Title: "Horn of Plenty" 1/1
Author: CharlieMC camelotslash-1 at qwest.net
Fandom: "King Arthur"
Pairing: Arthur/Lancelot
Feedback: Yes! Any and all types welcome, both good and bad.
Status: Complete
Date: September 22, 2004
Archive: Sure, contact me first, please [template must stay with fic]
Archived at: CamelotSlash.com -- http://www.camelotslash.com
Category: Slash, mpreg.
Disclaimer: Don't own them and mean no infringement or disrespect. No money made, it's merely for fun. Arthur and his knights belong to the ages -- certainly not to me! This probably never happened... (Right?)
Summary: Lancelot convinces Arthur to celebrate Mea'n Fo'mhair (the Autumn Equinox)...
Warnings: Slash (men/men) and mpreg.
Author Notes: I love research. I really do! So don't bother asking how long it took me to find out what was eaten during this celebration in the "King Arthur" (the movie) time period (placed mid-400 A.D.)... (just finding out about *pomegrantes* -- very much a part of the modern version of this celebration -- was quite a task! (grin) And, yes, the cornucopia (also know as the 'Horn of Plenty') dates back to 5th century B.C.! (Yes, it's both a phallic and womb symbol... think about it... grin.)
Beta: Thanks as always to Mistress Marilyn for her wonderful help.
Dedication: To Vesta Morgaine (priestess_vesta) who wished us 'Happy Mabon' in an OT at the WhenDarknessBeckons list.

-----

"Vanora wants us all of us to join in the Mea'n Fo'mhair celebration, Arthur," Lancelot said, pressing one hand to each of Arthur's broad shoulders as he leaned his head to see what the man was up to.

Arthur sat with his back to Lancelot, a scroll opened on the table before him as he gazed down intently and made small marks on the tablet set beside it. Lancelot squinted and suppressed a shudder of distaste; he had no time for Arthur's foolishness about reading and writing -- two skills that seemed to have little practical use in his mind.

Arthur reached up a large hand and patted one of Lancelot's. He twisted his head to answer, a sudden grin lighting his features. "I'm ready for a break from this. What sort of celebration did you say?"

"She called it Mea'n Fo'mhair, as I recall. Though I doubt I'm pronouncing it correctly," Lancelot replied, grinning back.

"What's the occasion, exactly?" Arthur queried as he rose from the chair and took Lancelot in his arms.

It wasn't always their practice to take part in such celebrations, for over the years the knights often missed out on many such an occasion while away in the field (doing what they did best, warring) -- or while out helping with the hunting for meat (to dry for use during the winter months).

"They honor the Green Man -- the forest God -- so I'm told. So it's time to offer libations to the trees. A good excuse, I say, to bring out the best wines and some of Bors' hard cider to add to the beer and ale! Today, so Vanora says, the day is divided equally with the night. Tomorrow the darkness begins in earnest, I suppose," he added, snuggling closer against Arthur's chest. "I hate the cold," he added, shivering.

"Winter's on the way, and no doubt about that," Arthur said, stroking Lancelot's dark curls. "No worry, my love. I'll keep you warm enough."

"I hate forcing you to attend pagan rituals, so if you'd rather not..." Lancelot trailed off, trying to keep the lilt of amusement from his voice.

Arthur laughed. "Yes, I like a celebration as much as the next man, I dare say. Christian or no. I can't believe a merciful God would wish us to forego the opportunity, after all."

"Well, then, have done with this," Lancelot said, gesturing in a dismissive way at the cluttered table, "and let's join the rest! Surely you could let the squires and servants join in the fun as well?"

"Indeed! How not? If we're to enjoy this celebration, then all should share. Who has the watch among us?"

"Galahad, I think."

"With the Romans minding the fort, I think he, too, can come. Perhaps brigands and barbarian hordes will leave off for one day."

"Not this barbarian," Lancelot said, gently cuffing Arthur.

"Well, even if you do for now, I hope you'll find an excuse to attack me later on," Arthur replied playfully, giving Lancelot a squeeze before releasing him.

They merrily went out to find Jols prior to heading to join those who were ready to celebrate.

===

All spent several happy hours outside the fort, scattering their offerings in the harvested fields and making libations to the nearby trees. Arthur and Lancelot even went along to the brief visit of the cemetery of the Samartian knights were they adorned the graves with leaves, acorns and pine cones in honor of their beloved dead.

They returned to the fort with cheeks ruddy from the cool autumn air, ready for food and drink. Happily there was a board heavy with both, combining the traditional Mea'n Fo'mhair foods -- corn, grains (mostly in the form of loaves of bread, fresh from the oven), pomegranates and apples -- with venison and stewed rabbit. A huge cornucopia -- spilling over with fruits -- held a place of honor on the table. The wines were of the best they had (and were heady), but there was fresh cider to taste, as well. (Though many seemed to stay with ale and beer, even so.)

"Happy?" Arthur asked Lancelot, as he took a large gulp of Bors' cider.

"Even the nip in the air can't keep me from being very happy," Lancelot replied.

"I liked what the Priestess said."

"Which thing?" Lancelot asked, cocking his head in curiosity.

"About taking time to 'pay our respects to the impending dark.' I do have respect for the changing seasons. They seem to speak to me. Life is about change."

"I have respect for the dark, as well, Arthur. But I'll have to think on whether or not I'd find that something worth celebrating."

"Ah, but that's not the main thing we're celebrating here, Lancelot!" Arthur's voice warmed with his resolve; Lancelot stared into Arthur's face, captivated by that voice.

"We also are giving our thanks to the waning sunlight," Arthur added, "a thing worth doing. We had a good, warm summer for a change this year."

"Well, better than most, I suppose. I recall some weeks of rain in June..." Lancelot's tone was wry, his expression amused as he deliberately trailed off.

Arthur shrugged off his negative words. "Look at the crops this year," he said, gesturing around them. There were barrels and baskets of food everywhere, waiting to be stored away for winter. The tart smell of pickling was in the air, as many women had already begun 'putting up' beets and pickles, along with other vegetables and fruits.

"We've no cause for complaint," Arthur continued, smiling hugely.

"And when she spoke of the Goddess?" Lancelot asked, face deliberately innocent.

Arthur chuckled. "You're just egging for a fight, aren't you? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. I've no argument with any man's religion, as well you know. Love of the Goddess came before love of the Christ," he added, still smiling.

Lancelot grinned and took a large bite from a crisp apple. The crunch was loud and the smell of apple juice a powerful scent. "So," he said, having swallowed his treat, "You join in celebrating the aging Goddess who is now passing from Mother to Crone. You celebrate her consort God -- as he prepares for death and re-birth?"

Arthur quickly grabbed up Lancelot's apple and took off a large hunk with his strong, white teeth. He chewed away as he lifted the apple high over Lancelot's head, shifting it from hand to hand as Lancelot attempted to retrieve it.

"You know, I'm in favor of any occasion that has you so playful," Lancelot remarked. Just as he gave up trying for the apple, Arthur placed it back in his palm.

"There's some truth there that I cannot deny," Arthur finally answered. "The world turns and life moves from young to old. And who can deny death and re-birth? Surely not a Christian! The Christ, too, died and was reborn."

"You and your white god," Lancelot muttered. "I don't see the appeal. I'd rather worship gods that understand men and their needs."

"Well, we all worship as we will. But if this is worship," Arthur said, sipping again at his cup of cider, "then I'm for it. Men need full bellies and full hearts to face the winter. I know that. To set eyes on a 'horn of plenty' reminds us that we'll be well kept in the months to come."

"Ha! Vanora says that 'horn of plenty' represents the womb of a mother. Even of Mother Earth. Me, I say it's a different 'horn' it stands for!" Bors said, making a descriptive rude gesture with both hands. "Right, Arthur?"

"So I've heard tell," Arthur answered mildly, while the other men taunted and laughed. "But I think the lady Priestess knows better than I, Bors."

When the teasing abated, Arthur and Lancelot sat together in companionable silence for several minutes, listening to the talk and jests of their friends. Then Bors encouraged Vanora to sing.

The song seemed poignant, speaking as it did of the changing seasons. Many blinked back tears, while still others sang along.

"They'll be at this half the night," Lancelot remarked, his tone nonchalant.

Arthur glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Yes, they will," he said, emphasizing the word 'they.' "However," he said, rising from the backless wooden bench, "I'm for bed." He winked at Lancelot.

"I, too, need to retire," Lancelot answered, rising swiftly. He yawned hugely, though those close by weren't fooled by this ruse.

"Well, then," Arthur said, his voice so low that none but Lancelot could hear his words, "I think the true celebration is about to begin."

Lancelot nodded. He couldn't keep the smile from his lips -- or from lighting his eyes. "I'm for that."

"Many greetings!" Arthur called to those gathered as he turned to depart.

"Artorius!" Bors shouted, his voice slurred with drink.

Others cheered and the partying continued as both Arthur and Lancelot headed toward the Samartian enclosure.

===

Soon they were snuggled together in Arthur's bed, naked skin pressed against naked skin.

"I'm chilled," Lancelot complained, pushing closer.

Arthur pressed the back of his hand to Lancelot's forehead. "You don't feel feverish. For which I'll thank the Green God, if need be."

"I'm not ill," Lancelot countered, "and as I recall..."

Arthur groaned. "You're not going to bring up those few days I was abed, again, are you?"

"It was difficult enough to keep you there," Lancelot retorted, playfully punching Arthur's arm. "But let go. Just warm me, please."

Arthur wrapped his arms around Lancelot and pulled him tighter -- spooning against his back. He used a hand to rub the chilled skin within his reach -- one arm, the chest, the belly and one thigh.

"Better?"

"Yes."

They were quiet for several moments. The sound of the celebration drifted in the room like a distant echo.

"I have news that should be cause for more celebration, I'd wager," Lancelot said, breaking the silence.

"You sound less than certain about that," Arthur noted, breathing hot breath on the back of Lancelot's neck.

"I'm quite certain. I awoke this morning quite ill."

"That's hardly news I care to celebrate!"

"Hear me out, Arthur. After I puked my guts out, I came back to bed and rested here beside you."

"The sound of you vomiting didn't awaken me?"

Lancelot laughed. "Not you! You sleep like the dead in the hours after we've coupled."

Arthur chuckled. "I can't deny it."

"But you haven't heard all."

"I'm sorry. I won't interrupt again. Go on," he said, absently rubbing Lancelot's muscled belly.

"You seem to know," Lancelot said, his voice warm. "For you touch me as if I'd already told you my news. I am quickened, Arthur. I'm sure of it."

"Lancelot!"

"It's true. I could feel the spark inside me this morning, during those quiet moments beside you."

Arthur's hand gently pressed Lancelot's belly again before reaching to find his lover's hand.

Lancelot squeezed Arthur's hand tightly. "You are glad?"

"How not? I'm delighted. A new 'horn of plenty' for us both, Lancelot. I suppose now I truly owe thanks to the goddess," he said, voice rough with emotion.

"We must mark this day, my love."

"Indeed! I didn't realize one could tell when quickening has happened," Arthur said quietly.

"I don't think it's always true, Arthur. But I felt it. It was an amazing thing! I delighted in it even as I gagged at the bitter taste of bile in my mouth."

"I know how I would celebrate this news, love," Arthur murmured.

Lancelot laughed. "The jut of your manhood leaves me little wonder as to what you mean. Then let us celebrate!"

"Is it safe? For the babe? For you?"

"Arthur Castus, if you think I'll spend close to a year without coupling, you've gone mad. I'd sooner run naked through a forest full of Woads than go without all the while I carry our babe."

Arthur laughed and Lancelot joined in -- it was joyous laughter, but it brought tears to their eyes.

"Our babe. A miracle, truly. I do praise the Goddess that she was kind enough to answer the prayers you made."

"She heard your shouts last night and this morning, early, and could do nothing else! I think she was afraid of you, 'Artorius,' you great bear."

"I'll put off wishing it a boy and be happy if you give me a smiling girl-child," Arthur replied.

"Well not I!" Lancelot said, adamant. "I want a boy. I'm not enduring the discomforts of carrying a child to give you a girl to protect. I want a strong son who can learn to wield a sword in each hand."

Arthur chuckled and turned Lancelot to face him. "You, my dear, will take whatever you get and like it well, I think. And I will love the child almost as much as I love you."

"No, better, Arthur. We shall both love our child more than any living or dead. But only slightly more than we love one another," he added, eyes again misting.

"The world turns. Life ends and life begins. Come next June we'll welcome our babe!"

"June! Oh, let there not be too much rain when the child is born," Lancelot complained. "This past June had some ghastly weeks."

"You get through winter and spring and we'll see what you say then," Arthur chided, gently. "I think after a winter of snow and ice that you won't mind the rain as much."

"How little you seem to know me, Arthur! Really, I'm surprised at you," Lancelot teased.

"Well, perhaps I need to know you better," Arthur replied, again pressing into Lancelot.

"And that, my dear, is how this all started!"

"Ah, true. So let's celebrate it, shall we?"

-the end-