"Gwen," a voice whispered, its owner's lips so close to her ear that his warm breath landing on her earlobe made her shiver. "Wake up."

Ginny shook her head. Smiling, keeping her eyes shut, she closed her hands into fists around the fabric of his shirt, determined to keep him at her side for a few more minutes. Forever.

He kissed her then, pulling her closer to him, making her sigh as she felt his hands, which had found their way under her shirt somehow, on her bare skin.

A tentative knock on the door, followed by the prince's voice echoing through the silence of the small room filled with the grey light of the early morning, made them pull apart.

"Hmm, Lancelot, I believe it would be better if Sir Garreth found you in your own bed when he wakes up, we do not need more snow on the roads..."

With a deep sigh, Sir Lancelot kissed Ginny one more time and asked her to get ready. Then he pulled his trousers and shoes on quickly, gathered the rest of his clothes, and followed his friend into the corridor.

The moment he was out, the princess buried her face into the pillow, her mind making her relive the events of the previous night. She knew she should feel ashamed of herself, of her unsuitable, unladylike behaviour, but she didn't. She... loved Sir Lancelot and in love... everything was proper and honourable, she mused, even bathing in a hot water pool or sharing a bed...

She pulled herself up and got dressed, wearing her travelling clothes again. Her tightly wound crown of hair survived the night quite well, only a few russet strands got loose, and now floated freely around her face. There was no point in wasting time with her hairdo only to keep it hidden under her hat. Pulling the hat on, she collected all her things, careful not to leave anything behind.

Just as she was exiting the room, Garreth appeared in front of her, taking her bag from her hands.

"Did you have a good night?" he asked, observing her intently, making her blush.

"I did. You?" she replied and not waiting for his answer strode down the gloomy corridor away from him, walking right into her knight who just walked out of the other room.

Her breath caught, and Ginny wondered briefly why his closeness always had this effect on her before she laid her hand on his smooth cheek. He had shaved, unlike Garreth and the prince, who looked more like the hairy Saxons each day.

She smiled and he pressed his lips to hers, even as Prince Arthur called from behind him, his voice sounding bemused and appalled at the same time, "Oh come on you two, we really should reach Tintagel by sunset today, but we won't get anywhere unless you stop this..." The prince trailed off, waving his hand at them, then wrapped his arm over Garreth's shoulders and led him down the stairs, leaving Ginny and her knight, holding hands, to follow.

They decided to have breakfast in the inn, then ride as far as they could without a break. The innkeeper, serving their meal personally, asked where they were headed, and Garreth explained their destination to him.

"I tried to pull the Sword from the stone myself when I was a young lad, my father took me to Tintagel," he smiled at the four travellers wistfully. "But those were different times..."

The men exchanged puzzled looks before Garreth asked the innkeeper, "Is the road still safe? I've been there myself a few years back, and I remember the road vaguely. It is encompassed by a vast moorland before it dwindles into a path leading across salt marshes as it nears the coast and the steep hill where the castle stands."

"Yes, that's right. But it used to be deserted, apart from an occasional adventurer. These days, more and more Saxons and other Northmen leave the coast of Cornwall, moving inland..."

"Saxons? Here? This far south?" The prince asked, smoothing his moustache thoughtfully.

"They must be from the treaty troops and thus harmless," Ginny offered, remembering what she had once learned. "After one of the battles, some Saxons, Picts and other smaller tribes, pledged loyalty to King Leodegrance and the Duke of Cornwall. They've lived on this coast peacefully for many years."

"They might have been quite harmless before," the innkeeper mused, "but now, with the news of the Saxons landing on the Northern Shores... They'll either try to join their tribes again or hide inland, scared to be accused of treason by their own folk."

They watched the man walk away with their used dishes before the three men exchanged glances again, alarmed this time. The news about the Saxons invading the Northern Shores had not reached them yet. If it was true, and not just rumours, then the roads would soon become unsafe just as the man had said. No one could be trusted in times of war.

"Let us go," Arthur said finally, his hand closed firmly around Ginny's as he spoke to their companions. "I'm not sure if it's all true, but we'll ride armed. I want you on my horse, Gwendolyn, and we'll change horses after lunch, so they are all well rested. We must make sure to reach Tintagel and leave the road before dark," he added, finally looking at her.

She nodded, even as Garreth said, "My cousin can ride with me, Sir Lancelot."

"No, Garreth. I'll ride with him," the princess said firmly, well aware that this might be their last day together. She wanted her knight as close as possible.

Ginny could feel the prince's look on her as he spoke to his knight, agreeing, but avoided looking back at him. She knew that she would have a lot of explaining to do when they would meet again in four weeks, but... that would be in four weeks. Right now, she could not think about anything else but her last day with Sir Lancelot. Her eyes filled with tears as she followed him into the courtyard where their horses were waiting for them, ready and impatient to move, while Garreth and the prince went to settle their account.

"Hush..." he said, noticing a tear escaping her eye in the bright sunlight outside, kissing it away. "You don't have to be afraid..."

She smiled as she realised how he misunderstood her sorrow. "I'm not afraid of the Saxons. I'm afraid that I won't see you again after tomorrow, not like this..."

He looked at her, puzzled by her words, but said nothing. This was not the best time to talk-- he saw her cousin and Lancelot approaching them across the yard. He would talk to her tonight, he couldn't let her go like this, she deserved to know the truth...

Arthur moved his bags to her horse quickly, then lifted her onto his horse and sat behind her. He wrapped his arm around her waist from behind, and she leaned into him, noticing the peregrine falcon taking flight from the roof of the inn even as the first ribbons of mist rose from the ground.

Better mist than snow, Ginny thought, listening to the sound of their horses' hooves clattering on the snow-free cobblestones.

They were out of the small town in no time and met a group of strange travellers the moment they reached the old Roman road.

Ginny noticed how her three companions reached for the hilts of their swords in unison, but she laid her hand on her knight's, pleading him to drop it.

"Look at them. Look at them well. They are not here to fight us..." she said before the group was within earshot, then passed by them, exchanging only a few wary looks and polite greetings. They were mostly men, tall, blond, hairy, and dressed in soiled, travel-worn clothes, but there were women and children too.

"Do you think... that it's true?" the prince, suddenly appearing at their side, asked his knight.

Ginny could feel Sir Lancelot's grip tighten around her waist as he replied, "I don't know what to think..."

When she looked up at him, she saw her own unasked questions and worries reflected and multiplied in his blue eyes... Have the Saxons landed? Is the country at war again? How safe are we here? How long before we'll have to join our troops...?

Arthur pressed his lips to her temple gently when he saw her reading his eyes, trying for a smile to disperse her worries. He wrapped his wide cloak over her too and she pulled it close around her, revelling in its comforting warmth and scent, committing them to memory, realising only now how his midnight blue cloak resembled the one the faceless king wore in one of her half forgotten dreams.

The fog thickened around them soon after, and they nearly missed the spot where the safe road turned into the precarious path as they neared the coast.

"Let us stop and refresh here," Garreth proposed. "We might not find a dry enough place to rest until we reach the hill of Tintagel."