It was quite foggy today when I woke up, for the first time this fall. So when I was on the bus and seeing all of the fog on the fields and stuff that we drive by because Butte is in the middle of nowhere, I was struck by a plot bunny. This bunny was partially inspired by Ivory Novelist's story Hate You (which is really really good by the way, go read it!).
Title: Mist
Rating: meh, G
Author: me, EK
Summary: Lancelot searches the mists that descended down upon the battlefield after the fight is over. not slash, one shot
The battle was over. Corpses littered the ground and any enemy still alive had run off. Then the mists came. It clung to the forest like death. It masked the trees and covered the bodies, friend and foe alike. It brought silence; an eerie peace.
Lancelot looked around him. All his dark eyes could see was mist and bodies. He was alone.
Had they left him? Were they-... "Arthur!" he called out to the mist. The dark shapes gave no answer. He couldn't distinguish between trees or men. But there was no one there, only the faded forest.
Lancelot walked forward, stepping over the dead. He was fading too, becoming part of the mist. Blood ceased to drip down his arm from the gash through his armour; it was cold.
"Arthur!" Lancelot cried out again. Even to his ears, his voice was muted. A shape moved out of the corner of his eye. Lancelot turned, again calling for Arthur, but the movement was gone. Only trees. The mists surrounded him, holding him in their space - out of reach. Alone. They consumed everything.
Stumbling forward, holding his wounded arm with one hand, Lancelot continued his search. "Arthur!" he shouted into the depths of the grey curtain. His voice lowered to a whisper, for that was all that could be spoken, "Where are you...? Don't leave me."
The shape of trees left him. In a daze, Lancelot walked out of the faded forest where death lingered. But the mists swelled here more if possible. There were no bodies, no sound, no movement, only mist. Lancelot looked back towards the forest, but it was gone.
"Arthur..." he trailed off, his search bringing him only to an empty field. The mists filled his eyes; Lancelot was lost, alone...afraid. Wearily, he sat down on the damp grass. The grey void moved in closer.
The sound of boots crunching heavily on the grass in an unnatural rhythm reached his ears. Lancelot looked around but saw nothing.
A figure appeared, dark like the trees; he was limping. He parted the mists before him, the image of the Roman captain in all of his splendour was before the young Sarmation knight. Arthur appeared like a king, noble and mighty; awe-striking.
Lancelot stood up as Arthur limped closer. The image of the great king and warrior was gone from his eyes, but Lancelot would never forget it in his mind. Only the man remained, not as a warrior, nor a Roman, but as a friend - a friend with worried eyes. They said nothing, but stood for a long moment in front of each other. Suddenly, Arthur pulled Lancelot into his embrace, enveloping his arms around his closest friend. And Lancelot clung to him as if at any moment they might be torn apart.
"I thought you had left me..." Lancelot whispered into Arthur's shoulder.
Closing his eyes, the troubled look gone, Arthur placed one hand on the back of Lancelot's curly head, as a father would to his young son, holding him close. "I thought I had lost you," he whispered back, "But I found you now."
They stood wrapped in each other's embrace, and the mists could never touch them.