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Entry tags:
Summer Song
Fandom: Popslash
Pairing: Chris/JC
Rating: R
Notes/Disclaimer: Um, clearly an AU that never ever happened, right?
On AO3, here or
Summer Song
Our days are quiet now, structured between the bells of matins and compline, a far cry from the clamor of the High King's court at Camelot; even further from the unceasing din of battle or the daily struggle for survival that was my childhood.
Many might think that of all men, I, Christopher, first knight of the Queen's Order, once known as my Lord Bedivere's missing right hand, would have long since gone mad living amongst the quiet men and women of Glaslyn Abbey, but the community has been good to Justin and me over the years, has given us a place to find our lives once again. When I feel stifled by the walls, I can walk in the shadow of Dinas Emrys and listen for the untamed words carried by the wind.
In the days before all was changed by one stroke of a traitorous sword, I was proud to have been able to pay my lady mother's dowry here, and so I am gifted by her company even while many around us must find the way to live without family. The abbey itself, though small, is well-run, open to both men and women of holy orders, and known for sharing its blessings on all who need aid, especially now that there is no king to care for the land. The abbess, a daughter to one of my fallen brethren of the Round Table, manages the community with grace and intelligence, keeping the estates running smoothly while never undermining the abbot, a man so deeply spiritual as to be other-worldly.
The years pass peacefully, and with every turn of the seasons, it becomes easier to stay.
---
The morning is soft and chill with mist and the meadow grasses wet against our legs as Justin--once my squire, now my friend, my eyes--guides me cautiously along the rough path. Spring is at last upon us and the sisters' wistful wishes for food that is not dried or salted was excuse enough to send us out to the river.
Once I am settled with my back to a tree, Justin sets to unpacking the traps and baskets he carries slung over his back. He sets things out in their customary places in front of me, so that even I can bait each trap, and then lowers them into the river with a whispered curse at the freezing water and then a prayer to both St. Andrew and Danu.
The familiar activity leads naturally to the familiar thought that he had plans for things better than this. "Now that it is spring, the pass through the mountains at Aberglaslyn will soon be clear. You have no need to stay another--"
Justin snorts. "Your brain grows soft in your old age, my lord. In years past, you would not have waited for winter to actually end before starting in on me. I answer, as I always do: I am not withering away here."
"You know not what you miss--"
"I. Know." He breathes deeply. "I may be an unacknowledged by-blow, but I was raised at the greatest of all courts, I trained with the most famous knights, and I rode to battle with you. I know there is a world beyond these hills. I choose to stay, my lord. You do not bind me."
His voice is firm. I can still see his open smile with my mind's eye, even as I hear the stubbornness that lies behind it. I know it well for it is the only reason I sit here today. He was no more than sixteen summers, unblooded in any battle save the one we fought that day, lost and alone, yet he found me, lying nigh unto death next to the Lake, and doggedly refused to allow me to die. He keeps silent the details of our journey, but my mother has told me that we arrived at the abbey's gates in the dead of the night, the both of us tied to his horse and covered in so much blood and filth that not even she could say for certain that we were who he claimed us to be.
A whoop of pleasure cuts off my maundering thoughts. "Five trout in the first trap! Dinner this noon will be most sweet, my lord."
Though his kin no longer make their home here in Britain, Justin could go into service with any of the remaining knights or their clans; no one would doubt his courage or training. Whatever my opinion of his father, his bloodline deserves better than to play nursemaid in a distant valley, but perhaps I am growing soft in my old age. I cannot imagine life without his elbow under my hand, his voice in my ear, and so I selfishly yield to his determination to stay.
---
Meals are simple at the abbey, but after a childhood of near starvation followed by years of camp rations as squire and young knight, I am more than content with the food, and Justin eats with the single-mindedness of a still-growing boy. If the bread is not so fine as was served at the high table at Camelot, it is still warm and fresh, and the meats and fishes are seasoned well by the herbs my mother grows.
As is our custom, Justin and I sit a little apart so that we may speak quietly and not disturb those who dedicate their hours to silent prayer and meditation. Glaslyn Abbey is not so strict as some. Both men and women of holy orders, as well as the lay brothers and sisters and visitors eat together, so our presence is not an intrusion, but we do, even after these many years, make an effort to curb our voices during gatherings of the community.
On this day, we are surprisingly joined by two others, men on whom I can smell the dust and soil of the road. Truly, the pass at Aberglaslyn could not yet be clear, yet these men are not of the Nant Gwynant.
"One has the look of a fighter," Justin tells me. "Not a knight, but not a man-at-arms either. The other one, not so much, but I do not think he would be as easy to take as he might appear." The strangers keep to themselves, replying quietly to the abbot when he greets them with a blessing, but otherwise speaking only to each other.
We linger as the tables are taken down, for the abbess stops to speak with us. She claims a kinship with Justin, as they are children of the men of the highest order in the land, and to my mind, it is to her credit that she does so. Not many overlook the circumstances of his birth and the behavior of his father, despite the unmistakable resemblance, but Sister Joan is a law unto herself. What she decides, none challenge.
Tonight, she merely wishes to inform us that the travelers will need the small wall chamber Justin usually occupies, and to remind Justin that the warmer weather will not excuse him from the lessons in reading and writing she offers to him. I cannot suppress a smile at his less than eager agreement, but the opportunity to learn is one of the great advantages to living in a community such as this, and Justin does see the reward in it all, even if he would rather spend his days out on the hills.
Sister Joan sets a time, and then takes her leave with a hasty blessing. Did it not show me lacking in the deference due her, I would think that she fled to hide her amusement.
Though it is late, the hall has not emptied and it buzzes with speculation about the silent visitors. As it happens, Justin and I do not have to wait long to hear a more authoritative version of the rumors.
A familiar deep voice says quietly, "Brother Kerwyn sends word from the stables that the travelers carry instruments in their baggage." A Christian monk Brother Lance might be, but I have yet to meet his better in gathering information, especially as it pertains to music. He is the abbey's scrivener, and a fine one by all accounts, but his passion lies not with the saints' lives and breviaries he so painstakingly illuminates, but in recording the ballads and sagas of the land.
Only I hear Justin's tiny sound of derision at the news. While we might be content with the plainest of food, we neither of us have much regard for what passes as music here in this isolated spot. My Lord Bedivere was near as great a bard as a warrior, and if Arthur himself was less enthusiastic, every poet of Britain and the continent was drawn to the High Queen as bees to honey.
The occasional minstrels who wander the footpaths now are sad cousins to those great bards, but any diversion is welcome after the long nights of winter, even if we can only shake our heads in dismay at the caterwauling. Justin refills our tankards with the heady ale from the abbey's brewery while Brother Lance guides me through the crowded hall to our preferred corner.
"It is one of the visitors," Justin murmurs. "The smaller one, but unlike some I could mention, he is not truly small." I growl in response and Justin's laughter ghosts under the polite scufflings of the hall settling down. When he speaks again, his voice is suddenly sharp with interest. "He carries a harp, my lord, an old one by the looks of it." His excitement matches my own. Most who sing here are not skilled enough to even pretend to play a bard's harp and even those who might possess the talent usually cannot find anyone to teach them.
"Tallish, not much shorter than I, wavy brown hair to his shoulders. Clean-shaven and not small of nose but overall pleasing to look at." Justin drops his voice to the barest of murmurs, not a whisper whose harsh sibilants might carry over open land, but the low tone used just before moving to hand signals in a raid. He remembers well what he has learned even if he has not used it in too many years.
Then the visitor strikes the first chord and all else falls away. His voice is good: strong and true; his harp like an extension of his voice, and he knows every song that is called for in the hall, often offering more verses than are the custom here. With each song, Brother Lance's excitement grows, and Justin is clearly delighted to hear so fine a bard once again, but I am near to overwhelmed. It is the first time I have heard many of the old sagas since my sight failed and I hear them this night as if they were truly new.
He plays the crowd well, moving from fast song to slow and back again, until he calls for an end to the music, saying that he must not over-tax his voice, and then begins a song that chills me deeper and deeper with each word. I feel Justin's quiet restlessness and Brother Lance's alert stillness and know that they understand my disquiet. Without saying the name, in a song that none of us know, this stranger is singing of the glory that was Camelot and is gone forever. The song ends to appreciative exclamations, and Justin hisses, "He looks straight at us, my lord. He knows we know of what he sings."
I do not know who this traveler is, but I do know that however much he has unsettled me with his music, I will not be intimidated.
"Then look you straight back at him for me, and for yourself, with all the assurance that I can give that you would have taken your father's place at Arthur's table." If this man could know Camelot to write such a song, he must recognize the bloodlines that were stamped on Justin's face even as a boy.
I turn my face to the source of the music and Justin stands behind me, near shaking with suppressed emotions, until Brother Lance tells me that the travelers have left the hall. I want to ask how many in the room saw the exchange, but am too weary and disconcerted. Instead, Justin and I bid Brother Lance good evening, and make our way to our chambers. I know each curve and twist of the abbey passageways, but this night, I am more than grateful for the familiar elbow under my hand.
Silently, Justin drags the pallet and blankets out of the chest and settles himself on the floor. I say nothing, for I am as troubled as he.
I lie awake long after the abbey bells ring compline. The final song will not leave me, no matter how fiercely I will it, and in the end, I give in and let the full, rich voice roll through my mind. Song after song follows, until I cannot remember any of the bards I have heard before and there is only one more thing I would ask. It is a small detail, but one that I cannot accustom myself to not knowing, even after these many years. "Justin?"
"My lord?" His voice is sleepy but he answers without delay.
"The bard's eyes. What color are they?"
"Blue," he murmurs. "Blue like the lake at Ynis Witrin."
Justin does finally slip into sleep, but my memories are sharp and clear and cutting, and I know it will not be long before his own will surface in his dreams.
---
It is easy the mornings that follow to convince Justin that we should spend time outside of the abbey. We check the traps in the river again and set snares for such small animals that have survived the winter. We mark bramble patches for later summer and help the lay brother prune back the orchards. Justin insists that my sitting under a newly blossoming tree shouting insults at him as he climbs above me and chops the tree limbs according to the brother's instruction does not count as help, but I am well used to his grumbles and ignore them loftily.
As the days pass, I wonder if we did not react over-harshly that first night. Dinas Emrys is, after all, Merlin's Keep, and it is common knowledge that the abbey and keep are close-tied. Sister Joan makes no secret of her father; indeed, she signs even abbey correspondence with the Tegyr crest. His song was quite clearly welcomed, but Joshua, the bard, has never repeated it, though he sings each night.
I trust Justin's instincts with my life, but perhaps there is a benign reason for the travelers' interest in us that night. Brother Lance tells me that they visit him daily, sharing their songs and learning as many from his library as he can teach them. Joshua writes many songs, some--Justin snickers and tells me that Brother Lance blushes--quite cheerfully ribald, and completely inappropriate for a Christian abbey.
Neither approaches us, though I hear them often. Joshua has a quiet manner when not singing, while his companion, Joseph, has a ready laugh for all who cross his path.
With unusual good grace, Justin studies each afternoon with Sister Joan. I am surprised until he quietly mentions that he thinks his mother would be proud and my opinion of Sister Joan rises yet again.
While Justin labors with ink and quill, I make my way along the passageways, visiting with all who have a moment to spare from their tasks. In my wanderings, I discover that Joshua practices each day in a corner of the old chapel. Though I tell myself to leave quickly, before I am found, I cannot walk away from his voice, and I return every day after. Some days, he repeats one song over and over, as though trying to find something lost. Other times, he jumps from ballad to ballad, jumbling all together, and then there are the days when he simply plays. It matters not; I stay each day as long as I dare, but I do not speak of it to Justin.
Still, we cannot resist the lure of music each night, though we make sure to leave before Joshua finishes his last song.
Word spreads of Joshua's talent, and finally messages are sent down from Dinas Emrys to say that the abbey has had more than its share of the entertainment, and inviting him to the keep. Joseph accompanies him, seemingly as a matter of course. Caught somewhere between relief and a curious emptiness, I spend a quiet evening with Brother Lance, and sleep early. Justin and I rise early also, breaking our fast in the kitchens, before the tables are set up in the hall, settled into a corner where we are out of the way, but still benefit from the warmth of the banked fires.
The travelers return as we finish, stumbling a bit, and sounding weary as they are scolded for interrupting the flow of food to the hall. Joseph begs leave to wrap some bread and cheese to take to their chambers, explaining that they did not sleep while at the keep.
When the cook snickers knowingly about the maids and their favor for new faces, Joseph sighs. "You would think so, yes, but this one," Joshua snorts, "took it into his head to spend the night on the walls, watching and listening to I know not what, and I am bound to follow where he goes."
Brother Trahern lowers his voice so as not to frighten the kitchen servants. "There are those who say they hear voices on the winds of Dinas Emrys."
He speaks truly, for I am one of them, and even as I pull at Justin's sleeve to leave before we are noticed, I wonder if Joshua heard them, too.
---
As if to make up for the lateness of spring this year, summer comes full upon us quickly. Being some distracted by the continuing presence of the travelers, I fail to remember one vital fact of early summer life in the abbey until Justin hisses in pain while we break our fast one morning. I have no time to react before my ear is pinched in a strong grip and my mother says, "Just the strong backs I have need of today."
Ignoring our protests of prior commitments, she drags us out of the hall and into her garden. Justin is given over to the lay sister who is learning the herbs and their uses for a myriad of tasks, while I am set to clearing the weeds from the roses. Even I can feel the difference between the hard, thorn-covered canes and everything else, though it always ends with my hands as sacrifices. Knowing that we will bolt to the open country at first chance, my mother does not allow us to pass from her sight, even going so far as to have bread and cheese carried from the kitchens so we have no reason to stop.
Only when she is full-satisfied with our day's work does she send us off with a quick kiss, a salve for the scratches and cuts that cover my hands, and small cask of the ale reserved for the most special of occasions. She might be demanding, but she does know how to pay her debts.
We take the ale to the river and spend the last hour of twilight in the shallows, letting the cool water wash away the worst of the dirt and sweat. When we finally leave the water, the full effects of the day leave us staggering to our chamber. In the final passageway, where I need no guide, we recover enough to race a little, shoving and falling into and over each other, until I trip Justin and he pulls me down with him, and so we are as unkempt as we have ever been to greet the unexpected arrival of Joshua at our door.
---
"I beg pardon for this intrusion, but I could find no other time to speak with you, my lords." Joshua, for all his humble words, does not sound very apologetic and Justin bristles a bit at his tone.
"He is the lord; I am not so titled, so it will do you no good to curry favor with me."
"Again, I beg pardon; I meant only respect to one so obviously of the blood of the Round Table."
"If you know of my blood, you know of the rest of it, and must know that I claim nothing of the Round Table."
"Truly, I do not. I know only what men say of Camelot; your face I know from the time spent with my family in Brittany. The family resemblance is strong and all know of the glory of the Queen's Champion."
I place a cautionary hand on Justin's arm, for there is little that will incense him more than mention of his father and the queen in the same thought.
"What do you seek from us, bard?" I have no patience with the niceties of conversation these days, if ever I did. "I keep no household now; I cannot offer service to you or your companion."
"We do not seek service, my lord. We--or really, I--seek you." He hesitates, then says, "They say that you were there when the High King fell at Camlan, and I would know if it is true."
Justin breathes in and out once harshly. I know his turmoil, but, strangely, do not share it.
"It is true." I have spoken of that day only to tell Sister Joan what I knew of her father's final ride with Arthur, but I find it easy to answer. It is as if I have been waiting for this since the night my mother cut me free from Justin's horse, cursing me and Arthur and Mordred with one breath, and sending prayers to her Blessed Virgin with the next.
"I would know what happened." Joshua's voice is gentle. "In my heart, a song is waiting to be made, but I cannot know how it must go until I understand."
I nod once, but speak first to Justin. "I do not ask it of you, but you are welcome to stay. You are a man grown now; you must decide what is right for you."
After a long silence, Justin whispers, "I...I will wait outside for you to finish, my lord." I wish that it could be otherwise, that he could be ready to speak of that day, for I know, even if he does not, that he is strong enough to bear the memories, but I do understand.
"Joe sleeps in the stables tonight," Joshua says not unkindly. "There is a mare close to foaling and he stays with Brother Kerwyn. They will be happy to have someone other than the horses for company."
"My lord?"
"Go, Justin. We will be well here." I put as much reassurance as I can find into my answer and with a final awkward stammer, Justin leaves.
I cannot speak for a time, but Joshua is patient. "What know you of that day?" I ask finally.
"I would rather you assume I know nothing."
I take him at his word and tell him of the long night leading up to that battle, the night that my Lord Bedivere and the other knights and I spent wakeful, knowing that we were outmanned and out-maneuvered by the traitor Mordred's forces, trapped in a near indefensible position.
I tell him that many believed Mordred to be Arthur's bastard son, gotten on his own sister, but that whomsoever his father, Mordred was raised by the witch queen Morgan LeFay to hate her brother, and that all through the night, I heard him shrieking for blood.
I tell him how Arthur rallied his men during the battle again and again, until Mordred's army lay in bloody ruin upon the plain, and I tell him of hearing my lord's despairing howl as Mordred struck down Arthur, even as Arthur returned the blow.
Men did say that I fought every battle as if possessed; on that day at least, they spoke truly. I know not how I crossed the field, for I was in the grip of a berserker rage, and it is to my everlasting shame and dishonor that I did not remember that Justin was young and not experienced enough to stay with me. I lost him in my mad rush, and it is only by the grace of all the gods that I did not kill him by my thoughtlessness, as I killed my horse under me.
I tell Joshua of reaching my lord's side as he stood over the fallen High King and of fighting back to back to keep the ravening beasts off our fallen liege. It was the ugliest of struggles; close, desperate and brutal. My lord took a glancing blow to the head that stunned him to his knees. I saw the killing blow poised to fall, and was blessed to be able to take it upon myself instead. That is all I can say of the battle; when next I remember, all was quiet and I could hear the king ask my lord to take Excalibur to the lake. My lord did falter twice, but on the third time, I saw, as he did, the hand rise up and receive the sword ere it touched water. The High King quieted then, and I lay near him as the darkness fell and my lord kept watch over us both.
My vision dimmed with the coming light of the new day, and has never returned, but I did see the Lady and her women come for the King during the night. They wept for him and carried him to the lake, and my lord and I watched as the Lady bore him away to Ynis Witrin in her barge, until the mist covered everything.
Joshua does not ask, but I tell him how I begged my lord to rally those men that he could and see them safely away from the plain. By then, I could not see my lord's face, beloved though it was to me, and I felt the life force leaving me, but he would not abandon me. We argued, as we often did, but I was saved from my stubborn pride by a hoarse voice calling my name out of the mist. He will not speak of it, so I do not know how, but Justin lived through the battle, and the night, and with the dawn was searching for my body. I think that he had gone a little mad by then, but so had we all.
My lord's brother came soon after, and they did gather up those who lived, and prepared to return to my lord's stronghold but I, with the illogic of the near-dead, wanted to breathe my last with kin, and so Justin and I turned north and came here so that I might hear my mother's voice once more before I died. She, as she will tell you plainly, held other opinions.
I tell him of that day until I have nothing left inside me, and I hear his breath sigh out on a sob. "No, do not cry for the High King. He yet lived when the Lady took him, and if any could save him, She and her followers could."
"I do not weep for Arthur." Joshua's voice is rough with the tears, and with something close to anger, I think.
"Were my words what you came to me for?"
"Yes." He takes my hand and places it over his heart. "I feel them here," he moves our hands to touch lightly at his temple, "and here, and I know the song will soon follow."
His hair is soft against my fingertips, and I cannot resist the urge to slide my hand fully into the curls. His breathing quickens, but he is otherwise still as I trace down to his jaw. "May I?"
A man with sight would have missed his quiet "Yes," but to me, it is a shout. I follow the high cheekbones and feel the moisture still on his lashes. His nose is as Justin described, proud and most definitely Roman, and his jaw strong. I withstand the temptation for as long as I can, but when I finally can no longer stop myself and allow my fingers to ghost lightly over his lips, his tongue sweeps out to curl around them.
Our first kiss is tentative, a mere brush of lips that would be chaste but for the sudden flicker of his tongue across my mouth. He laughs softly and pulls me closer and all thoughts of rightness or of waiting friends are swept away in the taste and feel of him.
"Always," he murmurs between kisses, and his voice, that which all want and which I could not push out of my head, is only for me now. "From the moment I saw you hear my songs, before I even knew it was you I sought, this is what I have wanted."
"Yes." I agree but have no desire to waste breath on words, not when I can use it to cover his mouth with mine, kissing him until he moans deep in his throat. "Off." I pull impatiently at the clothes hindering my need to feel his skin next to mine. His hands shake as he works tunics and breeches off us both, a fine trembling that continues as he lies back under my hands and mouth. I make note of each sigh and gasp, and pay close attention to the whimpers, repeating what he likes best until he shudders and cries out beneath me, and follow quickly upon his lead.
We sleep easily that night, wrapped together by more than just our bodies' pleasure.
---
Once in Gaul, while on campaign, I saw a man from beyond Byzantium enthrall a snake with only a wooden flute. I am reminded of him each time Justin charms enough food to feed a small army out of Brother Trahern's kitchens.
We take this noonday meal in the small clearing by the river. Justin and Joe by turns check the fish traps and attempt to beat each other half to death with swords. Justin was right that first day. Joe is neither knight nor man-at-arms but rather a centurion of the Legions, left behind in Gaul when a leg injury became infected and was slow to heal. It is the Legions' loss; he is one from whom Justin can learn much. He possesses more than simple skill; he has the temperament to teach and lead, and gained Justin's trust in the night spent foaling the abbess' mare. Had I still a meiny, I would have him as a captain without a second thought.
Brother Lance and I sit close by Joshua, though he steadfastly ignores us. His small harp is out and his mind is wholly occupied by his music.
"Water?" asks Brother Lance.
I shake my head. "Joe says it works, but to save it for the most dire of occasions because he grows irritated if his harp is damaged."
The fever to write came over Joshua between bites of the pleasantly sharp cheese Justin has acquired for us today and we have ceased to exist for however long it takes for the madness to leave him.
"We could flick droplets at him," Lance suggests. "Not so much as to damage his harp, just to wake him long enough to ask politely when he might be returning to his right mind so that I may know when I can speak further with him."
Lance can be as single-minded as Joshua when it comes to his growing library of songs. For my mind, they are both mad, but before I can offer my opinion, Justin throws himself on the ground at my feet, panting and laughingly begging a halt to the practice of what has sounded like a particularly vicious move with a belt knife.
"Peace, Joe! Why aren't you master-at-arms at a barracks on the continent?"
"Ah, you know how it is, my boy." Joe's voice is a pleasure to my ears, it is so expressive. Justin has described him to me, and I can see the gleam come into his eye with his next words. "There I was, minding my own business, knocking heads together for any town that would pay me when the prettiest set of eyes I'd ever seen lit upon me. The next I knew, I'd left the filthy towns for a freehold cot and the pleasure of having those eyes smile me each day."
"And how came you to know Joshua?" Justin asks. "Not that his eyes aren't pretty enough to have enthralled you." I kick at him and he giggles.
Joe laughs. "He may sing as with the gods blessings, but he's a babe when it comes time for practical matters. I came across him lost on his way to Lyonesse and ripe for whatever outlaw found him first."
"But," Justin yawns, "why do you travel with him?"
"Because," Joshua speaks up suddenly, "as hopeless as I might be with the practical, I am a genius compared to Joey and farming." Joe laughs quickly and easily at himself, and Justin and Lance join in, unable to resist, but Joshua is tense beside me.
I did not mistake the tension, but after a few seconds, Joshua is again lost in the words and music. Brother Lance takes his leave, after pointed--if ignored--remarks about wasted time. A bee drones nearby, and Justin begins to snore lightly. Joshua hums to himself, and runs his hand down my arm to circle my wrist. Joe moves closer and asks me of the strategies my lord used at Badon Hill, and another day slips pleasantly away.
---
We pay dearly for the early summer with news of Saxon raids to the south, worse than ever before. Those that flee them soon strain the resources of both the abbey and Dinas Emrys itself to the breaking point.
Sister Joan's relief as I offer our chambers back to her more than makes up for the inconvenience of making camp outside the abbey gates. In truth, it is no hardship at all. The same weather that is a boon to the raiders makes for easy living in the open and Justin knows a small cave in the hill beneath Dinas Emrys so we have shelter from the occasional fast-moving summer rains.
Justin and Joe leave long before sunrise each day, ranging far afield with the Dinas Emrys huntsmen, often not returning until full night, but almost always bearing a good day's catch. Since we have lived in these hills, Justin has grown skilled with a longbow, and I hear the pride in his voice as he repays Joe's lessons with ones of his own. Before, the longbow would not have been considered an honorable weapon, but times have changed, and neither Justin nor Joe concerns himself with what once was.
Joe did not lie; Joshua and the practical life at times enjoy a distant relationship. I am reminded of the good abbot, and begin to think Sister Joan deserves even more respect than she is customarily given. When Joshua is submerged in his music, he can forget to eat, even if the food is placed next to him. And when, like now, the music deserts him, he is quick to snap and snarl, and is generally not fit for polite company. Only in sleep does he drop his guard, and in the mornings, I am often claimed by a casual arm thrown across me.
Justin and Joe cannot help but see what is in front of their eyes. Justin makes no comment but takes the time to make sure Joshua knows exactly how things must be laid out so that I may make ready for each day without help. What Joe thinks, I do not know.
This morning, Joshua is sprawled half over me when Joe wakes me. "The fire," he says as he makes to follow Justin out of the cave. "It is raining; keep after him to not let it go out."
I intend to answer as I usually do, but instead hear my voice say "Joe?" I cannot ask more clearly than that, but he understands.
"No," he says. "I do not care. I have looked to Mithras since I was taken into the Legions, and his priests do not have much to say about it."
"Others do."
He grunts. "I am not a man to worry overmuch with what others might think a sin. Truth, honor, courage. That is all to me."
"Joe?" Justin's voice floats back into the cave. "We leave now."
Joe pokes at Joshua with his foot and drops a hand on my shoulder. "He does not choose lightly. If he is happy, who am I to say otherwise, even if he walks a difficult path?"
"Joe!"
Joe snorts, "I go, before your squire does himself an injury in his impatience," and leaves me to my thoughts.
---
The rain falls steadily through the day, leaving everything damp and chill. I expect that Joshua will greet the weather with more ill temper, but he only hums deep in his throat that the rain makes him a layabout and turns his attention to me. He rolls me under him, kissing without haste, but then flings unwanted clothing recklessly, stopping only to wrap the both of us in the campaign cloak my lord gave me when he named me his squire so long ago I almost believe it happened to another man. It was not made to shelter more than one, but since Joshua seems determined to share my skin, it is more than adequate.
Each time I reach for him he moves my hands back beside my body, murmuring, "Please?" I claw at the blankets under me, but grant him his wish. By the time he finally lowers himself onto me, I am reduced to helpless cursing, and even that ability deserts me in the face of the torturously slow rhythm he sets.
When at last he quickens his pace, he allows me to touch him. I trace the long length of thigh and belly and chest, but I am so caught up in the unbounded pleasure that I cannot be gentle. He leans into me though, asking wordlessly for more, and his voice holds more pleasure than pain. After so long a tease, the end comes fast and hard upon us both and leaves us shaken and spent.
We have not often had the chance to lie together, and even fewer chances to linger after. I would sleep, but for Joshua's hands still moving over me. They are lazier now, no longer urgent with passion and need, but they find, one after another, the marks and scars of a lifetime of war. Each draws a murmur of compassion and distress, and so I seek to distract him with questions of his life. He speaks idly of the years he and Joe have spent together, of Joe's wife and child, and then asks of the time before Justin and I came to the abbey.
"Not that I know much of knights and their squires," he says, "but you and Justin do not seem to share the expected relationship."
I sigh. "Justin came to me out of my accursed pride. The High Queen was not pleased by his presence--she could hardly pretend he was the son of anyone but his father--and Lancelot bowed to her wishes, so as to not further infuriate her. The others from Brittany took their lead from him, and pretended that Justin did not exist."
"But surely, this was after Galahad--"
"Galahad faced down much even though his lady mother was the daughter of a powerful ally," I interrupt. "He came to Camelot already a man, and a knight without compare. But no knight was gone more often on quests than he, and I do not think that was coincidence. The queen was privately humiliated by all that he meant but could not show her anger to the court."
It all happened so long ago, another age, but I remember the swirling undercurrents vividly. I was never one to enjoy court life, but I could not escape it entirely. "But Justin...Justin is the son of a common man's daughter, no one rich or powerful, and he was determined to be a knight. And his mother was as determined as he. They would not fade away, as Guinevere so pointedly expected. I took him, not because of any lofty ideals, but because I was insulted that my lord, the first knight of the Round Table, was so often pushed aside by the knights of Brittany, by Lancelot and his kin. If they would not take in one of their own, I would do it, just to cause them annoyance."
Joshua laughs softly. "You would deliberately disturb the peace? I am shocked."
My hand is near to a vulnerable place, so he quickly quiets himself and allows me to continue. "I think Galahad would have taken him--he cared little for the politics, and would have done right by Justin--but he was on quest when Justin arrived. I did have need of a squire, for mine had just been knighted and returned to his father's house, but I should by all rights have taken one older. I had forgotten how little patience I have with making and enforcing rules, even for those so focused as Justin." Joshua does not laugh, but it is a near thing, I judge. "I can do it, but it annoys me. It was no more than a fortnight before Justin pushed so hard against such rules as I had that we nearly came to blows, and I told him exactly why he was squire to me."
"And?"
Now it is my turn to laugh. "He answered that he agreed to come into service with me for much the same reason, that no matter how strong my reputation, it was worth as much to him to twist the knife in the knights of Brittany that a grandson of King Ban--even a natural one--be trained by a Briton, not one of his own kin." Now I can see the humor, but then, I came nearer to murder than I wish to acknowledge. "After that, though, we saw each other as conspirators together, and though we play knight and squire for the world, we do not bother with the formalities between the two of us, especially now."
I would ask more of his life, for truly, he has told me little, but he kisses me, and distracts me with the pleasures his hands and mouth bring.
As tightly as I try to cling to each moment, our time together fractures into glittering shards of memory. The curve of his collarbone under my tongue, the firm yield of his shoulder to my teeth, the soft whisper of laughter over my hip, the strong beating of his heart beneath me, the low sweet music in his voice each time I slide into him, his breathless not-quite whimper as he moves on me, all tumble together until I cannot separate one from another.
---
Finally, Joshua is ready to sing of Camlan. He dresses in the cave, bathing in the river before carefully shaking out long-folded robes. He passes each piece to me, so that I might feel the rich cloth and the stiffness of the silver threads in the intricate embroidery on the outer robes. They are black, he tells me, but they take some color from the gemstones worked into the patterns.
When we arrive, the hall is packed close with those who live the abbey being joined by the lord and his family from Dinas Emrys. Those who have fled the Saxons push in eagerly. When Joshua takes his place at the high table, I hear the hushed intake of breath all around me. Joe laughs proudly at the reaction.
"He glows," Justin whispers, but then Joshua strikes his harp. All fall silent, and he begins with the gathering of the armies. Long and long before the Lady takes Arthur into her safekeeping and the song is finished, Justin slips from his seat to kneel on the floor, burying his face in my lap and weeping as he had not allowed the child he had been that day to, his tears made all the hotter and more bitter by the years they had been held inside. I stroke his hair and lean against Joe, and my mother's arms creep around me as the last echoes fade.
There is silence, awed, and not a little fearful. This might be an abbey of the Christian God, but the roots of the old ways run deep, and Joshua has laid bare the core of them with wonder and dread.
My mother coaxes Justin away from me, whispering, "I will take him to my garden. He may find little comfort there now, but at the very least it is more private than this hall."
Joe murmurs that he will go with them. I am grateful; my mother can offer Justin the comfort he could not accept from me; and Joe, of all men here, with years in the Legions to his credit, understands how tears can be the only healing for unspeakable memories.
I do not know how much time passes before Joshua joins me, but the room is empty and chill, and the fires are banked. By unspoken consent, we make our way back to the cave, his arm strong under mine and his voice subdued as he guides me over the rough path.
He builds up the fire and I stand close by it, taking strength from its warmth while he packs away the fine robes and finds his everyday woolens. There is much in my heart, but when at last he joins me, I can only say, "Thank you. You do honor to that day."
His breath whooshes out, and I am taken into a fierce, quick embrace. "It is I who should be thanking you," he says.
He steps away after a moment, moving restlessly about, not able to stay in any one place for more than a second or two. I know what he struggles to say and I tell myself that it is only because I have no patience that I say it for him.
"You leave soon."
"Yes," he says simply. "The summer is half over, and it is a fair journey back to Joe's wife and babe. We have stayed overlong, but Brother Lance has been so accommodating with his records, and ... and this..." His steps bring him back to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body. "I did not want this to end."
"Nor did I."
"It does not have to," he says quickly. "I do not know where our travels take us, but Brother Lance has all but made me swear on holy relics that I will bring him any song I learn." His voice fades a bit. "But I do not like to make plans beyond saying we will return."
For the first time in my life, I cannot think of a way to accomplish what I desire, and it is a bitter draught. It twists within me like a knife to the belly, but to hold him here knowing he would be elsewhere if not for me would be pain worse than that.
"You should not," I agree, and my voice is steady.
"But I am greedy and spoiled. Joe will tell you this at the top of his lungs." He touches my hair lightly. "I do not wish to see you only once each year."
"I--"
"Come with us," he whispers. "We leave in the morn, and I would have you with me so that--"
My laugh is near a sob, but he does not need to know that. "Greedy? Spoiled? I think the word you seek is mad. A man without sight? Ride with you? Do not play with me, bard."
"I do not play," he snaps.
"You ride light and fast; you go wheresoever the wind takes you; you--"
"We ride light because there has never been anything but my harp that was important enough to bring with us."
I turn away from him and grope for the blankets I sleep on. "You do not know of what you speak. I will not have this end with your ill feeling in being landed with the obligation of one who must be tended to constantly."
Unexpectedly, Joshua laughs, his true laugh, wild and free. "An obligation? A challenge perhaps, but... When I first heard rumors of those who had seen the end of the High King at Camlan, they said that Sir Christopher was sore wounded and that he but barely lived. I pushed Joe unmercifully to get here, convinced that I would be lucky to find an invalid only just able to speak, and instead I find a... a..."
"A village idiot and his apprentice?" Justin echoes my mother's favorite description of us from the mouth of the cave, his voice still hoarse from his tears but otherwise calm.
"Well," says Joshua, "I do not wish to call my lover an idiot, so I will only say that I did not find what I expected to find."
"How can I not burden you?" It was a tactical error to have moved to this corner; I am trapped now. "You do not understand what you would take upon yourself."
"But I do, my lord. And we will find a way, if this is what you desire." Justin's answer comes quickly.
"You will not be a burden," Joshua insists at the same time. "You would do me a service." I snort, and he grows defensive. "A service. I would speak to as many who lived and served in Camelot as I can find. Many know you who would not speak freely to me."
"Justin can do that for you; he knew many squires and--"
"No!" Justin snarls viciously, and it is the voice of his father and brother and his cousins before battle. "I will not leave you again. I failed you once, my lord; I will not willingly do so again."
I find the voice to say, "You failed no one. I--"
"I took an oath, my lord. I swore to stand behind you and I was not there when you needed me and--"
"The oath goes both ways, Justin. You did not fail me."
"My lord--"
"Justin," I sigh. "We can argue this later."
"As you wish, my lord," Justin says through gritted teeth, and it has been long since I have heard that particular mulish tone, a not wholly unwelcome reminder of the willful boy I took into my care. "But if you desire this, we will find a way," he repeats more evenly.
Justin turns away from me to speak with Joshua, so quietly that not even I can hear and then leaves without further word to me.
Joshua drops down in front of me, but even as he draws breath, I shake my head. "No. This is madness; I cannot cross this cave without crawling--"
"You are afraid," he blurts out, surprised. "You hide behind your pride, my lord, but it is just that you are afraid."
"And what would you know of fear, Joshua?" Once, I would have killed any man who would have dared to say such to me, but I am weary now, and he is right.
"I know--I know that before Arthur brought peace, I was taken in by a stranger and his family who found me wandering near where a village had been, before the Saxons burned it." He stops for a moment and I can feel him trembling. I was ten the first time I rode with my lord to a burned-out village and I still remember the choking stench. Before I can say anything though, he speaks again.
"I know that my face is as much a danger to me as a boon, that there are those who are happy to keep me for themselves, not for my music, but only for a plaything. I know--"
"Enough." Though I burn with a cold anger that someone would try--has tried, if I hear between words rightly--to use him that way, I understand more why Joe travels with him.
"I am not too proud to admit that I have feared things in my life," Joshua says. "My fears remind me to hold tight to that which brings me joy." He catches my wrist in his hand. "I want you. And I want this." He hits his harp, a sharp discordant chord. "I cannot say it more plainly."
The silence stretches around us. When I was small, I saw the High King, and his foster brother Sir Kay, and the other knights ride out almost daily. I wanted to be a part of that fiercely, so much that I could not think or breathe anything but my plan to become a page and then a squire and then a knight, but I wanted that as much for my mother and sisters as for myself.
This...this I desire even more, and it is only for me, but I know that I cannot indulge myself in it, no matter what my heart wants.
Joshua turns my hand over and kisses the inside of my wrist, slowly tracing the tendons with his tongue before grazing the heartbeat with his teeth, right where the skin is thinnest.
"Please," he whispers and I cannot stop the shudder that ripples through me. He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. "Please," he repeats, and my will crumbles in the face of his yearning.
"Yes," I manage, over my suddenly pounding heart. Joshua growls deep in his throat and this time, he kisses me hard and deep. I slide my hands into his hair to hold him steady where I want him, and it is his turn to struggle for breath when we break apart.
"Yes?" He is close enough that I can feel his smile against mine.
"Yes." This is still wrong, it will not work, but I cannot deny him. Always before, I kept faith in my ability to make my life as I wanted it; now, I will keep faith in him. "Yes."
-fin-
The companion piece to this is Journey's End
Huge thanks to C, who read when I was in the "this all sucks" stage; A, who read it in the middle of a month of travel; and Ro, who has patiently endured the whole sparkly thing, and who offered an incredibly helpful beta even though her first words were "Which one is Chris?" All of them deserve sainthood for helping to make this style as unconvoluted as possible. And much love to J, who held my hand right from the beginning, and who let me tell her the story over IM in bits and pieces while we were both working.
Pairing: Chris/JC
Rating: R
Notes/Disclaimer: Um, clearly an AU that never ever happened, right?
On AO3, here or
Summer Song
Our days are quiet now, structured between the bells of matins and compline, a far cry from the clamor of the High King's court at Camelot; even further from the unceasing din of battle or the daily struggle for survival that was my childhood.
Many might think that of all men, I, Christopher, first knight of the Queen's Order, once known as my Lord Bedivere's missing right hand, would have long since gone mad living amongst the quiet men and women of Glaslyn Abbey, but the community has been good to Justin and me over the years, has given us a place to find our lives once again. When I feel stifled by the walls, I can walk in the shadow of Dinas Emrys and listen for the untamed words carried by the wind.
In the days before all was changed by one stroke of a traitorous sword, I was proud to have been able to pay my lady mother's dowry here, and so I am gifted by her company even while many around us must find the way to live without family. The abbey itself, though small, is well-run, open to both men and women of holy orders, and known for sharing its blessings on all who need aid, especially now that there is no king to care for the land. The abbess, a daughter to one of my fallen brethren of the Round Table, manages the community with grace and intelligence, keeping the estates running smoothly while never undermining the abbot, a man so deeply spiritual as to be other-worldly.
The years pass peacefully, and with every turn of the seasons, it becomes easier to stay.
---
The morning is soft and chill with mist and the meadow grasses wet against our legs as Justin--once my squire, now my friend, my eyes--guides me cautiously along the rough path. Spring is at last upon us and the sisters' wistful wishes for food that is not dried or salted was excuse enough to send us out to the river.
Once I am settled with my back to a tree, Justin sets to unpacking the traps and baskets he carries slung over his back. He sets things out in their customary places in front of me, so that even I can bait each trap, and then lowers them into the river with a whispered curse at the freezing water and then a prayer to both St. Andrew and Danu.
The familiar activity leads naturally to the familiar thought that he had plans for things better than this. "Now that it is spring, the pass through the mountains at Aberglaslyn will soon be clear. You have no need to stay another--"
Justin snorts. "Your brain grows soft in your old age, my lord. In years past, you would not have waited for winter to actually end before starting in on me. I answer, as I always do: I am not withering away here."
"You know not what you miss--"
"I. Know." He breathes deeply. "I may be an unacknowledged by-blow, but I was raised at the greatest of all courts, I trained with the most famous knights, and I rode to battle with you. I know there is a world beyond these hills. I choose to stay, my lord. You do not bind me."
His voice is firm. I can still see his open smile with my mind's eye, even as I hear the stubbornness that lies behind it. I know it well for it is the only reason I sit here today. He was no more than sixteen summers, unblooded in any battle save the one we fought that day, lost and alone, yet he found me, lying nigh unto death next to the Lake, and doggedly refused to allow me to die. He keeps silent the details of our journey, but my mother has told me that we arrived at the abbey's gates in the dead of the night, the both of us tied to his horse and covered in so much blood and filth that not even she could say for certain that we were who he claimed us to be.
A whoop of pleasure cuts off my maundering thoughts. "Five trout in the first trap! Dinner this noon will be most sweet, my lord."
Though his kin no longer make their home here in Britain, Justin could go into service with any of the remaining knights or their clans; no one would doubt his courage or training. Whatever my opinion of his father, his bloodline deserves better than to play nursemaid in a distant valley, but perhaps I am growing soft in my old age. I cannot imagine life without his elbow under my hand, his voice in my ear, and so I selfishly yield to his determination to stay.
---
Meals are simple at the abbey, but after a childhood of near starvation followed by years of camp rations as squire and young knight, I am more than content with the food, and Justin eats with the single-mindedness of a still-growing boy. If the bread is not so fine as was served at the high table at Camelot, it is still warm and fresh, and the meats and fishes are seasoned well by the herbs my mother grows.
As is our custom, Justin and I sit a little apart so that we may speak quietly and not disturb those who dedicate their hours to silent prayer and meditation. Glaslyn Abbey is not so strict as some. Both men and women of holy orders, as well as the lay brothers and sisters and visitors eat together, so our presence is not an intrusion, but we do, even after these many years, make an effort to curb our voices during gatherings of the community.
On this day, we are surprisingly joined by two others, men on whom I can smell the dust and soil of the road. Truly, the pass at Aberglaslyn could not yet be clear, yet these men are not of the Nant Gwynant.
"One has the look of a fighter," Justin tells me. "Not a knight, but not a man-at-arms either. The other one, not so much, but I do not think he would be as easy to take as he might appear." The strangers keep to themselves, replying quietly to the abbot when he greets them with a blessing, but otherwise speaking only to each other.
We linger as the tables are taken down, for the abbess stops to speak with us. She claims a kinship with Justin, as they are children of the men of the highest order in the land, and to my mind, it is to her credit that she does so. Not many overlook the circumstances of his birth and the behavior of his father, despite the unmistakable resemblance, but Sister Joan is a law unto herself. What she decides, none challenge.
Tonight, she merely wishes to inform us that the travelers will need the small wall chamber Justin usually occupies, and to remind Justin that the warmer weather will not excuse him from the lessons in reading and writing she offers to him. I cannot suppress a smile at his less than eager agreement, but the opportunity to learn is one of the great advantages to living in a community such as this, and Justin does see the reward in it all, even if he would rather spend his days out on the hills.
Sister Joan sets a time, and then takes her leave with a hasty blessing. Did it not show me lacking in the deference due her, I would think that she fled to hide her amusement.
Though it is late, the hall has not emptied and it buzzes with speculation about the silent visitors. As it happens, Justin and I do not have to wait long to hear a more authoritative version of the rumors.
A familiar deep voice says quietly, "Brother Kerwyn sends word from the stables that the travelers carry instruments in their baggage." A Christian monk Brother Lance might be, but I have yet to meet his better in gathering information, especially as it pertains to music. He is the abbey's scrivener, and a fine one by all accounts, but his passion lies not with the saints' lives and breviaries he so painstakingly illuminates, but in recording the ballads and sagas of the land.
Only I hear Justin's tiny sound of derision at the news. While we might be content with the plainest of food, we neither of us have much regard for what passes as music here in this isolated spot. My Lord Bedivere was near as great a bard as a warrior, and if Arthur himself was less enthusiastic, every poet of Britain and the continent was drawn to the High Queen as bees to honey.
The occasional minstrels who wander the footpaths now are sad cousins to those great bards, but any diversion is welcome after the long nights of winter, even if we can only shake our heads in dismay at the caterwauling. Justin refills our tankards with the heady ale from the abbey's brewery while Brother Lance guides me through the crowded hall to our preferred corner.
"It is one of the visitors," Justin murmurs. "The smaller one, but unlike some I could mention, he is not truly small." I growl in response and Justin's laughter ghosts under the polite scufflings of the hall settling down. When he speaks again, his voice is suddenly sharp with interest. "He carries a harp, my lord, an old one by the looks of it." His excitement matches my own. Most who sing here are not skilled enough to even pretend to play a bard's harp and even those who might possess the talent usually cannot find anyone to teach them.
"Tallish, not much shorter than I, wavy brown hair to his shoulders. Clean-shaven and not small of nose but overall pleasing to look at." Justin drops his voice to the barest of murmurs, not a whisper whose harsh sibilants might carry over open land, but the low tone used just before moving to hand signals in a raid. He remembers well what he has learned even if he has not used it in too many years.
Then the visitor strikes the first chord and all else falls away. His voice is good: strong and true; his harp like an extension of his voice, and he knows every song that is called for in the hall, often offering more verses than are the custom here. With each song, Brother Lance's excitement grows, and Justin is clearly delighted to hear so fine a bard once again, but I am near to overwhelmed. It is the first time I have heard many of the old sagas since my sight failed and I hear them this night as if they were truly new.
He plays the crowd well, moving from fast song to slow and back again, until he calls for an end to the music, saying that he must not over-tax his voice, and then begins a song that chills me deeper and deeper with each word. I feel Justin's quiet restlessness and Brother Lance's alert stillness and know that they understand my disquiet. Without saying the name, in a song that none of us know, this stranger is singing of the glory that was Camelot and is gone forever. The song ends to appreciative exclamations, and Justin hisses, "He looks straight at us, my lord. He knows we know of what he sings."
I do not know who this traveler is, but I do know that however much he has unsettled me with his music, I will not be intimidated.
"Then look you straight back at him for me, and for yourself, with all the assurance that I can give that you would have taken your father's place at Arthur's table." If this man could know Camelot to write such a song, he must recognize the bloodlines that were stamped on Justin's face even as a boy.
I turn my face to the source of the music and Justin stands behind me, near shaking with suppressed emotions, until Brother Lance tells me that the travelers have left the hall. I want to ask how many in the room saw the exchange, but am too weary and disconcerted. Instead, Justin and I bid Brother Lance good evening, and make our way to our chambers. I know each curve and twist of the abbey passageways, but this night, I am more than grateful for the familiar elbow under my hand.
Silently, Justin drags the pallet and blankets out of the chest and settles himself on the floor. I say nothing, for I am as troubled as he.
I lie awake long after the abbey bells ring compline. The final song will not leave me, no matter how fiercely I will it, and in the end, I give in and let the full, rich voice roll through my mind. Song after song follows, until I cannot remember any of the bards I have heard before and there is only one more thing I would ask. It is a small detail, but one that I cannot accustom myself to not knowing, even after these many years. "Justin?"
"My lord?" His voice is sleepy but he answers without delay.
"The bard's eyes. What color are they?"
"Blue," he murmurs. "Blue like the lake at Ynis Witrin."
Justin does finally slip into sleep, but my memories are sharp and clear and cutting, and I know it will not be long before his own will surface in his dreams.
---
It is easy the mornings that follow to convince Justin that we should spend time outside of the abbey. We check the traps in the river again and set snares for such small animals that have survived the winter. We mark bramble patches for later summer and help the lay brother prune back the orchards. Justin insists that my sitting under a newly blossoming tree shouting insults at him as he climbs above me and chops the tree limbs according to the brother's instruction does not count as help, but I am well used to his grumbles and ignore them loftily.
As the days pass, I wonder if we did not react over-harshly that first night. Dinas Emrys is, after all, Merlin's Keep, and it is common knowledge that the abbey and keep are close-tied. Sister Joan makes no secret of her father; indeed, she signs even abbey correspondence with the Tegyr crest. His song was quite clearly welcomed, but Joshua, the bard, has never repeated it, though he sings each night.
I trust Justin's instincts with my life, but perhaps there is a benign reason for the travelers' interest in us that night. Brother Lance tells me that they visit him daily, sharing their songs and learning as many from his library as he can teach them. Joshua writes many songs, some--Justin snickers and tells me that Brother Lance blushes--quite cheerfully ribald, and completely inappropriate for a Christian abbey.
Neither approaches us, though I hear them often. Joshua has a quiet manner when not singing, while his companion, Joseph, has a ready laugh for all who cross his path.
With unusual good grace, Justin studies each afternoon with Sister Joan. I am surprised until he quietly mentions that he thinks his mother would be proud and my opinion of Sister Joan rises yet again.
While Justin labors with ink and quill, I make my way along the passageways, visiting with all who have a moment to spare from their tasks. In my wanderings, I discover that Joshua practices each day in a corner of the old chapel. Though I tell myself to leave quickly, before I am found, I cannot walk away from his voice, and I return every day after. Some days, he repeats one song over and over, as though trying to find something lost. Other times, he jumps from ballad to ballad, jumbling all together, and then there are the days when he simply plays. It matters not; I stay each day as long as I dare, but I do not speak of it to Justin.
Still, we cannot resist the lure of music each night, though we make sure to leave before Joshua finishes his last song.
Word spreads of Joshua's talent, and finally messages are sent down from Dinas Emrys to say that the abbey has had more than its share of the entertainment, and inviting him to the keep. Joseph accompanies him, seemingly as a matter of course. Caught somewhere between relief and a curious emptiness, I spend a quiet evening with Brother Lance, and sleep early. Justin and I rise early also, breaking our fast in the kitchens, before the tables are set up in the hall, settled into a corner where we are out of the way, but still benefit from the warmth of the banked fires.
The travelers return as we finish, stumbling a bit, and sounding weary as they are scolded for interrupting the flow of food to the hall. Joseph begs leave to wrap some bread and cheese to take to their chambers, explaining that they did not sleep while at the keep.
When the cook snickers knowingly about the maids and their favor for new faces, Joseph sighs. "You would think so, yes, but this one," Joshua snorts, "took it into his head to spend the night on the walls, watching and listening to I know not what, and I am bound to follow where he goes."
Brother Trahern lowers his voice so as not to frighten the kitchen servants. "There are those who say they hear voices on the winds of Dinas Emrys."
He speaks truly, for I am one of them, and even as I pull at Justin's sleeve to leave before we are noticed, I wonder if Joshua heard them, too.
---
As if to make up for the lateness of spring this year, summer comes full upon us quickly. Being some distracted by the continuing presence of the travelers, I fail to remember one vital fact of early summer life in the abbey until Justin hisses in pain while we break our fast one morning. I have no time to react before my ear is pinched in a strong grip and my mother says, "Just the strong backs I have need of today."
Ignoring our protests of prior commitments, she drags us out of the hall and into her garden. Justin is given over to the lay sister who is learning the herbs and their uses for a myriad of tasks, while I am set to clearing the weeds from the roses. Even I can feel the difference between the hard, thorn-covered canes and everything else, though it always ends with my hands as sacrifices. Knowing that we will bolt to the open country at first chance, my mother does not allow us to pass from her sight, even going so far as to have bread and cheese carried from the kitchens so we have no reason to stop.
Only when she is full-satisfied with our day's work does she send us off with a quick kiss, a salve for the scratches and cuts that cover my hands, and small cask of the ale reserved for the most special of occasions. She might be demanding, but she does know how to pay her debts.
We take the ale to the river and spend the last hour of twilight in the shallows, letting the cool water wash away the worst of the dirt and sweat. When we finally leave the water, the full effects of the day leave us staggering to our chamber. In the final passageway, where I need no guide, we recover enough to race a little, shoving and falling into and over each other, until I trip Justin and he pulls me down with him, and so we are as unkempt as we have ever been to greet the unexpected arrival of Joshua at our door.
---
"I beg pardon for this intrusion, but I could find no other time to speak with you, my lords." Joshua, for all his humble words, does not sound very apologetic and Justin bristles a bit at his tone.
"He is the lord; I am not so titled, so it will do you no good to curry favor with me."
"Again, I beg pardon; I meant only respect to one so obviously of the blood of the Round Table."
"If you know of my blood, you know of the rest of it, and must know that I claim nothing of the Round Table."
"Truly, I do not. I know only what men say of Camelot; your face I know from the time spent with my family in Brittany. The family resemblance is strong and all know of the glory of the Queen's Champion."
I place a cautionary hand on Justin's arm, for there is little that will incense him more than mention of his father and the queen in the same thought.
"What do you seek from us, bard?" I have no patience with the niceties of conversation these days, if ever I did. "I keep no household now; I cannot offer service to you or your companion."
"We do not seek service, my lord. We--or really, I--seek you." He hesitates, then says, "They say that you were there when the High King fell at Camlan, and I would know if it is true."
Justin breathes in and out once harshly. I know his turmoil, but, strangely, do not share it.
"It is true." I have spoken of that day only to tell Sister Joan what I knew of her father's final ride with Arthur, but I find it easy to answer. It is as if I have been waiting for this since the night my mother cut me free from Justin's horse, cursing me and Arthur and Mordred with one breath, and sending prayers to her Blessed Virgin with the next.
"I would know what happened." Joshua's voice is gentle. "In my heart, a song is waiting to be made, but I cannot know how it must go until I understand."
I nod once, but speak first to Justin. "I do not ask it of you, but you are welcome to stay. You are a man grown now; you must decide what is right for you."
After a long silence, Justin whispers, "I...I will wait outside for you to finish, my lord." I wish that it could be otherwise, that he could be ready to speak of that day, for I know, even if he does not, that he is strong enough to bear the memories, but I do understand.
"Joe sleeps in the stables tonight," Joshua says not unkindly. "There is a mare close to foaling and he stays with Brother Kerwyn. They will be happy to have someone other than the horses for company."
"My lord?"
"Go, Justin. We will be well here." I put as much reassurance as I can find into my answer and with a final awkward stammer, Justin leaves.
I cannot speak for a time, but Joshua is patient. "What know you of that day?" I ask finally.
"I would rather you assume I know nothing."
I take him at his word and tell him of the long night leading up to that battle, the night that my Lord Bedivere and the other knights and I spent wakeful, knowing that we were outmanned and out-maneuvered by the traitor Mordred's forces, trapped in a near indefensible position.
I tell him that many believed Mordred to be Arthur's bastard son, gotten on his own sister, but that whomsoever his father, Mordred was raised by the witch queen Morgan LeFay to hate her brother, and that all through the night, I heard him shrieking for blood.
I tell him how Arthur rallied his men during the battle again and again, until Mordred's army lay in bloody ruin upon the plain, and I tell him of hearing my lord's despairing howl as Mordred struck down Arthur, even as Arthur returned the blow.
Men did say that I fought every battle as if possessed; on that day at least, they spoke truly. I know not how I crossed the field, for I was in the grip of a berserker rage, and it is to my everlasting shame and dishonor that I did not remember that Justin was young and not experienced enough to stay with me. I lost him in my mad rush, and it is only by the grace of all the gods that I did not kill him by my thoughtlessness, as I killed my horse under me.
I tell Joshua of reaching my lord's side as he stood over the fallen High King and of fighting back to back to keep the ravening beasts off our fallen liege. It was the ugliest of struggles; close, desperate and brutal. My lord took a glancing blow to the head that stunned him to his knees. I saw the killing blow poised to fall, and was blessed to be able to take it upon myself instead. That is all I can say of the battle; when next I remember, all was quiet and I could hear the king ask my lord to take Excalibur to the lake. My lord did falter twice, but on the third time, I saw, as he did, the hand rise up and receive the sword ere it touched water. The High King quieted then, and I lay near him as the darkness fell and my lord kept watch over us both.
My vision dimmed with the coming light of the new day, and has never returned, but I did see the Lady and her women come for the King during the night. They wept for him and carried him to the lake, and my lord and I watched as the Lady bore him away to Ynis Witrin in her barge, until the mist covered everything.
Joshua does not ask, but I tell him how I begged my lord to rally those men that he could and see them safely away from the plain. By then, I could not see my lord's face, beloved though it was to me, and I felt the life force leaving me, but he would not abandon me. We argued, as we often did, but I was saved from my stubborn pride by a hoarse voice calling my name out of the mist. He will not speak of it, so I do not know how, but Justin lived through the battle, and the night, and with the dawn was searching for my body. I think that he had gone a little mad by then, but so had we all.
My lord's brother came soon after, and they did gather up those who lived, and prepared to return to my lord's stronghold but I, with the illogic of the near-dead, wanted to breathe my last with kin, and so Justin and I turned north and came here so that I might hear my mother's voice once more before I died. She, as she will tell you plainly, held other opinions.
I tell him of that day until I have nothing left inside me, and I hear his breath sigh out on a sob. "No, do not cry for the High King. He yet lived when the Lady took him, and if any could save him, She and her followers could."
"I do not weep for Arthur." Joshua's voice is rough with the tears, and with something close to anger, I think.
"Were my words what you came to me for?"
"Yes." He takes my hand and places it over his heart. "I feel them here," he moves our hands to touch lightly at his temple, "and here, and I know the song will soon follow."
His hair is soft against my fingertips, and I cannot resist the urge to slide my hand fully into the curls. His breathing quickens, but he is otherwise still as I trace down to his jaw. "May I?"
A man with sight would have missed his quiet "Yes," but to me, it is a shout. I follow the high cheekbones and feel the moisture still on his lashes. His nose is as Justin described, proud and most definitely Roman, and his jaw strong. I withstand the temptation for as long as I can, but when I finally can no longer stop myself and allow my fingers to ghost lightly over his lips, his tongue sweeps out to curl around them.
Our first kiss is tentative, a mere brush of lips that would be chaste but for the sudden flicker of his tongue across my mouth. He laughs softly and pulls me closer and all thoughts of rightness or of waiting friends are swept away in the taste and feel of him.
"Always," he murmurs between kisses, and his voice, that which all want and which I could not push out of my head, is only for me now. "From the moment I saw you hear my songs, before I even knew it was you I sought, this is what I have wanted."
"Yes." I agree but have no desire to waste breath on words, not when I can use it to cover his mouth with mine, kissing him until he moans deep in his throat. "Off." I pull impatiently at the clothes hindering my need to feel his skin next to mine. His hands shake as he works tunics and breeches off us both, a fine trembling that continues as he lies back under my hands and mouth. I make note of each sigh and gasp, and pay close attention to the whimpers, repeating what he likes best until he shudders and cries out beneath me, and follow quickly upon his lead.
We sleep easily that night, wrapped together by more than just our bodies' pleasure.
---
Once in Gaul, while on campaign, I saw a man from beyond Byzantium enthrall a snake with only a wooden flute. I am reminded of him each time Justin charms enough food to feed a small army out of Brother Trahern's kitchens.
We take this noonday meal in the small clearing by the river. Justin and Joe by turns check the fish traps and attempt to beat each other half to death with swords. Justin was right that first day. Joe is neither knight nor man-at-arms but rather a centurion of the Legions, left behind in Gaul when a leg injury became infected and was slow to heal. It is the Legions' loss; he is one from whom Justin can learn much. He possesses more than simple skill; he has the temperament to teach and lead, and gained Justin's trust in the night spent foaling the abbess' mare. Had I still a meiny, I would have him as a captain without a second thought.
Brother Lance and I sit close by Joshua, though he steadfastly ignores us. His small harp is out and his mind is wholly occupied by his music.
"Water?" asks Brother Lance.
I shake my head. "Joe says it works, but to save it for the most dire of occasions because he grows irritated if his harp is damaged."
The fever to write came over Joshua between bites of the pleasantly sharp cheese Justin has acquired for us today and we have ceased to exist for however long it takes for the madness to leave him.
"We could flick droplets at him," Lance suggests. "Not so much as to damage his harp, just to wake him long enough to ask politely when he might be returning to his right mind so that I may know when I can speak further with him."
Lance can be as single-minded as Joshua when it comes to his growing library of songs. For my mind, they are both mad, but before I can offer my opinion, Justin throws himself on the ground at my feet, panting and laughingly begging a halt to the practice of what has sounded like a particularly vicious move with a belt knife.
"Peace, Joe! Why aren't you master-at-arms at a barracks on the continent?"
"Ah, you know how it is, my boy." Joe's voice is a pleasure to my ears, it is so expressive. Justin has described him to me, and I can see the gleam come into his eye with his next words. "There I was, minding my own business, knocking heads together for any town that would pay me when the prettiest set of eyes I'd ever seen lit upon me. The next I knew, I'd left the filthy towns for a freehold cot and the pleasure of having those eyes smile me each day."
"And how came you to know Joshua?" Justin asks. "Not that his eyes aren't pretty enough to have enthralled you." I kick at him and he giggles.
Joe laughs. "He may sing as with the gods blessings, but he's a babe when it comes time for practical matters. I came across him lost on his way to Lyonesse and ripe for whatever outlaw found him first."
"But," Justin yawns, "why do you travel with him?"
"Because," Joshua speaks up suddenly, "as hopeless as I might be with the practical, I am a genius compared to Joey and farming." Joe laughs quickly and easily at himself, and Justin and Lance join in, unable to resist, but Joshua is tense beside me.
I did not mistake the tension, but after a few seconds, Joshua is again lost in the words and music. Brother Lance takes his leave, after pointed--if ignored--remarks about wasted time. A bee drones nearby, and Justin begins to snore lightly. Joshua hums to himself, and runs his hand down my arm to circle my wrist. Joe moves closer and asks me of the strategies my lord used at Badon Hill, and another day slips pleasantly away.
---
We pay dearly for the early summer with news of Saxon raids to the south, worse than ever before. Those that flee them soon strain the resources of both the abbey and Dinas Emrys itself to the breaking point.
Sister Joan's relief as I offer our chambers back to her more than makes up for the inconvenience of making camp outside the abbey gates. In truth, it is no hardship at all. The same weather that is a boon to the raiders makes for easy living in the open and Justin knows a small cave in the hill beneath Dinas Emrys so we have shelter from the occasional fast-moving summer rains.
Justin and Joe leave long before sunrise each day, ranging far afield with the Dinas Emrys huntsmen, often not returning until full night, but almost always bearing a good day's catch. Since we have lived in these hills, Justin has grown skilled with a longbow, and I hear the pride in his voice as he repays Joe's lessons with ones of his own. Before, the longbow would not have been considered an honorable weapon, but times have changed, and neither Justin nor Joe concerns himself with what once was.
Joe did not lie; Joshua and the practical life at times enjoy a distant relationship. I am reminded of the good abbot, and begin to think Sister Joan deserves even more respect than she is customarily given. When Joshua is submerged in his music, he can forget to eat, even if the food is placed next to him. And when, like now, the music deserts him, he is quick to snap and snarl, and is generally not fit for polite company. Only in sleep does he drop his guard, and in the mornings, I am often claimed by a casual arm thrown across me.
Justin and Joe cannot help but see what is in front of their eyes. Justin makes no comment but takes the time to make sure Joshua knows exactly how things must be laid out so that I may make ready for each day without help. What Joe thinks, I do not know.
This morning, Joshua is sprawled half over me when Joe wakes me. "The fire," he says as he makes to follow Justin out of the cave. "It is raining; keep after him to not let it go out."
I intend to answer as I usually do, but instead hear my voice say "Joe?" I cannot ask more clearly than that, but he understands.
"No," he says. "I do not care. I have looked to Mithras since I was taken into the Legions, and his priests do not have much to say about it."
"Others do."
He grunts. "I am not a man to worry overmuch with what others might think a sin. Truth, honor, courage. That is all to me."
"Joe?" Justin's voice floats back into the cave. "We leave now."
Joe pokes at Joshua with his foot and drops a hand on my shoulder. "He does not choose lightly. If he is happy, who am I to say otherwise, even if he walks a difficult path?"
"Joe!"
Joe snorts, "I go, before your squire does himself an injury in his impatience," and leaves me to my thoughts.
---
The rain falls steadily through the day, leaving everything damp and chill. I expect that Joshua will greet the weather with more ill temper, but he only hums deep in his throat that the rain makes him a layabout and turns his attention to me. He rolls me under him, kissing without haste, but then flings unwanted clothing recklessly, stopping only to wrap the both of us in the campaign cloak my lord gave me when he named me his squire so long ago I almost believe it happened to another man. It was not made to shelter more than one, but since Joshua seems determined to share my skin, it is more than adequate.
Each time I reach for him he moves my hands back beside my body, murmuring, "Please?" I claw at the blankets under me, but grant him his wish. By the time he finally lowers himself onto me, I am reduced to helpless cursing, and even that ability deserts me in the face of the torturously slow rhythm he sets.
When at last he quickens his pace, he allows me to touch him. I trace the long length of thigh and belly and chest, but I am so caught up in the unbounded pleasure that I cannot be gentle. He leans into me though, asking wordlessly for more, and his voice holds more pleasure than pain. After so long a tease, the end comes fast and hard upon us both and leaves us shaken and spent.
We have not often had the chance to lie together, and even fewer chances to linger after. I would sleep, but for Joshua's hands still moving over me. They are lazier now, no longer urgent with passion and need, but they find, one after another, the marks and scars of a lifetime of war. Each draws a murmur of compassion and distress, and so I seek to distract him with questions of his life. He speaks idly of the years he and Joe have spent together, of Joe's wife and child, and then asks of the time before Justin and I came to the abbey.
"Not that I know much of knights and their squires," he says, "but you and Justin do not seem to share the expected relationship."
I sigh. "Justin came to me out of my accursed pride. The High Queen was not pleased by his presence--she could hardly pretend he was the son of anyone but his father--and Lancelot bowed to her wishes, so as to not further infuriate her. The others from Brittany took their lead from him, and pretended that Justin did not exist."
"But surely, this was after Galahad--"
"Galahad faced down much even though his lady mother was the daughter of a powerful ally," I interrupt. "He came to Camelot already a man, and a knight without compare. But no knight was gone more often on quests than he, and I do not think that was coincidence. The queen was privately humiliated by all that he meant but could not show her anger to the court."
It all happened so long ago, another age, but I remember the swirling undercurrents vividly. I was never one to enjoy court life, but I could not escape it entirely. "But Justin...Justin is the son of a common man's daughter, no one rich or powerful, and he was determined to be a knight. And his mother was as determined as he. They would not fade away, as Guinevere so pointedly expected. I took him, not because of any lofty ideals, but because I was insulted that my lord, the first knight of the Round Table, was so often pushed aside by the knights of Brittany, by Lancelot and his kin. If they would not take in one of their own, I would do it, just to cause them annoyance."
Joshua laughs softly. "You would deliberately disturb the peace? I am shocked."
My hand is near to a vulnerable place, so he quickly quiets himself and allows me to continue. "I think Galahad would have taken him--he cared little for the politics, and would have done right by Justin--but he was on quest when Justin arrived. I did have need of a squire, for mine had just been knighted and returned to his father's house, but I should by all rights have taken one older. I had forgotten how little patience I have with making and enforcing rules, even for those so focused as Justin." Joshua does not laugh, but it is a near thing, I judge. "I can do it, but it annoys me. It was no more than a fortnight before Justin pushed so hard against such rules as I had that we nearly came to blows, and I told him exactly why he was squire to me."
"And?"
Now it is my turn to laugh. "He answered that he agreed to come into service with me for much the same reason, that no matter how strong my reputation, it was worth as much to him to twist the knife in the knights of Brittany that a grandson of King Ban--even a natural one--be trained by a Briton, not one of his own kin." Now I can see the humor, but then, I came nearer to murder than I wish to acknowledge. "After that, though, we saw each other as conspirators together, and though we play knight and squire for the world, we do not bother with the formalities between the two of us, especially now."
I would ask more of his life, for truly, he has told me little, but he kisses me, and distracts me with the pleasures his hands and mouth bring.
As tightly as I try to cling to each moment, our time together fractures into glittering shards of memory. The curve of his collarbone under my tongue, the firm yield of his shoulder to my teeth, the soft whisper of laughter over my hip, the strong beating of his heart beneath me, the low sweet music in his voice each time I slide into him, his breathless not-quite whimper as he moves on me, all tumble together until I cannot separate one from another.
---
Finally, Joshua is ready to sing of Camlan. He dresses in the cave, bathing in the river before carefully shaking out long-folded robes. He passes each piece to me, so that I might feel the rich cloth and the stiffness of the silver threads in the intricate embroidery on the outer robes. They are black, he tells me, but they take some color from the gemstones worked into the patterns.
When we arrive, the hall is packed close with those who live the abbey being joined by the lord and his family from Dinas Emrys. Those who have fled the Saxons push in eagerly. When Joshua takes his place at the high table, I hear the hushed intake of breath all around me. Joe laughs proudly at the reaction.
"He glows," Justin whispers, but then Joshua strikes his harp. All fall silent, and he begins with the gathering of the armies. Long and long before the Lady takes Arthur into her safekeeping and the song is finished, Justin slips from his seat to kneel on the floor, burying his face in my lap and weeping as he had not allowed the child he had been that day to, his tears made all the hotter and more bitter by the years they had been held inside. I stroke his hair and lean against Joe, and my mother's arms creep around me as the last echoes fade.
There is silence, awed, and not a little fearful. This might be an abbey of the Christian God, but the roots of the old ways run deep, and Joshua has laid bare the core of them with wonder and dread.
My mother coaxes Justin away from me, whispering, "I will take him to my garden. He may find little comfort there now, but at the very least it is more private than this hall."
Joe murmurs that he will go with them. I am grateful; my mother can offer Justin the comfort he could not accept from me; and Joe, of all men here, with years in the Legions to his credit, understands how tears can be the only healing for unspeakable memories.
I do not know how much time passes before Joshua joins me, but the room is empty and chill, and the fires are banked. By unspoken consent, we make our way back to the cave, his arm strong under mine and his voice subdued as he guides me over the rough path.
He builds up the fire and I stand close by it, taking strength from its warmth while he packs away the fine robes and finds his everyday woolens. There is much in my heart, but when at last he joins me, I can only say, "Thank you. You do honor to that day."
His breath whooshes out, and I am taken into a fierce, quick embrace. "It is I who should be thanking you," he says.
He steps away after a moment, moving restlessly about, not able to stay in any one place for more than a second or two. I know what he struggles to say and I tell myself that it is only because I have no patience that I say it for him.
"You leave soon."
"Yes," he says simply. "The summer is half over, and it is a fair journey back to Joe's wife and babe. We have stayed overlong, but Brother Lance has been so accommodating with his records, and ... and this..." His steps bring him back to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body. "I did not want this to end."
"Nor did I."
"It does not have to," he says quickly. "I do not know where our travels take us, but Brother Lance has all but made me swear on holy relics that I will bring him any song I learn." His voice fades a bit. "But I do not like to make plans beyond saying we will return."
For the first time in my life, I cannot think of a way to accomplish what I desire, and it is a bitter draught. It twists within me like a knife to the belly, but to hold him here knowing he would be elsewhere if not for me would be pain worse than that.
"You should not," I agree, and my voice is steady.
"But I am greedy and spoiled. Joe will tell you this at the top of his lungs." He touches my hair lightly. "I do not wish to see you only once each year."
"I--"
"Come with us," he whispers. "We leave in the morn, and I would have you with me so that--"
My laugh is near a sob, but he does not need to know that. "Greedy? Spoiled? I think the word you seek is mad. A man without sight? Ride with you? Do not play with me, bard."
"I do not play," he snaps.
"You ride light and fast; you go wheresoever the wind takes you; you--"
"We ride light because there has never been anything but my harp that was important enough to bring with us."
I turn away from him and grope for the blankets I sleep on. "You do not know of what you speak. I will not have this end with your ill feeling in being landed with the obligation of one who must be tended to constantly."
Unexpectedly, Joshua laughs, his true laugh, wild and free. "An obligation? A challenge perhaps, but... When I first heard rumors of those who had seen the end of the High King at Camlan, they said that Sir Christopher was sore wounded and that he but barely lived. I pushed Joe unmercifully to get here, convinced that I would be lucky to find an invalid only just able to speak, and instead I find a... a..."
"A village idiot and his apprentice?" Justin echoes my mother's favorite description of us from the mouth of the cave, his voice still hoarse from his tears but otherwise calm.
"Well," says Joshua, "I do not wish to call my lover an idiot, so I will only say that I did not find what I expected to find."
"How can I not burden you?" It was a tactical error to have moved to this corner; I am trapped now. "You do not understand what you would take upon yourself."
"But I do, my lord. And we will find a way, if this is what you desire." Justin's answer comes quickly.
"You will not be a burden," Joshua insists at the same time. "You would do me a service." I snort, and he grows defensive. "A service. I would speak to as many who lived and served in Camelot as I can find. Many know you who would not speak freely to me."
"Justin can do that for you; he knew many squires and--"
"No!" Justin snarls viciously, and it is the voice of his father and brother and his cousins before battle. "I will not leave you again. I failed you once, my lord; I will not willingly do so again."
I find the voice to say, "You failed no one. I--"
"I took an oath, my lord. I swore to stand behind you and I was not there when you needed me and--"
"The oath goes both ways, Justin. You did not fail me."
"My lord--"
"Justin," I sigh. "We can argue this later."
"As you wish, my lord," Justin says through gritted teeth, and it has been long since I have heard that particular mulish tone, a not wholly unwelcome reminder of the willful boy I took into my care. "But if you desire this, we will find a way," he repeats more evenly.
Justin turns away from me to speak with Joshua, so quietly that not even I can hear and then leaves without further word to me.
Joshua drops down in front of me, but even as he draws breath, I shake my head. "No. This is madness; I cannot cross this cave without crawling--"
"You are afraid," he blurts out, surprised. "You hide behind your pride, my lord, but it is just that you are afraid."
"And what would you know of fear, Joshua?" Once, I would have killed any man who would have dared to say such to me, but I am weary now, and he is right.
"I know--I know that before Arthur brought peace, I was taken in by a stranger and his family who found me wandering near where a village had been, before the Saxons burned it." He stops for a moment and I can feel him trembling. I was ten the first time I rode with my lord to a burned-out village and I still remember the choking stench. Before I can say anything though, he speaks again.
"I know that my face is as much a danger to me as a boon, that there are those who are happy to keep me for themselves, not for my music, but only for a plaything. I know--"
"Enough." Though I burn with a cold anger that someone would try--has tried, if I hear between words rightly--to use him that way, I understand more why Joe travels with him.
"I am not too proud to admit that I have feared things in my life," Joshua says. "My fears remind me to hold tight to that which brings me joy." He catches my wrist in his hand. "I want you. And I want this." He hits his harp, a sharp discordant chord. "I cannot say it more plainly."
The silence stretches around us. When I was small, I saw the High King, and his foster brother Sir Kay, and the other knights ride out almost daily. I wanted to be a part of that fiercely, so much that I could not think or breathe anything but my plan to become a page and then a squire and then a knight, but I wanted that as much for my mother and sisters as for myself.
This...this I desire even more, and it is only for me, but I know that I cannot indulge myself in it, no matter what my heart wants.
Joshua turns my hand over and kisses the inside of my wrist, slowly tracing the tendons with his tongue before grazing the heartbeat with his teeth, right where the skin is thinnest.
"Please," he whispers and I cannot stop the shudder that ripples through me. He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. "Please," he repeats, and my will crumbles in the face of his yearning.
"Yes," I manage, over my suddenly pounding heart. Joshua growls deep in his throat and this time, he kisses me hard and deep. I slide my hands into his hair to hold him steady where I want him, and it is his turn to struggle for breath when we break apart.
"Yes?" He is close enough that I can feel his smile against mine.
"Yes." This is still wrong, it will not work, but I cannot deny him. Always before, I kept faith in my ability to make my life as I wanted it; now, I will keep faith in him. "Yes."
-fin-
The companion piece to this is Journey's End
Huge thanks to C, who read when I was in the "this all sucks" stage; A, who read it in the middle of a month of travel; and Ro, who has patiently endured the whole sparkly thing, and who offered an incredibly helpful beta even though her first words were "Which one is Chris?" All of them deserve sainthood for helping to make this style as unconvoluted as possible. And much love to J, who held my hand right from the beginning, and who let me tell her the story over IM in bits and pieces while we were both working.
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It reminded me in tone of the arthurian stories I read a while back... Forget the name... Cornwall, maybe? Bernard something?
Very nice. :)
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Bernard Cornwell (better known for all his Sharpe novels) does have a trilogy (I think) of Arthurian novels, and Parke Godwin has some interesting ones as well. I love how so many authors can find a hook into the legends, and can spin the story in different (but believable) directions.
Thanks for letting me know you liked it!
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Thank you for taking something that could have been written in overly done flowery prose and presenting it in an earthy way. You wrote about legends in a way that made them feel real.
The added benefit of sparkly didn't hurt, either. I enjoyed both this and Justin's companion piece.
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Anyway, this was one of the first things I wrote after about two years of writers block, so I was a little stiff--if there's anything I can clarify, please let me know. I'd be more than happy to babble on about these characters and their world.
And thank you so much for the comment!