Disclaimer: Yet again, I say unto thee: nothing's mine.
His quarters were lit brightly by the fire in the hearth, shadows from its flames flickering and dancing on the walls. Arthur sat quietly with a goblet of wine and old, musty duty books on the table next to him. In these were logged the names of each Sarmatian brought to Britain, forced into servitude by an ages old agreement made by men who were long since dust. Arthur wondered if any of them had thought about what they were sentencing generations of Sarmatian boys to; not that they had a choice – if they hadn't surrendered, if they hadn't agreed, Rome would have slaughtered them and forced the servitude anyway. At least this way, they had been able to negotiate a time period of service for each boy: fifteen years. The prime of their lives spent here, serving a master they did not know, did not like and that did not care about them.
Arthur snorted as he recalled how proud he had been to become Commanding Officer of the fabled Sarmatian Knights, despite the ridicule it had earned him from the other "respected" Roman officers. He had come into the position with little actual battle experience, but that had changed quickly. Unlike his immediate predecessor, he'd relied on and trusted the Sarmatians experience and wisdom on the field; let them help him marshal them to victory after victory. And, in his proudest moment of all, they had accepted him into their brotherhood, declared him a Knight and called him brother instead of commander. It had repulsed the core of Roman officers on the island and, secretly, Arthur relished that.
A weary hand rested on the service books and Arthur felt the grief surge in his soul. Not every boy logged in these books had lived to manhood and of those that had, not all of them had returned home. They'd given their lives where it was deemed "too barbaric" for Roman blood to be spilt, to be wasted. When their papers of passage had arrived, Arthur had found their closest relative – a wife, lover, son, daughter or best friend – and given the scroll to that person. Many times they'd simply accepted it with a confused look and shrug; a few though had asked him to read the foreign script, the unknown words, wanting to hear the magical, mystical words from Rome that would free their loved one from bondage. Each time, the words brought tears to his eyes, sent him reeling back to his quarters sick to his stomach and aching in his soul.
Smiling sadly, Arthur listened to the hooting of his Knights; he had, a few hours earlier, had the honour and privilege of bestowing their papers of passage. Along with them had come word of his discharge from the Roman army – he was free to go and do as he pleased. Arthur laughed quietly and looked around, amused that all he could imagine doing was exactly what he was right now…
A/N: Thus ends the Knights of the movie and I thank you for reading. I am torn if I want to pursue any of the Knights of pre-movie. After all, this is fanfic and artistic license is a beautiful thing.
