Your Name
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur or any of the characters.
From the moment I met you, I knew you were going to be great. Everything about you spoke of immense promise and strong resolve. Somehow, I could see you, in the future, in my mind, saw you riding proudly upon your great black horse, an imposing sight for those who you passed by. I saw you fighting, and it was a magnificent sight, watching you dance through enemies with a sense of ease and relaxation that even I envied. But when I saw your future in my mind, I never imagined your death. I never thought I would see you lying on the ground, hit with the bolt of a crossbow, blood thickly coating your armor, your face frozen in a smile while I bent over you, looking for a breath, a heartbeat, a pulse; anything. Anything to tell me you were still alive. At first I wondered why you were smiling, but now I am sure it was because you knew in that final moment that you were free at last and forever.
Do you remember our first meeting? After they brought you to the Wall and you were unsaddling your horse in the stables? I'll never forget that.
"I understand you're to be one of my knights," I remember saying. "What is your name?"
"What does it matter to you?" You replied, glaring back at me, a dangerous fire in your eyes, the sign that I later learned meant your temper was surfacing.
"I like to know the names of the men I command." I replied blandly.
I remember you looking at me like I was stupid, and then glancing around at the other Romans in the stables. "You don't have to pretend to like me," you snapped at me. "You Romans hate us Sarmatians. All of you do." Your voice was starting to become raised, and in your anger you were talking quickly. "You steal us from our homes, knowing that we will probably never live to see them again, all because our ancestors were stronger than the average man and survived your great attack. Just because they were warriors, you condemned us, their decedents, to a life and death for people who hate us, and who we justly hate in return.
"You preach to us about your God and how he can deliver us from evil. You preach about his power and his love, but if you opened your eyes you would see a world where young men are taken from their homes, their families, to be ruled over by a foreign tyrant who casts them into battle like pawns that can easily be replaced. If you opened your eyes, you would see that in this world-" Here you glared into my eyes, the fire finally at the surface, and you said in a hiss. "In this world there is no God."
"Your name?" I asked calmly acting as if I had not heard you.
Still gazing contemptuously at me, you finally answered. "Lancelot." You said shortly.
"Well met, Lancelot," I said, extending a hand, which you took almost hesitantly. "I am Arthur."
That day taught me something about Rome, about the Empire, and about the world outside of it. I saw for the first time just how unjust it was for you to be forced into service of the empire, and for all those years I struggled with the fact that you were all there against your will, that you were not free, that you were held by Rome as marked men, who were, at the beginning, cautious of even going into town alone because you were Sarmatian.
And now, as your body is to be burned and carried away, back to your home, I hope your spirit is waiting somewhere in the afterlife for me, although you did not believe in God, because now that you are gone, I want nothing more than to spend one more minute with you at my side, my loyal second in command.
I will meet you again, and Dagonet, and Tristan, and all the others that have died before, even if it means I have to go to Hell for all eternity.
Well met, Lancelot.
And goodbye.
~Arthur