"The Lonely Wanderer"
Lancelot does not regret saving Guinevere or playing a part in Hengist's demise, since the warlord had so brutally threatened her. But it has left him in more dire straits, with not a single coin in his pocket nor a source of employment. His belly is already rumbling with hunger, and his stomach cramps with the memory of the long days he had gone without before he became a fighter for the entertainment of brutish men. He told Gwen there are not many opportunities for a man like him, and that hasn't changed.
His many nicks and scrapes sting, and he finds a creek to briskly wash them out in. The cold water helps revive him. He hasn't slept in over a day, having kept watch for Arthur and Gwen last night so he could slip away before dawn. His heart gives a fresh pang. Guinevere had awakened a part of him he thought he'd lost, had reminded him who he is. But there is another who loves her and Lancelot has chosen not to come between them. It has left him bereft in more ways than one.
He wanders again, just as he did after his village was destroyed, after he had left Camelot. He forages for food, but berries are hardly enough to fill the stomach of a grown man. Sometimes he manages to catch some fish in a stream. He passes through villages, seeing if anyone has use for a sword. He doesn't need money as payment; a hot meal would be enough. They all tell him to move on; they have no need of vagrants.
Lancelot sleeps on the cold hard ground under an open sky and thinks of Guinevere. She may never be his but she is still a reason to live a noble life. He will not seek out work as a cage fighter again.
So he wanders. And most nights he tosses and turns with hunger pangs but at least he still has his honor.
One day he comes across a group of men in the woods. Four are laughing and jeering at a fifth they've got strung up with a piece of rope tossed over a tree branch. They're dressed in dark leathers and armed, while their captive is garbed in peasant clothing and a plain, sleeveless jerkin. The man's expression is furious, and he kicks out at a bandit that gets too close, sending the barbarian crashing to the ground. One of the others moves in and kicks out the backs of his knees in retaliation, and he drops, his brawny arms snapping taut as they yank on the rope.
Lancelot draws his sword and strides forward. "What is your quarrel with this man?" he asks.
The four ruffians turn toward him, exchanging looks among themselves.
"Mind your own business."
"Attacking a defenseless man is my business," Lancelot replies.
The men sneer and draw their weapons: two swords, an axe, and a mace. Lancelot grips his sword with two hands and braces himself. When the men attack, he launches into battle. Four against one isn't good odds, especially when Lancelot's reflexes are strained from lack of nutrition, but years of training help to make up for it.
He slashes one man across the side and spins to swipe at another. A blade arcs toward his neck and Lancelot throws up his sword to block. The steel collides with a resounding clang. He catches sight of the mace coming at him and is forced to drop to the ground to avoid getting his skull crushed in. But now he's at a disadvantage.
The peasant suddenly lets out a mighty bellow and snaps the rope binding his wrists. He charges into the fray, body slamming one of their foes before snatching the bandit's own weapon away from him.
Lancelot uses the brief moment of surprise to get back on his feet, his blade clashing with his opponent's on equal footing once more. Four against two changes the odds very much, especially when this peasant proves to be a rather capable fighter. In a matter of minutes, the four bandits are lying on the ground, defeated.
Lancelot and the stranger turn to each other.
"Thank you," the man says.
"I should thank you. I doubt I would have come out of facing down four alone unscathed."
The man's brow furrows a fraction. "Then why did you do it?"
Lancelot gives a mild shrug and sheathes his sword. "It was the right thing to do."
The man smiles. "I'm Percival."
"Lancelot." He steps forward to shake the man's hand.
He then turns to survey their fallen foes and after a moment's thought, crouches down to search their belongings. He finds a pouch that jingles with coin, but he sets that aside. He will not disgrace himself by robbing the dead. He does, however, find some rations in the bag, and before he can think, he starts scarfing the food down. It's only after he's devoured half of the portion that he remembers he's not alone, and he flicks a look up at Percival. The man has picked up a crossbow and propped it up against his shoulder and is watching Lancelot carefully. Lancelot forces himself to swallow the suddenly dry food and tucks the remainder into his own pouch. It's better he save some for later anyway.
"You gonna take that?" Percival asks in a neutral tone, nodding to the pouch of coin.
Lancelot shakes his head. "I'm not a thief." He wants to search the other bags for food but he's too ashamed. Maybe if he and Percival part ways, Lancelot can double back…
"My village isn't far," Percival says, turning slightly and cocking his head in invitation.
Lancelot hesitates. It doesn't feel right to take advantage of someone he rescued—who ended up rescuing him just as much in the end—but he is desperate. So he wordlessly follows.
"You on your way somewhere?" Percival asks.
Everywhere and nowhere.
"No," Lancelot replies.
They fall silent for the rest of the walk through the woods and to the village. Percival leads Lancelot into one of the homes where a young woman a good foot shorter than Percival is chopping vegetables at the table.
"What's this? The mighty hunter coming back empty-handed?" she says with a touch of mockery.
Percival props his crossbow against the wall by the door. "Got waylaid. This is Lancelot." He nods toward the girl. "This is my sister Adeda."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lancelot says.
She gives him a curious look before resuming her chopping. "I better not hear any complaining when there's just vegetables in the stew."
"I'll go out hunting again tomorrow," Percival promises.
Lancelot notes he doesn't say anything about getting accosted in the woods, so he maintains his silence as well.
Percival pulls a chair over and gestures for Lancelot to sit, then goes to help his sister throw the chopped vegetables into a cooking pot.
"So, Lancelot," Adeda says. "What brings you to our village?"
"I'm just passing through," he assures her. "Unless you have any need of a sword to deal with some trouble." Though, given he just left a group of bandits slain in the woods, any trouble they might have had is likely over.
"Is that what you are?" she responds. "A traveling knight in shining armor for the common folk?"
He can't hold back a wince at that. "I'm not a knight," he says quietly. "But I'm afraid I have little else to offer in way of service."
"It was good you were passing through today," Percival says. "I'm grateful."
Adeda narrows her eyes. "Hold on, what exactly waylaid you?"
"Just a spot of trouble."
"What kind of trouble? Percival!"
He shrugs. "Some bandits. But Lancelot came along and everything's fine. And those men won't be coming near the village, so there's nothing to worry about." He flashes her a toothy grin.
Adeda huffs irritably at him before turning to Lancelot. "Thank you for saving my brother."
Lancelot inclines his head. He knows he should leave, but it feels so good to sit down in a proper chair that exhaustion is quickly stealing what little resolve he has left. And the vegetable stew smells tantalizing.
The door opens and a little girl comes barreling inside, followed by a man with the same build as Percival. She runs straight at Percival and leaps into his arms. He picks her up and swings her around. Adeda barely leans out of the way and scowls at them both.
"Pryde! You're filthy. Don't go flinging mud into the supper!"
Percival sets the girl down and picks a large piece of hay from her frazzled blonde hair. "What have you been into now?"
The child giggles. "I wanted to surprise Father."
"By hiding in the hay stack?"
"Indeed," the older man says and looks at Lancelot. "Hello."
Lancelot rises to his feet stiffly and nods respectively.
"Father, this is Lancelot," Percival introduces. "I met with some bandits in the woods and he saved my life."
The man flicks a worried look at his son, but Percival is obviously hale and whole. "You have my deepest thanks," he tells Lancelot. "I'm Albice."
Lancelot nods again. "I should be on my way before it gets dark," he says.
"Stay for supper," Percival interjects. "Even the night."
"I do not wish to intrude."
"You saved my son," Albice puts in. "The least we can do is offer you shelter for a night."
Lancelot ducks his gaze. "That is very kind of you. Thank you."
"Come on, Pryde, let's get you cleaned up," the man says, holding a hand out to his young daughter.
The girl bounds over to him and they head outside again. Adeda and Percival return to preparing supper, and Lancelot is left with nothing to do but sit down again. He rests his elbow on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose in exhaustion.
When supper is ready, Adeda fills six bowls.
"I'll take it tonight," Albice says, picking up two bowls and heading out.
"Our mother is staying with a woman due to give birth soon," Adeda explains as she sets a bowl of stew in front of Lancelot. "Perhaps you can meet her tomorrow."
He doesn't know what to say to that. Pryde sits on the bench beside his chair and scoots as close to him as possible, eyeing him with obvious interest. He offers a wan smile and picks up a spoon. He tries to eat slowly, but after the first two swallows his stomach cramps ravenously, and he starts shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth.
"Didn't your mother teach you table manners?" Pryde exclaims.
Lancelot's face flushes hotly and he sets his bowl down. "My apologies."
Adeda and Percival, however, are eyeing him with more understanding.
"When's the last time you had a decent meal?" Adeda asks.
Lancelot ducks his gaze again. He can't actually remember. He musters a smile and raises his bowl in a small toast. "This is by far the most decent meal I've ever had."
Adeda does not look impressed by his attempted flattery.
"You're looking for work, yeah?" Percival says.
Lancelot shrugs and makes himself take a modest spoonful of stew. "There are, unfortunately, few opportunities for a man of the sword who does not belong to the nobility. Not honorable opportunities, anyway."
"Where are you from?" Adeda asks next.
"A village that was destroyed long ago," he answers.
No one seems to have anything to say to that, and so they return to their meal in silence until Pryde breaks it with some enthusiastic recounting of the caterpillar she found earlier that day.
The hot stew settles in Lancelot's belly, making him even more sleepy. He hasn't been this full in a long time.
Percival brings out an extra blanket and gets Lancelot settled on the floor in the back.
"Thank you," Lancelot tells him again with full sincerity.
Percival smiles back.
Lancelot sleeps hard that night, waking fitfully as he's accustomed to, to check on his surroundings, but the reminder that he's safe pulls him back under just as quickly. He wakes in the morning and rolls over, only to find Pryde crouched beside him, watching intently.
Lancelot rubs at his eyes. "Good morning."
She breaks into a beaming smile. "Morning!" She leaps to her feet and darts off.
Lancelot pushes himself up and shuffles over to the table where Percival, Adeda, and their father are sitting. Adeda pushes a bowl of porridge toward him.
"Sorry about Pryde," she says.
"It's alright." He looks at the breakfast and starts to protest, "You've been more than generous…"
"Eat," she responds sternly.
Lancelot digs in, only because his stomach needs little encouragement.
"Where will you go?" Percival asks.
"I don't know. It doesn't really matter," Lancelot replies dully. Though he has felt immensely uncomfortable intruding on this family, their company has also been the nicest he's shared in quite some time. It makes his heart constrict painfully at the thought of returning to a solitary life on the road.
"You could stay here," Percival says, drawing a startled gaze from him. "Can't say there's any sword work, but there's plenty to do. We don't have any coin to pay with, but a decent meal and roof over your head might be fair exchange. Could learn a few new skills."
Lancelot falters at the unexpected and generous offer. Living by the sword is all he knows, but it's not getting him anywhere. Aside from the memory of a woman far away, he has little to live for.
He glances at Albice, but the man seems in agreement with his son's proposal.
"You're welcome here, Lancelot," he says.
Lancelot's throat tightens. He has been alone for so long, the kindness offered him here in this moment is enough to bring tears to his eyes.
"I would like that."