Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.
Chapter 4: Dancing Duel
The evening slid by effortlessly, with laughter and stories. Lamps were re-lit as the dark crept into the edges of the hall. Lancelot leaned back on his elbows and listened. He was quite happy to take a moment to relax, when Cerys poked him in the ribs with her fingers.
"You are thinking much harder than you are drinking." She said as she eyed his half-full cup, sitting in front of him on the table.
"I am?" He turned his head towards her.
"Yes, this is not your usual demeanour, by now you would be boiled up and either cavorting with one of the women or instigating some sort of rabble with someone."
"I would, would I?"
He watched her smile and take another sip of her cup. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair coming out of its pins, her eyes laughing and sparkling. She was half-propped up on her seat, her hand put out to steady her. She was happy, he mused, and he was glad for it. He regarded her for a moment more, and then turned his head back to the crowded hall.
"I see. Dance with me then." He said as he raised an eyebrow and his cup to take another sip.
"I'm afraid that if I try to get up from this position, the wine will make me sit straight down again!" She giggled, and put her goblet back to the table, brushing hair away from her face as she sat back, blowing air out from between her lips at the effort.
"Well, then you should stop drinking it and come dance."
"I should just stop with the wine."
Lancelot stood, swayed a moment and pulled her to her feet. She squeaked in protest, but he held her fast around her waist. He steadied her. Gods but she smelled good. Of the cedar trees in the yard, and maybe some mint? He breathed her in for a moment. Mmm... yes... mint. His favourite. He wondered if she knew. His silent wish was that she did and was wearing the oil on her neck for him, but he shook the thought out of his head. Don't be a fool, he berated himself and forgot the notion as soon as his mind had picked it up. He regarded her, petulant look crossing his face.
"You know you must dance with me or I won't leave you alone until you do."
Lancelot jumped up on the table and held out a hand to her. She gave him a look of utter rage from her eyes, but with a smile coming to her lips. Of course she would dance, he thought. She was the best dancer in the fort, and the men loved to see her move about, gracefully stepping out rhythm. Lancelot loved taunting her when she danced, it made her eyes fire up, and her chin would always come out, her pride showing through. The only one who could dance with her as well as he did was Gawain, and Gawain was in no shape to get up from where he was laying. Lancelot needed to dance, he needed to move. The restlessness from battle still jerked his bones, and he needed to put the demons to bed before he himself went there.
"Shall you start or shall I?" He said as he hefted her up onto the table with a quick pull of his hand.
She gained her footing, straightened her skirt and pulled the pins out of her hair, tossing them to Arthur, who caught them, nodding his consent for them to dance. She tossed her head, looked around her once, raised her hands above her head and clapped once. All heads in the hall turned, and she clapped twice more. A few people began banging their knives or fists on the table, and she clapped with them, helping them to pick up the beat. Soon, everyone was banging out a beat and cheering her on. Cerys stepped forward and put her hands on her hips, eyes fixed on Lancelots, a smile now completely across her face, an eyebrow raised. He enjoyed the way she carried her small frame when she danced, as if she was ten feet tall and armoured. Ah yes, he thought to himself, this would be fun.
Lancelot took a step towards her, she took a step back. Lancelot took a step forward, held out his hand, and the dance began. Cerys whirled away, lifting her skirts, dancing along the table, while the men grabbed their cups out of the way. Step left, twirl, step right, clap, turn. Always coming back to rest her eyes on Lancelot. He laughed and hailed out a "HA!", did a step and began to dance to the rhythm, now louder.
Soon, she was whirling, her hair flying, her dress billowing in her efforts to step and keep pace with the drumming in the hall. Lancelot the same, their joust thrusting shoulders at each other, stepping forward, then back, hands out to clap, then back on hip. The beat got faster, and as Cerys stepped forward to it, Lancelot began to step back. She laughed, then she too cried out a "HA!" and began to push him back around the table. He loved it! Yes, this is what he needed; he thought as he stepped away from her and travelled down the table. He felt very free at that moment, and raised an eyebrow again to Cerys, who was laughing and clapping again as she moved him backwards.
"Come now, is that your best?" he yelled above the din.
"Faster!" She yelled in retort, tapping forward with her foot, standing sideways to him now, her chin rested on shoulder.
The crowd obliged. She lost her footing; fell into a crowd of young soldiers, who hefted her back up onto the table just as she fell into them. Her previous tipsiness forgotten, she leapt lightly back to the table and continued as if nothing. He laughed and clapped, moving forward to challenge her.
The beat became faster than either of them could keep up. Lancelot stepped forward, his hand coming out, Cerys stepped into his reach, and he grabbed her, whirled her and held her fast, her back to him.
"Tired yet?" He rasped into her ear.
"No."
"Give in?"
"No."
She broke from his grasp and spun away. Laughter was heard as they watched him grimace again, yell "HA!" once more and step forward. He had noticed she was craving a battle of whit's earlier, but this would have to do for now. Once more around the table they went, each playing off the others body, each pushing the other with their silent duel of will.
Cerys stepped forward and brought her foot down hard, her hands above her head, clasped together, and stopped moving. This was the signal to end the rhythm, the dance was over. The hall stopped, and she closed her eyes, then broke out into a peal of laughter. Lancelot stepped to her, circled her waist and, as was the proper thing to do, bent her backwards and kissed her lightly. He then released her, stepped off the table and held a hand to her again. The both fell exhausted to their cushions, both with chests heaving.
"Hurrah! That was quite a dance!" Yelled Perceval as he brought them both a new cup of wine each. Lorina swatted Bors and scolded him that he never learned to dance like that.
"He'd break the table woman! Are you mad? He's an ox!" Snorted Gawain, guffaws coming from the rest of the crew.
"This ox saved your sorry hide yesterday when you tripped on that Saxon!" Bors retorted, giving Gawain a cuff across his shoulder. They both laughed and clinked their cups together.
Lancelot held his tongue at that remark and drank deeply from Perceval's cup. "I needed that, thank you." He was too winded to get into another spar with the men right now.
"The dance or the wine?" Arthur asked, leaning over to pick a prune off the plate sitting next to him. He chewed slowly as he regarded his friend.
"Both."
"She needed it too. Guinevere was telling me how she has been waking early and retiring late since we left. She is also tiring quickly during the day, Guinevere has found her a few times sleeping in the clothrooms window sill."
Lancelot nodded and knit his brow. He watched her as she too grabbed a prune and nibbled on one end. Tiring? Was she taking her duties too hard? He would have to talk to her. No doubt Arthur should too; after all, it was his household.
Cerys smiled at him, patted his thigh and continued to talk to Galahad, who was asking her how she turned on one foot without falling. She got up and tried to show him, only resulting in Galahad hitting his shoulder against a post and throwing up his hands.
"I am not a dancer like our Lancelot! I guess I'll stick to killing Saxons." He jested and returned to his seat and a pretty young dark-haired girl who immediately circled his neck with her arms. The group all laughed, and conversations resumed, filling the air with lightness. Lancelot eased back to his elbows and drank it in.
Dear Reader,
Ahh the dance, a true expression of emotion and feeling. Please let me know if I have portrayed it as such! I am not sure if I have conveyed their deep emotions(not yet realized)for one another as well as I could.
As always, I appreciate your continued reading, and will post again soon.
Cardeia
