Lady Vivienne did not like to have an idea rejected. But Malcolm was more sensible and shrewd than she realized.

“I said there would be a risk involved, and I see that you do not want to take it. I see that the dread dragon lord intimidates you,” Vivienne said, her tone sharpening slightly as her eyes narrowed. She herself would not speak of the utter horror she had experienced when Balthazar had breached through the Lake barrier, allowing Lancelot and Alanna to escape those years back. She fairly banished it from her memories, just as she banished all the fey that displeased her.

“If you will not attempt to lure Balthazar, then use a less powerful man. The next knight that comes to your realm, perhaps?” Vivienne suggested casually. She felt instant foreboding after she said it, although she did not know why. It was unknown to her that Sir Pelleas had just entered the Forest.

“Or, of course, I would be willing to take her to my realm, as well, if she will be lured by the prestige of the Lake,” Vivienne said quickly. But her words were not strong when she was filled with such dread of the suggestion she had made a moment before.

+++

The beauty before him was beyond words. Pelleas merely gaped, wide-eyed, as he caught his first glimpse of the clearing. The lights, the trees, the pond… the girl…

The girl was a vision of heavenliness! He caught a sight of her smiling as a glowing ball wafted from her hand. She was the source of the lights! He lingered on the periphery of the clearing, partially hidden by a tree’s golden foliage. How dearly he wished not to disturb the fey maid’s moment of peace and the tranquility of the trickling stream. If he had been a younger knight, he would have rushed forward to be closer to the beautiful scene, as he had done when he first stumbled upon Vivienne’s Lake. But now that he was older, he did not wish to be seen, he did not wish to disturb this vision of heaven…

It was his horse that disturbed the peace. His steed spooked as a light came close to its face. Pelleas calmed him, but it was too late. The noise and movement had surely caught the fey’s attention.

Pelleas dismounted and led his horse a few paces beyond the shelter of the tree. “Forgive me for my intrusion, fair maiden,” he said to the girl, bowing humbly. When he looked at her again, this time closer, he found that his eyes filled with tears.

“You have the purest beauty I have ever seen! ” he gasped, falling to his knees and weeping with his head in his hands. He roughly wiped the tears from his eyes. When he looked up again, his eyes were swimming with glorious shades of gold and silver and a sparkle of pure blue.

“I do not mean to make a display,” he tried to assure her in his deep voice, sniffling loudly. “But my heart is troubled and your fairness moves me.”

“Yes, and one would be a fool or a liar if they said they weren’t if put in similar circumstances. I have not gotten where I am today by trying to play pawns with very strong and dangerous wills of their own. Some risks bear glorious fruit, and many more bring disastrous ruin. I do not believe in taking unnecessary risks.” Malcolm replied calmly to Vivienne’s gibing. He would not be bullied into taking action he knew was not the wisest. Balthazar was an obstacle to be treaded round lightly. Dragons were frighteningly powerful creatures that followed their own set of laws, not those of man or fey unless they wished it. If not for the Dragon King’s oath of non interference in magical affairs, Malcolm might well fear for his life, but at the moment he was safe behind the veil of courtly protocol and duty.

“Yes, far more sensible.” Malcolm agreed. “The next knight then.” He decided. Human men were far more easily enticed by youthful young fey, as human women were known to marry as young as twelve years of age. The High Queen herself had wedded Arthur when she was but thirteen. The real trick would be in making his shy sister accept and return the knight’s advances. That would indeed be something to ponder on. And then he felt a presence enter his realm. “It would appear we have a guest…”



Madelyn’s moment of peace was shattered by a sudden noise and movement that came from the trees just beyond the clearing. Her experience with the witch not forgotten so soon, Madelyn jumped to her feet with a startled look in her eyes. But she was still within her realm, not but a few minutes walk from the villa, surely some mal meaning person couldn’t have entered the Forest! Still, her relief was great when she say a man, a knight by his appearance, with a horse step out from the tree line. Madelyn suddenly felt foolish for spooking so easily. Still, perhaps it was better to be alert first and feel foolish later, than ignore her instincts and not have that chance again.

The man was much older than she, much older than Sir Lancelot as well, the knight whom had rescued her and she had recently come to know. He also seemed quite polite, and Madelyn was about to assure him that there was really no intrusion and he ought not apologize, when she once again became alarmed by the sudden tears in his eyes. She had been under the impression that human men were not moved to tears often and usually to their great embarrassment. It was a little unnerving, though she didn’t wish for him to feel embarrassed, so she decided simply not to comment.

Madelyn’s face was soon quite flushed by the knight’s words as he commented about her supposed beauty. Perhaps this was the reason for his strange behavior. She had heard stories of men, entering a fey realm and seeing them for the first time, becoming overwhelmed by the magic around them and acting strangely. Perhaps that was what ailed this poor knight, though his last statement made her think there was perhaps a bit more to it than that. She approached the knight, now on his knees, slowly shyly even, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.


“My name is Madelyn Sir Knight. I think it would be best if we went to the villa, there you might be more comfortable. If you think it might ease your pain, perhaps you might tell me of your troubles. I find they never seem quite so heavy when shared.” Madelyn said with a polite smile as she silently bid him rise. She needed to take the poor knight to the villa. There were teas there that helped sooth these kinds of effects, and she was sure he would feel better once there. Knights were always welcomed by the fey women most warmly, and she had never before seen a knight displeased by that affection.

Vivienne’s eyes flashed at Malcolm. How she wished she was in her realm, and had her omnipresent sight! Every inch of the Lake was covered by her eyes, but here in the Forest she was blind to everything that was taking place beyond the room she was in. It filled her with rage to be so blind. It made her feel human.

“Well, who is it?” she asked Malcolm between her teeth, barely controlling herself from snapping at him. She breathed through her nose and made her tone more polite, and managed a smile. She must not betray herself.

“Show this guest in your orb, if you please,” she requested, pointing to his glass ball with a long fingernail. “I am quite curious. We must see if he is suitable for your sister….”

+++

“Sweet Madelyn,” Pelleas said, still in awe of her as she touched his shoulder. He had only known her for less than a minute, but he was sure that she was full of goodness. It was not only her pretty looks or gentle demeanor that told him this. She seemed to radiate light, her heart was in her face. Pelleas would never doubt such a creature.

He rose at her bidding, still bleary-eyed but under better control of himself. His deep depression, however, would not be abated. “I would tell you my name, sweet lady, but I am afraid it is cast in shame. My whole life has been shamed. If it please you, you may call me Sir Shame. I deserve the title.”

He was further touched by her invitation to share his troubles with her. But he looked at her, and realized that she was very young, indeed. There was no possibility he could tell her that minutes before he had been prepared to take his own life. “Dear maiden, you would not wish to hear it! And I would not tell you my sins, and desecrate this wondrous clearing or fill your young heart with the least of my woes. What I will tell you is that you have saved my life with your lights. Literally, dear lady, you have saved my life. I will follow wherever you wish to take me, if you would be so kind to care for my comfort.” In thanks, he bowed lowly over her hand and barely touched his lips to it.

Taking his horse’s reins, Pelleas walked a little behind Madelyn to the villa. All the while, he marveled at his surroundings. He could not help but be filled with a little hope. There was such beauty around him.

"What is the name of this blessed place?" he ventured to ask Madelyn as they walked. "Who rules here?"

“Then I fear I shall simply be forced to call you Sir Knight, as I have yet to see anything shameful in your regards.” Madelyn replied to his answer for a name. She did not understand what he could have done to be so shameful; he looked every bit the honest polite and honorable knight. And how had she saved his life? Perhaps he had gotten lost in the forest and was ashamed of that, and simply exaggerated her role in gratitude to her lights that showed him the way to her realm? This seemed the most likely to her, and she gave a shy smile that promised she didn’t think he was foolish or shameful. Madelyn had gotten lost in the forest too, it was a large place filled with magic, even outside the confines of her realm, and it was easy to get lost if not familiar with a certain road. Her face flushed a bit when he kissed her hand, a gesture she was not personally familiar with as it was a gesture preformed by knights, and Malcolm usually insisted she keep her distance from their human guests. It was rare she was even allowed to eat in the dinning hall with the rest of the fey when there were guests, almost like her brother was ashamed to be associated wither, and would prefer others not know of her existence.

“This is the Fey realm of the Forest. My brother, Lord Malcolm is currently steward until I come of age.” Madelyn supplied easily. “Our mother was the Lady of the Forest until her passing.” Madelyn led him to the villa, were a fey servant took his horse to rest in the stables, and brought him to the great hall. There were many people milling about merry making, some enjoying drink, others dancing, still other laughing and simply enjoying each other’s company. There were also other knights here, which was way Madelyn thought he might be most comfortable here.

“Would you like something to eat or drink Sir Knight?” Madelyn asked as she brought him to a quieter end of one of the long tables.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malcolm raised a fair brow at Vivienne’s eagerness, but let it pass. For the moment. Taking his crystal ball he commanded it to show them their visitor. He was shown an image of a knight, bending over to kiss his sister on the hand, her cheeks red, before leading him off to the Villa. He had called her ‘Sweet Madelyn’, ‘Dear Maiden’, claimed she’d saved his life. Malcolm was a little irked the know his sister was drawing once again more guest to his realm unbidden, but found that it could work well to his purposes. Potions to make fall desperately in love were even more potent when the man already felt smitten, or lustful, towards the woman. What Knight didn’t feel affection for a woman that had saved his life, as prone to sickeningly romantic notions as they were?

“He’s perfect!” Malcolm declared with a muffled hoot of laughter. He could not have hoped for better. “Shall we go greet this knight my Lady, or will you return to your Lake?”

Alanna winced, remembering her sudden departure. She had been escorting the princess around with her other young friends, and there had been other knights at least within seeing distance. But most certainly the poor girl had witnessed her Champion disappearing without notice.

"I'm afraid she did," Alanna replied at last, "And I can only imagine what she is thinking. I'm not afraid for her safety, as there were others nearby who seemed to be watching already. Surely they doubted the ability of one maiden to protect another!"

Alanna laughed half-heartedly, wondering what rumors of her inability would spread now. With any luck, the princess would simply be amused. Knowing how excitable the girl was, she might even be delighted at having witnessed that bit of magic. Surely it would give her days of new gossip to trade with her friends.

"It will be alright, though. Lancelot, I'm...I'm so relieved!" She laughed again, a bit more genuinely. "It will be so nice not to feel eyes on my back every time I enter a room! And perhaps we may actually spend some time together."

The gravity of their discussion before was melted by her optimism now, and Alanna smiled. "I feel a bit foolish for departing from our hosts so quickly. I'm feeling much better now...shall we go and meet with them again?"

‘Of course it would be him,’ Vivienne thought with a bitter sense of irony. ‘Of all knights, of course it would be Pelleas!’

Her fey intuition told her who it was moments before she saw him in the crystal ball. But she was still not prepared for what she would see. Angry color rose to her green-tinted cheeks as she saw Pelleas kiss the young fey’s hand and address her with clear affection. But as much as what she saw disturbed her and rang of betrayal, she did not outwardly react. Vivienne kept a remarkable cap on her emotions. Her face was stony as she looked; she nary blinked an eyelash. Though she felt like exploding.

‘I have to deal with this… and I can. It is well in my power to have my way,’ she silently assured herself as Malcolm laughed. But there was still inherent danger… she knew herself that Pelleas fell hard when he fell in love. Her eyes burned as she watched the ball. It would be easy to charm him into loving this fey child, if he did not already.

“Perfect indeed,” Vivienne agreed coolly. “Already this knight is eating out of the palm of her hand.” While her voice did not inflect it, Vivienne was seething jealous. She only had to see her former paramour in the ball to know that she still wanted him.

“I would prefer to stay and see how this plays out, my lord,” Vivienne turned to Malcolm when he asked if she wished to return to her Lake. “In fact,” she reached out and touched his hand. “Perhaps you should entrust the love casting to me. I could charm this knight without even the use of a potion. I am a master at such things.”

++++

As if Pelleas’s esteem for Madelyn could not grow more, it did. He learned that she was fey royalty, the future ruler of this realm! Her words were modest, but Pelleas saw through them and gazed in renewed awe.

“My Lady, I am honored,” he bowed in great reverence. “I know that it is no small thing to be the future Lady of such a realm.”

He gladly accompanied her to the Hall, where he saw other fey folk and knights gathered and celebrating. Madelyn asked him if he cared for food or drink, and he smiled warmly at her. “I will have whatever you will have, Blessed Lady. I want to know what sweetness you ingest.”

+++

Lancelot’s mood lightened considerably with the assurance of Alanna’s words. If she was not troubled with the princess worrying about her, then he would trust her judgment. He was endeared by her laugh and smiled hopefully when she suggested that they would be able to spend more time together. He lifted a hand behind her to caress her hair, but dropped it when she expressed the wish to join their hosts.

“Why, of course, Alanna,” he agreed. “It is the least we could do as guests in this fine realm.” He was always concerned with having proper guest etiquette. Not owning his own estate, he was always a guest wherever he went. “We will have our time alone together… later,” he assured, kissing her hand and giving her a fervent promise with his eyes.

He was exceedingly chivalrous as they exited their room and went to meet their hosts as she suggested. Always he wanted his lady to enter first and have his arm to lean upon as they walked. Although the inner workings of the treehouse villa proved to be quite mazelike, eventually the couple stumbled upon the great hall, which was lively with the dalliances of knight and fey.

“I didn’t know there were other knights here,” Lancelot spoke in Alanna’s ear. He had never seen so many gathered at once in the Lake. He realized that the Forest must be a more popular realm for knights to frequent. For one, it was much easier to get to.

Lancelot looked about to see if he knew any of the knights. His eye was caught by Madelyn standing at the end of the one of the tables. And speaking to her was a familiar knight of mature age and black beard and hair…

“Sir Pelleas!”

+++

Pelleas straightened and looked in surprise when he heard his name called. He saw a large knight coming towards him, a knight who looked at him in recognition and delight. The knight came to him and held out his arms to embrace him.

“Beg your pardon, Sir, but have we met?” Pelleas asked as he was scooped into the knight’s arms.

“Sir Pelleas, it is I, Lancelot!” the knight pulled away, but his smile had still not diminished.

Pelleas looked down, ashamed, as he tried to remember having met a Sir Lancelot. He drew a blank. “I’m sorry, Sir… where did we meet?”

Lancelot laughed happily. It did not surprise him that his old mentor did not remember him. The last Pelleas had seen of him, he had been much younger, and his name had not been known. It pleased him to think that he had grown into such a man that Pelleas would not recognize him.

“Young Du Lac. Do you remember? Lady Vivienne’s ward?”

Recognition flooded Pelleas as if he had been plunged into the Lake. He wasted not a moment and embraced Lancelot full-heartedly. “Forgive me, Du Lac! How you have grown! You go by Lancelot now? Sir Lancelot, I should say?” He pulled back and looked up at his former pupil with pride.

“Aye, it is true, I am a knight of Arthur’s now. How I have longed to see you again, Sir Pelleas. You were like a father to me… the closest to a father I have ever known,” Lancelot said, deeply moved by their reunion. “You made me the knight I am today. All that you taught me about honor!”

But Pelleas bowed his head at this and his sadness surfaced again. “How easily you have forgiven me for my abandoning you and Lady Vivienne. I do not deserve your praise, Sir Lancelot. Not any longer. The day I left the Lake was the day of my undoing.”

But Lancelot waved his words away. He was eager to introduce Pelleas to Alanna. “Do not speak of it, good Pelleas. That happened long ago, and we should not be troubled by it. Come, I want you to meet…”

Lancelot stopped when he saw how Pelleas still looked grieved. He looked in concern as Pelleas withdrew and sank into his chair, leaning his head against his clasped hands. Lancelot looked in disturbance and turned to Madelyn.

“What has happened to him?” he asked softly. He realized now how shrunken and aged Pelleas looked. It seemed they had both grown in opposite directions. Lancelot was twice the youth he once was, and now Pelleas was not half the man he used to be.

“Oh course Lady Vivienne, I would not deny you such a marvelous show. “ Malcolm replied, careful to keep his tone even as he spoke. Now this was interesting, to change her mind so quickly, was it because of the man she had seen in the orb? He couldn’t quite tell, as she was expertly schooling her features. Her sudden desire to cast the spell that would solidify his power also alarmed him somewhat, but he hid this well.

“Why of course. I thrill at the chance to see such a master at work.” Malcolm lied through his teeth. He did not trust this sudden, if slight and seamless, change in Vivienne, and while he would let her cast her spell, Malcolm would also prepare a potion himself to ensure the deed was done. He had not come so far simply to entrust his most important tasks to a woman whom he had a shaky and shady alliance with at best. He was a man who preferred to entrust tasks of importance only to himself, and it had served him well over the years. Why change a winning strategy now?



Madelyn’s face had become a scarlet hue that resembled a Pepperberry under this knight’s compliments. She was so unaccustomed to them to begin with, that so many in such a short period of time was utterly mind boggling to her. She returned with a tray filled with what appeared to be some kind of carefully prepared fowl, with a side of local nuts and sun kissed fruits like Dates and figs grown magically in the Villa’s gardens. These fruits too seemed to have a glow about them (though it was more a light glistening that resembled sun light), though unlike the silvery fruit that had so plagued Lancelot, these fruits promoted health, and helped to increase a general sense of well being. The Knight she had fond seemed to be distressed and in need of recuperation, so she’d brought a meal she hoped could help him with that.

As Lancelot entered the room, and the reunion type exchange occurred, Madelyn tried to stand a bit off to the side. She felt a bit out of place watching them, almost as if she were intruding upon a private exchange between old long separated friends. At Lancelot’s question, Madelyn took a sidelong glance at the man she now knew as Sir Pelleas before shaking her head.
“I wish I knew.” Madelyn said quietly to Lancelot. “I found him…or rather he found me in the forest within our realm. He seemed distressed, but I fear I am not an empath. I do not have the power or skill to delve further unless he wishes to divulge the root of him problem on his own.”



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Meanwhile, hidden in the thick forest near Rozeshire, an army lay in wait under command of the ruthless and often unpredictable Sir Beorn. The ride from their earlier camp in a village less than a day’s ride from Camelot had been swift, only two days, so they would need to be swifter. There was no telling how swiftly Harold’s body would be found. As Beorn had slain the pig in his bed chamber, he estimated he had been granted at least a day before the smell attracted anyone. Harold’s murder and the vanishing of his army was bound to raise a few red flags, though he doubted anyone would guess Beorn’s destination.

Rozeshire, as he had learned from his scouted, was a small agriculture estate. Quiet, simple, and protected by their powerful neighboring estate of Gentonsburge (which they had been carful to swing around in their approach) was obviously unaccustomed to attack. There were some defenses, but Rozeshire’s two fatal flaws were that they were constructed of wood, and the estate was quite obviously undermanned. Beorn guessed the number of men who were actually professional soldiers within the estate to be so low, it was laughable. Rozeshire would stand no chance against an army of Beorn’s size or skill, especially as they took them by surprise. He would be in, take his prize, set the place aflame, and be gone before anyone of consequence could piece together what had happened.

As the first rays of light started to show in the early morning, Beorn took a deep breath of chilly air and smiled as he ordered a full charge against the walls of Rozeshire, flaming arrows lighting he way.

Vivienne tapped a finger to her lips in a moment of concentration. This was complicated. For a moment she debated whether she should disguise herself or not. The entrance of Lancelot and Alanna made things especially messy. Lancelot, no doubt, would react angrily and make a scene if he saw her. Such an outburst would not work to her advantage in front of Pelleas, who knew nothing of her and Lancelot's falling out.

The Lady of the Lake cleared her throat. "Dearest Malcolm, if you allow me a moment, I will conjure a glamour for myself. I must not be recognized…"

Vivienne lifted her hands to her chest in a mediative stance and closed her eyes. She did not often don disguises, but it was well in her ability to do so. The difficulty would be in casting a disguise that would trick everyone besides Pelleas. As she collected her power, a single bead of sweat creeped down the center of her forehead and solidified into that of a pearl. After that, her form became watery and her features and coloring changed to make her appear as a new woman. She still looked fey, but she had auburn hair and rosy skin. Her gown was also transformed, into the plainer garment of a waiting woman. She looked much more like a native of the Forest realm. Vivienne looked down at herself and admired her handiwork.

"Perfect," she complimented herself. "Even as a Forest fey, I still look lovely." She turned to Malcolm and smiled smugly. "I will take care of this, Malcolm. By your leave." With her pearl in hand, Vivienne made her exit.

Lancelot looked from Madelyn and back to Pelleas again, and decided that perhaps his old mentor was only suffering from an ordeal, perhaps a battle or a tourney gone poorly. Lancelot had seen other knights similarly discouraged and affected with malaise from time to time. He turned to Alanna and pulled a chair out for her at the feast table. "What do you hunger for, love? I believe we can trust what sweet Madelyn sets before us. Just be sure that you do not eat any silvery fruit."

The disguised Vivienne made her entrance into the Hall in the guise of a serving woman bringing goblets of spiced fairy wine. Pelleas, who was so absorbed in holding his head in his hands, did not see her until she set a goblet before him. He looked up and gaped in shock. No one but he could see that she was Vivienne. He opened his mouth to speak and lifted his hand to her.

Before he could say anything, she sent a message to him through her mind. It was a stretch even for Vivienne's magic, especially outside of her conductive Lake waters. But Vivienne's ties to Pelleas were so great that she could reach him in this way. "Do not look so surprised. Only you can see me as I am" said her voice as it echoed in his mind. Pelleas's mouth snapped shut, but his eyes were still wide and questioning as he looked at her. She placed a goblet in his outstretched hand.

"You need some drink to settle you, Sir Knight. Try this wine, it will go marvelous with the fowl," she spoke aloud. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that she had caught Lancelot's attention.

"Take caution, Pelleas, it is best not to drink anything… mysterious," Lancelot advised, looking at the disguised Vivienne with slight suspicion. His suspicion grew when he noticed that she had green ears. Vivienne was unaware that all of her transformation had gone through successfully, except for her ears.

"Drink if you wish, Sir Knight. I will not be offended if you don't trust me," she smiled down at Pelleas. Still staring at Vivienne, Pelleas did not hesitate to lift the goblet to his lips and drink. Lancelot watched on, aghast that his cautionary advice had been ignored. His breath came out in an angry huff as he turned to Alanna. "Can you believe him?" he complained in a harsh whisper. "How can he trust that fey? Look at her ears… something is off about her. Oh… now look how he's looking at her!"

It was true, Pelleas was now looking at the fey with green ears like a lovesick puppy. His pining eyes followed her wherever she went. As he drank the strong wine, his eyes began to grow unfocused, although they still gazed in Vivienne's general direction. Vivienne saddled next to Madelyn and took her arm in hers. She leaned her head very close to Madelyn's and whispered to her. "My dear, look at how that knight is staring at you! Do you mind him? Perhaps you should ask your brother to cast him out. He is much too old to be slobbering over a young one like you."

++++

Sir Ywain reached Camelot in record time. He had been so fast, in fact, that he had left Gaheris's squire in the dust. He entered the gates alone and wild-eyed. The stable hands were quick to have him dismount, so they could tend to the exhausted Cloven-Hoof.

Ywain hardly allowed any time for rest himself. He immediately set out, searching for Beorn and Gaheris. But the two knights were no where to be found. Everyone he asked --including all the knights and guards he encountered-- knew nothing. The two men, it would seem, had not been seen for days. Ywain was brimming with frustration as he entered the seediest tavern in Camelot. He felt that it was a tarnish on his honor to be there, but it was his last hope. Even there, he found no one who would give him information. They all drew away from him in fear and wanted nothing to do with his questions. It was against Ywain's scruples to threaten or torture for information, and so he left the tavern empty-handed and bleak in spirits.

He was continuing around that area, when he noticed a beggar slumped against a wall. He had not thought it worth much to interview beggars, but something drew him to this one. He stepped closer and saw that the beggar was a woman. She was not too old, but had many premature lines on her face. She rested her hands on a pregnant belly. She looked to be in even lower spirits than Ywain.

"Mother, might I help you?" Ywain asked her, doubly concerned for her and the child she would give birth to.

The woman looked up at him, not at all reverent that a knight was speaking to her. She had indifferent gray eyes. "You may slay the man who did this to me," she said in a dead voice. "A man named Beorn."

Ywain gasped and spoke with such eagerness that he tripped over his words. "I want to slay him! Beorn, he is the man I'm after! Beorn is the Devil himself to me-- H-He-he is mine!"

The woman was startled by Ywain's outburst. She flinched away from him as he lowered himself to her level and grabbed her shoulders in an act of impulse. He restrained himself and withdrew his arms, but he was still brimming with righteous vengeance.

"Where can I find him? Have you seen him? I have been looking for him all this morning," Ywain told her, his face red with exertion. He made a fist when he thought of Beorn, but this again startled the woman. Ywain relaxed his hand and breathed to control himself.

"He left Camelot a few days ago," the woman said. "I went to confront him about the child the day before he left. I did not realize that would be a bad thing to do, until I was in his chambers and I saw all the women he had to his disposal…" The woman paused, licked her dry lips, and swallowed hard. "I could not escape, so I hid. I heard a lot of things… what would interest you, I heard him talking about a plan of his. I don't know most of what he was talking about, only that it had to do with some Lord Harold."

"Who was he talking with?" Ywain asked, his breath bated.

"Oh, some of his men. There was one knight with him… Gaheris," the woman said. "I know another woman who is heavy with Gaheris's child. He treated her a bit more civil than Beorn treats the women with his babies, but he still didn't care a wink. He denied being the father. She--"

But Ywain could not contain himself and he interjected. "Gaheris was there!" he shouted. He made a cry of shame and put his head in his hands. "I can't believe this. I put my trust in him… my own cousin! Where is he now?"

"I don't know," the woman said. "He was definitely plotting with him, though. You might seek out a woman named Segelfund, I know she was a mistress to Lord Harold. The rumor is that he is dead. Beorn did it."

"Lord Harold is dead?" Ywain blinked. "I must tell Sir Lionel! But, what is your name, good lady? You have helped me so."

"Honora."

"Honora," Ywain repeated. His heart ached, for the name was similar to Helena. "A lady of honor. For my thanks, I will give you this." Ywain pulled off the brooch that fastened his cloak. The brooch was gold and decorated with the incised figure of a lion. He placed the valuable piece of jewelry in Honora's hands. "You have a friend in Sir Ywain."

"Sir Ywain? Oh! I think they spoke about you," the woman added, cupping the brooch with her hands in a very precious manner. "And also they said something about a town… Rozeshire, I think."

"Rozeshire! Perhaps they knew I was there?" Ywain suggested.

"It seemed to me that Beorn was going there. But perhaps I heard wrong…"

Ywain leapt to his feet in a panic. "Dear God!" He kissed Honora's hand, and left in a dash for the stables.

Marrik silently contemplated what Elaine had told him during the final leg of their journey. His father's keep needed a name, or else the King and his advisers would not take him seriously. Now that he thought about it, had his father named the keep before his death? Marrik wasn't sure, but it was a safe bet that whatever Iweret had named it, it wasn't very good. Hence, Marrik would give it a new name, one derived from the fey tongue: Akatosh, which roughly translates into "place of refuge or of protection", which was rather fitting, given the nature of how Marrik used the keep.

So I am Lord of Akatosh Keep. I suppose that will satisfy the king, I hope. As he thought this, the hill on which Castle Corbenic is situated came into view. It was larger than Akatosh and rightly so, given that it was a king's castle as opposed to a knight's, and the steep hills made it well-fortified from enemy attack. As impressive as the castle was, Marrik kept his usual straight face, having been known for being able to keep his feelings to himself and separate from his facial expressions.

As they neared, Marrik also heard the cry of Elaine's name, and soon after a figure darted from the castle and to their direction. Obviously, Marrik didn't know the man but Elaine apparently did, and even slid off of Skorm's back on her own to greet him. The man's name was Percy, or at least that was what Elaine called him, and he had apparently been locked up for unruliness. Marrik could only raise an eyebrow at this, as that seemed a rather harsh punishment given Percy's apparent lack of grooming suggesting that he had been locked up for more than just a night or two. Something was definitely suspicious about this but Marrik, with his usual poker face, kept those thoughts to himself.

Hot on Percy's trail were a group of guards being led by hounds. Again, this seemed odd, since Percy's supposed crime seemed rather insignificant to call for the use of hounds to hunt him down. Like always, Marrik kept this to himself as he was approached by one of the armed guards and informed that the King wished to meet and reward him. Marrik complied and dismounted Skorm. When the black horse reared somewhat at the sight of a stranger intending to take it to a stable, Marrik simply laid his hand on the steed's neck and stroked it once, the horse immediately calming itself as Marrik almost appeared as if he were whispering in his ear to trust these men for now and to humor their requests. The black stallion was immediately more trusting of the Corbenic Guard after that and would give them no more trouble.

Marrik turned and found some of the other native guards staring at him, surprised that he was able to calm his horse so easily, "You'll have to excuse Skorm..." he said, perhaps the first thing he'd spoken since he had kissed Elaine earlier, "...he doesn't care for strangers, so I had to give him a little assurance." he explained, as if what he had done was perfectly normal.

The guards then escorted everyone (including Percival, whose arms remained restrained by two guards to prevent him from trying to escape, even though he clearly had no intention of such) into the walls of Castle Corbenic. The Castle was protected by two walls, creating an outer courtyard and an inner courtyard before entering the keep itself. The outer courtyard contained the stables, barracks, training areas, and a tower situated at each of the corners, with archers stationed at them to watch for invasion and visitors. The inner wall had no such towers, but the inner courtyard was mostly gardens, but also contained a small pond with some local species of fish kept in it for decor. The keep itself welcomed visitors with an antechamber of sorts that was likely used as a sort of waiting room for those seeking an audience with the King. Beyond that room was the main hub of the castle, where two sets of staircases led upstairs where one would find living quarters as well as two leading down into a sub-floor containing storage rooms, a wine cellar, and other such facilities. Straight ahead, one could reach a sort of crossroads in the castle, with one door on the right leading to the dining area, while the other on the left led to the private chambers where the King's and likely Elaine's bedchambers would be found. The door straight ahead, however, would lead to the throneroom where the King and advisers were waiting, so that was where Elaine and Marrik were ushered. Percy, on the other hand, would have been taken back to his cell almost immediately, so he was probably no longer with them.

The throneroom was basically like any other throneroom, with two grand seats situated at the end of the hall, the one on the left being where King Pelles himself sat. The other throne was presumably for the Queen (if there was one) but there were lesser seats around the thrones that were occupied by various men and women, likely the King's various advisers. Whether it was his fey half, or just gut feeling, Marrik wasn't sure, but he immediately had an uneasy feeling about this room. It was a safe bet that the advisers, who by now were staring at Marrik with scrutinizing gazes, were the cause of these feelings, and Marrik immediately decided that he didn't trust them one bit. The King on the other hand, Marrik wasn't so sure about the King, but he hoped the man would prove more trustworthy without the influence of his advisers.

As Elaine was no doubt escorted directly to her father, Marrik was stopped a distance away from the thrones. He took a knee, but tried his best to make it clear that the only man he bowed to and respected was the king, and not the advisers. But as he did this, one of them spoke, "Speak! His Majesty is most curious to know the name of his daughter's... savior." it was a middle-aged man, and he sounded more like he was speaking for himself rather than the King, especially with his hesitation to refer to Marrik as Elaine's "savior".

Marrik complied, but again he tried to make it clear (without directly insulting the advisers) that it was for the sake of the King only, and not because they told him to, "I am Marrik, Lord of Akatosh Keep, which once belonged to my father, Sir Iweret." interesting to note was that Marrik used the title "Lord" and not "Sir", and for a few reasons. Mainly, he was not really a knight, so calling himself Sir would have been lie. However, he technically was the Lord of Akatosh Keep, so calling himself Lord was both true and he hoped it would make a better impression on the King. He also hoped his father's name, however unpopular he was, would also carry some degree of weight in his introduction. Marrik's main goal was to convince the King of who he was, and he hoped this would do it as he simply waited to be addressed.

Elaine was very upset when she entered her father's throne room. Moments before, she had watched the guards haul Percival downstairs to the dungeon. How she longed to speak to her cousin and discover what had happened leading up to his imprisonment. She could not forget the wounded look in his eye as he was taken away from her and his brief bout of freedom.

Elaine took a deep breath to calm herself, lest she greet her father with vindictive words.

"Elaine, my dear daughter!" Pelles cried as he caught sight of her. Elaine hesitated for a few seconds, long enough to make her father anxious. A guard touched her elbow, and she started forward and walked to her father.

"Father," she greeted with a tremble. Pelles reached out his arms to her, and she hugged him stiffly. She left his arms when she heard one of his advisors address Marrik. Elaine moved to stand in front of her deceased mother's empty throne. It was an effort for her to keep her chin raised as princess should. She felt the eyes of her father's advisors… the air in the room was oppressive.

It was Lord Gainell who first addressed Marrik. Brother Clemtus, a monk, was also present. Seated next to him was an old woman named Griselda. Mortimer the Great sat next to the fey Lady Hortense on the other side of Pelles's throne. Elaine felt their gazes leave her and concentrate entirely on the newcomer Marrik. She averted her eyes and did not look directly at Marrik, for she did not want him to feel pressure from her as well. She instead looked sidelong into the eyes of a harmless hound that sat nearby, but listened closely to Marrik's voice.

"The heir of Sir Iweret," Pelles felt his beard as considered Marrik's introduction. Pelles, although his aging memory was not as great in other things, knew the names of many knights. He studied knights and their genealogies. It was his greatest hobby to memorize family trees. He glanced meaningfully at Brother Clemtus, who shared this hobby and had access to ancient genealogies and lists of knights and their blazons. All of the advisors exchanged furtive glances as they drew conclusions about Marrik's parentage. They were all very interested.

"Father, if I may speak," Elaine began, just as Lady Hortense opened her mouth. Hortense snapped it shut and her eyes glinted with dislike. Elaine was granted permission by her father, and she continued.

"Lord Marrik is worthy of your esteem and he was most gallant as he rescued me," Elaine praised, still avoiding Marrik's eyes lest she start blushing again. However, the color rose in her face as she thought again of Percival.

"However, father, I would like to speak of Percival. You have imprisoned him, father, and I plea that he be released. He is my cousin and your nephew, and he is not even a man yet. He is not thirteen. Please, father, release him," Elaine looked heatedly at Pelles, her eyes filling with tears.

"Do not weep, daughter, I will release him immediately. Today was to be the last day of his captivity," Pelles assured Elaine. He looked at the guards and clapped his hands. "Release Percival and have him bathed and dressed."

"Father, why did you imprison your own kin and treat him so savagely?" Elaine asked, sucking in her tears and releasing her anger. Her tone was harsh enough to offend the king's council. Pelles appeared affronted and looked at his daughter with hurt in his eyes.

"Perhaps my daughter should rest for a time. She surely has been through an ordeal," Pelles suggested.

The women, Lady Hortense and Griselda, rose and took Elaine's arms. "Let us escort you to your chambers, dear Princess," Griselda offered. "Let us prepare you for bed."

Elaine pushed away their arms and stepped down from the dais. "I will go myself to my chambers. And I will not go to bed. I will be at dinner tonight. By your leave, Father." Her voice was taut and defiant. Shaken, Elaine left the hall. The friendly hound followed after her, and the door shut with more force than necessary.

Pelles looked horrified. He rose and stepped down from his throne. "Lord Marrik, you must excuse my daughter's behavior. I have never seen her so disrespectful. It interests me to know what occurred during her ordeal. Do you enjoy fishing? I usually prefer to interview my guests at a nearby lake…"

"My Lord King, that is not advised today," Mortimer the Great stood and interjected. "The weather will turn poor." Moments after the great enchanter spoke, the rain began to fall and the wind picked up. Not moments after that, there was a flash of lightning.

"Ah, what would I do without you, Mortimer?" Pelles chuckled. He turned to Marrik again. "Let me introduce you to my treasured advisors. Predicting the weather is but one of the many talents of this man, Mortimer the Great." Mortimer was tall, lean, and swarthy, and he bowed his head to Marrik. He was quite wolf-like, with hair that turned upwards and glinting amber eyes. He looked to be the most intelligent of the counsel. He also seemed to wear a permanent snarl on his face and his teeth were sickly yellow.

"And the esteemed Lord Gainell, a man of great political insight," Pelles introduced Gainell, who was an overly large middle-aged man losing his hair. He was very much a pig in his appearance, with beady eyes and an upturned nose. He swore a complacent, disgusting sort of smile and was perpetually sweaty and did not seem fond of bathing.

"Brother Clemtus, a learned monk." Clemtus was holding his rosary beads with one hand and made the sign of a benediction with his other. His face was pasty and bat-like, for he spent much of his time in dimly lit quarters, studying his manuscripts. The hair on his tonsure was strangely colorless, wispy and thinning.

"Giselda, the wise-woman. Giselda prophesied my daughter Elaine's birth, and many other events of importance." Giselda's face was old and peeling. Her skin was scaly like a snake and seemed to slough off like she was shedding. Her gray hair was long and intricately woven into braided diamond patterns. Her eyes were green and watery and it appeared that she never blinked them.

Lady Hortense was the only advisor who was not repulsive. This was because she was fey, and very ostentatious. She wore a great deal of jewelry and a finely embroidered gown. Clearly she was fey because her skin was iridescent and shining. Her hair, too, was silvery blond. Her eyes were black and glassy. She had an exquisite swan neck and wore a white feathered hairpiece.

Hortense appraised Marrik with her dark eyes and was the first to speak. She was attracted to his fey blood like an insect to nectar. "Lord Marrik, you have told us the name of your father, but what of your mother?" She smiled most sweetly with one hand clasped over the other, fingering her rings.

The appearance of the fey serving girl did not alarm Madelyn, nor did it make her suspicious as it did Lancelot, though she did find her ears to be a bit peculiar. In all honesty, she did not know her, and felt rather passive about her appearance. Even the woman’s sudden interest in Sir Pelleas was not alarming to her. Knights and buxom fey women always mingles as such, it was no new sight to her, though it did admittedly make her feel awkward, especially when she came to stand next to Madelyn. The fey’s words startled her, and she looked over to Pelleas’s face. She saw longing, wonder…and something else she could not place, something that did frighten her in his gaze. It gave her a queer and unfamiliar feeling that she was not sure she cared for in the least. But to send him away simply for that? Sir Pelleas would hardly do anything…inappropriate while in her realm, and she didn’t believe he would harm her either. Her mother had always told her that magic always moved with a purpose, whether the caster understood that or not, and her lights had guided Sir Pelleas here, so surely something must be meant for him here.

“I would not trouble my brother with something so trivial. Besides, Sir Pelleas is a knight, an honorable one I think. He would never try to harm me or dishonor me.” Madelyn replied. “Besides, there are many comely fey in the hall, surely he must be looking at them.” It was true enough. All around them were beautiful fey women flitting about serving and eating food, flirting with knights, and playing the music the filled the hall. Knights liked to steal kisses from the women her and do…other things, that was true enough, but with the grown women with their full bosoms and ripe physiques. Madelyn, while lovely enough (for all fey were lovely), but she was still a gangly thing with modest hips and chest; hardly a sight that would earn the affections of a knight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How had this happened? Beorn couldn’t have done this, he couldn’t, he was supposed to be at Camelot! How had he even known she was here? It wasn’t fair, this couldn’t happen, not when her life had been going so well! Helena felt like she was going mad, tears sliding down her face as she fought the sobs the threatened to overcome her. She could stay safe here, in her protective bubble she’d spent so much time learning how to conjure, the spell that was supposed to keep her safe. But at what cost? A voice in her mind echoed hollowly. How had this happened?

“Come out of there now Helena, or I swear I’ll hack this lad up into so many pieces his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. Right here in front of you.” Beorn intoned coldly. He’d do it too, Beorn never made idle threats, and if ever there was a man capable of such butchery, it was him.

“Devil take you!” Ian swore defiantly from his position pinned under Beorn’s boot. Ian had a small wound on his temple that bleed, and had been beaten down so hard to the ground, that Helena was sure that he would either be bruised head to toe, or had possibly broken something. Yet still Ian fought to get the foot cruely digging into his chest off him, and Beorn had to point his sword threateningly against his chest to stay his movement. “Don’t listen to him Helena, stay where you-UHG!” Ian had been violently cut off by a mailed back hand to the face, which left bloody marks across his cheek. Then he bent down and took Ian’s face in his hand, fingers digging in with a vicious grip.
“I didn’t give you leave to speak lad.” Beorn wore a smile now. He’d worn one too after he’d broken down the door, and Ian had stood sword in hand between Helena and the monster. Ian had been the first to raise the alarm as well, and shouted orders to man the defenses. With no knights in residence, Ian had been second only to the head of the estate’s guard. Their defenses had held for less than an hour, before Beorn and his army breached the wall and spilled into Rozeshire with hellfire at his back. Helena could still hear the screams from down bellow as Beorn’s men raided the village area.

Beorn’s grin only grew wider as Ian made a grab for the larger man’s belt, and had managed to fingered the sheathed dirk before Beorn caught his wrist and held it in a cruel grip, squeezing until Ian was forced to cry out. “You have fire lad I grant you that. Perhaps I’ll keep this one after all. My men love a good bit a bear baiting, but the dogs always die too quick. Perhaps I’ll let you keep that dagger when we throw you in the pit.” Ian only glared, determination not to cry out shining in his green eyes as he bit his lip so hard, it began to bleed. It was a mistake Helena knew at once. Beorn liked to hear screams, and when you withheld it, he only became that much more determined to hear them. “Or maybe I’ll just cut out his heart right now Helena, and send it to that boy of yours? Such a brave heart, it might inspire him to come face me!” Beorn had already taken out his dirk, and slashed a line in Ian’s tunic where his heart would be. The blade had cut just a bit too deep, and a fine line of blood traced across his chest.

“NOOOOO!” Helena wailed, heartsick and sobbing as the bubble dissipated.

Through the entire audience, Marrik kept his focus on the King, but spared himself a glance or two at Elaine. At least until she left, that is, leaving him alone with her father and his five advisers. Marrik gave each one brief eye contact as the King introduced them one by one.

First was Mortimer the Great, a sorcerer who appeared to predict exactly when it would begin raining. There was something off about it, though, as Marrik had no recollection of seeing any storm clouds in the sky during the last leg of the journey, or any clouds at all for that matter. He couldn't help but think that this Mortimer was like a twisted version of Master Merlin. Still, Marrik knew better than to say those thoughts aloud and simply gave Mortimer a polite greeting, consisting of a short bow, before the King moved on to the next adviser.

Second was Lord Gainell. The King described him as a man of great political insight. All Marrik saw was a human pig that likely received his position of power through little more than connections and lacked any real talents for his job. It also occurred to Marrik that this was the man who first addressed him a moment ago when the audience began. As with Mortimer, Marrik also gave Gainell the same polite greeting as King Pelles moved on.

Next in line was Brother Clemtus, a monk who seemed to try very hard to confirm that he was indeed a man of God. This adviser was perhaps the most disappointing for Marrik. How could a man of God align himself with such filth? He wondered what Friar Brumont would think of this if he were here. Still, Marrik gave the monk the same greeting as he had given the others. There were only two left, now, and they were the women that had offered to take Elaine to her chambers.

The first of the ladies to be introduced was Griselda the wise-woman. Marrik was slightly taken aback by her appearance at first, having had little experience with aged human women. The only women he had prominent experience with were either young (such as Elaine and Alanna) or Fey (such as his mother, or Aunt Vivienne). Still, Marrik managed to keep his composure and greet her the same way as the previous advisers.

The second lady and last of the advisers was Lady Hortense. Now this was territory Marrik had familiarity with. He could tell she was a Fey from the moment he first laid eyes on her, as Fey tended to be able to sense kindred spirits in one another. As he expected, Lady Hortense seemed immediately drawn to him, because of his own Fey blood. Marrik's first concern was whether or not the fey lady would recognize him as Mab's son. He was relieved when she questioned him about his mother, indicating that she did not, in fact, recognize him.

Of course, that opened up a new problem for the self-appointed Lord. He wanted to avoid the matter of his mother as much as possible, but now that Lady Hortense had brought it up, everyone (including the King) was expecting an answer, "My mother? Yes, of course, er..." he hesitated, not sure what to do. Perhaps they would be as accepting as Elaine had been? After all, the King had a Sorcerer and Fey Lady advising him, so perhaps Marrik's parentage would not come as much of a shock? He decided to gamble on it, "...My mother was Queen-" before he could finish, the throne room doors burst open and a familiar lad rushed inside.

It was the boy, Percival, and he was asking where Elaine had gone to. It was around this time that Marrik's own luck saved him temporarily as a servant entered the doors and announced that Dinner was ready to be served. At this, everyone was standing up, and Lord Gainell addressed Marrik again, "Of course, Lord Marrik, you would join us for dinner? It is the least his Majesty can do for his daughter's rescuer."

Marrik blinked, "Er, yes, I shall. The King has my gratitude for inviting me to eat with him at his table."

Elaine was filled with rage as she stood in the middle of her inner-most chamber. All she could do was tremble as she thought of the treatment of Percival. As a princess, she had never been taught a healthy way to deal with her anger. As a lady, she was expected to never be angry. She was supposed to accept everything. She was--

One of her handmaidens peeked her head through the open door. "Princess, may I--?"

"BEGONE!" Elaine shrieked. The maid left immediately, as did the friendly hound.

Huffing, Elaine looked about her room with hatred. She yanked down a tapestry that had been a gift from her father. She tore at it with her nails and bit at the threads with her teeth. She took all of the contents on her dressing table and threw them to the floor. She delighted at the smashing of all the jars and the spilling of precious scents and oils. They were her mother's things. Then, in a culminating act of her temper, she grabbed a jar that did not break and threw it at another tapestry that hung on the wall, one that she and her women had toiled months on. The jar exploded in a cloud of scented powder, leaving half of the tapestry dusted white. With tears running down her face, Elaine grabbed the jar's sister and thew it in the same direction. Now a cloud of black came forth, black kohl that her mother had used to darken around her eyes. The tapestry was now split black and white and the delicate colors of the threads were ruined forever.

Elaine's anger was spent as she kneeled on the floor and held her head in her hands. She heard the soft footsteps and muffled gasps as her handmaidens came in to investigate all of the noise. After their initial gasps, they said nothing and left the princess alone. They waited till they were out of earshot to speak about the horror of what Elaine had done to her chamber.

**

Lady Hortense was disappointed for the interruption, for now she suffered an intense curiosity and suspicion about Marrik's Queen mother. Queen who? How many fey Queens were there? Was it Queen Morgan of Gore, who allegedly had a spot of fey blood? Marrik did indeed share Morgan's dark looks. Hortense continued to eye him. She was sure he was a halfling, though, and it was not possible that Queen Morgan was a full-blooded fey.

All of the advisors were wondering about Marrik. Who was he and why was he there, when they had foreseen nothing about him? How had he escaped their vision… where had he lived, to be so undetected?

"A knight from the Otherworld, do you think?" Hortense whispered to Giselda. The hag cackled and licked her wrinkled lips, but said nothing intelligible. Hortense ignored the senile witch and vowed to herself, "I will find out about this intriguing halfling."

In the dining hall, King Pelles took his seat at the head of the vast table and offered Marrik the guest of honor's seat, at his right hand. The King's left hand was left space for Elaine. Hortense sat next to Elaine's empty seat so she could be across from Marrik. She often looked his way and smiled most beguilingly if he would meet her eyes. She also sent many pointed looks to Mortimer, who was seated next to Marrik. And next to him, Lord Gainell filled space enough for two, perhaps three, seats.

Percival was told that Elaine was within her chambers. Once he approached the door of her antechamber, he was met by her grumbling maidservants.

"It is not advised that you see the Princess, my lord. She is in a fit of sorts. She does not want visitors," one of the maids told him. Percival shook his head and brushed past the maid. Instead of the mess, his eyes were drawn straight to Elaine. He knew her distress.

"Elly! Finally, I am released," Percival said as he dropped to his knees and hugged her shoulders from behind. Elaine turned and hugged her younger cousin fiercely.

"What happened, Percy? Why could you possibly be held prisoner?" Elaine demanded. Percival wiped away her tear streaks and looked down.

"The reason for it troubles me, Elly. And I don't fully know why, only that your father did not want me to go out and find you."

Elaine knit her brows. "What? Do you mean, father imprisoned you because you wanted to come rescue me?"

"When I first heard you were kidnapped, I begged Pelles to let me try to find you. He forbid it, saying that I was too young. Well, of course I didn't listen to him and I left anyway. The guards found me leaving the fortress and they apprehended me, and Pelles sentenced me to imprisonment. Perhaps I did deserve it, because I did try to fight back… I assaulted one of your father's men…"

Elaine shook her head in dismay. "I can't believe Father would imprison his own nephew!"

"We'll speak of it later, Elly. Let us have supper. After your journey, you must be terribly hungry. As I am, for they only fed me the measliest scraps!"

"I may lose my appetite with I see Father and his advisors," Elaine mumbled, but she was pulled after Percival and couldn't help but come to dinner.

They entered the hall holding hands. They were forced to part as Elaine took her seat to her father's left, and Percival had to sit further down the table. Elaine refused to meet eyes with Pelles or his advisors. Even when she looked at Marrik, she felt ashamed that he had seen her have an outburst. She was slightly envious that he could be so unflappable.

Pelles did not speak to Elaine, for he was aware that she was still angry with him. Instead, he turned to Marrik for conversation. "Lord Marrik, we have yet to hear of your heroic exploits while rescuing my daughter. Please, recount them for us."

**

Ywain felt suddenly sick. He stumbled and leaned against a wall and waited for the feeling to pass. He breathed heavily… it was so unusual for him to feel like this. It was something like a panic attack. He was overcome with a deep feeling of dread. It was oppressive, suffocating. Something was wrong.

"Sir Ywain!" A heavily accented voice called his name and a person gripped his shoulder. Ywain gathered his wits about him and looked to the side. "Sir Lionel? Oh, Lionel! Lord Harold--"

"He iz dead! Ze Pig iz dead. I only regret that it was not I who did it," Lionel said, his voice split between bitterness and triumph. "But you are ill, Sir Ywain. Let me take you to ze infirmary…"

"No," Ywain shook his head, and again he felt a wave of nausea. "I must ride to Rozeshire to see Helena. Something is amiss…"

"What iz ze matter?" Lionel asked.

"I don't know. But I feel portents of doom…. it is making me sick. Something is not right. My God, Lionel, I must leave at once!" Ywain stood up straight, conquered his uneasiness and dashed away. Lionel frowned, but he knew what it was to worry oneself sick about a fair lady. He felt the same way about Juliana, especially when he tormentor Harold was alive. Even now, though, he was concerned that none of Harold's men were accounted for. Who had murdered Harold while he was sleeping--an act of such dishonor? And what had happened to Harold's troops?

Ywain entered Cloven-Hoof's stall and knew that he had to give his favorite steed time to rest. But he could not wait. He took another steed, Graeme, had him saddled promptly, and left Camelot's gates as quickly as he had come.

**

Mordred looked the most innocent as he slept. He slept wrapped in his traveling cloak, underneath a hawthorn tree. He did not know that it was unusual to dream so often about one's mother. Mordred slept far less than most people, but when he did sleep, he would dream of Morgause, without fail.

Mordred awoke and could still feel his mother stroking his dark curls. He opened his eyes fully and saw that it was his horse, nuzzling his head. Morgause's words came to him unbidden. "It is your father's fault you will be lonely, Mordred. You can blame all of your woes on your father. There are few good kings in this world, and he is not one of them. He has completely fooled the people of Britain… Oh my dear Mordred… if I could, I would give you everything you want, everything your father would deny you. I will try as best I can to do this for you…"

Mordred sat up and shook his head to clear away his mother's prattling. His curls were unruly and his clothing was rumpled and travel-stained. He would have to find a suitable change of clothing before he paid his visit to Sir Armand. He would find a tailor in Rozeshire--

The knight's head jerked to the east. His resting spot was on a hill that provided a grand vista of the land miles around. Very far east, Rozeshire could be seen. The evening before, it had been the very image of a peaceful kingdom. This morning, it was lit up like the dawning of a second sun. Mordred jerked forward as he rubbed his eyes. Rozeshire was aglow! It was burning!

"No!" Mordred scrambled to his feet and his horse whinnied. It was rare for Mordred to feel attached to a place, but he did feel a fondness for Rozeshire, and not only because it now belonged to his knightly brother Sir Armand. He could not explain it, but he was filled with woe that misfortune should happen to Rozeshire. It seemed untouchable, the little town.

"Not Rozeshire," Mordred breathed. He took up his cloak and saddled his steed. He mounted and looked the gallant knight as he road down the hill towards the glowing village.

Helena felt numb. She didn’t allow herself to think, or emotionally to feel. The only thing she did feel was cold, and she reveled in it like a soothing balm. She was within the first party of Beorn’s army to leave Rozeshire, along with Beorn himself, who rode farther up the party. Helena sat with her hands tied to the saddle, resigned to the fact she could not escape from him without condemning the lives of every other captive from Rozeshire. Helena, as Beorn’s prize, was at least given a horse. The other women they’d taken however, had been shoved into what had once been a tall chart to hold hay, bound and pulled swiftly along. Beorn would either sell them, or give them to his men, but he wouldn’t kill them as long as Helena didn’t try to escape. He’d told her if she tried magic to try and escape him now, he’d cut a woman open chest to belly for every hour she eluded him, and Helena believed him.

Ian was on a horse as well, though where Helena had been allowed the grace to sit, Ian had been laid in a humiliating position with his stomach across the saddle and his wrists and ankles bound. He was injured, but alive. Helena had bought his life when she’d surrendered herself in the castle, though part of her had wondered to what fate. Beorn had taken a perverse liking to the boy when he’d learned it was Ian who’d mounted the defenses against him that had held for a short while before Beorn’s overwhelming numbers had taken the wall, and Ian’s defiant spirit only added to it. Beorn always enjoyed things that were hard to break. Helena’s mind wondered like that for sometime, until darkness fell, and their party came upon a camp.

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Fredrick prayed, it was the only thing left to a friar to do, and he threw himself into it with fervor. His eyes were closed, so he could not see the faces of his tormentors, but he could hear their jibing laughter around him. They apparently thought his efforts were amusing somehow, as if trying to invoke the power of God to protect his lambs was something to be mocked. Perhaps it was at this point, he thought in a moment of despair. There were only a handful of their aggressors left in Rozeshire after all, and most of his flock had already been carried off or killed by now. The lady Helena and Ian for some reason had been taken first, and though he’d been relieved to see the boy alive, his injuries and the manner in which his unconscious body had been treated had startled and filled him with dread.

But still, what was their left to him but to pray, however fruitless it seemed. And with that thought, the friar Fredrick open his eyes, and instantly committed himself to a hefty penance for his even momentary doubt, as he watched the familiar knight Sir Mordred storm onto the scene, looking very much to Fredrick like one of God’s warrior Angels.

Mordred steeled himself as he rode to the gate of Rozeshire. It was wide open. In fact, the gate had been shattered. Mordred looked about and saw that the dead had not been buried. The corpses were garish in the morning light.

Mordred entered and was challenged by one of Beorn's men. "Come closer and you will be slain," Mordred answered, drawing his sword and pointing it at the foot soldier's throat. The soldier decided it was not worth it and he let Mordred proceed.

Rozeshire was unrecognizable. Everything was charred and shattered and very few inhabitants could be found. The roses were burned out. All that was left were thorny black shrubs. Mordred rode on and saw only one person who looked familiar. It was Friar Frederick, and he was surrounded by soldiers who laughed as he prayed.

"Friar," he said in a hoarse voice. He choked a moment on the smoke-filled air. The sounds of the laughter made him suddenly enraged. He dismounted his horse and drew his sword. He pointed it at all the men who laughed. The friar looked at him as no one had ever looked upon Sir Mordred before.

"You dare to mock the holy man," he snarled at them all. "I'll have your heads if you utter another sound!"

---

Ywain had barely slept through the night. When he laid down to rest, he found that he could not. The feeling of foreboding was heavy on him like a sword hanging above his head. But the night was dark with a new moon, and he could not risk riding his steed blindly through the thick woods.

Ywain passed the night praying. He prayed for his mother, for Arthur, for his cousins, and for the peace to last in Britain. But most of all he prayed for Helena and how he wished to rejoin her quickly. He prayed that she would never see Beorn her tormentor again. He prayed that she was safe. The sun rose and he was still uttering Latin from his lips. But once he felt light on his face, he rose and and started again, riding swiftly. There was still a long way to go.