A/N: Kay does not belong to me, but to Emily. You can read more about him in her beautiful story 'The Truth', which you can find right here at fanfiction . net - her penname is FlowerGirlEM. I used Kay with Em's permission.

Lancelot had not just looked for his second sword the day after, but every day they passed the field where the battle had taken place. He knew it would not be there, but he searched around with his eyes anyway. A feeling of sadness nagged at him every time. Life had continued as always. Lancelot joked around with Bors as always, teasing the burly knight every time he talked proudly about his Gilly. He made fun of Galahad when his mare went off on her own yet again. As always, he turned any and all practice sessions into duels. He still thrived everytime they engaged in battle even with just one sword. But not everything was the same, and not everyone was fooled by Lancelot's act.

Arthur walked through the grass that was glistening with thousands, millions of small dewdrops that had appeared in the crisp fall morning. The Roman had been searching the fortress for some time already for his second in command, but had been unable to find Lancelot. The Sarmatian's bed was obviously not slept in. Arthur had expected to find Lancelot's black stallion missing from it's stall, but it had whinnied happily when he had approached. Finally, he had spotted his best friend on the hill at the cemetery when he had climbed the battlements. It had taken a moment before he had been able to distinguish the contours of the dark knight from the shadows of the tree Lancelot was sitting against. Arthur had nearly reached him before the Sarmatian acknowledged his presence.

Arthur sat down quietly next to Lancelot, looking at the orange globe that was appearing in the east. The sun cast a warm glow across the graves before them, enhancing the eery sight of the many swords sticking out from the earth, marking the last resting places of fallen knights, lost friends. The light reflected off the blades which were shining like they were cleaned on a daily basis.

Lancelot's own sword – one of the twin swords – was sticking out of the ground as well between his feet. His hand was lying loosely on the black handle with the gold ornaments, his arm resting on his knee.

Arthur remained silent and waited until Lancelot would speak. The sight before him worried the Roman greatly. Lancelot's dark eyes had sunk deep within their sockets with fatigue.

"Twenty-one." Lancelot's voice was low but clear in the early morning air.

Arthur knew what Lancelot was referring to but kept silent.

"When will it end? Seven more until we are all killed? Or even more after that?" Lancelot did not attempt to hide the hurt in his voice.

"I don't know," Arthur replied honestly. "I pray to God every day that at least the six of you are spared. Enough blood has been shed." The Roman openly shared the grief that Lancelot was showing.

When Lancelot fell silent once again, Arthur asked, "Why did you come here?"

The dark knight closed his eyes briefly. He shook his head as to clear his mind before he opened them again. He sighed heavily. "It feels like it's closer to home than any other place on this island. So many old friends, so many lost friends…"

Arthur's gaze unconsciously traveled towards a grave at the edge of the cemetery, completely covered with grass, a long small sword sticking out. Kay's grave. A quick glance at Lancelot told Arthur that the Sarmatian's memories were on Kay as well.

Lancelot had been remembering all of the fun, sad, happy, special moments he had shared with many of the knights buried in front of him since he had sat down against the tree. Kay had occupied a lot of his thoughts. Only a few years older than himself, Kay had taken Lancelot under his wings when the Romans had taken him away from his parents, his family, his village, his tribe. He had been like an older brother to him. He had protected him. It had shaken Lancelot to his core when Kay was killed by a Woad arrow through his throat.

"Why did you come here?" Lancelot asked hardly audible, returning Arthur's question.

"I'm worried about you. You've not been the same the past week."

Lancelot looked up in surprise.

"You might seem the same from the outside, but not from the inside," Arthur continued. His eyes met Lancelot's. "I know you, my friend. Your heart isn't behind the jokes you share with the others. You haven't spend one evening at the tavern until the last jars of ale were finished. You've missed breakfast several times. The women throughout the entire fortress are complaining about your lack of attention."

A slight smile curled Lancelot's lips at Arthur's feeble attempt at a joke.

"But most of all, I've missed our talks while on patrol. You're there, but you're not really there…" Arthur's voice was thick with concern which was mirrored on his face.

Lancelot sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "I don't have a lot of home left. Only the pendant my sister gave me, and my swords… Only one sword now, less than half of a pair," he tried to explain himself. He rubbed his hands over his face, his eyes, the exhaustion in him growing, bringing his feelings closer to the surface. Arthur's friendship warmed him thoroughly, making his emotions even more raw.

Arthur pointed towards the graves in front of the both of them. "Each and everyone of them would be honored if you pulled their sword out of the earth and used it. Kay especially…" he said trying to soothe the distressed knight next to him.

Lancelot shook his head. "No. I know you're right, and if I were to pick any of them, it would be Kay's, but no. My father made these swords. I don't want another. I'll manage with one," he answered determined.

Arthur placed a hand on Lancelot's shoulder. "I know you'lll manage with one. You're my best swordsman, even with only one sword. I don't know what else to offer. I just want you to find some peace of heart again."

"I don't understand how it could be gone, why it would be gone…" Lancelot said thoughtfully, shuddering with foreboding and cold.

Arthur nodded pensively. He had wondered the same thing over and over again. Gently he rubbed his hand over Lancelot's shoulder. "You've been here all night, haven't you? How about some breakfast? Something warm maybe to chase the chill out of your bones?"

The Roman pushed himself to his feet. Lancelot stood as well, using the tree for support as his cramped muscles adjusted to being used again. Slowly they made their way down the hill back to the fortress where everyone else was awakening as well.