A/N: Thanks for reading! Now I know this isn't historically accurate and it
really isn't meant to be as the main points are the relationships and not
necessarily geographical or historical accuracy. Forgive me!
Also, I loved Lancelot and I definitely noticed some L/G looks going back and forth not to mention the fact that he did a certain something (ie. THAT shocking incident at the end of the movie) to protect her! So please read as I write! And review. Thanks so much, guys!
Months had passed in a seemingly endless series of bloody battles and sad nights full of loss. Arthur and his Knights had had the good fortune to escape the endless sleep, though many other lives had been lost in the quest for the freedom of Britain.
One morning, after a particularly disheartening though triumphant battle, Guinevere woke early, the faces of the dead insisting that she should not embrace sleep. She saw blood and sweat, heard cries for forgiveness and screams of pain, and felt the touch of death on her skin. Shivering as she walked through the sleeping campsite, the trees waved in the wind ominously, beckoning her to the pond. Guinevere passed Arthur, finally having gained some measure of sound rest. She lifted her hand to caress his brow, wondering what it was he dreamt of this morning. Glory? God? Dare she even think it...herself?
Guinevere knew she cared for Arthur deeply and that their connection was made stronger by their unique union as two leaders. Arthur was a man written in legends and tales and would forever be remembered for his courageous spirit and deeds. A man she'd oft dreamed of loving and being loved by when she was but a fanciful, young girl.
As she walked towards the pond leisurely, taking a moment to enjoy the natural peace of the early morn, light flowing through the leaves of trees and creatures wandering uninhibited. But for all her romantic notions of Arthur, she knew their affair lacked a raw passion fueled by desire and kindred spirits. Guinevere was aware that she may love Arthur but he did not keep her heart for his own and she did not lust nor need him to the point of suffering. For all his greatness, he had not yet conquered her body nor soul.
Within herself, she could feel that he was not the man Merlin had warned her of. Lightening clapped suddenly as Guinevere approached the clean, cool waters of the pond, seeing another person had had a similar desire for solitude. At the sound of her footsteps, the figure sped to rise from his sitting position on the damp grass, though clearly his movements brought him pain.
Lightening belted in the colour-streaked sky as Guinevere and the stranger were revealed to one another.
Lancelot.
"Lancelot! I nearly had a fright," Guinevere exclaimed, feeling her heart refuse to slow its quickened pace.
A tight small passed over the Knight's pale, tired face. "Perhaps you should not wander...the forests are dangerous for a lady of your importance."
Guinevere felt as though he a struck her, stung hurtfully by his words. "I am no more important than you are. Besides, I have proven myself in battle, have I not?"
Lancelot moved his eyes away from her and onto the soft wrinkles in the water. "Is it admiration and compliment you look for here, then?"
"Your civility overwhelms me, Sir," Guinevere retorted snidely, striding down the path that would bring her to the grassy shores of the water.
Lancelot took a step aside as she came to stand beside him, her beauty ever present in the morning sun. "I do as I please."
"And does it please you to be arrogant? So unnecessarily cruel?" she demanded, noticing for the first time, the ill look upon his face and again, that unreadable glimmer in the depths of his eyes. She forced herself to cast her concern aside. "You may be a friend of Arthur but you are not the Lancelot he extols. For you, I see, know only spite." Guinevere spun around, intending to leave him with the heat of her harsh words but was stricken as Lancelot winced in pain, grabbing the muscled spot between his shoulder and where his left arm began. "You are hurt," she whispered, helping him to the ground.
"Nay, I am fine," he said, settling his jaw to abide the pain. "'Tis but a scratch."
Guinevere rested down beside him, her hand delicately searching out his pain. "Lancelot, you must dress this wound." She pulled off her cape and hurriedly tore off a small corner, pressing it on his wound to inhibit the flow of blood. Her eyes scanned his handsome face, noticing the marks of war upon him. Bruises and scratches, some of which bled still, covered his smooth, flawless skin. Her fingers fluttered to his forehead, gently pressing on a small gash. "You must care more for yourself."
Lancelot pushed her hand away, cringing again with the effort. "Please, leave me."
Guinevere persisted, somehow unable to take heed of his words. His scent of sweat, blood, and death so like her own was overpowered by the strong smell of manliness, which enveloped her. "Does Arthur know of your injuries?"
"No and we needn't bother informing him! I simple need a few hours peace," he answered hotly, leaving her an unsubtle hint.
"You do not sleep. Why?" Guinevere asked, closely inspecting a cut just below his eye. Looking up unexpectedly, she met his eyes, their faces only mere breaths apart.
"I have been kept awake these nights," answered Lancelot gruffly, taking her hand from his cheek and putting it upon her own self. "Go."
Guinevere's body quivered in unfulfilled expectations and she sought to cover up her surprising disappointment. "Will you never take aid, then?"
"Not from you." Lancelot looked up in the bright sky, captivated by the mirage of sweet morning colours.
"Why do you....what is it about me that you....ah, nevermind. It doesn't matter." Guinevere rose up, her heart feeling too small at this instance. "I leave you to rot in your own pity, or whatever it may be." She left him there to ponder, her own mind lively with his cold words. Yet she felt as though this was only the beginning of a great story that only time could deliver. Shrugging off her worrisome thoughts, Guinevere sought to return to a steady comfort; in Arthur, there was unfaltering love and grace and perhaps there was a chance at passion yet with him.
----
As day broke upon the small, crowded site, Arthur gathered his two faithful confidantes at his side, pulling them away from the group of stragglers and soldiers packing away the remnants of the camp. Lancelot and Guinevere did not acknowledge the other's presence, considering the fiery exchange of the past morning.
The suffering Lancelot of early morn had been replaced with a sturdy Knight, fearless of and indifferent to the dangers before him. "Arthur, we have lingered too long here. The remaining Saxons, who are likely to be more hot-blooded now after their losses, will catch our scent."
Arthur pressed his forehead to Lancelot's and smiled. "You who knows me best shares my thoughts." Guinevere suddenly felt out of place, as though she was the rushing water that would crack the rock.
Lancelot smiled contently, his tan, ruggedly bewitching face relaxed though an intensity still remained in his soulful eyes. "Not all your thoughts, friend."
"Ah, yes. There are places I go you cannot follow. But now I must ask you to go somewhere where I cannot. Kent."
Lancelot crossed his arms, a lock of hair shadowing his darkened eyes. Guinevere felt her very soul tense to resist the desire to brush it from his face and blushed, feeling as though the world could read her innermost feelings. "Kent? I don't understand," he said, his brow furrowed.
Arthur now reached for Guinevere's hand, his expression softening with adoration. "I want you to go with Guinevere, protect her--,"
"I do not need protection, Arthur. I am fighter of my own accord and I shall stay!" Guinevere declared vehemently.
"And I have seen you, firsthand, Lady. You're abilities are undeniable and do not think, I do this because you are a woman. I send you away because I cannot bear to lose you." Arthur paused as Lancelot looked away upon hearing his last words. He glanced intently at Guinevere, "But there is more to it than that—more than my care of you. You are needed to enlist the people of Kent to aid our cause. They trust the Woads and since Merlin is unable to go, I ask that you should take his place. There is rumour that the Saxons will try their luck at that fortress next, as a last resort. If this has any measure of truth to it, we will need the help of those people otherwise all our efforts will have been in vain."
Guinevere smiled at his obvious concern for her welfare, glad to see that war had not yet frozen him to indifference. "I will go, naturally. But I need not of a guard," she answered, nodding at Lancelot.
Lancelot pursed his lips, his eyes burning into hers. "It is unwarranted territory. If the Saxons find you, they will not hesitate to end your life. Four eyes are better than two."
"I do not care for your eyes, Sir. I do not need you!" she insisted, betraying a small voice inside her heart.
An expression of sorrow flickered across the young Knight's face before he stamped one of his swords angrily in the ground. "So be it. Go and do not return!" He flung himself away from them towards that day's camp, his dark curly hair blowing carelessly in the wind.
Arthur placed his hands on Guinevere's shoulders, a look of determination upon his ragged, though strong, face. "Please, allow Lancelot to accompany you. He is my most trusted Knight and friend--,"
"He detests me, Arthur. You know this; you've heard the way he speaks to me, his voice full of disgust and the way he looks at me, as though I am little more than a slug of this earth.
Arthur sighed, knowing there was some truth to her words. "It is not you, Guinevere. It is this life he hates. He fights for land not his own and people not his kin. For 15 years, he has been under siege of the Romans, his freedom always within grasp yet never attainable. And so he has hardened with time, grown more bitter and more ready to leave this place, to find a home." He dropped her hand, leaning somberly against a barky tree trunk as a regretful expression passed across his haggard face. "It is my own fault. He is here for my quest."
"No. He is here for something else," uttered Guinevere thoughtlessly, her conscious speaking and not her rational mind. It was true. She could sense that Lancelot stayed for other reasons unknown, besides his devotion to Arthur, although she knew not what. Shaking her head, she looked at Arthur's puzzled appearance and sought to ease his own conscious. "Lancelot is his own man. He stands beside you because he knows that what you do is great. Greater than yourself, greater than him, than all of us."
Arthur beamed, glowing happily at Guinevere as the bright sunlight shone upon her dark hair. "You have a many a skill, Lady."
"Many of which are in battle, Arthur," she added coyly, a sly curve to her lips as she strolled around the tree trunk.
"Why are you so hesitant to have someone accompany you? Or is it just that it would be Lancelot?" Arthur asked delicately. Guinevere remained silent and he shook his head, wondering if perhaps she simply was not yet ready to reveal all her secrets, and grasped for her soft, small hand. "You need not answer that. I suppose I hold hope that you and Lancelot can indeed become friends...or at least, be tolerable in one another's company!"
"Arthur...," she whispered, her very soul yearning for him not to try to persuade her. The trees swayed in a light breeze and Guinevere felt the long grasses whisper to her that to go with Lancelot would leave nothing unchanged.
"Lancelot has been at my side for 15 years. Despite our...differences, I would trust him with my life...and I trust him with you. It would give me great pleasure to know that my two closest allies are not at war with eachother," explained Arthur wisely, and for a moment Guinevere could envision a kingly crown atop his head.
She ran her fingers lightly across his forehead and through his thick dark hair. "I go for you." Guinevere could feel her body quiver with her lie, knowing within her that she did not simply go because Arthur had bidden her to do so. She went for something else, though her heart would not yet unlock that secret.
Arthur lowered his lips to hers, giving her the sweetest of first kisses that was filled with great promise and hope. Guinevere opened her eyes, looking just beyond Arthur's lovely face and straight into Lancelot's dark, wounded eyes, as he stood with the other Knights. He turned away quickly as she glanced at his stricken, paling face and concerned himself with forcefully sharpening his blades. "Goodbye, Arthur," murmured Guinevere, a small smile dancing upon her pink lips. Curiously, she felt as though this was not simply a short goodbye but an eternal goodbye of some sort.
"Goodbye. We'll be reuinited soon enough," Arthur said calmly, waving Lancelot to his side. "Guinevere will be going to Kent after all. Will you accompany her?"
Lancelot nodded nobly, clearly offering her a peace. "A wise decision, Lady. We leave at once," he said shortly, barely giving her a glance before returning to his friends.
Guinevere raised her eyebrows at Arthur, who pressed his hand to her rosy cheek. "Give him a chance, Guinevere."
The wind wailed an unspoken response to his words. It will only take one.
Soon enough, Lancelot and Guinevere were gathered behind the long line of people taken from the Roman estate, their preparations ready and hearts heavy. Lancelot bade his goodbyes to his fellow Knights, offering them promises to meet again in Kent and warnings for their safety. "Without me, you will all depart this world as dust!"
Bors laughed loudly. "Ay, not me. I expect for you to see me looking as handsome and alive as ever, possibly with another baby on the way!" He tapped Vanora's belly emphatically.
"Your womanly features grow daily, my friend!" Lancelot kidded, a content smile revealing a lighter side to this dark Knight.
Bors bounded over to his friend, sweeping him up in a playful hug. "See you soon," Bors said seriously in Lancelot's ear, as the others looked on, their eyes all relaying the same message.
Arthur, having already given his gently goodbyes and good wishes to Guinevere gripped the shoulder of his greatest friend and Lancelot did the same, their bodies locked in a seemingly unbreakable bond. "Care for her, brother."
Lancelot's eyes spiraled toward Guinevere. "Of course."
And the pair set off on their travels, a deep, desperate silence between them as they rode over hills and grass and through twilight and shadow. Arthur's words lay nestled in their minds, though the power of them weakened with each mile and each sly glance.
Their journey was only at its beginning.
Also, I loved Lancelot and I definitely noticed some L/G looks going back and forth not to mention the fact that he did a certain something (ie. THAT shocking incident at the end of the movie) to protect her! So please read as I write! And review. Thanks so much, guys!
Months had passed in a seemingly endless series of bloody battles and sad nights full of loss. Arthur and his Knights had had the good fortune to escape the endless sleep, though many other lives had been lost in the quest for the freedom of Britain.
One morning, after a particularly disheartening though triumphant battle, Guinevere woke early, the faces of the dead insisting that she should not embrace sleep. She saw blood and sweat, heard cries for forgiveness and screams of pain, and felt the touch of death on her skin. Shivering as she walked through the sleeping campsite, the trees waved in the wind ominously, beckoning her to the pond. Guinevere passed Arthur, finally having gained some measure of sound rest. She lifted her hand to caress his brow, wondering what it was he dreamt of this morning. Glory? God? Dare she even think it...herself?
Guinevere knew she cared for Arthur deeply and that their connection was made stronger by their unique union as two leaders. Arthur was a man written in legends and tales and would forever be remembered for his courageous spirit and deeds. A man she'd oft dreamed of loving and being loved by when she was but a fanciful, young girl.
As she walked towards the pond leisurely, taking a moment to enjoy the natural peace of the early morn, light flowing through the leaves of trees and creatures wandering uninhibited. But for all her romantic notions of Arthur, she knew their affair lacked a raw passion fueled by desire and kindred spirits. Guinevere was aware that she may love Arthur but he did not keep her heart for his own and she did not lust nor need him to the point of suffering. For all his greatness, he had not yet conquered her body nor soul.
Within herself, she could feel that he was not the man Merlin had warned her of. Lightening clapped suddenly as Guinevere approached the clean, cool waters of the pond, seeing another person had had a similar desire for solitude. At the sound of her footsteps, the figure sped to rise from his sitting position on the damp grass, though clearly his movements brought him pain.
Lightening belted in the colour-streaked sky as Guinevere and the stranger were revealed to one another.
Lancelot.
"Lancelot! I nearly had a fright," Guinevere exclaimed, feeling her heart refuse to slow its quickened pace.
A tight small passed over the Knight's pale, tired face. "Perhaps you should not wander...the forests are dangerous for a lady of your importance."
Guinevere felt as though he a struck her, stung hurtfully by his words. "I am no more important than you are. Besides, I have proven myself in battle, have I not?"
Lancelot moved his eyes away from her and onto the soft wrinkles in the water. "Is it admiration and compliment you look for here, then?"
"Your civility overwhelms me, Sir," Guinevere retorted snidely, striding down the path that would bring her to the grassy shores of the water.
Lancelot took a step aside as she came to stand beside him, her beauty ever present in the morning sun. "I do as I please."
"And does it please you to be arrogant? So unnecessarily cruel?" she demanded, noticing for the first time, the ill look upon his face and again, that unreadable glimmer in the depths of his eyes. She forced herself to cast her concern aside. "You may be a friend of Arthur but you are not the Lancelot he extols. For you, I see, know only spite." Guinevere spun around, intending to leave him with the heat of her harsh words but was stricken as Lancelot winced in pain, grabbing the muscled spot between his shoulder and where his left arm began. "You are hurt," she whispered, helping him to the ground.
"Nay, I am fine," he said, settling his jaw to abide the pain. "'Tis but a scratch."
Guinevere rested down beside him, her hand delicately searching out his pain. "Lancelot, you must dress this wound." She pulled off her cape and hurriedly tore off a small corner, pressing it on his wound to inhibit the flow of blood. Her eyes scanned his handsome face, noticing the marks of war upon him. Bruises and scratches, some of which bled still, covered his smooth, flawless skin. Her fingers fluttered to his forehead, gently pressing on a small gash. "You must care more for yourself."
Lancelot pushed her hand away, cringing again with the effort. "Please, leave me."
Guinevere persisted, somehow unable to take heed of his words. His scent of sweat, blood, and death so like her own was overpowered by the strong smell of manliness, which enveloped her. "Does Arthur know of your injuries?"
"No and we needn't bother informing him! I simple need a few hours peace," he answered hotly, leaving her an unsubtle hint.
"You do not sleep. Why?" Guinevere asked, closely inspecting a cut just below his eye. Looking up unexpectedly, she met his eyes, their faces only mere breaths apart.
"I have been kept awake these nights," answered Lancelot gruffly, taking her hand from his cheek and putting it upon her own self. "Go."
Guinevere's body quivered in unfulfilled expectations and she sought to cover up her surprising disappointment. "Will you never take aid, then?"
"Not from you." Lancelot looked up in the bright sky, captivated by the mirage of sweet morning colours.
"Why do you....what is it about me that you....ah, nevermind. It doesn't matter." Guinevere rose up, her heart feeling too small at this instance. "I leave you to rot in your own pity, or whatever it may be." She left him there to ponder, her own mind lively with his cold words. Yet she felt as though this was only the beginning of a great story that only time could deliver. Shrugging off her worrisome thoughts, Guinevere sought to return to a steady comfort; in Arthur, there was unfaltering love and grace and perhaps there was a chance at passion yet with him.
----
As day broke upon the small, crowded site, Arthur gathered his two faithful confidantes at his side, pulling them away from the group of stragglers and soldiers packing away the remnants of the camp. Lancelot and Guinevere did not acknowledge the other's presence, considering the fiery exchange of the past morning.
The suffering Lancelot of early morn had been replaced with a sturdy Knight, fearless of and indifferent to the dangers before him. "Arthur, we have lingered too long here. The remaining Saxons, who are likely to be more hot-blooded now after their losses, will catch our scent."
Arthur pressed his forehead to Lancelot's and smiled. "You who knows me best shares my thoughts." Guinevere suddenly felt out of place, as though she was the rushing water that would crack the rock.
Lancelot smiled contently, his tan, ruggedly bewitching face relaxed though an intensity still remained in his soulful eyes. "Not all your thoughts, friend."
"Ah, yes. There are places I go you cannot follow. But now I must ask you to go somewhere where I cannot. Kent."
Lancelot crossed his arms, a lock of hair shadowing his darkened eyes. Guinevere felt her very soul tense to resist the desire to brush it from his face and blushed, feeling as though the world could read her innermost feelings. "Kent? I don't understand," he said, his brow furrowed.
Arthur now reached for Guinevere's hand, his expression softening with adoration. "I want you to go with Guinevere, protect her--,"
"I do not need protection, Arthur. I am fighter of my own accord and I shall stay!" Guinevere declared vehemently.
"And I have seen you, firsthand, Lady. You're abilities are undeniable and do not think, I do this because you are a woman. I send you away because I cannot bear to lose you." Arthur paused as Lancelot looked away upon hearing his last words. He glanced intently at Guinevere, "But there is more to it than that—more than my care of you. You are needed to enlist the people of Kent to aid our cause. They trust the Woads and since Merlin is unable to go, I ask that you should take his place. There is rumour that the Saxons will try their luck at that fortress next, as a last resort. If this has any measure of truth to it, we will need the help of those people otherwise all our efforts will have been in vain."
Guinevere smiled at his obvious concern for her welfare, glad to see that war had not yet frozen him to indifference. "I will go, naturally. But I need not of a guard," she answered, nodding at Lancelot.
Lancelot pursed his lips, his eyes burning into hers. "It is unwarranted territory. If the Saxons find you, they will not hesitate to end your life. Four eyes are better than two."
"I do not care for your eyes, Sir. I do not need you!" she insisted, betraying a small voice inside her heart.
An expression of sorrow flickered across the young Knight's face before he stamped one of his swords angrily in the ground. "So be it. Go and do not return!" He flung himself away from them towards that day's camp, his dark curly hair blowing carelessly in the wind.
Arthur placed his hands on Guinevere's shoulders, a look of determination upon his ragged, though strong, face. "Please, allow Lancelot to accompany you. He is my most trusted Knight and friend--,"
"He detests me, Arthur. You know this; you've heard the way he speaks to me, his voice full of disgust and the way he looks at me, as though I am little more than a slug of this earth.
Arthur sighed, knowing there was some truth to her words. "It is not you, Guinevere. It is this life he hates. He fights for land not his own and people not his kin. For 15 years, he has been under siege of the Romans, his freedom always within grasp yet never attainable. And so he has hardened with time, grown more bitter and more ready to leave this place, to find a home." He dropped her hand, leaning somberly against a barky tree trunk as a regretful expression passed across his haggard face. "It is my own fault. He is here for my quest."
"No. He is here for something else," uttered Guinevere thoughtlessly, her conscious speaking and not her rational mind. It was true. She could sense that Lancelot stayed for other reasons unknown, besides his devotion to Arthur, although she knew not what. Shaking her head, she looked at Arthur's puzzled appearance and sought to ease his own conscious. "Lancelot is his own man. He stands beside you because he knows that what you do is great. Greater than yourself, greater than him, than all of us."
Arthur beamed, glowing happily at Guinevere as the bright sunlight shone upon her dark hair. "You have a many a skill, Lady."
"Many of which are in battle, Arthur," she added coyly, a sly curve to her lips as she strolled around the tree trunk.
"Why are you so hesitant to have someone accompany you? Or is it just that it would be Lancelot?" Arthur asked delicately. Guinevere remained silent and he shook his head, wondering if perhaps she simply was not yet ready to reveal all her secrets, and grasped for her soft, small hand. "You need not answer that. I suppose I hold hope that you and Lancelot can indeed become friends...or at least, be tolerable in one another's company!"
"Arthur...," she whispered, her very soul yearning for him not to try to persuade her. The trees swayed in a light breeze and Guinevere felt the long grasses whisper to her that to go with Lancelot would leave nothing unchanged.
"Lancelot has been at my side for 15 years. Despite our...differences, I would trust him with my life...and I trust him with you. It would give me great pleasure to know that my two closest allies are not at war with eachother," explained Arthur wisely, and for a moment Guinevere could envision a kingly crown atop his head.
She ran her fingers lightly across his forehead and through his thick dark hair. "I go for you." Guinevere could feel her body quiver with her lie, knowing within her that she did not simply go because Arthur had bidden her to do so. She went for something else, though her heart would not yet unlock that secret.
Arthur lowered his lips to hers, giving her the sweetest of first kisses that was filled with great promise and hope. Guinevere opened her eyes, looking just beyond Arthur's lovely face and straight into Lancelot's dark, wounded eyes, as he stood with the other Knights. He turned away quickly as she glanced at his stricken, paling face and concerned himself with forcefully sharpening his blades. "Goodbye, Arthur," murmured Guinevere, a small smile dancing upon her pink lips. Curiously, she felt as though this was not simply a short goodbye but an eternal goodbye of some sort.
"Goodbye. We'll be reuinited soon enough," Arthur said calmly, waving Lancelot to his side. "Guinevere will be going to Kent after all. Will you accompany her?"
Lancelot nodded nobly, clearly offering her a peace. "A wise decision, Lady. We leave at once," he said shortly, barely giving her a glance before returning to his friends.
Guinevere raised her eyebrows at Arthur, who pressed his hand to her rosy cheek. "Give him a chance, Guinevere."
The wind wailed an unspoken response to his words. It will only take one.
Soon enough, Lancelot and Guinevere were gathered behind the long line of people taken from the Roman estate, their preparations ready and hearts heavy. Lancelot bade his goodbyes to his fellow Knights, offering them promises to meet again in Kent and warnings for their safety. "Without me, you will all depart this world as dust!"
Bors laughed loudly. "Ay, not me. I expect for you to see me looking as handsome and alive as ever, possibly with another baby on the way!" He tapped Vanora's belly emphatically.
"Your womanly features grow daily, my friend!" Lancelot kidded, a content smile revealing a lighter side to this dark Knight.
Bors bounded over to his friend, sweeping him up in a playful hug. "See you soon," Bors said seriously in Lancelot's ear, as the others looked on, their eyes all relaying the same message.
Arthur, having already given his gently goodbyes and good wishes to Guinevere gripped the shoulder of his greatest friend and Lancelot did the same, their bodies locked in a seemingly unbreakable bond. "Care for her, brother."
Lancelot's eyes spiraled toward Guinevere. "Of course."
And the pair set off on their travels, a deep, desperate silence between them as they rode over hills and grass and through twilight and shadow. Arthur's words lay nestled in their minds, though the power of them weakened with each mile and each sly glance.
Their journey was only at its beginning.