Not Again...
Sept 13, 2018 9:23:44 GMT -8
Post by jazzisblues on Sept 13, 2018 9:23:44 GMT -8
He floated ...
It was the only time when he could almost ignore the way gravity dragged down made him feel heavy and slow. The water felt and tasted strange because of the chemicals. It wasn’t dangerous, just an annoying undertone that stung his nose and his eyes. So he floated, and soaked up the water. Through it he could feel the vibrations of the world, and if he thought about it reach out to feel the warmth of his home deep in the ocean.
As his body floated in the warm waters of the pool, his mind drifted back in time to another woman he had cared about. It had been a rougher time, a coarser time when men warred for dominion over these islands. He’d been a soldier then, sent by his mother to this place to in her words, fight for the true king. And he had fought, to the point that his king, a man he loved as a brother, had made him the champion of his wife. Of course that’s when the problems had started. She was beautiful and naive and the king went off to fight his wars leaving her alone in the castle.
She stirred in her sleep turning pressing against him the furs drawn over them, the fire warming even as the flickering light played across her skin, her face heart stoppingly lovely. But that wasn’t why they were here, why they’d done ... this thing that all honor forbade. It was her strength that had drawn him to her, and her sorrow. Now, because strength had failed in the face of sorrow, and honor had been cast aside in the name of ... what? Of what, of love? Infatuation would be a better word. All would fall to ruin.
The king would learn of their betrayal, there was no question about that, and his wrath would fall hard particularly on her. Pain and death held no fear for him, he’d faced it many times, it was her pain that could not be born. The problem was that his presence would only make matters worse. If he was here there was no possible way the king could choose to ignore what they’d done. Others would expect him to feel shame, he didn’t, not really, but it would be expected.
He detangled himself from the curl of her embrace and slipped away like a thief in the night. She would wake to find him gone, think that she knew why he’d gone, and she would be both right and wrong. She would face the king’s anger alone, she would face fire and death, alone. That was what shamed him, not what they’d done but that in his own cowardice he convinced himself that leaving would be better than at least dying together. He’d returned before the end, but not in time. Not in time to save either her, or the king both of whom he loved, and nothing could wash that away.
It wasn’t the first time he’d failed to understand human taboos and mores. But he’d been young then, and foolish. The tragedy that followed was quite literally the stuff of legend. That the legends got it all wrong was unimportant. The spirit of the legends was pretty close to the reality. What they didn’t get was the lasting pain and guilt of what he’d caused.
Now, after all this time there was another woman as unreachable as the first but for different reasons. Again, she was a queen, but this time a queen of business. Why was he always so drawn to such women? Perhaps it was their strength, or power. Faiza was different though, stronger in her way, but also more brittle. She kept people at a distance by projecting an aura of fierceness, but he saw the loneliness she hid even from herself. He saw the pain she kept at bay by pouring herself into her work. Even her power pained her, innumerable small ,and not so small, injuries that she tried to keep hidden away.
A ripple ...
His eyes opened, someone had disturbed the surface of the pool, broken the inherent tension of the water. She stood by the side of the pool watching him not at all understanding what she was seeing. He pushed off towards her, remembering to keep his motions slow, “best not to alarm her.” Grasping the edge of the pool he pushed himself up into the heavy awkward air.
Her eyes flickered over him and then away as if embarrassed to notice him. It had taken him some time to understand why surface dwellers always covered themselves in cloth and skins. He had laughed out loud when he discovered that it was considered taboo among them to go about naked. At home the king and queen sometimes wore clothes, but that was for ornamentation not for modesty.
She seemed uncomfortable so he wrapped in a towel covering himself to her obvious relief.
“So is Lance even your real name?” she asked still trying not to look at him.
“Yes it is ... well, it’s a diminutive of my name.”
“What’s your full name?” she pressed with an arched eyebrow.
His sigh was one of embarrassment, clearly he didn’t really want to say, but he wasn’t about to refuse, “This is embarrassing, my full name is Lancelot du Lac.” He was very relieved when in her amusement she didn’t think to press for more information. That would have been awkward. He wasn’t sure how she would react to the knowledge that he was somewhere on the order of 2000 years old. Yes, he was in fact, THAT Lancelot. His mother was the Lady of the Lake of ancient myth and legend, and his father was ... well, the king of Atlantis, a place everyone believed at best lost to history and at worst never even existed.
As he dressed one thought echoed over and over again in his thoughts, “Not again, not this time.” This time, no matter what came, no matter what the cost, no matter what he had to do, he would not leave her to face her trials alone, he would not abandon her. No matter what.
It was the only time when he could almost ignore the way gravity dragged down made him feel heavy and slow. The water felt and tasted strange because of the chemicals. It wasn’t dangerous, just an annoying undertone that stung his nose and his eyes. So he floated, and soaked up the water. Through it he could feel the vibrations of the world, and if he thought about it reach out to feel the warmth of his home deep in the ocean.
As his body floated in the warm waters of the pool, his mind drifted back in time to another woman he had cared about. It had been a rougher time, a coarser time when men warred for dominion over these islands. He’d been a soldier then, sent by his mother to this place to in her words, fight for the true king. And he had fought, to the point that his king, a man he loved as a brother, had made him the champion of his wife. Of course that’s when the problems had started. She was beautiful and naive and the king went off to fight his wars leaving her alone in the castle.
She stirred in her sleep turning pressing against him the furs drawn over them, the fire warming even as the flickering light played across her skin, her face heart stoppingly lovely. But that wasn’t why they were here, why they’d done ... this thing that all honor forbade. It was her strength that had drawn him to her, and her sorrow. Now, because strength had failed in the face of sorrow, and honor had been cast aside in the name of ... what? Of what, of love? Infatuation would be a better word. All would fall to ruin.
The king would learn of their betrayal, there was no question about that, and his wrath would fall hard particularly on her. Pain and death held no fear for him, he’d faced it many times, it was her pain that could not be born. The problem was that his presence would only make matters worse. If he was here there was no possible way the king could choose to ignore what they’d done. Others would expect him to feel shame, he didn’t, not really, but it would be expected.
He detangled himself from the curl of her embrace and slipped away like a thief in the night. She would wake to find him gone, think that she knew why he’d gone, and she would be both right and wrong. She would face the king’s anger alone, she would face fire and death, alone. That was what shamed him, not what they’d done but that in his own cowardice he convinced himself that leaving would be better than at least dying together. He’d returned before the end, but not in time. Not in time to save either her, or the king both of whom he loved, and nothing could wash that away.
It wasn’t the first time he’d failed to understand human taboos and mores. But he’d been young then, and foolish. The tragedy that followed was quite literally the stuff of legend. That the legends got it all wrong was unimportant. The spirit of the legends was pretty close to the reality. What they didn’t get was the lasting pain and guilt of what he’d caused.
Now, after all this time there was another woman as unreachable as the first but for different reasons. Again, she was a queen, but this time a queen of business. Why was he always so drawn to such women? Perhaps it was their strength, or power. Faiza was different though, stronger in her way, but also more brittle. She kept people at a distance by projecting an aura of fierceness, but he saw the loneliness she hid even from herself. He saw the pain she kept at bay by pouring herself into her work. Even her power pained her, innumerable small ,and not so small, injuries that she tried to keep hidden away.
A ripple ...
His eyes opened, someone had disturbed the surface of the pool, broken the inherent tension of the water. She stood by the side of the pool watching him not at all understanding what she was seeing. He pushed off towards her, remembering to keep his motions slow, “best not to alarm her.” Grasping the edge of the pool he pushed himself up into the heavy awkward air.
Her eyes flickered over him and then away as if embarrassed to notice him. It had taken him some time to understand why surface dwellers always covered themselves in cloth and skins. He had laughed out loud when he discovered that it was considered taboo among them to go about naked. At home the king and queen sometimes wore clothes, but that was for ornamentation not for modesty.
She seemed uncomfortable so he wrapped in a towel covering himself to her obvious relief.
“So is Lance even your real name?” she asked still trying not to look at him.
“Yes it is ... well, it’s a diminutive of my name.”
“What’s your full name?” she pressed with an arched eyebrow.
His sigh was one of embarrassment, clearly he didn’t really want to say, but he wasn’t about to refuse, “This is embarrassing, my full name is Lancelot du Lac.” He was very relieved when in her amusement she didn’t think to press for more information. That would have been awkward. He wasn’t sure how she would react to the knowledge that he was somewhere on the order of 2000 years old. Yes, he was in fact, THAT Lancelot. His mother was the Lady of the Lake of ancient myth and legend, and his father was ... well, the king of Atlantis, a place everyone believed at best lost to history and at worst never even existed.
As he dressed one thought echoed over and over again in his thoughts, “Not again, not this time.” This time, no matter what came, no matter what the cost, no matter what he had to do, he would not leave her to face her trials alone, he would not abandon her. No matter what.