Wow, this is probably the first time I've ever updated a story the next day LOL. This one just really took off on me. Anyway, thank you my wonderful reviewers, I'm glad you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it. I forgot to mention on the first chapter that italics are flashbacks or thoughts. If it's in a big ol' clump, it's probably a flashback…in fact, yes, yes it is. I haven't done any thoughts yet, LOL, but yeah. Italics are flashbacks. So that's what that was in the first chapter, it wasn't just something random. And yes, it does tie in later. I also wanted to say, don't remember if I said this before, but this story is a little darker than Legend. Mostly because of my English teacher giving his flawed hero speech and I'm rather intrigued by the idea of it all. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read. Enjoy and please review, reviews really do make my day!

Chapter 2 – A Hero's Past

This doubt is screaming in my face
In this familiar place sheltered and concealed
And if this night won't let me rest
Don't let me second guess
What I know to be real

-Unknown: Lifehouse

It had been a struggle to get the prisoner to comply. He was just a simple farmer. When the Woads came, they threatened his family – his six year old son. He had no choice but to tell them what they wanted. But when the soldiers came, he didn't try to run. Maybe they would understand; they had to. He was wrong. It was in defense that he killed them, he hadn't meant for things to happen this way at all.

The farmer had heard the argument earlier. It gave him no comfort that the soldier taking him back to their fort was the same man who had argued to kill him now. He wasn't even sure that the soldier could be called a man, he was still very young, just a boy. An impulsive, headstrong boy. The farmer was determined to fight for his life as long as he could, he would not stand accused of something he had no choice in.

The soldier approached leading two horses. "Get up, we don't have time to waste," he ordered, holding one of the horses in front of the farmer.

"I can't mount well with my hands tied," he replied, holding up his hands bound at the wrist.

The soldier sighed and motioned for him to stand facing the horse. He walked around behind to push the man up but was caught off guard when the man used the horse as support for a two-foot kick to the soldier's chest. Quickly taking the moment, knowing he wouldn't have another chance, he grabbed a dagger off of the soldier's horse. The soldier got back up to his feet, suddenly realizing that his sword was also with his horse – he was unarmed.

Seeing his chance, the farmer tried to run, but the soldier caught him before he got far. Both men fell to the ground, struggling for the dagger. The farmer found the wooden handle first and gouged the weapon under the left shoulder armour of the boy, cutting down his bicep.

At first Arthur imagined he could have ridden by himself to the village, but after a time, he doubted if that was true. He was becoming increasingly tired and cold; with every step in Conquest's gait, his wounds throbbed.

The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn't stopped. Blood had soaked through Arthur's tunic, creating a darker patch on his side. Naturally it worried Lancelot. Even though he knew the Roman wasn't going to bleed to death in his arms, it wasn't a good sign necessarily. He felt Arthur's head rest on his neck again. Gently, he squeezed his shoulder.

"Hey, you can't go to sleep, you're the one who knows where this village is," Lancelot whispered lightly to him.

"Oh yes…" Arthur winced, "Duty first."

"Arthur?"

"Hmm…?"

"I'm not joking, don't go to sleep, not yet," Lancelot said, not whispering anymore, with a hint of urgency in his voice.

"I'm not asleep," Arthur responded, "Just..resting my head."

"Just make sure you don't," Lancelot sighed.

But he was tired, and in pain – though it wasn't as bad as it was – and cold. Arthur tried to block it out. He concentrated on the sky, and the sound of the horses' hooves. Conquest was light on his feet, very agile, and if one was listening, it was very obvious. The rhythm was steady, but not stocky. Hadrian on the other hand, the sound of his hooves was…irregular. Arthur's brow creased. "Hadrian's limping," he said softly.

Lancelot glanced behind them at the dark bay trailing along. "He's favouring his front leg, maybe he hurt it when he stumbled."

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought him along, his knee could be bothering him again." Arthur felt Lancelot's shoulders shook as he chuckled. "What's so funny?" the Roman asked.

"You," the knight replied with a slight grin, "You being worried about the horse."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, the woods suddenly vanished and they came upon the village below them, settled in the small valley created by the surrounding hills. Small towers of smoke trickled out of the houses and a few people walked around the houses, none of them aware of the two warriors looking down on them. The Roman nodded, "I told you we were going the right way."

"And I said I believed you," Lancelot said nudging Conquest forward down the hill.

"So the whole 'couldn't find a tree in a forest' was just a joke right?" Arthur smirked.

Lancelot fake glared down at him, his head resting on the knight's shoulder still. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate you?"

"You don't hate me Lancelot," Arthur laughed quietly, sitting up, "If you did, then you would still be wandering around in that forest."

"Very funny."

"I thought so."

Conquest increased his pace slightly as they ambled down the hill. Every hard step from the usually light-footed horse sent a jolt of pain up Arthur's side. By the time they reached flat land again, it was like a pulsing fire spreading across Arthur's chest, starting on his right side.

The villagers saw them coming now, a few of them walking towards the two strange men, but most of the others just standing and watching. They were a cautious people, strangers were not always friendly. But because the two men were riding double made them less apprehensive of them. Perhaps they wouldn't have any ill-intent at all.

One of the men approached them. He wasn't terribly tall, nor largely built. Obviously, the man was not a warrior. His hair was dark and cut short, as was his beard. There was a very kindly look about him.

"Do you have a healer?" Lancelot asked after a moment, "My friend is injured."

The man glanced back at the rest of the village and then nodded, "I am. My name is Antonius Marinus, I am the village healer."

Antonius' house wasn't terribly large, in fact it may have been the same size as their quarters back at the fort, except with two rooms. The only difference was that this housed three people. Antonius, his wife Victoria and her son Marcus. There was something vaguely familiar about the boy Marcus, Arthur thought. It was his eyes, the dark eyes that were filled with a fire of youth that gazed at the strangers the kind healer had taken into his house.

"Sit here, and take your tunic off," Antonius instructed, gathering what he needed from around the house and taking it into the room and setting it on the table next to the bed.

Arthur complied, but it took the healer's help to finish the job. There was no sign of disgust in the man's face as he unwrapped the bloodied bandages. Skilled hands poked and prodded at the wound; Arthur closed his eyes. Lancelot stood in the corner of the back room, watching, but even he found that he couldn't watch.

"Perhaps you ought to go in the other room if this bothers you, knight," Antonius commented without looking up from his work.

"No, it-.."

Antonius smiled, and glanced up at him, "My wife will make you something to eat and drink if you want it."

The knight nodded, though truly he wasn't hungry, but he hesitated. Arthur opened his eyes as the healer's poking stopped for the moment. "I'll be fine," he spoke softly.

"I know," Lancelot half smiled squeezing the Roman's hand, "I'll come back when he's done."

Lancelot knew what Antonius had to do and it wouldn't be something pleasant to watch. The man seemed to be a good healer, at least by his first reaction. But Lancelot wished they could have gotten back to the fort instead of impeding on these people's hospitality.

Victoria had been just as kind as her husband. She asked their names and brought out extra blankets for them as well as made more food for their unexpected guests.

There was something else however, something in the back of his mind that didn't sit entirely right. Something to do with the son, Marcus. He wasn't quite a man yet, perhaps 16 or 17 winters. Lancelot couldn't help but notice there was something in his eye when they first came in. Marcus wasn't Antonius' son, or if he was, he certainly didn't look like his father. No, he couldn't be the healer's son, Marcus was much to tall.

Antonius entering the main room again brought Lancelot out of his thoughts. Time had passed, the sun was setting. How long had Antonius been in there? The healer smiled at him, "You can go back in now if you wish."

"Thank you, Antonius," Lancelot stood up, "For your hospitality."

"No need to thank me, it is my job to mend," Antonius replied gently and then turned slightly more serious, "He has a fever, it will have to be brought down for the wound to heal. It may be a few days."

Lancelot nodded and slowly entered the room. Arthur's eyes were closed, the blankets pulled up below his shoulders, clean white cloth covering his chest to hold the dressings in place. Sitting down on the bed next to his captain, Lancelot shook his head with a slight smile. "This is a familiar sight isn't it," he whispered.

"I don't intend on making it a habit I'll have you know," Arthur breathed, smiling weakly.

"Good," Lancelot returned, reaching up and running the back of his fingers across Arthur's shoulder. He continued the loving gesture of friendship until he was sure Arthur had gone back to sleep. After having a wound reopened by a healer, he would need the rest. The knight sighed, tracing his fingers down a scar that trailed down Arthur's left upper arm. He knew the story behind each of his own scars and Arthur's as well, except this one.

Lancelot didn't notice Marcus watching for a brief moment from the doorway. The boy left again before his presence was discovered.