Work Text:
"Let Sleeping Castles Lie" by Karrenia
The delicate tracery of silver and black on the other man’s surcoat was difficult to make out or admire in any appreciable manner, and not just because of the fading light in the forest. It was also caked with mud and dirt and other stains garnered while riding through the forest. If Lancelot was worried about such things he gave no sign of it. Gawain dug his heels into the flanks of his roan horse in order to encourage it to keep up with his Lancelot’s fractious filly.
Hunting was still good and they had not lost sight of their prey, a good-sized buck deer with its antlers showing the first signs of approaching winter, its coat and ears appearing silvery in the twilight of the fading day.
“Wait up, will you!” It’s not it’s my first deer hunt. Granted we do not have forests like these in the Orkney Isles, too damp and windy for deer….” he paused for a moment and tilted his head to one side as if thinking the matter over, and then added. “I do know a thing or two about hunting.”
For his part, Lancelot pivoted in his saddle and waited for the younger knight to catch him up. “I never doubted that but I’ve been thinking about something, and I must admit I was rather preoccupied.”
“About what?” Gawaine asked.
Lancelot blinked and sighed, unwilling to admit that he his thoughts had led him astray once more, he was supposed to be taking point on this particular quest, looking out for the young man who traveled in his company, and instead, here he was being led around by the nose by a three-point deer, and to add make matters worse, being caught up for his inattention by a mere lad. “Never mind,” he replied. Did you bring the cross-bows?”
“Of course. They’re in my saddle-bags.”
“Good, we’ll have fresh venison tonight.” So saying Lancelot cantered onwards, attempting to cut off the stag’s escape routes from the small copse of alder and birches by closing the gap where it had first entered and signaled to the younger man to do the same from the opposite approach.
Gawaine was a son of the Orkney Isles and proud of it, he had the big-boned frame and broad shoulders, and as the eldest of Queen Morgause’s brood seemed to take his responsibilities as a newly-minted knight and as the eldest brother very seriously. His unruly mop of reddish hair hung in sweaty tangles around his face, framed by his helm.
Lancelot had been an only child and had never known what it would have been like to grow up in a large household, and for that reason thought of all the knight of King Arthur’s court at Camelot as his brothers, in arms as well as blood.
It was a heady thought and one he did not feel at pains to contemplate any further. It was merely tacitly understood, in ways he could not have explained.
Just when he had felt confident that stag could not have escaped and he had drawn his sword to deliver the killing blow the stag charged, head lowered and antlers aimed at his dirty surcoat.
Lancelot braced for the impact, and when it did come, his horse lost its footing and both went down in a tangle of arms, legs, and feet.
Gawaine was close enough to see the impact, but not close enough to prevent it from happening. The stag managed to right itself before the knight could and dashed off into another part of the forest.
Gawaine got down from his own horse and padded over to lend a hand. It was a could thing, he thought, that neither of them was clad in full armor because if there was a thing he had learned in becoming a knight; once you went down in a full suit of plate armor, it was very, very difficult to get back up again. Lancelot took his hand and Gawaine levered the other man back to his feet once more.
“Thank you,” Lancelot acknowledged.
“Don’t mention it,” Gawain replied. “Now, let’s see your horse.”
“She’s all right,” Lancelot said as he turned to regard the sullen and snorting filly who regarded her rider balefully. “Aren’t you, girl?”
The filly, a black and white horse with a white blaze on her flanks, whinnied and lowered her head to crop at the grass and ground cover.
“I guess she is at that,” remarked Gawaine.
“Let’s find another place to make camp for the night.”
“You’ll get no argument from me, and I’ll make dinner.”
**
The next evening as they rode through the forest Lancelot shifted in his saddle, “There is as an uncanny feel to this woods this evening, for I fear bears us no well-intentioned.
“Magic? Gawain muttered. Magic was something that h could not understand or trust Gawaine understood or trusted and it made him flinch as if from an invisible blow. He could feel the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand on edge. He reached up and adjusted the fit of his helm, not because it needed doing, but mainly something with which to occupy his hands.
“Aye, magic,” replied Lancelot calmly replied.
“Come, let us be away from here,” said Gawaine.
“Agreed,” replied Lancelot
“What is that?” Gawaine exclaimed.
“What?
“That,” Gawaine pointed with his free hand. The other was occupied in helping his horse negotiate its way across the spongy terrain.
It had begun to rain, a sprinkle at first, and then, before an hour or two had passed, it had become a downpour. Finding shelter was becoming a priority when he had spotted the unusual structure looming out of the deeper parts of the forest.
“Unless I miss my guess, castles don’t just spring up out of the ground.”
Lancelot leaned forward in his saddle and raised a gloved hand to his brow in order to shade his eyes from the needles of sunlight that slanted down through rents in the over-lapping trees.
“It’s a castle, and a strange one at that.”
“It might offer shelter from the storm,” ventured Gawaine. And it might not even be anyone living there.”
“It might, at that. Let us take a closer inspection."
So saying they cantered forward, the lineaments of the castle becoming both more clear and more intangible the closer they came. If either one of them noticed this curious effect neither were willing to remark upon it. The gate was up and the drawbridge had been lowered as if the inhabitants of the castle had indeed been expecting late night travelers.
A tall, strong figure approached them his boots clattering on the wooden planks of the drawbridge, his head protected from the rain by a strange concoction of fabric stretched over a wooden framework which he held above him. With his free hand, he beckoned for the pair of riders to dismount and approach.
Lancelot dismounted, casting about for what to do with his horse, and not immediately seeing anything remotely suitable, held on to the bridle and then turned to regard the stranger.
The man was dressed head to tie in black, except for the crest that covered his chest, an elaborately painted depiction of blue, red, orange and white flowers.
“Welcome, strangers! Welcome friends, for here in the Castle of Dreams anything is possible, anything your heart's desire. Allow me to introduce myself, I am the Knight of Flowers and before you see my domicile, the Castle of Sleeping Dreams.”
“Right now, we desire a place to get out of this cursed rain,” muttered Gawaine.
“My young friend is not yet broken to the nicer courtesies, Sir Knight, so please forgive his bluntness,” replied Lancelot. “As it is, we had not expected to come up such a place in the deeps of the forest. If you will beg my indulgence, how is it possible?”
“Enter and discover the answer for yourselves, Sir Knights, replied the Knight of Flowers. “However, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not inform you both of the house rules which must be observed with impunity and alacrity. “
“What rules?” Lancelot asked.
“Why, every man and woman, from high to low must wear one of these. And with that, the Knight of Flowers reached into a satchel that hung at his side and pulled out two black domino masks and handed them each one.
“Why?”
“It is for your own protection,” the Knight of Flowers said simply. “Also, bring in your own food and drink, because while you will be granted shelter for the evening before the night is over, you must not be tempted to partake of any of the temptations of the flesh or the soul that can be found within the Castle of Dreams. Do you understand?”
“I don't like this,” muttered Gawaine under his breath even as he donned his own domino mask.
Casting a wary eye on their host and then donning his own mask, he whispered to the younger knight. “I do not believe we have a choice.”
****
Encountering the various enchantments
Lancelot could barely keep score of the lavish and countless luxuries arrayed for his benefit. Their host, of which he had seen very little of since the man had greeted them in his foyer, was a man of expensive and exotic taste.
In his meandering explorations of the castle, he had come upon on room devoted entirely to art, statues, mosaics, tapestries, of revels, boar hunts, deer hunts, fox hunts, and other subjects. He had not lingered long to admire any of these because something he could not define lured him onward.
There was another room in which mauve and silver upholstered divans and lay scattered up and nubile, buxom young woman, all observing the rules of the castle, wearing the domino masks in various shades of the spectrum, from the traditional black to the vivid hues of green, red, orange, and yellow and some combinations of all colors, lay reclining, eating exotic and delicious smelling foods, or imbibing beverages.
His stomach rumbled, and he approached the young women, lifting her veil in order to better admire the face beneath it. Even beneath the layer of anonymity provided by the mask Lancelot could have sworn that there was something in the shape of the bones of the face, the curve of the lips, and the texture of the skin that bore than a remarkable similarity to his beloved Gwen.
“Gwen?” he murmured. “Is it truly you?”
And the woman replied. “Yes, My Lord.”
“I’ve been waiting for so long,” he whispered to her.
And for a moment, just for a sweet moment, he believed in the dream that it could be possible. That the woman held in his arms was truly his Gwen; that she was his, and would cast off her royal accoutrements, duties and responsibilities; and then the two of them, and they could stay locked together like this forever.
Then, without further thinking, he tightened his hold and began to kiss, and after a moment the woman he thought of Guinevere, eagerly returned the kiss.
when it was over and he loosed his hold on the woman, he realized with the suddenness of a sucker punch to the gut that it was not Gwen, and never had been.
Whirling on his heels, “What is the matter with me? What sorcery does this place cast that I should be so, so, utterly confused? With that he turned and fled from the room and then raced down the corridors, up the steps and through the open doors of the chamber he shared with Gawain and threw himself on the bed, face-first, wishing that sleep would take him and that there would be no dreams, good, bad, or indifferent.
**
Gawaine also masked in a red and white domino, wandered the castle in a preoccupied daze, marveling at each new and spectacular wonder that meet his eyes. It was magic, like that of Merlin, but on a scale, he had never imagined. And while it had not harmed him, and had been assured by their host that it could not as long as he did not partake of any food or drink, he still did not like it or trust it.
Finally, even the seemingly endless wonders could no longer hold his attention and decided to retire for the night. It must be night, he thought in the silence of his mind, ‘it is so difficult to determine the passage of time in this bizarre place.’
**
“Lancelot,” Gawain shouted as he burst into the chambers they shared as the Knight of Flowers honored guests. “We have to get out of this place! I fear it is some kind of subtle trap!”
Lancelot stirred and rolled over at the sound of the younger knight’s approach and loud booming voice. “I do not doubt that, but the fact remains how do we go about it?”
“I thought once we recognized this place for what it is, you would come up with a plan.”
***
The Knight of Flowers approached them while they were sitting in the chairs outside of the bedchamber, trying to come up with a workable escape plan. It appeared that he had never gone to bed, or changed out of his expensive clothes, still all black from head to toe, except for the silver pendant that dangled from a silver chain around his neck and the crest of black, orange, blue and red flowers emblazoned on his black vest. “Gentlemen, I bid you good morn. I trust you slept well.”
Gawaine stood up and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tunic. It was earlier than he would have preferred and he was managed to don his undergarments, trousers, socks, and tunic. His armor which he had spent a good time of the evening polishing lay in a tidy heap on his bed. “Good morning. My companion has already informed that I can be blunt, and I will tell ask this a plainly and as a bluntly as I possibly can; are we honored guests or honored prisoners?”
“Why guests, of course. You kept to your end of the bargain and I shall keep to mine. Well, one of you did, but it was a momentary lapse and can easily be overlooked.”
“What bargain?” demanded Gawaine
“The house rules,” replied the Knight of Flowers.
“Then we can leave?” asked Lancelot.
The black-garbed knight nodded his head and brought the fingers of both hands over his chest in a loose cat-cradle, and then replied. “Put with simplicity, Yes, you may.”
***
As they rode away from the castle and its strange host and even stranger inhabitants Lancelot regarded his friend, “Remind me to never do something like that again.”
“I shall not forget to do so.”
"If you do, I shall see to it that I beat you soundly in the upcoming tourney," remarked Lancelot.