Still thy name is spoken (2/2)
Title: Still thy name is spoken (first story of the series)
Series: The story of the Sangrail
Writer: lucre_noin
Beta reader: osmandias (and all the thanks must go to her, because without her help I assure you that you woudn't be able to read this story in a decent English!)
Rating: PG
Pairings or characters: Mordred and Galahad, most and the pairing is Mordred/Galahad
Warnings: m/m slash
Plot: This is the first story of a longer series called The story of the Sangrail but it could be read as a only one shot. Galahad arrives at court and Mordred decides to destroy him and all his 'santity'.
PART TWO (because the story was too long for lj)
~ ~ ~ ~ Glastonbury, England 1999 ~ ~ ~ ~
The ruins of Glastonbury Abbey put awe in the people who saw it. They were huge and seemed endless, despite their status clearly demonstrated the opposite.
Ancient, huge and familiar.
The sun managed to give off a weak light that gave the lawn around the abbey a desolate and chilly atmosphere.
Gale paused to observe a sign for tourists with endless explanations about the founder of the abbey.
A foreign woman, perhaps French started talking loudly about something, on the phone.
"Quel temps fait-il là-bas? Pleut-il ces jours-ci? Huh? Il fait très froid aujourd'hui."
The voice was lost in the group of people. The cathedral was pretty crowded that day. Maybe because it was coming up to Christmas.
Gale visited Glastonbury every year.
It was hard for him to accept not being crazy, but what he remembered was so vivid that those memories could not be false.
He remembered dying once when he was called Galahad. He had been ill but had found what he had searched for a long time: the Grail. And the Grail killed him.
"It is said that this was the famous Avalon," said an Irish lady.
Glastonbury was, indeed, called Avalon, the island of apples. But there were a lot of other things about Avalon and Glanstobury that these people didn't even imagine.
He kept walking, following the path and feeling at peace and nostalgic. It had been so many years.
Once again, he wondered if being born again was his reward for having found the Grail. A new life for the old one.
The cold wind began to hit him in the face without mercy. Gale wrapped himself in the scarf and continued his journey.
He spent the morning at the abbey, admiring it without haste.
Leaving the abbey he went to the small souvenir shop. He was not a lover of souvenirs but his boss had asked him for a book or a shirt for her daughter, and Gale did not want to disappoint her.
He wandered in the shop. There were multitudes of delightful nonsense, including a ridiculous cutter in the shape of Excalibur.
Gale found himself smiling and went to the books' shelves.
A man was leafing through a copy of Le Morte d'Arthur. And then the man looked up at him. Gale felt breathless.
The stranger evidently felt the same thing because he quickly put down the book and hurried to the exit. But if he wanted to leave he would have to pass next to Gale who blocked him.
Being trapped, the stranger smiled bitterly. "It seems that all these books end up the same way."
"Forget the books," murmured Gale, swallowing noisily. The stranger, who was not a stranger at all, was different from what had been almost fifteen hundred years earlier, but was still a little shorter than him, had the same short brown hair and smile.
"I must go."
"Wait-" Gale stopped him, gripping him by the arm, "-wait a bit."
"We do not even know each other," smiled the old Mordred.
"We do. We know each other."
"We used to. I don't know you and you don't know me now."
"Then tell me about yourself. Tell me everything."
"My name is Moray, now," said Moray, uncomfortable.
"Moray, it is a pleasure to meet you," Gale smiled, feeling on the verge of a liberating laughter, "I am Gale."
"You lie in the same cheeky manner."
"Let's go eat something?" Gale wanted to keep talking with Moray, anything to keep him close.
Moray smiled. "I already ate."
"So- a cup of coffee?" suggested Gale and quickly followed him outside the store.
"I do not drink coffee," said Moray, lighting a cigarette and walking faster.
"You know what I mean. I do not really want to drink coffee."
"Okay, then we will meet later today at three."
Gale was almost ready to accept but thought better. "No, I'd prefer now."
Moray stopped and finally turned toward him. "We are not alone. There are not only the two of us, there's not just me. If you want I can give you the address of someone else. There’s Bors, he's alive too if you want."
"I do not want to go have coffee with Bors."
"Why me?"
"Because there are things that I should tell you."
Moray threw the cigarette on the g
round and smiled. "Then you should have told them before."
"Just a coffee. We’ll sit in a warm and nice place and we’ll talk. Please. Do I have to kneel?"
The smile of the other turned into a grin. "It is not necessary," he said finally.
"Wonderful," said Gale, "My treat
___________________________
The poem Mordred talks about is this one:
You at God's altar stand, His minister
And Paris lies about you and the Seine:
Around this Breton isle the Ocean swells,
Deep water and one love between us twain.
Wild is the wind, but still thy name is spoken;
Rough is the sea: it sweeps not o'er they face.
Still runs my lover for shelter to its dwelling,
Hither, O heart, to thine abiding place.
Swift as the waves beneath an east wind breaking
Dark as beneath a winter sky the sea,
So to my heart crowd memories awaking,
So dark, O love, my spirit without thee
It's by Venantius Fortunatus, 530 d.C. - 603 d.C