Lancelot sat in the shadows of his bedroom, squatted on the windowsill, staring down into the beautiful garden of the castle. The sky was a deep and beautiful midnight blue colour, the air cool and still. His eyes were fixed upon the lake, the spot where he and Guinevere had shared that moment last week, that almost-kiss.
He hadn't seen Guinevere since. He remembered clearly seeing Arthur smile at him as he wrapped an arm around his new wife's waist and walked away with her. He remembered seeing her turn her head around and look at him wistfully, the small nervous smile she had given him.
He wondered if she was staying away from him deliberately. She was never at meals anymore, but Arthur insisted that she just wasn't hungry. She never seemed to leave her room, and sometimes he would pass the door slowly, half-tempted to run in and kiss her.
There was a knock at the door. He chewed his lip, wondering who it could be. Perhaps he would be better to ignore it, so that he could go back to his musings in peace.
"Lancelot!"
That was Gawain's voice, sharp and irritated. Lancelot couldn't be bothered with him, so he ignored it. However, Gawain knocked again.
"Lancelot, I'm coming in there," he warned, pushing the door.
Lancelot smiled. It was locked.
"Open this door right now!"
Lancelot's smile faded suddenly as the door was kicked open. It bounced off the wall with great force, revealing Gawain. He was glaring at Lancelot.
"Why didn't you answer me?"
"I want to be alone," Lancelot sighed, turning his head.
"You too? Guinevere's been acting like that all week. In fact, it was she who asked for you."
Lancelot's eyes snapped back to him. "What?"
"It's the dance tonight, remember? Guinevere asked me where you were."
"Well, now you know," Lancelot said huffily, turning away again. He had no intention of trying to hide his feelings for Guinevere in a public place.
"Lance, you know what she meant," Gawain said cheerily, coming across to clap his friend on the shoulder.
"No," he whispered. "She never makes sense."
Gawain laughed. "What is with you? You need to find yourself a woman, mate."
"Hmm."
"Come on, then."
"Come on where?"
"The dance, Lance," Gawain smiled. "She requested your presence specifically. You've never kept a woman waiting in your life."
Lancelot could see he wasn't going to win this argument, and he quite wanted to see Guinevere anyway, so he followed Gawain down the many corridors of the castle to the large double doors of the banquet hall. They were open to reveal a crowd of dancing guests.
Lancelot spotted Guinevere immediately. Her dark hair was curled up on top of her head, a few strands playing about her face. She wore a crown of daisies. Black chalk around her eyes made them look bigger than ever. She was wearing the most beautiful gown of heavy green crushed velvet, very low cut, tight at the top, yet flowing at the skirt. She was standing by herself in the corner, her eyes fixed on his face.
His stomach felt as though it was melting as she flashed him a thankful, encouraging smile. He crossed to her, leaning against the wall beside her.
"You look beautiful," he said quietly.
She blushed and looked away. "You look rough. As though you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't," he admitted. "A certain somebody plagues my thoughts at night. And every moment of the day too."
She glanced at him. "Don't."
He could not reply to her, because at that moment Arthur appeared, a jovial smile on his worn and haggard face, a flagon of ale in his hand.
"Lance!" he grinned, clapping his friend on the shoulder.
Lancelot forced a smile as Arthur caught his wife in a hug, wrapping one arm around her waist and holding her close. Lancelot's insides wriggled with guilt.
"I have not seen you for a while," Arthur told him.
"I was resting," Lancelot replied tensely. "My wound, you know."
Arthur's face was concerned, something which made Lancelot feel worse.
"Ah, well I'll drink to your health," Arthur smiled, raising his mug.
"Thanks."
Arthur took a deep swig of ale. "Well, I'll have to leave you two to it. I need to talk with Bors. Lance, I trust you to keep my wife entertained."
Arthur pecked his wife briefly before walking off. Lancelot watched Guinevere stare after him. She loved this man very much, it was obvious.
"Gwen," he began softly, and she turned, shocked, to him. "I..."
They were cut short by the arrival of Galahad.
"Hello," he said in friendly way.
"Galahad," Lancelot smiled.
"You alright?" Galahad asked.
"Fine."
"Good," Galahad said sadly. "One good man was too much to loose in that fight."
Lancelot's thoughts went sadly to Tristan. He hadn't been particularly close to Tristan, nobody had been, but Tristan had been one of his closest friends, completely fearless and mysterious.
"I'll leave you two alone," Guinevere said, walking off.
Lancelot and Galahad watched her leave.
"Arthur is one lucky man," Galahad said wistfully.
"Do you feel strongly for his wife?" Lancelot asked, worried that he had yet another rival for her attentions.
"Good grief, no. I just meant that he is lucky to have a woman who loves him with all of her heart. The love of my life tried to kill me when I was sleeping one night."
"Why?" Lancelot asked.
He shrugged. "Dunno."
Lancelot looked around the room for Guinevere. She appeared to have left- he guessed she had gone out onto the balcony.
"I'll be back soon," Lancelot said to Galahad, who grunted and nodded.
Lancelot walked across the room, and out onto the balcony. Guinevere was indeed out here, alone, staring intently out at her country.
"You knew I would come," he said.
"This is hard for me, Lancelot," she whispered.
"You were wrong."
"What are you talking about?"
"You said it was only lust. You were wrong. I'm in love with you."
He gasped as suddenly her arms were around his neck, her lips against his, kissing passionately. He kissed her back, tingling, floating. He had longed for this for so long.
She pulled away first.
"Oh, Lancelot, I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have..."
With that, she ran inside. Lancelot considered following her inside, but he decided to stay out here, his lips alight. He remembered the look he had just seen in her eyes.
He had won.