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They murmured their good nights. Wordlessly, Lance rose to follow Arthur out of the restaurant. Perhaps he was tired as well. Or perhaps he was simply protective of his king as always.
He never spoke much, this enigmatic man. Everything he did seemed to revolve around Arthur. Annie wondered whathe was feeling in of himself. How he was adjusting to his new circumstances as well.
But perhaps he had less of a change, given he was still protecting the man he’d always protected. It seemed that as long as he was with Arthur, he was home.
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
Lancelot sat on his very large and comfortable bed in the abode he shared with Arthur, separate from the rest of the Haymarket Hotel where the others were staying.
They’d both taken their showers and changed into comfortable clothes for sleeping.
Well, Lancelot had, at least. He wore a soft T-shirt and loose pants. If he knew Arthur, and he knew his king well, the man slept naked whenever he could, likely sprawled haphazardly across his own bed like a great hairy beast.
Not that Arthur was particularly hairy, just that he had much more hair on his body than Lancelot did. And he gave off waves of heat from that big, muscular frame, as Lancelot imagined a bear might do. Like his namesake.
There were two bedrooms, two water closets, one for each bedroom, and a shared common area with a small kitchen. Not that he would know how to use any of those amenities.
He felt he’d been adjusting decently to the modern world with all of its fantastical inventions. It helped that their residence in the Yukon Territories was shared with a large family of immortals who taught them about modern ways.
Most of the time their food was prepared for them all by the beautiful Ishtar who had a habit of taking an old woman form that went by the moniker “Mama Bear.” But when the men grilled out of doors on occasion, he and Arthur had eagerly learned how to use the modern tools and seasonings to cook meat and vegetables.
They spent their days training with the Beasts and other immortals, doing manual labor like building houses for villagers or chores that needed to be done around the homestead. At night, they both spent time studying the modern languages or listening to audio books. They could never get used to watching television or other devices. It hurt the eyes.
It was a simple life, and Lancelot couldn’t complain. As long as he was with Arthur.
But he worried about his king. Arthur always had purpose. He was larger than life. It was why Lancelot followed him so faithfully, like a moon helplessly drawn to the sun, wanting to bask in its golden rays.
He knew that Arthur struggled in this new world, though he didn’t show it. Only those who knew him and observed him closely could see the glimmers of self-doubt in his eyes, the frustrated helplessness that came with being lost. Adrift.
Lancelot wished he knew how to help Arthur. But he didn’t want to press his luck either.
There was…a tension, a resentment between them that he didn’t fully understand. Oh, he knew Guinevere had wrecked them, the friendship they used to have. The closeness and brotherhood. Lancelot had never been closer to anyone else in the whole of his existence.
Since her disappearance and the lifting of her power over them, they’d fallen back into their old routines, with Lancelot by Arthur’s side, his First Knight and his protector. But they weren’t the same in countless ways.
Lancelot wondered if they were irrevocably broken.
But broken or not, changed or not, one thing would always stay the same. His North Star would always be Arthur…
Toward the end of Uther Pendragon’s reign, Dark Ages Britain.
“You might as well come with us,” Arthur said, not for the first time, or the first dozen times, as he rode beside Lancelot ahead of his men.
“You can’t pretend you don’t follow us wherever we go. Every time we’re in a bind, you charge into the fray and turn the tides. Why deny it?”
“I don’t deny it,” Lancelot said, facing forward while Arthur faced him.
He could feel the intensity of the man’s arresting gaze. His skin prickled with awareness and heat wherever Arthur’s eyes landed.
“Then why travel separately?” Arthur persisted. “Is there something about me or my men that offends you? We can be a rowdy pack, I grant you, but these are good men. As close as brothers to me.”
“I don’t wish to be your brother,” Lancelot blurted with a particular emphasis that surprised himself.
Arthur was silent for a long while, digesting that.
Lancelot wondered whether he’d offended the warrior, but he would not take back the truth. He said what he meant.
“Comrades then,” Arthur said finally.
