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

58| Up In Smoke - 𝐈

═ 𝘜𝘱 𝘐𝘯 𝘚𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 ═

[TW// Brief mention of implied weight loss/under-eating]

Ari takes back control of her camp, no matter the consequence. And Lancelot is put in a difficult situation between his head and his heart.

❖
welcome to the fire
I'm the one with the lighter
❖

"Are you alright, my love?"

Lancelot stood in the hallway, his back pressed against the stone wall. The white dust of snow fell outside through the window as he listened to his father's voice.

"Is it so wrong of me to wish that the world might burn, for just a moment?" His mother asked, her voice coarse and weak.

Lancelot turned his face and peered through the crack between the heavy oak door and the stone. His father ran his hand over his mother's long raven curls, damp with sweat. Both of them dressed down to a night shirt despite the pale, grey sun lighting the chamber.

"For a moment, I do not think so," Ban said softly, Elaine's eyes staring off to the arched windows. She was quiet for a moment, simply observing as the snow fell across their private gardens.

"Maybe it is time that you acknowledge Hector."

Lancelot watched his father frown, his mother continuing.

"If... If something were to happen to Lance, then the title would still pass on."

Ban dropped his chin towards his chest, the neck of his shirt widely undone and sleeves haphazardly rolled to the elbows. He shifted where he sat on the edge of the bed. "I promised you that I would not," he said.

"That was a different time." Elaine was looking up to him at her side now. "I was... hurt, and angry." She reached for Ban's hand and held it closely to her chest, saying, "Those feelings are long forgotten."

The moment when Ban lifted his eyes was the only time when Lancelot ever saw his father look unsure.

"You are my life," he said, and there was a soft croak in his throat. "I would do anything you ask."

Elaine lifted her hand to Ban's cheek, then to the nape of his neck as she pulled him gently down to where she lay. His forehead touched hers, their eyes closing, and Lancelot looked out again at the falling snow.

~•~

All of this flittering was making Hector skittish as he traipsed after Pym — her red hair flowing on the breeze created by her pace. Ducking their heads this way and that down the next trails they passed and reaching on tip toes to peak above the tents. She'd spoken so fast to explain what she was doing in such a hurry that he hadn't processed any of what she had blurted to him. Hector had only hoped to steal a moment with her. He'd never intended to join a frantic man hunt.