Goodnight
Part 1: Lancelot.
"Goodnight! Parting is such sweet sorrow." – Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare.
The smell of blood was thick in the air. It clawed at my nostrils, harsh and metallic. It mingled with the smoke that stung my eyes. Then the pain swept my body and brought me to my knees, and I realised that it was my own blood I smelt. It was pouring down my armour from where the dart had pierced me. I thought it ironic that I should be shot in the chest. (Had my heart not already been broken beyond repair when this final insult came!)
There she was, buried under a sea of Saxons. She's brave, I thought. For a heartbeat I thought to have left her to her fate but I knew Arthur could not have borne it. I had no choice and it was my undoing. For Arthur. I fight for Arthur. I stayed for him. I bled for him. I loved only him. I die for him.
I die here in her lap and she weeps. I find I don't hate her anymore. If she can care and find tears for someone who so jealously resented her presence, then she can love someone whose life I prized more dearly than my own.
Just don't forget about me. Remember the sacrifice I made for you both, and not just the sacrifice of my life. Ever since she came into our lives, your eyes have strayed her way. You spoke of Britain as your home and you left no place for me in your musings. She reminds you of the mother you lost; she was of this land too. Arthur, I would have followed you to the end, to Rome even, so I could stay by your side. Sarmatia could not be my home… butthere is no home for me now that I'm on the precipice.
I'm passing. I can feel it. I wanted to look at him once more before I let go; I wanted to feel his touch. I never could have believed this mortal wound would sting less than the tears in my eyes, but it is just so. I cannot feel the injury now. Am I that close? Look after him, I wanted to say to Guinevere. If I'm lucky, I'll come back a stallion that I may carry him through these lands, his faithful companion, as I was in this life.
Farewell, Arthur. Artorius Castus; a King among men, my leader, the friend of my heart. So many nights I would I had died in your arms. I take my leave, never to sit at your table and drink with you, never again to lie in your bed. Goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow.
Part 2: Arthur.
"Now cracks a noble heart. −Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!" −Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare.
I realise the choice had been made for me as I kneel over your body, Lancelot. I find an unhappy moment of incredible silence amidst the battle. Guinevere mourns you there, kneeling by your side and I too weep. I have cried for the loss of all the knights before this, most recently for the loss of Tristan in a fruitless fight. And lastly, and most bitterly, I cry for you, Lancelot, brave Knight, lying here in my arms. I have held you in my arms many times before. But then you returned my embrace and you flowed with life. It hurts me that you should be so still… Death does not quench the beauty in your face, but it has stolen the fire in your eyes and there is no Lancelot without that light I betrayed him, I say to myself, and it has broken him. I blame myself that he has departed.
I curse my God, a God I worshipped so faithfully. Have I been abandoned, has God ignored my prayers? Did I not beg him to take me and spare my friends? Were Lancelot and Tristan the price for my attempted absolution? Or did you make the hard decision for me because you knew I could not? I could not make him stay when he wanted away from here so badly, I could only desire it, but I thought 'away' meant Sarmatia… or Rome with me… not the next world. He made to leave because he knew in his heart I was leaning towards her. His pride was hurt, his hopes were dashed; he did not want to stand in my way. He knows me too well… or should I say he knew me? I had said that I would stay; I said they could leave because I wanted them to be safe, but they came to my side anyway, as I had secretly hoped. They are loyal to the end; not just my men, but also my friends.
Guinevere or Lancelot… and whereto from there, Britain or Rome? Those were the two divergent paths that layahead. It does indeed appear that choices have been made for me. I am to be with Guinevere, and with her I take Britain as my home. So here I'll stay, and I'll watch her tears draw lines down the woad on her face until all the warmth has left your skin. Lancelot, sweet friend, you did not even say farewell. I'll burn your body and the East Wind will carry your ashes home to Sarmatia. But I'll keep your pendant for myself, Lion heart, with your curly mane that I love. I would twine my fingers in it and stifle your roars with adoration.
And when the Saxons are dead, I'll stand over Tristan's body and close his eyes against the world. I'll burn you both. I'll make a monument to you and let no-one forget what you did for this land, what you did for me. I'll stay here and I'll make sure your name is remembered throughout the ages, Lancelot, the noble knight. The whole world shall hear of your deeds. And who will help me in this task? Bors will stay with his children and Vanora. Gawain and Galahad need no other home than each other, so they will stay too. We've already lost so much, why lose our brotherhood as well?
Why are you grown so cold already? I've dispatched that foul Saxon to the halls of his fathers and I thought to stay by your side a moment longer and maybepretend you are only sleeping, stretched out on the grass, like you used to when you were younger. Do you remember? I'd sneak up on you and wrestle with you down the hills and then hold you as the night came. But there is now a nation to protect and Guinevere will be the one soothing my aches at night for your hands are lifeless. I'll touch your brow once more, dear friend, and I'll say goodbye. Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.