Welcome back.

For Disclaimer and story warnings: See Chapter One.

Apologies for the short chapter this time round, Lancelot was a bit of a challenge (and doesn't he know it, the cheeky devil...).

Thank you to those who reviewed! I hope you enjoy Chapter Five.

Chapter Five – Reasons to Fight

The squirrel scampered across the forest floor. The sweet acorns littered the ground beneath the great oak, and the squirrel was delighted by the unexpected feast. Suddenly, a noise in the undergrowth nearby startled it, and the squirrel froze, trail twitching slightly. Another crash and a harsh exclamation broke the forest air and the little animal was gone, darting up into the tree and away.

"Bloody forest!"

If the Knight didn't know better, he'd say every tree root in the place was actually attempting to trip him deliberately, hidden beneath a light covering of early autumn leaves. Or perhaps he was just too tired to lift his feet properly. He was aching, exhausted and colder than he could remember. Gawain knew that blood loss was probably responsible for most of the above, and for his raging thirst too, but there wasn't much he could do about it. The big man had managed to get a mouthful of rain water by standing in a clearing, but it had done little more than wet his mouth, as well as his face, hair and all his clothing.

He stumbled on, left arm bound up and right hand pressed tightly to his abdomen. He had no idea if it was still bleeding, but it hurt like hell. On the plus side, the rain had finally lessened, and the sun slipped from the trees. Gawain was more than a little relieved to realised he had been going to right direction. South. South towards the Wall and safety. South towards his brother Knights.

"Bastards," Gawain muttered at the thought, and felt a tightening of unreasonable betrayal in his heart. They'd left him. Arthur and Bors and Lancelot and all of them had just left him. The thought spun dizzyingly in his mind. Why? Why did they do that? There must be a reason, a good one. They didn't leave Knights behind. It was one of the first things they'd come to learn in the early days. The Commanders mostly hated them, Rome didn't give a shit if they lived or died. All those frightened boys from Sarmatia had were each other. Well, before Arthur that is, and then everything changed. But they had learned; you do not leave people behind, because one day it would be you out there, and in that circumstance every Knight wanted to be damn sure someone would find them, even if all they came back with was your body. And they had never broken that unspoken promise. Apart from once. Tor. Gawain shuddered with cold and offered a silent prayer to Valkyr, keeper of the dead. Tor had been dragged from the battle field by Woads, They'd searched for a week, killed every blue skinned native they could get their blades into, but they'd never found Tor's body. That had been eight years ago now.

Why had they left Gawain? He could think of a few reasons why Arthur and the Sarmatians had ridden back to the wall without searching for him, and he didn't like any of them. He hoped desperately that his brother Knights were alright. As he tripped on another tree root, he wondered if he'd ever find out.

Lancelot lay on the hard wooden pallet and fumed. He was furious. Furious at his forefathers for selling them into this slavery, furious at Rome for dragging them to this nasty little island. Furious at Arpagius for being a coward, and at Arthur for getting injured. Furious at Gawain for dying. And, furious at himself for losing control. If he hadn't punched the Roman, there was a chance he might have persuaded Arpagius to let some of the Knights stay and search for the dead Knight. But the sight of Arthur, unconscious and bleeding, combined with Arpagius's sneering insults about Gawain had been too much, and his temper, fiery at best, had engulfed him. He was sure he had felt the bastard's nose crack under his fist. Good.

He got up and started to pace the small room. He was too angry still to sit down for long. He'd been dragged into the gaol last night as soon as they got back to the fort, and completely ignored from then on. It must be nearly midday now. The room wasn't really a gaol, more of a small storeroom with a strong door, but was always useful for imprisoning insubordinate soldiers, or troublemakers from the town around the fort. Lancelot wasn't a stranger there, having been locked up several times when he was younger for general drunken disorderliness, usually involving a fight with some legionnaires. Oh, he'd fought with the other Knights too, more than once; eleven years is a long time to be stuck with the same men day in and out. But the Sarmatians soon learned to deal with their own problems without involving Romans, and the Wall officers had never cared what the barbarian cavalry did, as long as they fought and died when commanded.

Until Arthur. Lancelot sat again, and scrubbed at his face and beard with one hand. Arthur was different. For some ridiculous, unfathomable reason, Arthur cared. And the Sarmatians, who had spent so many years hating Rome suddenly found there were reasons other than just survival to fight. Oh, they had none of them subscribed to the man's unquestioning Romanitas or his faith in his God, they'd all seen too much done in both their names for that. But there was one thing every Knight did come to believe in, and that was in Arthur himself. The Roman who fought beside barbarians; the Christian who cared for the pagans. The one man from that entire arrogant empire who tried to understand rather than just to conquer and rule. He had even learned the Sarmatian trade dialect the Knights spoke between themselves so he could communicate with them, rather than just forcing them to speak Latin as their past commanders had done. Lancelot didn't believe in Arthur's idealised Rome of peace and justice, but Arthur's belief in it was so strong it rubbed off on his Knights too; and when you listened to him talk, the whole idea of a society of free, equal men just seemed a little bit less ridiculous. He knew and loved all of his men, and they loved him in response. They would follow him into death and beyond, if he asked it of them. Lancelot wondered how unstoppable the Roman Empire would be with someone like Arthur at its head. What would happen to the Knights if Arthur died from his injuries? Was he already dead? Would the bloody Romans even bother to let Lancelot know?

And Gawain...No! Lancelot didn't want to think about Gawain, another pointless death, more blood on the hands of Rome. And for the Knights, another empty seat at the round table, another brother who would never return to see the home he dreamed of. Worrying about Arthur had given him something else to think about, but now his thoughts had turned returned unbidden to Gawain. Gawain...what would they do without Gawain? Lancelot had loved the man, all the Sarmatians did. Even most of the Romans got on with the blond Knight, he was easy to like, and respect. He was a lethal fighter, combining the speed of Ector with the aggression of Bors to create his own deadly style, and he was unusual of all the Knights in that he was able to quickly master, and not be just proficient, at nearly any weapon he tried, from spear to bow, mace or axe. But Gawain was more than just a soldier, an axe and a sword; that was a Roman way of thinking. Gawain was a laugh or a jest at the right time to ease their tensions. He was easy conversation, and unquestioning, undemanding loyalty, to both Arthur and his brother Sarmatians. He was kind blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled and a generous heart to all the new Knights and a fierce enemy to their enemies. He was the foil to Galahad's impetuous anger, the only one who seemed to understood Tristan's strange moods, the man who got Lancelot and Kai back on speaking terms with each other every time they fought.

Oh, he had his faults, every man does. Gawain had, in Lancelot's opinion, a ridiculous attitude to women; he was nearly as pathetically romantic as Arthur on the subject. Apparently you somehow had a duty to protect women and continue to mope about after them even once the deed was done. Maybe it was something about the type of wenches Gawain bedded; the women of Lancelot's choosing were quite capable of looking after themselves. Apart from that though, Lancelot had sometimes thought Gawain was too accepting, too easy going. When they needed to stand up against the Romans, show they weren't easily cowed to their subjugation, Gawain would just shrug and accept it and give Lancelot a look like the man was being unreasonable! Lancelot snorted. Gawain. He was...different, to everyone. He never complained, except in jest. He listened when everyone else just wanted to shout. He didn't fight, except when they fought side by side. And he was always there. Always.

Except, now he wouldn't be, ever again.

Lancelot gritted his teeth in anger, wanting to throw something. But there was nothing to throw. Just as he considered imagining Arpagius's face and punching the wall, there was a noise in the corridor. Lancelot quickly slouched down on the bed and adopted an expression of lazy arrogance. He wouldn't give that Roman bastard the satisfaction of knowing he was grieving and furious. The wooden door swung open, and a scowling legionnaire dumped a wooden trencher of bread and cheese on the floor. He wasn't one Lancelot recognised, and the Knight watched him, mockingly.

"Once a Roman guardsman and now servant to a Sarmatian. You've been promoted..."

The soldier scowled further but, to Lancelot's surprise, spoke up.

"Message for you. The Sarmatians said to tell you; 'Arthur will be fine.'" The Roman clearly had no idea who Arthur was; to him the cavalry Commander was Artorius Castus.

Lancelot sneered, even as his heart leapt. "And a messenger-boy too. How nice for you. Who told you?"

The guard shuddered slightly. "Big guy with two fist-knives and the tall one with red hair. And if they ask, you'd better tell them I told you."

Lancelot grinned. Bors and Kai. He could imagine what they'd had to threaten the guardsman with to get him to pass that information on. They knew he'd be worrying about Arthur.

"My thanks, messenger-boy. You can go now," Lancelot dismissed him, impudently, and the way the man withdrew without saying another word made him realise the other Knights must have been very scary indeed. He wondered how they were all coping with Gawain's death. He wondered who had told Galahad and Ector, and who the younger Knight had picked a fight with, as in invariably must have. He wondered what kind of ceremony Dagonet could organise, without Gawain's body or weapons. He wondered if Arthur knew he'd lost another man, and that this time it was kind-hearted Gawain who was never coming back.

He punched the wall.

Ouch. If you enjoyed, let me know, I found Lancelot strangely difficult to write.

Next time, Gawain makes a worrying discovery, and Arthur wakes up.

See you there!

Nienna.