(no subject)
Title: Hindsight
Fandom: Arthurian Legend
Pairing: Arthur/Lance, slight Arthur/Guinevere, Arthur/Mordred hints (Arthur, you slut.)
Genre: Romance/Angst
Word count: 1,589
Notes: For Corialis, Christmas 2003. Good old Arthur, who doesn't know this story?
Summary: Arthur starts waking up to the facts and understanding his mistakes after Lancelot and Guinevere elope.
He hadn’t wanted to do it, but he wasn’t so naïve as to claim he held none of the blame himself. He had made enough stupid mistakes in his life, too many to atone for, and really this was the culmination of the worst. Maybe he’d been too blind or stupid or cowardly to prevent this from happening, but the least he could do was stop trying to lie to himself, delude himself into thinking he was a better person than he was. This was largely his fault, and he knew it.
Of course, there was also fault with Lancelot and Guinevere, though he would wish to downplay that aspect. There was even small fault with Mordred, though Arthur was aware of how unfair it was to lay blame on his bastard son. They all did stupid things at that age.
So, take stock. Lancelot and Guinevere, gone. The Knights of the Round severely depleted by the deaths of several of its finest by the hands of Lancelot. Mordred? Sulking. As for Arthur himself… he was beyond depressed and in an entirely new realm of despair that seemed to make him think clearer. Perhaps he would have been a better friend, a better knight, a better husband, a better king, even a better father were he in this state permanently.
He was pretty sure he had never loved Guinevere. He had cared for her, once, he thought. Why had he married her? There was the dowry, the aid of her father in Arthur’s campaign, but he had reasons more suited to a young man too. She was pretty. She was kind. He really liked her.
The seasons passed and he left more and more, seeing his young wife more and more infrequently. The passion and the friendship mistaken for love faded, died down, a shadow of their former glory. The relationship became like a cold and barren wasteland.
At the same time, when Arthur was so often at was he was near always in the company of the bright and vivacious Lancelot. Who would not idolize the man? He was gorgeous, Arthur thought even more than Guinevere, he was witty, he was charming, and he was a good knight. Arthur wanted to be him, wanted to be with him. It made him wonder, sometimes, if he was shallow or fickle, but he had always shied from such thoughts before. A mistake, he now thought.
When Mordred had showed up, Arthur’s world had been severely shaken. There was no room in his plans for a bastard son that was his secret shame, and Mordred seemed to do everything he could to keep Arthur unbalanced. Arthur had decided that it wasn’t pure hate that motivated Mordred, but he had never figured out why he did the things he did.
In retrospect, he could see how he’d made so many mistakes that had just led to a head-on collision. He should never have let his relationship with Guinevere fall apart. They could have learned to love each other over time, he suspected. That was what love really was- the building of bonds through shared experience. He’d been too young and silly to realize that, back then. Had he ever really believed in love at first sight? When you didn’t know a person, that was no kind of love at all.
He should never have shied away from a relationship with Lancelot, either. It was pure cowardice. He knew, now, that if he had ever felt love in his life that was it. They had been through so much together, and knowing you trust someone at your back in the heat of battle forges strong links. The words had never been said, the subject remaining unapproached because Arthur was afraid, so afraid that talking about it would make it concrete. He didn’t want it to exist- he wasn’t ready, it frightened him so. Lancelot had known it was there just as he had, waiting patiently for Arthur to do something about it knowing it was for the young king to make a move, not him. They had gotten close so many times, so many moments where something had almost happened, just for Arthur to hurriedly withdraw. Perhaps Lancelot had finally got sick of waiting. Perhaps he had come to the conclusion that Arthur was never going to anything about it, and they could potentially remain in this stalemate for the rest of eternity.
Perhaps he was right.
Who was to say that Arthur would ever have made the move if left to his own devices? If nothing had forced him forward, he would have remained avoiding the issue forever. There was no use denying it; in this, of all things, King Arthur was weak.
The two people who had hurt him, whom he had hurt the most, had given up on him and gone to each other for solace. They had understood so much more than he ever had, knowing how they each felt about him, finally realizing that the way Arthur was he couldn’t function properly in a relationship. Guinevere had sometimes wondered if it was something in his upbringing; he never did like to talk about his childhood. It brought back bad memories.
Arthur sincerely hoped that Mordred wouldn’t grow up as messed up as he has, but he didn’t hold out much hope for it. Again, his own fault. He had not been mature enough to deal with a son, let alone one so shamefully begat.
That had been the final of his three greatest errors. All Mordred had ever done was try and make Arthur see him properly for once. All his petty acts had been childish pleas for attention, and every hateful word or gesture was aimed to get Arthur to reassess him. If he weren’t to be treated as the beloved son, he would prefer to be respected as a potential enemy than shunned as a terrible secret.
Arthur had ignored this, not seeing what Mordred’s behavior truly meant, and he ignored the jealousy in Mordred’s eyes whenever Arthur’s feelings for Lancelot became evident. Had he just not cared, or had he failed to even notice? Probably the latter. He didn’t know which was worse, in a father. Now he wondered how Mordred viewed him.
His three unforgivable mistakes had all pertained to relationships, regardless of their nature. Arthur wasn’t very good with reaching out, it seemed.
Neglected by him, the three most important people in his life had combined to create the greatest tragedy of his life. Lancelot and Guinevere, feared and abandoned respectively, had had an affair that went against a law Arthur himself had sought to enforce. Mordred, ignored by his father, had allowed the jealousy to fester and spread, and when he had seen the opportunity for revenge had struck out like a wounded animal. What better way to assuage the jealousy than to bring down the man Arthur loved?
They’re having an affair, Mordred told him, in front of witnesses so he could no longer turn a blind eye. Arthur knew that, and Mordred knew he knew. If neither of them could love him, who was he to deny them from each other? That had been another mistake, he now realized. He should have taken it as a sign to tell Lancelot then, but like so many other signs he had let it pass. He was relatively happy to let things continue the way they were, though.
That was no longer an option. A law was a law, and it had amazingly little regard for Arthur’s personal feelings on the matter. Lancelot was to be disgraced, and Guinevere was to be executed. He couldn’t help but hate himself, and part of him wanted to hate Mordred too, despite the fact that he was only acting human.
So now where was he? No Guinevere, when he found now that he could have loved her, if he’d tried. They still could have salvaged something, but it took this kind of irrevocable catastrophe for him to realize it. What did they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.
No Lancelot, and that was even more painful. He had been aware the whole time that he should have said something, and it was only his own spinelessness that had ruined it. Now there was nothing he could do to bring that chance back- it was lost for good.
Mordred was still here, but it was practically a certainty that he really did hate Arthur now, and there was nothing that could be done to redeem his father any more. There had been too many opportunities, and they had been turned down too many times. Strange, how Arthur only discovered now how much he actually cared for Mordred. These things had a habit of creeping up on you. It was sad that Mordred would probably never know this; Arthur may have been more awake now, but he was just as weak emotionally. He couldn’t bring himself to appeal to Mordred, especially not when he stood a good chance of being shot down. It was too bad he had never thought to do it before this whole mess.
Three relationships with three people who were each special in their own way. Each relationship could have worked, regardless of the nature, if Arthur had only reached out. He was now left with no one, and the scarring was bad enough to ensure that he always would be.
Hindsight was 20/20.
Fandom: Arthurian Legend
Pairing: Arthur/Lance, slight Arthur/Guinevere, Arthur/Mordred hints (Arthur, you slut.)
Genre: Romance/Angst
Word count: 1,589
Notes: For Corialis, Christmas 2003. Good old Arthur, who doesn't know this story?
Summary: Arthur starts waking up to the facts and understanding his mistakes after Lancelot and Guinevere elope.
He hadn’t wanted to do it, but he wasn’t so naïve as to claim he held none of the blame himself. He had made enough stupid mistakes in his life, too many to atone for, and really this was the culmination of the worst. Maybe he’d been too blind or stupid or cowardly to prevent this from happening, but the least he could do was stop trying to lie to himself, delude himself into thinking he was a better person than he was. This was largely his fault, and he knew it.
Of course, there was also fault with Lancelot and Guinevere, though he would wish to downplay that aspect. There was even small fault with Mordred, though Arthur was aware of how unfair it was to lay blame on his bastard son. They all did stupid things at that age.
So, take stock. Lancelot and Guinevere, gone. The Knights of the Round severely depleted by the deaths of several of its finest by the hands of Lancelot. Mordred? Sulking. As for Arthur himself… he was beyond depressed and in an entirely new realm of despair that seemed to make him think clearer. Perhaps he would have been a better friend, a better knight, a better husband, a better king, even a better father were he in this state permanently.
He was pretty sure he had never loved Guinevere. He had cared for her, once, he thought. Why had he married her? There was the dowry, the aid of her father in Arthur’s campaign, but he had reasons more suited to a young man too. She was pretty. She was kind. He really liked her.
The seasons passed and he left more and more, seeing his young wife more and more infrequently. The passion and the friendship mistaken for love faded, died down, a shadow of their former glory. The relationship became like a cold and barren wasteland.
At the same time, when Arthur was so often at was he was near always in the company of the bright and vivacious Lancelot. Who would not idolize the man? He was gorgeous, Arthur thought even more than Guinevere, he was witty, he was charming, and he was a good knight. Arthur wanted to be him, wanted to be with him. It made him wonder, sometimes, if he was shallow or fickle, but he had always shied from such thoughts before. A mistake, he now thought.
When Mordred had showed up, Arthur’s world had been severely shaken. There was no room in his plans for a bastard son that was his secret shame, and Mordred seemed to do everything he could to keep Arthur unbalanced. Arthur had decided that it wasn’t pure hate that motivated Mordred, but he had never figured out why he did the things he did.
In retrospect, he could see how he’d made so many mistakes that had just led to a head-on collision. He should never have let his relationship with Guinevere fall apart. They could have learned to love each other over time, he suspected. That was what love really was- the building of bonds through shared experience. He’d been too young and silly to realize that, back then. Had he ever really believed in love at first sight? When you didn’t know a person, that was no kind of love at all.
He should never have shied away from a relationship with Lancelot, either. It was pure cowardice. He knew, now, that if he had ever felt love in his life that was it. They had been through so much together, and knowing you trust someone at your back in the heat of battle forges strong links. The words had never been said, the subject remaining unapproached because Arthur was afraid, so afraid that talking about it would make it concrete. He didn’t want it to exist- he wasn’t ready, it frightened him so. Lancelot had known it was there just as he had, waiting patiently for Arthur to do something about it knowing it was for the young king to make a move, not him. They had gotten close so many times, so many moments where something had almost happened, just for Arthur to hurriedly withdraw. Perhaps Lancelot had finally got sick of waiting. Perhaps he had come to the conclusion that Arthur was never going to anything about it, and they could potentially remain in this stalemate for the rest of eternity.
Perhaps he was right.
Who was to say that Arthur would ever have made the move if left to his own devices? If nothing had forced him forward, he would have remained avoiding the issue forever. There was no use denying it; in this, of all things, King Arthur was weak.
The two people who had hurt him, whom he had hurt the most, had given up on him and gone to each other for solace. They had understood so much more than he ever had, knowing how they each felt about him, finally realizing that the way Arthur was he couldn’t function properly in a relationship. Guinevere had sometimes wondered if it was something in his upbringing; he never did like to talk about his childhood. It brought back bad memories.
Arthur sincerely hoped that Mordred wouldn’t grow up as messed up as he has, but he didn’t hold out much hope for it. Again, his own fault. He had not been mature enough to deal with a son, let alone one so shamefully begat.
That had been the final of his three greatest errors. All Mordred had ever done was try and make Arthur see him properly for once. All his petty acts had been childish pleas for attention, and every hateful word or gesture was aimed to get Arthur to reassess him. If he weren’t to be treated as the beloved son, he would prefer to be respected as a potential enemy than shunned as a terrible secret.
Arthur had ignored this, not seeing what Mordred’s behavior truly meant, and he ignored the jealousy in Mordred’s eyes whenever Arthur’s feelings for Lancelot became evident. Had he just not cared, or had he failed to even notice? Probably the latter. He didn’t know which was worse, in a father. Now he wondered how Mordred viewed him.
His three unforgivable mistakes had all pertained to relationships, regardless of their nature. Arthur wasn’t very good with reaching out, it seemed.
Neglected by him, the three most important people in his life had combined to create the greatest tragedy of his life. Lancelot and Guinevere, feared and abandoned respectively, had had an affair that went against a law Arthur himself had sought to enforce. Mordred, ignored by his father, had allowed the jealousy to fester and spread, and when he had seen the opportunity for revenge had struck out like a wounded animal. What better way to assuage the jealousy than to bring down the man Arthur loved?
They’re having an affair, Mordred told him, in front of witnesses so he could no longer turn a blind eye. Arthur knew that, and Mordred knew he knew. If neither of them could love him, who was he to deny them from each other? That had been another mistake, he now realized. He should have taken it as a sign to tell Lancelot then, but like so many other signs he had let it pass. He was relatively happy to let things continue the way they were, though.
That was no longer an option. A law was a law, and it had amazingly little regard for Arthur’s personal feelings on the matter. Lancelot was to be disgraced, and Guinevere was to be executed. He couldn’t help but hate himself, and part of him wanted to hate Mordred too, despite the fact that he was only acting human.
So now where was he? No Guinevere, when he found now that he could have loved her, if he’d tried. They still could have salvaged something, but it took this kind of irrevocable catastrophe for him to realize it. What did they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.
No Lancelot, and that was even more painful. He had been aware the whole time that he should have said something, and it was only his own spinelessness that had ruined it. Now there was nothing he could do to bring that chance back- it was lost for good.
Mordred was still here, but it was practically a certainty that he really did hate Arthur now, and there was nothing that could be done to redeem his father any more. There had been too many opportunities, and they had been turned down too many times. Strange, how Arthur only discovered now how much he actually cared for Mordred. These things had a habit of creeping up on you. It was sad that Mordred would probably never know this; Arthur may have been more awake now, but he was just as weak emotionally. He couldn’t bring himself to appeal to Mordred, especially not when he stood a good chance of being shot down. It was too bad he had never thought to do it before this whole mess.
Three relationships with three people who were each special in their own way. Each relationship could have worked, regardless of the nature, if Arthur had only reached out. He was now left with no one, and the scarring was bad enough to ensure that he always would be.
Hindsight was 20/20.