Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for my own characters. Anything/anyone you do not recognize belongs to me. I may use lines and/or quotes from other sources, which are not my own, later on in the story. I'm not quite sure though-so I'm being un-specific. Those (if I do choose to use them) also do not in anyway belong to me.

A/N: Battle, finally! I know it was kind of a long wait, but I was out of town and a month is pretty good for me.

Choices

Chapter 16 : Don't Be Afraid

Arthur sat atop his horse in full battle gear. The strategic smoke burning from lines of tar that had been set up clouded the air, but from where he was Arthur could still manage to see everyone; the Saxons who sat ominously just outside the Wall, the Woads who sat waiting for his command within the Wall, and his men too, who now rode from the Wall they had called their home. The Knights were riding away from him and toward their freedom, and though Arthur knew that any other man might have been bitter over the knowledge of this departure, it brought him only peace. They had lost many knights over the years. He had failed many brothers. But he would not fail these six. They would know freedom; they had it now in their hands. The fact that they chose to return to their rightful homes, to the lives they had always deserved, rather than remain here with him was their choice.

How beautiful that they now had the freedom to make that choice.

He could not be bitter or angry that they did not stay. Arthur wanted them to live. To seize the lives that had, from their first breaths, belonged to them. Even if it meant he died alone, he understood. No matter what decision they made, he could only be thankful that it was theirs to make.

Arthur watched as the caravan made its way further from the wall. He watched his men solemnly, and he knew that they were watching him too. He saw as Bors broke away from the pack and galloped towards the bottom of the low hill which Arthur sat atop of.

"Artorius!" He screamed, saluting Arthur with his sword. "RUSSSSSSS!"

Arthur was silent for a moment before returning the call. "RUSSSSSSSS!" He yelled back with all his soul, raising his standard in the air. Bors looked torn for a second before returning to the caravan and falling in place with the other knights as they continued the journey away from Hadrian's Wall.

And then they were out of sight. They were gone. This was the end.

Arthur turned his gaze towards the Saxons who still sat on the opposite side of the wall and scrunched his face in doubt at what he saw. They were waving a white flag. He hesitated for a moment before taking off at a gallop to meet them at the doors. Once he had passed through the arches that lead out of the enclosure he found himself staring at a lone man—the Saxon leader, no doubt. Arthur brought his horse to a halt in front of the man. The animal was jumpy and anxious, it didn't bode well with this Saxon, and neither did Arthur.

"Arthur." His voice was gravelly and low. "Wherever I go on this wretched island, I hear your name. Always half whispered, as if you were a... god." Arthur was circling him, but the man kept their eyes locked. "All I see is flesh, blood. No more god than the creature you're sitting on."

"Speak your terms, Saxon." Arthur said plainly. He wanted this to begin. No more waiting.

The man gave a scoff. "The Romans have left you. What are you fighting for?"

Arthur continued to stare him dead in the eyes. "I fight for a cause beyond Rome's or your understanding."

The man smiled a smile that could make blood run cold. "You've come to beg a truce. You should be on your knees."

That was enough. Arthur drew Excalibur and pointed it straight at the Saxon. "I came to see your face, so that I alone may find you on the battlefield, and it would be good for you if you marked my face, Saxon." His voice was low and solemn. "For the next time you see it, it will be the last thing you see on this earth." Arthur turned his horse and rode away.

Faintly, as he entered the wall once again, he swore he could hear the man mumbling something. "Finally. A man worth killing." It sounded like he had said. Arthur shook his head. It must have been the wind.

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The Saxon drums made the ground tremble where Lena stood beside Guinevere, her bow strung, waiting along with the others for Arthur's command.

"I can't believe they left him." Guinevere stated somberly, her eyes glued to Arthur where he sat up on the hill. Lena looked to her cousin, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I wish they could have." She turned away, thinking of her dream from the night before. If the Knights really were going to leave neither Tristan nor Lancelot would have been in any danger. They would return, and Lena's intuition told her it would be soon.

Guinevere was staring at her with raised brows, a disbelieving grin forming on her face. "They'll come back then!" She glanced up at Arthur quickly.

Lena shook her head. "Don't you see, Guinevere?" She asked. "They never left—they couldn't." Guinevere didn't seem to understand, so Lena nodded her head in the direction of the hill. "It was just a matter of them knowing that for themselves." Five fully armored knights where making their way to the top of the small hill. To Arthur.

Lena could make them out clearly even from here. Gawain, Galahad, Lancelot, Tristan, and Bors all sat proudly before their commander. Dagonet, no doubt, was still unconscious in one of the many caravan wagons, making his recovery. Lena could see that Arthur was speaking to them. Probably giving a heartfelt and moving speech that could give each of the men the necessary motivation to face this battle with courage. Lena watched their faces and found herself wishing she too could hear what Arthur had to say. As she watched the men the chant of "Saxon, Saxon, Saxon!" was growing louder from outside the wall. Her eyes lingered on Lancelot and she felt her stomach twist. She had to help them.

Three for one, three for one, three for one

The voice was like a continuous dull ache in the back of her mind. Lena shuttered involuntarily at the sound of it echoing through her head. She could do this. She could see to it that the lives of Balor, Tristan, and Lancelot were saved in exchange for the one Saxon man. She had to.

Lena shook off her thoughts. She would have to concentrate if she was going to get through this, and the Saxons were already approaching. The doors of the wall creaked open and a fraction of the Saxon army flooded in. The doors closed once again behind them and an eerie silence prevailed over the battlefield. Lena could see Guinevere draw back her bow from the corner of her eye and followed suit, as did the other Woads.

Balor stood on the opposite side of Guinevere, up front with all of the commanding Woads. Lena was watching him as well. When the real fighting started she would tag him until she found the bald Saxon who she was so determined to kill. Then everything would be all right. She would have to make sure Tristan heeded her warning and stayed away from the Saxon who had taken his life in her vision…provided she could figure exactly who that Saxon was. But first things first. She had to make sure Balor wasn't killed, and take care of that short bald Saxon.

Guinevere signaled silently for them to take aim and release. A shower of arrows sailed through the air and all that could be heard was their gentle whistling…that was, until they found their targets. The sound of screaming, confused Saxon soldiers overpowered all other noises then. The Woads continued to fire from a distance as the Knights made their way through the Saxon ranks on horseback, taking out men with every sweep of their swords. It was easy enough to handle the preliminary group of Saxon soldiers, and they had been virtually decimated within a matter of minutes.

It wasn't long before the rest of the Saxon army came streaming in, and then the real havoc broke out. The Woads released one round of flaming arrows, effectively igniting a strategically placed line of tar and separating the Saxon forces. After that the bows were abandoned for hand to hand combat, and it was basically every man for himself.

There were at least three men between Lena and Balor, but none of them remotely resembled the man from her vision. Balor seemed to be handling himself well enough, and Lena had to focus most of her energy on not getting her head sliced off. She was squaring off with a bulky Saxon who was assailing her with a hatchet. He took a swipe at her head and she ducked, narrowly escaping the blow. The man was huge, but what Lena lacked in size she made up for in speed. He went for her head again, leaving his left side open and Lena took the opportunity with a vengeance. One good slice across the side and that was that.

Lena tried to get a visual on Balor but before she could take the time to locate her friend another two Saxons were charging her. She spun away from one and as he passed she got a good stab at his back, sending him to the ground in a heap. The other wasn't so easily avoided and was able to nick her arm before she dispatched of him. She was in the clear for the moment and used it to her advantage, searching frantically for Balor. She couldn't find him at first and nearly panicked, but his blonde hair caught her eye eventually. He was a good twenty-five feet away and Lena quickly made her way in his direction. She had to kill 3 more Saxons before she was close enough to see the person Balor was fighting.

Dread shot through her like a lead weight, and the voice in her head was screaming. Lena knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the man Balor was fighting was the man she had to kill. He was short, and bald, and everything about him, from the ugly braided beard to the smug and chilling smile, made Lena's blood run cold.

Her body was moving before her mind had time to react, functioning solely on instinct. She was ducking, blocking, swiping, running, jumping over dead bodies that blocked her path—yet her eyes were always on Balor and the man. She could tell her friend was struggling already. Balor stumbled a little while blocking the Saxon's next blow and Lena almost screamed. She ran faster, dodging every Saxon she could and killing all the rest as quickly as possible. The bald Saxon had his sword raised and was ready to strike. Balor's stomach was exposed, and Lena knew that this was where her vision had begun. The man would slash Balor across the belly and have him on his knees. This would be the end.

Lena ran faster than she knew she could and before she was aware of what was happening her own sword had entered the fight, effectively blocking the fatal blow that would have been the end of her friend.

"Lena?" Balor sounded as confused as the Saxon looked. Lena took his confusion as an opportunity and didn't waste any time. She was taking swings at him before he had time to realize she was a threat. The Saxon began to defend himself, not to mention fight back with just as much gusto as Lena, while Balor stood to the side, dazed.

"GO!" Lena yelled over her shoulder to Balor while taking a shot at the Saxon. She nicked his side and gave a wicked smile. Every fiber of her being was telling her this man was horrid.

Three for one, Three for one, Three for one.

The chant in her mind was a constant motivation to keep going. If she killed this man, things would turn out right.

Balor still stood by, dumbfounded. Lena wanted to tell him to run from this Saxon, but before the words could leave her mouth a fist had collided with her jaw. The bloody Saxon fought dirty.

Lena stumbled back from the blow and tripped over a corpse. Balor ran to her and two other Woads assailed the Saxon. Seeing as the man was occupied, Lena took the moment to speak hurriedly with Balor. "Listen," she began, wiping blood from her lip where it had split. "Run from this man. Do not fight him, do not come within fifty feet of him," Balor looked simultaneously concerned and confused. Lena grabbed his shoulder. "Balor! If you do not listen to me, you will die. I have seen it." Balor nodded before standing and helping Lena to her feet. "Go fight others, but not him." Balor gave her a serious look before running in the opposite direction, charging towards another group of Saxons.

With that Lena turned away, hoping to get back into it with the Saxon so she could finish him off. What she found, however, was that he was gone. She looked back to where Balor was hacking his way through Saxons and a bit of the weight on her shoulders lessened. The voice in her head was substantially quieter, and she knew that the Woad would be all right. Balor was safe now.

That, however, still did not change the fact that both Tristan and Lancelot (hopefully Tristan was out of harm's way if he had been wise enough to follow Lena's advice) were in danger of dying while that man was still alive. Lena scanned the battlefield, searching for her Saxon to no avail. Another giant Saxon soldier interrupted her search and she was forced to deal with him.

The man was a decent fighter. He was relying more on brute force than actual skill, but Lena was beginning to tire and it was working in his favor. He took a powerful swing at her right side and Lena moved out of the way at the last second, just barely saving her arm from being severed where the blow would have struck. She parried two more strikes then went for his left. The Saxon was quicker than Lena had assumed and ended up not only blocking her sword, but also catching her in the face with his elbow, effectively sending her to the ground. He brought his sword down on her but she rolled out of the way. This man was too much for her. Lena made a move to stand up but he was already over her, preparing to make the death blow. Suddenly the man stopped in his tracks. A vacant look passed over his face and a second later he was falling to the ground, his lifeless body pinning Lena to the floor. She struggled to push him off her, and once she had successfully freed herself she looked up to find Galahad standing over her.

The Knight removed his blade from the Saxon's back and gave Lena a nod before running off, letting out a terrific war cry, and charging the nearest Saxon. Lena stood dumbfounded for a second. And Galahad had always seemed so gentle…

Lena searched the battlefield for the Saxon man from her vision yet again. This time she found him…in the midst of a fight with Guinevere, who did not appear to be doing very well. Lena fought through a throng of Saxons to get to the bald Saxon and her injured cousin. As far as she knew, Guinevere was not in any danger of dying today, but by the way things looked, Lena judged it was a good idea to intervene as soon a possible.

It seemed that Lancelot had roughly the same notion, because he arrived just as Lena did, successfully blocking a blow that surely would have ended Guinevere's life. Lancelot and the Saxon began a fight of their own, while Guinevere and Lena were both assailed by two new Saxons. Guinevere killed her attacker quickly, and then stepped in to assist the struggling Lena. Together they dispatched of the remaining Saxon easily, though it seemed Lancelot was having more difficulty with the short, bald Saxon than he had anticipated. Lena watched with baited breath as they exchanged blows. She had to do something.

Before she knew her body was moving, Lena had thrown herself into the fight. She struck out at the Saxon but he blocked her and attempted an assault of his own. "You!" He yelled at Lena, recognizing her from the fight with Balor. "I thought you were dead!"

Another Saxon had approached Lancelot, taking him out of the fight. Now it was just Lena and her Saxon. They sparred off for several moments, each measuring the other's skill. He was good, Lena had to admit. Much better trained than an average Saxon, he was probably a high ranking commander or from a noble family. He took several swings at the Woad and she had difficulty blocking them. She went for his stomach and he took the opportunity to strike at her right arm, just above where the other Saxon had nicked her before. This time the wound was more substantial, and Lena dropped her sword in pain. She dodged his next several attacks but then with his left hand he punched her, hard, sending her flying. She rolled to the ground but he didn't come after her. He seemed more concerned with getting Lancelot back for taking away the kill he would have had with Guinevere than he was with finishing Lena off. Lancelot was still engaged with the other Saxon, and as Lena unsteadily sat herself up she could see that the bald Saxon was rifling over a corpse, trying to lift some weapon off of it. A crossbow. He was holding a crossbow. Lena's eyes widened at the realization that the man was aiming his bow at Lancelot, whose back was turned away after just having killed another Saxon. Lena scrambled for her sword and made a run for the Saxon. She was too far away—she could run fast, but not faster than an arrow. Lancelot was beginning to turn back towards the short Saxon, which meant the arrow would get him right in the chest…just like in Lena's dream. The Woad gripped her sword tightly. There was only one thing she could think to do and there was little chance it would work. She had never been good with daggers or throwing knives, her aim was imprecise. It was even worse with a full sized sword.

Lena looked skywards and prayed with all her heart to any God that was willing to listen. She brought her sword back, putting her whole body into it. She catapulted her weight forward and released the sword and a desperate scream, pain ripping through her injured arm. She watched as the sword flew through the air and felt her heart skip a beat when it found its mark. She had hit him. Lena's sword had struck just under the Saxon's arm, lodging itself between two ribs, puncturing his left lung, and slicing through his heart. A perfect hit. An impossible hit.

Lancelot turned around fully to find the Saxon dead on the ground, crossbow still pointed in his direction. His eyes followed the hilt of the sword protruding from the man's body until they reached Lena; breathless, bloody, overjoyed Lena. Their eyes met and Lena broke into a grin. The awful pressure on her body decreased, the screaming, haunting chant that had filled her brain since the night before was almost inaudible.

Lancelot would live.

She couldn't help but smile at that, even amidst the awful and bloody battle. He could live forever and forever now. He could die an old man, asleep in his bed. He could have a wife and children and a home. Lena's heart felt bigger than it ever had. Lancelot would live. He would live, and for the first time since he had been taken from his home, know what it meant to be alive.

Lancelot smiled back at Lena, for some reason her crooked grin made him want to smile forever. There they stood, through the smoke and blood and carnage of the dying battle, smiling at one another as though they were privy to a secret the rest of the world would never learn.

And as quickly as Lena's smile had come, it vanished. Her eyes widened and panic seized her body. Something was wrong. Everything in her was telling her that something was wrong.

Tristan.

Lena whipped her head around, unsure of what to do or where to go. She ran over to the Saxon she had just killed and pulled her sword from his stiff body. Her feet began to carry her in a direction beyond her control, but she trusted them. The Sight would lead her to wherever it was she had to be. Lena had gotten three steps past Lancelot when she turned around. He was watching her still, his dark eyes smoldering and alert.

Lena couldn't keep it in. Something was telling her to say it, to make sure it was said now and not lost forever. The words passed through her lips before she had time to decide whether she wanted them to.

"I love you."

And then she had turned away again, letting her feet and the Sight take her where they would. She was running, completely oblivious to her surrounding, knowing only that she had to find Tristan.

Three for one, Three for one, Three for one.

It was a very faint whisper now, but it confused Lena to no end. She had killed the Saxon, so shouldn't the chant have stopped? The life fate wanted was taken, so why was she overwhelmed by the feeling that Tristan was in awful danger?

Lena's feet stopped and she looked around. Her body had brought her to the right place. She looked before her and found, to her dismay, Tristan fighting (and losing to) a Saxon with very long hair…the other Saxon from her dream; the one she had given Tristan explicit orders to stay away from. If only he had listened to her, everything would have fallen in place. This was the reason the voice still lingered in her head.

Why had the Sight made her warn Tristan if he wasn't going to listen? Lena watched in horror as the Saxon struck him hard. He was in bad shape, but Lena knew that she was no match for the Saxon either. Her eyes widened as something dawned on her. Maybe the warning had just been a way to buy time. Without it, maybe Tristan would have been dead already, and Lena would never have come to intervene. This man was Arthur's to kill, so maybe Lena just had to hold him off until the half Roman arrived. She didn't have to kill him…she just had to not die.

The Saxon took a swing at Tristan and the Knight crumpled to his knees. It was a bad hit, but it wouldn't be fatal. Tristan still had life in him, and Lena wasn't about to let that go. She had killed the man fate had asked for. That meant things had to work out, didn't it? Tristan was going to live; Lena just had to do her part…at least that's what she tried to tell herself.

"Stop!" She screamed. The Saxon looked towards her, interested. This was a game to him, Lena could tell. As long as she kept his attention off of Tristan, the Saxon would be having too much fun to care what happened to the Knight. He watched her curiously, and Lena kept her eyes on him as well as she approached Tristan. He thought this was funny.

Tristan gave Lena a mournful, apologetic look once she reached him and spoke to him in a low whisper. "Find Arthur." Tristan nodded, clutching his abdomen and getting up to his feet.

Lena moved in front of Tristan, giving him time to hobble away, and raised her sword, inviting the Saxon to engage in a fight. The man raised an eyebrow. "What's made you so brave, little girl?" He asked with an unsettling smile.

Lena didn't respond. Instead, they circled each other a few times, neither willing to make the first move. Lena was tired, and had already taken quite a beating today. She doubted she'd stand a chance against this man when at her best, but now? Could she make it past a few seconds even? Maybe not, but there was no other choice now.

All she had to do was hold him off until Tristan and Arthur came back. Lena looked at the man with determination. She could do that. She could.

The Saxon seemed to grow tired with waiting for Lena to make a move, so he took the first swing. Lena blocked and the Saxon studied her appraisingly. He made another few attempts which she blocked, obviously finding it difficult to keep up. The Saxon smiled and Lena knew what he was thinking. He would play with her. She was quite clearly no match for him, so he would take his time and enjoy this.

The Saxon double timed his attack and Lena found herself panting for air. The wound on her arm was bleeding heavily and she felt faint from loss of blood. Her legs felt shaky and slow. She deflected another blow and the Saxon paused, seemingly waiting for her to attack.

Lena stood her ground. This was a defensive fight. She just had to last until Arthur arrived and then everything would be fine. Just another few minutes and everything would be fine.

The Saxon took a slice at her and this time Lena was too slow. The blade ripped across her left thigh and she staggered back in pain. He advanced, taking advantage of her weakness, and with two hard strikes he had knocked the sword from her hand. She stood before him utterly defenseless, but the Saxon motioned for her to retrieve the sword, and Lena kept her eyes on him warily as she did.

She just had to last until Arthur came. She just had to keep at this until then, and then the battle would be over and they all would have survived it.

Lena sprung at the Saxon, attacking with a new fervor, but her body was weak and tired. Her strikes were off and her blocks were sloppy. She kept at it though, telling herself over and over that she just had to wait until Arthur arrived.

Praying that he would come soon.

She was fighting recklessly, poorly, desperately—like a man who knew he was going to die but held on to life with a pathetic and hopeless tenacity. The Saxon took a forceful swing and Lena felt pain tear across her abdomen. Her eyes went wide and both she and the Saxon stood still. There was fresh blood on his sword…her blood.

Lena's eyes traveled down to her stomach. He had cut her, long and deep, right across the belly. Her hands went to the wound and she watched them become covered in dark blood. Someone was screaming. Lena looked up, still in a daze, and saw that both Guinevere and Lancelot were running towards her, having seen the whole thing. Guinevere was shrieking like Lena had never heard before.

She looked back to the Saxon and found he was posed to make the final blow. Her sword had fallen out of her hand at some point without her realizing it. The Woad dropped to her knees, unable to keep herself upright any longer. She watched as the sword came down, inching closer and closer to the end of her life. She was dead anyway, Lena knew. He could slit her throat, as it looked like he was preparing to do, and end it quickly, or let the wound he had already inflicted finish her off more slowly. It didn't matter though.

Everything was over now.

"Saxon!" Both Lena and her assailant followed the sound of the voice that had effectively stilled the Saxon's blade. Arthur. He was here, he had come. The half Roman glanced at Lena with concern and she managed to shake her head. He was too late.

The Saxon noticed the look of concern. Now that Arthur was here he couldn't care less about the scrawny Woad, but if she meant something to the Roman, he was more than happy to cause her a little more pain. He spun back and knocked her hard across the face, sending Lena to the ground, flat on her back.

After that Arthur and the Saxon engaged in a fairly heated battle, the sounds of which Lena could barely make out. Everything seemed distant now, as she lay there staring at the sky.

There was a hawk circling above her.

And then again, something dawned on Lena. The voice had stopped. The repetitive, disturbing voice was gone, and the horrible weight of responsibility had lifted. But they had not disappeared when she had killed the bald Saxon. It had not been until that final swipe to her abdomen that the voice and pressure had left her.

Lena laughed; a cold hard laugh that sent pain spiraling through her broken body. Suddenly Guinevere and Lancelot had reached her and were crowded above her, blocking her view of the sky. She kept laughing despite the pain and soon the laughs turned into sobs. "It wasn't him." She explained numbly, staring past Guinevere and Lancelot. Tears were streaming down her cousin's face and Lancelot looked pained beyond words. He placed a cool, bloody hand on the side of Lena's face.

Lena finally understood. Everything from the dream made sense now; the voice, the Saxon's, her mother.

It hadn't been her mother though. Her vision had been blurred and Lena had let herself believe what she wanted to.

And people were always saying how much Lena resembled her mother. "It was me," she choked out weakly. "I thought it was my mother, but it was me."

Guinevere stifled a sob. "I don't understand, Lena."

Recalling the sickly, half-dead woman from her vision, the Seer smiled. "I saw myself dying."

"No!" Guinevere yelled. "No, that's not right, Lena." She wept. "You have to live." Lena could hear Guinevere yelling at someone to get a horse.

"Three for one." Lena mumbled to herself. "Fate didn't want the Saxon; he was already going to die." The edges of her vision were blurry and Lena's words were beginning to slur.

"What?" Lancelot spoke, his low voice strained.

"Three lives in exchange for one." She explained, feeling tears slide down her own face. "That was what the dream said." It was getting hard to talk, harder to breath. "I thought it was the Sax—Saxon who was to die, but it—it was me." Lena let out a sputtering cough and she could taste blood in her mouth.

"For whose lives, Lena?" Lancelot asked somewhat desperately, as if maybe they could take it back and reverse the whole thing.

The Woad took a rattling breath and exhaled shakily. "B—Balor, and Tristan," her eyes were on Lancelot's. "And you." The Knight looked both confused and overwhelmed by guilt. "I would have done it still—" She sputtered. "Knowing I was to die." Things were getting darker and Lena could feel her body going limp.

"Lena!" Guinevere was yelling but her voice was becoming fainter and fainter. "Lena, please!"

The Seer let her eyes close. Her body was numbing to the pain of her wound and she was overcome by tiredness. "It's all right," she mumbled, unsure whether or not she was actually speaking. "I'm not afraid." Lena couldn't feel Lancelot's hand on her face anymore. "Please don't be afraid."

And then she felt like she was floating, and the cry of a hawk echoed in her mind. Guinevere's voice, slow and distant, lingered as well.

"Lena, you have to stay with me. Please. Lena, please."

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Okay, long chapter, I know. I think things got really confusing, I tried hard to keep it clear, but without much success, I'm afraid. Tell me what you think, please! We're dwindling down to an end here, weird huh? I'd like to finish this before school starts up again, because junior year is going to be a bitch. Anyway, please review! Thanks guys!

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