onthewillowsthere | [semi-open post -- easter sunday]

Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed. Alleluia.

Last night, Galahad kissed Claudius while he was reading and explained that he was going to keep the Easter Vigil, and Claudius tsked and fixed his collar, and then fixed his collar again, and then said Galahad should take a scarf -- he unfolded himself neatly from the bed, his dressing gown swirling about him, to take one of out of the closet. He knotted it around Galahad's neck, and kissed him, and then kissed him again, and then said in the morning they would have to eat something special to break the Lenten fast. Galahad knew he was worried, and he was grateful to Claudius for letting him go anyway.

Holy Week has been a crushing weight, hard in a way it's never been. Galahad doesn't know why, but he knows Claudius can tell; Claudius knows him better than anyone. Galahad has been reminding himself that it will change on Easter. That's what the miracle is about.

With no chapel to keep his vigil in, Galahad took the thick wax pillar he'd chosen for his Paschal Candle outside to the lake. He should have asked Magnus to come with him -- he knows that. Magnus wouldn't mind, and he would have kept Galahad warm, too, and been glad he'd been asked. But after his Good Friday vision, Galahad has felt so detached from his body that remembering to do anything outside of the strict soothing rituals of Holy Week is a struggle. He shivered through the night alone, thinking about the past Easter Vigils he and Percival kept in Camelot, huddled around their bonfire, laughing when they were supposed to be serious, knowing the priest was scowling at them.

The Lucernarium is supposed to be joyful, hopeful, but the hour for Matins ticks by -- Galahad checks his watch by starlight, because both moons are new, and there's hardly any light in the sky -- and dawn doesn't come. He reminds himself that it's because it's winter, and daylight takes a long time to break across the horizon.

By eight-thirty there's finally a hint of sunlight, wan and wobbly as Magnus in the greenhouse on Passion Sunday. Galahad's hands are so cold he can hardly feel them, and they shake on the matches, but he lights the Paschal Candle and cradles it against his chest as he goes back to the mansion.

In Camelot, he would have followed the procession into the church for the Lumen Christi. This morning he does it alone. When he gets to his chapel-room, he unveils his altar and sets the candle down, then lights the votives from it, until the room is bathed in weak candlelight. He sings the Exultet to himself, softly, both parts. There's no assembly to give it power.

Galahad knows the Liturgy of the Word by heart. He's always been able to remember written words with little study, especially when they're important to him. He can recite all seven scripture readings and all of the psalms and canticles, the Gospel of the Resurrection.

In Camelot -- he can't keep thinking in Camelot; it only makes him feel more lost, less tethered. But in Camelot, there would be baptisms after the Liturgy. Then all the congregation would renew their baptismal vows, and be sprinkled with holy water. Galahad would stay stone-still as water freckled his face, hating the sensation, and Percival would laugh at him, and surreptitiously dry it off with his sleeve when no one was watching. The priest would give the Eucharist, and it was Easter.

In Camelot, there would be a great feast. Percival would get a little drunk; Galahad would sometimes forget to break his fast slowly, in increments, would be giddy from small beer on an empty stomach, and Percival could make him helpless with laughter. The stone was rolled back from the tomb. Everything in the world had more color. Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.

There's no Eucharist here. The Mass can't ever truly finish.

Galahad stays on his knees in front of the dresser-altar, watching the candles burn down, and waits to feel himself return to his body, but there's no return. He feels like a fish that can't be reeled in, thrashing in the stream. He feels like a threshed field. He feels like an empty tomb, with only the linens inside, because the Lord has been taken away, and he knows not where they have laid Him. He feels lost.

After hours of kneeling he manages to get up off the floor and slip into the bed, at least, but he doesn't manage to go any further. He's distantly aware that he's cold, that his head is aching with hunger, but those things are easy enough to ignore when he's so far from his body. He could be dead already.

When he was first restored to himself by the angel, he felt as though he were flour being ground under the weight of a millstone. It's an apt metaphor. He tries to remind himself that Claudius is waiting for him in their room, to end the fast together. He reminds himself that he is beloved, favored among men. There are good things ahead -- Easter heralds the beginning of a season of good things. But all he feels is tired and empty and spent.

[This post is open to people who already know galahad and might have a reason to know something is wrong]

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

summerdude

"It is. They say the Easter Bunny leaves them outside of kids' doors overnight but actually it's just parents. Then some kids use the baskets themselves for egg hunts later in the day... the eggs in my time are mostly made out of plastic and filled with, like, candy."

From:

onthewillowsthere

"Like the chocolate." He leans on Magnus' shoulder. "What's your favorite?"

From:

summerdude

"It's not big in Valhalla, so it's been some time, but I always like chocolate." Magnus purses his lips. "Maybe malted milk chocolate eggs. Or jelly beans? But mostly chocolate." He passes Galahad the basket. "I couldn't find any Easter candy, but there is a piece of chocolate in there." From his private stash. "And, uh, stuff that grows on palm trees."

From:

onthewillowsthere

"We should try all of them. Everything you like, so I can learn." He takes a slow breath in and out. "Is there anything to drink? I should drink first. A little."

From:

summerdude

"When the kitchens start cooperating again," Magnus promises. He reaches into the basket and takes out the coconut water. "I, uh," he scratches his head. "Don't know that you're gonna like this, but I couldn't find an actual coconut, and it does have, like, electrolytes, so."

From:

onthewillowsthere

"Why were you looking for an actual coconut?" He takes the coconut water, which is in a shiny waxed carton, and unscrews the lid. It's starting to hit how long it's been since he ate or drank, and his hands shake terribly.

From:

summerdude

"Because they grow on palm trees," Magnus says. "I dunno. Seemed symbolic. You know: palm trees, and things growing. That's why I got these dates, too. Palm trees, growing things."

From:

onthewillowsthere

"I've never seen one before."

The coconut water is bad. It's very bad. But it's liquid, and sustenance, and he makes himself keep drinking it in small sips. He knows from other fasts not to drink too quickly or too much, or he'll risk vomiting.

From:

summerdude

"I've never seen one in the wild," Magnus says. "Just pictures." He wrinkles his nose, watching Galahad's face. He was right: Galahad doesn't like the coconut water. That's fair. Coconut water is disgusting. "Next time I'll bring you gatorade instead."

From:

onthewillowsthere

"What fruit is that?"

From:

summerdude

Magnus laughs. "It's not. It's good for dehydration though. It's basically colored water with added electrolytes. The blue tastes blue, though, and the red tastes red, and so on. I know you like the taste of red."

From:

onthewillowsthere

"I do like red." He nestles against Magnus' shoulder. "What are electrolytes?"

From:

summerdude

"Great question!" Magnus tries to remember. "I know that they're really important and that you lose them when you're sweating or sick or fasting or otherwise dehydrated, and that can make you nauseous or crampy or dizzy or tired, but I don't know what they are. Just that mom would make me drink them when I was sick as a kid. Throwing up sick, not asthma sick. And Sam has them with iftar."