Author's Note: okay, I know I've been gone a VERY long time, and I just wanted to take this moment to apologize for that. I know how it is when I'm enjoying a story and the author takes FOREVER to update, so I can understand how frustrated you all must be with me right now, and I also understand if no one out there is interested in this story anymore. The good news is I've updated, and plan on updating more frequently! The bad news is that the updates will not be long ones (as you'll see in this chapter). I was in a pretty brutal car accident that really messed up my back, and so have been forced to not use the computer for typing for about 2 months. I can sit and type now, but not for extended periods of time-hence the short chapters...There is a chance I will recover soon, and be able to do almost everything I could before, but I have to take it easy for now...but you probably don't want to hear my sob story, so I'll stop now!

THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!! You really have no idea how wonderful it was to come back and find all of your wonderful messages waiting for me. You guys really pushed me to get back into writing, so this chapter is dedicated to the following-you helped me more then you'll ever know:

Gryffendor-seeker, excaliber2, ellelovemax, szhismine, celeb5, lusiphina, goody (no, I just found the name Mathurin from an index of old Sarmatian names...I haven't got the chance to see master and commander yet, so I found that so funny that someone in the movie has that name!!), brokenskye, Kristen z, allegra, Xcaliber, HGandRHforever, Jemiul, and Shauna (I always love your reviews so much, you are too funny!! :) )

Alright, here's chapter five for everyone who's been kind enough to come back and read...

Chapter Five

For the third time he slipped and fell, and for the third time he struggled to his knees, and then to his feet again. Breathing hard, he felt the frosted air pierce his lungs and was aware that if he fell a fourth time, he would not be able to get up on his own again. His hands were bound behind his back with thick, coarse twine, and propelling him forward was another piece of twine looped round his neck and attached to the pommel of Osric's horse. The first time he had fallen he had lain immobile for a moment, trying to catch his breath, but the Saxon had simply kept riding-if anything, he rode faster. His throat still burned from where the twine had cut into his flesh as Osric dragged him along the uneven frozen ground, slowly strangling him until he had hoarsely shouted for him to stop.

Osric had stopped that first time, and turned his horse around to ride back to where Lancelot lay gasping for breath, which was coming in painful mouthfuls past his flaming throat. The brute stood above his prone figure and smiled sadistically, coiling the now slack twine around his gloved hand.

"What was that?" concentrating solely on getting oxygen into his body, Lancelot didn't answer, and once Osric grew tired of waiting for a response he sharply pulled the twine lead. Lancelot gave out a strangled cry of protest as his head was violently yanked up, cutting in again into the soft flesh of his neck, and he struggled to move to his knees to loosen the strain on his neck. As he floundered in the snow, fighting for breath- fighting for life- Osric leaned down on his horse and spoke in an eerily calm voice.

"What...was...that?" Knowing that the only way to end this horrific episode was to play along, Lancelot finally choked out

"I-I asked you to stop-" Osric cut off his words with a sharp jerk of the cord, and leaned back in his saddle. Contrasting his aggressively violent behavior with a few light tisks, as though he was reprimanding a small child, Osric spoke again,

"You forgot something," Growing steadily more angry and frustrated with the situation, Lancelot sat seething with anger trying to think of what he could have possibly forgot. When it came to him, his eyes sparked with hateful fire, and he glared up at the Saxon above him, who saw the realization in Lancelot's eyes and smiled cruelly down. "Well?" He inquired. Lancelot could feel the malicious grins of the other Saxons who had stopped to watch the confrontation; he felt their joy at his misery like brands on his skin. He ignored them, directing all of his hate toward the man in front of him. He knew what Osric wanted him to say, the word burned with acid in his mouth and his pride kept it there.

Unfortunately pride can be conquered with physical pain, and with another jarring rip at his neck, Lancelot spit the word out, every fiber of his being telling him not to, and every fiber of his hating himself for giving into his bodily pain.

"Master," he said harshly, hanging his head in shame. But the Saxon wouldn't let it go at that. He pulled the rope again and called for him to speak up. And again compelled to do so through physical pain, he shouted the word, the word that encompassed everything he hated, the word that finalized the loss of his freedom.

"MASTER!" Osric smiled and let the rope go slack, and the other Saxons laughed, the sound of which was a dagger into his wounded pride. He sat motionless, every inch of himself radiating hate and fury. He wanted to rip through his bonds and slaughter every single one of them. But instead he looked darkly up at Osric, whose grin had grown wider and who said loudly to the men listening,

"You see? Any dog can be broken!" As the Saxon army roared with laughter and began to walk again, he turned to Lancelot again, and barked at him to get on his feet, before riding forward, allowing the rope to slowly straighten out, and forcing Lancelot to scramble to his feet to avoid being strangled again. He had fallen again, it was inevitable, but he had learned to get up quickly before the rope could be pulled taut. But now after the last fall he began to realize that he wouldn't last much longer. His rage had been chilled with the cold, and now all he cared about was living to see another day. They had not given him back his cloak or armor, so nothing stood between his bare skin and the deathly cold but a thin wool shirt. On top of the fact that he was painfully freezing to death, was the realization that he was not well.

He knew now that he should not have fought the battle at Hadrian's Wall, that he should have listened to Arthur when he told him to stay behind, and now he mentally cursed his pride and self-assuredness. But there wasn't much time for mental berating, because his mind had suddenly become very light and muddled. He found he couldn't think very clearly and his eyes were become bleary from more then the cold.

He blinked drowsily to clear his vision as he stumbled along through the snow, desperately trying to put one foot in front of the other. Suddenly now everything seemed to be clearly defined, as though he was seeing the world under a bright light. Beads of sweat escaped from with his mass of black curls and trickled down his forehead. He coughed and wheezed and tried to breath, but slowly felt his chest constricting. He struggled to remain upright, but felt himself falling forward. The world shone even brighter for one quick moment before blackening as he slipped away from it.

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See, I told you is was short :S if you still want me to continue, let me know and I will update asap...if no one's interested I'll take the hint...it might burn the ego a bit, but it'll give me time to rest my back... :) sorry again for the wait...