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 12: Riding Emotions

The stables were a flurry of activity as Lancelot entered, carrying his packs, Brinn trailing be­hind with armour. Jingling tack, snorting horses, the sound of blades being sheathed and armour clanking as it was placed onto the packhorse racks made him smile. The men laughing and jest­ing, a spring in their steps, made him realize how restless knights could be when not out and on horse. Truly they were nomads at heart.

The rest of the knights were saddling up, checking straps and preparing to leave. They had fin­ished a status meeting with the men at arms just over an hour ago, and Arthur had immediately given the call to mount up. Arthur had already mounted of course, his horse Meritus saddled and waiting while they were in the hall.

Lancelot, as usual, was most obviously the last to arrive.

Lancelot looked to Brinn, and Brinn set about tacking Klyndd ready to leave. Demetia was al­ready out and saddled, Gawain plaiting up a piece of mane, one of his many good luck charms fastened halfway down.

"What's that? Another favour from a girl?" Galahad said as he walked past, jingling his horse's bit in his hand, fixing the lip strap.

Gawain threw him a dirty look and continued with his task. Lancelot chuckled. Gawain and his charms. Lancelot walked up beside him and peered at the horse's mane. A few plaits with var­ious little things, knucklebones, a feather, a fairy bolt, all hung along the grey's dappled neck.

This one was different. He had never seen it before.

"It's a green scale... from armour?"

Gawain nodded and finished the plait, tugging it once to make sure the scale would not fall out of the braid as they rode.

Lancelot understood then what that charm was. Their eyes met quickly and he nodded, rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. They stood a moment longer and then Gawain clicked softly to Demetia and they moved towards the door, ready to mount up. He felt his friend's suffering, and it sobered him.

"Hey Lancelot, get your pretty arse moving, are you going to make us wait to see it up on that nag you call a horse?" Bors yelled as he backed Raven out of his stall, full tack already on, Bors dressed ready to ride.

"Why do you need to see it so badly? Should I just come over now and bare it for you to kiss?" Lancelot retorted, grabbing a flank-strap from Brinn and hoisting it over Klyndd's back, taking over where Brinn was too short to reach.

Not now Bors, he thought to himself, I'm really not in the mood for your barbs.

The men burst into laughter as Bors led Raven out the door. Lancelot lifted the saddle into place and moved to the benches to suit up, allowing the young squire to finish his tasks.

Lancelot strapped his greaves and shoulder-plates in place. It had been a cool morning, so he was sure he would need his cloak by days end, and it too got fastened in place, tied with sinew laces to his riding armour. Last, he had Perceval help to buckle his Gladius scabbards across his back, and rammed the blades home himself. Gods, that felt good to have them there, familiar across his back.

He flexed his shoulders back and tested the strapping, his chain mail jingling with the move­ment. .Good... the cloak was not pulling at the buckles and he would be able to move. The leath­ers creaked as they rubbed against his light armour, and he was glad for the sound. He needed to get back to some normal sounds, some activity. He needed it sorely to clear his head and get out of this up and down mood. For the past two days he had felt like he was in a fog.

She was in his mind every moment. He would wake up with her in his head, picturing her laugh­ing, hair blowing about her face, or flush from a wine or dance. She would be in his mind at night as he attempted to sleep, softly looking to him with her eyes, her voice playing through his dreams. If they met during the day, it was as if the sounds around him stopped, and she alone made up the world around him. He had tried so hard to push the thought of being in love with her out of his head, but it was not working. He had hoped she did not notice his strange behav­iour and he had doubled his efforts to hide it when they were together. He would not let it get that far, he couldn't.

Klyndd was waiting for him in the hitching area as he finished. Once his packs were strapped behind the saddle, he took the reins from Brinn and led the horse out into the sunlight of the stable yard.

Arthur and Meritus were pacing around the small enclosure. The rest of the men were either mounted or in the process of swinging up. Lancelot looked to Brinn to hold Klyndd and he too swung into his tack, settling his armour about his thighs. Ahh... There was no better feeling than being in his saddle. It was like coming home. He pushed his thoughts of Cerys away and relished the feeling of having a horse under him for a moment.

"Thank you Brinn." He said and looked down to the boy. He could see that Brinn was starting to fill out a bit. It would soon be time to give the boy a wooden sword and begin some training with him. For now, he was too young to go out, and would stay and help with the stable chores. He would have to talk to Arthur about that on their return. He clicked softly and moved the horse out to stand near Perceval, who had just swung up onto his big black horse, Apollo.

Arthur stopped his horse as Guinevere ran madly into the stable yard, her hands stretched up to meet him, calling his name. He leaning down as far as he could so that she could touch his face. Lancelot watched as her eyes brimmed with tears, whispering to him. Arthur covered her hand with his, his eyes showing, for a brief moment, the pain he was feeling at leaving her so soon after returning. Meritus, sensing the need to be quiet for once, stood rock steady, locked in their goodbyes.

Lancelot felt his throat constrict and his chest tighten, and realized that he was feeling the same pain, but he had no one for which to share it. Funny how one could be saddened about not shar­ing something as upsetting as this. He watched the pair or a few moments longer and then looked to the front of his saddle and fiddled with a strap. Gods, he was going mad.

"Cheer up, we won't be gone long, we'll be home before winter." Galahad said quietly as he pulled up to the other side of Lancelot with Terryn, his fancy grey. Perceval nodded.

"This will be an easy ride there and back. It's close to winter, and the hordes will be setting in to ride out the cold, I am sure."

Lancelot half listened to them talk quietly as they waited for the call to ride out. His thoughts were to Cerys again, and he half-wished he could see her before he left. He wanted so much to just bury his head into her hair and tell her everything, tell her his feelings, but at the same time that was what he most definitely would not allow himself to do. He felt like he was being torn in two.

Lancelot got a poke to his arm from Perceval and looked over to the knight. Perceval nodded forward with his head and there in the entryway was Cerys. Lancelot swallowed. Damn... She was the one person he wanted to see, and the last person he wanted to see, all in one. She looked about, waving and greeting the other men. She saw Lancelot, waved at him and called his name.

"I think she's looking for you." Galahad said, trying to suppress a grin. Lancelot grunted to Gala­had, clicked to Klyndd and moved him forward to meet her.

"He thinks we don't see, doesn't he?" Galahad said to Perceval as Lancelot walked his horse forward, to a grin from Perceval and a nod from Bors, who had joined the line up.

"I don't think he is seeing it completely yet." Perceval replied quietly.

Lancelot never heard them, his focus on Cerys. Her hair was blowing about in the soft breeze inside the compound, her skirts blowing up to show dusty feet in sandals. She wore a day cloak, its clasp bridging across her chest above her breasts, the silver glinting slightly in the afternoon sun, her eyes sparkling in much the same way, her smile wrinkling them. He wished that he could tell her how beautiful she looked right then.

She looked up as he approached and smiled, resting a hand on his knee when he stopped. He wanted to get back down off his horse and hold her tightly.

"I've brought you... umm... Some supplies that you might need." She said, handing him up a roll of linen, tied shut. She looked into his face and a worried expression crossed her eyes. Damn... he didn't want her to worry. He wanted to... Augh! This waiting was madness, where was the call to ride? He thought impatiently.

"Thank you, what is it?" He asked, taking it from her, trying not to let his hand shake. He couldn't unroll it right then, but he desperately wanted to know its contents.

She smiled and wiggled a finger. "It's a surprise. Wait until nightfall and then you can open it."

He smiled at that, and then sobered. "Cerys..." He began.

She shook her head "I will be fine. Ride hard and bring everyone home to us."

He could see tears wanting to form behind her eyes, her lips trembling ever so softly. This was torture, truly, and he was going to go mad from it. He reached down and put a hand on hers, still on his knee.

"I will."

She hesitated, wanting to say something more. He leaned down closer to her. She took a breath, and he felt her other hand come to his cheek, her fingers soft against his beard. She looked into his eyes, blinked. His gaze was locked to hers, their eyes frozen to each other. The world stood still, and he took breath to console her, to tell her anything to bring her smile back.

Just then Arthur gave the call, and she removed her hand, her eyes now to the ground. He gath­ered up rein, stuffed her gift into his cuirass and clucked to Klyndd. It was time to stop thinking about ri­diculous fantasies and focus on his job. If he didn't, he would come home under a cloak, and right at this moment, it was the last thing he wanted.

He looked once more to her, setting as hard a face as possible.

"I will see you soon."

She nodded and stepped back as the men filed past her on the horses. She smiled and brushed each knight's leg with her hand as they passed, telling them to ride well and be home soon. Arthur was last, and he stopped quickly to reach down and clasp her hand, then moved on.

Lancelot looked back once as they funnelled through the main alley to take them to the inner compound doors, and saw Guinevere and Cerys arm in arm, Guinevere sobbing and Cerys wav­ing, their heads leaned to each other.

He turned once more to look forward. It was going to be a long month.


Dear Reader:

I must admit to you that my tears fell hard while I wrote this chapter. I have always hated goodbyes, and writing about them wrenches my heart. I hope I have conveyed the tearing that Lancelot feels between his head and his heart, as well as his need for some normalcy, to help him see things clearly and forget the nonsense. We know that it won't right his upset world, but it is the most logical thing to him, and he will stubbornly forge ahead.

Cerys is denying that there is more than deep friendship, and I am wrestling with how to help her see love. My request for your ideas or comments would be most helpful. Do you know her well enough to predict her epiphany? Have I given her enough depth?

Thank you to those who have reviewed, you have been my encouragement, made me smile and blush, as well as keep me motivated to stay on top of this wave of muse I have been riding.

Cardeia