Ugh, sorry this took so long, school and such got the better of me for awhile. And another apology for the shortness of this chapter, but the ending...nothing could top that. I hate to say that the next chapter might be awhile since I haven't finished it yet, and like I mentioned before I like to stay a chapter up when I post so, well, stuff like this doesn't happen haha. Anyway, please read and review, I really do appreciate all of my faithful reviewers for bugging me to get this up, or else I never would have!
denotes flashback/past or thoughts
denotes normal time
Chapter 5 – Heart of a Legend
He shuddered in the still night air, the images still fresh in his mind. It was a cold night, as it often was, but that wasn't the reason that Lancelot was shaking. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he looked out across the field in the dark sitting atop the wall.
There were footsteps coming closer. Lancelot didn't move, he didn't need to look and see who it was, he already knew. Resting his arms on his knees, he leaned his chin on them as Arthur sat down next to him.
Neither of them said anything for a long time, no words needed to be exchanged. Slowly, Arthur reached over to place his arm comfortingly around Lancelot's shoulders. Lancelot hesitated at first, he thought Arthur would be unhappy with him, but now he found that he wasn't. Unfolding his legs and letting them dangle over the side of the wall, he leaned against the Roman, resting his head on his shoulder.
Arthur finally broke the silence, "You don't have to suffer this on your own Lancelot, you could have gotten me."
There was pause. "A knight doesn't have nightmares, it's a sign of weakness," Lancelot said at last.
"It's not something you can control."
"Why would you want a weak knight under your command, Arthur?"
"It's not a weakness, Lancelot," Arthur looked down at him, "Do you seriously think that I don't have them too?" He placed his cheek on the top of Lancelot's curly-haired head. "No, it's not a weakness. And you don't have to be alone, I'll be here. I want you to understand something Lancelot. You will always be my knight, no matter what happens. Always."
Lancelot stood in Arthur's room, looking at the form on the bed under the blankets. He slowly moved over and sat down in the chair the healer must have left there. Arthur lay on his back, his right arm hanging slightly off the bed, his left across his chest. Just at the edge of the blankets, the bandage on his side was visible; clean and white. White, matching Arthur's pale skin. Sweat glistened on his face and neck.
Glancing to the table beside him, Lancelot saw that the healer had also left a basin of water, a rag and some clean bandages. He dipped the rag in the water and whipped the sweat off of Arthur's face. The wounded man stirred slightly, the water was cold as opposed to the fever that already burned in his veins. The storm had not been good to his weakened state.
The steady rain still beat on the stone buildings of the fort on Hadrian's Wall outside. It's soft, rhythmic sound providing a peaceful lull to those who were inside and warm, away from the elements. A fire crackled in the fireplace in Arthur's room, nearly drowning out the sound of the rain. But Arthur was cold; the icy wind from their swift return was still upon him. He suddenly shivered. Pain flared up from his side and leg. He bit his lip, trying not to cry out. A soft whimper escaped.
Where was Lancelot, he said he wouldn't leave. Lancelot could take away his pain just by the power of the love of friendship that they shared. Arthur needed his friend now more than anything, but was unaware that he sat next to him.
"Lancelot," he whispered barely louder than a breath.
"I'm here, Arthur," Lancelot took up his right hand, "I'm right here. I won't leave you again, I promise."
"Arthur," he whispered again after a moment, brushing back a stray lock of dark hair, "You didn't deserve this. If I could make this pain leave you, take your place, I would. It was my fault..." He trailed off, gently running his fingers through Arthur's dark hair.
"I want you to understand something Lancelot. You will always be my knight, no matter what happens. Always." Always was a strong word. Lancelot remembered the night those years ago that Arthur had said that to him. It had been true, nothing had even threatened to separate them, there was no doubt.
Doubt, another strong word. In the heart of a warrior it could lead to fear and fear can be one of the most deadly emotions. All of them at some point have been afraid, but not so much as Lancelot was now.
He wanted Arthur to wake up and take him in his embrace; to tell him everything will be all right. He wanted the comfort that his friend had given him, the support, the understanding, the friendship. It didn't happen. Lancelot found that at the moment when he should have cried, he had no more tears left.