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“UB” is an alternative historical scenario utilizing the legends, myths, inklings of history, our imagination, and our exposure to other settings of alternative reality regarding Britannia of the 5th century. Here you will find that we alter, expand, or rewrite some of the stories already told throughout history, and course our own desires and pleasures about Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, the Sarmatian Knights, the people, and those that oppose our characters in the “Untold Stories” through roleplaying and creative writing as according to our own imaginations.

The current timeframe is 466 A.D., Just after the victory at Mons Badonicus, also known as Badon Hill; Arthur is the Garrison Commander of Knights of the Round Table and Camelot, while Merlin is the People's Shaman of Britannia, and Guinevere, his liaison, lives in Camelot.

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Quote (500 ch): “I will die in battle; that I am certain of. But I hope to die in a battle of my choosing. But if it is to be this one, do not bury me in our sad little cemetery. Burn me, and cast my ashes to a strong eastern wind.”
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Lancelot

Knight of the Round Table

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Dec 5 2016, 09:54 AM
((The Affair – Chapter 8, ~ Part 1: The Betrayal ~ ))

466 AD, late October
Guinevere, Lancelot, and Others;
Hadrian’s Wall - Vercovicium

The Affair – Chapter 8, Part 2:
To the Fort


The meeting with Alison had been... to say the least, strained. Sisters, by half… same father, different mothers... and vastly different lives. The elder Alison now headed the Xiomara... and the younger Guinevere, the wife of the Commander, the Leader of the Briton. The gulf between sisters was wider than ever, as Guinevere had sought out Alison... bringing with her Arthur’s wish for the Xiomara, to join with Lancelot’s men against the Saxon incursions into the land... for Britain...

Of course, the Picts, the ones who were always of this land... not only native, but tied to the land in spiritual ways that only they understood, were wary, skeptical of the new leader, Arthur... even though he had bound himself to Britain by honor and marriage... and none more so perhaps than Alison of her brother-in-law. Yet, Merlin believed in Arthur... and now so did Guinevere. Alison had agreed to give aid to the Soldiers at Segedunum Fort on the Wall... and Guinevere had left her sister with a look back into the mist... for it seemed the warrioress faded into it.

Now Guinevere rode thru the forest unaccompanied… dressed not as Arthur’s lady and wife... but as herself, as she had been before Arthur... dressed in fighting leathers. The day was chilled, but with no need of a cloak, and she enjoyed the ride to Segedunum to inform Lancelot of the aid that would be joining his patrols in the coming days... the fall leaves blowing about brought mind of snowy days not so far away when Arthur and his knights had rescued her... their trek south to Hadrian’s Wall and Baden Hill. How brightly her husband had shown his honor, his strength, his will. She was captivated by him... he was strength personified. It was a good marriage... and he was a good man... she smiled to herself thinking how only 6 months ago she would have balked at the very idea of belonging to a man... but now she could say she was content.

Two days after leaving Alison and the Xiomara, she came to Segedunum... her horse prancing in annoyance at being held outside the gates until the one in charge could verify the woman’s need to enter... "Tell Sir Lancelot... to come... and invite me in…" she challenged when the sentry would know her name... "Tell him the Archer has arrived…" The joke between them, since she had bested him more than once at that weapon…

So she waited... astride the roan stallion dressed as times of old; her brown leathers hugging her lean body, her hair loose and wild about her shoulders... a crossbow and quiver slung across her back. How surprised would the Dark Knight be to find his healing angel here... in the wilds... away from her husband?


As it were, Lancelot now commanded the soldiers at Segedunum Fort on the Wall...

Roused from bed, Lancelot, slowly rubbed his eyes, and yawn. Reluctantly pulling on his leather boots, then slipping the grayish wool sweater over his head. And lastly, the black leather jacket with silver studlets. His nightly patrol beginning to take its toll. Looking at the Sergeant of the Guard, he snarls… “Who is at the gate this damned early?” Though it was a few hours after sunrise, Lancelot’s timing was a bit off due to his patrol schedule.

“M’Lord… tis a Pict warrioress… she said to tell you the Archer has arrived… and you are to invite her in…”

“Lady Guinevere? Here? What the hell is she doing out here…?” Lancelot responded…his sleepy eyes now opened with vigor.

“THAT was Lady Guinevere? The Governor’s wife?” and the Sergeant swallowed hard, thinking he had made a dire mistake. How could he not known who Lady Guinevere was??? The military man had seen the Lady, when she dressed like a Lady… He knew her not as the warrioress Pict, or daughter of the Great Merlin in her current attire. “My apologies MiLord.”

Lancelot now hurried to better present himself. He could not help but chuckle at the Sergeant. “Yes, she has her ways, Sergeant.” Then he laughed… “Apologize not to me, but to her…” and he offered the man a familiar smirk. “Now on your way… Tell the Commander to open the gate, I am on my way…” And before the man could exit, Lancelot teased him. “Oh yes Amareis, apologize to the Lady when Gaius opens the gate.” He laughed when the man sighed and departed.

Amareis, the Sergeant of the Guard ran back to the gate… only to find that Gaius had already authorized entry for the Lady Guinevere and the pair were talking. In rapid-fire breaths, he informed both the Commander of the Guard and Lady Guinevere that Lancelot was on his way. And in a chuckle, Gaius dismissed the Sergeant… and Amareis apologized quickly and profusely.

Lancelot made his way to the gate, his quarters situated in the rear of the post. The two-room quarters once was a feed storage area, but he had it converted when he gave the old roman officer’s quarters to the Captains of the Fort… a gesture to his men. Thru alleys, and shortcuts past buildings, he finally emerged at the far end of the gate’s open yard. Seeing her, he smiled brightly… and the pair met half-way.

First he stopped a fair distance from her… bowed deeply, and respectfully as a First Knight to the Governess; then took 2 steps forward as they both fell into a friendly embrace. “My Lady… tis grand to see you My Lady… How long have I yearned for the sight of thee.!!” Memories of yesteryear flooded his mind. “You are looking well, My Lady…” He had so many questions…


She had dismounted in the meantime, her horse trailing behind her as she spoke with Gaius, the roan stallion gleamed copper in the sunlight; her smile, however, was even more radiant than the midday sun as her gaze fell on Lancelot… and when he stopped before her she laughed, and ran to him flinging herself into his arms, circling his neck with the enthusiasm of youth… her hands cradling his face as she settled two chaste kisses, one on either side of his face… "There is my dear friend…" she hadn’t realized how much she had missed his warmth, his smile… and his company... "You look so well…" her hands pinched his cheeks tenderly… "I have missed you so…" there was an enthusiasm that was contagious... in her smile and the quiet laugh that tumbled from her lips… "You looked shocked to see me here?" her brows wafted upward in a teasing motion… "I bring you glad tidings…"

None there would flinch, nor remark, nor offer any expression at the pair’s enthusiastic greeting… for it was well-known that Lancelot and Guinevere had become close during his lengthy and arduous recovery after Baden Hill. And since that day both men rescued her, Arthur and Guinevere had fallen in love, and Lancelot being Arthur’s most loyal friend, befriended the Lady Guinevere as well. Assuredly, had it not been Arthur selecting Guinevere to be his choice, Lancelot would charmed the lady toward his persuasion, especially after witnessing her bath in the wagon days after the rescue… witnessing her radiant beauty sans clothing… a sight that burned in his mind still.

“Thank you My Lady… I stay well…” The innocent kisses upon his cheek burned deep. Outwardly, the platonic relationship was stalwart… inwardly, turmoil beset his soul, as he desired Guinevere beyond reason, but alas the loyalty to Arthur was greater. “And I you, My Lady… much more than you know.” … speaking softly regarding them missing one another.

“If I looked a bit shocked, tis good reason, for I never expected you this far north…” he chuckled think about what he would say next… “At least not so soon…” He knew she yearned excitement… And he incorrectly assumed it was the some ten years or so younger than Arthur, that caused the yearning. Still the Dark Knight kept his silence, and his thoughts, to himself.


"You should know well I am never what is expected…" she grinned charmingly up at him, what change had come over her, since leaving the walls of Camelot, walls that held her bound to the ways of a Lady, and not any Lady but Arthur’s Lady... the Governor’s wife... she had no real identity of her own... she belonged to Camelot, to Britain and to Arthur... but what of herself… her dreams and passions...? She had not realized how much she chafed at the containment... until she was free of it… free to be at one with herself, the land.. the forest... free from Camelot... and Arthur. The thought caused a blush to fall over her cheeks, a feeling of guilt just at the thought… He was her husband and she loved him... she reminded herself, inwardly chastising herself for feeling free... sans his presence... She fell quiet until Lancelot extended his arm for her...

He extended his elbow toward her, for her to take his arm. “I shall have quarters prepared for you…” and with the other hand, motions to a squire… “You, Squire, ensure the preparation of the visitor quarters for My Lady Guinevere…” As he walked toward the tavern, a quiet place during the day where the officers can relax before the men invaded the night. “We shall be in the tavern until the room will be ready…” and the squire nodded, bowed, “Yes MiLord…” and departed quickly.

She took the proffered arm, with a smile banishing her earlier thoughts, she would be back in Camelot soon enough… no need to find the mood that accompanied her while she was there... here on this beautiful day. "So gallant and bossy…" she quirked a grin up at him... as they moved toward the Tavern... "But right on track as I am famished... hard tack and jerked meat are no longer my usual fare, I fear I have been spoiled by the kitchens at Camelot." she jested lightly, she seemed uninhibited… free and childlike in her enjoyment of the autumn day and the company. How it was she felt so comfortable with the dark knight that most thought of as surly and sullen… hard... and yet the days of nursing him back to health had given her a rare insight into the man… his unusual sense of dry humor, and the honor and loyalty that he cloaked himself in… not only that... but the grief and loss of his family, his sister… and the brethren lost to a war not their own... they held so much in common.

Oh how difficult to harbor such emotions deep in the heart when she was around. He truly wished to allow them freedom. But she was destined to Arthur. At times, he wished he had died that day at Baden Hill… But fate sought a purpose for him; one which he knew not… nor she. “Oh really my dearest Guinevere… What glad tidings? Did the Saxon sail home? Had the Romans finally given up all holds against Britain?” To him, was her presence not enough glad tidings? Or pure torture? Why does anyone think he persuaded Arthur for the Pass and Segedunum Fort as his responsibility to protect in the Governor’s plan for Britain? Why not ask Arthur to remain at Camelot…? Guinevere !!

If her presence alone was a task to his control, certainly the Pict leathers would hold sway on his imagination as well... they seemed to have been painted on her lower half, her willowy long legs and pert backside seemed to bounce as she jaunted along beside him, the heelless leather boots giving her a certain spring in her step that delicate satin slippers would never abide… “Wish that I could offer those tidings to you, but no…" she grinned up at him with her impossibly large eyes, framed with dark lashes that fluttered like fans... and that mouth... grinning up at him, imperfect, too thin on the top, and too full on the bottom... her teeth too prominent, and yet somehow it was charmingly original to her and her alone… making her beauty all the more accessible… "I have been on a mission for Arthur on your behalf... to gain you allies and aid..." her dark brow widened up, trying to intrigue him, like a child trying to gain and co-conspirator...

"Care to guess whom?" she laughed and stepped into the tavern as he ordered them mead... "And a bowl of whatever is hanging over the fire…" she added as she settled at a table near the fire... tossing off her gloves and laying aside her weapons that hung non-challantly from her delicate form.. Straddling a bench she faced him so that they were face-to-face as they awaited their mead and meal... "I went as emissary to the Xiomara... and they have agreed to align themselves… with you and your men against the Saxons... in so far as repelling the incursions into these lands... do not expect much fraternization, they are still wary of Arthur’s Legions as they call you and yours…" she grinned at him... it was a wonderful boon... the beleaguered and thinly stretched manpower of Arthur’s Knights.


His feelings for the Lady could not be spoken… for it would appear treasonous to his best friend, and brother-in-arms. Treasonous to the new land… He simply smiled and opened the tavern door for her… “Mead, Tender… two.” And they moved to a table. “How is Arthur?” He inquired as they sat.

When he asked of Arthur... her smile seemed to dim... a bit... but she was relieved when the tender interrupted setting their drinks on the table along with two bowls of stew... and a loaf of crusty bread. She busied herself with tearing off a chunk of bread and dipping it into the bowl... "Arthur is well... exceedingly so... Each day brings new villages and people to his court, joining the birth of a new nation... he's often busy with new trade proposals and matters of law…" her mouth was filled for a moment and she chewed thoughtfully... "He misses you... his First... and best... misses your company and advice but he knows you chafe at the walls and the business side of diplomacy... that you need the wilds…" Was she speaking of him or her... or both...?

Oh yes, he knew she was never what any would, or could, expect… maybe that was what he loved about her… She had always been that being full of energy. And as she took his arm, he smirked. “Yes, I am bossy… tis mine to command…” he smirked. “And I am sure the kitchens of Camelot have been good to thee My Lady, I see it…” he chuckles as he looks to her buttocks… and as he is chastised for his comment, he laughs. “Our kitchens are not like those of Camelot, but tis good cooks here.”

"Wish that I could offer those tidings to you, but no…"

Oddly enough, he canted his head at her as he paused and sat down at the table. He only acknowledged the tavern keep with a nod, his attention focused on her. “Xiomara?” And his head swiveled to a mirrored cant. He knew the Xiomara, a bunch of half-breed Sarmatian-Briton-Pict women who refused to conform to a womanly nature. “Has Arthur lost his mind? Does he know what these women are like?” He shook his head. “You talk about bossy and demanding… To have these women roaming free with a bunch of men? Men who see only the whores and scourge of profiteers for months?” Maybe Lancelot was exaggerating a bit… or was he? In his mind, he wasn’t.

“Fraternization? I hope not… I would prefer they not enter my fort…” And who was one of the biggest offenders of fraternization? And in order to change the tone of things he inquired about his best friend and husband of the woman he cared about most.

“Each day brings new villages and people to his court, joining the birth of a new nation... he's often busy with new trade proposals and matters of law…"

“Tis nay wonder, he enjoys such tasks…” Lancelot smiled.

“He misses you…”

“And I him My Lady…”

The lands of the Pass, and Segedunum Fort, had been his to command and protect… and was his sanctuary away from what he desired, but could not have… And he looked at her now at his table. Soon she would sleep here… and he would have to fight the demons that would betray him. Demons of desire that could, and would destroy a new nation… or destroy him if nay acted upon. He so much wanted to say how much he missed her as well… and he loved them both. Could love and life be so cruel? His moniker of Dark Knight was well deserved, but none knew by what depths. Twas best he get her to quarters and be rid of her… as distance between them minimal was cause for demons to stir.

He sucked down the mead, dangerously close to one gulp… and he ordered another…

"And one for me as well…" she waved to the tender, seemingly not affected by his desires and futile thoughts, indeed she seemed more lively, more everything than she had since he had known her… had her marriage afforded her such happiness and wrought the change… she laughed amusingly. "Ohhh I do not know if you were to meet some of the women, I wager your thoughts on fraternization would change… some are breathtakingly beautiful, yet deadly with weapon of choice... but in a gown you would think them a princess, incapable of anything but sweetness and light... I dare say more suited to life at Court than I." she smiled in a self-deprecating way, she had an awkwardness that could be charming, all elbows and knees... and delicate limbs...

He was half though his second ale as the man brought the third tankard for the pair. Handing the tender sufficient coin for all, Lancelot, peered at her over the rim of the now tilted container. Assuredly, some of the women in the Xiomara seemed interesting, but his desires were elsewhere. But Guinevere did sound like she was downplaying her own shortcomings, by highlighting the Xiomara finer points. Albeit fact, mead, should be ingested slowly, and enjoyed… but drinking it fast tends to dull the senses all too quickly. And both of them, for reasons unknown decidedly drank the inebriating liquid too quickly to be enjoyed.

She seemed lost in thought for a while, her movements occupied with finishing off her stew, swiping the bowl with a hunk of bread, then licking the tips of her fingers when she was done... "I will be in the debt of your cook for this meal... it was wonderful…" she turned up her tankard and drank it down with a grin. "I have missed the life outside Camelot… the simpler way of things..." she looked at the table… "I prefer to eat with one utensil not a dozen... I never know which one to use first."

“I shall pass along your compliments to the cook. Almateise has been with us as a cook for almost five years now.” He smiled a bit thinking about the crabby old man who cooks better than most women. “Aye m'lady, to me, the life outside Camelot is simpler…” reiterating her own words… “I am glad Arthur gave me the Pass and Segedunum Fort…” And he chuckled at her comment regarding utensils.

Now she laughed again, obviously the two tankards of strong ale had addled her wits a bit as she leaned toward him. "And I've missed you…" those soft doe eyes widened as she leaned forward, clasping his face between her hands lightly... her thumbs making circles over the prominent bones of his cheeks... so impossibly close... barely a breath between them… her eyes locked with his... "Say you've missed me too..." it was a whispered plea… that charged the air between them with electricity.

Both of them laughed, the third tankard now taking its toll. And her words was like a siren’s song, luring the seamen to their deaths… Those eyes... His heart began to pound inside his chest. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle… She, the center of his desire, and his best friend’s wife, now was only a breath away. Her hands lightly clasping his face, her thumbs stirring his desire to dangerous heights. His chest began to rise and fall… and his dark eyes watered, his voice stuttered in a whisper…

“The Gods know I have missed you… and surely you know that… why else do you think I came here Guinevere…” he stood up quickly. “Come, let me get you to your quarters.” He had to change the subject… They were in public and he must now succumb to his desires that have been bottled up since the day he saw her bathe, and she saw him watching her that night in the wagon days after the rescue. He swallowed and held his hand out to her to rise.

Her eyes widened suddenly as he said 'why else do you think I came here’ She inhaled the air between them… a sudden awareness washing over her face... she had though it only her that had felt such things... on what havoc this mead was reeking on her… and then before she could reply he was up… speaking of seeing her to her quarters... she sat there like a wooden practice dummy.

As he moved toward the door... a dark flush of shame coloring her cheeks, and disappearing beneath her collar… "Of Course you must have things to see to…" she nodded and stood... a bit wobbly... and followed him out into the crisp air... hoping it would clear her senses...


Oddly, late October was always finicky when it regarded weather in the higher elevations... and outside it began to snow... light floating big flakes that decorated the sky falling softly... by midnight the beauty would turn into a deadly blizzard... sealing all inside the fort... for days...

Lancelot downed the remaining mead and set the tankard down. “The open air, the freedom away from Camelot pomp and ceremony…” and he leaned to her a bit and spoke softly. “And to dim my desires of those unreachable.” He stood up, swayed a bit, then held out his elbow for her. “Your quarters My Lady… await you…” The First Knight had imbibed much more than he intended, and now his senses would suffer for it. But those present would see Arthur’s wife in best company, for none knew how much the First Knight cared for the woman. “Yes My Lady, many things to do…” And the pair staggered and swayed their way from the tavern to her quarters on the far side of Segedunum Fort.

She stood for a moment in the drifting snow... the lacy flakes swirling about her as she turned her face upward to the grey sky... for the briefest of times, he might be tempted to recall a snowy night... long ago... She abruptly turned and moved to him taking his elbow... and weaving their way toward the quarters he had made ready for her... once there he opened the door and she slipped beneath his arm and into the room… a snug spartan room… "Is this yours?" she turned questioning him as he stood framed in the doorway.

The door was opened and the frame used as a drunkard’s support as Lancelot invited Lady Guinevere into her temporary quarters. Dark eyes surveyed her, the woman’s frame was highlighted by the dim light of the street fire. Behind her was a darkness to where imagination would wander, and he would shake his head. “No My Lady… my quarters are there across the way…” and he would look over his shoulder to a set of rooms behind him, directly across from hers.

As the flakes flitted about them, memories long-stored in the back of the mind rushed forth. Urges suppressed for years now reckoned with common sense as the mood shifted. And it would be him turning around only to find themselves within a breath’s distance apart. Her scent inhaled by his nostrils… her beauty engulfed by his dark eyes… and he took a deep breath and slowly allowed to exhale. “My Lady, I fear your First Knight may have incapacitated himself with over-indulgence.” He paused, “I beg your leave...” And with that, Lancelot needed to remove himself from a place that could be the ruin of him, her, and a new nation, lest he remain stalwart. And as strong as he was… he was not so with her so near. And reluctantly, he turned and staggered to his own quarters, a desire for something more hopefully remaining in the new snow.
Oct 23 2016, 03:56 PM
Several months following the battle of Mons Badonicus; months since Tristan and Lancelot had been left unable to wield his sword without pain or trouble; months since Tristan had woken up in that infirmary, his torso, leg and arm bandaged heavily. Many thought the pathfinder dead, but being rushed back to camp would find the Sarmatian scout with injuries that had left him bed-ridden for several long and arduous weeks.

And Lancelot, his dark moods bringing his caregivers to fits… The crossbow bolt that pierced his shoulder missed all vital arteries yet torn ligaments that controlled his dominant sword arm. His worst enemy now was the fever that set in… fever that rendered him unconscious to wander fields of fevered delirium… allowing his past to finally catch up.

Dagonet, the knight who had nearly died on the ice lake to save them all, tended to both now… the only one to ably manage both men. And the discussion of late had been that of how not only he and Bors would be staying in Briton, but that the brothers, Galahad and Gawain, as well. They were staying on to help Arthur build and restore the country and hopefully settle the disputes and matters of state.

Each knight had been given a certain part of the land in which to protect and they did so using their tactics and wits to ensure that each of their regions were secure and peaceful, not only within themselves but also those surrounding them. Notably, for reasons known only to Lancelot and his Commander, Arthur gave the Lake and the Pass to Lancelot to protect… and offered Dagonet his own land, but denied ownership, only promised to second Bors. It was because of that Arthur swore an oath to Dagonet that Lucan, his adopted son and rightful heir, would have a place at the Round Table when he was of age… and four more men were honored by places at the Table… Percival, Gareth, Bedivere, and Mordred

Now Saosin, Tristan’s loyal bird, sat balanced on a branch above him, watching him with a slightly tilted head as he lay back against a tree; the same tree that his good-looking mount, Ishtar was tethered to the tree.

Though it had only been a few months, he just knew that he was never going to be entirely healed of those grievous wounds the Saxon king had inflicted on him. Looking down at where his right hand lay on his thigh, he tried clenching his fist only to wince as pain shot up his arm. Dagonet had told him it had been providential that the physicians were able to save his arm at all from the damage. But his right leg was a different story.

No longer was he the sprite man of his youth… Now he was a battle-hardened veteran who had the slightest limp in his step from where the thigh injury had damaged the nerves there and nearly left his leg immobilized. Luckily the Saxon had not struck a higher and deeper body part. He often complained that he grew tired more quickly and had to rest due to the pain, thus reminding him of man much older than he. Leaning forward, he feebly started the small fire one-handedly… and looked upward telling Saosin to keep a look out while he rested for a while.

They had almost grown up together… Was it fifteen years already? Fifteen years of their lives had been spent serving Rome… Battle after battle, ride after ride, Lancelot had ridden beside and behind Arthur… ever loyal despite the altercation or the reason there of… Whatever the foundation, or the reason, for his loyalty, Lancelot found it steadfast… Of course, Lancelot knew Arthur was not a God, but a man and cursed with mortal afflictions… and bound to make mistakes… and Lancelot was the balance… He was honorable, but wilder… though as a Sarmatian, he had been bound to Rome, yet he had been a freer spirit than Arthur, the freeman of Rome… Arthur always spoke of God, and the freedom of Roman privilege… yet he and his brothers-in-arms had remained servants of Rome… and this in itself fueled his hatred of the Romans.

But now…!! Now he lay wounded upon a bed of straw…. His blood from the wound stained the straw… It was not from protecting Romans… or Roman land… but their land… It had been a battle of HIS choosing… and he was surprised NOT to have died that day… but he figured Arthur’s God, or his own pagan gods, had thought him better suited to remain at Arthur’s side… That is if he can beat the fever….
Oct 23 2016, 01:19 PM
QUOTE
Prologue
The Roman Empire once extended from Arabia to Britannia. But they wanted more. More land, more peoples, loyal and subservient to Rome. But no people so important as the powerful Sarmatians to the east.

Thousands died on that field. And when the smoke cleared on the fourth day, the only Sarmatian soldiers left alive were members of the decimated but legendary cavalry. The Romans, impressed by their bravery and horsemanship, spared their lives. In exchange, these warriors were incorporated into the Roman military.

For the second part of the bargain they struck, indebted not only themselves... but also their sons, and their sons, and so on, to serve the Empire as knights.


The Departure from Sarmatia
From Broken Bonds (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7329061/1/Bonds_Broken) By DancinThroughLife…


The Roman soldiers rode their horses into the small Sarmatian village in search of their last two recruits. They had been on the road rounding up all the boys whose fathers had struck that fateful deal with Rome so many years before. Going to the furthest reaches of the Roman Empire, the soldiers had experienced their fair share of detrimental weather and villages who refused to give up their sons. This being the last stop on their trip, many of the men just wanted to collect the children and be on their way.

As they approached the remote village, the leader ordered two of his men to stay behind with the gaggle of boys they had already collected throughout the lands. His dismounted his horse when he saw a curly haired boy approaching him with his pack and horse in toe. The soldier pulled out his wrinkled parchment from his belt and looked over the sheet again. There were supposed to be two former knights living in this village, which meant two young men were enlisted into service. He strode up to the boy and grabbed his shoulder forcefully to make the young Sarmatian look up at him.

"Where is the other?" the Roman inquired, knowing full well what would happen if he returned without his quota. He noticed an older man trailing slightly behind the younger, who looked to have been his father.

"He is sick, sir. There is no way that he will survive the journey you have ahead of you. He will be of no use to your commanders," the older man said, his voice gravely with age. His face was tired and worn, most likely due to his own years of service to Rome.

"There must be another to take his place. You give us two recruits for continued peace with Rome," the commander spat back, not releasing his grip on the boy. "If you break this agreement, you forfeit your right to live on these lands."

Without balking at the Roman's threat, the older man stepped forward and pulled his son away. "The only other is my daughter, but what use would she be…" he explained, desperately hoping that the soldier would see reason and leave peacefully, only taking away his oldest son.

The Roman leader looked back at the group of young boys on horses up the hill. Their faces were tired and worn from the journey, but as he looked he counted them once again. If they returned one short, there would be hell to pay for all involved. He and his men would face repercussions and the young men would be forced to pull extra weight. He looked back and forth between his group and the Sarmatian father and son, weighing his options.

"Go and get her ready. She shall take your other son's place and in return you may live here under the protection of Rome" the soldier said coldly, practically spitting out the word 'protection.' At this point, he didn't care who he brought with him. As long as he had the right number, all would be well.

He heard a faint scream from one of the women in the village who had figured out what agreement had been met between the two men. "No-sir, she is but a child! She is not ready to make such a journey…." She pleaded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Silence! I have been sent to retrieve two boys from this village and this family…you will not stand in my way!" he shouted, getting frustrated with this village and this family. Of course, the last stop on their journey would prove to be the most troublesome. In a brief moment of compassion, he approached the woman, "I will do my best to keep her with her brother, but two need to be taken today."

Somehow, her father had known that the Romans would not just accept that her brother was ill and near death and just go on their way. The former knight had already packed her things in a small rucksack and tacked her new horse for her. As he returned with the second set of supplies, he saw his distraught wife holding tight to his youngest child. He knelt down in front of the small girl, letting her brother hold the reigns of both horses.

"Am I to leave with Lancelot now?" the little one asked as she hiccupped quietly. Seeing her mother crying got her started and she knew that something big was going on. Lancelot was already leaving, but now it looked like she was going as well.

"Yes, my sweet, you must go with your brother now," he explained, picking up the small child as he stood to approach the Roman officer. He held her light body close to his own, feeling her tiny arms stretch around his neck and hold tight.

"Evaine," her father whispered as they walked. Her small face lifted off of his shoulder as he effortlessly lifted her into the horse's saddle as Lancelot got into his own. "Stay with Lancelot, do not leave his side. You shall be fine my little flower."


"Father," she said as her hand wrapped around one of his larger fingers. A single tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a damp trail that glistened slightly in the late afternoon sunlight. He took her hand and led the horse over to Lancelot and the Roman officer who had gotten back up on his horse. As they started to ride off towards the larger group of young Sarmatians, she let go of her father's hand, looking back at the small village and her family.

Her attention was brought back in front of her when she heard Lancelot speak to the officer.

"How long shall we be gone?" he asked, trying to sound confident in his speech of the common tongue.

"Fifteen years-not counting the months it will take to get to your posts," one of the nicer Romans answered, giving the brother and sister a gentle nod to start moving. Quietly, they both fell into the line of horses, keeping together towards the middle of the large group.

"Lancelot-Evaine!" they heard their father shout, "RUS!" as the rest of the village joined him. All the boys and girl shouted back, repeating the war cry. Their young hearts were pulled back into the life they once knew for that brief moment before they were shaken back to reality by an obnoxious shout of the Roman leader. With one last glance back at the town, Evaine and Lancelot set off on their long journey.

The trek was tiring, dotted with days of snow and then nights where the wind ripped through their camps like a stampede of horses. Lancelot was able to make quick friends with many of the future knights, and allowed Eve to stay slightly behind her brother at all times. She could always be found near him and rarely ever spoke. There were a few occasions where the young Galahad or Tristan would talk to her as they road, but many of their attempts to get the girl to open up, failed. She didn't trust many of them, not helped by the fact that most of the boys avoided her.

As she was lying on her bed roll one night, gazing up at the stars in the vast, clear sky, she whispered, "Lancelot?"

"Yes Eve?" he responded, his gaze also pointed upwards. The camp was quiet as a slight glow was cast upon the weary group by the full moon.

"Where do you think we are going?" she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"I have heard we are being sent to an island called Britain, but no one is sure yet…" he explained, relaying the information he had heard a few of the Romans talking about earlier in the day. More often than not, Tristan kept him informed. That boy could sneak up on anyone in the group at any time and spy for hours.

"What do you think Britain will be like?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he told her, trying to be as honest as possible but keep her hopes up. "I just hope that it's bearable."

"Fifteen years is a long time, isn't it…" she stated innocently, trying to gauge how long it would truly be before she saw her mother and father again.

"Yes, a very long time-I'll probably be over thirty by the time we finally go home."

"How old will I be, Lancelot?"

He thought for a moment, "You'll be older than 23."

"That's so old," she mused looking up at the moon.

"Yeah, it is," he laughed quietly, "Get some sleep Eve, the soldiers say we will be sailing tomorrow."

"I have never been on a boat before Lancelot, or seen the sea..." she said excitedly, rolling over on her bedroll trying to get comfortable.

Lancelot laughed quietly at her young excitement. He, too, had never seen the sea or been on a ship, but part of him was dreading this part. There was something about being suspended on the water, unable to feel the solid ground beneath his feet that he was uneasy about. The only sea that he enjoyed at the moment was the vast sea of grass that marked his homeland. "Good night Evaine," he whispered, signaling that it was time for sleep and that they could talk more in the morning.

Five weeks had passed since Lancelot and Evaine's conversation under the stars. It turned out that Tristan was right in thinking that they were bound for Britain, but Lancelot was wrong about it being 'bearable.' The tales they had heard from the Roman Officers traveling with them were nothing but foreboding. They often spoke of the harsh weather, constant cloud cover and blinding rain. When they weren't talking about the humidity, they were retelling their friends' stories about the Blue Demons that inhabited the island above the wall.


QUOTE
Prologue to Britannia
And so it was, one of those posts was Britannia - or at least the southern half, for the land was divided by an 80-mile wall built three hundred years before, to protect the Roman Empire from the natives of the north and west. So, as their forefathers had done, they made their way and reported to their Roman commander in Britannia, ancestrally named for the first Artorius, or Arthur.


Oct 23 2016, 11:05 AM
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LANCELOT

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<align=center>“I don't like anything that puts a man on his knees.”</align>

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twenty-six

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Knights of the Round Table

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First Knight

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Single

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Ioan Gruffudd

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Standing an average height of 5’11”, weighing almost 180 pounds, Lancelot has been called the Dark Knight, mostly because of his black curly hair, which is kept short and out of his face, and the neatly trimmed beard and moustache on his handsome face; two dark brown eyes finished off with thick black eyelashes. Also, always dressed in the black armour of the Sarmatian cavalry, wearing black leather breeches, white cottons shirts, a black jacket and black boots; even his horse is a black stallion, which appropriately earned him the nickname and makes his dark appearance complete.
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With a very expressive face, one can never be sure exactly what it is that he is thinking; he is found mostly charming the skirts of women and girls within the walls with his ever present smirk on his face. He has an athletic built with most of his muscular strength built in his shoulders and arms. This is due to the fact that Lancelot is both-handed, or ambidextrous; this ability was useful when he took up the use of twin swords in his military training. This is something Lancelot is very proud of, since it is not an easy thing to achieve, and complements his aggressive style of fighting. Besides it does come in handy for other uses.


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The first knight is much like the devil’s advocate, a double-sided person. He can be smiling at you while he is plotting your death at the same time. He is sarcastic, bold, and very arrogant; a side which is brought up especially in front of those he despises. Though there is a softer side, but one must truly care for him to see it; as such, Arthur knows yet does not reveal the man’s secret internal characteristic. He can handle being in charge very well and is very able at giving the commands that are needed to continue.
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The first knight is fiercely loyal to Arthur, his best friend and commander. The one he has known ever since arriving on this wretched island. He is also protective of those he feels are like his family, including his brothers-in-arms. Lancelot isn’t easily angered but he is very passionate when someone touches those he cares for, especially Arthur. Then he can become as fierce as a hunted beast and strike out at anything and anyone.
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Lancelot is friendly and outgoing but he can be as scary and dark as he looks when he feels like it. He is a very moody person and they can fluctuate with the passing of the blink of an eye. On such occasions he is best left alone with his thoughts and brood mood. The first knight attracts flocks of women wherever he goes and he is rarely seen without the company of a beautiful woman. He highly enjoys their company but he isn’t looking for commitment since he feels he doesn’t deserve a family since he killed enough families of others.


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Leadership,<br>excellent swordsmanship,<br> fine archer, <br>loves and respects horses,<br> fine strategist.


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Sarcastic,<br> arrogant,<br> loves Guinevere and Arthur,<br> internal strife,<br> often treads when he should restrain,

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Back in Sarmatia, the <b>Iazyges</b> lived in the south, on the shores of the Sea of Azov.
The <b>Urgi</b> lived in the north on the banks of the Dnepr, in the neighborhood of modern Kiev. <br><br>
An ancient Scythian tribe, the <b>Royal Scythians</b>, was still living in the east of Ukraine and had become the most important member of the Sarmatian coalition. They and the Urgi became known as the <b>Sarmatians</b>.
The <b>Roxolani</b> were moving to the west.
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Lancelot was born on the mighty plain that flowed south from the foot of the snow-packed Caucasus Mountains all the way to the Black sea. There near the shore, a little Sarmatian village was nestled. Son of a former Sarmatian knight named <b>Benzyl</b>, the village hoped for many a year that the Romans wouldn’t come but in the end they came like they always did.
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Lancelot’s father amongst others tried to stop them from taking his boy, but ended up injured and almost killed. Only Lancelot’s quick move prevented the death of his father. The young lad was only ten years old then; his best friend was his pet dog and his only thoughts up to that day were to make his father proud. Then he was taken away; leaving behind a saddened father, a broken-hearted mother, and a saddened younger sister… and everything changed in his life.
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Taken from home and brought to a island far away from his own, a three month journey to Britain, where he first met Arthur. Arthur believed that Lancelot was the greatest fighter he had ever seen and the most loyal friend. The two had met when Arthur was eighteen and he was only ten. From that time forward they had trained together and fought side-by-side almost constantly.
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And as the friends began to learn of other aspects of life - like the beautiful women who always seemed to be available to brave knights in Britannia - they experienced those pleasures together as well. Lancelot’s regard of Arthur has grown during the years and he would die for his friend's happiness and life. So should Arthur say or do anything that would go against his own happiness, Lancelot would be doubly fierce than before to try and make him relent. He believes in Arthur, however, doesn’t believe in Arthur’s God.


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William

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CST, USA

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chronicledpath@aol.com

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<div class="tcred"><a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=1892" target="_blank">♛ Ames</a></div>
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