The Madman
Silence fell, and all the knights he'd been instructing were now staring at something behind him.
Lancelot turned sharply and frowned in confusion.
Though his eyes stung from the sweat dripping in them, making his vision murky, it wasn't hard to mark the identity of their unexpected guest. Only so many people in the Distant Isles were that big.
But the knowledge did not lessen his confusion.
Why in the Waters was Prince Galehaut standing there, escorted by an entirely too amused Tristan. "What is the meaning of this?"
Prince Galehaut bowed his head and replied, "I wanted to meet you, noble knight, and learn who you are while we have the luxury of peace."
Around Lancelot, the other knights laughed before Percival said, "Surely Your Highness would recognize him by crest if naught else. This is Sir Lancelot du Lac."
"Oh!" Prince Galehaut laughed in a charmingly self-deprecating manner.
"My apologies. All I've heard is that you are the greatest of King Arthur's knights.
No other information has ever been relayed.
I've never seen such skill and beauty on the field of battle.
" He smiled faintly. "I wanted to come express my admiration before that became impossible.
" His mouth twisted sourly, an echo of Lancelot's feelings on this entire matter.
Beauty? He was wearing armor, including his helm, and filthy from hours of training and days in camp besides.
What beauty could this man possibly speak of?
Why was he really here, on the wrong side of the battlefield, interrupting a training session while they all waited to see if there would be a battle or not.
Arthur would prefer to avoid battle entirely, as would Lancelot and the others, but this was a powerful territory held by a dangerous, violent man who Arthur could not afford to ignore.
So a battle it would be. Lancelot and the greater measure of Arthur's forces against this enormous, towering man rumored to be the son of a giantess and a man, a king, rotten to his core.
Looking him over, Lancelot believed the giantess rumor.
Hardly small himself, he felt nearly a delicate miss next to Prince Galehaut.
The son of evil, though… Well, if he was, he'd escaped turning out like his father—a rare achievement indeed.
Lancelot handed off his spear and then removed his helmet, grateful for the cool air that washed over him.
His page came up to take it and give him a damp rag.
Lancelot thanked him with an affectionate tousling of his hair and sent him away again.
He wiped his face clean and pushed back his mussed hair before finally turning his eyes back to Prince Galehaut.
And completely forgot what he'd been about to say.
Free of the helmet, able to see properly, Lancelot found it suddenly hard to breathe.
Nobody had told him Prince Galehaut was so impossibly beautiful.
Why he would extend such a compliment to Lancelot when he looked like that, Lancelot could not fathom.
Prince Galehaut had warm, light brown skin, the kind seen most often in people from the middle east, spice mongers and silk merchants who made fortunes selling to the inhabitants of the royal court, or brilliant scholars who came to teach and further their own knowledge.
His hair was short, black as coal, with lovely curls going in every direction, and close-cropped facial hair.
Dressed in rich, dark green and gold, he looked every stitch the Prince of the Distant Isles.
What had he been going to say? Lancelot couldn't remember. Mentally giving himself a firm shake, he finally managed, "Is something wrong, Your Highness?" He shot warning looks at his knights for their badly muffled snickering.
"Wrong? Not at all. Far from it. You're even more beautiful than your movements, Sir du Lac."
He wanted to hear Galehaut use his name, and what a fool that made him.
"Was there something you needed, that you would come practically alone into such dangerous territory?
" He could not believe anyone would take such a dangerous, foolish risk simply to meet one knight.
Nor had he reason to spy. The Knights of the Round Table were not to be trifled with, but they would likely lose to Prince Galehaut's forces.
Lancelot dreaded how many knights would die in the next few days if matters could not be settled peacefully.
"The honor of King Arthur's knights has never been questioned, save by those who have rightfully earned his displeasure, and I put little credence in such complaints. I saw you fighting and was compelled to come meet you. That is my only purpose, I vow it."
"Not the words I typically hear from my opponents on the field.
I am most honored, Your Highness." Should he offer repast?
To speak elsewhere? This was not a protocol he had been taught.
If they killed Galehaut now and delivered his head to his vicious father, it would give them either immediate victory from a broken man who just lost his only son or drag them into a war of blood-soaked vengeance.
Merely the thought of acting in so vile a manner turned his stomach. Lancelot was many things, most of them bad, but he had never been accused of dishonorable behavior.
Just as Prince Galehaut started to reply, the sound of horns filled the air.
Face clouding, he turned toward his family's castle, where a flag soon came into view.
Black. Prince Galehaut's expression went from unhappy to grim.
Returning his attention to Lancelot, he said, "It would seem my father has rejected all attempts at negotiation, and we are to be enemies, Sir Lancelot du Lac. "
"So it would seem," Lancelot replied, unable to tear himself away from the intensity of the beautiful gray eyes meeting his gaze so boldly. "Were it my choice, I would not be your enemy."
"Nor I yours," Prince Galehaut said somberly. He motioned to his own page, who came forward with his horse, a beautiful gray destrier. He swung up into the saddle, but instead of riding off, looked at Lancelot once more. "An offer, Sir du Lac, if you would hear it."
"I would hear it gladly." Why was his heart pounding so hard? Why did the idea of having to fight this man, possibly kill him, leave an ache in his chest that ran deeper than any physical wound ever could.
Galehaut regarded him pensively a moment longer before finally saying, "If you, alone and of your own free will, would spend one full day and one full night with me, from one sunrise to the next, I will grant you any boon."
Lancelot stared, mouth agape, as around them the knights burst into nervous chatter. Gathering his wits, which seemed to have fled like a minstrel from the bed of his lord's wife, he managed, "What?"
The horns sounded again, and this time the horns of Prince Galehaut's forces answered.
His fierce gaze never left Lancelot's. "The horns of war have sounded, and the fate of the Distant Isles, which have lain within my family's control for hundreds of years, now lies with me.
So I offer again, Sir Lancelot du Lac, famed child of the mystic waters and greatest of King Arthur's knights: One full day and night of your company, spent alone with me, freely, in exchange for a boon of your choosing. "
Lancelot had roughly a thousand questions, most of them about whether or not Prince Galehaut would be safe in the aftermath of such an astounding gesture.
Defying his father, surrendering without ever drawing his sword…
The man's mind was even more beautiful than the rest of him.
Lancelot wanted to know every part of it, wanted to know it like the sun knew the sky.
Gathering himself, Lancelot lifted his chin slightly and said, "Then I ask for your surrender, Prince Galehaut. That is my requested boon."
His reward for asking such a ridiculous thing was a smile of warm approval.
"You shall have it within the hour. Until sunrise, Sir Lancelot du Lac.
I will send my most trusted knights to escort you.
" Prince Galehaut turned his horse and rode off, his page scrambling onto his own horse to catch up, and in moments they were gone.
Silence held the group of knights for a long moment before it was broken, predictably, by Tristan. "Did you just agree to climb into Prince Galehaut's bed in exchange for peace?"
Lancelot pinched the bridge of his nose as that, of course, set everyone to laughing. "Stop being so crass. Must I tell you this a hundred times a day?"
"Crass or not, it's true."
"Tristan," Lancelot said in warning.
"Pack up and make ready to depart, since we won't be fighting now," Tristan said, lifting his hands in surrender, though his mischievous grin did not abate in the slightest. "I can't wait to see the look on His Majesty's face when he hears about this."
Another knight snorted. "I can't wait to see Merlin's reaction. Even he has never won a battle with only his pretty face, and we all know that if anyone could…"
Lancelot's hand flew to his sword in warning, and he sighed in relief when they finally left off their teasing and got back to work. Turning away, he strode off for his tent, ignoring the fierce pounding of his own heart.
Lance slowly dragged his eyes open, staring at the ceiling as his mind shifted from ancient memories to modern day. He was sweaty, overheated, fingers gripping the sheets like they were the edge of a cliff and he was seconds from falling.
Drawing a shuddery breath, he shoved the blankets aside and climbed out of bed, stumbling on stiff legs to the bathroom to wash his face.
Galehaut. Gale. Lancelot had loved him more than life itself. He'd been trying so hard not to think about Galehaut, but he may as well stop breathing.