Chapter 15: The End of the Beginning

"Come on, Lancelot. Elena will be here any moment. And I still need to get dressed." Guinevere pleaded with the shadow standing behind the floating Chinese silk screen that closed off the walk-in closet from the rest of the room.

"Fine, I'm coming. Goodness Guinevere, you sure need to get a hold of yourself." Amusement danced in Lancelot's words. When he stepped out from behind the curtain, Guinevere couldn't suppress a gasp. He wore black trousers that looked as if they'd been designed especially for him, and a soft dark blue shirt that brought out the tinted undercurrents in his eyes. His shoes were dark brown leather, the kind that looked as if they probably cost quite a bit of money for just a shoelace. He looked a little older, a great deal more elegant, and very, very rich.

He looked at Guinevere and smiled. His hair had gotten long enough to curl down nearly to his collar, and against his tanned skin the faint scar along his hand stood out as silver.

"Like it?" He asked, though he knew from her expression that she was lost for words.

"Somewhat less revolting," said Arthur, coming from the bathroom, dressed for the ball in charcoal gray trousers and a dark green shirt. He smelled pleasantly of pine and his hair curled untidily.

"I should get dressed myself," said Guinevere. But as she rolled off the bed, the door opened. Elena was standing there, radiantly pretty in dark brown satin, her hair pulled back neatly and her face framed by a cascade of curls. Elena so very rarely fussed with her appearance that she looked so pretty when she did try. Elena's light eyes went immediately to Lancelot, who was looking at her, looking a little stunned.

"You look beautiful," he said.

Elena said nothing, just turned pink. Lancelot went over to her and kissed her very gently on the cheek, brushing back a stray tendril of her hair as he did so.

"May I point out that this is my bedroom," Arthur interrupted, eyeing Lancelot and Elena's goggle-eyed display of affection in an icily glare, although Guinevere could see the twinkle behind his eyes. "If there are going to be any snogs going on, either I should be involved in them or they should go on elsewhere. And since I wish in no part with you two..."

Elena turned pinker. "I just came to help Guinevere, and to announce that people are starting to arrive," she said primly. "Guinevere, Merlin is here-"

"Really? Oh, I have to get dressed quickly! Elena, can you come and help me with something?" She rushed into the bathroom, dragging Elena along with her. Elena shot an apologetic glance to Lancelot, and disappeared from sight. Arthur and Lancelot were left standing in the middle of the room, silent.

"I still can't believe you asked Elena to marry you." Arthur smiled as he rounded on his best friend. Lancelot smiled back, shrugging.

"I love her, Arthur. I want to be with her forever. I am able to love her truly and happily, and not just for some pleasurable fun. She's different from the rest of the women I've been with. She's...real."

"Real?" Arthur's voice echoed the room.

"All the other women wanted was just fun. Never asked me to confide in my thoughts or feelings. Never wanted to know what I've been up to, what I had done. Elena's completely opposite. She cares about me. She feels what I feel. She knows what I know."

"Only true love makes you feel in this way that you tell of." Arthur informed.

"I know. I know Elena is my true love. That's why I'm marrying her. I love her."

Elena found Lancelot standing alone against a wall of the ballroom, looking extraordinarily serious. Despite the fact that it was the first ball Arthur had given, he seemed to be standing far apart from the rest of the crowd, so far sunk into thought she felt it might take a fishing line to retrieve him.

She put a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped. "Elena!"

"Did I startle you?" She smiled shyly.

"Yes- just a little."

"What were you thinking about?"

His eyes seemed to slide into focus as they studied her face, the brown deepening to nearly black. "Nothing. Do you want to go somewhere? Talk maybe?"

"Yes." Elena jumped at the chance to be alone with him. "We could walk on the balcony."

They left without anyone noticing, through the French doors that were partly concealed by a pillar wreathed in fairy lights. Outside, the cool air struck Elena's face and bare shoulders, making her shiver, although the night was fairly warm. Moonlight spilled over the pale stones of the balcony, lighting the garden and the empty gazebo wreathed in white lanterns.

Elena took his hand. "Over here."

She led him into the shadow of an archway, against the high wall of the castle. He looked at her inquiringly.

"I wanted to give you an engagement present," she said.

"I thought we were meant to be doing presents are midnight," replied Lancelot, mildly curious. They had planned on giving their presents later that night, along with Arthur, Guinevere, and the rest of the knights, privately without the other guests.

"I wanted to give you this present in private," Elena said.

Lancelot's eyebrows went up. "Does it involve dancing and chocolate syrup?"

"No," said Elena firmly. "For that you'll have to wait until Christmas."

Lancelot grinned. Taking a deep breath, Elena retrieved the small box she had so carefully wrapped from a pocket of her dress, and handed it to Lancelot. She watched as he took the box from her and tore away the wrapping, his quick and clever hands flicking the catch aside and snapping the box open deftly. She held her breath, watching him– his dark brown eyes widening, the uncertain look on his face as he raised those same eyes to her– and her heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he looked at her so directly. Everything about Lancelot was direct, his gaze, his walk, his movements, his speech, the way he loved her. He said, looking down at the box and then back up at her, "This looks–expensive. Elena, I--"

"It wasn't expensive," she said, raising her chin. She could see herself reflected in the dark circles of his pupils.

"It must have been. It's a beautiful watch," and Lancelot reached down and took the pocket watch uncertainly by its silver safety chain, and lifted it out of the box. The moonlight struck a point of cold fire along the rim of the watch's face. "I've needed a watch since...I was young, but I couldn't--"

"Turn it over, Lancelot," she said, and he did, and she watched his eyes widen as he looked at the inscription carved there.

"I never told you, but I passed by Sarmatia before. I passed by, and," she looked up at him with expectancy, "I met a family there. I met a real nice family, mother and her daughter. I stayed with them for a while. She told me about her past, about Sarmatia, about...everything. And she told me something else too."

Lancelot's heart skipped a beat. "What did she tell you?"

"She told me of a son she had. A son she was ever so proud of, and loved with all her heart. She told me her son left home to join the Roman army fourteen years ago, and she hasn't seen him since. She told me she feared that her son died long ago, and that she never got a chance to say she loved him." Elena felt tears coming to her, but she swallowed hard. "Do you know who that woman was? The woman who loved her son more than she knew?"

"Who?" Lancelot's voice came out in a croak, but he had a strong inkling.

"It was your mother, Lancelot." Then she looked down at the watch. "Your mother gave it to me," she said, her words spilling over each other in her haste and nervousness. "To give to you– she said it was your father's, your mother gave it to him when they were engaged and it never left his wrist after that until the night he...died..." she stifled a sob, "and she took it off your father's wrist but it was broken. She tried to fix it, took it all over Sarmatia but no one could fix it, so she wasn't sure what to do with it, and she gave it to me and told me that if by some miracle, I'd find a handsome, young, Sarmatian knight who went by Lancelot, then to give it to him. I promised her this, and I took it with me. Along the way, I stopped by another town, to a repair shop, and they fixed it straightaway. They fixed it right off. After I met you and fell in love with you, I went to another repair shop and I had them put that inscription in under the original– Lancelot, I hope you don't mind--"

She trailed off at the look in his eyes, and very slowly, he glanced down and read the inscriptions, the one very old, worn and rubbed away a little, and the one below it brand new.

For Adam, with love from Aisha, who will always love you.

And underneath that:

For Lancelot, with love from Elena, who will always love you.

"I hope you don't mind," she said again, and Lancelot's eyes flew up, dark and a little incredulous.

"Mind?" he said, a faint ragged edge to his voice. Words seemed to fail him entirely then; he put his arms out, and she went into them with a feeling of relief, as if she were shedding a heavy burden. His hands stroked her back and she could hear them whisper against the satin of her dress, and then they were on her bare skin and she tilted back her head and reached up so that he could kiss her, and he kissed her.

Arthur and Guinevere stood on the wide stone balcony that ran around the outside of the castle. They were embracing, wrapped in an envelope of love. Cold silvery moonlight spilled like a pile of coins over the cool flagstones, glittering on the moat water below. The evening was perfectly still, the silver-blue horizon motionless and steady, the silence unbroken–

Until they heard a sound. A laugh, punctuated by a soft and indrawn breath. Arthur turned and saw two figures standing in a shadowed alcove: the two people, in fact, that he had been expecting to see. Lancelot and Elena, standing so close together there was almost no light visible between them, their hands interlinked, her face raised up to his. The moonlight turned them to a study in contrasts, Lancelot's dark hair and white skin, the outline of her hand against his cheek, her bare white shoulders rising out of the darkness of her dress, the shadowy curls that lay along her neck. He knew them as he would have known them anywhere, but in the dimness it was hard to tell where he ended and she began, whether they were man and woman or boy and girl together, whether they were real or ghosts. They could have been any two people in love.

Footsteps approached, and they turned to the sound. The rest of the knights were standing together, watching Lancelot and Elena from a distance, smiling. Arthur held Guinevere tighter against him, looked towards Lancelot and Elena, and smiled back.

"What are you guys doing?"

The knights looked at one another, then at Arthur. "Finding peace." And Arthur smiled blandly, holding Guinevere close to him, and seeing that indeed, peace was never that far away.