The sun rose in the sky, and Arthur was engrossed in his journal, recording each and every detail of the things that had happened.
He had been informed by Jols that Gawain seemed to be awake. He was anxious to hear about their sortie, and how it had gone. He was worried for Galahad as well; the young knight hadn't been injured like this before that he could remember.
and Lancelot....God.
"Ugh," he said outloud, not meaning to.
Lancelot.
"Oh, God," Arthur said again, burying his face in his hands.
I haven't had much love...am I taking advantage of him? Of the affection he holds for me? How can I decide to just love him in the course of one day....or was it always there? He's always been my closest friend, and ally. He's my soul. But...deep down, is physical love just an extension of my devotion to him?
Arthur does love the other man. He's sure of it. But why now to have the feelings come out....and why in this manner?
"Ugh!" he said again.
War is so much easier than this. I cannot hurt him...but I must be truthful
( ... )
It had been a simple matter to convince the doctor to let him out of bed - he was in his room after all, and Arthur had so conviniently placed his swords there. Very thoughtful, really.
So, after telling the doctor to dispose of his food (Arthur shouldn't need to worry), he'd made his way, painfully, supported by a wooden crutch the doctor had surrendered, to the Round Table. And to Arthur.
The sun may have been out, but Arthur felt chilled. He stood, and moved closer to the brazier of coals in the corner of the room, by the large wooden door.
He stared at the table, empty now.
One hundred knights in the beginning. And now, less than 40.
60 deaths.
He had never felt so much like the reaper than he did in that moment.
The larger heater, in the center of the table, heating the room for him alone. The knights Sarmatian standard, hanging in the hall, next to the Eagle of Rome.
Arthur shivered, and crossed his arms. He closed his eyes, seeing each of their faces, speaking each name in his mind. Thoughts of Lancelot invaded his reverie again, and he flushed, memories of what he had done for the other man surfacing.
He was no innocent. But this had been different. He had done it without thinking. And he wasn't sorry either.
He also found he missed the man's touch on his skin...God above, what was happening to him?
He stumbled once again, and cursed - again. The walk to the room had never - never - been so long before. He was more glad than he'd ever been to see the doors.
"Finally. Bloody hell."
He swung the doors open - and promptly tripped over something, sending himself sprawling.
Arthur froze at the comment. His back to Lancelot, he stood stock still, his hands on his papers, hovering over the table.
He banged the leather bound book on the wooden surface at last, trying to hold his anger and hurt in check.
He's been hurt, he doesn't mean it. Or does he?
He turned slowly to face the other man, his eyes narrowed, his breathing shallowed. He wouldn't let Lancelot see just how much that had hurt.
His green eyes darkened, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Is that what you think of me? That I'm here to bide my time, serving my home, waiting for the day I can be free of you?"
He moved, his back aching and his stomach clenching, his gut on fire.
"God damn it, Lancelot. I miss my home, yes. And I may hate it here...but the one thing, the *one* thing that makes it bearable is you men. And our lives together."
He blinked his eyes, standing directly in front of the knight.
"Well dammit, Arthur. Damn it all if you can talk so easily of our parting," Lancelot snapped back, equally angry, still stung and hurt.
Just one day, fool. You should not have got your hopes so high.
"It's alright, Arthur. It's okay to miss home - dammit, I miss mine too. But - " he broke off, too hurt to go further, a lump forming in his throat - and he was horrified to find tears building in his eyes. "It's fine," He snapped once more, starting to stand up. "Fine."
"Oh no you don't," Arthur said, moving to make the other man sit down again.
"This isn't finished. You *will* talk to me." He stood in front of Lancelot, his arms crossed still, his eyes blazing.
Damn it all if you can talk so easily of our parting.
"Is that what this is about? You and I?" Arthur leaned against the table.
"Damn it. I don't want to leave you either. The thought of you not in my life...it's not a day I care to contemplate....but Lancelot- blast it."
He leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Lancelot's. so someone comes in. I don't care right now.He pulled away, chest heaving. "I don't know what's happening to me. I only know that I have always cared for you...more so than any other person...apart from my family." At the mention of his parents, his face darkened considerably. "I don't know much about ways of the heart. Forgive me my stupidity. I only know that what I feel for you is- is- exhilarating. And confusing. It's more than that- damn. I haven't been able to stop thinking of you for more than
( ... )
He was breathing hard, eyes downcast, not knowing what to say in answer to Arthur. Not knowing what to say at all.
Guilt eating him up, lump still in his throat. He shook his head angrily - angry at himself, at his own misperceptions. And he'd hurt Arthur because of them,, when he'd sworn to try.
He cursed himself and his own sensitivity - and he resolutely kept his eyes down.
A touch on his hand send his eyes snapping open and his fingers drawing away reflexively as he tried to pull away as far away as he could from the touch, flinching.
Then his mind reasserted itself and he realised, belatedly, that the touch had been Arthur's - to comfort, to calm - not to hurt or harm him.
I'm home. I'm safe.
He shook his head at himself, leant backwards, shoulders slumped, still breathing heavily.
Arthur felt a chill when Lancelot jerked his hand out of the way, and clutched his hands in his lap. The knight pulled away from him, leaning back in his chair.
Forgive me, I'm an idiot, I didn't mean to remind you...
But somehow he couldn't bring himself to say the words he needed to.
Stop apologizing Arthur...I'm a knight...my duty.
There was that blasted word again. Duty.
Arthur pushed his chair back, his face trying to maintain a semblance of calm, when inside he felt as if he were trying to hold everything together by one piece of thread.
"I am sorry, Lancelot," he said once more, trying to put as much kindness as he could into it, "you can tell me the rest later. I know that Gawain and Galahad will have some news as well...they can tell me."
He sighed, still clenching his hands reflexively, wanting to touch the other man, but afraid of the reaction.
His breathing slowed and he looked up at Arthur, a dangerously stubborn glint appearing in his eyes.
"I told you to stop apologising." He sighed; Arthur and his martyr complex. "I should be sorry." He shook his head again, laughing a little cryptically. "I'm going to have to face these memories one day, Arthur. It will not do for me - a knight - to be so dependent on his captain to keep his memories at bay," he said, mocking himself and sighing. "Stop blaming yourself for everything."
He looked at Arthur again - sitting there, hands clasped in his lap, chair pulled further away, turned away from Lancelot - and felt that bravado slip. "You are angry at me for being so weak?" He spat out the word, hating the way it tasted on his tongue. "Is that why you pull away?"
Arthur's eyes pop wide at this declaration. He's never had this kind of devotion admited to him before, save from his father.
His father...
Clear brown eyes, shining grey hair, the sword huge at his side. Little Artorius can barely lift it. "You will be a great commander someday, my son. You will lead legions, and men everywhere will speak the name of Artorius Castus as a god.
Arthur shut his eyes briefly, then opened them, his hands suddenly really chilled.
"I-Oh, Lancelot," he said, reaching out to touch the man's arm. "What did I do to make you love me so?" he finished in a whisper.
I love you, Arthur. Be brave for your mother now- don't cry.
He caught Arthur's hand in his own, then locked eyes with Arthur.
"You were born, Arthur, then you were yourself," he whispered back, blush still making itself known but eyes as fierce as ever. "That's all. Because you're you."
"But- I'm just me. I'm no more special than Tristan, or Dagonet, or any of them," he protested.
I've been alone for so long...this is so strange...and will he leave me as well if I love him back?
And that was the crux of it.
"Everyone I've ever loved has gone," he said at last, not meeting the other man's eyes. "Each knight I've lost, my family...." he stopped, swiping at his face.
"That's the thing Arthur - you being you - that's what makes you special." Lancelot sighed as Arthur looked away. "Arthur...look at me?" He grinned impishly, trying to ease away the pain of Arthur's thoughts, figuring them out by the implications in his words.
Everyone I've ever loved has gone.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily," he teased then turned more serious. "I'm still here, see?"
Pushing open the door, Gawain strode into the great hall, but stopped short as he saw Arthur and Lancelot, taken aback by the obvious tension between the two of them.
Clearing his throat, he fixed his eyes on a point on the far wall somewhere to the right of Arthur and Lancelot. "I'm sorry we're late, Arthur. We can come back if you're busy."
Arthur stood, his hands on his hips, one eybrow cocked.
"Good to have you join us, Gawain," he said, not meaning to be rude, but the tension of the last few days finally got the better of him.
"Wine," he motioned to the service in the corner. "Help yourself."
He sat back down, running his fingers over his reports.
"Lancelot was filling me in on what he could remember," he told the other knight, clearing his throat. He was also kissing me silly, but we're not going to go into that- not in front of the others.
"What can you tell me of the village- and what of the rumors of druid involvement? Do you think it's exaggeration?"
He turned concerned eyes on the blond man, studiously ignoring Lancelot's eyes- which were boring into his back.
Lancelot could see that Gawain was uncomfortable with the tension.
Sexual or otherwise.
And Arthur didn't look like he was going to aknowledge Lancelot anymore than he already had any time soon since he was resolutely ignoring him.
And, to be perfectly honest with himself, Lancelot was feeling rather light-headed. He didn't want Arthur to fuss (not that he was sure Arthur would with others in the room) and he most certainly, didn't want Gawain and Galahad to see him like this.
"We weren't busy Gawain, no more than usual." He threw a side-ways glance at Arthur. "I've told you what I can remember, commander. I can't be anymore useful to you now; I'll take my leave."
He started to get up, slowly, mindful of his injuries and the fact that he felt like the ground was eluding him, and made his way to retrieve the fallen crutch.
Arthur jumped up from his seat, and retreived the fallen crutch for the other man. He handed it to Lancelot, and put his hand on Lancelot's shoulder, ignoring the tension he still felt.
"Are you sure? I can always use your input- besides- what if something Gawain or Galahad says jarrs your mind?"
Comments 83
He had been informed by Jols that Gawain seemed to be awake. He was anxious to hear about their sortie, and how it had gone. He was worried for Galahad as well; the young knight hadn't been injured like this before that he could remember.
and Lancelot....God.
"Ugh," he said outloud, not meaning to.
Lancelot.
"Oh, God," Arthur said again, burying his face in his hands.
I haven't had much love...am I taking advantage of him? Of the affection he holds for me? How can I decide to just love him in the course of one day....or was it always there? He's always been my closest friend, and ally. He's my soul. But...deep down, is physical love just an extension of my devotion to him?
Arthur does love the other man. He's sure of it. But why now to have the feelings come out....and why in this manner?
"Ugh!" he said again.
War is so much easier than this. I cannot hurt him...but I must be truthful ( ... )
Reply
So, after telling the doctor to dispose of his food (Arthur shouldn't need to worry), he'd made his way, painfully, supported by a wooden crutch the doctor had surrendered, to the Round Table. And to Arthur.
Reply
He stared at the table, empty now.
One hundred knights in the beginning. And now, less than 40.
60 deaths.
He had never felt so much like the reaper than he did in that moment.
The larger heater, in the center of the table, heating the room for him alone. The knights Sarmatian standard, hanging in the hall, next to the Eagle of Rome.
Arthur shivered, and crossed his arms. He closed his eyes, seeing each of their faces, speaking each name in his mind. Thoughts of Lancelot invaded his reverie again, and he flushed, memories of what he had done for the other man surfacing.
He was no innocent. But this had been different. He had done it without thinking. And he wasn't sorry either.
He also found he missed the man's touch on his skin...God above, what was happening to him?
Reply
"Finally. Bloody hell."
He swung the doors open - and promptly tripped over something, sending himself sprawling.
Reply
He banged the leather bound book on the wooden surface at last, trying to hold his anger and hurt in check.
He's been hurt, he doesn't mean it. Or does he?
He turned slowly to face the other man, his eyes narrowed, his breathing shallowed. He wouldn't let Lancelot see just how much that had hurt.
His green eyes darkened, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Is that what you think of me? That I'm here to bide my time, serving my home, waiting for the day I can be free of you?"
He moved, his back aching and his stomach clenching, his gut on fire.
"God damn it, Lancelot. I miss my home, yes. And I may hate it here...but the one thing, the *one* thing that makes it bearable is you men. And our lives together."
He blinked his eyes, standing directly in front of the knight.
"Is that what you think?" he whispered again.
Reply
Just one day, fool. You should not have got your hopes so high.
"It's alright, Arthur. It's okay to miss home - dammit, I miss mine too. But - " he broke off, too hurt to go further, a lump forming in his throat - and he was horrified to find tears building in his eyes. "It's fine," He snapped once more, starting to stand up. "Fine."
Reply
"This isn't finished. You *will* talk to me." He stood in front of Lancelot, his arms crossed still, his eyes blazing.
Damn it all if you can talk so easily of our parting.
"Is that what this is about? You and I?" Arthur leaned against the table.
"Damn it. I don't want to leave you either. The thought of you not in my life...it's not a day I care to contemplate....but Lancelot- blast it."
He leaned forward, and pressed his lips to Lancelot's. so someone comes in. I don't care right now.He pulled away, chest heaving. "I don't know what's happening to me. I only know that I have always cared for you...more so than any other person...apart from my family." At the mention of his parents, his face darkened considerably. "I don't know much about ways of the heart. Forgive me my stupidity. I only know that what I feel for you is- is- exhilarating. And confusing. It's more than that- damn. I haven't been able to stop thinking of you for more than ( ... )
Reply
He was breathing hard, eyes downcast, not knowing what to say in answer to Arthur. Not knowing what to say at all.
Guilt eating him up, lump still in his throat. He shook his head angrily - angry at himself, at his own misperceptions. And he'd hurt Arthur because of them,, when he'd sworn to try.
He cursed himself and his own sensitivity - and he resolutely kept his eyes down.
Reply
seemed to be part of the forest itself
Lancelot's eyes shut, and to Arthur it seemed as if his whole being shut down. His shoulders slumped, and the fire went out of his expression.
Arthur, berating himself, walked slowly to the other man, pulling out a chair to sit next to him.
Lancelot was breathing heavily, souding like he couldn't quite catch up with his lungs.
you fool, Arthur.
He reached out a hand tentatively, touching the knight's fingers.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, unable to help himself, his eyebrows drawn together, lips compressed into a thin line
Reply
Then his mind reasserted itself and he realised, belatedly, that the touch had been Arthur's - to comfort, to calm - not to hurt or harm him.
I'm home. I'm safe.
He shook his head at himself, leant backwards, shoulders slumped, still breathing heavily.
Reply
Forgive me, I'm an idiot, I didn't mean to remind you...
But somehow he couldn't bring himself to say the words he needed to.
Stop apologizing Arthur...I'm a knight...my duty.
There was that blasted word again. Duty.
Arthur pushed his chair back, his face trying to maintain a semblance of calm, when inside he felt as if he were trying to hold everything together by one piece of thread.
"I am sorry, Lancelot," he said once more, trying to put as much kindness as he could into it, "you can tell me the rest later. I know that Gawain and Galahad will have some news as well...they can tell me."
He sighed, still clenching his hands reflexively, wanting to touch the other man, but afraid of the reaction.
Reply
"I told you to stop apologising." He sighed; Arthur and his martyr complex. "I should be sorry." He shook his head again, laughing a little cryptically. "I'm going to have to face these memories one day, Arthur. It will not do for me - a knight - to be so dependent on his captain to keep his memories at bay," he said, mocking himself and sighing. "Stop blaming yourself for everything."
He looked at Arthur again - sitting there, hands clasped in his lap, chair pulled further away, turned away from Lancelot - and felt that bravado slip. "You are angry at me for being so weak?" He spat out the word, hating the way it tasted on his tongue. "Is that why you pull away?"
Reply
Arthur's eyes pop wide at this declaration. He's never had this kind of devotion admited to him before, save from his father.
His father...
Clear brown eyes, shining grey hair, the sword huge at his side. Little Artorius can barely lift it.
"You will be a great commander someday, my son. You will lead legions, and men everywhere will speak the name of Artorius Castus as a god.
Arthur shut his eyes briefly, then opened them, his hands suddenly really chilled.
"I-Oh, Lancelot," he said, reaching out to touch the man's arm. "What did I do to make you love me so?" he finished in a whisper.
I love you, Arthur. Be brave for your mother now- don't cry.
Reply
"You were born, Arthur, then you were yourself," he whispered back, blush still making itself known but eyes as fierce as ever. "That's all. Because you're you."
Reply
I've been alone for so long...this is so strange...and will he leave me as well if I love him back?
And that was the crux of it.
"Everyone I've ever loved has gone," he said at last, not meeting the other man's eyes. "Each knight I've lost, my family...." he stopped, swiping at his face.
"Damn it. Damn it-"
Girl.
"I'm sorry."
Reply
Everyone I've ever loved has gone.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily," he teased then turned more serious. "I'm still here, see?"
Reply
Clearing his throat, he fixed his eyes on a point on the far wall somewhere to the right of Arthur and Lancelot. "I'm sorry we're late, Arthur. We can come back if you're busy."
Reply
Arthur stood, his hands on his hips, one eybrow cocked.
"Good to have you join us, Gawain," he said, not meaning to be rude, but the tension of the last few days finally got the better of him.
"Wine," he motioned to the service in the corner. "Help yourself."
He sat back down, running his fingers over his reports.
"Lancelot was filling me in on what he could remember," he told the other knight, clearing his throat. He was also kissing me silly, but we're not going to go into that- not in front of the others.
"What can you tell me of the village- and what of the rumors of druid involvement? Do you think it's exaggeration?"
He turned concerned eyes on the blond man, studiously ignoring Lancelot's eyes- which were boring into his back.
Reply
Sexual or otherwise.
And Arthur didn't look like he was going to aknowledge Lancelot anymore than he already had any time soon since he was resolutely ignoring him.
And, to be perfectly honest with himself, Lancelot was feeling rather light-headed. He didn't want Arthur to fuss (not that he was sure Arthur would with others in the room) and he most certainly, didn't want Gawain and Galahad to see him like this.
"We weren't busy Gawain, no more than usual." He threw a side-ways glance at Arthur. "I've told you what I can remember, commander. I can't be anymore useful to you now; I'll take my leave."
He started to get up, slowly, mindful of his injuries and the fact that he felt like the ground was eluding him, and made his way to retrieve the fallen crutch.
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"Are you sure? I can always use your input- besides- what if something Gawain or Galahad says jarrs your mind?"
Not that I want you to stay or anything.
"I'll respect any decision you make, of course."
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