||[Nov. 30th, 2006|09:55 pm]
We take a walk, the sun is shining down, burns my feet as they touch the ground.
“Lancelot, you can’t be seri-”
The other man turned to stare at Arthur, shooting daggers out of his eyes. “If you say ‘serious,’ Arthur, I will ‘seriously’ fucking beat your arse into a bloody pulp. I am deadly serious. Now go away.”
Arthur chased after Lancelot, catching his arm as he was about to round the hard brick corner of the building that housed the knight’s horses and tack.
“You cannot tell me what to do, knight,” Arthur spat, and then sighed. “Lancelot – this man is a known braggart and fool. What good will it do you to humiliate him in front of his fellows?”
Arthur knew what good it would do Lancelot, but he also knew what would come of Lancelot trouncing the legionaire Marcus Pullio – and it wasn’t something that Lancelot would really care for.
“Arthur. Would you see me leave this – let this man sully my reputation?” Lancelot stopped and jerked his arm away from Arthur’s grip. He put his hands on his slender hips, and glared at Arthur with narrowed eyes.
“The only reputation you have with them is one of violence and whoring,” Arthur replied, biting off his words. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingertips. “I know you. The other knights know you. What does it matter what some random legionaires think of you?”
Lancelot barked a rough laugh, his face betraying not a small amount of hurt. Arthur winced internally, but before he could speak, Lancelot opened his mouth.
“Arthur, if you don’t know the answer to that, you know nothing of me or what I’ve experienced in my glorious years of service to the Empire. Mithras save you, commander. You are innocent and idiotic to a fault.”
He whirled and strode away, flexing his arms and rotating his shoulders, his curly hair bouncing as he tilted his head, stretching in preparation for the fight that was coming.
Arthur watched him go, and finally snorted out a harsh breath.
He raised his head to the wintry sky, and shook it in disbelief, Lancelot and his damned pride eating at Arthur’s gut.
It wasn’t even raining.