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everlastingdreams · 2 months ago

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The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : The Lovers Feast

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Story Summary: The day of Festa and Moreii, by many referred to as the 'Lovers Feast', passes once every two years in spring. For the first time you are determined to not be without a companion or flower at the feast. In the time leading up to the anticipated celebration you, one of the healers in the fort of Gramaire, try to live through the events happening before it.

Your friend Lancelot, the former Weeping Monk turned knight of the Fey and the man whom you have growing feelings for, does not approve of the man you have chosen to celebrate the feast with.

A woman who would rather see you trampled by horses, a man whose intentions are unclear and a love that is unrequited. Can the Lovers Feast bring clarity to it all?

Notes: Had this idea a while ago, was finally able to write it fully.

Warnings: Hurt. Pining. Fluff. Soft and sweet. Menstruation CW. Insecurity. Jealousy. Friends to lovers. Violence. Strong Language. Bullying. Romance.

Word count of this fic: 17k+

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Life for you after escaping more than one of the Red Paladins’ cleansings, was finally bettering. It was the Green Knight who had found you wandering the forest alone a few months ago and he had taken you with him to Gramaire where you met his acquaintances and friends. And among these friends there were certain people who stood out among the rest. A young Fey child who happened to be a knight, the Red Spear, and the Weeping Monk. Needless to say, it took quite some time before you trusted this Monk as Gawain did.

Upon arriving in Gramaire, Gawain had questioned you, trying to determine whether or not you possessed a useful skill. The only thing you had acquired was the knowledge for healing and so you became a healer along with Pym, a girl who was also a friend of Gawain. Together you saw all sorts of injuries, especially Red’s crew had some bizarre things happening to them. Then there were the regular common complaints, a cold, the flu… All were welcome to seek your aid. Even the former Weeping Monk, who you learned was named ‘Lancelot’.

You were a quiet person in the beginning, your soul was still healing from all that had been seen and experienced. Rarely you spoke, with Pym in the infirmary this was no problem but alone…

The first time Lancelot walked into the infirmary, with a bleeding gash on the left side of his chest, he said not a word to you. Not one. Not for the entire two hours I took to treat the wound. And neither did you, oddly enough it did not feel uncomfortable. Apart from your hands having shaken a bit, you kept calm in his presence.

The shaking hands lessened the more he sought treatment. It was always the same pattern, he went out to help Gawain and his friends and in the evening he sat on the cot in the infirmary to let you treat his wounds. All of them obtained because he was careless with his own health, throwing himself into danger to help the Green Knight and the others, that was what you had been told by Pym.

“I’ve never had to help him,” Pym had once said, “I’m glad. I don’t really want to.”

It was quite strange that Lancelot never went to Pym for healing, he’d often wait until evening when you were cleaning things up in the infirmary, you reckoned it was because he might prefer the silence over Pym’s babbling.

So there you were again, in the evening, dabbing away the blood from his upper arm to find where it was even coming from. In all this time, and in all the evenings before it, he had never said a word to you. All communication had been quite straightforward, he showed the injuries and you would treat them. Just as you went to grab a fresh rag to use he leaned forward more on the cot. He kept an arm around his abdomen and was growing paler by the minute.

You ignored the rag and went back over to him to feel his forehead. He was sweating, a fever was taking hold. “You should not go out tomorrow. Remain in the fort. I worry you may be growing an infection. I can give you a vial of-”

He was not one to listen to advice on his health. “Just suture my arm.”

With a sigh, you wiped more blood away from the cut and began to suture the stubborn fool’s arm.

His eyes remained fixed on the floor. “Thank you.”

It was not hard to treat him. He usually sat still as a statue when you helped him and as always he was out the door again mere moments after you were done. You watched the door fall shut behind him, wondering how long he would pretend he was alright this time.

Hours later, in the midst of the night, you were awoken by the Green Knight who nearly knocked your door out of it’s hinges. He informed you of how Lancelot had just collapsed on his way to the infirmary, they had to carry him the rest of the way once they found him. Right away you knew it did not look good for the Ash Man. He was not conscious and laying unresponsive on the cot when you arrived in the infirmary. Days and nights filled of trying to lower his fever followed, you made concoction after concoction in the hope that it would fight away the infection one of his wounds must have caused. No, it had not looked good for him at all.

By the third morning, he had regained consciousness but was too weak to sit up. You spoon fed him soup in the time that followed until he got more of his strength back. What followed was… strange. Due to his previous dire condition you had to stay near as much as you could until it was certain that he was indeed out of the dangerous claws of the infection. This meant helping the former Weeping Monk wash, treat all cuts with salve, and ensure he took the medicine you continued to make for him. You washed his torso daily the first days and left him to do the rest, the first times he was easily out of breath from the remaining fever, but as the days passed he got better. He did not make eye-contact on the moments when you had to freshen him up, it was hard to read his response to it. Only when you had touched the damp rag to his neck did he shut his eyes and tilted his head to the side, no wonder with how warm he must have felt from the fever.

Nights you had slept on the other cot in the infirmary to ensure he would be well. On the sixth day you had woken up to him being up on his feet and putting his weapon belts and cloak on. At first you thought you were imagining it, but no, the Ash Man had recovered from the fever. His skin had returned to a healthy color again, the paleness was gone. You were up on your feet in seconds, sleep still held your legs in it’s hold and threatened to send your body to the ground. The pain of a fall never came, his quick reaction to grab hold of your waist had prevented it.

“Careful.” A flash of worry went through his eyes. “It would be unfortunate if our healer broke her neck.”

You were rattled. “You shouldn’t be up…”

A smile crept on his face. “Was that not the whole point of me being in your care? For me to be up on my feet again.”

That smile made you lose the knowledge of words. Never before had you seen him, the former Weeping Monk, smile at you. Blinking, you cast your eyes away from him. All of a sudden he knelt down before you, tilting his head down in submission, a sign of respect he must have learned through his upbringing.

“Thank you.” He lifted his head to look at your face. “For your aid. I would not have survived this without you here to help me.”

Nervously you fidgeted with your sleeve. “There is no need to thank me. I am glad you feel better.”

He stared for a moment, then gave a slow nod. After a strange silence fell between you, he gingerly took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips to brush them to your knuckles very lightly. He stood right after, appearing as nervous as you were. After another nod your way he headed out the door. There you stood, staring flabbergasted at the door of the infirmary he had just walked out of. Wondering if a fever had taken hold of you and made you delirious as well. Had the former Weeping Monk really just kissed the hand of a Fey?

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

An odd dynamic had formed between you over the next two weeks. It started out with little things. A simple ‘Good morning’ from him. Him holding the door open for you when the opportunity presented itself. Just small things that weren’t so small to you, because this was the former Weeping Monk being oddly kind to you. And still… you remained your quiet self while he didn’t seem to mind the comfortable silence shared.

Pym was very quick to notice these little things.

~“Does he fancy you or something? Can that even happen, with him being… having been a monk and all that?”~

She had said. You had shrugged your shoulders, it was impossible to know what was going through his head. But surely the Ash Man had better options than a woman who could be the only person in a room and still be overlooked or ignored. Because that was you, you kept to the shadows and left others to be in the light. And there was a pretty woman, Gyda, who was vying for his attention for weeks now. She had thrown her arms around him not long after he had stepped out of the infirmary after his close call with death, claiming she had been truly worried. You said not a word of it, knowing full well that she had not visited him even once in the infirmary when he was there. Instead she had spend her time aiming her attention on the Green Knight who had been truly worried for his friend’s health and had no attention to give her. Of course all her effort focused back on the Ash Man the moment it was clear he was better. Her father and mother were spurring her on to marry a good match and what better match was there than a knight?

Two strange weeks had passed, two weeks of growing conversations between you and Lancelot. Two weeks of glares from Gyda whenever she saw him say a word to you. It was confusing to see how he sought out your presence. Did he feel indebted to you for healing him? Was that why he was making an effort to make you participate in more social situations?

It took a while to get used to sitting at a table along with the others, fortunately they made you feel welcome. Two whole weeks of Lancelot trying to help you be more at ease around him and those he considered friends. But there you were, sitting at one of the larger tables in the dining room. Pym sat not far away, Gawain sat opposite of you and Lancelot had sat down at your side the second he had walked in and saw you sitting alone. He was conversing with Gawain about places where flour could still possibly be found. And as they planned their journey to these mills, you often felt Gawain’s eyes dart between you and Lancelot. Why? You didn’t know. Lancelot hadn’t even looked at you since sitting down, he was focused on the conversation, not on you.

You reached out to take a piece of bread from the bowl a little to the side in the midst of the table. The Ash Man reacted ridiculously fast, without stopping the conversation with Gawain he had taken a piece of bread from the bowl and handed it to you. You stared at the bread in your hand, it were those small things that continued to rattle you.

“What?” Lancelot said to Gawain, after he saw the knight stare at him.

Gawain gave him an incredulous look, then gestured to you and him, “I have not seen you so attentive before to anyone else here.”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the Ash Man go rigid.

It was Arthur who interrupted the growing strange atmosphere at the table, the Manblood put a tankard of water down right beside you. “Good morning, y/n. I noticed you didn’t have any water yet. Here you go.”

The tankard was shoved right under your nose, with a nod and a smile you showed your appreciation.

Arthur sat down next to Gawain. “Well then, what are the plans for today?”

The Manblood was smiling, full of enthusiasm, even as the Ash Man tried to hide how he rolled his eyes.

“We are going to retrieve the flour of the mill in the west,” Gawain answered.

“Good. As long as someone doesn’t get the urge to set the place on fire whilst we’re in it,” Arthur chuckled.

You quietly chewed the bread, eyes darting between the three of them. It was no secret that Lancelot may have once set a mill on fire and almost killed them on purpose, Arthur tended to remind him of it often.

“Do not tempt me,” Lancelot voice was monotone.

You nearly choked on the bread at hearing him say it and started coughing.

His eyes snapped away from Arthur immediately, he almost touched your arm but stopped himself. “Are you alright?”

Arthur stood up and held the tankard of water up for you. “Here. Drink some water.”

It sounded as good advice and after drinking some sips the coughing stopped.

Gawain scolded them over their bickering, “This is what happens when the two of you can’t sit at a table for one meal without acting like ill-mannered children.”

Both men cleared their throat, unable to meet the stern eyes of the Green Knight.

“Ignore what they say, y/n,” Gawain said. “They behave like this until we face the enemy, then they are friendly all of a sudden.”

“Friendly…” Lancelot huffed.

Gawain pointed at him with his spoon. “Don’t start again. Eat your breakfast.” The spoon pointed to Arthur next. “The same goes for you.”

Arthur protested quietly, “I wasn’t saying anything.”

Gawain shook his head, mumbled something under his breath. You chewed the bread a bit more carefully. It was quiet between them for a while, until Gawain spoke to you.

“Looking forward to the feast of Festa and Moreii soon?” he asked.

This feast only occurred once every two years. The last time, after your attendance, you had cried yourself to sleep. It was a feast for all, but among the Fey it was often used as the day when women were gifted flowers from lovers, family and even friends. But in the past few decades it was mostly used as an excuse for interested parties to seek the attention of those they were interested in. Therefore, by many it was called the ‘Lovers Feast’.

You shrugged your shoulders a little, quietly answering, “I don’t know…”

“Surely, you will be there?” Gawain asked.

Lancelot spoke up, looking as confused as Arthur was, “What is this feast?”

Gawain put down his spoon, having finished his soup. “Ah yes, that’s right. You two don’t know about these Fey events, or do you?”

Arthur and Lancelot both shook their heads a little. The Green Knight sighed and proceeded to tell them the story of Festa And Moreii and what this feast was for.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

A week had passed.

Somewhere between the rare smiles and the time he spend in the infirmary with you, it had happened. It was something you had feared would happen. That unpredictable feeling that had caused so much heartbreak in the world already. Love. You were enamored with the former monk turned knight and it was not a feeling you welcomed. It was unrequited, secret and fueling a hope you shouldn’t have had. But it was there and no matter how hard you tried to ignore the feeling it only grew stronger. It did not help that he still sought out your aid in the evenings in the infirmary instead of one of the other healers. Beside you and Pym, two more healers manned the infirmary during the day. The nights were yours to work and Lancelot knew it very well.

After one night a week ago, when he had even helped you fill vials of medicine, you had started to carve a small wooden horse figurine out of a piece of a thick branch. Even painted the figurine black to match his stallion that he spoke of so fondly. It took a whole week to make and you hadn’t told anyone of your secret hobby, the figurine was kept hidden under your bed along with some others you had made. But today you wanted to gift it to him.

With nervous steps you searched the fort for him, the figurine was neatly wrapped into a piece of cloth to let it be a true surprise. And then you spotted him in the courtyard, speaking to Gyda who had put her hand on his upper arm as she laughed melodically over something he must have told her. You did not want to stare but could not look away. For Gyda conversation seemed so effortless and natural, she knew just what to say to keep the conversation going.

After a moment, you turned away and headed back to your room. Unwrapping and putting the figurine on your night table instead. Such foolish hope, a quiet mouse could not compete with a bold feline. A heavy feeling set into your abdomen and you sat on the bed for a while to let it settle down. You hated being in love, your stomach was acting up and you were constantly questioning everything. It was cruel how your own mind could be your worst enemy, how it could whisper all your insecurities into your thoughts over and over again. It felt horrible.

After the feeling in your abdomen got better, you headed out again, this time to the infirmary to drown your thoughts with tasks instead. The sound of laughing children reached your ears, a mere second later a door swung open right into your path. It hit against your temple as you tried to avoid the collision at the last second. The children had no idea the door they had swung open had struck someone, they were quick to run down the hallway and out of sight again. You huffed through the pain, cursing quietly until only a dull pain remained and a mark to your temple that would be there for a while.

You continued your way to the infirmary, greeting Gawain on your way there as you passed him by. Your feet had not a chance to pass the threshold of the infirmary before a hand wrapped itself around your arm. Startled, you smacked the hand away then gasped when realizing who was to blame.

“Who did that?” Intensity burned in Lancelot’s eyes.

He stood so close, so very close. Such handsome features, those small freckles on his neck. Such deep concern his eyes held.

“What?” You blinked.

Briefly the knuckles of his fingers gingerly touched your temple. “This bruise. Who did this to you?”

“A door.”

“A door?”

You felt a bit embarrassed, it must have made you sound like a klutz. “I was walking through the hallway, a door swung open and hit me.”

He did not seem to think you were being truthful. “But you are wounded someplace else.”

“I am not.”

Doubt washed over his face. “I can tell that you are bleeding.”

“What? But I-”

Realization hit you cruelly strong, the pain in your abdomen had not been due to the distress you had felt. This could not get any worse. He could smell it? How humiliating, if you had known you wouldn’t have left your room. It was bound to happen with his heightened senses and with how much more time he spend near. It had only been evenings in the infirmary together until this month.

You took a couple of big steps away, fearing the blood had already stained your clothes for all to see. “I need to go.”

“Wait-”

He tried to stop you but you bolted away to your room to prevent further damage to your self-esteem, leaving him behind in confusion.

Lancelot snapped out of his thoughts a moment later and decided to go after you. He ran into the Green Knight only two hallways further, who stopped him in his path.

“Ah, Lancelot. I was wondering -”

“Have you seen y/n?”

“Every time…” Gawain mumbled under his breath.

The knight was no fool, he had noticed that ever since you had arrived there the Ash Man had went to the infirmary for the smallest cut and always during the times of day when you just happened to be the healer that was present.

Lancelot wisely ignored that remark. “I believe something is wrong. She had a bruise. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary today?”

The knight hummed pensively. “I have not. Have you tried to speak to her?”

“I fear I may have been too forward.”

“You? No…” Gawain’s sarcasm shined through. “Go on. Find our healer. See to it that she is well.”

He walked away, intending to do exactly that, hoping that his nose was wrong.

Blood and a forming bruise… had someone attacked you? How you had run off when he had questioned you about it with concern… he feared to worst.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

You had changed clothes the second you walked into your chamber and were trying to rinse the small blood stain out from your other pair of trousers hoping no one had noticed it. Out of all the people that could have noticed your monthly blood, it had to be him. The handsome Ash Man who you had grown to feel more than just friendship for. It was mortifying. You held your breath when a knock sounded at your door and heard Lancelot call out your name. Oh, no no no…

The last thing you wanted was for him to realize what sort of blood he had noticed on you. You put the trousers back into the bucket of water in a small corner of the room next to the wardrobe.

He knocked again, sounding concerned as he spoke through the door, “Are you alright?”

Think… think… think… there was no time to think. His knocking grew more urgent and you feared he’d break open the door if you did not respond soon. You opened the door, hoping to just keep it open a few inches. He quickly took hold of the edge of the door and made his way inside the room, you stumbled back a little and frowned at his urgency.

His eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. “You changed your clothes.”

When he took a step further into the room, you took one back. His expression changed instantly, he almost looked hurt to see you step back.

“You do not have to fear me,” he said quietly and removed his hand from where he often let it rest on the pommel of his sword, hoping to ease your mind.

“I don’t.” It was the truth.

He was quiet for a moment and stood motionless, showing no intent to leave the room.

It felt uncomfortable because you just knew he was going to ask about the blood scent. “I’m alright. You can leave.”

His brow arched. “Not before you tell me where and how serious your injury is.”

It shouldn’t have come as such a shock that he could be persistent. “It is nothing.”

He shook his head. “I do not believe you.”

You sighed, the on-setting cramps were causing you to be short with him. “Please, leave.”

He was terribly stubborn and stern. “I will. Once you either tell me the truth or let me walk you to the infirmary to see a healer.”

It was getting on your nerves quickly. Not everyone in the castle needed to hear about your monthly blood. You did not need a healer. “It’s none of your concern, Lancelot! I don’t want to talk about this!”

Multiple scenarios rushed through his head. Was someone hurting you? Did you submit yourself to the scourge as he had once done?

You saw his nostrils flare ever so little, so easily missed if one would not pay attention to it. When he took a step in the direction of the place where you had hidden the bucket from sight, you stepped into his path. More suspicion filled his eyes. He moved faster, passing you and ignoring your protests, finding the bucket where your trousers were soaking in the cold water.

The scent of blood was diluted by the water but it was there. It left him highly alarmed. He noticed your other clothes on the bed and went over to them, inspecting them.

You felt so embarrassed. “What are you doing?!?”

There were no tears in your clothes. No visible evidence that someone had tried to damage them.

He approached you fast, taking hold of your arm. You froze entirely when he leaned in and inhaled audibly, your face started to burn.

“What are you doing?” you blurted out again, shocked by the behavior.

There were no other Fey scents over you that could point to a Fey possibly having attacked you.

His eyes darted over your form, still searching, “Has someone hurt you?”

That concern in his eyes almost instantly made you forgive him for being invasive. “No.”

He still seemed to doubt whether or not that was the truth, “I want you to come with me to the infirmary.”

You protested when he took hold of your arm but he still dragged you out of the room. You finally managed to break free when he got you a few steps away from your room. He cursed under his breath and tried to grab hold of your arm again but you swatted his hand away.

“Enough! Leave me be, Lancelot!” you snapped.

He countered, “You need to see a healer!”

You stood your ground. “I don’t! I bleed like this monthly!

It still took him a moment to understand what on earth you were trying to tell him, his past in the clergy was at blame. “Why-”

You saw it click into his mind, realizing just how far he had to think to come to the conclusion.

This was not a matter that was discussed within the clergy. He barely knew anything about it, certainly not the details.

You hugged yourself. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about this. It’s worse enough already that I bled through my trousers and you were the one who noticed that I am bleeding. Gods… you can smell it…”

He could not bring a word out and by the time he finally managed to try and speak an apology you had already returned to your room and locked the door.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It had been hours. Hours filled with laying in bed and suffering from the foolish humiliation and annoying cramps. You couldn’t stop thinking about how he was just able to smell the blood, it must not have been noticeable to him before or he had noticed because he had become more attentive towards you lately after you helped him when he was ill. Still, you wished he had not noticed this. Once he had told that he often just did not focus on the scents around him because they would become too much, but he must have been alert when it came to you unfortunately. And then he had barged into your room and found the trousers…

No. You did not feel like leaving your room for the rest of the day. Pym would be fine in the infirmary with the other healers for a day while you recovered from the situation. Besides, you doubted you would be much help with the cramps in your abdomen.

Someone knocked on the door of your room and you prayed to the Hidden it wouldn’t be him. Anyone but him. But after a short pause in-between knocks, you heard Lancelot call out your name. When you didn’t hear him walk away from the door after ignoring him, you grumbled and got out of bed to drag your feet to the door. You held the door closed more, still his fingers slithered around the edge of it as he send a pleading look. Sighing, you opened the door for him and just went and climbed right back into bed, feeling too miserable physically to stand for much longer.

He was carrying a small basket in his hands and approached the bed with it, looking rather unsure of himself. “Forgive me for how I reacted earlier.”

“It’s not your fault. I just feel humiliated.”

“Why?”

“Because you could smell the blood.”

“I have caught the scent of blood hundreds of times.” He tried to ease your mind. “The only difference with you is that I paid attention to it only because I was worried. I feared someone had harmed you.”

It was quite nice to hear that he had been genuinely concerned. “I truly did just walk into a door. Some children were playing and pushed a door open haphazardly, it hit me in the head. We can’t all be as graceful as you.”

He blinked slowly, eyes aimed at the floor, a careful smile grew on his lips. “Graceful…” he quietly uttered, as if it was a word no one had ever used to describe him.

It dawned on you that he had considered it a compliment. And it was, for you found him so graceful that it often left you in awe when you stared at him in secret during the times he sparred with his comrades.

He looked at the wall and cleared his throat. “I have asked Pym about this… bleeding.”

Were you imagining things or did he truly just say it?? “You asked Pym?”

He came closer, taking seat on the edge of the bed, the basket on his lap. “She did her best to give me some advice.”

Poor, poor Pym. One of the first true conversations she must have had with him and it was about this matter. She must have felt very strange.

He placed the basked on the night table. “A vial for the pain and some fruit I know-… I hope you like.”

You stared at the basket in disbelief. He had gone through this much effort? A quick glance in the basket told you that he had put more than your favorite fruit in there, there were some sweet baked goods and berries. The whole basket smelled so good. “Thank you. You didn’t have to go through so much trouble for me.”

He ignored that comment, his attention fell on the small wooden horse figurine that still stood on the night table as well. Too tempted not to, he picked it up to look at it better. “Did you make this?”

“Yes. It’s silly, I know-”

“Impressive.” He turned it over, intrigued by the small details.

“What?” You glanced up at him.

“How long did it take you to make this?” he wondered out loud.

Nights it took you. “Some hours.”

You saw him keep turning it between his fingers to look at it from all angles, seemingly enamored by the small wooden figurine. “You can have it, if you want it.”

His eyes widened slightly by the offer. “I could not possibly-”

It slipped out, “I made it for you after you helped me fill those vials in the infirmary.”

His gaze fell on you, studying your eyes as if he could not believe you had truly made it for him. You thought it was rather endearing and smiled, letting your eyes fix on the sheet under your hand instead.

He stared a little longer, cleared his throat. “Horses are such loyal creatures.”

“They are.”

Once more he cleared his throat, scratching his chin. He didn’t put the figurine back down, but didn’t say he wanted it either, you wished he would say it. A cramp welled up and it felt like someone was standing on your lower back. You groaned in pain, turning over to face the wall and curling up to fight it. He instantly reached out and touched your arm.

“It hurts.”

“Your abdomen?”

“My back.”

You didn’t expect him to reach down and touch your back and froze in response. He rubbed over your back gingerly, hoping it would bring some comfort.

“Here?”

“It’s lower.”

His hand took it as an instruction, he touched just where the pain was radiating to and oddly you felt your body relax because of it. The tension that you had felt was starting to lessen and it helped make the cramps less painful. His warm hands were soothing the pain. Silently you wondered if he was one of the feys who the Hidden granted a healing ability to.

“Could you-” you stopped yourself, realizing what you were about to ask the man who had been a monk for most of his life until he joined the Fey.

But he had heard. “What do you need of me?”

You shook your head. “I cannot ask it of you.”

He hushed that concern, “You heal me when I am wounded or ailing, allow me to do the same for you. Ask.”

It came out very quietly, “Could you keep doing what you’re doing?”

He fell silent for a few seconds, his hand had stopped tending to your back. Had you crossed the line and made a fool of yourself?

Slowly, he started again. “Does it help?”

You nodded in relief.

“Tell me when to stop.” He rubbed your back gently.

Minutes went and passed, but you did not tell him to stop and he quietly rubbed your back, soothing the pain. As time passed he seemed to grow less reserved towards the task. He gave you the vial to drink and you drank half of it, keeping the other half for later if it was needed.

He brought the sheets over your body, still gently rubbing over your back. His hand had gotten warmer from the friction and it was stilling the pain before the vial could even work. But the vial’s effect took not long to begin, your eyelids grew heavy and closed under his encouragement. You were sound asleep soon after.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

That night, a week ago, not only had he taken the figurine with him to keep. When you had woken up you had found your stained trousers washed and dried on top of your dresser. It had left you speechless, for him to do such personal things…

When you had felt awkward about the matter, he had simply said he was used to washing blood out of clothes. To him, being in contact with blood was as normal as breathing. But not a word had been said between you about how he had rubbed your back to sooth your pain, neither of you had dared to breach the topic. It was a delicate matter, surely an infringement on the vow he had upheld for so long. You thought of apologizing for it, hoping it had not caused him to feel remorse, but you were too timid to even mention anything of the vow to him. Perhaps it was for the better that you pretended that that night had not occurred, it would be better to stop hoping that your feelings could be reciprocated. Sparing yourself the heartbreak was a merciful choice.

He still often walked into the infirmary in the evenings, having grown somewhat more careful with injuries he sustained after barely having survived that infection. This night was no different, he walked in with a cut near his wrist that was the result of him training young Percival with a sword. Some stitches. Some salve. Some medicine for the pain he would often refuse to take. It was a standard evening.

“The boy is getting quicker.” You gave a sympathetic smile.

He stared for a blink, then looked down at the work you had done for his wrist. “Indeed. This is the second time he was too fast for me to evade.”

“He learns well. Must be because of his talented tutor.”

You were done with bandaging the cut and noticed him looking up at you, eyes filled with a certain intrigue. With his other hand he was gripping the edge of the cot he was sitting on, something he often did when he was nervous.

The Ash Man was not the only one seeking aid it seemed. A man, Burk, walked into the infirmary and the air filled itself with the scent of ale. Burk was known for his drunken shenanigans.

“You wouldn’t have one of those little vials that dulls a headache, would ya?” The man slurred, gesturing to the shelves of medicine on the other side of the room. He didn’t even appear to notice Lancelot in the room at all.

You quietly sighed, already guessing that he needed the vial for the coming morning. But medicine was hard to come by in these times, the Green Knight had ordered for it to not be given without there be a true need for it. And bottleache was not a good reason to use up one of the vials of medicine.

Your voice was quite as a mouse, “I’m sorry.” You went to stand in front of the shelves. “I cannot give them for bottleache. Ordered by the Green Knight.”

Burk wasn’t happy to hear it at all. “To hell with the Green Knight!” He hiccuped a few times. “Out of the way!”

He gave you a rough shove to the side, your balance was lost. You yelped when landing on your hands and knees, your palm took most of the fall and you felt the pain shoot up your wrist. Your mind was still busy processing what had happened when chaos erupted in the room. It felt like you had barely turned to look and in that time the Ash Man had drawn his sword and pinned the drunkard against the wall. The tip of the sword rested against the man’s chest.

“Are you alright?” Lancelot spoke to you.

It was humiliating and you felt yourself withdraw in your shell. A nod was all you could manage as your eyes refused to lift from the floor.

He put some pressure on the sword. “Apologize to her!”

Burk looked absolutely terrified. The tip of the sword was making a hole in his jacket. “I’m sorry!”

Lancelot looked back at you, at how your gaze stayed on the floor, he moved the sword away from the man.

“Do not come near her again!” he barked the warning before letting go of Burk. The man scrambled away from him and ran out of the room.

The instant silence that fell was suffocating. You never felt so inclined to speak before, but when the Ash Man turned to you, the words hooked themselves in your throat. Even he appeared indecisive on what to do. He stepped closer, you went rigid. Lancelot followed your gaze and realized you were looking at the sword in his hand, he quickly sheathed it and reached a hand out for you to take. With wide eyes you glanced up at him, tentatively placing your hand in his as if you were reaching into fire. It was as warm as that night and far more gentle than one would expect of someone who was raised to fight.

His eyes scanned your form. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, he stood so close that you could feel his breath on your face and it was scrambling your thoughts. It was too hard to make eye-contact, his closeness was causing your heart to quicken and you hoped he would not notice.

Your voice was but a whisper, “I’m alright.”

He was holding on to your elbow. “I will ensure that he does not bother you again.”

“You’re not going to…” you let the rest fade out.

He guessed the question. “No, I will not kill him. But I shall speak of this to him when he is sober.”

When he let go of your elbow and brushed his hand along your arm a few times it was hard to hide your flustered state. He withdrew it and folded both hands behind his back as if to scold and restrain himself for it.

The door of the infirmary swung open again, Gyda stepped inside, her eyes darting between you and Lancelot who took a step back upon noticing her.

“Oh? Lancelot.” She stepped close, wasting no time to put a hand on his upper arm to form a physical connection. “I heard you were in the infirmary again tonight. Nothing bad I hope?”

He had kept his hands behind his back until she asked this, then he showed her his bandaged wrist. “Only a cut.”

She gasped rather dramatically and took hold of his wrist with both her hands. “Gods, my dear Lancelot, it must hurt.”

He seemed frozen in place. “The salve our healer applied helps numb the pain.”

She feigned a smile at you. “Our healer is very kind to tend to your wounds so late in the evening.”

You were starting to dislike her attitude, there were insinuations hidden under her words and they were laced with venom. “I tend to everyone who needs help, no matter the time.”

Lancelot awkwardly cleared his throat, you wondered what he was thinking and if he could feel that Gyda was ingenuine towards you.

“Forgive me, Lancelot.” She feigned a small pout. “May I speak to the healer alone for a moment? I came to discuss some womanly matters with her.”

He pulled his hand back when she let it go and gave an inclination of the head. “Of course. It is late indeed, I shall retreat to my quarters. Goodnight, Gyda.”

She gave him her sweetest smile and wished him a good night as well. That smile fell when he had his back turned to her to wish you a goodnight too. It was no surprise that the second he was out of the infirmary and had closed the door behind him she dropped the facade.

Her complaint fell instantly, “He comes here almost every evening.”

You pretended to clean some bowls up. “He obtains new injuries daily when out protecting our people.”

She strolled around the place, picking up a bowl of herbs to sniff it and scrunch her nose at the smell.

The silence felt filled with uncomfortable tension. “You came here to see me. What is troubling you?”

“You are.”

You swiftly turned to face her. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know what game you are playing, healer.” Gyda got closer. “And it won’t work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Acting innocent now?” She scoffed arrogantly. “Last week you pretended to be in pain just to steal his time away. I heard about your little act, using your monthly blood to get his attention. Disgusting.”

It was appalling how she spoke now. Was she so thirsting for his attention that she’d resort to this behavior? She had set her sights on him and stole his attention away every moment that he did not spend taking care of his duties as a knight, but even that did not seem enough for her.

You got defensive. “It was no act-”

There was no convincing her otherwise. “You played the wounded little bird because you know Lancelot would never spend his time with you otherwise. He only feels like he owes you for saving him when he was ill.”

It hit harder than you were prepared for. Stubbornly you kept quiet.

She folded her arms in front of her chest. “He is merely being polite. Soon he will see that he does not owe you a thing and he will forget all about you.”

You kept your chin up, refusing to let her see that she was voicing your fears out loud. “Is that all you came here for?”

She disliked the lack of a stronger reaction, her tone got cold, an icy warning. “Careful, healer. You do not want me as an enemy.”

“And one will certainly not want someone such as you as a friend either.”

She huffed and on her way to the door she knocked over a bowl of herbs on purpose, sending the contents all over the floor, then slammed the door shut behind her.

You breathed out, feeling sick to your stomach from the distress she had caused. Whilst cleaning up the spilled herbs that had mixed flower petals between them, you thought of the nearing feast. The last thing you wanted was to feel the way you did two years ago. Lonely, on a night when love was celebrated and chased. And you would certainly feel worse when seeing Gyda with Lancelot at the feast this year. It was time to seek someone that would accompany you to the feast, this would not be as it went two years ago.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The next morning, Gawain asked you to come with him to the stables. He worried Gringolet may have been ill, but it did not take you long to figure out that all the horse wanted was a carrot before he’d eat something else, knowing very well his rider would spoil him to death if he appeared ill. Gawain quietly scolded Gringolet, that didn’t last long, everyone knew how much he adored and spoiled his horse.

“Found yourself a partner for the feast, yet?” he suddenly asked you.

“Not yet.”

The knight saw the pout on your lips. “I am certain you will. You never know what the day will bring, you may already have someone’s attention.”

You did not share the optimism. “I doubt that, Gawain.”

Marcus, the stablehand who was restocking hay nearby, suddenly piped up, “You should come with me to the feast.”

“I could not possibly…” you muttered awkwardly.

His smile stayed bright. “Why not?”

Indeed. Why not? The perfect chance was presenting itself and Marcus seemed nice.

Marcus was very persuasive. “Give me a ‘yes’ and I’ll search the most beautiful flower to give you at the feast.”

You looked at Gawain, who shifted his weight on his feet, his hands on his hips.

“For now…” Marcus held up his hand, urging for you to stand and wait. Marcus hurried out of the stable and returned with a dandelion, he gave it to you. “This is what I can already offer.”

The effort he showed was rather sweet, and you couldn’t even recall the last time someone gave a flower to you.

“A dandelion?” Gawain’s brow arched.

You dared to swat his elbow for his rudeness. “I think it is sweet.”

The knight wanted to say more but held his tongue, Marcus ignored the look he was giving him.

“Will you go to the feast with me?” Marcus asked very politely.

Gawain quickly turned to you. “Perhaps you should wait a bit longer, someone else may still-”

“Who?” you confronted in a whisper. “I see no one else lining up for me.”

Gawain fell silent, looking like he wanted to say something else but refused to.

The prospect of being able to enjoy the feast was too tempting to decline the offer. “I would love to, Marcus.”

Marcus was happy that his offer was accepted. You were glad that this time you wouldn’t be alone at the feast. Gawain stood silent, his thoughts on the matter remained a mystery. You spoke for quite a while with Marcus, learning that he liked to play the lute and he even offered to play some for you some time.

Gawain had been in the stables, spending his time tending to Gringolet. He interrupted your conversation with Marcus. “Who is manning the infirmary now?”

You answered him, “I am-… oh…”

Gawain gave you a look. You quickly said goodbye to Marcus and hoped not to find a dead person in the infirmary after you had been gone for over an hour without someone else there to help those who needed aid.

You hurried to the infirmary and found Lancelot waiting inside. It was not his usual time to visit the infirmary and of course it was cause for concern. “I’m sorry you had to wait. I was in the stables to help Gringolet.”

“I do not mind waiting.” His gaze fell on the flower in your hand. “Is the dandelion for one of the salves you are skilled in making?”

Was that a compliment? It sure felt that way. “No. I uh… it’s a gift I received.”

You went and put the dandelion in an empty flask and put it on one of shelves.

A frown creased his forehead, he was silent for a moment, then asked, “Who gave you a flower?”

“Marcus did.”

There was a twitch in his jaw. “Marcus? The stablehand?”

You picked up on the condescending tone. “Yes. The ‘stablehand’”.

He began to walk around the infirmary, looking at every bowl and vial on the shelves, looking everywhere but at you.

“Did you need my help?” you asked. Something felt different between you, he felt distant.

He stopped at a shelf, picked a vial up and looked at it disinterested before putting it back. “Did you help Marcus?”

What an odd question. “No. I have not seen him in the infirmary yet.” You got closer to him. “I am certain you did not come here to speak of Marcus. So tell me what ails you.”

His answer was delayed. “Would you have something for a pained head?”

You scanned his head for visible injuries. “It depends on what is at blame for the pain.”

He gave half a smile. “Only my thoughts.”

The vial for that was on the shelf behind him, you stepped forward closely passed him. When he turned and followed your movement to look, his arm brushed against yours. His close proximity made you nervous quickly, you wished it did not.

Quickly you handed him the vial. “This should help. Drink half of it now and the rest of it when you go to sleep.”

He turned the vial over between his fingers. “Thank you. You always know precisely what I need.”

“Not always.” You forced your eyes to the floor. “It is not simple to read you.”

He opened the vial. “And yet you make the effort to try.”

As he lifted the vial to his lips, you made the foolish mistake to lift your gaze to his face and were entranced by how his lips touched the vial. He drank half of it, then closed the vial again and let his eyes drop on your staring ones. For a second you could have been fooled into believing he noticed the truth in them.

You left his side rather hastily. “Forgive me. I have a lot of work I must finish. These salves must be ready.”

He knew when he was being politely dismissed. “Do you wish for my help?”

The answer came quick, “No, thank you.”

As he walked to the door he halted to look at the dandelion. “Do you like this kind of flower?”

That had sounded rather curious. You turned to face him again, seeing a look in his eyes you could not place. “I do. Many animals like to eat them, rabbits, bears… They are good for salves and medicine. We can even cook them or use them in tea. Did you know the whole flower is edible? Even raw, just wash it and you can eat it.”

A smile broke out on his face at the rambling over the flower you fired at him.

You realized he might have been asking if you liked the appearance of the flower rather than it’s many uses. “Oh… did you mean to ask if I find them pretty?”

He looked at the floor, still smiling and blurted out, “You are charming.”

Nervously you fidgeted with your sleeve, unable to meet his eyes after how warm his voice had sounded. A silence fell into the room, it carried a certain tension that made your heart leap in your chest.

“I should go…” He walked to the door, opening it. “Thank you for your help. I do truly appreciate the effort and the sacrifices you make to aid me.”

You clicked your tongue. “It’s the duty of a healer.”

He tilted his head, eyes locking on yours. “I believe it is the heart of a good soul.”

Your chest warmed at his words, at the warm timbre he used. The whole room felt smaller, he felt closer than he was, you took in a deep breath.

“Perhaps I shall see you later.” He took a step out the door.

“Planning on getting injured again?” you quipped.

A chuckled escaped him. “I do not have to plan it. Misfortune has a way of finding me.”

Your smile fell a little at that, it had carried an undertone that scratched away at the layer of stoicism he tried to keep on himself. He was out the door before you could think of what to reply to that statement. You knew he hid behind his bravery often, but the statement now and the way he had tried to feign a small smile had twisted like a knife in your stomach. Hopefully he would feel comfortable enough to come to you when the world’s hardships became too much for him to bear.

You noticed something on the floor, a small flower petal belonging to a flower you did not use in the infirmary. Had it fallen from your clothes, or perhaps his? You picked it up, the scent of it was rather nice and made you wonder what a whole flower of it would smell like. Maybe you could ask him about it later, with his heightened sense of smell he surely would know what flower it belonged to or at least find another of it’s kind.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Two days had passed and every single day Marcus had made an effort to spend time with you. He was flirtatious from the start, countless compliments and countless light touches. It was no surprise that he entered the infirmary again to seek your company. As you worked to mix salves and medicine, he stood by your side and talked about his life. According to himself, his skill for playing the lute was known, you were yet to hear it for yourself.

“I forgot my lute in the stables.” He rubbed your upper arm a few times, then left his hand there. “I have been working on a song just for you.”

Your eyes snapped to him. “For me?”

Suddenly he reached out and caressed your cheek. “My lute can never sound as good as your voice does, but I hope the song will please you.”

Your feet were rooted to the spot, your thoughts too slow to realize what was about to happen. He kissed you, cupping your neck and he was not shy about it at all.

Was this what you wanted too? So quickly? He pulled you closer by the waist and you broke your mouth away by tilting your head to the side.

“Marcus… uhm…”

He was kissing your cheek and jaw, mumbling some sweet nothings in your ear. The sound of footsteps and a very loud knock on the already open door was why he stopped. You took some steps back when seeing who had walked in on this.

Lancelot had stepped into the infirmary, not bothering to wait seeing that the door was open. A strange tension build itself into the room instantly, you risked one look at Lancelot’s face and it made your eyes fix on the floor. His whole stance was different, stern and distant.

“Marcus.” His voice was sharp and heavy as he spoke the name, he then seemed to control it more, “The Green Knight is expecting you.”

Marcus frowned, protesting, “But-”

“Now. Marcus,” his tone grew sharper. “He has summoned you.”

Marcus knew that going against a knight of the Fey was unwise, even though this knight’s attitude was angering him. “Fine.”

Your eyes darted between him and Lancelot, sensing the dislike they seemed to have for each other. Marcus was quick to lean in and steal a kiss from your cheek, leaving you flustered by the boldness and this right in front of Lancelot. Lancelot set not a foot aside as Marcus approached him to head for the door, Marcus begrudgingly had to slip through the small space between the Ash Man and the wall. Lancelot shut the door the second Marcus was out of the infirmary, his whole body tense as if he was heading into a battle. He walked into the infirmary, his stern expression turned to downcast. He was quieter, even quieter than normal for him.

You feared he was sicker than he would admit to, slowly you crossed the distance towards him. “Lancelot?”

He looked at you from the corner of his eyes but was avoiding eye-contact. When you touched his forehead to feel for a fever he stilled completely, he had not expected the action. There was no fever to be felt, his skin was warm but not out of the normal range, you pulled your hand back and he looked at you with an emotion you could not identify.

“I am not ill.” His voice was quiet, soft and lacked the strength it usually had, “Would you come with me to see to Goliath for a moment?”

Your stomach sank at the sound of him, he felt more and more distant. “Of course. What do you fear is bothering him?”

His answer was delayed, “There is a mark on his flank.”

You went to the shelves stocked with medicines. “I will inspect it. Let me grab some salve just in case. I have some with yarrow and marigold here somewhere…”

He came closer as well, then leaned past you, brushing with his chest against the back of your arm as he took one of the bowls from the shelf and showed it to you. “This one has yarrow in it, I can tell by the pungent scent it has.”

You could still feel him stand against you a little, feel the warmth radiating of off him. “It’s that one.”

He took a few steps back, perhaps aware of how close he had been standing. “I will carry it. Are you ready to see to him or do you need something else?”

You remembered the flower petal you had found, but decided against asking him about it now. “I-… no.”

His gaze was alert right away. “What is it? I can see there is something you wished to say.”

“It’s silly and it can wait. This is more important-”

“Please.”

You went to the bowl on the shelf where you had put the petal in and handed him the bowl to look. “I found this petal in the infirmary. It has such a lovely color and I was wondering if you knew what sort of flower it came from.”

He swallowed audibly, staring at the small petal presented to him. “I do not recognize it.”

“Not even by scent?”

He shook his head, put the bowl back where you had taken it from the shelf and headed for the door. “Coming?”

Stranger and stranger he behaved, distant while close. Were you losing his friendship? Had Gyda pulled him far enough in her web? Quietly you decided to follow him to the stables, holding hope that this was just temporary.

In the stables, you were cooing to Goliath lovingly and ignoring how the Ash Man seemed to stare. The mark on Goliath’s flank was nothing more than a very old scar that had long since healed. But Lancelot was not the only Fey knight who was overly worried over their horse and you found it quite endearing. To put his mind at ease, you did apply some salve to the scar. He came to stand beside you, arm and back of his hand brushing against your side from the close proximity. You felt your heart in your throat and tried to focus on Goliath, hating how you still held the hope that Lancelot would share the same feelings that you had for him.

He held the bowl of salve. “Thank you for taking a moment of your time to examine him.”

Your voice was very quiet, “He seems fine to me. And this old scar will not go away, but it is no reason to worry.”

“Perhaps I am too fixated on his health.”

“I suppose it is normal to be worried about

someone you are attached to.”

A pause. “Yes.”

A few silent seconds passed, then you took a step away and turned to leave. Lancelot had moved as well and you accidentally collided into his chest. He was quick to support you by the elbow to ensure you stayed on your feet.

You got the feeling that he had moved with the intent of stepping in your path to keep you there longer. “I’m sorry. Uhm… was there anything else you needed?”

He blinked twice and appeared to be thinking, then his gaze lowered to the ground and he let go of your elbow. A strange tension filled the space between you, you forced yourself to keep breathing normally and not overthink it. When you tried to step away again, he finally spoke.

“I don’t like to see you with that man.”

“What?”

“With Marcus.”

“Why?”

“He has only just arrived here. We do not know him well.”

“We can learn to know him. Once, I did not know you either.”

He looked off to the side for a moment. An uncomfortable feeling hanged in the air.

“He seems nice,” you told him.

His eyes stole a glance, but there was a slight upward tilt to his head, a straightening of his back that told he wasn’t pleased to hear it.

“Is there something bad that he did that I should know of?” you asked.

He thought for a moment. “No. There have been no complaints.”

“Good.”

He stood very still for a while, feeling the judgment in Goliath’s eyes. He would reward him for this small inconvenience. Or the stallion might consider walking over his foot by ‘accident’ again.

“He has asked me to go with him to the feast tomorrow evening,” you told him.

He tensed. “And will you?”

The cold breeze in the stables went through your clothes. You hugged yourself to stay warm. “I said I would. I do not want to be without a companion at this feast again. I’m sick of the pitying looks.”

His gaze fixed on Goliath as he began go pet the horse, seeming distracted.

You couldn’t help but ask, “And you… I assume Gyda has asked you already?”

“She has.”

Of course she had, she must have asked him days ago.

He sighed quietly. “But I do not know if I will attend. These celebrations are not what I am used to. I do not understand these Fey customs.”

You frowned. “How so?”

“Living among the Fey… everything is the opposite of what I was taught. And this feast is one I would have never been allowed to take part of.”

“I think…” You started but fell silent, maybe he would not like to hear your opinion on the matter.

He was clearly waiting for you to continue.

It felt like such a risky thing to say. “I think it would be good for you to take part of this feast. It’s your heritage too…”

He stepped away, this was still a delicate topic with him but you got the feeling that he was giving thought to your opinion. You wiped your hands on the rag you had carried along, getting rid of the salve on them. The day was colder than you had expected it to be, your teeth threatened to chatter.

He saw you shiver. “The horse figurine you made for me, is it meant to resemble Goliath?”

“Yes. I know how much you adore him.”

He was quiet for a moment, then stepped forward and took off his cloak to drape it over your shoulders. “Come. I shall walk you back to the fort.”

The cloak was warm and smelled like him, the sense of comfort it brought was otherworldly. This cloak was as close to his embrace you would possibly get. He walked you to the entrance of the fort. You were still a few feet away when halting and turning towards him to reluctantly hand him the cloak back.

You would miss it’s warmth and the sense of his presence it gave. “Thank you.”

He fidgeted with it for a second, then put it back on. With a respectful tilt of the head he acknowledged the expression of gratitude and watched as you headed into the warmth of the fort again.

Marcus was outside as well, having seen who’s cloak was over your shoulders and realized why the Green Knight had no idea why he thought he had summoned him.

He marched over to Lancelot and got his attention by stopping only a few steps away and confronting him. “Ser Lancelot!”

Lancelot had already caught the Sky Folk scent that irritated him and sighed at the sound of Marcus’s voice. “What is it, Marcus?”

Marcus seethed at him, “Who do you think you are? Does your title make you think you can just get away with this?”

He turned, severely disliking the tone aimed at him. “Pardon?”

Marcus pointed at him accusingly. “I know the Green Knight did not summon me! You were lying, you deceiving rat!”

He turned away, not willing to converse or argue with this man. He wanted nothing to do with him.

But Marcus was foolish enough to voice his thoughts out loud. “If it weren’t for you, I would have wetted my cock with her already!”

Lancelot had halted, Marcus was unable to see the storm in the Ash Man’s eyes that was about to descend upon his head.

He had never felt such white hot fury in him so sudden. By the time his mind caught up with him again, he had struck Marcus.

There was nothing graceful in the fight of fists that ensued between them. It drew the attention of others who were all too apprehensive to interfere in a fight that involved the former Weeping Monk. Not once a sword was drawn, fists flew to each other, trying to place the blow that would send the opponent to the ground.

It was Arthur who got between them, practically dragging Lancelot away as he had gotten the upper hand. Blood dripped from the Ash Man’s nose, the hood of his cloak hanged haphazardly over his head. Marcus had a bruised eye and jaw, bloodied nose and busted lip.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Arthur demanded to know, giving Lancelot a light push with his hand to signal that he needed to stay away from Marcus.

“The Asher is a madman!” Marcus spoke accusingly. “He just attacked me!”

“You’re an impudent swine!” Lancelot spat back.

Arthur knew the atmosphere between them was too heated, too dangerous to linger in to search for the truth. “Alright. Let’s go, Lancelot.”

He was fuming, Arthur patted him on the arm to urge him to walk along.

“A war for a heart cannot be fought by fists,” Arthur told him quietly.

He did not dare look at the Manblood. “I do not know what you speak of.”

Arthur pushed the matter, “Did you put your cloak on her so she would be warm, or so she would smell like you instead of Marcus?”

He reacted cold. “I am not an animal trying to mark territory.”

“Then stop behaving like it,” Arthur boldly told him.

The Ash Man gave a glare and walked away from him. Too angry to continue this sort of discussion with the nosy Arthur.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It was past noon when Gawain entered the infirmary with Percival. He was holding on to the boy’s jacket, preventing him from running off if he’d be tempted to. It was no secret that Percival did not like a visit to a healer, he was fearful towards needles even though he would never admit it. You let him sit on one of the cots, he had fallen and scuffed his knee. Gawain had noticed it because the young knight’s trouser leg had a blood stain on it and brought Percival to the infirmary to get the dirt and gravel cleaned out of his knee before it got infected.

“The feast is tomorrow.” Percival tried to distract himself as you cleaned his knee. “And there will be ale.”

Gawain crossed his arms over his chest. “There will be ale indeed. But not for you, boy.”

Percival was appalled at the news. “What? Why not?!”

That started a minute long argument between them that Gawain barely won by standing by his choice on the matter. Percival grumbled quietly through his teeth.

The boy put his attention back on you. “Are you going to the feast?”

“I am.”

There was an audible excitement in his voice now, “With Lancelot?”

You shook your head. “No. I am going with someone else.”

“Why don’t you go to the feast with Lancelot?”

“He would not want to.”

“That’s not true,” Percival said as if it was a blatant lie you had told him.

Gawain walked over and swatted the boy’s shoulder lightly. “Boy. Stop distracting our healer before she sews your nose to your foot.”

It made Percival think of something else. “Has Lancelot been here for his nose yet?”

You frowned a little, eyes still fixed on the task. “What is wrong with his nose?”

Gawain tried, “Perciv-”

“He fought with Marcus the stablehand.”

Your eyes widened. Had he really just said that? The look on Gawain’s face told you it was true. “What happened?!?”

The knight gave a disapproving look at Percival who sheepishly smiled. “From what I heard Marcus said something that Lancelot did not like to hear.”

You feared the worst. “Gods… is Marcus alright?”

Gawain put your mind at ease. “Pym saw to him. He’s alive, but his nose is broken.”

The timing could not have been more unfortunate for Lancelot to knock and quickly walk into the infirmary. He was looking at Percival with concern and only then noticed the discreet telling look Gawain was trying to give him to warn him that you knew what had transpired. Lancelot could already guess by the fierce glare he was getting from you and swallowed hard.

You smeared some salve on Percival’s knee and waited for a moment as it dried before rolling Percival’s trouser leg back down. “There you go. Better?”

Percival felt the soothing coolness of the salve numb the pain. “Lots.”

Lancelot went to stand closely beside Gawain, as if to seek some form of protection against the glares you send his way. That plan failed miserably when Percival got up from the cot and Gawain steered Percival out of the infirmary while giving Lancelot a sympathetic look.

You waited until they were out of the infirmary and closed the door behind them, then marched right over to him. “You have some nerve to show your face here after what you did!”

He, the former notorious Weeping Monk, took some steps back when seeing the fury burn into your eyes. “I…”

“Is it true you attacked Marcus?”

His expression turned near stoic. “He lacks manners.”

Was that his reasoning?!? “And you don’t?!”

He looked like he was about to cower, tilting his head down but keeping his eyes on yours.

You shook your head, disappointed in his behavior. “Do not come to the infirmary to receive my help with the injuries you sustained from attacking my suitor!”

His eyes fell away. “Your suitor…”

“Yes. The only one I had! And this will have scared him off! Marcus knows you are my friend and he will not want anything to do with me after this.” You tried not to let the tears show but it was no use, your lip quivered. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to be the one without a flower on the Lovers Feast? I had a chance this time to experience what the others have and now that’s gone.”

He appeared genuinely remorseful, even shocked at the sight of your tears. “I am sorry.”

You hugged yourself. “What lead to this, Lancelot?”

“Something he said.” He had to admit to what caused him to lose control over his composure.

“Did he deserve to have his nose broken for ‘something he said’?”

“Yes.” He was firm on that answer. “He deserved it for how he spoke. I apologize for how this upsets you, but not for giving Marcus what he deserved.”

The conviction he showed alarmed you. “What exactly did he say?”

Lancelot looked away, showing high reluctance to speak of it. It only alarmed you even more.

“Lancelot! What did he say?” your voice rose, demanding to learn the truth.

He paced around for a moment, frustrated. “It will only upset you.”

“I still want to know. I want to know why you thought that breaking his nose was a proper response!”

The silence that fell lasted a while, the frustration in his eyes was gone as they fixed on the floor. His expression downcast in a way you had not seen before.

“What he said… I cannot speak it,” he quietly admitted. The heaviness in his words told he was truthful. “He spoke of you as nothing more than a subject to use for his carnal urges.”

A pit formed in your stomach. “What did he say?…”

He shook his head. “I cannot…”

You believed him. If he could not repeat what Marcus had said, then it must have been anything but proper. And Marcus had said it to him, where others could have easily overheard. You thought he was a proper person, a sweet person, but his true intentions had come to light and it was hard not to feel humiliated and betrayed. The Lovers Feast would become a dreaded event again this year.

You took a seat, managed to stay composed for a few seconds but broke down into quiet tears after-all. He stood motionless, silently shocked by seeing you weep. Then approached and knelt down beside you, not knowing what to say or do to help.

You wiped some tears away, voice trembling, “I want to be left alone.”

He spoke your name so gently and tried to take hold of your hand. “I wish I did not have to bring you this news. He is not worth the tears shed for him.”

The stablehand had a reputation, chasing all women he caught in his sight. He had hoped Marcus’ intentions were good, but the man had ruined that hope.

A drop of blood was running down his nose, your sorrow turned to concern for him. Quickly you wiped your tears away then got up and grabbed a clean piece of cloth, getting it damp in one of the washbasins. He seemed unaware of the blood, confused as to why you were suddenly darting around the place in such hurry. He was still kneeling and staring when you stopped in front of him and put your fingers under his chin to make him look up at you. Carefully you wiped the blood away and inspected his nose to see if it had been broken or cracked as well. Slowly his fingers curled around your lower arm, taking a light hold. He tilted his head back, letting the hold slide to your wrist. The marks beneath his eyes heightened their beauty to a greater level, he was truly born to bear them.

You could barely think, your voice was no higher than a whisper, “I don’t think your nose is broken.”

A small smile bravely curved his lips. “You are helping me, even after I fought your suitor?”

“Don’t make a habit of it.” You gave a warning look. “I’ll have to forgive you for it this time considering you did it because he was speaking vulgar about me.”

“How could I not defend the honour of the woman who saved my life?”

“You do not owe me for that.”

The fear that he only spend time around you because he felt obligated was still present. Perhaps he even felt pity for how withdrawn you could be.

“I disagree.” he stated and rose from the ground.

You stumbled back clumsily a little or risked him bumping into you from how close he was. Whenever he was in close proximity, your heart began to race and your palms sweated. It was fortunate he did not have a heightened sense of hearing as well or you would have been in trouble.

“I must go. There are still tasks I must handle before tonight.” He was looking at you, undoubtedly seeing how you struggled to find something to look at instead of him.

Breathing normal was the hardest to do. “Of course.”

He went to pass you, but stopped at your side and took hold of your upper arm for a moment to pull you close. “Remember, he is not worth a single one of your tears.”

You could only nod.

There was a deepening in his voice, “Thank you for helping Percival. He does not enjoy a visit to a healer, but you always make him feel at ease.”

Your heart went faster and faster, until he let go of your arm and walked out of the infirmary. At this rate it would be hard to get him out of your thoughts.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

When evening neared, you headed to your room to get ready for the feast. You had not spoken to Marcus since that morning and were left to wonder whether or not he would still show up as your companion for the evening. A strong part of you hoped that Lancelot had struck him hard enough to forget about that agreement, but you doubted you’d be that lucky.

That feeling of dread was forgotten when you entered your room and the most appealing scent hit your nose. Purple flowers were on your bed and the night table, petals of the same flower were placed here and there. The very same kind of petal that you had found in the infirmary. Stunned, you walked into the room, loving how it smelled now. The flowers were beautiful.

There were only two people who could have done this and you doubted it was Marcus. No, only one had known that you were curious about what flower that petal had belonged to. Had Lancelot truly done this? Was it to cheer you up? It certainly had succeeded in that endeavour. You picked up a flower to smell, feeling your heart flutter with a hope you tried to suppress. The former Weeping Monk, leaving flowers in your room because he had seen how upset you were. It made you determined to go to the feast and enjoy yourself, dance at the music and eat the baked goods. Lancelot was right, Marcus was not worth the tears.

You did your hair and put on the dress you had picked out at a market weeks ago to wear. Even if Lancelot would attend with Gyda, you would not give Gyda what she wanted, you deserved to celebrate as much as everyone else. After an hour, you were ready. The music was already traveling into the castle, but it was the knock on your door that forced your heart to quicken. Was it him?

That hope was gone when you opened the door to a face you had hoped not to see. “Marcus…”

Marcus had multiple bruises on his face and a speck of dried blood still under his now crooked nose. “Whoa… you look stunning.”

“I do.” You stood up straight. “But I will not be going to the feast with you at my side.”

“What-” Realization set into his eyes. “I don’t know what the Ash Man told you, but he is lying.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t believe he is.”

Marcus was clearly irritated to be called out on it, showing that he had hoped you would side with him. But you knew Lancelot, knew he would not lie about such a thing and certainly not react the way he had if it weren’t true.

You were so disappointed in Marcus’ behavior. “You only wanted to take me to the feast because you hoped to bed me.”

He was shockingly blunt about the truth now, “It is the Lovers Feast. It’s only fitting.”

You slapped him, the flat of your hand loudly collided with his cheek, shocking even yourself with the reaction given to him for it.

Marcus touched his cheek, having stumbled a step back from the force of the hit. He responded with words of venom, like an angry threatened snake wanting to strike. “No wonder you find yourself alone on this feast. Even your knight cannot bring himself to make the sacrifice to accompany you. Gyda’s been telling everyone he is her companion for the evening. Whilst you are alone.”

Your rejection brought forth who he truly was, a cruel bastard. It was perhaps fortunate that you learned this before you’d grow more closer to him.

Marcus saw the shock in your eyes, the hurt he wished to cause visible in them. “He pities you, you know? That’s what others say when they see him give his time to you. You healed him, saved his life, he knows he owes you for that. It’s nothing more than a knight looking upon you with sympathy, too cowardly to show the true pity he feels. He wouldn’t have looked your way if he hadn’t been forced to in the infirmary whilst burning with fever.”

You took a step back, feeling the fury blend with pain. “Get out.”

“You-”

Your voice drowned out his words, furious like the lash of a whip, “Get out of my room!”

Marcus furiously left your room, slamming the door shut behind him so hard it caused it to open again from the force. Only a few seconds you were able to keep your composure, then a sob fell. He had thrown your biggest fear in your face again. Were others truly thinking it too? There had to be some truth to it if so. Lancelot felt indebted to you for the help you had given him and once that debt was settled he would have no reason to be a friend.

You were still wiping your tears away when Gawain walked past your door, stopped and walked into the room upon seeing what state you were in.

“Dare I ask why our dearest healer is weeping?”

You tried to at least give half a smile, it did not work. “I spoke to Marcus.”

Gawain sighed, giving a sympathetic look whilst he approached you. “You’re not letting that fool keep you from enjoying this night. Come.” He made you hook your arm around his, determined to get you to the feast. “Away with those tears. Even without a companion, you can enjoy the ale and sweet baked goods. And I doubt you will be the only one lacking a partner, find yourself someone who believes they are alone as well and ask them to dance. You’re a brave one, keep your head up and remember that nearly everyone at this feast will love to see the one who healed them when they were ailing.”

Hearing him be so encouraging helped, you let him walk you out of the room. “Thank you, Gawain. I needed to hear that. Marcus had spoken cruelly to me and it made me lose the will to go to the feast.”

He strolled with you down the hallways towards the courtyard where the feast was held. “Forget him. He’s not worth the headache he would have given you.”

“And who, if I may ask, will be your companion for the evening?” you wondered out loud.

“I asked Pym.”

“Truly?”

“She was Nimue’s closest friend and therefor I want to ensure that whoever takes her to this feast has nothing but the best intentions for her.”

Sorrow filled his eyes for a hallway after talking of his dear friend Nimue. You tried to cheer him up before the two of you stepped into the courtyard. The atmosphere alone was enough to help him feel better. Lanterns were hanged up and smaller ones were placed all around. Flowers decorated the place and music filled the air. There was a crowd already, some dancing, some enjoying the ale.

You released his arm and steered him to Pym who was snacking on the small treats that were provided. “Go on, Green Knight. And good luck.”

He chuckled a little and gave a respectful bow. “Come to us if you seek company. Alright?”

The whole courtyard was so beautifully decorated that you grew quiet. “Thank you for getting me out of my room.”

Gawain was clearly pleased that you were there to celebrate with the rest. He gave another bow and then went over to Pym. You noticed Gyda at the table behind you where ale was being served. She noticed you too and instantly glared. Trying not to roll your eyes, you looked away and to the dancing crowd. Perhaps Gawain was right and there were others without someone to accompany them. As your eyes trailed over the crowd, they landed on only one person. Lancelot. He stood speaking to Red Spear and Arthur and looked more handsome than you had ever seen him, not one stain of blood was on his attire, fresh new attire that complimented him so well.

You were at the table with the ale within seconds, tempted to drink some of it to silence your racing heartbeats. Unfortunately Gyda was only a few steps away and closed in when she saw you.

She looked in Lancelot’s direction, a growing pout on her lips that vanished when she looked and glared at you. “You’re selfish.”

Your eyes snapped to her. “I beg your pardon?”

It set her off. “You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. Instead of letting Lancelot choose for his own happiness, you allow him to keep feeling indebted to you! All you did was feed him medicine when he was sick, you only did your duty as a healer. So tell him he owes you nothing!”

Wide wide eyes you stared at her. It only infuriated her more that you were too speechless to react to her rant.

Her voice was laced with venom, every word sharp as a blade, “I tried to convince him that he does not owe you, but he’s far too considerate to believe it. You’re so selfish that the only way you could get a companion for this feast was because of the obligation they feel.”

You hated the accusations, first Marcus and now her again. “I have no companion-”

She put her tankard of ale loudly down on the table right next to you and filled up another for herself. As she walked away, she glared again.

The stress this evening had caused weight on your stomach. Something inside had broken, no matter how hard you tried misfortune kept ruthlessly ruining it. You wanted a moment away from the feast, or risked bursting into tears in the midst of it.

You turned to leave the table and saw Lancelot head your direction, one look behind you told that Gyda was looking his way with anticipation, she was waiting for him and you were in his path. He had a flower in his hand and was nervously turning it between his fingertips. She had to be happy, she had vied for his attention for weeks now and this flower exchange was just what she had wanted. And it was the worst thing for your heart to have to witness, so your gaze fixed itself on the ground hoping to spare your heart the suffering. He was close and you would not stand in the way of his happiness as Gyda accused you of.

“Sorry,” you uttered quietly and stepped aside, making room for him to pass.

But he did not pass, no, his brow furrowed as his body turned to follow your movement. Your gaze snapped up to his face when feeling him take hold of your hand. For a moment he said nothing, his gaze falling on the dress you wore and slowly traveling back up to your eyes. You felt the stares aimed your way and the glares Gyda was sending, it was all becoming too much.

Lancelot said not a word as he knelt down before you, holding your hand in his own and presenting you the flower in his other. The very same kind of flower like the petal, like the ones in your room. Had he… wanted to give you one of these that day? Is that why that petal… no… it was just another foolish hope.

Lancelot gazed up at you, the nearby lanterns casting a warm light upon his face. “Will you celebrate this night with me?”

You froze. All that had been said by Marcus and Gyda rushed back into your mind. This was pity for the tears you had shed… an obligation he felt to you for saving his life. This was not what he truly wanted. No wonder Gyda was furious. The stares of the crowd became too much to bear, your heart was going too fast, it felt hard to breath. Did they all pity you?

When nausea twisted your stomach, you pulled your hand free from his and stumbled away. Uttering what should have been an apology, but you fell over your words whilst hurrying away.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

You rushed to the infirmary, hoping to still have some of that vial that would help calm your panic down and ease the heaviness in your stomach. In your haste, a bowl was knocked over but you did find the vial and took some sips from it right away. Dizzy, you sat down on one of the cots to wait for the vial to do it’s work. Peace was not granted to you, Gyda stepped into the infirmary and must have followed you there.

She did not sound fully sober. “Because of you I face this humiliation. You filthy trollop.”

This wasn’t helping you calm down at all. “I did nothing to you, Gyda.”

She stepped closer, again showing her true nature by picking up one of the bowls from the shelves and letting it fall from her hand on purpose. Right after, she took a small sip of ale and looked pleased with herself.

You rolled your eyes and stood up from the cot, tired of her idiocy. “I had no idea that he was going to approach me this evening. I thought he was there with you.”

It infuriated her further. “He would have been if you weren’t such a selfish wench! I told you he felt obligated! You should have never shown your face tonight!”

You had enough of her. This night was already ruined. “You keep throwing yourself at him and yet he is not at your side tonight. Perhaps I am not to blame, maybe he sees you for who you really are and not to facade you deceive others with.”

She retorted by throwing the contents of her tankard of ale onto your dress, ruining it. As quick as she had done it, just as quick did you lash out and punch her. She let out a scream whilst stumbling back and touching her face.

The ruckus had drawn the attention of others outside, Gawain stepped into the room and stopped Gyda before she could attack you. Lancelot followed in his footsteps and of course she hoped to use this to her advantage.

“The healer hit me!” She shouted, quickly moving towards Lancelot to grab hold of his jerkin.

He plucked her hands from him, his eyes scanning the room and falling on your dress ruined by ale. “She defended herself.”

Gyda looked at him appalled. “What? She is a madwoman!”

His eyes grew cold when staring down to her face. “We heard you.”

The broken bowl on the floor, the ruined dress, the accusations and insults. He had heard it all transpire outside the door with Gawain.

Lancelot took hold of her elbow and steered her to Gawain. “Go. You do not seek healing, you seek to harm.”

“But Lancelot…” She tried to resist when Gawain took her by the arm and led her to the door. “You do not have to do all this for her, I told you before, you do not owe her anything!”

“And I told you that it has nothing to do with it!” he snarled in anger. “I despise those who find joy in tormenting others.”

With a nod towards Gawain, he signaled to the knight to take Gyda out of the infirmary. Gawain did and closed the door behind them, determined to bring peace back to the evening.

You looked at Lancelot, seeing how he tried not to show how bothered he felt by the situation. “I am sorry.”

“What for? You were defending yourself.” He looked down at the broken bowl near the door again. “Did she do this on purpose?”

“She did.”

He came closer to you, suddenly taking hold of your hand to inspect your knuckles to see if there was damage to them, there was some broken skin on two knuckles. You winced when he accidentally touched them with his thumb.

He headed for the shelves. “Where is the salve you often use on me?”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to-”

With a scolding look he asked again, “Where?”

“Second shelf. On the left.”

After finding the salve he returned with it, taking your hand in his to carefully apply some of it to your knuckles. “You blackened her eye.”

“She ruined my dress.”

Stunned by the response, he tried to bite back a smile. “Is that a fair exchange?”

“It is to me.”

He clicked his tongue. “Well… it was a beautiful dress. “I must admit, I am impressed with the strength in your strikes. First Marcus, now Gyda.”

You frowned at him. “How do you know I slapped Marcus?”

“I did not add that red mark to his cheek that I saw. That one was fresh from this evening.” Interest gleamed in his eyes. “Our sweet healer bares her teeth to defend herself.”

He grew more and more intrigued. Your secret talent for crafting figurines, this fierceness, the fearless attitude towards him. Yes, he was intrigued indeed.

You watched how gentle he was when touching your hands, so light and careful as if he was handling something he feared to break. The last time he had held your hand, you had left him on his knees in front of everyone and now he was here helping. “I am sorry for leaving the way I did. I didn’t even thank you for the flowers you left in my room.”

He glanced up into your eyes.

Quietly you spoke, “I know you were the one who left them there…”

“Do you like them?” He wrapped a bandage around your hand to cover the salve and let it do it’s work.

“I do.” You could sense him grow quieter, the reaction to him earlier must have hurt him after-all. “It was very sweet of you to do, to cheer me up after the whole Marcus-situation.”

Quietly he put a knot into the bandage to secure it. The small smile he had worn was gone, the distance in his eyes grew more visible. “Will you go back to the feast?”

You looked down at the stained dress. “My dress is ruined.”

“You could change,” he suggested.

Was it your imagination or did he sound hopeful? “I thought you were going to give her that flower.”

“What?” He blinked. “Why?”

The reason was obvious. “Because she has been vying for your attention for weeks.”

His reply was rather firm, “I have not vied for hers.”

That was… true. You had never actually seen him approach her first. Just them together and always her going over to him.

He sought the truth in all this. “Do you truly believe what she said? That I act out of an obligation I feel towards you?”

You withdrew your hand and took a step back. “I do not want to be selfish, I don’t want you to feel as if you must repay me for healing you. I just did my duty.”

He moved his cloak a little aside and there sat the flower he had offered you safely behind the sheath of his sword, he took it between his fingers and placed it down on the cot right next to you. “I thought…”

You saw an emotion in his eyes that twisted a knife in your chest. “Lancelot?”

His gaze did not lift from the floor. “Everything I did for you was because I chose to do it. I wanted to see you happy. Obligation was never part of that.”

“But then…” Shaking your head, you stepped away from him and created some distance. “I just do not understand why someone like you would ask me to celebrate the feast together.”

A frown creased his forehead. “‘Someone like me’… did you refuse me because I once was a monk?”

He sounded as if he was misunderstanding, searching fault in himself. You couldn’t believe it.

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Then why did you reject me tonight?”

“Why did you ask?”

It greatly confused him. “Why should I not?”

Tension weighed down in your stomach. “It just doesn’t make sense to me that you would ask me…”

“Why?” he demanded to know.

“Because you’re perfect!” your thoughts spilled free. Quieter you told him again, “You’re perfect…”

You wanted nothing more than to leave, feeling the loaded atmosphere rise in the room. He was staring and you felt more vulnerable than ever before. Your eyes couldn’t lie anymore, today had taken it’s toll.

“How could you ever want me?” You shook your head and felt your eyes go watery. “If the gods somehow were on my side and you would be mine one day, I would to spend the rest of my life wondering if I am actually truly worthy of you.” Tears that escaped blurred your vision. “Because you’re everything I’ve always wanted… and nothing frightens me more than to be rejected by the one who can truly break my heart.”

Intense silence came from his side, shock plastered on his face along with what you feared to be pity. You did not want him to pity you, this was embarrassing enough.

“I’m going to go now…” your voice was much quieter, all it’s power had been used up on voicing out loud what you now regretted.

Humiliation was overtaking your courage and you did not want him to witness the change. As you were about to pass him to reach the door, he stepped into your path and blocked it. You took a step back, not expecting his action.

“How can you treat yourself so cruelly?” he sounded in disbelief.

“What?” you breathed.

“‘Worthy’? " he appeared upset, shocked by the mere notion. “You have saved more lives than one can count and you believe yourself to be unworthy of someone such as I who for years has done nothing but murder our kind?”

“Lancelot-”

He shook his head, tone firm, “It is I who is unworthy. The only matter that has stopped me from pursuing you is my past, I would taint your reputation. You are grace and kindness, everything I believed did not exist in this world until I met you. There is no one as noble as you.”

Your eyes widened. Had he truly been thinking of pursuing you? “What…?”

He closed the distance, intensity burned in his eyes. “I have loved you since the evenings you spend sitting next to my cot when I was on the verge of death. You promised me you would not leave my side, you sat by me and watched over me. I remember it, I never told you that I did, but I do.”

He had been so consumed by the fever. You didn’t think he remembered that you had sat at his side for so long, the soothing words you had spoken…

“You remember that?” you whispered, then realized what he had just confessed to. “You love me?!?”

Slowly he nodded, swallowing hard. Never before had you seen him so worried for your reaction to him.

“Romantically?” you whispered in disbelief.

He was wise enough not to speak of love around a woman if what he meant was just appreciation and friendship.

Gingerly he fished for your hand and took hold of it. “Yes.”

The door flying open caused both of you to part away. In walked Pym and Gawain supporting a drunk Arthur with a bloody knee.

Lancelot turned to Arthur with concern. “What happened?”

Pym sighed. “He fell over someone’s foot while trying to dance.”

“We’ll handle it.” Gawain said. He must have seen how close the two of you had been standing before the abrupt interruption.

You worried. “Are you sure-”

“They are.” Lancelot wrapped his hand around yours and steered you with him out of the infirmary, giving Gawain a discreet nod of acknowledgment.

He stopped walking and turned to you after shutting the door behind him. Before he could speak, Arthur was cursing inside the infirmary from the pain he must have felt.

“Manbloods…” he sighed annoyed and took you further away from the door.

He remembered too late that he had left behind the flower in the infirmary, a blunder he truly regretted.

He picked his words carefully, “I know how much this feast means to you. If you allow it, I will accompany you.”

You touched your ruined dress. “I would need to stop by my room first.”

It was as if he had completely forgotten the state your dress was in, his gaze dropped down to it. He cleared his throat. “Oh.”

“Want to come along and help me choose a dress to wear?”

It had slipped out of your mouth and your mind caught up only a second later. Your eyes widened at him. Why on earth had you just asked him that?

He stared for a moment. “Of course.”

Of course? A former monk felt comfortable to do this? The interest in his eyes said it all.

Timidly you walked next to him, to your room. That whole walk you were fidgeting with your sleeves. He often walked so close his arm bumped into you.

Once inside the room, you searched your wardrobe for another dress to wear. You fished three out and put them down on the bed to search for more. One had caught his interest, he lifted another one off of it to pick it up.

“This one?” he looked towards you.

“Not proper for the occasion I think.”

“Why?”

Hearing him so curious made you smile. “It’s quite open for an evening at the side of a former monk.”

He frowned a little until he saw you place your hand on your chest to explain where it was quite open. Then he cleared his throat, still holding on to the dress as he looked to the floor. He held the dress out for you to take. “Perhaps… let a former monk see it for himself and share his opinion on the matter?”

You gasped at the daring request he had made and playfully smacked his upper arm. “My goodness, Lancelot!”

The playful tap had not deterred him, the brief physical contact lured him in. He carelessly tossed the dress on top of the others and grabbed hold of your elbow to get you closer. “I believe I need to seek your aid tonight.”

Your voice was wavering under his gaze, the playfulness in his own was like music to your ears, “What ails you?”

“A yearning heart.”

“And you believe I can help with that?”

“I know you hold the cure.”

Gingerly he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over it slowly. “My healer...”

Your gazes were intertwined until his fell on your lips and he touched his thumb to the corner of it. There was hesitation in him, a visible fear of blundering or crossing a line you were not ready to cross yet.

“Please, Lancelot, if you think of kissing me…” You gave him your most inviting look. “Do it.”

There was an instant change in his eyes. His lips descended on yours, kissing you with every fiery bit of passion he possessed within him. Pulling you close and tight, hand on your hair to keep you close and trapped to his lips. As if he wanted to erase the memory of another on your lips. Stilling all thoughts and feeding your mind thrilling ones instead. A startled sound trying to flee your lips was silenced effortlessly by him. There was no question about it anymore, everything he had done for you was not out of obligation, it was because he loved you.

The idea to head back to the courtyard was quickly forgotten and replaced by the desire to spend the Lovers Feast as it was always intended to be.

Between lovers.

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