Alright, sorry it has taken me so long to update but I've been pretty busy lately (guitar recital and practice, choir practice and homework ick!!). But I've been writing as much as I can. The reason the last 3 chapters were added so quick was because I had been writing them since the summer but now I'm just writing as I go so bare with me.

Thanks to everybody who has reviewed the story!!! You guys rock!!! Except for Lizbeth 27!! Janelle you're stupid!!! Just kidding! Sorry everybody inside joke. But yeah I love reading my reviews, thank you so much. Please keep reviewing and even if you think this sucks please tell me!!

This chapter is a little shorter than the rest. I'm sure that's probably a good thing. But yeah I'll stop talking now. I'm sure you don't care about what I have to say anyway, but I really do appreciate your reviews. So thanks, enjoy, and I'll shut up.

Chapter 4

Lancelot was woken by the gentle shakes of Maelien. She was leaning over him and her long soft hair fell across his face. He opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him by placing one of her fingers across his lips and issuing a quiet, "Shh."

He took a second to look at her face and saw she wore a look of urgency and dread. Sitting up, he saw the clearing was now drenched in darkness for their fire had been extinguished and, as he determined by the black sky overhead, it could be no more than a few hours after he had fallen into a deep sleep. Around them he could just barely see the outlines of Arthur and Tristan rousing the other knights. There was a sense of tense anxiety over the clearing as he peered around and instantly he knew something was wrong.

"The Woads are near," said Maelien hurriedly. "We must hurry. Wake the others."

Lancelot quickly jumped to his feet. Looking around he found Bors lying a few feet away. He crouched down and shook him vigorously.

"What the hell do you want?" Bors questioned his eyes barely open.

Lancelot hastily passed on the message Maelien had told him and after he had finally woken up enough to understand he jumped to his feet and said, "Where the hell are the bastards? Let me get a piece of em."

"Quiet," said Arthur on their left. The pair saw all of the others had been roused and were gathered around him listening for any sounds of their savage enemies. Only Dagonet moved, for he was gathering the horses and making ready to leave. "They are near but we can still escape without delay. But we must be wary. We are now in the heart of their woods and they are many. Watch for traps, for they are skilled at defending this territory."

The knights crept toward their steeds soundlessly and followed Arthur through the clearing and onto the path ahead. They rode in complete silence through the darkness for a few minutes. They could hear nothing ahead or behind, not even the snap of a twig beneath a foot or the rustle of leaves as the wind blew through the dark trees overhead.

Lancelot spoke not but strained his ears against the defining silence. Uselessly he stared cautiously in every direction but only glimpsed darkness. Beside him Maelien was also making fruitless attempts to spot their foes through gaps in the trees.

They rode but a few minutes without sign or trace that the enemy was anywhere close at hand. Lancelot could hear only the steady intake of breath from Maelien at his side and those which belonged to the others fainter and further away. The severity of the cold that had plagued them before was now lessened as the new sense of dread increased. None now shivered from cold as they had done the previous march through the wood, but all had become more watchful and a silence hung that seemed altogether more uncomfortable than the freezing chill. Time passed by, but not unlike the night before, Lancelot had no record of it. All he knew was that everything was tense and still and all were waiting for the anticipated but unwanted appearance of the terrible Woads.

Ahead of Lancelot, Tristan stopped suddenly, causing all those behind to do the same. He held up one hand needlessly to silence the company. He turned to face his fellow knights and opened his mouth to speak. But at that second a loud echoing shriek rang through the woods shattering the heavy silence like a window hit with a stone and drowning out all sound from Tristan. It was cold and triumphant and several more cries boomed all about the knights.

"Run!" Arthur ordered loudly. "They are upon us!"

Arrows swished loudly through the air around the knights as Arthur led them through the dark trees. The path had begun to twist violently and it now branched off in several places. Lancelot knew not where he was or where he was going. Every few seconds an arrow would rush past his ear and the cries of their enemies would sound. He glanced at Maelien from time to time to be sure she was still at his side and not struck by and arrow.

Unable to see, Lancelot followed the urgent cries of Arthur and Tristan who led the company. He could not spot any of his fellow comrades save Maelien, who he would not let out of his sight, though he heard the hooves of their steeds beating on the ground like a drum sounding at the dawn of a great battle.

"Stop!" came a sudden particularly loud call from Arthur. "Go back! Back!"

Following his commander's orders Lancelot turned sharply and raced in the opposite direction back into the danger behind.

He now, and Maelien beside him, were at the head of the company. Behind them the pounding of hooves told Lancelot that his fellow knights followed. They raced along the narrow lane unsure of how the others fared and what had prompted the call from Arthur.

Lancelot, urging his horse go faster, snuck a brief look at the woman beside him. Knightly she rode, dignified and proud. Her hair flowing behind her, she led the company swiftly down the crooked and winding path. Lancelot thought that it looked as though all the arrows which came close to her fell dead in their path and touched her not. A product of her intense beauty or trick of his eyes blinded by the dark, he could not tell.

"Look out!" A cry escaped her lips and brought him back to attention. Ahead of them a wall had materialized. The Woads had attached long coils of rope to the ends of their arrows and shot them at two large trees on either side of the path ahead of the knights. This formed a high impassable wall blocking the way further down the path. Undoubtedly this was why Arthur had ordered the knights to turn, Lancelot discerned.

"This way!" shouted Lancelot glimpsing a branch in the path to the left.

"Hurry!" shouted Maelien beside him.

The couple led the company down the twisting course. Branches hung low over the trail and often Lancelot felt them upon his face and wounded shoulder causing a pain he was only dully aware of in his haste to escape the Woads. Beside him Maelien held her shield high above her head in defense to the unseen branches.

Suddenly the darkness that had long encased them was pierced. The arrows that rained down overhead were alit and filled the darkness with bursts of light. The trees around the knights began to catch fire and a loud crackling echoed through the woods along with the ever louder shrieking calls.

Ahead Lancelot could see a new rope wall blocked the knights' path once again. Maelien glimpsed it too and gave a loud yell of warning to the other knights. They turned quickly and began back in the direction they had come from.

They had only managed to go a few feet when Arthur, once again in the lead, halted violently causing all behind him to do so as well.

With all the surrounding trees glowing red Lancelot could see why his friend had stopped suddenly. Their enemies were running down the path toward them, spears in hand and loud piercing calls escaping their throats. They wore looks of great hatred as they rushed at the knights who had slain so many of their people.

"Quickly!" shouted Dagonet just ahead of Lancelot. "This way!"

In their haste to escape the Woads, the knights had passed a division in the path. It was half hidden behind the low hanging branches of the trees. Dagonet raced on to the hidden passage and the others followed. They heard their foes following behind. Quick was their pace and their feet echoed loudly as they hit the hard earth below. The wood was filled with the sound of their pursue. But no matter the pace, their speed could not match that of the great horses which bore the knights. As they dashed down the path, the knights could hear behind the dying sounds of the Woad attackers until the sounds of their chase and voices were lost in the darkness.

When the knights deemed it safe to stop their flight and they could hear no voice either behind or ahead, did Bors open his mouth to speak. "That was a damn close call if I ever-" but what he had to say Lancelot never found out because out of the trees, on all sides, torrents of Woads jumped from the spots where they lay waiting to ambush the knights.

"Dammit!" Bors cursed loudly as spears closed in around them and their enemies drew long sharp blades. More shouts met their ears and the company that had been tracking them joined the ambushers.

Arthur drew his long sword, Excalibur, and beckoned the others to do the same. Lancelot slid his twin blades from their sheath and held them at the ready. Beside him Maelien and the others also armed themselves each with a weapon of choice. An axe for Bors, a mace for Gawain, a long blade with a curve for Tristan, each knight had their own preferred tool of battle.

They uttered not a word as the Woads closed in on them. Lancelot watched the jeering faces of the enemies and the fierceness that battle brought to him filled his heart. He held his blades ready, ready to defend not only himself but the knights around him and the woman at his side. Though he knew them capable, they were always under his watchful eye and he would have given his own life to save any one of them.

The tense air that hung was all too familiar to Lancelot. He looked upon the others and saw but a glimpse of the not quite hidden speck of fear that was present in each knight's eye. All the war and bloodshed the past fifteen years had held, still prepared them not for the dread that battle always instilled. Now, on the edge of a battle so deep in unknown territory, cornered by ruthless enemies, the dread hung strong. Each of the bold knights felt a darkening of their hearts as they knew that not all could possible survive this battle alive. They stood out number by a count of at least four to one, and surrounded so as to have no path of escape.

Lancelot alone stood fearless. No gleam of fear in his eye or tremble of body. Not even a squeak of alarm would escape his lips. He alone held no fear. Of that he had convinced himself to be, to feel, to act. Long days before he had silently vowed never to show fear, not even the tiniest sign that he held fright in his heart. Trained were his eyes to leak no trace of emotion and his body was ever still of sign of anxiety. But in his heart he could not lie. He knew he yet held fear but saw it only as a sign of his weakness and not as the emotion present in all humans which made them indeed human. He strived to rid his heart of that weakness, of that bitter emotion, but yet it lingered. For now, he understood its worth to him. Now upon this brink of battle, he knew he feared not for himself and the pitiful life he led, but cared for the one beside him who possessed his heart and love. He knew now what fear was, for if he lost her and had to endure life without her loveliness and passion, he would be unable to bare the pain of it.

Galahad also held great hatred of fear, for to him it was but an excuse of failure to those of frail heart. But it had ensnared him too as he glanced upon the vicious onslaught of Woad warriors. He trembled not and uttered no sound, yet fear there was in his eyes. As the enemy closed in upon the knights Galahad remembered the first time fear had struck his heart. Cold and sore was its touch and never since that day nigh fifteen years before could he shake that dreadful feel from himself.

His first sight of the Roman hosts from his home far away was what had struck him so with fear. Great they were arranged in formation and uniform but the tidings they bore hid their greatness from view and Galahad had shuddered as they approached. Young he was then and he did not rightly understand the fate that awaited him; he was but a boy of eleven, unable even to wield a sword let alone kill with one. They had torn him from the arms of his weeping mother, and he too wept as he was dragged away. Ride, he was ordered, but ride he would not, he could not. He could not leave that home, so beautiful and warm, with grassy fields and rolling hills, all set against a backdrop of deep blue sky that was dotted lightly with clouds a smoky white. So they had whipped him, hard and long, until his will had weakened and he let himself be carried away from that home so fair.

Lancelot had taken pity upon Galahad. He had tended to the long welts that stretched the length of the young boy's back, the product of the vicious lashes. And long Galahad wept, wept for home, wept for pain, wept for the horror filled future that awaited him. The Romans took to harassing the young knight as they made their journey westward to the isle of Britain and often made him work unendingly until he would faint from weariness. Upon these times Lancelot, young then himself, would aid Galahad and will them not torture him so.

One such time, vividly etched in the mind of Galahad, was when the knights and their escort had reached the far side of the mountains that divided Roman land in two. Galahad, exhausted form a day of riding from dawn until many hours passed sundown and being made to fetch water and wood, both nearly impossible to find in the remote area they were located in, had fallen asleep while he had been made to keep watch over the camp. Upon their finding of the sleeping boy, the Romans began to kick and whip him, exceedingly with much strength. And even as he begged and wept for the mercy of such merciless soldiers, they took no pity on him.

Lancelot, then waking from deep slumber, heard the anguished cries of the young knight and drew his blade. Coming behind one of the cruel men, Lancelot smote him a mighty blow upon the helm and watched as he fell crumpled to the cold earth never waking again. He then drew up the sword of his victim and smote down two more of the enemies. Forever after he fought not with one blade, but two, and long was the sting of Lancelot and his twin blades feared among the Romans. It took five soldiers to restrain him, for the anger that had awoken in him knew no limit and he wished only to avenge the pain of his friend. Lancelot was whipped long for that, but not a single moan of pain escaped his lips, for his strength of will and love of Galahad he would endure all pain.

Galahad looked upon the knight who had such love for him. Disgust filled him at the bitterness of his heart. How could he hold hatred for such a friend, such a friend who had great love for all who were servants to the heartless will of the Romans? Lancelot had suffered greatly for love of him even so long ago when their friendship was newly sewn, and now after all the perils and danger they had faced together he, Galahad, cursed such a friend. He shamefully turned his head away from his comrade for he deemed himself unworthy of such love and alliance.

His gaze fell instead on Maelien. Fear, though expertly hidden, leaked into her face. Love for her filled Galahad's heart and he, as Lancelot, was afraid for her. He had seen her do battle and had seen her might and skill, but still he feared for her. As he stared at her, the biting knowledge that her own love belonged to another smote his heart another blow. Her beauty, so lovely and fierce warmed him but chilled his heart. He knew now why he could condemn such a friend, he knew now why he silently held hate for the friend who loved him so and gave him such loyalty that none other could compare. He knew now that he could not bare the pain of this love much longer lest it should consume him and turn his heart black.

One Woad gave a mighty shriek shattering the taut silence and every enemy blade was pulled from its sheath. Lancelot gripped his own swords tighter and awaited the first blow to be made. The Woads jeered longer and cried fell warning in their crude language. But ever longer did they wait and let not a stroke fall. Then a final shriek erupted from a Woad close behind Lancelot and all blades were raised high, held ready to let the first blow drop.

But it never fell.

Instead, an echoing horn sounded through the trees and a mystified silence, that filled all ears, followed. The Woads' looks of vicious malice changed quickly to looks of perplex disbelief. They were utterly confused by the thunderous note that rang still in their ears. It was a call of retreat, seldom used so deep in their own territory. None would dare to call such a retreat when finally after so many years of bloodshed at the hands of these vile knights, they were held captive and surrounded. None could deny the Woads what they truly wanted: revenge; revenge against the greatest knights in the world, the ones who had taken so much from them. Not yet did they know that their leader had his own plans for these knights.

Lancelot watched the queer behavior of the enemy. Their eyes were wide and focused no longer on himself and the others. They spoke not but seemed to speak silently as though through some magic. Fiercely they glanced around at each other as if making sure that the horn that had sounded was indeed reality.

Then they left. Without word or even glance back at the knights, they retreated into the dark trees surrounding the path.

"What the hell was that about?" questioned Bors with a sigh of relief as he slid from his horse after the rustling of the trees behind the retreating Woads had silenced. His face was flushed and small drops of sweat had begun to form at his brow.

"Yeah," agreed Galahad, also visibly shaken by the sudden attack and they withdrawal of the enemy, "why did they retreat?"

"I do not know," said Arthur scanning the now void trees for any sign of a second attack.

"You don't just think they're gonna let us walk out of here do you?" questioned Bors fiercely. "I mean they're Woads for Gods sake."

"It is almost as if they were ordered to withdraw," Maelien said quietly staring still at the trees now empty of enemies.

"It doesn't look as though they have any more plans of attack," replied Arthur still glancing in every which direction. His voice was much calmer than those belonging to Bors and Galahad, but it still held a subtle note of anxiety.

"Well let us not stand here and find out," said Lancelot fiercely, a hint of sarcasm present. "Let us take it for what it is: a gift. Possibly even from your God, Arthur. It seems he wishes me to return to Hadrian's Wall as much as you."

The knights heeded Lancelot and lingered no longer in that cursed wood. They made haste along the path that they were located on, trusting to it to lead them north out of the boundaries of the trees. They could not risk returning the way they had come for fear of a second onslaught of Woad attackers as the forest was at this point filled with paths that led nowhere but to dead end and trap, for the Woads had build many a road to ensnare their enemies and confine them forever to the dark woods until consumed by hunger and weariness. At a faster pace than the day before did they ride along that path, unstopping until they glimpsed light. And no dim light was it; there was no doubt in any knight that they had indeed reached the edge of the forest of the Woads.

As Lancelot passed finally into the light that his eyes had been long denied, he let loose a deep breath. He felt an overpowering relief at the exit of the dangers behind. But as he stood under the shadow of those trees, he couldn't help but think about the perils that lay ahead. The knights now faced the Saxons, feared by all peoples of the world were they and took delight in death and misery. They hated the Romans above all other for their wealth and superiority in the world and longed only to take the lands that they possessed and defile them, for the took joy in filth and decay.

The lands ahead were flat and to the east, clearly visible and looming, were the great mountains of the isle. They were completely impassable but for a narrow pass known only to few. Arthur knew of this pass only because of the great scouts he had sent thither many years before to find way of crossing the mountains undetected. Lancelot feared that through that pass they would most likely have to treat because the Woads now knew of their presence and would bar the way back through the forest to the south.

The sky above, though bright to the eyes of the knights, was clouded over and dark with rolling clouds, but Arthur discerned that it was but a few hours passed dawn. The air out side the woods was chilled and a strong wind blew.

Lancelot watched as Maelien drew her cloak tight about her. The wind whipped at her long hair and exposed the beauty of her softly carven cheekbones, altogether enhancing the splendor of her face. God she was beautiful, the fairness of which was never seen before upon the earth. The way she moved held a grace and elegance that no woman could match. And the wisdom she possessed could not be hoped to be owned by even the wisest of men. As Lancelot gazed upon her knew she could never be as other woman. She could never take to the womanly duties of washing and cooking and she was far too great even for the duties of a noble and celebrated queen. Forever she had been marked. A knight she was and always would be until life left her body and her lovely features returned to the earth from which they had come.

She looked up and saw the knight that held her heart. A warm smile formed on her face and she beckoned Lancelot to her. He joined her as the other knights hurriedly prepared a meal to suffice.

"I saw you in the woods," she said as he approached. "Do you always keep such a watchful eye upon your fellow knights?"

"I have fought long beside them and though they appear to have great skill, they are meeker than mice and do not posses so much as an ounce of the courage that knighthood requires." He smirked at her but knew she could see through his jest.

"Are you quite sure it is not you who is meek of heart?" She smiled mockingly in return.

"You possess a loose tongue for a woman," he replied to her tease. "As I have heard woman are to be seen much and heard far less."

"Then I believe that you have heard wrong, dear Lancelot, for I have been heard throughout many lands and my name is known to many, as you found upon our first meeting." Her smile was soaked with amusement for the ridicule of him. "I believe that even the great Arthur holds my name high."

"Ah, he does, but he does not know the mockery of your speech," Lancelot said in defense, "for then he may think less of you."

"And then he may not," she smiled. "He may think better of me for being able to irritate the likes of arrogant men such as yourself."

"I believe she is right, Lancelot," said Arthur smiling as he joined the conversation.

"I had quite forgotten you take to the likes of cheek, Arthur," Lancelot replied to his captain.

"If I did not then perhaps I would not be as fond of you as I am, for you too possess much of that haughty quality." Arthur laughed lightly and Maelien too joined in. "Come," he continued, "we must depart soon. Eat what little you may before we go forward again. I fear we will not be met with hospitality at the home of Marius."

They lingered there but a quarter of an hour's time longer. Each knight ate their fill of the hasty meal and then they mounted once again and continued ever farther on their northward quest. The flat lands about, rushed passed on either side. Lancelot hardly took notice of them. Every once and a while a clump of trees would fly passed his eye but the main focus of his vision was the ever ominous mountains ahead.

The looming line of jutting rock wall that lay east of the knight's now bent suddenly to the left. The sudden curve meant the mountains lay not just beside them, but also ahead. Enormous and intimidating they stood, dominating the horizon. The lands all about lay in their shadow. At their head great clouds formed and dumped vast heaps of thick and heavy snow upon them, for winter had already wrapped his frosty grasp about them.

They stopped not again as the morning wore on, for now the urgency of the task lay heavy upon their hearts. They knew without haste there would be no victory, and without victory, there would be no freedom. The Saxons, though on foot, moved swiftly, and it could never be hoped to depend on such a fickle thing as luck when dealing with a foe so evil.

As the sun approached its daily height and noon quickly advanced the knights began to feel anxious and glanced every which way to glimpse but a sight of their destination. But none could see even a trace of a house upon the vast land around them. As the sun climbed even higher the dire need to find the abode grew greater and greater until breaking under the tension, Bors let loose a thunderous call that echoed both in the air around and in the ears of the others.

"Quiet!" ordered Arthur. "We cannot count that the Saxons are not yet near."

"Sorry," Bors apologized quietly, "but where the hell is this place?"

"We should be close," answered Arthur, "but I have never ventured forth there before. I only possess what limited knowledge the Bishop has wished to give me."

"Then your knowledge is greater then you think," Tristan said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" questioned Bors fiercely.

"He means the house lies ahead," Dagonet translated.

"Ay. Straight ahead." Tristan pointed, but at this length none but he could see the manor and its surrounding houses and the groomed fields that lay all about. Nestled it was against the mountains shielded from the dangers that lay beyond their protection. Richly it stood, a high wall concealing much of its splendor and baring out much of its enemies. The small houses, hardly bigger than tiny huts, the homes of the servants and farmers of the manor, had not any such protection from danger, which was critical in such a region as this.

Tristan, looking at this house from afar, thought it unpleasant. It gave him an unsettled feeling that suggested that something about it was not quite right. And he, he who took not to fear and dread, felt a dark foreboding of the house of Marius.