Hey anyone happening to read this, I started this like six years ago, life has just been in the way. I've been trying to get some unfinished things finished, so this chapter is very short but it should be expanded in chapter II I love this King Arhtur movie, always have!! There's no better Lancelot then Ioan Gruffud in my opinion hehe.
Thanks to anyone reading, please leave me a comment :D XOXO
The grey morning wore on without so much as a hint of golden sunlight, steely clouds hung low on the horizon, they'd been there for weeks and it was unlikely they'd clear up any time soon. Mist saturated the air as heavily as the grey in the clouds. Flecks of snow drifted through the late evening air.
The sound of thunder sliced through the silence suddenly, ten horses rounded a low green hill, they nearly fell sliding around a curve in the muddy trail, so hard were they urged onward by their masters.
One horse kept a long stride ahead of the others, and his rider did nothing to hold him back, this horse urged the others on, and came upon the furthest stretches of the woodland first. His rider was off his back before he had even slide to a stop.
Lancelot was this rider, he rounded sharply, his long cloak cut through the air with his movements. The other horses and riders slid in on the mud, a moment later. Arthur was the first to reach Lancelot, for he needed help getting off his horse, not for himself but for the slumped form placed in front of him, lashed to him with several leather cords.
Lancelot ripped the leather free, his eyes were cold with anger. He begun pulling the form off, before he had finished Arthur and Tristram were at his side, helping, together they moved the limp body off the trail and laid him gently on the leaves lettering the forest floor.
Arthur lingered on his feet longer then the others, staring up at the tangled limbs. Eyes brimming with tears, he finally joined the rest of his men on their knees around their fallen comrade. No one spoke, the leaves were swirling in a sudden breeze, and the rain began pattering down.
Gawain at last voiced what some of them were thinking. "Is he...is he really gone?"
Arthur closed his eyes and rocked back on his heels. Lancelot put his blood-stained hand against their fallen knight's cheek, his eyes also sinking closed.
Arthur at last stood after a few more moments of mourning, swallowing back a lump in his throat that tasted like blood. "Our brave knight will not see another sun rise, nor sunset, life has stopped for him, but our lives continue because of him. He saved my life, taking a blow that would have mortally wounded me."
"I would have done the same," Gawain spoke up, his voice was thick. "Kay passed bravely, Arthur."
Saying nothing Lancelot stood up briskly, and brushed past the others, keeping his dark head down he headed towards the thicker blanket of trees, his devoted horse followed him, dragging his reins along on the ground.
Deep in the silent bowing trees and away from his brothers, Lancelot sank back to the ground. Every ounce of strength had left him. A cold, dark realization gripped his heart with sharp talons. The knights of the round table had lost three warriors in a the sickening time of six months, fighting battles, defending cities, that shouldn't have been theirs to protect. Rome continuously promised to send reinforcements, help that Arthur believed would come, and Lancelot knew wouldn't.
The tragic truth was they would all be killed eventually, soon there would be two or three of the knights of the round table left living, and what chance did Lancelot have to ever see his homeland again.
Death would be on his thresh eventually, and this was the dark realization, chilling him to his very bones.
A soft muzzle was suddenly at his ear, Lancelot stroked Dow's face. He noticed then the thick blood dripping from his hand, as soon as he seen the blood he felt the numb sting of the wound, he hadn't realized he had, a deep cut, across his shoulder, to his collar bone it felt like. The black leather and chain mail had soaked up most the blood, but it had eventually made its way down his left arm.
He looked at the blood distantly, so long it seemed since he'd looked on his own. Kay's death had distracted him in the battle, allowing the enemy, he'd crossed blades with to get in a very lucky slash, and Lancelot hadn't even noticed, he had never felt the pain, he'd been back-to-back with Kay, blood and death was spraying in the craze of war.
"We had best look at that." Athur's voice drifted from the mist around them. "I will not losing anyone else this day."
Lancelot smiled bitterly. "It seems we are all but dead men walking."
Arthur approached him through the gathering mist, his cloak swirling the fog around his boots, as he walked. "Kay's death is tragic, Lancelot. Though, I fear not the last we will witnessed. Perhaps next I will fall, or you... but not on this day, this day will see the remainder of us walking upright, not shadowed in a tomb."
Lancelot snorted. "I didn't come here to bleed out and die, Arthur, though perhaps that would be a less cruel fate."
Arthur had reached his friend, and his hands went to work on removing his armor and chain mail, then his leather, and lastly his grey cotton shirt, dark with blood. A deep crease marked his brow as he examined the wound. Deep and bloody, it had been an attempt to remove Lancelot's head form his shoulders, instead it had caught him on an angle running across his collar bone and lastly catching part of his arm, on his left side.
"At least it's not your right arm."
"I fight with two swords, Arthur."
A smile slipped across Arthur's lips, but he didn't reply, he began mopping up the oozing life force. "This needs proper care. We better head for a physician next." He said slowly, after a few moments of dulling silent. He stood and pulled Dow closer, opening Lancelot's traveling bag, he hurriedly pulled out a long folded piece of meterial and returned to his friend's silent form, next he wrapped the materiel under Lancelot's arm and collar bone, as best he could to hold the gaping flesh together. He gently helped him back into his cotton shirt, worry about his close friend's frailness past unnoticed across his face. He wasn't getting enough to eat, but none of them were-constantly in skirmishes, ambushes, the weather had been poor too, crops weren't good, wild game was slim.
"We must continue, Lancelot, they may be behind us. Can you? Can...Should I help you up?"
Lancelot seemed to half return to himself, his face was ashen though, he'd lost to much blood. "I'm fine, Arthur. You worry to much."