Characters: Galahad [galahad] & Percival [percival] Date/Time: 25 May Location:The coliseum. Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Violence, angst, knight fail. Summary: Galahad and Percival face off in the arena.
Sick to his stomach, that was how Percival felt. Upon learning his opponent was to be Galahad, of all people Galahad -- it was too much. Ever since, his stomach had been coiled painfully into a knot, unable to untangle itself. Fighting Galahad, not in a friendly spar, but possibly to the death as a sport in front of hundreds, maybe thousands of people.
He wanted to throw up.
The former knight panted hard. They were almost evenly matched, but Galahad had always had more grace. He felt the harsh heat of the sun burning his shoulders, rays beating down on him from above. No, it wasn't going to end like this. If one of them had to die for the sake of entertainment, it was better that it was him.
Percival dropped his sword. It thudded soundlessly in the sand, unheard over the roar of the crowd. What was this, a development? they'd say. Was he going to give up? All those questions were heard in their voices. His helm and shield followed soon after.
And what a sight he looked, long, dark hair plastered from sweat to his forehead. He was tired, and this had gone on too long.
Galahad hadn't planned this, couldn't have seen this- and if he did not know better, he would've even blamed Mordred for this turn of events. It wasn't like Percival and him had never fought before, practice between knights was common- between them? It was more so. A daily routine that was usually filled with wry smiles and amused sounds. It had never been serious, even when things a bit out of hand (of course things did, they wielded swords) they would stop at once. He kept purposely missing, preferring instead to dance this familiar dance with Percival.
It was exhausting. Neither of them seemed able to really land a solid blow on the other. The crowd was bored. Galahad could tell. No one was coming out of this one alive, that was something he had known. Either both of them did or neither one. While he would've gladly died for Percival, Galahad didn't think the other man would even let him contemplate such a thing.
Surprise crossed his features when Percival dropped his sword, helm and shield. Galahad relaxed his fighting stance, tossing the shield and helmet down- never the sword. He couldn't. Never could give up. Not the grail, not his God, not Percival. Though God knew he had tried.
"What are you doing?"
The screams and shouts of the crowd were drowned out, he wasn't here for their entertainment.
But Percival knew that his time was up when the only option left was to forfeit or -- he couldn't bring himself to say it yet, not just yet. His throat felt sore as he spoke.
"I've always respected you, Galahad, for as long as I've known you. You've always been a better knight than me, someone I could look up to and learn from." The roar of the crowd grew louder (agitation), and he raised his voice. "But I can't-- this has to stop. I won't hurt you like they want me to, and I'd rather be dead than take your life. I can't. I won't, not in this life, or any other life."
His resolve was crumbling.
"Just do it," he finished with what remained of his willpower, eyes never leaving his friend's face. "Please."
"You're going to die." Galahad's voice was indifferent, he had always been so indifferent in his treatment of others. Hayden had been warm towards Percival, that New Years Eve more than a year ago now. Kissing under the NYC lights. It was a distant memory Hayden clearly remembered but Galahad choose to forget. The truth he wanted to hide from, that he prayed for it to end. With ease he advanced towards Percival.
Galahad had never hesitated, never faltered, never wavered- that is why he'd been given the Grail, he'd been perfect (or more fucked up than anyone). Unable to love anything but the divine. Elaine knew, but did she really know how much damage had been done to Galahad as a child by decisions that were never his to take? It was not a matter of resenting them, Galahad didn't feel anything of such- he couldn't even feel regret for what had been done. He'd had a divine purpose. You do not complain.
"You're going to die, again." Galahad added, a tilt of his head as he came to a stop in front of Percival. The crowd roared and he simply did not care. It was 'you are going to die' not 'I am going to kill you' because those words couldn't leave his lips right now. "Is this what you really want, old friend?"
Percival inhaled deep, taking in the arena and the crowd, all of it at once. It was something he wanted to forget immediately. Fighting had once been his passion, but not like this. Jousting was one thing -- this was another. Were the situation not so grave, he might've smiled. But who would it have been for, who was he meaning to comfort: himself or Galahad?
"There've been things in my life I've never been sure of. I've doubted and asked questions, but this-- this I'm sure of. You have to do it, Galahad. It has to be you." He couldn't take his own life. Couldn't.
They craved blood, and so they would have it.
Galahad looked him in the eye, he couldn't do this any other way, so with ease and poise he dropped to his knees by the other knight, keeping his height adjusted so he was slightly over the other, but close, too close. The crowd went very silent, anticipation in the air. "You really think I could do it?" There was that same indifference and curiosity. Had he really become that type of man that Percival could think- and he wouldn't be wrong. Galahad could, but that didn't mean it didn't cost him everything he had. Everything human he had. The part he hated the most about himself.
His sword moved, blade on the sand as he held himself.
Fingers threatened to reach up and touch the younger knight, but they were folded into fists. Percival was once again reduced to that young boy in awe of someone he admired. And Galahad had always been that person, always been his one true idol in life.
"You can do anything, Galahad. You could always do what I couldn't. I'm not--" He cut himself off, feeling a cold acceptance take over. "You're exactly what I need you to be. And I know that you have the strength that I could never have to take my life. So it has to be you."
He didn't dare avert his gaze.
"It's always been you," he murmured.
"You're not- what? Perfect?" Christ, Galahad could be so cold, he wasn't unfeeling - just cold - unable to understand what he felt and instead shutting it out. He couldn't though, even he couldn't resist those words and he swallowed hard. "Am I really what you need?" He had never understood that, he could never understand that. Perfection didn't fit in a mortal place, it became tainted, it could not survive it. Just. His mind raced, but he didn't allow himself more self-pity, it'd be over for them soon too.
He allowed his forehead to press against Percival's and raised the sword. It would be one quick blow, through Percival's back and then through his chest. "You're going to have to help me." Galahad instructed, "Put your hands on my shoulders."
Wordlessly, Percival followed the order, raising both hands to his friend's shoulders. If he'd been warm, the sensation of Galahad's skin was like fire. The move didn't bring them closer, but it made access easier. From this position, he could hear the displeasure of the crowd, and he found he didn't care.
There were so many things left unsaid. But if this was one of Khaos' games, then they would both be returned to New York. And if it wasn't -- he was willing to risk it. This time when he spoke, there was a calmness in his voice.
"I would take you over a thousand knights, Galahad."
The sword was easily shifted, Galahad knew what movement he would execute. One swift blow. "When we stepped onto the arena, I knew that either we both came out together or neither of us." A soft sigh. "I wouldn't take anyone over you." Before the true meaning of his confession- both the first and second one could sink in, the knight pressed his lips against Percival's in a chaste touch.
Oh God.
He wanted more. All he wanted was to push the man back onto the sand and kiss him breathless because Galahad was allowed- he should be allowed- he couldn't- but he had to. God, God, God, why would he not answer? How could he be perfect and still feel this? What was this anyway? One thing was true enough, Galahad had never hesitated, and he didn't falter now. The sword came down hard- through the other and through himself, piercing both chests, their warm blood mingling.
Galahad couldn't help but think that is how they should've died when they found the Grail. Together. He'd been too perfect, easily absorbed into heaven because there was no more.
The sheer amount of pain hadn't been expected. Percival had never known this sort of pain in this life, not in this body, and so he sucked in a breath so sharp his throat suffered. Pain. Galahad, blood, oh God. Dying. He could feel the blade lodged inside of him. Feel the sticky warmth of blood dripping onto his thighs.
Uncaring of the hundreds who would see, he shifted a trembling hand to the back of Galahad's neck and kissed him like it was the last thing he would ever do -- because it was. When the blood began to bubble up in his throat he pulled back as if stung, hand slipping away into the sand, which was quickly absorbing the red that spilled from them.
There was so much to say. So much to not say. So much to--
God. Oh, God.
Galahad--
He closed his eyes, savoring the heat of the sun for the last time.
It wasn't the sting of the sword, but the bite of that kiss that hurt Galahad. That fact that it had been there for everyone to see, it was the biggest concession Galahad could ever make, not just a personal admittance of his feelings, but a public one.