Author's note: To all my readers: I am very very sorry to have kept you waiting sooooooo long! Finals week and all. To make up for it I'll post the next one as fast as possible, regardless of the # of reviews I get. (Although do please still review) A hint of the future: I may be co writing a fic with my friend Lalane Michaels. It looks like its gonna be uber cool so I'll keep you updated on the when its gonna be posted, etc.
Camille woke late that night, unsure of her surroundings, a dangerous insecurity for any traveler. She felt someone's breath on her neck and looked up to see Lancelot his cheek resting on her hair deep in sleep. She smiled at the handsome knight, whose own tousled curls, a shade darker than hers lay across his forehead, casting slight shadows that played with the dancing shades cast by the ruddy glow of the fire. She slid out gently from his arms brushing her hand ever so lightly across his curls as she bent and kissed his forehead tenderly. She watched him sleep as he had her before retreating to her bedroll and gear at the edge of the fire's glow.
Early the next morning, she woke, stretched, and rubbed bleary eyes. Rising, she decided a bath would do her much good, and gathering her cloak and a small stone beaker she tiptoed off to the small pond, she knew was nearby. Fifteen minutes later Lancelot awoke and shaking the sleep from his eyes, vaguely recalled that something was missing. Then suddenly waking, he started; she was gone. Looking over at her area, he saw that the bedding had been slept in, but she was not there either. Worried that something had happened to her, he rose stiffly, promising himself no further nights slept sitting on the hard ground with his back against a rock if possible. Taking his swords he slung them across his back and discovered a set of small shallow footprints leading towards the woods. Sighing, he followed them and entered the woods. If she kept running off without telling anyone, she was sure to end of dead. He thought grumpily to himself. A moment later however, any thoughts he had been formulating, were completely lost as he emerged to a glimpse something that took his breath away. Bathing in the willow shaded pool, she was wearing a white shift; hair pinned high on her head and anchored with a silver pin. Through the shift he could see that although a hardened warrior her stomach had a slight soft curve and her neck was far too graceful to be that of a man's. In the water she dipped and submerged her body up to the neck, sighing as the cold water washed clean the dust of riding. From a stone at the water's edge she retrieved the stone bottle and released her hair, pulling out the silver ornament. He noticed that what he had assumed to be a hair ornament was really her dagger, concealed in the twist so recently adorning the back of her head. Shaking his head and smiling he acknowledged the fact that this woman was probably never disarmed. Carefully she poured a small amount of some clear liquid into her palm, rationing it as if it were more precious than gold. Massaging it into her wet hair, it came up to thick white foam, which she rinsed, into the water before combing out the remainder with the comb. Swimming over to the rock again, she twisted her hair into a rope and wrung out the water, then replaced the dirk, repining her curls in her patented twist. Retreating into the shroud of the willows boughs, he watched her silhouette as she changed out of the shift and used a rough cloth to towel the water from her arms and legs. Regaining his senses, Lancelot turned headed back into camp, deciding not to mention what he had seen.
Once he reached the camp, Tristran watched him curiously and asked "Have you seen our lady this morning?" "No, can't say I have" he replied nonchalantly, glad to see that the knights had recently risen, meaning that she had not held anyone up. "You two looked pretty comfortable by the fire last night" Gwain remarked slyly, "Have you become an expert in female grooming now?" "Oh please" he blustered "She had a knot in her hair and asked if I could help her get it out, that was it.." "Oh, so she approached you eh?" Bors smirked "I thought there was something going on when you two met" "She is beautiful" Galahad added "You're not telling us anything we don't know" laughed Gwain. "Yeah, too bad Lancelot's going to get all the sugar from this cane" said Galahad morosely "Don't worry, I'm sure we can find a nice, homely tavern maid who will take you Galahad" sniggered Bors, getting a grin from Tristran, who was tending to his falcon. "Ugh, you knights make me sick" Arthur said, his nose high in the air in mock disdain, "Less than a week from freedom, and all you can talk about is a woman" "Yeah but did you get a look at those legs?" "Or the way she wore those swords" "I agree, hurrah for women in breeches," volunteered the knights.
Silence interrupted the uproarious laughter as she emerged from the woods, cloaked and hooded, her hair braided into an intricate pattern for traveling. Even dirty from travel in dusty limp clothes, she had been beautiful, but the knight's imaginations had inadequately prepared them for how much more entirely stunning she was with her hair clean and the dust scrubbed away. "And that" concluded Bors, in hushed, almost reverent tones, "is what you call a perilous beauty" blushing she hurried into the camp asking worriedly "Oh dear, I haven't arrived late have I?" "Well" Arthur replied sternly, a twinkle in his eye "now that you've arrived we can finally get going" "Oh I'm so sorry" she pleaded, "Sir knight, it will me less than a moment to gather my gear" Her eyes met Lancelot's, who fought back a smile at her almost childish hurry to be prepared. Taking pity on her Tristran mused, "Well of course if we wanted to get going now Arthur, we would have had to risen earlier than five minutes ago." Catching his meaning, she turned embarrassed as the knights attempted to turn their laughter into coughing. "A small joke" Arthur admitted a smile tugging his lips "At my expense, I see" she replied ruefully all though smiling. "The lady is right however," Tristran continued, "We should be going soon, the presence of the Woad scouts so far south of the wall is troubling to me" The men nodded their agreement and turned packing up bedrolls, gathering armor, and strapping on weaponry.
Dropping her cloak, Camille removed the dagger and sheathed it, throwing the belt around her waist, where it hung casually from her hips. Bending down she whispered a few words into her stallion's ears, which perked as he jumped up. She retrieved two apples from the pack pony and fed one to each, murmuring softly as she administered saddles and bridles. Dagonet stumped over and gruffly offered her a traveler's loaf, a small farl filled with meat, as they would be eating on the horse. She smiled sweetly in thanks, making the gruff man stammer a brief "You're welcome" before tramping off again with the look of a dog that has just received a bone. Bors, seeing this, couldn't resist a dig at his friend, asking, "cat got your tongue Dag? Or just yer heart?" Dagonet scowled, and punched Bors in the arm jokingly, garnering a loud chuckle from the knight. Lancelot, already packed, mounted his black charger and rode over to her, inquiring "Are you ready to go yet, because you know, you and your bath really held us up this morning" "As I see" she answered dryly. Around her the men were finishing their preparations and a few were up on their mounts. "By the way" she asked, posing the question archly "How did you know I was taking a bath this morning?" "I-" he started, trying to think of something, "your hair was wet." he finished decisively, proud of himself that he had managed to come up with something so quickly. "Really?" she queried, raising an eyebrow "sounds plausible," yelled Gwain who had heard the conversation "Although Lancelot, we missed the pleasure of your company this morning" Lancelot looked away, unable to keep a guilty grin from his face. "Oh, did you?" she asked, her expression giving him the impression that she wasn't ever going to let him live it down "My my" said Bors snobbishly "What would your mother say?" added Gwain, smirking "I don't know what his mother would say, but his father would say congratulations!" Bors muttered to Tristran who choked on a sip of water, nearly spraying everyone in the general vicinity. She stood and glared at Bors. "I'd advise you duck Bors" cautioned Lancelot "Yes" chimed in Galahad, "There's one arrow of a glare headed for you large egg shaped head" "Shot by a woman who can't reach it?" he chortled in response.
Grinning, she approached him, "Well Bors, I don't really think its my hands you need to worry about reaching your head" As she spoke, she drew her dirk and licked the blade, a silent challenge that nearly knocked the men off their feet in its suggestion. "I can see I'll have to reconsider ducking" he responded in mock earnestness "Well perhaps the reason that men don't fight women is because they're afraid to lose" intoned Tristran, looking amused to which Lancelot snorted loudly. She turned and inquired, "Have you grown closer to your steed Sir knight? For now you even sound like it, I shall be kind and not even mention looks" She looked smug even as he grinned and looked down, acknowledging the point. "Enough" said Arthur, laughing with the rest "If we want to reach the wall, we should leave before darkness falls yet again!" "Hear, Hear!" cried the men, and spurring their horses, fell into loose formation as they rode out of the camp.