was watching; she just cared that she was having a good time. Lancelot released her, still shaking with laughter. Ryll couldn't stop laughing as she turned to head into the cottage. That's when she caught sight of someone watching her. She blinked, sure it was a dream. But he was still standing there, and it was as if time had stopped. The blood rushed in her ears and the world dropped away.

…

Merlin had awoken first, blinking in the hazy dawn light. He shook Arthur awake and then Morgana. As he'd struggled to fall asleep the night before, he'd formed a plan. He'd tell the story of recovering the map just as it had happened, insisting that they go to Meldoran to warn Ryll just in case the men happened upon the village.

"So I think we should still warn her," he was saying to Arthur and Morgana. "Just so she knows she's in danger."

"You expect me to believe that you actually infiltrated an enemy camp and stole a map from right under their noses?" Arthur asked.

"That's all you got out of all of that?" Merlin asked, exasperatedly. "Here. See for yourself." He held out the map.

"It's just a map. There's nothing on it."

Merlin snatched the map back. The blood spot was gone. It was just a plain map. "It was there!" he insisted. "I saw it."

"I believe him," Morgana put in. "Why shouldn't we? I think it's a good plan. We need to warn Ryll just in case."

"Alright, pack everything up. We'll go to Meldoran."

Merlin packed hastily and they set off before the sun had fully risen. He set a brisk pace, pushing his horse through the forest at a fast trot. When they broke open ground, he pushed the horse into a canter. They rested once before continuing on, but it was nearing dark when the small outline of Meldoran finally crept onto the horizon.

"We'll have to stay here for the night," Arthur said. "We'll find an inn and look for Ryll tomorrow."

"We don't have time to waste," Merlin argued.

"What do you propose we do? Knock on everyone's doors to see if she's there? She might have just been passing through."

"Which is why we need to hurry!"

"Well, we can't trail her in the dark and we need rest. We'll find her, Merlin."

Merlin fell silent and none of them spoke until they reached the small village. They found an inn to stay in for the night. Arthur didn't mention who he was to the innkeeper and no one seemed to suspect that Uther's son was in their midst. Though the villagers eyed them warily, they met no trouble. While Arthur and Morgana ate together, Merlin went outside, walking down the main road in the village. He didn't know what the chances were of finding Ryll, but he needed to try. He stopped outside the blacksmith's, hailing the man who was hammering away at a sword.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for a friend," he said. "Maybe you can help me? She's small with golden hair and blue eyes. She would be new here."

"Ah, yes, you mean the new couple that moved here. She and her husband settled down in the cottage at the end of the road. Nice folks. Her husband works for me now. Good lad."

"Are you sure that's her? She's not married."

"Well, lad, how long has it been since you last saw her?" He went back to pounding the sword.

Merlin's heart felt as if it had just stopped. He found himself walking down the road, his eyes set on the small cottage at the very end. Ryll married? It couldn't be her. It had to be someone else. But how many golden-headed girls came through these parts? He reached the end of the road. No one was in sight, but he heard laughter and then two people burst into view. One was a handsome man with dark hair who looked vividly familiar. The other was a beautiful girl with long golden hair now falling out of a braid. The man swept her up in his arms, swinging her around as she laughed gleefully. They both looked so happy. He had never seen Ryll so happy now that he thought of it. But it was her. There was no mistaking it. The man set her down and both turned toward Merlin. Her eyes went straight to him and her smile faded. Then she went weak in the knees. The man caught her, looking curiously up at Merlin. Then recognition washed over his face.

"Merlin?"