Didn't post anything in a long time, anyway here's a trislance fic I'm working on ( can be read as that but I didn't finish it. )
Lancelot and Tristan always experienced their first times together (no smut (yet))
As kids, Lancelot and Tristan were inseparable, attached to the hip. They grew up together, lived together, experienced together, their fathers always brought them to the other’s kingdom (( to spend time with one another more than their son's spending time with one another) while having an excuse all prepared for their wives : ‘ the kids miss each other so much, we can’t separate them for too long !’)
They spent so much time in both Liones and Benwick that it was basically their second home. They knew the rules of the different adults they were facing, knew the best shortcuts to arrive at the dining room and knew how they were supposed to act in a different society.
So due to their father’s friendship, they became best friends almost as soon as they were born. Or could see each other at least.
When they were 1 year old, they held their heads up for the first time to look at each other as they were face to face, then at their parents when Meliodas produced a high pitch quite yell at the sight of his son. Elaine and Elizabeth, who were speaking in another room, heard and came quickly to see what was going on. The two boys giggled, not understanding it was the first step of their lives together.
They shared basically every first time in their lives, like when they were 2 years old for another example.
They walked for the first time when they were playing with each other. Playing was a big word considering they were just trying to grab things at their reach. They were supervised by a parent of course, but it was still together.
Elizabeth had yelled for their fathers to come and see, asking the little babies to do it again, causing them to walk again but failing quite fast and falling while almost dragging the other down with him.
They talked for the first time together, when little Lancelot had to go back to Benwick. Of course it was a small ‘bye bye’, not very efficient but followed by a ‘papa’ much more liked by their fathers. Ban had reached Benwick a lot faster to talk about it to his dear fairy.
At 3 years old, they started simple drawings like circles and lines and other simple forms. It wasn’t particularly memorable, because it was only the basics to later start to write, but Gowther was still really proud of the two of them. He was preparing them to become functioning members of society but the kids saw it as art and craft time, even if sadly they didn’t have the right to write on each other.
They were so close all the time, all of the habitants of Liones and Benwick could be sure to see them both attached to the hip if the other was in town, holding hands, playing, fighting for fun, walking, running, all of the possible activities they could find, they did it together.
At 4 years old, their first baby teeth fell out. They were together but it was on two different occasions.
The first was Lancelot, who bit into a piece of bread when he was at the royal table.
“Elie,” he started, asking for her because their fathers surely were, not that he knew at that time, getting drunk ( even if Meliodas couldn’t ), “I lost a tooth, could you heal it ? Is it really bad ?”
Lancelot was scared. Scared to have done something wrong to cause his teeth to fall out, which would follow by the inability to eat his father’s delicious cooking.
“No ! It’s not bad at all ! Your teeth will fall little by little when you grow up and stronger ones will grow, it’s a good thing ! I’m going to get your father, wait for me here, boys.”
Tristan was listening at the side of Lancelot, thinking about all his teeth which were still well attached to his gums. Before his mother could reach the door, he asked :
“Will it happen to me as well ?”
His mother smiled, fondly looking at her son.
And when it happened, it was still with Lancelot. They were playing outside when the little white haired boy fell. When he got up it was with a tooth in his hand, and a brilliant smile without the tooth which was in his hand.
When they reached 5 years old, they were able to use the stairs without their parent’s help. The conquest of the stairs was a great adventure for the boys. It took them a while and a lot of tries, but once they had enough balance to get upstairs, they immediately showed it to their parents. It was quite cute to see the two mothers being impressed by their boys’ success, and more ridiculous to see the king of Liones being at the verge of tears while keeping all his guards up in case one would fall. He kept repeating ‘you’re doing so great, honey’ like he was witnessing his son’s first steps and not his son slowly getting downstairs.
Little by little, those kids grew up, reaching 6 years old, learning to write together, doing competitions of reading with Gowther, being trained by Jericho, going on walks with Elaine, helping in the kitchen with Ban, going on picnics with Meliodas when he brought back food from the demon realm, each of the pairs of parents had practically two sons.
The first time Tristan used his goddess magic was with Lancelot, and it was actually two first times in a row, that and the first time they were finally let in the royal gardens by themselves. They were running and Lancelot fell and scratched his knees. Tristan, who felt helpless and who was told by Lancelot that if one of the maids saw the blood they would never be let in the gardens on their own again, let his magic slip out of him and healed the fairy. This incident never came out to the adults as they just said they saw an injured squirrel and that’s how Tristan got his magic.
At 7 years old, they learned to tie their shoes by themselves. Their shoes had always been tied by their parents, the maids, or even the knights when they rushed outside to play. But now, they were going to do it themselves.
Jericho had tried to teach Lancelot earlier the same morning, showing him step by step how to make the loop, circle it with the other sting, then pull it through. But the moment she left, he had already forgotten the order of it all. So, when he saw Tristan struggling with the same problem. They decided to figure it out together, and that they wouldn’t go outside in the forest until they learnt. They sat in silence, trying over and over. Lancelot managed to make a loop, but when he pulled, the lace slipped free again. Tristan accidentally tied a knot so tight he had to yank his shoe off completely.
Fortunately, they succeeded and rushed outside to play, which resulted in a strange potion made from mud, water, leaves and all they could find. They offered it to Ban right after.
At 8 years old, Tristan and Lancelot saw the world in clear-cut rights and wrongs, good and evil, heroes and villains. Their parents were the ultimate heroes, strong and undefeatable, while bad people were just… bad. There was no in-between. This kind of thinking followed with a strange encounter with a bear in a forest next to Liones, their parents having to come to their rescue and explain that the bear was only trying to protect its territory and that it wasn’t trying to hurt them just because it was mean.
They started to see some color in some categories of life, but it still felt like it was in black and white when it came to the two boy’s relationship, and when Lancelot said in the rain as soon as their dads went away in the castle after they said they could play in the garden : ‘I’ll always be by your side’, Tristan was sure it was the pure, undeniable and complete truth.
A while later, Gowther made them learn how to write proper words. As a result of that, he left them alone for an hour so they could write a letter to whoever they would like to.
Tristan wrote a letter showing his love to his parents, it was to Meliodas ‘the cutest thing he ever received’ despite that it was filled with spelling mistakes and orthographic errors. However, Lancelot wrote a letter to the boy in front of him. He wasn’t going to give it to him straight away, but hid it in his room with the message ‘don’t open it until I’m gone for a long moment’ plastered on it. He noted down that Ban was stronger than Meliodas in case Tristan forgot because he wasn’t there to remember it to him ; also that he knew they both missed each other and he reaffirmed that regardless if they were separated for a while, he would alway come back to him.
The letter was put inside his closet, and a big sense of fulfilment grew in his chest as he thought of the silver haired boy who was giving his letter to his parents. He didn’t know what it was yet, but he knew it was stronger than any other friendship.
At 9 years old, Lancelot and Tristan were determined to prove they could do everything on their own ; no help from their parents, no interference from the maids, and definitely no reminders.
Tristan, ever the perfectionist, was determined to dress like a proper prince, as he already knew he should act like one to please his mommy. His tunic was neatly tucked, his belt was fastened just right and his hair, well… He was working on it.
Lancelot, on the other hand, had no patience for this nonsense. His shirt was backward, his jacket too, and his belt was completely missing, surely somewhere outside the window.
“Lance,” Tristan sighed, watching his best friend struggle to shove his right leg inside the wrong hole of his shorts. “That’s not how pants work.”
Lancelot grumbled, finally getting his leg through ( but now the other hole wasn’t where it should be ). “It’s fine,” he said. “It looks cool.”
Once they both succeeded in the dressing part, it was time to brush their hair. Tristan, with his long silver strand, didn’t enjoy it as the brush was pulling the knots in the mess above his head. Inheriting the two rebellious locks on the very top of his head from his father apparently wasn’t a good thing either as it wouldn’t stop coming back even if he brushed it a thousand times. Lancelot beside him just combed rapidly his shorter hair with his hand and called it a day.
Tristan snorted. “You look like you just woke up in a tree.”
They laughed it off and it proved to Lancelot that the feeling that was growing in him for months now, was love. Like their parents’ love, which had pushed them to go to impossible extremes for their lover, as Jericho told him.
Of course Ban and Meliodas were happy their sons were just as close as them, what they didn't expect was their sons to be even closer than them.
At 10 years old, during what they didn’t know would be their last visit as innocent children for the birthday of Tristan, they fought like usual. But sadly, the first time the goddess remembered he wasn’t always only a goddess, had to be this day. His demonic powers got out and he hit his best friend to the head.
This punch was what triggered the fairy’s own power to read hearts.
Which was the way he found out Tristan was in love with him. Fortunately, his feelings were mutual. They were each other’s first love, as Lancelot had predicted for them in his dreams.
For the rest of the week, they didn’t fight because the new found demon didn’t want to, even if the fairy insisted. But they held hands even more than before, and put kisses on each other's pink cheeks and soft hair. Nothing to fancy, they were still children after all.
After that unforgettable day, everything changed, just a little.
Lancelot and Tristan still played, still laughed, still ran through the halls like before. But there was something new between them, something unspoken but deeply carved into their hearts, like the proof of their fight was carved in Lancelot’s forehead. For the rest of Lancelot’s stay at Liones, everything was softer, sweeter.
However, it motivated Lancelot to become stronger.
That was the last reason he needed to decide to follow Jericho into that pouring rain which would make him part ways with Tristan for 2 years, even if he didn’t think it would.
At 11 years old, Tristan searched for the new royal garments that were placed somewhere in his wardrobe, as it was a time of festivities in the kingdom so it meant for him that he was going to have to just stand still and look cute next to his parents for 4 hours straight. He had told the servant he could get dressed himself despite it being a new outfit.
But as he searched, he found a letter hidden inside a drawer of socks he never really used since he preferred the soft ones his mom knitted for him. He didn’t remember ever putting an envelope here, and the words written on it weren't helpful ; was it a letter for his parents if he was gone for so long they would look around in his room ? Maybe, the calligraphy was the one of a child anyway. So he opened it, what if it brought back memories of why he put it there.
But it didn’t, it was a letter from Lancelot. He remembered that paper, it was from the letter Gowther made them write three years ago. He remembered how Lancelot always said how his dad was better than his. He remembered how much he missed Lancelot. He remembered the boy who held his hand in the rain and promised, ‘I'll always be by your side.’
And he remembered that he was not sure if he believed it anymore.
It was the first time he lied to call in sick for an eventful night.
He cried himself to sleep that night.
On his side, Lancelot was slowly losing track of time in the other dimension he had been put in with his master. The nature here wasn’t the same as the nature in his world. And the fact that he awfully missed Tristan with all his heart wasn’t a good thing for his mental health.
However, he found a way to comfort himself each night, just a little bit. And this evening wasn’t for a change.
Jericho had already fallen asleep, her steady breathing the only sound beyond the quiet wind. Lancelot laid on his back, staring at the unfamiliar sky. The stars were different here, reshaped and arranged in strange constellations he didn’t recognize.
So, he closed his eyes and imagined the ones he did.
He imagined the sky over Liones, the one he and Tristan used to watch when they were supposed to be sleeping. The way Tristan would point at the stars and give them ridiculous names. ‘That one’s the Great Chicken. And next to it ? That’s obviously the Sword of Destiny.’
Lancelot had laughed at the time. ‘What kind of sword looks like that ?’
Now, in this strange world, he pretended the stars above him were the same, he fantasized seeing the crooked sword Tristan once saw.
When, like every night, that wasn’t enough, he made up stories.
One night, he imagined a tale where he and Tristan were knights on a grand adventure, fighting off bandits and saving kingdoms. Tristan, of course, would be the righteous hero, noble and shining like he wanted to be. Lancelot… Well, he always made himself a clever mischievous person, slipping through shadows and laughing in the face of danger.
Another night, he told himself a different story. One where he never left. One where he woke up in his bed in Benwick, and Tristan would be waiting for him to come out of his bed so they could go outside : ‘C’mon, lazy fairy, we’ve got a forest to explore.
But no matter how many stories he told himself, when he woke up, he was still here.
And yet, he kept imagining. Because as long as he could still picture Tristan’s smile, still hear his voice in his head, it meant he hadn’t forgotten.
And he couldn’t forget. Not even for a second. Because if he did, life wouldn’t make sense anymore.
When they were well in their 12th year on earth, Lancelot was ecstatic. He and his master were finally able to get out of this odd world, but Jericho went away directly after, he didn’t see her again and he swore to himself that he would find her before returning to his own kingdom. So he searched for her, impatient to get her back and to see his parents again.
The fairy scoured every town, every hidden path, every whisper of rumor that could lead him to Jericho. At first, he was impatient, convinced that she had only gone a little ahead, that he would find her within days. Then, as the weeks passed, that certainty wavered.
‘Did she even want to be found ?’
For the first time since stepping out of that strange dimension, doubt crept in. He was free from the chaos of that other dimension, but he felt lost. The innocence which made him not see the knights of Camelot faded with those 2 years and now wherever he went he saw the disastrous actions they could accomplish. He feared that Jericho might have been the victim of one of them.
Still, he didn’t give up. He asked around, trying to pick up any trail of her presence. Some people claimed to have seen a lone knight passing through. Others spoke of a woman vanishing into the mountains. Every lead ended in nothingness.
And with each dead end, another question gnawed at him.
‘Will Tristan still be waiting for me ?’
It had been 2 years. He and Tristan had been inseparable before, but what if things weren’t the same anymore ? What if Tristan had moved on, found new friends, forgotten the boy he started a relationship with ?
All those thoughts made him make a decision : either he continued only searching for Jericho. Or he went back to Liones and saw Tristan, taking the risk that the demon or his parents wouldn’t let him go back to searching for his master. But the possibility he was the most afraid of, was that Tristan had moved on, and that his dreams and heart would be crushed.
Was it better to live in a comfortable lie than a painful truth ? The weight of his decision settled in his chest.
If things had changed, if Tristan no longer saw him the same way, then so be it. He needed to know.
Still, doubt clung to him like a shadow as he made his way back to Liones. Every step closer, his heartbeat pounded louder. The journey felt longer than the two years he had spent away. And he started to doubt himself, ‘finally living in a lie isn’t so bad’, he told himself, ‘that’s what I did everyday for the past 2 years after all. Maybe if I told that to Tristan he would call me a creep for imagining him every night in my bed, maybe he won’t feel the same anymore.’
Finally, the gates of Liones stood before him. The familiar walls, the scent of the city, everything was the same, yet different. He was different.
‘Will Tristan recognize me ?’
‘Will Tristan still care ?’
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and changed his appearance to be incognito and fly over the kingdom to go straight to Tristan’s room. He hoped to speak only to Tristan without alerting his parents, so they wouldn’t inform his own. It was a cowardly move of him, but he would do what he thought was best.
When he changed back to his human appearance, he was on the balcony where they used to look at the sky, he used the key he knew was over the door in a crook a bird had carved a long time ago. Of course when he entered, Tristan wasn’t there. It was the middle of the afternoon, he had prince stuff to do.
So he wandered through the room he used to spend so much time in with his demon. Many memories came back to him ; where they used to draw on every paper at their disposal ; where they looked attentively at the fireplace gently soothing them to sleep which resulted in one of their dad taking them to the big bed they slept in. It too hadn’t changed, still the same canopies covered in flowers the goddess picked out each week, still the same sheets they used to make a small hut in the middle of the room.
The sense of familiarity he felt when he looked around him filled him with joy. His memories were a little blurry, but this made them become clear again.
Lancelot let out a breath as he sat down on the edge of Tristan’s bed, his fingers sinking into the soft fabric of the sheets. It was strange, so much had changed in the past two years, yet this room, this place where they had spent so many days and nights together, remained untouched by time. He ran a hand over the blankets, recalling the nights they had curled up here, whispering secrets until sleep took them.
The scent was the one of Tristan of course. Instinctively, he reached out toward the empty space beside him, as if expecting the prince to suddenly appear there. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips when his fingers met only air.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, lying back against the bed. He didn’t intend to sleep, he just needed a moment. A moment to take in the warmth of familiarity, to remind himself that this was real. That after all the lonely nights, all the doubts and fears, he had finally made it back. He breathed in the pillow of his best friend remembering that Tristan always liked to sleep on the left side of the bed, the right side was Lancelot’s part.
He got up again, not wanting to potentially be found sniffing in the heir to the throne’s pillow by someone entering the room.
Lancelot wandered around Tristan’s room, his fingers absentmindedly brushing over the edges of books, the corners of tables, and the frame of the different paintings. A part of him wanted to just sit and wait, but another part, the restless part who knew nothing was perfect, knew he needed to do something. If for some reason he had to leave before seeing Tristan, he at least wanted his best friend to know he had been here.
His eyes landed on the net stack of papers on Tristan’s desk. The demon had always been particularly tidy with his writing materials.
He picked up a blank piece of parchment and turned it in his hands. ‘What should I write ?
Something casual ? “Hey, I dropped by.”
Something teasing? “Guess who’s back? You’re still good at keeping your room organized.”
Something meaningful? “I never forgot about you.” ‘
In the end, he settled for something simple, something that held the weight of two years of love in just a few words.
‘Tris’, I’m back. Were you waiting for me ?’
It wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be. Tristan would know. He hoped he would know.
Lancelot folded the note and slipped it beneath the ink bottle on the desk, somewhere obvious but not too suspicious. He glanced around one last time, then made his way to the door. He couldn’t stay here any longer, what if a maid or worse : Meliodas or Elizabeth came in ! So he moved, planning to go back to Tristan’s room when time had passed a bit.
He changed appearances again to his fox self to be smaller, therefore, more discrete. Lancelot was looking for information, like he did when he searched for Jericho. He wanted to know every rumor and tale about Tristan he could hear, from the voices of the maid to the thoughts of the knights. As Lancelot wandered through the castle halls, he kept his ears open for any mention of Tristan. Whispers, gossip, and stories spread easily in a kingdom, and he was determined to gather every piece of information he could.
Lancelot listened carefully to all of it. Every word only made him more eager, and even more anxious, to see Tristan again.
He wandered for some hours, using all the time he had left before he would go meet Tristan again. He summed up the gossip he had heard the most.
Among the murmurs of the castle staff, one tale stood out : Tristan had developed a habit of sneaking out at night. No one knew exactly why, but it had become a well-known mystery among the maids, knights, and even the royal guards.
Some claimed they had seen him walking through the halls of the castle when most were asleep, his footsteps extremely silent, as only a demon could achieve, his expression unreadable. Others had spotted him outside, wandering through the royal gardens, past the training grounds, or even on the castle walls and roof, staring into the distance as if searching for something beyond the horizon.
The guards who patrolled at night had reported unusual sightings, though none dared question their prince. One swore he had seen Tristan standing in the courtyard under the moonlight, his hands clenched into fists, his breath heavy, as if he had been fighting something, perhaps his own thoughts or powers. Another knight claimed that Tristan would often end up at the balcony of his room overlooking the kingdom, gazing at the stars in deep contemplation, lost in something only he could understand.
A few of the more superstitious castle workers whispered of an even stranger occurrence. They said that sometimes, late at night, the wind would carry soft murmurs through the halls, almost like a conversation, though Tristan was always alone. A stable boy even told a story of catching a glimpse of Tristan talking to himself near the royal dining room, his voice low and sorrowful, as if he were speaking to someone who wasn’t there.
Of course, not everyone believed these tales. Some thought he was simply restless, unable to sleep due to the weight of his responsibilities. Others dismissed it as the prince training in secret, trying to push himself beyond his limits, which he was surely doing too.
Lancelot, making his way back to the bedroom of the Prince of Liones, knew better. He knew Tristan. And if these stories were true, if his demon had spent the past two years wandering the castle at night, lost in thought, searching for something, then maybe, just maybe, Tristan had been waiting for him all along.
He entered the room by where he had left it, by the window facing a wall of the kitchen. He made his way through the empty royal kitchen to the open window and jumped the gap between the two windows. He successfully got into the goddess’s chambres, but no goddess was in sight. Tristan was running late to an event he didn’t know would happen.
But what Lancelot didn’t know was that Tristan was actually caught in a not-at-all-needed intervention.
The demon had been injured at the leg while he was training earlier, but it wasn’t really noticeable so he didn’t tell anyone as he thought he would be able to heal it himself. Although he had to go back to his room to heal it without worrying anyone.
While returning to his chambers, Tristan had been intercepted by a group of knights, older, seasoned warriors who had served under his grandfather for years. They weren’t just stopping him for idle chatter. They had noticed his distracted demeanor, the way he had been sneaking away more often, and the nights he spent wandering alone. One of them, a gruff yet well-meaning captain, placed a firm hand on his shoulder and asked while looking directly in his eyes:
"Are you alright, Your Highness ?"
Tristan, caught off guard, struggled to come up with a response AND stay straight on his bad leg. The pain was making him think longer than he should. He didn’t want to lie, but he also wasn’t sure how to explain the restless energy within him, the unease that had only grown stronger with time. Ever since Lancelot disappeared, something had been missing, a part of himself he couldn’t replace. And though he had tried to move forward, it lingered in the back of his mind, surfacing when he least expected it.
Before he could brush them off, the knights took his silence as an opportunity to advise him. They reminded him of his responsibilities, of the importance of focus and discipline. They told him that a prince could not afford to be distracted, that his grandfather had been younger than him when he began fighting for the kingdom. Their words were meant to encourage, but they only left Tristan feeling caged.
The conversation dragged longer than he had anticipated. He was forced to reassure them, to smile and promise that he was fine, that he was training hard, that they didn’t need to worry. It was exhausting, pretending that he had everything under control when deep inside, he knew something was missing. That HE was missing.
By the time he was finally free to leave, the sun had dipped lower in the sky. He hurried through the castle halls, cursing under his breath in the demon language. Tears of exhaustion and pain fell down his face, even if Tristan tried desperately to stop them, at least until he was in his room.
Tristan barely noticed anything as he pushed open the door to his chambers, his mind consumed by the throbbing pain in his leg and the weight of the conversation he had just endured. He just wanted to be alone, to let himself breathe, to stop pretending he was fine, to finally cry out the tears he didn’t let himself feel for too long.
He stopped putting weight on his injured leg and let himself not be perfect for a moment. He was limping but now that he was protected by his familiar space, nobody could judge him anymore.
But the moment he stepped inside, something felt… different.
The air carried a faint warmth, as if someone had been there recently. His eyes instinctively flickered toward his desk. Nothing had moved at first glance, but then he noticed a folded piece of parchment tucked beneath his ink bottle. His breath hitched as he limped to it.
His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the rest of the room, note in hand, and that’s when he saw him.
A familiar figure, perched on the edge of his bed, bathed in the soft glow of the evening light filtering through the curtains.
Tristan froze, his mind unable to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. His childhood best friend, his first love, the one he had thought about endlessly for the past two years. He was here, right in front of him.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence stretched between them, thick with everything they had left unsaid. Tristan's breath hitched as his emotions surged. He felt relief, anger, longing and disbelief drowning him.
Lancelot was the first to break the stillness. He stood up slowly, his small smile faltering as he took in the sight before him. Tristan looked exhausted, his eyes were red with tears in it, his stance was unsteady, and when he shifted his weight slightly, a sharp wince flickered across his face.
"You’re hurt." Lancelot’s voice was quiet, but the concern in it was unmistakable.
"And you disappeared for two years, we aren’t supposed to talk about me right now, " said Tristan as he tried to steady himself with a hand on his desk.
Lancelot flinched, guilt flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Tristan took a step forward, too fast, too careless. His injured leg buckled beneath him, and he barely had time to react before Lancelot moved instinctively, catching him before he could fall.
For the first time in 2 years, they were close again.
Tristan’s fingers curled into Lancelot’s sweeter, gripping it tightly as if he tried to ground himself, while Lancelot’s arms held him securely, his warmth painfully familiar. Neither of them spoke.
Lancelot swallowed hard. He had imagined this moment a hundred times, his favorite one in all the scenarios he had before sleeping, but now that it was happening, he didn’t know what to say.
"I’m here," he finally murmured. "I came back."
"Took you long enough." said the goddess letting out a shaky breath and for the first time, feeling the relief of knowing the person you love is safe and right with you.
They stayed like that for a long time, enjoying finally hugging each other again. They only stopped when Lancelot saw blood slowly staining Tristan’s trousers. He was so focused he hadn’t remembered in which state the demon came back.
“Come here, we’re going to heal your leg before anything else happens,” muttered the fairy, keeping at least one part of his body on Tristan’s at any moment, to help him relieve tension from his leg but also to keep reassuring himself that it was real. That HE was real.
Lancelot helped his demon to walk to his bed, knowing the other might already have questions he really didn’t want to answer. He gently lowered his…friend ? lover ?.... the prince until they both sat on the soft sheets. Tristan could feel the deep cut on the inside of his leg, his trousers rubbing against it and producing an even more painful sensation.
He placed his hand over it and concentrated his goddess magic on this point. He didn’t really master his magic and the wound was pretty deep, but he was sure he could do it. A soft, golden glow began to radiate from Tristan’s palm, illuminating the dimly lit room with a gentle warmth.
Lancelot watched in silence, his sharp eyes fixed on the spot where the blood had soaked in a red stain. He had seen Tristan use his magic countless times before, but after two years, he had almost forgotten how beautiful it was. The glow danced across Tristan’s skin, casting soft highlights on his face, making his silver hair shimmer like moonlight.
Tristan’s breath was slow and measured, his brow furrowed in concentration as he poured his energy into the wound. Sweat formed at his temples, but he didn’t stop. He felt that the deep cut on his leg began to close, the torn flesh knitting itself back together as if time was reversing. The burning pain dulled into a mild ache, then into nothingness. A cool, tingling sensation spread through his limb, as if a warm breeze had swept through his veins, pushing away the exhaustion and pain.
Lancelot saw the faintest tremor in his hands, the subtle strain that came with using healing magic on oneself. Without thinking, Lancelot reached out, his fingers grazing Tristan’s wrist.
"That’s enough," he murmured, his voice quieter than usual, lacking its usual teasing lilt. "Don’t overdo it."
Tristan exhaled sharply, as if only now realizing how much effort he had put into the spell. The golden light flickered once more before fading, leaving only the soft glow of the setting sun filtering through the curtains.
The pain was gone. The wound was healed. But the warmth of Lancelot’s hand on his wrist lingered.
Tristan lifted his gaze, their eyes meeting in the quiet aftermath of the magic. Neither of them spoke. The air between them felt fragile, like something that could shatter with the wrong word.
So, instead, Lancelot simply let his hand fall away.
But apparently it wasn’t the right thing to do.
Because he could clearly hear the thoughts of Tristan who slowly let go of the eye contact and lowered his head. ‘He doesn’t want to touch me, he moved on from us. I’m an idiot’
“I didn’t,” he answered to Tristan’s heart, “and you’re not an idiot.”
Tristan let out a humourless chuckle.
“I forgot you could do that.”
Silence fell on the room. Neither spoke. Until Lancelot unhurriedly guided his own hand to his demon’s face, taking his chin between two fingers and pulling so Tristan would look at him again.
“I’m serious. I have never stopped loving you since that day.” affirmed calmly Lancelot, now appeased to know that his feelings were still mutual.
Tristan looked deeply into the fairy’s eyes, searching for proof that he was maybe lying. But he found none.
“But you left,” said the goddess, feeling tears filling his eyes once more, “for - 2 - whole - years ! Without telling me, without even a letter or a note from you !”
Lancelot felt guilt starting to cripple in his mind. “I didn’t know at the time that I would be gone for so long, and I’m sorry for worrying you. And my parents. And your parents. And a lot of people actually, I’m realizing now that I’m saying it out loud.”
Tristan let out a breath, his shoulders trembling slightly as he fought back the tears threatening to spill over. “Damn right, you should be sorry,” he muttered, voice uneven. He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before glaring at Lancelot with a mix of frustration and raw emotion.
“Do you have any idea what it was like? To wake up every day wondering if you were alive? If you had abandoned me? If you had… forgotten me?”
Lancelot felt his chest tighten. He had expected anger, maybe even some sadness, but not this, the deep wound that his absence had left behind. He gripped tightly the sheets in his hands.
“I could never forget you,” His voice was steady, unwavering, “Not for a second. Even in that strange world, even when I was searching for Jericho, you were always there.” He tapped his chest, “Here. Every night. Every moment I had to myself.”
Tristan scoffed, shaking his head. “And yet, you still didn’t come back sooner.”
Lancelot swallowed hard. “I couldn’t. I promised myself I would find Jericho first. She trained me, I owe her my life. I thought… if I just found her, I could come back with no regrets.” He dropped his hands, looking away. “But I failed. I didn’t find her.”
Lancelot preferred not saying immediately that he would go back into the unknown to search for her again, he could tell him that another time. Even if the other time was surely the day right after.
Tristan’s expression softened slightly, his anger dimming just a little. He knew how much Jericho had meant to Lancelot, how she had raised him as more than just a mentor, more like a sister. He understood the weight of that promise, even if it didn’t take away the hurt of being left behind.
A heavy silence settled between them again, only broken by the sound of Tristan taking a deep, shaky breath.
“…I missed you,” the prince admitted at last, his voice so quiet that even Lancelot’s sharp ears almost didn’t catch it. “I hated you, resented you, cursed your name for disappearing… but goddesses, I missed you so much. The feelings I have for you wouldn't go away even if I told myself a hundred times that you weren’t coming back. I couldn’t move on.”
Lancelot’s heart clenched. He couldn’t take back the past, couldn’t erase the pain he had caused, but he could do this, he could be here, now. Slowly, cautiously, he reached for Tristan’s hand, fingers curling around his. “Then let me make it up to you,” he murmured. “I’m here now.”
Tristan squeezed his hand back, hard, as if afraid Lancelot would slip away again. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t let go either.
Lancelot closed his eyes and slowly went to kiss the other’s forehead, like they used to do before he went away. It was familiar and strange at the same time, they were different than before.
Maybe they weren’t the same boys they had been two years ago. Maybe there was healing still left to do. But for now, they were together again. And that was enough.
As soon as Lancelot had pulled back his lips from his silver bangs, Tristan let himself fall into his fairy’s arms. The warmth of his lover’s body enveloping him was the dearest memory he wanted to live again. The prince of Bennwick hugged him back, glad that even if so much time had passed, the goddess was still in love with cuddles.
“Have you seen your parents yet ?” Tristan asked, realizing that Lancelot hadn’t mentioned them while he was telling him the story of his 2 last year.
The blonde took a deep and long breath. He was sure that this question was awaiting him as Tristan was close to Ban and Elaine.
“No, not yet. You’re the first person I went to,” he paused before continuing more slowly and uneasily, “I promised that… hum… I wouldn’t go back to Bennwick if I didn’t bring Jericho with me.”
Ok that's it but I'm working on the rest.
