He wasn't really sure how to say it.
He knew it could never be. He knew he could never hold her in his arms, or have her as his own.
He knew it was impossible, that she was loved by another, another who he looked up to, who was a thousand times the man he was.
He had honor, and loyalty. He would do anything to protect those he loved. He would never leave her, he would never lie to her. And he could give so much to her. She would no longer be just a maid, but a Queen. A Queen of Camelot.
And love. Yes, Arthur loved her, that he knew to be true. He saw how they looked at each other, how her eyes brightened at any mention of him, how he was always calmed down at the mere thought of her. The love was evident between them in every look and in every touch, so much that almost everyone who saw it immediately knew that it was true. That it would last forever. That nothing and no one would ever come between them.
Ever.
Lancelot saw it and he knew it. Yet he knew Guinevere still did care for him. Just by a gentle look, or a soft laugh. Yes, Gwen cared about him, but did not love him. But he almost wished she did not care at all. Because every look, and every touch burned him just a little, destroying his heart moment by moment. He dreamed of the day when it was just them, alone, with no Arthur...
No.
No. No. No.
What was he thinking? Arthur made her happy. No, more than happy. It was Arthur that caused her to have that smile, that smile which Lancelot loved so much. It was not him. He loved her, yes, but Gwen loved Arthur and was all the better for it. Who was he to wish away her happiness, and her future, for his own sake? Who was he to think that having Gwen to himself would be any better? Because he could never be Arthur. He could never make her feel the way Arthur could, he could never truly make her happy. No, he couldn't.
He couldn't.
But in the darkest hour of the night when he was alone, he couldn't help but think of her. Her hair, her skin, her eyes, her smile, her voice, her laugh...
She deserved Arthur. She deserved everything he could give her. She deserved his love more than everything in the world, and Lancelot knew that and wanted that for her. He would never come between them, because in the end he knew that the love he could give was nothing compared to Arthur.
He knew this. He knew this. But that didn't mean it did not hurt. That didn't mean that every time he though of her his heart ached, that every time he looked at her he fell to pieces. He loved her.
He loved her.
But to act on that love was to betray not only her, but a great friend.
And no matter what happened he could never do that.
Never.
I'm having a dilemma of my own right now regarding the heart, and it's driving me crazy. Reading didn't help, writing my multi chapter fic didn't help. So I suddenly feel with Lancelot. Except in this situation I am more like Arthur, but not really at all.
It's driving me crazy. But I hoped you like this.
For any of you who read my Another Plan, Another Chance, I am indeed writing a sequel. I just want to write it all first, before I publish it. Just to make sure. So please have patience, and accept my eternal apologies!
