Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.


Warning: The next two chapters are a darker, and perhaps have some ideas in them that some people find a bit hard to read. Please be aware as you read.

It is not my intention to insult or cause discomfort, but to provide vehicle for thought.


Scribe Notes:

Melosine: The urgency paired with humour I wasn't so sure about, but I am glad that it worked for you. I had these done and was going to wait a day or so to post, but I decided to post now, since I am a tad worried they are where a lot of people would not want me to go.

ElvenStar5: We camped for the weekend and everywhere there was fireworks for Canada Day. The people in the next campsite decided that 3 am was a good time to start letting them off. argh. But yes, they can be such an inspiration! We have contests for fireworks teams in Toronto, they are always set to music. Very cool.

Here are your updates and I am glad you enjoyed the last two chapters!

Calliann:You are a smart mind and you, I think, are on my level with my plot (wink). Were you reading my thoughts?

Yes please do go usethe bathhouse. I own nothing about Roman times so bring on the hot water and hot romance!

Sokorra Lewis: I made you sqwee again! Yay! I love the way you write that in I can hear it (grin). Dory and Galahad are cute together. I wanted to pair him with someone that was his total opposite. He's so outgoing and youthful with his exuberance, I wanted a quiet shy girl to calm him, and he to bring her out. I think it works.

I watched Ella Enchanted. What a great family movie that is. but wow, when Hugh Dancy's character Char falls for Ella, he's very convincing. I now see him looking the same way at Dory. Very inspiring for their romance.

AIlis-70: He gets to fight and more. These two chapters I am hesitant about but I like them. I feel they work, but I hope that my readers see it the same way.

My new Tristan sees himself withher now, so it would stand to reason that she enters his thoughts then. It really was fun, it popped into my head and I said "Yeah, he would say that".

I am reading one right now called Lone Knight which is quite good. Lancelot gets the worst treatment by enemies but its such a poignant and emotional piece. I really like it. Melosine's chapter was quite dark, but I thought it worked well in context with the story when I beta'ed it for her. She was worried it was too much, but now that this "event" has happened for her Tristan an Damara, I think things can begin to climb out of hte pit. She's a good authoress, I know she will make it work.

I have had a couple of other people go "hey leather skirts!" I totally missed the boat on that description! (grin)Skirts and skirting is a part of battle armour that goes from the cuirass to halfway down the thigh in Roman times. Roman footsoldiers even had pleated ones that looked like a bunch of neck-ties all strung together and bolted to the Lorica Segmentata (roman cuirass).More modern (1300 to 1500's AD) shortened the skirting to simply be a lengthened bit across the hips, usually segmented so it would collapse when in the saddle. Some even took on the same designs as the epaulettes (shoulder guards) and vambraces to match the armour. So Lancelot's skirts were the same as the ones he wore in the movie, with metal plates riveted to short leather flaps.

Ganis is fun, he's slapstick and you can do so much with that. Glad you enjoyed that part, I laughed when I wrote it.

Here are a couple of chapters that I hope are not too dark, and are not too much. I really hope you enjoy them.

lilstrummrgrl527: See above in my reply to Ailis-70 for an explanation of skirting in armour. (grin) I see Russell in Russell's armour really. I love the way they dressed Lancelot in the movie, it was quite suave and really outlined his legs. that was sexy. The battle armour on him really outlined his waist, and I LOVED the way they gave him such a fiece mongol-horde look with his helmet on.

I am glad you liked the chapters. Here are two more that I hope you also enjoy.

gwenn0: Cerys is discovering that love can be a many-splendored thing and she is now comfortable in it. She was always confident in her abilities of work, and now that she has resolved her worries of the men and her tendencies to work too hard through them, she can be confident in her sexuality too. Hey, its fun! I wish I was as confident as her sometimes, about that kind of thing. Humans are so complicated, no?

Here are two chapters that will hopefully answer your questions.

et cetera et cetera: Don't apologize! It's great to get a review from you anytime. (grin) I don't really worry about whether everyone reviews. I worry about what people get out of my work, and how it makes them feel. That is more important. You have really reviewed my work well so it makes me happy, even if you don't do so for every chapter.

And yes, behind every successful man is a powerful woman. Right on!

Babaksmiles: Thank you! I enjoy writing them. This one is a bit different, but I hope you enjoy it just as much. Yes, Lancelot is a romantic sap with Cerys. I admit to sighing when I thought of that. He finally told her why he keeps it, and doesn't use the mint. I remembered that I wrote in the chapter A Gamble Forgiven (I think) that he thought someday he would tell her why, and now he has! She figured it out long ago (being the woman that she is) but it was nice to hear it anyways. Just like when you know a man loves you, now and again you need the flowers and the wine and the dining to validate it. A girl needs romance.

If there are any men out there reading this, take notes! (wink)

PetPoor: OH! thank you! I am glad you joined so you could review! I would allow anonymous reviews, but from reading other stories, I notice that the reviews tend to be more quantity than quality when anon reviews are allowed.

Yes I wish I could deduct my own vet bills and such too. My horses are my sanity and my best friends. I am so glad you like the story. I hope the next two chapters are not too gruesome for you.

Ok folks, here we go! Two more. Thanks very much for your reviews for the past two chapters. My scribe notes are getting quite long! (grin)


Chapter 52: Madness in the Middle

Tristan and Gawain had just rounded a corner when the knights saw them pounding up the road. Arthur sat and pulled up his horse as they met, his arm in the air.

The dust from the group sprayed everywhere as horses slid to a stop, shaking their heads and jingling tack. Horses cleared their nostrils, and soft "whoas" could be heard as everyone jostled, meeting in the middle. The wind quickly carried away the dust, the grass making swishing nois­es as the grit passed through it.

"How much farther up?" Arthur asked as their horses met.

"Another mile or so."

"Glad to see you are both in one piece." Lancelot smirked as he halted on the other side of Tris­tan. He nodded to Gawain. Gawain looked away, his hands clenched on the reins, his face set. Tristan raised his eyebrow and turned back to Arthur.

"Can't hog all the fun." Tristan replied dryly.

The wind was whipping through the trees now. The horses, stirred from the weather and the knowledge that they were headed to fight, shifted restlessly under the men. Arthur and Tristan talked quietly for another few moments. The rest of the group milled about, talking quietly, ad­justing tack, preparing to ride into battle.

Bors was already humming, Lancelot noticed, and Perceval was already twitching. He watched Galahad flip a green scale across his fingers, dismount, and walk his horse over to Gawain, who had done the same.

The brothers met and talked quietly. Galahad handed the scale to Gawain, who crushed it in his fist and nodded, eyes to the ground. Galahad then put a hand to his shoulder and they stood in silence.

Lancelot hoped that Gawain would let out some frustration on the Saxons. It would most defi­nitely help him. He watched as Gawain turned and tied the scale in Terryn's mane for Galahad, who watched silently. The brothers awkwardly embraced, Galahad saying something to him, Gawain nodding again.

It was good that they had decided to turn back. Galahad would have been beside himself other­wise. They needed no more heartache. The Gods knew Gawain could not have handled a repeat of whatever it was that had happened to him when he and Gareth were attacked.

Lancelot took the opportunity to relax and let Klyndd pick at some dried grass from the edge of the road, and the horse ambled away from the group as he foraged. They would most definitely be going into the camp and laying waste this day, but he was more interested in just going home.

He was tired, cranky and above all else, was missing Cerys. He hadn't gotten to spend very much time with her that morning before she was on to her day's chores. He scratched at his cheek un­der his helmet flap and undid the laces to reach it better. He had wanted to tell her all about the night. All he'd been able to get out before he was dragged off by Galahad was that Gawain had slept without dreaming.

Saxons could destroy even the most carefully laid out plans for laziness; he mused and chuckled to himself. Well, laziness would only last so long if she had kept kissing him the way she had in the stables. He shifted in the saddle and pushed the thoughts away.

He had to concentrate. They were about to ride into battle and all he could think of was making love to his bride to be.

Bors was right, he was moon-faced in love.

He liked it.

Truthfully he was glad that they had not had to go in and rescue Gawain and Tristan. He had made bets to himself that they would have charged in by themselves. He glanced up again at Tristan, who had found Perceval with his cuirass and helmet, and was now dressing. Gawain was hefting his own on, Galahad having brought it with him.

He shook his left arm and realized a vambrace buckle was coming undone, so he tied it back up. He smiled, thinking on how she had helped him dress. He enjoyed that. It made it easier for him to leave, somehow, knowing that she had been part of his ritual. He patted his cuirass and felt the lump that the linen made against his chest. Mint was emanating from it. She was with him and he felt content.

He did his cheek flaps back up and sighed. He clicked to Klyndd and they moved forward again to find out what the plan was.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The battle was quick, intense, and over before Lancelot had even had time to get into the famil­iar rhythm. He had barely even begun his dance of death.

There could be a good side to that. He felt, for the first time, no remorse, and no inkling that he did not know the man standing in his skin. It was new, this awareness. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the breeze on his face.

Lancelot had felt the bloodlust rise in the group as they had rounded the corner. He saw the ban­ner flapping in the wind, and it was all they needed to spur into battle mode.

It had been Arthur to start the cry, his deep voice bellowing "RIIIIIIIIDE".

The knights had then ridden in screaming, weapons drawn and flashing in the afternoon sun, hooves pounding. Most of the Saxons met with a weapon to their heads. Only Bors, Lancelot and Gawain had dismounted into the fray. The rest had stayed mounted, the advantage to being able to take on more than one man at a time. Seven on forty were unfair odds, but on a horse, it was evened out just a bit.

Gawain had been unstoppable once he was on foot. He swung his mace back and forth, blood and brains spraying off of it after each hit, locks of hair stuck to the spikes floating as he moved it through the air to the next skull, the next face. He screamed the whole time, his own blonde hair flying. He hadn't bothered to put on his helmet.

He had been almost ferile in his screams. Lancelot knew where he was on the battlefield the en­tire time, and had caught his rage from the corner of his eyes as they had worked through the camp.

Gawain had killed ten men on his own steam, most of them, their faces unrecognizable when he finished whacking his mace into them.

Gawain was a man possessed by a memory that he needed to exorcise. Lancelot wondered, as he stood and regained his breath, if it had been enough to calm his friend.

Lancelot opened his eyes again, chest heaving, blood dripping off his swords, and he counted the kills around him. Only two or three, but they had been huge hairy brutes, and tough to fell.

Saxon trees. And he was a lumberjack.

He scoffed as the image of himself chopping down trees with Saxon hair for leaves came to him. His mind did strange things in the aftermath of battle. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He flexed his shoulders. They would be stiff.

It had been a long winter.

The camp, they had been ready for the knights. They were already in minimal travel armour and gathered weapons, but were poor fighters. They had seemed different from a regular troop of Saxons, very unorthodox fighting style. They all carried British swords as well as their tradi­tional axes. It was strange, but not unthought-of of. Spoils of war were easy to re use, especially good Briton swords. They were hardy. Even a Saxon could appreciate craftsmanship, he sup­posed.

But now the swords would be back in Briton hands. Their hands. He smiled at that. He was start­ing to really think of this place as home.

Arthur had spared the Chief, who was now tied and lieing at his feet, Arthur's huge sword drawn and pointed to his chest, Tristan's sword loose and ready in his hand, his eyes never leaving the large blonde man. The man was writhing, screaming in his own language, beating his head against the earth as if possessed, his eyes rolling.

Lancelot saw in Tristan's eyes that he still felt the thrum of battle in his veins. He wanted des­perately to kill this one as well. Lancelot smiled. Tristan, despite his different actions of late, was still their bloodthirsty scout.

That, for the oddest reason, gave him comfort.

Lancelot groaned and made his way stiffly over to them, his senses and breath regained. He had taken a blunt blow from the side of an axe to the ribs. That was going to be a big bruise later. He also knew he was bleeding from his thigh, but it was minor.

"Injured?" Arthur asked as he neared his side. Lancelot shook his head, and Arthur nodded once, his eyes never leaving the chief.

The others gathered around. Lancelot looked for Gawain. Where was he?

"Where's Gawain?"

Galahad turned his head to look, pushing a blood-soaked strand of hair out of his face. "Dunno. Was at my side during the start of the fight, then he dismounted and I lost him."

The men looked about the camp then. Perceval stepped away to look behind tents, leaving bloody fingerprints on the doorways as he looked in.

"He's here." Perceval yelled into one. It had not sounded panicked, but there was urgency in it.

Galahad looked at Arthur, who jerked his head. "Go."

Galahad sprinted off towards Perceval's voice, Bors following him.

Lancelot sighed, bent over and wiped his swords clean on a dead Saxon's tunic. He inspected them quickly, then sheathed them.

"Heave him up." Arthur said as Tristan and Lancelot grabbed the chief and hoisted him to his feet. The man growled and spat in his own language, his nose bloody where he had beaten it into the ground repeatedly. His forehead was covered in mud, his eyes darting about.

"What is your business here Saxon? Why are you on our land?" Arthur asked as he stepped to­wards the man. The man snarled and bared his teeth. They were black stumps. Lancelot looked away.

Tristan too had turned his head at the smell of the man from behind. He hadn't bathed in months, and his hair was a mat of knots, parasites and twigs. Lancelot looked to two other men close to their feet. They too looked to have been well travelled and filthy. The whole camp gave the air of madness. Their armour was rusty and motley. These were not regular Saxons.

Arthur hadn't flinched, his jaw tense and his eyes flashing fire.

Tristan shook him and growled something out in their own language. The Saxon looked sur­prised for a moment then laughed. A laugh that almost bordered on madness. No... It was mad.

Lancelot wished he did not have to hold the man by his tunic. He wanted to let him go, the stench on him was making him gag.

"We live here, we hunt here. This is our land." He roughly spat in their language, his lips split­ting wider to reveal more rotted teeth. "We raid, we hunt. Britons make a tasty treat in winter."

"Hunting Britons?" Lancelot asked, his eyes narrowing.

The chief turned his head and licked at the blood flowing out of his nose onto his lip, smacking them together maniacally. He looked at Lancelot out of the corner of his eye for a moment and then a look of recognition seemed to come to him. He wriggled in their grasp.

"I remember you. We killed you."

Tristan and Arthur looked questioningly at Lancelot. Lancelot shrugged his shoulders as he let go of the man, who swayed but stayed upright from Tristan's grasp on his other arm. What in the names of the Gods had he meant by that? This man was indeed mad. He thought that Arthur should put him out of his misery and plunge his sword into his belly and be done with it.

"Killed me?"

"You were bigger..." He said as he stopped, then said something in his own language. He began laughing again, clearly lost in some memory. He rolled his head about, and bit his tongue. Blood drooled out his lips, gone slack.

Tristan flicked a glance to Arthur, who nodded. Tristan shoved the man to the ground again. Lancelot stepped back as the man put a hand on his boot and looked up at him, his eyes de­ranged.

"You are here to send me to Valhalla. You are here to reclaim your skin." He splattered blood and phlegm out of his mouth as he cackled, and continued on his own language. He looked up to Lancelot once more and reached for him.

"Valhalla..."

Lancelot stepped away as Arthur sheathed his sword. Tristan did the same. This man was no threat. He lay on the ground, gibbering in his own language, grasping at clods of earth with his fingers and stuffing the dead grass and roots into his mouth.

"What did he say?" Arthur asked Tristan as they moved away from the man to talk without the noise.

The chief was whimpering now, his hands covering his eyes. He had stepped beyond, into his own world.

Tristan cleared his throat and looked past both men, his eyes darting about, clearly upset. It took much to get Tristan to show discomfort or emotion, but Lancelot watched as Tristan fixed his eyes on the flapping banner in the middle of the camp, where the rest of the men had now gath­ered. They were pulling it down.

"He said you were dead, and they honoured you with your skin. He said..." Tristan swallowed, "It is too much of a coincidence. There's darkness at work here."

"Come on man, out with it." Arthur seethed through clenched teeth.

"He said that you fought them, years ago when he had been chief of thousands. You fought with magic armour..."

Tristan was silent a moment more. He looked right at Lancelot, and Lancelot felt the burning hatred in them right then. But it was not for him. It was for the mad man behind them, still flail­ing away and muttering. Lancelot grimaced and brushed a bloody hand over his face, streaking red on his cheeks.

"Magic armour..." Arthur began and then stopped, his own throat working as he looked to the banner, now on the ground. Gawain was on his knees in front of it, gazing dead-eyed, his hands listless to his sides. A look of realization came across Arthur's face.

"No." Arthur whispered.

"Green armour." Was all Tristan could manage before he had to turn away and put his hands on top of his head, swallowing to stop from being sick.

Lancelot felt his stomach seize, and almost as if Tristan had yelled it across the sky, Gawain began to scream.


Dear Reader:

Ok. First part in a two parter for me to post. I was going to wait, but I am anxious to get your reactions to this turn of events. I really do want your thoughts when this plays out in the next chapter. I think it works, I like the chapters, and I enjoyed writing them. But, I know it could be a bit harsh.

On to the next chapter. Thank you for reading.

Cardeia