[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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[timebethine]

Grinning, "Art thou recovered from thy toils?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Quite refreshed. My thanks."

[timebethine]

"And now? Wouldst thou still be commanded?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

Wrapping an arm around his waist, he says, "I am much improved, but I could still be commanded."

[timebethine]

"Then find for me a fine, smooth stone, no bigger than the first joint of thy thumb," says Laertes. "One that's pleasing to thine eye."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Very well," with a little laugh. He gives Laertes a quick squeeze and then swims off.

Lancelot spends the next several minutes diving, finding the smooth stones on the lake bed, surfacing to examine them until he finds one that suits him -- a smooth grey stone mottled with cloudy green agate, which he brings back and offers to Laertes.

[timebethine]

Laertes takes it gladly, holding it out of the water--wet, the grey is darker, but Laertes can already tell that it will be a light, cloudy grey struck through with green when it's dry. "I mean to make thee a necklace of it," he says, and folds it back into Lancelot's hand. "I've made some few bits of jewelry for Sagramore--and I'd like to make thee something, as well."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He is, somehow, plainly surprised but also evidently touched. "In truth?"

[timebethine]

"Ay, in truth. Unless there's aught else thou wouldst have?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"No, that-- it sounds wonderful. It's just that I have not often had such gifts." He nods toward the shore, where his things are. "The dagger, from Susan, and I suppose Grantaire's painting, but those were the first gifts in a long while."

[timebethine]

"One from each of thy lovers, then--that's well. That's as it should be."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Aye," flushing a little, pure pleasure, "I suppose that's true. It's just not something I'm much used to."

[timebethine]

"I would thou wert. I'd have thee know that thou art treasured, always."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Thy deeds show the proof," pulling him close again, "each of thee. I've no doubts."

[timebethine]

"All's well with them?" he asks, even as he nuzzles up against Lancelot's neck.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Yes, quite," settling him more securely, "Susan and I live together, as I think thou knowest. There is a cat, Regina. Grantaire and I mostly engage in nonsense, but that is a delight."

[timebethine]

"I know well the delights of his nonsense," says Laertes, with a comfortable little shudder that implies a good deal about those delights. "Wilt thou marry her? Susan?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Oh," with something that's a little like surprise. "Oh, I-- we haven't spoken of that. I think... I think perhaps not? I think neither of us tends toward that thought."

He sounds as if he's thinking it through, trying to put his finger on what he really thinks.

[timebethine]

"It's well, then, that thou art of like minds in this." And better, that this is not a place that will look askance at Lancelot and Susan for living together unwed.

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I had long ago given up any thought of marriage," he admits.

[timebethine]

"It had long been a horror to me," says Laertes, softer now. "Only another way for my father to position me to best advantage, wedding me less to a wife than to land and title and money. I'd never imagined that I would want to be married so fiercely as I longed to be wed to Sagramore."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"If the King had required it of me, I would have agreed-- but Gwen would never have allowed it, and I had no desire to take a wife." Lancelot pauses, then says, "I think now I dread to make anyone feel held only to me, beholden to me, to have anyone feel they have only one path. I understand, I think, why thou wouldst wish to we'd Sagramore, but me-- I think I am too careful."

[timebethine]

"I think we might not have married, if we'd believed we were each other's only path," says Laertes. "We're glad to share each other with other lovers. It's our great fortune to be of like mind in this." Then, a little ruefully, "And I have done with being careful."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Thou'rt bold," warmly.

[timebethine]

"Wouldst thou be bold?"