Authors notes: I am back…just. The plane I was on goinghome was turned around due to a mechanical failure…not good for a nervous flyer. Thank you to all my reviewers. Hope you enjoy this chapter.
OO
It was becoming a common event for Arthur to find himself walking towards the front gate with a feeling of foreboding deep within. Crassus, it seemed, had left out the fact that the visitors were an obviously disgruntled Roman chief centurion and his unit demanding to be allowed in. Pontius was currently trying to sort it out with what seemed like little apparent success. As he watched this he realised how much he had been neglecting Pontius and Plautius who had been busy trying to sort out the mess that the woads had left behind even though Arthur was technically in command. Licinius was in the hospital with a nasty sword wound to the thigh and he had yet to see him he thought guiltily.
For days Lancelot had been his whole world. His desperation to make the knight well had eroded all other concerns. A Roman officer should not allow his personal feelings to overcome his professional responsibilities. Lancelot wasn't the only one who needed his care and attention.
"Artorius Castus I presume." A voice sneered and Arthur looked up to see the leader of the unit, the chief centurion, addressing him with an attitude that clearly demonstrated that he thought himself to be vastly superior.
"Yes and you are?" he snapped not willing to start a verbal battle of wits and political manoeuvring. He wanted a simple and plain conversation but it appeared that this would not be granted to him.
"Chief centurion Marcellus, Commander of the 5th British unit of Roman Infantry." He said with all the pompous arrogance of a Roman senator. He was probably the son of one using the military to start his political career like so many do.
"We are here to sort out your woad problem." He said it with such certainty that Arthur almost laughed. He was glad Bors and the others were still in the hospital.
"Well as you can see we have accomplished this by ourselves but we are grateful to you for coming to our aid and you're welcome to come inside and make yourselves at home."
Marcellus paused clearly not expecting this.
"Where is commander Julio?" he demanded obviously wanting to take this higher than Arthur.
"He was killed." Arthur said watching Marcellus's expression at this news.
"I see…" Marcellus said slowly. "Can you then explain how this came to happen and why we have a number of Romans from other forts missing and all are somehow connected with you?"
"What?" Arthur demanded, his patience beginning to go.
"Centurion Licinius from the fort to the south and a detachment of lost cavalry you were sent to find. May I also presume that somehow Centurion Antoninus and some of his missing soldiers are also connected to you and the Sarmatians?"
'No you may not you pompous windbag…' Arthur found himself thinking and then decided he needed some sleep.
"It is a long story and seen as how it is extremely cold and you have travelled a long way I suggest we discuss it inside over the evening meal." Arthur said through gritted teeth. He was already trying to find means and ways to keep his knights out of the way or else Marcellus wouldn't be leaving here with all his limbs intact. While half his mind debated this issue the other half was focused upon what he would tell this Roman that would be a semi – believable lie. This was going to be a lot harder than he originally thought.
OO
Lancelot scowled at Crassus with all the hatred and bitterness at his current situation that he could muster. Unfortunately the doctor seemed only amused instead of deathly afraid for his continued well being.
"Young man, granted you are a master at those glares, but I must break it to you that I am immune to them considering that you reward me with one every time you are in my care, which need I remind you is far too often." The doctor said as he finished replacing the knight's bandages.
Bors coughed which sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh. Lancelot thought this was so and moved his glare to the bulky knight who carefully resumed a blank expression although his eyes still twinkled much to Lancelot's annoyance.
"How are you feeling?" Gawain asked. The blonde knight was stood next to Galahad who had just gotten to his feet shakily a few hours ago and was now being watched like a hawk by Gawain.
"Fine." Lancelot grumbled in his usual fashion. Gawain rolled his eyes.
"You are a rubbish liar." The blonde knight responded. "We only want to help."
"Help me do what?"
"Get better, feel better…why is it such a problem for you to accept that?"
"Gawain." Dagonet said softly. Now was not the time for this argument to start.
"No!" Gawain snapped back. "He is always like this. We try and show concern for him and he throws it back in our faces. We have been here for over ten years and still he has this attitude." The knight was furious, not only at Lancelot but at themselves. Somehow after all they've been through Lancelot for some reason still didn't trust them enough and they didn't know enough about him to ever help him. They had accepted long ago that Lancelot was guarded. He didn't share feelings and to a great extent neither did they but Lancelot took it to the extreme. Gawain didn't want him or expect him to radically change but it might be helpful to both them and Lancelot if he let them in more. Maybe it would prevent him from being as self – destructive as he sometimes became. There was so few of them left he didn't want Lancelot to throw his life away.
"What do you want me to say?" Lancelot whispered. "Bare my soul. How is that going to help?"
Gawain was about to snap back at him but he stopped himself when he realised that Lancelot was being honest, he honestly wanted to know how it would help.
Crassus took this as the time to excuse himself leaving the brotherhood of knights alone.
"It is not going to help. I am here to kill, why do killing machines need to have feelings; they destroyedmost of them during training. Why does anyone care?" His brutal honesty hit hard.
"Its what keeps us alive, its what keeps us going…" Gawain said sitting down on Lancelot's pallet. Lancelot smiled at him, a sad smile that one would give to a naïve child who hadn't yet learnt the harsh realities of life.
"For you maybe and Galahad that is how it is but not for me. We are not normal, we kill for a living. There is very little difference between us and murderers who would kill a man for his horse, this is their home and we would do the same in their place. We are slaves and all we know is how to kill well. No one cares how we feel. Do you think the Romans ask about our feelings? We are just filthy Sarmatians to them. And at home do you think they will welcome us with open arms when we return? Do you think they think about us? My sister probably can't remember what I look like. I have seen what happens in my village when knights return…" Lancelot faded off as the sleeping potion began to take effect.
"They don't want…want a bitter…figure who only knows killing in the village…" By the end of the sentence Lancelot was barely whispering, his eyes were closed and in the next minute he was asleep.
The room was left in silence continued, each knight in shock after hearing from the normally guarded Lancelot a frank and brutally honest expression of feelings. No one knew quite what to make of it or the words spoken.
"I need a drink." Bors exclaimed and this time no one disagreed with him.
"I will stay." Tristan said taking his place on the chair next to the bed. No one questioned him and they left. Tristan took out a long strip of leather and his knife which he began working all the while keeping an eye on the sleeping knight.
OO