Disclaimer: Movie or legend, I don't own any of them.

A/N: These do not adhere to the movie and will likely include some of the Knights of legend as well. I chose to have the Knights receive their papers of passage directly from Arthur with no "final mission". Therefore, yes, Dag lives and will have a chapter.


Galahad shut the door firmly behind him and rested his forehead on the thick, knotted oak. Fifteen years he had stared at that door. Fifteen years he had dragged himself back in various states: angry; frightened; sick; tired; cold; sweaty; intoxicated; battered, bruised and bloody; with and without company. Fifteen years…

Snorting softly, a habit he blamed on Gawain, Galahad closed his eyes and shook his head, feeling the scratch of wood on his forehead. He'd never truly believed he would live to see the day that he stood outside his quarters, bidding them farewell for the final time. More than a few times during his tenure, Galahad had figured he was done for. Injuries had bled profusely, the crimson torrent slowly dwindling, finally ceasing under the pressure of multiple bandages and pleas from his brothers to fight, to live, not to leave them. Cold that had frozen him to his core, made him wonder if death wouldn't be warmer and perhaps he should just succumb and find out. And, always, Dagonet's herbal remedies foisted upon you…making you wish sometimes you were dead just so you could stop drinking them.

Callused, aching fingers wrapped tighter around the scroll in his left hand. Arthur had distributed the scrolls during a small ceremony two days ago and Galahad hadn't let it out of his sight, well, at all. Even when the Knights had celebrated at the tavern, he'd tucked it into the waist of his kilt and spent all night constantly touching it, re-assuring himself that it was real and still there.

Fifteen years of slavery, of forced duty, were done. For the first time he could recall, Galahad took a deep breath and didn't feel the oppressive grip of Rome around his throat. He'd passionately insisted that he would leave, not look back, and these fifteen years would be like a bad dream…Galahad knew he was wrong about that. How did you just forget or convince yourself that all the things you'd done, all the men you'd slaughtered in the name of a power you loathed, were a dream, or, more accurately, a nightmare?

"Galahad?"

Smiling, Galahad turned to look at his brother, Gawain, approaching down the narrow hall. Gawain was returning to Sarmatia as well. They would make the ride, just as they had done so many other things, together. At least to the borders of Sarmatia; Galahad was uncertain what would happen after that – if he would go home with Gawain north, to the lands of the Aorsi or if he would go further south, to his home, the lands of the Iazyges.

"Ready?" Gawain was smiling brightly and Galahad nodded, stepping away from the door with one final pat. He had time to decide. For once, time was on his side.


A/N: This series of shorts grew out of an email exchange with Lycanus1 (a super creative writer whose stuff you really ought to read). So I have crashed two of Lycanus1's stories and lifted an idea from our conversations. I am currently seeking a 12-step rehab program.