haha, wow, i've been writing a lot lately, eh. well, um, last night it was rather foggy again here and i was sigh listening to the Grey Havens, which was a stupid thing to do because it makes me sad, but it's pretty. anyway, i got bit by the e-vil plot bunny. i was hoping it would pass me by since it seems like a lot of people write this scene and mine doesn't really do it justice, but uh yeah. and to forewarn you...this even made me cry while i was writing it. lol, sorry, but i do hope you enjoy.
Title: Never Alone
Rating: PG; character death
Author: me, EK, Jedi Artorius..whatever
Summary: The grey void called him home. not-slash
Never Alone
Lancelot was not even aware that one of the twin swords he had thrown had hit its mark; Cynric fell to the ground. The knight was not even aware of the other sword still in his hand. It was time.
"We're all going to die someday."
"Why do you think we left in the first place?"
"No, no, as of tomorrow..this was all just a bad memory."
"But suicide cannot be chosen for another!"
"You ask me that, you who know me best of all."
Lancelot could not feel the crossbow bolt in his chest, his body was numb. So this is what it felt like to have life draining from you...to die. The sound of the raging battle left his ears, the heat of the sun no longer warmed him. He couldn't feel the grass under him. His mind wandered, memories flashing before him. The village in Sarmatia, the journey to Britan...the first time that he had met Arthur. The other knights flashed before him, all images of them; smiling, laughing, crying, angry. They faded, but Arthur remained.
Arthur...He suddenly remembered the nightmares, how Arthur had comforted him. When he was wounded, Arthur held his hand. And if the Roman was troubled, Lancelot would listen. Not anymore. "Arthur..." he whispered barely more than a breath from his blood-stained lips.
His vision started to grow dark, like the morning mists descending on the green field where he now lay when he and Arthur used to watch the sunrise from on top of the wall. A grey void surrounded him, lifting him away. He was not afraid; the pain was gone, there was peace. Peace, long at last. Lancelot slipped away, unaware that Arthur was running to his side below.
From above, Lancelot looked down on the field. He saw Galahad, Gawain, Bors, Guineviere, and most importantly Arthur. The Roman lifted his face to the heavens and cried aloud "Not this! Never this!...My brave knights, I have failed you. I have neither taken you from this island, nor shared your fate."
"My dearest friend..." Lancelot whispered in the wind that caresses Arthur's cheek, watching them below him, "You can never fail us. It is you who led us to victory. I am free, because of you. And I will always be here, always. Just as you were always here for me. Do not be sad, for I am not really gone." He smiled, lingering for one last look upon his best friend before following Tristan and Dagonet beyond the grey curtain.
Arthur cradled Lancelot's lifeless body in his arms, his tears still falling on his face. Lancelot's dark stallion plodded over and nuzzled the Roman, knickering softly. Arthur looked up at the horse, who moved Lancelot's hand with his nose and then gently nuzzled his shoulder. Do not be sad, for I am not really gone.