Chapter 30: The Argument
Sir Galahad bent down and picked up the Sword of David from the cold marble floor.
His hand trembled as he gripped the hilt. The blade felt heavier than it ever had weighted with disappointment, with rage, with disbelief. He slid it back into its scabbard with a soft shink that echoed in the empty hallway.
Then he gripped his forehead hard.
His fingers dug into his skin as if he could physically squeeze out the thoughts that swirled in his mind. The image of Lancelot and the queen on that bed it burned behind his eyes. Would not leave. Would never leave.
Anger filled him.
Not at Lancelot though that was there too. Not at the queen though she deserved her share. No, this anger was directed at the man sitting broken on the floor before him.
Arthur.
The king who did nothing.
Galahad's hand shot out, grabbing Arthur by his tunic. He yanked him upward, lifting the king from the floor as if he weighed nothing. Their faces were inches apart Galahad's twisted with fury, Arthur's slack with despair.
"What are you doing?!" Galahad's voice was a whip crack. "Your defenses as a king are at their lowest! Everything is literally over if you do not address this!"
He shook Arthur slightly, trying to force some reaction, some life into those empty eyes.
"This is not the Arthur that I stood in the round table with!" Spittle flew from his lips, landing on Arthur's face. "This is not the king who placed his sword beside mine and the others! Who swore to protect Camelot above all else!"
Arthur stared at him. His eyes were hollow, unfocused. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
"But shouldn't I leave it?"
Galahad's grip tightened.
"It's my wife." Arthur's voice cracked. "And my friend. A loyal friend. If I do anything if I say anything I'll lose both of them." A tear traced down his cheek. "They will betray me."
Galahad exploded.
"THEY ALREADY BETRAYED YOU!"
His shout echoed down the hallway, bouncing off marble and stone, filling every corner of that sacred space. His saliva splashed across Arthur's face, but he didn't care. Didn't notice.
"A man's love is his wife!" Galahad's voice broke with emotion. "Bound by the altar! Bound by his bed! What is wrong with you?!"
He shook Arthur again, harder this time.
"Arthur, you have lost your mind!"
In Arthur's mind, nothing pieced together.
Thoughts swirled like leaves in a hurricane fragments of loyalty, love, duty, pain. He was broken. Torn between ideas that could not coexist, between loves that could not be reconciled, between himself and everything he was supposed to be.
"If you truly love someone," he whispered, "then you do everything necessary for them to be happy."
Galahad stared at him, speechless.
"I love her." Arthur's voice grew slightly stronger, though the emptiness remained in his eyes. "I love this kingdom. And I love Lancelot."
He looked at Galahad really looked at him and for a moment, something flickered behind those hollow eyes.
"That's why... that's my reason." He swallowed hard. "But someone in there they're clashing. I don't know what to believe anymore."
His hand reached out, grasping at empty air as if he could catch the answers that eluded him.
"I want a good ending. The best possible outcome to happen." His voice took on a desperate edge. "Isn't that what we all wish for? Isn't that what we all want?"
Galahad said nothing. Just stared.
"If a world exists where one person has to bear a painful burden, while happiness exists everywhere else..." Arthur's eyes grew distant. "Won't it be a good thing? Sacrifices must be made. To keep the peace."
WHAM!
Galahad's fist connected with Arthur's face.
The king's head snapped to the side. Blood sprayed from his lip. He stumbled but didn't fall Galahad still held him upright by his tunic.
"What kind of world is that?!" Galahad's voice was raw, torn. "That isn't a real world! That's a lie! A false reality! It's as good as a spell cast by some sorcerer to make people think everything is fine!"
He pulled Arthur close again, their faces inches apart.
"What is wrong with you? Do you truly believe our peace is built on your pain and suffering?" He shook his head violently. "It's not built like that! Our peace is built on our individual peace! Each of us contributes to the general good! If there is a single lie a single hole in it then the general doesn't matter!"
He released Arthur's tunic, letting him stumble back.
"Do you think one man can bear the sins of others?" Galahad's voice dropped, becoming almost sad. "What is wrong with you? Just a moment ago, you were different. You refused to use underhanded methods against the enemy nation because it would make us monsters. And now this?"
He stepped closer, his eyes boring into Arthur's.
"You are a king. Yes, you serve your people. But not alone." He gestured broadly, encompassing the castle, the kingdom, the world. "We serve them too. And they serve each other."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper.
"You are not a god, Arthur. You don't need to be one. You are a king. You just need to accept that fact." His eyes burned. "If you don't, you will die doing this. There's no need."
Arthur stared at him.
Unchanged.
Unmoved.
Behind those eyes, there was no chance of thought. No spark of recognition. Only uncertainty vast and empty and endless.
Galahad opened his mouth to speak again to say something, anything that might reach his king.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Behind him.
His blood froze.
For a terrible moment, he thought it was Lancelot. Thought the traitor had emerged from the queen's chambers, had heard everything, was coming to face him. Galahad's hand went to his sword hilt, his body tensing for battle.
He turned.
Sir Bors stood in the hallway.
The stocky knight's face was grim, his eyes fixed on the scene before him Arthur broken on the floor, Galahad standing over him with murder in his eyes. He had seen everything. Heard everything.
And he understood.
"You're wasting your words, Galahad."
Bors's voice was calm. Steady. The voice of a man who had seen too much to be surprised by anything.
Galahad stared at him, confused.
"If we are to make any headway," Bors continued, "any understanding at all..."
He looked at Arthur at the hollow eyes, the empty expression, the absence of the king they had followed.
"...it needs to be through battle."
The words hung in the air like a prophecy.
Galahad looked at Bors. Then at Arthur. Then back at Bors.
And slowly, terribly, he understood.
in the space between words and action, between the king who had broken and the knights who would have to fix him.
One way or another.