A/N: Thank you Miggyrow, Tri Lorian, Camreyn, True luv waits, Romilly McAran, dmitchell1974, Lancey and tootsie for your reviews. Please keep reading!


Romilly McAran: You made some excellent observations, some I was aware of, and some I was not. First, I know that it takes much more than four days to travel from Rome to Britain. For the sake of the story and the establishment of the Arthur's transition from Rome to Britain, I decided to shorten the time frame. Second, I don't believe that I'm portraying Arthur to be that naïve. Yes, Arthur's mother was British and his father was Roman, and he is Roman by choice, but there is nothing conclusive about how long Arthur was in Britain and how long he was in Rome. The ideas I'm trying to present is that Arthur's time away from Britain has made him forget what life was like for the conquered people of Rome. After all, the movie is partly based on Arthur's misconception of Rome. Arthur believes that every man is born free and has the right to free will, but the Roman view on things is that every man is born as a servant to Rome, and just as Alecto and Lancelot point out, Arthur's version of Rome does not exist. Finally, I'm know Galahad and Gawain are the general pairings for close friends, and that's seen more in this chapter, but my two favorite characters are Gawain and Lancelot, so I decided to focus on their friendship a little more than Galahad's and Gawain's. Thank you for submitting your review, I never want my readers to get the wrong idea about what I'm trying to say.

Chapter 4

Spirals of dawn came early to Lancelot the next morning. The blackness of the night sky had just begun to fade into a navy blue so that dark shadows were now more defined. The large crescent hole in the sky began to loose its brightness as it slipped down to the western horizon and morning crept into being.

Lancelot once again found himself in the stable, as he and a few other knights began tacking their horses. The stable was just a breath away from silence, disturbed by the subtle ringing of chain mail and iron stirrups gently clicking against the saddle. As the sun began to make its way closer and closer to the eastern horizon, the sound of chatter and the movements of the knights began to increase. Bors as usual, entered the stable with a hand to his forehead as if trying to rub away the previous night's binge. He made some comment about it being too bloody early as he searched for his horse's tack.

Gawain had arrived not long after Lancelot, but said nothing to him. He had taken to chatting to one of the younger knights, Galahad. Galahad never liked to speak of their work. He was the kind of knight who believed that this life would just be able to be forgotten once the time came for them to be free men. If anything, they were probably talking about Galahads latest woman seeing as how Galahad's looks weren't so dissimilar to Lancelot's, it wasn't hard for the young knight to find company for an evening.

Dagonet had been quietly sitting in the corner testing the sharpness of his broadsword before Bors had entered the stable. With little comment to Bors himself, Dagonet proceeded to help him tack his horse, but in Bors's hangover state, there was little complaint from him.

"Good morning," a voice boomed from the stable doorway. Arthur Castus stood with his own chain mail on with a black tunic and Excalibur at his side. Some of the knights turned and waited for him to continue, others proceeded to tack their horses as if Arthur had yet to arrive.

"We will proceed to the front field and commence our training there. Any questions?" No one said a word. Arthur gave a quick look around the room before leaving.

"Training? Again?" Galahad sputtered in frustration as he mounted his horse. "These Romans are efficient in the art of time wasting."

"What are you complaining about?" Gawain yelled back as he too mounted his horse. "You need all the help that is offered you."

Galahad glared a Gawain. Gawain just smiled as he trotted out of the stable. "We'll see who needs help the next time my bow saves your ass in battle!" Galahad yelled as he trotted out of the stable after Gawain.

Lancelot ignored the banter as he mounted his horse. Subconsciously, he found his eyes shifting over to where another knight, Tristan, who was already sitting on his mount, looking directly at Lancelot. There were many feelings that were cast from Tristan's eyes, but not all of them were readable. Being unreadable was actually one of Tristan's specialties next to his lack of fear at being the scout for the knights when they were traveling in dangerous areas where there was a high risk of an attack by Woads.

Tristan suddenly kicked his horse and followed the other knights out of the stable, but to Lancelot, it was almost like the knight's eyes had never left him.

It took at least ten minutes following Lancelot's departure for all the knights to assemble onto the grassy field in front of the wall. Arthur was there waiting, now mounted on a brilliant white stallion who pawed at the ground somewhat anxiously as they stood still. After Arthur was assured that everyone had arrived; he addressed the group for the second time that morning.

"I have no doubt in the skills gifted to you," Arthur began, "and I make this meeting not to reassure myself that you know how to use them. A battlefield doesn't need to be summarized. We've all seen it." Lancelot felt his fingers grip more tightly on his reins. When he looked up at Arthur who had begun walking his horse back and forth in front of the group.

"But a battle isn't fought for each individual man in the company. We are fighting it together, and we must address our skills to such an idea. The goal for the next week will to become familiar with the strengths and weaknesses of your fellow knights. Once you are aware of them, you will not only know how to improve them, but recognize when it maybe necessary for another knight to step in."

"Bors can't piss standing up, does that mean we have to help him?" Silas whispered to Galahad.

Galahad smiled. "Only when he's drunk."

Silas rolled his eyes. "That means all the time, huh?"

"We will not be training to harm one another, to make amends of petty arguments," Arthur said strongly. Lancelot felt his eyes shift briefly in Bors's direction, but when they returned to their place, Arthur's eyes were upon him filled with warning. Apparently, secrets were hard to come by, especially in public places.

"We will focus on control, swordsmanship, and the analysis of the movements of your foe and of the other men. Even the most capable men cannot fight all their battles alone."

Arthur concluded his speech with the division of the men. Sixteen men were left to find pairs to begin sword practice. Such a group left Galahad and Tristan, and Lancelot and Bors as pairs. The rest of the men were left to target practice. A section of the grounds had been set up with eight targets for ground practice, but another section also had eight targets for practice on horseback. Gawain and Dagonet were left with the rest of the knights for this form of practice.

There was no whistle to be blown or bell to be rung to signal practice. The knights started as soon as they were assigned to their stations. It never mattered whether or not the men thought a point to the training. Arthur had stated the purpose and as knights, it was their duty to put faith in them. It was always the quickest and most efficient way to keep Romans and Sarmatians happy.

Throughout the field there were sounds of swords clanging, the strings of bows being plucked, and a continuous rhythmic patter of horse feet. Arthur sat on his horse and observed. The knights, he noticed immediately, were skilled. They each had their own established rhythms with their swords and a control that fluently established grace and beauty. The archers, though some of course with more skill than others, never failed at least to hit the target when that, even on the ground, was a hard skill for many Roman soldiers. Arthur, however, assumed that these skills would be evident amongst the men.

He found himself focusing on their control and the actions in their body that showed them that they were aware of their surroundings. In some, he could watch the way some of the knights' bodies would give an almost undetectable search around them before they moved away from a probing sword. Others he noticed were more focused on what was in front of them, whether that was a fault of the exercise or the fault of the knight, Arthur couldn't tell, but for the sake of future battles, he hoped it was only the exercise.

Meanwhile, Galahad was not at all happy with his partner. He sent an obvious glare in Tristan's direction, but Tristan met Galahad's gaze with peace and confidence. Galahad mistrusted Tristan. He was not at all surprised that Tristan had turned death into an art, but that didn't mean he had to like it. To Galahad, the swiftest road to end battle was the road he wished to take. The less he could remember of these years of service, the better.

Galahad drew his sword, and Tristan drew his own in silence. He swung the blade in a quick vertical circle at his side, and then waited. Galahad narrowed his eyes and made the first strike, a move Tristan had been expecting. Tristan blocked it easily before counter-attacking and aiming low in the stomach.

"The goal is not to kill," Galahad said through clenched teeth as Tristan's attack caused him to take a step back. Galahad took his sword and swung it hard around to the left.

"I know," Tristan responded, meeting Galahad's sword. Their swords met in a stalemate of strength, as neither sword would separate from the other. "The goal is to live."

Tristan pushed harder on Galahad's sword until the swords circled around each other and separated.

"But how does life thrive when you work hard to see that it dies?" Galahad demanded.

"You misunderstand me," Tristan answered as their swords clashed again. "The world is perfect, but men make it evil."

"So you take it upon yourself to remove them from it?" Galahad asked sarcastically. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead as the sun rose higher in the sky, and loose tendrils of his curly hair began to give him wet slaps in the face as he moved. As Galahad watched the way Tristan moved, Galahad had the feeling that he was putting much more effort into this fight than Tristan was. He'd seen Tristan fight in battle, and it was with a liquid fluency that Tristan maneuvered the weapon at a deadly foe. A fluency that was not completely absent, but not completely whole-hearted either. He did not want Tristan to kill him, but he also did not want him to be holding back as a form of pity to an unworthy opponent.

"Tell me this, would you not be at peace with the world had the Romans not appointed you this service?" Galahad didn't answer and Tristan didn't expect one. "Men breed hatred," Tristan began as he suddenly maneuvered his sword away from Galahad's. Before Galahad could do anything to stop him, Tristan had run the sharp edge of his blade in a shallow cut across Galahad's wrist. "And hatred leads to destruction." Galahad stared in surprise at Tristan, as Tristan sheathed his sword and walked to his horse, mounted, and headed for the archery fields.

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Lancelot easily dodged the slash of Bors's sword as he maneuvered his twin swords, so that the left sword switched from defending and attacking, and his right sword continually acted on the offense.

"Your sword works as slow as your feeble mind," Lancelot taunted. Bors's sword made a move towards Lancelot's left side that Lancelot blocked after making a complete circle of his right sword around his head.

"Yeah?" Bors asked, "'Cause it seems to me that it doesn't take two swords to make a point."

"And what point might that be Bors?"

"Making the pretty boy look scary."

Lancelot laughed. "So I look scary now, do I?"

"Yeah, as scary as a bastard baby with a knife. More likely to kill himself than somebody else." Lancelot's sly smile drooped slightly as Bors insulted his skills.

"My looks must deceive you then, for I assure you, I can kill you quite easily," Lancelot growled.

"Kill me then, if you get the chance. Don't let my sword stop you," Bors shot back. Lancelot moved his swords in a deadly slice across Bors's stomach that in most cases would have ended his fight with his opponent almost immediately. Bors however, managed to get out of harms way when his sword met with Lancelot's in an effective block.

"You cannot kill a man on your own side," Bors assessed. "For there is no profit."

Lancelot's eye became narrow slits. "There is no profit in fighting the enemy, for Rome's enemy is not the enemy of a Sarmatian." His voice increased in intensity as he spoke.

"I give you no argument," Bors admitted. The intensity of both their attacks lessened as the depression of fighting for a land not their own settled upon them like a never-ending plague upon their lives.

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The training continued relentlessly until early evening, when the knights were finally allowed to head for the tavern for food and drinks. The tavern quickly became the scene of much noise as orders for food and drink were being shouted out above conversations to a slightly frazzled Vanora, who was trying to take orders and remember who said them.

"Sit down and take a load off," Bors said, grabbing Vanora by the waist with one arm and pulling her into his lap.

"Not now! I've got work to do," she replied as she squirmed out of his reach and continued serving the tables.

"Well I believe I learned much from today's session, what do you think boys?" Gawain asked, his voice thick with sarcasm as he took a seat at the table with Bors and Dagonet.

"It was a bloody waste of time and everyone here knows it, right Dag?" Bors jostled Dagonet's right arm as he spoke.

"Our Roman leader is strong in the beliefs that are not our job to question," Dagonet responded.

"What the hell you talking about, Dag?" Bors demanded, giving him a confused look. "Whose side are you on?"

"I do not believe there to be multiple sides," Dagonet answered. "He teaches us how to keep our lives on the battlefield and yet you question his desire for us to protect each other."

"It's all a Roman ploy," Galahad said, suddenly speaking up. He was standing behind the table, his back was against a large wooden pillar and his hand was wrapped with a white bandage. "Even at Hadrian's Wall the selflessness of a Roman cannot be conceived as anything but hard work for their own gain."

"For most Romans, yes, I believe your conception is right, but what would be the harm in putting faith in Arthur?" Dagonet asked. Bors, Gawain, and Galahad looked at each other before Galahad volunteered an answer.

"Only our lives."