My First KA-ff plz dont kill me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the way I put the words together. The incident is inspired by the legend of the Knights of the Round Table and I merely transferred it into the 'King Arthur' film-version-world (… I hate to do this.)

Summary: What if someone has to endure more than he can take? What if the memories are unbearable even for a strong spirit? What if he is Arthur's right-hand knight? Slight AU inspired by the legends of King Arthur and Lancelot of the Lake.

Rating: NC-17

WARNING: will contain violence in form of torture. NO rape.

Prologue

It was dark in the dungeon apart from weak rays of the sun's light through some of the small holes caused by the aging of the merciless building. No sound except for low whimpers and moans of the rotting and dying behind iron doors. There was nothing to say in this place of death and hell.

Only one of the prisoners sat in the corner of his foul cell, murmuring nonsense while his wrists became even bloodier from rubbing them against the cruel chains which held him to the cold stones. If one looked close enough, it was possible to see that he had once been a handsome young man, but now that his beard was growing without being trimmed, covering his hollow face along with dust and dirt and his dark curls clung soiled to his head he resembled more a dark beast than a noble man. This, however, was proven by the remains of his black leather clothing. His name was not to be known. He never talked to anyone who entered the cell.

The guards simply called him werewolf. Since he had bitten one of them they thought it even more appropriate. Often he was the topic of their conversations in their favourite tavern. The most frequently asked question was how it came that he 'went nuts'. For no one ever doubted his madness. All of the men had seen his wide black eyes, flickering in the shadows, staring at them bloodthirsty and then he would snarl at them in a strange tongue that sounded as if from the Far East of the Empire.

Some guards remembered the first day of his imprisonment. He had made fun of them, insulted their master, the Empire and even their god. But soon a master-torturer from Rome had arrived and the prisoner spoke no more.

Since then he sat in the cell talking to himself, screaming in his sleep. Sometimes he would bang his head against the stones behind him and the guards would have to prevent him from further injuring himself by order of the master. He had told them to keep him alive as long as possible so that the pagan may admit his sins.

Every fortnight a priest was sent into his cell. Every fortnight the guards would hear the screams, the yelling and in between the priest's humming prayers. After hours of this, the priest would come out of the prison, shaking his head in despair but some of the guards would swear when asked that there was a satisfied spark in his dull grey eyes. Some also thought the bundle he always carried with him very suspicious. Never had he revealed its contents. "The demon is still inside him." he used to say whenever he left the dungeon, "I shall be back in two weeks."

And then when dawn came and one of the guards brought old bread and water to the heathen prisoner, he would retreat into the deepest shadow of the cell and if the guards came too close, he would attack them, biting and scratching like the wolf they thought he was.

That is why they chained him to the wall, although his screaming at night became even more desperate.

tbc but only if people review PLEASE!