Caught in the thunderstorm with Galahad (Patreon)

It all started with a couple gloomy clouds hanging ominously on the horizon. You first took notice of them as you were talking with Saphira, one of the local dragon representatives that had called for the The Round Table's assistance. The sky had been clear when you arrived in the morning – having set flight at the crack of dawn, a fact your dragon friend would not let you forget, beaming their drowsy irritation into your head. Blame Galahad, you'd reply. He insisted we be there as early as possible.

You don't blame him for rushing, though. The way Saphira described the situation, it seemed like a rather contentious matter but it turned out far easier to settle than anticipated. You could have made it back to Camelot in time for dinner, if it wasn't for the storm.

By the time you finished your business, the clouds have swooped on you, dark and baleful and oppressive, reigning over the sky as far as you could see with your eye. You barely made it to an inn before the downpour started.

“Mighty storm outside,” the innkeeper remarks, pen poised over the ledger, gaze pinned on the watery deluge beyond the window. A tree branch bangs into the glass as if begging to be let inside. “Doesn’t look like it’s going to let up soon.”

As if to strengthen their claim, thunder crackles above.

The innkeeper turns to you with a brilliant smile. “Time to find you four some rooms.”

Lodgings for the dragons are quickly found, and a servant comes to usher them away with a promise of a hearty dinner for later. Meanwhile, you are left with the innkeeper, pressing their lips tightly and tutting over the ledger. You would have been more than content sharing a room with your dragon friend as you’ve had many times before, but the innkeeper insisted on finding something for you.

“We’re almost full,” they explain.

Laughter and music and light spill through the great oak doors beyond the entrance hall. The buzz of unintelligible conversations coalesces with the merry tune of violin and flutes. While the world outside is dark and raging and cold, the parlor of the inn is a bubble of mirth and warmth.

“We have a group of merchants as well as a traveling musical troupe spending the night,” they add. “It’s almost like a fair in there.”

You glance to Galahad. “Gawain would have loved to be here, wouldn’t he?”

He nods with a small smile.

“Ah-ha!” The innkeeper holds up their pen in victory. “But I do have a chamber for you.”

It’s a very lovely room, save for one issue.

There’s only one bed.

Galahad stares at it as if you’d just been led to the den of a slumbering monster that may pounce if you make on wrong move. Your legs certainly feel one step away from one, rendered as liquid as your insides.

“It’s the only chamber we have left. I hope it’s up to your liking?”

Galahad shakes himself off and dips his head graciously towards the innkeeper, who bustles away with a smile.

The cozy lushness of the chamber allows weariness to finally come crushing down on you. The sight of fluffed-out pillows and smooth linen sheets remind you of the bed you were forced to abandon before the night was even over, and bring on a keen need to slip into it.

But you won’t be doing that alone.

And Galahad looks none too eager about it.

He places his satchel on the ground and eyes the bed as if weighing up a possible enemy.

In turn, you consider him. “Does this arrangement make you uncomfortable? The bed, I mean.”

Violet eyes – made all the more darker and deeper a purple in the dim light – flash to you, surprised. “I-No.” He pauses, then asks: “You?”

“Not at all.”

With that, some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

Truth be told, you’re far from uncomfortable. The thought of sharing a chamber – bed – with Galahad summons nothing but a flutter of excitement.

“I promise I won’t accidentally kick you in my sleep,” you add, drawing a snort of amusement from him.

“Will you intentionally then?”

“If you hog the blanket, maybe,” you tease. “I don’t know if I can even reach across to you, though. The bed may be for two, but I reckon it’s big enough to fit a third person in it.” Lots of space to be had between you, so to say.

“I’ve shared smaller beds. With Gawain, and Nimue. It’s not an issue.” His gaze rakes over you – quickly so, as if to confirm the truth of his statement – before he looks away altogether. “I should stoke the fire.”

You rush forward in a clang of armor. “I can do it. Fire magic, remember?” You wiggle your fingers in his direction, summoning a small sparkle to their tips, but Galahad spares only the briefest glance your way, nodding to let you go ahead.

You kneel before the hearth where embers sizzle from a dying fire. You toss in a couple logs then, cupping both palms over them, will the flames to rise, strong and hot-red.

You glance up at Galahad with a smile. You find his attention already on you, his cheeks ruddier than before – too quickly to be blamed on the heat. Gooseflesh licks up your arms and you can’t lay the fault on the fire, either.

“We should call after a servant,” Galahad says, and it’s enough to rouse you to your feet.

The next hour passes mostly in a blur. You relinquish your armors, take hot baths and have a hearty supper brought to your chamber to enjoy by the fire. Once the silver trays have been taken away, Galahad settles back comfortably in his armchair, nursing a cup of tea and staring into it as if the most captivating theatre play unfolded within.

Behind him, rain keeps on battering against the windows. The servant wanted to draw the curtains shut but you’ve asked them not to. With the windows so tall and wide and pointed towards a ridge of mountains, you’re truly given an impressive show. The storm calmed down for a bit while you were eating only to now return in full force, thunder cracking louder, lightning flashing brighter.

The revelry downstairs is intent to rival it in uproar, though. Upbeat music can be heard even over the patter of raindrops and every now and then a wave of rowdy laughter reaches your way, dampened through the floor yet no less cheerful.

"You don't have to stay on my account," Galahad says. "I'm sure you'd find more lively company with the patrons downstairs."

Well, it really is a toss coin when it comes down to how people will react to your name and the attached reputation – there are those intrigued and those repelled and, on the best of days, those that don't care at all.

"Be that as it may," you say, "I prefer your company."

He smiles. It’s such a mellow expression that once you could only hope to find bestowed on you.

Your friendship with Galahad has unfurled slowly and delicately like a blooming rosebud. You’re past frowns and suspicious looks thrown your way – they’re now directed sideways. Wary glances to the outside world, as if Galahad was afraid it may turn on him any moment. Often, the moments you share seem like guilty indulgences he allows himself.

You settle down in the armchair opposite him, plush and velvety and a treat for your tired self. You fold up your legs and nestle closer to the fireside, briefly closing your eyes to focus on nothing else but the warmth against your cheek.

Beyond the glass, a vein-like streak of electrifying silver spears the sky.

“This reminds of a story from when I was a child,” you say. “Of the traveler caught in the rainstorm seeking refuge at a cottage in the woods.”

“Only for their host to turn out to be a fae and the next day there was no house to behold?” Galahad finishes for you. “Let’s hope we’ll still have a roof come morning.”

You stand by the fire a little longer, talking of stories and faes and thunderstorms. Once you’ve both drank your warm tea, you decide it’s better to head to bed so you might be well rested for the road back.

You slip between the sheets, each on their side of the bed. There’s plenty of space between you that you don’t even so much as brush against each other as you settle in, yet despite the distance there’s a certain intimacy to hearing his soft breathing in the darkness, the slight rustle of fabric every time he moves.

It doesn’t pass much time before you realize the sheets you have won’t be enough to keep you warm.

“There’s only one duvet,” you say after rummaging through both the cabinet and the wardrobe. You hold out the comforter – it feels fluffy and silky under your fingers. It’s made to accommodate more than one person, but doesn’t account for the space the two of you have left between you. You’d have to huddle...close.

You glance at Galahad over the duvet. His face, limned in dim, gilded light, is inscrutable.

“You can have it,” he says without hesitation.

“We could share,” you venture, and a shiver runs from the crown of your head all the way to your toes. “If that’s alright with you.”

Galahad just nods. You get back into bed and slowly scuttle close together. Your knees bump lightly, and your hands graze against each other, but neither pulls away. His warmth breath caresses your cheek, skims across your lips.

You’re definitely not cold anymore.

“It’s alright?” you ask, your voice barely louder than the whisper of sheets.

“Yes,” Galahad murmurs back, just as gently.

A content smile curls your lips as your eyelids grow heavier. “If we really were to wake up to no roof or inn,” you say, thinking back on the traveler’s tale, “I’d still feel cozy and safe.”

His fingers twitch next to yours, as if to reach out. Instead, they merely brush against them. A feather-like touch, small yet comforting.

“Me too,” he replies.

You fall asleep to the sound of the rain and Galahad’s breath.