lanselos_du_lac | [Closed Post] ..the sky will come for you once..

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[Closed Post] ..the sky will come for you once..

The day is warm and bright -- it's lovely, in fact -- and so Lancelot is doing his best to ignore the strange tension that has been dogging him over the last few days. He is, of course, keeping to his usual routine, which helps, and now he is in the little clearing where he and Magnus meet for training. He's waiting for Magnus to arrive, checking the straps of Arthur's shield while he waits, and doing his best to clear his head and focus up on what he has determined they need to focus on today.

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"I shall work harder to break old habits."

Susan looks at him fondly. "You've done tremendous work on that front, you know," she says. "You shut yourself off ever so much less than you used to when you're grappling with your feelings." She lifts his hand to her mouth and kisses his knuckles. "I suppose I might work on that as well."

"Perhaps, though I think thou dost well enough, of late. We both of us can improve together."

"Yes, but," Susan glances down. "You're right. I ought to have spoken with you instead of Magnus."

Lancelot strokes her hair. Quietly he says, "Next time, thou wilt. I-- I appreciate that thou didst think to look out for me, though. No matter my confusion."

She glances back up. "I'm afraid I shall always look out for you."

"I love thee," he says softly. "I will accept it with better grace, in future."

"Are there ways I might help? When you're feeling homesick?"

At first he shakes his head, but then he pauses. "Was I seeming any different? These last few days?"

Susan considers the question seriously. "Perhaps a different tenor of thoughtful," she says, at long last. It doesn't seem enough. Ought she have seen something more plainly? Did she miss some clearer sign?

Edited 2025-01-05 23:20 (UTC)

"I think that I was trying very hard not to seem like I had anything on my mind. So that was perceptive of thee."

"My wily little love," says Susan, again stroking his hair.

Lancelot scoffs a little, "It is something I have always done, though I think perhaps it's not always good."

"Perhaps not," Susan agrees, studying him. "I suppose it depends on if it brings you ease, to carve out the time you need to understand things in pieces." Her eyes, it must be said, do dance as she says this - it's been a good few months since she's thought of when he first said that to her, but she did hold onto that advice for quite some time. "I can understand how it might've protected you in your past."

He smiles at her quoting him. "I admit, I think I am often doing it to make it possible to set things aside. It is increasingly ineffective."

"Perhaps," she says, thoughtful, "that's not such a bad thing."

"I might agree, but why dost thou think so?"

"That it's growing ineffective," Susan clarifies. "It speaks to your ability to confront your feelings. Goodness knows I also like to set things aside, but - I do believe addressing them when we are able serves us better."

Another one of those slow, bright smiles blooms. "Why did they not call thee Queen Susan the Wise?"

Susan's breath catches, due mainly to the look on his face, but his words certainly don't hurt. She loves him so terribly fiercely, so all-consumingly, that it catches her by sometimes. When he's so plainly delighted, her heart leaps, joyous in tandem. "Oh, because I'm a woman and wisdom was thought to be the provenance of my brother," she says, her tone dismissive and largely unconcerned - to her, this is old news, and she cares mostly that Edmund disagreed with their people that he should have full ownership of the epithet. She's more focused on the light in Lancelot's eyes.

Edited 2025-01-07 05:24 (UTC)

"That sounds foolish, to me." His gaze moves over her face, taking her in, the way the light from the window catches the blue of her eyes or the dark shine of her hair. "Thou hast helped me with this, a great deal."

Susan smiles at Lancelot helplessly, pleased. "Oh, it's tremendously foolish."

"I'll not make the mistake of underestimating thee," he says, almost a tease. And then he cups her face in his hands and kisses her, sweetly and with heat.

And she winds her arms around his neck, drawing herself flush against him. The kiss is intent, focused; she's pouring all her feelings into it.

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?"

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