It's not the worst wound he's ever seen, not by a long way. It's bleeding a lot, but wounds at the extremities always bleed more than wounds on the trunk -- especially the feet. He reaches for the towel--
--and sees the river at Corbenic, his mother's castle. The land is barren: the fields are empty, as in winter, with occasional broken stalks of wheat or corn blowing in some ill wind; the trees have lost their leaves, and no birds sing. Though the sky is cloudless, it's a yellowish color, the way it turns sometimes right before a storm; the air smells like lightning. The castle keep is looks as it should, but there are no people coming and going, no smoke from fires, no sounds. The river is grey, and on the river is a coracle.
In the coracle, there is a man.
The man is dressed in a loose robe, his shoulders draped with a cloak, and on his head is a circlet studded with jewels, their settings worked to look like stars. He has a net in his hands, and he throws it into the water and brings it back in again to the boat, over and over; every time it's empty. Just as the fields are a wasteland and the animals on the earth are silent or gone, the river yields no fish.
The man looks up when he hears Galahad approach, and brings the coracle over to the shore. Galahad waits for him to stand, but instead he hooks the net at the side of his boat, and throws open his robe.
The Fisher King's groin has no male organ, but a deep gash, a mirror of the wound in Christ's side. It's a deep cut, from which blood continually seeps, and Galahad understands: the land is empty because the Fisher King is empty; it's an impotence that has begun in him and seeped forth like blood. This is what God has prepared him for -- not just to heal a man, but to heal the earth, to heal this kingdom, to undo its maiming so that its life can begin again. This is the quest he's forsaken. It's a suffering that has no answer except the Grail. Only with the Grail and the blood of Christ within it can this body be anointed with health.
Galahad can say nothing. What can he say? Tell the Fisher King that he can't heal him because he's fallen in love? That even before he was in love he broke his vow of chastity and lay with a man? That his quest is over?
The Fisher King smiles at him. "You look so much like your mother."
Galahad says nothing.
"Come here, boy. Let me see you better."
He takes a reluctant step forward. His eyes keep straying to the gash between the Fisher King's legs.
When he's close enough, he drops to one knee, and the Fisher King takes hold of his chin and turns his face back and forth, as if searching for something there. Galahad is rigid.
"Come inside," the Fisher King says at last. "The Grail is within."
"I can't," Galahad answers.
"It's time."
"I'm not--"
"I know the prophecy. It's time."
Galahad's ears are ringing. If Magnus is talking, he's missed it entirely.
no subject
--and sees the river at Corbenic, his mother's castle. The land is barren: the fields are empty, as in winter, with occasional broken stalks of wheat or corn blowing in some ill wind; the trees have lost their leaves, and no birds sing. Though the sky is cloudless, it's a yellowish color, the way it turns sometimes right before a storm; the air smells like lightning. The castle keep is looks as it should, but there are no people coming and going, no smoke from fires, no sounds. The river is grey, and on the river is a coracle.
In the coracle, there is a man.
The man is dressed in a loose robe, his shoulders draped with a cloak, and on his head is a circlet studded with jewels, their settings worked to look like stars. He has a net in his hands, and he throws it into the water and brings it back in again to the boat, over and over; every time it's empty. Just as the fields are a wasteland and the animals on the earth are silent or gone, the river yields no fish.
The man looks up when he hears Galahad approach, and brings the coracle over to the shore. Galahad waits for him to stand, but instead he hooks the net at the side of his boat, and throws open his robe.
The Fisher King's groin has no male organ, but a deep gash, a mirror of the wound in Christ's side. It's a deep cut, from which blood continually seeps, and Galahad understands: the land is empty because the Fisher King is empty; it's an impotence that has begun in him and seeped forth like blood. This is what God has prepared him for -- not just to heal a man, but to heal the earth, to heal this kingdom, to undo its maiming so that its life can begin again. This is the quest he's forsaken. It's a suffering that has no answer except the Grail. Only with the Grail and the blood of Christ within it can this body be anointed with health.
Galahad can say nothing. What can he say? Tell the Fisher King that he can't heal him because he's fallen in love? That even before he was in love he broke his vow of chastity and lay with a man? That his quest is over?
The Fisher King smiles at him. "You look so much like your mother."
Galahad says nothing.
"Come here, boy. Let me see you better."
He takes a reluctant step forward. His eyes keep straying to the gash between the Fisher King's legs.
When he's close enough, he drops to one knee, and the Fisher King takes hold of his chin and turns his face back and forth, as if searching for something there. Galahad is rigid.
"Come inside," the Fisher King says at last. "The Grail is within."
"I can't," Galahad answers.
"It's time."
"I'm not--"
"I know the prophecy. It's time."
Galahad's ears are ringing. If Magnus is talking, he's missed it entirely.