To say Gawain was surprised to see Tristan returning to the fort that day under something other than a dark cloud of suppressed rage (worry), would have been putting it mildly. When hailed from the fort's walls by Dinadan's stentorian tones, he actually raised an arm in a brief 'hello' before riding into the Sarmatian barracks. He threw Tagiytei's reins at the astonished Amandus and pushed past the exclaiming Cador and Lancelot to Arthur's quarters without so much as a nod at his comrades. There was an awful glint in his green eyes that sent Galahad into sulks, certain that the scout had killed someone who didn't deserve it—or at least that was what he whined about, resulting in a headache for Gawain.
Tristan spoke with Arthur for what seemed like the longest time and the knights not out on patrol or attending to inescapable duties were restlessly pacing about the stables. No one spoke. It was too much to hope for that he had news of Kahedin's errand, which Gawain was particularly invested in since Kation had gone with him. Even though they had not been gone very long, it was nevertheless immensely worrying. He couldn't bear the idea of that innocent little kitten (Gawain wasn't fooled by her eccentrically cute tough act) out there with only the danger-mongering Kahedin for protection!
To think he had worried about Kat being left alone with Tristan of all people! If she came back unharmed from this, Gawain would see them secretly wedded immediately. Then he'd have to take her safety seriously.
When Tristan emerged from the meeting with Arthur in tow, both men seemed tired. All the knights rushed the pair, demanding to know what was so important, but Arthur shook his head. "Not now," he said curtly. "I'll call a meeting later, but I need Dagonet to ride out with Jols and Tristan to retrieve Kahedin this instant."
"What happened to him?" Cador asked sharply—worry etched into his voice and appearing on every face.
"Nothing serious, he just got injured in a fight at the tavern he was staying in," Tristan said with a shrug. "I heard about it and came back to organise his retrieval."
"What's wrong with him?" Dagonet asked.
"What will require a wagon is his broken ribs," Tristan replied, scowling fiercely. That earned a laugh from some and despairing sighs from others. Arthur, grim-faced and intent on the rescue mission, starting his usual round of urgently uttered commands and the knights all leapt into action.
Gawain prepared to go on the last patrol before nightfall with Gaheris and began to pull on his armoured surcoat and his weapons to their holsters and belts. His horse Irbis was ready and sleepily chewing his bit when Gaheris approached him, ready to go and his wolf's grin plastered on his face.
"What's got you so cheery?" Gawain grumbled, pinning his cloak closed and checking Irbis' girth.
"Oh nothing, I've just been feeling restless. It will be good to get out." Gaheris replied. It wasn't until later that Gawain realised Gaheris was happy Kahedin was injured in such an embarrassing manner. Typical Gaheris logic.
~oOo~
It was decided that Tristan would fetch help from the fort (which I had started to think of as 'home'… dangerous though that was) to transport Kahedin back to Dagonet's tender mercies. Kahedin was not a good patient. When he wasn't demanding inappropriate things like wine, he was complaining about the bed, the pillows, how his bandages itched, that his ribs were 'perfectly fine'. Once he even tried to get up and was promptly sick all over Tristan's boots. The joys of concussion.
Trying not to laugh, I simultaneously managed to push Kahedin back into bed and restrain Tristan from strangling his friend. "Kahedin, I'll be back with your lunch in a moment. Tristan, you complete ass, go and clean your boots," I grinned, hooking my arm around his and dragging him from the room.
Swearing foully, Tristan stomped out of the room and I turned back to Kahedin with a grin. "I'll be back at the fort in about a week, with a heap of new toys."
"I shudder to think," he replied.
And after hastily packing up my dresses (read: disguises), a few choice weapons and my other things, I saddled the smaller horse and idly wondered if anyone in Eboracum would recognise it. Oh well… no time to worry about it now. I had promised the boys I'd conduct my business quickly and that was not just for their peace of mind. I also didn't want to present the Prefect with a sitting duck on a nest of priceless information about the fort's inner workings.
After another lecture from Kahedin on the value of human life (you'd have thought he was a Christian) and the need for secrecy, I took the road to Eboracum. It was pouring with rain, but surprisingly mild for December as we plodded through the gates of the city, just one of many travellers with business within its walls.
Over the next few days, I spent all my saved money on the precise crafting of a brace of throwing knives, a light little makhaira and three dirks. Expensive? Very. But as my subsequent time in this world proved, taking the time to arm oneself properly significantly increases one's chances of survival.
'But you come back from the dead and have accelerated healing!' I hear you cry. Very true, but nevertheless, awkward to explain and even harder to live a relatively simple life after your friends see you wake up and pull the knife from your chest.
While I was in Eboracum I took the opportunity to also invest in some more socks, a better set of boots and some more leggings. The clothes were either black, dark green or brown (because camouflage matters) and very supple clothes, ideal for all the running, jumping, riding and climbing I'd inevitably be doing. I also took the opportunity to bathe at every opportunity in the public bathhouse. I spent a lot of time in the caldarium during the womens' times, trying to ease the cold out of my bones. It had settled there during my very first days in this world and part of it was certainly psychological. Worse still, it was only going to be colder in the coming months before spring finally came round. I only hoped that this version of ancient Northumbria had really hot, sunny summers with minimal rain. I also took the time to familiarise myself with the streets, both from the rooftops (at night) and on the ground, taking special note of guardhouses and private villas. One, in particular, was given many hours of careful investigation and scrutiny.
But finally my time was over—my weapons were made and I had to return to the boys. I smiled fondly at the thought of them as I packed.
~oOo~
Arthur had been appalled and flabbergasted to learn of the Prefect's plans. This was hardly surprising to Tristan, who thought that Arthur really ought to know these things. Or at least be more suspicious of everything. But no, the man was so idealistic he thought that all men were born equal. Of course, this was utterly absurd since anyone with half their wits could see that the Woads were deliberately primitive and that the Prefect was up to something, even as Rome's influence waned in the land.
But Arthur had sighed, looked deeply troubled and then stared fixedly at a point on Tristan's face that wasn't exactly eye-contact. Clearly he was trying to formulate a plan that wouldn't end with utter chaos or the decimation of his troops. Tristan was tempted to ask for his commander's thoughts, but knew it would only upset him, so he waited to be dismissed.
Then Arthur abruptly got to his feet. "We need Kahedin back in the fort immediately. He's not safe out there—they might re-catch him. How did he get out, by the way?"
"He had some help from one of his friends," Tristan answered curtly, not wanting to disclose Kat's secret without her permission. She would doubtlessly flay him alive.
As soon as the other knights had been briefed on their immediate duties, he had been forced to wait for Jols and Dagonet to prepare the cart and medical supplies. After they had finished packing enough bandages to minister to an entire army, they set off and made remarkably good time to the tavern where Kahedin was waiting for them.
He was unsurprised to see that Kahedin had ordered everything to be packed up for him and was waiting by the bar, chatting amicably to a couple of locals. When he noticed Dagonet's form filling the doorway, he cringed.
"Hey Dag'…"
"Stay right where you are, you fool," Dagonet rumbled, advancing upon his comrade with a grim expression on his face. Kahedin sent a pleading look at Tristan, but he deliberately looked away and went to retrieve the Prefect's stolen horse from the stables and hitch it to the back of the wagon with Dagonet's beast. (There was no doubt that the giant knight would be tending to Kahedin's injuries for the entire trip.)
Jols, meanwhile, settled the bill with the owner of the tavern and helped Dagonet to load their protesting friend into the back of the cart. "Just behave—you'll only do yourself a mischief if you insist on struggling." He admonished, wrapping an extra blanket about Kahedin's legs. He then took the spare saddle from Tristan and took a moment to stare admiringly at the stolen horse. "Magnificent," he murmured, running an appreciatively critical eye over the animal's strong lines and large, intelligent eyes.
Tristan, not in the mood to waste time when disaster was looming on the horizon, pointedly swung himself back up onto Tagiytei and circled round the wagon until Jols finally got back into the driving seat and they set off again, with the sounds of Kahedin's protests and pained yelps keeping them entertained the whole way.