Legend's Lost
folder
G through L › King Arthur
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,802
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
G through L › King Arthur
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,802
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own King Arthur, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 3
The sun had set by the time the men left the hall and headed to the tavern, not surprised when they noticed that Aete and Dagonet were no where to be seen. Galahad and Gawain scampered off to torment the newest of the bar maids while Lancelot fell into step along side Tristan.
“Why is it it never bothers you when Aete takes Dagonet to her bed for solace?”
The older man said nothing for a moment. He walked in silence a moment then turned his face sober yet amused.
“They’re not in her bed.”
There were many days when Tristan had to remind himself that the boys had never grown up as part of their ancestral herding camps; they could not remember what it was like to train on the land of their ancestors let alone understand the way of life long vanished from memory. It was one of those moments that made Tristan merely regulate and measure his breath before he turned and regarded the young dark knight with his golden jade eyes.
“Aete is next in line to Astarte; her vessel on these plains.” He smirked a moment then nodded as he sobered, “Dagonet is the hand of her noblest aid – a healer and student of Her… what they do is perfectly within their rights.”
“But she belongs to you,” Lancelot reasoned, “She’s in your bed more often than not…”
Tristan turned toward the younger man, his face stone and tone even, “Aete belongs to no one but the one she serves in Astarte. She is no more mine than the wind.”
“You have to…” Lancelot began but was quickly cut off by Tristan with a wave of his hand.
“You’re young… you don’t remember the ways of our mothers because Rome took it from us.” Tristan felt his heart sink as the fact that he, Aete and Dagonet were all that was left of their past. With their deaths, their heritage would die with it; influenced by the destructive patriarchal masters of Rome as opposed to the earth strong, nature wise matrilineal lines that had offered success for centuries before.
He cleared his throat and gestured to the tavern yard before them, “When you are done following Arthur as blindly as he follows Rome, perhaps you will look inside and find what you once were rather than embrace who you’ve become.”
Before the younger man could speak, Tristan disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lancelot alone. The dark knight turned, brow furrowing as he mulled over the evening’s events.
“Why is it it never bothers you when Aete takes Dagonet to her bed for solace?”
The older man said nothing for a moment. He walked in silence a moment then turned his face sober yet amused.
“They’re not in her bed.”
There were many days when Tristan had to remind himself that the boys had never grown up as part of their ancestral herding camps; they could not remember what it was like to train on the land of their ancestors let alone understand the way of life long vanished from memory. It was one of those moments that made Tristan merely regulate and measure his breath before he turned and regarded the young dark knight with his golden jade eyes.
“Aete is next in line to Astarte; her vessel on these plains.” He smirked a moment then nodded as he sobered, “Dagonet is the hand of her noblest aid – a healer and student of Her… what they do is perfectly within their rights.”
“But she belongs to you,” Lancelot reasoned, “She’s in your bed more often than not…”
Tristan turned toward the younger man, his face stone and tone even, “Aete belongs to no one but the one she serves in Astarte. She is no more mine than the wind.”
“You have to…” Lancelot began but was quickly cut off by Tristan with a wave of his hand.
“You’re young… you don’t remember the ways of our mothers because Rome took it from us.” Tristan felt his heart sink as the fact that he, Aete and Dagonet were all that was left of their past. With their deaths, their heritage would die with it; influenced by the destructive patriarchal masters of Rome as opposed to the earth strong, nature wise matrilineal lines that had offered success for centuries before.
He cleared his throat and gestured to the tavern yard before them, “When you are done following Arthur as blindly as he follows Rome, perhaps you will look inside and find what you once were rather than embrace who you’ve become.”
Before the younger man could speak, Tristan disappeared into the shadows, leaving Lancelot alone. The dark knight turned, brow furrowing as he mulled over the evening’s events.