Author's Note: So, here is another fic about Lancelot, the best knight on the world.
Disclaimer: Yes, I know you won't believe it but I don't make any profit of this and I don't own any of the characters.
Summary: Lancelot's mourning and Arthur's there to help (only friendship!!)
Read and review??? pretty please???
Losing My Religion
It was the place he hated most on this whole bloody island. But still it was here, on this old, depressing cemetery that Lancelot had spent a great deal of his time since he had come to Britain although he tried to avoid is as much as possible.
He watched the green hills that would have looked oh so peaceful, hadn't there been a sword sticking in every single one of them. This gave the whole place a monumental look and the knight couldn't help but remember all the bearers of these swords. They had all been brave and strong men that were taken from their homeland, from their families, to die and rot here in this dingy graveyard.
They had all died for a reason that wasn't their own.
The green of the hills was only interrupted by one brown spot; there was one mold that no grass had grown on yet because it had been made only this day.
The First Knight of the feared Samartian Knights sat opposite this grave, his gaze fixed on the sword that was stuck in the earth. He knew the sword very well, it had even been him who pushed it into the ground just above the new tomb, but still his eyes didn't seem to see anything at all.
In his thoughts the black-haired knight could see the person that now lay unmoving underneath this one brown disrupting hill.
Kay. His friend, his mentor, the one person that had been able to keep his temper in check, who told him to stop acting like a brat, the man that had been with him when he had killed his first enemy and the one whom he owed his life more times than he could count. Kay hadn't judged him at first sight, no he had instantly seen through his façade of self-assuredness and cockiness. Now he wasn't there anymore, he was killed like so many others. Such a strong man killed by only one well-placed arrow.
Lancelot was interrupted in his musings when he heard someone approaching him and the place he had chosen to retreat from the others. Arthur, Tristan, Percival, Galahad, Gawain and all the others were at this moment, although also mourning and honouring the warriors killed on their last mission, still also celebrating their own survival. And this was about the last thing he could take right now.
He turned his head and wasn't surprise to see Arthur climb up to him. After Kay, Arthur had been Lancelot's second real friend that wasn't impressed by Lancelot's show of stubbornness and confidence but saw his real qualities and made him Second in Command. Lancelot still didn't really understand why. He was a great fighter, he knew that, but in his opinion he completely lacked the calmness and knowledge about diplomacy Arthur possessed. But after all, it was Arthur's decision, Lancelot decided, as his commander sat down beside him.
They sat in silence both deep in thought, both lost in their own minds. Lancelot felt his grief lessen. Arthur had always known when to stay silent. From the very start, he had been the only one that understood the complex and walking contradiction that Lancelot DuLac really was. They sat there till the night started to get really cold and the Samartian could feel that he was starting to shiver.
"Come on Lance, let's go", Arthur suddenly broke the silence with those softly spoken words.
Lancelot nodded and they both rose in unison.
Commander and Knight. Warriors. Comrades. Brothers.
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