"His Will"
FIC: "His Will"
AUTHOR: mistressmarilyn
DATE: September 29, 2009
FANDOM: "King Arthur" (2004 movie)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They belong to Touchstone Pictures, to the respective actors of the Jerry Bruckheimer movie, and to the ages. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
WARNINGS/RATING: A bit slashy, maybe . . .
WORD COUNT: 500
SUMMARY: Alecto has returned to Britain, now 18, to live in King Arthur's newly formed Court. This is a sequel to my (ambitious) story Alecto, written five years ago this month. (!)
AUTHOR NOTES: Written for round_table500, inspired by the reference to a quote from St. Francis of Assisi, a profligate-turned-ascetic who began his legendary religious career reluctantly. According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, his biographers tell us that the night before Francis set forth in battle, he had a strange dream in which he saw a vast hall hung with armor all marked with the Cross. "These," said a voice, "are for you and your soldiers." St. Francis once said: There are beautiful and wild forces within us. (Even in such serious and circumspect characters as Arthur and Alecto.)
"We need a priest," Arthur said, his eyes more grave than ever. "We've gone too long without the intercession of a man of God, and my own prayers are wearing thin."
Arthur and I sat alone in his war room in the citadel at Cadbury, awake long past most of the residents of our rapidly expanding community. Since my return to Britain, we often sat and talked together into the night, defying the need for sleep that the stress of command required. When he had run out of words, Arthur loved poring over his store of scrolls, sharing the shivering light from the braziers. I was content to simply share the same air.
He stood up and towered over my perch on the small couch. I craned my neck to see him, pulling a thick fur tighter against the autumn chill.
"Alecto, with your education you are the closest thing we have to a cleric," he announced in the voice he used to speak to his newly converted citizenry. "I admit it's far from becoming pope, but you can be our priest."
I looked up at this man who had become my king, hoping my face didn't betray the dismay of my heart. I wanted to protest that I never wanted to be a religious leader of any sort, much less pope. But my godfather Hilarus had reached that high office, and Arthur well knew his wish had been for me to follow him into the service of the Church. Since my return to Britain, I had spent most of my time helping its warrior king with chores mostly administrative, translations and map-making. I still held out hope that I would someday become a knight, but unlike most of the men who had risen to that role, I could read and write, valuable skills in a young kingdom still tottering on untried legs; and so I jousted with a stylus, not a sword.
Now I understood why Arthur avoided any conversation that alluded to my future knighthood.
"I long ago gave up my religious aspirations," I said haltingly.
"But you retained your faith, did you not?" It may have been a question or a command. "Christ still rules your heart."
I wanted to say, "No, Arthur. You do."
Instead I nodded, reflecting on the many years since I thought of the Nazarene carpenter at all, with worldly matters like politics and war having become synonymous with the Church of Rome. Blinking against the flickering firelight, I was startled by what appeared to be a shadowy cross cast on the face of Arthur's nearby shield.
The king reached out and took my hand in his emphatic grip. "Be my partner, Alecto. Help me bring the teachings of Jesus to this land."
It would be unthinkable to refuse him. And so that night I went on my knees near my small cot and prayed for the first time in three years.
"His will be done," I whispered.
I meant Arthur's, of course.
AUTHOR: mistressmarilyn
DATE: September 29, 2009
FANDOM: "King Arthur" (2004 movie)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They belong to Touchstone Pictures, to the respective actors of the Jerry Bruckheimer movie, and to the ages. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
WARNINGS/RATING: A bit slashy, maybe . . .
WORD COUNT: 500
SUMMARY: Alecto has returned to Britain, now 18, to live in King Arthur's newly formed Court. This is a sequel to my (ambitious) story Alecto, written five years ago this month. (!)
AUTHOR NOTES: Written for round_table500, inspired by the reference to a quote from St. Francis of Assisi, a profligate-turned-ascetic who began his legendary religious career reluctantly. According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, his biographers tell us that the night before Francis set forth in battle, he had a strange dream in which he saw a vast hall hung with armor all marked with the Cross. "These," said a voice, "are for you and your soldiers." St. Francis once said: There are beautiful and wild forces within us. (Even in such serious and circumspect characters as Arthur and Alecto.)
"We need a priest," Arthur said, his eyes more grave than ever. "We've gone too long without the intercession of a man of God, and my own prayers are wearing thin."
Arthur and I sat alone in his war room in the citadel at Cadbury, awake long past most of the residents of our rapidly expanding community. Since my return to Britain, we often sat and talked together into the night, defying the need for sleep that the stress of command required. When he had run out of words, Arthur loved poring over his store of scrolls, sharing the shivering light from the braziers. I was content to simply share the same air.
He stood up and towered over my perch on the small couch. I craned my neck to see him, pulling a thick fur tighter against the autumn chill.
"Alecto, with your education you are the closest thing we have to a cleric," he announced in the voice he used to speak to his newly converted citizenry. "I admit it's far from becoming pope, but you can be our priest."
I looked up at this man who had become my king, hoping my face didn't betray the dismay of my heart. I wanted to protest that I never wanted to be a religious leader of any sort, much less pope. But my godfather Hilarus had reached that high office, and Arthur well knew his wish had been for me to follow him into the service of the Church. Since my return to Britain, I had spent most of my time helping its warrior king with chores mostly administrative, translations and map-making. I still held out hope that I would someday become a knight, but unlike most of the men who had risen to that role, I could read and write, valuable skills in a young kingdom still tottering on untried legs; and so I jousted with a stylus, not a sword.
Now I understood why Arthur avoided any conversation that alluded to my future knighthood.
"I long ago gave up my religious aspirations," I said haltingly.
"But you retained your faith, did you not?" It may have been a question or a command. "Christ still rules your heart."
I wanted to say, "No, Arthur. You do."
Instead I nodded, reflecting on the many years since I thought of the Nazarene carpenter at all, with worldly matters like politics and war having become synonymous with the Church of Rome. Blinking against the flickering firelight, I was startled by what appeared to be a shadowy cross cast on the face of Arthur's nearby shield.
The king reached out and took my hand in his emphatic grip. "Be my partner, Alecto. Help me bring the teachings of Jesus to this land."
It would be unthinkable to refuse him. And so that night I went on my knees near my small cot and prayed for the first time in three years.
"His will be done," I whispered.
I meant Arthur's, of course.