Chapter 13:

The estate of Marius Honorius looked like any other villa that hugged the Roman city walls. It was grand in size, imposing in mature, and symbolically powerful. Isolde pursed her lips as the estate gradually crept from the horizon. Its very sight was a reminder of how much she hated everything the Romans stood for. She glanced at Arthur, who noticed his pace had slightly slowed and she could only guess that he was slightly awed by its massive scale.

"You certainly don't see that everyday in Briton," she casually commented.

Arthur turned to her and gave her a small smile, and she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. They had raced through the Woad-infested forests through the rest of the day and night, knowing the dangers of traveling through enemy territory. They even had a close encounter with fighting with the Woads, yet their leader had called off the ambush, giving Arthur the belief that the Woads were now saving their efforts for the approaching Saxons. Now that the journey was nearly over, the fatigue now began to appear on all the knight's faces.

She turned her attention to the approaching crowds of people that began to encircle them as they rode through the gates. The dirt on their faces, the ragged clothing they wore and the coarseness of their hands only led Isolde to believe they were slaves to their Roman Lord. She looked at their faces, and felt suddenly uncomfortable under their curious gazes. She turned away and drew a deep breathe as the few Roman guards who patrolled the lands drew their swords.

"Who are you?" a voice commanded from behind them.

Each knight cautiously directed their hand on their own weapon, ready for a fight. She looked past the guards and saw a large man draped in robes marching down the path, with who Isolde assumed his wife in tow.

"Perfect timing, " Gawain whispered to her. "Now we'll see how this plays out."

"Oh?"

"Just look at him...pompous ass. I'm sure you've seen lots of those in Rome. Self-obsessed, disrespecting and dumb," he explained.

Isolde stifled a chuckled, knowing full well what he meant.

"Total brute," she added.

She turned her attention towards Arthur, who began to lose patience with the stubborn Roman. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but from the angered looks from both their faces, it seemed as if the Roman wasn't going to follow Arthur's orders.

"Are you from Rome?" a small voice broke the cold wind.

Isolde turned her head and her eyes met a young man whose face was hollowed out from hunger and proper sleep. His skin was pale, his hair was dark, and his eyes were dark, giving him the strange appearance of a ghost. "Why do you ask?" she replied.

"God has sent you to save our Lord," he stated.

He immediately cast his eyes on the ground and whispered, "Have you come to save us too?"

She merely stared at him, unsure of any response she could give. She knew her orders were to retrieve the Roman family, and in particular the young Alecto Honorius and escort them back to Rome. No one had mentioned anything about a whole village of Romano-Britons living north of the Wall. No one said anything about bringing everybody who sought sanctuary back to the wall. She looked up and met Dagonet's eyes, who could only look sadly with sympathy and understanding.

She looked back at the man with firmness, suddenly angry at him and sharply replied, "Only the helpless and useless needs saving. You and your entire village could walk out those doors and they can only stare and watch." She paused, and looked directly in his eyes. "We save ourselves from the horrid reality we live in. No God, or any other man should tell you what you can or cannot do."

The man looked at her in shock. "If you're not sent from God, and you haven't come to save us…w-who are you?"

She sadly smiled at him, "I am not the saviour you seek, nor the answer to your freedom."

We can only save ourselves.

The sounds of the drums were getting louder. Each passing beat grew heavier. It meant time was running out, which meant he was putting his knights in greater danger. Arthur looked around the estate grounds, disgusted at what he saw. The starved village, the lashings, and the smell almost made Arthur sick. This wasn't the image of the Roman life he had envisioned since childhood. A group of them looked sadly towards him, as if they were silently praying for some sort of miracle.

He let out a huge sigh, and sent a quick prayer to his God, "Give me strength. Please help me lead this people to safety."

"You know some could mistake you for a crazed old man if you continue talking to air," a voice piped in.

Arthur turned his head and saw Lancelot beside him. "You know you always have me to talk to. Your God won't give you the answers you need Arthur."

He would never understand, Arthur thought. Though Lancelot was his one and true confidante, they had never agreed on Arthur's choice of religion. For many years they had disagreed upon the issue, which led Arthur to simply ignore his friend's bitter comments.

"Look at them Lance," he pointed at the group. "What am I suppose to do? I can't leave them defenseless to the Saxons – they won't survive."

"And what about us? They longer we stay here, the more danger you put us in. Please Arthur, I beg of you…this is not the day to play the hero," Lancelot pleaded.

As if nothing was said or spoken between them, Arthur left his friend with no answers or reassurance of what was to come. The sounds of the drums once again pierced through the cold wind and it for one short moment, it felt to Lancelot that time had frozen.

Roaming the halls he called home his whole life, Alecto packed the last of his belongings in to his trunk and now awaited for what was to come. All his life, he was told he was destined for great things, and would lead Rome's people into God's salvation. All his life, he had been told of his future even though he was not yet sixteen summers old. He looked at himself in the mirror and studied his youthful face, secretly searching for the great leader he was meant to become.

"My dear Alecto, have you done packing? We depart soon," a soft voice spoke.

He turned to face his mother, who at that very moment looked so angelic and peaceful that she seemed to contrast all the chaos around them. She was a gentle woman, fond of her son and kind to everyone around her. By contrast, his father was everything she was not; harsh, rash and power-hungry. It baffled him why such a gentle woman like his mother could tolerate such an unjust man.

"Mother, tell me what do you see in the mirror?"

She walked behind him, rested her chin on his shoulders and kissed his cheek. She stared into the mirror and took a long gaze. "I see a mother who loves her son," she paused and continued. "I see a young boy who wants to grow up too soon. I see a mother who wishes her son will always remain the baby in her arms, but alas life does not work like that."

"How am I to know if God has chosen the right path for me? What if I don't want that path?"

"We will never know for certain what the future holds, Alecto. Men have gone mad trying to answer that very question you have asked."

She hugged her son, and held him for a moment; silently reliving the memories of his infancy and his younger years. He was just a boy; yet he was wise beyond his years.

A knock interrupted the familial bonding, and both mother and son turned towards the door, where Isolde was now standing. "Arthur has asked me to come inform you that we will be leaving shortly." she simply stated.

Alecto and his mother looked at one another, and then looked at the room one last time and quietly followed the female Sarmation knight out of the room, down the corridors and out of their home. Alecto, curious of the female warrior, kept paced with her long strides and stared at her. Unease at his gaze, she asked, "Is there something wrong?"

He shrugged his shoulders, "I was not aware Rome let their women carry swords."

She glanced sideways at his curious face and smirked at him. "Rome will take anything she wants, regardless of gender or religion; living or the dead."

"You're a slave?"

"Does that surprise you?"

"Yes," he stated. "Slaves are often beaten if they disobeyed. They don't freely walk around as they please and besides, you're a pagan."

Since his father had taken care of his education, it was taught to him from a very young age that there were certain people who would always be in God's favour, and those who were born to serve his messengers. Any disobedience to their masters was a direct disobedience to God. He had studied the knights upon their arrival, and he knew immediately that they were no ordinary slaves of Rome, causing him to doubt his beliefs for the very first time.

Isolde chuckled at naivety, and said nothing as they were approaching the horses. She noticed a huge circle formed around Arthur and began to make out his voice, which pierced through the air like roaring thunder. Sensing the tension around her, she glided her hand towards the hilt of her sword, and made her way to Dagonet who had a young boy – barely seven summers old – in his arms; unconscious, dirty, and badly beaten. Alecto's mother had run past her and knelt before a woman of youthful appearance who was very much in the same condition as her counterpart except she was awake and was clearly aware of what was happening.

"Dagonet.." she whispered warily. "Who are they?"

"Found them in the dungeons. The Roman monster kept them hidden; he was going to leave them there to die."

Isolde knelt down and felt the boy's face. "He's burns," she quietly murmured to herself. Her eyes caught sight of the odd angle his arm was in and gently touched it. "It's badly broken. Most likely for a few days now," she said.

Marius' voice then shook through the crowd, "And YOU!" He pointed at his wife, "You kept them alive!"

He ran towards her and slapped her right across the face, with such force that it caused the woman to fall to the floor. Before she had anytime to react, Arthur had already taken control of the situation and punched the Roman scum in the face.

She turned back to Dagonet, "Take them both to the cart. They aren't in any condition to travel."

He nodded, and scooped the boy in his arms and marched towards the cart. Following suit, Alecto's mother helped the badly bruised female prisoner and slowly limped, following the larger knight's shadow. Isolde sighed out of exhaustion, tired from everything that had unfolded over the last few days. She got on her horse, and out of routine quickly checked that her weapons and belongings were in order. She wrapped her cloak around her body, as the cold winds began to prick the skin on her bare skin.

"How are your scouting skills?"

She looked up and saw a very tired Arthur, silently asking her to do what he asked without any objection. "Now what stories have you heard about me from the Legionariis?," she lightly commented.

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes for a quick moment before opening them again and solemnly looked at her. "I don't doubt Tristan's scouting skills, but I can't afford anything to go wrong at this very moment. We've lost too much time, and the Saxons are getting closer. I know you and him aren't on the best terms, but I am asking you Isolde, as an old friend, to grant me this one favour and help him; he can't cover that much land in the amount of time we have."

"He won't take my help, Arthur. You know that," Isolde quietly said.

"Yes he will."

"Since when did you become a prophet?" she bitterly joked.

"He's the one who asked me," he replied. "But don't tell him I said that. He's tired, just like the rest of us. He needs the extra eyes. Please, Isolde."

She pursed her lips, and stole a glance at Tristan's direction who was conversing with Lancelot. As if suddenly aware of his surroundings, Tristan looked up and met Isolde's eyes. She silently begged herself to look away, but her head refused to turn away. He held an unreadable face, which was hidden away by the braids of his hair, yet Isolde could have sworn for one very quick moment, he gave her a grateful look, as if he already knew that Arthur had already asked her of the favour he requested.

"He's so tired he's turned delusional," she commented.

Arthur lightly chuckled, "You may think otherwise Isolde, but he still cares for you. If he didn't, do you think he'd even care for a second glance?"

Her hands gripped her reins and she stiffened her smile. Though the tension between the former lovers had not been as catastrophic as Isolde imagined it to be, they were still not on speaking terms. There was so much that needed to be said, yet neither had bothered to step forward. She closed her eyes, and against her own wishes the faint memories of a young girl being chased by her lover through fields of grass emerged in her mind.

A/N: Enjoy! I tried not to re-tell the whole movie, and so I decided to use the script and plot of the film as a backdrop. Because, lets face it....I think we all know the movie a little bit too well. :)

Don't forget to review!