Arthur (onceandpresent) wrote in britannia_ny, @ 2009-10-06 12:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | arthur, ken statton |
Closed Narrative: Ken & Arthur
“Your majesty.” Kay was at his shoulder, out of nowhere, as Arthur left the great hall. “You’re going to let Gawain go through with this?”
Arthur closed his eyes, knowing what his steward meant without spelling it out. Gawain was a king in his own right, and there was Orkney’s political position to consider. But there was also his own word. Quietly, he said, “He volunteered without coercion, Kay.”
“Bollocks,” Kay murmured lower, for no ears but Arthur’s. “Bloody bastard sweats and pisses chivalry; he’d cut his own arm off if a lady asked him earnestly. And that’s what he’s doing, right enough.”
Arthur stepped into a small anteroom, almost a closet, with no particular features other than a door that closed. Once they were inside, he said wearily, “What would you have me do? I can’t undercut him now that he’s volunteered. And I can’t send the lady away unmarried. I made an oath.”
Kay folded his arms. “Of course you did.” A pause. “I could have done it. No wife, no political connections to think of. If you’d have asked me.”
The words surprised Arthur. The solution hadn’t even occurred to him, but of course, now it seemed obvious. Kay had a talent for that. “I… you shouldn’t have had to…”
“God’s beard, Arthur, no one should have to. I would have. I will still, if you ask it of me.”
Arthur sighed, closing his eyes, but then looked back at Kay. “I can’t.”
He shrugged. “Course not.” Kay moved for the door. “Because it’d be the sensible thing to do.”
Arthur caught his arm as he moved past. Quieter, he said: “Thank you.”
Kay just grunted, barely nodding in acknowledgment, and left the room. Arthur wondered when Kay’d gone from his sharp-tongued, hot-tempered older brother to this quietly shrewd man, hidden behind the gruff façade he used with the squires. He wished…
Well. No sense wishing. He had work to do.
---
Ken was walking home from the post office when he saw Arthur coming from the other direction. His look darkened, and he moved as if to cross the street.
“Mr. Statton – Ken. Please.” Arthur jogged a little to intercept him.
“Yes?” Ken replied, a little curt if not quite rude.
“We need to talk.”
Ken turned away, beginning to walk again. “I said everything I had to say to the man with the broken arm, Mr. Drake. If you have any questions about the garden, you can talk to my wife.”
Arthur frowned. “What did he say to you?”
Ken turned to him, almost savagely. “Look. I don’t know who we both were in another life, but I know who I am now. And I don’t need you, or your allies, or your causes or whatever. Not here and now.” Lower, “I gave you my entire life, once before. Wasn’t that enough for you?”
There was real anger in Ken’s eyes, and Arthur faltered at it. “Kay…”
“Kay is dead. Arthur.” He turned away.
Arthur wanted to call after him, but didn’t know what to say. He'd expected something like Guinevere's denial, or even Mordred's hostile rejection of his memories. But his steward clearly remembered everything. He just didn’t want any part of it. And Arthur wondered how he’d missed all this anger, back then. How little did he know his brother, after all?
He’d give him time. Arthur found himself not knowing what else to do, and wishing he had someone to tell him. But he just turned, shrugging on his jacket more closely. There were others to find, in the meanwhile.