lovely_ambition: (Default)
[personal profile] lovely_ambition
Arthur/Lancelot, Galahad/Gawain, Lancelot/Galahad



“What do you think was so urgent they had to call us back?” Galahad frowned as they cantered through the field, the silence almost overwhelming and a bit daunting. He and Lancelot had been riding through some of the nearby garrisons, picking up supplies that their own fortress lacked, but a message – care of Tristan’s hawk, no less, tied to her ankle – arrived that they were needed back at the garrison immediately. The way it was written breached no argument.

They swiftly dismounted their horses and the strangest thing occurred. That same silence that was reigning over the field was also present in the courtyard. “I don’t know,” Lancelot replied, distracted. “But I don’t like this at all.”

“What do you think…”

“Lancelot! Galahad!” a female voice sounded urgently, dashing towards them. It was Vanora, looking out of place and ragged. “Boys, you don’t know how good it is to see you. Something terrible has happened.”

Galahad frowned, glancing to Lancelot.

“What happened?” Lancelot asked, one hand on Vanora’s back, leading her to sit down. She looked far past exhausted. Galahad followed, still noting the silence and hating it, wondering why there wasn’t anyone else about to greet them.

*

Something terrible had, indeed, happened.

Vanora told the story quickly, because there was too much for Lancelot and Galahad to do. It seemed that while they were gone – and she was with one of her children in the woods, fetching particular foods for the meal – the dark magic of Merlin, often talked about, thought only as mythical, seemed to become an actual threat. Vanora had stumbled back with number six, only to discover the garrison’s people to be afflicted with an odd and strange sickness, something that could only have been caused by the darkest magicks. Tristan spoke of it being the Woads’ final revenge. Soon, they would attack, Tristan had said, and the Knights were useless to fight it.

“I’ve been fine since we returned,” Vanora had explained. “That was two days ago. Tristan sent the message then.”

“Everyone?” Galahad asked, worried. “Everyone was afflicted?”

Vanora simply nodded and Galahad didn’t bother to stay to say another word. He merely ran for the corridors quickly. Lancelot knew where he’d gone and the honest truth was that he wanted to do much the same thing in the direction of Arthur’s door, but he had to be the mature one now. He soothed Vanora, who seemed haunted by the tasks of caring for an entire fortress of people, something that was, impossible.

“I can’t tend to them all,” she explained, voice hoarse and hands shaking. “Some are worse than others. I tend to the Knights first because I keep thinking they’ll get better, but they don’t. So many are in so much pain, Lancelot. This has to end!”

“Is Arthur okay?”

She nodded. “He’s suffering the least. Or rather, it’s hitting him slower.”

Lancelot sighed in relief. There was that, at least. “Come on, let me see,” he commented evenly. She merely nodded and tugged number six towards her, leading Lancelot down the corridors – that same deathly silence haunting them as they walked – and then suddenly, stopped at Tristan’s door. “Here?”

“Tristan wanted to see you as soon as you’d arrived. Galahad as well, but I suppose he’s busy,” Vanora murmured. “I have to go tend to my children, Lancelot,” she explained. “Good luck.”

Lancelot nodded and pushed into Tristan’s room, expecting the worst.

*

Galahad pushed into his quarters, face furrowed and a look close to terror on his face. “Gawain?” he called out, voice hoarse. He slammed the door shut, stumbling to the side of the cot, sitting down and grasping onto Gawain’s wrist. He looked terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes, he was pale, and he had thinned. “Gawain, it’s me. It’s Galahad.”

“Galahad?” he asked, voice barely there and rough. He turned slightly. “Can’t…move.”

Galahad sat a little higher where he could idly stroke at Gawain’s cheek, pushing hair away from his face. “I just got back. Gawain, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

“I’m not,” he whispered. “If…you were…you would have been…just like…me.”

“Gawain,” Galahad gave a broken cry. “Lancelot, Vanora, and myself cannot battle armies of Woads, we cannot tend to a fortress of…” Gawain began to cough loudly, sounding terrible. “Gawain!” Galahad exclaimed loudly, panic written on his face. “I can’t do this!” He clung a little tighter to Gawain’s wrist, taking his fingers into his own. “Can you feel this?” he asked quietly. “Gawain, can you feel me?”

There was a pause while Gawain sighed. “No.”

Galahad frowned, leaning down and pressing his lips to Gawain’s slowly, nothing more than a chaste little kiss. “That? Did you feel that?”

Gawain closed his eyes as slow as Galahad had ever seen. “No, Galahad. I…can’t.” Galahad worried the inside of his cheek, not wanting to break when he needed to be strong. “Galahad, it’ll be…okay. Go find Tristan. He has a plan.”

Galahad nodded swiftly, kissing Gawain a little harder, as though the extra force would be enough to make Gawain feel it. He whispered soft words and brushed aside a few stray pieces of Gawain’s hair, wiping the sweat off his brow and making sure that Gawain was comfortable – Galahad’s cloak behind his head and the beddings tugged over him – before he made his way off towards Tristan’s quarters.

He pushed inside to find Lancelot in the middle of a hesitant conversation with Tristan. “Pup, you look ill,” Tristan commented, his voice slow, but not as bad as Gawain’s. “You’ve seen him, I take it.”

Galahad simply nodded, taking a seat in the free chair while Lancelot stood – choosing to pace back and forth.

“Gawain got hit first, then Dag. The villagers began to be affected. Bors, his children, more of the people. Myself and then finally, Arthur,” Tristan explained, eyes searching the room, as if looking for something. “Woads. Dark magic.”

“You think they’re planning an incursion,” Lancelot said, still pacing behind Galahad.

Galahad scoffed. “How can two Knights stop an army of wild rebels?” he demanded, incredulous. “It can’t be done, we can’t do it!”

“Because we are going to attempt to counter the dark magic with our own,” Tristan replied evenly, sounding as though he were still in control, still unaffected. “There are Romans on their way to aid you in your fight and you will battle.”

“And the curse?” Lancelot inquired.

“Vanora has been gathering supplies. But I want you to do something,” Tristan’s voice dropped lower. Galahad leaned forward, confused at what Tristan could want. “I want you two to kidnap Merlin and bring him here.”

“Do…do what?” Galahad sputtered.

“You want us to go commit suicide? Isn’t there a better plan?” Lancelot scowled, outraged. “Their most powerful man, Tristan. What if he casts a curse on us too?”

“He won’t,” Tristan shook his head slowly. “He’d need supplies. You bring him here as a hostage and we threaten to kill him and his people slowly if he doesn’t reverse it.”

“That won’t work!” Galahad cried, angry and giving the chair a shove as he stood. “Tristan, this is madness. And…and what happens if people start dying from this?” he asked, voice hollow. “What if…”

No one had to finish that sentence. Gawain had been hit first. Gawain would likely die first.

“It’s what you’ll do. You’ll have help. The aid of unlikely sources, but help. There are some Woads who have snuck into the fortress, had the opportunity to harm us, but didn’t. They’ll help us if need be. They’ll help you get Merlin,” Tristan calmly spoke, only to Galahad. The boy was beginning to panic and when your army of Knights was just two, no one could panic. “Lancelot, are you okay with this?”

Lancelot nodded. “I need to see Arthur,” he explained quietly, arms crossed.

He left Tristan and Galahad to the quiet silence that prevailed over the two.

*

Lancelot knocked lightly on the door. “Arthur, it’s me.”

“Come in.”

Arthur sounded as he did normally. There was no strange halting sound to his voice and no odd cadence. It sounded as though he’d just roused himself from a good sleep. Lancelot pushed inside to find Arthur sitting in a chair, reading something. Lancelot sighed. Ever the martyr.

“And why aren’t you abed?” Lancelot scolded, slamming Arthur’s book shut and immediately lifting Arthur to his feet, ready to guide him back under the covers. Arthur went along willingly, but quietly. “You are sick by fault of a curse, Arthur. It’s not just some passing illness that you can stave off. You need to rest before you become like the others.”

Arthur laughed weakly. “The others, yes. Vanora tells me I have Knights suffering badly. She won’t tell me which one is the one she speaks so badly of, who seems to have such little time left.”

Lancelot pressed his lips together. Arthur had taken on a defeatist’s attitude, he seemed more depressed, more hapless; he cared less. Lancelot sat down on the edge of the bed, studying Arthur’s face. “You don’t look that bad,” he commented, wiping away beads of sweat with the back of his hand. “In fact, you just look like you’ve fought a particularly grueling battle with a Woad.”

“Which of my Knights is lingering towards death, Lancelot?” Arthur asked, grave and serious.

This was something Lancelot did not want to have to tell. He sighed and turned away slightly. “It’s Gawain,” he said quietly. “He’s not well at all.”

Arthur made a small noise. “How is Galahad taking it?”

“Not well,” Lancelot scoffed. “Then again, I don’t think anyone’s told him just how close Gawain may be to the end.” Lancelot paused, regarding Arthur’s face and the way it was pale – much paler than usual. “Arthur, how close are you to the end?”

“I’ve a ways to go,” Arthur promised. “I’d only begun to feel ill last night. You don’t have to worry about me, Lancelot. Not yet. I’ve heard that Tristan has a plan.”

“Not a plan,” Lancelot contradicted. “A suicide mission. He wants myself and Galahad to go kidnap Merlin, of all people.” Lancelot laughed, shaking his head. “Suicide.”

Arthur made a small, considerate noise. “Not necessarily. He thinks that all the Knights are under this curse of his. We have some Woads on our side. If you pick the right time, it can work. There are Romans on their way. Not many, but enough.” Arthur rested one hand on Lancelot’s forearm, thumb stroking lightly. “I believe you can do this, Lancelot. I know you can fix this.”

“The curse, how are…”

“Tristan is hoping that Merlin will lift it once we have him and a threat to infiltrate the Woads and pick them off, group by group until there’s none left. Or…”

“Wait…”

“…someone will offer themselves as a sacrifice to Merlin.”

“Arthur!” Lancelot snapped. “A sacrifice?”

“It’s an option.”

“No,” Lancelot said vehemently, his voice not leaving any room for an argument. “No, it isn’t!”

Arthur laughed weakly. “What makes you think that Galahad won’t rush to sacrifice himself to save Gawain’s life? The moment he finds out the severity of the condition, he’d be willing to throw himself at Merlin’s feet. And I think, Lancelot, that you would too. I know you.”

Lancelot didn’t say anything in response, he merely stared straight-forward and tried to deny it; in some part of him, he tried to deny that he wouldn’t try and give his own life to save Arthur’s and the others. He sighed and distractedly began to stroke at Arthur’s forehead, trying to come up with a better plan, trying to figure out a way to make this work, and trying to summon the patience he was going to need to deal with Galahad once he found out just how bad things were. Lancelot watched over Arthur until his commander fell asleep, and only then did he dare move – piling beddings atop Arthur to keep him warm.

*

When Lancelot went back to Tristan’s room, Galahad was still there, staring forward into space. Tristan was fast asleep and looking peaceful despite the Knights’ collective situation of peril. Lancelot stepped inside slowly, resting his hand on Galahad’s shoulder. “Galahad,” he said quietly. Galahad turned, a faraway look in his eyes. He didn’t even jump, just looked up at Lancelot sadly. “Come on, you can’t just stay here.”

“Gawain’s in my cot,” Galahad said, his voice numb. “I can’t go there.”

Lancelot took a deep breath. “Listen, Galahad. About Gawain…”

“He’s going to die first if we don’t fix this?” Galahad interrupted, a tremulous smile on his face as he spoke. He nodded swiftly. “I know, Lancelot. I figured it out on my own. I’m not stupid.” Galahad took a deep breath, the exhalation shaky. “And it’ll be soon, won’t it?” Galahad ran a hand through his hair, sighing and the breath drawn out of him slowly. “Well, then, we’ve not got much time. Let’s go.”

“You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

Galahad just gave him a cold grin. “We’ll see.”

*

Galahad spent the night with Gawain, despite his objection that his cot was currently taken. He pushed into the cot and curled into Gawain’s side – despite the fact that Gawain was unable to feel a single thing from Galahad anymore – and held tightly, whispering to him, soothing words, calming words, any words. He told Gawain everything he could. He reassured Gawain, told them their plan, and when Galahad’s voice was going hoarse from speaking too much, he kept on speaking, telling Gawain how he’d have no purpose without Gawain there.

In the morning, he made his way to Tristan’s room to find Lancelot.

“All right,” he agreed, voice scratchy and hoarse. “Let’s do this.”

“You want to go through with Tristan’s plan?” Lancelot asked dubiously.

Galahad nodded vehemently. “Let’s kidnap the bastard. Has Vanora got everything prepared?” His voice had a harder edge to it, like he had figured something out during the night. Lancelot was relieved. It would be easier to work with a cooperative Galahad than one who was ready to resist Lancelot’s every suggestion. “I don’t care what we have to do, I don’t care what we have to say, let’s get Merlin.”

“Or whoever it is,” Tristan spoke up.

“What?” Lancelot turned towards him. He must have woken recently.

“I’ve been thinking. If this were Merlin’s doing, wouldn’t he have done it earlier? Years ago. Wouldn’t he, a man quite capable, make sure that all the Knights were in the fortress? This seems sloppy. Don’t kidnap Merlin. Go to him, talk to him. If all else fails, take him,” Tristan advised.

Lancelot cast a sidelong glance to Galahad. “We’ll go soon.”

“You’d better,” Tristan advised. “Because I can’t move anymore.”

Lancelot worriedly glanced at Tristan before he turned and dashed for Arthur’s room, leaving Galahad to Tristan’s bedside. Lancelot didn’t stop running until he arrived at Arthur’s room, pushing the door open and storming to the bedside, throwing the covers off.

“Get up,” Lancelot ordered. “Arthur, get up!”

Arthur glanced up at him, eyelids heavy, and a disappointed look in his eyes. Lancelot felt a sick, tumbling feeling in his stomach and he realized that Arthur couldn’t. It was hitting him as well. Lancelot exhaled slowly, sitting down and grasping one of Arthur’s hands in his own.

“Arthur,” Lancelot sighed, thumb brushing small circles on his palm. “Arthur, why couldn’t our positions have been switched?” Lancelot looked everywhere but into Arthur’s eyes, unable to deal with the pain he’d found there, unable to contest with that look burned into his memory. Lancelot closed his eyes. “Galahad is nearly bloodthirsty, wanting to kill, wanting to kidnap.”

“Leave tomorrow by first light,” Arthur advised.

Lancelot nodded. “I know.”

Lancelot took a deep breath and began to think through all the things he would have to do. He was the leader now. He was the one in charge.

“Lancelot,” Arthur murmured, voice slow and heavy. “I have faith in you.”

Lancelot wanted to laugh. He didn’t even believe in himself.

*

Lancelot left Arthur’s bedside when the sun set. He made his way through the corridors and towards Galahad’s quarters, knowing that was where Gawain had collapsed, knowing that was where Galahad would be. He pushed open the door to find Galahad clasping Gawain’s hand in his own, rocking slightly, and whispering softly, words not meant for Lancelot to hear.

“Come on,” Lancelot beckoned. “You need a good night’s rest and relaxation tonight. That won’t happen if you stay here.”

“I don’t want to leave his side,” Galahad replied stubbornly.

Lancelot sighed, making his way to the bed and lifting Galahad up by force – hands clasped around his biceps – and yanking him towards the door. “You are going to rest and you are going to relax tonight!” he snapped at the young Knight. “No matter what I have to do.”

Galahad struggled to escape Lancelot’s grasp. “Fine!” he spat. He rearranged his tunic, shutting the door gently behind them, one last lingering glance given to Gawain. “Fine,” he muttered, more disappointed than before. “Do you want to go to the empty tavern,” Galahad sneered. “Or are you going to bed me in one of the many empty spaces so you can relax.”

Lancelot paused in their walk.

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Galahad scoffed. “You…”

“Galahad,” Lancelot chastised him quietly.

Galahad rolled his eyes. “I’d yell more, but I need it too right now. I just need a release, Lancelot. Something that someone else can give me.” He pushed open the door to Lancelot’s door when they reached it and walked inside without another word. Lancelot was almost impressed. The boy could both surprise and impress at the same time. Galahad turned when he was in front of Lancelot, and that was it. This was it. Now or never.

“Let’s just get this straight,” Lancelot commented, arms forming a vice grip on Galahad’s biceps. “I don’t like you,” he reminded Galahad, who nodded swiftly. “And you don’t like me.”

“Not like this,” Galahad agreed.

“This is just necessity. No one else has to know.”

“Right,” Galahad said, leaning in and kissing Lancelot viciously, tugging and sucking at Lancelot’s lower lip.

Lancelot gave a bark of a moan and ran one hand through Galahad’s hair, dispelling the curls further, grasping hard and tilting Galahad’s head to the side, biting and nipping at Galahad’s neck, pale skin exposed for him to mark. Galahad eased off and gave Lancelot a push towards the cot, climbing atop him swiftly and yanking the tunic off him, throwing it to the side.

“You’re eager,” Lancelot marveled, sitting back and allowing Galahad to undress him, breeches removed first and shirt pulled off slowly, Galahad kissing his way up Lancelot’s torso in the process. “Galahad, I might call…”

“I don’t care,” Galahad growled. “Call me Arthur, because I’m calling you Gawain.”

He pushed Lancelot’s shirt off completely, slowly lowering himself down, nipping at Lancelot’s nipples, hands clasping his hips tightly. Lancelot gave a chortle, wiggling his hips slightly, letting Galahad have his control and push Lancelot’s hips upwards, wrapping each ankle around Galahad as he lowered himself, teasing Lancelot’s cock with a few light licks before moving even lower and thrusting his tongue inside Lancelot, creating a source of such warmth that Lancelot cried out with a gasp, amazed at the feel of Galahad’s tongue moving with such talent.

“That’s…a nice…trick!” Lancelot gasped out, trying to think or speak or do anything coherently, but finding himself unable.

Galahad didn’t stop, pushing into Lancelot with such a sure and constant rhythm that Lancelot began to wonder how often he performed this show on Gawain, began to wonder if maybe he should suggest that Galahad make people pay him for it. Galahad’s hands slipped to Lancelot’s cock, stroking slowly – like he was preserving the moment, like he was timing it – and continuing, more and more until there was too much sensation for Lancelot to take and he climaxed, back arching off the bed almost violently.

Lancelot babbled as he came back to himself, all the worries that had plagued him gone – for one simple moment. He opened his eyes slowly to find Galahad lapping at the head of his cock, fastidious and completely engaged in the act.

“Galahad,” Lancelot murmured, his voice hazy and thick. “What do you want in return?”

Galahad rolled over onto his back, burrowing his head into Lancelot’s neck and lazily nipping there, making tiny marks. “In me,” he whispered. “Take me as hard as you want, be as gentle as you’d like, but take me.”

Lancelot didn’t bother with more words, mounting Galahad – and not at all surprised with Galahad’s request. There would be a good sleep that night before the morning sun dawned and they had to complete their tasks. He frowned and searched for his oil, forgetting where he had put it, but Galahad just gave him a frown and a level look that said, ‘pain is fine’. Lancelot shrugged; who was he to argue with a stubborn young Knight? He pushed Galahad’s thighs apart, taking the time to grasp and feel at the muscles Galahad had built up over the years. Lancelot murmured his approval as he leaned down and kissed Galahad to ease the pain of his entering, something not helped by Galahad’s sudden laughter. Lancelot eased in, pushed as deep as possible, all while Galahad was laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Lancelot sneered.

Galahad attempted to calm himself. “I…nothing,” he laughed some more, snorts and gasped laughter. “Just…Gawain is bigger than you…in a few ways.”

Lancelot scowled, rolled his eyes. “If you’re not careful,” Lancelot grunted, thrusting forward, receiving a gasp and an arch of Galahad’s back, “I’ll stop.” He checked Galahad’s expression for any pain. “Are you okay?”

“I told you,” Galahad smirked. “Gawain is bigger than you. I’m fine.”

Lancelot began to thrust in at his comfortable set pace, muttering under his breath as he did, hands pushing into the beddings. “Stretching you like some town whore,” he uttered quietly, scoffing at Galahad’s comparisons. Galahad couldn’t seem to dispel the fit of laughter, losing it every other second of so, bursting into a fresh bout of amusement, all the while Lancelot pushed in, stroking at Galahad’s cock, fucking him thoroughly. The laughter was born of panic and not amusement, though. It was up to the two of them to figure it out and fix it.

Galahad settled as he grew closer to the climax, closing his eyes and biting hard on his lip. As he came, he whispered Gawain’s name – pain and fear in the exhalation – and Lancelot could understand, could associate.

They parted, panting and exhausted, and simply lay there on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. “Well…” Lancelot commented.

“Yes,” Galahad cleared his throat. He reached over Lancelot to pick up his tunic and clothed himself quickly, biting down hard on his lip. “Lancelot, can I please…”

“No,” Lancelot interrupted sternly. “Stay here and sleep. You won’t sleep if you’re beside him. And I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t go see him, we can both go and check on him and Arthur later on.” Galahad seemed to accept that and nodded, sitting down on the edge of the cot, fiddling with the hem of his tunic and concentrating on something, the thoughts flickering over his face quickly, like he was going through too many at once to speak of. “We find Merlin, sword to his throat, and we talk to him. Vanora and Tristan will set up their aid.”

“Aid?”

“Some form of mystical fog, apparently,” Lancelot shrugged. It was confusing to him as well. “It’s supposed to creep in, blanket the earth and give us cover while we seek out Merlin. Bring your bow. If your aim is still what it used to be, that will be our best chance to go unfound.”

“Why would my aim have slipped?” Galahad rolled his eyes.

Lancelot gave him an innocent look. “No reason. Perhaps you’re distracted.”

“No more than you!”

“Fine,” Lancelot spat out. “Your aim is still perfect. Now, would you sleep for three hours before you start playing Gawain’s medic again?” Galahad seemed to listen that time and made his way to the spare cot – that had once been used by some of the passing Romans – and burrowed down into the beddings, facing away from Lancelot.

The thing that struck Lancelot the most was how very young Galahad looked in the face of this.

*

“Lancelot,” Galahad’s voice intruded on his dreams, cutting through. Lancelot was also being shaken. “Lancelot, wake up!” Lancelot snapped awake to find Galahad sitting by his cot, dressed in his armoured tunic with his weapons lying beside him. From the look on his face – angry and bloodthirsty – he had been to see Gawain. “The fog’s begun to roll in. We have to go.”

Lancelot groaned, making his way to his armour and noting the way Galahad seemed to be pacing, twitching, nervous and scared all at once. “What did Gawain say to you?”

“He acted like he wouldn’t live the day,” Galahad replied, his voice sounding small and broken. “He told me everything in case he didn’t have any time left.” Galahad closed his eyes tightly, pain flickering over his face as he bent down and picked up his sword, sheathing it while Lancelot stepped into his breeches. Lancelot could only imagine what Gawain might say if he thought he was in the midst of his last hours.

On the battlefield, losing a fellow Knight is tragic, but it comes without warning. Gawain believed his end was approaching and he was going slowly. And he was dragging Galahad down that dark path with him.

“Forget him, Galahad,” Lancelot advised. “For the next day, pretend he’s healthy and safe, all right? If we can get this reversed, he’ll be fine.”

Galahad nodded swiftly, tucking his arrows into a quiver. “I hate him for saying those things to me. I hate him for giving up.”

“Hate him later,” Lancelot advised, grabbing his swords. “We have to fight now.”

*

The fog thickened by the hour, doubling and tripling. Lancelot thanked Tristan’s expertise and prayed to the gods that he would be able to continue helping them, despite his inability to move. Galahad led the way with his bow drawn and ready to attack. They managed to hide behind trees, creeping amongst the enemy; they listened to their confused talk about the weather, the way they could barely see in front of them. And some of the conversation led them straight to Merlin.

Lancelot signaled to Galahad when it became clear there were only four of them standing around a fire, discussing the situation with Merlin. The words ‘dark magic’ and ‘power’ filtered into the air. Lancelot nodded to Galahad, watching as Galahad fired off four arrows in a row, deadly and silent – just as he was taught to be.

Lancelot drew his swords, heading into the clearing to find Merlin standing, ready. Galahad was behind him instantly with his bow, ready to fire on anyone.

“Peace, Merlin,” Lancelot demanded. “For ten minutes, I ask for peace.”

“You kill my men and then ask for peace?” Merlin gestured to the men on the ground.

Lancelot wanted to shout, but he managed to stop himself. “You are killing dozens of men, women, and children! Peace between us, I offer a truce.”

“And I offer myself,” Galahad pushed forward in front of Lancelot, his bow by his side and his attention distracted. Lancelot sighed, knowing this was going to happen, wondering why he hadn’t stopped it. “My life for the end of this curse. Please,” he begged, voice hoarse.

“Galahad,” Lancelot hissed.

“Curse?” Merlin frowned. “Curse upon what? Your men, women, and children, they are not sick by my hands, not dying by words of mine.”

“They’re dying,” Galahad shouted, forcing Lancelot to sheathe one sword, enough so that he could wrap one hand around Galahad and clamp his hand over his mouth. Galahad fought him hard, managing to elbow Lancelot in the stomach, sending him backwards, gasping for air. “Your curse is killing them and I offer my life. Kill me for them, please.”

“Ga…Galahad,” Lancelot wheezed. “Idiot…stop.”

“Your offer, young Knight,” Merlin broke in, “is intriguing. I did not cast this spell, but I can break it and bring those responsible to you.” Lancelot frowned, not sure where this was going. Merlin was seemingly considering this, seemingly considering something. “Yes, of course,” he murmured. “I will keep your youngest Knight and your fortress will be safe. We will not kill him,” Merlin turned to Galahad to speak. “Simply teach him to become one of our own. If you would like him back, bring Arthur forth and we will come to terms. I desire more land, Knight. I desire a truce in places. We have both lost many, but the fight will not end. So, let us talk of terms.”

Lancelot had one hand to his chest to try and aid the airflow, turning to Galahad. Gawain was not going to be happy about this.

“I shall remove the enchantment for you,” Merlin continued. “Bring Arthur to me, no more than three of you, and we shall discuss my terms. Until then, we keep the boy.”

Lancelot tried to communicate silently with Galahad, trying to find some reason to this madness. The only thing Lancelot could discern was the way Galahad seemed to be nodding calmly, urging him back.

“We’ll be back,” Lancelot promised, making his way out of the fog, back towards a fortress full of people who would hopefully be cured.

*

He arrived back to a cacophony of noise assaulting his ears and Lancelot breathed relief and thanks that Merlin was true to his word thus far. He checked each of the Knights’ quarters, finding no one, and finally heading to the Round Table, unable to keep the smile off his face when he saw Arthur up and about, moving quickly and speaking to all of them. Lancelot closed the door behind him.

“It worked!” Arthur exclaimed, patting Lancelot on the back. “Good job. Where’s Galahad?”

Lancelot’s smile disappeared almost instantly and he looked around the table at the other Knights, his gaze stopping when he came to Gawain’s expectant and almost fearful expression.

Lancelot took a deep breath. “Lancelot,” Gawain frowned. “Where is Galahad?”

“Merlin has him.”

Gawain was out of his seat and pushing Lancelot to the wall, forming a vice on Lancelot’s neck with his elbow. It seemed the recovery to the curse was swift then. Lancelot coughed, taking Gawain’s aggression. “We can get him back,” he promised, his voice thin and the effort of speaking taking it out of him. He locked eyes with Gawain, seeing Arthur over Gawain’s shoulder. “You can get him back.”

Gawain eased off, letting Arthur tend to Lancelot.

“What does Merlin want?”

“Funnily enough?” Lancelot coughed. “Some form of a truce, at least temporarily. He only wants three of you out there, Arthur included.”

“I’m going,” Gawain announced immediately, voice brooking no room for argument.

Tristan nodded. “As am I.”

Arthur exchanged a brief glance with Lancelot. “Then it’s settled. Lancelot, rest. It’s been a trying two days, no doubt. We’ll get him back and we’ll manage not to give away the whole fortress in exchange. You should rest.”

Lancelot nodded, knowing that his own exhaustion was going to catch up to him soon. He made his way from the Round Table without another word, rubbing at his neck and hoping for the best.

*

Gawain was ready to go after Galahad immediately, understanding now what he had meant when he had looked Gawain in the eyes and had whispered, “I’ll make sure you’re better. No matter what.” The bastard. The stupid, stubborn bastard. Gawain was pacing about, Tristan sitting on his cot and seemingly trying to think, but Gawain didn’t want to think right now. He just wanted to get Galahad back, safe and sound, so Gawain could properly thank him and take back all the deathbed confessions he had uttered.

“Stop it,” Tristan scolded quietly. “We’ll get him back, but not if you act like a nervous rabbit out there.”

“I said things to him I should never have,” Gawain told Tristan, pacing back and forth, back and forth. “I acted as though I would have died.” Gawain took a deep breath. “He’s probably really, really angry with me.”

“Likely,” Tristan agreed, a small shrug to his shoulders. “I’ll have to talk with Merlin, you realize. Arthur will be useless with him.”

“Right,” Gawain agreed. “What with his mother…” he trailed off, not needing to say anything more. The Knights knew how Arthur had lost his mother, knew the man responsible. Gawain nodded, trying to be calm, even though Merlin had Galahad, even though they still had no idea who had cast such a spell. Who could it have been?

*

“Arthur, remember,” Tristan advised. “Gawain and I will speak to Merlin. Don’t say anything. This isn’t the time for vengeance, not when Galahad’s life is on the line.” Gawain was creeping forward ahead of the two, always looking for Galahad, always wondering if he was safe. “Arthur, do you understand? Galahad could be harmed if you begin assaulting Merlin.”

“Tristan, move,” Arthur ordered. “Stop talking.”

They approached a clearing where Galahad was on his knees and tied, Merlin standing behind him. “Arthur and his Knights.”

“Let him go,” Gawain demanded.

Merlin gave a calm laugh. “Are you ready to speak of terms?”

“We are,” Tristan acknowledged, nudging Gawain forward and constantly keeping his sword drawn. “Let the boy go.” Merlin turned to the two men guarding Galahad and gave a nod. Soon, the binds were coming undone and Galahad was sent stumbling back to them, right into Gawain’s arms. The two began whispering to each other immediately, Galahad falling to his knees. “You said you wouldn’t harm him,” Tristan accused, seeing the cuts on Galahad’s legs.

“No,” Merlin contradicted. “We said we wouldn’t kill him. He fought. He needed to be kept here.”

Galahad was on his knees and Gawain was there too, holding him up from falling. This left Tristan to negotiate, something he could do. He stepped forward and stood right in front of Merlin, close enough to be killed – a move that would show Merlin his trust. “All right,” Tristan announced. “Let’s speak of terms.”

*

Hours later, the truce, the terms, and the situation was dealt with.

And they had a name for the madness.

“Why?” Galahad demanded, arm slung over Gawain as he carried him back. “Why would he do that?” Every once in a while, Gawain seemed to be fighting the urge to simply sweep Galahad up and carry him back the rest of the way. He resisted the urge, however, and managed to simply aid Galahad on his way.

“Jealousy?” Tristan suggested. “Envy?” He turned to Arthur. “You’d best punish him.”

“He’s just a stable boy,” Arthur remarked with wonder. “He had no idea what he was getting into. All because he was envious of…” he trailed off, eyes casting back to Gawain and Galahad, not wanting to say anything more.

“Envious of what?” Gawain demanded. He had missed the talks between Merlin, Tristan, and Arthur because he was making up for everything he had said to Galahad, making up for every bad word between them. “Arthur? Who cast the curse? It wasn’t Merlin, so who was it?”

Arthur waited until they were on safe ground. Once they’d arrived to the field, Arthur turned and helped to shoulder Gawain’s burden. He locked eyes. “The newest of the stable boys. Aidan,” Arthur quietly explained, glancing to Galahad every other second. “It turns out he’s quite jealous of you because you got Galahad. Merlin speaks it as though he knows it, but he clearly can’t.”

“Dark magic,” Tristan reminded.

“Yes,” Arthur nodded, clearly not liking the situation. “Merlin tells it that Aidan saw Gawain…he saw you flirting in the tavern with one of the barmaids.”

“So?” Gawain shook his head, confused. “Galahad and I do that all the time. We’d go mad if we didn’t have other people besides each other.”

“Yes,” Arthur cleared his throat. “Well…Aidan began to believe that you didn’t deserve Galahad and so, he consulted an old tome of ancient curses and cast the one, believing it would only affect you. He wanted Galahad for…uh, for himself, believing that you didn’t deserve him.”

“What?” Galahad and Gawain echoed in indignant shock.

Tristan shot them a smirk, not amused in the least. “Yes, this is all your fault, Gawain.” He turned, circling them and checking their perimetre to make sure they were safe. “Next time, keep your damn hands off the girls and stick to the one you’ve claimed.” He rolled his eyes, crouching down to check on Galahad’s legs. “You’re fine. They’ll heal within the day. Superficial wounds that have a very short affect, nothing else.”

Galahad shared a small smirk with Tristan. “I know. They’re already better.”

Gawain eased off, letting Galahad stand on his own, outraged. “Why didn’t you say anything!”

“You were carrying me so nicely,” Galahad gave him an innocent smile. “I didn’t want to ruin that.”

“Knights,” Arthur interrupted, his voice tired. “We’ve still a boy to deal with.”

“Right,” Gawain muttered, his face darkening, even as Arthur spoke. He unsheathed his sword and made his way to the path again, leading the way inside. “I want permission to deal with this, Arthur. My way,” he growled. Arthur caught up to Gawain quickly, laying one hand on his shoulder. “What?”

“Be kind to the boy.”

“He nearly killed me, Arthur,” Gawain snapped. “What kindness does that deserve?” Galahad nodded his approval of Gawain’s thirst for blood, storming forward to join Gawain’s side. The two fell to quiet conversation again while Arthur hesitated by Tristan, stopping him.

“Keep watch. Make sure they don’t go too far,” Arthur instructed. Tristan nodded, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

Arthur’s words all depended on your definition of ‘too far’.

*

“There,” Galahad pointed out as they entered the stables. Gawain stormed forward, knowing the boy immediately and Tristan made sure to simply be there, not say anything or do anything, but be there. “That’s him.”

The boy named Aidan turned, confused. “Galahad?”

“You,” Gawain growled, grabbing a fistful of Aidan’s shirt and lifting him up off the ground. He shoved him to the ground, chasing after him, his behaviour and his expression all belying a man who was prepared to go into battle. “Explain yourself. Explain why you did it, and then explain why I shouldn’t kill you and I should listen to Arthur and just expel you from this fortress.”

“I…I…I…”

“I-I-I,” Gawain mocked him. “Out with it,” he ordered, drawing his sword and holding it to Aidan’s neck. “You’re going, I’m staying. I get Galahad, you don’t. Galahad and I have been doing this for years and we know how it works. We flirt with other girls. Sometimes we flirt with other boys. Sometimes, we sleep around with the other’s permission! But we still love each other,” Gawain growled, advancing when Aidan staggered back on all fours. “And you nearly killed me, nearly killed a whole fortress of people for your jealousy.”

“Nearly killed Gawain,” Galahad spoke up, clearly not pleased.

“So, Aidan,” Gawain continued pleasantly. “You have a choice. Get out of my sight, leave this place immediately, or you can wake up tomorrow in your cot and I’ll be there, waiting to end your life.”

Tristan merely nodded. That wasn’t too far. It was merely words.

“What is your choice?”

“I’ll leave,” Aidan replied immediately, his voice shaking slightly. “I-I’ll go. I’m…” he looked between the three Knights and took off running, sounding and looking very afraid of what they might do. He stumbled to his feet and sprinted past Gawain, not pausing at all.

Gawain watched him go, pleased. “Good,” he murmured, turning and yanking Galahad into a hard kiss. Galahad went, pleased, and Tristan was quickly getting tired of watching the two of them go at it. Tristan parted them quickly. “Hey!” Gawain commented. Galahad glared mildly, looking a little bit dazed. Gawain sighed. “We have to go tell Arthur, don’t we?” Tristan nodded quickly. “

Tristan walked away, glad that there was some semblance of a normal existence.

And that everyone was alive.

“So, Tristan,” Galahad murmured. “Have I told you about Gawain and my policy about flirting with others?”

end
This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting

Profile

lovely_ambition: (Default)
lovely_ambition

Most Popular Tags

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags