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mayihavethisdanse · 3 years

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“What is this, the Dark Ages?”

Or, Arthurian themes and allusions in the Brotherhood of Steel mythos as seen in Fallout 4. (But that’s a lot of words.)

Yep. We're doing this.

First, some obligatory caveats: there is no single Arthurian canon, just 1500 years of assorted fanfic based on the whims of whoever was writing at the time. For this extremely highbrow Tumblr meta, I have ignored most of it and drawn on my favorites. Also Wikipedia.

Also, I am not an expert in Arthurian literature (or Fallout lore, come to that), and I preemptively beg the pardon of anyone who is.

Finally, in no way am I claiming that all these parallels and thematic echoes are deliberate or even significant. In fact, I'd break it down into:

Clearly deliberate allusions, whether in or out of universe;

Probably coincidence, but could be someone deliberately capitalizing on a coincidental similarity;

Almost certainly coincidence, but fun to speculate about; annnnd

Blatant Monty Python references. (Because of course there are.)

I'll start with the big one.

Arthur Maxson, boy king and unifier

(source)

So across all the retellings and variations of King Arthur’s life story, there are a few consistent elements, particularly in his early life and rise to power. Some of these threads are echoed in the Fallout universe, specifically (and unsurprisingly) in the person of Arthur Maxson.

Both the legendary King Arthur and Arthur Maxson were born with a claim to power lying in their ancestry, both were fostered away from their families, and both proved themselves in combat at a young age.

King Arthur united the warring kingdoms of Britain into a single entity, making them stronger against outsiders and receiving general admiration and acclaim. Arthur Maxson united the divided factions of the BoS after the events of Fallout 3 and is held in similarly high regard by his men.

The name Prydwen is a reference to the ship of the original King Arthur. Presumably, Arthur Maxson (or someone in the BoS who anticipated his promotion) christened the airship in a deliberate homage to the Arthurian myth.

King Arthur is associated with his legendary sword. I think it’s notable that Maxson’s legend is associated with a bladed weapon, too. ("He killed a DEATHCLAW with a COMBAT KNIFE!”)

Probably coincidence, but fun: the historical emperor Magnus Maximus, who pops up a lot in early Arthurian legend, was known in Welsh as... Macsen. (⌐■_■)

Round Table, but make it dieselpunk

(Continued under the cut.)

Moving away from obvious allusions and into some looser parallels:

Like the Round Table, the Brotherhood is an exclusive knightly order with its leader being the one able to open it up to his chosen few.

Like the Round Table, the BoS sees itself as defending human civilization against forces of chaos. (I’ll touch on their tech-hoarding tendencies when I get to the Grail stuff.) This idea of civilization in the face of chaos goes back to the BoS’s founding, even though the level of isolationism we see in most of the Fallout franchise is not exactly what founder Roger Maxson had in mind: “Notably, Maxson's ultimate intention was to establish the Brotherhood as an organization that works closely with people outside of the Brotherhood, as guardians of civilizations, not its gatekeepers.” (source) In a lot of ways, Arthur Maxson represents a return to his ancestor’s original ideals.

Renegade knights? Internal politics? Traitors within? We gotchu.

In both the medieval legends and in all chapters of the BoS we’ve seen, there’s a big focus on bloodlines (ew). Ironically, it’s probably Arthur Maxson’s unquestionable ancestry that allows him to be more progressive than either of his East Coast predecessors when it comes to boosting Brotherhood numbers by recruitment (even though you can still see a clear division between “born Brotherhood” and recruited soldiers, but that’s a topic for another day). Maxson sees himself as an Elder who "cares for the people"—however misguided and patronizing that attitude might be—and whatever else you might say about the guy, you can't say he doesn't believe he has a duty. Which brings us to…

Know Your Enemy: Danse as Gawain

Before I start this section, an acknowledgement of authorial bias:

Gawain, as portrayed in the Middle English poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, is my very favorite of King Arthur’s knights. (Other stories aren't always as flattering, but like I said at the outset: I'm sticking to the ones I like.)

That poem is my very favorite piece of medieval Arthurian literature. In this section, I'll refer to the modern English translation by Simon Armitage.

...that’s it, I have no other biases to disclose.

What? 👀

(Art: Clive Hicks-Jenkins)

All right. So in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, you’ve got this himbo loyal knight of Arthur’s who finds himself caught up in... you know what, let me just paste in the Wikipedia summary. (The Toast, RIP, also did a pretty entertaining and more-or-less accurate recap.)

It describes how Sir Gawain, a knight of King Arthur's Round Table, accepts a challenge from a mysterious "Green Knight" who dares any knight to strike him with his axe if he will take a return blow in a year and a day. Gawain accepts and beheads him with his blow, at which the Green Knight stands up, picks up his head and reminds Gawain of the appointed time. In his struggles to keep his bargain, Gawain demonstrates chivalry and loyalty until his honour is called into question by a test involving the lord and the lady of the castle where he is a guest.

Don’t worry too much about the plot details, though; for this post, I’m more interested in the thematic parallels. The Green Knight story is full of contrasts: order vs. chaos, civilization vs. wilderness, mortal man vs. Other... but let’s start with Gawain himself.

Some stuff to know about Gawain:

He was "as good as the purest gold, devoid of vices but virtuous and loyal". Gawain took his principles more seriously even than the rest of Arthur’s knights, not out of pride but out of humility: "I would rather drop dead than default from duty," he says.

He’s faithful and honorable and never even tempted to betray an oath, even when offered every variety of seduction and riches, except for a single moment of weakness in a desperate desire not to be executed for random shit by powerful forces for reasons he doesn't understand.

Even though he doesn’t really understand why he needs to die, he sticks to his oath. Gawain's one weakness is a moment of desperate, private, human desire for survival. He'll submit to the headsman’s axe if he has to, but he'd still rather live.

Above all, Gawain is the ideal of a human man: he might be the bravest and loyal man there is, but he’s still fundamentally human.

You can probably see where I'm going with this.

A few more fun facts about Gawain that resonate with Paladin Danse’s story:

He’s got a bunch of really shitty brothers. (No comment.)

Gawain (SPOILERS!) doesn't actually end up beheaded, but he does willingly kneel for his execution and gets a cut on the throat as a reminder of his sin. And, uh, Danse can also get his throat cut! It doesn’t end as nicely but it’s, you know, a thing that can happen.

Gawain might be a really good guy, and he tries really hard to be one, but in the end he’s nothing more than that: there’s nothing supernatural about him, he has no special powers beyond his own principles and devotion. He’s just a dude doing his Best.

Wait, why not Danselot?

Oh, that guy? Here’s the thing.

Lancelot personifies the continental ideals of courtly love that became popular in the High Middle Ages. Central to his story is the prioritization of personal relationships and romantic feelings in a way that you don’t really see in Gawain's, at least in the Green Knight tale. (Later stories hook Gawain up with an extremely delightful lady, but even that is a different flavor of romance than Lancelot's and has more to do with Gawain honoring his word and his egalitarian treatment of women (hell yeah). In the poem, Gawain is impressed by Bertilak's wife but resists her temptation; in fact, the biggest risk is not that he'll yield to her advances but that he'll be discourteous to her, i.e., violate his principles and cause dishonor to his king and his host.)

Lancelot is driven by passions over principles in a way that Gawain never really is (at least in the stories I’m talking about; later writers have committed character assassination to various degrees). Yes, you could argue that both Gawain and Lancelot betray their oaths, but Lancelot’s betrayal is never, um, blind. He knows what he’s doing and makes a deliberate choice to prioritize his love for the queen over his love for the king. It doesn’t make him a bad guy—he too is an ideal knight with one fatal flaw—but his character isn’t as comparable to Paladin Danse.

Yeah, Gawain is (in most stories) a prince and a kinsman of Arthur’s, but he’s ultimately a native boy who doesn’t break the mold of a Knight of the Round Table. Likewise, Danse is portrayed as competent and valuable to the BoS, but not exceptional or breaking the mold of what a BoS soldier should be: he simply represents the ideal. Meanwhile, Lancelot is a foreign prince who was marked from childhood as special and fancy, and his storyline goes alllll over the place. (Much like this post.)

For example, Lancelot goes to absolutely absurd extremes to prove his devotion for no other reason than to prove it. (“I’ll do any useless humiliating thing you want. I’ll betray every oath except the one I made to you. That’s what love is!”) Gawain would never. Danse would never.

Ultimately, Gawain's tests are of his character and not of his love. And like Gawain, Danse’s devotion is to service and his principles, not to another person—even Arthur Maxson.

All that said, there are some similarities: both are beloved by Arthur, both are held up as the ideal of what a knight should be. And even if their fatal flaws are different, both make the point that no matter how good and brave and loyal they might be, no human being can be perfect.

(Except Galahad. Who is, as a result, very boring.)

I’ll conclude this section with a quote from someone else’s take on the Greek Knight poem:

I like Gawain. He’s not perfect, but he’s trying his best which is all any of us can do. He’s not like the other knights in the Arthurian legends who occasionally ‘accidentally’ kill women on their little adventures and then feel hard done by when they have to deal with the consequences of that. Gawain holds himself to a high standard – higher, it seems, than Arthur and his knights hold him to considering how hard they laugh when Gawain tells them how bad he feels about the whole thing.

I think Gawain is very relatable in this story. We all want to be better than we actually are.

And that, more than anything else, is Danse.

The Grail myth

What’s that? Lost relics of power? Better send some large armed men after ‘em!

The parallels to the BoS’s tech-hoarding ways are obvious enough that the games themselves lampshade them (albeit by way of Monty Python). But it also ties into the larger themes of “purity” versus “corruption” and the BoS’s self-image as a bastion between civilization and chaos. (See Maxson's line in response to the Sole Survivor’s quip about the Dark Ages: “Judging from the state of the world, it wouldn't be a stretch to say we're living in that era again.”)

But the ultimate futility of the Grail mission is also worthy of note. The BoS might want the power of prewar tech on their side, but they’re no more to be trusted with it than any other group of human beings. No matter how they try, the “corruption” of humanity can’t be overcome as long as they’re striving to harness power for their own ends. You can only achieve power by surrendering control of it.

The death of Arthur

The nature of gameplay being what it is, it's not guaranteed that the Arthur figure will be fatally betrayed, bringing Camelot down with him—but it's not unlikely, either.

Awkward.

Some final spitballing:

Outside the Brotherhood, there are some fun parallels of the Arthur myth with the rest of Fallout 4. Betrayal by one’s own son, for example.

The key difference between the BoS and the legendary Round Table: King Arthur’s knights, for all their flaws and human weaknesses, are usually presented as unambiguous Good Guys. The BoS is... a little more ambiguous...

...but damn if they don’t think they're the good guys.

A-ad victoriam, fellas!

#fallout #fallout 4 #brotherhood of steel #arthur maxson #paladin danse #sir gawain and the green knight #sir gawain #gawain #knights of the round table #king arthur #elder maxson #fallout 3 #fallout lore #maxson #roger maxson #look mom I did a meta

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jimmythejiver · 3 years

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For the first time in a long time I went to the movies in forever and then to Target. At Target I see some Godiva bars on discount yellow tags and I was ecstatic until I read 70% Cacao, Dark, Salted Caramel and was deflated.

Anyway that's how I felt about seeing The Green Knight. What you thought this was about chocolate?

No see since the pandemic I've been back on my perennial King Arthur kick. I've for a long time since I was a young preteen thought, someday I too will write my own King Arthur epic and it'll be gay, magical, gangster and culty too, but for now I'll make up my own stories for practice and then with every story I got attached too, it got too involved and convoluted to the point that when it came down to actually writing a novel, I threw it all away and made a space opera I only planned in two weeks and wrote in a month. Anyway...so now I've been writing this very gay, magical, gangster and culty take on Final Fantasy XV with my boyfriend and just fell in love with Somnus Lucis Caelum who nobody has any insight about him than to make him the Mordred to Ardyn's Arthur, which is a strange flex, but okay, I thought about what if I wrote a Dark Age prequel about Ardyn and Somnus, but Ardyn becomes king and Somnus his shogun and they play games of seduction and power because I'm twisted like that. Anyway...I was like I'm never going to write this and I have to keep making up characters based on FFXV characters and King Arthur tropes because there's not a lot of stories that take place during the Dark Ages, it's always some Roman Empire story, or High Middle Ages and FFXV gave no room for either society to happen after the fall of Solheim and the rise of King Somnus...so we left with Dark Ages, y'all, the King Arthur comparisons are obvious, but Ardyn is no Arthur and Somnus is no Mordred, Aera is only Guenevere if you make up an affair with Somnus, Gilgamesh is no Bedwyr/Bedivere, but uh...they both amputees and the oldest companions to their respective kings so...I guess. Anyway making an ancestor of Cor Leonis and deciding well he's Owain/Yvain, or am Ignis type as idk Sir Cai/Kay I guess, they both cook, but Cai's more like Seifer Almasy than any FF character... Anyway I'm losing people.

My plan was to just scrap the FFXV prequel, leave my Somnus ideas into Overtime (a gangster and gods story) and just plan an actual King Arthur adaptation. I'd have King Arthur the treasure hunter, leader of a warband turned founder of Camelot who fights giants, giant cats and dogheads, but also fights King Claudas of the Franks and King Aelle of the Saxons and Cerdic a Briton who puts in his lot with the Saxons, etc. It'd been a a glorified turf war, meanwhile Arthur's gotta make alliances with King Pelles, The Fisher King and his strange cult he's founded because, why yes I find the ends justifies the means prophecy of the Holy Grail Quest very culty because Christianity then does not resemble it now. Meanwhile you got the secondary plots of Mordred, Gawain, Lancelot, Percival, Tristam and other's going on because they matter and too many modern King Arthur stories sideline the knights.

So many have always sidelined Mordred as a final boss eldritch abomination in mortal flesh conceived of sin and give him no personality, or complex motives, or even just a relationship with Arthur. I also have noticed the general sidelining of Lancelot, or give him a chad villain upgrade if you must include him at all, and the villainizing of Gawain to the point that you don't even have to have Mordred, or Agravain as a catalyst shit stirrer in court, just slap Gawain's name on Liam Neeson in a top knot and you're good. Mordred can just be a child offscreen until last act...fuck that, while Morgan Le Fay can either be a villainess plotting her cabal through men, or a well-intentioned, ineffectual idiot. Fuck that.

Now Hollywood just be doing King Arthur first acts that suck ass, only for said director to get rewarded failing upwards by giving this same jerk the Aladdin remake. The tonally shitty, crammed in blockbuster mess of a cliche heroe's journey that sucks.

With that background I was excited for The Green Knight. I read an illustrative version as a kid, I read Tolkien's translation as a teenager, I read Simon Armitage's superior, but with liberties taken translation. I was prepped to go knowing that indie, or not they were going to make changes to weave the disjointed poem together. I'm excited that because this movie exists Project Guternberg's finally thrown Jessie Weston's prose rendition up on their website. I'll be reading that at some point when this blows over.

The movie adaptation makes a lot of...choices, many I wouldn't love, but would forgive had their been a payoff. There was none.

The journey was fine, the cinematography was a breath of fresh air after crappy slo mo, glossy action scenes ruined another. Guys, I don't think I want to see a Zack Snyder Excalibur, it'll marginally be better than Guy Ritchie, but that ain't saying anything. Leave Excalibur to the post-Star Wars 80s where it is impeccable for it's time. I liked Green Knight's breathable pacing, it's color palette's in the forests and mountains made up for the muddy grey of every Ridley Scott send up in the castles and villages in every other Dark Ages/Medieval story in the last I don’t know since the shitty 00′s. For all the dark tones when there was blues, greens, yellows or reds, they were vibrant in this movie to contrast the gloom of Britain. The soundtrack was good. This isn't all what makes a movie, but it enhances it so let's get to the story and what I did and didn't like.

Things I Liked: Gawain is still a novice in his career The Costume Dressing Everyone pronounces Gawain's name different. I pronounce it like Gwayne, or Guh Wayne, but here you got Gowen (like Owen), Gowan (like Rowan), or even Garlon who I'm pretty sure is the Fisher King's heir in some versions of that Arthurian story, so uh... The reference to Arthur slaying 960 men with his bare hands (Nennius for the win!) The Waste Land that is implied to be a site of a battle (an important aspect of the Arthurian landscape) The Fox companion No long grisly, drawn out hunting scenes. The Fox lives! No misogynist speeches

Things I'm Mixed: This being a dream, is the magic real? Are the giants? Is the Green Knight a figment of Gawain's imagination from a spell Morgan casted in him to hallucinate? Is Lord and Lady also figments? It's...a way to interpret the poem, but lazy and I don't see why it's got to all fantasy, or all dream...this movie makes it too vague you're stuck picking one camp than to accept it's a fantasy with dream and hallucinatory sequences.

Things I'm Meh: Morgan Le Fay as Gawain's mom. Look I fucking hate Morgause as a character and these two get merged and steal each other's aspects so much at this point the difference is who did they marry, King Urien or King Lot? Both are attributed to being Mordred's mom, Mordred is Gawain's brother...both practice magic depending on certain incarnations, both love and hate Arthur their brother and are in conflict with him. Saint Winifred. I actually liked this sequence, but I don't appreciate her as the tacked on wife in the later dream sequence as like...a contrast between the wife you should marry than the whore next door you don't respect anyway? I don't even know what lesson I'm supposed to get out of the damn dream sequence, or any of it? That Gawain should've married his girlfriend and then he'd be a just ruler? That he shouldn't be king? That he'd never have to make the same heartless, impartial choices? I don't know, he seemed like a king doing king shit because guess what? It never gets easier. Wars will be waged. The world didn't become better because he married the right woman, respected her and lived in obscurity. The world didn't become better because he made her his queen. We certainly don't know the world would be better Gawain had his head chopped off and dead XP They never reveal the Lord and the Green Knight as one and the same because of this shit.

Things I Hated: Arthur withdraws from the challenge because he's old. In poem he takes it on and Gawain takes it so he don't have to and he finds himself more disposable than the king. Gawain only takes the challenge because of arrogance. Arthur and Gawain had no prior personal relationship. I'd not have hated this so much if it wasn't compounded by it cancelling out the first two things. Gawain is portrayed as having no respect for his woman, or any woman, maybe his mother? He has to be pushed by Winifred to regain her head. Gawain is portrayed as arrogant, covetous and ready to pass the buck, or the bare minimum than have any honor or decency. It didn't matter the kid in the wasteland was shithead bandit, the way Gawain acted towards him, when he gets robbed, it almost feels like he deserved it and Gawain doesn't learn a damn lesson. I'll admit him taking the sword to cut his ropes and cutting his hands was a neat sequence, it shows him go from stupid, to almost clever and having will to survive...you know traits he had in the poem, but he stops showing these traits or growing. Basically Gawain has to be dragged kicking and screaming to help people and shows no fortitude when facing temptation, or when showing respect towards others, it's exhausting. You don't make this kind of journey story without character growth. Why are you skipping this? Also is it just me, or is this like when you take Frank Miller Batman and transport him onto a Bill Finger story? This is at best Thomas Malory Gawain (and this is charitable) transported on the earlier Pearl Poet's story. Stop it. It's not tonally correct and goes at odds with the story and the set up characterization you'd need to tell it. Speaking of which, you know how I get through the oof... of Liam Neeson Gawain in Excalibur? By pretending he Agravain instead. Here...I don't even think Gawain could pass as Mordred in spite of his covetous nature, lust and entitlement. Why? because I don't think even Mordred is this dumb to warrant this hubris. Essel being invented as a tacked on love interest just to be shit on utterly and for what? I don't think I have much commentary here as there is no Essel I'm aware of to compare, or stack up. I just notice this trope of like...usually if you include a sex worker in Hollywood she often has a heart of gold, she often has her own sense of values that goes at odds with society, but is more true and less hypocritical than a privileged lady’s. I thought that's what they would've done with the added trope of back at home sweetheart to contrast and pit her against the despicable femme fatale of Lady Bertilak and her adultery and her ladyship...and I'm glad they didn't...but you did nothing with Essel than to shit on her for existing when you made her exist, you know. Lady Bertilak being portrayed as the seductress devil incarnate. Look I know adultery is a touchy taboo, but uh her and Gawain hit it off in the poem, dammit! Her values and his values come to clash, but here it's played off as Gawain is stupid and covetous and Lady Bertilak wants to prove something because...? If my brother's theory that she's a figment of Morgan Le Fay's magic, then I'll take this as a lesson of Gawain is impulsive and covetous and his mom knows it, but he don't want to fuck his mom, but he wants her power, and Morgan wants to teach him a lesson... I guess. Hey we don't have misogynist speeches in this movie, but we'll make sure to have the movie drip with it with no point, or commentary. Pass. Lord guilting, extracting and initiating the same sex kiss and only once. Poem automatically better that Gawain don't have to keep being reminded to keep his part of the bargain and he does it willingly more than once. What he doesn't do is give up his belt...gods how did we get more homophobic as a society that the homoeroticism here is worse? Catholics of the middle ages officially had no issue doing same sex, passionate kissing until it lead to sex. The Ending: The gods damn ending. In the movie as is, Gawain waits to uphold his end of the bargain and get his head chopped off. He imagines, even though we don't get any fuzzy or distortion to indicate this is a dream, but I already knew this was coming, he runs away and comes home, is regarded a hero, he sees his lady, takes her from behind and if you saw Brokeback Mountain (I didn't, but DJ has) you know this is a sign of disrespect to women. He gets her knocked up, pays her off for the kid she wants to keep, he is crowned king, marries the ghostly saint lady he helped retrieve her head earlier from a lake in the movie (this right here is the damn tip off). There's no more dialogue by this point and everything is montaging, so you know by now it's a dream, though nothing is out of focus. He rules as a heartless king, his whore son dies from war he waged, he has a daughter, his wife dies. Gawain then takes off the belt that would've saved his life and his head falls off. This would've been the one good twist, except... In this sequence of events he never had his head cut off so uh... now we back in present day. He decides not to bitch out, Green Knight in a sexy way is like "now off with your head," movie cuts to credits with no resolve...uh what the fuck? What the fuck? This is not good. You wasted the one twist in your dream when idk, you could've...

How I'd fix it: No dream sequence at all. No Incident At Owl Creek twist. Gawain comes home a hero and survivor of this game and ordeal. He wears this belt of shame. He becomes a well-renowned knight, but he bears a shame. One day he goes to take off his belt and his head falls off because he cheated to get this belt and to survive this encounter. There. Done. Improved your high concept movie that couldn't play any of the lessons straight from the damn poem without making everyone an asshole for no reason! Ugh! But nope you had to end it on we don’t know if Gawain lives or dies...because...it's dream magic made from his momma's witchcraft...?

Last Thoughts So then post-credits scene because Marvel because Pirates Of The Caribbean existed. A white girl who looks nothing like Gawain's daughter we see who didn’t pay off, or any child I can remember through this whole movie picks up King Arthur's crown that dream Gawain inherited and puts it on her head. Who is this girl? Are we gonna have an indie equivalent of of the Marvel Movie Universe/Universal Horror Monsters thing with ancient British legends? We gonna get a Life Of Saint Patrick next that crosses over? I don't know. What is this?

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 3 years

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Redemption, My Love

Chapter 9 Cursed TV 2020 Lancewain Explicit Cross Posted to AO3 i highly recommend reading the tags on AO3 but in short: Past mentioned child abuse and rape/noncon, religious fanaticism, Enemies to friends to lovers, slowburn, trauma, angst, eventual fulff. ETC. ++++Gawain++++ In less than a second Gawain's eyes flick across the clearing around them. Quickly he snaps his head towards The Weeping Monk. The ring of steel fresh in his ears and all encompassing. The Monk is standing over him. He has seconds to move. Instinctively he pushes the boy away from himself and rolls back, sticky hot blood coats his face and chest and he gets to his feet. He’s unbalanced and slips on moss slick stones as he draws his sword. Lancelot places himself between Percival and a man in red, one already growing cold at his feet. A second glance around the clearing and forest edge tells him that there are eight more. It’s unavoidable now for any choice but combat. He hadn't truly thought they would find another way out of this, but between the exhaustion of traveling, The Monk's wounds and Percival's lack of skill he had clung to hope.

“The boy was right. Your tracks led us right to you.” One of them says, stepping forward and addressing him. He glances to the side and glimpses Percival wiping at his eyes, and The Weeping Monk ready to defend him. He would have no choice but to thank him if they survived this. Right after he asks him how he hadn’t smelled them coming so close. Of course he himself hadn’t heard them either, the more rational side of his mind supplies. He tucks it away to deal with later. For now there is about to be bloodshed and he needs to be ready. Four to one. He grips the hilt of his blade tighter aware that he has certainly seen worse odds. Survived worse odds. Side stepping, he moves away from the creek until he is side by side with the other Fey. He contemplates telling Percival to run, but if anyone gives chase he will be unable to aid the boy. Instead he looks The Monk over, notes the tension in his stance, ready to spring, to attack. Percival shifts behind him, switching his weight between his feet. “Oh ‘ell look at t’is boys. T’e Abbit will ‘e proud a us, fer t’is. The ‘eeping Monk. ‘e r’lly is a traiter. Helpin’ t’e Fey!” The obvious leader of the group calls out and the others rally a cry behind him. Gawain watches as they fan out around them. Circling them like wolves circle their prey. He doesn’t have a choice regarding The Monk now. Either The Weeping Monk will stab him in the back, or will guard it. He turns his back on the lesser of two evils and prays for a miracle. “Percival, stay low. Do not fight them unless you have to,” rasps The Monk Behind him, voice low, dangerous and airy. “Do as he says.” Gawain hears his own voice say and shakes his head. He never dreamed a day would come when he agreed with The Weeping Monk so easily that he didn’t even have to think about it. That he would tell another to obey those orders. “Yes sirs.” Percival manages. He can hear the boy shift, hear the steady shallow breathing of Lancelot beside him, too shallow for combat, the silence in the woods and the babbling and bubbling of the brook. The rest of the world falls away as he focuses on the men baring teeth and swords at him. “‘’ell Boy’s. Get’em.” Gawain meets them head on. Neither he nor The Weeping Monk wait for their enemies to reach them first. He blocks the blow from one and turns into an arced swing felling another of the paladins. Turning back he catches the first with his foot and as he falls drives his blade deep through his side. Turning, he ducks beneath another blow, only to feel the impact of a blunt object against his side and sees The Weeping Monk take a knee. He stumbles, draws his blade back and lashes out, catching another paladin in the shoulder, just enough to draw blood. His own ribs, bruised and fractured send stinging pain through his side and he gasps for air as he blocks another blade from making contact with him. Rolling to the side he narrowly avoids being stabbed, catalogues the bleeding on his arm as non lethal and dances out of the way of his opponents. He catches the arm of a paladin, holds it steady against his side as he thrusts his blade through another red clad man and turns as the body struggling in his grasp goes limp. Another blade is removed from a paladin's stomach and Gawain lets the corpse fall away, locks eyes with Lancelot briefly and turns back to the others. He notes that Lancelot is breathing heavily, and grimacing in pain. Likely from whatever had brought him to his knees earlier. There isn’t time to let it distract him as the leader of the group comes at him. This paladin is slightly more skilled than the rest, and Gawain takes a several moments longer to bring him to the ground, but succeeds with a well placed thrust of his blade, just beneath the heart, through the lung and spine.The sound of shouting causes him to turn in a hurry; Lancelot is engaged with two Paladins, and one falls as he too turns to see what's happened. Seeing a moment of vulnerability the Paladin attempts to put an end to The Monk. He turns back to his opponent as Gawain, closer to the boy, rushes forward. Percival is trapped beneath a paladin and Gawain can’t see if he has his knife or not. Before he can reach him, the man stops struggling and gurgles, choking on his own blood instead. The hilt of a knife glistens red as it protrudes from the edge of a long, jagged slice on the man's neck. The sound of breaking bones reaches him as Percival struggles out from beneath the man covered from head to toe in dark red blood. Gawain offers him a hand up which he takes and they turn to Lancelot who drops the corpse of the final paladin to the ground and picks up his own blade. They share a look. “Stay with Lancelot. I’m going to ensure none got away.” Percival nods at him, but doesn’t move. The blood has caught in tear tracks on his face, and the image is almost the reverse of the monk's own marks. It takes Gawain aback for a moment. Finally, taking a deep breath and wincing at the pain in his side, he leads the boy, more forcefully than necessary, by the shoulders until he stands between the monk and himself. Lancelot gives him a nod and reaches out for the boy. As soon as Percival is in Lancelot's grasp, Gawain's sprints up the hill. It doesn’t take him long to walk the perimeter. He finds no signs that any escaped the skirmish. When he returns to the clearing, Lancelot is washing blood from Percivals shirt, while the boy bathes silently down stream.The water is freezing, but Gawain would have told the boy to do the same. He kneels across from the Monk and starts on another of Percival’s clothing items. He notes the monk's cloak is gone, but says nothing. It’s not as though they have much in the way of spare clothing and while he doesn’t know him well, he has a hunch that he’s given it to Percival to stay warm with. “Any injuries?” “No, he is… Shaken. But he is unharmed.” He acknowledges this with a nod, and waits. When Lancelot doesn’t continue he presses. “And you, Lancelot?” “I’m fine.” Blue eyes flick up to meet his own and linger, he seems surprised at the use of his name. “ I’ve only aggravated my ribs. You?” “I’ll have a few new bruises. Nothing terrible, nothing new.” He glances down stream towards Percival, and finds him wrapped in Lancelot's cloak and sitting on a rock. “That cut is bleeding, fairly bad.” It catches him off guard, he had forgotten about it in the midst of battle and his panic for Percival. He looks at it now and pushes away the torn edges of his sleeve to get a better look. “Seems I’ll need stitches,” he notes but doesn’t stop working on the task at hand. “How is it you didn’t notice them?” The accusation is clear despite the even tone and the radiant calm of his voice. “As I said before, the scent is thick. They’re all I can smell...mostly. It’s overwhelming enough I can’t tell what is old and new.” Gawain considers this for a moment, and grinds his teeth. “I will not hesitate to kill you if you do what you did in that thicket again.” Lancelot looks up at him, grinds his teeth and nods. Taking another deep breath and pursing his lips Gawain continues, “Still, I owe you thanks, for saving our lives three separate times today. Thank you.” Lancelot shakes his head and sits back on his heels. “Don’t. It is the least I can do.” Gawain loses himself studying the look on the others face. Without his cloak he looks rather handsome, young and very lost. Far from the deadly wraith of the stories. “Are you finished with that? I’ll lay it out to dry.” Gawain glances down, embarrassed and shakes his head, “yes.” He hands the garment over and Lancelot wrings it out. Standing he walks to the narrow bend in the stream and crosses. “Squirrel?” The boy startles, expectedly, and turns towards him. “May I?” Percival nods, and Gawain sits next to him. He wishes he knew what to say, to do. He knows his words will be empty and meaningless right now, but perhaps in the future they won't be. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you were very brave, Percival. What you did wasn’t easy.” The boy looks at the ground and nods. Percival looks up at him now, large brown eyes red and swollen from tears. Instinctively he reaches for the boy, and Percival clings to him, gripping hard enough it will leave bruises where it digs into skin instead of armor. The words he may have said die in his throat, instead he lets his actions speak. ++++Lancelot++++ He wants to give them time.To avoid intruding on a private moment, but the light is fading faster as night grows closer. The dark will bring wild animals drawn by the smell of blood, and it is unwise to linger longer than they must. Percivals clothing will take some time to dry, but between his extra shirt, and Gawain's extra trousers they can dress him suitably enough to travel. Beggars coast is still a days ride over the fields, and strategy says to make that jaunt during daylight. Still, the smell of blood is turning his stomach and with every moment they dally it grows more dangerous to remain. He searches through his saddle bag for the shirt; Bliant had washed it while he was injured. It would be large on Percival but it would be better than just the cloak. Squaring his shoulders he approaches slowly, and more noisily than he normally would. Combat put the best soldiers on edge, he didn’t need to spook Gawain, nor did he wish to frighten Percival more than he already had been. He remembered vividly the first time he took a life, and though he did not wish to care for the boy, his heart ached for his sadness. He scolded himself internally. He should not get attached, nor should he allow the boy to get attached to him, and yet with every passing day that is exactly what was happening. Even Gawain did not look at him quite like an enemy, but more as one might look at a soldier of unknown origins. Like he was truly beginning to question The Monk’s allegiances. Gawain turns and acknowledges him so he approaches less cautiously. Percival is still burrowed into the knight's chest, but he isn’t crying. The smell of blood lingers on his skin, masked slightly by the boy's own scent, the smell of the creek, Lancelot's own cloak, and the recognizable scent of Gawain's blood. He glances at the offending wound pointedly then turns to Percival. “Percival, I brought you my extra shirt.” His voice is steady and calm. Holding the shirt out to the boy he tries for gentleness that he does not feel and Percival looks at him, takes the shirt and hiccoughs a thank you. He can’t hear it, but he's certain that's what it looks like when the boy says the words. He turns back to the horses and starts checking their tack. He doesn’t need to do it per se, but he wants to give Percival a little privacy, and he is hoping Gawain will understand the look he gave him. Sure enough the Knight joins him, just as cautiously as he had approached them before. “You think we need to get moving.” Straight to the point, no hesitation or beating around the bush. “Yes. The scent of blood carries farther than one might expect,” he responds casually, not making eye contact, and focusing on keeping his voice steady. Finally, after several long moments of silence he glances to his left and watches Gawain think, jaw clenched and eyebrows knit together in serious consideration. The bronze light of twilight glints off his hair, highlighting strands of lighter blond and red, softening his features. The treetops are coated in the same golden glow, and to the west, orange and vibrant pink color the horizon. “I agree with you. But… I am not certain we should go out into the flatland to camp. What are your thoughts about remaining in the forest?” He has never been asked his thoughts before and for a moment he doesn’t know how to answer. It has been his responsibility to be nothing more than obedient to Carden and the others over him. Or inversely, to give orders in their place. To speak of his opinions is not something he has experienced freedom with. The result of speaking his mind openly was always punishment; so, he hesitates, meets Gawain's eyes to show he is thinking, clenches his jaw and unclenches it several times and decides to answer carefully. He knows that he has plenty of experience to make a decision on the matter, but he wishes to remain in Gawain’s good graces and knows after his earlier actions he is on thin ice. “I’ll defer to your wisdom, but I think I would rather our chances on the flatland.” He finally utters the words, looks away from Gawain's eyes and to the right, past his shoulder instead. He focuses on breathing through his mouth, and it’s almost worse— the taste of blood sits heavy on his tongue. Though he isn’t sure if he is actually tasting it, or if his brain is filling in the missing details based on the scent of it. He catches Gawain studying him again as he asks more questions. “Why?” Gawain asks like his opinion matters at all. Without looking back he studies the bark of the tree in his line of sight and answers politely, “If there was one group of Paladins there is bound to be another nearby. On the flatland we can run, even in the dark without much trouble. If we get attacked in the woods, we are limited in our escape options.” Gawain shifts in his peripheral, a nod of his head, he can feel the others gaze on him, scrutinizing.When he answers he sounds torn, upset by his own words. “Unfortunately, I agree with you.” He tilts his head to the side and turns to more fully face the knight of the Fey. That was not what he had expected. It doesn’t matter that he can see the bags that hang beneath the knight’s eyes, of the exhaustion and worry he carries in his shoulders, that he agreed so readily and without much persuasion concerns Lancelot to his core. He shakes his head to avoid those thoughts for now, and tucks them away to consider this evening when he is on watch and Percival has inevitably fallen asleep again. “Your wound needs tending before we do anything.” He glances at the brown red sleeve of Gawain's left arm and wrinkles his nose. Gawain follows the look and sighs. “Are you any good?” He looks up fast enough to make his neck ache. “At?” “Stitches.” Gawain isn’t looking at him now, the ground much more interesting than his face had been a moment ago. “Yes.” The admission is barely a breath among the sounds of the creek. Gawain nods, “Would you mind?” He motions to his arm with his chin. “No.” Gawain nods again. “Alright, let me take Percival my extra set of trousers.” “Percival, We need to get ready to move. See if you can make these trousers work until yours have dried.” The Green Knight's tone makes him flinch and he knows the harshness is meant to get Percival’s attention and nothing more, but it unsettles him as he watches the scene unfold. The boy looks up at him and blinks slowly twice over before he reaches out a trembling hand and takes the offered item from Gawain. Lancelot swallows back the words in his throat. His words will be of no use here. He tears his eyes away from the deep set frown and glistening green eyes of Percival’s face and focuses instead on listening to their surroundings, focusing on anything but the fact that ultimately Percival being forced to take a life is more blood on his hands. This is his fault and he wonders what Gawain will do when he realizes it. He digs in Goliath’s saddle bags for his set of needles to keep his mind focused. The sound of buckles being undone catches his attention but he stays focused as he cuts a hair from Goliaths mane. He threads it and turns to Gawain who is rinsing his shirt in the stream. It makes sense. He waits patiently for Gawain to finish and join him. It would be a lie to say he isn’t startled by the lack of raised scarring from the Archangels or from the other atrocities inflicted on the other man. He forces his eyes not to linger over the scared expanse of The Green Knight's chest and arms. Instead he focuses on the wound to his bicep, presses the skin together to see where to start the stitches and clenches his jaw. Whether he is gentle or not he does not know, Gawain barely makes a sound as he works, though his breathing hitches a few times. Lancelot knows this is not his first time getting stitches on the battlefield. Finished with stitching the wound, he reaches for the bandages and the small container of salve Bliant had sent with them. He smears the thick herbal smelling paste over the wound and holds his breath in the process. The herbs certainly smell better than the blood, well most of the blood, but at this proximity are too strong. With practiced efficacy he bandages the wound. Then without thinking it through he says, “I also recommend that we don’t light a fire. I know it would be convenient, may even seem necessary,” he glances in Percivals direction, “to warm him up and for the benefit of warm food, but…“ He trails off unable to say what he means. If they light a fire and there are more paladins around, then the boy may have to repeat his actions again, and right now, in the condition he is in that could be deadly. “I know. I’m worried about him too.” “I...“ Gawain smiles sadly at him and turns to redress in his spare shirt and don his armor. Silently he checks the tack on his own mare. They work in silence going over their supplies. Eventually, Gawain leads his own horse over to Percival, swallowed in the depths of clothing and cloak. He follows with Goliath in tow. Neither of them talks about the good it will do to remove him from the sight of the battle field. It goes unspoken between the soldiers the way experienced musicians change keys without more than a subtle glance and tlilt of the head at one another. ++++Nimue+++ Waking to pain and numbing cold was not what she expected. Not that she could really say she expected to wake at all. The last memories she has are of pain and shocking cold. The memory of falling and hitting water at an achingly speed, unable to even cry out, paralyzed by fear and agony. She tries to open her eyes but they won't obey. They feel heavy and she resigns herself to leaving them closed. She tries to open her mouth but that too refuses to obey and she wonders if maybe she is dead. Her hands are warm though, warmer than the rest of her and she can’t figure out why. She tries to open her eyes again and still the most she gets is the flutter of her eyelashes against her cheek. The cold makes her over sensitive and she is acutely aware of the loss of heat in her right hand. “Merlin! Wake up. Merlin!” Pyms voice says, loud and far away. She would smile if her cheeks weren’t so stiff. “What? What is it?” The voice of the aged magician, her father, responds and the previously weak grasp on her left hand renews its hold, tight, almost painfully so. “I think she might be trying to wake up.” “Why?” “Her eyelids fluttered, and her mouth twitched.” Nimue tries to open her eyes again and fails, instead she wills the stiffness in her fingers away and tries to squeeze her fathers hand. She feels the barest twitch of her own fingers, stiff as those of a corpse and wants to cry. She’s here, but she can’t communicate it. She feels something warm and damp on her forehead; the liquid trails down her temple and gets lost in her hair. “Please wake up Nim. Please.” Pym’s voice breaks above her. She wants to but even now the icy depths of the dark lake call to her. She doesn’t hear what Merlin whispers next as her mind drowns, sinking deeper and deeper into the hollow shell of her body. When she surfaces again, she doesn't know how much time has passed. She does not try to move this time. There is hot pain in her shoulder and stomach and even her leg aches. She can hear raised voices, closer than they had been before but she can’t focus long enough to make out all the words and understand what is being said. It comes in snatches of conversation. “Move, could die.” “Don't. All. Dead.” “Medicine?” “Hidden.” “Gods, Arthur.” Whatever they're talking about, she can't be bothered to try and follow. Instead she tries to push the pain she feels away, ignorant of the fire now burning in her veins chasing away the ice and the numbness that had grasped her before. Everything is agony and she willingly sinks back into the dark embrace of the water that soothes her forehead and throat, and protects her body. The third time she comes to, bright light filters through her eyelids and she tries to turn her head away from it. She feels like she is being tossed about by the waves of the ocean, the current of the river. It hurts all over, and the fire is still in her veins burning hotter than it did before. There is screaming nearby and it startles her. She tries to open her mouth to respond in some way, to comfort, or correct but words don't come, and she finds her mouth is already agape. A heavy weight settles on her body and she feels like she is being suffocated. She tries to cry out but her throat is raw, and she tastes blood in her mouth. She tries to move her arms and legs to get away from the weight settled over her, it reminds her of the time she was pinned down in the forest by the paladin. She can hear the whispers of the hidden near her and tries to call out to them. Panic grips her and she tries to fight against it. She almost succeeds, almost gets her eyes open but then she is being dragged down, down, down, into the abyss below the waves. This time she does open her eyes. The room she is in, if it can be called a room, is dark, lit only by a single flickering candle. Her throat aches, and her lips are chapped when she runs her tongue across them in an attempt to wet them. To seek relief. She is thirsty. She blinks away the blurriness in her eyes and tries to look around the room. It makes her head spin, but the familiar scent of the forest fills her nose and she relaxes a little. Her right hand is warm and she looks for the source of that heat. Pym is slumped over in a chair next to her bed, hand wrapped tightly around her own, and head lying on the edge of the cot. Nimue smiles, the barest tug on her lips, and feels the skin split and blood well up. She’s too tired to attempt to wake Pym for something as simple as a glass of water. Instead, she closes her eyes and drifts back to sleep.

#Cursed TV 2020 #Fanfiction #Cursed Fanfiction #Lancewain #Lancelot #The Weeping Monk #Gawain #The Green Knight #angst #chapter 9

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tillman · 4 years

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Val if u had an unlimited budget how would you tell galehauts story as a movie (tone, cinematography, aesthetic, etc)

The vulgate <3

Uhm honestly in a serious answer. Ya still the vulgate. I think it is a rlly rlly good work ... if u modernized some aspects and uhmm streamlined some stuff (dear god the vulgate.) I think it would work rlly well in a modern movie tbh?? Not. In a holywood sense I think thats very obvious but in a ... YOU know. Sense. Also hmmm aesthetic wise I would only have it adapted either with the same tone of the vulgate itself or as like one of those REALLY cheesy old gay pornos before the aids crisis. Yknow? That kind of idelic..... serenity to it. Off focused and blurry and spur of the moment. Mac harshbergers erotic work in movie form .................. but not erotic but also I mean I guess I wouldnt be opposed. We need at least one weird sex scene thats a prereq for good movie status.

But uhmmm yea honestly. As much as id love a weird as fuck avant garde take I think the early vulgate works as a story even today w some minor changes (u can just cut out most of the weird quests w yvain fr example (love yvain but its like 100 pages and he doesnt add anything to whats happening.) and a lot of yhe gawain and hector bit tho some of that is still rlly important) I mean look how lord of the distant isles did it. That was basically the vulgate besides removing that stuff I just said and reworking some plot points to be more focused on the love story besides uhhhh the everything. Which I think. U know what no I take it all back can we rework the vulgate into a notebook style romance story that would be on like halmark or some shit PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ... set up in the first act that oh it looks like lancelot and guenevere will get together until lancelot is snowed in w his friend the lady of malehaut and is only let out to shovel the snow off the parking lot of a rival . Small business to the one he works at w guenevere ........ woa no im into this one now fuck the porno hey rey when my movies on the big screen (the halmark channel) ill be sure to credit u

#THATS THE THING theres sooo many ways I would wanna take it ....#ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh id even take the equivelant of the 2006 tristan and isolde movie 🥺🥺🥺 ANYTHING id take scraps #id take galehaut being mentioned in an otherwise super boring shitty movie #rey im fucking desperate

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oddnub-eye · 4 years

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Mythology Drabbles #4

Since I know you like these @green-spear-of-causality.

Tried to include a little more dialogue than usual, lets see how they turned out.

Disclaimer: Some of these drabbles are not presented entirely accurately to the source material they are drawn from. They are not meant to be entirely accurate. That being said, I hope you enjoy, and constructive criticism is always welcomed and encouraged.

...

A Fated Death

The spears had come quickly, raining one after another from the nearby cliff. The first struck Laeg, and the charioteer fell with nigh a scream. The second struck Liath Macha, and the horse crumpled instantly, sending the chariot spinning. Cu Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster, was flung from the chariot, and before he could spring to his feet, the third spear stabbed through his torso.

The shock was immedient, and so was the realization that he had been ambushed. Cu forced himself to his feet, even through the pain shooting through his body. A smirk graced his face and he tore the spear from his torso.

“Well!? Warriors who have ambushed me! Show yourselves! You think I will go quietly!? No. I’ll take you all on!”

Cu turned and saw the hill above him lined with warriors. Lugaid mac Con Roi led them, drawing a sword.

“You can barely stand, Hound of Ulster. Admit you’ve been beaten.”

Cu smirked wildly, “That’s your problem!? Here, I’ll fix that for you!”

Cu dragged himself to a nearby standing stone, and fell to one knee as he reached it, coughing wildly. Lugaid and his forces approached slowly. The Hound of Ulster stood, strapping himself to the rock with his belt.

“Well Lugaid?” Cu asked, blood dripping down his face, “Good enough for you now!?”

Lugaid narrowed his eyes, “You’re too arrogant for a mere dog.”

“I’m too arrogant for a dog? Well, come on, let’s see if I’ve earned my arrogance!”

Lugaid roared and stabbed forward with his own sword. Cu deflected it with the spear he ripped from his own body, before tossing it aside, and drawing his sword.

Lugaid’s forces charged forward and Cu parried every blow. Men fell, and eventually they all fell back. Blood flowed from Cu Chulainn’s body, and the light in his eyes was dimming by the second.

That damned smile still graced his features.

A raven circled overhead, slowly flew towards him.

Cu murmured quietly, “I didn’t...I didn’t say goodbye to Emer, did I?”

The raven landed on Cu’s shoulder, and Cu closed his eyes, face set to a sad smile.

It’s always something with me, ain’t it.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Gods’ Punishment

Enkidu was dying. That much was obvious. His skin had grayed, his hair had whitened, his eyes had paled out, their vibrant red to a sickly pink. It was like the very life was being sucked from Enkidu.

This was no illness. This was punishment.

Gilgamesh kneeled by his friend’s bed, torn between crying and destructive anger. The floor around Gilgamesh and the walls of the room were dotted with craters. Shamhat stood in the corner, having also come to be with Enkidu in his final days.

Gilgamesh stared at the ground quietly. Shamhat shuffled towards him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. Gilgamesh shrugged her off, and Shamhat understood, backing off.

Enkidu could barely speak, so he rasped out, “Gilgamesh. My friend. I can feel my senses fading. I feel this is my last day on this Earth.”

Gilgamesh's voice cracked, “Talking so poetically doesn’t suit you, Enkidu.”

“Shut up.” Enkidu gasped.

“That’s better,” Gilgamesh smiled sadly.

Enkidu’s body was racked with coughs, blood dripping out from his mouth.

“Do you need anything?” Gilgamesh whispered, propping Enkidu up on his cushions.

Enkidu could barely work a smile, “Just...you...and Shamhat...please stay with me...as I go…”

Shamhat made her way over, and Gilgamesh made space for her to kneel next to him.

The next few moments were peaceful. Just the rise and fall of Enkidu’s chest.

Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall. Rise…

Gilgamesh was the first one to start crying.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

At the End of It All, Could You Promise Me, as a friend, One More Time?

Lancelot sat, despondent, outside of the monastery that he assumed would become his home for the rest of his life. With Gawain fatally wounded, and Guinevere sent to a Covenant, there was no reason for Lancelot to continue fighting. Better atone for his sins.

He’d sent the one soldier who refused to leave him to take Arondight back to Arthur. Now, Lancelot waited outside, at sunset, he’d go into the monastery.

A horse rode up to him, its rider carrying a sack and an object wrapped in cloth. He extended a wrapped scroll to Lancelot.

“Who do you bring this news from?” Lancelot asked.

“The late Sir Gawain.” The rider explained, “He wished these things to be delivered to Sir Lancelot.”

“Didn’t he hear,” Lancelot retorted, “It's not Sir Lancelot anymore. Just Lancelot Du Lac.”

“Sir Gawain does not think so.” The Rider insisted, shoving the scroll into Lancelot’s hand.

Dear Lancelot

Lancelot. I shall be brief. We parted on unenjoyable terms, that’s obvious. I am dying and on my deathbed, I ask of you. Please go aid our king...our friend, in reclaiming his kingdom from Mordred. I understand that you feel that you must have sins that you cannot be redeemed. But no one is beyond redemption Lancelot. And there are many ways of redemption. Lancelot Du Lac, Knight of the Lake, you’ve made far more mistakes, but so has everyone. But you were still the best of us. So, Lancelot, I thank you for the good times, scorn you for the bad times...and pray that you go out as the best of us.

Your friend,

Gawain.

Lancelot closed the scroll, “I have no armor. I have no weapons. I gave up my worldly possessions.”

The Rider smiled, “My lord took that into account.”

Lancelot looked up to see the Rider offering the sack and cloth-wrapped object to him. Lancelot’s eyes widened, and he smiled sadly.

“Damn Gawain, you really know how to get to me.”

Arthur, Bedivere, and Kay hurried down the path, one of Mordred’s armies hot on the trail.

“We’re gonna have to fight!” Arthur shouted, “We can take them.”

“We can’t do that and still have the strength to deal with Mordred’s main forces.” Bedivere shot back, “We have to keep-”

Bedivere was suddenly grabbed and yanked to the side of the road. Arthur and Kay snapped around, seeing they had been surrounded by a small squadron of knights, one holding a sword to Bedivere’s neck.

“Let him go!” Arthur shouted, drawing Excalibur.

“Nah, ah, ah.” The head knight laughed, pressing the blade harder to Bedivere’s neck, “Surrender Arthur, or the knight dies.”

“Don’t listen to him, my king!” Bedivere shouted, before the blade was pressed even harder against his throat.

Arthur began to place his sword down.

“Stop.” A voice pierced the air, and the sound of a sword arcing through the air, slashing through the knight holding Bedivere captive. A figure had entered the fight, wearing yellow and black armor.

Bedivere leapt free as the knight fell dead, drawing his own blade, Arthur and Kay moving into action.

With the aid of the new figure, the four easily dispatched the rogue knights.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, before noticing the sword clutched in the knight’s hand. The familiar shape. The bright gold and red core that danced like firelight. It was…

“Galatine?” Kay murmured, “And that armor...Gawain, I thought you.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” the figure admitted, removing his helmet, revealing Lancelot.

“Lancelot!” Kay roared, taking a threatening step towards the former Round Table Knight.

“Wait, let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Kay asked, “How you killed Gawain and took his weapons and armor from his corpse, even after you said you’d go to atone!”

“I am here to atone on Gawain’s wishes!” Lancelot shouted, before pulling out the scroll Gawain had sent him.

“So, you intend to fight alongside us?” Arthur asked, to which Lancelot shook his head.

“The army that’s been trailing you. I’ll stall it.” Lancelot said solemnly.

“You’ll die. Not even you can handle an entire army.” Bedivere interjected.

“Of course.” Lancelot sighed, “But, after causing this whole mess, I might as well try and give you a chance to solve it.”

Lancelot turned to set out to confront the army.

“Wait.” Arthur said, walking up to Lancelot, extending a sword. Arondight. “Take it. And promise me...you will at least try and survive.”

Lancelot took Arondight by the hilt, “I promise you, on whatever honor I may still have as a knight.”

“No.” Arthur pressed Arondight into Lancelot’s hand, “Promise me, one more time, as a friend.”

Lancelot was taken aback, but took Arondight, “Alright then Arthur, I promise you as Lancelot Du Lac, valued friend of Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur nodded, and he, Bedivire, and Kay left. Lancelot turned to face the approaching army, holding Galatine and Arondight.

“Goodbye my King. Goodbye my Friend.” Lancelot murmured, before raising his blades and declaring, “Now, come, fellow traitors to King Arthur! Come face Lancelot Du Lac!”

#oddnub writes #reimagining #interpretation #celtic mythology #arthurian mythos #sumerian mythology #gilgamesh #enkidu #shamhat #cu chulainn #lancelot du lac #arthur pendragon #bedivere #sir kay

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markantonys · 4 years

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ooooh you ship gawain/lancelot, too? the true enemies to lovers ship :') although tbh i want cursed to finally be the one arthurian adaptation where arthur and lancelot fall in love.

oh my god i thought i was the only one to whom lancelot/arthur (in cursed specifically) had occurred!! when they dueled in the woods that one time i was like 👀👀 haha i’m still in that “just got done watching this, now processing everything” stage where i’m considering every potential ship before settling into which ones are my favorites, but right now for sure gawain/lancelot is a frontrunner bc it just seems so obvious and i’m stunned it’s not more popular??? all these clowns are shipping lancelot with nimue when they haven’t even interacted meanwhile there’s already a perfectly good enemies to lovers ship right here! PLUS gawain was the first person lancelot had a positive interaction with, the first one to really See him and to give him a chance and reach out to him, and it was definitely gawain’s words (in addition to wanting to protect squirrel) that inspired lancelot’s change of heart at the end of the season. good stuff good stuff good stuff

now, as for my other ships, i’ve got to say that i didn’t really care for nimue as a character, idk if it was the actress or the writing but i just found her very hollow and uninteresting, so i’m basically not interested in any ships involving her lmao but pretty much anything else goes! i think pym/red spear is my biggest fav at the moment (that sweet sweet sunshine/grump dynamic [clenches fist]), but i’m also down with red spear/arthur (which seems pretty likely to happen if there are more seasons). pym/dof was cute while it lasted but alas. i could barely watch a lot of the morgana/celia scenes bc i’m terrified of both spiders and people being burned alive jkdhfjg but their whole situation is super intriguing and i’d love to see where they might go in future seasons. i saw a couple pym/lancelot fics on ao3 and i haven’t read them yet but was extremely intrigued by the prospect of that ship since i love both characters and i feel like they’d work surprisingly well together. and finally my shallow bi ass would love to see some lancelot/red spear action purely bc they’re both STUPIDLY HOT djkfgh

#a post i saw the other day: no one wants to see lancelot/red spear happen in future seasons #me a simple bi who apparently has a thing for goth-jocks who could snap me in half: speak for your damn self #answered #Anonymous

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spidersmiceandeverythingnice · 4 years

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What if Fionn was the Grand Saber

the justice we deserve... I literally have no idea what that would look like in canon but boy oh boy do I have IDEAS and COOL IMAGERY that I want to see regarding this

(read more because it turned out longer than expected WHOOPS lol)

Picture the final stage of the Camelot Lostbelt - the reverse side of Avalon, if you will. A crumbling tower surrounded by black flowers, each one draining mana from the air. Sherlock Holmes is long gone. Da Vinci and the rest of their crew, from the Shadow Border to the Wandering Sea, is far, far, far away. Beryl’s Assassin Servant has killed King Arthur, preventing them from destroying Beryl with a blast from Rhongominyad. Beryl has possession of Excalibur, the Holy Sword of the Planet, and intends to destroy it - the last remnants of the guardians who once protected this cursed land - and unleash his Lostbelt until it covers the world. The Phantasmal Tree is in full bloom, raining stardust. There will be no more gods, or faeries, and Galahad’s protection is as far away as it ever was.

Ritsuka’s power is fading, too. When they first came to Chaldea, they were considered a biological phenomenon - a human with no magic circuits that somehow produced enough mana to power a small city - and they’ve only gotten stronger with time. But it’s not enough. Not against this endless sea of curses, not against the embodiment of wickedness itself.

One by one, the Servants who assisted the remnants of Chaldea begin to fade away. Cu Chulainn, Queen Medb, Fergus and even Scathatch, the True Scathatch of Pan-Human History, who has finally met her end against an opponent she did not train, who she did not even anticipate. It has been a long and bitter war. The knights of the Round Table - first Lancelot, then Tristan, and brave Gareth, and Gawain, and Mordred, though the Traitorous Prince manages to send one last blast of signature red lightning through the skies. It does not reach it’s target, and Mordred slumps before disappearing. Finally, there was Sir Bedivere, winking out like a comet passing over the horizon.

Even if this place hadn’t been so evil, even if Assassin wasn’t so challenging as an opponent, it wouldn’t have mattered. Ritsuka can no longer support the Servants, can no longer cause them to manifest. It is hard to tell if they are dying, or if the flowers have swallowed their very Spiritual Origins, feeding the Phantasmal Tree.

Paracelsus and Jekyll are barely hanging on, trying to keep Assassin busy behind Mash’s cracked and broken barrier. The mold of Camelot is going to fall, and when it does, they will die.

There is one Servant, though, who does not stop fighting even for an instant.

The arc of Moralltach burns through the air. When it comes into contact with the black flowers, the hiss and fade away, filling the air with a burning stench. Diarmuid is nearly as fast as Assassin, and it’s clear that the enemy Servant is getting frustrated.They cannot keep Paracelsus’s spells at bay while simultaneously blocking each of Diarmuid’s attacks forever. Indeed, the dual-classing Servant has proved their greatest weapon in this Lostbelt. Closely attuned to the ancient gods and fey of this world, able to destroy any magic and even cut the threads of fate with his weapons. He even resisted the nega-genesis. Provided that he didn’t get too close to the Phantasmal Tree, Diarmuid seemed able to keep fighting indefinitely. At least, that seemed to be his intent.

Assassin must have realized it, too - and must have realized that Beryl was too busy playing around with the seals of Excalibur to be of any help - and that was why they changed tactics.

Ritsuka saw it unfold in an instant, and opened their mouth to shout a warning.

Assassin changed course. They were not heading for Jekyll, whose work with Diarmuid had given him an extra combative advantage - or for Paracelsus, who was drawing his sword and taking aim.

Instead, they went for the cracks in the Mold Camelot.

They were going to kill Mash.

She could block the blade - and destroy her barrier, leaving them vulnerable to the nega-gensis.

Or she could take the hit, and pray that she was strong enough to stand after Assassin was finished with her.

Time moves very slowly - Ritsuka feels like they are moving through molasses - and then, something happens that they didn’t expect.

Gae Dearg reappears; his Spiritual Origin flickers and shifts, contracts in response to the sudden change - Diarmuid has aimed for a killing blow while Assassin’s back was turned to him.

The red spear sinks into Assassin’s stomach, and then, it disappears -

An illusion! Ritsuka forces their legs to work, and breaks into a run.

Assassin’s blade sinks into his back, sliding cleanly between powerful shoulder blades.

At once, Gae Buidhe stabs outward, slicing a clean line down Assassin’s torso as they leap to get away from the weapon. There’s a spray of blood, and then a scream of delirious laughter, and then the enemy Servant is gone, back to their Master to get healing before they come back to finish the job.

But even though Diarmuid ua Duibhne sinks to his knees, blood streaming into the bed of black flowers beneath him, he does not immediately fade away.

Ritsuka feels a bubble of panic rise like a scream in their throat as they come up to Mash, who is in tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry -”

“No,” says Diarmuid, levelly, putting a hand to the exit wound in his chest. “I managed to get a fair number of strikes in. No matter what power source they are drawing from, it cannot last forever. Nothing can. I think we have some time now, anyway. You must hold the barrier, Mash. It’s important for what comes next.”

Mash nods, even as tears streak down her cheeks. “I will! I won’t let go no matter what!”

“Good. Master?”

He looks up, clear-eyed and expectant. Tears prickle in Ritsuka’s eyes.

“You should have given me more of a warning,” they say, choked. “I needed more time.”

Diarmuid smiles, almost sheepishly. “Well, if I’m right about this -” a wet cough; blood bubbles up from his lips and Ritsuka feels cracks spreading in their resolve. “- which I am, then it doesn’t matter what happens to me now. Everything will be fine.”

And even though everything is awful, he says this with such radiant confidence, that Ritsuka believes him.

Diarmuid holds out his hand, and Ritsuka hands him the hunting horn that they had collected from the Wild Hunt. Ritsuka comes close and helps Diarmuid stay upright, pressing their hand tight against the gaping wound, feeling the crackling energy within - Assassin’s poisonous mana - and with gritted teeth, begins running through a healing spell. Please, oh, please, let this work.

Diarmuid speaks in a language that Ritsuka does not know or recognize.

Then he lifts the horn to his lips, and -

All other sound disappears.

A single, clear note, pure as a hawk’s cry.

A breeze washes over them, and only then does Ritsuka realize how unbearably hot this flowerbed was - a greenhouse from hell - and even as the thought crosses their mind, the flowers wither and die. Mana is immediately restored to the area behind Mash’s shield, and immediately, the Earth begins to repair itself. Ritsuka feels it like a pulsing heartbeat, and thinks, Is this Avalon restoring itself? Or is it - the Counterforce?

No, that didn’t make sense. But - at the same time - they are summoning a guardian. The circumstances are extraordinary, and before it was cursed, this was indeed Avalon. So perhaps...

A hand comes down on Ritsuka’s shoulder, and they look up.

A familiar-looking man is standing there, even though there had been nothing here a second before, and there was no way for anyone to enter this place since Beryl had sealed the gateways. He is wearing a blue cape over simple, fur-lined armor. His hair is spun gold; he seems to be glowing faintly. He is at once divine, a giant, and perfectly normal, though he smells faintly of river-flowers and dark woods. His eyes are filled with fire, infinitely gentle and warm, and he carries a sword across his back that is not Excalibur - but -

“Please,” says Fionn MacCumhail. His voice is just as Ritsuka remembers, but at the same time, it seems to come from everywhere. It fills him with a sense of strength and peace, and Ritsuka thinks they might cry all over again, just from sheer relief. “May I?”

Stunned, Ritsuka steps back.

Diarmuid grumbles when Fionn takes a waterskin from his side and pours a measure into his hand.

“Took you long enough,” he says, as Fionn tips the water into his captain’s mouth.

At once, the wound on Diarmuid’s back closes, and Assassin’s poison disappears as if it had never existed. Ritsuka registers a surge of mana - that counts as a mana transfer?

Diarmuid stands, and Fionn claps him on the shoulder.

“You’ve done well to protect these two,” says Fionn. “Now, please - I know it is difficult for you to avoid showing off - but please don’t get in my way.”

Diarmuid smiles thinly, amused. “No promises, my lord.”

“Dear shieldmaiden,” says Fionn, smiling down at Mash. “You have become an exemplary warrior! I see I was right to single you out back then! I have always had a keen eye for talent. Kindly lead the way for us?”

Mash stutters. “But the barrier -”

“It is no longer necessary. I am here now.”

He spoke simply, with no room for arguments. Ritsuka looks at Mash, whose mouth is stretched thing, whose lip is raw from biting into it.

“Mash, do as he says. We’ll take our cues from you -” Ritsuka pauses, blinking at Fionn, trying to get a better read on him and his new status. (A part of Ritsuka honestly hadn’t even believed Diarmuid when he proposed this plan - could summoning a Grand Servant truly be so simple as sounding a hunting horn?) “Saber.”

Fionn smiles. “Ah yes,” he says, with a chuckle, as if just remembering an obvious fact. “I still am a Servant, even like this.” He turns to Diarmuid, who is at attention. “Call for the others, will you? It is time for the Fianna to fulfill our responsibilities. Lady Mash, when I draw my sword - drop the barrier - we shall finish the battle now, without further delays.”

Diarmuid nods, and lifts the horn to his lips.

Fionn takes the sword from his back, and the battle begins again.

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mimir-anoshe · 4 years

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💧&🔥

Just a bit of Cursed/Nimulot analysis… Cause I’m bored. And I might have found some interesting parallels/imagery watching it through for the 7 billionth time that I would love to share. If anyone enjoys writing meta… Which I mean I know some of y’all need your fix… Feel free to use anything/expand upon it. I would, but I’m a new fur-mumma and she’s taking up all my waking hours, so this little shit-post about this new hell hole of a ship I’ve dove headfirst into will have to do. The images are from a video and show produced by Netflix, I own nothing, so pls don’t be a bitch about it Tumblr.

***SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW!!! WATCH IT AND COME BACK!! OR DON’T? ANYHOO YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!!*** ⚠️

- beware Tumblr app users, it may be your doom -

Where to begin, with the teaser? Or with…

THE SHOW! Here be just a wee few times the writers/director(s) through the writing/cinematography have mirrored these two ‘protect the kid - warriors till the end’ idiots. I’m sure others have picked up on them… Not in any particular order, here ya go anyway.

1x02 - 1x10

*Insert spiderman pointing at spiderman meme*

One scar made by an actual dark god tricking her when she was a child, the others by a very human evil tricking him when he was a child and the consequences for both lasting into adulthood.

1x02 - 1x10

Look at the years of trauma Anakin, look at it! They even use the same damn word! The phonetic tones of disgust! The outcast syndrome! Oof. (And it’s not like Nimue being called demon has to do with a general racial-slur from a human, that is a fey calling her that from her own village!) They both grew up viewing themselves as “demons”, the “abominations”. Even their expressions are the same, fear and sorrow and self-hatred. All they both want is to be accepted! (By their fathers especially). To be loved.

The two who are “cursed.”

1x02 - 1x01

*says nothing*

1x04 - 1x01

“Where to begin? With water or with fire?”

Where to begin? WHERE TO BEGIN??? *dies*

Water ☯ Fire

Sword up ☯ Sword down

Light/Day ☯ Dark/Shadow

Life & Death (Life around her, death in the water) ☯ Death & Life (forest fires make way for new growth)

Long bit: Both characters are associated to the elements of water and fire individually through the environment/cinematography/colour pallet/colour symbolism, and then water and fire is mirrored between them. She is overall water, he is overall fire; but they also have a bit of the other in each other.

For Nimue this symbolism is often done through her environment, showing her connection to nature as the fey queen and that she does not hide who she is if she can help it. She does not hide externally, so her elemental symbolism becomes EXTERNAL.

Whilst for Lancelot though he is often surrounded by fire, the idea of water/tears is either symbolised through the fairy tale style of the artwork or referenced for him through his name as “the weeping monk.” Hinted at in his characterisation of guilt and self-loathing, the way other characters respond to him (”the one who cries”/”you see it all through those weeping eyes”). His main conflict is an Internal fight between who he is and who he needs to become, so a lot of his main symbolism surrounding water (and even fire as pertaining to magic - ashfolk - and not killing fey) is INTERNALISED, hidden, cut off from the Hidden themselves. Symbolic of him hiding his connection to the fey and that other side of himself, the “human” (morally speaking) side, and therefore hiding who he truly is… Lancelot.

For Nimue, fire means life. Being chosen and her magic saving people. For Lancelot fire means Death, his deeds, “the fires of hell” and the destruction of the “ash” folk and his heritage. He believes hell fire is his fate, going by the “even if I am damned.”

For Nimue, water means death. In the water she takes revenge, where that Paladin almost drowned her. Into the water she falls, where they think her shot dead by arrows. The water is her fate as the Lady of the Lake. For Lancelot, water means life. Tears, emotions, taking responsibility, feeling the weight of his guilt and mourning for the things he has done/lost. For him, water - not ash -means a second chance to be better. To put out the fires and heal.

Though in the end, for both of them, water & fire most of all represent death and rebirth.

1x03

^If you don’t understand I can’t help you. ☯

1x01 - 1x07

Now this one I found quite interesting. Remember that even if Nimue directed the second one, it is still the Power/will of the Hidden at play. (Or should I say the will of the Writers/director) Chosen? Mirrors? Night and Day? Fire… Embers to Ashes? We shall see, but I think it was definitely on purpose.

^I’ll just leave that here, the fuckers kept missing each other for an entire season (WHICH WAS ON PURPOSE THE WRITERS DID THAT ON PURPOSE just as an fyi). The fact that there is this much sexual tension, anticipation, mirroring, fate, destiny and chemistry between two characters who have never even mET should be ILLEGAL! They affect each other immeasurably without ever even meeting, so imagine what will happen when they do...? *pterodactyl screech*

Whelp there ye go. Under the next gif I also did a bit on the Teaser trailer, as that just fucked me up a bit I have to tell you! Up to you whether you want to continue digesting my mad ramblings or not. *Shrug* Thanks for coming to my TED talk guys– 😂 Somebody fucking smite me down like the eldritch horror of writing I am dear god think of the children…

THE OFFICIAL TEASER TRAILER:

Arthur running for the Sword of Power, because you know, King Arthur.

“The Legend says…” The Legend of King Arthur and his Sword Excalibur/Caliburnus? The line is very meta, a reference to the in world legend that this story will create, but it’s also expecting the audience to be savvy of the actual legend of King Arthur and his knights. Both these ideas intertwined into one. Aka, the trailer expects us to have pre-decided expectations for the story we’re now being told, because we’ve already been told it before; this fairy tale of celtic myth/history. All the “spoilers” about Arthur, his lineage, Morgana, Guinevere, the Knights, even the lady of the Lake herself come with that knowledge. However…

Surprise surprise, the Weeping Monk (killer of fae)/ Lancelot (eventually Arthur’s most trusted KNIGHT) instead picks up the fae sword from it being embedded in the ground, subverting our expectation, it definitely fucking subverted mine, but not in a GOT way, in a ~good~ way. I was like, “Whosoever be this fine hooded fellow hath stole away both sword and my good sense!!! 👀”

Also harkening back to the legend of the sword in the stone (another expectation), which the action itself signifies that person be - as Merlin so eloquently puts - “The one true king.”

Ok… Symbolic wink wink nudge nudge towards his true nature (inside and out), saving Percival, potentially becoming the greatest warrior and protector of his people and eventually a Knight of the Round Table; and perhaps King of our Hearts??? Ok, sure thing “concept” trailer. I’ll bite.

Ok… *deep breath*

WHOMSt the fUCK decided to frame (fae “ashman”) ?Lancelot? with the ~SWORD OF KINGS~ (also of fae origin) A N D the line…‘the one true king’ ALL IN ONE… instead of Arthur?

‘BELONGS to the one true King?’ Belongs, hmm interesting word choice… This done in a worms eye view shot meant to make the viewer feel like the character is above/superior/basically we’re kneeling before them? (Which I mean sure? but…) Hmm??? HMMM??? I don’t understand CONCEPT Trailer what is the CONCEPT you’re trying to get across? One hand on his paladin sword and the other on “fae hope” Excalibur I get, he has to make an important decision, one that will either save his humanity (and his people) or destroy it (them), yeah yeah sure that’s F I N E…

…but what about the “KING” SHIT HMMM?? Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class? *sips tea whilst staring straight into the camera*

it may mean nothing don’t quote me

…Anwaaaay… We all know in a fight Lancelot can kick Arthur’s ass so that’s not whats going on here. Arthur is P I S S E D. They’re not just bog standard enemies here. I mean WPM kicking him in the ribs was pretty “fuck you” and they were just enemies there. In this instance the sword is in play, Weeping Monk has taken something from Arthur that he feels “BELONGS” to him - in this case symbolised by WPM taking “his” sword - and that’s making it personal.

“You stole my sword ya bitch!” And what is the sword linked to? Power? Sure. The right of being a King? Yep. And also a certain Queen… No no no, this is the Concept of rivalry. It shows that whatever relationship Arthur and his “Knight” will have in the future after all the “die die die” starts to sizzle down will - in its genesis - be a rivalry. Probably mirroring Gawain and Arthur when they first met to an extent. A rivalry for power? For something else? Who Knows!

*whistles innocently*

And down down down he goes. He’s FALLING. There are many metaphorical concepts associated to FALLING… Falling from “grace” (in the eyes of the Church)… Falling because he has a sky full of guilt crashing down upon him… falling for h… falling in Lo… into the Water!!!! Until he is completely submerged. Water, the idea of cleansing, of washing away who you once were/trauma/sins of the past so you may be reborn a better version of yourself. His old ideals are defeated, he submits to his true heritage and allows it to wash around him so he may begin to heal.

Though if we’re talking metaphors, water is - for obvious reasons - always associated with the LADY OF THE LAKE… Nimue. He has fallen into her world. (pss he’s gonna fall for the Chick in the Lake - I think - there ye go). Water is associated to memory/reflections and mirrors. And he is CRASHING through this mirror… This idea of reflections/mirror images is even more ironic when you’ve watched the show.

And as he falls beneath the water with the sword of a King, she rises out of it, with the sword of a Queen… Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s in the biggest shipping hell of them all? Either these two are going to be really good at relay, or there’s some conceptual significance here. The specifics? No fecking clue, will need to wait for a season 2! There is also some interesting use of Z~oo~m in this last bit, but I’m sure it’s pretty obvious to you all. Summary: just visually in a concept “teaser” trailer, the zoom in on them both, the reverse mirroring, the literal and symbolic visual of water and the Sword (of rulers) connecting them frames these two characters together, that’s just in the concept trailer. Links their legend together. TBH IT LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE LANCELOT FELL INTO THE WATER AND TURNED INTO NIMUE WHAT IS THIS GREEK SOULMATE SHIT I’M–

*calms down* This trailer and the show also definitely said to the original Arthurian Legend “RIP but I’m different.” I mean, Nimue is definitely not Lancelot’s mother figure in this one, that’s all I’m saying.

I think this legend might be a wee bit different 😉*cackles*

#nimulot #nimulot meta #nimue x the weeping monk #nimue x weeping monk #cursed spoilers #nimue x lancelot #my meta #mad mimir meanderingly mumbles #Tumblr is my only escape for this - I wouldn't go near twitter with a thousand foot pole if my life depended on it #where to begin? I don't think I'll ever get over that line - I die every time #my pupper was literally like 'mum what the fuck are you doing writing this shit give me LOVES'#also Nimue owns my heart if Lancelot doesn't marry her I'm going to thanks BYE #my shitty humour~~

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mediaeval-muse · 4 years

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Book Review... Gwen Rowley, “Knights of the Round Table: Gawain”

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: fantasy romance

Part of a Series? Yes, Knights of the Round Table #3 (of 3)

Summary: Loyal Sir Gawain pledges to marry a hideous crone in exchange for the answer to a riddle that will save King Arthur's life. But the loathly lady is actually the lovely Aislyn, former sorceress, in disguise, who is out to make Gawain pay for rejecting her in the past. Then Aislyn finds herself enchanted by the gallant knight.

***Full review under the cut.***

Overview: I’m currently reading a bunch of romance novels with a friend of mine as a way of getting more familiar with the genre, and I remember seeing this book recommended by another medieval enthusiast, so the two of us decided to give it a whirl. While the idea of retelling the story of Gawain and Ragnelle isn’t inherently a bad one, I felt like this book missed the mark in so many ways. There were some saving graces; the relationship between Arthur and Gawain was very well done, in my opinion. It just wasn’t enough to make up for the things that bothered me.

Trigger Warnings: violence, misogyny, rape

Writing: Rowley writes with a fairly straightforward prose style, but one that tells a lot rather than shows. It wasn’t the most irritating style I’ve encountered; it just made the book more skimmable, which I guess could be a good thing if you’re a reader who likes to get through books quickly. Some of the dialogue was humorous (by design), which made for a more light-hearted reading experience; it did feel very modern than what I would expect of medieval characters, aside from a few stray “yons” and “lemans” thrown in to make it feel more archaic. Honestly, I preferred the more modern style rather than the fake medieval-speak, since the medievalisms made the dialogue feel more wooden than natural. But overall, the I didn’t find the style unbearable - it just wasn’t interesting. The major flaw in the writing, for me, was the random insertion of characters’ memories and flashbacks. They occurred at random moments that interrupted the flow of the story - they sometimes interrupted a sentence that continued on after the memory was over! I would have preferred flashbacks be handled more deliberately, not thrown in whenever something in the plot vaguely reminded a character of something from their past.

Plot: As I mentioned above, the idea of retelling the story of Gawain and Ragnelle isn’t a bad one. I love authors who try to rework medieval tales to give women more agency and character. Unfortunately, Rowley decided to do so in a way that cut out a lot of the most interesting stuff from the original tale. We start with the end of the story, when Aislyn, disguised as a crone named Ragnelle, agrees to give Arthur the answer to his quest in exchange for Gawain’s hand in marriage. Rather than the curse being inflicted on her before the marriage, as it is in the medieval tale, the curse is inflicted after, when a character is trying to punish Aislyn for messing with Gawain (in the form of her using her crone form to torture him for a past slight). For me, this killed all the excitement and shifted the focus away from the original message of the tale (about female agency and sexual dynamics) to one about how love can overcome barriers. It would have been a good shift, but I didn’t get the sense that love was overcoming barriers by the end of the book - Gawain doesn’t seem to actually learn the lesson from the original tale, and Aislyn mostly struggles with whether or not to be obedient to Gawain. While I can understand wanting to make female characters more agentive from the beginning, I found this book’s reworking of the plot less interesting than the original medieval tale. The change in focus also made the plot drag a little bit. In the first 80 pages, all of the focus was on Gawain’s disgust at Ragnelle’s form or Aislyn’s/Ragnelle’s desire for revenge. We follow Gawain and Ragnelle as they explore married life, which isn’t as exciting as it sounds since Gawain is forever struggling with Ragnelle’s ugliness and Ragnelle/Aisling is always looking for ways to torment him. After Aislyn is formally cursed on pages 85-86, the plot has a goal, but nothing in the structure of the narrative seems to work towards that goal in a very efficient way. Events don’t seem to build on one another, so the plot didn’t feel like it had shape. There are also a few events that seem to be inserted to show conflict between Gawain and Lancelot, and some that showcase Gawain’s anguish over his past. While some of these things bring Ragnelle and Gawain closer together, the conflict with Lancelot and Gawain’s emotional pain definitely overshadowed the moments of tenderness between the characters. What I disliked the most, however, was that everyone - main characters and side characters alike - seemed to be in petty conflict with one another. There’s obvious tension between Gawain and Lancelot, and Aislyn’s inner thoughts about Guinevere and the other ladies of the court disappointed me (why can’t we have more medievaly stories in which women band together, I ask). Aside from these conflicts, everyone got on my nerves for treating Ragnelle as subhuman. While their treatment of her could have been the moral lesson of the book, it didn’t come through consistently; I did get the sense that the book was supposed to showcase how Camelot isn’t the paradise it is made out to be, but a lot of the mistreatment felt like drama or humor rather than a teaching tool. I did like, however, that Ragnelle’s purpose seemed to change so that she was at the center of a lot of conflicts between men - in this way, I think she exposed a lot of the underlying problems in a male homosocial society. However, as much as she pointed to a lot of the problems, she also perpetuated them.

Characters: I had an extremely hard time liking either Aislyn or Gawain for a large portion of this book. Aislyn, our heroine, is constantly thinking ill of other women or thinking herself better than them, except in incidents. She’s out for revenge, and while I get that being left by a man you loved is devastating, I personally find seeking revenge for that a little petty, especially when you can just use your words and clear up any misconceptions. She got better as the book progressed, standing up for other women and calling out injustice, but I still had a hard time with her, since she seemed to waver between being a strong-willed character and being a bully. Gawain, despite being one of the best knights in Arthurian lore, starts out as kind of a sexist jerk with a lot of emotional turmoil from his past. His sense of honor was admirable, and I want to make clear that I do think that aspect of him was well done, but he was so angsty that his main purpose was to be a wet blanket for most of the book. I also wasn’t wholly convinced he had changed in his ways by the end of the book. The villains of the piece weren’t even that interesting. Morgause is completely one-dimensional: a power-hungry seductress whose motives aren’t exactly clear and, based on her actions, poses next to no real threat to anyone. Somer Gromer Jour (or Launfal), Aislyn’s brother, could have been interesting if Morgause herself wasn’t so over-the-top and Launfal had more of a purpose other than to be Morgause’s victim. Lancelot and Guinevere are also turned into antagonists by the way they blatantly disrespect not only Ragnelle, but other knights of the Round Table. It was kind of a mess. But despite all that, I did like the relationship between Arthur and Gawain. They had some nice exchanges that showed how complex their dynamic was, with Arthur being both Gawain’s king and uncle. Gawain and Ragnelle also had some nice moments where they were honest with one another, and those bits were well done.

Other Romance: I honestly didn’t see much romantic chemistry between Aislyn and Gawain, perhaps because Aislyn was so antagonistic towards him for so long. Don’t get me wrong - I’m a fan of enemies-to-lovers tropes, but this novel didn’t really feel like it was really getting to the heart of the angst and pain between the characters and working on unraveling it. Instead, the conflict was easily cleared up by just talking (even if the characters didn’t act on it for a long time). Instead, their relationship felt more platonic, which wouldn’t be a problem if this book was marketed as a genre other than romance. Misogyny: I understand that a lot of authors writing about the Middle Ages will embed some sexism in their books, but I am still irritated when I see it. Rowley has Gawain start out as holding very misogynistic views, despite his medieval counterpart being one of the most courteous knights to women (and even in the book, Gawain wavers back and forth). The book also makes use of various tropes which I dislike: Morgause is a seductress who (I think) rapes Launfal regularly, characters use words like “bitch” and “slut,” a male character views his wife as worthless for not bearing a son, etc. Poor Guinevere couldn’t catch a break since she was being portrayed as a cheating harlot the whole time, and Morgana popped in for all of 10 seconds to serve her part in the plot before moving on. Rowley also writes an episode where the Saxons blame the women for the peaceweaver system failing, which was utterly baffling to me. And Gawain still seems to hold his view that a wife should be obedient to her husband until the very last second - around page 307 of the book.

Moving on to Other Books in the Series? No.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if you’re a romance reader or interested in Arthurian retellings.

#book reviews

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margridarnauds · 5 years

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3, 4, 12, and 27 for any Celtic or Arthurian ship (go wild with 'em!)

It is a fact universally acknowledged that I am A Soft Bitch. Also it has been SO LONG since I’ve dipped my toes into Arthuriana.

(Sorry it took me so long; I had a Fourth of July dinner to go to and then afterwards I was so exhausted by people asking me about the drinking opportunities available in Ireland because obviously that’s why I’ve spent five years of my life dedicated to the field, amiright? + getting stung by fire ants because fuck Florida that I had to take a long freaking nap.)

3. Who is the most romantic?

Bres/Sreng

I think that they actually both are, it’s just...how they express it.

Sreng tends to be slightly blunter as far as he feels, he tends to show his affection for Bres via being a rock for him when he needs it most. He helps Bres with the children, he distracts him when the pressures of being with the Fomorians and the diplomatic hot potato get to be too much for him, he’s the one who Bres vents to when his father is being difficult on something, he tries to find ways to visit Bres whenever he can. He was the one in the tent with Bres when the news about Ruadan’s death came, he was the one who held Bres throughout the night as he SOBBED into Sreng’s last good cloak.

Bres on the other hand is slightly less big on ACTIONS; it would be really, really easy for an outside observer to think that he’s less invested in the relationship. The truth is that he’s just as invested as Sreng is, if not more. He just tends to show it via, for example, curling up with Sreng’s cloak when he’s not there or being the one to take his hand when they’re in bed together, running his fingers along Sreng’s knuckles.

Bres’ private space is very important to him, it’s part of why the Tuatha dé and he never really CLICKED, because the king of the Tuatha dé needed to be...well...an extrovert, someone who can host lavish feasts, someone who can humor everyone in the hall while maintaining the social order, and the longer that Bres stood in the kingship, the more he grew to despise everyone there. But Sreng is allowed IN there, he can go to Bres’ quarters with no problem, he can dine with Bres privately and Bres is perfectly at ease with him, he can share Bres’ living space to the extent that Bres tends to use him as a pillow. Also: Bres totally dotes on him and occasionally slips him a new gold neck-ring when he’s not looking. Because Sreng would be too proud for it normally but Bres can’t stand to see his decline. Which is big for Bres, given how we KNOW how stingy he was with the Tuatha dé.

You know that if he’d won he would have totally spoiled Sreng. If that Fir Bolg wanted ANYTHING, he would have had it. It’s hard to use the term “consort” because the Medieval Irish were so BIG on marriage = children as a concept, but...Sreng would have been Bres’ nearest, dearest companion that he lavished attention on. Which would have rubbed salt on the Tuatha dé’s wounds even more.

Mordred/Galahad

Galahad. He has VERY high ideals of love and how it should be expressed, and so he’s constantly trying to court Mordred in the most courtly way he possibly can. Which is massively confusing to Mordred because he has no idea what to DO but...well...it’s nice. At least, once he realizes that Galahad id 100% serious. At first, he laughs about it with his brothers, but then as time goes on, he realizes that he LIKES it. (Namely when Galahad’s away on a quest at one point and suddenly Mordred doesn’t have that attention anymore.) Mordred is more the “I happened to find this by the side of the road, but don’t think that I LIKE you” type.

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Bres/Sreng

...Bres. Bres is just...Bres. He can’t keep his hands to himself and he will make bad jokes the entire time in his attempt to be smooth. He deeply enjoys trying to find excuses to touch Sreng whenever they are at a feast together. This drives Sreng absolutely batty since there’s really nothing that he can do to reciprocate when they’re in front of some of THE MOST POWERFUL FOMORIAN NOBILITY TO EXIST and Bres is behaving very casually, making pleasant conversation and Oh, Queen Cethlenn, is that a new silk dress? I hadn’t noticed it before while he raises his goblet at Sreng. Sreng always takes his revenge in the end, waiting until they have at least a sliver of privacy before pinning Bres against the nearest hard surface and kissing him absolutely senseless. Which was totally Bres’s intended purpose.

Mordred/Galahad

In general, Mordred, despite often seeming aloof. Mordred is very, very handsy with his boyfriend because, even though he won’t ADMIT it, the boy’s touch starved, and Galahad is endlessly compassionate when it comes to that. Though Galahad DID get tipsy once and was, as it turns out, a very affectionate drunk, which gave Mordred fuel to tease him for WEEKS. (And the rest of Camelot tbh. Given that we know that they are not above roasting someone given Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.) Galahad can’t enter the Great Hall without blushing for ages. Mordred tells him that his father’s done far, far worse in his time.

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

It’s odd with them because their bond’s been intense since the first time they met. They just had one of those instant connections, so in some ways them finally going from friends to lovers...wasn’t THAT big of a step, because they always were serious. Their meeting is actually really, really unusual in terms of how two champions from opposite sides GENERALLY interact in-text, given that they both are on such good terms with one another and they STAY on good terms with one another even after everything happens. No, this did not feature in my undergrad Capstone in any way, what would give you that idea?

I think that Bres is really, really surprised that Sreng stays by his side after their reunion. He puts on this very confident front, but privately, he puts a lot of his self identity on his looks. And when they went with Cairpre’s satire, that was a HUGE blow mentally and physically, even before it touches how it affects his kingship. He knew on some level that Sreng was interested in him, but they’d left things at a confusing place. So, he didn’t think that Sreng would keep an interest in him when his looks were marred, Sreng didn’t think that he had ANY interest in him...it’s a mess. And both of them still kind of think that the other’s going to change their mind at any given time even after they begin the process of clearing things up, not the least because neither one of them have really ever been in a place of stability in their lives.

But then, it’s a month onwards, then it’s a year, then it’s two years, and both of them are still there, and it’s just like “Oh. This is a Thing” and there’s just this general feeling of security that starts to creep in. And, gradually, their lives just kind of naturally intersect. Both of them interact with one another regularly, both of them know each other’s families (regrettably, in Sreng’s case, given that he is the founding member of the Elatha Hate Club, even though he does love Bres’ children dearly), both of them have stuff over at the other one’s place. In the modern day, it would be painfully obvious that they were a couple, but since it IS this time, everyone else thinks They’re Just Good Friends, because that’s how good friends ARE at this point in time. Except for Lugh, who post-Cath Maige Tuired firmly believes that Bres is The Actual Devil and that Sreng and he have some sort of devious plan to take Ireland back.

Mordred/Galahad

For once, they stop thinking about their respective destinies as much.

Like, don’t get me wrong, in Galahad’s case in PARTICULAR, his eventual destiny is something that’s ALWAYS at the back of his mind, because he’s spent literally his ENTIRE CHILDHOOD being told that. We do not discuss the truly endless depth of my hatred for his mother and grandfather for THAT ONE + their treatment of Lancelot.

And for Mordred, I think that on some level, there’s just this resignation that he’s going to be the villain, he’s going to kill Arthur one day, he’s going to be Evil™. He’s known that since he got the prophecy, and I tend to see him as having this “Then let me BE evil” moment after he murders the old priest and then Lancelot, the knight who he’d IDOLIZED and probably had a little bit of a crush on, tries to kill him. And that’s why he tends to see all the bad in Camelot, because it makes it that much easier to bring it all down.

But, for a little while, there’s this period of time where they have the luxury of thinking about something outside of their fates, they can have a LIFE that’s theirs, without worrying about the future. It’s one of those things that they don’t even really NOTICE until it’s like “Wait, I haven’t thought about my tragic but inevitable death for a month now, where’s the time gone?”

27. Why do their friends get annoyed with them?

Bres has FRIENDS?

Alright, alright, that’s probably a little cruel, but...Well, he doesn’t really HAVE anyone. I tend to HC that Sreng’s brothers don’t really understand the relationship AT ALL and tend to view Bres as The Tuath Dé Who Shamelessly Seduced Their Brother (If you ask Bres, HE’LL say that it was the other way around, if you ask Sreng, he’ll just shrug because honestly to this day he has no idea how he scored Bres.)

Tailtiu thinks that Sreng is essentially tying himself to a sinking ship. (Which...is she WRONG?) And Bres’ presence is basically a gigantic wedge between Sreng and Lugh being Bros™, which would obviously be Tailtiu’s endgame of choice. That, and Bres did. Kind of. Try to kill her former husband. Even though he had a Very, Very Good Reason for it at the time. Still. That has to sting a little.

Elatha REALLY doesn’t like Sreng or the relationship, because he views it as a Distraction™ (that, and he doesn’t understand the appeal. If his son’s going to throw everything out on the line for someone, couldn’t it have been someone better, more attractive, more witty, less blunt? Someone that he could bend to his own ends), but he also knows that he has to tacitly allow it to continue, because he does NOT want to deal with the fallout. (Not even from Bres. Oh no, there’s a bigger threat to be considered. Eriu. Who is Very Happy That Her Boy’s Found Someone To Make Him Happy and won’t hear a bad word against Sreng, who she considers to be A Very Nice Boy. If she were a modern mom, she totally would be knitting Sreng a Christmas sweater while they speak and asking them when the wedding was even before either one of them had really THOUGHT of proposing.)

Bríg does NOT like Sreng at all, not necessarily because of personal jealousy (she never really loved Bres, he never really loved her, even though there was a definite possibility that they could have loved one another in the early days), but because of the Nuada Incident. She doesn’t really understand why Bres would spend so much time with him when he’s The Enemy, and he’s a Fir Bolg so he’s inherently lesser than the Tuatha dé anyway.

Bres’ brothers don’t really understand it either. Over 3000 years in and the Dagda STILL thinks that Bres’ problem is that he doesn’t get laid enough and that if Bres would just get away from That Fir Bolg... (If only he knew, if only he knew.)

Meanwhile, the Fomorian lords, sans Elatha, are more or less completely oblivious. Tethra might have a better idea than the others, but does he care? Nope. He’s not overly invested in this whole thing anyway. He’s got his own issues at home to take care of, thank you VERY much. He participates in the raids because he has to dole out the loot to his men the same as anyone else, but he’s not INVESTED in it. It’s a necessary part of maintaining his kingship, nothing more. Sreng isn’t overly fond of them because he considers them to be essentially a snakepit of intrigue and corruption that will stab the two of them in the back at their earliest opportunity and he’s not wrong for the most part, though the one thing I WILL emphasize is that it’s not because they’re Fomorians, it’s that they’re...well, medieval kings, but they have a decent enough working relationship because they both hate the Tuatha dé’s guts.

Mordred/Galahad

Agrap-Agravaine tends to be annoyed that his brother’s spending all his time with someone who’s such a goody two shoes. Mordred and he have always been the closest in terms of age and personality, and suddenly he’s no longer Mordred’s Favorite.

I actually think that Morgause would like Galahad? She’s definitely very, very pro-her sons being happy in Le Morte d’Arthur and Good Mom Morgause is a hill that I’m willing to die on. Because fuck T.H White. I do think it would be a little strange, to say the least, given that obviously Galahad is staunchly religious whereas I don’t REALLY see Morgause having that same bent. Morgause just...lives her own life, regardless of what society says, and I think she would have some trouble understanding why her son would go for someone like that when he’s HIM. But I do think that for the most part, she would just be thrilled that Mordred has someone who he’s devoted to given that he’s REALLY not been OK since That One Quest With Lancelot.

ANY of Galahad’s friends tend to be annoyed at Mordred simply for the fact that Mordred is...Mordred. He doesn’t have the best reputation for a REASON, and it’s very, very dissonance inducing to see the two of them constantly in one another’s presence, even though they try to frame it in terms of Mordred being a charity case of Galahad's.

And Lancelot obviously hates Mordred because he knows of The Prophecy™. He is NOT pleased by this turn of events, and it goes way beyond “annoyance.”

#irish mythology #bres mac elathan #sreng mac sengann #mordred #galahad #this is not an elaine of corbenic friendly blog #violetcancerian

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agentdagonet · 6 years

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Echoes, Ch. 14

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

There was a moment Merlin had near instantly regretted: turning off the screens after Valentine had killed Harry in Kentucky.

By doing so he’d not only turned off the audio transmission that would have likely given him more notice of Valentine’s plan (instead of waiting for Eggsy and a fucking corpse to come through the train) but had shut off the homing beacon. Of course he knew where the church was, but by the time everything had settled enough to try and locate Harry’s body cleanups had long since begun. There were too many injured for hospitals to contain, and the dead were collected and families contacted before being cremated- those without easily contacted families were tagged anonymously with their place of death and their general physical appearances. The assumption was that anyone who knew those people would search through the databanks until everyone was claimed.

Unfortunately, a man in his fifties with spectacles and chestnut-salted hair and a square jaw was a rather common description. And, to prevent people from claiming ashes of people they did not know (for whatever reason they would do so, though Merlin couldn’t think of one), the companies who ran the databases required a photograph of the deceased to compare against the one in their physical files. They did not put the gruesome photographs of those in question publicly on the sites for rather obvious reasons, but that made it difficult to wade through the vague descriptions at anything near a fast-pace. You had to send a message to every file that may apply individually, and then wait for responses to each of those individually, and only THEN would they request the photograph to compare against their own.

It was tedious. Maddening. And something he’d quickly delegated to a program while trying to dual-wield the most important positions in Kingsman.

Eggsy had been very gung-ho about finding Harry, and Merlin had used cold facts to dissuade him from going off on his own to find him. There likely isn’t even a body anymore, he’d said, don’t dishonour his memory by flitting off on some useless quest. Let the computer do that, and do something to actually help the world move on from this. Be a proper Kingsman. Eggsy’d done so, begrudgingly, and had never really stopped mourning- stopped trying to hide it sometimes, even.

Now Merlin felt like a right tit, staring blankly at a message that not only debunked his assumptions of there being no body to go back for, but made incredibly clear that he’d actually abandoned his closest friend in his greatest time of need. It was a difficult pill to swallow.

Eggsy’d just started looking proper human again, after the whole hologram fiasco. And he’d have to shatter the man anew, and deal with the blows as they fell. Likely literally, considering his temper.

Merlin gave himself a moment longer to come to terms with his likely-imminent future before springing into action, setting himself to track the message back to its destination. There were footsteps incoming, but he ignored them; stopping what he was doing to look up wouldn’t stop the inevitable.

But, instead of the shove or angry slap he’d expected from Eggsy, there was a delicate hand on his shoulder. Lancelot leant her body weight against him to get a better look at his screen, and her hand tightened near-painfully moments later.

‘You’ve found the body?’

‘There is no body.’

‘Then what’s the frantic typing for?’

‘He’s not dead.’

‘... Pardon?’

‘The bloody peacock just sent a message- to the Merlin and Arthur lines.’

The day’d started out like most of the ones that had passed since Eggsy’d come to terms with sharing a house with a holographic ghost: slowly. He got up, made himself a quick brekkie and idly pulled up a file at random from the laptop in the Office. As personable as Haz was, it was still not Harry- it had been, but it wasn’t if that made any sense outside of his head.

1 new message a small pop-up at the base of the screen read, and Eggsy was far too impulsive a person no to immediately click on the thing.

Galahad,

Eggsy, if you’re reading this then, as I’d hoped most dearly, you’ve become a Kingsman. More than that, you’ve gotten into my system and likely gone through the files in here- good show.

I want you to know how incredibly proud of you, that despite every sign otherwise I could not be more proud of the man you are. Soft-hearted or sentimental, we are all human at the end of all things- and you happen to be one with an incredible strength I couldn’t understand. Your caring so deeply is not a weakness- it is your greatest strength; your sense of justice is far more important than any order. You do the right thing even when it is the most difficult, you put yourself at risk to protect those weaker than yourself- and that’s the mark of a true Gentleman. A proper Kingsman.

I told you that Kingsman only condones the risking of one life to save another- but in my foolishness I assumed that it only applied to people. Life doesn’t stop at humanity, and I thank you deeply for reminding me of that.

With that out of the way, I’d like to ask a rather personal favour:

Get me out of Kentucky

Sincerely,

H. Hart

Eggsy couldn’t stop himself from gasping, one hand clutched at nonexistent pearls as the other pulled at his hair. A bit painful but, much like pinching oneself to be sure they weren’t dreaming, it grounded Eggsy and reminded him that this was reality. This was real, had really just happened- he wasn’t imagining it in some desperate bid to get Merlin to let him go across an ocean for what was left of a man he’d known a scant few months.

Harry was alive.

Eggsy wandered from the room in a daze, pulling on his trackies and a tee before slipping on his trainers and running out the door- straight through the Haz by the downstairs loo. He couldn’t remember if he’d locked the door or not- but no matter, Merlin wouldn’t let anyone take anything from Harry’s house.

Merlin. He had to tell Merlin. Eggsy changed his mental route a little, deciding against simply stealing a plane from the hangar and instead going straight to Merlin to break the news as gently as he could before commandeering a way to Kentucky with or without his permission. The taxi stopped at the Shop, and Eggsy tried to be inconspicuous as he walked at at an idle pace to the proper Dressing Room and slipped inside. Difficult in street clothes, what with it being so high class and all, but he managed. Eventually the train let him out at HQ, and he was greeted by silence.

That in and of itself was odd, considering how much was going wrong in the world at any one time, but what was stranger was the open door at the end of the hall. Merlin didn’t leave his door open, didn’t like the unspoken invitation into his space and relished in the moments between knock and someone encroaching on his territory. Eggsy relished in ignoring those unspoken rules and breaking in anyway, which wasn’t happening today, apparently.

Eggsy had intended to walk into Merlin’s office, intended to be breathing evenly and speak calmly when upturning Merlin’s worldview. Unfortunately, Eggsy’s body made a few rather different decisions without the input of his brain.

‘HARRY’SALIVEINKENTUCKY!’ It wasn’t yelled, but only by a fraction- and only Roxy looked up at him at the exclamation.

‘Oh?’ She raised an eyebrow at him, and Merlin didn’t pause in his typing- though his lips twitched. Eggsy took a fortifying breath before trying again.

‘Harry. He’s alive. In Kentucky. Sent a message. I need a plane.’ He panted it out between breaths, leant heavily on the desk, and eventually looked up to try and meet Merlin’s eyes.

‘I’m trying to pinpoint his location now, actually- he sent a message to Arthur. And Merlin.’ Somehow Eggsy was disappointed with the revelation that he was not only not the only person to receive a message from their thought-fallen Knight, but he had also lost the opportunity to share this moment with Merlin, the only other man who had mourned Harry past the Kingsman Toast.

‘Why don’ you just ping the specs, then?’

‘He was shot in the face Eggsy, I highly doubt that any of the homing beacons are functional between that and whatever aftermath led him to wherever he is now.’

‘Then what’s the harm in tryin’? Worst tha’ could go wrong is you get no response, but best? At best you get his location right now and we’re en route to the bastard before noon. C’mon- let’s bring him home, yeah?’ Eggsy whispered, looked at the surface of the desk instead of Merlin’s face until after he was done. The typing slowly stopped, and instead Merlin leant over and pressed a button.

The screens flashed a few times, black then white and black again before clearing up. What remained was a world map, with little “You Are Here” arrows scattered about seemingly at random. Gawain was in Madrid, Percival Honduras, Dagonet at the Shop, and a small cluster labelled Lancelot, Merlin, and Galahad in the middle of England.

Another arrow labelled Galahad in Kentucky, which seemed to blink out of existence every few moments- but it was there.

‘Well? What’re we waitin’ for?’ Eggsy idly memorised the coordinates, and began making his way to the hangar. Merlin and Roxy took a moment more to catch up to him, but he barely noticed when he was no longer alone. He was a man on a mission.

Bring him home.

#dagonet writes #kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #fanfiction #happy nano everyone #echoes

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snowbellewells · 6 years

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Knight in Training

Here comes another little one shot written looking into possibilities for Season 5 as we awaited it (and the trip to Camelot!) the summer before. There’s some Captain Cobra, some Henry and grandpa Charming, some Captain Charming, and some fun with a Knight of the Round Table (They didn’t turn out quite how I imagined them!). Emma is not actually in this one either, though she is their focus and certainly on all of their minds… Next week, I’ll do some fics from seasons five and six (even though the show will technically be over and many of them were posted on Tumblr back when I first began). I’ve had a lot of fun with this reminiscing and didn’t want to stop quite yet. Hope none of you will mind!

Enjoy!

“Knight in Training”

by: @snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

“On guard, Sir Knight,” Henry bows as he speaks, just as he has been taught, his voice steady and bold. It reminds Killian and his grandpa Charming, who watch from the side of the practice ring, just how much the young man has matured in the past few months since Emma has been gone. As if Henry hadn’t already been growing like a reed, coming up past both his mothers’ shoulders and his child’s voice gradually deepening, it is now obvious in his very bearing and the hard won wisdom in his youthful gaze.

They are standing in the shadow of King Arthur’s famed castle in Camelot, and the young prince, son of both the Evil Queen and the Savior, is facing off against Sir Bedivere of the Round Table in a friendly practice bout. The tall behemoth of a man is considered one of the best with a blade Arthur has at his disposal – after only Lancelot and Gawain – yet he has also proved kindly and welcoming to the newcomers in his ruler’s kingdom seeking Merlin. Though he would not have had to show such hospitality, nor take of his own time to help them acclimate to this realm and entertain them as they wait for some sign of Emma, Merlin, or the next step on their quest, Bedivere has done so. It hasn’t taken long for Henry to take a liking to this gentle giant either. Emma’s son, with his love of the classic tales and awe over valiant heroes, has befriended each of Arthur’s knights in turn upon meeting them. Still, the boy seems especially fond of gallant, soft spoken but wise, Bedivere.

The man’s strength and skill have proven the perfect thing to distract Henry from missing his mother and growing ever more worried the longer they have no course of action or any way to find out how Emma is. Taking up the lessons David had started with his grandson long ago, Henry blossoms under the tutelage of an actual knight of the Round Table, proving as quick and agile as Killian himself, the pirate thinks ruefully as he watches their scrimmage. He is also as resourceful, daring, and scrappy as his street smart mother. Killian wonders briefly if Henry will eventually pass the success as a fighter of both his former princely teacher and his current tutor. The more he sees, the more the Captain feels that – if the situation called for it desperately enough – Henry would be willing to scrap the courtly manners that constrain both his grandfather and the knight and fight dirty if he must – as he himself would, and as Emma would too, for that matter.

Still, Bedivere proves a worthy adversary – despite his traditional methods and style. Thrusting forward on the offensive, he pushes Henry back once more, managing the balance between challenging the novice swordsman yet not threatening the young man’s safety, thoroughly impressing Killian as he observes. He is equally thrilled to see the natural aptitude his Swan’s boy possesses, and Henry’s confidence growing. Right before their eyes, bringing the pirate back to the present, Henry swiftly launches his own assault. Having only retreated a few steps, the youth charges forward, slashing a strong blow across the knight’s blade and countering Bedivere’s attack.

The much larger man rears back for a moment, truly taken by surprise, and then nods encouragement, clearly pleased with his pupil. He swings his heavy broadsword once more. This time, however, Henry is clearly ready and not willing to relinquish his advantage. He doesn’t step back, but instead dodges, then dips, still traveling forward, but sliding effortlessly to a knee and striking upwards, under the thrust of the grown knight’s weapon.

Charming whoops in delight at seeing his grandson score a point so definitively, proceeding to tap the point of his sword on the chest plate of Bedivere’s armor before he stands and resets to start again. Killian simply cannot stop the broad grin he feels splitting his face wide with unrestrained glee. That move was not only skillful and effective; it bucked traditional form and decorum, and it was more than a bit reckless. Henry had made a true pirate strike if Killian ever saw one, and it gives the Captain a ridiculous amount of reassurance to see Henry willing to do what he must to survive. He will need that with the danger in his world and the family to which he belongs.

It is just then that they hear Regina’s voice ring out over the courtyard, calling them in to wash up for the evening meal, her tone brooking no refusal. Killian knows the former villainess had hesitated to let Henry take up sword fighting practice in the first place, and they also know better than to antagonize her, no matter how much she has reformed herself. Glancing up the rolling hill to the drawbridge where Regina stands, Roland Hood at her side, clutching to her skirts and gazing up at her adoringly, they wave to let her know they’ve heard and bring Henry’s lesson to a stop.

“We’d better not keep everyone in the dining hall waiting, guys,” David says good naturedly, hopping down from his seat on the fence, and beckoning them to follow with the assured grace of the ruler he is.

Bedivere and Henry bow to each other and sheath their blades. As they turn, however, Killian sees the invigorated glint of exertion and pride in Henry’s eyes. The lad’s brown gaze sweeps across and connects with Killian’s mischievously, grinning as if he knows what his mother’s True Love is thinking. Perhaps that bit of piracy his Emma possesses has been passed on to her son. Henry winks as if he has heard every word Killian thought, nods his head in the Captain’s direction, and dashes ahead of them up to the castle.

As he follows, Killian cannot help feeling a bit of a spring in his own step. That glimmering look of triumph and just a bit of naughty fun on Henry’s face had been all Swan. The lad reminds him more of Emma with every passing day; the more he gets to know the young prince, the more it holds true. Emma’s boy is quite the plucky fighter, and that serves to give the pirate hope. Henry carries that spark of fire from his mother, and somewhere out there, Killian has to believe that his love is still fighting as well, still holding on until they can see her again.

***One last author’s note: I wasn’t sure which knight to have befriend Henry and continue his sword training, but when I started researching the different knights of Arthur’s circle, Bedivere stood out as a very interesting choice. Not only is he often written as the one who eventually threw Excalibur back into the lake as Arthur was taken to Avalon, but he was looked at as one of Arthur’s best fighters and most loyal followers. Though I didn’t know a lot about him, and we certainly don’t hear of him as much as ones like Lancelot, Percival, etc. He is also often described as being exceptionally tall, strong, handsome, and interestingly enough, one-handed – just like a certain dashing pirate we all know and love. I was hoping to work that into the story in some way but it just wouldn’t fit smoothly in the one shot I ended up with. As it turned out, we didn’t get to see Bedivere on the show, but that’s how he got the supporting role in this little piece!

Tagging a few folks who might like this: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @linda8084 @jackieorioncat @jennjenn615 @drowned-dreamer @laschatzi @ilovemesomekillianjones @spartanguard @revanmeetra87 @branlovesouat @searchingwardrobes @celestial-fire-writer @bmbbcs4evr @capswantrue @psymplemind @ohmakemeahercules

#ouat fandom crescendo #ouat season five spec fic #captain cobra ff #grandpa charming fic #camelot divergent oneshot

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lacobscur · 5 years

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What is the happiest memory you have with your son?

GIVE LANCELOT TROUBLE ABOUT HIS PAST // perpetually accepting

Happiest memory. They ask that like there’s any memory of Galahad at all, much less enough memories to distinguish between which were happier than others.

“It’s been,” he answers softly, slowly, “a long time. I barely… ever knew him.” His memories are jumbled. That’s normal for him, of course — he is only the shadow of a legend, not the true Lancelot — something warped and ugly, whose senses and memories are biased towards the unpleasant. Memories of the daily are a bit hard to place in proper order, and come up much dimmer than they would for Saber. He thinks he had seen Galahad when the boy was an infant, a toddler — but his time spent with Elaine is even more blurred, an unpleasant smear he’d rather forget even when he was alive and so little stands out. A baby, with round eyes and a serious pout to him. Quiet. Does he have memories of times outside of this, beyond simple impressions and the existence of a face…?

—He doesn’t know.

Lancelot left when he could: apologies to the child, but he could not stay in this place, a mixture of factors and his own penchant toward instability that sent him off. Sorry, sorry, he could bear this weight no longer. (He is not a perfect man, never infallible, he knew he was not the greatest knight no mater who or how many argued otherwise. He could not even be the greatest knight for his own son.)

Memories…?

There is a gap, when it comes to Galahad, and then the boy - same expression, same dark eyes as his own, but now in an older face, at the side of men he happened across. Of course he recognized the child. Not a child, now, but still. He promised Galahad knighthood. Lancelot was proud then, that his son should grow into someone who would become great and whose destiny was obvious at a glance. (Oh, boy, exceed me, I beg you. A father prays only for the son to be greater.)

And he was! He was greater. There is a swell of pride in Berserker’s chest still, even now, even as a beast whose thoughts are a jumble that never fall into exact order, who fears the hatred of this prodigal son. The boy was everything anyone could have hoped, and Lancelot so loved (loves) him. And after that, a scene, a memory that should fall into place.

“There was a time,” Lancelot answers. “A day or so before the quest had started.” It was only the same day as Galahad arrived into the court. Pity for the boy, he did not get to see the round Table at its height, only at the moment before all the men vanished from it. (Gawain, Gawain, you fool — but he had only the best of intentions, and Gawain had cried too, Lancelot will never fault him for his oath.) “Galahad was knighted the same day, and Arthur wanted to see his talents.”

He pauses to consider, bring up particular details, if he can. He rubs the heel of his palm over his eye, or thereabout, the details of his face falling into reality when necessary. “He was popular. Did not even need a shield when sparring, and defeated all but Percival and I. Our joust… was fun. I wanted to see him look like he was having fun, too, but. Hm.” A helm is oft in the way of that, but Lancelot can hope. “The people if the city were excited for him. I tried… not to say he was mine, I didn’t want people to think he earned anything through his relation. So, that time, when he arrived, got to show off, and earn people’s admiration so quickly and well-deservedly…. I was proud of him. He is still… a good knight.”

“Is that an answer? I don’t know, it’s all I have.” Lancelot disappeared just about the next day, after all.

#anon #asks

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agentdagonet · 5 years

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Echoes, Ch. 32

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

‘Galahad and Arthur are the least likely to get made.’

‘They can’t keep their eyes off each other-’

‘Exactly. They’re always staring at one another but neither of them seems to notice the other. They’re oblivious to each other, but are hyper aware of others and that’s precisely what we need.’ Roxanne had a point, one that he was reluctant to acknowledge, but he knew that they needed the intel.

There was a woman, Kelline Grisham, who had been tied to one of the hundreds of groups that stole remains of V-Day victims and pressed them into diamonds to then sell on the black market. Which in and of itself wouldn’t be too heinous, but of late victims’ families were disappearing as well- and human trafficking on a global scale, seventeen families last week alone, was a fair bit more up their alley. Grisham was rumoured to be a local Collector in New Zealand- drugs, secrets, bodies- if it was of interest to someone it was of interest to her, and that made her a lynchpin between many groups. She certainly didn’t stage herself that way but it was known, in the way all unseemly things are, that she was the one to go to if there was a need of a darker sort.

Luckily for them, and hopefully unluckily for her, she enjoyed a night on the town enough for there to be a trail to follow- and she was set to be spending the following weekend in Christchurch, if the pattern was to be believed. Grisham was a fan of both drink and drug, though not to the point of indiscretion, but she was known to have a certain taste in men: younger, rougher, with a disregard for the law and a distinct lack of connections. Kingsman only had one agent who could pass as such, that was obvious, but the nature of the mission meant that very little of their tech could be on Eggsy at the time of engagement.

Backup would have to be sent, though Merlin was wary at sending Harry and Eggsy into a situation like that. Where one would have to watch the other attempt to seduce a target when they were on such strangely entwined terms themselves. But Percival, Gawain, Bedivere, Gareth, and Bors were all engaged in other missions, and Roxanne, unfortunately, would be more noticable solely for her gender.

Grisham was the woman who was the centre of the room, and if she was not she would find a room she could be the centre of. Another woman getting attention simply would not do- but another older man at a bar would be nothing to notice.

‘You’re right- I don’t like it, lass, but you’re right. And we both know they’ll jump at the chance to be of some use, no matter the more personal consequences.’

‘I think you’re underestimating them, Merlin- they’re both skilled, professional, Knights who know the difference between their lives and the Work.’

‘We’ll see.’

The pair stood from the table, hovered awkwardly in one another’s space for a moment before parting ways, Merlin toward the Dining Room and Roxanne to the range. Ever since Harry’s miraculous return, and Eggsy’s subsequent leap from Existing to Living, the two had taken to talking over any potential proposals to either of the men before actually speaking to them. It was partially due to a desire to avoid conflict, but mostly it was a way for them to reconcile the seeming replacement they’d faced in the two men’s lives.

For too long they had been the only true support the other men had had- Eggsy had relied on Roxy for any of a thousand things: a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, an outlet to vent to, a target to aim at when everything else was too much to process. Sometimes, having a companion on a Path, even one as different as Roxy was from Eggsy, was worth its weight in gold. Harry had lost everything in the course of their antagonistic friendship- for all that they had hated each other at the start, each loss they suffered had brought them together. By the time Harry’s parents had passed, they were all the other had left- and now it was no longer so.

So Merlin and Roxanne had turned to each other to try and fill that void- though they were loathe to use such a term. Or even acknowledge that that was what they were doing.They were fully capable of existing outside of those relationships- but the adjustment was still a long and difficult one to make.

Perhaps they all had a fair bit of growing to do, as Michelle would say. Merlin mentally tallied that thought for later, and strolled into the room, tossing a paper-clipped folder in Harry’s general direction before taking his habitual spot in the corner.

‘Afternoon, Arthur.’

‘You know better than to use that tone with me, Merlin. We’ve known each other long enough.’

‘It’s work, Harry- you and I both know better than to be lax in our professional lives.’

‘I suppose so. Well, what do you have for me today, Merlin?’

‘We have a lead on Grisham, and we think Galahad’s the agent for the mission.’

‘We do, do we?’

‘He’s the youngest of us, knows both sides of the fence well enough, and happens to fall in line with the rest of her requirements for companionship.’

‘I’m to assume that there’s more to it than that?’

‘Yes; unfortunately, the requirements of such an engagement, considering the setting,’ Merlin paused, ‘we don’t think we will be able to equip Galahad with enough of our more combative tech to be safe- we must prioritise the surveillance and cloning equipment, which would leave Galahad in potential danger.’

‘All of our Knights are in danger in every mission, what about this mission in particular has you toeing a line about an issue?’

‘... Grisham is known for commanding a room, and for making a spectacle of herself and her chosen companion. If she does not think she has an audience, she will leave an establishment- and we cannot afford to set this stage twice if we expect to get anywhere.’

‘So you’re requesting an extra agent be sent along to, ah, give her the audience she desires?’ Harry couldn’t help the flash of not quite rage that went through him, thinking of some other person with their hands all over Eggsy, but he knew that Merlin never made decisions lightly. The fact that he was asking instead of demanding meant that he knew how it would affect him, and was attempting to be delicate. Which was a waste of energy, as delicately talking around an issue had never been part of leadership.

‘Yes, sir.’ Merlin looked him in the eye, face betraying nothing, but one hand tapped lightly at the clipboard he wasn’t actually looking at. He was truly concerned for the answer, then.

‘Granted.’ Would he truly have answered in any other respect?

‘You haven’t even heard me all the way through, Harry.’

‘I don’t need to to know that you’re worried for our Agent and are attempting to give this mission the highest rate of success you can- which is our priority. You don’t need my permission to give our people the tools they need to succeed- even if they happen to be people as opposed to gadgets.’

‘I didn’t expect you to refuse me, Harry- you know better than to ignore my requests as a bit of folly,’ both men grimaced at one another, reminded for a moment of Chester King’s way of running things, ‘but I thought you would wish to know who I was asking to send along before agreeing.’

‘I expect it will be Lancelot- a fitting competitor for Grisham’s target: young, beautiful, wealthy, and perhaps a little dangerous.’ Harry spent a moment to observe Kelline’s features- tall, dark hair and light eyes, form trim but not bony, the beginnings of laugh lines showing through her minimal makeup. She would certainly have her pick of suitors in any setting.

‘While your breakdown of what our planted competition needs to have is correct, your conclusion is incorrect.’ Merlin put the clipboard down on the table, both hands splayed on the surface as he looked Harry in the eye. ‘I need you on this, Harry.’

‘You need a greying nearly-sixty year old man with a very distinctive scar to be the audience to the attempted seduction of a woman who wants to know she has an audience?’

‘Yes.’

‘... Well, in this respect I must acquiesce to your expertise.’ Merlin could tell he had more questions, but thankfully did not have the chance to ask them before the door swung open and Eggsy walked into the room.

‘Well, speak of the devil.’

‘Thought I felt my ears burnin’- you talkin’ shit?’ Eggsy took the seat to Harry’s right- the same seat he’d been in the day he’d killed Chester King, the seat Harry himself had often occupied during briefings with the man, and Harry marveled at the differences between those moments and this one. Eggsy’d kicked the chair up at an angle, balanced precariously, and it took a bit more than he was willing to disclose to not knock the man over for sheer cheek.

‘The opposite, actually,’ Harry said, flipping closed the folder and turning it in Eggsy’s general direction before sitting back in his chair with a purposeful air of indifference. Both excitement and dread were equally dooming in interactions like this- Eggsy would base his reactions based on his own, sometimes- not often enough for it to be an issue, but Harry wanted Eggsy to be making judgements for himself. It was a lifetime’s habit to break, gauging a room before reacting, and too useful a skill to want to erase entirely in their line of work. But, at least in their off time, Harry desperately wanted for Eggsy to learn how to react for himself and not for the sake of someone else.

‘This a real honeypot? I though’ those were made up for them Bond films.’

‘They’re far rarer than anyone would assume. But, sometimes, when the cards are right, it’s the best play to make. She seems to do things more for show than a true desire for companionship, and you tick all her boxes.’ Merlin was matter of fact in his delivery, though he inwardly cursed the pair before him for their inability to react the way others would. The pair of them were built to drive him mad.

‘So what’s the plan, then, if she’s in it for the show?’

‘We’ll send you and another agent into the venue, obviously unaffiliated; you will make yourself noticeably available and interested, and allow for her to make contact. Over the course of the evening, when the opportunity presents itself, you’ll plant at least one bug on her person. More is generally better than less, but it’s more important that they not be discovered. The information gathered by those will determine the next step Kingsman takes concerning these Ash Diamonds. Any questions?’

‘We legit calling them Ash Diamonds? For real?’

‘That’s beside the point, Galahad. But yes, that’s the term we’ve decided upon. Do you have any real questions?’

‘Nah- get in, make it worth her while, and bug the fuck out of her- that’s the gist, yeah?’ Merlin sighed, one hand pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry stifled a chuckle. To see Merlin driven so quickly spare with little of his own influence was wonderful.

‘We’ll be sending the two of you to Christchurch Wednesday next to get settled in and set yourselves up as visitors only there for a short while. Better to have an alibi already in place, should you need to escape quickly.’

‘The two of us?’ Eggsy let the chair fall forward, elbows on the tabletop, one hand pointing between himself and Harry; surprised, but not offended.

‘Yes, Eggsy- it seems that a man like me is precisely the kind of audience she prefers.’

‘Well you’re fit as fuck so that ain’t no surprise, but I gotta say I was expectin’ to be sent with Roxy.’

‘As was I, but Merlin is quite convinced that we are the best team for the job.’

‘Well, brilliant, love missions with you.’ It was earnest, but not in the way that made one think of a puppy looking for a belly rub. It was in the simple sincerity, the kind of thing one could only achieve with blatant honesty and no ulterior motive.

Merlin found it frustrating. Harry found it delightful.

#dagonet writes #kingsman fic #kingsman #echoes fic

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