NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My first thought was to call this "the Last Sarmatian" but I thought people might start throwing furniture, so I'm still looking for a name. SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOME! Reviewing is great too!
This is a Lancelot romance. Its half OC, half movie character… read the summary to understand how that is possible. It's got some Guinevere angst thrown in for good effect. Basically just an excuse to write about an Ioan Gruffudd character.
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.
Summary: I remember in the movie, at the beginning when Lancelot is doing his thing and narrating us up something nasty, that there was a little girl who gave him a necklace before he left to become a knight. All my friends say that was his sister… but I'm supposing it wasn't. So that's the idea I'm rolling with. No likey, don't read…ey…
P.S. Finnabhair is pronounced Finn-a-vere. Like Guinevere… but … not…
Hats Off, Mickey
His dark eyes swept the large rounded table, taking in the chaos that surrounded him. He sipped at his goblet of wine, and watched as Bors hoisted young William, formerly known as number four, onto his large knee.
Gwain was busy telling a story, which one he could not guess, since he was a fountain of lengthy tales, some true, but most false. He grasped the waists of the women he had on each knee, as they giggled and groped at his chest.
Galahad, for once not moody and withdrawn, was sipping at the lips of some brown haired wench, who was replying eagerly much to his satisfaction.
As Lancelot took in those who surrounded him, his eyes not remaining too long on any wench - for they had all become just that, a wench and nothing more – his eyes finally lingered to the one place they could never stray from for very long. To a most prized possession. Arthur's most prized possession.
Guinevere's eyes fluttered as she and Arthur stared deep into each other's countenances, and Lancelot saw with some frustration, a conversation passing between them. An intimate conversation, no words, no sound, just eyes. And it pained him that he could not understand, nor would ever be part of that conversation.
She smiled at her king and husband discreetly, and dragged one long elegant finger down his jaw, which made not only Arthur, but Lancelot swallow hard. Her dark hair hung loose to her shoulders, browns waves that made any man itch to touch. Her dark eyes met Arthur's sea green ones, and the two clasped each other's hands and left the table.
Lancelot could not stay any longer.
The chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood and left the room. No one even glanced up.
He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the countryside. The smell of wet grass, mud and clover filled him, and for a moment, Lancelot felt at peace. It did not happen often, while his mind was plagued with thoughts of losing his closest friend and the only woman who still stood as a woman in his mind.
"Am I not allowed a love all my own?" he whispered to the wind. No one heard him. Even if someone had, who could help?
He leaned against the stony wall of the fortress where they're greatest war to date had been fought, against the Saxons. He'd almost lost his life. Some days… he wished that he had. The cool stone brought no comfort to the fallen knight, as he stared up at the sky which had become clouded and stained in pink and orange. He wondered what home would feel like. What it would be like to simply leave Arthur, the knights and Guinevere behind and go home to the only place that had brought him happiness.
A sudden harsh voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he heard the scraping of metal against stone. His dark eyebrows knitted together as he walked toward the large heavy doorway that protected the walls of the outpost from being breeched. The doors were open just large enough for a person to squeeze through, and as Lancelot slipped through, he saw where the noises had come from.
One of the guards on duty had drawn his sword and was pressing a cloaked traveler against the outer wall. As Lancelot approached he saw it was Deter, a soldier who had a tendency to take what he wanted whenever he pleased. His intentions never seemed honorable. He once attempted to kill a young girl for refusing his advances and though Lancelot had told Arthur, he still hadn't been exiled.
"Who goes there?" Lancelot asked, pretending he hadn't recognized Deter. He looked momentarily surprised by the intrusion, but soon Deter's large rounded face became a deep scarlet and he took on a fierce look.
"Nothing to bother you with, Knight." He said the title with dripping disdain, baring his teeth like an animal. The cloaked traveler whimpered, and Lancelot could tell it was a woman.
"Have you nothing better to do than bully those who cannot defend themselves?" Lancelot asked coolly, gripping his dagger just to show Deter that he was not intimidated. Deter snorted. "Unhand her, so that I may escort her inside."
"She may be a spy." Deter said, his grip on a thin bony wrist tightening.
"That is a far reach. She is no spy." He paused. "Unhand her or I will be forced to strike that hand off." His voice was firm, and Deter's fierce demeanor wavered. He gave one last grunt and pushed the traveler toward Lancelot, who caught her, his glare not moving from Deter until he had skulked away.
The woman clung to him like a bur, probably afraid that Deter would come back. One of her arms was wrapped firmly around his waist, the other tucked under her, her hand on his chest. Her labored breathing told him perhaps she had been crying and Lancelot looked down onto the top of her head.
"Hush now. Don't cry. He is gone, and you are safe." He soothed, his rough hand coming up to the side of her head. Then suddenly there was silence.
Her hand was grasping his wooden necklace, the one that had been given to him at the age of fifteen, when he'd first begun his work for Rome.
"Where? Where did you get this?" Came a breathy voice. Lancelot frowned as the little woman pushed just far enough away to look at the wooden wolf.
"It is from my home." Was the simple answer. But the cloaked figure shook its head, and before Lancelot could inquire why, the necklace had been ripped from his neck and the traveler was running away with it. "STOP!" He yelled as he took off after her. "LITTLE THIEF!"
She moved quickly, lithely, and she didn't seem as though she were going to stop. So he had to improvise. Stopping for only a second, Lancelot grabbed a long branch that had been used to build a fire and flung it out after the little thief. It caught her in the knees and she fell down hard on the grass. He wasted no time sprinting toward her, and within mere seconds he was above her, turning her over.
"NO!" she cried hoarsely. "You stole it from him! You took it from him!" Lancelot ground his teeth as he forced her over onto her side and grabbed her hood, pulling it back from her face. As soon as it had fallen behind her head, sharp teeth bit down on his palm and he yelped in pain. He fell down onto her, throwing his whole weight onto her hips so that she could not squirm away, and pinned her hands down onto the ground.
They were both panting and gasping for air, and this is when each first got to see the other's face.
Her face was pale; her eyes were wide and green like the leaves of the forest. She wore dark black chalk around the lids of her eyes, making them shockingly large as they took in his own appearance. Her hair was the color of hay, long and wavy. Her lush pink lips were open, as she took deep breathes. And then she said the most shocking thing:
"Lancelot?"
This is a Lancelot romance. Its half OC, half movie character… read the summary to understand how that is possible. It's got some Guinevere angst thrown in for good effect. Basically just an excuse to write about an Ioan Gruffudd character.
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.
Summary: I remember in the movie, at the beginning when Lancelot is doing his thing and narrating us up something nasty, that there was a little girl who gave him a necklace before he left to become a knight. All my friends say that was his sister… but I'm supposing it wasn't. So that's the idea I'm rolling with. No likey, don't read…ey…
P.S. Finnabhair is pronounced Finn-a-vere. Like Guinevere… but … not…
Hats Off, Mickey
His dark eyes swept the large rounded table, taking in the chaos that surrounded him. He sipped at his goblet of wine, and watched as Bors hoisted young William, formerly known as number four, onto his large knee.
Gwain was busy telling a story, which one he could not guess, since he was a fountain of lengthy tales, some true, but most false. He grasped the waists of the women he had on each knee, as they giggled and groped at his chest.
Galahad, for once not moody and withdrawn, was sipping at the lips of some brown haired wench, who was replying eagerly much to his satisfaction.
As Lancelot took in those who surrounded him, his eyes not remaining too long on any wench - for they had all become just that, a wench and nothing more – his eyes finally lingered to the one place they could never stray from for very long. To a most prized possession. Arthur's most prized possession.
Guinevere's eyes fluttered as she and Arthur stared deep into each other's countenances, and Lancelot saw with some frustration, a conversation passing between them. An intimate conversation, no words, no sound, just eyes. And it pained him that he could not understand, nor would ever be part of that conversation.
She smiled at her king and husband discreetly, and dragged one long elegant finger down his jaw, which made not only Arthur, but Lancelot swallow hard. Her dark hair hung loose to her shoulders, browns waves that made any man itch to touch. Her dark eyes met Arthur's sea green ones, and the two clasped each other's hands and left the table.
Lancelot could not stay any longer.
The chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood and left the room. No one even glanced up.
He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the countryside. The smell of wet grass, mud and clover filled him, and for a moment, Lancelot felt at peace. It did not happen often, while his mind was plagued with thoughts of losing his closest friend and the only woman who still stood as a woman in his mind.
"Am I not allowed a love all my own?" he whispered to the wind. No one heard him. Even if someone had, who could help?
He leaned against the stony wall of the fortress where they're greatest war to date had been fought, against the Saxons. He'd almost lost his life. Some days… he wished that he had. The cool stone brought no comfort to the fallen knight, as he stared up at the sky which had become clouded and stained in pink and orange. He wondered what home would feel like. What it would be like to simply leave Arthur, the knights and Guinevere behind and go home to the only place that had brought him happiness.
A sudden harsh voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he heard the scraping of metal against stone. His dark eyebrows knitted together as he walked toward the large heavy doorway that protected the walls of the outpost from being breeched. The doors were open just large enough for a person to squeeze through, and as Lancelot slipped through, he saw where the noises had come from.
One of the guards on duty had drawn his sword and was pressing a cloaked traveler against the outer wall. As Lancelot approached he saw it was Deter, a soldier who had a tendency to take what he wanted whenever he pleased. His intentions never seemed honorable. He once attempted to kill a young girl for refusing his advances and though Lancelot had told Arthur, he still hadn't been exiled.
"Who goes there?" Lancelot asked, pretending he hadn't recognized Deter. He looked momentarily surprised by the intrusion, but soon Deter's large rounded face became a deep scarlet and he took on a fierce look.
"Nothing to bother you with, Knight." He said the title with dripping disdain, baring his teeth like an animal. The cloaked traveler whimpered, and Lancelot could tell it was a woman.
"Have you nothing better to do than bully those who cannot defend themselves?" Lancelot asked coolly, gripping his dagger just to show Deter that he was not intimidated. Deter snorted. "Unhand her, so that I may escort her inside."
"She may be a spy." Deter said, his grip on a thin bony wrist tightening.
"That is a far reach. She is no spy." He paused. "Unhand her or I will be forced to strike that hand off." His voice was firm, and Deter's fierce demeanor wavered. He gave one last grunt and pushed the traveler toward Lancelot, who caught her, his glare not moving from Deter until he had skulked away.
The woman clung to him like a bur, probably afraid that Deter would come back. One of her arms was wrapped firmly around his waist, the other tucked under her, her hand on his chest. Her labored breathing told him perhaps she had been crying and Lancelot looked down onto the top of her head.
"Hush now. Don't cry. He is gone, and you are safe." He soothed, his rough hand coming up to the side of her head. Then suddenly there was silence.
Her hand was grasping his wooden necklace, the one that had been given to him at the age of fifteen, when he'd first begun his work for Rome.
"Where? Where did you get this?" Came a breathy voice. Lancelot frowned as the little woman pushed just far enough away to look at the wooden wolf.
"It is from my home." Was the simple answer. But the cloaked figure shook its head, and before Lancelot could inquire why, the necklace had been ripped from his neck and the traveler was running away with it. "STOP!" He yelled as he took off after her. "LITTLE THIEF!"
She moved quickly, lithely, and she didn't seem as though she were going to stop. So he had to improvise. Stopping for only a second, Lancelot grabbed a long branch that had been used to build a fire and flung it out after the little thief. It caught her in the knees and she fell down hard on the grass. He wasted no time sprinting toward her, and within mere seconds he was above her, turning her over.
"NO!" she cried hoarsely. "You stole it from him! You took it from him!" Lancelot ground his teeth as he forced her over onto her side and grabbed her hood, pulling it back from her face. As soon as it had fallen behind her head, sharp teeth bit down on his palm and he yelped in pain. He fell down onto her, throwing his whole weight onto her hips so that she could not squirm away, and pinned her hands down onto the ground.
They were both panting and gasping for air, and this is when each first got to see the other's face.
Her face was pale; her eyes were wide and green like the leaves of the forest. She wore dark black chalk around the lids of her eyes, making them shockingly large as they took in his own appearance. Her hair was the color of hay, long and wavy. Her lush pink lips were open, as she took deep breathes. And then she said the most shocking thing:
"Lancelot?"