---
Lancelot reciprocated Alanna’s ardent gaze, and then took pleasure in having her rest her head on his shoulder. He turned his eyes to all the others that surrounded him in the fire-lit cave. He cast his eyes to each individual. Not counting himself, there was no less than seventeen people. The cave was cozy, but there was enough room for all.
His eyes were drawn to Merlin first, looking towards the aged magician with nothing but respect. The Welshman met his eyes, and his look was firm, but good-natured. Merlin would be returning to Camelot after his brief respite. At that moment, he was debating whether or not Arthur should be told of this little escapade that had taken place in Vivienne’s enchanted Lake. Perhaps a selective retelling would be best…
Beside Merlin was Nimue, who was so tall, she almost matched the wizard in height. Her thoughts were mysterious to Lancelot at the moment, but she did catch his gaze and smiled at the corners of her mouth. She, of course, would be returning alone to her secluded dwelling, and continue with her private ways.
Lancelot then took notice of Maraud, sitting close to Roryn. Perhaps he would not approve if he knew they were pregnant, since they had not been united in holy wedlock. But being ignorant for the time being, he was glad that they found love, despite their previous bout of bickering and Roryn’s encounter with death. The couple, of course, would be living at Roryn’s little cabin—and perhaps winter at Rozeshire? Either way, it appeared that a period of peace was in their future.
Mabuz was also sitting next to them. While Lancelot still didn’t feel a great deal of warmth for his foster-brother, at least he did not look upon him with hostility. Mabuz returned the favor and met Lancelot’s eyes mildly—his heavy brows testament to his collective regret. But he did not despair as he had before, for he had a future ahead of him—the first step of which was to learn the skills necessary to be independent in the surface world.
Sitting with Mabuz were the two healing fey, Elesa and Gervaise. They had always been kind to Lancelot, and he was quite grateful for all the miraculous healing they had performed for him over the years—ever since he first scraped his knee as a toddler. His gaze wasn’t returned, for both were quite occupied by making eyes at the other young knights—Elesa coyly glancing at Bors, and Gervaise batting her lashes at Kantus. They seemed to be handling their banishment well, for they both agreed to accept Balthazar’s invitation and take residence at his castle with the handsome dragon, who was also appraised with gratitude by Lancelot. Without Balthazar aiding them on their quest, they would have failed without the orb… if they had not been torn apart by that nasty green dragon first.
Ralcia was sitting with Fredrick and Ian. Lancelot didn’t know the friar and the page very well, but they seemed like respectable lads. Ralcia had always been a most admirable fey, for she seemed to have an inherent goodness and positivity that many fey lacked. Not to mention she had served them with her invaluable charms on more than one occasion. As friends of Mennah, they would also be accompanying her to Rozeshire.
And then there was Mennah herself, with Sir Armand. How she had become a swan while Lancelot had known her! When she first came to the Lake, she was friendly but fumbling—and now she had awed all with her newfound abilities and poise, and captured the hearts of many young men with her virtuous beauty. And she even had her own heart captured by one such man—the bold and admirably handsome Sir Armand. He was the very picture of knightliness and gallantry—even a member of the order Lancelot aspired to sit at one day. It appeared that even Alanna had grown to tolerate Sir Armand, and Lancelot no longer felt guilty for befriending his ladylove’s once-rival. Mennah and Armand, it appeared, would be spending their time together, between Rozeshire and Camelot, cultivating their budding romance.
His eyes moved on to his dear cousins: Bors and Lionel. The two French squires had been subjected to a great sea of change, and Lancelot understood why they may be shocked and withdrawn because of all of it. He was still awed by the fact that he was in the company of those who shared his blood. And they seemed to hold the promise to be noble knights—how pleased he would be to spend more time with them, until they did indeed feel like his brothers.
Then there was Kantus. While not a true kinsman to Lancelot, he was esteemed in a similar fondness that Lancelot had for his cousins. The blond squire was positively radiating with joy, his eyes glistening. Lancelot didn’t believe that his acceptance of the peasant squire could be the sole cause of such rejoice—he believed that something internal and grand had struck Kantus, as if touched by the hand of God, and the young Du Lac felt inspired himself by Kantus Griffale, and his newfound confidence.
At last, his brown eyes came full circle, and settled on his sweet Alanna… his humble and wise comrade; the damsel he protected, and the damsel who protected him; his beloved lady knight; the fair queen of his heart… all wrapped up into one sterling example of a woman. They had both sacrificed what was most familiar to them to be together. Alanna had abandoned her male disguise, and Lancelot had parted ways with the lady who reared him and her marvelous Lake. But in the grand scheme of things, both were meant to grow out of the ways of their childhood that so comforted them…and to move towards their truer selves. And it made it all the better that they should be able to make their journey together. Their lives were intertwined now—this noble-spirited girl squire and this fairy-reared prince trained as a knight. Ever since the fateful day when the boy who lived under water waved his hand at the girl who roved the earth—they had been irreversibly intertwined, and here they were now, living their promise to be together.
The End
