Tristan was nearly silent when he entered Lancelot's room later that night. He cast one glance at the other knight, taking in the thick bandage draping over Lancelot's chest, and his pale complexion.

But Tristan was only looking for one thing, and he found it on a table across the room. The two twin blades lay next to each other, their dangerous sides glinting in the candle light.

Still so very quiet, Tristan placed Gabrieal's dagger next to the other weapons. He studied them with a puzzled frown.

The three blades were identical.

-0-0-0-0-0-Elevan Years Later-0-0-0-0-0-

"As promised," said Gawain. "The Bishop's carriage."

Galahad grinned. "Our freedom, Bors."

"Mmmm..." Said Bors thoughtfully. "I can almost taste it."

Gawain smiled genuinely. "Your passage to Rome, Arthur."

Later that night, Lancelot found himself alone in his quarters. The others were down at the tavern, but Lancelot felt strangely bittersweet on the eve of his freedom. It wasn't at all what he had always pictured himself feeling like.

Sighing, the Sarmatian decided to go for a quick ride before turning in for the night and dreaming of home.

He made his way down to the stables and greeted his horse. The black stallion threw back his head and whinnied in hello. Lancelot chuckled, and cast a look to the right. Baruss was still the playful brown horse he was fifteen years ago.

Lancelot urged his horse into a canter and breathed in deeply the air of the land that he hated.

On and on he rode, going no place in particular, just riding. On and on and on...

He didn't notice that he was being watched.

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"We are three days march from great Wall. If we camp at night-"

"We won't camp." Said Cynric. "The wall...what troops are stationed there?"

Gabrieal shifted a little, trying to hide his unease. "Light Roman infantry. And possibly Sarmatian knights. Arthur Castus is their leader."

Cerdic looked interested. "Arthur..."

Gabrieal felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Lancelot was still riding.

"You're out late." Said a voice.

Lancelot reacted so quickly, it would have startled any other man. He pulled out his swords and held them high, ready to fight.

"Who are you?"

The speaker stepped out of the woods casually.

Lancelot groaned. "Tristan!"

The other Sarmatian smiled slightly. "Lancelot."

Lancelot replaced his swords and rolled his eyes. "What is it that you want, Tristan? I was busy."

"Busy doing what, exactly?" Said Tristan, and Lancelot could have sworn that he raised an eyebrow as he said this.

"Thinking."

Tristan nodded, suddenly solemn. "You want to be free, and tomorrow you will be. So your heart is glad and relieved. But it is also sorrowful. You do not wish to leave Arthur; he is your best friend, and you are disgusted with the other Romans. You are also jealous," he ignored Lancelot's look that was steadily growing more angry. "Of Guinevere. You fear that she is taking your place, and that Arthur will forget you when you leave. And you still feel guilty."

Lancelot dismounted stiffly. He walked briskly over to Tristan. "And how exactly did you come by this information, hm?" He asked harshly.

"It was obvious." Tristan replied airily.

"Was it? And what exactly am I still feeling guilty about? Tell me, please, as I am quite confused by your words."

He laughed bitterly.

But Tristan nodded slowly, and continued. "Gabrieal." Lancelot's expression turned from cocky, to sour. "You feel guilty that you let him go, that you allowed him to give everything up...Because he is from your tribe."

"What?" Lancelot hissed sharply.

"Were you not aware?" Tristan said, looking mildly surprised. "I saw his dagger-it matched your swords identically."

"That doesn't mean...They could have been...Any swords could be...HE'S NOT FROM MY TRIBE!" Lancelot sputtered angrily.

"Why do you deny this?" Tristan asked calmly.

Lancelot wanted to scream. Because everything Tristan said had been true! How did he always know? Always!

"I'm not denying anything!" Lancelot shouted.

"Then he is from your tribe?"

"YES! Yes he is! His family died in a...fire, when we were eight. Before that...I guess...We were friends? But not really. He didn't want any friends. Our entire village was burned to the ground, we lost everything. Except for my family, and a few others made it out. But so many died! I tried to help others-,"

(no you didn't you would have left your family behind)

"-But I was only eight! I couldn't even manage to save myself! Gabrieal was lucky, he wasn't in his hut at the time. I still don't know what he was doing. Nothing good, I'm sure. But when he returned, and saw the flames...He called out to me, asking me to help him save his parents-,"

(Lancelot! My parents! Help, help! I can't do it alone!)

"-But I," Lancelot broke off suddenly. He fought back tears furiously. "But I bloody couldn't!"

(you failed him you failed him)

Tristan was still silent.

"His family died...Because I wasn't there to save them. And Gabrieal died too, that day. Maybe not physically. But he hasn't been the same since." Lancelot suddenly looked desperately to Tristan. "But you have to understand! He's not all bad. He's made bad choices, but..."

And Lancelot found that he could not finish.

(you failed him twice not once twice)

"How can I go home knowing that I failed him, again?"

And Tristan sighed deeply, knowing that Lancelot already knew the answer.

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Gabrieal struggled to breath against the stronghold of Cynric's choking grasp. "One man! A tiny fly on the back of your great army!"

But Arthur, he knew, was much more than a tiny fly.

They would meet tomorrow. And Gabrieal feared what he would see tomorrow at this time.

It began to rain.

Lines taken from King Arthur

-0-0-0-TBC-0-0-0-

A/N: Ok, next update, most of you know at least a little bit of what should happen. Hope I didn't disappoint! Thanks for the great reviews!

Always,

Analey :)