A/N: Sorry about the format; when I originally posted this chapter, I had some issues with the look of it. Hopefully I can get that taken care of soon! As always, I own nothing I am writing about, I'm just borrowing them; I promise to give them back...when I'm done...Enjoy! Anni

"Lancelot, wake up!"

"What?"

"We're here!"
"Where's here?"
"Rome!"
Lancelot stood up so fast that for a few seconds the world spun around him like a top. Steadying himself seconds later, Lancelot followed Galahad out of the tent.
"S'big, isn't it?" One of the others commented.
"Crowded too, look at all those people riding about. It's a wonder they don't hit each other." Another replied.
"How long have we been here?" Lancelot asked Galahad quietly, looking down from atop the hill. From his birds-eye-view lay buildings and buildings, all bustling with impatient activity. Horses and people were everywhere, some talking, most focused on their duties and jobs.
"Since last night. It was so dark, and we were so tired, that I guess nobody noticed." Galahad answered eagerly. "Except for Tristan..." He added as an afterthought. Another boy snorted.
"He'd notice if a worm moved under the ground. I swear he's got eyes like a hawk." The boy, Lancelot remembered, was called Bors, and he was older than most of them. Tall and stocky, he proved threatening to the younger boys like Galahad.
"How far is it, do you think, Gabriael?" The one called Gawain asked. Gabriael ran a hand through his dark red hair and sighed dramatically. "Half a days ride, perhaps. If we start off soon."
"Then why don't we?" Galahad piped up eagerly.
"Are the soldiers ready?" Galaghway, another Sarmatian, wondered out loud.
"Of course not. The sun has barely risen." Gawain rolled his eyes.
Lancelot stood off from the others. They were so close to Rome now, so close he could just make out the breads in the bakery stands. Some, like Galahad, could not wait to get started and ride down to greet their new life. But Lancelot was not so eager and it seemed to him that Rome may not be either.
He casually stepped away, back to where his horse grazed happily in the dew-sprinkled grass. "Are you ready for Rome?" He whispered to the animal, then immediately looked behind him, hoping that he had not been seen talking to his horse. It was something he was accustomed to, but that remained his secret.
"Do not worry. You were not seen."
Lancelot was too used to this to be startled, and only stroked his horse's mane. "Except by you." He said to Tristan.
The two boys stood in silence for a little while. Each preoccupied with his own thoughts, one darker than the other's.
"Why do you not stand with the others?" Lancelot asked, not looking at Tristan.

Truth be told he thought that he knew the answer, but he was not a fan of awkward silences, and the other Sarmatian was not going to break it anytime soon.
"Why do you not?" Said Tristan.
Lancelot frowned. "I am not as eager as they are."
"You do not wish to go to Rome."
It was a statement. Not a question. And he was right.

"No." Answered Lancelot honestly, looking at the sky.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0- They galloped down the hill, slowing down to a walk as the land became even again. The grass here was as green as Lancelot had ever seen it back home. The ground going on and on until it met the city. A river meandered through the dirt, sparkling in the morning's sun. Lancelot grew tired as the day wore on, choosing to study the passing landscapes as to avoid falling asleep on horseback. The river had opened up to a small lake, where women chatted merrily with small buckets of water, and men stood at a distance with their horses.
It was then that Lancelot became aware of a boy around his own age standing not so far away. His hair was light brown, almost golden, and he stood solemnly next to a man in dark robes.
Their eyes connected at that moment, even as the rain began to fall from the skies, and the line of young Sarmatians moved on. Lancelot did not, could not, smile, but he did feel something he had let go of miles ago. A tinge of hope.
And then they moved on and the other boy whose name Lancelot did not know disappeared in the distance.
He was not aware that he would never forget the day that was rolling past him now like the grasses lifted by the wind.
But as their neared their resting point, he was aware of the screams that had suddenly pierced the air. Of the cries of anger echoing through the countryside. Of the sudden snorting, whinnying, and shying of the horses.
And of the sword aimed at his throat. -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
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