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psalm_onethirtyoneTitle: Fly No More
Fandom: Arthurian
Characters/Pairings: Gaheris/Lynet, Lunete
For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raanve, for the Fic Drive.
Up in the night again. Oh, Christ, up in the night again. He gets out of bed and walks to the window shuddering, his forehead damp with sweat; rests his hands on the moulded sod of the sill. The night’s a cold one, and the draught at the window chills him.
He can’t keep having these dreams, they’ll kill him. Sometimes when he wakes it’s with a scream in his mouth, and Lynet beside him watching him silently. When he rolls over he can see the moon-brightness shining in her open eyes, but he says nothing and tries to pretend it was only a dream. Sometimes he hears Lunete stirring on her pallet on the floor, mumbling ‘shhh’ to him in her sleep.
“Da?”
He jerks around, his hands raised despite himself. Lunete stands behind him, rubbing her eyes with her fist. He forces his hands down, forces his muscles to relax, his stomach to unclench.
“Hey, how’s my lass?” he asks, softly. The moonlight through the window gilds her mouse-brown hair; she’s barefoot in her nightdress.
“I heard thee get up.”
“Oh, aye, I couldn’t sleep. It’s nothing.”
“Da, why canst thou never sleep? Mother and me never wake in the night.”
Gaheris laughs, although his heart isn’t in it. “Th’art waked in the night now, art not?
“Aye, but thou wakest every night, and since for-ever. And th’ yelling.”
“Didst yell often in the night when thou wert a child.”
Lunete puts her hands on her hips, looking like a miniature of her mother (she has her mother’s mannerisms, proud and stubborn, strong-willed, unafraid to announce herself; but she has her grandmother’s good looks, her grandmother’s dark wise eyes and sweet mouth. For a moment Gaheris is glad he can’t see her face in the darkness; for a moment he’s glad she’ll never meet Morgause. He’s glad for her hair, the same colour as Lynet’s). “Thou art no child.”
“Thou hast me there.” He hesitates. “I have bad dreams, thy da’s got bad dreams. Hast never had nightmares?”
“Aye.”
“And waked of them?”
“Aye.”
“Well, so do I.”
Before he realises what she’s doing her arms are around his waist, and she hugs him as a tightly as a girl her size can, her head resting against his ribs. Gaheris goes tense again before he can smooth down her hair and hold her back.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“What?”
“That thou wakes of dreams like a child. I promise I won’t tell.”
“That’s generous of thee.” He strokes her hair again. “Thou hadst best get back to bed before thy mother finds thee up, now, lass. I’m going to walk outside for a bit and then I’ll come back.”
“Promise?”
“Aye, I do. Do thou sleep now.”
Lunete tips her head back far enough to see him and smiles. “Aye, sir.” Then she pads back to her pallet; Gaheris watches her slip back under her quilt and waves at him, and he waves back. The quilt is from Clar, patched together from their clothes when they were children and woven full of spells for protection and keeping well. She gave it to him for a wedding present, back when he was still young and hopeful and thought that he might come to good, that he might raise a family without hurting anyone. Back before Morgause was dead, when he still had expectations for himself and Lynet. At least now it keeps Lunete warm, and the spells must do her some good, because she’s never sick.
He goes back to the window. It’s only been ten years, but it feels like fifty, or a thousand. It doesn’t matter that their house it outside Camelot, that Arthur doesn’t ask anything of him any more. He’s still a caged, diseased animal. Nothing changes that. The only time he was ever close to happy was when they lived in exile, and Arthur gave that and took it away again.
He’s too far from the sea, though Lynet can’t learn that. He’s sick for want of the sea and the selkies, but what good would that do? To betray his wife with the fey folk out of loneliness and his bad blood?
He can’t go back to Orkney any more, and he can’t go back to the nowhere world of his exile. He’s here, now. And at least he has Lynet, at least he’s near Mordred, the only one of his brothers who came close to understanding him. At least he has the daughter sleeping there on the ground at the foot of their bed.
The dreams are killing him, but for a moment he almost smiles. She won’t tell, as if all of Camelot can’t hear him screaming when he sleeps.
When he gets back into bed at last, Lynet rolls over and pulls his shoulder.
“Gaheris.”
He reaches for her without thinking; she’s the only woman in the world he’s ever dared to touch, the only person who can touch him without making him flinch. He cups her face with one hand and she kisses his wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“No doubt thou most devilishly hath plotted to awake at night only to trouble me,” she says, her voice flat, and he can’t help laughing under his breath, shaken for a moment out of his coldness.
“For no reason other.”
“I’ll love thee though thou scream all night long.”
“Truly?”
“Indeed, I will leave thee an it stretch into the day.” She leans forward and kisses him properly. “Go to sleep. I took thee with all thy many faults, I’ll suffer for my own bad judgement.”
“I love thee.”
“Do not think otherwise of me.”
“Thank you,” he says, his voice low, but she pushes him and nestles under his arm.
“I’m asleep again already, I cannot hear thee.”
“Good-night, wife.”
“Hmm.”
Gaheris holds her body against him as her breathing subsides into sleep-slowness. He can’t have the sea, but she’s like a river, widening and strengthening, making that journey. He breathes in the scent of her, and listens to Lunete’s soft childish snores, and falls asleep again.
Fandom: Arthurian
Characters/Pairings: Gaheris/Lynet, Lunete
For:
raanve, for the Fic Drive.Up in the night again. Oh, Christ, up in the night again. He gets out of bed and walks to the window shuddering, his forehead damp with sweat; rests his hands on the moulded sod of the sill. The night’s a cold one, and the draught at the window chills him.
He can’t keep having these dreams, they’ll kill him. Sometimes when he wakes it’s with a scream in his mouth, and Lynet beside him watching him silently. When he rolls over he can see the moon-brightness shining in her open eyes, but he says nothing and tries to pretend it was only a dream. Sometimes he hears Lunete stirring on her pallet on the floor, mumbling ‘shhh’ to him in her sleep.
“Da?”
He jerks around, his hands raised despite himself. Lunete stands behind him, rubbing her eyes with her fist. He forces his hands down, forces his muscles to relax, his stomach to unclench.
“Hey, how’s my lass?” he asks, softly. The moonlight through the window gilds her mouse-brown hair; she’s barefoot in her nightdress.
“I heard thee get up.”
“Oh, aye, I couldn’t sleep. It’s nothing.”
“Da, why canst thou never sleep? Mother and me never wake in the night.”
Gaheris laughs, although his heart isn’t in it. “Th’art waked in the night now, art not?
“Aye, but thou wakest every night, and since for-ever. And th’ yelling.”
“Didst yell often in the night when thou wert a child.”
Lunete puts her hands on her hips, looking like a miniature of her mother (she has her mother’s mannerisms, proud and stubborn, strong-willed, unafraid to announce herself; but she has her grandmother’s good looks, her grandmother’s dark wise eyes and sweet mouth. For a moment Gaheris is glad he can’t see her face in the darkness; for a moment he’s glad she’ll never meet Morgause. He’s glad for her hair, the same colour as Lynet’s). “Thou art no child.”
“Thou hast me there.” He hesitates. “I have bad dreams, thy da’s got bad dreams. Hast never had nightmares?”
“Aye.”
“And waked of them?”
“Aye.”
“Well, so do I.”
Before he realises what she’s doing her arms are around his waist, and she hugs him as a tightly as a girl her size can, her head resting against his ribs. Gaheris goes tense again before he can smooth down her hair and hold her back.
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“What?”
“That thou wakes of dreams like a child. I promise I won’t tell.”
“That’s generous of thee.” He strokes her hair again. “Thou hadst best get back to bed before thy mother finds thee up, now, lass. I’m going to walk outside for a bit and then I’ll come back.”
“Promise?”
“Aye, I do. Do thou sleep now.”
Lunete tips her head back far enough to see him and smiles. “Aye, sir.” Then she pads back to her pallet; Gaheris watches her slip back under her quilt and waves at him, and he waves back. The quilt is from Clar, patched together from their clothes when they were children and woven full of spells for protection and keeping well. She gave it to him for a wedding present, back when he was still young and hopeful and thought that he might come to good, that he might raise a family without hurting anyone. Back before Morgause was dead, when he still had expectations for himself and Lynet. At least now it keeps Lunete warm, and the spells must do her some good, because she’s never sick.
He goes back to the window. It’s only been ten years, but it feels like fifty, or a thousand. It doesn’t matter that their house it outside Camelot, that Arthur doesn’t ask anything of him any more. He’s still a caged, diseased animal. Nothing changes that. The only time he was ever close to happy was when they lived in exile, and Arthur gave that and took it away again.
He’s too far from the sea, though Lynet can’t learn that. He’s sick for want of the sea and the selkies, but what good would that do? To betray his wife with the fey folk out of loneliness and his bad blood?
He can’t go back to Orkney any more, and he can’t go back to the nowhere world of his exile. He’s here, now. And at least he has Lynet, at least he’s near Mordred, the only one of his brothers who came close to understanding him. At least he has the daughter sleeping there on the ground at the foot of their bed.
The dreams are killing him, but for a moment he almost smiles. She won’t tell, as if all of Camelot can’t hear him screaming when he sleeps.
When he gets back into bed at last, Lynet rolls over and pulls his shoulder.
“Gaheris.”
He reaches for her without thinking; she’s the only woman in the world he’s ever dared to touch, the only person who can touch him without making him flinch. He cups her face with one hand and she kisses his wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“No doubt thou most devilishly hath plotted to awake at night only to trouble me,” she says, her voice flat, and he can’t help laughing under his breath, shaken for a moment out of his coldness.
“For no reason other.”
“I’ll love thee though thou scream all night long.”
“Truly?”
“Indeed, I will leave thee an it stretch into the day.” She leans forward and kisses him properly. “Go to sleep. I took thee with all thy many faults, I’ll suffer for my own bad judgement.”
“I love thee.”
“Do not think otherwise of me.”
“Thank you,” he says, his voice low, but she pushes him and nestles under his arm.
“I’m asleep again already, I cannot hear thee.”
“Good-night, wife.”
“Hmm.”
Gaheris holds her body against him as her breathing subsides into sleep-slowness. He can’t have the sea, but she’s like a river, widening and strengthening, making that journey. He breathes in the scent of her, and listens to Lunete’s soft childish snores, and falls asleep again.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-15 03:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-15 03:27 am (UTC)