Chapter 3

Before dawn Lancelot woke. Tired and stiff he lay. The pain that had briefly subsided had returned to his shoulder in full force once more. He felt oddly chilled and clammy and wondered if the Woad blade that wounded him had been coated with a poison, which was a commodity among their warriors.

Long after Maelien had left the court did he too leave and retire to his room. There he lay awake, unable to sleep, wondering the day that had passed and dreading the day to begin on morning's first light. Weariness finally took him and he fell into a restless and troubled sleep. He tossed long and was unable to shake the words of Maelien from his mind. He understood her fear, for he knew it well. Many times did he watch his fellow knights upon the battlefield, mortally wounded and gasping out their last words before life left their bodies. Watching his friends, his brothers, die filled Lancelot with a great pain, greater than any pain a physical wound could create. It was a pain so great that Lancelot wished that he himself had been taken from the cold lonely Earth instead. His dreams were filled with old memories of pain and sorrow and even when he woke he found it hard to shake the chill that had settled in his heart.

Lancelot shook his head and forced the angst from his mind. Slowly and with a great deal of soreness he climbed tenderly from his bed and dressed. He felt oddly dizzy to as he dressed but the sensation soon passed. He peered at his shoulder in a mirror and saw it had swelled as he had tossed in his sleep but the bandaged remained in place. After pulling on his armor, with great difficulty, he left his quarters and headed out to the stables to make sure all was ready with his horse.

The streets in the city were deserted as he wound his way through them to the stables, for the morning sun had not yet even peeked its golden head over the mountains in the east. Breathing the crisp morning air he shook the last of the faintness from himself and let the cool wind refresh him.

Lancelot hoped to meet Maelien, perhaps also tending her steed, but when he arrived only the stable workers were present. He found his horse and looking upon him, remembered the day his father had given the beast to him. His father had said that after death the mightiest and bravest knights returned to life as great stallions. Wild and free he said they ran until captured and tamed and forced to do the work of humans once again. Lancelot thought his beast one of the great knights. Strong he was and swift as the torrent winds of the sea. Lancelot had given him no name leaving him free at least of title if he could not be free of will. Long had this great horse served Lancelot, as he himself had served the Romans. A loyal friend he was and always would be.

Lancelot began to get his horse's saddle ready, and gave the beast both food and drink. He was just about to fasten the saddle onto the horse's back but Tristan then walked in and called to him. He removed the saddle from his steed's back and walked over to where Tristan stood.

"Lancelot, Arthur has summoned us to the hall and has ordered all the horses to be made ready by dawn," he explained.

Lancelot nodded and Tristan passed the message on to the stable workers and they both left.

When they entered the hall Lancelot found that everyone had already assembled around the great table, that held may empty seats of knights, both great and young, who had met premature ends to their lives. Maelien was once again seated on Arthur's left and she glanced coolly in Lancelot direction as he sat down. Lancelot guessed that she, like himself, possessed great pride and by questioning her reasoning behind her agreement to venture forth on a final journey with Arthur and the knights, he had offended her. Of this he was gravely sorry, for he knew her to be great, perhaps even greater than himself. He knew now the cause of the chill of her face. But he caught something in her eye that had not been present before, something that made him doubt the iciness of her air. A slight glimmer that danced and flickered like fire, warm and fierce, appeared as she gazed at him and though her face was cold, her eyes were warm. They held their gaze a moment and when she looked away, the glimmer wavered and was lost in the depths of green and brown.

He seated himself wondering what this might mean. All about the table was a great host of food. His fellow knights were eating the mounds hungrily but he could not bring the food to his own mouth. The sense of dread that hung over the room mixed with the confusion he was feeling and the slight sickness that had not quite evaporated since his waking left him at quite a loss of appetite. He watched the others eat eagerly but with subdued conversation. But looking along the table he noticed that he was not the only one with an appetite that was lost and a look that was lost in thought. Maelien also had not touched any food.

An hour later the knights were mounted upon their steeds. All had been made ready for them while they ate. They had packed lightly bringing only what was to be needed. Only a small number of packages hung from their horses holding few previsions and weaponry. When fully clad in attire of battle, they looked a magnificent host. Their armor gleamed brightly in the sun and the banners of their countries danced merrily in the wind behind them. But on this day no one noticed the splendor of their armor or the impressive steeds which bore them, and no banner they bore to wave admirably behind as they rode through the city streets. A sense of tense anxiety and fear hung over the knights and those seeing them off, heavily. No smile could be seen as all knew what end this journey could hold.

Many children gathered as they knights approached the immense and foreboding northern gate of the city. They waved sadly to those they admired and held in high glory, for they loved they them and wished only to follow their heroic footsteps and lead a life of honor and knightly duties. Many wept held tightly in the arms of their mothers, who also bore not a dry eye. Men stood, somber, and held their faces stern though they too felt love for the knights who had worked long to defend them of the great danger that life in Britain held and let them lead prosperous lives undisturbed by the savage foes of any who dwelt at Hadrian's Wall.

As the gate loomed, gravely, an old woman stepped in from of the knights and threw a single rose, as red as the spilt blood they had faced and would ever face, on to the road in front of them. Hooded and cloaked she was and bent and hobbled a result of log years of life that had passed her by all too quickly. Her face, lined and crease severely, was grim and solemn, as she looked up at the knights.

"May God protect you, for of your graciousness and nobility none other knights possess a quality as great as that of which you possess," she said loudly for all to hear for not a sound rang but the steady thud of hooves on ground.

Arthur halted and stared at the woman. She was but poor and feeble and driven was her gesture by the love she held deep for the knights that had long defended her home. "And may God bless you with peace, kind woman for your deed of great compassion," he said unto her before continuing toward the ever bitter fate that awaited them on the other side of the ominous gate.

Arthur beckoned the company forward after they had said their last farewells and led them at last through the final line of protection of the task ahead. Beyond that gate far in the north laid barren lands. Empty they were and desolate and none dwelt there but the Woads and far far in the north by the frozen seas, the Saxons. The lands they were to tread were perilous and unexpected. None but Arthur truly knew what lay north of the Wall and his knowledge even was limited.

With a last call of parting Arthur led the company swiftly from the gate and city behind. Like gale they rode away, horns blowing in farewell behind them, but soon they fell silent as the knights were lost in the dark land ahead.

Ever northward they rode, the wind blowing in their ears. The country grew hilly and steep after a while and Arthur encouraged them to make haste as they navigated their way over the immense region of obstacles and hindrance. Long hours passed and the knights talked little, for it was impossible to hear with the wind drumming deafeningly in their ears. They did not stop, even, to eat, for Arthur ordered that they could not be delayed lest they reach the family too late. They had to reach the house of Marius, father of Allector, before the Saxons, which meant they could take no longer than a day and a half or find the house in ruin and all slain.

After many long hours Lancelot guessed that it was nearing noon but he could not tell because the sun was hidden from view in a vast sea of clouds. Dreary was they day, as it had been on his leaving of home, and it further darkened the spirits of the company as they rode ever forward. The land had changed greatly in a short amount of time and it lay now flat and many trees grew all about the land.

As he scanned the new terrain, Tristan suddenly spoke right next to Lancelot. "We draw near to a forest."

Lancelot gazed directly north in the direction which he was pointing and saw a long stretch of darkness. He guessed this was what Tristan spied and as they neared there was no mistaking it. Thickly the trees grew and so dense were their branches that even Tristan, of keen eyes, could hardly penetrate them. Branches intertwined and the ground was so over grown with tree roots and bushes not even the mightiest beast could force a way through.

"We must go through the trees," said Arthur trying to see trough the darkness that loomed ahead. "It would take days to go around. We do not have that much time."

"It is impossible," said Lancelot a chill in his voice. "It will take us longer to cut a way through these trees than it would to go around."

But it was Dagonet who found an answer to this as the rest contemplated the problem at hand. "Look," he called as he pointed at a spot in the trees, "there is a path."

The knights all walked over to where he pointed. Sure enough there lay a small road leading northward though the forest. It was wide enough for two horses to ride abreast, but it, also, was thickly over grown, though not nearly as bad as the rest of the forest was. As they peered through the opening they saw that darkness surrounded the path on all sides and it was nearly impossible to see even a few feet in ahead.

"This is the way we must take," said Arthur needlessly for all the knights knew without words that this way was the dreary path they must tread. "But before we enter you must know that this is the home of Merlin, the dark wizard, and the Woads. In this forest do they dwell and I have heard tale of many traps set along their paths to catch intruders. We must be wary."

Though not completely at unawares to this news, Lancelot still found it quite disturbing, for to tread the paths made be a widely known enemy seemed foolish to him no matter how dire the situation that lay ahead. He felt a heavy foreboding of the entrance of those trees, but he heeded it not. Seeing the consensus of the others, he spoke not of the warning of his heart. He knew too that there must be no delay, for long years in Roman servitude had shown him they held no concern for his life and his death would be of no burden to them, and for mercy, they had none, and he knew that if the knights returned without completion of task they would pay dearly and be condemned not to but fifteen years, but a life time of slavery.

The knights followed Arthur into the trees in single file. The darkness closed in about them as they went forward. They could see only blackness ahead and on either side. It was as though they had stepped into everlasting night, empty of stars and full of baleful noises that would have given any fright of what horrid creature could produce such a sound. To determine which way they were going was useless but the path did not turn and they guessed well they were still heading straight northward, though nothing could be perceived for certain under the shadow of the those trees. Arthur would not dare light a torch. He was afraid it would attract the Woads and delay the knights even further, so instead in front walked Tristan, Arthur at his side. Although Tristan could see no further than the rest in these woods, he was still keen of ear and together he and Arthur navigated the way sightlessly though the deep overgrowth and dark.

When the knights had entered the trees, a sudden chill had come over them, but now, as the woods deepened on either side, the chill became greater and greater. When they spoke a frosty mist rose out of their mouths and each knight shivered heartily under their thick armor and cloak. None, however, suffered as much as Maelien. Her clothes were of thinner material than the rest, for she had long dwelt in the southern regions of Rome where warm clothes were seldom needed. Violently she shivered, her cloak wrapped tightly about her shoulders, but all the while she wore a constant look of determination as they walked ever further into the bitter cold darkness.

Lancelot walked beside her. Long she shivered without uttering a word. An icy mist rose from her mouth with every sharp breath she took. Lancelot felt an uncharacteristic serge of sympathy every time he looked over and saw her. He took pity upon her once and offered her his own cloak, despite the cold that bit harshly at his near frozen limbs.

She had looked at him as if she thought this question offensive and said, "It is much too cold for me to take it from you. I am fine." All the while she spoke in a voice that shivered along with her body but stayed strong and wavered not. But also Lancelot noticed that the glimmer he had caught in her eye that morning had returned as she walked beside him and glimmered faintly through the blackness and as the darkness thickened around them so did the sympathy and kindness he felt for her.

Though he knew Maelien to be suffering he also became worried about his own wellness. After ridding through the dark woods for only but a few hours the same sick and clamminess he had experienced upon his first waking at the day's beginning had settled once again in him. Nausea plagued him and worsened as they rode sending him into brief periods of dizziness. He felt faint and weak and the freezing temperatures aided him not, only biting his throat with every deep intake of air. While he felt constantly on the verge of vomiting, his lack of food intake that day steadied him and made it possible for him to continue forward without delay or word of his situation to the other knights.

Though many times that day he only just managed to keep himself from slipping from his steed during fleeting periods of lightheadedness, his illness seemed to go unnoticed by all, and being as proud as he was strong, he spoke not a word of it. Instead he suffered silently as did Maelien beside him.

Many hours passed as they rode through those the dark woods and still they seemed to thicken. They had ridden long since entering the forest and seemed to be getting no closer to the far side. As Lancelot had upon his first glimpse of it, the other began to experience the same doubts of this path of the enemy.

"This path is leading us nowhere," proclaimed Lancelot as it neared midnight, fighting the urge to fall from his horse and lay forevermore upon the cold hard earth below him. "We have followed it for hours and still have not gotten through this cursed forest. We are weary and cold. We must turn back."

"We cannot," said Arthur in return He looked in the direction Lancelot's voice had sounded from though he knew he would be unable to glimpse him through the thick darkness that pressed on his eyes. He knew not his friend to ever suggest turning back or retreating, but he had guessed Lancelot's heart and knew the reasoning of the uncharacteristic proposal. "We will never reach the house of Marius in time if we go back."

But Lancelot trembling from the cold and pain of fever, with a look at the shivering maiden beside him, said, "This is folly. We will freeze to death before we see the light of day." Through the darkness none could tell that either knight was shivering, Lancelot half to death, and heard not the quiver in his voice as he spoke.

"Maybe not," said Tristan quietly. "Look."

They all peered in the direction he was pointing. Straight ahead of them a little further down the path they glimpsed light. It was not bright but they knew it was night outside the woods.

"Is it the edge of the forest?" questioned Gawain.

"We cannot know until we see," answered Arthur.

They rode on in silence, creeping soundlessly closer to the light source. They approached with stealth just in case the light was not the sky at all but a Woad fire. Thought it did not flicker as fire did, they were wary.

As they neared, it became clear that it was not fire nor was it the edge of the trees. The light came from a small patch of sky that was visible above a clearing of trees. They entered the clearing and looking upward saw that it was indeed night time. The moon was high and cast an eerie light about them.

"We will stop here for the night," said Arthur. "Here we will be able to know what time it is at least and I fear we must risk a small fire for without heat we surely will freeze to death by morning." And with that he began to delegate tasks among the knights.

As everyone went quickly to work to construct a camp as well as they might in the current conditions, no one noticed Lancelot slide from his horse and crawl tenderly to a near by tree. There he sat, weak, lifeless, and shivering from fever, as his fellow knights moved all around him taking no notice. He watched as the blurred shapes moved across the clearing doing some task or another, but what he could tell not. Their voices had become oddly distorted and he only caught pieces of conversations which his mind was too fuzzy and tired to comprehend.

Darkness was beginning to settle in around him and he felt his head hit the ground as his muscles gave way and he fell over to his left. The last thing he remembered as he gave in to unconsciousness was Maelien's urgent voice as she rushed to his side and cried his name.

An hour later Lancelot felt consciousness return to his body. At first he knew not where he was but the cold bite of the air around him brought back the memories fast. He opened his eyes slowly and found that a warm orange glow now filled the petty clearing and the stifling chill was broken by warm waves of heat, the product of a crackling fire newly erect in the center of the break in trees. Around him the knights were talking quite merrily and consuming a great amount of food for their present circumstances, at an alarming pace as well. Watching this Lancelot was made quite aware of his own hunger by a sharp grumble that erupted from his stomach as Bors took a particularly vast mouthful of chicken.

"Hold up there, Bors." His voice croaked slightly as he spoke but grew sharper as he continued. "If you eat much more that great horse of yours will no longer be able to carry you."

Lancelot pulled himself up from the ground, but found he had not been lying on the ground at all. His head had been resting gently in Maelien's lap and she had been dampening his forehead with a cool cloth and stroking his curls gently. As he looked at her, the expression she wore changed swiftly from surprise and worry to gladness and she said, "You are quick to recover from fever. That Woad blade was poisoned."

Lancelot smiled slightly at her and they locked each other in their gaze briefly. Her face so beautiful drove the last of the cloudiness from his head and warmed him as the fire never could. As he stared at her the question that had entered him mind after their first meeting came back to him. Did he love her? It seemed ridiculous to him that he was brooding over this question so deeply, for hadn't he only met Maelien but the day before? But now his answer was changed. He felt affection for her now, not only the affection that attraction brings, but something much deeper, something that was never present before. He felt as though a new piece of the puzzle of his life was now in place and he felt whole as if Maelien completed him. It was almost as if they were placed together by God Himself, though Lancelot believed not in Him. The ice that had long held his heart captive was beginning to melt and he was warm for the first time in fifteen years.

Suddenly, he was made quite aware of the eyes of all the others focused on them. Maelien seemed to notice as well, for then they both torn their eyes away and focused on the others.

Lancelot joined the circle around the fire seating himself next to Arthur, who suppressed a smile as his friend sat down. He knew he had guess rightly as to his friend's feelings of the newcomer and knew that for the first time, Lancelot, was falling in love. Arthur could see it in his face and most clearly his eyes and it could not have been clearer had he screamed it aloud to the whole of Britain. His smile, which helped him achieve a beauty that Arthur could have never accomplished himself, once a rarity, reserved only for those he held dearest, was ever etched on the fair face of Lancelot. Never had Arthur known any to be so obvious of their feelings without speaking a word. He knew now that the boy who had proven himself to be great, many times before, the boy who had captured his heart, was indeed now a man.

As Lancelot joined the eating he was informed of the events of the last hour colorfully recounted by Bors, who had a great love of mocking tales. Lancelot was able to discern the truth from the pitiful lies that Bors had added, such as Maelien sending him on a dangerous journey to retrieve a precious plant so as to concoct a medicine that would magically heal any ailment. He perceived that after his loss of consciousness Maelien had rushed to his aid and discovered that he had been taken with fever. "The stubborn idiot," she had proclaimed upon her discovery, for she knew then that he had long been plagued by it and spoken not. "Arthur is right about you. Your pride will be the end of you and you will deserve it for your stupidity." Swiftly she had tended to him and given him medicine for if she did not hurry Lancelot could be facing death. She knew she must draw the poison from his wound lest he wake never again. He had coughed and spluttered on the medicine she gave him, but gently she coaxed enough of the liquid down his throat to suffice. She wrapped him gently in a blanket and prepared water with the same solution as the night before and bathed his wound as the fragrant scent danced through the clearing driving the chill from each of the knights. When the wound had been bandaged again she tenderly placed his head in her lap and began to soothe him by cooling his face until the fever was broken and Lancelot awake again.

Galahad had watched her work, silently. He watched her face. It held worry, great worry. She moved and spoke calmly but Galahad knew she was desperate inside. He knew his fear was indeed coming true. He could see it not only in Lancelot's eyes but also Maelien's. Love was beginning to settle over them and would soon bind them to each other. He could see too that it was no ordinary love. It was a love of a great power, more powerful perhaps even that the love he held for his home. It would join them together for eternity; even death could not break it. He knew that as she worked, Maelien was panicking inside. Her eyes could not contain her feelings for the man who lay unconscious at her side. If she lost him, she too, would be lost.

Love, though truly the most amazing emotion known to man, blinds those who fall under its spell. Through it both Maelien and Lancelot were unaware that it had fallen over another. Galahad could feel it and unlike that which warmed Lancelot, it tore at him. Each time he looked upon them, and glimpsed the love that had settle most clearly in their eyes, he was filled with sadness and grief and his heart knew the one he loved, loved another. The joy that Maelien had instilled upon him at first sight had changed now to torture, for he loved her but knew he could never have her. He could never hold her and touch her gently and kiss her soft lips. And knowing this made him bitter. He never knew love to bite the way it was biting at his heart and eating away all the hope and joy that was yet left in his life. The pain he felt was fueled by the jealousy of seeing them together and the happiness they shared was the cause of his misery.

Lancelot, though he tried to hide it, was quite happy that Maelien had been so worried about him and had done all within her power to break the fever and restore him to consciousness and health. Her care was indeed very good and her healing abilities superior to those of any in Britain, for even the greatest of healers would never have been able to break a fever as deep as the one that had beset Lancelot, in such a short amount of time. Lancelot felt the strength grow in him as he ate and the last bit of chill and vertigo left him completely.

The knights were in high spirits as they ate the food that Tristan's hawk had succeeded greatly in gathering. After sending it to find what it may, it returned to the praises of the knights with three wild chickens and a fat rabbit. Together with the limited amount of provisions brought along, they feasted on a respectable meal for the current circumstances. Bors, also, had climbed one of the tall trees surrounding the clearing. He reported happily that from its top he was able to see the edge of the woods and guessed that it would take only but a few hours ride to reach it. As they ate they talked merrily of home and other things, taking particular interest in the tales Maelien told of being a knight in Rome. She, as Lancelot soon found out, was every bit a knight as Arthur had said after their first meeting. She told them of some of the many battles she fought against the savage men that dwelt far east and south of Rome and Sarmatia and against the heathen men of the south. These men were feared through out the world. They were dark of skin and worshiped unheard of Gods and animals and they long fought with Rome over the lands they possessed.

But as they spoke a distant rumble rang through the lands. The talking ceased for a moment and a second rumble rang out.

"Oh no," said Bors looking skyward. "Here we go again." And no sooner had he said it then the clouds overhead broke apart and torrents of water crashed down upon the heads of the unsuspecting knights. "I hate this damn island," he cursed. "The weather is terrible. If it's not snowing, it's raining and if it's not raining, it's hotter than a scorching day in hell."

"And that's just the summer," agreed Gawain.

The rain continued for over an hour drenching the knights and extinguishing their fire. But they were able to restore it for they built a shelter over top of it to block out the water, though it did little to warm or dry them. By the time the water finally trickled to a stop the knights looked utterly woe begotten. They shivered terribly in their sopping clothes and drew closer to the fire in a feeble attempt to dry themselves. As for Lancelot the rain had beat down painfully upon his shoulder causing it to pulse excruciatingly as he sat beside the fire. Though his fever did not return he felt a slight weakness again but knew its cause was most likely exhaustion. He was sure by morning every trace of sickness would have been extinguished from his body.

A sudden weariness fell upon the camp and settled in around them. Lancelot watched as his fellow knights fell, one at a time, into an uneasy sleep all around him. He watched as Bors' eyes finally fluttered and shut for good, leaving only himself and Maelien awake.

She glanced at him from across the fire. It illuminated her face and her eyes pierced through hazy light and gazed into his own. She looked fair and fierce even though her hair was wet and matted and she was pale and shivering from the cold. Lancelot gazed upon her face looking deep into her eyes until her voice brought him back to his own.

"How do you feel?" she questioned.

"Great," he replied, "never better." But as he said it his shoulder gave a particularly violent throb and he winced in pain.

Maelien smiled and said, "Are you sure?" and without waiting for a reply she walked over to where he sat.

He watched her draw near and seat herself in the soggy earth beside him and neither spoke for a few moments. It seemed they did not need words; just sitting so close to each other seemed enough. Lancelot watched the flickering of the dying fire and when he glanced quickly at Maelien, he could see the flames dancing in her eyes.

Finally he spoke to her breaking the stifling silence. "Maelien. You have told me of your fears but what is it that you love?"

She stared at him, considering the question, and answered passionately, "I love the new dawn, a new beginning, knowing that there is no knowing what will come to be... I love holding on to the hope that tomorrow will be better than today and that maybe one day what I wish most will come to be... And what I wish is to be free. For freedom, I love most." She fell quiet and the ringing silence hung again while he contemplated what she said.

"Tell me, Lancelot, what it is that you fear," said Maelien breaking the stillness this time.

"I fear," Lancelot began, "a life of imprisonment. Forced to do the will of others and unable to live for myself... having no worth in a land that is not my own and being condemned to fight for things I do not believe."

Maelien nodded sadly. She wore a look of understanding that told him she feared this also. Never had he confided his fears in anyone before, not even Arthur, for he could not appreciate and know the pain Lancelot had born all his knightly days.

"And what then do you love?" questioned Maelien.

Lancelot looked at her. He his hearth bid him say, "I love only you Maelien," but he seemed unable to find words powerful enough to describe the feelings that she had awoken in him.

Instead he replied sullenly, for he knew the words to describe his life up until that point. The world was full of miserable and depressing words that could be used to describe itself. As he spoke the ice that had shortly evaporated from him rose up once more and the bitterness that had been driven into him by the sorrow filled life he had led, erupted once more like a wound not yet healed, sliced open again. "I love nothing of this world," he said. "Too long have I suffered to have any love for it. This Earth is cold and ruthless. All it has brought me is grief and misery. Why should I have any love for it?"

"You should not." Maelien replied softly. "The world offers no mercy to you or even to the Romans who have rule over you. It is cruel and vile and must seem like punishment to those who have passed beyond its boundaries."

Lancelot looked at her. Her words struck him hard like a slap from a friend but he knew they held truth. They were harsh, but no more so than his own. He knew she had suffered but she seemed to have gained so much more knowledge than he from her sorrows. She understood him and his hatred of the world yet she did not hate it herself. She too though the world a horrid place but why then did she not despise it and the cruelty and slavery she had been forced to live through?

While Lancelot thought she continued softly. "I know the trials you have faced and the despair you have suffered, the life you have lost and the terrors you have been given to replace the life you once loved. I know the world is relentless and disgusting, but not all is bad. Not all has corrupted. Though the light had been hidden from you for so long and you may have forgotten what life with it is like, to feel its warmth on your face, you still have love in your heart. It rarely shows itself but I can see it in you. Passed the fierceness of your eyes and your voice you are but a child. You are lost and wishing to prove yourself to be great in a world among many great men. But your resolve is driven by hatred, not passion, and that is why you see no good in a foul world. You see no hope in a hopeless world. You can see no light through the ever thickening dark. But love there is yet in you. It shows itself only to a select few but it is there, and it will grow if you will let it."

Her eyes bored into his own. Fixed was their gazed upon each other, their faces so close now, Lancelot could feel her warm breath upon his and see to the bottom of the depths in her eyes. Her beauty and insight in to the malicious world engulfed him and at that moment he knew. He knew that the answerer was yes. He could no longer even try to fool himself of the love that had taken hold of his heart and mind. He loved her so much more than any other. Yes he loved Arthur, but such love was so different from that which held him now, he knew he would never again be the same. Their lives were now fused as one and to tear one away from the other would be to tear off and arm or a leg.

He would have kissed her in that moment had she not spoken again.

"Will you let it grow, Lancelot? Will you free yourself from your own prison and set yourself loose from the captivity of hate and despair? Will you free yourself from the pain?"

He placed one hand on her face and felt the smooth complexion of it beneath his rough and calloused hands. He did not speak. He could not. But his heart was screaming the answer. "Yes, yes Maelien! I love you!"

Not a sound escaped his mouth but she understood, for the same love had settled deeply in her heart as well. She had been bitter as well, bitter and fierce to the world around her, unloving and cold. But Lancelot had already done for her what she did for him now. He had freed her of the imprisonment of her own pain. She once thought, that to be free of the Romans would bring back the happiness she had all but forgotten, but now she knew she was wrong. True happiness lay only in love, before which she never knew. But now it held her and soft was its touch quite unlike that of all which she had known before. She loved Lancelot as the fished loved the sea, as the sun loved a new dawn, as the flowers loved the spring. And in that moment she knew she could never be without him again or the pain of the world would consume her again.

Long they sat, unmoving. Lancelot held her fair face in his hands and she brushed his face with her own. Time passed but they heeded it not. There they sat unmoving and embracing the love that had ensnared them into a beautiful trap that would never let loose. Lancelot's eyes were now open, and though he be not yet free of the Romans, the beauty that the world had kept hidden now lay before him, for all the beauty the Earth held could not compare to the fairness of her face and heart.

How long they sat, Lancelot could never remember, but some time later weariness finally took them from reality and lay them in a vast world of dreams filled with the love that had unmasked itself to them and filled their hearts with the joy that they had been robbed of for the past fifteen years.