How Sir Lancelot met with King Arthur and Sir Gawain, and how war was decided.
1522 words
“Which of you did it?”
The hall went silent. The drab colors of a dove make the thing blend into the background. Perfectly still, break the silhouette, it becomes just another piece of noise. Gawain, in plain clothes, without his armor or family colors, was pulling off a similar effect. Like a nervous bird, he twitched in place, cocked his head. Lancelot would have thought he was nervous, that is, if his eyes weren’t so deadly focused.
Arthur, to his credit, cleared his throat, seeming to regret taking the man with him. Tensions were high enough, what with his former champion and wife sitting across the table. “Gawain, this isn’t for-”
“I want to know,” Gawain cut him off. The fire crackled, a log fell sending a gust of embers up into the air. The damned castle just wouldn’t get warm. Lancelot had done all he could and still, the cold seemed to leak through every stone.
Was Joyous Gard ever befitting of its name? Perhaps once. Perhaps Lancelot would be too young to remember. Had Arthur ever been here in its heyday? Did he sit at Lancelot’s father’s table, share a story and good food and drink? Did Gawain? Young, reckless, brimming with energy that time hadn’t quite tempered but reshaped into something versatile and sharp. A hook that Lancelot felt in his heart now, Gawain’s eyes hadn’t left him since he had arrived.
Lionel’s hand was on his sword. For all Lancelot’s pleading, he would not be persuaded to maintain the illusion of a peaceful meeting. Bors had conceded to him, but said he would be looking for the first sign of trouble.
“At the very least, I will protect your queen.”
Yes. A queen of very little now, but Lancelot’s queen always and forever. Lancelot and his kin finally stepped into their long-neglected kingships, and the phrase King Lancelot seemed foreign on his tongue. At the very least Arthur looked uncomfortable saying it.
“I want to know which of you killed my brothers,” Gawain repeated, was never one to back down.
“Does that really matter?” Arthur’s voice rang hollow now. The years were starting to catch up to him.
“I think it matters.” Gawain looked at Guinevere, Bors, Lionel, Lancelot. “I think my brothers were about the only thing in the world that mattered and I want to know which of you killed them. I want to know whose sword, whose hands.”
“Mine.” Lancelot spoke before Lionel could stop him, “Gawain- I’m sorry. If I had recognized them I wouldn’t have.”
“If you had recognized them it wouldn’t have mattered.” Gawain hissed, “Brave Sir Lancelot, dear agent of chivalry, my little Gareth would never raise a sword against you. I know he didn’t.”
Lancelot didn’t look at Bors, but he felt his eyes on him. The whole event was a blur, Lancelot honestly couldn't remember a thing. Bors had told him that the boy had nearly cut his arm off and Bors defended himself. This was just before he had informed him that he was dead.
Lancelot didn’t care if he believed him. Gareth was dead regardless.
Arthur seemed to be losing hope that this diplomatic mission would do anything to prevent outright war. He let Gawain speak.
“Agravain hated you, Lancelot, I suppose you took your revenge on him. Or was it one of your kin? Indeed, I imagine neither of them have hands as unclean as yours.” Gawain’s eyes landed on Guinevere, “And all this for you, my lady. I pray to God nobody ever loves me that much.”
Guinevere looked him dead on. Lancelot hoped it was just nerves making his heart beat that way.
“You’ll turn to war, prince of Orkney? Gawain, people are going to die.” She said.
He opened his mouth to respond. Arthur stepped in, seeming relieved to get a word in edgewise, “I fail to see any other option. You kill my kin, steal my wife, I would be a fool not to respond.”
“We have nothing to offer you in recompense.” Lionel spoke up, “Everything we had was yours. Everything we have now I would rather not give up, especially if you can’t keep your nephew on a leash.”
Gawain snarled, pushing his chair back from the table, “You’re happy to say that armed, aren’t you?”
Lionel shrugged and didn't waver. Despite years of bad blood between the two men, Lionel was one of the few people Gawain could never manage to faze. Lancelot respected him for it.
“We’re in exile.” Bors said, “Surely that’s enough. We’ll never bother you again.”
“And l just go home and tell my baby brother that our family died for nothing?” Gawain was shaking, Lancelot had never seen him so unraveled. “Damn you all. I’ll see you on the field. This doesn’t end until one of us is dead, Lancelot.”
He stormed out of the room, knocking over a chair and slamming the door as he left. Lancelot knew he wouldn’t wait for anyone, would mount Gringolet and be halfway back to Camelot in a day. He would begin rallying the troops, his golden tongue wouldn’t fail him there, and by the time Arthur returned the decision would have been made.
What a farce. War was certain the moment Guinevere was put at the stake.
Arthur just sat, looking down at the table. He hadn’t flinched when Gawain stood. He was not even particularly bothered by the way the decision had been made; waves of fate just swept him this way and that. No amount of plotting could prevent providence. The waves had delivered Mordred to safety long ago.
“Arthur, are you alright?” Guinevere asked, her face softened.
“I was just thinking how long it’s been since outright war.” Arthur said, gesturing to the empty space Gawain left behind, “How last time I was only a child. Allied with your fathers, against his. Old Bors and Ban, I pray they don’t see us now.”
“Has it really come to this?” Lancelot asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer. Hector would be finished taking inventory in an hour, the letters would be sent out, alliances made, and resources collected. Lancelot would lead his men into battle and hopefully never meet Arthur’s eyes again.
“I pray I don’t see you out there.” Arthur said, thinking the same way. “I pray if we must die, it would be a stray arrow, a squire’s javelin. I’m too old and tired to fight a former friend.”
“I don’t want to fight Gawain.” Lancelot said, thinking of the sword he had left in his room. He knew Gawain was well aware of the inscription on the hilt. Based on how he was acting, he didn’t seem to care.
“I know you love him.”
“Of course I love him.” Lancelot said, “Most of us in this room love him.”
“It’s remarkable,” Bors said, leaning back, “That you should continue loving one who hates you so grievously.”
“No amount of hate could make me stop loving him.”
The streams of Logres rushed by, interrupted by the striking of hooves. A still lake’s surface rippled. Waves at Orkney’s shore beat on. Somewhere, Rome was falling. Morgause’s two remaining sons would be deputies, and war would be at France’s borders in a matter of days. For all Lancelot knew, Mordred was already preparing.
Arthur finally stood, like an old, brittle tree, he had been hollowed out, but would quietly wait for his final storm. He looked to Guinevere, she looked back at him.
“I won’t be seeing you again.” He said, “You were a good queen.”
“But not a good wife. You were a good friend.” She replied.
Arthur smiled drily. “Lancelot, you would do well to take her advice. She knows the field well. I will miss having her as counsel.”
Once upon a time, Guinevere had been raised to be a king too. It was easy to forget until her expertise was needed.
“I have preparations to make. I’ll need to fill your seats at the table.” Arthur thought out loud, before wincing. The irony of having to take his pick from the Queen’s Knights wasn’t lost on him.
He left without another word. Seems the time for courtly pleasantries is finally over.
Bors touched Lancelot’s shoulder until he looked at him, “Do you think he hates us?”
Lionel snorted, “He has every reason to.”
“He just seemed- well he’s an odd sort.”
“It doesn’t really matter.”
“He does.” Guinevere broke in. “He’s never been the type to show it.”
“Not like Gawain.” Lionel said, “He’s going to give us trouble, that witch’s son.”
“He’s not going to poison us.” Lancelot said, “He would want to fight me.”
Bors frowned, “Even though he knows-”
“It doesn’t matter to him whether he lives or dies.” Lionel’s eyes widened in realization, “Dear lord.”
Leagues away, Gawain was riding. The scar at the back of his neck ached. It might be time to retire the sword and return to his weapon of choice; take the green axe off the mantle. To hell with what it symbolized, Gawain wanted something heavy. Besides, shame and pride mean nothing to a dead man.
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King Arthur 20th anniversary celebration, 1-7 July 2024
King Arthur turns 20 on 7 July 2024! This is an interest check for a potential celebration event to be held here on Tumblr and on AO3 in the week running up to the anniversary - please let me know if you're interested! I'm thinking of a week of prompts, much like other themed fests, with a few prompts per day (home, love, loyalty, etc) and some alternates.
If enough people are interested I'll make an event blog, and if anyone fancies helping me mod the event, that would be great. Also, if anyone out there with graphic skills would like to make some banners, that would also be awesome, since (as you can probably tell) I have the graphic skills of a brick.
There is already an AO3 collection for the anniversary, run by the lovely sasha_b, so if anyone wants to post anything there outside the first week in July please feel free!
And if you're not familiar with the movie - if you like angsty OT3s, ride-and/or-die brothers in arms, badass women warriors, a lot of UST and a good bit of snark, this may be the movie for you! It's not exactly faithful to the legends, it suffers from Smurfette syndrome and doesn't get anywhere near even a Bechdel test pass, and it does have its wobbly story issues and a good few daft plotholes, but it's enormous amounts of fun and has so much scope for fannish interpretations, transformations and extensions. The cast includes Clive Owen, Keira Knightley, Ioan Gruffudd, Joel Edgerton, Hugh Dancy, Mads Mikkelsen, Ray Winstone, Ray Stevenson, Stellan Skarsgård, Til Schweiger and Ken Stott, many of whom went on to much bigger things...
So...come and join the little fandom that could as we celebrate TWENTY YEARS of our beloveds!
Please reblog and signal boost - and if you were in the fandom when the movie was released please come and say hi! I was going by another name at the time (trinityc) and I'd love to get back in touch!
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Gawain, the shit-stirrer
The next day, when they were seated at dinner, Sir Gawain laughingly said to Lancelot, “Sir, do you know who the knight was who wounded you?”
“No, I don’t,” said Lancelot, “but if I can find out and if I should happen to meet him at some tournament, nothing he ever did would be so promptly repaid; for before he left, I would show him whether my sword cuts through steel. And if he drew blood from my side, I would draw as much or more from his head!”
Thereupon, Sir Gawain began to clap his hands and laugh gleefully, and he said to Bors, “Now we’ll see what you can do, for the man who has threatened you is hardly a coward, and if he had threatened me that way, my mind would never be at ease until I had made my peace with him.”
When Lancelot heard these words, he was astonished, and he said, “Bors, was it you who wounded me?”
Bors was so anguished that he did not know what to say, for he dared not admit it and could not deny it. Instead, he said, “Sir, if I did it, I’m sorry, but I shouldn’t be blamed for it. For at the time Sir Gawain says I did it, you — if you were the one I wounded — were disguised so that I would never recognize you with those arms, for they were those of a new knight, whereas you’ve been bearing arms for twenty-five years. That’s why I failed to recognize you, and so it’s my opinion that you shouldn’t hold it against me.”
And Lancelot said that he would not, since that was the way it had happened.
— The Death of Arthur, Chapter 4, Norris J. Lacy translation
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The Whumps of March 2024: "Fairies"
A series of vignettes based on Arthurian legend, collected on AO3 here.
It was not enough that Queen Elaine of Benoic had lost her husband and her kingdom in one night. Somehow, she didn't even know how, her baby had disappeared as well.
She had put him down to try and revive her husband. She had failed, and when she came back...she had only gone a few feet away. She couldn't have lost him, and she couldn't have failed to hear someone come up and take him—even a fox couldn't have been so stealthy. But as much as she looked, tearing through the foliage and screaming in panic, she found not a single thread of his blanket, nothing but an indentation in the grass where she had left him.
She wept all night, and many more besides.
A year later, as she was living in a covenant with her sister Evaine—also widowed and bereft of her own sons—they saw it.
A vision. Not a dream, no, they were awake, and this was real, as real as magic or love or despair. They saw their boys—not babies but boys now, approaching manhood, laughing and playing with sticks as toy swords. She recognized the shape of Ban's face and her own nose, the features blending beautifully in their handsome child.
She reached out to touch him, but the whole image disappeared.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Evaine was the first to start crying.
"The fairies have taken them," she whispered, her face pale, a stream of tears running down her cheek.
Elaine didn't answer, just stood there, frozen with her hand out to touch her illusionary son.
Who could understand what fairies did? Why had they taken these children? And why send this vision, all these months later?
Perhaps it was meant to be reassuring. To tell the sisters that their sons were alright, living happy and strong in some fairy paradise.
Maybe. But to Elaine, it felt more like the fairies were just twisting the knife.
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