A/N: So...this is it. The end of the road that was this story. I hope you enjoy this last chapter, and really, I hope you enjoyed this whole story. Lol, it's funny now, but the first chapter was actually meant to be a stand-alone one shot story, to cure my boredom. Before I knew it, it was growing and growing and some how managed to turn itself into Gabrieal's story...All of the people who reviewed, I hope you know how much you changed this story! Little dialogue and minor effects—stuff like that. The fact that I did all of it without a beta (anyone interested?), and managed not to totally humiliate myself with careless errors is still beyond me, lol! Thanks again, and now let us finish the tale...

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Damn you, Arthur! Lancelot cursed silently, hands gripping the reins so hard they turned white at the knuckles. Typical Arthur, he just had to spare their lives and send them free, while he shrunk into the distance as a doomed speck of resistance.

Perhaps it was something in the wind, or a distant sound, that made Lancelot's stallion (and all the other horses for that matter) suddenly shy away from the path, whinnying in protest. Lancelot frowned and tried to calm him.

He looked up at the sky. Darn. He'd waited fifteen long years, and then an additional month, and still! Still he was not free! But, Lancelot thought in that one moment, if freedom was leaving Arthur to his death, than he, Lancelot, could not take it. It was better to die for a friend then live leaving him to stand alone.

With a glance at the other knights, he knew at once that they, too, were in agreement, and together, they rode off to fight one last battle for the sake of Arthur.

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Gabrieal couldn't speak.

Cerdic and Cynric stood at the mouth of the army, just waiting for the other side to attack.

For twelve years, Gabrieal had been one with the Saxons. He had ate with them, argued with them, bled with them. But he had never fought with them. Oh, sure, with the Woads, and perhaps a Roman guard or two. But never against Arthur.

But he would today.

Cerdic had told him to watch from the tree. Like a coward. Like the bloody, stinking, coward that he was. But he would not hide! He was not afraid of Arthur! Of Lancelot! Of any one of the remaining five knights!

Many had died.

So many Sarmatians...Gabrieal had watched. He felt no pity, no sympathy. He was beyond that. Perhaps, at one time, long ago, he would have felt guilty. Perhaps he would have regretted all his decisions, everything from the moment he and Lancelot had spoken, on the eve of his leaving. He had—

("Why don't you go away?")

--thought about it many times. It had haunted him. In his dreams he heard the words he spoken, in the wind he heard the replies he had shut out and—

("I can't stay either!")

--he could never ignore them. Never.

But he would fight this day. And if by death of a Sarmatian blade was to be his fate...

So be it.

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The two armies clashed soon after. The Woads of the north arriving to aide Arthur and the five remaining Sarmatian knights. The sky became dark with the rain of flying arrows, blocking out the sun's light. The smoke from the fires poisoned the air and clouded the views. Horses and people alike cried out in pain, or in defiance. And bodies fell at a constant rate, like the steady rhythm of a summer storm.

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Arthur and Cerdic fought, circling each other like a lion stalking her prey. Tristan lay lifeless on the ground not far away, unnoticed as of yet by the other knights, and already mourned by his Roman commander.

The two swords of the two leaders clashed heavily, piercing the air. Arthur knew that he could. Not. Loose. If any battle had meant something, this was it! He was fighting for freedom, for democracy, for the lives of his knights-his brothers! He would not loose!

Minutes upon minutes they fought. The swords clinging and rattling against the other, never ceasing but for a moment to catch breath. And as Arthur fell into the rhythm of battle, his thoughts began to wander...

"The rebels! They've attacked the other part of the city! My mother-,"

"I-I am sorry...For your...er, loss..."

"She wanted to die..."

"I am Lancelot."

"My name is Arthur. You are a knight?"

"Yes."

Yes. He would win this fight, not for himself. Not for Rome. But for those he loved. And Guinevere, Lancelot, the other knights, would see the light of tomorrow's sun. He promised himself he would not let them die!

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Gabrieal swung viciously at every knight and Woad that he could see. He would kill them all! Once again, the sword became his anger, and the enemy became his pain. He kept swinging and swinging, bringing down Woad after Woad. He'd show them! He'd show them all! He was strong! They could not forget about him, yell at him, and try to destroy him without paying a price! HIS price! He was in control, he had power! And so he swung...

That's when he saw it.

Lancelot and Cynric. Fighting to the death. Lancelot's two swords coming down again Cynric's, but he could not seem to win. They battled and battled, hatred running deep within both. But neither could seem to out spar the other. Until some Saxons behind Lancelot distracted him for a moment, and it was all that Cynric needed. Moving quickly, the Saxon dropped his sword next to a dead body of someone, and found a bow, and an arrow.

Gabrieal's eyes widened. So this was it. Lancelot would fall at the hands of a Saxon's arrow, and he would never rise again.

And this was what Gabrieal wanted.

Yes. Yes of course it was. It was what he wanted!

"You need to learn to accept change, Gabrieal. It's part of life..."

"No! I don't want you to go! You can't go!"

"Someday you will understand why..."

"I don't WANT to understand why!"

"Someday you will...learn to...let things go. Move on. Someday, Gabrieal, you will...know what is right, even if you made the wrong choice...you will know...Someday...I promise you...Someday..."

"NO! Adrean! Don't go!"

"NO!"

Gabrieal's shout raised loud and pain-filled over the battleground. He ran faster than he had ever run before, sprinting to Cynric.

"NO!" He shouted again, pushing Cynric away from the bow.

"Get out of my way!" Cynric yelled, furious at him. But Gabrieal unsheathed his sword, holding it high above his head.

"You TRAITOR!" Cynric screamed, retrieving his sword, accepting the challenge. Gabrieal hardly knew what he was doing, but he knew what he had to do. He knew what Adrean would have done.

"I will not-let-you-kill him!" Gabrieal grunted between hits.

But somehow Cynric broke through Gabrieal's parries, slashing his wrist deep, splattering the air with blood.

Gabrieal cried out in pain, and dropped his sword. But Cynric didn't bother killing Gabrieal, he instead turned back to Lancelot.

And Gabrieal could only watch as the arrow pierced Lancelot's chest, how the dark-haired Sarmatian fell to the ground. Somehow, Gabrieal managed to lift his sword, and throw it with all his might at Cynric, and watched as the Saxon, too, fell dead to the ground.

Tears flooded down Gabrieal's face as he dropped his sword to the ground. Backing up slowly, he couldn't tear his gaze from Lancelot's still form.

"I'm sorry." He whispered with a shaking voice. "I'm so sorry!" He shouted, breaking into sobs. He turned and ran.

He had failed! He had failed them all! Joined the enemy when the only people who would have cared fell under his traitorous words!

It was all his fault! All of it!

"Someday you will...learn to...let things go."

He dropped to his knees in the forest, head in his hands, sobs racking his body mercilessly.

"Someday you will understand."

And Gabrieal suddenly did.

Finis

(Epilogue coming soon!)