A.N.: Okay, so I decided to add my own thoughts to the volume of King Arthur fanfiction. Anyway, please, do not kill me if I totally mess up our dear knights and such (I'M TRYING). Please be kind in reviews and tell me what you'd like me to change. Uh, this story takes place a couple years before the movie (which means no Guinevere I'm afraid...yes, I know, you're all so broken hearted). So yeah.

Disclaimer: Um, I own the plot, and the girl, and uh, not much else. However, if I did...Dagonet, Tristan, and Lancelot would all be alive, Arthur would still, of course, be king with Guinevere at his side. Vanora and Bors would get married and live happily ever after with their "eleven bastards" all of whom will finally get names. Um, Dagonet and Gawain would get girlfriends/wives. Let's see, oh and Lancelot would be conviently tied down with Tristan and Galahad safetly locked in my closet, and no, I'm not sharing...

Eight Years Ago

The muffled hoofbeats blended well with the silence of the forests surrounding the northern portion of Haidrin's wall. Tristan looked wearily to his right, natural caution forcing him to observe all his surroundings. The field was as clear as ever, except for the towering oak.

The scout shook his head, scolding himself for being distracted by a tree. Of course, it really didn't suprise him either. Everything about today had seemed strange and out of place, beginning with the large storm that had struck the outpost last night.

The viscious melding of rain and snow had hurtled down on the him and the others as they returned from defending a small Roman village, just outside the protective wall, from the woads. The bad omen, incently made so by Lancelot, had grown worse and worse throught the night. Tristan had lost track of his bird through the dense clouds and hadn't been able to whistle over the wind. Hence, here he was in early morning just outside the wall.

Normally, he wouldn't have bothered doing anything so recklessly stupid without directions from Authur. Despite Galahad's belief to the contrary, he wasn't so readily prepared to die. However, the woads had retreated further north so there was no immediate danger and a strong feeling bordering on instinct was pushing him to search for his hawk.

In any other circumstance, he would have simply waited until the bird returned, not bothering to scold it or truly worry over its safety. The animal had proven itself beyond capable of surviving conditions worse then the night before. Still, the bothersome feeling wouldn't go away until he finally saddled his horse and rode in the direction they had come from.

The dense green foliage slowly swallowed the lone scout as he urged his horse forward. After a moment, he let out a low whistle, calling to the hawk, and then waited for a reply. Only the near mystical quiet answered. Turning his horse left, Tristan guided the beast towards the older trees. The ones which would give shelter during storms. The horse snorted, seemingly annoyed at being led from its warm stable without a real sense of urgency radiating from its master. Tristan whistled again.

This time, the silence was broken by a equally low whistle. Instantly alert, Tristan pulled out his sword, dismounting from his horse. In the forest, it would be easier to sneak up on a potential enemy by foot then by an animal. Slowly he approached the direction the whistle had come. Pausing, he whistled again to figure out the bearings of his target. Again, there came a replying whistle.

Carefully he drew closer, till he found himself out the outskirts of a small patch of grass surrounded by trees. There, sitting in the grass, was a girl, no more then ten years old. Her hair was deep chocolate in color and unbelievably unrully. It fell gracelessly to her shoulders, touching a deep green cloak that lay scattered on the ground. For the moment, her back was turned to him.

Caught by suprise, which was very unlike him, Tristan nearly sheathed his sword. Suddenly, though, the child moved. The movement itself wasn't much, she merely pulled her legs back under her to stand up. Reacting immediately, however, Tristan pulled his sword into a ready postition. A fleeting thought passed through his mind that she was set up as a possible trap.

The little girl turned around and her eyes fell on Tristan. For a brief moment, both stood there staring at each other, the armed scout and a little girl. Then, a soft smile crossed the girl's face.

"Are you here to help me?" she asked, in an innocent way only a child could manage. Her large brown eyes seemed full of hope.

Again Tristan was caught off guard.

"Where are your parents?" he mumbled, suprised he had even spoken to the child.

Immediately the girl's face fell and tears began to form. A bad feeling seized Tristan. He wasn't good with children, especially ones of the crying variety.

"Girl, girlie," he called, making her pause, "Where did you see'em?"

A small sniffle and then, "A-at the wall. They, they were going somewhere."

"Where?"

The child shrugged and pulled her cloak closer. Tristan noticed the dampness of the bottom edges and how the leaves had clutched to it giving the material an old well used look. He knew the girl had been here a long time. Suddenly, a familiar shriek called from above. Looking up, Tristan saw his hawk flying in a circle right over where the little girl stood. Despite forsaking the use of signs and superstitions, Tristan knew that the circling meant something.

Taking a step towards the girl, he began to sheath his sword. A sudden fear flashed through the girl's eyes and she drew back. Good, Tristan thought, At least she is not completely foolish.

"I won't hurt you," he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. He could feel a shudder go through the thin little thing.

How does Bors do it again? he thought, trying to figure out a fast method for bringing the girl with him, Oh, right. Pulling the child over, he pulled her up over his shoulder and began to head towards his horse. Immediately, tiny fist began to hit against his back followed by small whimpers. It was no use, however, as he hoisted the girl on his horse and jumped on. He decided taking her back to the wall was the best thing to do. There, at least, someone else could deal with her.

Six years later

"Aedammiar, wake up!"