[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

[summerdude]

"I was thinking, when it's warm enough... do you want to try camping?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Yes." He doesn't need to think about that.

[summerdude]

"You can stay with me and, uh, Alex," unable to even think about slowing the instinctive smile he gets when he thinks about how Alex is here, with him, at his camp now, "Or we could do it up and find a tent and a new spot. For the adventure of it all."

[onthewillowsthere]

It reminds him of Percival, of what he can't have back -- the fire, the stars, the bedroll, Percival's body settled against his back. He touches Magnus' hand. "An adventure."

[summerdude]

Magnus threads their fingers together. "Awesome," he says. "Hey, if you want an adventure earlier than that, I could talk to Little John about you and me exploring the cave." He's already been in, of course, but there might be more to it than he and Gu Xiang found.

[onthewillowsthere]

"We could do that," cautiously. He's never met Little John, but he trusts Magnus' judgement in who he'd get along with, moreso now that he's met Gu Xiang and she wasn't absolutely disappointed in him.

[summerdude]

"You'll like it. There are really cool rocks." Which reminds him, Galahad hasn't looked at the really cool rocks Magnus put in his Easter basket. There's plenty of time for that, though. He pulls Galahad in closer for a big snuggle.

[onthewillowsthere]

He snuggles back. Magnus is so warm and so solid, and Galahad is starting to feel as if things might be all right again at some point, instead of just endlessly open and aching.

[summerdude]

The sunlight he called into the room brightens by a few degrees as he runs a hand up and down Galahad's spine. Since the accident, he's been holding onto fear, in the quieter moments, which is part of why he's been bustling around so much this week. It's only when he's curled up with Alex or with Galahad that it feels like something he can look at and not be overwhelmed by.

[onthewillowsthere]

After a little while, he asks, "Is there something we can do so if you need me you can call me?"

[summerdude]

"I don't think cell phones work out here," Magnus says, thoughtfully. "But there should be something. I want one for you too." Tin can telephones obviously wouldn't work, it'd be obnoxious to figure out a string that could stretch that long without getting in everyone's way. But -- "Hey, didn't Shen Yuan make those notes fly that one time?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"Did he?"

[summerdude]

"When he needed help getting ready for his date?" Magnus is pretty sure they flew.

[onthewillowsthere]

His eyes light with recognition. "Yes."

[summerdude]

"So maybe he could help us out," Magnus says. "Or, I guess -- SecUnit got me when your hand was really bad, and it got Alex after the sword thing." Why hadn't it gotten Galahad? He should ask it that. He's pretty sure he mentioned Galahad a million times. "But I think relying on SecUnit to always keep track is probably a big ask."

[onthewillowsthere]

"It has the drones," Galahad agrees (it had promised to look over Claudius with them, a promise he still holds close to his heart). "We should ask Shen Yuan. --Does he know?"

[summerdude]

Magnus makes a face. "Only if someone else told him," he admits. "I haven't exactly been, like. Spreading the word."

[onthewillowsthere]

"If I see him, may I tell him?"

[summerdude]

"Oh, sure. It's not a secret," Magnus says. "It just feels weird to go up to people and be like, 'hey dude, how's it going? Oh swell, that's great. Me? Yeah, pretty good too, except for how I almost died but for real this time.'"

[onthewillowsthere]

He nods, although there's a hollow feeling in his chest when Magnus says I almost died.

[summerdude]

Yeah, Magnus feels it too. He curls up closer to Galahad.

[onthewillowsthere]

"Thank you for coming," softly.

[summerdude]

"I'm always gonna come."

[onthewillowsthere]

A little space of quiet. "The first time-- it was a long time before anyone noticed. This time you came right away. I'm glad it's different now. I'm glad you were here to notice."

[summerdude]

"Me too, buddy," says Magnus, and then he tilts his head back so he can squint at Galahad. "Is it as bad now as it was then?"