He didn't like the dreams he had after the fighting, it was said that a warrior who has bad dreams is a warrior who was ashamed of what he was doing. A person's dreams told you how well they accepted their roles. Maybe that's why he was creeping through the cold outpost halls three hours after they had all fallen asleep. The Roman Knight, Lancelot, was afraid of sleeping alone in the dark. He was afraid of the nightmares he had after every battle.
There was only one person who made him feel safe.
He had walked down this hallway so many times before through the nine years he had been here. Half his service, he was a man now, had been for a while… but he was still younger than Arthur, still smaller than him and so much in need of his commanders comfort. For that was all it was to Arthur, a commander doing his best to soothe his troubled charge, it was duty.
Lancelot didn't care about that though, he didn't care that Arthur only did it out of pity. He found comfort in whatever he received from the older man, even if it was just a warm bed and a platonic pat on the head, you lived to appreciate everything in this life. Everything.
Arthur didn't really sleep after battles anymore, not that he could remember himself ever sleeping after battles. Everything was still fresh in his mind, the panting of his men, the screams of the dying- their lost comrades. None of the Knights had died today in the skirmish, but he took stock of all the casualties anyways. Tristan had received a harsh gash to the upper bicep, Bors was limping from jamming his knee in a fall and Galahad looked one more year older in only an hour.
The only light in his room was the dying fire, his form motionless on his bed, unclothed and uncovered. It was awfully cold outside, but he hadn't cooled down since the fight, it must be the fires of hell licking at his heels.
The door creaked slightly as it opened, causing Arthur to grip the handle of a small blade under his pillow, eyes focusing sharply on the figure closing the door carefully. Taller, lanky as a spring colt and only partially dressed. His heart skipped a beat, like it always did when this happened. Nothing ever happened, nothing should ever happen – it wouldn't be appropriate for anything to happen- but whenever he saw that figure in the door of his room, or crouched over his bedroll in camp, his heart skipped a beat.
"Arthur…" The words were whispered softly, a vulnerable sound from barely parted lips, but he waited to see if the other man was awake to do anything else.
The form on the bed shifted, turning towards him, shifting the shadows from the fire's coals enough to let the young Knight know that the other wore no clothing this night. The shadows flickered across his commander's tanned skin like a gold serpent slithering through the shade of an oasis.
"Lancelot, your dreams?" The words weren't impatient or ridiculing like they should be, so many other commanders would have beaten down this weakness so early on, stamped out the raw edge of humanity in the boy's soul…
He nodded and stepped hurriedly to the bed, purposely not looking at the other man's physique, "Always, they do not let me rest…" He stopped at the edge, eyes on the other man's face, pleading permission for just this one last time.
"The floor must be cold," Arthur said finally, watching the dark expression on Lance's features turn into a smile of relief. It made him wish he were clothed; propriety's last demand would be that he should be clothed at the very least, "do you hate it here so much that your sins are played in your sleep?"
Lancelot crawled over the other man to the other side of the bed, waiting till he had reached down and pulled up the blankets over himself before answering, "Arthur, my people don't have sins, you know that… our gods judge us differently than your angels"
"They judge your actions here as wrong, then" he controlled his intake of breath as the younger man slipped his arms around Arthur's waist, waiting for the commander to turn on his back before resting his head on the other's shoulders.
"No, Arthur."
"Then why do you have these dreams, Lancelot?" One of his arms slid to gently rub the young Knight's back, the other hand resting on his own stomach.
There was a sigh, whispering across his bare chest then the painful pause that was always present at this moment, "This isn't my fight, I don't believe in your cause. This land is not mine; there is nothing here that is mine."
Then there was silence, the younger one just lying there stubbornly, breath hitching as he fought to control tears he wished would never come. Finally Arthur's hand stopped its comforting motion as he fell asleep.
Lancelot lay there away, eyes open and staring at the light playing along Arthur's skin; the light was fading even more, till all he saw was the dark form he was clinging to, feeling the other man breathing in and out deeply in a calm and peaceful sleep. This was where he stayed; he was trying to urge himself to do something more than just lay there. He would do it for hours some times, telling his hands to move or his voice to return so that he could say something more. But he never did and he finally just gave in to sleep for a few desperate hours before slipping off away from the older man's bed before dawn woke the rest of camp. He would swear to himself that he would never return to Arthur's bed ever again, during those morning hours; would volunteer to go out scouting with Tristan to get away from that crawling desperate feeling that he was giving something up that he would never, ever get.
Arthur would always wait for him to fall asleep, faking sleep himself to give the prideful young man a chance to sort out his mind. Lancelot's touch and breath always threatened to stir him in a way he couldn't allow, for the sake of the boy's heart. He thought Lance was asleep already, shifting slightly to lower his own head to kiss the boy's temple gently, "Lancelot, I would die before I let your soul be trapped here"
Only problem was, Lancelot wasn't yet asleep. Time had passed and his breathing had slowed to the point that it made Arthur think he was, but those words and that kiss pushed him past his own fear to tilt his head up to meet the other man's lips.
