Lancelot by Luvscharlie
Warnings: None
A/N: Originally written as an attempt to get to know these characters. My first attempt at Merlin fanfiction
I have never been looked at in quite that way. Most of the knights of Camelot allow their eyes to pass over me as though they never see me at all. I'm simply Lady Morgana's handmaiden to them.
But Lancelot—Lancelot is different. When he looks at me, I actually feel as though I am a Lady, whether the title is truly fitting or not. It is almost as if I can see myself through his eyes, and I'm rather pleased with what I see, which is another first for me. Perhaps there is something about me that is, if not pretty—for I should never presume so much—Lady Morgana is beautiful, but I am just a plain serving girl, nothing to catch a gentleman such as Lancelot's eye. Still, perhaps there is something rather "nice" about the way I look. That's probably an adequate description—"nice". My cheeks heat with blush to even think about the way Lancelot's lips touched the back of my hand, and those deep brown eyes looking up at me.
My every thought is of him, as I carefully make each stitch. I don't mind sewing Lancelot's tunic. In fact, it is my pleasure. It is exciting that he has secured an audience with Prince Arthur. Of course, I'd do most anything Merlin asks of me because I know that the favour would be returned, should I ever require it. Never have a met someone with a heart quite so big as Merlin's.
I hope he stays—Lancelot. But of course, not for myself. No, that would be far too presumptuous on my part. I should like to see Camelot benefit from such skills as his; the King could use knights such as him, so loyal and with a desire to serve his King and the people of Camelot.
I'm a terrible liar, even more so when I attempt to lie to myself. I want Lancelot to stay in Camelot—to become Sir Lancelot, Knight of Camelot—because it means I should have the pleasure of seeing him, if not daily, certainly frequently.
I have never met such a man as he, and I should very much like to know him more.
With the celebration in full swing, it is hard not to watch him. The command of his presence seems to draw my eyes back to him, no matter how often I try to look away. When he stands next to Prince Arthur, I doubt there's a woman in the room whose eyes aren't trained on that spot. The two of them, side-by-side, are certainly a breathtaking sight to behold.
My heart is light with the knowledge that Sir Lancelot shall remain in Camelot. Of course, I am relieved that my King has procured such a worthy knight to defend us—all of us, I mean—his people, his Kingdom. I am sure a great many will sleep more peacefully knowing that Lancelot has joined the ranks of Camelot's finest, most noble defenders. I certainly will… when my dreams aren't filled with images of him, so handsome and wondrous and—and my thoughts are traitorous things.
He left here a hero, the kind of noble man, if not by birth, then certainly by way of character, that I believed him to be from the beginning. His leaving is Camelot's loss, for he would have made a fine knight to serve my King. And it is my loss, because I long for his return, for I have never known a man such as that. He draws me in and refuses to leave my thoughts.
So I wait for the day when he shall return to us, hoping that the time will come when Lancelot shall come back to Camelot, and take up the title of Knight, of which he is so richly deserving.
