Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: Years after the battle on Badon Hill, Lancelot has resigned himself to a loveless life, ever watching from the sidelines. But his hope is slowly restored when he meets a young woman, who fills his world with light, like the rising of the moon.

Crescent Moon

By katemary77

Chapter One: When the Moon Shall Rise

You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes,
More by your number, than your light;
You common people of the skies,
What are you when the moon shall rise?

- Sir Henry Wotton

Breathing an audible sigh of relief, Lancelot smiled wanly as he and his four companions directed their horses past the expansive stone gates at Birdoswald Fort. The curly-haired knight suppressed a scathing smirk when Lord Antonius, who lorded over the large town, greeted the King and his knights with a cheery smile and wide-open arms.

Antonius was the only remaining Roman governor who had elected to stay in Briton, rather than return to his homeland after the Reformation four years ago. He presided over a large and prosperous town, which had once been a great Roman fort, and Arthur wished for a new trade route to be established to Camelot. Thus, the King and all his knights but Bors, who was remaining at Camelot with his heavily pregnant wife, had travelled to the township for negotiations.

"King Arthur! I'm so glad you have finally arrived! I trust you did not meet with any trouble along the road?"

"We did not," Arthur confirmed, jumping lightly from his horse and indicating his knights do the same. "It is a pleasure to be here, Lord Antonius, to discuss the trade plans that have been in motion for a time now."

"Wonderful, wonderful, we can begin the discussions tomorrow," the portly lord smiled. "For now, I am sure you and your knights would like a warm bed and some hot food after such a gruelling journey. And in such horrible weather, too."

Lancelot smirked. A day in the saddle was hardly a 'gruelling journey,' as the lord put it, and he winked at Gawain, who chuckled in response.

"Grieta!" Antonius shouted, snapping his fingers and causing a young serving maid to hurry to her lord's side, her head bowed. "Grieta will show you to your rooms, and if there is anything you need during your stay, anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask her."

"Thankyou, my Lord Antonius," Arthur said, dipping his head graciously. "We greatly appreciate it."

"Please, my lords, if you'll follow me," the maid said, sinking into a low curtsey, before rising and leading the King, Gawain, Galahad, Tristan and Lancelot to their rooms.

"Hot water will be sent to you for a bath," she told each as she directed them into their lodgings, "and my Lord Antonius has requested you attend supper with him this evening, after you have rested."

Arthur nodded kindly. "Thank you, Grieta, that will be all my knights and I will be needing for the moment."

She curtsied again. "As you wish, sire. The water will be brought shortly."

Lancelot sighed as he walked into his small room, pulling off his armour as he went. From here, there would be days of tedious discussion, which Lancelot knew Arthur would not allow him to avoid. It was not something he was looking forward to.

But, he reminded himself, it is far better than being at Camelot. For the King's home had become a place of anguish and sorrow for Lancelot, and he could find no relief in its stately halls.

"Guinevere."

The name stuck to the roof of his throat, turning to ash on his tongue.

Ever since the Woad had been pulled from the dark of Marius Honarius's dungeon, Lancelot had been enthralled by the dark beauty. And as he had stood at Arthur's side during their wedding, the knight had finally admitted the truth to himself; he was in love with her.

But Lancelot was as loyal as he was fierce, and would never betray his best friend, his love for the noble King stronger than any other.

He had never touched the Queen, and he never would, instead resigning himself to a life of shame and sadness, watching from the sidelines as the happy couple lived their life in wedded bliss, unknowingly breaking the dark knights heart.

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Lancelot took a long swig of his mead, drying the tankard, before setting the heavy cup down on the bar, motioning for the barmaid to refill it. Nodding his thanks to the buxom woman, Lancelot took the cup to his lips and sipped thoughtfully, swivelling on his stool to gaze at his companions, who were seated at a nearby table, enjoying the company of some local women.

"Come, Lancelot!" Galahad cried, clearly intoxicated, as he swerved up to the bar for more ale. "It is unlike you to sit and brood when the company of such fine looking women is to be had!"

"Perhaps his thought is upon another," Tristan said quietly, using his knife to cut into an apple. "Perhaps his thoughts are back at Camelot."

Lancelot's eyes darkened; the scout was far too observant for his own good. "Nay, Tristan, I am merely thinking about how boring these past few days have been."

Gawain and Galahad laughed, and the youngest cried gleefully, "And Lancelot, thinking upon one woman? Never!"

Smiling slightly, Lancelot took another sip upon his mead and followed Galahad, who was unsteadily making his way back to the table, with his dark eyes.

As soon as the Roman soldier knocked roughly into the inebriated knight, sending his mead spilling over his tunic, the atmosphere in the small tavern changed dramatically.

Galahad's blue eyes darkened, glinting with challenge, and Gawain stood up, his knuckles clenching, as the Roman grunted and continued on his way.

"Apologise!"

Slowly, the soldier turned. "Or what? You'll scratch me with your pretty sword?"

Growling, Galahad made forward, but was stopped by a swift arm catching his chest.

"Knights," Lancelot spoke, warning thick in his voice, "the King will not be happy if we quarrel with our hosts men. A spilt drink is not worth Arthur's anger."

Nodding, though still seething with anger, Galahad and Gawain accepted the wisdom of Lancelot's words, and took their seats.

The Roman snorted and sneered, "So much for the bravery of knights," before stalking out of the tavern with his companions.

Lancelot downed the rest of his mead and clapped a hand on Gawain and Galahad's shoulders. "Have a good night, boys," he said quietly, and with a swift nod to Tristan, exited the pub into the cool, frigid night.

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Later, Lancelot lay awake in his cot, watching the dying embers of the room's small fire wither with detached interest. As the last remnant finally surrendered to the encompassing darkness, giving a brief spark of defiance before fading completely, the knight threw himself off of the warm, welcoming bed, tossing a tunic on before striding purposefully out of the room.

It was not late, he knew, and Lancelot supposed the other knights were still merry-making at the tavern he had left earlier, and that the King was most likely visiting with Lord Antonius and his family, a vapid, watering looking wife, a young, intelligent looking son and two mildly interesting daughters, whom Lancelot had dismissed at first glance as being too "Roman."

But the knight did not desire company, but solitude, so he made his way through the thick fortress towards the watchtower he knew overlooked the River Irthing and the rolling meadows beyond, in hopes that wrapping the night around himself might sooth his subsultory soul.

Before he could make it to the watchtower, however, Lancelot made out the muffled sound of voices ahead of him and quickly ducked into a darkened corner. The three Roman soldiers who had confronted Galahad earlier strode confidently past himt, conversing in soft voices that barely reached the knights ears.

"Are you sure we can trust you, Avitus?" one of the men asked the younger looking of the trio.

"Of course you can, I won't tell a soul. And I want to see this for myself," the one named Avitus answered. "You say she's only just been brought here, Tertius?"

"Nay," Tertius replied. "She was in Antonius's chambers for months, but then she almost escaped so he had her brought down here for us men. But he still comes down to visit occasionally," he said with a snort.

"But he won't be there now, will he?" Avitus asked worriedly.

The third shook his head. "Nay, not with those British dogs visiting. Come, the hour grows late, and I am in an impatient mood."

The voices drifted further away, and Lancelot, frowning slightly with curiosity, padded silently after the three Roman guards, eventually finding himself facing a heavily scarred wooden door.

Curious, Lancelot pressed his ear to the coarse wood, only to hear muffled laughter and conversation coming from within. A moment later, though, Lancelot imagined himself to hear a quiet, muffled scream come from within.

Never one to fly into battle unprepared, Lancelot stepped back and allowed himself a moment of thought. He could burst in there, unarmed and alone, and discover what was going on inside, or, he could try and find Arthur, but that may take a while and he could not know that he would be able to steal his commander away without Lord Antonius becoming suspicious.

Giving a small shrug, Lancelot squared his shoulders and reached for the handle of the door. Determined and confident, the dark haired knight quietly stole into the room, promptly freezing at the sight he was greeted with.

Two of the Romans were standing, their backs facing Lancelot, looking on at the third, who was laying atop and young girl, his breeches pulled down to his ankles. Her hands were shackled to the stone wall, and she was clothed in a tattered white dress, its skirts bunched up around her waste. She was sobbing quietly, defeatedly, as if she had given up all dreams of ever escaping her darkened fate.

The Roman abusing her let out a strangled moan, his hands groping the girl's face in a twisted parody of a lovers embrace, and Lancelot stood, transfixed, at the horror being played out before his eyes.

But then, under a curtain of matted hair, the girl's eyes locked onto Lancelot's, and she let out a small gasp and turned her face away, as if she were shamed at what he was seeing.

This was enough to snap the knight out of his trance, and he glanced urgently around until his eyes settled on what they were searching for: one of the Roman's swords, propped up against the wall. Reaching out and taking the hilt in his hands, Lancelot flexed his fingers around the sword; his face contorting in barely controlled fury.

"Get off her." His voice was deadly calm, at its most dangerous.

The three Romans jumped, startled, and turned to face the interruption in their little game.

"I said, get off her."

"Why?" one said. "She's just some slave bitch our lord brought from Rome."

In an instant, the man was dead, the dagger Lancelot kept at his hip embedded in his throat. Before the others could react, Lancelot dove forward, expertly running each through with the blade until the three lay dead on the floor, blood blossoming from their wounds.

Turning toward the girl, Lancelot lowered the sword to find her pinned underneath the dead weight of the Roman who had been abusing her, struggling weakly to push him away. With a mighty heave, Lancelot lifted the dead soldier off her, tactfully averting his gaze until she had managed to fix her dress.

With a swift swing of his sword, Lancelot broke through metal coils that chained her to the wall. He reached out to help her to her feet, but the girl quickly recoiled from him, cowering in the corner. It splintered the knights heart, conjuring up images of what it could be that would make a woman so afraid of a man.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," he placated, holding his hands in a manner that he hoped would assure her.

She glared at him with untrusting eyes, hurriedly brushing a dirty lock of hair from her face. "Why should I believe you?" she asked, her voice hoarse and scratchy. "What's your name?"

"Lancelot," he answered her.

There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "You are a knight." At his brief nod, there was a small, sweet smile gracing her chapped lips. "Corin. I am Corin."

"Well, Corin," he said, returning the smile, "we should get you out of this place. Where are you hurt? Can you walk?"

She slowly brought her hand to touch her left temple, drawing it back to inadvertently show Lancelot her bloodstained fingers. "It's shallow. Won't need stitches. I think my ankle is sprained as well," Corin said, indicating her oddly twisted left ankle, flourished with a dark bruise.

Lancelot nodded briskly and tossed the borrowed sword to the ground before offering his hands to Corin. Helping her to stand, the knight placed a strong arm around her waist and they slowly made their way out of the dungeon.

"So, where are you from, Corin?"

"Greece," she muttered through her teeth. "Delos, an island in the South Aegean."

"You are a long way from home, Lady."

"I am."

Soon, Lancelot's keen ears picked up the sound of swift footfalls up ahead and, sure enough, they were met with a small company of guards, accompanied by Lord Antonius and Arthur.

At the sight of Antonius, Lancelot heard Corin whimper quietly and shift on her right leg, putting the curly-haired knight between herself and the portly lord, whose face had turned an off puce colour. "What is the meaning of this?" he cried angrily. "Guards! Seize her!"

Ignoring his King's questioning gaze, Lancelot, with a set jaw, placed himself firmly in front of Corin. "This lady is now under my care. You will not touch her."

As the haughty lord spluttered indignantly, his four soldiers advanced upon Lancelot.

"Stop."

The word was uttered in a stern, commanding tone, and was only emphasised by Excalibur, which was suddenly drawn to block the path of Antonius's men. "Lancelot, speak," Arthur demanded.

"She was chained up, Arthur," Lancelot spat, barely containing his rage. "They were beating her… raping her. I won't let her go back to them, Arthur, I won't."

Arthur nodded once, his piercing green eyes full of sympathy and understanding. In a moment, the King had his sword resting carefully at the throat of Lord Antonius. "Did you know of this?" he growled.

"No! No, of course not, my lord! I would never allow such treatment of a woman!"

"Liar," a cold voice hissed harshly from behind Lancelot. Corin took a shaky step forward, grasping tightly to Lancelot's shoulder. "You bought me yourself! Do you not remember?"

At Antonius's seemingly guilty expression, Arthur threw him a disgusted glare and turned to Lancelot. "Take her to your room. I'll have a maid sent to you."

With a swift nod, Lancelot turned to Corin and easily lifted her into his arms. "Come, Lady Corin, let us get you well."

"You don't have to carry me, you know."

He shot her a rakish grin. "But it makes me feel so chivalrous! Like a knight in shining armour. Let us embrace the cliché for a moment."

She chortled softly. "If you must."

A/N: Please drop me a review and tell me what you think.