A/N: While I was writing the fifth installment of the Frustration series - in which Arthur almost wounds Lancelot in a sparring fight - I was wondering what would happen if indeed Arthur would injure Lancelot... Of course, that bunny turned out to be a pitbull. "Blame and Trust" is the result of that...
I actually did start to write a different first scene for it, but they all turned out too similar or too flat in comparison with the first scene of "Prostrate", in my humble opinion anyway ;) So I've now re-used the same first scene for this fic, with the note that I've removed everything that could be considered even slightly slashy.
Gawain and Galahad approached the sparring field with curiosity as they heard the heavy clashing of swords singing through the early morning air. Soon their eyes fell on their commander and his second in command. They hurried forwards. It wasn't often that the Roman and the Sarmatian met in a sparring match with both Excalibur and the twin swords being swung at full force. No winner was ever declared, but the skills both men displayed were worth watching.
Lancelot gracefully turned around to block Excalibur once more with his left sword before it could scar his side forever. Instantly he moved his right sword underneath the long sword in Arthur's hand and swung it powerfully upwards. Arthur danced back to avoid being slashed by the Sarmatian's swiftly moving left blade.
Their eyes met briefly and Arthur's smile was reciprocated with Lancelot's smirk. Both of them were enjoying this greatly.
Arthur swiftly moved forwards for another attack. The Sarmatian knight was quicker on his feet as he moved to the side, his right sword clashing hard once more with Excalibur. The Roman didn't wait for the other man to step back to his left, and brought his sword down fast. Lancelot crossed his twin swords and deflected the blow easily, immediately raising his arms to take over the attack.
Suddenly Lancelot felt his heel slip away in the grass. The upward momentum of his arms threw him off balance completely and he fell backwards.
Lancelot's fall took Arthur completely by surprise and the sudden loss of pressure on Excalibur made him stumble forwards.
In a flash Arthur realized that Excalibur was aimed straight at Lancelot's abdomen. With all his might he moved his sword to the side in mid fall. He landed heavily on top of his knight as Lancelot cried out in agony.
Quickly the Roman pushed himself off of the Sarmatian, rolling to his side. Instantly he felt slick warm blood coating his hand. "Oh God! Lancelot!"
Arthur immediately turned to the man he considered as a brother. He looked straight into darkened eyes, wide open in shock and agony. A moment later, the eyes rolled back in their sockets as Lancelot lost consciousness.
Arthur heard footsteps running towards him, and soon Gawain and Galahad fell down next to Lancelot's still body. "Sweet Goddess!"
"We have to get his armour off!" Arthur shook himself out of the shock that threatened to paralyze him.
With swift hands, Gawain and Arthur worked together in silence. The hands of both men were soon stained red with blood that seemed to be flowing freely. A gasp escaped from Gawain's lips when they removed Lancelot's leather chest armour. A huge gash was crossing Lancelot's side, blood spurting out jerkily at a frightening rate. "By Gods! We need to get him to the healer!" Fear was evident in his voice.
As Arthur moved to scoop up Lancelot in his arms, he addressed Galahad. "Galahad! Run ahead! Warn the healer!"
Easily the Roman commander lifted his knight up into his arms, and set off at a run towards the valetudinarium. Gawain followed closely, grave concern written on both of their faces.
Dagonet, Bors and Tristan reached the healer's ward at the same time as Arthur did, having been alerted to the occurrence at the sparring field. Eyes widened in shock as they took in Lancelot's ghostly pale appearance and the blood staining his clothes and Arthur's hands and arms. "What happened? Who did this to our Lance?" Bors asked in a surprisingly soft voice.
The healer and his assistants were already waiting for them and moved quickly as soon as Arthur had gently lowered Lancelot onto a bed. The tiny old Roman with the grey hair and ever twinkling grey eyes looked with great worry down on the Sarmatian knight that had so long ago taken up a soft spot in his heart. "If you all wish to stay here, then make sure you're not in my way!"
Arthur and his knights watched on as the healer went to work on Lancelot, ordering his assistants around, first stemming the blood flow, which seemed to take forever, next stitching the wound closed.
Gawain slowly became aware of the silence that had come over their commander. Looking up from the unconscious knight, he saw how Arthur's face was almost matching Lancelot's in color. He turned his attention back to Lancelot, while he addressed the Roman. "It wasn't your fault, Arthur. It was an accident. You could have done nothing to prevent it. In fact, you did everything to prevent even worse!"
Arthur slowly nodded. "If he dies, then I killed him, Gawain."
Before Gawain could answer, the healer spoke first. "He hasn't died yet, Arthur," he said in a soothing almost fatherly tone. "I won't lie to you, he has lost a lot of blood and he could die. But you better than anyone should know how stubborn he is! Don't give him up just yet!" After a brief pause, he added, "And knowing him a little, he will fight with everything he has, to spare you the heartache and guilt of his death…"
Arthur took in a long shuddering breath, and straightened up slightly. "How is he?"
"Not so good," the healer said with pain in his voice. "I wish I could say differently. I don't think anything vital was hit, but he has lost a lot of blood. His heart is beating only faintly," he sighed. "We are going to have to wait. Either he will wake up when he's strong enough, or he will die while he sleeps."
An audible gasp echoed through the room at the simple but clear statement.
–– 8 ––
Hours after midnight Arthur was sitting next to Lancelot's sick bed alone. He had stayed with his best friend almost all the time. Briefly, he had gone to his room to change clothes and clean the blood, Lancelot's blood, of his hands and arms. He still felt like he had blood on his hands. If Lancelot were to die, he could not blame anyone but himself.
One of the other knights had stayed with Arthur since early that morning until he had sent the last one of them, Dagonet, to bed with the promise to wake them if there was any change at all.
Gawain had been the first to hold watch over Lancelot together with Arthur. Once more the blond night had tried to convince him that it was an accident and not something he had had any control over. And how much Arthur wanted to believe that, feel that, he felt wholly responsible. No words could change that.
Galahad had been next to sit with his commander. At first he had not spoken at all, his eyes focused on Lancelot as though he wanted to will him to wake up. "It's like a bad memory. Something you want to forget, but just can't. It's burned in my eyes, I see it happening over and over again." The youngest of the knights turned his attention to Arthur. "Gawain is right, you know, Arthur. It was an accident. And he," pointing at his unconscious brother-in-arms, "wouldn't want you to blame yourself. You know that as well, better even, as I do."
Bors had been an unusually quiet companion. Arthur realized that part of the big knight was blaming him for Lancelot's injuries. Gawain had briefly described what had happened to the knights that hadn't been watching the sparring match, but it had not been enough to complete wipe out Arthur's responsibility for the accident in Bors' mind. Still, Arthur felt relieved when Bors finally spoke up. "I know you would never do anything to hurt him."
Dagonet had given his support to his commander during their vigil by being who he always was – a rock, a rock in the storm that was Arthur's thoughts. Silent and strong.
Tristan would be next to hold watch with him, but Arthur welcomed the loneliness for awhile.
He had been listening intently to Lancelot's breathing which seemed to be the only sound filling the dark room. He felt how his own breathing was matching the Sarmatian's, his breathing hitching when Lancelot's did. Every time the injured man seemed to miss an inhalation, Arthur's heart jumped up into his throat, only to settle back down in place when the weak sound of his breathing reached his ears once more.
Suddenly Arthur stood up from his chair and knelt down next to the bed, bowing his head. "O merciful God, I have such need of Your mercy now. Not for myself, but for my knight, my closest friend, my brother, for this is truly his hour of need. Save his life and I will pay You a thousand fold with any sacrifice You ask of me. And if in Your wisdom, You should determine that sacrifice must be my life, I will gladly make that covenant. I ask no more than that."
"Why don't you just ask your god for absolution of your feelings of blame and guilt?"
Lancelot's weak voice took Arthur completely by surprise. "Lancelot!" The Roman immediately moved to sit on the bed.
"You are blaming yourself, aren't you?" Lancelot asked, his voice waning in strength even further.
Arthur placed a comforting hand on his knight's shoulder. "Safe your strength, Lancelot," Arthur said urgently. "It's not important now! How are you feeling?"
Lancelot sighed. "So incredibly weak…"
Arthur took in the beads of sweat forming on the Sarmatian forehead, matting his curls. Dark circles were surrounding the dark eyes that had sunken deep within their sockets. Pain and exhaustion were etched on his face.
"You need to conserve your strength! Do not talk anymore. Go back to sleep." Arthur caught Lancelot's gaze once more, pleading with him to comply.
"Am I going to die?"
Another shock went through Arthur's body at the honest but unexpected question. "NO!" he answered without thinking.
"Good," Lancelot softly replied with a sigh, before closing his eyes and succumbing to sleep immediately.
Arthur stared at his knight for a long time, amazed at the trust and confidence that was carried in that one word.
–– 8 ––
It had taken Lancelot three weeks before he had felt well and strong enough to walk around the fortress by himself. Arthur had given Jols strict instructions to not even allow him in the stables out of fear that the stubborn Sarmatian would take his stallion out for a ride. But if he were truthful to himself, he wouldn't have been able either.
Just this morning Lancelot had sat in on a meeting of the knights at the round table, offering his advice on how to handle the rogue Woads that were hiding in the woods directly south of the fortress. After the meeting, he had been completely surprised by how his energy seemed to have just drained away. He had gone straight to his room and fallen asleep at once. It took him a few moments before he realized what had awoken him.
The voices in the hallway outside his door became louder, and Lancelot recognized his fellow knights one by one. Arthur was amongst them as well. The Sarmatian slowly got to his feet, and walked to his door to see how today's campaign had gone.
The sudden opening of the door startled more than a few of the knights, several hands instinctively going to their weapons.
Arthur's hand went to Excalibur's hilt in a reflex. Shock crossed his features as he became aware of the person whom he had almost drawn his sword on.
Lancelot's wit had not suffered from his encounter with the large sword. "Careful with that!" he smirked. "You might hurt someone!"
Silence crept through the hallway as the other knights watched their commander with bated breath, waiting how Arthur would react to his knight's words, knowing how guilt-ridden he had been after almost fatally injuring Lancelot.
It wasn't long before soft laughter rolled from Arthur's throat, a grin spreading across his face. A swift step forward and he pulled the Sarmatian into a warm embrace.
Roars of laughter and approval soon filled the air.