[Open Post] ..like the bird that you can't see..

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot is in a very good mood indeed. He feels settled, assured. He feels as he did, he thinks, back when he first found his feet at court -- he is someplace he belongs, he can be assured that people will treat him with respect, if not kindness or welcoming. He lets himself revel in it, a little, as it's been a long while since he felt anywhere near as nice as this.

The weather is good: sunny, crisp, the familiar feeling of autumn as winter is hovering close by. He goes to his own room and fetches his sword. He runs his usual drills, though with a kind of ease and almost carelessness he hasn't had since he was young. (Perhaps he is young enough, still. He can't be sure. He has already lived past the age his father was when he died, but that means almost nothing. His father died in battle and Lancelot is, now, no longer likely to ever see such a fate.)

Afterwards, he showers and decides he might as well find breakfast. So he's now heading toward one of the kitchens, looking cheerful for once.

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[lanselos_du_lac]

He laughs, "It felt quite bold. Convince him of its martial uses, that's the trick."

[timebethine]

"A new means of training; I learned it in France," Laertes laughs. "To build the strength of the thighs and hips."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, who might stand against thee? Speed and strength, and a blade besides."

[timebethine]

"When the dead came, I felt it," says Laertes, a little softer now. The pan sinks in his hand to rest on the bottom of the sink. "Fighting with Sagramore at my back--it was as though we were one beast in two bodies. One soul divided and redoubled. My blade has never been so quick, nor mine arm so strong."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot pauses and turns to look at him, saying quietly, "Hast never felt that, until then?"

[timebethine]

"No." A fleeting smile. "I fought for sport; I was never a soldier. Nothing--nothing was ever at stake."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot dries the knife and sets it aside. He is thinking: sport is for soldiering, it is practice for war in times of peace; it is meant to encourage men to grow their strength, to build their brotherhood. But he sees Laertes' meaning.

He says, "So when this place was at stake, when the person thou lovest most was at stake and at your side-- it was different."

[timebethine]

"Ay, it was like nothing else." Except coupling, but he has enough grace not to say it. "I cannot wish it such a battle on anyone ... but at the same time, I'm glad to have known it. I'm glad to have known him better by it."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I know the feeling," quietly. He glances over at Laertes, smiles a little, looks him over. "Thy love for him is powerful."

[timebethine]

"As powerful as breath; it sustains me." Another flickering smile. "He sustains me. He is bread and blood and life to me."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot looks closely at him for a moment, taking in his expression, the sense of that love. Then he lets out a little breath, turns to rearrange the items on the drying rack and towel.

"I am glad for thee. Both." He glances back over. "I am glad for all the joy thou hast found here."

[timebethine]

"May thou find the same gladness." Once he's dried his hands, Laertes bows. "Good day, Sir Lancelot." And with that, he strides past Lancelot and toward the upstairs library. He has to figure out how to make matelote, and there's nothing on the subject in any of the cookbooks he's already squirreled away in the kitchen.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Good day," Lancelot says. He watches him go, still thoughtful.