um ?? here have some lancelot-post-camlann-Feelings-told-from-an-outsider-pov that i APPARENTLY had to get out of my system.
It feels wrong to carry Excalibur.
The sheath is still a lost thing, and Bedievere is unworthy to wield the blade. It feels equally wrong to simply toss the sword on the back of his horse’s saddle, but that is what he ends up doing. He was commanded to return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake. Go to any fresh water lake, the High King said, hold out the sword, and the Lady will appear. It was the last command Arthur ever gave.
Bedievere can’t bring himself to follow it.
Between the traitor. Medrod’s, rebellion and the war between the false knight Lancelot and Sir Gawain, Logres was torn asunder, worse off, some people claimed, than it was during King Uther’s time. The winds carried word of another army encroaching, Saxon and Roman led by some Roman general (Constantine, Bedievere thinks he’s heard). The liar, Guinevak, sitting in Camelot will now have to earn her stolen throne.
Some might say there is divine justice in that, but all Bedievere sees is a future of horrors. He’s already lost a hand, Camelot has lost her king, Camlann was a sea of corpses….he cannot bear to think that wasn’t an end to all of this. How much more death can one kingdom have within it?
Arthur’s queen was captured in Camlann’s fortress by the traitor in a low trick to entrap Arthur, but where she went from there, Bedievere cannot say. She still yet lives, though, and that, along with Excalibur, surely must be a mixture to establish hope?
Joyous Garde is empty, ransacked and abandoned. From the looks of things, it’s been that way for some time. Bedievere hadn’t expected to find the High Queen here, but he hadn’t known where else to start; castle Carleon and castle Carlisle have all been taken by the traitor’s Saxon forces. Perhaps Carmelide? he wonders as he steps through the rubble of the dusty castle. It is well known that the High Queen remains fond of her childhood home, but to go there when her sister stole the throne seems too risky of a plan for a queen who is well-agreed to be too clever by half.
There’s movement in the far room; Bedievere draws his sword. He encroaches slowly, imagining thieves, traitorous Orkneys, Saxon pigs….
It’s a boy, of age to be a squire, rummaging through the pantry.
Bedievere lowers his sword. “You. Boy! Where is your master?”
Startled, the boy freezes like a rabbit.
“Your master,” Bedievere repeats. “The lord of the house. Sir Lancelot?” It burns his tongue to refer to him as such, traitorous murderer that he’s revealed himself to be.
At the mention of Lancelot, the boy relaxes, fraction by fraction, before shrugging. “Dunno. Isn’t he fighting the northerners?”
“Not anymore. He killed the great Sir Gawain in battle.”
“He won?” the boy sounds delighted.
There is acid in Bedievere’s stomach. “Yes. He won.”
The boy smiles. “Good.” Then, without further word, the boy departs carrying several bottles. Bedievere shouts after him, following the boy outside to where an older woman waits with a small cart.
Bedievere sheaths his sword and repeats his question to the old woman.
“He took the Christian oaths,” she replies.
“Aye. Sir Lancelot, though I s’ppose he is sir no longer eh?, is a monk now. Lives at the abbey with the others.”
It is a farther ride than Bedievere thought it would be. So far, in fact, he wonders how Lancelot discovered it in the first place. It’s a poor abbey, with a roof half-caved in and a small amount of monks residing within it, if the number of men outside gardening could be any indication. Bedievere searches among the fields, spotting Lancelot even from this distance; his gait had always been particular.
“Sir Lancelot?” Bedievere calls once he is close enough. Lancelot is digging trenches with a hoe far away from the others; his movements do not stop at the call. There is no sign he heard the call at all.
Bedievere walks closer. “Sir Lancelot; tis I—”
“That’s not my name.” A grunt.
“That’s not my name.”
Frustration colors Bedievere’s tone. “I don’t know what you’ve rechristianed yourself as but you can plainly tell I am speaking to you! This is important.”
The hoeing never falters.
“An army marches toward Logres.”
“That has been true for the past three years.”
“A new one. A Roman one.”
He thinks of Arthur, lying dead in his boat. “So? The kingdom has been torn to shreds, and now even more people will die!”
“And?” rage near blackens Bedievere’s vision. “You were hailed the greatest knight in the world! Sworn to protect the innocent and serve the realm—”
The digging halts. “I killed the most people, and survived long enough to keep doing so. The fact that you all decided that was something noble is not my problem.” The digging commences.
Frustrated: “I have Excalibur!”
The digging stops. Lancelot releases the hoe, turning toward Bedievere entirely. His voice is a growl: “You what?”
“I was charged with returning it to the Lady of the Lake—”
“Then go do that.”
Bedievere huffs, disliking the directness of the false knight’s gaze. “Where is Queen Guinevere?”
Lancelot snorts, a sound full of phlegm, and turns back toward his patch of garden, shaking his head all the while. Unless Bedievere is mistaken (and he sorely hoped he was) Lancelot looks almost amused.
“No,” he says.
“Where is the Queen? I know you know where she is!”
It’s a miserably long time until Lancelot responds: “She is safe and sound in a place where no one will find her, as she desired.”
“She … She doesn’t want to be found?”
The air is released from Bedievere’s sails. With it, though, comes a black wave. “This – no! She can’t … you can’t….” Arthur had marched onto Camlann toward his death to save his Queen, he had once built Lancelot a tomb worthy of a prince when they all thought him dead; he loved them, everyone knew that, and this is how that love is repaid? “Were the traitor and his liar right about you both? He had accepted the Queen’s innocence, and did not assist Sir Gawain’s vengeance despite you murdering the younger Orkney brothers. How can you … how can you….”
Lancelot’s voice is steady where Bedievere’s had been shaking. “Camelot was a shithole that only smelled of gold because of” – his face spasms – “of the High King. He’s dead; I say, let the stones rot.”
His phantom hand throbs. “You would give his memory no love, no honor….”
“As what? Opposed to you, who is honoring him by ignoring his dying request?”
“At least I was there! I was at his side to hear those words. Whereas you – you, who could have turned the tide at Camlann, had you and your men been there—”
Bedievere’s words are cut off by Lancelot’s fist. He stumbles back, staggering, but just as he prepared himself for the fight, another blow lands, then a third one that sends him to the ground. Bedievere is the lone survivor of the battle of Camlann, but now he has only one hand, and Lancelot has never fought as a man when fighting as a beast served him better.
But then the blows stop.
“Brother Galahad, enough!”
It takes seven monks to fully restrain Lancelot, who still continues to snarl and struggle as Bedievere sits up. An eighth monk offers him a handkerchief, which Bedievere places against his bleeding temple. His right eye is swollen shut.
“If I find out you didn’t bring that stupid sword to the damned lake, I will find you, chop off your other hand, and shove it so far down your throat you will be shitting your fingernails until you die. Understand?”
Bedievere watches as Lancelot frees himself from the clutches of the monks, panting like a savage wolf. He barks at the monks until they depart like a flock of hens, leaving Bedievere with only the hoe for protection.
When the wind blows, it carries the sent of a forthcoming storm. Bedievere soon rises completely, his heart returning to its common pace.
“I asked her,” Lancelot eventually says, gruff and low like he’s fighting against himself to admit these words. “If she wanted to gather my forces and hers to retake Camelot. She said” – his face spasms again, lips twitching – “she said that a simple castle does not make Camelot, and there is no Camelot without Arthur. There was nothing for us to do. We had lost.”
You’re wasting your time, Bedievere.” Lancelot picks up the hoe. “And I meant what I said, so get out of here and forget you saw me.”
Lancelot walks off to a further part of the farm; he starts to dig.
He won? the boy asked, delighted. Yes. He won.
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Mother’s day | Ikemen Revolution Headcanons | Ray, Sirius, Fenrir, Jonah and Lancelot
Happy mother day’s everyone!
Ray Blackwell - Breakfast
Both Ray and his son woke up earlier than usual to make Alice breakfast.
Ray and Alice’s son took classes from Luka through the week to be able to prepare something to his mother for the special day
Ray found out by accident and decided to help out.
The breakfast consistend mostly on sweets and two gifts, Rays and the letter from their son.
It was a really sweet start of the day.
If you are curious about what they did.
It was pancakes.
Somehow they make them look like cats.
Ray also felt bad at the sight of Alice eating them.
Jonah Clemence - Gift
Both Jonah and his daughter spent all week searching for the perfect gift, wich prove to be harder than either of them expected.
Jonah’s daugther came just like her father, kind of bratty and a perfeccionist.
What was perfect for one of them the other would think it wasn’t enough.
By saturday the poor girl came running toward her mother about begin sorry for not having a gift for her.
Alice just smiled and her and her husband and said: “You two know I don’t need anything fancy, but I do have something in mind.”
At lunch time the three of them were at the red army’s kitchen cooking together.
Sirius Oswald - Flowers
The twins were natural at gardening and spent day and night taking care of the plants around the Black Army.
Sirius asked them if they needed help to buy something for their mother for her special day and all they answeared was: “No, we have everything under control!” Creepily in sync.
Wich mean they were up to something.
Oh god it seems that Sirius was going to have to keep an eye on them.
The morning of Mother’s day come and-
“Surprise!” Both Alice and Sirius woke to their room FULL of every flower you can think on. The twins were smiling happily at their parents explaining how they planted all of those in a secret garden.
Well they sure did put Sirius’s suprise bouquet to shame.
Fenrir Godspeed - Last minute
Fenrir almost got a heart attack when he saw his son and daughter running towards him in pure panic.
And got an actual heart attack when they explained themselves.
“Tomorrow is mother’s day! We don’t have a gift for Mamma!”
He totally forgot about that!
He took both of his children and runned toward the central quarter searching for a gift for Alice.
Some of them people around where cracking out a bit at the sight of Fenrir and the kids panic.
There was hardly anything left and they kind of became a Jonah.
“WHY IS NOTHING GOOD ENOUGH?!”
It was his son who in the panic jumped screaming: “I know!” scaring the crap out of the people in the store they were in.
Alice and the rest of the Black Army had the biggest (ಠ_ಠ) face at the amount of food there was in the table.
Lancelot Kingsley - service
Not only there was a ton of gifts for Alice.
Alice was about to be treated like royalty. An idea her son gave to his father.
Wich meant whatever Alice wanted it was going to be brought to her by a silver plate.
The important point to that tho was that both Lance and his son were the only ones to do that.
No maids or other officials. Just them.
Jonah almost lost his mind at that.
“KING LANCELOT!” Jonah everytime Lance tried to do something like take food toward Alice.
It was pretty cute, but their son was against to leave his mother’s side even for a second in case she needed something. He was following her like a puppy.
She wasn’t against it completly but it was kind of boring so...
“I’m going to the central quarter!” “I’m coming with you mother!”
Ofc Lance also came but didn’t take long to notice that this was Alice way to just spend some quality time with her two favorite boys.
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