(no subject)
This is for class - a modern rewrite of "The Knight of the Cart" drawing both on de Troyes and the Winchester Manuscript Malory. I doubt I'll ever do the rest of the tale. I haven't finished - it still needs a couple of rewrites.
Is it bad that I want to slash Arthur and Gawain?
Part I
No one, except for Lancelot, wondered why Guinevere did not attend the feast before the President’s Secret Service detail escorted him from the premises. The many guests sat quietly in their chairs, shock preventing panic. Every staffer attended the Christmas meal and brought a guest - and all of those people simply sat, unsure of what exactly was occurring. Agents moved quickly to remove important figures to more secure locations. Lancelot himself was taken from the room before any explanation was given to the feasters.
He learned later that Kay, the Chief of Staff, tried to reassure the attendees with a brief speech. Privately, Lancelot wondered if anyone else had been available to make the speech. Kay tried his hardest, but the man failed to be remotely reassuring.
“Terrorists kidnapped the First Lady and her security detail and are holding them hostage. The President and Vice-President are safe in separate secure locations. Do not panic. We will recover Guinevere.”
Of course the people reacted badly to the news of danger to their beloved Guinevere. She seemed to be a political liability: undiplomatic and selfish. Despite the shallow surface, her charisma made the people love her. At least those who never asked anything of her did and at least one who did ask much of her loved her more than he loved his own future.
While the party-goers dispersed, two men met with the President in an undisclosed location to develop a strategy for retrieving the First Lady.
***
Both Gawain and Lancelot had been in government service before Arthur was elected President and both doubted they would continue in their positions when Arthur left office. They no longer served their country, but their leader. They believed in him almost too much, and it nearly ruined their effectiveness. Those involved in politics needed to be jaded and cynical to survive. Arthur made them want to be idealists.
Gawain paced the room madly, his large stride combined with the narrow width of the room giving the tense motion a comic effect. If the large man did not possess quick reflexes he would have run into one of the walls already. Lancelot figured the man had a good half hour before he became that agitated. Unstoppable and ruthless when angry, the young general chafed at Arthur refusing to allow him to pursue Guinevere’s kidnappers.
Conversely, Lancelot sat on a couch, sipping a cup of Moroccan mint tea. His grey eyes sometimes followed Gawain’s movements, betraying his own desire, but he remained sitting. Arthur sat across from him, a tense frown causing the wrinkles on his forehead to stand out. He sighed; his black coffee remained untouched. Arthur sat before the two men he trusted most, unsure of how best to use them.
“Fine. Gawain, I appoint you to lead a team to rescue Guinevere from her kidnappers. They sent specific directions for a meeting,” he said, choosing a manila folder from a stack on the table between the two couches and handing it to the red-haired man. “Find a way to ambush them and retrieve my wife. I will not negotiate with terrorists, but I will not lose Guinevere.” The man tiredly rubbed one eye, his sleepy movement an odd contrast with his angry squint. “Publicly, I will choose an ambassador to send to the meeting to negotiate.”
“I’ll begin immediately,” Gawain promised, absently stroking the folder. He strode from the room, motioning to an aide. Strange how efficient anger made the general. Usually few would believe such a soft-spoken and polite man reached his rank. Only Lancelot’s façade was more flawless. Even fewer could believe the Secretary of Defense possessed the necessary nerves to hold his position. Those who only associated with Lancelot politically believed his reputation as a violent man to be the façade, perpetuated by the administration to hide the fact the President chose a weak man for his Secretary of Defense.
Enemy countries feared him more than they feared any of his predecessors, because you could never predict the actions of a man who could hide his true self so well - which ever side was true.
Thus, Lancelot still sat on the couch. He barely moved while Arthur ordered Gawain to rescue Guinevere. He was already planning to rescue her himself. He loved Arthur most dearly of all men in the world and did not wish to move behind his back. However, he also loved Guinevere, and she slept with him on a regular basis.
***
A week later, Lancelot stood by the side of the road, thumb pointing north. Of all days for his car to break, and of all places for the terrorists to choose to rendezvous. What kind of city didn’t have taxi service? Time was running out to reach Guinevere in time - he didn’t trust Gawain not to make any mistakes. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen a car in nearly twenty minutes.
He trudged forward, standing well within the shoulder. You couldn’t trust drivers, even if there didn’t appear to be any on the road. He checked his watch again, just as an old beater pulled to a stop in front of him. In that position, he could easily see the slogans plastered haphazardly on the damaged bumper. A confederate flag, Abortion is Murder, a rainbow covered by the traditional symbol for no . . . Lancelot’s eye twitched. Forty-five minutes and the first car to come along bears a bumper sticker to refute every policy Arthur believes in. The sight makes his stomach turn. The driver must be stuck in the medieval period. However, Lancelot steels himself and walks to the passenger side, slipping into a cracked leather bucket seat. Guinevere, everything for Guinevere. “Main and Willow Oak Lane, please,” he mutters, closing the door quietly.
“Alright,” the driver replied, pulling back onto the highway.
“Faster, please,” Lancelot soon requested, glancing at the man. He wondered why a vertically challenged person discriminated against so many groups.
“What’s the hurry?” the man asked, complying with Lancelot’s request.
“Nothing, really. Just go.”
The man pressed the gas pedal down a bit farther. His passenger’s voice made him feel that he very much wanted to go faster. And to not ask any more questions.
***
Reporters swarmed the lawn of the secret location. At least one could always find someone willing to leak information, but usually that one would guard the privileged details better. Lancelot tightened his jaw, barely gritting his teeth. He calmly climbed from the primer gray car. Soon every camcorder turned to capture his face - and his transportation. Inwardly he winced, imagining the field day the media would have with the bumper stickers.
Arthur would survive. His political genius never failed. Certainly bumper stickers weren’t enough to destroy his administration. Arthur might never know why Lancelot rode the car to the negotiation site, but he would fix things. Thus Lancelot was able to focus his energy on his priority, the First Lady Guinevere.
Is it bad that I want to slash Arthur and Gawain?
Part I
No one, except for Lancelot, wondered why Guinevere did not attend the feast before the President’s Secret Service detail escorted him from the premises. The many guests sat quietly in their chairs, shock preventing panic. Every staffer attended the Christmas meal and brought a guest - and all of those people simply sat, unsure of what exactly was occurring. Agents moved quickly to remove important figures to more secure locations. Lancelot himself was taken from the room before any explanation was given to the feasters.
He learned later that Kay, the Chief of Staff, tried to reassure the attendees with a brief speech. Privately, Lancelot wondered if anyone else had been available to make the speech. Kay tried his hardest, but the man failed to be remotely reassuring.
“Terrorists kidnapped the First Lady and her security detail and are holding them hostage. The President and Vice-President are safe in separate secure locations. Do not panic. We will recover Guinevere.”
Of course the people reacted badly to the news of danger to their beloved Guinevere. She seemed to be a political liability: undiplomatic and selfish. Despite the shallow surface, her charisma made the people love her. At least those who never asked anything of her did and at least one who did ask much of her loved her more than he loved his own future.
While the party-goers dispersed, two men met with the President in an undisclosed location to develop a strategy for retrieving the First Lady.
***
Both Gawain and Lancelot had been in government service before Arthur was elected President and both doubted they would continue in their positions when Arthur left office. They no longer served their country, but their leader. They believed in him almost too much, and it nearly ruined their effectiveness. Those involved in politics needed to be jaded and cynical to survive. Arthur made them want to be idealists.
Gawain paced the room madly, his large stride combined with the narrow width of the room giving the tense motion a comic effect. If the large man did not possess quick reflexes he would have run into one of the walls already. Lancelot figured the man had a good half hour before he became that agitated. Unstoppable and ruthless when angry, the young general chafed at Arthur refusing to allow him to pursue Guinevere’s kidnappers.
Conversely, Lancelot sat on a couch, sipping a cup of Moroccan mint tea. His grey eyes sometimes followed Gawain’s movements, betraying his own desire, but he remained sitting. Arthur sat across from him, a tense frown causing the wrinkles on his forehead to stand out. He sighed; his black coffee remained untouched. Arthur sat before the two men he trusted most, unsure of how best to use them.
“Fine. Gawain, I appoint you to lead a team to rescue Guinevere from her kidnappers. They sent specific directions for a meeting,” he said, choosing a manila folder from a stack on the table between the two couches and handing it to the red-haired man. “Find a way to ambush them and retrieve my wife. I will not negotiate with terrorists, but I will not lose Guinevere.” The man tiredly rubbed one eye, his sleepy movement an odd contrast with his angry squint. “Publicly, I will choose an ambassador to send to the meeting to negotiate.”
“I’ll begin immediately,” Gawain promised, absently stroking the folder. He strode from the room, motioning to an aide. Strange how efficient anger made the general. Usually few would believe such a soft-spoken and polite man reached his rank. Only Lancelot’s façade was more flawless. Even fewer could believe the Secretary of Defense possessed the necessary nerves to hold his position. Those who only associated with Lancelot politically believed his reputation as a violent man to be the façade, perpetuated by the administration to hide the fact the President chose a weak man for his Secretary of Defense.
Enemy countries feared him more than they feared any of his predecessors, because you could never predict the actions of a man who could hide his true self so well - which ever side was true.
Thus, Lancelot still sat on the couch. He barely moved while Arthur ordered Gawain to rescue Guinevere. He was already planning to rescue her himself. He loved Arthur most dearly of all men in the world and did not wish to move behind his back. However, he also loved Guinevere, and she slept with him on a regular basis.
***
A week later, Lancelot stood by the side of the road, thumb pointing north. Of all days for his car to break, and of all places for the terrorists to choose to rendezvous. What kind of city didn’t have taxi service? Time was running out to reach Guinevere in time - he didn’t trust Gawain not to make any mistakes. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen a car in nearly twenty minutes.
He trudged forward, standing well within the shoulder. You couldn’t trust drivers, even if there didn’t appear to be any on the road. He checked his watch again, just as an old beater pulled to a stop in front of him. In that position, he could easily see the slogans plastered haphazardly on the damaged bumper. A confederate flag, Abortion is Murder, a rainbow covered by the traditional symbol for no . . . Lancelot’s eye twitched. Forty-five minutes and the first car to come along bears a bumper sticker to refute every policy Arthur believes in. The sight makes his stomach turn. The driver must be stuck in the medieval period. However, Lancelot steels himself and walks to the passenger side, slipping into a cracked leather bucket seat. Guinevere, everything for Guinevere. “Main and Willow Oak Lane, please,” he mutters, closing the door quietly.
“Alright,” the driver replied, pulling back onto the highway.
“Faster, please,” Lancelot soon requested, glancing at the man. He wondered why a vertically challenged person discriminated against so many groups.
“What’s the hurry?” the man asked, complying with Lancelot’s request.
“Nothing, really. Just go.”
The man pressed the gas pedal down a bit farther. His passenger’s voice made him feel that he very much wanted to go faster. And to not ask any more questions.
***
Reporters swarmed the lawn of the secret location. At least one could always find someone willing to leak information, but usually that one would guard the privileged details better. Lancelot tightened his jaw, barely gritting his teeth. He calmly climbed from the primer gray car. Soon every camcorder turned to capture his face - and his transportation. Inwardly he winced, imagining the field day the media would have with the bumper stickers.
Arthur would survive. His political genius never failed. Certainly bumper stickers weren’t enough to destroy his administration. Arthur might never know why Lancelot rode the car to the negotiation site, but he would fix things. Thus Lancelot was able to focus his energy on his priority, the First Lady Guinevere.