Hi, everyone! I'm new to this fandom and and have never really written a romance before, so I'm going to do my absolute best to make this tasteful. I'm trying to become a better writer, so I would really appreciate any sort of commentary. In fact, if you feel this story is worthy of a flame (or many), then, please, go ahead. I'd rather know that the story is bad so that I can redo it.

I'm something of a knowledge freak, so I have done my best to make this as historically accurate as possible. (I've done plenty of research, which included reading all the old legends, from the Early Welsh poetry such as Y Gododdin and Cullhwch and Olwen to Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain to Chretien de Troyes... you get the idea. Actually, as a side note, that reading was not done in preparation for writing this fic; it was done for pleasure in my free time, which just shows you how much of a loser I am.) Also, I've made attempts to include a minimal amount of Welsh and Gaelic – just for the "historically accurate" factor.

As stated in the summary, this piece is AU because Lancelot and Tristran are alive, even though it's set after the movie. Also stated in the summary, this is most likely going to turn out to be GawainOC.

Final note, I promise... This is probably the longest individual chapter I'll ever post.

Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur or his knights, the legends or the movie(s) they are portrayed in, and am not making any profit whatsoever from posting this story.

Still reading? I'm impressed. :)

Ever Homeward

It was dawnbreak in the valley. The sky lightened, and the sun rose, casting its rays upon the cluster of thatched-roof cottages, and the golden fields of wheat that surrounded them.

In a cottage on the outskirts of the village, soft morning light streamed in through a small, glassless window, caressing the sparse rustic furniture and the form of a young woman as she slept soundly on a wool-filled mattress. She was dreaming - it was a pleasant dream, for once, about riding through a meadow on her mare. Of course, it was not to last.

In one of the many chicken-coops, a rooster crowed loudly, shattering the dream as the woman came awake. She opened her eyes, blinking against the sun. She was silent as she readied herself for the day, donning a simple dress and a patched apron. Mentally, though, her mind was in a flurry as she ran through the list of everything she would have to do. Breakfast. Feed the chickens; collect the eggs. Feed the goat and the ponies and Síoda, and then to Robert's house to wind more bandages and dry more herbs…

She stepped into the main room of the cottage and threw more kindling on the fire - heavens, how she hated the warmth it added to the already heated summer morn. She prepared breakfast - the usual black bread with a smear of butter, and was just laying the meal on the table when a dark-haired man entered.

"Aerin," he said, by way of greeting as he took a seat at the table.

"Good morning, father," she said with a smile. "How did you sleep?"

"Adequately, as always. Ah, here comes your brother."

True enough, a lad a couple of year's Aerin's junior staggered into the room, looking half-asleep. He was the spitting image of his father, down to the hazel eyes and crooked grin.

"Morning, Dafydd," the young woman said, in more of a prompting way than anything else.

He yawned lazily before replying, collapsing into a chair. "Oh. G'morning, Aerin, Father."

The young woman placed the water jug on the table and waited for her father to say grace before touching her food. She pointedly refrained from crossing herself, but neither family member said anything, used to her ways. It was a quick meal – a few minutes spent wolfing down the only nourishment they would receive until well after sundown. Before leaving for a long day in the fields, Dafydd kissed his sister's cheek.

"See you later."

"Aye," she replied. "Later." Aerin cleaned up the remnants of the meal as her father and brother left the cottage, then grabbed a woven basket and headed for the fenced-in yard behind the house to start her daily chores.

The chickens were temperamental, as always, and squawked at her angrily. She narrowly avoided their snaps to her wrists. "I hate chickens," she muttered to herself, placing the last egg in her basket. "They're too costly to keep for all their trouble."

The two thick-set ponies in the pasture were more welcoming, nuzzling her in a friendly manner. She laid out a bale of hay for them, and then moved towards the shed that adjoined the pasture, where the goat and her own mare stayed. Sioda was no sturdy pony – she was a horse, from the faraway land of Iberia. Aerin had raised her from a filly, after purchasing her from a certain traveling merchant. The mare wickered gently upon seeing her mistress, and Aerin patted her neck in response, smoothing down the sleek gray fur.

By the time all her duties were finished, it was nearly noon. Aerin hurried from her home, making for the village square, where Robert the healer, whom she was apprenticed to, was waiting for her. The young woman entered the dim, pleasant smelling cottage with a slightly sullen air, barely nodding to the aging medicine-man.

He sneered at her in return, commanding, "Wind that clean cloth into bandage-rolls."

She quietly did as she was told, remembering a time long past, when her mother had been the village healer, and she hadn't had to wind tons of bandages. A sigh escaped her; how she missed the witty woman who had brought her into the world. It had been her mother who had inspired her to take up healing, and sometimes, it was only the desire to honor her mother's memory that kept her from storming out of Robert's presence and her apprenticeship.

It had been nearly forty-five minutes when the cottage door flew open, admitting bright afternoon light as well as a young girl.

"What is it, child?" Robert asked the disheveled girl.

Breathing heavily, she blurted out, "My mother said to get Aerin because Hydref is about to lose her babe!"

Aerin did not even register her master's nod of approval as she raced out of the healer's cottage in a flurry, the younger girl on her heels. "My mother and sister and Mary Smithson are already there," the girl informed her.

As they reached the cottage belonging to the afflicted woman, Aerin picked up the sound of pained wails. She turned and murmured, "You run along and play, Ithela."

The girl shot her a grateful, wide-eyed glance and sprinted off. Aerin took a deep breath and opened the door. A woman, the source of the wails, lay sprawled on a bed in the cramped, dark room, and three other women hovered worriedly next to her. Their heads snapped up as they heard Aerin enter.

"What's -" Aerin attempted to ask, but was cut off by the somber expressions of the other women.

The eldest, Ilar, who looked to be in her forties, shook her head, defeated. "Do something to soothe her, Aerin. The poor dear couldn't pull through."

Three times before – three! – this had happened to Hydref, and Aerin had been unable to do anything. Sympathy and pity overwhelmed her, and she began to brew a drink that would quiet the woman and ease her pain as the other women murmured comforting words, stroking Hyrdref's forehead gently. When Aerin brought the finished potion to the woman, Hydref spat out, "Couldn't be bothered to help a Briton like me, could you, you spawn of murdering foreigners?"

Aerin clenched her fists and bit her lip until it bled, not trusting herself to say anything. She's in a lot of pain, she told herself, and that took the edge off the emotions. Each miscarriage had warranted the same reaction from Hydref. The other women kept their mouths shut, following Aerin's lead and choosing not to involve themselves. The stress of the event weighed down on her as she left the cottage a quarter of an hour later, side-by-side with Ilar and her elder daughter, Llian.

The elder woman put her arm around Aerin. "Don't pay any mind to what Hydref said; she's grieving very deeply. We all know you did your best."

All the pent up emotion within her was released, and Aerin cried, "Oh, Ilar, to have the death of another child on me – I cannot bear it!"

"Hush, Aerin," Ilar replied. "There is no stain upon your soul, I swear."

The young woman bowed her head, letting the statement settle within her. In a contemplative manner, she ran a hand through the long, yellow hair that was her curse. "Ilar, tell me truthfully," she began.

"Anything," the woman replied, though there was a wary look in her eyes.

"When you look at me, do you see the savage Gael that everyone else sees?"

Ilar's eyes suddenly blazed with fury. "Heavens, child! I see a lass who is as good-hearted as her mother was."

"My mother was a Gael, too," Aerin reminded. "A Gael who never meant to leave her land; she had no love for this country."

"But you do, dear. And you are a good person, as she was."

Aerin was grateful beyond words for the matronly woman's assuring certainty. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it. Go home and rest now. You've had a trying day." Ilar turned to her daughter, who had remained silent during Aerin's near-breakdown. "Llian, go with her; help her if she needs anything."

The girl bobbed her head and slipped her hand into Aerin's companionably. "Of course."

They parted ways, the two young women talking seriously as they walked to Aerin's cottage. "Don't feel too badly," Llian counseled. "There was nothing you could have done."

Aerin appraised her friend. Llian was younger than the apprentice healer at sixteen, and pretty, with very dark blonde hair and deep brown eyes. She was engaged to marry a lad in the spring. Aerin was happy for the girl, but deep within her, she also harbored a bit of jealousy. Llian was in love; she and her beau were marrying not because their parents had arranged it but because they wanted to. Aerin knew that she would never have that – love was too much to hope for. She would be lucky if anyone married her at this point. All the other girls her age were either married or engaged, and yet, no one had asked for her hand. Usually Aerin was able to push romantic thoughts out of her mind by focusing on her tasks, but sometimes, such as then, they nearly consumed her. She shook her head to clear it as Llian asked a question. "Do you – do you think the same thing will happen to me, after I marry Nathan?"

Aerin frowned. "I hope not," she said truthfully. "Your mother never had any trouble; nor should you."

When they reached Aerin's home, they set to mending the torn clothes that had piled up recently. For some time, they worked in silence, until eventually Llian ventured, "Will you come berry-picking with me tomorrow? Just the two of us?"

"Sure," Aerin agreed readily. "We can take Sioda up to the western ridge. There are blackberries growing there in plenty this late in the summer."

"Good idea – we'll be sure to be alone, as well, since it's such a trek from here."

"You wouldn't like to invite any of your other friends? Or your sister?" Aerin asked.

Llian shook her head. "Not this time. You're the only one who isn't begging me for all the latest details about Nathan and me."

Aerin grinned compliantly as Llian continued. "I want to go as maidens, together, one last time."

When they had finished darning all the clothes – which had been mostly shirts and breeches belonging to Aerin's family – the healer's apprentice sent Llian home to rest, thanking her for her help.

Once alone, Aerin saddled up Sioda and set out on the path that led to the field where her father and brother labored daily. On her way, she passed fertile cropland, tilled by villagers. Their village grew mostly wheat, beans, and grapevines, as well as a few apple trees. Other vegetables were grown in individual gardens behind the cottages.

Aerin spotted her brother and slowed her mare to a trot, pulling up next to Dafydd. He looked up, sweaty and dirty. "Aerin! How was your day?"

She slid off her mare, shaking her head as the remembered sorrow crashed down on her. "Hydref lost her babe."

Dafydd frowned, and immediately collected his elder sister in a consoling hug. "Again? It couldn't have been your fault."

"Aye, daughter," Gethin said as he approached, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "God must bear some anger towards her."

Aerin disagreed with that particular statement, but as always, she held her tongue. "It does not matter now," she fibbed.

Dafydd narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Did she say something to you?"

"I said it doesn't matter."

But Dafydd was already simmering. "She called you Gaelic scum, didn't she? Didn't she?"

"Enough, son," their father admonished. "She just said that she doesn't care."

The lad didn't even take a breath. "But she does – and I do as well! Any insult to Aerin is an insult to me; we're of the same blood and were born in the same land. If anyone has anything to say about her blood, then they deal with me!" Dafydd was thundering now, frightening the skittish Sioda and drawing concerned looks from the other laborers.

Attempting to calm her mare, Aerin gave her brother a pleading look. "Please."

Dafydd shut his mouth and glared at the onlookers until they directed their gazes elsewhere.

"You always did have your mother's temper, my son."

What a pair we make, Aerin thought. Dafydd with the temper of our Gaelic mother, and me with her looks. "I better go," she said, climbing back atop Sioda. "Do you want anything special for supper?"

Dafydd was immediately distracted by thoughts of food. "No chance of any pork, is there?"

"Sorry." Aerin shook her head.

"How about eggs and beans, then?" Gethin suggested.

"Very well," she replied, though she was thoroughly sick of eggs. "I'll see you at home, then." She tugged on Sioda's reins and rode back to the village at a canter, pulling up short as she found her path blocked by a few women her own age. She nodded briefly to them and continued past them; these girls were Hydref's friends and she didn't want to have any sort of conversation with them at the moment.

"Hey, Aerin, stop!" One of the girls called.

She turned Sioda back around to face them, paling. She knew exactly what was coming. "Yes, Gwener?"

The middle girl exchanged glances with her two companions before speaking. "We know what you've done."

Aerin sighed, and opened her mouth to ask just what they thought she'd done, but another girl, Lowri, cut her off. "Don't you dare try to deny it! You've never gotten along with Hydref because she's beautiful and married and everything else you'll never be! You're jealous – we know you are – that's why you've been causing all her misfortunes."

The healer was shocked by the malice in the other girl's voice. What am I to do now? Anything I do, they will call guilty. "I-" The weight of the accusation fell upon her, and she felt helpless tears fill her eyes as the third girl, Nesta, spat out, "Bet you learned poisoning from your witch mother."

Aerin finally found her voice. "You're wrong."

Gwener sneered at her. "What did you say?" She prompted in an oddly light tone.

"I said you're wrong."

"Look," Nesta continued. "It's our word against yours, pagan."

Aerin was trembling with anger at the insult to her mother. She knew that if she stayed, she'd only be inviting more hurt, more accusations. She jerked Sioda's reins and turned slowly around. "I said you're wrong," she repeated, with nothing else to say. She forced herself to keep her head high, proud, and fought the urge to signal Sioda to quicken her pace.

When she finally reached home, she dismounted hurriedly, wiping at her eyes before any tears could fall.

That night, after eating dinner in silence, Aerin knelt at the gap in her outer wall that served as her window, gazing almost fervently at the dark, cloudy sky. She hadn't prayed in a long time – not since the day her mother had died.

"Oh, Ffraid, great goddess, have mercy on me." The old priest of the village who had taught her to read and write in not one but three languages – begrudgingly, at the command of her mother – had warned her against belief in the old deities, saying that Rome's holy Deus was the one and only God who deserved her faith. So Aerin had prayed to the God of her father. But something in her refused to let the ways of her birth land die, and she continued to pray to the celestial beings her mother had worshipped, as well. By her reasoning, she could pray to whomever she wished – God, and Ffraid and the others, lived in the same heaven; surely they all worked together for the benefit of mankind?

The Next Morning...

"Look, come over here!" Llian called cheerfully, basket swinging. "A whole patch of blackberries, ripe for the eating."

Aerin hurried over. Llian's irresistible enthusiasm had long infected her, as had the unusually clear and sunny skies. She smiled when she saw the berries. "We've eaten so many already," she teased.

Llian grinned, turning her purple-stained palms over for her friend's inspection. "Oh, come now, a few more won't hurt."

The two girls sat down in the thick, green grass and began picking, half of the berries going into their baskets and the other half into their mouths. Sioda trotted over, and Aerin slipped her a slice of dried apple as she listened to Llian. "You know, Cennydd hasn't come yet this season."

Aerin nodded. "I know. I'm sure he'll be along soon, though."

"I hope so. He always brings the most wonderful trinkets from the south."

"Aye."

"He's a nice young man, too. Even your father likes him – he's eaten at your home many times.

Aerin smiled at pleasant memories. "Do you remember the time he brought Sioda for me? He let me have her half-price."

"Yes, she was only a filly then. She surprised us all – one look into those eyes and your stern father was building a shed just for her. And she survived the first winter. Honestly, I never thought she'd make it; she was so tiny and frail-looking."

The healer laughed. "She's a monster compared to our ponies now!"

Llian giggled. "A gorgeous one, you mean. Cenydd said he picked her out just for you. I'm glad you've got such a good friend."

"He's still under the impression that I saved his life," Aerin said, rolling her eyes.

"Of course you saved his life! You took a Woad arrow from his side, all by yourself, and all he has to show for it is a small scar."

Aerin shrugged and blushed shyly. "Anyone could have done the same."

"Aye," Llian laughed. "But you were fifteen, and he was what – seventeen?"

The other girl sighed, knowing that no one would ever listen to her version of the story after Cennydd had proclaimed his own highly glorified rendition of what had happened on that long-ago day.

Aerin was laughing, nearly hysterical, at a joke Llian had told her, clutching her sides in pleasant pain, when Sioda's ears pricked up and she whinnied and reared, her eyes rolling into her head in sudden fear.

"Sioda?" Aerin breathed in confusion as she grabbed the mare's reins, blackberries spilling out of her overflowing basket. "Hush, hush." Another sound reached her ears, then, and Llian clutched at her arm. Deep drums, their echoes bouncing off the south hills, were sounding in the north. Both girls had heard those sounds before, but never so close. Saxon drums.

"Oh, save us," Llian whispered. The girls had paled in terror.

"Come on, we've got to get back to the village," Aerin hissed, climbing atop Sioda and offering a hand to Llian. Within moments, they were racing through the trees, down the steep path of the western ridge and into the valley. By the time they reached the outskirt farms, they were screaming.

"Attack, attack!"

The villagers had, of course, already heard the drums. Most rushed about wildly as they streamed back from the fields, searching for ways in which they could defend themselves. The two girls dismounted, and Llian rushed off to find her family.

Aerin looked about, holding tightly to her mare's reins. Around her, men were arming themselves with their farming implements: pitchforks, rakes, and the like. A few found bows and hunting knives. Sioda at her heels, Aerin ran to the pasture of her own cottage, where she found the ponies tense and on edge. She led them both out, clucking her tongue soothingly. It was not long before she spotted Marged, the eldest woman in the village, struggling to keep up with the fleeing women and children. Aerin rushed to her, helping her mount the first pony and sending them off in the direction of the south hills.

Next she found Mary Smithson, clutching her five-year old daughter while yelling at her two elder sons, Emlyn and Emrys, to catch up to the rest.

"No," Emlyn, who at twelve was the oldest of his siblings, protested. "I'm not leavin' you."

"Emlyn..." Somehow, Mary managed to make her voice both exasperated and threatening at the same time. Aerin approached them, taking the little girl in her arms and placing her on the other gentle pony's back.

"Go, all of you," she commanded, handing the reins to Emlyn as Mary took her other son's hand.

Having done all she could, and confident that her family's two ponies would help get the village women and children to safety, Aerin led Sioda deeper into the village.

She spun around as a hand grabbed her shoulder and a voice demanded, "Why are you still here?" Though he was gripping the family ax confidently, Aerin could see that Dafydd's knuckles were white, and that he was doing his best not to tremble.

Ignoring his implied order to run, she asked, "Has anyone been sent for help?"

"Yes. Tomos was sent to Rhostyllen town. They have fighting men." His voice was terse, betraying his nervousness. "Now go."

Aerin frowned. "You'll need all the help you can get if we're to hold off until help arrives. I can handle a blade, remember?"

"Aerin, the Saxons will kill you if you stay, healer or no!"

"As they will kill everyone else," she shot back. "Robert went with the women and children – I'm staying here to help."

"Don't you dare, Aerin! Take Sioda and go!"

Aerin was about to reply when a voice called, "Help, please!" She spun around. Hydref's husband, Adda, was the one yelling, supporting his shaking wife as best he could. Aerin went to them, knowing what she must do.

"Here," she said, in what she hoped was an authoritative voice, and held Sioda's reins out. "She's got a very smooth canter."

Adda looked gratefully at her and lifted Hydref to to Sioda's saddle. The woman clutched the mare's neck weakly, hunched over, and Sioda was off, racing away to safety.

"Thank you," Adda murmured before he rushed away, bow in hand.

Aerin returned to Dafydd. "See? Now I have no horse to get me away. If I tried to flee on foot, I'd be killed from behind – a most dishonorable way to die."

"Hide inside until it's over," Dafydd ordered, accepting that he would not win the argument. "And don't let them catch you."

Shouts abruptly began to fill the air, accompanied by the clanging of steel and the twanging of bowstrings. "Be careful," Dafydd said as his feet carried him away to join the battle in the northern fields.

"You, too," she called, praying that he would hear her. She took a deep breath, tasting the scent of smoke and burning things in the air. She turned, making her way to their own cottage.

Once in her room, Aerin bent down, her fingers fumbling with the clasp of the worn trunk at the foot of her bed. When finally she pried it open, she dug furiously through the folded blankets and trinkets at the top until she found it – the dirk that had belonged to her mother, that Aerin hadn't touched in four years. It lay in its mahogany scabbard, waiting for her to reach out and take it.

When she did, she instantly felt the spirit of her mother around her, and the emotion left her breathless, but only for a moment. Rushing again, she slid the sheathed dirk into her belt and slung her medicine pouch over her shoulder. She closed the trunk and dashed out, her brother's warning ignored.

Camelot, later that same evening...

The city was all in commotion. A man bearing news of an attack by Saxons on a village had arrived not half an hour before, begging for aid. And who was Arthur to refuse it? His people needed help – not to mention that this new army of Saxons needed a lesson in foreign policy.

The King of all the Britons called a meeting in dining hall of the new manor. At that hour, the place was empty, so the knights had relative privacy as they gathered around the now-legendary Round Table (which had been moved from its old location).

Arthur looked around. Some of the faces staring back at him were familiar – his brothers-in-arms, whom he had worried about and laughed with for fifteen years. The majority, though, belonged to new recruits. They were men who had come from all over Britain to offer their services to the king in exchange for the honor and glory that came with being a Knight of the Round Table. All told, Arthur had twenty knights under his command – twenty elite fighters who were the pride and joy of the whole of Arthur's army.

He quickly gave them the story, receiving mixed reactions. The new additions smiled eagerly at another chance to prove their worth, while the five Sarmatians were quiet as they exchanged glances.

"Well, knights?" Arthur prompted.

"Aye," they chorused. "Let's get moving."

Arthur held up his hands. "Hold on. Only Bors, Galahad, and Gawain will come with me. Lancelot, you organize extra guards for the wall, and Tristran, gather fifty soldiers and have them report to me at the gate in half an hour. The rest of you should continue with your daily duties."

The newer knights filed out, grumbling among themselves, along with Tristran, who, unlike Lancelot, knew better than to argue with their commanding officer.

"Arthur, be reasonable!" Lancelot shouted, face-to-face with Arthur. "I've had three months of recovery, four months of plain old training, and two battles, and just because I mention once, in passing, that my old wound twinges a bit, you've taken me off duty permanently. This is ridiculous!"

Calm as always, Arthur replied, "I'm not taking any risks with your health, Lancelot. I've been just as careful with Tristran."

"He still gets to go scouting every bloody day!"

"I'm not going to endanger your life just because you're feeling slightly bored," Arthur said patiently, as if he had explained it all hundreds of times before.

Furious, the dark-haired knight slammed his fist down on the Table. "Slightly bored? Arthur, I'm ready to jump off the Wall – I've gone through every woman at the tavern by now!"

"Hey!" Gawain broke in. "What about that curly-haired wench I've had my eye on?"

Lancelot adopted an expression of deep thought, completely distracted as he tried to remember. "Oh, her," he said dismissively. "Three weeks ago. Gave some good kisses but –"

"Enough!" Galahad exclaimed, for once playing peacemaker as Bors restrained Gawain from tackling Lancelot. "Shut up, the lot of you, and let's go already!"

"For once the Whelp makes sense," Bors added, earning a glare from the youngest of them. "We don't want to give the bloody enemy too much of a head start. Lancelot, just deal with your emotions like an adult for once, will ya?"

Surprising everyone, Lancelot stopped arguing immediately and stalked away to carry out Arthur's command about the wallguard. Bors caught the impressed stares of his comrades and puffed out his chest. "Ha! Did you see that?"

The other knights rolled their eyes, but Arthur gave Bors a half-smile. "Come. Tristran has probably assembled a division for us already."