Disclaimer: I would just like to say I do NOT own any of the characters in this story and I don't claim to. I am merely writing for the love of the movie/mythology behind King Arthur and his Knights so please don't sue me.
Story Summary: Lancelot's POV and his thoughts after the final battle, a couple months down the line Don't read as it does contain spoilers!
Story Note: I am very very aware of what happened to Lancelot during the final battle but personally I didn't like the fact he died so I figured, I'd let him live and write a POV from him, just looking back over things.
Author's Note: Feedback is definitely appreciated! Please don't flame me too badly.
Sir Gloomy?
Never in a hundred years did I think, I of all people would be called by that name especially by Guinevere but I suppose it is a rather fitting nickname for my current mood as of late. Galahad tells me, my presence is missed during dinner, when they tell tales of the battles fought and won, fought and lost, they honor our friends who fell in battle and I'm told, they honor me too but I do not see the need for this. I survived the final battle, it is more than I can say for others, may they rest in peace and may their memories live on in our hearts. Dying, does in fact change a man, makes him think all the more over the things he has done and over the things he has not done. I have many regrets in my life, one of them is the fact that I am free and I have yet not returned home, I made a promise and it would seem, I've broken that promise but so many things have changed, I am a different man, in both mind and spirit.
Did you know, that when you die, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, there are no loved ones waiting for you, there is no utopia and there is no refuge for our weary, battle torn souls. Not that I expected anything else, I never did believe in all the stories we were told, I never believed in God and I certainly never believed in Heaven, I have been living in a Hell for so many years now, this is what I know is real, and oddly enough, my near death experience only served to make me more cynical than I am already, many would think that impossible to achieve but it would seem it is. I don't remember much of what occurred and how it happened, I simply remember seeing Guinevere struggling to fend off Cyric and all thought to my own well being became secondary, the Saxons who had surrounded me were all of a sudden gone, fought back by my blades just in time for me to catch the blade as it sliced down through the air towards Guinevere.
Anger guided me, courage kept my hand steady and for a moment or two, he was struggling, being fought back, he was mine to destroy and then all of a sudden, the bastard found a crossbow and with a sudden sharp flash of pain, the world was a blur, as I gazed down, I found the arrow there, protruding from my chest. I can clearly recall the first emotion I felt, it was one of shock and then horror, but soon, both gave way to anger yet again and with one last cry, I threw my sword, embedding its dark blade in Cyric's chest and as soon as I knew he was down, I fell...and after that, I remember little to nothing. I could feel myself slipping away, I could hear voices, but they all just blurred into the background, became one with the ringing in my ears. My skin, so usually warm was ice cold, my blood stained my armor, my skin, the skin of my friends, I cried out, I remember crying out in pain, grasping desperately at whomever was closest to me, just needing to know I was still in this world but as time past, I slipped, I lost this world, I found another, another of darkness and memories, it is true what they say, your life does in fact flash across your eyes just before you die.
I saw everything and I felt everything, and that's when many realisations hit me, I have so many things I have not done, have not said, and I suppose this is my third chance at doing and saying the things I have not but some things at not meant to be done or said, some things are meant to remain a secret. I am truly glad for Arthur and Guinevere and I am only sorry I was not able to attend their wedding, to see the two people I care most for in this world, as happy as that, it would have been quite something to see but I am told by Gawain, I was still very much in the throes of fever and delirium, I spoke of Arthur and I spoke of Guinevere, and most of all, I spoke of home. I think in the end, the home is where the heart is and mine is here, even if I came from another place, forced to fight, in the end, this place is home.
It's true what they say, scars are with you forever, I have one on my chest now, along with many others I have gained from battle but this one seems to hold more meaning, a little closer to the heart and I would have been gone, dead. When the metal pierce my skin, the world outside of that pain ceased to exist, I felt it bury within me, felt the blood rush to the surface and all of a sudden, I felt the despair, knowing I'd never have the chance to tell people how I really felt, what I kept hidden behind a veil of arrogance and charm, and then when I hit the ground, felt it shift around my form, felt the cold creeping into my bones, I wanted to weep, yes, the proud Lancelot, wanted to weep. Why? I can't really be sure, I do not think it was the thought of dying that pulled tears to my eyes, I think it was the realisation I'd never see any of my friends again, never laugh and never joke with them, and there was another realisation, the one of being free, I was finally free after so very long.
So many moments, I slipped in and out, back and forth, fighting so hard for something I didn't even know if I wanted anymore, I'm a fighter, I always have been and I vowed to die in battle, to go down fighting and perhaps this battle was not meant to be, but there are times in a man's life when he simply wants to stop fighting, to just let go, to actually achieve that state of being is rare and rather unknown for me, it is true, I can have most everything I want but that is now, it wasn't back then, back then, I fought for everything I had, I suppose just once, I wanted to let go but something inside of me, kept me fighting, kept me hanging on because they pulled me back from death, I awoke to Bors' face, he had been watching over me that night and for a moment, he stared at me almost as if he had seen a ghost, I muttered something incomprehensible before falling into unconsciousness, apparently I stayed in this state for more than a month, I didn't wake, I didn't stir, I had stopped muttering, my fever broken but yet, I hovered between life and death.
Oddly enough, when I was in that state, I recall people talking to me, I don't remember the words, I just remember the sound of their voices, the various accents, the different tones, and then with a sudden clarity, I was alive again, back in this world, and now I'm simply trying to find my way again, perhaps all of the above does suit my new nickname? Perhaps, perhaps, I simply felt the need to talk through a few things, there is so much more but those are the sort of things to be reserved for a private entry.
For now, I think I'm going to take a walk to clear my head.
Story Summary: Lancelot's POV and his thoughts after the final battle, a couple months down the line Don't read as it does contain spoilers!
Story Note: I am very very aware of what happened to Lancelot during the final battle but personally I didn't like the fact he died so I figured, I'd let him live and write a POV from him, just looking back over things.
Author's Note: Feedback is definitely appreciated! Please don't flame me too badly.
Sir Gloomy?
Never in a hundred years did I think, I of all people would be called by that name especially by Guinevere but I suppose it is a rather fitting nickname for my current mood as of late. Galahad tells me, my presence is missed during dinner, when they tell tales of the battles fought and won, fought and lost, they honor our friends who fell in battle and I'm told, they honor me too but I do not see the need for this. I survived the final battle, it is more than I can say for others, may they rest in peace and may their memories live on in our hearts. Dying, does in fact change a man, makes him think all the more over the things he has done and over the things he has not done. I have many regrets in my life, one of them is the fact that I am free and I have yet not returned home, I made a promise and it would seem, I've broken that promise but so many things have changed, I am a different man, in both mind and spirit.
Did you know, that when you die, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, there are no loved ones waiting for you, there is no utopia and there is no refuge for our weary, battle torn souls. Not that I expected anything else, I never did believe in all the stories we were told, I never believed in God and I certainly never believed in Heaven, I have been living in a Hell for so many years now, this is what I know is real, and oddly enough, my near death experience only served to make me more cynical than I am already, many would think that impossible to achieve but it would seem it is. I don't remember much of what occurred and how it happened, I simply remember seeing Guinevere struggling to fend off Cyric and all thought to my own well being became secondary, the Saxons who had surrounded me were all of a sudden gone, fought back by my blades just in time for me to catch the blade as it sliced down through the air towards Guinevere.
Anger guided me, courage kept my hand steady and for a moment or two, he was struggling, being fought back, he was mine to destroy and then all of a sudden, the bastard found a crossbow and with a sudden sharp flash of pain, the world was a blur, as I gazed down, I found the arrow there, protruding from my chest. I can clearly recall the first emotion I felt, it was one of shock and then horror, but soon, both gave way to anger yet again and with one last cry, I threw my sword, embedding its dark blade in Cyric's chest and as soon as I knew he was down, I fell...and after that, I remember little to nothing. I could feel myself slipping away, I could hear voices, but they all just blurred into the background, became one with the ringing in my ears. My skin, so usually warm was ice cold, my blood stained my armor, my skin, the skin of my friends, I cried out, I remember crying out in pain, grasping desperately at whomever was closest to me, just needing to know I was still in this world but as time past, I slipped, I lost this world, I found another, another of darkness and memories, it is true what they say, your life does in fact flash across your eyes just before you die.
I saw everything and I felt everything, and that's when many realisations hit me, I have so many things I have not done, have not said, and I suppose this is my third chance at doing and saying the things I have not but some things at not meant to be done or said, some things are meant to remain a secret. I am truly glad for Arthur and Guinevere and I am only sorry I was not able to attend their wedding, to see the two people I care most for in this world, as happy as that, it would have been quite something to see but I am told by Gawain, I was still very much in the throes of fever and delirium, I spoke of Arthur and I spoke of Guinevere, and most of all, I spoke of home. I think in the end, the home is where the heart is and mine is here, even if I came from another place, forced to fight, in the end, this place is home.
It's true what they say, scars are with you forever, I have one on my chest now, along with many others I have gained from battle but this one seems to hold more meaning, a little closer to the heart and I would have been gone, dead. When the metal pierce my skin, the world outside of that pain ceased to exist, I felt it bury within me, felt the blood rush to the surface and all of a sudden, I felt the despair, knowing I'd never have the chance to tell people how I really felt, what I kept hidden behind a veil of arrogance and charm, and then when I hit the ground, felt it shift around my form, felt the cold creeping into my bones, I wanted to weep, yes, the proud Lancelot, wanted to weep. Why? I can't really be sure, I do not think it was the thought of dying that pulled tears to my eyes, I think it was the realisation I'd never see any of my friends again, never laugh and never joke with them, and there was another realisation, the one of being free, I was finally free after so very long.
So many moments, I slipped in and out, back and forth, fighting so hard for something I didn't even know if I wanted anymore, I'm a fighter, I always have been and I vowed to die in battle, to go down fighting and perhaps this battle was not meant to be, but there are times in a man's life when he simply wants to stop fighting, to just let go, to actually achieve that state of being is rare and rather unknown for me, it is true, I can have most everything I want but that is now, it wasn't back then, back then, I fought for everything I had, I suppose just once, I wanted to let go but something inside of me, kept me fighting, kept me hanging on because they pulled me back from death, I awoke to Bors' face, he had been watching over me that night and for a moment, he stared at me almost as if he had seen a ghost, I muttered something incomprehensible before falling into unconsciousness, apparently I stayed in this state for more than a month, I didn't wake, I didn't stir, I had stopped muttering, my fever broken but yet, I hovered between life and death.
Oddly enough, when I was in that state, I recall people talking to me, I don't remember the words, I just remember the sound of their voices, the various accents, the different tones, and then with a sudden clarity, I was alive again, back in this world, and now I'm simply trying to find my way again, perhaps all of the above does suit my new nickname? Perhaps, perhaps, I simply felt the need to talk through a few things, there is so much more but those are the sort of things to be reserved for a private entry.
For now, I think I'm going to take a walk to clear my head.