Riiiiiiight so since no ones reading my fic... I've got half the heart to just give up on it, but I'm not that type of person so I'm going to try and finish (argh). I think I might try something shorter and possibly funny next time... irrelevantly I'll still get no reviews.
If you are reading... then Whoop Dee Doo for you. (it rhymes feel special)
This chapter is called: Killing Gawain.
Gawain walked slowly up the charred hallway leading up to the Roman Tower with a curly blond girl of four and half years trailing closely behind him. The child never left his side, always clinging to the laces of his tall leather boots.
He sat in the center of the black circular room.
Twelve windows around the whole room, with the singed remains of the once white lace curtains moving uniformly in the cross wind. The shattered glass of the windows covered the floor.
Gawain reminisced as he looked at the pieces of glass reflecting the pink light of the setting sun.
The little girl had since been sent away and sleepily obliged.
As Gawain lay back on the floor, he felt the sharp glass cut into his body.
PAIN.
He lifted his hand and quietly watched the deep red blood drip down his arm only to stain his white chemise. He put his hand over his heart and his pupils dilated.
Thoughts raced through his mind.
Was he? Should he? Could he? Did he? No answers came. No solution came. The future hadn't come.
He was scared to be weak and susceptible. This had been the last blow. Was this it? He didn't know. He was scared and his indecisiveness scared him more.
He broke out in a cold sweat.
He had trained everyday to be strong. He had built up economically and socially. But what he hadn't prepared was his mind. Would it rot? He had let in emotion, and now it had conquered him.
He heard heavy footsteps.
He quickly jumped up, not feeling the glass, he left the room and headed down the stairway expecting to meet someone, anticipating the owner of the heavy steps. He met no one.
Yes this is angsty... only slightly... haha... have to love sarcasm. I think everyone has the right to be or feel fucked up, and a lot of people suffer silently and then put on a façade. This is what is great about writing, because you can see a different view of people, and they seem more real. More like everyone else and less plastic.
That was my uh lets just say it was my way-too-deep thought of the day, or update, whatever. Next chapter will deal with Galahad and Tristan when they return to Tristan's castle, whatever I named it.