A/N: Thank you Camreyn and lucillag for reviewing, you input is greatly appreciated. I've also taken the liberty of making this chapter slightly longer than previous chapters. This is probably one of the deepest chapters of anything I've ever written, and all I hoped to gain by saying that was that I hope you enjoy it! And if ends up wondering by the end of this chapter, it's non-slash.
Chapter 6
Gawain awoke early the next morning. It wasn't a mere desire to rise before everyone else, for he was exhausted, but sleep didn't seem willing to grace Gawain with its presence, so he found himself wandering around the Wall. His journey ultimately led him to Silas's room.
Darkened by the shadow's of the early morning, little could be made out of the sleeping knight's form except for the parts of the glaring white bandage on either side of his shoulder that hadn't been darkened by the stains of blood. His eyes were closed and his head rested a slight angle against his left shoulder as if even in the peace of sleep, he couldn't tolerate looking at the limb that he no longer possessed.
Gawain pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat. His attempts to remain silent were soon dashed as the wooden chair slid back a few centimeters as he sat and allowed for a harsh squeak to fill the room. Gawain instantly glanced at Silas, but didn't see him even move. With a sight of relief, he let himself fall back against the back of the chair as he gave no thought to anything in particular and his gaze fastened on his friend.
"If you were this sneaky in battle, I'm sure your head would have been claimed by a Saxon by now." Gawain focused his gaze on Silas's face, surprised to find him awake. It wasn't until after he spoke that Silas took the opportunity to move his head in the direction where Gawain was sitting.
"You of us all know its only luck," Gawain added with a slight smile, happy to see that all of Silas's humor had not been taken along with his arm.
"I never held faith in luck, and look where it brought me," Silas said, his voice dropping off bitterly.
Gawain's grin faded. "How are you doing?"
"I'm bored to say the least, but at this point, I have bigger concerns."
"You're still able to fight, you know," Gawain pressed, believing fighting ability to be one of his more pressing concerns.
"No, you're still able to fight, Gawain," Silas cried, his voice rising slightly. "Not only have I lost my arm, but I've lost the will.
"Tell me, Gawain, can you remember when we first started out? As there were steps in the training, there were equally thoughts of various forms of freedom. After we arrived, the focus was training. The simple satisfaction of young boys being able to wield a sword, a quarter of their weight, kept us preserving because we knew, the sooner training was complete, the sooner we would be delivered the valor of battle. We were naïve then. Our first battle was made up with our own uncertainty. Those who couldn't make their decisions or make them fast enough, fell. We discovered we had the power to preserve life and take it away, a skill we delivered to our enemies to give them freedom, but a skill we could never deliver on our commanders for freedom for ourselves.
"It became a matter of counting battles until the battles finally outnumbered our days of servitude. All we can count on to pass the time are the days not spent slaughtering the people who are so like us. For the hours of battle seem to stretch into as long a field of casualties when the battle finally ends.
"This is what I have to look forward to; starting over to once again relearn all that has already been brought to my attention because that's the only way I can become again what I once was whether in strategy or in strength. I can't see myself submitting myself to this slavery anymore."
"I fear your somber countenance," Gawain finally voiced with concern. "If you think of leaving this life in any form of your choosing, I do not blame you, but your strength is not so hard to find, I believe. Remember, we all have served with equal misgivings of this life. None of us can say with truth that we haven't wanted to leave this life in one form or another, but tell me what good would come of it? Your ultimate death will not alter the Roman ways and another Sarmatian must be submitted in your place eventually. No one said these times were fair, because they're certainly not, but would you not at least like to see your family in flesh before meeting them again in death?"
Silas was silent for a moment as he pondered this. "The Romans have this belief in heaven and hell," Silas said thoughtfully. "I have no faith in it, but it makes me curious. You speak of death and its freedoms, and we've all almost come to believe any life than the life of a slave would be more satisfying, but even in death, how can we be assured that we will be free? For the Romans, a Roman God selects who deserves to have what kind of life after death. How can we be so sure our own gods are not a slave to the Roman God? How can we be so sure that this life we have now, will not exist after death?"
Gawain raised his eyes in surprise. "What has led you to doubt your faith? After all, it wasn't the Roman God who gave you life in battle."
"Aye, but it wasn't my gods who spared me the pain of life if death is to be so forgiving and free. As far as we know, Gawain, the same battle here on earth could exist in faith. Had the pagan gods not been conquered in the same fate as the Sarmatian people centuries ago, who's to say we'd be slaves? Had the pagan gods the strength to fight off the Roman God, wouldn't we now have the strength to end our servitude?" Silas settled back into his pillow and turned his head away from Gawain once again.
"You worry, my friend, of what I intend to do with my life, but even I cannot give you answer. If the same battle is going on in death as in life, I do not know if I want to venture there. But my toleration for this life may outweigh my unknown fate. In death I have only half a chance of being a slave as in life, for if my beliefs are misconstrued, and for the lives of all the men I hope they are, then in death all we have to expect is the blissful freedom that has been so long been denied to us."
6666
Arthur met his men in the front of the wall, at the same time as the previous days. A few of the men straggled in late, more than had arrived late on other days. Whether it was because of exhaustion or defiance, Arthur could not be sure. He scanned his ranks, and besides the obvious absence of Silas, he instantly realized that one black-haired knight was missing. Rather than cause a big scene about it now, Arthur decided he would address the matter later. For he knew the only knight he could possibly get a straight answer was Lancelot himself.
"Knights," Arthur addressed them for the first time since the beginning of training. "I would like to inform those of you who may be unaware of Silas's condition. He's condition has improved greatly, and we hope he'll be able to join us in the near future." Gawain found his hands tightening on the reins as Arthur said this. Arthur had no idea what Silas had told him, and if he had, he may not have been so optimistic.
"But we must continue. Though unusual, the attack yesterday was not so uncommon. Our skills, the skills we have been working on for the days past, still need to be improved upon. Another surprise attack such as that could prove to have much more fatal results." Arthur let the words hang in the air before dismissing the knights to their stations.
"Great speech, huh?" Mace asked, walking alongside Bors, Galahad, and Tristan.
"Inspiring," Bors answered sarcastically as they walked.
"Yeah, he should rethink his plan of attack. He was just as unprepared as we were for an attack," Galahad replied.
"You shouldn't speak of what you don't understand," Tristan spoke up. Bors stopped walking and turned around to face Tristan.
"Why don't you enlighten us, then?" Bors taunted. "Or better yet, tell Silas why he isn't here training with us now."
"He suffered a wound of battle. No more or no less than any of us have endured during battle. He must choose how to accept it."
"Who do you support, Tristan?" Galahad asked finally getting the courage since their sparring match to confront him. "Surely not the Romans?"
"You create a war between Romans and Sarmatians that is needless. I do not support the Romans in their deeds, but I do not declare all Romans to be the same ruthless people. To do that would coincide with that all Romans believe that we are slaves."
"Roman beliefs, eh? What Roman have you met that doesn't consider any man his slave, least of all, Sarmatians?" Bors demanded.
"One Roman gives quite the contrary," Tristan said with an almost half smile. "He does not consider any of those people under Roman power to be better than another. Under his eyes, we're equal to all other groups, including Romans."
"No Roman at Hadrian's Wall has yet given us such a perspective," Mace scoffed.
"No?" Tristan asked. "Or is it you have not yet given him a chance? He's the one Roman who has seen us more than slaves, knights, or pagans. His cause may be in the name of Rome, but it's not a Roman cause, and the sooner you recognize his intentions, the better our fate shall be." The three knights seemed doubtful of Tristan's words. They had never heard Tristan either speak so much or speak so favorably of a Roman. Galahad had no idea whether or not the other two knights had any idea of the Roman Tristan spoke of, but he couldn't help find his eyes tracing over the horizon and meeting with Arthur's form across the field.
Tristan looked ready to leave them, when Gawain suddenly showed up astride his horse with a long bow hanging off his shoulder. "Have none of you seen Lancelot?"
"Not since the run-in with the Woads," Mace answered.
"His horse was gone this morning, but I've yet to see him on the field," Gawain said glancing around the field as if expecting him to suddenly appear.
"He was sore last night. He must've headed out to cool down," Mace rationalized, unconcerned.
"Cool down or not, running around alone following an attack by Woads isn't the smartest idea," Galahad spoke up.
"If Lancelot isn't getting himself into trouble than he's dragging us into trouble," Bors muttered shaking his head.
"You should put Arthur on awares. He does not yet know that Lancelot isn't within the Wall," Tristan said rationally.
A dark shadow suddenly fell over the group, and they turned to find Arthur himself watching them. "Is everything alright here?" Arthur asked, looking each knight up and down.
"Yes, Sir, but Gawain would like a word," Galahad spoke up. An annoyed look passed briefly from Gawain to Galahad before Gawain addressed Arthur directly.
"There's concern over Lancelot's whereabouts. I found his horse missing this morning, but I have yet to see him amongst us this morning." A flicker of something passed over Arthur's eyes that told Gawain he had already notice Lancelot's lack of attendance, but the news of the missing horse seemed new to him.
"None of you have seen him since evening?" Arthur asked. They all shook their heads no.
"I see. If he doesn't make an appearance before nightfall than alert me immediately." Arthur once again looked them over before trotting away.
"A lot of good that did," Mace said rolling his eyes.
"Arthur, the man who cares for us all, does not even allow the searching for one knight?" Galahad asked, directing the jab at Tristan.
"You've underestimated him. Apparently he's more aware of Lancelot's personality than you are. Lancelot will not remain away long, but when and if he is, is when we should worry."
"He's got to come back sometime, at least for a drink!" Bors said with a grin.
"Yeah, well if Bors indulges on Lancelot's appetite for drink, I claim his women," Galahad said with a laugh.
Gawain shook his head. "I think Bors got the better deal. Even Lancelot has to work for women, and Galahad's scorecard has been lagging."
"Says you," Galahad retorted, but turning slightly read at the truth in Gawain's statement. Tristan watched the banter with disinterest before finally pulling away from the group and heading for the archery fields.
"I think he's hinting something," Gawain said as he watched Tristan walk away.
"It's Tristan, he's always bloody hinting at something. It's rare he just says something straight as it comes," Bors pointed out.
"Either way, he has a point, and a good one at that," Mace stated.
"Which point you talking 'bout now?" Bors asked.
Mace shrugged. "All of them."
6666
The knights didn't have to wait till nightfall to update Arthur on Lancelot's whereabouts. Just as the sun fell into midday, a horse was spotted emerging from the edge of the woods and riding fast towards the group of knights. Even from the great distance that separated them, the knights could tell that it was not a Woad.
As the rider quickly closed the distance, the knights could easily make out Lancelot's confident form, riding relaxed in the saddle to the rhythm of his stead. He kept riding, slowing his pace to a trot as he made his way through the group as if he was searching for someone. Pausing only slightly to look around, he continued his pace till he landed himself in front of Arthur who was currently standing on the ground watching his approach. Even before his horse had come to a complete halt Lancelot swung his legs over in a graceful dismount that placed him on the left side of his horse.
Lancelot began to walk towards Arthur, while simultaneously removing his twin swords from over his shoulders. Arthur kept his ground. He could see the anger in Lancelot's eyes as he approached, but he didn't move his hand to draw Excalibur in his own defense. Arthur did not believe that Lancelot was looking to kill him, and even if he were, he wouldn't do it without Arthur arming himself.
Lancelot took the pleasure meanwhile, of resting a blade on either side of Arthur's neck in a scissor formation. Lancelot's movements had caught the attention of the other knights, and as they formed in an almost enclosed circle around them, some of them thought to draw their swords because they were uncomfortable with the current situation.
"For what purpose do you see need for this, Lancelot?" Arthur asked, his voice calm and his eyes lacking the fear often present in a man at the mercy of death.
"The same purpose that you find necessary to seek out children from their homeland and bear them back to distant lands in chains to prepare them for battle, or more commonly, their death," Lancelot seethed, his normally charming eyes stormy in his inner turmoil of rage.
"I do not have argument with you," Arthur declared. "I believe as you do that your rights as free men have unfairly been denied to you. I support you in your quest to make a point to Rome, but nothing would come of spilling my blood on this ground to aid you. If my words be wrong, may God himself allow you the strength to wield your swords to my demise so that this wrong may be righted in your behalf." Arthur's gaze did not fluctuate from Lancelot's own, and there was much Arthur wanted to bring to the knight's attention, but those were words that he only felt righteous to speak in Lancelot's sole company.
Lancelot had never heard such a proclamation from a Roman. There was no pleading for life in Arthur's eyes and unless Arthur's speech was some sort of strange plea for mercy, Lancelot had the belief that the man's words were heart-spoken. However, the little Lancelot knew about the man wasn't enough for Lancelot to rely on gut-feelings. He was too angry at the results of yesterday's battle and of Toltheon's death to so easily remove his swords.
"You speak with a twist of the tongue!" Lancelot spat. "How can you talk of free men when in birth all men who live in Roman lands are left to be Roman slaves?"
"I do not believe you live in such a state. Every man has the right to free will from birth. Not even Rome can take that power from you."
"Have you not looked around?" Lancelot sneered turning his head around the group as he slowly removed his swords from Arthur's neck. Twisting his swords skillfully at either side in more of a subconscious motion, he advanced on Arthur. Arthur seeing no way to protect himself found himself instinctively removing Excalibur from his resting place at his side. "The will these men before you have is either to die in battle, or to die trying to free themselves from battle. This is their free will."
Lancelot made a jab at Arthur's stomach that Arthur easily blocked. However, Arthur made no move of the offensive as Lancelot continued to maneuver his swords in almost a dance around different areas of Arthur's body, look for that one careless opening.
"Great changes are coming in Rome. The teachings of a great man have been taught to me. I know much of the advantages that come with the understanding of equality," Arthur spoke through the banging of swords.
"Tell me, Arthur, how many men do you know of would stand up for a Sarmatian in his time of need? Would again perform this action in front of the judging eyes of his men who maintain their opposing views?" Lancelot demanded, swinging his left hand and sword to the area slightly below Arthur's knee while maneuvering his right sword in a higher chest shot. Arthur jumped back and forced Excalibur in front of him so that he could brush Lancelot's attack to the side.
"Unfortunately, I cannot vouch for many men, but I can vouch for myself," Arthur said sincerely. At these words, Lancelot's attack stopped, and he paused, looking down. To a misleading observer it would be taken as a reflection of admiration in the intricate design of his sword.
"You speak of one man, Arthur. Many men—many Sarmatians—have fought this land before us with the same misgiving I present you. Their multitude has done nothing to change our conditions." Lancelot suddenly lifted his right blade, and with a rush of strength, shoved it purposefully into the ground. With no other words, Lancelot sheathed his single sword and made way for his horse. The circle parted for him as he made way towards the wall.
Tristan eyes lingered on the sword as a single squall of wind took his words from his mouth and into the trees and beyond. "Free will. May she rest in peace."
6666
The knights returned to their training with a new outlook on their commander. He had pledged himself to his knights, to their rights, and their free will. He had even offered his life for their freedom had God been so gracious to give it. The trust of a man who knew them both so well and so little was hard to come by, and yet there were misgivings among some as to the faith of a Roman.
"You cannot believe that he can be trusted?" Galahad asked his sparring partner, Gawain.
"My conclusion is still unsettled, but I don't see it so unlikely," Gawain replied.
"Never has a Roman shown a desire to help a Sarmatian. Why should we shift our views and believe that Arthur Castus is so different?" Galahad demanded.
"Did you not hear his words?" Dagonet demanded, who was sparring next to the two with Bors. "Arthur has done away with origins. We are not 'Sarmatians' to him. We are just knights; equality limited only by the respect that he is our commander, not by the fact that he is a Roman."
"I agree with Dag," Gawain said nodding while Dagonet had been speaking.
"Yeah, well I don't think we should release our guard so easily," Bors spoke up. "We still know little of him, and I'm sure as hell not going to be made a fool if he's jerking us for his own sick ploy."
"Exactly," Galahad agreed with a gesture in Bors's direction with his sword. "I believe our only choice is to keep ourselves open to possible manipulation."
Gawain agreed with that assessment, but Dagonet didn't say a word. He just found his eyes searching for Lancelot's sword in the area he could have sworn to have last seen it. His search revealed nothing. The sword had been removed.
6666
Arthur stood in the long wooden hallway filled with doors that stood closed and separated him from the rooms of his knights. The day's training had finished uneventfully following the sparring match between Arthur and Lancelot.
Arthur turned Lancelot's sword around in his hands, looking at its shape and feeling its weight. It was long and of good weight with a strong black handle and a rose shaped gold portion at its end for easy manipulation. Before the hilt of the sword, a gold crescent moon shaped piece faced upwards towards the tip of the blade. Penetrating its gold surface however, was an array of red lettering that resembled shapes and symbols more than the tradition English style of writing in Briton. It was a language he was unfamiliar with, and therefore unsure of the meaning of the symbols.
Carefully, Arthur lowered the sword so that the point dug slightly into the stone floor as he held it by the hilt and made his way over to the door. He went through the formality of knocking, but figured the knight would make no move to answer. His theory correct, Arthur slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. Upon his entry, he immediately noticed Lancelot's figure sitting on the bed, his back towards Arthur. In the corner, Lancelot had rested his scabbards, the single sword resting alone against the wall.
Lancelot made no move to acknowledge Arthur, but also made no move to force him to leave. Finally coming to a decision about what to do about the knight's silence, Arthur brought the sword up into his hands again, and brought it in front of Lancelot.
"Tell me about it," Arthur requested in a gesture towards the sword. Lancelot looked up at Arthur before changing his focus to the sword, one of his most prized possessions. Lancelot didn't say anything for a moment, but much of the fight that he had released upon Arthur previously was no longer kept with such intensity. Gently, Lancelot took the sword out of Arthur's hands and held it out to its side so that he could seen the red writing more clearly.
"We were traveling back from delivering a message to a church about thirty miles east of the Wall, when we passed a small British village," Lancelot explained. "A flustered woman had flagged down our commander and pleaded with him to make ourselves of service to the village that had some how caught ablaze. Upon his consent, we split up and made ourselves useful in securing the lives of people still caught in burning houses.
"I found myself on the doorstep of a hysterical woman and a severely burnt house, but she claimed her child was still inside. I made my decision quickly, for it was better that I did for both my life and the life of the child; the house was on the verge of collapse. I found the child in a white bassinet on the brink of flame. Grabbing the child, I ran out of the house as fast as I could, securing his safety moments before the house finally collapsed.
"We stayed in the village for a few days following the blaze. I did little more than tell the woman my name before I found two swords in a black scabbard being presented to me. She handed them to me telling me she had watched me practice with the men with a single sword, and found it uneasy to watch.
"These swords had belonged to her grandfather, forged in that very town a century before. She believed I would wield them better than the single sword I had been provided with by the Romans. For saving her child's life, she gave them to me, taking care to have the blacksmith imprint words for me in my own language, as a sign of gratitude, and a fortitude of protection in time to come."
Arthur watched Lancelot's face as he told this story. This apparently was one of Lancelot's happier tales, for there was no sarcasm or sorrow in his voice as he told it. If anything, there was a slight sadness in the mention of the generous woman, but nothing more.
"What's the inscription say?" Arthur asked, hoping the knight would continue to open up and tell him his tale.
"'Yielded for the will of the land,'" Lancelot answered automatically. He fell silent, tracing his fingers over the inscription, lost in his own thoughts, but Arthur had a feeling he knew what the young knight was thinking.
"I have no doubt that you've yielded your swords faithfully," Arthur spoke with much confidence. "You haven't failed any of your comrades in your quest, just as you didn't fail her." Lancelot looked up from his sword and directly at Arthur, knowing that he was making a subtle reference to Toltheon. They both understood that connection.
Arthur finally broke the link, satisfied that the two had finally made amends, but before he made leave, he turned back for one last word. "Do not allow your swords to separate, Lancelot. Your strength is far superior when they are united."
Lancelot allowed himself a half grin as Arthur closed the door.