Chapter Text
"Again."
That damn voice. And that damn word that he would not stop uttering. Again, and again, and again. Just like everything else in your life, wanting more, and more and more.
With your forehead resting on the dirt ground of the training field, you flipped your head up, sweaty hair hitting your back as you gave the short man standing above you a nasty glare.
Your father only gave you a Cheshire grin in return. His childlike appearance masked the menacing thoughts that were surely stirring in that tiny brain of his.
You spit the blood out of your mouth and stumbled up. Your left leg swept back as you took a fighting stance. Your balance was wobbly, the hours of training weighing down your limbs. You didn't mind the fighting; it was the fact that you couldn't seem to stay standing for more than two minutes that was eating away at your nerves.
The smile didn't drop from Meliodas's face as he raised his blade and once again pointed the sharp tip at you.
"Y'know, this would've been over a long time ago if you actually used your magic~" he teased, flicking his wrist and letting the blade whip through the air.
You eyed the sharp weapon warily, remembering the harsh blow it'd given you a minute prior.
"You'd just use Full Counter, and I'd land on my ass a mile away," you scoffed. No amount of magic from you would ever allow you to beat him---at least not yet. It was better to hone your combat skills, for the eventual moment when your magic failed you in a life-or-death situation.
Your spear lay discarded at your feet, with a flick of your ankle, you kicked the weapon upwards and back into your waiting palm. The familiar weight was the only comfort you could get in this situation. It may have been made out of light wood, but the fairy magic pulsing through it made it as durable as you could get.
"Well, you end up on your ass either way, so I don't see what the problem is," he gave a dramatic sigh.
You raised an eyebrow, "Ouch. You're a hero of legend fighting a 16-year-old, there was only one outcome. I just chose the one that wouldn't have mom scolding us both."
Meliodas looked like he was about to shrug your words off until he tensed, and like a lightning strike realization seemed to hit him. You didn't need to guess to know that a torrent of memories was running through him. Specifically, the rare but terrifying moments when your mother would get angry at her husband and daughter's antics. A shudder ran down your back at the thought, no matter how scary your father was it was your mother who had a knack for making you fear for your life.
"Yeah. . ." Meliodas trailed off and then sheathed his blade. "That's enough for today! Wouldn't wanna tire you out too much, y'know?"
Your fighting posture relaxed, and a confused expression made its way to your face, "bullshit! We usually don't stop training until I'm passed out and half dead!!"
A normal person would've cried with relief at an early break from this hellish training. But getting a chance to train with your father was so rare that you hated the thought of even suggesting cutting it off early. You had begged him for weeks for this one session, and you weren't about to let it go that easily.
Meliodas shrugged, his eyes closing as he folded his arms behind his head, "think of this as an early birthday present then. Besides, we have an important guest making his return today, can't have you passed out for that!"
You wanted to protest, but the meaning behind his words caught your attention. An important guest making his return? You paused, fighting back an audible groan. There was only one person that came to mind, and it was so very like your father to try and make things more difficult than they needed to be.
"Lance?" You muttered in exasperation, silently begging that your guess was as ridiculous as it sounded.
"Yep!" He gave a cheerful reply, and you could practically feel the amusement coming off him in waves. "I'm sure you and Tristan will be so thrilled that your best buddy is finally back after six years! It took a while to contact him, but given the circumstances, it had to be done."
You dropped your spear, sinking to your knees and letting your forehead hit the ground again. An aura of dread fell over you, so great that you couldn't help but feel the urge to full on cry.
"I wanna be knocked out now," you mumbled.
And with no mercy whatsoever, Meliodas just laughed and nudged you with his foot. "Nah, where's the fun in that? Elizabeth wants him to join us for dinner, so go wash up before then. He should be here within the hour."
𓆩✧𓆪
You took your sweet time in the bath. Letting the layers of dirt from training soak out of your pores and instead be replaced by the sweet essence of your usual bath petals and oils. It wasn't every day you got to enjoy yourself, and this definitely wasn't one of those days. But you'd be damned if you allowed yourself to be punctual to a dinner you had no business being at.
The Liones family always had weekly dinners, so this wasn't anything new. But your whole family + Lancelot? You fought back a groan at the thought and buried your face deeper underwater. If the awkwardness didn't kill you, he sure would.
It wasn't like you and Lancelot were mortal enemies. Once upon a time, it was quite the opposite. But growing up had changed the childhood friendship the two of you shared along with your brother, Tristan.
Unbeknownst to the adults, you'd seen Lancelot a few times since his disappearance from Benwick. He'd been in his ugly little fairy form during those few run-ins, and they'd never gone well. Usually just a lot of arguing and life-threatening situations.
Typical Seven Deadly Sin antics you'd both inherited from your parents, you'd supposed.
The last time you'd seen him was two years ago, and to sum it up, you'd stolen his favorite short sword. No further explanation was needed, but—
The whole bathing room went dark in an instant. The few candles surrounding the pool of water you were in simultaneously snuffed out as well as the balls of light magic floating above that usually kept the room lit.
You cursed, taking your hand out of the water to summon a ball of your own light. It let you see the edge of your bath, but nothing else in the room. As far as your senses could tell, there was no one else nearby. You stood up, ringing out your hair before stepping out of the pool and fumbling for a folded towel you'd put on the edge beforehand.
You released the ball of light and guided it to float around your head. Nothing was tipping off your danger senses, so you weren't exactly spooked by the sudden lights out. You wrapped the towel around you and stepped into your bed chambers. The wide expanse of your room was also pitch black, and the curtains were drawn shut.
You have got to be kidding me.
An irk of annoyance went through you as you realized what was going on. You raised your hand, particles of light gathering in your palm.
"Ark," you uttered the word louder than necessary, and a torrent of bright light exploded across the room. Illuminating every surface, thanks to the half-formed way you released it.
"Aah! Wait, my eyes!" The panicked cries of your bratty cousin let you know your hunch was correct.
You rolled your eyes and walked over to your balcony windows. Tugging a robe on, you then proceeded to open the curtains just as your magic faded, returning the natural light to your room.
"You shouldn't have snuck in and extinguished all my lights if you didn't want to be blinded," you remarked sarcastically.
"Lord Tristan told me to fetch you for dinner," Chion muttered, rubbing his eyes.
You turned around and gave him an unconvinced stare, "Did he? Or did he wonder where I was and you decided to come get me like a loyal puppy? Are you that desperate for a pat on the head? A treat?"
"Maybe I'd be your loyal puppy if you weren't a bitch yourself," he sneered.
"Why would I want a pervert dog that lures girls out of the bathtub?" You shot back, walking to your vanity and grabbing a hair brush. You sat down and started to detangle your hair as Chion glared at you, clearly thinking over the consequences of strangling a princess of the realm.
"Oh please, you flatter yourself, cousin," he curled his lip in disgust. "It was the only way to get you out. If I'd knocked or even spoken, you'd lock yourself inside and refuse to come down to dinner."
You gave a half-shrug, no argument to give. He was completely right for once. Your guard would've been put up even more if someone had tried to coax you out, and you would've barricaded yourself in your room until the dinner was completely over. Now that you'd been caught and it was the tattle tale, of all people, you couldn't even try to skip it. One word from Chion and your father would hunt you down and drag you back by the ear.
You put down your brush and grabbed a light evening gown from your wardrobe. Without even sparring a glance at Chion, you stepped behind your privacy screen and proceeded to change.
"You mind being useful for once and drying my hair with that wind magic of yours?" You tried to speak politely, but being nice to your cousin didn't exactly come easy. He must've been adopted with that horrible personality of his, it was borderline sadistic compared to his parents.
You walked back into view, gaze landing on the slightly peeved expression of Chion's usually angry face. You were surprised he hadn't fully snapped at you yet. Maybe Lancelot's wasn't just agitating you. He did have somewhat of an unpleasant reputation, and Chion had never liked sharing his family with everyone. Especially, Tristan.
"Sylph," he muttered in annoyance.
A gust of wind blew past you a second later, whirling around your neck and then gently breezing through your wet hair until the water was completely gone, and left it feeling light and fluffy. You let out a hum of appreciation, turning to your mirror to fix it up into your usual hairstyle.
"Are you almost done yet? No amount of staring in a mirror is going to make you pretty," Chion snarked.
You contemplated throwing a shoe at him. But he was probably dropped so much as a baby that an attack like that would have no effect.
"You're such a brat," you muttered, turning around and walking to the door. Just when you reached for the doorknob, a familiar magic signature pulsed through you. Making your heart leap in your chest, tensing in shock. A whirlwind of emotions swept you up, not as positive as it should've been in this situation. There was something different about that signature, something powerful.
Lancelot was in range, but was it truly him this time?
Chion immediately noticed your slip-up, and like the little asshole he was, he let out the biggest cackle of his life. Knee slapping and everything.
"Is the little princess actually scared?!" He pointed and laughed at you. "Hilarious! You talk all that big game, but the thought of seeing Lancelot again really disrupted your magical signature? AHA HA HAH HA!"
Yeah, maybe a couple hundred shoe throws would do the trick.
𓆩✧𓆪
You waltzed right into the dining room, hoping you didn't look as nervous as you felt. Chion was right on your tale, nursing a bruise that had mysteriously appeared. You were thankful he had finally shut up, now you could actually focus on the task at hand.
"You made it!" Your mother exclaimed in a happy voice and you gave her a smile in return.
The long dining table in the middle of the room held 8 seats, two at the heads, and three on both sides. It was packed full of every delicacy the Kingdom of Liones could offer, from roasted pig to ambrosia fruit. The long rows of windows on the wall overlooking the rest of the kingdom showed off a lovely orange sunset. And the perfectly placed candles tied everything together, it would've been a lovely dinner if not for the blonde boy at the far end of the table.
He sat at the head, right across from your father, but instead of focusing on the King, his host, Lancelot's ruby eyes were utterly fixated on you. You felt enthralled, his presence drawing you in. Gone was the young boy you once fought to cure your mother's sickness with.
This was a warrior. His hair was shorter and cut in a wild way that truly matched his personality. Muscles so defined through his sleeveless hoodie that you almost had to do a double take to make sure your eyes weren't deceiving you.
And an ever-perceptive Lancelot caught the quick glance of your eyes. A slow, fox-like smirk made its way to his face.
He-he wasn't reading your thoughts, was he? No, you'd made sure to conceal them the second you'd sensed his presence.
But still—that smile unnerved you.
You tried to avoid Lancelot's gaze and instead scanned the table for an available seat. But low and behold, the consequences of your actions decided to rear its ugly head.
"Y/n! I saved you a spot!" Your energetic brother waved you over, his innocent smile wasn't as deceiving as your father's. But that didn't mean it wasn't accompanied by an unwanted gesture. Because the seat Tristan had so kindly saved for you, was completely on brand for his acts of kindness that had a tendency to backfire.
You stilled your face as neutral as you could get it before walking across the room to sit in the only available chair. Seated on Lancelot's right with Chion across from you, what a fun night this would be.
You could still feel his eyes burning holes in your head. You couldn't tell if it was an angry stare, or something entirely unpredictable. That sense of uncertainty made your heart race.
"So," you picked at the food placed in front of you. "No Grandpa?"
It was a polite attempt at small talk, anything to get your attention off the boy sitting next to you.
Elizabeth shook her head, a sheepish smile on her face, "No, his joints have been bothering him more than usual, my magic can only do so much."
"I'm sure your magic has helped Grandpa a lot!" Tristan exclaimed, feeling defensive of his mother's humility.
Sentiments of empathy and concern were expressed by the rest of the table. Besides your grandfather, every Liones family member currently in the country was in attendance. Gilthunder, Margret, Chion, your parents and Tristan. It was usually a lively dinner when they were all in attendance, but for some reason, an air of caution hung over the adults. Was it Lancelot's presence? Or something worse?
"That's probably for the best," Margret agreed with a smile.
"Family dinners can get quite chaotic," Gilthunder nodded along. "It'll give him a break from it all."
"Break from staring into my soul the whole time," you muttered.
A confused silence fell over the room. The clattering of forks and knives stalled as if everyone was torn between being offended or amused by your dry humor. It wasn't like you were insulting your grandfather, more like stating the truth. Because that is quite literally what he did every time he was around you. Never spoke, just stared.
You lifted your gaze to scan the table, and much to your surprise it was your uncle Gilthunder who was fighting back a laugh. No one else seemed to be amused, Margret, Elizabeth, and Tristan wore matching expressions of awkward smiles. Maybe your father found it funny, but he was far too skilled at shielding his emotions for that. Chion had just rolled his eyes at you---
A muffled snort could be heard from the end of the table to your left. You turned to look, only to be met with the cool demeanor Lancelot usually wore as he picked at his turkey.
Were you imagining it? Or had he actually laughed?
"You know how he gets, Y/n," Elizabeth reasoned, ever the peacemaker. "That prophecy from seven years ago still haunts him."
You nodded like you understood, but in reality, nothing could defend the way he'd been treating you since that day. You didn't care how traumatizing said prophecy was, it'd been seven years, and it clearly wasn't that big of a deal now. And you missed the grandfather who would spoil you rotten and love you with all of his heart. Not one who couldn't even touch you without recoiling.
"Speaking of haunting prophecies," Meliodas chirped in. "Thetis has something to tell everyone."
As her name was spoken, the laid-back mage seemed to appear out of thin air right beside your father's seat. Her posture gave off an uncaring attitude which was a stark contrast to the anxiety rippling through everyone at the table.
"Prophecy?" Lancelot echoed. "Is that why you called me here?"
His question was aimed at Meliodas who gave Lancelot a single nod. A shiver ran down your back. What was so important about this prophecy that he had to be dragged out here to hear it personally?
Thetis tapped her staff against the ground two times. A rush of magic vibrated from the bottom of it, spreading across the floor and up the walls, to the ceiling until it coated every crack and edge of the room. Something clicked into place, and you realized she had completely sealed off the dining room from outside ears.
Definitely important then.
"We thought it would be best to inform members of the royal family first, then the higher-ups of the Holy Knights," she explained, dully. "The old king has had another prophecy, foretelling knights who will bring about four apocalyptic calamities that will destroy the world. In this vision, he was shown four hazy figures, a knight of famine possessing gold-colored magic. A knight of death with verdant, wing-like hair. A mysterious knight of war with no fixed appearance and finally,"
Thetis paused, eyes landing on the left side of the table where Tristan and you sat.
"A knight of pestilence with both holiness and evil in his eyes."
You and Tristan both slowly turned to look at each other, fully aware of everyone else's eyes on you, and the tense silence. There was a clear flicker of genuine fear in his heterochromatic eyes. His gentle demeanor had been replaced by a bundle of anxiety.
A prophecy about Tristan destroying the world? You almost laughed.
Your twin brother could see you fighting off any form of amusement. And his expression morphed into one of slight annoyance.
"It's not funny," he grumbled.
"It kinda is," you mumbled back. "You haven't won a fight against me in. . .years."
"You don't need to say that out loud," Tristan muttered.
You shrugged and instead looked back to Thetis and your father. "So, four knights destined to kill us all? The boy with holiness and evil in his eyes has to be Tristan, what about the other three?"
"You're joking right?" Chion practically jumped out of his chair. "Lord Tristan could never destroy the world! The old man must finally be losing his mind."
"Sit down, Chion," Margret urged.
"We think this so-called apocalypse the four knights will bring isn't destined for this world, but the one of Camelot. Meaning they'll be the heroes to defeat Arthur and his knights," Meliodas explained further.
"That's a relief," Elizabeth chimed in, "but are we sure it's about Tristan?" She glanced down the table with a worried look. "These visions are entirely up to fathers interpretation. He does have a habit of interpreting them wrong,"
Thetis tilted her head as if considering her words. "I suppose you're right. He described a vision of four hazy figures with only a few distinct features."
Meliodas nodded, "For all we know, the prophecy could be referring to Y/n. The knight of pestilence with both holiness and evil? She and Tristan can summon the Goddess and Demon clan magic which gives them the split eyes. So either one of them would fit the criteria."
You grimaced at the thought. You? A knight of prophecy? You hoped everyone else realized how ridiculous the sentiment was. Tristan was much more fit to be a hero who would one day destroy Camelot and its egotistical King, Arthur. You on the other hand couldn't even summon an Ark properly.
Not to mention the unmovable, tight gold bracelet on your wrist that just made the whole hero of prophecy thing much more impossible.
"I suppose either option makes sense," Lancelot's deep voice drew your attention. His agreement surprising you.
You didn't think he'd ever see you as someone worthy of a title like that. Your eyes met his again, and you couldn't help but stare. You found yourself lost in the ruby red of his irises. This time, fully taking him in.
You remembered the last time you'd seen him. And the time before that, and the time before that. The way he'd always appear as a different ugly fairy each time, orange hair, blue hair. Brown skin, pale skin. It always scared the shit out of you, especially when he'd malled your face as a fox.
You tilted your head as a thought struck you, one that you let slip through the mental barrier you had thrown up to protect yourself from Lancelot's mind reading.
His eyes widened as he realized what you were getting at.
"Who else?" You questioned.
Lancelot turned forward, "This information, telling me about the prophecy. It's not the only reason you called me here, was it?"
"He's the mysterious knight of war with no fixed appearance," You guessed, almost standing up.
It wasn't much of a reach. Lancelot switched appearances so much that you were half-convinced he really could look like anyone.
Your father nodded, "When I heard the prophecy. You were the only person who came to mind. Which means that at the least, we have two of the four knights of prophecy identified." He held up two fingers, and everyone sat in anticipation. "This information has somehow made its way to Camelot and Arthur. A threat destined to destroy them won't be so easily ignored, I'd imagine he'll start sending his knights out to search for and eliminate the other two knights of prophecy. Which means we have to find them first."
𓆩✧𓆪
The war briefing that took place in the middle of dinner was concluded with a simple warning that further talks would be continued the next day. Everything they unveiled had completely rid you of whatever appetite you thought you had. And you excused yourself the second you had a chance.
The clicking of your heels against the carpet of the castle floors echoed through the silence. It accompanied your blurred thoughts and the slight ache that was forming between your brows. A plan for the future and how the Knights of the Apocalypse would be dealt with was what weighed the heaviest. If two of the future heroes were only 16 years old, you imagined the other half was similar in age.
Was this really who would defend Britannia? An unformed, untested, and untrained order of Knights? Arthur wouldn't be shaking in his boots when he found out, knowing him, he'd probably laugh.
You wondered how soon the prophecy would begin. If there was enough time for Tristan to start training. He was a strong fighter compared to others his age but as a child of goddess and demon royalty? He was nowhere near the level he should be. Especially when it came to the control he had over his demon blood.
You bit your lip. You were going to drag Tristan out of bed tomorrow and get his training started early. His battle instincts and magic control needed to be honed as sharply as possible before the prophecy began. You couldn't have him dying on you while he was out saving the world.
A magic presence flashed into being directly behind you. Your nerves flared, hellblaze summoning around your fist as you pivoted and swung.
Lancelot caught your fist and magic attack with practice eased. You extinguished your flames, pulling your hand back like his touch was far more burning than any demon flames.
He gave you an unimpressed look, scanning your figure from top to bottom, "do you always attack childhood friends you haven't seen in six years? Or are your senses just that bad?"
There was a playful undertone to his taunts, so you weren't entirely offended by them. It was his offhanded way he said six years that got you. It seemed he was perfectly content pretending that any run-ins the two of you had while he was 'missing' didn't happen. Considering what happened the last time. . .maybe it was for the best.
"Do you always sneak up on girls who would jump at the chance to hit you?" You joked with a roll of your eyes. "I knew it was you; I haven't lost sight of your signature since you appeared in the Kingdom."
"Oh?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow, the edge of his mouth twitching. "Is that why you've been concealing your thoughts way before I stepped foot in the castle?"
You bristled, his foxlike eyes seeming to tear your every movement apart. He'd gotten so much taller, the way his entire presence seemed to loom over you made you far more nervous than it should have. You realized why people would often mistake him for a girl. Even now that pretty boy face of his seemed to stick well into his teenage years.
"I'm not--" you gulped, straightening your spine and summoning as much bravado as you could. "So what? The only way you'd know that is if you'd been actively searching for my mind throughout Liones."
Your accusation wasn't fully thought out, just the grasp of an idea that you'd blurted out in defense. But to your surprise, Lancelot didn't laugh at the ridiculousness of your words. Instead, he quickly looked away, a flustered expression on his face.
"No, why would I do that?" He mumbled.
Your lips parted in surprise, his blatant lie failing to deceive you. Had he really been telepathically searching for you? You were speechless, a slow flush made its way to your cheeks. And it only worsened when Lancelot glanced back at you, his gaze aimed at your lips.
"Um, yeah," you muttered.
An awkward silence fell over the two of you, and you couldn't help but wonder if just maybe, Lancelot wasn't as angry you thought he'd be. Thinking about it now, your last encounter wasn't as terrible as it seemed in the aftermath. And you didn't have the heart to be upset at him any longer either.
"Is there. . .a reason you left the dining room to find me?" You asked, hesitantly.
Lancelot gratefully took the opportunity to change the subject. His cool exterior returned, as he cleared his throat.
"Right, about that," his posture straightened, and amusement twinkled in his eyes. "Do you still fight with a short sword? About yay big," he gestured the length with his hands, "brown hilt, gold trimming, a super cool fox symbol etched into the metal?"
The exact sword he was describing appeared in your mind's eye, the one you had stolen from him two years ago. You let a confused expression form on your face.
"Uhh, no? I don't know what you're talking about, maybe ask Tristan," you shrugged your shoulders, playing dumb as you turned around and started to walk away.
Lancelot was at your shoulder in an instant, following after you with an annoyed expression. "Ask Tristan, really? If I remember correctly, you're the one who ran off with my sword two years ago."
"We're acknowledging the run-ins now, are we?" You asked sarcastically.
"You know that's not what I meant, I just want my sword, Y/n," Lancelot urged.
"I don't really wanna give it back, though."
He groaned, "Let me see it, dumbass. I'll give it back afterward, I swear."
"It's down at the training grounds," you let up. "Let me get changed into something lighter, then we'll go fetch it."
𓆩✧𓆪
Lancelot patiently waited outside of your room while you changed out of your evening gown and into a pair of casual clothes. You wanted to be prepared in case he did try and steal your sword. As much as you would've loved to outright refuse him, Lancelot had a habit of pestering you until you eventually agreed to whatever he wanted.
Agreeing before then was the easy way out, you supposed.
The cool air of the training grounds was pleasant on your flushed face. The sun was almost set on the dirt grounds behind the castle. It smelled of mud and rust, a familiar smell that put your racing mind at ease as your boots hit against the ground.
The wall of the stone castle was lined with weapons, and directly in the middle was where you had placed your short sword last. You walked over and grabbed it, flipping it up and down as you turned to face Lancelot.
"Here, in perfect shape," you said, tossing it over to him.
He easily caught it with his left hand, holding it up to examine. And then he stretched his arm out, flicking his wrist so that the sword whooshed through the air a couple of times. After he was done testing it out, he glanced back at you.
"Let's go for a round," he offered nonchalantly, leg shifting back in a fighting stance with the sword raised.
You gave him an apprehensive look. Your muscles were still too sore from your session with your father, you couldn't imagine going toe to toe with the boy in front of you. But in the back of your mind, you couldn't let yourself back down from a challenge. You were far too competitive for that.
You shrugged, turning away and walking back to the wall of weapons to pick up your spear.
"When did you become a lefty?" You asked, suspiciously.
Lancelot rested the blade against his shoulder, "it's more stylish this way."
You turned around, spear in hand. "You're joking, right? It's so absurd that it's on brand for you, I guess."
He seemed like he was about to reply to your remark when his ruby eyes got caught on your weapon. His expression softened, and a small smile formed on his lips.
"You still have that old thing?" He questioned.
You twirled the spear, "I wouldn't call a magic item 'old', but yes, not for any particular reason. It's just good for my fighting style."
It was an obvious lie, one that Lancelot found amusing.
You still remembered the day he'd gifted the spear to you. A weapon made from a branch of the Sacred Tree. It didn't have any special powers, other than being able to conduct your magic smoothly with excellent durability. A part of you wondered why he had ever given ten-year-old you such a gift, but you refused to part ways with it ever since.
Lancelot charged you, a clear test to feel out your strength. Maybe it was meant to be a surprise, but your reflexes were too sharp for that.
You parried the blow with ease, a smirk on your face as Lancelot stumbled back to survey you again. You both began to circle each other.
"Magic or no magic?" He inquired.
"No magic," you answered, tapping the side of your forehead where on Lancelot--a scar still laid there. "Unless you want another wound from the other twin? To balance it out, y'know?"
Lancelot huffed at your taunt, and in the blink of an eye, he was behind you, sword raised.
Your heart leaped in your chest, barely registering his presence in time. You fell to a crouch, dodging the swing of his blade.
He was fast. Far faster than you would've ever guessed.
You shot the tip of your spear up as your body went down, aiming for his head. But of course, he backed up just in time to avoid your strike.
This sparring session was all in good entertainment. Both of you were holding back a considerable amount, but that didn't mean the fight was easy.
The two of you continued to exchange blows until your adrenaline was all worn out. Both of you were slightly out of breath when night had fallen.
A silent agreement was made, and the fight ended.
"There was something else I wanted to ask you."
The cold night enveloped your figure, seeping into your thin clothes. The sweat on your body only made the temperature worse.
Lancelot's deep voice was accompanied by the sound of crickets chirping. You thought you could hear an owl hoot as he took a few steps closer.
He was a foot away when he said, "Leave with me, not Tristan."
A warmth spread through your body while a gentle confusion took hold of your mind. Leave with him? You remembered your father's orders. Lancelot would go one way, and you and Tristan would go the other. In search of the other two Knights of the Apocalypse. That the three of you would be entrusted with assembling the Knights of Prophecy before Camelot could ever kill them.
"Go with you?" You echoed softly.
He nodded, sheathing your blade in the scabbard at his back.
"I swore to give you this sword back, but I never said when. Come with me, get it back yourself." Lancelot stared at you, and there was a look in his eyes you couldn't quite read. Whatever he was thinking was beyond you. Whether this sword thing was a trick or a genuine tactic, you didn't know.
He held his hand out, palm up. An offering, a chance for something more.
Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his. The warmth of his calloused hand seeping into your skin. A shiver ran down your back at his touch.
"Okay," you mumbled, staring back into his eyes. "I'll go with you, Lance."
That damn childhood nickname. You couldn't help the way it slipped out. Again, and again and again. You could never refuse the boy in front of you. If he wanted everything, you would give that and more, more, and more.
𓆩✧𓆪