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amari_zTitle: The Butterfly Alights
Summary: Lancelot has an unexpected revelation.
Warnings: None--except, well, I tried to write happy!fic. Shut up.
Notes: I apparently might have slightly traumatized![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sasha_b and cloudednine with my ficlet "Loyalties". Sorry, ladies! And it led sasha_b to actually ask me something like “Are you sure you really like A/L?” I laughed evilly at the time, but in a humble attempt at recompense, I have written fluff! Or at least the closest I’m ever likely to get. Very silly and pointless, but there you go. Ash, you’ll never know how hard I had to restrain myself to keep this from veering into teh evil! ; )
Lancelot took a drink from his cup, slouched back comfortably in his chair and shut his eyes. The hall rang with the boisterous sound of the knights’ loud voices. Lancelot could pick each voice out of the uproar with ease if he chose. Everyone was here tonight--dry and warm and healthy with their bellies just filled and the wine flowing.
Bors was telling some bragging story involving his prowess, while the listeners were scoffing at him. Normally, Lancelot would be chief among them, but tonight he found himself content merely to listen.
Gawain and Agravine were arguing over horseflesh, the result of which would no doubt be a race tomorrow. Lancelot’s horse would leave both of theirs in the dust, but he did not particularly feel the urge to let them know.
Galahad was proclaiming something suitably naïve and indignant and then Tristan cut in with some low remark that Lancelot could not hear but that made Galahad squawk. Lancelot should have been making fun of Galahad‘s youthful pomposity, but Tristan seemed to have it under control.
Stretching out his long legs before him, Lancelot puzzled over his strange lethargy. He had not had anywhere near enough wine to be drunk. He was not sleepy either. Perhaps he was ill? But no, he felt good, not bad, the usual tightness, the sharpness, somehow relaxed. Startled by a sudden thought, he opened his eyes, and his gaze swept the hall, taking in the laughing, animated faces.
Yes that was it--this feeling. He was happy.
Lancelot very nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it. Automatically, his eyes sought out Arthur, who had been quietly discussing something with Dagonet and Kay. Arthur looked over at him immediately, as though sensing Lancelot’s gaze. Arthur studied him a moment and then smiled, his eyes, vividly green even over the distance, crinkling a bit. Lancelot felt a corner of his mouth rising in response.
“--Lancelot?”
Startled, Lancelot broke eye contact and looked around. Bors was looking over at him expectantly. “What?”
“I was telling them about that legionary you ran into today.”
Lancelot, mind uncharacteristically distracted, asked “What about him?”
Bors was laughing at him. “I expected you to skewer him, the stuck up braggart--or at least flay him within an inch of his life with that tongue of yours--but you just walked off. Mind, I nearly pissed myself laughing at his expression when you ignored him, but it was hardly your usual pointed way of handling such things.”
Lancelot’s brows drew down a bit. In fact he had just walked away from that man’s insults--he simply had not been in the mood to deal with the stupidity. Because--he had been happy? How long, really had this been going on? Lancelot tried to remember the last time he had actually reacted out of sheer anger or impatience--but then realized Bors and the others were waiting for him to answer.
So he shrugged. “He wasn’t worth the bother, and,” he added with a trace of his more usual manner, “I didn’t particularly need the exercise. My tongue and blades are sufficiently sharp at the moment. If I find myself feeling dull though, I‘ll be sure to practice on you.”
That made them laugh, and then a low voice murmured near Lancelot’s ear, “Restraint from you? Should I be checking the temperature of hell?”
Lancelot barely suppressed a start. He had not heard Arthur approach. He looked up at the man, who was smiling down at him. He found his voice, though it took him a moment longer than usual. “No need. I doubt it will happen very often. But even your devil probably wants a holiday from the heat now and again.”
Arthur’s eyes laughed at him silently, but then the look in them changed, growing more intent and heated. He raised his voice slightly for the benefit of any who might be listening, and said, “I have something to discuss with you, if you don’t mind.”
Lancelot barely felt the urge to roll his eyes. Who did Arthur think he was fooling? But really, at this moment, Lancelot could not find it in himself to be exasperated. He uncoiled from his chair. “Certainly.”
They left the hall, to the knowing calls of good night from the knights. They walked to Arthur’s rooms, side by side, and Lancelot barely suppressed the bizarre urge to whistle. It was all entirely odd, but he decided the best thing would be, for once, not to question.
When the door shut behind them, he tackled Arthur onto the bed and savored the sound of Arthur’s laughter.
~~~
"Happiness is as a butterfly, which when pursued, is always beyond our grasp. But if you will sit down quietly, it may alight upon you."--Nathaniel Hawthorne
Summary: Lancelot has an unexpected revelation.
Warnings: None--except, well, I tried to write happy!fic. Shut up.
Notes: I apparently might have slightly traumatized
sasha_b and cloudednine with my ficlet "Loyalties". Sorry, ladies! And it led sasha_b to actually ask me something like “Are you sure you really like A/L?” I laughed evilly at the time, but in a humble attempt at recompense, I have written fluff! Or at least the closest I’m ever likely to get. Very silly and pointless, but there you go. Ash, you’ll never know how hard I had to restrain myself to keep this from veering into teh evil! ; ) Lancelot took a drink from his cup, slouched back comfortably in his chair and shut his eyes. The hall rang with the boisterous sound of the knights’ loud voices. Lancelot could pick each voice out of the uproar with ease if he chose. Everyone was here tonight--dry and warm and healthy with their bellies just filled and the wine flowing.
Bors was telling some bragging story involving his prowess, while the listeners were scoffing at him. Normally, Lancelot would be chief among them, but tonight he found himself content merely to listen.
Gawain and Agravine were arguing over horseflesh, the result of which would no doubt be a race tomorrow. Lancelot’s horse would leave both of theirs in the dust, but he did not particularly feel the urge to let them know.
Galahad was proclaiming something suitably naïve and indignant and then Tristan cut in with some low remark that Lancelot could not hear but that made Galahad squawk. Lancelot should have been making fun of Galahad‘s youthful pomposity, but Tristan seemed to have it under control.
Stretching out his long legs before him, Lancelot puzzled over his strange lethargy. He had not had anywhere near enough wine to be drunk. He was not sleepy either. Perhaps he was ill? But no, he felt good, not bad, the usual tightness, the sharpness, somehow relaxed. Startled by a sudden thought, he opened his eyes, and his gaze swept the hall, taking in the laughing, animated faces.
Yes that was it--this feeling. He was happy.
Lancelot very nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it. Automatically, his eyes sought out Arthur, who had been quietly discussing something with Dagonet and Kay. Arthur looked over at him immediately, as though sensing Lancelot’s gaze. Arthur studied him a moment and then smiled, his eyes, vividly green even over the distance, crinkling a bit. Lancelot felt a corner of his mouth rising in response.
“--Lancelot?”
Startled, Lancelot broke eye contact and looked around. Bors was looking over at him expectantly. “What?”
“I was telling them about that legionary you ran into today.”
Lancelot, mind uncharacteristically distracted, asked “What about him?”
Bors was laughing at him. “I expected you to skewer him, the stuck up braggart--or at least flay him within an inch of his life with that tongue of yours--but you just walked off. Mind, I nearly pissed myself laughing at his expression when you ignored him, but it was hardly your usual pointed way of handling such things.”
Lancelot’s brows drew down a bit. In fact he had just walked away from that man’s insults--he simply had not been in the mood to deal with the stupidity. Because--he had been happy? How long, really had this been going on? Lancelot tried to remember the last time he had actually reacted out of sheer anger or impatience--but then realized Bors and the others were waiting for him to answer.
So he shrugged. “He wasn’t worth the bother, and,” he added with a trace of his more usual manner, “I didn’t particularly need the exercise. My tongue and blades are sufficiently sharp at the moment. If I find myself feeling dull though, I‘ll be sure to practice on you.”
That made them laugh, and then a low voice murmured near Lancelot’s ear, “Restraint from you? Should I be checking the temperature of hell?”
Lancelot barely suppressed a start. He had not heard Arthur approach. He looked up at the man, who was smiling down at him. He found his voice, though it took him a moment longer than usual. “No need. I doubt it will happen very often. But even your devil probably wants a holiday from the heat now and again.”
Arthur’s eyes laughed at him silently, but then the look in them changed, growing more intent and heated. He raised his voice slightly for the benefit of any who might be listening, and said, “I have something to discuss with you, if you don’t mind.”
Lancelot barely felt the urge to roll his eyes. Who did Arthur think he was fooling? But really, at this moment, Lancelot could not find it in himself to be exasperated. He uncoiled from his chair. “Certainly.”
They left the hall, to the knowing calls of good night from the knights. They walked to Arthur’s rooms, side by side, and Lancelot barely suppressed the bizarre urge to whistle. It was all entirely odd, but he decided the best thing would be, for once, not to question.
When the door shut behind them, he tackled Arthur onto the bed and savored the sound of Arthur’s laughter.
~~~
"Happiness is as a butterfly, which when pursued, is always beyond our grasp. But if you will sit down quietly, it may alight upon you."--Nathaniel Hawthorne
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 12:23 am (UTC)It's just - awww. I feel all warm now.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 01:13 am (UTC)Seriously, very glad that you enjoyed, especially since this is hardly my usual fare. : ) Also very happy to hear it was not too sticky sweet, since that truly would have been appalling . ; )
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 03:17 am (UTC)Damn skippy, brother. *happy sigh* See, you can do it. :p
Ah, just lovely. And yes, I do feel better - but I'm still bleeding sluggishly from the knife to the heart you gave me with Loyalties. Teh Evil!!! *laughs*
Thanks for this.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 03:32 am (UTC)Just kidding, glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-09 05:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-10 12:16 am (UTC)Wonderful writing.
BTW I love the way your journal looks.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-10 01:53 am (UTC)Thanks--the LJ layout is one of the standard ones (I'm not very computer clever). I picked it because it seemed simple and pretty much uncluttered.