[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.]}

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[lanselos_du_lac]

His breath catches, and he looks away, forcing himself to take a deep breath. After a pause that's only fractionally shorter than Galahad's, he says, "No. But-- There may be several causes, but if I had chosen differently--"

[onthewillowsthere]

"How do you know?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

He sits up, which draws his hand away, though that's not entirely deliberate. He takes a very long drink, almost draining his glass.

"I keep thinking," he says, after a moment to let the burn of the whiskey subside, "had I chosen differently, things between Arthur and I would have been different. Whatever flaws there were in Camelot's foundation would not have been absent, but I would not have worsened them. It would not have gone on for years. It would not have created a situation where anyone who already had a grievance also had real cause to act. A king can't let a traitor live for decades in his own house, without a word. I can understand how... I can understand why it ended as it did."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Arthur also did this." He rubs his watchband.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot is surprised at himself when he automatically shakes his head no. "I shouldn't have put him in that position."

[onthewillowsthere]

"He had choices too. He was allowed to choose."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He glances back at Galahad, "Aye. I suppose he did."

[onthewillowsthere]

"It's your fault too. Just not all yours."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot's mouth crooks in the faintest suggestion of a smile. "You are right, I suppose."

[onthewillowsthere]

He is right. He waits.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He sighs, "I suppose it's just that I have always felt that I was the problem-- from the moment I stopped doing only precisely what I was meant to do."

[onthewillowsthere]

Inside the jar, the leaf beetle sits still, gleaming, rainbow iridescence shining from it. Galahad thinks about how it felt when he began to do things God wouldn't have liked, bit by bit, knowing he was moving further and further away from Him and any chance of reconciliation.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I can see," he goes on, with a little more heat, "how it would be fitting for God to punish me. But if none of it means anything, in the end, then it seems unfair. And if I had no choice but to be as I am, no choice in what happens to me, then it is cruel."

[onthewillowsthere]

"I think," slowly, "that sometimes God is cruel."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Why should He be? If we all are meant to spend our lives in His service, for His glory?"

Not that this is how Lancelot has ever lived his life -- his service was for Arthur, as was whatever glory he sought -- but he knows well enough what he was supposed to be working toward.

[onthewillowsthere]

"Claudius says He is like a father."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot's mouth tucks into a partial frown as he thinks this over. Eventually he says, "My father could be firm, and he certainly had specific expectations of me, but he was never cruel. If he wanted something of me, it was usually something I could understand, and I also understood why he expected it. He was never cruel to me."

[onthewillowsthere]

"You weren't like that. With me."

[lanselos_du_lac]

His expression shifts to something sadder, softer. "Will you tell me? What that was like?"

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad hesitates. It's been a long time since his Lancelot's coldness hurt him, a long time since he craved his approval. The matter between them is, to his mind resolved, and when he thinks of the things Claudius said Laertes told him about Lancelot (shy, not aloof, not permitted to share the world; a smile like a secret; he bows under the weight of what is expected of him) Galahad wonders whether he's the one now who could withhold longed-for approval. He still feels a grain of responsibility for Lancelot's happiness, after being the cause of his rough beginning in this place, even though Lancelot has friends now, even lovers.

He shakes his head.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot nods, looking down for a moment. He will respect that answer and he won't ask again, though at the moment it makes him feel lost, like there's some part of his memory he can't touch. (In truth, though he won't think of it this way for some time, this is far better. He does not need another list of sins he has yet to commit waiting to bear down on him again, another list of actions to feel responsible and guilty for.)

He resists the urge to take a very long drink and instead says quietly, "I am sorry that I was not the kind of father that would have helped you. I think, perhaps, things might have gone differently, had I known earlier on. I would not have wanted your mother to send you away."

[onthewillowsthere]

"You were sent away."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Yes, but that was only after my father had died, and we were landless. My mother sent me somewhere that I would be able to be trained as I should be and watched over. It was not the happiest time in my life, but I had my cousins and a purpose."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Tell me about your cousins."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Bors and Lionel," smiling a little. "Did you know them, at court?"