A/N: Yay! Chapter 5! This isn't as long as I had hoped when I starte dout, but I like the place I cut off at….I have a good opening for the next chapter in mind already…Hehe…

Hope you enjoy this, please R/R. If you have not already read and reviewed Free From You and See Freedom, my 2 latest King Arthur fics, please go do so. It would really mean allot to me. Thank you so much, readers and reviewers! You know I love you….Hehe…Just another reminder: NO SLASH!!

I'm now writing most, if not all my King Arthur stuff to the sountrack, and track 7: All of Them! in particular. If you have the soundtrack, listen to that when reading this. Yeah…

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Chapter 5

"What do you speak of?" Arthur questioned, looking sharply up at Gawain. The knight leaned against Galahad, who was pinned against the door-post by his friend's weight. The way the two knights were standing was testimony to their bond, Gawain's chest against Galahad's, Galahad's hand gripping Gawain's arm, their faces close. Gawain's chest heaved in Galahad's, his breath coming in labored pants. Arthur had not been told the extent of his knight's injuries, but he assumed it was enough to distress him now, after running.

"They have returned," Gawain replied. "Like ghosts, they approach the wall from the outside. I cannot tell if they are armed or how many come, for the mists have settled." Galahad's brow creased at this news, and he looked to his commander along with his closest friend. Gawain continued to gasp and finally gave up on standing upright, sagging against Galahad, who gripped him by both arms now.

"They must seek revenge," Galahad said, holding fast to Gawain. "For what other purpose would those people come? To few of us remain, Arthur. The Woads cannot have our help this time." He and Arthur stared at each other for a pause. "I will go," Galahad continued. "I will ride out against them, and Bors with me. But Gawain, I cannot allow to leave this Wall." Gawain suddenly looked up into Galahad's eyes.

"Galahad," he started in protest.

"No, Gawain," Galahad interrupted. "You have protected me long enough. Now it is time I protect you." Gawain's face fell in defeat, still relying on his younger friend to support him.

"I have protected you, Galahad," Gawain replied. "Because if not me, than who? Would you dare tell me now that you ride to death deliberately?" Despair laced his voice, and his eyes glinted. Guinevere turned away at the knights' intimate moment, but Arthur watched with no small pain. They were too much like he and Lancelot.

"Would you dare tell me now, after all this time, after we have been freed, you would force me to ride home without you?" Gawain queried, when Galahad did not answer but with a grieved stare.

"I cannot promise you my life," Galahad said. "All I can say is that I ride when the Lady Guinevere's people need aiding. I ride to kill the Saxons who took Tristan from us, and Dagonet." His eyes glinted painfully. "And who endangers Lancelot."

"Do you not think I know that pain?" Gawain said. "If this is your motive, than it is mine as well, and I should ride out with you."

"You know you would not live through it," Galahad argued. "You are in no condition for a battle with the Saxons. To mount a horse would cause you pain, whether you deny that for your pride or not." Gawain's head had dropped and he looked to the floor. Galahad looked back to Arthur.

"Bors and I will go," he said. "If the lady would have two more Sarmatian knights amongst her people." He shifted gaze to Guinevere, who nodded, eyes glimmering. Galahad inclined his head to Arthur shortly, before pushing Gawain up and disappearing beyond the door. Guinevere and Arthur locked eyes. Neither spoke a word for a moment, but the Woad knew what lay in her lover's mind.

"I can't leave him again," the Roman told her. Her gaze floated down to Lancelot's unmoving face and back to Arthur's pleading eyes.

"I know," she said, finally. She stepped toward him, gown quivering, and took his face in her hands. He closed his eyes when she kissed him, and a twinge of distress struck his heart. Though he loved her, he could not leave Lancelot again. He could not see her into battle, and though she was a warrior of true merit, he feared for her.

She straightened and kept their stare for a minute longer, before turning away and going for the door. He bowed his head as he waited for the sound of the door closing, but it did not come before she peered back at him.

"I love you," she breathed, her eyes twinkling. "And a good warrior never abandons his own." Understanding passed between them, and she left him alone with Lancelot's fevered body. He looked to his friend once more, caressing the black curls as he had so many times before.

"You can't leave me now," he whispered. "I'm not leaving you." The candle flame sputtered, and Arthur knew Guinevere was shedding her gown for leather, pinning her hair up, and painting her body blue. Even in Lancelot's room, with the knight sleep in his lap, Arthur could see her preparing in his mind's eye. Her limbs were familiar to him already, and she suddenly had that look in her eyes. Whether she lived or died, she would not be defeated. Ferocity now replaced grace in the Woad, and she was the woman he had first met in a Roman dungeon.

"I love you too," he murmured to emptiness. She made sure the leather was snug against her breast and secure around her hips. She sheathed several blades about her waist and against her legs, looking narrowly to the outside. Her skin was tainted blue in name of her gods, and she had both ax and knife in hand. Who would have thought she would fall in love with a Roman, the man who had killed so many of her people?

"The heart chooses strange things," Merlin said, appearing at her side. He was already prepared for the fight. Though his brow was creased and loomed over his eyes with age, he had not stopped battling for his people.

"You knew," she said, looking to him. "You knew in the forest that he was not only meant to help us in this fight." He stared at her almost wearily, but she was not fooled by it into thinking he was an incapable fighter.

"Why do you think you survived in that dungeon?" the wizard presented.

"I am a warrior. My strength and endurance is not that of an ordinary maiden," she replied hotly. He only smiled sagely at her, peering at her from beneath his brow.

"Purpose sees people through any hell, until that purpose is fulfilled," he said. "That is why people live when they feel as if all their tolerance for suffering is spent. It is not their will. It is the goddess. You were meant for that Roman. That is all." Merlin turned away from her and left, vanishing into the mists. She did not follow at once but paused to think on his words. If it was her life purpose to wed a man, Arthur of Rome and Britain….If that was the task the goddess had set before her, then she knew no Saxon could claim her. Her hands roamed her own body, over the blue she bore in honor of the goddess, and she knew.

When she slipped in at the head of her warriors, Merlin nearby, she saw Bors and Galahad were already mounted on their horses before them. They would be first to meet the Saxons once the gate was opened – the first in a battle not their own. Their faces were set in stern concentration, Galahad's especially. He was no older than she was, yet he had a sobriety to accompany his fire that she didn't fully understand. She knew Gawain's words were heavy on his heart.

"Why have you come?" Galahad called out, his tone commanding and belying his age. She could easily picture him as Arthur's successor, if ever the Roman fell. His words reverberated within the archway they lingered in, just behind the gates.

"You have slain our leader and his son," a Saxon voice answered. "You've taken a land that is rightfully ours. Why do you think we've come, you Roman bastard?"

" There is no Roman here," Galahad replied, gritting his teeth. "Only the children of the land you seek to steal and their friends."

"It was Arthur, that myth and god-like legend that defeated us days ago," the Saxon said impatiently.

"Aye, but he does not stand here today," the knight said.

"Then who are you to speak unto us?" the voice questioned haughtily.

"Galahad, knight of Sarmatia," he lashed out at them. "And should you make the foolish choice of not turning back, the Woads will have my aid in your slaughter."

"Another foreigner helping these savages?" the Saxon answered incredulously. "What is it about the blue people that has the world at their side?"

"You have not made clear what it is you have decided," Galahad hissed, almost too quiet to be heard by the enemy.

"Come out from hiding, boy," the Saxon grunted. Galahad's brow knitted with furious spite, and he brandished his sword, followed by Bors. The Woads at their backs stirred audibly and readied themselves. Galahad ordered the gates open, and two daunted guards obeyed. As the bars fell away, the mists seem to move before them, and Galahad only glared out for a minute, before yelling and charging forth. Into the fog, the warriors leapt, the two knights on horseback breaking through first. On they charged, like slow glory, Galahad's blade glinting when it caught the light, and Bors' bellow echoing in the land as he rode ax raised above his head. Guinevere did not hear her own cry until she collided with the first of the Saxons, and everything suddenly became clear.

Arthur gasped and snapped his head up. Foreboding had bolted through him. He could hear nothing, though he listened eagerly. Not even the candle flame sounded where it hovered on its wick. Though he was well inside the Wall, it was the battle that preoccupied his thoughts most of all, even more than Lancelot. How was it faring beyond? Did Guinevere yet live? Did Galahad and Bors still fight? Where were they? His thoughts then turned to Gawain. How much more was his knight distressed than he was, alone in his room, when his best friend fought? Arthur had never waited like this, never in fifteen years. He was always the one to lead his men into the fray, always the first to offer himself in battle. He had never known the waiting was this tortuous. Were this how the women felt whenever it was their husband or son or lover fighting? Were the quiet hours of safety this hard to bear? He suddenly understood why Guinevere was not one of those women who waited.

"But I do not regret it," he muttered to Lancelot's sleeping face. "I do not regret staying with you instead. You need me, I know." His hand stroked over Lancelot's curls, and he looked on his friend as he had for the last few days. "Do you not see, Lancelot?" he asked quietly. "Do you not see the truth? It is I who needs you. This is where every battle has led. This is what those fifteen years were for, all the blood and lives I've taken. It was for this moment, when I was made to choose between that life and this love, when I turned my back on it for the first time." His hand ran up the side of Lancelot's face, starting from the knight's jawbone. As it reached Lancelot's curls, the Sarmatian arched into his touch with a sharp intake of breath. His dark eyes suddenly lifted open and stared up into Arthur's face, as he sunk back down.

"Lancelot," the Roman breathed.

Guinevere's cry tore through the air, as she spun about with blade and ax cutting through Saxon flesh. For the second time within the week, her world was a blur of mist and blue and chaos. She had lost track of her two knight companions and only hoped to the goddess that they yet lived – for Arthur's sake. His name was like the wind in her mind, even as she fought. She clung to the memory of his face, his voice, his eyes, and his touch. She remembered making love to him, as she moved faster than any creature of her race, like an animal or a myth. She flung her head back and hissed in pain as a blade tore through her back, and she could see Arthur kissing her through closed eyes. Fiercely, she swiped outward at the nearest Saxon with her hand ax, and her head snapped to the other side when she switched to her knife. She could barely feel the blood sliding down her back and the paint seeping into her wound. Was the goddess watching? Was Arthur thinking of her?

Galahad had not lost his scowl from the gate and fought on, killing as many Saxons as he could, as fast his body would move. He only just differentiated between Woads and Saxons, for so deep was his fervor, his sight was blurred. He knew not where Bors or Guinevere was but had to believe they yet lived. For Arthur's sake, you damn well better be alive, milady. He was on the battle's edge, using both sword and knife. His thoughts inevitably turned to Gawain, and he refused to lose heart as he thought of what distress his friend must have been currently suffering, locked away in his room. But Galahad could not have let him ride out and fight. Though the young Sarmatian longed for Gawain to fight by his side, he knew that the other knight was in no condition to do so. He would rather ache after his friend than lose Gawain to the Saxon beasts. And though he did not fear death, Galahad hoped he would make it back to the Wall. He had too much life to live, and he didn't want to wait for Gawain in the next life just yet.

Blood was heavy on the air, and the mist had mingled with smoke to shroud the battle in gray. Now Saxon bodies would litter both sides of the Wall, instead of just one. Too many Woads lay slaughtered on the soil of their homeland, but Guinevere and Merlin both knew there would always be more of them to fight for their freedom. Guinevere knew she would remain in her people's defense for many years to come, and her sons and daughters would be left after – Arthur's children. Children born of warriors.

The sun was breaking through the clouds on the horizon, but the sky was still heavy with gloom to mirror the smoke of the land. Galahad could only just see the hem of the sun's tapestry, glowing through every thread of cloud and shining golden in his eyes. He dared the beams to show him red, too bold for a mortal altogether. But Galahad had always been too bold. Gawain could have testified to that.

"I'm not going home," Lancelot murmured unto Arthur, who could only look into the black pools of the Sarmatian's eyes in befuddlement. "I'm staying on this damn island with you, Arthur. I choose to run these hills after I pass into the next life. I'm not saying farewell." Arthur only smiled.

"Victory," Galahad said softly, standing amongst still bodies. Bors approached from behind, steps heavy and weary. The mists encircled them but were starting to fade. The sun was breaking through.

"Damn it all, you're still alive," Bors lamented. Galahad smiled.

"And so are you," he said, without turning around to look at his comrade.

" Too bad, I was looking forward to seeing the look on Gawain's face when I told him his lover lad had been won out by a Saxon dog," the older warrior said.

"And now, I'll have to kill you," Galahad answered, whipping around and chasing Bors over the bodies, both of them running toward the gate.

Lancelot suffered to sit up, without Arthur's aid, and turned to face his captain. Their eyes locked and glinted in the meager light of the candle. Lancelot clapped his hand on Arthur's shoulder and paused, but Arthur reached up and lay his hand over Lancelot's cheek. The Sarmatian parted his lips to say something, but only ended up falling to lay his head on Arthur's empty shoulder. The Roman hooked his arm around his friend's back and bowed his head into Lancelot's shoulder.

"You kept your promise," Lancelot murmured, eyes on the candle flame.

"Aye," Arthur confirmed. "I did not leave your side all through your fevered sleep." He could feel Lancelot's heartbeat, breath, and words through his hand on the knight's back.

"Would you have me ride home?" Lancelot asked, despite his former declaration.

"You are free, Lancelot," Arthur said. "I would have you do whatever your hearts bids." The pair of dark eyes filled with unshed tears.

Merlin plodded toward Guinevere from behind, while she stood staring at the motionless bodies painted blue, wondering if she had known them because she could not see their faces. With ax and knife still in hand and her arms relaxed at her sides, she looked almost weary or defeated in her stance. She sensed him stop behind her, knowing he was looking at her from beneath his sagging brow.

"You're wounded," he reminded, nonchalantly. Guinevere smirked.

"I know," she said. Galahad and Bors reached the gate, whilst the two Woads stood among the remnants of their fight against the finally defeated Saxons.