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: Many thanks again for your words of encouragement! This chapter will hopefully show that although it is resolved, sometimes reality can hit like a sack of stones to the middle.

History2: No, they can't and neither can I. This chapter was very exhausting to write and I feel wrung out from it, from the sheer heaviness of the emotion I have with my characters. I hope you enjoy.

Rowan Dash: I appreciate your feedback, and I can understand that college comes first. I am glad you are liking my portrayal of the knights.Our intendedshave indeed hung themselves out to dry, and they are not seeing the forest for the trees. However, in this chapter, the forest of confusion becomes all to clear to be a swamp of despair for one of the pair. I am worried I have left the emotion a bit thick, but it felt right as I wrote it.

Ailis-70: I am heartened that you enjoy my description. I have been told many times at workshops to make more with less, and I tend to be flowery in my mind's eye description on paper. I want to have everyone see it as I see it. I need to remember to let my reader use their own imagination! Thank you for your review.


Chapter 10: Heart-Stopping Reaction

Arthur was pacing around the hall, hands behind his back, head down, stepping between each of the seams in the stone floor, careful not to touch them with toe or heel. He paced once around, then turned, paced back. Lancelot watched him with his head propped on one hand, idly chew­ing on some stale dates. It was a hot day, and the hall felt stuffy already. He wished sometimes that Arthur would hold counsel in the common so they could at least have drink with their bad news.

"You think this is serious, or just a easy ride there and back?" He asked between bites.

Arthur looked up, the lines on his forehead clearly telling Lancelot that indeed he did think it was serious. He sighed and sat back against the edge of the table, rubbed at them, as if to make them disappear with the problem he was muddling over.

"How long before we leave?" Lancelot asked, sobering.

"Two, three days at the most."

"Not much time to prepare an army."

Arthur shook his head and grimaced. He began his pacing again.

Lancelot turned at footsteps near the door and sat up as the rest of the men trailed in to take seats around Arthur and the table. Then, following them was Cerys, a basket of leeks over her arm, dirt smudged on one cheek and stains on her skirts where her knees would have been in the soft dirt. She had obviously been called from the kitchen gardens, and had not expected this either. She was smiling and laughing, saying hello to the men in turn.

Why was she here? He looked for Guinevere but she was not among the gathered. He supposed she had heard about the counsel, and wanted to take part, knowing full well she would have just as much work to do if there were preparations to make.

She smiled and pinched his shoulder as she passed him and he grabbed at her hand and smiled back. He felt, for some reason, happy at her gaze, suddenly brighter for her presence. He watched her find a spot around the table. She looked up to him again as she sat and their eyes rested on one another for a moment. She smiled once more and turned her head to hear some­thing that one of the other men had said. He had seen little of her since their hunt, both of them busy with their own tasks.

Perceval wrapped an arm about her shoulders and whispered into her ear. She giggled at what he said and Perceval winked to Lancelot as he stole a leek form her basket. Gawain picked at his fingernails with a small knife and looked disinterested, Bors as well. Ganis, Jols, and a few other of the men at arms moved about, waiting to hear the reason Arthur had brought them in.

Tristan stood as well, arms crossed and leaned against a post. He leveled his gaze at Arthur and waited.

Arthur cleared his throat and everyone turned. Today he was their commander first, friend sec­ond. The men respected his authority in times like this. He had called them in on short notice, and as Lancelot had guessed, many of them could sense that their hiatus was over.

Arthur wasted no time.

"Men." He coughed once and swallowed, "There has been word that a lesser Saxon lord is working his way up the east coast through Linnius, and has just breached through Octus's troops in Deywr. They have been raiding Octus's supply wagons. Their supplies are running short, and the Saxons burn the fields and villages as they pass, giving no replacement to the food lost from their supplies."

Lancelot felt the room deflate and scanned the faces of the gathered men. In truth, he had de­flated as well. Despite his knowing, the announcement made it real, and he rubbed a hand over his cheek, waiting to hear the rest of it. He caught a quick glance to Cerys, who had detached herself from Perceval and was looking at tally sticks from her pocket and counting some notches on the blue one with her finger, her brow furrowed deeply. He had a notion to get up and go to her, and he attempted to push it out of his mind. He flicked his glance back to Arthur. There was no time for soft thoughts right now. He would talk to her later.

"Octus has sent word that he needs us to escort a train of supply wagons coming from Caer Gwidich in North-West Elmet so that it can pass through Dewyr and get to his men safely."

"We're to be escorts? Bloody babysitters for a lot of Roman civvies trying to beat off a horde?" Bors growled as he stood and began to pace, much in the same way Arthur had been pacing ear­lier.

Arthur sighed. Bors folded his arms and scowled. Bors always got bent out of shape at counsel.

"Yes. Octus has a hundred men he has sent to Caer Gwidich to prepare, all he can lend us while he fights. Caer Gwidich has minimal men, and they will be needed to defend the town."

"When do we leave?" a voice at the back piped up.

"How many men strong are we?"

"How many Saxon troops?"

"Do we take our own wagons?"

The questions began spilling out one on top of the other. Arthur raised his hands to silence them. He looked to Lancelot and nodded.

This was where being the second in command had its downside. Lancelot hated speaking at counsel, and he hated trying to organize the troops even more. He had no mind for numbers; he preferred to just be one of the men, and fighting well, or not fighting at all and living in peace. But, with this new station defending Britain from the Saxons, came new jobs to learn. Lancelot stood up, knuckles braced on the edge of the table, scanning the men with the most serious and hard look he could muster.

"We have three days." He said loudly, "And we are 320 strong, give or take. Yes, we take supply wagons and extra horses."

Nods and murmurs came from men in the crowd. Most knew exactly what their tasks would now be to prepare, and he had no need to call out assignments. He did anyways, more out of habit than anything else. One by one the men nodded as he called their name and gave them quick instructions.

Most were probably already making lists in their heads of what needed to be done, and Lancelot thought to himself as he finished assignments that this was more for ceremony, a waste of time, but necessary. Lancelot was used to Roman order, and even after a few years working with these new people, their ways still felt a bit unorganized sometimes. Lancelot would not admit it, but some of what the Roman army had in the way of tactics worked, and he had grown accustomed to it.

He looked to Cerys again quickly, who was now pale and had gathered up her basket to her lap, holding it for dear life. He frowned. She looked ready to faint, and he caught Perceval's eye and motioned with his head to her. Perceval looked over to Cerys, quickly putting his arm back around her. She turned her head to him and murmured thanks. She was still holding tally sticks, and Lancelot noted an undyed one, which meant she had been thinking about the fall, not far away, and the harvests.

He swore under his breath as he realized that they would not be back in time to help her. She was going to have a hard time bringing in everything before frost.

Arthur had cleared his throat again. "I realize that this is not much time. I understand that you will be working hard. We have to get these supplies to Octus or his men will starve. I know we can do this, and I put my faith in you that we can be ready in time."

The men were silenced for a moment. More nods, more serious faces. Lancelot suddenly thought on the many women and children who would be crying this night. Funny, he had not thought on that before. He realized that he did not have these things to worry about, and it made him sad in a strange way. He blinked and realized that his thoughts were wandering again when they shouldn't. Damn this head of his was not acting right these past few days!

He needed a drink and perhaps a girl to distract him. Nothing else seemed to be working. Hunt­ing, nor gambling, nor working in the armoury ring... He had even slept in his bed the night be­fore and it had not made one difference! At least now he wasn't at odds with Cerys. One less thing to berate himself about, he supposed.

"Alright, that's enough. We will convene here for status reports in two days time." Arthur said, and with that the crowd broke free of the hall and left. Only the knights stayed behind, with Cerys, still sitting meekly with Perceval's arm about her, clutching her sticks and her basket with knuckles white.

Tristan walked further into the room. He reached down and grabbed another leek from Cerys' basket, and she did not even look up. His gaze scanned over her hands and he raised his head to Arthur and a look passed between them. Lancelot watched Arthur flick his glance to her, then back to the men.

"Do we ride ahead?" Tristan asked

Arthur nodded. "We leave in two days, once we have status on the preparations. I want to get a jump on the men and see what lies in store for us."

The knights nodded, most not needing any further instruction. Jols could be counted on to get their horses ready, and their packs were easy enough to assemble. They spoke together for a few more moments, getting details into their heads, and a plan formulated. Bors let a grin escape to his face and he opened his arms wide, groaning to stretch them.

"Then we have one more night to drink! Tonight!" He rumbled, to laughter from the others. Tristan discarded the tails from the leek into the brazier cavern, sitting dormant. He left the hall in front of the others, no doubt to make ready, for he would ride out at early light in two days, his role understood perfectly.

Lancelot watched him go, wishing that he could trade places with the man sometimes. The hall emptied after him, save Arthur, Lancelot and Cerys, still on her cushion, a blank look on her face. Lancelot knew she was whittling in her head, despite her sticks in her hand. She never stopped working or worrying, that woman. He grimaced.

He walked quickly to Cerys, who was raising herself up to stand and leave as well. Her face was still unreadable.

"Come on, what's up?" He asked as he reached her, steadying her elbow so she could step away from the seat cushions.

"Nothing, I'm fine.. no... Damn!" She said as she dropped the basket in front of her, spilling vegetables across the floor. She put her hands to her face.

Arthur had come around the table as well and stooped to pick up the basket and gather its con­tents, his eyes showing worry at her.

"Cerys?" He asked as he handed it to her. She didn't take it from him. He set it down on the floor and bent his knees to look at her. "Cousin! Is something wrong?"

"It's alright. I'm just loathing having you all gone again. It's so close to fall, how will I get the harvests in with all the men gone? You'll be gone a month or more, and I... I..." She faltered, flinging her hands in the air.

Lancelot reacted.

He grabbed a hold of her, one hand going to her head, the other around her body. He pulled her close, shushing her, rocking back and forth, her head held against his chest. Arthur gave a surprised look to Lancelot, as Lancelot caught his gaze, returning as hard a glare as he could. Arthur backed away and stepped out of the hall on silent feet.

Cerys was crying outwardly now, her arms balled up in front of her, her head buried in his chest. He could feel the sobs wracking her body, her slight shoulders shaking with each breath in. He just stood, his heart in his throat, his mind a whirl. Her crying was making him feel so wretched, the same way he had felt when they were beside the doe in the field. He wanted nothing more than to make her stop, make her better.

He felt helpless and he was hating it.

"There, it's alright, shush sweeting." He said, his chin resting on top of her head, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair.

Sweeting? Where did that come from? He had just officially gone soft in the head.

A few more moments went by, and eventually she stilled. He continued smoothing her hair with his hand and looked down to her red face. She wiped at her eyes with the cuffs of her dress, sniffing, cheek still pressed to his tunic. It felt warm where she was resting. He wondered if she could hear how hard his heart was racing.

"I'm sorry Lancelot. I don't know what got into me... I... I should be more understanding. What do you need me to do for your departure?" She looked up to him now, her eyes drying, her com­posure coming back to her.

Lancelot regarded her for a moment more. She was such a mystery to him sometimes! One mo­ment she was sobbing for all she was worth, the next she was offering to help him pack! He knew her so well; he knew how much she hated their absences but... He shook his head.

He released her from his embrace and put an arm around her shoulders. "Everything is fine. Don't worry your head over us, we will be able to get packed and off without much fuss."

"Alright... Thank you." She said as she picked up her basket, wiping one last time at her eyes and taking a deep breath. She smiled at him then, a real smile, and took her leave, head down, steps quick. He assumed she was feeling a bit embarrassed at her outburst, and he let her go.

Lancelot felt befuddled completely. What had just happened here? He needed some time to think.

A knock at his door made him hit his head on the lid of the chest he was rifling through.

He had forgone early drinking to make sure his armour was in good repair, and had spent some time working kinks out of his chain mail shirt. He also had a hole to fix in his arming doublet from the last time an arrow had opened it up. He was searching for thread when the knock came.

"Damn... come..." He said as his hand went to his head and he squeezed his eyes shut at the burst of pain associated with hitting ones head on a hard object.

"My... dusty in here... You don't have guests often do you?" Cerys answered, stepping over the threshold into the rooms and waving a hand to move cobwebs out of the way. She looked around her at the dishevelled room and wrinkled her nose.

"All the time… Why just a few hours ago the King of Jerusalem was here." He said sarcastically, bowing and taking his hand from his head to examine it for blood. His hand showed the evi­dence that indeed it was and he groaned.

"Damn woman, you have feet like a cat." He added testily, for good measure.

Cerys tisked him softly and put down the flask of wine, cups and cheese cloth of food she was holding and went to him. She forced him to sit on the edge of the bed and stood over his head, hmming and poking at his new wound.

"I think we may have to amputate, this gash is bad." She said, as seriously as she could.

He swivelled to look to her.

"And how shall I think without my head on shoulder?" He quipped back.

She raised an eyebrow. "You would still have your brain, dear Lancelot."

"Oh?"

She quickly flitted her glance down to his lap, then continued looking at his scalp, giggling slightly.

"Not fair." He replied sulkily.

She chuckled once more and went looking to a table for his water basin. She found it full of wa­ter and turned to him. "What's this? Fresh water? My, you are domestic..."

Lancelot watched her pull some soft gauze from her pocket and dip it in the water. Did she al­ways carry that? Strange woman, he mused.

She came back over and began to dab at his bump. He hissed and shifted. That hurt.

"Are you alright? Earlier in the hall..." He said as he grabbed her hand. She stilled and looked down to him, their eyes meeting.

"I'm fine Lancelot. I was being a silly woman, and I apologize for my actions. We will be fine for harvest, I was only panicking." she smiled.

He could see she was trying desperately to keep the mood light, but her smile never reached her eyes. He knew she was avoiding thinking of their departure, steeling herself. He could see the sadness brewing behind them, and it made him start again. There was that feeling again! He knew he cared for her, she was as close to him as any, and since they were children he had cared for her... but... now...

There was something else there. Something more... He had thought in these past few days that loneliness was making him think of things that he should not be. But, he was not alone now... She was here... This was something else and it was scaring him half out of his mind.

Suddenly he knew.

He knew exactly what this feeling was. It was the exact thing he swore he would never let hap­pen, and here he was, unable to stop it! He suddenly felt very aware of her hands on his head, her breast close to his shoulder, her breath on his skin.

Damn, he could not love her. Not now. Not like this.

He sat and let her finish her bathing of his wound, closing his eyes and willing control to come back. Satisfied that he was going to live, she patted his arm and retrieved the food she had left on the floor when she entered.

"Now, you really should eat, I brought us some food to share. We have not had much chance to chat these past few days, and since I did not find you at the common, I tracked you here."

He tried to smile and took the cups from her hand as she reached the bed. She sat beside him and opened the cheesecloth between them. He poured wine into both their cups, trying desperately to hide his shaking hands.

He noticed suddenly that the moon was casting a glow on her shoulder through his window, and he could see a red line across its top. He reached over and touched it. Her skin felt soft against his hard calloused fingers.

"What is that from?" he said softly, running his fingers along it slowly.

She stiffened, looking away. Hell... he gulped.

"It's from my bow; it bit into me as we walked back from the clearing on our hunt. I should get a strap for it but I never remember when talking to the tanners." She reached a hand up to cover it with her dress collar.

He nodded. She looked back, her hand now coming out to touch his bandaged finger.

"And this?"

He looked down to his hand and shrugged. "A brush with a jammed fingernail."

He could see her face contort as she imagined the pain that one felt when jamming things un­derneath areas where things should not be jammed. She made an oohing noise, then softened her face and laughed, picking up her cup.

"Far from your brain, you will live?" She teased.

He pursed his lips and regarded her for a moment. This was more like it. He could handle some teasing. He picked a piece of cheese up from the cloth and bit into it. She giggled, her hand com­ing to mouth as she chewed a bite of bread.

They began chatting on nothing as they ate, their easy friendship again settling over them and he relaxed slightly. The distant sound of the common echoing off the walls came to his ears. Lance­lot realized that he was glad that he was not there. For once, he was seemingly happy to just be with her, eating quietly, sharing bits of news. Ignoring the fact that in two days time he would be gone again for a month or more.

He did not want to leave.

He looked over at her again as she picked out the pit from a plum and chattered away at him about work, the weather, nothing. Gods, when the moonlight hit her skin, it was like...like... snow. He blinked. He had never seen her look as beautiful as she did right then, and his stomach again flipped over and his heart felt like it was skipping beats. He ran fingers through his curls and licked his lips.

She moved their supper to one side and slid over beside him. She handed half the plum to him and he took it from her.

He switched to staring at the floor and silently wished that on this night, that he was not who he was, and that they could meet as strangers, forget all the things that had happened. The fighting, the blood, the death...

He desperately wanted to be someone she would want, not... not this man that he was, the things he had done... no one should burden themselves with that, and he would not let her.

He bit into the plum. Damned stupid nonsense, this fantasy... and he couldn't stop himself. A waft of her scent came to him as she flipped her hair behind her shoulder. Mint... and cedar boughs... He closed his eyes and took a breath to steady himself. He had gone too far now... it was too late to forget this feeling.

She looked up to his face, a hand coming up to his arm, her face questioning. He smiled to her, shook his head and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, her head on his shoul­der now, and he sat, holding her against him, in silent torment, his heart slowly breaking.


Dear Reader:

How many times have we, in a moment, realized an emotion, heard thebell in our minds, that what was confusion is now clear? Think now on when you first realized you loved someone. What was it like? Remember the heart racing, the nervousness, the anticipation, or the dread... what did you do?

My wish for you on this evening is that you emotions may come to you loudly, and let you live fully.

Cardeia