Title: Faith Lost
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur is hurting and angry with himself. Worst of all, he refuses to let his best friend help him. One-shot, non-slash.
Feedback: always appreciated

He sat on the grassy hill overlooking the muted grey colours of the fort and the stone wall that trailed off into the distance. A sword was at his feet, his face in his hands. Arthur Castus only ever cried once. Once, a very long time ago - the night that his mother was killed when the Woads attacked his village. He didn't cry when he lost his first soldier. He didn't cry from pain of wounds. He didn't even cry when nightmares deprived him of sleep, and faces haunted him.

Even from a distance, Lancelot could see Arthur's hear breaking. The knight knew now that despite their words earlier that echoed in his mind, this was not a time that his friend should spend alone.

Lancelot watched from a distance as Arthur crossed himself, on his knees, finished a prayer. Walking closer, he snorted in amusement, "Did you have a nice talk?"
The Roman said nothing, but slowly stood up.

It was common that when Lancelot saw Arthur pray, he would make some comment and they would start off in a discussion about religion. There were never any hurtful feelings in it, it was simply a discussion. But Lancelot saw something else in Arthur's face that told him not to pursue it. "Arthur? What's wrong, I was only trying to be funny," he asked.

"Well not funny enough apparently," Arthur muttered, turning away.

"It was a joke," Lancelot replied a little defensively, but then softened, "Why don't you come out with the rest of us and have a drink. Bors will be dancing on the table in a few moments with his victory song."

Arthur sighed. "Some victory."

"We're all here, aren't we? That's victory enough."

It seemed as though all of a sudden that a hidden tension snapped and an avalanche of anger spilled out. "Victory?" Arthur's grey eyes narrowed, "That was no victory! Those people did not deserve to die."

Lancelot almost took a step back. "It was our mission, you said so yourself."

"Then I am just as guilty!" Arthur raised his voice, "If that's the only way that we think, to kill things, then we are only one thing. Murders. That's what we are. We're not soldiers, not anymore!"

"Arthur," Lancelot reached over and grabbed his shoulder, but the Roman shrugged his hand away, "Tell me what's wrong."

I am wrong," Arthur said flatly, rage burning in his eyes but not reached the rest of his body anymore. He began to walk off, through the courtyard where the rest of his knights were celebrating as they always did after a successful mission.

The younger man followed after him, quickening his pace to get in front of him in hopes that he would stop. "Arthur, you are not at fault."

Arthur pushed his friend away, "What do you know about it, leave me the hell alone Lancelot!"

Lancelot stood in the middle of the courtyard, all of the other knights silenced by the outburst of their leader, and all watched Arthur storm off.

"Arthur," Lancelot said softly standing behind his hurting friend. He didn't move, he didn't look up. As Lancelot sat next to him, placing his arm around his tired shoulders as Arthur had done for him many times, a sob wracked his body.

Arthur didn't care anymore, he didn't care that he was crying. So much burned inside of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered after a long time.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," Lancelot started, "I didn't mean to-.."

"No," Arthur lifted his head, "It wasn't your fault. I lost hope in myself. All the world was against me. After this mission I held too much doubt that I could lead all of you again. I was taught to fight, taught to win. At what cost comes victory?" Amidst his tears, Arthur smiled, "It's no wonder there aren't many officers here."

Lancelot smiled back, "It takes a great man to be a leader and you were born to be one." He paused. "The men, they will never loose faith in you, Arthur. And neither will I."