Love & Vengeance - A rewrite of A Lady's Vengeance

by Carrot Top

After the murder of her family, Breck dedicated her life to hunting the one responsible - Cerdic. For years, she knew only hatred and vengefulness. But when her quest for revenge leads her back to Hadrian's Wall, back to her best friend Arthur, Breck finds herself on a brand new journey. One that teaches her to live again, to love again, and helps her find her true self once more.

11. Chapter Ten

This chapter is certainly a long one, but definitely a good one (in my humble opinion)! I hope you enjoy it!

I do want to put a trigger warning here though – there is attempted SA toward the end, though it is brief and not overly graphic. Just a heads up.

---

CHAPTER TEN

---

The next five days passed very quickly.

The horses required a lot of attention after the long journey they had just been on, which meant Breck spent so much time in the stables that she felt as though she practically lived there. The days were a blur of tending to hooves, fixing horseshoes, taking care of superficial wounds some of the horses had obtained, and just generally waiting on them hand and foot as they recovered from the strenuous journey. The work was certainly more grueling than usual, and it left her aching and exhausted by the time it was done.

Her work in the stables was not the only thing keeping her preoccupied, however.

If Breck was not in the stables, then she was at Vanora and Bors's. Bors, she was thankful to report, was doing well. He was still weak, of course, and had been bedridden in the infirmary, where he could remain under the watchful eye of Dagonet in the crucial, early days of his healing. But given the fact that the man had nearly died, he was faring better than they had all anticipated.

With Bors out of commission and in no condition to be taking care of his family, however, Vanora had desperately needed help taking care of the children. Given the fact that Breck was already used to helping Vanora keep an eye on her brood, Breck had been more than happy to lend her support. So Breck had extended her stay at Vanora's even longer, living with the woman temporarily so that she was always around to help when she was needed.

And as if all of that wasn't already enough to ensure she resembled a chicken running about with its head cut off, Breck had still somehow managed to squeeze in two training sessions with her four students. She simply felt too guilty robbing the boys of their lessons, especially so because they seemed to enjoy it so much. So, in spite of her demanding schedule, she had specifically carved out time just for them, keeping the lessons a little shorter than usual, but showing up for them regardless.

Needless to say, she'd been so busy that she had barely had time to eat and sleep, and she certainly hadn't had time to drink and socialize with her friends like she usually did. Breck had hardly spent any time with the men since they had returned. She'd seen Dagonet the few times she'd been able to get to the infirmary to check in on Bors, and she'd had one breakfast with Arthur when he stopped by to visit with Vanora, but other than that, her interactions with the rest of the men had been sparse and fleeting, reduced to quick hellos or very brief conversations in the street before she was hurrying off to tend to some sort of business elsewhere.

Tonight, however, would finally be a night where they all could unwind and spend time together again. Because today was a very special day.

It was Arthur's birthday.

Arthur had, at first, insisted that he wanted his birthday celebration to be a quiet affair. He had wanted only the company of Breck and his men, with a few musicians to set the mood and lots of food and wine for them to indulge in.

Lancelot, however, had decided that would simply not be good enough. He firmly believed that they all needed a good party to get them out of the funk Bors's close brush with death had put them in and had placed himself in charge of arranging the festivities for the evening. And he certainly had gone to extreme lengths to ensure it would be a night to remember. He had hired a large musical group to come play, ordered enough food and alcohol to feed an army, and, from what Breck had gathered, seemed to have invited every living soul at Hadrian's Wall.

By now, the entire town was abuzz with the upcoming event. All day long the town had been as active as a stomped-on anthill. Men and women hurried about everywhere, setting up tables and banners and decorations in the square. Children ran around excitedly, even more riled up than usual because of the buzz of the adults around them. The knights had made themselves useful by hauling in barrels of ale and setting up a temporary stage for the musicians to perform on. Even all the way from the stables, Breck could hear music and laughter and excited chatter floating from the square. According to Jols, massive parties like the one they were about to attend did not happen often. He had assured her that the night would most likely be one for the history books.

As the hours ticked by and the starting time for the party quickly approached, Breck wanted very badly to abandon her work in the stables and start getting ready for the festivities. She had never been invited to a party before, let alone one of this magnitude. She wanted to be there to witness every single part of it, not wanting to miss a single thing about this surely epic night about to come.

Unfortunately, she was stuck waiting for Gawain and Galahad to return with their horses, which they had taken out that morning in order to haul in one last batch of ale from a neighboring village. Jols had given her strict instructions to stay in the stables and see to the two horses upon the knights' return, so she was, regrettably, stuck where she was. They seemed to be taking extra long to return, too, much to her frustration. And if she knew them even half as well as she liked to believe, it was probably because they had gotten distracted by drinking some of the ale they were supposed to deliver.

She managed to pass the time by tending to the other horses and by working on a birthday present for Arthur. Considering he was a Lord who already had practically everything he could ever want, she had struggled on what to get him. Eventually she had settled on a new pair of riding gloves, thinking it would be a gift that was both practical and one that he could use for a long time to come. To make them a little more special, she had purchased some outrageously expensive golden thread and had spent the past few days embroidering Arthur's initials onto them. Finishing up the embroidery was a good distraction while she waited for Galahad and Gawain to return, but the rising commotion outside was certainly not forgotten.

By the time Gawain and Galahad finally turned up, looking windblown from riding around all day and more than a little intoxicated – just as she had suspected, the predictable lushes – the sun had begun to go down and the party had already begun. Breck was both relieved and annoyed at the sight of them – happy they had finally returned so she could leave the stables and get to the party, but also annoyed with her friends for taking so damned long in the first place. As punishment, she refused to let them leave and forced them to help her get the horses settled for the night. The process went a lot faster with three people doing the job, and soon enough they were all free to get on with their night.

"I have never attended a party such as this," Breck said as they exited the stables, rubbing her hands together excitedly.

"It shall be quite a celebration, have no doubt about that," Galahad confirmed, before offering his arm. "Surely you wish to change," he said, eyeing her dirty work clothes. "Shall I escort you to your quarters?"

Breck nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Lead the way, good sir," she said with a grin.

"I am going to reserve us a table," Gawain wisely decided, breaking away from them and starting in the direction of the square. "I shall meet you both there," he called over his shoulder, waving a hand. "Do not be too long!"

Breck and Galahad both promised they would be there soon and waved goodbye to him. But while Galahad quickly turned his attention forward, Breck could not help letting her eyes linger on the retreating back of Gawain for a second or two longer.

She had been having a difficult time forgetting about what had transpired between them outside the infirmary the day the men had returned. It wasn't the way he had looked at her, or touched her, or been affectionate that she kept dwelling on, but rather that look of hurt, that look of rejection, that she had seen pass over his face when she had pulled away from him so quickly. He had been acting mostly normally around her the few times they had seen each other and seemed as though he had brushed off the incident, but Breck still felt a lingering, nagging guilt over the whole situation.

With a sigh, Breck turned her eyes forward again. When she did so, she realized by the knowing grin on his face that Galahad had seen her staring after Gawain. Breck immediately rolled her eyes and whacked his arm.

"Oh, shut it," she grumbled. "It is not what you think it is."

Galahad chuckled to himself. "If you say so," he said, sounding unconvinced.

The sun had gone down and the streets were deserted by the time she and Galahad had freshened up, changed, and reconvened outside their quarters to head toward the square. From the knights' quarters it was easy to hear the ruckus taking place, sounding far louder than it had previously, and as she stepped out to meet with Galahad, she could see her own excitement mirrored on her friend's handsome face.

Galahad whistled when he saw her, making her immediately blush. She'd forgone her usual attire – and her weapons – in favor of wearing a nice dress that she had purchased specifically for this occasion. It was more modestly cut than the one Vanora had given her, but it still showed off what little curve she boasted and was in a flattering dark green shade, which complimented her fair skin and red hair. She had freed her curls from the braid she often wore, tying back the top half so it was out of her face and letting the rest of it flow down her back, even using a scented oil to try to tame her wild curls. Hanging around her neck, resting just above the modest amount of cleavage her dress provided, was her father's necklace, which she always wore.

"You are a vision," Galahad complimented, offering his elbow once she was by his side.

Still unfamiliar with receiving compliments, Breck quirked an eyebrow at him as she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow once more. "You do not have to flatter me. You already have my friendship," she shot at him with a smirk.

Galahad immediately sent her an exasperated look. "Are you always so incapable of accepting compliments?" he asked.

Breck laughed and shrugged. "Aye, I am," she answered simply.

"Well, perhaps that is something you should work at improving upon," Galahad suggested. He began to lead her toward the party, a brief silence passing between them before he looked down at her with a little smirk. "So," he said, just a touch too casually, "shall you dance with Gawain tonight?" he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

Breck tried to look indifferent, not wanting to encourage any teasing on Galahad's part, but knew her blushing cheeks were giving her away. "I intend to dance with all of you tonight," she countered, hoping that would deter any further questions about Gawain.

Galahad raised his brows at her. "Even Tristan?" he replied knowingly.

Just the mere mention of Tristan made her heart immediately skip a beat.

He was the only knight she had not seen at all since that day. Tristan was exceedingly good at making himself near invisible when he did not want to be seen, but these past handful of days, he truly seemed to have vanished into thin air. She had seen neither hide nor hair of him. It was possible that he had been taking the much needed time to rest and recover, or perhaps she had just been too busy to notice him – which was doubtful, considering she had become keenly aware of him, even before this new attraction had made itself known. But no matter what excuse her mind conjured up, she could not shake the feeling that she had done something wrong that day at the infirmary. That she had not seen Tristan these past five days because he had been actively avoiding her.

She had also been having a difficult time deciding whether that disappointed her or not.

Breck pressed her lips together and turned her eyes away from Galahad's. "Perhaps not everyone, then," she conceded. She hadn't even been certain Tristan would attend the party in the first place – now that she knew he was coming, she strongly suspected he'd be keeping his distance from her.

When they arrived at the square, the place looked almost unrecognizable. Gone were the numerous vendors shouting from behind their carts, gone were the sounds of blacksmiths and carpenters and people hard at work.

Instead, the square was filled with the sound of music, and there were fire dancers and jugglers and joyous faces as far as the eye could see. Couples danced to the fast paced song being played by the musicians, while more party-goers than she could count ambled around, talking and eating and drinking their fill. Breck couldn't stop herself from grinning excitedly at the sight of it all, and could not even bring herself to be annoyed when a drunken man nearly crashed into her as he tripped over his own feet. By some miracle, the man managed not to spill even a drop of his ale when he fell to the ground. Breck had to snicker to herself when he pulled himself back up, downed the remainder of his drink, and then headed toward the ale station to get a refill.

Breck and Galahad went straight to the ale station themselves. Once they both had a drink in hand, they shared a smile and clinked their mugs together.

"To tonight," Breck said in cheers.

"To friends," Galahad added, before they both took a long drink.

"Breck! Galahad!" Gawain's voice sounded over the crowd. They turned to see him about ten yards away, standing on a chair and waving his arms wildly as he tried to catch their attention. "Over here!" he shouted for good measure, motioning them toward him.

Galahad waved to let the man know he'd been heard, then grasped Breck by the hand. "Come on," he said, before starting to pull her through the crowd.

It became all too clear that Galahad and Gawain were not the only ones who had started to indulge long before the celebration had actually been slated to begin. Though the festivities had only officially been underway for a short while, many of the men and women around her were already well inebriated. There was so much laughter and boisterous conversation everywhere she turned, and it was absolutely impossible to go more than a foot without somebody bumping into her because the drink had put them off balance. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she and Galahad pushed past a large group, only for Breck to soon spot a couple in a very intimate looking embrace – one that would have been much better suited for the privacy of a bedroom. She quickly averted her gaze, choosing to concentrate on not trampling over the multitude of children running freely around the party instead.

The Sarmatians had claimed a large table not far from the stage and immediately cheered upon spotting her and Galahad. Gawain was standing by the table with not one, but two mugs of ale in his hands, talking loudly with Jols and Dagonet, who were both seated and looked to be in good spirits as they ate and drank. Breck looked at who sat across from Dagonet, and blinked in surprise before grinning widely. It was Bors, who despite his multiple bandage-covered wounds and a still slightly pale complexion, had finally been released from his sickbed in the infirmary and was drinking heartily. Vanora sat beside him as he conversed with someone who had come to congratulate him on his recovery, while their brood of children ran amuck nearby.

Breck broke away from Galahad and immediately went to where Bors sat. Without caring what strangers might say about her or the affectionate gesture, she set her ale on the table and then leaned down to hug the burly man from behind, catching him by surprise with the embrace if the way he tensed was anything to judge by.

"Words cannot express how much it pleases me to see you in better health, friend," she said sincerely over the music, squeezing him for good measure. "I did not expect to see you on the loose so soon."

Bors's muscles relaxed once more. He smiled at her over his shoulder when she moved away a fraction and reached up to pat one of the arms she had wrapped around him. "I've a long way to go yet," he admitted. "I have only been released for drinkin', not fightin'," he said with a shrug. "Thank you for the well wishes, my friend. And many thanks for helpin' Vanora watch my brood," Bors added, his expression as sincere as it was fond. "We owe you a debt for all you have done for us."

She smiled at his kind words and hugged him one last time. When Breck released him, she couldn't resist poking him in the side playfully. "You are being exceedingly kind tonight," she observed teasingly. "Your stay in the infirmary has not turned you docile, has it?"

"Oi!" he said at once, pointing a finger at her in warning.

Breck laughed and then turned to Vanora when the woman placed a hand on her shoulder. They shared a long hug, which was interrupted once the children realized she was there and came to bombard her with hugs of their own. Breck laughed happily at their enthusiasm, patting heads and returning as many hugs as she could keep up with, her heart feeling lighter already.

Breck turned to greet the rest of the table, first saying hello to Jols, then to Dagonet. Jols gave her a hearty greeting in return, his cheeks already pink from the drink. As for Dagonet, the healer lifted his ale to her, tilting his head to her in a friendly, greeting nod before knocking back a good portion of his drink. Breck had to raise her brows – Dagonet was the only one in the bunch who wasn't usually a heavy drinker, but that didn't appear to be the case tonight.

Now she was beginning to understand why Jols had thought this would be a party of epic proportions – apparently, events such as these were the times when everyone, even the most reserved of people, threw caution to the wind and allowed themselves to truly have a fun time.

Smiling to herself, she picked up her ale and took a quick drink as she tried to rope Vanora into conversation, only for Five and Seven to interrupt and start excitedly rehashing some tale about a chicken that had chased them through town while she had been busy in the stables. Breck laughed as she listened to the children's story. Her attention drifted momentarily when Gawain and Galahad, now standing arm in arm with one another, launched into some horribly off-key song she didn't recognize, which made her snort into her ale as she took another drink.

And that was when she finally saw Tristan.

He had joined the group at the table while she had been preoccupied and now stood next to Galahad and Gawain, drinking an ale and looking vaguely amused by the antics of his friends. He appeared to have cleaned himself up with a bit more care than usual, as his clothes were far nicer – and cleaner – than she'd ever seen, and there didn't seem to be a speck of dirt on him. Even his hair had been brushed back out of the way, so that she could see his face without any obstruction.

She wasn't sure if it was because of the way he looked in the torchlight of the party or his choice in attire, but Tristan looked even more handsome than usual.

Tristan's eyes suddenly met hers, as if he could feel her watching him. Breck felt her cheeks turn a little warm, but she did not look away, nor did he. Suddenly feeling nervous and just a touch awkward, Breck fiddled with the mug in her hands. What should she do now? After a few more seconds, when Tristan made no move to greet her as their eyes held, Breck finally mustered up the courage to give him a small, friendly smile of acknowledgement.

To her surprise, he inclined his head in response, as though he'd simply been waiting for her to make the first move.

The noise of the crowd suddenly increased in volume, catching Breck's attention. She tore her eyes away from Tristan's and craned her neck to see what the commotion was about, before grinning and joining in on the cheering when she saw who had arrived.

The man of the hour, Arthur, was being led through the cheering crowd by a very fancily dressed Lancelot, who was positively basking in the attention he and Arthur were receiving. She couldn't hear what Lancelot was yelling to rile up the crowd, but there was no doubt that he was thoroughly enjoying being the center of attention. Arthur, on the other hand, just waved modestly and let his friend lead him up to the stage.

Lancelot quickly silenced the musicians and then walked to the edge of the stage, holding his hands up to quiet the crowd.

"Good people of Hadrian's Wall," he said, making the crowd cheer briefly again. He then turned towards the table Breck and the Sarmatians occupied. "My friends, both old and new," he added with a bow to his comrades, who whistled and banged their fists on the table, and a wink in her direction, which had her lifting her drink to him. "It is my great pleasure to welcome you all to the celebration of our Lord and commanding officer, Artorius Castor!"

The crowd cheered loudly once more, though none cheered louder than Breck and the Sarmatians. Arthur looked humbled by the response, waving to everyone with a small, almost bashful, smile on his face.

"Tonight, good people," Lancelot continued when the cheering died down, "is a night for merriment! It is a night for drinking, and dancing, and joyous company. Whether you be British, Sarmatian, Roman, or Celt – we are all brought together to honor this man, the greatest warrior Britain has ever known!" he shouted, before grabbing Arthur by the arm and yanking him forward. "Hail, Lord Arthur!"

"Hail, Lord Arthur!" Breck and the rest of the crowd chanted back.

"Now, be drunk and dance!" Lancelot instructed with a wide grin.

The crowd cheered for Lancelot's words as he bowed. When he took a step back, the attention immediately turned to Arthur. "Speech! Speech!" multiple people began to yell in encouragement.

"Speech!" Breck chimed in, as did most of their table.

Finally, after a bit of prodding from Lancelot, Arthur stepped forward and held his hand up. The crowd quieted once more. "My thanks, friends, for the warm welcome and happy wishes. May tonight be a night of happiness and joy, and may it be a night to remember," he said, before giving a humble wave and then signaling for the musicians to start up again before anyone else demanded anymore words from him.

As the dancing resumed and the drinks began being served in rapid precession again, Arthur made his way off of the stage, looking like he was intending to come to their table. He was swarmed in an instant by well-wishers, however, and quickly lost to the crowd. Breck smiled to herself, pleased with how much the people of Hadrian's Wall liked and respected her friend. If there was anyone who deserved it, it was certainly him.

Her eyes shifted when she saw someone break through the crowd, and she immediately quirked a brow when she noticed Lancelot was making his way towards her with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. Knowing him and knowing very well that a look like that could only mean trouble, she braced herself for whatever he had in store for her.

"Breck. My dear, sweet, beautiful Breck," Lancelot practically cooed, sweeping her hand up grandly and bowing at the waist to press a kiss to her knuckles. When he looked up at her again, it was with a pleading, albeit playful, gleam in his gaze. "Might you take pity on a poor fool such as myself and honor me with the first dance of the evening?"

Breck tried very hard not to smile in amusement – it would only encourage him to continue his shenanigans, after all. She glanced towards a gang of women nearby, all of whom were showing a lot of cleavage and were eyeing them with blatant jealousy, displeased that Breck was the one receiving such attention from the charming Sarmatian. "I would, but I fear it might discourage your admirers," she told him, nodding her head towards the women.

Lancelot's eyebrows rose and he glanced towards the women, before turning a quirked eyebrow back on her. "Quite the contrary, it may increase my success tonight," he said, a lecherous, arrogant grin stretching across his face.

Breck couldn't help but laugh now. "You are utterly despicable. You do know that, aye?" she said, shaking her head at him, even as she grinned.

"And yet you love me anyway," he shot back cheekily, before grabbing her firmly by the hand and tugging her closer to him. "Come. One dance shall not kill you."

"I sincerely hope not," she joked. Finally, she knocked back the rest of her ale and then nodded. "Let us dance," she agreed.

Lancelot grinned wider if possible, then pulled her toward the other dancing couples.

OOO

Breck was having the time of her life.

Though the dances were foreign and she wasn't very good at them, with the help of a little liquid courage she had finally managed to catch on enough to where she wasn't completely embarrassing herself. Between mugs of ale – she had lost count of how many she'd had, since people just kept giving them to her left and right – she had danced with Lancelot twice, Galahad three times, and had even shared a dance with a very drunk and jolly Jols. After a while, though, her feet were starting to ache and she was beginning to sweat, and she felt in desperate need of something to drink that didn't contain alcohol in it.

"Come now, just one more!" Galahad vehemently protested as she tried to disentangle herself from his grasp to step off the dance floor. "This is a fine song! You cannot miss it!" he insisted, still holding fast to her hand.

Breck shook her head firmly, grabbing Galahad's hand and prying his fingers loose. "You have twirled me all about this dancefloor, Galahad! I require rest if I am to make it through the night!" She shoved him not so gently in the direction of a group of women who looked eager for a dance partner. "Now go! Find someone else to enjoy this song with! I will dance with you later!"

And before he could argue any further, she hurried off the dance floor, letting the other dancers sweep Galahad away.

Breck shook her head to herself in amusement at his persistence as she slipped her way through the crowd, heading toward the drink station in the hopes that there might be water there. It was fun dancing with Galahad, of course, but the man was completely wearing her out, and she had only been at the party for an hour at most. She truly hadn't even known Galahad enjoyed dancing so much. Even now, as she joined the massive queue for drinks, her feet were so sore that she almost contemplated taking a seat right there on the dirty ground. If she hadn't been afraid she would get trampled by some drunk person not minding their surroundings, she definitely would have done so.

The line was moving slowly, giving her ample opportunity to glance around. She had yet to speak to Arthur, though she had caught glimpses of him here or there as he was chatted up by yet more well-wishers. A glance at their table told her that only Dagonet and Bors were still there. It had been a while since she had last spotted Gawain – he had been one of the people to give her an ale unexpectedly between dances – and she had not seen Tristan since she had first arrived. Where either of them had wandered off to, she had no idea.

Breck was so busy looking around that she didn't notice the drunk couple that had begun dancing while they waited for drinks until they nearly bumped into her. Breck took a big step backward to avoid getting run into, but when she did so, she rammed right into whoever had joined the queue behind her. And seeing as she was a little intoxicated herself, the unexpected contact made her stumble just enough to where strong hands came up to grasp her arms from behind, so that she would not fall over.

Once she felt steady on her feet again, Breck turned to both thank whoever had caught her, as well as apologize for bumping into them in the first place. However, the moment she turned around and her eyes met a pair that had become very familiar to her, the words died on her lips.

Tristan stared down at her, his hands still on her arms. When had he even joined the line? And was she truly that drunk that she hadn't noticed him? Breck blushed, her mouth opening and closing a few times, struggling with what to say.

"Thank you," she finally uttered out. "And…apologies for bumping into you."

He inclined his head to her, then released his grip on her arms.

Breck turned back forward, her heart suddenly beating very quickly in her chest, unsure what to do as the line slowly inched forward. Now that she knew he was there, she couldn't just ignore him. But what was she supposed to say? It had been almost a week since they had last seen one another, and that last interaction had been…interesting¸ to say the least. It would be rude not to at least acknowledge him, though, wouldn't it?

Breck turned back around to face him. "Enjoying the celebration?" she blurted out to break the ice.

Tristan blinked at the quick question, then made a noncommittal noise. "I am not one for celebrations as boisterous as this," he admitted, glancing around at the general chaos all around them.

She couldn't say that surprised her. "I suppose it is just good that you can attend at all," she said. "You look…" The word handsome came to mind as she looked him over, nearly escaped straight past her lips. "You look well," she said instead, glad he didn't know that she meant that in more than one way. "How is your injury?" Breck asked, glancing toward his side, where she knew his healing wound was concealed beneath his clothes.

Tristan nodded. "It is faring well," he answered. "Dagonet is pleased with my progress."

Breck smiled, relieved to hear it. "That is good. You must heal quickly."

"I attribute the recovery thus far to my having a good healer," he countered.

Breck nodded in agreement. "Dag is very skilled at what he does."

Tristan looked down at her with those mesmeric eyes of his. "I was not speaking about Dag," he said simply.

As she realized he was paying the compliment to her, Breck gaped like a fish. "Oh," she said dumbly.

There was a small moment of pause from Tristan. "I should have said it sooner, but know that I am grateful," he finally said.

If Breck had been surprised before, now she was absolutely stunned. It was, without a doubt, the nicest thing he had ever said to her, and he seemed like he did genuinely mean it. She almost had to wonder just how much he had had to drink thus far, since him being drunk seemed the only way he would ever actually be this kind to her. As her eyes scanned his face, however, he didn't look drunk. Or if he was, he was very good at hiding it.

She finally blinked and forced herself to close her mouth, swallowing hard before offering a small, almost shy smile. "You are welcome," she told him. "I am glad that I could be helpful."

Nothing more was said after that, but as Breck slowly shuffled forward toward the front of the queue, Tristan stayed by her side, as if they were actually friends grabbing a drink together. She was incredibly conscious of him – of the way his eyes glanced around the party, ever alert. Of the way that usual scent of earth and horse and sweat had been replaced by something cleaner, but still equally appealing. Of the way his arm brushed hers every so often when the movement of the crowd forced them into one another's space.

Finally, when it was their turn to get drinks, Breck began looking around for anything that resembled water, frowning when she saw nothing. Tristan was already filling up a mug with ale, his eyes turning toward her as she let out a sigh of disappointment.

"What are you searching for?" he asked.

"Water," she answered. "But I see none."

"The only water I saw looked as appealing as sludge might. I believe someone had vomited in it," he said, making her pull a face of disgust. He grabbed for something at his hip, then handed it over. "Have this."

It was a small water skin. Breck looked down at it, caught off guard by his courteousness once more, before raising her brows at him. "You are certain?"

Tristan just nodded once.

As Tristan filled a second mug with ale, Breck took a long drink from his water skin, sighing with relief as the fresh water quenched her thirst. She drank her fill, then fastened it closed and handed it to Tristan. "Thank you."

He took it with another nod, returned it to the place at his hip, then offered her the other ale without a word. Breck looked at the proffered drink for a second, having not expected he would get her one, then accepted it with a small, grateful smile. She took a sip as they stepped out of the queue, once again at a loss of what to say or do as they stood there in awkward silence for a few beats, just watching the dancing couples as they drank.

"Shall we sit?" she finally suggested.

Tristan nodded and indicated for her to lead the way. They headed in the direction of their table, Tristan following closely behind her, so much so that he would have immediately run into her if she were to come to a quick halt. Even as every nerve in her body tuned into him, even as her heart quickened its pace, she told herself not to think too much of it – with how crowded it was, he was probably only sticking so close so as not to get separated from her.

Dagonet and Bors were still the only ones at the table when they arrived, though Vanora was close by trying to wrangle some of the children as they got into some sort of minor mischief – it looked as though some of the older kids were trying to sneak ale, which Vanora was doing her best to interfere with. Dagonet looked more inebriated than Breck had ever seen and Bors was obviously drunk too, even though there were significantly less empty mugs around him than normal. She guessed he was more affected by the alcohol than usual in his weakened state.

Both men immediately looked to them as they arrived at the table, and the fact that she and Tristan arrived together had both of them raising their brows in surprise. "Well, well!" Bors said loudly. "Lookee what we have here!"

Breck kept her face perfectly neutral as she sat down at the table across from Bors. She did her best to ignore her own pounding heart as Tristan claimed the seat right next to her, a move that only made those two sets of eyebrows raise even higher. "I see the drink is treating you well," she commented, hoping to distract him

"Treatin' me just fine," he confirmed cheekily, before grabbing the ale he was working on and downing it in three large gulps. As he finished, he slammed the mug down and let out a loud belch, making Breck snort and shake her head at his antics as she took a drink from her ale. "You two enjoyin' your evenin's?" he asked, looking back and forth between them with a wide smirk on his face.

"Aye, very much so," Breck answered.

"I was beginning to think Galahad would never let you out of his clutches," Dagonet commented, drawing her attention to him. "Come to rest your feet?" he asked with a smirk.

Breck nodded in confirmation. "I am desperate for a respite," she answered. "Galahad is an incorrigible dance partner."

Dagonet grinned. "He is a surprisingly fair dancer," he admitted.

"That he is," Breck agreed. Then she smiled hopefully. "Are you certain I cannot convince you to join me for a dance?"

Dagonet just huffed and shook his head. Breck had tried more than once to get him to dance with her – several brave women had approached him, actually – but he refused every single time, insisting he wasn't the dancing type. It seemed like it would take an act of God just to get him to abandon his seat at the table, which he seemed firmly attached to.

"If you were to dance with me, then you would find yourself resting your feet in the infirmary, for I will surely crush them beneath my own," he warned. "I am flattered by the offer, but I am attempting to save you a great deal of pain."

Breck laughed. "Surely you are not that bad."

"Oh, he's 'orrible," Bors interjected drunkenly. "I reckon elephants would be more graceful on the dancefloor than good ol' Dag here."

Dagonet gave him a bland look. "How kind of you," he said dryly.

Bors held up a hand. "Just statin' the facts."

Breck laughed again, then glanced around hopefully. "Have any of you seen Arthur?" she asked, trying to spot her oldest friend in the crowd.

"He was getting food, last I saw," Tristan answered, motioning in the general direction of where the food was being served.

Breck had half a mind to go and look for him, but her tired legs and sore feet immediately made her change her mind. Arthur would come and find them soon enough, of that she was fairly certain. The mention of food, however, immediately sent a pang through her belly that reminded her it had been quite some time since she'd last eaten. Breck took another drink from her ale and then leaned over to pick some food off Bors's plate.

"Oi!" he said, swatting at her hand. "Get your own!"

Breck deftly snatched some more cheese from his plate, smiling widely as she chewed it right in front of him. "I am famished from all the dancing. Surely you can share?"

"I need it to keep up my strength, woman," Bors insisted, waving off her thieving fingers again.

"Here," Dagonet offered, sliding his plate closer. "Have mine."

Breck pulled a face at Bors, who gave her one right back, then turned her attention to Dagonet's plate, not realizing how hungry she had truly gotten until she took a few more bites. "Thank you, Dag. I was positively starved."

Dagonet, however, didn't appear to hear her, or even realize she was talking to him. His eyes had become trained elsewhere, very clearly distracted by something. Breck looked to see what had caught his attention…only to discover that it wasn't a what but a who. There was a pretty, dark haired woman standing not too far from the table, who kept sneaking peeks at the Sarmatian and smiling at him shyly.

Breck grinned and tossed a piece of bread at Dagonet, which made him blink and look back to her. "What?" he questioned, as if caught by surprise.

"Dag, you sly man," she teased. "It is no wonder I cannot convince you to leave your post here."

"I know not what you speak of," Dagonet said, avoiding her eyes as he took a big drink of ale.

Breck wasn't buying his act for a moment. "Come now. You must go speak with her."

"Do not be ridiculous," he countered with a scoff.

But she could see that he was eying the woman again over the rim of his cup as he took another long drink, and it was more than obvious that he was interested. "What is so ridiculous about you speaking to a woman?" she asked. "You are kind and intelligent and very handsome. Any woman should be lucky to catch your attention."

It looked like Dagonet actually blushed in response to her compliments. Bors, however, gave her an incredulous look. "Dag? Handsome?" he questioned disbelievingly, though it was clear by his behavior he was only joking around. "Tristan, is Dag considered handsome?" he asked, jerking a thumb toward the healer.

Tristan lifted a shoulder. "More handsome than you," he quipped, before taking a drink of his ale.

Bors scoffed loudly. "Now I know you are speaking nonsense. Nobody is more handsome than me. Just ask Vanora. She tells me so all the time," he announced, puffing out his chest proudly. "And we all know how blessed I am," he added with a crude grin, leaving little doubt as to which part of him he was referring to. "Why, it's so big, it – "

"For the love of God, do not finish that statement," Breck interrupted loudly, making Bors immediately dissolve into laughter. She even saw Tristan smirk in amusement, which was almost enough to render her speechless once more.

If he was amused by something she said, then he was definitely drunk. She was convinced of it now.

Breck turned her attention back to Dagonet, giving him a look that was both encouraging and firm. Dagonet had never shown interest in anyone since she had known him, so him doing so now seemed like nothing to scoff at. He deserved happiness, and if there was a chance he could find it with this woman, then she could not ignore that. She decided right then and there that he would speak to the pretty woman, even if she had to drag him over there and introduce them herself.

"If you do not go speak to her, I shall," Breck threatened with a no-nonsense expression. "And trust when I say that I will not be nearly as charming or eloquent about it as you would be." Dagonet grumbled something incoherent under his breath and glared at her mildly, making her laugh. "Dagonet," Breck said in a gentler tone, reaching over the table to place a hand on his forearm. "What have you to lose?"

Dagonet finally sighed in resignation. "Very well. If it ceases your pestering," he said, before finishing his ale and getting up from his seat. He looked to Tristan, one of his brows lifting higher than the other. "You were correct about her, Tristan," he said, making her ears perk. "She is incredibly stubborn."

Breck blinked at him in surprise, her lips clamping shut, which made Dagonet smirk at her in triumph before going to talk to the woman. She then looked to Tristan, who was doing a great job of avoiding her eyes as he took a drink of his ale.

Breck was not surprised by the fact that Tristan had described her as stubborn, because, well…she was. No, what surprised her was the fact that Tristan had actually spoken to the healer about her at some point in time. The knowledge of this left her with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach and filled her head with all sorts of questions.

When had they spoken? Who had initiated the conversation, and why? But, most importantly, what else had Tristan said about her?

Breck shook her head in bemusement, then quirked a brow at Tristan. "You think I am stubborn?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"Sounds rather like the pot calling the kettle black," she shot at him, using his very same words from their last argument.

Tristan's eyes turned to meet hers, and she could have sworn she saw them shining with amusement again. He did not say anything in response, though, merely reached over to grab some food off the plate Dagonet had given her. Breck moved the plate so that it was between them, so he could reach it better.

"Pardon me," Bors suddenly said, making them both look to him. "But when in the world did you two become so bloody chummy with one another?"

Breck glanced at Tristan, who did not seem inclined to give any sort of insight to Bors, then looked back to their friend. "You say it as though us getting along is bad," she pointed out.

"It's not," Bors clarified. "It is just…odd. Never thought I would see the day where you pair could share a friendly pint of ale with one another."

"Nor did I," Breck admitted.

"I swear," Vanora suddenly said as she gave up trying to wrangle the children and joined them at the table, Eleven snuggled in a sling she wore across her torso. "If I did not love those children so much, I would – "

She froze, however, her words dying on her lips when she saw that Breck and Tristan were sitting together. Vanora openly gawked until Breck gave her a pointed look, one that silently told the woman to stop being so very conspicuous. Vanora blinked and shook herself, her attention turning to an ale on the table. "Is this mine? Wonderful," she said, before taking a very quick drink.

Bors completely ignored Vanora's odd behavior, keeping his attention focused on Breck and Tristan. "Well, I, for one, am relieved by the change," he said. "Much better to have you two getting along than trying to kill one another, eh?" he asked, giving her a funny little look. "Wouldn't you agree, Breck?"

Breck nodded once. "Yes."

Bors looked to Tristan next, giving him the same look. "And wouldn't you agree, Tristan?"

Something about the tone of Bors's voice and the glint in his eyes rubbed her the wrong way. Breck glanced at Tristan, saw him nod once, then turned a suspicious look on Bors. She then shifted her eyes to Vanora, who had been listening in on their conversation while she quietly drank her ale. Breck took one look at the woman's guilty expression and knew in an instant that Vanora had told Bors about her secret attraction to Tristan.

Breck narrowed her eyes at the older redhead unhappily, but resisted the urge to pull her away and scold her, knowing it would probably only rouse the suspicion of the Sarmatian next to her. Well…assuming Bors's conspicuous behavior wasn't making him suspicious already.

She was saved from what was beginning to feel like the makings of a very embarrassing situation when Gawain emerged from the crowd in the next moment and came sauntering up to the table, his eyes locked on her. Happy for the distraction, she raised her eyebrows at him, noting his charming smile and the overly flirtatious look on his face.

When he reached her, he kneeled down on one knee beside her seat and swept her hand up, holding it reverentially between both of his. "My fair lady, I shall surely die of heartbreak should you deny me this dance," he said with a large, drunken grin on his handsome face. "Would you do me the great honor?"

The thought of dancing with the handsome Sarmatian was entirely too tempting to ignore, not just because she wanted to get away from the table before Bors embarrassed her more, but also because she had not yet danced with Gawain that night. So, with a grin and a long drink of the ale Tristan had given her, Breck nodded and patted his hands with her free one.

"Do not fear, brave knight. I shall not allow you to be delivered into the icy hands of death this night," she said overdramatically, unable to help returning his infectious smile.

Bors whistled loudly, which had Gawain winking at him as he stood and pulled her up from her seat. Breck tried to ignore the zing of awareness that shot up her spine as he placed a hand on the small of her back and led her out onto the dance floor.

"Do not drink my ale!" Breck called to Bors over her shoulder, to which the man just scoffed and shouted something she couldn't quite make out in return.

If Gawain had been put off by their awkward moment outside the infirmary four days ago, there was absolutely no evidence of it while they danced together. He kept her close as they navigated the dance floor with the other couples, smiling at her widely the entire time. The other dancing couples began trading partners about halfway through the song, but Gawain seemed to have no interest in following the rules of this particular dance. He ignored any new partners that tried to approach them, keeping Breck close and his attention solely on her as they danced and twirled their way all around the dancefloor.

Breck would be lying if she said that she wasn't flattered by the attention. It was a kind of attention she had simply never received in the past. Before coming to the Wall, she had made sure that wherever she was, she blended into the crowd. She had never let herself get close to anyone and had made sure that she was not memorable, just to make sure she was protecting herself. Upon returning to the Wall, she had mostly just been treated as Arthur's friend. Even the knights generally treated her like she was one of them, rough housing with her and jeering her and often treating her almost like she was a man.

That wasn't the way Gawain treated her, though. The attention and the looks he was giving her made her feel, for the first time in her life, as though she were a beautiful, desirable woman. It was different from how some men had looked at her in the past, as though she were a piece of meat that was only good for one thing. No, there was real, genuine affection there, a genuine interest and attraction, and while it was strange and foreign to her, Breck kind of liked it.

As their dancing took them closer to the table their friends sat at, Breck's gaze unconsciously drifted over in that direction. Without meaning to, her eyes searched for Tristan's, and they found each other much quicker than she had anticipated. Because Tristan was already watching them, his eyes following them around the dance floor. She thought perhaps she spied something in his expression, something she could not quite describe or place her finger on. Before she had that chance to determine what it might mean, Gawain was twirling her again and leading her away, so that she could not see Tristan any longer.

The song ended and everyone stopped to applaud the musicians and each other. "You are a fair dancer!" Gawain said over the noise around them, having to lean closer to do so.

"Thank you. As are you," she said back.

Gawain's smile seemed to soften some as his eyes flickered over her face. "You look very beautiful tonight, Breck," he said, leaning even closer still, his hand coming to rest at a respectable place on her waist. "Then again, you always do."

Breck blushed, unsure what to say in response. Thankfully, another song started up in the next moment, which had Gawain raising his eyebrows at her invitingly – he clearly wanted another dance with her. She would have said yes, except that at in that moment she finally spotted Arthur over Gawain's shoulder.

"There is Arthur," she said, before waving a hand to grab the man's attention. "Arthur!"

As Arthur looked in her direction and waved back, Breck patted Gawain on the shoulder and then started toward her friend. To her surprise, Gawain grasped her hand within his much larger one and fell into step with her, obviously intending to stick by her side. She paid no mind to the warmth spreading up her arm and wove her way toward Arthur with Gawain by her side, the Sarmatian knight calling out greetings here and there to people he knew as they made their way through the crowd.

When they finally reached Arthur, the man immediately noticed the fact that she and Gawain were holding hands. He looked pointedly at where they held on to one another, then lifted a brow at Breck, his expression caught somewhere between amused and accusing. Breck decided not to acknowledge the look and pulled her hand from Gawain's so she could hug her closest friend.

"Many happy returns, Arthur," Breck said, pulling back some so she could smile at him widely.

"Thank you, dear friend," Arthur said fondly, patting her cheek before turning his attention to Gawain when the man stepped closer.

"Arthur, best wishes," Gawain said, firmly shaking his friend's hand.

"Thank you, Gawain," Arthur responded. He then eyed the empty mug in his hand with a tiny frown. "Could you do me the favor?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and extending his cup towards Gawain.

"Certainly. I require more myself, as well," Gawain said with a nod, gladly accepting Arthur's mug. "Breck?" he then asked her.

"I am fine, thank you," she told him with a smile.

Gawain nodded and started to walk off, but paused next to her so he could sweep her hand up to his mouth and press a lingering kiss to her knuckles. He stared at her over the top of her knuckles for a moment, his blue eyes twinkling, then grinned and released her before disappearing into the crowd. She watched him go, her cheeks warmer than they had been mere seconds ago. When Breck dared to look at Arthur, his eyebrows had risen so high on his forehead that they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

Breck rolled her eyes and shook her head, her cheeks burning even hotter. "He is drunk," she stated, hoping that would excuse the affectionate behavior on Gawain's part and save her from teasing.

"And evidently besotted with you," Arthur added, draping an arm around her shoulders and leading her back toward the table their friends occupied. "Had I known the affect you would have on my men, I might have warned them," he said with a smirk.

Breck didn't miss the way he said 'men' and 'them' and found herself wondering if this meant Gawain was not the only knight attracted to her. She quickly decided she was reading into his words too much, though, and brushed the thought away. "What is this nonsense you speak?" Breck asked, poking Arthur's side. "Are you drunk as well?"

"That is beside the point," Arthur said dismissively with a wave of his hand.

Breck just snorted and nudged him with her elbow.

She and Arthur made their way back to the table, which had filled up considerably while she and Gawain had been dancing. Upon arrival, Arthur was immediately grabbed by Galahad and pulled in the direction of Bors, who gave a loud, drunken shout of happiness at seeing his commanding officer. Lancelot was there too, now with a woman sitting on his lap as he played some kind of dice game with Dagonet and Tristan. Next to them, Jols was drunkenly singing a song to himself.

Breck smiled to herself when she noticed that the pretty, dark haired woman Dagonet had gone to speak to earlier was now standing behind the large healer and watching him play the game with interest. Breck managed to catch Dagonet's eye and gave him a subtle nod of approval, which he responded to with just a quick smile before diverting his attention back to the game.

Her seat next to Tristan was still open, surprisingly enough, and her ale was still sitting there, which was nothing short of a miracle, considering the company around it. Breck headed that way to reclaim her seat and her drink, but before she could make it around the table, Vanora suddenly appeared and subtly grabbed her by the arm, pulling her in close.

"Tristan's eyes have not left you since you went to dance with Gawain," the older redhead whispered for only Breck's ears to hear.

Breck gaped a little, but before she had a chance to ask Vanora for further details, the woman was releasing her and continuing on as though nothing had transpired between them. Breck glanced at Tristan, who seemed preoccupied with the game he was playing, then shot a questioning look after Vanora, not certain she knew how to feel about this newfound piece of information. Vanora just looked to Tristan pointedly as she took the seat next to Bors, as though trying to silently convey something to her.

What that something was, Breck wasn't entirely sure.

With a deep breath, Breck made her way to the other side of the table and sat down next to Tristan. The Sarmatian spared her a glance as she reached for her ale and took a long drink, but his attention was back on the game in the blink of an eye. If her dancing with Gawain had affected him in any way, there was absolutely no hint of it anywhere in his expression or behavior. Perhaps Vanora was mistaken, or she was exaggerating…or maybe she was just drunk. Her cheeks were rosier than usual, after all.

Breck decided to just ignore what her friend had said. Why would Tristan care if she was dancing with Gawain anyway?

"So what is this game?" she asked with interest, wanting to get her mind off of what Vanora had said.

"A true test of cunning and intellect," Lancelot answered dramatically.

"Some would argue it is a game of pure luck," Tristan interjected, making her eyes slide over to him. "But whatever helps Lancelot sleep better at night."

Breck laughed at the affronted look on Lancelot's face, unable to help turning a smile on Tristan. As Dagonet handed Tristan the dice with a laugh, and the scout took them with a small smirk of amusement that she barely saw beneath his beard, she felt like, tonight, she was finally seeing the Tristan that the men knew, the version of him that was friendly and teased his comrades and actually knew how to relax. Breck liked this side of him, perhaps a little too much.

Tristan started to roll the dice, but paused when Breck extended a hand, palm up, in his direction. "May I?" she asked with a small smile.

Tristan eyed her for a moment, then slowly placed the dice into her hand. Breck's smile grew, and under Tristan's watchful gaze, she shook and rolled the dice. Almost immediately, two simultaneous groans of frustration sounded from Lancelot and Dagonet. Breck frowned uncertainly at the dice first, then at Tristan.

"Does this mean something bad?" she asked.

"For them, yes," Tristan said, looking uncharacteristically smug as he began collecting all the money on the table. "I, however, am on my way to becoming a rich man."

"Not fair," Lancelot protested, sounding like a bratty child who'd just gotten his favorite toy taken away. "You did not roll, therefore the roll should not count!"

"Oh, do remove the pout from your face, Lancelot," Vanora said to him with a laugh. "It is quite unbecoming."

The table laughed at his expense, the woman on Lancelot's lap included, which made Lancelot grumble moodily in response and glare at his friends, before he took a large gulp of his drink.

Gawain returned with ale for him and Arthur in the next moment. He stopped to give one of the mugs to his commanding officer, but did not have a chance to talk to the man as Arthur was swarmed by more well-wishers. Gawain instead came to squeeze himself onto the bench next to Breck, barely managing to fit without falling off the end. There was so little room that he ended up pushing her into Tristan, who stopped what he was doing to look at her as she invaded his personal space. Breck fought against a blush as she found herself shoulder to shoulder with not just Gawain, but also Tristan.

She did not know what to do. Tristan couldn't scoot over because Jols was sitting next to him, and Gawain was too busy giving her a flirty smile to notice the predicament he'd put her in. If she moved to a new seat entirely, it would likely raise questions, but if she stayed, she'd remain sandwiched between them.

She wasn't sure which scenario was worse.

Thankfully, at that moment, Galahad came staggering over to where she sat, his expression challenging as he stared her down.

"The time has come, my lady, for a rematch," he announced loudly, some of his words drunkenly slurring together. "You have bested my dagger skills once before, but nay nay!" he exclaimed, swinging his drink widely and making ale slosh over the side. "You shall not do so on this night! Now come! Bring your dagger and prepare to be bested once and for all!"

She already knew she was going to say yes – any excuse to get away from the table – but he was so drunkenly confident that she couldn't resist giving Galahad a hard time first. "Are you certain you will beat me?" she asked, quirking a brow at him. "I would so hate to embarrass you in front of the entire town."

Those around them whistled and guffawed at her mocking words and immediately began ribbing Galahad. The knight glared at her, looking red around the ears as his friends continued to tease him, and plonked his ale onto the table. "You and me. Now," he said firmly, before unsheathing his dagger from only the Lord knows where he had stowed it and flipping it menacingly in the air. "Or are your bold words merely a ruse to distract me from how frightened you truly are of losing to me?" he added as a last minute jeer.

Again, the table cat-called and whistled, all eyes turning to Breck to see how she would respond. An arm slid around her shoulders, and she knew without even having to look that it belonged to Gawain. She tensed only slightly, simply because the move caught her off guard, but relaxed again just as quickly. From her peripheral, she saw Tristan's head turn in their direction. When she spared a look at him, he was not simply looking to see how she would respond to Galahad. No, his eyes were on the location of Gawain's arm.

"Fighting words if I have ever heard them," Gawain said as he squeezed her to his side, apparently doing his best to goad her and Galahad into another match. Breck shifted her attention to Gawain, who gave her a wink. "What say you, fair lady?"

Breck looked back to Galahad, then took a deliberately long drink from her ale. "I did not wish to do this to you, but if you insist."

The table hooted and hollered as she finally stood – and it was certainly a relief not to be squashed between Tristan and Gawain anymore – then lifted a foot to rest on the bench where she'd just been sitting. She moved her skirt just enough to reveal the lower part of her leg, which, of course, prompted a leering whistle from Lancelot. Breck merely gave him an unimpressed look, as did the woman on his lap, then reached for the dagger she always kept stowed away in her boot, much to the delight of her still cheering her friends.

Breck froze, however, when her fingers encountered nothing but the soft material of her stockings. With a start she realized that her dagger was not there. Breck frowned, trying to remember when she had last had it, then cursed when she realized that she must have forgotten it in the stables. She had been using it to cut thread when she had been working on Arthur's gift, but in all the excitement and her eagerness to get to the party, it had completely slipped her mind to make sure she still had the weapon on her when she, Galahad, and Gawain had locked up the stables for the night.

"What is wrong?" Vanora asked curiously, noting the frown on Breck's face.

"My dagger," Breck said with a worried furrow of her brow. "I left it in the stables."

Galahad waved off her words, obviously not seeing what the problem was. "No matter," he said dismissively. "Tristan, loan the woman your dagger."

Tristan actually moved like he was going to let her borrow his dagger, but she put a hand on his arm to stop him. Had she been less worried about her dagger and paying closer attention, she would have seen the way his eyes dropped down to the hand on his arm and felt the way he tensed underneath her touch.

"Thank you, but I really must go and collect mine," she said with a shake of her head. "I made that dagger with my father before he passed. I shall never forgive myself if harm comes to it or if someone steals it because of my carelessness."

"If you must," Galahad said, looking disgruntled but not putting up any resistance. "I shall find us a target." And then he was stumbling away from the group and disappearing into the crowd.

Breck finished her ale and turned to leave, but paused when Gawain stood and wrapped a gentle hand around her forearm. "Do you wish me to accompany you?" he offered.

Breck could feel the eyes of their friends watching them, which she did her best to ignore. "Thank you, but I will be fine. It is not that far." Gawain didn't seem pleased that she wanted to go alone, but he nodded and didn't protest. "You may fetch me an ale if you wish. I will certainly need more drink when I return," she added with a smile.

The golden-haired Sarmatian perked up and nodded. "My pleasure," he said, before bringing her knuckles up to his lips for a short kiss and then disappearing into the crowd much like Galahad had. She watched him go for a moment, then finally felt brave enough to spare Tristan a glance. He was not looking at her, but had fixed his gaze on something in the distance as he took a very large drink from his mug of ale.

"I shall return shortly," Breck said to her friends, before finally turning on her heel and heading away.

She thought she felt eyes on her back as she went, but did not look to see who was watching her as she left the raucous party behind.

OOO

Breck found her dagger sitting on one of the benches by the saddle racks, just as she had suspected. She was a little annoyed with herself for being so careless with it in the first place, but also enormously relieved to see that it was at least still there. With a smile, she stowed the dagger away in the belt of her dress rather than its usual spot in her boot, patting it fondly once it was secure.

She did not leave straight away, instead choosing to go from stall to stall and visit the horses while she was there. "How goes your night?" she asked in Gaelic. "Are you having us much fun as us people?"

The horses only blinked at her, and in her intoxicated state, she laughed at their bland reaction. "Alright then, I shall cease pestering you and leave you to your rest," she said as she headed for the door, eager to get back to the party. She cast one last look around the stables before she left, then stepped back out into the night air.

As she turned to lock the door behind her, her thoughts almost immediately turned to Tristan and Gawain. Though, truth be told, they were all she had been thinking about during her short trip to the stables.

Whether infected by the atmosphere of the party or the copious amounts of ale, both had been behaving in a way that she had not anticipated. Gawain had been openly flirting with her all night long, not even attempting to conceal it even when they were in front of their friends. As for Tristan, he was actually being friendly. He was speaking to her and treating her as though they hadn't been butting heads constantly since meeting, as though she were someone he actually wanted to be around. Ale had certainly brought on an interesting change in both men tonight, that much was for certain.

Breck wasn't sure which change she enjoyed more – the amorous attention of Gawain, or the courteous, friendly banter with Tristan.

Breck finished with the lock on the door and turned back around, pausing to breathe in the night hair through her nose. With how well the night had been going already, she had to eagerly wonder what the rest of the night would have in store for her.

Gawain had obviously located the courage to pursue her, which she would admit was both intimidating and a touch exciting. Would he make his intentions known tonight? Would he redouble his efforts to pursue her as he got more drink in him? Did she want him to do so?

Yet, for as much as she enjoyed the attention from Gawain – she was a red-blooded woman, after all – it was impossible to push Tristan from her mind. When she really thought about it, she was admittedly more interested in seeing what his newfound friendliness might lead to, and what it meant in regards to their rocky relationship. Perhaps if they both got enough drink in them, Breck thought to herself, she would gather up the courage to ask Tristan for a dance.

She laughed to herself and immediately dismissed the idea. Tristan may be willing to be friendly, but she highly doubted he would be that friendly. Besides, the thought of the feared knight dancing and twirling around on a dancefloor was downright comical.

Breck shook her head to herself and decided she'd loitered for long enough. Eager to rejoin her friends, she started in the direction of the square.

She'd only taken a few steps, however, when a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth and an arm wrapped tightly around her torso, effectively trapping her arms at her sides.

Breck let out a sound of surprise but the hand over her mouth stifled the noise. She immediately began to struggle against the restraining hold, but the arm around her merely tightened even more, so that she could hardly move her upper body even an inch. Her feet were still free though, and she started to kick around wildly in the hope of hitting something – a shin, a foot, anything. The person who had her simply used the hand over her mouth to jerk her head back at an uncomfortable angle, hot, stinking breath hitting her face as they leaned in close.

"Stop movin', bitch! Or I shall gut you here and now!" a man who didn't sound familiar threatened.

"Now, now," a new voice interjected. Breck watched, her eyes widening, as Gerland and one of his cronies stepped out from behind some abandoned wagons nearby. Both had menacing, lecherous looks on their face as they neared where she was being held captive. "Let us all settle down a little, eh? After all, we would not want the fun to end before it even begins, now would we?"

Breck sobered up in an instant. When she had left the square, Gerland had been the last thing on her mind. Though she had done a good job of keeping up her guard thus far, between the merriness of the night and the alcohol she had drunk, she had forgotten about him. Now here they were, very much alone, and she knew now that she was in a very dangerous situation.

Why had she not allowed someone to accompany her to the stables? Why had she been so stupid as to drop her guard?

Gerland came to a stop before her, his leering eyes trailing over her body more than once with a greedy look of desire. Her stomach turned unpleasantly in response. When he lifted a hand to touch her cheek, she jerked her head back as far as her captor allowed to try to avoid the touch. His filthy fingers still found her skin though, trailing along her cheek and then moving to tug on a red curl that had come loose while she was dancing and fell over her face.

"Beautiful Breck, separated from her precious Arthur and his knights," he said with a click of his tongue, his tone full of mocking. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, the stink of body odor that clung to his clothes and skin.

Breck struggled against her captor, likely Gerland's other crony, once more in a vain attempt to break free, but he was much stronger than her. "I said stop movin'!" he growled, now moving the hand on her mouth to her hair to grab a fistful and yank so hard that her scalp seared and tears came to her eyes.

Breck let out an involuntary whimper of pain, even as her eyes flickered around in desperate search for someone, anyone, who might be close by and be able to see what was happening. But there was no one, not even a Roman guard. Breck was entirely on her own.

"Do not bother. Your Sarmatians will not be able to help you now," Gerland said when he saw her looking around.

The fear and pain she had felt was swiftly replaced by burning anger. Breck's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Rot in hell," she seethed, before spitting at Gerland's face.

Gerland jerked in response, wiped at his face, then laughed cruelly. "I do love it when they fight back," he said.

The hand at her cheek slid down her neck, past her sternum, then onto her breast. Breck struggled against her captor's hold again, every inch of her addled with fiery anger and disgust, violently trying to break free so she could make him stop touching her. "Get your filthy hands off of me!"

Gerland just laughed as he dodged her attempt to kick him in the testicles. The crony behind him, however, cast a quick look around. "She is making much noise, Gerland," he pointed out. "Someone might hear."

"Do not worry," he said, her stomach roiling with revulsion as the hand at her breast squeezed and caressed. "We will go where no one can hear her scream."

The man behind her chuckled evilly, and it was then that Breck knew she had to act. And fast.

Remembering the dagger that was in her belt, she waited until Gerland finally stepped back as if to lead the group away. The moment his back turned, she used what little reach she had to grasp the hilt of her weapon and then immediately stabbed the sharp blade into the leg of the man holding her captive. He released her with a wail of pain that pierced the night air. Now free to move, Breck rammed her elbow as hard as she could into his face, hearing the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. She yanked her dagger free as he staggered backward and immediately turned her sights on Gerland, fully prepared to stab her dagger into his back next.

The commotion had already caught his attention, however, and before she could even raise the blade to chuck it at his back, he was right in her face, grabbing her wrist to stop the swing of her arm.

They immediately began to wrestle and struggle as he tried to make her drop her dagger, wrenching her arm this way and that in the hope it would make her grip slacken. Breck held on to her dagger for dear life, knowing that if she lost it that she was done for. Gerland cursed and spit, growing more enraged the longer it took to disarm her, redoubling his efforts to make her drop her dagger.

A second pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her – Gerland's other man. He lifted her clear off her feet, and with Gerland still holding onto her arm, it twisted in a way that made her fingers open against her will, the dagger finally dropping to the dirt. As she reached back to scratch at his face, he cursed and all but threw her against the stables wall. Breck's shoulder flared with pain at the contact, but she managed to catch herself before she could fall.

With her sights set on her dagger, Breck made a move to retrieve it. Gerland, however, immediately stepped into her path. A fist came flying toward her face, and whether it was because he was just that fast or because of the alcohol she had drunk, Breck was not able to dodge it. Gerland's knuckles connected with her jaw. Hard.

Breck stumbled back against the stables wall again, her jaw singing with pain. Gerland threw himself at her before she could fully recover, pinning her to the wall. The rancid smell of him, the horrid feel of him, sent utter repulsion through her entire body. He tried to get a firm hold on her, but Breck kept fighting, scratching at his face and trying to dig her thumbs into his eyes. Gerland became so preoccupied with keeping her hands contained that he didn't see her knee coming until it was too late.

Gerland made a sound of pain as she kneed him in the testicles, but didn't let her go. "You bitch!" he shouted, before aiming to punch her again.

She was ready this time, though, and moved her head at the last second, making Gerland howl as his hand met wood instead. Breck got her hands between them and shoved him back, throwing a punch of her own that landed on his eye. When she aimed for another hit, he caught her by the wrist and whirled her around, throwing her into the arms of the other man. Once his crony had her arms restrained behind her back, Gerland immediately punched her in the stomach, making the air rush from her body with a whoosh.

"You whore!" he growled angrily, his eyes alight with fire. "I am going to teach you a lesson you shall never forget!"

He raised his fist to hit her again, but before he could swing at her, there was an odd whistling noise of something flying through the air, and then something warm splattered onto the right side of Breck's face. The arms around her tensed for only a moment, then slackened completely.

Breck turned to see that the man who had been holding her now had a dagger embedded in the side of his neck. His eyes bugged nearly out of his head as his hand lifted to the dagger, and in his shock and delirium, he pulled the blade free, allowing a stream of blood to jet out from the gaping wound in his neck. The man made a sickening gurgling sound as he choked on his own blood, then he fell to the ground, the dagger clattering onto the dirt next to him.

She looked to see where the dagger had come from, then breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she spotted Tristan standing not ten feet away, certain she had never been so happy to see him. He had another dagger in his hand – her dagger, which he must have picked up while they had watched the other man die. Even from where she was standing, she could see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

Before she could even think to run to his side, Gerland grabbed her in a vice grip and placed her in front of himself, using her as a shield.

"Release her," Tristan commanded, his voice steady but his posture tense and threatening as he moved a step closer. "Now."

Gerland shifted his grip so that her back was pressed against his chest, and then something cold and sharp was pressed to her throat. Breck froze, all of her senses zeroing in on the blade now resting against her skin.

"One more step, and I shall cut her throat," Gerland warned.

Tristan immediately halted, his eyes flickering to the dagger at her throat, then moving upward to meet hers.

Breck wasn't sure what to do now. She had thought, given the way the fight had gone, that Gerland and his men were unarmed. She had been wrong. Now she had a sharp blade mere moments from ending her life, and she didn't know what the next move should be. Did Tristan have a plan? Did he have a trick up his sleeve?

"Put down the dagger," Gerland instructed.

Tristan hesitated, then slowly leaned down to do so. He then held up his hands to prove he was unarmed. "There is still time to right this wrong," he said, his voice perfectly steady. "Release her now, and you can still leave this place with your life."

"And why should I trust you?" Gerland asked, pressing his dagger harder to Breck's neck, making her wince at the sting of the blade nicking her skin. "You lot will all come after me. I know it!"

"We will not," Tristan countered immediately. "So long as you do not harm her."

Gerland, however, just scoffed with disbelief. "You lie."

Breck felt his arm tense, and it was in that moment that she was certain she was going to die. Time seemed to slow as her eyes met Tristan's, and for once she thought she could read him – thought she could see the realization, the fear, that Breck was going to be killed right in front of him. Though she pressed her lips together tightly, she did not close her eyes, did not look away from Tristan. If nothing else, at least his handsome face would be a pleasant last thing to look upon before she died.

A loud screech suddenly sounded above them, catching Breck and her captor off guard. Both of them looked up to see Tristan's hawk careening down toward them, talons poised to strike. It went straight for Gerland, and then that dagger was no longer at her throat as Breck was released abruptly, the man now far more concerned about the hawk trying to shred his face.

Before Breck could do much of anything, Tristan was there with her dagger in hand. He wasted no time stabbing the blade into Gerland's chest. Then he pulled the blade free, grabbed Gerland by the front of his shirt to hold him in place, and torturously slowly pushed the dagger into the side of Gerland's neck. Gerland choked and gurgled and stared at Tristan with wide, disbelieving eyes, blood spewing from his neck and his mouth as Tristan pushed the blade so deep that the hilt met skin, and she could see the tip of the blade protruding from the other side of Gerland's neck. Then he gave the dagger a violent twist, yanked it loose again, and let Gerland fall dead to the ground.

Their eyes met again, Breck with a heaving chest, Tristan with an expression of pure stone. For a moment she could only hear her own heart pounding in her ears, the heaviness of her own breathing, the screech of Tristan's hawk as it landed on the roof of the stables, the steady drip drip drip of Gerland's blood sliding off the blade of her dagger and pooling onto the dirt.

She was alright. She was alive. Tristan had saved her.

Then, through it all, an odd noise reached her ears, as if something were being dragged across the ground.

Breck and Tristan both turned to look at the only man still alive, the very first one who had grabbed her, the one she had stabbed in the leg. He had been trying to make his own getaway, but his injured leg made it impossible to walk, so he was dragging himself across the dirt, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

The world came back to sharp clarity, and fire roared in Breck's chest again. Wordlessly, she reached a hand toward Tristan for her dagger, which he gave to her without hesitation. Then she strode toward the man. When he saw her coming, he began to panic and tried to crawl faster, but his useless leg only slowed him down.

"Wait, please!" the man begged as she closed in on him, dagger in hand. "I did not – "

Breck cut off his pleas with a swift kick to his middle, which made him grunt with pain as he flopped onto his back. She then leaned down and plunged her dagger into his chest, staring directly into his eyes as he gaped at her like a fish. When the light of life finally receded from his gaze, she yanked the blade back out of his chest and stood to her full height again.

It was eerily quiet now with all of her attackers dead. The anger and adrenaline slowly faded as she rubbed her sore jaw, her gaze flickering between Gerland and his cronies. Breck finally turned her attention back to Tristan, who was watching her closely, his eyes never leaving hers as she came back to join him. She could see anger clear as day in his gaze as his eyes flickered from her, to the men that had attacked her, and then back again.

Tristan finally looked away so that he could lean down and retrieve his dagger from the ground. He wiped the blade clean on Gerland's shirt, then stood again as he returned the dagger to its sheath. His eyes turned back to her and he gave her a quick once over, his gaze lingering on her jaw, where Gerland had punched her, then on her neck, where the blade had been. She thought she saw a muscle beneath his beard twitch.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

Though she had gotten hit, thrown around, touched against her will, and had nearly had her throat cut, she was fine overall, and she'd certainly sustained far worse in the past. Still, she was a little shaken up over the whole ordeal. "I will be alright, thanks to you, and to your bird," she said softly, glancing toward the hawk still perched on the roof of the stables. She looked down at Gerland's dead body and frowned deeply. "I made a mistake tonight that could have cost me dearly," she said, shaking her head. "I should have been more careful."

"Yes, you should have," he agreed, making her feel even worse about the situation than she already did. "But they should not have made the mistake of coming after you," he added, looking pointedly to the dead men. His gaze lingered on the man she had just killed, then on the dagger in her hand, before his eyes met hers once more. "He is not the first man you have killed," he stated. There was an element to his tone that suggested he hadn't previously thought her capable of such a thing.

"No, he is not," Breck confirmed, glancing at the blood on her dagger before following Tristan's lead and wiping it clean on the shirt of the man she'd just used it on. Then she stowed it away in her boot and faced Tristan again. "Thank you for coming to my aid, Tristan. If you had not shown…" She trailed off, then ran a slightly shaky hand over her curls.

"I should have been here sooner," he said gruffly, his eyes narrowing at Gerland's corpse.

"You were here when it mattered most," Breck said softly. She then sighed heavily. "Arthur will be furious when he discovers what has happened," she said, already dreading having to face her friend now. Why did this had to happen tonight of all nights?

Tristan stared at her for a second, before nodding in the direction of the square, where she could still distantly hear the party raging on.

"You should return to the celebration," he said. "But I would not tell anyone of what has happened yet. The men are drunk and emotions will be high. Better it is left for tomorrow."

Breck couldn't help but frown at him. "What are you going to do?"

Tristan indicated toward the dead men. "I will rid of the bodies."

Going back to the party after what had just happened seemed ludicrous enough, but the thought of leaving Tristan to clean up her mess sounded infinitely worse. He had just saved her – if not from death, then certainly from a brutal assault. She was not about to leave him to such a gruesome task all on his own.

"Then I will stay, and I will help you," she said.

"No," Tristan said with a shake of his head. "The men will grow suspicious the longer you are gone, and someone will come here looking for you. Better you return now and leave the task to me, so that we can speak of this with Arthur tomorrow, when he is in his right mind again."

It felt wrong, leaving him to take care of the bodies on his own. But she supposed he did make a fair point – she had already been gone a long while, and the longer she was away, the more chance her absence would begin to draw the suspicions of the men. The last thing she wanted was Arthur or the knights coming to investigate, finding the gruesome scene of Gerland's failed attack, and then going into a fit over it.

"Alright," she finally conceded reluctantly.

Tristan took a step toward her and placed a hand on her back to gently push her in the direction of the tavern. Even though the touch had been brief and completely innocent, it still sent awareness through her limbs.

"Be sure to clean your face. And think of an excuse for your…injuries," he advised.

Hearing him say injuries made her brows knit together questioningly, which had Tristan looking pointedly toward her neck. Breck lifted a hand to the place where the blade had been, and when she pulled her fingers back to look at them, there was a small smear of red. Even more proof of how close she had come to meeting her end that night.

"Here," Tristan said, producing a small scrap of cloth from his pocket and passing it to her.

Breck wiped her fingers clean, then wiped at her face and dabbed at her neck.

"Now go," Tristan urged again. "I will return shortly."

"Be careful," Breck couldn't stop herself from saying. She did not know for certain that Tristan would find himself in trouble if he was caught moving dead bodies out of the fort, but she definitely did not wish to find out, either.

Tristan nodded once, and after one last lingering look, Breck finally turned on her heel and headed back to the square.

---

See you next Friday!