by Billy Wong
Bitter tears stung Mildy's cheeks. "I know. I didn't mean to!"
"I know you didn't want to kill him, but you were hitting him pretty hard."
"I was hitting him as hard as I could, and so was he. But I didn't think he'd die from it!"
Ares' scared, pleading eyes bored into her own. "What's going to happen, Milady?"
"I don't know. Hopefully, Arthur will only blame me..."
"What do you mean?"
Galahad understood. "She means that she hopes Merlin, or whoever's pretending to be him"—he frowned—"doesn't decide to used this death to further their agenda against the fey."
"But she isn't that much of a faerie friend. We don't even know any of them that well."
"It doesn't matter. If people believe something is true, that's what they'll act on."
Mildy released a hopeless sigh. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Maybe we should flee Britannia," Ares suggested. "Come with me back to Greece, and I'm sure we'll be able to work something out."
"After everything I've tried to teach you, that's your first suggestion?" She smiled wanly. "I can't just run away from this, especially considering I'd be leaving the fey to a war they won't know how to fight. We've got to sort this out somehow."
"How?" Galahad asked. "Arthur will be furious once he finds out what happened to Percival, and the Merlin at his side surely won't hesitate to take advantage."
Softly, Mildy said, "I think I might have to give myself up—try to explain to him it was all me, and that I didn't mean it."
"If you do that, who do you think Arthur will believe, you or the man who's been his closest confidant for decades? You'd only wind up dead, and nobody else better off for it."
"But what should I do? If this Merlin, real or fake, will put the blame on the faeries no matter what, how can I save them?"
The knight couldn't answer, but Ares said, "We have to stop Merlin, convince Arthur somehow that he's wrong. I'm not sure how we'd be able to do that, though, when you just killed Percival. He's not likely to listen to us, unless... think we can reach Camelot before news of Percival's death does?"
"Maybe. We have to try." But she did not have high hopes for success. It was likely a messenger bird would have been sent out for news as important as Percival's death. And even if they did reach Arthur first, that was no guarantee of success.
They were already in sight of Camelot when Galahad said, "Wait. Let me go in first, alone. I wasn't the one who killed Percival, and Arthur doesn't view me with the same contempt he does you. Maybe if I put in a good word for you before you're there, I can make him a bit more open to your side of the story."
Mildy frowned. "You'd do that for me?"
"Why not? It'll likely be better for me, too. He might treat me with the same hostility as you if we go together. This way, I get a chance to soften him up without you dragging me down."
She hugged him gratefully, then stepped back with a nod. "Alright. So how long should we wait before following you in?"
"An hour. Win or lose, I doubt it'll take more than that."
"I hope you don't catch him in too bad a mood."
"Percival's dead. Of course I'm going to catch him in a bad mood."
"Be careful, Galahad."
"Of course, my friend." To her surprise, he bent and kissed her cheek, and for all her fear she felt a bit of joy lighten her heart.
Chapter 9
Arthur seethed as he watched the adulterous knight leave, shoulders slumped while he exited the great hall. Lancelot had been his friend, his brother, for all these years, and even he had proven untrustworthy. And his Percival, the shining star of Camelot, had been killed by the madwoman who called herself his daughter. It was all too much. It made him want to kill somebody. Arthur fixed his eyes upon the young knight who walked into his court, silent for all the knights and ladies present. His fingers tightened around Excalibur's hilt. This man had accompanied Mildred in her murderous deed.
"Why have you come?" Arthur asked, his voice ice. "Here to submit yourself to my blade's judgment?"
If he had planned some elegant speech to honey Arthur's ears, it did not survive the onset of fear. "My liege," Galahad said shakily, "I've come to beg forgiveness. Please hear me out. I had no part in Percival's death, and was only there in support of my friend. And she did not mean any harm either—it was only tragic misfortune which claimed Percival's life."
"Boy, why should I believe you? I would bet my kingdom that you encouraged Mildred in her battle. You cheered your friend on, didn't you? And you are Nimue's son. Your mother has been missing for nearly two months now, and I have begun to suspect she is in cahoots with the fey who plot my doom. What proof do I have that you are not as much a traitor as she?"
Merlin, who had grown paler since Galahad's entrance, said in a quick, tense voice, "Nimue is no traitor. She is as a daughter to me, and would never betray our kingdom."
Arthur scowled. Maybe so, but he was not inclined to put too much trust in anyone right now. He saw Galahad look strangely at Merlin, and realized the knight knew something he didn't. "What are you hiding from me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your mother. You know what she's up to, don't you?"
"No, I know nothing of her secrets"—an obvious lie, especially considering he had just admitted knowing she had secrets—"but I am hiding something from you. I've brought you a gift to prove my loyalty to the realm—something many knights have searched for over the years, but none found. The Holy Grail."
Arthur did not care much for the Grail right now—it would not restore Percival's life, nor Guinevere's fidelity—but nonetheless felt momentary amazement when Galahad pulled the golden chalice from his pouch and set it on the Round Table. It really was here. But he shouldn't have found it so easily. Arthur began to walk around the Table. "Sit down, then. So, you must have taken an arduous quest to find this holy relic, yes?"
Galahad lowered himself with incredulous eyes into the one seat no one had taken through the decades of Camelot's existence. Did he think himself about to join the ranks of Arthur's elite, or did he not even notice where he sat in his fright?
Drawing Excalibur, Arthur continued. "Or, as I'm inclined to think, was it given to you for use to dull my wisdom?" He paused, letting everyone take in what he meant. "Why else would the Grail have remained lost as long as it has, unless someone was hiding it from our eyes? And who better to hide it than the mysterious fey, whose ways we have never understood? No, but there is one thing we do understand about them. They are tricksters, and all who hold hands with them as well."
Raising his hands, Galahad began to protest, but Arthur half turned away from him, ignoring his words. Then he spun back around, and Excalibur flashed through Galahad's neck. Blood jetted, and a collective gasp filled the air. Merlin's face froze into a gargoyle's gape as he stared in mute shock at Galahad's head, rolling to rest next to the Holy Grail.
"Look, for that is what happens to traitors!" Arthur roared. Suddenly Merlin broke out of his paralysis and drew a dagger, then lunged with a wail of grief at the king. Despite his surprise, Arthur's warrior reflexes did not fail him. He slashed the wizard down his front before the dagger could reach him. "You too, Merlin?! Why? What did he matter to you?"
"M-my son," Merlin gasped as his visage melted away, revealing the tortured face of a beautiful woman with golden hair. Blood ran from her mouth and she collapsed, falling backwards onto the Round Table. Nimue.
"It was you all along, wasn't it?" Arthur breathed. "Ever since you disappeared..."
Nimue did not answer, but tried to sit up, mumbling what seemed to be the beginnings of a spell. But nothing happened, and she sank back down moaning. Sprawled over the Round Table, Nimue continued to twitch, occasionally making as if to rise again. But it was clear she did not have long, her blood spreading rapidly across the wood to mix with her son's.
"Throw her into the moat," Arthur commanded his stunned knights. "A traitor like her does not d
eserve a proper burial. And let her son join her."
"What will you do, my liege?" Sir Bors asked softly. "It seems likely to me that all she said about the fey's hostility was part of her trickster's game, though it did not work out for her in the end."
Arthur shrugged, carefully wiping the blood off Excalibur with his robe. "What does that matter? Look, the proof of their plot is right here. The fey friends killed my beloved Percival, and tried to trick me into letting one of their own into my trust. Just because the enemy of your enemy turn out to be enemies themselves, does not mean your first enemy is a friend. These fey will not go unpunished for their sins, for it is I who will bring the wrath of God down upon their heathen heads."
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Nimue dragged herself out of the water, her gaping wound a raw mass of pain. The liquid fire inside her made her shudder with ecstasy, but she knew she would soon die if she did not heal herself. Calling upon more of the magic which preserved her life, she knitted torn flesh and organs back together. Still, blood loss and the exertion of spellcasting had weakened her greatly, and she could barely stand. She had to get away, hide somewhere safe. But her eyes could no longer resist the pull of the moat, and when she looked a sob escaped her throat.
Galahad floated there in the water, dead beyond any chance of return, his head bobbing beside him like a grisly buoy. Nimue's heart twisted and tore inside her to see the boy she'd raised from infancy lifeless at Arthur's hands, destroyed by the plan she had enacted for her son's sake.
And he'd done so well, too. She had never expected Galahad to find it for her, and somehow he had. Now he was dead, and she wished she could have done things differently... but at least she still had her real son, the one she needed to save. She pushed her grief for Galahad aside. His death saddened her like that of a beloved pet, but no price was too high to save her flesh and blood. At least now, she was one step closer to her final goal. She knew where the Grail was, and only had to get it. The time would soon come. She just hoped her son would be all right in Camelot alone.
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Mildy stared tearily at the castle while she waited, hoping against hope she would be able to win her father's forgiveness. She had to convince him, not only for her own sake but that of many more. She could hardly imagine the horror to come if he decided to wage war against the faeries, who he would surely blame for Percival's death. But a distant figure came into view whose presence lifted her spirits even in these dreary times.
"Lance!" she beamed, breaking into a jog towards him.
He looked up from his inspection of the road, and though his demeanor seemed calm, his eyes told her something was terribly wrong. "Hello, Mildy," he said in a flat tone. "What are you doing here? You look like you've been crying."
She told him the whole dreadful story. "Lance, please help me." She knew he had troubles of his own and felt a little guilty about burdening him with hers, but was desperate for aid. "Arthur respects you, you've got to talk to him."
"Sorry, but there's nothing I can do. Right now, I doubt I could sway him any more than you. It's time for me to say goodbye, Mildy—to you, and to this land."
"Goodbye? What do you mean?"
"I'm banished, friend. Banished from Britannia for all eternity, or at least the rest of Arthur's life."
"What? Why?! You're Camelot's best knight!" What could he have done to warrant such a harsh punishment? He was the best of men, possible sexual deviance aside, and she couldn't begin to imagine him committing a crime for which exile would be justified.
Lance shook his head sluggishly. "That doesn't matter a damn bit. I'm an adulterer, and now I must pay. I got off easy, actually."
Banishment for adultery, and he called it getting off easy? "Who did you sleep with?"
"Guinevere. I slept with the queen."
Despite the graveness of the situation, Mildy couldn't hold back a short laugh. "Wow, Lance. And to think some people thought you went the other way... you certainly aim high, don't you?"
"I didn't mean to fall in love with her, I really didn't, but it happened. She still loves him, but she wanted something else too—an excitement he could no longer give her. Maybe he got too flustered with her inability to bear his child, to give her his all anymore. Anyway, it doesn't matter why, but she chose me. And I was honored to serve her need." He looked back at Camelot, and Mildy thought she heard him sniff. "But it's over now."
"Sounds almost admirable the way you put it. Though, you shouldn't have gotten caught."
"Things happen. Drunk Lamorak accidentally threw his axe into my window, and we were so well asleep that we didn't know. So when he yelled for me and I didn't answer, he decided to let himself in by smashing down the door. Suffice to say, it didn't end up well for us."
Mildy nodded. "That must have been rough. I'm sorry."
"Sorry? Your fortune's been even poorer than mine."
"I wouldn't say that. You're losing your love; I only killed a man I didn't even know."
"But Arthur's going to kill you, Mildy. Percival was like a son to him."
"Like a son?" she said in a desperate tone. "I'm his daughter. A father can't kill his daughter."
"Will he believe you? He never did."
"He has to, this time. I'll make him believe, even if it means telling him the whole truth." It would hurt, she knew. But probably not that much more than knowing it.
"Good luck, Mildy."
"I'll need it, won't I? He must be in a really bad mood right now."
"Yes. Be careful."
She wiped away a tear, knowing nothing would ever be the same no matter what happened today. "Will I see you again?"
For a moment, he did not answer. "You can always come visit me in France, if you want. Looks like I'm finally going home."
Mildy had come home, too. To the home that had never wanted her. "Be well, Lance. Thank you for everything. For being my friend."
Lance spread his arms, and with a sob she threw herself into his embrace. "I was proud to do it," he said. "You were a great friend."
She didn't want to let him leave her life, nor to face the confrontation with her father that awaited her. Finally, she released him and said goodbye.
"Bye," Lance returned, walking on past her crying form.
With Ares' help, Mildy collected herself and made her way into Camelot. The servants who saw them stared, but made no other move. She stopped at the double doors before the great hall, shaking in fear. Good God, Arthur had just passed sentence on one of his oldest friends for committing adultery with his wife. What state of mind would he be in? Had Galahad's words done any good, at least to keep him from killing her on the spot? Would he even give her a chance to talk?
"Milady, what are you doing?" Ares asked. "I know you're scared, and I am too. But we have to go."
"Do we? Maybe we should leave now. Maybe it'll do us good to let time temper his rage some."
"There might be something to that, except Galahad just put in his good words for us. We have to take advantage of that, before it fades in Arthur's memory. Hopefully it'll be enough to save our lives."
"I hope so, Ares." She patted his shoulder, choking her next words out through a lump in her throat. "Go back, and wait for me outside."
"Huh? Why?"
"If things go... badly, I don't want to drag you down with me."
He nodded at first, but then said, "Let me wait here, then. I still won't be right there when you confront him, but I'll be able to help if things go bad."
"What, you rescue me from Arthur and his knights?" As ridiculous as it sounded, the thought that he considered it comforted her slightly. "Alright, stay here. But be ready to flee."
She forced herself to keep going, to enter the room where Arthur waited among his knights. Slowly, the king raised himself from his throne. A tall, broad-shouldered man in his fifties, Arthur shared Mildy's strong features and brown hair. Though he seethed with anger, his movements still held an impressive grace, not those of an aging king but a warrior in hi
s prime. Clearly, this was not the weary ruler of his detractors' tales. Or, perhaps, the hardships of recent times had reawakened the warrior within.
His every move conveyed a menace Mildy could not help but fear, and she could sense that in battle, that menace would explode into outright destructive force. This was the man who had raped her mother, who every enemy had feared back in the day. Even his knights seated around him seemed on edge, as if afraid he might snap and turn on them at an instant's notice. This was Arthur, the brutal warrior of myth. And then, she saw the blood and the cup.
She recognized the Grail, but wasn't it in her pack? No, of course; somehow, Galahad had stolen it. Not that she could hold any anger towards him now—she knew he was dead, and felt only sadness. She needed no one to tell her whose lifeblood stained the chalice and the table around it. So much blood everywhere. To kill a man was one thing—this was butchery.
"Why did you do this?" she asked quietly.
"He was a traitor" Arthur said in a cold tone, "and this is what happens to enemies of the realm. Enemies like you, and your faerie friends. I will end all your accursed lives." He drew Excalibur, and Mildy realized dejectedly that he wasn't even going to bother trying to talk. She had meant to say so much, and yet, he would not give her the chance.
Mildy looked behind her towards the entrance, seeking escape, and saw Sir Ywain move to block the path. Damn. Arthur advanced unhurriedly towards her, knowing even she could not dispose of Ywain before he reached her. In his single-minded rage, she doubted her father would shirk an unfair advantage. She charged, hoping to simply plow past Ywain before she had to face enemies from both sides.
He struck at her and she ducked low, his sword coming down on the plate over her right shoulder blade as she tackled him. The blow did not breach her sturdy armor, and after a few steps together Ywain lost his balance and fell. Leaping over his flailing form, she went for the door, but Bors blocked her way and braced for her rush. She feinted right, then darted left in an attempt to scramble past. But he stepped right into her path, grabbing at her shield before she could shove him aside.