Honey, I'm home!
Dec. 3rd, 2005 03:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anotherusedpageOK, I'm running slightly late already. The car broke down when I was trying to move back from college. Fun and games and there's nothing quite like the ride from Oxford to London done on the back of a pickup truck at one in the morning...
But! On with the fic *bounce bounce bounce*
Warning for real people, although this is total fantasy randomness...
Henry and Pires walked down the forest track. It was quite an ordinary forest. Leafy. Green. The track was hard-packed mud, which became squelchy underfoot occasionally, and in places was so thick and sticky that it threatened to suck your shoes off. Away from the path, the underbrush was tangled and the trees looked somewhat threatening. It was too quiet. The occasional sound of birdsong and rustling in the undergrowth only made the silence seem more profound.
Like nature was listening.
Normally, this didn’t make Henry quite so nervous.
The light had a strange quality about it. Partly it was just that it was… green. It was filtered down through the leaves, and made an odd, textured, golden effect on the forest floor. This was normal for forest light, though, Henry was reasonably sure. What was unusual was…
Well, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It had that fairy-tale quality about it, the fairy-tale quality he associated with nature, and green and quiet, and, well, fairy-tales.
Only usually not quite so literally.
Pires hadn’t seemed surprised when the high-road had swirled away around them. Pires hadn’t seemed surprised at all as the grey had become gradually green, and the buildings had faded into oblivion, and trees had grown up in their place. Every now and then, out of the corner of his eye, Henry thought he caught a glance of the buildings and road-ways he knew rationally that he ought to be seeing. But then they’d disappear, as if they were only a trick of the strange, leafy-green light.
The trees were real. He could touch them, smell them, hear them creaking.
He wondered, vaguely, if this was what going insane felt like.
‘Do we know if we’re going the right way?’ he asked. Pires motioned at the ground in front of them.
‘Hoofprints,’ he said. ‘Anyway there’s only one path. The only other thing to do would be to go back the other way. And that,’ he added with a slightly confused looking frown, ‘leads back to Highbury. I hope.’
Henry looked back over his shoulder. It… didn’t look very much like the way back to the stadium. But it was definitely the way they’d come from.
‘D’you think we’ll be able to find the way back here?’ he said. Pires shrugged.
‘Perhaps we should leave some sort of sign,’ he said. Henry nodded, although that wasn’t quite what he’d meant.
‘Well, we don’t have breadcrumbs to drop. Or little white stones.’
‘Have you got a pen?’ Pires asked.
‘No.’
‘Me either.’
‘There’s nothing to write on anyway,’ Henry pointed out. Pires looked thoughtful.
‘There’s the trees. Got a penknife or something?’
Henry rolled his eyes.
‘Do I look like a boyscout?’
Pires grinned.
‘We’re not exactly well prepared, are we?’
In fact, they had nothing with them besides kit, boots, and wash-bags, and it was making Henry anxious. Smelling clean was all very well, especially since it looked like they were currently at least six hundred years before the advent of soap, but they weren’t going to be able to eat deodorant, or fight with shampoo.
‘I think you could probably mark the bark of the trees with a razor… mebbe cut some arrows,’ Pires suggested.
The trees crowded in around them, dark and menacing. The light was green, and seemed to be fading.
‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,’ Henry said. ‘I don’t think…’ it sounded stupid even thinking it, but he gritted his teeth and said it anyway. ‘I don’t think we should set the trees against us.’
Pires nodded.
‘You’re probably right,’ he said.
‘There’s only ever one path through the forest,’ Henry said. ‘Right? You just have to kind of… follow the obvious way. That’s how this goes. Right?’
‘Sometimes no way is the right way,’ Pires said, ominously. ‘If we’re lucky, we’ll just have to find the grail … the cup, I mean… and the way home will take care of itself. That’s the way the story goes.’
Of course if we’re unlucky, Henry thought, then we’re not the heroes here. If we’re unlucky, we’re the evil French k-niggits, come to steal the Holy Grail from those to whom it rightfully belongs. Cos it never goes well for them, now, does it? He didn’t voice this fear. It sounded even stupider than the one about the trees.
It started to rain.
The ground under their feet became less and less solid. Mud seeped in through Henry’s shoes and water trickled down the back of his neck.
They trudged on.
‘Halt!’ a voice called out, strident and commanding. Henry found himself stopping in his tracks, and Pires almost walked into him.
They were at the foot of a bridge, of course. The river was swollen with rain, roaring against its banks and making white-crested waves against half-submerged rocks.
A man in armour stood on the bridge. Not the same man as before. His armour had been shining silver. This knight wore a green tabard over armour that rusted darkly, and he blended in with the trees, green and brown, although when the light caught the rusted armour in a certain way it looked as though it trailed blood across the forest floor.
‘You may not cross!’ the man said. He had a sword.
‘But it’s raining!’ Henry said petulantly.
‘You may not pass.’ The knight was impassive.
Pires sighed.
‘Must we pay you?’ he said, trying to remember how this went, ‘Or is there a task to complete?’
‘No payment. No task. The bridge will not take you, you may not pass.’
Henry shook his head, partly in exasperation, but partly just to get the water out of his eyes.
‘We know we’re on the right track, at least,’ Pires muttered under his breath, in French.
‘We do?’
‘This is the threshold. We have to cross the threshold, it’s a kind of test. We have to earn our right to quest.’
Henry frowned. ‘How do you know so much about this all of a sudden?’
A pause.
‘I read,’ Pires said eventually, defensively. Then he sighed. ‘But I don’t know what to do now. We should draw our swords and fight.’
‘But we don’t have swords.’
‘I know.’
‘And even if we did, we wouldn’t know how to use them.’
‘I know, Titti, I know! I’m just saying. We need to make a challenge. But I don’t know how.’
Henry sniggered quietly, resisting the urge to comment on Pires’ girly tackling. Pires knew exactly what he was thinking, and glared at him in irritation.
The rain beat down. Henry considered their options. Fighting with shampoo was beginning to look almost appealing. Perhaps if they squirted enough shower-gel into the river, they’d be able to escape in the confusion and bubbles…
‘Is there a password?’ Pires asked.
‘None may pass. The bridge will not take you.’
And then it clicked. Henry looked at Pires. Pires looked at Henry. Henry looked at the water, the wicked-looking rocks, the small uprooted tree that was racing past them on the current. Pires looked Henry. Henry looked at his feet. Pires looked up at the knight who guarded the way. The knight nodded.
Henry groaned. He was cold enough and wet enough as it was.
Pires kicked off his shoes, knotted them together, and slung them around his neck. Henry shivered, wondering if taking his shoes off was worth the effort, given that they were already soaked through. He wondered how sharp the rocks on the bottom of the river-bed were.
He pulled off his shoes, knotted them around his neck, and nodded once at Pires.
They stepped in together.
The only thing Henry could think was ‘fuck me, it’s cold!’ Worse than school-changing-room-shower cold, although not yet on the back of his neck. The current raced around his ankles, threatening to knock him off balance. He took another step. The water lapped against the backs of his knees, sending icy needles of pain running down his legs. He took another step. The water lapped against the tops of his thighs. The river raced, faster than his pulse. He could barely stand. Pires, a couple of inches shorted than him, was yelping in discomfort. Henry took another step, hoping that water-level wouldn’t rise. The rocks shifted beneath his feet, and he almost lost his balance.
It felt like something was grabbing his ankles from below, pulling him downwards. He cried out. Water was in his mouth and eyes, although he didn’t remember falling. He took another step forwards. He couldn’t see Pires. He couldn’t hear Pires. Instinctively, he reached backwards, into the water, made a grab for the shirt collar, hauled Pires up like a drowned rat, gasping for breath. The world was turning over, the rain beat down in sheets and he could hardly tell whether his head was above the water or not. He stumbled forwards, another step, and another, and then flung himself out full length, clutching handfuls of Pires’ shirt in one hand, reaching for the bank with one hand – surely it couldn’t be too much further away? His hand struck mud, he clawed and scrabbled his way up the bank on the far side. After a long moment, Pires too began to struggle forwards.
A strong hand clasped his forearm, pulling him up to safety. His knees gave way, and he collapsed to the floor on the riverbank, gasping for breath. He felt like he’d swum an ocean.
‘You have,’ a voice said. Henry opened his eyes – he hadn’t remembered shutting them. There was something warm and soft around his shoulders. His clothes were dry. Beside him, Pires sat and shivered. Henry drew him close, held him until the shaking stopped. They leaned against each others shoulders a long moment, and did nothing other than breathe together.
Then Henry looked around.
The knight – he thought it was the same knight as before, but he couldn’t be sure –now seemed to be wearing a red and green tabard over shining silver armour that was suddenly and miraculously rust free. And beyond him, endless ocean stretched for miles in all directions. There was no sign of bridge or forest
‘This is Avalon,’ the knight said. ‘The enchanted isle. You seek the sangreal. Here is where it is to be found.’
‘We don’t want the sangreal,’ Pires said through still-chattering teeth. ‘We just want the premiership cup.’
‘The cup is just the symbol,’ the knight said. ‘If you seek the symbol, you seek the sangreal. You are knights-questing, and whatever you seek it is the holy grail.’
Henry laughed shakily.
‘We’re not knights,’ he said. ‘We’re just…’ he struggled for a suitable word. ‘Entertainers, I guess,’ he said. The knight laughed.
‘You are no mere conjurers of cheap tricks, whatever you take yourselves for. If you were not men of great power, you could not have walked the world between for so long. But now you are in Avalon, the enchanted isle, and here for tonight at least you will be safe. Tomorrow we will on to Camelot.’
Henry looked at Pires. Pires looked at Henry. It was all too strange for words, but the man was glowing slightly, and that was hard to argue with.
‘Tomorrow to Camelot, then,’ Henry said.
***
To Be Continued....
***
Fandom: Arsenal / King Arther crossover
Disclaimer: Henry and Pires belong to themselves, no disrespect is meant, and they're not really gay... not that they're actually being particularly gay in this here fic right at this moment...) They've also definitly never really been to Avalon.
King Arther and his knights are common intellectual property.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Neil Gaiman for bits of the concept and setting, another to Monty Python for the eevil french kkkkniggits amongst other things, yet another to Sondheim for the title, oh and I've nicked a random line of dialogue from Tolkien just for the hell of it...
AN:This is a sequel to a fic from last year's advent, found here, and it's forwe_love_smudger... sorry it took so long, and belated happy birthday! More of this will be forthcoming eventually. Oh yes. I have Plans.
But! On with the fic *bounce bounce bounce*
Warning for real people, although this is total fantasy randomness...
Henry and Pires walked down the forest track. It was quite an ordinary forest. Leafy. Green. The track was hard-packed mud, which became squelchy underfoot occasionally, and in places was so thick and sticky that it threatened to suck your shoes off. Away from the path, the underbrush was tangled and the trees looked somewhat threatening. It was too quiet. The occasional sound of birdsong and rustling in the undergrowth only made the silence seem more profound.
Like nature was listening.
Normally, this didn’t make Henry quite so nervous.
The light had a strange quality about it. Partly it was just that it was… green. It was filtered down through the leaves, and made an odd, textured, golden effect on the forest floor. This was normal for forest light, though, Henry was reasonably sure. What was unusual was…
Well, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It had that fairy-tale quality about it, the fairy-tale quality he associated with nature, and green and quiet, and, well, fairy-tales.
Only usually not quite so literally.
Pires hadn’t seemed surprised when the high-road had swirled away around them. Pires hadn’t seemed surprised at all as the grey had become gradually green, and the buildings had faded into oblivion, and trees had grown up in their place. Every now and then, out of the corner of his eye, Henry thought he caught a glance of the buildings and road-ways he knew rationally that he ought to be seeing. But then they’d disappear, as if they were only a trick of the strange, leafy-green light.
The trees were real. He could touch them, smell them, hear them creaking.
He wondered, vaguely, if this was what going insane felt like.
‘Do we know if we’re going the right way?’ he asked. Pires motioned at the ground in front of them.
‘Hoofprints,’ he said. ‘Anyway there’s only one path. The only other thing to do would be to go back the other way. And that,’ he added with a slightly confused looking frown, ‘leads back to Highbury. I hope.’
Henry looked back over his shoulder. It… didn’t look very much like the way back to the stadium. But it was definitely the way they’d come from.
‘D’you think we’ll be able to find the way back here?’ he said. Pires shrugged.
‘Perhaps we should leave some sort of sign,’ he said. Henry nodded, although that wasn’t quite what he’d meant.
‘Well, we don’t have breadcrumbs to drop. Or little white stones.’
‘Have you got a pen?’ Pires asked.
‘No.’
‘Me either.’
‘There’s nothing to write on anyway,’ Henry pointed out. Pires looked thoughtful.
‘There’s the trees. Got a penknife or something?’
Henry rolled his eyes.
‘Do I look like a boyscout?’
Pires grinned.
‘We’re not exactly well prepared, are we?’
In fact, they had nothing with them besides kit, boots, and wash-bags, and it was making Henry anxious. Smelling clean was all very well, especially since it looked like they were currently at least six hundred years before the advent of soap, but they weren’t going to be able to eat deodorant, or fight with shampoo.
‘I think you could probably mark the bark of the trees with a razor… mebbe cut some arrows,’ Pires suggested.
The trees crowded in around them, dark and menacing. The light was green, and seemed to be fading.
‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,’ Henry said. ‘I don’t think…’ it sounded stupid even thinking it, but he gritted his teeth and said it anyway. ‘I don’t think we should set the trees against us.’
Pires nodded.
‘You’re probably right,’ he said.
‘There’s only ever one path through the forest,’ Henry said. ‘Right? You just have to kind of… follow the obvious way. That’s how this goes. Right?’
‘Sometimes no way is the right way,’ Pires said, ominously. ‘If we’re lucky, we’ll just have to find the grail … the cup, I mean… and the way home will take care of itself. That’s the way the story goes.’
Of course if we’re unlucky, Henry thought, then we’re not the heroes here. If we’re unlucky, we’re the evil French k-niggits, come to steal the Holy Grail from those to whom it rightfully belongs. Cos it never goes well for them, now, does it? He didn’t voice this fear. It sounded even stupider than the one about the trees.
It started to rain.
The ground under their feet became less and less solid. Mud seeped in through Henry’s shoes and water trickled down the back of his neck.
They trudged on.
‘Halt!’ a voice called out, strident and commanding. Henry found himself stopping in his tracks, and Pires almost walked into him.
They were at the foot of a bridge, of course. The river was swollen with rain, roaring against its banks and making white-crested waves against half-submerged rocks.
A man in armour stood on the bridge. Not the same man as before. His armour had been shining silver. This knight wore a green tabard over armour that rusted darkly, and he blended in with the trees, green and brown, although when the light caught the rusted armour in a certain way it looked as though it trailed blood across the forest floor.
‘You may not cross!’ the man said. He had a sword.
‘But it’s raining!’ Henry said petulantly.
‘You may not pass.’ The knight was impassive.
Pires sighed.
‘Must we pay you?’ he said, trying to remember how this went, ‘Or is there a task to complete?’
‘No payment. No task. The bridge will not take you, you may not pass.’
Henry shook his head, partly in exasperation, but partly just to get the water out of his eyes.
‘We know we’re on the right track, at least,’ Pires muttered under his breath, in French.
‘We do?’
‘This is the threshold. We have to cross the threshold, it’s a kind of test. We have to earn our right to quest.’
Henry frowned. ‘How do you know so much about this all of a sudden?’
A pause.
‘I read,’ Pires said eventually, defensively. Then he sighed. ‘But I don’t know what to do now. We should draw our swords and fight.’
‘But we don’t have swords.’
‘I know.’
‘And even if we did, we wouldn’t know how to use them.’
‘I know, Titti, I know! I’m just saying. We need to make a challenge. But I don’t know how.’
Henry sniggered quietly, resisting the urge to comment on Pires’ girly tackling. Pires knew exactly what he was thinking, and glared at him in irritation.
The rain beat down. Henry considered their options. Fighting with shampoo was beginning to look almost appealing. Perhaps if they squirted enough shower-gel into the river, they’d be able to escape in the confusion and bubbles…
‘Is there a password?’ Pires asked.
‘None may pass. The bridge will not take you.’
And then it clicked. Henry looked at Pires. Pires looked at Henry. Henry looked at the water, the wicked-looking rocks, the small uprooted tree that was racing past them on the current. Pires looked Henry. Henry looked at his feet. Pires looked up at the knight who guarded the way. The knight nodded.
Henry groaned. He was cold enough and wet enough as it was.
Pires kicked off his shoes, knotted them together, and slung them around his neck. Henry shivered, wondering if taking his shoes off was worth the effort, given that they were already soaked through. He wondered how sharp the rocks on the bottom of the river-bed were.
He pulled off his shoes, knotted them around his neck, and nodded once at Pires.
They stepped in together.
The only thing Henry could think was ‘fuck me, it’s cold!’ Worse than school-changing-room-shower cold, although not yet on the back of his neck. The current raced around his ankles, threatening to knock him off balance. He took another step. The water lapped against the backs of his knees, sending icy needles of pain running down his legs. He took another step. The water lapped against the tops of his thighs. The river raced, faster than his pulse. He could barely stand. Pires, a couple of inches shorted than him, was yelping in discomfort. Henry took another step, hoping that water-level wouldn’t rise. The rocks shifted beneath his feet, and he almost lost his balance.
It felt like something was grabbing his ankles from below, pulling him downwards. He cried out. Water was in his mouth and eyes, although he didn’t remember falling. He took another step forwards. He couldn’t see Pires. He couldn’t hear Pires. Instinctively, he reached backwards, into the water, made a grab for the shirt collar, hauled Pires up like a drowned rat, gasping for breath. The world was turning over, the rain beat down in sheets and he could hardly tell whether his head was above the water or not. He stumbled forwards, another step, and another, and then flung himself out full length, clutching handfuls of Pires’ shirt in one hand, reaching for the bank with one hand – surely it couldn’t be too much further away? His hand struck mud, he clawed and scrabbled his way up the bank on the far side. After a long moment, Pires too began to struggle forwards.
A strong hand clasped his forearm, pulling him up to safety. His knees gave way, and he collapsed to the floor on the riverbank, gasping for breath. He felt like he’d swum an ocean.
‘You have,’ a voice said. Henry opened his eyes – he hadn’t remembered shutting them. There was something warm and soft around his shoulders. His clothes were dry. Beside him, Pires sat and shivered. Henry drew him close, held him until the shaking stopped. They leaned against each others shoulders a long moment, and did nothing other than breathe together.
Then Henry looked around.
The knight – he thought it was the same knight as before, but he couldn’t be sure –now seemed to be wearing a red and green tabard over shining silver armour that was suddenly and miraculously rust free. And beyond him, endless ocean stretched for miles in all directions. There was no sign of bridge or forest
‘This is Avalon,’ the knight said. ‘The enchanted isle. You seek the sangreal. Here is where it is to be found.’
‘We don’t want the sangreal,’ Pires said through still-chattering teeth. ‘We just want the premiership cup.’
‘The cup is just the symbol,’ the knight said. ‘If you seek the symbol, you seek the sangreal. You are knights-questing, and whatever you seek it is the holy grail.’
Henry laughed shakily.
‘We’re not knights,’ he said. ‘We’re just…’ he struggled for a suitable word. ‘Entertainers, I guess,’ he said. The knight laughed.
‘You are no mere conjurers of cheap tricks, whatever you take yourselves for. If you were not men of great power, you could not have walked the world between for so long. But now you are in Avalon, the enchanted isle, and here for tonight at least you will be safe. Tomorrow we will on to Camelot.’
Henry looked at Pires. Pires looked at Henry. It was all too strange for words, but the man was glowing slightly, and that was hard to argue with.
‘Tomorrow to Camelot, then,’ Henry said.
***
To Be Continued....
***
Fandom: Arsenal / King Arther crossover
Disclaimer: Henry and Pires belong to themselves, no disrespect is meant, and they're not really gay... not that they're actually being particularly gay in this here fic right at this moment...) They've also definitly never really been to Avalon.
King Arther and his knights are common intellectual property.
I owe a debt of gratitude to Neil Gaiman for bits of the concept and setting, another to Monty Python for the eevil french kkkkniggits amongst other things, yet another to Sondheim for the title, oh and I've nicked a random line of dialogue from Tolkien just for the hell of it...
AN:This is a sequel to a fic from last year's advent, found here, and it's for
we_love_smudger... sorry it took so long, and belated happy birthday! More of this will be forthcoming eventually. Oh yes. I have Plans.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 09:56 am (UTC)In fact, they had nothing with them besides kit, boots, and wash-bags, and it was making Henry anxious. Smelling clean was all very well, especially since it looked like they were currently at least six hundred years before the advent of soap, but they weren’t going to be able to eat deodorant, or fight with shampoo.
*larfs and pets them*
‘I know, Titti, I know! I’m just saying. We need to make a challenge. But I don’t know how.’
Henry sniggered quietly, resisting the urge to comment on Pires’ girly tackling. Pires knew exactly what he was thinking, and glared at him in irritation.
Perfect, yes, so true, bless his little Frenchie boots. *g*
Henry opened his eyes – he hadn’t remembered shutting them. There was something warm and soft around his shoulders. His clothes were dry. Beside him, Pires sat and shivered. Henry drew him close, held him until the shaking stopped. They leaned against each others shoulders a long moment, and did nothing other than breathe together.
Oh. Oh, he rescued La Bobby. Oh my, so lovely....
‘We don’t want the sangreal,’ Pires said through still-chattering teeth. ‘We just want the premiership cup.’
Hee. Loving Bobby's matter-of-factness here.
Ah this is so good bella, so very good. Thank you thank you....
*fangirls you ruthlessly*
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 10:12 am (UTC)Randomly, if I had been twins my mother wanted to call me Camalot and Avalon.
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 12:34 pm (UTC)yay!! that was good, cool.
please say you will do one based on into the woods at some point?
"Agony, such that princes must weep, always in thrall most to anything almost or something asleep."
"Dwarves are very upsetting."
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 12:46 pm (UTC)And thank you!
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 12:51 pm (UTC)Perfect, yes, so true, bless his little Frenchie boots. *g*
I fiddled with that line for ages, and nearly deleted it alltogether, so I'm glad you think it worked.
Oh. Oh, he rescued La Bobby. Oh my, so lovely....
And totally gratuitous. :D but what's the point in sending them questing if they can't play hurt/comfort, huh?
*fangirls you ruthlessly*
*can't stop grinning*
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 12:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 12:53 pm (UTC)they weren’t going to be able to... fight with shampoo
Oh, you can... I fight with my shampoo most times I wash my hair. It's the conditioner you want to watch out for, though - it's sneaky. ;-)
Ahem. *continues applauding*
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 01:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 02:17 pm (UTC)‘There’s the trees. Got a penknife or something?’
Henry rolled his eyes.
‘Do I look like a boyscout?’
BWEE!!!
Henry drew him close, held him until the shaking stopped. They leaned against each others shoulders a long moment, and did nothing other than breathe together.
Oh, aww.
I'm so very glad you have Plans for this because it is most fabulous and causes me to make ridiculous squeaking noises. *reads again*
no subject
Date: 2005-12-03 06:00 pm (UTC)was that you I saw as I cycled past Magd just before midnight then? I did notice a car on a truck.
and I love your advent calendar!!
no subject
Date: 2005-12-04 12:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-04 12:27 am (UTC)And thank you!
no subject
Date: 2005-12-05 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-05 03:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-08 03:36 pm (UTC)Conversation along the lines of
O-Ren Ishii: You didn't think it was gonna be that easy, did you?
The Bride: You know, for a second there, yeah, I kinda did.
O-Ren Ishii: Silly rabbit...
The Bride: Trix are for...
O-Ren Ishii, The Bride: ...kids.
There is just so much connection and possible back story at that point. I love to see something on what they are thinking/flashbacks as to when they were friends/work mates/lovers and what this phrase means to them. Make sense?
no subject
Date: 2005-12-08 08:04 pm (UTC)