lanselos_du_lac | [Semi-Closed Post] Sadmas Aftermath

Rather suddenly, after this latest mansion event or incursion of unexpected visitors, Lancelot will not be seen around and about as has come to be usual for him. He is not drilling in the field in the mornings. He is not in the café seeking pastries or companionship. He is not around the kitchens or libraries or, seemingly, anywhere.

Lancelot keeps to his room. If he bathes or shaves or uses the bathroom, he does so carefully and avoiding anyone he might meet. If Laertes leaves food outside his door, folk will find it still there later in the day. If anyone knocks, he will not call them in. He lets the mansion provision him with bread, cheese, water-- sometimes wine or whiskey -- but he doesn't much want any of it.

He cannot bring himself to speak to anyone. He cannot bring himself to do much of anything at all. The best concession he will make, with the understanding that there are those who will worry, is that he does not lock or bolt the door.

[Typist note: Anyone who might be really worried about Lancelot's sudden disappearance or withdrawal is welcome! Post is "semi-closed" really only because a character would have to deliberately decide to enter, and no one will stumble across Lancelot by accident.]

Current Mood: crushed

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From:

lanselos_du_lac

Lancelot looks up, meets his gaze -- his look is blank, hurt, bare. What Sagramore says is true, and Lancelot knows it.

Quietly, he says, "What else could I do, here? After all this?"

From:

sagramore

"Right now? I don't know. Grieve. Thou wilt not be alone in grieving, but thou canst have thy privacy if thou likest, and if not-- thou'rt not the only one who found grief that day."

From:

lanselos_du_lac

Lancelot scrubs his hands over his face again; for the moment he says nothing.

From:

sagramore

"And besides grieving thou hast me and this bottle, so there's that too."

From:

lanselos_du_lac

"Christ, Sagramore," laughing a little behind his hands.

From:

sagramore

"Don't Christ me. This is a remedy for a broken heart."

From:

lanselos_du_lac

Skeptically, "Palinka?"

From:

sagramore

"And me, don't forget that vital ingredient."

From:

lanselos_du_lac

Lancelot gives him another look, then laughs. "Ah, Christ."

From:

sagramore

"Christ," he agrees, warmly.

From:

lanselos_du_lac

He sighs, still looking as though the loss is weighing on him and takes up the bottle again. After a long silence he says, "He gave me the choice, to stay or to go back with him. I did not think it possible for him to take me back there. But I did tell him I would stay. He had made his peace with that, at least."

From:

sagramore

Sagramore nods, watching him; his expression is gentle. He's well aware that if Laertes had gone, if Reynaldo had taken him, he'd be a ruin of a man right now, and Lancelot clearly loves Arthur with the same kind of life-altering fervor. There's nothing he can do to make it better -- nothing he can do for Tress either, or Qi Yan -- but he can be present and bear witness to the greatness of the loss.

From:

lanselos_du_lac

Lancelot takes a very long drink before handing the bottle back to Sagramore. After another pause he says, quietly, "I told him of my love for him."

From:

sagramore

"How did he take it?" He takes a shorter one and sets the bottle back on the table.

From:

lanselos_du_lac

He gives a little half shrug, "He heard -- he could not fail to hear me, as I was... well." He rubs his eyes again. "He heard, but I think he did not fully understand me."

From:

sagramore

"Aye," with a nod, as if this were what he expected.

From:

lanselos_du_lac

"Of course, if all he heard was my love for him as a brother, or a king, I suppose he is not wrong, but--" He has been working his way around to understanding, for himself, what it is he meant, and only just arriving today.