𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖙 𝖉𝖚 𝖑𝖆𝖈

ind. lancelot du lac from netflix’s cursed. by MARIC. eighteen plus only.

carrd

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:: cont. w/ @mcnkshood​

  ‘’ a world of monsters can’t be held by the rules of men.      perhaps justice isn’t what we should seek – ‘’    green hues      flick to meet the man’s own gaze, before she turns back     towards the horizon.    ‘’ Geralt sometimes says that, if he has       to choose between the lesser of two evils, he’d rather not      choose at all. ‘’

“MM,” lancelot muses, ducking his head. he had always hated thinking. thinking meant death for the witcher. if he stopped to weigh possibilities, he died. thinking about what a griffin might do would ending with a talon to the chest.

The Fey Queen knows he’d need time to adjust to living here, with them. He’d spent the entirety of his life being told how horrid his own kind was. She would need time to unlearn the fear his face sent through the hearts of the Fey. Not to mention her dependency upon her sword. The woman would have to be just as strong without it, one way or another. 

Nimue stopped herself from speaking when he knelt in front of her with his sword in his hands. “I need you to keep that.” She whispered. “If you truly want to win trust here, help keep us safe. You brought my son back, saved me…. it’s a very good start. But it’s not just me you’ll need to convince.” He was now privy to the Queen’s biggest secret. That the wonderful, mischievous Squirrel was actually her son. 

the news hits him like a wooden beam to the face. you brought back my son. he lowers his head, and his heart hurts. he had grown to care for the boy. he just hoped he could keep that closeness.

he looks back up at the queen, and he nods. “YOU HAVE MY SWORD, MY QUEEN,” and he takes a deep breath. how could he say anything else? he wouldn’t. couldn’t.

“I WILL DO WHAT I MUST TO ATONE.” atone burns his mouth to say. he had atoned for being fae when he was with father. but that atonement had been a false one. he couldn’t atone for being who he was.

Squirrel glanced up at Lancelot as he made his way over and adjusted his grip on the sword. A sword he was having a bit of trouble lifting, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Not when he had finally convinced Lancelot to let him use a real sword instead of the wooden ones the children use.

He wasn’t a child. He was Knight of the Fae, and Squirrel was proud of that, and he had used it in his argument to get Lancelot to allow him a real sword. Squirrel had insisted that as a knight of the Fae, he should learn to wield a real sword. He also promised to be careful and listen to Lancelot, which he had a feeling was the only reason the Ash Man had agreed…and the fact that the day before Squirrel at followed him around Gramaire listing off reasons that he should learn, and he finally stopped when Lancelot agreed.

Squirrel nodded as he felt the sword in his new grip before looking up at his friend, “I know how to hold a sword. Now can I learn to fight?” While the Fae held Gramaire, he knew that the threat of the Red Paladins was at large, and he needed to be ready. He couldn’t fight them off with his slingshot and a small knife he had snatched from the kitchens. Although he was willing to try.

lancelot hadn’t wanted to switch to the real swords, but squirrel had insisted. besides, lancelot had wielded a real sword when he was younger than the boy. at least squirrel was older than lance was. and he would not be punished for mistakes.

lance had made sure percival had promised to be careful and listen, but lance knew squirrel would not be perfect in this regard. still, lancelot would be patient with him. lancelot had to be patient with him, lest he fall into the habits father had used. 

Gwyn finally looked up at the monk you sat across from her in the small clearing towards the bottom of a slope in the forest. They were hidden for a time from anyone traveling the roads. She stared at him for several minutes in silence before she went back to mashing some herbs into a small bowl with a rock.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t need instructions to not kill your own kind.” She said bluntly and continued to mash up the herbs into a paste. She had found the Monk and Squirrel on a road in the forest, the monk badly wounded, and Squirrel shaking. Gwyn later learned from Squirrel that the monk had sustained the injuries from fighting off the Trinity Guard to save him and got him out of the Red Paladins camp before it fell. Squirrel had also happened to explain who the monk was, or…at least who he used to be. Gawain had told her about the Ash Folk, they had been gone from this land for ages, and many people believed they had gone extinct. She supposed the Red Paladins were responsible for that. Her brother Gawain was the whole reason she was in the forest in the first place, she had gone scouting and had been captured. Gwyn was in the forest, trying to find the best way to sneak into the Red Paladin camp to recuse him, but before she could the camp went up in flames. But she refused to believe her brother fell victim to them. He was the Green Knight, he got out, and now she was waiting for him. At least that was what she was doing when she saw Squirrel and his companion.

She glanced at the monk and part of her felt bad for her words, for the hate that dripped off of them. Perhaps he was a victim of the Red Paladins just like they all had been…but she knew his hands were soaked in Fae blood. The blood of her family and of her friends. Gawain had always said all Fae were brothers. But right now all Gwyn could focus on was Squirrels asking to help his newfound friend. So she stood with the herbs that she had mashed into a paste and cautiously made her way over to the Monk, stopping a few feet from him.

“I need to clean your wound.” She said firmly, taking in a breath as she gestured to the side of the Monk’s face, “and make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

one would need instructions if they were raised amongst their kind, sure. lancelot would allow that. but he had been a child when he’d been ripped from his village. he hardly remembered the faces of his mother and father anymore. though, he knew of the weeping eyes, so similar to his own. he remembered his mother’s dark hair. her small smile. her comforting hands.

he remembered her screams too. but the horror of it all went away when you purged the thoughts from your mind.

he watched gwyn move about their pathetic makeshift camp. he could see goliath stomping into the dark earth with impatience. lancelot hoped that if he died, his horse would not be treated poorly. goliath was a good horse. loyal.

he looked back to gwyn, and he nodded, pulling back his hood to reveal his face. the cool breeze in the air sent a shiver down his spine as it hit the burned mark on the back of his head. he would forever be marked as a traitor. it seemed fitting now.

“THANK YOU,” is all he says, voice quiet and low. when he thanks her, he does not look at her, guilt making things far too difficult.

⧼ ☾✦ ⸻    Her head titled as she heard his words, she couldn’t help but to lay back upon her chair. The tavern was a risk to be in, however, Hedona was the type to get into trouble   …   The White Wolf had much trouble leading her to a tribe of elves that she quickly decided to leave as soon as she realized they would go to the piper   …  SEEK  HELP  FROM  THOSE  WHO  PUT  THEM  IN  THIS  SITUATION. A sigh escaped from her chapped lips. ❝  You  speak  a  foolish  wisdom  ,  for I know your kind was once looked down upon, until The Witcher with white hair became a great ballad   …  NOW  YOUR  KIND  can fill their bellies with their coin and emptying their useless seed in any whore house they can find.  ❞  She snorted slightly as the last sentence left her mouth, lifting up her ale, she took a sip of the bitter ale.  ⸻     HOW  SHE  HATED  THE  TASTE.

❝  However, I don’t disagree with you. One day, you will be hated again, looked down upon  …  scrapping the barrels for the scraps of anything worth your wild   …  YOU’LL  BE  JUST  LIKE  ME.   ❞  He did not smile, but his eyes told a different story. However, her eyes  lacked anything, there was no softness, no pity  ⸻     just emptiness’,  however her lips did curl up into a smirk.  ❝  I do hope you do have a death that is worth your wild   …  Most men would wish to die comfortable in the arms of their lovers and their family surrounding them. Now, that’s a luxury a mutant will never have.    ❞    ⧽

“THAT IS OFTEN ALL I AM, A FOOLISH WISDOM,” the witcher smiles beneath his hood, cat eyes cast downward as he tried to hide the humor he found in their misery. not that it was particularly funny. he just needed something to keep his spirits up.

“THE BARD’S SONGS WILL DRY UP. AND WHEN THAT HAPPENS, THE PEOPLE WILL FORGET AGAIN. THE MONSTERS WILL DWINDLE, AND WE WILL BE HATED JUST AS WE ALWAYS WERE.”

percival: you do that