[Arthuriana] "Dark Knight" (PG-13)
Nov. 12th, 2012 12:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for Author's choice, Author's choice, walking that thin line between pain and pleasure Set before the events of Richard Wagner's opera "Parsifal" and the poem by Wolfram von Eschenbach that inspired it.
Broken vows... a stolen tryst to satisfy a woman denied love, and it had cost Klingsor dearly. Strange way that the knights sworn to serve the needs of the suffering wherever they went: was there any shame in offering solace to a woman who despaired of ever again knowing the loving touch and the embrace of a man? She was not the wife of another and he had no wife of his own. He had learned to curb his desires for his brother knights: they could not shame him for being unnatural. She longed for a son to carry on her line, and he was willing to offer her assistance and so plant the seed. Could they fault him for offering her this consolation?
For his pains, he now lay detained in the prison bay of the castle of the Grail, guarded by his brethren, taking turns at watching the door to his cell. As if he could escape from it. Nor did he wish to escape: it would only serve to gratify them and their sense of self-righteous superiority over him. These whey bloods who denied their most basic desires and drives. Would they have had the charity to lay aside such a foolish vow and please a woman as he had? What were principles when they were placed above the needs of people?
The door rattled and unlocked, as one of the squires entered with a bowl of water and bread: now that he had broken his vows, they had denied them the sustenance which the Grail offered, and so he needed the food of the earth.
"Have you renounced your sin of the flesh?" the squire asked, with a haughtiness not suited to a young stripling barely capable of growing a beard.
Klingsor snorted. "That is a lordly question coming from one of the Knights' little pets," he said, not moving from his corner of the cell. "Did your master Titurel bid you to ask it?"
"It is a question of which we all desire an answer," the squire replied, stiffly.
"Is it a question which you may ask without impunity?" Klingsor said. "Did not our Lord Christ bid people to cast stones only if they were without sin?"
"Orhalt, is he refusing to speak?" another squire asked, coming to the open door.
"He speaks in riddles and twists my words," Orhalt said, disgruntled.
"I speak from my heart, a dark place full of ciphers," Klingsor replied, allowing himself the luxury of a smirk.
"It is dark only because you shadowed it with sin and pride and notions not befitting a Knight of the Grail," the second squire said, chin lifted.
"And neither of you dare to ask questions: you are your master's lapdogs, coming and going and fetching and carrying without a thought for yourself," Klingsor said. "Do you lick your master's feet and higher than that if he bids you?"
"Enough!" Orhalt snarled, lunging at Klingsor, pinning him to the wall with one hand boxing his ears with the other.
"Ahh, the lapdog has teeth," Klingsor asked, head singing with pain and the delight it brought. "Have I hit a wound still tender? You would not object so valiantly, were there no truth to my words."
"You talk too much, faithless wretch," the second squire snarled, slapping him across the mouth.
For a moment, Klingsor's lips burned with pain and his breath quickened. Recovering long enough to speak, he said, "You would not be troubled if you had nothing to hide, if nothing pricked your consciences. Tell me, do the pair of you swap kisses and caresses when Master Gurnemanz cannot see you?"
"Be silent!" the squires snarled, rushing him, and pummeling him. The blows made his senses sing even as he yowled with pain: the cries came only for their enjoyment, to let them think that they had subdued him. But in truth, each punch pushed him closer to the line between pain and pleasure.
Footsteps thudded in the hallway, and Gurnemanz hurried into the open doorway, staring at the mad tableaux within. "Let him go and quit you like knights!" he roared. The youths ceased pummeling the faithless knight, letting him slide to the floor.
"He spoke ill of the brotherhood," Orhalt said, defending himself and his brother, though they stood with heads bent in shame.
"If you act so, then you put truth to his words," Gurnemanz replied. "Get out of this cell and out of my sight: I will deal with your punishment later."
The squires slunk out, chastened, like whipped dogs. Gurnemanz knelt over Klingsor, examining his bruises. Klingsor hissed at the touch, but his head still sang with bliss.
"And so I brought this on myself?" Klingsor sneered.
"No. You did wrong in breaking one vow, but they did worse in breaking many," Gurnemanz said.
Broken vows... a stolen tryst to satisfy a woman denied love, and it had cost Klingsor dearly. Strange way that the knights sworn to serve the needs of the suffering wherever they went: was there any shame in offering solace to a woman who despaired of ever again knowing the loving touch and the embrace of a man? She was not the wife of another and he had no wife of his own. He had learned to curb his desires for his brother knights: they could not shame him for being unnatural. She longed for a son to carry on her line, and he was willing to offer her assistance and so plant the seed. Could they fault him for offering her this consolation?
For his pains, he now lay detained in the prison bay of the castle of the Grail, guarded by his brethren, taking turns at watching the door to his cell. As if he could escape from it. Nor did he wish to escape: it would only serve to gratify them and their sense of self-righteous superiority over him. These whey bloods who denied their most basic desires and drives. Would they have had the charity to lay aside such a foolish vow and please a woman as he had? What were principles when they were placed above the needs of people?
The door rattled and unlocked, as one of the squires entered with a bowl of water and bread: now that he had broken his vows, they had denied them the sustenance which the Grail offered, and so he needed the food of the earth.
"Have you renounced your sin of the flesh?" the squire asked, with a haughtiness not suited to a young stripling barely capable of growing a beard.
Klingsor snorted. "That is a lordly question coming from one of the Knights' little pets," he said, not moving from his corner of the cell. "Did your master Titurel bid you to ask it?"
"It is a question of which we all desire an answer," the squire replied, stiffly.
"Is it a question which you may ask without impunity?" Klingsor said. "Did not our Lord Christ bid people to cast stones only if they were without sin?"
"Orhalt, is he refusing to speak?" another squire asked, coming to the open door.
"He speaks in riddles and twists my words," Orhalt said, disgruntled.
"I speak from my heart, a dark place full of ciphers," Klingsor replied, allowing himself the luxury of a smirk.
"It is dark only because you shadowed it with sin and pride and notions not befitting a Knight of the Grail," the second squire said, chin lifted.
"And neither of you dare to ask questions: you are your master's lapdogs, coming and going and fetching and carrying without a thought for yourself," Klingsor said. "Do you lick your master's feet and higher than that if he bids you?"
"Enough!" Orhalt snarled, lunging at Klingsor, pinning him to the wall with one hand boxing his ears with the other.
"Ahh, the lapdog has teeth," Klingsor asked, head singing with pain and the delight it brought. "Have I hit a wound still tender? You would not object so valiantly, were there no truth to my words."
"You talk too much, faithless wretch," the second squire snarled, slapping him across the mouth.
For a moment, Klingsor's lips burned with pain and his breath quickened. Recovering long enough to speak, he said, "You would not be troubled if you had nothing to hide, if nothing pricked your consciences. Tell me, do the pair of you swap kisses and caresses when Master Gurnemanz cannot see you?"
"Be silent!" the squires snarled, rushing him, and pummeling him. The blows made his senses sing even as he yowled with pain: the cries came only for their enjoyment, to let them think that they had subdued him. But in truth, each punch pushed him closer to the line between pain and pleasure.
Footsteps thudded in the hallway, and Gurnemanz hurried into the open doorway, staring at the mad tableaux within. "Let him go and quit you like knights!" he roared. The youths ceased pummeling the faithless knight, letting him slide to the floor.
"He spoke ill of the brotherhood," Orhalt said, defending himself and his brother, though they stood with heads bent in shame.
"If you act so, then you put truth to his words," Gurnemanz replied. "Get out of this cell and out of my sight: I will deal with your punishment later."
The squires slunk out, chastened, like whipped dogs. Gurnemanz knelt over Klingsor, examining his bruises. Klingsor hissed at the touch, but his head still sang with bliss.
"And so I brought this on myself?" Klingsor sneered.
"No. You did wrong in breaking one vow, but they did worse in breaking many," Gurnemanz said.
