The Pillars of Our Life

by vpru

When a little girl arrives from Egypt to meet her cousin and a quiet knight, a new life begins for the Sarmatian warriors at Hadrian's Wall.

22. Winds of Change

Winds of Change

"You'll not admit to anything, will you?" Sophia questioned, hot tear rolling down her cheek. "Even after all this time, now that we are both free – you cannot say it?"

Lancelot sighed heavily, turning away, unable to witness the pain he was causing her. "You are free, Sophia. I am not." And more forcefully than he intended, "And there is nothing for me to admit. I've given you no cause or reason for you to believe otherwise. You know who I am."

"The way you touch and look at me gives me reason, Lancelot! And I know you are a coward," she spat. She grabbed him by his shoulders, heedless of the fact that she wore only her shift, his seed still trickling down her thigh, his scent on her skin. "It has been five years. I thought of you every day. You cannot say the same?"

"What do you want from me?" he demanded, jerking away from her grasp.

Sophia tamped down her anger, her despair. "You always said you were honest. So if you truly do not love me, I want you to look me in the eye, swear on the thing you hold dearest, that you do not. Do that and I shall never break the subject again."

His jaw clenched. How dare she give him an ultimatum? How dare she push him? His heart hadn't the threshold for it. Lancelot had only wanted to bed her once more. His papers would be given to him in nine months' time - should he survive to receive them. Thoughts of the future loomed over him, a persistent shadow. Still, he could not voice that which was on lips to this woman before him. The woman who was ever present in his thoughts since he had met her five years ago, the woman who had somehow captured his heart.

Sophia scoffed in the wake of his silence. "You cannot, can you?" She looked around for her dress, suddenly embarrassed, exposed. She could not stomach standing there like a fool, begging a man to return her love.

"I have never lied to you about who I am," he voiced dejectedly.

Setting her person to rights so she may look presentable, she replied, "No, you have not. It is I who have lied – lied to myself. To think that you were capable of something more."

Sophia thought about that conversation now, almost a year had passed. She rode to Hadrian's Wall with a small collection of villagers from Colchester, her home. They sought work and opportunity with the newly appointed King Arthur. Word had spread that he was building a community of freedom, freedom from tyranny and oppression. People spoke of his successful alliance with the Picts who fought with him against the Saxons, emerging triumphant.

In the carriage, she looked at the small bundle in her arms. The baby cooed and smiled at her. Her heart swelled with love, wanting only to protect her daughter and give her a life she deserved. She did not know if Lancelot had stayed with Arthur, he never spoke of what he would do after his service was finished; not to her, nor anyone. She could not say she much cared after the way they had parted. All she knew was staying in Colchester was not an option.

xxx

Raja emerged from the infirmary mid-afternoon, ready to head to the stables to visit Odin after a morning of patching up silly men from their nonsensical squabbles. The late summer's day was bright, cloudless; with a soft breeze whispering past, autumn was just around the corner. Tristan, Lancelot and the others were with Arthur visiting the Picts, cementing alliance and safe trade. The last three months since the battle with the Saxons had brought about swift changes, changes that only solidified once Arthur married the Pict warrior woman, Guinevere. The alliance was overall still tenuous; two peoples could not fight against one another for centuries then suddenly become trusted friends.

Tristan did not trust the Picts; Lancelot certainly did not, far more the vocal of the two. His disdain for them was apparent, his approval of Arthur's marriage less so, but clear upon his face. Once Lancelot had voiced his agreement to stay in Britain for an unspecified time, Raja then made hers to do the same. Her cousin was deeply discontented, and she could not leave him alone in such a state.

The south gates opened and a small contingent of people rode forth. Raja did not recognize them, but they were not the first people to ride to the Wall in search of safeguard and prospects. She would have continued on to the stables, but a familiar face stopped her.

"Sophia?" she said aloud. Once she was certain, Raja's face broke into a smile at the pleasant surprise. She was even more taken aback when Sophia turned fully, a child in her arms.

A shocked, but happy expression came upon Sophia's face; perhaps Raja even saw some relief.

The Egyptian ran to her, giving her an embrace. "You did not write to say you were coming," she exclaimed. "Though I am happy for it. What brings you here? And with a child?"

"I did not write for I did not think you would still be here!" Sophia responded happily. "But I am so glad you are." Sophia returned Raja's smile.

Raja was worried by her appearance. Sophia was pale and thin, her dress hung on her like a drape. Her once lustrous brown hair was dry and brittle. Her stance was also weak, as if the travel had taxed her last reserve.

"This is my daughter, Selene." Sophia peeled back the cowl from the baby's head, revealing a swatch of dark brown curls.

Raja was moved to silence. She looked at the baby, then at Sophia. "How old is she?"

"Three months," Sophia replied.

She exhaled tremulously, feeling both joy and apprehension. "She is…?" Sophia nodded. Raja covered her mouth, unable to speak, tears filling her eyes.

"Please know I come here asking for nothing," Sophia interjected. "I did not know you were still here."

"Sophia, what has happened?" Raja asked, brow furrowed, sensing her friend's unquiet desperation. "You can tell me."

Her gentle words brought tears to Sophia's eyes. These last several months had been difficult, full of uncertainty and utter loneliness. "I…I need a friend, Raja."

"You have one," she answered. "You needn't worry for anything now. All right? I shall care for you and your child both."

xxx

Raja let Sophia and her child rest before bringing them food. She set Sophia in a vacant room in the same hall as her and Tristan, paying some men to bring Sophia's meager belongings to her chamber. It was strange, Sophia traveling with strangers with so few things, but Raja had not pressed. Now that they were rested and fed, she hoped to hear the full story.

Sophia nursed Selene in Raja's antechamber. Bennu stared at the small bundle curiously before finding it boring and curling up in front of the fire.

"Why are you traveling alone, Sophia?" Raja asked.

"I am familiar with the people I am with. They come from my own village," Sophia replied.

"Your mother and brother were content with that?" Raja could not see how they could be as they'd laid out every tract of Sophia's life from birth to adulthood.

It took a moment for Sophia to respond. "No. They disowned me…when I was unable to hide my state no longer."

Raja gasped. "Why?" She could not imagine a mother disowning her daughter, a brother tossing aside a sister.

"Because they know this child is not my late husband's. They wanted me to pretend it was, but Ennius and I had not lain together in over a year before his passing. They think it shameful that I birthed a child out of wedlock." She sighed. "My brother wanted to marry me to another man, but I refused. I told him I would not enter into a bond not of my own choosing again. A neighbor was kind enough to take me in, but food has been scarce, and most people left due to the Saxons"

"I am sorry, Sophia," Raja said. If Sophia had been disowned that likely meant whatever Ennius had left her in his will, if anything in the first place, was at the disposal of her brother. "You are my family now. And no matter what happens, I will take care of you and Selene."

The long months of tension burst forth from Sophia's chest, and she cried. Cried quietly so as not to disturb her daughter. Raja rose from her chair to embrace her, comforting Sophia from her pain.

"You are alone no longer," Raja told her.

Sophia collected herself, changing her child's position so she may gently pat her back. "I am sorry I lost my composure."

"You don't need to apologize for feeling. I am sure these have been stressful months for you. I wish you had written to tell me."

"I could put no more on your shoulders, Raja," Sophia said. "I felt guilty, in truth."

"Whatever for?"

Sophia gave her a sad upwards turn of her mouth. "Because I know you desire a child greatly." She wiped her face. "I expect nothing from Lancelot, so you know. I do not imagine he would welcome us, nor care. And I am not sure I care any longer after our last meeting."

Raja nodded, understanding. "Thank you for thinking of me. Please know I am nothing but happy for yours and Selene's health and presence." She took a breath. "As for Lancelot, we shall cross that bridge when we come to it." She could tell Sophia was tired again. She bid her go and rest, for she would need the strength when Lancelot returned. It would not be an easy conversation, but Raja promised she would aid in any way she could.

Once alone again in her sitting room, Raja trailed into heavy thought. Her heart and womb ached for a child. And while she did not lie about her happiness for Sophia, she could not help but feel the slightest of envies. She yearned for a child for years, waiting year after year for Tristan's seed to take hold and her womb to quicken – for nothing. She tried every herb, every remedy, but still her body would not succor a child. It was one of the few things Raja despaired over. After the second year of trying, she had fallen into a dark, deep melancholy that rendered her mostly bedridden for months. She wanted to hold Tristan's child in her arms, nurse it from her breast, watch it grow, but fate continued to deny her of this one thing.

Bennu purred on her lap, glad to have her mistress alone again. Raja felt the strong vibration under her palm, glad of Bennu's continued health. She had slowed down some, lost a small bit of weight in her flanks, and rarely hunted anymore, but her yellow eyes shone bright and she was as mischievous and curious as ever. Because her hunting expeditions greatly decreased, Tristan brought Bennu meat from his hunts, cutting them into small pieces mixed with broth for sustenance. He grumbled how the old feline was spoiled senselessly, but since Bennu rarely ate all her food unless handfed, he often gave in to her as the creature pestered him specifically.

"He shall return soon," she said softly, and Bennu purred louder.

xxx

"Do you think they will actually leave their mud huts to come stay here?" Lancelot questioned acerbically.

Arthur sighed, praying his new wife had not heard the slight. Seeing her further ahead talking on horseback with some of her women, he was glad Lancelot's voice hadn't carried.

"I do not know," Arthur returned. "I am sure Guinevere can convince some. Merlin looks forward to it, and his word carries great weight."

Lancelot scoffed, shaking his head. "I fear this sojourn of yours was a waste, my friend."

"It is never a waste to foster alliance," he replied. "For what we wish to build we will need hope and good will; I only pray they take our invitation to come here in six weeks' time."

Lancelot laughed dryly. "Should you want hope and good will, you are speaking to the wrong person."

"Perhaps I am. But yet you are at my side." Arthur's brow rose as he observed his first-in-command with a curious glance. "You truly feel no good in what we are doing, Lancelot? Does it not bring you a sense of peace?"

"Please. What good are we doing?" he rejoined. "We were met only with suspicion and silence."

"Not by all. It will take time," Arthur insisted. "We cannot wipe out our deeds from the last four centuries."

"So I am to take responsibility not only for the last fifteen years, but the last four hundred, too?" Lancelot spat. He shook his head angrily, spurring his horse forward into a gallop as the fortress came into view. He wished to speak of this no more, wondering why he had agreed to stay here at all.

Tristan watched as Lancelot galloped ahead. He'd not heard the conversation, but could see the heated exchange of words. He whistled for Penelo, flying high overhead. Once Raja had told him of their decision to stay, he set himself about to his usual routines amongst the fortress. He still patrolled, still trained; structure and schedule an inherent part of his daily life. He did have significantly more time with his wife, more time to bed her, more time to fill her with his seed she demanded. She started up again with foul tasting herbs in hopes of a child, waiting expectantly these last few months for any sign of pregnancy.

Tristan did not want her to be disappointed. He wouldn't mind a child, but he was also perfectly happy and content with living his life solely with Raja. He knew his wife felt the same, but it was a woman's prerogative to yearn for children, and the making of a child was a pastime Tristan would never deny his wife as he enjoyed it greatly himself.

He entered the courtyard, finding it strange Raja was not there waiting for him. He had only been gone a week, surely nothing could have happened? Still, he worried a little, passing Dyne's reins to a stablehand before quickly heading to their chambers. Once he laid eyes on his wife, he heart eased. She was knitting furiously, barely aware of his arrival until she felt his presence a moment later. She smiled wide, knitting forgotten as she hurried to him.

"I did not hear you arrival, Trissy," she said into his neck. "I'm sorry."

He kissed her. "It's no matter." She helped him remove his armor. He only wanted to eat before going to the baths, so she hastily put together a stew for him. Once they were settled, he asked, "What kept you?"

Raja only picked at some grapes, staring out the window into the distance. "Sophia is here. I was knitting clothes for her."

His brow rose, silent, knowing there was more and knowing Raja could not wait to tell him of it all for she told him everything.

"She has a daughter," Raja finally uttered.

He grumbled, finishing his stew before leaning back in his chair to peel an apple with his dagger. "Oh?"

"It's Lancelot's," she finished.

His eyes narrowed as he came to terms with what he was being told. "How is she certain?"

"Because Lancelot is the only man she's taken to bed, save for her late husband," Raja told him, her tone daring him to question further.

Tristan ignored the warning, saying, not unkindly, "She took one lover. She could have another."

She pursed her lips into a stern line. "You think she is lying? Why would she?"

"You say she is here. So she must be alone. I take it her family has disowned her? Bastard child and all. I'm sure she has nothing now save for an extra mouth to feed."

Raja tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, perturbed her husband was so lackadaisical and skeptical, and how he managed to be astute, gathering the situation readily without her having to say a word. He was ever the voice of reason to her unrelenting optimism, as much as it irked her. His ability to glean various details after being told only a few words was ever a wonder to her. "She is not lying. That child is Lancelot's. You need only look at her eyes and hair. She has our curls, you know."

"Many people have curls," he replied dryly.

"Well she has the same red birthmark on her skull that Lancelot and I both have," Raja retorted. "Can you dispute that? The timing also matches to when she was last here."

He sighed. "As you say."

"I want Lancelot to accept her," Raja insisted. "He must."

"He doesn't have to do anything," he said. "He'll not like this."

"But he loves her," Raja thought softly. "I know he does. Why does he continue to deny it? Why won't he let himself be happy?"

He shrugged, having no answer when asked this before, and still could not offer one now. Tristan did not bother himself with the hearts of others. Men would do as they pleased. Some men wanted wife and family for their pleasure, some for status and longevity, some men cared for neither at all. Until he fell in love with Raja, Tristan had not contemplated marriage or children or sharing his life with another. Of course, now, he could not imagine the opposite.

"I told Sophia I would speak with him first, so he does not feel backed into a corner," Raja said. "She is frightened and alone."

He nodded, once. "Fine."

"She is our family now, Tristan. This baby and her mother are our family."

He sighed heavily, hearing what she was saying. If it was family, that meant he would have to take care of them, too. He knew Raja would take this baby any time Sophia needed respite, evening sleeping in their chambers if need be; something she had often done with Bors' and Vanora's children, the crying and snuffling of them often rousing Tristan from sleep, waking to Raja crooning to them in the night. He would watch her in the dark, at home with a baby in her arms, feeling her sadness at what she did not have, and his regret for what he could not readily give.

"Fine," he repeated. "We'll see to them." Then, "What is she expecting?"

Raja shrugged. "That is the sad part. She expects nothing, least of all from Lancelot. She only came here with some villagers for her relatives have left for Rome. She did not even think we would still be here, and could not stay down south for fear of the Saxons. She was ill after her birth, Tristan, with little food and only an old couple to look after her and the baby." Raja went on, "She came with so few possessions, not even a cradle for her daughter."

With that, Tristan saw his wife's pointed glance, and sighed again. "Very well. I'll make it one."

xxx

As it was, Raja did not have to go to Lancelot, for he came to see her as soon as he bathed, knowing she would have food waiting for him. Tristan whittled quietly in the corner, barely a word for him before saying he had something to attend to, leaving the cousins alone. Raja poured him a hearty helping of stew, filled his cup with wine, urging him to sit so she could make sure he fed himself.

"How was the travels?" she asked, her eyes alight with interest. "Tristan just grumbled and said they were Picts and found nothing fascinating. Though he said there was some…enemy heads in their great hall, and they drank out of bowls made from a human skull?"

Lancelot laughed. "He is right. Some ritual of theirs. Other than that, there is nothing of interest to tell, Raja. They looked at us suspiciously, wanting to sacrifice us to their gods, I'm sure, so they could make bowls out of our skulls."

Raja sighed. "That is ignorant talk, Lottie. You do not like it when Rome has assumptions about you, yet you seem to brandy yours about the same way." She shook her head disapprovingly. "I like it not at all. Though the thought of drinking from a human skull discomfits me, we should not disparage their rituals, especially if it was with no ill intent towards you."

"Very well," he groaned. "They are not as squalid as I expected. Their community is actually well ordered, other than the skulls and decapitated heads at dinner. Are you happy with this assessment?"

"I am glad you opened your mind to see it," she told him, smiling. "You're capable of accepting far more than you think. I should like to go next time, see how they live."

"Not anytime soon. Alliance is still shaky and I'll not have you out there." Before she could protest, he added, "Your husband feels the same. Go ask him." He waved to the open door Tristan had left from not long before. "See what he says."

"I do not need to hear what he says, as you say," she retorted. "I can make my own decisions. Guinevere has offered many a time to accompany me, though she may not need to anytime soon once her people arrive."

"She still vies for your friendship?" he questioned snidely ignoring the thought of Picts traveling to the fortress. "She is trying to get you on her side so you may help her convince Arthur women have a place on the battlefield. She knows he favors you."

"I do not think that is her aim," she replied. But now, thinking back on their conversations, Guinevere often brought up the idea of Raja going into battle. She suspected it stung knowing her new husband did not approve of the notion, reluctantly Guinevere had to put down her arms, especially if she were to produce an heir.

"Ah, I see your realization churning," Lancelot quipped, grinning.

"Well, even if she was," Raja defended, "it is not a bad thing. While I am sure she is happy, these changes have come upon her swiftly, and I am certain it takes some time to become adjusted and let go of an old way of life." She added, "She talks of producing an heir already."

"Aye," Lancelot snorted. "Arthur speaks the same." Finishing his stew, he pushed his bowl to the center of the table, leaning back as he gulped his wine.

"I think he will make a good father. As would you."

He laughed. "Put aside the thought. It will never happen."

Raja made no retort, only continued to stare at him thoughtfully, trying to find words of what she needed to impart to him. Tristan was right, Lancelot would not care for the news. While he had been more open of talking of the future with her as he'd promised, he still scoffed at the notion of family and children for himself, only promising he would cherish any that she produced with Tristan. It was a barrier Raja was unable to break through, and pushed too far Lancelot would become frustrated with her and refuse to speak on the matter further.

"What if it did?" Raja blurted. "You would have to accept it."

He poured himself more wine, ignoring her comment. "What shall we do tonight?"

"I have something to tell you." Raja fidgeted with her hands as she spoke, missing Lancelot's look of worry for he thought she was telling him something was wrong with her. "I have…seen Sophia. She is here."

The worry passed. His cup hit the table with a thud, eyes narrowing, jaw clenched. Fighting the urge to seek out Sophia himself, he said, "Oh?"

"She only came with villagers from Colchester. She has been disowned by her family."

His cheeks rouged with anger. Septimus, that odious dolt. The thought of Sophia not being cared for invoked a rage so deep he could drown. "What reason would they have to do that?" He stood, pacing. "Her brother is an ass. Someone should have killed him ages ago."

"She gave birth to a child," Raja stated.

He stopped abruptly, back to her as he took in those words. His fists furled into hard knots before he released them, along with the breath he'd been holding. "They turned out the child of Ennius Drusus?"

"Well…he is not the father. You know that. He was unable to engage in marital relations from his illness." She bit her lip worriedly, waiting for the dawn of comprehension to come to him. "Her daughter is three months old," Raja added. "She's beautiful. Dark eyes with curly brown hair."

"Stop." His voice thundered low, warning. "Say nothing more." He was still turned away.

Raja rose from her chair and approached him cautiously. She put her hand on his back, feeling his tension as tight as a bowstring, ready to snap. "Lancelot. Sophia took ill after birth, she and her daughter have been most alone. They need you."

His cousin's gentle voice nearly broke him, but he stood firm, ignoring the concern for Sophia welling within him. "She's mistaken to the child's parentage."

"She is not," Raja replied firmly, but softly. Knowing he would not turn to face her, Raja came to stand in front of him, taking his hands in hers. "She named the child Selene. She has the same birthmark on her skull that you and I both have."

Lancelot wrenched away, still in denial. "I said speak no more!"

"Lottie, I will not let you turn away from this. Not this time." She crossed her arms over her chest, standing in path of the door so he could not readily leave. "I know this news comes sudden, but it is the truth. And I am here to help you make peace with it."

He put his finger up, warning her again. This time she heeded it. He continued to pace and mutter expletives under his breath. It was too much – all of it. Pain warred with fury at the news. He could not accuse Sophia of taking another lover, certainly not so soon after they had last parted. She had ached for him as much as he for her. He had pleasured at the fact that she'd not lain with her husband in over a year. The thought of another man inside her sickened him. The single instance of their last love making was Lancelot claiming her passionately for hours. The memory only tainted by their ensuing argument. Sophia told him she loved him, and he could not return the words. A heated discussion often repeated in his mind these long months, wondering how he could have handled it better – his refusal of her, her love. She had tried to make him swear on what he held dearest that he did not feel the same, but he could not bring himself to do it. Sophia knew that meant him swearing on Raja, and he'd not tell a falsehood on his cousin. She declared him a coward, not untrue, and had left his room.

As Lancelot lost his wind, he stopped pacing a groove in the floor, only for a deep melancholy to settle within him. "I cannot do this," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Raja, I cannot."

Her face filled with sadness, and he turned away again, leaving the room, unable to bear her disappointment.

xxx

Tristan brushed Dyne idly. The sun was on its descent, the stables quiet save for a few stablehands tending to their charges. It had been an hour since he'd left Raja with her cousin. He knew the ensuing talk would not go well despite how his wife wished for it to go; her optimism was endless. Lancelot was as stubborn as Raja, if not more so for he bore none of Raja's good nature to accept things that could not be. Dyne attempted to nibble at Tristan's head, the scout shooing him away fondly.

"Pest," he grumbled.

Tristan glanced behind him as Lancelot entered, clearly discontent. It was a Sarmatian's way, seeking out the comfort of their horses when ill at ease, or simply for want of good company.

"Say nothing," Lancelot snapped as he took a brush for his horse. He opened Adonis' stall door, letting his black steed trot out, receiving an affectionate head nudge from the beast.

Tristan shrugged, ignoring Lancelot, never one to pry. He had a feeling Lancelot would start venting his frustrations any moment. While Tristan was not approachable due to his reserved, implacable nature, people often tended to speak at him as if he were a sieve for all their thoughts or troubles. For those closest to him, he may spare them a look to let them know he was listening, perhaps impart a word or two; for most he just glared impatiently, leaving them to sort their conflicts independently. He had learned a specific patience over the years for the benign pontification people liked to engage in. Whenever he and Raja took their walks, villagers would often stop her for small discourse and polite inquiries, and she always indulged them for she knew how to make people feel cared for and important. For his part, he would stand next her, her arm threaded through his as he stood silently, watching as whoever was speaking to his wife would listen raptly when Raja replied; eager for her polite attentions. Then his eyes would alight on Raja, her face always a mask of genuine interest and care.

Finishing with Dyne, Tristan went to the back of the stables where they kept piles of wood. He retrieved some tools from the tack room, ignoring Lancelot's curious glances as Tristan went back and forth, collecting what he needed for a cradle. It would not be the nicest looking contraption, but it would be sturdy and that was all that mattered. He supposed he would have to ask Sophia if she wanted it painted some sort of way. Tristan decided he would leave that to Raja as he didn't care for speaking with the Roman woman if he didn't have to. She was probably a blubbering mess and he didn't know how to comfort anyone save Raja.

"What are you doing?" Lancelot demanded.

Behind the stables, Tristan looked up from his work station, sleeves rolled up, as he sawed away. A table was set up already; it was where Raja typically made her birdhouses in the spring. The soft breeze ruffled his hair, cooling the building perspiration on his skin.

"What does it look like?" Tristan retorted. "Raja says the woman is in need of a cradle."

"So why are you building one?" he asked.

"Are you?" the scout quipped. "I doubt that, for you've done fuck all, Lancelot."

Lancelot walked angrily to Tristan, spoiling for a fight. "What the hell does that mean?"

Tristan set down his saw, giving back his wife's cousin a baleful glare to rival a fire god. "You know what I mean," he growled. "You've no leg to stand on here, so get out of my face that I may finish making this damned cradle for your daughter."

Lancelot was rendered silent. There was something in Tristan's tone that made his coming retort dry up. He had not once – ever - heard Tristan sound regretful or sad; now there was something there beneath the meaning of Tristan's words that caused Lancelot's indignation to ebb – a pointed resentment.

Seeing Lancelot had nothing more to say, he resumed his work.

Hands on his hips, he looked around, debating whether he should ask Tristan what was on the edge of his lips or leave it be. After a moment, his want for clarity got the better of him. "Did you ever worry you weren't enough for Raja?"

Tristan sighed. Here came the talk. Briefly, he glanced up – Lancelot looked contemplative, staring in the distance. "For a moment," he answered.

His brow rose. "Yet, you married her anyway."

Nodding, he only replied, "She's mine," as if it were the most obvious thing. Then, if only to bring the conversation to an end, he added, "I know my wife and I come from different places. But no one will ever love her as well I can – ever. No one will ever protect or cherish her as well as I do. So I care not where I come from, or what others think of where I'm from to believe I don't deserve a woman like her. She loves me, and I her - that is all that matters."

"Is it that easy then?"

"Aye. That easy," Tristan responded. "If you're not a coward."

Lancelot snorted. He groaned into the open air, releasing his uncertainty and unease. "You know, letting myself love Raja was terrifying enough. I always worry I will lose her," he admitted. "The feeling is just there, like a damnable shadow. And we've lost so many comrades…fucking waste. I grew numb to that…then Raja came along, reminded me what it was to feel."

"Now Sophia." Tristan set about nailing his boards together. He would have to smooth them down when he was finished. The babe would likely cry like a demon if it got a splinter.

"Yes, Sophia," he said quietly. "Blasted woman. The thought of her has never left me alone. Now she gives me a daughter. All I want to do is protect it and I've not even seen her yet. I wish to care for them both." Because I love her, he said to himself. And my daughter.

"Tell her that, you fool," Tristan grumbled, waving him away impatiently. "And tell Raja you've finally seen sense so she will stop worrying over you."

Lancelot laughed. "I shall. I am sure my cousin will be glad of this revelation."

"Aye. Your woman may not, though. Raja says she expects nothing from you. Can't say I blame her as you've done nothing but cause her sadness and disappointment."

The words stung, but Lancelot accepted the harsh criticism. "Aye, I know it." Then, "Let me finish the cradle. It's my daughter."

Tristan glanced at him drolly before setting down his tools. He stepped away from the work table, gesturing for Lancelot to take over. He stayed and helped, though, the work went faster. They had an adequate bed for a child in no time, sanded smoothly. Lancelot said he would buy some paint in a nice light purple, Sophia's favorite color.

"I'm sorry you know," Lancelot voiced when they were almost finished. "I know you and Raja want a child. It seems fate has decided to grant boon to the least deserving of men."

Tristan was silent for a moment, then offered his typical shrug. "I keep not with fate. It's a fickle thing."

Lancelot nodded. "Still, I see Raja's eyes upon every mother with their child, and her longing is palpable." His face was solemn. "My cousin deserves to have everything she wants."

"She will love your daughter as her own, spoil it rotten, I'm sure. Just as she does Bors' bastards." He dunked his arms in a vat of water near the wall. "Our own children will come. And if they do not, we will make do."

xxx

Lancelot gently placed the cradle outside of Sophia's door. He'd padded the inside with soft linen and a tiny pillow. He would still need to varnish the contraption after painting it, but that would come; for now, he simply wanted his daughter to have a secure place to sleep. His nerves were afire with anticipation as he hovered outside the door, unable to bring himself to knock. He thought of walking away, simply leaving the cradle there, but he had put this off for too long – five years too long. Lancelot knew he would have a lot of atoning to do, getting Sophia to place her trust in him once more would be a tall feat, yet it was one he was willing to take on.

A gentle cry sounded from inside, his daughter, perhaps waking from her slumber. He heard Sophia croon softly to her. Lancelot listened for several moments, the warbling cry of the small babe ebbing into a contented gurgle, then silence. He imagined Sophia nursing their daughter from her breast, whispering soft tales to their child. His heart clenched of what he had missed, what he left Sophia to contend with on her own. His own fear and stubbornness had cost her dearly – what must she think of him now?

He sighed, shoring his reserve, ready to face whatever was to come. He knocked lightly.

"Come in," she called from inside.

Lancelot hesitated. Her voice, a sound so dear he had ached to hear it every day since she left. Biting back his hesitation, he opened the door.

Sophia turned from the chair she sat upon, nursing her daughter in front of the fire. Her heart quickened when she saw him – staring at her, dark eyes flicking to the bundle in her arms, silent. Sensing her unease, her daughter whined, dislodging her mouth from her breast. Sophia quickly covered herself, clearing her throat if only to find a moment to collect her wits.

"Lancelot," she said. "I did not expect you."

He nodded. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, trying to find words. "Raja said you were in need of a cradle." He disappeared from view for a moment, then stepped inside to present to her a child's bed. "Tristan and I fashioned this for you. I hope it suits. I will paint and varnish it for you tomorrow." He spoke rapidly, barely a moment for breath. "I need only know what color you prefer it, and I will get it."

When she stood, fully presenting herself, he was shocked. She was still the most beauteous sight, tall and noble, but her countenance was heavy, he could see the troubles of the last several months in her eyes. Her skin was pale; her collar bone protruded from the top of her dress, the hem of her garment slightly tattered from overuse. Gods, what have I done? he thought miserably.

Lancelot stood aside as she inspected it, running her fingers over the edges.

"Thank you," she finally spoke. "I will thank Tristan next I see him." She fought back tears from the unexpected kindness, studiously avoiding Lancelot's gaze.

Lancelot longed to take her in his arms, ensure her she would no longer want for anything, neither her or their child. He would take care of her, see to their every comfort, they would be safe, fed, clothed, warm; whatever was desired. She was distant still, not that he could blame her. She'd yet to meet his eyes, take any step towards him.

"I suppose Raja told you to come here," she said.

He shook his head. "No. I come here on my own."

Finally, she shot him a dubious glance, swiftly turning away again. "Excuse me if I have a difficult time believing that." She was feeling her body weaken, standing too long was a chore. She attempted to sit herself again as gracefully as possible, a grand attempt to hide any bodily weakness.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he walked nearer to her. His breath caught now that he could see the child's face. A dark curl peeked out from her cap, a drop of spittle dripped from the corner of her tiny mouth. She gurgled, curious eyes flicking about. He must have made a sound for Sophia stared at him, and something in her softened.

"She's beautiful," he whispered.

A smile flickered on her mouth. "She is." She wiped the drip of spittle from her face, thumb caressing the softest cheeks she'd ever felt.

"Raja told me everything," he said, eyes still fixed on his daughter.

"I need not your pity," she snapped, coming to her senses. "I expect nothing from you, I ask for nothing."

"I've no pity to offer," he insisted, coming to kneel by her chair, "only my regret, and heavy heart for leaving you alone." Gods, this was difficult. "You were right when last we spoke. I was a coward. I was a damnable coward for turning you away." When he reached out to touch her, she flinched away, and he dropped his hand. "You've no reason to believe me, I know it."

"Your regret comes late," she remonstrated.

"I know this, too. I am often coming to realization after I've caused pain." He stood. "I'll not do it again. That I promise. You and Selene will want for nothing, Sophia. I shall provide for the both of you. And if you see fit to have me in your lives, I will be here – waiting." Then, "I love you. And I know these words come late, too. I have…" He sighed. "I have always loved you. Letting you go – twice - was one of the hardest things I've had to do. I should have kept you here with me last time. I know it. And I shall regret it for the rest of my life that I did not for I can see you've suffered."

Tears burned her eyes, falling onto her daughter's swaddle. His words should have brought her joy, yet she only felt pain. She was tired, oh so tired, years of longing hardening within her like a stone.

"I will never let you be alone again," he vowed. "I am here in whatever capacity you want me to be."

"Please go now," she trembled. "I can't bear this – not now." When he made no move to leave, she said more loudly than intended, "Go! I can't bear to look at you!"

He nodded, swiftly leaving the room, feet heavy. He closed the door and leaned against it, hearing her soft sobs from within.

xxx

When Raja entered Sophia's chambers some hours after her cousin, she could see the new mother had been crying. Raja had not seen Lancelot since she told him of Sophia's presence, but Tristan informed her he had a conversation with him as he built the baby's cradle. The man had finally seen some sense, Tristan said, but what he would do with it he didn't know and hadn't cared to ask.

"I've brought you dinner," Raja told her, setting a stew on the table. "And I've seen the seamstress, she is making you some new dresses and hose for when it gets cold. The fortress can still be rather drafty."

Sophia smiled, offering Selene to Raja which she took happily. Raja crooned to her as Sophia ate her dinner, reveling in the solid weight of the child in her arms. Her skin was so soft, cheeks doughy, curls like little ribbons of silk.

"She is utterly magnificent," Raja said softly. The baby curled a small fist around her finger, and Raja had to fight back her tears. "But it does not surprise me, as she has two beautiful parents."

"Thank you for everything you've done," Sophia spoke. "I shall extend my gratitude to Tristan tomorrow for helping with the cradle."

Raja noted she said nothing of Lancelot, but she didn't push. "He knows of it already, and was happy to help."

Sophia chuckled. "Was he?" This brought a laugh from Raja, too. Sophia finished the last of her stew, stomach full for the first time in months. "And you sent Lancelot to bring it."

Raja looked up from Selene. "I did not. Truly. I've not seen him since I spoke with him early this afternoon."

Sophia's brow rose skeptically. "No?"

Raja nodded. "Tristan said he helped build the cradle of his own volition and insisted on bringing it to you."

"I see," Sophia replied quietly. "He…said some things, attempted to offer recompense for his actions. He said he loved me."

At this, Raja was surprised, and it shown plainly on her face. Her cousin truly had a change of heart, indeed. Tristan must have brought the man to see reason.

"I know not if I'm ready to receive such words," Sophia continued. "Or that I can ever forgive him." She sniffled. "I'm sorry. Is this awkward for you, Raja?"

"No, not at all. Please know I've taken no sides in this. While I've always been hopeful and sure of my cousin's good heart, I know that he has caused you pain, and will need to make up for it. Whether you decide to accept him into your life is entirely your choosing, and I do not begrudge your reluctance." Raja smiled at her reassuringly. "You have every right to think on it, Sophia."

"You are too good to me," she said. "I know not what I've done to deserve such a good friend."

"You've been a good friend to me through the years," Raja told her, holding out her hand for Sophia to take it.

She squeezed it, comforted by the touch. "I feel my heart is bruised, and cannot bring itself to feel the love of him it once did."

"I understand." When Sophia looked at her questioningly, she continued, "Lancelot hurt me once, too, when I was very young. He said awful things, things I know he still regrets to his bones this day."

Her brow arched curiously. "I knew he took some months to warm to your presence and affection, but I find it surprising he would speak such to you, and he never imparted such to me."

"Well, he did. I am sure he does not speak of it for he's ashamed." Selene fussed and so she handed her back to her mother to nurse. "I was eleven. Lancelot and I had a very good relationship by then, but still he was shy of showing me affection in the open, and he only ever returned my love when no one was around. Despite his care of me, there was a small part of him that held his love back; his reservation hurt as I did not know the why of it. That year, Lancelot got word that a dear friend of his died in battle, a young man from the same tribe. It pained him greatly, and he turned that pain outward. When I attempted to comfort him he spurned me harshly. I only wanted to show my love for him and I did not see that I was causing him more sadness." A look of regret veiled her face as she told Sophia how the encounter came to a head after many weeks, recounting the vile words Lancelot had shouted at her.

Sophia gasped. "And you forgave him this?"

Nodding, she said, "I did. It took some time, but I could not turn away his sincere entreaty of remorse. My uncle Ardeth told me that hurt people often hurt people, turning away love because the thought of losing it is too agonizing to bear; and that those who deserve our forgiveness the least need it the most." Raja sighed. "He promised, on that day, to never raise his voice to me again, to love me openly and never cause me hurt. He told me I was as a sister to him, and only said such things for he feared losing me."

"And he's kept that promise?"

"He has. Lancelot beat himself up for a very long time after that, even after I had forgiven him. He does not speak to me harshly and has never allowed anyone to speak to me thus either."

Sophia contemplated Raja's story. "Perhaps you are of a more forgiving nature than I."

Raja stifled a chuckle. "Funny. That is what Lancelot has said of me in comparison to him; Tristan, too. We all forgive in our own time, Sophia. But if I may – life is also too short not to take love when it is being offered."

xxx

Raja returned to their quarters late. After seeing to Sophia she made sure all the new-coming villagers had proper place to rest and adequate food for their bellies. Tristan was glad to finally see her. His wife had been running around all day for others, likely not stopping for herself for even a moment. Once she was inside their room, he barred both doors, intent on not letting her leave for anyone else's troubles till morning.

"I think everyone is settled now," she said as he took her cloak from her. He could smell the night air on her, her cheeks tinged pink from the chill of the evening.

"They ought to be after everything you've done," he grumbled in reply.

"Did Bennu eat?" she asked as she changed into her nightshift and robe.

Tristan hmmphed. "Every bite. I had to hand feed it to her. She thinks herself a princess now." He poured Raja a mug of tea, knowing it would warm her. "Sit." He pulled her onto his lap, and she curled herself into him as she sipped her hot drink.

Raja looked at Bennu thoughtfully, snug and still on her bed in front of the fire. "I am glad she ate. She wanted nothing from me this morning; only took a bit of broth before slowly wandering the halls calling for you."

Tristan snorted. "She is a husk," he replied with an edge of fondness to his words.

"Trissy," she lectured, grinning, "You are lucky she cannot hear you. She would bite your toes."

"She does that anyway."

Raja giggled. Tristan took her empty mug and set it on the table next to him, wrapping his arms about her more tightly as she curled a lock of his hair around her finger, utterly contented in his strong embrace. "I will take Sophia to see Vanora tomorrow, and introduce her to Guinevere," she told him. "She has much resting to do, but the company shall do her good."

Tristan kissed her neck, rising with Raja in his arms so they may go to bed. "You'll see the woman and the babe to rights," he said as he lay her down. "They could not be in better hands."

"Do you think she will forgive Lancelot?" she asked as Tristan lifted her shift over her head, placing kisses on her neck and breasts.

He shrugged, tugging off his shirt and trousers, the length of his heated body covering hers. "They will figure it out," he finally replied. "Think not on it anymore."

xxx

Sophia woke the next morning feeling more rested and human than she had in months. She splashed water on her face, dressed and combed her hair. She fed Selene first, standing by the window, letting the sun shine on her face. Dreams of Lancelot patterned her mind all night, interspersed with Raja's talk of forgiveness. In truth, she felt more light hearted this morning – hunger and exhaustion no longer weighing upon her so she may take stock of her feelings more clearly. Sophia still held anger, but the resentment was ebbing, and as she gazed upon her daughter nursing from her breast she knew she wanted Selene to have a relationship with her father – Sophia hoped for the type of family she was never granted, one where love was the focus and not duty.

She changed Selene's loincloth before preparing to greet the day. As she opened the door to her chambers she was met with a surprised Lancelot.

"Sophia," he greeted, smiling. "I uh…I've brought you breakfast." In his hands was a tray of meat, fruit and bread. "I was going to set this outside your door, so as not to bother you." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, no longer sure if he should set the tray on the ground or bring it in.

"Thank you," she replied. She shifted aside, granting him leave to pass.

Lancelot set the tray on the table, clearing his throat again. His eyes darted to his daughter, lingering, unsure.

"I suppose I should not let this go to waste then," she said, eyeing the tray, suddenly feeling hungry again. "Should you like to hold her while I eat?"

His heart clenched, opening his mouth to answer before shutting it having not uttered a word. He nodded dumbly; he had only ever held Bors' bastards, and only at Raja' insistence, awkward with something so foreign in his arms. Lancelot hid his tremble with all his might as Sophia handed him the small child, reminding to support the head.

"She's so light," he voiced quietly.

Selene gurgled happily, big eyes looking up at him. His heart caught. Gods, is this really mine? he thought.

"She is," Sophia replied. "But growing like a weed." She sat down, picking at her tray as she watched Lancelot. His dark eyes were rapt upon their daughter, mouth twitching in a smile, features soft and loving.

Lancelot sat down, unable to take his eyes from her. He had already missed so much and couldn't bear the thought of missing more – one blink, one smile. Her little arm jutted out, waving wildly before Lancelot gently took her wrist. Tears filled his eyes as her little fingers grabbed his finger, clenched tight.

"She's a strong one," he laughed. "Will you…will you tell me about her birth? And perhaps how you came by her name? It's Greek, is it not?"

Sophia's brow rose. "Her name is my secret for now. What else is it you would like to know?"

He shrugged, not pressing the matter of Selene's name. He wanted to know everything, as if he were there and hadn't missed it, but did not say. "Vanora always says childbirth is hell, some have come quick, some not so at all."

"I labored for over twelve hours," Sophia told him. "I thought I'd die of exhaustion and sweat before she finally made herself into the world. But when I saw her…I'd never felt such happiness."

He nodded. "I wish I had been there."

At this, Sophia scoffed. "And what help would you have been? A man who has never wanted children?"

"I never wanted sons," he retorted. "Yet I always thought, if ever I did, a daughter would be perfect."

"Most men want sons. Sons are more valuable." This was said with dry acerbity.

"Not to me," he said. "Sons Rome can take away, send them to far off lands to fight and die. A daughter…a daughter no one can ever take." He kissed Selene's forehead, a sweet baby smell filled his nostrils. "My mind is prepared for the raising of girls. I had sisters once, and I took care of Raja."

"So you want to raise her then?" Sophia asked, brow arched.

"Aye," Lancelot said, shifting Selene so she rested against his chest. "I'd live or die for her…and you."

Sophia stared at him silently, her mind refusing to believe his words no matter how much her heart said otherwise. "It is not so easy," she finally said.

"I know it. Tell me there is a little hope, Sophia. That some small part of you still believes in me, that there is something within you that still bears the love you once had." He added, "I shall never disappoint you again. I swear it. I give everything I have to you, and to Selene."

She stood, giving him her back. Damn the man, he sounded so sincere, so earnest. Sophia sighed. When she turned, he was standing behind her. Lancelot reached out to touch her face with his free hand, rough pad of his thumb skimming her cheek, tucking an errant hair behind her ear.

"I will live the rest of my life earning your forgiveness." He cupped her cheek and she leaned her head into it. "You will never be alone again." Sophia sniffed, a hot tear escaping to run down her face. "I want us to be a family," he told her. "To never be broken apart as mine was."

Slowly, she nodded. "Then there is some hope, Lancelot. But it is fragile."

"I understand. I have some experience with fragile things."

xxx

The coming days and weeks involved Lancelot spending as much time with his daughter and Sophia as possible. He was enraptured with the little being, insisted on taking her everywhere with him. The men were surprised he took to fatherhood so readily, especially after years of espousing personal opposition to it. Lancelot bragged about his daughter, coveting her adoringly. It took some cajoling, but Sophia agreed to allow him on horseback with Selene; after all, she was half Sarmatian and would need to learn to ride a horse. He was already looking on purchasing a pony for her though it would be some years before she could ever hope to ride one on her own.

He also continued to see Sophia to health, bringing her two to three meals a day with fresh fruit, making sure she rested. After a couple of weeks, her milk started to come in heavier, something she had worried over as the lack of sustenance had greatly affected what her bosom could produce for her growing daughter. At first she had compunctions of nursing Selene in front of Lancelot, but when her breast would swell with milk she would give in. He, at first, averted his gaze out of respect, but as they became more comfortable with one another again he would watch raptly as his daughter would feed greedily, her little belches after a hearty meal always bringing a smile to his face.

Lancelot purchased decoration for Sophia so she may see her chamber reflect her personal taste. Tiny toys and clothes were made for Selene. He longed for them all to share one room, he longed to make love to Sophia, wake up to hear the gentle coos of his daughter first thing the morning; yet he had to accept that it would take some time for that. Sophia softened towards him as the days went by, and no longer had reservations of him taking Selene off by himself for whatever little adventure. He would always return with grand tales of their outings as if they had traveled for days and miles instead of only being gone for an hour or two. Sophia loved seeing Lancelot with his daughter, his adoration for her obvious and unbridled. He continued to tell Sophia he loved her as well, never expecting anything in return, never pushing for more than she was ready to give.

All in all, she only saw his mood sour slightly the closer the Picts' arrival was due. A small clutch of them were to come to the fortress for a week to share in celebration and trade to further cement their alliance. Lancelot still held little to no trust in their new allies.

He spoke of it now as they ate dinner with Tristan and Raja in the antechamber of their quarters.

"Lottie, you've been complaining of it all week," Raja said. "I think it shall be wonderful. How are we to have them as our neighbors if we do not welcome them?" She took another bite of her meatless stew. "Did they not welcome you? Guinevere told me they had a feast prepared for you all as honored guests in their great hall. There was much gaming and revelry."

Lancelot snorted. "What else were they to do with their lives?"

Raja sighed, looking at her husband for support but he only shrugged. "You will be polite, Lancelot. Kindness deserves kindness in turn. As their hosts it is our responsibility to make them feel welcome."

"Arthur and his queen are their hosts, not I," Lancelot responded.

"You are still his first-in-command," his cousin reminded him. "Arthur has named you all as Lords for long years of loyal service and friendship. He has granted you all a certain power, and as such it must be wielded benevolently." She reached out and grasped his hand. "Show them you are all not the cruel warlords they believe you to be. You were as much a victim of Rome's overreach as they were."

He sighed, acquiescing to Raja's words, or at least decided not to argue further. He looked at both Sophia and Tristan. "You hear the lectures I get?"

"Should you not complain so much Raja would not have leave to give them," Sophia offered with a slight grin.

"I only say what everything thinks," Lancelot rejoined. "Tristan, I know you feel the same."

"That may be, but what I feel holds no weight in the matter," the scout replied. "Besides," he added, "I've no wish to be on the receiving end of countless lectures of kindness."

"Tristan!" Raja exclaimed, but he only gave her a small smile in return.

"Well, I think there is nothing wrong with spreading kindness, as Raja says," Sophia put in.

Tristan snorted. "Women." He pointedly ignored the look Sophia and Raja gave him.

"Who from their tribe is coming tomorrow?" Raja asked. "Was it decided?"

"A high ranking chief by the name of Derile," Tristan replied. "He is a cousin to Guinevere. A clutch of others. Arthur says they are trusted among Merlin."

"This Derile gave nothing but frosty glares," Lancelot said, "when we were in their great hall."

Raja was silent. Her heart thudded precipitously. A memory…a memory she could not quite grasp fluttered near the edge of her mind.

"Raja?" Tristan said her name, concerned. His wife had a thoughtful look about her as she stared off at the far wall.

She blinked, apologizing. "It's nothing. The name, I thought, sounded familiar. Perhaps just something from a tale Galen once told me."

Her husband continued to peer at her. His eyes glanced out the window, the sun was setting. He stood up. "Lancelot and I must go now. Arthur would have us see to some final preparations before the morning." Tristan kissed his wife while Lancelot said his own goodbyes to Sophia, and his daughter who lay quietly in her crib in the corner.

Once the women were alone, they shared some wine, the room absent from male displeasure. They sat, looking out the window, watching some of the goings on of the fortress.

"Are you all right, Raja?" Sophia asked quietly. "You seemed disquiet when Lancelot mentioned that Pict's name."

She shook her head. "It was nothing. As I said, it seemed familiar, but it isn't possible that I've heard it before."

"I see. Lancelot wants nothing to do with them, you know. He only speaks of when they almost killed you. I fear he will never trust them."

Raja hmmphed, amused. "He always says the like and exaggerates that story greatly. I was not almost killed, as he says. One of them hit me in the head with a rock rendering me in and out of consciousness for a bit of time." She laughed lightly. "He does hold onto that. I think Tristan does, too, but is less overt about it." Then, "Lancelot has told you a great many things it sounds like."

Sophia smiled wistfully. "He has told me his whole life, leaving out not one bit of it. I think he is trying to make up for his lack of openness in the past."

"I know it," Raja concurred. "He said he would bare his soul to you if he had to."

"He told me." Sophia glanced out the window, sighing. "Whenever I feel myself giving in to him a great fear wells up within me, though it becomes less and less as time goes by. He is wonderful with Selene, I can tell he loves her; there is no doubt of that."

"There is no doubt he loves you, too," Raja said.

"Hmm." Sophia took some more wine. It took every ounce of strength to ignore her growing longing for Lancelot, of both body and soul. She longed for his touch, his kiss, his body over and inside of hers. The very notion of it brought a heat to her neck now, and she gulped more wine to assuage the desire.

Raja prodded softly, "It does you no discredit to allow yourself comfort of the one you want. You deserve to be loved, and love in return."

Sophia blinked back tears. "You are much braver than I am. I'm sure you felt no fear from your love of Tristan."

"That isn't true," Raja protested. "I was very frightened." Seeing Sophia wished for her to continue, she said, "I was nearing the end of my thirteenth year when my feelings for Tristan began to bloom. One moment I saw him only as a friend, then I had a dream of his lips on mine and I could not think of anything else; I saw him so differently. I knew not what these new feelings meant, only that they were so intense and all encompassing. Once I could put them into words I realized my feelings were very one-sided, and it was a lonely place to be. He only still saw me as a friend and he certainly did not see me as a woman, for I was not one. As time went on I despaired he may never see me as anything more."

"You did?"

"Oh, yes," Raja said. "I would often bring up the subject of marriage and children to him, trying to glean his thoughts on the matter. I believe he thought I was speaking arbitrarily as I would often ask his thoughts on various topics. He always said he would never marry as he never understood women, and wouldn't have children for he disliked them."

"Clearly that changed," Sophia said. "He is as ever devoted to you as he has always been."

"Yes," Raja grinned. "He did find it in himself to love me. Tristan said it was not an easy thing for him to admit for he felt it a weakness. But once he did, there was no going back from it. The thought of me with another was unconscionable to him."

Sophia asked quietly, "Does he know Galahad tried to kiss you once?"

Raja's brow rose, then she broke into a peal of laughter. "He did find out. Many years later. He was so displeased."

"With you or with Galahad?"

"With Galahad! He talked of challenging him to single combat. Sarmatians often dispute arguments with a duel to bring about a clear resolution of matters. I made him promise he would not, nor even bring it up to Galahad as it was so long ago and he didn't actually kiss me – only attempted to."

"Men are so ridiculously possessive," Sophia laughed.

"I like that Tristan holds me so close," Raja told her. "It makes me feel safer in a world that can often be frightening."

"I see. I suppose I am not used to any man trying to hold me so close," Sophia replied thoughtfully. "My father was kind, but I was only a daughter. My brothers were aloof and treated me as a means to advance themselves politically. And my husband was more polite than kind; he held no tender affections for me."

"Oh, Sophia." Raja rose from her seat to hug her as tears slipped down Sophia's cheeks. She rested her head against Raja's chest, accepting the warm embrace which comforted her. "I see why you are still cautious. You managed to find the courage to voice your love once, though no one had ever declared it for you, or put you first in anything. I cannot imagine what that might have felt like, to bear your heart and have the object of your love not bear his in return." Raja kissed Sophia's head like a mother. "But he bears it now. It is yours for the taking and shaping of it. You are stronger than you think."

"I do not know about that," Sophia said, pulling away and wiping her face.

"You are. That is what attracted Lancelot to you, I think. You carved out a piece of joy for yourself, with not a little risk if caught, when the others in your life only saw fit to mold and use you as they wanted."

Sophia chuckled. "Yes, that is probably the boldest thing I've ever done. But it was worth it."

Raja squeezed her shoulder before sitting back down. "Love is always worth it."

xxx

Tristan returned to his chambers late. The meeting had been long and winded, finalizing matters before the small tribe of Picts arrived in the morning. The visitors did not feel comfortable staying within fortress walls, for which Tristan was glad of, so they would be staying just outside of it, only touring during the day and slumbering in tents at night. This Derile was going to prove to be a stubborn man if the last encounter was anything to go by.

Derile had stared daggers at them while they were in his territory; likely one of the Sarmatians had killed one or more of his kin by the enmity Tristan felt, though nothing was said of the like. The man was feared by his people the scout knew. Derile possessed a small, but loyal following of some hundred or so men. Merlin and his fellow chiefs said he was a good warrior, but stubborn and prideful, if not a little cruel and sadistic. As Guinevere's cousin, Derile had to make polite, as did Arthur and the rest of them.

Tristan did not have high hopes for tomorrow. Though, he supposed with the exception of Derile and his men, most of the Picts had been genuinely welcoming of their presence, if not a little reserved. He knew Raja looked forward to meeting with them, and he did not know how he was to keep his wife from socializing with them, especially if Guinevere was near.

He sighed as he opened the door, figuring he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

His brow quirked wordlessly when he saw Raja in her nightshift and robe, Selene in her arms as they sat in front of the fire. Bennu sat upon the armrest, watching the baby curiously as she often did, waiting for the infant to do something interesting.

Raja smiled at him. "How was the meeting?" she whispered.

"Long," was his reply. He divested himself of his belt and jerkin, peeling off his boots and socks. "What is this?" This was the first he'd seen the babe in their chambers so late at night. Sophia was an attentive mother and did not let it out of her sight for long.

"She is going to stay with us tonight," Raja said. "Sophia wanted to talk to Lancelot."

He snorted. "Talk. What more does that woman want to talk about?"

"Tristan, she has an important decision to make. She has every right to ruminate on it."

"As you say." He sat down next to her, peeling an apple while he watched his wife's gaze upon the child.

"She is so beautiful, is she not?"

"Hmm. I see Lancelot in her."

"I hope our sons look like you," Raja went on. "I think we should name one son after my father, and the other after uncle Ardeth. What do you think?"

"We'll name them what you wish," he answered, taking this topic gently.

"And I should like to name a daughter after my mother." She continued to rock the sleeping babe, her voice wistful, heart yearning.

"Raja."

"There is something wrong with my body, do you think?" she questioned, voice breaking. "That I cannot give you children?"

"No," his answer swift. "There is nothing wrong with you. You said the same happened with your mother," he reminded her. "For many years seed didn't take hold, then they had you." It was something he had to remind her of often when she became melancholy with this line of thought. He knew the despair could run deep, rendering her bed ridden for days if he could not lift her spirits.

"I want to give you a family so badly," she lamented. "Everyone else is building families, yet my womb has quickened not once."

Tristan went to kneel by her, careful not to disturb the babe. "Listen to me." He waited for her to look at him before he continued; the sadness in her eyes almost too much to bear. "You know I do not believe in gods or fate. But our children will come…" He took her hand. "And if they do not, I'll not have you place any blame on your shoulders."

She sniffed. "Will you look at me one day, you think, and resent me?"

"Never," he stated firmly. "I have told you before, nothing could ever change the way I see you. And no circumstance would change my love for you. Understand?"

After a moment, she nodded. Tristan wiped her tears with the calloused pad of his thumb. "I'd not have you fall ill over this again, Raja. Please."

She nodded fervently, wiping her face with her free hand. "I won't, Trissy. I'm sorry. I don't mean to worry you. I only want to give you everything."

"You already have," he told her. "I'd have nothing without you."

xxx

Lancelot needed a moment of quiet before saying goodnight to Sophia, Selene and Raja. He headed back to his quarters, surprised to find the door ajar. His brow furrowed, cautious as he opened it fully. Sophia stood, looking at him hesitantly.

"I apologize for the intrusion," she said, "I wished to speak with you alone."

"It is a lovely intrusion," he smiled. "Where is Selene?"

"With Raja," she answered. "I thought it best if we had no distraction."

He nodded. "Of course." He closed the door, suddenly apprehensive. "Shall I pour you some wine?"

"No, thank you. I had enough at dinner, and my mind is feeling the effects."

Lancelot chuckled. "Yes, you can drink quite a bit of wine, my love. Not unlike my cousin who has one glass and is unsteady on her feet."

Sophia laughed; her spine tingled at the ease of which he called her 'his love.' She found an inner calm as she sat looking at a vase of fresh flowers in the corner she knew Raja had placed there. It was the only colorful thing in the room.

Lancelot felt no need to rush the discussion. He sat next to her, reveling at her nearness, the scent of her light perfume. Sophia's cheeks had filled in the last weeks, her hair shinier, shoulders no longer set stiffly with exhaustion and despair. The crook of his finger reached out to skim the long slope of her neck, and he felt her shudder beneath his touch.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

Her breath quickened. "Lancelot…" She shook her head of fevered thoughts, needing her mind clear, but unable to move away from his finger caressing down her neck and across her collar bone. To be touched so again rendered her motionless, only the quiver of her limbs a sign she was coming alive. Her nipples hardened, and…Sophia gasped, standing abruptly and away from Lancelot, embarrassed. Her hands covered the damp of her bosom.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing, I…" God, her milk had spurted out from his touch, and two wet spots spread on her dress.

Lancelot rose and turned her, seeing she covered her bosom and gathered what had occurred. "You've nothing to hide Sophia," he told her. "It is only your body responding naturally." Still, she flushed from shame. "Romans are much different than Sarmatians – while my people find this a natural thing with no shame attached, you were raised to keep this private – even from your men." His dark eyes bored into hers, raising her chin with his finger so she may look at him. "You do not need to hide your body from me – in any state. Least of all the miraculous way it feeds our daughter."

Still holding her bosom which ached for release, she asked, "You do not find this a private matter?"

He shrugged. "It is our private matter." His finger traced further down until he gently pried her arm away, seeing the wet stains on her dark green dress. "Do they swell?"

Her face crimsoned at so personal a question. But she could tell he was genuinely curious and concerned, so she nodded wordlessly.

"I have heard they can become…tender in that state," he said. "And painful if not released."

"Yes…they can be," she uttered under her breath.

He stepped closer, taking the shoulder of her dress and slowly pulling it down, giving her a chance to stop him if desired. Lancelot bent to place a kiss upon her neck, hearing her sigh as his beard tickled her skin and he led her blindly to his bed. Her knees touched the back of the feathered mattress, Lancelot's strong arm around her waist the only thing keeping her from collapsing in a puddle of burning desire.

"Tell me stop and I will not stop," he murmured into her neck, hands exploring.

"No…do not," she finally groaned.

With that he captured her lips, his tongue breaking through to mate with hers. Her arms wrapped themselves around him greedily, frantically unbuckling his belt, divesting him of his jerkin and shirt. He tore her dress down, engorged breasts with rosy peaks beckoning sensuously. They were both naked in seconds, Lancelot hard and ready, Sophia dripping with want. She cried out as he entered her, filling her to the brim, his resulting groan of fulfillment rumbled against her breast as he held himself above her. He thrust gently, letting her accustom her body to his as her long legs wrapped about his waist tightly urging him forth. He hitched her buttocks up to take her harder, hips a fevered pace of mindless rutting inside her silky warmth. Her back arched, her fingers dug into his back as she reached her peak, climaxed so strongly her eyes went to the back of her head and her toes curled. Lancelot released himself inside with his own yell, pumping a final time until the spasm of his body released itself.

"I love you," he breathed. "You needn't say anything, but know I love you." Lancelot kissed her before rolling to his side, chest still rising and falling heavily for air.

Sophia looked at the ceiling, heedless that her milk now spilled from her breast. It was only the touch of Lancelot that brought her back to her senses – his finger reached out to stop a bead of milk before bringing it to his mouth. Her eyes widened.

"You've not tasted this?" he asked.

"Should I have?"

He chuckled. "Romans. What on earth do your mothers teach you?" He inched closer, now on his side as his hand trailed the midline expanse of her body, fingertip coming to rest upon her nipple. "Beautiful," he said. "Are they sore?" When she could only nod again, he leaned his mouth closer to her breast, his eyes on her the entire time until his mouth came flush; suckling gently as his palm gently kneaded her swollen breast to give it release.

Sophia gasped, helpless against the sensation as her head relaxed against the pillow, hearing Lancelot's moans of pleasure, his hand once again snaking down her person to touch her between the legs, fondling her clitoris as he drank from her. Something of the dual sensation of his mouth on her breast, and his hand between her thighs made her mind hot with fever, and she came furiously – twice in succession, her vision sprinkled with black dots as the room came back into focus.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Lancelot told her.

"What? Drink me or bed me?" she quipped, wry smile on her lips.

"Both, my lady," he returned. "I am hard pressed to decide which was the more delicious." With that, he reached for the opposite breast, still engorged. He kneaded it; dark eyes questioning. "Shall I?"

She sighed, replying, "God, yes."

xxx

Later that night, Sophia knocked lightly on Raja's door. Tristan opened it, cradling an awake Selene in his free arm. Her brow rose in surprise, seeing how natural he looked with a child in his arm.

"The girl wakened," Tristan explained. "And Raja is asleep."

"Tristan, you are a natural at that." Sophia told him as he handed her daughter back to her.

"She grabs hair," he remarked. "Strong grip."

Sophia smiled, placing a hand on his arm in thanks before walking away. "Come to me when you're done, Lancelot," she said, and entered her room a few doors down.

Lancelot smiled at her, then turned back to Tristan. "Is she well?" he asked. "She has been running around barely letting herself rest."

"I know it," he replied. "Maybe she'll sleep through the night."

Lancelot's brow furrowed. "How long has she not been sleeping through the night?"

"A few weeks now," Tristan admitted. Often he would waken without Raja by his side only to hear her pacing, or gone to her uncle's old study for respite. "I can see you've reconciled with your woman. Go to your family now."

"Raja is my family," Lancelot replied, a little defensive.

Tristan sighed. "I know. I meant nothing by it."

"I didn't mean to be short," Lancelot apologized. "These…these have been long weeks, and I fear in my own pursuit of Sophia's forgiveness I've not seen Raja as much."

"Raja will not hold it against you. Now, go, let me sleep. Sleep yourself."

"You know, Tristan, your talks have improved over the years. Have you gone soft?" Lancelot chuckled as Tristan sneered at him. "I jest my friend. I jest."

xxx

"They seem unhappy, Tristan," Raja whispered. She stood next to him in the courtyard, her arm through his as the chieftain, Derile, led his people through the south gate. They seemed separate from Merlin and his people, which was odd to Raja.

A tall man dismounted from his horse, tawny hair and bright blue eyes scanning the area keenly as if looking for something specific. Arthur and Guinevere approached; Arthur took the man's forearm in greeting. Judging eyes continued to look about, a moue of discontent on his face.

"He always looks like that," he responded.

As Arthur's first-in-command, Lancelot stood next to Arthur, taking part in the initial greeting of their new guests, Selene and Sophia just a few steps behind him. Her cousin showed no look of welcome, only a crisp nod of the head and brief clasp of the forearm in greeting.

"I am so happy they've reconciled, Trissy," she continued to speak quietly. "He spent the night with her, did he not?" She squeezed his arm, giddy for her cousin's happy ending.

"Aye," he replied. "Only you would be happy to see another bedded, Raja."

She poked him in the ribs playfully at his teasing, stretching to peck him on the cheek. "How can you not be happy for them, too?"

"I am happy if you are happy," he said. "If only for your cousin may be less unpleasant company." His face lost his amiability as Arthur came to introduce them. Tristan knew he had to walk into the fray, as Arthur wanted his men front and center with him to make introductions. When Arthur came to naming Tristan and his wife, Derile's eyes clapped on Raja intensely, barely unable to tear his eyes away. Tristan held her hand, squeezing, his jaw clenched at the man who dared openly stare at his wife so baldly.

"And this is Tristan's wife, Raja," Arthur said, giving his own look of warning.

Merlin, hoping to dispel his nephew's attention on the woman, stepped in front of him, taking hold of Raja's hand gently.

"I have heard much about you, my lady," Guinevere's father greeted. "I am told tales of your kindness, intelligence, and that you have great skill at healing. You even speak our language, yes?"

Raja bowed her head, blushing. "Yes, my lord," she replied in Pictish. This made Merlin smile, the other Picts muttered in surprise as Raja continued to say some words of welcome to Merlin and his people. Her gray eyes could not help but flick to Derile, seeing that his attentions were still solely upon her. She quickly averted her eyes, smiling at them all, and stepping back with Tristan whom she could already tell was ready to spirit her away, if only to remove her from Derile's presence.

After, Arthur let Merlin and his people set up their temporary homesteads by the river, saying they would all meet again to sup in the evening.

Tristan escorted Raja to the stables, glad to be gone from the fray of newcomers. He said nothing about Derile's gaze upon her, though she could see he liked it not.

"If any of these stablehands leave," Tristan told her, "I want you to return to the keep. I'll have you nowhere alone just now." He shooed Odin away who was nudging him for apples already.

"Tristan, is that necessary? Everyone was perfectly polite."

He frowned. "Arthur wants a meeting, and I want you to do as I say. Go take Sophia and the babe to Vanora's for company." His face brooked no argument, while there were still guards about the fortress, he would leave nothing to chance.

"Very well," Raja sighed. "I do not care for this, so you know."

"And I did not care for that man's eye upon you," Tristan retorted.

"Perhaps he was only curious. Many of them have likely not seen someone from Egypt, Trissy. I am an oddity to them I'm told."

Scowling, he replied, "You are not an oddity. Who says the like?"

Raja knew she had said too much. While she'd taken no offense to the term, Isla, Guinevere's companion, had mentioned the like in passing months ago. "She meant nothing by it," Raja insisted. If she had told Tristan he'd likely have not wanted Raja around the woman, he already had reservations about her spending so much time with Guinevere.

"The woman needs to watch her tongue," Tristan growled.

Raja cupped his face with her soft hand, caressing his cheek until she felt his tension ease. "These are our allies now, Tristan. I know you've fought them for years, but now is the time to make peace and new friends." She rose on her tip toes to kiss him, feeling him relax even more. Raja gave a last kiss on the tip of his nose which caused his mouth to pull into a grin.

"I've not changed my mind on you being in here alone," he said.

"So my powers of persuasion do not exceed that far?" she quipped, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she wrapped her arms behind his neck. He squeezed her hips, tugging her closer, and she giggled. "I fear I am losing my power of you," she said in mock sadness.

"Hmm." Tristan kissed her again, before saying in her ear, "You are the only person who holds sway over me."

"Then I shall continue to wield it humbly," she declared. "I will brush Odin and go to Sophia for the day. I hope it pleases you."

He chuckled. "It does, wife."

xxx

The day went quickly. Raja kept her word and after she was finished tending to Odin she sought out Sophia and they spent most of the morning and afternoon with Vanora, talking and playing with the children. Around midday, Guinevere sought Raja out to sit with her and her company in the queen's new quarters so they may all get to know one another better. It was only women, so while Raja knew Tristan would not like it, he could not voice too strong an objection.

Guinevere had said her houses were built of mostly wood and mud. So living in quarters made mostly of stone was new to her. The queen wasn't much interested in decoration, so the antechamber was sparse – mostly holding a table and chairs and some colorful couches and intricately patterned rug in the middle. The fire was to a roar, and as Raja entered the room, the chatter quieted as two of the three women looked upon her curiously.

"I introduce you all to the lady Raja," Guinevere announced, taking her arm and setting her down on the couch, taking a seat next to her. "She is my friend and has been most welcoming to me and Isla both. I expect you all to extend the same courtesy."

Raja smiled at them. They wore simple, but colorful dresses; two women had their hair in intricate braids, while Isla had her long locks hang loosely down her back. Isla, the only companion Raja was familiar with, nodded at her.

"How are you all finding the fortress?" Raja inquired.

"Dark," Eithne replied. "You all spend much time indoors."

"Some do, yes," the Egyptian replied.

"Guinevere says you had a tutor who taught you our language," Eithne said. "Tell more. What else did he teach you?"

"A great many things," Raja said, the memory of Galen always bringing a smile to her lips. "He taught me philosophy, theology, languages, mathematics. He taught me of the stars and planets, and of nature."

"And your uncles taught you the sword?" Cadhla interjected. "Guinevere says you fight fiercely."

Raja's cheeks rouged, she glanced at Guinevere who only nodded at her encouragingly.

"Do not be shy of your talents, Raja," Guinevere urged. "She is quick," she told everyone, "quicker than I've ever seen. She fights with two swords."

The women were clearly impressed. "Do all fight with two swords in Egypt?" they asked.

Raja shook her head. "No, just something done on my father's side as we've always been able to use both hands equally. My cousin wields two, as well."

"Your cousin," Cadhla spoke, "Lancelot?"

"Is he the handsome one?" Eithne asked. She laughed at the glances she took. "Come, we all know he is handsome, even for a foreigner." She sighed looking at her empty cup. "I wish I could have brought my slaves." She got up, refilling her own wine. "Tell me why I could not again?"

Guinevere frowned. "Because we are building a new world based on freedom. Arthur has a good friend who built his own community where no one is allowed to own slaves within their walls. He says it has prospered from freedom of person and religion, and should like to emulate that."

Eithne snorted. "As you say, my queen." She looked at Raja, "Do you have slaves?"

"I do not," Raja answered. "The community Arthur speaks of is one built by my forefathers. My family has not owned slaves in over three hundred years."

"Yet, Egypt, I am told," Eithne replied, "has many slaves."

"It does," Raja admitted. "That does not mean all have to follow suit. One cannot truly belong to another if one doesn't give oneself freely and wholly. Such a thing should only exist in matters of love, not in the buying and selling of people for personal use."

Eithne smirked. "And your husband's people? Have they slaves?"

"Sarmatians take no prisoners, and save none for slaves – ever," Raja said. "They are tribes of free women and men. In Sarmatian culture the notion of owning a slave is abhorrent." She spoke all this firmly but respectfully, for she knew she was being challenged in some way – for why, she did not know.

Cadhla interjected, "Raja, my family owns no slaves either. Unlike Eithne, we are capable of doing things for ourselves."

Eithne rolled her eyes, muttering into her cup. "Derile's and Isla's family own many."

Raja's brow rose. "Are you relations to Derile, Isla? I did not know."

Isla did not seem happy about the revelation. "He is my brother."

Seeing she was not going to elaborate on that, Raja pried no further for the topic seemed to discomfit the woman. Isla seemed grateful Raja asked nothing further, and gave her soft smile.

"Raja, your husband seems most possessive over you," Cadhla spoke, "is that the Sarmatian way as well?"

"Stop interrogating her," Guinevere demanded, coming to her rescue.

"I mean no offense!" Cadhla exclaimed. "I am only curious of Egyptian and Sarmatian ways. Guinevere says you are a warrior, but yet he keeps you so close – I only wondered!" She reached across the cough to touch Raja's wrist gently. "Truly, I am only curious and wish to know more of you. Is that not the purpose of this whole visit?"

Raja smiled, believing her. "Thank you. I am just not used to being the center of attention like this, though it is very flattering."

"You needn't answer anything you don't wish to," Guinevere told her, glaring at the other three women.

"I know. It's fine, really. I…I mean, my husband is very protective over me, although I possess the ability to fight. I am not a warrior, though Guinevere has graciously given me that title. My relationship with my husband is one of deep friendship and love, and he keeps me close because of it."

Eithne seemed surprised. "I heard tell he is a most cruel and sadistic warrior, and that he takes scalps for trophies."

Raja's back straightened, insulted. "Tristan is neither cruel nor sadistic. I do not know what you've heard, but it isn't true. What is true is that he is a fierce warrior who has no mercy on the battlefield. He hurts no one needlessly for pleasure or personal gain. I should like to know who has said otherwise."

"Eithne heard nothing but gossip," Guinevere interjected, sending a hot look to her friend. "And should not repeat such things."

Eithne held up her hands in surrender. "It is true, just idle gossip, Lady Raja, I promise. I apologize for any offense."

Her gray eye's glared at the woman, assessing the sincerity of her words. "Thank you for your apology," she finally said. "I'll not have anyone speak ill of my husband, especially untruths."

"Raja, I think your man's love of you is unmatched," Isla said softly. She sighed. "Well, it's almost time for supper, we should ready ourselves."

xxx

"I like this on you," Tristan said, kissing the soft slope of her neck.

She wore a dark blue dress embroidered with gold flowers and matching sandals. A gold bracelet adorned her wrist, and necklace of gold hung with a small sapphire decorated her neck. Half her hair was held back by two braids, the rest left to hang in curls down her back.

"What is it?" he asked, seeing the furrow of her brow. She had returned troubled after her gathering with Guinevere and her ladies, but had not confided in him yet of what perturbed her.

Raja smoothed down his hair, freshly washed and braided. She bit her lip. "One of Guinevere's lady's repeated malicious gossip of you. I did not care for it."

He snorted. Women's prattle bothered him not, but if it caused Raja a confrontation he concerned himself with it. "What was said that bothered you?"

"It was awful, Tristan," she said. She let out a breath, "She heard you were cruel and sadistic, and took scalps for trophies."

He chuckled. "Was that all?"

Raja's eyes widened incredulously. "All? Those are awful things to say of you. I demanded she say no more and wanted to know who said such a thing."

"Worry not about a silly woman's gossip, Raja." He caressed her cheek. "Those words are nothing new said of me. You know who I am. That is all that matters."

"I suppose," she capitulated, still frowning. "I just wish all could see you as I do for I have the very best husband and friend."

Tristan pulled her closer to embrace her, feeling her body ease into his. She pecked him on the lips before he took her arm to escort her to the grand hall for dinner. He wore the same garments he had on his wedding day - fresh brown linen trousers, unscuffed boots and a new white shirt under a beige tunic and belt. Raja said he looked most handsome, so nothing more was needed.

Sophia and Lancelot met them at the bottom of the steps to the keep. Raja gasped when she saw her cousin dressed in something outside of his customary black.

"Lottie! You are wearing blue!" Raja was so pleased she hugged him though she would have anyway. "Did Sophia convince you?" When he nodded, she said to Sophia, "I am so glad. I've been trying to get him to wear another color for so long." She poked him playfully in the ribs.

"You look resplendent, cousin," Lancelot told her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "As fine as my other favorite lady tonight." He took Sophia's hand and kissed the back of it, which only caused her to roll her eyes.

The men escorted their women to the great hall, their persons announced loudly before being led to their seats. All the other knights were seated on one arc of the round table, their Pictish guests on the other. Arthur and Guinevere appeared last, seated at the head of the bisection of the two groups. Once everyone was quiet, Arthur gave a grand speech on friendship and new alliances, hope for continued peace, and good crop. He thanked the Picts for coming, and his knights for being gracious hosts. Everyone held their cups up for toast before taking their first drinks of the evening.

Raja looked around the table as they were served. She did not fail to notice Derile's eye upon her again, and Tristan's glare in return to the Pict who was failing to heed her husband's warning.

"We shall ignore him, Tristan," she said quietly. "Look at him no longer for we don't wish to spoil the evening."

Tristan grunted. "He is looking to spoil the evening if he continues to keep his gaze upon you." He saw Merlin who was sitting next to Derile say something to the younger man, the latter frowning at what seemed to be a chastisement before averting his gaze from Raja. Lancelot shared a look with Tristan, having caught the exchange as well.

Across the table, Arthur slightly leaned toward his wife, asking, "Am I to expect trouble from your cousin?"

Guinevere grimaced, hiding her face in her cup. "No. My father has him well under control."

"I wasn't aware he needed controlling," Arthur commented grimly. "I will speak to Merlin after dinner of him. I like not his eye on Raja, and I can tell it is more than mere curiosity. Should he continue with his ill manners, I'll not be able to stop my men from coming to Raja's defense, however warranted it may be."

"He wouldn't do anything," Guinevere responded. "He swore an oath."

"I've seen men break oaths," Arthur said with finality.

xxx

Arthur did not expect his men to follow him and his wife to the Picts' camp. Besides, it was best to speak to Merlin alone. During the dancing and games Derile and Merlin had gotten into a heated argument, words no one heard, but Derile left angrily, spitting upon the ground in curse before taking his leave. Arthur needed more information on Derile's clear preoccupation with Raja before doing anything about it. Lancelot had already threatened bodily harm should the Pict approach Raja in any way, and Tristan's brown eyes held the same promise. Arthur did not wish to start a war, especially when alliance was so new.

The camp was mostly quiet, though some conversation carried on the wind. Merlin ushered Guinevere and Arthur into his tent where two of his high priests sat for witness.

"Come, come," Merlin said. "Arthur, tonight went well."

"Did it?" Arthur's face was grim as he took a seat next to Guinevere. "Your man Derile left early. It was clear to everyone he was unhappy to say the least." He did not fail to see the two priests share a somber look, though Merlin appeared less so, but the tension on his face still broke through.

"Derile is a proud man with a hot temper," Merlin replied. "But he will do as I say."

"And what is it you commanded him to do?" Arthur asked. "If it has something to do with Raja, I shall know of it."

The priests protested in Pictish, arguing amongst themselves. Merlin held up a hand to still their bickering. Guinevere's keen eyes passed on each one, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I think it best you speak so my husband may understand," she intoned sternly. "Where is Derile now?"

After a brief pause, Merlin replied, "I commanded him to leave. He has taken his men and is gone now."

Arthur's jaw clenched. "I pray you will explain, for I do not care for what you are not saying."

Merlin sighed. "This alliance is important. I'll not have words put it in jeopardy. Nothing has come to pass."

"What has not come to pass?" Arthur demanded, and edge to his voice. "Should this involve my men, or a woman whom I care for as a sister, I will know of it. Now."

Guinevere put a calming hand on his knee. While her husband was a reasonable man, he did have a temper, and he wielded it with purpose.

"Derile has an obsession with the woman you call a sister," a priest spoke, ignoring Merlin's glare of warning. "He has long had it. We fear it's taken over his mind."

Arthur's eyes darkened. "What say you now?" Speaking only to Merlin, he said, "Explain yourself."

"I thought," Merlin began, "if he saw her, he would see that she was only flesh and blood, and the images of her conjured in his mind would break way to reality."

"How has he come to this obsession after so short a time?" Arthur inquired, dread filling him.

"It started many years ago, Derile an impetuous youth of eighteen." Merlin explained, "He happened upon a young girl in the forest with her tutor. He and two of his friends dared to travel further south, far too close to the wall. An arrow took the man with the young girl…and the child was abducted." He let those words sink in, never taking his eyes off of Arthur, seeing the realization hit the man full force.

"Are you saying it was Derile who took Raja was when she was young girl? Hit her head with a rock and attempted to steal her away?" He stood, rubbing his eyes with thumb and index finger, trying to rid himself of the stabbing pain behind them. "You knew of this? You knew of this and still you brought him here?" He felt his anger rise like a tide as he paced back and forth.

"He forgot about her quickly," Merlin went on. "Though he was incensed his companions' plot to rectify his youthful transgression was successful. We heard the Egyptian lords were wealthy and powerful with large armies to call upon; that he should risk his people by taking their child was folly. He was punished when we found out his foolhardiness." He sighed and continued. "But…some years ago when he was injured in battle, a battle that forever stole his ability to exercise his manhood and addled his mind with fevered dreams of her, his preoccupation with what he felt was stolen from him resurged."

"Did you know of this?" Arthur demanded of Guinevere.

"I swear I did not," Guinevere replied. She was as aghast as he.

"What were you thinking bringing him here so close to Raja?" Arthur yelled. "So close to my men who hold her as close as I? Who would kill for her? Had you been thinking of this alliance this would never have been. What if something had happened?"

"Nothing happened," Merlin stated. "Perhaps it was rash on my part. I only wanted him to see that the image he built up in his mind was only a dream born of a fevered mind."

Arthur shook his head. "You should not have done this. Where even is Derile now? Have you any eyes on him?"

"I told you, he has left," Merlin said. "He'll not return on pain of death."

The new king stared at him forebodingly. "Forgive me if I do not hold the same trust in a mad man's mind as you do." He let out a heavy breath. "I must tell my men of this now. And how do you think they will react?"

"They need not know," one priest offered.

"I'll not keep this from them," Arthur declared. "I've never kept secrets from them, and will not start now." He bid Guinevere to rise, for there was nothing left to speak of. "This was a mistake, Merlin. You have made a grave mistake here."

xxx

As Arthur and Guinevere rode back to the fortress, she felt the distance between them. She did not know if he truly believed she knew nothing of Derile's obsession and the secrets her father kept. All her life she was told to stay clear of Derile for he possessed a cruel streak that bordered on madness. Isla was often on the receiving end of it, which was why Guinevere had chosen to have her cousin come serve her at the fort as a means to get away from her brother. Isla was frightened of him, and bore old scars to justify her fears. His very name made Isla wince.

"You knew something," Arthur finally said, eyes straight ahead.

She shook her head lightly. "I was young, only nine when I heard Derile had tried to steal a child south of the wall. I had heard the child was wealthy and important and came from overseas."

"Yet," he pressed, side-eying her skeptically, "you must have suspected when you met Raja. When you found out she was abducted by a Pict as a child?" He saw his wife tense, glancing away so as not to face him. "God, Guinevere. How could you not tell me? Did you think it a coincidence?" He stopped his horse, grabbing her reins, too. "Look at me. You understand the implications of this? If Derile hurts Raja, there will be a war. I will execute your cousin and anyone involved. You understand this?" His green eyes bore into her with quiet fury. "Raja befriended you, trusted you – and you have jeopardized her safety."

Her jaw clenched as she swallowed a lump in her throat. "I knew nothing of the renewed obsession my father spoke of, I swear it, Arthur. Derile lived further north of me and I rarely saw him. If I had known the rest I would have told you. Please believe me."

Arthur gazed at her wordlessly. "I may believe you knew nothing of his fevered obsession, Guinevere. My men will not. They'll not trust you with Raja ever again."

She scoffed, her voice rising. "You speak of her like a child! She is not a child. She is a woman grown and a warrior who can fend for herself!"

"She is not a warrior!" he shouted, disturbing his horse who then shuffled fitfully. Arthur tamped down his anger, patting the steed. He sighed heavily, his breath visible on the cool night air. "You do not understand," he said with more calm than he felt. "She is not a warrior, Guinevere. She is a kind-hearted, gentle soul who wishes no ill on anyone, even those that have done her harm. She has suffered much in her life." His horse continued to trot and Guinevere followed.

"What has she suffered?" Guinevere asked. "The loss of her parents?"

"You know not all the details." Quickly, Arthur recounted them to her, telling his wife even of the beating upon Raja's person attempted rape during the attack on her home, a detail Arthur had not known until years later. "She was frightened of everything when she came here, and would barely leave her uncle's side. Her night terrors echoed throughout the halls, the most baleful wails you'd ever heard. I and my men knew nothing but battle and hardship, and Raja was just a bright little spot in our days. Still, despite all life has thrown at her, she is the strongest, kindest person I've ever known."

"I can see then why you all covet her so closely," she finally said. "Even you." Then, "I was jealous for a time, you know, seeing how you favored her and the time spent in your study while she helped you with clerical tasks. And your daily walks about the parapets arm in arm, conversing of things I know nothing about, seeing your laughter with her."

Arthur hmmphed. "If you wanted to know, you need only asked."

She shrugged. "I said I was jealous for a time, it was short-lived. Raja is open and honest, she told me you speak of all manner of things – your god, how to make the world better, poems and philosophy. I understood then those daily walks; her optimism and good nature bring you peace. How could I begrudge you that?" She smiled at him then before it faltered. "You say your men will no longer trust me with her. Will you, Arthur?"

After a pause, he nodded. "I would. But it is Tristan and Lancelot's barrier that matters."

"But they needn't know I knew anything," she protested lightly.

"They will. Especially Tristan. He will never believe you didn't know, and you wouldn't be able to lie to him. I would never lie to him, not even for you. The trust me and my men have is everything, we would not have survived these long years without it. So, whatever happens, we shall face it together Guinevere."

"Nothing will happen," she said. "My father has sent Derile away."

"You think a years-long obsession will end just because he's been sent away?"

Guinevere bit her lip. "Perhaps not. But still, he could not get to her." She continued, "Eithne heard tell that Tristan is cruel and sadistic. Do you believe he would kill a man, put an alliance at risk, just for thinking of hurting Raja?"

"He would not hesitate," Arthur replied definitively. "He would sacrifice this whole island for her. And Tristan is neither cruel nor sadistic. There is no mercy in him, or forgiveness; and he possesses no anger in battle. He is calculated and methodical. I find that far more dangerous for he always has clarity of mind." His thoughts went back to at least three men dying of mysterious accidents around the fortress, all men who had tried their hand with Raja, too drunk or too stupid to realize whom they were crossing in their efforts. Arthur long suspected Tristan of these deaths, though he never questioned it and did all he could to sweep such things under the rug. On Arthur's part, he himself had a few men transferred to further posts for harassing Raja – it was better that way, better for Tristan certainly for if he was ever caught the sentence would be execution.

"But she can protect herself," Guinevere said. "Even though she is not a warrior," she added.

Arthur chuckled. "She may possess that ability, but Tristan will always make sure she never has to spill blood. We all would."

"When will you tell them?" she asked, changing the subject. "Can you stay their hands from seeking Derile out and killing him? He has at least a hundred men loyal to him, Arthur, this could start a war."

Sighing, he said, "The only recourse is to tell them with Raja. She will calm them and sue for peace, and they've always tempered themselves in her presence."

"We will tell them tonight?"

He shook his head. "Everyone has had much to drink tonight, and it's been a long day. We shall tell them first thing in the morning."

xxx

"She shouldn't ask to speak with you so late," Tristan stated acerbically.

Raja wrapped pinned her cloak about her shoulders. "Isla said it was important, and seemed frightened, Trissy. I cannot ignore her. We shall be safe."

They were in the stables now, readying to leave. Isla had entreated her for conversation not long after the dinner in the midst of dancing. She wanted to speak with her of something of import, away from prying ears, so Raja said to meet in her uncle's study.

"It is not her safety I worry about," he said.

She threaded her arm through his as they exited the stables for the keep. She smiled to herself as they walked. Tristan's love and worry of her warmed her heart, and in that moment she felt the most blessed woman in the world. In fact, she recounted all the things she felt blessed for – not only a husband who cherished her beyond all measure, but a cousin who did, as well. A cousin who after so long had a family Raja only dreamed of for him. Lancelot looked more at ease than Raja had seen him in months and it brought her nothing but joy at the sight.

Raja said good evening to some passing villagers and they responded in kind, dipping their heads, some stopped to ask her a few questions about her day and health before departing.

"I did not thank you for dancing with me tonight," she said as they entered the keep.

He hmmphed. "Would you have let me alone if I had not?"

She smiled. "No, I would not have." Her uncle's study was on the first floor nearer the back of the keep. He stopped at the foot of the stairs as they headed in different directions. Seeing his hesitance to leave her, she said, "We are in the keep. There are guards at every entrance. No one can get me here, Trissy. And you are just upstairs."

He frowned. "I will give you the time it takes me to feed Bennu, then I will come and get you."

"Very well," she capitulated before giving him a lingering kiss. "You know, Trissy, I was just thinking a moment ago how very lucky I am to have you." Her fingers trailed down the hem of his tunic thoughtfully as her gray eyes assessed him lovingly. He was so warm and solid.

His face softened as he embraced her, a small grin playing on his lips. "It is I who is lucky to have you, Raja." He kissed her again. "Now, go, or else I'll carry you up these stairs and keep you in bed forever."

She giggled. "Will you still keep me in bed when I return?"

"Oh, aye," he replied, voice deep with want. He squeezed her buttocks playfully before stepping away, brown eyes watching her as she walked down the hall and around the corner, out of sight.

Raja could not rid herself of her smile, the taste of Tristan on her lips as she left him. It was only tempered by the sight of Isla sitting inside her study, face pale white, eyes red from previously shed tears.

"Isla, what has happened?" Raja asked, worried. She could not help but pull the poor, trembling woman into her arms, before inspecting her more closely.

"I thank you for seeing me so late," Isla stuttered. "I've made some tea, for I know you enjoy it."

Raja closed the study door, though the fire was roaring and braziers lit, she still felt a chill. She told Isla to sit and poured them both mugs of tea. Isla only held her cup in her shaking hands, worrying her bottom lip until it was a rose red.

"What has happened?" Raja asked again. She took a few sips of her tea, wincing at the odd bitter taste before setting it aside.

Isla eyed Raja's cup, opening and closing her mouth, trying to find words. "Will you come with me outside? I need to show you something."

Her brow furrowed. "Outside?" Isla was making little sense. "Talk to me here. I promised Tristan I would go nowhere else. What did you want to tell me?" She put her hand to her chest for a fierce cough came about from nowhere.

Still trembling, Isla took Raja and tugged her to her feet. "Please, I need to show you something. It shall only take a moment, then we can return. But I need to show you – now."

Her blue eyes were so insistent and desperate that Raja feared Isla was losing her senses. She blinked furtively for she felt the room was moving in, and her body felt strange.

"Tristan would not…like this," she muttered. Why were words difficult to say? "I must…stay here."

Isla pulled her into the hall, leading her to the back of the keep and outside. Raja noticed no guards at the door – which was odd – and, in fact, it was eerily quiet save for the wind which only grew stronger as Isla led her to the rampart stairs, up and up. It was becoming more difficult for Raja to process her surroundings, she felt light-headed, and her blood was pulsing loudly throughout her body so it sounded a drum between her ears.

"Isla…" she mumbled. Her legs felt heavy, she had no will to fight it. Isla grasped her about the waist, holding her up and urging her forward. Raja tried to tell her to stop, they needed to return to the keep for Tristan would be worried, but her tongue was swollen and no words would form.

"I am sorry, I am so sorry," Raja heard Isla repeat. "Gods, forgive me."

They were higher up on the wall, facing north. Why was it so quiet? Isla stumbled, but caught her footing, still holding Raja up. Raja's head lolled downwards, and she saw the bodies of two guards – unmoving - blood surrounding their heads; two men – Picts – standing above them covered in blood.

What is this? Raja demanded, but the words only echoed in her head. She couldn't speak anymore, could barely move of her own accord, her limbs felt disconnected from her body, and her heart filled with terror.

"I am so sorry, Raja," Isla cried in a hushed whisper. "Please forgive me."

Raja felt Isla sit her between the opening of the parapets. Please stop, she tried to say, but it only came out in a mumble.

"No!" she heard Isla say. "I will do it. You may push her too far and she will miss the net." Her blue eyes were filled with regret, and not a little of her own fear.

"Then do it," one Pict growled. "You hesitate. Should this go wrong, Derile will know it was you who sabotaged him."

Isla glared at him angrily, still holding onto Raja's shoulders. She could hear her trying to protest feebly, her weak hands touching Isla's wrists trying to hold her off in vain.

"I am so sorry," Raja heard again.

Then she felt her body fall backwards, and as she fell she thought of Tristan; how he would worry over her when she did not return. Her last sight was only the dark sky above her before losing consciousness.