It had been two years.
Two years of triumph. Of victory.
Two years filled with pain and blood and sweat and tears and a whole lot of memories that Lancelot never wanted to remember for the rest of his days.
There were now less of them.
There were too many dead.
But, Lancelot thought, there were still too many alive.
"We ride 'till dawn." Arthur shouted above the din of his knights.
And he had grown, too. They all had.
"What?" Somebody shouted from behind Lancelot. "We've been riding all day already! What are you trying to do, kill us before we even reach battle?"
It was Gabrieal.
For years Lancelot had known the headstrong, arrogant, reckless little tramp with his light brown wavy hair, and his piercing green eyes that more often shone with bitterness and anger than they did with life. Gabrieal was a loner. But not by choice, like Tristan. Gabrieal seemed to want to fit in with his fellow knights, but they would not accept him, and he would not accept them.
Arthur turned his horse around abruptly, and only Lancelot's quick reflexes stopped his horse from starting in fear. The Sarmatian could see the fury in the Roman's eyes, but-as usual-it was gone in an instant.
Arthur trotted up towards Gabrieal's black mount, and looked him in the eye.
"Good men," he started, his voice thick with conviction and determination that Lancelot marveled at. "Good men have died beside you! Good men have bled from their wounds beside you! Good men, my men! Have died for this land! My land! Do you honestly think that I choose to honor them by murdering their own kin?"
Gabrieal stared defiantly back, never blinking.
"Good men have died! Yes, they have! They've died because of you! You and your country! If it wasn't for Rome, then we would all be back home, and free!" Gabrieal's voice shook with emotion. The other knights had stopped riding, quietly watching commander and knight. "Every knight here knows it! Every man you lead, Arthur, knows that you care not of them! Not of their lives! But the benefit that Rome will receive! If I am the only one brave enough to speak the truth, then so be it! But I will not hear you speak to me as if I have some duty to Rome! Because I did not, I do not, and I never will!"
It was silent.
Arthur looked back at Gabrieal, a mixture of shock, shame, and anger on his face. And Gabrieal looked back at him, his face a portrait of pure, and utter fury. It was almost scary.
And then suddenly Arthur turned and his horse took its place back at the front of the line.
They began to walk again.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Later that night, Lancelot sat by the fire with Galahad and Tristan. They didn't speak, only stared at the flames.
The crickets chirped from somewhere far away, and the chilly air was so quiet, it was too loud, and Lancelot wanted to scream out in frustration.
"He was right." Galahad whispered suddenly. The sound of his voice cut the air like a knife through butter.
"What?" Lancelot replied, frowning at his comrade.
Galahad dropped his gaze to the crackling blaze again. And it was awhile before he spoke again.
"Gabrieal. What he said today on the trail. He was right."
Lancelot suddenly wished the silence was back, for the words he had just heard were so loud. It was deafening.
He didn't remember standing up, didn't remember crossing the campsite to Galahad, but suddenly he was standing there before the other knight.
And one of his swords was drawn.
"How dare you!" Lancelot demanded angrily, eyes narrowed, their black color glittering dangerously.
Galahad looked at the sword in Lancelot's hand, and then looked into his eyes, shock evident on his face.
But Tristan had also noticed, and was there in an instant. He yanked Lancelot away and pushed him back.
"Put it away."
But Lancelot remembered the look on Arthur's face. The shame. It was the first time he had ever seen it there. And then to think (to think!) that Galahad actually agreed with Gabrieal! The bastard!
"Lancelot! Put it down."
He lowered the sword.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Gabrieal swore in every language he had ever learned, cussing to every holy figure he had ever head trace of.
Because it was not fair! Nothing was!
And it served Arthur right to be humiliated in front of his men! Served him right! It was his fault! The Romans' fault! Everyone's fault!
And he kicked as hard as he could at a fallen log.
Swearing again as sharp pain exploded near his toe, Gabrieal couldn't help but chuckle at the dead log.
It was a dark laugh. An angry laugh. One that had been used far to little, and now was being forced to change into something alien.
Because Gabrieal laughed at the dead log.
It had once been a great tree.
Probably taller than the others.
Heck, this tree was never even an acorn. No. That'd be far too ordinary for this tree.
But it had fallen.
Fallen like everything does.
Crashed to the forest floor, leaves flying everywhere. The were free for now, but they'd soon be dead too, Gabrieal laughed again. They couldn't survive without all the things the tree had provided.
And then by the light of the almost full moon, where even the light of the stars did not reach him through the thick canopy of leaves,
Gabrieal laughed again.
He was laughing at everything.
For the home that he'd never known. For the father who had beat him. For the mother who had called him worthless. For the family that had hated him. For all the people he had tried to fit in with, who left him behind.
Because he was worthless.
In their eyes.
But one day he'd show them. All of them!
And then he laughed.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The only person who saw the Saxons following them at a distance, arrows raised, would not go tell Arthur.
Because the only person who saw the Saxons, was dead the moment they realized who was following.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-TBC-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
I am so incredibly sorry for the wait! PLEASE forgive me! I was lazy, forgetful, and had an awful case of writer's block.
I hope I am forgiven...And how's this: I'll now tell you the day the next chapter will be posted.
Next Chapter: April 15th.
A HUGE thanks to all my reviewers! I hope I have pleased you in some small way.