THE BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE OF THEM ALL

He said goodbye from the window of his chambers, forced to stay behind as the army gathered outside the walls of Corbenic.

For Mordred, it wasn't a sight he would soon forget.

Out in the fields men and women were currently getting ready for war, draped in robes and boiled leather, chainmail and armour, they numbered thousands of wielders of steel and magic. To Mordred it felt like every person in the world had come here and yet people would tell him that Uther Pendragon had even more men on his side.

"I can see the druids, right there!"

Kara's hand was pointing to a tall newly made banner fluttering closer to the woods, a blue druid triskelion against a dark blue field. It was there that many of his people sought their place, many and more who trickled from the woods willing to fight. There were more banners of course. In time he had learned many and more. There was a Rowan Tree, red and black, and the brendui squares in pure blue. He saw lions, bulls, and wolves of many types, but above all there was a stark white dragon on a field of black.

"We should be there too."

"We're children." Mordred mumbled in response, although his voice lacked conviction. He knew exactly how Kara was feeling and had she said that some weeks ago, he wouldn't hesitate to go with it and follow her out there. Now he knew better, or at least he was trying. "We can't."

"We should."

"We would just get in the way, if we go Pylah and Forridel would be worried about you and they won't fight properly because of that."

"Is that what her majesty told you?"

He looked down, running a finger over the rough stone of the windowsill. "She is right, isn't she? We're just kids, you can barely lift a sword and I don't control my magic that well."

Kara huffed. "I can lift a sword! Just yesterday I beat that boy with red hair in seconds! He didn't even have time to react, because I was very fast." She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and pouted to the world outside.

"You know that is not the same."

"It's easy for you to say, you already got to run away after her."

"I said I was sorry."

"Bullshit!"

"I am" Kara frowned.

"You left me!" Her eyes darted beyond the ramparts when a horn echoed through the streets of the new town and to the walls of the castle. It came from the head of the column where the white dragon flew over men and women on horses. The formation stretched thin like a trickle of water, a line moving away and emptying the huge body of a lake. Like one, they traveled north and them made a sharp turn towards the east, and he knew that in front of those riders was Morgana herself. "Idiot."

"What do I have to do for you to forgive me?" Mordred asked cautiously. "You already beat me in the courtyard…"

"That was fun."

"… And I gave you my pie from yesterday."

"It was a good pie." She recognized, narrowing her eyes. "We can still get there, before the second army leaves, you know."

Now he set his jaw. "I promised Morgana I would listen, and knights don't lie."

A second horn was blown and suddenly the second part of the army, this one with the Rowan Tree ahead of the column, slowly begun to move. This army was mostly made of people on foot and they weren't as quick as the horses, but inevitably, they too begun to disappear. They didn't turn east though. They moved north and always to the north.

"You really want to be a knight now?"

"I do" Mordred answered. "You don't?"

"I just want to fight, I don't care about knights, they just kill people." She had a way of making Mordred suddenly feel ashamed. Kara watched him from the corner of her eyes, tsking. "You don't like swords. Knights use swords."

"Morgana says that a true knight is not a person who uses a sword, she says I can be a knight who uses magic, or a knight that heals or just a knight that likes farming."

"I still don't like knights." She said, moving away from the window. Mordred watched her climbing on his bed and picking up the spell book that Morgana had given him. She skimmed through the pages quickly, and then, as if realizing something, she smiled at him. "I guess you could be a good one though, if you want to."

"I do."

"And knights always keep their word"

"They do."

"All right," Kara said, grinning. "I guess I'll have to stay here then, and I'll have to help you, you know, because you're hopeless, but you have to promise me something first."

"What?" He came to sit by her side catching the moment her eyes turned dead serious, dark blue like a night sky.

"Promise me, as a knight, that you will never leave me again."

Mordred balked. As he said before, he had apologized to her already, many times, but suddenly it came to him that none of those things mattered to Kara. She didn't care about nice things he did, or how sincere he felt. She cared about this.

Feeling hot on his face, Mordred slowly grasped her hand. His were sweaty and shaking a little, but like he saw some people do before, he took a knee in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise and he chuckled at her for it.

"I promise."

"Like a true knight?" She giggled along with him.

"Like a true knight."

The drop fell right over the map.

It landed over the sheepskin marks of the perilous lands, following a path that split the map in two with a glimmering scar. Annoyed, the prince looked up. The elm tree didn't offer much shelter at all against the soft drizzle that had followed them into Essetir, in part because spring had just begun and barely any foliage could be seen in those branches. Of course he was aware of it, but after Merlin pointed that out Arthur made his brief mission to prove him wrong, despite the sensation of living inside a castle with thousands of holes on the roof. Running a hand over his blonde locks, the prince shoved the map into his bag and bit down on his lower lip as he watched his men moving along the eastern road, a path of dirty that was slowly turning into mud as the day moved along.

Bored as he was, he couldn't help but grab for the sword.

It was a beautiful weapon, really, with gold and solid woodwork, the steel looking bright and new. Nothing about it spoke of years spent stuck into a rock and even now, holding it in his hands delved Arthur into a strange thrumming of feelings that he couldn't quite decipher. What puzzled him further was the inscription though. He was almost sure those runes weren't anything good, they evoked dread within him if only because he had seen too much magical stuff using those same letters in the past. It was then that Sir Leon found him, pulling back his hood as he climbed off his horse.

"How is the new sword, sire?"

"Sharp." Arthur answered. "Did you see anything, Sir Leon?"

"My scouts met some riders, at least two miles from here." The knight said, blinking as he attempted to dry his face. "We crossed swords twice, I lost three men. No doubt the enemy knows we're coming."

"Any sigils?"

"Yellow snakes, sire."

"Madoc's men" Arthur concluded after some thought, water dripping around them in a tuneless song. "We heard rumors that he declared himself king of a stretch of land in the north of Essetir. He must be the one watching us."

"Do you think he is going to fight us?"

"If you lost three men, then he already has, also I doubt he will give up his crown that easily." A pause, "names?"

Sir Leon sighed. "Sir Reginald, Sir Thomas and Sir Osian."

"They fulfilled their duty, their bravery won't be forgotten." Arthur answered, even though only Sir Osian's name could summon face and deeds in his mind – a young man, eager and shy - he had been hunting bandits with Lancelot on those first weeks of winter. Now he was dead and Lancelot was in Camelot, recovering. "I'll let my father know of this, anything else?"

"Nothing, sire, the roads ahead are fine enough, unless the rain gets worse the baggage train will be able to pass. You should have no problem."

"Good, I'll give you more men. I want you to double the patrols, things will get more dangerous now and we can't afford to be blind."

"Sire"

They only just crossed the forest of Essetir to enter the country properly and he wouldn't allow carelessness to be their end. Being put in charge of the vanguard, he would be the first to meet any enemy forces and Arthur made it his job to be ready at any given moment, even if his servant was fond of complaining. Talking about his servant, Sir Leon went away just as he saw Merlin coming from the back of the vanguard, climbing down from his horse and running through the mud. He skidded over it and almost fell before finally stopping by Arthur's side.

"I heard we have a place to camp for the night, should I go ahead and set up your tent?"

"No, Merlin" Arthur answered. "I told you already, we're the last ones to rest. It's our job to keep guard until the main column arrives and then we set up camp."

"Right, but still, can't I just start now? I always have to run along and fix your things, and then I have to find a place for me to sleep, and then I have to get up early to get it all down and… well, I can see you're getting annoyed, so let's just say it would make things easier later."

Arthur snickered. "If you want easier, you shouldn't be marching to a war."

"Right, remind me again how I volunteered to be here."

"Shut up, Merlin." Arthur leaned back against the bark, pulling the waxed cloak over his shoulders. "How is Gwen?"

"She is fine." His servant said rubbing his arms and hands to get rid of the chill. The rain had clung locks of dark hair to his forehead and he noticed that it gave him an youn apparance. Arthur remembered his servant would be coming of age soon. "She is in the main column with Gaius, working with the other healers. Yesterday she had to help with a sprained ankle."

"Is she well?"

"Yeah of course, she is eating too, unlike us." Arthur allowed a small chuckle to escape him, while Merlin turned around to the five thousand men under his command. Horses and foot, they made for a very powerful display of force. "What did Sir Leon say?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Merlin looked over at him, taking notice of the sword in his hands. "Admiring it?"

"No" Arthur retorted, Merlin gave him a look that reminded him too much of Gaius. "I was wondering about those inscriptions"

"Oh, well." His servant picked up the blade, flipping it over. "Gaius can read it, this side says 'take me up' and this one says 'cast me away'."

Arthur frowned down at the blade. "That makes no sense whatsoever"

"Maybe it's up to you to figure it out"

"Maybe you're making things up again."

Merlin just smiled at him, prompting Arthur to return the sword to his belt. His servant sniffled a bit, looking to the horizon. "Are we following that river, then?"

"Merlin…"

"Yeah?"

"What river do you think that is?"

"I don't know."

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "That, Merlin, is a branch of the river Trent. The River Trent flows into Mercia and we're going in the opposite direction."

"Right."

"Honestly, I thought you grew up around here." Arthur knew that Ealdor was only a few miles south of their position, a place that he had last been to when times were simpler.

"I never really left Ealdor until I came to Camelot." Merlin confessed, something wistful painting the edges of his voice as he turned his eyes south. "Is the enemy out there?"

The word enemy held so many meanings in that instant that Arthur found the answer a fleeting one. "There is always an enemy out there, Merlin."

It was something that Arthur knew from the moment they had left Camelot behind, their army having been sent off by a sunny day and uncertain faces on the streets. In the first few days it was almost like his father had made the weather itself bow to his will, allowing their lines to move at a steady pace through the dry land, however as soon as they entered the Forest of Essetir, the skies turned grey and their pace slowed down.

At no moment this became more obvious as when Arthur saw the army camping that night. Sir Leon had been right about the road and Arthur managed to bring his vanguard over the hills with relative easy, setting for a flat patch of land raised above a branch of the River Trent, waiting for the rest to arrive. They marched to his chosen terrain at a lumbering pace, carts skidding to a halt and being pushed along, while men went grumbling and cold to the do the heavy work of digging trenches and setting watches. Arthur helped along where he could, putting his back into the shovel as the night fell and braziers begun to be lit and covered from the rain.

When he finally retreated to his tent - which Merlin had set without problem despite his complaints – he found a meal waiting for him. Somehow Merlin had found him a bowl of pottage with a small piece of hard bred for dinner. It was surprisingly warm too. As he took it in his hands, the prince was suddenly reminded that many wouldn't be having something like this, whether here in their camp or back in Camelot where many families were left without their men in the times of ploughing and sowing the fields. Most of these supplies came from the other kingdoms. He had tried as much as possible to delay the war, warning his father that they needed time to plant the next harvest, that they needed more men and they couldn't spare the border patrols – Odin, Caerlon and Rodor were like wolves sniffing weaknesses - but in the end Uther Pendragon was relentless.

He had always been relentless.

Long ago, Arthur had thought it was a quality.

These days he wondered if he ever had any idea of what that was.

Quietly, he began to eat. As the First Knight he must set an example, and that meant keeping up his strength. When his belly was full and he felt the bed under him, he fell asleep blessedly quickly.

Next morning found Arthur summoned to his father in the early hours of sun. He left Merlin behind to disassemble his tent and walked all the way to the center of the camp where a huge scarlet tarpaulin had been raised. The rain had stopped in the middle of the night and he could hear men cheering for it as he walked, and the mood made him almost smile as entered to find the war council reunited.

His father was sitting at the head of a large table, flanked by King Alined and King Banna. King Tegan was pouring himself a cup of wine seeming completely at easy while Lord Cygnus and Lord Hector were both glaring at one another from opposite sides. Arthur bowed to his father and quickly took a seat, noticing the map spread in front of him.

"It's good of you to join us Arthur."

"Father."

"We've received a messenger this morning; he was brought to us with word from King Bayard."

Arthur felt his fingers gripping the table for support. His eyes moved to the map, finding a small tower of wood just a few miles away from their position. Strategy had been discussed at length before they left Camelot, but having a message now made it seem all the more real.

"What news?"

"King Bayard and King Olaf are bringing their army through the north east border of Essetir, they are marching parallel to our position as we speak." Lord Cygnus moved another piece over the map, this one coming from Anglia. "Lot says his family has their own host marching from the east straight towards Cenred's Castle."

"They wish to beat us there." His father grumbled.

"Sire, they are our allies"

"Allies only go so far." King Alined lazily explained. His smile held a sickening quality to it, like milk with too much honey. "Lot did suffer a great defeat and his family is without a doubt seeking to redeem their honor. I should know of course. There was a sorcerer hiding in my own court as you know, my own fool to which I granted his deeds were a result of skill and nothing more. Of course he tricked me, probably with spells. I myself look forward to bringing that vile creature to justice. No my lords, do not overestimated our common goal to go beyond selfish desires."

"There is also Cenred's gold to think about." Lord Hector reminded them. "His vaults must be full."

"Hardly, considering the number of mercenaries he hired against Camelot last autumn."

"Enough!" His father barked. "None of that matters; I won't allow Lot's kin to have any say in this. We came to this country to destroy these sorcerers and rescue the Lady Morgana and that is what we shall be doing."

At the mention of her name the whole council looked uneasy. None of them seemed to have the courage to question Uther about his intentions. Arthur had tried once, and only once before he deemed that a lost battle. It wasn't like he couldn't understand. Morgause was a real threat. She had tried to destroy Camelot one too many times and as long as she was out there with allies Arthur couldn't see a day where Camelot was truly safe. It was easier than thinking about Morgana in the temples of her Goddess.

"Sire, the lady…"

"…Is under a spell!" His father exclaimed, piercing King Banna with his eyes and startling Arthur out of his thoughts. "She was taken from me by that whore, Morgause! She is the witch behind our woes and she will be the one to pay, her and all of her people. That is why I called for you."

"Father?"

Arthur felt himself shrinking under that hard as steel gaze. The crown sat comfortably atop of Uther Pendragon's head, casting shadows that covered everything but those pools of ice cold determination. "For a long time, Essetir has served as shelter for those who seek to escape the law, now is the time to put an end to it. There is only one punishment for the crimes of sorcery and of aiding those who commit it. Now that we crossed their borders, I want you to send out foraging parties. Their orders are to kill anyone suspect of sorcery. I want the villages harboring sorcerers put to the torch and anyone helping them dead. Do you understand?"

Arthur felt sweat tricking behind his back. "Father, if we do this, we risk turning the people against us."

"They were against us the moment they accepted sorcerers in their lands." Lord Hector smirked. "If you allow me, my king, I can arrange the parties."

"No, Arthur shall do it." He felt his father's eyes lingering on him, and then. "You shall help him, Lord Hector. I want this country to remember the price of allying themselves with demons."

"It will be done, sire."

Arthur closed his eyes, knowing that Lord Hector had gotten to his feet. He tried to gather his courage. He tried to remember how he felt when he pulled the sword from the stone, the feeling that he was holding fire itself in his hands.

"Father, King Madoc is out there, we should keep our men close and try to end him before we…"

"I've faced far worse than the likes of this would be king, Arthur. We shall see to him in due time." Uther sneered, showing what he thought of the man. "His seat is right on our way, it will burn as well."

"I don't think…"

"Remember your oaths as the First Knight of Camelot, Arthur! You are to obey your king. You know the meaning of war as well as any man, I taught it to you! The war against magic will only be won when we remind them how to fear us! How to fear our justice! " The raising of his voice made Arthur struggle not to flinch, as always he half expected something painful to happen, but his father simply looked away. "You're dismissed."

Arthur closed his hands around his sword, the next word falling from his lips like a bush of thorns. "Sire."

The riders came with fire and steel.

He stood there, paralyzed under their sight, grey men on beasts of shadow. He wasn't breathing, his chest was tightely twisted around itself, while pale smoke could be seem leaving their faces. Each time the smoke appeared, hooves would make the ground tremble, and the boy shook in the most overpowering fear. The devil had taken possession of his body, keeping him still for the slaughter. Just as something was about to happen, the riders raced past him, swift as the wind. Smoke danced in front of his eyes, the stink of blood and shit mixing into a pungent smell as the world twisted around him to show homes buried in fire.

HIs voice called out for someone, anyone, but the flames were the only things moving.

Then something cold grabbed at his ankle and when he looked down the empty eyed skull was smiling up at him.

Lancelot startled awake.

His hands moved over the grass, feelling the morning dew wetting his skin. Around him he felt the riders moving about, Sir Brennis shouting at them to get moving, the same shouts that woke him up, and he was almost glad for it. Getting to his feet, he looked around. They had been camping briefly for the night, a brief rest as they cut through Essetir in a path to meet and destroy the king's enemies. They were fifty riders in total and Lancelot knew there were more parties like these foraging the countryside beyond Sir Leon's screen of scouts.

Privately, Lancelot found himself with a bitter taste in his mouth at the simple idea of it. Riding around after food and fodder for an army with limited supplies was one thing, but the truth of it was that they were stealing and worse, hunting. As he tied his sword at his waist, moving his shoulder in a painful stiff circle, the young man was codly glad they hadn't meet any villages with people. Everywhere they went, the homes were bare and abandoned, the whole of Essetir feeling like a ghost country.

"You think we're gonna find any witches?" The men would grumble at night as they chewed on pieces of jerky.

"You don't want to find witches boy, they would melt the eyes from your skull if they could."

"I thought we came here to kill sorcerers!"

"Yes, to kill the demons."

"Still, you don't want a witch, they are devil's whores. They could kill you with a look. No, you have to go after the young ones."

"There are children sorcerers?"

"Their parents give them to fairies in exchange of power, then they come back all wrong. Never trust a child sorcerer."

"You burn them."

"The king will get rid of them, you'll see."

Lancelot would always grit his teeth, look down and try his best not to think of Merlin or regret the fact that he was among those men. Each time his shoulder would bother him, he would be back in Camelot, grimacing in pain as Gaius tried to help him move his arm. Up and down, back and forth. The phycisians's eyes growing horribly grave each time. When Gaius finally took a final look at his wound and proclaimed his diagnosis, Lancelot felt as if the ground would swallow him whole. He had gone so cold that, for a moment, he couldn't even hear the physician's sentence.

"The wound is not healed enough for you to go gallivanting out there, I'm afraid." Gaius told him in front of Arthur and Gwen. "Even if it was, you have lost important parts of your body, tendons and muscle, your arm will never move like it used to."

Of course he had been aware of that. He had been aware that his injury was serious the moment Morgana hit him with that spell and yet, he had lied to himself in fear of the painful truth. It turns out that reality wasn't easily denied and Arthur had quickly ordered him to stay in Camelot with the garrison.

"We're leaving enough men to defend our borders from attack. Caerleon and Rodor would be eager to lay claim to our lands, not to mention Odin and his revenge against me." Arthur said in a clipped voice. "I'm actually scared you will have to fight anyway."

Of course desperation had struck him.

His prince, Merlin, Gwen and the other friends he made were all marching to war, to put their lives on the line and he was left to watch, much like he watched his village been destroyed in that summer long ago. They were about to walk into unknown danger, to battle people who could raise the dead and he was stuck in bed, doomed to wait on their word or silence. Hell, Lancelot was sure that if something happened to a servant he would know about it only upon the army's return, if it reutrned at all. In the end, he had climbed off his bed and woke up Merlin in the middle of the night, doing something he promised himself he never would.

"Can you help me?" He asked trying his best to be calm and not act like a man starving in front of a feast. He asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"Lancelot, I can't, if someone found out…"

"I know." He interrupted, but Merlin ignored him.

"If someone were to find out, I wouldn't be the only one in danger. Hell, you could be in danger!" He stopped short, dark locks falling over his eyes as he turned around and paced the room. "People saw the state you came in, tired, arm hanging limp on your side. If anyone even suspects you were healed with magic you would be executed."

"I would die before I gave you away."

"That is exactly the problem," Merlin pointed out in a harsh whisper. "Camelot is scared, Lancelot! Just yesterday there were ten people thrown in the dungeons, suspects of sorcery! They would be dead if Arthur wasn't there! Everyone is looking at their own shadows these days."

Reason crawled up his skin with each word out of Merlin's mouth, the insane selfishness of his actions becoming clear even in that dark room, in the physician's tower.

"Are you really that desperate to go?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Lancelot gently threw the question back. "Merlin, from the first time I knew you, you've been looking over Arthur. I don't think you need to hear my answer for this."

"Right, of course, but that is just the thing. You know I won't let anything happen to them, don't you?"

"I know that." Lancelot answered. "Aren't you scared?"

"I don't know, I've had to fight other sorcerers before, but never in a war."

"Don't you feel bad, fighting your own people?"

"I don't know," Merlin mumbled. "We don't have a choice, do we? Morgana was trying so hard to kill Arthur before, and Morgause, she did everything to take Camelot. I know they haven't given up."

"You think it's your duty?

"To Arthur" Merlin said quickly. "Not Uther."

"To Arthur." He smiled. Once, Lancelot had thought those eyes were the pinnacle of innocence, but that idea vanished the moment Merlin helped him forge an identity of noble birth. Right then, he saw that same cunning gaze tamed by wisdom as he gazed through his motives. Caught in those eyes, Lancelot immediately tried to escape it and, finally, let his story roll off of his tongue. "I feel the same way, Merlin. I've had to watch those dear to me die once."

The warlock blinked, his expression falling, "your village."

"The bandits came at night, you know. There was no warning, there is never a warning. One instant you're lying on your bed wondering about tomorrow and the next your parents are waking you up and there is a lot of screaming and you can't understand what they are saying." He stopped, the memories threatening his mind and his heart in a sudden strike of emotion. Shame most of all, so powerful he wasn't sure he wanted to keep talking. When he tried to fist his hands, his injured side simply shook as if pieces that should be there to help were absent. "My parents had a small flock of sheep, it wasn't much, but it got us through tough times. They had a small shed where they threw over the manure to sell later on. It's funny how much valuable dung can be."

"I'm aware." Merlin laughed and somehow, Lancelot felt something easing inside him.

"Anyway, that was… That was where they threw me, when they saw there was no escape, right into the pile of dung. The bandits came from all sides, they surrounded us and started killing people. Some tried to flee and were cut down or run over, others they took away alive, I could hear them screaming as they were dragged. I stayed there for hours, and when I came out there was no one left." He fell silent, not able to put into words how he later found his parents butchered on the street. He didn't want to think about his father's severed head or how his mother's dress was torn apart. He didn't want to think about any of it, and suddenly, he was turning away, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling only so he could make it stop. "I thought the smell would never leave."

"I'm so sorry." There was something broken in Merlin's voice, and Lancelot could only shrug at the useless apology.

"You shouldn't be, it wasn't your fault." He said, hoarsely. Many days later he found one of the bandits in a tavern, but that wasn't a story Lancelot was ready to tell. He let the cold settle and waited.

Moments later Merlin went after his spellbook. It took hours of words he couldn't understand and that familiar burning power running through his wound before the warlock had stopped, claiming it was the best he could do. It wasn't perfect. His swordhand felt stiff and he couldn't raised his arm too much, but it was enough for him to fight.

When the army left Camelot, Lancelot had taken his weapons, his horse – a gift from Arthur for his knighthood – and joined the men at arms in the vanguard, trying his best to keep away from familiar faces and having always a hood or scarf at hand. He never wanted to be part of a war, but he wanted to see his friends safe. He thought he had been doing a good job at it, until Sir Brennis somehow saw him among the crowd and picked him for his foraging party.

The man was clearly delighted to have found him, using Lancelot almost as a personal servant as days went by. He was sent to fetch firewood, to water the horses, to clean the knight's crossbow, each task following the other in an way that was almost overwhleming. That delight had vanished as they came by another village that morning. Again it was completely abandoned and Sir Brennis ordered a search even as he stayed in the middle of the single street, whispering a string of curses under his breath.

Lancelot walked around idly, taking note of how similar the place was to almost any other village in Albion. There was a house that clearly belonged to some old healer, with shelves piled with herbs and weird mixes he couldn't even guess the use. He run his fingers over old tables carved of oak by hands that would probably work the land on the afternoon. Beds that might've been for men, women, couples or children were left unattended, empty cradles marked by the weight of a body long gone. His feet stepped on something breakable and he bent down picking up a scarf drenched in mud making it impossible to guess its colour. If that was the best they could find, maybe they could go back.

The idea pleased his heart greatly and Lancelot was just thinking about how to suggest that to their leader when a young rider came running through the street.

"I found them! I found them! Sire! I found them!" He screamed, his voice breaking at the edge as he pulled at his reins. "I found them, sire, the villagers, there are a bunch of them fleeing south."

"What?" It only took a moment for Sir Brennis to understand. "Where?"

"Two miles north from here, they are running to the river sire."

Sir Brennis laughed. "It seems their legs failed them. Men! Get the horses!"

As one, he saw the rest of the riders following the command, retrieving their mounts in hurried disarray. Desperate to keep up, Lancelot climbed on his destrier and guided the mount to follow.

When they finally found the villagers, Sir Brennis had guided them at such pace that the horses were rearing back, huffing and puffing in the chilly afternoon. Down from the hill the villagers clearly saw them as well. They were two dozen perhaps, weighted down by heavy bags and ox pulled carts. Some tried to keep everything, but others would drop the stuff behind to pick up children or to drag the old in their despair. Beyond the valley, Lancelot could see a small river a few miles away, too distant to do any good. They could never outrun the horses.

"Try to capture some prisoners!" Sir Brennis screamed from where he was, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "I'm sure we can discover where the rest went. Kill the rest."

"Sire!" It took a moment for Lancelot to realize it was his voice that shouted out, attracting a glare from the knight. He swallowed trying to curb the dryness of his throat, thinking through his next words carefully. This was the same man who demanded him be punished for trying to better the training of recruits. "Sire! Prince Arthur told us we should only draw swords when threatened."

"Prince Arthur is too naïve to understand what is necessary." Sir Brennis answeredm, smirking. "I understand you resent the king's wise decision to take your title, peasant, but the king understands what is needed to keep order."

"Sire, we don't even know if those people have magic!"

"They tolerate it!" The knight explained. "Such tolerance has allowed this enemy to rise, Lancelot! Now is the time to extinguish it."

"Sire, please, this isn't right!"

"This is war, boy!" Sir Brennis sneered. "If you don't have the stomach for it, then turn back and find a nursemaid to care for you!" Laughs erupted amongst the men. "Swords!"

When forty eight swords sung out of the sheaths Lancelot knew he had lost. When the forty nine men begun the race down the hill, he followed them numbly, half wishing his arm would fall so he didn't have to take part in what was about to happen. Fifity riders thundering over the land made for a terrifying sight even if you were part of it. They were a mass of steel and the promise of death, unstopabble and loud.

In his mind he was a lad, hearing the screams of his village around him.

In his present, he was a man, riding down to cause more screams just like that.

They would fall first over the stragglers, some would try to use their swords, but at that speed Lancelot knew the horses would run them over just as easily. Hooves would crush bone and flesh under the weight of the horses making death instant.

Some would ride ahead of the formation though, closing the fastest villagers in a pincer, a wall of beasts and steel that would trap all of them into a killer box, and then they could have their pick. Kill that, keep that. They weren't people. They were things, preys and targets.

In his memories he was a hero, now he stood beside the monsters

As they raced down to meet the foe, Lancelot felt his teeth sinking into his lower lip. Riders thundered down, swords in hand, red flowing in small garbs of cloth. Ahead of them all, Sir Brennis pointed his sword ahead, arm stiff like a spear and Lancelot understood the way to go. He had only one chance. Shouting, he dug his heels repeatedly on his horse's flanks. The destrier was fast and soon enough the insane pace brought him to Sir Brennis' side. One chance. Lancelot sent a silent apology. He wasn't sure to who or what he was apologizing to, but he felt the need to do so anyway as he stood up on the stirrups and jumped straight into Sir Brennis.

He had time to glimpse a moment of surprise on the knight's face before the collision brought them down on the ground. Air was squeezed out of his lungs as he rolled over the grass and mud, the world twisting around until the skies came back to focus and instincts forced Lancelot back to his feet.

In front of him he saw Sir Brennis doing the same, his polished chainmail now covered in filthy as he bellowed a string of curses. The other riders, surprised by the action, had stopped their charge just as Lancelot intended, their curiosity and shock bringing them closer and forgeting their prey.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Sir Brennis finally screamed at him, from the corner of his eyes Lancelot saw the villagers had not paused in their flight.

"Sire, please, those people did nothing, we don't need to kill them."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"We can just take their food and go."

"You are serious!" Sir Brennis called in disbelief, breaking into laughter. "This is treason!"

"Sire, someone once told me that Camelot had the most noble army the world has ever seen." Lancelot gulped. "There is nothing noble in slaughering unarmed people."

The air smelled of sweat and horses. Wet mud was seeping under his clothes, chilling his skin. The wind buzzed past his ears, a soft hustling whisper drowning his voice. Sir Brennis closed his eyes, showing a line of perfect white teeth when he grinned. "Do you hear that, men? This is the weakness that has allowed sorcery to plunge its roots into this country. Lancelot here does not understand the work we're doing, the work our king has come to do!" He spat on the ground, walking to his sword and picking it up. "I knew the Prince was out of his mind making you a knight. This is the proof. Your vagabond's blood is finally speaking out."

Lancelot looked over the rest of the men, hoping for a sign of sympathy. He met only blank faces. When Sir Brennis shouted at them to take his life, Lancelot finally drew his sword, ready to face his fate.

"Repeat after me..." He heard Arthur saying from far away, in a dimly lit chamber by the side of a round table. "I herebye swear my hand to the sword, that it may strike true..."

The first rider came at him still atop of his horse, his sword coming down with his whole force and weight behind it. Lancelot stepped aside, retreating both from the sword and the warhorse's teeth.

"... I swear my heart to honour in all things..."

Behind the rider there were men dismounting, and he screamed at them to stop, but just as soon he was parrying a slash to his side, twisting his wrist to threaten his oponnent's eyes. He stepped back and the second man came at him. "Traitor!" He screamed, bringing his sword in a downwards cut. Lancelot made to parry, forgetting his wound. His arm raised only half of his intended move, forcing him to push forward against the sword instead of away, surprising his attacker and alowing his feet to swipe at his legs.

"... I swear my spirit to justice, that it may always know the right path..."

He applied his training for fighting against overwhelming odds; keeping them in each other's way. Never stopping. He punched a young soldier in the face, slashed against the belly of another and screamed when sharp steel run through the side of his face. His feet squelched the mud and he kicked at his foes, seeing them wince when it hit their eyes. Lancelot charged.

"... I swear my word to the truth, that it may never be tarnished by lies..."

Pain flared from his chest so suddenly he staggered back, not understanding what happened. Lancelot's knees met the cold ground, forcing him to rest his weight on his sword. His eyes looked ahead to see Sir Brennis shouldering the crossbow he had polished that same morning. He followed the knight's smile down to the bolt sunk on his chest. Around him, his oponnents were watching, panting and uncertain. Lancelot wheezed, hoping they would stay there. He was aware that the other riders were still watching and he hoped they would stay there too. He hoped that the little time he bought those villagers was enough.

"...I swear my strenght to the weak, that it may raise and defend them..."

With one last burst of effort, he tried to get back up, but Sir Brennis stomped up to him, his foot hitting his face and snapping his head back. He fell, stars filled his vision and slowly vanished, giving place to a grey afternoon sky. He could taste blood, but his body felt numb, which wasn't all that bad. When the cold shadow of Sir Brennis fell over him Lancelot sent Merlin a simple and humble apology, because he wouldn't be by his side to help him protect the future king. His vision darkened, Sir Brennis shadow jerked as if pulled by the strings of a puppeter and he thought about Gwen one last time.

"...I swear my courage against evil, that it may never thrive under my watch."

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