Roman Legion

Note: If you've read my stuff before, then you know this. I don't portray all characters in the light most would like, but it's MY stories, so please no flames about Lancelot's attitude. Its how I like to write, input is nice, but disrespect isn't. SO please keep that in mind. And if you've read any of my other fics, then you know I enjoy writing about Lancelot, because his attitude is so simple to mold and create and explosive situation.

Italics mean either a memory, a future occurrence, or a thought.

SO this story fits in after Beautiful Disaster, and before Fondness...lol if you can get that.

One

"Don't leave me." A low husky voice called out in the darkness of the night. Small glimpses of the moon crept threw the shielded window, covered with a sheet. Her face, olive toned while his armor shook, the noise ringing in the small chambers. His fiery eyes traced to her body, she lay, under a thick fur blanket, her legs peeking from underneath it. His rough body slowly began undone, her eyes calling for him to move faster.

"I wouldn't dare," Chills drove over her glowing skin when his deep voice responded, her body could barely contain her emotions as he knelt to her side, his eyes never once blinking.

Lifting her fragile fingers, her warmth floated over him, as she touched his cheek. He let out a muffled groan, as her lips met his. She needed him, in every sense of the word. And as he finally gave himself to her, all of the things she had to deal with had vanished with his rough touch.

The night didn't hold enough stars and she begged for more time with him. But he promised to return in the later hours of the evening as dawn approached. Her hair, now tangled, in loose curls with glimmering blonde highlights bleeding from the light now released in the room as the sun knocked at their window. Standing up, he placed his armor back on, not drawing his eyes to her face, knowing she was call him back to bed.

And like that, Lancelot was gone.

The air was thick, and the uneasy feeling was becoming more current as Roman Legion entered the outpost stationed by Artorius Castus and his Sarmatian Knights. The gates constantly opened, and Arthur began to allow it more frequent, hoping his beloved friend Lana would come home.

She was closer to him than most, and known as the great warrior's sister. With no blood between them, they simply grew together, and formed a bond which no one could question. And like his fellow Knights, Lana had become a key ingredient to Arthur's happiness. Yet in a deal with Rome, she was taken to the land, and prodded for information and tactics on how the Knight where so unstoppable. And with the Roman's entrance, each time they hopes were high for Lana to return.

Yet with each slip of the gates, her long brown hair never appeared until ten months later. Which leads us today.

The flames on the burning candles sucked the wax from the stick, daring to take their life while the Knights, gathered around the table. Arthur, sat in his exact seat, as tradition all of the men sat in the same seat...Almost as if it was lucky, or held some sort of powers.

The morning was grim, to say the least. Gray clouds threatened the gardeners, while the sun attempted to bleach the sky, but always second to the clouds. A bitter breeze came down from the south, and the winter like weather in late autumn reminded many of snow.

The dank hallway, leading Fortress hall held paintings, those of importance to Arthur, and Rome. All the Knights ignored them, spitting at the ground as the golden laced images mocked them. Tristan didn't mind fighting, but everyone else wanted to leave this hell. And the green lacer underneath the scorned paintings held the imprints of bricks with the flickering of flames repeating down the hall. The long walk to the round table always held mix feelings, along with many alcoholic drinks, stories to tell, and business to be arranged. Lancelot seemed to be the last to enter, as all the men stared, as if he needed an explanation. But he was adored by Arthur, a man which Arthur could never be - so his explanation was never needed.

But his moments of concentration had vanished, as her face lifted from the glass of water, and over to his brilliant eyes. He could feel his throat tense up, and his heart eliminate any normal beating. All she could do was give him a usual stare, as though he was an enemy. Locking his jaw tightly, Lancelot blinked away her face, before sitting a seat away from her.

Taking a quick sip of her water, Lana lowered her breath while Arthur spoke.

"Seems Rome believes at the East their men have been ambushed, and thus lost a valuable cargo." Arthur said as Bors grunted with a harsh laugh.

"Let'em clean their own mess!" He shouted as Galahad, Gawain and the others laughed. Arthur smirked, his eyes lighting up as the seriousness disappeared from the room, yet Lana and Lancelot weren't laughing, the tense between them was apparent.

"They wish it to be retrieved within three nights." Lana interrupted their laughter, hoping to silence the rowdy crowd, the more the Knights stared at her, the more they could notice Rome in her eyes. She'd been stuck in Arthur's dream city for far too long if you asked them. Bors believed Rome was 'eating away at her soul', stealing the fire Lana was known for. As their voices left the table, she continued. "As soon as the cargo is returned, I shall accompany it back to Rome."

"Lana!" Bors demanding voice called everyone to his attention as she perked up her ears and her face became softer to the naked eye. "Drink!" Bors continued as Lana rolled her eyes before leaning back in her chair.

Entertained, Arthur watched, his sister was grown though still so young and held her child attributes. When things didn't go her way, her posture failed and her patients could break.

"Bors, as this is a simple mission to you, this is my reputation, as well as Arthur's. If that cargo is lost, stolen, or ruined, not only will is be on my shoulders, but you will no longer gain the benefits from Rome." thus she meant no wine, no well-made clothing, and no more of that chocolate Bors fancied so much.

"Benefits?" Galahad hollered, his face red from the word 'Rome', he was young, several years behind Lana and his idea of Rome was twisted. And as much as Lana hated Rome, she didn't have time to be anger over it. "What have we gained from Rome besides a field full of dead and scars to tell our children?" The table was getting rowdy, and Arthur, Lancelot and Lana held the same stern face. But all of them had different perception of why they weren't joining in.

Arthur, calm and cool allowed Galahad and the men to vent. After all, it was their blood being spilt on the grass for Rome.

Lancelot saw no point to the argument he'd rather drink, even if it was only nine.

Lana on the other hand would rather get through the morning without hollering with Galahad. She had duties, and as much as she wanted to scream over Rome, she had things to do.

"We have three days!" Lana shouted before pushing herself up with the help of the engraved table top, their names written in a dead language and varnished in a dark brown. As her chair fell behind her, Lana's apparent temper hadn't silenced with her months in Rome, as her face stayed hissing at Galahad.

"Hush Galahad," Gawain whispered, but his voice was deep enough for everyone to hear. With her cheeks crimson, and her fists clenched, Lana walked out with a purpose, and the Knights looking on. When the words escaped Gawain's lips, Galahad followed Lana's lead, and exited the hall, his feet stomping all the way.

"Tempers," Lancelot said before a sharp laugh, mimicking his young friends. Arthur raised his brow, his face seemingly shocked by the outburst. Lana had only arrived hours ago, and managed to create an dispute.

"I'm glad she missed us," Arthur muttered sarcastically, he knew Lana wished to have the mission done with to spend time with everyone, although it didn't seem like it. Galahad on the other hand was tired, and sick, yet there was no need to quarrel. "We'll leave mid-day,"