"But, my Lord-" "I am no one's lord." The child replied stubbornly. If I am to command them, I must first be one of them.

"Lancelot groaned sleepily and pushed himself up on his elbows, wondering what had awakened him. The ten man barracks room felt strangely hollow since the older boys had moved out, leaving the five younger ones behind. "One, two, three," he counted to himself. An empty bed was not that uncommon, some of the youngest slept in piles like puppies, fighting homesickness with each breath. But the orphaned Arthur clung obstinately to his sleeping solitude. Pushing the blankets back, bare toes curling away from the cold floor, he padded silently across the room to crouch beside the small figure staring into the embers of the banked fire. The snail tracks of tears glittered on the younger boy's cheeks.

"What do you see there, in the fire?" Lancelot finally whispered.

Arthur swiped at his nose with the back of one hand before answering. "My mother."

Something stabbed sharply through Lancelot's belly, and he shoved it down hard, forcing himself to wait quietly. "Sometimes, when I-when I dream about that night…" Arthur sucked in a ragged breath. "sometimes the fire reaches out and takes me, too."

Lancelot rocked back on his heels and sat down hard, sneaking a sideways glance at Arthur. "The gods have been no kinder to him than to us. At least my parents are-were still alive, the last I saw."

" She will be waiting for you, you know, when your time comes." He said quietly. "All of your ancestors will be waiting. That is what my father told us."

Arthur wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on bony knees. "Father Timotheus says the same. But the Church teaches that our bodies must be buried, because when Christ comes back we will all rise up to heaven with Him. My- there was nothing left of her to bury, Lancelot."Tears were running freely, he made no effort to stop them. "Do you think-I'm afraid that she will not be there."

Arthur buried his face against his knees, thin shoulders shaking as he wept silently. A memory of his own mother whispered through Lancelot's mind; hesitantly he put a hand on the back of the other boy's neck, and rubbed gently. A long time later, Arthur's shoulders stilled, he raised his head, sniffled loudly and spat into the fire. Lancelot left his hand on Arthur's shoulder as he dredged another memory to light.

"Some of the women of our people choose to be warriors. My father said that they were more fierce than men, because they fought for their children, born and unborn." He frowned, thinking hard. "I do not believe that even a god can keep a woman from her child. She will be waiting for you, when your time comes."

"Do you really believe so?" Arthur glanced over at the older boy. "Yes, I do." Lancelot replied firmly. "I also believe that our time will come tonight, by freezing to death if we sit here any longer."

Arthur laughed shakily as Lancelot hauled him to his feet. "You sleep with me for the rest of the night; the others will thrash you if you wake them with bad dreams."

Arthur made no objection; snuggling down under the blankets and sliding rapidly into slumber. Lancelot slept no more that night, but stared into the darkness, listened to the soft susurrations of sleep, and wondered at the cruelty of this Roman god and the people that followed him.