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Arthur’s as well, it seemed. For he ran directly to her as she gestured wildly at the hut.
“My baby! He’s in there! Help me!”
She was injured herself, limping and holding what looked to be a broken arm or dislocated shoulder. She could barely hold herself upright.
Lancelot was too far away to stop him—as Arthur charged inside the hut and disappeared into orange flames and black smoke.
No.
The straw roof of the hut began to collapse, piles of it falling in.
Arthur was in there.
Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.
Lancelot was frozen for what seemed like a short eternity, but in reality was only a few moments, atop his stolen horse, as he watched his worst nightmare come to life:
Arthur in mortal danger; him too far away to do anything about it.
His vision blurred, and his skin tingled the higher those flames rose.
He lifted his face to the sky and beseeched the fluffy white clouds overhead. To do what, he knew not. Only that his body shook with something greater than himself.
And suddenly, his eyes flashed blind as lightning zig-zagged from the sky, followed by the explosive boom of thunder. The white clouds turned dark and pregnant with portent, looming closer together, gathering for an imminent storm.
All at once the skies opened up, and icy cold rain beat down upon the village in a torrential downpour.
Screams and shouts filled the air for a different reason now, both elation that the fires were getting doused, and dismay that everyone was getting drenched to the bone. The villagers scattered for cover, and Arthur’s men hooted in triumph, lifting their ash-covered faces to the cleansing rain.
Lancelot had moved without knowing, charging toward the hut that Arthur had disappeared within and leaping off while the horse was still in motion. The flames had all been put out by now. Only acrid smoke and steam remained, wafting off the charred remains.
But there was no sound coming from within.
Lancelot almost charged into the hut, but the structure groaned on the brink of collapse. One wrong move, and it would all come tumbling down.
Arthur was still in there.
Time seemed to freeze again as Lancelot held his breath, heart thundering in his chest, eyes glued to the entrance of the crumbling abode.
There was a cough. Then another.
And a baby’s wail.
A man covered in soot staggered out of the structure a moment before it collapsed in on itself. In his arms swaddled in thick blankets was the source of the wails.
“My baby!” the woman cried, reaching out her one good arm.
Arthur delivered the infant to his mother and promptly fell to his knees, his legs giving out beneath him.
Lancelot immediately went down next to him, taking a hold of his shoulders.
“Are you all right? Are you harmed?” he demanded urgently.
Bright blue eyes beamed over at him, made even more startling surrounded by all that soot.
“Fancy seeing you here, Chance-a-lot,” Arthur murmured, though he didn’t seem very surprised.
“Was wondering when we might meet again.”
