Things will begin to pick up but I need to have her begin to know some of the knights before being cast back into the fire. Hard to make friends on horseback, but I could be wrong. Just a short chapter to hurry things forward.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR PLOT LINES AS DEPICTED IN THE 2004 FILM 'KING ARTHUR' BY ANTOINE FUQUA. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION DEDICATED TO THE HARD WORK AND EFFORT PUT FORWARD BY THOSE WHO WORKED ON THE FILM. THE ONLY CHARACTER I OWN IS CHARLOTTE.

Despite her shorter stature, Vanora moved deceptively fast. The new leather shoes I wore fit well enough, but I struggled to keep pace after months of wearing thin slippers. The leather chafed against my skin and I ignored the slight pinch as I tried to keep up.

Weaving her way through the corridors, I noted that Vanora must live in the building to know her way around so well.

The dark corridors were familiarly Roman, yet I could also see that there were slight differences. Tapestries hung against the stone walls and the dark grey stone lacked the warmth of the Roman sandstone columns. Torches lined the halls and I noted the overall more austere furnishings throughout the hallways.

The villa I had previously lived had been filled floor to ceiling with every object imaginable. It was a reflection of the wealth Lucius had acquired, being one of the trade master's of the southern port of the city. Statues, flowers, glass items crafted from Greece, every inch of the villa had been filled to show patrons the wealth and power he had obtained.

This fort in contrast was much more practical, and I mentally reminded myself it was most likely because it was a military fort. Of course, they would not have statues and gold plates hung around. I had never been inside a fort before however it still felt strange to see such Roman features in such a stark environment.

Suddenly, I could begin to hear men and woman growing closer. A slight breeze blew through the corridor and quickly Vanora pushed her way through a small doorway, and out into a different, much larger courtyard than earlier.

Several tables lay scattered around the square, alongside small fire pits and torches. I realized that it was now nighttime and wondered how long I had been allowed to sleep.

Staring at the scene before me, I was surprised at the number of people. Men and woman clustered around the tables. They laughed happily as they drank and ate to the faint sound of what sounded like a flute.

I could make out a few Roman, based by the way their red capes caught the firelight, clustered near the back of the courtyard. They jovially laughed as they clutched mugs to their chests and I inadvertently moved closer to Vanora.

The rest of the men and women in the yard wore a mix of leathers, furs, and wool which meant they were most likely the common people. I again was surprised that the Roman soldiers would eat alongside commoners. It seemed that there were more differences within a Roman fort than just the stark hallways.

Vanora brought my attention back to her with a soft touch to my hand and I ducked my head in apology for being caught staring. I returned to following behind her like a shadow as she made her way to the far end of the courtyard. A large tent was pitched over a series of open fires, with a few women rushing around a series of pots that hung above the billowing fires.

I closed my eyes as the smell wafted my way. It smelt absolutely amazing.

I was no doubt drooling by the time Vanora plopped me down on a stool behind the large counter and shoved a small wooden bowl into my hands. Wasting no time, she ladled me a large helping of brown stew and handed me a mug filled with what looked like beer.

Not waiting to give me permission to eat, the woman marched off instead and began yelling at another girl who skittered by. Watching the red-head disappear into the crowd, I stared down at the stew.

Was I allowed to eat this?

At the villa, we had been instructed to only eat once given the command. Staring at the warm bowl in my hands, I licked my lips. How long had it been since I had a proper meal?

Staring around me, I realized no one would notice if I took a sip.

Taking the bowl up to my lips, I inhaled the small of meat and groaned happily. With a tentative sip, I put the bowl down on the table and moaned in English. "Oh god that's good…"

Immediately, I was downing the bowl in my hands with gusto, pleased when another girl came by and ladled me some more. She did seemed slightly unnerved by the rate I put the stew away but said nothing, merely gesturing to a bowl nearby with some bread and cheese.

"Help yourself."

Chugging down the stew, I quickly seized two slices of bread and a hunk of cheese. While I no doubt looked crazy, I could not help the smile that tugged up at my face at slight tangy smell of the cheese. God, how long had it been since I had had honest to goodness cheese?

Most likely before the journey on the ship. I had been relegated to eating hard tack and whatever odds and ends Horton threw my way.

Eating away at the hunk of cheese, I tried to slow myself to savor the slightly bitter taste. Turning my attention away from the food, I quietly surveyed the courtyard from my vantage point in the kitchen. I spotted Vanora and her flaming red hair moving amongst the tables with cups of ale.

Obviously in charge, the men and women regarded Vanora with respect and allowed her to flit in and out without question.

Turning my gaze, I suddenly spotted a man approaching me. I tensed immediately until I realized that he was no Roman.

"Dagonet," I said, feeling slightly guilty at being caught out of the room he had placed me. Had Vanora lied about him giving her permission to bring me out here?

I unconsciously tucked the cheese into my pocket and hoped that if he was to bring me back, he wouldn't notice the hidden food. The man in question moved purposefully forward until he stood across from me, the kitchen counter blocking him. He leaned slightly up against the long wooden table and nodded in response.

"Charlotte."

There was no demand or acquisition. Instead he stood silently. Staring at him, I unconsciously played with my hair.

"I was hungry. I know you said that I should wait in the room, but Vanora said it'd be okay."

"Okay?" He asked, clearly confused by the word. I shook my head, forgetting myself and bit my lip. "Fine. She said it would be fine…"

"It's fine as long as you stay in the kitchen. You can eat as much as you like."

Turning his eyes away from mine, he stared out at the crowd. I gaped at him.

So he truly did tell Vanora to bring me here. I couldn't fathom why he was treating me so well, and thought back to the strange look in Arthur's eye before he followed the Bishop.

Was this what Arthur had wanted all along?

Obviously unbothered by the silence, Dagonet continued to watch the courtyard with a bored expression. Trying to sort my confused thoughts, I found myself speaking up after sipping my ale.

"I want to thank you."

"For what?" Dagonet asked, his eyes not even looking at me.

"For being kind... You didn't need to have Vanora help me."

He smiled slightly over his shoulder but did not respond. Instead he moved to greet Tristan, Gawain, and the young mercurial man who approached from where they had been sitting. Obviously having already had a little to drink, Gawain grinned openly up at Dagonet.

"And what has you so occupied, Dagonet?" Gawain asked, slapping the broad man on the arm. "You should come join us! Tristan was just about to regale us on a story. Weren't you Tristan?"

Tristan merely blinked. However his sharp blue eyes quickly landed on me. Holding an apple, he took a small bite but said nothing.

The younger man also peered around and spotted me, his brows raising in surprise. "We did not realize you had company..."

He sheepishly nudged Gawain who moved to better see. Spotting me, he seemed surprised for a moment. His dark blonde hair was finally tamed into some semblance of order, allowing me for once to have a clear look at his face. A strangely open face stared back at me, laugh lines crinkling around dark blue eyes and a wide smile partially hidden by a trim beard. Without the blood, he was quite handsome.

Despite his slightly scruffy appearance, Gawain looked much less fierce than the man who fought in the mud like wild man only a few hours earlier.

Based on the sort of bewildered look Gawain shot me, I figured he was thinking along the same lines. No longer coated in a thick layer of mud and blood, I must have looked much cleaner than the last time he had seen me.

I nervously patted down my hair and kept my gaze lowered.

Stuttering slightly, Gawain shot Dagonet an apologetic look. "Our apologies, Dagonet. Galahad and I didn't know you were occupied…"

Readjusting himself, Gawain made a small bow in my direction, his face pinking in embarrassment. Or maybe it was from the drink.

"Hello lady."

Flicking my gaze back to the startled Gawain, I felt my own brows raise in disbelief.

He doesn't recognize me!

Looking down at the red dress, I guess it was a far cry from the muddy thin blue dress I had worn earlier. No longer covered in mud, I also realized my hair must look much different than before.

"Hello," I said, watching as his gaze flicked up to mine in confusion. Stumbling for something polite to say, I settled on, "It's good to see you again."

Frowning, he stood up from his bow and stared at me before the younger man, Galahad, suddenly scoffed in disbelief. "It's the slave woman from earlier!"

Spinning to his young friend, Gawain's eyes widened even further before taking me in again. Tristan snorted before striding off, bored by the conversation. Dagonet smirked in amusement.

Seeing his companion struggle, Galahad grinned before imitating Gawain's bow himself. He seemed in better spirits than before, his face pinched far less and less suspicious of me. Based on the mug he gripped in his hand, I wondered if it was due to the alcohol.

"Lady."

The tone was mocking and Gawain reddened further at the joke.

"I'm no lady," I said quietly, shifting on the small wooden seat. "Please, just Charlotte."

"I thought the Bishop called you Marcia?" Galahad asked, his tone not unfriendly but inquisitive. I unintentionally stiffened at the name and fisted my hands in my dress.

"That's the name the Romans gave me. Charlotte is difficult for them to say but…I don't like that name."

"Romans…" Galahad whistled, rolling his eyes. Taking a swig of the ale in his cup, he seemed lost in thought for a moment.

"You look… well." Gawain stated awkwardly, causing me to smile slightly despite myself. Taking a small sip of ale, I found myself speaking.

"If you mean I look less muddy, then thank you."

Gawain grinned. "Well, yes. You far less like the little rabbit you did before, hiding in the mud."

"Better a dirty rabbit than a dead one," I retorted without thinking and immediately shut my mouth, my eyes widening. Staring up, I waited for the angry response to my lack of respect and was met with instead a wider grin.

Gawain's eyes glinted slightly. He chuckled beneath his beard as he nodded. "True. Though I doubt a rabbit would have such a bite."

I felt my own smile tugging at my lips and blushed. He did not seem bothered by my lack of respect and it made me feel somewhat daring. Whether it was the beer or just my inability to stay quiet, I murmured back a response.

"I don't think you've met a rabbit before. They can be mean."

He laughed and I felt a real smile begin to form.

I was enjoying the easy banter, despite my own mind arguing against it. Perhaps it was the beer that was loosening my tongue, but it felt good to speak my own mind. It had been a while since I had been able to speak to anyone without automatic deference.

Gawain surveyed me quickly before chirping back another joke.

"True but I'd fear a badger more than a rabbit. That may be a better comparison."

"I don't know that word. But I guess it's not nice?"

"It's sort of like a big rat…" Galahad chimed in, shooting his companion an amused look. "Not particularly pleasant looking or friendly."

I actually snorted. Taking another sip of the ale, I muttered in English. At the confused looks, I realized my mistake and translated it.

"I think I'd rather be called Marcia than a big, mean rat."

Gawain laughed heartily at this and flashed a crooked grin, obviously pleased by my response. Dagonet smiled faintly in return but continued to sort of stand a few feet away, allowing Galahad and Gawain to speak more openly with me.

Galahad moved around the counter and sidled up to me, pulling over a small stool. It took more strength than I would admit to not flinch and unconsciously looked towards Dagonet. The larger man did not seem bothered and so I hoped this meant Galahad was no threat.

Taking another swig, the young man looked back over his shoulder at the courtyard full of Romans.

"What language was that? I do not think I have heard the likes of it before."

I took a small bite of the bread I had in front of me. "English."

Galahad hummed but shrugged nonchalantly. "I've never heard of it."

"I'm not surprised," I admitted honestly, the irony not lost on me. Here I was in England, but several centuries too early.

"Seems familiar though," Gawain mused. "Are your people close to Sarmatia?"

I shook my head. I had no idea where Sarmatia was and tried to think of what little I knew of geography. I knew it was obviously not in the States.

"I don't know really. Where is Sarmatia? Is Sarmatia close to Britain?"

"No, it's not," Galahad answered, his voiced tinged with what almost seemed like anger. "It is nowhere near this place." Seeing the suddenly gloomy look of his companion, Gawain offered me a small smile.

"Sarmatia is far to the east. In a land several leagues away from Rome filled with rolling hills and open skies."

"Sounds beautiful," I said, eyeing the way both men seemed to wilt at the thought. I knew that they were not Roman but how they ended up here still was a mystery.

Clearing my throat, I wondered if I should ask one of the thousands of questions that filled my mind. While they were being so agreeable, I decided to risk it.

"How long has it been since you have seen Sarmatia?"

"15 years."

Dagonet's voice broke the stillness and I felt my heart go out to them. My hand automatically gripped the small idol in my pocket and I wondered how it would feel to have been away from my family for so long.

I found it harder to picture my home and family each day after two years. What would 15 years here do to me?

"I'm sorry… that's a long time."

My answer seemed dull to my own ears but the men did not seem to mind, Gawain smiling slightly while Galahad took another gulp of his ale before setting out for more. I obviously had touched upon a sore subject and frowned guiltily at Galahad's retreating form.

Gawain shook his head as I opened my mouth to apologize. He watched his friend go and gave me an apologetic look. "Do not mind him. He remembers home more than the rest of us. It is harder for him to speak of it."

"If I had been away for 15 years, I would feel the same," I admitted, tamping down the sadness that threatened to rise up from within me. Shaking my head, I asked another question, hoping to distract myself.

"Do you all come from Sarmatia?"

Gawain nodded, gesturing out to the crowd. I spotted Galahad had joined Tristan at a table. "All of us knights, except for Arthur. He's from Britain, though his father was Roman."

I filed away that information before frowning, going back to a word he had said before. I had heard the Bishop use it but I did not understand it.

"What is 'knight'? I've never heard this word before."

Pausing for a moment, Gawain took a sip from his own cup and considered. "Hmm, it means a soldier on horseback or warrior. But not general calvary. We're special."

Staring at the man before me, I tried to place the word. I knew the word for calvary, so they must be a different type of mounted solider. Based on their prowess from earlier, I could guess that 'knight' was an elite type of solider.

"What is a 'Woad'?" I added, now trying to make sense of the earlier conversation Arthur had had with the Bishop. While generally I would never risk so many questions, the blonde man seemed unperturbed by them. He continued to lean against the counter in front of me, his face devoid of the usual distain I was accustom to. "I also heard this word earlier, but I've never heard of it before."

"They were the wild men we killed earlier," He answered however Dagonet quickly cut in. "A race of devils who live north of the wall."

"But, we're south of the wall," I pointed out, confused. Was that not what the Roman soldiers I had travelled with said?

Gawain easily answered while shrugging.

"They sometimes come south, raiding, or killing anyone they find. It's not uncommon to find them this far south these days. You would do your best to stay within these walls while you reside here. They kill without remorse."

"I definitely don't want to seem them again… never in my life have I been so scared," I admitted and the blonde man nodded quietly.

"You are lucky. Most do not survive their encounter with the Woads with their limbs attached."

"You saved me earlier," I said, suddenly remembering the man who had tried to kill me once he had dragged me out of from under the carriage. "During the battle."

"Did I?" He asked, startled. Blinking back at me, I could see him trying to piece together the battle earlier.

"You killed a Woad who tried to kill me. I should have thanked you earlier but... I'm sorry. I should have said something sooner."

Grinning, he waved a hand at me, "You're welcome but I've killed too many Woads to require thanks for the death of one. You shouldn't apologize for not thanking me. There was nothing to be thankful for."

"You have fought the Woads for a long time?"

Gawain nodded.

"Nearly as long as I've been here. Our people in Sarmatia were known for our horsemanship. It's why the Romans forced us to fight for them. We were brought here to fight the Picts first, then the Woads."

I did not recognize all of his words but I quickly put together a picture in my mind. Whether intentionally or not, Gawain spoke in a smooth, reserved way which made it easier to understand. It was much easier than Horton's quick and quiet demands.

"How old were you?" I asked, staring more closely at the man in front of me. He could be no older than 30. "When you were taken by the Romans?"

"I was nine… I think," Gawain said, shifting on his feet. "It took me several months to reach my post so I have spent longer than the others with the Romans. I was nearly eleven by the time I reached Britain."

"Nine…" I breathed, taking in the scruffy man in front of me. "You were a child."

Grinning at my obvious disgust, he shrugged good-naturedly. "I only have one last night before I am free, so there is no reason to dwell on the past."

"Tonight is your last night?" My mind caught up with his words and I blinked in surprised. Is this why Bors was asking about what they would do after the Romans left?

Dagonet, still standing close by, spoke quietly in response. "We are to receive our papers from the Bishop tonight."

"Did you not hear this from the Bishop?" Gawain asked curiously, looking intently at me. "It's why he's come all this way to this miserable land in the first place."

I frowned and shook my head.

Was that why the Bishop came all the way here? From the small fragments of conversation, I had heard during the voyage, that didn't seem right. He had spoken in hushed tones to his assigned guards and I had always assumed it was regarding something bigger than granting a few men their freedom.

"He didn't really speak to me during the trip…Unless he called for me."

Gawain frowned, his brows furrowing over his blue eyes. He paused for a moment before speaking, seemingly unsure what to say.

"Called for you? I thought he was a man of God?"

Drawing me out of my thoughts, I stared at the man for a moment before I registered his words. I felt my cheeks blush in realization.

"No, no not like that…never like that. Just to serve him food or help him dress."

"I thought he had a man," He asked, his brows rising. I nodded slowly.

"The Bishop is used to a certain kind of life. One servant is not always enough. I didn't mind though – it at least was better than sitting in the bottom of the ship."

Gawain's lips turned up in a small grim smile but accepted my answer, chewing on his cheek thoughtfully. For a second, we merely regarded one another in silence.

His blue eyes were warm but there was something that he was searching for. I matched his gaze and allowed myself for once to truly hold someone's eye and not duck my head. It felt strangely comforting, if not a little daring.

Dagonet coughed and this seemed to shake Gawain out of his quiet contemplation. Turning so he was no longer looking at me, he chuckled awkwardly while rubbing a hand over his messy hair.

He bowed his head, suddenly sheepish once again.

"I see Galahad has gotten himself cornered by some rather aggressive women. It seems I must rescue him before he gets himself into more trouble than he can handle. I'll leave you to your food and ale, Charlotte."

Unsure why the sudden awkwardness, I bobbed my head. "Oh… of course. Have a good night, Gawain."

The man in question flashed one more grin my way before sauntering off, leaving Dagonet and I in silence. Turning to Dagonet, I struggled for a moment on what to say. Seeing my struggle, he turned fully to look at me.

"Can I… can I go back to the room? To sleep?"

"You do not need to ask my permission."

"Don't I?," I stated, furrowing my brow. "The Bishop will be mad if he hears I'm not listening to you. If he found I was eating here he'd be furious…I should be in the fort's prison. That's why I was brought all the way here."

Dagonet regarded me with an unreadable expression. "You can rest tonight in the room from earlier. Tomorrow is a new day."

Sighing, I realized he was not going to truly answer me. If I was to be punished, then at least I would get one full night of sleep before it happened.

And having known the Bishop, I knew it was unlikely he would let the large man go unpunished himself if he did not follow through with his orders.

Suddenly feeling less hungry, I put down the bread on the table. Staring down at the empty bowl, I let my thoughts roll within me. Dagonet quickly moved to my side and lightly touched my elbow, drawing my attention.

"I will bring you back to your room to rest. I will discuss with Arthur tonight."

"Thank you," I murmured again, my mind muddled with fear of the future and ale. Leading me from the kitchen, Dagonet brought me back to the small room and instructed me to not leave until the morning.

Bidding me a goodnight, he left me to a fitful sleep.