[tms] 29.5 - trapped
Dec. 10th, 2009 12:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
priceonmysoulNOTE: Takes place after this.
Lance stood on the bank of the Lake, and kissing her was all he could remember.
Bathed in moonlight, chilled by the thick rolling fog that coalesced at the center of the still waters, hiding the mystic island of Avalon from sight, he tried to remember the prophecy he knew now as truth. He tried to think of his lessons as a boy in the great castle, sitting on the balcony with his Mum by his side, smiling and laughing in the sunshine as he recited his lessons from memory with the lisp he hadn’t shed until he was nine.
“What does The Prophecy tell us?”
“Thriceborn seven times shall his fathers be, both young an’ old, wise an’ brash. Never again shall his head wear th’ crown, though power rests ‘pon his shoulders with Sight an’ Sword to sus…sustain him.”
“Very good, little soldier! Keep going.”
“Ummm…oh! Then…I mean only then will th’ new Round Table take shape forev’rmore, ruled by lords of virtue in a godless world!”
He saw his Lady’s smile, felt the simple warmth of a child’s triumph…until that warmth melted into the heat of feminine curves molded to his body, delicate fingers absently tracing the cords of his neck and shoulders. Again, he tried to think of The Prophecy, of Arthur’s dreams and what they meant. He thought of his vows to Avalon and the Pendragon name.
He felt the weight of the blade as it touched each shoulder, the sound of his Lady’s voice cool and haughty in his ears.
“I knight thee, Sir Lance Dulac, and name thee lord of Lakeshire.”
His heart swelled to near bursting with pride and fear as he lifted his head…
…and instead of eyes as blue as the still waters of the Lake, he found eyes that shone like the sky at dawn, the brilliant electric color of the first glorious rays of the sun touching the world…
A choked sound escaped him as he sank to a crouch, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Words ran through his mind, empty of meaning and emotion now that she was on him like a fallen angel dragging him straight into Hell with the promise of her taste, her touch, her body. She was a friend, a sister, and now that he’d given up his self-control, she was a curse on his mind and soul.
Above all else, to thy word be true, for trust can only grow in the soil of equal ground. The code of honor he’d pledged his life to uphold demanded no less…the honor of his ancestor and his family name demanded no less.
Lancelot betrayed his king for a woman’s touch. Lance wouldn’t stir his ancestor’s spirit from eternal rest by dishonoring him for the same. He was trapped between desire and duty, and the pain was more than he could bear.
He tried to remember his vows, but kissing Gwenyth was all he could remember. His flesh burned for her…as did his heart and soul. The sacred flame had been replaced by the fire of passion, of love for more than his legacy.
He couldn’t bear the pain.
Lifting his head, he opened his eyes to the night sky, still seeing her face before him. It was a struggle to banish her, just for a moment, just long enough to cry for help.
“I invoke the blessed isle, Avalon! Bear home your wayward son!”
Ripples appeared on the still lake, growing in intensity until they crested in a massive wave as a figure rose, bursting from the center and moving towards the bank.
An alabaster boat glided up to him, a half-sphere that floated lightly on the water, pale in the moonlight as it waited for him.
Lance didn’t waste a second as he rose and wordlessly climbed in, sitting as the vessel began to slide away from the shore, carrying him away from sleepy little Lakeshire and straight into the heart of the impenetrable mists of Avalon.
Muse: Lance Dulac
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 672
Lance stood on the bank of the Lake, and kissing her was all he could remember.
Bathed in moonlight, chilled by the thick rolling fog that coalesced at the center of the still waters, hiding the mystic island of Avalon from sight, he tried to remember the prophecy he knew now as truth. He tried to think of his lessons as a boy in the great castle, sitting on the balcony with his Mum by his side, smiling and laughing in the sunshine as he recited his lessons from memory with the lisp he hadn’t shed until he was nine.
“What does The Prophecy tell us?”
“Thriceborn seven times shall his fathers be, both young an’ old, wise an’ brash. Never again shall his head wear th’ crown, though power rests ‘pon his shoulders with Sight an’ Sword to sus…sustain him.”
“Very good, little soldier! Keep going.”
“Ummm…oh! Then…I mean only then will th’ new Round Table take shape forev’rmore, ruled by lords of virtue in a godless world!”
He saw his Lady’s smile, felt the simple warmth of a child’s triumph…until that warmth melted into the heat of feminine curves molded to his body, delicate fingers absently tracing the cords of his neck and shoulders. Again, he tried to think of The Prophecy, of Arthur’s dreams and what they meant. He thought of his vows to Avalon and the Pendragon name.
He felt the weight of the blade as it touched each shoulder, the sound of his Lady’s voice cool and haughty in his ears.
“I knight thee, Sir Lance Dulac, and name thee lord of Lakeshire.”
His heart swelled to near bursting with pride and fear as he lifted his head…
…and instead of eyes as blue as the still waters of the Lake, he found eyes that shone like the sky at dawn, the brilliant electric color of the first glorious rays of the sun touching the world…
A choked sound escaped him as he sank to a crouch, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Words ran through his mind, empty of meaning and emotion now that she was on him like a fallen angel dragging him straight into Hell with the promise of her taste, her touch, her body. She was a friend, a sister, and now that he’d given up his self-control, she was a curse on his mind and soul.
Above all else, to thy word be true, for trust can only grow in the soil of equal ground. The code of honor he’d pledged his life to uphold demanded no less…the honor of his ancestor and his family name demanded no less.
Lancelot betrayed his king for a woman’s touch. Lance wouldn’t stir his ancestor’s spirit from eternal rest by dishonoring him for the same. He was trapped between desire and duty, and the pain was more than he could bear.
He tried to remember his vows, but kissing Gwenyth was all he could remember. His flesh burned for her…as did his heart and soul. The sacred flame had been replaced by the fire of passion, of love for more than his legacy.
He couldn’t bear the pain.
Lifting his head, he opened his eyes to the night sky, still seeing her face before him. It was a struggle to banish her, just for a moment, just long enough to cry for help.
“I invoke the blessed isle, Avalon! Bear home your wayward son!”
Ripples appeared on the still lake, growing in intensity until they crested in a massive wave as a figure rose, bursting from the center and moving towards the bank.
An alabaster boat glided up to him, a half-sphere that floated lightly on the water, pale in the moonlight as it waited for him.
Lance didn’t waste a second as he rose and wordlessly climbed in, sitting as the vessel began to slide away from the shore, carrying him away from sleepy little Lakeshire and straight into the heart of the impenetrable mists of Avalon.
Muse: Lance Dulac
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 672
