Author: Ashley
Title: Harbingers
Rated: PG13 for language.
Disclaimer: movie versions.
Summary: Pre movie. A sick Lancelot muses, and Arthur comforts. Unabashed fluff. blushes
Pairing: A/L
Enjoy.
Watching a few lone birds peck futilely at the ice coating practically everything in the courtyard of the garrison, Lancelot suddenly felt he understood the real meaning of the word hopeless.
Another explosive sneeze caught him off guard, and he dragged a hand across his dripping nose, sniffling miserably.
"Gods blasted stupid fucking Romans and their damn diseases."
The haughty senator and his family that had come through the fortress the previous week had all been ill. Lancelot hadn't thought anything of it, until the morning he woke up with a high fever, running nose, and aching loins from his cordial 'visit' with the senator's daughter.
Arthur had laughed in his face and said he deserved it. Lovely friend, that man. Why Lancelot bothered caring about Arthur's opinion was beyond him.
It was well past the christian midwinter festival, and spring should have arrived. Lancelot glared at the dour sky, and cursed it with all his might.
"It's spring. Please, oh great god Apollo, or whomever is up there listening. Let's have some bloody LIGHT!"
No such luck.
The dark haired knight sighed, and dropped his forehead to rest on the cool glass panes of his window.
The damnable birds kept on hunting for food.
"Give it up, gentlemen. Naught out there but snow, ice, and oh yes, more snow."
He thanked his lucky stars he wasn't out on patrol with the others. Arthur had taken one look at his tremoring, feverish body out in the stables when Lancelot had shown up for the daily planning session, and had promptly sent him back to bed.
Too weak to argue, Lancelot had gone.
"Wahchooooo!"
Snot dripped down the windowpane.
"Fuck."
Lancelot wiped the stuff away, and shuffled back to bed, where it was warm and comfortable and he didn't have to watch stupid birds search pointlessly for sustenance, and wonder just how the others were doing without him.
The last time Arthur had taken knights out on patrol without him, their commander had suffered a huge knock to the head by a stray axe handle thrown too hard by Bors.
"Trust no one to watch his back," Lancelot muttered to himself as he crawled under the covers, his aching head and sore body groaning when he finally relaxed.
"Stupid Arthur. Can't get along without me."
Normally it took him a while to wind down from the days' activities; today, however, as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.
Lancelot jerked awake sometime later, confused and still feverish.
The fire was crackling merrily in the grate, the smell of hot soup wafted to his jammed up nostrils, and he realized that the sound that had woken him was the crinkling of pages turning.
"Wha?" he asked muzzily.
"Conversational," came the response.
"Arthur?"
"Yes," the older man answered, and put the pages he had been reading through to the side. Lancelot more sensed than saw Arthur come to the bedside, felt the bed dip when the other man sat.
"What- how long have I been asleep?" Lancelot struggled to sit up, and Arthur reached out a strong, calloused hand, and gripped his forearm to help him. Lancelot leant against the headboard finally, sweating a little. Gods blast that damn girl for giving him this disease.
"Not sure. But we've been back for a few hours, now."
Lancelot squinted, and frowned at the bruise that was newly purpling Arthur's left eye.
"Damn it, Arthur, who did that to you?"
Arthur's hand shot up to his face, and he sighed. "I should have known you'd see it."
Lancelot coughed, spitting out a huge wad of phlegm, and crossed his arms. "Well?"
"There were a handful of random resistance fighters in a village a few leagues from here. We took care of it quickly."
Lancelot hmmphed. "I see. Glad someone looked out for you."
Arthur laughed, and shook his head. "Are you angry that I got hurt, or angry that you weren't there to make fun of me when it happened?"
"Arthur," Lancelot adomished, head throbbing with the effort thinking was taking, "I never make fun of you."
"To my face."
"To your face. Yes. Alright, good point."
Arthur smiled, and changed the subject quickly. Lancelot didn't forget about the shiner, however; he would have words with the other men when he saw them later.
"Would you care to eat? You probably should."
Lancelot made a face, and drew the covers up to his chin.
"Too tired," he whined petulantly. Arthur rolled his eyes, and retrieved the small tureen of soup he had brought with him.
"It's beef," was all he said. Lancelot's face lit up, and he dropped the covers.
"Real beef? Fresh beef? Not dried?"
"Came in today. As fresh as you're going to see any time soon."
"Oh, gods, hand it over."
He reached his hands out, and took the warm pot Arthur offered him.
Lancelot ladled a spoonful into his mouth, and a blissed out expression crossed his face.
"Get Vanora in here now, so I can kiss her."
Arthur snorted, and waited as his friend finished off most of the bowl.
Handing it back, Lancelot sighed happily, and sank into the bed, yanking the blankets back up.
"Ah. If I was promised that as a reward, I would be sick every day."
"That good, hm?"
Lancelot grinned, his eyes slipping closed.
Arthur stood, and made his way to the small table in Lancelot's room, and doused the one oil lamp that was lit there.
"Arthur? Are you leaving?"
Arthur stopped, and turned back to the bed.
"You need to rest. I need you well – there's actions coming up I'll need your help with."
Lancelot nodded, but as Arthur moved to leave again, he coughed piteously. Arthur's shoulders rose another inch, and sighing gently, he moved back to the other man's side.
"Stay? Please – for a little while anyway? There's nothing for me to do but cough and stare out the window at the damn stupid birds."
Arthur walked to the window and gazed out on the torch lit courtyard. He cocked his head, then a soft noise of exclamation left his mouth.
"What?" Lancelot said, craning his neck to try and see what Arthur was seeing.
"Those 'stupid birds' as you put it are robins. They are a harbinger of spring. Very hardy and resilient little animals. I've seen them last through things that would kill larger, supposedly stronger species."
He turned and made his way back to the bed. He shucked off his boots, and clad as he was in his tunic and pants, lay next to Lancelot on his side.
"If you get me sick, you'll be sorry."
"Well, just don't share bodily fluids with me, and you'll be fine," Lancelot groused. "Not like that's going to happen in my state."
Arthur barked out a laugh, and touched Lancelot's jaw lightly, running one finger along it's stubbled surface. He jerked it back when the other man sneezed again.
"You would be correct, friend."
Lancelot made his best attempt at a 'pity me' expression, but dropped it when Arthur raised one eyebrow.
"Later," Arthur promised in a quiet voice. One corner of Lancelot's mouth curled, but the pretty image was ruined when he hacked up more fluid.
"Ugh," was all Arthur said, and rolled to his back. "Go to sleep, Lancelot. I'll be here."
The knight shut his eyes, and tried to do as he was bidden.
The last thing he thought of was the silly little red breasted birds, endlessly pecking away at nothing, and the last thing he felt was Arthur's hand on his chest, comforting and soothing away some of the tightness.
"Can't do without me," he mumbled smugly as slumber crashed over him.
"Indeed," Arthur answered softly, smiling at his friend and lover in the dark.
end.