The rain fell steadily, soaking all who were unfortunate enough to be out in the elements.
With the setting of the sun, the last warmth of the day had also disappeared, and the people and the knights who were lucky enough to have not gotten injured were bearing the chill with as much cheer as possible.
Lancelot stood outside the main tent of the encampment, listening as a Woad healer spoke with Guinevere after seeing to Arthur.
He sighed when he heard the man tell the queen Arthur was out of danger, but needed to get back to the Wall as soon as possible. His shoulders sunk back to their normal position, and he let a large tension filled breath whoosh out of his lips.
The torches that lit the camp sputtered in the wetness, and Lancelot could barely see Bors as the man walked to up to him, and handed him a mug of hot wine.
"How is he?" Bors asked.
"He'll live, but he has to get back to safety soon," Lancelot replied. He sipped at his drink, grateful for the heat and shivered slightly as it made it's way down his throat.
"Thank the gods. I'd hate to think I made an ass of meself for no reason," the other man laughed, and chugged his wine.
"I'm going to tell the others," Bors added, and began to leave. He hesitated, then turned back to the tall, thin knight still standing in the rain.
"You all right, boy?" he said, and Lancelot smiled at the usage of 'boy'. He hadn't been a boy for a very long time. Not since the first night he had spent in Britain.
"Aye. Go impart our good news to the others, Bors. I will see you in the morning; I would hope to be included in the group carrying Arthur back to the wall, considering I'm the captain of his guard."
"Drink up, Lancelot," Bors said as he walked off, "and this time it's safe!"
The dark haired knight just shook his head as Bors headed off in the direction of the horse enclosure, laughing loudly.
They made record time back to the Wall. Arthur slept most of the way, his injuries not life threatening, but bad enough to warrant haste.
Lancelot provided the best guard Arthur had ever had, and woe to anyone who tried to approach the litter on which the king was borne.
The second the wall came into view, Lancelot spurred his horse on, waving at the gate sentry, who had the large wooden structure open almost before the captain of the guard gave the order.
The king was carried hastily to his chambers, and was closeted in with Guinevere and the healer who was based at the fortress.
Lancelot waited outside, his helmet under his arm, his swords still sheathed on his back. His battle armor had not been removed since rescuing Arthur, and he realized suddenly how exhausted he was.
Sitting heavily on a chair in the long hall, he crossed his arms over the helmet in his lap, and shut his eyes.
He had intended to rest for only a moment, but when he was shaken awake by a sentry, evening had come.
"The King is asking for you, Sir," the boy said, and Lancelot stood.
"I'll be right there," he told the lad, and shook himself, ran tired hands over his face and hair, and plastered a smile on his face.
He entered the king's rooms, and was immediately struck by the smell of thick sage incense.
He coughed politely, and Guinevere, who was sitting at Arthur's bedside with her back to the door, turned and smiled at the sight of him.
"Lancelot," she said, "you have my eternal gratitude." She stood, and took his hands in hers. He couldn't help but notice that they shook slightly at the contact.
She leaned in to him, and touched her lips to his cheek. He wanted to weep at the closeness, but instead breathed in steadily, memorizing the scent of flowers and musk that surrounded her. She was a woman, but also a warrior. That was part of what attracted him to her in the first place.
She pulled away after a long moment, and his heart ached at the tears hanging unshed in her eyes. He knew that for the sake of Arthur, and for the sake of their sanity, he would not see her like he wanted to again.
"I would do anything for you or the king, majesty. You have my promise on that."
Her eyes widened slightly at the formality of his words, but she nodded her head.
"I will leave you with Arthur…but don't stay too long," she added, heading to the door.
"Aye, my lady," Lancelot said, and made a swift bow to her. Their gazes locked for one brief moment, but she broke the spell, exiting quickly.
The Sarmatian hung his head, allowing for just minute the weight of all that had transpired in the past week roll over him like a wave, and he quavered slightly.
"Lancelot?" came Arthur's voice, soft in the gloom of dusk.
The knight made his way to the king's bedside, and sat there, smiling at his friend. They clasped hands in the old way, forearm to forearm.
"I am sorry," Arthur began, but Lancelot just shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
"No need, Arthur. Having some distance from it…I understand your reasoning. It doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm the captain of your guard, man. How can I protect you if I'm not there?"
He hadn't meant to just spout it out, but there it was. Arthur sighed, and looked away, letting go of Lancelot's hand. "I could not see you hurt again. Or dead. It was an idiotic thing to do, but I was out of time. I am truly sorry. We have dealt with so much loss, Lancelot. I couldn't see being the cause of more."
"Arthur, I accepted the position of your captain with full knowledge of what could happen to me. How is that any different than fighting by your side for Rome?"
"Because you have a choice!" Arthur answered vehemently. "You didn't then. Neither did Dagonet, or Tristan. And they lost their lives for me. I knew the outcome of the battle was very well the loss of a heavy amount of guard…and I just couldn't risk it. You had been so recently injured, I thought it best if you didn't go. Please forgive me."
Lancelot just stared at him, opening his mouth. What came out was not what he expected, nor wanted.
"I love the queen."
He forced himself to stay seated, not allowing himself to get up and pace away from Arthur. That would be the easy way out. He met Arthur's green gaze, and held it.
"I know," was how Arthur answered. Not angrily, not surprisedly, just with a resignedness that made Lancelot's insides twinge. The plain statements hung there between the two men, filling the room with their honesty so that Lancelot thought his head might burst.
"Arthur…why have you not said anything to me?" he asked finally. The king smiled.
"Because I understand why. I love her too, you know. It's impossible not to. And I love you…and couldn't bear to step between you. I thought that no matter what I did, or said, it would come out in such a way that you would blame yourself or think I mistrusted you. You are my lifelong friend, and my brother. I could never hold you responsible for something you could not help."
The Sarmatian's mouth flopped like a fish on land; he was thunderstruck.
He worried his lip between his teeth, his mind trying to wrap itself around the concept that the king had known and had not said anything. And more than that, had condoned it.
"I…Gods, Arthur. How can you forgive me? How can you trust me? I touched your wife, and more than that, I did it behind your back! I betrayed you! Me! The one who knows you best of all…I had no backbone to tell you, or to just leave. It would have been better that way," Lancelot said, tears of shame and rage burning his eyes and throat.
He stood, and ignored the pleading gesture Arthur gave with his hand. He was too wrapped up in his own misery now, and was damned if he was going to let Arthur forgive him, not when he couldn't do it himself.
The man was intolerably noble. And it would be the death of him if he didn't be careful.
"Lancelot, please. Don't kill yourself over this. I can forgive you because I understand it. I would love her if any man had her…including you. I know you didn't mean me any harm. I thought that it would flame out eventually, but I was waiting to mention it to you…when the right moment hit me," Arthur said, his face reddening. Lancelot thought he was the only man he knew who wouldn't see it as a cuckolding. And damn his honor and loyalty. Lancelot detested himself. He needed Arthur to be angry…and he wasn't. And Lancelot didn't know how to respond to that.
He sat abruptly on a chair across from the bed, and looked at his friend. Really looked at him.
He saw a man who, despite his physical weaknesses, sat unaided, and radiated strength from every molecule of his being. His brow was clear, his eyes unclouded, and his face unmarked by indecision.
It was infuriating. Lancelot growled suddenly, and leap up.
"I have to go, Arthur….I'm sorry, I just, I can't. Not now…"
He waved a hand vaguely in the air, his wounded wrists throbbing in time with his heart. His internal dialog was fighting itself- stay, go, stay, go.
The king nodded, knowing his friend was torn inside. "Please, return when you can, brother, I would take offense if you didn't come to distract me while I heal," Arthur tried to make light of the situation, but Lancelot didn't look at him. He made a short bow in Arthur's direction, and let the door shut behind him.
Arthur sighed, and layed his head back against the pillow. He inhaled the scent of Guinevere from the pillow, and clenched his hands. He did understand his friend's love, he did. But it did not make it any easier to bear. Guinevere was his wife, and queen. His captain by all rights should be banished from the fortress, or at the worst hung for treason.
But Arthur couldn't even contemplate that. He squeezed his eyes shut, and drove the thoughts from his mind.
He knew he should be angry, or betrayed, or shocked. But despite what he knew, he wasn't any of those things. He wasn't that type of man…which might one day come back to haunt him.
The king tried to rest, and to forget the haunted expression on Lancelot's face when he discovered Arthur had known of his feelings for Guinevere.
He was sure to be harder on himself than any punishment the law said he deserved.
Tbc.