#melwa

[sayer-raider-art]

Melwa found a good spot to relax. I wonder what she's looking at, though...

[gawrkin]

A list of Persons who SHOULD be called "King -", but the medieval writers forgot...

Gawain

Lancelot (?)*

Aglovale

Tristan

Geraint/Erec

Meleagant (Malory ver.)

Cliges (actually an emperor...)

Lionel (?)

Who else?

*(Dependent on: the chronology of the Claudas War and/or whether Joyous Gard alone constitutes as sufficient material wealth/property for Kingship)

[watcherintheweyr]

...

Anyways have a snippet of my original writing maybe

----

Aftermath of torture cw

Suicidal ideation tw

Story: Debts

——

Striding into his rooms, Midian wishes that his movements were lined with his usual grace. In actuality, one shaking hand against the wall is the only thing keeping him upright. Striding, in truth, was likely an exaggeration, when in truth what he does is more like desperately stagger.

Striding implies a certain degree of control. Of intent and grace. Midian has intent in spades, in the moment, but near to none of the rest.

His back is lines burning pain, layered so thickly over one another that he truly wonders if there’s any skin left atop the bloodied flesh- each brush of the shirt over top of the marks is a special sort of hell. His fingers twitch- his left hand against the wall is unmarred, but those of his right hand are torn at the tips from how hard he’d scrabbled at stone, trying so desperately to maintain his composure, keep hold of his own mind.

He had, of course. He always did. It was the way of things. The fact that now his body tremors from pain and exhaustion is inconsequential at best.

He fumbles with the door to his room, leaning his shoulder. against the wall whilst the uninjured hand struggles to grip- but he manages it after a too-long moment, and then slides within the room with a strangled, panicked laugh.

The door clicks shut easily behind him, and Midian lowers his head, trying to steady his breathing as the panic settles, just enough that he can think again, that he’s no longer an empty, pain and fear driven animal seeking the comfort of its’ den.

Not that this is even truly his den. He’s trapped here in the capitol until the new emperor decides that his courtiers are loyal, or kills them to make way for his new regime. Such is the way of things, and he knows better than to begin feeling safe now, just because he was released from the dungeons.

Midian cannot remember the last time that he’d felt safe. Centuries ago, it must have been.

Pain is easy enough to blame for the mistake of thinking he’s even marginally safer now, however. It takes him seconds too long to realize he isn't’ alone in his quarters, and Midian’s golden eyes fly up as he takes a pained step backwards, angry sensation spearing through his thighs and hips as the harsh - sudden- movement jars the lacerations there.

Sitting atop the ornate wooden trunk at the foot of his bed, Isidore’s broad shoulders are dimly visible in the low light. Those burning, mismatched yellow-and-green eyes stare at him, brows lowered.

In the dull light of evening with no flames in the hearth nor the wall’s braziers, he looks like a demon, come to bind Midian’s soul from him. The courtier can feel his breath freezing in his throat with something like panic burning at his eyes.

“Get out,” he hisses, venom on the words the likes of which he rarely directs upon the other. They have ever and always had clashes, Midian his sickly sweet superiority, Isidore his dark, vicious temper-

But so rarely, has Midian been so angry with the Last Dying Light.

“I have given you no key, nor have I given you leave to be here. Have you- have you been snooping in my things?” He should sound outraged- but each word is progressively harder to push past his teeth, each one feeling like a weight added atop his spine to drag him down.

Isidore would likely love that, Midian thinks, hysterical in the moment. Would love to watch Midian dragged to hell by his own accursed tongue.

“You call me the over-curious sn-snake,” he spits, unable to stop himself. “But you break into my rooms? How long have you been here?”

He can’t process that there’s something like horror in Isidore’s eyes as the larger man stares at him. When the revenant-king rises slowly from his seat, Midian staggers another step back in response. His breath saws in and out of his chest, but he feels like he’s being strangled. Still, he forces his spine straight, giving the other man his most derisive glare.

“- Midian,” Isidore murmurs than, his voice that soft rumble. Midian cannot remember a single time in the decades they’ve known and battled one another that his voice has sounded so soft. Not once.

“Do not,” he says, raising one finger and pointing at the other man as he steps closer. “Do not. Don’t you dare pretend you care.”

”Midian, you’ve been in the dungeons eight days,” Isidore hisses- and all too quickly, he’s across the room and in Midian’s space, staring down and into Midian’s face. It’s a struggle to meet his gaze, and it takes everything that Midian has not to flinch away.

Isidore’s sharp features are somehow made ever more brutal in the lightless room. His hair is only vaguely gold, like this, and his skin bears the same pallor as gold-washed marble. Midian is no short man- but Isidore is just larger. Taller, broader. Never before has that fact intimidated the half-fey, but now-

There’s fear, there, in his chest, as the Last Dying Light’s mismatched gaze pins him in place like a butterfly to a board. “Eight days,” he makes himself echo, desperate to crack the silence. “That’s actually quite helpful to know, thank you. Look, you’ve even helped me- so clearly this little visit isn’t working out the way you’d hoped. Leave, now, thank you.”

Eight days. Has it truly been so long? Nausea swells in his chest, and he makes a turn, to brush past the larger man, until a grave-cold hand catches his jaw, turning it until he’s nearly nose-to-nose with Isidore. His eyes are searching- over Midian’s face, over his body, thankfully still hidden by the silks and velvets that he’d been arrested in.

He’s as still as stone, staring at his once-ally with a burning sensation in his eyes that he tries then to blink away, quickly. Midian makes a tight, small sound in his throat, and then sways, vision losing focus.

“Midian,” Isidore’s voice murmurs- and gods, but when did Isidore’s voice become so smooth? Has he always been able to speak as such, this deep low resonance in opposition to the grinding, harsh words that Midian usually drags out of him along with that temper.

The pair of them have been at one another’s throats since the first day they’d encountered one another in the Maristide court, all those years ago. Never once has Midian heard Isidore speak so-

So bereft of malice.

Not to him.

“What are you-“ He cannot help how high his voice has gone, cannot help the tremor in it, and Isidore blinks down at him quietly, his own jaw visibly clenched.

“You need help, Midian,” he says then, terribly gentle, and Midian bares his fangs and hisses, hands shoving ineffectually at Isidore’s chest.

“Don’t you dare- don’t you dare be kind to me, Isidore of The Last Dying Light,” he snarls, despising the weakness in his voice, despising the way it shakes and that he cannot hide it. “How dare you-“

A finger covers his mouth, pausing the enraged protestation, and he nearly lunges to bite it, until the action flares the agony in his body anew and almost sends him to his knees. Isidore’s other hand hooks along his right hip, mercifully missing the lashmarks that skirt the area. The pressure and support there, along with how Isidore cups his jaw…

Shame burns in him, as he realizes it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Confusion with how soft each point of contact presses against his too-tight, aching skin.

His eyes burn anew, and desperately he tries to blink the sensation back. Still, Isidore watches him- and then slowly, he guides the wildfire-mage to the bed. “Can you lay on your stomach?”

Any breath he might have had is strangled in his throat. It takes Midian so much longer than he’d like to organize his mind to say anything. It’s a haze of fear, of pain, of anger and panic, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

This isn’t how they work. This has never been how they’ve worked. He doesn’t understand.

“- The worst damage is on my back,” he croaks finally. “But his eminence also had me kneeling in glass for a time. So my knees are in poor shape.”

Isidore inhales very, very slowly. He holds that breath for a long moment, before exhaling, just as slow. “We will address the back first. You will collapse if I am not holding you.”

“Why?” Midian grits out. “Why- why are you- you and I have both been here before. We have both been tortured by those in power before. Why are you doing this? I won’t- I’m not going to crack. I won’t give you... I don’t know what you want but I will not give it to you.”

The gilded figure blinks at him and closes his eyes a moment, brows furrowed as though now he is the one in pain. “That’s alright,” he said, finally. “I’m going to help anyways. I owe you.” A wave of his hand, and the fire in the hearth roars to life, throwing everything into warm color.

Midian closes his eyes automatically, trying to burn out the beauty of Isidore's golden hair and mismatched eyes kissed by firelight. It isn't fair, he thinks hysterically. This isn't fair.

But the realm has never cared for fair. If it did, the old emperor's head would not currently be on a spike, as Zerach Julianis sits his throne.

“You do not-,” Midian grits- but Isidore ignores him, and Midian is too exhausted, trembling too hard to fight him as he’s lowered to the bed, sinking to lay upon his stomach.

The fight goes out of him, the exhaustion winning out, and Midian tangles the fingers of his good hand into the blankets, trying to control his breathing. Isidore kneels beside the bed so that their eyes meet again, and it takes everything Midian has to meet that gaze, to focus on Isidore in the moment and not to allow the numb bliss of unconsciousness to sweep him under.

“I will clean and dress the wounds,” the revenant king says quietly. “And then I will keep watch. We will talk when you awaken.”

Midian stares at him, unable to process any of it. Nothing makes sense. Nothing makes sense.

So he nods, without a word- then turns his head to bury his face in the pillow.

Isidore’s kindness will not break him. It will not. When he wakes-

When he wakes, the game will begin anew. That is all.

That is all.

[cosmicpoutine]

another batch of designs for lonely prince club

i thought it would be funny if the male dragon guard uniforms served cunt and the girlies could just be comfy. and ofc there's a neutral version which i think serves the perfect amount of cunt and comfort lol

nayad's first design is from 2023 she haven't changed much, i still love her. and her lightstick is a soap bubble gun

i think i must've posted the designs for queen mina, melwas and kronos somewhere but i don't remember. idk why melwas' is a different color tho.

and finally lpc's new logo. i'm lowkey still working on it but i feel like this one is a lot more flowy (?)

[queer-ragnelle]

La Tavola Ritonda PDF is now available to read! Enjoy!

ID: When Isotta had returned to the pavilion, the tables were set out and food was prepared, and when water had been brought for their hands they sat down to eat. As they ate, Gariette looked out and saw Palamidesso going by looking for them, and pointed him out to Sir Tristano. Tristano got up and went to meet him, taking him by the hand and leading him into the pavilion, where he disarmed and sat at the table. They all passed that night in great joy.

Medieval Literature scans | Arthurian Retellings scans | Ko-fi ⤥Italian Name Guide Below Cut

Prose Tristan Gang

King Meliadus of Liones (Meliodas of Lyonesse)

Queen Eliabella (Elizabeth)

Tristano (Tristan)

King Marco of Cornovaglia/Tintoile (Mark of Cornwall/Tintagel)

King Amoroldo of Irlanda (Morholt of Ireland)

King Languis of Irlanda (Anguish of Ireland)

Queen Isotta the Blonde (Isolde 1)

Gouvernale (Governal)

Brandina (Brangaine)

Dinadano (Dinadan)

Daniello (Daniel)

Brunoro the Black/Ill-Cut Coat (Brunor le Noir/La Cote Male Taile)

Dinasso the Seneschal (Dinas)

King Scalabrino (Esclabor)

Palamidesso the Pagan (Palomides/Palamedes)

Isotta White Hands (Isolde 2)

Gheddino (Kahedrin)

Logres

King Artù of Camellotto/Longres (Arthur of Camelot/Logres)

Queen Ginevara (Guinevere)

Chieso the Seneschal (Kay)

Lucano (Lucan)

Fata Morgana (Morgan le Fay)

Pulzella Gais (Morgan's daughter)

Merlino the Prophet (Merlin)

Orcadians

King Lotto (Lot)

Queen Albagia of Organia (Morgause of Orkney)

Calvano the Lover (Gawain)

Agravano (Agravaine)

Gariens (Gaheris)

Gariette (Gareth)

Mordarette (Mordred)

Welsh

King Pellinoro of Gaules (Pellinore of Wales)

Prezzivale lo Galese (Percival of Wales)

Amorotto di Gaules (Lamorak of Wales)

Adriano (Drian)

Agravale (Aglovale)

French

King Bando of Benoich (Ban of Benwick)

Dama del Lago (Lady of the Lake)

Lancilotto of Gioisa Guardia (Lancelot of Joyous Guard)

Astore di Mare (Hector de Maris)

Lionello (Lionel)

Bordo (Bors)

Briobris (Biloberis)

Galasso (Galahad)

Others

Brunoro the Brown (Brunor father of Galehaut)

Bagotta (Fair Giantess)

Galeotto (Galehaut)

Sagramore (Sagramore lol)

Meliagans (Meleagant/Melwas)

King Brando of Magus (Bademagus)

Beast Glatisanti (Questing Beast/Glatisants)

[wildbasil]

"And when she is shining o'er hill and heath, I dance in the revels of Gwyn ap Nudd."

You know what I love? The Victorian (and early 20th century) obsession with Gwyn ap Nudd. It's absolutely WILD and I promise I'll write a real post with sources soon. For now, here are some highlights of things Victorians have written about him:

He's a small and silly fellow! Ohohoh!

He was rather fond of Gawain… until he wasn't.

He's definitely Melwas/Hades/Sir Guyon/Oberon. Actually, he's every fairy king ever. 

He's closely connected to Neath, to Pumlumon, to the Berwyn mountains, to Blaenau Gwent, and more (yeah, they looked for him everywhere)

He's a demon of the abyss. Also a lord of glamour and a god of fertility/darkness/the unknown.

A fertility god, you ask? With no kids? But aha! Hywel Sele, who haunts the Nannau Oak, was apparently his son.

And my absolute favourite: on Hallowe'en, when he's not off hunting with his musically skilled but ultimately ill-fated companion, Iolo ap Huw, you can find Nudd's fearsome and enigmatic son tapping at your windows, asking for potatoes.

OK, those are just from memory. There's so much more. I need to know, though… Gwyn, what happened to you between 1830-1930? Are you OK now? How would you like your potatoes cooked?

Anyway, to conclude:

(from a 1930s newspaper and completely unrelated to Gwyn ap Nudd. But I stumbled upon it and it made me giggle 😎👍)

[elegantwoes]

Sansa's status as Key in the North and being coveted by so many individuals (The Lannisters, The Tyrells, Littlefinger, and Theon) reminds me a lot of Gwenhwyfar, who may be mostly known as the wife of King Arthur, but also is the Goddess of the Land. Arthur's right to be king and ruler of land comes through his union with Gwenhwyfar. It's for this reason why individuals like Melwas and Mordred either kidnap or want her. They want to rule Britain through her. GRRM no doubt based his Bael the Bard and Winter Rose tale and Sansa's political storyline on the welsh goddess Gwenhwyfar.

[onaslansside]

We finally watched Alice (2009) after seeing the mutuals yell about it for years and. oh. such a good decision. Thank you to @as-dreamers-do, @taleweaver-ramblings and everyone else who insisted on yelling repeatedly about how much they loved this movie. I have a stash of DVDs for movie nights that no one has ever heard of but everyone winds up loving, and this movie is about to go in that stash. After watching, we both dived for our phones to see what all the other liveblog reviews said, so assume we yelled about all the normal things, and please enjoy this list of a few more unique/underappreciated reactions.

Alice is an A+ street smart heroine, love her. Every time we'd yell at the screen, "BAD VIBES, NO" she was also aware of the red flag and doing something about it. I feel as delighted about this as Hoid was about Tress requesting parental assistance/advice.

"Oh this is very Between." "Yeah."

Why does she run like that. I get that the blue dress, half updo, and mincing steps into the unknown are a homage, but SHE IS A BLACK BELT, WHY DOES SHE RUN SO BADLY.

I can't tell what's up with Hatter, every single description everyone has given of his possible motivations doesn't quite match. Like, he does think Alice is pretty, and he does want to help the resistance, and he does want to make money while doing so, but it feels like there's another more consistent reason lurking in his eyes and I have NO IDEA what it is, not even after watching Gen and Athelas for years.

"The decor of this casino is excellently stupid, this place would have Thumb Thumbs- *spots the Ten of Clubs* THERE'S ONE!"

LOVE a fight scene that understands that a gun within lunging range is no longer a particular advantage!!! Was NOT expecting Hatter to step between Alice and the threat with that little hesitation, that brings him up several points in my estimation.

That Jabberwock is so stupid. I love it. The design reminds me of the two-headed dragon in HTTYD.

I'm no film nerd, but the camera work is so good even I keep noticing it. The Scooby Doo chase with the Jabberwock, the focus shifting between Charlie and Hatter, the sliver of light when Alice opens the study door... *chefkiss*

I have known this knight for five seconds and I love him.

I need to rewatch this entire thing already, because the body language of EVERYONE is so good and so detailed that you can't get it all, especially when paying attention to the lines being spoken.

Every single shot of Hatter's reactions to Charlie are so funny.

Love both Hatter and Ten of Clubs doing beautiful sliding halts on the casino floors.

Wait, did the King just rescue not one but two of the clubs from the consequences of the Queen's temper tantrum?? I think he did. Hmmmmmmmmmmm. Is he figuring out he's not okay with this situation? Is he secretly undermining her?

Somewhere in the middle of Jack explaining that Alice's father was being brought to the city, I suddenly began to wonder if he might be the Carpenter, because he'd been shown onscreen an awful lot so far...

"Hatter's going to follow her, isn't he. ISN'T HE? ... oh look, so is Charlie, that's great."

We made identical little sad sympathetic sounds when the explosion knocked Charlie over, but we were both very unconcerned for his safety.

I said, "That can be arranged," at the same moment as Alice and I'm very smug about it.

"YOU BETTER NOT GIVE ME THAT 'IT WAS ALL JUST A DREAM' NONSENSE!! >:(" Melwa smirked very loudly because A) that's canon for the original Alice, and B) she'd already seen spoiler gifsets of the end.

And T_T she flings herself at him before we can see if its like in Wizard of Oz and he just was glimpsed and got into her dreams vs he's real, and then we turn around and he DOES know her T_T, and THE POOR MOM who is cropped out of all the gifsets ajghksjfbfbk

[overdecorated-furniture]

Last Line Tag

Thank you for tagging me, @annakayy, your last line was really intriguing! I'd love to know more about the story.

Safety was within the circle of flame-light she cast, and as long as Melwas was by her side, basking in the glow she gave, and reflecting what little he could back to her, weakened and pale, the moon to her bright sun.

This is the last line from my latest chapter of Echoes of Eternity, my fantasy time-travel novel. For a bit of context, Melwas was just injured, and his friend Briaca is looking after him.

Tagging @jay-avian, @simonnebethel, @chronicler-of-narrative, and @rmhashauthor. No pressure peeps, just if you want to!

[omgkalyppso]

made from This Template

explanations of petnames that require explanations below the cut, tinkered with qu/enya from this elvish translator and used this infernal translator

Melda (dear, precious, beautiful), Vanimelda (the most beautiful), Alelda Lacarinan Ta Mindórinton (one without whom I am incomplete, fractions that I am), Yestilunya Hirmelindo (everything I desire in a partner)

Little Biter, My Love, Sercisonda (one who loves blood), Endamelda (heart of my beloved)

My Sweet, Darling, My Patient Fancy

Luqmz Kdywwulq (night blessing; started as abyssal blessing until Ze/vlor learned more of As/tarion's history)

Lastara (faithless), Carcaran (fanged one), Endanúlanya (my dark / occult / mysterious heart)

.

Darling, My Dear, My Sweet, Love, Lover, Endanya (my heart) My Heart

My Sweet, My Love, My Night Warden

Ph Riqulq Myirz (my raging heart)

Aurilite (one who believes in Auril), Ancalimon (brightest, the most bright); Morëlissynya (my beautiful goodnight)

.

Druid, Darling, Melwa (lovely), Love

Love, Taurëva (from the great forest), Milquelin (soft, sweet kiss embodied)

Kyifzh Ao Lizfry (beauty of the forest), Vuipalv-Tary (diamond-core = the beautiful / valuable thing that centers me)

.

Darling, Hero, Dearest, Beloved

Sweetheart, Endamaican (blade of my heart)

.

My Sweet, Darling, Fair Knight

Hellrider, Lover, Arquenya (my noble knight), Mirenya (my treasure) Beloved, Firelight

.

Shady Stranger, My Menace, Láralótë (single flower left on a grave)

Ravenite (one who believes in the Raven Queen), He Who Caws, Vanima (beautiful), Nécelda (pale, faint, dim to see + elf) (not to be confused with Nívelda (pale elf))

[sayer-raider-art]

Quick practice sketches of Keilani (Mothra) and Melwa in swimsuits

[gawrkin]

Rereading Trystan ac Essyllt again and it's...

Combined with the "Dialogues" between characters like Arthur, Eliwlod, Melwas and Gwenhwyfar, you get the impression no-one talks normally in Welsh Camelot.

Everyone has to speak to each other in englyns to have a serious conversation.

No-one talks in normal prose, they have to speak in three-to-four syllabic lines.

We have King Mark and his men talking normally to each other and to Arthur, but when Arthur negotiates with Trystan, suddenly everyone's eloquent and verbose.

Could you imagine Dinadan, Mordred, Morgan le Fay and the other characters talking this way?

[revoevokukil]

why does Avalach have that nickname?

I assume you mean Avallac'h as the nickname, as Crevan (Fox) is his real name (translating into 'Fox' in unicorn & Irish; befitting, by the way, as Tuatha Dé Danann of the Irish side of Celtic myth are one of the core inspirations for elves in The Witcher).

Why Avallac'h, then?

The name is a Latinized derivative of Afallach, with the root of the word being afal "an apple." Afallach, a Brythonic god originating in Celtic myth, is best known for his associations with Ynys Afallach ‘The Island of Apples’ or the Isle of Avalon - a mythical island between life & death.

Giraldus identifies the Isle of Avalon with Glastonbury, in De Instructione Principium (1193 -9): ‘what is now called Glastonia was anciently called Insula Avallonia, for it is like an island, wholly surrounded by marshes, whence it is called in British Inis Avallon, that is the apple-bearing island.’ William of Mamlesbury, in The Antiquities of Glastonbury (1216), follows this tradition. Glastonbury ‘is also well known as by the name of Insula Avalloniae’. He says it may be ‘named after a certain Avalloc who is said to have lived there with his daughters on account of it being a solitary place.

A father to Modron - a mother goddess - Afallach or Avalloc is held to be the ruler of the "island of apple trees"; an otherworldly haven to which King Arthur (& Geralt) are taken at the end of their perils. It’s the mythic Celtic Elysium.

Meanwhile, Sapkowski himself deems Avallac'h the Welsh god of evil spirits:

"The son of the lunar Nudd is Gwyn. Against his name (Gwyn means White), son of Nudd is the dark god of battle and death, ruler of Tylwyth Teg, Welsh evil spirits. Gwyn (called Melwas in Cornwall and Avallach in Somerset) was the Hunter, the Hunter of the Dead Souls."

Not only are Gwyn (ruler of a fairy otherworld) & Avallach the same deity, but the similarity is apparent at first sight (Avallac'h's introduction is given under Devil's Mountain, Mount Gorgon, where he patronises an array of evil, little creatures who heed his bidding & cease their "fun and games", not smashing in Geralt's face). Aen Elle - in the eyes of humanity - are most definitely something akin to "evil spirits." And Tylwyth Teg corresponds to "the fairy folk" who are described as fair-haired and coveting human children, whom they kidnap. It's poetry, really.

Furthermore, on apples. The fruit is commonly held as a symbol of fertility & sexuality, and it is especially representative of women’s Mysteries. Maiden, Mother, Crone - blossoms, fruit, black seeds. The symbol of Otherworldly paradise is related to the Feminine in Celtic (and other) cultures - for like the cauldron - it bears a strong association with wisdom and the womb. Consider further apple “the forbidden fruit” in Eden, or the apples of Elysium. Apples are often considered food of the gods, as well as granting impossible power or knowledge.

If we consider that the Witcher Saga does not shy away from admitting to the fundamental reality of its universe being fictitious, then why might Avallac'h in-universe go by the moniker?

Some thoughts:

Witcher gets meta-fictional. If Time is a circle & story-reality part of an “eternal recurrence”, who knows in how many realities & for how many times the story of elves - including Crevan’s personal one - has led to a similar point through different means (i.e. some special individuals take up many identities that they possess in different stories being told simultaneously & in parallel to The Witcher’s specific one - perhaps Aen Saevherne have access to knowledge of such realities via visions of past, present, and the future; all of which at the end of the day are but “versions” of a story the author picks.)

Perhaps Avallac’h found his way to the island of apple trees in search of Lara, even from beyond death?

He seems to enjoy bamboozling people & putting on some of that “larger than life” dust to his persona that somehow, inexplicably, also gives away a lot about his identity & story without Crevan necessarily having to share any knowledge about it to the peasants in person.

[cosmicpoutine]

due to popular demans (one person mentioned melwas) here's his design + a rly old sketch of him and shenlong back in school, this was before i even had designed him hence why the skull face is missing, but i love the yellow hightlights so i might bring that back

[queer-ragnelle]

au where melwas/gwenhwyfach fall in love.

[eynsavalow]

Smut Prompts | accepting

@xx--ofmanythoughts--xx​ Reunite - Our muses having sex after being apart for some time 

He had hated her when Arthur first took her to wife. He had foolishly wanted to keep the High King for himself, locked in the intimacy from their days as soldiers fighting for Arthur’s kingdom. 

His legs were sore, his left hand bloody from the work that it had taken to get here to the chamber where Melwas kept her. And . . . he understood everything. Why Arthur had taken her to wife and why he loved her and why . . . Lancelot couldn’t think of anything else but to kiss her. “I’ll stop if you tell me.” Please don’t tell me. 

His arms were around her waist and he could not seem able to hold her close enough. “I . . . Majesty let me make love you please.”