Okay, fair warning, I have written mostly Harry Potter fanfictions up until now. I am not completely sure about writing one for something else, but I love King Arthur so I figured I would try. If it is horrible I am sorry.

The title of the song refers to a Loreena McKennit song which is featured in The Mists of Avalon, and the entire time I was watching King Arthur I have that song stuck in my head. It will fit, as you will see. I have also decided to add a little bit of contemporary Arthurian legendry into the story by having some sort of mystical happenings. No magic, just odd coincidences, and perhaps a premonition or two.

Disclaimer: I own no one from the original movie. Anyone you don't recognize is mine. Also lines and scenes from the movie (some from the extended version) belong to the writer, directors, producers and so forth. Everything else is a creation of my own.

Reviews are loved, but not necessary. Even bad reviews are welcome. Maybe they will help improve my writing. Maybe not. Don't know until you try, right?

By 300 AD, the Roman Empire extended from Arabia to Britain. But they wanted more. More land. More peoples loyal and subservient to Rome. But no people so important as the powerful Sarmatians to the east.

Thousands died on that field. And when the smoke cleared on the fourth day, the only Sarmatian soldiers left alive were members of the decimated but legendary calvary. The Romans, impressed by their bravery and horsemanship, spared their lives. In exchange, these warriors were incorporated into the Roman military.

Better they had died that day.

For the second part of the bargain they struck indebted not only themselves but also their sons, and their sons, and so on, to serve the empire as nights.

I was such a son.

Our post was Britain- of at least the southern half, for the land was divided by a 73-mile wall built three centuries before us to protect the empire from the native fighters of the north. So, as our forefathers had done, we made our way and reported to our Roman commander in Britain, ancestrally named for the first Artorius, or Arthur.

SARMATIA- 452 AD

A young man rides across the green fields of his homeland on a magnificent black steed. He rides hard, as though the very earth would crack open beneath him if he didn't ride. He rides through streams, through fields, over vast spans of land. Upon reaching his destination, a small village, he stops short. From his meal a man looks up, examining the boy. He takes in his worried appearance.

The boy looks down at the people, his family, and dismounts his horse, running over to where his family sits. "Father." He looks back out across the field as his father comes to stand next to him. "They are here."

Across the field a group of riders can be seen. Instantly the boy's father becomes solemn. He looks at his wife, his expression becoming more and more saddened with each passing second. "The day has come."

His wife, having stood up as well, glances out across the field at the approaching caravan of riders, a fear gripping her and freezing her heart. The unfairness of this day would leave a scar on her heart for the rest of her life, and would leave a sorrow in her she would carry to her grave, but she did not yet know it.

The boy's father places a hand on the boy's shoulders as they survey the riders. Mostly young men, boys no older than he himself and a few Roman generals.

One general rides up to the edge of the village. He surveys the inhabitants with what can only be described as repressed hostility. His gaze stops on the boy whose father stand at his shoulders. "You, boy!" The officer points at him gruffly. "What's you're name?"

The boy looks startled for a moment, but quickly answers. "Lancelot, sir."

"And how old are you, boy?"

"Twelve."

The general now turns to Lancelot's father. "Are they any other boys in the village near this one's age?"

His grip on his son's shoulders tightens as he answers. "No, sir. Next oldest it 7 I'm afraid."

"No, that's too young," the general says. Seeming unhappy but satisfied with this information the general looks back at Lancelot. "You, boy, will be coming with us. You are to be trained to be a knight."

Lancelot looks over his shoulder at his father. "Father?"

The man looks down at his son. For the first time Lancelot can remember his father's eyes are glazed over with tears. "It's alright Lancelot. It's an honor." He pats his son on the shoulder. "It'll be fine."

"Gather only what you'll need for the journey, any spare clothes you have. Hurry along about it."

Lancelot, however, has nothing his wishes to bring. Leaving his family is a burden that ways him down. He wants to tell the general he is crazy if he thinks that he will leave his family, but he knows it will do no good. He had no choice in the matter.

His father leads him over to his horse. "Do not worry, Lancelot."

As he mounts his horse he feels as though a bucket of water has been thrown on him. In one moment his whole life has been changed. He was being torn away from his home and forced to go with a general to train to be a knight. And for what? For Rome.

His father led the horse to the center of the village where everyone had gathered. They are saying goodbye, Lancelot realizes.

His father strokes his horse's head, glancing up at his son. "There is a legend that fallen nights return as great horses," he says. "He has seen what awaits you, and he will protect you." It is the only way he knows how to try to comfort his son, and maybe comfort himself.

Lancelot merely stares at his father, not believing what he just said.

"Lancelot! Lancelot!"

The boy turns his head to see his sister running out of their hut, her dark hair braided. She runs up to the horse, dodging around what was left of the fire for the meal and the logs they sat on. "Lancelot." As her father places an arm around her shoulders she reaches up to hand something to him. He meets her halfway, and when he pulls his hand back to look at what he was given he sees a beautiful wooden carving of an animal, stringed like a necklace. He smiles down at her, almost sadly, while she merely gazes up at her brother with nothing less than admiration glowing in her brown eyes.

Lancelot meets the eyes of his worried mother in the crowd. "Don't be afraid," he says, mostly speaking to her. "I will return." In truth, he doesn't believe he will return, but he wants to comfort his mother. He doesn't want her to worry about him. What he doesn't know is a mother always worries about her child.

He glances one last time at his home, at his family, and turns his horse away before he himself can be taken over by sadness. As he makes his way over to the other boys he does not see his mother come up beside his father; does not see the tears run down her face or his father's anguished look.

Lancelot scans the crowd. All the boys seem to have the same feeling as he does; they do not want to be there any more than he does.

"How long will we be gone?" he asks the general.

The general regards him as though he was useless, but answers nonetheless. "Fifteen years, not including the months it'll take to get to your post."

Fifteen years. Those words confirmed what Lancelot feared. If he was lucky enough to return home, nothing would be as it was. His home would be a place he didn't recognize.

The general turns away.

"Lancelot!"

He turns his attention back to his father, who raises his hand in the air and lets out a war cry along with the rest of the village. "Rus!" Before long the other boys chosen to be knights join in.

Lancelot it the only one who remains silent, still intently looking at his family. His gaze lingers a little while longer, trying to imprint this in his memory. This was home. He would need a precious memory to make it through the next fifteen years. Then, he turns away and follows the other soon to be knights away from his home.

Britain- South of Hadrian's Wall- 452 AD

"Where are you headed Artorius?"

A young brunette boy stops short. He turns to the young girl who spoke to him. "I need to find my mother. I have to show her something."

"Can I see?"

He glances at her, then the item in his hands and back at her. "I suppose. But be careful."

"I promise."

The girl is younger that him, probably about eight, when he himself is thirteen. "Here."

He hands over the item in his hand. She examines it, turning it over in her hands. "It's nice. Who's it for?"

"Pelagius."

The young girl smiles. "I think he'll like it."

"What are you doing out, Rihana? Shouldn't you be at home?"

"I came to say goodbye."

Artorius frowns. "Goodbye? Where are you going?"

Rihana blinks around the black hair that is flying into her face. "Mother has decided it is better for us to leave this place. With father dead she finds no reason to stay. She wants to return home."

Artorius frowns once more. Rihana's father had been a friend of his fathers, and she a friend of his. If she returns home that would mean that he would never be able to see her again. "Are you leaving for good?"

"Yes."

After a slight hesitation he hugs Rihana. "I will miss you."

She smiles, handing Artorius back his gift for Pelagius. "I will miss you as well."

"Rihana!"

Across the way her mother calls for her. She smiles sadly at Artorius, and waves. "Goodbye." She lingers for a moment before running to her mother.

Artorius watches Rihana and her mother until he can no longer see them, then, as if remembering he was supposed to be finding his mother, starts on his way once more. He crosses the little village and makes his way over the grass hills to the body of water where all the cleaning was done. He skims the area, and upon spotting his mother, makes his way down the hill and over to her. "Mother, I finished it."

His mother, a beautiful brunette woman, looks up from her laundry, and at the craft in her son's hand. He is holding a disk. "That's beautiful," she tells him, smiling.

Proud of himself Artorius dips the disk into the water and cleans it off. He runs his fingers over the lumps, over the picture of a man and the words 'Cristi Pelagius'.

"Mother..."

He turns to hand the disk to his other, but finds she is no longer next to him, but further up the hill. Clutching her laundry basket in one hand she waves to her son with the other, then turns to follow the rest of the woman back to their homes as he son waves to her.

Next to him Artorius hears the sound of horses. Looking up he smiles. "Pelagius. For you." He holds out the disk.

A balding Roman man stands before him. He takes the disk and examines it, smiling. "Well done, Artorius." The approval in his voice makes the boy's heart soar. He looks up to this man, and this acknowledgement made him extremely happy.

Pelagius glances down at the boy's face, and hands the disk back to him. "You keep it. Deliver it to me when you come to Rome."

As Pelagius readjusts the bags on his horse, the neighing of horses can be heard from over the hills. Across the fields Artorius can see horseman riding in a line. Upon further inspection he can tell they are boys his age.

Pelagius returns to his side, grabbing his shoulders. "Come. Behold, Arthur. Young knights. If you so choose, they may some day be yours to lead, just as your father before you."

Arthur glances up at Pelagius. "I'm to be their commander?"

"Yes. But with this title comes a sacred responsibility to protect, to defend, to value their lives above your own and, should they perish in battle..." Pelagius kneels down in front of Arthur, grasping his shoulders. "To live your life gloriously in honour of their memory."

"And what of their free will?" Arthur asks, glancing back towards the young knights.

"It has always fallen on to a few to sacrifice for the good of many. The world isn't a perfect place, but perhaps people like you, Arthur, and me and them can make it so." He smiles slightly at the boy, shakes him affectionately, and stands, making his way back to his horse.

Arthur glances once more at the young knights. Their commander. He would be their commander.