═ 𝘚𝘰𝘯 𝘖𝘧 𝘉𝘢𝘯 ═
Lancelot is reunited with the Ash folk and Ari prompts him to make a decision.
Ban. That name faded on the wind.
Lancelot's hand slid from the face of the hound down to his side, stinging pricking at the corners of his eyes. The trees were caving to the ground, weeping lower and lower. Shrinking the trail where the people emerged. Their faces appeared between heads of others, one by one, a shiver spread though his spine and arms.
He could not be seeing this. It's a trick— it must be. He could not be seeing—
"Lancelot?" The man who had called him by his father's name shuffled forwards, his brow pinching as he viewed him.
Lancelot swallowed convulsively. The patches of deep crimson beneath the man's aged eyes were like Hector's. It wasn't possible. No others had survived. His throat went uncomfortably dry.
"By gods!" The man was overcome with recognition. "Lancelot, you are a man!"
The greying elder rushed forwards to him with his arms wide and welcoming but Lancelot stepped back, thrusting his hand out between them. The other palm ghosted over his sword instinctively in warning.
His eyes stung and his nose was stuffy. He did not know these people. All forty or so of them standing behind the one who'd called his name. But their discoloured fingertips and dark under-eyes said that he did. He had to.
They were Ash.
The man came no closer, his eager expression alight with both concern and relief, taking note of the long sword that Lancelot was ready to draw.
In the stillness, Lancelot took his first breath in Hidden knows how long. Staring out at the many faces and standing alone in front of them all. The hound had slipped away without him noticing and sat itself down in the grass at the edge of the trail. Lancelot stared and stared, his body rigid, mouth agape. Then the one who had said his name crept in small steps, closer.
The grip that Lancelot had on his sword tightened and his other palm pushed further out in mid air. Words still were stuck on his tongue. He did not want to draw the blade but right now he had no other way to demand space.
The man took half a step back. Then his throat bobbed. "You were a boy," he said with an imploring voice that had no edge, "you will not remember me but— I am Tomas. I worked in your father's kitchens at Joyous Gard." He added with a throaty, good-natured laugh, "You used to steal my red berry pies each winter."
Pies. Red berry pies... Crisp pastry weaving over the mix in a lattice that looked like a tree— his tree. His family's crest. Lancelot remembered.
"Tomas," he breathed, his brow pulling taut and his heartbeat pounding within his ears.
If this was true and Tomas was here and this crowd of people were really all Ash— Lancelot's nose was too stuffed to scent anything in the air— then they had survived the night filled with fire.
He had never in his life been the only one that he thought he was.
The ground felt like it were slipping beneath him again.
Lancelot lowered his slightly shaking outstretched hand and looked at Tomas. The man was shorter than himself, sloping shoulders, an almost bald head with few prickling white hairs over a round and older face. His eyes were familiar— blue like the palest winter sky and kind, wise. Marked underneath by unbroken tears of the Ash. His hands that clasped in front of his threadbare quilted blue coat were crimson at the fingertips.
It was all too much for Lancelot to take in at once. He didn't have to when he heard the sound of thundering hooves behind him. He whirred around and saw Ari atop her golden horse, a small escort of Hanna and Kaze by her sides. A Fawn ran in the trail beside them.
The others in the advanced group moved aside and let them come through. Lancelot saw the second that realisation crossed over Ari's face, her eyes looking far beyond him. Their horses slowed and for a moment she stared and gaped as he had done.
Ari could not believe what she was seeing. It was a sea of dark hair and pale eyes, eyes like the ocean. Hands which were marked like Hector's at the fingertips. And Lancelot was standing in front of them all, looking like he were one of them.
She'd seen that fear on his face before. It was the same as when the Ash stone had thrown him from the Between into the real world— quietly pleading with her for help. Leaving her horse with Kaze, she joined him, and only then did she notice the white hound laying in the grass and watching her every move. Her step faltered but the hound did nothing.
A thick lump set in Ari's throat as she put herself beside her lover. "Lance?" Her voice croaked now that she could almost reach out and touch the lines surrounding the hurt in his eyes. Burden me... She didn't, but she wanted to.
He released a shuddery breath, only able to utter to her, "They are Ash."
Ari tried to contain her relief for Lancelot's sake. He did not look as though he could think of anything else, and as if he was one sudden movement away from taking flight. A few of the Ash were muttering between themselves, wondering if it was Ban's son standing before them, loud enough for Ari to hear.
The rest of the forest was still.
But Lancelot trembled. Ari took a deep and deliberate breath, one that encouraged him to do the same before she had to take up her crown. She heard his burdened exhale, and only when he gave her the slightest nod and lowered his gaze did she step towards the Ash.
In their eyes which brightened, she saw hope. She saw a look of people returning home from a long journey. But what was she supposed to say? In her mind, Lancelot and Hector were the last Ash folk to exist. A simple 'hello' could not suffice.
She didn't have to say anything. Lancelot slipped himself at her side and— seemingly more composed now— gestured his palm out flat to her.
"Queen Arianne Sunborn," he said in a courteous tone by way of introduction, not knowing if the Ash folk would realise that she was their queen or not. It had been twenty five summers since the Burning Night and much had changed.
"Oh! Your Grace!" Tomas exhaled.
Before Ari could blink, the Ash bowed to their knees. The few children and the frail, included. Her tongue flailed and she looked to Lancelot. Even he seemed taken aback. She'd thought that her hair and her eyes might have given her title away.
Trying not to sound too demeaning of the long-outdated custom, she moved to the older man who had singled himself out and touched his shoulder.
"Please, do not kneel, it is unnecessary," she said kindly, and loud enough that hopefully they might all hear.
Tomas lifted his eyes up to her before he, with a bit of a wobble from aged bones, stood back to his feet. The rest of the Ash followed his lead. He gave her an awkward few bobs of his head, but he smiled broadly, and the hope was there again in his eyes.
"Where have you come from?" Ari asked him, still not believing that they were here at all. She felt Lancelot edge towards her side. He, more than her, deserved to hear this.
"We fled from the shore," Tomas said, holding his hands together in front of him. "The Red Paladins had not destroyed the old boats beneath the cliff." He passed a glance at Lancelot, Ari did too. She could see in his eyes as they began to glaze that he were trying to remember his home. "We took them and sailed north, far north to more caves. We lost many along the way to sickness, but we have survived."
His shallow smile and lightness, despite all that had happened to them, was heart-warming.
"You have lived there for all this time?" Ari asked, hoping that it would explain why the whole kingdom had believed the Ash to be extinct.
"We have."
She released a long breath and let her shoulders drop, feeling as though she would shortly need something or someone to catch her. Twenty-five summers of living in the ice caves— Ari could not imagine the hardship. She too was exiled, yes, but in the forests she had still had a full life. And it was almost complete.
Ari shifted her eyes with care to Lancelot. His mouth was pulled tight, and he was staring with a blankness to the ground past this elder Ash man. These revelations were a lot for him to understand, she knew that. He'd been dealt so many low blows since before they had even met that she didn't know how he could even stand. She was all too aware of how much she herself struggled some days.
It was clear that he wasn't ready to say anything quite yet, so Ari asked the Ash, "How have you found us?" He took a second to answer, and when he did, his voice was more solemn.
"The hound had never called us from the caves before, not until a moon ago." Tomas gestured at the creature and Ari followed to peer at how it was laying in the grass some fifteen feet away, just watching their interaction with its blood red eyes. "We followed it all the way here."
So the hound had led them. That meant that— Ari whirred around to Lancelot and saw in his new alertness that he had realised it too. Every time that the hound had appeared before them, it was indeed following him. They hadn't known why, but now it couldn't had been more obvious.
It had never attacked, and on that precious night on the ledge had stood guarding the lovers all night.
The hound obeyed him because—
"It led you to me," Lancelot said, his voice low and hoarse.
Tomas gave a mellow nod, and while Lancelot stared past Ari's shoulder at the hound, he felt himself being considered by Tomas, too.
"It is... Lancelot?" Tomas asked meekly, like he was not entirely sure.
Lancelot gave a single short nod and Tomas nearly fell to the ground with the ease that washed over him. But he caught himself before his knees could give way and beamed.
"We had hoped you would survive," Tomas gushed. "Did your father? And your... oh. I am sorry." He drew back his hopefulness when Lancelot's head shook before he had even finished asking the question.
"Me too," Lancelot said tightly.
Ari stopped herself from reaching the mere inches for Lancelot's hand. Their love affair was still to remain uncommon knowledge for now, though she more than desperately wanted to wrap him into her arms.
Tomas did not shift his gentle blue gaze away from Lancelot, looking over each and every line and feature. He said in rather a sullen tone, "I knew Lord Ban well, if I may say so. He was a good man."
Lancelot ground his jaw at those words. The words that he kept on hearing. Reminders of the legacy of such a great man that he had failed as soon as the legacy had begun.
Ari thought that, after all these years, the Ash who had remained couldn't have expected to find that Ban nor his wife were still alive. But Ban's sons, were. And all of these people facing them, too. So there was hope yet.
"You must all come with us," she said to the man whom she still didn't know the name of, "we are travelling home down this road."
Tomas' eyes brightened, peering past her at the other riders some twenty paces away. "There are more of you? More Fey?" he asked.
Ari thought it best to be frank. "We are spread through the kingdom. Paladins have not given up and we are on the brink of war." She offered what she hoped to be an encouraging smile as Tomas fixed on her. "But my forest is our centre, and we will always make room for more."
In a wave of something that Lancelot didn't know the name of, he— for maybe the first time— felt right the be stood at Ari's side. As if he deserved to be the one there, listening to her offering his people shelter with them. He felt a fraction taller though he had not moved. It felt... right.
"I should... speak with the others," Tomas said, glancing over his shoulder.
"Of course." Ari nodded.
Tomas half bowed to her and re-joined the crowd of Ash. They huddled around him, seemingly the leader amongst them.
Nerves were written in Lancelot's eyes and tight mouth, and Ari could see him straining to listen to all of the quietened voices.
He was Ban's heir, the rightful leader of the Ash by blood. He would have his doubts, but he could take his father's place if he wanted it. Though it would mean uncovering Lancelot's secrets to the rest of the Fey— few of which were already knowing of his noble birth. And it would mean dragging the rest of his past that they'd put behind them, to the surface.
The Ash would need to learn of The Weeping Monk.
Ari fiddled with the inner of her cloak, deciding what to do. There would be many in her forest who would disagree with Lancelot being the Ash elder, but she'd told him countless times before now that their opinions in that way did not matter. Yet, they did. They had every right to decide who led them.
She hushed her voice to Lancelot. "Your father would have wanted you to lead them."
Stood stiff, Lancelot shook his head as he watched the Ash. "The Fey will question it," he said tightly. They had only just accepted him, and he did not want to push too far. The Fey did not often like him doing most things. To be raised to a leader amongst them will cause a fuss.
"It is about time that they learned the truth," Ari said, "if this is what you want."
Honesty, Lancelot had promised the Fey honesty when they had allowed him his life. To live without secrets would be the greatest weight relieved from his chest. If he declined, then the Ash would be welcomed, nonetheless. But if he accepted... he would have what he always wanted in his life.
Purpose.
Tomas returned; his hands folded together in front of him. "We would happily accept your offer, your grace," he said with a genuine thanks in his smile.
"It is still a few hours from here."
"We have come this far, we will manage." Tomas gave an innocent shrug of his sloped shoulders.
Ari nodded, proud of such perseverance, and felt a touch to her elbow. She hadn't received Lancelot's answer before the older Ash man had returned, though he answered her then.
She took a breath as Tomas' eyes flicked from one to the other with the silent conversation between them. Relief was in her heart, but her mind was more aware of the trickiness which was to follow. Finding the right words was harder than she had thought.
"Ban... was once your leader," she said to Tomas, approaching the topic with care. "And I do not know yet of how you who survived the Burning Night have lived." His pale blue eyes watched her keenly, almost leaning forwards into what she was trying to say. "But we do still believe in succession when it is right."
She addressed the crowd of Ash folk, tired and worn from their long journey through the kingdom. "The clans in our forest each have someone who represents them on my council, and if you wish, then Lancelot—" she looked to him in case he had changed his mind— "can be your voice."
Lancelot felt his heartbeat jump.
Tomas' gaze darted to him, and the flash of hope spread on his round face again. "Sire, you will lead us?"
He'd never wanted to. He'd never believed that he should have the honour. Ruling over the Fey was something the Weeping Monk had no right to do.
But the Weeping Monk was long gone. Fey no longer looked at him so sharply. Ban had been a great man and everyone who had known him had told Lancelot so. Taking his place could be the once chance that he might have to make his father proud.
And so, when he'd touched her elbow and Ari had looked to him, he'd set his eyes on hers with a new purpose and nodded. He'd faced worse fears than this. Whatever would come, he would handle it.
Lancelot looked to Tomas and knew that this is what he was meant to do. "I am not a Lord," he said with the slightest shake of his head. "I am just Lancelot."
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wc: 2.8k
It wasn't intentional that I left updating for so long (so sorry). I've been ill and I just kept on forgetting.
Anyway, THE ASH ARE ALIVE!