Hi, again. So I'm almost done with chapter three and I like to stay one chapter ahead so that I'll actually continue to write, lol. Anyway, here's chapter two. This one wasn't written during math class, I do actually pay attention...sometimes. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, they really do mean a lot. I'm sure you hear that from every author, LOL. Anyway, here's chapter 2 and I'll shut up now. Enjoy, and please do review.

Chapter 2 – Soul of a Legend

Dagonet surveyed the field of battle; the grass was barely visible beneath the bodies and blood. His skilled warrior's eyes were drawn to where Galahad and Gawain stood; Bors also moving towards them. The knight quickly walked over, kneeling next to Lancelot and Arthur on the ground.

Lancelot looked up at his fellow knights, almost ashamed. Their eyes hurt him, bore deep inside his soul; burning him. Every gaze filled with concern for their commander...it had been his fault; Arthur was his best friend and the only way that Lancelot could repay him was to hurt him in battle. He bit his lip as the lump formed once again in his throat. Slowly, he turned to look at Dagonet as the knight spoke.

"Lancelot," Dagonet said softly, knowing all too well the look in his brother Sarmation's dark eyes, "We need to get his armour off to bandage his wounds. Can you help us." It wasn't a question so much as a statement.

Biting back his sadness and guilt at knowing he was to blame, Lancelot nodded. Tristan and Dagonet carefully took off Arthur's armour with Lancelot's help. The Roman's dark tunic was stained even darker on his less-protected side. As Tristan ripped the fabric open rather than taking the tunic off and possibly aggravating the wound more, Lancelot's face nearly turned as pale as Arthur's as he caught his first glimpse of the wound. The gash ran from the edge of Arthur's back down to the corner of his hip. Not much farther down was the arrow shaft sticking out of his thigh.

The knights said nothing, they did not look at Lancelot who still held Arthur securely against his chest; afraid to loose him. Tristan began wrapping some of the small amount of bandages they had around Arthur's side. They never brought any sort of healer with them, Tristan was the closest they had. It was a well known fact that if a wounded man could not survive the ride back to the fort, then he was going to die anyway even if a healer was there after the battle.

As Tristan had tied off the bandage around Arthur's side and moved down to the arrow protruding from his leg, the Roman let out a soft moan. The other knights looked up; Tristan paused.

"Arthur?" Lancelot whispered as his captain's grey eyes slowly opened and looked tiredly up at him.

Arthur blinked several times, trying to focus on Lancelot's face. "Lancelot," he said as the knight looked away slightly, unable to hold Arthur's gaze any longer, "You're wounded..."

Lancelot closed his eyes, the words meant in such a selfless, caring way stinging his soul. The gash on his head wasn't what pained him, it was his heart. A slight smile touched his lips; that was something only Arthur would say. "I know," Lancelot replied, forcing himself to look into Arthur's eyes, "So are you."

"This arrow has to come out if we're going to go anywhere," Tristan said casually, gently cutting away at the hole in Arthur's trousers enough so that the arrow could be removed. He looked at the wound, prodded a little, trying to figure out where the arrowhead was.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, any movement at all causing him pain. He reached up for Lancelot's hand, the knight's arm was stretched across his chest holding onto his shoulder.

Gawain silently moved over, position himself next to Arthur's other leg. Galahad knelt next to Lancelot. Both knights ready to hold down their captain as soon as Tristan told them he was ready to pull the arrow out.

"Here," Dagonet said, placing a tough piece of leather between Arthur's teeth, "Bite on this."

Tristan didn't look up, he only nodded. Arthur took a deep breath and squeezed Lancelot's hand. His friend squeezed back.

The movement was sudden, the action was over in an instant, but the pain lingered. Arthur let out a hoarse cry while biting the leather; his face turned another few shades paler. His body jolted, it took all of them to hold him down. By the time Tristan was bandaging the leg, Arthur had fortunately passed out again.

Lancelot tried to fight back his tears again, but it was no use. He rested his cheek on the top of Arthur's head and whispered softly to his friend, "I'm sorry Arthur, I'm so sorry."

Dagonet waited a moment before he put a hand on Lancelot's shoulder in support, "We'll get the horses."

It almost seemed as if no one had noticed the clouds roll in after the battle. Tristan had, but he was their scout, he noticed everything. When the first few raindrops fell, Galahad glanced up at the dark sky. "We should get back to the fort tonight," he commented, glancing over at Dagonet and Bors lifting the unconscious man to Lancelot atop Arthur's horse.

"We're too far I think," Gawain replied next to him, swinging up on his own grey horse, "Tristan will find us a place to camp for tonight."

Galahad also mounted, being cautious of his arm. He had been the only other wounded, but the cut wasn't bad at all. The rain would cleanse it; it would cleanse the whole land.

"Easy girl," Lancelot smiled slightly, patting the white horse's neck, "Gently now, your master needs it." Arthur's horse seemed to understand, her gate was smooth and gentle. Lancelot's arm held Arthur secure against his chest. They had been riding for several hours since the end of the battle, taking a slow pace. It was also starting to get dark, not to mention it was raining. Though all of the knights rode in silence, except Lancelot's occasional whispers to Arthur, they all knew that they would need to stop soon.

The woods were dense, except for a clearing Tristan had found. It would do; they couldn't ride as far as the fort at the pace they were taking, it would be all night.

Arthur woke again as they slowed. "We're stopping for tonight," Lancelot said to him.

The wounded man shook his head, "We should keep moving...get back to the fort."

"Arthur," Lancelot stopped the horse, "It would take all night, and it's raining. Tristan found a safe enough place, we're stopping for tonight."

Not in much of a condition to argue on issues of command, Arthur said nothing else on the subject. Lancelot slid off the horse first, then carefully helped Arthur down too. He let out a muffled yelp at his wounds being disturbed but there was no helping that.

It was too wet for a fire, blankets would have to do to keep warm. Arthur found himself being placed on the wet ground again. It was freezing, at least only before the warm saddle blanket was wrapped around him. Lancelot placed Arthur's head in his lap, leaning against a tree. He brushed the wet hair from the Roman's face and spoke softly, "Rest. We'll reach the fort tomorrow."

Arthur was about to protest but tiredness was taking over. His grey eyes looked up at Lancelot, almost speaking for him. Will you stay with me? A commander never showed doubt nor weakness in front of his men; it could have crippling effects.

Yes. Lancelot knew the reason, glancing over at Galahad and Gawain who quickly turned away. Dagonet and Bors tended to the horses and Tristan stood guard; his hawk flying overhead in the rain watching over the small camp. But the hawk wasn't the only one watching the knight's camp from the dark woods...