So for this chapter, I sat down to proofread and said….NOPE. The whole thing's gotta go. So I completely redid everything and it's now basically a brand new chapter that was not in the original!

Real talk though, it's honestly a miracle I got this chapter out mostly on time. Between the ending of the chapter giving me more trouble than I expected and having to solo parent my boys for a week while my husband was on a work trip, my brain was a little fried the past few days. I've also been up since 2:45 this morning because my younger one did not sleep well last night. I feel like there's a lot more room for potential wonkiness in this chapter, so apologies in advance if it's not up to par! I do hope y'all enjoy the chapter, though!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Breck fell into a new routine over the course of the next week. She still worked in the stables almost every single morning, but the afternoons became reserved solely for her training sessions with Tristan. Every day at noon she would leave the stables to meet him in the arena, where she would spend at least two, sometimes three hours going through various different exercises – or however long it took until her muscles could, quite literally, not function anymore.

But it wasn't just in the arena that Breck spent time with Tristan.

He had begun joining her for every single meal of the day, insisting that he needed to be with her so that he could make sure she was eating well. In the morning, they met outside their quarters so they could go to the tavern for breakfast together. For their midday meal, they would alternate who provided the food and meet outside the arena, where they would eat together under the shade of a big oak tree. And for supper, they would meet at the tavern again, though this time with the rest of the men, where Tristan had grown kind enough to start rewarding her hard efforts with a cold, crisp pint of ale as soon as they walked inside. There was only one exception to this schedule, and that was when she took her meals with Arthur instead. But outside of that, she was always with Tristan.

He had become a near constant presence in her life, even more so than when he had been guarding her from Gerland. Back then, that had annoyed and frustrated her, simply because he had been so irritating and seemed so hell-bent on making her life an absolute misery at the time.

Now, however…that couldn't be further from the case.

Breck thoroughly enjoyed how much time they had been spending together. With each day that passed, she could feel that he was growing more comfortable with her, more at ease. He had begun to tell her more about himself – more about his time at the Wall, more stories about him and the men, more about his hobbies and his interests. His family was still a topic that he avoided, and he was still reluctant to talk too in depth about his life in Sarmatia, but…he was slowly opening up to her. Very slowly.

Breck had begun opening up to him, too, which was a feat all in its own for her. For so long she had been so distrustful of people that telling anyone about herself – about her life, or her family, or anything really – had been off the table. It had just always seemed wiser to keep the personal details about herself to herself, so that nobody would ever be able to use anything against her. But with Tristan…she wanted him to know about herself, about her past, about her family. And to her surprise – and happiness – he seemed genuinely interested to learn about these things.

So whenever it was just the two of them, either sitting at that little table in the tavern or underneath the big oak tree, she told him about her travels, and her time in Ireland, and what life with her parents had been like. She did not go into detail about their deaths, nor did she talk about Cerdic or his cruelty if she didn't have to, but that was not because she didn't trust him with such information. It was because those topics were either too painful, or too angering to speak of, and she did not wish to ruin their conversations with such darkness.

As far as their training went, even that was going well. It was still brutal, and he was still a bit of an arse whenever they were in the arena, but there was no denying she was making progress. She was getting faster, could tell her stamina increasing, and she could feel herself getting stronger, too – at the very least, she could make it through his strength training exercises without feeling like she was going to die, so that was certainly an improvement. Tristan's training was making a difference already, and she was proud to say that he actually seemed pleased with the results.

All in all, everything with Tristan was good. Very good. Perhaps they still bickered and nagged at one another every now and again, sure, but nowhere near to the frequency or severity as it had been before. By now, she felt she could confidently say that they had moved past all of that and that he was, indeed, her friend.

Which was a good thing, mind you, and she would take being treated like his friend and equal over being treated like a mere thorn in his side every day of the week, but…

There was no more denying what she felt for him. The more time they spent together, the more that they got to know one another, the more Breck fell for him. He was just so different from the other men – so different from anyone she had met, honestly. He could be so quiet and so serious, but he also had a snarky side to him, a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that she liked. He was a man who was honest to the point of being brutally so, and everything he said, everything he did, he did so with purpose. There were no games when it came to Tristan, and he did not try to be anything or anyone but himself. What one saw was what one got, and if they didn't like it, then that was not Tristan's problem.

And Breck did like it. Like him. Far more than she dared to admit even to herself, nor would she even dream of admitting aloud to anyone else, least of all to Tristan. For as well as things were going between them, if there was one thing she was absolutely certain would frighten him away, it was him learning of her true feelings. Still, to this day, he only treated her like a friend, a comrade. He did not flirt with her. He did not try to charm her. He never said anything, or acted in any way, that might make her believe he felt anything more than just friendship.

So Breck was determined to keep her mouth shut. After all the time and effort they had both put in to take their rocky rivalry from the beginning and turn it into an actual friendship, she was not going to ruin that by admitting the truth of her feelings. And luckily for her, Tristan seemed utterly oblivious to it. Perceptive as he was with everything else, noticing when a woman was attracted to him seemed to be lost on him.

Even though her feelings were not reciprocated, Breck was…content…with the way things were. He was a friend, an ally, someone she could talk to and know that he would listen with a nonjudgmental ear, someone who was determined to push her to be as good and as strong as she could be so that she could see her life's mission completed. At the end of the day…maybe it was better that her feelings were unreciprocated. It wouldn't be too much longer before he left Hadrian's Wall, and then she too would be leaving to continue her mission to kill Cerdic. What was the point of romance, anyway, when their lives were about to go in two very different directions?

But Breck refused to think about the fact that her time with Tristan was limited as she sat across from him at breakfast on a grey and gloomy Sunday morning. She wanted to savor these moments with him, not ruin them with depressing thoughts. Everything was just better if she pretended like they wouldn't soon be going their separate ways, never to see one another again.

"You are telling me," Breck said, laughing, "that Lancelot truly thought that if he strapped planks of wood to his arms and jumped off the roof of the stables, then he would fly?"

Tristan smirked as he took a bite. "Indeed."

"Why?" Breck asked with amused exasperation.

"To be fair, we were all very young, very stupid, and very drunk," Tristan admitted. "We all practically begged him not to do it…all but Bors, anyway. The fool was the only one egging him on simply because he wished to see what would happen," he said with a shake of his head.

Breck snorted, unsurprised. "Of course he would," she commented. "What happened then? Did he jump?"

"He did," Tristan confirmed. "Broke his arm, a few ribs, and bruised his pride quite badly."

Breck couldn't help but laugh at the ludicrousness of it all. "What a complete and utter buffoon," she said, albeit with a note of fondness. Tristan huffed in a way that almost sounded like a laugh, then took a drink of his water. "Why have I not heard this story before?"

"Lancelot was so mortified, he swore us to secrecy," Tristan said. "He had everyone in the fort believing he obtained his injuries by saving a child from being run over by a carriage. Thought the heroic tale would make him more…appealing…to the girls in town. Since we were his brothers-in-arms, we went along with the lie for his sake," he explained with a small shrug.

"I imagine he would be quite unhappy if he knew you told me the truth?" Breck surmised with a smirk, already plotting when she could use this information against him, purely to get back at him for all of his incessant flirting.

"Are you planning to do something that might make him believe I did?" Tristan countered.

Breck gave him an incredulous look. "Come now. You cannot provide me with such ample ammunition and expect me not to use it against him."

She saw a hint of a smirk playing on Tristan's lips. "Ruthless," he commented.

"Ruthless as they come," Breck said proudly, before shoveling a large bite of eggs into her mouth and chewing it with a big smile on her face.

Tristan just took a drink of water, something that looked like amusement flashing through his eyes as he watched her over the rim of his cup.

They finished up their meals a few minutes later, and no sooner had Breck taken her last bite than Vanora appeared by their table, balancing a stack of dirty plates in one hand. "Can I take these for washing?" she asked, nodding to their empty plates.

"You have much in your hands already," Breck said, gathering up hers and Tristan's plates and making to stand. "Allow me to carry them for you."

Vanora just waved her off and took the plates, expertly adding them to the stack. "I appreciate it, but do not trouble yourself. Stay here," she added, sending a pointed look in Tristan's direction that Breck easily interpreted – Stay with him. Do not let me interrupt the moment.

Breck hoped Tristan hadn't been able to interpret that, too.

As Vanora disappeared with the plates, Breck leaned back in her seat and finished her water. Since it was Sunday, she was not due to spend her morning working in the stables with Jols and Devran. Instead, she planned to go to the church service due to start soon.

"What shall I bring for our midday meal today?" she asked, since it was her turn to provide food before their usual training session.

"Nothing. There will be no training today," Tristan said.

Breck blinked with surprise, then immediately felt a quick rush of disappointment. It was a true testament to just how much she was enjoying being in Tristan's company if she was actually disappointed not to endure a brutal session with him. "Why not?"

"It is Sunday," he said. "I do not wish to interfere with your day of rest and devotion."

Breck's jaw dropped a little. Seeing as Tristan was very Pagan, she would never have expected him to take her Christianity into account when it came to their training. That he had decided to give her a day off simply so she could practice her faith was…incredibly, and unexpectedly, considerate of him.

"That is kind of you," she said once she recovered from her shock. "I do plan to attend church, but I would still be willing to train afterwards."

Tristan still shook his head. "You have earned a day of respite," he insisted. "We will resume training tomorrow."

"Very well," Breck finally conceded. "Thank you."

Tristan just nodded.

She finally stood from her seat, and Tristan did, too. Once they were out of the tavern, Breck hesitated to leave, still disappointed by the fact that she wouldn't be seeing as much of him as she usually did and finding that she wanted to prolong their goodbye this morning. Tristan did not immediately move to leave either, lingering outside the tavern with her.

"Since you will finally have a day to yourself, what shall you do?" Breck asked curiously.

Tristan glanced toward the stables. "I was thinking to take Azia out. It has been a long while since we have gone for a ride simply for the enjoyment of it."

Breck realized, with a hefty sum of guilt, that it had been a long time since she had last taken Lugh out for a ride. "I should do the same with Lugh soon," she commented. "I fear I have been neglecting him as of late."

There was a beat of silence from Tristan, then he said, "You may join me, if you would like."

Breck looked at him quickly, her mouth opening and closing a few times. "Oh. I was not saying that to guilt you into inviting me along," she said, not wanting him to think she was trying to force her presence on him. "If you desire to be alone – "

Tristan just gave her a look. "Do you wish to come, or no?" he interrupted bluntly.

Breck clamped her lips together. What was wrong with her? Tristan was inviting her to come ride with him, and there she was trying to talk him out of it. Had she gone daft? "Aye," she finally answered. "I would like that."

Tristan nodded. "Then I shall meet you in the stables after your church service has concluded."

Breck smiled and started to tell him that she would be looking forward to it, when a new voice suddenly interrupted.

"Oh! Hello, Tristan," a female voice greeted.

They both turned to look at the woman who had just approached, and Breck immediately recognized her as one of the women who worked in the brothel. The woman had dark, sleek hair, wide dark eyes, perfectly unblemished skin, and a curvaceous body that probably had men falling to their knees wherever she went. She was, undeniably, a very attractive woman, especially in that deep red gown that suited her coloring so well and left so very little to the imagination.

Breck shifted on her feet, very suddenly feeling self-conscious. The woman was dressed to impress and making almost every man in the near vicinity practically break their necks to look at her…and there Breck was, with her red curls that were often too wild to fully tame, skin that was dotted with hundreds of freckles and marred by too many scars, and though she had put on a little more weight since coming to the Wall, she was still far too skinny after all her time on the road. Even the simple, brown dress she had put on so that she would look nicer for church looked like a mere potato sack compared to hers.

Breck had never felt more…plain.

"Orella," Tristan greeted, his tone neutral as ever.

"How have you been?" the woman asked, sauntering her way just a little bit closer.

"I am well," he answered.

"And busy, it seems," Orella said with a charming smile. "It has been too long since last we spent time together."

Tristan said nothing to that, and the silence that followed was horribly uncomfortable. The woman named Orella was giving him a look that Breck recognized too well – it was the same one Lancelot wore whenever he was flirting, truly flirting, with a woman he wished to entice into his bed. Tristan seemed to know it too, and though he had suddenly gone as still and silent as a statue, he did not send her away.

As for Breck, she could only look back and forth between the two of them, her stomach – and heart – slowly beginning to sink. Orella was regarding Tristan with just a little too much familiarity, and since Breck was not naïve, there was very little doubt as to how they knew one another. What Breck did not know, and was suddenly afraid to know, was whether or not their knowing one another was purely transactional, or if it had extended beyond that – either in the past, or in the present.

"Is there something you need?" Tristan finally asked Orella.

Orella seemed undeterred by Tristan's stoicism. "Nothing. I merely wished to say hello. And say…do come by sometime. It is always a pleasure to have you visit."

Orella finally deigned to acknowledge Breck's presence, her dark eyes cutting over to where she stood. The woman looked Breck up and down, lifted her brows in a way that indicated she found her very unimpressive, and then turned another charming smile on Tristan.

"Good day, Tristan."

Then she sashayed into the tavern without another look backward.

Breck slowly looked to Tristan, who finally met her gaze for the first time since Orella had arrived. He did not say anything, though she didn't know whether that was because he couldn't think of what to say or because he didn't have anything to say. Breck was just as quiet, still taken aback by the unexpected and awkward encounter, still trying to work through the range of emotions thundering through her.

Thankfully, the church bell rang in that moment, signaling that service was about to start soon.

"I should go," she said, diligently keeping her voice as normal as possible. "I shall see you soon?"

After Tristan inclined his head, she turned and left for the church.

The walk was a blur, with Breck so caught up in her own reeling mind that she barely noticed anything going on around her. It was by pure muscle memory alone that she made it to the church and stepped inside, making the cross with holy water on her forehead before going to the front pew, where she joined Arthur in their usual seats. When she plopped down a bit too roughly next to him, he startled a bit and quirked a brow at her.

"Are you well?" he asked quietly as the rest of the church goers slowly shuffled in for service.

Breck looked over at him, trying to look as collected as possible. "Aye. Why do you ask?"

"Because you seem…bothered," Arthur stated, seeing right through her, just as he always did. "Has something happened?"

Breck immediately thought back to Orella, and the smiles she had given Tristan. How many times had she smiled at him like that? Had she had the privilege of having Tristan smile back? Exactly how well did they know one another anyway?

But Breck did not voice any of these questions aloud, nor give any indication that she even knew who Orella was, or what she and Tristan had obviously done before. "Nothing has happened, Arthur," she insisted, just wishing he would stop asking.

Thankfully, he did not get the chance, because the doors closed and the service started, which gave them no more time to talk. Breck was happy for the interruption, and eager for something to distract her.

But the distraction never came.

As she spent the entire length of the service thinking about what had happened outside the tavern, she was finally able to name the feelings that kept coursing through her. Uncertainty over what their relationship might be, embarrassment and anger over the way that woman had look down on her so condescendingly, jealousy over the fact that Orella very clearly had history with Tristan.

But, most of all, she was just…disappointed.

Because if that was the type of woman Tristan preferred, then she was very much out of luck.

Breck had never stood a chance with him.

OOO

"Are you certain there is nothing you need to talk about?" Arthur asked as they began shuffling their way out of the church after service concluded.

Breck refrained from sighing with annoyance. "Aye, Arthur. I am certain," she said calmly.

Arthur still did not seem convinced, but wisely decided not to keep pressing the issue. "Forgive me, for being so insistent. I only wished to ensure you were well. I will cease pestering you now," he said with a half smile.

"Thank you," Breck said with relief.

Arthur nodded to a man who called out a greeting to him, then looked back to her. "Are you off to the arena to train?" he asked conversationally.

"Not today. Tristan and I are taking Lugh and Azia out," Breck answered.

Arthur raised his brows a little. "He is going to teach you tricks of the cavalry then?"

Breck pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Actually, we are merely…going for a ride." Because she was still going to go. For one, she knew it would only make things odd if she did not, but also…she still wanted to go, even in spite of that weird encounter outside the tavern.

Arthur's eyebrows inched higher. "A ride?" he echoed, confused.

"A ride," she repeated, giving him a look that said she was not sure why he was having trouble grasping this. "As in we are going to saddle our horses and take them out of the stables and then – "

"Yes, thank you, I understand," Arthur cut in wryly. "I suppose I am merely…surprised. I knew you two have been getting along well, I just did not realize you were getting along so well that you would begin going for leisurely rides together," he explained.

"Is that not a good thing?" Breck countered.

"It is," Arthur quickly agreed. "It is just…" His eyes swept over her face, as if searching for an answer to a question he was reluctant to ask. Finally, he shook his head and turned his eyes forward. "I am relieved you two have become friends," he said. "Tis far better than hearing you nag one another all the time," he added with a huff.

Breck's lips pulled into a small smile. Even though she felt more than just friendly feelings toward Tristan, at the end of the day, she was glad to at least be able to call him her friend now. "As am I," she said with a nod.

When they finally reached the door of the church, they paused briefly to chat with the priest and thank him for a good service, even though Breck couldn't recall more than five words of it. Arthur then offered her an elbow, and after Breck looped her arm through his, he led her down the short set of stairs to the road down below.

"To your quarters first?" Arthur asked.

Breck nodded. "I require a change of clothing," she confirmed.

They had just cleared the bottom step when they noticed that someone was waiting for them.

Gawain stood straighter, a broad grin immediately stretching across his face at the sight of them. Or, perhaps, it was just at the sight of her, seeing as he had yet to look Arthur's way.

"Hello," he said, stepping forward to meet them. He did finally look at Arthur and inclined his head. "Arthur," he greeted.

"Good day, Gawain," Arthur said. "What brings you here?"

"I was passing by and saw that the service had ended, and I knew you both would be here," he said. "I merely…wished to say hello."

As he motioned around with his hands, Breck noticed he had picked a small handful of purple flowers, ones she had been admiring outside one of the shops a few days ago while she'd been walking to the tavern with Galahad and Gawain.

"I see," Arthur said, a smile playing on his lips as he glanced back and forth between them. He too had noticed the flowers in Gawain's hands. Suddenly he made a noise of realization, as if he had just remembered something very important. "I have only just remembered that I am due for a meeting with the butcher," he said, slipping his arm out of Breck's grasp. "Gawain? Would you be so inclined to escort our dear friend to her quarters?"

"Certainly," Gawain readily agreed.

"Then I shall leave her in your capable company," Arthur said, smiling broadly at them both. "Good day."

Arthur quickly walked away, and Breck knew, without a shade of doubt, that he was not on his way to meeting with his butcher. She watched him go, feeling only slightly exasperated with his very obvious ploy to give them some time alone, and then looked to Gawain with a small smile.

"Shall we?"

Gawain offered his elbow, and after she tucked her hand into the crook of it, they continued on.

"For you," he said after a moment, offering the flowers. "I remembered you admiring them and could not pass them by without taking a few," he said with a smile.

Breck took them, giving them a sniff and smiling at the sweet scent that hit her nose. "Thank you. That is very kind."

Gawain inclined his head. "How was your service?"

"Enjoyable as always," she answered – or, at least, she gathered it would have been had she actually paid attention. "How goes your day today?"

"Much better now," Gawain answered, his blue eyes practically sparkling at her.

Breck just smiled at him, unsure what exactly to say in response to that.

A momentary silence passed between them as they continued on through town. Breck toyed with her flowers for something to do, feeling a little awkward by the fact that Gawain had very obviously gone out of his way to see her, bring her flowers, and now say charming little things to her. It felt quite a bit like all of the stories she'd heard of men courting women they had taken a liking to, and she simply did not know how to react to it.

"Your training seems to be going well," Gawain finally said to break the silence.

And he would certainly know, because after that day that Gawain and Galahad had come to the arena and seen Tristan helping Breck stretch her shoulder, Gawain had started popping in on sessions to observe whenever he had free time. When she had asked him about it, he had assured her he was merely curious to see what they were doing and wanted to be there in case she desired any of his input. She had a strong feeling, however, that there was more to it than just that.

Gawain didn't always come, but he did more often than not. Breck didn't necessarily mind it, because he was always very supportive and encouraging, and he had given her a few useful tips here or there. But she was always very aware of him when he was there, and very aware of how closely he watched everything that she and Tristan did, which sometimes made her feel a little awkward about the whole thing.

Tristan, on the other hand, didn't seem to care for his presence whenever he came around. He had tried to send Gawain away, but the man had refused to budge, insisting that he was only curious and only trying to help. In the end, Tristan had seemed to decide that arguing with him about it was a waste of time and had finally just let him continue to observe, but it seemed obvious to Breck – and probably to Gawain – that he wasn't pleased with the extra eyes on them.

That could, perhaps, be because their friendship still seemed strained. There had been no confrontations, no arguments, no altercations that she knew of…but, every so often, when everyone had gathered for meals or for drinks, she would see them eyeing one another in that weird, almost challenging sort of way whenever they believed nobody was paying attention. It was all the proof she needed that there was still some kind of tension between the two.

Breck had tried not to presume that she was the reason for the sudden friction between Tristan and Gawain, but she honestly couldn't think of any other cause for it. Their friendship had been perfectly fine with one another before she and Tristan had started spending so much time together, and now it was obvious that it wasn't.

Breck was honestly at a loss with the whole thing, so she had been doing what any normal, sensible, mature person would do in this scenario.

She had been pretending as though it wasn't even happening.

"Thank you," she told him. "You were correct, when you said he was merciless," she admitted. "But there is no question about how effective his methods are."

"His methods only work if the person he teaches is already capable," Gawain pointed out. "I have no doubt you were already a fearsome fighter before he began training you."

Breck smiled at the compliment. "There is always room for improvement," she stated modestly.

"Indeed there is. For all of us," Gawain agreed. "I assume you will be training again today," he continued. "I know that it is tradition to take your meals with him, so that he can ensure you are getting the proper nutrition, but…perhaps you would dine with me today instead?" he asked hopefully.

Breck's awkwardness immediately returned full swing. She already knew that if she told him what their plans really were, he would likely be unhappy about it. Yet, she also knew that if she attempted to lie, then he would see right through it, which would only make matters worse.

But why would she lie about it to begin with, or even try to hide it? It was not as though going for a ride with Tristan was anything to feel guilty about. They were friends going on a friendly outing, which she was absolutely allowed to do, no explanations needed.

"Tristan has kindly given me the day free of training to recover," she told him, which immediately made him perk up. "Yet, he has also invited me to join him on a ride," she added. "I told him I would go."

She could practically see Gawain deflate right before her very eyes. The smile that had been on his lips slowly turned downward into a frown, his brows knitting together in an expression that seemed altogether quite disappointed. "I see."

They walked in silence again, this time an uneasy one.

After what felt like far longer than just a few mere moments, he gently pulled her to a stop and gave her a questioning look. "Breck? May I ask you something?"

It seemed an ominous question, especially given the way he was looking at her. "Of course," she said, even as she braced herself for whatever he was about to say.

"You and Tristan…is there – " he began to ask.

"Outta the way! Outta the way! Move!" a voice suddenly shouted nearby, startling them both.

Breck turned to see that two Roman guards were pushing their way through the crowd in a hurry, a man who was limp and very badly injured being carried between them.

At first, Breck merely felt the same concern that anyone might feel when seeing someone who had gotten badly hurt and clearly needed urgent medical attention. She watched them pass by, wondering what exactly had happened, and feeling a pang of sympathy for the poor fellow.

But then the man's head lolled in a way that gave her a clear view of his face, and when she realized who it was, she immediately straightened with attention.

It was the man she had hired to deliver her letter to Melcon. A letter which, admittedly, she had all but forgotten about given her many recent distractions.

Her feet were moving before she could think twice about it, Gawain calling after her with confusion. She ignored him and hurried to catch up with the guards, her eyes locked on the man as she took closer stock of his condition. He was skinny, as if it had been several days since he had eaten, and there was blood coating his tunic and trousers. He was also pale as a ghost from how much blood he had lost.

"What happened?" Breck asked urgently once she had caught up with them.

The Romans gave her an annoyed look. "This is no time to be nosy, woman. Be gone!" they commanded.

"I know this man," Breck stated firmly, which made their scowls lessen. "What happened to him?"

"Before he lost consciousness, he said he had gone north to deliver a letter for someone," the Roman on the left stated. "According to him, he lost his way and had to turn back. That was when the Woads found him."

Woads. Of course it would be. North of the Wall was Woad territory, and apparently she had been very, very lucky not to run into any of them on her own journey to Hadrian's Wall. She had warned the man of the danger before he had left, but he had been so eager for adventure, so eager for a change in his mundane life, that he had wanted to go anyway.

Now he was practically dead, and it was all because she had sent him from the safety of the Wall.

Guilt quickly set in, making her frown deeply. He was in a bad way, but he was not dead yet. If he wanted a chance to survive, there was only one person he could go to.

"He must see Dagonet," Breck insisted. "I will lead you there."

The Romans nodded, and Breck quickly took the lead, calling for people to make room for them to pass by so that they could get to Dagonet as quickly as possible. She had all but forgotten that she had been in the middle of a conversation with Gawain, that she had even been with him in the first place, until he appeared by her side.

"What is going on?" he asked, glancing at the man behind them in confusion. "How do you know that man?"

"I found need to make contact with an old ally recently," she hastily explained. "But he lives far to the north, in Pict territory. That man there was the only one willing to carry the letter to him," she said, looking to the injured man with worried eyes. "I warned him this might happen."

Gawain still seemed confused. "Why are you making contact with old allies?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

There wasn't a chance that she was about to begin divulging all the secrets she had been keeping about her connection to Cerdic and her mission to kill him. Not while they were so out in the open, and not when she still thought it better for him not to know.

"Tis a long story," Breck answered evasively.

Gawain looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but they had reached Dagonet's infirmary by now, which did not give him the chance. Breck quickened her pace even more and immediately opened the door without bothering to knock first.

"Dag? We have an emergency!" she announced.

Dagonet, who had been busy mixing together some sort of concoction, frowned and immediately got to his feet, concern flashing through his eyes. When the Romans entered next, the man still supported between them, his expression turned serious and he quickly stepped forward.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"Woad attack," one of the Roman's answered.

Dagonet's eyes flashed with alarm. "North of the Wall," Breck added, so that he would know that the threat was not one that he and the men would need to deal with.

That made his shoulders relax some, at least. "Lay him down."

The guard did as they had been told, easing the man down onto one of the cots Dagonet always kept ready for emergencies just like this one. As the Romans backed away to give Dagonet a little more space, Breck stepped forward to watch as the healer began moving the man's clothing out of the way, revealing a number of scrapes, bruises, and cuts. The worst of it, however, was the long, deep gash across his belly.

"Breck?" Dagonet asked, looking to her expectantly.

She knew already what he needed and immediately began collecting things for him, grabbing items and placing them on a tray for him to work with. Their task now done, the Romans saw themselves out. Gawain, however, lingered in the doorway quietly, watching as she and Dagonet took up places on either side of the man.

The moment Dagonet started to clean the gash, the shock of his wound being touched and tended to made the man come back to alertness, his eyes opening wide and his whole body jerking. He started to thrash, either from the pain or out of fear, until Dagonet placed strong hands on him to make him still.

"You are in my infirmary," he said, his tone calm but firm. "I am going to tend to your wounds. You are safe."

The man stopped struggling at those words, but he still whimpered and trembled. When his eyes swung to her, they widened slightly before he shook his head. "I…I am sorry, my lady," he said deliriously. "I…c-could not…d-deliver your letter."

Breck immediately shook her head. Her letter not finding its way to Melcon was something to worry about at another time. "Do not apologize. That is of no consequence now," she insisted. "Just…attempt to relax. We are going to help you, alright?"

The man nodded, his eyes fluttered, then he lost consciousness again, his head lolling back as his body went limp once more.

When she met Dagonet's eyes, there were a few questions swimming around in them, a curiosity over how she knew the man and what letter he was talking about. He did not ask, however, and merely turned his gaze back to the man as he got to work.

Breck began to push up the sleeves of her dress, knowing that she would likely be there for a while as she helped Dagonet do everything possible to try to give the man a chance to live. This was her doing, after all. Yes, he had decided to go on his own and received a hefty payment for it, but if she had not asked him to go north of the Wall, he would have never gotten injured in the first place. It was only right for her to try to help him now.

Which meant, unfortunately, that her plans with Tristan would need to be cancelled.

"Gawain?" she said, looking to where he still stood silently watching them. He lifted his gaze to her, standing a little straighter. Perhaps, given the current strain of their friendship, he was not the most ideal person to ask, but she did not want to simply not show up, and he was currently the only one available to get word to Tristan. "Might you inform Tristan that I cannot join him today? I am going to stay and help Dag."

Gawain slowly nodded. "I will."

He then left, and once the door shut behind him, Breck's sole focus was on assisting Dagonet.

OOO

After cleaning, stitching, and wrapping the man's many wounds, they determined they had done all that they could to help him and there would be nothing left to do now but wait and see if he made it through the night.

Once they had finished tending to him, Breck kept watch while Dagonet went to get food so that the man would have a chance to eat in the case that he regained consciousness. Alone with the man, she rifled through the pockets of his coat and trousers until she located the letter she had written. It was crinkled and mangled and halfway soaked through with blood, though the wax she had sealed it with remained unbroken. Breck looked at it for a moment, then went and tossed it into the fire in the hearth, watching as it shriveled and burned to ash. She then went back to her seat by the man's sickbed, frowning to herself.

Between how still he was and how badly he looked, Breck had to admit that she had very serious doubts about whether or not he would survive his injuries.

She only left after Dagonet returned, and by the time she had said goodbye to her friend, gone to her quarters, cleaned herself up, and had a bit of rest, it was suppertime.

Breck went to the tavern with a growling stomach, feeling a little worn out after such an eventful afternoon. The tavern was loud and busy, just as it always was with the dinnertime rush. A glance toward the usual table the knights claimed showed her that, besides Dagonet, everyone was in attendance already, even Arthur, the lot of them laughing and talking over their food and ale.

Well, most of them were anyway. Gawain, she noticed, did not look like his usual, sociable self. And when her eyes swung to Tristan, he was staring intently at his food, seemingly disconnected from whatever conversation was taking place around him.

Breck frowned to herself unsurely, then turned and went to the bar, where Vanora was filling mugs of ale. Eleven appeared to be sleeping in a sling she had tied around her torso.

"Good evening, my friend," Breck greeted with a tired smile.

Vanora grinned brightly at her. "Pleasure to see you, as always," she said back. Vanora turned to hand off the ale to the men who had ordered it, then came and leaned her hands against the counter across from Breck. "Busy day?" she inquired.

"Unexpectedly busy, aye," Breck confirmed with a nod. "And I am starved, both for food and for a drink."

Vanora smiled understandingly. "Say no more. I will get you what you need."

While she waited for Vanora to return, Breck leaned against the counter and looked toward the knights' table again. Her presence had been noticed, she realized with a jolt, by both a pair of bright blue eyes, and a pair flaked with amber. Gawain and Tristan were both watching her, the former with a studious frown, the latter with his all-too-familiar indecipherable mask. Suddenly Gawain cut his eyes to Tristan, who glanced back at Gawain before turning his eyes back to his plate with complete and utter indifference. The frown on Gawain's face only deepened.

The sound of something being plunked onto the counter behind her made Breck turn back around to see that Vanora had brought ale and a plate laden with food. "On the house," she informed Breck before she could reach for her coin pouch.

"You are going to find yourself in trouble if you continue refusing to charge me," Breck told her.

Vanora waved a dismissive hand. "This place would crumble and burn within the span of an afternoon if not for me. I may do whatever I please," she said confidently. Breck just snorted and shook her head. "Much as I would love to remain here and socialize, as you can see it is quite busy," the woman said, gesturing toward the many other patrons. "I shall speak to you later?"

"Certainly," Breck confirmed.

Vanora nodded and smiled, then glanced in the direction of the table and raised her brows. "And just so that you know, both Tristan and Gawain seem to be in a mood tonight, so…beware," she warned.

Then she left to go and help someone else.

Breck sighed to herself, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach at Vanora's warning. Why would Tristan and Gawain be in bad moods? Tristan had seemed mostly fine when she had seen him last, if not perhaps a touch odd after that encounter with Orella. And she supposed Gawain had seemed troubled earlier when she had told him that she had plans to go for a ride with Tristan, but…surely he was not still fretting over that?

Had something else happened that she was not yet aware of?

In the next moment, Galahad noticed that she had arrived and began waving her over, which made the rest of the table notice her as well. Breck waved back, collected her food, then started to make her way there, already bracing herself for whatever awkwardness she was about to walk into.

She had barely gone three steps, however, when someone appeared practically out of nowhere and bumped into her so roughly that it was a downright miracle she did not spill the contents of her plate and mug all over herself.

Once she had her footing again, Breck looked to see who had run into her and felt her spine stiffen when she saw it was Orella, flanked by two other ladies from the brothel. The woman gave her a haughty once over, the innocent expression on her face vastly contradicting the malicious gleam in her eyes.

"My apologies," she said, not sounding the least bit remorseful. "You are so unremarkable that I did not even see you."

Breck blinked at the insult at first, simply because it caught her so off guard, then she quirked a brow. "Pardon?" she asked coldly.

Orella smirked. "You heard me well enough," she said. Then she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Come," she said, speaking to the two women with her. "Before this pitiful creature frightens all the business away."

And then she sauntered away, the women with her snickering to themselves as they went.

Breck stared after her, a surge of anger flashing through her. What a twit, she thought to herself, watching as Orella and the two women went to start flirting with some men sitting at a nearby table. What in the world had that even been about? She had never even spoken to the woman before, let alone given her any reason to be so rude toward her. What was her problem?

Breck shook her head, took a breath to get a handle on her anger, and then finally went to the table.

"There she is!" Bors greeted enthusiastically. But then his face took on a look of confusion, his brows furrowing together. "Why do you look as though someone took a piss in your ale?"

Her face must have been betraying her lingering irritation with Orella. She quickly schooled her features into a more neutral one. "I know not what you speak of. I am fine," she told him.

Breck glanced around the table to see where she should sit. Arthur, Lancelot, and Bors were on one side, and Tristan, Galahad, and Gawain were on the other, with Tristan and Gawain sitting as far from each other as possible and Galahad seemingly acting as a barrier between them. Both men, she noted, had left enough space next to them to accommodate her, though whether that was on purpose or not, she didn't know. Galahad was also looking like he hoped she would sit next to him, probably to help ease the burden of his apparent middle-man duty, but Breck honestly wasn't keen on the idea. Tristan seemed irritable now that she was seeing him up close, and Gawain did indeed not look to be in a great mood himself, either.

So she turned to Lancelot. "Make room, please," she said, indicating for him to scoot over.

"My, my! Tis I the beautiful lady has chosen to sit next to!" he proclaimed with a wide grin, happily making room for her to sit between him and Arthur.

Breck set her things down and wedged herself in between them, glancing toward Tristan first, who seemed to not care at all where she parked her rear, then to Gawain, who did look disappointed. Breck only flashed a quick smile so that he would know nothing was amiss, then turned her attention to Lancelot when he swept up her hand and pressed a noisy kiss to her knuckles.

"It is an honor – nay, a pleasure, to be sharing my meal with you this evening, my dearest, breathtaking Breck," he said, giving her a charming wink to go along with his grin.

"Oi," Bors said, leaning forward to send him a mocking look. "You may as well cease kissing her arse. Your charms are never going to work, my friend. Tis getting pathetic."

"But it is such a lovely arse to kiss, Bors," Lancelot countered, his grin never faltering.

Arthur immediately turned a displeased look on Lancelot, but Breck placed a hand on his arm to keep him from saying anything. "That is quite enough talk of my arse, thank you," Breck interrupted before things could get carried away. She picked up her fork and pointed it at Lancelot. "Behave, or else I shall tell the whole of the fort about the time you thought you could fly."

Lancelot gaped at her with shock, before frowning deeply and turning an accusatory look on his comrades, most of whom were doing a poor job of containing their laughter now. Even Gawain couldn't stop himself from huffing out a short laugh. "Who told her?" Lancelot demanded, which only made the men laugh harder. "I am glad you all find betrayal amusing," he said with a scoff, looking none too pleased and – dare she say it? – a little embarrassed.

"It does not matter who told me," Breck said. "What matters is that I know, and I am not above telling everyone else purely to revel in your mortification. So I suggest you keep your comments clean."

Lancelot grumbled, but nodded in agreement. Breck could not resist turning her eyes to Tristan, her lips pulling into a small, conspiratorial smile. Tristan hid his answering smirk with a drink of ale.

Supper went smoothly enough after that. The men distracted her to the point that she mostly forgot that little exchange with Orella, but the atmosphere around them still wasn't quite what it normally was. Tristan said nothing the whole time, choosing instead to just sit quietly at his corner of the table, and Gawain was certainly less chatty than normal, only really speaking if someone specifically addressed him. The men noticed this, of course, as did Breck, but nobody seemed to want to be the one to draw attention to whatever it was that had put the two in their unsociable moods. So the rest of the men carried on as if everything were completely normal, and Breck was glad to do so, too.

After their food had been finished, Breck's companions started to break away from the table to find other things to do – and she couldn't say she blamed them, since the normal cheerfulness at the table was noticeably absent that night. Bors left first so that he could help Vanora with Eleven when the baby woke from his sleep and started crying uncontrollably. Shortly after, Arthur and Lancelot wandered away too, Arthur going off to speak with a few Roman guards, while Lancelot went to charm an attractive lady he had spotted.

That left only her, Galahad, Tristan and Gawain at the table, along with a very awkward silence that hung over them.

Tristan was content to look anywhere but at the people sitting around him. Gawain was ignoring Tristan's very presence, but he also kept shooting looks her way, as if there was something on his mind that he very much wished to speak with her about, only he did not want to do so in the company of others. As for Galahad, he looked like he would have rather been anywhere else but at that table, sitting between Tristan and Gawain. Which was probably why he finally cleared his throat and nudged Gawain with his elbow.

"Come. Let us have a throwing match," he urged. "You still have to redeem yourself from your last abysmal loss," he added with a joking smirk, an obvious attempt to relieve the tension.

Gawain looked at Galahad, sent a glance toward Tristan and then toward Breck, before nodding once. "Very well."

The two knights grabbed their respective ales and then moved toward the target that was always stationed near their table so that they could have their dagger throwing match, though not before Gawain sent one last look at her over his shoulder.

Breck eyed the two, who were just far enough away from their table to give her and Tristan some semblance of privacy. And now that she was alone with him, she turned her eyes over to the scout. His attention was turned elsewhere at first, his hand blindly reaching for his ale so that he could take a long drink. As he set the mug down, his eyes finally shifted to meet hers.

Breck fiddled with her own ale, trying to think of the right words to say. "You have been very quiet," she finally commented.

"The men like to talk, so I let them do so," he responded simply.

Breck nodded slowly, even though she wasn't convinced that was the reason for his lack of interaction. "Are you…well?"

Tristan just blinked at her. "Why would I not be?"

Breck pressed her lips together. "Right," she said awkwardly, before taking another drink. Obviously Tristan did not want to talk about it.

Her eyes wandered to Galahad and Gawain, and she was not surprised to discover that Gawain was keeping an eye on her and Tristan, only he appeared to be trying very hard to be inconspicuous about it.

"You were helping Dagonet tend to an injured man this afternoon?" Tristan asked.

Breck looked back to him, then nodded. "Aye," she said. "I had just left church and was headed back to my quarters to change when I saw two Romans carrying a half-dead man between them. I…recognized him. Nearly a fortnight ago, I paid him to deliver a letter to a contact of mine to the north," she revealed. Then she frowned. "Only he never made it, and the Woads nearly killed him." Breck sighed and shrugged. "Seeing as I was the reason he was even in their territory to begin with, I felt that I had to help."

Tristan tilted his head questioningly. "Why were you writing to a contact to the north?"

"An attempt to gather information on the Saxon army," she said. "I cannot hunt my enemy if I do not know where he is."

Tristan nodded in understanding. "I see."

Breck fiddled with her mug for a moment, then gave him a look of apology. "I am sorry that I did not join you this afternoon," she told him.

"There is no need for apology," Tristan said, his shoulders, for the first time since she had arrived, looking just a little bit less tense. "I understand."

"Even so, I hope you were not waiting on me for long," she said. "Did Gawain find you quickly enough?"

Tristan's shoulders tensed again, and she thought she saw something unpleasant flicker across his face. "He found me," he confirmed, giving no further detail on the matter.

But the tone in which he had said it gave her pause, made her frown with uncertainty. "Did…something happen? Between the two of you?" she asked hesitantly. "You both seem…out of sorts." And that was putting it quite mildly, if one were to ask Breck.

Tristan held her gaze for a moment, then lifted his ale to his mouth. "It is nothing you need concern yourself over," he said, before taking a long drink.

So something had happened. Breck started to pry more, but did not get the chance.

"Breck?"

She and Tristan both shifted their attention to Gawain, who appeared to have abandoned his dagger throwing match already and had returned to the table. Behind him, Galahad looked to the sky with a longsuffering sigh, looking caught somewhere between exhausted and utterly fed up. "Yes, Gawain?" she asked, unsure what to make of the expression on his face.

"Might you join me for a walk?" he asked. "I wish to speak with you…privately," he added pointedly.

Breck glanced at Tristan, who had turned what seemed like a very cold look on Gawain, then back to Gawain, whose expression was so full of hope that there was no way she could refuse him.

"Certainly."

Gawain smiled at that and came around the table and offered a hand. Breck took it, his fingers swamping hers as he helped her stand. He let go to place that hand on the small of her back, then, after they had said their goodbye's to Tristan and Galahad, they headed for the door. Breck could feel eyes on her back as they left, but she didn't look back to see who was watching them.

She already had a strong suspicion as to who it was.

She and Gawain left the noise of the tavern behind and stepped into the dark, quiet streets of the fort. Gawain removed his hand from her back, offering an elbow instead, and they began walking much like they had done after church – minus the flowers. At that thought, Breck frowned to herself. What had she done with the flowers Gawain had given her? After all the commotion that afternoon, she genuinely couldn't remember.

They started in the general direction of the knights' quarters, walking in silence for a long few minutes. "How fairs the man you were helping Dag with?" Gawain eventually asked.

"He is not dead, but he was not doing particularly well either," Breck answered with a small shake of her head. "Whether or not he will live is yet to be determined."

Gawain nodded slowly. "I admit I have been thinking much about that incident today," he stated. "The mystery of it all has left me…quite bothered."

Breck lifted a brow at him. "Why?"

Gawain frowned slightly. "You hired a random man in town to deliver secret correspondences to only the Gods know who, and after mulling it over for quite some time, I have come to two possible reasons for you to do so," he stated.

"And these reasons are…?" Breck prompted.

"The first, less plausible reason, is that this ally is actually a distant, secret lover none of us have been made aware of," Gawain stated bluntly. Breck immediately snorted at how ludicrous that idea was, which made Gawain give a humorless smirk. "I thought not," he said.

"What is the other reason?" she asked.

Gawain's expression turned more serious, his blue eyes locking with hers. "The other reason, the one I suspect to truly be the case, is that you are involved in something. Something you have been unwilling to divulge. Something that may be…dangerous."

Breck stiffened at those words, and since they were so close to one another, she knew Gawain felt it. He gently pulled her to a halt, his brows furrowing as his eyes searched hers intently.

"What are you not telling me, Breck?" he asked.

She had to resist the urge to shift on her feet. "What makes you believe I am keeping anything from you?" she countered evasively.

Gawain lowered his chin to pin her with a knowing look. "Do not think I have not noticed how reluctant you are to discuss your past. As close as you have grown to myself and the men, there is no denying that there is still much about your life before the Wall that you have not told us," he said bluntly. "And I have seen the way that you train. That goes beyond just learning to defend yourself against scum like Gerland. Something more is going on. I can feel it," he said with certainty.

Breck sighed and looked away, an uneasy feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

When she had first befriended the knights, she had hoped that she would be able to keep her mission to kill Cerdic a secret from them. That she could spend these last months of their servitude with them, enjoying their company and reveling in their friendship, and then, when the time came, they would depart for Sarmatia without ever knowing what it was that she and Arthur had planned. They would never know the danger she was willingly involving herself in. They would never have to worry. They would go on with their lives, blissfully unaware of it all.

Now, as Gawain stood before her giving her that searching look, she was not convinced she would be able to lie to him about it. He was like a bloodhound who had caught a scent, and now that he had these suspicions, she did not think he would let them go.

"Breck?" Gawain prompted when she took too long to respond, and she knew that her lingering silence was not doing anything to help matters in her favor.

She finally looked back to him. "Have you stopped to consider that if I have kept secrets, then perhaps there is a good reason for it?" she asked.

Gawain frowned. "Do you not trust me?" he asked, almost looking hurt at the possibility of it.

"You know that is not the case," Breck countered quickly. "Of course I trust you, Gawain."

"Then why keep me in the dark?" Gawain demanded. "I have told you before that I will always support you, that I will always do my best to help you."

It was for that exact reason that she didn't want to tell Gawain – she did not want his feelings for her to potentially influence him into involving himself in something that he had no reason to be involved in. "I know that," Breck said.

"Then please," Gawain said, taking her hand in his and giving it an earnest squeeze. "Tell me."

And perhaps it was how insistent he was being, or maybe it was the pleading look on his face, or maybe it was just the fact that she knew if she did not tell him that he would probably take it the wrong way and end up hurt because of it…but Breck finally gave in.

Breck sighed, indicated that they should resume their walk to the knights' quarters, and then she finally gave him the full truth about everything – who her father had been, how her family had perished, how Cerdic was the one behind it all, and how she had vowed to end him because of it. Gawain listened on silently, intently, as she talked, a range of emotions flashing across his face with each detail she provided. From rapt interest, to appalled, to infuriated, to sympathetic, and then, eventually, to pensive as he processed everything he was learning.

By the time she had finished her story, they had reached her quarters. They stopped at the foot of the steps that led to her door, Gawain still silently mulling over everything she had told him, Breck standing with her arms crossed as she waited for his response. His silence was beginning to make her uncomfortable.

"Gawain?" she finally asked, making him blink and focus on her. "What are you thinking?"

Gawain slowly shook his head. "There are many thoughts that pass through my mind at this moment," he admitted. "I feel sympathy for what you experienced. I feel anger for what that bastard did to you and you family." He paused, then frowned. "And I will admit that there is a part of me that feels…wounded…that you did not think you could entrust me with this information until now."

Breck immediately shook her head. "I swear, Gawain. My reason for not telling you had nothing to do with lack of trust," she insisted.

"Then what was it?" Gawain demanded to know.

"More than anything, it was out of fear." Breck smiled bitterly, her shoulders lifting in a shrug of resignation. "I am a Saxon," she said. "I have a direct link to one of the most evil, vile men in this entire world. My own father has been labeled a scourge of the earth because of the reputation he made for himself in his youth." Now her smiled turned sad. "Outside of Arthur, I never had friends in my life. Then returned to the Wall, and you and the men took me in, and…I was afraid the truth might ruin it."

"That would never happen," Gawain said immediately.

Breck smiled gently. "I know that now."

Gawain smiled briefly, but his eyes were still troubled, and it wasn't long before that frown was back. "What you are planning to do, your desire to hunt Cerdic," he said slowly. "It is very dangerous."

"It is," Breck agreed with a nod. "But I came to the realization long ago that if I ever wish to find peace in my life, then Cerdic must die. Until he has answered for what he has done, until he has been wiped from this earth, I will never be able to rest," she said resolutely.

"And it must be you who ends him?" Gawain said, the question coming out more like a statement.

"Aye," Breck said firmly. "It must be me."

"And so now Tristan is preparing you to face your greatest foe," Gawain mused aloud, his eyes turning elsewhere for a moment. When he looked back to her, she thought she saw hurt in his expression once more. "I would have helped you," he stated.

Breck sighed quietly. "I know you would have."

"I can still help you," Gawain said next.

Breck frowned, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach at those words. "What do you mean?" she asked hesitantly.

"Now that I know the truth, you cannot expect me to stand by and do nothing," Gawain said adamantly. He then stood straight, his shoulders squaring resolutely. "If killing Cerdic is what you need to find peace, then I wish to do everything in my power to help you fulfill this mission."

Breck felt her heart sink into her stomach at those words. "No, Gawain," she denied vehemently.

"Why not?" Gawain countered. "Soon I will be a free man, and I will be able to lead my life by my own choices," he argued back. "I want to help you, Breck."

This was the exact reason Breck had been reluctant to tell her friends about her mission.

As noble as it was for Gawain to offer, she didn't want him – or any of the knights – involved in her hunt for Cerdic, not when they were so close to finally being free of Rome. They had already given up so much, sacrificed so many years of their lives for a cause that was not their own. All she wanted for the men was for them to be able to go back home, start a new, quiet life where they spent their days farming and their nights keeping warm around the fire with their families. It was hard enough, knowing Arthur was putting himself in danger by agreeing to hunt the Saxons – she simply couldn't bear the thought of any of the other men doing the same.

If something happened to one of them because they had decided to fight her fight, she would never be able to forgive herself.

And as Breck stared into Gawain's resolute eyes, she also had a strong suspicion for what motivated Gawain to offer to help in the first place, and that only bothered her more.

"And why, exactly, would you offer such a thing?" Breck finally asked, needing to hear him say it aloud.

Gawain went quiet for a moment, then took a step forward to close the space between them. Breck froze as his hand came to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb brushing the length of her jaw. There was an earnest look in his eyes, a longing that she had seen from him before, only this time he was doing nothing to try to hide it.

"Do you really not know?" he asked in disbelief. When she said nothing, he continued. "From the moment we first met, I have been enchanted by you. You are smart, strong, you make me laugh…and you are so beautiful that it steals the very breath from my lungs. I have never known a lady such as you. Constantly you are in my thoughts, constantly I feel this yearning for you, and there is naught I can do to stop the effect you have on my heart." His blue eyes held hers intently, as if trying to convey just how serious his feelings for her were. "I care for you far more than I ever believed I could care for anyone. I would do anything for you, Breck. Certainly you must see this."

He fell silent again, and she knew that he was waiting for some kind of response…but Breck had no idea what to say.

She had known Gawain was attracted to her, yes, but she hadn't thought his feelings ran as deeply as they obviously did. Hearing that he cared for her so much should have been a good thing, should have left her feeling flattered and breathless and happy. He was a good man, and he had been one of the first people that she had truly connected with when she had come to the Wall. They had always gotten along perfectly, she was always happy to be in his company, and she felt confident that, if they took their relationship past friendship, he could give her a happy life – one where she was safe, and protected, and loved.

But as Gawain stood before her, looking at her with such affection, she did not feel the way she thought she might have in such an event. That giddiness she had once felt around him had vanished. Those butterflies that used to fill her stomach around him were nowhere to be found. Gawain was proclaiming his feelings for her and she felt…nothing.

Because now all that giddiness, all those butterflies, were for Tristan.

But…Tristan had never given her any reason to believe that there was any hope for more than just friendship with him. They spent much time together, yes, and he had finally let her in, but there was no indication of romantic feelings on his part. To him, she was just…Breck. A friend, his trainee, someone to talk with over meals and then torture in the training arena because that was what he had been ordered to do.

So why not give Gawain a chance? If there was no hope with Tristan, why not open herself up to the possibility of finding happiness with someone else? Perhaps he did not excite her, enthrall her, entice her, the way Tristan did, but he would be a good match regardless. Perhaps, in time, she would feel for him what she felt for Tristan.

But even just that train of thought felt…wrong. Unfair. Selfish. Gawain, if nothing else, was still her friend, a very good friend whom she would never wish to hurt. And if she entered into a relationship with him with the hope, but not the certainty, that she might someday feel the same for him as he did for her, there was a very real possibility of it ending in disaster.

Breck mentally shook her head at herself. Why was she even allowing herself to become so wrapped up in thoughts of romance anyway? Feelings aside, her top priority had been, and still was, Cerdic. He, she told herself, was what she really needed to focus on right now. Not all these soft, confusing notions of romance that continued to throw her for a loop every turn of the way.

"Breck?" Gawain said gently, snapping her from her thoughts. "Say something," he urged, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

Breck swallowed thickly. God, what was she supposed to say?

"This is not…unexpected," she finally managed out. "I have suspected for some time that you might feel this way. I need you to know that I do care for you. You are a great man, and you have been an even greater friend." Breck paused and shook her head. "But…for so long, my life has been ruled by my hatred for Cerdic and my desire to exact revenge on him for the crimes he has committed against my family. Soon, I will be embarking to complete my mission. And until it is done, I do not know whether becoming romantically involved is…wise," she concluded.

Even as the words left her lips, she felt like a coward. Because while it was partially the truth, it certainly wasn't the whole truth. Yes, she did wish to focus on bringing Cerdic to justice – that was most important of all. But there was far more to it than that, another factor that came in the form of a certain Sarmatian scout. In that moment, though, Breck was simply too spineless to tell Gawain about her feelings for Tristan.

What good would it do, she reasoned with herself, to hurt him by telling him the truth when nothing would ever become of her and Tristan anyway? Better to let him believe she did not wish to be with anyone, rather than admit that she couldn't be with him because she had stupidly allowed herself to fall for someone who would never feel the same way.

Even so, Gawain still seemed disappointed. "I see," he said, and Breck tried to ignore how guilty the dejection in his voice made her feel. He kept his hand on her neck, his eyes still searching hers as his thumb traced her jaw. "Then I suppose all I can do now is ask that you at least consider my offer to help. And when the time comes, when you think your heart finally has room for something else, know that I will still be here, eagerly waiting and earnestly hoping that you will allow me to be your man."

Gawain then moved the hand that had been on her neck so he could take her hand in his, before he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. "Sleep well, dear Breck. And if ever you need me, you know where to find me."

Breck could only nod in response.

With that, Gawain finally released her hand and then turned to walk to his quarters a little further down the way. Breck watched him go for a few seconds, feeling guilty and wretched, then turned to go to her own door.

As she did so, however, she froze upon realizing that she and Gawain had not been quite as alone as she had thought.

Tristan was walking up the steps to his own door across the way, having been so quiet that she had not even noticed he was there. How long had he been there? Furthermore, how much had he seen?

Breck watched as he reached his door and opened it, fully expecting him to look back, or at the very least acknowledge her in some way…but he didn't.

He just stepped into his room and closed the door firmly behind him.

See you next Friday!