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 Notes:

Ailis-70, this one is for you!


Chapter 34: Unexpected Dance

Music filled the hall. People were up dancing, clapping and stepping. Cheers and laughter all around.

Cerys was in the middle of it, Gawain's hand outstretched to her as they stepped a fancy pattern to a lively beat from some men close by. His long blonde hair bounced as he stepped back from her, his eyes flashing happiness. She laughed and picked up her skirts, following him. They hopped and skipped around the small open area, hoots coming from some of the men. Cerys looked over at Hywel who had been one of the instigators and stuck her tongue out at him. He laughed and pretending to grab it. She spun away from him as Gawain's hand pulled her for­ward.

The braziers in the corners roared with heat and everywhere one looked there was food and drink. Arthur was feeding Guinevere dates, their eyes never leaving one another, oblivious to the throng around them. Galahad was nuzzling Dory's neck from another cushion nearby, her giggling making him smile into her neck, their fingers entwined.

Bors sat quietly by Lorina, their children running between legs and people, screaming and laughing the way only children could. Their baby was happily burbling from Nimli's arms, Ganis' arm around her shoulder, cooing down to the baby and making faces.

It was a family affair, this crowd.

Lancelot watched all of this on a cushion near Perceval. He watched her spinning, bouncing, her normally pinned hair down and flying about. His eyes never left her. She was so beautiful, he thought, and he felt himself wanting to just grab her up and run. Run where? He asked himself and he felt completely helpless.

"You could just go cut in, you know." Perceval leaned over and muttered into Lancelot's ear.

Lancelot grimaced, scoffed and looked away then, down to his almost empty cup. He had no appetite for drink this night, and he found himself hard pressed to keep up with Perceval, who had challenged him.

"Let her have fun." He said, sulking.

Perceval gave him an exasperated look and grabbed at a passing girl, his attention to his friend distracted. She shrieked as he pulled her down into his lap, and then tickled his beard with her fingers before he gave her a kiss. She smacked his cheek lightly, then relaxed into his grasp, giggling. He pretended to roar like a lion and put her flat back on the cushions, bending over her to nuzzle at her neck, making more growling noises.

Lancelot rolled his eyes and got up, carrying his cup with him. That was all he needed on this night. He made his way towards a table and found a jug of wine. He filled his cup and turned to look over the celebration, sipping and watching over the rim.

Today he had spent the majority of his time in the armoury, cutting a straw dummy to pieces, practicing until his shoulders hurt and his mind blanked. He had stood, chest heaving, in the cen­tre of the practice ring and hurled his swords at the now destroyed straw man and screamed at nothing in particular. He felt much better afterwards, despite missing it completely with both swords.

He was an ass... HE was an ass? Bloody hells...

He was stewing on Arthur's words the night before that had sent him to the wall and by himself for the evening. He was upset at Cerys not being his, and upset with himself for not having the courage to just tell her how he felt, to make her his. Upset with Arthur for pointing out the ob­vious and telling him so.

But telling her how he felt would ruin their friendship, something he had almost done a few times now. He had almost convinced himself that her kiss up on the wall had meant something, but since, they had not visited their feelings, except for when he had been a complete fool and told her that he had missed her.

He loved her so much, and simple words such as that were breaking his heart in two. "As did I." she had said. He wanted to believe her, and part of him did, remembering their kiss and what it had done to both of them.

After spending more time by himself soaking in the baths, he had given in to the idea of a mas­sage, got his hair trimmed and then joined the celebration. It was already in full swing, and he hadn't gotten to talk to Cerys yet. The hair pins were safely tucked inside his leather overtunic, and he felt them there, touching his skin.

"You going to drink that?" a voice pulled him out of his stewing thoughts.

Tristan was looking into his cup.

"No. Here." He handed it off to the man, who downed it in a single gulp. He smacked his lips and refilled it, handing it back to Lancelot.

"Cerys gave me a book." Tristan said proudly, turning to stand with Lancelot, looking to where Lancelot was watching Cerys dancing.

Lancelot looked to his friend. He was talkative this evening and even seemed... lively. His eyes were happy and he was, for once, not dressed in riding-out clothes. He was wearing a plain tunic and soft leather trews, with regular soft boots. A dirk did still protrude from the top of one, but it was hidden well. Even his braids had been re-done. Had he visited the baths?

Lancelot wondered if he had anything else hidden within his relaxed outfit. Most likely a throw­ing knife under his waistband. Tristan was never unprepared.

Unthinkable from this quiet man, always on alert, always ready for action. Lancelot was curious at the change, but kept his thoughts to himself. He thought to Wynn, and if Tristan would want her here this night.

Tristan and he were both asses, he concluded.

A young girl looked at the pair as she passed, and straightened her shoulders, giving them both a look under her eyelashes. Lancelot smiled wanly, Tristan winked, shifting his lanky frame, eyes scanning the crowd slowly, following the girl around the corner of the room. Lancelot thought briefly that they must look the pair of bachelors on the prowl. He sighed and took a sip from his refilled cup.

"A book?" He asked, an amused smile coming to his face, turning his attention back to Tristan. Everyone knew that Tristan could not read, hence his complete disdain of maps.

"She says she's going to teach me how to read." He said as he looked behind him, grabbed the entire jug of wine and began drinking from it. Lancelot raised an eyebrow to him but Tristan merely shrugged and took another swallow.

"I suppose I could learn, it doesn't look hard." He said, a small smile coming to his lips.

"What is the book on?"

"Hells if I know. Something about trees."

Tristan downed the rest of the jug of wine and plunked it back to the table, wiping his mouth on his tunic sleeve. Lancelot noted that Tristan was a tad drunk, and he chuckled.

Tristan straightened himself, and seemed to gather his courage about him, puffing his chest a bit. He raised his eyebrows to Lancelot, and then, without any warning, waded into the circle of people and tapped Gawain on the shoulder.

Lancelot held his breath. He wasn't...

He was.

He was going to dance with Cerys.

Lancelot looked stunned and the crowd went silent as he bowed very gracefully to her, Gawain stepping out of the way, a confused look to his face. Arthur smiled and caught Lancelot's eyes across the room and they shared a knowing look. The rest were gape mouthed, and Cerys, her eyes wide, had a hand to hers.

For a short while after Tristan had killed that girl in Elmet, he had been more withdrawn, and some of the knights were worried it had really put him over the edge. Lancelot, feeling that he knew Tristan better now for their time out at the coast together, was not so sure anymore. He assumed the man had just worked it out for himself.

Lancelot had asked him about it on their way home from their coast run, and he had not respond­ed, just looked away and swallowed. A few hours later he finally did, as they were resting the horses near a stream.

"It felt wrong, and I could only see Wynn's face as I..." He stopped, then looked to Lancelot, who had simply nodded and patted the scout on the shoulder. No more was needed. Since then, Tristan had relaxed into his calm and quiet demeanour again, slipping back into what the men were familiar with. Except, he seemed more open. Lancelot, again, was not sure what to make of it. Especially now, with this evenings uncharacteristic actions.

Lancelot snapped from his thoughts to watch her reaction to Tristan's offer. He could only think that Tristan was touched by her gift in some way, to give her something so big as to reveal this secret about him. Either that or he was tired of holding that side of him in.

She reached out a hand and he grasped it. A few of the men began drumming, and he stepped forward to her. Someone began a tune on a pipe; others made noises to accompany the beat.

It was then that her face burst into a smile and she bowed back.

Everyone had stopped to watch them, and Tristan led her to the table and up onto it, stepping lightly up, his arm to her waist, hoisting her without effort.

It was Tristan that began to clap, and the beat picked up again, faster this time. Lancelot fol­lowed her, watching her twirl, watching him chase her, then her chase him. Their eyes never left each other, and once, Lancelot even saw Tristan wink at her. He felt a thread of jealousy run through him. That should be him up there.

Still, he couldn't turn his head from the pair, who were floating around one another. Was that what it looked like when he danced with her?

Tristan's steps could not be heard on the table, and he glided from one to the next. They circled the table, each stepping with shoulders back and fluid arms. They flowed together.

Lancelot wondered if the years of her childhood spent sitting with him and listening was what made them read each other so well. Certainly it would explain her automatic rhythm with this new partner. Certainly it was his years of observation that made him so keen a reader of body movement. Lancelot caught reactions from the other knights, who were all watching with a mix­ture of shock and what looked to be happiness.

It was not everyday that someone just up and turned his friends on their ear like this.

Many people stood just watching, the shock of seeing Tristan up on the table rendering them motionless. The beat got louder and stronger, making the pair step in circles around each other, graceful and quiet despite the harsh beat from the crowd. Their movements sped, reactions quicker. Cerys' face flushed and she was laughing. Tristan was actually smiling.

Lancelot watched her, entranced.

Tristan stepped foot over foot, his hand out to Cerys. She shook her hair and laughed, twirling once and throwing a hip, her skirts swinging around her legs. He stepped towards her and she stepped towards him.

This would get tongues wagging, Lancelot mused.

Tristan reached Cerys and turned her into his grasp. Lancelot's heart lurched. She was locked in Tristan's ice blue eyes, their chest heaving, his arms holding her fast.

The thought came from nowhere to Lancelot's head. Please Gods don't fall in love with him! He folded his arms to keep his hands from shaking and dropping his cup, and leaned against the wall.

Tristan flipped a short strand of hair out of his face and kissed her lightly on the cheek, setting her back down. The beat stopped and the thunderous cheering began. Thumping on the table and hoots echoed as Tristan hopped off and reached a hand up to Cerys. She smiled and he helped her down.

Tristan bowed once more to her. She leapt into his arms, holding him tightly. He closed his eyes as she did. She was telling him something, and it made him chuckle. He rocked her back and forth, and they parted to hurrahs and pats on the back. Tristan slipped back into calm scout then, and simply nodded to each person who talked to him.

They made their way through the crowd of people to where Lancelot was still standing against the wall.

"That was unexpected." Lancelot said dryly.

Tristan grinned and looked for a cup on the crowded table. Lancelot again handed his to the knight. "Here."

Tristan handed it to Cerys and then went back to looking. Cerys' eyes were happy, her cheeks flushed. She gulped at the wine.

"It was." She agreed. "You never told me you could dance."

"You never asked." He quipped, his lips twisted in mirth.

She giggled again at that and touched his arm, offering her half-full cup to Tristan, who drained it. He looked to her, then to Lancelot. He put a hand out to Cerys' arm and winked.

"Happy Solstice, sister." He whispered as he leaned in and gave her another quick kiss on her cheek. "You dance like a gazelle."

With that, he turned on his heel out of the hall into the night air, his step bouncing and light, the empty cup in his hand thrust to the air, saluting them as he walked away.


Dear Reader:

And such, our Tristan is changing. His gift to Cerys is beyond measure. It is special for her, but also special for him. He wants to change. Perhaps he is now feeling as are our two lovebirds?

I wanted to write this as I stared at a picture of Mads from the movie. In it he is holding out his goblet as they salute to their fallen comrades in the hall. It made me think he was so regal, yet to contained and I wanted to let him loose. So I started to think of a way to get him to finally break out of his shell a bit. The girl in Elmet and a secret love came to my head. Then I thought of how Cerys loves to dance with those she cares about, and how they would read each other so well if they did dance together. So, I plunged in.

I really hope everyone likes it, and it is not too much of a deviation from Tristan as we know and admire him. He is still a calm and quiet knight, but he is a man, and all men have a playful side. It is the events that bring it out that makes it unique among each of them.

Here is to you finding your playful sides, and learning something new about someone in your life! As Tristan said with his body as he walked out of the hall,

Cheers!

Cardeia