#nimue and weeping monk

[darklinaforever]

These shows that I still hope to have a sequel to one day :

For information, there are currently real discussions about a possible return of Julie and the Phantoms (but on Disney + this time). The creators of the show Dark Crystal are still not giving up the possibility of giving a conclusion in one way or another to their show. Then there's the hope that Willow will one day return since it's more on indefinite hiatus than canceled. As for Cursed, we are supposed to one day have the sequel in book form. Conclusion : I'm waiting. May hope be with me, with you, with all of us.

[beginning-writer]

More baby dragon cause, why can't this get out of my head when i alredy wrote it?!?!

Lancelot had been holding the little dragon on his lap for a few hours. The little animal made himself comfortable in his extra warm lap and he didn't have the heart to take him away. In the first few minutes, after the little creature invaded the tent, scaring everyone and making itself comfortable in his lap, Merlin tried to take the dragon off Lancelot's lap and received a hiss in response. And then Nimue did the same, and Morgana the widow of death herself tried, they called Gawain to try, everyone received a fierce hiss and a sharpening of the body that guaranteed the little thing wasn't going off of him anytime soon.

“Why?-” Gawain begins, but before the word is finished. “Don’t you understand that it is not going to leave his lap?” Yeva, who only leaves her space on rare or dangerous occasions, interrupts him. Surprising everyone and making them look at her. She speaks in a stern tone, perhaps a little rude if you listened properly, still giving away her advanced age.

“I didn’t expect younger ones to understand this, but an old man like you, with hundreds of years old, Merlin, should already know.” The elder moonwing enters the place, seeing the little dragon on Lancelot's lap, she approaches. The dragon looks at her with his big curious eyes, still defensive, and Lancelot looks at her as he would look at anyone other than Squirrel , with a neutral and bitterly serious face.

Yeva lifts her eyes from the dragon to look at Lancelot, her one good eye looking into Lancelot's blue eyes and the black marks that painted his face and under eyes. They seemed lighter now, an indication that he was happy, or at least lighter than usual. She hadn't visited Ashman in his entire stay here, despite being curious about him or how he came to end up in these lands.

She quickly understood what happened. The little dragon lost its mother, or lost from its mother. The bodies of these creatures are usually overly warm, and for their young, cozy. Exactly what the baby found in the Ashman, who also had a higher body temperature than that of any human or fey due to the fire coursing through his veins. The animal thought that Lancelot was its mother and the man didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.

“You’re the mother.” Yeva said simply.

"I know." Lancelot responds, turning his eyes to the adorable little creature that was biting his finger, trying to show affection.

Nobody in the room understood anything. Except the two of them, and maybe Merlin. “What’s the name?” A thinner, more energetic voice asked out of nowhere. Squirrel had sneaked into the room and startled some with his sudden speech. Lancelot's expression changes when he sees Squirrel, from neutral to slightly affectionate, his face lighter and his marks becoming clearer with the sweet affection that everyone knew he had for the boy.

“NightPearl.” He responds, and the dragon looks at Lancelot, as if recognizing that he has received a name. Squirrel smiles and comes closer, despite Nimue trying to stop him from doing so. This time, the dragon doesn't hiss, it just turns its little head, analyzing its new brother.

Lancelot looks at Yeva for a moment, and they know they'll need to have a talk after everyone goes to sleep and they're alone. Which seems scary when she seems even crazier than him. But nothing that made him want to say no. The dragon still tries to bite his hand, squirming in his lap and making Lancelot smile.

“You’re smiling!” Squirrel points out, his face lit up seeing Lancelot smiling in ‘public’ for the first time and a big smile on his face.

“Yes, I am.”

@lancedoncrimsonwings that was your fault for influencing me with, uh... cute reptiles! That. You infected me with a love for reptiles, it's your fault that Lancelot and dragons can't get out of my head.

[wr1tten]

it  had  been  a  few  weeks  since  he  found  her  floating  in  red  tinted  waters.      nimue’s  pulse  weak;      barely  breathing.      lancelot  didn’t  know  her    —    beyond  her  reputation  as  the  wolf  blood  witch,    another  fey  expected  to  meet  the  weeping  monk’s  blade    —    but  squirrel  did.      desperate  to  save  her.      so  he  pulled  her  from  the  water,    snapped  and  removed  the  arrows,    and  used  his  long  since  suppressed  abilities  to  mend  her  back  to  health.      it  was  near  necromancy,    how  close  to  death  she  had  been  when  they  found  her.      she  hadn’t  woken  for  days;      staving  off  the  pain  from  the  injuries.      it  wasn’t  a  surprise  that  he  was  met  by  a  feat  of  rage  when  she  came  to.      a  waking  nightmare  where  a  red  paladin  was  staring  back  at  her.      if  it  weren’t  for  her  weakness,    he  wouldn’t  have  survived  her  fury. 

the  passing  glances  of  disgust  became  less  frequent,    nimue’s  trust  being  gained  the  more  he  sat  to  speak  with  her.      open  up  about  their  pasts;      disclose  his  learned  self-hatred,    be  vulnerable  with  the  woman  he  had  previously  proclaimed  his  mortal  enemy.      there  was  much  more  that  connected  them  than  what  separated  them.      nimue  had  become  a  confidant.      a  warmth  in  the  cold  breeze,    a  fire  stoked  within  the  melancholy.      with  her,    the  fey  had  a  bright  future  ahead.      and  maybe  he  would  be  lucky  enough  to  be  a  part  of  it. 

( did  you  want  that?      after  all  this  time,    all  the  self-mutilation.      you  ran  from  your  nature;      despised  it.      but  now,    you  protected  a  fey  youth  and  a  fey  queen.      there  was  no  returning  to  that  horrid  place  you  left ). 

they  were  sat  in  front  of  the  water,    the  current  carrying  an  imperfect  reflection  of  nimue  across  it.      had  she  always  been  this  beautiful?      the  green,    plant-like  veins  contouring  her  cheeks  as  flowers  grew  along  their  sides.      regrowing  the  dead  ground;      bringing  back  color  where  the  flames  had  decimated  it.      lancelot  reached  over,    thumb  brushing  along  the  raised  skin  in  awe.      in  awe  of  all  that  she  was  even  after  all  she  had  lost. 

@unbelovd sent : an abrupt kiss that you melt into after a moment of hesitation.

the  motion  was  so  quick  that  he  flinched.      a  kiss  was  the  last  thing  he  expected    —    he  didn’t  deserve  her  kindness,    let  alone  her  desire.      nimue,    the  very  embodiment  of  selflessness,    choosing  the  destroyer  of  her  village.      a  monk  that  relished  in  the  sight  of  fire.      lancelot  knew  he  wasn’t  worthy  of  her.      and  he  also  had  no  right  to  deny  her  something  she  wanted.      so  the  hand  at  her  cheek  drew  her  in,    lips  finally  responding  with  a  fervor.      two  sides  of  the  same  coin;      forever  connected.      no  longer  at  war  with  one  another.      he  had  surrendered  to  her.      completely  and  utterly  at  her  mercy  as  his  dark  hues  flutter  closed,    thumb  mapping  the  sharp  cut  of  her  jaw. 

[talesofthehollow]

So it's been some time since we had an update, but I thought it would be nice to take a moment to thank @allgirlsareprincesses for A Song of Ash & Sky. Looking back at my moodboards, I'm forever grateful to your words that inspired them.

Merry Xmas & Happy Holidays, everyone! ❤❤❤

[wulfbluds]

the cursed fandom is divided entirely by nimue / lancelot & nimue / arthur shippers , but WHERE ARE THE FLAVOR PALLETES ??? ( banging head into wall ) WHERE ??

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 34

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Out Of The Ashes

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  34/47

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Merlin rode beside Arthur and Gawain, they were speaking of Nimue from what you could hear. Percival had gone to ride with Pym for a while. Red Spear had brought some of her crew from her ship along on the journey, it brought a small sense of added safety. One of those raiders, a young man called ‘Hawk’ , had started to talk to you randomly and had not stopped since at least an hour. He told you the strangest stories, of how he once got an arrowhead lodged in his thigh and how he once fell overboard when drunk. Less than four words you had said to him during his stories, he just seemed to love talking to all who would listen. Lancelot rode not far away from you, keeping somewhat of a distance from the group. And when you had looked back at him he send you a curious look, undoubtedly wondering how long it would take you to tell the chatty young man to go away. But you didn’t, and caught the Ash Man rolling his eyes when Hawk started another story.

“We will pass through Ravenwick.” Merlin said out loud to the others. “Then travel along the rivers until we reach our destination. We need to avoid the main roads if we wish to spare ourselves from encountering trouble.”

Whilst the others agreed, you were too distracted by what was said to notice how a branch had gotten stuck to your satchel. There was a strong tug and then the grass was getting awfully close really fast. Your hip hit the journals inside the satchel and you could already imagine the bruise that would grow out of that. All came to a halt and before you could even process being on the ground, Hawk had hooked an arm under yours and was helping you up to your feet. How was he so quick to help, had he jumped off of his horse?

“Up you go, miss.” he said, sounding like he was used to picking people up from the ground.

“Thanks.” you swayed on your feet a little until Lancelot kept you steady by the elbow.

“Are you alright?” he worriedly asked.

“I think so. My satchel got caught on a branch.” It was a bit embarrassing.

Gawain rode up along with the others. You spoke up about what you had heard right away.

“We’ll be passing through Ravenwick?” you asked.

“Is there a problem?” Arthur wondered.

They did not know of your history with the place. “It will be a risk. Abbot Wicklow will have eyes set on Ravenwick, he knows I used to live there and may believe Lancelot and I will set foot in the city again.”

Gawain chimed in, “Then we will be careful and discreet. Either we go through Ravenwick, or we travel on roads that Uther’s soldiers often use and if they see Merlin they will not be kind to us.”

Then you realized something, Aldith would not have carried all his wealth to Morrowstead with him. If all that coin was still in your old home hidden somewhere, it could be very helpful to all.

“Can we stop at my old home? My father may have hidden matters that we can really use.” You held back from telling him what it might actually be.

Lancelot voiced his concern, “Are you sure about going back there?”

It would be a waste not to. “My father stole from the Fey just like the Church does. It would benefit us all if we found matters worth coin there.”

No one could argue with that, coin would be very helpful, or soon everyone would run out of things to trade just to eat.

“A wise decision.” Merlin said upon hearing it.

But Lancelot was not so quickly convinced. “I do not consider it wise.” he said to you. “You told me you never wanted to go back there.”

That was true. But now people were depending on it. “And I meant it. But this isn’t just about me. How else are we going to pay for an inn? For meals? And maybe I can get my clothes, if they haven’t tossed or burned them.”

Finally, he agreed to the plan and saw to it that you got back on your horse safely. You adjusted the satchel so the strap could not get caught on a branch again.

“Careful now.” Lancelot stood beside you, placing his hand on your thigh in an almost innocent manner.

Looking down at him, you could see that boyish smile that gave him an innocent look, especially with how the sun landed on those eyes and lighted them much like valuable gems. You patted his hand, he stepped away and did not look back to see your reaction when he gave your thigh a squeeze and proceeded to climb back into Goliath’s saddle. That cheeky…

Hawk walked up to you. “This reminds me of when I was traveling to Gramaire and my friend Eli over there-”

His new story was cut short when Lancelot steered Goliath to your side and forced Hawk back. The young Hawk picked up on the meaning of it and with a polite nod your way, he went back to his horse to ride with the rest of Red Spear’s group.

“You are too polite.” Lancelot said.

You grinned at him. “Because I know how rude you can be and it balances it out.”

He scoffed, feigning insult. “I am not rude.”

Oh really? “You nearly trampled Hawk with Goliath just now.”

“I was sparing you from having to listen to another one of his stories.” Was his excuse.

You kept looking to the path ahead. “Almost seems like you have been without attention for a bit too long today.”

He picked up on the playful intention behind it. “Are you accusing me of being too attached?”

Your grin widened. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I know you are.”

He steered Goliath closer. “Is that a complaint?”

“No.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Just amusing to me how distant you behaved towards everyone when we first met, and now you are like this with me.”

He was honest about the reason, “I was distant because I could not trust those around me, a problem I did not have with you.”

It was a risky jest, “Because I was chained and tied up.”

A sigh. “Yes. Because I could tie you up and put a rag over your mouth when you became too much too bear.”

You swatted at his arm. “You…”

He caught your wrist. “You hit lighter than a breeze.”

The jest fell from you, “You want me to use my strength?”

An intrigued smirked graced his lips. “That would be interesting.”

You fed that intrigue. “I’ll remember that.”

“Oh?” He leaned a little your way.

When you hummed cheekily, his gaze fixed on your lips and it only made you smirk back at him.

“Lancelot.” Gawain called out to him and beckoned him over.

With a polite tilt of his head your way, Lancelot rode ahead to go and listen to Gawain. The longer the ride went on the more everyone had switched places in the group. By the time Ravenwick came into sight you had spoken to at least four different people. Pym, two from Red Spear’s crew and then Red Spear herself. And the Red Spear was eager to offer her help in collecting the valuables from Aldith’s manor, you saw no issue with it. Aldith would have hidden his most valuable items well and you had no doubt that some of that manor would have to get damaged to find it all.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  At sundown you reached Ravenwick. There were barely any people still outside. The fortunate thing was that you knew this place like the back of your hand and knew what paths were more discreet. Everyone had dismounted and followed you on foot until Gawain came up with the idea to take some of the group to the other side of Ravenwick already to draw less attention, there they would wait for you to join them again. Red Spear chose three of her crew and chose to stay at your side to help. Merlin, Pym and Percival went with Gawain out of precaution against Red Paladins and Uther’s soldiers. Arthur decided to help in the manor as well. The seven of you continued to your old home on foot, leading the horses by the reins until you were at the hitching post just beside the manor. Red Spear ordered two of her comrades to remain outside and keep watch for any trouble, then she followed you to the the door of your home. Hawk, who she had chosen to come along, was carrying two large woven sacks to fill. Unfortunately the door was locked well.

“What now?” Arthur wondered out loud.

Red Spear did not answer, she walked to one of the windows around the corner and broke it with the back of her spear. She was the first to climb into your old home and helped you in a bit, the others followed.

“We fill the sacks?” She was asking for approval from you a bit awkwardly.

You gave the permission. “Go ahead. Search this place, my father must have hidden some of his coin in here somewhere. I am going to see if there is still something left of my belongings.”

She was happy to oblige and ordered Hawk to help her search the place. Arthur hurried after her to help, and maybe to remind her not to make too much noise.

“She’s going to tear this place apart in search of coin.” Lancelot quietly commented to you.

“Good.” You hoped this place would at least bring some joy to someone.

Seeing it now, in it’s desolated state, was strange. It brought back so many memories, and none were pleasant. Seconds passed before you realized you had not taken a single step.

There, on one of the chairs you had scraped your knee badly when Cassian had once pushed you to the floor. And on the carpet was still the bloodstain that came from a nosebleed after Aldith had struck you once again, hours you had spend trying to get the stain out to no avail, he was furious you had ruined the carpet. Lancelot’s voice rang through your distracted thoughts. You turned to look at him just to realize he must have been trying to get you to snap out of the past you were stuck in unbeknownst to him.

“We should not be here.” he said after seeing the haunted look in your eyes. “I do not want you to be here anymore.”

He did not hold back on letting that be known. That smile and joy in your eyes from earlier was completely gone, stolen by the memory you had stepped into. He could not bear to see it happen.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

He did not like it, not one bit. But Aldith owed you an inheritance, one that you could use for good. Slowly you began to walk through the rooms. The kitchen where you had to prepare food for them, the dining room where they tossed it at your head when their meal wasn’t warm enough. And if they caught you tasting… if they knew you tried to eat without ‘earning’ it…

You were grateful it was quite dark inside, only the moonlight falling through the windows offered light, because your mouth was quivering often and you did not want anyone to see.

The hall that lead to the stairwell. The stairwell where you were once pushed down from by Cassian and his friends as a child. Your stomach turned there, and for a second you waited before ascending it. On the upper floor, there was the hall that lead to all the bedrooms and rooms filled with clutter. You passed by a painting on the wall, depicting a sheep being slaughtered, it was hanged there to remind you of what you were to them, that was what they had always said. Beside the painting was damage to the wall, one of the times you had tried to escape… Aldith had slammed your head against that wall so hard you thought it was the end, he had kept doing it whilst screaming how you would end up like the sheep in the painting.

You were breathing hard, staring at that wall and the painting, tears warming your cheeks without realizing it. To remember that paralyzing fear was what brought it back to life. Trapped in that dreadful feeling, a gentle touch was hard to distinguish from a malicious one. Lancelot had tried to offer comfort, but you had lashed out in the darkness at him, pulling away from him, shoving him back in defense against a threat long buried in the past. Instant guilt riddled your conscience, it had been so long since you had felt this awful.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t meant to…” it came out in a sob.

He had you in his arms so quickly you had barely time to notice he had moved at all. That instant feeling of his warm arms around you, that soft hushing in your ears as he rubbed your back to sooth you. You nested into him, holding him tight against your form, neither moved for quite some time. Once the worst of the emotion had passed, you were confused by how easy it felt to fall asleep when he held on like this, he made you so calm and comfortable.

“I’m going to fall asleep like this.” you mumbled against him.

He brushed a hand over your head. “Better?”

You nodded, taking the opportunity to enjoy that Fey scent of his. “Thank you.”

“Always.” he said. Then did not let go until you did so first.

You wiped your cheeks dry with your sleeves, uttering another apology that he deemed unnecessary.

He cradled your face. “I hate to see you return to this place, I can see the toll it takes.”

You took his hands from your face and held them in your own. “Sometimes I feel guilty for their deaths. I consider this a reminder that the world is better off without them in it.” At the far end of the hall, in the corner, was a door. “My room was over there.”

“I’m going with you.” It was a statement.

You grabbed hold of his sleeve at the wrist and took him along, the door was still open just a little.

He noticed the locks on the outside and pointed at them, “Why?”

You hated the sight of those. “To lock me inside when they felt like it.”

Stepping inside the room, the little light coming from the small window was pathetic. Lancelot was quick to spot the small lantern beside the door on the dresser, he lighted the candle with the flint beside it and handed you the flint to keep. Lantern in hand, he held it up to look around the room, letting the light fall on the mattress on the floor. He was quiet, but you could sense the many questions running through his head right then.

“They must have taken away my bed after the last time I was here. Possibly part of my punishment for when Aldith would have found me whilst he was still here.” you explained. Then pointed at the floor. “I found my mother’s journal over there, under the floorboards. The Hidden led me to find it.”

He remained eerily quiet, taking the view of the room in slowly. You let him process it and started inspecting your old dresser to see if it still contained your belongings. Your clothes were still there and you started to put them on the dresser to take along.

He turned to you. “Take all you wish to keep. I will make room in Goliath’s saddlebag if need be.”

It was a relief to hear. “Thank you.”

He put the lantern on the dresser and strolled around the room, even in the dim light you could see the disapproval in his eyes, that tense jaw and slight arch to his brow.

You tried to distract him from the depressing surroundings by making light of it, you drew his attention and when he made eye-contact you nodded to what was left of your bed. “I prefer the one in Gramaire, less visits from insects. Better company in general.”

His reaction was quick to silence your attempts to distract him, he send his eyes to the floor unable to hide the shock and disbelief in them.

The atmosphere had taken a sudden shift. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t.” He was firm. “Do not jest about this to diminish the true atrocities they committed against you, not for my sake or anyone else’s.”

You put down a folded shirt. “I don’t want you to be distraught over this. It’s the past.”

Your past, your burden, he had enough of his own to carry. Besides that, you did not like to see him upset.

“Was it the past when you pushed me away moments ago?” he confronted.

You turned away to focus on taking the clothes out of the dresser again. He was right, you could say it was the past all you wanted but the memories of it weren’t, nor was the pain it had caused. Quietly he came to your side, saying nothing for a moment, as if he regretted speaking of what happened by the painting. He reached out and brushed a hand over your back briefly, then folded his hands together behind his back. A few seconds passed before he stepped behind you and brought his arms around your waist, bringing you into and embrace. You stopped folding and put your hands on his arms, leaning into him more.

He kissed the side of your head. “None of us can free ourselves of the past without some scars to remind us of it.”

He let you free of his embrace and stepped to your side again.

You picked up the stack of clothes. “I’m done here. We should go and see what the others have found so far.”

He took the lantern along, using it to light the way while taking directions from you through the house. You found Red Spear, Arthur, and Hawk in Aldith’s room. They had moved most of the furniture around and were busy moving the large wooden chest in the far corner of the room. Red Spear had noticed a suspicious looking loose plank on the wall behind it, Arthur and Hawk used their swords to move the strangely nailed in plank out of the way. Red Spear got impatient and forced the plank out of the way with her spear, she reached into the small open space and retrieved what had been hidden there, a chest.

She put the chest down on the floor and looked your way. “Do you know where the key is?”

Your tone was neutral, nearly disinterested. “On my father’s corpse if I have to guess.”

Arthur and Lancelot shared a look, Red Spear looked like she was debating on throwing the chest out the window to get it to crack open.

“Shouldn’t she be the one to open it?” Hawk asked his leader.

At first Hawk received a glare, but then Red Spear seemed to agree. She stood up and put the small chest on the bed.

“Y/n.” Red Spear looked at you with expectation.

You approached, taking your dagger from your weapon belt to pry it open. Rather impatiently they all watched on as you tried to pry it open. It didn’t budge, so you stuck the dagger between the gap of the lid, turned the chest over and slammed it hard against the floor on the pommel a few times. The chest unlocked and coins spilled across the floor.

Whilst Red Spear and Hawk picked up the coins, Arthur spotted something different amongst them, he plucked a bracelet up from where it had landed under a few coins. “Are those Fey signs on this?”

Lancelot held out his hand for it and Arthur gave it to him to view, after a few seconds he said, “It’s hers.”

“Yours?” Arthur looked at you.

You shook your head, not recognizing the golden bangle. If it had been yours you would have remembered owning such an intricate piece, a dark gem was placed in the midst of it, engravings of vines ran across it’s surface.

Lancelot held it out for you to take. “Inside the bangle, in the language of our clan, ‘Little Ember’ is engraved on it.”

“What…?” You stared at the piece of jewelry in his hand.

Red Spear saw your reaction. “If she doesn’t want it-”

Lancelot did not let her finish the sentence. “It is hers.”

With shaking hands you took the bracelet, unable to translate the engraving inside for yourself. If he had not told you, you would have never known and the bracelet your mother must have meant to gift you would have been sold off somewhere.

“The stone must be some sort of quartz.” Hawk said. “I’ve found and sold those before. It looks like smoke’s inside of it.”

You put the bracelet on, it sat securely on your wrist. Aldith had hidden this… the only gift you would have gotten from her…

“You don’t have other jewelry?” Hawk blurted out. “No wedding ring?”

Lancelot’s expression changed, the statement had an effect on him

“Doesn’t make her less married.” Arthur said and got an appreciative look from the Ash Man.

“We count them here and now.” Red Spear nodded down at the coins.

“Count?” Hawk questioned.

She gave him a stern look. “Count. All will get their share.”

Hawk was quick to start counting. “Yes, Red Spear.”

You hadn’t thought she would be so honest to make certain all got a fair share, but she was firm on the matter. The coins were counted twice, and she divided the amount equally except for you, you got some more. Some gold, some silver, you stashed them safely into your satchel.

Lancelot had seen the full sack of items in the corner. “What did you find of value?”

Arthur replied, “Some silverware and weapons. Silver candle holders in this room.”

Lancelot saw one sticking out of the sack. “Those are found in monasteries.”

“I bet that’s where my father found them too.” you deadpanned.

Arthur chuckled at the witty remark. Hawk went to pick up the bag. And Red Spear carried that chest of coin like it had just made her year. You tried not to think too much about where Aldith had gotten that coin, what mattered now was that it was in the hands of people who really needed it.

Together you made your way back to the horses, Lancelot borrowed one of the sacks Red Spear’s crew members had with them to put your clothes away, then secured the sack to Goliath’s saddle. He approached you just before you were going to mount the grey mare.

He took your wrist, where the bangle was, he took it off briefly to point at the symbols one by one, explaining what they meant and how their order changed their meaning.

“Do you understand?” he gently asked.

You considered lying, but that wouldn’t help you learn. “Some of it.”

His lips curved and he put the bangle back on your wrist. “You will learn, I’m certain.”

The confidence he had in you was nice to hear. “How could I not with such a dedicated tutor that holds my interest so well?”

Those eyes that held the heavens locked on yours at the blatant flirtation, you loved that small hint of a smirk he had now.

Arthur walked past. “Time to go, Gawain will be waiting.”

Lancelot stepped away to fetch Goliath. You were in charge again to lead the group through the more discreet paths of Ravenwick. Arthur was the one who spotted a group of paladins, drunk and laughing by their horses at a distance. You started to lead the group to another path until you heard Red Spear whisper at Lancelot in irritation.

“Keep moving!” she quietly snapped at him.

He was distracted by the group of paladins, and both Arthur and Red Spear grew vigilant because of it.

“Are you going with them, or with us?” Arthur bluntly asked him.

Lancelot’s eyes snapped to Arthur, visibly angry at the blatant mistrust.

“Enough.” you hissed at them. “Follow me or find your own way out of here!”

That shut them all up, even Red Spear was a little impressed by how effective your harsh tone was on them. The group remained quiet for the rest of the way out of Ravenwick, thankfully so.

Not far outside the city, Gawain and the others were waiting for you.

“Found something worth our time?” Gawain asked.

“Coin.” Red Spear answered. “We’ll divide it when we’ve set up camp for the night.”

“Good.” The knight agreed.

“The sword?” Merlin asked Lancelot.

“Still with me.” he answered, patting the sword attached to the saddle.

Arthur was still mistrusting towards him. “What was that back there? Why did it look like you were going to walk over to the paladins that we saw?”

“I was not!” Lancelot bit back.

Red Spear and Arthur shared a look. Had they seen something you had not? Percival looked so very worried towards the Ash Man, pleading with his eyes for it not to be true.

Lancelot calmed himself. “I was watching them to ensure they had not seen us, that they would not follow us.”

Gawain was short and firm about the matter, “If he had wanted to go back to them, he would not be so courteous to us. In the least some of us would be dead, and the rest he would have given to the Church to regain their favor.”

The knight was able to silence their doubt. After a short briefing between them all, the group resumed their journey into the forest. They kept close to the river, often Gawain looked at the map he had brought along to ensure they were heading in the right direction. The weather was getting colder, a chilly breeze cut through your clothes and you contemplated stopping to retrieve your cloak from Goliath’s saddlebag. But not much later a place in the forest was found to set up camp. Everyone used what little they had to make a place on the grass to sleep, cloaks, blankets, one of Red Spear’s crew had acquired a fancy tablecloth to use. You finally fished the cloak out of the saddlebag and debated on putting it on and sleeping in it, it would be warmer. Percival had tied the reins of his horse to a branch and came your way, you realized he had nothing with him to sleep on and even though he didn’t say so, you could tell that he was cold.

“Here, use my cloak to sleep.” You offered it to him.

The boy didn’t take it. “We could share?”

With a smile you took him by the shoulder and guided him to a tree to rest against. Sitting down against the tree, you draped the cloak over the both of you.

“You alright?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, a clear ‘no’ in your opinion. You nudged him playfully against the arm.

He spoke quietly, “It’s so much.”

That had sounded quite sad. “What is?”

“Everything.” He sank under the cloak further. “There isn’t time for something else.”

You understood that he missed the lack of fun activities amongst all this. Under all that bravery and fortitude was still a child, and in times of war it was often overlooked. You trapped him in an embrace, he didn’t seem to mind and leaned into it, it was a welcome solution against the cold.

You resisted the urge to ruffle that untamed hair. “There will be time, Percival. I promise.”

Red Spear was handing out everyone’s share of coins and to your surprise she offered Percival a share too. The boy could barely believe it when she let those coins fall into his hands like it was nothing, then she walked away.

“Is it really for me?” he looked at you.

You smiled. “Of course it is. Put it in your pockets.”

Percival didn’t have to hear that twice, he stuffed the coins in the pockets of his jacket.

Lancelot approached and sank down against the side of the tree next to Percival. “The weather is colder, but I do not believe it will rain.”

“I hope you’re right.” The chilly breeze was worse enough.

He reached behind him, his arm just long enough to blindly let his hand touch your arm, Percival was oblivious to it happening. You turned to look past your shoulder, discreetly grazing your fingers against Lancelot’s before pulling your hand back.

“Do you think I have enough coin for a sweetroll?” Percival asked.

“No.” Lancelot lied.

You sighed at the twit’s jest. “Yes, you have enough for a sweetroll.”

Percival smiled widely, very pleased with that answer.

Pym almost stumbled over your feet when she walked by. “Sorry. I didn’t see your feet. It’s dark.”

You gave a nod. “It’s alright.”

“Thanks for letting them give everyone coin. You could have kept it a secret and gone to grab that chest for yourself.” she said.

It wouldn’t have felt right to keep it all. “I prefer helping others with it. My father stole from everyone, I do not want to be as greedy as he was.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“Still.”

“I’ll let you sleep.” She turned to Percival. “Goodnight, Squirrel. I’m just over there if you need me.”

Percival was nested comfortably under the cloak. “Goodnight.”

Pym walked off to a tree nearby where she had made her bed for the night. Looking behind you, you noticed the sword on the ground next to Lancelot, the sword, he treated it like any other sword that he could have found in the dirt. It was perhaps best, it meant it was not corrupting him. As the boy slowly fell asleep, you often glanced behind you and around the tree, oddly distracted by having the Ash Man so near yet not near enough. Being in love was a constant rush through your veins that was only calmed by him. It took a while to fall asleep, but once you did the weight of the day pulled you into a deep slumber easily.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Gawain was hastily shaking your shoulder to wake you. “You need to wake up. Now.”

The sun struck your eyes and they needed some time to adjust, and when they did you immediately saw the serious expression on the knight’s face. Percival was already up and looked as confused as you were.

“What’s going on?” you asked worried.

Gawain helped you up by the arm. “Lancelot is gone.”

Taglist:

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[artsycrapfromsai]

Ko-fi Doodles round 2! (Ko-fi Doodles are currently closed as I work through my backlog!)

No. 9 & 10 - Bakugo/OC & Shinsou/OC for @BUBBL3GUMN3BULA on twitter! No. 11 - Chouchou for @MikeMorris7 No. 12 - OC for @foustdoodles98 No. 13 - DnD OC for @BanannaSlamma64 No. 14 - Tsuyu doodle for ThreeSS!! No. 15 & 16 - OC & Izuku and OC & Reiner (AoT) for @BUBBL3GUMN3BULA No. 17 - Weeping Monk, Nimue & Squirrel from Netflix's Cursed for @CatCapetan No. 18 - Ren Amamiya for Senkai!!

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Rewatching Cursed (again) and damn I forgot how much Merlin whump there is I mean

Dude straight up ain't having a good time at ALL

I actually started watching Cursed purely for Gustaf Skarsgård because Floki, then realised Dan Sharman was in it and promptly died. Obviously The Weeping Monk became my obsession but we still fuckin love Merlin too.

And all the whump in general is just *chefs kiss*. We get a little bit of lady whump too, which I also love (just never see much of it), particularly Nimue.

Amusingly enough, I came in as a Nimlot (Lancelot/The Weeping Monk x Nimue) shipper, and I still DO like that ship, even actively still read Nimlot fics, buuuttt when I got to THAT torture tent conversation?

Then Lancewain became and solidly remains my fave.

Ok now to get back to my regular scheduled The Weeping Monk and Gawain

[rayshippouuchiha]

... the plot bunnies are multiplying... *sigh*

1. Fem!Harry Potter is Nimue (from cursed) and yea... that's as far as got for that one but yea probably will be nimulot cause I love the weeping monk....

2. Fem.Harry Potter is fem Stiles (Genim) and when Deaton says that she's a spark she laughs and laughs because she finds it hilarious that her magic is considered a spark when she knows it's more like a wildfire

fuck yes let those bunnies multiply and flourish

[darklinaforever]

Well... It's 2024 and still no news about the book sequel...

[beginning-writer]

Lancelot's tears part 2

Warning: not so small text.

So, those days i got myself thinking "Lancelot crys a lot in the legends. Probably because he was raised only whit women and he didn't grow up whit the pressure of 'real men don't cry' bullshit. It's funny cause in the show he was raised to be a weapon and only by men paladins. It's kind of contradictory... wait hold on-"

Well my mind just give me de awsome information that PERHAPS Lancelot and his cousins, Lionel and Bors, might just had swapped their fates whit each other in the show. Why, do you ask? Let me give you some of those beautiful reasons that almost made me want to drown myself in coffee and medicine.

In the original legends, we know that Lancelot's mother, Elaine, ran away when the castle they lived in set on fire and give young Lancelot to Viviane, the Lady of the Lake or Lady du Lac, which in the show we know as Nimue. And in some other versions he is kidnaped, or more like taken away from his mother's arms, by her. And we all assume his biological mother is dead. While Bors and Lionel are taken by Claudas and his son, and held in captivy for a time (it's not telled how many time exacly), until they kill Claudas' oldest son and ran away whit the help of Claudas' youngest son.

By the time Lionel and Bors had been whit Claudas they were treated like prisioners and had only permision to go to church or be in the surroundings of the castle whit vigilance, and they would be punished for any bad action if i remember correctly. If that's a wrong information then pardon and please correct me.

I strongly belive that Bors is too religious cause of the trumas he passed during this period of the sequence of trumas in his life. The parents death, the kidnap, and the fact that he couldn't leave or go to any place other than the church. And all of this happend when he was young, but not so young as Lancelot.

They don't cry as much as Lancelot does. Probably cause Lancelot was raised whit only women and had much more freedom to cry and expose his feelings, meanwhile, for what i belive, Lionel and Bors had been whit Claudas and i'm pretty sure he has the "swallow the cry, or i'll give you a real reason to cry. Suck it up." kind of guy dealing whit them two.

In the show we see that insted of being raised whit women, Lancelot was raised whit paladins men, worse than that, church man-blood men. NO OFFENSES. And that he probably was kidnaped and treated like an animal or a demon/prisioner. Really similar whit Lionel and Bors don't you think? It gets worse. Cause we see Lancelot suffering and asking the father if he loves him, but we don't see him cry when he totally should in front Carden. Really weird the similarity happend twice, huh?

Lancelot was raised by men, kidnaped, treated very poorly from the very beginning, and doesn't cry in front of his abusers. Exacly what happend to Lionel and Bors in their story.

I think i made my point very clear, and i think you get what i mean.

Ok what the fuck does this have to do whit Lancelot's tears?

Not satisfacted whit giving me a headache from all this comparisons, my mind decided to give me more. Lancelot and his cousins swapped their storys/fates, that means Lionel and Bors scaped and now are living whit an adoptive mother looking for Lancelot. And perhaps Hector also sufferd the same fate, cause both brothers, Lionel and Bors, were kidnaped and kept imprisoned in the legends, then maybe it would make sense if Lancelot and Hector were whit the paladins.

But what about Lancelot being a total cry baby? He can't cry anymore. He'll have to learn how to express his feeling all over again.

My ADHD mind jut gave me the most perfect headcanon were, at first, Carden would not make them supress his feelings cause he knows that if he did, they would break and turn their backs to him sooner or later. But he had to do it. Why? Cause Lancelot is and the others are ashkids, and the ashfolk has a devine cry.

Devine cry. (Let me explain myself, alright? I promisse this can be good.)

As i was creating a reason for the Ashfolk marks in Lancelot's backstory story, i wrote about how Aed, the red, Celtic God of fire, created the ashfolk out the first ashes that fell after the very first fey fire being summoned on earth. Or the second version and particularly my favorite: the ash folk and fey fire were created of Aed's tears when humans murdered one of his creations, his tears burn the earth where it were killed, and so the ashes fell from them. Aed not bearing the suffering, takes the ashes and creates a new form of life, made to sense the danger whit their noses and capable of desgising among the nature. Marking their faces whit tears and as black as the ashes they were made from. Giving them the ability of making fey fire and a cry closer to his own suffering than the humans.

Whit that, the ashfolk were made, and whit them the protectiveness of Aed and the fey fire. The ashfolk had one regular diferential in their cry, they didn't cry very often, cause no one wanted to mess whit Aed new creation after seing him cry and get mad, but one day a person was stupid enough to mess whit of them. And they cried.

"When the humans heard the cry of the young ashkid, they could not describe it other than a beautiful sound that at the same time made their souls break into ten billion pieces. They claimed to hear a cry closer to an angel than to any human."

I thought about making their tears black, but then i trowed it out cause a human, a man-blood, would never call black tears beautiful. So insted, i'm thinking about their tears as something very clear, a transparent but angel-like tear that fall from their eyes like waterfalls. And I'm absolutely pleased whit that.

This would explain why Carden had to supress the ashkids feelings. Cause everytime Lancelot or any other ashkid cried, Father Carden heard about how the paladins cried along whit them until they pass out, and the ones who didn't went to cry in his feet begging him to free the childs.

Because the ashkids cry were so devine, so angel-like, in the sounds and color, even in the way it fell from their eyes, that any human would simply not bear to hear it. And whit that, Carden toke the decision of supressing their feeling, even if he kew it was a bad decision.

Time to imagine the lil scene (lancewain as always.)

[strawberry blonde]

As Guinevere and the raiders has arrived, they brought news whit them, as always, but this day something went diferent. Guinevere come to the healers tent, were Lancelot and Pym worked. She went whit the especific notice for Lancelot, and asked for Gawain's and Nimue's presence because it would be something they would need to hear later. What she didn't expect was that Lancelot would completely burst into tears when he heard the news.

The Red Spear had come whit the news that two ashmans were found by the east-southeast, one whit red hair and the other whit redish-blond hair, both whit green eyes, and the red head had a lion swened in his chest.

When the information left her lips, she heared the most soft and breaking heart sound she had ever heard in her life.

Everyone in the room turned their faces to Lancelot, founding him now leaned against the stone table they examined the pacients, the clearests tears they ever seen rooling down his cheeks as a waterfall, his tear marks seems to get clearer as the tears flowed. His sounds were so quiet, yet so breath taking, so lovely and painful that for a moment, the ones present felt their knees weaken. He looked like an angel crying.

Guinevere had to left before she herself cried, but she didn't know she wanted to cry.

What anyone knew, is that the ashmans in the east-southeast were Lancelot's cousins. Which he didn't saw since he was kidnaped as a kid. And even with all the training and preparation to suppress his feelings, he couldn't hold back his tears hearing the news that they were alive, and on this land. Tears were rolling down his eyes before he could realize it.

Gawain couldn't belive what he was seeing. Lancelot was crying, and he sounded absolutely devide. He looked so broken, yet so beautiful.

His body doesn't seem to move for a moment, but then he readily moves to comfort the crying man, hugging his body slowly and carefully. His heart broke a little more when he felt Lancelot flinch from the hug, because of he wasn't used to that or any form of affection.

Within seconds he feels his friend's facade break and bury his face in the crook of his neck. The almost non-existent sobs seem louder now that they are so close, Lancelot's tears wet the fabric of his shirt, and without even knowing why, Gawain's own tears begin to silently descend.

Apologies

This actually went way bigger than i thought, so if you read it till there, either you are really hiperfixed on the weeping monk, or you just had a fucking time. Either ways, thank you for reading.

Hunted kisses for you ❤️

@lancedoncrimsonwings

[fantasybewritten]

Fandoms and Characters I write for:

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Mira Salvatore (OC)

Klaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Davina Claire

Stefan Salvatore

Damon Salvatore

Caroline Forbes

Enzo St. James

Bonnie Bennett

The Borgias

Cesare Borgia

Juan Borgia

Lucrezia Borgia

Maddalena de Medici (OC)

The Medici

Clarice Orsini

Lorenzo the Magnificent

Giuliano de Medici

Cosimo de Medici

Contessina de Bardi

Francesco Pazzi

Cursed

Nimue

The Weeping Monk

Arthur

Petra (OC)

Gawain

Fear The Walking Dead

Laurel Hall (OC)

Serena Otto

House of the Dragon

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Dameon Targaryen

Helaena Targaryen

Alicent Hightower

Laena Velaryon

Jacaerys Velaryon

The Last Kingdom

Sihtric

Finan

Osferth

Petra (OC)

Uhtred

Brida

Ragnar

Skade

Aethelflaed

Gisela

Vikings

Idrin (OC)

Ubbe Ragnarsson

Hvitserk Ragnarsson

Ivar Ragnarsson

Princess Snaefrid

Thorunn

Bjorn Ironside

Lagertha

Margarthe

[thrillofhope]

Well, I wrote a thing. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“No, it’s…I’m sorry.” He laughs, nervously, the sound echoing softly around them. “It’s just I don’t remember the last time I was touched with kindness.” His eyes are soft, forgiving. “You caught me off guard, is all.”

“You, off guard?” Nimue teases. “It must be the end of days.”

“You would not be with me at the end of days,” he scoffs, and she knows he’s thinking of hell, of damnation.

She keeps it light. “Well, you do bring out the worst in me…”

There’s just a hint of a smile at her dark implication. “And you, the best in me. It seems we are at an impasse.” His words are playful, but she sees the heart behind them.

“I’m confident we’ll figure it out before the end.” He’s entwined with her destiny now, for better or worse. Better, she determines.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 30

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: A Vow Of Devotion

Notes: !!!!Extra warnings for this chapter added !!!!

Trigger warning for this chapter: !!!!This chapter very briefly mentions the memory of a child abuse attempt. It also mentions the memory of a SA attempt. Neither of them involve y/n and neither of them are descriptive. !!!!

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  30/47

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The warmth inside the cave had successfully dried most of your jacket, the warm sun would do the rest as you rode a little behind Gawain and Lancelot. Percival was seated in front of Lancelot and had not said much since leaving the cave and neither had Lancelot. It was Gawain who kept the conversation going by trying to inform the three of you how things were among the Fey these days. Lancelot sometimes replied to him and it showed that he knew more of Fey customs than anyone had expected. There had to be things he remembered of his past and things he had learned after having hunted the Fey for so long, it was not unusual for one to become quite knowledgeable on the subject of that which they spend most of their time on. You had not said much in the past hours, the afternoon sun was warming your back as you just listened to Gawain talk about Nimue.

“She would not want you to weep for her.” Gawain said to Percival.

Percival snapped his eyes away, clearly not happy to hear that. “The paladins made her fall and drown! Why can I not weep?!”

Gawain tried to explain that it was only meant to comfort him, “Percival, I did not mean that-”

“I hate them! I hate them all!” The boy snapped.

Lancelot tensed up behind him but tried to mask the reaction by readjusting how he was seated. Then Percival threatened to dismount, but he prevented it. “Percival.”

Percival hated that others would see the tears that threatened to blur his vision again, hearing about Nimue and how she had died was too much for him.

Lancelot held the boy seated securely in front of him, lowering his voice to calm him, “No one here will mock you for weeping. Mourn your friend without reservation.”

Gawain gave a reassuring nod towards Percival when the boy looked at him again. “My words were meant to offer comfort, they were not meant to upset you.”

“Fine.” Percival sighed, shaking the outburst from his shoulders.

Relief washed through all, Gawain chose a different topic to speak about. This time he spoke of the time where Lancelot had tried to burn him alive in a mill, and when you looked at the Ash Man for an explanation he kept his eyes straight ahead.

“He never told me that.” you bitterly said.

Gawain looked at you. “He does not appear to be a man of many words.”

There was still no eye-contact from the culprit. “And certainly not when it could bring him trouble.”

Lancelot scoffed, finally breaking the silence, “I had my orders. They wanted you, Green Knight, because you had killed many of the paladins. The Church was pressuring Father into capturing those with the strongest influence among the Fey.”

Gawain smiled, finding it amusing. “I suppose I could take it as a compliment.”

“I did capture you.” Lancelot still sounded proud of that achievement.

Gawain tried to temper that pride. “Yes. After a lot of effort.”

Percival found it the perfect timing to speak up on the fight he had witnessed between them, telling Gawain, “He fights faster than you.”

Lancelot turned his head the other side, hiding the victorious smile from the knight upon hearing the child sound so impressed.

Gawain send Percival a look, “Who’s side are you on, boy?”

That cheeky child grinned at the knight, knowing exactly how to get on his nerves.

Gawain shook his head, not giving either of them anymore attention. “We should stop at Crowgrove and acquire supplies, unless we wish to starve on our way to Gramaire.”

“Very well.” Lancelot agreed on that plan, he looked back at you, “Do you still have the pouch I gave you?”

A bad feeling sank itself into your stomach, quickly you searched your satchel. The pouch was no longer in there. “I don’t… I’m sorry. My father must have taken it.”

“It is not your fault.” he quickly said, then looked at Gawain. “We could trade?”

“Trade what?” Gawain asked.

“I still have my daggers.” Lancelot suggested.

Gawain pointed out a problem, “If we offer a merchant there one of those daggers, it will get us unwanted attention. They have the symbol of the Church on them, do they not?”

Lancelot nodded disappointed. “Then what can we trade?”

“We’ll see what we can do once we are there.” The knight sighed, not having an answer to that problem yet.

A loud scream coming from the left of you startled all, Lancelot by reflex held up a hand to signal the rest of you to stop. More screams traveled through the forest fast, you could hear people run.

Gawain spotted the origin of the sound. “Paladins. They are chasing two Fey women into the woods.”

The knight began to ride towards the sound, Lancelot called out to him, “Green Knight, we shouldn’t. If they see us alive-”

“You should not, but I do. I will not ignore their call for help.” Gawain was firm on that and gave the Ash Man a disappointed look. “My people need me. Ride ahead, I will find you.” The knight left no room for debate and rode towards the danger.

Lancelot sighed, swallowing down the curse he wished to emit. “Percival, dismount and ride with her until I return.”

“But-” Percival did not want to miss out on the action.

“Now.” he told him.

He helped the boy slide down from Goliath, and whilst you helped Percival up on your horse Lancelot put his bow into his lap then spurred Goliath on into a gallop. What you didn’t understand was why he wasn’t riding in the same direction Gawain had gone in.

“Do we have to just wait here?” Percival sounded appalled.

You didn’t plan to wait and see if they came back alive or not, even though they had clearly thought you would. But there was a child with you. “It’s dangerous…”

Percival looked back at you, reading the truth right out of your eyes.

“Fine. But we don’t get too close and we stay hidden, understood?” you knew that it was a risk with the boy’s unpredictable character.

When Percival promised not to take risks, you rode in the direction that the sound came from. By the time you were almost close, you could hear a fight going on. You halted the horse, dismounted and hid with Percival among the bushes and trees. Gawain was at a distance, fighting a group of paladins while two young Fey women and him were cornered by a rock formation. It was not a fair fight, five against one, Gawain was defending more than he could attack.

“Percival, I need to help him. Swear to me that you will stay hidden!” you held him by the shoulder. When he did not answer right away, you gave him a little shake. “Percival?”

The boy nodded. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

“Good lad.” you cupped his cheek for a moment, then quickly moved through the bushes towards the Green Knight.

Gawain noticed you approaching and looked both relieved by the incoming help, and annoyed that you had chosen to engage in battle.

You drew your sword and stepped into the sight of the paladins, one turned to look your way. Another was charging at the knight, that paladin’s plan was ruined when an arrow landed into the side of his neck and the force of it send him to the ground. Gawain looked around for a second, then continued to fight the other paladins who were clearly confused by the fatal arrow. You warded off the attack of the paladin who had noticed you by holding your sword vertically and swung your sword at him next, he evaded your sword but an arrow pierced itself into his chest and you stumbled back away from him. That had been too close for comfort, you looked where the arrow must have traveled from and spotted Lancelot up on the rock formation as he took aim again at the remaining paladins. He would not have a drop of blood on him whilst killing his former red brothers up from that advantage point. With the low supplies in mind, you grabbed hold of the arrow lodged into the paladin’s chest and pulled it free. Another had taken advantage of your brief moment of distraction to try and grab you from behind.

“I remember you!” he loudly exclaimed. “The Weeping Monk’s whore!”

You turned the arrow in your hand and with a quick backwards motion you stabbed the arrowhead into his cheek and pulled it free right away, blood splattered onto your shoulder and neck. It was nauseating but you did not falter, by turning into his hold you broke free and stabbed him with the arrowhead in the neck. Blood gushed out of his neck and you backed away to avoid getting it on yourself but you still felt the blood splatters land on your face. When you looked up, Gawain was delivering the death blow to the last paladin. The knight then noticed you and the state of your appearance, and what he saw must have startled him.

He called out to you, “Are you alright?”

It took you a few seconds to answer, “Yes.”

He turned to the frightened Fey women to talk to them and you approached them. They had been on their way home with their family when they encountered the paladins, they got seperated from the rest of them when they had run.

“They are not far.” Lancelot came from between the trees, having overheard the conversation. Percival was at his side.

The women cowered away in terror at the sight of him and it took Gawain some effort to assure them that Lancelot was no threat to them. You noticed the hurt in Lancelot’s eyes at witnessing their reaction to his presence.

Still, the Ash Man tried to help. “I can lead you to them.”

The women had their arms hooked together, seeking support and comfort with each other. They looked at you and Percival, and how you both had no fear of the one they so feared.

You saw it as a quiet request for your opinion. “We can help you. Lancelot can bring you to your family.”

“He’ll kill them.” The auburn haired woman said.

At that, Lancelot send his gaze to the grass, he had wanted to walk away but Percival took hold of his sleeve and wouldn’t let him. Someone needed to be his voice, for he would not be it for himself now you realized. You turned to the women.

“He saved my life, he saved Percival’s life. He just helped the Green Knight save you. Trust him to help you when he says he will, I promise it is worth it.” you spoke with fervor, then walked away to collect the arrows that had been used.

The women looked between the two men and the boy who had not expected you to speak so strongly for the former Weeping Monk. You heard a few sentences being spoken between them all, then Lancelot came to you just as you took out the arrow lodged into a paladin’s stomach.

“I am going to retrieve the horses, I will be back in a moment.” he informed. “We’ll lead them to their family and resume our journey afterwards.”

You were glad to hear it. “They are just frightened, they don’t know you like we do.”

He fidgeted with the bow, stealing the bloodied arrows from your hand. “I saw you fight. You are getting better.”

You picked up on that nervous note in his voice. “Truly?”

“Yes.” he liked to see that smile on your face. “We shall stop by a river so you can wash the blood off.”

Almost had you forgotten about the blood that had splattered onto your face. “That would be lovely. Oh, and uhm… that was impressive archery you displayed.”

“Thank you.” His eyes darted over your face, then he shook his head as if he wished to erase his thoughts and walked off.

The reaction was so odd that it left you a bit dumbfounded, Gawain began to walk towards you with Percival and the Faun Folk women and gave you a curious look. You shrugged your shoulders a little, acting like it was nothing important. Mere minutes later, Lancelot returned riding Goliath, the reins of the other horses in his hand. Gawain let the two women mount Gringolet and decided to walk beside them whilst Lancelot led the way. You rode beside Lancelot with Percival seated in front of you, watching how easily the Ash Man could find the rest of the Faun family. You wondered if your sense of smell would ever be that strong. He halted before he’d get too close and risk scaring away the Fey up ahead.

“They are over there.” he pointed to a spot further away with a lot of birch trees that had grown closely together.

Gawain helped the women dismount and walked the distance with them towards the spot that Lancelot had pointed out. Lancelot kept a watchful eye and saw the women reunite with their family, they all spoke to the knight for a little while. In the meantime Percival switched horses to ride with Lancelot again.

When Gawain returned, he walked past Goliath to mount his horse. “They asked me to thank you for helping them.”

Lancelot only nodded, still thinking about how they had reacted just by the sight of him and what they had said.

Gawain was grateful for the help. “And I am glad to see that you came to aid me, I did not know for certain if you would.”

“I swore to Percival that I would help the Fey where I could.” he said.

Gawain saw it differently. “I think you decided to help not because of a promise, but because you knew it was the right choice to do so.”

They shared a look amongst each other, and you knew the knight had made the right assumption.

Gawain leaned forward a little to look past Lancelot at you. “We’ll travel along the river to Crowgrove, so your dear friend can get that blood off of her. We do not want to alarm the villagers.”

“That bad, huh?” you winced.

Lancelot looked at you, a smirk formed on his lips when he decided how to answer. “It could be worse.”

Gawain rolled his eyes and straightened his back. “You would tell her she looks beautiful even if she would be drenched in mud from her head to her feet.”

The smirk vanished from Lancelot’s face and he looked ahead instead. Percival frowned for a second, then looked at the Ash Man from the corner of his eyes with suspicion. You knew what the knight was insinuating but ignored it just as you had done so when the paladins would share their opinions on the connection between you and Lancelot. Until last night he had not crossed that line, and he had only done so because he was consumed by grief. Gawain began to ride again, leading you back on the road to Crowgrove.

        About an hour had past before reaching the river. The plan was to stop for a moment, then continue along the river to reach Crowgrove. The chance to wash the blood off was not one you would pass up on. After tying the reins of the grey mare to a tree, you went to the riverbank and knelt down to splash water up in your face. Gawain and Percival took seat on the grass to enjoy the sun. Lancelot strolled over to you, watching the river’s stream as he stood a few steps away. Because of the warm sun, the temperature of the water was just right and a contented hum sounded from deep within your chest.

He had forgotten all he had come to say, the moment he saw that water drip along your neck his thoughts were diluted by invasive ones he could not stop. The warm river water mixed with your scent was pleasing his senses greatly.

You were in the midst of trying to wash the blood out of your sleeve when noticing that he was trying not to stare. The jest fell, “Here to make sure I clean myself well?”

Immediately he forced his eyes to the river. “Did Lord Leoric do so?” he blurted out.

It made you go quiet for a few seconds. Now you were the one staring at him.

“I am concerned.” he admitted. “You were locked in that room, told to bathe against your will��� were there other matters forced on you?”

You shook your head. “Not the sort that you think may have happened. Lord Leoric saw me as an oddity for him to study, he wanted me to be perfect like a statue for display.”

He was relieved to hear it. “Forgive me for pressing the matter. When I was with the Red Paladins, I bore witness to the atrocities they tried to commit when they thought I was not there to see it.”

You looked up at him in shock.

He swallowed hard, jaw tense as he spoke. “Not all kept to the vow. I caught three of them, all on separate occasions, attempting to force themselves on women.”

He was not comfortable to speak of it, the memory visibly unsettled him to recall. You were very quiet while listening.

He looked behind him to make certain Percival was nowhere close enough to hear. “I did warn them that I would be unforgiving if I learned of such behavior. And I was.”

“You killed them?” you asked.

He gave a sharp nod. “A benefit of making them fear me was that no one dared to cross me. And even if they had told Father, I would have been forgiven.”

“Because you were his greatest weapon.” you concluded.

He hummed in agreement. When a silence fell, you could just sense that there was something he was holding back on saying.

It felt like it was a personal matter he had not spoken off. “Lancelot… not many would have reacted the way you did. The way you defended those women…”

He knew what you were trying to gently inquire about. “When I was around Percival’s age, I was made directly aware of how some abused their authority and strength.”

Your heart sank. “Did they…”

“One tried. I sensed his intent when he lured me into the woods where he then voiced it to me.” he quietly said. “My sword was quicker. I did not give him the chance to get closer to me. He was one of the first that met their end at my blade.”

Slowly you rose from the grass and got closer to him, not really knowing what to say to the memory he just entrusted you with.

He continued, very careful that no one else could hear. “I grew to know that I had to keep them in their place, and when I was put in command I let my opinion on it be known.”

You placed a hand on his arm softly. “Thank you for telling me, it can’t have been easy to do. Now I understand why you are so concerned that something of the sort happened to me.”

He placed a hand over the one you had on his arm. “Can we keep this between us?”

“I won’t tell another soul.” you vowed.

His thumb brushed along yours. “It was many years ago, but I will never forget the fear that went through me. I was fortunate to have my sword with me that day.” A sigh. “This is why I feared I had done an unforgivable thing last night.”

You put his worries to rest, “It was never your intent to hurt me and you haven’t. I’ve always known that you have morals, and I have no doubt that you would never do or allow such a thing.”

He was so relieved to hear you speak of your faith in his character. “Thank you, for saying that.”

You withdrew your hand slowly. “And if I have ever made you uncomfortable, by embracing you for example, I apologize. I will be considerate of -”

He was quick to assure that it had not been the case, catching your hand before it could fully leave him. “I trust you. Do not let what I just spoke of stop you from showing your warmth towards me.” He feared it would make you hold back on showing such familiarity again. “I have gone without it until I met you, now I fear I would mourn it’s absence greatly.”

It was such a sweet thing to hear, so surprisingly lovely that you were a bit stunned, a shy smile danced on your lips. “It’s uhm… I am very glad to hear you say that.”

He let go of your hand, suddenly becoming aware of how he had been absentmindedly playing with your fingers a little. Deeply he inhaled, exhaling an unsteady breath. “I should go and speak to Gawain, hear what plan he has for once we reach Crowgrove.”

Before he walked away, he picked up your jacket from the ground to hand it over and you gave him your sweetest smile while plucking it from his hands. Three full seconds passed before he walked to where Gawain and Percival where seated. You put your jacket back on and walked a bit further along the river with a plan in mind. By practicing on using your heightened sense of smell, you picked up on the sweet scent of flowers. There was just one problem, it came from across the river and you would have to walk over a fallen tree that laid across it. Carefully you climbed up on the thick tree trunk and tried to find the right way to balance your feet on it.

“What are you doing?” Lancelot stopped a few feet away, looking very, very confused. Gawain and Percival stopped beside him, looking rather curious to see what you would do or maybe even waiting to see you fall in the river and ruin your attire.

“Nothing, just let me do this. I’ll come back to this side in a moment.” you waved him away.

He brow arched daringly, you sensed what he would do and quickly moved over the tree before he could try to stop you, he was not fast enough to grab your arm.

“Dammit-” the curse fell out of him and he grimaced at his inability to prevent it, especially around Percival. “Get back here!”

You shouted back whilst slowly walking over the trunk. “Gods! I’m not going to drown in this river, Lancelot! Just wait there, it’s alright.”

“I like her.” Gawain had his arms crossed in front of his chest, highly entertained by the shenanigans.

A frown formed on the Ash Man’s forehead as he looked at the knight, but Percival moved and before the boy could take another step towards that tree trunk he had caught him by the back of his jacket. “Stay.”

With small effort, you reached the other side of the river and turned around with a victorious expression. Gawain looked proud, Percival looked envious and Lancelot was looking at you in a scolding manner. You turned in the direction of that sweet scent and found it’s origin in the form of purple flowers growing onto a rock on the ground. You plucked some, just enough for your purpose, then headed back to the tree trunk to cross the river again.

As expected Lancelot scolded you once reaching the other side of it. “We should not wander off. Must I remind you that the Church is looking for us?”

You ended his lecture by putting one of the flowers into his hand. “I am aware. Now have this.”

He blinked twice, then looked down at the flower in his hand. You did not wait for him to start scolding you again and went over to Percival to give him a flower too.

You hoped it would bring them some happiness in their grief. “A sweet smelling flower for a sweet boy.”

A pink hue came over Percival’s cheeks as he accepted the flower and brought it to his nose.

Lastly, you gave one to Gawain. “For helping us.”

The knight gave a polite bow of the head and took the flower from your hand. “I do not believe I have ever received a flower before. What a sweet lady you are.”

You grinned. “I am honored to be the first.”

Gawain went to his horse and put the flower in the saddlebag for safe-keeping. Percival was still smelling the flower, then stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket. By the time you looked at Lancelot, the flower you had given him was nowhere to be seen. Had he tossed it away for ignoring his scolding? Or did the flower smell bad to his more attuned heightened sense of smell? You walked up to him, reaching him just as he stopped by Goliath.

He was inspecting the saddle. “Gawain believes we will reach Crowgrove by evening. He knows the innkeeper there so we will have a place to sleep for a night.”

You failed to keep the disappointment hidden in your voice, “Did you not like the flower?”

A frown creased his forehead, he moved his cloak a little to the side and there sat the flower safely in the sheath of his short sword. He took it between his fingers.

“I thought-…” you stopped yourself.

He grew curious. “Did you fear I had disposed of it already?”

You had the most guilty expression. “Did you smell it? It has such an intensely sweet scent.”

He could smell them from across the river, but this endearing gesture made him withhold that information this time.

He carefully put the flower in Goliath’s saddle bag. “I have. You were able to detect the scent from across the river? Well done.”

The praise was nice to hear. “It’s still hard to separate all the scents and focus on the ones I wish to focus on.”

“With time, it will grow easier. I promise.” he said. “And to answer your question, yes, I do like the flower.”

He said it with such intonation, as if he just knew that you were waiting to hear his approval of the flower, or at least the gesture of it. You smiled timidly, happy that it had given him some joy during his grieving.

“It’s scent is as sweet as the heart of the one who gave it.” he complimented.

Your eyes slightly widened, did your ears trick you into believing that it was said in a flirtatious manner? A second passed before you regained control over your thoughts.

Gawain called out, “We should get going if we want to reach Crowgrove before the night.”

You stepped away from Lancelot and headed to your horse, unable to shake the feeling that something more than friendship had grown between you. When still living among the paladins, you had once truly believed that your presence around him had made him tempted to sin, he had that look in his eyes even just for the briefest second. Then everything went to shambles and it had been a whirlwind of events since then. His presence was definitely… titillating. But was it worth risking the loss of a friendship? For what? Lust? Curiosity? It was a fragile thing, friendship and trust, so strong yet so easily broken. He was a monk…he was a monk… he was a monk… and you couldn’t forget that. It was a large part of how he became who he was now.

Maybe there was attraction. And maybe you were afraid to expect more, for more was complicated, more could break your heart and it had been broken one too many a times already. To be greedy was to risk it all. Time would tell where this would lead to, all you wished for was that it would not lead you both on separate paths.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  It was not a moment too soon when you reached the village. The sun had gone down and it felt terribly tempting to shut your eyes by the gentle swaying of the horse’s walk. That tempting feeling was smacked away by Gawain who swatted against your leg to keep you awake, it startled you so much that the small surge of adrenaline kept you awake enough to ride into the village. Percival, who sat with Lancelot on Goliath, had spend a few minutes talking to you to keep you awake. The boy had a way to visually describe how your limbs could look if you fell off of the horse if you fell asleep on it, it was helpful to keep you awake.

Gawain rode closer to Lancelot. “Lancelot, it would be wise to keep your head down and in that hood. I have heard them speak of you here, let us not risk being found.”

He gave a nod. “I’ve been here before. I will remain discreet.”

“Shouldn’t you hide those?” Percival turned a little and pointed right at the markings of the Ash Folk.

“It’s dark now.” Gawain said. “The shadows are our friend and we should leave at dawn to avoid drawing attention.”

“Are you certain it will be safe for him here?” you asked.

“We will keep him safe.” The knight jested, until he saw the serious look on your face. “He will be safe. I promise.”

It had better be true. “Good.”

The knight spoke to Lancelot in a hushed tone. “She is as protective of you, as you are of her.”

Lancelot hid the smile underneath the shadow of his hood. “Ash Folk are rare. We should look after each other.”

Gawain gave a pensive hum and leaded the way to the inn, there weren’t many people still walking around most had gone to bed. The inn was quite large, and beside it was a large stable as well. At Gawain’s request, the horses were brought into the stable.

“Wait here. I’ll go and speak to my friend Samuel, the innkeeper, first.” The knight had said before heading into the inn alone.

A few minutes past before he returned, Gawain stopped beside Percival. “Two rooms, one night and we can have a meal. How do we divide the rooms between us?”

Lancelot was quick to answer. “Percival and her will share a room.”

“Good solution.” Gawain mumbled to him under his breath, sending him a knowing look.

“How so?” you said before putting much thought into it.

Gawain did not hold back on speaking his opinion. “I’ve known Percival for quite some time, Lancelot knows that the boy is safe with me. But he is not sure if he can trust me with you. And neither will he choose to share a room with you alone, it would be bordering on a sin.”

You saw Lancelot grow uncomfortable, especially when the boy looked up at him inquisitively. “The three of us could share a room again. We’ve done so before.”

Gawain pointed out the issue with that. “Somebody would have to sleep on the floor then, the rooms only have two beds each. And I believe we all need our rest.”

“Fine. Percival and I will take the other room for ourselves.” you gave in.

Gawain beckoned for all to follow. “Come. There are not many people in the inn still awake, we can have our meal.”

Lancelot did not seem too happy with what the knight had told you, but you saw no reason for him to be embarrassed. It was thoughtful that he would share a room with someone who was still somewhat of a stranger to you, so you wouldn’t have to.

“Thank you.” you quickly whispered to him as you walked into the inn, and saw Lancelot acknowledge it with a nod.

Gawain wisely chose a table in the corner for all to sit at. The barmaid was at his side almost instantly to ask what he’d like to have, and from the looks of it she was hoping he would choose her. But no, the oblivious knight chose the broth that had been freshly prepared that day. The barmaid turned to leave.

“Could I have some water?” Percival whispered to you, because he didn’t want to let the others find out he was to shy to ask the barmaid himself.

“I’ll ask.” you whispered back, then called out for her, “Ameli-”

Your voice faltered, you dropped your eyes to the table. Amelia… the memory of her dying in your arms in the dark, murdered by those who were send by Aldith. The barmaid had turned to see why someone was calling out the name, Gawain looked at you confused.

Lancelot stepped in, asking Percival, “Was there something you wanted?”

“Water.” the boy admitted after seeing the saddened look in your eyes.

“Some water for the boy.” Lancelot let it be known to Gawain.

The knight called the barmaid, Cecilia, over again and put in his request for water to be brought to the table. She smiled at him and Percival, assuring them she would be right back with some water for all. The moment she returned with the jug of water and tankards, you poured one full for Percival and then for yourself. To wash down that lump that had formed in your throat.

“You alright?” Gawain looked over at you.

You feigned a smile and gave a nod, hoping that was a good enough answer. But alas, the knight was perceptive.

“The eyes never lie, Ash Woman.” the knight said.

You kept the explanation short. “Amelia was the innkeeper that my father’s men killed when they came to capture me in her inn.”

“I am sorry.” He gave a sympathetic look.

“Yeah…” you avoided eye-contact with all and began to eat your broth the second Cecilia placed it on the table.

Gawain fixed his attention on the other two Fey at the table. “Samuel has promised to give me some necessities for the rest of the way to Gramaire.”

“Would he have some ointment for her arm?” Percival suddenly asked.

All looked at the boy, not expecting the considerate question at all. Your spoon had stopped midway to your mouth.

“I will ask.” Gawain said, patting Percival on the shoulder.

You managed to give a genuine small smile to the sweet boy next to you, musing, “What would I do without you?”

Percival looked so happy to be acknowledged in such a way, you took note of it to remind him of his accomplishments more often. You continued to eat your broth and the rest of the table ate mostly in silence. It was palpable that all were tired after traveling all day, and the days had not been easy.

Cecilia brought two bowls with sliced apples to the table, placing one next to Gawain and Lancelot. Gawain put it between Percival and him, while Lancelot put the bowl beside you. You took a slice of apple and took a careful bite, the juice dripped down your mouth a little by biting it and you wiped it away with your finger.

“These are good.” you told Percival and it made the boy taste the apple slices too.

Lancelot had his elbows on the table and you felt his eyes on you, you had nearly finished the slice of apple when he was still looking.

You picked up the bowl with apple slices and offered them to him. “Do you want to taste?”

Taste… his thoughts had wandered too far. He had to reel them in.

He blinked twice rapidly, cleared his throat, his answer came quite delayed. “No, thank you.”

Gawain was watching the interaction with curiosity. Lancelot was not aware of it, but you were. You fixed your eyes on the bowl of apples, trying to ignore the feeling it caused in your chest to have the attention of the heavens in Lancelot’s eyes.

The knight tried not to smile when he took a sip of water, he directed himself to Lancelot. “How did the Abbot come to know of your secret? You were obviously careful to not let it come to light.”

Lancelot tilted his head in your direction, answering in silence. Gawain frowned in confusion.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What do I have to do with it? I never told the Abbot of what you were.”

Lancelot took a sip of water. “Are you aware that your markings glowed crimson in the forest when you used the Fey Fire to ward me off?”

“I-” you touched your cheek were your mark would be if it was visible.

“And you were sat atop of a horse, where the paladins could see.” he pointed out. “I did tell you once that there were rotten apples among the lot. I believe they told the Abbot.”

You got very quiet. They could have killed him, and it was because they had seen your markings and made the connection.

Gawain shook his head. “Loyalty is a word the paladins do not know of.”

Lancelot noticed your silence, his hand came to rest on your lower arm. “What is it?”

“They could have killed you.” you quietly said. “Because they saw my marks…”

He brushed his hand over your arm, then took a light hold. “You fear I blame you for how the Abbot learned the truth?”

It just didn’t sit well with you, things could have played out very differently. “If you hadn’t left when you did-”

“No.” he shook his head, giving your arm a squeeze. “Everything you did in the forest that day, was justified. If I had not left, if I had not helped Percival, we would not be here like this and my death would have been deserved for what I did.”

Percival was looking at Lancelot’s hand on your arm. You pulled your arm back and put your hands into your lap. Only then did Lancelot’s eyes dart to Gawain very quickly and away again.

Gawain cleared his throat. “Shall I ask for another serving of broth?”

“Yes.” you quickly said.

The knight proceeded to beckon for Cecilia and surprisingly enough charmed her into bringing another serving of broth for all. You were grateful for the distraction it brought.

        After the peaceful meal, a modest sack of needed matters was gifted to the knight by the barmaid, Samuel had kept his word. Then Gawain led the way to the rooms that had been offered. They were a decent size, not small, just right. A small table stood against the wall with a chair, some supplies to write and read. Two comfortable looking small beds and a wardrobe to store some clothing. It was enough to accommodate you for the night. Percival followed you into the room after you both wished the others a good night. The boy chose the bed closest to the wall and let himself drop down on it, arms splayed open like a bird in flight. The bed by the window would be yours for the night, you draped your jacket over the foot of it.

“Percival, no shoes in the beds.” you told him.

The boy got out of the bed. “I’m hungry.”

You swiftly turned. “You just ate…”

He shrugged his shoulders meekly. “Sorry…”

“You could ask Gawain?” you suggested.

“Could you ask?” he winced a little.

It was clear he feared being denied. You gave a nod and steered him with you to the room where Gawain and Lancelot were, knocking on their door twice.

Gawain opened the door, you could see that Lancelot was sitting on one of the beds in the room. “Problems?”

“Yes. Big ones.” you jested. “Our young knight is still hungry.”

Gawain sighed a little, but was understanding. “Still growing. And the war has been the hardest on our young ones. Come, Percival. I will ask Samuel for something to eat.”

The knight stepped outside, closing the door behind him and beckoned for Percival to follow. You returned to your room and took place at the table, putting your satchel down on it and taking out your journal. Carefully you dipped the quill in the ink, then began to write down the events that had transpired again. It felt freeing to write it all down, and you felt a bit more comfortable sharing details at the discretion of the pages. After only a few sentences, you heard the door creak open and abruptly turned to see who it was.

Lancelot slowly wandered into the room, noticing the journal on the table right away. He put down a small bowl, with the top covered in a piece of linen, on the bed, “A salve for your arm, it was in the sack. The barmaid must have overheard Percival speak of it.”

“Oh, that is a welcome help.” It would help with the burning sensation in your arm from the cut. “Are you sure you do not need it for yourself?”

He watched you sit on the chair. “I have some as well. And Gawain spoke of visiting the village’s healer before we leave in the morrow, the knight has many friends it seems.”

It had sounded a bit envious, which you understood. “Well, he is a knight. I do not think he was given that title without helping many people.”

He hummed in agreement. “Sharing your thoughts with the journal I see.” He nodded in it’s direction. “Am I mentioned again?”

“Maybe.” You bit your cheek. “Afraid of what I’ll write?”

“Not afraid, no. Just curious.” He came closer, stopping at your side, watching how you closed the journal a little so he would not see. But when he reached over and slowly moved his fingers along the binding of it, you let him open the journal. He stood so close that his lower arm was a little against you.

“It would be so much simpler, to read your thoughts from these pages instead of your eyes.” he said.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” you bit back a cheeky smile.

“They are fathomless.” his fingers traced over the page he had laid open.

You tapped on a corner of the journal. “What are you searching for in there?”

He was purposely vague. “Written evidence of a truth I seek.”

“A truth?” your brow arched high.

His voice deepened slightly, “You wrote of me before. Have you done so again?”

Right then it clicked why he was so interested in your journal. The last thing he had previously found that you had written about him was from before you had learned about Father Carden’s order for him to gain your trust. This was what he was referring to.

“Not in the same manner.” you kept your eyes on the page.

He was quiet for a few seconds, his fingers were at the corner of the page. Finally he turned it, still not saying a word. The sudden tension was causing you to be on edge, you felt like you should say something but didn’t know what. His fingers grazed over yours, very much on purpose, and you stood up so quickly from the chair that it had knocked into him a little. That chair was the only thing left standing between you and him, a futile barrier that offered no aid. He proved how pointless the chair’s barrier was by pushing it calmly out of the way and under the table. He held the back of the chair for a moment, needing time to think. Your eyes traveled to the door, he caught it happening.

“Am I making you want to run out?” he kept holding on to the chair, as if it kept him grounded.

“No.” Your heartbeat was in your throat.

He stepped away from the chair and took small steps in your direction, his feet did not stop until they reached you. “I think about last night constantly.”

He could not stop thinking of how you had weathered the storm he had been that night. That gentle tone of your voice had been a layer of salve on the wound that his heart had obtained. How you told him you’d rather bleed before seeing him bleed again. No, it had not left his mind since, and neither had that feeling of having your lips against his own. Every time you spoke to him, he had to focus on keeping his eyes from straying to the curve of your mouth. One taste was all it took for him to be willing to forsake the vow he took. Why would he still uphold a vow to a god who would never accept him? Why not make another vow, of a different sort, one he would uphold and live by, one that did not reward him with absolution in heaven but with meaning in life instead?

You feared he was still worried. “I told you, I forgive you. And I mean that.”

“You have shown your gentle heart to me again today.” he got quieter. “I pray you may forgive me once more.”

“I-…” The power to speak was stolen from you.

He had cradled your head in his hands and stolen a kiss so fast that you had no time to react. For just a moment, you were frozen, it was the warmth of him that thawed you. He was gingerly tasting your lips, letting your breaths turn into one. After a few seconds he leaned back, very little, to see your eyes. You caught the front of his jerkin between your fingers and pulled him into you, claiming his mouth with a certain greed you could not hide. You reciprocated fiercely, it had taken him off-guard how eager your response was. When you could sense that it may have been a bit too much for him, you stopped. His gaze washed over you and with an urgency his lips came to yours once more, this time they were unwilling to let them free again. He was practicing, that was obvious, and gods it was a blessing to be the person who he had decided to do so with. Not a spot of your lips was left unattended to by his. It was so… innocent? So careful and precise that you smiled against him. How could it be that his inexperience only made it more intriguing and alluring? If this was practise, he proved a quick learner. The only thing you did was let out a content hum, that was it, and at the sound of it he deepened the kiss. It just felt incredible and the longing for it was evidently mutual, you did not question it, you feared to question it. He brought an arm around your back, holding you so close that you could feel his chest rise and fall.

Once, he had tasted them, and now he could not stop longing for them. He didn’t know what caused his senses to be so overwhelmed more, the feeling of your lips against his, or the sound of your quiet gasps for air that he greedily stole away to hear it again. His body warmed, the sensation as if he felt every drop of blood move through his veins. Now that he knew what it felt like to kiss you, he knew he would loath the days without it.

You fought yourself constantly, fought the urge to hold him so strongly that he might believe you’d never let him go again, fought the desire to let your tongue meet his, fearing to do something that may be a step too far for him still. But he appeared to throw caution to the wind and took all he could have. The intensity of him increased, his hold on you got stronger and demanding, with his hand on the back of your neck he put you at his mercy. The gasp that forced it’s way out of you made him lock his mouth around your bottom lip. Your hand snaked into his hood, fingertips slowly weaving themselves into his hair.

He always wondered what it would be like to kiss, yet being kissed back so fierce was beyond what his imagination could come up with. If this was what damned his soul, then he would face the gates of hell with a smile. But sharing a kiss with his wife was not a sin, is what he told himself. But in that moment he cared little if the gods would approve of it or not.

It was as if the world had stopped to exist and there was only him. But the world had not truly stopped, it continued around you and time went on, that became clear when you suddenly became aware of the Sky Folk scent present in the room again. You broke free from Lancelot, leaving him in confusion that lasted only seconds. Neither of you had heard the door being opened again.

Percival stood there, scrunching his nose in an expression of disgust. He send an accusing look Lancelot’s way. “What are you doing?”

It was ridiculous how slow your brain worked after that, and Lancelot seemed to struggle with his own as well.

“Did he hurt you?” The boy stepped forward, not certain what he had just witnessed.

“No.” you quickly said.

Percival’s eyes narrowed, suddenly he bolted out of the room. And right away both knew where the boy was heading to. You touched Lancelot’s arm, but he already knew what to do and went after the boy right away. As you stood there, not really knowing what to do, your mind processed what had just transpired. Gawain’s voice could be heard not far away, the rest was mumbling that you weren’t able to understand. Carefully you went and peeked around the corner of the doorway, seeing the three of them talk. Gawain shot you an inquiring look and you looked back with a guilty expression. It put the knight’s mind to rest and he was able to diffuse the situation between Lancelot and Percival. The boy had been worried by what he had seen and went to the knight to see if this was an alarming matter or not. You had to understand that Percival had not known Lancelot for so long, and that before this he was the Weeping Monk. The boy simply thought he could have been hurting you. With feet that felt like lead, you approached them.

“Nothing bad happened. All is well.” you reassured them, not brave enough to make true eye-contact with any of them.

Percival was looking Lancelot up and down, the poor Ash Man looked like he was expecting to be reprimanded and so were you.

“Well then. We should return to our rooms before we wake half the inn from their slumber.” Gawain said sternly.

Lancelot touched Percival’s shoulder, trying to stay calm and collected under the boy’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Come, Percival.” you told the boy, and to your relief he followed you back into the room.

The moment the door fell shut behind you and Percival, the knight turned to Lancelot.

“Should I be concerned?” Gawain asked him as they walked to their shared room.

“No.” Lancelot said.

The knight gave a short hum, biting his tongue to not press for more information, for he believed that even the Ash Man seemed rather lost in thought about the matter.

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[themuselesswriter]

If you’re wondering where I disappear, I’m writing a fanfic about cursed:’) and it’s not over until now which is crazy.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 29

Path of Comfort Prompt; "Singing"

Day 29 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

- Gawain - The Green Knight

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 453

TWs; N/A

Song; Rauðr Loginn Brann by Skáld

Lancelot stared into the torch sconce of his lonely cell. Voices he hadn't heard for over a decade echoing in his ears as the sound of music, ancient and haunting reached his ears. Gawain had fallen silent too when the music began, leaned as he was on the other side of the bars that shielded the Fey from he, Lancelot, the monster locked within them.

Just as Lancelot's thoughts began to spiral down the particular train of thought; of the monster he was, he was distracted by Gawain who began quietly humming the tune. Lancelot almost felt tempted to join him. The whispers in his ears grew louder the longer he stared into the fire, into his mind they told him the words, and as a Fey woman outside began a chant he recognised somewhere deep within his soul, he quietly gave in and began to sing.

"Villr fór hann, Hljóðnaði hann, Rauðr loginn bran..."

Lancelot looked up, falling silent as the verse ended, listening to a older Fey man begin a faster chant now, finally noticing Gawain staring open mouthed at him in an amusing mix of shock and fascination. Lancelot felt oddly compelled to sit with him; and so he did, he knelt just the other side of the bars, half facing Gawain, half facing the torch sconce.

Quietly he resumed the song. Their melodic, rhythmic verses seemed to repeat over and over like casting a spell. Lancelot faltered for a moment as Gawain too began to sing; like him, voice low, quiet and almost conversational, before he almost found... courage in the other's voice as he closed his eyes to continue.

"Nú treðr hann hauðr of heiði,

Hundvillr því fet hann illa,

Viða braut í votri vífs gorninga drífu..."

Their voices merged with the Fey chanting outside, one with the chorus, one with the spell. Lancelot found himself unable to tear his gaze away from Gawain, entranced by his voice, enraptured by the melody within the music. Likewise Gawain seemed unable to look away from him, green eyes fixed upon him. The rhythmic drums stamped out the same melody as their hearts, the repetitive verses over and over utterly trancelike and spellbinding.

Lancelot physically ached as the music died down, his heart still beating the song where the drum had ceased, whispering what he knew was the final verse, some yearning part of him wishing it wouldn't end. When the silence came, he still couldn't look away from Gawain, and to his suprise, he felt almost overwhelmed by a powerful wave of something akin to grief.

In another life, would he have sung this with Gawain as an ally or even a friend, instead of as his enemy behind bars?

Aaaaand that's the Path of Comfort completed! I did admittedly write this one very last minute and very quickly so please bare with on the clunkiness.

The song they are singing is "Rauðr Loginn Brann" by Skáld (linked above) and the lyric translation is as follows;

"Villr fór hann, Hljóðnaði hann, Rauðr loginn brann..." He lost the way and fell silent as the flame burned red...

"Nú treðr hann hauðr of heiði, Hundvillr því fet hann illa, Viða braut í votri vífs gorninga drífu..." Now he wanders about the heath, completely astray; for he cannot find his way in the storm summoned by the witch...

I figured this song was fairly apt for Lancelot especially, being Ashfolk, and reminded me of Nimue summoning the storm that made the Red Paladins attack each other at the windmill in Episode 7.

Thanks for reading as always, let me know if you enjoyed this! Onto the next!