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Ancient Love	By : Darksong Category: G through L > King Arthur Views: 3395 -:- 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
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OK, short one this time, but it�s the best I could do in the
time I had�

Please review�. Please?!

�� One would
think I would find solace in my dreams, but it seems the fates will not give me
even that measure of peace. My eyes close, but there is only darkness. The wind
beats heavily against the windows of my would-be sanctuary, and every lump in
my once-comfortable mattress digs into my body so I can not even find comfort
in these last few moments of quiet. There are footsteps outside, light Roman
Cavalry guards, I�m sure, but some part of me imagines it to be another. That
small part of my mind that is still capable of dreams pictures a strong body
pulling open the door and silently slipping into the darkness of my chamber. He
is a man here. Not a king, nor lord, nor commander. He is neither Christian,
nor Roman. He is just a man. And he is beautiful.
�� He stands
at the door, eyes wide. Could it be that he is frightened? His slick black hair
is ruffled and falls half-hazardly in curls atop his head, as if a nervous hand
has been taken to it repeatedly. As I sit up, he finally walks towards me, his
steps soft. He is without armor now. Dressed only in a pair
of soft leather pants and a white cotton undershirt. The material
billows loosely around him, and as if to oblige my wandering eyes the shirt is
unbuttoned. As he walks the last few steps to my bed, the
cotton slides from his wide shoulders and drops to the floor. My eyes
slowly run down from his shoulders across the sparse drizzle of dark curls that
only barely hide the various scars, and then down following the trail of curls
that soon disappear beneath the waistband of his pants. It is the rich sound of
his chuckle that draws my eyes back to his face, my tongue darting over
suddenly dry lips.
�� He is
sitting on my bed, sitting as if it were his own. Were he only to ask, I would
make it his own every night. I feel his hand brush my cheek. Could it be his is
truly here? He smiles as if catching my thoughts, and brushes a soft kiss
against my lips. His arms around me, he pulls me back onto the mattress, urging
me to lie down. I do not hesitate. It this is only a dream, I hope to never
wake. I feel his arms around me. He encircles my waist
and draws me close. My back presses to his strong chest. I am trembling against
him, and I hear him whisper in my ear. �Peace, Lancelot.� It is him, I am sure
it is. I turn to try and see his face, but his arms tighten around me, halting
my movement. I would struggle, but he does not wish me to move, so I don�t. I
feel his warm breath against the back of my neck, the occasional kiss pressed
against my skin.
�� Arthur��
it is barely a whisper, but I am sure that he hears it, because his arms
tighten around me for a moment. When I receive no other response however, I
again turn to try and face him. He does not stop me this time, but as I roll
over, there is a knock at the door, and I turn to find only an empty bed.
�Cursing, I drop back onto my back, covering my
face with a hand �What?!�
�� Barely is
the word barked, that the door opens, and one of the young servants enters. The
youth has yet to reach puberty, or so it appears, and he fidgets nervously
beneath my gaze. Sitting up, I throw my feet over the edge of the bed. �Speak
boy�
�� He
hesitates, but finally steps forward and glances up, wringing his hands. �You
asked to be woken at dawn, sir� the boy finally stammers, and receives a groan
in response.
�� So I did.
Thank you.�
�� The boy
nods and backs out of the room. As soon as the door is closed, I hear him
running down the hall. The servants have never been comfortable around �us
Pagans�. I don�t hold it against him.
�� I know it
is foolish, but my eyes drift down to the floor in hopes of finding some sign
that he was here; there is none of course. Will all hopes dashed, I shake off
the last remnants of sleep, and quickly dress. The leather feels cold despite
the cotton shielding it from my skin, sending shivers up my spine. The sun has
not yet had time to warm the land, but it seems fitting: a bitter cold that
screams of death. Pausing only long enough to grab a loaf of bread, I head out
to the stable. If I am lucky, he will be there alone, and I can try to talk him
out of this foolishness; but of course I am not. The respite of sleep has cost
me my chance.
�� They�re all
there already, my brothers in arms, ready to face their fate. Bohrs sits
sharpening his twin blades as Dagonet saddles up his mount. Gawayne is already
excercising his, and she seems as excited to go into
battle as we are. She dances angrily across the stall as I pass by. Tristan
sits in the back, ignoring the lot of us as he polishes his favorite sword.
Breaking the loaf in half, Gallahad takes it from me as I drop down onto the
bench beside him. There are no words, but we all feel the same. Gathered here,
waiting for him; but I fear I am the only one to truly wish to see his face.
�� He is a
king again, hiding behind a mask of marble and stone. My eyes run over him for
barely a moment. I can�t help but wonder if he feels as he did last night, but
I must remember that it was only a dream. I wonder if he feels as betrayed as
the rest of us, but as my gaze rises to look at the Romans behind him, the hope
of such vanishes. He is a Roman here, knowing only duty and god. Still, there
is something about his drawn features that speak of age-old weariness and
bitter resentment. No, perhaps Gawayne was right, and he is not completely
Roman yet.
�� The tension
in the air is palpable as the bishop steps forward. He doesn�t trust us; he
shouldn�t. Any one of us would be more than happy to end his time upon this
earth, but it is not our place. We are not murderers, though he doesn�t know
that. To his eyes we are nothing but savages; if only he knew what we thought
of him. Perhaps he does. Looking much like a rabbit in a den of wolves, he tries
to reclaim his ground among us.
�� To
represent the holy court, my trusty secretary Horton will accompany you on your
quest.�
We are hardly interested enough to
watch said secretary step up. But I spare him a passing glance. Judging by his
expression this news is as new to him as it is to us. He is either not as
trusty as the Bishop claims, or Germanius is simply trying to intimidate us.
Arthur sends Jols to get him a horse and the mouse of a man slinks off. He
looks either terrified or disgusted to be riding with us, he should probably be
both.
It is three days ride to the wall,
and who knows how far beyond that. Our trail leads us through the woods and the
Woads. They are tracking us of course, but it seems we are no longer their only
threat. This is their land. The Saxon invasion concerns them more than it does
us; more than we do them. They force us through the woods, the horses growing
more and more alarmed with each trap that springs up before them. They are
herding us like cattle, and we have no choice but to follow. With nowhere left
to run, we make our stand Weapons drawn, we face them to fight, but they slink
back. The horses dance uneasily as they disappear into the trees as nothing
more than mist. Devil ghosts.
�Why would they not attack?� I can
not help but to feel but disappointed. They push us so far only to deny us
battle. I should be grateful. There is no way we can take them all, but it
seems reason is not on my mind so much as anger.
�Merlin doesn�t want us dead�
Something in Arthur�s voice tells me he knows more than he is willing to
divulge; I do not push him.
We wait a moment more, but nothing
shows and finally Arthur sheaths his sword. We follow suit without question,
and Tristan leads the way out of the woods and back onto the main path. We are
further west than we want to be, but he has scouted this land enough to get us
back on the southern road before nightfall.
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Ancient Love