Safe in his Arms
-by F and F
Disclaimer: Don't own basically anything in this story.
Author's Note: This is my first fan fic, so please review and be nice...
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The look in his eyes tells me I have guessed right. Damn Arthur and all his foolishness! Always doing the "honorable" thing. Is it too much to ask that he stay home with me? I am tired of the constant fighting; I told him so when he brought me news of this latest war. I told him I wouldn't fight alongside him any longer. I hoped he would stop this before he got himself killed. It seems that no matter what I say, Arthur always ignores me. I'm tired of worrying if he'll get out alive. Even when I fought at his side, I worried that he would be killed. I suppose this is what "love" is, worrying more for your partner than for yourself. I constantly have to remind myself that if not for Arthur, and his knights, Lucan and I would have died in that gods' forsaken hell-hole the fanatical "Christians" called their shrine. If not for that slight technicality, I most likely would have left Arthur long ago, not because of love loss, but more for peace of mind….When I think this way, I curse myself for a fool. Of course I could never attain peace of mind, for worrying about one's partner more than oneself is what love is, as I already said, and if I truly loved Arthur, then I would worry about him no matter where I was.
Arthur is prattling on about his "duty" as king to lead the people to war. Apparently the Saxons had not appreciated the slaughter of all the troops they had sent to conquer Britain, so they are sending more. I shake my head. "Arthur, this is not necessary. Put your trust in some men, men of honor, let them lead the army, not you." Arthur smiles a weary and resigned smile. "I am not a true king if I am too afraid to go to war." He sits down in one of his wooden chairs, looking extremely tired. "Lancelot was right, there always will be a battlefield," he says, massaging his forehead with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. As usual, the mention of Lancelot brings a pang of…what? Pain? Regret? I am not sure what, but regardless, it makes me unhappy. I do not let Arthur see this, though. Instead, I say to him, "Arthur, let's save this talk for tomorrow. It's already late. Let's just go to bed." He sighs, a heavy, mournful sigh. I wonder if he is thinking about Lancelot, Tristan and Dagonet. He often grows thoughtful, in a sad way, if any of those three are mentioned. He believes he failed them, that they were never meant to leave this world. He believes that he was never meant to see them die, they were never meant to die before returning to their homeland. I often find Arthur sitting alone in the stables, looking fatigued, simply remembering. Most times, I don't wish to disturb him, so I leave without making my presence known.
I am caged. The stench of death and decay surrounds me. I can almost feel myself starving to death. The only sounds are the incantations of a Christian, "saving" us pagans. I am dying. I know I am. Suddenly, I hear a great banging coming from the door. The incantations stop. I am too weary to even open my eyes to see what in the world could have gotten the infernal preaching to cease. I hear the "priest" saying, "Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" in his annoying voice. My interest is piqued, but I still don't open my eyes. I hear voices shouting at him, deep voices, voices I've never heard before. There is the clash of steel on steel, and I slit my eyes open just the slightest bit. For some reason, this place seems brighter than usual, colder than usual. I hear many different voices exclaiming, "This one's dead" and "Dead", then I hear a man's voice cry out, "Arthur!" and then some murmuring. I hear people walking towards my cage, and open my eyes further. I turn my head so I can see out the bars, and I see two men, in leather. Lancelot and Arthur. Suddenly, I see Lancelot being struck down by a crossbow bolt, I feel as if the bolt were in me. He sinks to his knees, and my mind cries out for me to rescue him. I hurry towards him, he who saved my life, beating aside any foe that stands in my way. I barely see Lancelot throw one of his swords straight into Cynric's gut. My mind rejoices at the victory, but then I see Lancelot fall, lay still. My heart cries and I feel the heat of the fire that is consuming Lancelot. I smell his flesh burning.
I awake, feeling nauseous. I hear Arthur's steady breathing at my back and I roll over. This rouses him slightly, and he murmurs something before putting his arm around me. I snuggle into his chest. He is my savior. I feel safe here. I love him.