Author's note:
Set Pre movie, no spoilers.
Rated PG for some drunken knight behavior. ;)
In answer to the Ten Words challenge.
Enjoy!
"Salvation is just a drink away," Gawain said, and the men riding behind him laughed.
"Truer words were never spoken, my boy," Bors crowed, and slid off his horse quickly. "Truthfully, lads, I don't know if I could take another step. Riding for days does not put my arse in the best of moods."
"Hrm, Bors. I don't know that I would care to question what would put your arse in the best of moods," Lancelot mused, and the other knights all dismounted around him, guffawing at his lame attempt at humor. Bors just made a lewd gesture, and let Jols lead his animal away.
"Jealous, Lancelot? Do you doubt the rigor of my body?"
"Not in the least, my friend. To be honest, I don't think I have the brain power to come up with the numerous things you have used to prove that statement. A series of trials…a list of contests…an evening of contemplation that left Vanora alone, and well, wanting…"
"You'd best shut it, me boyo, or I will be using number thirteen in that list to shut it for you."
Gawain and Galahad exchanged amused glances, their eyebrows both raised to their hairlines.
"Puberty never did abandon either one of them, did it?" Gawain said. Galahad just shook his head.
The various squires attached to the fortress lead the rest of the horses away, and the knights entered the commons, laughing and speaking stridently of their latest adventure. Only Arthur was silent, as was his normal wont. He was happy to let his men decompress and relax, happy to absorb their joy and revel in it.
"Arthur," Lancelot nudged his friend, "Are you happy to be back?"
The commander looked at his best friend, and smiled generously at him.
"My friend, I would sooner be looking at Bors' backside for the rest of eternity than to be here for one more day," he quipped, and Lancelot snorted. "But, such as it is, it is home for now, and I am happy to be anywhere that isn't a bed on the road."
"I agree, I agree. And I hear that Vanora, who never ceases to amaze me with her tolerance for that brute," he said, pointing toward the red headed woman who was currently engaged in a deep kiss with Bors, "has come up with yet another confectionary concoction that should knock us upon our asses once again. She should not be allowed anywhere near alcohol and a kitchen. The woman has the devil's own talent when it comes to cooking, I swear it."
Arthur laughed, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "She is a bonny maid, and a truly devoted woman," he commented, and held up his hand when Lancelot's face registered shock. "Alright, perhaps 'maid' was not the correct word…"
The two men smirked at each other, and sat on the last bench available, as the fortress came alive around them. Tavern wenches entered the fray, carrying trays laden with tankards of ale and meaty pies that set Lancelot's stomach to growling. The other knights, except perhaps for Dagonet, who was never one for much socializing, grabbed food, or a passing woman, and dug in to both.
Dagonet sat quietly, eating slowly and observing all the energy that swirled around him. Arthur loved this knight almost best of all, for he was the one who needed it the most. He was neither overbearing, nor humble, but he was loyal and uncomplicated, and in the end, the most like the men from Rome that Arthur admired primarily. He was determined to understand Dagonet one day.
As the night passed, the men from Sarmatia and the Roman/Briton commander ate, talked, laughed, and passed a fair and pleasing evening together.
One by one they slipped off, some alone, some with companions, until only Arthur and Lancelot were left.
They sat in comfortable silence, Lancelot sipping his ale, Arthur looking upwards, the light of the half full moon making his eyes glow like otherworldly things.
"This will not last, you know," Lancelot commented quietly at last.
Arthur nodded.
"Let them have it then, while it does," he answered.
Lancelot did not reply, but merely continued to drink.
After a few moments of silence, the younger man stood, stretching.
"I'm going to water the trees, then turn in," he told Arthur, who stood with him.
"I as well, shortly," the commander replied.
As Lancelot turned to go, Arthur grabbed him by the arm. The knight turned back, an unanswered question on his face.
"You know what you mean to me, don't you?" he asked Lancelot.
Not prepared for this question, Lancelot gaped slightly at his friend, and continued to wait.
"It won't last. We will all die, be it on the next assignment or ten years from now… I want you to know I see what you sacrifice for me, and it will not be forgotten. You who know me best of all, Lancelot."
A grief passed through Lancelot's brown eyes briefly, but he shrugged it off. He gripped Arthur by the forearm, and touched his forehead to the other man's.
"Hile, Arthur Castus," he whispered, and smiled quickly…then he was gone.
"Hile, Lancelot, my brother," Arthur whispered to the night air and the retreating knight.
He stared at the moon only a few minutes more, then made his way to his own quarters, and the few hours of peace he could find there.
Fin.