Now we are home
Another huge thanks to my readers and reviewers. I hope you continue to enjoy this story. Please review, it always makes me insanely happy!
Also, someone asked about my nationality and whether I'm a native English speaker. The answer is I am German and yes, English is a foreign tongue for me. So please look kindly upon any mistakes I might make. :)
Chapter Ten
Marian's hands flew to the front of Lancelot's tunic, grabbing onto the black fabric for purchase. His arms went around her as he pulled her slight body against his, deepening the kiss when her lips parted beneath his.
She kept expecting her heart to just stutter to a stop, or for something to wake her from this dream she had surely stumbled into. Yet her heart kept beating, even as she slipped one of her hands up his neck and into the unruly curls and yes, they were as soft as she remembered.
The kiss was perfection, immeasurably sweeter than their first, and when Lancelot eventually pulled back, neither of them felt inclined to let go of the other just yet. For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Their faces were half hidden in shadow, the darkness just barely kept at bay by a few distant torches and the stars in the sky.
Finally, the knight drew a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Marian was faster, gently putting her fingers on his lips and stopping him.
"Right now, you could knock me down with a feather," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "and I think an unkind word might kill me. So unless you wish to kiss me again, sir, have mercy and only speak to me tomorrow."
She felt his mouth curl into a smile beneath her fingers and he put his hand over hers, kissed her fingertips and nodded slightly. Then he cupped her face in his hands, kissed her once more, the softest brush of his lips on hers, turned and walked away. She watched him go, carelessly graceful as always, every movement testament to the fact that he was a warrior, the deadliest blade in Britain. And yet that man had kissed her not a moment ago, had touched her ever so gently and held her in strong arms, cords of muscle tangible beneath the cloth of his tunic.
Still, it had been this same man that made her miserable for the past months, who had kissed her without even being sure of her name, only to reject her a moment later, who had claimed to regret that kiss, only to kiss her once more, that same man who had a reputation for taking his pleasure from women with little regard to matters of the heart, yet the way he had looked at her earlier...
And then there was no discounting the fact that those hands that had touched her so gently were hard and calloused from wielding his deadly swords for most of his life. He was a warrior, first, foremost and always, and whenever she felt his hands on her skin -if indeed she ever would again-, she would have to live with knowing that he had blood upon those hands, and lots of it.
Suddenly, Marian found herself in front of her bed, unsure how she had even gotten inside the house, much less up the stairs. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she collapsed onto the bed and cried her confusion into the blankets until her eyes were dry and she could cry no more. Then, happiness and misery still at war within her, she fell into an uneasy sleep.
OooOooO
When Lancelot got to the hall with the round table, the conference was already in progress, yet he had not missed much. Tristan was recounting to Cei and his companions what he had told them earlier. King Arthur frowned a little disapprovingly anyway, yet he made no further mention of Lancelot's tardiness as the First Knight took a seat to his right.
"I expected something like this to happen," Bedwyr said, once Tristan had finished. The one-handed warrior had a slow, deliberate way of speaking. With the stump of his shield hand, he pushed the long strands of hair back over his shoulders, where they had escaped the messy braid he kept it in. It had the color of wheat before the harvest.
"So have I," Arthur agreed with him. "The individual lords sense a vacancy of power in Britain, so they seek to claim power for themselves."
Cei waved his hand carelessly. "We will show them how very wrong they are, your grace. How long do we have?"
"Precisely?" Tristan shrugged. "I have no idea. After all, we only found out today. But there's not much time."
Lancelot observed the faces of all the men gathered. Every one of them seemed attentive and eager, Bors most of all, perhaps. Taliesin looked thoughtful, but he nodded readily when Cei once more assured his king that they would fight for him, come hell or high water.
King Arthur accepted this with a dignified nod.
"Tomorrow, then, we'll have you swear the Threefold Oath of allegiance. All else may rest until then, for the day is done and the war will still be coming tomorrow."
He looked around, seeing the nods of acceptance, and rose to his feet.
"One more thing," Taliesin remarked, getting up himself, "if I may, your grace. Allow me to be on hand tomorrow when you receive the rebels' emissaries, or indeed, don't receive them in the hall at all. Keep them out in the courtyard. By the way they comport themselves, one can learn a lot about how sure their lords are of themselves. It might give us a little insight."
Arthur looked at him and raised an eyebrow appreciatively.
"Skilled in the arts of rhetoric and sophistry, are you?"
The bard smiled, bowed a little and said, "Well, your grace... I do not just sing pretty songs."
OooOooO
Night had settled onto Britain with velvety blackness. Most of Camelot was asleep, with only a few illuminated windows twinkling like wakeful eyes in the darkness.
Lancelot and Arthur had climbed the stairs to the easternmost watchtower together, their cloaks slung tightly around their bodies to ward off the cold. Together, they looked out across what little plain there was to see. Yet despite the darkness, the vastness of what lay before them was tangible.
"An eventful day," the king finally remarked, and his First Knight nodded emphatically.
"Indeed." He drew a deep, almost shuddering breath, and watched as a billowing cloud of white vapor rose up on the exhale. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Arthur, as the king stared into the distance, his expressive eyes mirroring the turmoil within his soul.
"Lancelot," he began after a drawn-out pause, the name riding on a sigh, "may I tell you something? As your friend, not as your king."
The knight nodded lightly and rubbed his hands together for warmth.
"No need to even ask that, old friend. What is it?"
He could see Arthur contemplating the best way to word what he was about to say and braced himself for whatever news his friend and king might have to impart, but when it came, it was still as unexpected as a bolt of lightning out of clear blue sky.
"We spoke about marriage a while ago, do you recall? Have you given the matter any more thought?"
Lancelot blinked twice and then, treating the matter as a joke, smiled rakishly.
"Why, Arthur, I had no idea... and here I thought you already had a wife."
Again they both laughed, the spirit of their old camaraderie returning, despite the now larger difference in standing, but the king sobered up quickly.
"I'm being serious... or at least, I am trying," he said, prompting Lancelot to adopt a more solemn attitude as well. "I have spoken with Guinevere about you."
The words hung in the air for a moment, the implications of them almost as visible as the two men's breaths.
"Have you, now..." the dark knight muttered, a bitter half-smile on his lips. The image of his queen unclothed and washing rose once more unbidden towards the forefront of his mind and he shook his head, as if to cast the thoughts aside.
"Yes, I have," the king went on, pretending not to notice his warrior's discomfort, "and we agreed on something. You know that Guinevere and I have no children yet, and until we have an heir, any kingdom we might build is as fragile as my own life, and in times of war, that it quite fragile, indeed. With war now coming, I want there to be a successor to my crown if I should fall."
Lancelot had listened silently, nodding slightly after Arthur was finished and looked at him, expecting him to go on. When the king simply looked at him meaningfully, the full implication of his words hit him like a punch in the gut.
"Me?" he cried out in a startled a gasp, "Are you insane? What do I care about this land? How could I... no, never! Forget it!"
"Personally, I'd prefer not dying yet and one day leaving Britain's crown to my son, too," Arthur said dryly, his green eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter at Lancelot's indignation, although his voice did not let on in the slightest that he was being anything but serious. "But in the event that we are not that lucky, I want to know whether I can rely on my First Knight... and best friend."
"You're not being fair!"
"No, probably not. But I'm afraid I need to put this question to you, fair or not. If you should have a son before I do, I could name him my heir until I have one of my own, but that would indeed require you to marry," he explained calmly, ignoring the fact that the knight beside him had started pacing around the watchtower like an animal in its cage.
"Arthur, I care nothing for this island!" he said forcefully, throwing up his hands in a helpless gesture. "I would have left it months ago if you had not decided to stay! What do I care what happens to those Britons if they are too foolish to look after themselves! And besides, I am no leader of men as you are... I could never be king. If you died today, Britain would be in chaos tomorrow!"
"Nothing of that is true," Arthur retorted calmly, "you care, I saw it earlier. When it was Rome's rule you were under, perhaps you did not, but you cannot tell me that you would leave Britain and everything I fought and perhaps died for to crumble into ruin. And as king you would be as different from me as day from night, true, but you would still be a good king. Besides, if God is merciful, it will not come to that. If He is kind, we will both live to see our sons grow tall, best friends, as we were. And if you should have sons and I should not, we will see them raised to be leaders of men, grander than any of their forefathers, yours or mine!"
The king smiled at his friend, his eyes aglow with the fire of his vision, his dream. It was intoxicating and truly, Lancelot could not claim that he was immune to the power of that vision.
"Surely you are not expecting me to answer right this moment," he finally exclaimed.
Arthur hesitated, then he shook his head.
"No, of course not. Sleep on it. I won't command you to do anything you'd rather not do, Lancelot, but... I would feel better knowing that there was someone to take my place. Someone I trust implicitly."
OooOooO
Eadwig had taken his wife to Camelot early in the morning, escorted her to her father's door, kissed her forehead and left. The previous day's fine weather looked set to continue, the mist of the gray dawn slowly giving way to the clear blue sky of a spring morning.
Not befitting it at all, however, was Rhian's face. She was pale, ashen, really, and she felt so sick that just the sight of breakfast had been enough to make her retch. Eadwig had been untroubled by her discomfort, eating with the healthy appetite of a hard-working man. Only after Rhian's repeated pleading had he agreed to even take her to her father's instead of letting her go alone. But she had hardly slept all night, tossing and turning constantly. Fear was a faithful companion, ever since she had seen Tristan the previous day, and it had settled deep within her bones, making her feel quite faint.
While Eadwig had taken a little pity on her and carried her things for her, he absolutely refused to stay at her father's, as well.
"Don't be ridiculous," he had told her gruffly, "even if Sir Tristan was not exaggerating, half of Camlann will know before an army of the enemy is anywhere within sight. Plenty of tie to get away." And that was it. Nothing more to say.
Rhian had visited her father and sister a few time since they had come to Camelot, but as she stepped into the house, it almost felt like coming home. Apart from the fact that it was empty.
She felt angry with herself as tears came to her eyes, blurring her vision and making her sniffle. Dropping the two bags she'd carried in the middle of the kitchen, she sank onto a chair, put her head on her folded arms and cried.
It was thus that Marian found her. She had been out gathering a few washed items of clothing from the line behind the house and had been about to prepare a tea for herself, to battle the pounding headache the night had left her with, but her own discomfort was immediately forgotten as she saw her sister sitting at the table, the very picture of misery.
She threw the clothes in a corner and hurried over to Rhian, putting her arms around her swiftly.
"Dearest, what is it? Did something terrible happen?"
Rhian, startled at first at her sister's sudden presence, lifted her head again, her pretty face wet, her eyes red and swollen. She hesitated for a moment, but, recalling Marian's kindness towards Tristan while he had lain injured, she began telling her everything, from the child she had lost while already married to Eadwig, Tristan's son, to the sudden rekindling of her love for the scout when she had snatched him back from the jaws of death. She did not spare herself, did not gloss over the fact that she'd lied to Eadwig repeatedly to hide her adultery, but neither did she leave out the fact that the miller no longer touched her as a husband did a wife or how miserable the entire situation had left her, up to the point of her not being able to keep down her breakfast some days.
Marian listened with wide-eyes astonishment, held her sister's icy hands and stroked her fingers gently.
"Oh dear..." she whispered, once Rhian had finished, "oh dear, oh dear... what messes you get yourself in, sister."
Rhian nodded miserably and dried her eyes on her sleeve.
"But what can I do? I know I am... vain and selfish and so very much at fault here, but I love him, Mari, I love him so much!" she sobbed and Marian wrapped her arms around her once more in a comforting embrace.
"Shush," she said gently, "we will figure it out. Don't you worry, we will find a way. It's just... this was a really inopportune time to become pregnant, don't you think?"
Rhian pulled back with a horrified gasp, her eyes huge with terror.
"What?"
Her look of shock was mirrored at once on the face of the younger of the two sisters.
"What do you mean?" Marian spluttered, "You didn't know?"
...to be continued...