A/N: Sorry this took so long to update. I got back from vacation a little over a week ago, and so it took a while for me to write this and get it edited. Thanks for hanging in there, guys! Hope you like this chapter. I added a little bit of Lancelot/Guinevere in here just cuz I felt like it, and because I believe the characters would actual have done this. So there.

Chapter Fifteen: For Freedom

"Tristan, I'm sorry about Briac," Adima said, trying to attract Tristan's attention. He had been staring into nothingness, lost deep in thought.

"You needn't worry about him," Tristan replied. "He's far from here now; far from us."

"Tristan," Gawain called. He was standing with Talso by the rail of the wall, leaning his arms against the thick grey stone, painted in places with an ivy blanket.

Hadrian's Wall stretched for miles, and it was agreed to have been a beautiful sight. Arthur had known of its beauty, but he couldn't help but partially resent the reason it was made; to separate two differing peoples. Adima was fascinated by the wall, and the view from where she stood was more than she's ever hoped for, or imagined. She could see for miles all around her, and up high, the breezes came with thick, full gusts of wind that made her hair dance about her. But tonight, it was different; the gusts had calmed; they seemed to be holding their breath- waiting for something.

On one side of the wall, fields stretched for acres. They were full and a soft color of emerald green. An island of trees was farther off in the distance. Night was coming, and on the horizon, even farther off, met with a deep blue sky sprinkled with stars.

The other side of the wall had become the border of the Roman fort. It saw average people everyday; villagers, women and children, their men, Roman soldiers, and the knights along with their attendants, and now, a new group of villagers who had traveled many miles to be there, the serfs.

"We could find peace here, couldn't we?" Gawain had asked of a dream. He longed to be home, but at the moment, he was surprised to find that he was happy where he was. But he knew what horrible memories he had at the fort; all his friends and fallen comrades…Dagonet. He had wanted so long to be rid of it all, they all had.

"Peace," Tristan agreed. "Yes, peace for a moment." Gawain smiled, and turned back to Talso.

"More than a moment," Adima corrected him uneasily. "An eternity."

Tristan offered her a smile. "If that were possible," he said, quietly. "An eternity is a long time."

Just as he said this, he heard shouts coming from the Saxon crew. One man looked as if he were about to attack another, but he was halted by their leader.

Tristan remembered the sight of the army as they had come forth onto the plains. He and Adima just watched in silence as the army of Saxons poured into the grasslands like a swarm of locusts, a plague. Their leader was someone no one on the wall recognized. He was tall, sturdily built, and he looked strong. His massive shoulders were blanketed in a thick coat of fur and armor. He carried a sword, swinging it in one hand, his face was grim and his eyes cold and narrowed.

Adima shivered. "There are not that many of them," she said, arrogantly. She knew there were many, but her tone was somewhat sarcastic. Over a thousand soldiers rested there, not far from the wall. It made Adima's skin crawl. She realized that on the morrow, she would be down there, fighting them, alongside her sister, and her kin. The thought of this frightened her, and gave her a dose of adrenaline all the same. She imagined she would not live to see the outcome of the battle, which in part suited her, for she doubted her people would be able to come out of this war victorious; not against an army that large. But then she remembered that fateful day on the ice, when a mere ten knights and Woads had fought an army of two hundred Saxons, and had defeated them, with only one casualty.

Adima knew there would be deaths on the morrow for both sides- how could they avoid it? Upon this thought, she realized how glad she was Tristan was leaving. At least away from here, he would be safe, she thought. She curled her fingers around his, feeling the warmth in his calloused fingers. She felt all around comforted and relaxed for a moment. There was more warmth in her now than she had ever felt.

"Arthur," Jols tapped violently against Arthur's chamber door. His voice was clear and jaded. Worry dripped from his words like blood as it swims across the edge of a warm blade.

Arthur froze. He was holding Guinevere by her waist, as they sat together upon his soft, warm bed. Guinevere parted her lips from his neck to crane her own toward the door; she couldn't help but blush a little. "Come to the wall," Jols demanded, bitterly, and before Arthur could open his mouth to ask why, they could hear Jols' footsteps exiting the corridor.

He and Guinevere stared at each other a moment, a Guinevere's eyes dropped in angst. She had a feeling why he had been summoned. Arthur sighed, "We must go."

Guinevere glided swiftly behind him as Arthur led her to the wall, where all the knights and some Roman guards were watching the every movement of their enemy. "Saxons," Lancelot muttered bitterly as they approached. He was sitting on a wooden chair, a mug of ale in his hand.

"When did they arrive?" Arthur demanded, panting, he had nearly run all the way up there.

"Only minutes ago," his faithful scout answered, letting go of Adima's hand. He walked over to his commander, his face grim. Lancelot stood and joined him at Arthur's side. All three Woad women looked back and forth to each other in wonder and uncertainty. "What are we going to do, Arthur?" Tristan asked, his voice almost a whisper, his eyes searching Arthur's face for any sign or expression.

Arthur looked tired, weary, and determined. He sighed and answered. "Knights," he began sternly. Gawain and Galahad took a few steps towards him, listening intently, and Bors came up from behind, struggling to walk straight- he had never parted with his ale and still held it tightly in hand, as though it was a life source. Lucan padded up along side him, his face anxious. "This is where our path parts."

"No, Arthur," Lancelot walked forward in protest.

"Lancelot," Arthur held up his hand. "I cannot leave with you tomorrow. I now know my destiny. Go, my precious knights, and faithful friends, back to your homeland, and remember me there. It has always been an honor to fight, and live with you, and I count you all my brothers." Without another word, Arthur started down the stone steps of the wall, leaving Guinevere behind to stare at him in wonder. What was he doing? That was exactly the question going through Lancelot's mind.

Lancelot ran after him. "Arthur, reconsider!" he yelled, stopping Arthur in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs. "You cannot do this! For the sake of our friendship-"

Arthur put a hand on Lancelot's shoulder and said, sincerely. "Lancelot, be my friend now, and leave me be. I have a whole night to prepare for a battle on the morrow." Lancelot stared at him in awe, his mouth gaping. "Go with the others," he insisted. "I cannot follow you, Lancelot."

"Why?" the young, black-haired knight asked.

"I know my purpose, Lancelot," was Arthur's reply. "I must stay here, and help these people fight for their land, fight for freedom."

"The Woads?" Arthur nodded. "They can fight for their own land!" Lancelot shouted angrily.

"They need my help," Arthur replied. "All that we've been through, Lancelot, all my years spent here…have led me to this moment. I cannot fail these people, their freedom, or myself. My place is here now, and forever will be."

"Come home with us, Arthur," Lancelot said, heaving a sigh, his eyes were pleading.

Arthur turned his back on his best friend. "This is my home," said he, leaving Lancelot behind.

"Arthur!" the knight called after him, but was ignored. "Arthur, don't!"

"Let him be," Guinevere breathed, coming up behind Lancelot, and placing tow warm hands on his shoulder. He immediately loosened them, as if by her command and then she released, realizing what she was doing.

He turned around, meeting her friendly and comforting gaze. "He will die tomorrow," he said, wearily.

Guinevere took a deep breath. "I know," she said with regret.

"Then why? Why does he do this?"

"Because he believes in a higher purpose, Lancelot," Guinevere answered softly. She was wearing a flowing teal gown, and her rich brown hair swayed in the calm breeze.

"What purpose?" Lancelot demanded of her.

"Freedom," she said simply. "It is an honorable purpose. He will die fighting for a righteous cause" Guinevere looked down. "As may I," she said, looking up again, into Lancelot's dark, captivating eyes.

"No," Lancelot breathed, softly. He stroked her hair delicately with his right hand. Guinevere closed her eyes, almost afraid to watch him. He moved his body two steps closer to hers and shut his eyes, opening his mouth slightly. Guinevere held her breath and moved her lips apart, a little unsure of herself.

Their lips brushed against one another, and then the kiss ended. It was Lancelot. He backed away from Guinevere, with horror in his eyes. "No," he repeated. "I can't do this to Arthur. He's my friend, my brother."

Guinevere felt her cheeks grow a rosy pink. Her eyes were moist with tears as she sped past Lancelot to follow Arthur, the short train of her dress trailing behind her. The knight's gaze followed her until she disappeared from sight.

A/N: Please review! Thanks.