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.
Scribe Note:
Winged Seraph: I am glad that I made you laugh! Humour is an area I need to work on, and I will endeavour to make you laugh again. Bors reminds me so much of a wonderful man I dated a few years back, and I enjoy writing him, adding bits in of my own memories. Thank you for your continued support! It keeps my pen moving more than you know.
Nitestar: Your comments are most appreciated. Yes, Lancelot's loneliness, making him think strange thoughts is certainly going to make him do strange things and then regret them. I hope that I can portray these feelings, his own confusion and self-beratement well enough. The way Ioan protrayed him in the movie has given me more than enough fodder to bring his angst to life through his body language.
Chapter 8: Pride Be Damned
"Damn, Damn, Damn, Damn... DAMN!"
A brush went flying out of a stall and hit the dirt in the centre of the stables with a thud. It rolled over a few times, and came to rest at Arthur's feet. He bent and picked it up, shaking off the sand.
"I believe this is yours?" He held out the brush to Lancelot, who was standing beside his horse in his stall, his forehead rested on the horse's flank, his arm above his head, supporting him. The other hand had its finger in his mouth, sucking the blood from a new wound, which had obviously made him swear.
"Leave it on the edge, I'll get it in a moment." he mumbled through fingers.
Arthur set the brush down, crossed his arms and stood there, waiting. Lancelot could feel his friend standing just outside the horses stall, with those benevolent eyes, waiting for him to come to his senses. He could be so stubborn sometimes. Couldn't he see that he just wanted to be alone?
"Damn." he said again as he took his finger out of his mouth. The bristles on the brush had somehow gotten underneath his fingernail, and now he had a lovely blood blister right on the tip.
"That's a lot of hatred for a brush." Arthur chuckled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Well it bloody well bit me." Lancelot spat.
Lancelot straightened up from his horse and realized the hilarity of the situation. He chuckled softly and continued doing so as he left his horse's stall and crossed over to the benches to sit and examine his finger in the light. Arthur walked over to join him, putting one foot up on the lower bench and leaning over to examine Lancelot's finger.
"Better see Dafydd to pierce the fingernail or you'll be swollen by nightfall."
Lancelot glared up at his friend and then slumped into his seat. What a day. First he had made a complete disaster of Cerys, now he had rendered his right index finger incapable of stringing a bow! What next? He glared up at the roof, daring it to fall on his head.
Arthur sat down beside him. "Alright, what is eating at you? Get smacked by a girl again, or does sleeping in straw not agree with your demeanour?"
Lancelot sighed and rubbed his good hand over his chin. How was he supposed to tell his commander that he had kissed his cousin that morning in the baths naked and sent her sobbing back to her rooms? How was he supposed to explain that he had no idea why he did it? And how did he know about where he slept the night before? Bloody gossips in the kitchens...
"It's been a bad day."
"I can see that. Care to share with a friend?"
"No."
Arthur picked up a bit of hay and twiddled it in his fingers. Lancelot watched him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the man to leave him in peace. When he didn't seem to give the notion that he was leaving, Lancelot sighed and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees, pressing his knuckles into his forehead.
"You're not leaving, are you."
"No."
Lancelot blew air out from between his lips and looked sideways at his friend, glaring at him. It might be good to discuss the situation with someone who knew Cerys as well as he did. Maybe Arthur would give him a good smack and tell him to get a grip and behave himself. Is that what he needed? He wasn't sure. He really wasn't in the mood for preaching. He wasn't in a mood for anything except to stew over his apparent lack of brains, and his now throbbing finger. Blast but he wished the day had not happened. He sat up again.
"Well, this morning, I went to the baths and Cerys was there."
Arthur nodded, folding his hands over a propped up knee.
"And, well... she seemed upset so I asked her what was wrong, and then she walked away from me, then I grabbed her and we were naked and..."
"Wait a moment," Arthur straightened and raised his eyebrows. "You were naked?"
"We were in the water."
"Oh."
"And I kissed her and she..." Lancelot stopped abruptly, looking at the ground in front of his feet.
Arthur suppressed a smile and shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat.
"Did she kiss you back?"
Lancelot got up from where he was sitting and began to pace in front of the benches, his fingers to his temples, wincing as the blood blister pushed against skin. He was having a harder time with this than he thought he would. He felt Arthur's stare grinding into him. He licked his lips and looked out the doorway of the stable. Damn.
"She ran from me."
"Oh." was all Arthur said.
"What do you mean Oh? She bloody ran from me! I kissed her and I scared her half out of her whits and now..." He yelled, arms out flung, his eyes flaring, the anger he was feeling towards himself showing. He turned on his heel and stalked towards the edge of the hitching area. Arthur got up from his seat and followed Lancelot, who was now leaning against a post, arms crossed.
Lancelot kicked at the dirt. Lancelot shoved the post with his shoulder.
Lancelot was sulking.
"It was not my intention." He blurted, hands flying from his sides, palms out, showing his confusion.
Arthur nodded and grasped Lancelot by the shoulder. Lancelot turned to regard his friend.
"Look at me. What's done is done. You need to go talk to her. Both of you need to clear this. She means too much for you to leave it."
Lancelot turned. His eyes were burning, and he dashed at them with his hands. Gods, he was not going to come to tears over this! He was being a bloody milksop! Where was his control? Why had this shaken him so much?
"How do I tell her that I wanted to kiss her, that I..." He groaned, "She seemed so upset and I wanted to comfort her. I don't understand what came over me. We were there and suddenly I just wanted to..."
Arthur nodded again. "It's alright Lancelot, these things happen."
Lancelot looked across at his friend. How was he supposed to think that? These things did not just happen to him, he thought bitterly. Women loved his charm and his mischief. Women never ran from him, and if they smacked him for his boorishness, it wasn't a huge matter. He would laugh and go on to the next one. He always had a way with women... well, until now.
Cerys... she was different... She was as close to him as any sister, or any one of the men. What happened with her mattered. And, to make matters worse, she had made it quite obvious that their friendship had met its boundary when she ran from him in the baths. He was so mad at himself for hurting her when she so obviously needed comfort. He had taken advantage of her, and he loathed himself for it.
"She won't forgive me, you know how she is." He said slowly.
Arthur regarded his friend and sighed. "You need to find her, clear this or you will be in a foul humour for the rest of the day. I am sure you just startled her and all will be well after you talk. She cares for you and I am sure it will all be fine."
Lancelot nodded, swallowing.
"You breathe a word of this to anyone and I will make you regret it."
Arthur held up his hands. "You have my word that I will not."
Lancelot nodded, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and sniffed again. Arthur was right, he was always right. Lancelot envied Arthur for his level head sometimes. He needed to set things right with Cerys, pride bedamned.
Arthur patted his shoulder once more and left the stables, knowing perfectly well that Lancelot needed to think. Lancelot put his injured finger back into his mouth to quell the pain and kicked the post he had been leaning against.
"Damn..." He muttered one more time, hobbling out of the stable towards Dafydd's offices.
Dear Reader:
Lacnelot certainly is confused! The muse for this chapter was the exchange between Arthur and Lancelot before they ride out to rescue Alecto and his family. The anger in Lancelot's speech, the way he roared his response of "I choose LIFE..." made me remember how passionately he feels, and how close to the surface it is. I hope I have portrayed his confusion well, and given you, dear reader, an insight into his character.
Cardeia
