Hello! I am so sorry that I keep taking so long to update! This seems to be a reoccurring problem. Well, better late than never I guess... As I said last chapter, this one is in Lancey's perspective! I'm also very proud that it's 19 pages long on Word. In this chapter there's a new OC I hope you guys will like and this whole Gwaine/Blair or Lancelot/Blair love triangle was totally unintended I swear. I got a few reviews on what people wanted to happen there and I must say, it made my day to know that you guys read my story. When you guys review, I get feedback on what you guys want to happen and it helps me so much with the story! Also, don't worry, Lancelot doesn't stay away from Blair and Camelot for long...


Chapter 6

Maybe he overreacted. A bit. Sure, Blair had given him a safe home, food, water, and friendship, but he didn't know what she'd been doing out in the woods. For all he knew, she was sided with Morgana and she'd been reporting on him. That had been his first thought, and he ran with it. He couldn't trust Blair anymore.

At one point, he'd felt as if he could tell her anything, she had made him feel safe. That was when her soft hands had been gently massaging his shoulders. He'd been looking into her beautiful eyes, one a light blue and the other a dark blue, and he'd felt at home. Maybe that was why he'd been an idiot and almost kissed her.

Somehow, Blair reminded him of Guinevere. Maybe it was her confidence that hid behind a friendly, innocent smile or the way Blair always seemed to know what was wrong and how to help, maybe it was the strength that hid behind the kindness in her eyes. But now, he didn't know what he thought of her. So, he'd left.

Yes, he'd thought about leaving a note, but honestly, what was he going to say. Hey Blair, I think you're sided with Morgana even though you told me otherwise when we first met, so I left. Yeah, um, don't come looking for me. Sincerely, Random Dude You Found At The Bottom Of The Ravine AKA Lancelot.

Yeah, no.

So, Lancelot kept running. Running away from Blair and away from Camelot.

He was in Escetir at nightfall. There were no houses around, so he couldn't ask to stay with someone. He instead found a dip in the forest floor, curled up in it, and slept there.

Escetir wasn't the best land to go to. They don't take well to strangers. When Lancelot woke up, he was surrounded by eight men, twice his size, all with swords pointed directly at his face. He thought about fighting them off, but he didn't have a sword, or anything at all. As much as he hated it, he put his hands up in surrender.

The men dragged him to his feet and continued to drag him into a dark cave that shouts echoed out of. Before he was all the way in, one of the men took a large club off his belt and swung it at him. Lancelot didn't have the time to move away. The club hit him hard, and the world began to spin as darkness filled his vision.

When Lancelot came to, he was in a cell. Great. He slowly started to stand, wincing in pain. They'd really hit his head hard.

Once standing, he began to stumble around the dank cell, looking for a way to get out. Shouts echoed above him.

Eventually, Lancelot sat down on the cold, damp floor. How had he been so foolish as to let himself get captured?

The shouts drew closer and men appeared.

They unlocked the cell and grabbed him forcefully. They dragged him all the way to a main tavern in the cave, where a large cage stood. Men surrounded the cage and were yelling and cheering. Lancelot managed a glance inside the cage right as a large brute killed a scrawny man. He gasped in shock. These were cage fights.

He'd been in many of these before, many years ago. He hated them. Back then, they'd been the only way for him to earn money, but now he was being forced to fight.

The men threw him into the arena with the large brute.

Instantly, the large brute swung at him. Lancelot quickly dodged the attack.

He didn't have a weapon or any armor, while the man he was facing had plenty of both. The man was covered from head to toe in blood splattered chain mail and wielded two swords, and, of course, Lancelot saw a long dagger in its sheath at the man's side. There was no way to win this, not without something to block the man's attacks with.

The man swung twice more, and each time, Lancelot barely got away.

He ran around the arena, just trying to keep his distance from the brute so he could keep his life. While he ran he tried to figure out a way to get a weapon.

A stupid idea passed Lancelot's mind. Unfortunately, it was the only one he had. Quickly, Lancelot turned away from his attacker once more a fled to the far corner of the arena. His attacker advanced, and when he was within five feet of where Lancelot stood, Lancelot charged at him, screaming for blood for extra effect.

The idiotic plan worked. The brute was not expecting Lancelot to scream in his face. The brute stumbled backwards in surprise, and Lancelot tackled him. The swords clattered away, ending up on the far sides of the arena. Quickly, Lancelot took the dagger from the man and threw it towards the edge of the cage where one of the swords lay.

He was on top of the brute now, straddling him. Lancelot punched the guy in the jaw, knocking him out cold with one blow.

All of this made the crowd go insane. Absolutely insane.

Lancelot stood up and walked to where one of the swords lay. He picked it up and raised it to the cave roof for the excitement of the crowd. He knew how these fights worked: if you didn't impress the crowd and whomever hosted the fights, you would die.

Men came into the cave and dragged the brute away. Lancelot waited for them to take him away to his cell as well, but no one even came near him.

Then, a young man was thrown in. He had to be, at maximum, half Lancelot's own age. His opponent wasn't even a man yet, he was just a boy. But the boy stared at him with gruesome eyes. His intentions were clear to Lancelot: the boy was going to kill him, no matter what.

The boy drew his sword and charged Lancelot. Lancelot blocked the strike, but only just. They kept going like that for what seemed like forever, the boy striking and Lancelot blocking. Eventually, Lancelot grew tired of being backed into uncomfortable corners and almost killed at every second. He attacked. He began to slice his sword through the air, becoming the attacker. The boy he was fighting stumbled backwards and blocked. The roles were reversed now. Lancelot was in charge of the fight. He sent blows hurdling through the air, all of which barely got blocked.

The fight went on and on, the two switching roles between attacker and defender.

The crowd was growing bored, and Lancelot was growing tired. Tired of constantly blocking or constantly striking. His breath was growing short. He hadn't healed all the way yet. He was growing tired of the crowd throwing rotten tomatoes at him through the steel bars of the arena. And even more so, he was tired of looking at his opponent's blank, soulless face as they tried to keep their lives.

The kid was good, scary good. Lancelot had never met a man who could manage to last this long in a fight with him. A boy who could do it: almost impossible. Yet it was happening, right in front of Lancelot's face.

Lancelot had enough. He quickly placed two strikes to the kid's torso, along with a feint after the second strike, followed by another strike. This was a move that couldn't be blocked by even the great King Arthur himself. He delivered them so fast that the kid could only block the two before feint.

Blood gushed out of a deep wound in the boy's arm.

Lancelot instantly felt guilty for hurting him.

He's trying to kill you, you have no choice if you want to live.

And, of course, Lancelot wanted to actually stay alive on this life, so he continued to fight.

The crowd was regaining their spirits as Lancelot attacked his opponent with renewed effort. The boy stood no chance.

The boy fell to the ground, and Lancelot pointed his sword at him. Lancelot didn't want to kill the boy, he didn't want to kill anyone.

"Give up," Lancelot begged. "If you don't, I'll have to kill you, don't make me do that. You're young and skilled with a sword, you could leave these fights and never return."

The boy seemed to consider it, but then said two words Lancelot never wanted to hear from someone so young. "Kill me."

"No."

"Do it. I have nothing to live for, no warm bed to return to. Kill me and you'll end my life of suffering."

This statement crushed Lancelot. He knew what it was like to not have a safe home, or anything to live for. Yet, he kept living. The boy was to do the same.

"No," Lancelot said, more forcefully.

The kid hesitated, but eventually nodded, and to Lancelot's relief, tossed his sword to the other side of the arena. Lancelot followed his lead and held out his hand to help the kid get up.

The kid accepted and introduced himself. "My name is Allard."

Lancelot nodded. "And I am Lancelot."

The crowd was mad now. There had been no death or someone getting knocked out.

Lancelot turned to the kid. "I'm sorry."

And he punched the kid straight in the jaw.

Apparently, that had been the last fight for the night, as the men dragged him back to his cell and threw him in.

He waited there in the darkness. His joints and muscles ached, his head throbbed, his breathing was ragged, and his stomach growled, begging for food. He tried to go to sleep, but sleep would not come. So he sat there on the cold, slightly damp stone floor, waiting for morning.

Sunlight began to slowly stream in through the slit at the top of the cell. Morning. The night had been long and cold. He'd drifted through thoughts and memories all night long. Many of them were of his ex-lover, Guinevere. She was Queen now. She deserved that. Gwen had always been so lovely and kind and Lancelot knew that she was a good Queen, there was no doubt in his mind. Some of his other thoughts had been on Merlin, Arthur, Percival, Gwaine, Elyan, and Leon. How were they? How was Camelot?

The rest of his thoughts had been on Blair. Who was she really? What were her intentions? What had she been doing that night? He didn't know, but he worried that she was in league with Morgana. Now that he wasn't with Blair anymore, he realized that he wasn't planning on ever returning, no matter how much he wanted to see her smile and eat the warm food she made again.

The guards came into his cell and brought him back to the arena. They threw him in and the slowly growing crowd went wild.

Lancelot stood up, only to duck when a wooden sword flew at him. It landed on the far side of the arena, and he lunged to retrieve it. So far, this was his only weapon.

Lancelot had already learned that whatever weapon you retrieved in the fight, you could keep. Until they threw you back into the cell, that is.

He stood back up, now holding a small wooden sword.

Then, his opponent was thrown into the arena. Sorry, opponents. Lancelot now faced three fully armed men.

And the fight began. Lancelot blocked the attacks that happened on all sides of him.

Surprisingly, the fight didn't take long to end. Soon all three men lay dead on the arena floor, leaving Lancelot the only one left standing.

Instantly, he felt guilty for ending their lives.

He forced himself to shake it off, knowing that those wouldn't be the only lives he'd have to take if he wished to live– which for once in his life, he did. Lancelot finally had something solid to live for: himself. The first time he was alive, he was originally living so he could become a Knight of Camelot, after that he'd had nothing to live for. Then he saw Guinevere again and she became the only thing he had to live for, the only reason he wanted to live. He'd died, whether for Gwen or for Camelot, he'd sacrificed himself. Now, Gwen was married to Arthur, he was no longer a Knight of Camelot, and he couldn't return to Camelot either. But now he was finally realizing that living for himself was worth so much more than only living for a Kingdom or a woman.

Three weeks went by. Fights three times a day. Water opportunities once each day. Food once every three days. Baths every nine days. That was the schedule. Lancelot was starving and weak from the treatment. He'd been trying to find a way to escape, and he'd figured out about twelve percent of one.

There was only one problem: he had to get Allard out as well. Which was hard because Lancelot had no idea where Allard's cell was. The three people in the cells around him didn't even know who Allard was, only that his cell would be in another antechamber off the main room.

When the guards came to take him to where he would be taking a bath he followed along. They passed an antechamber on the way to the baths, and he fell into a coughing fit, stumbling his way down the antechamber. He collapsed on the floor (for extra effect) and looked around briefly. Five cells surrounded him now, and three of them were empty. In the cell closest to him, was a large brute whose smell reached Lancelot. In the cell that lay the farthest from him of them all was a young man who was to thin and to pale. It was Allard. Allard looked up at Lancelot and they made eye contact.

"We are getting out of here," Lancelot said.

Allard seemed surprised Lancelot had come here, but he nodded.

Footsteps echoed throughout the stone tunnel as the guards caught up with him.

They got to him and forced him to stand.

Lancelot then did what seemed like the only thing he could do. He tackled the first guard to the floor and wrestled with him. To anyone that wasn't himself, it would have looked like Lancelot was just trying to knock out the guard, but Lancelot had other motives: to get the keys that hung on the guard's belt. Though doing that still involved knocking the guard out.

The second guard started to pull Lancelot off the first guard, but Lancelot simply elbowed the guy in the neck, and that was that for that guard. The second guard fell to the stone floor, dead.

That made the first guard easier. The man was in shock that Lancelot had just killed his colleague. The guard gave up on fighting Lancelot and was now just staring at him in fear, occasionally glancing over to the second guard's dead body. Lancelot quickly knocked the first guard out and took the key ring on his belt.

He got up and walked over to Allard's cell.

"Lancelot?" Allard breathed.

Lancelot nodded. "I've come to get you out."

Lancelot began to try every key on the key ring to Allard's cell's lock. Eventually he found the key to Allard's cell. The door swung open, and Allard shakily stepped out. Lancelot put his arm around the young man to support him, though Lancelot doubted he was of any help since Lancelot was just about as weak as Allard.

They stumbled down the cave corridors, as they tried desperately to find a way out.

Lancelot should've planned the whole escape thing out first, because he had absolutely no idea how to get out. Lucky for him, Allard knew.

They stumbled towards another antechamber that had bright sunlight coming out of it.

Guards noticed them, of course. Lancelot and Allard had to pick up the pace. They began to run towards the light of the exit whilst guards angrily followed, shouting foul words at them.

Lancelot and Allard stumbled into the light of the sun, right before sunset. Sunlight streamed through the growing leaves of the trees. They continued to stumble through the landscape while guards followed.

The guards must have given up following them on foot because the echoes of footfalls stopped. Still, they continued running because they knew that the clop of horse hooves would soon be chasing them through the woods.

Lancelot began to lead them in the direction of Mercia's western border.

"No," Allard protested weakly.

"Why not? We can't stay in Escetir, they'll find us." Lancelot answered.

"I... I can't go to Mercia." Allard replied.

"Why the hell not?"

"I just can't, okay." Allard said forcefully.

"Okay..." Lancelot said, trying to figure out where to go instead of Mercia. They couldn't go south to any of the lands below Escetir, because it would be more than a day's journey to get there and they would be traveling through Escetir. They couldn't go to Angila for the same reason. That left only one option: Camelot.

Lancelot turned around, and began to head towards Camelot.

"Camelot?" Allard asked.

"There is nowhere else to go," Lancelot said, matter of factly.

Allard nodded and the two hurried towards Camelot's border.

As Lancelot had assumed, horse hooves pounded against the Earth behind them.

The pair ran faster through the forest, leaping over fallen trees and getting scraped by brambles as they went.

They came upon a rushing river; the river was one of the many parts of the border between Camelot and Escetir. Lancelot went into the river and Allard followed.

The water was freezing and a deep chill reached Lancelot's bones. The current wrapped around his legs and waist. He continued to cross the chilling river. As he stepped on the slippery rocks at the bottom of the river, they shifted underneath his feet. One rock shifted violently and that, mixed with the raging current, swept Lancelot off his feet. He fell face first into the water and the current dragged him downstream. Lancelot fought against the water, trying desperately to breach the surface so he could breathe. The one time he did manage to get air, he heard, over the rush of the water around him, Allard yelling for him.

"Lancelot!"

Lancelot flailed his arms wildly in the water, searching for a rock or a sunken branch to grab onto.

For a split second, Lancelot managed to pause his mad tumble through the water and looked around to see Allard thrashing through the river towards him. Apparently, the young man had slipped as well and was now barreling towards Lancelot.

Lancelot wanted to move out of the way, but he couldn't. For if he did, he'd continue to tumble down river and then down the waterfall that Lancelot knew wasn't far away.

Instead, he looked around wildly, trying to find another strong foothold and a handhold.

There was nothing to hang onto other than the foothold and the precarious handhold he already was gripping. Allard was barreling towards him at an alarming rate. It wouldn't be long now.

Then, a soft glow caught Lancelot's attention. It was a small campfire. That meant people were in the area, and unless Lancelot's sense of direction had gotten jumbled in the tumble, the fire was on Camelot's side of the border. That meant it was either friends of Camelot or bandits.

Lancelot decided to take his chances.

He yelled out to them. Two silhouettes appeared. One a lean, obviously able-bodied man and the other a woman. Lancelot realized that for a man and a woman to be out at night, so far away from the city, they were on a date. Probably a forbidden one too.

You just ruined their probably wonderful date by slipping on a rock and tumbling down the river. Good job.

Lucky for him, the man and the woman saw him and wanted to help. Lancelot saw their figures rush towards them, and he hoped that they would see his predicament because Allard was almost upon him.

The woman's head turned towards the man, and then the female figure straightened. The woman turned back towards Lancelot and he saw her eyes glow gold.

Suddenly, the water stopped its mad rush as everything around him slowed down. Everything except the man, the woman, and Lancelot.

The silhouette of the man turned quickly towards the woman's, obvious surprise.

He heard a familiar voice exclaim. "You have magic!"

The woman nodded, and proceeded to walk into the river. First, she went to Allard and dragged him out of the water. Lancelot then saw a flash of gold and Allard's form come out of the slow-motion state.

The woman turned around to get Lancelot, but the man caught her arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

A soft, also familiar voice responded. "You are a Knight, and I am of magic, I didn't know what you'd think."

The man grabbed the woman by the waist and pulled her close. Lancelot watched as the two kissed, and he heard the man whisper to the woman. "I love you far too much to ever think foully of you."

Lancelot figured that the two were too caught up in the moment to help him, so Lancelot stood up and walked to shore himself.

He came close enough to see their faces and he realized why he'd recognized the voices.

The voice of the woman was a voice he'd wished to hear again and then at the same time a voice he wished he'd never have to hear again. The beautiful voice belonged to Blair, and the man was his old pal, Gwaine.

In astonishment, Lancelot broke the moment.

"Blair? Gwaine? What the hell?"


You guys must hate these cliffhangers and how long I take to update...

Luckily, I'm going to try to make an effort to update every two weeks or so. I love you guys!

-JustThatOneGirl1815