[CW/ Threatening language]
Ari's army reaches the White Hart fields of Avalon. Lancelot finally makes a bold confession.
The watch was about to head back to the base camp and swap with the next set of scouts, when Nyra lifted her head. She'd been silently waiting and watching like the group for all this time but now her hackles were raised as she growled towards the far forest on the horizon.
Her reaction had Lancelot by her side in an instant. The whole group turning tail and gathering in.
Ari strained to see across the landscape once more. There wasn't much to see through the thin layer of fog. She could only make out a flicker of light like a torch and shadows shifting.
"Riders," Lancelot said lowly. "A dozen of them."
Ice curled down Ari's spine. Why would a group so small be so obvious in approaching?
Henry arched a brow, adding, "They aren't very good spies." Which is what Ari was thinking.
"They are not spying," Lancelot replied mildly, his gaze shifting over towards Ari. "They want to talk."
She inhaled a slow drag of bitter forest air. There'd been every chance of a negotiation happening, though she hadn't thought much if it. And certainly not tonight. The enemies of her people had never held themselves back before now.
The riders had broken from the opposite tree-line on the horizon and were trekking across the open lands, albeit slowly. There was too little light and too much grey haze to the air to determine what colours they wore. Red or blue. Either way, they were going to end their ride here if Ari didn't move.
"We ride out," she said, thinking it better to keep them from getting much closer, "match their numbers."
Messengers arrived in haste from the other watch stations, Fawns who bounded faster than any other Fae, at the same time as the scouts who'd come to relieve Ari's group reached their position. With the other watch stations ordered to stand down and stay put, they gathered their horses with the new arrivals and rode out. A dozen to match whoever deemed darkness necessary to cross the open land.
The two convoys met halfway in the field of low grass which— come tomorrow— would decide which crown claimed victory. Ari wasn't amused by who it was that they found.
"Does your red keeper know that you are here?" she said, her horse halting head on to King Uther's.
"Queen Arianne Sunborn." Uther looked her over, lit only by a few torches on each side of this standstill. He looked almost inspired by what he saw. "I see that you now wear a crown."
The ways in which some men tried to grapple for dominance had often baffled Ari. The thin band of gold upon Uther's raven head didn't shine in the moonlight. He'd had the gall to comment on her own lack there of, before.
Last time that they had met, she had needed his army. But not any more. She sat straight in Dusty's saddle yet still relaxed, unperturbed. These were to be rightfully her lands in which he stood on.
"You have one minute of my time, Uther," Ari declared, "before I decide to kill you where you sit." His guards moved to grip their sword hilts. "Do not think about it," Ari bit at them. She was not in the mood for playing games tonight.
"Your king came to me," she said, levelling Uther's eye as many hands reluctantly retreated to their reins. "Speak."
Uther reared his head and squared his shoulders, another meek effort for authority.
"You did not respond to the letter which I sent for you when we last met," he said, voice like honey. Ari didn't trust it one bit.
"Did that hurt your feelings?" Her lips met in a tiny pout.
Henry snickered from atop his horse a few lengths over.
Uther's mouth curved despite her condescension, but Ari could see the vexation in his eyes. Like a child who'd been told 'no'. She wanted to get under his skin, to crawl there like spiders and make him itch.
With no barriers to deflect the breeze, the cold air stung Ari's skin on her cheeks. It was clear that Uther had a reason for being here, she suspected without any Paladin's knowledge, and she was going to get it or leave. With or without his head.
"You aligned with the wrong side, Uther," she said. Cutting to the point. "What do you want?"
"The Red Paladins are out of control," he answered a terse moment later.
"You started this war," Ari reminded him. "You allowed them to scourge the kingdom."
"And nothing good has come of it!" Uther barked. "People are starving. Crop fields are destroyed."
A scoff flew passed Ari's lips. When had he ever cared for the people in this kingdom before now?
"Your land is in ruins and you allowed it," she said sternly.
"Carden was a bastard who worked his way into my ear." Uther rolled his eyes, the action spitting fire into Ari's blood. "I was young and naive and I regret ever allowing him to do so." Though his remorse was unconvincing. The human king had backed himself into a corner and he knew it.
Nervous whinnies broke out and rippled through from the farthest rank of Uther's men. Hooves started to pat upon the ground. Uther's own horse even began to dance.
"What is happening?" he looked wide-eyed all around him.
Ari's lips tugged at the slight quiver in Uther's voice, unabashed in letting her smugness show as Nyra crept out of the hazy shadows behind his men. Her hulking body stalked towards his guard and Ari knew the moment Uther noted the creature. His fists turned white around his reins, the same ghostliness which his face drained to be.
The queen's riders watched on with the same amusement as his horses skittered, fighting their riders to stay still. Nyra rumbled a low warning sound.
"Your greed has torn this land apart," Ari said to Uther's profile. The muscles in his jaw worrying. His face flashed back to her though his horse refused to comply. Teetering, ready to bolt. "So either you fight with us against the Red Paladins," she added, "or you die fighting me. It is your choice."
"That is why I am accepting your offer."
Ari reared her head above her shoulders. When they'd met, she'd offered him an alliance so that they might fight the Red Paladins as one and be done with them. Uther had already been at war with the church— all her plans had been bet on his acceptance. Yet he had refused.
Her stomach unsettled. This sudden turn of allegiance right on the eve of battle had the strong scent of deceit and she would not be played for a fool.
A disbelieving grunt on her side sounded as though it came from Kaze.
In her silence, Ari watched Uther fidget in his saddle as Nyra prowled back and forth around his guards. Her head low and ready to take a nip at whoever's heel she liked. His horses certainly weren't fond of her presence, but the Queen's were used to the beast by now.
"They are our common grievance," Uther hurriedly echoed her words from when they had first met. Heels nudging into an obsidian coat. "I have played them to allow my men time to rest and heal," he said. "To learn how Abbot Wicklow, who I believe that you have met, plans to sever your head from your body."
Beside her, Lancelot lowly growled at the subtle threat— an actual rumble from his throat. Ari paid him no mind. Why should she control him?
So far Uther had only proved that her assumptions of him were right: that he preferred his underhand games to damaging his image. Though he deserved a miniscule credit for using whatever puny brain was inside of his head this time. Playing the Paladins and pretending a truce was indeed a cunning tactic.
Ari felt the shift amongst her people. She'd been threatened before— she knew the risks to her own life given the crown atop her head. A simple word from her could have Hanna swinging his axe, Gawain and Arthur drawing their swords on horseback and Kaze's daggers gliding through the air. Henry— she was yet to see him fight, yet she felt safe enough knowing that Lance would be at the human king's throat before she could completely utter her command.
She could end half of her problems right here and right now.
Yet, she chose to give Uther a shallow benefit of doubt.
"How do I know that you are not playing me as well?" Ari raised her voice.
One of Uther's horses let out a panicked squeal and bolted as Nyra nipped at the air. It wasn't the only creature that wanted to run.
Uther scrambled for an answer to the backdrop of hooves like thunder. "I want things to go back to how they were, how we lived in peace in our fathers' time— get that thing away!"
In the corner of her eye, Ari glanced at the smugness on Lancelot's face. He would do no such thing.
Returning to Uther she rested her hands, one wrist over the other, on the pommel of Dusty's saddle. "Then you must give up your crown," she said mildly.
"I will not," Uther snapped.
Ari shrugged in return, indifferent to his answer. To rebuild the courts was the aim to bring peace, but after all that had happened in the last quarter-century under Uther's rule, she wasn't willing to subject her Fey to his command any longer. He could not even keep his own riders from fleeing in a stampede of long legged limbs in this moment.
Uther ignored her silence, not seeming to realise that he and his horse were now alone with the beast. "I will fight with you in this battle but the throne for this kingdom is mine!"
She shook her head. "Your people have deserted you. The entire army of the South is under my command. Fae will not accept you as their crown. If you want peace, then there are only two options for you," she warned as Nyra eyed his horse, coming around its side, "and the second does not seem so... pleasant."
As if on command, Nyra bared her fangs, her jowls twitching as if preparing for a feast.
Uther bristled and straightened in his saddle. The dwindling torchlights in the hands of Ari's scouts caught the twitch in his rigid jaw while he stole glances at the beast.
The hook that the human king had caught himself on did not look too comfortable from where Ari was sitting. With only two options: to fight with her or against her, he didn't have much choice. His army had been at arms with the Red Paladins for months before this truce. Ari doubted that amongst their camps, there was much enthusiasm to stand side by side now.
Nyra kept on stealing the corner of Uther's gaze as he sat, unspeaking for once. His breath puffed clouds into the air in quick succession.
"The knife in your hand becomes bloodier each minute," Ari dropped her voice. "You have until dawn to decide who's back you will stab with it. And if that is mine—"
Taking stance nearby Dusty's shoulder, Nyra snarled directly at the human king.
"—Then I will spear you with it." Venom dripped through Ari's words. Her face steeled in the moonlight as she accepted his plea. "It is in your best interest, for the sake of your pretty head, to not cross me again."
Fixing his eyes upon her, Uther glowered with as much scorn that Ari had ever seen on a man— his eyes darker than the night sky. His anger simmered within them. She hadn't thought he was one to ever take threats too seriously, but his reaction here was what she had hoped for. Her voice was being heard loud and clear.
One undignified flare of Uther's nose, and she had won.
Uther snapped, "We will draw the Paladins away from your people." A harsh yank of his horse's rein turned the creature away. "We will see you on the battlefield."
~~~
The Ash Stone had not left Lancelot's side since he used it last, when he'd taken Morwenna and her son Tristan to the Between. The weight of it felt heavier than it used to, as if by using it, it had gathered some meaning. As it turned in his palm, catching glints of the fire before him, he couldn't seem to look away. The smooth surface felt like a comfort to his mind which tossed and turned and crashed like waves breaking in a rocky bay.
Why now would he think of the place which he once called home? Of Joyous Gard and the lands which technically belonged to him now. In the Between, he'd been closer to those ruins than he had been since he was a child. What even did they look like now?
Had the pale grasslands on the cliffs overgrown and consumed the coastal paths he used to walk? Was the castle nothing but a carcass of stone, or had some human lord rebuilt from what was left? He'd never asked in his adult years. He'd never cared to know, when that part of his life had been buried underground.
But now it was too late.
There was every chance that he might never see those golden shores again. Never be able to walk with Ari, arm in arm along the cliff's edge and show her the vast blue of the Eastern Shore. Smell the salt and brine in the air. Squirrel would never learn the perils of catching crabs from a sail boat in the blazing summer sun.
He breathed in the smoke of the lazy fire he stood beside. Around the camp, barrels hammered out of tin contained small tinder fires, with a lid on the ground ready to snuff out the flames.
In Lancelot's palm, the yellow flecks beneath the stone's surface slowly swam, dodging the whites and blues motioning over the black. He felt a need to keep it close, to keep it warm. As if the chill in the air would steal its power. The mass of new bodies around him pressed on the limit of his ability to ignore his senses, so in this stone, he grounded himself. Simply waiting for the dawn when only an hour ago he'd been face to face with their enemy.
A throat cleared a few feet in front of him.
Lancelot whipped up his head, finding that over the thin grey tendrils, Adrian was watching him. It was the calm observance that he had grown used to where the Old King was concerned. Adrian took one look at his glum expression and stepped around the calmly flaming barrel to his side.
"Are you well?" He asked the younger.
He answered with a simple nod, an action that Lancelot didn't doubt Adrian would see straight through.
Adrian offered his palms out to the fire, and for a few moments they both looked out over the rising fingers of smoke to the tightly packed rows and rows of tents that blanketed the field. This pathway was lit again by a barrel another eighty paces or so along, and another a further eighty or hundred after that. Behind them and where the trails broke off was much the same, and fighters had their own lanterns dimly illuminating inside of their shared tents for extra warmth.
Lancelot didn't attempt to hide the stone out of sight, not sure if Adrian knew of what it was or not— the magic that it held. Either way, that was another thing which did not matter so much any more.
Distracted by his thoughts, he turned the stone absently between his fingers.
"What is on your mind?" Adrian's voice like the serenest evening breeze crossing the pitch sky drew him back.
"Squirrel." The answer slipped straight off of Lancelot's gruff tongue. He knew it was for the best, yet he still couldn't help but feel as though he had left the boy behind. Perhaps giving Squirrel his amulet was wrong? Presumptuous? But it all the more filled him with both determination and dread that he needed to return to collect. Because if he didn't... then that would only mean one thing.
I will do everything that I can to find you again.
Adrian let out an almost silent 'ah'. He drew his hands back from reaching towards the fire to beneath the cover of his cloak.
"There are few things in this world that hurt more than walking away from a child," Adrian said with a melancholy that was speaking from experience, "not knowing if you will ever hear their laughter again."
Lancelot's heart dropped and he tried not to let it. Like he was reaching inside and tugging on the tendons himself to keep it afloat. Swallowing, he cast his eyes off away from the man beside him.
He'd thought that his resentment for how the Old King had abandoned his own daughter had gone, but it tickled then in the back of his throat. An annoying sickly itch that made him want to gag. He had heard Adrian's reasons for doing what he had done and yet still none of them were good enough. Ari deserved better than being left like she was.
"Allow yourself to be upset, and then move on, Lancelot. You will have a greater chance of returning to the boy if you do."
"Is that what you did?" Lancelot asked, controlling his bite. "Ten summers ago?"
A curtain of silver hair draped as Adrian dipped his chin. Lancelot felt the burden of his sigh. "I had little other choice. Fate brought Arianne and I back together." He paused for a moment, flicking his gaze Lancelot's way. "As did you."
He was always doing that— saying things in which Lancelot had to decipher. It was tiresome. He didn't think that he would ever understand whatever he had been unwittingly caught up within. Why him? The question rattled through his brain often enough. What was so special about his life that it needed protecting?
Lancelot let that comment go, flattening the crease that had pulled between his brow as he returned his gaze to the barrel. The flames inside danced off of the shiny interior, the dry chips of timber flicker embers up into the air. Gently crackling away.
The Ash stone had warmed in his palm. He wondered if there was another way that it could be used— if it could not only let him see his past, but take him to the present, too. Only, somewhere else. To someone. They'd kept it a secret, but what if good could come of it?
How many hearts would be eased knowing that one stone could show them a loved one?
How many soldiers here would die without ever seeing their family's again?
What if he could see Squirrel again...
"Thank you," Lancelot said timidly.
He stunned Adrian out of his contemplative stupor. "For what?"
"For always speaking what I have needed to hear."
When they met each other's eyes, it was a silent understanding, like the one they shared a few nights before in the banquet hall. No more words needed to be said. For all his cloak and dagger, Adrian had never lied to him. And that was more than any man had ever given him the courtesy of before.
People wandered passed them, some with whatever ration of supper they could gather from the cooks' tents to warm their hands, others with their arms on the shoulders of their comrades.
The air sat thick with anticipation.
Beyond the stretches of woodlands and across the fields, the armies of the Red Paladins and the human king were waiting just the same as they were here. Unsure of what daybreak would bring.
Lancelot didn't hold his breath that Uther would stay true to his word— he'd only run out of air. And he needed to breathe if he was to fight tomorrow.
"Ari has not convinced you to stay away from the battlefield?" he asked the man beside him. Expecting a breath of a chuckle or a scoff at least.
But Adrian's response was grave. "We all must play our part."
He knew better than to ask what that meant.
The days of riding had pulled the healing muscle over Lancelot's hip taut, achingly so, and the bitter breeze did not help, either. He didn't want to fight. His sword hadn't been raised against another in earnest since he'd been injured. Though he'd trained with Hector, Arthur, Kaze, Gawain and the others, the pains kept on coming. Lancelot swallowed them all down— he'd experienced worse than this. But tomorrow he could not afford to limp, he needed his body to run like well oiled cogs seamlessly.
Lancelot knew that, war or not, he didn't have many fights left in him. Someday soon his sword would be hung up for good and he was content to let it.
His grip loosened on the Ash stone and Lancelot caught both himself and it before it fell.
Adrian jolted at is movement. A quick turn of his head that had him looking down to Lancelot's hands.
Lancelot clenched his fist around the stone but he knew it was too late. The Ash stone had captured the Old King's attention, but his curiosity doesn't push him so much as to ask.
Instead— "Keep it with you," Adrian suggested, as Lancelot held a bated breath. "It might perhaps bring you some luck."
Did he know? Or did he just believe it to be a pretty trinket?
Smoke from the barrel carried in a cloud towards them as the breeze picked up, making Lancelot turn his face towards Adrian.
"I do not believe in luck," he said, but clutched onto the stone even tighter.
"Ah—" One of Adrian's dark brows raised— "but do you believe in the wisdom of old men?"
Resistance was futile— Lancelot's lips twitched. A slight tick of amusement.
Adrian, smiling in return as though they were not a night away from war, clasped him on the shoulder. "This old man needs rest," he said, giving one final pat on Lancelot's shoulder before his hand slid away. "Have a good night, son."
Lancelot watched the Old King retreat towards the sleeping tents and then disappear amongst the wanderers, unsure of what had just passed between them.
He thought that he should find a tent for the night too, and preferably away from the dug out latrines. Larger tents for meetings had been erected in the centre of the camp, with nobles and leaders orbiting around. Ari's tent was amongst them and if anything, one of the most plain. She did not need to mark her sleeping self out as a target should any of their enemy attempt to sneak into the camp tonight.
Though there would be scouts circling through the night, ready to sound the horns if trouble was near, most who had gathered looked as though they were preparing for rest. Disappearing into tents and beneath shelters. The queen's army had split itself across more than one field to ward off the chance of being surrounded like sheep, yet this is where Ari herself would remain.
Slipping the stone through the arm hole of his tunic and into the inner pocket on his chest, Lancelot left the last of the tinder in this barrel burning and walked off to find a cot for the night. Hector was staying with Pym where the other healers were positioned, and he wouldn't dare intrude on them now that the moon was high. The ground was hardening with the dipping temperature which meant an uncomfortable night if he couldn't find a corner to close his eyes.
Absently, he glanced down the rows of tents that lead off of this track. Searching for nothing in particular. People sat with their own small glowing fires and were chatting through the last hours of peace. Some were taking others by the waist and stealing kisses in the moonlight.
Lancelot let his feet carry him inwards towards the larger tents, to what had effectively become a clearing. With log fires burning and both humans and Fey gathered around them. Though there was quiet. The calm before the storm.
With each step, his thoughts swayed between his own mortality and the one person who he wished to be near to tonight, in any way that he could get.
Since they'd returned from the watch, he hadn't seen Ari. After meeting with Uther, she'd called her war council together as soon as her boots had landed on the ground. Uther hadn't demanded much. Only that all of her plans be changed yet again. Lancelot didn't trust the snake at all but these weren't his decisions to make. He'd given Ari his advice on Uther several times and there wasn't any more to be said.
And if Uther crossed his sword on the battle field... then friend or foe, Lancelot wasn't going to hold back.
He hadn't deigned it necessary to stand through a word by word account of what he had already endured once, and so he hadn't stayed when the tent had begun to fill. He could see across the clearing now that the war tent was empty. Only a couple of lanterns left illuminating the parchments on the collapsible table.
A figure crossed into his view. One that stopped when they saw him and then started again, redirecting themselves towards him. Dressed in dark leathers and their sword hanging from their hip.
Arthur had led their own fighters from the forest, here, and with the Queen's envoy only arriving this afternoon, Lancelot hadn't seen this human either for more than a few mere minutes. Which he did not mind too much. Their road had been too rough for them to ever be true friends, nor brothers. But the queen's inner circle needed unity, and so being allies was the only option.
Lancelot nodded as they approached one another. He'd even go so far as to consider the action as friendly. But his attention was already wandering when he caught a glimpse of silver over by the—
"You will fight with me, monk?"
He slowed his steps, his brow creasing of its own accord.
Arthur came to stand before him. "I know that we have had our differences—" an understatement— "but you are the best swordsman I have ever seen, I'll give you that." Lancelot blinked. Where was this nicety coming from? "There are few men I'd rather have by my side."
A work-hardened hand stretched out towards him and Lancelot looked at it as though he'd never seen a palm and five fingers before. Arthur was being nice to him. More than that, he was doling complements that Lancelot had never heard from his lips.
Before his overthinking could raise his suspicion more than it already had, Lancelot supposed that there was nothing like the eve of battle to make a person want to put old scores to bed.
So Lancelot reached out and shook Arthur's offered hand with a firm grasp. The human was a good fighter, one of the best that they had. And they'd saved the skin of each other's backs once before.
"Just don't neglect your offside," he said, the attempt at humour a first on his part between them. To Lancelot's relief, Arthur almost smiled beneath the roll of his eyes.
Their hands unclasped and both stepped around each other. Lancelot still wasn't sure where he was heading for but forwards was better than back.
"Lancelot?" Arthur stopped him in his tracks.
Twisting his shoulders and shifting a leg, Lancelot found the hilarity gone from Arthur's lips.
Arthur strolled back up to him through the few paces they'd put between them. "Can I give you a piece of advice?" he asked mildly.
Lancelot scanned over him, more to the sword at his hip. "I know how to fight in battle."
"No it's not about that." The half-hearted chuckle from Arthur's lips was a sound new to Lancelot's ears. He narrowed his eyes a little, but nodded.
The distance shrank as Arthur stepped up close and lowered his voice.
"I have been here before, on the eve of a battle such as this," he said, the darkness of his eyes deepening with hurt. Lancelot's brow lowered as he listened. "I lost someone important because of it, and there were things that I never got to say— which I regret." His voice dropped even further, apparently not wanting his voice to travel far. "So if I were you, I would make sure that she... knows just how you feel."
Lancelot felt his heart jump. His brow smoothened. The blood in his cheeks warring to both rise up and drain away. The logical, self-preserving half of his mind screamed to feign ignorance— but his delayed silence was all too telling.
Arthur's mouth curved in a sympathetic smile. He motioned his head slowly beyond Lancelot's shoulder. Feeling as though he shouldn't look, Lancelot did anyway. He followed the point of Arthur's gaze to where Ari was standing with her people.
Although it was only a gentle curve on her lips, she was smiling. Nodding along with the few folk who were gathered with her. Dressed in her leathers for battle, she was every inch a warrior with a golden crown glinting atop her head where it belonged.
Without thinking of it Lancelot let out a sigh. Make sure that she knows just how you feel. He didn't know where Arthur had learned of what was between him and the queen, but he didn't care any more. He had never quite trusted the man blood, but perhaps he was right about this.
If he was going to die tomorrow, then he was going to meet his gods without any regrets in his heart.
Arthur backed away, uttering still with that knowing smile, "I'll see you before dawn."
The quietest of acknowledging grunts rumbled from Lancelot's throat.
Twilight's darkness gave way to letting him stand and watch Ari for a minute. Her conversation didn't appear too immersive. As if it was only a passing chat on her way to somewhere else. Her tent was not far from where she was stood shifting on her feet in the cold— erected behind that of the war council and placed more separate from all the others intended for rest. She hadn't realised that he was near or else she would have looked for him. And instead of approaching whilst she was in conversation, Lancelot had a better idea.
He moved around a couple of campfires and their quietly conversing patrons, smoke lazily rising from the logs, and dipped into a trail of tents too early. The last time that he had surprised her it had been with a dance— a memory that he would treasure until his last breath, and the time before was with a bundle of flowers. He had nothing of the sort today, but perhaps something even greater.
Make sure that she knows just how you feel.
Lancelot waited close by in the shadows of an untrodden track for Ari to step away from who she was speaking to. Listening with his tuned senses for when their voices tapered off. One single set of boots came his way. Wood violet and leather strengthening. His body buzzed with the anticipation she always gave him.
Then through the frigid night air he was grabbing her hand and tugging her gently between the tents. She yelped in surprise and—
"Lance, what are you—" Ari hushed.
He stopped in the shadows and turned back, pressing his lips to hers before she finished her words. Ari stumbled a little with the slipperiness underfoot, gathered her bearings, and melted into the warm line of his body. Her hands found his sides as she pressed her lips to his in return.
A fevered kiss out in the open where anyone could come across them.
When he pulled back, Ari was dazed, blinking as her lips stayed parted. Forever shocked by how he did these things in such a way. Lancelot took her face in his hands, because he had to say this as he looked into the depths of her eyes.
"I do not want to be away from you tonight." They had not stayed together whilst being surrounded by Fey.
"Lance..." her sigh of his name turned into a whimper. Her fingers tightening on the leather of his tunic.
"I do not care what people know." Lancelot cupped his hands around her cheeks a little tighter. She drew in a breath before he murmured, "I don't care what people see..."
There was only one thing left that he hadn't ever said. As as Ari's eyes shimmered all over, he knew it had to be now.
"I love you."
__________
wc: 5.3k
WE FINALLY GOT THE 'L' WORD AHH
Do we trust Uther...?
Only three chapters left folks! And the next one is a lot of smut 🤣