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:

ElvenStar5: Glad I was able to help you, and just send me back a note whenever you need a nudge! Your story is very well done, and never forget that what you create can be as wonderful as you want it to be. Each of us has a strength in our writing that makes it beautiful in some way. Its just a matter of seeing that strength and then using it to its fullest potential. Don't let teachers or anyone else tell you what you can or cannot do in your own writing. I say this to many of my writing circle

(and this goes for all of my reviewers and fellow writers on this site who may be reading right now)

What you write is for you alone and the possibilities are endless. So never give up, because if what youwrite makes you happy, then it is worth every word on that page, and only limited by your own mind's eye.

lilstrummrgrl527: happiness is important! Here are two more chapters for you.

Ailis-70: You hopefully got my review, I noticed the site was not updating to show any reviews I got yesterday or sent yesterday. So, you have my take on your story, so no moping allowed! You aredoing wonderful!

You got my mind working about how the men would be teasing the pair. I thought and thought on it and I added a chapter between two I had already written, this one and the next. It works, I hope. I also brought into it a bit more on Tristan, since it seemed to fit. I would love for you to tell me if I got his thoughts right. I tried to give him a different feel.

And yes, love is beautiful, and gives strength.

Calliann: You bet! I wanted it to be whole, hence the second scene from her perspective. That and I am enjoying writing the scenes, its a new 'genre' I wanted to try. Unfortunately, i won't be able to let my father read this without blushing (grin).

I am interested in your take as well on the next chapter, which has some Tristan in it. Let me know if you think I got him.

Burnt Alice: Really? Speechless? Hey! Thank you for your compliment, Tristan-style. (wink)

LovelyHeidi: Here are the next two to keep your tears at bay.

gwenn0: You got it! they know each other so well, and get to discover this brand new way to 'talk' to each other. It's wonderful to be able to do so. Your english is just fine. Good luck with your screenwriting, I am working on trying one out myself. So many formatting rules! Yikes!


Chapter 39: Breaking Habits

They rose at just before mid day and dressed. Cerys stirred the almost extinguished fire. Lancelot sat on the edge of the bed, and looked about the room, his hair rumpled, his bare torso rippling with coarse muscle as he twisted his back and sighed happily at the familiar popping noise.

Cerys watched him, marvelling at how she had never noticed how magnificent he was before.

Lancelot looked about the room. There were throw rugs on the floor, with seating cushions by the hearth. Books piled in irregular fashion beside them. Large sheets of tapestry hung from the walls, their patterns bright and colourful. A chair near a water table had yet more books piled on it, as well as some tally sticks, maps and a cloak hung off one corner. An armoire stood along one wall, herbs hung from the ceiling. This felt like a home, and he thought of his own dusty and unused tiny room.

He looked to the corner of the room. There, beside Brinn's bed, on its customary stand, was his battle armour. He had never even noticed it gone from his own room, and he shook his head.

"What are you thinking?" Cerys asked as she braided her hair behind her head, weaving a frayed ribbon through it to tie it off. She finished, lowering her hands as he walked over to her and pulled her into his arms.

"I am thinking how interesting it is that my armour is sitting in your rooms, instead of mine where it should be." He cocked an eyebrow to her.

Cerys smiled. "Brinn polishes it in here. He says your rooms are not exactly... warm this time of year."

Lancelot grunted, released her, and walked over to it. He hefted his helmet, the long horse tail plume brushed straight and oiled carefully to keep it tangle free. He ran a hand over his shoulder plates, feeling the familiar dents and bumps from years of use. He looked up to Cerys, she was watching him, a curious expression on her face.

"Brinn does the same thing, you know. He will sit, with a soft cloth, and polish each and every wrinkle in that chestplate. He oils your arming point laces once a week. He runs his hands over it, says he is checking for popped rivets. I think he is imagining wearing armour such as it some­day."

"This armour has been with me a very long time." He said softly, smiling at Cerys' words.

Cerys walked over to him and she too ran a hand over the metal. He watched her fingers playing over the joints. He smiled. She was accustomed to it being here too, he thought. It seemed right that it was here, for some reason, and he followed her hand as she traced the rim on one of the elbow guards.

He lifted his helmet up and lowered it down over her head on a whim. She laughed and brought her hands up to help him settle it. It was much too large for her head and it covered her eyes completely, the cheek flaps hanging almost to her shoulders. The horse tail brushed her lower back.

Lancelot had a hard time not breaking into laughter as he regarded the comical scene, and her grin from under the rim.

"It is so heavy!" She exclaimed then, her voice echoing in the bowl of the helmet, her hands wiggling it. It truly felt a thousand pounds on her head and she struggled to remove it.

Lancelot lifted it off and she smoothed her hair back down, his own laughter joining hers.

"It has to be to stop a sword or axe from cutting my brains from my head." He said jovially, then realizing what he said, sobered. He put the helmet down on Brinn's bed and looked to Cerys. "I mean..."

Cerys shook her head.

He was so conscious about scaring her, and rightly so! She had told him she worried about the men coming home dead. She had mentioned it a few times now, she was sure he was quite aware of her feeling of helplessness. Damn...

She suddenly felt she needed to show him how this part of him did not scare her, did not in any way make him a monster to her. She needed to put her own monster to bed, and end the torture she had put herself through for years on end.

She wanted to start fresh with this new love she had found.

She walked over to her water table, and from the drawer pulled out her black tally stick. There were marks on it halfway up, some old, some newer. She held it up as she walked back to him, her eyes catching his. He looked concerned. He knew what this was. He had sat with her when she made her marks for some of the men, both of them sharing grief.

"You see this? This mark is for Gareth," She pointed, then continuing. "This one for Kaye, Am­har, Loholt, Owain, Pellinore, Derfel..." She continued to point.

This was hard to do and she felt her chest constricting. All these brave men, her brothers, her friends, her cousin's knights. So much grief was symbolized in this little scrap of black dyed wood. So many souls she held onto, for fear she would forget.

No more.

"Cerys please, I do not wish you to worry..." He started, but she shook her head hard to stop him. She paced away again.

"I spent my nights when you were gone worrying that I would have to make another mark on this tally for you, for Arthur, for the others... for Tristan. I carried this tally every day. It would burn a hole in my skirts pocket from the moment you would leave to the moment you returned." She took a shaky breath.

He reached her side and she held the stick up to his face and shook it. He needed to see this, and she needed to do this! She was a new person, and this part of what she was needed to go away.

"Ever since I hurt my hands, I have looked at myself differently. I am not going to control my weaknesses by burying them, and attempt control in my world by putting it on a tally stick."

Cerys snapped the stick in two and with a jerk, threw it in the direction of the hearth. The pieces ­landed inside and burst brightly into flame. She stood for a moment, her hands curled to fists.

She had done it. The old Cerys, the Cerys that would work herself to exhaustion keep her mind from worrying about her family, that would feel so helpless when the men would leave was not real anymore.

The Cerys who would let herself feel, and let herself love, that was real.

Lancelot watched her, slightly taken back by what she had just said and done. He put a hand to her shoulder and she began to cry. He folded her into his embrace. Last night and this morning may have been a large amount for her to handle, he thought. Gods, he was still processing it himself. He rocked her, his lips to the top of her head.

She could be so brave, this woman. What he had just watched her do made his heart break for all the sleepless nights, all the endless worrying she must have buried into her duties. He wished he could have seen this sooner and helped her. He wished he could not give her reason to fear him dieing. He wished... He wished he knew how to make himself immortal and not cause her pain when he would ride out to battle.

Immortal or no, he was here now, and he would try his best to give her confidence, he silently promised.

"There. It's going to be alright." He murmured to her. She sniffed and looked up to him, a rueful smile now coming other face.

"I have wanted to do that for so long."

He knew.

"I can't promise to ever go away again, but I can promise that I will always love you." He mur­mured into her ear as they stood together.

He felt her tighten her arms about his waist. He felt her relax. They stood together for a few mo­ments, the silence around them comforting. The fire popped and snapped, they heard birds and passing people outside her window. The sun shone in and brightened the room for a moment before hiding behind a cloud again.

This was home, he realized. This was truly home.

"Now, do you think we could go find some food in the kitchens? I am starved." He said, break­ing the grasp he had on her.

She nodded and moved to the door to grab her cloak. She looked to him as he found his overtu­nic, donned it and adjusted the laces. He raised his head as he was fiddling with the last one, and their eyes caught.

"What?"

She smiled and held out a hand. He understood what she wanted and he straightened.

They walked out hand in hand, together.


Dear Reader:

And thus she begins anew. Each of us had a moment where we realized we needed closure and Cerys just did that. By opening herself to love with this man, she can now close off her old overworked and worrisome self.

I tried to bring both of their thoughts into this chapter, to signify that they are now together. Did it work or was it confusing? Let me know. Instead of having it from one point of view, I thought it would be fun to mix them.

Cheers for now and on to the next chapter, which is all Ailis-70's fault. Ears to doors! You made my mind become very busy from that comment.

Cardeia