Galahad looks down at the beetle in the jar, its shining iridescence. His anger at God, the licking flame of it, sometimes burns so low that he forgets it's still present until some breath of air revives it and the fire surges up again. He asked God for one thing in exchange for his faithful service -- he asked for death, and God promised to grant it.
He tries to imagine the person he would have become if he had attained the Grail and lived; the kind of person Lancelot met. He can't imagine it. He can barely remember what it was like to have felt so empty and hopeless.
He's ferociously glad to have come here. He's glad Claudius asked to kiss him. He's glad he asked Crowley to take his memories. He's glad he met Magnus and Shen Yuan, glad he learned to bake with Tress and Laertes, glad to have begun training with Lan Wangji. He's glad of the tattoo that burns like a holy sigil against his lower back. He's glad for the sex; he's glad that last night Claudius kissed open his thighs and took him in his mouth.
He's glad that the Grail no longer matters. He wants to live. He wouldn't ask God for any gifts now, least of all death. But it still makes him angry that God lied.
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Galahad looks down at the beetle in the jar, its shining iridescence. His anger at God, the licking flame of it, sometimes burns so low that he forgets it's still present until some breath of air revives it and the fire surges up again. He asked God for one thing in exchange for his faithful service -- he asked for death, and God promised to grant it.
He tries to imagine the person he would have become if he had attained the Grail and lived; the kind of person Lancelot met. He can't imagine it. He can barely remember what it was like to have felt so empty and hopeless.
He's ferociously glad to have come here. He's glad Claudius asked to kiss him. He's glad he asked Crowley to take his memories. He's glad he met Magnus and Shen Yuan, glad he learned to bake with Tress and Laertes, glad to have begun training with Lan Wangji. He's glad of the tattoo that burns like a holy sigil against his lower back. He's glad for the sex; he's glad that last night Claudius kissed open his thighs and took him in his mouth.
He's glad that the Grail no longer matters. He wants to live. He wouldn't ask God for any gifts now, least of all death. But it still makes him angry that God lied.
"I don't feel that way now."