Galahad would remember Lancelot.

The way his nails dug into his skin, leaving small, crescent-shaped bruises. The way his mouth curled up into smirk when his name spilled from Galahad's lips.

"He was a partner in arms. A warrior...a brother..." The knights gathered around as ashes were cast into the wind, and Arthur spoke the words; eyes done their crying. There were others there, too, but they didn't matter.

Galahad swallowed over the lump in his throat, and could have sworn he heard Lancelot snickering in his ear; trying to lighten up the moment. Laughing at the injustice of it all.

The crowds parted, and thinned, but Arthur stayed at the site. Galahad watched him.

"You know, we should really leave him be for a moment. Lancelot's death hit him hard." Bors was muttering in Galahad's ear, tugging gently on his arm. Pulling him away.

Lancelot's death hit him hard? Lancelot's death hit Arthur hard? The lump in Galahad's throat grew larger, but he could say nothing. As always, he could say nothing.

He felt like laughing out loud. Arthur had the right to mourn his Lancelot, more than Galahad did?

Lancelot had always wanted it a secret; midnight meetings, fleeting glances and forbidden touches. Galahad had taken what he could get.

"Galahad? We're all upset, but Arthur..." Bors trailed off, casting his eyes to the man kneeling at the ground, "he needs time. And we should give him it."

As he walked by, Gawain looked in the direction of Galahad and Bors, hearing the man's words. His eyes darkened, like he knew something, but he said nothing.

Only Tristan had known, because there wasn't anything that could be kept from Tristan. And now Tristan was gone. Tristan, and...

Lancelot.

Tears welled in Galahad's eyes, and he could almost hear Lancelot hissing in his ear, telling him to stop it. Telling him to be a man. Could almost feel Lancelot's fingers wrapped around his wrist. Firmly pulling, urging...

"Bors, leave Galahad. If he wants to..." It was Gawain speaking now, addressing Bors, stepping between him and Galahad.

"Gawain, Arthur needs to..."

"Damned what Arthur needs! We all need..."

Galahad put his hand on Gawain's shoulder. He sighed, pushing his tears back.

"Leave it be. I'm going." Galahad turned and walked away, down the dusty footpath to the bottom of the hill.

Galahad would remember Lancelot.

He would remember the sweet, silent kisses and the way Lancelot would whisper sweet things when he thought no one else could hear.

But no one would know he had the right to.