Just a Kiss
Ever since Arthur met Guinevere, Lancelot's relationship with Arthur had changed. Gone were the days of friendly combats or horse races. It wasn't because Arthur had changed; it wasn't even Guinevere's fault. Was it her fault that she was so irresistible yet so untouchable because she was Arthur's? No, it was all Lancelot's fault. It was his fault that he had scorned her affections. It was his fault that he was attracted to her and that there was nothing he could do about it.
In some small way, she was to blame. This Woad was different from all the other women he had met. This girl wasn't just some barmaid or some random wench. She was something else. It wasn't just the attitude either, but also just simply the fact that she could wield a weapon so powerfully and that she posed as a threat.
As Lancelot sat in his room, he stared out onto the courtyard. He saw Bors kissing Vanora and he saw Galahad swigging wine down his mouth. The moonlight shadowed the tables, chairs and jugs of wine. Stars that didn't usually shine shone with brilliance. Everywhere he looked, there were men courting women, animals chasing animals. It was as if the entire world rejoiced in love tonight…all except for him. He ran a hand through his unruly mop of hair and cursed. He can't just abandon a lifelong friendship for a woman's touch. Arthur had always been there for him like a beacon in the dark. Lancelot could always count on Arthur being there, like he could count on the sun rising each morning.
Lancelot was so lost in his train of thought that he didn't hear Arthur approach. Arthur's well-used leather boots made no sound on the stone floor as he approached his friend. Lancelot jumped into the sky when the other man clasped him on the shoulder.
"Lancelot, I need to talk to you. Come, sit." Arthur sat down on Lancelot's bed and waited for him. When Lancelot didn't approach, Arthur said, "Lancelot, it's me, Arthur. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you, that's all."
Arthur motioned Lancelot to come closer. Warily, Lancelot approached, wondering why Arthur needed to talk to him. Could it be that his friend knew about his lust for Guinevere?
"Lancelot, I'm worried about you. Ever since we came back home, you've been distant. You just eat, drink and sleep, like a deluded man! You don't even talk to anyone anymore. Not even me! We're supposed to be friends, you know that."
Arthur sighed, "Even though I am your commander, it doesn't mean anything. I value our friendship more than I value a military position. We've been friends longer than I can imagine, and it hurts me that you won't let me help you!"
Lancelot winced at Arthur's words. It pained him to see Arthur so distressed, and over him!
When he didn't answer, Arthur stood up and lightly punched him on the shoulder. "When you're ready to talk, you know where to find me. But maybe you need a hobby, just something to distract yourself from thinking too much. I don't want my best fighter to get stuck on the meaning of life…some people are meant to think Lancelot, not you. Leave intellectual pursuits for the philosophers."
Arthur smirked and walked away with Lancelot's laughter ringing in his ears. Meanwhile, Lancelot sat still, pondering at Arthur's words. Yes, he did need a hobby, anything to take his mind off Guinevere. Anything.
Two days later, a traveling beggar wandered into the village. He went into the marketplace and enchanted men, women and children alike with his tricks. Lancelot watched from the side, amazed at the witchcraft happening before his eyes. He made the Sign Against Evil, but still, he was more curious than afraid. The more he watched, the more questions he wanted to ask. How was this possible? How could such a feat be accomplished?
When the magician had finished and was collecting the money he had made, Lancelot approached him and said two words to him.
"Teach me."
As Lancelot learned the tricks of the trade, he realized it wasn't witchcraft at all, just pure talent. Knowledge and quick hand movements. The only thing that set magicians apart from one another was not how well the audience responded, but with the gestures made while performing the trick. Some snapped while some made the crowd yell out, but each one was different. Lancelot had no problem performing the tricks. It was far easier than learning new fight stances. He just needed a gesture.
That night, Lancelot went out into the stables to be with his horse. Perhaps he could find some inspiration there. He saddled his horse and went for a long ride in the moonlight. Lancelot rode until Hadrian's Wall was just a dot in the distance. He didn't know how long or how far he rode…all he knew was that he was soon tired out. Lancelot slumped in his seat and leaned against the mane of his horse. Fog was drifting in, and soon he couldn't see anything. Perhaps he fell asleep, or maybe a low tree branch was in his way, but whatever it was, Lancelot found himself cursing while sitting in a puddle of mud. His temper got the better of him, and soon he was throwing mud in every direction until his temper cooled. As he was flinging mud into the fog, Lancelot squinted and stopped. A rosebush, complete with thorns. He let the mud drip through his fingers as he walked towards the plant. There was something there…but what?
Slowly, the image grew clearer. It was her face, in front of him. Guinevere's image evaded his thoughts. There she was, kissing him, speaking to him. Lancelot blinked fast, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Then he smiled. He finally had a gesture, and he knew what his final trick would be.
The next day, Lancelot was teased by Gawain and Tristan because of the dried mud on his clothes.
"Did one of Arthur's best horsemen fall off his horse?" laughed Tristan.
"Or perhaps it was a brief encounter with one of the barmaids behind the stables hmmm?" interjected Gawain.
Lancelot waved their comments away with a simple, heartfelt, "Sod off."
He kept walking until he found Arthur in the courtyard, with Guinevere. His breath stopped for a brief moment, and he stayed in one spot until he regained his composure.
"Arthur. My lady," he said, bowing his head to Guinevere. "Arthur, I just want to tell you that I have a hobby, and I want to show you what it is. I'm holding a show in the marketplace tonight. Tell everyone: Bors, Vanora, Galahad…everyone. Ten o'clock, when it's dark."
Lancelot then hurried off to prepare. His body tingled with excitement. Now, if all went well, Guinevere will understand his true feelings.
Near show time, Bors asked Galahad whether he knew what Lancelot was up to.
"I have no idea. All I know is that the last time I saw him, he was with that magician. I think our Lancelot has a few tricks up his sleeve," answered Galahad, trying to keep a straight face.
Then silently, Lancelot walked onto the makeshift stage. He sat down on the chair in the centre and waited for everyone to quiet down. Lancelot looked around him. There she was, in the middle of the first row, smiling at him. On her right was Arthur, a questioning look in his eyes. Bors was at the back, drinking as usual.
When Bors saw Lancelot, he yelled, "Shut up! Lancelot is going to begin!"
Still not saying a word, Lancelot smiled and put on two white linen gloves. He then took a square piece of red cloth from his pocket and showed it to the audience. He scrunched it up into a ball and placed it in his fist. Then, he brought his fist up to his mouth to kiss it lightly. When he opened up his fist and flicked out the cloth, it was a long rectangular piece, no longer short and square.
Bors was staring, his wine dripping down his open mouth. Guinevere leaned forward in her seat, her eyes never leaving Lancelot. Arthur's brow furrowed, he didn't miss that kiss, nor did he miss Guinevere's reaction.
Lancelot then proceeded to take a similar yellow rectangular cloth from his pocket. He put the red one beside him on the table, and he held up the yellow cloth in his right hand so that everyone in the crowd could see it. He brought up his right hand to his mouth and kissed it. Then, he dragged the yellow cloth through. When the cloth came out of the other end, his glove had turned yellow. Murmurings of surprise and bewilderment were heard throughout the throngs of people now gathered around the stage.
Lancelot then proceeded to turn his left glove red with the same trick. Each time he kissed his hand or an object, Guinevere blushed a deeper shade of crimson. With just a kiss, Guinevere's lust for Lancelot grew.
For his final trick, Lancelot took a red rose from the table beside him. He twirled the flower around with his fingers, all while staring at Guinevere. He had picked the rose from the bush he had seen the other day…he liked what it represented: beauty with an edge, or in other words, Guinevere.
He took the red rose and covered the petals with his yellow gloved hand. Each time he pulled the bud off, a new red one grew back instantly. Then, he covered the rose one last time with his yellow glove, and slowly brought the rose up to his mouth. As he lightly kissed his hand, his eyes were on Guinevere. Slowly, he took his hand away from the flower. The rose was no longer red, but yellow.
His spectators gasped and wondered how this feat could've been accomplished. Lancelot walked away from the stage and presented the rose to Guinevere.
With just a kiss, Guinevere knew how Lancelot really felt. With just a kiss, Arthur could see what was happening before his very eyes. With just a simple, innocent kiss.
Later that same night, Guinevere knocked on Lancelot's door. When he answered the knock, he was greeted with a kiss that was anything but innocent.