A/N: Thank you GuestM, Vanvdreamer, Buckhunter, pallysAramisRios, SnidgetHex, and Guest for reviewing! We are close to chapter 6. Which is good because these next two chapters hurt...

Chapter 4

Lancelot cradled his broken arm as he walked on his own two feet to Sagra's chambers, two guards flanking him. He went to sit on the table without prompting; it was better to grit his teeth and bear the healing under his own power than be held down.

Sagra didn't say a word to him as he brought over his spellwork; fighters weren't worth more effort than the magic required to keep them in fighting condition. The sorcerer took the opportunity to take some blood from Lancelot. He did that periodically with all the prisoners when they ended up on his table. Lancelot knew he used it in his spells, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Then Sagra uttered his incantation, and Lancelot couldn't help but tense and gasp as the bones fused back into place. Sagra's magic was nothing like what Lancelot remembered of Merlin's. It was cold and sharp, like an ice blade surgically fixing the physical wound by carving a metaphysical one through his marrow.

With his arm healed but still throbbing, Lancelot wordlessly slid off the table and went with the guards back to his cell where he shrugged his shirt back on and slumped against the wall, closing his eyes.

He opened them again when he heard the door across the aisle being unlocked as Tolu was returned from his round, having lost yet again. He'd lost every fight since his arrival. The young man had a basic understanding of swordsmanship but didn't stand a chance against these hardened fighters. He was accumulating scars faster than anyone, as no one bothered to have any mercy on the poor boy when going for the winning blow. Lancelot watched him curl into a ball in his cell but had no words of comfort to offer. That hope they had both clung to in the beginning was fraying.

The guards came back not much later, and Lancelot straightened because it was too soon for Tolu to have another fight. Tolu sat up and backed himself up against the wall fearfully as they opened his cell.

"Get up you useless rat," one of them spat, going over and kicking the boy in the side.

Tolu scrambled to his feet. "What's going on?"

The guards grinned.

"Since you're worthless in a fight, you'll provide some entertainment the other way—with the serket."

Lancelot stiffened and shifted forward, but there was nothing he could do as Tolu was dragged out of his cell, his pleas resounding through the dungeon until they faded into the tunnels. Lancelot sank back in horror. The wilddeoran had been bad enough; he hadn't known Garerrock had a serket too.

"Don't worry," Yvailf said. "The boy won't die. Though, it would be better for him if he could. Maybe the serket will get in a lucky strike."

Lancelot didn't find that as comforting as Yvailf seemed to. He scooted over to the side of his cell so he could see the entryway and anxiously waited for Tolu to return. He had no idea whether time dragging by was because it was taking so long or it only seemed that way. But finally Tolu was hauled back into the dungeon, his feet tripping over each other as the guards half dragged him back to his cell and tossed him in. The boy lay on the ground, a pale, shivering mess. There were several tears in his clothes splattered with blood, but Lancelot knew Sagra had healed him.

"Tolu?" he called.

The boy didn't answer and appeared to be in shock.

"Tolu," Lancelot said more firmly. "Look at me."

That finally got a response, and Tolu shifted wide eyes across the aisle. "Lancelot," his voice cracked.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot asked, even though it was clear that he was not. No one would be after that.

"I-it…" he said haltingly and moved shaky hands over his torso.

Lancelot could only imagine the wounds he had suffered.

"It's over," he said.

But the encouragement was hollow, because it wasn't over at all. It would never be over.

The next time Lancelot was brought out for a fight, he stopped in front of the banquet table and turned to face Garerrock. "Let me train the boy," he said directly.

His guard reached for his pendant to punish him for speaking, but Garerrock held up a staying hand, expression curious as he regarded Lancelot.

"Why would I do that?"

"Tolu always losing his fights makes for less entertainment."

The warlord let out a boisterous laugh. "He was entertaining enough with the serket, squealing like a skewered pig."

Lancelot clenched his jaw and forced his voice to remain calm and respectful. "Good fighters are hard to come by, and I can help him improve his skill. Surely a good match is more entertaining. After all, there are no odds to bet on with the serket."

Garerrock considered him for a long moment before pursing his mouth in amusement. "Why not. Sure, you can train the whelp." He rocked in his seat with another round of guffawing.

Lancelot let out a breath of tension. That had gone better than he'd anticipated, honestly. But he hoped that training Tolu to fight better would keep him out of the cage as animal fodder.

Lancelot turned and resumed his walk into the cage for his scheduled fight, which he won. His opponent got a sword through the shoulder and a trip to Sagra, but Lancelot was mostly numb to any guilt he used to feel over it. They all took their turns getting beaten and put back together like puppets made of clay.

Later, a pair of guards came to fetch him and Tolu. Lancelot stood and walked out of his cell, while Tolu whimpered in the back of his.

"Tolu, it will be all right," Lancelot said.

The guards sneered at the boy in disgust as he dragged himself out of the cell. When they were brought to an empty chamber instead of the fight cage, Tolu looked around in confusion.

"What's going on?"

"I've gotten permission to train you," Lancelot explained.

A guard brought them two swords and then took up position at the entrance, giving them a small modicum of privacy.

Tolu stared dubiously at his blade. "Why?"

"So you can have a fighting chance against your opponents and be spared from the beasts. Now, attack. I want to see your skill level." Lancelot hadn't been pitted against Tolu in the cage and so didn't know what his abilities were.

Tolu looked uncertain for another moment before he tentatively moved forward with a thrust. Lancelot parried and sidestepped, then told him to go again. They did the dance a few times, which gave Lancelot an idea of which areas they needed to focus on. He started giving Tolu tips on defensive techniques, but also how to incapacitate his opponent as swiftly as possible, which was the thing that would save him in the cage more than anything else.

Tolu stepped back and lowered his sword. "You're a knight," he said.

Lancelot's brow furrowed. "Yes."

"I dreamed of being a knight when I was a child. I thought it was heroic." He looked down at the sword in his hand. "But it's just killing."

Lancelot's heart clenched. "This in here has nothing to do with being a knight. The Knight's Code is not about fighting and killing. It's about honor and justice, and fighting for what's good and right. And yes, sometimes that involves killing."

Tolu looked up and met his eye. "There's no honor in here."

Lancelot couldn't say anything to that, because it was true.

Tolu started shaking his head. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," Lancelot said firmly, taking a step closer and reaching out to clasp the young man's arm. "You have to be strong. Remember your family."

"I'm never going to see my family again," he replied brokenly.

A spiky lump settled in Lancelot's throat, but he couldn't let himself go there, couldn't let himself give up on the last threads of hope he was also desperately clinging to.

He stepped back and raised his sword. "Come on, again."

They trained for two hours before the guards decided that was enough and took them back to their cells. But they were granted another session later, and another. Lancelot trained Tolu between his own fights, and the boy was mercifully left alone during that time.

Then Garerrock summoned them both to the great hall.

"Let's see if your training has made any progress," he said, gesturing for them to enter the cage.

Lancelot wasn't sure if this was meant to be a full on fight, but he didn't ask in case this was merely a demonstration, which he hoped it was. He raised his sword and beckoned for Tolu to do the same. But while the boy had been making progress one-on-one, the audience now was clearly unbalancing him.

"Tolu, focus," Lancelot encouraged and made the first move.

Tolu clumsily deflected the light strike, his gaze constantly flitting toward the crowd of bloodthirsty men watching them intently.

Lancelot gave the boy's blade another tap, trying to get him to pay attention.

The spectators started booing, and Garerrock called out loudly from his seat.

"If this is the best you've got, I'll throw you both to the serket!"

"Tolu," Lancelot urged as he gritted his teeth and went at the boy harder. He could see Tolu was trying, but his nerves quickly got the best of him, and one of Lancelot's strikes knocked his sword clean out of his hand. The crowd jeered in disgust.

Garerrock scowled. "Bring in the serket!"

"No!" Lancelot shouted.

"Get him out of there," Garerrock snapped.

The cage door was opened and guards stormed in. Lancelot tightened his grip on his sword reflexively, but one of the men activated the sigil on his chest, and he dropped to his knees under an onslaught of searing pain. Hands seized his arms and dragged him out.

"No, please!" Tolu cried, then screamed as his sigil was activated.

Another guard retrieved the swords, leaving Tolu completely defenseless as the cage door was slammed shut and the grate to one of the tunnels in the back was rolled open. Lancelot heard a skittering sound as the serket emerged from its den, spindly legs tapping across the ground and pincers clicking eagerly as it zeroed in on its prey.

"No, please, please!" Tolu sobbed.

Lancelot struggled futilely against the men holding him, forced to watch helplessly as the beast went after Tolu. It stabbed a pincer downward as Tolu flung himself out of the way, but the foreclaw caught him in the calf of his leg, pinning him to the ground. He threw his head back and screamed. The serket hissed and squealed as it danced over its prey, then jabbed its stinger over its back and into Tolu's.

Some guards moved in with spears to back the creature off, and Tolu dragged himself across the ground. Then the men backed away and let the serket go after him again. It clamped a pincer around his shoulder and tore out a chunk. Blood splattered the bars and spectators. Lancelot squeezed his eyes shut but he couldn't block out Tolu's tortured screams.

Then the serket hissed angrily, and Lancelot looked up to find Sagra had arrived and was using magic to force the beast back into its lair. The gate closed behind it, and the guards went in to retrieve Tolu. He was roughly plopped onto a stretcher and carried out, blood trailing down limp arms and onto the dirt. Lancelot turned his seething gaze to Garerrock.

The warlord let out a derisive snort. "Take him back to his cage."

Lancelot was manhandled out of the hall and back to the dungeon where he waited anxiously yet again for Tolu. It seemed to take longer than usual, and Lancelot wondered if he'd succumbed to his wounds before Sagra had been able to heal them.

But then he appeared, slack between two guards as they bodily dragged him into his cell and left him there, weeping on the floor. Lancelot wanted to call out to him, but he doubted he could be of any comfort. It'd been his responsibility to train Tolu, to get him ready to hold his own in a fight. This was his failure.

The next time the guards came to Tolu's cell, the boy pushed himself up onto his knees, eyes blown wide with terror and desperation.

"Please, let me fight!" he begged. "I can do it, I can!"

The guards exchanged a look, then one of them went to Mekin's cell to get him out. Tolu blathered his thanks and promises as they walked out, but Lancelot sat in his cell with sinking dread.

Sure enough, Mekin returned first, obviously the victor.

"What happened in the fight?" Lancelot asked, though he could already guess.

"What do you think?" Mekin replied with a snort.

Lancelot furled his hands into fists. "How badly did you hurt him?" he asked tightly.

Mekin shot him a dry look. "He makes it too easy. But I just sliced him across the back of the leg. That brought him down quick. 'Course, then the fool tried to kill himself, which just earned him more punishment. It'll be a while before we see him again."

Lancelot's stomach cramped at the news, and he spent the next several hours or days sick to his stomach until Tolu was finally brought back. The boy was inconsolable, a sobbing, snotty mess whose cries could be heard all the way at the other end of the dungeon. Lancelot tried calling out to him, but he got no response or acknowledgement. Tolu wasn't made for this kind of violence and cruelty. He reminded Lancelot of Merlin a bit, too kind and light-hearted to be able to survive such barbaric treatment in mind and soul.

Lancelot tried to plead his case to Garerrock, to let him try again. After all, they were keeping Tolu around, why not let him train more? Garerrock consented disdainfully, and Lancelot tried to coax Tolu out of his brokenness to at least muster up some will to fight.

But it seemed to have left him. He was listless, eyes deadened, and barely participated in the training sessions. One of the guards must have informed Garerrock, because the two prisoners were brought before him yet again and tossed into the cage together.

"Tolu, you have to put some effort into this," Lancelot urged. He flicked a look around and lowered his voice. "Just draw it out for a bit, and then I'll let you get in a lucky shot so you win."

Tolu finally lifted his gaze to Lancelot's, his eyes brimming with tears. "We both know I would never win against anyone else. Even if you handed me a victory now, the next time I would lose and be thrown to the serket again." He shook his head, voice cracking. "I can't do it anymore." He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

The crowd booed and jeered.

Lancelot moved forward and leaned down, tugging at his arm. "Tolu, you have to get up. If you don't at least try, you'll be thrown to the serket right now. Stand up!"

Tolu tilted his head back. "Kill me, please," he rasped.

Lancelot's breath caught in his throat.

"I tried to do it myself," Tolu went on. "But it didn't work…" He reached up and clawed at Lancelot's sleeve. "Please. I can't take it anymore," he sobbed. "Please just kill me."

Lancelot's heart clenched painfully as Tolu wept and begged for death. If he did nothing, the boy would be thrown to the beasts again and again, and Lancelot knew that would shatter his spirit until there was nothing left. He also knew what would happen to him if he ended the lad's suffering, but he was the only one who could, and this would likely be his only chance to do it.

And so even though his heart and conscience were in turmoil over it, Lancelot tightened his grip on his sword and thrust the blade through Tolu's heart. The boy's body jerked only minutely, his eyes widening a fraction before the light in them instantly winked out. Lancelot dropped to his knees and caught the limp body as it crumpled forward. He cradled Tolu in his arms and bowed his head in grief. The entire hall went silent in shock.

Then pain exploded in Lancelot's chest and he cried out as he collapsed onto his side, writhing on the ground as the sigil shot liquid fire through his body. The agony whited out everything, including Tolu's lifeless eyes. It didn't even stop as hands seized Lancelot's arms and yanked him off the floor. He was vaguely aware of being dragged, and then the sigil finally cut off as he was thrown at Garerrock's feet.

The warlord loomed over him, nostrils flaring with fury. "You think to make a fool of me?" he seethed, then barked, "String him up!"

Lancelot's body was still singing with pain as he was grabbed again and hauled over to the far wall where he was slammed back against it. Ropes were lashed around his wrists and ankles and then pulled taut so he was bound, spread-eagled.

Garerrock picked up a dinner knife from the table and stormed over. Lancelot sucked in a harsh breath as he tried to brace himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the warlord to stab the blade through his wrist, right between the radius and ulna and into the rock wall. A horrendous scream tore from Lancelot's throat.

"You'll wish the boy had killed you instead," Garerrock spat.

Lancelot hung there, choking on the shock and searing pain as Garerrock left the knife embedded in his wrist. And with his arm strung out at the angle that it was, he was partially suspended on the blade, which caught on the bone and cartilage and grated against them.

Lancelot bit back another cry and thought of Tolu. At least he was free. That was all that mattered.

He was free…