"Tell me again, Lancelot. Give me names and descriptions for each of Arthur's most trusted knights."
His brow furrowed in concentration. "Gwaine... dark hair, a bit impulsive, likes to go to the tavern a lot. Elyan... he's Gwen's brother, a quiet man with dark skin. Percival... he's the only noble knight and has been with Arthur the longest, and..."
"No, Lancelot!"
He felt a rush of disappointment as his mistress shot him an angry glare. "Forgive me, my lady. That is Leon I speak of. Percival is the knight I brought to Camelot with me when I returned from my long exile."
Morgana's face softened. "Yes, that's better. You almost have it now. Let's go over everything again."
For the next couple of hours, Lancelot woodenly recited names and locations, bits of history and random personality quirks, all the details he'd known by heart in his previous life. He'd long since passed the point of exhaustion; it was all he could do just to keep his eyes open by the time Morgana finally seemed satisfied.
"Get yourself some food and lie down for a while. You'll need your strength in the days to come."
As Lancelot hungrily devoured two bowls of thick, hot stew, he wondered if he'd enjoyed eating so much during his previous life. He was overcome with a hollow sense of loss every time he rediscovered one of these little luxuries – the rich flavor of meat upon his tongue, the softness of the blanket he instinctively pulled over himself as he crawled into bed.
Despite Morgana's numerous explanations as to why he'd chosen to sacrifice himself, it just didn't make sense that he'd willingly leave such pleasant things behind.
That feeling assaulted him even more strongly when he awoke a few hours later to find Morgana lying next to him, completely naked beneath the covers. She didn't instruct him this time, only moaned in encouragement as he pleasured her with his hands and mouth again, then roughly jerked her up on hands and knees to drive into her from behind as he'd done the day before. That was how he liked it best; it was much easier to grasp at the faint flickers of a different and somehow more appealing face when he didn't have to open his eyes to the sight of Morgana's features as he strained for release.
He collapsed on his back as soon as he'd spent himself, eyelids drooping as he relished the sensation of cool air drifting over his sweat drenched body. He was only dimly aware of Morgana as she rose and dressed, though he snapped to attention when she spoke.
"As much as I enjoy being taken that way, you might endeavor to be a little more gentle when you lie with Gwen. More romantic, yes? I don't imagine the noble Sir Lancelot would choose to pleasure the woman he loved as if he were a dog mounting a bitch in heat."
"Of course, my lady. As you command."
Morgana nodded. "Now get dressed. Agravaine will be arriving shortly, and it won't do to make him aware of your... carnal services to me. He does my bidding well enough, but he has an unfortunate jealous streak I'd rather not deal with at the moment."
"Yes, my lady."
He pulled on his clothing, then faced Morgana expectantly as he awaited his next command. Instead of giving him another order, however, she only studied him with a curiously soft expression on her face. "Lancelot," she murmured half to herself. "Really, it's such a waste what happened to you. So strong... so handsome and eager to please. It isn't only the thrall you're under now either. You were that way in life; yes, you would've done anything for those you loved, something you proved time and again. They didn't deserve your loyalty... and while I'm sure you'll never fully realize it, this is your revenge as much as mine."
Not knowing what to say, he simply nodded in agreement. Her words filled him with some strange emotion he couldn't name; it was the same way he'd felt the previous day when she'd talked about his nobility, his bravery and sense of honor. It took a moment to figure out what he was feeling, before he finally realized what it was. He liked it.
Yes, he wanted to be someone exceptional who was deserving of such praise. It seemed right somehow, though whether that was some faint recollection of enjoying that privilege in his previous life, or simply the fact that being brave and good seemed like the right thing to do, he didn't know. Maybe it didn't matter; after all, it was his duty to serve his mistress, not his own desire.
"Gwen should've chosen you. I truly believe she would've been happier, and maybe we could've still..." she trailed off and her face hardened. "Well, there's no use dwelling on it. It's in her nature to betray the people she loves, it seems. All we can do now is try and set things right."
"As you command, my lady."
Morgana nodded. "Go ahead and rest a little more. We'll go over everything a final time before you set forth for Camelot this evening."
"Come, Lancelot, and be quiet about it. We mustn't risk discovery before the moment is right."
He obediently followed the man named Agravaine, finding it surprisingly easy to slip through the darkened passageways without making a sound. He wondered idly if this had been another one of his talents – the ability to move on swift, silent feet when it was necessary to do so. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he'd been a man possessed of many unusual skills in his previous life.
"You know what to do?" Agravaine said abruptly when they reached an alcove hidden deep within the bowels of the castle. "Repeat it to me."
"I am to rise and sneak out of here just before sunrise and report to the tournament grounds. I am to enter the tent you pointed out to me on our way here and don the armor that has been left for me. And then I am to wait until I hear the signal and ride out to take my turn with the lance."
"This should prove entertaining. Do you even know what a lance is anymore, much less how to handle one?"
Agravaine smirked at him as he spoke, and Lancelot was surprised to feel the faint stirrings of an emotion it took him a moment to identify as annoyance. He immediately chided himself for the reaction, reminding himself that as long as Morgana insisted upon it, Agravaine must be obeyed without question.
Still, he couldn't help wishing he were directly under her command again; Morgana might be harsh at times, but she also seemed to trust in his capabilities in ways that Agravaine did not.
Why that should matter, Lancelot didn't know... but it did.
The armor was a strangely heavy weight on his shoulders, the long wooden shaft foreign as he gripped it in one hand. Lancelot waited anxiously throughout the morning, feeling a little ill when the fanfare sounded to indicate that it was time to take the field. What if he failed to fulfill the command he'd been given? What if he exposed himself as a fraud, bringing shame or even danger upon his mistress?
But when he mounted the horse, his horse in his previous life according to what he'd been told, a fragment of memory flickered in his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment and recalled a different lance held tightly in one fist on a foggy night, his mount gathering strength beneath him, a brilliant flash of blue as he charged forward to face... he couldn't remember anything else, but that same feeling of urgency overpowered his senses as he raced across the sunny field.
And then it came to him as naturally as breathing as he narrowed his eyes and focused on his target, his lance sliding effortlessly through the tiny wreath of flowers.
The crowd erupted into wild cheers, distracting him for a moment as he basked in the unexpected approval. It took a bit of effort to remember what he was supposed to do next... greet the king? No, no... he was expected to ride over to the woman seated next to Agravaine and present her with the flowers as a token of his respect.
She was little more than a blur of lavender fabric, until he drew closer and slowly removed his helmet. But as soon as he did, he knew her at first glance... not because he'd been given her description, nor due to the fact that he'd been carefully instructed on exactly where to find her when the time came.
He knew her.
A rush of emotion knocked the breath right out of him, feelings so intense they were almost frightening. That face... those were the features which had been hovering around the edges of his blank mind ever since he'd returned to life, hazy and faint as his subconscious had struggled to form them into something substantial. Gwen... yes, he knew those eyes, that skin, that body... there wasn't a single solid memory in his head to confirm this, but he knew.
Whispers of a voice he couldn't recall ever hearing danced in and out of his swirling thoughts, and Lancelot felt that it was hers. What was she saying? The words were too soft to hear, only the faintest echo of past memories he desperately wanted to understand. He continued to gaze up at her with the hope that remaining in her presence would soothe his confusion, somehow providing the answers to questions he had no idea how to ask.
But then Morgana intruded upon his bewildered musings, demanding that he go and find the king in order to explain his sudden reappearance.
When he instantly turned and rode off to fulfill the command, Lancelot felt a sharp stab of resentment for the mistress who had the power to steal him away in the middle of such an intriguing moment. It was no more than the briefest flash of anger, gone before he could even acknowledge it properly, but it was enough to leave him with that same feeling of loss he was gradually beginning to despise.
And as his eyes passed over the gathered crowd while he sought out the king, people that were full of life and laughter and free to come and go as they pleased, he remembered another unpleasant emotion he'd long since forgotten.
Envy.