Two.
"What do you think you are doing?" the voice came soft in the darkness of the stables. Bent over at the waist retrieving some tack, Lancelot froze, then resumed his actions.
"I am readying my horse for my trip," he answered simply. The animal in question nickered softly at him, and he stroked its neck absently.
"Do not think I don't know why," Guinevere added, crossing the space between them, hands at her hips and hair flying wildly about her, as if she had run from the Keep to the stables.
"Whatever do you mean, lady?" the knight replied, a sigh escaping his lips. Turning to face her at last, he set his saddle down on one of the beams that ran the length of the room, the only thing that seperated them.
She was shocked at his appearance, and to her utter dismay, all her anger at him wilted like a dead flower.
Guinevere reached out a trembling hand, brushing it against his bearded cheek. He raised his own, capturing her palm against his face, and pressed a kiss to it. She squeezed her eyes shut, and a single tear escaped them.
"You look bad, Lancelot," she whispered. He laughed softly.
"Thank you, my lady. I don't feel myself, to be honest."
"You have an air of ghostlyness about you. It frightens me…and I am not easily frightened, as well you know," she told him, dropping her hand from his face. He picked it up between his, twining their fingers together.
"I am sorry, Guinevere. I don't mean to upset you. Since when has my appearance been something that you fear?" he joked, but she didn't smile.
"Why must you do this? Is it because of something I did? Or Arthur?" she asked him, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
"No, no, never that," he said, releasing her hand. Pacing away from her, he chewed on his lower lip, and lifted his horse's bridle from the wall where he had stored it.
Running his calloused fingers over the soft leather, he returned to the wooden beam that held his saddle, placing the bridle over it.
Raising his head, his dark eyes meeting hers, he told her truthfully, "I cannot be around you any longer. I am sore afraid that I will do something I will regret, and cause great hurt to a man I love more than my own life. I owe him everything, Guinevere. I cannot betray him. And yet, I cannot carry on as we have been, either. I love you as well…and I cannot find another way to reconcile the two things. Should I go on as I have, and live a mockery of a life, watching you with him? Or should I take you and leave, and destroy my truest friend in all the world? I can see no other way around it. I was ready to tell Arthur I was going to leave, when he asked me to stand with him at your wedding. I couldn't do it then. I have the perfect reason now…and my commander needs me to fulfill a mission. That is why I do this, my love."
His head dropped, sinking between his shoulder blades. His eyes closed. Gods damn him…damn Arthur for his noble streak the day they discovered the underground prison at the estate. Damn the day he saw Guinevere…and damn the day he realized he loved her.
Arthur needed her. He will always need her. She is the moon to his blinding sun, the water to his fire. They are a perfect match.
And yet…the knight forever standing in shadows needed some of her glow as well. She soothed him, two warriors born and bred, no need to speak. They read each other with simple gestures and looks. It was she that had saved him at Badon Hill, just as he had saved her moments before.
He thinks he loved her at that moment…and ever since. She had defended his dying body until the other knights could get there…until Arthur had killed the Saxon commander, and the battle had ended.
Their eyes had met, and she had wept over him, wept for his pain and his decision to risk his life to help her, and she had stayed with him, refusing to leave his sick bed, sharing nursemaid duties with Arthur. Her husband had been deeply touched by her devotion to his dear friend, never knowing Guinevere was falling for the blooded knight harder everyday.
When he at last had been able to rise from his sick bed, she had been there to help him take his first tottering steps. He had slung an arm around her shoulders, and she had taken his weight like he was a feather pillow. She was strong, and silent, and comfortable to him. He had not needed to tell her how he felt, she knew.
She had come to him a few nights later, and she had kissed him in the darkness of his room, both of them wanting more, but in the end Lancelot not allowing it to go any further.
He wanted her, he will want her to the end of his days. But every second that he thinks of her, Arthur's face swims into view, and he is sick with the wrongness of his desire.
In the stables, she leaned toward him, sinking her hand into his glorious hair. She lifted his chin with her hand, and his dark eyes shone in the depths of his gaunt face, the black smudges under his eyes looking strange against the whiteness of his skin.
"You must promise me one thing," Guinevere whispered to him, removing her hand from his hair. He cocked his head to one side, and raised an eyebrow.
"Don't get killed?" he asked, laughing softly. She looked surprised, and he smiled broadly. "Arthur asked the same thing of me. In fact, he said you would not look on it too kindly were he to send me to my death."
She giggled at this, the noise sounding harsh and out of place for the seriousness of the moment.
"You jest, Lancelot, but believe me, if you don't come back…I will haunt you beyond the grave," she said, the tears coming to her eyes at last.
"Gods forbid," he answered quietly. He groaned at the look in her eyes, and wrapped his arms around her small, strong frame. She nestled her nose in the nape of his neck, pressing a kiss to his throat. He rested his cheek on top of her head, breathing silently, impressing upon his mind the feel of her body against his.
He will never have her the way he wants, so this must be enough. The pliant yet hard muscles, her soft, round hips, her tiny hands in his, and most of all, her kind, generous, beautiful soul.
"I shall see you again, Guinevere, do not despair. You must be strong for Arthur. He needs you…and he loves you," he murmured into her hair. She jerked away from him suddenly, leaving him feeling cold and empty.
"I love you," she said angrily. "And you would do well to remember it. It is not a thing easily won." She sighed then, pushing her wild hair away from her face. "But you are right…he does need me, and he deserves my loyalty and respect. I…just be careful, for his sake, if not for mine. He would break were you to come to harm again."
"My lady commands," he replied, bowing to her. She gave him a curious look, between passion and annoyance.
"I will see you soon," she said, an order to his ears. Without waiting for an answer, she fled the stables, leaving him to answer to the darkness.
"I promise it."
Early the following morning, Arthur was waiting at the stables when Lancelot arrived. At his side was a young woman, shocking red hair piled on her head, an exotic look to her features.
"This is Amaidis, Lancelot. You and she will be in charge of the three men I send with you. Remember, one weeks time, or I will send the entire garrison after you."
Lancelot smiled at his captain, bowing low before him.
"Aye, Arthur, and it will be so," he said, clapping the other man on the shoulder. Arthur smiled tightly back at him, worry etching his features.
"Do not disappoint me, Lancelot. I will see you here in seven days."
"Indeed, Arthur."
He accepted the reins to his horse from the stable boy, and mounted up.
Amaidis, the young scout, mounted her horse alongside him.
The other three knights, young men on their first scouting trip, were on their horses and eager to do their duty, excited by the slight prospect of battle.
"Your lead, mistress scout," Lancelot said to her, and she gigged her horse, taking off at a fast trot, the other knights following her.
"Arthur," Lancelot called to his friend, as the sun broke over the horizon at last.
"Yes?" the King answered, turning back to face Lancelot's horse.
"…nothing," he said, not able to form the words take care of Guinevere.
"Godspeed, Lancelot," Arthur hailed him as he galloped by, meaning to catch up to the rest of the party, who were through the gates at a fast clip.
"Merciful Father, keep him safe," Arthur whispered as he watched the small band ride north.
Tbc.