"We'll make camp here."
Lancelot slid off his horse, eyes nearly shutting with exhaustion and hunger. It had been a long, cold ride all day, and he had been riding with only a brief pause for mid time meal.
Leading his black horses away from the main activity, Lancelot released him to graze of what remained of the frozen blades of grass.
He wanted only to sink down into his warm bed back home, and to hear his mother singing little Mara to sleep in the mattress next to him. Father would be in the next room, poking at the fire, sometimes drinking a little, but never too much of the ale that was available.
But Lancelot was here.
And it mattered little what his family was doing, at least in the physical sense. All that left for him to do was unwrap some of the bread and take the merciless ground and cotton blanket for a bed.
"It's going to rain again."
Lancelot jumped at the sudden noise, dropping his bread on the ground. Scowling, his picked it up hastily and swung around.
"What?" He asked impatiently, taking in the boy who looked to be his age. Rather shaggy gray-brown hair stretched down to just below his ears, accompanied by a thin face and lean body, and all-knowing brown eyes.
But the boy seemed not to answer Lancelot's question, as he eyed the bread. "How much have you got left?"
Lancelot stared at the other boy for a moment, before acknowledging the question. "Um, just a few more pieces."
The boy nodded wisely. "What is your age?"
"Thirteen," said Lancelot, flustered.
"That makes me older by two years."
"Oh." Said Lancelot, at a supreme loss for words.
"Yeah, we're all about the same age here."
"Who?"
The boy motioned to the other Sarmatians making camp. "All of the new Roman knights."
Lancelot nodded shortly, before taking a small bite out of his bread. The boy was odd, that much he could tell.
"I am Tristan." He stated, looking square into Lancelot's eyes.
"I'm Lancelot," said Lancelot.
"Is that your horse?" Tristan queried, looking at a black horse standing by a tall tree.
"No, that's Baruss. He's Galahad's." Answered Lancelot, remembering the younger boy, and all the fantasies about his horse.
"Ah."
Lancelot stood uncomfortably. He dimly registered that it was rude to eat in front of someone, but he somehow guessed that Tristan did not care.
It was like that at first for a few moments.
A few minutes.
Minutes and moments that turned into a period of time that neither spoke. Lancelot finished his bread, and played with his pendant a little bit.
"Hoy! Lancelot!" Called a voice merrily.
Lancelot sighed in relief when he saw that it was Galahad.
"Come here and see the view! I think I can see my mother!"
Lancelot laughed out loud, he had been so preoccupied, that he had failed to see that they had reached the top of the largest hill in the land. As a young lad, Lancelot had wondered what the view was like from the peak of the precipice. Ironic how he would finally see it when it really didn't matter anymore.
But nonetheless he wished to go see it.
He turned quickly, remembering at only the last second that Tristan was still standing looking at him.
"Do you want to come and see?" Lancelot offered, hesitantly.
Tristan studied him a little before answering. "I choose not to remember the past when it does so little for the future."
"Oh. Right." Said Lancelot, pretending to understand.
"Well then," he said, "I'll be seeing you, I guess..."
And he turned to go.
"Wait, Lancelot." Tristan called softly. "I will go."
Lancelot never asked why Tristan had a sudden change of heart. All he knew was that the strange boy two years elder to him was standing next to him atop the hill. Galahad at his other side. And next to them stood others; other young boys taken so young from their homeland, to become a Roman knight.
And from the top of the hill, they could see it.
They could see home.
Perhaps this was why none but one chose to look forward, and forget about what lay behind for a few moments. For he noticed something that mattered much more to him than the home he would not see for fifteen years. For something else was across the distance before him.
A great city, tall and looming.
It had to be Rome. Where they were going.
But Tristan walked away, leaving his comrades laughing and smiling tearfully at their home.
They would find out soon enough.
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Right, so, please review! Thank you sooo much VK for reviewing! You're so kind!