King Arthur Fic - Connected - PG-13
Title: Connection
Pairing: Arthur/Lancelot, implied Galahad/Gawain.
Series: Uh...well, prequel to Contact and possibly See Me.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Every legend has a beginning.
Author's Notes: This is all cygny's fault. She requested a prequel to Contact. I was all ready to let the Arthur tribbles die but...nope. I got tribbled. Three and a half hours later...this is the result. She is also responsible for the PoV because she likes Lancelot. This one's for you hon. Hope you like.
How have we come to this? I blink away the haze of exhaustion and shift position. The fur - wolf, I think - is soft against my bared skin. The rain lashed at the small windows and the wind's whine rises to a howl. I shiver reflexively and your arm tightens, drawing me back against your chest. And how in the name of every God are you so warm?
"Lancelot....go t'sleep." The sleepy rumble makes my bones tremble. "We have.-" a yawn that sends hot, moist air against the side of my neck. "-a patrol tomorrow."
I relax into your embrace, pushing back against you and chuckling at your grumbling about cold feet. We move about, lethargy making us move like old men, until we find a comfortable position. You are still grumbling about my cold feet and hands and I am still sleepily chuckling. The chuckle becomes a yawn and my eyes slide closed. My last thought as sleep claims me is Who would have thought...?
I never expected to like you...much less bed you within a month of our arriving in this frigid hell of an island. We were nine long months making out way here - slowed by the endless drill and mockery of the centurions sent to take us to our post. I grew to hate Rome and its arrogance as we worked our way west. We were never allowed to forget that we were not Romans. We banded together - even Gawain who had been the only survivor of his troop and joined us after his recovery from the sickness - overcoming tribal rivalries under this derisive barrage.
We were nearly lost at sea on the last leg of our journey. I was weeks off my sixteenth birth day when we first set foot on Britannia or Britain. Almost at once we heard of you - Artorious Castos. Our centurions had told us of you, in scarcely veiled contempt. A Roman child with British blood. A youth not four years our senior. They spoke of you as weak, feeble and ineffectual. They were wrong.
The common people adored you already. At every stop, we heard of "Arthur and his father's knights". Always the knights were assumed to be your father's. His friends, his brothers, his legion. Not yours. Never yours. The first centurion we met was half-infatuated with you. He told us tales all night of the countless battles you had already fought, of your courage, your mercy and your devotion to God and those under your charge.
It sounded far too close to idyllic and we rolled our eyes and picked up our pace. When we arrived at the fortress on that early spring day, we were not prepared for what we found. We had ridden all day and seen the high walls, the alert sentries. Then we heard the sounds of revelry from the inner courtyards. We were expecting an orgy - typical of the decadence of the Roman encampments we had seen before.
Then we saw the men (and women) who were celebrating. Our countrymen. The sarmatian knights we had come to relieve. There were only four left. All the others lay with their swords in their graves. And you were there, standing in courtyard, trading obscene jokes and cheering this men. You looked like the perfect Roman statue in flesh. Yet no-one could doubt the strength of the mutual respect as the knights clustered around you. These were no despised outsiders, these were friends, brothers and dearly loved.
You talked with our centurions and took the box with the scrolls of discharge and safe passage. Turning to the knights, you looked each in the eye. "Knights! You have fought with courage, determination and honour, surpassing all that was asked of you. Rome thanks you." They cheered, slopping ale and mead in a clumsy toast. "For your companionship, loyalty and support, to me, and to my father, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have earnt your freedom with all honour and it is my honour to declare your service to the Empire complete and well done!"
The cheer became a roar of "ARTHUR! ARTHUR!" and you smiled at them. It took several minutes for the noise to subside enough for you to be heard. "I must see to comforts of our newly arrived troops. Eat, drink and be merry this night for tomorrow, you go home!"
They roared their approval as you made your way to where the centurions were watching with slack jaws. But it was not them you spoke to, it was to Tristan. "You are the new knights?" He nodded, wary but warming to you already. " I am Arthur Castos. I will be your commander. Welcome to Britain."
We introduced ourselves and you nodded before turning to shout for Jules. You looked back up at us. "Jules will tend to your horses and show you where to leave your belongings. I will see you all at noon tomorrow. Until then, the time is your own. Until tomorrow."
You vanished for the rest of the night while we ate and drank with our countrymen and exchanged tales. We learnt a lot about you from them. How your father died with five of his knights, leaving you to take up the leadership for the last five years. You had never flinched from that responsibility, never let them down. The eldest of the knights was well into his cups and told me of seeing you as a child, then a man and finally a knight to match any in the courtyard.
I still think of that night, even after almost a year. The old knights left the next day and we started our true training. You taught us to read the weather, the paths, the landmarks of our new home. You showed us the poisonous plants and those that added potency to healing salves. You involved us in every decision. We were respected, equal and yet...and yet you remained distant.
It annoyed me. I respected you. I liked you. But I could never be sure that you did more than tolerate me. You never showed fear, anger, joy...you were a model soldier. A statue in armour. It infuriated me and I am known for being vindictive and petty when I get irritated. So we fought, never openly but I kept questioning you, kept pushing the limits you had set. Our sparring matches became hot, angry and aggressive. Your mask was starting to crack a little at a time.
The others thought I was mad but it worked. I saw you when the melancholy came and I offered you a diversion. We released tension from the other, our sparring became another way to relax, to forget the dangerous lives we led. I sought you out whenever I felt the need and we sparred with weapons or words. It became just another habit. Until yesterday...
I had been seething over Bors and his adoration for Flora and his 'accidental' accident with the wine. I had blundered into you on my way to cool off and it just came spilling out. So we fought, there in that narrow paved corridor, fists swinging. I swear I never meant to knock you against the wall so hard. I never meant to hurt you. When you finally fought me off, Dag had come running with news of a fresh Woad attack so I had no time to apologise.
We rode out...and straight into an ambush. It was a small but brutal skirmish - we had faced far worse. Until you were knocked off your horse. You managed to defend yourself on the ground but when you tried to get to your feet, your leg buckled. I thought my heart would stop. Thank the gods for Dagonae. He managed to haul you to safety and we returned to the fortress.
I wanted to apologise...really, I did. But how? What could I possibly say that would make up for this? I went to the stables, searching for privacy. I don't know long I was there but I should have known better that to think that you would let it go. You found me sitting on a pile of straw, flushed with shame and tears tracking down my cheeks.
You were...understanding, compassionate. It should have been soothing, but it just made things worse. I sulked while you limped over to sit beside me. You were saying something but I didn't hear the words, only the deep rumble of your voice. You sank on to the straw beside me. I was curled up, a knot of misery and resentment. Your hand on the back of my neck made me jump and I looked up to meet bright blue eyes.
We stared at each other, breath mingling. The world dwindled away as we stared at each other. I am still not sure if you kissed me or I kissed you first. The world outside the stable ceased to exist....
Which brings us to now and me curled up around you like two sleepy kittens and far too sated to move. Your room is just down the hall but you have made no move to go back there. I am not going to complain. You're warm. A murmur against my back and your embrace tightens slightly.
I am not going to start worrying now. Tomorrow can take care of itself, I will savour the now.
Pairing: Arthur/Lancelot, implied Galahad/Gawain.
Series: Uh...well, prequel to Contact and possibly See Me.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Every legend has a beginning.
Author's Notes: This is all cygny's fault. She requested a prequel to Contact. I was all ready to let the Arthur tribbles die but...nope. I got tribbled. Three and a half hours later...this is the result. She is also responsible for the PoV because she likes Lancelot. This one's for you hon. Hope you like.
How have we come to this? I blink away the haze of exhaustion and shift position. The fur - wolf, I think - is soft against my bared skin. The rain lashed at the small windows and the wind's whine rises to a howl. I shiver reflexively and your arm tightens, drawing me back against your chest. And how in the name of every God are you so warm?
"Lancelot....go t'sleep." The sleepy rumble makes my bones tremble. "We have.-" a yawn that sends hot, moist air against the side of my neck. "-a patrol tomorrow."
I relax into your embrace, pushing back against you and chuckling at your grumbling about cold feet. We move about, lethargy making us move like old men, until we find a comfortable position. You are still grumbling about my cold feet and hands and I am still sleepily chuckling. The chuckle becomes a yawn and my eyes slide closed. My last thought as sleep claims me is Who would have thought...?
I never expected to like you...much less bed you within a month of our arriving in this frigid hell of an island. We were nine long months making out way here - slowed by the endless drill and mockery of the centurions sent to take us to our post. I grew to hate Rome and its arrogance as we worked our way west. We were never allowed to forget that we were not Romans. We banded together - even Gawain who had been the only survivor of his troop and joined us after his recovery from the sickness - overcoming tribal rivalries under this derisive barrage.
We were nearly lost at sea on the last leg of our journey. I was weeks off my sixteenth birth day when we first set foot on Britannia or Britain. Almost at once we heard of you - Artorious Castos. Our centurions had told us of you, in scarcely veiled contempt. A Roman child with British blood. A youth not four years our senior. They spoke of you as weak, feeble and ineffectual. They were wrong.
The common people adored you already. At every stop, we heard of "Arthur and his father's knights". Always the knights were assumed to be your father's. His friends, his brothers, his legion. Not yours. Never yours. The first centurion we met was half-infatuated with you. He told us tales all night of the countless battles you had already fought, of your courage, your mercy and your devotion to God and those under your charge.
It sounded far too close to idyllic and we rolled our eyes and picked up our pace. When we arrived at the fortress on that early spring day, we were not prepared for what we found. We had ridden all day and seen the high walls, the alert sentries. Then we heard the sounds of revelry from the inner courtyards. We were expecting an orgy - typical of the decadence of the Roman encampments we had seen before.
Then we saw the men (and women) who were celebrating. Our countrymen. The sarmatian knights we had come to relieve. There were only four left. All the others lay with their swords in their graves. And you were there, standing in courtyard, trading obscene jokes and cheering this men. You looked like the perfect Roman statue in flesh. Yet no-one could doubt the strength of the mutual respect as the knights clustered around you. These were no despised outsiders, these were friends, brothers and dearly loved.
You talked with our centurions and took the box with the scrolls of discharge and safe passage. Turning to the knights, you looked each in the eye. "Knights! You have fought with courage, determination and honour, surpassing all that was asked of you. Rome thanks you." They cheered, slopping ale and mead in a clumsy toast. "For your companionship, loyalty and support, to me, and to my father, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have earnt your freedom with all honour and it is my honour to declare your service to the Empire complete and well done!"
The cheer became a roar of "ARTHUR! ARTHUR!" and you smiled at them. It took several minutes for the noise to subside enough for you to be heard. "I must see to comforts of our newly arrived troops. Eat, drink and be merry this night for tomorrow, you go home!"
They roared their approval as you made your way to where the centurions were watching with slack jaws. But it was not them you spoke to, it was to Tristan. "You are the new knights?" He nodded, wary but warming to you already. " I am Arthur Castos. I will be your commander. Welcome to Britain."
We introduced ourselves and you nodded before turning to shout for Jules. You looked back up at us. "Jules will tend to your horses and show you where to leave your belongings. I will see you all at noon tomorrow. Until then, the time is your own. Until tomorrow."
You vanished for the rest of the night while we ate and drank with our countrymen and exchanged tales. We learnt a lot about you from them. How your father died with five of his knights, leaving you to take up the leadership for the last five years. You had never flinched from that responsibility, never let them down. The eldest of the knights was well into his cups and told me of seeing you as a child, then a man and finally a knight to match any in the courtyard.
I still think of that night, even after almost a year. The old knights left the next day and we started our true training. You taught us to read the weather, the paths, the landmarks of our new home. You showed us the poisonous plants and those that added potency to healing salves. You involved us in every decision. We were respected, equal and yet...and yet you remained distant.
It annoyed me. I respected you. I liked you. But I could never be sure that you did more than tolerate me. You never showed fear, anger, joy...you were a model soldier. A statue in armour. It infuriated me and I am known for being vindictive and petty when I get irritated. So we fought, never openly but I kept questioning you, kept pushing the limits you had set. Our sparring matches became hot, angry and aggressive. Your mask was starting to crack a little at a time.
The others thought I was mad but it worked. I saw you when the melancholy came and I offered you a diversion. We released tension from the other, our sparring became another way to relax, to forget the dangerous lives we led. I sought you out whenever I felt the need and we sparred with weapons or words. It became just another habit. Until yesterday...
I had been seething over Bors and his adoration for Flora and his 'accidental' accident with the wine. I had blundered into you on my way to cool off and it just came spilling out. So we fought, there in that narrow paved corridor, fists swinging. I swear I never meant to knock you against the wall so hard. I never meant to hurt you. When you finally fought me off, Dag had come running with news of a fresh Woad attack so I had no time to apologise.
We rode out...and straight into an ambush. It was a small but brutal skirmish - we had faced far worse. Until you were knocked off your horse. You managed to defend yourself on the ground but when you tried to get to your feet, your leg buckled. I thought my heart would stop. Thank the gods for Dagonae. He managed to haul you to safety and we returned to the fortress.
I wanted to apologise...really, I did. But how? What could I possibly say that would make up for this? I went to the stables, searching for privacy. I don't know long I was there but I should have known better that to think that you would let it go. You found me sitting on a pile of straw, flushed with shame and tears tracking down my cheeks.
You were...understanding, compassionate. It should have been soothing, but it just made things worse. I sulked while you limped over to sit beside me. You were saying something but I didn't hear the words, only the deep rumble of your voice. You sank on to the straw beside me. I was curled up, a knot of misery and resentment. Your hand on the back of my neck made me jump and I looked up to meet bright blue eyes.
We stared at each other, breath mingling. The world dwindled away as we stared at each other. I am still not sure if you kissed me or I kissed you first. The world outside the stable ceased to exist....
Which brings us to now and me curled up around you like two sleepy kittens and far too sated to move. Your room is just down the hall but you have made no move to go back there. I am not going to complain. You're warm. A murmur against my back and your embrace tightens slightly.
I am not going to start worrying now. Tomorrow can take care of itself, I will savour the now.