l a y . u p o n . m y . a l t a r . n o w . y o u r . l o v e

Lay Upon My Altar Now Your Love
[by victoria p.]

Rating: Adult

Summary: "You are as you ever were, Lancelot, and always, always what I have believed you to be."

Notes: For Nifra, on her 21st birthday. Some dialogue lifted directly from the movie. Thanks so much to Mousapelli for hashing it all out, and to Bethy and Lyra for the superspeedy beta. Title and cut text from "Pray Your Gods" by Toad the Wet Sprocket.

Date: April 22, 2005

As boys, away from home, in unfamiliar surroundings, they had sorted themselves into pairs and trios; lifetime alliances and friendships were formed over the hard months of their training.

Not much has changed in the past fifteen years. Bors has Dagonet, and Gawain, Galahad. Tristan needs no one but himself.

Lancelot, unsurprisingly, turned to Arthur, and turns to him still -- for love, for guidance, for the closest thing to home Lancelot has right now. Recently, though, Arthur has begun turning away -- towards Rome, towards God, towards things Lancelot cannot -- or, if he is honest, doesn't wish to -- understand.

Lancelot remembers when Arthur confided everything in him -- hopes, dreams, fears. Secrets to which no one else was privy, whispered in the warm dark of their shared blankets, under the cold light of the stars.

Now Arthur speaks his heart only to this silent God of his, and Lancelot lies alone in the cold. He doesn't have to be alone -- there are many pretty girls about who would happily give him a tumble, but it is a different warmth he seeks, one only Arthur can provide.

He remembers the wet heat of Arthur's mouth wrapped around him, the twist and curl of Arthur's tongue, long, strong fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs -- this is a religion Lancelot understands, their cries of ecstasy his only prayers. Arthur may kneel for his God, but Lancelot kneels only for Arthur.

The memories stir him still, and when he finds Arthur praying in the stable, Lancelot wishes to grasp his shoulders and ask, "Do you not remember?" And if Arthur says no, Lancelot will remind him with lips and tongue and clever, callused fingers. He wants to curl up together afterward, sated and sleepy, and pretend this mission doesn't exist, that they have not been betrayed by Rome and are not going into certain death.

He wants to say, "Let me share your troubles, Arthur. You'll find them easier to bear."

But he keeps silent, knowing his time has passed.

***

He watches the Woad -- the girl -- watch Arthur, and sees Arthur stare back at her when he thinks no one is looking.

As they settle in for the night, the snow falls like ash, as if the world has already burned down. Lancelot's eyes are drawn to her, as well. She seeks him out, wrapped in a cloak like blood in the darkness, slim and straight as a sword. Her eyes burn like cold steel, frost-fire, and her whole body is a challenge. One of the few challenges in his life to which he refuses to respond.

When she asks him about home he makes a joke of it, because his first thought is no longer of the wide-open spaces of his childhood, but of Arthur and long nights spent learning each other's bodies the way they'd learned the sword and the bow. But that is not information he wants to share.

He remembers telling Arthur about Sarmatia, the way the world seemed endless, limitless, the sea of grass from horizon to horizon, and the sky bluer than the eyes of a newborn babe. He can share that much, at least, with her.

"Some people would call that freedom," she says, and he nods.

Freedom, yes. What he's yearned for since the Romans took him away fifteen years ago. And now, on the cusp of his freedom, he realizes Arthur is freeing him as well, loosing him from the bonds neither would ever admit to placing on the other, the only bond Lancelot willingly bears.

"So you see, Lancelot, we are much alike, you and I," the girl says to him, interrupting his thoughts yet again. And yet again, she speaks the truth; he can see already how she is slipping into the space Arthur has put between them, filling it with words Lancelot can never say. Lancelot has always preferred to let his actions speak for him, trusting that Arthur understands.

"No family, no religion. Do you believe in anything at all?" she asks, and the question cuts.

He believes in his sword, the men, their freedom. He believes a man gets what he can take, with hand or sword or cock.

Most of all, he believes in Arthur, who believes in higher things.

"I would have left you and the boy there to die," he says finally, and turns away.

Arthur is watching them from the shadow of the trees, and Lancelot freezes for a moment under his scrutiny, but only for a moment, before moving on.

***

Arthur and the girl (Guinevere, he reminds himself -- she fought bravely, and deserves some respect) arrive at the top of the wall at the same time. They were together -- Lancelot can tell. No shame, that one. Not that Lancelot is an adherent of shame, having none himself. But it stings to know that while he lay alone, she was with Arthur.

Still, he puts aside his bruised pride and begs Arthur to reconsider, but Arthur believes he's found his higher purpose, that his God will protect him, and he's willing to die to prove it.

Lancelot doesn't fear death, but he doesn't seek it either, and he wishes Arthur weren't so willing to sacrifice himself for these people who were so recently their enemies.

Arthur has taken Rome's betrayal hard, perhaps harder than the rest of them, because he believed, whereas Lancelot and the men did not. And he's replacing Rome with Britain the way he's replacing Lancelot with Guinevere. Lancelot finds himself hoping that in the course of this unwinnable battle Arthur will face in the morning, despair does not replace God, because Arthur without his faith, as much as Lancelot mocks him for it, is not Arthur at all.

Once more, Arthur walks away from him, and it takes all of Lancelot's not inconsiderable courage to follow him again, to speak of that which has always lain between them unspoken, as his appeals to mere friendship have failed.

"Arthur, please--" Arthur turns, and Lancelot knows his appeal is futile, but he makes it, his voice low and rough. "For the sake of the love you bear me, and I, you, do not do this thing tomorrow. Ride out with us, and be free."

Arthur cups his face, the hands that so easily deal out death gentle against his skin. "You are free, Lancelot. Rome has released you." His lips are warm and dry when he presses a kiss to Lancelot's forehead, and another, achingly sweet, chaste kiss to Lancelot's lips. "And so have I."

Lancelot clutches at his shoulder, all pretenses to pride gone now. "It is not that simple."

Arthur drops his gaze. "It has to be." He slides his thumb over the arch of Lancelot's cheekbone, sending a shiver through him. "You are as you ever were, Lancelot, and always, always what I have believed you to be. I thank you for that. And I will fight easier tomorrow knowing that you are free, and on your way home. Have you not spoken often of the wide plains and endless skies of your homeland? How can I say you are free and yet hold you bound to promises we've never spoken?"

"Promises I made of my own free will," Lancelot replies, but Arthur shakes his head, and Lancelot knows he will not be swayed.

Lancelot goes back to his chambers and spends the night alone, and sleepless.

***

The drums roll dark and heavy across the land like thunder heralding a ferocious storm. The horses are skittish as they ride away, as are the men. They are free now, but as Lancelot is learning, sometimes even free men have no choice. This battle is not theirs, but they are bound to Arthur by honor, duty and love, and cannot leave him to die alone.

Arthur will try and save the world, and they must be there -- Lancelot must be there -- to save Arthur from himself.

If Lancelot dies, it will be in service to Arthur. Either way, he has chosen this path himself, and he will be free.

end

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Disclaimer: This version of Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot is based on the movie King Arthur, which belongs to Antoine Fuqua and Touchstone. This fan-written fiction intends no copyright infringement.