[interlude -- chapel vigil]
Sep. 4th, 2024 01:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
onthewillowsthereWhen Galahad performed his own chapel vigil, he knelt alone all night by the rail that separated the chancel from the nave, hearing the wind in the trees outside, the dry incense smell that lingered in the church. Even then he lacked faith, although he was always obedient. He did as he was told, and he was told to wait.
When it was Percival's turn he waited again. He knelt under an oak outside the church, his back as straight as his sword, his shoulders squared off like a cross. Somewhere he couldn't see, Percival was waiting all night to become someone new, a man instead of a boy. Galahad remembers being afraid that it might change something between them -- that Percival wouldn't still choose him, once he was Sir Percival.
But dawn came and Percival stumbled out of the church, beaming and sleepy-eyed, and the first thing he did was wrap his arms around Galahad's waist and lift him up off the ground. "You were here!" he said, sounding so happy to have found Galahad there waiting too. Galahad thought, I said I would be, but he understood that very few people expected that kind of promise to mean something. It was one thing for the disciples to promise to stay awake and pray with Christ at Gethsemane, but the Evangelists knew that to be a pledge they'd fail to keep.
Magnus is at Laertes and Sagramore's house with Alex and Sunny. Claudius is downstairs in a room with SecUnit, Aleksander, and Apollo, watching and waiting for what comes next. Galahad is in their bedroom, and perhaps it's right that he's alone in this moment.
He's wrapped in one of Claudius' robes; the raised pattern feels familiar under his fingers when he strokes it. The best way he can help Claudius now is to stay here, where he's safe, and can't be used against anyone. He's no longer God's knight; it's not his place to defeat evil for righteousness' sake, and in spite of all his mornings with Lan Wangji, he's only half-trained, and nowhere near as strong as the cultivators, little more than a liability.
And yet -- he hates thinking of Claudius in any kind of danger without him. He should have at least given Claudius the new signet ring, he thinks. He should have given him something to turn on his finger as he waits for a signal that something has gone wrong. For the first time, Galahad thinks about the possibility of being forgotten, just as he forgot Claudius months ago -- days before their wedding, he thinks about what would happen if Claudius no longer remembered him or how to understand him, if Claudius looked at him with blankness instead of love. They could become strangers again. That is what Aornis does. The thought is so uncomfortable that Galahad gets out of bed, clutching the robe tighter around his body.
This shared home, which he's been in by himself any number of times, feels suddenly empty without Claudius in it. Galahad moves from the vanity to the dresser full of Claudius' crisp dress shirts and neatly folded socks to the closet where his skirts and jackets hang. He walks to the roll-top desk with its locked drawer, and for the first time since he sent the key back with Lan Wangji he wishes he had it in his hand again. He wants to read Claudius' words, to hold the particular tone of Claudius' writing voice in his mind so he can't be made to forget it.
Lan Wangji, too. Lan Wangji is side-by-side with Luo Binghe, facing Aornis. Anything could happen to him, a series of cascading coincidences that topple from the cliff height to the ground like a rockfall. Galahad takes Lan Wangji's note about who they are from the wooden box where he keeps it and the letter Claudius sent him with the calendar, back when they were estranged. He has Magnus' note there, too, but Magnus will be safe with the others, Galahad is certain.
He tries to picture Aornis, but he can't remember her face. All he can remember is his own portrait of her, and a bracelet -- a bracelet? A band? Something important, something that mattered, something that's hidden from him.
Time keeps passing, even without his watch to mark it.
Claudius will come home. Lan Wangji will return. Galahad has faith, faith he never had when he lived in Camelot and simply went where God instructed him to go, killed who God instructed him to kill -- and he's good at waiting. He can wait all night.
He kneels at the foot of their bed, his back as straight as his sword, his shoulders squared off like a cross, and starts his vigil. When his betrothed opens the door again and says it is finished, Galahad will be waiting to lift him in his arms.
When it was Percival's turn he waited again. He knelt under an oak outside the church, his back as straight as his sword, his shoulders squared off like a cross. Somewhere he couldn't see, Percival was waiting all night to become someone new, a man instead of a boy. Galahad remembers being afraid that it might change something between them -- that Percival wouldn't still choose him, once he was Sir Percival.
But dawn came and Percival stumbled out of the church, beaming and sleepy-eyed, and the first thing he did was wrap his arms around Galahad's waist and lift him up off the ground. "You were here!" he said, sounding so happy to have found Galahad there waiting too. Galahad thought, I said I would be, but he understood that very few people expected that kind of promise to mean something. It was one thing for the disciples to promise to stay awake and pray with Christ at Gethsemane, but the Evangelists knew that to be a pledge they'd fail to keep.
Magnus is at Laertes and Sagramore's house with Alex and Sunny. Claudius is downstairs in a room with SecUnit, Aleksander, and Apollo, watching and waiting for what comes next. Galahad is in their bedroom, and perhaps it's right that he's alone in this moment.
He's wrapped in one of Claudius' robes; the raised pattern feels familiar under his fingers when he strokes it. The best way he can help Claudius now is to stay here, where he's safe, and can't be used against anyone. He's no longer God's knight; it's not his place to defeat evil for righteousness' sake, and in spite of all his mornings with Lan Wangji, he's only half-trained, and nowhere near as strong as the cultivators, little more than a liability.
And yet -- he hates thinking of Claudius in any kind of danger without him. He should have at least given Claudius the new signet ring, he thinks. He should have given him something to turn on his finger as he waits for a signal that something has gone wrong. For the first time, Galahad thinks about the possibility of being forgotten, just as he forgot Claudius months ago -- days before their wedding, he thinks about what would happen if Claudius no longer remembered him or how to understand him, if Claudius looked at him with blankness instead of love. They could become strangers again. That is what Aornis does. The thought is so uncomfortable that Galahad gets out of bed, clutching the robe tighter around his body.
This shared home, which he's been in by himself any number of times, feels suddenly empty without Claudius in it. Galahad moves from the vanity to the dresser full of Claudius' crisp dress shirts and neatly folded socks to the closet where his skirts and jackets hang. He walks to the roll-top desk with its locked drawer, and for the first time since he sent the key back with Lan Wangji he wishes he had it in his hand again. He wants to read Claudius' words, to hold the particular tone of Claudius' writing voice in his mind so he can't be made to forget it.
Lan Wangji, too. Lan Wangji is side-by-side with Luo Binghe, facing Aornis. Anything could happen to him, a series of cascading coincidences that topple from the cliff height to the ground like a rockfall. Galahad takes Lan Wangji's note about who they are from the wooden box where he keeps it and the letter Claudius sent him with the calendar, back when they were estranged. He has Magnus' note there, too, but Magnus will be safe with the others, Galahad is certain.
He tries to picture Aornis, but he can't remember her face. All he can remember is his own portrait of her, and a bracelet -- a bracelet? A band? Something important, something that mattered, something that's hidden from him.
Time keeps passing, even without his watch to mark it.
Claudius will come home. Lan Wangji will return. Galahad has faith, faith he never had when he lived in Camelot and simply went where God instructed him to go, killed who God instructed him to kill -- and he's good at waiting. He can wait all night.
He kneels at the foot of their bed, his back as straight as his sword, his shoulders squared off like a cross, and starts his vigil. When his betrothed opens the door again and says it is finished, Galahad will be waiting to lift him in his arms.
