Hello everyone! I am so very sorry for the long delay. I have no abandoned this fic, nor the official sequel (which will be in a different fandom, as stated previously).

Expect more regular updates from now on, too, because I'm finally getting my act together again.

TRISTAN:

Somehow, miraculously, they had only lost Dagonet's axe, their bows and the remaining arrows. Tristan had loved that bow, but he did have a spare back at the Fort. And as much as it pained him to admit, it was better that all their gear went to the bottom of the lake than even one life lost. It had taken Tristan many years (and much encouragement from everyone) before he finally could admit to himself that he did care for the others.

A bit.

They'd be the last ones he'd kill.

And he'd make it quick.

Once they were all on a more secure part of the ice, he saw Bors and Jols crouched over Dagonet, who hadn't got to his feet. No fucking mystery there, considering he had been shot twice. The rest of them flocked to their tiny miracle worker. Tristan got there first and planted a kisses all over her face, whispering a thousand questions and his pent up emotions against her skin. Mostly in the form of violent threats.

She wriggled, coaxed his hands to the back of her head and her shoulder, and accepted the attention as her due. Tristan considered her swashbuckling to be fully deserved. They would have all died if her Woad archers hadn't been there.

Then Gawain and Galahad crashed into them, forming a boisterous, sodden group hug. They were yelling in jubilation and gratitude in the Sarmatian common language.

"You brat!"

"Kitten!"

"That was bloody amazing!"

"Well done! I've never been more proud! Mother and Father shall hear of this!" Gawain said, almost completely giving the secret away. Again. Tristan trod heavily on his foot.

"How did you get down that cliff so fast? And how did you know to bring rope?!"

"Stop!" Kation said with a laugh, pushing them back. "I know you hate laundry day, but that communal swim was an extreme alternative. We need to get you all out of those clothes and warmed up."

"But Bors and—oh gods on horses, Dagonet!" Gawain howled the last word, spinning round and shedding a lot of green water from his hair as he led the charge back to the hero of the day. Bors and Jols were exchanging worried curses as they hovered over him. Arthur and Lancelot stood nearby, having a quiet conversation. Hopefully Lancelot was doing most of the talking, and to the admittedly ignoble tune of 'let's get the fuck out of here'.

Kation ducked out from under Tristan's arm and joined Jols and Bors.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Two gods-damned bolts—one to the side, another to the shoulder," Jols said. "And he's too fucking cold."

"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit," Bors muttered. "Dag! Stay with me! Dag! Listen! How many bloody fingers?!" he screamed, waving his hand in Dagonet's face.

"I'll be fine!" Dagonet growled, then turned to look at Kat and Jols—the steady hands. "Alright? At the same time."

Knowing their cue, Kat and Jols snapped off the two arrows' shafts and ignored Dagonet's grunt of pain. It hurt, but was not necessarily lethal. Meanwhile, Dagonet had begun shivering violently and his lips were blue.

"I n-need t-to get out of th-these c-clothes," he said. "W-we all d-do."

"Good thing we packed spares," Gawain said through chattering teeth. "I'll go get the wagon, the packs." He stumbled off to the horses, swearing the whole way under his breath.

"At least the armour's proved itself," Jols murmured to Dagonet. "The brigandine slowed down these arrows enough to save your life."

"We need to get off the ice," Bors said. "Get Dag' to the wagon."

Arthur walked over and interrupted them. "Dagonet, can you stand?"

"Sure, no problem," Dagonet said, and as usual, Arthur missed the sarcasm.

Bors, Tristan and Jols managed to get him upright and slung between them before they dragged him to the shoreline. Galahad carried their weapons and dripping cloaks, while Kation following spoke to him in a quiet, worryingly serious undertone. Probably relaying battle plans in case Arthur tried to screw everything up, again. Why hadn't he been the one to crash through the ice? He'd have sunk to the bottom of the lake instantly, weighed down by all that armour and ego.

Tristan wanted to lie under a mountain of furs and blankets, with Kation snuggled against him, naked, pliant and sympathetic. And there would be several hot stones wrapped in cloth, too. But then the object of his passions (with Galahad in tow) caught up with them and his beloved smiled, like everything was fine. Which it manifestly wasn't.

"With this new development, I'll have to rearrange some things. Don't worry. All who just took an unscheduled dip need to get in the wagon, strip and change into their spare clothes." Her smile went from pleasant to sadistic as she eyed Dagonet. "We'll get you warmed up."

She trotted off at an easy lope, brushing past them and heading up the slope to where one half of her Woad archers were posted. Tristan glanced at Galahad, who was shivering wildly, drops of water scattering from his hair. He looked like a half-drowned rat. Tristan didn't feel even a pinch of sympathy. Not when Kation had something awful planned for them. He just knew it. Especially when Kation skipped back down the slope with three Woad archers in tow. Tristan recognised one of them from the ambush that they had been caught in the day before yesterday. It felt like it had happened a week ago.

He noticed that the Woads looked cross and Kation looked smug.

"Kat…?" Jols demanded, suspicious at the sight of the Woads.

"Relax," she said. "They're with me. But for the next few hours, they'll be with you."

"What's going on?" Gawain demanded, as he had returned with the wagon. Tristan handed Dagonet off to Bors, and then stalked over to the only woman in his life who routinely drove him to violent distraction.

"No." He said. "Whatever it is, I am going to put my foot down."

"On Arthur's throat? That would be lovely, just as soon as you're not blue with cold." Was the crushing reply. "Strip and change."

He took a step closer. "There's no time."

Kation's eyes narrowed and she also took a step closer, tilting her little pointed chin in that defiant way of hers which he secretly adored. "Don't ever tell Arthur I said this, but we'll have to make a little time." She'd never once been scared of him, which was equal parts frustrating and wonderful. Right now, he wanted to hit her.

"The Woads shall form a proper rear guard, with you and Galahad in charge. I'm taking your job and will go ahead to make sure that the caldarium is ready to receive you all. Until then…"

She smirked, then nodded to the Woads. Two of them scowled and slouched over to the wagon which held Dagonet.

"They're going to help keep Dagonet warm," Kation said, loudly and in Latin for Jols' benefit. Jols waved his thanks and then the final Woad stepped up to Kation's side.

"Bradan Mac Caradoc," he said in Pictish, touching his own chest while staring hard at Tristan. "You speak my language?"

Tristan sighed, reluctantly offering up a tactical advantage he'd rather not lose. "Some," he lied.

"Good, I consider it an honour to work with the man crazy enough to love this one," and as he said this, he clapped Kation on the back so hard that she staggered.

"So you should," Tristan said, inwardly smirking at the way Kat rubbed her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

"I'm going. Have fun bitching—" Kation's stinging retort was cut off by Arthur and Lancelot bearing down upon them. Lancelot interrupted whatever Arthur was preparing to say by grabbing Kation by the shoulder and clasping her to his chest for a brief, tight hug.

"I take it all back, you horrible little monster," he said, pulling back and giving her a little shake. "I am yours to command!"

Tristan considered it fortunate that Lancelot had given up on Latin when making this declaration, otherwise Arthur might have completely lost his temper.

"What are you doing here?!" Arthur thundered at Kation, glowering a great glower.

On second thoughts, he might anyway.

Kation shrugged and started ticking the points off on her blood-stained fingers. "Passing by, helping out. Killing people. Saving you lot, again." She lowered her hands and shrugged. "The usual stuff."

This did not persuade Arthur to thankher for her lung-busting efforts. "You're supposed to be back at the Fort! And what was that on the cliffs? And what are Woads doing here?!"

Even enraged, he didn't swear. Tristan was vaguely impressed, but it was subsumed by anger at Arthur's incompetence.

"Oh, of course, thank you for inviting me, Arthur." Kation said, the sarcasm and scorn was all too clear. "Gods know, no one else was prepared to save you from certain annihilation. And I rather think the reason for Mac Caradoc's presence is obvious, don't you? After all, you brokered that deal—good work by the way—I merely clarified some unimportant details."

Tristan had once heard her say that her job description included defending the knights from Arthur's stupid plans.

Arthur choked and spluttered. "We would have been fine!"

This was such a blatant falsehood that even Lancelot made a noise of protest and avoided looking at Arthur.

Kation raised her eyebrows and made a show of studying the bloody fingertips of one hand. "Arthur," she said after a moment. "Taking advantage of your resources isn't weak, it's good management."

At these words, Arthur realised his misstep and coloured while he searched for another angle of attack.

Tristan took the opportunity to leave the little group and retrieved his spare clothes from his saddlebag. Then he began the laborious process of stripping and changing. The armour would have to go back on, regardless of how heavy and waterlogged it was. He also took the precaution of remaining close enough to intervene lest Arthur attempt to beat Kation. He'd done it before, and he'd do it again if Tristan wasn't vigilant. So he observed the conversation closely, and prayed that Lancelot would intervene if Arthur tried to strike the first blow.

"I have to go," Kation said, turning away as Arthur continued to struggle for a retort.

"Wait," Arthur said. He pointed at the broken ice and impressive number of Saxon corpses. "Explain that first body to me."

Unfortunately, he was asking the right person. Kation shrugged, still apparently unconcerned, but Tristan correctly interpreted the rage building in her eyes. She stayed silent.

Arthur was looking as judgemental as his not-so-merciful god. "Explain."

Kation huffed. "It's called warfare of the mind, and the incident in question is as good as ancient history. Why are you still talking about it?"

"Because it was wrong!"

Kation's smile was not a nice thing. "Wrong is such an unambiguous word," she said, her tone silken. "Especially when looking out for the knights is the definition of my business." Then her eyebrows rose expectantly. "Is there a reason you're not back at the Fort yet? Did the boy die, or are you lost?"

Arthur looked like she had slapped him. "How dare you!" he snarled, advancing upon her. "I am trying to keep everyone safe! You have no idea what is actually going on! The entire estate was in peril!"

But Kation held her ground and glared up at him. "On the contrary, it is you who is in ignorance. Moreover, the details of your incompetence do not interest me at this time. But you should have realised by now that it is always a mistake to let sentiment outweigh rational judgement. Now, we have wasted enough time on this pointless squabbling and need to move out."

In that moment, Tristan loved her with all his being. All was forgiven.

Arthur seethed, his face flushed with anger. "How dare—!"

But Tristan interrupted, putting himself between Arthur and Kation. "Dagonet will die if we do not get him back to the Fort," he said, staring into Arthur's eyes, willing him to choose survival. Because any more shit and Kation might kill him. "The rest of us need to change clothes before we get sick."

"But—!"

Lancelot finally waded back into the fray. "Arthur, you can yell at Kation all you want back at the Fort, but we have to get there first."

Then the Pet stepped up to the group, she looked sour, as if someone had just stolen her moment of glory. Which Kation had done quite neatly.

"Who are you?" she asked, staring at Kation like she was a greasy stain on her borrowed slipper.

Kat's answering look of contempt was potent, brief and dismissive. Then she glanced back at Tristan for a long moment before speaking in his own Halani dialect. "She rides in the wagon, and no one is to talk to her. She has no business with our crew."

He understood her meaning and nodded. "And the commander shall be guarded from the hungry she-wolf."

Kation nodded and whirled away, striding purposefully off to where her mare Numa was standing next to Tagiytei. Her hair swung behind her like the lashing tail of an angry cat and every line of her body rigid with fury and purpose.

Tristan vowed that no matter how humiliating she made it for him, he was going to marry that woman.

I was too angry to take any more bullshit from Arthur.

This was when we executed the Monty Python version of an Arthurian exit: 'Run away! Run away!' But with nothing so simple as a Vorpal Bunny, Coconut Shells, Unladen African Swallows or the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, we'd just have to muddle along as best we could.

"Your insubordination will not be tolerated! I forbid this!" Arthur yelled after me.

He forbade it? Who the fuck did he think he was? Who did he think I was?

I go where I like and do what I like. The bastards who say otherwise can choke on it.

There were so many things I could have said to Arthur. But there was no time. So I ignored his words, mounted up and rode over to Aedhan, one of the Woads, who held out my pack to me.

"Thank you."

"Ride fast." Aedhan replied with a grim nod.

I pulled the pack on and then took my leave, not looking back at any of them. I rode past the caravan of peasants and once the trail was clear, I gave Numa her head. She broke into a high-stepping canter, tossing her head up and flicking her tail. Ahead of me stretched an empty horizon and beyond that…

The Wall, the Fort, Kahedin and the Twins, Vanora and the children.

The Bishop.

And, of course, the Batavians.

The knights were going to be so angry. I grinned at the thought. This would be my very last large-scale prank.

And they couldn't be too cross, because I was (essentially) helping.

Aritei found me after an hour's riding, and I had to take a moment to make sure the bird was firmly attached to my fist before setting off at a fast pace. Aritei wasn't impressed with this programme, but we had trained her to lean into the ride and she toughed it out.

Once I was in sight of the Wall, I heard an indistinct yell from the battlements. I pulled up, loosed Aritei and then lifted my fist in greeting.

The legionaries shouted down for the gates to be opened, and I waved my thanks.

Once through, I cantered to the Fort and was met by a Batavian officer who I didn't recognise.

"You are Tristan's slave?" he asked.

"I am," I replied, showing no deference whatsoever to this soldier. "I bring a message from Artorius Castus for your commander."

"The legate is this way," he said, gesturing to the infantry barracks.

Legate? So Aquinas had got that promotion after all. I'd have to congratulate him with all the mocking laughter at my disposal. Aquinas was a nice guy—and despite that fault I still liked him. Much to everyone's displeasure (he commanded Batavians, after all), we had struck up a friendship. It started with me owing him for helping to suppress a mutiny at the Fort ten years ago. When I went beyond the brief in repaying the favour a few months later, we agreed a bartering system for all future favours. Because otherwise our respective deficits would have started to get rather silly. And somewhere along the line we had become almost friends (considering our vastly different social statuses). His Batavians were convinced I had some awful long term conspiracy in the works to sabotage him. Nothing could have been further from the truth, it suited our respective interests to work together.

"My horse needs water and stabling," I said. "Give me a moment and I'll be with you."

I trotted Numa to the Sarmatian barracks, where Mato was brushing one of the horses. He caught sight of me at once and dropped the brush.

I grinned at my old friend as I dismounted.

"The others?" Mato asked, always a man who got straight to the point.

"On their way," I replied. "Dagonet's been shot, so I need someone to rouse the surgeon immediately, and also to get the baths in order, particularly the caldarium—some of them fell into a frozen lake."

Mato shot me a very old-fashioned look. "Nothing to do with you, of course," he said.

I laughed. "For once in my life, no," I confessed. "Really," I added at Mato's incredulous look. "They managed this one all on their own. I was trying to save them."

"That's what you always say," said a familiar voice behind me.

I spun round and saw my bestest friend in this whole world striding towards me. I was overjoyed, but Kahedin looked so cross that I didn't attempt to hug him.

Gawain's my brother, Tristan's the love of my life and Kahedin's my best friend. And as best friends, we had a complex set of in-jokes, snuggled, wrestled, gave each other brutally honest advice, and were considered utterly mad by everyone else. We were a little married to each other, and Gawain was all for it.

So was Tristan.

They agreed that Kahedin was the one they would sacrifice to my insanity.

I thought this was unflattering, considering that Kahedin was an equal partner in the huge amount of mischief we enacted. But today was not a good day for any of my relationships. Not with the revelation of—

"The fucking Batavians!" he snarled.

"Hello to you, too," I drawled.

"The Batavians!" Kahedin repeated. "You've gone too far this time, midget!"

"Such gratitude. Let me feed the bird, please. I don't think she's eaten recently. And then I've got a meeting with the new legatus legionis; I would appreciate your presence."

Kahedin was not mollified by my words, but undoubtedly registered my own less than stellar mood and shelved our fight for a later time. And so he fell into step beside me, silent and grumpy, as I retrieved some meat scraps from the tavern. Then we went up the stairs to mine and Tristan's room.

"What about the others?" Kahedin asked, closing the door and leaning against it to watch me feed Aritei, who had flown straight to her perch from the Wall.

"Two hours behind me," I replied, tethering the bird and then feeding her the bits of raw chicken. "Everyone made it, but there was a Saxon hunting party, a frozen lake that cracked, leading to an impromptu swim. Oh, and Dagonet took two crossbow bolts to the chest. I asked Mato to make sure the caldarium will be hot enough for visitors and that the surgeon is ready to operate. Our giant is out of commission for the foreseeable future."

Kahedin looked appalled. "What?!"

"Also, there are almost a hundred peasants that Arthur has rescued from the Roman estate. And we've brokered a deal with Merlin to form a military coalition against the Saxons." I kept my tone light and conversational, reporting all the facts and not allowing myself to get carried away on the tides of rage at the incompetence of command.

There was a moment's gobsmacked silence. To Kahedin's credit, he didn't burst into tears. Which would have been fully justified, considering the bombshell I had just dropped.

"Suddenly the Batavians don't seem so bad," Kahedin said finally with a heavy sigh. "At least they're professionals. Of a sort." His expression wavered for a moment. "Oh, gods, I need a drink."

I finished feeding Aritei and cleaned my hands in a dish of water. "So do I. But I know I'll only be able to enjoy it once we're loading all our stuff onto a boat at the coast." Once upon a time, it felt vaguely blasphemous to speak of dear old Blighty in this way. But that guilt had long since evaporated. I may have been British in my own world and time, but in this one I felt like an alien from outer fucking space. I had no real kinship for this land or its people. And since my adoption into the Aorsi tribe as Gawain's sister, I was considered to be as Sarmatian as the rest of them.

"If we live to see the boat," Kahedin said glumly. "The bishop isn't happy that he didn't get to send me and the twins on that suicide mission, by the way."

I shrugged. "I'll get him later. Galahad's refused to help, but that boy was always a lost cause. By the way, where are the twins?"

Kahedin chuckled weakly. "With the legate, staunchly defending your battle plans."

That was sweet of them. As we left the room, I was about to say as much, when I was ambushed by the aforementioned brothers, who fell upon me in a boisterous group hug that sent all three of us to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Overpowered and breathless, I was crushed between them as they loudly cursed me for 'thinking of everything' and 'daring to return without the others'.

"Aren't you supposed to be protecting the legate?" Kahedin said, his mouth kinked into a disapproving line as he hauled Dinadan (who was still shouting) off me.

"Protecting? Protecting?" Dinadan thundered. "That bastard has a whole army of Batavians and reserves watching his flabby arse all day long. We're the ones the bishop wants to kill! It's outrageous—!"

And so on.

I wanted a wash, a change of clothes and a long, uninterrupted sleep. But instead, I got a very sarcastic legate, on his dignity and surrounded by senior officers, staring down his nose at me. He was sitting in the Round Table room, surrounded by my battle plans and maps of the Fort and Wall. I had let Kahedin slam into the room ahead of me, with the Twins at my back.

"So," he drawled, finger tapping the plans and eyebrows arching when I didn't bother saluting to him (prompting much outraged muttering from his staff). "Your masks are coming off, then."

I shrugged, dismissing the remark. There were more important matters at hand. "The plans will need adjustment—there have been some changes."

Aquinas' eyebrows climbed higher as I delivered a succinct report about our little trip north of the Wall. As I talked, the men's jaws started to drop. By the time I finished, their eyes were wide. All in all, a rather amusing display of expressions.

But once he and the knights had heard the whole sorry story, there was a nasty silence.

"That really all happened?" Aquinas demanded.

I nodded.

"I see," Aquinas said. "Alright then, you'd better draw up a seat and fill us in on the enemy's capabilities. Falx! See to some food and wine for us all—especially the boy."

"At once, Legate," said a centurion, who saluted with a pointed glare at me, before taking himself off.

Kahedin and the Twins sat down next to me and we fell to debating the lie of the land as well as how best to dispose of our eccentric array of forces.

"Won't Arthur have something to say about this unholy alliance?" Aquinas asked me, as I moved pebbles denoting the cavalry to a different position on the map.

I felt a smile that wasn't a smile stretch my lips. "Not at all, sir. He will defer to the great wisdom and experience of his superior officers."

The knights and several of Aquinas' men, who were more accustomed to me, grinned wolfishly. We were quickly and quietly wresting the situation from the jaws of disaster.

Feedback adored, but undeserved at this late hour.

Thanks for reading!

~ L.