King Arthur - Frostbite 2/? - Arthur/Lancelot
Title: Frostbite (2/?)
Fandom: King Arthur
Pairing: Lancelot/Arthur, implied Gwain/Galahad and one-sided Tristian/Arthur.
Disclaimer: Not mine, borrowing and dreaming.
Summary: How things should have gone. (According to deannawol and I anyway.)
Previous Part
Earlier
Bors is an annoying bastard at times. There's no better man to have at your side in a fight but we've spent the last three days trotting up and down this stretch of road and his 'humour', if one can call it that, begins to wear very thin. You seem to be immune to it but Galahad is starting to get snappy.
I wonder though, how much of that is his impending freedom and the inevitable loss of Gwain. They come from rival clans who keep well apart - something Dag of all people pointed out. Dagonae is so stoic, it is hard to see the timid youth who helped you tend to the sick horses in our first year here. He feels with a depth of emotion that matches your own and his unquestioning loyalty to you is why I have been seeking his aid.
I have - finally - decided that I will not leave you here. You're too bloody noble to be allowed out without a keeper and after fifteen years, I think I know all your quirks. After three days of snatched conversation with Dag, I think we have a plan but he is being stubborn. Bishop Germanis was a friend of your father's and it may be that you will find a surrogate family. I don't think you will but he won't help until he's sure you wouldn't be happier away.
So, everything hinges on the bishop. Who is now two days late...and I am starting to needle Bors. It has been thirteen years but he is still jealous of me even mentioning Flora. I admit to using her as a blind during that confused period in my life when you went from being the fiendish Roman Commander who would be my gaoler to my most trusted friend and brother in arms to finally becoming my lover.
I used Flora to hide my growing fascination with you from the others. Yes, I should have known better. Tristian probably knew about it before I did - he certainly knew of your feelings long before I even dreamed of them. I nearly broke his nose once or twice as he tried to tease me into confession.
Then, finally, we ride to the crest for the last time that day. You have promised us a return to the fortress for the night if the bishop does not arrive. Predictably, it is Tristian who points out the scarlet cloaks and we canter forward to see them escort what looks like a privy suspended between two horses.
Something's wrong and Gwain is the only one to speak. Everyone else is alert, wary. We're miles from the wall but it's too quiet. Not even Tristian's bird breaks the silence and you shift in your saddle. There is no reason to think that are enemies here - the Woads by all accounts should be leagues away. But like well-trained horses, we come to full alertness, picking up on your unease. At times, I would swear you have a sixth sense for when the Woads will attack. Another look around and I begin to believe you are mistaken this time.
Then all hell breaks loose as an avalanche of Woads erupts out of the woods and you spur forward. I clap my heels to my horses flank and we hurtle to their assistance. You lead the charge - no surprise there. I love watching you in combat, such a contrast to the controlled reasoned intellectual you are normally. You are totally focused - that never changes no matter what. Be it in the great chamber when a knight airs a concern, in a battle for your life or in our be-Oof!
And that hurt. Well, not really but I have to gasp for air for a second. Very well, since this really isn't the time to get philosophical, I draw my swords and set to, dimly aware of the hurricane force of you, Dagonae, Bors, Gwain, Galahad and Tristan sweeping the Woads away. The battle is madness and I hear our triumph in Bors' roar before the Woads around me scatter and run.
I look for you instinctively - the battle was against hundreds and while I haven't heard any outcry, I still look around for you. There! A Woad! Coming behind you! I lunge forward, seeing Dag come from the other side. You react first, spinning to hold Excalibar to his throat. You are still half-raged from the battle and Dag slows sharply. I look around. You are angry - Merlin has broken the unspoken truce which keeps his men (and women) North of the Wall and threatened a high offical of Rome - so we do not approach.
Your decision to spare his life is unexpected but I will not question you in front of the Roman cavalry surrounding us, horses and men sweaty and fearful. They are wide-eyed and staring at the dead bodies littering the yellowing grass. The Woads still look fierce, almost demonic but their eyes are glazing with death. Dag exchanges a dry glance with you and starts herding them back into formation.
Bors and Gawain are looking rather sheepish. Gwain steps away, leaving Bors to ease the moment with one of his attempts at humour. One glance and you swing away. I stay back. Last night, you told me that the bishop had been a friend of your father's and that your memories of him are those of a child. His death seems to have shocked you into silence.
"That's not him."
The discovery that the bishop is not merely an idle functionary raises him slightly in my esteem but something of this man does not ring true. I have grown accustomed to your support and respect so I have forgotten how most Romans regard us. This bishop was a friend of your father - the man who started you along this path of equality and the nobility of man. A glance at Tristan and Dag confirms I am not the only one.
I dare not approach you on the short journey home. Too many untrustworthy ears and I want us all to go home without having to fight our way across the known world. You spare me a questioning glance which I shrug off. You nod and I know you will seek me out before the bishop releases us from service. It will have to do.
I drop back and am surprised when Dag mirrors me, tugging on the reins and falling into step with me. I peer sideways at him. Dag is my brother. I know he would die before hurting any of us. But with the heat of battle still seething through my veins, he looms over me and I have to fight the urge to guide my horse farther away.
He turns to look at me for a moment before returning his gaze to the surroundings. A moment's silence before he speaks - in samartian. A terse whisper - even if the Romans behind us could understand, I doubt they heard it.
"You were right. If reason fails, I will help you drag Arthur home with us."
Fandom: King Arthur
Pairing: Lancelot/Arthur, implied Gwain/Galahad and one-sided Tristian/Arthur.
Disclaimer: Not mine, borrowing and dreaming.
Summary: How things should have gone. (According to deannawol and I anyway.)
Previous Part
Earlier
Bors is an annoying bastard at times. There's no better man to have at your side in a fight but we've spent the last three days trotting up and down this stretch of road and his 'humour', if one can call it that, begins to wear very thin. You seem to be immune to it but Galahad is starting to get snappy.
I wonder though, how much of that is his impending freedom and the inevitable loss of Gwain. They come from rival clans who keep well apart - something Dag of all people pointed out. Dagonae is so stoic, it is hard to see the timid youth who helped you tend to the sick horses in our first year here. He feels with a depth of emotion that matches your own and his unquestioning loyalty to you is why I have been seeking his aid.
I have - finally - decided that I will not leave you here. You're too bloody noble to be allowed out without a keeper and after fifteen years, I think I know all your quirks. After three days of snatched conversation with Dag, I think we have a plan but he is being stubborn. Bishop Germanis was a friend of your father's and it may be that you will find a surrogate family. I don't think you will but he won't help until he's sure you wouldn't be happier away.
So, everything hinges on the bishop. Who is now two days late...and I am starting to needle Bors. It has been thirteen years but he is still jealous of me even mentioning Flora. I admit to using her as a blind during that confused period in my life when you went from being the fiendish Roman Commander who would be my gaoler to my most trusted friend and brother in arms to finally becoming my lover.
I used Flora to hide my growing fascination with you from the others. Yes, I should have known better. Tristian probably knew about it before I did - he certainly knew of your feelings long before I even dreamed of them. I nearly broke his nose once or twice as he tried to tease me into confession.
Then, finally, we ride to the crest for the last time that day. You have promised us a return to the fortress for the night if the bishop does not arrive. Predictably, it is Tristian who points out the scarlet cloaks and we canter forward to see them escort what looks like a privy suspended between two horses.
Something's wrong and Gwain is the only one to speak. Everyone else is alert, wary. We're miles from the wall but it's too quiet. Not even Tristian's bird breaks the silence and you shift in your saddle. There is no reason to think that are enemies here - the Woads by all accounts should be leagues away. But like well-trained horses, we come to full alertness, picking up on your unease. At times, I would swear you have a sixth sense for when the Woads will attack. Another look around and I begin to believe you are mistaken this time.
Then all hell breaks loose as an avalanche of Woads erupts out of the woods and you spur forward. I clap my heels to my horses flank and we hurtle to their assistance. You lead the charge - no surprise there. I love watching you in combat, such a contrast to the controlled reasoned intellectual you are normally. You are totally focused - that never changes no matter what. Be it in the great chamber when a knight airs a concern, in a battle for your life or in our be-Oof!
And that hurt. Well, not really but I have to gasp for air for a second. Very well, since this really isn't the time to get philosophical, I draw my swords and set to, dimly aware of the hurricane force of you, Dagonae, Bors, Gwain, Galahad and Tristan sweeping the Woads away. The battle is madness and I hear our triumph in Bors' roar before the Woads around me scatter and run.
I look for you instinctively - the battle was against hundreds and while I haven't heard any outcry, I still look around for you. There! A Woad! Coming behind you! I lunge forward, seeing Dag come from the other side. You react first, spinning to hold Excalibar to his throat. You are still half-raged from the battle and Dag slows sharply. I look around. You are angry - Merlin has broken the unspoken truce which keeps his men (and women) North of the Wall and threatened a high offical of Rome - so we do not approach.
Your decision to spare his life is unexpected but I will not question you in front of the Roman cavalry surrounding us, horses and men sweaty and fearful. They are wide-eyed and staring at the dead bodies littering the yellowing grass. The Woads still look fierce, almost demonic but their eyes are glazing with death. Dag exchanges a dry glance with you and starts herding them back into formation.
Bors and Gawain are looking rather sheepish. Gwain steps away, leaving Bors to ease the moment with one of his attempts at humour. One glance and you swing away. I stay back. Last night, you told me that the bishop had been a friend of your father's and that your memories of him are those of a child. His death seems to have shocked you into silence.
"That's not him."
The discovery that the bishop is not merely an idle functionary raises him slightly in my esteem but something of this man does not ring true. I have grown accustomed to your support and respect so I have forgotten how most Romans regard us. This bishop was a friend of your father - the man who started you along this path of equality and the nobility of man. A glance at Tristan and Dag confirms I am not the only one.
I dare not approach you on the short journey home. Too many untrustworthy ears and I want us all to go home without having to fight our way across the known world. You spare me a questioning glance which I shrug off. You nod and I know you will seek me out before the bishop releases us from service. It will have to do.
I drop back and am surprised when Dag mirrors me, tugging on the reins and falling into step with me. I peer sideways at him. Dag is my brother. I know he would die before hurting any of us. But with the heat of battle still seething through my veins, he looms over me and I have to fight the urge to guide my horse farther away.
He turns to look at me for a moment before returning his gaze to the surroundings. A moment's silence before he speaks - in samartian. A terse whisper - even if the Romans behind us could understand, I doubt they heard it.
"You were right. If reason fails, I will help you drag Arthur home with us."