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onthewillowsthereAornis is dead.
Galahad would be here, crowded in at the desk beside Claudius, the two chairs dragged so close together that their knees touch, whether or not she still lived, but now he can do it without the heaviness he hadn't even truly realized had settled onto him for the last three months. Everyone he loves is safe -- as safe as possible in a world that allows in people who kill for chaos' sake. He doesn't have to worry about another sword striking down Magnus, or whether his memories will be taken again without his permission. He looks down at his wrist and thinks: the speckled band. That was the thing he'd forgotten, the thing Aornis had told him. His braided watchband sits there now, coiled like a snake.
His gaze flicks back to the notebook in front of Claudius. This wedding is, above all, for Claudius, not for him. It's a gift of planning and control and spectacle, the opportunity for Claudius to have everyone's eyes on him; envious or admiring or joyous for his joy, it doesn't matter. Claudius has thought of every detail, has consulted Lady Post on every particular. It's the wedding he never had the chance to have with Gertrude, the laugh in the face of God and the church. Galahad's purpose is to make sure it's perfect for him. It's a purpose he can give his whole heart to.
Now Claudius is reminding Galahad that he won't be allowed to look at his bride until the wedding itself; Galahad nods.
"Dost thou want Lan Wangji and Crowley to come here?" he asks. "Or wilt thou go to them?"
Galahad would be here, crowded in at the desk beside Claudius, the two chairs dragged so close together that their knees touch, whether or not she still lived, but now he can do it without the heaviness he hadn't even truly realized had settled onto him for the last three months. Everyone he loves is safe -- as safe as possible in a world that allows in people who kill for chaos' sake. He doesn't have to worry about another sword striking down Magnus, or whether his memories will be taken again without his permission. He looks down at his wrist and thinks: the speckled band. That was the thing he'd forgotten, the thing Aornis had told him. His braided watchband sits there now, coiled like a snake.
His gaze flicks back to the notebook in front of Claudius. This wedding is, above all, for Claudius, not for him. It's a gift of planning and control and spectacle, the opportunity for Claudius to have everyone's eyes on him; envious or admiring or joyous for his joy, it doesn't matter. Claudius has thought of every detail, has consulted Lady Post on every particular. It's the wedding he never had the chance to have with Gertrude, the laugh in the face of God and the church. Galahad's purpose is to make sure it's perfect for him. It's a purpose he can give his whole heart to.
Now Claudius is reminding Galahad that he won't be allowed to look at his bride until the wedding itself; Galahad nods.
"Dost thou want Lan Wangji and Crowley to come here?" he asks. "Or wilt thou go to them?"
