Tempted to change my name back. Privacy issues going on online. Over a dumb misunderstanding that actually had truly nothing to do with me. It is just super weird.

He tried not to make it too obvious that he was trying to use his nose to smell for Percival’s fey scent. It led him to his own quarters where the boy must have searched for him. He opened the door and found Percival sitting on the edge of the bed, in his hands were the scriptures.

Lancelot froze for a moment at the sight, then hurried over to take the book out of Percival’s hands. But when the boy stood up and confronted him, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Percival held the book up, tone vicious at the betrayal. “You still have them.”

The words caught in his throat. “Percival… hand them to me…”

“Why?” A tear streamed down Percival’s cheek. “Are you still with the paladins?”

“No!”

He threw the book at Lancelot’s feet. “You had it here all along?! How could you keep it?!”

“Percival-”

“It says that Fey need to be judged! Says we are ‘demon-born’!”

“I beg you, let me explain-”

“Why did you hate us? Why did we have to die?”

Lancelot did not move anymore, he felt the blood in him sink to his feet. These were the worst questions he could have asked him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The walls broke down, the storm unleashed. His voice thundered into the room, “What more must I do to make you see that I am exactly the monster that those men tried to warn you about!”

He wanted to crawl out of his skin to escape what he felt when all collided within. Grief for how Father died, anger for how he could not escape his past, remorse because he was pulling those dear to him down under with him. He should not have let you get so close… those fey had branded you a monster for being a friend to one.

He stalked closer. “For years, I led the paladins to the Fey. I watched as their camps were raided, I smelled their ashes as they burned on the cross! Only a monster is capable of the cruelty I have committed!”

There it was, the all destructive guilt that he had held quiet within. The horrors he had not dared to speak aloud, the memories that haunted him in the night, the remorse that did not let him live until he had earned forgiveness. If only he could see how far he had come already. You had lured the storm out, cloud by cloud, ready for the thunder and lightning. You stood your ground even when he advanced to the point where your back hit the wall to avoid a collision with him. He pinned you between himself and the wall as your eyes bravely locked on his.

He took hold of your chin, turned your head to the side, spoke against your temple, “If I had been commanded by Father Carden to kill you, I would have. My sword would be in your heart. If I had...-”

Something had cracked in his voice, betraying just how high his emotional state was. A desperate and frustrated attempt to make you agree into believing what he thought himself to be, a monster.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Percival chewed down another sweet. “I want to fight as fast as him one day.”

“Perhaps one day you will even be faster.”

“Maybe. He’ll be slower in a few years when he’s old.”

Your eyes squinted. “Percival, Lancelot is still young.”

“Not anymore in a few years.”

“Quite a bit more than a few years, I’m afraid.”

He looked at Lancelot again, then back at you.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

You considered it fortunate that Lancelot was not close enough to hear how the boy thought him old enough to soon be elderly. And you didn’t dare ask the boy how old he considered you to be.

“It will get better,” he said. “You will become used to it.”

“I feel like I left my legs in the gardens when she began to gallop.”

“She is a fast one. Put yourself in the saddle more, your legs will soon cooperate.”

A hissing sound startled you, fearing it was a snake hiding somewhere in the straw you looked around your feet. The hissing got louder, a warning soft growl prelude the spitting of another warning. Turning around, you found the source.

Lancelot did not heed the warnings he was given and reached for the small kitten hiding behind a stack of hay, letting it smell his hand first. Strangely the kitten’s ears went from folded to upright as it curiously sniffed him.

There he was, kneeling on the ground to lure the kitten to him with hopeful eyes. He towered over the small thing still, but the braveness of the little one proved strong. It let him scratch it’s head, then it’s ears. And when it considered Lancelot friendly, it came out of hiding and curved it’s back into the touch. It’s fur had a mixture of colors and a circled pattern in some places. It’s eyes a bright light green. The Fey knight seemed smitten with it. At a small distance the mother sat with the rest of the litter watching the interaction closely, ready to interfere if the little one let out the smallest sound of pain. That little brave creature began to brush up against his leg. It wanted only one thing, more attention.

He looked at you. “I think I may have found a solution to the rodent problem in the castle.”

“I do not think that my father will allow cats in the castle,” you feared.

“He should.” He kept petting the small thing. “They are great hunters. He’ll prefer them over rats.”

You watched him be too enamored with the little life under his hands to stop petting it. The mother had his eyes on him, ready to intervene at any frightened sound her young might make.

“Lancelot.” You nodded towards the mother.

Those blue eyes were full of childlike joy at the sight of a creature so small and endearing. He brushed his palm over it’s fur carefully, as if he feared to harm it, petted it from it’s head to it’s tail. And the little creature had accepted all the attention it was given and returned some of it with light bump of it’s head and a constant purring. With reluctance he picked it up just to put it back closer to it’s mother again, then walked with you out of the stables hoping the little one wouldn’t follow him.

You were charmed by the way he kept looking at the ground behind him over his shoulder, expecting to see the kitten follow. “What if it follows you?”

“Would they notice if it found it’s way to my quarters somehow?”

“Lancelot.” You shook your head, detecting the forming plan in his head.