A/N- wow...well let me start out by apologizing to katemary77. (for any of you who remember that incident) with hindsight and with the addition a real and definately honest to goodness (not to mention baseless) flame i must admit that my reaction seems way overblown now. but holy crap! people please! don't make accusations without knowing the story line or even the history behind your statements! ACK! well, putting this nasty bit of business behind us we're moving towards the next big event in the movie plot line, not to mention the story line!
sorry about this but i had to throw in a little fluff (this is probably the only time im gonna do this in the story)
It was Tristran who found her, curled up at the top the wall, her knees to her chest, her hair blown into knots by the strong wind.
"What are you doing up here Milady far from the celebration and your knight?"
"He is not my knight" she stated bitterly
"You know" he began thoughtfully, " and he would be the first to admit it, Lancelot has never stayed with a woman longer than one night."
"It looks as if he will continue his winning streak then" she laughed sadly
"Not so, milady, you see, he's already been obsessed with you for days"
"It appears his obsession has ended" she said wistfully.
"Again, not so, you see, I just passed the poor man and he is drinking himself into a stupor for the fourth night in a week, a rarity for Lancelot. He does not being a slave to mead or ale." She looked almost hopeful but then sighed,
"He thinks of me as chattel, a little girl who plays at being a soldier boy"
"Wrong again" he chimed
"he does not like soft-hearted or weak women. In this he almost stole Vanora from Bors, but that was long ago." The tall solemn scout regarded her seriously "Dame Twayblade you have taken his heart as no woman has ever done." He said using the name she had been given by the Woads,
"take it from a man who has spent fifteen long years riding beside him. If you forsake Lancelot, it will be as if he's lost his family once again." He nodded gravely to her and walked off, leaving her to think on his words.
She rose and headed back to his room, where she sank onto the bed and buried her face in the pillow. It smelled clean and masculine, the lingering almost indiscernible scent of the forest mixed with the slight tang of dirt and horse. She allowed a tear to seep from beneath her eyelids as she lay down and prepared to cry herself to sleep. Several minutes later however, Lancelot stepped in stopping abruptly at the sight of her. He advanced, hesitantly, toward her, but then shook his head and walked back towards the door. Swallowing her pride she called after him
"Lancelot! Wait!" he turned back slowly if almost eagerly as she told him hesitantly "It would be wrong to deprive you of your room Sleep here tonight?" he nodded and took a blanket and pillow, starting for the floor. She spoke again, a note of pleading and desperation in her voice "there's room here for two, you needn't sleep on the ground." It was almost a whisper, as if she was afraid he would reject her. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as he rose and crossed to the bed. He kicked off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head. She caught herself staring as he flexed his arms and chest, stretching. He was well muscled after a lifetime of battle and riding and a map of scars crisscrossed chiseled sinews. He smiled at her blush and sank down next to her tentatively. Almost shyly, she nestled closer to him until she could feel the warmth of his skin. Sighing, she rolled over and shut her eyes, comforted by his presence. He lay staring at the sky, acutely aware of her beside him. He felt a jolt when her hip brushed against his as she turned over. Cautiously he turned with her and placed an arm around her waist. Happily she turned again, nestling her head against his chest. He smiled curled his hand further around her waist, pulling her closer. Camille was in absolute bliss. For as long as she could remember, she had dreamt of a man to hold her like this, just to hold her and demand nothing else, just to be content to have her in his arms. Lancelot was happy as well. He had been sure that with his stupid tongue, he had run her off. But yet here she was, allowing him to hold her. He bent his head and brushed her forehead with his lips. She looked up at him with tenderness in her eyes. She reached her arms up and wrapped them around his neck, responding with a kiss of her own, allowing him to pull her up against him.
"Camille?" he whispered into her lips "What I said earlier, I didn't-" she put her fingers to his lips then stopped his words with her own burying her hands in his curls and pulling him into an embrace that was forgiveness in itself.