King Arthur Fic: Lessons in Deportment (Resurrection AU)
Title: Lessons in Deportment
Warnings: None, except that reading crack might be dangerous to your health.
Series: Part of the AU that began with Resurrection. The order is Resurrection, Tools of the Trade, Slave to Fashion, Trouble in the Making, Out on the Town, Weapons of Choice, Myths, Legends and Lies, and this one.
Notes: This was suppose to just be silly, but then Lancelot got all snarly, and well-just go read it. Thanks to sasha_b for the read through.
Lancelot followed Arthur to the door of the conference room with far more reluctance than he had ever shown following Arthur into battle.
"Just one," he persisted. "It's not that much to ask."
"No, Lancelot," Arthur said firmly. "I'm not letting you kill any of the staff."
"Break an arm?"
"No."
"Leg?"
"No." Arthur stopped in front of the door. "You will not kill anyone, break any limbs, gouge out any eyes, asphyxiate, or otherwise maim anyone."
Lancelot frowned at him, but then his eyes brightened.
"No physical intimidation of any kind," Arthur hastened to add, trying to cover any remaining openings.
Lancelot glared at him and muttered something in Sarmatian. Arthur had never learned the language, but he could pick out the word for "Roman," and he was familiar with the word that followed it, having heard it many times. He did not know exactly what that epithet meant, but he had some pretty good guesses.
He hid a grin, opened the door and waved Lancelot in with a grand gesture. Lancelot did not look the least amused.
~
Lancelot eyed the woman who approached him with the same enthusiasm he had once viewed the arrival of some puffed up Roman bureaucrat. He cast an irate glance over at Arthur, who was at the other side of the large room and already involved in conversation. Arthur, the bastard, did not even look around.
The woman gave him a smile that Lancelot was pretty sure had far too many teeth in it and said, "It's good to see you again, Lance."
"It's Lancelot," Lancelot bit out through his own display of teeth.
The woman gave him an overly kind look. "I thought we had decided that last time-but perhaps you don't remember. 'Lancelot' is a bit old fashioned." Lancelot raised a sneering eyebrow at the pure stupidity of that remark, but she did not seem to notice.
Apparently thinking that the issue was closed with her pronouncement, she switched topics. "You remember my staff of course. Pam and Michael," she added, gesturing at each when named with a flash of red tipped nails, as though he would have trouble distinguishing between the two. Neither Pam nor Michael ever seemed to merit surnames.
"I remember," he nodded at each of them. After all, this was only the third time he had been introduced to them. He restrained the impulse to roll his eyes. Instead, he furrowed his brow as if in thought, and added, "But I don't quite recall your name."
That too red mouth opened and shut several times before she regained her composure.
"I'm Lillian Delaney."
"Of course you are."
She blinked at him, but her confusion only lasted a moment before her smooth facade was back in place. She gestured toward the table. "Shall we get started?"
Lancelot cast a speculative glance at the door. He wondered what Arthur would actually do if he made a run for it. But then he remembered that Dagonet and Bruenor were waiting in the lobby and no doubt had been instructed to guard the exit. He sighed and sat down.
~
"Did you have a chance to look at the background file I sent over? I realize it was quite lengthy, so it's fine if you did not read it all-" the woman gave Lancelot what she no doubt thought of as a charming smile. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, flashing a great deal of pale flesh, but Lancelot did not bother to look.
"I read it." She might have been considered an attractive woman, by the standards of the day, but to Lancelot, with her carefully painted face, tightly pulled back, smoothed hair and well mannered demeanor, she just seemed artificial, like-what was that stuff?-plastic.
Besides, he just did not like her. He had realized on their first meeting that she been the one to convince Arthur that Lancelot's beard had to go.
"Oh? Very good, then," she beamed at him like a teacher with a particularly stupid pupil who had unexpectedly managed to get an answer right. Lancelot wondered if she would try to pat him on the head. If she actually tried-Arthur had not specifically prohibited biting. These people seemed to view him as some sort of idiot child, as though they thought people from the past were inherently stupider than they were. But then again, they hardly treated Arthur that way, so maybe it was just Lancelot they thought was stupid. "Well then, why don't we go through it? Do you have your copy?" She looked at Lancelot as though she expected him to produce the papers out of thin air.
"No."
"Oh, that's alright," she said with sugary kindness. "Pam," she snapped, her voice changing tone. Pam started and hastily pulled a copy out of the stack of papers lined up before her and presented it to Lancelot. Lancelot waved it away. "I said I read it."
"Of course you did, but there's a lot of information in there, and you need to learn it."
Was the woman deaf? "I already read it," he repeated. Pam, looking a bit bewildered as to what to do, glanced between the two of them, before placing the thick stack of papers on the table, somewhere in the no-man's-land between his side of the table and theirs and then gave it a small nudge in Lancelot's direction. She gave Lancelot a hopeful smile.
"Well, let's take a look at it anyway." The woman flipped open the copy before her and said, "Now, on page 4, if you'll turn to that page, it lists the schools you attended."
She looked up at him, and then gave the copy resting between them a pointed glance, which he ignored. He sat back in his chair, putting even more distance between himself and the papers. "And so?"
Her eyes narrowed. He was glad to see that he was trying her patience, because she was certainly trying his. "Well, can you name the schools?" Her tone suggested that she expected that he could not. Did she think he was lying about having read the damn thing?
He rattled off the names, as well as the dates he was supposed to have attended each.
She looked surprised. "I told you I read it," he snapped.
"Yes, but reading it once is not sufficient to learn the material." The condescension was as thick as ever.
Lancelot restrained the urge to snarl at her. He had realized early on that these people had horrible memories. They relied too much on writing every little thing down. "I learned it. Do you want me to go through the whole thing from start to finish?" He could do it, but she had better damn well say no.
~
Arthur was pretending to pay no attention to what was going on over on Lancelot's side of the large conference room, but he was keeping a surreptitious eye on things. Lancelot seemed to be behaving. Mostly. But his rigid body language betrayed just how tightly he was controlling himself.
Robert Scott, Arthur's campaign manager, was chuckling. He had missed Lancelot and Ms. Delaney's previous meeting. "I don't think Lancelot much likes Lillian."
"No," Arthur answered, dryly. "I don't think she much likes him either."
Robert laughed outright at that. "She's used to charming men into doing what she wants."
"Well, Lancelot is too experienced with that tactic for it to impress him."
~
Lancelot had been hoping that lunchtime might at least get him out of this conference room with its overly polished surfaces and stale air (and maybe even the opportunity to "accidentally" trip and break something-maybe a finger would do?-so as not have to come back), so he was disappointed when men dressed in white wheeled carts into the room.
A place mat, a great deal of highly polished silverware, and plate were whisked before him. He looked at the food on the plate without much interest. That woman and her lackeys were eyeing him expectantly. Lunch, it seemed, was just an opportunity for another lesson.
Briefly, he considered eating with his hands, throwing bits he didn't like (likely most of the meal) over his shoulder onto the fancy carpet, chewing with his mouth open-in other words, generally acting worse than one of Bors's bastard brats, but he looked up and caught Arthur's warning eye on him. Damn, was he becoming that predictable?
He dropped the bit of white cloth on to his lap as they expected and wondered if Arthur would get too suspicious if he managed to slam the bathroom door on his hand.
~
"And so, we’re just about ready," Robert concluded. "We've already scheduled everything for the first stage-the venues, the photographers for the ‘candid’ shots, and you've seen drafts of the press releases."
Arthur closed the file and nodded. Dread was curling through his stomach, but he reminded himself that this was necessary. He was glad that Robert had kept his voice low; he looked over toward Lancelot just to be sure. Lancelot seemed to be engaged in a staring contest with Ms. Delaney and not paying the least attention to Arthur.
"He doesn't know?"
Arthur looked back and met the man’s perceptive gaze. "No, I haven't told any of them. What is the schedule?" he asked, although he already knew.
"We start in about two weeks," Robert was watching him keenly, but he looked a little confused. "Is there going to be a problem?"
Arthur liked this man. He was smart, discrete and, despite his lifetime in politics, Arthur was sure that he was genuinely interested in the public good. But even so, Arthur was not discussing this issue with him. "He'll-they'll-understand," he said. It was not exactly a lie, since Arthur hoped fervently that it would be true. Lancelot would have to understand.
~
Lancelot was eyeing the very sharp pencil that lay on the table.
"And so, when you are introduced to people, you should shake their hand." Michael was the one talking now. "A firm clasp, but don't squeeze too hard." he rattled on, as though they had not told him all of this last time. As though he had not already learned all this by simply watching people.
The fools even had diagrams.
Lancelot idly wondered if Arthur had had to sit through this type of inanity. Somehow he rather doubted it. His eyes slid from the pencil to the other side of the room, where Arthur was listening attentively to that man, Robert Scott, who was in charge of managing Arthur's bid for power. Lancelot didn't like him either, but that one was at least pretty smart, unlike the rest of these idiots.
It did not help Lancelot's general feeling of contempt that all the people in the room knew who Arthur actually was. This meant that not only had they been especially recruited by Merlin, but also that they actually believed in the whole ridiculous resurrection and save Britain thing. While Lancelot had actual reason to know that the resurrection part at least was true, he still could not feel anything but disdain for people who would believe such a ridiculous story and who then wanted to put an unknown figure from the distant past in charge of their country-as if believing that all their problems could be solved simply. While Lancelot had had a dozen years to learn to have faith in Arthur, he had every reason to know that things were never that simple. That these people seemed willing to believe smacked of either pure stupidity or a kind of blind fanaticism that Lancelot hated.
"So do you want to try it?"
What? Oh. "No, not really." He looked back down at the pencil. For the last hour the only thing that had kept him from just telling Michael to shut up had been picturing permanently silencing the man with one strike of the pencil through the throat. While Arthur had thoroughly searched him for weapons before they had left the house (that could have been enjoyable, but Arthur had been stubbornly undistractible), the pencil would still do nicely. Michael would not even have time to twitch.
"Lance," Lillian Delaney drawled, "you don't want to embarrass Mr. Castus, do you?"
He eyed her with dislike. Did she think she could appeal to him as to a child? Little did she know that one of Lancelot's greatest amusements in life was embarrassing Arthur. And why did Arthur merit a “Mr.” while she continued to insist on shortening his own name?
"Now, stand up and pretend that you are attending an event. Michael will be a stranger who approaches you."
Michael, the insufferable little fool, immediately put on a big, ridiculous smile and stuck out a hand. "Hello, I'm Michael Fischer."
So he did have a second name after all. Lancelot stood up reluctantly and after eying the offered hand with distaste reached out his own and shook it in the stupid way these people did. He briefly considered squeezing Michael's soft hand until the man begged for mercy, but decided against it. Arthur would no doubt consider that covered by his "no physical intimidation" prohibition. "Lancelot."
"You have to say your surname as well," the woman cut in.
Lancelot grit his teeth. "Banson."
Michael cocked his head. "That's a bit of an unusual accent. Where are you from?"
There was an answer he was suppose to give to that, one that Lancelot had read (and learned), but Lancelot was fed up-they wanted him to pretend this was real, so he would give the answer he would give any stranger who got overly familiar with him. "None of your fucking business."
~
An eternity later, it was finally time to leave. Once the conference room door swung shut after them, Arthur eyed Lancelot. "You could have behaved a bit better."
Lancelot's control, which, for hours, he had been holding on to with the very edge of his fingernails, snapped, and his temper burst forth. "I could have behaved a lot worse," he warned before moving past Arthur. He stabbed the button for the elevator ferociously.
Arthur followed him and persisted, "You can behave better as well. You can charm anyone when you choose--so why you're behaving the way you are with Ms. Delaney, I don't understand."
Lancelot fixed Arthur with a black look. He was not unaware that it was likely that Arthur had deliberately selected a woman for the job. "Maybe because I'm not interested in fucking her. Did you want me to be?"
Luckily, the elevator's door opened at that moment, revealing three occupants, and so cut off Arthur's initial response.
Dagonet and Bruenor were playing cards in the building's rather grand lobby. They gathered them up and stood as Lancelot and Arthur approached. "So how was it?" Bruenor asked. Lancelot just gave him an evil glare and brushed right past. "Do you need us to hide the bodies?" he heard Bruenor asking Arthur as he pushed at the heavy glass doors.
The minute he was out of the building, Lancelot was stripping off the hated suit jacket. While he had unilaterally refused to wear a tie, the jacket had been driving him mad; armor felt less constraining. And at least armor was useful.
When he got to the car, he jerked open the back door and flung the jacket inside. He looked back at the others who were approaching at a less precipitous pace. Lancelot briefly considered insisting that Bruenor and he switch places, but then discarded the idea. If Arthur really wanted to argue, well, Lancelot would oblige him.
~
"Lancelot," Arthur began once they were under way. Lancelot was sitting on the opposite side of the backseat, virtually vibrating in fury, his head turned to look out the window.
"Don't talk to me." A warning flash of dark eyes.
Arthur ignored that. "I understand that you don't like doing this, but it's necessary-"
"Necessary? How exactly is it necessary?" Lancelot's whole body whipped around.
Arthur furrowed his brow. "Of course it's necessary-I thought you wanted to help with the campaign-"
"The campaign? Have you lost what little mind you have?"
Arthur felt his own temper fray and took a deep breath. Getting into a screaming match with Lancelot would not get him anywhere. He cast a glance toward the front of the car where Dagonet and Bruenor were studiously pretending not to listen. Keeping his voice carefully level, he said, "I thought you wanted to start accompanying me when I went out-"
"Guard your back yes, be your well-mannered trained dog, no."
Arthur laughed incredulously, anger leaking through despite his efforts at control. "Well mannered?" I know better to expect that. But you need to be able to function in this time without people getting suspicious-"
"Of what? What is it exactly that you think I'm going to do? Spit on the floor of one of these stuffy meeting rooms? Dance naked on the dinning table? Piss into one of their fancy plants?"
Arthur winced. The lessons on modern behavior might have been a little . . . overly specific. "Of course not, but-"
"And do you think that anyone is actually going to be suspicious that we're dead men from fifteen hundred years ago? Don't you know just how insane that sounds? These people believe even less in magic than your philosophers did!"
"That's not really-" He took a deep breath. "Look, I realize a lot of this might seem unnecessary to you, but if we're going to succeed in helping this country-"
"I don't give a fuck about this country," Lancelot snapped.
Arthur opened his mouth and then clicked it shut. Lancelot only looked back at him, furious. Arthur spoke carefully. "You don't mean that."
Lancelot's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I said what I mean. I didn't care about this place when I was alive before, I certainly don't care about it now."
"The people need our help! Would you turn your back on them? There's so much good we can do-" Arthur realized he was yelling, but he could not stop. Lancelot had to see this, because, otherwise, there was no way that he going to accept-
Lancelot sneered at him. "As ever, Arthur, you live in a dream world. These people are as fat and complacent as the worst of Rome. If they need saving it's because they will have collapsed under the weight of their own greed and stupidity."
"You're wrong! Damn it, Lancelot, why won't you ever understand-"
"So I'm not entitled to my own opinions?" Lancelot demanded. "Freedom unless I disagree with the wise Arthur?"
Any hold Arthur had on his temper deserted him, as fear fed into his frustration. "Why do you always twist things around? By God man, I thought that no longer having Rome or the Church to hate, you'd finally-"
"I'd what?" The glare of Lancelot's eyes burned the very air.
"Finally care about something other than yourself! You're always so damn selfish!" Arthur roared.
For a moment, Arthur was sure that Lancelot was actually going to leap at him, but then Lancelot seemed to freeze, going as still as ice. No, not ice, Arthur realized, but like the center of a flame, which was so hot it looked cold.
"Lancelot, I-" Arthur began, his temper fading as he realized what it was he had said.
"Shut up, Arthur. Just shut up."
This time, Arthur listened.
Lancelot, who had not seemed to move at all during the rest of the trip home, flew out of the car even before it came to a stop in the garage. Arthur exited more slowly. He avoided both Bruenor's shocked gaze and Dagonet's reproving one and went straight to his office and shut the door.
~
Arthur had the excuse of a conference call to keep him in his office for the next several hours. When he finally had no more excuses to stay inside, he firmly told himself he was not a coward and went in search of Lancelot. In the old days, he would have gone straight to the stables, but now he had little idea of where to look.
The house seemed deserted, but he found Gareth, Percival, Lionel, Urré, and Bedivere collapsed in the sitting room that Lancelot seemed to like.
"Have you seen Lancelot?" he asked.
Percival groaned. "You mean you didn't hear the screaming?"
"Arthur," Gareth said, not lifting his head from where it lay on the floor, "next time you get Lancelot that mad, please make sure that you're around when he gets it into his head to take out his temper with his swords."
"Or at least," Urré added, "warn us. That way we can hide. He caught us by surprise in the training room. You’ll notice everyone else has completely disappeared.”
“The cowards,” Lionel muttered, although he sounded envious.
"I have bruises on my bruises," Percival bemoaned.
"You do? I could barely crawl my way up the stairs," Lionel protested.
"Stop whining," Urré said. "You're not the one he bounced off a wall."
"I'm really sorry," Arthur began, feeling guilty.
Bedivere waved a limp hand, and then winced at the movement. "No, once in a while it's good to get your ass handed to you a spectacular fashion-it keeps you from getting too lazy."
He was hit square in the face by a pillow. "Speak for yourself," Percival said. "I can live without it."
"I'm truly-" Arthur sighed. "Is he still-"
"After beating the shit out of all of us for the last few hours, he seemed to have finally calmed himself down. He went outside a while ago," Gareth said.
Arthur found Lancelot sitting on edge of the terrace, his feet dangling. Arthur stared at the back of his head. He was unable to think of what to say. Apologies never got a good reception from Lancelot, and the greater the need for an apology, the worse his reaction.
After a moment, Arthur sat down next to the silent figure, and, although he felt a bit silly, he let his legs hang over the side. He cast a sidelong glance at Lancelot. The other man's head was tilted against one of the railing posts. He was not looking at Arthur, so it was startling when Lancelot spoke.
"What is it you want from me, Arthur?"
Everything, Arthur thought in immediate answer. But that was not the right response. After a moment, he said, "Nothing." He forced himself to say it. He took a long, slow breath. "Nothing that you do not wish to give me." He held out his hand. He found himself holding his breath until Lancelot, still not seeming to look around, took it.
Arthur twined his fingers around Lancelot's and tried not to clutch at them. Without meaning to, he hoarsely added, "And I want you to be here with me."
Lancelot made a sound of disgust. "Where the hell else would I go?" But his hand tightened around Arthur's.
Warnings: None, except that reading crack might be dangerous to your health.
Series: Part of the AU that began with Resurrection. The order is Resurrection, Tools of the Trade, Slave to Fashion, Trouble in the Making, Out on the Town, Weapons of Choice, Myths, Legends and Lies, and this one.
Notes: This was suppose to just be silly, but then Lancelot got all snarly, and well-just go read it. Thanks to sasha_b for the read through.
Lancelot followed Arthur to the door of the conference room with far more reluctance than he had ever shown following Arthur into battle.
"Just one," he persisted. "It's not that much to ask."
"No, Lancelot," Arthur said firmly. "I'm not letting you kill any of the staff."
"Break an arm?"
"No."
"Leg?"
"No." Arthur stopped in front of the door. "You will not kill anyone, break any limbs, gouge out any eyes, asphyxiate, or otherwise maim anyone."
Lancelot frowned at him, but then his eyes brightened.
"No physical intimidation of any kind," Arthur hastened to add, trying to cover any remaining openings.
Lancelot glared at him and muttered something in Sarmatian. Arthur had never learned the language, but he could pick out the word for "Roman," and he was familiar with the word that followed it, having heard it many times. He did not know exactly what that epithet meant, but he had some pretty good guesses.
He hid a grin, opened the door and waved Lancelot in with a grand gesture. Lancelot did not look the least amused.
~
Lancelot eyed the woman who approached him with the same enthusiasm he had once viewed the arrival of some puffed up Roman bureaucrat. He cast an irate glance over at Arthur, who was at the other side of the large room and already involved in conversation. Arthur, the bastard, did not even look around.
The woman gave him a smile that Lancelot was pretty sure had far too many teeth in it and said, "It's good to see you again, Lance."
"It's Lancelot," Lancelot bit out through his own display of teeth.
The woman gave him an overly kind look. "I thought we had decided that last time-but perhaps you don't remember. 'Lancelot' is a bit old fashioned." Lancelot raised a sneering eyebrow at the pure stupidity of that remark, but she did not seem to notice.
Apparently thinking that the issue was closed with her pronouncement, she switched topics. "You remember my staff of course. Pam and Michael," she added, gesturing at each when named with a flash of red tipped nails, as though he would have trouble distinguishing between the two. Neither Pam nor Michael ever seemed to merit surnames.
"I remember," he nodded at each of them. After all, this was only the third time he had been introduced to them. He restrained the impulse to roll his eyes. Instead, he furrowed his brow as if in thought, and added, "But I don't quite recall your name."
That too red mouth opened and shut several times before she regained her composure.
"I'm Lillian Delaney."
"Of course you are."
She blinked at him, but her confusion only lasted a moment before her smooth facade was back in place. She gestured toward the table. "Shall we get started?"
Lancelot cast a speculative glance at the door. He wondered what Arthur would actually do if he made a run for it. But then he remembered that Dagonet and Bruenor were waiting in the lobby and no doubt had been instructed to guard the exit. He sighed and sat down.
~
"Did you have a chance to look at the background file I sent over? I realize it was quite lengthy, so it's fine if you did not read it all-" the woman gave Lancelot what she no doubt thought of as a charming smile. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, flashing a great deal of pale flesh, but Lancelot did not bother to look.
"I read it." She might have been considered an attractive woman, by the standards of the day, but to Lancelot, with her carefully painted face, tightly pulled back, smoothed hair and well mannered demeanor, she just seemed artificial, like-what was that stuff?-plastic.
Besides, he just did not like her. He had realized on their first meeting that she been the one to convince Arthur that Lancelot's beard had to go.
"Oh? Very good, then," she beamed at him like a teacher with a particularly stupid pupil who had unexpectedly managed to get an answer right. Lancelot wondered if she would try to pat him on the head. If she actually tried-Arthur had not specifically prohibited biting. These people seemed to view him as some sort of idiot child, as though they thought people from the past were inherently stupider than they were. But then again, they hardly treated Arthur that way, so maybe it was just Lancelot they thought was stupid. "Well then, why don't we go through it? Do you have your copy?" She looked at Lancelot as though she expected him to produce the papers out of thin air.
"No."
"Oh, that's alright," she said with sugary kindness. "Pam," she snapped, her voice changing tone. Pam started and hastily pulled a copy out of the stack of papers lined up before her and presented it to Lancelot. Lancelot waved it away. "I said I read it."
"Of course you did, but there's a lot of information in there, and you need to learn it."
Was the woman deaf? "I already read it," he repeated. Pam, looking a bit bewildered as to what to do, glanced between the two of them, before placing the thick stack of papers on the table, somewhere in the no-man's-land between his side of the table and theirs and then gave it a small nudge in Lancelot's direction. She gave Lancelot a hopeful smile.
"Well, let's take a look at it anyway." The woman flipped open the copy before her and said, "Now, on page 4, if you'll turn to that page, it lists the schools you attended."
She looked up at him, and then gave the copy resting between them a pointed glance, which he ignored. He sat back in his chair, putting even more distance between himself and the papers. "And so?"
Her eyes narrowed. He was glad to see that he was trying her patience, because she was certainly trying his. "Well, can you name the schools?" Her tone suggested that she expected that he could not. Did she think he was lying about having read the damn thing?
He rattled off the names, as well as the dates he was supposed to have attended each.
She looked surprised. "I told you I read it," he snapped.
"Yes, but reading it once is not sufficient to learn the material." The condescension was as thick as ever.
Lancelot restrained the urge to snarl at her. He had realized early on that these people had horrible memories. They relied too much on writing every little thing down. "I learned it. Do you want me to go through the whole thing from start to finish?" He could do it, but she had better damn well say no.
~
Arthur was pretending to pay no attention to what was going on over on Lancelot's side of the large conference room, but he was keeping a surreptitious eye on things. Lancelot seemed to be behaving. Mostly. But his rigid body language betrayed just how tightly he was controlling himself.
Robert Scott, Arthur's campaign manager, was chuckling. He had missed Lancelot and Ms. Delaney's previous meeting. "I don't think Lancelot much likes Lillian."
"No," Arthur answered, dryly. "I don't think she much likes him either."
Robert laughed outright at that. "She's used to charming men into doing what she wants."
"Well, Lancelot is too experienced with that tactic for it to impress him."
~
Lancelot had been hoping that lunchtime might at least get him out of this conference room with its overly polished surfaces and stale air (and maybe even the opportunity to "accidentally" trip and break something-maybe a finger would do?-so as not have to come back), so he was disappointed when men dressed in white wheeled carts into the room.
A place mat, a great deal of highly polished silverware, and plate were whisked before him. He looked at the food on the plate without much interest. That woman and her lackeys were eyeing him expectantly. Lunch, it seemed, was just an opportunity for another lesson.
Briefly, he considered eating with his hands, throwing bits he didn't like (likely most of the meal) over his shoulder onto the fancy carpet, chewing with his mouth open-in other words, generally acting worse than one of Bors's bastard brats, but he looked up and caught Arthur's warning eye on him. Damn, was he becoming that predictable?
He dropped the bit of white cloth on to his lap as they expected and wondered if Arthur would get too suspicious if he managed to slam the bathroom door on his hand.
~
"And so, we’re just about ready," Robert concluded. "We've already scheduled everything for the first stage-the venues, the photographers for the ‘candid’ shots, and you've seen drafts of the press releases."
Arthur closed the file and nodded. Dread was curling through his stomach, but he reminded himself that this was necessary. He was glad that Robert had kept his voice low; he looked over toward Lancelot just to be sure. Lancelot seemed to be engaged in a staring contest with Ms. Delaney and not paying the least attention to Arthur.
"He doesn't know?"
Arthur looked back and met the man’s perceptive gaze. "No, I haven't told any of them. What is the schedule?" he asked, although he already knew.
"We start in about two weeks," Robert was watching him keenly, but he looked a little confused. "Is there going to be a problem?"
Arthur liked this man. He was smart, discrete and, despite his lifetime in politics, Arthur was sure that he was genuinely interested in the public good. But even so, Arthur was not discussing this issue with him. "He'll-they'll-understand," he said. It was not exactly a lie, since Arthur hoped fervently that it would be true. Lancelot would have to understand.
~
Lancelot was eyeing the very sharp pencil that lay on the table.
"And so, when you are introduced to people, you should shake their hand." Michael was the one talking now. "A firm clasp, but don't squeeze too hard." he rattled on, as though they had not told him all of this last time. As though he had not already learned all this by simply watching people.
The fools even had diagrams.
Lancelot idly wondered if Arthur had had to sit through this type of inanity. Somehow he rather doubted it. His eyes slid from the pencil to the other side of the room, where Arthur was listening attentively to that man, Robert Scott, who was in charge of managing Arthur's bid for power. Lancelot didn't like him either, but that one was at least pretty smart, unlike the rest of these idiots.
It did not help Lancelot's general feeling of contempt that all the people in the room knew who Arthur actually was. This meant that not only had they been especially recruited by Merlin, but also that they actually believed in the whole ridiculous resurrection and save Britain thing. While Lancelot had actual reason to know that the resurrection part at least was true, he still could not feel anything but disdain for people who would believe such a ridiculous story and who then wanted to put an unknown figure from the distant past in charge of their country-as if believing that all their problems could be solved simply. While Lancelot had had a dozen years to learn to have faith in Arthur, he had every reason to know that things were never that simple. That these people seemed willing to believe smacked of either pure stupidity or a kind of blind fanaticism that Lancelot hated.
"So do you want to try it?"
What? Oh. "No, not really." He looked back down at the pencil. For the last hour the only thing that had kept him from just telling Michael to shut up had been picturing permanently silencing the man with one strike of the pencil through the throat. While Arthur had thoroughly searched him for weapons before they had left the house (that could have been enjoyable, but Arthur had been stubbornly undistractible), the pencil would still do nicely. Michael would not even have time to twitch.
"Lance," Lillian Delaney drawled, "you don't want to embarrass Mr. Castus, do you?"
He eyed her with dislike. Did she think she could appeal to him as to a child? Little did she know that one of Lancelot's greatest amusements in life was embarrassing Arthur. And why did Arthur merit a “Mr.” while she continued to insist on shortening his own name?
"Now, stand up and pretend that you are attending an event. Michael will be a stranger who approaches you."
Michael, the insufferable little fool, immediately put on a big, ridiculous smile and stuck out a hand. "Hello, I'm Michael Fischer."
So he did have a second name after all. Lancelot stood up reluctantly and after eying the offered hand with distaste reached out his own and shook it in the stupid way these people did. He briefly considered squeezing Michael's soft hand until the man begged for mercy, but decided against it. Arthur would no doubt consider that covered by his "no physical intimidation" prohibition. "Lancelot."
"You have to say your surname as well," the woman cut in.
Lancelot grit his teeth. "Banson."
Michael cocked his head. "That's a bit of an unusual accent. Where are you from?"
There was an answer he was suppose to give to that, one that Lancelot had read (and learned), but Lancelot was fed up-they wanted him to pretend this was real, so he would give the answer he would give any stranger who got overly familiar with him. "None of your fucking business."
~
An eternity later, it was finally time to leave. Once the conference room door swung shut after them, Arthur eyed Lancelot. "You could have behaved a bit better."
Lancelot's control, which, for hours, he had been holding on to with the very edge of his fingernails, snapped, and his temper burst forth. "I could have behaved a lot worse," he warned before moving past Arthur. He stabbed the button for the elevator ferociously.
Arthur followed him and persisted, "You can behave better as well. You can charm anyone when you choose--so why you're behaving the way you are with Ms. Delaney, I don't understand."
Lancelot fixed Arthur with a black look. He was not unaware that it was likely that Arthur had deliberately selected a woman for the job. "Maybe because I'm not interested in fucking her. Did you want me to be?"
Luckily, the elevator's door opened at that moment, revealing three occupants, and so cut off Arthur's initial response.
Dagonet and Bruenor were playing cards in the building's rather grand lobby. They gathered them up and stood as Lancelot and Arthur approached. "So how was it?" Bruenor asked. Lancelot just gave him an evil glare and brushed right past. "Do you need us to hide the bodies?" he heard Bruenor asking Arthur as he pushed at the heavy glass doors.
The minute he was out of the building, Lancelot was stripping off the hated suit jacket. While he had unilaterally refused to wear a tie, the jacket had been driving him mad; armor felt less constraining. And at least armor was useful.
When he got to the car, he jerked open the back door and flung the jacket inside. He looked back at the others who were approaching at a less precipitous pace. Lancelot briefly considered insisting that Bruenor and he switch places, but then discarded the idea. If Arthur really wanted to argue, well, Lancelot would oblige him.
~
"Lancelot," Arthur began once they were under way. Lancelot was sitting on the opposite side of the backseat, virtually vibrating in fury, his head turned to look out the window.
"Don't talk to me." A warning flash of dark eyes.
Arthur ignored that. "I understand that you don't like doing this, but it's necessary-"
"Necessary? How exactly is it necessary?" Lancelot's whole body whipped around.
Arthur furrowed his brow. "Of course it's necessary-I thought you wanted to help with the campaign-"
"The campaign? Have you lost what little mind you have?"
Arthur felt his own temper fray and took a deep breath. Getting into a screaming match with Lancelot would not get him anywhere. He cast a glance toward the front of the car where Dagonet and Bruenor were studiously pretending not to listen. Keeping his voice carefully level, he said, "I thought you wanted to start accompanying me when I went out-"
"Guard your back yes, be your well-mannered trained dog, no."
Arthur laughed incredulously, anger leaking through despite his efforts at control. "Well mannered?" I know better to expect that. But you need to be able to function in this time without people getting suspicious-"
"Of what? What is it exactly that you think I'm going to do? Spit on the floor of one of these stuffy meeting rooms? Dance naked on the dinning table? Piss into one of their fancy plants?"
Arthur winced. The lessons on modern behavior might have been a little . . . overly specific. "Of course not, but-"
"And do you think that anyone is actually going to be suspicious that we're dead men from fifteen hundred years ago? Don't you know just how insane that sounds? These people believe even less in magic than your philosophers did!"
"That's not really-" He took a deep breath. "Look, I realize a lot of this might seem unnecessary to you, but if we're going to succeed in helping this country-"
"I don't give a fuck about this country," Lancelot snapped.
Arthur opened his mouth and then clicked it shut. Lancelot only looked back at him, furious. Arthur spoke carefully. "You don't mean that."
Lancelot's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I said what I mean. I didn't care about this place when I was alive before, I certainly don't care about it now."
"The people need our help! Would you turn your back on them? There's so much good we can do-" Arthur realized he was yelling, but he could not stop. Lancelot had to see this, because, otherwise, there was no way that he going to accept-
Lancelot sneered at him. "As ever, Arthur, you live in a dream world. These people are as fat and complacent as the worst of Rome. If they need saving it's because they will have collapsed under the weight of their own greed and stupidity."
"You're wrong! Damn it, Lancelot, why won't you ever understand-"
"So I'm not entitled to my own opinions?" Lancelot demanded. "Freedom unless I disagree with the wise Arthur?"
Any hold Arthur had on his temper deserted him, as fear fed into his frustration. "Why do you always twist things around? By God man, I thought that no longer having Rome or the Church to hate, you'd finally-"
"I'd what?" The glare of Lancelot's eyes burned the very air.
"Finally care about something other than yourself! You're always so damn selfish!" Arthur roared.
For a moment, Arthur was sure that Lancelot was actually going to leap at him, but then Lancelot seemed to freeze, going as still as ice. No, not ice, Arthur realized, but like the center of a flame, which was so hot it looked cold.
"Lancelot, I-" Arthur began, his temper fading as he realized what it was he had said.
"Shut up, Arthur. Just shut up."
This time, Arthur listened.
Lancelot, who had not seemed to move at all during the rest of the trip home, flew out of the car even before it came to a stop in the garage. Arthur exited more slowly. He avoided both Bruenor's shocked gaze and Dagonet's reproving one and went straight to his office and shut the door.
~
Arthur had the excuse of a conference call to keep him in his office for the next several hours. When he finally had no more excuses to stay inside, he firmly told himself he was not a coward and went in search of Lancelot. In the old days, he would have gone straight to the stables, but now he had little idea of where to look.
The house seemed deserted, but he found Gareth, Percival, Lionel, Urré, and Bedivere collapsed in the sitting room that Lancelot seemed to like.
"Have you seen Lancelot?" he asked.
Percival groaned. "You mean you didn't hear the screaming?"
"Arthur," Gareth said, not lifting his head from where it lay on the floor, "next time you get Lancelot that mad, please make sure that you're around when he gets it into his head to take out his temper with his swords."
"Or at least," Urré added, "warn us. That way we can hide. He caught us by surprise in the training room. You’ll notice everyone else has completely disappeared.”
“The cowards,” Lionel muttered, although he sounded envious.
"I have bruises on my bruises," Percival bemoaned.
"You do? I could barely crawl my way up the stairs," Lionel protested.
"Stop whining," Urré said. "You're not the one he bounced off a wall."
"I'm really sorry," Arthur began, feeling guilty.
Bedivere waved a limp hand, and then winced at the movement. "No, once in a while it's good to get your ass handed to you a spectacular fashion-it keeps you from getting too lazy."
He was hit square in the face by a pillow. "Speak for yourself," Percival said. "I can live without it."
"I'm truly-" Arthur sighed. "Is he still-"
"After beating the shit out of all of us for the last few hours, he seemed to have finally calmed himself down. He went outside a while ago," Gareth said.
Arthur found Lancelot sitting on edge of the terrace, his feet dangling. Arthur stared at the back of his head. He was unable to think of what to say. Apologies never got a good reception from Lancelot, and the greater the need for an apology, the worse his reaction.
After a moment, Arthur sat down next to the silent figure, and, although he felt a bit silly, he let his legs hang over the side. He cast a sidelong glance at Lancelot. The other man's head was tilted against one of the railing posts. He was not looking at Arthur, so it was startling when Lancelot spoke.
"What is it you want from me, Arthur?"
Everything, Arthur thought in immediate answer. But that was not the right response. After a moment, he said, "Nothing." He forced himself to say it. He took a long, slow breath. "Nothing that you do not wish to give me." He held out his hand. He found himself holding his breath until Lancelot, still not seeming to look around, took it.
Arthur twined his fingers around Lancelot's and tried not to clutch at them. Without meaning to, he hoarsely added, "And I want you to be here with me."
Lancelot made a sound of disgust. "Where the hell else would I go?" But his hand tightened around Arthur's.