Welcome, Tora3! Thanks for the follow! I really hope all of you are still enjoying the story!

There's a LOT more interaction between Breck and Tristan in this chapter, which I thoroughly enjoyed writing. Let the games begin!

CHAPTER SIX

Breck kept her bow nocked and ready as she quietly crept through the forest, her footsteps near silent as she avoided crunchy looking leaves and traitorous twigs that might give away her silent pursuit. She stopped to study a bush with a few bent and broken branches, and that was all the confirmation she needed to know that she was still on the trail of the deer she currently hunted.

Breck looked to the four boys following closely behind her. Her pupils – Alaric, Gerold, Benedict, and Rickard – all with bows knocked themselves, their faces pure concentration. She made a few hand gestures, silently indicating that they were going the right way and to continue following her as quietly as possible. After receiving four nods of understanding, Breck turned her eyes forward and continued on.

It had been nearly three weeks that Breck had been training the boys, and she was very satisfied with how things were coming along so far. The start had been rougher than expected, admittedly. The boys had had little to no experience with a bow when they had first begun training, and it had taken more than a few lessons before any of them were hitting the target at all, let alone with any sort of precision or consistency. There had even been a time or two where Breck had found herself wondering if the boys were simply not cut out for archery – or if, perhaps, she was genuinely just that abysmal of an instructor.

Yet, with time and practice, the boys had begun to improve, so much so that having them standing around a training arena shooting at stationary targets simply wasn't challenging enough anymore. The boys were learning archery so that they could become hunters, so that, if it was needed, they could become fighters. And whether it was a person or an animal that they would be shooting at in the future, neither would simply stand still waiting for an arrow to end its existence.

So, today, Breck had decided to take them on their first hunt.

They were doing well so far. Each boy had at least one kill under their belt – they had killed three rabbits, a fox, and one very plump squirrel. Breck had finally picked up on the trail of a deer a short while ago, so they had set off together to find it, all of them hoping that at least one of the boys would be able to take down their first big game.

Breck continued leading her pupils along the trail, until the sound of trickling water reached her ears and she held up a hand to signal the boys to stop. Once they were motionless behind her, she crept forward until she could peer around a large bush. They had reached a small brook that wound itself through the trees. And barely twenty yards away, drinking leisurely from the flowing water, was the deer they hunted.

Breck smiled to herself, then turned and went back to where the boys waited.

"We have found our prey, lads," she informed them in a low voice. "Now we need only decide who will be given the honor of firing the shot."

The boys immediately broke out in hushed argument.

"I should take the shot!" Gerold declared with a hiss. "I am the oldest!"

"I should take the shot! I have only managed to kill a squirrel, while you lot have all gotten rabbits and foxes!" Alaric, the youngest, argued.

"No, I should take the shot!" Benedict interjected. "I am the best shot of us all!"

His confident proclamation was immediate fuel to the fire.

"Since when are you the best shot?" Rickard countered with a scoff. "You are the one who nearly put a hole in your own foot the second day of training!"

Benedict blushed fiercely as the other boys snickered. "I did not!" he said, ramming his elbow hard into Rickard's side.

As the quiet, whispered squabbling continued, Breck rolled her eyes and looked downward to search the forest floor. Setting her bow and arrow down, she instead picked up four sticks while the boys continued to argue amongst themselves, breaking them each into different sizes. Then she turned her attention back to the boys.

"If you lot are quite finished," she said, raising her voice only loud enough to make them stop arguing, but not so loud that the deer would hear them. The boys immediately stopped bickering. "Since we cannot come to an agreement like the civilized individuals that we are," she said pointedly, resulting in four very guilty looking expressions, "then we shall draw for it. The longest stick takes the shot, aye?"

"Yes, my lady," they immediately agreed in unison.

Breck closed her fist around the sticks and extended it toward the boys. "Benedict, you first," she said, since he was closest.

One by one, the boys drew, and in the end, it was Rickard who would get to take his shot at the deer. While the other boys grumbled with disappointment, Breck and Rickard crept back toward the brook so they could both peer around the bush. The deer was still there, completely unaware of the danger that lurked nearby.

"Ready your bow," Breck commanded quietly. Rickard did so, but he looked very nervous all of a sudden. Breck placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Remember your training. Believe in yourself," she encouraged.

Rickard nodded, then crept out just a little bit further so he could get a better view of the deer. He tightened his grip on his bow and pulled the arrow he had nocked back, his eyes focused purely on the deer. It had lifted its head now, licking at the water that lingered on its nose as it calmly, peacefully observed the forest around it. But it did not see Rickard, nor the arrow pointed in its direction.

There was suddenly a loud screech overhead, shattering the quietness of the forest. Breck looked up sharply, her eyes immediately finding a hawk that circled above them. As for Rickard, however, the unexpected sound startled him and made him release his arrow prematurely. Breck shifted her gaze just in time to see the arrow sail several inches from the deer, coming nowhere close to making contact and only serving to frighten the animal.

The deer bolted. Breck immediately stood and took aim with her own arrow, knowing that the deer could put meat on the tables of the boys and their families and not wanting to let it get away. She tracked the deer as it darted between the trees and released the arrow, but the deer was fast. The arrow only barely missed it, landing instead in the bark of a tree as the deer vanished from sight.

Breck sighed with disappointment as she lowered her bow. "Damn," she muttered under her breath.

"I am sorry, Lady Breck," Rickard immediately apologized. "I had the deer in my sights, but the hawk startled me and – "

Breck silenced him with a hand on his shoulder and reassuring smile. "It is alright, Rickard. There is nothing to apologize for. In fact, this is a good lesson for us all," she said, looking to the other boys now as they joined them. "Even if your aim is true, even if the setting is ideal, there is always the possibility of surprises and distractions. You will all have to learn how to remain unshakeable and unwavering in the face of such obstacles, for there may come a time where standing firm could mean the difference between life or death."

"Yes, Lady Breck," the boys said in unison.

Breck cast another look up toward the hawk, which still circled overhead. "Blasted bird," she complained.

"I believe that hawk belongs to one of Lord Arthur's nights," Gerold provided as he, too, eyed the bird. "The one named Tristan?"

"It does," Benedict confirmed. "I've seen him with it before."

Breck tried to ignore the sour taste that filled her mouth at the mere mention of Tristan, her eyes turning back to the bird once again. She had noticed the presence of hawks lingering around the fort, but had not thought much of it before – she had thought that perhaps there was just a large hawk population around Hadrian's Wall. She had never considered the possibility that it was actually just one that she kept seeing over and over again, nor that it might belong to Tristan, whom she had not even known owned a hawk.

The bird circled once more, gave another loud screech, then flew away.

Seeing as they had already been in the woods all morning long, and seeing as she had plans to have her midday meal with Dagonet in the tavern, Breck announced that their hunt was over for the day and they began to make their way back to the fort.

The boys, she noticed, did seem a little discouraged by the fact that they had not gotten their deer that day, but once they reached the training arena again, she gave them one last pep talk to try to raise their spirits before sending them on their way. Even if they still looked a little disappointed, even if they were being a little hard on themselves, Breck was still enormously proud of the progress they were making. All things considered, the boys were doing exceptionally well.

In fact, there was much that was going well at the moment.

Life at Hadrian's Wall these past few weeks had been better than she had expected. The time had honestly passed in what seemed like a blink of the eye, given how busy she had kept herself. Four days out of the week were spent working in the stables with Jols and Devran, two were dedicated to training her pupils, and she had one day where she was free to do whatever she pleased. Breck had fallen very easily and very quickly into her new routine, and for the first time in a long time, she could honestly, truly say that she felt…content.

Her contentedness was thanks largely to Arthur's near constant presence in her life. It was just like the old days, except with decidedly far less mischief involved than when they had been children. They found a way to see one another at least once a day, whether that was by having a meal together, or taking a stroll around town, or attending church. It felt immeasurably wonderful to have her friend back, to be able to laugh and enjoy herself once more, knowing that she was always safe and cared for in his presence.

Yet, Arthur was not her only friend at the Wall. For as much time as she spent with him, she spent just as much with the knights.

The Sarmatians had really given her no choice in the matter of whether or not they would become her friends. They had taken her under their wing with practically no hesitation, treating her as though she were one of them, as if they had all been friends for years. It was a rare occasion indeed that she didn't have a Sarmatian by her side these days, as at least one of them would find a reason to visit with her during her duties or escort her around town. And honestly, Breck enjoyed it. To the rest of the world, they were fearsome, bloodthirsty, battle-tested warriors of legend, but to her, they were just a friendly group of men who drank too much, had slightly inappropriate senses of humor, and had taken to treating her like she was some long-lost sister. They were her friends, the first friends she'd had since she had lived at the Wall the last time.

She had bonded with each man over something different, growing close to them in unique ways. With Bors, their friendship revolved heavily around too many pints of ale and crude jokes, as well as her helping him and Vanora keep an eye on their rowdy brood whenever she could spare a moment. He was a bit of a bad influence, but she liked his boisterous personality and he always found a way to make her laugh until her sides hurt. There was never a dull moment with him, nor with his children, whom she had grown quite a soft spot for.

Lancelot had been a little harder to befriend at first, simply because he flirted incessantly and seemed determined to embarrass the absolute hell out of her. Breck had tried not to like him, she really truly had, but after they had had a few real conversations with each other, she had begun to warm up to him. It was their mutual affection and loyalty to Arthur that finally won her over, though. She and Lancelot both would have done anything for Arthur, anything to keep him safe, make him happy. With that knowledge brought mutual respect, which then transitioned easily into friendship.

It was Galahad and Dagonet that Breck felt she had grown especially close to, though.

With Galahad, everything between them was just so easy. They were closest to one another in age, they had much in common, and they just seemed to gravitate to one another. Outside of Arthur, she probably spent the most time with him. They had breakfast together almost every day and they had taken to having night caps in each other's rooms after they had said goodbye to everyone else. Whenever they were together, there was hardly a moment where they weren't either laughing hysterically or yapping each other's ears off about anything and everything. Their friendship just felt so natural.

As for Dagonet, well…right from the start she had felt comfortable with him. He was quieter than the rest of the men, more serious, but Breck liked that about him. They didn't have to constantly talk or find something to do – they could just sit in complete silence with one another and she would feel completely at ease, content to merely be in his calming, comforting presence. He was always happy to have her visiting him in his infirmary and he went out of his way to visit her at the stables, making sure she was not overworking herself and that she was eating proper meals. Between the way he looked after her and his mannerisms that often reminded her of her own father, she couldn't deny that there was something about him that just felt familial, and it only drew her to him more.

And then that left Gawain, and things where he was concerned were…quite different from all the rest.

Breck may not have much experience with romance, but that didn't mean she was ignorant. With each day that passed, she became a little more convinced that Gawain desired more than just friendship from her. He hadn't come outright and said it, nor had he made any grand gestures or advances, but the way he acted around her said far more than any of his words could. He always sat next to her when she met the men for dinner in the tavern. He frequently visited her in the stables or came to watch her train her pupils. He said flirtatious little things every so often and she often caught him watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. Breck had also noticed that he seemed to have lost interest in other women entirely. By now, she had lost count of how many women she had seen him reject since her arrival.

It seemed, if she dared to believe it, that he only had eyes for her.

She couldn't say that she didn't enjoy the attention. Gawain was kind and funny and very handsome – the fact that he seemed interested in her was indeed very flattering. But the truth was that Breck didn't really know what her own feelings for him were, and at the end of the day, romance was not what she had come to Hadrian's Wall for. It was difficult to even imagine being in a romantic relationship when she knew she'd be back on the road in a few months, back on the hunt for Cerdic.

So, thus far, Breck, very maturely, had decided to just…pretend as though absolutely nothing at all was going on between her and Gawain. He was just her friend. A friend who made her blush and sometimes sent a funny little feeling to her belly when he smiled at her in a certain way, but still…just a friend. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Her confusing feelings for Gawain aside, all in all, her relationships with the knights were better than she could have ever expected. Sure, her new friends were loud, rowdy, foul-mouthed warriors who loved ale as much as they loved women, but they were good men. And, furthermore, they were men that had finally, after all these years, made her feel worthwhile again.

All except for Tristan, anyway.

Arthur had insisted that she would get used to Tristan, that in time they would be able to move past that first, unpleasant encounter and become friends – or, at the very least, civil acquaintances. But for all of Arthur's optimism, that was simply not the case.

Tristan was the only knight – the only person in all of Hadrian's Wall, in fact – that she continuously butted heads with. She had tried to play nice with him in the beginning, had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he had been having a bad day when they had met. Perhaps being ordered to follow her had irritated him, and he had simply taken that irritation out on her. But as the days passed, she found that no matter what she did or said to him, nothing broke through that icy barrier he kept up. If he spoke to her, it was curt, short words that often had an air of insult to them, but him speaking to her was rare indeed. Usually he just completely ignored her, acted as though she did not even exist, let alone exist in the same space as him. He was just always so rude, so condescending, so cold.

Breck still did not know what she had done to put herself on his bad side, but it was plain as day to her that Tristan loathed her. Maybe it was because he disliked the fact that he had to spend his time trailing her, or maybe it was because she, unlike everyone else in town, wasn't afraid of him and never shied away from speaking her mind when he did something she didn't like. Either way, it seemed he was doing everything in his power to make an enemy of her, and thus far, he was doing a very good job of that.

Breck had begun to loathe him in return. She had given up on trying to be friendly and had decided to match his energy, treating him just as rudely as he treated her. That had led to several heated arguments between them, most of which had served little purpose other than for them to just seize the opportunity to snipe at each other. By now, Breck could not see how she and Tristan would ever be friendly with one another. She could tell him the sky was blue and he would still argue that it was green, just to prove how determined he was not to agree with her on anything. It was hopeless. Friendship with Tristan was a lost cause.

Her tumultuous relationship with Tristan, however, was nothing she was going to lose any sleep over. She had friends in the other knights, as well as Arthur and Vanora. She did not need Tristan as a friend, especially if he was going to be a complete arse all the time. If he wanted to be a lonely, miserable sod, then that was his choice.

She was better off without him, anyway.

OOO

After leaving the training arena, Breck trekked the familiar path to Dagonet's infirmary. She went there often these days, not just to visit with Dagonet but also because he had been teaching her about different medicinal herbs and healing techniques in his spare time, which she was thoroughly enjoying. Not only was it useful, but it was interesting, and she wanted to learn as much as she could from him.

As the infirmary came into view and she walked up to the door, she frowned when she heard very distinct screams of pain coming from inside. Breck hesitated, thinking that perhaps she shouldn't interrupt, until her curiosity got the better of her and she cautiously opened the door to peek inside.

The scene that greeted her was quite unpleasant. There was a man laid out on one of the rickety cots Dagonet kept for patients, screaming at the top of his lungs as the healer leaned over him, working to extract what looked to be a large, sharp piece of wood that was lodged into the space between the man's chest and shoulder. There was blood all over both the patient and Dagonet, as well as a frightened looking man standing on the other side of the cot, who appeared to be holding the injured one down.

The door opening caught Dagonet's attention, who looked at Breck as she stood there with a shocked face. Despite the man screaming and the blood staining his hands, Dagonet offered a small, regretful smile.

"Breck, I do not think I shall be able to join you in the tavern just now," he said calmly, as though he were completely unphased by the situation. Which made sense, considering all the gruesome, awful things he'd told her about when it came to his line of work.

"Of course," she said. Her eyes slid to the other man, the one holding the screaming one down. He was glancing back and forth between her and Dagonet, as if he couldn't understand why neither of them seemed as bothered as he was by all the gore. "Do you require any assistance with anything?" Breck felt the need to offer.

"Yes, actually," Dagonet said. He then nodded toward something on his work bench, where all of his herbs and remedies were stored. "Might you deliver that tonic to Jols? It is for Galahad's horse."

Breck immediately nodded and went to grab the tonic for the horse, which seemed to have come down with some sort of minor illness the past few days. With the tonic in hand, she looked back to Dagonet, who was already focusing on the injured man again. "Anything else?"

"That will be all, thank you. I shall see you in the tavern for dinner," he promised without taking his eyes off his patient.

Breck saw herself out, not wanting to intrude while Dagonet was working. The screams of the man continued, though they were now muffled by the door as it shut behind her. With one last look toward the infirmary, she started off toward the stables.

Jols was not there when she arrived, but Devran was. For as shy as the boy had been at first, he had certainly come out of his shell around her after working together so much. He was a sweet lad, eager to please and hardworking, having taken the job with Jols to help support his mother and siblings after his father had passed unexpectedly.

"Afternoon, Devran," Breck greeted, giving the boy a friendly smile.

"Oh, hello, Breck," Devran said, pausing in his work cleaning out the stall of Arthur's horse. "I didn't think you were due to work here today."

"I am not. I have a tonic to deliver to Jols," she said, waving the little vial around. "Where has he gone?"

"To council with Arthur, I think," Devran answered. "He should return soon enough. If you do not wish to wait, however, you can leave the tonic. I will tell him you brought it."

Breck nodded, deciding to do just that so she could carry on to the tavern for some food. Her belly was rumbling with hunger, and as much as she liked Devran and liked being in the stables, she didn't particularly want to wait around.

She turned to go and put the tonic on one of the shelves, but got sidetracked when her eyes met Lugh's. The horse was sticking his head out of his stall as if vying for her attention, immediately pulling a smile from Breck and making her head his way. She gave him kisses and neck scratches, speaking sweet words to him in Gaelic and laughing as he nipped at her clothing with affection. A little chuff to her left made her look that way, and she saw Azia, who's stall was near Lugh's, eyeing her with what seemed like impatience.

Tristan might not have liked her, but the same could not be said for his mare. Azia seemed to like her just fine, even went out of her way to demand treats and affection if Breck was nearby. She suspected it was because Azia and Lugh had taken a fancy to one another and were near inseparable by this point. It was as if Azia understood that Breck and Lugh came in a package, so she had decided to take a shine to Breck too.

Laughing to herself, Breck left Lugh and went to Azia's stall, where the mare immediately offered up her neck and nose for pets. She never dared to show Azia affection if Tristan was around, but in moments like these, she never shied away from it. "There's a good, beautiful girl," she said in Gaelic, scratching Azia in that one spot that would have made the mare purr had she been a cat.

The first indication that something unpleasant was about to occur was when Devran, who had been shuffling past to cart off some of the manure he'd removed from the stalls, came to an abrupt halt. The second indication was when Breck was hit with the familiar sensation of being watched. The hair on the back of her neck rose, her hand stilling against Azia. Breck then turned around to look behind her, and when she saw who had just appeared, her spine immediately stiffened.

Tristan was lingering in the doorway of the stables, his sharp eyes watching intently as she pet his horse. Breck could not say she was surprised to see him, since she knew he was still trailing her per Arthur's orders. He wasn't always around, but he was there more often than not, and though he didn't always make himself visible to her, she'd developed an awareness of him, a sort of sixth sense that always seemed to know when he was around.

She couldn't help but notice that, for the first time since meeting him, Tristan had his hawk with him, the bird sitting perched comfortably on his arm. Breck looked to the bird, then back to Tristan.

For a few tense moments, nobody said or did anything. Breck stared at Tristan, and Tristan stared at Breck, while Devran stood their awkwardly, glancing back and forth between the two of them. Their dislike of one another was the world's worst kept secret by this point, with everyone around them knowing very well that if she and Tristan ended up in the same place at the same time, there would likely be trouble.

"What are you doing?" Breck finally asked – more like demanded – when the silence started to grate her nerves.

"What are you doing?" Tristan countered.

"I came looking for Jols," she said.

Tristan's eyes slid to Azia, then back to her. "The last I checked, Jols was not a horse, let alone my horse."

Breck tried not to roll her eyes, but failed. "Is that so? Would have never guessed that," she said sarcastically.

The hawk on his arm made a sound that sounded quite confrontational to Breck. She quirked a brow at the winged creature again, before turning an annoyed look on its owner. "That bird cost my pupil his deer this morning."

Tristan looked at the hawk, who looked completely unremorseful. "Perhaps you should do better at teaching your pupils to focus," he suggested, his tone laced with a hint of condescension.

Breck's grip on her patience was rapidly beginning to slip. "I do not recall asking for your advice on the matter of my teaching methods."

"And I do not recall giving you permission to treat Azia any differently than the other horses," he countered coldly, his expression stoic as ever. "Do not pay special attention to her," he said firmly.

"She enjoys the attention," Breck defended, lifting her chin. "Perhaps she would not seek it out from me if she were getting more of it from her master."

Though that really wasn't the way of it, speaking honestly. The men all loved their horses, even Tristan. She had seen firsthand how he was with Azia – he was actually rather sweet to the mare, in his own, quiet way. But she couldn't resist taking the jab at him, and she knew it had served its purpose when she thought she saw a slight shift in his expression, perhaps a muscle clenching in his jaw.

Tristan lifted his arm and his hawk took flight, quickly disappearing from view. Then he pushed away from the doorframe to take a few slow steps inside. "It is not your concern how I handle my horse," he said stonily.

Breck crossed her arms over her chest. "It is my concern, actually. It is my duty to take care of these horses," she reminded him pointedly.

"Brush them. Feed them. Shovel their shit. That is your duty," Tristan countered. "You are not Azia's master. You do not coddle her. You do not treat her differently. You do your work and you leave her be."

Breck could feel her anger spiking more and more by the second. Was he actually angry at her because she was being nice to his horse?

From the corner of her eye, she could see Devran looking back and forth between them rapidly, as if waiting for a brawl to break out at any moment. And it was tempting. There was something about Tristan that really got under her skin – he seemed to possess the annoying skill of making her furious in practically no time at all. She decided she had had enough of this interaction. She needed to get away from him before things could escalate, before their bickering could turn into a full blown argument.

Scowling, Breck made for the doors without a word, only barely resisting the temptation to ram Tristan's shoulder with her own as she passed by him. She made it exactly two steps out of the stables when she realized her hand was still clenched around the tonic, which she had forgotten to leave for Jols. Cursing under her breath, she swiveled on her heel to go back inside.

Breck turned, only to have to stop short when she nearly collided with Tristan, who had followed her out of the stables. With a glare, Breck moved around him, ignoring the fact that her shoulder brushed against his as she did so, and stomped back into the stables. She set the tonic down with a loud clack on one of the shelves, then left the stables again, walking right past Tristan and heading toward the tavern, just as she had planned in the first place.

Of course, escaping him was not going to be so easy. Breck could hear feet behind her, and when she glanced back a few moments later, she was unsurprised – but still very unhappy – to see him following her.

"Would you cease following me? I do not require a chaperone to go to the damned tavern," Breck said with exasperation

Tristan said nothing in response, merely continued walking behind her. His silence annoyed her more than anything he might have said.

Breck whipped around to face him, making Tristan halt. "Is there a reason you are like this?" she demanded.

"Like what?"

"Rude. Untoward. Insufferable," Breck listed off.

Tristan gave her a flat look. "Seems as though the pot is calling the kettle black."

Breck gawked with disbelief, affronted that he would even think to associate those words with her. "I have only treated you exactly as you have treated me," she reminded him. "You have, for reasons completely unbeknownst to me, been unnecessarily unpleasant since the start. What have I done to make you despise me so? Why is it that you seem so utterly determined to make my time here at the Wall a living hell?"

Tristan hesitated, and she swore she saw a muscle tick in his jaw again. "I do not owe you any explanations," he finally countered, his tone taking on an edge.

Breck huffed in disbelief. "My God, you are infuriating!" she said, her temper beginning to get the better of her. "Would it be detrimental to your health to be civil? For even just a moment?"

"Possibly," Tristan responded with a slight shrug.

His sarcasm was the breaking point. Breck ground her teeth together as she closed the space between them just a little bit more, pointing a threatening finger at him. "I am finished with this. I do not care what sort of threats have been made against me. I do not care what Arthur has ordered you to do. From this day forth, I want you to leave me alone. I do not want you following me anymore. Do you understand?"

Tristan's head cocked with interest. "You are aware of the threats?"

Breck scoffed. "Contrary to what you most likely believe, I am no halfwit, nor am I ignorant. I know what was said, and I am perfectly capable of handling the situation on my own. The words of a drunken letch are of little concern to me, especially when compared to the Sarmatian standing before me, who has done far more to make my stay here as miserable as possible."

Something passed through Tristan's gaze, something that put her on alert. Something that told her she had said something he very much did not like. "Do not liken me to a man like him," he said lowly, dangerously.

Breck stood her ground and narrowed her eyes. "You have given me no reason to believe you are a better man. And until you prove otherwise, I will consider you to be just as bad, if not worse, than he is."

And with that being said, Breck turned on her heel and left. Tristan did not follow this time, but she could feel his eyes on her until she finally disappeared into the crowd.

OOO

Breck did not go to the tavern, as she had planned. Her fight with Tristan had robbed her of her appetite. Angry and needing time to cool down, she went to her favorite pond instead, where she sat for a very long time, glaring angrily at the water as she replayed the fight over and over in her head.

She supposed, in a way, that she felt a little bad about comparing him to the mystery letch who had said such offensive things about her. Tristan was rude and unsociable and completely annoying, but from what she had learned about him from the men and from Vanora, he wasn't the type to ever do anything like what that man in the tavern had threatened against her. But he was certainly unpleasant in other ways, and it was the reminder of his behavior that quickly squashed any guilt she was feeling. She had only given as good as she had gotten, which hadn't been very good at all. Tristan had had it coming, Breck justified to herself.

Though this was certainly not their first argument, nor their first unfriendly encounter, something about this one had firmly cemented her belief that there was no hope for her and Tristan ever moving past this animosity. She had no idea why he disliked her so much, and now she doubted she would ever know.

But the truth was that Tristan disliking her…bothered her, and she couldn't explain why.

Being disliked was really nothing new to her. As a child, she had been hated in her village back in Saxony for being different, for not being fully Saxon. During her time on the road, when she had been moving from town to town tracking the Saxons, she had dealt primarily with men for her trades and deals, which meant she had to be tough and stand her ground to avoid getting taken advantage of. That sort of cut-throat attitude had rubbed a lot of people the wrong way and earned her plenty of foes, yet it had never bothered her.

So what made Tristan different? Why did she even care that he didn't like her? After all, it wasn't as though Breck liked him.

The more she tried to figure it out, the more the answer evaded her. All she knew with certainty was that Tristan infuriated her. He seemed to know exactly what to do and say to set her off without so much as a blink of his cold, dark eyes, and he seemed to enjoy doing it. The man was downright maddening. It was an honest to God miracle that she had not given into the temptation to smack him so hard that those dark tattoos on his ridiculously high cheekbones flew right off his skin.

Just imagining doing that made her feel better, and as the sun began it slow descent into the horizon, her anger at him finally faded away enough that she felt she could return to the Wall without risking taking her irritation at Tristan out on any innocent bystanders.

She headed for her quarters with the intention of washing up and then continuing on to the tavern, her stomach positively aching with hunger now that her appetite had returned. But she had just reached her room and was about to go inside when the door to Galahad's quarters opened and the knight himself popped his head out.

"There you are!" he said with a big smile.

"Hello, Galahad," Breck greeted, forcing on a smile and dutifully shoving any lingering thoughts of Tristan to the back of her mind. "Did you need me for something?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Galahad confirmed with a nod. "I require your hands, dear lady."

Breck quirked a brow and glanced down at her hands with uncertainty. "May I enquire as to what for?" she asked skeptically.

In answer, Galahad produced a pair of sheep shears from behind his back and then pointed to his hair. Breck instantly understood what the hopeful gleam in his eye meant. "You wish me to cut your hair?" she asked.

"If you should be so kind to aid this poor soul, yes," Galahad answered rather dramatically.

Breck just laughed and nodded her head in agreement, to which he grinned broadly. "Inside with you, then," she instructed, ushering him back into his room before following him inside. "Let us do this quick so we may go eat. I am starved!"

There was already evidence of Galahad's attempt at cutting his own hair scattered around on the floor. Breck took the shears from him and then told him to sit down. Once she was standing behind him and able to inspect the job he'd done so far, she could see why he needed help. The sections that Galahad had done himself were horridly uneven – Breck was fairly sure that Eight, Vanora and Bors' five year old, could have done a better job. She clicked her tongue at her friend and then patted his shoulder.

"I shall fix this atrocity, friend," she informed him confidently.

"Thank you. A thousand times thank you," Galahad said, relaxing in his seat as she began pulling up curls here or there to determine where she wanted to start.

"You are welcome," Breck answered.

Neither spoke for a few moments as she got started. The only sound that broke up the silence of the room was the snip snip snip of the shears cutting Galahad's hair, while Galahad himself relaxed even further under Breck's gentle touches. Eventually, however, the ever-chatty knight spoke up.

"Where were you this afternoon? I went looking for you, but could not find you anywhere," he commented.

Breck froze for a beat, then continued cutting. "I…went for a walk," she answered. "I had an unpleasant encounter with Tristan and needed to clear my head."

"Ah, well…that explains it then," Galahad said with understanding.

Breck frowned curiously. "Explains what?"

"Why I found Tristan in the training arena shooting every arrow he owns into a target whilst looking as though he wanted to throttle somebody," Galahad said. "When I asked him what was wrong, he would not say. Yet…I had a feeling it was likely something to do with you."

"And why would you think that?"

Galahad gave her a pointed look. "These days, if Tristan is in a foul mood, it is almost always because of you," he stated bluntly. Then he shrugged a shoulder. "That, and I could have sworn I heard him muttering something about trouble making Celts. And so far as I can tell, there is only one trouble making Celt around these parts," he explained, still giving her that look over his shoulder.

Breck scoffed again, then motioned for Galahad to look forward. "Stop looking back, or else your hair will be uneven," she commanded, hoping to change the subject to something – anything – other than Tristan.

Galahad obediently looked forward. "Well, whatever happened," he continued when it became clear Breck wasn't going to elaborate on her and Tristan's argument, "you've left him in quite a state."

"It seems he is always in a state where I am concerned," Breck commented dryly.

"True," Galahad agreed with a nod. "I have to admit, in all our years as comrades I have never known anyone to rile him as easily as you," he told her, almost sounding impressed. "Had you been a man and not a woman, he probably would have killed you by now."

He was joking – she hoped – but she still felt a small, involuntary chill slide down her spine. "How comforting," she quipped.

Galahad just laughed.

It probably should have alarmed her, to hear that she could anger Tristan to the point of possible murder, but knowing that she irritated him as much as he irritated her made her feel oddly justified about the whole thing – at least she was not the only one suffering in their volatile relationship. Galahad had said that Tristan hadn't been willing to talk about what had happened, but she did have to suddenly wonder if he ever did say negative things about her whenever she wasn't around. She considered the possibility, then decided it was probably unlikely – Tristan didn't seem the type to vent to the other men about his personal problems, especially if those problems were centered on a woman. He was much too secretive and introverted for that. Plus, if he had said something, someone – likely Bors – would have told her by now.

"Do you hate him?" Galahad suddenly asked, breaking through her thoughts.

Breck paused at the question.

Did she hate Tristan? Breck thought back to their many unpleasant encounters, pursing her lips as she remembered his cold behavior and insulting words. She was sure that no one would blame her if she did hate him, considering the way he treated her, but if there was one emotion that she knew like the back of her hand, it was hatred. The deeply rooted, red-hot burning sensation that came with hatred was within her, yes, but it was reserved for very few people in the world. Namely Cerdic, and that swine he called a son, Cynric. Not Tristan.

With a sigh, she shook her head and resumed her work. "No," Breck finally answered truthfully. "He is insufferable and I can hardly stand him," she made sure to point out. "…but I do not hate the man."

"I am actually glad to hear you say that," Galahad said, indeed looking a bit relieved. "That means there may still be hope yet."

"Hope for what?" Breck asked unsurely.

"You are a dear friend to Arthur, and you have quickly become a dear friend to us knights," Galahad said. "But Tristan is a dear friend, as well, and has been for all these years. I cannot speak for everyone, of course, but…I would think it a great disappointment if the two of you could not find a way to overcome your differences with one another. I have to imagine it would be very disappointing to Arthur and the men, too."

Breck blinked in surprise at his words, simply because she had never really stopped to consider the effect her feud with Tristan might have on anyone else. Arthur and the men knew of her and Tristan's troubles, of course, but so far they had kept out of it, content to stand back and let Breck and Tristan try to figure things out for themselves. In fact, sometimes the men seemed rather amused by the whole thing.

But what if Galahad was right? What if their bickering at one another dragged on for the whole time she was at the Wall? What if the others stopped seeing the humor in it and it began to have a negative affect instead?

The last thing Breck wanted was to cause problems for the others simply because she and Tristan didn't know how to get along. But what was she to do? That annoying scout didn't exactly make it easy for her to be nice to him – and he definitely didn't seem to have any desire to be nice to her.

"I have tried to be civil with him," Breck pointed out. "He is the one determined to be as difficult as possible."

"I am aware that Tristan has been…unwelcoming," Galahad conceded, which was putting it very mildly. "I cannot say I know what has gotten into him. He has never really been particularly sociable, but it is also unlike him to go out of his way to be so discourteous."

"So then why has he chosen me to bear the brunt of his ire?" Breck questioned with frustration.

Galahad merely shrugged. "I do not know," he answered unhelpfully. A brief silence passed between them until Galahad cleared his throat. "Anyway," he said, "I think that is enough talk about Tristan. Now let us speak about Gawain."

The rapid subject change surprised her at first, then, as her thoughts shifted to the golden haired knight, her cheeks turned pink. "What of him?" she asked as nonchalantly as possible.

"We all see how the two of you are together," Galahad said, and she could practically hear the smirk in his tone. "And there has been much talk about town." Galahad chanced another look back at her. "You admire him, do you not?" he asked pointedly.

Breck, who obviously wasn't being as inconspicuous as she had thought when it came to her attraction to Gawain, mentally scolded herself for not being more subtle. "Gawain is a good man," she said matter-of-factly. "It would be difficult not to…" she trailed off, trying to think of a word a little less incriminating than admire, "…respect him," Breck finally said. When Galahad looked at her with amusement, clearly able to tell that she was being evasive, she frowned and thumped him on the head lightly. "Do not look at me in such a way," she chastised.

"You must be the worst liar I have ever met," Galahad commented with a snort. "Your face gives it away every time."

Breck sighed and lowered the shears from Galahad's head. She didn't know if Galahad was prying on behalf of his own curiosity or if because Gawain had asked him to. Regardless, she had a feeling that whatever she said now would eventually reach Gawain's ears – Breck knew she had to choose her next words carefully.

"Listen, Galahad. I find Gawain to be kind, intelligent, and true. And yes," she admitted begrudgingly, "I do think him handsome." Breck dutifully ignored the triumphant smirk Galahad sent her way. "That being said, I do not yet know what my feelings for the man are. But I do know that he is my friend, and at this moment, I do not want anything to ruin that," she told him. "Now please, can we not speak of this anymore?"

Galahad's smirk faded to a more understanding look. "Very well. I shall leave it be," he conceded, which immediately had Breck relaxing in relief.

She continued with Galahad's haircut, raising the shears again. Galahad was only quiet for a few moments, however, before he was glancing back at her again with a curious expression.

"May I ask you something else? Something…personal?" he asked unsurely. Breck frowned at his tone and nodded, hoping he wouldn't pry about Tristan or Gawain further. "You have told us that you lived in Ireland after you left Hadrian's Wall, but I know that you were not born there. In fact, I know very little about your past." He turned to give her a questioning look. "Where are you from? And how exactly did you come to live at Hadrian's Wall all those years ago? You have not told us, nor will Arthur divulge the information without your permission."

Breck tensed again, this time with nervousness.

So far she had managed to successfully avoid having to tell her new friends about her family and where they had come from, but she had known it would only be a matter of time before their curiosity got the better of them and they began asking questions. As relieved as she was to hear that Arthur had not been telling the knights all her secrets, the fact that Galahad was asking now still sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.

What would her friends think if they knew she was part Saxon? What would they think if they knew who her father was, and what he had done in the past? Would they hold such a thing against her? Plenty of others before them had and it hadn't bothered her too much, but the Sarmatians were different. Breck wasn't so sure that she could handle being shunned by her new friends.

"You can trust me, friend," Galahad said in a gentle tone, as though he could read her mind and knew that this was a sensitive topic.

Breck finally set the shears down and took a seat next to him, sucking in a deep, steadying breath. The men would find out she was Saxon at some point, she reasoned, would find out who her father was and who they had been associated with. Perhaps the time had come to truly open up her friends, to finally start confiding in them.

So she told him everything. Where she had been born, who her father was, who her father had been associated with. She told him about the rift that had formed between Kenrick and Cerdic, and how that rift had resulted in not only the death of her pregnant mother, but also the eventual death of her father and the very near death of herself the night of the ambush. How that rift had changed the entire course of her life, how she and her father had come to the Wall for safety, and how she had eventually had to run again after the death of her father just so that Cerdic could not find her and finish the job he had started.

The only thing she did not tell him about was her plans to exact revenge on Cerdic for all he had done – she thought Galahad would disapprove, like Arthur had in the beginning, and she did not need another friend arguing all the reasons why she should not go through with it.

When she had finished, a heavy silence fell over them. Galahad seemed to need a few moments to process everything she had told him, while Breck watched him almost nervously, anxious – and a little afraid – to hear his reaction to it all. Finally, Galahad released a heavy breath and reached over to place a hand on top of hers.

"I am truly sorry, my friend," he said sincerely, looking nothing but sympathetic. "What happened to your mother and to your father…what happened to you…" Galahad trailed off and shook his head. "I had not been aware that you suffered through so much. Arthur…he never told us."

Breck shrugged a shoulder. "I suppose he did not wish to tell you secrets that were not his own," she said, making Galahad nod his head in understanding. Breck pressed her lips together for a moment, her eyes searching his face intently. "You…" She hesitated and gnawed on the inside of her cheek, unsure if she should even ask the question on the tip of her tongue. But the words betrayed her and came tumbling out anyway. "You do not think differently of me? For being Saxon? For who my family was associated with?" she asked in a rush.

Galahad seemed shocked at first, then quickly shook her head. "Of course not," he said, squeezing her hand earnestly. "How could you even think that? I would not care if you were Saxon, Sarmatian, Roman, or what have you. You are my friend. Nothing will change that now."

The relief that washed over her was so great, it made a lump form in her throat and made her eyes sting in a way that told her tears would come if she didn't fight them off. Breck pulled herself together and managed a small smile, turning her hand under his so she could clutch it tightly. She opened her mouth to try to tell him how grateful she was that he was being so kind and understanding, but the words got stuck in her throat.

She had been very nervous about revealing her family history to her new friends, but Galahad's reaction was quickly making those fears fizzle away. He had not judged her, nor did he shun her for her family's past association with a known tyrant. He still accepted her. He still considered her his friend. It gave her the hope that the rest of the men would be equally receptive whenever she got around to telling them as well.

"Thank you, Galahad," Breck finally was able to say, squeezing his hand once more. "You do not know how much your acceptance means to me."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about your family," Galahad said back.

Feeling as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders, Breck released his hand and stood, then grabbed the shears again. They resumed their previous positions, with Breck standing behind him. As she began snipping his hair again, she could not have stopped the happy smile that spread across her face even if she tried.

OOO

Breck was in extremely high spirits by the time she and Galahad, walking arm-in-arm, arrived at the tavern. The rest of the knights were already present and occupying their usual table in the corner, so she and Galahad immediately started in that direction to join them. When they reached the table and the men saw Galahad's freshly cropped hair, Gawain and Bors immediately began cat-calling and shouting good-natured taunts at the knight. Galahad flushed with embarrassment, but did not shy away from countering the jibes of his friends with a few quips of his own.

Breck laughed as the men carried on, until her eyes slid over to where Tristan sat. He was sitting at the far end of the table, engaged in conversation with Dagonet, but that did not stop him from sending a brief look her way over the rim of his mug as he drank. Breck's laughter died off almost immediately, her amusement gone as she remembered exactly what had transpired between them earlier that day.

She was not in the mood to deal with him tonight, so she decided right then and there to ignore him.

While the men continued on with their antics, Breck left the table and went to the bar to get food and ale. As usual, Vanora was working, and the woman smiled brightly upon seeing Breck before giving her a plate of bread and cheese and ale free of charge.

Instead of returning to the table right away, Breck chose to linger at the bar and chat with Vanora while there was a lull between customers. As she stood there eating her food and talking with her only female friend, a contended feeling began to creep into her veins, steadily flowing through her until she felt nothing but pure, genuine happiness.

For so long her heart had been ruled by hatred and vengeance, but this place and these people she had befriended had awoken a part of her that had been asleep for a very long while. Vanora, with her fiery spirit and rowdy children. Wonderful Arthur and his never-ending kindness to her. Those mouthy, alcohol-loving Sarmatian Knights who made her feel so welcome…they were beginning to tear down the walls that she'd built up around her heart so many years ago, and Breck couldn't say that she really even minded anymore.

She had not forgotten what Arthur had told her that first day back, how he did not believe her father would have wanted her to spend her life chasing after revenge. Though she had not wanted to admit it to herself at the time, she had begun to wonder if perhaps he was right. Kenrick would have wanted her to find happiness, to find peace. He would have been pleased to see her at the Wall again, thriving and content.

Perhaps, Breck found herself considering, her destiny was not to chase after Cerdic and avenge her family. Perhaps it had been her fate to come here and finally find some semblance of a happy, peaceful life.

By the time Breck had finished her food and her first ale, the suppertime rush began to pick up again. Breck decided to leave Vanora to her work and ordered a few more ales to take back to the table. With the drinks in her hands, she was just turning to leave when a voice on her left stopped her.

"Ello."

Breck looked over at the unexpected greeting, her eyes landing on a man that she had never seen before. He was about her height, a little on the stocky side, had greasy black hair and an even greasier face. If she were to guess his age, she'd say he was probably about ten years older than herself. He was smiling at her, revealing yellowed teeth, and though he appeared to be doing his best to come off as friendly, something about him felt off.

Breck stared at him for a moment, unsure why he was approaching her. "Can I help you?" she asked neutrally.

"I am Gerland," he introduced, the wide, unsettling grin never fading. "And you are Breck, yes?"

She wasn't surprised he knew her name. Since she was the first newcomer the Wall had seen in a while, she imagined most people knew her name by now. "It is," she confirmed.

"Might I offer you some ale?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

Breck looked pointedly to the mugs of ale she carried. "Thank you, sir, but I have some already."

Gerland's eyes turned down to the drinks in her hands. "My, that looks heavy," he commented. "Let me help ya with those."

When he stepped forward and reached in her direction, Breck took an instinctive step backward to keep space between them. He stopped short upon seeing what she had done, his lips immediately turning down into a frown. "I'm just tryin' 'ta help," he said, his eyebrows pinching together.

"A kind offer, but I can manage by myself," Breck said firmly. "Now if you would excuse me."

She made to move past him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking the way. "What?" Gerland asked bitterly, looking rather angered by her refusal. "You too good for help from the likes o' me?"

Breck, having reached the end of her patience with this man, was just about to give him a piece of her mind when another voice jumped into the conversation, cutting her off before she could.

"The lady does not need your help," snapped an accented voice that she immediately recognized to belong to Tristan.

She didn't even have to turn around to know where he was, because she could suddenly feel him standing directly behind her. He was standing so close that she could feel his body heat against her back, feel her hair stirring as he breathed, smell the scent of earth and horse and sweat that clung to him. Tristan's closeness sent a zing of awareness throughout her entire body that she did not anticipate, making her spine stiffen and heartbeat quicken.

Gerland was looking back and forth between Breck and Tristan now, his bravado fading some in the presence of the feared Sarmatian Knight. "What? You her guard dog?" he asked, as if trying not to appear a coward.

It was either very brave, or very stupid, of him to insult Tristan. She could have sworn she felt Tristan tense behind her.

"Be gone," Tristan said, his voice low and full of danger. "Now."

Gerland seemed to understand that he was playing with fire, because he gave them one last look, then left.

Breck watched the man walk all the way out of the tavern before she slowly turned to face Tristan. He had not moved an inch, and he too had been watching Gerland leave, but when he felt her eyes on him he shifted his gaze down to hers. For a moment she saw the same lethal gleam that had frightened Gerland away, the fierceness in his eyes and expression likely the most emotion she had ever seen from him. Then he blinked, and that guarded mask he always wore around her was back.

Breck realized then just how close they were standing to one another. They were separated by mere inches, so close that she actually had to lift her chin in order to meet his eyes. They had been close like this earlier, but she had been too furious at the time to really think anything of it.

Now, however, she found herself noticing things about him that had escaped her attention before. Like how what she thought had been tangles in his dark hair were actually braids. How his beard couldn't quite hide how full his lips were, nor the strong line of his jaw. It was his eyes, however, that gave her pause. She had always just thought them to be dark, but in that moment, in the light of the setting sun, she could see the amber that streaked through the brown, turning his eyes into the color of pure honey. The way his eyes contrasted with his tan skin and his dark hair was…mesmerizing.

Every nerve in her body suddenly tuned into him, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not seem to pry her eyes away from his. Or perhaps it was just the way he was looking at her that kept her drawn in. His gaze flickered over her face, from her red curls down to her chin, as if studying something very interesting. When those honey eyes met hers again, his expression still gave no indication as to what might have been going through his head. Breck suddenly wished she could read his mind, just so she could know what he was thinking for once.

Loud laughter nearby finally cut through the lingering silence that had fallen over them, making Breck blink and snap back to reality. She flushed as she realized that they were just standing there in the middle of the tavern and staring at each other. Breck took a small step backward to put a bit more space between them, finding that her thoughts were a little clearer without his scent directly in her nose, and without those magnetic eyes holding hers captive.

She started to thank him for intervening and scaring off that man and his unwanted advances, knowing it was the polite thing to do, but before she could even get a word out, Tristan turned on his heel and walked away, heading straight out of the tavern.

All Breck could do was watch him go, her heart still thundering in her chest.

See you next Friday!