#llallwgan

It was humiliating for a knight to ride in the back of a cart like an old woman. But Galahad had heard a story once how his father had once travelled by cart for love. He could do no less for Caerwyn. He only hoped the farmer who had allowed them to ride his cart was right and that Camelot was only a day's ride from here. Galahad had no love for Arthur's capitol. It was a monument for his disappointed hopes and anxieties. But he had rooms there, chambers and supplies and resources that could devoted to Caerwyn's care.

He spent most of the cart ride praying he'd see those familiar torrents on the horizon or above the tree line his mouth moving in prayer until his lips felt numb. God give him back to me. My soul is knit to his as Jonathan's was to David's. Was David himself not beloved by you? Give him back to me or I shall be the most wretched of creatures.

When he heard Caerwyn's sweet voice again he nearly wept for joy, barely registering what he said. "Fy nghariad aur," if they hadn’t been in the back of the cart Galahad would have kissed him. He was tempted too. But of course he didn't dare risk them being thrown out of the cart. Not when Caerwyn was still terribly wounded. "Gwri is alright, he's riding along with Dŵr now. You know how fond he is of her."

' you are a knight now, dagonet, ' he spoke dryly. kay had very little patience to begin with, and even less when he was busy making sure all the preparations for the festival were perfect. ' if you did not want to participate in the joust, you should have brought that up with lancelot weeks ago. '

"I don't understand. If you don't want to fight me, what do you want from me?" Lancelot asked watching the taller man, with a certain wariness. He hadn't yet dared to touch the offered food and wine.

He‘d been undressing when he saw Caerwyn watching him. It felt good to have Caerwyn look at him like that again. Galahad teased him at first before crawling onto the giant bed with nothing but his breeches on. For a moment and when Caerwyn began kissing and licking that place on his neck, it felt as if this whole unpleasant adventure was over and done with until Caerwyn seemed to lose his balance. The distress in his voice had been like cold water taking all thought of making love with it.

Though resting like this in his beloved's arms wasn’t so terrible. When Caerwyn had first been injured and seemingly forgotten him Galahad had been surprised how much he missed Caerwyn‘s body. The shape and heat of him nestled against him, even his scars.

I should ask where he got this, He thought. There’s so much we haven’t told each other. He was still working up the courage to ask when Caerwyn caught him off guard with a question of his own. “Wherever you want, cariad.” Galahad said dreamily. He had to admit it was a relief to hear Caerwyn say that, that he wanted to go. Camelot had a way of making Galahad's skin crawl especially the longer he stayed.

Being pushed off of Caerwyn and listening to him vomit was admittedly not what Galahad had hoped for when he had told Caerwyn he wanted to share his bed last night. He had however had the wherewithal to expect it. He had drunk some beer but not much a life time of chaste and sober living hadn’t been abandoned in one night.

He rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palm, his short cropped dark hair was hopelessly ruffled.

“You’re sick,” he said climbing out of bed to check on him. “It’s expected. We’ll stay here another night. Until then rest, food and water when you can stomach it.”

There had been many times when Caerwyn had offered to leave either directly or indirectly. Each time Galahad had insisted on keeping him. The hunger he felt for the other knight wasn't always physical. There was purity in it, the kind he'd always believed existed with knights and their ladies if not deeper. Though nothing about Caerwyn was ladylike, Galahad would not have loved him if he was.

He had always thought of his feelings for other men in bestial terms. It was sweat and heat, that night in the chapel had proved that was part of it. But it was also more than that. The more had slowly been working it's way though Galahad's system, teaching him to see himself and the world in gentler terms and allowing his view of god to be bigger than what he had been taught it to be.

He hadn't known of course how to tell Caerwyn this, was aware in his way that he was hurting him by not telling him. Even if he didn't he had followed him throughout the night with the intent of keeping an eye on him, of joining him though his nerves had gotten the better of him and he instead followed Caerwyn around, carrying the same pint of beer most of the night.

When it grew late and they finally made their way to that small, ridiculous room Galahad made a point of locking eyes with Caerwyn. "No," He said quietly but firmly. "You'll share the bed with me. " As if to emphasize his point he downed the beer, his nose wrinkling as he he realized how mush he actually hated the taste. Perhaps it like other things would be an acquired taste.

"I travel alone." Like his father. Like his father. He sometimes rode from Camelot like he was trying to outrun his own skin. The only difference was his father knew what he was running from until it was as fine as a needle point constantly pricking at him.

This was different. For so long he’d told himself how much he hated Kay and wanted to throttle the ginger haired bastard. But familiarity was breeding something else. Comfort almost, tenderness maybe.

I would miss Kay, Bedivere realized as he helped him remove his shirt. I would miss him if I had to leave here.