Shorter chapter here, hope you like it anyway!

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As fresh air filled his lungs, his body following the motion of his ride, core swaying but never losing balance, Will secured the grip of his hands on the reins as he opened his eyes and pulled, ordering his steed to a stop. At the feet of the hill they were standing on, a gorgeous valley filled with wild green grass, cornered on both sides by a thick forest, went as far as their eyes could see. What was probably in better times a flowing river, was now only a thin creek, rippling through the meadow like a pulsing vein of freezing water; running along at its side, a strip of stomped soil barely larger than the carriage that was traveling on it, dark horses and shiny armors stomping their way where the natural vegetation had long given in to the path of humans.

"Ah."

Will turned to his right, to the men standing proud on their steeds, their armors scratched and battled but still fiery.

"As promised, the Bishop's carriage" said Gawain, wavy locks barely flapping in the wind. Those words gave birth to a smile on Will's lips.

"Our freedom, Bors" he said to the man next to his blond friend.

"Mmm" Bors mumbled, smacking his lips. "I can almost taste it."

A few snickers ran among them.

"And your passage to Rome, Arthur" spoke the double swords wielder next to their leader, his curly hair as dark as his eyes, his weapons as sharp as his tongue. Lancelot he knew to be his name, as he knew the man carried a special bond with their Roman commander, a thought of his always for him.

Will saw Arthur regard the sentence with a slight nod, as his eyes never left the crew passing through the meadow. What felt like a less than a breath later, a sharp noise pierced through the air and a deaf grunt was heard as a shot soldier of the roman corps fell off his horse, followed quick by an humongous number of warriors coming out of the woods, shouting as they charged.

"Woads!" the raspy voice of the scout informed them and immediately they all nudged their horses to rush downhill and towards the battle.

Arthur led them as they rode in formation, Will closing one wing of it, weapons in hand. As swords clanged and arrows rained heavily, no roman or woad noticed the fury of the Knights falling upon them.

Will felt like a hawk, his vision focused, watching everything and everyone in the chaos of the field; the wooden spear felt heavy in his hand, held over his shoulder firmly as he rode, its sharp head destined to sink in the blue-tinted skin of their enemies.

By the time their formation crushed into the mess, metal clanging and cutting flesh, most of the roman soldiers of the guard had already fallen to their death. The feral brutality of the Woads was one to fear, but had to bow against the ferocity of the Knights: Arthur sliced and decapitated his way through the enemy ranks, followed suit by Dagonet's sword and Gawain's spear. Arrows tore the air as they kept hitting, deadly and precise, man after man, all shot in rapid succession by the scruffy scout whose ride never faltered nor arrow ever missed.

As he followed these men, Will plunged his spear with brutal force into the torso of an unlucky Woad who happened in his path and, as he reached the mayhem, embraced his bow and arrows, effectively covering the openings left by his companions who were already fighting on the field, all while keeping some sort of range as his role had always been the rearguard.

He noticed a second too late that a Woad had climbed on the carriage, ready to kill its passenger, but was immediately taken down by Tristan who quickly sent a glance in his direction before turning a shooting an arrow into the nearby woods, from where an enemy archer had just tried ineffectively to unsaddle their leader.

Turning his attention back to the battle, Will saw Gawain getting jumped by a Woad and being thrown off his horse; he instantly shot an arrow to the culprit, who got hit just as he had gotten back up from the ground, earning a thankful look from his blond friend before wielding his axe and mace against nearby enemies.

As his horse rode and turned, always moving close to the battlegrounds but never diving in, he focused a second on Tristan who, thirsty for blood, dismounted off his steed with a fluid motion and unsheathed his long sword, its sharp metal shining in the light of day, leaving the ranged battle to him. His vision was interrupted by Dagonet who, riding fast past him, jumped a few Woads right into the stream, taking them down; just as the Knight was pulling himself up, Will shot an approaching one, his wooden spear aimed at him, covering for his friend and leaving him time to resume his fighting stance.

Will wasn't really thinking about anything he was doing, instinct being the driving force behind every action since riding downhill. His body knew how to move, how to nock and release, how to follow the horse's pace and adjust every shot to hit its intended target with no fail, without him consciously regarding every movement.

Bors' shouts toward the woods called his attention, but soon Will realized he was riding his euphoria as his "Rus!" drew every noise out with its loudness, huge fists banging on his own chest as they never loosened the grip on his knuckled daggers. The Knights, all still up, stood high above the slashed bodies of their enemies, their blood dyeing the earth. Arthur, as his benevolent nature, released from the deadly touch if his sword the last Woad still standing, now kneeling before him, sparing his life as he stared at the woods, knowing they had been watched all along. They had won.

Will, the only one still on horse, decided to go fetch the others' steeds. As he turned towards the hill they came from, a lifeless body a few feet ahead caught his attention for its blueish skin was covered in painted patterns: Will found himself wondering about their meaning. As he rode past it, he was joined in the task by Tristan, who was already back on his ride.

"Didn't expect them to venture south of the Wall" Will said.

"They provided some distraction, though."

Will eyed the other man for a second, not really knowing what to make of that sentence, as they rode next to each other. Was that supposed to be a joke?

"I don't really get you" he simply said, causing a grin out of Tristan, whose eyes seemed to speak volumes as he turned to look at him.

"You will" he replied, nudging his horse to ride past him towards the most distant horses.

You will.

Will gasped, inhaling sharply as he opened his eyes abruptly, coughing as he found himself laying horizontal, with an oxygen mask on his face and a concerned Beverly at his side.