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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[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.

[He chuckles as well, moving up to the steps, beyond two massive statues on either side, of dragons cast in marble] Yes, well, a thousand years or more will do that.

We've adapted to the needs of the time and the scope and scale of the issue.

[Through the heavy doors they go, into the large entrance hall, with its overwhelming architecture, sweeping staircases, and the solitary desk to the side where a man in modern wear sits, glancing up curiously from a magazine. Wynn ignores him, walking straight back towards the hallway nestled between the staircases]

But I've found that the ideals of the chivalric code have rung true with mankind throughout the ages. And not just mankind. [He leaves that mysterious comment hanging. :| ]

[ Arthur makes equally curious eye contact with the other man but keeps following Wynn. He isn't intimidated by the grandeur, which is white and open and far more what he's used to that he expected. ]

I'm not surprised. Doing right by others isn't exactly something that goes out of fashion.

[ Wynn might have thought he could just slip that past Arthur, but it rings alarm bells enough that he catches up in order to look across, with sharp eyes. ]

What do you mean by that? What else is there, besides mankind? I doubt a horse has much interest in chivalry.

Even in your time, there was talk of other beings in the world. Creatures of the woods, the seas, the earth: like men, but not like men. Older. Different. [They pass down the long corridor, lined with standing suits of armor, tapestries depicting medieval scenes, and some displaying paintings of various Arthurian tales, of course.] Men like you aren't the only things to have come through the Veil.

You mean magical creatures.

[ Arthur narrows his eyes. ]

I thought that was what you said your Order fought.

I said that we fight evil magical creatures that threaten this land.

There are evil men, as well, who would do ill to magical creatures in your predicament, who mean only good. Just as we seek to stop evil from entering the world of men, we seek to protect these creatures from the evil men do.

[ Arthur's mouth twists. "Good magical creatures" seems like a bit of an oxymoron to him. ]

As I've never met a magical creature who did not mean me harm, I find it hard to believe—

[ He cuts himself off. ]

No, that's not wholly true. I think there was a unicorn, once.

[ He glances over at Wynn. Okay, he'd fight on behalf of a unicorn. ]

[Wynn just looks vaguely entertained by the talk of unicorns, but says nothing as he pauses in front of the gigantic painting taking up a large space on the right hand wall, depicting warring angels and demons. There's a small card in his hand abruptly, that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, and he swipes it through a narrow groove on the glass case hanging on the wall beside the artwork. The case opens, and he turns the unusual bright red canister inside as if it were a handle, prompting a loud clanking sound that seems to resound from the panels within. As he closes the case again, the painting swings slowly away to reveal a stone hallway, with high ceilings but narrow in width, lit by only torches.

The painting closes behind them, sealing them in with the strange series of paintings tapestries, rugs, artifacts, carvings, and more hang over every inch of either wall, weaving an unusual story. There is imagery that seems to evoke scenes from Camelot: Arthur himself, a wizened wizard with a long white beard accompanying him, a beautiful fair queen, knights in battle, the Round Table, Excalibur, the Holy Grail. But these make up only a small part of the mosaic, the rest seeming to detail the history of the Knighthood itself. Knights throughout time do battle against all kinds of those 'evil magical creatures' Arthur was just talking about in scenes of bloodshed, battle, triumph.

One image repeats itself in various locations: a gigantic silver dragon battling alone against armies of dark skinned pointy-eared warriors, or, in some cases, just fighting one of these warriors in particular, a larger than life wicked looking caricature in spiked armor.

But amid the battle scenes are others as well: knights bending knee in front of what looks like a goddess, planting a tree in what appears to be a garden, reclaiming artifacts, helping the sick and weak. The only text that appears in the hallway hangs above the pair of wide sealed doors at far end, where the creed of the Knighthood is written in bold lettering:

Thou Shalt Defend the Knighthood.
Thou Shalt respect all Weaknesses, and Shalt constitute thyself the Defender of them.
Thou Shalt not recoil before thine Enemy.
Thou Shalt make War against Injustice, without Cessation and without Mercy.
Thou Shalt never lie, and shall remain Faithful to thy pledged Word.
Thou Shalt be Generous, and listen to and Respect All.
Thou Shalt be Everywhere and Always the Champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil.

Wynn walks past these images in quiet contemplation, eyes raking over the long history flanking them on either side. He speaks quietly, thoughtfully.]

I imagine there is much that you will find difficult to believe. But that does not lessen the reality of any of it.

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djfaf your edit subject

with bowties, on a rainbow

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