"Sorry to break up this touching reunion," Bors said, picking up the broken cot bed and forcing it back into the window space, "but we're about to have a lot of company."

Arthur tore his eyes away from his wife - filthy, covered in blood and sweat and looking more pleased with herself than ever - and peered through the gaps in the makeshift window protector. A good fifty Saxons were cautiously moving to surround the cottage.

"Okay, I'm open to ideas. What do we do?"

The answering silence was not all that he could have hoped for.

"How far away is the army?" Guinevere finally asked.

"What army?" Arthur and Bors said at the same time.

"Well, it obviously isn't just the two of you out here, is it? That would be ridiculously irresponsible. Even for you two."

"To be fair, we have gained a wizard. And Morgan was with us back when this all started." Bors rumbled.

"And Morgan is where?"

"We're not sure. We think someone very powerful stole her." Arthur recognised this was not a helpful response. "Look, we were going to rescue her once we'd recovered you. Now that we have successfully managed that first part of the mission, we can get right back to helping Morgan."

"You're taking me finding you, evading a Saxon warband and literally landing in your lap as 'successfully recovering' me, are you?"

Merlin was about to have Melehan interrupt, but Bors tapped him on the wrist and shook his head. Nope. Don't get in the middle of this was the undoubted subtext.

"If you really want to pick at that scab, wife, I am sure we would all be delighted to hear the no doubt fascinating tale of your escape from captivity. By the looks of the state of you, I'm sure it will be a story filled with brio and derring-do!"

"Don't be such a colossal arse, husband."

"Maybe if you weren't showing yours to all and sundry, I wouldn't need to be!"

Guinevere blinked, then looked down at her leather hose. "Seriously? Is that at the top of your list of worries right now? We're minutes from death, and you want to waste time ragging on me for being inappropriately dressed in public? I am very sorry that during my life and death struggle to return with all haste to your loving embrace, I failed to ensure I did so while wearing a fucking dress! I bet my hair isn't all fancy and smelling like flowers like you like either, is it? You are such a fucking man-baby!"

It was at this moment the Princess of the Britons would have liked to be able to make a dramatic exit. Turning and finding herself wedged face-to-face with a Saxon wizard somewhat thwarted that plan.

There was a tense silence, and then Bors sighed and then cleared his throat. "Well, I bet we're all glad we got that out of systems, aren't we? Now, to bring us back to the matter at hand. No, we don't have an army nearby. No, we don't know where Morgan is. Yes, we seem to have gained a wizard who, by the colour of him, is one fart away from Qi exhaustion. Yes, we are currently surrounded. No, I have absolutely no plans about what to do next."

Guinevere nodded. "Okay. So no fast-travel out?"

Melehan's head shook regretfully. "Not for at least an hour. And then, I couldn't tell how far I'd be able to take us." The wizard's eyes closed and adopted what - as understood by the other three - was 'a cultivating face.'

Bors brightened up at that news. "An hour? No worries. We know the ones in the wolf-furs don't like wizards," he grimaced and nodded at Melehan, "well, obviously, he knows that. The torture and what have you. Sorry about that, by the way. Glad you got over it. Where was I? Yes, these guys will have to get in here the old-fashioned way. If we can't keep them out for an hour, we're honestly not trying."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"I literally broke in here not five minutes ago with nothing more complex than a good run-up."

Bors stuck his tongue out at her. "Yes, but you're a fucking bad-ass bitch, and we're weren't quite ready." He reddened slightly. "Begging your pardon and with all due respect and all that."

"No, that's fine. I've been called worse. Regularly." Guinevere pointedly didn't look towards Arthur.

And then a difficult situation became an awful lot worse.

Because Cedric of the West Saxons arrived.

*

"Hello in there?" Cedric called out to the cottage in his odd Kentish dialect.

Silence.

"I am not sure keeping quiet and hoping we go away will likely be a particularly successful strategy."

Silence.

"My men tell me there are four of you in there. I imagine it must be very snug. By the description of your leader, am I to take it that I have - once again - stumbled upon a meeting of the Dumnonia Scroll Club? Who would have thought it? Of all the places my warband could look to lay our weary heads, it once again seems to be right in the middle of a literary festival."

A deep voice bellowed out from the cottage. "Coincidences are a bitch, aren't they?"

Cedric gave a smile that had nothing of humour about it.

The High King had - repeatedly - made clear his displeasure at the slow nature of the retreat of the West Saxons. Most of the warbands that had made up the defeated army had already returned to Wintanceaster. And thus, he and his men were rather conspicuous by their absence.

But Cedric was nothing if not single-minded. That old fool in his giant tower could rail as much as he wanted, but he had unfinished business with the Britons. Once he was back under the High King's eye, he would have another cultivator foisted on him and would lose the element of freedom he so craved.

He was not so insane as to think he and the eighty spears he had left could capture Tintagel. However, he was certain he could bathe some of his frustrations in enough British blood to take the sting away from his defeat. More than anything, he did not intend to return home with his tail between his legs.

"Speaking of bitches, I think a member of your little club has been the cause of some disquiet amongst my men. Many, I think, would like to discuss the deaths of several of their friends with her."

"I doubt she'll be keen on a group hook-up, but I'll ask. You never know with her."

The silence stretched out. A few of Cedric's men started to cough and shuffle around.

"Briton?"

"She says thank you very much, but-" the voice paused as if checking for the correct wording - "she's too engrossed in this latest translation of the deeds of Beowulf to fuck any of your men right now. She wonders if there are any passing doves with sufficiently small vaginas available? You know, the rarer sort? She doesn't recommend trying it with a common-or-garden bird because your tiny Saxon cocks would be too intimidated by their cavernous openings. Not that we think doves have massive vaginas, I want you to understand. More that in relation to your men's tiny little dicks they would seem so. Contextually."

"Are you trying to make me angry, Briton?"

"Is it working?"

Cedric nodded to one of his men.

Those of his spearmen who also carried bows, lit an arrow on fire and launched them at the roof of the cottage.

"You know the roof is made out of sod, right?" The voice from inside the cottage had an amused tone. "That famously not very flammable substance. The very nature of soil and vegetation serves as a natural barrier against fire's wrath. But good for you for trying. Looking forward to seeing what you try next."

Cedric ground his teeth.

*

"Are we pissing off the man with the army for any particular reason?" Guinevere asked, peering through the gap in the window.

"The more time he wants to spend chatting shit with me, the better. By the way, did you hear how they assumed I was the leader? That's my star quality shining through, that is."

"It's certainly something," Arthur muttered.

"Speaking of pissing off the man with an army, my Lady, what have you done to rub them up the wrong way? Was it rubbing them up the wrong way, if you know what I'm saying?" Bors waggled his eyebrows theatrically and then stopped, blushing again. "Sorry. I get cruder in pre-battle mode."

"Doesn't bother me," Guinevere replied, "Who doesn't enjoy a good rubbing?"

"How long, wizard?" Arthur was doing his best to tune out the voice in his head asking why his best friend and his wife appeared to be flirting.

Merlin cracked Melehan's eye open slightly. "An awful lot longer if you keep interrupting me, my de - my Lord. The amount of Qi I will need to fast-travel us to a distance that would be helpful is not insubstantial. I really do need to concentrate."

"They're coming," Bors growled.

"How many?" Arthur tried and failed to push his way to the window.

Guinevere grimaced. "All of them."