Chapter 2

As the minutes ticked by and the people and the Knights had their fun, Arwen helped Vanora with her work, letting her take her breaks to care for her children, especially the baby. Arwen smiled as she watched them all drinking and having fun, celebrating their soon freedom. They were finished with Rome, but the thought of them leaving made her heart ache.

Helping Vanora pour the Wine, she watched as the Knights played with their knives and targets, gambled with the Soldiers, and shooting arrows while in their soon-to-be drunken state. They would be leaving soon, in a few days after getting their discharge papers. Arwen wanted to be selfish and try to convince them to stay. However, she could never ask them to stay against their desires. They had been taken from their homes, forced to fight for a cause and ambitions not their own, and bled for a cause that was not their own. So, she poured their drinks and smiled for them as they all laughed and had their fun. She was going to have to force herself to let them go. Yet, as Lancelot pulled her friend into his lap once more, Arwen fought every ounce of desire to slap him upside his head. Instead, she rolled her eyes and walked past Lancelot as he teased the woman. Vanora had tried to walk away after pouring their cups full of wine more times than she could possibly count. Vanora was becoming aggravated. For understanding reasons.

Continuing on, since there was no need to intervene just yet, Arwen returned to pouring wine and watching the people, the Knights, and the Soldiers all interacting. The people here had no shame in gambling or drinking in the open. Not like in Rome.

In Rome, everything such as that was all done in privet settings and behind closed doors, as if they were ashamed to be seen drinking a cup of wine or Ale. It was ridiculous in her mind.

She'd gone to see Rome once a few years ago. Arwen had not been impressed. During her time there, Arwen had been told Pelagius was off doing his work. She'd wanted to deliver Arthur's letter to him in person, to see the man herself as well. She had been there for possibly less than six months before returning home. She could not stand it. And she had told her brother that upon her return. Arwen had already spoken to Arthur about staying here. Even when he left. But her brother had refused entirely. It was official, to her undying dislike, that she would stay with her brother until she was wed.

"Ahh. When are you gonna leave Bors and come home with me?" Lancelot teased Vanora. He'd always had a playful eye for the fiery redhead. But, that didn't mean he wasn't serious about it on some occasions, he had a bad habit of sleeping with taken women.

Annoyed by this continuous teasing, Vanora sighed and prayed to the gods for more patients. But she was losing it rather quickly. "My lover is watching you." She said between clenched teeth, smacking him over her shoulder and not glancing at the man as she moved off his lap.

Arwen sighed as she walked the annoyed woman back to the shop and got more Wine, "He's only doing it because he's teasing Bors. And because he knows it does bother the man in the end. He's-"

"He's doing it so he can find a rise out of us. When we were younger it was funny, but now it's out of hand and unnecessary," Vanora huffed, "I love Bors, Arwen, or I'd have left him years ago. And I haven't, I won't." Vanora said firmly, then huffed and walked back out to the people, pouring more for the ladies and the Knights and other Soldiers.

Grabbing another full clay jug of wine, Arwen went back to her rounds. She'd just turned to walk around a table when she saw Gawain, a woman in his lap. The both of them laughing and flirting. In truth, that sight had stung just a little. She was suddenly startled by a pair of strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her back against a warm and hard body from years of hardships and training, and an apple in a hand. The man held her to him and she couldn't help but smile, knowing it was Tristan, he loved apples. "Tristan, I am trying to help-"

"Hush," he said casually. He simply wanted to hold her. Seeing Galahad cheering with drunken glee at hitting the target dead in the center, Tristan smirked as he pulled his knife from his belt and threw the dagger into the hilted center of the knife already embedded in the wooden target Galahad had been trying to remove.

He watched amazed at how his friend and brother had done such a thing while he knew he had to be drunk. "Tristan...How do you do that?" Gawain asked curiously, his amusement gone from his face as he looked at Tristan as he took the jug of wine from Arwen's hands and set it on the table nearest him and his arms returned to encasing around the woman. He started to slowly grin as Tristan pointed with amusement after taking another bite of his apple.

"I aim for the middle," Tristan said casually, then they all laughed. Taking a knife from his belt, he put it in Arwen's hands, "Go on,"

Feeling a sudden burst of nervousness, Arwen shook her head, trying to return the knife to the Sarmatian Knight, "Oh, n-no, I-I couldn't-"

"Just shut up and do it, Arwen," Tristan told her coolly.

Turning in his arms and a blush on her cheeks, Arwen faced him and continued to hand him the knife back, looking around to the laughing and amused men there chuckling amongst themselves and amused with the thought of her throwing a knife- or hurting herself most likely. "No, n-no, Tristan, I can't, I couldn't-"

Smirking, Tristan tapped the tip of her little nose, wrapped his hand around hers and the knife, his other tapping her shoulder to turn her to face the target and held her back into him. His embrace comforted her tension, and she warmed his body and that of the heart he was accused of having being encased by ice. "I taught you myself. As did Arthur. You won't miss, Sweet Rose. Just throw the damn thing," Tristan grumbled against her ear, then kissed her cheek and stepped back from her. He leaned against a beam with a smirking grin on his face as the entire section of people witnessing this watched on with shock.

Looking over her shoulder at one of the two men who'd trained her in private settings since she was thirteen, Arwen listened and watched the way he chuckled to himself and the motion he'd given her to go on. She took a deep breath, trying to not be annoyed with him. They'd agreed to keep her trained skills a secret. She watched him do that silent hand motion of 'go on' again. His recklessness here could get her into trouble, as well as himself. Sighing, she flipped the knife in hand with far too much ease than anyone here had ever seen a woman have with a knife and threw it at the target. As soon as the knife was embedded into the center of the target, Tristan began to chuckle and then clap for her. "Well done," he told her.

Looking between the two of them, Lancelot and Galahad turned to Gawain, then back to Tristan and Arwen curiously. It seemed that even Gawain hadn't known of this.

"He taught you? For how long?" Galahad asked curiously. When had this happened? Tristan and Gawain had been like his brothers since he was four when they'd arrived here together and Arwen had always been there for him, the two grew up close, easier than a few of the others when they all hit a certain age. She was his best friend and he hadn't even known of this!

Bitting into his apple for the last bite, Tristan shrugged off Galahad's confused question as if it was absolutely nothing to him, "Since she was thirteen, Arthur's known of it, approved it himself. Even helped in her training." Tristan answered, tossing the finished fruit to the stone table that held the garbage and leftover food they either hadn't eaten or could not eat. "Caught a boy tryin' to force himself on her once and figured it was time to teach her to defend herself." He said casually. Glancing to the young man's frowned brow. Understanding that he felt it was their duty to protect her, Tristan knew there was a deeper and darker reality to life. "We won't be here forever, Galahad. She needed to learn to protect herself." He said to the young man, walking past Arwen to get his two knives. As he walked past her, Tristan grinned down at the gorgeous woman and winked at her, gently pinching her belly playfully and lightly chuckled when she jumped just a little at the act and stepped back, off to the side from him. He watched with amusement as Galahad wrapped a brotherly arm around her and placed a cup of wine into her hands.

He still couldn't help it. Being shocked. But he smiled with pride in her nonetheless. "Nice aim," Galahad told her.

Blushing at the approval she was not expecting from any of them, especially not from Dagonet who walked up to her and ruffled her hair with a smile of pride, then returned to the stand that had the bowl of Ale he was dunking his cup into.

She was conversing with Galahad and Gawain about Tristan and her brother teaching her. Then they began to tease her about possibly being taught in Tristan's bed.

"No, hasn't happened. Yet," Tristan said taking a drink from his cup, "Though, I believe Gawain would like to do those honors himself," he teased with amusement.

Shocked and just a little amused by that, Arwen laughed a little. They behaved as if it were ever going to happen. "Yet? You behave as if it'll ever happen with the way you've been behaving. The both of you," she told them. When they playfully winced and went back to teasing her, Tristan moved to block her between the table and himself, Gawain and the woman sitting to her right, and Galahad remained at her left, keeping her blocked in at all angles as the men chuckled and watched the man that never made any intimate moves in public other than an arm around a woman or her sitting in his lap. However, those public displays had been far and few in the last four years, it was nearly five, come their Yule celebration.

Capturing Arwen's chin in hand, Tristan lifted her face up to him as he leaned down, his brown eyes burning into her brown eyes with a heat they could all feel coming off the two of them. It appeared as if the man would finally kiss the woman. Many of the Knights watched in hope. Even Gawain was waiting for it. Neither one had kissed her as of yet, nor had they really made any moves to claim her. Truly, it was because they felt she was out of their reach. And she possibly was out of their reach. Arthur may just skin them if the man found out two of his Knights had ever felt the intention of claiming his sister. They'd been easing into things since she was sixteen. They both knew they wouldn't treat her like any random girl. She'd had no mother, no father, to teach her of men or her own body. Vanora had been there for her, and Arthur was, even today, trying to fill the void of father and be her brother all at once. With Arwen, they both knew they had to tread carefully. However, it appeared Tristan was prepared to take the plunge, to risk everything from his recent behavior the last few days with her. They'd all seen it. But tonight? Tonight was different between the two of them. The Castus sister and the Sarmatian Knight.

Leaning closer to her lips, Tristan smirked at her wide brown eyes, the blush across her cheeks, then stepped back from her. "As I said, not yet,"

Sighing, Gawain looked at his friend and brother, mentally scolding the man, both knowing that he should have just kissed her. But he hadn't. Looking back to the still shocked woman simply standing there, Gawain couldn't help but softly chuckle as she forced herself to breathe. Tristan had taken her breath away merely by that. What he could do with that breath he took away from her if he actually claimed her had Gawain smirking. Her heart, they could all see it, almost thrumming out of her chest. "Technically, even if any of us Sarmatians laid with you, a woman isn't claimed until she bares a child. Once pupped, she's that man's. No one would be allowed to touch her unless the men fought to the death for her." Gawain explained.

"In our culture that is," Lancelot said with a grumble. "Some men don't care if a woman has already been taken, if they want her, some will take her. Though, they risk being killed," Lancelot said with sickening amusement. His banters with Vanora were merely that, banter, and teasing. He'd never laid with her. Never. Surprisingly. A few other women, now that was a little different, but they were always engaged or arranged to be married. He was merely a tool to please themselves. And he was sadly alright with that.

Trying to be amused by their information, Arwen found herself almost chuckling with the thought that it was just a ridiculous joke. "By the man?" she teased Lancelot. His smirk had her playfulness falter. He was being entirely serious!

Smirking, Lancelot looked to Tristan over Arwen's head and found the man grinning wide, "If the woman hasn't already castrated the bastard and shoved it up to his arse, killing him, herself. Then yes, by the man." Lancelot said then began to laugh as her smile faded. He had witnessed it happen once, he'd been too young to help the woman sadly. But he had legs, so he'd run as fast and as hard as he could and got his father and a few other men to help. When they returned to help her, the man had been dead. Looking back to Arwen, Lancelot nodded, "Fruit for thought darling," he said.

"Dagonet, where have you been? We've got plans to make." Bors said when he finally noticed his presents, they spoke for a moment then, when he caught Vanora, he handed the child back to her, and softly, but drunkenly, asked her to sing. "Here, please. Sing."

Sighing from the exhaustion of working and after putting ten children down for the night and having to deal with drunk men and women, then Lancelot flirting all over her, Vanora shook her head to her lover, "No,"

"Just a last one."

"No, I'm trying to work," she softly whined. She really did not want to sing. She hadn't the energy for it. But Bors took her arm in the gentle hold and began to ease her out into the view of the others there.

"Come sing. Shut up! Vanora will sing." Bors called for them to be silent. He wanted to hear his beautiful woman sing. Her voice was like a goddess. Musical. Perfect. Gracious. Her voice soothed his pains of all the fighting, the blood, and death he and the others had suffered all these years at the hands of the Romans. He loved her even more for it. Her voice kept him here. Grounded on the Earthly plane of the living. Had he not had Vanora or their wonderful children, he'd have left this world, only to be free of the Romans' bull shit. Arwen had helped as well through the years. She had been there to bandage them up, listened to them, held them when they lost a brother, and never questioned their culture, their gods nor their own state of mind. Just their hearts, how they felt- emotionally, mentally, and all that. She listened, and like Vanora, she offered comfort and had a lovely voice herself, but Bors loved Vanora's voice most.

"No, no," Vanora said a little bit louder with small laughter when he pulled her into the center of the customers. But all of their attention was now on her, many cheering for her. How could she say no to that?

"Sing about home," Bors said, his voice was a soft plea. And sadly, she knew that tone. He was being haunted right now. Of battles, the battle cries, the screams and cries of those in the past dying, fearful of the current living brother's deaths. He ached of that fear most of all. Those who were already dead were always mourned. But those who lived now, even his own life, his children's lives, her life. Bors feared losing all of it. All of them. Even Arwen. She was that sweet baby sister to most of them, to Tristan, she was peace. She saw it in the way the man looked at her dear, sweet friend. Softly sighing, Vanora nodded and began to sing. For Bors, she would sing, for the dead, and for those she loved, and those still alive, she would sing.

When Vanora began to sing, Galahad had stepped away from Arwen and listened, closing his eyes as Vanora sang of home. Mountains, eagles, bears, and returning home to their families, their faces that hadn't aged in their minds – to those who could still remember their families.

Arwen felt warm arms wrap around her, someone's chin resting against her shoulder, and began to gently sway in soft step to Vanora's voice, the wonderful lullaby that Arwen wanted to learn herself. She loved the things the fiery redhead sang about. Feeling the man bury his face into her neck, she smiled and leaned into him. She knew who it was. There was never a reason to worry. They had never touched her inappropriately, never tried to bed her, flirted of course, but never had they tried to get her into their beds. For that she was grateful. They protected her. Guarded her. And Vanora was just as vicious in her protection. Then, her brother was suddenly in the background listening to the woman sing. He looked as if he'd been hit below his belt and Arwen wondered what had happened. What had been said to make him appear so bothered? But she'd wait until Vanora was finished. Not wishing to interrupt the lovely voice.

"Arthur!" Jols called for his Leader, interrupting Vanora's singing unintentionally, but it had given her the chance to return to work and care for the baby soundly asleep.

"Arthur! Arthur, you're not completely Roman yet, right?" Galahad called with laughter.

"Rus!" Bors cheered, he wished his friend would stay here with them. Those who were likely going to stay. He knew none of them would return home though, even when they'd all talked about returning. This was far too much home to them than anything. Especially if Rome was ordering the removal of their armies and people, then those who stayed could retain this place, and build their own military to protect those here.

Stepping forward into the firelight towards his Knights, Arthur sighed, his eyes landing on his sister, the way Gawain held her. He'd seen the way many of his knights had treated Arwen over the years. All of them, aside from two, had treated her as a sister. Tristan and Gawain had looked at her in a different light. If they would simply come to him and speak to him about how they felt about her, then he would know how to approach the situation for him to either deny or grant their permission. But they hadn't. "Knights... Brothers in arms... Your courage has been tested beyond all limits." He started.

"Yes," Bors said, raising his clay cup to the air for the man. This was the greatest day they had been waiting for.

"But I must ask you now for one further trial." He said. His eyes glanced to his sister once more, his mental prayer that she would hold Tristan and Gawain back if she had to. They always listened to her. Not that they hadn't listened to him ever, but if they chose to go after the Bishop, he may not be able to stop them. Hell, he might not stop them. He'd likely help them.

"Drink," Bors joked.

Arwen shifted, her body tensing as her brother's words sank into her. No, please no. Grabbing Gawain's arm wrapped around her, she shot her other hand out to Tristan as the man stepped past her and Gawain, when he too stepped around her, after dropping his arms from her. Her hand held onto his forearm. Glancing between the two men as they turned to look at her. Tristan's dark brown eyes raged with anger while Gawain was filled with confusion and concern. He knew what this was about, but he didn't want to be right. Lancelot did as well. A few of them were so desperate to wish it was to toast to their freedom.

They should have known better.

"We must leave on a final mission for Rome before our freedom can be granted," Arthur said, doing his best to remain strong. "Above the wall, far in the north, there is a Roman family in need of rescue. They are trapped by Saxons. Our orders are to secure their safety." Arthur explained. He knew they would not like this. He watched his men turn from him with grumbles of dislike and disgust. He knew how they felt about Rome, and sometimes that dislike was directed at him and his sister.

"Let the Romans take care of their own," Bors grumbled with annoyance. He didn't want to hear any more about Roman problems. For fifteen years they'd listened to nothing but that pathetic song.

Stepping back further away from Arwen, his arm easing from her hold as he looked at Arthur, they all knew that was Woad territory. "Above the wall is Woad territory." Gawain reminded his Commander.

Bitter at what Arthur had said, Galahad took a big drink, wanting to walk away from this, and pretend this was a nightmare. "Our duty to Rome, if it was ever a duty, is done. Our pact with Rome is done." Galahad said with an attitude.

Stepping forward with anger at the man meant to protect them from Rome, their leader, their friend, and their brother. To him, or the rest of the Knights, it seemed as though Arthur had done nothing. Bors was angry that his freedom was being withheld from him, of being who he needed to be. A father. A husband- if Vanora wanted it. He felt betrayed. They all felt betrayed. "Every knight here has laid his life on the line for you," Bors started, his heart aching at the betrayal he felt deep inside of him as he began pacing the stone beneath him. Glaring at the man who stood there, taking his anger, all of their anger. "For you," he said, pointing to the man with tears in his eyes, refusing to see the pain he knew he saw in Arthur's green eyes. "And instead of freedom, you want more blood? Our blood? You think more of Roman blood than you do of ours!"

Feeling the hurt and the anger more in himself at Bors's accusation, Arthur clenched his fists tightly closed. "Bors… These are our orders… We leave at first light, and when we return, your freedom will be waiting for you. A freedom we can embrace with honor." Arthur said to him, having taken enough of this. He'd been given their orders and threatened the Bishop on their behalf. But they did not know that. He did not want them to know that.

Angry and not wanting to believe this, Bors let loose. "I am a free man! I will choose my own fate!" he shouted, waking his child sleeping in Vanora's arms. He instantly felt regret for waking the babe.

Sighing, Tristan looked at the man with slight annoyance, but he understood why Bors was angry. But taking it out on Arthur would do nothing for any of them. "Yeah, yeah. We're all going to die someday. If it's a death from a Saxon hand that frightens you, stay home." Tristan said to the man. He was angry, yes, but he was not angry with Arthur. He was pissed at Rome. Because they were all forced to do this. Even Arthur had been, as a boy he hadn't a choice. He'd been groomed with a glorious image in his mind of being their leader. Of being a good leader to them. And he had been a good leader. A Great Commander. No one was without faults, they all had them.

His anger being risen at Tristan saying what he had, Galahad turned on the man. A man he saw and loved dearly as a brother. Especially after he'd lost his own older brother. Tristan and Gawain had stepped up, even Arthur had. "Listen, if you're so eager to die, you can die right now!" Galahad shouted, advancing Tristan. He shoved Arwen back when she attempted to move between them. "I've got something to live for!"

"Enough," Lancelot called through the uproar of the Knights. Arthur was not at fault here. However, he was aggravated with his friend and Commander.

Arwen stumbled back at Galahad shoving her back and she'd fallen into Gawain's arms who lifted her up and must have thought he'd set her down. Instead, he'd almost tossed her and moved between the youngest of them and Tristan, to keep them from killing one another. She was, however, grateful to Lancelot when the man caught her and gently set her on her feet, marched between Tristan and Galahad, and shoved the two apart.

"Enough!" Lancelot shouted with demand.

Stepping through and easing Bors back, Dagonet aided Lancelot in calming his brother's anger. "The Romans have broken their word. We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough… I'll prepare." He said calmly, stepping to leave, he turned and looked to Bors as the man turned and stepped away as if he were leaving. He would not lose him to that. Not to be labeled a deserter. What would that do for Vanora and the kids? Nothing. "Bors? You coming?"

Turning, Bors snapped at his brother, "Of course I'm coming! Can't let you go on your own! You'll all get killed! I'm just saying what you're all thinking!" He screamed, huffing as he turned to go find Vanora, really, if he wouldn't have gone with them his lover would have likely killed him herself. "… Vanora'll kill me." He muttered to himself.

Looking at the four men around one another, Arthur took a calming breath. His heart always pounded in his chest when he delivered speeches like this. "And you, Gawain?" he asked.

Sighing, Gawain nodded, "I'm with you." He answered his Commander, then looked to Galahad. He wouldn't say it, he was still a child in many cases, behaving sometimes in the way he thought. "Galahad is with you," he said, answering for the youngest. When he got a snapped glare from the man, Gawain took another drink of his Wine and stepped back, turning to look for Arwen. She was sitting at the table, watching them. She was silent, with tears in her brown eyes, her hands folded together and her thumbs pressed against her lips. None of her tears had fallen, yet. But they were still there.

She'd wanted their freedom just as badly for them as they had wanted it for themselves, celebrated with them, and kept her wishes for them to stay to herself. And she felt responsible because of her wish for them to stay. But she had not prayed for them to stay. No, she had prayed for their safe journey home, to live a long and fulfilling life. Not this, and not to have her wish of them remaining to be granted. She was not important. They were. Their wishes and dreams. They were the ones who had fought and bled and lost loved ones. Not her. Yes, she had cared for them and loved them, but not in the way they had loved their brothers in arms. They'd fought together. Cried together on the battlefield, felt the same fears and sorrows. Shared the same internal scars.

Gawain and the others knew she'd wanted them to stay even when their time was finished. But they all wished to go home, and she never pressed them about it. It had been a one-time question asked, and she'd been given their answers. Arwen had left it there. Yes, they were nervous and rather intimidated at the idea of returning, they'd been taken from home, raised with the Romans, and trained by them. But they were still Samarians. They always would be. So, it was only right they went home. And right now, Gawain wanted peace from Roman blood. And sadly, that meant peace away from Arthur and Arwen.

As Galahad poured his wine to the ground with angry laughter, Arwen closed her eyes, as had Gawain, knowing exactly what he intended to do. And then, the sound of the clay jug shattering against the stone road hit their ears.

Gawain had looked at Arwen, watched as she held back as much of her flinch as she could have then to Galahad who stalked off. He'd looked back to the men and women around, everyone silent, even the soldiers there they knew, most they'd grown up with. However, Arwen's flinch, and likely that of others, had still been there. That slight jerk of her body when the jug smashed into pieces. He would have approached her and gently squeeze her shoulder to comfort her, to let her know this was not her fault and there was no reason for her to feel the guilt she had always felt about them being taken from their home, from their families and people, away from their lands. But he had other priorities to handle. That being Galahad. Walking after Galahad, Gawain knew he needed to try to calm the man down. He was young and very easily angered when it came to things. But one thing that they were all very easily sour over was serving Rome. Bors wasn't wrong, it meant more blood. Worse was the knowledge that they knew someone, one of them, would die this time around.

As the area cleared and the Knights left to go about their rituals at night before they left for their missions, Arwen stood from the table she'd sat at to calm herself and knelt at the mess of shattered clay and began picking up the pieces so Vanora or the shopkeeper didn't have to. She was as careful as she could be, but even that was never safe enough when handling sharp, broken things. Not even clay. She hid her pain-filled flinch when the clay slipped in her palm. It had slipped at just the right angle to cut her hand a bit. Taking the shattered pieces to the shop, she dumped them into the stone oven, walked to a corner, and poured water over her bleeding hand to clean the opened wound then wrapped her hand in a small clean cloth and left the once lively area. She normally would have gone to see the men and check on Vanora like she usually did, to make sure they were all right if they needed an ear to talk to, but she figured none of them would want to see anyone sharing Roman blood after what had just been done to them. She was startled when she rounded a corner and almost ran into Galahad trying to walk away from Gawain who was still following after him, the two of them speaking in their Sarmatian tongue, likely arguing when Galahad stopped and looked at her wrapped hand. "I'm sorry," Arwen whispered, trying to apologize for nearly running into him and attempting to leave.

He'd had enough of Gawain trying to calm him down. He was angry at everyone, at everything. However, as he walked away from the older man, he noticed Arwen coming around the corner, almost running into him and her head falling to not look at them, plus her attempt to hide her wrapped hand with her other hand placed over it as she continued walking with her very soft apology. Seeing her hand and the blood staining the cloth, Galahad grabbed her wrist and held it up to him to inspect it. "What happened." He demanded. His tone was almost a growl. His insides were burning terribly he was so angry. But seeing her hand bleeding had him angry at himself. He had a feeling he knew what had caused this.

Arwen knew that Galahad was not in that state of mind to be messing with. The young man was still angry, even almost more so now than he had been before from the way he'd demanded about her wrapped hand that clearly had blood seeping through the wrappings. All of the Knights were dangerous really, not just Galahad, the youngest he was, but that did not make him less of a danger. But, they were also easy to feel regretful if they found they had been the cause of someone's harm that they cared for. Shaking her head lightly at his demand, and shrugged it off. "Nothing, just a scratch," she lied to him.

Looking from her hand to her again, Galahad took a slow and deep intake of breath. He had no need to be angry with her. She'd done absolutely nothing wrong. "A scratch does not bleed like that. What happened." Galahad demanded again.

She breathed in a nervous breath as she shook her head, not wishing to upset him by telling him the truth about what had caused this. Truthfully, it had been her own foolish mistake, she hadn't been careful enough, so it had not been his cause. "I'm fine, just a scratch, nothing to worry over," she told him again.

"Are you sure you want to keep with that lie, Arwen?" Galahad questioned her. He knew she was lying to him. Likely lying to him, for him.

Forcing a soft smile and shuffling her wrist from his hold, "I'm fine," she whispered. "Try to- I'm sorry," she said, apologizing again, she'd quickly stopped herself before she said what she'd been about to say, 'Try to sleep,' yeah, that wasn't at all something to say to them after the news they'd just been delivered. "I will see you in the morning. How about some breakfast? Favorites, maybe?" she asked him a little nervously. Hoping he wouldn't tell her to jump off the wall with how angry he was.

Seeing she was continuously refusing to answer him, Galahad nodded and tried to smile at her. When his smile couldn't make it across his face, he nodded to her with a small bow. "Please," he said softly.

"Favorite breakfasts it is then," she said with a smile, glad he was approving of the morning meals.

Arthur had gone to the stables to gather his things for his horse, but as he'd lifted his leather staddle, he tossed it aside with anger at the Bishop, at Rome, and sadly, anger towards God. His men had suffered so much and lost so many over the years. His men, his Knights. His friends. Brothers. His family. And Rome was using God as a means to say he wanted their blood to spill once again. Dropping to his knees, Arthur rested his hands on the wood railing separating the Barn stalls for their horses and clasped his hands together to pray. "O merciful God, I have such need of your mercy now. Not for myself, but for my Knights, for this is truly their hour of need. Deliver them from the trials ahead, and I will repay you a thousandfold with any sacrifice you ask of me. And if in your wisdom, you should determine that sacrifice must be my life for theirs, so they may once again taste the freedom that has so long been denied to them, I will gladly make that covenant. My death will have a purpose. I ask no more than that." He prayed with plea.

Shaking his head as he entered the Barn, Lancelot sighed with annoyance and aggravation. "Why do you always talk to God and not to me?" Lancelot said with irritation. Seeing Arthur sighing at him with disapproval and returned to gathering his saddle, Lancelot scuffed at his dear friend. "Oh, pray to whomever you pray that we don't cross the Saxons." He said sarcastically. He wished his friend would merely come to him with worries and fears if he sought guidance. No god would answer any of the human's prayers. He'd learned that the hard way. Silence and the knowledge that he was being ignored was all he'd been answered with.

Sighing at a topic he and Lancelot had had many arguments and disagreements over through the years, Arthur stood and faced his friend. "My faith is what protects me, Lancelot. Why do you challenge this?" he asked. He wanted to know. He truly did. He'd never bothered the others about their beliefs, so why had they, mostly Lancelot, challenged his beliefs?

Glaring to his friend at something Arthur damn well knew about him, Lancelot stepped further towards the man he saw as more of a friend and wishful lover than his Commander. "I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees.

"No man fears to kneel before the god he trusts. Without faith, without belief in something, what are we?" Arthur asked him.

Sighing and deciding to ignore that political and religious bullshit, Lancelot changed the subject, "To try and get past the Woads in the north is insanity." He hated religion, all of it. He hadn't even had faith anymore in his own religion. Maybe he was considered a betrayer to his people with those ideas, maybe they'd reject him upon returning home. Hell, he wasn't sure if he would go home, maybe build his own home somewhere else, but he wanted nothing to do with Rome or their god.

"Them we've fought before," Arthur told his friend, trying not to be irritated. Yet, Lancelot seemed to only grow more hostile.

"Not north of the wall!" Lancelot snapped. Clenching his teeth, Lancelot glared at Arthur with fear as his dear friend simply watched him with curiosity and deep concern and walked around from the empty horses' station. "How many Saxons? Hmm? How many?! Tell me. Do you believe in this mission?" he demanded answers to his many questions.

Arthur's headache was growing, and the ill feeling his heart had been slowly filling with made him more nervous and questioning everything. This argument was not helping him. "These people need our help. It is our duty to bring them out."

Slamming his hands against the wood pillar of the barn, Lancelot began to pace, "I don't care about your charge, and I don't give a damn about Romans, Britain, or this island." He said harshly, turning back to face Arthur, "If you desire to spend eternity in this place, Arthur, so be it, but suicide cannot be chosen for another!"

"And yet you choose death for this family!" Arthur shouted back. He could not believe that one of his best Knights, his best friend, was willing to let a family die just so they could run and be hunted down, only to have them all slaughtered like animals in the end. He wouldn't let that happen to them, especially not to Lancelot.

Having enough of his holy bull, Lancelot raised his voice over Arthur's shouting voice, "No, I choose life! And freedom for myself and the men!" He wanted their freedom, he wanted his freedom. He wanted to live! All of them.

Stepping towards his friend, Arthur grabbed Lancelot's arms and held him steady, looking his best friend in the eyes, "How many times in battle have we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat? Outnumbered, outflanked, yet still, we triumph? With you at my side, we can do so again. Lancelot, we are Knights. What other purpose do we serve if not for such a cause?"

Sighing at his friend's blind and foolish faith he'd placed whole-heartedly into Rome, a Rome that was betraying them, Arthur himself, even now. Lancelot knew it would crush the man. And he did not want to see his friend fall with such shattering destruction. "Arthur, you fight for a world that will never exist. Never. There will always be a battlefield… I will die in battle. Of that, I'm certain. And hopefully a battle of my choosing. But if it is this one, grant me a favor. Don't bury me in our sad little cemetery. Burn me. Burn me and cast my ashes to a strong east wind." He told him, shuffling from Arthur's hold and leaving the Barn, leaving his friend in peace. Wishing he'd think better of this decision.