I fear I've come a little too late to the fandom... ah well, see how it goes. I realise that it's a pairing that has absolutely no basis in canon, and honestly I have no idea why I ship them at all, but this here be a Kate and Adhemar fic, Because I Can. What was originally a simple writing doodle has somehow transformed itself into a fifteen page epic, so I'll be posting the chapters up one a day to space them out a bit. Hope you like it, and any comments and constructive crits are welcomed =)

~The Commission~

Not even pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow, Kate brought the hammer down with a vengeance, cursing her past self for being stupid enough to challenge Wat to a drinking game, only to immediately regret it as the obscenely loud 'clang!' almost knocked her off her feet. Dear God above, her head was killing her. Never again, she thought savagely. Let this be a lesson to all ye naughty sinners out there. Oh, if me mam could see me now... Shuddering at the mere thought of the lashing she'd receive from her mother, she threw herself into her work, trying to coax the tube into curving. With every strike she winced – it felt like someone was driving needles into her eyes – but she barrelled on through, hellbent on fulfilling her punishment.

It had been a wild night. They'd stayed in the tavern long past dawn, belting out songs at the top of their lungs – so drunk that she was sure at one point she'd been sweating alcohol – until at last the owner'd had enough and kicked them out onto the streets. From there they'd stumbled to and fro to their camp (mostly fro, come to think of it) until Wat had vomited all over Geoff, Roland had fallen unconscious, and Will and Jocelyn had disappeared off somewhere for the night. She'd managed to collapse in a relatively out-of-the-way heap, and hadn't woken up until long past midday. For some stupid reason she was beginning to regret now, she'd forced herself to start working on the backlog of commissions. Nothing but bloody horseshoes as far as the eye could see, thanks to her being a woman. Still, it put food on the table.

Kate heaved a thankful sigh as she thrust the red-hot iron into the barrel of water, closing her eyes as the steam eased her pounding headache. That had been the last of the shoes, thank God. She loved making them, she really did, but after sixteen without break it would've worn down the most enthusiastic of farriers. At least there would be something new to work on after this – Will's breastplate. It had turned blunt force with nary a scratch, yet buckled and tore like paper when pierced. She'd have to fix that... not that it had been a problem until that cheating scumbag had tipped his lance rather than fighting fair, the coward...

The steam started to clear, and through it she caught a glimpse of a dark figure approaching. She squinted, and then scowled. Think of the devil... She straightened up, chin thrust in the aforementioned scumbag's direction. "And what d'you want?" she challenged. "Was your defeat not enough, that you want me to start on you?"

Count Adhemar crossed his arms and leant against one of the beams, the very image of languid superiority. "A fine greeting. Do you treat all customers this way, farrier?"

She dropped the shoe on the table beside the others, frowning. "Customers?"

"Indeed. I wish to commission you."

"Commission me?" She knew she sounded like an idiot, but she couldn't help repeating him, so stunned was she by his... his... audacity!

He sneered at her. "Are you truly that stupid, to need to repeat my every word? Yes, I am willing to pay for your services. I want a full set of armour, comparable – though preferably better – to that peasant Tha-" He bit his tongue as she glared fiercely at him, tightening her grip on the tongs, and with some difficulty spat out, "to Sir William's."

She gaped at him, dropping the tongs in her surprise. It was... unexpected, to say the least. That he'd dare show his face around here at all reeked of arrogance – to then go and request her wares was just insulting. "Sure'n there's a score of smiths to pick from," she began, gesturing to the many smithies crammed together in the marketplace. "Why me, knowing how likely it is I'd ever consider helping a brute like you?"

The sneer dropped, and in a heartbeat he was looming over her, dark eyes glinting red from the forge light. He was well within propriety's standards – barely within arm's reach – yet the sheer force of his personality had her backed against the workbench, scrabbling for something to defend herself with. As her fingers closed round a hammer, he stepped forwards, leaning down till he was level with her. "Because I desire only the best," he murmured. Her treacherous heart fluttered, and she blamed it on the heat from the forge.

For what seemed an age, time stood still as she gazed up into the fine, handsome features of the man that had almost killed one of her closest friends. And then he picked up her tongs and handed them to her, walking around to the other side of the bench. It was all she could do to stay standing. Water, that was what she needed. Trying inconspicuously to use the table as a shield, she fumbled for the water skein and downed its contents in one. Bemused by her antics, he tossed a leather bag onto the workbench, and she couldn't help but notice the decidedly expensive way it clinked. "I have enough money to allay any moral objections you might have."

Kate hesitated. Money was scarce and work was work, but he was a sworn enemy of Will's – and most likely a murderer to boot. She should refuse outright. It was her duty as a friend, as a decent person. And yet...

"What will you do, now Thatcher has won his prize?" His voice was low and velvet soft, a devil's whisper. "Stay with him? You cannot live on fluctuating income, taking work only when your travelling permits. Considering the quality of your work, he would likely only need, what, one, two repairs a year? Horseshoes only make so much. There is enough here to set up your own shop wherever you wished – or to simply retire if you so desired. If the work is good enough, perhaps I'll even take you on as part of my retinue, outfitting my men. A steady supply of work to last you for years."

Though the last suggestion left a foul taste in her mouth, she couldn't help deny that he was right. She wasn't as young as Will – already halfway through her life if she was lucky, and she didn't want to spend the rest of it chasing tournaments and waiting in fear for the moment when her work wasn't good enough or the lances splintered the wrong way and poor Will died. She had to hand it to him – he might've been a conniving, cheating bastard, but Adhemar had a way with words.

With a sigh and the odd feeling that she was signing her soul away, she pocketed the bag. "Fine. I'll take some measurements, start on it in the morning. It'll take a few weeks solid work, so you'll need to pay extra to compensate for any work I'd have to turn down."

He grinned in an entirely unsettling way. "Excellent."