Wednesday, January 29, 2014

The Voices Beneath: Chapter Seven-- Unpleasant Reminders

Hope you all enjoy the new chapter! It's another kind of short one. Also, if you think you might like to aprticipate in a guest writer challenge, let me know!

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chapter seven
unpleasant reminders

The next morning started early. I was up b
efore dawn to help Gawain dress and then saddled both our horses for the patrol through town that day. My wound felt much better, and when I inspected it as I tied a fresh bandage on, it seemed to be half way healed. I wondered if that had something to do with Merlin’s ministrations the night before.
            We met with the other knights and Arthur at the gates and set out for the town. We split up to cover as much ground as possible and asked anyone we found whether they knew anything of the whereabouts of Lancelot or his two companions. Several people tried to be helpful, but no one really had any hard evidence as to where the three men went, unless they were lying, though I could see no reason why they would.
            By mid-morning, I had spoken to no less than fifty people, and had not found out anything of use. I stopped by a water trough to let Elith drink, and while I stood, stroking his forelock, I happened to glance up and catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. I frowned, then saw a figure step out from behind a corner for a moment and stare right at me.
            I felt my heart in my mouth. Was it? No! But it was. It had to be, I could never mistake that face for it haunted my nightmares. It was Morgan la Fay.
            I was pulled by some invisible thread in her direction. I could not explain it, and never would be able to decide whether it was a want to end what was between us, or simply her manipulating me with magic. But I left my horse and walked down the alley, away from the traders’ stalls, against my better judgment. Dread filled me, but I was determined to face her; to finally put an end to this.
            When I got to the place she had been, I saw no one, and I began to wonder whether she had only been a specter of my imagination.
            “Mordred. It’s good to see you.”
            I spun around to find her behind me, dressed in a long red dress and black riding cloak with the hood pulled over her dark hair to conceal her features. I stepped back automatically before I steeled myself, refusing to fear her, though my heart was thumping wildly.
            “Lady Morgan,” I said. “I did not expect to see you.”
            “No?” she inquired, raising one dark eyebrow before she held her hand out to me. “Come. Let us talk; there is much I wish to discuss with you.”
            I followed her into a shed off a stable that was filled with bales of hay and feed. She flicked her wrist and the door shut behind us. I was about to speak, but I was suddenly flung backwards, and slammed against the wall. I tried to move, but couldn’t; I was stuck fast with magic. She advanced on me and leaned close to my face, grabbing my chin with one hand.
            “You have been here a month, and not one message to me, Mordred. I decided to pay you a visit to see whether you had forgotten or if something had befallen you.”
            “I find it impossible to forget, Morgan,” I told her firmly. “I just had nothing to say to you.”
            “Nothing?” she asked. “So you have not met with Arthur, and gotten into his good graces?”
            “He is a good man,” I replied boldly. “Better than you can ever hope to be.”
            She clenched her fist and I felt the familiar agony tighten around my heart, stealing my breath and causing me to wreathe. She finally stopped the pain and let me slide to the ground where I curled over, gasping for breath and clutching my chest.
            “You are pathetic, Mordred,” she snarled. “Weak. Did I teach you nothing? I told you that if you didn’t find a way to kill Arthur, I would force you to do it. Do you want that?”
            I shook my head, still unable to speak.
            “Because I can bend you, and make you do it whether you want to or not. Is it that you care about him? That you have actually come to think of him as a father?”
            I was silent, trying to regain my feet. She slammed me against the wall again, and pressed herself against me, her hand over my pounding heart, digging her nails into me.
            “Because you know he will never claim you, just as Uther never claimed me. And then you will know what it feels like not to be wanted by your own parent, or at least the person you care for as one. You should kill him now before he can break your pathetic heart. Because you know he will never fully acknowledge an illegitimate offspring.”
            “You just wanted the throne,” I ground out hoarsely. “You only wanted your father’s love out of greed. Arthur thinks I’m his son, and he loves me for that alone. He would give me more than I asked for, but I need nothing but his affection, even though we aren’t tied by blood. You just don’t understand that because one must love before one can be loved.” I cried out as she caused the pain to grip me again, but this time, it was cut off abruptly as the door opened.
            “Well, well, if it isn’t Morgan la Fay.”
            Lady Morgan dropped me to the floor and I choked air back into my lungs, looking up to see my savior was none other than…
            “Merlin,” snarled Lady Morgan, clenching her fists.
            “Are you all right, Mordred?” the sorcerer asked me, never breaking eye contact with Lady Morgan.
            “Y-yes,” I gasped out, trying to get to my feet. Merlin was standing calmly in front of Lady Morgan, that small, mocking smile on his lips, and I could see my tormenter hated him with a passion that could almost rival her hatred for Arthur. It was certain that these two knew each other, though I had never had knowledge of that.


            “It is really low of you to pick on boys, Morgan,” Merlin told her. “If you were so desperate for a contest, you knew where to find me.”
            Morgan la Fay screamed out a spell, but Merlin countered it lazily, shaking his head. “My dear, you know you have to do better than that.” And then he sent her flying backwards with a careless flick of his wrist as if she had been yanked on a rope, and she screamed as she was buried deep in the piles of hay, scrambling around in a very undignified manor to get out of them. Merlin reached out a hand to me, hauling me completely upright before shoving me out the door in front of him.
            “Come then, young Mordred, let us be off.”
            I didn’t have time to protest, and just allowed him to haul me out the door and down another back street before he stopped suddenly and spun me around to slam me against a wall. I was shocked and frightened, seeing no more of the sardonic humor in his face, but only a cold, calculating danger.
            “What dealings have you with Morgan la Fay?” he asked me in a low voice.
            “None, I…” I gasped as he shook me, his hand squeezing painfully into my wound.
            “Tell me the truth, Mordred. I think you know very well what I am capable of, and I don’t want to have to force you to tell me.”
            I shook my head. I didn’t want that either. So I told him about how Morgan had found me and taken me in and raised me as a son, and how she had turned into a different person with the news of Arthur’s coronation. And then about her plan to get me to kill Arthur. Merlin had let me go by then, and stood back with his arms crossed over his chest, listening as I spoke. I was desperate at the end, finally realizing the enormity of the situation and the fact that I might not be able to stop this course of events after all. Ignoring it seemed not to be enough.
            “I don’t want to kill him, I swear, Merlin, I don’t,” I cried, and sunk down against the wall. “And I won’t. I don’t care what she does to me.”
            Merlin crouched down and put a hand on my shoulder. “I trust your motives, Mordred. But I don’t think you fully understand the gravity of the situation. There may come a day where she will force you to kill Arthur, whether you want to or not, and I believe you don’t, don’t worry about that. There is more going on here than you understand; ancient stirrings and fates are tangled up in an incredibly messy thread. But, no, I don’t expect you to know what I’m talking about.”
            “What can I do?” I pleaded. “I cannot kill him. He has been so kind to me, and treats me like his son. I hate having to lie to him, but I do selfishly enjoy that one, I’ll admit. I’ve never had a father.”
            “And Arthur loves you, believe me,” Merlin said kindly. “And I’m rather fond of you myself, lad. You must never underestimate the powers of love and hate; they are the most powerful things in this world, and they are always at war. It is up to you to decide which will win.” His face turned dark and he leaned close, gripping my shoulders tightly. “But I also will tell you this in fair warning. Arthur is like my brother, Mordred, not just my comrade but my blood brother, and if you do him any harm, I will be forced to kill you without hesitation and remorse, do you understand?”
            I nodded, gulping. Merlin was like that, I found. He could say how much he liked you one minute and then threaten to kill you the next, but I was glad of his threat, for I knew that if I were to kill Arthur, I would be thankful if Merlin would kill me in turn. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself afterward anyway.
            As soon as the dangerous Merlin came, he disappeared and the sorcerer was all sarcastic smiles again. He stood and pulled me up. “Come then, Mordred. It is time we meet up with the others once more. I feared our efforts would be fruitless this day, but that is the way of it. And I do believe you are right. He will be back for you, and possibly for Guinevere as well. You must be careful, Mordred. You have made powerful enemies.” He smiled mockingly and I couldn’t help but say, “You included?”
            He laughed but said nothing. He knew that I understood well enough our relationship.
            When we came back to the others after I retrieved my horse and Merlin his, having left it with Elith when he came to rescue me from Lady Morgan, we found that no one had heard any news to help our search.
            “I think it is time to lower our banners,” Arthur said grimly. “There will be no finding him unless he wants to be found.”
            So we went back to the castle, feeling we had failed in our duty. But I had other things, darker things, on my mind now than the disappearance of Lancelot. If Lady Morgan had come to find me here, what other lengths would she go to in order to force me to finish the mission she had given me? I dared not think then, and that night I did not sleep a wink. However, I did have comfort in the fact that one person knew my story, and though, there was a part of me that was not entirely sure Merlin was an ally, I knew he would be on my side as long as I had the best interests of Arthur at heart, which I would keep there until I died.
            Or until Morgan la Fay killed me.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The Voices Beneath: Chapter Six-- Pride

Here's a shorter chapter this week, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway! (Don't be afraid to comment either, by the way. I'd like to get some feedback =)

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chapter six
pride

To my shame, Lancelot seemed to have slipped past all the guards and gotten clean away. I felt depressed at this, and hated myself for letting him go, though Guinevere insisted that it had not been my fault, and she had not thought of keeping him around either. In any case, Arthur would be home that evening, and once he was back, he would decide how to sort out the problem with Lancelot.
            I stayed with the queen all that day, anxiously hoping that news would come of Lancelot’s capture, but no word came, and all we could do was wait for Arthur.
            He came riding back with Gawain and the others, laughing and happy, with their kills slung over saddles and the hounds yapping at the horses’ heels. It seemed they had had a productive hunt. Both Guinevere and I went to meet the hunting party and Arthur greeted his wife with a fond kiss.
            “Ah, my dear Guinevere, I trust young Mordred has taken good care of you in my absence?” He then looked in my direction with a wide smile.
            “He looked after me very well indeed,” Guinevere said and Arthur caught the serious tone of her voice.
            “Guinevere, is everything all right?” he asked.
            “My lord,” I stepped in. “Lancelot forced his way into the castle last night to get to Queen Guinevere. I was forced to fight him off, and I am sorry to say he escaped.”
            Arthur’s countenance went from worried to angry, his blue eyes flashing as cold as ice. “That man has finished his days as one of my knights. Fear not, Mordred, we will find him and kill him. Gawain, Bedivere! Rest and eat then we’re off again. We have another hunting to do. Merlin, you stay with Guinevere, please.”
            The sorcerer nodded and took the queen back into the castle.
            “My lord,” I called as Arthur strode off. “Please take me with you. It was I who allowed him to escape.”
            He turned to me, looking me up and down before he nodded. “Very well, don your armor and saddle your horse. I think you have earned the right.” He was about to go off again when he turned around and faced me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You did well, Mordred. I will remember this when it comes time to consider you for the knighthood.”
            My heart glowed, but there was no time to muse on that further, I had let the knave escape, and I would help get him back if I could.
            We rode out and paired off, riding all through the town and the surrounding forest. I was with Gawain and he coaxed the story out of me as we hunted, embarrassing me with his praise.
            “Only a month in Camelot and already you have fought for the honor of the queen,” he said with a grin, reaching over to punch me in the arm. I yelped, doubling over and he watched in concern as I bit my lip, embarrassed at my impulsive outburst.
            “You were wounded?” Gawain asked. “How sore is it?”
            “It is little more than a scratch,” I told him, still swallowing the pain, but trying to laugh it off. “The queen saw to it herself last night and said it would heal well.”
            “Let me know if you get tired, and I mean that,” Gawain said sternly. “No false bravery. Wounds like that can trick you, and I don’t want you overworking yourself and getting a fever.”
            “That’s something coming from you,” I jested, causing him to laugh. “I never thought I’d hear the words ‘don’t overwork yourself’ come out of your mouth.”
            “Cheeky little blighter,” he chuckled.
            We rode for hours, until it got dark and then we met up in a place Arthur had chosen before we parted, but none had found anything that told of where Lancelot and his two companions might have gone. I was exhausted by then, saddle weary, and, though I wouldn’t tell Gawain, my wound was aching and I could feel a slight stickiness of blood that had seeped through my bandage.
            “We can’t see anything more tonight, sire,” Sir Bedivere said kindly. “I think it best to resume the hunt tomorrow; perhaps we can ask around the town first and see if anyone might have seen him, or has any knowledge of where he went. He might even have gone to ground somewhere, waiting for the opportunity to run when no one was looking.”
            “No one was looking last night,” I said off-hand, thinking back to how I couldn’t seem to find a guard ready at hand.
            “What do you mean, Mordred?” Arthur asked me, his voice sounding as tired as I felt.
            “I don’t know if it means anything, my lord,” I said self-consciously. “But last night when I had to fight off Lancelot, it took me a while to track down a guard to explain what had happened. There didn’t seem to be any around.”
            Arthur was silent, then he turned to the others. “Very well, it sounds like I have some inquiries to make. Let us head homeward.”
            We rode swiftly back to the town, and once there, I helped the knights make inquiries into the guards and the knights who had been on duty. We found out that Lancelot’s companions, Arnulf and Raymond, had been the ones on guard duty, so it would have been easy enough for them to let Lancelot slip past, and perhaps even lie to several of the guards that they or someone else was taking over their posting. We were all gathered in Arthur’s solar, and he was sitting back in his chair with one hand pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. Merlin with sitting on the edge of his desk, playing with the flame of one of the candles, making it change shape and float.
            “Could you find him by magic, Merlin?” Arthur asked after a while.
            “You know the way of those things,” Merlin said, not unkindly. “I can find him, but finding out where he is, is another matter entirely. I’m sorry, Arthur.”
            “I don’t think you need to worry too much, my lord,” I spoke up quietly and everyone turned to look at me. “When I fought Lancelot I called him a coward, and he swore to meet me again. I think there is enough hate in him to do so. If I stay here, I believe he will show up eventually.”
            Arthur considered it. “It is possible. He is not a man to give up. After all, he didn’t give up on Guinevere, nor may he ever. You are right, Mordred, it is very likely that he may show up again of his own accord to cause more problems. But it can be assured that he will be dangerous for he knows I will be out for his blood; we must all be on our guard.” He stood up then. “Now please, my friends, get some rest. We can enquire in the town tomorrow, but for now, we have had a very long day.” He turned to me. “Mordred, please stay a moment.”
            I watched the knights leave and soon it was only Arthur, Merlin and I in the room. Arthur turned back to me and offered a tired smile.
            “I just wanted to, again, offer you my deepest gratitude, Mordred. It is assured that I never expected something like that to happen, though had I known, I would have left you in charge of my queen all the same. But I find it a real testament to your character, and the kind of man, and knight you will be one day. I am very proud of you.”
            “Thank you, my lord,” I said, and flushed deeply with pride. I saw Merlin smiling in my direction and for some reason was even more pleased at that. “But I was only doing my duty; just what you asked me.”
            “I think you would have done it anyway, whether I had asked you or not,” Arthur replied, then frowned as he looked me over. “Is that blood?”
            I glanced down at my sleeve and saw that my wound had bled through it. I sighed. “Yes, my lord. I fear the riding aggravated it…”
            “Sit down, I did not know you were wounded,” Arthur insisted, sounding a bit worried. I dutifully sat in his own chair and let him help me off with my tunic so he could see the wound. I tried not to wince as he pulled the blood-crusted bandages off, but they were sticking to the wound and it was a painful experience to my already exhausted body.
            “This is deep,” Arthur observed with a frown, holding my arm gently as he inspected the wound. I noticed a couple of the stitches had torn, which had caused it to start bleeding again. “Thankfully, it’s not inflamed, but we should wash it again just to make sure. Merlin, fetch some strong drink and fresh bandages.”
            Merlin left for the items, and Arthur continued to examine the wound before looking up at me, from where he knelt by my side, putting a hand on my knee.
            “I want you to know, Mordred that I am very proud to be able to call you my son, even if no one else can know. Perhaps some day, they shall. At the very least, I want you to think of me as a father,” he smiled gently. “I know little of being a father, for mine never had much time for me, but know that I will always be there if you need me, Mordred. And if you ever have any grief, come to me. I will always be there to listen.”

            Oh how I wanted to spill out my whole story then, almost to the breaking point with his kind words, coupled by my exhaustion and the pain of my wound, but Merlin reappeared then, and set the items down on the desk. He put a hand on my shoulder as Arthur took up the bottle of liquor and poured it onto a scrap of linen.
            “This will sting,” the sorcerer warned and held me in place as Arthur cleaned out the wound. I clenched my teeth, determined not to make a noise, but still a slight groan escaped me, though I prided myself in the fact that it was manlier than a whimper.
            He finished soon enough, and Merlin reached over me to lay a hand against the wound, speaking several words in the language of sorcerers.
            “That was a guard against infection,” he said as he stepped away. “Can’t have you dropping off on us.”
            Arthur wrapped a clean bandage around my arm, and I was finally released from their care. “Go sleep for the rest of the night, Mordred,” Arthur said kindly, and I could see he was weary himself. “We will start early in the morning. I will need you to help us make inquiries in town.”
            “Of course, my lord. Good night,” I replied as I turned to leave.
            “Sleep well, lad,” Arthur said gently, and I smiled to myself as a warmth spread through me. And this time, I spared not a thought for Morgan la Fay and her plans for me; I simply reveled in the joy of knowing what it felt like to have a father.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West


Wednesday, January 15, 2014

The Voices Beneath: Chapter Five-- Lancelot's Ire

Here's chapter five, actually on time this week!

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chapter five
lancelots ire

A month had passed, almost more quickly than I could blink, and in that time, I had managed to very nearly forget Morgan la Fay all together. I became happier, and my training was making me stronger by the day. I still was not as broad as the men I looked up to, a
nd likely never would be, but I could handle a sword and a mace, which made me feel rather accomplished and I had gained some more muscles to my slight frame. I had become a moderately skilled swordsman, and had finally moved on to using real swords when I sparred which I did every day, mostly with Gawain but also with Percival, Bedivere, and always Arthur when he was able to make it to the lists, which gave me no small amount of joy as any son would feel in the presence of the father he adored. And though I knew well enough that I was not really his son, I had come to truly adore my king and surrogate father as one.
            That first month was blissfully uneventful apart from a few scrapes I sustained in training since that first bruise Arthur had given me that had blackened and been painful to the touch for a few days afterward. I had worn it with pride, however, for how many other boys my age had the honor of being bruised in a practice duel with the king?
            Then came the time when Arthur decided to organize a hunt, wanting to get out of the palace and having heard rumors of wolves roaming the countryside nearby. I had secretly hoped that Gawain, or more importantly, Arthur himself, would ask me to come along, but it was not to be. Gawain simply had me pack his bags and then patted me on the shoulder as he left, telling me to be good. I would have moped like a child had I not been charged with a task by Arthur himself just as he was riding away and I was standing aside, after bringing Fenna for Gawain, to watch them go.
            “Mordred,” he told me, pulling up his mount right beside me. “I wish it that you would act as Guinevere’s personal guardian while I am gone. And keep her company. Can I trust you?”
            “Of course, my lord!” I exclaimed, and he smiled, impulsively cupping his hand against my cheek before he kicked his horse into motion and left with a hunting party of all his most faithful knights.
            I sighed at their parting, feeling the memory of his rough hand against my cheek in that fatherly gesture, envisioning myself riding alongside him, and bringing down a wolf single-handedly. But I had a task to uphold, and I would need to be about it. I stopped at my room to wash and change into my nicer set of tunic and hose for if I would be serving in the palace for the next two days at the hand of the queen herself, I would need to look presentable, and not smell of the stable and my work in the lists. The part of me that was no longer a child realized that Arthur had likely set me this task for the soul purpose that I wouldn’t feel disappointed from not going on the hunting trip, and even thought with some melancholy that Arthur likely thought the same thing; but I was a young man still, and not so old that the task seemed like an insult. And, as I was later to find out, it proved to be the most important thing Arthur could have asked of me. I liked to think later, that he might have had that thought in mind when he gave me the command, but I never got around to actually asking him.
            After I had freshened myself, I strode off for the castle, and though I was still a little sad about not getting to join the hunt, I was in a better mood now. I looked to one side where I saw three figures standing outside the barracks and realized it was Lancelot and his two fellow knights, talking together before they cast a furtive look my way. I frowned, wondering why they had not gone on the hunt as well, but decided it must be something to do with Lancelot’s fall from grace.
            I made my way inside and found a maid to direct me to the queen’s solar. I found Guinevere there doing some needlework and I stopped in the doorway, bowing respectfully as she looked up at me.
            “My queen, I have been charged to keep you safe and in company while the king is away on his hunting trip,” I told her.
            “Yes, Arthur told me you would come to stay with me; please come in, Mordred, and make yourself comfortable.”
            I felt slightly awkward being alone apart from two ladies’ maids stitching in the corner, in the presence of the queen in such a common place as her solar, but she soon put me at ease with small talk, asking about my training and how I found living here in Camelot.
            “I enjoy it here very much,” I told her truthfully. “It is the nicest place I have ever lived, and I have no intention of leaving any time soon.”
            “That is good to hear,” Guinevere said, selecting a bright red thread for her needle. “Is there a girl here who has caught your eye?”
            I blushed but smiled and shook my head. “No, I fear I have no time to have formed an acquaintance. Perhaps when I am a knight. Sir Gawain works me far too hard to have any free time for courting.”
            She smiled as she continued to work. We talked for a while and then played a game of chess, and by the time we were done with that, I was surprised to find it time for supper. Guinevere asked me to fetch some food from the kitchens. As Arthur and the knights were gone, she would not eat in the dinning hall and she invited me to stay and eat with her in the solar.
            I bid her good night afterward, to go to the room I had been given in the palace for the time I was to stay there. I was just going to go and check on Elith in the stable before turning in, and had just reached the courtyard when one of the maids who had been with Guinevere all day came running outside to catch up to me, looking in a right fright.
            “Oh Master Mordred, it’s the queen! Sir Lancelot has forced his way into her solar, and I daren’t think of what he will try!”
            “Go fetch some guards,” I said, turning to hurry back.
            “I couldn’t find any!” she cried, nearly in tears.
            I was already on my way back up the stairs and into the castle before she had finished and soon enough confronted the closed door of the solar, hearing Guinevere shouting inside and Lancelot laughing. I threw my slight frame at the door, wondering what I was going to do if I couldn’t get it open, but it was suddenly pulled inward and I sprawled on the floor, looking up at one of Lancelot’s companions; the same two who had been with him when he confronted me that first day in the stables.
            I leapt to my feet, and had my hand on my sword. “Let her go, Lancelot,” I said in a cold, dangerous voice.
            He looked over to me and sneered, trying to haul Guinevere closer to him with a cruel grip on one wrist, but she was holding onto the window sill and was not coming quietly. “And what does a whelp like you think you can do?” he asked with a chuckle. “I never did give you your beating, did I? I might have to rectify that. Raymond, Arnulf?”
            The two other knights advanced on me, and I ripped my sword from its sheath with enough conviction to make them leap back a pace. I took a stance and pointed it at first one then the other. “Get back against the wall, or I will kill you. I was charged by the king himself to protect Queen Guinevere and I will not fail in that duty, sirrahs.”
            “You are not even a knight,” one of the men laughed, though he made no move to come closer.
            “Nor are you if you would come—three of you—against one woman, your Queen at that, and try and force her against her will. When Arthur hears of this, he will have you all executed. So if you are a man, Lancelot, if you are indeed a knight, as you profess, fight me like one, and I’ll give you a chance to die by my hand rather than by the indignity of the noose.”
            Lancelot seethed for a moment, then he finally waved his companions off. “Leave him, I’ll take him up on his offer. But you got one thing wrong, boy,” he said as he advanced on me, drawing his own sword. “I will not die by your hand, but you will almost assuredly die by mine.”
            “Careful, Mordred!” Guinevere called from where she had pressed herself, pale, against the wall. “He is a very skilled swordsman.”
            Lancelot smiled sickeningly but I forced myself not to feel anything, drawing my old darkness back to me even though I had done so well forgetting it all these weeks. I fueled my hatred for Lady Morgan into my hatred for Lancelot and used it to my advantage to give me strength and conviction for the coming fight.
            Lancelot struck out with lightning quickness, but I was ready for him. Arthur had always started our duels the same way, and I had gotten used to heightening my senses before the first strike so I could be ready for it when it came, keeping the sword directly in front of my chest. Neither of us had a shield, but I was all right with that; I had trained both ways, for Gawain had been adamant in the fact that a shield was far too easy to lose in battle to be always dependent upon it.  
            I saw the surprise on his face when I blocked his blow and took pleasure in it, but not too much, for being too sure of yourself in a fight was never a good thing. I stayed on defense for a moment longer, letting him get some fire out of his veins with his fast and heavy strikes, but I soon blocked one and shoved him back with our hilts locked before I went on the offense and gave him a few vicious blows of my own.
            He stumbled back slightly, but wrenched himself upright again before I could take advantage. He really was a master of the sword, and he moved gracefully but powerfully, and it was also true that he was much bigger than me, though not as tall and broad as Gawain. Unfortunately, my offense had not lasted as long as I would have liked, for Lancelot had caught one of my blows in the same way I had done him, and shoved me back so violently, I tripped and fell onto my backside. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as possible and just barely got my sword up in time, still with my other hand braced on the floor, to block the blow he swung at me. He began raining down blows so fast that I couldn’t stand up, and I had to block them from my awkward position, half on my knees and half on my feet. He started laughing as he saw my helpless state and when he struck the next blow, he kicked me in the chest and I was flung onto my back, losing my sword in the process. Lancelot snarled tauntingly, and swung a vicious blow at me, looking like he meant to take off my head. I rolled to the side just in time, but felt the blade burn across my upper arm. I felt the hot blood flow fast and heavy, but he had given me a window to scramble to my feet and I dove for my sword as he tried another swipe, this one missing me by a hair’s breadth. As I retrieved my sword I had no time to get back to my feet, but I rolled onto my back and blocked the blow he swung down at me, and as his sword was engaged, I swung my body to one side and swept his legs out from under him.
            Lancelot fell heavily on his back, his breath whooshing out of him and his sword clattering on the ground. Guinevere kicked it out of his reach and it spun into a corner. I got to my feet and pressed the tip of my sword against his chest. He scrambled backwards, fear lighting his eyes, and I felt the bloodlust leave me, replaced by disgust. I jabbed him slightly to scare him then pulled my sword back and kicked him in the haunch.
            “I won’t sully my sword with a coward’s blood,” I told him, knowing, even as I said the words that I was sealing the fact we would meet again. “Get out, and take your dogs with you.”
            He glared at me, but there was nothing he could do. He knew it, and he hated me for it. He slowly got to his feet and, backed toward the door. “We will meet again, you little maggot. And when we do, I’ll make you sorry you ever dared call me a coward.” And then he turned and left with his two companions, casting one last hateful glance at me before he hurried away.
            I turned back to Guinevere and sheathed my sword, holding out a hand. “Are you all right, my lady?”
            “I’m fine, Mordred, but you are bleeding; let me see to your wound, my brave young hero.” She smiled gently, but I declined.
            “In a moment, my lady, but I must find a guard and tell him of Lancelot. I was foolish to let him go, he should be incarcerated.”
            I hurried out of the solar, one hand clamped over the wound that I realized was bleeding more heavily than I had thought. I wondered at the absence of guards, for I had seen none, and even the noise of my fight had not brought one to investigate. I began to wonder whether something was wrong, but I finally found a guard to tell the tale to. He gathered several of his men, who had been casually drinking and gambling, thinking they were done for the evening, and some of the other knights who had stayed behind and then went on a hunt for Lancelot and his companions, assuring me they would surround the town to make sure he didn’t get away.
            I went back to Guinevere’s solar, angry with myself for being so overconfident and having let my power go to my head. I had enjoyed telling Lancelot off and, perhaps a part of me had been showing off for the sake of Queen Guinevere, but I should not have let him go, and I would realize that this would come back to haunt me later.
            But right now, I still had to protect the queen, though first she insisted that my wound be seen to. A maid had joined her with a bowl to hot water and bandages and she made me sit and, much to my protest, to strip out of my tunic so she could see the wound better.
            “My lady, it is hardly proper!” I protested.
            “I have seen many wounds in my time, Mordred,” she smiled at me. “And I have treated most of the knights at one point or another, and I will not tear the sleeve of your tunic, for as it is it can be mended easily enough.” I finally consented and winced as I tried to pull it over my head. The wound proved too painful, however and the maid had to help me, much to my embarrassment. I was bright red by the time Guinevere started cleaning my wound. She washed it gently with the warm water as the maid held the bowl under my arm to catch the bloody water dripping from it. The wound was deep and would have to be stitched, another thing I bore stoically, though I was biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to bleed. But I was determined not to cry out in front of the queen, and indeed, compared to the torments I had suffered at Lady Morgan’s hands, this was little enough to bear.
            She had finally finished cutting the thread and bandaging the wound with clean linen and offered me some mulled wine to drink, but I declined.
            “I mustn’t be too drowsy, lest Lancelot come back and somehow slip past the guards. I shall sleep on your threshold tonight, my lady.”
            “You must get your rest, Mordred, I will have a knight posted,” she protested.
            “With all respect, your majesty,” I said, bowing my head, but making my voice firm. “The king gave me instructions to watch over you, and I shall do just that. I will not face him to say that I took to my bed to recover from a scratch to leave your care to another while you were in any danger.”
            She smiled slowly and consented. “Very well, then Mordred. I would not have you say that either, and it is the mark of a true knight of you to do so. I shall retire for the night. Adeline, please fetch Mordred a pallet and blanket.”
            When she had retired to her room, I laid the pallet in front of her closed door. I had told her to lock it as well, but I had no intention of anyone getting past me. I lay down with my hand on my sword. My arm hurt, but not unduly so, for I was still silently pleased with myself, even though I had let Lancelot get away. I had to admit, a bit to my shame, that I was looking forward to seeing what Arthur would say when he found out how I had protected his queen. It was a silly, boyish thing to think, but I found more and more that I wanted nothing but his approval, and if I could do something that impressed him, it would make me the happiest man in the world.
            But there was also a darkness lying over me, albeit a darkness that left me with anticipation in my blood, for I knew that what had passed between me and Lancelot would not be forgotten. He would be back for me eventually. His honor had been tainted in front of his companions and the woman he coveted, and I knew he wouldn’t let that stand. We would have a reckoning again, though when, I was not sure. But I fell asleep with a challenging smile on my lips as I thought of that inevitable meeting, and looked forward to it with anticipation.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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