Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur or anyone appearing in it. Woot for me.

A/N: This is my first King Arthur fic, so go easy please. Thanks. :o)

The sun cast long shadows on the fallow fields outlying the small village. Ketchia whipped her arm back then sent the sickle in her hand slicing powerfully through the bottom of a clutch of stalks. She stood up and wiped the sweat off her brow, smearing dirt and bits of chaft across her forehead. Many harvesters were finishing their row and turning in for the day. Smiling wearily, she turned to the scrawny, tow-headed boy who was following close behind her, gathering and bundling the fallen stalks together.

"Saffer," she called, "are you hungry?" The six-year-old nodded excitedly, making his flyaway blond hair go every which-a-way.

"Yes! Very much. What will Mother make tonight?" he wondered and licked his lips. "Maybe it will be bird or rabbit. Rabbit stew, mmm!" He rubbed his little belly. Ketchia smirked and ruffled his sun-lightened hair.

"Whatever it might be, it shall be tasty, you know that!" She gestured to the straw in his arms. "Wrap that bunch, brat, and let's go find out."

He snatched up the remainder of the stalks then pulled a long piece of string out of his trouser pocket. After wrapping it tightly around the bundle, he tied a knot to hold it in place. Ketchia walked over and slung the bundle over her thin shoulders. Saffer, talking non-stop of food, danced around her as they made their way back to the village. She tossed the bundle onto the growing pile of wheat before walking to the firepit in front of her family's hut. Her older sister, Magral, sat beside it, raking the coals diligently. Magral held a protective hand her bulging adomen as she stood up. Saffer ran past Ketchia and plastered himself to the older woman. He stuck his ear up against her stomach.

"Hello, Driffle!" he exclaimed to the stomach. Magral sighed in exasperation and put her hand on the small of her back, balancing her uneven weight. Her other hand was placed with annoyance on her hip as her brother conversed happily with her unborn child.

"I hope you know that no baby of mine is going to be named Driffle," she announced, narrowing her eyes at the boy. Saffer beamed up at her and sunlight shone through the gaps made by his missing baby teeth.

"Driffle says that he likes that name," he said with sweet stubbornness and rubbed her stomach affectionately.

"You don't even know if it is a boy or not," Magral huffed and turned back to the fire pit. Ketchia was sitting next to it, inhaling the thick smell of roasting partridge. Magral watched her younger sister fondly for a moment. The girl acted older than her eleven years but was still much a child at heart. There was never much time for games or play among their people so the children often grew up faster, becoming independent and responsible early in life. Sighing, Magral called Saffer over and set him to turning the spit. She lowered herself to ground beside of Ketchia.

"How is the harvest coming?" she asked, taking up a piece of cloth in her hands. She made rope while her sister talked.

"Quite well, I think." Ketchia grinned and shrugged her shoulders. "Better than last year at the least."

"Much better than last year!" Saffer agreed enthusiastically. Magral snorted.

"You don't remember last year, worm," she snapped but patted his leg lovingly. The three siblings were discussing the day's events when the flap of their home opened and an aging beauty of a woman appeared.

"Mother!" Saffer cried joyfully. Galean had enough time to run a hand over Magral's brown hair before her youngest pair leapt up and hugged her, Saffer around her legs and Ketchia around her middle. She squeezed them both in a quick embrace. Saffer tugged on her sleeve as she began to inspect the partridge.

"Yes?" Galean questioned, raising her right eyebrow humorously. "Is it of the most utmost importance, my little weevil?" Ketchia and Magral shared smiles at their brother's expense. It was family tradition to call him whatever degrading name they came up with. Saffer became quiet as he thought it over then rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Yes, Mother, it is," he mumbled.

"Well then, tell me quick so you shall not forget it!" she insisted, giving her son an expectant look.

"I got a toad today!" he suddenly bubbled and pulled the creature out of his trouser pocket. Magral rolled her dark brown eyes and Ketchia giggled into her hands. Her brother's pocket held almost everything imaginable, from thread to feathers to food to live creatures. Their mother made a show of kneeling down and examining the little toad, turning it over in her son's palm as it puffed out its body and pretended to be dead. She turned her head so Saffer could not see and winked at her daughters.

"That is certainly a glorious find," she said, looking back to the boy, "but I believe it would find the open more likable than your pocket." He frowned and glanced down at the toad.

"I promise I would feed him and let him out and everything," he whined, wrapping his fingers over the toad's back. It squeaked weakly in protest and squirmed its stubby legs around. Galean reached out and gently took her son's clenched fist between her own hands. Stroking the little toad's bumpy head, she looked up at Saffer's face.

"But still it would not be free. It could move around and be well-fed, but it would have no freedom to do whatever it will." She covered her son's hands with her own. He, like her late husband, would leave to join the knights of Sarmatia, a fate little better than slavery, when he was of age. She stood up and kissed his forehead. "One day you will understand this better than most." Saffer took one last look at the toad then released it. It fled as fast as its short hops would take it.

"Ahem," Magral said, interrupting the moment, "The partridge is done." Galean gave her a soft smile.

"Then it is time to eat." The family was finishing the sparse supper when a cry went up around the encampment.

"The Romans are coming! They are coming!" Everywhere people scrambled up from their fires and ran to the edge of their settlement. Ketchia and Saffer gave their mother hopeful looks; they wanted to get a glimpse of the soldiers with shining swords and shields.

"Yes, yes, you may go. But do not make yourselves noticeable, do you understand?"

"We do, Mother!" they both chimed. Ketchia grabbed her brother's hand as they raced along. Galean frowned as she watched her children disappear into the crowd. There were no boys of age to be taken from the village; the oldest of the next crop were still much too young. Why would the Romans come here? She sent a considerate look towards Magral. Magral's husband, who she had met after his period of service, had died of fever the past winter. The child in her womb was her only reminder of the poor man. Galean leaned over and clasped her hand on her daughter's shoulder in support.

The Sarmatians watched as the soldiers cantered across the plains, their armor glistening with the remnants of the sunset. Interspersed between the soldiers were young Sarmatian knights from other encampments. Ketchia pulled Saffer through the group of villagers until they could see everything clearly. The Romans brought their horses right up to the people. Hard glares were exchanged between the groups as a legionnaire dismounted from his grey gelding. He walked up to the nearest man and declared with haughty authority,

"We have come for your boys." A hushed whisper threaded through the Sarmatians. The village leader shook his head.

"We have none of age," he replied in a voice like stone. The Roman frowned, his eyes narrowing at the man.

"Then we must have those closet to the age." He sighed as if this entire exchange was boring him. Ketchia gripped her little brother to her in sudden fear. "The last few villages had no male children and we must fill the quota set for us."

"We have none," the leader repeated. His hand rested on the dagger in his belt. The legionary saw this and his fingers tapped against his broadsword.

"Do not make trouble, peasant," he snarled and clinched his fist around the hilt. An officer trotted his horse up next to the solider, giving him a disapproving look.

"We may take another in the stead of children," he suggested, "if that idea is more pleasing to you." A woman stepped forward, her eyes of ice glaring at the Romans.

"What do you mean?" she asked. The officer gave her a patronizing sneer.

"Instead of young ones, we will take another," he announced. "A girl child or a knight who has already served his time will be sufficient." His eyes searched the crowd for the people he had mentioned. His eyes locked on Ketchia. "She will do fine." He nodded his head at her. Startled and scared, she backed away. He made a motion with his hand and pair of soldiers dismounted and closed in on her.

Saffer looked up at his sister's face. It was pale and her eyes kept the stare with the officer's. He took her hand and yanked her away while confusion captured the other villagers. They could not have Ketchia! He sprinted back to their hut, yelling for his mother. Galean raised her head from the conversation she had been having with Magral. A sudden feeling of dread captured her when she saw a pair of Romans following her children up the path.

"What? What has happened?" Galean demanded as Saffer practically threw his sister into her arms. He shook his head breathlessly and tried to shove the pair of them towards the hut.

"What did you do, Saffer?" yelled Magral hysterically. One of the soldiers walked up to their fire, his dark eyes trained on Ketchia. Galean knew in that instant what he wanted and it tore her heart out. She stopped moving toward their home and looked down at the little girl in her arms.

"Oh, Ketchia."