King Arthur Draft Fic: "Deep Sworn Vow"
Dec. 14th, 2005 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amari_zTitle: Deep Sworn Vow
Warnings: None. Except this is probably a product of my recent foul mood--so, not happy.
Notes: Draft. This arose when thinking about the drabble "Damned." There may or may not be more of this. Title stolen from Yeats. Any comments, suggestions, or complaints welcome.
Arthur entered the room as quietly as he could. He had expected to find Lancelot asleep, as he had been during each of Arthur’s previous late night visits. It was with something like dismay that he saw that the disordered bed was empty.
Wrapped in a blanket, Lancelot was sitting in the window, watching him. He still looked ill—skin paler than normal, dark hollows under his sharp cheekbones—but his gaze was as keen and penetrating as ever.
“Ah, I didn’t knock—I thought you’d be asleep,” Arthur said, gesturing vaguely at the door. Arthur could almost hear the amused response in his head, “Since when have you bothered with knocking, Arthur?” But Lancelot said nothing.
Sounding as awkward as he felt, Arthur asked, “How are you feeling?”
Lancelot’s lips twisted slightly. “Well enough.” It was a lie, of course. It had only been a week since the battle, and the arrow had struck dangerously close to Lancelot’s heart. Arthur still shuddered at the memory of seeing Lancelot lying so still, arrow shaft protruding from his chest. For an endless moment, Arthur had been sure he was dead.
Still feeling strangely uncomfortable, Arthur sat on the edge of the bed across from Lancelot. Lancelot was watching him, his eyes now hooded. There was a distance in his gaze, a wariness, that tore at Arthur. During that moment on the hilltop when Lancelot had ridden to his side and their eyes had met, there had been no need for words. At that moment, Arthur would have sworn, they had understood each other utterly. But he was no longer so sure.
Never patient and always brave, it was Lancelot who spoke first and bluntly asked, “What do you intend to do?”
Arthur felt unprepared for this, but he did not pretend he did not understand the question. He knew the other knights had been visiting, and, unlike Arthur, they had chosen to visit when Lancelot was awake. “They have asked me, the Britons—they need a leader.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I have accepted.”
Arthur met Lancelot’s eyes levelly, but inwardly he flinched a little, expecting an eruption. But, to his shock, Lancelot only leaned his head back against the stonewall, as though suddenly too weary to sit up straight. As his body shifted, he winced a little, eyes closing. Arthur watched him with concern. Once (once? only a week or so ago) he would have chided Lancelot and bundled him back into bed, but now something constrained him.
In truth, he ached to sit close to Lancelot, to put his arms around that too lean body and feel its living warmth--to bury his face in the vulnerable flesh of Lancelot’s neck, breathe in his familiar scent and maybe even cry out his pain and relief. But it had been a long time since the days when Arthur would have permitted himself to do any of that.
Arthur waited for Lancelot to speak, but as the moments passed, he could not bear the silence. “Have you nothing to say?” Lancelot always had something to say. He tried to make the words teasing, but failed.
Lancelot’s eyes opened. “What more is there?” The words were spoken too calmly and Arthur was startled to realize he could no longer read the look in Lancelot’s eyes. “You’ve made your choices. It has been a long time, Arthur, since you have truly heeded my words, and I have nothing else with which to dissuade you.”
“Lancelot—” Arthur reached across the space to touch him, but dropped his hand as though the distance was too far to breach. “Lancelot, we can do good here. With you by my side—”
“Arthur,” Lancelot’s voice was nearly gentle. “I am not staying in this land.”
Arthur opened his mouth and no sound came out for a moment. “But—I thought—you all came back—”
“Because we couldn’t leave you to fight by yourself, and, if you were to die, I did not want you to die alone.” Lancelot’s flexible voice grew quiet, almost flat. “But I cannot stay here.”
Arthur wondered—had he known this all along and simply not allowed himself to think on it? Was it to avoid hearing these words that he had been avoiding Lancelot? But he had sent Lancelot away, and Lancelot had chosen to come back. He had thought--he was sure that meant that Lancelot had chosen to stay.
“You don’t need me, Arthur,” Lancelot said. “You have another by your side now.” Arthur started. He had not thought Lancelot had known. Lancelot raised an eyebrow, apparently seeing through Arthur as easily as ever. “I am not stupid, Arthur.”
No, never that. Had Lancelot come back then, even knowing— Hesitantly, Arthur tried to explain. “I thought you were leaving, I had lost—”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” For the first time, Lancelot’s voice sharpened. “I don’t require an explanation. It’s not like you and I have shared blankets lately.”
Solely by Arthur’s choice. Arthur opened his mouth, but Lancelot was not finished. “You will wed her, no doubt. It will consolidate your position. And you’ll be able to bed her and not even have to feel guilty before your God.”
Arthur winced, both at Lancelot’s sardonic tone and his words. Lancelot’s tongue had ever cut the sharper for the fact that it sliced through to the unadorned truth.
Because it was true. In the back of his mind, Arthur had thought that he could have Lancelot by his side and Guinevere as his wife, and that there would be no more sin. He could keep his friend close but no longer be so beset by temptation. He opened his mouth then shut it again. What could he say? Lancelot had always understood him—perhaps better than he understood himself.
Arthur asked after a time, “And the others?”
Lancelot began to shrug before pain advised against it. “They will each choose their own paths. They are after all free men now.” Lancelot’s voice bit through the last words.
Arthur had little hope left that any of the other knights would choose to stay, not with Lancelot leaving.
Into the strained silence that followed, Arthur forced himself to speak the truth of his heart. “You cannot doubt that I love you above all others on this earth.”
Lancelot's eyes were knowing, but, this time, there was none of the familiar comfort to be had from that dark gaze. “And I you. But it was you who taught me how little that actually matters.”
Warnings: None. Except this is probably a product of my recent foul mood--so, not happy.
Notes: Draft. This arose when thinking about the drabble "Damned." There may or may not be more of this. Title stolen from Yeats. Any comments, suggestions, or complaints welcome.
Arthur entered the room as quietly as he could. He had expected to find Lancelot asleep, as he had been during each of Arthur’s previous late night visits. It was with something like dismay that he saw that the disordered bed was empty.
Wrapped in a blanket, Lancelot was sitting in the window, watching him. He still looked ill—skin paler than normal, dark hollows under his sharp cheekbones—but his gaze was as keen and penetrating as ever.
“Ah, I didn’t knock—I thought you’d be asleep,” Arthur said, gesturing vaguely at the door. Arthur could almost hear the amused response in his head, “Since when have you bothered with knocking, Arthur?” But Lancelot said nothing.
Sounding as awkward as he felt, Arthur asked, “How are you feeling?”
Lancelot’s lips twisted slightly. “Well enough.” It was a lie, of course. It had only been a week since the battle, and the arrow had struck dangerously close to Lancelot’s heart. Arthur still shuddered at the memory of seeing Lancelot lying so still, arrow shaft protruding from his chest. For an endless moment, Arthur had been sure he was dead.
Still feeling strangely uncomfortable, Arthur sat on the edge of the bed across from Lancelot. Lancelot was watching him, his eyes now hooded. There was a distance in his gaze, a wariness, that tore at Arthur. During that moment on the hilltop when Lancelot had ridden to his side and their eyes had met, there had been no need for words. At that moment, Arthur would have sworn, they had understood each other utterly. But he was no longer so sure.
Never patient and always brave, it was Lancelot who spoke first and bluntly asked, “What do you intend to do?”
Arthur felt unprepared for this, but he did not pretend he did not understand the question. He knew the other knights had been visiting, and, unlike Arthur, they had chosen to visit when Lancelot was awake. “They have asked me, the Britons—they need a leader.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I have accepted.”
Arthur met Lancelot’s eyes levelly, but inwardly he flinched a little, expecting an eruption. But, to his shock, Lancelot only leaned his head back against the stonewall, as though suddenly too weary to sit up straight. As his body shifted, he winced a little, eyes closing. Arthur watched him with concern. Once (once? only a week or so ago) he would have chided Lancelot and bundled him back into bed, but now something constrained him.
In truth, he ached to sit close to Lancelot, to put his arms around that too lean body and feel its living warmth--to bury his face in the vulnerable flesh of Lancelot’s neck, breathe in his familiar scent and maybe even cry out his pain and relief. But it had been a long time since the days when Arthur would have permitted himself to do any of that.
Arthur waited for Lancelot to speak, but as the moments passed, he could not bear the silence. “Have you nothing to say?” Lancelot always had something to say. He tried to make the words teasing, but failed.
Lancelot’s eyes opened. “What more is there?” The words were spoken too calmly and Arthur was startled to realize he could no longer read the look in Lancelot’s eyes. “You’ve made your choices. It has been a long time, Arthur, since you have truly heeded my words, and I have nothing else with which to dissuade you.”
“Lancelot—” Arthur reached across the space to touch him, but dropped his hand as though the distance was too far to breach. “Lancelot, we can do good here. With you by my side—”
“Arthur,” Lancelot’s voice was nearly gentle. “I am not staying in this land.”
Arthur opened his mouth and no sound came out for a moment. “But—I thought—you all came back—”
“Because we couldn’t leave you to fight by yourself, and, if you were to die, I did not want you to die alone.” Lancelot’s flexible voice grew quiet, almost flat. “But I cannot stay here.”
Arthur wondered—had he known this all along and simply not allowed himself to think on it? Was it to avoid hearing these words that he had been avoiding Lancelot? But he had sent Lancelot away, and Lancelot had chosen to come back. He had thought--he was sure that meant that Lancelot had chosen to stay.
“You don’t need me, Arthur,” Lancelot said. “You have another by your side now.” Arthur started. He had not thought Lancelot had known. Lancelot raised an eyebrow, apparently seeing through Arthur as easily as ever. “I am not stupid, Arthur.”
No, never that. Had Lancelot come back then, even knowing— Hesitantly, Arthur tried to explain. “I thought you were leaving, I had lost—”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” For the first time, Lancelot’s voice sharpened. “I don’t require an explanation. It’s not like you and I have shared blankets lately.”
Solely by Arthur’s choice. Arthur opened his mouth, but Lancelot was not finished. “You will wed her, no doubt. It will consolidate your position. And you’ll be able to bed her and not even have to feel guilty before your God.”
Arthur winced, both at Lancelot’s sardonic tone and his words. Lancelot’s tongue had ever cut the sharper for the fact that it sliced through to the unadorned truth.
Because it was true. In the back of his mind, Arthur had thought that he could have Lancelot by his side and Guinevere as his wife, and that there would be no more sin. He could keep his friend close but no longer be so beset by temptation. He opened his mouth then shut it again. What could he say? Lancelot had always understood him—perhaps better than he understood himself.
Arthur asked after a time, “And the others?”
Lancelot began to shrug before pain advised against it. “They will each choose their own paths. They are after all free men now.” Lancelot’s voice bit through the last words.
Arthur had little hope left that any of the other knights would choose to stay, not with Lancelot leaving.
Into the strained silence that followed, Arthur forced himself to speak the truth of his heart. “You cannot doubt that I love you above all others on this earth.”
Lancelot's eyes were knowing, but, this time, there was none of the familiar comfort to be had from that dark gaze. “And I you. But it was you who taught me how little that actually matters.”
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no subject
Date: 2005-12-14 01:23 pm (UTC)PeeK
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Date: 2005-12-14 05:48 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
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Date: 2005-12-14 11:55 pm (UTC)I love the last exchange as well. Heartbreakingly real.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-15 12:22 am (UTC)Thanks! They really are just stupid--although I think Arthur may have come off as being the more stupid one here. I was picking on him, well, just because, but also because he's pissing me off. He won't cooperate with me as I'm trying to edit a story he's narrating. He's being sooo boring and serious. Any interest in reading and telling me why he's being so annoying?
no subject
Date: 2005-12-15 12:19 am (UTC)I love the way you let the readers know the emotions of the two men. I love the adjectives you use. I can just see their faces and there is this undercurrent of erotic sensuality.
Cool.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-15 12:29 am (UTC)Glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2005-12-15 04:00 pm (UTC)Writing technical stuff can be mentally demanding.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-15 05:50 pm (UTC)Thanks again! (like your icon, btw).
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Date: 2005-12-16 05:51 pm (UTC)I came over to let you know I've friended you and came across this.
This is utterly beautiful. I could feel the tension and the love and the disappointment and the inevitability of it all.
Just gorgeous descriptions of them, inside and out, and I love all the subtle gestures and looks. I think you captured both characters to a T.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-16 06:31 pm (UTC)So happy you liked it!
I've been tending to post drafts here as I continue to mull them over (or just because I'm just plain sick of them). Any comments or suggestions are always much appreciated. (If you're curious you can probably find them by checking the "fic" tag.)
Welcome, and glad to friend you back!
amari
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Date: 2006-04-30 02:33 pm (UTC)Oh, Arthur. Oh, stupid, stupid Arthur.
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Date: 2006-05-01 04:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-02 03:03 am (UTC)Except a little bit more angsty than that.
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Date: 2006-05-02 06:06 pm (UTC)And LOL, on the passive aggressive death thing--I can see that. When Arthur's kneeling beside L's body at the end--I can't help going, serves you right, you stupid, stupid idiot!