#‘if any other man but Gawain had slain him’ What Do You Mean By That Apart From the Obvious

[daisyachain]

The tension between Gawain portrayed in British texts (maiden’s knight, knight of courtesy) and Gawain in French texts (boor + lout) and the way that every other element of the text reads differently because Gawain is key to the whole apparatus (the presumed heir, the prince, the right hand man). Of course Arthur back him up as his heir, of course Lancelot hangs out with him because they’re the right and left hand and he’s training his brother. Of course Arthur and Lancelot are peerless and virtuous. Depending on the take then you’ve got the True King and the Best Knight backing a guy who murders his way out of every problem and gets put in the drunk tank weekly. This transforms Arthur from a flawed man doing his best to a weak-willed nepotist and Lancelot from well…a courtly knight to a man with some kind of deeper complex resulting from who even knows what

Arthur is the main sticking point. If he’s letting his heir hack n slash his way through half the lesser kings of Britain, it’s easy to see why everyone would want to kill him stone dead quite apart from the Lancelot Guinevere thing

[akampana]

Prompt n.24 sounds very interesting. Arturia is a king, but also a knight. And the one thing a knight has by their side, is their trusted weapon...

But we know that sometimes, a weapon is not just a weapon. Sometimes its much more...

Right, Cu Alter?

24. “You will never lose me. I will always be right here beside you.”

Cu Alter x Arturia

One-shot, set in a world where Cú Chulainn and King Arthur exist in the same time period. Enjoy! Thanks for the ask!

___

A loud clang resounded within the stone confines of the throne room, and yet it was quiet compared to the storm raging hell outside, and quieter still to the turmoil that wracked King Arthur’s mind.

Tristan’s desertion was followed by those of a number of knights. The first crack in the glass foundation that kept Camelot’s flag flying high. The exposure of Lancelot’s affair, however, was the hammer that finally smashed it to smithereens. Now here she was left amongst the rubble, with an aggrieved Gawain, a conflicted Bedivere and the cold, dead body of poor Agravain, who fell victim to her excommunicated First Knight. Arturia did not know where Merlin was. Kay had left months ago with all his fortune. She needn’t be a genius to know he wasn’t coming back.

What the people demanded was revenge for King Arthur’s cuckolding: the hunt and execution of the treacherous French knight that fled to his homeland, to whom Arturia held no grudge. Her logic demanded she carry out the farce, but what remained of her sealed-up heart did not.

From this derived her conflict, which she wrestled in solitude, here at the glaringly empty Round Table that used to seat her comrades.

Pursue the man she’s forgiven or stay her hand? Give the people what they want or stand by her own beliefs?

Arturia flinched as cool metal brushed against her fingertips, her startled eyes climbing to meet orbs the color of the wine she just spilled.

“King—!” the glare he sent her stilled her tongue at once, his inhuman crimson eyes glowing in the dim candlelight.

“Cú,” she corrected herself, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. Her thinner night garbs did little to hide the secret of her sex. In the dead of night, she wasn’t expecting any visitors. Especially not at the Round Table, which was devoid of all life at this hour.

“Has your fire gone out for the night?” she said, twisting her father’s silver ring around her thumb as she spoke, “I will arrange for a servant to assist you at once—”

“Forget it,” interrupted the brutal warrior, reclining himself into Lancelot’s former seat as he poured his own goblet. “Can’t sleep in all this racket.”

She knew instinctively he didn’t mean the storm. Regretful green eyes inspected the mess in the corner, wasted wine that was a victim to her ire. Briefly, she wondered how the foreign king could hear her from all the way in the east wing, but it was hardly important. Cú was already a man of few words. He wouldn’t waste any on small talk.

“Yer gonna chase the bastard, aren’t ya? It’s what yer subjects want,” came his raspy declaration, cutting in through the silence just before a crack of lightning illuminated the room. Their eyes clashed in the glaring white light, blood orbs against evergreen.

“I can...I cannot deny them the justice they expect of me,” she answered, grief lacing the small voice that barely carried itself through the thunder.

“So you deny yerself. Just like you’ve done all yer life. Ain’t that right, Arturia?”

It took King Arthur a moment to fully grasp what had come out of his lips. Her breath began to labor as she wracked her brain for an excuse. Panic settled into her bones faster than the snow outside seeped into the grass. Before she could formulate anything, however, she felt Cú’s fingers encircle her wrist.

“Relax. I ain’t telling no one. Weapons don’t talk, remember?” he soothed, as much as an emotionless killing machine could, anyway.

“You are not just a weapon. We have been over this.” Arturia shot back, momentarily forgetting the source of her stress.

As her frantic breaths began to still, she managed a small question. “How long have you known?”

His claws released their grip, lamenting the small indents they left on her skin. “Since ya wasted yer fourteenth seat on a foreign king that once would have torn yer land asunder.”

Cú reached past her arms, lifting the wool cloak from the short king’s chest. Sure enough, he now had his confirmation, a modest chest that was so cleverly hidden behind her armor plates.

“‘Tis of little consequence to me,” he voiced, replacing the garment she pulled so closely around herself. She watched him as he gave her another glass of wine, trying to discern if he spoke the truth.

“I don’t bloody care about what’s between yer legs, the same way you never cared for this fucking tail that trails behind me. All I need to hear are yer orders,” her allied king continued, flicking away a loose strand of hair with the scaly appendage.

“If ya wanna kill Lancelot, Arturia, I’m with ya. Point me in the way of France. But if not, then gimme some other fucking command. I don’t give a shit, as long as it’s what ya want.”

The King of Knights pursed her lip, still unaccustomed to hearing her real name from one who wasn’t supposed to know her secret. Especially when the one who used it was someone she did not expect: the displaced King of Connacht, who was more frequently an envoy serving at her court as an allied Warrior of the Round Table than the ruler of his late queen’s territory. The latter job, Cú had delegated to Fergus, as the “Mad” King had chosen to dedicate his freedom to the one that liberated him.

Arturia shook off his crass manner of speech. After nearly a decade of having him by her side, she’d grown accustomed to his language, even if he was frequently scoffed at by Agravain and Gaheris when the siblings still lived.

The reminder of her knights’ deaths led her gaze back to her table and its empty seats. There were so few that still belonged to the living. Some of them were never to be filled again. Arturia turned to her right, to where Lancelot once sat, meeting ruby eyes instead of onyx ones.

“Then how about this,” she suggested, imprinting the Irish King’s face into her memory the same way she’d done for the rest of her knights. Slowly, she slipped off the silver ring she’d been fiddling with and slid it onto his pinky.

“Return to your homeland with as much gold as you can carry and my eternal gratitude. Take a fourth of the cattle. Reward each of those in your service with one and keep the rest to enrich Connacht.”

Thunder raged on outside the castle walls, but it was the silence of the king before her that unnerved Arturia to a ridiculous extent. For while neither were as talkative as her remaining nephew, the quiet had never been quite so tense.

“The hell?” Cú finally asked, glaring at the Pendragon ring with disgust instead of honor. “You’d have me run? Do ya think me a coward—”

“—I think you are a king that should not die for the flag of a kingdom that is not his,” she cut him off, grasping his hand before he could tear her father’s ring off. “You asked for an order. This is it.”

Cú Chulainn’s claws dug into the collar of her cloak, as he pulled her to his face, a menacing look upon his countenance.

“An order?” he grunted harshly, “Or a feeble attempt at driving me away before I can leave you?”

Arturia’s struggles suddenly ceased, her limbs going limp before the foreign king finally let go of her clothes. The chairs screeched as each ruler fell back onto them, the older one far more irate than the younger.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Cú murmured, his voice soft as his fist thudded onto the circular table. “Ya’ve been an absolute tool since that depressing redhead turned in his rank, and some thoughtless fools followed. Then ya let Lancelot leave, don’t even bloody try to tell me he got away.”

Arturia turned her head, hiding her eyes behind her hay-colored hair. It mattered not how her charisma could sway crowds, her tongue knew not how to lie. Green eyes searched the empty room, counting the few chairs that would be occupied tomorrow. Her sister’s remaining sons’, Bedivere’s and...oh, how very few.

Arturia rested her hand on his fist, urging him to keep the heirloom as proof of the great service he gave Camelot.

“Go home, Cú. I cannot...I cannot lose you, too.” the British king sighed, getting used to the chill of solitude. She’d always known that a life as king was a life alone. At least with Cú, she could choose the day he left, instead of spending her time counting the days till he made his exit, just like her knights, her wizard, her brother.

“Don’t ask something so fucking stupid then go looking so damn pitiful,” he responded, flipping their hands and dragging her into his space till her lips touched his.

There was a reason Cú had stayed, pawning off Connacht to someone else that deserved it more and joining Camelot’s court instead. Not only had Arturia broken the geis that kept him tied to Medb, but she also gave him purpose.

Cú never spoke of it, but he remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday.

It was on the battlefield, back when he was still bound by geis to serve another mistress. Medb, the sly vixen, had tricked him into her service, forcing him into the frontlines till he’d slain every single one of his former comrades.

Bathed in the blood of his friends, the red clouding his vision, the man who was once Ulster’s proudest warrior was no more. His valiant face was replaced by a monstrous visage, his armaments were stained black. Upon his head sat a crown of thorns, forced onto his head by a queen who knew nothing but chaos.

Before long, the name he was proud to take up had been given new meaning. He was no longer Ulster’s guard dog, but Medb’s rabid hound, who sunk his teeth into anything and everything that so much as irked the devilish queen. Cú Alter, she called him, now that she’d bent him to her tastes. Cú Alter, a fitting name to a warrior forced to tarnish his own title.

As the bodies piled up around him, no rhyme nor reason for their slaughter, Cú began to see himself in a darker light, grasping at straws for some sort of purpose behind all the mindless killing.

He must have been a monster. A monster that massacred all that stood in his way regardless of honor and glory. Yes, that must have been it, he convinced himself, finally submitting to the dark cage that his hated loathsome queen had put him under.

As the black chains dragged him deeper and deeper into his own personal hell, he took up his spear once again. It lashed out whenever he touched it, staining itself dark till the vibrant red he used to wield was nowhere to be found. Once more, to the battlefield, said Medb. Once more, he tore across it with a godlike ease.

Then suddenly the cursed spear collided with its match, a sword of shining light that glowed as bright as its wielder. He remembered the moment so clearly, his breath hitching at his throat as his strikes were pushed back, the wind pressure whipping his hood out of his face. His heart pounded with adrenaline as his gaze fell down to his opponent: a tiny little thing, so small they should have fallen to his last strike, but there they still stood, defiant green eyes staring up at him with no fear.

Rage overtook his figure, fueling his strikes as he tried to cast the small warrior back, but all his efforts were met with equal force.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.” a small voice, too fragile to have been a man’s, rung out across the battlefield. Spear met sword once again, pausing in their dance.

“Your name, knight.”

Even though he stayed on his feet, it was like the king had pulled the rug from under him. Their eyes locked once more, and he saw himself within the green irises, staring mouth agape at his opponent.

His name? His name? How long had it been since he’d been asked for his name? How many foes had he slain since then? How many nameless faces had he sent to the grave? How could this person, this puny king, take one look at his monstrous form and face him like a knight regardless?

“Cú Chulainn,” came his raspy voice, which too often had been used to roar like a beast. It felt foreign on his lips, which had ‘til then spoke nothing but bitter resentment.

That day, Arturia saw more than the monster. More than the weapon he’d disillusioned himself into being. Cú followed the king after Medb’s defeat, intending to find some proof that it was all a fluke, but it never happened. Arturia never treated him or her knights like a weapon or a tool. Arturia treated him like an equal.

And now, years spent the line, she was robbing him of that feeling, sending him away with glory and riches. If he were younger, he’d have jumped at the prize of heroic fame, but that was no longer what he wanted. What he wanted was to be right here, right next to the person that made him feel human again.

As their lips parted, Cú sent a glare through the empty seats of each of the deserters. He’d never understand how they could leave their king behind. He’d met his fair share of monarchs— hell, he technically was one—and even as belligerent a person he was, he wouldn’t wield his spear for any other.

“You will never lose me,” Cú declared in between rough kisses. “I will always be right here beside you. Understand?”

The Irishman returned her ring as she nodded, breathless, into his shoulder. She had one. Even if the world were to turn on Arturia, she still had one. One that would stay forever beside her.

Beside her...

Beyond Cú, the shorter king saw the backrest of Lancelot’s former seat, and finally, she knew just what to do to settle the people and follow her heart at the same time.

“Disregard my previous orders. Heed this instead…”

As the words left his king’s lips, Cú Chulainn proudly grinned.

[rpgadverts]

This wanted ad is an overarching ad for the knights of the round table. It is noted that the ones here are the main ones, but I'd be more than happy to see any of the smaller/lesser known ones. Moreover, as things vary from legend to legend a fair amount of wiggle room is allowed with the characters at the moment.

The Knights of the Round Table were the best knights within Arthur's kingdom. Unlike other systems, they were all considered equals, which is where their name comes from, as the notion of a "round table" means no one sits at the head and thus every man is equal to his king. They all came from different backgrounds and, as is well known, were a large source of drama. It is important to know that not all of them parted on good terms.

In Le Morte d'Arthur, a Code of Chivalry can be found for the Knights. It is the following:

To never do outrage nor murder (not to assault or murder anybody)

Always to flee treason (do not commit treason, a crime against your country or king)

To by no means be cruel but to give mercy unto him who asks for mercy (Do not be mean. Grant mercy to those who ask, even in combat.)

To always do ladies, gentlewomen and widows succor ('succor' is an old word for help; this means that the knight must promise to help women if they need it/ask.)

To never force ladies, gentlewomen or widows.

Not to take up battles in wrongful quarrels for love or worldly goods (do not even join in fights over anything less than God or country)

Arthurian history is quite extensive, so keep in mind that what is written here is not the version you have to go for. If you take up a character, just make sure that you are keeping with what is already established. If you have any questions feel free to ask!

Lancelot || OPEN FACE CLAIM Lancelot tends to be portrayed as Mordred was in earlier legends. Lancelot was originally one of the most trusted of the Table. He was quite well known for his talent. He was the only knight known to defeat Arthur in a jousting tournament and is briefly known as the father of Sir Galahand, the greatest knight in all of Camelot. Unfortunately, this trust was betrayed when he fell in love with Arthur's wife. Depending on the version, how far down the rabbit hole he went differs. Some versions have him fighting against his fellow knights by the time the Battle of Camlann comes around. He was a Red Cross Knight, meaning that he was one of the knights who went on the quest to find the Holy Grail. He is meant to have been raised by the Lady of the Lake, thus earning him the title Lancelot Du Lac.

Gawain || OPEN FACE CLAIM Gawain is the nephew of Arthur. His relations to others tend to vary from legend to legend. He is usually portrayed as being the son of Morgause (or Anna) and King Lot, while his brothers are Agravain, Gaheris, Gareth, and Mordred. In other versions, he is said to have sisters as well. Morgana is occasionally depicted as holding a soft spot for him when they are related. Some legends depict him as being the rightful heir to the throne after Arthur's reign. Gawain is usually depicted as a chivalrous and honorable individual with a strong loyalty to Arthur. In one version, he challenges Lancelot around the Battle of Camlann in the name of Arthur's loyalty and ends up dying.

Percival || OPEN FACE CLAIM Percival is one of Arthur's most loyal knights. He is most commonly known for having retrieved Excalibur from a clan of mischievous faery creatures whose only distinguishing characteristics were their brightly colored headwear and small stature. Of noble birth, his father is stated to be either Alain le Gros, King Pellinore or another worthy knight. His sister is the bearer of the Holy Grail; she is sometimes named Dindrane. In tales where he is Pellinore's son, his brothers are Sir Aglovale, Sir Lamorak and Sir Dornar, and by his father's affair with a peasant woman, he also has a half-brother named Sir Tor.

Bors the Younger || OPEN FACE CLAIM Son of Bors the Elder, King of Gaunnes. Bors was known more for his loyalty and faithfulness than swordsmanship. Loyal to Arthur even if it meant risking his life. Could be considered fearless. Was also known for his great power and agility, having once slain three dragons with a slash of a sword. One of three to witness the wonders of the Holy Grail.

Bedivere || OPEN FACE CLAIM One of the first knights to join the Round Table and one of Arthur's earliest followers. According to early legends he is the cup-bearer. Later legends have him as the one who returns Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake. Moreover, he is the one who puts the dying Arthur in a boat to take him to Avalon. As the story goes, he and Arthur survived the Battle of Camlan, but Arthur was mortally wounded. Arthur commanded Bedivere to throw his magical sword Excalibur back into the Lake. Twice Bedivere lied to Arthur but the third time he threw the sword into the lake it came from. In other legends Arthur gives him rule over Normandy. He is frequently associated with Sir Kay. Sir Lucan is his brother and Sir Griflet is his cousin. He lost his hand in a battle. In legends, he had a grandfather also named Bedivere who was the founder of the city of Bayeux. His son was named Amren and his daughter Eneuavc. Bedivere was said to have been killed in the Roman Campaign.

Galahad || Member Group Open || OPEN Son of Lancelot and Elaine of Corbenic. Known to be very noble, loyal, as well as fierce and ferocious when it came to swordplay. Extremely skilled with a sword. Known as the greatest knight ever. Arrived at Arthur's castle wearing red armour and sat at an empty seat at the Round Table. He pulled a sword from a block of crystalline stone which was floating in the moat surrounding the castle. While many knights tried to pull it from the stone, as well as Arthur himself, to no avail, Galahad did so with ease, merely saying "Is that all?" He went on a mission to find the Holy Grail with Percival and Bors the Younger, wishing to heal King Pelles, his grandfather, with it.

Mordred || Member Group Open || OPEN Previously a Knight of Camelot, Mordred is known as both a traitor to them and for mortally wounding Arthur at the Battle of Camlann. While he is always related to Arthur, the relationship differs from story to story. The earliest depictions have him being Arthur's nephew. However, the most well known depiction is where he is the illegitimate child between Morgana and Arthur. Exactly what he is like and how he is alive are open. Depictions of him tend to vary a great deal [the earliest depictions are believed to be positive while the more well known ones are obviously that of a traitor] so how you decide to go about things is fairly open. If you would like to pull upon any of the stories that include Merlin please contact me.