Disclaimer: I own nothing relating to King Arthur the movie or the legend!

AN: Seeing as I usually either ignore or abuse Lancelot I decided to make it up to him with this one shot. I hope you enjoy it.

Warning: There is some bad language and sexual content in this, but it is nothing explicit so I didn't think it needed a mature rating. However, if you are sensitive to such topics, I have duly warned you.

The First Fall

It had been a mild winter by British standards until the previous night. It had rained almost every day, but not a single snowflake had been caught making its descent toward the British Isle. None of the young children had had the chance to forget their chores in order to catch snowflakes upon their innocent tongues. None of the young girls had to fear being caught in the middle of a snow fight between the young lads of the fort. None of the mothers had to fret over bundling their children in their heaviest garments to avoid fever, and none of the men had to worry about searching the snow covered earth for more wood to keep their huts warm through the night. That was until the night before.

Suddenly, the mild winter that Britain had been experiencing withered into the harsh winds and bitter air of the average winter. The first snowfall hadn't come until well into the night once the fort was long asleep, but it had been fallen mercilessly resulting in over a foot before the sun had even risen. And once the sun was up behind the cloak of white clouds, the storm looked no closer to stopping than it had when it had just begun. Children rushed out of their beds and hurriedly bundled themselves in order to enjoy the first snowfall of the winter.

Each knight grumbled audibly as they begrudgingly left the warmth of their beds in order to attend to their many less pleasurable duties. Galahad emerged from his room holding his sore head trying to will his hangover away as he walked straight into Gawain. The blonde knight simply steadied his younger friend, and silently patted him on the shoulder. "I suggest putting on something a little heavier than those worn breeches unless you wish to add a frozen ass to your headache," Gawain whispered as he pushed Galahad back toward his sleeping quarters. Galahad grunted before looking down at his state of undress and following Gawain's advice. Gawain just smiled as shook his head spotting Dagonet exiting his own room looking all too cheerful this morning.

"Good morning, Gawain," Dagonet greeted with a calm smile that only he could deliver.

"Why are you so cheerful this morning, Dag? There are mountains of snow out there that are going to need clearing if we are to receive any supply carriages for the next three months," Gawain said with a near growl just at the thought of spending his day hauling snow out of the dirt streets of the fort, instead of enjoying a quiet day in the tavern sipping ale while enjoying the company of the nearest wench or two.

"The next caravan isn't due for another fortnight, Gawain. Arthur shall not force us to brave this storm before it is through, and from the looks of it we may be waiting a while. So, we shall have the day to watch Bors' children terrorize the other young ones of the fort," Dagonet said with a conspiratorial smile as he continued to walk toward the entrance of the barracks. Gawain once again just shook his head as he watched his friend walk away. Dagonet always had a soft spot for children, especially those that were spawned by Bors and the feisty Vanora.

Bors' children had been the first to escape the confines of their hut when they saw the fresh snow covering the earth. Each one, bundled in different states of dress, tumbled in the sea of frozen white crystal as though it were the first time they had ever seen it. Tristan being the only who had been awake when the children had appeared kept a careful eye on them. He fed his hawk a piece of dried meat, as he made sure that Bors' bastards did not hurt themselves while they were free of any supervision, or so they thought.

Arthur sat in his room pouring over maps of trade routes and battle tactics while the snow fell silently outside his window. Arthur was too lost in his own duties to notice the mounting drifts of snow that hung off the eaves above his window. Jols, however, was consumed with the new duties that the fresh snow brought about. Jols had been clearing snow away from the entrance of the stables since he'd noticed the first snowflakes fall late the previous night. By now, he was beyond exhausted but continued to clear the white powder so that the animals could be taken out to exercise later.

The only knight that hadn't emerged from the silence of the barracks that morning was Lancelot. Though the bustle of the fort sounded loudly beneath his window, Lancelot heard none of it. Sprawled across his large cot clothed in nothing but the warmth of the hearth beside his bed was Lancelot's sleeping form. All the furs that once covered his bed had been thrown off during a night off passion he had shared with one of the village girls. Though it was not one of Lancelot's common rituals to seduce the village girls, he every so often grew tired of the fort's wenches and ventured out into the market looking for young and impressionable company. However, the petit redhead who had shared his bed the previous night made up for her inexperience with something Lancelot had not been exposed to since leaving his family nearly fourteen years prior.

Maeve was the sweet redhead's name and rightly so because she was every bit as intoxicating as the name let on. But more than that, Maeve was tender in everything she did. Lancelot had not known that tenderness could still exist on this cold dank rock that had been his prison for the past fourteen years, but Maeve changed all that. Though Lancelot was not one to tie himself down to anything at this point in his life, he couldn't help but entertain the idea of waking up to Maeve in his arms every morning. However, as sleep finally receded from the lecherous knight's body, he did not even find her in his arms on this morning. Though disoriented, at first, as he awoke to feel the emptiness beside him on the soft cot, Lancelot was soon sitting up in grave confusion.

Where was the crimson haired beauty that should be adorning his bed this morning? Lancelot realized that he had slept later than usual, but he thought that the mounting snow would have discouraged the young woman from venturing outside anytime soon. However, Lancelot had been sorely mistaken in his judgment of his bedmate. Quickly rising from his sheets, Lancelot found that she had kindled the hearth before she left because it still glowed keeping his room pleasantly warm. Such a sweet gesture only caused to anger Lancelot. How dare she leave without so much as a goodbye? She was not a whore that was accustomed to leaving before the first rays of the sun broke the horizon. She was not a cheating wife who needed to return to her husband's unsatisfying arms before he noticed her absence. She was not even an innocent virgin who could claim mortification at the thought of losing her innocence to such a lecherous beast as he. No, she was simply the poor daughter of a blind farmer who no longer had the strength to tend his own land. She had nothing keeping her from staying in his arms until he woke to escort her home.

Lancelot's mind moved to reasons for her leaving as he searched for a pair of heavy breeches. Could she have been embarrassed to have shared his bed, and not wanted to be seen with him just to become the next bit of gossip around the fort? She didn't seem the type of girl to listen to gossip so he didn't believe that that could have been the reason. Perhaps she had another lover that she had not told him of? But she had surely been far too unsure of herself to have had another lover on the side. However, such innocent eyes could not be feigned. Then the most upsetting thought hit him. Maybe he had not fulfilled her as she did him. Perhaps he had failed to pleasure her as he had pleasured the multitudes before her. Perhaps she had left because he was a disappointment. Suddenly, Lancelot felt ill just thinking of the possibility that she had left out of disgust.

Lancelot was now reconsidering leaving the safety and warmth of his chamber. He no longer knew if he wished to seek her out to see why she had left him in the early hours of the morning. He was not so sure he wished to hear her answer if he did in fact find her. Three months it had taken for Lancelot to charm her into his chamber. One could have actually called it a courtship because for three months Lancelot had not known the touch of another woman as he pursued his own feisty redhead. He had spoken to her every morning before going out on patrol, and escorted her on walks at every chance he had gotten. He had shared dreams ands emotions with her that he had never shared with another human being, not even his brother knights. He had given her tokens of his affection that meant more than a simple flower or kiss. He had gone out of his way to find the perfect gifts during his missions. A woven bracelet from a gypsy he had crossed paths with in a far off village. A gem that mirrored the depths of her green eyes he received from a wealthy roman woman as payment for saving her youngest daughter from a horde of angry drunken soldiers. A crown of brilliant roses that he had spent hours bloodying his hands over in order to remove each thorn before weaving it to fit her head. Then finally the most important gift he could have given her, before his last mission he had given her his wolf charm to wear around her neck until her returned. As a matter of fact she had worn it proudly until last night when she had removed it before they had made love for the first time.

Lancelot looked over at the small table beside his bed only to feel another pang of hurt upon seeing his carved charm lying beside his bed looking as neglected as he felt. Never before had Lancelot felt jilted by a lover. Usually it was he that went around breaking the hearts of all the village girls, not the other way around. Suddenly, Lancelot froze at what he had just thought. Was his heart actually broken over the fact that a wispy little redheaded woman left before he had the chance to throw her from his bed himself. As much as he wanted to deny it, Lancelot realized that over the past three months he had fallen for Maeve. She was the first woman he had even fallen for. Sure he'd had more women visit his chambers than he could possibly count, but he had never before felt anything more that pure and simple lust for them. He should have seen it coming, avoided it. Hell, when even Tristan began making comments about his sudden celibacy, he should have realized that something was different this time.

All of a sudden, Lancelot no longer cared if he found his thickest clothes. He simply threw on what was in reach and headed out of his room. He had to find her even if it was only to watch her spit in his face. Lancelot needed to see her work hardened face. As he ran through the barracks images of her slipped through his mind like water down a lazy stream. Though her face bore the image of a girl who had to work long hours in the sun since her childhood, her freckled nose and cheeks were perfect in Lancelot's eyes. They added character and only served to enhance her brilliant emerald eyes. Though her hair barely brushed her shoulders in what most considered a very unattractive style, he thought it made her unique. He also knew that it was such a length only because of a drunken game played by several Romans which had actually led to their first meeting. Though her figure was far less shapely than that of the wenches he was used to bedding, Lancelot approved of the athleticism in her. He fondly recalled many afternoons he had spent chasing her through the streets of the fort because she had stolen his swords so he could not patrol until he paid her, her rightful attentions. Though she was far from as experienced as most of the women around the fort, Maeve was far gentler in her lovemaking. Most of the wenches simply went through the motions, and most of the fornicating wives were far too eager in the actions. Maeve, though he had only experienced her love once, simply enjoyed letting him lead while returning his affections with her own tender caresses and kisses.

But she had left him! How could he still feel the urge to grab her and make love to her as soon as he found her when she had left him like any other whore would? Suddenly, Lancelot's thoughts stopped as he felt the wet chill of packed snow hitting his back. He was now standing in the middle of the fort's courtyard wearing little more than his usual leather breeches and a thinly woven tunic. He could feel the melting snow soak into his tunic as he growled at whoever threw the snow. Slowly, Lancelot turned around expecting to see one of Bors' bastards standing there sheepishly. However, the sight that met his eyes was highly unexpected.

Standing smugly beside the well was Maeve with a covered basket beside her feet and a bucket sitting on the well's edge. Maeve was doing a poor job of suppressing her giggles at hitting her target, but Lancelot only saw a woman who was so disgusted with him that she had to embarrass him publicly. Suddenly, the smile died on Maeve's lips as she noticed Lancelot's state of undress considering the weather. But before she could voice her concern, she heard Lancelot's angry voice. "Was I such a fool that you cannot even bring yourself to laugh at me, wench," his voice cut through the air like a dagger aimed straight for her. And once again before she could say a word, Lancelot cut her off. "Was it that bad that you could not even bear to stay long enough for me to wake? Or perhaps you had another lover to meet this morning instead of me," he called out loudly now drawing a small crowd of curious villagers and knights. Even Arthur who was still cooped up in his room heard the commotion below and opened the shutters to watch his second in command make an ass of himself.

"I do not know of what you speak," Maeve said in confusion as she left both her basket and bucket and approached Lancelot with concern. She, herself, was bundled in a thick cloak that Lancelot would have recognized as his own if her had been paying attention. Beneath it, she only wore her thick shift, but her work dress still lay crumpled beneath the furs of Lancelot's cot. Had he not been so wounded and enraged, he would have seen that she had every intention of returning to his room very shortly.

"Go ahead deny it, what difference does it make? You're no better than the rest of them. You're nothing special Maeve, there a hundred other warm bodies in this fort that will gratefully take your place," Lancelot spat out trying to wound her as she had so expertly wounded him.

The villagers gasped at Lancelot's harsh words, but Maeve didn't even bat an eyelash at his cruelty and continued toward him slowly. "Lancelot, are you feeling well? We should get you inside, it is bitterly could out here and you are in only these thin garments. You will catch your death if you stay out here much longer," she reasoned as she reached to take his arm. In three months, she had grown much acquainted with Lancelot's jealousy and rage. Though he had never taken his anger out on her before, she had soothed it on more than one occasion.

"Don't touch me whore," the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them as he jerked his arm away from her grasp. This time Maeve was affected by his words. She looked as though she had been physically smacked. "Don't look so affronted, Maeve. After all, what else do you expect to be called after bedding me," he continued. However, this time Maeve reacted by slapping Lancelot as hard as her small hand cloud. She felt the sting in her freezing hands more than he did, but she wouldn't not stand there and be called a whore for all to hear.

"I'm not a whore, especially not yours! I don't know what's gotten into you this morning, but you are not the man I have spent the last three months with. I knew that loving you would change things, but I allowed it. Now, I can see that I was right. You're a monster just like the soldiers that did this," she said as she tugged at her short and choppy crimson curls.

"I was not the one who left this morning just as a whore would. I was not the one who took my gifts only to leave them beside my bed when you tired of me," Lancelot shot back.

"Nor was I if that is what you are implying," Maeve shouted back completely aware of the swarming crowd that was even taking bets on who would win this lovers spat. Gawain had already won several coins for betting that Maeve would strike Lancelot.

"Then what exactly did you do this morning," Lancelot asked loudly as he began to feel the chill seep into his bones.

Maeve grew serious as she next spoke. "I do not believe that this is a discussion to be had in front of the entire fort," she said pleadingly. She finally understood where all of Lancelot's anger was coming from. It was not the passion that they had shared the night before that was stirring Lancelot's anger, but instead it was the separation that was hurting him so. She had been reluctant to leave this morning, but she had consoled herself with the fact that she would hopefully return in time to see him wake.

"Because you are embarrassed of your actions," Lancelot goaded as he continued to feel his heart break.

"No because I do not think it is proper to speak of our lovemaking in front of others," she said boldly.

"Lovemaking? I thought you would simply call it fornicating!" Lancelot knew he was wrong about everything judging by the pained look in Maeve's eye, and suddenly he wanted to take it all back. She didn't need to explain anything; he just wanted her to smile again like when she caught him off guard with the snowball, or how she had smiled lazily in his arms as he had drifted to sleep the night before.

"Why would I call such a beautiful thing such a coarse and vulgar word," Maeve asked heatedly before continuing so that Lancelot could not answer. "If you must know now, then I shall tell you. We made love until nearly dawn, then you fell asleep upon my breast as I watched the snow fall silently outside in the predawn light. I drifted off to sleep shortly after, but was woken prematurely by Tristan who knocked on your door saying that he would take your watch if you wished to sleep in. I suppose he took your silence for a yes and left. I couldn't fall back to sleep because the hearth had gone out earlier and your room was cooling quickly. So, I rekindled it to add warmth to your quarters in case you woke and wished to stay in bed longer. A girl can always fantasize that the great Lancelot would be willing to forget his morning duties to her affections, can't she? But then I saw the fresh snow upon the ground and how the children were already out enjoying it. I thought I would fetch us some breakfast while you still slept, so that I surprise you when you woke. However, the kitchens were slow in making their bread this morning since the snow had hit so suddenly and they had not taken in enough wood to heat the ovens, and what was outside was wet. I was going to return to you, but Vanora assured me that it would only take a moment. So, I waited for the bread, came out here to fetch some water or rather ice in order to make tea, and found you running around in barely enough to keep a snowball warm out here. I had planned on being back before you woke, but I can see that was not meant to happen," Maeve said as she stuck out her chin in defiance in order to keep her tears at bay.

Suddenly, Lancelot felt like a heel for even considering that she would be so cold as to leave him without good reason. She had wanted to surprise him and what had he done? He accused her of being a whore! Lancelot was on his knees at her feet before his mind comprehended what his heart was causing him to do. Never before had the arrogant, womanizing knight groveled for anything, but there was a first for everything. "Forgive me," he whispered into her skirts as he felt the packed snow through his leather breeches.

"Get off the ground before you get all wet," she scolded and she bent to pull him up. "You're freezing," she said in concern as she grasped his shaking hands to her cheek. "I should have known you would do something stupid if I left you this morning. Now, come on. We need to get you warmed up," she continued as pulled him toward the things she had forgotten in her concern. Lifting the basket of cooling bread and cheese, and the bucket of freezing water, Maeve led Lancelot back toward the barracks.

"How can you simply forget what I just called…" Maeve cut him off with a soft kiss to his bearded cheek.

"You asked my forgiveness. Who am I to deny you anything when you have given me more than I could ever have dreamed of? I left your charm so that you would know I would be returning, but I can understand how you would think it meant the opposite," Maeve whispered calmly as Lancelot held her tightly at his side.

"But you are not a whore, and now the entire fortress…"

"They may think what they like. It matters little to me so long as you love me as I love you," she said with another sweet kiss. "However, if you call me one again, I shall be forced to end your lecherous ways with a dull blade," she said in mock anger.

"You have already ended my lecherous ways without use of a blade. I have not known another woman's touch since I met you. I had not known what love was until this morning. When I found you missing it hurt more that the deepest wound I have received in battle. I thought that I had failed to make you happy," he admitted sadly as they finally entered the warmth of his room.

"You need never fear that," she said with a small smile as she shut the door behind them. "Now stop pouting because I am here now and everything is well again, but I fear you will catch your death if you stay in those sopping clothes," she said as she approached him with a wicked smile dropping her basket and forgetting it completely. "I believe I know a way to warm us both from the chill outside."

"Oh really," Lancelot said with a grin of his own as he closed the space between them with a searing kiss that left them both panting. Before she could say another word, Lancelot lifted Maeve into his arms and fell onto the bed with her cradled tightly to his chest. She giggled sweetly as he kissed a path down her neck because his beard tickled her skin softly. Both forgot about eating or any of the morning's confrontation as they held each other and reacquainted themselves with each other most intimately. The first snowfall continued through the day while the inhabitants of Lancelot's chamber fell in love for the first time.

XxXxX

I hope you liked this. As I said before, I don't usually venture into Lancelot stories, but I thought that this story fit him best. Please tell me what you thought of this, I am dying to hear your opinions!