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.
Thanks for the reviews! Very helpful, hope I've corrected most errors, apologise if not! Shorty 51 you're not pathetic, keep on giving me ideas, I could really use the help!
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"The village is gone?" he asked, something deep and disturbing swirling in the pit of his stomach. She nodded, and let out another harsh breath, her chest constricting, leaving a dull ache.
"The Saxons…" tears began to spill down her cheeks. "…they came with their axes…" Lancelot felt his throat tighten. "…and with their fire…" it was all coming out in tormented waves. "…and it's all gone…"
"Why didn't you tell me…?" he couldn't finish. He felt as if he wanted to wretch.
"I came to see the King and his knights, to beg for their help…" she wiped away her tears, the stains in her cheeks remaining. "…and then that horrible, horrible man…" her voice was raw, scraping. "…and I was just so happy to see you, I… it was like I was home again… and everything was…" She closed her eyes, ashamed that she had gall to momentarily forget her people's plight.
She shook, partially because a cold wind had begun to cut through her ragged shawl, partly because all she wanted to do was collapse into the broken pile she knew she'd become.
Lancelot, who'd been wrapped up in thoughts and images of their home being licked by red flames, and their families being turned to smoke and ash, finally snapped back to reality and pulled her close to him, and began leading her to the heavy doors he'd slipped through.
He made no effort to comfort her with words, just held her close to him. She pulled her hood back up and leaned as far as she could into his embrace. She wanted to melt into him like the needy, lonesome little girl she was.
She'd traveled three months to get to Arthur and his knights. She'd begun her journey with a horse, two companions and food. She'd lost one companion to the Woads, her second companion lost himself in a forest never to be seen again, her horse was attacked by a pack of wild dogs in the night, and all her food had been rationed and eaten one month prior to her arrival.
Her eyelids drooped as Lancelot steered her into a long hallway. It was dark and dingy, but it was also warm and dry. He guided her toward a doorway, an opaque blue veil hung in place of a door. He swept it aside and they entered.
The soft candle light made the shadows dance across the taupe walls. A modest bed sat in the corner to the left, a sheer blue veil draping across it, making it seem more lavish than it was. There was a chair in the corner, by a table, books scattered across it. Twin swords were propped in the corner, glinting threateningly. She remembered when they're swords had been made from wood, dull and harmless. It was then that Finn realized just how much Lancelot must have changed.
"You must be exhausted." He said as he watched her from her left side. She did not bother to look at him, simply nodded and walked toward the bed. "You will tell me everything tomorrow." It wasn't a question. He knew he had a right to know. As did she.
"I will." She said, clasping her mouth as a yawn escaped. "Where will I sleep?"
"In the bed." He answered as he walked to one of the windows along the wall and closed the shutter.
"And where will you sleep?" she asked as she pulled her hood down and began to unwind her shawl from her shoulders. He began shutting the second window.
"I will find no peace tonight." He answered gravely. "Despite your early prediction Finney, home still means something to me… meant… something to me." His hands braced against the ledge.
"I never meant… I know you …" she closed her eyes. Why was it so hard to tell him that she knew? "You've always meant something to us." He turned at this, to look at her sitting at the edge of his bed, her ratty shawl thrown onto the chair. She wore a frayed blue tunic, with sleeves that reached her fingers, and the hem reached mid thigh. It was scant for her, and she must have been frozen. It had a V shaped neck line with black embroidery as the trim.
"That tunic-"
"It was yours." She finished a small smile on her face. "After you left, your da burned your wooden swords and I wanted something to remember you by." She tugged at the sleeves.
"It's worn." He said moving forward to kneel at her side. He took the sleeve in his hand and felt the soft material. It felt like the first day he'd gotten it, on his thirteenth birthday. "You wear it a lot?" He asked looking up at her.
Her smile disappeared, and her face became soft. "All the time." He smiled at that, and for a moment, he felt as if he might have been able to sleep again. He stood quickly, banishing the feeling, as if it would be like wronging his village.
Finn frowned. She'd thought for a moment that perhaps he could rest. She sighed and raised her right foot, pulling off one light boot. Soon the other followed it, propped next to her shawl.
She looked up, and watched him stand with a book in one hand. His hip was jutted out to the right, his long lithe figure illuminated by the dimly glowing candles behind him on the table.
"Come here." She said her voice soft and coaxing. He turned, placing the book down on the table, and came to stand in front of her as if hypnotized by her voice. "There is enough room for two. Come and lay down. Perhaps you will slumber after all." He looked uneasy with this request and was about to protest, but Finn shook her head and scooted over.
He hesitated, before letting out a long sigh. Finn smiled. She knew she'd won.
He unbuckled his brown leather belt and threw it on the table. Then he sat down on his side and began to wrestle with his boots. Finn peeled back the scratchy wool blankets and pulled them over herself. When she'd become comfortable, she looked back to Lancelot, who pulled his tunic up over his head and tossed it over to his belt.
He of course looked NOTHING like he had when they were younger. At least not in terms of body. He'd become broad in the shoulders, small hips, flat panes of muscle all along his chest and abdomen. She frowned momentarily when she saw scars and other markings from the battles he'd waged the years he'd been gone, but faster than she could muse on them, he'd covered them with the blanket.
He had his father's face, a younger face. He looked tired, stretched…like he'd lived too long with war and blood. His hair was rumbled, curly, just as it had been when he was a boy. Obviously, the facial hair was not present in their younger years, but it suited him well. His deep chocolate eyes practically made her melt, just as they had when they were children. She chided herself for thinking such things, for being so foolish as to still have feelings for a man she now barely knew.
He let out a sigh as he molded to his bed.
"You remember when we were little?" she whispered, aware that he'd been conscious of her detailed gaze.
"I could never forget a pest like you." He teased, receiving a light smack on the chest.
"Did you ever think about me…? When you left?" Silence filled the air. He could tell she was hopeful and he tried to think of something to say to comfort her.
"I confess, those times were rare." He shifted so that he was facing her. "Though if I had known you would grow up to look as you do… perhaps I would have thought of you a bit more."
She laughed, a genuine laugh, which made him in turn smile. When she finished she breathed a sigh and her head lolled to the side to face him. "You had better be cautious about saying things like that to me." She warned.
"Why? Will your husband have me beaten?" It was half jest, half curiosity which fueled such a question. There was a long pause in which Lancelot could actually hear Finn's quickening heartbeat.
"I have no husband…yet." The candles were almost spent, so Lancelot chanced one last glance toward her before the lights went out. She looked – torn – as if she needed to decide something and couldn't and it was slowly drowning her…
"That, Finney, is hard to believe." He said with a wry smile. She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked.
"Do not think that I don't know what YOU think Lancelot." He feigned innocence. "I remember your intentions where beautiful women are concerned. Just because I was in love with you when I was a tot, doesn't mean you will be enjoying me… company … anytime soon."
"You were in love with me?"
"I know. I really was a small fool." He laughed at that, and they lay in silence for a long time afterward, each pondering what had happened that day. Lancelot chanced a glance over at Finn, watching her porcelain face, not emotionless, but with a smile. Her lips were curved ever so slightly upward, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Boy did he feel like a prize idiot. He should have gone home. Who would've missed him more than Finn? No one.
While in his reverie, he didn't immediately realize Finn scooting closer to him, until he felt her arm gently snake over his abdomen. He looked down, a little wide eyed, as he felt the warmth of her body against his side. But she was still asleep. Had she done it purposely? As she breathed lightly onto his bare shoulder, as he breathed deeply her scent of pine and lilac, his eyelids began to droop and he suddenly found it very hard to keep from falling to sleep.
As the night owl began its haunting song, Finn squinted into the darkness, and saw the even rise and fall of Lancelot's chest. A smile flitted across her face when she felt his hand clench her forearm in his sleep. She snuggled back into his side with one thought keeping her smiling all through the night.
He'd found peace, if only for one night.
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.
Thanks for the reviews! Very helpful, hope I've corrected most errors, apologise if not! Shorty 51 you're not pathetic, keep on giving me ideas, I could really use the help!
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"The village is gone?" he asked, something deep and disturbing swirling in the pit of his stomach. She nodded, and let out another harsh breath, her chest constricting, leaving a dull ache.
"The Saxons…" tears began to spill down her cheeks. "…they came with their axes…" Lancelot felt his throat tighten. "…and with their fire…" it was all coming out in tormented waves. "…and it's all gone…"
"Why didn't you tell me…?" he couldn't finish. He felt as if he wanted to wretch.
"I came to see the King and his knights, to beg for their help…" she wiped away her tears, the stains in her cheeks remaining. "…and then that horrible, horrible man…" her voice was raw, scraping. "…and I was just so happy to see you, I… it was like I was home again… and everything was…" She closed her eyes, ashamed that she had gall to momentarily forget her people's plight.
She shook, partially because a cold wind had begun to cut through her ragged shawl, partly because all she wanted to do was collapse into the broken pile she knew she'd become.
Lancelot, who'd been wrapped up in thoughts and images of their home being licked by red flames, and their families being turned to smoke and ash, finally snapped back to reality and pulled her close to him, and began leading her to the heavy doors he'd slipped through.
He made no effort to comfort her with words, just held her close to him. She pulled her hood back up and leaned as far as she could into his embrace. She wanted to melt into him like the needy, lonesome little girl she was.
She'd traveled three months to get to Arthur and his knights. She'd begun her journey with a horse, two companions and food. She'd lost one companion to the Woads, her second companion lost himself in a forest never to be seen again, her horse was attacked by a pack of wild dogs in the night, and all her food had been rationed and eaten one month prior to her arrival.
Her eyelids drooped as Lancelot steered her into a long hallway. It was dark and dingy, but it was also warm and dry. He guided her toward a doorway, an opaque blue veil hung in place of a door. He swept it aside and they entered.
The soft candle light made the shadows dance across the taupe walls. A modest bed sat in the corner to the left, a sheer blue veil draping across it, making it seem more lavish than it was. There was a chair in the corner, by a table, books scattered across it. Twin swords were propped in the corner, glinting threateningly. She remembered when they're swords had been made from wood, dull and harmless. It was then that Finn realized just how much Lancelot must have changed.
"You must be exhausted." He said as he watched her from her left side. She did not bother to look at him, simply nodded and walked toward the bed. "You will tell me everything tomorrow." It wasn't a question. He knew he had a right to know. As did she.
"I will." She said, clasping her mouth as a yawn escaped. "Where will I sleep?"
"In the bed." He answered as he walked to one of the windows along the wall and closed the shutter.
"And where will you sleep?" she asked as she pulled her hood down and began to unwind her shawl from her shoulders. He began shutting the second window.
"I will find no peace tonight." He answered gravely. "Despite your early prediction Finney, home still means something to me… meant… something to me." His hands braced against the ledge.
"I never meant… I know you …" she closed her eyes. Why was it so hard to tell him that she knew? "You've always meant something to us." He turned at this, to look at her sitting at the edge of his bed, her ratty shawl thrown onto the chair. She wore a frayed blue tunic, with sleeves that reached her fingers, and the hem reached mid thigh. It was scant for her, and she must have been frozen. It had a V shaped neck line with black embroidery as the trim.
"That tunic-"
"It was yours." She finished a small smile on her face. "After you left, your da burned your wooden swords and I wanted something to remember you by." She tugged at the sleeves.
"It's worn." He said moving forward to kneel at her side. He took the sleeve in his hand and felt the soft material. It felt like the first day he'd gotten it, on his thirteenth birthday. "You wear it a lot?" He asked looking up at her.
Her smile disappeared, and her face became soft. "All the time." He smiled at that, and for a moment, he felt as if he might have been able to sleep again. He stood quickly, banishing the feeling, as if it would be like wronging his village.
Finn frowned. She'd thought for a moment that perhaps he could rest. She sighed and raised her right foot, pulling off one light boot. Soon the other followed it, propped next to her shawl.
She looked up, and watched him stand with a book in one hand. His hip was jutted out to the right, his long lithe figure illuminated by the dimly glowing candles behind him on the table.
"Come here." She said her voice soft and coaxing. He turned, placing the book down on the table, and came to stand in front of her as if hypnotized by her voice. "There is enough room for two. Come and lay down. Perhaps you will slumber after all." He looked uneasy with this request and was about to protest, but Finn shook her head and scooted over.
He hesitated, before letting out a long sigh. Finn smiled. She knew she'd won.
He unbuckled his brown leather belt and threw it on the table. Then he sat down on his side and began to wrestle with his boots. Finn peeled back the scratchy wool blankets and pulled them over herself. When she'd become comfortable, she looked back to Lancelot, who pulled his tunic up over his head and tossed it over to his belt.
He of course looked NOTHING like he had when they were younger. At least not in terms of body. He'd become broad in the shoulders, small hips, flat panes of muscle all along his chest and abdomen. She frowned momentarily when she saw scars and other markings from the battles he'd waged the years he'd been gone, but faster than she could muse on them, he'd covered them with the blanket.
He had his father's face, a younger face. He looked tired, stretched…like he'd lived too long with war and blood. His hair was rumbled, curly, just as it had been when he was a boy. Obviously, the facial hair was not present in their younger years, but it suited him well. His deep chocolate eyes practically made her melt, just as they had when they were children. She chided herself for thinking such things, for being so foolish as to still have feelings for a man she now barely knew.
He let out a sigh as he molded to his bed.
"You remember when we were little?" she whispered, aware that he'd been conscious of her detailed gaze.
"I could never forget a pest like you." He teased, receiving a light smack on the chest.
"Did you ever think about me…? When you left?" Silence filled the air. He could tell she was hopeful and he tried to think of something to say to comfort her.
"I confess, those times were rare." He shifted so that he was facing her. "Though if I had known you would grow up to look as you do… perhaps I would have thought of you a bit more."
She laughed, a genuine laugh, which made him in turn smile. When she finished she breathed a sigh and her head lolled to the side to face him. "You had better be cautious about saying things like that to me." She warned.
"Why? Will your husband have me beaten?" It was half jest, half curiosity which fueled such a question. There was a long pause in which Lancelot could actually hear Finn's quickening heartbeat.
"I have no husband…yet." The candles were almost spent, so Lancelot chanced one last glance toward her before the lights went out. She looked – torn – as if she needed to decide something and couldn't and it was slowly drowning her…
"That, Finney, is hard to believe." He said with a wry smile. She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked.
"Do not think that I don't know what YOU think Lancelot." He feigned innocence. "I remember your intentions where beautiful women are concerned. Just because I was in love with you when I was a tot, doesn't mean you will be enjoying me… company … anytime soon."
"You were in love with me?"
"I know. I really was a small fool." He laughed at that, and they lay in silence for a long time afterward, each pondering what had happened that day. Lancelot chanced a glance over at Finn, watching her porcelain face, not emotionless, but with a smile. Her lips were curved ever so slightly upward, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Boy did he feel like a prize idiot. He should have gone home. Who would've missed him more than Finn? No one.
While in his reverie, he didn't immediately realize Finn scooting closer to him, until he felt her arm gently snake over his abdomen. He looked down, a little wide eyed, as he felt the warmth of her body against his side. But she was still asleep. Had she done it purposely? As she breathed lightly onto his bare shoulder, as he breathed deeply her scent of pine and lilac, his eyelids began to droop and he suddenly found it very hard to keep from falling to sleep.
As the night owl began its haunting song, Finn squinted into the darkness, and saw the even rise and fall of Lancelot's chest. A smile flitted across her face when she felt his hand clench her forearm in his sleep. She snuggled back into his side with one thought keeping her smiling all through the night.
He'd found peace, if only for one night.