[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

[wickedwit]

"I'm so glad you asked," Claudius says, whether or not that technically counts as a question. It's very close to a question, for Lancelot. "Listen. Let me tell you a secret. Eye contact is not a natural skill for me. I'm excellent at it, of course." He looks Lancelot directly in the eye, charming and approachable, if perhaps too approachable. "But that's all practice. The cut direct is rather advanced in that it requires denying eye contact when it would otherwise be expected. You go to greet the host of a dance you're attending -- for example -- and instead of meeting your eyes and acknowledging you, he looks away. It's not that he didn't hear you. It's that you're beneath acknowledgement. He may consider the sky instead, which is the cut sublime, or the ground beneath, which is the cut infernal." With some annoyance, he says, "Now, a host should never cut a guest, if he controls the guest list. But if you weren't at that dance ... I suppose Gertrude's dancing lessons would've gone to waste. And Laertes adores thee. Sagramore adores thee, but in an arch, confrontational sort of way, which I frankly envy."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Well," he says, in a tone that is carefully considering. He is flushed, now, with the drink, and still not entirely sure he understands. "I am sorry for not noticing what, perhaps, I should have. Though I admit that when I'm not sure of someone, or I know I am disliked, it is much easier to simply... not engage that person. Perhaps I should not default to that."

He goes to take another sip -- his glass is getting close to empty, now -- and then pauses as Claudius' other observation catches up to him. He sets the glass down again. "I would not have let Gertrude's time and care go to waste, of course. And I do know how Laertes feels for me... but Sagramore? We are friends, yes. I think I would call him brother even if that weren't already set by our service together. But again, I don't think I don't know thy meaning-- what is there to envy?"

[wickedwit]

It makes sense -- Claudius could understand only half of Lancelot's prideful reputation by Laertes's insistence that he was aloof from shyness. The other half was avoiding those who already disliked them, which Claudius himself found infuriating. As if there were no need to concern himself with the likes of Claudius, as if his opinion held no weight, as if Claudius had no reason to be invested. He can imagine the people of Camelot seeing a man who never seems to stoop to their level, and calling him arrogant.

So perhaps there are things Claudius can't learn simply asking other people what they make of Lancelot. "Sagramore has a natural charm," Claudius says, in answer to his question. "He works at it, of course. People seldom understand how much work it takes to be liked, particularly if they never try at it. But he's still a natural at some things I'm not. There are cues he can read without trying, which means he can a bit more daring, if only a bit. That friendship you have, very boyish and bullying, is something I never had myself as a youth." Claudius does bully his friends now, to be fair. But they're friends who help him navigate the missteps of a missed cue, when his teasing goes too far or he becomes too focused and prodding. They don't collectively decide to shun him until he understands what he's done wrong. "I follow exacting rules at times. Spend a great deal time thinking about the done thing. In your case, perhaps I could have spoken plainly and resolved matters, before it came to giving you the cut direct. But that's not the done thing, you know. Not in Elsinore, where resolving a single spat takes campaigns of intricate subterfuge, people hiding behind arrases. It's rather foolish. And I'm also sorry, as it happens. Cutting asides aren't really honest confrontation."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot nods, swirling his glass. What Claudius says about his relationship with Sagramore makes sense; what has developed between the two of them had felt so natural he hadn't even considered the ways in which it is different from both his other friendships, here, and what he expected from Sagramore to begin with. (It's strange, almost, that this is the case. Ease, friendship, almost never came naturally to him before.)

But-- there is an apology in there. This, too, is surprising. He smiles a little, and as he considers how best to say what he is thinking, he pours a little more rye for himself and then gestures for Claudius to bring his glass closer that he might do so for him, as well.

"If it makes you feel any better," he says, with that careful air he often has, even if it has been softened a bit by alcohol, "I was not hurt by it. I did not notice the lack of eye contact or know that to be deliberate, but I understood why you might not... be glad to see me. It isn't that I didn't care, exactly. But it seemed to me that the best thing to do, for both of us, would be not to bother you unless I could help it. We have people -- friends, lovers -- in common. But even before that was the case, I did not wish to trouble you. I have, from the moment I really understood what Galahad was telling me, wished only for him to have comfort and peace here. It pains me that I have hurt him and can do nothing about it, cannot stop it from happening. The least I could do would be not to antagonize someone he loves so well."

[wickedwit]

"We do have to work on that," Claudius says, half-dazed, yet surprisingly touched. "No, no, the intention is appreciated. It's only that all men aren't alike. I hate to be ignored. Some men would rather be ignored than antagonized but somehow, despite all the lessons my childhood, I'm not one of them."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot laughs a little, giving Claudius something of an appraising look. "Very well. Now I know, and I can deal with thee more plainly. I would much rather be ignored than risk a fight, if I am honest."

[wickedwit]

"I suppose it's the difference between a startle display and camouflage," Claudius says, then proceeds not to explain either term.

[lanselos_du_lac]

In spite of this, Lancelot considers for a moment and decides he has the gist of it. "Perhaps that's so. I don't know that I was hiding, at court -- almost certainly I was not -- but it has always been difficult for me to understand others, or feel comfortable with those I don't know. In any case, it's hard to say. Few at court would challenge me, because I was in the good graces of the King and Queen."

He pauses, gazing at his glass. That was not the only reason. "And my prowess. Though-- most often that was a shield. In truth, I nearly always would rather avoid confrontation. I dislike how it feels, to be angry, and I do not trust myself when I let myself feel it. Today has been a surprise."

[wickedwit]

"I understand both sides of that. Both sides, because I've been faced with blind, unreasoning anger too many times in my life -- but I've also been frustratingly, helplessly angry. I've flinched when someone so much as raised their voice or lifted a hand, but I've also mocked and needled men I knew were going to strike me regardless." It's the sort of admission that can only be made at a bar (Claudius thinks dryly to himself). But perhaps it's a good thing, that he and Laertes at least found a way to be angry about the same thing. "It is satisfying," he admits, "to direct anger in the proper direction, at times. Almost like solving a puzzle. It was a great mystery to me why was I've been angry for most of my life, until I realized my faith was such a looming force I didn't even consider breaking free of it."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Was it?" Lancelot's expression turns thoughtful again. "I would say -- have said -- that I did not think much on faith. I did not consider myself any more devout than anyone else. But, too, it was so... I don't have a word for it. It was simply the way the world was ordered. I was always, once I came to court, more directly concerned with the King's expectations, with the Queen's, but-- I see now that did not free me, as I might have thought."

[wickedwit]

"No longer see'st thou as through a glass darkly. Ordered," he agrees, "is the way of't. In my time, 'tis doctrine that all kings are kings by God's decree, not only the luckless King Galahad. Even in Denmark -- our kings are elected, but we still pretend for a day nobles vote by divine influence, not for their own lands and interests. Thy King must be two things at once: a human man, and the living Law, an earthly fragment of God's divine authority. Thou wert in love with a woman, a friend's wife. At worse, that's a source for heartache. 'Twas divine order that made it treason and blasphemy." Turning somewhat wistful, he asks, "What sort of man was thy King?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Ordinarily Lancelot might turn a little wary at this question, particularly from Claudius, but by now he is pleasantly drunk and it's easy to speak of Arthur. "He has a good heart-- he means well, and he sincerely desires peace and unity. Arthur thinks of the smallfolk as much as he does the lords. He is a light, and people love him. I love him. But he often relies on his advisors, rather than his own mind or heart, which sometimes creates trouble. At times, I have thought he would rather not be king at all."

[wickedwit]

"It's said such men are best-suited for kingship," Claudius remarks dryly. But his eyes are soft, his posture turned towards Lancelot, open and receptive. "It's a bit of a curse. The ones who grasp and scheme for power are the ones who can trusted the least with it. The soft-hearted ones who only wish to good, who put aside their pride for the sake of the people and pay heed to counsel, are beloved but liable to suffer." Still soft-eyed, he asks, "Didst thou love him?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Liable to suffer," he repeats quietly, turning that over, too. He nods, but keeps the rest of that thought to himself, for now.

Instead, he answers the direct question, still staring into his glass. "Aye. I did love him. I do, still."

[wickedwit]

"It isn't easy," Claudius says, "to love a king. Or a queen, for that matter. Thou didst both."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"i have heard it said that nothing worth doing is easy," with a strange kind of lightness. He has the sudden thought that, even if he did love both his King and his Queen, he did not do so particularly well. How much of that was within himself, and how much it came down to the challenges and pressures of their roles, he doesn't think he could say.

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs -- a more easy and natural laugh than perhaps Lancelot is used to hearing. "Yes, but a number of things not worth doing are pointlessly difficult. It speaks well of thee, regardless," Claudius muses, "that thou canst love someone despite the difficulties they cause. Thou hast a more than fair-weather heart. It must be why Susan likes thee so well."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot actually flushes a little at this; he is surely in his cups, because despite being flattered at what feels like praise, he cannot help but make a jest of it. "A very kind way to say that I am stubborn, though I do think that stubbornness pleases her."

[wickedwit]

A stubborn man is a determined one,” Claudius laughs. “Susan and I have sharp, wary minds. We assess and reassess the people we meet according to our own private criteria. Someone who is stubborn, loyal, and straightforward has a way of getting past our defenses … there’s someone we can rely on.” Claudius gives him a wry sideways look. “If we’d met in different circumstances, perhaps I wouldn’t have had my defenses so far up.”

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Ah, well," he gestures loosely with his glass, "I did myself no favors, when I arrived here. I cannot but think that thine impression was reasonable."

[wickedwit]

"It all comes back to Gertrude," Claudius says, with a long drink, leaning comfortably over the bar with his own glass in his hand. "If she were my sister proper, or my lawful wife, and some man struck her in a temper, I'd have the right to demand satisfaction. That's what duels are for: handling those abstract insults to honor that outrage us beyond what words alone can express. That I could do nothing rankled me. But not to worry ... I've spent many hours and private conversations finding my words, until there's no need say them anymore. And," he adds, "I'm not the dueling type. I'm not so strong as thou art, and I've known it all my life. I can only protect Galahad in my own way." He thinks of the Galahad he met, that clear and even tone of his voice, with all the serenity of heaven blanketing the despair of death. "I think we both want that."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I think so, too," quietly. He eyes his glass, takes another long drink. It's nearly empty again. "I think, perhaps, that is part of why I am so angry. I would have wished to protect him, but one cannot protect against God's will. Here, at least, we are free of that. Should the need arise, I would protect Galahad with everything I have, including my life."

Lancelot pauses, then says, "I would do the same for thee. For anyone in this community. Things are not as they were when I first arrived. I am not as I was."

[wickedwit]

“Thou wouldst be a true knight,” Claudius says, voice even, in a way that betrays him deep emotion. “I didn’t think they still existed. And yet, even when thou wert the most celebrated knight in Camelot, I don’t think thou wert ready to embody the ideal. Thou hadst to come here.”

[lanselos_du_lac]

"No," which is, strangely, an agreement. He catches something in Cladius' tone, though he isn't sure just what that might be. He gives Claudius a long look, as if trying to discern it.

[wickedwit]

With a short laugh and a longer smile, Claudius asks, "Does Galahad get it from thee, then? That searching stare."