“And there he cried on height, 'Where art thou Lancelot? Come forth thou false traitor knight and recreant, for I am here, Sir Gawaine!’”
- Le Morte D'Arthur

It rained for several hours until dawn. Fira couldn't help but feel it reflected everyone’s mood. This seemed to be an even more important battle than the previous, at least to most involved. Arthur grew tight-lipped when the sun dawned, refusing to do much but speak to Gwaine and Leon and Merlin.

As the battle drew near and the rain subsided, Arthur arranged his warriors in the rocky battlefield. Across he saw Morgana’s forces, closing in. He gave some small speech to his knights, but Fira wasn’t listening. She stood behind everyone, as none knew her true purpose. She tried to keep an eye on Gwaine. Of all the knights of the Round Table, it was he that worried her the most. She knew his vendetta against Lancelot could end terribly.

Finally the soldiers moved out, eager to attack Morgana’s Saxons. The knights left her sight, but she through up the invisibility spell Morgana had taught her, following them close by. Fira couldn't find Merlin, but she assumed he was with Arthur.

The screams and shrieks of battle soon reverberated throughout the rocky field. Fira stepped over dead bodies, watching over the knights of the Round Table closely. To her left went Leon, Percival, and Elyan, to her right went Tor, Morholt, and Galahad. In front of her, Gwaine marched on, no fear is in heart.

The clanging of swords together shook her to her very core. She could hear nothing above the din, nothing above the terror of war. Her heart sunk. Her Knights had split up to cover more ground. The only one she could find was Gwaine. So she followed him.

Gwaine tore through the enemy. He maintained the title of best warrior of Camelot for a reason. Years of life on his own as a Knight Errant had forced him to learn tricks no one else knew. But that didn't make him invincible. Several bruises had already formed on his left arm from where a mace caught him. A small cut went across his forehead from a throwing knife that barely grazed him.

Overall, he felt quite pleased with himself. Every time he cut down an enemy soldier, he reminded himself that he fought for Gareth and Gaheris. And then he remembered Lancelot. He found it remarkable that despite the chaos around him, he remained calm. His anger boiled under his skin, clawing its way out. But he used it, it didn't use him.

With a particularly harsh swing, Gwaine decapitated a preoccupied battlemage. As he realized what kind of enemy he’d killed, the thought that Lancelot may be close by infected his mind. Now the rage came in full force. Two more battlemages and a sorcerer stood before him. The path to them stayed clear as all cowered back from their wrath. But not Gwaine.

Gwaine swung his sword around to get a better grip. He smiled. As he geared up to engage them, a voice shouted.

“Stop!”

Lancelot. Gwaine halted and felt himself tremble with wrath. The man who’d murdered his brothers stood right behind the magic users. He went to charge again but the voice spoke, cutting through the chaos and noise easily.

“I'll deal with this one.” Lancelot nodded to Gwaine as the battle mages and sorcerer stepped away. “Deal with the witch.”

Gwaine glanced up to see Fira had dropped her invisibility spell. She could handle herself, he was sure. This fight was his and his alone.

“Lancelot!” Gwaine barked angrily. “You killed my brothers. Prepare to die.”

“Always so perceptive, Sir Gwaine,” Lancelot growled mockingly, circling the knight, sword at the ready. “Too bad your fighting skills are no match for mine. And I have the favor of the Lady!”

Gwaine stepped forward, swinging his sword above his head. Lancelot blocked it carefully, pushing back with his own ferocious swing. But the knight remained standing, no worse for it. They circled each other again, kicking up dirt and rocks with their footwork. This time Lancelot attacked first. Gwaine parried, jumping to the side as Lancelot lunged forward.

Behind them, Fira fought the battlemages. She relied solely on magic, for she had never mastered the left hand for swords. Throwing caution to the wind, she through lighting sparks at both the mages, electrocuting them. All that remained was the sorcerer.

“Darian!” Fira spat furiously. “You're a traitor to the druids.”

He shook his head. “I tried to help you in your destiny, Nyx.”

“Go to hell,” Fira growled. She shot out her single hand. “Forbærnan!”

A massive fireball struck the priest of the Old Religion in the chest. He screamed in pain and anger. With his staff, he smacked Fira in the jaw, sending her sprawling.

“It is you who have betrayed your kind.” Darian struggled to walk forward, his chest flaming from the magical fire. “You turn away from the persecution and prejudice, safe in the castle.”

Fira shook her head, trying to get her bearings. She pushed herself up from the ground. Heaving herself to her feet, Fira sent Darian flying back against a large rock formation. She turned to check on Gwaine.

The two Knights remained locked against each other. Gwaine decided he’d had enough. With a massive kick to Lancelot’s knee, his opponent buckled. Gwaine used that chance to disarm him, the sword flying to his feet. Gwaine smiled.

“Goodbye, old friend,” he sneered.

He stabbed Lancelot in the abdomen, dropping him to the ground. Gwaine, satisfied, turned away to watch as Fira disposed of the priest once and for all. So it was to both their surprises when Gwaine felt a sharp pain.

“Gwaine!” Fira screamed in horror.

The man turned around to see Lancelot had picked up his sword and it dripped with fresh blood. The pain in his side was all he needed to register what had happened. As Lancelot fell dead at last, Gwaine dropped to his knees, clutching at his side.

Fira ran over to the knights. She took him in her arms and whispered an ancient word for a teleportation spell. To the surprise of those around them, Fira and Gwaine disappeared in a rush of wind.

They reappeared in the King’s tent. It stood empty for which she felt immeasurably thankful. Gwaine gritted his teeth as Fira removed his layers of armor and his chainmail. The lack of a second hand made it slow going. She grabbed her medicine bag, tears streaming down her face.

“I killed him,” Gwaine smirked, before closing his eyes.

“Stay awake,” she barked at him.

She realized quickly that she needed someone to help with the armor. Glancing around, Fira made a choice.

“I need help here!” Fira shouted, running to the tent entrance. “I need a healer!”

A man came running over and looked at her strangely. “You are a healer, and how did you get here?”

She showed him her severed arm and he nodded, understanding that half of his question.

“I just need you to remove his clothing. I'll handle the rest alone,” she ordered. “Please!”

“You think you can deal with this by yourself?” The man shook his head. “Fine. Only because the king left orders that you were in charge though.”

He made quick work of Gwaine’s armor and clothing. Upon Fira’s insistence he left soon after as she held the bandages tight against Gwaine’s open wound. Blood continued to spill from his side, rivers of scarlet liquid staining the grass.

She began to chant in the Old Religion, praying that the healing spell she’d memorized before the battle would work. It did… somewhat. The wound stitched itself together, her hands glowing a brilliant gold.

“Get away from him!” Shouted the man from before. “Sorceress!”

Fira sighed and glared at the ground. She hadn't finished the spell yet. Without turning to look at him, she spat back. “If I stop now, Sir Gwaine is going to die. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He wouldn't have any part of it. “I said move!”

Fira closed her eyes and used her magic to send him flying into the table. “Sorry.” She went back to focusing on the healing spell as he fell into unconscious slumber. She muttered again. “You're welcome to arrest me once I finish healing him.”

“Gwaine, do you hear me?” Fira hissed. “Come on. Please?”

The knight slowly opened his eyes. “I'm in so much pain right now. Why am I in pain?!”

She smiled, laughing. Putting a hand on his chest she responded cheerfully. “You almost died.”

“Let's not do that again,” he muttered before pushing himself up so he could look around. His head hurt and he touched the wound on his forehead. “That caused me all this pain?”

“Uh, no.” She frowned. “I healed your side wound.”

Gwaine blinked at her. He looked at the smashed table and the unconscious healer. With a frown, he turned back to Fira. “He found out?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Gwaine pulled on his shirt that lay strewn to the side. His left arm, covered in bruises, had a hard time moving. He felt absolutely exhausted.

“How’s the battle faring?” He tried to look outside the tent through the flap but had no luck.

Fira sighed. “I don’t know.”