3.39 – Who you Want to Be

Disclaimer: Awful. Sort of.

–

Lancelot du Lac had a terrible feeling.

Over the years, the would-be knight had learnt to trust the strange, inexplicable instincts that Nimueh’s misaligned gifts had brought him. He’d always been able to see the truth. Lancelot could tell when a confrontation was about to become hostile. He knew when people’s masks did not match the feelings within. Lancelot had learned to de-escalate countless situations before they could turn violent, simply by saying the right thing at the right time.

He had learnt to trust his insights without question.

And this time, his instincts were telling him to leave Camelot.

Lancelot ran out of town as fast as he could, dashing into the rapidly setting darkness. The landscape around him felt wrong. Everything about it felt off. Lancelot could sense it all around him; a strange, charged feeling of unease, like nature itself was watching. Waiting with bated breath. Lancelot hadn’t felt a sensation like that for a very long time.

He knew what it meant.

As Lancelot ran, he could feel his stomach twist into a hard, painful knot. The would-be knight had no idea where Guinevere was. He didn’t even begin to know where to start searching. But his gut told him to follow his senses, and that’s exactly what Lancelot did. The future Duke dashed past the tournament grounds, quickly leaving the outskirts of town behind and entering the surrounding wilderness.

He didn’t know how long he kept running. He couldn’t tell where he was headed. Lancelot could barely see more than two feet in front of him, relying purely on Arthur’s combat training to push through the surrounding thicket. He could feel his clothes getting snagged on thorns and branches. But he kept going, pushed forward by something that he couldn’t explain. Something intangible.
Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright.

Lancelot had a terrible feeling about this.

When his breath had turned ragged and his knees threatened to give out from under him, the future Duke finally found what he was looking for. Lancelot could see a glimpse of movement. A flash of red hair, paired with a familiar white fabric that reflected the pale moonlight from above. Lancelot ignored the now tangible feeling of dread in his stomach and sped up even more, calling out to the shape in front of him as loud as he could.

“GUINEVERE!”

But his call fell on deaf ears. Guinevere didn’t respond to him at all. She didn’t even react. It was like the maidservant hadn’t heard him at all.

Like she was already gone.

Dread turned into panic. Lancelot could feel his chest fill with a desperation that he’d only felt once before in his life. He couldn’t bear it. Not again. The future Duke leapt forward, throwing all caution to the wind as he reached for Guinevere’s arm.
“Stop! Wait! Guin-!“
He could feel his hand reach her, his fingers locking around the girl’s tiny wrist—

Before suddenly being blasted backwards.

The sheer force was enormous. Lancelot could feel himself being blasted away, his body hurled through the air like it was nothing more than a ragdoll. For a moment, he couldn’t tell up from down- and then the future Duke slammed into the ground so hard that all the air was squeezed from his lungs. His head impacted with the nearest rock, making little stars dance in front of his face as his vision immediately turned blurry.

Through the fog, Lancelot could just barely make out Guinevere’s form. His vision was swimming. He couldn’t tell how far away she was. The would-be knight blinked, furiously trying to regain focus. He could hear sounds coming out of Guinevere’s mouth. But his mind wasn’t registering any of them. It took several seconds for the maidservant’s words to reach him, and several more for Lancelot’s battered head to finally translate them to something with meaning.

He’d hoped that they were a plea for help.
They weren’t.

“Leave us alone.”

“Guinevere,” Lancelot groaned, his head throbbing as the world around him swirled and twisted before his eyes. “Stop. You’re not… thinking straight.”
“I am,” she muttered, turning away from him.
“No… you’re not. Please. Just… come back to the castle… with me. We’ll sort it out. I promise. Just come home.”

She stopped. Lancelot watched as Guinevere glanced back over her shoulder. The maidservant looked at him without a single hint of recognition, her eyes cloudy and encased in an eerie orange glow.
“I am going home.”

“I… can. But not in the way that you want.”

Damn them all.

“No… you’re not,” Lancelot growled, desperately trying to get back up from the ground. “Guinevere, listen to me. They’re tricking you. It’s not what you think. It’s never what you think—”

But she cut him off, interrupting Lancelot halfway through his sentence.
“We’re done thinking.”

He didn’t see her leave. Lancelot could hear the sound of footsteps moving away through the grass, but the would-be knight couldn’t focus his vision. The world around him swirled and spun. As Lancelot forced himself to his feet, he could feel a wave of nausea overcome him. Biting the inside of his cheek was the only thing that kept the contents of his stomach from spilling out.
Lancelot knew what those signs meant. He could tell that he probably had a concussion.

He didn’t have time to worry about injury. Not now.

He had to stop her. He had to reach her in time.

He couldn’t fail her.

Not again.

–

Lancelot followed Guinevere’s tracks as best he could, avoiding tree roots and trying not to fall over from dizziness as he went. He could sense that something was up ahead- something big.

And the closer he came, the more Lancelot began to feel like something had changed in the landscape around him. The forest had turned against him. His clothes kept getting snagged on shrubs and branches. His feet got tangled up in roots, tripping him and making him fall over. The air around him grew heavy as a familiar prickly feeling spread through the back of his neck.
Lancelot knew what it meant.

He knew that he was being watched.

He knew that he was not welcome.

“Faerie rings are dangerous, Lance. They might look normal, but there’s a whole different world hidden on the other side. You need to respect them. And you must never step into one without permission. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Leli.”

Lancelot had grown up around faerie rings. The duchy of Henford was riddled with them. Over the years, he’d become intimately familiar with how they worked.

To an ordinary person, they just looked like a ring of mushrooms. Or flowers. Even those with magick in their blood were often unable to see past the illusion.

But Lancelot could. He’d seen the truth for years. Ever since his encounter with Nimueh, Lancelot had been able to see the other side for what it really was.

For where it truly led.

“Suffering?”
“Yes. Magick comes with a price, child.”

He didn’t want to step in. Lancelot never wanted to go through that experience again. It was too raw and painful. Every fibre in his body was telling him to turn back, to leave this place while he still could. To turn around and get as far away from the faerie ring as humanly possible.

But… if he did…

“They jump off?”

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t turn back.

He couldn’t be responsible for losing anyone else.

He wouldn’t.

This time, Lancelot would stop it… if it was the last thing he did.

With a steely determination, Lancelot took a step forward and crossed into the faerie circle. The effect was immediate. The future Duke could feel the heavy weight of magick pressing down on his body, trying to force him back out. He could sense the strange tendrils of spirit that reached for his will, trying to break him- but the would-be knight refused to bend. He powered through, gritting his teeth until he could taste blood.

He would not be denied. Lancelot would not fail.

Not this time.

Lancelot took a step. Then another. And another. Before the future Duke knew it, the strange pressure on his body had stopped, and he found himself dashing through the glowing landscape at full speed. The nausea faded away. His headache vanished. The future Duke grit his teeth, pumping his legs and sprinting as fast as he could as he felt a sudden burst of strength from within flow through him.
He could see it. In the distance, warped by magick and moving away fast from him, he could see something red.

He could see Guinevere.

She was right there, in the middle of the faerie ring. Alongside something else. The sheer force of presence that radiated off the creature in front of him was overwhelming, washing over the entire clearing in fiery waves. Lancelot grimaced; his eyes hurt just from looking in its direction. But he couldn’t stop. Guinevere was right there, embracing the strange creature without pain, walking away from him as the two of them moved towards a passageway in a hollow tree— 

“Guinevere! STOP!”

The sudden force was enormous. Lancelot could feel the air violently getting squeezed from his lungs as a presence forcefully its way into his mind. His body abruptly stopped obeying him. He felt his legs buckle. Lancelot sunk to the ground, the enormous pressure threatening to crush him until nothing would be left- 

A pressure that then swiftly, rapidly, subsided. The would-be knight gasped for air. As he inhaled, he could feel the presence leave his mind as suddenly as it had come. Hastily, like a hound recoiling from a hot iron. Lancelot could feel a burning pair of eyes land on him as he rose back to his feet. He could hear a voice in his head, low-pitched and crackling like living embers. 

And more than anything… he could sense a burning, all-consuming hatred. 

Nimueh.

Lancelot slowly exhaled, staring down the creature in front of him. The magnitude of raw anger that surrounded it was almost tangible. He watched as it turned sideways, pulling Guinevere along with it. As he braced himself, Lancelot could hear its voice ring through his head again.  

Fool. She must really enjoy seeing her toys burn.

The sheer hatred in its voice was enough to take Lancelot’s breath away. But at the same time, the Sidhe’s words awakened a sense of anger in him that Lancelot didn’t know he’d possessed. With an angry snarl, he took a step forward.
“I’m not here for Nimueh. I’m here for her.”

But Guinevere didn’t respond. The maidservant stood motionless in the clearing, her arms wrapped around the Sidhe’s neck as the Fae stared him down.

Leave. She is mine.

“She is not yours,” Lancelot growled. He took another step forward, ignoring the heat from the flames and calling out to his friend a second time.

“Guinevere. Please. Look at me. Think about what you’re doing—”

But he never got to finish his sentence. Lancelot watched as the Sidhe pulled Guinevere’s head against its shoulder, covering her ear with its clawed hand as bouts of flame blocked the girl from view.

No, child. Stop thinking. Start feeling.

He was losing her. Lancelot could tell. The realisation made the knot in his stomach turn into downright panic. The future Duke desperately searched his memory for something, anything, anything he could think of that would ground her to this world.
“Guinevere, listen to me,” he warned. “There’s no coming back from this. There are people that you’ll leave behind, people you care for that you’ll have abandoned—”

An audible growl escaped from the Fae in front of him. Lancelot could feel a wave of scorching heat wash over him, scalding his skin and threatening to scorch his eyebrows.

Be quiet, human, or I’ll burn that mouth shut—

But the future Duke would not back down. He couldn’t.

He’d never back down again.

“No! Think!” Lancelot yelled in desperation. “Guinevere, if you step through, you will never be able to come back!”

It happened in a split second. Lancelot could feel an odd sensation in the depths of his chest – a strange imbalance in the world around him, as something shifted. Something big. Something intangible that passed from the Sidhe to Guinevere, that Lancelot couldn’t begin to explain. He didn’t know what it was.

But the would-be knight didn’t have to wait for long. The next second, he could feel a wave of rage erupt from the girl in front of him. The sheer force of it was so raw and powerful that it took his breath away. The would-be knight watched as, like an exploding powder keg, Guinevere finally detonated.

“I DON’T WANT TO COME BACK!”

The Sidhe spread its wings, rising into the air as it looked down on the flames that spread beneath it. Lancelot didn’t stop it. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. The would-be knight stood frozen in place, paralyzed as his mind was scorched by an all-consuming rage that wasn’t his. He could feel everything. Every shred of anger, every bit of hatred, resentment, wrath, outrage- every single moment of fury that Guinevere had killed and buried over the years. It all came flooding back at once.

It was too much. He couldn’t handle it.
And neither could she. Lancelot could feel it consume her.

“Leave me alone! I don’t want to come back! I don’t want to do any of this- I don’t want to THINK! I don’t want to feel ANYTHING! I HATE IT!”

He could feel it burn her alive.

“I HATE ALL OF IT!” she screamed, the flames around her growing in strength with each word. “I hate everyone! I hate the castle, I hate being a servant, being good, being patient, being forgotten – I HATE EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING! I WISH IT WOULD ALL DIE! I WISH IT WOULD ALL BURN TO ASHES!”

It was too much. Lancelot staggered back, losing track of all senses as Guinevere’s rage consumed him. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. The would-be knight couldn’t feel the heat from the fire in front of him anymore, completely numb to the raging inferno. It felt like his insides were tearing themselves apart. The urge to scream was overwhelming – but Lancelot couldn’t remember how to use his voice. His chest convulsed violently as his lungs filled themselves with fire. He could feel the flames on his skin. The anger was burning him alive.

He couldn’t regulate it.
He couldn’t turn it off.

It hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt.

It hurt…. so much.

–

When Lancelot finally came to his senses, he wasn’t in the faerie ring anymore. He found himself on the ground, lying inside a large puddle of water. Lancelot couldn’t recall how he got there. The future Duke didn’t remember moving. He didn’t really remember anything. As Lancelot slowly lifted himself up, he could see dozens of droplets falling to the ground around him.

Lancelot didn’t know why.
He didn’t really care.

Slowly, his gaze trailed over to the middle of the clearing. It had become unrecognisable. Not a single mushroom remained. The faerie tree had turned black as coal, smoking and smouldering at its roots. The ground itself had become cracked, the soil still glowing with heat.

Nothing living remained.

But despite all of that… Guinevere still burned.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the fire finally died down. The heat lessened. Lancelot watched as the roaring flames slowly receded, turning into wisps and embers before vanishing entirely. The destruction of it had burned away everything.

The only thing that remained… was a single, broken girl.

Slowly, gently, Lancelot sat down and gradually leaned backwards, until he felt his back connect with hers. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. It seeped through the cloth of his jacket like he was sitting in front of a fireplace. The ground beneath him had completely turned to ash. It still felt warm to his touch, crumbling under his fingers as he dug into the soil.

Lancelot could still feel her pain.

For a long time, the future Duke did not say anything. He didn’t know what to say. The words would not come to him.

Until, eventually… they did.

“Guinevere… you don’t have to do any of those things.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Lancelot could feel the turmoil stirring inside of her, burnt out and dulled by sheer exhaustion. He could sense the frustration and sorrow. The fear of being abandoned.
The fear of losing all she had.

“You’ve always changed yourself for other people, haven’t you?” Lancelot muttered softly. He could feel the girl behind him shift in response, burying her head in her knees.
“I have to,” she mumbled. “I need to be useful. I need to help. If I don’t… I’ll be worthless.”
Her words were barely audible. But they felt like a knife being stabbed straight into Lancelot’s heart. He shook his head, softly pushing against her back.
“That’s not true. You don’t have to serve anyone to have worth. You’re allowed to say no, Guinevere,” he continued. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to be entangled with Arthur, or minimise yourself at the castle, or change who you are to suit other people. You don’t have to change yourself, Guinevere. Not this much.”

For a moment, the would-be knight was convinced that she was not going to answer him at all. Then, the girl behind him let out a dry, hollow, sarcastic chuckle that he had never heard from her before.
“Hypocrite. Aren’t you the one always wearing a mask?”

“That is true,” he replied, bowing his head in response. “But there is a difference between holding up a mask and trying to change who you are. I still know what kind of person lies underneath. I haven’t lost sight of myself.”

She didn’t believe him. Lancelot could tell. He could sense another wave of worry, of fear and anxiety, course through her body. He wondered if she could even feel it herself at this point. When she spoke, it was in that same dry, hollow tone as before.
“They only stay if I’m useful. If I’m not, they’ll abandon me. They’ll forget about me. They always have.”

He could feel the pain simmering beneath those words. Lancelot didn’t know what had happened in Guinevere’s past to make her believe that. But he could warrant a pretty good guess. Lancelot let out a soft sigh.
“That’s… that’s not right. Love isn’t transactional, Guin. You shouldn’t have to earn it by being useful.”

“…What?”

“You’re afraid that people will leave you,” he explained. “I understand. I really do. But… you’re misunderstanding what a connection really is. The people around you shouldn’t want to stay with you because you’re useful. And you shouldn’t have to change yourself to benefit them. That’s not love, Guinevere.”
“…It’s not?”
“No. It’s not. A relationship like that… it’s nothing but an illusion. A very sad one.”

“It’s… all I know.”

“I know,” Lancelot muttered. “But that’s not right. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. Please believe me. You… you should be whoever you want to be. Not who is convenient for others. You should be true to your own spirit, Guin, and do whatever it is that you want to do.”
“Even if it’s not… what people want?” the girl said softly. Lancelot nodded.
“Especially if it’s not what they want. If the relationship that you have with them is real, then they will stay with you anyway. Not because of what you can give them. But because they love you. Even if you change, even if you don’t service them anymore… a real friend will still see you.”

A small silence fell. For a moment, Lancelot was convinced that he’d lost her. Then, that moment ended, and Guinevere quietly voiced her thoughts.
“You really think so?”
“Yes. I do.”
“What if they don’t? What if they leave?”

“Some people will,” Lancelot admitted reluctantly. “Being true to yourself means that you’ll lose people. That you’ll lose friends. But that’s okay. Let them go.”

“Because everyone who remains will be real,” he continued, turning around to face her. “I promise. And they’ll want to be with you for you.”

He turned back, carefully avoiding looking down. Lancelot didn’t have any more words. The conversation had taken all the wisdom that he had to offer.

He didn’t have anything more.

But… it was enough. He could sense it. The turmoil inside of Guinevere slowly calmed, like a flame that finally simmered down. It was still there, but… softer. Quieter. Tranquil, almost. He could feel her relax, finally leaning into him.

Neither of them said anything. Neither of them had to. Guinevere and Lancelot stayed that way for a very long time, sitting together in silence.

Until, eventually, the girl behind him spoke up.
“Lancelot. I… think I want to leave.”

Right. No clothes.
…Bollocks.

“Ah. Er. Hold on, I’ll take off my coat and-”
But the girl cut him off.
“No. That’s not what I meant. I meant… Guinevere. The servant.”

“I think I want to leave her here.”

“Then leave her. Be who you want to be.”

He got up from the ground, keeping his eyes firmly trained on her head as Guinevere stood up next to him. The girl had changed. Lancelot could tell. She still looked the same as before, but… something inside of her had shifted. A tiny seed had taken root. A small revelation. An idea for the future Not enough to really notice now.

Just enough to promise change.

Lancelot gave her a smile, trying his hardest to mask the intense feelings of relief in his chest.
“Are you sure you don’t want that coat?”
“I’ll take it. Thank you,” Guinevere said, returning his smile. He wasn’t fooling anyone. And Lancelot knew that, too.

But that was all right. He didn’t need to. Not with her.

“So… Tell me.”

He just needed to watch.

“Guinevere… who do you want to be?”