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nashibirne · 3 years

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Well, alright...this is my first try on a Cursed fic. I really liked the Netflix show and -of course- the Weeping Monk aka Daniel Sharman. I kinda have the sad feeling that the fandom's pretty dead but maybe someone who follows the tag is interested in this.

I'll use my regular tag list from the Henry Cavill fandom here, maybe one or two of you guys like Cursed, too, but please feel free to let me know if you want to be removed from the taglist for this particular story.

So now, enjoy and it would be great if you'd leave me a comment, reblog and/or like 🖤

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From Ashes to Fire

Pairing: Lancelot/The Weeping Monk x ofc (Oda)

Words: ~ 2.8k

Summary: Lancelot and Squirrel are in need of help because the boy is very sick. They find shelter at a farm and Oda, the woman who lives there, awakens feelings in the Weeping Monk he hasn't known before. (Okay... this summary sucks... it's basically a slow burn with a lot a mutual pining and angst of two characters who know nothing about love...yet)

Warnings: Mention of illness, self flagellation, angst, that's it for now I guess. Still 18+!

UNBETA'ED! English is not my mother tongue, so expect bad grammar, wrong spelling, chaotic punctuation and clumsy language. All mistakes are mine…

Disclaimer/Credits: I don't own anything related to Cursed, pics for the moodboard from Pinterest

Nashi's Masterlist

********

Prologue

They had been riding for hours now in total silence, both of them too tired and exhausted to utter just one single word. Night had passed and the new day had treated them with derision, when showing them all the beauty of a sunrise on a cloudless sky against the backdrop of a pittoresk scenery. It felt like God was having a good laugh about them - the fallen warrior monk and the lost orphan fey boy.

It was the man who spoke the first words, while riding through a blossoming heath that seemed to go on forever.

"What is your name, boy?" His voice was rough and husky from pain and frazzle.

"Squirrel," the child said without looking at him.

"A squirrel is an animal. What name were you given?"

"I don't like that name."

"It's still your name."

The boy rolled his eyes, too tired for an argument, giving in much easier than it would have been typical for him.

"Fine. It's Percival."

"Percival," the man who used to be the Weeping Monk repeated pensively.

From his lips the name didn't sound so bad at all, Squirrel thought. He didn't seem to find it strange or unusual like his friends back home. A home that no longer existed.

"Do you have a real name?" He wanted to know.

"Lancelot. A long time ago my name was Lancelot," his companion said, unable to remember when he had used this name for the last time or who had called him that. His mother? His father? Probably. He hardly remembered their voices or their faces but he remembered the note of love in their tone when they called for their little boy. That was before he became aware that he was a demon just like them, before he was snatched away from them, before Father Carden had given him shelter and mercy, trying to heal him, to lead him on the road to salvation.

The boy sensed the tension that was starting to build inside of the man who had saved his life. He turned around and looked at him with a tiny frown but he remained silent and so they rode on for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. It was almost noon when Squirrel asked the question the man had no answer to.

"Where are we going?"

"Nowhere," he tried to shrug it off.

"You can't go to Nowhere. It's not a place."

"Anywhere then."

Percival turned around, looking at the monk as if he was a mad man.

"You don't know it?"

"We'll see. God will guide us," he said to make him shut up.

"Let's hope it's our gods, not yours. He seems to find pleasure in misleading his people," Squirrel answered with a hint of a grin and the innocent wisdom of a child.

Four weeks later, they still hadn't arrived anywhere. Nowhere. They were still on the road, heading north without a destination. They hadn't been in a hurry till now, they had been taking their time. At first because they were both injured and exhausted. After a few days their physical wounds slowly started to heal and their spirits revived. But there still was simply no need for haste and so they stayed here and there for a few days, slowly getting to know each other better, slowly coming to trust each other as much as possible.

The land they were crossing now was deserted, empty of people but rich with the most beautiful scenery, formed by undulating hills, cloud-capped mountains, lush, green meadows and mighty woods. As much as Lancelot normally enjoyed the peaceful solitude, now that they were in urgent need of help, he was constantly cursing this wasteland, where not a single human soul was to be found.

After spending a few days in a little village to restock some food and to enjoy sleeping in a comfortable bed once again, everything seemed to be fine but on the third day on the road again, Squirrel started to feel sick, complaining about a sore throat and headaches. Lancelot didn't make too much of it, considering it to be just a cold, but when the boy became feverish, his skin glowing hot while he was shaking like a leaf, he was worried. When the sides of Percival's neck started to swell immensely, worry was replaced by panic and fear.

So now he found himself holding the drained boy in his arms like a liveless ragdoll, driving his horse on mercilessly, looking for any kind of help or at least a flicker of hope, a sign, anything to prevent Squirrel from dying.

As dusk was already falling silently he finally came across a house, a little farm apparently, and he could have jumped for joy when he saw smoke coming from the chimney and the flickering light of candles or a fire illuminating the small windows.

***

The heavy, desperate knocks on the door startled her. She was doing some very complicated embroidery on a cushion cover that needed a lot of concentration. She put the frame aside with a frown, wondering who would possibly want to see her at this ungodly hour.

"Coming," she said, after another impatient knock, sounding much calmer than she actually was. Life had taught her the hard way to be on the alert, when unexpected callers showed up.

When she opened the door hesitantly and saw the man with the unconscious boy in his arms, realizing immediately that the child was in danger, all caution was thrown in the wind and she rushed them in, pointing at her bed wordlessly, giving the man an encouraging nod. He laid the boy down carefully, turning around to her with a helpless expression on his worried face.

"What's happened?" She asked, stepping closer to take a look at the patient.

"I don't know. He felt sick all of the sudden, he's been feverish for days and then his neck…."

"Goodness," she whispered when she saw that there was a heavy swelling on both sides of his throat. She bent over the child, stroking his hair tenderly, whispering soothing words although he was still passed out.

"Did he have a sore throat? Nausea? Extreme tiredness?"

The man nodded, staring at her.

"Alright. I've seen this before..."

"What is it?"

"A kind of glandular fever."

"Can you help him?" He asked pleadingly.

She gave him a shrug and an insecure smile.

"I'll do my very best. My brother suffered from the same fever when I was a child. I think I remember what my father did back then."

"So your brother's survived this? You'll heal him?"

"As I said, I'll do everything in my power."

She turned to the boy to examine him but the man grabbed her by her sleeve, making her look at him again.

"Has your brother survived?"

He stared at her and for the first time she noticed the birth marks around his eyes that made him look like he was shedding dark tears. His intense gaze made her shudder but she held it.

"No," she admitted, "but he was much younger than your son, only five years old and in poor health from birth."

"He's not my son."

"Well, whatever he is to you. If you want me to help him, you better step aside and let me do my work."

And so he sank down on a chair in the corner of the room, out of sight, out of reach, doomed to just sit there and watch instead of doing something to save Percival himself.

***

An hour later the woman joined him, drying her hands on a cloth before wiping her forehead with a deep sigh of exhaustion and relief.

"Cold leg compresses to lower his temperature, thyme oil on his chest to make it easier for him to breathe and a cup of lime blossom tea to make him sweat out the fever, that's all I could do for now. It was pretty hard to convince him to drink. He's a stubborn little guy."

"He's awake?" The man with the strange eyes stared at her with a frown.

"When I put the cool, wet linen around his legs, he regained consciousness. He was confused but not delirious. He's fast asleep now again."

"So he will live?"

"If the fever goes down and he survives the night, he will be alright. But as far as I know it takes a long time to recover from this kind of illness. Weeks, months...the patients are weakened by the fever and the tiredness remains for a pretty long time."

"I don't care as long as he survives. I'll be forever in your debt." He gave her a faint smile and a nod. "I'm Lancelot, by the way. The boy's called Percival, he's my ward."

"My name is Oda and you owe me nothing at all", she said, returning his smile. "But maybe we should pray for Percival."

Lancelot flinched. He hadn't prayed just once since leaving Father Carden and the Red Paladins. He wasn't even sure if he still believed in their god but when Oda kneeled down on the floor beside Squirrel's bed, her hands clasped, her head bent down, he joined her, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving to a silent prayer without his doing, by sheer force of habit.

He was equally surprised and relieved, when the prayer he heard Oda whisper was not a Christian one. It was heathen but it still had the power to soothe the turmoil within him and to give him the flicker of hope he'd been searching for.

They kept praying for hours, taking turns in speaking the words. When their knees started to hurt, they went on, standing beside the boy. When they weren't able to stand up straight anymore, they sat down. Lancelot on the edge of the bed, Oda on the armchair beside the fireplace. When her murmur eventually stopped, the monk turned to her.

She had fallen asleep, her head hanging on her shoulder in an angle that would cause her neck pain in the morning without a doubt. Lancelot let go of Squirrels hand, he'd been holding for hours now and got up. He took a cushion from the corner bench beside the stove and placed it carefully between her shoulder and her chin to support her head. When he pulled away his hand, his fingers brushed against her cheek. The skin on her face was cool and very soft. Completely different from her rough hands that showed the hard work they were doing at this little farm, apparently all on her own. The house was neat and tidy, the garden outside small but lush, the barn and the stable seemed to be shipshape and Bristol fashion from what he had seen when they arrived. Although she obviously wasn't wealthy she seemed to have a secure livelihood and that was pretty impressive.

He looked at her again and her soft snoring that sounded like the content purring of a cat, made his body tingle. The rest of her appearance was not cat-like at all. His gaze wandered from her round hips to her ample bosom that was heaving slowly to the rhythm of her breathing and to her pretty, little mouth with the full, heart shaped lips. Oda wasn't small, cute or smooth, there was nothing feline about her. She was more like a pretty mare. Strong and elegant but sensitive and wary. She was a tall woman, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder in a thick plait. Her body was curvy, voluptuous and desirable.

As soon as the dirty thoughts crossed his mind, his face started to burn with shame. What was he doing? Squirrel was facing death and he had impure and indecent thoughts that set his loins on fire. Father Caden had been right. He was rotten to the core, an abnormality, possessed by a dark, immoral demon. He just wished he had taken his flagellum with him to scourge himself, to punish himself for his deviant thoughts, for the desires of his flesh, he just wasn't able to suppress or control.

A whimpering sound, coming from the bed interrupted his self-hatred. He rushed to Squirrel's side and to his big relief he found him awake. "I'm thirsty," the boy whispered, his lips dry and rough like sandpaper.

"Of course, wait…"

He fetched a cup of water and helped the boy to drink it slowly with small sips.

"Hello Percival," he heard Oda's soft voice right behind him. When he looked at her over his shoulder she gave him a sheepish smile, mouthing 'sorry' at him, obviously uncomfortable with the fact that she had fallen asleep. He shook his head, returning her smile, stepping aside to give her some space.

"I'm Oda," she said to her patient in a soothing tone, leaning over him to touch his forehead. To her big relief his skin wasn't burning anymore. It was still warm, but he seemed to be off the danger list. "You're in my house, Lancelot has brought you here. How are you feeling, boy?"

"Hungry," he answered and both Oda as well as the monk exhaled with audible relief, sharing a grateful smile, sending up a quick prayer.

"And you shall eat," Oda beamed at him, clapping her hands. "Just give me a minute."

She left Squirrel and Lancelot and started to putter in the kitchen, humming a jolly melody.

"Who is she?" The boy asked, obviously confused.

"I don't know. I just stopped at the first house that came in sight," Lancelot explained. "I think we can trust her."

Percival nodded slowly.

"Yes, we can."

He tried to sit up but he was too weak to do so. The monk helped him and when he was finally sitting, his back resting against the headboard, he took a look around. "It's a nice place. Cozy."

Lancelot nodded in agreement. "It is, but don't get used to it. We can't stay."

"Why not?"

"We don't want to become a burden on her. As soon as you are able to travel again, we're going to leave."

"But…"

Before Squirrel was able to express his objections, Oda came back with a wooden plate, filled with bread and a little bowl of applesauce. Sitting down beside Lancelot on the edge of the bed, she handed the plate over to the boy who started to eat hungrily.

"Slow down, Percival. There's no need to rush."

"Squirrel," he said, smiling at her.

"Sorry?" Oda answered confusedly.

"That's my name. A nickname, but I like it better than my real name."

"Alright," she laughed out loud and the bubbly sound was so warm and sunny, it filled Lancelot's belly with a strange, homelike feeling.

"Do you have a nickname, too?" She flashed the monk a bright smile and he froze at her words, silently praying that Squirrel would keep his mouth shut. The thought of revealing his old identity to her filled him with horror and shame.

"No," he said softly, "I'm fine with Lancelot."

"Well then, Squirrel and Lancelot. Welcome to my home."

When they turned to the boy again, he had fallen asleep mid eating, still holding a piece of bread in his hand. Oda and Lancelot shared an amused smile and while she took the plate and the bread, he pulled the boy close, hugging him quickly, before laying him back down, covering him with a blanket.

Lancelot joined Oda in the kitchen a moment later, sitting down on the corner bench.

"It's such a relief he's doing better," he told her. "I can't thank you enough for helping us."

"Nonsense," she said brusquely, her smile tempering her tone, "it's the least that I could do. And it wasn't much anyway. Just some herbs and cold compresses."

"It was more than I could have done." Lancelot's voice was hardly more than a whisper and she could tell that he was really grateful for her help. She nodded at him with a serious expression.

"You're welcome," she replied almost as softly. "Just pay me back with honesty. And keep me out of trouble."

"Of course."

"Scrambled eggs for breakfast? How does that sound?" Oda said, all smiles and good mood again.

"No, I'm good." Lancelot raised his hands defensively. "Please, I don't want to be a bother."

"Don't be silly," Oda laughed, putting her hands on her hips. "I have to eat, too and you must be starving. Why don't you go outside for a bath in the brook behind the house and I will prepare breakfast."

He looked at her, blushing when he realized that he was probably reeking from every pore after days without having a proper wash and a night bathed in cold sweat.

"Alright."

Lancelot got up and left without another word and Oda couldn't help but follow him with her gaze without really knowing why. The only thing she knew was that this stranger was by far the most mysterious and interesting man she'd ever met.

*********

Taglist

@lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @hell1129-blog @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @luclittlepond @eldarwen333 @meowpurrbooks @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfan @margauxmargaux07 @radaofrivia @m07belzen @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @mary-ann84 @sillyrabbit81 @emelinelovesjc @wheretheriversrunintothesea @lam0ureuxq @kingliam2019 @pandaxnienke @littleone65 @coloraturadiva @cynic-spirit

#cursed netflix #the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed fanfic #weeping monk x ofc #daniel sharman

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

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Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 1- Taken

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 1095

Warnings: None so far!

Prologue

...

"Your tears will get you nowhere, girl."

It was a large man that spoke. The yellow hair that hid half his face gave him an ominous look. Strange dark markings were inked upon his scared flesh, and a mischievous glint sparkled in his blue eyes. He crosses his arms, leaning against the wooden rails of the ship without a care in the world. He decides to watch her, but he always seemed to be watching her.

She didn't know what the giant had said, his native words sounding thick and harsh against her ears. She quickly wipes her face, choosing to turn away from him, but it was the same sight as always. Monks weeping as they struggled to whisper their prayers, holding on to their crosses in a grip that would surely make them bleed, and a few feet away on the other ships were other foreign captives that wept just a fiercely.

They drifted farther away from the island, yet it seemed close enough that if she closed an eye and stretched out an arm, she could touch it. But that was days ago. Their home seemed nonexistent now, like a speck of dust in a vast plane of emptiness. Days went by and all she saw was the blue waves of the Aegean, its current carrying the dragon headed ships away from her home and away from everything she knew.

Sometimes, when she was much younger, she had silly little dreams of adventure, but they were never like this, to be stolen away and placed as cargo aboard a ship.

Her skinned itched, feeling the eyes of strange men on her like flies to a carcass. She was grateful for the cloak she wore, the hood giving her the ridiculous notion of feeling safe. She wasn't safe.

Her mind drifts back to the attack as she stares hopelessly at the tides that push and pull against them.

The speed in which they destroyed the monestary seemed inhuman. They burned sacred texts, scavaging for religious items made of gold and silver. How lucky they were to have found exactly what they were looking for.

After a moment she finally sums up the courage to glance towards the back of the boat. All stolen items were kept there, and the crate was the newest addition to their hoard, full to the brim with precious metals.

A bitter chuckle bubbles within her.

That crate had almost saved her life.

Almost.

The monks removed the items for close inspection before the heathens came, the crate being tossed to the side carelessly. It was a last minute idea really, but it was her only option when she heard them yell of Northmen arriving.

She hid in the crate and prayed, but her prayers weren't answered.

The tales of the Northmen were well know throughout the eastern empire. Merchants whispered of their voyages and pillaging. Such stories were whispered about at the ports whenever her mother would take her to buy fresh fish and octopus.

For so long they were only told as tales. No one believed such men would invade that far into the Mediterranean.

But just as the rest of Greece, Crete was a Christian island, and had been for centuries. That only meant they possibly had as many riches in their holy temples as the ones of England and Frankia.

One of the men was constantly barking out orders, his grating voice reminding her of the squawking of hungry seagulls, and it did not take her long to realize he was their leader.

He was a man with a particular look. His long braided yellow hair whipped against the harsh winds as he commanded his men to steady the sails.

He was also a man with a particular name.

Bjorn.

She learned his name rather quickly, hearing it from the mouths of the men when they looked to him for direction. It was Bjorn who found her, yanking her out of the old box with ease, the tip of his blade pressed against her throat, ready to be sliced. It would have been such an easy kill for him.

She was angry he didn't take the initiative.

He laughed at the sight of her, as did the other men, probably surprised to find a girl among the Christian monks. She knew exactly what their looks meant. She was no stranger to them. They thought her a whore among men and wanted to take that prize back to their homeland.

When one a them attempted to touch her, she growled and spat at his feet, sneering that she was no whore. He didn't understand her, of course, but that didn't stop him from choking her for the disrespect, leaving her a coughing mess as he bounded her wrists with rope.

There was another man worth noting. He sat at a decent distance from her. His kohl lined eyes were filled with a wild look that seemed to permeate over his entire appearance. He did nothing to hide his disgust with her.

"Christian," He sneers.

She understood that perfectly well.

Too overwhelmed with feelings of fear and anger, she gives the man the best glare she could muster. Such a glare made her feel a weakness she'd never felt before.

Utterly and hopelessly weak.

But the rage boiled under her skin like a fever.

The kohl eyed man suddenly lurches forward while baring his teeth, laughing when she shrinks back in fear.

"Leave her be, Floki, she cannot hurt you," Bjorn had laughed with the other men, causing the wild man to grin viciously. She growls to herself, frustrated at the language barriers. They would not understand her either.

She takes in a large breath through her nostrils in an attempt to calm herself, releasing it along with her frustrations. Taking a quick glance at the inked man from earlier, she realizes what he was staring at.

From her ears hung the most modest of gold droplets, peeking through the mass of her dark hair. She gulps, quickly tucking her hair back under her hood in the best way she could with bounded wrists.

She then spares one last glance at the ominous man, not missing the smirk that settled on his lips before he turns away from her to finally leave her be. She takes in a deep breath as she flutters her eyes closed.

Then she prays.

She prayed for something, for anything, maybe even a miracle, but she found herself falling into an unrestful slumber instead, hoping she would wake up from the nightmare.

#ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivarfanfiction #ivarxofc #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #vikings ivar #vikings #ivar the boneless #bjorn #floki #ivar's heathen army #ivar the king #ivar x oc

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markantonys · 3 years

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i know i’m not alone but if they make the weeping monk x nimue ship canon i’m losing all hope in humanity the current storyline for the weeping monk is so interesting i’d love to see his character grow especially in terms of accepting his fey background and his relationship with squirrel but nimue ain’t it

yeah i’d be v disappointed if they went down that route!! all i’d need is the weeping monk and squirrel having sidequests together and i’d be more than content (and i wouldn’t say no to a weeping monk + red spear team up ofc)

#answered #Anonymous

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american-satanxx · 4 years

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Writing Masterpost!

I do accept requests. Message me to see if I write in your particular fandom! Mostly I’ll be writing about Ben Hardy, Douglas Booth, Colson Baker, Nikki Sixx, Slash, Duff McKagan...the list is long. So there is a good chance I’m in your fandom.

6 Underground

Immortal Lowlife

Motley Crue

Nikki Sixx

Animal in Me

Rebel Love Song

Ben Hardy

Request #1 Request #2

Joe Mazzello

You’re My Best Friend

San Fran 49ers

Jimmy G Hell of a Night Request #1

Kansas City Chiefs

Patrick Mahomes Just Patrick

Supernatural

Dean Winchester Hellfire Heaven’s a Lie

Guns N Roses

Slash Welcome to the Jungle

DC Comics

Dick Grayson Phoenix Rises

Cursed

The Weeping Monk Juggernaut Child

All the King’s Men

Daniel Sharman

King in Your Story

Teen Wolf

Isaac Lahey

Game of Survival

Riverdale

Reggie Mantle x OFC x Sweet Pea Baby I Call Hell

Lovelink

Damien Jones I’ll Love You Through a Periscope

Albert Bishop Gave Your Heart to a Hurricane

Rory O’Brien Lullaby Singer

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nashibirne · 2 years

Text

From Ashes to Fire - 5

Here we are again! Lance and Oda and Percy facing light and dark in this fifth chapter of my little story. It's going to be funny, fluffy and a bit of a heartbreak... I really hope you like where this is going. If so, please consider leaving me a reblog, comment or like. It's much appreciated 💜

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pairing: Lancelot x OFC (Oda)

Words: 4.1 k

Summary: Lancelot and Squirrel are in need of help because the boy is very sick. They find shelter at a farm and Oda, the woman who lives there, awakens feelings in the Weeping Monk he hasn't known before. (Okay... this summary sucks... it's basically a slow burn with a lot of mutual pining and angst of two characters who know nothing about love...yet)

You can find the previous parts HERE.

My masterlist.

Warnings: non, just the usual mutual pining

UNBETAED! English is not my mother tongue, so expect bad grammar, wrong spelling, chaotic punctuation and clumsy language. All mistakes are mine…

Disclaimer/Credits: I don't own anything related to Cursed, pics for the moodboard from Pinterest

Taglist: @emelinelovesjc @lunedelorient @legendarywizarddetective @captainbucky-yt

Off we go....

****

"Squirrel!"

Oda's jolly laughter whired through the mild air of the sunny afternoon like a covey of twittering sparrows, causing Lancelot to open his eyes with a fond smile. He was sitting on the bench in front of the house, enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on his face, his hands folded in his lap, his face turned to the ceiling while Oda and the boy were playing with a little, multicoloured ball Oda had crocheted out of yarn rests a few days ago. She had filled it with dried peas and given it to Percy as a toy.

He was much better, but still suffering from fatigue which inevitably led to a good amount of frustration, since the boy usually was a bundle of energy. Being doomed to rest almost all day annoyed him, and Oda's little present helped brighten his mood a lot.

Squirrel was sitting on a plaid in the grass and Oda was standing a few yards away, trying to catch the ball the boy was throwing, which was almost impossible, because he got a lot of pleasure out of throwing it way too high or too far. Oda didn't seem to mind, she ran around laughing and giggling, jumping and throwing herself full-length on the ground to get the ball, entertaining the boy who was all smiles, beaming with fun and joy. He was going to be completely knackered by the end of the day but also really happy, and that was all that counted in the end.

While Lancelot was watching the boisterous game he couldn't help but wonder how this was even possible. How had his life changed from dark and strict to light and easy in such a short span of time? How was it possible that a few weeks with Oda had been enough to replace all the darkness living inside of him, all the negativity, his doubts and fears with light, optimism and joy? How was it possible that for the first time in his life he felt something like happiness?

Lancelot flinched when something hit his arm, tearing him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," Squirrel grinned and Lancelot laughed, picking up the ball.

"You better not do this again," he scolded the boy playfully with a smile and a wink before throwing the ball high in the air, catching it again with ease.

Oda sat down beside him with an exhausted sigh, a little out of breath, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling with joy, a sweet smile on her pretty lips.

"He's wearing me out," she admitted, flashing him a grin.

"Just wait until he's fully recovered. We're not going to get a minute's peace," Lancelot replied, returning her grin, handing over the ball to her. When Oda took it from his hand their fingers touched and the glance they shared made the butterflies in his belly flutter away.

He took a deep breath. This wouldn't last. All the harmony, the happiness he was feeling, the warmth he was receiving. It would come to an end. He knew it, because he didn't deserve it. It just wasn't possible, it was too good to be true. He should be proven right about this sooner than he'd hoped he'd be.

***

It was only two days later that a knock on the door of Oda's little farmhouse changed everything. It was a rainy day, the sky was dark, heavy grey clouds chasing each other on the ceiling, the storm sweeping through the boughs of the trees. Oda, Lance and Percy were sitting near the fireplace, the boy listening closely to the legends of ghosts and mystical creatures living in the Scottish Highlands, Oda was telling him. Lancelot had a hard time not constantly staring at her, drinking in the sight of her beautiful face, so eventually he just leaned back, resting his head against the wall, closing his eyes. A heavy knock on the door startled him and he shared a worried look with Oda.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"No," Oda said with a frown.

She got up to answer the door, and when she opened it, Lance could tell by the tension in her voice that the unexpected caller wasn't welcome.

"Rory."

"Oda, good day."

The voice that was greeting her so politely, was deep but sharp and it placed Lancelot on alert immediately. Even Squirrel seemed to sense it. He moved his stool closer to the monk to feel secure.

"What brings you here?"

Oda's voice was hard, her body language cold.

"I just wanted to check up on you. You seemed a bit shaken when you left the market the other day."

"I'm fine," Oda replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"May I come in?"

Rory didn't wait for an answer, he just pushed past Oda, entering the room, filling it with his presence. He was a tall man, broad and fleshy, his face red and pockmarked, the thick lips twisted into a lopsided smile. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Lancelot and Percy, staring at them.

"I didn't know you had visitors."

"You didn't ask," Oda stated before sitting down in her chair again, not offering him a seat. "Meet my guests, Lancelot and Percival. They are staying with me for a while. The boy is sick and I treat him. Lance's father and our father were close friends", she explained without batting an eyelid, the lie slipping smoothly from her lips. "This is Rory Campbell, a former friend of my brother's."

She gestured at the intruder but her eyes were meeting Lancelot's, giving him a worried glance and he gave her a little, soothing smile in return.

Rory kept silent, giving the man and the boy a suspicious look.

"Your family always had a thing for fey kind," he said after a while, addressing Oda, ignoring Squirrel and Lance completely.

"You hardly came here to tell me this," Oda snapped, annoyed by his presence and his rude behavior.

"I came here because I'm worried about you. You left in a rush the other day. I didn't mean to scare you with what I said about the Red Paladins and the Weeping Monk."

Now he looked directly at Lance, his eyes shooting daggers at him, and Oda's heart started racing in her chest.

"That's very kind of you, Rory," she replied softly, trying to exude a warmth she didn't feel to get back his attention and it worked, Rory turned to her again. "I'm fine, really. I was a bit shaken, that's true, but you said Roy's safe and I believe you," Oda continued, getting up to face him and to bow him out as soon as possible.

"Good," Rory nodded with a smile and Oda froze when he took her hand as if they hadn't been avoiding each other since she had rejected him years ago. "You know you can always come to me if something's troubling you. Or someone…"

He shot Lancelot, who was clinging to the armrests of his chair, his eyes narrow, his lips pressed together, another glance before looking at Oda again who pulled away her hand as gently as possible.

"That's good to know but it won't be necessary. Thanks for your visit, Rory." She walked towards the door, but he didn't follow. Instead he stayed put, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"It's pretty cold outside. I could use a cup of hot ale before I leave."

Oda stared at him, shaking her head slowly.

"Listen, Rory, I appreciate that you came to check up on me, but let's stop pretending we're friends or anything close to it, alright? You better leave now…"

"Why so distant, Oda," he asked with a smug smile. "It doesn't have to be like this. We could be friends again...or even more. Why don't you tell your guests to leave us alone for a moment and we talk things over?"

"I don't think so." Oda replied tight lipped, putting her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling with anger.

"Why not, we…"

"Because she's not interested. She told you to leave," Lancelot interrupted Rory. He had gotten up and was slowly approaching them, his eyes fixed on the man.

"You better keep out of this," Rory growled, holding Lance's gaze.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll teach you some manners. You and the boy are Oda's guests and this is none of your business. So just sit down again and shut up."

Lancelot gave Rory a derisive laugh.

"Right, we are Oda's guests and you are an unexpected and unwanted visitor. So I suggest you are the one who shuts up and leaves," he said calmly, staring his opponent right in the eyes, his face so close to Rory's, their noses were almost touching.

"Now...," Lance snarled and it was frightening, even to Oda's ears.

She touched Lancelot's arm to calm him down, afraid he might do something imprudent and he turned to her. The smile he gave Oda and the bond between them didn't remain hidden to Rory and it made him furious, Oda could tell by the pinched expression on his puffy face. However, he finally took a step back and straightened his tabard. Oda let out a soft sigh of relief when the tension between the two men started to ease off.

"Good bye, Rory," she said again, forcing a smile on her face to brighten his mood. She knew it was a bad idea to make an enemy of Rory Campbell. He was way too unforgiving and too powerful...a mixture that was as explosive as dangerous.

"Good bye, Oda," he replied with a grin that was hard to read. Bringing his face close to Lancelot's, he added: "That's not the end of it, ash man. We'll meet again and next time I'll be the one in charge. Mark my words."

He turned around and left the house without another word but the shadow of his visit remained, leaving a premonition of danger.

****

"How did he know you're Ash folk? I can't stop thinking about this," Oda spoke into the darkness of the attic.

"Our species is rare but it's still possible that he has met Ash people before or he's just heard about us. Our birthmarks are quite unique," Lance replied, turning his head towards the fabric that was separating his bed from Oda's.

"What if he knows who you are?"

"I don't think he does."

"But you don't know for sure."

"No, I don't."

It wasn't the first time they had this conversation. They never spoke about it in Squirrel's presence, and so they had established the habit of talking about everything that wasn't meant for the ears of the boy at night, when they were lying in their beds, both unable to sleep.

"So it's possible that Rory has recognized you. Maybe he saw you when he was traveling England, possibly when he was visiting my brother in the monastery in the south," Oda thought out loud. "Have you ever been there?"

"There are many monasteries in the region of Dover, Oda. I honestly don't know," Lancelot replied softly, bothered by her despair that grew worse with every day.

"Do you think you've ever seen Rory before?'

"No, I'm sure of that. I'd remember his ugly mug."

Oda couldn't help but giggle but she soon got serious again, taking a deep breath that was followed by a frustrated sigh.

"But how does he know so much about you? Rory told us every detail of your fight with the Trinity Guards at the market the other day. Maybe he was in that camp?"

"What did he say about the fight?"

Oda hesitated. It wasn't a flattering picture, Rory had painted of the Weeping Monk.

"Come on," Lance encouraged her. "Just tell me, I can take it."

"He said you slaughtered them, that you were out of your mind and out of anybody's control, quenching your blood thirst…"

Oda's voice wasn't more than a whisper but Lancelot heard her loud and clear. He laughed softly, although he was a bit hurt that she'd obviously believed this gossip.

"That's proof enough that he wasn't there. I didn't slaughter them and I wasn't out of my mind. I almost got killed. I only survived and beat them with Squirrel's help. That's just gossip. Did he mention Percy?"

"No," Oda replied. "He didn't. So he doesn't know what really happened, but he still looked at you as if he knew exactly who you are, Lance."

She sighed again, sadly this time.

"I know it's been almost three weeks since his visit but I can't help the feeling he's plotting something."

"Do you want us to leave?"

"What? No, of course not!"

Lance could tell by the rustling sounds and her blurred shadow that she was sitting up in her bed now.

"I'd totally understand, Oda. As long as we're here, you're in danger, so if you…"

"No!" Oda cut in. "You don't understand, Lance. I'm not worried about myself. I'm worried about you and Percy."

There was a catch in her voice, indicating that she was on the verge of tears. He hesitated for a moment but then he got up, pulling the make-shift curtain aside. Oda looked at him, her eyes wide and swimming. Without thinking about it, he sat down beside her, taking her hand.

"Oda…"

She couldn't help but sob and instinctively he took her in his arms, holding her close to give her comfort. They sat in silence for a while and when her body stopped shaking and her sobbing subsided, Lancelot realized Oda was asleep.

He stroked her hair tenderly and tried to free himself from her embrace without waking her up, but as soon as he moved his body away from hers she whimpered in her sleep, hugging him even tighter. He finally gave up trying, pulled her close and shifted their position until they were lying in Oda's bed side by side, her head resting on his chest, her arm wrapped around his waist, giving him a feeling of warmth that was beyond the physical aspect and a feeling of closeness that was beyond anything he'd ever felt before. When he eventually managed to drift off to sleep he just had one wish - that this night would last forever.

****

When Oda woke up in the morning, she gasped, when she realized that she was lying in Lancelot's arms. She could tell he was still asleep by his soft snoring, but Oda still didn't dare to move, not willing to give up this inappropriate but oh so wonderful position, her head on his strong chest, her body pressed against his, her arm resting on his torso. She inhaled deeply, enjoying his scent, the notes of leather and wood and a hint of earthy sweat. She moved her fingers carefully to caress the fabric of his nightshirt, and the thought that he was naked underneath made her clench her thighs, desperate to stop the throbbing sensation between her legs, that was radiating through her body, giving her chills and hot flushes at the same time. She couldn't help but stare at his crotch, wondering what he looked like down there, what IT looked like. The mere image of his sex appearing in her mind's eye sent shivers down her spine, her skin going all goose-pimply in an instant.

"Are you cold? You're shaking."

Lancelot's dark, sleepy voice startled Oda. She raised her head to look at him.

"A bit," she said, trying to hide the real reason for her trembling, giving him a sheepish smile, he returned.

Lance tugged at her blanket to cover her shoulders.

"Better?" He wanted to know and Oda nodded, averting her eyes, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

"I hope you don't mind we spent the night like this," Lancelot added. "You didn't want to let me go. I tried to get back into my own bed, but you clinged to me like a drowning man to a swimming trunk."

He winked at her and although she tried to hide it, he noticed that she was blushing.

"I'm sorry, Lance. It must have been uncomfortable to lie like this all night."

"No, not at all. It was...I...I liked it."

Making a bold move, he touched her cheek gently before tugging a strand of her hair behind her ear. Oda turned to him with a smile.

"I liked it, too", she said softly, holding his gaze, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

A clattering sound, coming from the kitchen, interrupted their little exchange. Oda sat up with a jolt, when she heard Squirrel swear like a trooper downstairs, and Lancelot literally jumped out of bed.

"What the heck are you doing, boy?" he yelled.

"Nothing!" Percy shouted, sounding a little too innocent.

"That's a very loud nothing," Lancelot answered, stripping off his nightshirt to get dressed without thinking of Oda. He froze, when he heard her gasp at the sight of his bare backside and he rushed behind the curtain to put on his clothes.

Oda did the same on her side of the partition, her cheeks burning bright red, the image of Lancelot's naked bottom dancing in front of her eyes. It had been just a short moment, she had just taken a quick glance, but it had been enough to create a memorable impression, that would surely haunt her for the rest of the day and very likely in the night too.

When they came downstairs they found Percy standing by the stove, a large pot in his hands. He grinned at them, scratching his head with a sheepish gesture.

"I wanted to make breakfast, sorry I woke you up, the pot fell down."

Oda gave him a warm smile.

"That's really sweet of you, Squirrel. Why don't we make oatmeal together?"

"And I will milk the cow," Lancelot added.

"Great!"

The boy was all smiles and after lighting the fire he cooked the oatmeal almost without Oda's help, while she set the table. When Lance returned from the stable, they sat down for breakfast and enjoyed their meal in comfortable silence. It didn't last long, though.

Three loud, banging knocks on the door disturbed their peace and before they were even able to react the door flew open and Rory entered the room, followed by Kirkwall's sheriff Ellair MacCaog and one of his men.

"That's him," Rory said to the sheriff, pointing at Lancelot.

"What's going on?" Oda asked, flabbergasted, getting up, approaching the intruders. "What are you doing here, Ellair?"

Lancelot didn't even flinch. He just gave Squirrel, who was squirming in his chair, a soothing smile before he continued eating his oatmeal.

"We are here to arrest your guest, Oda."

"What? Why?"

"He's accused of being a wanted criminal. A highly dangerous assassin called the Weeping Monk," MacCaog explained formally.

"Accused by whom?"

Lancelot got up slowly, staring the Sheriff right in the eyes.

"By me," Rory growled. "I know who you are and I'm willing to testify."

"We've never met before you came here unasked a few weeks ago. You don't know anything," Lance replied cool as a cucumber.

Oda had no idea how he managed to stay so calm, when she was about to panic.

"Listen, Ellair," she pleaded, "this must be a terrible misunderstanding. This is an old friend of mine and his name is Lancelot. He's my guest and so is his boy Percival."

"Maybe he is, maybe he's not, Oda. It's your word against Rory's and it's my duty to inquire into this matter and therefore I'm going to arrest Mr…"

"Du Lac," Lance threw in, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of anger and defiance. "It's Lancelot du Lac."

"Well, well...Mr. du Lac. I arrest you in the name of our king."

Sheriff MacCaog nodded at his deputy who grabbed Lancelot by his arm, dragging him out of the room.

"No!" Oda screamed, feeling desperate and helpless. "You can't do this. Please."

"I'm sorry, Oda, but I have to."

MacCoug gave her a sympathetic smile, and Rory placed his meaty hand on her shoulder.

"It's for the best, Oda. He's a threat to you and to everyone."

"Take your filthy paws off me, you bloody scoundrel," Oda snapped angrily, slapping away his arm. She was crying tears of frustration and fear, her cheeks flushed and wet.

"It's alright, Oda. I will be fine."

Lancelot gave her a soothing smile, reaching out his hand for her. She took it and he pulled her close, freeing himself from the deputy's grip to hug her. Oda wrapped her arms around him, sobbing, her body shaking, unable to utter a single word.

"Don't worry," he whispered softly, "everything will come right in the end."

Oda looked at him with a sad smile and a nod, locking eyes with the man who had become so important to her. The man who made her feel so much. The man who leaned in slowly now. Her eyes grew wide before she closed them expectantly, and the next thing she felt was his lips on hers.

She had fantasized about this moment countless times and none of her fantasies included a life changing situation like this, but it still felt amazing. He kissed her tenderly, almost shy, holding her close in a tight embrace and Oda felt like melting in his arms, her heart racing, her mind going blank for a moment, forgetting about Rory, the Sheriff, the deputy and even Squirrel. She was completely lost in the moment that felt like an eternity, when in fact it was over after just a few seconds.

"Stop this at once," Sheriff MacCoug yelled at them, dragging Lancelot away from her. Lance pressed a last, tender kiss on her forehead before he whispered something in her ear. A single word that made Oda stare at him in confusion but there was no time for further explanations. They disappeared as suddenly as they'd appeared, leaving Oda and Squirrel, who clinged to her like a child to their mother, desperate and confused.

****

"What did he say to you?" Percy asked after they had both calmed down. They were sitting on the bench in front of the house, side by side, recalling the events, discussing the situation.

"What do you mean?"

Oda knew exactly what he was talking about, but she didn't want to bother him with the riddle Lance had posed to her.

"You know what I mean. Lancelot whispered something to you...after your kiss," Squirrel said with a grin. "I knew this was going to happen eventually by the way."

"Oh, shut up," Oda laughed with embarrassment, blushing furiously.

"Was it the first kiss you shared?" Percy kept on teasing her.

"That's really none of your business. It's pretty unseemly to pry like this, you cheeky rascal," Oda scolded him, laughing out loud. "And don't you think we have more important things to talk about?"

"Yes, sorry," Squirrel replied with a remorseful smile. "So what did he say to you?"

Oda sighed, surrendering to his persistence.

"Sword," she said, shrugging. "He just said sword. And I have no idea why. He got rid of his stuff, right?"

"Of his clothes, yes. He burnt them, but he didn't destroy his sword, he just stowed it away."

"I didn't know that."

Oda got up, sudden awakening hitting her.

"He wants me to bring him his sword. He wants to fight them. Where is it, Percy?"

"It's in the trunk by the fireplace."

Oda stormed inside and started to rummage through the chest. She found the sword on the bottom of the trunk, covered by the blankets she stored in it.

"Here it is," she beamed at the boy. "I have to pay him a visit in his cell and find a way to give it to him."

Squirrel cocked his head, looking at her with a frown.

"How's that supposed to work? That sword is huge, how would you hide it?"

"I don't know," she admitted with a helpless shrug.

"I think you got him wrong."

"How so?"

"I don't think he wants you to bring him his weapon. I think he wants you to hide it. From them."

When the scales finally fell from her eyes, Oda pulled him close, kneeling down to hug him. He was right, of course he was.

"You are such a clever little guy," she praised him, "what would I do without you?"

"You're welcome," he replied with a cheeky grin, "love-struck fools like you and Lance need all the help they can get. And now let's work on a battle plan."

****

#weeping monk fanfiction #weeping monk x ofc #the weeping monk #weeping monk #cursed fanfic #cursed netflix #daniel sharman #daniel sharman fanfiction

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nashibirne · 3 years

Text

I know...I posted chapter 1 just a few days ago, but when the writing flows, it flows and so I guess it can't hurt to post the next part already. There's not much action in this one and a lot of inner monologues and talking but I hope you still like this and my vision of Lancelot. Let me know what you think! 💜

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From Ashes to Fire - 2

Pairing: Lancelot/The Weeping Monk x ofc (Oda)

Words: ~ 3.7 k

Chapter 1

My masterlist

Warnings: none, just a little angst, still 18 + for smut in upcoming chapters

UNBETA'ED! English is not my mother tongue, so expect bad grammar, wrong spelling, chaotic punctuation and clumsy language. All mistakes are mine…

Disclaimer/Credits: I don't own anything related to Cursed, pics for the moodboard from Pinterest

So... let's see what Lancelot, Squirrel and Oda are up to...

****************

"This is delicious, Oda." Lancelot smiled at her and the compliment seemed to be genuine.

"Thanks. I'm afraid it's not much, just eggs and fried tomatoes…,"

"No, it's perfect. Really."

The way he looked at her made her feel comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. His eyes had something about them that was special. It wasn't only that they were beautiful, the clear blue of his pupils a stark contrast to the rust-brown shimmering, ashy marks around his lids. It was his gaze that was so intense, giving her the feeling that he wasn't just looking at her but right into her.

When he had entered the house again after his bath just before breakfast, his sight had knocked the wind out of her for a second.

He hadn't worn his cloak anymore, holding it in his hands instead, just the dark grey, suede long-tunic and the black pair of leather trousers, a fact that allowed her to take a closer look at his body. He was tall and slender, his hips narrow, his shoulders broad, but he wasn't beefy. He was not a bull, like many of the men Oda knew - the black smith, the carpenter, the butcher- he was nothing like them, he was more like a muscly, elegant stallion, smooth and wild with a hint of timidity.

His dirty-blonde hair with the pretty ginger strands in it, that had been a mess before, looking like something the cat dragged in, was wet and tied up in a neat bun. Some of his curls hadn't been willing to get tamed, so they were framing his face. And what a gorgeous face it was. Now that it was freed from dirt and dust, she realized how good he looked, how handsome. Way too good for a servant of this strict, merciless Christian God he had prayed to all night long.

"Are you a monk?" Oda asked him now, pointing at his monk's cowl.

His eyes followed her finger and he frowned as if he had to think about it.

"Not anymore," he finally answered.

"But you are Fey. Ash Folk, right?"

Lancelot stared at her. "How do you know that?"

"The marks around your eyes," she shrugged. "When I was a child our father used to tell us tales about the Fey kind. He was a balneator, a healer, and he had all different kinds of patients so he had a lot of stories to tell. I was taught that your people were exterminated."

"Not quite," Lancelot said with a sigh. "We've always been on the edge of extinction but there are still a few of us left."

"I see." Oda smiled at him. "What about Squirrel? He's Fey, too?"

"Sky Folk", he nodded.

"And where are you from? Where are you going?"

"We're from the south and we're going...nowhere actually." He avoided looking at her and it was obvious that he was walking on eggshells, trying to say not too much and not too little.

"You're trying to escape the Red Paladins."

It was a statement, not a question and her eyes turned dark with anger and something else. Bitterness? Sadness?

"Well, you should be safe here. They haven't dared to ply their dreadful, murderous trade in Scotland yet. Our king wouldn't let them anyway."

"You've heard of them? Up here?" Lancelot asked, surprised. He just hoped she hadn't heard of their cold blooded assassin yet. Then again, if she'd know about the Weeping Monk, she would have figured out by now it was him. She was a smart woman, not easy to lead on, he was sure of that.

"Of course I have. Everyone has heard about them and their barbaric deeds in the name of their…," Oda bit her tongue. "I'm sorry. He's your God, too, I assume."

Lancelot cocked his head, giving her a glance she couldn't read but he didn't say anything.

"Your prayers last night," she tried to explain herself, "they were Christian, weren't they?"

He just nodded.

"A Christian Fey?" She shook her head in disbelief, the question mark visible in her moss green eyes.

"I wasn't raised by my own kind. Their God is the only God I know," he shrugged.

"That's a shame."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

An uncomfortable silence unfolded between them and they both ate their breakfast, feeling awkward, staring at their plates. When they were done, Oda cleared the table before putting on her working boots.

"I have to do my chores. Feed the animals, water the plants…"

"Let me help you."

Lancelot got up so fast he banged his knee on the table, swearing internally at his clumsiness.

"No," Oda rejected categorically, shaking her head. "You stay with the boy. Try to get some sleep, you've been awake all night. The bed is big enough for the two of you, at least for a few hours."

"What about you? You need to rest, too." Lancelot looked at her with a frown.

"I'm fine. Just take care of him till I'm back," she said, giving him a nod before stepping outside, leaving him feeling helpless, useless and strangely lonesome.

***

When Lancelot woke up a few hours later, it was already getting dark. He shook his head in confusion and disorientation, wondering where he was, but he soon remembered, when he saw Squirrel sleeping peacefully right beside him. He touched the boy's cheek carefully. It felt hot. Not as hot as yesterday but definitely much warmer than in the morning. He got up slowly, trying not to wake the child and looked around. There was no sign of Oda. The fire in the fireplace was burnt down almost completely, only a small glimmer left, and the air was getting chill.

Where is she? He wondered, worried. He grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders before he left the house. When he stepped outside it was raining heavily, big drops falling on the ground, accompanied by a pretty strong wind. He raised his head, looking up into the grey, overcast sky and covered his head with his hood. He turned around to the outbuildings and decided to look for Oda in the stables, maybe she was milking the cows. Unfortunately the only ones looking at him expectantly inside of the little wooden hut were a good dozen of hens, a proud rooster, a chubby goat, a giant carthorse and a pretty cow, that was lying in the straw, ruminating peacefully.

So the barn was his next stop.

He opened the door slowly and it welcomed him with a screeching sound. Inside of the building it was pitch black and it took his eyes a while to get used to the darkness. He took a deep breath, enjoying the herbal scent of fresh hay, before he looked around. He discovered her quickly. Oda was lying on the ground, fast asleep, covered with a thin, olive green, moth-eaten cloth that only covered her upper body because it was so short.

He couldn't help but smile when he saw her, although it made him feel terrible that she had to sleep in the barn instead of her bed just because of him.

Lancelot kneeled down beside her, touching her shoulder to shake her awake gently.

"Oda," he whispered.

When she opened her eyes, she got up with a jolt, backing away from him with extended arms, obviously terrified by the situation.

"Oda," Lancelot repeated, "it's me. It's okay."

It took her just seconds to regain her composure.

"Lancelot," she said with a sigh of relief, "you scared me."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I'm just not used to having anyone around."

She gave him a smile that turned into a shocked expression soon.

"What time is it?"

"Getting dark, almost evening."

"Heavens, I just wanted to take a little nap, I must have slept for hours. I'm so sorry! I have to milk the cow and cook dinner... and what about Squirrel? Is he alright?"

Oda seemed to be all worked up about herself and Lancelot stepped closer to calm her down.

"Hey, hey, just breathe, alright? Everything is fine. Me and the boy spent the day sleeping, too." He touched her arm with a helpless gesture. It was a weak attempt to have a soothing effect on her while giving the impression of confidence at the same time.

In fact he had no idea what to do. He was anything but a comforter and on top of that he absolutely wasn't used to dealing with women. The nuns in the convent didn't really count because they had always been unimportant and kind of asexual to him. Just random sisters, looking all the same in their habits. Oda however was not asexual at all, on the contrary, she was the epitome of femininity, at least in his inexperienced eyes.

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks," she said, briefly covering his hand with hers, giving him the hint of a sensation that felt incredibly good in his guts while his mind told him it was terribly bad.

"So the boy's fine?"

"I think so, but the temperature is rising again. His skin felt hotter than this morning."

"Okay, that's not unusual, I guess," Oda said, tucking a strand of her honey blonde hair behind her ear. "I'm going to take care of the cow quickly and then I'll treat him."

"Will you allow me to help you? Or will you just make me watch you work again, giving me the feeling of being a completely useless nuisance?" Lancelot grinned at her which caused Oda to let out one of her lovely, sparkling laughs.

"You can muck out the stable," she said, returning the grin, slipping a pitchfork into the hand of the baffled, handsome stranger.

***

It took him pretty long to return to the house. Oda had already taken care of Squirrel by changing his sweaty clothes and the compresses, rubbing some more thyme oil onto his meager chest and feeding him a big cup of lime blossom tea and bread with strawberry jam. He hated the former and loved the latter. Now he was sleeping again, which was a good thing because his body needed much rest to heal and deal with the fever.

Oda gave the rabbit stew that was simmering on the fire a stir, completely lost in thought. It was the first moment of quiet since Lancelot and Percival had arrived and she was wondering what to expect from the new situation.

Squirrel would need time to recover. Time and a safe place, it was out of the question that he was ready to travel again anytime soon and of course she would offer him and his friend shelter but she wondered how to do it. The boy needed a bed and there was only one in the house. Maybe she could build sort of a resting place for herself in the attic, but what about the Ash man?

In the long run the bed was too small for him and Squirrel, but she could hardly have him sleep with her in the attic, could she? That would be quite indecent and inappropriate. On the other hand she couldn't make him camp in the barn, it was way too cold at this time of the year, or force him to sleep on the floor in the kitchen or something. He was her guest after all, so this would be very rude and not a bit hospitable. She sighed and decided to shelve the decision for the moment, unable to think straight, which was very unusual for her.

She was just about to go looking for Lancelot, who still hadn't returned, when the door opened and he entered the room.

"What took you so long," she asked, pretending to be annoyed, just a tiny smile playing on her lips.

"Well, there was a lot of muck. I worked as fast as I could," he said defensively, not getting that she was just teasing him.

She raised her eyebrows with a frown, regretting her words and the stupid joke immediately.

"I'm just kidding you...sorry...," she said humbly, offering him a sheepish smile.

"Oh. Yes. Of course...."

Lancelot gave her a nod before taking off his cape, feeling like an idiot.

The fire in the fireplace was burning again and the room was very warm now. Still heated up from the physical work, he started to sweat right away, beads of perspiration appearing on his forehead and of course Oda noticed it.

"It's hot in here, isn't it? Do you want to change? That tunic you're wearing seems to be a little too warm…"

"I don't have anything to change in."

She cocked her head, eying him up and down, seemingly thinking about a solution.

"Wait," she said, leaving the stew, crossing the room to kneel down in front of a large trunk with iron fittings that was standing beside the armchair. She opened the chest, rummaging for something.

"Ha!" She said triumphantly, turning around, showing him a stack of clothes. She got up and placed it on the table in front of him, returning to the stove.

Lancelot took a closer look, unfolding the items one after the other. He found two thin, white linen tunics, two thick, dark brown woolen tunics, undergarments, a pair of trousers and knitted hosiery. He couldn't help but wonder who the things belonged to. Was it possible that she was married? Or a widow, maybe?

As if she was able to read his mind she turned to him. "The clothing belonged to my brother. He left years ago, he won't need it anymore."

"Where is he now."

"I don't know. Somewhere in England I guess."

Lancelot gave her a nod and friendly smile. He would have loved to learn more about her and her family but he really wasn't good at having a conversation like that, always lacking the right questions and answers.

"I'm going to change in the barn," he suggested but Oda stopped him with a wave of her hand.

"You can change in the attic," she said, pointing at a ladder that was leaning against the wall.

"Fine. Thanks."

"Just hurry, dinner's ready."

He turned around to leave but stopped in his tracks then.

"Is Squirrel alright?"

"He is, he ate and drank and asked where you were. He even laughed when he heard what you were doing." Oda flashed him a grin.

"Of course he did. Cheeky little rascal," Lancelot chuckled and it was the first time his face lit up, giving Oda the impression that he was finally starting to relax.

When he climbed up the ladder, her eyes remained on his body and she couldn't help but notice his agility and suppleness.

Oda heard him tinker around above her head while she was serving the stew, which filled the hut with a delicious smell, and she wasn't able to stop her thoughts from wandering out of the kitchen and into the attic. The image of Lancelot slipping off his clothes, revealing his naked, sweaty body was dancing in front of her inner eye although she didn't want it to. Unfortunately it was out of her control and she wondered what the heck was wrong with her.

She never had impure thoughts, not since she'd decided to live her life without a man by her side, as an unmarried woman. Well, hardly ever.

When the blacksmith came to shoe Tiny every few months, she sometimes had very sinful dreams after secretly watching him do his work, half naked, sweating, muscles bulging and flexing in his arms and his back, his big hands swinging the heavy hammer with ease. Those dreams weren't really explicit, it never happened more than touching and kissing. Ridiculously innocent kissing, because she simply didn't know what else could happen. Of course she had seen animals mate but a man and a woman? She wasn't imaginative enough to figure out how that worked in detail. Her imagination was enough to think about the naked Ash man, though.

Blushing, she turned around with vim to put the pot back on the stove, almost dropping it, when she found Lancelot standing right behind her in her brother's linen tunic and the dark grey woolen slacks, so close their bodies were almost touching. Startled, he took a step back, lowering his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Oda. I didn't mean to give you a fright... again..." He took the kettle from her hands prudently, placing it above the fire.

"You didn't," Oda replied, a little embarrassed. "I was just lost in thoughts. Sit down," she ordered and Lancelot obeyed, glancing at his filled bowl hungrily.

"This smells heavenly." He inhaled deeply through the nose, closing his eyes with a sigh. He hadn't had a proper meal since their stop at the Inn almost a week ago.

"Well, eat then," she encouraged him, "before it gets cold."

They enjoyed their meal in silence for a while, exchanging shy glances, both not really sure what to say or talk about, although they were full of questions. It was Lancelot who finally made an attempt to start a conversation.

"This is a really nice house."

"Thank you."

"Pretty big, with the stable and the barn and the garden…"

"Well, I only have a few animals and no fields to cultivate, so it's manageable."

"Yes, of course."

Oda looked at him, taking her courage in both hands to say what she wanted to say.

"Listen, Lancelot, let's not beat around the bush any longer. If you're just half as curious as me, you have a thousand questions and so do I." Oda hesitated briefly before she went on. "So why not speak frankly and just ask what we want to know?"

He frowned, staring at his stew. She was right, he had many questions and he was dying to learn more about her. But he also knew that she'd probably ask him questions he wouldn't want to answer. Questions that would make him tell her lies or at least not the whole truth. While he was still considering his decision, Oda misinterpreted his silence as agreement.

"Fine, I'll start," she beamed at him, looking very pretty in the soft candlelight.

"Why does a former monk wear a sword and why are you not a monk anymore?"

That caught him off guard. He involuntarily glanced at his weapon, which had been standing in the corner behind the door since they'd arrived 24 hours ago, thoroughly choosing his words.

"I had to fight in some battles and I like being able to defend myself."

"Battles? In the name of your God?"

"Yes," Lancelot confirmed, "and somehow in one of those battles I lost my faith."

"I see," Oda mumbled. "Your turn."

"Why do you live here all on your own?"

"Well, because nobody's left. I used to live here with my father and my brother. My brother left, my father died."

"What about your mother?"

"She died when I was a little girl."

"And you're not married or something?"

"Or something?" Oda echoed amused.

"You know, engaged or widowed…"

"No, I'm not."

"So you run the farm all alone?"

"No, I keep a farmhand hidden in the barn. The lad does all the work and serves me as a secret lover." Oda said in deadly earnest.

Lancelot stared at her, shocked and at a loss for words.

"Oh," was all he was able to utter, staring at his hands that were fumbling with a piece of bread. The pictures that his rotten mind produced immediately, pictures of her and a man united in sin, naked, dirty, the lucky guy's hands on her lush curves, in her beautiful hair, made his whole body tingle although he knew it was wrong. It was really strange but Oda stroke a chord with him, that was completely new, confusing him in a way he liked and detested just as much.

The warm sound of Oda's laughter made him look up again. She was cackling, holding her belly, tears of laughter visible in her eyes. She had obviously pulled his leg and Lancelot couldn't help but grin, half amused by her joke, half embarrassed about his own gullibility.

"Very funny," he chuckled with a frown, trying to pretend a bit of irritation.

"Indeed," Oda answered out of breath, still roaring with laughter, unaware that the bubbly sound resonated deep within the monk's belly. "You should see your face. You really believed me?"

He grinned, shaking his head with a laugh.

"I don't know much about heathen women from the north and what they're capable of, so yes, I didn't rule out the possibility that you'd do something like this."

"But you know much about Christian women?" She gave him a wink, feeling a little giddy all of the sudden.

"Not really," he admitted, averting his eyes.

The sheepish look on his face and the shy blush that coloured his cheeks light pink did strange things to Oda, arousing feelings she'd never felt before. She cleared her throat, irritated by the sensation, self-consciousness getting the better of her.

"Any other questions?" Oda wanted to know, her sudden insecurity showing in her voice.

Lancelot leaned back, looking at her narrowly. He wasn't willing to leave the impression that he was an insecure fool because he wasn't. He was feared, he was powerful, he was confident and he really had no clue why he acted like a shy, clumsy puppy in Oda's presence again and again. He had to steer this conversation in the right direction to get back on to harmless ground. Think, he told himself. Think of a good question, make her sweat a little. Show her that you have the upper hand.

"Will you hide me in the barn, letting me sleep in the cold, making me your...lad and secret lover?" He gave her a smirk and her reaction was pretty much what he'd hoped for. She cringed, the color draining from her face before she blushed furiously.

"Of course not...I told you I was just joking…I'd never, I mean you wouldn't...," Oda stammered, unsettled and embarrassed, but she recovered quickly, trying to answer his impudent question with as much dignity as possible.

"You are free to go whenever you want but as long as you stay you can sleep in the attic and you can be sure I won't pester you."

"Alright, that's good to know. The attic looked quite cozy, so thanks, I guess." Lancelot grinned. "Your turn."

Oda looked him right in the eyes now, jutting her chin defiantly, standing her ground. He might have irritated her but he was not going to make her back down.

"How did you meet Squirrel? What is he to you?"

Lancelot opened his mouth to answer her, but before he was able to say something, a hoarse voice came from the bed, interrupting him.

"He saved my life," Percival said, nodding determinedly, leaning over the edge of the bed to look at them. "Lancelot fought the Trinity guard for me, he almost died. He's a hero and I'm his squire."

*********

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#cursed netflix #cursed fanfic #weeping monk x ofc #the weeping monk #weeping monk #weeping monk fanfiction #lancelot #daniel sharman

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