AN: A reeeally short one shot lol.
What's Left Behind
As Lancelot lay on the blood soaked grass, the clanging of weapons above him, the thick smoke around him, he new he was going to die. He could feel his life slipping away, but he didn't feel frightened. He had seen this moment in his dreams.
As he lay, Lancelot wished he could speak to Arthur one last time, tell him he had been the greatest friend and commander anyone could ask for. He wished he could tell him he was sorry for giving him so much grief over the years for his loyalty to Rome and his religion. He did not regret returning to fight this battle with him; he actually felt that it was the only honorable thing he had ever done.
Everything around Lancelot began to slow along with his heartbeat and all he could hear clearly was his own ragged breathing.
He remembered all the laughs he'd had with Bors, and wished he could tell him that all his children were his own, Vanora had never strayed.
He thought about the times he had threatened to cut Gawain's hair, and told Galahad to smile more.
He recalled the first time he had gotten drunk and Tristan had helped him to his room, and how he had never thanked him.
Lancelot thought of the time six years ago when Dagonet had saved his life in a battle, and how he had failed to reciprocate on the ice; this he would be able to apologize for very soon.
As everything began to grow dim and he no longer felt the pain, Lancelot thought of his family and the promise he had made that he would return to them. He could not keep that promise. He could see his mother's tears, his father's silent anguish, and his sister's parting gift, which he kept with him always.
As Lancelot took his last breaths he hoped that he had done enough good in his life to outweigh the bad. He hoped he would be remembered as a good man. Most of all, he hoped he was forgiven.
AN: I hope you like :) If you do, please review! Haha, I rhymed! ... Anyway...
