[Open Post] ..hell yes i mind..

[lanselos_du_lac]

It's been a long while since Lancelot felt this way: angry and adrift, too overwhelmed and in his own head to determine how best to manage it. (If Susan were here, it would be simple -- but the fact that his Susan is gone is part of the problem.) His anger is a hot stone at his center, a roiling mess, a weapon without a target. He still feels that he would like to smash something, start a fight, find some way to externalize everything all the things he could not bring himself to say to the Galahad who is far older than he ought to be, the quiet king of a quiet kingdom.

A fulfilled purpose. A completed quest. A long chain of manipulation and events that dragged Lancelot along in its wake, and that (in this other time, he has to acknowledge, not his time and not now) led only to the ruin of everything Lancelot had cared for. And for what? It makes him furious to think that the price of the Grail was Galahad's joy, Galahad's self, and that that price was somehow being paid long before Galahad was even born.

That's just the start of it; there is more, much more, and it feels like it will keep spooling out without ceasing.

His impulse, as ever, is to stalk off to his room and stay there until he feels he can manage himself. (He thinks, not for the first time, of himself ten years older and outwardly angry, angry enough that everyone sees it, fears him or dreads his company. A man who lashes out. He does not want that future, but this possibility has always been somewhere just under the surface; he's always known it. Sometimes it has worked for him, with him, but he knows that it is dangerous and there is no one in this place that he would want to bear witness to it.) If this were Camelot, that is what he would do.

Since he can't figure what to do, he settles for a middle ground. It's been a long while since he felt like getting very deliberately drunk, but that appeals just now, and so he heads for one of the smaller bars, just off the main corridor.

^{[Note: All are welcome! Those who care for Lancelot and/or those who also wish to fistfight God are particularly welcome.]}

Comments

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Something in his tone has her straightening her spine. "What of Camelot?" Susan asks.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Fallen." He sips his drink. "Arthur dead. Guinever disgraced and fled. King Galahad did not know my fate."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Ah. Yes. Of course. Susan had settled that knowledge deep in the recesses of her mind, sometime after her second disastrous conversation with Sagramore, and committed to knowing Lancelot as the man she met here instead of someone spoken of in Tennyson and Edmund's stories. Ought she offer to tell Lancelot of the fate the stories spoke of? Ought she dredge that back up? Lancelot knows she's familiar with the story from before she set it aside, so it shouldn't shock him if she offers...

But more pressing, of course, must be the fates of his first loves. She steels herself, takes another sip of her own drink, and then takes his hand again. "How dreadful."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"He said that I made war on Arthur, that Guinever and I were revealed," he frowns, thinking this over. "And worse. When Arthur was dealing with me elsewhere, his son rose up to take the throne and there was all-out civil war."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan sighs minutely, thinks oh, very well, and ventures, "Mordred?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Yes," with only the faintest note of surprise that she knows the name. (He does remember, usually, that she has some idea of Camelot, of stories he knows nothing of. She does not usually speak of it, however, which he appreciates.) "Dost know-- it was only when he visited here that he acknowledged Mordred to me directly."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Had you any knowledge of him beforehand?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I knew him, though not well. He is of an age with Sagramore. I did suspect he was not simply Arthur's nephew-- he was not much like his brothers, in any respect. But it was not something we spoke of."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"So you hadn't confirmation until Arthur's visit."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Right. I think many at court had the same thought. It isn't as if Arthur could acknowledge him."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"No, no, of course not."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"But this, I think, was the source of much trouble. If in all that time he had named no heir--"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"That does tend to leave rather a - a power vacuum."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"As King Galahad said, I took the Queen away with me, which forced Arthur into a war. Once his back was turned, Mordred took his opportunity. It all sounded... well. Terrible. I cannot imagine it."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"The Lancelot he knew," Susan corrects, softly. "Not you, sweetheart."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He glances over, and it's clear that all of this pains him. "I still cannot see how it isn't me. I cannot imagine making war on Arthur, forcing his hand; but I know, too, how I felt for Guinever, and what I might have done to protect her if her life were at stake."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan is quiet for a long, long moment. "There are dozens of stories, you know," she says, eventually, after a long sip of her drink. "I've not read all of them. Just a few, and not in years. But from what I understand... they're all at least a little bit different." She pauses. "None of them speak of King Galahad. In every last one, he ascends."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"At least there is that," with some relief, though there is still considerable sadness. "And what of Camelot?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan's silence may speak for itself even before she says, "Oh, sweetheart. The manner in which it falls varies, too."

[lanselos_du_lac]

The silence and the words together are enough -- it falls. It always falls. And how could it be he would not be at the center somehow? If for no other reason than he and Guinever refused to give one another up, and Arthur hoped for their happiness over his own good sense. The cost would always be the same, and no amount of love between any of them would be enough to pay it.

Lancelot puts his head down on the bar, resting his forehead on his arms.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She rubs his back for a moment, and then slides off her seat so she can hug him from behind. "Come with me," she murmurs, kissing his shoulder.

[lanselos_du_lac]

For a moment, he isn't sure he can move; everything feels heavy, and he wishes the bourbon was hitting harder. But he lets himself feel Susan's presence, draws a breath, and stands, reaching for her hand.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She takes his hand, threading their fingers together; after a sharp look at him, she also takes the bottle. Then she leads him back to their room. The dress her other self wore is still crumpled at the foot of the bed and Regina has made a nest of it; she walks him past those to the sofa, guides him into a seat, and then climbs on his lap. Then she offers him the bottle again.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He takes it, but sets it aside first and then wraps both arms around her, tucking his face against her neck.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She wraps her arms around him, too. "It hasn't happened," she murmurs, kissing his temple. "In your Camelot. It hasn't happened yet. It mightn't ever happen."