Lancelot The Weeping Monk Mentioned - Blog Posts

Probably Gawain and Lancelot not letting him fight paladins.

First of all, thanks for the tag!

So, i decided that, yes, i'm going to do the reformatory an definitive arc in my fanfic. So consider this a small peak in what i'm trying to do.

The faces the ashman saw were not unfamiliar to him. From inside his own cell, he could see several souls that he previously knew, but that were now nothing more than bodies cursed with life. Lancelot was tied from head to toe with chains created specially and specifically tailored to his measurements. The piece of metal that wrapped around his neck and was attached to the walls was measured, tight enough to contain him but not tight enough to kill him. His wrists were tied to the floor along with his ankles, chained with the more resistant and thickest metal they had. Their goal was to pin him to the ground, make him vulnerable and less possibility to resist or escape. The poor man felt like a caged fighting dog. In the cell in front of his was a person not yet so disfigured, a face he could still describe as one of the fey paladins he grew up with. Nyx. A star-dust folk, considered to be from the same family as moonwings, coming from the Americas. He looked at him with those big starry eyes as if Lancelot were an abused puppy… Maybe he looked like one now. The boy had beautiful long hair as dark as the night, big eyes with stars and excessively pale skin, his hands and feet were painted like constellations in the sky. He was beautiful, but there was something missing in his appearance. Two days ago, Nyx was dragged out of the cell and taken to a different place upstairs, we thought it was just another dosing session to keep him in line. We couldn't be more wrong.

Within a few minutes we all heard the agonizing sound of Nyx's scream. He didn't went to be dosed, they took him to have the remaining base of his wings ripped off. Without any kind of thing to ease the pain of poor stardust. We heard the agonizing screams and cries for help for hours, every time he begged them to stop and they just wouldn't... He smelled it. The smell of blood, of despair, of the almost death of his childhood friend. And he couldn't do anything. Those who were still allowed to be out, the complete freaks who could no longer be called themselves, like lady Arachne, helped the poor fey as much as they could. The cleanest bandages they had, water, anything that could help him sleep. Nyx was the one who was tortured and almost killed, but he looked at Lancelot as if he were a living corpse, even if the one who had been on the verge of death wasn't him... He would give his life for his if necessary, even if his life wasn't. meant nothing. Devil’s nightmare was messing not only with their head, but with the soul of both of them and everyone there. Since no one would come to his rescue, Lancelot was sure that in a short time he would be a freak like the others...

@lancedoncrimsonwings

Next: @rabbit-flaying

WIP LateDay

Idk what day it is anymore but I know it isn't Wednesday whoops.

Danke @holy3cake for the tag

No Pressure tagging @aintgonnatakethis @beginning-writer + OPEN TAG FOR ALL to share a WIP, snippet or idea

Here, have another random snippet for Horizons that I wrote last night at 1:30am. No idea if I'll even include this but for now, enjoy!

Gawain's POV;

Night had long since come when Gawain found himself sat by the fire, watching Lancelot. The man's eyes were open and stairing sightlessly into the boughs above him, sometimes screwing shut whilst he bared his teeth into a snarl. Small movements of his body and the occasional gasp and choked moan betrayed how much he was suffering, clearly utterly unable to rest for the pain.

It had been several hours of this, and Gawain had had enough. He knew Lancelot would never ask for aid, yet he also knew that in this state, the man couldn't stop Gawain helping him either.

Grey eyes dulled from exhaustion followed his movement as Gawain got to his feet and circled round the fire to Lancelot's side.

"I must go and gather some herbs. Theres a willow tree by the river, the bark is good for pain," Gawain explained quickly. "I shan't be long, alright?"

"Are you well?" Lancelot croaked, eying Gawain up and down as if searching for an injury.

"Aye, I--"Gawain began, then chuckled to himself when he saw Lancelot crane his neck towards Squirrel then wince at the movement.

"--the boy is fine, Ashman. You're suffering, let me help you."

Predictably, then came the most unconvincing "I'm fine" Gawain had ever heard in his entire life. Lancelot now looked worse than ever, skin pale against his markings, sweat and blood glinting in the firelight, shaking knuckles clenching around bloodstained fabric.

I've seen dead men that looked healthier than he.

"Uh-huh. Aye, and I'm the King of Mercia" Gawain scoffed, shaking his head at the blatant lie.

"Whatever you say, my Liege…" Lancelot replied immediately, an odd tone to his voice that was only punctuated by the breathy way in which the pain caused him to speak.

Gawain scoffed again, but it was effort to stop himself from laughing. A small part of him he darent give voice to liked the way he'd purred the words a little too much…

"I will be off, now. I told you so you'd know where I had gone." Gawain said. He tried to halt his mind's traitorous musings.

"If you needed… time alone, you only had to… ask"

Gawain was certain he had imagined the wink, that there was no way Lancelot was teasing him like this. Surely not. Gawain managed to hold it together enough to raise an eyebrow in reply, shaking his head, about to come up with what would have been a truly witty retort when Lancelot spoke up again;

"Don't forget to… polish your crown, while you're out there."

And at that Gawain's brain damn near short circuited. There was no mistaking the meaning in his tone, the slight smirk, though ruined only slightly by a pained grimace and half gasp of pain. Did Lancelot truly mean the innuendo in the words, had he really meant to flirt?

"Only if you help." Gawain thought back, eyes widening when he heard a snicker then a groan.

Arawn's cock. Had he… Had he said that aloud?

"Your wish is my command, Sire." Lancelot whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Gawain shook his head, sure now that he must be dreaming. Yes, he must have fallen asleep, or he must be in dire need of it and hearing things.

Or if the Ashman truly was flirting with him, then Lancelot was worse off than he'd imagined and clearly delirious from pain.

Either way. Willow Bark and Feverfew. Yes. They were good things to focus on.

That, and decidedly not the idea of Lancelot…polishing his crown with those too-pale lips of his, made warm and plump by…

Willow-bark and Feverfew, Willow and Feverfew, WillowandFeverfewWillowand--

Gawain repeated the list in his head like a mantra, not once turning to look back as he turned on his heel and swiftly made his way down the hill onto the moors.

Sneak Peak! and no i'm not explaining this post

The Reformatory.

“That place is not just a reformatory, knight. They're gonna break his head.” The lady with honey eyes says. Her once happy eyes now fell into a sad and worried glass.

Gawain is confused by the stern words. "...What?" He asks in a state of confusion and disbelief. Gawain knew that the paladins were cruel and that they valued empty heads and blind pawns, but he didn't want to believe that they would have the courage to break that alredy broken blade that the weeping monk was and force him together again and the gods know how many more times.

“You heard me.” The woman says with a firm word. Her eyes finally returning to meet his. “We call that place the devil's nightmare house for a reason. It’s not difficult to connect two dots, knight.”

The devil's nightmare house...? Gawain feels his face grow cold and the color drain from his features with realization. A shiver passes through his body just for thinking about what led to a place having to name like that.

“He's not going to come back, Gawain.” The lady afirms again with a firm voice, her face now completely darkened. “And if he comes back, it won’t be him anymore."

The woman sighs, her eyes returning to the floor and they were now a red glass, trying hard not to cry. The knight couldn't even begin to understand the relationship between the lady and the monk, but they certainly had something. No one holds back their tears so much for someone they don not care about.

She forces a unamused smile, trying to ease the tension. “Think he'll only comes back if some crazy person dares to invade Devil's Nightmare and bring him back.” She jokes, getting up to leave. The nameless lady says goodbye and leaves the knight to his thoughts alone at night again.

…Maybe I am crazy enough.

@lancedoncrimsonwings