Let's start to turn up the heat a little, shall we?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Five days later, Breck had pushed the conversation she'd had with Vanora about Gawain and Tristan to the very back of her mind.

She had come to the decision that it did her absolutely no good to continue to fret over the two men, nor whatever she was feeling toward them. Fretting did not help matters – did not answer the questions in her head, nor clarify her feelings. In fact, all it did was confuse and frustrate her even more. So, for the sake of her own mental stability, she had forced herself to stop thinking about them as much as she could.

The men were still gone, and while it was considerably quieter – and considerably more boring – without them around to keep her company, it actually was nice to get a little time to herself again. It had also proven to be a great opportunity to get to know Vanora better, without any men around to distract them or butt into their conversations. After staying with Vanora and her children for the majority of the week, Breck felt as though she had reached a new level of friendship and understanding with the woman. She found herself now looking up to Vanora like a wiser, older sister. Vanora was, quite literally, the first female friend that Breck had ever had. It was a nice change of pace to have a woman around that she liked, trusted, and could go to when she needed help or advice.

Since the men were gone and the stables had been devoid of the horses for the past five days, Breck hadn't been there much. She, Jols, and Devran had already cleaned every nook and cranny of the stables by the second day the men were gone, and since only Lugh was staying there for the time being, the place was still relatively spotless. With there being no chores to tend to in the stables, Jols had given Breck and Devran the week off to do whatever they wished, insisting they really wouldn't be needed until the men returned.

Breck had found other ways to keep herself busy, visiting the church more than she normally did and spending more time with Lugh. She had also found herself quite preoccupied by babysitting Vanora's brood of children whenever the woman was working, which was often. The children were loud and wild, and keeping them in line was certainly a task in and of itself – Vanora had not been exaggerating when she had said the children were a rowdy bunch. They ran amuck most of the time, getting into trouble left, right, and center and certainly keeping Breck on her toes. But they could be quite sweet when they wanted to be, and they seemed to like her quite a bit, which made all the chaos worth it at least. Still, she considered it nothing short of a miracle that the kids had not yet managed to set the town on fire.

Today, however, Vanora was not due to work, which meant Breck would have a reprieve from all her babysitting duties. So, with an entire day completely void of any obligations in front of her, she had decided to take advantage of her freedom and was going to take Lugh out for a much needed ride.

After eating breakfast with Vanora and the kids, Breck said her goodbye's and started making her way toward the stables. Since it was both a Sunday and still fairly early, the town was not yet too busy with activity, which meant there were not as many people out as there usually would be. Still, as Breck trekked through town, she kept a watchful eye out, her hand resting casually on the hilt of her sword, which she had taken to wearing everywhere she went while the men were away.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but Breck was still very aware of the fact that Gerland was out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows. She hadn't actually seen the man since Tristan had chased him off in the tavern, but she knew that he was still there, and she just knew he was watching her. Everywhere she went, whether it was to church, or to the stables, or if she was taking the children to the market, she could always feel eyes on her. Somehow she just knew it was him, and she could not shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that kept warning her that he meant trouble, that he was just biding his time.

It made her uneasy, she could admit that, but she supposed it wasn't entirely surprising. If Gerland did plan to follow through on his threats, there would be no better time to do so than when Arthur and the knights were away and incapable of interfering.

For the sake of being extra cautious, Breck had been keeping herself well-armed whenever she left the safety of Vanora's. The fact that she always had a sword on her hip, even if she was just going to pick up food from the market, had certainly earned her more than one odd look, as well as the occasional wary one. Breck didn't really care what anyone thought about it, though. There was absolutely no chance she was going to let herself get caught unawares and unarmed by some lecherous pig.

Breck finally made it to the stables without incident, and the moment Lugh saw her he tossed his head in excitement. A wide, happy smile instantly stretched across Breck's face and she went to pat his neck affectionately, kissing him on the nose in greeting. She then opened the stall door so that he could join her out on the floor and went to fetch him a treat. Lugh followed her and nuzzled her shoulder, then happily gobbled up the carrots she offered to him.

She eyed the empty stalls while Lugh chomped on the carrots, sighing to herself as her thoughts turned to her absent friends.

Sure, it had been nice to get a reprieve from the rowdiness and the testosterone these past few days, and yes, she had been enjoying her time with Vanora. But the truth was that Breck really was starting to miss them. She had expected she would, of course, but perhaps not quite this much. She had grown so used to having Arthur and the men practically attached to her hip that she had almost forgotten what it was like to not have them around. It just felt…odd now.

Though it was their duty to go off on missions like these, Breck truly didn't like it. She very much preferred to have them safe at the Wall and shouting jovially at one another over drinks at the tavern, where the biggest threat to their safety was perhaps drinking too much or getting told off by Vanora when they got too rambunctious. She suddenly thought back to all the times in the past where she had watched her father leave for a dangerous journey or to ride out to battle. Each time she had had to say goodbye to him, she had been left feeling the same way – afraid for his safety, and fearful that something horrible might become of him. And the wait for him to come back, the not knowing what had become of him while they were apart, drove her absolutely insane with worry.

As Breck stared around the eerily quiet stables, she found that it was no different now. She felt the same fear, the same concern, for the men as she had felt for her father.

Breck sighed to herself, wondering where Arthur and the knights were in that moment. Were they fighting Woads somewhere? Were they sitting around a campfire, having breakfast before they were to continue on whatever road they currently travelled? Were they perhaps finished with what they had set out to do and making their way back to the Wall?

Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, she just prayed that they were safe, unharmed, and that they would return soon.

Brushing those thoughts aside as best as she could, Breck turned back to Lugh and gave him another pet. "Ready for a ride, love?" she asked in Gaelic once he'd finished his carrots.

When he nickered in response, Breck smiled and went to retrieve her saddle. Lugh stood obediently while she secured it to his back, then, once he was ready to go, she placed her foot into the stirrup and hoisted herself up onto the saddle, clicking her tongue to make him slowly trot out of the stables.

In the time it had taken her to get to the stables and saddle Lugh, the streets had already started to get busier. Breck trotted slowly through the crowd, mindful of those around her, and nodded politely to anyone who waved or said anything to her in greeting. The number of townsfolk who acknowledged her actually came as a bit of a surprise, and only further proved just how integrated into life at Hadrian's Wall she'd become. These people were acting as though she'd lived there for years, not just a matter of weeks. It was still a little strange to be treated like a normal, everyday citizen, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Breck had nearly made it to the edge of town and was busy admiring a bush full of pretty white roses when Lugh suddenly whinnied loudly and threw his head back so quickly that his mane smacked her in the face. She frowned at his abrupt halt, unsure what had caused him to behave in such a way, but then quickly spotted the source of the problem.

A man was standing in front of Lugh and holding his hands up in front of him, not looking too worried by the fact he'd nearly gotten trampled, nor by how negatively Lugh reacted to him. Upon closer inspection, she realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she recognized him. Greasy dark hair, greasy face, leering smile – it was Gerland.

"Apologies," Breck said slowly, keeping a sharp eye on the man as he moved around to the side of her. She did not know where he had come from or if he had jumped in front of Lugh on purpose or not, but she knew immediately that she did not want this interaction to last for long. "I did not see you there."

"All is forgiven," Gerland responded with a wide, unsettling grin, taking another step closer.

Breck tightened her grip on Lugh's reins as Gerland came to a halt barely a foot away. He brought with him the strong odor of ale and farm animal, and as his grin widened, she could see in the daylight that his teeth were nearly as yellow as corn. He gave her a once over, and nothing about the gleam that entered his eyes gave off the impression of good intentions. Breck stiffened in response, her muscles tensing with awareness.

"Where to on such a fine day?" he asked, his innocent tone contradicting the predatory gleam in his eyes.

Breck's eyes narrowed as Gerland reached out to place a hand on Lugh's neck. If her horse had been in a state before, now he was downright livid at the uninvited touch of this man. Lugh, like her, seemed to have picked up on the threatening aura radiating off of Gerland and was clearly uncomfortable with his close proximity. He snorted loudly, tossing his head around as he eyed the man with his large eyes, his front hooves stamping at the ground in warning. Gerland, oddly enough, seemed completely unbothered by how agitated the horse was.

"I suggest you unhand my horse," Breck said firmly, not at all liking the fact that this man was touching Lugh. She then moved a hand to rest casually on the hilt of her sword. "Or I shall do it for you," she added, the threat very clear.

Gerland looked at her, looked at her sword, then glanced at Lugh. Slowly he retracted his hand, holding both up in front of him as though surrendering. He did not move away, however, and Breck did not relax.

"Your knights," he commented with a strange glint in his eye. "They have been gone a long while."

Breck frowned, not sure she knew why he felt the need to tell her this. Everyone at the Wall was well aware that Arthur and the Sarmatians were away on duty. "Aye…and?"

Gerland lowered his hands and smirked. Her fingers itched to draw her sword, thinking it would make her feel much better if she had it drawn and ready instead of sheathed and useless, but she managed to hamper down the urge. There were plenty of townsfolk ambling around them, and though the man was giving off an unpleasant vibe, she didn't believe him stupid enough to attempt to harm her right in front of everyone.

"Must be awful…lonely," Gerland said slowly. "How much longer might they be gone for, do you think?"

Lugh whinnied again and turned just enough for her to see, from the corner of her eye, that there was movement behind her. Breck glanced that way and saw that two other men had begun to prowl their way closer. She wracked her brain, but could not recall if they had been in the tavern the night Gerland had first approached her. Regardless if they had or not, they clearly knew Gerland, who nodded to them as they made their way closer with equally threatening expressions adorning their faces.

Breck, unsettled by the fact that three men were beginning to surround her horse and very aware that this interaction could quickly turn for the worst, decided it was time to remove herself from the situation.

"I expect them back any day now," she said gruffly. Gerland opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but Breck interjected sharply before he could get any words out. "Now if you shall excuse me," she said.

And with that Breck dug her heels into Lugh's flanks and clicked her tongue. Lugh, already anxious, was eager to get away from the men and burst forward, forcing Gerland to jump out of the way to avoid getting hit or trampled over. As the distance between Breck and the men grew, she did not need to check to see if they were still watching her – she could feel their eyes on her back as Lugh galloped towards the thickets of trees in the distance.

Breck felt better once there was a considerable distance between her and the fort, her muscles finally relaxing. She was still deeply bothered by what had just happened, though.

She did not like that Gerland was getting bolder, and she liked even less that he apparently had henchmen with him. But what could she really do about the situation? She could not just flat out attack him when he had not technically done anything yet. This was a civilized town, where she would certainly face punishment for just outright attacking someone unprovoked. Even though Arthur was the Lord, he still answered to Rome, and even their friendship might not be enough to save her from grave consequences.

But Breck didn't like the idea of waiting until Gerland did do something, especially if she was going to be outnumbered. She had been in skirmishes with enemies in the past where she had found herself outnumbered before, but it had been a long time since she had been in a fight, and she would admit she was beginning to feel a little rusty. If it came down to it, she couldn't confidently say she'd be able to take on three men and actually manage to win.

So where did that leave her?

Breck thought about it a little more, then decided it was probably time to go to Arthur and tell him everything that she knew. Though it was not a conversation she particularly wished to have – Arthur would not be happy when he heard that Gerland was getting bolder with his advances – she didn't see any way around it. The situation needed to be addressed so that they could take extra precautions, before anything progressed beyond their control.

Until Arthur returned and they were able to talk, however, Breck knew she would need to keep an even sharper eye out for Gerland and his two men.

OOO

Kenrick stood before the fire of their small hut, the glow of the orange flames making his long, red hair look like a flame itself. He was finishing the ties of his armor, his eyes pensive as he seemed to mentally prepare for what was to come. The frown on his lips and furrow of his brow made the age lines on his face sink even deeper, making him appear even older than what he was.

Once he was finished, he turned his back to the fire and shifted his eyes to where she sat. Breck was only thirteen, a skinny girl with pale skin, red hair like her father's, and eyes the same deep blue color as her mother. Despite the fierce determination on his face and the imposing way he carried himself, Kenrick's eyes softened as he gazed upon her, his daughter and only child. He came to stand before Breck, reaching one large, calloused hand out to smooth down her wild red curls.

"It is him, isn't it? It is Cerdic," Breck said slowly, even though it was clear she already knew the answer. "He has come for us."

"He has come for me," Kenrick corrected firmly. "I feared this day would come, and now it has," he continued, now with a hint of resignation. "He wishes to meet me on the field of battle, so meet him I shall."

"But father –"

"It is time to end this," Kenrick cut in gently, making her fall silent. He dropped down to his knees in front of her, then placed a hand on her cheek. "All I ever wanted was to provide my family with a good, normal life." He pressed his lips together, looking a little emotional. "I failed at that, for so many years, and I lost your mother because of it." He took a moment and swiped a thumb over her cheek, catching a traitorous tear that had escaped her eye. "I will not let what happened to her happen to you. Cerdic must be dealt with once and for all."

Breck finally nodded in understanding, knowing that there would be no convincing him to stay, to not fight Cerdic again, to just keep running until he could no longer find them, even if it meant running to the very end of the earth. Her father was determined to end Cerdic, and he would not be swayed otherwise. So when he reached for a small bowl on the table and handed it to her, Breck took it, looking at the dark mud that lay in there before turning her eyes back up to her father. Kenrick nodded in encouragement, and Breck finally dipped her fingers into the cold substance.

With all of her fingertips coated in mud, she lifted them up and swiped them across his face from his right temple down to the left side of his jaw, so that he had five long streaks of dark mud streaking across his eyes, nose, mouth, and beard. It was the battle makeup he had always worn since he had begun his life as a warrior, and she could instantly see a shift in him once it was on him.

The look in his eyes changed as he stood to his full height. Gone was the farmer who tended to chickens and goats and pigs. Gone was the loving father who told her stories at bedtime, took her fishing at the river, and laughed with her until they had stitches in their sides. The man that stood before her now was the fearsome warrior of legend, a man about to face his greatest enemy.

Kenrick looked down at Breck, leaned down to kiss her forehead, then started for the door. Breck watched him go, more tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Wait!" Breck cried out in a moment of desperation, dashing after him and wrapping her arms around his middle in an attempt to stop him from leaving. "I can fight, father! Allow me to come with you! Allow me to protect you! I beg you!" she pleaded.

"No," Kenrick said firmly, even as his voice sounded thick with emotion. "You must stay here," he continued, pushing her back gently so their eyes could meet. "Promise me you will stay here," Kenrick commanded firmly.

Breck blinked, and quite suddenly she was no longer the skinny thirteen-year-old girl, but the woman she had grown into now. It was also not Kenrick that she had her arms around, either. The red hair had become shorter and turned dark, his height was still tall, but not as towering as her father, and the battle paint she had drawn on him had turned into two tribal tattoos on his cheek bones.

It was Tristan she held now, but he was looking at her in a way that he never had before. His expression seemed gentle, almost loving, and the way he held her so close to his chest, his hands warm on her waist and back, made her heart pound.

"Promise me," he said, his voice low and husky. Breck closed her eyes as he raised a hand to caress her cheek, the touch sending warmth throughout her entire body. "Promise me," he repeated, leaning so close that his nose brushed hers, that all she would have to do was tilt her head and her lips would meet his.

She had no idea what it was that he wanted her to promise him, but she'd say anything so long as he stayed where he was. So long as he kept touching her.

"I promise," she whispered, sighing when she felt his fingers glide down the column of her neck.

But when she opened her eyes again, Tristan had disappeared. In his place stood Cerdic, covered in blood and wielding a sharp sword. She didn't have time to react.

With a malicious grin that chilled her to the bone, Cerdic thrust his sword forward and buried it deep into her stomach.

OOO

Breck shot up quickly, her breath coming fast and hard. She glanced around, confused as to where she was for a moment, until her thoughts finally cleared and she was able to recognize her surroundings.

She was in a little, secluded meadow that she had stumbled upon after aimlessly riding around for a few hours. It had been pretty and quiet, so Breck had decided to stay for a while so that she and Lugh could laze about and get a break from the outside world. Somewhere along the line she must have fallen asleep.

While Lugh continued to graze nearby, as he had probably been doing the whole time she had been asleep, Breck released a heavy breath and slumped back down onto the soft grass, eyes staring unblinkingly at the grey, gloomy sky above as she thought about the dream she had just woken from.

This was not the first time that she had dreamt about the last time she had seen her father alive, nor was it the first time that Cerdic had made an appearance to viciously murder her. Usually when she woke from this particular dream, her heart either felt heavy with grief or was racing with adrenaline, depending on whether or not Cerdic showed up.

Her heart was racing now, but something told her that it had nothing to do with how the dream had ended and everything to do with the unexpected appearance of a certain Sarmatian Knight.

It wasthe first time she had dreamt of Tristan. She supposed it shouldn't have come as such a surprise, seeing as her traitorous mind had drifted to him more than she cared to admit in recent days – if he invaded her thoughts so much, it was really only a matter of time before he invaded her dreams, too. She thought back to the version of him that her mind had conjured up, the way he had looked at her with such tenderness, the gentle, loving way in which he'd touched her, how he had held her to him as though she were the most precious thing in the whole world. She could not resist raising a hand to her cheek, still able to feel the ghost of his touch, warmth spreading through her limbs unbidden.

Breck sighed and rubbed her hands over her face, trying to push the dream away and willing her heart to stop beating so hard. It had only been a dream. The Tristan in her mind was nothing like the Tristan in real life. The Tristan she knew would never look at her that way, and he would certainly never touch her or hold her like that – in fact, she was certain the only reason he would ever come so close would probably be to finally give in to the urge to throttle her. One silly dream was not something to lose her head over.

So then why would her heart not stop pounding against her ribs?

She was pulled back to reality when she felt a nudge against her shoulder. She turned her head to look at Lugh, who had trotted back over and begun nibbling on her sleeve. With another sigh, Breck hauled herself up onto her feet and patted his neck. It was probably time to get back to the Wall, before Vanora realized how long Breck had been gone for and sounded the alarm.

OOO

It was not uncommon for Hadrian's Wall to be busy during the daytime hours, but when Breck made it back to town, she was greeted with pure chaos.

Breck frowned with confusion when Lugh was forced to a stop well before they reached the stables, the streets so cluttered with people all in a frenzy that it was nearly impossible to get through without trampling somebody. It seemed that the whole town had taken to the streets. People were shouting and scurrying about, gossiping to one another and clearly stirred up over something. With her eyebrows furrowed together uncertainly, Breck urged Lugh forward to follow the bulk of the crowd at a very slow trot. The slow shuffle of people, she noticed, was heading in the direction of the knights' stables.

Her heart skipped a beat at the realization. Did that mean the knights had returned? Had her friends come home?

Excited at the prospect of seeing the men again, Breck looked down at an elderly woman who was slowly hobbling along beside her. "Excuse me," Breck said to catch the woman's attention. "Might you know what the commotion is about?"

"The Knights have returned," the woman answered with a huff, looking a little short of breath as she shuffled along.

Breck's heart immediately leapt with joy. She smiled widely, feeling both elated and relieved, already planning in her head whom she would hug first. Probably Arthur, then Galahad, then maybe Bors, so long as he promised not to squeeze her so hard that he nearly broke her bones – that brute of a man really was a ferocious hugger. Or maybe she'd give Dagonet the privilege of her first hug, since the man's embraces, though few and far between, usually felt like medicine for the soul. Or maybe she would just hug whoever her eyes landed on first…as long as it wasn't Tristan or Gawain.

Breck was still next to the elderly woman, whom she'd all but forgotten about in her surge of happiness. The woman's next words, however, quickly brought her back down to earth.

"I heard someone say that one of them died on this mission." The woman clicked her tongue. "Such a shame. I only hope it was not Lancelot. Such a nice man to look upon while these old eyes are still capable of seeing."

It was as if someone had thrown ice cold water over her as Breck swung shocked eyes to the woman.

Someone had died? Her heart stuttered in her chest and suddenly she had a hard time getting her lungs to work. No, no it couldn't be. The men were strong and well trained – they had faced countless foes according to their stories, and had always come out victorious. It was simply inconceivable that any of them would fall in battle. Surely the woman had to be mistaken.

But how many knights under Arthur's command had died before Breck had returned to the Wall? Many, according to what the men had told her. As skilled as Arthur and the Knights were, they were still only men – none of them were invincible. One of them being killed on a mission was a very real possibility, no matter how badly she didn't want to believe it.

Without sparing the woman another glance, Breck dug her heels into Lugh's flanks, making him lurch forward. She no longer cared about whether or not someone might get trampled, only giving the small courtesy of yelling out a warning for people to move and then trusting they had enough common sense to do as she said. Breck needed to get to the men and see what had happened – she needed to find out for herself if what the woman had said was true.

The majority of the crowd, as expected, had gathered around the knights' stables. Breck was finally able to get close enough to see the stables, easily looking over the thick crowd from her perch atop Lugh's tall frame. The door leading into the stables was shut, but there were two men standing outside, almost acting like a barrier between the crowd and the doors. It was Jols and a very dirty, very irritable Lancelot. Though she couldn't hear them over the dull roar of the crowd, it looked as though the two were trying to get everyone to disperse. The crowd, however, was in such a tizzy because of their return and because of the apparent death amongst their ranks that the commands were falling on deaf ears.

With a scowl and a red-hot feeling of anger, Breck unsheathed her sword and started pushing her way through the crowd again.

"Move! Get on with you!" she shouted at the people she passed. Lugh whinnied loudly as he pushed his way through the crowd, knocking people to the side with his huge body. There were shouts of protest and indignation as people were roughly jostled about, but Breck ignored them and continued to bark orders. "Move along!" she yelled again, swinging her sword in the air to prove that she meant business. "Be gone with you!"

Whether it was to avoid her sword or to avoid getting trampled by Lugh's large, stamping hooves, the crowd parted just enough for her to get through. Breck finally made it to Jols and Lancelot, who both looked relieved that she had intervened. She spared them a glance before turning fierce eyes on the now much quieter crowd. Whatever was going on in the stables, whether someone was hurt or if someone actually had died, the presence of the townsfolk was doing absolutely nothing to help the situation.

"Have you no decency?" Breck shouted at the people angrily. "These men are not here for your entertainment! Now move along and give them peace, or else you will begin tasting the steel of my blade!" she threatened. "Be gone! Now!"

The crowd was still and silent for a split second. But, slowly, people began to break away one by one and return to whatever they had been doing before the men had arrived. Only when the crowd had thinned considerably did Breck drop her guard and finally return her sword to its sheath. Then she dismounted Lugh and joined Jols and Lancelot.

"Very well done," Lancelot said, nodding his head to her gratefully. She couldn't help but notice how much blood was on his armor now that she was next to him. "You are indeed every bit the terror Arthur depicted you to be," he added, a grim smirk appearing on his lips in spite of everything.

Breck ignored his half-hearted joke, her anger swiftly replaced by fear. "Is it true? Has someone died?" she asked urgently.

"Nobody is dead," Lancelot said with a shake of his head, which had her breathing a huge sigh of relief. "But there are injuries. Some of them severe." He then beckoned her to follow him inside. "Come."

Breck pressed her lips into a thin line as Lancelot opened the door to the stables, already preparing herself for the worst. She barely even felt the weight of Jols' hand on her shoulder as he gave her a comforting pat before stepping inside.

The sight that awaited her made her heart stop. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Bors, who was obviously one of the injured. He was laid out on one of the benches, unconscious, badly bleeding, and being looked over by Dagonet. Gawain hovered over Bors and Dagonet, seemingly unscathed, but there was blood on him and his expression was one of great concern as he eyed his hurt comrade. Galahad sat close by, pressing a cloth to his forehead in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood coming from a large gash there.

Shifting her eyes to the right, Breck realized with a sinking feeling that the other injured man was Tristan. Though he was making no sounds of discomfort, he was leaning heavily against one of the stall doors and holding a blood-soaked cloth to his side, his face twisted into a grimace of pain. Arthur, who only appeared to have a few minor wounds, was keeping a supportive hand on Tristan's shoulder, as though afraid the man would tumble at any moment.

There was no time to feel relieved that Arthur was relatively unscathed, because she was far too concerned for Tristan and Bors. It was impossible to see Tristan's injury, due to his armor and the cloth he held keeping it concealed from sight, but the amount of bright red blood she saw soaking that cloth was certainly concerning. And as for Bors…Breck swallowed thickly as she looked at her friend again, her stomach sinking.

Whatever had happened to him, he was in very bad shape.

"The crowd is dispersed, thanks to our fearsome woman," Lancelot announced, placing a hand on Breck's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "We should be able to move freely now."

"Good," Dagonet responded, his eyes immediately locking on Breck. "Breck, I shall need your help."

She shook her head, coming back to reality, and quickly handed Lugh's reins over to Jols before making her way toward the benches. Breck briefly touched Galahad's shoulder as she passed him, shared a grim nod with Gawain, then came to stand by Dagonet. She had a feeling she knew why he was calling her over – Dagonet might be the only true healer in town, but their numerous discussions and lessons about healing over the past few weeks meant she was probably the person most capable of helping him.

"Tell me what I can do for you, Dag," she said, sounding much calmer than she actually felt, her heart clenching as she got a look at Bors up close.

No wonder the townsfolk had been convinced that someone had died – he was so pale and so still, she might have thought him dead herself if not for the subtle rise and fall of his chest.

Dagonet glanced at her over his shoulder, his face set in concentration. "I need you to leave for the infirmary at once. I need two work stations prepared so that I can attend to both Bors and Tristan," he instructed her in a serious, authoritative tone. Then he glanced at Tristan before nodding toward the scout. "Take him with you, begin tending to his injuries if you are comfortable doing so. I will be along with Bors shortly."

Breck nodded, squeezed Dagonet's shoulder in parting, then headed toward Tristan without argument. As she neared him, she could see that Arthur and Lancelot had begun helping him shed his armor. A large part of his tunic was soaked through with blood, making her grimace with concern.

"Dagonet has ordered me to take him to the infirmary," Breck said as she came to a halt in front of the trio of men. She looked briefly at Arthur, then turned her attention to Tristan. He was watching her through the dark strands of hair that so often fell over his face, his brow slick with sweat and his teeth gritted against the pain of his injury. "Can you manage the journey?" she asked, her tone likely the gentlest one she had ever used where it concerned the scout.

Tristan merely looked at her for a moment, then nodded once.

"I shall help you get him there," Arthur volunteered.

Breck nodded and then took a moment to eye Tristan, trying to determine how best to help him along. Judging by how heavily he leaned against the horse stall, he seemed to be having trouble supporting his own weight, which meant there was really only one thing to do. So Breck pressed her lips together tightly, then moved to Tristan's side so she could grab one of his arms and drape it around her shoulders.

He didn't protest like she thought he would. He instead let out a tiny hiss of pain and leaned heavily against her, his hand gripping tightly to her shoulder. Once Arthur had his other arm around his own shoulders, they gave Tristan a moment to collect himself, then set off for the infirmary.

"What happened?" Breck finally asked once they were out of the stables.

"A Woad ambush," Arthur told her. "They attacked us last night whilst we were resting. We did not even know it was coming," he added in an angry tone, clearly upset with the fact that they had been caught by surprise and were now paying the penalty for it.

"Have you any injuries you are hiding for the sake of the other men receiving treatment first?" she asked with a pointed look at Arthur behind Tristan's head, knowing very well that her friend would do something stupidly noble like that.

Arthur shook his head and gave her a quick, grim smile. "A few minor scrapes, but I am well. I promise," he reassured her. Arthur then quirked a brow, his expression turning more serious again. "I trust you have been well also," he said. "Things have been uneventful in our absence?"

Breck instantly thought back to the encounter with Gerland and his cronies earlier that day and pressed her lips together. "Aye, I am well…though I will confess our time apart has not been completely uneventful." Arthur was not the only one to look at her sharply at those words – even Tristan's attention was caught. Breck merely shook her head, thinking this was neither the time, nor the place. "We will discuss it later. There are more important things to worry about at the moment."

Arthur seemed like he wanted to argue, but then changed his mind and did not press the issue.

They reached the infirmary soon enough. They managed to get through the door whilst still supporting Tristan and led him over to a cot on the far wall. After Arthur assured her that he could get Tristan onto the bed himself, Breck began hurrying around the infirmary to start getting work stations ready for Dagonet. She searched around wildly for sewing needles, thread, herbs, bandages – anything that she thought Dagonet would need for tending to injuries like the ones Tristan and Bors had sustained.

"Go, Arthur," she heard Tristan say in his low voice. "I am not dying, and you have more important matters to attend to."

Breck glanced at them over her shoulder and saw the hesitant look on Arthur's face. Obviously he didn't feel comfortable with the idea of leaving one of his men while he was wounded. "Are you certain?" Arthur asked unsurely.

Tristan just nodded once.

With a sigh, Arthur patted Tristan's shoulder and said a few quiet, parting words that she couldn't hear, before coming over to her. "Are you going to stay with him?" he asked quietly, as if he didn't want Tristan to overhear.

Breck glanced at Tristan, who was watching her and Arthur, then nodded. "Aye. Dag has asked me to begin tending to his injuries. I will be here with him," she said, shifting her gaze back to Arthur.

Arthur's shoulders relaxed some as he gave her a grateful look, then sighed heavily. "I need to find Vanora, inform her of what has happened to Bors."

"She will be at home with the children," Breck said.

Arthur nodded once in understanding. Then his expression turned a little more stern. "I want to know what happened while we were gone," he said, leaving no room for argument. "Come and find me once you are finished here. We will speak about it then."

Breck just nodded her head in agreement, and with that, Arthur left.

When Arthur closed the door behind him, it felt as though he took all the air out of the room with him.

Now acutely aware of the fact that she was completely alone with Tristan, Breck slowly shifted her eyes over to the quiet scout. He was still watching her, his sharp eyes taking note of everything she was doing. With a deep breath, she picked up a few of the supplies she'd gathered and went to lay them out neatly on the small table next to his bed. His gaze was making her feel nervous, but Breck did her best to hide it and tried to keep her mind focused on the task at hand. Tristan was hurt, and though she lacked experience in the healing field, he needed help.

Breck cleared her throat, picking up a vial of clear liquid that she'd seen Dagonet use to clean cuts, and then turned to Tristan. The bloodstain on his shirt was so big, it was hard to tell where exactly it was all originating from. "Dagonet has asked me to begin tending to your injuries, if you do not have any arguments about it."

Tristan hesitated for a moment. "I do not," he finally said.

Breck gulped quietly to herself, her eyes turning back to his bloodied shirt. She took a step closer, hesitating only a second before pressing a gentle hand to his shoulder to urge him to lie down. His eyes dropped down to where she was touching him, which made her heart skip a beat, before he allowed her to guide him onto his back. He winced as he stretched out on the bed, which had Breck shooting him an apologetic look.

Taking a seat next to his side, she uncorked the vial and then reached for a clean cloth. "I was unaware you were a healer," Tristan suddenly commented, momentarily surprising her by the fact that he was even starting up a conversation in the first place.

Breck shrugged guiltily. "Truthfully, I am not," she admitted. "But I have a habit of acquiring injuries, some of which I had no choice but to tend to on my own, so I have learned things over the years. Dag has also been teaching me in his spare time," she added.

"That is why you visit him here so often?" Tristan questioned.

Of course he would know that she spent a lot of time with Dagonet – he was still following her after all, always keeping an eye out for any danger that might be headed her way. Breck gave a wry smile. "For lessons, as well as for company," she told him. "Not everyone is so repulsed by me as you are," she couldn't help but add. There was no malice in her tone. She was just merely stating a fact.

Tristan did not say anything in response to that.

Breck refocused on his bloodied shirt, trying to ascertain the best way to treat him. With a jittery feeling, she realized she'd have to move his shirt out of the way to reach the wound. "I must…" she trailed off, willing herself not to blush as she indicated towards his shirt.

Tristan nodded his consent. Breck held her breath and reached for the hem of the fabric, pushing it up and out of the way so that she could find his wound. She forced herself not to acknowledge the olive skin and muscles suddenly revealed to her, her eyes instead focusing on the hastily made, blood-soaked bandage around his middle. Breck pulled it away and frowned in concern when she saw the gash it was concealing – it was just underneath his ribs, about eight inches long, and deep enough that it would likely leave a significant scar. It seemed as though the bleeding had slowed almost to a stop, which was a relief, but the cut itself definitely needed some attention.

"This will sting," Breck warned, holding the vial of liquid just over his cut.

Tristan just motioned for her to do whatever she had to.

Breck tilted the vial and poured the cleansing medicine into the cut. Tristan hissed loudly, his eyes squeezing shut against the discomfort, one hand fisting the blanket on the bed. He let out a small grunt when she pressed a clean cloth into his side, using firm pressure to both stop any lingering bleeding and to make sure the medicine stayed where it was supposed to.

"My apologies," Breck said softly, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathed through the pain. The only signal that he had heard her was a quick nod from him. "Are there any other injuries that need attention?" she asked next.

"No," he ground out, relaxing a bit now that he was growing accustomed to the pressure on his wound.

As silence fell between them once more, Breck began to thoroughly clean his wound, wiping away the dried blood around it and making sure the wound itself was as clean as could be. While she worked, she did her very best to resist the urge to peek at his body…but her eyes had a mind of their own. Breck's gaze wandered to the muscles of his stomach, which were well-formed after years of training with weapons and fighting in battles. There were scars marking his skin here or there, some big, some small, and a line of dark hair that led from his navel down toward his trousers.

Breck's gaze followed that line of hair, before she cleared her throat and forcefully turned her gaze back to his wound. When she chanced a glance at his face, she saw that Tristan was watching her every move. She fought hard against the blush in her cheeks, praying he hadn't noticed her admiring his physique.

"How many Woads ambushed you?" she asked in the hope that it would keep him from thinking too hard about her staring.

"A dozen."

Breck sighed and shook her head. "Cowardly of them to attack while you were resting," she commented. "I hope you killed the one who did this to you."

"I did," Tristan confirmed. He paused for a moment, his eyes never straying from her. "What happened while we were away?" he asked.

Breck looked back up at him, then she pursed her lips and sighed, turning her eyes downward to his wound again. "Gerland has been getting…bolder," she revealed to him.

The only indication that this news had any sort of effect on Tristan was the slight tightening of his jaw, and even then she wasn't sure if it was because of what she had said, or because she had just pressed a fresh, clean cloth to his wound. "What did he do?"

"He has been watching me closely while you and the men have been gone," Breck told him. "I did not catch him in the act, but I know he has been there. It was not until this morning that he approached me again." Though approached wasn't exactly the right word, she supposed. "He practically threw himself in front of Lugh to try to stop me from going on a ride this morning. And he had friends with him," she said. "I am glad I was with Lugh, and able to get away quickly. I cannot say with certainty that things would have gone…badly…but I am grateful I did not have to find out." Breck shook her head and frowned. "The signs are indicating that his threats were not mere talk, after all."

She did not bother trying to disguise how uneasy the interaction had made her, which Tristan immediately noticed. "He will not get close to you. None of them will," Tristan said firmly, making her eyes lift to his again. There seemed to be an air of determination around him in that moment. "I will not allow it."

Breck's heart skipped a beat in her chest. She had proclaimed time and again that she did not need a protector, that she could take care of herself and handle her own affairs, just as she had done for so long. But these past few days, with the men gone and without Tristan around to keep an eye out for danger, she had felt unexpectedly vulnerable and on edge. She truly hadn't realized how much comfort she had taken in the knowledge that Tristan was usually there, acting as a buffer between her and anyone who might want to cause her harm, until he was gone.

In that moment, she couldn't decide what was more shocking – that she was actually grateful that Tristan had been protecting her, that Tristan seemed so dedicated to doing so, or that he was speaking about it all as if he actually cared what happened to her.

Breck stared at him for a moment, then paused in her work and cleared her throat, sitting back a little as her fingers toyed with the bloody cloth in her hands. "It is no secret that I put forth quite a fuss when I found out Arthur had ordered you to tail me," she said. "But I…I want you to know that I am appreciative for your protection."

Breck thought, for a split second, that Tristan actually seemed surprised by the fact that she was expressing gratitude. He said nothing, though, simply continued to stare at her, and she truly, honestly hated the fact that she couldn't read what was going on behind those fascinating eyes of his.

"This is the part where you say you are welcome," she prompted with an awkward smile.

That wasn't what Tristan said, though.

"You do not repulse me," he said in probably the nicest tone she had ever heard from him, making her blink at him as the unexpected confession caught her off guard. "Nor do I think you ignorant, or a halfwit," he added, echoing her words from their last argument the day before the knights had departed. The very same day that Breck's entire outlook on Tristan had begun to change.

Breck didn't know what to say. Since the moment they had met, they had been at odds. Tristan had been rude, snide, cold, and downright unfriendly at every turn. Breck had believed that he absolutely hated her. But that was certainly not hatred behind those words he had just spoken, and even if his expression was impenetrable as ever, there was something in his eyes that she had never seen before. And that something, coupled with what he had just told her, made her heart begin to pound against her ribs.

Suddenly the door opened with a loud BANG, nearly making Breck jump clean out of her own skin. Both she and Tristan looked to the door, where Dagonet had just entered through while carrying a still unconscious Bors over his shoulder.

The moment between them, whatever it had been, was broken, and Breck was immensely glad for that. As Tristan kept his gaze firmly trained on Dagonet and Bors, Breck hastily jumped up from the bed, grabbing yet another rag to clean her hands. Wanting to check in on Bors – and feeling it very necessary to put space between her and Tristan – she went to the other side of the room, where Dagonet was easing Bors down onto the other bed.

"Any change?" she asked, hoping that Bors had at least woken up.

Dagonet shook his head as he stood to his full height again, turning tired, worried eyes to her. "None." He glanced over at Tristan. "How is he?"

Breck glanced at the scout in question, who was now staring at the ceiling above him. "His bleeding has slowed, but the wound likely needs stitching," she informed him.

"Any signs of a fever?" he asked as he began to work at undoing Bors's shirt.

Breck hesitated, then went back to Tristan's bed. Tristan's eyes slid back to hers, but whatever look had been in them before was gone, replaced by the indecipherable shield once more. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth momentarily, Breck hesitated once more before finally, gently brushing his dark hair away from his face so that she could lay a hand on his forehead. She could have sworn she saw his eyes close at the touch, but they were open again so quickly that she decided she'd only imagined it.

"No. He feels well," she told Dagonet, pulling her hand away again.

"Good," Dagonet said, sounding at least somewhat relieved. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "You are good with stitching, yes?"

Breck had a feeling she knew why he was asking. "I am," she confirmed.

Dagonet nodded. "Bors's wounds desperately need my attention," he said. "Are you willing to stitch Tristan?"

Breck pressed her lips together again, her stomach flipping. That would require getting very close to him, as well as touching him. It seemed risky to her, given all the traitorous thoughts she'd been having about him, given the unexpected exchanges they'd had before Dagonet had arrived.

But he was injured, Breck reminded herself, and the sooner he was helped the better off he would be. Not to mention that Dagonet likely had a lot of hard work ahead of him to help Bors. She would be doing them all a big favor if she just did as Dagonet asked.

Breck shoved her nervousness aside and nodded. "Aye, I will. So long as Tristan does not mind."

They both looked at Tristan, who nodded in permission.

There was nothing more to be discussed as she and Dagonet got to work.

Breck sat next to Tristan's bed once more so that she could begin stitching his wound closed, and while it was not a difficult task, it was a lengthy one due to how long the gash was and how many stitches it required. She and Tristan did not speak while she worked, but Breck could feel him watching her. She dutifully kept her eyes on her task, doing her best to ignore his staring so that her nerves wouldn't get the better of her. Something she could not ignore, however, was the way the muscles in his abdomen tensed and clenched whenever her fingers brushed over his skin as she worked. Whether it was because she was touching him or because he was in pain, however, she couldn't be sure.

After Breck finished stitching the wound, she smoothed some salve over the cut and then placed gentle hands on his arm and shoulder so that she could help him up. Once he was sitting up in bed, he held his shirt up for her so that she could secure a fresh bandage over the wound to protect it while it healed. But as Breck began to wrap a long strip of cloth around his middle to keep the bandage in place, the tentative handle she had gotten on her nerves slipped, and her heart began to gallop beneath her ribs once more.

Wrapping the wound meant she had to step in close in order to pass the bandage from hand to hand behind his back, and it was the closest she had ever been to him. Her front was mere inches from his, their heads so close that she felt his hair brushing her cheek whenever she made another pass. It reminded her just a little too much of her dream, and how close they had been as he held her and touched her.

Breck tried not to think about that and held her breath as she did what she had to, willing herself to act as professionally as possible and skillfully avoiding his eyes the entire time. From how still Tristan was being and how intently he was staring at the wall, it seemed he was trying to do the same.

Breck finally finished wrapping the wound, secured it with a firm knot, then took a large step backwards, happy to put some space between her and Tristan again. She went to a nearby basin to clean her hands, still able to feel Tristan's gaze on her back as he wordlessly lowered his shirt back down.

"He is done, Dag," she announced.

Dagonet, who had been intent on what he was doing with Bors, finally looked up and gave her a quick, grateful smile. "I cannot thank you enough," he said.

Breck went back to Dagonet's side, frowning as the healer sighed wearily and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, either unaware or uncaring of the fact that he smeared blood on his own skin as he did so. She looked at Bors again, able to see the extent of his wounds now that Dagonet had cleaned them and begun to stitch them closed. He had been stabbed more than once, and he had a deep, nasty gash on his arm, as if somebody had attempted to cut it off. His wounds looked so severe, it seemed a miracle he had even survived.

Breck couldn't help but think of Vanora and the kids. How would they even manage if Bors didn't survive? How terrified were they all right now, knowing that Bors was on the brink of death? Did they even know what had happened to him yet?

"Will he live?" Breck asked, swallowing thickly.

Dagonet frowned down at his injured friend. "He has lost much blood, and these wounds will need much time to heal, but…I think he will live. The man is too stubborn to die," he said, forcing a smile on. "With a little time, and a little rest, he should be back to his loud, obnoxious self in no time."

Breck managed a smile of her own. "Let us hope so." She sighed as she looked at Bors one last time. "I should go. I wish to inform Vanora of how Bors is doing, and she will likely be in need of a friend to lean on." She then placed a hand on Dagonet's shoulder. "If there is anything else that you need, do not hesitate to ask me, my friend."

"I will not," he said with a nod and a grateful smile. "Thank you again."

"You are welcome."

Dagonet returned his attention to Bors as Breck stepped away. Her eyes drifted toward Tristan as she headed for the door, curious if he would do or say anything more, but he only continued to sit there, his eyes and expression carefully blank. She waited for acknowledgement from him, perhaps a thank you for helping, or even just a nod to show that he was appreciative of what she had done. But no such thing came, and it was as if nothing had even transpired between them at all.

Breck did not anticipate just how much that truly stung her.

Pressing her lips together, she firmly turned her eyes forward as she left, determined not to look at him again, absolutely refusing to let him see that she was bothered by anything.

She only wished now that her fingertips would stop tingling with the memory of his skin beneath them.

See you next Friday!