Chapter Four: Terms and Conditions

A/N: So it's been a little while since we've updated, but we're back! As usual, a heartfelt thank you to everyone who's reviewed, favourited and followed so far.

"How did she slip past us?" Arthur grumbled as he trailed after his lover, watching as she expertly looked for a track to indicate where Rowena had fled to. He didn't know how she did it, but he wasn't complaining. Her skill set was particularly useful, especially now.

"You're telling me." She sighed, crouching low in the bushes to examine for any signs of someone passing through. So far, she had only noted animal tracks. "I'm sure we can find her."

"She can't have gotten far with the little boy." Arthur was right. Having her son with her meant that she would've been slower, and more likely than not had no experience in actually covering her tracks.

Kyra shook her head. It was beginning to grow dark, and there was a damp chill in the air. It was going to be a long and cold night, and not even she would venture the woods in the dark.

"I thought she would be smarter than this."

"She's a privileged girl. She wants to go back to being pampered." Arthur couldn't blame her for wanting to leave, but he also wished she didn't act as if they were going to slit her throat at any moment. Kyra got back into her saddle, turning her horse back in the direction they had come.

"We've searched our area."

Arthur trailed after her, moving his horse beside hers. "Should we help the others?"

Kyra considered it for a moment before nodding, casting a sideways glance at him. "Alright. How's your leg?"

"It's fine." He told her as he stretched it out of the stirrup, wincing only slightly as pain flared through the injury. Kyra didn't fail to notice the pain flicker in his eyes. Damn her and the fact that she was so observant.

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." He grinned at her, nudging his horse towards hers and watching as it grew agitated, snapping back at his own. "You worry too much."

"Can't help it." Her voice was tight as she spoke to him, and her words were clipped.

Arthur studied her for a moment, realising just how much she had grown up in the past weeks. She was no longer the small spy master who crept through the city, whispers forever on her tongue. She was becoming deadlier, and the childlike playfulness had begun to fade. "We grew up on the streets. We've survived worse."

"Luckily." She reminded him before spurring her horse forward, leaving no further room for conversation.

It had not been difficult to escape with Tristan guarding her and Vortimer. The man had been remarkably lax, and slipping past him with her son had been easier than Rowena expected. Taking a horse from the stables and heading out of the camp unnoticed had been the harder part, yet she felt she'd had remarkable luck there also.

She'd seated Vortimer in front of her on the saddle, the reins unfamiliar in her hands. It had been many years since she'd ridden a horse, aside from when she'd been captured of course. It was oddly thrilling, although that excitement was dulled by a sense of panic at the unfamiliar terrain all around her.

Another horse cut her off, and Rowena yanked on the reins to prevent hers from colliding with it. She scowled upon realising that it was Tristan. So he had noticed her disappearance after all. Tristan did not look pleased but neither did he seem angry. Instead his expression was more one of resignation, as though he'd anticipated this.

"Rowena."

"Out of my way," she snapped, fingers curling tighter around the reins. "I want to go home."

"Well, you can't," Tristan responded with a shrug of his shoulders. "Sorry about that."

"I'll hurt you," Rowena threatened, yet the words sounded empty even to her. She didn't have a weapon on her person. It was just herself, Vortimer, and the horse they'd escaped on.

"Get off the horse, Rowena."

Realising that she was defeated, Rowena slipped out of the saddle, reaching up to carefully hoist Vortimer down. She watched warily as Tristan jumped off his horse. Her arms tightened instinctively around Vortimer, who buried his face in his mother's shoulder. Would she be punished for this escape attempt? Yet instead Tristan just grabbed the reins of both horses.

"Let's go."

For a few moments, the only sound was the crunching of dry leaves underfoot and the snorts of their horses. Vortimer wriggled in his mother's arms and she settled for setting him down, letting him toddle alongside her with a firm grip on his small hand. Tristan was watching her with an odd look on his face.

"We don't want to hurt you, Rowena. We're not the bad guys."

"You abducted my son and I," Rowena reminded him. Perhaps Tristan believed in their cause and that he was justified in his actions, but that didn't mean he hadn't participated in kidnapping her and her toddler son. It was the fact that Vortimer had become involved that angered Rowena the most, although she knew they'd never have taken her without him. Everyone was aware that Vortigern favoured his young son.

"Yet we haven't harmed you," Tristan pointed out.

Rowena's blue eyes narrowed. "So I should be grateful?"

"It could be much worse," he assured her. His words did not seem to be a threat. She knew that Tristan was one of the better men among them, and that he would not let harm come to her or her child. Yet there were others, William in particular, who she had her doubts about. Yet she knew she had to appear unaffected, so she tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

"I'm not scared."

Yet – should she be? This was the furthest she had been away from her husband and father. This was the wilderness, with no servants to attend her needs, and no one to protect her if someone should mean her harm. Despite her assurances that she was fearless, Rowena thought even Tristan could tell that she wasn't.

Mercia arrived in the designated meeting place, very aware that the safety of his daughter and grandson were at stake. He had been reluctant to accept Arthur's invitation to meet and discuss terms, and he had talked about it with Vortigern at length. Whilst Mercia didn't believe that the rebels would harm Rowena or Vortimer, he couldn't know that for certain.

"Lord Mercia." Arthur swaggered up to him with a cockiness that made Mercia want to slap him across the face. What an impudent brat. "I take it you're here regarding the Queen."

"Father." Rowena crossed over with little Vortimer close at her side, clutching at his mother's skirt. She was dressed like a peasant, in a dress far below her station, yet she appeared unharmed. The little boy was unusually shy, but peered out once he recognised his grandfather.

"Are you hurt?"

"No." She shook her head vehemently, blonde hair unruly. "How is my husband? Does he miss me?"

"Of course he does." The words weren't a lie. Vortigern was determined to have his wife and son back. Yet Mercia was aware that those reasons were less to do with caring for Rowena and more to do with ensuring that she and Vortimer could not be used against him in current conflict. Mercia turned to frown at Arthur. "I wish to take my daughter home."

He shrugged his shoulders. "That isn't going to be possible."

Mercia stepped forward, causing the men with Arthur to tense and place their hands on the hilts of their swords. Things were bad enough without a fight breaking out, but he needed Arthur to know he meant business.

"Why not?"

"Because of what Vortigern is doing." Arthur folded his arms over his chest. "I want him to stop building the tower, and I want him to acknowledge that I am the rightful King. Then he'll get his wife and son back."

Mercia was troubled, knowing that Vortigern would never agree to do either of those things. He understood that the King could not bow to such conditions, but there must be some kind of compromise that resulted in Rowena and Vortimer being permitted to return home safely.

"I can take the terms to him, but I cannot guarantee you will like his answer."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Then I cannot guarantee the safety and wellbeing of the Queen and her child."

Mercia clenched his jaw, his gaze drifting to his daughter, who'd scooped up Vortimer and was holding the toddler close. It was obvious that she had heard Arthur's words and was unnerved by the veiled threat.

"Father, please make him listen," she insisted, stroking her son's blonde curls.

"I can try." Mercia fixed his eyes on Arthur. The young man was a pretender, nothing more. Mercia would ensure that he died knowing he meant nothing. "I am sure we will be seeing each other again."

Arthur smirked. "Count on it."

"Rowena. I have food for you." Kyra greeted the other room from the doorway, holding a tray with plates of food on it. Rowena smiled slightly at her, glancing back to her son who was on the floor playing with some toys. She took that as an invitation and strode in, placing the tray down on the table. "How are you feeling?"

Rowena watched her carefully, her gaze clearly noting that Kyra had removed her belt and the knife that usually gleamed at her hip was gone.

"Cooped up."

"We can go for a walk?" Kyra suggested. She didn't know how happy Arthur would be about it, but she wasn't going to make the other woman feel like a prisoner. "Come on."

Kyra watched as Rowena took her son's hand, handing him some bread before grabbing herself some fruit. They ate quickly before Rowena nodded to Kyra that she was ready, following the other woman out. Kyra glanced around the halls as she led them through them, keeping an eye on Rowena in her peripheral vision. She didn't want a repeat of the other day, but she knew Rowena wouldn't slip past her as easily as she had from Tristan.

"Sorry I threatened you before." Kyra stated with sincerity. Rowena seemed to be assessing Kyra, probably noting the differences between them. Where Rowena had soft curves, Kyra was hard lines and planes of muscle. Where Rowena's hands were soft, Kyra's were calloused and scarred. Kyra's life had been hard yes, but she had also said once that her freedom was worth it.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Rowena blurted out.

Kyra glanced at her before leading them down another corridor that led to the gardens. "I feel sorry for you."

Rowena frowned at the comment. "Why?"

"I have my reasons." Kyra shrugged, nodding at a guard as she passed. Rowena was thankful for the vibrant garden that now surrounded her. Her wide-eyed expression indicated that she much preferred it to the stone walls of her room.

"Why would you pity me? I'm the Queen." Rowena sounded curious.

"Exactly. I doubt you chose to marry the King. I also doubt you're able to do anything but have children and attend soirees. You have no freedom, not really." Kyra reasoned, leaning against one of the larger trees as Rowena sat on one of the small stone benches.

"No. My father arranged the match. We were betrothed when I was sixteen." Rowena explained to her. She didn't seem as though she hated her husband, but it evidently wasn't a marriage born out of love. Kyra nodded, drawing a small knife from her boot and cleaning the dirt from under her nails.

"Exactly. You may have all the riches you desire, and have servants to do whatever you want. But you lack a lot of things as well."

Rowena didn't seem surprised at Kyra withdrawing the concealed weapon. "My husband is not unkind to me."

Kyra raised an eyebrow, not making eye contact as she asked the next question. "Do you love him?"

"No. Why would I?" People in Rowena's station didn't marry for love, unless they were lucky. "It's expected. Besides, I have my son. I was lucky with him. I had a boy. Men always want boys, especially Kings."

"Mercia. You've returned."

Vortigern looked up from his goblet of wine as his right-hand man entered the room. He had been waiting for Mercia to return from negotiating with the rebels, and although Vortigern was disappointed to realise that neither his wife nor his son had been released into Mercia's custody, he couldn't say that he was overly surprised.

"I have. With terms." Mercia sank into the seat opposite the King, heaving a sigh. His tense demeanour indicated that the terms he'd come back with were not ones that Vortigern would agree with. The King was adamant on knowing what Arthur had proposed in any case.

"Yes?"

"They want you to stop building the tower and declare Arthur to be the rightful King."

Vortigern threw back his head and laughed. Did Arthur seriously think he would even consider that for a moment? The fact that his nephew held his wife and son hostage was irritating, but Vortigern didn't doubt that he would find a way to get them back.

"That won't be happening. They wouldn't dare harm either of them."

"They would if it meant winning this war," Mercia pointed out. It was clear that despite his usual disregard for his daughter, Mercia was perturbed by the idea that Rowena and possibly Vortimer could be harmed during all of this. The man was cold, but he was not heartless.

Vortigern leaned back, setting his goblet down. He allowed himself a few moments to collect his thoughts. Although he was not willing to meet Arthur's terms – the mere idea was offensive to every part of his being – he was aware of the fact that his wife and son could be in very real danger. He did not know Arthur, or how far the man would go to achieve his goals.

"What do you suggest I do, Mercia?"

"Negotiate with them," Mercia insisted. He had not made any mention of Rowena and Vortimer and their condition, leading Vortigern to believe that they were safe – for now. If they'd been harmed, it would have been one of the first things Mercia would have reported back on.

"And offer them what? If I make them a smaller offer, they will only agree to give one of them back."

"So pick the one who is dearer to you."

"That would be Vortimer," Vortigern said without missing a beat. He cared for Rowena – she was a beautiful, sweet young woman who'd given him an heir – but ultimately, his son was more important to him. "Ideally, I'd like both. But I'll accept whatever comes our way."

"Very well." Mercia clasped his hands in his lap. "Decide your terms and I will deliver them."

"We still have some of the prostitutes," Vortigern murmured, knowing that the women were dear to Arthur. Those women had raised him, and they would suffer the King's wrath if Arthur didn't get back in line. "Unless my wife and son are returned to me, they will all die. See what Arthur says to that."