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Forbidden Love	By : ezridax19 Category: G through L > King Arthur Views: 1814 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N:
Well I thought I had the rest of this fic all planned out. But as
luck would have it, I was inspired by the most amazing
Lancelot/Guinevere music vid, which has caused this chapter and the
following ones to evolve in wonderful ways that I had not originally
envisioned. I hope you all enjoy it. Feedback is much appreciated!

Chapter
2 – Lancelot's Lament

Damn
this woman. Damn this heart.

Lancelot
quickly paced the length of his room lamenting his misfortunes. One
night's rest had done nothing to temper his rage or stop his mind
from revisiting yesterday's sight in the forest. Walking slowly to
the window he stared out and contemplated, not for the first time,
running away. Abandoning his duty, his friend, and his love. Cowards
run away. Lancelot had been called many things in his lifetime,
but a coward? Never. He was emotional, to a fault perhaps, intensely
passionate, endlessly stubborn, but above all else loyal. Loyal!
Ha! Who would dare call me loyal now? He mentally berated
himself. In love with my best friend's wife-to-be. He of
course could not stop loving her. She held all sway over his heart,
since the moment he had first glimpsed her swollen eyes behind the
gates of her prison cell.

The
thought of running away was fleeting and swiftly passed from his
mind. He would never leave Britain, or Arthur. His duty was to the
future king and queen of these lands. Lands not his own. But he
stayed not for the land. He stayed for one reason alone, though he
masked the reason in the veil of a half-truth, namely his loyalty to
Arthur. He knew the real truth, as did she. He stayed for her.

He had
saved her from certain death by the hand of Cynric, taking an arrow
to the chest which had almost claimed his life. Better he had died
himself that day, for this torment shattered his very soul. She
haunted him in his dreams and throughout his waking hours. Only death
would bring release.

A banging
on the door roused him from his musings, and he strode to the
entrance to see who his visitor was.

“You
coming to dinner or what? We’re all waiting for you.”
Bors lumbered into the room, not waiting for an invitation to enter.

Lancelot
sighed, “No Bors, I’m not. I am ill.”

Looking
his up and down, Bors scoffed, “Really? Well you don’t
look ill to me boy. Maybe you have the same illness the lady
has. She refused to dine with us for the same reason.”

“Aye,
perhaps I have.” Lancelot lowered his eyes to the ground,
avoiding Bors's gaze.

Moving
himself directly in front of Lancelot, he continued. “You think
we’re all stupid, don’t you Lance? I see how you look at
her. How she looks at you.”

“You
don’t know what you are talking about.” Snarling,
Lancelot raised his eyes to meet Bors's stare.

“The
hell I don’t! Now get your arse to the hall before Arthur
starts to question why both his lady and first knight are missing.”

Arthur.
A look of concern flickered through Lancelot’s eyes at the
mention of his name, and he bowed his head in shame.

Bors
grabbed Lancelot's arm and reassured him. “Arthur suspects
nothing. He's blinded by his love for the both of you.” Giving
him a shake as if to knock some sense into the dark night, he added
sternly, “But you best watch yourself Lancelot. And you best
not make a fool of him.”

Lancelot
meekly nodded and silently followed Bors to the hall for supper.

------
Lancelot
entered the great hall and took his place at the table. Arthur nodded
to his friend with a smile and raised his glass. They toasted their
fallen comrades, as they did every night before dining. Heads bowed,
eyes closed, each knight partook in their own quiet reflection on
their fallen brothers. Though they preformed the same ritual nightly,
the pain never lessened for any of them. Their table once filled to
capacity, now held mostly empty seats. Gone but not forgotten.

After
much food and even more wine, dinner ended on a high note, with the
men clamoring to head out to the tavern. Lancelot was about to give
his usual nightly excuse for why he would not be joining them, but
Bors was having none of that tonight.

“Come
on you brooding bastard. Let’s go!” Lancelot shot Bors a
look of death, which did nothing to stay the man's tongue. “We
ain't taking no for an answer this time.”

“I
will meet you soon my knights. I must check on Guinevere's condition
first.” Arthur left the jovial troupe, watching as Bors
practically dragged Lancelot out the door.

------
Guinevere
lay in the comfort of her bed, eyes closed, feigning sleep. She heard
hushed voices in her receiving room, and on silent tip toes moved
across the cool stone floor, pressing her ear to the door to better
hear who was speaking.

“The
lady is sleeping sir.” She heard her nursemaid addressing
someone.

“I
shan’t bother her.” It was Arthur’s voice. “Does
she require the healer?”

“No
sir, she insists it is a simple headache and only requires some
rest.”

“Fine.
The men and I will be at the tavern. Please do not hesitate to send
someone for me if her condition worsens.”

“Aye
sir. As you wish.”

Guinevere
was saddened by the concern she had heard in Arthur voice, but her
ruse was necessary. She could not face Lancelot, not yet. Moving
quickly back to her bed, she slipped under the covers in the event
her nursemaid should decide to come check on her.

Closing
her eyelids, the utter silence of the castle set her mind free to
wander where it may. Where it always went in her solitude. Lancelot.
At times, she was wholly lacking in an explanation to account for the
singing in her heart at the mere thought of him. But love could not
be simply explained away. It was without rhyme or reason. Her love
more than any other, she conceded. She must marry Arthur, it was not
a choice. Merlin had told her it was her fate - written in the stars
even. She did not begrudge her destiny; it was of utmost importance,
to unite her people, to save her land. The rewards surely outweighed
the cost of two broken hearts. Or so Merlin had tried to convince
her. He was right of course; he was always right. Wasn't he?

She had
always known their affair could not last forever. But she had never
expected Lancelot to put an end to it, before the necessary time. She
could not truly imagine how he must have felt, to have seen her
making love to Arthur. The ache in her heart surely outweighed his,
for the one who causes their lover pain always bears the greater
anguish in the end. She had always feared this affair would cause
some complication; she had been so careful not to give Arthur even a
hint of her feelings for Lancelot. Though it seemed she had forgotten
to worry about somehow hurting Lancelot in the process. She was lost
in the heavy emotions of her guilt, her shame, and the utter
hopelessness of it all.

There was
only one thing she could do now. Guinevere moved to seat herself at
the heavy wooden desk. Pulling out a piece of parchment from the
drawer, she closed her eyes, trying to fashion in her mind what she
would write. Putting ink to paper, the words flowed from her
fingertips as she poured her heart out onto the page.

------
The music
was pounding in his ears, as Lancelot knocked his head back to pour
the fifth tankard of ale down his throat. Seated at a table by
himself, he was attempting to drown his sorrows, yet failing
miserably. The alcohol was dulling his mind, but he could not stop
himself from thinking of her. His heart would not let it go, and his
mind would continually bombard him with awful images. The sensation
it induced in his gut was nauseating, and he took another draught
from the mug in hopes of settling his stomach. He felt an arm wrap
around his neck and a body plop down beside him on the bench. Gawain
laughed and nodded his head to the left. “Look at those two
over there”.

Lancelot
turned his head in the same direction and spied two young girls
sitting at the table across from them.

“Whores,”
he muttered under his breath.

“Hmm?”
Gawain had not heard him.

“Whores!”
He said louder this time, and shrugged off Gawain's arm from his
shoulder.

Gawain
laughed loudly. “Aye, and which one do you want?”

Lancelot
looked at him in disgust. Part of him wanted to take Gawain up on the
offer and bed one of the two young ladies. He was known to be quite
the ladies man, but his actions of late were not in keeping with his
reputation. Before Guinevere, he could be found in the tavern almost
every night, and go home with a different girl for every night he was
there. He could so easily leave with one this very evening; lose
himself in another's body. Maybe he could forget about her, maybe she
would hear about it and feel the same pain she had caused him. He was
in too foul a mood to be good company to anyone, and honestly, his
heart was not in it. He didn't want another, he wanted Guinevere.
Damned woman. She has no idea what she has done to me.

He looked
over to Gawain and shook his head, “Not tonight.”

“Fine
then, more for me.” Laughing, Gawain left the table and headed
over to the ladies.

What a
fool I am. With a heavy sigh, he motioned to the waitress to
refill his ale. Lancelot stared into the amber liquid, unconsciously
twisting his knife into the table. He thought drink would soothe him;
instead it was having quite the opposite effect. His earlier
melancholy was slowly fading, and in its place something darker and
more primal had taken hold. His temper was legendary, but mixed with
the alcohol it became the deadliest of his vices. How could he not be
angry? The alcohol would not make it go away, it only made it worse,
although the realization came far too late as he quickly finished off
the stiff bitter.

Lost in
his thoughts, he felt a hand on his back again. He turned his head
quickly, dagger in hand, ready to drive away whoever was disturbing
him.

“Arthur!”
He smiled a sheepish grin at him, “I thought it was Gawain
again.”

A look of
concern passed over Arthur's face and he took a seat next to his
friend, “What occupies your thoughts, brother?”

“Nothing
Arthur. Everything is fine.” He managed a fake smile as he lied
through his teeth. “Too much ale is all. How is everything?”

“Life
is good Lancelot. We are at peace at last, and soon all of Britain
will be united.”

“Ah
yes, King Arthur will soon unite all the lands.”

Arthur
smiled quietly at the sound of his new title.

“But
a King is not a King, without a Queen by his side. Have you not
thought of settling down yourself Lancelot, taking a wife perhaps? I
know you are not the marrying kind, I just wish you could be as happy
as I.”

Happy.
Why can I too not be happy? There was only one kind of happiness
for Lancelot. The kind of happiness that existed when he was with
Guinevere, alone in their secret cave. The kind of happiness that
lasted for only a few hours of the day. The kind of happiness that
waxed with the moon and waned with the sun. This had been his kind
of happiness, but was no longer.

Arthur
continued, “Guinevere has also expressed much similar concern
for your well being.”

He had
known it was a bad idea to come to the tavern tonight. Why couldn't
Bors had just let him be, instead of insisting he accompany them? The
other knights were clearly enjoying themselves; Bors was dancing with
his lover Vanora and Galahad had joined Gawain in charming the two
young ladies from earlier. Lancelot felt suffocated, unable to
breathe. Something inside the dark knight snapped, and a heat surged
throughout his frame. Slamming his knife into the wood of the table,
he turned to face Arthur.

“Has
she? Well you tell our fair queen not to worry herself further over
me.” He spat the words out, garnering a raised eyebrow from
Arthur at his outburst.

He
noticed an attractive young lady across the room smiling at him. “She
should do nicely, do you not agree?” his voice dripping with
sarcasm as he pointed the young woman out to Arthur.

He called
her over to him, pulling her into his lap as soon as she approached
the table. He whispered into her ear causing her to giggle in
response. With one final glance at Arthur, he took the girls hand and
made a hasty exit from the tavern.

------
The
couple stumbled into Lancelot's room, pawing at each other like two
love sick teenagers. In the darkness they both tripped and tumbled
onto the bed. With clumsy fingers he tore at her clothes, his primal
desires fueling him. She wasn't anything special, but she was what he
needed right at this moment. They quickly shed each other of all
their garments and Lancelot lowered himself between her legs and
penetrated her swiftly. He didn't care if she was ready or not, he
was.

“Kiss
me,” she softly moaned.

Ignoring
her request, he buried his head in her neck as he pumped harder and
faster. Her scent filled his nostrils, musk and liquor and smoke. She
smelled of the hundreds of other men she had undoubtedly bedded, and
he didn't even care. It seemed forever ago that he was with a woman
like this. He was not normally a selfish lover, but this time was
different. He needed her body and cared for nothing save his own
pleasure.

Biting
her lip, she arched her herself into him. Wrapping her legs around
his buttocks, she moaned and pushed him deeper into her. He rammed
his hard cock into her with such ferocity, he feared the bed would be
shattered to splinters. She enjoyed his roughness, moaning his name
in his ear, and he realized he couldn't even remember hers, though he
was certain she had told him. It didn't matter.

He felt
his climax approaching, and not wanting to come inside her, he pulled
himself out and spilled his warm seed on her stomach. She seemed to
take delight in the sight of his juices covering her. Without
uttering a word, he retrieved a towel and handed it to her so she
could clean herself. He was mentally and physically spent. He didn't
want to talk, he didn't want to think. Lying back down on the bed, he
turned his back to her, closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

------
Something
was weighing down on his arm when Lancelot awoke. Turning his head he
realized the woman was still there in his bed, and his arm was
trapped beneath her. With as much grace as he could muster, which
wasn't much, he freed himself and moved to edge of his bed. He bowed
his pounding skull into his hands, rubbing his thumbs into his
temples to soothe the throbbing behind his dark brown eyes. Every
muscle in his body ached and his head hurt too much to even think
about what had happened last night. He was about to get up and get
dressed when he spied a piece of paper poking out from between his
feet, half-hidden under the bed.

He
reached down to retrieve the folded piece of parchment, sealed in red
at the crease. The pounding in his heart told him who the letter was
from. Curiosity got the better of him and forgetting that he was not
alone, he opened the letter quickly, without a second thought.

Just as
he was reading the first few words, his bed companion awoke and made
her presence known by gently running her fingers down his spine.
Lancelot bolted from the bed at the touch, the letter still clutched
tightly in hand and turned to her. In his lifetime, Lancelot had
experienced more morning-afters than he could remember. He had
mastered the art of getting the woman to leave quickly, yet always
with a smile and a false promise to see them again soon. Not this
time.

“Get
out.” He growled, his eyes turning completely black and filled
with repulsion.

She
stared at him in shock and disbelief, unable to respond at his
outburst. Though she didn't know him well, she knew well of him. She
had heard plenty a story from the tavern girls about the knight with
the large appetite for female company. The girls had plenty of names
for him - Lancelot the Lover, Lecherous Lancelot, and the Salacious
Sarmatian. But never had any of the girls described him as he was now
before her, menacing, cruel and hateful in all his knightly glory.

“What
are you deaf? I said get out!” His voice echoed in the room.

A look of
horror crossed her face, and she raised her hand as if to slap him
across the face. From the dreadful glare Lancelot gave her, she
wisely stayed her hand, but still made no move towards the door. To
help encourage her hasty exit, Lancelot retrieved her clothes from
the floor and hurled them on the bed. She dressed hastily in silence,
not able to even look at him. Fully clothed, she still made no move
to leave; rather she seemed content to simply glare at him from
across the bed. Just as he was about to shout at her again, she at
last decided to address him.

“What
kind of a knight covets his brother's wife?”

In a
thousand years he would not have expected these words from her, as
the shock on his face so evidently indicated.

“You
called her name in your sleep.”

“Not
another word!” Running to the other side of the bed, he grabbed
her roughly by the arm, dragged her across the room like a rag doll,
and savagely tossed her out the door.

Enough
of this madness!

Without a
second thought, Lancelot quickly dressed. Throwing his cloak over his
shoulder, he carefully placed the letter into the inner pocket.
Donning his sharp blades on his back, he rushed out of the room and
headed directly to the stables hoping to make an unnoticed exit from
the castle. Luck was not on his side this morning, and he groaned
aloud when he saw Galahad trotting his horse around the stable. Damn
it all to hell. Completely ignoring the young knight, he moved
directly to saddle his horse. He leapt atop the beautiful dark beast
and galloped quickly out of the stable, not stopping at Galahad's
shouts of questioning. With the sun in his eyes, the dark knight
rode, away from the castle, away from Arthur, away from Guinevere,
away from everything.
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Forbidden Love