Chapter 1

Many years ago...

"Arthur!"

The voice echoed across the battlefield, carrying until it reached the commander who stood over the masses of slain Woads surrounding him, his sword still clutched in his hand, the cold steel still stained with blood. He turned at the sound of his name, searching the area for the owner of the voice.

He spotted many of his knights trudging through the bodies and debris, searching for their own among the dead. Arthur began making his way toward a concentration of them that had gathered around an unknown attraction, hearing the same call he had heard a moment before-his name-in far too desperate a tone for his liking.

"Make way," he ordered, shoving through the soldiers in his path and breaking into the circle they had formed around what he now discovered was a fallen comrade. The knight's head rested in Lancelot's lap. Arthur leaned over and gently pried the helmet off his head.

"Accolon," he whispered dejectedly, raising his gaze to meet Lancelot's dark eyes.

"He's alive," his friend assured him. "For now."

"He needs a healer," Arthur insisted, turning to the warriors behind him. "Someone bring me a horse!" he yelled at them. Two or three immediately sprinted off in the opposite direction. Arthur rose to his feet. "Anyone else who's not dead?" he questioned, glancing to Gawain for an answer.

The younger man nodded. "A few."

"I want the wounded mounted with other knights," he commanded, then turned back to Lancelot. "Stay with him," he said, gesturing toward Accolon, then moving to follow Gawain toward the others injured.

"How is he?" Arthur inquired, stepping through the thin curtains to the bed beyond them where Lancelot sat, watching Accolon for any sign of animation.

Lancelot did not turn completely, simply glancing behind him, then returning his vigilant gaze to his other friend. "Not well," he revealed, sighing and drooping his head. "How are the others?"

"They will live."

Lancelot swallowed hard, lifting his head when Accolon shifted, groaning slightly, then opening his eyes. They fell first on Lancelot and then upon Arthur, standing at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over the chest plate of his armor.

Accolon's lips began to curve upward. "My friends," he managed and they both gave him weak smiles in return. He turned his head toward the younger of the two, whom he had always been closer to. "I shall not see our table again."

Lancelot shook his head resolutely. "Don't talk like that," he protested.

"No." He shook his head. "I feel it. I need neither of you telling me otherwise."

This brought a small chuckle out of Arthur and Accolon smiled at him again before lifting his hand to grasp Lancelot's neck and tug him down closer to his level. "My wife has long since passed," he told him and Lancelot's brow furrowed in confusion, but he inclined his head in agreement. "And I will see her now," Accolon went on. "But I cannot leave my daughter alone."

Arthur's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Accolon--" he began.

The knight ignored him, continuing to hold Lancelot's stare. "You will take care of her for me, my friend?" he requested, his grip on Lancelot tightening in desperation. "Promise me."

Had the situation not been so dire, Arthur would have laughed. The thought of Lancelot, barely nineteen caring for a child only inspired mirth in his mind. He could see Accolon's reasoning. He shuddered to think what would happen to his daughter when she reached womanhood, surrounded by his knights. But for Lancelot to care for her--

"I will," he heard Lancelot say before he could stop him and he cursed the teen's blind devotion, not for the first time.

"Lancelot," Arthur said harshly, drawing his attention. "May I see you for a moment?" He glanced at Accolon. "Outside?"

When Lancelot rose to his feet, Arthur seized him by the shoulder and dragged him out of the tent and out of earshot.

"Are you mad?" he demanded and Lancelot jerked his arm away from him, straightening his tunic. "What do you know of children?"

"Elena has seen nine winters," he reminded him. "It is not as though he is leaving me with a babe. I can see to her better than she can herself. Are you suggesting we leave her to the Woads and Saxons in the wild?"

"Of course not," Arthur sighed, glancing back at the entrance to the tent. "I just don't know about this."

"Well, it takes a village, yes? We'll all help."

"You're making this decision for everyone?"

"Where else is she to go Arthur?" he asked. His friend did not reply. "I made a promise," he told him. "I stand by it." With that, he turned, lifted the tent flap and ducked back inside.

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