Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Arthur always knew Lancelot would be special.
The first time he laid eyes on a petrified boy trying desperately to be courageous, he had been impressed inwardly.
He remembered the shy, hesitant smile on Lancelot's face and how it had faltered and died under his stern, forbidding expression.
Arthur had thought that would probably be the last smile on the boy's face, that his heart would harden, his eyes would darken in the world he was about to venture into.
He was wrong.
Lancelot was a natural.
He swung cumbersome swords with a grace that made his opponents tremble, with a roguish charm that made women weep.
Brazen and reckless, he reveled in the chaos of battle, the wild uncontrollability that characterized his life.
Amid the darkness, the grime, the suffering, the anguish, he bloomed.
And Arthur watched him blossom.
Bloodied tendrils merged with his tousled, dark hair, the crimson streaks on his face glowed with the pure exuberance of a victorious knight.
"Did you see what I just did?" Lancelot chirped excitedly, a wide grin splitting his face. "He never saw that coming!"
Making perfunctory, distracted sounds, Arthur ran seasoned hands through the young knight's battered armor, his bloodied hair, checking that there were no serious injuries.
"What are you doing?" Lancelot protested. "Not that I mind having your hands on me," He continued, a smirk playing on his lips.
Arthur snorted and dropped his hands, satisfied that the knight would live to fight another day.
Tilting his head, Lancelot gazed at Arthur thoughtfully.
"Smile for me," he said impulsively, beaming irrepressibly at the solemn, grim knight.
"That's nothing to smile about," Arthur snapped. "Villages are burning, people are dying-"
A soft, gentle finger pressed against Arthur's lips and he stopped, half in shock, half in anticipation.
"But we are alive," Lancelot whispered.
"Smile for me, Arthur."
And the tone was so teasing, so tender, the touch was so soft, so sweet that Arthur couldn't help the curling of his lips.
And Lancelot tasted the curve of the smile on his lips.
Arthur knelt next to Lancelot, his eyes wild, frenzied, his mind an incoherent tumbling mess.
He wanted to brutally curse the gods, he wanted to mercilessly crush all the Saxons, he wanted Guinevere to vanish, to stop intruding in his immense grief.
Most of all, he wanted Lancelot to open his eyes.
"I would want to die on a battlefield," Lancelot tossed casually.
"Do not say that," Arthur frowned.
"Why not?" Lancelot queried, his eyes wide and innocent, only a glimpse of mischief, playfulness flickering in them.
"Because I cannot bear the thought of you dying!" Arthur burst out, his words violent, his eyes intense as he gripped Lancelot by his shoulders.
Blinking in surprise, Lancelot had to bite down the glee that was bubbling inside him. Fighting to keep his voice from trembling, "Why Arthur, I do believe that you care about me."
Arthur's eyes narrowed as he snapped, "Stop playing games, Lancelot. I am not one of those wenches you bed and spin pretty lies to."
Grabbing Arthur's hand as he tried to stalk away, Lancelot pressed the callused, battle-weary fingers to his lips.
"I am sorry." Lancelot said sincerely, quietly, his eyes pleading with Arthur.
Arthur's resolve weakened immediately at the sight of Lancelot's earnest, heartfelt expression.
"Fine," Arthur said gruffly.
"Now smile for me," Lancelot grinned, worry slipping away from his eyes.
And the smile was filled with so much passion, desire, love that Arthur was loathed to end the kiss.
Anguish stabbed at his heart, violent pain pierced his every thought, every movement.
A shimmering veil blurred his vision as Arthur stared motionlessly at Lancelot.
There was a smile on his lips.
Tenderly smoothing wild tendrils of hair away from Lancelot's peaceful features, Arthur bent towards him, burning the smile into his heart.
I will only smile for you, Lancelot.
Author's note: Inspired by the smile that was on Lancelot's lips when he died... which I glimpsed in between all the tears and shrieking.