Chapter 5
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.
Okay, you know how I rated this thing R. Here's the reason. (Not a Hard R yet. Boy are you all in trouble.)
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Arthur sat at the empty round table, his chin resting on his right hand as he stared at the empty goblet that sat in front of him. He'd met with Lady Finnabhair and her story had chipped at his heart. She cared so much for her village that she'd braved Woad country all alone to bring them aid.
He wanted to be as strong as she was. He wanted to be as dedicated to Briton as its common folk were. He prayed to the Lord that he could unite all of Briton and care for everyone. When he'd heard what had been done to the Sarmatian village, he'd felt bile rise up in his throat. It was too similar to his own town's destruction, and had been all too vivid in his mind.
"Arthur…?" He broke from his trance and his eyes immediately connected with those of Guinevere. She was standing directly opposite of him, her eyes were full of concern, and he tried to force a smile. She was not at all fooled.
"Come here my love." He said, offering her his outstretched hand. She placed two fingers along the glassy wood of the table and traced it as she walked slowly toward her husband. As she came to his side, he pushed his chair back, and she sat down on his lap, her right leg propping against the arm rest. She weaved her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek.
"What is it that bothers you so my love?" she asked, continuing to cuddle him. She loved him. More than anything. She admired him, yes, very much. She respected him, she adored him, she lusted for him, she would do anything for him.
"There is need for aid at a pillaged Sarmatian town." He said with a heavy sigh. "And I gave my word that I would help in any way I could." She studied him.
"Will you be leaving soon?" she asked, as she played with the collar of his tunic. He nodded. "Will you be taking Lancelot and the knights as well?" he nodded again. "Then I am to come too."
"Someone must stay and care for the outpost." He said gently, staring intently at her lips.
"I will not leave your side. Never." She said bringing her hand up to his cheek, punctuating her words with a soft kiss.
"Who will care for the people here?" he asked, as he lightly stroked her back, his fingers softly dancing down her spine.
"Merlin." She said simply. "He is as good a ruler as I, or any other man for that matter." Arthur hesitated a moment, before nodding.
"Where would I be without my queen?" he asked, a genuine smile playing his lips. She grinned at him impishly.
"Let us pray that we never know the answer." She said leaning her forehead against his. He let his hand trail up her neck, and gently pull her lips down to his in a long kiss. Guinevere broke away finally. "Let us retire for the night. I do not wish Bors to happen upon us and gawk as he did last time." Arthur chuckled deeply, before lifting his wife up in his arms and carrying her out of the room, neither looking away from each other for even a second.
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Lancelot sat in the darkening room alone, his knuckles white as he clenched the side of the table which he was sitting on. A book was propped open in his hand, and though he stared at the ornate black letters, his mind was far away. On two women.
The argument with Finn was a fresh wound, more painful than almost any he'd had on that battlefield. He knew that the flirt within himself would always crave Guinevere… she was of course a lost cause which made him want her all the more. But Finn, she was…he did not know what she was. But the very thought of any other man, be it Galahad or Alden, enjoying her company in even the most innocent way made him see red.
It had been a full day since he'd seen her. She'd holed herself up with Arthur in his chambers, pleading with him he supposed to come to the aid of her people, who were apparently camped in a nearby forest, too afraid to return home. He hadn't heard any of this directly from her, unlike she'd promised. He had to hear it all from Gawain, who'd stood at the door listening.
"She sounded deeply distressed." Gawain said as he finished his story. Lancelot had nodded, before inquiring where she'd gone after their meeting. Gawain had shrugged.
"With Galahad I suppose." He must have noticed the flash of anger in Lancelot's eyes after he'd said this. "Don't blame Galahad for making a conquest you sorely desire to make your own." Lancelot jaw ticked at the audacity of the remark, but before he had time to verbally attack his comrade, he'd already walked away.
And now he sat in his room, plagued with images of Galahad and Finn lying naked together in bed, exchanging sweet words that should have been his.
"Thank you Galahad." He heard a quiet voice, his eyes instantly straying from the book and up to the doorway. Two shadows fell under the veil, and Lancelot mentally dared Galahad to try anything with Finn.
"It was a pleasure, m'lady." He answered, his boyishness working its own strange charm. "You are sure you wish me to leave you by Lancelot's quarters?" he sounded slightly deflated by her decision, which made Lancelot smirk momentarily. He heard her soft chuckle, and the confident smile faded.
"I am sure. And I've told you, Galahad, do not refer to me as m'lady." She lightly scolded. He laughed, and Lancelot felt his stomach lurch slightly.
"Yes of course, dear Finn. Well I will say good night now." With that, one of the shadows moved away, leaving one to stand hesitantly outside for a few moments. Then Finn swept the veil aside and strode into the room, head high, eyes directed to the bed, ignoring Lancelot's menacing presence.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. She kicked off her boots, pulled her shawl from her shoulders, ignoring his question, her mouth set, and her eyes cold. The book snapped shut in his hand, and he slammed it against the table, standing and walking toward her. "Do not disrespect me. Where were you?"
"And why should I give you the privilege of knowing where I was, when you never returned the favor?" it was a cutting remark, and they both glared into each other's eyes. But she broke eye contact and began folding her shawl. "I saw Arthur. I walked with Galahad."
"And…" he urged her to continue. When she said nothing, he suspected the worst. "You've already betrayed your husband, haven't you?" She turned, her eyes angry.
"Firstly, I have no husband yet! Secondly, how dare you accuse me of such a thing! Thirdly, what business is it of yours?!" she practically spat all of this out.
"It is my business to be sure that you do not put yourself in harm's way." She snorted, pushing past him violently.
"Because I cannot be trusted to care for myself, is that it?" She reprimanded, her hands cupping water out of the wash basin and splashing her face with it. She was filthy and hadn't been washed in nearly a week.
"When you have 'rendez-vouz's with men behind your husband's back, you are causing more harm than good." He said. He knew he sounded pompous and haughty, but he was too frustrated to care. She had confessed she loved him. And then she turned and ran into the arms of one of his friends. He was well past being simply annoyed with her.
"I have no husband!" she shrieked as though the information would never seep into his head. "I can do whatever I wish, be with whoever I wish until the day I am wed. And you cannot stop me!" Her temper flared like a geyser, exploding over and over.
"Perhaps that is what you think." He said, tired of her juvenile rantings. He fell down onto the bed, letting out a long exasperated breath.
"Get out." She ordered. His head rose at the command, one eyebrow cocked upward, his face shocked.
"What?"
"I said, get out." She turned, hands on her waist. "I wish to bathe and I refuse to do so with you in the room." He blinked, and then growled, sitting up on the side of the bed.
"This is my room. I will not leave unless I wish to." He bit out, finding her more and more irritating by the moment. She was the complete and total opposite of Guinevere. Not only in appearance, but in character. Guinevere was strong, independent, mysterious, and alluring. Finn was needy, moody, unabashed and domestic. What possibly had deluded him into thinking he was attracted to her?
Finn let out her own exasperated sigh, before she gripped the hem of her tunic and pulled it up over her head, tossing it onto the table. Lancelot looked up from the ground, ready to continue to scold her for her childishness, but his words were lost before they ever took shape.
She stood with her back to him, the candle light flickering over her naked back. Her skin was like ivory, milk white, and looked soft and supple. Her spine curved elegantly down the length of her back, coming to a stop at her shapely hips and round ass. Her shoulders were pulled back, full of grace and pride. Her head was tilted to the side, her hair up, long pieces falling down and skimming her beautiful skin. From the side of her he could see the curve of a plump breast, teasing him and not at all fulfilling his need to see all of her. Her legs looked longer than he remembered, just long enough to perfectly wrap around his hips…
He stared wide eyed, at the woman before him. This was surely torture. Torture for not coming home and worshipping her, loving her the way that she should have been. Lancelot was sure things could not have become worse, but he was soon corrected as she began to pour cool water over herself. This was hell. Pure, lustful hell. A hell he found he didn't mind.
"I can feel you staring…" she whispered, all traces of hatred erased as she continued her slow torment, water cascading down her back. He did not even attempt to answer her; he knew his voice would fail him. He'd seen so many women naked that he'd stopped differentiating. A naked woman was a naked woman. But Finn… she was beautiful, pure, and untouched.
"Lancelot…" she whined and for a moment his eyes managed to drift up to meet hers, her head craned over one shoulder. Her eyes were glazed slightly, a tell-tale sign she felt exactly the same as he. "Please…"
He stared into those green orbs a few moments longer before he slowly turned away. He began to take off his boots, the sound of water trickling against his floor haunting him along with her image. It took all of his will power not to turn and continue to watch her. It took even more not to grab her, pin her against his bed and… have his way with her.
After freeing his feet from his boots, he took the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, throwing it across the room to land over top of Finn's tunic. She slowly turned her head to see him lying across the bed, on his side so that he could still allow her a bit of privacy. She smiled at that.
When she was satisfied with how clean she was, she took an old shirt he used to dry his hands with and dried off.
"Lancelot?" she asked hesitantly. He peered over his shoulder and grit his teeth when he realized she was still nude. "Do you perhaps have a shirt I could borrow…? My tunic is far too dirty and I-"
"I will get you something." He cut her off, welcoming the chance to flee the room. The last thing he wanted was to stare at her heavenly body a moment longer. It was too much, too hard since he knew he would never be allowed to feel her or taste her or love her. He strode down the hall, coming to a halt in front of Gawain's room.
He knocked on the wooden door. He heard faint grumblings, and a whimper that was distinctly female. He smirked when the door opened, and Gawain stood in the doorway looking menacingly at Lancelot.
"This had better be good or I'll castrate you." He said in a deep voice. Lancelot would have laughed, but knowing Gawain, his statement may not have been a bluff. And he hadn't sharpened his axe in a long while…
"Finn needs something clean to wear." He said crossing his arms over his chest. Gawain huffed before disappearing into the dark room. Lancelot tried to peer in, to see who he had in there, but within a moment Gawain was back. He thrust a long black shirt into Lancelot's hands, before promptly slamming the door.
"Thank you." Lancelot called through the door.
"Fornicate off." Was the reply. Lancelot chuckled and made his way back down the hallway toward his quarters. He entered, and saw that Finn was sitting in bed, the blankets pulled up over her.
"Compliments of Gawain." He said shortly, almost awkwardly as he tossed the shirt to her. She smiled and nodded, placing her arms through the sleeves and pulling it over her head. When she'd pulled it down over her legs, he finally felt that it was safe for him to join her in bed.
"I-" She began as he slid down so that he was completely horizontal. "I'm sorry… again." She said, her fingers fidgeting nervously. His face remained expressionless.
"It is alright." He said, not wanting to talk, just wanting to sleep. Or pretend to sleep.
"No it isn't." she continued, either not aware of his wish for silence, or ignoring it. "I again was being childish. I have a tendency to do so…" When he said nothing, she continued. "Galahad and I are merely companions. He is a sweet man, but he is just a friend."
She was trying desperately to ease his worries of her love for any other man.
"Then I shall sleep peacefully tonight." He said sarcastically, injecting indifference into his voice. But when he looked at her face and saw her grimace at his uncaring comment, his demeanor softened. "Do not be sorry. You did nothing wrong."
"And…" she continued, biting her lip as she turned on her side to face him. "I am not going to be married to Alden."
It was a huge risk. She knew that Alden would have her, marry her, and they would produce many sons and daughters, live well on the money he made as a merchant.
Lancelot was a knight. There was no stability what so ever in a relationship with him. He could die any day on the battlefield. And he was infamous for being a womanizer. She could not really be sure that he would not some day grow tired of her and simply leave her for another woman.
He drove her insane. He was cocky, and arrogant. He knew exactly how to make her feel cornered and agitated, but he also made her laugh. He made her feel safe. He set her skin alight. And he was the only one who ever had.
"You are not?" he repeated, this time looking her directly in the eye. She smiled softly and shook her head no. He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why?"
She felt something rise up inside of her. Perhaps it was her playfulness, but she simply smiled and shrugged. "I suppose you will have to figure that out by yourself."
With that she rolled over so that she had her back to him. She thought of Alden and how he would react when she told him that she could no longer marry him. She knew it would be difficult, but she couldn't marry someone she didn't love. Some women married for security. Some did for comfort. Some as a duty. But as a little girl she'd promised she would marry for love.
And that was a promise she planned to keep.
Rated: R… Hard R for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Don't own a bloody thing.
Okay, you know how I rated this thing R. Here's the reason. (Not a Hard R yet. Boy are you all in trouble.)
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Arthur sat at the empty round table, his chin resting on his right hand as he stared at the empty goblet that sat in front of him. He'd met with Lady Finnabhair and her story had chipped at his heart. She cared so much for her village that she'd braved Woad country all alone to bring them aid.
He wanted to be as strong as she was. He wanted to be as dedicated to Briton as its common folk were. He prayed to the Lord that he could unite all of Briton and care for everyone. When he'd heard what had been done to the Sarmatian village, he'd felt bile rise up in his throat. It was too similar to his own town's destruction, and had been all too vivid in his mind.
"Arthur…?" He broke from his trance and his eyes immediately connected with those of Guinevere. She was standing directly opposite of him, her eyes were full of concern, and he tried to force a smile. She was not at all fooled.
"Come here my love." He said, offering her his outstretched hand. She placed two fingers along the glassy wood of the table and traced it as she walked slowly toward her husband. As she came to his side, he pushed his chair back, and she sat down on his lap, her right leg propping against the arm rest. She weaved her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek.
"What is it that bothers you so my love?" she asked, continuing to cuddle him. She loved him. More than anything. She admired him, yes, very much. She respected him, she adored him, she lusted for him, she would do anything for him.
"There is need for aid at a pillaged Sarmatian town." He said with a heavy sigh. "And I gave my word that I would help in any way I could." She studied him.
"Will you be leaving soon?" she asked, as she played with the collar of his tunic. He nodded. "Will you be taking Lancelot and the knights as well?" he nodded again. "Then I am to come too."
"Someone must stay and care for the outpost." He said gently, staring intently at her lips.
"I will not leave your side. Never." She said bringing her hand up to his cheek, punctuating her words with a soft kiss.
"Who will care for the people here?" he asked, as he lightly stroked her back, his fingers softly dancing down her spine.
"Merlin." She said simply. "He is as good a ruler as I, or any other man for that matter." Arthur hesitated a moment, before nodding.
"Where would I be without my queen?" he asked, a genuine smile playing his lips. She grinned at him impishly.
"Let us pray that we never know the answer." She said leaning her forehead against his. He let his hand trail up her neck, and gently pull her lips down to his in a long kiss. Guinevere broke away finally. "Let us retire for the night. I do not wish Bors to happen upon us and gawk as he did last time." Arthur chuckled deeply, before lifting his wife up in his arms and carrying her out of the room, neither looking away from each other for even a second.
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Lancelot sat in the darkening room alone, his knuckles white as he clenched the side of the table which he was sitting on. A book was propped open in his hand, and though he stared at the ornate black letters, his mind was far away. On two women.
The argument with Finn was a fresh wound, more painful than almost any he'd had on that battlefield. He knew that the flirt within himself would always crave Guinevere… she was of course a lost cause which made him want her all the more. But Finn, she was…he did not know what she was. But the very thought of any other man, be it Galahad or Alden, enjoying her company in even the most innocent way made him see red.
It had been a full day since he'd seen her. She'd holed herself up with Arthur in his chambers, pleading with him he supposed to come to the aid of her people, who were apparently camped in a nearby forest, too afraid to return home. He hadn't heard any of this directly from her, unlike she'd promised. He had to hear it all from Gawain, who'd stood at the door listening.
"She sounded deeply distressed." Gawain said as he finished his story. Lancelot had nodded, before inquiring where she'd gone after their meeting. Gawain had shrugged.
"With Galahad I suppose." He must have noticed the flash of anger in Lancelot's eyes after he'd said this. "Don't blame Galahad for making a conquest you sorely desire to make your own." Lancelot jaw ticked at the audacity of the remark, but before he had time to verbally attack his comrade, he'd already walked away.
And now he sat in his room, plagued with images of Galahad and Finn lying naked together in bed, exchanging sweet words that should have been his.
"Thank you Galahad." He heard a quiet voice, his eyes instantly straying from the book and up to the doorway. Two shadows fell under the veil, and Lancelot mentally dared Galahad to try anything with Finn.
"It was a pleasure, m'lady." He answered, his boyishness working its own strange charm. "You are sure you wish me to leave you by Lancelot's quarters?" he sounded slightly deflated by her decision, which made Lancelot smirk momentarily. He heard her soft chuckle, and the confident smile faded.
"I am sure. And I've told you, Galahad, do not refer to me as m'lady." She lightly scolded. He laughed, and Lancelot felt his stomach lurch slightly.
"Yes of course, dear Finn. Well I will say good night now." With that, one of the shadows moved away, leaving one to stand hesitantly outside for a few moments. Then Finn swept the veil aside and strode into the room, head high, eyes directed to the bed, ignoring Lancelot's menacing presence.
"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. She kicked off her boots, pulled her shawl from her shoulders, ignoring his question, her mouth set, and her eyes cold. The book snapped shut in his hand, and he slammed it against the table, standing and walking toward her. "Do not disrespect me. Where were you?"
"And why should I give you the privilege of knowing where I was, when you never returned the favor?" it was a cutting remark, and they both glared into each other's eyes. But she broke eye contact and began folding her shawl. "I saw Arthur. I walked with Galahad."
"And…" he urged her to continue. When she said nothing, he suspected the worst. "You've already betrayed your husband, haven't you?" She turned, her eyes angry.
"Firstly, I have no husband yet! Secondly, how dare you accuse me of such a thing! Thirdly, what business is it of yours?!" she practically spat all of this out.
"It is my business to be sure that you do not put yourself in harm's way." She snorted, pushing past him violently.
"Because I cannot be trusted to care for myself, is that it?" She reprimanded, her hands cupping water out of the wash basin and splashing her face with it. She was filthy and hadn't been washed in nearly a week.
"When you have 'rendez-vouz's with men behind your husband's back, you are causing more harm than good." He said. He knew he sounded pompous and haughty, but he was too frustrated to care. She had confessed she loved him. And then she turned and ran into the arms of one of his friends. He was well past being simply annoyed with her.
"I have no husband!" she shrieked as though the information would never seep into his head. "I can do whatever I wish, be with whoever I wish until the day I am wed. And you cannot stop me!" Her temper flared like a geyser, exploding over and over.
"Perhaps that is what you think." He said, tired of her juvenile rantings. He fell down onto the bed, letting out a long exasperated breath.
"Get out." She ordered. His head rose at the command, one eyebrow cocked upward, his face shocked.
"What?"
"I said, get out." She turned, hands on her waist. "I wish to bathe and I refuse to do so with you in the room." He blinked, and then growled, sitting up on the side of the bed.
"This is my room. I will not leave unless I wish to." He bit out, finding her more and more irritating by the moment. She was the complete and total opposite of Guinevere. Not only in appearance, but in character. Guinevere was strong, independent, mysterious, and alluring. Finn was needy, moody, unabashed and domestic. What possibly had deluded him into thinking he was attracted to her?
Finn let out her own exasperated sigh, before she gripped the hem of her tunic and pulled it up over her head, tossing it onto the table. Lancelot looked up from the ground, ready to continue to scold her for her childishness, but his words were lost before they ever took shape.
She stood with her back to him, the candle light flickering over her naked back. Her skin was like ivory, milk white, and looked soft and supple. Her spine curved elegantly down the length of her back, coming to a stop at her shapely hips and round ass. Her shoulders were pulled back, full of grace and pride. Her head was tilted to the side, her hair up, long pieces falling down and skimming her beautiful skin. From the side of her he could see the curve of a plump breast, teasing him and not at all fulfilling his need to see all of her. Her legs looked longer than he remembered, just long enough to perfectly wrap around his hips…
He stared wide eyed, at the woman before him. This was surely torture. Torture for not coming home and worshipping her, loving her the way that she should have been. Lancelot was sure things could not have become worse, but he was soon corrected as she began to pour cool water over herself. This was hell. Pure, lustful hell. A hell he found he didn't mind.
"I can feel you staring…" she whispered, all traces of hatred erased as she continued her slow torment, water cascading down her back. He did not even attempt to answer her; he knew his voice would fail him. He'd seen so many women naked that he'd stopped differentiating. A naked woman was a naked woman. But Finn… she was beautiful, pure, and untouched.
"Lancelot…" she whined and for a moment his eyes managed to drift up to meet hers, her head craned over one shoulder. Her eyes were glazed slightly, a tell-tale sign she felt exactly the same as he. "Please…"
He stared into those green orbs a few moments longer before he slowly turned away. He began to take off his boots, the sound of water trickling against his floor haunting him along with her image. It took all of his will power not to turn and continue to watch her. It took even more not to grab her, pin her against his bed and… have his way with her.
After freeing his feet from his boots, he took the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, throwing it across the room to land over top of Finn's tunic. She slowly turned her head to see him lying across the bed, on his side so that he could still allow her a bit of privacy. She smiled at that.
When she was satisfied with how clean she was, she took an old shirt he used to dry his hands with and dried off.
"Lancelot?" she asked hesitantly. He peered over his shoulder and grit his teeth when he realized she was still nude. "Do you perhaps have a shirt I could borrow…? My tunic is far too dirty and I-"
"I will get you something." He cut her off, welcoming the chance to flee the room. The last thing he wanted was to stare at her heavenly body a moment longer. It was too much, too hard since he knew he would never be allowed to feel her or taste her or love her. He strode down the hall, coming to a halt in front of Gawain's room.
He knocked on the wooden door. He heard faint grumblings, and a whimper that was distinctly female. He smirked when the door opened, and Gawain stood in the doorway looking menacingly at Lancelot.
"This had better be good or I'll castrate you." He said in a deep voice. Lancelot would have laughed, but knowing Gawain, his statement may not have been a bluff. And he hadn't sharpened his axe in a long while…
"Finn needs something clean to wear." He said crossing his arms over his chest. Gawain huffed before disappearing into the dark room. Lancelot tried to peer in, to see who he had in there, but within a moment Gawain was back. He thrust a long black shirt into Lancelot's hands, before promptly slamming the door.
"Thank you." Lancelot called through the door.
"Fornicate off." Was the reply. Lancelot chuckled and made his way back down the hallway toward his quarters. He entered, and saw that Finn was sitting in bed, the blankets pulled up over her.
"Compliments of Gawain." He said shortly, almost awkwardly as he tossed the shirt to her. She smiled and nodded, placing her arms through the sleeves and pulling it over her head. When she'd pulled it down over her legs, he finally felt that it was safe for him to join her in bed.
"I-" She began as he slid down so that he was completely horizontal. "I'm sorry… again." She said, her fingers fidgeting nervously. His face remained expressionless.
"It is alright." He said, not wanting to talk, just wanting to sleep. Or pretend to sleep.
"No it isn't." she continued, either not aware of his wish for silence, or ignoring it. "I again was being childish. I have a tendency to do so…" When he said nothing, she continued. "Galahad and I are merely companions. He is a sweet man, but he is just a friend."
She was trying desperately to ease his worries of her love for any other man.
"Then I shall sleep peacefully tonight." He said sarcastically, injecting indifference into his voice. But when he looked at her face and saw her grimace at his uncaring comment, his demeanor softened. "Do not be sorry. You did nothing wrong."
"And…" she continued, biting her lip as she turned on her side to face him. "I am not going to be married to Alden."
It was a huge risk. She knew that Alden would have her, marry her, and they would produce many sons and daughters, live well on the money he made as a merchant.
Lancelot was a knight. There was no stability what so ever in a relationship with him. He could die any day on the battlefield. And he was infamous for being a womanizer. She could not really be sure that he would not some day grow tired of her and simply leave her for another woman.
He drove her insane. He was cocky, and arrogant. He knew exactly how to make her feel cornered and agitated, but he also made her laugh. He made her feel safe. He set her skin alight. And he was the only one who ever had.
"You are not?" he repeated, this time looking her directly in the eye. She smiled softly and shook her head no. He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why?"
She felt something rise up inside of her. Perhaps it was her playfulness, but she simply smiled and shrugged. "I suppose you will have to figure that out by yourself."
With that she rolled over so that she had her back to him. She thought of Alden and how he would react when she told him that she could no longer marry him. She knew it would be difficult, but she couldn't marry someone she didn't love. Some women married for security. Some did for comfort. Some as a duty. But as a little girl she'd promised she would marry for love.
And that was a promise she planned to keep.