Preparation
Arthur strode from the great hall, his papers and journal under his arm.
He was glad to have spoke to the others- getting more than one account was helpful- especially when the one account he had heard was overwhelmed by his guilt and sorrow that he hadn't been there, like he should have been.
No more scouting missions, Lancelot. You will be at ( Read more... )
He was glad to have spoke to the others- getting more than one account was helpful- especially when the one account he had heard was overwhelmed by his guilt and sorrow that he hadn't been there, like he should have been.
No more scouting missions, Lancelot. You will be at ( Read more... )
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It was dark, where he was, and cold - and, as usual, he was alone.
He missed feeling warm. He missed Arthur.
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He walked quickly, his eyes scanning the garrison for a dark haired individualy who was going to feel a bit of his anger here shortly.
Rounding the edge of the large stables, he heard horses whineying and Jols cursing one of them for not behaving. Smiling, he almost tripped over something on the ground in front of him, hidden by several stacks of hay.
"What - Lancelot???" he crouched down, and shook the man by the shoulder. what in the blazes... "All you all right? What are you doing out here?"
Don't be mad, he's ill.
God damn it, he better have a good reason.
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The voice was familiar, and he forced his eyes open through the throbbing headache.
"What? Arthur?"
He took a second to glance quickly at the surroundings.
Oops.
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"Lancelot...you are going to destroy my sanity one day... What are you doing sleeping outside? You'll catch your death of cold- infection breeds influenza, remember? The doctor told us as much."
He touched the other man's head, as if to reassure himself he was truly all right, and noticed a lump there.
"Now what did you do? This wasn't there before," he accused, then sighed.
"I should have seen you to your quarters. Can you walk?" His voice lost it's angry tone, and he looked at Lancelot in concern.
He doesn't want to be alone. Remember- he's mentioned the dark several times...
The knowledge suddenly hit Arthur over the head like a ton of bricks, and he winced.
"My friend," he trailed off, his hands going to cup Lancelot's face briefly.
"I am sorry- I should have known."
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"Nevermind. What's done is done. When I eat supper, I'll eat it here with you- and you will eat something."
He moved to his desk, and removed his outer garment, stretching his back. "Gawain is going with me to the village tomorrow," he said, musing outloud. "We shouldn't be gone that long- depending upon the amount of riding and reconaissance we have to do. Gawain also told me he felt some other presence in the woods - not the Woads. So there is most definitely something to what you felt....which makes me feel slightly better- God help those villagers if they are making things seem worse than they are," he finished darkly, the thought of any one of his men being injured for no reason. Especially Lancelot.He turned back to the other man, and shucked off his own boots ( ... )
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"You'll be careful? Let Gawain watch your back?" He knew Arthur. He knew watching Arthur's back was possibly one of the hardest things in the world since Arthur was always lost in some world of his own - especially on reconnaissance missions. "Please?"
He looked at Arthur again, eyes pleading with him.
He didn't know what those...things...were, but he knew that, if Gawain could get separated from Galahad, anything could happen.
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He sunk down on the pillows, and stretched out, fatigue overtaking him suddenly. "God, I'm exhausted," he admitted. He turned his body toward that of the knight, and nuzzled his face into Lancelot's cheek, comforted by his presence, and the warmth of the room.
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He curled into Arthur further, tucking himself under Arthur's chin.
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Because you let him go out there without you.
Arthur kissed him softly, then pulled away, and met Lancelot's eyes.
"Rest assured- I will not turn away from you."
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To hide his shame, his fear, his insecurities.
I trust you, the way Lancelot surrendered said. I trust you like I trust no other."There were so many of them." His voice was bearly above a whisper, hands clinging to Arthur slightly, grounding himself. "More than I'd thought. Cut one down - and two more take his place. Like an endless stream of screaming, shouting, snarling Woads." He shook his head as if to clear his mind. "I don't remember much of the detail - it's all blurred, blended together in a mosiac of sound, taste, smell - and pain ( ... )
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Arthur was stilled into silence as Lancelot spoke. He felt the other man grasping at him, then collapsing bonelessly into Arthur's arms as he finished his story.
Otherworldly, unnatural.
And then...I remember wanting to see your face, hear your voice...just one more time.
Arthur choked back a cry of rage, and pulled himself as close as he could to the other man, trying to transfer all of his body heat onto Lancelot.
You broke him. It's up to you to pick up the pieces.
"I- I..." he stuttered, his hands clenching and unclenching with impotance. It was too late, and he couldn't save Lancelot from his fate.
But he could save the villagers and the rest of the people, and in doing so, he might redeem himself in his friend's eyes.
He wrapped his other arm around Lancelot's shoulders, and even unconciously tucked a leg through the other man's.
He kissed his temple, and tried to make his mind work.
Say something, fool."God," was all he could ( ... )
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"Promise me one thing, Arthur," he whispered, a thought suddenly hitting him, worry outweighing the relief in his voice. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid tomorrow. Promise me." He turned into Arthur, letting himself be pulled closer. "I don't want to lose you."
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Don't stray from the unknown, Arthur. You might change too much, and then look where that'll get you.
And don't mention home, fool. You know how he'll take it....but if he could only see it- see it for what it truly is...he might understand.
He felt Lancelot tense slightly, and squeezed the other man's hand.
"What can I do to make you believe I want to be here?" he said at last, sadness pervading his tone. "I- I'm not good at showing affection, you know that," he searched for the blasted words that where always dancing just slightly out of reach. "I need you to teach me- I want this. I want you, with me. But I fear my stupid personality will get in the way," he said in a rush.
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He sighed. It's me with the problem, this time.
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I pity you for it then, for I will only drive you away in the end.
"I need to learn when to stop talking," he muttered. "...which would be a feat unlike Hercules' trials themselves."
"Tell me something about Sarmatia," he said suddenly, trying to change the subject. "I know so little of it- the garrison commanders when I got here knew nothing as well... we tried so hard to integrate all of you men, we never stopped to think of just exactly what you were like- we only tried to make you like us. I know so very little of your background- what was it like?"
make him think of something else....draw him out.
"If you wish to speak of it..." his voice trailed off. "I know you, Lancelot- I know your heart, but I don't know your mind as I would like to. Humor me, if you can."
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But that's Arthur. He shoulders the world - and all of its guilt.
"I'm not like Galahad, I don't remember Sarmatia that much - it's all a rather distant memory - and a distant dream - for me. But it was...cold." He laughed. "A bit like here, but not as wet. Steppes, mostly. We moved around a lot - never really stayed in one place. Home was the people, I guess, rather than the place...." He trailed off. "Some times, I think that it's more like a dream - like a fantasy. I just...I'm not sure I'll see it again...and sometimes..."
Sometimes I find myself not thinking of it as home anymore. Home is where you are... He finished silently, not sure if Arthur was ready to hear something like that - not sure if Arthur would want to hear something like that.
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