AN Okay - this chapter has some momentum. Forgive me if you feel like I'm dragging out the development of Ryn and Lancelot's feelings for each other. I don't want to rush things. They've known each other for such a long time, it only makes sense to me that they would assume they know exactly what the other person thinks and feels about them. Makes for some good conflict for me, anyway! Please R&R! My ego loves you :)
Grief
Many months later, the knights suffered their first loss – Percival, cut down in a brutal Woad guerrilla attack during a routine patrol. Ryn and Tristan only caught wind of the Woads at the very last moment. The knights, though caught unawares, quickly regained the advantage, but unfortunately, Percival could not be saved. The blow to their company was devastating.
The small funeral was somber and depressing. Ryn sang a traditional Sarmatian mourning song and Arthur spoke empty words of courage, bravery and honour. When it was over, the men left the little cemetery to medicate their sorrows with ale and wine.
Ryn returned to her tent with Percival's horse to complete the last funeral rites. The women of her country would take a fallen warrior's horse, wash and groom it and ask it to guide its master's spirit through the underworld.
Evening turned into night before she finally finished her task and began bedding the horse down for the night. It was just as she tossed a blanket over the horse's back that she heard someone crashing through the woods towards her clearing. She quickly drew her dagger and made herself invisible only to see Arthur, drunk and distraught, collapse to his knees in front of her fire.
"Arthur?" she asked, approaching him cautiously. "Are you all right?"
His face was white as ash and his eyes were bloodshot. "I can't do it, Ryn," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Can't do what, Arthur?" she asked, carefully disarming him to prevent him from hurting her or himself in his distressed state.
"Can't… can't lead the knights. I… I've failed them," he rambled. "I should have died. Not Percival. I didn't keep my promise. I didn't make him free."
"He is free, Arthur," she assured him, wrapping him in a blanket.
"He is dead," he spat bitterly.
"There is freedom in death," she said firmly. "Not even your god can deny him that."
Arthur sat back, pulled the blanket around him and dropped his head to his hands.
Ryn squatted in front of him and lifted his head so he was looking at her. "Arthur, you are our commander. We do our duty for love of you, not for Rome. Percival's death does not mean you have failed. We all know we will likely die before the end of this – Percival knew this too. It is the way of things. You must not let this dishearten you."
Arthur sat there, staring at her as she spoke. "I love you," he suddenly blurted.
Ryn was startled. "What?" she asked, dropping her hands.
"I do. I love you," he said again, gaining a strange, drunken confidence in himself.
"Arthur, you are drunk and grief-stricken. You don't know what you're saying." She turned to walk away from him, but he grabbed her hand.
"I do know what I'm saying. I love you. I've always been in love with you. You are… you are everything I've ever wanted in a woman."
Ryn just stood there, staring at him in disbelief. Arthur, Lancelot and Tristan were the only knights who had never declared their love for her like this. But here Arthur was, knocking himself off of that exclusive list.
It was not that Ryn had never thought about Arthur that way before. He was, undeniably, a handsome man and someone she deeply respected and trusted. Of all the knights, she could most easily picture her commander with a warrior wife. But the warrior wife she pictured was not herself.
She steeled herself. "You are not in love with me, Arthur," she said gently, but firmly, pulling her hand away.
He got angry then. "You are out of line, Ryn. I am in love with you and I command you to love me back."
She looked at him incredulously. "You command me?" she asked.
"I am your commander. Therefore, I command you," he stated. He pulled her towards him and tried to kiss her. She resisted as much as she could.
"Arthur, you must stop this," she said, struggling against his drunken grip. "You'll regret this in the morning."
"No. I love you. And if Lancelot won't have you…" He stopped mid-sentence as Ryn delivered a powerful punch to his jaw.
He sat back on the ground hard, a hand on his injured jaw. Clarity came to him through his drunken fog and he realized what he had done.
He looked up at her, his face full of regret. "Ryn… I'm sorry."
She squatted in front of him with a sigh and ran a hand over her face. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have hit you."
He shook his head. He was starting to feel sick. "I feel so lost," he admitted.
"I know. I do too." She took his face in her hands again and examined his jaw. "I don't think I broke it," she said.
He opened and closed his mouth to test it, grimacing in pain. "Let's start this day over again," he suggested.
She grinned. "I wish." She offered her hands to help him to his feet. "You need to sleep."
He nodded and allowed her to lead him into her tent. He collapsed heavily on the mat and fell asleep almost before his eyes had fully closed. Ryn covered him with a blanket and slipped back outside where she soon fell asleep in front of the dying fire.
She woke early the next morning and prepared a pungent tea of herbs to nurse the massive headache she knew her commander would be suffering. Arthur eventually emerged from her tent sober, but looking more disheveled than the night before.
He drank the proffered tea in silence. His jaw hadn't bruised, but definitely looked somewhat swollen. She had been right, of course. He regretted his actions from the night before. It was hard to look at her.
"I should get back," he finally muttered, heaving himself from his seat.
"Will you be all right?" she asked.
He nodded, pausing to steady himself. He forced himself to look her in the eye. "I'm…sorry."
She just grinned. "I know. Be gone with you."
He managed a weak smile back at her before carefully making his way through the woods back to the wall.
Ryn decided it wise to trail her commander to make sure he made it all the way back to his barracks.
Lancelot had spent the night alone. He hadn't felt in any mood to entertain anyone after the loss of Percival. Instead, he spent the night drinking with his comrades. They would fall in and out of silence, now telling a story about Percival, now grieving again, now laughing over a yarn Percival used to tell. He thought more than once about going to see Ryn, but he knew she would only send him away. She would be performing the rituals and would only find his presence distracting.
And yet, he couldn't help but think that just being near her during all of this would be so comforting. She would be singing softly while she washed and groomed Percival's horse and it would feel like home.
It was morning by the time he decided to go see her. When he left the wall, however, the man he saw stumbling out of the woods was the last person he expected to see. Arthur.
There were only two people Lancelot ever felt jealous for Ryn over; Arthur and Tristan. They were the only two men in the company who ever spent any time alone with her. Tristan, in spite of his strangeness, he was sure he could take. Arthur was another matter all together. When he thought of Ryn's future, the only person he could really see her well matched with was their commander. The two of them somehow made sense together in Lancelot's mind and that was a sore point with him, though he never really could explain why.
Seeing Arthur emerge from the forest caused something to snap in Lancelot. White hot jealousy and anger blinded him and he made a beeline for his friend. Arthur looked up just in time to receive another blow to his jaw.
When Ryn saw Lancelot coming towards Arthur with that look on his face she knew so well, she immediately rushed over to try to intercept him. She was too late to stop Lancelot's blow, but not too late to give him one of her own.
Lancelot's stunned expression at her punch just made her angrier than she already was. "Don't you dare act as though you have some claim over me," she hissed at him. "What happened between Arthur and I is none of your concern." And with that, she abruptly turned and made her way back into the woods.
Lancelot collapsed heavily on the ground next to his friend. "I'm sorry," he managed, rubbing his jaw.
Arthur was lying prone on the ground, exhausted and beat up. "No, you were right to hit me," he sighed.
"What…what happened?" Lancelot ventured, not sure if he really wanted the answer.
Arthur gave a wry chuckle. "I made a complete fool of myself. Professed my love to her and commanded that she love me back."
Lancelot couldn't help but smile at that. "You commanded her to love you?" he asked.
Arthur just nodded. "That's when she hit me," he lied, knowing the truth would only complicate the situation more than it already was.
"She hit you too?" Lancelot wondered. "Then I really am sorry."
Arthur was silent for a time. "I just… I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Lancelot," he admitted softly.
"You are more cut out for this than anyone I know," Lancelot said, his voice full of conviction and pride.
Arthur nodded thoughtfully and began to get up. "Well," he said, grunting at the effort of standing, "if you and Ryn think so, I'll carry on."
The two men began walking back to the barracks to nurse their wounds.
"I wish you would tell her," Arthur said quietly when they were near the gates.
"Why?" Lancelot asked, not sure if he was willing to deal with this issue just then.
"It would help me be more unequivocal about how I feel about her."
Lancelot grimaced. "I don't know that she would ever give me the chance."
