lanselos_du_lac

He is so, so incredibly glad of her; it's a wonder, to him, that they found each other and somehow navigated their way into friendship. He would be content with friendship alone, if that was what she wished. But this -- this is nothing like he's known before. These commingled feelings of affection, desire, trust, protectiveness, safety... of simple joy. He hadn't expected any of this, even once he got past the utterly unexpected fact of walking out of one world and into another.

Lancelot had thought, once, that by partnering with Guinever he had somehow decided to close the door on the friendship and support that Arthur offered. He could not both be in love with (and sleeping with) Arthur's wife and expect Arthur to continue to see him in the same way he had before. (He has always, he's come to realize, taken Bors for granted, assumed that Bors' friendship and care was simply something owed or expected, rather than sincere. That's a different sin he's committed that he has to grapple with.) Nothing he felt for Arthur had changed, but he distanced himself at some point. He did not realize that he could have asked Guinever herself for a relationship like this one. He thinks it was probably closer to this, when they first started, and over the years the secrecy and shame and uncertainty, the pretending, took its toll.

He understands, now that they've talked, that this is why Susan was angry at Magnus. He can forgive her that, because it was no slight but an act of love. He draws her closer, deepening his kiss. He hopes she understands the fullness of what he feels for her.

After a long, long while he murmurs, "Lady, wilt thou lie down with me?"