behindcloseddoors | CLOSED ♔ it was anything but hear the voice that says that we're all basically alone

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CLOSED ♔ it was anything but hear the voice that says that we're all basically alone

WHO || Arthur Pendragon, Wynnefalshond, Dumage Moulet, Mark Sandazhard [closed]
WHAT || ? ? ?
WHERE || A first floor hallway
WHEN || Tues, Feb 21st, evening, right before the Chicago briefing
HOW || Actionspam or prose or whatnot.

Just because Arthur almost died in training less than a week ago is hardly any reason to slack, and Fred and company don't go any lighter on him for what happened. There might be a bit of good-natured ribbing about getting nearly killed by a girl (whenever the women weren't in earshot), particularly by the elder fighters from the Shadow World who invested less awe in the Arthurian legends in the first place, but they were all too happy to spar anytime. So by the end of each training session, even a warrior in good shape would find himself winded and in need of a break. It's not quite time for evening meal yet as Arthur descends from the second floor in the direction of the squire rooms and baths.

It's unusual to find Wynn in this section of the castle, as he tends to make himself rare in the first place, barely making appearances even in the training oriented rooms of the castle. Hearing his voice, therefore, emanating from a slightly ajar door in the stretch of rooms largely reserved for squires rings as slightly unusual. He seems to be in the middle of some parting words.

"... think you might benefit from sharing a few words with him, in time. Though for the time being, I would suggest focusing on the assignment you'll be receiving today."

An answering male voice from within asks: "But if you hear from Jack, you'll--" His voice is laced with strained anxiety, and Wynn cuts him off smoothly.

"Of course." And with that, Wynn moves out into the hallway, where he sees Arthur just a couple yards away. He pauses, hand on the door handle, looking as if he was actually so preoccupied that he was surprised to see anyone there, so much as he can evince surprise at anything.

He recovers within the span of an instant, nodding to Arthur in greeting as he steps towards him, though he angles to walk past him without really seeming inclined to stop.

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Arthur draws forward a high-backed chair, not sure that he wants to risk the red chair. He sits in it, slouching a little, though the armour doesn't allow for much.

"I didn't travel in time," Arthur snorts, not even sure how that would work. Though he supposes it's a reasonable assumption, if such a thing were possible. If there weren't a more obvious means of unlikely transportation known well to the Knights.

"I came through the Veil."

The look Mark cuts him makes it clear that he thinks the King might be suffering some residual brain damage from his bout with Buffy.

"... But the Veil is between the Shadow World and this world. Not the past and the future." It doesn't sound like an accusation, exactly, but there's a definite doubt behind his words. "So how can you be famous in this world, but from another one?"

"Do you really expect me to be able to answer that?" Arthur asks, pulling a face. He's a little offended by that look. "If I'd jumped from my time to yours there wouldn't be any stories about all the great deeds I'm supposed to eventually do, would there?"

And he's annoyed, so he doesn't even consider the implications of telling Mark that he's maybe not yet the King Arthur of legend. He knows nothing except what Wynn's told him, but he wholly trusts the man not to have misled him. What was it he'd said, when he'd first found Arthur? He attempts to moderate his tone to something more conciliatory, in the hopes it makes him seem like he knows anything about what he's speaking of. "I was told perhaps it could be a similar world to ours, but simply ... running slow."

Mark's brows pinch together further, and he looks as if he's giving the matter serious consideration. It at least seems to have the effect of calming him down visibly, as he concentrates on the subject at hand. "No," he says slowly, "I suppose you wouldn't have any more of an idea than somebody who was from the Shadow World." Mark himself wasn't overly familiar with the idea of parallel universes, so he just nods at the description. "It's just that I'd never heard of anything like that before. And Wynn didn't really... offer any of us an explanation about it, just boom, announced King Arthur was going to be signing on. Kind of a shocker."

The thought of something seems to hit him, and he looks up at Arthur again, chin still lowered in thought. "Do you... I mean, do you think at least, that you remember everything, or did the Veil snag things?"

"The latter," Arthur admits, still not sure how much he's supposed to talk about this. He looks away. "Not everything, but a lot."

It's easy to feel Mark's gaze on him for a long moment, before he finally asks, as if he can't help himself: "Enough to miss it?" And then he seems to correct himself, rephrasing. "I mean, obviously you miss it if you remember some things, but I'm guessing it's different for you, since it's not just family, friends, that kind of thing. It's a whole--" Something causes him to hesitate briefly. "Whole kingdom."

"It is."

Arthur looks back at him. Nobody else has asked him this; perhaps because he enjoys the current world he's in so obviously. He has a purpose, and part of reaching that purpose is a sort of assimilation that has been teaching him the principles of humility the hard way.

"All right, yes," he says, somewhat grudgingly, blue eyes still studying Mark. "Camelot is everything to me. But I know one day I'll see it again." There's an earnest faith to the way he says that, as though he truly believes that this is trip to the future is just a holiday and not a permanent residency.

"You seem pretty sure about that." For a moment, his eyes hold Arthur's and there's a previously unseen glimpse of something there, a canny grasp of the subject, perhaps, or a shrewd reasoning that seems at odds with the fluster he presented only moments before. The question he poses is blunt, but not said with any seeming malice. If he evinced some fear of Arthur's presence before, it seems to dissolve in the space of this instant.

"What if you can't?"

Suddenly Arthur finds himself wondering again just why he's here.

"Then I continue to live and fight here until the end of my life," Arthur responds, trying to keep his tone impartial. It's only fact, and there are good causes here, after all. Camelot may end in ruins in Morgana's grasp, but perhaps not. Perhaps Princess Mithian or Queen Annis, both of whom do right by their people. But no. No, it's not worth dwelling on. "But I don't believe it will ever come to that."

The other man scrutinizes Arthur's face after his response, as if he's searching for something incredibly important and expects it to see written there. There's a frustration in his gaze, however, that makes it apparent that he can't find what he's looking for.

"I hope you're right," he says finally, and there seems to be a lot of sincerity crammed into the words, a sudden gravity to his entire demeanor. "I hope it's not impossible."

All right, it's time for the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

"Why?" Because this seems like it goes further than polite well-wishes. "Why would it matter to you?"

It's only now that he seems to realize that he's backed himself against the wall on this one, and immediately the grave man shatters back into the frazzled one, the incredibly thin-sounding excuse falling off his lips: "I'm just a sucker for happy endings."

Arthur's expression goes hard. "Don't ever lie to me." Dishonesty is the one thing he will not abide.

It's an obvious lie of exclusion - he probably isn't kidding about loving his happy endings, but that certainly isn't why this matters so much to him. Arthur's sudden intensity draws his eyes back up, and for a moment he looks once again like he did when Dumage yanked the door open on them - as if this might very well be the single worst moment of his entire existence. He stares back at the other silently for a long moment trying to compose himself beyond what seems like a terror that grips him to the very core.

What seems clear is that it's not even a fear of Arthur, but of what this moment might mean.

Finally, he says, in a tight voice that seems to beg the other to just let it lie: "It isn't something I can talk about."

"Why not?" Arthur's leaning back now, sprawling further in the chair, as though he's willing to wait Mark out. He has on the expression that usually means he's about to order someone thrown in the dungeons, annoyed and imperious.

Something in Arthur's shift in posture seems to really dig at Mark, and his lip twitches slightly at the King's attitude.

"Because it's personal," he retorts. "And it doesn't have anything to do with you."

"And I suppose all those questions you just asked me were not personal in the slightest." He's getting a bit offended now. If the man has secrets, then that's all well and good, but whatever he says, they seem tied to Arthur in some way. Arthur and the Veil, both of which he considers his business.

Abruptly, he stands. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, Sir Sandazhard, but I've had enough. I was willing to overlook a bit of oddity given I found you fraternizing with that Dumage woman, but this goes beyond that. If it's my life you're so interested in, you can go and pick up a book."

"I never claimed you had to answer any of them," is his response, and it's obvious that his own frustration with the conversation is burning off the remainder of his nerves, leaving a hard anger that matches Arthur's.

"This was probably a bad idea. I don't know what Wynn was thinking." His words are spoken through nearly gritted teeth, as if he'd really love to go chew their leader out. Which, in itself, is an unusual way to hear anyone talking about Wynn around the castle, in place of the usual reverential tones or good-natured humor.

He doesn't seem content to leave it at that, however, and adds insistently, sounding a bit annoyed: "And we weren't fraternizing."

"Of course, I'm sure her lip-paint just found it's way to your jaw," Arthur scoffs, his eyes flashing. The mention of Wynn reminds him that he'd suggested Arthur speak to Mark, had wanted him to be here, perhaps in answer to the question of what was weighing so heavily on his shoulders.

Arthur folds his arms, takes a deep breath through his nose. "I answered them because I trusted you," he says, past tense but trying to find his calm.

Mark seems to weigh the pros and cons of explaining the whole 'lip paint' scenario, but just drops it, focusing on the other part of Arthur's statement.

"I didn't mean to imply I didn't trust you. It's just it's... " A little bit of his own anger leaks away as he searches for the words. "It's a sensitive matter. And I guess it's not just personal, really, but I wasn't lying about it not being about you. But it has to do with more than just me, and so I can't just talk about it with anybody." He seems to realize what he just said, contextually. "Even... King Arthur, I guess."

Edited 2012-03-06 03:27 (UTC)

Arthur finds his annoyance lessening also, and he realizes his behavior has perhaps been inappropriate for a squire. "I may be King, but I'm not your king," he says. Were he, this would be a different matter indeed, and perhaps some of Arthur's manner comes from being unused to refusals, to having things kept from him. Lies and betrayal tend to raise his ire disproportionately, though he does not know particularly why. "If I've acted out of turn, then I apologize."

And he sits back down again, no longer about to storm out.

"What would you like to talk about, then," he offers generously. "Although I truly doubt Wynnefalshond sent me here to make small-talk, I'm not adverse to it."

"You might be surprised what Wynn does or doesn't do," he says, and there's a hint of wry humor there that seems to indicate he's much more nearly himself again - whatever that means, in his case.

Either way, he fixes Arthur with a curious gaze, now that he has permission, more or less. "How long have you been King?" To clarify, he adds: "I meant... how old were you when you .." And he pantomimes yanking a sword. Which would... probably be a bizarre visual if Arthur didn't have the context, but whatever.

"Would I," says Arthur neutrally. He's fairly sure Wynn's lost the capacity to surprise him in any real way.

Let's just be grateful that Arthur does understand that he's talking about a sword in a stone and not some kind of awkward masturbatory technique. But only just. Because: "A month ago, perhaps?"

And that's why it's a parallel universe.

"I mean, I've been king for near a year now, and regent for a good year before that due to my father's... ill-health. But it really wasn't long ago that I found Excalibur in the rock."

Very grateful, indeed...

Mark manages to look slightly surprised by that, for a moment, at least, before he seems to reconcile with the idea. "Huh. So much for the Disney version."

This really only seems to make him sound more invested in the conversation, and he leans forward slightly, all ears now.

"So that wasn't how you were identified as the true King. Myth busted." He chuckles just a little bit. And then seems to realize he is only amusing himself with the reference, and adds: "How'd you become King, then?"

Arthur seems fairly impassive, although his eyebrow quirks upwards as he gathers he's probably missing some important information to truly be able to find that joke unfunny.

"My father died," he says, blunt because he doesn't know any other way to be about it. That's a memory he retained to the nuance, of Uther in his arms, bleeding out. "I was his only son. Isn't that the way it normally works?"

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sense motive: 15?

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