OK, short one this time, but it's the best I could do in the time I had…
Please review…. Please!
One would think I would find solace in my dreams, but it seems the fates will not give me even that measure of peace. My eyes close, but there is only darkness. The wind beats heavily against the windows of my would-be sanctuary, and every lump in my once-comfortable mattress digs into my body so I can not even find comfort in these last few moments of quiet. There are footsteps outside, light Roman Cavalry guards, I'm sure, but some part of me imagines it to be another. That small part of my mind that is still capable of dreams pictures a strong body pulling open the door and silently slipping into the darkness of my chamber. He is a man here. Not a king, nor lord, nor commander. He is neither Christian, nor Roman. He is just a man. And he is beautiful.
He stands at the door, eyes wide. Could it be that he is frightened? His slick black hair is ruffled and falls half-hazardly in curls atop his head, as if a nervous hand has been taken to it repeatedly. As I sit up, he finally walks towards me, his steps soft. He is without armor now. Dressed only in a pair of soft leather pants and a white cotton undershirt. The material billows loosely around him, and as if to oblige my wandering eyes the shirt is unbuttoned. As he walks the last few steps to my bed, the cotton slides from his wide shoulders and drops to the floor. My eyes slowly run down from his shoulders across the sparse drizzle of dark curls that only barely hide the various scars, and then down following the trail of curls that soon disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. It is the rich sound of his chuckle that draws my eyes back to his face, my tongue darting over suddenly dry lips.
He is sitting on my bed, sitting as if it were his own. Were he only to ask, I would make it his own every night. I feel his hand brush my cheek. Could it be his is truly here? He smiles as if catching my thoughts, and brushes a soft kiss against my lips. His arms around me, he pulls me back onto the mattress, urging me to lie down. I do not hesitate. It this is only a dream, I hope to never wake. I feel his arms around me. He encircles my waist and draws me close. My back presses to his strong chest. I am trembling against him, and I hear him whisper in my ear. "Peace, Lancelot." It is him, I am sure it is. I turn to try and see his face, but his arms tighten around me, halting my movement. I would struggle, but he does not wish me to move, so I don't. I feel his warm breath against the back of my neck, the occasional kiss pressed against my skin.
"Arthur…" it is barely a whisper, but I am sure that he hears it, because his arms tighten around me for a moment. When I receive no other response however, I again turn to try and face him. He does not stop me this time, but as I roll over, there is a knock at the door, and I turn to find only an empty bed. Cursing, I drop back onto my back, covering my face with a hand "What!"
Barely is the word barked, that the door opens, and one of the young servants enters. The youth has yet to reach puberty, or so it appears, and he fidgets nervously beneath my gaze. Sitting up, I throw my feet over the edge of the bed. "Speak boy"
He hesitates, but finally steps forward and glances up, wringing his hands. "You asked to be woken at dawn, sir" the boy finally stammers, and receives a groan in response.
"So I did. Thank you."
The boy nods and backs out of the room. As soon as the door is closed, I hear him running down the hall. The servants have never been comfortable around "us Pagans". I don't hold it against him.
