Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: As usual, thank you so much for the lovely reviews.

IMPORTANT NOTE! I updated this story on Friday, (April Fools Day.) At the time and over the weekend, fan fiction was down and as such I didn't receive any email alerts for the stories I follow, so it may be possible that you didn't get one for CM. So you might want to check you have read Chapter Thirteen.

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 Fourteen: Glory of the Morn

"Dreams are not – in the glory of the morn,
Seen through the gates of ivory and horn –
More fair than these."

"The White Women," by Mary Coleridge

"A hunt, Lady Corin?"

The girl looked up from the old, worn book she had been reading and smiled brightly.

"Why, Lord Faustus, that sounds like a lovely idea. Shall your sisters be joining us?"

He shook his head. "Nay, though Amandus and Varius will be."

"Okay," she replied. "Just let me change into riding gear and I shall meet you down at the stables."

Faustus nodded firmly. "Of course. Callisto is already saddled and waiting."

Corin's eyes sparkled, her grin widening. "Oh? You certainly were confident I would be joining you."

The Roman shrugged. "It does not take much to unsaddle a horse."

Her smile fell somewhat, and Corin chided herself for being silly. "Well, my lord, I will meet you at the stables."

Minutes later, Corin appeared at the entrance to the stables where Faustus, Amandus and Varius, the two Captains of Birdoswald fort, were waiting.

"Corin, it is lovely to see you, as always. What a sight for sore eyes," Varius crooned. He was tall with dark blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. His boyish, friendly nature reminded Corin much of Galahad and Gawain, especially when he flirted and joked with her.

His companion, Amandus, was much older. His hair was black with streaks of grey and his eyes dark and serious. But the Captain was soft at heart and had taken Corin under his wing at her arrival. "Lady Corin," he said now, shooting an uncommitted glare at his comrade. "We are all anxious to see your skills in the woodlands with a bow and arrow. Aaron has told us you are remarkably talented."

Corin grinned. She had gone hunting with the young man weeks ago and had startled the boy speechless. "Oh, I'm not that good. Aaron is probably exaggerating my skill."

Varius shook his head. "If there is one thing I know about my little brother it is that he does not exaggerate. Ever. Even about the beauty of his women." He smirked and ruffled Corin's hair before helping her up onto her mare's back. "If Aaron said you are good, you are good."

She smiled as they began to ride out of the fortress and into the forest that stretched on for miles around the lake, home to deer, pheasant and hare. As they entered, the thick canopy immediately silenced the sound of the wind from outside.

They took two hunting hounds with them, sleek, ferocious looking creatures who were really quite docile. Now, the two hounds bounded ahead, sniffing for any pray along the path.

The four hunters split up, Faustus and Corin taking one path, Amandus and Varius another. Corin directed her mare to walk carefully; watchful of any protruding roots or turns in the path. Her blue eyes scanned the trees mercilessly for any movement, and soon enough a slight shift up ahead was brought to her attention. She silently signalled to Faustus, and the pair approached what appeared to be a small running stream, over which a tall, proud deer was standing. The stag was crowned by a pair of majestic antlers, but what drew Corin's eye to the creature was its colour.

It was pure white.

Concurrently to the appearance of the creature, Corin heard the unmistakeable growl of a hunting hound, and before the animal could startle the buck, she brought a silver hunting horn hanging at her hip to her lips and blew.

The forest came alive with noise as the stag whipped around and faced the Greek with wide, stunned eyes, before turning and hurtling into the trees. With a cry, Corin urged Callisto into a gallop, pulling out her bow.

The chase was on.

She flew along after the deer and the sound of hooves beating up behind her alerted Corin to the fact Faustus and the others were in hot pursuit, firing arrows along the way. The bright white coat of the deer flashed in and out of sight as the creature darted in and out of the trees, the sound of fierce barking driving it on.

Squeezing tightly with her thighs, Corin reached back and drew an arrow from her quiver. Seeing that the deer running in a relatively straight angle to her, unobstructed by trees, she slowed down and allowed the others to pass her, Faustus pausing momentarily in his rapid shooting to give her a curious look.

Stringing her arrow, Corin aimed and let loose, watching with satisfaction as the arrow sailed in a perfect arc and lodged itself neatly in the deer's neck. The creature ground to a halt and collapsed onto the floor, twitching for only a second before becoming slack.

"Yah," she urged her horse quietly, and soon joined the others approaching the animal.

"Fury, Storm, back!" Faustus commanded sharply of his hounds, and the two dogs retreated sullenly behind their master.

Corin dismounted and rushed to the stag's side, an appalled expression upon her face. The creature's body was punctured with arrowheads, some sticking out at odd angles. Dark red blood spilled from its many wounds tainting its perfect coat.

"Who did this?" she spat, glaring at the three men.

They were silent for a moment, unknowing at how to handle the angered woman.

"Those arrows are not from one quiver only, Corin," Varius finally answered.

"And who taught you to hunt? Antonius?" she demanded.

Faustus gave a reluctant nod. "He was fond of the chase."

"I should have known," she cursed darkly. "We are taught in Greece that wild things should be honoured, harmed only where death is certain, not shot at just to be hindered." She gestured to the arrow that pierced the deer's neck. "Mine is the only arrow that should have been fired." A tear slid reluctantly down her cheek at the sight of a noble creature of the wood marred in such a way. Carefully, she removed all but her own arrow from its body. "We will sacrifice him to the God's, so he can return once more to the Lady's domain."

"Corin, this isn't Greece," Varius begun. "You cannot just – "

"It is my kill," she reminded them fiercely. "You have no right over this creature, it is mine and mine alone. If you wish to idly spoil the animals in this forest, do so, and you will say what is to come of them. But this stag is mine. You will not touch him."

Sorrowfully, Corin moved a shaking hand over the creature's smooth coat. "You will return to Her domain, King of the Wood."


Corin was sitting in a wide armchair, a goblet of wine clutched in her hand. She was on the terrace of Birdoswald fort, a small balcony area that overlooked the lake. Her eyes were fixed to the scattered stars in the sky, appearing dimmed from the full moon that hung bright in the heavens.

"Lady, I thought I would find you here."

She turned to see Faustus who was leaning gently against the stone parapet, his hands folded behind his back.

She smiled at him. "How many times must I ask you to call me Corin?"

He shrugged, almost morosely. "I will call you by your name when I feel I have gained your respect."

Corin set her drink onto the ground and rose, coming to stand beside the Roman, facing out towards the lake. She brushed the side of his cheek with the back of her fingers. "Faustus, you earned my admiration and respect the day I came to this fort, and you have continued to win it since then. You are worthy man, and I would feel honoured to have you call me by my name."

He nodded graciously. "Corin, then."

The young woman grinned.

"I am sorry about today," he continued, a frown worrying his handsome face. "I did not realise that the Old Ways still meant so much to you. I apologise."

She shook her head and nudged him absently with her shoulder. "There is no need to apologise. I should not have reacted in that way. It just pains me to see all I believe in forsaken from the land."

Tentatively, Faustus reached down and placed a strong arm about her shoulders. She leaned in to his warm embrace.

"Rome used to be steeped in the Gods and Goddesses of Old," she reminisced. "The same Gods that run in my blood once ran in yours."

He sighed wearily. "I know. It makes me wonder how so many can be sure that their own religion is the true way."

"This, coming from a Roman?" Corin teased lightly.

Faustus laughed and playfully squeezed her too him. "You know that we're not all that bad," he joked. "In fact, some of us are even good!"

"Heavens no!" she exclaimed dramatically. "You must jest, surely!"

They laughed for a moment, their chuckles echoing down into the lake before them.

Once she had sobered, Corin slung her arm about Faustus's waist. "I know some Roman's are good," she told him quietly, resting her head against his chest. "Thank you for being one of them."

He didn't answer, simply smiled, and they stood like that long in to the night, each lost in their own thoughts.


He awoke in a dream unlike anything he had experienced before. The air of the woodland smelt of a thousand lazy afternoons, and light shone through the canopy like some kind of shimmering sunrise. There were golden trees with sparkling leaves as far as the eye could see. They stretched endlessly towards the heavens, and he imagined that he could hear some sort of ethereal singing softly in the distance.

Unable to do anything else, Lancelot walked slowly, warily, through the trees, weaving in and out of their path. The singing seemed to grow clearer as he walked, and soon the knight found himself in a golden clearing.

Then he forgot how to breathe.

She was sleeping on an ornately carved fainting couch, her golden hair spread around her body like a halo, her cherry lips curved in a peaceful smile.

Corin.

She was dressed oddly, like the goddesses she often described, in a long, pale gold dress made out of a whimsy, slippery material. The material of her dress met at either shoulder in an intricate silver brooch and a thick forest green cord hung snug about her hips. Her feet were bare, and in her hands she loosely held a curved silver hunting horn.

He had forgotten how lovely she was.

Silently, Lancelot crossed to her side and knelt, his callused fingers tracing a delicate pattern on her cheek.

"This is a dream," the knight told himself quietly. "Nothing but a dream."

His heart ached in loneliness as Corin heaved a sigh, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took. Unable to resist, Lancelot bent and pressed his lips gently to hers.

As if in a fairytale, her eyes fluttered open and settled sweetly on him. "Lancelot," she breathed simply, her voice melodious. She pulled him down to sit on the couch and then pushed him back with her long hands so he was lying. He watched her reverently as she settled herself beside him, tracing her every move with his dark eyes. She kissed him deeply, and he felt her breath trickle down his throat like honey.

"This is a dream," he said again as she moved off him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

She smiled, laughing, and the silvery sound flitted through the trees like some sprite or nymph.

Gods how he missed her laugh

"Then dream," came her reply.

Lancelot sat and put his arms around her, kissing her for all of the times that he hadn't, but should have. He kissed her for the future that he wanted to share with her, for the plans that he had made for them and those that they would make together.

She returned the kiss with equal passion, and he was utterly consumed by her and the erratic pounding of his heart. The world spun madly, expanding and contracting around them as Lancelot relearned the curve and touch of her body.

After, they lay on the couch together, limbs tangled, listening to the sound of their breathing. A kind of misty twilight had settled over the clearing, and the trees at the edge blinked in and out of clarity, as if fading into cloud.

He knew what it meant.

"Come back with me, Corin, I love you, I know I do," he whispered fervently as the haze crept up on them. "Come back. Come back to Camelot."

And the last thing he heard before the world disappeared around him was Corin's honeyed, soothing voice murmuring, "She will. When she is ready."

Lancelot moaned as he awoke, knowing that Corin did not lie sleeping in his arms. The warmth of the dream was quickly fading, and Lancelot felt suffocated by the thick, cool air around him. Throwing on his clothes, the knight flew out of the room and quickly made it to the silent, deserted battlements.

Corin had been gone for close to five months, and traders had come and gone between Birdoswald and the King's palace with no word from the Greek priestess. Lancelot missed her terribly; her bright blue eyes, her soft skin, her voice, her taste, her sweet, wild scent.

But most of all he missed her love. How she had made him feel so wanted, so secure, like no one could ever touch him while he was in her arms. Like, with her beside him, he was invincible.

The dream stayed heavy in his mind. It had seemed so real, but the knight knew that that was only wishful thinking. Corin was many leagues away, probably untroubled by thoughts of her dark knight, not residing in some unearthly dreamworld, bathed in golden starlight.

The full moon hung low and pregnant before Lancelot, making her steady path across the scattered skies.

"She is bright tonight," a voice said quietly to Lancelot's left.

"Tristan," the knight said, not turning from the sky. "You should not sneak up on people like that. Some day, you shall be hurt."

The scout didn't acknowledge what his friend had said, instead moved closer and followed Lancelot's eyes with his own. "The moon pulls at more than just the tides, Lancelot," Tristan spoke quietly, noticing what had so captured the other knight's gaze. "But sometimes, we are so busy looking at her, so sorrowful and so joyful at her ebb and flow, that we miss the sunrise."

He stood stoic beside his troubled friend for a moment, and Lancelot understood that he was offering his silent and unwavering support, before turning and walking back into the darkness.

"Thank you, Tristan," Lancelot murmured softly, but he knew the other man had heard.

The moon was low; finished with her descent in the sky, and now a weak yellow light was beginning to trickle over the hills and meadows to the east. A new golden and glorious orb was climbing over the horizon, stunning in its brilliance.

The moon was pale in comparison to this radiant light. Her time was over.

Basking in the warmth of the sun, Lancelot breathed deeply, and turned his back on the moon.

A/N: Enough symbolism for you? Shorter than usual, I know, but unfortunately that couldn't be avoided. Review and tell me what you think.