Disclaimer: Yet again, no money is being made. If it was, believe me, I'd quit my day job so quick it'd make your head spin.
A/N: The Knights, as they appear in this story, are separate from any other story. Meaning, if they have a "significant other", that person does not exist for the purpose of this story, unless expressly noted by the Knight.
Stupid Mordred going back on his promise…on his word…on his oath… Agravaine pounded a heavy fist against the solid table in his quarters. Stupid Jules stealing away his brother and enticing him to break his word to his blood… Grav briefly toyed with the idea of simply knocking Dred unconscious, heaving him across a horse and starting for home, but instinctively knew it would be a losing battle in the end. Mordred always got what Mordred wanted…and in this case, it was to stab his brother in the back and stay here on this wretched, sickening isle with that woman.
Grav surveyed his quarters, mentally accounting for everything that had once been either on shelves or in drawers and now was neatly packed into two large trunks; and of those, only one really mattered: the one with all the weapons he'd acquired through the years.
But still, how could Mordred do this to him? Didn't his brother understand that had been the sole thing that had kept him going all these years? Kept him alive all those times he'd been ready to simply give in and let some Woad take his life? The thought that, one day, the two of them would get these little scrolls, that they'd be the ones having their names called…noted as the survivors, as the fortunate ones who got to go home…
He'd tried…oh, goddess, how he'd tried to convince Dred to change his mind and return to Sarmatia with him. Had tried to convince him that their sister would remember them…that she would welcome them, was, in fact, waiting and counting on their return… When that had failed, he'd tried to remind Dred of his promise so many years ago of the cool morning when the Romans had come calling, taken them both from their parents' embraces. Mordred because it had been his time; Grav because, well, the Romans had deemed him "big enough" to make a "valuable contribution" to the campaign. Squeezing clear blue eyes shut, Grav choked back the memories that assaulted him: his father's angry shouts and pleas that he was too young; the Roman Centurion's laughter and threat that if Grav didn't come, they'd slaughter everyone; and his mother's plaintive cry as they rode away…
Shaking long auburn locks and grasping his scroll of freedom tightly, Agravaine gave the room one final glance before turning and exiting, shutting the door as firmly as he was closing this chapter of his life. The only thing in front of him now was Sarmatia and life there…it was an unknown, but as far as he was concerned if he'd survived and thrived here, he could do the same at home.