"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."-Gandhi
-0-0-Epilogue-0-0-
A young man sits atop a field overlooking the cemetery. His handsome features are creased in a sadness too deep to ever be rid of, his sharp blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
He watches black smoke rise up from the funeral being held, and his grieving eyes closes as if he can not bare to watch. To remember.
For hours he sits there, eyes staring out into nothing, just looking past fields of grazing horses. Long after the funerals are ended, long after the sun had dropped low in the sky, he finally rises. His hands lay motionless at his side, and they curl slightly, as if they are not used to being freed from iron fists.
He feels no anger, now. No fury. He is finally freed, it seems, from the steal chains binding him to vengeanceful longing. And so he walks down the hill and through the fields, until he stands not far from the graves.
It does not take him long to realize that he is not alone. Another man crouches beside the only grave without a sword, but he does not weep.
They stand like that for awhile. Neither sure of the other's presence, and so silence is the only noise above the cries of birds.
"Why did you do it?" The man crouching says, finally looking the other's way. His green eyes are dry, but they are mourning deep inside. His blonde hair is tangled and wavy, clearly untamed.
The other is quiet for a while, choosing not to answer for fear of the wrong answer.
"I'm sorry." He says finally, and he means it. Oh! He means it! Tears threaten to come, but he is strong, and fights them back. He will not cry.
"I.." the crouched man began, and the other cringes internally, terrified of what he will hear.
"I don't know why you did that. Why you tried to save him. You've spent all these years trying to kill him."
The other swallows heavily. "I never wanted him to die."
There is silence again.
"Arthur will not smile, not even for Guinevere. I didn't see it happen. I only saw what came after, but Bors did. He says you tried to stop that blasted Saxon but..." The crouching one shook his head slowly.
"I am sorry. To everyone." The other says again. Because he does not know what else there is to say.
Once again silence fills the darkening air.
But then the one crouching stands, and looks directly at the other. He nods again, and the corners of his mouth curve upward ever so slightly.
"I forgive you, Gabrieal."
And that is enough for both of them. The other finds that he cannot quite catch his breath with relief that he does not deserve. This time he lets the tears fall down his face, as he backs away slowly.
He offers a small, tentative smile. The first in many, many years that reaches his glittering eyes.
He runs away from the scene, his heart's sorrow lessened a bit, though tears still flow down his cheeks. He runs until he comes to a small river, where he crouches next to its banks.
"I understand now, Adrean!" He shouts to the wind that whips the night. "I understand!"
The cemetery is still and it is quiet.
But the one who still stands there does not mind the sad tranquility. He has his freedom, and perhaps, by some small miracle, he has given another freedom, too. But he can only hope.
He smiles sadly again, and gazes as the tombstone.
"Lancelot," he whispers. "It's my birthday."