epistolary wicklot fic
consider: wicklow puts lancelot in charge of red brothers and asks to send reports.
naturally, lancelot sends very dry letters — but wicklow answers with long ones. and then lance also starts writing short funny remarks, still dry: just comments on strategic decisions and struggles of commanding that herd of morons. (wicklow can relate. he gives him good advice.)
it goes likes this:
Hello Wicklow,
the Red Brothers are doing good. We've moved the troops back to Londinium.
Best regards,
Lancelot
an entire letter JUST FOR THAT
sent miles on horseback
"couriers hate him"
wicklow, furiously scribbing a reply, 2 pages in— maybe I should stop — on other hand — ... 2 pages later — alright, now I really should
lancelot accidentally doodles at the back of the letter he sends; he would draw goliath—
(wicklow has an epiphany that the way to lancelot's heart is by asking him about goliath and has to sit down)
—and then wicklow sees tiny angry inverted crosses all over his horsecloth. so small you don't immediately notice what is wrong with them. he squints at it and look at it through the light and is like "huh."
cracks his knuckles: "is it the crisis of faith i see"
and starts writing inspired, beautiful letters about faith to Lance
who ends up huddling in a corner somewhere, reading them over and over again, while red brothers are just running around like headless chickens
feature lancelot ugly crying, drinking communion wine and rereading the letters times and times again until he resolutely stands up and goes to write a reply which includes a completely made up polite excuse for wicklow to visit the camp.
