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amari_zTitle: Legends of the Round Table
Author: amari
Warnings: None except spoilers for the end of the movie
Summary: Gawain reminisces
Notes: Edited 12/5
Gawain looked around the table at the carousing knights and realized that, for the first time since the year of its making, all the seats at the round table were full—or nearly so, since the one remaining empty seat would probably never again be occupied.
In the years after the already legendary battle at Badon Hill, youths dreaming of becoming knights had flocked to Arthur. Arthur had been reluctant at first, but practicality had won out in the end. Britain still needed knights and Arthur still believed in the principles symbolized by the table.
It had fallen to the remaining knights, Bors, Galahad and Gawain himself, to train the young men, and the training had been lengthy and rigorous (although, as Galahad often complained, the Britons would never be half as skilled on horseback as even a Sarmatian child, no matter how hard you trained them). Many had failed, but tonight marked the elevation to their company of the thirty-fifth new knight, and Arthur had declared a celebration.
Gawain thought he should have been pleased to see the table once more full, but looking around the room, seeing the chairs filled with the young faces of men he himself had trained, Gawain wished them gone. In their place he wanted his brothers’ bright presences, he wanted to hear the room echo with loud Sarmatian voices, not these dull British tongues. If he closed his eyes he could picture it clearly, each knight seated in his place.
He remembered well the day the table had first arrived at Badon Hill. Many of the Sarmatians had been joking behind Arthur’s back about his strange notions, but, underneath the mockery, most had appreciated Arthur’s sincerity, if nothing else.
By ill chance, the completed table had arrived at the fort the day after Dinadan had been killed, so the table, built to fit their current company, would already have one empty seat. (So, Gawain realized, the table had never in fact been full, and never would be.) Called by Arthur to the hall, the knights, having just that morning buried yet another brother, had milled around the table, unwilling to choose seats and settle. Arthur had taken the initiative and seated himself in a chair, apparently chosen at random, and invited the rest of them to take seats. They were free, as he put it, to sit wherever they liked. While the rest of the knights still hesitated, Lancelot had pulled back a chair two seats away from Arthur and sprawled carelessly in it. He had immediately made himself at home, propping his feet up on the gleaming table, which earned him a pained look from Arthur. The knights, eager for a distraction, had watched the brewing confrontation, some already grinning. There were few things more entertaining than watching such byplay between Arthur and Lancelot.
Unable to keep silent, Arthur had noted, voice striving for neutrality, “You’ll scuff the wood.”
Lancelot had shrugged carelessly and deliberately shifted his feet. “It’s my place, is it not?” That had almost made Arthur smile, but then Arthur had replied, voice earnest, “It is if you choose, but, if I had my choice, I would have you sit beside me, my friend.”
Lancelot had swung his feet off the table, and for a moment Gawain had thought he would rise and go to sit by Arthur as Arthur wished, but instead Lancelot had merely sprawled deeper into the chair in a boneless slouch. “But I’ve already chosen this seat.” Arthur had nodded, but Gawain had thought he saw a flash of hurt in Arthur’s eyes before Lancelot had continued, “I can’t watch your face if I sit right beside you, to see if you’re thinking something foolish.” He had smiled that sweet, false smile he had. “But don’t worry, I’m still close enough to kick you should you need it.” He evidently demonstrated the truth of that statement, since Arthur had jerked and winced. Lancelot had continued to smile innocently under Arthur glare, but then Arthur had erupted into helpless laughter. The listening knights had joined in, and the hall had echoed with the sound.
Gareth, sweet tempered Gareth, had laughed the hardest and then dropped into one of the chairs between Lancelot and Arthur. “Don’t worry, little brother,” he had said to Lancelot, winking, “I’ll keep my seat well back—I wouldn’t want you kicking me by accident.” More laughter had broken out and at last the knights had sat around the table for the first time, to the accompaniment of that sound. No one had spoken of Dinadan's empty seat, but, at least for Gawain, it had had briefly served as a remembrance, not just of Dinadan, but of all those who fallen in the days before the table. Unfortunately, the passage of time only brought with it more empty seats.
With the exception of those of Lancelot and Arthur, the places each knight chose that first night had not proved permanent. As more and more of their company had fallen, gaps opened up at the table, and men had shifted so as not to sit alone. By the end, Gawain remembered, the five of them had sat at one side, directly facing Arthur. It had not been deliberate, but it seemed they naturally shifted there, making Arthur sit somehow at the head of a round table. But Lancelot’s seat off to one side had unbalanced things, so it was not so clear that the table had developed opposing sides. Gawain wondered now if Lancelot had realized that. He probably had.
Now, as the senior knights, Bors sat at Arthur’s right side and Gawain on his left side, Galahad beside Gawain. Next to Galahad was the empty seat. “Siege Perilous” the young knights had taken to calling it, only half joking, and they warned the new ones not to accidentally sit there. The oft told story of how, in the early days of the new order, Arthur had actually lost his temper and bodily flung out of the chair the poor boy who had thoughtlessly sat there had been exaggerated in the retelling, but not by that much. It had become tacitly accepted that the place would remain empty, and no one had so much as glanced at the empty chair as Arthur, in his speech before the feasting had begun this night, had declared their company complete.
Looking now at the empty place, Gawain could indeed see the scuffmarks left by Lancelot’s boots, so often propped there to annoy Arthur. Jols had tried to buff the marks out at first, mumbling angrily to himself all the while, but he had given up on it over the years. Now sometimes Gawain would come across him pausing over those marks as he polished the table, a sad smile on his face. (Jols, although Arthur had offered to make him a knight, had refused, and he continued to insist that the task of polishing the table fall to him, never mind that he now had a veritable army of a staff to command.) Jols had been fond of Lancelot—the two of them had often allied themselves to outflank Arthur. For while Jols could bring meal after meal to Arthur, if Arthur was preoccupied and disinclined to eat, he could not actually make him consume the food. It had not been an infrequent sight at the tavern to see Jols wander in and murmur a few words to Lancelot (over the years, it often became only a pointed look), and Lancelot would finish his ale and disappear—presumably to provoke Arthur into eating, sleeping or whatever it was that the two of them decided he needed to do.
Gawain wondered who did that for Arthur now. Guinevere? Most likely, he thought, a touch bitterly. Even after so many years, and despite the respect he felt for Arthur’s wife, he couldn’t help but resent her still for taking another's place. Although, considering that empty seat, she had not been wholly successful.
Turning his eyes away and letting them sweep across the celebrating knights, Gawain thought it was fitting that the seat remain empty as a memory of all that had been lost. Gawain glanced to his other side, at Arthur. He had expected to encounter the man’s profile, but, instead, found Arthur’s face turned toward him, his eyes, as Gawain’s had been, resting on the empty seat. Sensing Gawain’s gaze, the unreadable green eyes glanced at him, and Gawain wondered what memory it was that Arthur was recalling. He hoped at least that it was a memory of laughter, for Arthur rarely laughed now.
Author: amari
Warnings: None except spoilers for the end of the movie
Summary: Gawain reminisces
Notes: Edited 12/5
Gawain looked around the table at the carousing knights and realized that, for the first time since the year of its making, all the seats at the round table were full—or nearly so, since the one remaining empty seat would probably never again be occupied.
In the years after the already legendary battle at Badon Hill, youths dreaming of becoming knights had flocked to Arthur. Arthur had been reluctant at first, but practicality had won out in the end. Britain still needed knights and Arthur still believed in the principles symbolized by the table.
It had fallen to the remaining knights, Bors, Galahad and Gawain himself, to train the young men, and the training had been lengthy and rigorous (although, as Galahad often complained, the Britons would never be half as skilled on horseback as even a Sarmatian child, no matter how hard you trained them). Many had failed, but tonight marked the elevation to their company of the thirty-fifth new knight, and Arthur had declared a celebration.
Gawain thought he should have been pleased to see the table once more full, but looking around the room, seeing the chairs filled with the young faces of men he himself had trained, Gawain wished them gone. In their place he wanted his brothers’ bright presences, he wanted to hear the room echo with loud Sarmatian voices, not these dull British tongues. If he closed his eyes he could picture it clearly, each knight seated in his place.
He remembered well the day the table had first arrived at Badon Hill. Many of the Sarmatians had been joking behind Arthur’s back about his strange notions, but, underneath the mockery, most had appreciated Arthur’s sincerity, if nothing else.
By ill chance, the completed table had arrived at the fort the day after Dinadan had been killed, so the table, built to fit their current company, would already have one empty seat. (So, Gawain realized, the table had never in fact been full, and never would be.) Called by Arthur to the hall, the knights, having just that morning buried yet another brother, had milled around the table, unwilling to choose seats and settle. Arthur had taken the initiative and seated himself in a chair, apparently chosen at random, and invited the rest of them to take seats. They were free, as he put it, to sit wherever they liked. While the rest of the knights still hesitated, Lancelot had pulled back a chair two seats away from Arthur and sprawled carelessly in it. He had immediately made himself at home, propping his feet up on the gleaming table, which earned him a pained look from Arthur. The knights, eager for a distraction, had watched the brewing confrontation, some already grinning. There were few things more entertaining than watching such byplay between Arthur and Lancelot.
Unable to keep silent, Arthur had noted, voice striving for neutrality, “You’ll scuff the wood.”
Lancelot had shrugged carelessly and deliberately shifted his feet. “It’s my place, is it not?” That had almost made Arthur smile, but then Arthur had replied, voice earnest, “It is if you choose, but, if I had my choice, I would have you sit beside me, my friend.”
Lancelot had swung his feet off the table, and for a moment Gawain had thought he would rise and go to sit by Arthur as Arthur wished, but instead Lancelot had merely sprawled deeper into the chair in a boneless slouch. “But I’ve already chosen this seat.” Arthur had nodded, but Gawain had thought he saw a flash of hurt in Arthur’s eyes before Lancelot had continued, “I can’t watch your face if I sit right beside you, to see if you’re thinking something foolish.” He had smiled that sweet, false smile he had. “But don’t worry, I’m still close enough to kick you should you need it.” He evidently demonstrated the truth of that statement, since Arthur had jerked and winced. Lancelot had continued to smile innocently under Arthur glare, but then Arthur had erupted into helpless laughter. The listening knights had joined in, and the hall had echoed with the sound.
Gareth, sweet tempered Gareth, had laughed the hardest and then dropped into one of the chairs between Lancelot and Arthur. “Don’t worry, little brother,” he had said to Lancelot, winking, “I’ll keep my seat well back—I wouldn’t want you kicking me by accident.” More laughter had broken out and at last the knights had sat around the table for the first time, to the accompaniment of that sound. No one had spoken of Dinadan's empty seat, but, at least for Gawain, it had had briefly served as a remembrance, not just of Dinadan, but of all those who fallen in the days before the table. Unfortunately, the passage of time only brought with it more empty seats.
With the exception of those of Lancelot and Arthur, the places each knight chose that first night had not proved permanent. As more and more of their company had fallen, gaps opened up at the table, and men had shifted so as not to sit alone. By the end, Gawain remembered, the five of them had sat at one side, directly facing Arthur. It had not been deliberate, but it seemed they naturally shifted there, making Arthur sit somehow at the head of a round table. But Lancelot’s seat off to one side had unbalanced things, so it was not so clear that the table had developed opposing sides. Gawain wondered now if Lancelot had realized that. He probably had.
Now, as the senior knights, Bors sat at Arthur’s right side and Gawain on his left side, Galahad beside Gawain. Next to Galahad was the empty seat. “Siege Perilous” the young knights had taken to calling it, only half joking, and they warned the new ones not to accidentally sit there. The oft told story of how, in the early days of the new order, Arthur had actually lost his temper and bodily flung out of the chair the poor boy who had thoughtlessly sat there had been exaggerated in the retelling, but not by that much. It had become tacitly accepted that the place would remain empty, and no one had so much as glanced at the empty chair as Arthur, in his speech before the feasting had begun this night, had declared their company complete.
Looking now at the empty place, Gawain could indeed see the scuffmarks left by Lancelot’s boots, so often propped there to annoy Arthur. Jols had tried to buff the marks out at first, mumbling angrily to himself all the while, but he had given up on it over the years. Now sometimes Gawain would come across him pausing over those marks as he polished the table, a sad smile on his face. (Jols, although Arthur had offered to make him a knight, had refused, and he continued to insist that the task of polishing the table fall to him, never mind that he now had a veritable army of a staff to command.) Jols had been fond of Lancelot—the two of them had often allied themselves to outflank Arthur. For while Jols could bring meal after meal to Arthur, if Arthur was preoccupied and disinclined to eat, he could not actually make him consume the food. It had not been an infrequent sight at the tavern to see Jols wander in and murmur a few words to Lancelot (over the years, it often became only a pointed look), and Lancelot would finish his ale and disappear—presumably to provoke Arthur into eating, sleeping or whatever it was that the two of them decided he needed to do.
Gawain wondered who did that for Arthur now. Guinevere? Most likely, he thought, a touch bitterly. Even after so many years, and despite the respect he felt for Arthur’s wife, he couldn’t help but resent her still for taking another's place. Although, considering that empty seat, she had not been wholly successful.
Turning his eyes away and letting them sweep across the celebrating knights, Gawain thought it was fitting that the seat remain empty as a memory of all that had been lost. Gawain glanced to his other side, at Arthur. He had expected to encounter the man’s profile, but, instead, found Arthur’s face turned toward him, his eyes, as Gawain’s had been, resting on the empty seat. Sensing Gawain’s gaze, the unreadable green eyes glanced at him, and Gawain wondered what memory it was that Arthur was recalling. He hoped at least that it was a memory of laughter, for Arthur rarely laughed now.
