To the Victor

by Samantha M. Derr

  "There was too much feedback," Lamorak said. Which was putting it lightly. More like the blasted thing had nearly melted his brain.

  "Which I told you would happen without a properly calibrated ghost box," Ruwena said.

  Lamorak bit back an angry comment about how of course it would, but it had taken all he could afford even with the money he borrowed from Sir Breuse to get the salvaged ghost box they had. It wouldn't help his case to piss off his senior squire even more. So he said nothing, not willing to concede by apologizing or admitting he was wrong.

  "Look, I'll take another swing at getting it more in line," Ruwena said, "but we're going to need a new cognition seal and we're running low on coal."

  Lamorak closed his eyes. In the darkness of the suit, it hardly made a difference. Well, he had joked about it...

  "Percy, has the Queen's party arrived?" he asked, knowing he'd have an easier time with knights from Camelot.

  For a moment, there was silence, and when Percy answered, it was a whisper. "Yeah," he said. "About thirty knights that I saw, including Pelleas, Gaheris, Agravaine, Uwain, Dina—"

  "Uwain?" Lamorak interrupted. This would be easier than he thought.

  "I'm getting the mules," Ruwena said.

  Lamorak couldn't even watch her walk away. His mind was already running through scenarios, plans. And then he remembered the images he had seen, the field and Ruwena's face and... that figure.

  "Percy, did you see a suit right before I fell?" he asked. "Black and red, with green glowing eyes."

  Another pause. Somehow Percy had gotten into his head that Lamorak needed protecting. Probably that was why he had insisting on following when Lamorak had left. He was far too mature for his age. But eventually he did speak.

  "Yes," Percy said. "It's all people have been talking about since they arrived." Which Lamorak would have known if he hadn't been... busy. "They showed up yesterday and registered. As a knight perilous."

  Lamorak's eyes shot back open, though again, it did little in the confines of the suit. A knight perilous. A knight without a name, without allegiance. A knight like Lamorak, out for money or fame or sport. Or a bigger name trying to hide their identity and reputation. It was like a riddle begging to be teased out. Lamorak licked his lips and waited for Ruwena to return with the mules, his mind tingling from more than just the residual energy feedback.

  *~*~*

  The queen's knights each had a tent and a rather elaborate entourage of retainers, squires, and servants. They also had some of the most expensive suits available. Arrayed in bright colors, the suits all stood, standards fluttering from their helms, in silent watch of the field that would soon now be a chaos of battle.

  "You don't have to do this," Percy said.

  Lamorak tried and failed not to sigh. He looked at his brother, who was a cute kid but had absolutely no interest in sex. Which did keep him out of a lot of the trouble Lamorak had already gotten into at his age, but it also made him a little too eager to listen to their father's belief that if only Lamorak could turn it off he'd be infinitely more respectable and safe.

  "Percy, I'll be fine," he said. "You're doing the much more dangerous assignment. You sure you know what we're looking for?"

  "I'm not the one who's been completely ignoring Ruwena's lessons," Percy said.

  Lamorak shoved him and shook his head. Saints protect him from little brothers.

  "Then make sure you get a good one," Lamorak said, spotting a group of knights, their armor shining, their laughter loud and arrogant. A smile crept across his face. "Now make yourself scarce and wait for your moment. You'll know it when you hear it."

  Percy seemed on the verge of saying something more, but instead nodded and peeled away into the shadows between the tents. He was a good kid. Better than Lamorak deserved. If he had been a decent brother, he would have refused when Percy asked to come with him. He certainly would have sent him back home before taking money from Sir Breuse the Pitiless. But Lamorak had made peace with being a terrible sibling long ago.

  The knights stepped closer, and Lamorak recognized most of them. Certainly Agravaine and Gaheris were familiar, for their sneering faces and their shared hatred of him. Their father and his father were not exactly on great terms—the fact that Lamorak was not on the greatest terms with his father either didn't diminish their scorn. Many times he had been chased through the halls of Camelot after sneaking away from his family, Agravaine's cruel laugh hot on his heels. But Uwain...

  Uwain walked in the back of the group, with the others but separate. It was family that made Uwain's life difficult as well. That, and the color of his skin. His father, Urien, was mostly respectable, a little king, as the chieftains of the various lands pledged to Camelot were called. Because of how he looked, he was often treated as an outsider, as foreign despite the fact his family had been on the island longer than most. And he was respectable except that he was married to Morgan le Fey, the First Consort's sister and a perennial trouble maker. As their son, Uwain was nephew to Arthur and cousin to Agravaine and Gaheris, but though they tolerated him, they never truly accepted him fully. Which was just fine by Lamorak, as it meant the two of them had always had something to bond over. Well, that among other things...

  It wasn't difficult catching Uwain's eye—he had a tendency to let his eyes roam, and Lamorak took pains to be just conspicuous enough. That Uwain's face brightened when he realized who he was looking at was unmistakable, and that joy was mirrored in Lamorak's chest as Uwain fell back from the rest of the Camelot knights and came to a stop nearby, neither of them daring to actually speak or even regard each other openly until the others were out of sight. And even then, Lamorak walked into Uwain's tent without speaking, waited just inside until Uwain joined him, wrapped him in a fierce hug.

  "Lam, I thought your father had sent you off to a convent," he said, not releasing his grip. He was only a few years older than Lamorak and took after his father, who was brown skinned and broad shouldered instead of fair and lean like most of Arthur's family. Just another reason Uwain was typically left out of most of his cousins' fun, but Lamorak, for one, was quite glad he looked nothing like them.

  "Is that what he's putting about?" Lamorak couldn't help but laugh at the thought of himself in a convent. "I suspect, as the Hanged Church requires celibacy from its initiates, I'd soon be kicked out, as well as half the nuns, brothers, and most of the poor souls who pledged with me."

  "You do have something of a reputation," Uwain said, though he seemed more amused by it than scandalized. After all, most of the times Lamorak had been chased around Camelot, it had either been sneaking into or out of Uwain's bed.

  "And whose fault is that?" he said, and slid from Uwain's embrace. Still he kept their bodies close, his own hands resting on Uwain's chest, which was covered in gleaming metal. "Probably couldn't help from boasting, trying to impress your wretched cousins."

  A frown drew down the corners of Uwain's face. "You know I would never tell them anything," he said, and Lamorak felt a pang of guilt. He had only meant to tease. A moment later, Uwain's smile returned, though.

  "Probably you caught Merlin's eye," Uwain said, "and he's been scrying on you. You're probably better than a melee for entertainment when you're in Camelot."

  Lamorak couldn't help the shudder that worked through him, that made him glance around as if there were someone else in the tent with them. Uwain must have caught the worried look that crossed his face because he chuckled.

  "Surely you're not afraid of that old letch?" Uwain asked.

  "Not afraid so much as... prudently cautious," Lamorak said. "I'm a bit old now for his tastes, anyway." He had never gotten a good vibe from the man who called himself the court wizard. Everyone knew that Nimue was the Queen's favorite, anyway. Though perhaps that was why Lamorak had never liked Merlin—because he always seemed too at the fringes of the court, always lurking, and always whispering into the First Consort's ear. And always with a lingering gaze on the young sq
uires without powerful families.

  "And anyway," Lamorak said, hands returning to roam over Uwain's armor, seeking the straps keeping it in place, "I'm not here for wizards or nuns or even attractive young initiates. I happen to have a thing for knights, if you hadn't noticed."

  "Is that why you're here?" Uwain asked, not quite breaking the game but hesitant. He wasn't stupid, after all, had to smell that this was different from the times that Lam had found him in Camelot, desperate only for an escape from the noise of his brothers, the stern gaze of his father. Then they had both been too young to be fitted for a suit, were squires only, and freer to act. Now...

  "I need a cognition seal," Lamorak said. His hands found the proper releases to Uwain's armor and paused, an offer and a promise.

  Uwain sighed. They were knights now, with their own suits and their own reputations to protect. Things weren't as simple as moments of flesh and sweat and lips and hands. Helping him could get Uwain into serious trouble with his family, with the First Consort himself, could cost him his suit if things went bad enough. But Uwain was also the sole heir to his mother and father, and while Agravaine and Gaheris and the rest of King Lot's brood might hate him with a passion, the First Consort and Pellinore were on good terms—saving the First Consort from a rampaging Questing Beast was good for something, apparently. So helping Lamorak wasn't as dangerous as it could be.

  "I suppose you have that brother of yours waiting somewhere?" Uwain asked.

  Lam managed a guilty smile. "Waiting for my signal," he admitted.

  "You really shouldn't get him involved in so much of your trouble," Uwain said.

  Lamorak cringed. It sounded like something his father would have said. Like Percy would really listen if Lamorak told him to go home, to be safe. No, his brother was too noble for that, would risk his life as long as Lamorak risked his own. And though he should stop, though it would make things easier for everyone if he just went home and married like their father wanted, Lam wouldn't. Percy made his own decisions, and though Lam felt guilty for letting him risk himself so, it was ultimately his decision. A decision Lamorak was grateful for every day.

  "He's better off here with me than home with my father," Lamorak said, which was close enough to the truth. If Lamorak was successfully married off, after all, how long until young Percy became the next target of their father's dynastic ambitions?

  "I just hope you know what you're doing," Uwain said. His eyes, deep brown, shone with a barely hidden sadness, a pain that Lamorak couldn't stand.

  He looked away, forced a laugh. "I'm pretty sure you know this is the one thing I know how to do very well," he said, and pulled on the releases. He stepped back, allowed the gleaming metal to fall to the ground with a clash. He watched Uwain's face, couldn't tell if there was disappointment there or just a slight shock. Lam made no move to advance, though, waited for Uwain to either accept or decline. Either way, Lamorak was done talking.

  For a long minute, nothing happened but the flap of the tent rustling in the wind and conflict turning Uwain's face into a sort of melee, his back straight, his hands clenched into fists. Then he sighed and moved forward, hands relaxing and wrapping around Lam's body, one pulling at the back of his neck, the other cupping his ass through the fabric of his pants.

  "You don't need to do this," Uwain said, lips brushing against Lamorak's as he spoke. "I would just give you the part, if you asked."

  Something tightened inside Lamorak, like someone had dented in the armor right above his heart. Everyone acted like they knew him, knew what he needed, what he wanted. Lam went after the rest of Uwain's armor, started peeling it away.

  "Just fuck me," he said, and finally Uwain stopped talking.

  Their armor and clothes made a trail around the tent as Uwain pressed and Lamorak retreated, eclipsed by Uwain's body, by the need in his eyes. This was a dance they knew, that they both wanted. Uwain paused only briefly, once, at the beginning, waiting for the last sign of Lam's consent. The nod was a signal they had long ago agreed on, and Lamorak felt his heart race as Uwain pursued him, as hands grasped and pushed, pulled and caught.

  The tent was full of supplies and it didn't take long before Lam was bound with harness, arms secured behind his back. On his knees, his eyes closed, his reveled in the feeling of the cock pushing into the back of his throat. They were silent but for the slap of flesh and soft groans from Uwain's mouth—learning in the crowded court of Camelot had not fostered a habit of being loud. But Lam could hear his heart beating in his chest, and it was like he was weightless, free. The harness bit into his skin, pain making him shudder, his cock straining up into the empty air.

  The priests of the Hanged Church claimed their god had been hanged for three days, that he had died and been resurrected by his divine grace. Lamorak had always wondered if he had been hard the entire time, his hands tied, the world gone black around the edges. He remembered being pulled out of service shortly after asking one of the priests, which was just as well as it had given him more time to sneak down to the stables and find his own sort of devotions.

  Uwain grunted and came, thrust even deeper down Lamorak's throat. Lam gagged, swallowed, Uwain not stopping and Lam not wanting him to. He could handle this, the sudden rush of not being able to breathe, the fear and the pain as his chest spasmed, as his mind screamed at him to stop, to do something to save himself. Instead he rode that feeling until Uwain pulled back and out of his mouth. He fell face down to the ground, his body heaving. But with the surge of relief his body felt, there was a loss as well, an emptiness that he couldn't quite ignore, not even as Uwain flipped him over with a foot and then reached down and took his cock roughly in hand.

  He gritted his teeth and bucked as he came, still silent as prayer. Uwain hummed in appreciation and kept up his pace until the pleasure faded and bordered again on pain and then finally and abruptly stopped, and only then did Lamorak gasp and moan. His body felt half drowned, raw, like he had been on the losing side of a fight with a sea serpent. And still he yearned for more.

  *~*~*

  Uwain slept as Lam rose and donned his armor. His body ached and he was hungry, though whether for food or something less tangible, he couldn't tell. His throat was raw and he wished there was something to drink, took solace that his bracers hid the marks the harness had left. He slid from the tent into the afternoon light, made for the thin corridor between canvas structures where Percy would be waiting, probably bored and upset. They could drop the seal with Ruwena and get some food and ale and pretend that they were just normal brothers.

  "Well, look who finally decided to show," came a voice as Lamorak emerged from the thin corridor into the larger courtyard-like area where the tents backed up to each other, where servants and squires would gossip and gamble while their masters slept or caroused. This time of day, it was normally empty, but at the moment, it contained three figures, all very familiar to Larmorak.

  "Hey now, brother, you know whoring can't be rushed," Agravaine said.

  It felt as if all the blood in his body turned to sea water, cold as ice and rough as rage. Gaheris stood, blade naked, held a finger's breadth from Percy's throat. Agravaine stood between the pair and Lamorak, sword still half in its sheath.

  "But now that you're finally through with your client," Agravaine said, "perhaps we can talk about this thief we found relieving our beloved cousin of a rather expensive suit part. We thought, perhaps, that you'd prefer we don't turn him over to the Queen's justice. Hard to be a knight, after all, without both hands."

  Gaheris laughed and let his blade flick nearer to Percy's wrist. For his part, Percy looked livid, face flushed and without a hint of fear. Lamorak broke at that expression, all pain and shame. It didn't belong on his brother's face. Lamorak's hand slid toward his waist, but he realized as he did that he had left his sword back in his tent, knew that he would have only attracted more attention wearing it while visiting Uwain.

  "What do you say, brother?" Agravaine asked, though his
eyes didn't leave Lamorak. "Shall we take a turn as well? The camp followers were starting to get old, after all. A whore might be a nice change of pace."

  "I'm not one for leftovers," Gaheris said, sword inching back toward Percy's face. "But something tells me that whoring runs in the family. What do you think—is a hand worth a bit of fun?"

  Lamorak swallowed, mind racing. There was something deep inside him, a desire to act, but for once, he made himself stop. Rushing forward would only give them a reason to kill him, a reason they were obviously seeking by threatening Percy. Not that he didn't believe they were capable of it. He had heard rumors in Camelot of the sons of King Lot. Only the youngest seemed worth a damn. The rest... well, two were here threatening to rape Percy.

  "I can assure you that the cognition seal was bought and paid for," Lamorak said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. "Payment for the use of my body by your cousin, Sir Uwain." It couldn't hurt to remind them that their cousin was no less a full knight, pledged to the Queen and also a nephew of the First Consort. If they thought him a whore already, what did it matter? Maybe it could spare his brother further abuse.

  "So you admit it, then?" Agravaine asked, stepping forward, sword finally slipping fully free of its sheath. "Allowing yourself to be used. No king's son should lower himself to be topped by another, especially for money. You're a disgrace to the order of knights."

  "Then launch a complaint with the knight who named me," Lamorak said. It was a gamble, because it had been his brother Aglovale who named him, and except for Percy, none of his brothers were his biggest fan. If an official complaint was lodged, and if Aglovale failed to contest it, Lamorak would be stripped of his rank and barred from ever becoming a knight again.

  "You think we're just going to let you go?" Agravaine asked.

  It seemed unreal, watching him approach, sword in hand. Lamorak wanted to beg, to plead. He was the son of King Pellinore, a Knight of the Round Table. And he had spent his life in and out of trouble—terrified, alive—but safe. Safe because his father would protect him, get him out of trouble. His family had always been a shield he hadn't wanted but used with impunity. And now... and now that he was on his own, he found a part of him missing it. He grimaced, disgusted with himself, with how badly he had managed the situation. He tensed, unmoving, waiting for Agravaine to draw near enough to—