Whew! That took a lot longer than I would have liked--busy week. Anonymous reviewer, I continue to disagree with you. From what I found before I wrote this, many biblical scholars interpret the Jonathan/David story as a love story. I don't know what your viewpoint or background is, so I'll just leave it at that.
Anyway. This is probably the last chapter, though I might do another, shorter fic chronicling the last few times David and Jonathan meet, and when David reclaims Michal. And when Jonathan dies and stuff--so dramatic! But it would definitely be a separate fic.
Anyway, I'd appreciate any feedback you might have on this, whether positive or negative. It's been a neat experience, but I don't exactly know anyone who wants to beta-Bibleslash.
Without any further delays...
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Jonathan did not sleep that night. Just as the sun rose, he finally gave up trying, and headed to his sister's chambers.
She was awake, as well, but Jonathan saw that there was still something in her bed. Michal herself was standing facing the bed, her back to the door and her hands on her hips.
"Michal," he said softly.
She turned to him, smiling slightly. "Convincing enough?" she asked, gesturing to the lump in her bed. "It's David," she said, by way of explanation. "I stole him from my garden; and now he's sick, poor thing."
Jonathan was now able to recognize the statue his sister had tucked into her bed. It was wrapped tightly in sheets, and its head was buried in pillows of goat hair. It almost looked like a person, if you didn't look too closely.
"Perfect," Jonathan said, and wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulders.
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Jonathan and Michal decided to enter breakfast about ten minutes apart that morning in order to avoid suspicion. Jonathan decided to go first, while Michal staying in her room and pretended to attend to "David."
Jonathan noticed his father's eyes widen in surprise as he entered alone, but he kept his head high and pretended he didn't notice. It felt distinctly odd, not having David beside him. He had hardly been without him at all for months, and he had grown used to feeling David's hand brushing against his as they walked, and feeling his breath blow light and warm across his neck. He had not noticed how alone he had been before David.
He sat across from Saul. It was not his usual seat; but he fully expected to be interrogated, and he didn't want his father to think he had anything to hide. Besides, if Michal staying in her usual place, it would mean sitting beside him.
Saul looked at him with narrowed eyes. "And where is your dear friend this morning?" he asked with an acid tinged voice.
Jonathan raised his eyebrows in feigned ignorance. "You mean David?" he replied calmly. "I'm not sure. With Michal, I suppose, as she is his wife."
Saul chuckled as though Jonathan had told a good joke. "You know very well I mean David," he said. "You are never without him; he spends more time with you than with Michal."
Jonathan simply went back to eating, dipping a piece of bread in olive oil. "I suppose you'll have to ask her," he said, a note of finality in his voice.
Saul asked him nothing else. Jonathan felt as though he had achieved a victory of sorts.
When Michal entered, no hint of fear was on her face. She carried herself regally, her handmaiden trailing behind her. She took her usual seat; beside Jonathan and across from Saul.
"Hello, Father," she said lightly, "Jonathan."
Saul reached across the table and stopped her hand before it reached her food. "Where is your husband?" he asked suspiciously.
An expression of sadness worked it's way onto her face as she said, "I'm afraid he's not feeling well. He's still in bed."
Saul's face once again showed surprise. "You mean he went to bed with you?" he asked.
Jonathan had never heard his father be so terribly blunt. His chest constricted, and it took everything he had to avoid looking at Michal. But he saw her out of the corner of his eye all the same. Her face was scarlet, and real tears stung her eyes. She was looking miserably at her brother. "Of course," she said unconvincingly. "Why shouldn't he? He is my husband."
The lie, Jonathan knew, was an utter waste of time. People knew that David had not taken a real attraction to his wife—though Jonathan was relieved that they did not seem to know the reason for that. The servants responsible for tending to Michal's chamber were bound to notice things, and gossip spread quickly. Even so, it was a blow to hear it said so bluntly, and from Saul of all people.
Jonathan was certain that he had not heard the last of this.
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But, at least for this afternoon, he was safe.
He spent the afternoon in his garden. He lay down beneath the tree where he had met David. Some of its blossoms had fallen to the ground, and the petals caught in his hair. They smelled faintly of David.
The rest were rotting on the branches. The petals were drooping, turning gray and wilting. They smelled of old fruit and dirty water.
There was one, however, that was still fresh and still on the tree. Jonathan plucked it and pressed it into his palm. He was almost able to pretend it was David's hand.
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Jonathan had grown quite good at pretending.
He had pretended that he would be able to go on with David forever.
He had pretended that Michal would not mind.
He had pretended that he would be able to live without David.
And now, quite suddenly, it was all falling apart.
Because he could not ignore the smug way his father stared at him when they crossed paths.
He could not ignore Michal's pallid face, or the creases of worry across her forehead.
But hardest of all to ignore was the empty space beside him in bed when he woke up every morning.
And so he formulated other fanciful thoughts.
He lay on David's favorite bench, and pretended that if he reached out his hand, David would catch it with his own.
He pretended that the music he heard floating from his father's quarters was David—a little out of practice, a little scared, but finally back.
He pretended that they were both dead; floating through the stars together.
He did not know which he wished was true.
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If Jonathan had learned anything, it was that nothing lasts forever.
And so it was with the strange sort of peace that had existed since David had gone into hiding.
For two days Michal had carried on her charade. Saul had accepted David's illness.
But on the third morning, he was furious. He waited until Michal and Jonathan were both seated for breakfast before ordering servants to bring David in on his bed. "And then," he told them, as the servants hurried out the door, "I shall kill him in front of you. I know of the deception my own children have tried to make."
Jonathan thought he would be sick. Michal gripped his wrist, and her knuckles were white.
They endured a few minutes of this terrible suspense before it was replaced by certain knowledge. A servant ran back into the room, shouting. "King Saul, King Saul!" he called. "David is not in his room, sir! We found only a stone idol and pillows beneath the blankets."
Michal swayed sideways, nearly fainting. Jonathan clutched her shoulder.
Saul stood and moved across the room to his children.
"Why have you deceived me like this?" he asked Michal, his voice dangerously low. "You have allowed my enemy to escape."
"He—threatened to—kill me," she managed to say, he voice strangled in her throat. A sob escaped her mouth.
Saul struck her across the face, and she fell silent, shivering terribly. She fell to her knees at her father's feet.
"Jonathan, my son," he said, ignoring his daughter. "Come with me."
Jonathan spared a glance at his sister over his shoulder before following Saul outside, into the king's private gardens.
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They walked silently for several minutes before Saul stopped abruptly. Jonathan stopped behind him.
"Sit," Saul ordered. Jonathan sat.
Saul stayed standing, and continued pacing for another minute, not once glancing at Jonathan. Jonathan felt a ball of anxiety tightening in his stomach, and resisted the urge to speak.
"My son," he said finally, still not looking at him. "Why have you done this?"
Jonathan stared at his father, beseeching him to just glance his way. "I don't know what you mean," he said quietly.
Saul raised his voice, waving his arm furiously. His back was still to his son. "You know perfectly well what I mean," he said. "You—perverse—rebellious—man! You can be no son of mine."
Jonathan stared at his feet and felt his face turning red. "Father, I—"
"Do not call me 'Father,'" Saul hissed. "I know very well that you have chosen that—David—over any woman."
"Father," Jonathan said. "David is a good man. The Lord is with him, you know this. And he has helped you achieve many victories against your enemies the Philistines. They are the real enemies, not David."
"He has corrupted my son!" Saul shouted. "At least you are willing to help me kill the Philistines."
"That is because the Philistines have done terrible things!" Jonathan shouted, leaping to his feet and loosing any pretense he might have had. "David is an innocent man!"
Saul glared furiously at his son. "Innocent?"
David stared at the ground. "I have nothing more to say," he said, keeping his voice deliberately calm. "But if God punishes you from this, you have no one to blame but yourself.
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Jonathan thought that perhaps he had made some sort of difference.
Saul continued his hunt for Jonathan, but, he said, he only wanted to bring him back to court. For his own good, he said.
Jonathan wondered at his own calmness. He thought that maybe he should be more worried for his friend; more distrustful of his father. But he did not remember the house this peaceful since he was a small boy; and if it made him selfish to want to see David again, then he thought he must be the most selfish man in the world.
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But when it came right down to it, he was almost afraid to see David again.
He was afraid that maybe he had made the entire thing up. Maybe David was the bowlegged, gray-haired monster he'd imagined.
Or worse, maybe he was as perfect as always. Maybe it was all real, and maybe David didn't love him anymore.
He tasted honey and thought of David.
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They finally found David, hiding in a rural village far away from the palace—and Jonathan.
Jonathan saw him as he arrived. There were guards on either side of him, though Jonathan could not even hazard a guess at who they were protecting. And David looked healthier and stronger than Jonathan has ever seen him. His face was sun-browned, and his arms were thick and muscular. His hair was clean and shining.
Jonathan, watching from a window high above the ground, wanted David to look at him. He wanted to be invisible. He was afraid of what he would see.
David looked up and saw him. His face did not change; he did not smile or nod.
But Jonathan saw the way his eyes brightened, and he remembered the solemn way David looked when he played his lyre.
He hummed a song under his breath the rest of the day; and didn't even remember that it was David who wrote it.
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His father had arranged for him to dine with a visiting cousin the night David arrived; out of spite, Jonathan thought.
And so he nodded his head in all the right places; while Jacob gesticulated wildly about campaigns he had fought in and battles he had won.
He would see David tonight.
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When he arrived home, David was waiting for him. He lay on his side in the middle of Jonathan's bed, facing the door. He wore nothing but a gold bracelet on his wrist, and his dark skin and hair contrasted perfectly with Jonathan's white sheets.
"Your father gave this to me," he said calmly as Jonathan entered, twiddling idly with the bracelet. "He said it was part of his apology."
Jonathan felt himself shaking. "David," he said weakly, sinking back against the door.
David finally looked up at Jonathan. His eyes were dark and intense. "I missed you," he said.
Jonathan nodded, and moved to stroke the side of David's face with his thumb. It was soft and warm, and he felt himself memorizing the feel of every pore and hair.
David smiled and kissed him. "Forgive me," he said. "I should not have left without fighting.
He was forgiven.
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They were carefuller this time.
They did not enter rooms together; they did not speak at meals. If Saul was in the room, one of them would quickly leave.
Jonathan thought it would last this time.
It would.
They were so careful.
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David did not speak to Michal much.
Yes, he thanked her for helping him escape.
And yes, he was polite to her when they did happen to meet.
But he did not seek her out—why should he?
Despite the fact that Jonathan knew he would be jealous, he almost wished David would.
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Promises fell out of his mouth faster than he could stop them.
They rolled down his tongue like water and crashed past his lips in waves.
He did not know what he was saying, but he felt it.
He said words that meant forever and only and perfection and beauty.
David listened to them quietly, and Jonathan promised him the world.
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"Where did you stay when you were gone?" Jonathan asked once.
"My mother's sister," he said. "They let me live with them and gave me meals; and I went back to being a shepherd. It was so different."
Jonathan hesitated. "Were you unhappy when we found you?" he asked.
David looked at him seriously. "The only think that stopped me from coming back by myself was the fact that I was afraid you would be angry."
And Jonathan believed him.
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David thought that Saul wanted to kill him again.
But Jonathan thought it was paranoia; it could not be anything other than paranoia. He would not let himself believe anything else.
"I don't understand why he wants to do this to me," David said, his voice anguished. "I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"
Jonathan kept silent.
"I don't believe he would," he finally said quietly. "But I promise to ask him."
This was one he could keep.
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His father was drunk the night he confronted him.
"David thinks you are trying to kill him," he said, trying to keep his voice light-hearted.
Saul tilted his head back and laughed. "Course I am," he said.
Jonathan left, and tried not to hear his father behind him.
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It was a joke; it had to be a joke.
He did not believe his father would do that.
David had only been back for about a month and a half now, and he had been perfect to Saul. There was nothing to object to, yet.
Jonathan would prefer to stay blind.
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Michal saw it, as well.
"You have to do something, Jonathan," she begged him. "Talk to our father, or let David leave. It isn't safe here for him right now."
"You do something if you're so worried," Jonathan said bitterly. "If I talk to Father again, it will only make him hate David more than he already does. And letting David go...Michal, I can't."
"I did," she said fiercely. "I let him go, and then when he came back I let him go again. I loved him, Jonathan—but I let him go. If I can do it, surely you can as well."
But Jonathan remembered that when they were younger, she had always been the one to decide which games they played. She was the one who commanded their mother and father's attention; the beautiful one, the brilliant one.
He was the one who followed.
He was not sure he could follow her in this.
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Jonathan was there the day Saul tried, once again, to have David killed.
Saul was a trained warrior, and the spear he flung at David as David made his way through the gardens was swift and straight, and would have pierced his heart.
David threw himself to the ground, and the spear gashed into his arm, splitting skin and muscle and pouring blood onto the dirt.
Jonathan helped him to his feet, and they ran.
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Running with David, Jonathan imagined, was rather like flying.
Neither of them spoke a word to the other, but their tunics brushed together and Jonathan was acutely aware of David's presence beside him.
They stopped in the same breath, in a field outside the city. They had come here before; Jonathan was fond of practicing archery, and David was fond of watching.
Jonathan took David's palm and pressed it to his lips, and held it to his chest. Then he helped David make his way to a stone, and sit on it. He was pale and sweaty, and his arm was sticky with blood.
Jonathan pressed his tunic to it to quench the bleeding, and it stained red instantly. He tore off a strip and tied it just above the wound. David laid on the ground, curled tightly into a ball. Jonathan stroked his forehead and pushed his curls from his face.
Jonathan stoked David's hand with his own, and bent to kiss him. "You can't stay," he said softly. "This can't happen again." It cost him everything he had to force the words out of his throat. He wanted nothing more than to be with David forever. But he meant it. He would rather be David be a hundred miles away and alive than dead because of him.
David shivered, and Jonathan wrapped his arms around him.
"At least...ask...your father," David pleaded.
How could anyone say no?
"I'll be back at sunset," Jonathan promised.
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When Jonathan arrived back home, Saul was already properly remorseful.
He bowed his head upon seeing his son. "Forgive me," he said; but it was more an order than a request.
Jonathan felt his stomach curl in disgust. "Will David be safe here?" he asked.
Saul nodded fervently. "It was only an old man's mistake," he said. "And Jonathan, your father is growing old. You know—as long as David is here, our line is not secure."
Jonathan nodded. "I know, father," he said.
Saul sighed and clapped his son's shoulder. "We will talk later," he said. "But now, where is David?"
Jonathan felt his fists tighten. He did not believe his father. "He asked me permission to visit his family for the holiday," he said.
Saul nodded. "Well, when he returns, he can dine with me."
Jonathan nodded and hurried to his room. He had to pack some food.
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After he'd filled a pouch with bread and grapes and a wine skin, he tried to sneak out quietly.
Michal, unfortunately, was waiting in the courtyard.
"What's in the pack?" she asked suspiciously.
"Nothing, Michal," he said tiredly. "Don't worry."
Her face was sad. "David's leaving, isn't he?"
He thought that maybe it would be better to lie to her, but he did not have the energy. Instead, he touched her hand and said, "Yes."
"For good, this time?"
He hesitated and bowed his head. "I think so," he said quietly.
She nodded. "You must see him," she said.
Jonathan nodded. "I am," he said. "Now."
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It was about a five mile walk back to David's hiding place, and he was already tired. It was sunset by the time he arrived; pink and orange shafts of light making the air glow. David was standing; which he supposed was a good sign; a black silhouette thrown against the horizon. He was plucking his lyre.
David turned and saw him, and nodded his head in acknowledgment. "I brought you some food," Jonathan said, and they shared a meal in silence. He fed David with his own hands, and felt his chapped lips brush against his knuckles.
"It's your sister," David said suddenly, rising to his feet and knocking a piece of bread into the dirt.
And it was. Michal was about a hundred feet away from them, swaying slightly as she walked.
David hurried towards her, and Jonathan stayed behind. But he could hear some of what was being said.
"I wanted to say goodbye," she said. Her voice trembled. Jonathan turned away; he was not sure he wanted to see.
"I know," David said simply. "I'm glad."
"Listen," she said, "I know you don't care for me, but—David, I love you. And I love my brother as well; and I'm sorry if I've hurt either of you. It never should have come to this."
Jonathan turned back just in time to see David hug her gently. "You are a good woman, Michal," he said, "And you have been a good friend."
She nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Take this," she said, and slipped something off of her finger. "Keep it with you." It was her ring.
She was gone as quickly as she came, without uttering a word to her brother.
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It was completely dark by the time Michal was out of sight. The stars lit up the sky. There was no moon, but Jonathan felt as if he could see forever.
He flung himself on the ground, staring straight up at the sky. David flopped down beside him and kissed him gently. Jonathan ran his fingers through David's soft hair, and pressed his head to David's neck.
"Do you think we shall meet again after tonight?" David asked him finally.
"I don't know," Jonathan said slowly.
"We will," David said fiercely. "I will make it happen."
Jonathan tried his best to believe him. "You are so young, David," he whispered. "I will die before you. Will you care for my family when I am gone? I think Michal needs you."
David laughed. "Of course I will—but you aren't leaving anytime soon," he added, a hint of uncertainty making its way into his voice.
"I love you, David," he said softly. "More than anyone I've ever know. I think you are perfect in every way. I would change nothing about you."
David watched Jonathan solemnly. "I shall never be as happy as I am when I am with you," he said. "You bring joy to my heart that I did not believe possible."
Jonathan touched David's face and found it wet: he was crying. He let out a high, trembling laugh.
"You're crying too," David whispered.
Jonathan kissed him tenderly, and their tears fell into their lips. He held David and David sobbed in his arms; great, body-shaking sobs, and he felt his soul being dashed upon the ground.
They lay together until the sun came up. They kissed again, and David clung to his shoulders. They were both trying to put it off.
Actually watching David leave was the hardest thing Jonathan had ever done. David walked away backwards, and Jonathan was afraid to blink.
Jonathan sank to his knees as David disappeared over the horizon.
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When he returned home later that evening, he found Michal waiting for him at the entryway. She took his hand with hers and held it firmly.
"It'll be okay," she said. "You'll see him again."
She was so serene; so calm as she said it.
Jonathan could not help believing that this one last promise would be kept.
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