[semi-open post -- easter sunday]

[onthewillowsthere]

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]

Comments

[onthewillowsthere]

"Eat slow. And only a little at first." He rolls the date again. "Move slowly. Don't expect too much."

[summerdude]

Magnus smiles and squeezes Galahad. "I meant, like, if there's other foods people typically end 'em with."

[onthewillowsthere]

"No, but we can make our own."

[summerdude]

"Cool," Magnus says. He leans his head against Galahad's shoulder, and admits: "The other stuff in the basket is kinda silly."

[onthewillowsthere]

"I like it when you're silly."

[summerdude]

"Good, cuz I couldn't stop if I tried."

[onthewillowsthere]

"I know. It's your vibe."

[summerdude]

Magnus laughs. "Class clowncore."

[onthewillowsthere]

"Clowncore?"

[summerdude]

'A class clown is someone lowkey disruptive in school because they keep making jokes and stuff," Magnus explains. "-core just means, like, aesthetic. I think. So while I'm not actually a class clown, on account of dropping out of school, I still have the aesthetic of one."

[onthewillowsthere]

Core is as useful a word as vibes. Galahad tucks it away for himself for later.

[summerdude]

Magnus moves the basket to Galahad's feet, so he can look at it when he's done with his date. "What makes a church a church?" he asks, innocently.

[onthewillowsthere]

That reminds him to start eating the date, instead of just exploring the feeling of it between his fingers. "Why?"

[summerdude]

"I was too out of it to try to understand on Palm Sunday."

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad frowns at him slightly. "It's a place to be with God. The word church is from the Greek and means those who are called, because we are called together to be with God."

[summerdude]

"So it's about the people and the connection?" Does that make Magnus's clearing a church? It started out as the place he'd go to pray to Frey, and people visit him all the time. And now Alex is staying with him.

[onthewillowsthere]

"It's--" He's quiet; he eats the date, and then makes himself drink more of the coconut water. "When the Israelites were wandering in the desert after they were freed from Egypt, God commanded Moses to build an ark for Him to dwell in, and a tabernacle to hold it. And I will dwell among the children of Israel, and will be their God. And for the rest of the time they were in the desert, they brought the tabernacle with them, so that wherever they traveled God was with them."

[summerdude]

Magnus hesitates. "Um, sorry. What's a tabernacle?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"A building that can be moved."

[summerdude]

Magnus wonders if this means more like an RV or like a fancy box, but he's pretty sure Galahad won't be able to answer that question without a lot of explaining. He's about to ask a follow-up question when he realizes, "Oh! Are you talking about the Ark of the Covenant?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Yes. You know?"

[summerdude]

"I watched a movie with it once." It was Indiana Jones. "I don't think it has much to do with your religion, though. Just, like, a hot guy with a whip. Do all churches need one? I thought there was only the one."

[onthewillowsthere]

"There's only one that old." He starts eating another date. "I meant-- if God can come with us wherever we travel, I think the church can be anywhere."

[summerdude]

"Do they need bells and crosses?"

[onthewillowsthere]

Another silence. "God tells Moses exactly how to make the tabernacle. But I think it would be all right to do whatever makes it feel holy."