Tortured: A Tale of Camelot
"What the hell is your problem?" Gwaine asked intercepting Galahad. "You haven't been this surly since the time we woke you up in the middle of the night with freezing cold water." Galahad gave his friend a glare and tried to keep moving, but again Gwaine moved to stop him. "You aren't going anywhere until you give me an answer, Galahad."
"I don't know," he muttered. "There is nothing wrong, and I am not acting surly."
"You are," Gwaine said. "And I think I know why. Galahad…it is okay to be attracted to someone." A look that could have burned down the Roman Empire was shot Gwaine's way. "Whoa there Galahad! There is no reason to get angry, just because I called your bluff doesn't mean you can blow up at me!"
"I am not in love, Gwaine. Don't you dare ever mention that again!" Galahad spit out. Gwaine was surprised at the conviction with which Galahad said the words. Then with out a backward glance he stormed off.
Trying to keep his anger under control, Galahad walked up to the ramparts of Camelot. He needed to clear his head, and figure out where all the aggression was coming from. Galahad was not known as an angry knight, or even an angry person. Lancelot had been the more brooding, cynical, angry sort. Not him. The infuriating part about the whole thing was that he could not pinpoint where the emotion was coming from.
He knew it wasn't wrong to fall in love. Bors had and he was quite content with his life. There was nothing wrong with it. But Galahad could not seem to figure out his feelings towards Alanna. He knew he felt more than just attraction. There was a pull that kept him always thinking of her.
It must be the way she verbally attacks me, he thought. It just makes me want to cut her head off…or…or. He ignored the small voice in his head that whispered: Or make love to her. Slamming his palm into his forehead he tired to expel the thought of making love to the golden-haired woman. The pictures were just to arousing to keep thinking.
Turning his attention to the landscape around him, Galahad tried to shut her out of his mind, but the thoughts just kept coming. Flashes of her went through his head like lightning. The way she looked when he first found her, all bruised and bloody. The way she looked when she was having a nightmare, and finally the way she had looked when he had woken up next to her not even an hour ago.
He began pacing. Wanting to think of something else he started to think of what he should do once things settled down. Would he return to his homeland of Samaria, or stay in Britain. He had nothing left in Samaria, his family would probably not recognize him or they would be hard to locate because of their nomadic ways. On top of all of that, they were probably dead.
Galahad snapped out of his trance like state to find he was not up on the battlements, but in front of the door to his room. He stood there shocked, not knowing what to do.
"What have I got to lose?" he asked himself aloud. Then with a small creak he opened the door and stepped into the room.
Blinking her eyes in the sunlight, Alanna was surprised to feel well rested and content. Not in almost a year had she ever gone the night without a nightmare. Reveling in the sleepy/happy feeling she rolled over. Sprawling out she was surprised to find that her elbow had sunken into a dent in the mattress. One glance showed that it was the approximate size of a man.
"Oh no," she groaned aloud. She had slept with him. He had spent the night in her/his bed. Alanna didn't know what she was more afraid of. The fact that she might have been violated when she was asleep, or the way the dreaminess/ floaty feeling of having him there made her feel.