Ok, here it is, the final chapter. I should have written it when I had the idea…whoa logic…but no, apparently I had to wait for some unexplained reason in my absent-of-brain head, so it's not exactly as it would have been. And the ending is kind of crummy, but it's there and not likely to change LOL. But I am satisfied with it, it turned out nicely. I hope all of you liked it, I really enjoy reading your reviews, many of you have been quite helpful. Thank you. So, enough's enough, I'll shut up and let you read. See you hopefully in my next story, King. But for now, enjoy.

Chapter 6 – Mythical Victory

Arthur left Hadrian in the courtyard, practically running down the hallway where each of the knights' quarters were. The others save Tristan and Dagonet followed him; they had been outside when he rode up. No explanation was provided, Arthur's mind was only set on getting to his friend.

He fumbled in haste to open the door. Tristan and Dagonet were already there. The scout stood up, his dark eyes hidden beneath his shaggy hair. Looking from Tristan, to Lancelot on the bed, Arthur started to say something, but when Tristan shook his head he stopped.

Kneeling beside the bed, Arthur took off the water skin with Cadogan's blood and set it down beside him, taking up Lancelot's hand instead. "Lancelot…" he whispered, tears filling his gentle grey eyes. There was no response, not even a breath. Lancelot's face was white like powder, his lips had turned a shade of blue. His chest did not rise and fall as it should have. "No…" He was too late, Arthur had failed.

He reached for the water skin, choking on his tears, and pulled back the covers of the bed and the bandage on the knight's shoulder. Arthur's movements were quick – panicked. The black blood poured out slowly onto the grotesque wound. It sizzled upon impact, sealing the flesh and dissolving until all that was left was a scar. But Lancelot didn't move, not even the slightest flinch at the burning of the dragon's blood. Arthur gripped his hand, bringing it up to his cheek. It wasn't as warm as it should be.

Tristan looked up, his eyes roving over the scar, but even if they had a way to defeat the poison it was too late. Behind him, many of the knights bowed their heads in silence. Gawain comfortingly rubbed Galahad's shoulder as the youngest knight stared at the scene before him, two tears running down his cheeks. None of them had the heart to say anything to their captain, except Dagonet. Slowly, he stepped forward, placing his hands on Arthur's shoulders. "Arthur," Dag said softly, "There's nothing more-…"

Arthur shook his head, his voice breaking, "No! His life should have been spared!"

"He's not coming back…"

Lowering his head to rest on Lancelot's arm, Arthur's shoulders shuddered. Dag turned, looking back at the others reluctantly. Slowly, one by one, they filed out, leaving the room empty again, until Dag stood in the doorway, watching his captain grieve. The large knight closed his eyes, lowering his head, and walked down the hallway.

Arthur gripped Lancelot's hand, still letting the tears overflow, kneeling beside his bed. After a moment, he lifted his head up. No, Pendragon, you will spare him. Your love will save him.

"How can I save him now!?" he shouted up towards the ceiling, "How can my love save him when it's too late! What difference does it make! I failed-…" He broke off, biting back another sob. What Arthur wouldn't give just to let Lancelot live, to watch him open his brown eyes, to hear him breath.

Bowing his head to rest on Lancelot's hand, Arthur closed his eyes, trying to hold back his emotions. His voice was soft, broken, just the way he felt inside, and even the Latin that came off of his tongue didn't sound as beautiful as it had. "Lord God…" Arthur whispered into the bed, "Lancelot is my knight, it is my duty to protect him…my duty to-..as a friend…oh God, please, I beg of you, just so that he might live. You spared me in battle, Lord, and I would reverse that so that he might live. You put him in my life, Lord, it was Your will…and You know what he means to me…Spare my knight-..my brother…" His voice trailed off again, dissolving into tears.

Night came upon them, no one went near that room. The other knights had their own ways of grieving, Lancelot was a terrible loss to bare. Arthur had fallen asleep, exhaustion took his tired body. His head still rested next to his knight's arm; one hand gripped Lancelot's and his other rested on the pillow with his fingers entwined in the dark curls.

A light from the window on the other side of the bed entered in, a single star amid the cloudy night. It shined down upon them softly, not enough to change the lighting of the room. But in the star and candlelight Lancelot suddenly gasped, his eyes springing wide open. He panted for air as if he had run a long race, but his movement failed to wake the sleeping Roman next to him. Lancelot never knew what had happened…but he remembered, the poison. With his free hand he touched the scar on his shoulder, it had healed already? Had he been asleep that long?

Lancelot's dark eyes turned to Arthur…he had left, Lancelot remembered he left. There were tears that had not dried yet on his friend's face. He reached over, softly brushing Arthur's damp cheek. The Roman stirred at the touch, slowly opening his eyes. His breath caught in his throat upon seeing Lancelot's eyes looking up at him; he couldn't speak for a moment. "L-Lancelot!" he finally whispered.

"You came back," Lancelot smiled slowly, but then paused; Arthur still staring at him in shock. A wide, tearful smile broke onto the Roman's face and he pulled Lancelot up into his embrace.

"Lancelot…I thought-..I thought you were…" he said softly, running his hand through the dark curly hair.

The knight shook his head, "No, I'm right here…" The warmth of Arthur's embrace took away the chill of the poison; Lancelot closed his eyes. "Arthur…" he started after sometime, "I had a dream. There was a dragon…" Arthur leaned back, his hand still on the back his friend's neck. "You were hurt, but you fought it…and you won," Lancelot stopped suddenly, reaching one hand to touch the silver pendant with the dragon on it. "Pendragon…" he whispered, and then looked up, "It was real?"

Arthur nodded slowly, "It was real."

"Artorius Castus Pendragon," Lancelot grinned, and then laughed, pulling Arthur close again, "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I," Arthur replied, a wide smile breaking through as he ruffled Lancelot's hair. You shall be remembered as man and myth.

finis