Title: First Snow

Author: Surreal

Disclaimer: Not mine. Except for Tristan. No? Dang...I make no money from this. It all belongs to Bruckheimer & Co.

Pairing: Arthur/Lancelot

Rating: PG, for some m/m stuff

Summary: Arthur sneaks out from his sick bed.

Notes: This was supposed to be a drabble, but it ran away from me. It
is also mostly fluff. There will be two follow-up stories.

Dedication: To the great DeaLiberty, who is a fabulous author. I owe
her a lot for encouragement and kindness for putting up with my
nervousness.

Big Thank You: To jastaelf for her beta and suggestions.

Feedback: Yes, please. Even if you didn't like it. Here we go with my
first fic.

Arthur sat on a bench in the empty courtyard, and drew in a deep breath of the frigid air. He pulled his light cloak a little tighter around his shoulders, cold and sore, but unwilling to admit it to himself. He was not sure if he had the energy needed to get back inside anyway. The wound to his side might finally be closing, but he was far from healed.

Footsteps sounded softly on the stone footpath, approaching the bench where the wretched commander sat. Lancelot. Damn. If Lancelot saw him without his winter cloak he would never hear the end of it. He glanced around the courtyard for a convenient hiding spot.

No place to hide. Double damn. He sighed in resignation as a heavy cloak was dropped over his mantel, accompanied by his former best friend's chuckle.

"I knew you hated being cooped up, but even I didn't think you would attempt to follow through on your threat," Lancelot teased. His dark brown eyes were alight with mischief, but Arthur could see the shadows beneath them that looked more like bruises, a testament to worry and lack of sleep.

"What threat?" Arthur asked grumpily, instead of thanking Lancelot for the cloak. "And stop fussing!" he snapped. Lancelot made himself comfortable on the bench and let his hands fall away from the cloak that he had been trying to adjust on Arthur's too thin shoulders.

Completely unrepentant, Lancelot gave Arthur a sunny smile and answered gleefully. "You threatened to die before the first snow, as it would make it more difficult to bury you." He stretched his legs out in front of him and watched with a smirk as Arthur processed his statement.

"That doesn't even make sense," came the sulky response a minute later. Lancelot chuckled again.

"It's understandable. You were delirious, after all."

"I see. Was this before or after my wound became infected?"

"After." Lancelot's mood changed suddenly, the playfulness fading away while he looked up at the night sky. Arthur waited a moment for his friend to speak again, and when he didn't, he reached over and clasped one of Lancelot's hands in both of his.

"I am still here, Lancelot," Arthur said softly. "I won't go anywhere, I promise."

"I know," his best friend replied just as quietly. A comfortable silence stretched between them. "It hasn't snowed yet this year." He smiled at Arthur then, and at that moment Lancelot looked so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.

Without thinking about the consequences, Arthur leaned closer to his knight and gently pressed his lips against Lancelot's just as the first snowflakes drifted down from the sky.

fin