A/N: Well – I started a new KA fanfic, just for the hell of it. Not sure where this is going, if I'll finish it, or what. We'll see. I still have to finish GA, and to those read it, I'm very sorry. I won't leave it unfinished, though.

This takes place when the Round Table men are very young. You'll see. Also: sorry for the shortness.

On a random note: I love Sin City. I really do. I just can't over it – or Dwight, for that matter. Does anyone know if the music on the main menu of the DVD is on the soundtrack too?

Please read and review. Thank you.

Prologue

"I, Lancelot of Sarmatia, before the gods of both my people and yours, pledge my fealty unto you, Artorious Castus of Rome. To you, I bind my life, my death, my body and heart. I vow to follow you all the days of my service – that which ends fifteen years from this day. And ever after will I remain yours – in friendship. May my sword serve no other master. May my horse follow no other man. May I die for your life if it is asked of me. May you look upon me with grace – Arthur. May you have mercy for your knight, as I have devotion for you."

He did not lift his head. He did not see the unshed tears in Arthur's eyes. The Roman did not let them fall. He crushed them, as he kissed his last knight's curls. And once risen, Excalibur blessed Lancelot's shoulders. And it was done. Arthur's Round Table was complete. Lancelot rose at last and looked at Arthur, all the world silent around them. They spoke something then without using their lips. Arthur slipped his hand around Lancelot's neck.

"May you have half the love for me as I have for you," he said to the knight. Lancelot did not answer, and Arthur did not wait for him to do so. He looked beyond to the other knights, the wind high above him.

"Men," he called. "You have done me a great honor this day. It is with pride and affection that I call you my knights. And it is my hope – that you should hold within your breasts the same emotion for me one day. I pledge my allegiance to you, each and every one of you. I promise to lead you as best I can, to offer my life before any of yours. I promise to bring you home again, once your service is through. I vow to look at you as men and not as soldiers, brothers instead of slaves. Whatever God we serve, whatever people we defend, may we forget it all for the sake of unity. And, as according to the Round Table of our hall, may no man ever rise above the rest."

They hailed Arthur well and loud at this, but the Roman did not smile. He only looked at them with that same, weary expression Lancelot would come to recognize in the years to come. Responsibility was Arthur's burden now more than ever. And though they would ride out tomorrow and begin their true service to Rome, though they may very well be killed, though they would have to face their first killings, the knights hailed Arthur and roared out as if to provoke their enemies from the wilderness. But Arthur did not smile. Lancelot moved closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassurance.

They were young. They should have been. They were also almost halfway through their lives, if they were lucky. Maybe if they had been fat, Roman senators or pampered clergymen, they could live to be fifty or sixty, but they were warriors. Forty would be old.

"Drink!" Gawain shouted. "Let's all have a drink!"

The others cheered him in agreement. His playful eyes sparkled as he looked to Galahad and laughed. The bar maids and the tenders were waiting for them, even if though it was still daylight. Tonight – they would revel in drunkenness as they had never been allowed to do so before. They were no longer knights-in-training, boys who needed to learn chivalry and honorable behavior. Now, they were men of war, and they could drink as much as they damn well pleased.

They eyed those bar maids with wolfish grins as they approached. They would have their beds filled tonight to match their stomachs. Arthur had arranged for them to have the rest of the day off. They could drink first, then have their first dinner as a true Round Table, and drink again afterward, until they all passed out for the night. Suddenly, however, Arthur didn't feel like joining in on the drinking, gluttony, and debauchery. He felt Lancelot's hand on his shoulder and felt responsible.

"Come on, Arthur," his knight murmured, as the others moved farther and farther away from them, toward the tavern. "Tonight is a night for celebration – the first since we've been here."

"I'm not in the mood, Lancelot."

"Not in the mood? What in gods' names do you mean by that? What else will you do all night?"

"I don't know. Think. Pray." Lancelot scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Meditate."

"You have the rest of your life to do that, Arthur. Come drink with me. We're not a Round Table without you."

Arthur looked at Lancelot with wilted eyes. Lancelot's implored him.

"All right."

That was the night they began their ritual of sitting back from all the rest, huddling together and murmuring over ale, watching things. They were pressed against each other, undisturbed by their companions, who were too immersed in their own pleasures – drinking, eating, kissing peasant girls, feeling up bar maids, flirting, laughing, joking, tossing knives. They had decided to skip the Round Table dinner and stay out here. The cooks had grumbled about sending the food over.

"What shadows your mind now?" Lancelot asked Arthur, drinking from his mug.

"Nothing."

"It may have only been six months, Arthur, but you can't lie to me."

"Pity."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing now. But it could all be tomorrow. Or the day after that."

"Oh, Arthur," Lancelot chided. "You can't be talking about battle. We've been training all this time. It's the only reason we're here. We've known it all along. You can't already feel guilty for losses that haven't happened yet or even fear what may come. Warriors can't function that way."

"Since when do you know so much about being a warrior?"

"You're missing my point."

"No. No, I see your point. But I can't help myself. This is my burden, Lancelot. This is my burden as captain. It's my burden as a friend."

"We could all feel the same with absolute justification – but it would destroy us over time. It will destroy you. And we need you to lead us. Forget about it. Stop thinking and start drinking."

Arthur smiled a little at that. He sipped on his ale and knew Lancelot would never leave his side.

"You need to get yourself a woman, Arthur," said Lancelot, eyeing a red-head with a bosom that threatened to overflow out of her dress.

"I have enough on my hands."

"Oh, come on. They're the one uncomplicated thing available. You flirt with them, you seduce them, you bed them. That's it. Pleasure is pleasure."

"It's not right," said Arthur.

"You and your morals," Lancelot brooded, taking another drink.

"I want love," Arthur admitted, surprising his knight. "Not just a night."

"You don't have enough love?"

Lancelot's voice was now gentler, his eyes full and shining, his face breaking and giving away his youth. Arthur smiled to himself with brittle lips.

"No."

Lancelot's brow knit.

"What is enough?" he asked.

"If I knew that, I could be a philosopher in Rome instead of a soldier."

Lancelot pursed his lips. No one minded the rain.

"I'm no woman," said Lancelot. "But I can do my best."

Arthur smiled. He looked at his knight affectionately. Lancelot smiled back. Arthur offered his mug, and Lancelot toasted. They drank.