[Open post] ..life's a hall of mirrors..

[lanselos_du_lac]

It's been an exhausting few days. While the zombie siege was dangerous, Lancelot is proud of how they handled things, together -- even though not everyone is friends. He was also, he must admit, grateful for the diversion. There is too much on his mind, after the truth-telling spell, and most of it sits like a stone in him... making his sleep even worse, weighing on his heart.

Still, all of that is strangely intermixed with hope. He has a few new friendships that feel like how he remembers friendship feeling -- pleasure in each other's company, time well spent, connection. There's a little piece of him that feels as if he gave that up with youth. (He was always glad to be in Arthur's company, or Guinevere's, he misses them in a way that's sometimes physically painful now that they're away from him. But all of that feels shored up by duty, devotion, love -- nothing simple.) He is glad he could speak plainly with Galahad, glad for all of these new possibilities. Glad of Susan, Laertes, Grantaire -- even Sagramore, whom only months ago he would have given little notice.

So he's reverted to keeping to himself, a little, while he thinks things through. He keeps his schedule: sleep (or not sleeping), drills in the morning, finding something to eat after that, wandering the mansion or the grounds. He's not as adrift as he was, and he is sober most of the time now, but it's an adjustment.

This afternoon he's determined that it's been too long since he took proper care of his sword. He's found a bench and has set himself up there to clean, hone, and oil the blade.

Comments

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot does not think he has ever thought about this; he has never questioned what he was meant to be, trained to be. He looks very thoughtful for a few breaths.

"No, I did not choose it-- I never thought there could be a choice." He sounds a little surprised. "I wanted it, I don't recall ever wanting anything else. I was not unhappy. But I also cannot recall a time when I didn't know it was expected of me. It was just--" He pauses, shrugs a little. "What I would be. What I am. What I was meant for."

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad nods. There's some strange reassurance in knowing that they have this in common, that they both accepted a destiny without question, and at the same time it makes him want to reach into himself and grab hold of that part that's angry with God, to blow on it until it becomes more than an ember. He thinks about Magnus, wanting something other than his purpose -- even SecUnit. Even Laertes talked about making himself new.

He wonders if everyone feels that way, if what seemed so isolating and deviant to him, to push against what you were made for and given no say in, is actually common-place. That idea makes him angry and sad at the same time: it isn't all God's doing, but it feels as if God should have done something about it.

(He believes in God -- it's nearly impossible not to when He's been the Word in his head for so long -- but more and more he thinks he doesn't love God. God is a Father who has demanded perfection from him all his life, and permitted no failure, and Galahad has failed. Sometimes he even longs to fail. He likes the striving, the time he needs to learn a new skill, the effort it takes to be wrong and try again. He wants it. He doesn't want to be perfect any more, if he ever did, and though he thinks he will still want to please God for the rest of his life, he will always in some way wish he could be taken back, it isn't the prevailing want of his life. There is room for other things, and he's glad.)

But God should have protected everyone else. If God expected certain things of Galahad, everyone else is just human, and Galahad is angry that the Father of the world couldn't have spared His children this. It should be possible.

All he says, very quietly, is, "Now?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot glances down, sighing a little. "Now? This has been... difficult, for me. I miss-- it is easy to feel I have no purpose. I know not what I am meant to do with myself, or-- what I should be."

[onthewillowsthere]

Another nod. "It's hard."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye, so it is," sounding a little resigned.

[onthewillowsthere]

He has no intention of rushing Lancelot on this point, and he's quiet then.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot sits thinking for a moment and then asks, "May I speak honestly? I do not wish to burden you."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Speak."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He takes a breath, and doesn't try to look at Galahad as he speaks. "I was not unhappy as a knight. But I had been very unhappy at court, for some while, and nothing seemed to ease it. As I think I said, that is why I left-- I said I was questing, but I mostly needed to be away and alone," he rubs the back of his neck. "At first, here, I was distressed. Pained. That hasn't gotten much better, but in the last few days I have found some hope. And I would thank you, as you've helped with that. Showing me that I may learn new things. Try to enjoy something else. Perhaps start to let go of what has hurt me."

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad is watching him, though, with that severe unflinching gaze. "Good."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I hope so, yes," still looking down at his hands.

[onthewillowsthere]

"It's better to have chosen."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He glances up, smiles a little. "Is it?"

[onthewillowsthere]

His chin comes up, as if Lancelot had challenged him. "It is."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot says gently, "I do not doubt you. I am curious."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Curious?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Yes-- what is it like for you, having chosen? You have friends here. I see you doing these things I am sure you never could do at court, and they seem to give you peace."

[onthewillowsthere]

"I miss God," quietly. "But this is better."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Gently, with a small smile, "I am glad, then."

[onthewillowsthere]

"I hope it's better for you too."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Thank you," sincerely. "I'm at work on it."

[onthewillowsthere]

He nods, and drops his gaze back to the feverfew.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot leaves him be, then, and gathers up his things. As he heads back toward the mansion he says, expecting no answer, "Be well, Galahad."