A/N: Thank you Camreyn, NightAngel, True luv waits, dmitchell1974 and MissBubbles for reviewing! I hope to see more for the next chapter!
True luv waits: Don't worry, the knights will start trusting Arthur more soon. It's still going to take a little more time, but it will happen, I promise!
NightAngel: Lancelot is meant to seem sad because he's lost a really close friend. Now that Toltheon is gone, he's going to have to reach out to the other knights. Meanwhile, he's being hit with the new commander at the same time, and with that comes the difficulty of readjusting, that's really why he's meant to seem sad. This story won't end without some Lancelot antics, I guarantee!
Chapter 5
As weary as his muscles may have been to the many hours they had spent fighting, Lancelot's mind would not allow him the gift of sleep. His thoughts traveled to Toltheon, Arthur, Panador, Gawain and Tristan; any person or event that his mind decided to recall at such a subconscious state. As a result, he found himself wandering the halls, and going past rooms that even at this hour were still and empty. As he made his way down one hall, he heard indistinct murmurs that seemed to belong to a single voice.
Without the intention of eavesdropping, Lancelot followed the sounds more because it allowed for the concentration of something other than his own thoughts. He soon found himself in front of a large wooden door, whose ornaments really were no different from his own. The door was partly open so that the dancing candle that lit the room, cast an inconsistent glow of light into the hallway. Lancelot quietly maneuvered himself so that he had a straight view into the room, where he saw Arthur, dressed without his armor in a simple black tunic, kneeling to the side of his bed, his hands clasped before him on the bed so that when he spoke, his voice was slightly muffled.
"Heavenly Father, I give thanks to those knights you have given me with the faith of protecting their lives as well as you have protected my own. I will not fail your will. I understand how hard it is for their trust to be given, and I hope they will see I'm eligible to receive it." Arthur paused and let his eyes droop slowly closed before continuing.
"I ask of you only to ease the suffering of Lancelot, a knight in mourning." Lancelot raised his eyebrows at the mention of his name. "It was your will to take his companion into your own hands, and to that decision I leave no room for questions, but ask that you help see him through his grief. In the name of the Holy Father, amen." Arthur's eyes slowly opened, taking a moment to focus on his hands that were still clasped on the bed before standing. With movements intended for sleep, Arthur headed over to the lit candles within the room and began blowing them out before heading back to the bed.
As he gently lay himself down on the bed, he found his eyes shifting to the door. Since he had blown out the candles, the bright light had disappeared leaving the dimmer hallway light to filter into the room. Whether it was a trick of the night or something was really there, Arthur couldn't be sure, but some movement had caused a quick dimming of the light when a possible something passing the sliver of open door had blocked the incoming light. There was no way for Arthur to be sure, but he had a feeling that his eyes hadn't been mistaken, and that the movement hadn't been caused by anything but a person.
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The next morning was much the same as the previous day's except that it was nowhere as bright. The sky was so dark that it took even the brightest signs of morning a long time to distinguish day from night. The threat of rain was evident, and the gray clouds did everything to affect the mood of the knights. The gray clouds may have brought cooler temperatures, but they didn't make happier knights.
Arthur gave no pep talk that morning. He jumped right in to assigning everyone to their stations without formalities to anyone. Fighting partners and archers were switched up so that everyone could have a chance to practice at a new station with someone different.
Around mid-morning a steady rain began to fall all over the field. Among the knights, there seemed to be a general wishing that no one voiced out loud, to call it quits for the day so they could head for the tavern. It wouldn't necessarily provide a dry atmosphere, but it would serve to provide the knights with a rainy-day beer and of course, hot food. The knights however, were greeted with no such gift. Arthur kept them fighting with no physical reaction to the rain whatsoever.
Lancelot was angrily trying to keep his black curls from blocking his vision as he advanced with his twin swords towards Silas when the almost silent advance of an arrow began to cut through the falling rain till it hit the ground and landed at Lancelot's feet. It didn't even shudder as it dug a hole easily into the wet ground and stayed there like a purposeful marker. It only took a quick once over of the arrow for Lancelot to recognize that it wasn't one of theirs. The shaft had been noticeably carved by hand and been given feathers that belonged to birds the resided on the branches of birds most commonly found in the deeper parts of the forests; the areas where Woads resided.
One look at Silas and Lancelot knew that he had made the connection too. "We're under attack!" Silas yelled, hoping to get Arthur's attention as he headed for his horse. Arthur's head shot up towards the sound of the shout before quickly turning his gaze back to the woods. Unfortunately, the rain and clouds did nothing to provide a clear view, but he could make out moving bodies in numbers fit for a small army, heading towards the group. Arthur instantly took action.
"Archers to the front!" He ordered in the direction of the practice field. The rest of the knights were assembling in a scattered group so as to make for difficult targets. Suddenly, another wave of arrows made its way over the group of knights. As they hit, some hit their targets, and knights were falling from their horses temporarily stunned.
The archers who had now moved to the front of the group were proving to be deadly aims, but the never-ending supply of Woads still persisted towards the knights. Arthur glanced over at the knights and saw some of the men fall. His eyes looked slightly concerned, but a certain angry fire also turned his focus back towards the oncoming towards.
"You will follow my lead and we will meet their attack," Arthur called, drawing Excalibur from its sheath.
"And meet the onslaught of their arrows? We'll be killed," Lancelot protested.
"We'll keep this attack away from the wall. No more people need to be involved in this battle," Arthur argued turning his back on Lancelot to focus on the attack.
The archers, who weren't on horseback cleared the ground in front of the knights upon Arthur's order, but kept up a constant rhythm of arrows as they shot from the sides. With a deep breath, Arthur dug his heels into the side of his horse, and leapt with his horse in the moment of excitement as he took off down the field. The knights behind him quickly followed him, removing their weapons as they moved.
The collision came quick as both sides came running full force towards one another. The knights had spread out the length of the group of Woads as they rode so that when they collided, they could cover the most ground.
Lancelot felt his sword meet resistance in the form of arms, chest, head and neck as he rode deeper into the group, but he held fast to his sword and as he passed them the resistances ceased to exist. As knights and Woads fought one another, rain mixed with blood that almost seemed to cleanse each fallen body in a preparation for death.
Tristan and Galahad had carried their bows to the front lines and together, were effectively minimizing the amount of arrows that were falling around the knights. Bors had been knocked off his horse by a Woad, so that half of his body was covered in mud that was slowly melting off because of the rain. The Woad that had unseated him was now lying face down in the mud, unmoving.
Arthur meanwhile, had dismounted and found himself engaged in a tight struggle with a Woad carrying an axe. Using his peripheral vision, he scanned the fighting grounds for the condition of his knights. At a quick glance, he could see that his men were doing a good job holding their own. As soon as the Woad gave him the opportunity, Arthur shoved Excalibur into his stomach before letting the sides of his blade graze the man's rib cage as his sword was freed. As Arthur watched him fall, he suddenly caught sight of Lancelot from across the field.
He had dismounted from his horse and drawn both his swords. He moved with expert precision, fighting three Woads around him, when his left foot suddenly slid out from under him as he made a backward step away from an attack and fell onto his back into the mud. The two remaining Woads were quickly on him. One had an axe, the other a sword, and they both advanced onto Lancelot.
Arthur began running across the field to help him, but Woads kept blocking his path. Arthur watched in between fights as Lancelot suddenly swung out one of his swords so that his collided with the leg of one of the Woads.
The sudden attack put the Woad off balance, and he began to fall forward with his sword, towards Lancelot's body. Lancelot was forced to roll out of the Woad's way, but as he rolled, the other Woad followed him and was ready with his axe. Mud blocked his eyesight, but in between quick and blurred blinks, Lancelot saw the last Woad, and was swinging his sword wildly around him, hoping to cause the Woad to back away.
Arthur, realizing that he would not be able to reach Lancelot before the Woad made his fatal strike, looked desperately around for someone who might be able to get to Lancelot before he could. He soon spied Galahad getting ready to nock his bow.
"Galahad!" Arthur shouted loudly over the chiming of swords. "Lancelot!" It took a moment for Galahad to locate where the voice was coming from, but as soon as he did, he seemed to understand the command as he searched the battlefield for Lancelot. Arthur watched in between his own fights with the Woads as Galahad's shot sailed in a perfect line towards the Woad who was still towering over Lancelot and having an easier time avoiding Lancelot's wild attacks than Lancelot had avoiding the Woad's. The arrow hit him in the right side of his chest, and he fell without a sound, air rushing out of his mouth due to a punctured lung.
Then, with the speed with which the battle had initiated, it ended as a deep but purposeful horn caused the remaining Woads to freeze in the midst of battle. The sound seemed to originate from the canopy of trees and in a game of volleyball; it reverberated back and forth from the trees to the Wall. A second short but more urgent blast, suddenly had the Woads receding away from the wall and heading back towards the forest from which they had emerged. It was an odd scene to see a battle end so quick, and a large group of Woads retreat so readily back into the forest.
"Let them go!" Arthur ordered the archers to stop the fews who continued to fire during the Woad's retreat. As the last Woad disappeared from sight, Arthur surveyed the field. He saw the majority of those that had fallen were Woads, but their death toll couldn't have been more than forty, which was not many considering how many knights the Woad's had been facing and how short the battle had been. His eyes ended up traveling back to Lancelot, who was slowly getting to his feet as he struggled to wipe mud from his eyes with his own muddy hands.
"Tilt your head to the rain. It should help rinse the mud out," Arthur directed as he came up to Lancelot's side. Being slightly off balance from not being able to see, Lancelot almost made another trip into the mud, but Arthur was able to steady him before he met with that fate again. Once Lancelot had recovered his balance, he pulled away from Arthur's touch.
Lancelot glared at Arthur as much as he could with his eyes squinted in an effort to see through the mud. "I don't need you to attend to me." Arthur looked Lancelot over once more and realizing that Lancelot did not desire his help, he strode away from the knight, in slight agitation. If he wanted to be stubborn, that was his choice.
"Arthur, over here!" Arthur looked up and to the left, and found Gawain calling him over. As soon as he was assured that he had gotten Arthur's attention, he returned to the same squatting position that Galahad was in as they attended to a lone figure lying on the ground. Arthur quickened his pace to a run, till he reached the spot where Galahad and Gawain were.
Silas was lying on the ground with an arrow sticking out on the right side of his body, just above the soft spot of his armpit. Silas's left rested in a c-shape around the arrow in a motion of pain, but without actually touching the arrow. He made no attempt to move his right arm, whether or not he could, it rested limply at his side.
"I'm going to have to remove the arrow," Arthur declared after having examined the wound. Silas gave a pained nod of understanding, as Arthur placed one hand around the arrow. He gently moved the arrow with as much subtlety as he could manage in order to estimate the arrow's depth and angle of entry.
Tristan suddenly appeared at Arthur's side, a piece of cloth in hand. Arthur grabbed the cloth, placed his left hand with the cloth against Silas's shoulder and his right hand back around the arrow. He pulled out the arrow as fast and carefully as he could as Silas's face contorted into an array of muted expressions of pain, managing only a tiny gasp once the arrow had been removed.
Arthur quickly placed the cloth over the wound. "Can your feet carry you to the wall?" Arthur asked as he threw the arrow aside.
"Yes," Silas whispered as his left hand reached for the cloth, and his right remained at his side. Mace and Galahad helped him to his feet and continued on their way to the wall. All Arthur could do was stare at the limp arm as it swung back and forth like a branch high up in a tree swaying as a cradle to the wind.
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The dice were silent that evening. None of the knights could find the heart after Tristan had brought back the news that the arrow had caused damaged to ligaments and muscles within Silas's arm. With no way to keep circulation in the arm, it had to be removed. The notice had caused Lancelot to leave the table and disappear from the eyes of the company for the rest of the evening.
Though not unusual, no one saw Arthur that night either. He, of course, had been informed by Tristan of the news. In the grand scheme of things, becoming maimed in battle was a minor loss; it could always be worst. Arthur really hated that idea.
A man, any man, could be standing in challenge of death's many forms and the only idea to give him relief is that it could be worst. It's not easy telling a man who has just lost the arm that yields his sword in valor and honor of his own defense, that it could have been worst. For among the knights, it's understood that a man who struggles through life receives reverence in death.
Having to look back on the situation, Arthur couldn't see himself going about his attack any differently. The Woads had taken them by surprise, an action that had required Arthur to act diligently in response, but even that assurance did nothing to console his guilt. Silas was one man, who now had to change his life around if he wanted to remain in the service of the knights, for only in death was their contract broken and their freedom granted, at least until they had served out their remaining years.
A more disturbing question began to form in his mind as he mind traced the day's events. As many Woads as were present, Arthur had been expecting a battle that would have left the knights with more casualties, but more pressing was the reasoning behind their attack. The Woads had control of the land north of Hadrian's Wall, and rarely ventured this far South, a fact that left Arthur uneasy. Not to mention that the Woad's had ended the fight not long after having started. Arthur would have to keep his eyes and ears open for rumors in a hope to get to the bottom of this.
Arthur sighed. Tomorrow was going to be difficult, that was to be expected, but it was necessary. It was situations like this that called for the uniting of the men more than ever. Arthur prayed that things would go as smoothly as it possibly could.
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The night was dark, for a cloud-full sky that snuffed out many surrounding stars also covered the moon. Lancelot took advantage of the darkness for his own cover as he lead his horse away from the wall at a full-blown gallop. The horse's feet were weightless and left no echoing sound of Lancelot's retreat from the wall.
He should have listened to me, Lancelot thought, cursing Arthur's name for Silas's fate. No, Silas hadn't died in battle, but in some situations, this one included, it was better that he had. Silas had lost the arm that had wielded his sword with the strength and fury of an ox. The arm now lost, his body and mind had to rely on the less strong and less certain left arm to be retrained in skill of defense and attack in the same memories as a Sarmatian knight at age nine.
For a knight the retraining was crucial, for the only alternative for not serving the Roman army was death, whether the sword was wielded by the hands of a Roman or Silas's own less skilled left hand.
The training would take time; time that Lancelot was uncertain to whether or not Arthur would grant. The dangers of battle and fighting were no where on Silas's near future, and it was always a question of how long the Romans would allow something that was useless, even temporarily, in their company.