[2] WEEPING MONK║you're not what I was looking for

56| Tears Of A Monk - 𝐈

═ 𝘛𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘒 ═

[TW// Sickness and injury. Strong language. Mentions of blood. Anxiety, grief, a touch of depression]

Lancelot lives his worst nightmare. Pym uncovers a secret and Hector makes a bold decision.

❖
sleight of hand and twist of fate
on a bed of nails she makes me wait
❖

The forest felt wrong.

Whatever fever had briefly overcome Lancelot had subsided — the water had done its job to cool his forehead and hands. A few minutes of listening to the stream as it babbled past his feet, and he'd regathered enough of his equilibrium to begin walking back to the armoury and continue with his work. Though the nearer he got to the shelter, the more he felt as if he should keep on walking.

When the whispers came slithering along the ground, he wasn't surprised. None of this morning was sitting well in his stomach. First Ari, then his unprecedented sickness. And now the Hidden were making his spine tingle. He was starting to hate coincidences more than he already did.

They called him towards the clearing while the grey morning sky darkened above him. Confirming again that the forest felt wrong. At first he couldn't make out what was being hushed in a cacophony to him. Their voices were more alike to random, airy sounds than coherent words — jumbling into drawn out and breathless sounds that could passingly resemble some sort of language.

But then he heard her, his mother's soothing voice.

Help her.

Lancelot picked up his pace, shook off his limp and headed faster for the clearing. Help who? He could see people through the tunnel of tents, though none looked as though they needed help. They probably wouldn't want it from him of all people anyway. And if there was trouble then there was sure to be more noise than ordinary chatter.

Help her, Lancelot — his mother begged him.

"Help who?" Lancelot muttered aloud, hoping that he would get an answer. The two women that he passed by in the trail grimaced at him. Looks of 'what is wrong with you?' But he paid them no attention.

His tears burned over his cheeks again.

Her.

From the farthest edge of the clearing opposite him he heard shouts of help, healer, and most worryingly of all, the queen. Then he saw people running.

Lancelot's heart had never dropped so low. "Ari."

He chased after them along a crowded trail — fuck his wound. Dodging right, he veered down a sparser trail at speed and cut most of the others off. Shouts for help still came above the commotion. I should never have let her go. He'd known that there was something not right and he'd allowed for her to ride out with the patrol anyway.