Author's Note: Okay, I'm in love with Ioan Gruffudd, and it is with him in mind I write this story and imagine it soooo well. This is after the Battle of Badon hill and Lancelot survives because.. I SAY SO. No, the girl is NOT Guinevere.
ENJOY!
He has always looked. This is who he is. A gawker, one who smirks at those blushing under his steady gaze. If he doesn't look, then Vanora will be placing a hand on his forehead an clucking like a mother hen.
"Lancelot, are you all right?"
Yes, just being well mannered for once...
This is what she does when he turns his eyes down for once. Down, down, down to seek counsel from the mud and his boots.
"Mmhm," he mutters and there is a cry for "MORE BEER!" Vanora is whisked away, is on the run, and still wondering why Lancelot shows signs of hesitance and shyness.
What do you say, boys? He asks his boots. No reply. No answers from his feet, so it's time to ask the sky.
Look up, up up.
"You uh... lookin' fer somethin'," asks Bors and Lancelot scowls. He's looking at the sky, the stars, the moon. He's looking at the earth, the mud, his boots, He's looking at Bors with a scowl, looking moodily into his mug... anywhere but to his direct right, where she is.
Where she sits among Bors' many fine sons and daughters, the youngest cradled against her breast with her lullaby sung into his head of dark hair. Another sits on her knee and a few sit at her feet to listen. The moon happens to cast it's light on her of all people and the wind blows fall leaves across the hem of her long skirt.
Everything points to her.
It is obvious, despite the fact that he isn't looking now, he had looked before to gain a vivid memory of how she sat with the children, singing. He just won't look again, because while Lancelot has looked a lot of frightful, beastly things in the eye...
None were as frightening as Love.
One glance and he can't stand the pull on his eyes, he has to look again and again and again. Vanora is back, frowning and clucking like a hen once more. "Ye sure ye aren't sick," asks she with deep concern.
Lancelot sighs. "Maybe I am."
Maybe he is.