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 68: Bound to be Together

Lancelot swept his gaze over her. She was...

She was beautiful. That was all he could think.

Beautiful.

Her hair was up, which he was surprised at, but he loved the way bits were falling out, trailing in waves down to her breasts, her silver and sapphire torc glinting between the strands. Her face, it was flushed, excited, and he had never seen her eyes sparkle like that before.

She was his, and he felt very blessed right then.

The torchlight was glancing off a dress he had never seen before as she moved forward on Arthur's arm. It was a deep blue, with a embroidered swell of white pinpoints coming up from the hem at the bottom to rest at her hip, then swirling up her waist, over her left arm, coming to rest in a fine point over her shoulder blade. He noticed that her waist and hips were outlined to perfection. The dress was made for her. There was no other way it would fit her so.

He wondered how he never saw it in their rooms.

The skirts made swishing noises as Arthur led her around the circle of people, as was part of the ceremony. She was smiling; touching hands with people, letting them say the customary bless­ing of fertility for the bride as she passed. She grasped Hywel's hand and he raised hers and kissed it, the laughter rising around him. He went beet red at her giggle of delight. Ganis had pulled his forelock and mumbled something, and it had made Arthur smile. Cerys had tilted her head, stopped moving, and touched his cheek with her hand. He had then gone beet red as well.

He watched as Cerys searched out Dafydd, her neck bobbing as she looked for him, and when she found him, she held the old man's hand as long as she could without delaying the ceremony. Lancelot was sure she was crying now, and Dafydd was wiping at his eyes when she moved on.

She could touch so many people, and had. Her kindness had given her many friends that would want to wish her well this night. So many of the kitchen staff were wearing flowers in their hair, the children running between legs of the crowd to keep up with her while she walked. Everyone who worked for her was here. He was amazed at the throng. The entire fort was gathered on this hill.

He was anxious for her to be done her circuit and be by his side.

He swallowed as he looked to her wrists, now visible as she neared the halfway mark in her tour of the circle. He held his breath as the material moved with the breeze. The sleeves on the dress were long, with trailing cuffs that came down over her fingers on the top, more white embroi­dery on the edges, like snow almost, dusting the edges to taper off to a point at her elbows. He sighed when he saw flashes of copper and he felt an immediate swell of relief.

She had gotten his gift.

He had worked so hard on those wristlets for her, etching tiny designs of flowers and trees into the surface, beating the edges until they were round and scalloped perfectly. He had spent an entire afternoon polishing them in a bucket of water and some of the finest sand that Brinn could find for him. He was very proud of them. They had shone like the sun.

And she was wearing them. The intention wasn't for her to wear them tonight, but it made his heart swell knowing she wanted to, and had.

He cleared his throat and rocked on his heels, then settled into his place beside the bower, Brinn on the other side. Rhia winked at him from where she was sitting once more, and he winked back. Soon enough he could touch her, make sure she was truly real.

And then maker her his for the rest of his life.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

As Cerys neared the bower, coming up alongside the knights, she stopped. As these men were the King's companions, they must show loyalty to the blood relatives of the King. Each knight in turn was to allow her to touch their sword hilt, as a sign they trusted her and would protect her, in the name of the King.

She was beginning to feel more comfortable, and had only shed tears once so far, when she had found Dafydd in the crowd. She looked up to Arthur, and he nodded to the line of fully armoured men. Cerys listened to the scraping motions of the swords being pulled from their scabbards, the fluidity when they raised them out, hilt up, in front of them. Each blade flashed in the fire­light, as if to give off sparks as she walked forward to the first in line.

But her glance caught Lancelot, through the swords.

He was standing, facing the line of knights, by Rhia, under the bower. He looked proud, fierce, in his armour, and she almost walked straight past the men to go to his side. It was as if the rest of the world went away. She met his eyes, and she could feel the tears starting as his eyes held her.

Hurry up and get here, they were saying.

She blinked and did her part, touched each sword, smiled at each friend. She did not have time to stop long, and even Jols held a serious look as she touched his sword. Arthur touched them with her, as a sign he accepted their pledge. Bors had worn his hand blades and proffered them instead of a sword, so Cerys touched both of them.

It was a lot of pomp for a cousin to the king, but Arthur wanted to show unity, and things such as this were the best way. To have the row of knights in their armour at the head of the circle, where the ceremony was to take place, it was imposing to say the least. Cerys had wished for something less ostentatious, but Arthur and she debated it. He said that if Rhia was to marry them, he desired this part. She had relented, knowing that at least the men standing at the front of this gathering were her dearest friends.

It was nowhere near the pomp of his own wedding anyways, so there was some relief there.

She had stopped only momentarily when she reached Tristan. When she touched the pommel of his sword, he reached his other hand out and covered hers, only for a moment, then pulled away. She smiled up into his face. Warmth such as this from his was uncharacteristic. Wynn had such a wonderful effect on him.

She felt something flutter against her hand and she looked down to the sword, where her hand still was. Laid across the back was a ribbon of deep blue, just like her dress, with white Latin lettering. Perfectly matching her dress, in fact. She was puzzled for a moment at the timing of this simple gift from him, but one with so much meaning between them.

Cerys stared at it a moment, then looked back to Tristan. She pulled her other hand out of Arthur's arm, and softly picked it up. She ran the length through her fingers, reading the letters.

She realized what he intended it for.

She tilted her head and he nodded, moving the hilt of his sword towards her. She knew then what he wanted from her. And it amazed her. If she had been asked to speak, she could not have. The tears flowed unbidden then; she couldn't stop them if she had tried.

He had shown her, years ago, the tied bit of cloth that was already there, just at the bottom of the hilt. It was greyed, tattered, long past its beautiful red hue with the yellow lettering... but it was still there. From when he was taken from his people. He had been protector of his tribe. The symbol was a small one. His tattoos, the other, more permanent one.

He wanted her to do the same now.

She tied the ribbon to the hilt, and the ends fluttered in the breeze. He pulled the sword up above their heads, to show the hilt to the crowd, slowly pivoting in place. A few people in the crowd clapped, Cerys watch them shift in place, their faces happy, but quiet at the serious nature of this important ritual.

He brought the sword back down and buried the point into the ground in front of him, stepping back slightly. The sword wobbled back and forth, the ends of the ribbon floating straight out from it in the breeze.

Tristan went onto one knee and bowed his head to her.

Cerys knew that he was now her champion. Her protector. And in a sense, the protector of their marriage.

It was something that the Sarmatian people did, an old custom, and he had shared it with her. She knew that no one would have been able to force him to do this. She was almost over­whelmed with emotion, and she looked back to Arthur, a hand over her mouth, her eyes wet with emotion.

Arthur touched to top of his head, murmuring some words that she could not hear. He rose, and they embraced forearms. They shook, warrior to warrior.

Lancelot had watched the entire thing and as Cerys turned to him, she saw he and Tristan share a look that she could not decipher. Either that or the moonlight and torch flames were playing tricks on her.

She thought she saw Lancelot's eyes tearing as he nodded at Tristan, Tristan nodding once back before settling his gaze out front again.

Arthur and she made their way to the bower, and Rhia stood, opening her hands to Cerys. Arthur transferred her hand to Rhia. Rhia faced the crowd, who had become silent, watching.

"Artorius Castus, ap Uther Castus, ap Augustus Castus Aurelius, King of the Britains, to whom do you offer this woman to?" She asked in her old frayed voice. It echoed nonetheless out around the crowd. Someone coughed. A baby wailed softly.

"I offer this woman, my true cousin of my mother's sister's blood, to the knight Lancelot, of Sarmatia." He stated, turning to face her.

Rhia turned to face Lancelot then, and held out her other hand. Lancelot stepped forward, and she grasped his outstretched one. He looked over at Cerys, and she wiped at her eyes. He looked to Rhia. She winked.

"Does anyone dare challenge this as offered by the King?" She intoned. With that, there was again silence, with the crowd softly jostling, more soft coughing. Cerys could feel the men grasp at their swords, and stand more at attention. She shifted to look at Brinn, who had his hand on the hilt of his own sword, glaring at the crowd. She smiled and felt herself relax, just a bit. It was the custom, she supposed, but it still felt wonderful to have such strength behind their de­cision to marry.

When no response but silence came from the crowd, Rhia took breath to continue.

"Knight Lancelot, of Sarmatia, do you accept the offer of this woman by her true cousin of her mother's sister's blood from Artorius Castus ap Uther Castus ap Augustus Aurelius Castus, King of the Britains?"

Lancelot swallowed. This was the big moment. This was it. He looked from Rhia to Cerys, and he saw the moonlight bathing her skin, heard the torches roaring in the background, and felt the breeze ruffling his hair. He watched as the strands tickling her neck blew about softly, and he saw the tops of her blue hairpins sticking out from the mass of hair at the back of her head. Now he could fully see her copper wristlets, glinting. Her eyes, sparkling with emotion as she waited for his response.

Time stood still for that moment as he watched the woman he loved. His eyes never left her as he drew a breath and answered Rhia.

"I accept."

Rhia joined their right hands then, and put hers over them, closing her eyes. Cerys faced Lance­lot, and with their eyes locked to one another, let the rest of the people gathered on the hill fade away. Their part was over for the moment, they had but to stand and let Rhia perform the rites. Cerys had seen many marriages such as this before, and knew it would take some time. She squeezed his hand. She wanted so much to talk to him. Tell him she loved his gift, that she was happy, that this was wonderful... But, all that she could do was convey it with her eyes. He blinked slowly and she could see him saying the same things.

He held her eyes, watching them move over his, reading him. He had done it. He was truly mar­ried. He wondered what it would feel like, if holding her hands here would have felt any differ­ent than before, if by some miracle he would suddenly understand the difference between marriage and lovers. There was no difference really.

Except now they were bound to one another in spirit as well as in love. He realized that he had wanted this more than he had wanted anything else in his life. Even more than going home.

His love was properly proclaimed now, and it was not in the least bit scary.

Rhia had finished her chant, and was now binding grass around their clasped right hands, asking of the Gods to bear witness and bless the marriage that had taken place. Each turn of the long dried stalks was a blessing from one of the Gods. Cerys turned finally from Lancelot and watched Rhia as she finished the last turn, knotting the grass, finishing her rites.

"...And for all Gods present here to witness this marriage, grant them fertility and many strong sons."

Rhia turned then, and opened her hand to Lancelot. He looked at her, blinking.

"The iron, Knight."

He raised his eyebrows and remembered, digging the small iron ring out from underneath his belt. He dropped it in her hand. She flipped it over and held it between her old, gnarled fingers. She raised it up, her sleeve dropping away to reveal tattoos swirling up her arm. She looked up to it and chanted again, her eyes closing momentarily, her other hand on their now bound hands.

Cerys watched as she brought it back down.

"Cerys Pillanus ap Herodotus Pillanus, do you accept the token of Knight Lancelot, of Sarmatia, to mark you as his wife?"

Cerys watched her hold the ring out towards her, and she looked back to Lancelot. This was it. This was the moment when she would become forever bound to him.

She had never wanted anything more.

"I accept." She said, her voice never wavering. She had stopped crying long ago, which had sur­prised her. She had expected to be a mess of emotion now. But as Lancelot held her eyes, and she held out her left hand. She felt stronger than she ever had before. She could feel a new en­ergy coursing through her veins.

Either that or she was just much too excited.

He watched her put her hand out, and Rhia, chanting again, slid the ring onto her left hand's second finger. It was a perfect fit. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful it was not too small. That ring had been his first warrior ring after their first fierce battle. He had taken it from the mail coat of a dead enemy, and asked Sabin to melt it down to a ring to fit his finger. He had worn it for years on his smallest finger, until it was too small even then to wear.

It was the perfect ring to give her.

Rhia smiled as she held Cerys' left hand in hers. She beckoned Lancelot for his, and she joined their left hands to come together over their still bound right hands.

"Almost done." She whispered to them. Lancelot grinned, Cerys tried not to giggle audibly.

"As witnessed here, in front of the Gods, and your King, Do you so proclaim that you are now bound together for your remaining time on this earth?" She said, her voice resonating outwards again. Cerys felt the crowd shift. They knew it was almost over, and they were excited to begin throwing the flowers and cheer. Then onto the celebration.

Cerys again looked at Lancelot, and he was smiling now, his teeth showing, his eyes wrinkled at the corners. Happy. So very happy. She broadened her grin at it, and they stood, silent, just absorbed with one another, hands clasped tightly.

"You have to say you proclaim it now." Rhia said, leaning in towards them, her own face beam­ing.

Both of them blinked and turned their heads in unison towards her.

"Yes." They intoned together.

And with that the cheering started, the flowers were thrown in the air and they broke the grass bonding, Rhia gathering it up. Cerys knew it was to be burnt in their hearth the first night they were together. Rhia folded it up and stuffed it into a pocket in her robe, and sat back down in the bower they stood underneath. The seat had been made for her, normally there was not one. Relieved, she stretched her feet out in front of her and rubbed her knees, her eyes sparkling.

She watched the couple as they came together, oblivious to the surging crowd that was drawing close to them, to wish them well.

The cheering faded to nothing in Lancelot's ears as he put his hands up to her face, looked down at her. She felt his thumb across her cheek, and the world around her faded away once more. They stood, his head bent down towards her, her face tilted up.

"I think I'm supposed to kiss you now." He murmured.

She nodded.

And with that, he bent down and their lips met. Her hands went to his, and they kissed, both of them thrumming, their bodies finally meeting after being so close but not able to fully touch. More cheering and several whistles went out from the crowd. Children were laughing.

As he parted from her, she opened her eyes and realized that again, tears were working their way down her face. He had not let go of her face yet, and his thumbs traced the tears. She blinked and sniffled with a smile.

"This is the happiest moment of my life." She whispered to him. He nodded, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed his own emotion. He pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top of her head, as was his habit. She put her hands onto the front of his armour awkwardly, her fingers finding the small bit of metal that covered the hole made in his cuirass when he was felled by the crossbow bolt. Her cheek pressed against the cool metal. She caressed the small patch, and his hand came up and held hers quiet. She pressed her palm to it, sighing.

There were voices in their ears now, people shouting, laughing. She felt the reverberations through her cheek of men slapping the back of Lancelot's armour and she straightened away from him reluctantly. He loosened his arms in the same manner, and turned to put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her tightly to his side.

"Now comes the fun!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows wiggling at her. She laughed and slapped his chest, hearing the ting of her new iron ring hitting his metalled chest as she did so. It made her smile.

She was his wife now.

They turned to face the crowd of people and their family...Together.