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Lancelot clearly didn’t possess his own armor or weapons. And if he did, he didn’t think to bring them. Arthur hadn’t seen him use protection all throughout the three days. He wore the same light clothing and boots to every event.
Except swimming. He did take off his tunic and boots then. Revealing a leanly muscled chest, carved abdomen and unexpectedly broad shoulders and back.
Not that Arthur paid attention.
“Said he didn’t need it,” Gawain grumbled, dumping the heavy weight from his arms.
“Said the helmet impeded his vision and the gauntlets loosened his grip.”
“He’s going to get himself killed,” Arthur growled, marching out of the tent in search of the suicidal man to talk some sense into him.
Gawain kept in stride alongside him.
“Seems to be doing just fine thus far,” the knight observed, his voice filled with reluctant admiration.
“This is the joust!” Arthur practically yelled, as if raising his voice would better make the point.
“His horse isn’t even properly harnessed.”
“Didn’t hurt him in the hunt,” Gawain grunted. “Looked like he was attached to the animal’s back by magic. As if they were one.”
“Where is he? Take me to him,” Arthur insisted, looking around them at the nearby tents for a distinctive white-haired head.
“He’s already defeated two opponents in the jousts,” Gawain said. “Maybe that’s why he’s called Lance-a-lot.”
He chuckled at his own cleverness while Arthur glared, unamused.
Arthur told himself he only cared about Lancelot’s wellbeing because he wanted to recruit the warrior for his own guard. He didn’t care for the man beyond that simple goal. He wasn’t…protective.
Ha. Why would he be? Clearly, Lancelot needed protection from no one. He could more than take care of himself.
Even if he was an unmitigatedidiotfor jousting without armor!
For once, Arthur had no pretty words for the maids who begged him to wear their ladies’ favors. He didn’t even bother to soften his rejection, merely shaking his head and outrightignoring their entreaties while he walked briskly toward the lists.
When he arrived, he was just in time for Lancelot to challenge Sir Bedivere, who was one of the favorites for this event.
Jousting was not Arthur’s forte by a long shot. He saw no point in it, and thus never practiced. He hadn’t even begun with his challenges, and already Lancelot had advanced to facing off with the leader of the event.
If the warrior defeated Sir Bedivere, he would almost be guaranteed to win the entire tournament. Even if he lost the joust, he still had the most wins across the three days.
As both men nudged their steeds into position, lances held vertically as they awaited the referee’s signal to begin, Arthur realized that he needn’t have worried for Lancelot’s safety.
The man looked completely untouched, not a scratch or even smudge of dirt on his person. He was resplendent in his usual white tunic and gray trousers, hair tied in a meticulous braid, not a strand out of place. He rode his white stallion bareback with only the flimsiest looking reins loosely held in one hand while the other gripped the lance.
Meanwhile, Sir Bedivere was decked out in newly polished armor from head to toe. Even his charger wore armor over its head, neck and flank. The match looked completely uneven, and yet, looking at Lancelot, Arthur felt a calm certainty descend upon him.
Lancelot would win, no contest. He simply knew it.
When the referee gave the signal to start, Arthur watched the scene unfold as if time slowed and focused with crystal clarity.
He saw how Lancelot urged his stallion into a gallop with a slight squeeze of his knees. Saw him raise the lance parallel to the ground, as if it weighed nothing at all, and point it at hisopponent, charging at him from the opposite direction on the other side of the wooden divider.
As the two men approached each other midway, Lancelot lifted slightly up from his horse’s back, angled the tip of his lance just so, and with a small push at the last moment, struck Bedivere exactly on his armored sternum, instantly breaking the lance with the force of the impact.
The other knight’s lance never reached Lancelot. With the direct hit, he toppled sideways on his horse and lost control of his own lance. He struggled for a few breath-held moments as the crowd collectively gasped at the daring display to right himself, all but dangling beneath his horse’s hooves.
The spectators roared in applause when they saw that Bedivere recovered his seat, uninjured. But Lancelot was clearly the victor this round.
