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Fuck this situation, honestly.
Leaves crunch underneath white paws in the middle of a forest two clicks from Camelot’s castle. Red fur contrasts against the dark sky and greenery surrounding his body, a fox’s body prowling in the middle of the night.
How did Lancelot end up like this? Stuck back in his small furry body?
Well, it was all thanks to Tristan.
—-
Lancelot’s screams bellow from halfway across the field.
“Tristan, watch out!”
A knight of Chaos sneaked up on the group in the midst of their rest. They had just finished eating lunch peacefully, which was a rare occasion for them. They had a nice campfire to combat Camelot’s winter and snow, a small feast –courtesy of Gawain– to satiate everyone’s insane appetite, and each other, which at this moment consisted of sleep deprived, tired, and half-starving misfits.
Lancelot was whipping up a meat sandwich for Tristan, and the Percival platoon had just finished eating their meal across the campfire. They always ate like there was no tomorrow, and usually when they finished eating they would pass out for hours afterwards. Which is precisely what happened. Those fools ended up falling asleep on one another, causing an odd looking dogpile and a rather funny image.
Next to him, Chion and Tristan were bickering over who was going to keep watch, with Chion arguing that he should protect Tristan since he’s the prince and an important figure in the war, whereas Tristan claimed that he was no good if he couldn’t protect his friends and keep them safe.
Morons.
“If I don’t protect you, what good am I?! We can do rotations or you can keep watch tomorrow if you want to do it so badly!”
“Prince Tristan, your safety is of the utmost importance. I won’t risk you getting hurt.”
Dear Gods, can this be over with yet?
“No! You rest, and I’ll keep watch!” Tristan’s shrill voice shrieks back.
Chion throws a pouch of water at Tristan, nearly smacking him right in the face.
For the love of-
“We can both take turns tonight, if you want to keep watch that much.” Chion’s face turns threatening as he hovers over Tristan’s face. “But I’ll be watching you like a hawk, Prince Tristan. I won’t let a single thing come to harm you.”
Tristan hesitantly nods, munching on the beef sandwich Lancelot tossed at him mid-conversation.
The conversation is over now, right?
“I can keep watch with you, Chion. I don’t mind staying up.” Isolde added.
“Perfect! The matter is settled then. Isolde and I will keep look-out while you rest.” Chion proclaims with a sort of finality that fails to reach Tristan’s ears.
“No! If you guys want to stay up then we can all rotate shifts! I don’t-”
Their argument falls on deaf ears. Honestly, Lancelot doesn’t have the energy right now to keep up with their bickering. His sanity is hanging by a thread at this point. Knights of Chaos had been attacking them relentlessly nearly every day for two weeks, and without being able to set up a campfire at night in fear of someone finding them, Lancelot was cold and tired.
The amount of assassins he’d taken care of in the middle of the night while everyone else slept was enough to drive anyone crazy.
That, and he hadn’t seen Guinevere in weeks now. Usually he didn’t get to see her for stretches of time, but he hadn’t found the time recently to use their magically connected lockets to even talk to her.
It was an idea she came up with a year ago. Something about being able to give him information no matter their distance, her words appealing to Lancelot’s logical side. But, her heart clearly voiced her real intentions.
I want to talk to you no matter how far you might be.
How… cute.
Although he never called her cute, he usually thought she was. She didn’t need to speak logic to him if she wanted to be able to talk to him. They had been together for years for the love of God! If she wanted his attention and he was free then she could have it. It mildly pissed Lancelot off that even after all this time, she never asked for something for herself. Every single thing she asked from him usually benefited him or the war.
Ugh, thinking about how mad she could make him wasn’t going to help his mood right now.
Flipping open the locket that hung from his necklace, Lancelot rubbed his thumb gently over Guinevere’s portrait. Thanks to his enchantments, the couple could open their lockets in broad daylight without anyone else able to see or use them. It was convenient for times like this, when he needed a pick-me-up.
Her portrait was as beautiful as her, in his opinion. Her wine-colored hair stretched down her back like a waterfall in a loose braid, and the simple gown she had on was his personal favorite. It was what she wore to their faux-wedding. The night they decided (more or less him, she had always considered herself his) to devote themselves to one another. Her spaghetti strapped white dress hung on each of her curves, and the silk of it made her look ethereal. And the best part of all, she had a radiant grin on her face and joyous tears in her eyes.
It was definitely one of Lancelot’s most favorite nights.
His favorite expressions of her were when she was happy.
He vowed to her in that field of dandelions that he would always come back and always protect her. The memory of that night would only be remembered by the couple, there was not a single person they could afford to have as witnesses. But it didn’t matter to them. They had each other, and that was enough.
After Guinevere had finally finished reciting her vow of always promising to be on his side, no matter what the future says through half-sobs, Lancelot had wasted no time in kissing her firmly on the lips. He lifted her off her feet, maneuvering her body so her ankles rested on one another at his side. His left hand held her hamstrings up, keeping her elevated to him while his right hand cupped the back of her neck so there would be no space to flee.
She didn’t even try to play-fight him. She grabbed the hair at the back of his head firmly, applying her own pressure back into the kiss. In that moment, there was not a single thing else she could wish for. He had finally given himself to her, and from then on they were a couple in every sense of the word.
Tilting her head to the side so he could kiss her more deeply, Lancelot squeezed the underside of her thighs and neck. Guinevere sighed softly into his lips, allowing herself to be moved to his whims. She felt like Heaven on Earth. The softness of her skin, the slip of her hair, the warmth of her breath as she exhales, it was all now his forevermore.
Soft wind blew through the field, the wisps of the dandelions floating in the air around the newlywed couple as if dancing in congratulations. Guinevere had pulled back slightly from their liplock to laugh joyously in the sky.
It was perfection in every sense of the word.
As she raised her arms up to take in the beauty of the wind, Lancelot gently began to lay her down on the grass, causing her to shriek happily in his ear. Her braid was messy now from the breeze and small rustling in the grass, her dress was now slightly wrinkled and dirty, but Lancelot swore he had never seen her look more beautiful.
And to his mild embarrassment, he said it out loud before realizing.
“You look so beautiful, Guin.”
Her smile nearly blinded him under the midnight sky. “I love you so much. You’ll never know how much you mean to me.”
Lancelot leaned forward once more that night, sweetly kissing her on the lips and pulling her thighs apart so he could nestle himself between them. He smiled gently against her lips, whispering how much he cared for her into her mouth.
And as he slowly shimmied her dress up higher and higher to expose more of her body, he leaned back to take satisfaction in seeing her undone and breathless.
“I’m sure I have an idea.” is the last thing he said as he pulled his white cotton shirt off and threw it somewhere to the side.
Lancelot is brought back to reality unfortunately by the sound of Isolde crying and Tristan trying to comfort her.
For the love of God, could they not have a singular meal where nothing goes wrong?
“Sir Tristan, why don’t you ever rely on us? We came here to Camelot with you to protect you.” She sobs in his arms.
She’s crying because he wants to protect her?
There are some things that Lancelot will just never understand. Well… he did have this kind of argument with Guinevere before, so he supposes he can see both sides. There’s no use in letting the conversation keep going, they were bound to cause a major argument if neither of them backed down.
Lancelot raised his hand in the air in their direction. “I can keep watch. You guys sleep, if I need you I’ll wake you up.”
Ugh, he’d lose a night of sleep but if it meant peace and quiet then he could talk to Guinevere. Seems like a fair enough trade.
Tristan and co finally seceded and gave up on fighting with one another. The trio went to their tent to sleep, finally giving Lancelot some privacy.
Standing up to move to a secluded corner of the clearing, Gawain casts some clouds above the group so the sun no longer tried to melt her pudding.
“If you're going to go talk to your lover again, make sure you cast a silencing spell. I don’t need to hear you lovebirds when enjoying my lovely pudding.”
“...Mind your business, Gawain.”
“Hmph.” is all Lancelot hears as she shoves another mouthful of her favorite dessert in her mouth.
The secluded corner sounded even nicer now, and as Lancelot plops onto the ground, the aftermath of feeling warm and having a full stomach for the first time in weeks catches up to him.
He knocks out in record timing without even opening his locket.
—
A shrill scream wakes Lancelot up from his nap. Darting up from the tree he was leaning on, he sees Tristan dashing head on towards a knight of Chaos.
Yes, come closer boy! Just a little-
“Tristan, watch out!” Lancelot shouts from halfway across the field.
The damn prince didn’t realize that he was falling for the assassin's trap.
Just as Tristan was about to make contact, the Chaos knight’s arms raised, obviously getting ready to cast a spell. Lancelot didn’t have time to cast anything, so he dashed forward, pushing Tristan out of harm's way.
The last thing he remembers seeing is a fog of green hurling towards him.
—
The next time Lancelot wakes up, he’s surrounded by everyone hovering over him. Isolde is crying next to him, with Chion and Gawain throwing curses at each other and Tristan leaning over him, with tears in his goddess eyes and his hands glowing brightly.
The warmth of healing magic is soothing against the cool dirt, but it’s not something Lancelot wants to relish in right now.
“I told you I should have been on lookout instead of that mongrel!” Ugh, Chion.
“Tch, don’t get so cocky brat.” Gawain snipped back.
“Oh no, what do we do about Sir Lancelot?! Look at him! What do we do?!” Isolde wails, her voice too close to Lancelot’s ears for comfort.
Look… at him? What exactly was wrong with him?
Tristan’s tears fall down, crashing onto Lancelot’s…fur?
Sitting up, Lancelot topples over himself, seeing white paws, soft red fur and thin long black whiskers.
For fucks sake, this isn’t happening.
Lancelot seats himself up onto his haunches, taking note of what has changed in him. It looks like he’s turned into a fox, but it’s not a big deal. He can transform whenever he wants.
Except… he can’t.
He tries over and over again, panic flooding his system at his inability to go back to normal. There’s no smoke signaling his transformation, and no magic fixing his appearance. Why couldn’t he turn back into whatever Human-Fairy hybrid he was?!
Whatever the assassin had cast on him trapped him in this body instead of just turning him into one of his profiles.
This was really not going to bode well.
After trying to set fire to Chion’s hair (and succeeding), Gawain finally decided to make herself useful. “Have no fear, you clumsy lot! I will dispel the dimwits magic.”
Thank the Gods. Finally, this whole ordeal would be over with.
Gawain waves her fingers around in the air, magic spewing from her mouth as she casts an Absolute Cancel. Lancelot can feel her magic envelop him and… not work.
Ugh. Was he going to have to rely on his snarky lover? Gawain was his Plan A, and now he’d have to go see Guinevere for Plan B.
And if she couldn’t help him, then it would be really inconvenient for him since he’d have to leave Camelot to get fixed by either Thetis or Queen Elizabeth.
“It… didn’t work?” Gawain murmurs. Lancelot swears he can feel her pride wounding from across the campfire.
She tries two more times, each gesture yielding futile results. He’s as furry as when he woke up no matter her efforts.
Tristan must have wiped his tears at some point during the encounter since in the next moment, he and Gawain have magic and blades aimed at the assassin. He’s tied up tightly to a thick tree, his neck raw from the tightly wound rope cutting into it. His right eye is bruised shut, and his top lip is split open.
What a nasty sight.
“Lift the spell.” Tristan snarls, dark miasma streaming from his lips.
The prick decides now is the time to smirk, and spits on the floor next to Tristan’s shoe.
“No. Why would I lift it? I managed to single-handedly limit my King’s biggest foe to the form of a pet. ”
This came out even better than I hoped. If the prince gets a little bit closer, maybe I can turn him too-
Lancelot once again dashes forward, pushing Tristan out of harm's way and scratching the assassin’s hands and face. Red thin lines of blood now adorn the assassin’s cheeks and palms.
Lancelot’s sigh reverberates in the air, his maw opening to chastise his friend and interrogate the Chaos knight on his own behalf.
“Don’t bother with it, I’ll take care-”
Huh??
“Hey, what’s happened to my voice?” He quizzes. His voice only comes out in yips instead of the common language. He tries to repeat his question a few more times, his voice getting louder each time with panic in his voice.
It leads to deaf ears, and Lancelot soon realizes that not only was he transformed into a fox, he was turned into a regular fox. His fairy lineage wasn’t helping him here, and his magic wasn’t going to work in this condition.
No fox can wield a bow or a sword.
Percival walks over and lifts Lancelot up into his arms like a pet, exclaiming how cute he was in this form.
“You’re back to Sin, Lancelot! It’s like we’re back to when we first met. Do you think you’ll be stuck like this?”
Ugh, he really hopes not.
Tristan and Isolde start pacing around the camp, their hearts loud with anxiety and fear. Gawain floats mid-air while writing down furiously into a scroll. And… Anne and Donny are petting Lancelot like he’s a damn mascot. At least Nasiens has the decency to stay somewhat level-headed.
Would king-trumpet spores and oyster shrimp poison help?
…Nevermind.
Glancing up at the sky, the sun had just started to set, so the night was still young. The group was only a few miles away from Camelot’s castle now, thank the Gods. Getting to Guinevere wouldn’t be as arduous as he was expecting.
Percival was still holding him like a cat in his arms, and although Lancelot would rather die than admit it, it felt a bit nice to have his fur stroked.
Yeah, screw this. Lancelot would be damned before he got used to being a fucking animal.
And no, being a magical fox didn’t count.
Shimmying out of the green-haired boy’s grip, Lancelot picks up a wooden stick in his maw and begins to write scribbles into the soft dirt. It was a lot harder than it looked.
Be back later.
“Be… back later? Where are you heading off to?” Percy asks, concern lacing his voice now that the situation really wasn’t showing an easy solution.
To get fixed.
Tristan was starting to walk over towards Lancelot, his fists glowing with goddess magic once more. Hell no, he was not about to go through this again.
Lancelot pointed at his first message with his furry white paw then dashed out of the clearing, running into the forest heading straight towards Guinevere.
—
Mud soaked paws trail towards Camelot castle, the soft tapping of little fox buttons sounding in the air. It was probably because he was a literal fox now, but he couldn’t be as stealthy as he usually was.
The Queen’s wing was just a couple of feet in front of Lancelot now, the bricked tower soaring to the sky with elegance. Most of Camelot’s architecture had an eerie look to it, but not Guinevere’s side. She liked to have warm hues in her room and a spacious wing for dancing and bustling people. It let the citizens think of her as more of a common person instead of foreign royalty.
The sun had set an hour or so ago, the sky now dark without a cloud in sight. Most citizens had closed up shop and were either in bars or houses now. It was more convenient this way. Nobody had to see a small red fox prancing through alleys.
The sound of people laughing and bar music filled Lancelot’s perked up ears, nostalgia warming his heart. He grew up listening to bar music thanks to his father, and whenever he played it back at home he’d dance the night away with his mother. Peaceful times, where their only concern was raising a stubborn son and ruling a serene kingdom. It’d be nice if he could experience that with Guinevere.
Maybe when the war was over, he’d take her to his favorite pub and swipe her away for the evening.
They could dance to horrible tunes and laugh with drunkards and bet on old people fighting.
Lancelot had made his final turn, now face-to-face with the wall leading to the Queen’s chamber. A small basket with blankets and a rope leading out of her window caught his attention. Soft light lit up the room, the warm shade of candles illuminating the windowsill. At least this meant she was awake.
Her magic saved Lancelot the trouble of trying to scale the 60 foot building.
Clairvoyance was convenient… sometimes.
Hopping into the woven basket, he plopped down onto the soft pillow and messed with the blankets a bit to cover his body. It wouldn’t do any good if someone saw their ruler hauling a mysterious animal up to her room.
Being wrapped in the warm material made Lancelot drowsy, his eyes fluttering as he fought to not sleep. He barely got to nap for an hour earlier, and he hasn’t been able to sleep all week. After not moving for a few minutes, Lancelot was finally dozing off under the dark blanket. Maybe Guinevere wasn’t up right now, but at least she gave him some cover to rest for a bit.
God, the idea of not being sleep deprived sounded so, so good right now.
Shutting his eyes, Lancelot curls up a bit more and falls asleep wrapped in snug blankets and on a cushy pillow.
—
When Lancelot finally wakes up again he finds himself still wrapped in blankets on Guinevere’s lap. She’s humming his favorite song softly, and her hands are lightly stroking the fur on his head and behind his ears.
Mmh, it really does feel nice.
He tilts his head up, ready to turn back to normal and actually get some long-needed sleep. His ears perk up at the sound of her serene voice trying to soothe his psyche.
“Oh, you’re up already? Rest some more my dear. You’ll be back to normal soon. Just sleep for a little longer.”
Cocking his head to the side, the silent question of if he really will turn back to normal asked in the air. He can’t speak right now, so he hopes that she’s able to understand his cues. They didn’t exactly practice how to decipher human-animal non-verbal speech.
“Yes, yes. You’ll be back to normal before the sun sets, I promise. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”
Lancelot wasn’t really expecting Guinevere to be so… fond. Usually when he shows up and isn’t in absolute perfect condition she’ll berate him for what feels like hours (it’s for five minutes). Her comforting voice and hypnotic caresses were unexpected. But they most definitely were appreciated.
Laying his head back down on her soft thighs, he closes his eyes once more and falls asleep to the sound of her airy hums.
—
The sound of rushing water wakes him up again, his body now in a porcelain tub and Guinevere’s beaming smile lighting up the bathroom. She’s wearing some sort of frilly apron, and there’s an array of soaps and towels on the shelf.
What the fuck.
Lancelot tips his head up, his eyes asking Guinevere what the hell she thinks she’s doing. Was she trying to… bathe him? While he’s a fox?
Her sleeve’s are mottled with dirt and mud, and as Lancelot glances down he sees brown wafting in the water from his supposed-to-be white paws. Oh… he forgot that he got dirty on his way over. He must have gotten her clothes all sullied. Well, if that was the case then it was whatever.
Guinevere wasn’t allowed to have any pets, so if she was living out her fantasy right now then it was fine.
As long as she didn’t dress him up. He’d scratch her if she tried to pull some bullshit like that. She’s vocalized her wish to dress him up in frilly outfits and suits in his fox form before. Yeah, no. Not happening.
“Fine, fine. I won’t dress you up. But I am going to bathe you. You got my dress all grimy! You’re lucky you look cute…” She pouts.
Sometimes he swears she can read his mind.
“You know I can’t. Now give me your paw.” She stretches out her palm, taking his front left paw into her hand and rubbing some unscented soap into the fur. She must have remembered that he hates overly-scented toiletries. Her face is focused as she suds up soap into his tiny digits, rubbing the delicate skin softly with a towel before pouring water over it.
“I hope you’re alright… I know you haven’t been forced to transform like this before…”
Water splashes over the white fur, his foot finally cleaned of all the grime he had been accumulating. Lancelot looks up to see her face, guilt wracking his system at her expression. Her face is mottled with frustration, her lips are pursed and her eyebrows furrowed in worry.
I know Tristan matters to you, but you matter to me. I don’t want to see you be put in danger like this…
Lancelot rises up on his back legs, gently patting her cheek with his newly cleaned paw. He can’t guarantee that he’s going to always come back to her unharmed, but he knows she worries about him. The only comfort he can give her is the knowledge that he’s always going to come back to her, no matter what.
She leans into the wet limb, nuzzling her cheek against the skin of his paw. Small tears wink at the corners of her eyes, her eyelids shielding him from seeing her burgundy irises. He flips his hand to rub her tears away, using his nose to kiss her brows. He feels remorseful for making her feel so distraught, but he has a job to do. He needs to help save the world, and unfortunately not even her sorrow will stop him from trying to do so.
Sniffing softly, Guinevere pulls back from his embrace and gently pushes Lancelot back into the tub. She raises his other paw and proceeds to wash it. She doesn’t say another word for the rest of the bath.
—
After drying him with a towel and some warming spells, Guinevere hauls Lancelot to her bed, tucking him under the sheets. She rests his head on a pillow before getting up and changing behind a screen. He can hear her apron fall to the floor and see her dark figure changing behind the dimly lit film.
She walks over to him in the candle-lit room, her face a bit more clear now that she's not crying anymore. She’s wearing a different nightgown now, this one being more… inviting. When he first got to her room she had a stuffy long sleeve gown on, but now she wore a spaghetti-strapped ruffled one. She probably wore the stuffy one since all the padding let him sleep comfortably.
He could sleep in any position and wherever, but sleeping on soft material was simply unbeatable.
She seats herself on the edge of the bed, reaching over to her nightstand to snuff out the last candle in the room. The strap on her right shoulder had started to shift down and expose the milky, delicate skin. Maybe it was because he was a fox… but it looked delectable. He wanted to bite it.
Lifting himself up, Lancelot nudges his nose against her shoulder blade, kissing the small mole that met her neck. Ever since he first found the dark dot, he always kissed it at least once before sleeping next to her whenever he got the chance. His damp snout must have been cold, since Guinevere shrieked into the dark room.
“Eek! What… what do you think you’re doing right now?”
She shivers at the sensation, the movement encouraging Lancelot to press his nose over the skin once more. She must have expected it, since instead of squeaking this time she relaxed her back, letting him do as he pleased. He stuck out his tongue, lightly smoothing the wet appendage over her exposed skin. Her sigh filled the room and the sound of that total surrender must have triggered some sort of barbaric response in Lancelot. He opens his mouth to bite her shoulder, pressing his teeth into the soft muscle. Her clavicle was being held hostage by him now.
“Ok, ok. I get it. I’ll help you turn back now. Let me turn around.”
Lancelot grunts in response, letting go of her. She readjusts her strap as she shifts back to face him, but the damage has already been done. His teeth marked the skin, red indentations of his possessiveness now adorns her body.
Holy shit.
Even as a fox he loves how she looks when he marks her.
Guinevere tucks herself under the bed next to him, leaning forward to delicately kiss him on the tip of his nose. Lancelot can feel the change in his body, his limbs elongating and his canine’s returning to their regular length. His body went back to normal without a single sign that he had been turned at all.
Except that his clothes are gone, but luckily Guinevere had given him a pair to change into after his bath.
Guinevere turns back around to face the wall as he changes into his regular clothes, her hair falling to the side. Lancelot decides to only put his pants on since having a shirt on while sleeping wasn’t very comfortable. At least, not in his opinion. After he finished changing into his leather trousers, he spins back and the sight of Guinevere sends hot boiling anger through his veins.
She has fucking strangulation marks on her neck.
He leaps over the bed to her, twisting her around and pulling her into a tight hug. He knows what happened, and it just solidifies his desire to beat the shit out of Arthur. She lied to him again and got caught. It hasn’t happened in a while, so maybe that’s why he didn’t pay much attention to what she was wearing.
A turtleneck stuffy dress, a dark room immediately after changing into something more comfortable, unbraided hair. She tried to hide it from him.
“What happened? What did you say to him?” He pleads. If she protected him or the group against Arthur, then it meant that it was something that could have truly ended badly for someone.
Guinevere remains quiet, unanswering even in her heart. She lets him hold her but doesn’t cry, her face morphing into bitterness and her lips scowling. But she hugs him back. She holds him tightly, her hands squeezing his back to hold him as close as possible. She’s angry. He can feel it in the air and his heart, but she won’t vocalize why she’s upset.
He pulls back, moving one of his hands to her marked shoulder and using the other to tilt her head to the ceiling. He can see fine in the dark thanks to his father’s freaky genetics. Splotches of purple and red line her neck, indentations of fingernail markings scratching the thin skin. Lancelot releases her shoulder and grabs one of her hands, bringing it close to his face. He can see crusted blood underneath her fingernails, small dots of red scattered across the free-edge.
For fucks sake.
She tried to pull Chaos off of her. And it happened today .
“It doesn’t matter.” She says as she pulls her hand and head away from his hold. She sniffles in the air and tries to get out of the bed.
“No. Come here. Tell me what happened. What did you fabricate this time? What did you see?” He hauls her back towards him, holding her shoulder blades close to his chest, his hands resting on her ribs so she can’t go far. As he leans over to talk directly in her ear, her shoulders rest just right under his collarbones. There is no escaping him, not now and not ever.
She tilts her head to the sky, silent tears streaming down her face and wetting his cheek. Her body shakes with her sobs, and he can feel her throat strain to not let out any noise.
“Oh, Guin…” He turns her around to cuddle her, his chin resting on her head. He pulls them down to lay on the bed, using one of his hands to pull the sheets over their bodies.
Salty tears dampen his bare chest, but he couldn’t give less of a shit at the moment.
He pats her head, letting her cry against him. Her heart still isn’t voicing anything, so this must be shock or her body finally crashing from the experience. It breaks his soul to have her in his arms like this.
He wishes he could keep her safe and comfortable away from all of this. Away from Camelot, away from Arthur, away from war.
“Hey.” He whispers against her hair.
“...Hm.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Guinevere shakes her head in his chest. Her ‘no’ felt like he got punched in the gut, but he can’t force her to tell him anything. If she doesn’t want to tell him what happened then he just has to accept that. It limits him from how he can help her, but she’s his. He’ll accept her sadness and frustration when she decides to give it to him.
He holds her tightly, humming his favorite song into the air, just like she did earlier to soothe him to sleep. Guinevere hiccups against his skin but still clutches his close to her. Her tears stopped flowing after a few minutes, and in an effort to get more comfortable she scooches herself up to lay her head on his bicep. His arm is now her pillow, and Lancelot couldn’t be more grateful. She’s face-to-face with him now. He has an uninhibited view of her face, and she’s still the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, even when she cries.
She sighs against his cheek, her eyes swollen and face flushed from her crying session. Since she’s calmed down a bit, Lancelot decides to test his luck. He lifts his free hand to lightly graze her neck. She stiffens at his touch, but keeps her eyes closed and lets him do as he pleases. He gently wraps his hand against her neck, rubbing his thumb over the marks Chaos left on her body.
He tries to soothe her to sleep, pressing tender kisses against her forehead and lightly massaging the sides of her neck to help distract her. After he’s done kissing her face he continues humming, letting go of her neck to rub her back. Her breathing starts to even out after a few minutes.
Lancelot waits a few more minutes before he stops humming and caressing her back. He wants to be sure she’s actually asleep before he knocks out. Sleep has been calling him ever since he started laying down, but she needed him. He wouldn’t ever reject her when she needed comfort, even if she said she didn’t want it.
Light snores echo in his ears, and it’s the sign he needs to close his eyes and let sleep consume his consciousness. Lancelot shifts the blanket slightly off of him, his body heat more than enough to keep him warm throughout the night. It’s unfortunate that his usual clothes are back at camp, he had some healing salve that he could have used for her in them.
Maybe he’ll swing by tomorrow to use some on her.
The aftermath of the day and bad sleep catches up with him, and in a couple of minutes the sound of light snores and owls hooting fill the Queen’s chambers.
—
Lancelot woke up from the dawning sun beaming down on him. The couple must have turned around at some point during the night since Guinevere now faced the wall and he was facing the window. Ugh, it was morning. At least he got some decent sleep. If he had to go another day with shitty rest he’d probably start fighting someone.
Sitting up, Lancelot looks to his side to see Guinevere still sleeping the day away. She rarely wakes up as early as him, so it’s a good sign that she’s resting so well. The blanket must have shifted too in the middle of the night since it only covered her up to her waist now. She shivered slightly in the cool air before he tucked her in.
She's horrible with the cold.
It’s kind of cute.
He tucks her hair away from her neck, taking a quick peek at her neck. The bruising was turning bluish now, which although he didn’t want to see her in this state, it meant that she was healing well. If he remembered correctly, Guinevere kept a small stock of healing potions under her bed for situations like these.
Lancelot leaned down to kiss her cheek before getting out of the bed. He kneels down to swipe his hands under her bed, sticking his tongue out in concentration. Clacks and thumps sound in the room, but she doesn’t wake up from all the commotion he makes. He tilts forwards a bit more, finally grabbing a flask with two bumps on its side.
Guinevere always labeled her potions with raised dots on their sides.
Two bumps meant it was for healing, and three bumps meant they were to help ease her anxiety.
Tch, he’d toss out those damn anti-anxiety potions if it was up to him. They’re known to be addicting and a bit too efficient. She always acted a bit tipsy and fearless after downing one, and although it was endearing to see her in a somewhat drunken state, she’d go down a slippery slope of addiction if she continued taking them.
But he’d leave them alone. She only took them when he hadn’t seen her for a while, and only then if she hadn’t heard from him through their locket for a while too. It was a good thing he got cursed, because she was probably at the point now where she needed one.
Lifting the green flask, Lancelot popped the stopper off and poured a generous amount of the sticky lime-colored substance on his fingertips. It smelled like dirt, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. At least she didn’t have to drink this particular kind of potion.
Walking over to her side of the bed, Lancelot kneels in front of her sleeping face. Her face isn’t as puffy as it was last night now, thank the Gods. If his last view of her before he left for the day was her upset face then he’d feel so guilty.
Lathering his fingers together, he rubs the substance on the marks on her neck gently, letting the magic cool the irritation down.
“Mmh…” She moans in her sleep.
A soft smile makes its way onto Lancelot’s face. She must be feeling a lot better now if she’s already relaxing like that. He rubs her the salve on her arteries too, making sure every inch of strangulation gets healed.
It’s a bit tedious since he has to maneuver her hair out of the way and make sure she doesn’t wake up. But, he’d do anything for her. Healing her wasn’t something he’d ever complain about.
Once he was satisfied with his work, Lancelot took a glance at the bite mark on her shoulder. Should he heal it?
…Nah.
Standing up, Lancelot finds his shirt on her couch and slides it on. The thin cotton fabric felt nice in the light breeze, and of course Guinevere knew exactly what materials he liked to wear. Clairvoyance was good for some things. Then again, they already knew what the other preferred to wear. A lot of battle ripped clothes and some… fun nights made sure of that.
Bending forward he ties his boots on, making sure to tightly wound the laces so they wouldn’t slip during his dash back to his friends. He wasn’t missing a single thing now, except her.
“...Don’t go…Lance…” She mumbles in her sleep.
His heartstrings tug at the sound, and Lancelot hops onto the windowsill before he gets tempted to turn around. If he does, he’s going to want to stay… and he can’t afford to do that yet.
She’s still asleep, thank the Gods. If she woke up while he tried to sneak out he’d probably die of guilt. It’s never easy for him to leave like this.
Taking a deep breath, Lancelot soaks in the dawning sun. It’s a cool breeze today, and there is nary a cloud in sight. The weather is always beautiful in Camelot. Always.
A testament to the shitshow realm it is.
“I’ll see you again. I promise.” He whispers into the air.
She might not hear it, but he’ll keep his vow no matter what. He won’t ever leave her behind.
Hopping out of the window with a poof, he turns into a fairy and sails straight back to his friends.
He failed to notice the pair of burgundy eyes that watched him as he flew away.
—
Once back at the clearing, Tristan is the first to approach him. Everyone else is still getting their beauty rest, which is wholly deserved after the past few weeks.
“You’re back! How did you manage to lift the curse?” He half-whispers, trying not to wake Isolde who is resting next to his bed.
“I have my ways.” Lancelot responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “What about the enemy? Did he spill how to fix the curse-”
Tristan takes stock of Lancelot, his face bursting into a red flame. He interrupts Lancelot, stammering as his eyes dart away to avoid the fairy hybrid.
“Y-you… uh…” His voice rises in pitch with every passing moment. “Do you… um… have a lover, Lance?”
…What the fuck kind of question is that?
“...What?”
“Well… that knight said that… a true…”
“A true…? Just say it man.” Lancelot encourages. What on Earth is so embarrassing?
Tristan looks down at his shoes, not meeting Lancelot’s hardening gaze. Christ, it’s like the guy got his tongue tied. Did Isolde wear him out last night or something?
He remains silent, looking up past Lancelot’s shoulder to the campfire. “Oh! N-nothing! I kept the camp safe while you went out to get healed.” He says, pointing his thumb at his chest like it’s something to be proud of.
I most definitely can’t ask him that! How embarrassing!!
“Okay…?” Lancelot tries his luck again. “Did you find out how to lift the spell or not?”
That’s all he really cares about at the moment. If the enemy found a way to limit one of them to a small helpless form then it meant real bad news was coming for them. Surely, Tristan or Gawain or even Chion managed to get the assassin to tell them how to lift the magic.
Tristan covered his face in his palms, mumbling to himself about something Lancelot couldn’t figure out.
“...ove… kis…”
Sweet fucking-
“Just come out with it, damn it!”
“He said it was true love’s kiss!” Tristan nearly screamed in Lancelot’s face. The realization of what he said taking a few seconds to sink in.
Is he serious right now? This is most definitely some stupid prank Percy put him up to. If he even knew what a true love’s kiss was…
Let’s not bet on it.
“He said that it was the only way to go back to normal.” Tristan might not be able to see his face, but Lancelot is sure his face is slowly turning into a tomato’s. This freaking prince isn’t even lying. The dumbass knight really said this, pranks be damned. “He said kissing your true love will lift the spell if he doesn’t do it himself. He also said that true love was so rare it was virtually impossible! But… here you are… so that must mean you do have a special someone?”
He’s going to kill Tristan, prophesied knight or not.
Lancelot grabs Tristan’s collar, hissing at him with a beet red face.
“Tell a single soul about this and you’re dead, you hear me?” Gods, that did not sound intimidating at all.
Tristan just nods furiously against his grip, his eyes still not meeting his childhood friends. How is he a knight who faces death every other day but still embarrassed about having a lover?
Ugh, it’s not something he wants to dwell on right now.
Turning around, Lancelot comes face-to-face with nearly every single person in camp except for Isolde. She’s still decidedly asleep (she’s awake, she’s just pretending, her heart is loud as hell).
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Chion and Donny are gaping at him like he’s some foreign alien from outer space, Anne and Gawain both look like the cat that got the cream, while Percy just stares at him unabashedly. At least Nasiens isn’t being dramatic, being the calm person they are.
“You- you of all people have someone? Please, there’s no way!” Chion guffaws. Donny has to elbow him in the ribs, whispering something about Lancelot being a macho man now, whatever that means.
“Your shirt is also, um… wrinkled and buttoned incorrectly…” Tristan whispers in his ear.
Lancelot’s face starts steaming, and before Anne can use Interrogator on him he shuts her up with a scathing glare before she can even open her mouth. Like Hell is he going to let her question him.
He must’ve not dressed right since he was in the dark and moving around so much. God damn it!!
Gawain is just smirking at him now, obvious amusement on her face. She’s giggling to herself while floating, writing in a scroll. It’ll be later in the year when Lancelot finds out that she’s keeping track of every time he comes back with ‘the signs of love’. And of course, he will try to burn the damn enchanted paper when he finds out.
After a moment of silence, Percy speaks up.
“What’s a true love's kiss?”
His question brings everyone back to reality and they all shake their heads.
There is only one thought heard throughout the camp after that.
What a dumbass.
Percy was way too sheltered growing up.