Lancelot's Shattered Dream

This is exactly what I wanted for her, Lancelot was forced to remind himself at least a dozen times a day. I'm the one who decided to leave, to give her a chance for a better life.

He had to remember that in order to swallow the terrible jealousy that twisted his stomach in knots whenever Arthur and Gwen exchanged a tender look, a loving touch, or worse...

It was maddening; what right did he have to resent the affection the couple shared with one another? He'd willingly stepped aside – how was it fair to begrudge them the relationship he'd consciously permitted to happen? Why should he feel angry or bitter, envious or even a little betrayed whenever he saw them together, having long since relinquished any claim which would've given him justification for reacting in such a manner?

And yet his quiet jealousy continued to torment him, a constant, painful reality he struggled desperately to keep hidden from the world. It hit him hardest late at night, unable to lose himself in slumber as he lay in the dim silence of his bedchamber, hollow and aching with need. The pain remained with him every time he touched himself in the hope of finding a little relief, always a mournful edge to the otherwise blissful aftermath of release. Deep down, he knew he was doomed to suffer these moments in solitude for the rest of his life.

Could he have been happy with a different woman? Lancelot didn't know; Gwen had effectively ruined him in that respect, destroying any possibility he'd ever find himself capable of loving anyone else. He'd occasionally been tempted by the idea of finding someone to share his bed, but it never progressed beyond an idle thought. No matter how lonely he might've been, he simply wasn't the kind of man who was willing to accept the comfort of physical pleasure when he had so little to offer in return.

No, if he couldn't have the one person he truly wanted, solitude was the only other choice. The thought of hurting anyone else as a result of his constant inner turmoil was unbearable – far better to cope with it on his own.

And so he tried to ignore his pain, burying it somewhere deep inside unless no one else was around to witness his fury, his sadness, even the occasional tears he wept upon some new realization of just how much he'd lost when he'd chosen to walk away from Gwen. It wouldn't be fair to inflict those feelings upon other people, especially since the anger he felt was directed solely at himself.

Lancelot didn't fault Arthur or Gwen for his suffering, nor had he ever been upset with Merlin for allowing him to give up so easily all those years before. He was only hopelessly distraught over the fact that he'd done it in the first place, because in the end, it had been his choice and his alone which had prompted such an enormous sacrifice.

After countless lonely nights, it ceased to matter whether he'd done the right thing on Gwen's behalf, nor how much guilt he might have had to live with if he'd elected not to give her the chance he'd felt she deserved. All that mattered was that he'd made a decision which had robbed him of the love of his life, and the full realization of that hurt far too deeply to be reconciled with the logical conclusions which had led to that choice.

Nonetheless, he was able to live with it somehow, managing to go about his usual routine as if nothing were amiss, smiling and laughing as if he didn't have a care in the world, no matter how much he might be hurting on the inside.

... until the day it all fell apart.

His careful composure was shattered on the morning he was unfortunate enough to stumble across Arthur and Gwen hidden away in one of the unused guest chambers, locked in a passionate and very naked embrace. Once he regained the ability to move, there was nothing to do but flee, the full impact of what he'd seen making his stomach churn with nausea as he threw himself on his horse and rode out of Camelot at a frenzied gallop.

He needed to escape, to find some reprieve from the sweet temptation of Gwen's bare breasts, forever sullied by the memory of Arthur's mouth closed firmly around one nipple, her head thrown back in blissful surrender as she'd whimpered aloud and threaded her fingers through his golden hair. No, he didn't want to think about Arthur's hand slipping between those lovely thighs, nor the distinctly masculine groan that had caused him to burn with jealousy as the other man touched her in places that Lancelot himself had never been lucky enough to experience.

My own fault, he thought dismally, a monotonous chant in the back of his mind as the trees flew by in either direction. My own fault.

The worst part was that despite his emotional distress, he was as hard as a rock after having witnessed Gwen in the throes of pleasure, and it was all too clear that the uncomfortable tightness in his trousers wasn't going to ease up anytime soon without further assistance. He didn't want to touch himself, not so soon after what he'd seen, but he needed to do something to find a little relief.

What had Arthur felt as he'd explored that secret place? Warmth... softness... had she needed a little extra stimulation first, or had he discovered that she was already fully aroused, his fingers sliding easily into... bloody hell, stop it!

Quite sure he was on the brink of madness, Lancelot slowed his horse, his breathing shaky and uneven as he searched for the nearest body of water. It didn't bother him that it was the dead of winter; a chilly lake or a half frozen river was exactly what was needed at this point. He studied the unfamiliar terrain, surprised when his ears almost instantly picked up on the soft sound of rippling water which seemed to be coming from a small cluster of trees to his left.

He was disappointed to find that the pool was much smaller than he would've preferred, only about twice the size of the wooden tubs in which he was accustomed to bathing in back in Camelot. There was no room for the vigorous swim he desperately needed, only enough perhaps to wade around in the shallow depths.

Not sure why he didn't move on and try to find a more suitable place, he stripped off his clothing and lowered his body into the surprisingly warm water, discovering that it did absolutely nothing to diminish his painful arousal. Despite that, however, he felt a bit better as he washed the sweat and grime from his face, soothed as the worst of his tension melted away. He leaned his head back on a soft pile of moss, closing his eyes and sighing in relief as the peaceful atmosphere of the forest worked its magic upon his troubled mind.

Sleep, Lancelot, the trees themselves seemed to whisper, as their leaves were rustled by a gentle breeze. Sleep...

Gwen held his eyes as she unfastened the ties of her simple dressing gown, allowing it to fall in a puddle at her feet as she revealed herself to his enraptured gaze. Allowing him a moment to devour the sight of her naked body, she ducked her head self-consciously, yet made no move to cover herself as her cheeks turned pink in a lovely combination of shyness and pleasure.

"Come here," he whispered huskily, extending a hand to steady her as she stepped carefully into the warm bath.

It was the one luxury he'd insisted upon in their otherwise simple home – a large tub that could comfortably fit the pair of them. Despite the expense, however, and the hard labor required to actually fill the thing to any reasonable depth, he considered it well worth the trouble... particularly since Merlin had gifted him with a charm which kept the bath warm for hours on end.

Gwen shook her head in mock exasperation as she lowered herself into the water, chuckling in response to the unmistakable hunger in Lancelot's eyes as he reached out and pulled her back against his chest.

"Are we even going to pretend to take a respectable bath before..." she scooted a little closer, trailing off as his obvious erection pressed rather insistently against the small of her back. Unable to help himself, Lancelot groaned aloud as he moved her curls aside to nibble at the sensitive contours of her ear.

"I think not," he breathed softly, pleased to feel her shudder in response. "Unless that is what you'd prefer, of course."

He felt her shake with silent laughter. "And what would you do if I said yes? Would you really behave yourself in your current condition?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed distractedly, following a trickle of water along her collarbone with the tip of his tongue. "Whatever pleases you, my lady. Anything you want."

"Lancelot, do you even know what we're talking about anymore?"

He shook his head, moving upward to press his lips to the soft column of her throat as he mumbled against her skin. "Don't need to."

"I'm tempted to call your bluff," she started, pausing to emit a low moan of pleasure as his hands reached around to touch her breasts, his callused thumbs brushing lightly across her nipples. "But I think I'll save that for another night."

Lancelot chuckled softly. "You said that last time."

And then he tilted her head back for a deep, lingering kiss as his other hand glided down her wet stomach and came to rest between her legs. He'd known exactly what she was referring to... just as he'd been certain she had no intention of stopping him anytime soon. He would've done so without question, of course, but there was a great deal of relief in knowing he didn't have to.

They were both trembling with need by the time they crawled out of the tub a little while later. Gwen had been brought to satisfaction several times over by then, all wild curls and heavy lidded eyes as she lay down on the bed and shamelessly parted her thighs, opening herself to his hungry gaze. He desperately wanted to bury his face between them and taste her sweetness, but he was too far gone to hope to do the job properly without losing what little remained of his control. It had always been a particular weakness of his, feeling her writhing beneath him, moaning and shaking in helpless abandon as he pleasured her with his mouth.

Instead, he satisfied himself with one long, lingering lick before moving upward, raining a trail of hot kisses all the way up to her breasts before pausing for a moment to brush his lips across a taut nipple. He never had the chance to draw it more fully into his mouth, however, as she tugged insistently at his shoulders, wriggling impatiently beneath him with a petulant demand of, "Now, Lancelot. Please..."

Never one to deny Gwen anything she wanted, he immediately settled himself between her thighs as his lips connected hungrily with hers, swallowing her gasp of pleasure as he reached down to make a swift adjustment, then buried himself deep inside her with one sharp thrust. He rose up on his elbows, staring down at her with fire in his eyes as his hips began to move, rising and falling with an urgency that took him by surprise as beads of sweat mingled with droplets of water on his damp skin.

He nearly always kept his pace slow and gentle in the beginning, taking the time to prolong her pleasure for as long as possible before gradually building to the inevitable conclusion. But this time there wasn't room for anything tender or romantic; his senses were dominated by an almost savage need for possession as he rode her fast and hard, driving into her again and again as he gave voice to his swiftly approaching release in a rapid succession of hoarse pants and ragged groans.

She met him thrust for frenzied thrust, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her heels into his backside to urge him deeper as her wordless cries of passion echoed off the walls of the tiny bedchamber.

"Now," he managed to rasp out, feeling himself on the brink of losing control and not wanting to leave her behind. "For me."

And then her fingernails were digging into his shoulders, her back arching as she pulsed and shuddered around him, moaning his name as her head fell heavily against the pillows. A couple more powerful thrusts was all it took before he followed, whimpering helplessly against her sweaty neck as he spent himself in wave after wave of blinding hot pleasure.

It seemed that the more violent their lovemaking was, the more tender Lancelot inevitably felt in the aftermath. After taking a few minutes to recover a bit of strength, he shifted to his side so that he was lying face to face with Gwen, gently brushing the damp curls away from her forehead as they exchanged a series of soft, lazy kisses in between wordless murmurs and sleepy smiles. Neither of them voiced their thoughts aloud; the intimacy between them just then went so much deeper than words could possibly express.

It didn't take long for her eyes to drift closed, the corners of her lovely mouth still turned up in a slight smile as she nestled her head against his chest. Lancelot felt his eyelids growing heavy, exhausted and utterly drained, yet quite certain he'd never felt more deeply contented in his life than he did in that moment.

Lancelot awoke with a start, taking in several important details in rapid succession. First, he was in the middle of the forest with only the vaguest recollection of how he'd come to be there. Second, he was lying on the ground stark naked. And third, it was bloody cold.

These realizations were immediately followed by another that was equally disconcerting as he sat up and reached for the clothing that was thankfully piled right beside him. He'd done something in his sleep... something that made his face turn red in embarrassment as he hastily sought to wipe away the evidence. What on earth had happened to him?

And then it came rushing back... riding away from Camelot as if demons were at his heels, seeking a place where he might take a swim and relieve his distress. What happened after that was a little hazy, but he faintly remembered removing his clothes, then resting his head against the bed of moss that lay behind him on the otherwise unlittered ground. He must've fallen asleep at some point without meaning to do so, a thought that was a little disturbing considering that he normally took great pains to ensure that he was never caught off guard.

But the forest was silent as he pulled on his boots and rose to his feet, no sign of life aside from the familiar horse who stood some distance away, munching placidly on a bed of dried grass.

Before climbing back in the saddle to return home, he took a minute to recall the event which had driven him away in the first place – witnessing the extremely private encounter between Arthur and Gwen, who'd been too wrapped up in one another to notice his presence.

Oddly enough, the sharp stab of pain he'd felt earlier had been reduced to nothing more than an uncomfortable twinge that was fairly easy to ignore. Stranger still, he felt more relaxed than he had in months, calm and significantly more focused than he'd come to expect since he'd been forced to live with the reality of Gwen being in love with someone else.

Without being able to think of anything else that might explain the feeling of relief, he could only assume that he'd simply needed a little time away from Camelot to clear his head, reminding himself to indulge in solitary rides a little more often in the future. After months of being trapped in close confines, it was no wonder his emotions had spiraled out of control the way they had.

He smiled as the towers of the Citadel came into sight, picturing the familiar faces of the people he loved as he remembered why he'd come to the city in the first place. His life was about so much more than disappointed hopes, no matter how much that loss might still wound him at times. There was still justice, truth, honor, and loyalty in the world, causes he held close to his heart in perfect harmony with his lingering feelings for Gwen. Yes, perhaps one dream was lost forever... but the other was still well within his reach, bright and full of promise, just waiting to be fulfilled.

Lancelot was many things, but above all, he was a Knight of Camelot. If he were unable to give all of himself to one woman, then he would devote it in service to that which he loved second best – the beautiful kingdom he knew to be the only place in the world where he truly belonged.