[love_bingo FIC] "Uncourtly Love" (Arthuriana, PG-13)
I rediscovered the draft of this, and I managed to burn rubber to get it typed. We'll see about the last square: a few ideas came to mind while I was taking a long walk, so I might be able to bang something out in the next two days, but I can't make an guarantees.
Prompt: one more night
Pairing: Klingsor/OFC)
Word count: 755
NOTE: Set before the events of Richard Wagner's opera "Parsifal" and inspired somewhat by the music video of Rammstein's "Rosenrot" (Till Lindemann would make an ideal Kling if there was ever a rock-opera based on the legend.
From nearly the moment they had set foot in the village square and received the greetings of the villagers, the girl had been eying Klingsor. The knights had come to offer the sacraments for the people, in lieu of a priest from Rome, and to offer what counsel they could in the short time in which they would linger here before moving on to the next village in need of a priest. And during the days in which they stayed, she had approached Klingsor specifically, more often than one would think necessary. And she had insisted that they had merely walked together alone in the forest. She spoke to him at length of Varan, her betrothed, a shepherd who had died, falling into a ravine while trying to rescue a lamb, and how Varan had already come into her bower in the night, without her father knowing it, and how she had planned to reveal to him their promises to each other.
"My father will beat me like a cart horse, if he knows," she said. "I should not have let him lay a hand upon me," she said, bowing her head in shame.
Klingsor reached out and tilted her face up to his. "No. There is no reason to feel ashamed. You could have done better, to have told your father of this promise sooner, but there is no shame in following your heart's desire."
She smiled up at him and put a hand on his. "You are so kind and warm, so different from the other knights."
He snorted. "I am as prickly at heart as a thorn bush, but I too have known the shame of not following one's heart."
"But you are a Knight of the Grail. You are called to a chaste life," she said.
"Does that vow make us any less men? Does it unman us? No, we still have our passions and our desires," he replied. "Our vows are only as strict as our desire to keep them."
She looked at him oddly, and he should have guessed that she had started to set what would prove a snare for him.
He knew that Gurnemanz and the other knights had started to scrutinize his movements, but he gave them no mind. Let them be suspicious: he meant only to comfort this nigh widow.
The night before their last night in the village, the townsfolk celebrated the wedding of a young couple who had made their vows in the spring and who needed only the blessing of God and the Church, a blessing which Gurnemanz bestowed upon them, at a Mass at which Klingsor served as deacon. Through the ceremony, however, the servitor was hard put not to glance at Varan's widow, who had served as the bride's witness.
During the wedding feast, the widow approached Klingsor, asking him to dance with her. His heart wanted to accept, but he had to defer due to his vows: if he had a wife, he could dance with her, but as he lacked one, he could not, particularly with the eyes of his brother knights watching.
"What if you were to come to my cottage and dance with me to what music we can hear?" she said to him, her words muffled by the piper's tunes.
He chuckled and grinned at her. "If I were to come to your cottage in the night, it would be for something different from dancing."
She smiled, conspiratorially. "Dancing is not so different, except that you are on your feet."
"We speak the same language," he said.
At midnight, while the younger dancers still lingered and the knights retired to their camp, Klingsor did not join them. One of the squires reported that he had seen Klingsor departing with Varan's widow, and so the knights made haste to find their missing brother.
The squires reached the cottage first, beating in the door and rushing inside, where they found Klingsor lying with the widow.
"Cannot a man give a widow some measure of comfort when she seeks it?" he demanded/
Gurnemanz and Romhalt arrived moments later, moments too late: they heard the widow's angry screams and Klingsor's anguished yawps. They managed to separate the squires from the fallen knight but the damage had been done. Klingsor lay bloodied, in a swoon.
"There was no call for this! You have acted like ruffians, not like knights of the Lord," Gurnemanz snapped.
"Nor has Klingsor, hiding himself in this woman's bed," one of the squires retorted.
"And so you have acted like the Pharisees, who would have stoned the woman caught in adultery," Gurnemanz replied, solemnly, brooking no argument.
Prompt: one more night
Pairing: Klingsor/OFC)
Word count: 755
NOTE: Set before the events of Richard Wagner's opera "Parsifal" and inspired somewhat by the music video of Rammstein's "Rosenrot" (Till Lindemann would make an ideal Kling if there was ever a rock-opera based on the legend.
From nearly the moment they had set foot in the village square and received the greetings of the villagers, the girl had been eying Klingsor. The knights had come to offer the sacraments for the people, in lieu of a priest from Rome, and to offer what counsel they could in the short time in which they would linger here before moving on to the next village in need of a priest. And during the days in which they stayed, she had approached Klingsor specifically, more often than one would think necessary. And she had insisted that they had merely walked together alone in the forest. She spoke to him at length of Varan, her betrothed, a shepherd who had died, falling into a ravine while trying to rescue a lamb, and how Varan had already come into her bower in the night, without her father knowing it, and how she had planned to reveal to him their promises to each other.
"My father will beat me like a cart horse, if he knows," she said. "I should not have let him lay a hand upon me," she said, bowing her head in shame.
Klingsor reached out and tilted her face up to his. "No. There is no reason to feel ashamed. You could have done better, to have told your father of this promise sooner, but there is no shame in following your heart's desire."
She smiled up at him and put a hand on his. "You are so kind and warm, so different from the other knights."
He snorted. "I am as prickly at heart as a thorn bush, but I too have known the shame of not following one's heart."
"But you are a Knight of the Grail. You are called to a chaste life," she said.
"Does that vow make us any less men? Does it unman us? No, we still have our passions and our desires," he replied. "Our vows are only as strict as our desire to keep them."
She looked at him oddly, and he should have guessed that she had started to set what would prove a snare for him.
He knew that Gurnemanz and the other knights had started to scrutinize his movements, but he gave them no mind. Let them be suspicious: he meant only to comfort this nigh widow.
The night before their last night in the village, the townsfolk celebrated the wedding of a young couple who had made their vows in the spring and who needed only the blessing of God and the Church, a blessing which Gurnemanz bestowed upon them, at a Mass at which Klingsor served as deacon. Through the ceremony, however, the servitor was hard put not to glance at Varan's widow, who had served as the bride's witness.
During the wedding feast, the widow approached Klingsor, asking him to dance with her. His heart wanted to accept, but he had to defer due to his vows: if he had a wife, he could dance with her, but as he lacked one, he could not, particularly with the eyes of his brother knights watching.
"What if you were to come to my cottage and dance with me to what music we can hear?" she said to him, her words muffled by the piper's tunes.
He chuckled and grinned at her. "If I were to come to your cottage in the night, it would be for something different from dancing."
She smiled, conspiratorially. "Dancing is not so different, except that you are on your feet."
"We speak the same language," he said.
At midnight, while the younger dancers still lingered and the knights retired to their camp, Klingsor did not join them. One of the squires reported that he had seen Klingsor departing with Varan's widow, and so the knights made haste to find their missing brother.
The squires reached the cottage first, beating in the door and rushing inside, where they found Klingsor lying with the widow.
"Cannot a man give a widow some measure of comfort when she seeks it?" he demanded/
Gurnemanz and Romhalt arrived moments later, moments too late: they heard the widow's angry screams and Klingsor's anguished yawps. They managed to separate the squires from the fallen knight but the damage had been done. Klingsor lay bloodied, in a swoon.
"There was no call for this! You have acted like ruffians, not like knights of the Lord," Gurnemanz snapped.
"Nor has Klingsor, hiding himself in this woman's bed," one of the squires retorted.
"And so you have acted like the Pharisees, who would have stoned the woman caught in adultery," Gurnemanz replied, solemnly, brooking no argument.