Chapter 52: Faith Renewed
"A fool?" Lancelot repeated as he stared at Gwaine in shock. There he was, confessing his deepest and most painful secrets, only to be insulted in return? Perhaps he'd misjudged the man.
Gwaine shook his head slightly. "No," he replied, casually flicking a lock of thick brown hair away from his forehead before taking another drink. "I said you were a bloody fool."
"I don't understand..."
"What makes you think this Arthur is a better man than you?" he suddenly burst out, slamming his empty tankard down with a loud thud. "Why do you think you're less worthy than he is? Because he's a noble?"
Lancelot opened his mouth then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. "I..."
Gwaine didn't give him a chance to continue. "From what you're telling me, you spent half your life training to serve him, and all for what? So he could throw it back in your face like you were worthless? And you just..."
"That wasn't Arthur. That was his fa..."
"And you just accepted it. Typical."
"Typical of what, exactly?"
Gwaine leaned forward, meeting him glare for glare. "It's no wonder these royals are able to convince so many soldiers to die for their foolishness. They pretend it's an honor for men to sacrifice their lives, and to make matters worse, commoners are even rejected as not being good enough? That's what's typical. They lead you to believe they're the one granting you a favor, not the other way around. And you swallowed all that horseshit."
"Even if the code was wrong, it doesn't change the fact that I lied."
"Yes, it does. How can you fault yourself for trying to correct an injustice? If I was mad enough to actually want to become a knight and found myself that sort of position, I would've done the same damn thing. Fortunately, I'm not."
"I know the code wasn't fair. I know I had good intentions, regardless of my methods. But…"
Gwaine raised an eyebrow, searching his face so intently that Lancelot shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Do you?"
"Of course I do."
"I'm not so sure about that. Years later, and you're still walking around believing you're unworthy. You still seem to think that these men, this Arthur, are better than you. Why?"
"You don't know Arthur," Lancelot said firmly, avoiding Gwaine's penetrating stare as he traced his finger around a ring of condensation on the table. "It isn't just his position. He has a noble heart. He's fair and treats all men as equals. He's going to be a great king someday."
"Even if that's true, which I seriously doubt, that still doesn't answer my question. What makes him better than you?"
"I... it's hard to explain. You wouldn't understand. You just... you'd have to know him."
"You're right," Gwaine said stiffly. "I wouldn't understand. I never understood why my father blindly swore allegiance to King Caerleon either. Paid his taxes, fought in his battles, spent his whole life serving the crown, and for what? To die on the point of a sword over a petty border dispute? That's what knighthood is... helping men with too much gold and power get exactly what they want. All for the sake of a lot of pretty words about honor and justice that mean nothing."
"I'm sorry," Lancelot said quietly. "I didn't know."
Gwaine's face softened a little, but he wasn't finished. "As for honor," he muttered with a slightly bitter edge to his voice. "Caerleon refused to grant my mother assistance when she begged for his help. We had nothing left, you see; it was all spent on taxes, or tributes to the Crown. Does that sound like an honorable pursuit to you? Sacrificing yourself and everything you have on behalf of a king who would allow your wife and two young children to linger in poverty?"
"No. But they can't all be like that. Arthur..."
"Never met one who wasn't, but it's not for me to change your mind. Still, that doesn't explain why you'd give up this woman you love for his sake. Even my father wouldn't have done that, and I've never known a man who could match him for loyalty or devotion."
Lancelot closed his eyes and took a deep breath before responding. "I didn't do it for his sake. I did it for hers."
"So you find her again after all this time. You still love her, she still loves you. You rescue her from a terrible fate... all right, so you had help with that," Gwaine added, practically rolling his eyes when Lancelot opened his mouth to protest. "Either way, everyone's safe. You notice the prince seems to have feelings for your Gwen, so you decide to give her up. Have I got that right?"
A slight nod was all Lancelot could manage. Why did it sound so different from Gwaine's perspective?
"Did she tell you she preferred Arthur?"
Lancelot shook his head.
"Did she ever say she didn't want to be with you?"
"No," he whispered.
"Did you decide you didn't want to be with her after all? Thought you could dump her off on Arthur and be well rid of her?"
Lancelot bolted to his feet, reaching instinctively for his sword before realizing he'd left it upstairs. His hands clenched into fists instead as he glared down at Gwaine, his dark eyes burning with fury.
"How dare you? She... I... you can't possibly imagine how difficult it was for me to..."
Gwaine remained in his chair, infuriatingly unperturbed by the outburst. "Sit back down," he said casually, waving a lazy hand at the other side of the table. "It was only a question. No harm intended."
"I'm sorry, I just..."
"She meant a great deal to you. Kind of figured that. But that's what makes this so difficult to understand. If you truly loved her, why desert her the way you did? It's obviously made you miserable, and I'm sure it wasn't exactly enjoyable for her either. So why...?"
"She'll have a better life with Arthur," Lancelot said dully. "He can give her comfort, security, protection. She could be queen someday. I don't have it in my power to give her all the things he can."
"And how do you know that's the life she even wants? Has she ever said so?"
"No... but, well, why wouldn't she?"
"Well, let's see," Gwaine said, his brow wrinkling in mock thoughtfulness. "She might not care for material things the way you seem to believe she should. She might prefer a life of freedom, even if it's a simpler one, over the endless rules and protocol of court life. She might feel nothing for this Prince Arthur, or he might decide not to marry her after all. There are any number of reasons she might want a different life than the one you've chosen for her."
"I didn't choose it for her. I merely gave her a chance at happiness."
"A chance she didn't ask for? With a man she never said she wanted?"
"Yes... I mean, no. I just... it's not that simple."
"Very honorable of you," Gwaine commented, not bothering to hide the edge of sarcasm in his voice. "Not allowing a woman to think for herself is undoubtedly the best way to ensure her happiness."
Lancelot's intoxicated mind was a jumble of confusion. All his best arguments were falling flat under Gwaine's scrutiny, only seeming to make less sense the more he tried to explain himself. The alcohol must have been responsible for that, because surely he'd done the right thing... hadn't he? Yes, of course he had. He had to believe that, if for no other reason than the alternative was unthinkable.
"It was honorable," he insisted firmly. "How will she ever know what she's truly worth if she's not given the chance to see it for herself? I would've only held her back."
"Aha!" Gwaine said, his face breaking into a knowing grin. "We're back to the subject of worth, which is really what this is all about. Forgive me for saying so, friend, but it seems to me that the only person who doesn't understand their own worth is sitting right in front of me."
Lancelot struggled with that assessment for a few minutes, unable to think of a suitable reply.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," the pretty young barmaid who'd been refilling their drinks all night said timidly. "I really must close up now. It's well after midnight, and..."
"Forgive us," Gwaine replied, flashing her a charming smile. "Here, take a little something extra for your trouble."
As Lancelot watched in horror, the other man tossed the last of their dwindling supply of coins on her empty tray.
"What are we supposed to do now?" he questioned the following morning, then clutched his aching head as his voice echoed so loudly it seemed as if it would split his skull in two. If nothing else, at least being out of gold meant they didn't have means to acquire any more drinks.
Gwaine turned from the window where he'd been admiring the morning sunshine, as chipper as he always was after a night of heavy drinking.
"About what?"
"We're out of money," Lancelot pointed out much more quietly. "We obviously can't continue to stay here without the means to pay."
"Oh, that," Gwaine said nonchalantly. "I was thinking it was time to move on anyway. We'll find a way to make more wherever we go, I'm sure. No need to worry."
Lancelot couldn't understand how he could be so cavalier about it, remembering his own months of struggle and starvation all too clearly. The only way he'd ever managed to earn money for himself had been in the cage, and he'd sworn during his time with Gwen that he'd never allow himself to return to such a dishonorable pursuit.
But if he couldn't fight, what else could he do?
It had been his greatest struggle since he'd left Camelot years before, but traveling with Gwaine soon proved to be quite different than all of his previous experience. They bid farewell to the tiny village, and by the time they reached the next settlement the following day, the surprisingly resourceful man had already arranged work for them both.
As the weeks passed, he never seemed to run out of new and interesting ways to earn a bit of gold. He offered their services to local farmers and tradesmen, but unlike Lancelot, who'd approached such positions desperate and empty-handed only to be turned away, Gwaine had an uncanny way of convincing the very same people that he was doing them a favor by agreeing to work for them.
Sometimes they mended fences or broken buildings. On other occasions, they helped harvest crops or herd animals. There were times when Gwaine would convince the more well-to-do merchants they needed additional protection while transporting their wares, and others where he even managed to gain their trust enough to help sell the merchandise himself, taking a previously agreed upon share of the profit in exchange.
These were the most ideal arrangements, as Gwaine was able to part with an amazing amount of merchandise in exchange for a few charming smiles and well-chosen words. Several merchants even offered him a permanent position, but he always graciously declined. As Lancelot quickly learned, Gwaine was a wanderer, preferring never to remain in one place for long.
They never actually discussed their unspoken agreement to travel together. It just happened that way, and though neither man chose to say so, it was understood that each was grateful for the other's company.
Dear Merlin, Lancelot wrote on a clean sheet of parchment, smiling as he always did when he thought of his friend.
Thank you for your last letter. I must admit that I've never encountered a troll, nor do I believe I'd want to. I'm relieved to hear that everything worked out in the end. Perhaps someday, you can tell me exactly how that happened, but I know there are some things that are not suitable to communicate by missive.
Lancelot paused, scrutinizing the words he'd just written to ensure there wasn't even a trace of a hint that alluded to Merlin's magic, of which he was quite certain had been utilized in order to dispose of the dreadful troll. He chuckled softly, picturing a besotted Uther gazing rapturously at the foul creature.
I am quite well, thank you for asking. Yes, my companion and I are traveling north now that summer is upon us. We stopped off here in Gawant to work as temporary laborers during the planting season, but as you've surely noticed by now, we never remain in one place for long. I enjoy having the chance to see so many beautiful locations, but I must admit I often long to sleep in the same bed each night.
Nonetheless, I suppose I can't complain.
Yes, I do think about returning to Camelot someday, but I don't think it would be the wisest idea just yet. We both know why, and I think we also understand that it's for the best that I stay away until a considerable amount of time has passed. Though I'd welcome the chance to see you, I'd never wish to cause any conflict.
Still, I'll always cherish Camelot in my heart as the closest place to home I've ever known. For now, that is enough of a comfort for me.
Be well, Merlin. I'll send you the means to contact me at my next location as soon as I can.
Please give Gwen my best.
Lancelot read the final line he'd written unthinkingly, then cringed and carefully traced over the name.
Please give Gaius my best.
He examined the swiftly drying ink, frowning as he realized Merlin would see exactly what he'd done. And then he shook his head in resignation and sealed the parchment anyway. They might not speak of it directly, but Merlin was well aware of his feelings. He'd understand.
Lancelot rolled his eyes as the sound of Gwaine's enthusiastic grunts reached him through the thin walls of the workman's quarters where they'd been staying over the previous few weeks. He couldn't be sure whether it was the farmer's daughter tonight, or one of the milkmaids; he'd quickly learned it was impossible to keep up with Gwaine's seemingly endless conquests.
Rather than speculating further on the matter, he stepped outside and breathed deeply of the warm summer air, gazing up at the stars as he often liked to do before bed.
And then as always, he thought of her.
Though they'd never spoken of it again, Lancelot had found himself haunted by Gwaine's rather merciless assessment of his actions. Had he truly done the right thing? He wasn't so sure anymore. It had been so easy to feel hopeless, as if he'd had nothing to offer, when he'd been nothing more than a mercenary fighter who'd had nothing to look forward to aside from degradation and brutality from the life he'd chosen.
But his world was entirely different without the constant reality of meaningless violence, living free of shame and dishonor. Thanks to Gwaine, he'd learned any number of honest ways to secure an income, and was even starting to accumulate a small amount of savings for himself. And more than that, he enjoyed the work. It might not be the pure, instinctual feeling of rightness that came to him in combat, but the simple act of losing himself in any sort of physical labor carried its own sense of satisfaction.
Sometimes when his mind drifted in the midst of some menial task, he'd picture their life together as it might've been. He'd see himself working hard, painstakingly saving his earnings for a place they might have been able to share together. His heart would grow warm as he thought of coming home to her lovely face every evening, his weariness melting away as he took her in his arms.
These daydreams felt so natural, to the point where he sometimes forgot all the reasons he'd had for leaving her in the first place. The only thing that seemed to jar him back to reality anymore was the fact that he had, and whether it had been the right decision or not, he couldn't change it now. He had no choice but to accept what he'd done, to stand aside and allow her to move on with her life.
But as his spirit healed and life became more stable, it was increasingly difficult to believe that the future he dreamed of was as impossible as it had once seemed. As shame, uncertainty, and despair faded away, the last remnants of the previously violent and unpredictable life he'd led before, much of his persistent self-doubt was gradually replaced by a more hopeful outlook, a renewed belief that the days to come could indeed lead to better things.
Nothing was certain, he realized. Just like the crescent moon that captivated his gaze as he stared up at the starry sky, all things would wax and wane as they were meant to do. Yes, perhaps he'd made what seemed like a permanent decision, but was the future he'd envisioned for Gwen any guarantee? So many things in life could change in a single moment... perhaps it had been arrogant on his part to believe that the future had been his own to determine.
If it was Gwen's fate to marry Arthur and become Queen of Camelot, it would surely come to pass. But if that wasn't the case after all, maybe the fates would lead him back to her someday. That belief became enough to sustain him – a simple, quiet certainty that if he could only be patient, the answers would be revealed in due time.
In the meantime, it was this sense of faith that helped him suppress the increasingly frequent desire to write to Gwen and tell her what was truly in his heart... the haunting fear that the choice he'd made had been terribly, terribly wrong.
