[2] WEEPING MONK║you're not what I was looking for

56| Tears Of A Monk - 𝐈𝐈

But Squirrel did anyway. "What?"

"You have not eaten. Go with Gawain."

The boy protested. "But I want to be here. What if Ari wakes up and I'm not here?" It was not a question so much as a demand, his small voice straining.

"I will send for you if she does." Lancelot wet his dried out lips. He tilted his chin up towards the entrance, ignoring the concern in Gawain's eyes. "Go on, eat," he said to Squirrel.

Gawain knew that Lancelot was right, and he agreed. Squirrel stood defiant but he persuaded him that it was for the best for him to leave for a while. He ushered the child out of the tent, telling him to wait before he came back inside.

He stood at Lancelot's shoulder, softening his voice. "Ash man you are pale."

"I am fine."

"You need to come—"

"I do not need you to tell me what to do," Lancelot snapped, sharply turning his face up to Gawain.

The tears beneath his eyes were far darker than Gawain had ever seen them before. It was not fair to argue with him with Ari laying as she was beside them. He sucked on his cheek, since no amount of water could douse the flames in Lancelot's eyes.

"I will make sure that the boy eats and rests," he told him. "You should do the same."

Gawain twisted to leave, allowing his eyes to settle on Ari for a moment first. He could not bear it for more than a couple of seconds. Seeing her like this, sedated beneath layers of blankets to keep her warm, only brought up regrets in his mind. Things that he wished he would have said when he knew that he still had the chance.

The shadow moved away from Lancelot's side. One, two, three, four steps before he stopped the knight.

"Gawain." The near redhead turned back, regarding him with an expression that he couldn't read. Lancelot would not have spoken to him like that if it were someone less important to him laying here. "Thank you," he said solemnly, receiving a nod before the closing of the veil plunged him into a semi darkness.

Gawain found Squirrel waiting like he had asked, nudging a tiny stone around with his toes. The various offerings for prayers were holding his attention, spread around the outside of Ari's tent with a narrow pathway created down the middle. He stepped up next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him away.

"How are you holding up Percival?" Gawain knew that the boy was far from fine when he did not bite at his given name.

"Lance saved her from drowning once," Squirrel muttered, a tautness in his young voice. "He brought her back to life." The boy's turned down head shook from side to side, then lifted up to the knight with big, round eyes. "I don't think he knows how to do it this time."

The last sliver of light had faded away as the tent veil closed, and Lancelot found himself finally alone. Completely.

Falling down from the stool, his knees hit the earth, shifting closer to Ari while he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Her skin was so cold, there was no other way to have to say it. The blankets covering her were not enough. His eyes welled, wishing that he could keep her warm. He had done it that night on the ledge so why couldn't he do it now? It only made the blame that he felt feel so much more intense.

Whatever sanity that Lancelot had left was dwindling away. He had not allowed himself to cry — not at all and certainly not in front of Squirrel. Warriors didn't cry. But as he watched the woman whom he loved with every inch of his being lay so still, he found it impossible to hold back for any longer.