Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was weightless.

There was a great peace that washed over her as her senses slowly returned and she realised she was floating. And yet she was unable to do anything else but breathe as her body bobbed calmly on the surface of the water.

Then she could hear. Hurried whispers hissed in her ears, before vanishing completely, leaving only the sound of birds rustling in the trees, calling out to their mates, the trickle of water, the sound of dirt in the distance being trod on. It was soothing as she lay almost asleep. Like a dream...

The faint smell of fresh water and forest air filled her lungs and like a spark from flint, everything returned, her eyes flying open as she gasped.

Panic raced in her blood, and as light overwhelmed her vision, she struggled to make her way to the edge of the lake, her limbs battling with the once peaceful water, that now seemed determined to end her.

“Keep still!” A low voice called out over the chaos, but she could not follow the order, her instinct to kick and scream taking over. “I’ve got you. Keep still!” The voice was closer now, being hissed in her ear. Her arms swung out, connecting with something hard, which she grabbed onto for dear life.

Her eyes stung with water, making her surroundings a blur, but as she gasped and blinked, trying to regain control of her body, she felt it being guided to solid ground with a comforting wet slosh of her body hitting dirt.

Coughing, she slowly rolled to her side to clear her lungs and that’s when she could make out her saviour.

The wet material, despite its dark shade, seemed to glisten, reflecting the sunlight from the liquid that soaked it. It was a shocking contrast to the pale skin of his face, that dripped with water. Her eyes followed the path of a single drop as is trailed over his pink lips, down his jaw and landed on the soil, suddenly lost forever in the earth.

Her gaze flickered back up, taking in his straight nose, his nostrils flaring as he tried to regain his breath, and his well-defined cheekbones.

How curious, she thought, the water should have washed away any blood and dirt... Her hand reached between them, bringing her fingertips to the skin under his eyes, ready to wipe away the stains that marked him, only for the stranger to flinch away, his closed eyes suddenly open and staring at her as if she was mad. Pulling her hand back, she muttered an apology as she sat up and tried to righten herself.

She could hear a horse approaching, but could not tear her eyes away from this man. She could see now how blue his eyes were, although they were filled with panic, how his damp hair had fallen loose from its tie and framed his perplexed face.

“I’m sorry. I do not know what came over me.” She apologised again. “How can I repay you? For rescuing me?”

He stared at her in silence, making her feel more uncomfortable than the cold and wet clothes she wore.

“Repay me?” He finally said. “Do you not know who I am?” His voice was low and dangerous, as if she should be frightened by the answer to his question.

“I-” She stopped, unable to think. “I am sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I do not.” Her brow furrowed in confusion, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “I’m- I’m afraid I do not even know my own name.” Looking down at her hands, as the rested cold in her lap, her shoulders slumped forward in sadness so she did not see the way his eyes widened at her revelation.

----

“Lancelot! You did it!” The horse finally approached where the two adults sat, their clothes and hair dripping.

She looked around wildly to see a boy struggling to control and dismount the beast.

“She’s alive! You saved her!” The excitement was clear in his tone, and she couldn’t help but smile at him.

“He did. I cannot express my gratitude.” She looked between the two of them, the boys sparkling eyes the opposite of the mans dark mood. “Lancelot. Is that your name?”

The mans jaw clenched, his eyes containing a storm, as if it was a question too complex to answer. A moment later, he gave a small but sharp nod, before rising to his feet.

“Well then.” She stood, her hands adjusting her tunic as best she could before presenting her outstretched hand to him. “Thank you, Lancelot. For saving me from drowning.”

“I spotted you.” The boy boasted, and she had to laugh as she turned to face him.

“Then I am also indebted to you also, young man. What is your name?”

She watched as the boys forehead crinkled up in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s me, Squirrel.”

“Squirrel.” She echoed, the word seeming familiar on her tongue, but unsure how. “Do you know me?” She asked, suddenly hopefully that he may be able to fill in the missing information from her mind.

The boy gawked at her, his eyes darting between her and the man, Lancelot, who stood behind her. “You’re Nimue. You’re the Wolf-Blood Witch. You’re the Queen of the Fey!”

“The Queen of the what?”

“Fuck.” The deep voice muttered from behind her, making her shiver at the closeness of it, or perhaps it was the cold.

“The Queen of the Fey.” Squirrel repeated, his voice insistent. “You’re Fey. What’s wrong with her, Lancelot? How can she not remember?” He asked, turning to look at the taller man desperately.

“Let’s discuss this further once we find shelter.” Lancelot said, walking past both of them to stroke the horses face and take the reins. “Get on.”

“We can’t go! Not while Nimue isn’t right!” She could tell the boy was getting upset, his voice strained as he looked hopelessly between them.

“It’s not safe here. We have to keep moving.” Without warning, he grabbed Squirrel, lifting him as if he weighted nothing and placing him on the horses back.

“But-” Squirrel whined and she wanted to step in to defend the young man, only to stop herself. It wasn’t her place to, she told herself. Of course it’s your place, you’re Queen of the Fey! Her mind argued.

“I know shelter nearby, then we can figure all of this out.” The man dressed in black said, his expression making it clear that it was not up for discussion. His eyes focused again on her, and she couldn’t help the way her heart seemed to speed up as he looked upon her as if she was the only thing in the entire forest. “Get on.” He said gruffly, his head jerking to the horse.

Holding her drenched arms up, she raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not sure your horse will be too happy about that.” She teased.

Sighing, Lancelot tugged on the reins to re-enter the forest, not looking back at her or the lake he had rescued her from.

She had a hundred questions, and this odd pair seemed to know the answers to them, leaving her no choice but to chase into the trees after them.

----

The journey to the small village took the remainder of the day, however the time was filled with Squirrel enthusiastic stories of Nimue and the tragic yet adventurous life she led.

It was hard to feel any sort of emotion when her past still eluded her. But she was grateful for the information, knowing it could be the key to regaining her memories.

She did notice the few hesitations the young boy had when he spoke of the Red Paladins and the Weeping Monk who wanted her dead, there were a few odd glances thrown at Lancelot, but he simply stared ahead, not noticing the boys looks so she decided not to mention them either.

It was getting dark by the time she saw the flickering fires that indicated a nearby village.

The inn keeper was a large man, but she imagined it was difficult to maintain a business, and having stature and strength on his side was clearly an advantage. Lancelot told her and Squirrel to stay outside as he pulled in old favours to guarantee them lodgings for the night, and when he came out again, she could almost make out a hint of a smile gracing the corner of his mouth as he escorted them round the back to their room for the next few nights.

It didn’t take long for her to examine the room. One bed. Two buckets, one on a table and one under it. Luckily there were some extra blankets and pillows which she assumed her and Squirrel would make use of at night while Lancelot took the bed. It was small, but it would make do, especially when she had no money to contribute to the stay.

Her clothes had mostly dried on the walk to the small village, but they were still uncomfortable and when she asked for privacy to disrobe and take stock of her outfit, both men were happy to oblige and wait outside. Only it was becoming increasingly difficult to unlace her bodice from behind, the string wound so intricately and the fabric stiff from the lake water.

Huffing, she held the upper part of her bodice tightly to her chest and made her way to the door.

Poking her head out, she watched as Lancelot’s head shot up to look at her.

“Would you- would you mind helping me for a moment?” She asked, her small plea making him hesitate before he could reject her.

“Stand watch.” He directed at Squirrel, before silently following her back into the room, making sure the door was closed behind him.

“I can’t work the ties.” She explained, turning so her back was to him. And she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Could you...?” The question was left unspoken, but her intentions clear.

She could only hear him approach as she shifted slightly on the spot. She knew it was inappropriate asking a stranger to help her undress, but with limited help, and no women around, she didn’t have much choice. Instead she tried to distract them from the task as his hands gently began to untie her clothes.

“You know me. Does that mean we have met before?”

She could feel his finger freeze on her back. “Not exactly.” He said after a while, then resumed loosening the strings.

“Oh?” Turning her head to the side, she could just make out the side of his face. His eyes were staring intensely at the thin piece of string in his hands, as if it was impossible to look directly at her while they stood so close.

“We have been in the same places at the same time, but never... formally introduced.” He seemed to mull over his works carefully, and it only made her curiosity to ask more questions increase.

“Oh. Well, then my gratitude has increased tenfold.”

She could feel a slight tug as he undid a knot. “Why is that?”

“You dived into that lake to save a stranger. That makes your more of a hero than if you were to have saved a friend or family member.”

She felt the moment the fabric had come loose, yet his fingertips lingered on the exposed skin of her back.

“And what if we were enemies?” He asked, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper.

Turning, her arm crossed over her chest to keep her loose clothes in place, she faced him. “And are we enemies, Lancelot?” She asked, her volume matching his in the dim room.

“I... I do not think so. Not anymore.” He admitted, his bright blue eyes unreadable as the scanned over her face.

“Good.” She smiled, her mood lifting. “I only know two people right now, and it would be a shame if one was a friend and the other a foe.”

Guilt flashed over his face, and her forehead furrowed as she noticed how he looked away. The hands that were still hovering by her waist were withdrawn as if she had turned bitingly cold for him to be near.

“Is there something you need to tell me, Lancelot?” She asked wearily. “Something Squirrel hasn’t?”

It was odd, the power she felt over him despite her state of undress.

“I...” She raised an eyebrow when he didn’t continue. “I am the Weeping Monk. Was.” He finally admitted, and suddenly it made sense.

How Squirrel had met him, the little looks he had thrown his way as he talked of the villain, the awkwardness on Lancelot’s part around her.

Laughing, relief flooded her. “Thank goodness!” She pushed her hair away from her face as she continued to chuckle at the news.

“You’re... you find this funny?” Lancelot said, his disbelief clear, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open which only made her laugh harder.

“Of course! You do not?”

“I do not see how discovering I am a heartless killer who wanted you dead only a few weeks ago could possibly ensure such hilarity.” He protested.

“That’s exactly my point. You wanted me dead a few weeks ago.” She echoed his words. “But this afternoon you saved my life. You knew exactly who I was, and you decided to rescue me.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, she shifted so holding her bodice in place was a little more comfortable, missing the way his eyes betrayed his emotions as they dropped to her chest only to snap back to her face. “I think it makes me trust you the most.”

“Then you are more of a fool than I thought.”

Shrugging, she spoke. “I do not know who I am. Maybe I am being foolish, but in these few hours I can remember, all you’ve been is a gentleman. So... I trust you, Lancelot.” She tilted her head up, confident in her words.

He growled, making his frustrations at her known. “The Wolf-Blood Witch I know would never be so naive to trust me. She would take my sword from me and cut my throat before I had the chance to say my last prayer.” He pulled a dagger from his waist as he took two steps forward, closing the space between them. Kneeling on front of where she sat on the edge of the bed, he jammed the hilt of his blade into her palm, forcing her to take hold of the weapon. “Do it. Lord knows I deserve it.” He tilted his head back, exposing his throat and letting the point of the knife hover dangerously close to the vulnerable flesh. “Please. Do it.”

Nimue shuddered as she took in a breath, willing her hand to be still so she wouldn’t accidentally hurt him. She watched with an odd fascination at how his throat bobbed as he swallowed. It would have been so easy to twist her wrist and let the sharp edge slice his pale skin so red poured out in a fashion similar to the red under his eyes. But she couldn’t. No matter what he said their relationship was in the past, she didn’t have it in her to avenge her forgotten self.

“I- I cannot.” She pulled her hand away, dropping the dagger. It made a thud as it hit the wooden floor.

“Close your eyes! Listen to the voices. Do they not tell you I am not to be trusted? Do they not show my true self to you?” He bared his teeth as he spoke, and all she could do was shake her head.

“I don’t hear any voices.” She admitted. “Are you so sure I am this Fey Queen? Perhaps Squirrel was mistaken?”

Lancelot pushed himself off of the floor. “He is not wrong. If I had not already recognised your scent, then I would have known for certain by... by… you have the scars.”

“Scars?”

“I sought as much knowledge as I could when I learnt of who you are. Percival was the only one I spoke to who knew of them.”

“Percival?”

“Squirrel. Percival is his given name.”

“Oh.” Shame flooded her. Squirrel was the only person who really knew her, her past. How dare she not even ask his real name? Especially when it was so clear Squirrel was a moniker.

“They are from the bear attack. It is a miracle you survived.” Lancelot’s voice was low again, quivering with reverence as she recalled the story Squirrel had told her earlier that day as they made their way through the forest.

“Where... where are they?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper as she stood up, looking over her shoulder in vain. She turned to look at him, her eyes pleading.

There was no mirror for them to use, so she turned her back to him once more, gathering her hair to one side as she clutched her bodice tighter to her chest.

“Show me.” She insisted, and it was easy to hear his shaky breaths as he came close.

“I should not...” Lancelot muttered, but she could feel the heat of his body as he neared her.

“Please.” She begged. Somehow she knew her begging him would work, and after a moment, she felt the hesitant brush of a fingertip on her shoulder. Pushing back the sensation to shiver, she focused on where the pad of his finger pressed into her skin. “That is not so bad.” She said to herself, before he started tracing down her shoulder blade, his touch barely there as he reached halfway down her spine. She was about to speak again, to take back her earlier comment and remark that it must have been a big bear to leave such a long claw mark, when his finger grazed her shoulder again, only a little closer to her neck this time. Slowly he repeated the action, following the path of the marked skin until he reached the end. She could not hold back the shiver this time, but instead blamed the cool room and her lack of dress.

Holding her breath, she waited as he went back to her shoulder and made one final journey down her back, his fingertips lingering on the same place as earlier on the small of her back as he finished.

“I cannot believe I survived such an attack.” She whispered, the silence in the room deafening.

“We all have scars.” Lancelot assured her quietly, and she was tempted to face him again, except his touch was so gentle on her back, it was almost soothing to feel the warmth of his skin on her own cooler flesh. Leaning back instinctively, she knew she had gone too far when he pulled his hand away.

“How did you get yours?” She asked, looking at the marks under his eyes, and regretted it as soon as the words slipped from her mouth. “I am sorry. It is rude of me to-”

“They are not scars.” He interrupted. “They are the mark of my clan. My... my Fey clan.”

“Oh. They... I like them.” She admitted, wishing she could touch them the same way he touched her, but remembering how he flinched away when she tried earlier by the lake and didn’t wish to offend him.

“You’re Fey.” He explained. “Your instincts tell you to accept the markings from other clans.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her hands forlornly, saddened by the thought that it was only her nature that dictated her likes, and not because of who they were. “Squirrel said we are part of the Sky Folk clan. Which clan are you from?”

He was staring at her again, as if she had asked a forbidden question or had sprouted two heads. But she didn’t shy away, it seemed like a reasonable question to ask and she held her chin a little higher as she waited for him to respond to her.

“It does not matter.” He muttered after a few moments.

She could tell he was lying, but didn’t want to push the matter further. She was a guest on his hospitality after all. Which reminded her... “I promise I will not take advantage of your kindness for too long. I will get Squirrel to direct me to a Fey clan who I can take me in until-”

“Your memories return.” Lancelot finished for her.

“Yes.”

“You will be angry about having me in your clutches once you remember who I am.” There is was again, so small she could barely make it out, but the corner of his mouth quirked up, as if only hinting at a smile.

“You saved mine and Squirrels life in the last few days, that doesn’t seem so dishonourable to me.”

“I am still murderer.” He countered. “Of your people, the people you are sworn to save.”

“And how many have died for me?” Squirrel had explained the people they had met, the sacrifices that had been made to free their people. “How many have I killed?”

“They were trying to kill you! They killed your family, your people!” Lancelot hissed, looking at her as if she was a fool for thinking their deaths unjustifiable.

“See, you are certain my cause was just. So am I certain about you, Lancelot.” She saw his face transform in shock at her statement.

“You... you cannot mean that.” He whispered, horror filling his eyes but she did not hear him, her mind suddenly pushing a memory forward, brought on by her words.

“Merlin.” She gasped, clutching her chest as the memory faded. “I need to find Merlin.”

Lancelot’s jaw went slack at the name, his fear of the wizard obvious. “You remembered something?” She could only nod.

Lancelot went to speak only for the door swinging open to interrupt him.

“I got food!” Squirrel announced as he burst through the door with a plate only to freeze when he saw Nimue holding Lancelot’s discarded dagger from off the floor and the taller man had whipped out another hidden blade and had it trained on the young boy. “Woah!”

“I told you to stand guard.” Lancelot said through gritted teeth, slowly lowering his weapon.

“The owner’s wife gave it to me. I- I didn’t move, I swear.” Her heart swelled for the boy and she moved to usher him into the room.

“Don’t be so harsh, Lancelot.” She scolded before looking down at Squirrel. “This is very kind of them, and thank you. I am sure we are all in need of a meal.”

As the two men divided the food evenly on the table, Nimue turned her back and accessed her bodice and undershirt, despite having a few tears and two curious holes in it, she decided the undershirt was clean and dry enough to wear for the night and set the bodice aside.

They ate together down on the floor, Squirrel entertaining them with more tales of adventure until they finished the loaf of bread and meats prepared for them and the young boy couldn’t finish a sentence without yawning.

Nimue covered him with the spare blanket, folding it at the head into a makeshift pillow before finding space on the floor to settle herself.

“Take the bed.” Lancelot said, his voice hushed.

“Do not be silly. You paid for it, you should take it.”

“Take the bed.” He said more forcefully and reluctantly she sat on the edge of it.

“You don’t have to be so stubborn.”

“I am not being stubborn.” His eyes flashed in the dark and Nimue scowled. “It is only proper.”

She couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her mouth, only to see how his eyes widened in horror at her lack of care for such manners. “Sorry. It... I am not sure why that is funny.”

“Go to sleep, Nimue.” Even in the dim room, she found herself fascinated by the shape of his mouth as he said her name for the first time. Her hand reached out to find his, the tips of her fingers seeking out his. His skin was rough, but she barely noticed over warmth that they radiated.

“Thank you, Lancelot.” Her voice was soft, and she hoped it displayed all of her gratitude as she squeezed his hand lightly. “You are a good man.”

The look he gave her was of pure disbelief, as if no one had ever paid him a compliment before, and the thought made her heart clench.

Pulling her hand away, she was surprised that for a split second he gripped her fingers, not willing to let go just yet, only to realise his mistake and let his hand fall to his side.

“Good night, Lancelot.”

“Good night, Nimue.”

Chapter Text

“I think you should train me.” Nimue said, matter-of-factly as they walked through the forest, hiding outside of the village where it was easier to hide and draw less attention. Squirrel was collecting fruits and flowers that they could store and eat, leaving her alone with the dark and brooding man.

“Excuse me?” Lancelot quirked an eyebrow up at her.

“I’ve been thinking. Squirrel says I have all these... powers. Yet I can not control them. If we find ourselves in trouble as we try to find Merlin, it would be helpful to call upon them. Yes?”

Reluctantly, Lancelot slowly nodded. “It would.”

“So, train me. Teach me.”

“I-“ His voice sounded strangled and she could see the conflict cross his usually unreadable face. “I cannot.”

“But you are Fey.” She reasoned. “You have powers as well, do you not?”

“It does not matter. I cannot teach you.”

“And why not?”

“Leave the matter alone, Nimue.”

“No! I want to help. I have no coin, I have no weapons. But if I can access these powers, if I can control them-“

“I will protect us. On my own.” He said through a clench jaw.

“But you shouldn’t have to.” Her hands clenched at her side. “You are not on your own anymore, Lancelot. We... I can help.”

They stared at each other for a while, neither willing to back down, and it seemed the air around them crackled with tension, the leaves that were rustling in the breeze sudden stilled, so the only movement around was their chests rising and falling, the only sound she could hear was their own breathing.

“Teach me.” She said again, more determined and she watched as a mixture of emotions flicker across his face, before his eyes hardened and became unreadable.

“Fine.” He practically spat out, shrugging his cloak off of his shoulders.

She wanted to smile in excitement, but tried to school her features so not to annoy him further for getting her way.

“Stand here.” He pointed just in front of him and she moved quickly. Slowly, he circled the spot she was standing, her head following his movements as he looked her up and down. Sizing her up, she mused. “Close your eyes.”

She followed his instructions straight away, excitement bubbling in her veins.

“Focus on your breathing. Keep it slow and steady.” His voice was close to her ear, and she couldn’t help her breath hitch. “No. Slower.” His hands pressed between her breasts, being careful to avoid touching anything but the solid bone that protected her lungs. “In.” She inhaled, feeling the way her chest rose and pressed further into his hand. It felt like it took forever until her lungs were filled. “And out.” Slowly, she exhaled, feeling her shoulder sag, her bones loosen as she expelled the air. “Good. Again.”

She repeated the action a few more times, noting the way the air smelt, the humidity that surrounded her, the burn from where his hand was on her.

“Now think of a time you have been wronged, think of those who wronged you. I need you to focus on what you felt, the anger, the hatred, the betrayal...” Despite his harsh words, his voice was calm and steady in front of her.

“I...” She couldn’t think of anything.

“Anything you can think of.” He encouraged, and she was reminded of their disagreement last night, when he refused to accept her trust. How frustrating she found his certainty that he was wasn’t worth it, now she wanted to shake some sense into him, to prove that he was a good man, a handsome and honourable man...

There was a crack, like a branch snapping from a tree. Then another, and another. Her eyes flew open, and she could see vines and tree branches growing from the ground, entwining with each other in a complex and beautiful dance. She could feel it, she could guide them.

A smile broke out over her face as she watched the rise higher and higher until they were taller than them.

“It’s working.” She breathed.

Lancelot was watching, having stepped to the side, his face in awe.

“Keep focus.” He urged, and she turned to look at him. His eyes were wide, the white of them a stark contrast to the red streaks that stained his cheeks. It looked so much like he was crying, she thought, like sadness was his constant companion.

She couldn’t help the frown that took over her face, she wanted to make him see what her and Squirrel saw in him. Her thoughts turned to the relief she felt as her body hit solid land and she saw him for the first time. She thought of last night when he was kneeling in front of her, and his gentle touch as he traced her scars and comforted her about them.

She continued to stare at him, willing him see what she saw, and she saw him gasp.

Turning back to the nature she was controlling, the previously brown and dark greens of the tree branches and vines were covered in flowers of numerous colours. Whites, yellows, blues, pinks, and purples. Each more vibrant and brighter than the last, until they reached the top of the trunk where shining red fruit had grown.

Exhaling, she lowered her arms that she wasn’t aware of she had lifted, and took in what she had done.

Apples. She smiled. She had grown apples for him.

“That... that’s impossible.” He breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. He took a tentative step forward, towards to colourful tower of nature. “Magic is supposed to be ugly, dangerous. It destroys everything it touches and yet...” He whipped around to face her. “What were you thinking of?”

“I- I thought of you.” She admitted. “I thought of how kind you have been, I thought of making you happy.”

“No.” He muttered to himself. “That was foolish of you!” He bellowed, making her jump.

“It worked, didn’t it?” She countered. “In case you forgot, I don’t have a lot of memories to draw from, so forgive me for going with my instincts.” She said sarcastically, striding over to him and poking him in the chest. “Now, show some gratitude and help me pick these so we can eat.”

“We are not eating this magic food.” He announced. “It could be dangerous.”

“I am hungry, and I do not see any other fruit trees around, so stop whining and be useful.” She teased, reaching up but finding herself too short to reach the lowest apple.

“Stop it.” Lancelot growled, his hands grabbing at hers, trying to pull them down.

“Let go.” She spoke over him as they battled their wills.

Eventually, she managed to pluck a juicy red apple from a branch and as she bought it to her lips, his hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning it and her back into the floral trunk.

“Don’t.” He grunted, his grip tight but not hurting.

Their chests heaved are the small fight, and she felt her cheeks heating at how close they were, his body pressed against hers in an attempt to stop her.

“Lancelot...” His name fell from her mouth, her eyes dropping down to look at his. “Please...” She didn’t know what she was begging him for, to eat the fruit, to let her go, to hold her tighter and lower his lips to meet hers...

A twig being stepped on in the distance snapped them out of it, and they both turned to find Squirrel returning through some bushes.

Lancelot’s hand fell away from her wrist, and she stepped away from him quickly, rubbing the area he had touched as if the feeling lingered.

What was she thinking? Lancelot did not think of her in such wanton ways! It was completely inappropriate of her to try and instigate any romantic actions between them, she scolded herself.

“Woah!” Squirrel exclaimed, seeing the glorious trunk of flowers and fruit. “Did you do this, Nimue?” She nodded, her fingers tightening around the apple in her hand until she was sure her nails had left little dents in its flesh. “I’ve heard the stories, but I didn’t think it was possible!” The young boy ran over, dropping his meagre collection of mushrooms on the ground and he started to climb up a stalk.

Lancelot grabbed him by the hips and tugged him away, but it was too late, Squirrel had already taken a bit from an apple and was chewing merrily.

“Percival!” Nimue cried out in horror that he had just eaten the fruit she created that could be dangerous.

“What?” He asked around his mouthful.

“It could be poisonous.” She fretted, trying to bat the remaining fruit from his hand.

“What are you talking about? Fey fruit is fine to eat.” He said as he continued to munch on it.

“Really?” She asked, her panic subsiding.

“It’s in all the stories. Nothing bad ever happened from eating a piece of fruit.” Squirrel scoffed and Nimue glared at Lancelot.

“Really?” She repeated, her tone more challenging than before. He simply walked away, ignoring her questioning gaze.

Lancelot was a curious man to know. And even with the stories Squirrel had told her about his misdeeds as the Weeping Monk, she couldn’t help but wonder what else had happened in his life to take him on that path.

His past was a subject she was finding filled more of her thoughts than her own missing history.

Later that day, when they had picked all the fruit and Squirrel was off in the village selling them for a coin each, and Lancelot was gathering other supplies, her mind was still pondering about Lancelot’s past when he returned.

“Here.” He shoved some fabric into her hands. And she carefully unfolded it to find a small knife inside.

“It is no Sword of Power, but it will do for now.” Lancelot said, and she swore she could see him smirk a little at his own joke. “Where is Percival?”

“He’s still out selling the apples.” She explained, admiring the blade she has just been given. “Did you get everything?”

He nodded.

“And what about Merlin? Did you... did anybody know news of him?”

“He is missing. But assumed alive.” Lancelot explained and Nimue breathed a sigh of relief.

“He will be able to restore my memories. I am sure of it.” She prayed for it to be possible.

“We have no leads, Nimue. We have nothing to go on to find him.” Lancelot’s forehead had furrowed at her statement.

“But we will. We will find him.”

“Your blind faith is unsettling.” Lancelot scoffed, setting his satchel on the table and sorting through its contents.

“And your complete lack of faith is upsetting!” She countered, standing from where she sat on the bed.

“I had faith, and look where that got me?” He muttered, mostly to himself.

“You risked your life to save Squirrel, you’re risking it further by associating with me.” She cried out. “Can you not see what I do? Can you not forgive your past and allow yourself redemption?”

“I do not deserve it.”

She crossed the few steps it took to reach him, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him to turn around.

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” She insisted, her eyes scanning his face, pleading for him to believe her. “Even a lost Fey.” She whispered.

They stood there for a moment, staring at one another, unable to find words to convey their mixture of feelings. Her eyes were fixated on his, which seemed intent on taking in her whole face at the same time. Brilliant blue flickering between her nose, her lips, her hair, before they focused back on her eyes.

He was impossible to read, and even more impossible to talk to, and in a moment of frustration, Nimue let out a growl and grabbed him by his clothes, pulling him towards her and closing the space between their mouths.

She felt the moment he registered what was happening, but it was too quick to fully take in, a twitch of his jaw, a small sharp inhale, his hand lifting from his side to cradle the back of her head and pull her closer to him, it all happened at once as her lips slanting over his and suddenly it was a different kind of battle they were fighting with one another.

He was a good kisser, although she didn’t have a lot to compare him to at that moment. He took the lead, pressing further as his tongue darted out to swipe over the seam of her mouth. It was easy for her to lean into him and groan as he delved deeper and passion overtook them.

However, her moan seemed to break him out of the moment, and she soon found herself pushed away as he turned his back, his shoulders hunched over as he pressed his palms into the table and swore to himself.

“Lancelot?” Her voice was tentative, her hand pressing lightly into his shoulder blade.

“Stay back!” He shouted, and Nimue wasn’t sure if she imagined the torch in the corner of the rooms flame increase in height dramatically.

“I’m sorry.” She stepped back until the backs of her legs hit the bed. “I... I didn’t mean to offend-“

“You must never do that again! And for your own sake, never speak of it to anyone.” He looked fretful as he gathered his belonging back into his bag. “Please, forgive me.” He bowed his head as he turned to leave, so she could not see his face. “Forgive me.” He repeated before hastily exiting the room.

“There is nothing to forgive...” She whispered to herself as the door swung closed behind him.

——

Squirrel was asleep by the time Lancelot returned, and she supposed she should be as well, but he had plagued her thoughts to the point where sleep eluded her.

“Lancelot.” She whispered when he closed the door, sitting up in the bed. “Please sit. We should discuss-“

“Go to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Oh?” That was news to her. She was under the impression they would remain in this village until they had more news on Merlin.

“There was talk in the tavern, of an unending storm west of here. I believe it to be Merlin.”

“Hiding in a storm?” She asked, her nose wrinkling at the idea.

“Creating to storm, so his foe cannot pass through it.”

“Oh.” Nimue considered his words for a moment. “But how will we be able to?”

“We’ll face that problem when we get to it.” Lancelot admitted. “I have secured two tents and another horse.”

Her eyebrows rose in shock. They only had a few coin left from selling apples, now was he able to barter such a trade? “How?”

“A few men in this village will return to their home as sore losers.” He explained, as if she was supposed to understand what he meant. “I shot arrows for them. They assumed just because I am new to the area that I was unskilled in archery.” He explained and as he got closer, she noticed the red marks under his eyes had been masked with pale peach paint to make them match his skin.

Standing, her thumbs instinctively reached up to his face, wiping at the paint he had used and examining it on the pad of her finger.

“Why...?”

“The Weeping Monk is infamous, even on these parts.” He explained, and she saw a sadness fill his face as she removed the rest of the paint.

“I don’t like it.”

“I can cover it more if you wish-“

“No.” She said, a little too quickly and she looked over at Squirrel in case she had woken him. “No.” She continued once she knew it was alright to do so. “I do not like you covering them.”

She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, an unknown emotion taking over his face as he struggled to compose himself.

“Lancelot, you may think I’m foolish for thinking so fondly of you-“

“Nimue. You are the Queen of the Fey. Even if I had not done terrible things in my past... we could never... I am not worthy.”

After a long time, of them simply staring at one another in tender silence, she decided on what she wanted, what she needed. “Lay with me.” Her voice was soft, but non-negational.

“Nimue-“

“Sleep next to me, Lancelot.” She pressed again. “While we have a bed, I insist you have a least one nights sleep on it.” Tugging on his hand, she pulled him to sit on the edge of the frame, and reluctantly he started to pull off his boots.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.” He muttered, mostly to himself as he lay down, his body stiff.

“And yet here we are. And nothing bad has happened.” She pokes his side as he stared at the ceiling. “Close your eyes, Lancelot. Sleep.” And when he refused, she couldn’t help the smile as she lightly dragged her fingers over his forehead, bringing them down so his eyelids fluttered shut. Her finger tips traced over tear stain marks, slowly following their path down his cheeks. “I do not know what tomorrow brings, but as long as I am with you... I know I am on the right path.” She whispered and watched as he shuddered before finally pulling her hand away from his face.

Sleep came fast after their conversation. And while she tried to reason that is was from her exhausting day, she knew that having Lancelot next to her made her feel safe and secure. If she was a Queen, maybe he could be her Knight, she mused before she fell unconscious.

----

After a day travelling west, it was easy to see their final destination. Dark grey cloud in the distance swirled at an unnatural pace, strikes of lightening lighting up the sky for short, terrifying moments before piercing the clouds again with no sign of respite.

“We are another day away.” Lancelot estimated as they emerged from the edge of a forest. Night had fell and it would be unsafe to travel in the fields and forests any further. “We should rest here and leave at first light tomorrow.”

Nimue nodded, swallowing hard as she took in the chaos in the distance. It certainly seemed daunting, and she understood how it would keep Merlin’s enemies away, but she just wasn’t sure how they were going to navigate it either.

She hopped off of the horse and held her arms out to help Squirrel dismount as well before starting to take their equipment off the horses back and set up their camp for the night.

Squirrel assisted Lancelot with the tents while she prepared the fire and boiled the water they had collected from a stream not far back. It was nice, she thought as she cut up bread and cheeses, it was like they were a small family, travelling across the country to find the rest of their clan.

But she didn’t have any family. She realised, her hands halting where they cut an apple in half. Squirrel had told the sad tale of their village being slaughtered, of her mother being slain by the Red Paladins. She felt guilty, not being able to recall her mother’s face, or even her voice, making it impossible to mourn for the woman.

As if sensing her upset, the two men returned, just in time for her to quick wipe away her tears.

“I’m starving!” Squirrel grabbed for a chunk of bread, taking a massive bite out of it, making Lancelot roll his eyes at the lack of manner the young boy displayed.

“Here.” Nimue handed them their share and slowly picked at the food in front of her. She hoped her forlorn mood wouldn’t be noticed by the rest of her group, but later when Squirrel had gone to bed and it was just the two of them by the dying fire, Lancelot bought it up.

“You were upset earlier.” He said, as if it was a question and not a fact.

“I was.” She nodded, looking down at the cup of water in her hands. “Does that frighten you? Seeing a girl cry?”

“No.” He looked away, down at the dimly glowing embers. “I am usually the one who is the cause of it.”

“I didn’t know you were such a ladies man.” She teased, swaying to the side where she sat so her shoulder nudged his. Her joke was rewarded with a scoffed but when she looked up at him, his lips were turned upwards.

“That would have been the kinder way to break hearts.” He mused aloud, and the conversation went quiet as their thoughts turned to his less than pristine past.

“Lancelot...” She said the same moment he spoke her name.

“Nimue...” He gestured for her to continue first.

“Lancelot. I want to apologise if my actions last night offended you. I am not sure what came over me, except... there is a connection between us. Perhaps it is our Fey blood, perhaps it is our close quarters these last few days, but I feel something... something is drawing me to you. Is there not?”

His sign made her chest tight, ready for his denial, but it never came.

“I feel it too.” He admitted, his head bent forward so his head curtained his face, hiding it from her. “There is a connection.”

Relief flooded her at hearing his confirm it. “Good. I am glad it is not me going mad.”

“But we cannot celebrate it. It is dangerous to be associated with me, Nimue. It would be foolish to fan the flames of this bond. And that is why... Once we reach Merlin’s hideout, and I can guarantee your safety, I will leave you and Squirrel and go on my own way.”

“Wha-what? No.” She stuttered, stunned at his plan. “No. You do not have to leave.”

“I must. It would... be unwise to stay so near to you for longer than necessary.”

“Lancelot.” She couldn’t help how desperate she sounded, pleading him. “Please. Don’t leave me.” Tears were pricking her eyes again, and she could not blame the smoke from the fire for them. “You’re all I have.”

“You have Squirrel. And his stories tell of many other friends. They will be missing you, Nimue.”

“But what of me? What about me missing you?” She shoved at his arm, frustrated at his refusal to look at her.

“You won’t.”

“Lancelot!”

“I am not deceiving you, Nimue. I am a bad person who has done thousands of horrible things. No one will mourn me when I am dead, and you will not miss me once your memories are restored and you remember what a truly horrendous acts I have done. I can assure you of that. To sooner you see it, the better.” He bared his teeth as he spoke, as if he was angry at the truth, and she supposed he was. But Squirrel had been so enthusiastic when retelling the story of the Weeping Monk’s redemption, the young boy clearly idolised the man who sat in front of her, and she knew kids had good instincts.

“Do you know what I see, Lancelot?” Kneeling in front of him, she barely noticed the hard ground on her knees. Instead, she cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to pay attention to her, willing even a fraction of her faith be passed to him through the contact. “I see a lifetime of guilt and sadness that haunts you. I see a man who is tortured by his past.” He nodded every so slightly, and if she wasn’t holding his head, she wouldn’t have be able to tell. “But I see a future... where you are a good man. You are kind, you are noble, and you are forgiven.” His eyes shone with unshed tears, and Nimue pushed herself up from her kneeling position to close the gap and kiss him gently.

It was a sweet kiss. Their mouths barely moving, but the pressure alone was enough.

Pulling back, she couldn’t help but smile at him as she pushed the hair away from his face. “And Lancelot, you are loved.” She finished, and to her surprise, she watched as it nodded again, as if he truly believed her words.

Standing, she held her hand out to him, the question unspoken. And she was relieved when he looked up at her through his eyelashes, and reached up to take it.

They walked together to the empty tent in silence, the only sound around was the rustle of their boots in the grass.

“Lancelot?” She asked softly as he lay her down on the makeshift bed.

“Yes?” He lips were on her throat, his body pressed perfectly into hers.

“Don’t leave. Stay. With me.” She whispered, her voice hopeful but desperate as her hands clutched at him, his hair, his shoulders, his back, his hips.

She gasped as their bodies began to move together.

“Never.” Lancelot muttered, looking down at her reverently. “I could never leave you, my Queen.” His mouth devoured hers, and it wasn’t long before pleasure clouded their every thought.

Later, as he slept and she lay next to him, an overwhelming sense of familiarity washed over her but she couldn’t place it. It felt odd, wrong even, leaving a bad taste in her mouth as she tried to recall the details of the man she had previously shared a bed with but coming up empty handed.

Turning on her side, she tried to push the feeling aside. If she was honest with herself, she didn’t care if she ever got her memories back.

She had Lancelot. And he was all she needed. Him and Squirrel, and as she drifted off to sleep, her smile did not go away.

Chapter Text

The sun streamed through the small gaps at the opening of their tent as she slowly woke up. Rolling over, she was pleasantly reminded of their previous night when she was greeted with a bare back.

Her forehead creased, a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows as she looked upon the dozens of scars that littered Lancelot’s back. Her instinct was to gasp, to reach out and tentatively touch the angry marks, but she stopped herself. Rage filled her, questions flooding her mind. Who did this to him? She knew he was part of the Red Paladins, but surely they would not harm their own soldiers? How long had this been going on for? In the warm morning light, she could see a range of scars, some completely healed, some that pink stage of skin knitting back together, and a couple only a few weeks fresh. An urge overtook her. She wanted to find the people who hurt him and inflict the same pain.

As if sensing her emotions, Lancelot stiffened, the muscles of his back rippling slightly as he realised what Nimue must be looking at. And before she could register what was happening, he had rolled over, locating his discarded shirt and covering his torso.

“Lance-“

“Don’t.” His voice was gruff, from sleep or anger, she couldn’t tell.

“These were the scars you spoke of, aren’t they? Did the Father Carden do that to you?” She asked, trying to keep the sneer for the man out of her tone.

“No.” Lancelot looked half over his shoulder at her. “It does not matter anymore.”

“Of course it matters!” She grabbed at him, turning him around so she could see his face. “Whoever did this to you deserves to pay!”

“It is my fault.” He admitted. The wrinkle between her eyebrows deepened.

“What do you mean?”

“I... it was a struggle - for me - to know I was born the very thing I hated.” He winced at his own words, his hands finding hers and entwining their fingers. She hoped he found comfort in the contact.

“Fey?”

He nodded. “It was self-inflicted. The pain… it made the struggle... easier.” He explained slowly, pausing as he thought of the appropriate words to use.

She wanted to weep for him. To show him how wrong he was to hate himself for something he had no say over. But she knew he didn’t want her pity, instead, she stood up on her toes and pressed her lips into his right cheek, before crossing his face and repeating the action on the left. Right where his marks ended.

“Is it easier now?” She whispered, staring up into his blue eyes. They were the same colour as a crystal clear lake, she mused.

“It... now is a different sort of suffering.” She nodded, not understanding completely, but knowing his guilt of his past actions must not be easy cope with.

“Promise me.” She clutched their hands together in between them. “Promise me you will not harm yourself again.”

His eyes searched her face like a map, as if he was memorising a path that she had no idea what was at the end of it.

“I promise, my Queen.” He breathed, closing the gap and taking her lips in his. “I am yours.” He said softly as they broke apart. “Whatever you require, I am your slave.”

“Lancelot, you do not have to do that.” She shook her head lightly. “I asked you to stay last night, not as my slave, but as my equal.”

His eyes widened in shock. “You know not what you ask, Nimue.”

“Perhaps. But... If I am to be the Fey Queen. I need a Knight.”

An uncontrollable smile broke out over his features, making him appear younger, and infinitely more carefree. “A knight?” He looked down at their hands before looking up through his lashes at her.

“You seek redemption, I know one day you will have to go and find that in your own way. But while you wait... I would be honoured to have your advice and protection. If you’ll have me?”

Fear creeped in that he would say no, or laugh at her suggestion, but it was soon banished when he wrapped his arms around her body, lifting her up and spinning them both until they were back on the blankets, his shirt once again discarded, and her fingers in his hair as he kissed her mouth, her jaw, her breasts, moving lower until she was writhing in ecstasy.

“My Queen.” Lancelot smiled as he lay down next to her, and she wondered why so many had hurt him when he looked this beautiful when he smiled.

“Sir Lancelot.” Her thumb stroked his cheek adoringly as she giggled.

She was happy. She only hoped that when they got to Merlin, he would help teach her everything she needed so she could take her place of Queen of the Fey.

——

As they reached further west and closer to the edge of the never-ending storm, panic swelled in Nimue’s chest. What if Merlin couldn’t help? What if they were wrong and he wasn’t even alive? And yet the thing she was most frightened of, was how everything would be different once they got there.

They had found a nice balance, the three of them, and she didn’t want that to change. But she had a duty to her people, even if she couldn’t recall them, and Squirrel insisted that if she had her memories, she would be doing everything she could to stop the Red Paladins and their allies. Looking over from the horse her and the young boy were riding on, she watched Lancelot’s profile as they rode. She couldn’t help but worry that becoming Nimue again might risk what she had discovered the last four days.

It was a fear that grew the closer they got to the storm clouds, and soon they found themselves abandoning their horses who were too frightened of the lightening to continue riding. Instead they had to battle with the wind and rain on foot. Their hoods drawn tight around their faces although it offered little protection.

“Merlin had bloody well better be worth it!” Squirrel shouted over the weather.

“He is. I can feel it.” She didn’t know how, but the closer they got, it was almost like she could sense his presence stronger and stronger.

What felt like hours later, soaked to the bone, they reached the eye of the storm. The clouds cleared, the rain stopped, and the sun warmed their skin as they looked around. No matter the direction, she could see the storm surrounding them in the distance, unescapable. But in the clearing, there was a castle. It was small, and parts were damaged where large chunks of stone were missing, but this must have been where Merlin was hiding. There was no doubt in her mind as she practically ran across the grass to reach it.

“Nimue!” Lancelot called out for her, but her fear was gone, replaced with an excitement to see Merlin that she could not fully comprehend.

It was only when she was close enough to make out the detail on the door, did a bolt of lightning strike by her feet. A shriek escaped her lips and she spun around to see Lancelot and Squirrel equally shocked at the attack only a few paces behind her.

“Who goes there?” A deep voice called out from above, and Nimue took a step back to look up.

“I… I need to speak with Merlin.” She lowered her hood, trying to see who was speaking but they had gone.

Moments later, the door in front of her swung open, so violently she was sure it would damage the hinges, revealing a bald man who looked twenty or so years older than her. His cloak was thrown over his shoulders, but she could make out a stick he used to aid his walking as he froze, looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and doubt.

“Nimue?” His voice shook as he spoke, and she knew exactly who this man was.

“Merlin.” She nodded.

As if ropes binding the older man had been cut, he rushed towards her, his arms enveloping her in a hug.

“You’re alive.” He sobbed into her hair.

“I am.” She said.

“But how?” Merlin pulled back, but his hands did not let go of her. His eyes wildly examined her, searching for something she did not know. “It’s been weeks… I saw the arrows hit you. I saw you fall. I couldn’t… I couldn’t save you…”

Her brow furrowed at his words. “I do not know what happened. I awoke in a lake only a few days ago. There were no arrows, only… Merlin, I need your help.” She tried to keep her voice calm, despite learning this new information.

“Anything, Nimue.” He said, trembling with emotion.

“When I awoke, I could not recall anything, not even my own name. I fear whatever happened, my memories were lost because of it.”

Merlin ushered her inside, and she didn’t even notice the other two in her party following, so caught up in this mystery man and his intrigue.

“Arthur! Morgana!”

And a few moments later, Nimue found herself enveloped again in a bone crushing hug.

“Nimue. How- When- Are you-” The woman must have been the same age as her, if not a year older, with tan skin and warm eyes that were as wide as her smile. This must be Morgana, she told herself. “We thought we’d lost you. We searched for you when it was safe to go back, but we found nothing. Now I know why!”

“I am sorry, I do not-”

Then a man appeared, and the room went silent for a moment as he took in the commotion. She was not sure why, but she held her breath, feeling tense for some reason.

“Nimue…” He final spoke, whispering before rushing towards her. “Nimue!” It seemed it was his turn to wrap his arms around her, lifting her from the ground as he spun her in a tight embrace. She shrieked slightly in surprise but calmed when he carefully placed her back on her feet, only for his hands to cup her face and bring them together in a hasty kiss.

It was over as quickly as it had started, leaving her bewildered and quickly search the room to see Lancelot. Only he had left. Percival’s head was turned, having clearly just watched the older man leave. A door slammed and she knew he had seen what had just happened.

The urge to follow him, to apologise, was denied when Arthur tried to hug her again only to find her stiff in her arms.

“She does not remember herself, Arthur.” Morgana explained and the man stepped away as if he has been stung.

“Perhaps we should sit, let Nimue and her guests explain what happened.” Merlin offered, being a voice of reason she was grateful for.

They spent what felt like hours all going through the events before and after Nimue’s apparent death, with her and Percival being wise to keep the Weeping Monk’s name out of all of it, calling him Lancelot, and it was only when Percival moaned about food, that the conversation paused.

“Your other companion, where did he go?” Morgana asked as she offered them a plate of fruit and cheese. Nimue shook her head, turning down the food before standing.

“I shall go look for him.” She said grimly, now knowing of her relationship with Arthur and feeling awful for how complicated it made the whole situation. She felt sick, her stomach twisted with guilt.

It didn’t take long to find him. Since the weather had cleared, he had gone to find the horses and returned, tending to them as they patiently waited tied to a fence near the castle.

“Lancelot.” She said as she approached, watching his shoulders stiffen. “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

“I am no longer of use here.” He grunted, turning to face her. His eyes looked redder than usual.

“You promised-”

“That was before I knew-” He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “Before I knew you belonged to another.”

“Arthur.” She whispered, unable to conjure any memories of him.

“I apologise, my Queen. If I had known, I never… I swear I will not tell a soul of our… of what happened between us.” The guilt clearly overwhelmed him as well, and she wanted to comfort him. “I will not ruin you.”

“Lance-”

“I do not deserve forgiveness, but please, let me do what I can and assure you that I will not do anything to tarnish your reputation-”

“Fuck reputation!” She cried out, having enough of his sorrow. “You promised me you would stay, you are my knight and I refuse to let you leave.”

He looked down at the horse reins in his hands, sighing before dropping them and stepping towards her.

“I cannot.” He stressed the words. “Arthur… He has yet to see my face, but he knows who I am, who I was. Even if I could stay, he will not let the Weeping Monk, a man whose job it was to find all Fey and kill them, stay with their Queen.”

“But you aren’t that man anymore.”

“You may have forgotten, but trust me, he has not. It is best I leave now, before he sees me and… it will not end well.”

“But I need you.” She hated how her voice sounded as she pleaded with him.

“Nimue, my Queen, you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You do not need a broken solider like me.” He turned to collect the reins again, righting the harness before looking over at her for what felt like the last time.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

“You are more powerful than you think.”

“Not about me.” She cried out, wetness streaking her face. “About you. You aren’t broken, Lancelot. You deserve a second chance and I… I don’t want to lose you.”

“If I find my redemption, I will come find you. I promise.” He seemed doubtful of his own words, and it only made her sob harder.

He mounted the horse in one swift motion, and she knew there was no stopping him.

“Tell Percival I will visit the first village him and I stayed in on a weekly basis, in case he needs me.” The horse trotted over to her and she reached up, grabbing his hand.

“And what if I need you?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I do?” She pleaded, pressing her lips to his hand.

He sighed, tearing his gaze from her like if he continued to look at her then his resolve would disappear and he would stay. “Then I will come to you, My Queen. I will give my life if it meant seeing you smile at me one last time, and then I will truly be redeemed.”

His foot pressed into the side of the horse and he took off, leaving her gasping for air as she watched him vanish into the trees.

“But you are already are, Lancelot.” She whispered.

She didn’t know how long she stayed out in the cold until Percival came to check on her. She explained how Lancelot had left, and when the young boy got mad, she told him of the village he spoke of and it seemed to lighten his anger somewhat.

“Let’s go back inside. We have much to catch up on.”

——

It was not long before they were attacked at the castle. The Trinity Guards no longer scared of Merlin’s wrath as the storms dissipated.

They were wrong to assume Merlin weak, and soon they found themselves in a new battle, fighting with the King’s men against the gold faced knights for the kingdom, trying to save the people from the harsh rules the Trinity Guards had put in place as they took over control of villages and towns.

The King wasn’t a friendly man, but him and Nimue came to an alliance, and she was grateful for the sanctuary he provided as Merlin continued to train her. And with each passing day, she grew stronger, and new memories returned. Arthur continued to be hopeful that they could rekindle their relationship, but she kept him at arm’s length, stating she was not ready and couldn’t remember. Merlin knew it was a lie, but kept her secret, and soon, her pushing the young man away drove him into another allies’ arms, Guinevere.

She was not bitter or upset to see them get closer to one another, and on a drunken night, she confessed to her father that she had found another in the short days before they were reunited. He was far more empathetic than she expected him to be.

She had not heard from Lancelot, but there were rumours of a black knight, who was taking down the Trinity and helping the remaining Fey get away from their clutches, and she knew in her heart it was him.

It wasn’t until they learned of a truly unwinnable attack that was heading their way that she finally told Percival to find him. They needed all the people they could get to take down the Trinity Guards once and for all.

He came the next night, and she while she should have been surprised to have him knock at her door in the middle of the night, his face cloaked in a dark hood, she couldn’t help herself as she curled fingers into his robes and he pinned her to the door.

“My Queen.” He groaned into her neck as he littered it with kissed.

“My knight.” She gasped as she tugged on his clothes, trying to remove them.

“Arthur…” She laughed at his nobleness.

“He is with another. We never… I couldn’t be with him. Not when…” She pulled back so she could see his face, her thumbs tracing lightly over his marks. “Not when I love you.”

His jaw went slack in shock, his eyes widening. “Nimue…”

“I love you, Lancelot.” A smile broke out over her face, one mirrored by him.

“My heart is yours, Nimue. It always has been, since the moment I met you.”

“Good.” She kissed him, leading him to her bed. “Now, be with me.”

They spent hours together, with him worshipping her body as they made love, and as the light of the morning creeped into her room, she found herself unable to tear herself away from him.

“Lancelot?” She whispered, unsure if he was sleeping as he rested his head on her chest.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Did you find it?”

“Find what?”

“Redemption? Forgiveness?”

“I think so.”

“As the Black Knight?” She felt him nod against her skin. “And you will fight with us? Against the Trinity?”

“No.” He lifted his head to catch her curious gaze. “I will fight for you.”

“You already have me.” She laughed, her fingers stroking through his hair.

“I still have to prove my worth to your people.” He admitted, and she understood. In a few hours, she would hold a briefing with her and the King’s top advisors, and she would have to somehow convince them that Lancelot was their ally and could be trusted in battle. But right now, she didn’t care, because even with the Sword of Power, her magic, and her memories back, she had been missing something. And with Lancelot finally with her, she felt complete, powerful. Unstoppable.

The battle took place. Lives were lost, but they won. And as she lay on the ground, exhausted, wounded from fighting, she turned her head on the dirt and watched as the discarded Sword of Power was wielded magnificently as Lancelot took down the last remaining Guards.

He practically radiated with power as fire encircled him, the sword glowing in the flames. There was no denying him now, she thought to herself with a smile as the last man fell and Lancelot ran to find her.

“My Queen.” He said, his panic for her safety evident in his tone.

Smiling, her hand brushed his cheek, wiping dirt away to reveal his Ash Folk markings, before whispering back.

“My King.”