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 27: Morning Glorious
Arthur poked his head around the corner of the stable to retching noises. Lancelot was bent in two, one hand on the wall, the other clutching his stomach. Arthur shook his head.
"You really do get into your drink." He said as he stood and waited for Lancelot to finish.
Lancelot heard his friend's voice and groaned. He felt like a sack of dirt. Nimli had woken him in the morning when she was on her way through to the kitchens, from his spot on the ground near the table he had sat at and drunk himself to a stupor. He had fallen over at some point, and his jaw was smarting from where, he guessed, he had hit it on the way down.
"Arthur. G'morning." He mumbled. His jaw was aching.
He looked up to Arthur, and noted Arthur's bemused expression. "S'not what you think." He said. Hadn't he said that last night before this had all started?
"Oh?"
"S'just a sore jaw." Lancelot continued as he walked back towards the front of the stables.
"I see."
There was a hint of teasing in that. Alright, he deserved that. He did, he was sure, reek of wine.
Gawain walked out into the morning sun, squinting and holding his hand up to his eyes. He staggered a bit and leaned against a post.
"You too?" Arthur could barely hold out from laughing.
Gawain groaned and pushed Lancelot out of the way, heading around the corner where Lancelot had just come from. Retching sounds started anew.
"You two need your beds, not the ringing of hammer on anvil." He said, his eyes dancing with the humour of the situation. It took quite a bit to get Arthur to find a drunken set of knights funny, but Lancelot and Gawain had succeeded.
He wished the real circumstances were as funny. He hoped Arthur would not ask him about it.
"Can't, going with Tristan." Lancelot managed as he sat on an upturned round of wood. He put his head in his hands.
"He needs a second?" Arthur asked, sitting down beside him on another round.
Lancelot shrugged. "I asked, he didn't say no."
Arthur put a hand on his friend's shoulder and they looked to each other for a moment. Arthur pursed his lips and nodded.
"Alright. Do you good."
A whistle sounded from the stable doors and Brinn came out. He motioned to Lancelot and Lancelot groaned. He got up and made his way into the stable where Hywel was resting his bulk between horses, his anvil and small forge set up. Hoof clippings littered the floor, and some of the dogs were circling about, wanting to steal in and take the tasty treats away to gnaw on. Lancelot kicked a chunk over towards a brown brindled dog sitting not far away. The dog ran out, the rest chasing him. Their snarls as they fought for the prize echoed outside.
Tristan was tacking Sky, his own riding armour on and ready. Gawain, returned from outside, was putting Demetia back to her stall, and he stopped once she was tied and rested there, his forehead on her shoulder.
"Gods." He groaned. "I hate shoeing days."
The men in the stable laughed lightly as he turned, and with his fingers to his temples left the stables. Lancelot wished that he could exit with him. He would love to be in a warm bed, under furs... His thoughts immediately went to Cerys and he swore under his breath. He had to keep moving and get the hell out of here or he would go mad with his urge to...
"Brinn, bring Klyndd out and let's get this over with." He finally managed.
A half-hour later, Lancelot took the sleeping rope off of Klyndd's lip and rubbed it. He had felt better for standing in the darker stable and holding the horse while Brinn had gotten his things from his rooms. Perhaps it would be a good thing to get out and ride for a day or two. He needed to stretch his legs, and so did the horse. Perhaps his heart too. He realized that he hadn't told Cerys he was leaving. He figured that one of the men would. She knew of the run, it was a day out and a day back. No consequences. Usually.
Part of him wanted to tell her, let her know. He wanted to see her again so badly, to see if the night before had been because of the wine, or if there was a chance that she had truly wanted him.
He wished he knew.
He hefted the saddle into place and regarded Tristan, who, upon seeing that Klyndd needed new shoes, had taken the opportunity to sharpen his blades, his eyes the only part betraying that he knew the sound of Flintstone on the edge would drive Lancelot's headache. Lancelot gritted his teeth and put up with it. He helped Brinn get the flank straps on and then dressed.
"Ready?" Tristan asked, as Lancelot belted his swords in place under his cloak.
"Finished tormenting me?" Lancelot spat, jerking down on his lower arming points to test the knots.
Tristan snorted quietly once.
They mounted up, and with a quick nod to Arthur, left. Lancelot glanced quickly into the kitchens door as they rode past it, but he didn't see her. He looked down the store room alley, she wasn't there either.
He was beginning to feel sorry for not telling her. If nothing more than to tell her he would be back and not to worry. He silently berated himself for being so soft, and for drinking so much, and for...
For wanting to just see her again. He was acting like a sad dog, and he willed his mind to concentrating on riding out the gates.
They cantered out the gate and his mood immediately lifted. It was a glorious morning to be out, the sky was clear and the sun was warming his leathers. He relaxed into his horse's stride.
They skirted the wall and made along one of the main roads. Lancelot's head cleared of its thumping, and Klyndd and Sky matched strides, churning up new snow and mud as they went.
A cry from up above made Lancelot look and he saw Isaac following them. Tristan looked up too, and for the first time in awhile, Lancelot saw the man truly smile. Ear to ear, teeth flashing in the light.
"Good to be galloping." Tristan said and urged Sky forward.
Lancelot began to understand why the man liked the coast run so much. He was in his element, he needed the freedom. He envied Tristan and his simple needs right then.
They galloped along, turning the corner away from the fort. Lancelot glanced back once, and saw a small figure standing on the main battlements, one hand to their eyes and the other waving.
Dear Reader:
And thus spirits are lifted with a gallop again. Whenever I am in a foul mood, I go for a gallop on my own gelding, whose name is Triple Run. We call him Skye, after his mother. He's a chestnut, and he was a racehorse that I rode when I was riding racehorses for a living, and bought when he was retired. He is my dream come true and his stride makes my heart lift when I need it most.
What do you do that lifts your spirit? What have you experienced that helps you see clearly and give you purpose? For Tristan it is riding and being outside in nature, for Lancelot, it is doing his duty and enjoying his life with his friends nearby. Should there be more? perhaps I should teach Lancelot how to knit... Just kidding. He does have a hobby, I just haven't told you what it is yet. And no, it is not bedding women and drinking. Ha ha...
As always, I bid your writing is something that gives you purpose, validates you, and lets your spirit fly as Tristan's does when he rides.
Cardeia
