The final image says it all, and so beautifully: Lancelot would never see the good that he wrought, would never care to understand the appreciation of those who flourished under his protection, would never know anything but the unending toil of blood and death.
Gawain cast a last, suddenly resentful, glance back at Camelot before following the dark figure down the road.
I am so very much in love with your Lancelot, in every story you write. He's a vivid, intense, dynamic character, his personality leaping out in stark relief against all the others. He's strong, passionate, unbowed, and yet hopelessly broken. The vulnerability buried beneath countless layers of rage and bitterness, betrayal and cynicism, is all the more crippling because he refuses to admit to it. He's the epitome of tragedy, and the story works so much better with him not dying at Badon.
Of course he would have returned to Sarmatia the moment it was possible, and of course that homecoming would never really have been possible. That it would cut him deeper than any wound earned in battle only adds to the pain of his story.
I find myself almost obsessed with your examination of Lancelot as the price to be paid for Camelot's shining existence. It is because of his sacrifice that Britain retains its peace, and yet that sacrifice is offered--not reluctantly, no, because he does it for Arthur, and thus wholeheartedly--but in spite of his objections and his loathing for the kingdom, its origins, and the naivety of its ideals. Camelot is not a cause he believes in, and for him to be the one torn apart and beaten down in order for it to exist, for the opposing pulls of love and loyalty in the myth of Lancelot to play out in this particular way, breaks my heart.
Because Lancelot gains nothing. He gives everything he has and is, and Camelot and Arthur and Lancelot himself become legends and are revered, but none of it means anything to him, and he has nothing he wants, not even the satisfaction of building something in which he believes.
You rip my heart out effortlessly with your Lancelot, did you know that? You make me wax horribly poetically and get all weepy and melodramatic, and it's all your fault, but you have revived and reinvigorated my love of the Arthurian legend. You make it hurt so good. ;)
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-06-30 03:44 am (UTC)Gawain cast a last, suddenly resentful, glance back at Camelot before following the dark figure down the road.
I am so very much in love with your Lancelot, in every story you write. He's a vivid, intense, dynamic character, his personality leaping out in stark relief against all the others. He's strong, passionate, unbowed, and yet hopelessly broken. The vulnerability buried beneath countless layers of rage and bitterness, betrayal and cynicism, is all the more crippling because he refuses to admit to it. He's the epitome of tragedy, and the story works so much better with him not dying at Badon.
Of course he would have returned to Sarmatia the moment it was possible, and of course that homecoming would never really have been possible. That it would cut him deeper than any wound earned in battle only adds to the pain of his story.
I find myself almost obsessed with your examination of Lancelot as the price to be paid for Camelot's shining existence. It is because of his sacrifice that Britain retains its peace, and yet that sacrifice is offered--not reluctantly, no, because he does it for Arthur, and thus wholeheartedly--but in spite of his objections and his loathing for the kingdom, its origins, and the naivety of its ideals. Camelot is not a cause he believes in, and for him to be the one torn apart and beaten down in order for it to exist, for the opposing pulls of love and loyalty in the myth of Lancelot to play out in this particular way, breaks my heart.
Because Lancelot gains nothing. He gives everything he has and is, and Camelot and Arthur and Lancelot himself become legends and are revered, but none of it means anything to him, and he has nothing he wants, not even the satisfaction of building something in which he believes.
You rip my heart out effortlessly with your Lancelot, did you know that? You make me wax horribly poetically and get all weepy and melodramatic, and it's all your fault, but you have revived and reinvigorated my love of the Arthurian legend. You make it hurt so good. ;)