behindcloseddoors | prologue ♔ passion or coincidence once prompted you to say

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prologue ♔ passion or coincidence once prompted you to say | pride will tear us both apart

♬ Ordinary World ; Red

WHO || Wynnefalshond & Arthur Pendragon [closed]
WHAT || The tables have turned.
WHERE || Winchester, Hampshire, England, outside the Great Hall
WHEN || Wednesday, Feb 8, 2012, morning
HOW || Actionspam

[It was possible, of course, that this lunatic was nothing more than a lunatic. The world was full of them, after all, and Wynn had seen a vast extent of fools in his time. But perhaps it was the sudden influx of arrivals in the past week whose stories didn't hold up to the same tale he'd been hearing for centuries - people coming from somewhere other than the Shadow World - that had him on edge, and drove him to investigate the claims of the man claiming to be "Arthur Pendragon" himself.

Apparently, he'd appeared quite suddenly wearing full plate mail in the Great Hall of what was left of Winchester Castle, where a reproduction of the Round Table hung famously on the wall. This might have been taken as something of a good prank if he hadn't actually been wearing a quite dangerous looking sword as well, and argued so vehemently with the security guards who came to escort him off the grounds.

Wynn had his ways of traveling quickly, when he had to, and whatever instincts drove him to not just dismiss this also compelled him to utilized those methods now. There was a sense of something in his gut that he couldn't quell. It felt a lot like dread, which was something he'd gone a long time without feeling.

So it was that he marched along the path outside the building, casting his eyes around for signs of the madman. Perhaps he'd continued to argue and been hauled off to a cell. A frown carved its way across Wynn's features as he walked around the perimeter, ignoring the stares that his unusual height and cut of clothing drew. It was rare that he questioned his own judgment in matters like these, but he started to think that perhaps this had been a spectacular waste of his time, after all.]

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[ It hadn't taken long to incapacitate the guards once they'd left the Great Hall. Nobody who takes his sword should expect to hold it for long. ]

[ Arthur is angry — it's not a rage, he has his head — but confusion and fear always tend to manifest themselves as black scowls and shouting. And truth be told, Arthur was afraid, though again, only mildly. Every time the vast impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm him he let himself believe he was simply dreaming. That was how he came to be in an unfamiliar castle, surrounded by strange people, with his memory fuzzy when he tried to remember what he'd been doing to end up here. A dream, and nothing more. ]

[ But he is only letting himself believe that, until he works out just what the hell is going on. ]

[ Really, he needs to get back inside that hall, see if there was an explanation for his arrival amongst all those stone columns. But he knows he should probably stay out of the way of all the people who'd seen him dragged off. The people he'd gotten a little stroppy with when he'd asked them whose court this was supposed to be and a young woman (who had possibly been a whore, given the skin on display) answered that it was Arthur Pendragon's. ]

[ So he sits in the arbor of the little garden to the south. There are people mingling here, too, but they pay less attention now that he's seated and out of the way. He shall wait until the cover of darkness, and then sneak back inside to look for clues. If it's a dream he'll have woken up from all the long, boring bits in between. And if he's here because of magic... ]

[ Arthur is distracted from the way his thoughts start to take a turn towards dark, because a splash of red amongst the greenery catches his eye. Pendragon red, like Arthur's cloak, which is getting crushed a little behind him but he can always just give it to Merlin to fix up when he gets home. The man is obscenely tall. Arthur's not sure he's ever met someone that tall in his life — it makes him feel small, sitting on the ground, so he gets to his feet with a soft grunt and the clanking of armour, his jaw shifting. ]

♬ Mad World - Gary Jules

[The sound of the man's movement focuses Wynn's attention before anything else. There's little that replicates the clang of true armour, after all. His head turns in that direction, catching the movement of the other's rising, and he takes a few slow, cautious steps to the side to afford himself a clearer view, beyond the trees he stands between.

What he sees halts him in his movements entirely. His entire body stiffens as he looks upon the cloak, the symbol emblazoned on its side, the set of the jaw and straw blond hair visible in profile, and, most shocking of all, the hilt of the sword at the man's side.

It's difficult to even draw his eyes away from the sword, as familiar to him as his own hand, but finally his gaze drags back up to take in the countenance of the would-be king.

While Wynn saw himself as not beyond the ability to be surprised, even after everything he had seen, he did not consider himself the type to ever be rendered speechless. But now, as his mind sought to make sense of what he was staring at quite openly, he found himself unable to think of even one thing to say, beyond the obvious. It didn't strike him for a moment that what he uttered might be ridiculously foolish, if he were somehow mistaken, nor did he take the time to rationalize that it may be seen as impertinent to address the man so informally. He simply uttered the name in astonishment: familiarity, shock, and disbelief warring in his tone and expression.]

... Arthur?

[It's only after the word has fallen off his lips that the youth of the man before him sinks in. There's a slight difference in the way that he even holds himself, not to mention the trimmer build and younger features. But there's still no mistaking him for the Arthur that Wynn remembers, no matter what age he might be.

He's known many ancient creatures through the ages who have lost their mind simply to the snares of time itself. The coming and going of lesser-lived friends, enemies, lovers, family: each takes their toll, and there are some who have spent long periods of time quite out of their mind entirely. Wynn has never experienced anything of the sort, nor even feared its eventual advance. He's seen it as a problem for those who do not have a fixed purpose in this world, not those who have something to focus on.

However, a momentary seed of doubt creeps into the back of his mind now. It seems madness to hope for this to be anything more than a trick, a hallucination, or some kind of magical illusion, and yet...

And yet he finds that he hopes all the same.]

[ And of course Arthur turns towards his own name, especially when it's spoken with such shock. As though he is known, but not expected. He looks first, turning his head and then following it with his body, and it's that man again, pale-haired and strange-looking. ]

[ The way he takes in Arthur is as though he's seen a ghost. And perhaps he has. Perhaps Arthur is a ghost now, despite the weight and chafe of mail through his padded shirt. He doesn't doubt a return from the dead in such a way is possible, though he doesn't know how he knows, and he certainly doesn't remember dying. ]

[ And surely a kidnapper (or a figment) wouldn't look at him as if he has no idea how Arthur came to be here. Despite that, one hand, kept steady through sheer will, goes to the hilt of his sword. Just to be safe. He is, after all, very odd-looking. ]

I'm afraid you have the advantage of me.

[ Arthur approaches, tense and ready, his chin high and not the slightest hint of recognition in those blue eyes, narrowed and ice-pale in the sunlight of the garden, the grass crunching under his boots. ]

[If this is some hallucination, the level of detail is maddeningly precise. The way the sunlight streaks shadows across the hilt of Excalibur. The sound of Arthur's steps on the grass packed with remnants of snow. The precise shading of his eyes, and the timbre of his voice. Wynn's gaze skates across the other once more, as if to reassure himself that his eyes aren't deceiving him.

Beyond the edges of the arbor, men, women, children walk by in the distance, oblivious. Their presence makes this feel all the more surreal.

If this is Arthur -- and he wants to chastise himself for entertaining the thought so readily, but there it is -- he's too young to have any recollection of the time they'd spent together.

If it wasn't Arthur --

and yet, Wynn can't get himself to think past the hypothetical. There's something about this that feels more like reality than the past thousand years have.]

Wynnefalshond. [He doesn't move, just lets the other man approach cautiously, locking stares with him, a great deal of questions warring in his eyes. He still can't bring himself to vocalize so much as one.]

[ Arthur's brow quirks — what kind of a name is that? There's no title, no surname, but the man's bearing is hardly common. Perhaps it is simply down to the odd familiarity with which Arthur finds himself regarded. ]

Wynnfalshond.

[ Of course, he's doomed himself to never be anything else. Arthur doesn't do nicknames. ]

[ He wants to ask, do you know me? But somehow it seems rude, particularly when the answer is writ plainly across the other's face. Arthur stops in front of him, rests his weight on his sword hip, hand still light upon the pommel, and looks up. ]

Tell me, how far are we from Camelot?

[ Good lord but he's bad at this, uncomfortable not knowing whether to make threats and demand ransom or simply start polite conversation. ]

[So much awkward on both sides.]

... Far and yet not far at all.

[Yeah, ok, he can't do this anymore. Dignity be damned. His brow furrows as he looks down upon the other man, and he shakes his head slightly.] Svent arcaniss.

[The words sound somewhat like a hiss, and they're said almost under his breath, as if he's cursing to himself. But he seems to be waiting for something that never occurs, as he adds, with sudden conviction] If you are Arthur Pendragon, I ask you to swear to it, in the name of your God.

[ Gods. Arthur thinks of the Christian Lord, but doesn't feel any attachment, to it or any other theology that he knows of. But he knows what the man means. And if his doubt is odd, at least it isn't scoffing disbelief and an arm at the crook of his elbow, come with us now, lad. ]

In god's name, I swear it. By my own life, I swear it. I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther...

[ He debates the last bit, still wary of foul play, but can no more hide who he is than disappear from view. ]

King of Camelot and knight of the realm.

[ He straightens his shoulders, stubborn-mouthed and looking down his strong nose as though they're of a height. ]

Now will you stop talking nonsense and riddles and tell me what the hell is going on!

[Wynn's next actions would have been enough to draw more than raised eyebrows from anyone who knew him well, but that thought gave him not a moment's pause.

He took a knee, head bent respectfully, and while there's the usual sense of some reverence accompanying the gesture, it does nothing to diminish Wynn's own inherent sense of nobility, and he still speaks as if addressing an equal, not one he considers vastly above him.]

Forgive me, Your Highness, but we had to be certain. [And oops, Wynn had thought he'd broken himself of the habit of using the royal 'we' for himself, but perhaps Arthur wouldn't notice.

He raises his head again to look the other firmly in the eye.] How this is possible, I could not say, but it has been over fifteen-hundred years since the days when Camelot stood, and I saw you last.

[The vast weight of his gaze offers little room for doubt, and there's nothing in the serious, profound depths of his eyes to dispute the claim, or make it appear that he makes some jest.]

[ A far better reaction than being dragged off like a criminal. That single action and acknowledgement does more to put Arthur at ease with his memories and discrepancies than any other action could have. ]

[ Arthur does notice, but he thinks Wynn speaks of himself and others, is some sort of representative. It's not at though he uses the royal we, ever. And even were he inclined to inquire further about this sudden plural— ]

[ Fifteen hundred years. ]

No—

[ It's as if all the air goes out of Arthur's body. His eyes widen, locked on Wynn's, unable to do anything but believe the unbelievable. Sorcery, something virulent says in his mind, but he puts it aside to reel a little longer. ]

[ His life. And he knows he had one. His whole life, gone in an instant. Love — hadn't there maybe been love? A country and a people. And now there's the ruins of a castle not his own and a man claiming to be fifteen hundred years old, the needle sewing together the cloth of now and then. His life, a then. ]

Get up.

[ His words are curt, but only because he's busy thinking. ]

That is... an exceedingly long time.

[ To have somehow jumped, and for one man to live. His mind can hardly encompassed either of those things, and when his attention goes back to Wynn he looks, in a word, lost. ]

[There's nothing to indicate that Wynn finds the tone brusque or dismissive, he simply rises, keeping his eyes on Arthur's countenance, as he monitors his reaction to this. He feels something distant inside him twist as the King's emotions play out.]

In some ways, yes. For which you may understand my shock upon seeing you.

[A beat of hesitance ensues] There is something amiss in the world as of late, and I cannot help but theorize a connection.

[And... because he knows it will be one of the questions in the other man's mind:] I do not know a way to return you to your own time, but as this monument still stands and holds your name... [He seems to realize something, or at least think of something he hadn't previously] I think it possible you have come from another world, one much like our own to produce the same King, but fifteen hundred years behind it. Which means not all hope of return is lost.

[ If jumping into the future sounds improbable, jumping between worlds is a harder concept to grasp, simply because the idea of other worlds is not exactly natural to Arthur's mind. Avalon is another world, if the tales hold true, and so is the Christian heaven, and the land of the dead. All of these have a thematic commonality that disturbs him. ]

[ But he fixates on that final sentence. He'll accept anything as truth, if it means he may return home. ]

[ He abruptly runs palms over his brows, trying to ease the tension, takes a deep breath. There's determination in his jaw, to control himself, remain even-tempered and learn as much as he can so he can draw better conclusions than death or madness. ]

Look, Wynnefalshond, I'm not saying I disbelieve any of this, but while you certainly know me, I don't recognize you. Which I hope you won't take umbrage to, it's all a bit...

[ He gestures his hand beside his left ear. ]

Mixed up, like I've had a nasty knock.

[ He looks up. ]

And I want to return home. Because if I can't rule in Camelot...

[ There are two endings to that sentence. The obvious one is, What what will my people do? But Arthur thinks of the strangeness of even minor things like clothing and interactions and fifteen hundred years, and wonders, also, What will I do? ]

[ But he speaks neither of these aloud, quirks a brow. ]

Unless, of course, this kingdom has a vacancy at the top.

[If those who knew Wynn would be surprised to see him bending knee to anyone, they would have been even more startled by the quite jovial smile and accompanying laugh that emerge at Arthur's last comment. He shakes his head with good-hearted ruefulness.] Regrettably, no, though I think there remain quite a few who would gladly bend knee to you as their King, even in this day and age.

[The smile softens, as he recognizes fully what the two unspoken questions on Arthur's mind had been.]

If there is a way, I have devoted my life to finding it. Perhaps these new occurrences, your arrival included, will be the key to finally unlock the mystery behind our inability to travel beyond this world.

[He looks down, as if weighing how to say something.] ... And I take no offense to your not recollecting who I am. The Arthur I knew was ... older than you are, though it is difficult for me to say by how much.

[Wynn looks up at him, brows drawing together slightly] You say it is difficult to order your memories at present? What facts of your life can you easily recall?

[ Older. Arthur raises a brow but doesn't comment. Still, it's worth wondering if Wynn could tell him his future — or what would have been his future. Had he stayed. Will still be, he resolves to himself. If he rules so brightly, so greatly, that they remember him over a thousand years later? He wants to live that. ]

[ But to the question, in hopes his answers will prompt answers in turn from Wynn. ]

I remember Camelot, and my role in it.

[ The first thing, always the first. ]

I remember Guinevere, and Merlin, and my father. I remember how to knock a man out with one blow as well as anything.

[ The quirk of his lips is brief; he's demonstrated that once today, and there's a boyish arrogance to his mentioning it. But it fades. It's not what he can remember, after all, but what he cannot. ]

I don't know what I was doing before I arrived here. For all I know, I caused this to happen. I don't remember my last battle, or the last time I ate my favourite meal. For god's sake, I don't really remember my childhood.

[ He tries not to sound as disturbed as he feels, and fails spectacularly. ]

[Hearing Arthur speak the names of those long gone holds much more nostalgic value than all the tales of them, twisted as they are, that still wind their way around the world. Wynn's overcome with a sudden uncharacteristic desire to reminisce, and is glad when Arthur takes the subject in the direction he was really listening for. The oh-so-familiar tale of gaps in one's memory. There's a shade of strong empathy in his eyes as he responds.]

It is as I suspected. You are not the first to be displaced from another world, to find yourself in ours. There are commonalities between the circumstances, even if we have not yet uncovered the cause. Loss of memory is one. You may count yourself fortunate to have retained as much as you have. There are those who lose all sense of themselves in the passing, through what we call the Veil. You might think of it as the thin lining between here and the places that we cannot reach by land or sea or air.

[ A veil between the worlds... yes, Arthur knows such a thing is possible. He knows that it can be torn by the sacrifice of a High Priestess on Samhein, and closed by another sacrifice. Perhaps he'd thrown himself into it. ]

[ Arthur nods, glad at least that his affliction has an explanation if not a cure. ]

So what do we all do? I don't know about the rest of your displaced people, but I'm not just going to sit around and wait for there to be a way home.

[ He's reminded again of the fifteen hundred years that have left him irrelevant. Could he still be a knight or would he have to be a servant? Would people recognize his surname? His crest? His sigil in lieu of money? If they even
still used money. ]

Each who passes the Veil must decide this for themselves. Each must seek for something worth fighting for, or living for, as men in any world shall.

[How in the world to approach this. He figures it's time to make a slight admission, at least. His expression turns thoughtful.] Fifteen hundred years ago, I was faced with the same choice, and it was you who offered me a place in this world. Who taught me to navigate and understand it, to better it while I could.

It seems events have come full circle. Perhaps I finally have a chance to repay that debt.

You owe me nothing, Wynnefanshold.

[ He means it. He was not the man who made that offer, and even if he had been, he would see it as a gift, not something that came with a debt, or no more than hard work and loyalty, the price Arthur always charges. ]

Not that I'm saying no, mind you.

[ After all, he doesn't even know what he'd be refusing. ]

Someone to provide navigation and understanding would probably be incredibly useful, actually.

[He says nothing to Arthur's refutation of his 'debt'. It changes nothing, in his mind.]

Then it would be easier to show you, than to explain at length. I'm afraid we have something of a ride ahead of us. [The slightest twist of a smile finds its way to the corner of his mouth] One that involves no steeds.

[ Arthur tips his head. ]

How can a ride involve no steeds?

[Wynn nods towards the path for Arthur to follow him.] Another thing easier to show than to explain. Come.

[He's going to have to call for a car, but the Knights have their ways of getting them there quickly. Cheekily, the vehicle that pulls up, a vintage model in prime condition, is also called an Excalibur, and says as such on the side in small silver lettering. On the car door is emblazoned a small symbol as well. The driver holds the door for them, and Wynn waits patiently for Arthur to take his seat, giving him an encouraging nod at any hesitation.]

It's quite safe.

[ Of course there's hesitation, but it's simply unfamiliarity, not fear. Arthur Pendragon certainly isn't afraid of some— ]

[ The car starts with a roar like thunder and Arthur's eyes bulge, his jaw clenching. And then it moves, and his stomach and heart both seem to drop out below him. Arthur clutches embarrassingly at anything he can see to hold onto. ]

[ He throws a wild, stormy glance in Wynn's direction. How could this be perfectly safe? But his serenity helps relax Arthur by degrees. ]

[And serenity is something Wynn has in spades, so he'll just relax and look out his window, letting Arthur settle in and get the hang of it without really minding any of his initial scrabbling to hold on for things. .__.

/CUE DRIVING MONTAGE

He doesn't speak much as they ride, letting the young King soak in the scenery as they drive through the modern town, over highways, past businesses and homes and into farmland and fields. He knows what it's like for him, to feel the power of the old times and old ways humming beneath the varnish of modern life here, but he imagines the differences and similarities would be much more intense to one who had not watched them ease their way in gradually. If Arthur has a question, he answers it simply, but doesn't begin any further conversation, seemingly lost in thought.

There's a great deal to think about.

At last the vehicle pulls up to a pair of black wrought iron gates, worked through with a decorative "W". They open with perfect timing for the car to roll through, revealing the magnificent sight of the opulent castle beyond.]

♬ Can't Take It In - Imogen Heap

[The car slowly rounds the pond out front, which currently reflects the cold gray sky. Snow dots the lawn in places. But nothing diminishes from the spectacle of the place. They pull to a stop right at the bottom of the front steps, and Wynn finally looks over directly at Arthur.]

This castle houses my Order: the Knights of the Silver Dragon. It serves as our headquarters - and our home. [The chauffeur comes to open the door for them once again.]

[ Eventually the panic turns to excitement, and apart from a few questions about the car's speed, invention, and popularity, Arthur is mostly content to watch the world speed by. He gives the impression that if he were a dog, he's stick his head out the window and pant. ]

[ There's a brooding melancholy under that bright, adventurous joy. Already Arthur is feeling the distance from his time, and there is so much unfamiliarity in the world, from architecture to technology to the simple fact of how crowded close everything is. ]

[ But then there's a view of a building so spectacular that suddenly whose world or time this is doesn't matter at all. Arthur just stares until they're right up close, eyes still wide when he snaps around to fix them on Wynn. ]

You live here.

[ A beat, eyebrows climbing. ]

With your knights.

Edited (Arthur has many questions about cats.) 2012-02-10 06:22 (UTC)

[Wynn just smiles again slightly, nodding once] It's necessary for the size of our operation. We house hundreds of knights here: those who have dedicated themselves to the cause of protecting and sheltering those of us displaced from our own worlds - we who this world calls the Shadowkind, and protecting this world from the threat of malevolent forces that find their way through the Veil. [He steps out of the car, his height unfolding, and he glances around once at the view, before moving to the steps to wait for Arthur, hands folding behind his back]

They've sworn an oath to protect the innocent and destroy evil, [he gives Arthur a significant amused Look] in the traditions set by someone I knew long ago.

[ Arthur follows apace. Those causes sound like good ones to him — excellent, even. ]

[ And then Wynn points out the likely reason why, and Arthur gives a slightly self-deprecatory chuckle. ]

I see. Seems to have grown a little in the adaptation, though.

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djfaf your edit subject

with bowties, on a rainbow