Lancelot and the Wolf

by Sarah Luddington

  “But I want you,” I grasped her fingers in my larger rougher hands.

  “And time will allow us to see if that is true.”

  “I do love you,” I reaffirmed.

  She bent and kissed my lips, “Go to Arthur, please.”

  With her benediction on my lips, I rose and turned in one movement, vanishing out of the door in less than a heartbeat just as Geraint came up the stairs. We shared a long look and he knew he’d be sharing Else’s bath water, not Arthur’s. I opened Arthur’s door without asking permission and walked in with my heart pounding. I trembled and my palms sweated. Arthur stopped singing but remained reclined in the bath water. His blonde head looked almost as dark as Else’s and his eyes very blue.

  “Can we talk?” I asked. I needed help with Else. Something in her had changed during our journey to Avalon. Her distance toward me over the last few weeks made me realise I was losing her to a life I didn’t understand. The nail in the coffin of our relationship was clearly her lack of interest in my desire for Arthur. That couldn’t be normal. I walked on stiff legs to the bed and sat on the edge. He watched me without comment, the hunger clear.

  “What’s wrong, my friend?” he sweated in the steam from the bath. His skin glowed pink. I found myself transfixed by his chest rising and falling. He laughed making the water ripple. “Focus, Lancelot. You have a problem?”

  “More than one,” I said trying to control myself, leaning forward to hide his effect on my body.

  The water heaved and Arthur rose in one smooth movement, disregarding his nudity, “Hand me a towel, Lancelot.” His voice tore into me, hooking deep inside my guts and I rose to move toward him, cloth in hand. I focused on his eyes, the smile playing on his lips knowing and confident of my falling to his own spell. Our fingers touched, “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said gently.

  “She doesn’t want to marry me but I’ve taken her maidenhead. I thought she loved me and yet she has sent me to you. She says I love you.” I realised my hands were drying his taut stomach and chest, roaming over his contours.

  His eyes were focused on me, concentrating on my words, “Perhaps she knows best, my friend.”

  “I want a wife and family,” I stated firmly, through the chaotic rush of emotion.

  “And she might be the one, but not right now,” he said. “Besides, right now you need a bath.” His hand cupped my jaw. The stubble prickled against his palm.

  He stepped from the wooden tub and we were nose to nose. I had never ached so much or been so rock hard for anyone in my debauched life. “Arthur,” I managed, my fingers touched his naked chest. He kissed me and I sank. I drowned. His arms came around my back and held me, keeping me safe even as he stole my soul. I pulled back, my heart a mallet pounding against my rib bones. I needed to think, I needed my soul back, but Else would not rescue me, I must rescue myself. I gazed down slightly into his deep, dark blue eyes and knew I did not have the strength left to save myself. I would drown happily inside Arthur’s arms.

  “Bath,” he said, laughter bubbling.

  “I love you,” the words forced themselves out of my mouth.

  He smiled and his fingers laced with mine, “And I love you, but I will love you even more after a bath.” He broke the spell his presence created, releasing me. I unlaced my doublet with shaking fingers and stripped my shirt off.

  I heard a grunt and looked at Arthur, “Sorry,” he said. “I will never be able to forgive myself for allowing this to happen.” I didn’t comment. He laid his hand on my back and ran his fingers over the scars. I allowed him access. No one touched them so thoroughly. It left me breathless with the memory of the pain. I found the courage to look at my King. There were tears on his cheeks. I wiped them away and kissed his face. He coughed, “Bath,” he ordered roughly.

  I stripped the last of my clothing and stepped into the now slightly grubby but still warm water. Bliss after weeks of cold washes and swims in colder rivers. My eyes closed and a long sigh escaped my lips. Something soft brushed my skin and I opened my eyes. Arthur knelt by the bath, naked and started washing my body. He began with my left arm, using the rough soap and a thick strip of old linen. I knew I should stop him. I knew where he wanted this to go, yet I didn’t prevent his hands from exploring my chest, neck, belly and finally lower.

  The air hissed out of me and I watched his face as he gazed at the work of his hand. His palm, large and rough controlled more of me than any woman and his grip felt firmer, tighter. The slow, measured pace brought me wave after wave of pleasure without tipping me over the edge. I wanted more. I wanted his skin next to mine. His heat burning my flesh. His own desire inside my hands and, I hesitated for a moment, body.

  “Arthur, let me finish washing,” my words came out surprising me with their normality. He pulled his hand back and smiled up at me before moving away. I grabbed the cloth and ruthlessly scrubbed every inch of myself while Arthur banked the fire and lay our clothes out to dry. We didn’t speak. I finished washing quickly. Arthur climbed into the bed and reclined, propped upright on the pillows. He made the bed look small. I dried myself and stood staring at him.

  The smile on his lips melted my heart. I heard voices from next door and thought about Else in there, alone, with Geraint. I frowned, my life coalescing in this one moment. I suddenly felt as though I stood on the edge of a blade over a mighty chasm. One side, Else and a family, a future with children and peace. The other, Arthur. A life of war, of hidden and mostly despised love, of being enslaved to my King by chains so strong around my heart I would be unable to break free. My friend, my companion lay in bed ready for me to make love. Ready for us to voluntarily step over the barrier between what is normal and what is perceived as wrong. Though this did not feel wrong. I wanted to make love to my friend.

  “Lancelot?” he said my name quietly. Doubt and fear suddenly filled his clear blue eyes. My King lay before me. My King, the man to whom I’d sworn my life. The man I fought for and the man who commanded every aspect of my waking life would now openly control my heart, soul and my passion.

  I looked at my hands. They shook. I felt sick. For the first time in my life, I lacked the courage I needed to step into the fray. “I can’t, Sire.” What would Guinevere say when she found out we’d finally stepped over that lace thin line? How will our actions affect Arthur? Will his leadership change, be harmed by sleeping with me? Will he be different? Will the court find out, like they did my affair with Guinevere and how much worse the trauma? It would be more than a lashing and banishment. It would be another reason for Stephen de Clare to fight Arthur for his throne. If they thought their King was aberrant, they would want him gone. I had to protect his throne, over everything. I had to protect Arthur’s leadership.

  I looked up at him and his eyes instantly filled with tears. My own cheeks were wet, “I can’t, your Majesty. We would both lose everything. Your leadership relies on you being the best of us and I will stop you from being the best.” I didn’t think that covered the confusion and hurt inside my chest but it was all I could manage. “I love you, Arthur. The throne of Camelot stands between us as it always has and always will. You are King, I am a lowly knight.”

  “Don’t do this,” he said, his hands bunching in the rough blankets of what would have been our bed. “I beg you. Please, give me one night. I love you like no other and always have. I know you want a family, a home, but this is just one night.”

  “It will never just be one night, Arthur. I will always need more, I always have.” I bent stiffly to retrieve my clothes, exhausted with anguish and a thousand wounds invisible to the eye but bleeding nonetheless. “I’ll be outside, keeping guard. Sleep well, my King.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  I dressed in the hallway and descended to the bar. I bought a cheap bottle of grog and vanished outside. A mist lay low to the ground, writhing around my legs, glowing silver in the light of a full moon. The air smelt crisp, hard in my nose and it nipped my fingers like a hungry dog. I walked to
the stable and grabbed one of Ash’s blankets. He snorted at me over the stable door. I hunkered down in the dry straw and struggled to tear the cork out of the bottle. “Finally,” I muttered before choking on the gut rot. The alcohol did its job though and burned my insides warmer than the pain of leaving Arthur alone.

  The straw gradually warmed under me and I lay back to stare at the darkness overhead. My mind remained carefully blank. I did not want to think any more about anything.

  “Lancelot?”

  “Go away, Else,” I said. “Go back to Geraint.”

  “Geraint? Why would I go back to Geraint? What are you talking about, silly man?”

  “He’s more of a man and will make you a better husband than I ever will,” I muttered, slugging another mouthful. The straw shifted and I felt Else lie next to me, removing the bottle from my hands.

  “You are a foolish man,” she said.

  “You just said that.” I still did not look at her and we fell silent in the stable.

  Else sighed eventually, “You should be with Arthur. He’s heartbroken. That’s why I came down. He is in my room bemoaning his fate.”

  “I love you,” I reached for her hand, the spell lay dormant. Her fingers laced between mine and the pain in my heart eased.

  “But you love Arthur more,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t know if it’s more, I do know it’s wrong.”

  “Love is never wrong, Lancelot. It’s just different. He loves you, wants you.”

  “But,” I interrupted. “He is my King,” which was a statement covering all sorts of complications.

  “I don’t think that matters. I don’t think any of it matters.”

  I became restless once more and sat up, “What about Geraint? I know he cares for you and he’ll make you a better husband.”

  “There is more to life than marriage, Lancelot. I am discovering things about myself all the time. I am Merlin’s daughter after all.”

  “You feel the power of the fey don’t you?”

  She sat up and began fiddling with the straw. “I do and I need to understand where that’s taking me, but we aren’t having a crisis over my love life, it’s yours.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s never happening. I’ll see Arthur’s crown safe and leave England. Leave him.”

  “Oh, yes because that works so well,” Else muttered standing before me. “You need,”

  “Wait,” I said holding up my hand. “Can you hear that?”

  “What?” she asked, her hand going to her knife.

  “I smell smoke,” I muttered. “And not the good kind.” We rushed out of the stable, the mist now a full blown fog. The windows of the inn were hidden but I did see the fitful glow of fire.

  Else yelled, “Lancelot, golem.” She pointed and chaos erupted around us once more.

  I drew my sword, grabbed Else and pulled her behind me. Three men came toward me, their stink arriving first. They moved fast, but not as fast as the monsters from our previous encounter. They were also unarmed. I hacked down one, cleaving him from head to belly. Kicking his body off my sword, I turned and took the next across the throat. His silent scream gave me the creeps. The third slipped past me and headed for the inn.

  “They are after Arthur,” I yelled.

  “So is the fire,” Else said, pointing to the window of his room.

  “Arthur,” I whispered, fear burrowing rapidly through my chest. I rushed the nearest golem and I finally registered these men were different from the last. They were not as visibly dead and they were townsfolk. I took the monster’s head from behind and he dropped, his body still trying to walk forward without a head to govern his actions. The inn door stood open, the room filled with monsters. How had this happened so fast? Else and I could only have been talking for a few minutes and I think she’d have noticed golem appearing when she walked through the bar.

  The furniture hampered my fighting style so I drew my long knife. The fire raged from the kitchen. The heat a wound opening into the bowels of hell. The flames a vision from the deepest pits, making my eyes blur. “Arthur,” I screamed. Smoke dancing merrily down my throat to choke the life out of me.

  The golem all turned as one when they heard my bellow and began to target me instead of Arthur. Hands reached for me and fire glinted off a blade to my right. I cut and hacked my way toward the stairs, barely able to see. Pain registered somewhere on the right side of my body. I didn’t stop; I simply cut back, picked up a chair and threw it into three of the people attacking. One of those I cut down wore the dress of the innkeeper’s daughter. I reached the stairs, gasping for clean air, which rushed in through the vagrancies of the wind’s currents. I raced upward and found Geraint fighting two more monsters in the narrow hallway. His great height and width hampering him badly. I took one from behind by ripping his throat open with my blade and Geraint finally managed to dispatch the other. A cloth covered his nose and mouth.

  “Arthur,” I gasped. Geraint just looked toward his door. I smashed into it and saw Arthur, surrounded by fire licking and laughing through the floor. His room sat over the kitchen. He’d collapsed near the tub. I didn’t consider anything, I just ran. I don’t know if the flames lit my cloak. Don’t know if they ate at my boots. I just ran to him, knelt and heaved his body into my arms. His weight an instant burden but also deeply comforting. I hurried for the door. Fire bellowed it’s disappointment behind me, the flames reaching for the thatch. Geraint dashed ahead and carved his way through the enemy, an easy task in comparison to fighting the golem in the wood. Whatever controlled these creatures didn’t have as strong a hold on the townsfolk.

  We exploded through the inn’s door, fire racing over the ceiling and floor trying to cut us off from our escape. Our horses were in the street, tack thrown into the yard, Else relying on the warhorses’ commonsense to keep them close. A wet blanket covered me and Arthur. I stumbled to the ground and dropped him, turned and vomited.

  Voices surrounded me in a muddle. I must have passed out briefly. “Get him moving, Geraint or we will all die,” Else screamed.

  I struggled out from under the damp blanket, “Me here,” I gasped. My eyes focused and I realised the fire raged out of control and more golem loomed from the red tinged fog. Arthur sat upright, his head in his hands. I stood on wobbly legs and grabbed him under his arms. He wore his shirt, hose, doublet but his gambeson and cloak must be in his room. I lifted him to his feet, “We need to defend ourselves and we need to leave.”

  He nodded and reached for his sword, it did not hang from his belt. “Fuck.”

  “Take mine, Sire,” I said pulling my beloved blade and handing it over.

  Arthur looked at me, “You saved my life.”

  I grinned, “My job. Take the blade, Arthur.”

  He did as instructed and we moved toward Geraint. The big man nodded, “Think we’ll be fighting our way out of the town. Else is trying to tack up the horses.”

  I turned back. She wrestled with the beasts needing to convince them to fight their instincts for running. “Else,” I yelled, “just the bridles we need to move fast.”

  “All very well for you to say,” she cursed me and Ash roundly.

  “Focus, Lancelot,” Arthur said firmly. The townsfolk descended on us, jaws snapping, hands grabbing and some managing crude weapons. We went to the slaughter and it was a slaughter. Even fire damaged, as the three of us were, we out matched each and every one of our enemies. The horses were soon under control and we mounted one at a time, the other two holding our position at the front of the stable yard. Once all four of us were mounted we began the slow horror of carving our way through the town and out onto the Levels. We were as silent as those we fought, marching the horses forward grimly, protecting Mercury and Else.

  When we reached the edge of the town and fought our way through the last of the mobilised dead, we raced the horses into the fog. They ran, deeply relieved to be free of the clawing hands, stink and fire. We covered nearly a
league before stopping and turning back. The fog glowed deep red, the town burning to the ground.

  “What the hell just happened?” Arthur asked.

  Else stroked Mercury’s sweaty neck trying to calm his nerves. The whites of his eyes betrayed his thin veneer of calm. “Whatever has the power to create those things is not stopping their pursuit. They want you dead, Arthur. To destroy a town, even a small one, is a feat unimaginable. We should press on to Avalon and find Merlin.”

  “This fog is too thick to move safely on these Level’s,” Arthur said. “The road will peter out and the floodplains are too dangerous at night. I’ll not risk any of you to a boggy grave.”

  “Just one at the hands of the living dead,” Geraint muttered.

  We walked on in silence, Else choosing to ride as far from me or Arthur as possible. He eventually spoke, “Interesting night.”

  I studied Ash’s ears for a few moments, “I owe you an apology. I’m a coward, Arthur.”

  He laughed, “Of all the ways I’d chose to describe you, my friend, I don’t think that one comes among them.”

  I watched my hands, fiddling with my reins, “I am sorry. I lack the courage I need to give you what you want.” Those words shot through me as though I pierced myself with arrows.

  “Forget it, Lancelot. Forget everything. I was wrong to do this to you. We are different and I need to stop pushing. It won’t happen again.”

  I glanced at him, shocked by his words. His tone hardened. The decision clear in the set of his shoulders and back. Arthur Pendragon was cutting me out of his heart. A huge chasm opened before me. A life without Arthur’s kisses or his hot skin rubbing against mine. But it did leave me free to pursue Else, to marry without complications and to work for him as every other one of his knights did. His blue eyes were shadowed, his face stained by smoke and soot.

  The fog shrouded me, blinded me and swallowed all of me. I wanted, in that moment to push Ash into the white mists and never return to Arthur’s side. A future without him looked so simple and yet so fucking empty and pointless.