Lost and Found

Songfic to Kasey Chamber's Lost and Found

Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue.

If I could learn how to fly
My feet would never touch the ground
I'd never have to say goodbye
I wouldn't have to make a sound
I could throw away this heart
Leave it in the lost and found
If I could fly I'd never come down

Pale ale overflowing out of rough clay mugs, Lancelot laughing, taunting Bors, Galahad and Gawain single-mindedly drinking themselves under the table, Tristan practicing knife throwing, a little apart from the others.

Arthur lent his weight against the doorjamb, trying to shake off his fatigue. His eyes roamed over his knights, he thought of them more as his charges, each was reacting typically after a hard day's riding through dangerous territory.

Dagonet was staring dead ahead and sipping his ale mechanically. Arthur knew he was only sitting it out, waiting the required time before he could slip away. The two Gs only wanted to get as drunk as possible as fast as possible, so they could forget they had to do all this again tomorrow. Lancelot was covering extreme exhaustion and anxiety by being twice as loud as normal, and Tristan was...Tristan.

Arthur pulled a hand across his eyes.

Sometime tomorrow they would enter Saxon territory, and by nightfall would be camped god knows where, keeping as quite as possible, listening for any sound of the Saxon's marching-drums.

Lancelot, glancing towards the doorway, saw Arthur silhouetted there, watching them. Their eyes locked for a moment, then Lancelot deliberately turned away and started talking to Gawain.

Arthur felt his mouth twist in a grimace. Lance didn't believe in this mission. He thought Rome was once again attempting to send them to their deaths.

There was a scraping of boots on the pitted stone floor as Dagonet rose. The knights tried to press him to stay for just one more round of drinks, but he refused, saying they were starting early tomorrow and he must go and prepare. He passed Arthur in the doorway, greeting him with a nod.

Dagonet had never questioned his leadership. Wherever Arthur went, he would follow.

He went out after him, catching him halfway to the village's tiny stables with a hand on his shoulder.

'Dag...'

Dagonet turned to face him.

'Yes, Arthur?' he said expressionlessly.

Arthur hesitated. Gazing into Dagonet's face, though it contained not the slightest trace of accusation, he felt that twisting, gut-wrenching guilt afresh.

The guilt of command, he thought wryly.

He was carrying out orders, orders that had come to him from the church and from Rome.

He was doing his duty by everything he believed in.

Yet here he was, faced with a man to which neither the church nor Rome meant anything, and yet who was still expected to sacrifice his life, if necessary, for a cause not his own.

Dagonet was regarding him calmly, waiting for him to speak.

After a moment Arthur said, 'We will be entering Ygraine's territory tomorrow, as you know. You must have your wits about you and today was a hard ride. Be sure to get as much sleep as you can."

'Of course, Arthur.' Dag's voice remained expressionless, but there was a flicker of amusement in his blue eyes.

Dammit, I sound like a mother hen.

Arthur nodded curtly, and Dag turned away to the stables.

Arthur stood alone in the empty lane, listening to muffled voices and laughter from the village drinking-house, a wave of supreme weariness and faint despair breaking over him.

God had seen fit to trust him with so many young lives, and so many times he had proven himself unworthy of that trust.

In those darkest hours of the night, when those whose fate had been placed in his hands lay sleeping, he would lie awake and doubt.

Doubt. Like a blood clot to the heart.

If I could sail across the sea
I would head towards the sun
I would never have to be
Anything to anyone
I could chase your memory
And then I'd never have to run
If I could sail away I'd never come home

Tristan was lounging in the doorway, in the spot Arthur had vacated. He was skinning an apple and gazing out at the stars.

Arthur took a deep breath of the cold, clean night air. Late November. Early snows and Orion. The pale fires of the Milky Way.

Tristan greeted him with a small smile and offered him a slice of apple.

Arthur stepped up beside him, and together they observed the night.

'Till rising and gliding out, I wandered off by myself, in the mystical moist night air, and from time to time, looked up in perfect silence at the stars.'

Arthur looked over at him in surprise. Tristan, seeming to have exhausted his store of words, said nothing.

Arthur squared his shoulders and went back inside the drinking-house. As he had expected, Galahad and Gawain had vanished, along with the two pretty village girls who had been drinking with them, while Lancelot was still at the table.

He was silent now, saying nothing to anyone, and he was drinking heavily. Arthur crossed the room quietly and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. Lance slowly dragged his gaze up from the tabletop to blink at Arthur. He seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes.

'Well well,' he managed finally. 'Our fearless leader.'

Arthur felt his temper rising. When Lance drank himself into a stupor back at their post Arthur said nothing. But he had no business doing it midway through a dangerous assignment, when the lives of his fellow knights could be in his hands at some point tomorrow.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he grabbed Lancelot by the collar of his leather jerkin and pulled him to his feet. Lancelot stumbled and fell heavily against him, unable to keep his balance. Arthur put one of his arms around his neck and, supporting him under the other arm, led him outside.

Tristan, who had been watching from the doorway, stepped out of the way but made no move to help Arthur.

'Hey, Triss,' Lance muttered, 'call him off would you?'

Arthur saw the flash of very white teeth as he smiled, but said nothing.

Lance, who had been almost asleep in the saddle when they'd arrived at the village, and now feeling the effects of the alcohol he had drunk, was almost a dead weight in Arthur's arms. He all but carried him to the stables they would be sharing with the horses that night.

They passed Dagonet, packing and repacking his saddlebags, and made their way to the back of the stable and to one of the larger loose boxes they had been allocated as sleeping quarters.

Arthur laid Lance carefully back in the straw, all his frustration at the younger man having dissipated, and, unbuckling the catch of his thick, fur-lined cloak, threw it over him. Lance was struggling to stay awake, but finally his eyes dropped shut and he sighed softly.

Arthur took a long shuddering breath and, for the first time that night, allowed himself to feel the full force of his own exhaustion. Kicking off his boots, he flung himself down next to Lancelot.

Lance, almost comatose by now, turned unconsciously in to him, seeking his body warmth, and Arthur drew him up into his arms, smelling leather and musk and a scent all individual to Lance.


If I could fall into your arms
Promise never to let go
Would you keep me save from harm
And take me everywhere you go
We could throw away the past
And then you'd never have to know
If I could hold your heart I'd never let go