Once Upon a Quest

by Anthea Sharp

  He asked her lady-in-waiting, but she cast her eyes downward and said she had no idea where Gwenevere was. Arthur decided to take his prized horse out for a jaunt, hoping perhaps that would stir the restlessness inside of him.

  As soon as he entered the stables he heard the undeniable sound of a tryst taking place. Arthur found himself smiling. Probably one of my knights or the stable hands. Who could blame them?

  “Lancelot!”

  The king’s blood went cold; he knew his wife’s voice above all others. Closing his eyes, he attempted to still the rage coursing through his veins. It couldn’t be. Not his most trusted friend and his wife. It could not be true.

  He was caught between confronting them, killing them, or keeping this bit of news to himself.

  As the sounds of pleasure continued, Arthur found himself backing out of the stables. He had to compose his thoughts, his feelings, but mostly his rage.

  Taking a deep breath, he made his way into the forest. Tiny sprites danced around him. They must have felt his discontent because none of them bothered to speak to him. He went off the trails and deep into the woods. Branches scraped at his face, his clothes snagged at times, but he paid no attention to any of that. He was seeing red.

  His father would have had them both brought to the middle of town square and executed. Despite the pounding in his head and heart, Arthur knew he could never do that. He loved them both far too much. The idea of them running around behind his back, that was what got to him. They had vowed their loyalty to him.

  How had he missed it? Yes, they were friendly to each other, but Gwenevere was friendly to all his close friends. Sure he’d caught Lancelot staring at his wife with longing in his eyes, but who hadn’t? She was stunning, otherworldly ... and her beauty was the least of it. The woman had a mind as sharp as the tip of Excalibur. Oh, he was king, yes, but he knew who truly ran the kingdom—it was his wife. He never made decisions without her input.

  Throwing his head back, he let out a loud scream, the same sound that came from within when he was in battle. The sound echoed throughout the forest, birds skittering away.

  Chest heaving, Arthur realized the red in his vision had begun to fade; the forest once again was the lush green he’d loved all his life. This was good; he had to be the master of his emotions. Sucking in deep, shaky breaths, he sunk to the ground, dropping his head into his hands.

  He could handle this. Now that he knew about the affair, he would sort his way through it. The smart thing to do would be to confront his wife, but he wasn’t ready for that. He would watch over them the next few days, not letting them know he was in on their little secret.

  Knowing was half the battle after all, was it not?

  Time was on his side. He would consider his options and act.

  * * *

  Two days had passed since the king found out about the betrayal of his truest friend and his wife. They gave nothing away. He thought surely it would be overtly obvious now that he knew, but they were good. It was eating at him, he had so many questions. Mainly how long had it been going on?

  How many times had Lancelot fought by his side, while he had thoughts of the queen’s naked legs around him?

  Arthur had to consciously unclench his fists. He wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. He wasn’t sure if he would talk to his wife in private or both of them at the same time. It could play out so many ways. Why did his heart lurch at the thought of killing Lancelot? He should take pleasure at the thought. Why had they forsaken him in such a way? He loved them both more than he loved life itself.

  When Arthur heard the shuffle of feet he knew his wife was approaching. She didn’t shuffle, she glided.

  The door swung open and he dropped the quill he’d been tapping on the desk.

  “I must speak with you.” Her voice did not hold the usual superior tone, there was a fragileness to it. Had she come to confess?

  “What is it?” Despite himself, Arthur rose to his feet and came around the desk to be nearer to her.

  “I’ve been sick, Arthur. Very sick. I believe a curse has been placed on me.”

  “What do you mean a curse? You don’t believe in such nonsense. And who in their right mind would dare to place a curse on the queen?”

  Her eyes locked on his. “You must listen. I have seen every healer in town, they know not what is going on with me.”

  “What is going on with you?” he asked with a raised brow. “And why am I just hearing of this? You mustn’t be too sick, I would have noticed.”

  He knew the irony of his own words. Apparently he was blind to much that was going on in his castle.

  “It started with a headache, which went on for days, and then my body began to ache. My hair has been falling out.” She paused. “I’m aging,” she whispered. “Do you not see the lines on my face, the white in my hair?”

  “This cannot be so.” He found himself studying her face. How had he not noticed? It was true. Of course, she was still beautiful beyond measure, but she was starting to show signs of a mortal, and they all knew she was many things, but a mere mortal she was not.

  “Have you spoken with the sorceresses?”

  “Yes, of course, I went to them right away. They do not understand what is going on any more than I do. They believe the cure would have to come from the Chalice of Life.”

  Arthur leaned back against his desk. “We don’t even know if the Chalice is real.”

  “It’s real. My parents bathed me in water from the chalice as a child. How else could I be—” She lowered her voice. “Arthur, I am hundreds of years old, why am I now aging? We must find the Chalice. I don’t know how rapidly the aging will continue.”

  “You have no idea what your parents did with it?”

  “No, I haven’t seen it since I was a young child. My parents are long dead, I’m sure it was stolen at some point.”

  “We must talk to Merlin.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Yes, Merlin, I should have thought of him myself.”

  Arthur did not hold the mystical powers his wife did, but he was linked to the wizard Merlin. Closing his eyes he called him forth. The air shimmered around them before the wizard appeared.

  “How can I be of service?” Merlin bowed his head slightly first at the queen then the king.

  Arthur quickly filled him in on what was going on. Merlin’s eyes scanned Gwenevere. “There is no curse. The power of the Chalice does not grant immortality, it extends life. Your life has been extended quite a long time it would seem. Perhaps you must accept it is time for you to pass into spirit.”

  Arthur’s heart clenched in his chest.

  Her face paled. “There is nothing you can do?” she whispered.

  “I’m afraid not. Unless you know where the Chalice is …”

  The queen paced the room. “I’ve no idea. For centuries people have been searching for it … everyone believed it to be myth. Even the king doubts the validity of it.”

  “That’s not true. I have only heard of it as whispers, myths. You saw it as a child. I always believed you were in the favor of the gods and that is why you lived so long. I thought you were immortal and your parents used the Chalice as a diversion.”

  Her mouth dropped open, but she said no more.

  “You’ve heard nothing of the Chalice’s whereabouts?” Arthur narrowed his eyes on Merlin. The old wizard knew everything; he found it hard to believe Merlin had at least not heard rumors of it’s whereabouts.

  “Such things have never interested me,” Merlin said with a wave of his hand. “I have my own powers, I do not need anything of the sort. However, I will keep my ear to the ground and see what I can find out. Like you, I have heard whispers but nothing concrete. Don’t you think if someone had it we would have heard by now?”

  Arthur and Gwenevere exchanged a glance. The wizard spoke the truth; nothing of that magnitude would have escaped them, not with the gossips of the townsfolk.

  “We must find it,” Arthur said.
His voice left no room for doubt, but oh he had a lot of doubts swirling in his mind.

  * * *

  Merlin strode into the dinning hall, where Arthur, Gwenevere, and Lancelot were having dinner.

  “I need talk to you,” he lowered his voice, “in private.”

  “Speak freely, there are no secrets amongst us.” Arthur waved his hand toward the others.

  He grimaced as he watched his wife and best friend exchange a quick glance. His hand tightened around his knife.

  Merlin dropped his head. When he rose to his full height, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the king’s. “I’ve heard word that the Chalice of Life has been found.”

  The king’s body went rigid. “Are you certain? Could it be another ruse to get us out of the castle?”

  “That was my first thought as well. I sought out the Oracle and she believes it’s true.”

  “Where is it?” Gwenevere’s voice was steady, but the king knew she needed the Chalice more than anything. Her health had turned grave, and the healers could do nothing to help her.

  Even though he knew his wife was having an affair with his most trusted knight, whom he loved like a brother, he would go to the end of the world if he had to to save her life. His love of her knew no bounds.

  “It seems it’s been right under our noses this whole time, hidden in the Mist.”

  “You can’t be serious?” Lancelot spoke through gritted teeth.

  “Quite serious, I’m afraid.”

  Arthur slammed his fist onto the table. “Then we must go into the Mist and find it.”

  “Yes, it seems we must,” Lancelot agreed.

  “The Mist is impenetrable, you can’t even see one step before you.” Gwenevere sat back in her chair. “I can’t have you two risking your lives, we’ll find another way.”

  Lancelot leaned forward to argue, but the king’s hand rose to stop him. This was between him and his wife. “Leave us.”

  Lancelot’s jaw tightened, but he did as instructed.

  Arthur waited until the door closed behind him and Merlin.

  Reaching over, he took his wife’s hands in his own. “Gwenevere, we are going into the Mist, and if the Chalice is there, we will find it. Then you will live the long life you deserve.”

  Her face softened. “You cannot always be the hero, sometimes you must lose what you love the most. If my time to leave Earth has arrived, let me go with dignity, not out on some wild goose chase. My days are short, I do not want you to be away from me.”

  The king sat back. “And what if I were to send Lancelot on his own? Would this be agreeable?”

  “No,” she pulled her hand away, “neither of you must leave me.”

  “He means that much to you?”

  “I don’t like your tone. Of course he means that much to me, just as he does to you.”

  “I’m not the one who is sneaking away under the cloak of darkness to lie in his arms.”

  Her face paled. “How long have you known?”

  “Long enough. Nearly caused me to go mad when I found out.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “If I had, you’d be dead,” he said flatly. “But once I learned your life was truly at stake, I couldn’t stand the thought of not having you by my side.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Do you love him?” Arthur leaned back in his chair, his eyes intent on his wife.

  “Yes, I love him. Not as I love you, but I would be lying if I said it was only for pleasure. There is a connection between him and I, just as there is a connection between the two of you.”

  “I have laid in bed at night thinking about his execution … dreams have awoken me every night. Each time the gallows is to drop, I stop them, and I wake up. I don’t think I can do it. Oh, I want to, trust me, but the thought causes me too much pain. Nearly as much pain as hearing you call out his name. Tell me, my Queen, how is he in bed?”

  She rose to her feet. “I will not speak of this with you.”

  “You will.” Arthur slammed his fist onto the table.

  Gwenevere lowered herself back to sitting. “It should come to no surprise to you that Lancelot is quite a skilled lover. Does that make you feel better?”

  “Not at all.”

  “None of this matters if my life is soon over.”

  “I’m going into the Mist, and Lancelot will be going with me. If neither of us returns, I suppose I will see you in the land of the spirits.”

  He pushed back his chair and stood.

  “Take me with you.” She reached for his hand. “You do not know the ways of magick as I do. If there is a way to see through the Mist, you will need me.”

  Arthur shrugged. “Have it your way, you always do. Come with us, dear Queen. If we shall die, we might as well die together.”

  He reached for her hand which she took. “When shall we leave?”

  “The sooner the better. I would suggest you change into something that will not be so cumbersome.”

  She strode out of the room.

  Arthur stared as the door closed behind her. He hadn’t meant to tell her he knew about the affair, but it had been eating him up inside. Besides, they very well may never return from the Mist. He stared around at the castle.

  He had been saying he needed something to stir his blood, and he got what he asked for, that much he was sure of.

  * * *

  Arthur could tell Gwenevere was uncomfortable in the stable boy clothes—she was used to wearing gowns—but today, comfort was of the upmost importance. As usual, she’d managed to look stunning, even while trying to downplay herself.

  “Does he know that you know?” the queen whispered.

  Arthur locked eyes with his wife. “No, he does not. That will be something discussed between the two of us, man to man, without you to interfere. He is safe on this quest if that puts your mind at ease.”

  Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Then I suppose we are to move forward, are we not?”

  “It would seem that way.” Arthur nodded, and waved his hand before him. “Lead the way.

  She straightened herself. Even in peasant’s garments she couldn’t hide the fact that she was a queen.

  He ground his teeth, but steeled his mind as if he were going into battle. Which was very similar to the way he felt at the moment. “Well then, let’s go meet with Lancelot.”

  She strode out ahead of him.

  Lancelot stood waiting in the front parlor; his dark eyes were glittering, ready for the quest at hand. When he saw Arthur, the faint smile on his face vanished.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Arthur forced a smile. “Yes, just running something through my mind.”

  “Will Merlin be joining us?”

  Arthur shook his head. “No, I asked him to stay back and keep an eye on the castle,” he paused, “in case we don’t return.”

  Lancelot slapped his hand on Arthur’s back. “We’ll return, my friend, with the Chalice in hand. Your lovely Gwenevere will go on to outlive us. It’s written in the stars, brother.”

  Gwenevere coughed, causing concern to flit across Lancelot’s face.

  “Let’s go, we don’t have time to waste,” Arthur declared.

  “Into the Mist we go.” Lancelot grinned.

  As far as they knew, no one who had entered the Mist had ever returned. The Mist was a place of magick … or perhaps it led to a cliff and everyone fell to their deaths. It was not certain, and there was the mystery that had intrigued many over the centuries. It was unlike anything he’d ever witnessed. Never did it lessen in thickness—you couldn’t see your own hand in front of you.

  As a boy, Arthur longed to go into the Mist, but his father forbade it Yet it had always beckoned him, so it was no surprise that his life might end here. If it did, at least he was with the ones he cared about most of all.

  He couldn’t imagine going on with life without his queen by his side … regardless of how angry he was at her betrayal. W
hen he had met her all those years ago, he’d known the stories that surrounding her; her ethereal beauty, touched by the gods. She’d lived much longer than he and had loved many men before him, and he knew she would love more after he’d left the Earth. It was just the way it was when you fell in love with an immortal, you took what you could and enjoyed it while you could.

  If his life was to end this day, he could say he lived a wondrous lifetime. As if to remind himself, he touched the enchanted sword at his side.

  It did not take them long to reach the Mist. They stood there staring into the vastness that seemed to have no end.

  Arthur moved forward, but Lancelot reached out his hand to stop him. “Let me go first. You are the king, your life is much more important than mine. At least if something happens to me you will have forewarning.”

  Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Gwenevere grabbed his wrist. “He’s right, let him lead the way.”

  “Fine.” Arthur swooped his hand in front of him. “After you.”

  Lancelot’s eyes flicked toward Gwenevere’s before he stepped into the Mist.

  “What do you see?” Arthur asked.

  “Mist.” Lancelot laughed.

  Arthur took a step in behind him, Gwenevere at his back.

  “We must stay together, at all cost,” Arthur stated. His voice held a hint of wonder as he glanced around into the pure whiteness.

  “Merlin said magick would lead the way, do you see any signs?” Arthur asked both of them as they shuffled forward, not sure what was underfoot. The ground felt sturdy, not rocky like a cliff, which caused Arthur to somewhat relax.

  They inched forward for nearly an hour with no signs, nothing except cool air against their skin.

  “How the hell are we supposed to find a Chalice in this?” Arthur’s voice was laced with frustration.

  “We must have faith in Merlin. If he says it is here, it is. He would not lead you astray.”

  Arthur took a deep breath. His wife was right.