GetLaid25-Bedivere-"Falling Out of History"
Title: Falling Out of History
Author: Lady Bedivere
Fandom: Arthurian
Pairing: Bedivere/Percy
Rating: PG
Words: 703
Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, I do not own Sir Bedivere or any Arthurian Legends.
Summary: So they chose the lesser of two evils, and together they rewrote history.
Notes/Warnings: I started this ages ago and finally finished it. Sorry it's so depressing. I'll write something happy next.
Had the world not ended, they probably never would have been as they were. But the world had ended, and they were all that was left of a time that would be forgotten for what it was. So they chose the lesser of two evils, and together they rewrote history.
They stayed in the hut in the woods. Every day they could feel the forest around them growing smaller and smaller as magic was lost from the world. It made them work harder, longer, faster, trying to get it all down before all the magic was called back to other realms and they were left unprotected to face what was left of the world they’d once known.
Bedivere lay on a rug in front of the fire with parchments, pen, and ink. His writing was sloppy, uneven from the shifting paper that he could quite hold down with the stump of his missing hand. He had wanted Percy to be the scribe, but Percy said no, he was better at keeping the little hut together, at least for as long as they had it as a haven. So every day they gathered firewood and harvested vegetables from the small garden, and every night they continued to rewrite the lives of everyone they’d ever known. The forest was feeling especially small tonight, and Bedivere’s writing was more furious than ever.
“What do we say about Lancelot?” he asked Percy. “They’ll never accept that he was just a self-righteous arse who cared only for himself.”
Percy thought for a moment. “Say that he loved the queen more than anything,” he said finally. “It’s easier to accept what he did if they think it was for love. And it’s not completely a lie, it’s just not quite the truth.”
Bedivere wrote a few lines. “And he killed Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth in self-defense, because they were defending the honor of the king after the queen was rescued.”
“That’ll do. Nobody can fault any side for that.”
“How did we get to this, eh? Lance becomes the misunderstood hero. The king is blindly overtrusting. Morgan le Fay is a wicked schemer and Mordred is a born-and-bred villain. I’m wise, you’re innocent…it’s all lies. We can’t tell them this. This isn’t-wasn’t-how it was.”
Percy sat down beside him and looked at the inkstained papers scattered around. “We have to tell them something they’ll understand, or they’ll just forget everything.”
“But is it really better for them to remember a lie than forget the truth?”
Percy kissed him-something less than a lover’s kiss, but more than a brother’s. “Whose truth? How do you know we’re not writing the truth and remembering lies? Write it, and let everyone decide for themselves.”
So they wrote, and they ate and slept, and talked of those who were already gone, and sometimes in the dark they held each other and did not speak at all for fear the other would vanish like everything else which the world so quickly forgot. Around them, the magic diminished, and the forest grew smaller, until one day they awoke and it was gone. Percy stared out the window, seeing nothing but fields where once there had been thick trees. Behind him, the scratching of the quill stopped.
“It’s done,” said Bedivere, and the knights faced one another. With the magic gone, Percy could see the lines in the older man’s skin, and the thinning of his hair, and the scars that covered his face and hand. Bedivere could see the grey creeping into the younger man’s red hair, and the dark circles under his eyes. They were no longer who they had once been.
“I’m going back to Wales,” said Bedivere.
Percy nodded and reached out for the parchments. “I’ll take these North. There may still be some enchantment left there.”
Bedivere sighed. “Clarissant will keep the old ways; give it to her. She will know what to do. We are finished.”
They left the little house and embraced, and when the turned to look back they saw the hut too was gone. With only a parting kiss as a goodbye, they walked away. They had rewritten history together, but even they could not write the future.
Author: Lady Bedivere
Fandom: Arthurian
Pairing: Bedivere/Percy
Rating: PG
Words: 703
Disclaimer: Contrary to popular belief, I do not own Sir Bedivere or any Arthurian Legends.
Summary: So they chose the lesser of two evils, and together they rewrote history.
Notes/Warnings: I started this ages ago and finally finished it. Sorry it's so depressing. I'll write something happy next.
Had the world not ended, they probably never would have been as they were. But the world had ended, and they were all that was left of a time that would be forgotten for what it was. So they chose the lesser of two evils, and together they rewrote history.
They stayed in the hut in the woods. Every day they could feel the forest around them growing smaller and smaller as magic was lost from the world. It made them work harder, longer, faster, trying to get it all down before all the magic was called back to other realms and they were left unprotected to face what was left of the world they’d once known.
Bedivere lay on a rug in front of the fire with parchments, pen, and ink. His writing was sloppy, uneven from the shifting paper that he could quite hold down with the stump of his missing hand. He had wanted Percy to be the scribe, but Percy said no, he was better at keeping the little hut together, at least for as long as they had it as a haven. So every day they gathered firewood and harvested vegetables from the small garden, and every night they continued to rewrite the lives of everyone they’d ever known. The forest was feeling especially small tonight, and Bedivere’s writing was more furious than ever.
“What do we say about Lancelot?” he asked Percy. “They’ll never accept that he was just a self-righteous arse who cared only for himself.”
Percy thought for a moment. “Say that he loved the queen more than anything,” he said finally. “It’s easier to accept what he did if they think it was for love. And it’s not completely a lie, it’s just not quite the truth.”
Bedivere wrote a few lines. “And he killed Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth in self-defense, because they were defending the honor of the king after the queen was rescued.”
“That’ll do. Nobody can fault any side for that.”
“How did we get to this, eh? Lance becomes the misunderstood hero. The king is blindly overtrusting. Morgan le Fay is a wicked schemer and Mordred is a born-and-bred villain. I’m wise, you’re innocent…it’s all lies. We can’t tell them this. This isn’t-wasn’t-how it was.”
Percy sat down beside him and looked at the inkstained papers scattered around. “We have to tell them something they’ll understand, or they’ll just forget everything.”
“But is it really better for them to remember a lie than forget the truth?”
Percy kissed him-something less than a lover’s kiss, but more than a brother’s. “Whose truth? How do you know we’re not writing the truth and remembering lies? Write it, and let everyone decide for themselves.”
So they wrote, and they ate and slept, and talked of those who were already gone, and sometimes in the dark they held each other and did not speak at all for fear the other would vanish like everything else which the world so quickly forgot. Around them, the magic diminished, and the forest grew smaller, until one day they awoke and it was gone. Percy stared out the window, seeing nothing but fields where once there had been thick trees. Behind him, the scratching of the quill stopped.
“It’s done,” said Bedivere, and the knights faced one another. With the magic gone, Percy could see the lines in the older man’s skin, and the thinning of his hair, and the scars that covered his face and hand. Bedivere could see the grey creeping into the younger man’s red hair, and the dark circles under his eyes. They were no longer who they had once been.
“I’m going back to Wales,” said Bedivere.
Percy nodded and reached out for the parchments. “I’ll take these North. There may still be some enchantment left there.”
Bedivere sighed. “Clarissant will keep the old ways; give it to her. She will know what to do. We are finished.”
They left the little house and embraced, and when the turned to look back they saw the hut too was gone. With only a parting kiss as a goodbye, they walked away. They had rewritten history together, but even they could not write the future.