Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur the movie nor it's characters.
Title: Might-have-been
Author: Caroline Fale / Sear
Beta: Er- no? (That doesn't equal "Don't want one"…)
Reviews: Yes please!
Archiving: Just ask first.
A/N: Actually one of my first fanfics, never thought I'd post anything, but then I saw King Arthur…
Might-have-been
The time of service is almost over, soon the knights will be free. Free to part ways, and with that you will loose Lancelot, if it is possible to loose something you never had.
You are avoiding him, and he is noticing it, but you cannot force yourself to act normal, pain affects you too. That's why you don't sleep, that's why you scout instead.
You told Arthur that the refugees endangered the mission, that you'd never make it with them there, and now you struggle to prove your own words untrue. A few days ahead freedom awaits.
You only have to get them to the wall.
Everything is falling apart. Dagonet is dead and within a few days time, unless you all are killed first, the brotherhood of Sarmatian knights will crumble, the time of service ended. The Saxon army is invading, coming to destroy what friends, knights, have died to protect. Bitterly you wonder why pain only comes to decent men, to those who fight for a just cause.
The sky overhead reflects your mood, as do your fellow knights, except maybe Tristan who is as unreadable as ever. Has he got any sleep at all these last few days? Silently you worry for him. From the look of it he has lived on his horse, returning only to report and scouting, keeping a constant vigil, the rest of the time.
And if you did not know better you would swear that he has been avoiding you. Somehow that thought hurts.
They are safe. The wall is just a few hours ride ahead, you have seen it, the Saxons will never catch up in time. They will live.
"He will live," you whisper to your hawk. She cocks her head as if to say "I told you so," and your face crack up in a maniacal grin.
They (he) will live.
Freedom, yes, and death. Dagonet's burial is painful, all faces so closed off.
You stand next to Tristan – to catch him when he falls, but somehow he manages to keep on his feet the whole time. Sometimes endurance can be scary.
You are free, the knights are free, finally free. Some will celebrate it at the tavern – will Lancelot? – but not you. Not you. You will sleep, before you either lose consciousness or do something stupid from longing and tiredness.
Dagonet's funeral was a wracking experience, but not even grief will keep you up this night. Only habit has you grooming your horse, but then again she deserves it after what you've put her through these last few days, were it not for her you would be in your room, asleep, right now.
Tonight Guinevere will go to Arthur. You are happy for him, she is a lovely lady.
Tonight, tonight you will go to Tristan.
You open the door to his chamber and slip in, closing it behind you. The sight that greets you inside takes your breath away.
Tristan lies on the bed, clad only in moonlight and a sheet. The air is crisp, he has left the window open, and his breath is a silvery cloud. He sleeps like you never have seen him sleep before, and even if you want him like you want nothing else you don't have the heart to wake him.
Still you cannot resist running a finger down his cheek, over the tattoo, down to the corner of his mouth. Tristan mumbles something and opens eyes hazed with sleep and longing. He doesn't seem surprised to see you, the shadow of a smile plays around his lips, but already you can see him waking, reining in any emotion. Before he is fully awake to protest, you bend down and kiss him.
"Shh… Go to sleep," you whisper against his lips, and his eyes close again.
Then you turn and leave.
There will be more nights.
You would have thought that you would sleep dreamlessly as tired as you was, but you did dream, and your dreams were filled with Lancelot. Lancelot fighting, Lancelot laughing, Lancelot kissing you, Lancelot telling you to go to sleep. Lancelot caressing your face softly.
You wake tangled in your sheet, so aroused that it is painful to move. It will take time to compose yourself – to force that desire under control – enough to be able to face the world.
Come morning you are still unsettled, and Arthur's forlorn, sad gaze only worsens that feeling as you pack your things to finally leave this accursed island. Without thinking you keep Lancelot in sight the whole time, after weeks of avoiding him you suddenly cannot seem to tear yourself from his side.
War is heavy in the air and everybody, even the stoic horses, are skittish, complicating the packing, but also speeding it up. And so you leave, an oddly quiet end to fifteen years of death and battles.
You ride side by side with Lancelot, looking at him now and then. A few more days and your ways will part, thinking of that the pain is exquisite and you feel cold, even though the sun is shining. You turn you head and this time Lancelot meets you eyes. There is promise in them – "Tonight". Cold? No, you are not cold, you are warm, and the pain is just a memory.
Something shifts, some little thing becomes different, and as one the knights realise that their commander needs them. The caravan halts, and furious activity begins, who can get ready to get killed first?
You dress, dress for war beside Lancelot this last time. The promise in his eyes is still there, but has changed slightly – "If we live."
You know that your eyes answer.
As you ride to join Arthur you feel Tristan at your side. Somehow you have grown so very close, and yet not close, these last days.
Even since the Romans came to get you, your future has been uncertain, but this battle seem to you like a black abyss. Death is closer now than ever before just because you have something to loose.
In the past lies bittersweet regrets, before you, the Saxon army, and an almost certain death. Death or freedom, unless a miracle happens this is one of the last times you will see him. Unable to resist you turn your head and share a last look with him, Tristan, your might-have-been lover, before you surge ahead to halt beside Arthur.
- finis -
A/N: Fluffy angst, is it possible? Ah well, at least sappy angst….
(… and, as all writers: please, please, review! Please?)