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KnightGuardian
Author of 9 Stories |
The sky thundered and crashed wind pulsing with a living energy as it buffeted the poor inhabitants of this unpredictable Briton land. The road was muddy and soft, sorry conditions for travelers. It was storming something awful, and the knight’s for one were glad that they –for once- were not stuck out in that were meandering about in the castles backrooms awaiting their orders from their Commander who had been dragged into the Pope’s private room. Although the Pope Hadrian had had no problem accepting the Roman Commander into his room, the Sarmatian Knight’s however were quite another matter.
“Bloody damn weather and doubly damned Roman’s” Galahad muttered quietly, but not quietly enough to no catch the others attention they all looked at him amusedly eyebrows arched with the exception of Tristan who didn’t move and Lancelot whose head had snapped up to glare at him, he frowned “You’d best apologize to pretty boy, else he lose his temper” Bors rumbling voice said tauntingly, “With the exception of Arthur of course” the young knight amended dryly, Lancelot looked away, but not before spearing the other knight with a freezing glare. “You jealous Bors?” the dark knight asked tauntingly his voice deadly soft. Bors recognized danger when he saw it…or heard it. And danger was in the other knights’ voice.
Their patience had all been worn thin.
Bors opted to stay silent and stalked to the other side of the room grumbling beneath his breath, and Lancelot went back to doing what he had been before, nothing, nothing but staring out the window at the storming black night.
“Ease up the lot of you. We’ve hardly been waiting very long, relax…while you can” Tristan said peeling away at an apple he had squirreled away from the castle kitchens. They all looked at each other and slowly grins spread across each face, and chuckled quietly, and not one of them could have said why, and that it what made it hilarious.
Tristan looked at the bunch of them and rolled his eyes heaven ward –not that he believed in one. He believed in the here, and the now. He believed that death merely brought a different kind of peace…why fear what you cannot see not explain.
Just let it be.
“…This missive must be sent I tell you!” the Pope exclaimed pacing back and forth across the hard stone floor chilling is feet through the thin soles of his shoes, “And I hear you” the Roman Commander said respectfully, “But sending my men out in this condition would gain you nothing, we would not get a days worth of distance between us and this fortress…even with the swiftest of horses” he explained calmly, “And it would be suicide with the woad’s along these borders” he added, the Pope sputtered a protest.
“These men are said to be the best of the best!” Arthur nodded “They are exemplary, but they are men, not gods and leaving tonight would be suicide. Give me leave, and we shall go at first light come morning” Arthur countered wisely, the Pope Hadrian stood there a moment at what this Roman Commander had cornered him into agreeing to –and he only now realized it.
“I give you leave to wait until tomorrow Commander” he said and turned his back to the soldier the dismissal evident in his voice.
And with that his momentary mirth had passed leaving a dark shadow hanging over him. He had no news to bring them that would make them laugh, he brought nothing but death, and this saddened his heart. But it was naught but the truth as it was.
He paused at the door and pushed it open. For a moment they did not seem to notice him and he stood there content to watch, an honest to God smile was on his second-in-commands' face…bringing one to his own somber face.
This was a precious moment indeed.
Lancelot’s attention was turned to Arthur the smile sliding from his face like a passing shadow but the light in his eyes did not fade. Arthur smirked at his friend when he found an apple being tossed his way, he arched a fine aristocratic eyebrow tilting his head toward Tristan who was frowning reaching into his pocket but his hand came out empty.
“Sly devil” Arthur murmured quietly, only Tristan heard “Dead devil” he growled but they both new it was nothing but a façade. Arthur did not miss the respect gleaming in the scouts’ eyes.
The dark haired knight had tricked the scout out of his apple, it was unheard off –and Arthur found it oddly funny but he stifled his mirthful smile with a practiced frown. But it seemed that his knights new him to well as they too broke out into grins slapping him on the back.
Arthur looked around at them and they immediately sobered the mood now serious, “We have our orders to leave…” before he could continue Lancelot was alreadu up and arguing with him on theknight'sbehalf.
“In this weather? We would cover little ground…” Arthur stopped his friends torrent of sharp words with a firm hand on his shoulder, “Nay Lancelot, we leave tomorrow not tonight. What kind of man do you take me for?” he asked, Lancelot smiled ruefully and shook his head “My apologies” he said formally and strode for the door but Arthur’s voice drew him back.
“Lancelot?”
“Yes?”
“Next time hear me out, alright?” he said firmly but with a gentle compassion that Lancelot alone seemed to seem and receive. And in turn there were things about the dark knight that Arthur alone knew or saw. A smirk crossed his friends handsome face.
“I shall try Arthur” he said and with that said was out the door and off looking for his bed. “What was that about?” Galahad asked “With him? Who knows” Bors said with a shrug, and that when Arthur spoke suddenly, and unexpectedly.
“He is Lancelot” he said simply with a regal shrug of his shoulder and he to left the room with a swish of his red cape trailing behind him like a bloody banner. “What’s with him?” Gawain asked –as Galahad had.
“Who knows? He is Arthur” Galahad said with a grin and a shrug and left.
Tristan all the while remained a silent specter.
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