Hello Reader! This is my first crack at a fanfic. I have read for years, and finally got the balls to write something that came mind after weeks of reading King Arthur fics. Obviously, I do not own King Arthur, the movie, the person, or his knights, but I wish I did. I only created our lovely Margaret. Obviously, the time before the movie is ambiguous, but eventually I will reach the movie storyline.

Also, sorry for then continuous updates. Now that I am done with finals, I reread the chapter and noticed errors. I'll probably do this less in the future, just please bear with me. I now have the time to write more, so the new chapters should hopefully be flowing soon.

Without further ado, here is my lovechild, Wooing a Wolf

('^')

After another long day, with asses hurting and sweat dried into their tunics, the Sarmatians dragged themselves to the tavern in the hope of a hot meal, some refreshing ale and a wench to warm their laps. Yet, one among them wore an expression of almost fear, with a drop of hesitation. Bors, the usually loud and boisterous one of the group, had his want to see his lover Vanora and many bastards overshadowed by a new arrival.

"Bors, you are unusually quite today; have you resigned yourself to the knowledge that 5 and 8 are of my own blood?" nagged the annoying presence of one Lancelot, first knight to their commanding officer.

"Nah, only the arrival of Vanora's cousin. I fear she has arrived to haunt my ass. Vanora's been expecting her and was more excited then usual this morning." Bors reply surprised the others, as he was not one to fear anyone but Vanora. Even Tristan, the usually silent and resigned member of the brotherhood found himself intrigued for reasons other than the need to know every new face at the fort.

"If there be anyone of blood relation to your Vanora, I bet they be a force to be reckoned with. Better yet if they are a woman; I need a new presence in my bed" was Lancelot's reply, to which all the men groaned. Tired of the conversation, the youngers of the group, Galahad and Gawain, moved forth in the hope of getting some ale in before their headaches were worsened; getting to the wenches before the horny Lancelot would just make their arrival a little sweeter.

On arrival at the tavern, they found the absence of children around their feet quite off. While it was as busy as usual, the lack of the kids was confusing as the'd be bored with no entertainment. Finding a table near the bar for the group, they took the time to sit and look around.

When Vanora came by with ale in hand, and the rest if the group finally taking their places, Bors found the nerve again to claim his lover. "So how is number 10 my sweet," punctuated with the usual sloppy kiss and caging hug.

"Kicking more than usual, I expect from all the excitement from Mags' arrival." At that, Vanora wore an ecstatic smile, and Bors one of slight fear. This was the woman he had heard about, who traveled and traded round the world for the 11 years he had known his lover. He knew they kept in touch through sparse letters, and gifts from Mags were common, but knowing that such a large part of his lover's wife could pass judgement on their happiness made him protective of his family, and fear the possibility of no blessing.

"Mags- is that the lass that our bull fears so much?" Galahad inquired, already more relaxed being in the tavern with ale in hand. "Where is she? We want to see who is related to our dearest Vanora."

Seeing Lancelot's gleam of lechery in his eye, Vanora made sure to set some boundaries for fear of their health. "She is entertaining the kids at the table near the exit, making my life easier. But, don't do nothing like you usually do Lancelot- she travels alone because, unlike me, her father had taught her how to handle herself. If you want to keep Little Lancelot intact, you best keep your hands to yourself. That goes for all of you. And call her Margaret- only she can tell you if a nickname is alright."

By this time, you could see the intrigue increase on their faces. Never had they met a warrior-woman, at least not one on the battlefield with the Woads. "But don't women remain in the house? Isn't this against your ways?" Gawain asked, meaning no insult with his curiosity.

"Aye, but my cousin hails from Ireland; though she is blond, both our mothers were of red hair, being sisters. Her mother met a Saxon merchant, combining two cultures that support the training of their women as shield maidens, while my mother, her sister, married my father here, not minding the life of a housewife."

The men were surprised; they had not known of her decent, but their attention was brought to the paling face of their comrade. "He's about to faint! Ha, look at 'im." Dagonet made quick to hit his back and ensure that Bors breathed, watching as his skin darkened to red in anger at the laughing knights. "You are so screwed!" Galahad, Gawain and Lancelot continued.

Bors took a long drag of his ale, before standing and placing Vanora safely on the ground with a hand on her baby bump. "I'll go say hi to the rascals." He resigned.

As Vanora walked with her lover, like that of a raptor corralling her prey into her trap, the men looked forward to the display.

('^')

"And thus, the knight carried the princess to safety, the troll destroyed due to his own incompetence."

"Auntie Margie, what does incompetence mean" asked 5, a boy of 4 summers sitting on the other side of the table.

"Why, it similar to lacking skill; the troll could not hope to kill such a skilled knight, and he should have realized that," replied a dirty blond woman, holding the youngest of the group, 8 with less than a summer under her belt, on her lap, surrounded by the rest of her cousin's brood.

"Oh, like father!" replied Gilly, the oldest boy at 10 years, pride swelling in his chest for his father. The woman only smiled, mumbling to herself that "that remains to be seen."

Margaret was a woman of few wants. Her skills in the bow provided food, her needle mended both clothes and wounds, her dogs provided companionship, but she never realized until now how she had longed to be surrounded by family again. At 24 years, she had grown into a woman of unusual beauty. Her travels took her to many dangerous places, going all the way to the Huns, and south to the Mediterranean, hardening her physique with muscle unlike the soft women of Rome. Her fights to protect both her virtue and mercantile goods and possessions left her with scars marring her flesh, including one across the bridge of her nose from an arrow, and a wide three through her left brows from a hungry wolf who smelt her campfire. Yet, her green and blue dichromatic eyes brought beauty to her face, and her curly hair with its natural blond and red highlights created a mane that surrounded her face. To those she knew naught, her face held a bored, unamused expression, yet to those she loved and the children that graced her presence, her smile and air made them laugh and their hearts sore. No matter where she went, or how dirty she was, children flocked her, and she made sure to share in their mischiefs, as well as her knowledge of pranks and fairytales.

Though, for the man she noticed that approached with an arm protectively around her cousin, she let her face fall into neutrality. A man with the balls to marry before she arrived would be buried since he did not ask permission; a man that wooed and asked permission when he could not hope to protect her family would face the same fate. But this man was a grey zone; he had pupped his cousin with many children, yet he didn't marry her in the hope of giving them a little security, but what security did he have until he was free of Rome? She didn't know how to proceed, which was rare.

"Mags, you there?" Vanora's brought her back to reality.

"Oh sorry; so is this the male who pupped you?"

Vanora reddened, whether from embarrassment or annoyance or anger, or a combination, she didn't know, and wouldn't know since he stepped in. "Bors, not male, and aye tha' was me. These be my bastards, she be my lover, and I don't need your permission to continue to love her. Though, I would ask you not judge."

Margaret definitely didn't expect that. "Well said, though marriage will definitely need my permission in the future, when you are free of course. And if you die, I with drag your ass back from wherever you have gone since these bastards will need ya; as well as ma' dear cousin. Understood." He smiled and nodded, before sweeping her into a hug.

"You ain't so bad-" was all he got before she punched him in the stomach.

"And that's my initiation; you're gonna have to earn that hug with endured pain." He was still wincing, though seemed to have a deeper respect for her since the punch did hurt deep. "No, children, I'm going to hang out with the boring adults, will you be okay without me?" All they did was nod before running outside, playing tag like she taught earlier.

"Bors, let's have a drink," and with a malicious smirk and a wink to Vanora, she managed to drag the large man to the bar for an ale.

('^')

From the knights' point of view, they were surprised and almost disappointed until the punch. All they saw was the approach to the woman they couldn't see clearly due to the children crowding her bench, but after words were exchanged, they saw Bors hug here out of sight, and next you know he's bent over with the woman standing tall, hand still clenched in a fist and a smile, almost smirk, gracing her face. Seeing her now, they saw she was not like any woman they had seen; even Woad women lacked the muscle that clenched on her bicep. And while she didn't have the curves of those they were used to, they saw a challenge that poked at their predatory instincts. She was obviously not a weak Roman woman, nor a wench easily swept into one's bed; she was a warrior, with scars that told of her strength. Without knowing it, it seemed these men, with less than 2 years left in service to Rome, would have competition on their hands. A strong, lone female was in their midst, and like a bunch of alpha males, each would seek to claim her first.