[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.

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[timebethine]

"You know better now," says Laertes. His arms still hang slack at his sides, although he wants to fold them over his chest to soothe or defend himself. He tries to keep his voice calm and clear, to tamp down the roiling anger in his breast. "Would you strike your son again, if you lost your temper?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Now he does look up, and he very much looks pained. But he answers Laertes' question, "No. I would not. I did not know then that I was."

Lancelot scrubs his hands over his face again, "After, I-- I spoke with Sagramore. He knew Galahad to be my son, knew him at court. Knew I had acknowledged him. That's twenty years hence, for me, but I knew then that it was so. I have apologized to Galahad. I wish him no ill. I like him very much, though it's hard to imagine myself his father. He's not to blame for what was done to me, and I told him so. I would never harm him, now."

[timebethine]

Laertes lets himself hear the sincere regret in Lancelot's voice, and tries to imagine his own father speaking so--tries to imagine him apologizing for any wrong he'd done, saying that Laertes is not to blame, promising that he would never harm him. It's impossible to do. He knows in his heart that Polonius has never believed that he has wronged his son, and that if Laertes tried to explain what a ruin Polonius had made of him, Polonius would counter and dissemble until Laertes thought himself in the wrong for being hurt.

Polonius has been a father to Laertes all his life, and Lancelot was new-made a father upon arriving here--and yet, if what Lancelot says is true, he has done better with his few short weeks than Polonius has done with thirty years.

"When I first came here," Laertes says, a little softer now, "I also hurt him. I told him that his affair with Claudius could not be lasting, because princes owe their destinies to their country and not to their loves. He was such a glad thing, when I met him, and my first act here was to dim the joyous light of him. I was a fool, then. I thought I understand all the world's cruel ways, and thought to snatch a sweet thing from his lips because I could not imagine sweetness without poison at its heart. I know better now. And so do you."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He looks at his hands again before he says, "No. I knew better, then, too. But I was hurt, and like a beast that's hurt I lunged, mindlessly. It sounds you also hurt him, with your words, because you felt hurt he did not cause."

Lancelot clears his throat, "I would tell you something, very personal-- an you find the need to tell Claudius, I'll not mind. It's no secret, I suppose, anymore. But if you'll hear me, I will tell it."

[timebethine]

"Ay, say on." Laertes sits on the far end of the bench, straight-backed, still restraining tremors with every ounce of will in him.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Perhaps you know of this already. Sagramore knows, we've spoken of it. Galahad told it to me that first meeting. Everyone at court knows, in their time," a little breath. He won't look at Laertes. "I did choose to lie with Galahad's mother, but I thought her to be the Queen. She-- I still know not how. She deceived me in order to lie with me. Until the next morning, I thought her to be Guinevere. I remember little enough, except that in the morning... there she was. Elaine. Not Guinevere. I chose it, but it sickens me to know it happened so easily."

He lets out a sigh. "I told the Queen, and she was furious with me. She sent me from her sight and would not hear any more from me. This is why I found a way to leave court. It has-- it's so hard to think of. It happened twenty years ago for them but not even a year for me. This must be when Galahad was begat. It is a... it is very painful. This is what drove me to such... with Galahad, that first day."

[timebethine]

"Thou wert violated," says Laertes, low. He's heard of bed-tricks like this, one bride replaced with another under cover of darkness, and heard young men laugh at the embarrassment of bedding anything but a beauty--but hearing Lancelot describe what happened, it's impossible to think of it as anything but a rape. "Then the woman thou servest punished thee for that violation. What an ugly thing it was that was done to thee--first by Elaine, and then by Guinevere."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He shivers a little and tries to stifle it. "Galahad tells me that it happened a second time, and that they say at court that I went mad and was missing. I believe it. I do not doubt I was far worse to him than... that I would ever like to be. I am not saying it excuses me. I should not have attacked him. But I was beyond thinking. Only after he put me down did my head clear."

[timebethine]

"Because, an he were truly thy son, then the harm done thee was real." Laertes sits back against the backrest of the bench, gazing out toward the lake.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I just could not understand it," quietly, a kind of agreement. "I think I am easier, now, than I was... will be, when Galahad knew me. Sagramore said that I am angry, always, and I suppose I can understand. If it happens again, if things go on at court as they have been. I have sinned much, I know this, but--"

[timebethine]

Laertes lets him finish, hoping that in that but is some ember he can waken to flame.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He is gazing out at the lake as well, now. "To think that things only get worse... I would rather be here, I think, than that."

[timebethine]

Laertes shifts a little closer on the bench--not touching, but close enough that if Lancelot wanted to reach out, he could. "Then it's well that thou art here."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Do you-- have I--" He lets out a breath. "You should speak with Galahad."

[timebethine]

"I will. But I'll stay my judgment until then." He turns, one knee hooked up onto the seat of the bench, one elbow over the back of it. "Thou art hurting. Can I aid thee?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He shakes his head. "I'd rather have you reassured."

[timebethine]

"Know this--I came to thee in a rage only because of the great love and respect that I bear for Galahad. And the guilt I still carry for the harm I did him," Laertes admits. "If thou hast truly made amends, it would gladden my heart."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I believe that we have, but he's the only one who can say for certain."

[timebethine]

"Then I'll go, and hope that next time we meet, both our hearts will be easier for it." Laertes rises from the bench and sets off--back toward the mansion, and not into the woods. He finds he's lost his taste for adventure.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot sighs, watching him go, and then turns back to his task.