Sir Leodegrance lay on the ground, his arms what remained of them pressed against his chest. Blood pumped from the stumps where his hands had been, staining his armor, his tunic, the sand beneath him.
He shouted in pain.
The sound tore from his throat raw, animal, a sound that had no words. Blood coughed from his lips with each cry, spraying across his face, his beard, his ruined arms.
Tears flowed from his eyes.
Not from the pain though that was there, burning, endless. From something deeper. Something that had been cut away with his hands.
His usefulness.
His purpose.
His hands the hands that had held a sword for centuries, that had defended Camelot, that had raised a daughter who became a queen were gone.
General Titus looked down at him, indifferent.
"What a waste." He sheathed his sword, crossing his arms over his chest. "I hear it is in the knights' code that for a knight to lose his weapon is a great disgrace. Weakness." He tilted his head. "A knight without a weapon is a burden placed on his king and on his comrades."
He paced slowly, his boots crunching in the sand.
"Knights and soldiers I don't really see the difference." He stopped, looking down at Leodegrance. "So I want to ask are you a burden? Or are you even below that?"
Leodegrance's chest heaved. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"A knight with no arms." Titus's voice was almost gentle. "You can't lift a sword. Ever again. You are basically dead."
He crouched down, bringing his face level with the old knight's.
"To put it simply, you have handed your life over to me. And now..." He smiled. "I will toy with it. And play judge."
Leodegrance's eyes burned.
"You're not a human being." The words came out choked, wet with blood. "You don't even deserve to call yourself a warrior."
His voice rose, cracking with emotion.
"I hate you." Spittle flew from his lips. "You will die a terrible death. I swear it. The Roman Empire will fall. Just as it did before once again, it will fall."
General Titus looked at him, utterly unmoved.
"What do you expect me to do after your ranting?" His voice was flat. "Feel bad? Feel guilty and proceed to break down?" He laughed softly. "Or what give you a painless death?"
He straightened, looking down at the broken knight.
"I don't know whether the chivalry in your head has affected your ability to think. When did I ever say that I was a warrior?"
He spread his hands.
"A warrior. A knight. One who follows his heart and the chivalry code he has sworn by." He shook his head. "As a soldier, I follow the path for the best outcome of my nation."
His voice hardened.
"And our empire will fall?" He looked at the grey sky. "Yes. It might have fallen in the past. But that weakness has been overcome."
He looked back at Leodegrance.
"Rome will never fall."
He began to pace again, his voice taking on a lecturing tone.
"Yes, I know there will be great threats. Those who point their swords toward the Roman Empire." He stopped, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "But for every sword that points its blade to us, there are fifteen shields that will block them."
He paused.
"And if the sword comes from within..." His voice dropped. "It will melt by the heat within us."
He thought of Mordred.
The son of Arthur. The traitor who had betrayed his own father, his own kingdom, his own blood. The sword that existed within the Roman Empire now close to the heart of great Caesar.
Titus's face twitched.
He did not bear full trust in him. Could not. A man who would betray his own father what would he do to those who had taken him in?
He was afraid.
Another falling of the Roman Empire. Another betrayal from within. Another Mordred.
Let him not be the Brutus in Valhalla, Titus thought. Let him not be the knife that finds Caesar's heart.
Leodegrance laughed.
The sound was wet, broken, but there was something in it that was almost triumphant.
"What's wrong?" He spat blood onto the sand. "Lost in your thoughts, are you? Has fear entered your soul?"
He coughed, his chest heaving.
"Have you finally realized the inevitable? No matter how you fortify your fortress, it will eventually fall."
Titus's jaw tightened.
"All fortresses will eventually fall." Leodegrance's voice was growing weaker, but his words came faster. "If the walls of stone aren't strong enough, you add bronze walls, right? Then what happens when there is a weapon that can destroy bronze?"
He laughed again.
"What will you do? Will you find something else? It becomes a battle of attrition. It's not that your empire won't fall it's just that your empire will last long until it eventually falls."
He looked at Titus with eyes that had seen too much.
"You know, looking at you, I remember something." His voice softened. "When I was alive, I used to think the same way. How ironic is that, isn't it?"
His smile was thin, knowing.
"And let me guess you just had a thought about that bastard." He let the word hang. "Mordred."
Titus's face changed.
It was as if a mask had slipped as if the calm, indifferent general had been a facade for something else. His eyes darkened. His lips pressed into a thin line. His features hardened into something that was almost... demonic.
He drew his sword.
The blade rose high, catching the grey light, its edge aimed at Leodegrance's neck.
A downward strike. Clean. Final. The stroke that would end the old knight's suffering.
But before the blade could fall
A body interposed itself.
Sir Dagonet jumped.
He had been lying on the ground, bleeding from his throat, his strength fading, his life draining away. But in the seconds between Titus's decision and Titus's strike, he moved.
His body threw itself between the blade and Leodegrance.
The sword descended.
SHLIK!
It cut through his neck clean, final separating head from body in a single stroke.
Dagonet's head rolled.
His body fell.
But in the instant before death, in the single heartbeat between the blade's touch and the darkness that followed he spoke.
"Well." His voice was a whisper, already fading. "I've bought some time for you, haven't I?"
He was conscious for a single second. A single, perfect second.
"Don't waste this." His eyes found Leodegrance's. "There aren't a lot of us remaining, are there?"
His lips curved into a smile.
"Live a good life. For King Arthur. For Camelot."
His head hit the ground.
His body crumpled beside it.
And in that final moment in the space between existence and oblivion he remembered.
Now I remember how I died.
The thought was soft. Gentle. Peaceful.
Was it a good life?
He thought of Camelot. Of Arthur's smile. Of the Round Table, warm with firelight and friendship. Of battles fought and lost, of comrades who had fallen beside him, of a world that had been worth fighting for.
Yeah.
His consciousness faded like morning mist.
Yeah, it probably was.
Sir Dagonet was dead.
His head lay separate from his body, his face still frozen in that final smile, his eyes already empty. Blood pooled around him, spreading across the sand like a dark halo.
Leodegrance stared at him at the sacrifice that had saved his life, at the knight who had given everything so he could live a few moments longer.
His throat closed.
General Titus stood over them both, his sword still raised, his expression unreadable. He looked at Dagonet's body, at Leodegrance's tears, at the cost of this victory.
He said nothing.
Dagonet's head rested in the sand, smiling.
And Leodegrance wept