I've said it once I've said it a thousand times: god i WISH i knew someone irl who was up to date with WBN because WHAT DO YOU MEAN they both accidentally chose big ol' gentle magical elks apropos of nothing????? I want to scream (pos) this podcast will kill me I swear (negative, coz I can't listen to more eps if I perish from narrative satisfaction)
While she did prefer the coffee made at home, Seifer wasn't entirely wrong.
...which of course she only begrudgingly admitted.
The coffee was good.
...but she'd hold off on passing judgement until she tried the mint dessert.
Anna and Seifer snuck into The Fireside for coffee and dessert, because they can't commit to making any possible business connections without knowing if the Scholar's Staple coffee would be worth ordering.
today at work i have a survey which is rating things 1-7 and i can't stop thinking about the wbn fireside pod where brennan is incredulous about such a scale
Warnings: All sort of normal warnings to the movie itself. Some man slutting, a little pagan racism, some sexism, the usual. There’s childbirth and Lancelot being a man-slut.
A/N: So I wrote this in 2005, which meant I was still in high school, and I have not done anything besides move this over here from fanfiction.net where it was hybernating, I’m moving a bunch of my ff.net stuff over. No beta reading and like…it’s old. So there’s probably errors that high school me didn’t see.
Summary: In myth the Lady Elaine was Galahad’s mother who drowned herself for longing over a husband who could not love her back...this is my spin on it using the 2004 King Arthur aesthetic.
Masterlist
Elaine- The Dreamer
Her hair was long and in dirty waves of old gold as she ran. The fire did not show where she was running but she was running toward something, and as she grew nearer her whole face lit up.
Finally she grasped the bars of the gate that separated the knights' quarters from the rest of the town and heaved a great sigh. From behind her a younger Vanora came up, "Elaine! Are they out yet? Do you see them?"
Vanora waddled over, her stomach swollen significantly, her hand clutching that of a small boy probably no more then three, "Gilly, stop draggin' your feet! Your father's here!"
Elaine turned her head flashing a radiant smile at Vanora, "Oh you're so lucky that you have Bors. I only wish…"
"You wish Lancelot would sweep you off your feet, spend a few magical hours with you and then seven months later you could be just as swollen, sore, and ornery as me…BORS! Bors! Get your fat ass over here! I've been waiting since yesterday! Bors!"
Vanora's cynical words did nothing to stop Elaine from staring through the bars, sighing at odd intervals.
"I wish he knew who I was, Vanora…I wish that with all my heart."
Vanora stopped tapping her foot impatiently and let go of Gilly's hand, at which time he darted off to go play with other children, and Vanora could look at the other girl, who still gazed through the bars.
"Do you really want that? He's a terrible womanizer."
"I know…" A small pout formed, this was not something Elaine cared to recall all too often, "But….oh Vanora could you say something to Bors? Maybe? Please?"
"You mean besides 'Get off me you great, dirty pig'?"
"Vanora don't joke!" Elaine turned and grabbed Vanora's hands with both of hers, "Could you have Bors tell Lancelot about me? Or have him point me out? Oh, just have him look at me! Please Vanora?"
If Vanora replied the fire cut it off, the men were still amazed by the workings of this strange witchcraft and watched as the fire showed them another scene, occurring later that night.
"Here, Elaine, take this." Vanora handed her a bottle of ale that took both of Elaine's slender hands to hold without dropping, "And go offer the knights a drink."
"But…."
"No buts! You wanted to meet Lancelot?" Elaine nodded, "Well take it from me, there's nothing a knight notices faster than the breasts that hover about eye-level when ale's being poured, now shoo! Go!"
Vanora sat back, one hand trying to relieve the stress on the small of her back as the other rubbed her stomach and she watched, as did the onlookers outside the flame, as Elaine went over to the knights, mumbling something they could only assume was "Would you like a drink?"
She poured the drinks, all the while staring at Lancelot. He was talking animatedly to Arthur at the time but when he turned his head to find his cup, he caught her watching him. Elaine turned a brilliant shade of red and pretended to be very interested in filling Gawain's cup. Before she left she tried to steal another glance at Lancelot…only to find that his eyes were already on her.
Blushing even more she scuttled away and the scene rushed forward to even later that night.
Elaine was busy helping Vanora clean up some of the dishes and jugs when a voice from behind purred, "I've never seen you before…and I'm certain I'd remember if I had."
Lancelot's voice was smooth and practiced and when she met his eyes, they were twinkling mischievously. Vanora made some excuse and backed out of the small room, leaving Elaine and Lancelot alone.
"You…you wouldn't have seen me….I've never been inside the gate before."
Lancelot quirked an eyebrow, "A pity you weren't let in sooner. And what does one so beautiful do outside the gates?"
She blushed and gazed at him admiringly, "Watch you."
The words were gone before she could think of them and realized, too late, that they sounded rather bad.
But Lancelot seemed amused and gave a small laugh, "Watch me…and how long have you been watching me?"
"Since you came here."
"Seven years? I feel badly for your husband, he must be terribly jealous that I take up so much of your time."
"I….I don't have a husband." Her voice was quiet; she felt her breath was harder to draw the longer she stood in Lancelot's presence.
"A lover, perhaps?"
"No…" Her response was little more than a whisper.
"Isn't that interesting?" His tone was heavy with something she could not identify and she felt as though Lancelot must have moved closer for her back was now against the table and it still seemed as though there wasn't any space between them.
He moved his head lower and she closed her eyes, praying for the kiss, and as Lancelot watched from his seat he could remember that night so well. She had been as jittery as a filly around him, her naivety playing into that considerably, but there was a longing underneath it…he remembered that first kiss. But the fire did not reveal it. The fire merely moved on.
It was some weeks later, the men had not had just returned from a small skirmish with the woads. As they rode in there were cries from the gate and Lancelot, who normally ignored them, turned to see the criers now. And there she was, eyes big and blue studying him as though she could see through his armor and find an injury. Catching her gaze he motioned that he was unharmed and she heaved a relieved sigh. He dismounted and crossed the courtyard to the gate.
"Are you sure you're not hurt?" She greeted him.
"I'll only tell you if you let me kiss you." That mischievous glint was back and she blushed, "I'll not let you kiss me through the bars."
Laughing Lancelot opened the gate and she flung her arms around his neck, pressing an urgent kiss to his mouth. He happily let her have that kiss and pressed against her, returning her fervor with his own and it was several minutes before she pulled away breathlessly, "You're quite unharmed?"
"Quite." He assured her before lowering his head and claiming another kiss.
Rushing forward the fire lit on Elaine, her mane of golden hair thrown about her wildly and her neck and back arched, a moan of pleasure echoing in the woods the men were in. Suddenly all eyes were darting between Lancelot and the fire.
In the flames, Lancelot's great head of curls slowly moved until it was hovering inches above Elaine, she moved her arms so that they were wrapped around his neck and pressed another kiss to him. He ran his fingers up her arms until they were entwined with hers then he pushed her hands until he trapped both of them above her head under one of his. Trailing kisses down her neck, he elicited nothing but pleasured groans and giggles from her. The men watching were riveted by her form, before them in all its glory save for the lower half, which Lancelot's body blocked from view.
"Are you gonna be moving or is all we get to see your ass?" Bors cracked, staring open mouthed at the woman in the fire.
"Stop staring at my ass and start taking notes, at least then you can pleasure your own woman instead of leaving her to me." Lancelot smirked; he didn't seem to mind that his friends were seeing his technique, inwardly however he winced at this view of Elaine, the part of her that only he had ever seen. She was so dedicated to him; she would die to know other men had seen her in such a state…
The breathing of the couple became rougher, faster and just as Lancelot was pushing Elaine's knees to an interesting position the scene died, and angry howls echoed from the knights, "NO! Not when it's just getting good!"
It was a different time, a different bed. Though how much later in time only Lancelot could have said for certain. His beard was longer, his frame thinner, Elaine looked slightly softer, rounder. She looked to be glowing. But that may have just been the fact that she and her lover had just concluded another tryst.
"Won't you stay?" Her voice sounded small and pained as he stood up and began pulling on his pants and searching for his belt and tunic. When he didn't answer Elaine mutely reached under the small bed and produced both, handing them to him obediently.
Taking them from her he quickly slipped them on, then leaned forward and kissed her head, "I'm too restless to sleep; I'm going to go have a drink."
She was already half out of bed, "I'll come with –"
"No, dear," Lancelot cut her off, "That's not fair to you. You must be exhausted; it's been a long day and night for you. Sleep, keep the bed warm. I'll come back."
He walked out without giving her a chance to rebut his words, closing the argument as the door. As soon as his footsteps faded the fire showed her, worriedly biting her nails, causing two to bleed before she stood up in a rush and threw on clothes haphazardly. Throwing her golden curls into a knot she all but ran to the bar.
Just to see him…silly of me to be so jealous. Jealous of what? Her thoughts reverberated as though they were spoken. The knights had all quieted and looked solemn, they remembered what happened next.
Lancelot was sitting next to Gareth and Bors, drinking heartily from his cup (which was kept full by his fellows) and was animatedly talking to a pretty brunette in his lap. Elaine stopped dead in her tracks when she saw this and closed her eyes, muttering to herself, "It doesn't mean anything, it doesn't mean anything at all…."
Upon opening them she saw Lancelot's hand comfortably resting on the girl's hip as he gave her a languorous kiss. The only person who thought this wrong, besides the girl taking deep, pained breaths in the shadows, was Vanora. Who promptly came over, with her infant in her arms, and poured a jug of wine over Lancelot and his new paramour.
The girl and Lancelot both jumped up angrily, "What in the hell did you do that for!" He cried.
Vanora slapped him soundly across the face and peered into the girl's eyes with a look that could've frozen the very fire that presented it, "You leave him be and don't let me see you so much as LOOK at him again!"
Desperately frightened of Vanora the girl sprinted away, leaving Lancelot under her full rage. There was fire in his eyes as well, "Why did you do that? What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with ME? What's wrong with ME!" She slapped him again, "You self-loving, heartless bastard don't you DARE treat Elaine like another one of your whores! Don't you dare sit here and yell at me when there is a girl in your room who loves you and you're treating her like yesterday's stale bread! Now that you've gone and dipped your fingers in the honey it's not so sweet to you, is it? You bloody prick I'd claw your eyes out if she didn't love them so much!"
The baby was wailing at this point and Vanora shoved it into Bors' arms, he took the child without a word, knowing he did not want to deal with his lover when she was this livid.
Lancelot was not one to back down, "Who are you to tell me how to run my private affairs? What Elaine and I do is none of your business! Don't fling names at me, I don't deserve them! I treat her well!"
"As well as an old horse! You're tired with riding the same old mare and now you're looking for a frisky young filly!"
"If I'm bored with her it is no business of yours! If I want to screw every loose legged slut in this village, so help me that is my decision! Not yours! Not hers! Not-"
"FINE! GO AHEAD AND DO IT! AND MAY YOU BE MORE MISERABLE EACH TIME!" The cry erupted from the darkest shadow in the bar and Lancelot's heart sank to his feet as he saw Elaine turn and run away, crying her eyes out. Vanora's look shot him daggers as she ran after her friend.
Skipping the chase, the next scene shown was Vanora catching up to Elaine, who had flung herself on the ground, pounding the ground and crying with all her might. Vanora put her arms around the girl, cooing and cooing, trying to comfort her all the while cursing Lancelot with such words that made even Bors blush.
Elaine sobbed into her friend's shoulder, "You were right Vanora…you were right! He is just a womanizer! He is just a cad! I wanted something that he doesn't have- a heart! Oh Vanora! Vanora…..I can't do it alone! I just can't! I don't know what I'll do!"
"Can't do what, dovey?"
Elaine looked up for the first time, her tear streaked face and bloodshot eyes making her look like a ghost more then a woman as she said, "Vanora….I'm pregnant."
Lancelot hung his head in shame; the men around the fire all grumbled lowly, trying to make Lancelot feel less awkward but nothing worked.
The scene flipped ahead, Elaine was mending a tunic, her stomach did not appear to be big yet except for the smallest hill forming. Vanora walked through the room clicking her tongue, "I don't know why you're so dedicated to that poor excuse of a man."
Elaine admired the tunic with a smile, one hand over the tiny swell, "I can't help it…the man is infuriating and yet…I love him."
"You love how good he is in bed."
At this Lancelot could not help but beam and Bors croaked, "How does she know how good you are in bed?"
"No…it's more that it's him then what he's doing." Lancelot's face fell at an astounding rate and he gaped at the fire open-mouthed as Galahad and Gawain burst out laughing, Arthur patted his friend's back saying "You can't fault her with dishonesty!" as even Tristran and Dagonet allowed themselves a laugh.
Vanora laughed as well, then snorted, "You should tell him that to his face and I guarantee his pride won't allow him to leave your side until he's changed your mind!"
"Ain't that the truth!" Dagonet surprised everyone with the exclamation.
"Oh Vanora," Elaine continued, stroking her stomach, "I don't care about his bedwork…I never did. I wanted him, I wanted my knight. I…" Her eyes became dark, heavy, "I know it sounds foolish but I cannot imagine life without him now that I have known it with him. I cannot remember peering through that gate wishing he would so much as look at me….He has been better to me. Not that he was ever horrible. He is a cad, he always will be I suppose, but he's been so nice to me recently. So concerned and so…loving. I can't help but love him, Vanora."
Rolling her eyes Vanora said, "You're a right fool, you are."
The scene progressed, Elaine stood outside Lancelot's door, knocking demurely and waiting for a response. When none came she tested the handle and found the door was open, she peered inside and saw the room was empty. Tiptoeing inside she laid the tunic she'd mended on the bed and gave it a lasting look, finally running a hand over the covers and shivering.
"See! She DID like the bedwork!" Lancelot was smiling like a child with a piece of candy.
In the flame, Lancelot snuck up behind Elaine and whispered, "Say the word and you can stay tonight."
She jumped with an exclamation of surprise, "Lancelot! You frightened me…."
He smiled at her kindly, looking past her to the tunic she had mended, "Elaine, you needn't wait on me hand and foot, mending my clothes and fetching me things from the market…"
Elaine put a finger against his lips, "I know I don't have to…I want to."
Letting her hand drop she continued, "It hurts to have to share you with the world…but I can't give you up completely."
"Why not?" He seemed genuinely concerned, "Why can't you forget about me? Don't you know that I could forget you easily?"
He turned his back so she couldn't see the lie; she smiled and turned him around, kissing his cheek. "Don't say such things, even if they aren't true."
"Why am I so important to you?"
"Many reasons." She shrugged, but it was clear there was more to her words then she tried to play off.
Biting her lip she met his gaze, "Lancelot…there is something I must tell you. Know that I am not trying to win you back…I wouldn't win you back if I could."
"Why not?"
"You'd leave me again." He did not refute her statement and she continued, "I just think it is only fair that you know…also I will need your help from time to time. I won't pretend I am stronger than I am."
"What is it?" He looked concerned, he thought she was ill.
"I'm having your child, probably in the spring." She tried to say this casually but failed and bit her lip, balling her hands into fists to try and ease the tension in her heart.
Lancelot was so struck by the blow that he was forced to sit down, crumpling the tunic she had just fixed and looked at her with new eyes.
Jumping forward the scene showed Elaine, her belly as large as Bors', waddling around the edge of the gate, rubbing her back to try and ease some of the pain. Vanora came up beside her with her youngest child taking awkward steps, clinging to her mother's skirts, Vanora's own belly was growing large again.
"I told you so…I hate to say it, but didn't I tell you that one day you'd be standing outside this gate with me, belly as big as a house, waiting for one of the good for nothings to show up and do his part?"
Agitatedly Elaine pouted, "Oh, I rather think he did his part when he got me into this fine mess."
Bors and Lancelot came to the gate like condemned men, not sure if their women were in the mood to kiss or kill, and there was always the chance that their moods could turn at any moment. When the men reached out to hug their women, both were taken aback by a loud slap across Lancelot's face, "Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting for you!"
Vanora chuckled and whispered to Bors, "Something she picked up from me…"
The flame danced until it showed Elaine, staring out a window her hands smoothing over her engorged stomach. Lancelot showed up and she smiled at him, his hair was tousled and his clothes were awkwardly wrinkled as though they'd been thrown on in a hurry.
"Sorry I'm late." He bent down and brushed a kiss over her forehead before dropping to his knees and pressing his cheek to her belly.
"Were you in the stables?" Elaine pulled a piece of hay out of his hair. She knew what he'd been doing but she'd play pretend for both their sakes. She simply could not endure a fight with him now.
"Ah..er…yes, Galahad had a problem with the new sable gelding. The beast is still settling in you know…" Turning he planted a kiss on her swell, "How are we this evening?"
Elaine put a hand on his cheek and forced him to look her in the eyes, "Your son has been kicking me so mercilessly that I haven't been able to rest a bit….and the healers said that I needed plenty of sleep."
Tapping her stomach he scolded, "Behave! Your mother does a lot for us both and she needs her rest now."
He looked up to her, "Feel better then you did this morning?"
"Well…I can hold food if that's considered an improvement…"
The lovely domestic scene was shattered as the fire advanced.
They were sleeping side by side, seemingly at peace. Elaine began, ever so slightly, to toss and turn. Lancelot, with a soldier's instincts, sprung wide awake as soon as he felt movement but calmed when he saw it was just Elaine. He was about to close his eyes when she began to whimper and mewl like a beaten kitten.
Tears slowly came down her face and then she put hands over her stomach and sat bolt upright as if she too had been expecting an attack.
Tentatively Lancelot put a hand on her back, rubbing gently, "Are you alright, Elaine?"
She tried to speak but her voice croaked, licking her lips and taking a moment she shook her head, "It was just…a bad dream."
He could tell by her face it was more than that, "Why were you crying?"
"I….." She shut her mouth as though words simply could not come through, "I…it was strange. I saw what will come to pass. I saw…I saw you and, and a Woad in a Queen's gown. You were fighting, so was she. She had great tusks like a sow painted on her face…and you saved her. You saved her life and died."
He did not know what else to say besides, "At least we know it shan't come true…when has any Woad worn a dress?"
Elaine stared into the space before her intensely but her eyes were not focused on anything in the room, instead they targeted something far in the future, "You loved her. You…you could not have her. She was out of your reach, beyond your hands. But you loved her nonetheless. Truly loved her, not as you once pretended to love me."
"I do love you…"
"You love me in a way, I like to believe that you do. But you do not love me as I love you." Suddenly she turned her eyes to him, "And she will not love you as you love her."
With all the dread focus and unnatural calm that a seer possesses, Elaine whispered, "I am sorry that one day you shall know the ache of a beating, broken heart, but I am also glad for it. You do not begrudge me that tiny bit of gladness, do you?"
He was so taken aback he could only mutter, "No."
The next time the fire settled on a scene Lancelot was drinking rowdily. He was not in the same tavern the knight's normally drank at, but one about two miles north that the knights would occasionally visit to enjoy anonymity. He had gotten there in the afternoon but the full moon with its bloody circle was high in the sky. Stumbling slightly as he attempted to put his horse's saddle and bridle away and sneak back into his bedroom undetected, he failed to notice that Arthur was even in the same stable as he until his commander was all but on top of him.
"Arthur!" The name was slightly slurred, "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you. Come with me, Lancelot, quickly!"
"What for?" He wanted nothing more than to sleep for a hundred years. Swearing off alcohol he tried to absorb Arthur's words.
"It's Elaine, she's in labor."
"No she's not, not 'til spring. It's still winter." Lancelot swayed but Arthur caught his arm before he could fall.
"I know it is, but she's having the babe now and you should be there. Hurry up!" Dragging his friend along Arthur stormed out of the barn, a man on a mission.
Next was a short scene, Arthur bringing Lancelot to a door where most of the men were gathered already, some sitting, some standing, and Bor's snoring against the wall. He wasn't as caught up in the hype of a birth as he had been through his fair share.
Lancelot took a seat behind the door and jumped a foot in the air as a pained howl came from the hidden room.
As the fire showed Elaine, her face red, sweaty and screwed up in intense concentration, Lancelot could not help but look away. He could not bear to watch what he knew was happening.
"Push, Elaine! Push!" Vanora roared over the huge lump of Elaine's stomach, "Bloody push, will you?"
"I'M PUSHING!" Elaine screeched and let out another howl like a dying bear.
The men seemed to hear the screams echoing in their ears for the many hours of labor she had gone through. It seemed like dawn was breaking when the midwife, taking a knife, made a slash in Elaine and pulled out a small, screaming infant.
There was hardly a beat when the old crone noticed something was not quite right. The hardship was not over. But she could not say anything to Elaine just yet for the girl was gasping for breath, trembling and barely able to raise her arms from the bedside. Her voice was a hoarse cackle as she asked to see the baby.
"No, child, you cannot see the babe."
"Wh…why not?" Elaine asked.
"Because there's another to deliver."
Elaine's tired eyes grew wide and filled with tears, "No! No, no, no! I can't… I can't do it…again."
"You'll have to try."
In the background Vanora cleaned and cooed to the infant. It was a noon by the time the next child was halfway into the world. The head was out, with one arm, when Elaine suddenly went completely limp, her every muscle gave way and the midwife had to pull the child from her without assistance. Quickly taking the second babe over to be cleaned, the old woman did not really look at the state of the mother. She assumed, understandably, that Elaine had collapsed from exhaustion.
Everyone did. The women in the room did not spare a glance to the woman. None until Vanora, handing the first-born to a young assistant, wabbled over, "Now you're in for the fun part. Wait 'til you see….Elaine?"
Elaine's head lolled to one side, her bright eyes open and staring at nothing.
Vanora poked her, shook her gently, "Elaine? Elaine!"
But the girl did not respond. Nor did she blink. Nor did she breathe.
"ELAINE!" Vanora shrieked.
From outside the door the men were more confused than ever. Hours and hours ago they heard a baby crying and assumed the worst was over. When no one came out they continued to wait. Now, half a day since this whole ordeal began, they heard a woman wailing.
And suddenly the door was flung open and Vanora threw herself into Bors' arms, her whole body shaking with her sobs. The midwife did not even make it to the door when Vanora pointed at Lancelot and viciously shouted, "You go in there and see what you've done! You see what you've done!"
His face ashen, Lancelot walked into the birth room. He saw Elaine laying on the bed, and like the women who had attended the birth, thought her asleep. He was dead on his feet, he could only imagine how she must feel. How exhausted.
But then trained eyes caught something, the evenness of her chest. The complete stillness of her breast.
Suddenly he was sitting next to her, the soiled covers unnoticed as he turned her face to look into her eyes and found that they were glazed over, forever staring far away. He ran his hand through her hair and brushed his knuckles across her cheek before he jumped away from the bed as though it had stabbed him. Beside him the old midwife cleared her throat, "I'm sorry that she did not make it. It was…a most difficult birth."
"What happened? Why did she…"
He could not make himself say die. He could not bring himself to say aloud that she was dead.
"Well, twins are always a hazard to both child and mother…"
"Twins?" Lancelot tore his eyes from the body of Elaine, "Did you say twins?"
The woman motioned to the two girls who had been assisting her. Each held a tiny bundle in their arms that was moving about and gurgling occasionally.
"I should congratulate you on two fine sons, Lancelot, but I think I should warn you they may be short lived, they came early and are small. Twins always run the risk of an early death."
The other men were still outside, though undoubtedly knew what lay beyond the threshold of that door. Mayhap that is why they had not crossed it but in his solitude Lancelot found an odd strength he was not sure he would've had if his friends had been there to instantly wrap him in condolences and comfort.
"I want to see them…now." His tone left no room for rebuke and he sat down on the edge of the soiled bed again, taking care to avoid looking at the corpse it held.
The two girls edged forward and put a baby in the crook of each of his arm's then darted out of the room. All alone with the two infants and the body of their mother, Lancelot looked at his two sons.
For once in many months, he fully appreciated that he was a father. He was responsible for the two lives he held in his hands, and yet…there was a distance in his heart. He loved them but did not love them. He realized, sadly, that it was the same sort of tug of emotion he had for Elaine. Love but not as she had wanted…not as she had deserved.
Two pairs of blue eyes stared back at him, silent and accusatory and he shook his head, "I was no good for your mother…I cannot help that I am no good for a good woman. I will try to be good for you, but I am not sure if I will ever completely succeed. I cannot control my own fate, it does not belong to me. So how can I control the fate of two children that belong to me? Are you not also Sarmatia's sons?" Tears marred his voice of a sudden.
"More than that, Lancelot." A quiet voice replied, "They are your sons. They are your fate."
Vanora stepped out of the shadow where she had heard his quiet plea to his sons and stepped forward to take one of the babies from him, saying, in that same strangely quiet voice, "You'll need to find a wet-nurse for them if they have any hope of surviving."
In that quiet voice, that motherly tone, Vanora seemed to have forgiven Lancelot, just the faintest bit. For a fool you could never forgive, but a man who knew he was a fool was to be pitied because ignorance is bliss.
Speeding ahead the fire showed only glimpses of the days that followed. The men all patting Lancelot sadly on the back, telling him how much they had liked her. Asking about the children. Arthur ordering a coffin because Lancelot could not. Vanora and the wet nurse trying to convince the twins to suckle. Lancelot trying to cradle a baby in his arms as it wailed and wailed.
Suddenly the fire stopped and the image that burned the brightest was a large mound in the sad little cemetery that the knights had made just north of the wall. There was a garland of fresh flowers laid delicately on top. Beside it were two smaller mounds, each with a smaller garland of the same white, star-shaped flowers. There were two figures standing at the graves, one slightly slumped and the other with a consoling hand upon the shoulder of his comrade.
"She told me that she saw me die." Lancelot's voice was thick, "That I died for a Woad in a Queen's dress. A woman that I loved who would not love me back. She said that before I die I will know the pain of a living with a broken heart. She asked me if I would begrudge her some gladness at that…"
Arthur did not know how to respond and so he did not, he waited as Lancelot took a breath and continued, "I know I could have been better to her, but try as I might I could not make myself love her. And she knew that. She knew I did not love her and she was better to me than any wife I could ever dream of having. She loved me despite myself. She loved me enough to let me make a fool of her. She loved me enough to carry my child. To give birth not once but twice. She loved me enough to die so that my bastards could live."
"She loved you, Lancelot. For whatever reason she loved you." It was all Arthur, man of so many pretty words, could say.
"She died so that those children could live…and she died in vain." He motioned to the mounds beside her, "They refused every woman in this country with milk in her breast because they could sense that it was not their mother. They withered and died when I touched them, Arthur, just as their mother did…."
"At least they are all of them in a better place, they are together now in a more peaceful, serene home then any earthly dwelling could give them…"
"Don't talk to me of heaven and angels and God at this time! If anyone in this world deserved saving it was her! Poor misguided fool as she may have been, her only flaw was that she loved! She loved a greater fool then herself…and she died for it."
At this Arthur withdrew his hand from Lancelot, "Do not say that she died because she was a fool! She made a sacrifice, do not belittle it by saying it was made by a fool."
Lancelot bowed his head, fully chastised and after a long pause said, "I feel in my bones that I will receive my just rewards for this. I will have to live through the pain I put her through…I will be made to know her dreams, her desires and, ultimately, her doom."
With that the fire flashed a face, a face as yet unknown to the men, though one day they would see that face and vaguely recognize it as it was pulled from the dungeons of a Roman's estate with eyes half dead.
Having sputtered that last omen the fire lay quiet and the men could not help but reflect on it. It was Bors' gruff voice that broke the silence as he sought to make the mood lighter, "I still want to know how Vanora knew how you were in bed."
A strained laugh passed over the company but the men seemed preoccupied with their awe in the fire’s power. Two men were staring at it with a strange hunger on their faces, their eyes glinted with the type of madness that only Lancelot shared. The madness of a love unfairly lost.
Warnings: All sort of normal warnings to the movie itself. Some man slutting, a little pagan racism, some sexism, the usual. There’s violence. Definite violence.
A/N: So I wrote this in 2005, which meant I was still in high school, and I have not done anything besides move this over here from fanfiction.net where it was hybernating, I’m moving a bunch of my ff.net stuff over. No beta reading and like…it’s old. So there’s probably errors that high school me didn’t see.
Summary: In Arthurian legend of course Galahad is a virgin but Hugh Dancy as Galahad just inspired things in 17 year old me and I have no apologies because apparently he inspires things in 33 year old me too. OC time!
Masterlist for series
Masterlist for author
Eara- The Dancer
Galahad looked long and hard into the witch's fire, his mind still reeling with what had occurred. The vivid images of Elaine and Lancelot dancing in the flames with all the men looking on as if they were the gods themselves surveying human life from the heavens. His gaze was a silent challenge to the fire; you brought back Elaine…would you resurrect Eara from her grave? If I offered my flesh for your appetite would you offer me her ghost?
The question he could barely raise to himself was whether he could cope with seeing her again…could he lose her again? Would these be like his dreams, terribly clear and leaving him desperate for her touch again?
He wanted to see her…it had been so long since….and they had had so little time together. Once he had run into his sister's room, where having been taken by a fever, her body lay and tried to rouse her from death. His father had said that the sleep of the dead is peaceful and deep; that it is a thing unholy and disrespectful to rouse them from such peace.
But then as now, he did not understand his father's words and he could only mutter an apology to Eara's ghost, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but would you please dance for me? Dance and sing for me one last time? Then I shall let you sleep, let you sleep forever."
And he could almost hear her reply, "Forever is a long time not to dance!"
When the fire sizzled the flesh on his hand he almost regretted waking her, disturbing her grave. Almost.
Like it did for Lancelot the fire sputtered and suddenly spit forth images that seemed random and unimportant before settling down and showing him what he wanted to see.
The men around the fire let a few whistles go and Galahad swallowed the urge to snap at them, "It's that girl from the village, remember? All them years ago… I guess you did fancy 'er quite a bit."
Oh he did….more than a bit.
He saw her and it was as powerful as the first time he saw her. She was dancing in a tavern, her long black hair flying all around her, her golden eyes glittering with mirth. Golden eyes….they had captured him then as they captured him now….two priceless jewels boring into him and making him feel unworthy to behold such a face. He was young then, easily embarrassed, and sat down on a stool, his cheeks reddened with the knowledge that she had caught him staring. Drinking deeply from his tankard he saw Gawain take a seat next to him and Gareth, his elder brother, on his other side, but he did not see the dancer creep up beside him.
When Galahad turned to see who had tapped his shoulder he nearly choked on his ale, much to the amusement of Gawain and his brother.
"You are new to town?" She asked her voice gliding over the syllables as her feet glided over the floor.
Galahad nodded and mumbled, "Passing through."
She smiled, "Passing through? Then you shall have to dance with me this instant! The Gods forbid that you should pass me by!"
She grabbed his hand where it had fallen limply to his side, her warm skin had a tinge of sweat on it from her earlier excursions and her fingernails were bitten near bleeding, and yet it was he who felt dirty, he felt as though he'd not bathed in over a week and as much was true. He felt as though he was soiling her merely by touching her and tried to back out, saying lamely that he could not dance. At which point Gawain and Gareth pushed him out of his chair.
He would thank them for that for the rest of his life.
The life jumped ahead, but not before Gawain spilled a bit of wine on the ground for his dead brother. In the next scene Eara and Galahad were standing in a clearing looking at the half moon and the stars.
"I have good news and bad news." Galahad approached her solemnly.
Golden eyes searched his face for clues, "You're….you're leaving?"
Nodding grimly, "Yes that's the bad news, I'm afraid."
Eara sat on the ground, pouting, "Then what's the good news?"
Galahad kneeled next to her with a devilish smile on his face, "We don't leave until after the full moon."
Eara squealed in delight, "Truly? Truly!"
Hopelessly happy and enthralled in her companion Eara threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his urgently, "Oh, Galahad I thought I was losing you!"
He returned her kisses; they had a fervor they'd not had before, a sort of desperation he understood all too well. Her fingers laced through his hair and would not let him rise from her lips even to breathe, her legs locked themselves around his hips, forbidding him from leaving…it was not as though he tried to get away though, he was happy in this prison.
Eara's loose gown was too thin, too tempting for him. He had known so few women at this point and was young enough to be impatient to learn more quickly. Clumsy fingers worked at her bodice and she didn't stop him even as the cool night air bit at her exposed skin. His hands slid over her breasts as her hands she slid her hands up his shirt. Long moments of exploration as her bodice loosened more and more until she was half naked, that was when she pulled away from their kiss.
"Galahad…" Her voice was raspy with restrained passion and it did little to sooth his raging blood, rather it heated him more, "Galahad listen to me…." She put a hand out to stop him from claiming another kiss.
"What is it, Eara?" He asked, his mind slowly clearing the fogs of lust from his brain.
She closed her gown over her breasts, earning her a disgruntled grunt from Bors, at whom Galahad threw a rock before focusing on the scene.
"I've misled you and it'd not be the first time men are misled by me."
"What? I don't understand." His brows furrowed.
"I'm no barmaid for soldiers to keep as a pet, no bed-warmer. Galahad… I am a dancer, I dance for the men and I know how to make men want me, it's their want that pays for my food and my clothes…."
"But?" There was always a 'but'.
"I'm not a whore. I'm…." She took a breath and gauged his reaction, "I'll not be a pretty blanket to warm a cold bed…not even for a face as fair as yours."
His cheeks were as red as the fire around him and as he looked at himself he couldn't help but crack a smile, ever blushing he was, still fresh and young and new. How long ago had that been? At the time he had only been five years from his home and had not yet been hardened by battle enough to be heartless.
The Galahad in the scene nodded mumbling an apology as he straightened his clothes. The fire did not show her stand up and lace her gown agonizingly slowly in front of him, but it did show him walking her home, still mortally embarrassed. When he reached her door he was finally forced to look into her eyes and once that occurred, he could not look away.
"Eara….." He placed a quick kiss on her cheek and walked away.
The fire leaped forward in time, showing a scene of their eyes meeting across the crowded tavern, showing her briefly throw her skirts up in a dance, her eyes flashing in his direction as she did so. The fire settled on a sleeping Galahad, the moon outside his window nearly three quarters full. His door opened and a shadowy figure slipped in, dancer's feet noiseless on the earthen floor. Eara watched him as he slept for a moment, soothing his brow, it did not yet hold the deep lines of premature worry yet, and she whispered his name.
"Galahad." It was as though the wind itself was calling him, her whisper was so breathy and weightless around the syllables, "Galahad."
When he chanced to open his eyes he saw Eara before him and nearly yelped in surprise but she pressed a finger to his lips in a hurry, "Shh, I had to sneak passed your friends to get here. I did not think your commander would appreciate this."
"Eara," he whispered as she released his lips, "what are you doing here?"
"This." And she lowered her head, capturing his lips as they opened in surprise. Galahad fell into the kiss’ easy pace, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek; he let loose a delighted moan.
This is a dream, he thought, but the taste of her was too real. This was no dream.
He opened his eyes and pulled away from her, "Why are you here…I thought…?"
Eara's eyes fell to her feet, "I know what I said…but you have plagued my mind both asleep and awake. I cannot look at you without wanting you…I know not what I feel but I know I cannot betray it anymore."
With that she brought her hands to the fastenings of her cloak and loosed them, revealing a sheer under-dress beneath it. Reaching up she pushed the straps of the dress down and it fell until her hips caught it.
Still half thinking this was some glorious dream Galahad drew her down to him and possessed her, grasping at her like rays of moonlight as dawn approaches. The only difference was she was still there in the morning. Thankfully the fire spared him the humiliation of his friends seeing his bedwork. Though Lancelot was cocky enough not to care, Galahad cared not to be judged so by his peers. It was a private skill, and best left privately judged he thought.
There was no master over the flames and they jumped curiously ahead to a full mooned night, the light of the giant sphere shining on the woods like veiled sunshine. Galahad was waiting, waiting for her to come to him where she promised she would. A light singing announced her presence as she finally joined him in the tree circle.
She flew into his arms delightedly and he swung her around in a circle, kissing her cheek in greeting, "Is there any particular reason we're outside in the cold tonight?"
Eara kissed the tip of his nose, "So that you catch a cold and don't have to leave tomorrow."
He managed a weak smile at her joke but could not laugh to it, "I hate to be reminded that we're leaving tomorrow….I've still not completely convinced Arthur that we'll have a need to stop here on our way back."
"Have you convinced him to let me stay with the company?" Eara asked in a voice that had asked the question many times before to the same end.
"I'll not even voice such madness, we're headed to pick up soldiers that are weak, injured and on the edge of reason. We cannot be looking after a woman as well, not to mention it is a very long strenuous journey back to our base. Strenuous for men that were born in a saddle… the timing isn't right for you to come with us."
She pouted, "The others have brought back women from other villages."
Galahad drew her closer and rubbed her arms, "Must we fight about this again? The answer will not change Eara, you cannot ride with us."
Had he not been so wrapped up in his pretty young lover, he might have realized that they were not alone in this clearing any longer. A pair of dark eyes watched them, eyes that had been searching for days, were hungry for sights besides trees and grass and sky. And those eyes bore into the scene before them, and ears listened to the conversation, drinking it up greedily.
"Woad women ride to war." He could not make her pout disappear.
"You are not a woad, darling."
"I'm half of a woad!" Eara finally sighed in defeat, "Oh, you stubborn ass! You'll not even risk my presence despite the rewards it would render you."
"Perhaps I'd bring you along if it were not toward possible battle. You don't know battle-weary Romans like I do, whether the Woads are more vicious or the Romans are I know not." Galahad stroked her cheek, "Must we spend our last night arguing?"
Eara gave a reluctant smile, "Of course not…I planned to spend it under the lover's moon."
"Did you, nature child?" Galahad cocked an eyebrow, "Did you forget that it is cold under the lover's moon and the night could be equally well spent under blankets in a bed?"
Eara wrapped her arms around Galahad, "Fear not, I'll warm you."
Her fingers were already at work to the lacings of his shirt and she drew it off, taking a moment to trace her fingers over the elaborate designs on Galahad's arms.
"Barbarian." She teased and turned her lips to finer work. Absorbed in the kiss Galahad was oblivious to the intake of breath in the forest, a foreign whisper "Woad ink!"
Fingers more familiar with gown fastenings then a few days ago loosened the gown between him and Eara and pushed it passed her hips and to the ground. He backed Eara up until she was against a tree, her fingers working the lacings of his britches.
The fabric fell to his ankles and he quickly stepped out of it and kicked it aside, before drawing her tightly to him with a hiss at the cold air.
All around the fire eyes flew to Galahad, who did an excellent impression of the boy in the flames and blushed furiously. It seemed that the fire had no sense of decency.
There was no censorship as her legs wrapped around his waist and her nails drew lines across his back….Gods it seemed that the fire held their bodies for hours, entwined in an ancient dance ….finally she cried his name to the night air and he loosed hers on a ragged breath.
The couple sank to the ground, Eara's head resting on Galahad's chest and their eyes silently speaking. As she traced abstract patterns on his chest, she cleared her throat, "Tell me what's happening tomorrow… you've told me so little. Only that you're going and that I cannot come. You mention Roman soldiers and a long ride back to the base…what do these things mean?"
The onlooker in the foliage leaned forward in anticipation as Galahad stroked her raven feather hair, "There is a troop of Romans, they have been out here long and they are weary with the time and the ill effects of too many raids without enough men. We shall ride out from this place tomorrow at dawn and hope to catch them by the river side before nightfall…."
"All of you need ride out to a ragged party of Romans?"
"Yes of course, it is either a party of Romans take them or a party of Woads…which would you rather?"
"Which indeed!" Hissed the voice of the watcher, "Which indeed!"
The witness left the woods then, as unobtrusively as he had entered and he sprinted toward his horse, to ride away. The rest of the scene with Galahad and Eara continued as if they had not been watched, and indeed they did not know they had been.
"If we don't help them the Woads are liable to attack them while they're weak."
"You're Sarmatian, not Roman. Why must you do these things?" Eara cuddled her head to his chest as he answered, "I was born condemned to do this service, just as my father and his father back hundreds of years. All sons of Sarmatia are so damned."
"But why my son of Sarmatia?" Tears glistened in Eara's eyes for the first time since they'd met, "I know little, but I know where I want to be and it is right here, with you. A difficult place to be when you're saving Romans from themselves."
Galahad kissed her forehead, "Hush now, I shall not always be saving Romans from themselves…" A wicked smile crept onto his face, "Sometimes I rescue pretty maids in distress."
She playfully slapped him, "Am I not distressed enough for you?"
"Nay, but you're pretty enough for me!"
Gentle laughter faded with the scene as the fire consumed it and marched forth mercilessly. Galahad drew closer to the flame, wondering what would happen. When they watched Lancelot's story, there had been pieces that he had not been part of, parts that were new to him as well as the others and Galahad so prayed to see such moments for his own tale.
Red flames licked at the edge of Eara's dress as she embraced Galahad one last time before he mounted his horse. Golden eyes seemed dimmed to a rusty brown in her sadness, and he caught her chin in his hand forcing her to look into his eyes, "Don't be so sad, Eara, I shall come back for you...I know not when or how I shall manage it but I shall return…I doubt if I've the strength to dance alone."
A sad smile lit on her face, "Neither shall I...so don't be long."
It leapt forward once more…odd that it should land on something none present had ever seen. The spy from the woods was riding furiously, stopping when he reached a party of ragged looking soldiers bearing a Roman flag.
"Sir! Sir!"
"What is it?" A commander asked the scout, "Found something?"
"Indeed sir! A young Woad soldier and his lover in the woods discussing how there is to be a party riding out to overtake us while we are weak!"
"You are sure of this?"
"He wore barbarian designs on his arms in ink, and she's a Woad-child. They don't mix outside their own species, woads. Also what Roman beds a woman outside? And what decent woman would rut under the lover's moon with a barbarian inked man? He spoke of our location, spoke of our condition; Sir they know where we are and they are coming."
The commander thought for a moment before turning to his camp, "Get ready to ride! Bring the injured…leave the dead! An ambush is coming!"
As he turned to go the scout grabbed his arm, "Sir…there was a village not far from the couple, a Woad village no doubt. We could go quietly through the woods as they are planning to take us beside the river…then we could take supplies from the village and hope for a rescue." The commander nodded appreciatively, "And that's what we shall do!"
"No!" Galahad growled, "You bastard! You deaf bastard!" But the men in the dancing flames did not hear him, they began packing, began readying and the flames moved on.
They focused on Eara, sulking about the bar where she and Galahad had first eyed each other. An older woman came up behind her clucking disapprovingly, "You held out all this time against men, and you falter in your resolve for a boy."
"He's no boy, nana! He's a soldier!" She snapped defensively, "And I would hardly call it a falter in resolve, it was a determined break of resolve. One I would gladly commit again."
The old woman shook her head, "You would say that! Your head full of air and your heart full of tree sap that clings to every movement he makes! Every word he says! He says he will return and now you sulk around impatiently awaiting his return…child he may never come back."
"Don't say that…he wouldn't lie to me, nana. And he wouldn't abandon me here."
"And what is it that makes you so certain?"
"I will not, cannot, dance without him. He would not cut my legs from my body and he will not leave me here to sit on a bench eternally waiting."
"You can dance without him, girl, and you best learn. Men come and go from women's beds as they please and all that can ever come of it is…"
"Oh enough of your bitterness at men!" Eara growled, her eyes blazing, "Just because your Sarmatian knight left you alone in this world does not mean mine will leave me!"
"He did not leave me alone, Eara, he left me with your mother! And I will thank you to remember that she named you in his memory…you are a daughter of the East born in this cold, cruel West."
"Then he will surely return to me…he misses his home and will cling to any part of it…even a dancing girl from a small village. And should I bear a child from our union I would not bear it alone!...And if fate would have me do it I shall name the child for him, and I shall tell it of it's father, the man who made me ache for a dancing partner."
"Ache for a partner but not for the type of dancing you normally do!"
Her grandmother huffed agitatedly and walked away, shaking her head and muttering to herself. Galahad watched the exchange and his heart went out to Eara, from what he had just seen of Elaine and Eara he would be loathe to take another lover and leave her again…it was so difficult for the women who fell from grace to defend themselves when their lover's were gone from their lives. And children! How many children had Arthur's company left in their wake? If the growing number of bastards Bors had at the keep was any reference, Galahad himself was a father many times over and yet… he'd never seen nor heard of a child he'd fathered. What if he hadn't returned for Eara? What if she had borne a child? How would she take care of it, live with it as a reminder everyday, knowing that he who had so burdened her was off burdening another?
He resolved then to celibacy, or at least to make due with significantly fewer women… maybe one day he would take a wife, but the ghosts of the dead still haunted him and until he could sleep through a night without their howling he'd not burden a wife with his demons.
When he looked up next at the flames, his thoughts clear from his head, Eara's ears perked up, and her face brightened, "Horses! I hear horses, nana!"
As she ran outside Galahad shook with pent up emotion, wanting to plead to the memory but knowing his pleas would change nothing. Don't go out there, please, don't go out there.
The fire showed nothing except Eara's face, excited, smiling broadly at the prospect of the knights coming back so soon. The seconds were painfully long as she squinted at the riders, then a look of stark fright as she realized these were not friendly riders. The last thing the damned flame issued was a terrified shriek.
When the picture cleared from the smoke it showed a figure hunched over in the dark. The clearer the picture became the more apparent it became that this was not some drunk slumped over in a stupor, this was someone bound tied to a stake in the ground that they could not move from. Not just any figure.
"Eara…" Galahad's voice cracked on the words as he stared open mouthed at the scene, this mystery between his leaving and his return had always haunted him. Now he was see, at long last he would know….he just hoped he didn't come to regret his desire to know.
The Roman commander and the scout were in front of her, the commander speaking gravely, "I'll ask you once more politely, woad, where did your lover and his troop of blue-stained demons go? Eh? Toward water? Inland? Tell me!"
Eara looked at him with big, doe eyes, the look in them was that of a cornered animal, confused and wild, "I told you, my lover is a Roman soldier! Not a woad! Not a woad! And I don't know where they went! They went to find you, how they went I do not know! Believe me! Please, believe me!"
The commander nodded at the scout, who slapped her smartly across her mouth. The fire flickered through the lengthy sessions of pain. The knights caught glimpses of a tooth being spat out in a wad of blood. Then the red-hot tip of a sword being drawn across an exposed breast. They heard, more than saw, the force of a punch to her torso that was highlighted with the deafening crack of more then one rib. More sickening than that was the sharp crrrack!... as fingers and toes were broken.
All the while the dancer screamed in torment, cried out for mercy, for salvation, for a relief that did not come.
The fire showed a more familiar scene. The knights were approaching the village they had left a few days ago having failed to find the Roman soldiers at the position they were supposed to maintain. Tristan had found tracks leading from the abandoned Roman camp littered with graves back to the British village.
Galahad once more felt his stomach drop to his knees the moment they crossed the barrier into the village, immediately he sensed something was gravely amiss, they all did. Even the horses knickered suspiciously at the woods they had previously loved. There was a darkness in the trees now, they sagged against their own trunks as though shouldering a heavy burden. Their branches drooped to the ground and the wind passed through them with a sound like quiet weeping.
He saw the Roman scout outside the tent, the man charged at him, eyes locked, yelling, "Woad! Woad! He is the woad!"
His commander put a restraining hand on his shoulder and met Arthur's gaze, both men came to the same chilling conclusion: There had been a mistake of identity.
Arthur spoke first, "Commander Jaenus, you were not at your appointed position. We have been searching for you. I am Arthur Castus and these are …"
"The Sarmatian knights." The commander looked slightly ill, "Sarmatian."
"Indeed." Arthur cocked an eyebrow curiously.
"We…we were informed, mistakenly informed, that the party approaching us consisted of woads planning to overtake us while we were weak. Instead of waiting we…we decided to charge this village. Taking supplies and stealing information. Perhaps standing for a brief fight against our enemies."
The man's gaze did not settle Galahad's nervous stomach and he spoke, "Is that your scout?"
The Roman officer, although still green-faced, looked offended that Galahad should address him but the scout saved him the response, "I am!"
"Why did you call me a woad?"
"You're painted like one. You acted as one…"
"And how would you know how I act?" Galahad interrupted.
"I…I saw you with a woad girl. In the woods doing heathen things."
For a beat Galahad's heart stopped, and every knight near him grabbed him to keep him from going after the scout.
The fire faded, leaving the commander's dim voice, "She's in there."
Coming into focus was the inside of the room they had earlier seen, it still contained Eara…or what was left of her. On the ground she lay, in a puddle of dark blood that was mixing with the dirt to produce a hellish mud. One eye was swollen shut and her lips had a ragged cut through them, her neck, arms and legs were full of bruises. Her exposed back had whip marks over it while her naked breasts revealed burns. Her fingers and toes were at odd angles, some would probably never fully heal.
All the men recalled that horrid sight. They all remembered how Galahad had dropped to his knees and just blankly stared at her, there were a few tears but mostly a sharp, steely edge coming into his face until he burst out of the tent and had to be pulled off the scout and the commander by Gawain and Gareth with Dagonet giving a look to the angry Roman soldiers, ready to fall into the fray to protect their brothers, that the Sarmatians would not hesitate to strike them down. The wise fire, knowing the men had witnessed this, skipped it and revealed something further along.
Galahad held one of her broken hands gently in his own and watched as she struggled for breath, her good eye half open and looking at him frankly.
"You're not going to die." He said in a flat tone.
"Don't…be….stupid." She gave a weak cough that flecked blood onto her blanket, "Of course…I am."
"No…" He kissed a tender kiss on the hand he held, "You can't. You don't deserve to…you….you did nothing."
Stealing herself for the phrase she said, "Sometimes, nothing is everything."
Another cough wracked her body and she winced at the pain it caused. He stayed with her, watched over her, constantly muttering "I'm sorry" and each time he did she would give a small, firm shake of her head as if to say You have nothing to be sorry for.
The night after they had discovered her, it was clear that the broken rib was filling one of her lungs with blood…slowly but surely she would drown in it. Breathing became more labored, coughing became hell itself.
And yet she longed for laughter. The men, watching, could hear all these things as though she said them. They even saw that, just as the sun was rising, she shook Galahad's hand to call attention to herself.
"Galahad…." A cough interrupted her and sprayed a fair amount of blood onto her blanket, which was marked with various stains from before, "Galahad…I want it to end."
"Eara…no." He petted her hand.
"Yes, it's…it's too much." Her breathing came with the rasp of a horse who's been run to death, however the foam at her mouth was red not white.
He shook his head, tears making him squint as he did. He was so young to love, too young really, and who's to say he did? But the loss struck him. It struck him more powerfully then she had when they met, this looming emptiness that would soon overtake her temporary placement in his heart.
"May I…May I see your knife?"
He numbly handed it to her and she weakly raised it high above her head, staring at the shiny blade, mesmerized by how the early light of dawn played on the metal. Faintly flickering her wrist she gave a small smile, whispering, "Look, Galahad! What a pretty dancer she is!"
The fire focused on the twirling dagger and then moved to Galahad's face, a ghost of a smile was on his lips, mingled with sporadic tears, but then the smile was overtaken by a pained flinch. And his eyes closed for being unable to look at her body.
And it was the body next showed by the fire, the broken body of an innocent girl, tortured by mistake for information that did not exist, with her lover's dagger embedded into her chest, a look of utter calm on her face, of utter merriment…the same look she had worn the first night that had seen her, mesmerizing as she danced across the floor.
The knights were all silent, looking at Galahad and seeing, with the aid of hindsight, that Eara, however unimportant to them, was his changing point. His growing up stage. The point in his life when he saw the roses die, unjustly murdered by a rogue frost in the midst of spring. This was the time he began lusting for home, for that one aspect of his life unscarred by such injustice…by such utter ugliness.
They saw his quest now, for an unsullied, immaculate shrine of love and protection…they saw him hunger for home…even though, they all thought darkly, such things existed in home too. His child's eyes had not seen such things, but they all felt for Galahad at this moment. For when he returned home, and they knew he would, he would be looking for fifteen years of hell to be erased. Fifteen years of death, gore, bloodshed and pain to be rendered into ashes by the presence of purity in his home. And they all pitied him, for Galahad would never have peace, not of the kind he wanted.
For when he returned to Sarmatia, the first thing he would see would be the blackened corpse of roses, overtaken by a frost. He could not undo the dark things that had been done, as much as he would like.
And worst of all….Galahad would never dance again.
A/N: Party like it’s 2005 and you still live with your parents and complain about it because you aren’t free but someone supports your whole life and does your laundry. I would kill for someone to clean my house and do all my laundry.
