by Skye, Sariah
“My apologies, Ava. I know your surname is different than Lancelot’s but this just avoids confusion,” Guinevere said, leaning in and speaking in hushed tones. I just nodded knowingly.
“It’s fine, I have no attachment to ‘Dawson,' trust me,” I replied, with a snort. She smiled and chuckled. “But please, make them stand. I don’t do well with this… revering thing. Unless it’s one of my guys on their knees, then it’s acceptable.”
Bash stifled a laugh behind his hand, flashing me a predatory look. “Later, babe. I swear.”
Guinevere chuckled at our banter, patting me gently on the shoulder. “So much like your father, it’s uncanny. But, these are your people—you tell them to stand,” she said, with a wink. I groaned gently, and looked at the full tavern full of kneeling people.
“Um—hey, really. You don’t have to do that. I’m just a woman with some magic and a sword, no big deal,” I explained humbly, wincing the way my voice reverberated awkwardly between the walls of the tavern.
“With all due respect, Priestess, Avalon is more than just a sword and magic, and if you command it? Then you deserve all the reverence we have to give you, and then some.” Percival had apparently stepped in behind us and spoke for the men and women in the tavern.
“But—” I began, blushing.
“Hey, she doesn’t like the bowing but I do! Can you bow for me instead?” Rhys blurted, and we heard the unmistakable sound of his popping magic as he teleported in, with a begrudging Lachlan on his arm, and Mordred blinked in just afterward.
The tavern tittered gently, but several men and women with playful smiles and knowing looks—for all we knew they were acquainted with Merlin intimately before—did bow for the wizard. He beamed widely, completely eating it up. It was surprising that people didn’t balk or frighten at Rhys’ teleporting powers, but I supposed if they’d known or grown up with stories of the legendary wizard, it wouldn’t be so astounding.
Either that or everyone was too drunk to care.
“Lancelot…” Guinevere’s voice was barely over a whisper beside me. Her eyes watered with relieved tears immediately as my father grumbled, pulling away from Rhys like he was vermin with rabies and he couldn’t wait to get away.
“Ruddy bastard,” Lachlan grumbled, shaking his head and snarling. Rhys petulantly stuck his tongue out at him before flicking his hair over his shoulder and turning to Mordred, grinning broadly. “Come on, Morty. Introduce me to Camelot’s version of Jack, huh?”
Mordred blushed profusely but motioned to the bar and followed him through the crowd, pausing occasionally to speak with familiar people.
My father and Guinevere glanced at each other doubtfully, almost like they were expecting the other to disappear at any moment. My father adjusted the fur pelt around his shoulders and held out his arms, beckoning Guinevere into them. She crashed into him with light, relieved sobs and he smoothed his hands over the length of her hair, whispering quiet comforting words to her as he winked at me over her shoulder.
I reached out and took Bash’s hand in mine, pulling him closer to me, moved by their beautiful reunion. He took me under his arm and led me to a nearby table. Everyone who had stood sat back at their tables, and went about their business. Percival had come and sat across from us, motioning for one of the waitresses.
“Sir Percival, what can I bring you?” She asked, smiling at him, but just a bit wider at Bash, even though his arm with linked and threaded with mine. “And your friends?”
“Just your best ale, please, and if you have any of that fresh baked bread, that as well,” he requested, with a pleasant smile. She nodded, her gaze still tracking over to Bash.
Her admiration was interrupted by Rhys, who had boisterously retrieved a drink of his own from the bar and plopped down next to Percival across from us. Mordred was somewhat more reserved as he looked nervously between them. I could sense a certain tension from him, but Rhys distracted me away from it.
“Did you meet the High Priestess’ fiancé?” He asked pointedly, smiling up at her with innocent sweetness as he flourished a wide gesture towards Bash. “This is Sebastian P—Potter? Pratter? God I can’t fucking remember all of your names,” Rhys said, with a roll of his eyes.
Bash smirked. “Porter. Sebastian Porter.”
“Right. Whatever,” Rhys said dismissively with a wave of his hand, turning back to the waitress. “He’s an incubus, and the priestess here is highly territorial of her men, so I advise you, unless you want to incur her wrath and her damn right hook not to fawn over the incubus, eh?”
The waitress flinched at his words. “I... um… I am sorry, I didn’t realize, I—” she stammered, blushing with embarrassment.
I snorted. “Oh ignore him. He’s just a pain in everyone’s butt.” I pulled a face at him and Rhys laughed tauntingly.
“Not a pain in yours though, Ava. Unfortunately for you. Mordred’s maybe, if your screams last night were any indication—” Rhys continued, and the “dark prince’s” eyes grew as large as saucers. He stood quickly, gesturing the waitress away.
“Merlin jests, of course,” he said, with a roll of his eyes and a chuckle. Rhys just shrugged and paid more attention to his drink. “I’ll be back. Going to make sure all our lodging arrangements are in place,” he said, acknowledging Percival with an uncomfortable nod, and walked away towards the bar. Percival opened his mouth to speak but Mordred was off and already talking to the tavern owner.
“That is… peculiar,” he muttered in confusion, under his breath, turning to Rhys. “So, you are really Merlin? It’s been years; I believe I was quite young when you… disappeared?”
Rhys set his tankard down loudly, not taking any shame in wiping his mouth with his sleeve or turning to Percival with a cocked brow. “Yeah, I’m really Merlin. Surprised that the stories don’t match the image, or what?”
“A little,” Percival replied, with a shrug. “The stories never said you were as handsome as you are.” A hint of a smile played on his lips, and Rhys nearly choked on his ale he was currently chugging.
Bash and I watched the scene play out, laughing behind our hands as Rhys blushed profusely into his drink, suddenly very interested in it and nothing else around him.
“I know Mordred is a little wary of parts of himself, and I do not blame him,” Percival said, with a solemn frown. “I know he’s been under tremendous scrutiny now and as we grew up.”
“As I told him,” I began, “he’s welcome in Avalon as long as he wants to be there. Same goes for Rh—Merlin. And you too.”
Percival smiled gently. “I am glad that he has a safe space to be himself, finally.” He carefully rose a brow and I knew he knew exactly what part of himself Mordred had been trying to hide.
I chuckled, glancing briefly at Bash who reciprocated with a warm smile of his own, as he took my hands in his, winking at me as he brushed his lips over my knuckles.
“It’s not like I’m one to talk. Shit, I have four damned fiancés.”
“Four?” Percival’s pale eyes widened in surprise. “That must be… a handful.”
Bash laughed sharply, grinning devilishly as he regarded me with a crooked brow. “Yeah, she sure is.”
I slowly turned to glare at him over my shoulder. “Oh, fuck you too.”
“Just like your father, I swear to it,” Guinevere interrupted our exchange, laughing as she and Lachlan, hands linked, sat down beside us. My father and I just groaned at each other quietly.
“Sebastian, correct?” Percival inquired of Bash, and he nodded his head once. “That was quite a storm. Came out of nowhere.”
“There’s a reason for that,” Bash replied, with a devious grin.
“And what reason is that?” I asked suspiciously.
“We caused it. Got a little out of hand though,” Bash replied, and my mouth dropped open.
“Huh? You—what?” I stammered in disbelief. “But, we got separated! You could have gotten hurt!”
Bash’s mouth set in a
firm line, reaching to set his hand on my arm. I wanted to jerk away, feeling offended but his touch was too comforting and familiar; I couldn’t. I did, however, continue to glare at him. “Ava, there are patrols around the kingdom. We needed to make sure we got in unseen. When Trystan flew to go find your dad, he set various crystals around the woods to make the storm Xander summoned stronger. It got out of hand, but it covered us perfectly and gave us a bit of an element of surprise.”
“But—why didn’t you just tell me?” I demanded, with a troubled down-curl of my lips.
“Because, babe, the sword…” his steely-eyed gaze dropped to the sword wrapped around my wrist. “I know it has a secret, and we’re worried about it.”
My eyes narrowed. “I told you it’s trustworthy, Bash.”
“I know, babe, I know. But you understand why I’m skeptic at least. I can’t see or understand it at all. I know it has a big secret, and I know it controls you somehow. We just needed to make sure it wasn’t going to turn on you somehow. I think that was made apparent during the confrontation, but just in case we needed to keep at least our leaving for Camelot a secret. If Arthur knew we were heading over he could have mobilized his army that much sooner. We didn’t know of Mordred’s connection with Nimue, but we do now. Please don’t be mad, babe. It’s not about you, it’s about—” he continued, with a pleading pout on his lips. I lifted my hand, dismissing him with a sigh. I didn’t like it, but I understood it.
“I can’t exactly get angry at you for things I’m doing myself. I asked you to trust me, I should give you the same.” I felt the sword heat gently but ignored it. “But I said it was trustworthy, I wish you would believe me.”
“We want to, babe. But we’re scared,” Bash replied earnestly.
“I know.” I lifted my hand, and brushed my fingers over his cheek. His head cocked into the touch and he smiled gently. “But believe me. I know what it is. I can’t tell any of you, but believe me—the sword is absolutely an ally, and it will all make sense when the time is right.”
“I know, babe. I know.”
The waitress returned then with a tray full of ale tankards and two metal plates with hot bread that smelled heavenly and lumps of butter.
Bash took a long swig of the ale and tore off a hunk of bread, dipping it in the butter and taking a large bite. “You should eat up, Avie. This is much better than the nasty dehydrated crap we’ve had to eat.”
“I will,” I agreed, cautiously taking a nibble of the bread. It was warm and soft and went down easily. Bash ate eagerly, and I wanted to cringe. He had no plate and who only knew what sat here before him, but I figured that being immortal a few germs weren’t going to kill him. Still, I shuddered.
“Where is your water supply? Did Merlin inform you that we had a potion to add to the water that should increase their stamina and give them resilience? The rebels?” Bash asked Percival.
“I did,” Rhys replied, as Percival nodded in agreement. “He did. It’s in the center of town, I can take you to it later.”
“The sooner the better,” Bash insisted, turning to me. “You should rest while we wait for the others. I can do this easily myself.”
I shrugged in consideration. “I can do that.” Bash snickered, with a grin.
“You’re not going to argue with me? That’s new.”
“Ha. Just so happens I’m a bit tired so, fine. But I’m not going alone, I’ll wait for one of the others,” I insisted, and he nodded in agreement, still chuckling and shaking his head.
What the hell had gotten into me? Being agreeable and non-argumentative? Perhaps all this Avalon lust and sex had truly addled my brain to the point of being totally unrecognizable. Or it was aliens.
Or… perhaps I’d finally just learned how to love, and that love meant trust as well.
Pffft. Nah, clearly it was aliens.
“You look deep in thought, and if you’re in that deep, that cannot be good,” Bash laughed next to me, as his fingers traced over the top of one of my hands that I pushed onto the tabletop tensely as I internally wondered about my mental state. And the possible cranial-alien invasion. At least it was better than anal-probes.
I narrowed my eyes, lips pressing into a thin line. “Keep it up, siphon-boy, and the last time you went in ‘deep’ will be the last time in a long, long while.”
Rhys let out a loud laugh, snorting into his tankard, spraying the frothy drink all over his face. I dared to flash him a side-smirk, even though my father glared daggers at him. “The gods love ya, Ava. I know I do.”
Lachlan arched a brow. “Say what now? Ava is there something—”
“Eh,” I said dismissively. “No worries. Since you’ve been gone he’s become like somewhat of a very annoying brother.”
“Very annoying,” Bash interjected, as Rhys postured proudly like his annoyance was a badge of honor. For him, it probably was.
“Not another fuck-buddy,” I finished.
“Too bad for you,” Rhys said, with a grin.
“I’d kill him first,” Bash supplied, while my father sighed.
“I see,” he said, his hands wrapping around the metal tankard as he leaned over the table. His mood seemed dark and depressed. Guinevere seemed to understand as she frowned wryly. “You had a brother, Ava. I wish you could have met him. It was a lifetime ago, but he would have been proud of you.”
“He was a good man, you should be proud. He went out a hero, trying to protect the innocent. It was exactly what he would have wanted. You did everything you could have, Lance… I promise,” she insisted in a quiet, solemn voice. Lachlan shrugged a shoulder, snarling into his drink.
“It wasn’t enough. It’s never enough,” he insisted. I exchanged a look between Mordred, Bash, and even Rhys frowned profusely. Guinevere didn’t say anything, but she did take him in her arms and let him lean against her. He seemed to breathe in deeply and relax with her near. I didn’t know him with Nadina for long but what I had seen? She never comforted him and soothed his soul like Guinevere did. I wondered how much of their relationship was pure manipulation on Nimue’s behalf; I assumed most of it because this was the real deal.
His eyes shut briefly before opening them again. I could swear I detected a hint of crimson around his blue eyes which grossed me out for a bit thinking of my dad feeling that way but that thought was interrupted as he blinked again and stood suddenly. The crimson was gone, and he gave a small smile to everyone at the table, pulling his arm away from Guinevere. “Well, I suppose if the lodging is in place,” he said, looking to Mordred for confirmation, who just nodded, “I will take my leave. It will be a relief to have an actual bed, and not a cold stone floor and vermin droppings to sleep on.”
“It will be close quarters but there should be room for all of us,” Mordred explained, and Lachlan inclined his head thankfully at him. He took a long drink and set the metal mug back down on the table with a loud thud just before he rose. Hegarded Guinevere momentarily by slipping his fingertips lovingly over the side of her face before stepping away from the table and heading towards the stairs in the rear of the building.
Guinevere sighed lengthily. “I wish there was more I could do for him. Since being here in Camelot, the memories of his son dying have come back tenfold and he’s bothered by it. And even though his previous mate was essentially fake, it was at least a distraction.”
“Isn’t there something we can do for him?” I wondered.
“Yeah, he can get laid, that’s what would make him feel better,” Rhys supplied, and my eyes widened in horror. I glanced under the table and kicked him with my boot—hard. He cried out and frowned, lifting his leg on the bench and rubbing at it with his hand. “Ow!”
“Gross! That’s my dad, you dicknugget!” I hollered at him, and I smiled sheepishly when the entire room went silent, and everyone stared strangely at me, like I’d just turned into a wide-eyed, green alien and I held up my fingers in a “V” saying “live long and prosper.”
Like I said,
aliens. In my brain… it was terrible.
“Nice one, babe,” Bash laughed, pushing his hand over his mouth to stifle it. I groaned and slumped guiltily against his shoulder. Rhys flicked a hand in the air dismissively, and the room started bustling again like nothing had happened.
“He’s not entirely wrong, though,” Guinevere said. “Since he’s incubus and I’m merely human, well… it is why we were distant in the first place.”
I wrinkled my nose briefly before I felt saddened at the idea of my father being in love, but not being able to do anything about it. How often did I feel that way growing up? All the boys I watched from a distance that occupied my heart that I couldn’t do anything about it… it was a terrible feeling. I pushed the notion of my father getting it on, and pondered out loud, “There has to be something we could do for you guys…”
“Perhaps once this is over,” Percival spoke up. He’d been strangely quiet so far. “Avalon may have some answers for you.”
“You think?” I asked, and he nodded. Guinevere looked hopeful.
“It would be nice to give him something to look forward to,” she said, with a sullen sigh. “He blames himself for what happened with Galahad.”
“It… wasn’t his fault…” I stammered quietly. Guinevere gave me a confused gaze, but I just shrugged. “I just know it wasn’t. I know there is no way he’d let anyone get hurt for him.”
“No, he wouldn’t. But that’s what happens when you’re a parent, I suppose. Anything that goes wrong, no matter what, you blame yourself,” Guinevere reached out and set a hand over mine, with a warm smile. “I’m glad he has you though. You give him hope.”
“That’s… good.” I tried to match her smile, but inside I was suddenly weighted with a desperate, helpless feeling that seeped through my bones. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but suddenly I actually did feel quite tired.
“So, we’re upstairs, right?” I asked Mordred, with an awkward laugh. Mordred arched a brow and nodded once.