Beautifully Broken | The Weeping Monk

XIII. INNER STRUGGLE

HE was lost. He was in pain. He was struggling.

Lancelot was sitting shirtless in his tent, his back scares exposed. Everything was hurting. Nothing was clear for him anymore. He kept telling himself it's all just lies, that the Green Knight was trying to manipulate him, that Guinevere was just a dark witch and he doesn't care about her at all, but it wasn't working.

It all fell down when he met her. Guinevere. The one and only daughter of the Great Theodore. He first saw her as a stubborn man blood, but she was much more. When they crossed paths things changed. He felt things he doesn't understand.

Lancelot was thiking about Guinevere all the time. At first she crossed his mind when he saw something or someone that reminded him of her. Everything got worse as time passed, Lancelot started to think about her when he was alone, he tried to push this unknown feeling away, but it only grew stronger.

He started to look for her in crowded places, he wished to see her again. Lancelot felt like Guinevere was completing him, all of his life he felt like something was missing, that something was her. She was the chaos to his calculation. The compassion to his hate. The beauty of his broken being.

But they could never love each other, could they? He was The Weeping Monk, a heartless and impotent to love person. Truth to be told, that was The Weeping Monk, but he was Lancelot, a hurt man who desired love and affection.

And she was the descendant of the first Shadow Lord, a dark witch, since this name spread, people have been afraid of her, even if only few of them met Guinevere. He should hate her, he should wish her death, but wanted far from that. A love like theirs would be wrong in the eyes of God.

"You ignore my summons." said Father Carden, entering his tent.

"His Grace." he began, his voice shaking. "I cannot feel it. I call out to him and there is only darkness."

"You are the avenging sword of light in pitched battle against the Lord of Darkness. Did you think you can escape his touch? His corruption?" said Carden, sitting now near Lancelot. "The beast does not tear the flesh, it tears the soul."

"Do you love me father?" Carden was visibly hesitant, when did his best soldier became soft?

"Of course I do." It was clear he didn't.

"Even if I am damned?"

"Those are dangerous words. We will speak of this one last time. You were demon-born. An abomination in the eyes of God." Guinevere's words were echoing in his head why would He hate us for something we have no control over?

"But I spared you from the fire because you could sense your own kind. I gave you scripture. I gave you discipline." continued Father Carden. "I forged into one of our sharpest blades." Lancelot was sobing quitely, he was just a weapon for them, an obiect.

"I turned you against your maker. And I laid the first brick on your road to salvation. But I cannot walk the road for you, my son. I cannot save you from the flames. You have to have the will to do what is necessary. Do you have the will, my son?"

"Yes, father." Lancelot finally understood it all. He belonged with the ones like him, his place was next to those who accepted him for who he was, demon-born or not.

"Then we shall never speak of this again."

Lancelot has the will. And he has the power to save a certain women and her friends.

He will let the past behind and wellcome a new era.