Green Grows the Holly

A cold breeze swept through the chapel courtyard, tossing a light dusting of snow across the Green Knight’s boots. It was cold, almost unseasonably so, or at least it seemed colder than the last time he’d ventured beyond castle walls. Perhaps it was the time spent in Bertilak’s warm home that made it so. The chapel felt like a wintery hell in comparison. Colder still had been the Green Knight’s silent gaze as they’d met, scant moments earlier. He knew he should look up, should face his end like a knight but Gawain couldn’t bring himself to meet the eyes of his executioner. Shame twisted in his gut, roiling and burning like a snake gnawing through his belly. He wasn’t ashamed of their arrangement. He’d kept his honor in that.

Damn his honor and the things it drove him to do.

If he closed his eyes, he could see it, the source of his shame. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Lord Bertilak, his humble and generous host for the last two weeks, whose kindness he had unwillingly betrayed. He could still see the look on Lord Bertilak’s face as Gawain had passed on his “catch” of the day, first amusement as three kisses – not quite chaste, but also not nearing the passion that he wanted to express, the kind of passion that two men should not share and yet he couldn’t help himself. Then the amusement had faded, turning to confusion then anger then cold betrayal as Gawain had held Bertilak’s wife’s green girdle between them. It was just a thin slip of cloth, far too sheer and delicate to cause the kind of harm it did, and yet it rent them, as sharp and malicious as the Green Knight’s ax.