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Chapter Text

Highlander.

The first time he had been labeled as such had been ten years ago, when he had roamed the land alone, dirty, starving to the point of considering eating his own horse, the only valuable possession he had to his name by that time, and a pigheaded sixteen-year-old self who had thought that traveling to the South was the brightest idea ever.

It wasn’t.

War had raged for over two decades since the late King, Uther Pendragon, had been slain at the hands of those he had once called ‘allies’.

Not that the old man didn’t deserve it with that business of invading Tintagel, slaying Duke Gorlois, with whom the King had shared a peace pact he had shattered, lusting after the wife of the other man, and reclaiming said wife, then a widow, for himself.

The old fetcher had been betrayed by Gorlois’ sympathizers, chased like a dog, so he had ultimately sunk his old sword, a symbol of his authority, in a stone, swearing that nobody but him would wield it… and thus, cursing his own land with civil war, along with greedy noble Houses pursuing the throne by fighting with one another.

With such chaos and instability, the Saxon invasion came.

And with the Saxons came more war, along with pillaging, starvation… and death.

He had arrived in the old County of Cambridgeshire penniless, landless, and honorless, brutally exiled—and by ‘exiled’ he meant he ran as fast as he had been able before his throat was conveniently sliced—by his older brother when he came of age and began posing a threat to his inheritance when their old man’s health had begun to fail.

He had arrived knowing shit about the far South, mantled with his noble son’s pride, his customs, his accent… and his appearance.

And out of the blue, people started calling him this ‘highlander’ thing, denying him access to small settlements and, ultimately, throwing stones and curses at him while spitting on the floor, closing all doors and windows like he was some sort of plague.

To them, he was nothing but a stranger, a foreigner from the cold, distant High Lands, where sorcery had been remarkably frequent and almost routine between females.

To them, he was just as bad or even worse than the Saxon invaders.

They called him ‘highlander’ when they meant to say ‘outlander’.

And he had been alone.

And alone, sword in hand, eventually he had charged against small invader groups, first playing the guerrilla strategy—a common occurrence where he came from, since they had the mountain range in their favor—later frontwards like the red-headed giant with brute strength he was.

That way, he had made some coin and, unbeknownst to him, a name.

‘The Red Swordsman’ they had dubbed him, not just by his unruly mane of long bright hair, but also his sanguinary way of dealing with the enemy.

The young man had been a butcher, and damn good at it.

But despite his not-so-unselfish ‘services’ to his country, two years after his arrival, people were still afraid of him, forcing him to become permanently errant, away from the populations and, thus, away from the whispers that brought news.

And the news had been painting a shred of hope in all that time he had been forced out of his home: King Arthur, legitimized Heir of Uther Pendragon, had dislodged the sword from the cursed stone, and he had started to drive the Saxon invaders out of Britain.

From two years ago until that very day, Arthur had been convincing… or rather pushing the noble Houses to acquiesce to his becoming King of them all.

But he still needed allies. Loyal, strong-willed allies.

And nothing is stronger than ambition.

Guided by the rumors about this ‘Red Swordsman’, the King had arrived at County Cambridgeshire, rounded by his most loyal knights, and they had started, slowly but surely, to comb the area, eventually finding their intended goal: to face the infamous ‘Red Swordsman’.

By that time, he had been eighteen years old, but he had looked much older. Embedded in a mixed set of various rusty armor pieces painted with the few ancient runes of protection he knew from his home, dirty, with animal pelts for a cape, and a wild air around him that could have matched a dire wolf’s.

The King then halted, and he had put his blue eyes over his broad figure, speaking with dignity.

“I heard about thy accomplishments.” – he said, observing all the time the body language of his interlocutor, who looked like he was going to tear their throats open with his bare teeth. And he wasn’t far from the truth, actually – “I am Arthur Pendragon, the true heir of Uther Pendragon.”

The red-haired young man had displayed an almost insane grin, slightly crazed after so much time having extremely poor social exchanges.

“Pendragon, huh?” – he replied, slightly amused by the looks of truly poorly masked fright the other knights showed by just looking at him and his height, impossibly monstrous for a man of the South, slightly remarkable for his people of the High Lands – “You’re the bastard son of that deceased King?”

“Mind your tongue, highlander!” – a knight beside the King yelled at him, promptly raising his sword and pointing the blade’s end toward the wild red-headed man.

“Hold thy sword, Uryens.” – the King stepped in quickly before a nonsensical confrontation took place between the two men – “For we came to exchange words, not strikes.” – and then, the reprimanded man sheathed his sword without a word but still eyeing the foreigner warily – “We hail from Camelot, the old London, seeking aid to our campaign, Sire.”

“And what campaign would that be, Pendragon?” – the red-haired man sneered, making abundantly clear he recognized no King before him.

The other knights exchanged looks of incredulity, but Arthur stood his ground.

“Have you not heard of the Kingdom Reunification, highlander?” – another young knight of warm brown hair and bright amber eyes rose, holding no grudge against the foreigner in his voice tone but still loyal to his King and speaking proudly of their recent work – “Since the late King Uther’s death, our land had been shattered, pillaged by those you so eagerly dispatched.” – he added, pointing to his mismatched armor – I would recognize a Saxon forge anywhere.

Then the so-called ‘Red Swordsman’ had snarled, his voice a sound closely resembling that of a beast.

Because sheer brutality had been all he had known even before his exile. His family had never been a happy one.

“And what if I took whatever I wanted from them?” – he argued – “I had nothing, and they had plenty. They earned their keep by ransacking, pillaging, and destroying entire villages… and I earned mine by killing them.” – he stated proudly – “I made an honest keep for honest work. Who are you to judge me so lightly?” – he defied, then turning his attention to Arthur, pointing a finger towards him – “You should thank me for taking care of the vermin that infests this land! Whatever I earned was by my sword and, thus, legitimately mine.” – and that last word had been said with such malice that some of Arthur’s men had been unable to disguise their grimaces.

“Thou should know that thy services to my people had not been ignored, Red Swordsman.” – Arthur stated, looking into the other man’s surprised eyes with determination – “And for that, I want to extend my gratitude… as well as an offer to join us.”

This immediately raised a chain of astonished murmurs among the knights.

“My Lord!” – Uryens took the word again – “We know nothing about this… this highlander. Rumor said the High Lands are hostile territory, full of much more hostile people and sorcery, against any God’s Law we are so hard trying to bring to our people. Who can be sure he is not a mad warlock eager to create an opportunity to destroy us? Think about Camelot, the symbol of our unity!”

“Tis right, the highlander cannot be trusted!” – another knight shouted, raising his armored fist.

But, as the men’s voices had risen around Arthur, the foreigner snickered. His, not very comforting a laugh.

“Well now, a dozen armored men afraid of what they don’t understand. This same rant is becoming dull and utterly boring.” – he stated – “But your people never came before me on friendly terms, nor have you the decency to ask my real name instead of calling me epithets, Britons.” – he spat, venom tinting each one of his words.

But Arthur had raised his hand, shutting down his men.

“And how shalt we call thee, Goodman?” – he inquired.

The green serpentine eyes of the young redhead had brightened briefly with malice.

“You may call me by my name.” – he finally said – “You may call me… Ruber.”

From that day on, the giant highlander, the one who called himself Ruber, had started a reluctant and strictly businesslike relationship with the self-proclaimed King and his campaign against the Saxon invasion.

And eventually, he had gained Arthur’s trust, even if Ruber’s manners and behavior stayed the same, as bold and antisocial as they were since the very beginning. Arthur thought wrongly that a man who was not afraid to express his opinion regarding any matter and who wouldn’t care about etiquette, but the truth was a fine addition to his Round Table Order.

Besides, if rough, Ruber was not uncultured, for he was well-versed in the mechanics of war strategy.

“Winters in the North are hard and relentless.” – he had casually commented once – “You would be surprised what a pastime a boy would find in an old castle library.”

And so, under Ruber’s command, many campaigns had ended in victory, and as the years passed. And the land under Camelot Christian influence—a hypocritical façade, or so Ruber always thought, as Arthur’s counselor, Merlin, was a powerful druid who relied on pagan magic to support his King—many dangers had been prevented because of Ruber’s always impeccable foresight.

However, not many inside the Round Table agreed with Ruber’s unorthodox methods when it came to battle, for he was still ruthless and sanguinary, and he cared little—if any—about sacrificing good men to achieve whatever goal needed for the kingdom’s safety.

And rumor said that when Arthur supported him in recovering his lands, thus restoring his noble title, Ruber had charged against the castle he once called home like a hurricane and slaughtered everything that lay before him.

Many men had lost their lives for his cause, and every one of the soldiers who had supported his older brother, the reigning Lord since their old man had succumbed to age and a life full of alcohol abuse, had been publicly executed, even the ones who had surrendered.

And about his brother… many whispered about the head on a pike Ruber displayed for two months at his castle entrance to send a warning to those seeking to take from him what was legitimately his.

What he gained through his sword.

This way, the infamous ‘Red Swordsman’ came to be known by many now as ‘The Red Knight’, a name many whispered both with awe and fear, uncertain what to make of the strange, fearsome red-haired northern giant who had been Arthur’s General during all the years of battle after battle.

At that point, he had been twenty-four and still unmarried, for no noblewoman in her right mind would have desired a match with such a monstrous man who, to add salt to the wound, ruled a cold, distant land where no law but Ruber’s own reigned, blatantly disobeying the Christian ways Arthur had so carefully planted in his kingdom.

For in the High Lands, Ruber’s territory, sorcery and pagan ways were stronger than ever since all the nomadic tribes and practically all the magic-practicing men and women had moved their residences to the harsh mountain ranges, forced to live exiled from their homes, welcomed with open arms by Ruber, who himself wanted nothing to do with Christianity and still worshiped the many war-oriented gods he had been worshiping since his childhood.

But with unity came peace… and with peace, in Ruber’s case, came again isolation, for no longer was his expertise in the war needed at Camelot’s Court.

Isolation in his own lands, where mostly everybody feared and avoided him, isolation in the chilling winters when his mind was darker than any other time of the year, sitting in his cold and hard throne made of stone while his calloused fingers drummed impatiently over the worn handlebars, munching about the pleasant, seaside winters he knew Camelot went through.

In those winters, brief word arrived from Camelot or other parts of the kingdom, and Ruber found himself… bored.

His twenty-five and twenty-six-year-old winters had been spent trapped in his castle mainly because of the never-ending snow storms roaring outside, rereading his old books, drinking a tad too much, seeking warmth—and human proximity, to his much dismay; knowing how pathetic and desperate his sexual life had become at such a young age—between his bedsheets with the few available women under his service, prostitutes most of the time, and speaking with the few people who willingly would be close to him and/or shared more or less his same level of conversation: some carefully chosen servants whom he kept mostly and exclusively for company, his old mother who was a sort of shaman-lady in his Court since her husband died, and his little sister Rowena, who was ‘touched by the gods’ or, in Common Language, utterly insane since she was a child, but still adored her brother and always found ways to make herself a cheerful company—the dog-like kind—in her somber sibling’s eyes.

Sadly, insanity had been pretty common among the nobility in the North since they had been scarce, geographically distant from one another, and they had been constantly fighting among themselves to gain more land property. And that led, one way or another, to inbreeding.

Ruber, Rowena, and their deceased older brother, Radcliff, had been a byproduct of a marriage between cousins who were also byproducts of cousin marriages.

Their father had been insane in his own way, obsessed with hoarding more territory to his name, living in a permanent stupor because of his unhealthy alcoholic tendencies, always rambling alone about nonsensical stuff, picking Ruber sometimes as his punching bag, sometimes as his apprentice in fighting and swordsmanship as well.

Radcliff’s insanity had been his envy of Ruber and his paranoia about him taking his place as their father’s heir one day.

Rowena was mostly harmless… she was a threat to no one… but herself.

No matter the time of the year, she tended to roam the castle barefoot, half-naked, or with the laces of her dresses undone, and always pursuing the pleasures of the flesh with whomever man happened to come across her.

This way, Ruber and their old mother had found her many times in one of the soldiers’ or servants’ arms, making a disgrace of herself repeatedly and always seeking forgiveness in a somehow childish way, throwing herself at his brother’s arms, giggling madly, and, thus, shaming him greatly.

The ones Ruber found with his sister were usually whipped or, in the worst cases, impaled and displayed out in the courtyard.

And this, along with the cold winters, the isolation, and many other factors, proved too much for Ruber.

Since last year, the man had developed severe insomnia and a constant alert state that brought several nervous, involuntary muscular contractions primarily concentrated in his eyes and the orbital muscles of his mouth.

And with this, he became incredibly conscious of his surroundings, searching in the people’s faces around him for any sign that gave away that they thought he was somehow deranged.

And this preoccupation with not becoming crazed was driving him precisely to what he feared the most: insanity. Just like his father, just like his siblings.

He knew he couldn’t stand that situation any longer when one night, after he had fallen pleasingly unconscious for a moment in his bed, lying between two naked and also asleep women he regularly slept with, a strange feeling of weight over him awoke him.

It was his sister, who had somehow slid into his chambers and climbed over him like some cat.

At that very moment, even though groggy, Ruber saw something in the girl’s eyes.

Something that scared the hell outta him.

For she wore nothing but a slight camisole that left very little to the imagination, and her wild and messy mane of bright curly red hair surrounded her face like some unholy aura, giving her reptilian green eyes an intimidating and more predatory look than they already had.

Ruber looked at her transfixed, pondering briefly if she had already gone completely mad, and she had come to his chambers to strangle him in his sleep.

But stupefaction transformed soon into cold realization when she put one pale little hand over his chest and the other wandered much lower.

His right eye twitched slightly.

Inhaling sharply, he had caught the impudent hand quickly by the wrist.

“No, Rowena.” – he said smoothly, almost whispering, the way he was used to talking to her instead of screaming at the top of his lungs just as he, at that very moment, needed to – “That’s a line I would and will never dare to cross.”

The girl’s answer had been raking her long fingernails along his chest while her look hardened.

Because, in her lunacy, Rowena saw Ruber as her brother… but also saw him as the powerful, huge man the size of a bull he was, with big hands and a sensuous mouth with thin lips which would give her the pleasure her high libido so desperately sought.

Because he always treated her well, and he never hit her.

Not like her father. Not like Radcliff.

Her father had been a terrible father, the violent kind… but Radcliff had been a worse brother when she had turned fifteen, and he had eventually grown bored with his bedmates.

And he had been brutal.

Ruber wasn’t anything like him; he spoke softly to her and was nice to her. She didn’t see any problem in bedding him.

Fortunately, Ruber’s brain was not so addled to even ponder such a thing, so he caught her other hand and sat up on the bed, restraining her and her hands, which started to sink their fingernails viciously into his own hands’ flesh.

The other two women stirred in the bed.

“You, out.” – he said to one, directing his eyes to the door, not bothering even to remember their names – “And you: go fetch some clothes for my sister, bring them here, and leave.”

The two women obeyed without a word, and he had found himself dealing with his sister and her state to nearly undress.

When he was able to cover her decently, she groaned in frustration, dropped onto the mattress, and rolled over it like some spoiled child.

Sighing heavily, Ruber rubbed his face until he reached the hairline, which was alarmingly pulled back to near the halfway point of his skull. He was so young, and he was starting to go bald. It was honestly depressing.

“You must get us out of this place, my son.” – a voice not far before him suddenly reached his ears – “And soon.”

Raising his gaze slowly, Ruber’s green eyes found another pair of eyes with the same reptilian quality.

“Is the word ‘privacy’ unknown to this family?” – he grunted, meeting his old lady’s visage with a slight frown.

But his mother paid no mind to his usual bold words, and she sat on the mattress beside her daughter, who quickly rested her head on her mother’s lap, mewing sweetly, looking for some cuddles.

Sometimes she looked so frail and minute…

Combing with her hands her daughter’s unruly mane, full of curls and knots in equal quantity, the old lady never took her eyes away from her son’s.

Ruber could sometimes swear that his old lady never blinked, and that made her more difficult to stare back at.

“State your business, Mother.” – he said, lowering his gaze, unable to hold back the icy stare with which the lady dissected him – “It is very late, and I would like very much to catch some rest.”

Always straight to the point. No use in beating around the bush with the old lady.

“Tell me about the warm climate in the Lower Lands, my son.” – she unexpectedly said.

Ruber sighed. No sleep for him for the rest of the night, it seemed.

“I told you about them dozens of times.” – he halfheartedly protested.

“Oh, but it is the only consolation this old heart has in these long dark winters.” – she breathed, staring at him – “If only we could settle down a little Southdown… enough not to endure such harsh weather.”

“What exactly do you want me to do, Mother?” – Ruber questioned sternly – “This is our home, and I already control more territory than other knights do.” – he stated proudly – “We are powerful here.”

“We are isolated here!” – the lady suddenly exclaimed, startling the now meek Rowena briefly, her eyes holding a strange inhuman glow, no doubt thanks to her powers, greater but darker than any average magic practitioner – “Cast aside, prisoners of our own land! Banished!”

“Banished?”

“Did you not see the King and his Court?” – the lady said darkly – “How they are spitting on their roots, turning their sights to the Christian ways? Many of the banished now populate our lands.”

“I do not care about religion, Mother.” – he said, crossing his arms – “For, in my lands, everybody has the rights to worship whatever gods they feel to. Arthur cannot erase our culture so easily.”

“Oh, but he will. Eventually.” – his mother said somberly – “Christianity had proven to be a useful tool to control people’s minds and willpower beyond the seas.”

Ruber inhaled sharply, disturbed. His right eye twitched again uncomfortably.

“How will you possibly know that?” – he asked cautiously.

For she was right. However, news from overseas had likely never reached the Highlands. He had learned this while at Camelot’s Court.

“I’ve seen it.” – she answered enigmatically – “And believe me when I say that Christianity will bring our people in the next centuries great pain and sorrow.”

“And what do you want me to do?” – Ruber asked again, feeling impotent in a situation he held no power to remedy – “I do enough by preserving our ways in my territory! Asking for more land that is already under Christian rule would be suicidal. Arthur already knows how things are here. That’s why we got this share of land…” – he rambled, realizing suddenly the point in the present conversation – “… because nobody would want it.” – he finished slowly, looking at his mother as if he saw her for the first time in his life.

“And do you not feel that is most unjust, my son?” – she added smoothly, knowing he was beginning to grasp the extent of the situation. His mind and his fiery northern heart have been buried under depression long enough.

“I do.” – he said, nodding slowly – “I do, Mother.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” – she continued, pleased about the reaction her words had invoked.

Ruber’s eyes narrowed, his gaze hardening, and a decision painted across his features.

On that day, awakening from his resignation slumber, the Red Knight vowed to himself to make things better for his family, for his people… for himself.

He had been serving Arthur diligently for eight long years, granting him victories and earning the gratitude and admiration of the people. He deserved more—more than any of those meek men who sat at the Round Table!

He will pull the diplomatic strings at the next annual meeting, politely requesting better and warmer territory.

And if diplomacy didn’t sink in Arthur’s goodwill… well, Ruber already knew how to deal with an undeserving, ungrateful King.

Chapter Text

Highlander.

Whispers in the Court brought rejection and fear as the eyes of the many knights and their families posed over the gigantic frame of the newcomer.

Highlander.

It was a so common occurrence that it was starting to feel insulting, as if those men around him not only didn't chastise their families for being so rude in front of him, but even encouraging a segregationist behavior.

Look at him; he looks a bit… off.

And again.

Look at his hair, he's balding. How old is he anyway?

Their eyes.

Have you noticed those nails of his? It's disgusting!

Filled with judgmental prejudices.

What's wrong with his eyes?

What in the blazes was wrong with them?

It's not a big surprise he's not married yet.

Why they felt compelled to criticizing someone they even didn't know?

Rumor said he's still allowing paganism in his lands.

Just… stop.

He's a degenerate.

Enough!

Reaching a place in a shadowy corner, he sat, goblet full of wine in hand, on a chair, looking at them with venomous eyes until he noticed the small child playing with a wooden horse in his hand beside him.

"Out of my sight, you little critter." – he spat with no little amount of contempt – "Now."

The kid ran away crying right to his mother's skirts, gaining a frown from the woman who looked in Ruber's direction outraged as the amused Red Knight raised his goblet mockingly.

He had been the first to arrive at Camelot as the signaled date of the Round Table knights' annual meeting came closer, so he had had plenty of time to be an honored guest in Arthur's castle.

And the due scrutiny he suffered on a daily basis by the rest of the Court as the knights were arriving one by one was driving him nuts.

But just like he looked at Arthur's people and only saw enemies everywhere, through their eyes he was a stranger among them as well.

For they saw the physical effect the harsh climate and many other factors in the High Lands had done to Ruber.

He looked older, with thin lines woven across his skin in the brow and lips giving him a permanent frown accompanied with an unsmiling gesture.

His once glorious mane of bright red hair had greatly diminished; his physique had been developed through hard, repetitive exercise in timeless hours of utter boredom into a bulky, broad-shouldered mass of muscles.

And a scandalous lack… or thereof pure neglectiness of his personal appearance had led him to exhibit long broken fingernails he, together with his sharp teeth, utilized to tear roasted pork and beef without using any cutlery, nor napkins, while he ate like some unmannered, wild animal.

Overall with his evident lack of sleep sporting almost black eye bags as if he had been punched, bloodied eyes and casual muscular tics in both his eyes and mouth… his appearance didn't invite to even a courtesy greeting.

And he was getting more and more anxious as the days passed and nobody had the decency to make casual conversation with him.

Not even Arthur had spoken to him, showing an outrageous rudeness towards his guest by leaving him on his own, properly tended by the servants, yes, but utterly alone.

And that situation didn't change even in the slightest until the meeting day arrived along with the last of the invited guests: Sir Lionel.

In the eve of winter everybody was so… disgustingly happy…

They even sang. Oh, Ruber hated their frequent stupid sing-alongs…

"United we stand,
now and forever
in truth, divided we fall."

Truth? – Ruber thought – There's not absolute truth, you fools. But you prefer to pledge yourselves to your own interpretations of said truth.

"Hand upon hand,
brother to brother,
no one shall be greater than all."

Don't make me laugh…

"It's been ten years we celebrate
all that made our kingdom great,
liberty and Justice for all."

Yeah, "for all", sure.

"Each of us will now divide
in equal shares our countryside,
promising equality for all who reside!"

Wait, what?!

Once in the Round Table Chamber, Ruber clenched both his teeth and fists, hating how everybody was so optimistic about the prospects of new lands… but he, being the one that controlled bigger territory, wasn't so happy about the news.

Once in front of the big table, every man left his weapons in their respective chair's backrest… every man but Ruber, who always had an extra hidden weapon just in case. Not for nothing, his had been always a strictly business-like relationship with Arthur, so neither loyalty nor trust was in the Red Knight's agenda.

Then the fools started with their charade raising their shields and putting them in front of themselves over the table.

"Liberty!" – exclaimed one.

"Justice!" – another followed.

Liberty to ignore me, one of you, supposedly. Justice only for the meek.

"Trust!"

"Freedom!"

Trust in a utopia, freedom to bask yourselves in your makeshift lie.

"Peace!"

"Honor!"

Peace among the Christian believers, honor thy false God.

"Goodness!"

"Strength!"

"Valor!" – sat beside Arthur, the loyal and immaculate Sir Lionel proclaimed his devotion and love for his kingdom.

Ruber's blood boiled.

"ME!" – he screamed at the top of his lungs, planting his shield in front of him with violence, his inner self spitting over compassion, the word he had just chosen to ignore.

For no compassion but bitterness filled his soul. Bitterness born amidst depression and loneliness these last few years.

Every man present looked at him frowning, clearly outraged for his impertinence.

And his inner self gloated greatly.

Feel that, you fools. Feel what is like to trample over your beliefs.

"Charming sing-along." – he hissed, like a snake would – "Now… I would prefer to leave unnecessary pleasantries aside and get straight to business. Did I hear something about redefining the borders of our territory? How is that I was not informed of this?"

"Sir Ruber…" - Arthur spoke shaking his head from side to side, sighing – "Always thinking of thyself."

Oh, now you address me, you little bitch.

Followed by the King's words, a chorus of recriminations followed.

"When we declared our unity…" - continued Arthur, ignoring the daggers the huge red-haired man was directing at him through his eyes – "… we accorded to divide the land according to each person's needs. As knights of the Round Table our obligations are to our people, not to ourselves."

"Haven't we served you loyally?" – Ruber spat, leaning himself over the table, piercing Arthur's skull with his green reptilian eyes – "Haven't I served and supported you unquestionably?"

Haven't my people and I endured enough questioning glances and isolation?!

"The King has decided!" – exclaimed Sir Lionel, hitting over the table with his bare fist.

Ruber couldn't believe it. Even Lionel, the only knight who had always treated him like an actual person, now was treating him like some… some…

Feeling all the eyes over him at that very moment, some judging him, others agreeing with his point of view but too coward to spoke it aloud, paranoia filled Ruber's brain.

They didn't know… they didn't know what was like to be in his shoes…

"Perhaps a King who fails to reward his best knights shouldn't hold such a title…"

The thought, quick as it had escaped his lips, filled the room with sudden silence. And Ruber suddenly became aware that his sentiment was shared at least by half of the men present there. That gave him reassurance.

"Would you make yourself a traitor?" – asked Lionel, his amberish eyes filled with something close to anger. Now they were discussing the root of the problem here.

"A traitor?" – repeated Ruber – "There would not be treason were Arthur no King." – and then, he rose from his seat, this time directing his words towards everyone – "Maybe now is time for a new King to govern us and who'll gladly reward the deserving." – oh, he could see it now, many interested eyes now were over him – "And I vote for me."

Maybe they could reach an agreement, maybe…

"I will not serve a false King." - Lionel snarled.

After those words, something inside Ruber detonated.

Something cold and dark, just like the winters he had spent leaving his soul die within the stone walls of his castle.

"Then serve…" - the Red Knight said dangerously slow, reaching for his trusted mace under the table – "… A DEAD ONE!" – he shouted before leaping over the table and charging blindly against anything that were between Arthur and the spikes of his mace.

Lionel met his charge halfway the table… and also met the brute strength of the fiery northern man that first crushed his left arm, a second later his windpipe, sending him several meters backwards like a dummy.

The rest of the brave men who jumped to defend their King were swiftly dispatched, even with the chainmail, breastplates and helmets covering their bodies. Ruber was relentless, his gaze filled with rage, having gone completely berserker just like in his good old days.

But when Arthur managed to retrieve his sword, Excalibur, from the sheath resting in his chair's backrest, he counterattacked the Red Knight's fury, whose mace met Excalibur's blade in a blast that, given the magic embedded in the weapon, sent Ruber flying across the room.

The highlander landed, rolling. Quickly he got up holding his right arm that, at that very moment, was rendered useless after the magical energies had charred its skin, melting the nails in the process.

He stumbled a bit before running towards the exit door.

"One day that sword will be in my hand!" – he shouted before closing the thick wooden gates after him, blocking them with the first heavy furniture that rested outside the Round Table Chamber and happened to be on his way outside, buying himself some time before the whole Court were at his heels – "And the whole kingdom will belong to me!"

After those words, he had fled for his life, breaking in a wild cavalcade from Camelot's stables to lose himself into the cold wilderness.

And he lived to regret the due following consequences.

He lived to tell.

The memories after the incident were sometimes blurred and confusing, because his mind had wanted so desperately to erase them that now he relived them often shrouded in a surreal fog, as in a nightmare.

A nightmare from which he couldn't wake up.

Ruber could tell that he had ridden for days, not taking a single moment of rest, falling off and on several times unconscious for mere seconds on his horse's rump until the snowy climate of the High Lands, his home, welcomed him.

He remembered reaching the castle, leaving the exhausted beast, foam overflowing its snout, falling dead behind and entering inside like thunder to just presenting himself in front of his mother and immediately collapsing on the floor.

He woke up a few days after with the severe green eyes of his old lady upon him, as if waiting for something.

But what he didn't remember so well were the tears that had emerged from his eyes as he took the old lady's hand in his like some lost child.

"I failed…" - he had murmured – "I failed all of you, mother. And now, we are doomed: Arthur will not take lightly this betrayal and, if I know him well, he likely will invade our lands!"

"I know, my son, I know." – the lady said, putting some strands of wild hair behind his ear; looking at him and, instead of seeing the big man he was, she saw a frightened little child who had done something terribly bad – "You tried… but the power of the Lady of the Lake's magic sword could not be matched, not even by your innate strength." – and taking his face between her hands, she added – "Now you must prepare yourself and your people, for a battle is coming from the South to our very doorstep. Defend what is yours."

And the said battle came a few weeks later.

Widely equipped and taking advantage of the mountain range that surrounded his castle, Ruber and his people resisted Arthur's invasion for a hundred days and ninety-nine nights… because at the hundredth night Sir Lanval, having been present when Ruber had reclaimed his lands many years ago, advised Arthur about a weak spot in the mountain range, where they could pass to reach the castle's dungeons.

Arthur followed his advice and soon, he and a handful of his most trusted knights found themselves inside the very castle they wanted to take.

Once inside, it wasn't really complicated to dismantle Ruber's defenses.

However, during their assault, a madwoman got in the middle wielding a spear and sporting deaf ears to the threats and warning words Arthur's men gave her.

She didn't last even ten seconds against the much stronger armored men as a solitary arrow pierced her heart, ending swiftly her life.

Ruber had found her a half hour later while trying to evade Arthur by sidetracking him and his damned magic sword, searching desperately for her and their mother in order to keep them safe.

Incredulous, the Red Knight had knelt before his sister's corpse closing her dead terrified green eyes, drying her cold tears and putting her wild strands of bright red hair behind her ears.

"A man can tell a thousand lies." – a grave voice reached his ears from behind while a pale-as-a-corpse feminine hand reached his armored shoulder – "Like saying that no woman, child or elder would be harmed by his hand during a siege." – she said sadly, kneeling beside her son and caressing lightly her daughter's cold cheek – "There's no honor, nor mercy in this King's soul. He's only a man. A cruel man, just like his father was."

"I've learned my lesson well, mother." – Ruber said, taking his sister's corpse in his arms, wrapping her carefully in his cape as if she were a baby – "Come with me. At least I will not leave you alone just as I left her. I've been careless, so careless…"

"No." – the lady said with a tone so firm that gave Ruber some pause – "I will not allow my last remaining son to throw himself to his death." – once this had been said, an unnatural bright greenish glow lightened her eyes and the veined ramifications of the left side of her face – "Go." – she spoke with metallic voice, clearly under the dark influence of her own powers – "Escape from the castle by the cliffside, reach our ancestors' necropolis by the Northwest and give your sister the burial she deserves. Honor her in death as you did in life." – and then she rose, rejuvenated, more powerful and terrifying than the man had even seen her – "I will contain them as long as my body could take it. That will give you some advantage before they realized you've fled."

"No!" – Ruber exclaimed – "I will not leave you alone to deal with those monsters! You are the only family I have!"

"Then live." – she said, turning her back to him – "Live to prevent your bloodline to extinguish like a blaze in a wasted candle. Live to tell what you have learned. 'Till then, gather the means, grow stronger and avenge us. Avenge your flesh and blood, my son."

And with those words, she disappeared in thin air, leaving a suddenly alone Ruber to quickly react and start running with the weight of his sister over his shoulder.

However, once in the distance, Ruber spotted in the castle's courtyard the sinister arcane light of his mother shining brightly, blinding all the present men around her.

"A witch!" – Arthur exclaimed – "Regroup thyselves!"

Snowy long curly hair mixed in the frozen air with few carmine threads rose like some lion's mane from her head.

"MERLIN!" – she screamed, raising her hand full of electricity to the air before releasing a powerful expansive wave that propelled Arthur and his men backwards like dummies, hitting them against the castle walls – "COME OUT AND FACE ME!"

Suddenly, amidst the frozen stones, the ashes of the battle and the bodies of the fallen, a hooded figure emerged.

"Morgause." – the old druid addressed her, bowing slightly his head in respectful acknowledgment – "I see you have not changed your belligerent ways all these years in the shadow."

"That very shadow you yourself helped to grow, traitor!" – the woman shouted, stony floors and walls around her cracking slightly as her powers grew – "You have allied with the Christian God and his followers against us! You have betrayed your own kin!"

"Our kin is fated to extinction, Morgause." – Merlin answered – "Nothing lasts forever and a new Era, the Christian Era, is about to swallow the Old Ways. But you and the rest of our kin have not accepted it, your will is to reign till the End of Times and that is against the laws of nature."

"What would you know about nature's laws?!" – she cried again before, suddenly, calming herself – "But I see, there's not avail trying to put some reason on you. I suppose instead I will have to use… FORCE!"

So she did. Combining her powers along with her great hatred, Morgause sent a wave of electricity against the old wizard who counterattacked with yet another wave of light.

They struggled for some time, no clear winner in a battle so vicious that no mortal could have reached them at that very instant without being calcined in a blink of an eye.

But Arthur Pendragon was no mere mortal.

Excalibur in hand protecting him from being burned alive, the King had crawled silently to the witch's back and, making an inhuman effort to raise himself amidst so many arcane energies together, he ultimately stabbed the woman on the back, traversing her from the spine to the sternum itself.

And the magic inside the mythic artifact did its work.

A heartbreaking scream of surprise and denial left Morgause's lips when she started to being consumed from inside to outside as her skin and muscles turned into ashes leaving a charred skeleton which quickly disintegrated into a pile of dust that flied with the first wind blow.

A victorious war cry rose from the throats of every man who had stood for Camelot and the losers rapidly dispersed themselves, escaping from death by betrayal they knew the King would dispense them.

But only one man remained hidden, gazing in the distance at Pendragon as his men hailed him, green eyes full of pain and hatred vowing to, one day, wipe that smile from his dead, rotten lips.

For he would have his revenge in this life, or in the next.

One way… or another.

Knelt in front of Rowena's tombstone, Ruber of the High Lands directed his anguished thoughts to his gods.

Hadn't he served them faithfully? Hadn't he preserved the Old Ways for his people?

Why fate was punishing him so harshly?

As the hours passed, darkness fell over the cold land and silence followed.

But Ruber, still knelt before his sister's tombstone, opened his eyes and observed, fascinated, how a bluish, cold fire emerged slowly from the tender earth.

"Sister?" – he dared to ask until he extended his hand towards it and the spirit disappeared before he could grasp it.

Then many lights around, lights of torches and lanterns, started to lighter him.

"Do you feel the thorns?
Do you see the tears?
Do you see the bloodshed in this fell war?

Have you forsaken us?
Have you forgotten our faithful men calling your name?

While I stand before you,
while we perish,
while I lay down a crimson rose,
while holding hands are forced apart,
while hopes bog like condemned men…
Were you there?

The sky is falling on me.
As your hand's turning old and weak
I'm giving myself upon to thee
A futile sacrifice gone sere."

Surrounding him, his people, women and elders mostly, left their candles before the tomb and sang while inclining their heads respectfully.

"… why hast thou forsaken me?
Together we go unsung.
Into thy hand, I commend my spirit.
Together we go down with our people!"

Feeling supported by his people, Ruber allowed them to accompany him in his darkest hour until three men stepped in before him.

"My Lord Ruber." – one of them said – "I and the remains of our people want to offer you our humble condolences for your loss, for we ourselves have lost much today as well. We pray for our fallen's souls to find the rest they were deprived in life and we offer you our lives."

"Why would you do such a thing?" – the Red Knight asked – "Our people had been slaughtered by my fault, I brought disgrace and death to us."

"No, my Lord." – an old tattooed woman said approaching him, full of amulets and the due paraphernalia that labeled her as a shaman lady, just as his mother had been – "You have been preserving the Old Ways, giving shelter to the exiled, protecting us from this King's poisonous influence. You even tried to defy his will in order to give us a better chance of living." – she shook her head – "No, we will follow you, for you had earned the right to guide us. Help us to preserve our culture, our roots! We implore you!"

A chorus of voices joined in her plea and Ruber, first looking at them, and then looking at his now permanently scarred hand by Excalibur's influence, knew he was not alone in his wish of revenge.

An entire year had passed trying to gather the dispersed remains of his people through the frozen land and Ruber felt utterly tired.

He had managed to convince not only his former runaway men who had been left alive after the battle but the chiefs of many tribal communities who had been waiting for him, eager to join their forces against Arthur's.

But still… he knew that wasn't enough.

He was now actively pursued by the forces Arthur had left in his territory to ensure he couldn't gather forces again and use his old castle as headquarters, so the Red Knight had been forced to lean in strategy and guerrilla to keep them at bay. Just like when he was sixteen and not a copper to his name.

Everything seemed to start anew… though in worse prospects and conditions.

Given this, his alert state had worsened and his muscular tics were now something frequent on his regular basis. He barely slept a couple of hours, if any, per day.

This constant insomnia had driven him many nights to wander alone in the woodland, seeking something akin to soothing his hyperactive brains.

But one night, he got lost in the darkness of a forest.

He then had started to wander aimlessly until something in the corner of his eye had caught his attention.

A will o' the wisp.

Just like when he had buried his sister.

Knowing by the tales his mother had told him when he was a child that will o' the wisps normally guided someone who was lost to their fate, being this good or bad, Ruber followed.

After all, he had learned that one cannot escape his fate, so it was in his best interest to not ignore the signs.

So he followed the ethereal spirits until the path they had been weaving for him disappeared once he stepped into a cromlech circle.

The moon and stars lightened the old carvings in the stones' surface and Ruber found himself mesmerized, almost having this silly idea that he was in the middle of a very strange dream until he heard the flapping of heavy wings and, as he rose his eyes, he saw something that left him for a moment speechless: the bulky, dark silhouette of an impossible mythical creature, a griffin.

The creature was looking at him intently, fixing its venomous unnatural eyes upon his throat, salivating at the mere idea to tear it off.

But Ruber was not a man to walk away from a crystal-clear challenge.

And the beast was challenging his strength.

So he jumped to his fate with a war cry on his lips as the creature plummeted over him.

Chapter Text

Highlander.

Despite all these years, the word still haunted him; especially in the early hours, when the sun was not yet crowning the skies and the first singing of the rooster was still not heard on the distant East.

The first signs of the spring's arrival were floating in the air, saturating it with country smells of wet grass, Meadowsweet, Primula, and pines.

But, for Ruber, it was always winter.

Throughout those ten years, there was not a single day in which the exiled Red Knight didn't curse his fate, for many things had happened in the last decade… and only few had been truly beneficial for him.

Luckily, he was not alone in his fall from grace; for Arthur Pendragon, the same King who had destroyed everything he cherished most, was going through difficult times as well.

While Ruber now was an outcast, a landless Lord who roamed the Christian lands of Britain using the same disgusting pillaging method the Saxons had done many years ago in order to sustain himself and his people, now outcast nomads like him who just followed their Lord because they didn't know better… Arthur, on the other side of the coin, now was forty-three years old and, if the rumors were right, he was quite ill since the double betrayal of one of his most trusted knights, Sir Lancelot of the Lake, and the Queen herself, Lady Guinevere, by means of the adulterous affair the two of them had shared behind Arthur's back.

Lady Guinevere had been sentenced to death by being burned at the stake just like any pagan witch these days, and Lancelot had been banished out of the kingdom.

Ruber had been delighted when he had learned that the impetuous knight had rescued Guinevere from her ill fate and they had run together to uncertain destination, leaving a trail of corpses and disgrace behind them.

Not that Ruber was happy for the doomed pair since he remembered Lancelot as a disgusting boot-licker who prided himself to strive for perfection, while Lady Guinevere… well, she had been one of the most beautiful women at Camelot's Court, true, but also one of the most insipid and stupid creatures he had the displeasure to meet. The Red Knight felt no relief, nor pity for either of them, but he was quite content that a pair of morons like those two had managed to be so destructive by just, pardon his French, fucking each other's brains out.

Even people, after the incident, had started to sing a little Welsh rhyme about the unfaithful Queen as the years in obscurity along with Arthur's illness had covered the earth:

"Gwenhwyfar ferch Ogrfan Gawr
Drwg yn fechan, gwaeth yn fawr."

Or, in the Common Tongue:

"Guinevere, daughter of Ogrfan Gawr,
Bad when little, worse when great."

It was so pathetic… Ruber remembered the day the King had fallen, bewitched, at the young maiden's feet. He even sought Merlin's aid (in magic regards, of course) to conquer her heart.

At that time, Ruben could not believe his ears. Guinevere, in her beauty, had been pristine, almost angelic, yes… but her simple mind betrayed her. She had been good wife material for she was quiet, meek and submissive (three qualities that Ruber despised with every ounce of his soul since he himself preferred women… a bit feisty, opinionated, bold, with some brains in their heads to argue), but she had been no Queen material.

The figure of Queen Guinevere inspired no authority, nor respect, but lust. Simple and plain, just like her.

Ruber had never managed to understand how Arthur had been so besotted by her.

And now, weakened by this betrayal and with many of his most trusted knights away in search of the Holy Grail to return Arthur to his previous self, the Red Knight knew that his moment to strike back had come.

Ten long years in exile… ten long years alone with his ghosts and the dark poison of revenge gestating within his heart, slow but sure, filling his nights with insomnia, barely contained anxiety attacks and nightmares.

Nightmares with them. With those two women of bright green eyes, his same eyes, lying dead in front of him, covered in blood and tears.

His mother, his sister.

Nobody had loved them as he had; because now he knew it… he knew that there is nothing more precious than what has been lost.

And he'd lost them. Forever.

Now he was the last of his blood lineage. And he had tried so hard to change that… Oh, how he had tried…

Knowing that he probably wouldn't catch more rest than the scarce four hours he had been asleep, the gigantic northern man rose slowly from the makeshift bed inside one of the many wagons where his people traveled like some gypsy communities and rubbed both of his eyes tiredly.

He eyed briefly the asleep form of the woman by his side, surrounded by so many blankets and furs that she looked like she was inside a cocoon. The man then picked his clothes, dressed himself painfully slow and quietly and then abandoned in complete silence the lingering warmth inside the wagon to expose himself at the chilling nocturne air.

Walking directly where he knew he will found what he was looking for, a few meters away from the whole camp, his eyes traced the dark bulky silhouette of the beast.

After their confrontation and his subsequent victory over it with his bare hands and sheer brute force, the evil creature had sworn to serve him faithfully until his death.

Because griffins had a much-dilated life compared to a mere human like him.

Stopping the points of his boots at mere inches from the creature's head, Ruber spoke.

"You." – he commanded with a raspy, sleepy voice, barely containing a yawn – "Wake up."

Sniffing slightly the air before opening its eyes, the griffin hissed softly and then eyed groggily the tall human with its venomous pupils.

"Yes, Master?" – it asked politely, rolling the "s" like some snake while talking.

"Shake off the slumber's spiderweb and pay attention." – the other said.

The creature blinked a couple of times before getting up. Sometimes it wished its Master were a bit more… polite. He wasn't really rude, but the boldness in his manner of speech sometimes made the conversations with him… quite difficult to deal with.

Especially for a being as prideful as a true griffin was.

"Arthur is now in his most vulnerable state and the annual meeting is now only a few days away." – Ruber explained – "I want you to fly to Camelot and, in the very beginning of this annual meeting, in front of all the Round Table knights, steal Excalibur from Arthur. It should be easy enough for you since every last of the men present there, including Arthur himself, should present their weapons at the backs of their chairs. You will take advantage of this weakness and take the sword before he can use it against you. And believe me…" - he added somberly – "… you don't really want that blade sinking in your flesh." – and, as if wanting to make a point of this, Ruber showed briefly his scarred hand to the now slightly perturbed griffin.

"Which direction should I take, Master?" – it asked.

"To the South, always to the South, by the Thames river." – he answered – "You have five days to reach your destination. With the first lights of the fifth day, attack the East Tower which roof is conveniently weak since it is constructed with glass panels. That's the Round Table Chamber where you'll find your target. Once achieving this, fly to the West near the coastline until you'll find a rural State; search the biggest house at the top of the beach cliffs, surrounded by dolmens and drystone walls. Meet me there." – then, putting a big rough hand over the griffin's beak, he concluded – "Bring me that sword and you will be rewarded largely." – he took a few steps back – "Now go, my magnificent beast, fly."

Nodding wordlessly, the creature took off the ground with a majestic shake of black wings and disappeared in the now golden sky, with the first sunray of the first of its long five-day journey, looking to please the one who had bested its strength in fair battle.

Staying a little longer observing the distant horizon and thinking in nothing in particular, wanting to lift a bit of the load his brains were submitted these days as his moment approached, Ruber inhaled several times until he felt better and returned at slow pace to the camp.

A few old women, all wives of his men, his people, were now starting to get out of their respective tents or wagons to begin with the daily chores.

Ruber inhaled hungrily the sweet smell of warm breakfast being prepared in the pots, knowing he will likely have to wait at least half an hour before getting something to his mouth, and he directed his steps towards the place where they left their horses tied.

There he found her, awake and fresh as a morning glory. Her long dark hair carefully tied in a neat braid to avoid the huge black beast with red eyes and a snout full of sharp teeth to munch it by mistake as she gave it carefully its due breakfast: raw meat.

That was the deal having a Nightmare as a mount, they were carnivorous and needed loads of meat on a daily basis to sustain their brutish metabolisms.

When she finished feeding the unnatural animal, her dainty hands picked a brush from the floor and started to take care of the beast's mane while her also dark eyes meet Ruber's green ones.

And there was a question in the way she looked at him.

The man then nodded silently and waited patiently for her to finish.

Once she had done with the beast, caressing briefly its long black mane, she picked the now empty meat bucket from the ground and walked towards Ruber.

"Have you got some rest tonight?" – she asked as a greeting, her voice pleasantly deep and smooth as silk, not irritatingly high-pitched as most of the women in the camp.

"Some, yes." – he answered briefly.

"Have you eaten anything yet?"

Rhetorical question. He never ate anything before her.

"No."

She looked satisfied with his answer.

"Me neither." – she said – "Follow me. I will make some breakfast. Eggs?"

"With ham?" – he asked hopefully.

"Typical of you." – she said, smiling briefly. She rarely smiled – "Carnivorous 'til the end, just as your horse." – she started to walk – "This way."

And he followed meek as a lamb to the sweet promise of warm crispy ham with eggs in the early morning.

He felt utterly ravenous.

Even in spring, night came early in the South as at six in the afternoon the sun started to hide its golden splendor in the far West.

That was the very moment he had decided to attack the solitaire big house at the top of the coastline cliffs.

The air smelled of salt and farm since the big house itself was just a medium-size manor surrounded with stables which gave roof to many farm animals.

They first got the girl, the daughter, now a twenty-year-old young lady who had the strange habit to talk with herself, rooster in hand as if the animal was a baby, about how boring was this, how boring was that while she picked some eggs from the chicken pen.

In the very moment the bulky shadow of the highlander had invaded her space, she had been unable to react until his men took her hostage.

A whole week their camp had needed to reach the place without raising any suspicion, and now, igniting arrowheads in tar, Ruber waited a few delicious seconds before raising his hand in signal to attack.

Their arrows pierced glass from the windows and set on fire the thick main door, the only part in the structure which wasn't made of stone. He had predicted that. After all, he just wanted to scare its occupants, not to burn them.

First, his men went inside to secure the area, then he made his triumphal entry.

"Knock, knock." – he said jokingly behind his horned helmet when he spotted the person he was looking for: a woman.

"Who… who are you?" – the said woman asked, clearly taken aback.

But at the very moment the man took off his helmet, bearing an insane grin he had had years to practice, her demeanor changed.

"Ruber." – she spat contemptibly, clenching fists.

Ruber's smile amplified. He had expected that much.

"Julianna." – he addressed her – "I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd invade."

He felt especially mordacious today, making jokes out of the blue that he knew the woman, Julianna, will not appreciate in the least.

"How dare you?!" – she exclaimed, rightfully offended – "After what you had done to us?!"

"Now, now, no need to reopen old wounds." – the red-haired man said, approaching the woman as her servants cowered in a corner, taking her by the chin unconsciously. She reminded him of someone else… and she also reminded him the time he had been infatuated with her in their younger days despite her former married status with Lionel – "It would act in your detriment."

She slapped angrily his hand, losing all composure she could have retained since that man entered through her door. She could not bear him touching her in the slightest. Everything in that man looked rotten and disgusting in her eyes.

"Put your dirty, bloodstained hands away from me, you impertinent pig!" – Julianna exclaimed, throwing darts at him with her sole gaze – "I demand you leave immediately!"

"So rude!" – Ruber mocked her, feigning outrage – "And to think I came all this way… just to see you."

Julianna took a good look not just at Ruber, who was the only one wearing an actual armor, red as blood, but his men: all dressed in pelts showing their legs and torsos, all tattooed with warpaints and runes of protection all over their bodies, with disheveled long manes tied in tall buns and with the temples and napes shaved. Every last of them pale as Ruber himself, blonde and red-haired like Vikings, monstrously tall and broad.

All highlanders, barbaric polytheists who relied upon pagan magic and strategy to take huge populations with few numbers of themselves.

Julianna realized for the first time she was in no position to even attempt to make valid her rights as a noblewoman. Ruber and his people were very different from the respectful and chivalrous knights she was so used to.

"What do you want?" – she finally asked, trying to discern how she would make out of the mess she unsuspectedly had gotten into.

For hers was not the only life at stake.

"Camelot." – Ruber answered straight – "I want to return to the good old bad days when everybody fought for their lives and found their own fortune through the sword. I've grown really tired of all this peace…" - and looking out of the corner of his eye, he turned to a trembling Edward, the loyal stable hand under Lady Julianna's service along with his family – "… and SILENCE!" – he screamed, scaring away the man, who quickly went to his wife and daughter's side to shield them from the evilness he detected in the monstrous highlander's gaze – "No more lies, no more pretending, no more foolish acts of kindness. I'm sick just by looking at your faces and see the blissful blindness you surrendered yourselves to in the name of a utopia like Arthur's kingdom pretenses."

Julianna couldn't believe her ears. After so much war and misery she had been through when she was a child and a teenager… that madman wanted to throw their efforts to the trash! By God, if it wasn't for her deceased husband Lionel when Saxons invaded her house as a teen, she could have been raped and later slaughtered!

Never again! Never!

"You are mad!" – she exclaimed, horrified at the essence of pure hatred she saw emanating from Ruber's eyes. He said they were blind… but his hatred towards Arthur had blinded him as well.

Ruber laughed. His a mirthless laugh, the kind of laugh a tired man would express.

There it was. The accusations, the judgmental opinion from those who hadn't lived what he had.

Mad, she said. But, while she meant "deranged", he took her words as he pleased and translated them into "angry".

Because he was mad, mad for what Arthur had done to him. He had been the one betrayed first.

"I'm so glad you noticed." – he stated, directing her a sharp, reptilian gaze – "I've been working at it for years. Years in which me and my people have suffered the worst of fates: banishment."

As confirming his words, his men started to roar.

"Bàs gu Artair Pendragon! An tè a dh'fhuadaich ar daoine! Bàs gu dha!"  (1)

Horrified, Julianna shook her head, wanting to wake from that nightmare while Ruber pointed his men proudly with one hand. His scarred hand.

"You've heard them." – he said – "This is the wish of my people… and thus, my duty towards them. And they want Arthur's head." – he began to walk towards a family tapestry that Julianna and her and Lionel's daughter, Kayleigh, had knit when she was but a child and her father was still alive – "And you, my dear Julianna…" - he said as he sliced the point of his sword next to the woven figure of the child, closer and closer to her throat – "… you are going to help me. I understand that the gates of Camelot are still open to you, yes?"

"I would sooner die." – the noblewoman hissed, realizing quickly Ruber's plan.

"I think you'll find you won't be able to… resist!" – he punctuated before slicing the tapestry figure's throat and, as if emphasizing his words, two of his men came in through the front door dragging a struggling Kayleigh along with them.

Covering her mouth, Julianna tried to get to her daughter just to be restrained as the young girl by another pair of brutes, hearing impotent her voice calling for her.

"Do not dare to harm her, Ruber!" – Lady Julianna exclaimed, struggling with no avail.

The two men restraining the young Kayleigh threw her at Ruber's feet while the imposing man looked at the tiny worm before him with clear amusement.

"Follow my plan…" - he started when, fiercely, Kayleigh took a spiked mace from one of Ruber's men and attempted to strike him. But quicker than thought, the tall red-haired man stopped the mace in midair with his bare hand, gaining an incredulous look from the girl, who watched terrified how the spikes had sunk in the man's flesh and his hand was bleeding while his face remained impassive – "… and she won't be hurt." – he finished, slightly annoyed by the girl's reckless attitude, feeling how his right eye twitched uncomfortably.

In short, as he explained with pride to his horrified hostages, Ruber's plan depended not only on the surprise element, the part Julianna had to play guiding several wagons with the Red Knight's men hiding inside within Camelot (a tactic Ruber prided himself to have learned from the writings about the Trojan Wars)… but on magic as well.

Not elaborating much in his sources, for not even his men knew about the pact he had made with the infamous Wayward Sisters, a triad of powerful ancient witches who were a dark legend among magic practitioners; Ruber showed the potion "some witches" had bestowed to him to make a hybrid army of men… and steel.

And when he made the first demonstration, soon everybody learned what he meant by saying "hybrid": the potion mixed flesh with steel in a monstrous combination that rendered the affected as some sort of metal golem.

Not many of his men were really into that kind of transformation… but several of them, with no families and nothing to lose after Arthur and his army drove them out of their homes for supporting their Lord, accepted willingly to become monsters if that meant a means to avenge their dead ones and their lost culture.

However, most likely a consequence of the confusion the transformations brought among Ruber's men, happened that the guard who was restraining young Kayleigh wanted to become a golem as well and he carelessly threw himself in front of his Lord to receive the unholy "blessing", thus leaving the girl without someone who watched over her.

Kayleigh took advantage of this, hiding, listening.

Then, as if in a cue, the gigantic flying figure of a griffin had arrived, bringing news about the recent steal of Excalibur which had been quite sounded the last few days along the County.

First, Ruber was most pleased to heard that his magnificent beast had managed not only to steal Excalibur, but to wound Arthur severely in the process… however, the griffin had managed as well to lose the sword while it was flying over the Forbidden Forest, claiming it was attacked by a silver winged falcon.

Then, Ruber had gone furious grabbing the huge creature by the neck with a single hand, submitting it with brute force, demanding it to guide him to the magic sword.

Because it was well-known that the so-called Forbidden Forest was a place of untold danger, filled with magical creatures and unnatural flora that swallowed the distracted traveler in the blink of an eye. Not many people had crossed the whole forest and lived to tell.

The young and brave Kayleigh, having heard everything, mounted her stallion and rode in a reckless cavalcade direction to the very Forbidden Forest, wanting to recover the mythical artifact by herself. And Ruber and his men followed her.

But that… is a different story.

Because the story that concerns us here is the story of the left behind Julianna, and how she mourned her daughter's departure, praying to the Christian God that she will fare well in the new road of danger and adventure that had opened before her.

The remaining of Ruber's men who had been left with the hostages to make sure nobody else escaped dragged the noblewoman inside one of the many wagons they brought along with them and they stood guard outside.

Hugging her knees helplessly as some little girl, Julianna contained her tears until she heard something that disconcerted her.

The voice of a woman.

"I do not care what orders you have… or, specifically, what orders you think you have from Lord Ruber. I am entering this wagon and you are not opposing my will… or else."

Julianna would have laughed if her situation had not been so miserable… but soon her skepticism turned into astonishment when the men who guarded her wagon opened the canvas door and allowed a slender figure clad in black from head to toe to enter.

Julianna went backwards a little, not entirely sure what this new arrival wanted from her until two pale dainty hands went to the hood of her dark cloak and revealed a familiar face.

"L… Lyonesse?" – Julianna asked, hopeful – "Is that you?"

The young woman clad in black smiled weakly.

"Hi, Julianna." – she said softly, affection tinting her low, warm voice – "Long time to see, dear auntie."

Without further words, Julianna threw herself to her niece's arms, encircling her with her own arms, kissing her brow and her pale cheeks with evident affection.

"Lyonesse, dear Lyonesse!" – she exclaimed, happy to see a beloved face amidst so much grief – "How are you, dearie, how are you? It has been so long since you disappeared…!"

"Eight years, auntie." – the alluded said, returning the embrace and looking carefully at her aunt's visage. She was still beautiful and her violet eyes were warm, exactly as she remembered her. Her mother had died when she was very small and Julianna had been like a second mother to her – "I'm glad those brutes hadn't harmed you. I will have a word with them about how to properly treat a lady, they never learn…"

Looking at her with concern, Julianna took Lyonesse's hands between hers and invited her to sit with her.

"Lyonesse, beloved niece…" – she said once they were sitting together on the pelts over the wagon's floor – "Where have you been all this time? What happened?"

The young woman lowered her eyes and sighed.

"It's… a long story, auntie." – she muttered.

Watching carefully her niece's reaction, Julianna jumped to conclusions.

"It was him, wasn't he?" – the noblewoman growled, taking her niece's face between her hands – "Ruber. He kidnapped you when his men raided Gaheris' house."

Lyonesse nodded, not daring to raise her eyes to meet her aunt's ones.

Julianna's brow frowned deeply, her teeth clenched.

"That bastard! What he has done to you, dearie?" – she asked, suddenly furious – "Did he hurt you? Did he…?" – she stopped, unable to end the question.

Then Lyonesse's eyes met hers a second time.

"… Forced himself upon me?" – she finished for her aunt – "No, auntie. Ruber can be many things, but he's not a monster."

Sighing with great relief, Julianna then questioned her niece with her eyes.

"I don't understand then…" - she spoke, unsure how to deal with such a delicate topic – "He never asked for a ransom in exchange… we even didn't know it was him… or if you were still alive. Gaheris went to Camelot asking for help, unable to identify his aggressors…"

"Gaheris was a coward, auntie." – Lyonesse said, to Julianna's great surprise – "He escaped disguised as a servant and fled without making sure that his recently arrived betrothed was safe. But I am rather glad that he abandoned me to my fate. Father wanted me to marry him because he was one of Arthur's knights like him, but I've never loved him."

Julianna was speechless. She never thought that Gaheris' story about how he had tried to release his future wife from the grasp of the bandits with no avail had turned out to be a farce.

"Ruber found me in my chambers while searching the house." - Lyonesse continued, unsure – "I threatened him… a little." – she said, blushing when she saw the pleased smirk her aunt directed to her – "But with no avail, I think he was more amused than truly scared. Then he said that I was coming with him. I was seventeen and I thought someone would come to rescue me, like in the old tales, so I complied." – and then, she smiled weakly again – "But nobody arrived. It was like everybody I knew had just forsaken me."

"I've never forsaken you, dearie." – Julianna said, hugging her niece again – "Nor your cousin Kayleigh, who asked at the minimum opportunity at the passing knights on our lands if somebody had managed to get you back." – and kissing her brow again, she added with a smile – "And I'm sure my brother, your father, had he have been feeling better of the illness that ended his life, would have started the search himself. Or Lionel, if he still lived…"

"About that, auntie…" - Lyonesse suddenly said – "I'm really sorry for what happened, I…"

The noblewoman smiled.

"You already gave me your condolences when that happened, silly. Don't you remember? You were the first who came after Lionel's funeral to stay with us a while, helping with the house chores. You were a blessing after so much grief."

Lyonesse fidgeted nervously with the hem of her velvet black dress.

"Well… yes, but…" - she stopped, eyeing shyly her aunt, who raised a questioning brow – "Now that I…"

"What, dearie?"

"W… well… a wife should try to make amends f… for her… husband undoings…" - Lyonesse finished in the lowest of voices, not daring to look at her aunt.

Julianna froze in place.

"Your WHAT?!" – she exclaimed, thinking her ears deceived her.

"I knew you would be mad at me for this…" - Lyonesse mumbled sadly.

"I am not mad at you!" – Julianna exclaimed again, livid this time – "I am mad at him! How dare he?" – she gripped the younger woman's shoulders – "Did he forced you to marry him? Oh, I will kill him, the bastard…"

"Uh… you'll see…" - Lyonesse began, her dark eyes looking anywhere but her aunt – "He…"

"Still waiting for someone to come and rescue you?" – Ruber's voice came from behind as she was sitting in front of the bonfire, trying to warm her hands a little in the still of a very cold winter night, alone with her thoughts – "I am so bad with you that, after a whole year, you're still waiting for that excuse of a man your betrothed was to come for you?"

Lyonesse watched as her captor, the infamous Red Knight, sat beside her.

"You aren't bad with me." – she said after a short silence – "You're always eager to please me, you grant me every whim, every petty desire my heart wants. You give me the best clothes, the best wagon to sleep alone in, the freshest viands. I've noticed that." – she explained slowly – "But do not mistake my acknowledgment for blindness, because I know you are not a good man."

"I am not." – he admitted, shrugging – "Does that bother you so much?"

"I don't know." – she admitted as well – "Does my opinion matter at all? I am still your prisoner, after all..."

"You are not." – Ruber said suddenly.

"Since when?"

"Since you can roam as you please around our camp and no guards or myself would stop you if you decided to leave us."

"You know very well that I wouldn't last a single day alone in the wilderness."

Ruber sighed.

"So, shall I understand, by your demeanor, that you want to return to your home?" – he asked. And Lyonesse could tell he dreaded the answer.

The girl shook her head.

"There's nothing for me left in my former home since my father died." – she spoke sadly – "He was very ill when Gaheris asked for my hand and everybody said "yes" except me. I suppose he wanted to secure my future by not leaving me alone as the sole heiress of a big house where I would likely have succumbed to boredom and grief."

"So, you prefer to return to that coward?"

"Gaheris was my betrothed and my father's chosen… but I didn't love him."

"So?"

Lyonesse sighed.

"So now, I don't know where that leaves me." – she said absently – "You said that now I am free. But what kind of freedom is being able to return to my home and slowly die amidst nothingness? Should then I dedicate my life to God in a nunnery? Should I marry an unworthy coward of a man whom I don't love? Should I stay here with you, a betrayer, and live at your expenses without even deserving it? I don't know who I am anymore or if my life right now holds any significance. I'm not even one of your people, nor do I know about your customs."

"You can learn." – Ruber said, looking intently at her – "If I could learn your customs many years ago, you can learn ours too. You have the intelligence to do that. Do you have the willpower?"

The girl had looked at him perplexed, not even knowing how to answer to a compliment so open like that.

She had been called beautiful, gracious, good-heartened… but never before "intelligent".

Intelligence was not a necessary virtue to being a proper lady, but obedience.

"Do you really think… that I can be one of your people?" – she asked, hopeful of belonging to a place, to have an identity… to be more than simply a beautiful decorative maiden.

"I do."

That day, the way she had been looking at that man with the serpentine green eyes had started to change.

True that he wasn't very chivalrous, for his bold manners sometimes made her wish to… strangle him until he learned some TRUE good manners.

But he was astoundingly sincere.

True that he was much older than her. But she didn't care.

True that he wasn't quite how she would picture a handsome man, and his appearance was a little… disheveled. But he looked rather nice in his own way.

True that he wasn't a good man at all… but he was good at her.

First, she opened to his people, not only learning about their customs but making actual conversation with them, listening to them with attention, wanting to make the best for them; adopting these rough, stubborn, proud and resilient people with centuries of culture at their backs as her own people.

And Ruber approved.

She started to truly earn her keep by helping around, making herself useful instead of living as a leech, learning how to assemble and dismantle tents, the kind of wood to pick to make a bonfire, to ignite an ACTUAL bonfire, to flay rabbits and other animals they ate after… and she, in exchange, taught the women all the useful chores and tricks she had been taught since she was a child in order to be one day a good wife.

And Ruber approved.

Her many journeys through repetitive chores reached a comfortable pace as she socialized a bit more mostly with the women… though, as humble wives of illiterate men, they didn't suffice in regard of a truly interesting conversation.

Giving this, Ruber, being the son of a noble, became the evident choice for her to seek something more… akin to her intellectual level. This way, despite her initial reservations, made the two of them grew closer.

And one day, she had found herself fully satisfied with her life, strangely aware that those times when Ruber approved what she did or spoke with her, she felt happy.

He wasn't a man of many words, but his actions spoke for him.

If earlier he had been treating her nice by indulging her a tad too much, now he always made her sit by his side in every meal, allowing her to take the first bite.

Later, instead of leaving her inside the wagons when they moved to another place, he insisted to have her sitting on his horse, his monstrous black horse, while he guided the beast by the reins on foot.

"The Lord honors you greatly, and often." – one of the old wives said to her one day when they were washing the laundry in a near river.

"I've noticed." – Lyonesse answered shortly, not raising her gaze from her current chore.

"And you have accepted his gifts." - the woman continued.

"I have."

"Wait until May has passed. May is a most unlucky month."

"For what?"

Then suddenly, all the women around her had stopped abruptly their work to raise their heads to look at her.

"Have you got no eyes to see, child?" – the old woman scolded her, frowning – "Or are you simply blind?"

That very day, a strange cycle of excitement and dread in equal quantities had started to fill her days.

Excitement for known herself appreciated, desired and accepted… but dread because she couldn't figure out what would be expected from her. Should she play along until he decided for both of them? Should she speak with him? Or maybe the wives were just seeing things and everything was just a huge misunderstanding? He had never expressed that kind of interest in her before, in fact, she had thought that he saw her as little more than a girl… but Lyonesse herself couldn't really read a man so reserved as Ruber was, so she was pretty lost in such matters.

Or maybe she didn't want to see the truth.

Nevertheless, the wives ended being right about their suspicions and the Red Knight, though in a very circumvented and evasive way, had eventually asked her for marriage.

First, she thought he was making fun of her, so she went a little cocky and bold and she had answered straightly that she wouldn't mind marrying him.

Then, everything had started to spin irreparably fast.

Taking her word for granted, he announced a day within the next month, giving her time to make her due preparations, and left a very speechless and dumbfounded Lyonesse to deal with the mess she herself had gotten into.

Then, during that time, she didn't do a thing to stop it, even helping the other women to prepare her wedding dress and the like… and later, as the signaled day came, she played along, her mind not quite wrapped around the idea through the whole celebration… until night came.

And she awakened from her stupor when she found herself alone inside a tent with Ruber.

That definitely was an awkward moment when she looked at the man and saw that expression, as if he was waiting for something.

That very moment she realized he wasn't touching her unless she consented. And she couldn't believe a man his size was actually looking for her acceptation.

She had found that somehow… endearing.

So she had consented.

And so, until today, she hadn't regretted her decision.

As Lyonesse had ended her tale, Julianna found herself pensive. Not a word escaped her lips as she eyed cautiously her niece.

She couldn't believe what she just had heard. She had been spending the last ten years cursing Ruber's name, thinking of him as a greedy, heartless monster for having tried to assassinate the King and for having deprived her of her husband and her daughter of her father… that she never had tried to think of him as an actual human being.

"He had been good to me since the very beginning, auntie. Before and after our marriage." – Lyonesse said slowly – "And he has suffered so much, for he had paid dearly his betrayal and Lionel's murder. Arthur and his men killed his family and exiled him and his people." – she bit her lip – "I… I am not trying to excuse him of his crime, auntie. Never. But you should know that he already paid for it. Now I'm the only family he has… or, at least, by the moment."

Julianna then eyed the young woman in front of her with clear surprise.

"Lyonesse… are you…?" – she asked.

"It has been six years since we married and no children came along." – Lyonesse said – "First, I thought that it was my fault… but every time I tried to apologize for not being able to bear children, he silenced me saying that most likely it was his fault, not mine. Now that time is over. I'm with child." – she smiled a bit – "He doesn't know yet, but I know he will be happy for it. He had wanted children of his blood for many years. I think he wants to recover the family he was deprived of. And I want this child very much, auntie, very, very much."

Uncertain about how to feel or cope with the news, Julianna limited herself to hug her niece. After all, even if was Ruber's, that child was now part of her family. One couldn't blame an innocent baby of the sins of their father.

So she held the girl, her now big girl, while she murmured words of love and encouragement, not a single word of resentment about the decision she had made years before, when she likely could have asked her and Kayleigh to make her a place in their home.

But that time was lost, forever.

Now they would have to figure out what was next.

She prayed that Ruber never captured her daughter, for that would mean that all hope was lost.

Even for Lyonesse, for power would likely destroy Ruber from inside out.

Julianna had seen it in his eyes.

The eyes of a bitter madman driven by revenge.

Chapter Text

Highlander.

That wretched man… he had dared to…

"He's delirious." – said a distant voice, far away hidden in the waves of his ill mind – "Bring me more ethyl alcohol, quickly! The infection is spreading by his blood."

"Wouldn't be better to just cut off his arm and cauterize the wound?" – a second voice dared to ask – "He will bleed to death if the hemorrhage doesn't stop!"

"Fool! Would you want a maimed King sitting on the Throne?!"

"I prefer a maimed King instead of another undetermined time of civil war with greedy nobles disputing the Throne between them!"

"Then be quiet and prepare a cataplasm of garlic, cranberries, and Echinacea." – the first voice instructed sternly – "Cooperate and do as I say, and not only you will save your King's life, but also his arm. Without an arm, a man cannot defend his people. A maimed King is like a land without water: incomplete."

The highlander… cutting swiftly his way between his men like a knife cuts through butter… unstoppable as an avalanche, brutal, bloodlust filling his eyes…

"Hold on, Arthur." – that first voice… ancient, but wise and filled with worry – "Your part in History hasn't reached its end yet."

The first one who had risen to his defense had been Lionel… loyal, idealist, kind-hearted Lionel…

"Here you go, Master Merlin!"

"Good. Now apply it."

White hot pain coursed all along his arm reaching his head and muscles along his chest he never suspected he had. Gritting his teeth, he could swear that, being not his stomach empty, he would have thrown up in that very instant.

Just as he, looking at the corpse of his old friend lying on the floor in an awkward position and drenched in dark blood, had wanted to vomit when he realized he had allowed a loyal man to throw himself to death. A man who, unlike him, had a family.

A man whose wife had never betrayed him and, despite still being young and beautiful, had never taken a second husband.

"We're losing him!"

"No, if I can do something about it."

Then darkness surrounded the semi-conscious King. The last of his bloodline.

Were his eyes deceiving him?

Did he just… witnessed a rock, a godsdamned rock of all, literally spitting out one of his metal men?

The dude in question, huge and with a pair of chains riveted with deadly spikes in its ends for arms, first directed an ugly look towards the offending rock, then a sheepish one towards Ruber, all of him coated in thick, greenish saliva.

Ruber facepalmed himself. The fools had just allowed the troublemaking girl to escape.

This was going to be a strenuous journey not just by crossing the perilous Forbidden Forest from side to side but having to chase the little shit too.

Feeling his right, then his left eye twitch a little when the cursed lake's surface in front of which they were standing burped as soon as he kicked a stone to test it and saw how that same stone was quickly swallowed, Ruber repressed a sudden grunt of frustration.

Why the damned flying creature had to fucking drop the stupid sword? Why the annoying wench had to ride towards the Forbidden Forest instead of riding towards a more sensible destination like, dunno, maybe Camelot, to put a logical example?

The Red Knight was starting to lose his composure, and at a fast pace.

Feeling completely drained, the druid allowed his old bones to rest a few minutes before checking for the hundredth time Arthur's condition.

He wasn't faring well. His arm wasn't evolving well.

All forecasts suggested that he could lose it.

Merlin knew this and a sudden surge of frustration coursed all along his stern features.

Arthur's spirit was restless since the Queen's betrayal. Long ago, when the King had expressed his desire to marry Guinevere, Merlin had opposed the idea; by that time with a sole look he had had enough to be aware of the sensuous nature of the young girl, who had been more than ten years younger than Arthur himself. What did he expect? To love him just because of his good heart and his position?

No, Guinevere had preferred a handsome face with a charming personality instead of a King. She had been young and utterly stupid, not knowing what her betrayal had invoked. Lust had surpassed honor, guilt had won over goodness and madness had conquered reason.

And now this: the King without a sword, the land without a King.

Sinking his head between his hands, the old wizard sighed.

Now, under all the ministrations he had procured to Arthur and all the power that had cost him to retain his limb attached to his body, Merlin had only to wait.

How much, he didn't know.

Feeling more and more anxious at every second that passed looking at the same neverending path full of colored, suspicious flora that wanted to sink its teeth at the minimum slip of guard, the already deranged psyche of the Red Knight, a product of the more than twenty-four hours without getting any sleep, developed an entirely new dimension of delusion when he drew his sword and started to systematically stab the ground and the nearby trees, paranoid that they wanted to swallow him any time now.

"You wretched mythological moron!" – he exclaimed at the third time he suspected they already passed by the same spot they were in – "Where did you drop the sword?" – he inquired impatiently, pulling one of the bat-like griffin's ears.

Hissing in pain, not really appreciating in the least the permanent foul mood of his Master, who already was almost crossing the thin line between of what was acceptable and what wasn't in regard to the treatment he was dispensing to the powerful being, the griffin smelled the air and then proceed to examine the ground they were in.

"It all looks so different from down here…" - it commented, making an honest effort to contrast the surroundings to any visual reference it could remember about where did it, indeed, had dropped the cursed weapon.

Wanting to butt his solid cranium against the closest hard surface, Ruber suppressed the violent urge to strangle the creature. Ask for something more idiotic than their current situation and you will have a hard time getting worse.

"It's no use." – the red-haired man sighed heavily when he noticed the last lights of that very day were disappearing between the thick foliage that roofed their view from the clear sky – "We are going to camp here for the night. You…" - he addressed one of his metallic men, feeling a sudden chill crawling along his spine when he noticed the vacant, empty, almost blank stare he received in answer. That was something the Wayward Sisters hadn't commented when they had bestowed that cursed potion to him in exchange for Arthur's head and, thus, more territory to expand their vile ways. He hadn't thought what was truly like to become a spawn made of flesh and steel. Now, he was unsure of what to think about it. The potion's effects were irreversible – "Go fetch some wood for a bonfire. And you." - he added, looking at the other man, his gaze as devoid of life as the former one – "Try to find something actually edible in this damned forest, and please… if it is a unicorn or something of the like, let it be. I don't want to get more cursed than I already am." – he muttered, more to himself than to the strange golem in front of him.

The metallic men nodded and they began with their respective tasks.

After a really brief supper where he and the griffin had been the only beings who had actually eaten, Ruber found himself sat in front of the dying bonfire staring absently at the orange flames casting dancing shadows at the still forms of the asleep magical creature and his men.

Dark thoughts assaulted him in the surrounding quiet blackness of the forest. The last six years he had grown dependent on Lyonesse's presence by his side to get asleep, even if that same slumber consisted on four or five hours of true rest. He had grown old and disgustingly soft.

He sometimes even felt ashamed of his nightmares and anxiety attacks, because she always would be there soothing him, holding his large frame with her thin arms and always being so damn kind and supportive… he had wished sometimes for her to simply ignore him or even say that she had had enough of his weakness. That way he, one way or another, would have felt bounded to man up and this pathetic routine within his marriage would likely have ended long ago.

But she always said that she was okay dealing with all his shit, that she was there for him and he only needed more time to overcome his trauma.

Wasn't that pathetic? A decade had passed since the source of that so-called "trauma" happened. Wouldn't he just leave it alone?

And she, of all people, was the one dealing with it almost every night.

The first time he had laid eyes on her he had admitted that she was a rare beauty, black hair and black eyes among a land with a huge percentage of the population being blonde or auburn-haired (for gods' sake, there was more people being redheads like himself than being raven haired instead).

But what truly had captured his interest was that very moment when, after raiding that disgrace of a knight's house and entering unceremoniously in her private chambers not even knowing the wretched Gaheris had a betrothed as a guest in his home, she had taken a silver stylet from her dressing table and had start to threaten him that if he laid a hand on her, he will lose his masculine parts.

That had been so damn fetching… but, above everything, intriguing.

He openly admitted he had acted with a part of his anatomy that had clearly not been his brains at all when he almost immediately had stated that she was coming with him, either nice and easy or over his shoulder like a potato sack.

And she had proven a true lady, if a feisty one, when she had had walked in front of him with a dignified pose, saying that she acknowledged her situation and she would play hostage willingly as long as nobody touched her; and that way, she had allowed herself to be abducted with her head high.

He should have suspected where her bloodline came from after such a display and later, when he learned that her aunt was the very Lady Julianna he had been so infatuated with when he was younger, Ruber had wanted to facepalm himself.

Why he had to feel attracted to such a kind of woman, who would feel nothing but repulsion and hatred towards him? Why he had to be so damn picky and obsessive?

But he found not repulsion, nor hatred as far as Lyonesse was concerned, but a totally understandable and even predictable wariness.

After all, he had been the one who had slain her uncle-in-law and threatened King Arthur's life. She also had heard about him and his gruesome war accomplishments and, instead of being afraid or disgusted, she was more than anything… a bit guarded, but nothing out of what a sensible person would feel in her situation.

All the time she had been kept hostage she had behaved like a civilized, reasonable person never looking at him or his men like they were somehow inferiors to her, never bearing that cursed look he knew so well from Britannian people who thought that Scottish "highlanders" were no more than a bunch of barbaric Vikings (ah, the ignorance…).

She, at least, had been decent enough to not calling them names but simply addressing them as she would do with any other regular individual.

Truly expecting some sort of warrior or a knight sent by King Arthur himself to arrive in order to rescue her as any other seventeen-year-old girl raised under Arthur's kingdom pretenses would, her dignified demeanor started to shrivel up as many months under the Red Knight's custody had passed and nothing had changed at all.

Ruber had known better and he hadn't been so surprised at all, but seeing the girl growing so sad and depressed, clearly isolated from the rest of their camp and keeping all to herself, somehow bothered him. He had tried to behave as civilized as she was, displaying a very unlike of him behavior of almost gentlemanish manners biting his tongue more than once in order to not being so brusque as he usually was, giving her space, privacy and many other small luxuries he was sure she would appreciate being nomads as they were.

She always thanked him… but more than once he had felt compelled to even ask (yes, ask, not order as he would have liked) her to get out of her wagon to catch some fresh air and sunlight. She was becoming so pale that, along with her raven hair and scandalous shadows under her eyes, gave her a ghost-like resemblance.

He knew she was starting to look like him and he really didn't want that so, one day, he decided he had had enough and he had had a little talk to her.

The girl, to his much surprise, wasn't so much against their lifestyle and staying with them wasn't a so ill prospect to her like he had feared, instead what was truly killing her was her self-imposed isolation along with a very introspective notion of not belonging anywhere.

She even felt that she was living at his expenses and that was something that made Ruber slightly… uncomfortable, even a bit guilty. After all, he had been the one who had abducted her not even knowing how to properly deal with her unsuspected politeness and the attraction he felt towards her even before learning who she was related with.

So he had given her an official change of her status as hostage to… "guest" he guessed, and the chance to earn her place among his people.

She had taken that chance eagerly and he had not been disappointed in the least. She had been truly honest in her intentions and that had left him conflicted with himself, confused with the alien sensation of feeling like a total asshole.

He wasn't a good man and he had behaved how he had pleased most of his life, meaning that he knew he had pretty much been a complete dick with a lot of people and he didn't care about it in the slightest.

Why the girl had to be different?

He then had decided to pay no mind at the situation… until the girl had started to talk to him.

First, he had dismissed it as small chattering, very expected from a girl her age, until he found himself… exchanging knowledge, making comparisons between customs and contrasting impressions about books they both had read.

The girl was actually very opinionated and she liked to discuss a wide variety of topics that hinted a most impeccable education.

No wonder she sought to converse with him, for the wives, mothers and daughters of his men were peasant ladies who even didn't know how to read or write, much less to bother themselves with complicated ideas that weren't among their priorities.

So that way one day he had found himself thinking that what a waste she would have been being married to that airhead of Gaheris and, instead, she should marry someone who could truly appreciate her sharp nature.

Someone like him.

It wasn't something he had thought at that moment when, driven by lust, he had abducted her… but now it made perfect sense.

Ruber had never wanted to marry any "noble" lady of the High Lands mostly because they were likely blood-related to him one way or another and he had had enough of inbreeding issues within his family.

And no Britannian noblewoman would have wanted him as a husband.

And he didn't want a meek peasant girl who just would obey him and who basically was bound to be the bearer of his children and little else.

No, he wanted… something else.

And that "something else" could be perfectly the raven-haired girl whose presentation card had been a threat to chop off his balls if he dared to play funny.

She was pretty to a fault, she was kind, she had brains, she was feisty… and she had more guts than any fancy knight of Camelot he had ever known.

She was perfect.

So he had proposed.

And she had said "yes".

At first, he was shocked, because he wouldn't believe she was agreeing so easily. But she did.

And everything had been smooth and easy… until they went to bed for the first time.

Sex was well enough, he supposed, a truly nice change from the few prostitutes he had been with all these years… even if he had to restrain himself in order to not behave like an animal with her.

Yeah, everything had been really nice… until he had fallen asleep.

And the due nightmares he always experienced had started to poison his unconscious mind.

That had been not only pathetic but infuriatingly… humiliating.

Because she, even sore from their previous activities and clearly startled of his sudden behavior, had asked really nice, really sweet, what was wrong with him.

And he had started to talk. About everything, about his mother and his sister, about the bloody details that had surrounded their deaths.

And much more he didn't know it weighted his soul so much.

He spoke about his father, about the dangerous lunacy within his family, about how his brother had wanted him dead and how much loneliness he had felt those years until Arthur had come with his offer.

He had explained how the people in the Court had treated him, how he had felt, how he hated that "highlander" epithet that everyone called him like if was some kind of insult.

At some point, he had started to sound delusional, and he painfully knew that, until his new bride, instead of feeling utterly horrified of so much darkness and shit surrounding him, had hushed him softly and she had embraced him tightly in silence until he had felt her tears against his skin.

Thunderstruck, he had asked why she was crying.

"I cry for you." – had been her answer – "Because I see you yourself don't have tears for all the pain and misery you had been forced to endure."

"You know I am not a good man." – he had said after a while, his eyes lost in the darkness inside the tent they were in – "Why should you pity me?"

"Because you, as well as any man, have a soul, have you not? Besides…" - she had added – "… I was once sad and lost and you helped me. I will do everything in my power to do the same for you."

That very moment he had had started to love her.

It felt a little cliché to fall for your own wife; a little cheesy indeed and he knew it… but he couldn't help it. And now, he was absolutely dependent of her presence to have a proper rest, how ironical…

Grabbing his aching head between both of his hands, he proceeded to lay down in the soft grass fully aware that he wasn't getting any sleep that night.

And he was right.

For their entire journey through the Forbidden Forest in the company of that pestering girl, he had been annoyed.

Her complete disregard of the nature alive (and mostly harmful, mind you) around them, filled with ancient magic capable of the worse curses… or the most gruesome deaths for the report; the incapability of taken care of herself in regard to certain metallic men he had saved her from by mistake after ruining his precious and only one fishing net he had spent weeks making… all of this was literally making him to teeth grinding from time to time.

He had tried to dissuade her, first warning her of the perils of the forest, next dismissing her as incapable, telling her he knew the sound of each rock and stone and he embraced what others feared… to, as a last resort, discourage her by leaving her behind, going through the hardest paths, ignoring her grunts of the evident effort she put to keep his pace and sporting deaf ears to her attempts to bring up some conversation.

And the worst part had been that Ayden, his only friend and guide through his lonely existence as a hermit, had taken a liking to her.

Why in the blazes he had agreed, finally defeated and fed up of her stubbornness, to bring her along? She was nothing but Trouble, with the Capital T.

When the night had come, he had violently halted his brusque walking and, without a word, he had started the task to light a bonfire to cook something more decent than his rations of dried meat. He could use some fresh food without that unhealthy amount of salt, his mouth tasted sour after having been hissing between clenched teeth for the unsuspected record of six full hours of neverending stupidity from the girl's part.

He had been eating absently, growing more and more annoyed as the girl couldn't damn shut her mouth, making from time to time inadequate and highly insulting comments that were closely related of "look at this, look at that", "have you seen the bright colors of this plant?" or "wouldn't kill you to take a look at this".

Was she doing it on purpose? He really couldn't tell if she was so unkind-hearted or simply dumb. The latter would be likely the right answer.

Feeling first a flutter of wings close to his face, a second later the tiny weight of Ayden, his falcon friend, over his shoulder, Garrett sighed.

"We shouldn't have brought her along with us." – he muttered to his animal companion while passing him a bite of his roasted rabbit – "She doesn't have a clue what she's exactly doing. She would be better off on the road gaining advantage from that Red Knight and his creatures to warn Arthur than tagging along and slowing us."

The silver-winged falcon gave a high cry as if disagreeing with him. Ayden sometimes behaved so human-like that Garret felt amazed.

Smiling slightly, Garrett passed another piece of roasted meat to his friend.

"Do you understand him?" – suddenly, the voice of the annoying girl reached his ears once more.

Garrett blinked a couple of times and his thin smile disappeared.

"If you are not going to eat more, I suggest you go to sleep." – he stated dryly, not even bothering to answer her question – "A long journey awaits us tomorrow."

"But I don't have a…" - she started until something soft hit her right on her face – "Humph! What is this?"

Garrett felt exasperated for the hundredth time in that long day.

"You have the gift of sight and yet you can't tell what a sleeping bag is." – he stated, sarcasm dripping from each word – "How quaint."

"I've never had the need to deal with this kind of situation…" - she sounded suddenly weak.

But Garrett wasn't in the mood to pay mind to her feelings.

"Go to sleep or do not, as you please." – he grunted – "I really don't care if at six in the morning you are still asleep because you need more rest than usual. I will leave without you."

"Then I will keep your sleeping bag forever!" – she exclaimed, outrage tinting her voice tone. If he could see her, he would bet that she now looked pretty upset. That served her right.

Without answering, Garrett continued eating, adding some wood to the bonfire from time to time until he finished his supper and he started to pick up things in order to wash his utensils.

"Allow me to help you…" - the girl started to say until a sudden move from his hand prevented her to finish her sentence.

"No." – said Garret with a cold edge in his voice that gave the girl some pause – "You have helped a lot already by slowing us, getting yourself into trouble and chatting incessantly about the first nonsensical idea that courses through your head. I don't need more of that kind of help."

A sudden, blessed silence was all the answer he needed as he started to clean everything and to accommodate himself in the grass since he didn't have another sleeping bag for himself.

And as he was comfortably drawing into sleep, feeling the remnant heat from the dying bonfire against his face, he heard something muffled not far away from where he was lying.

At first, he couldn't quite picture what was that sound until he identified it as muffled sobs.

On that very moment, his blood froze in his veins and a sudden pang of guilt overcame him.

Maybe, after all, it was fitting that he was a blind man and his eyes didn't recognize any other thing that blackness… because if the girl's muffled sobs were any indicative, his heart in the last years of solitude had grown black indeed.

Chapter Text

"Highlanders" they said, "those bunch of brutish people belonging to a brutish race with brutish customs and brutish endurance".

He likely would disagree with everything but the latter… however, feeling how his stomach was literally almost turning upside down from the recent experience of their last encounter, he wasn't so sure anymore.

Ruber fought a wave of nausea as his irritated sight observed from the corner of one eye how those… those… thrice-damned, sonuvabitching critters, Julianna's lil' shit of a daughter among them, escaped for the hundredth time from his clutches.

"Ssseize them…" - he hissed with a raspy, weakened voice as he felt how his pride was being crushed into dust as his recent experience prevented him to even move.

"Yes… Master..." – his faithful pet, the griffin, replied with a voice so high-pitched and choky that Ruber momentarily pitied the creature.

He didn't have a clue where his men could be, but he and the griffin had been the ones who had actually been so close of their intended prey, so close… to end trapped under the insane weight of a smelly ogre, those gigantic creatures made of rock and moss that slept during the daylight.

But that precisely hadn't been the worst of his failed plan.

The creature, that disgusting creature…

Oh, how he hated ogres…

Getting on his feet, Ruber bent forwards and threw up miserably while his senses returned slowly to him.

He didn't think about what lied in front of him until he found a dead end in his run towards the girl and her idiotic friends outside the ogre's den.

Still seeing double, his survival instinct allowed him to stop just a few inches from a freefall downwards a precipice. Then he blinked several times until his sight informed him that the girl and the others who accompanied her were literally sliding down the earthwork.

Great, just great.

But as metallic steps found him, he turned back to face his men to immediately take a quick decision: to kick them down the precipice in order to have a chance to reach the girl.

"After you!" – he exclaimed angrily as he saw the metallic golems rolling graceless down the precipice as some sort of avalanche compounded by three rocks made of steel with arms and legs.

It wasn't the best plan he had ever formulated, but the events of that morning had proven too much for him.

That senseless chase towards the girl and the sword, the damn sword, had been a total splitting headache.

A week, a whole week after the girl's steps and Ruber had managed to find himself along with the griffin and his men gotten into the most surreal, stupid situations he had ever lived.

At the next morning after their first night spent in the Forbidden Forest, one of his scouts had informed him about the girl's destination along with a blind man and a silver winged falcon that knew where Excalibur was.

Yeah, well, everything had been alright to that point: following the annoying girl and her new companions to the sword. His plan was perfect: going after them undetected so, as they would put their fingers on Excalibur's hilt, Ruber and his men would capture them.

But, BUT, first they had gone across the dragon country located in the very center of the Forbidden Forest for a whole day without taking a single break in the middle of the volcanic background and the searing heat which had made Ruber sweat under his armor like a pig… to end with the troublemaking girl managing to piss off a whole group of full-grown fire-spitting beasts.

Then everything had turned out a whole mess.

Following a two-headed dragonling (yeah, you know, this kind of weird dragon babies that had undeveloped wings and whose meat was as tender as a lamb's given the fact they didn't have the natural armor the scales of true dragonhide provided to the adults) the girl and the blind man had found a way to evade the belligerent adult dragons… but Ruber and his men hadn't been so lucky and they had ended themselves eventually face to face with a whole group of five beasts, one for each one of them. Ruber had known that, in theory, dealing with sharp dragonhide armed with a sword was totally pointless, so he had thrown his weapon aside.

First, he had tried to calculate the beasts' movements, their body language, trying not to piss them off further than the girl and her companions already had. Then he had stuck to the wall the forked canyon they were in provided because he knew, from their position, that trying to escape wasn't really a good idea… but one of the dragons, presumably the alpha of the group, had approached him, and only him, and had shown Ruber a double file of its long, sharp teeth coated in a smelly and disgusting greenish slime that had been its saliva.

Ruber had contained his hand until the foul stench of its breath barely at a palm of his face had stung his nostrils while his eyes had observed how its pointy, slimy dark tongue was approaching to his flesh.

Feeling utterly sick at what he was seeing and smelling, Ruber didn't know what he was doing until the pain from his knuckles connecting with dragonhide informed to his brain that he had just… punched the creature.

And the beast was actually roaring with pain. So they weren't as strong and indestructible as the fables painted dragons.

So he had continued punching the disgusting lizard, barehanded, until he had beaten it to a pulp.

That had become the actual dinner later that night.

So, as he was chewing the roasted meat of that same dragon he had reduced hours before, Ruber was swallowing voraciously as impotence poured over him. He simply couldn't believe the misadventures he had gotten into in less than two days.

The griffin was by his side watching him eat, eyeing the roasted meat with desire while a thin thread of drool went downwards its powerful beak. He had taught the powerful being long ago to NEVER eat before him.

"I can't believe I'm reduced to chasing a little girl…" - Ruber hissed between munches – "… a blind man…" - he continued as the powerful being beside him lower its head in shame as it knew this was meant as a reprimand for losing the sword – "… and a pigeon of all." – then having enough of the portion of meat he was eating, he had thrown the remains to the griffin, who took what was being offered ravenously – "Find them all and report back to me."

The creature, hungry as it was, didn't answer as it savored the salty meat.

Ten whole seconds passed and Ruber, whose patience was growing very thin lately, pulled one of its bat-like ears, a point in the creature's anatomy he knew it hurt a little more than if he pulled a few feathers from its neck.

"Did you hear me?!" – the red-haired man hissed, sending a warning glance to the griffin while it swallowed the meat.

"Sorry Master, my beak was full." – the griffin answered with an apologetic face.

Ruber looked at the creature a whole minute without blinking. He just… couldn't believe it.

"Typical." – he sighed, letting go the being while he massaged his temples, feeling how another headache was coming – "Of all evil creatures in the world, I had to find one with table manners…"

But the griffin had followed his orders to the letter and, by the dark, it returned with news about the little runaway group. As Ruber suspected, they were smart enough to not to travel by night so, as the first light in the morning would crown the skies, he would press his men to quicken the pace until they reached them.

Luckily for him, if the report from his beast was correct, the girl and the blind man often struggled with one another about the decisions to take in regard to where to go. That disagreement could prove their undoing as Ruber knew, more than anybody, that constant quarrels about who was the boss would slow a group considerably. He had lived similar situations back when he was under Arthur's service… and the solution had been always the same: to prompt those who opposed his command to "casual accidents". After all, accidents do happen, right?

"When I'll get my hands on that girl…" - he grunted that night when everybody was asleep, releasing a bit his much frustration, visualizing very graphically how that fragile neck would snap if he squeezed hard enough…

He simply couldn't stand this much idiocy, how the girl had escaped in the first place and even managed to get allies through her quest.

And later, as his group caught hers unaware the next day, he also couldn't believe that, even with the blind man wounded, the girl had managed to slip from Ruber's grasp and even block temporally their path towards them.

The task had been seemly easy enough: the Red Knight had caught sight of his prey and, before giving the order to get them, he had taken his sweet time studying his adversaries.

A quick glance at a safe distance hidden in an advantageous position between the dense foliage had procured Ruber a whole picture of the situation: the guide, clearly, was ironically the blind man whose authority was being constantly diminished by the incessant and sometimes even unnecessary and goading chattering from the girl while the two-headed dragonling was anything but useful hissing and quarreling one head with the other without a truce.

With so much noise and distractions, Ruber immediately seized the opportunity as he tensed his bow aiming at the guide.

He wasn't really a good archer, and now even less giving the fact that his sight wasn't anything like as it used to be when he was eighteen and he had had to hunt down beasts in the wilderness to sustain himself in his young, dark days as a runaway.

But, if not lethal, his arrows had always proven to be… pretty accurate. So when the blind man had dropped to the ground clutching a bleeding side, Ruber had given the order.

"Get them!"

But the girl, the utterly annoying girl, had proven to be quite resourceful when she had helped the blind man to get on his feet as she procured with the unsuspected help of some strange creature/plants to trap Ruber and his men under several pounds of pure magical wood just by guiding the creatures' spiky limbs towards Ruber's group instead of hers as those entities didn't make a distinction between one's another's.

That had been humiliating.

But more humiliating had been the most recent event as Ruber's group had managed to catch up again with the young Kayleigh's one.

Somehow, the blind man had recovered amazingly quick from his injury in barely three days as he followed the track of some giant footprints that ended leading both groups to an ogre's lair.

The disgusting creature in question had Excalibur in its power using it as a toothpick, so the common goal to get the fabled sword had become in less than a minute a race against the clock to see who got it first.

And the winner, to his much frustration, had been the troublemaking girl yet again.

Plus, during the process, he and the griffin had found themselves trapped under… the ogre's butt.

The next course of events had been so humiliating that he didn't want to remember anything that held even a remote resemblance to them.

So now he was looking at the distance, seeing the girl along with the blind man mounted over the dragonling's belly as they slide downwards that precipice closely followed by his… rolling metallic men.

Ask for something more bizarre and unrealistic and you would have a hard time finding something worse than that.

Meanwhile, his griffin had been chasing after the blasted silver winged pigeon but, as the puny little bird had fled towards Ruber, it also guided the bulky frame of the dark mythological creature towards its Master… prompting an unavoidable collision between the two.

So, basically, Ruber ended along the griffin rolling downwards like his men as some inelegant ton of bricks; stupid as it sounded.

Twenty minutes after, when Ruber woke up from the considerable slam he had gotten to his head while he had rolled downwards, he first had screamed in frustration, then he had his way hitting and kicking the metallic golems around him as the men just took it without even blinking.

"That's it! I'm done with this!" – he shouted as he panted like a horse, ignoring the general pain he felt all over his body after the fall – "Enough of this stupid game! We're heading towards the end of this cursed forest!"

Hissing in pain, the griffin shook out the dust from its feathers and sneezed.

"So… after everything we went through, we are going to let them go just like that, Master?" – it asked completely fed up, wishing for once to get back to the familiar caravan.

Ruber recovered his mangled sword from the dusty ground.

"Who said nothing about letting them go?" - the highlander spat between clenched teeth as a sardonic grin appeared in his emaciated visage, exhausted and a bit delirious after their misadventures and so many days sleeping less than an hour per journey – "We are going to anticipate their movements."

After a couple of days out with fever, Arthur's life was out of danger.

Merlin's reserves of mystic energies were completely drained and he knew with crystal clear certainty that he would need a whole Mooncycle to replenish them again to their fullest.

He was starting to get too old for all of this. First, Uther with his insane infatuation with the forbidden Igraine and the struggle both, man and druid, had gotten into after Pendragon had changed his mind in regard of handing his firstborn to Merlin as they had accorded as a fair payment for the druid's services.

Years later, Arthur and the civil war in order to make Britain as one Nation.

Then, Guinevere and her betrayal.

And now this? His deep knowledge in arcane magic had prevented him to wither and die long ago as the years had passed inexorably… but what magic could not prevent was one's soul to become old.

And Merlin's soul was now ancient. How much time he could stay by his protégée's side until his advanced age would render him as inhuman as had rendered his kin long ago?

Take Morgause for example, her ambition and hatred had driven her to even sacrifice her children's wellbeing in exchange for a chance to face him and defy his power. The McLeod Clan, the one her deceased husband and their children had belonged to, was but a means to her twisted will.

Just as it had been with the Unholy Triad of the so-called Wayward Sisters, spinners of Fate and puppeteers to men's will. Inhuman, perverse… immortal.

Now Merlin was alone, disowned by his kin and getting old while the only family he had, his pupil and his King, Arthur, was fighting for his life and his sanity.

All the sacrifices made to make Arthur King in order to bring peace and unity were but a fleeting chapter in History as Merlin knew too well no heirs would hold Arthur's burden when he died.

How pitiful was to desperately clung to a mortal's life to extend that fragile time of peace that, if the signs in the sky were correct, was about to shatter no matter how much they tried.

And that was a burden too heavy even for a man as powerful as the mighty Merlin of the legends was.

"Garrett… Do you think my mother is safe?"

"If she's anything like you, I'm sure she's fine."

So many things had changed in the span of a single week that her senses were still raw, her body ached and her heart felt… confused.

"We must hurry. There isn't much time left."

She still could feel his rough hand on hers, allowing her to direct their steps, having found a comfortable, even friendly way to walk one beside the other.

Together, inseparable as an item, equals amidst the greenery where she had learned how to coexist with nature and magic in harmony.

For she had found harmony, both in mind and soul.

"Garrett, I can see it now… the sky!"

His steady pulse against her palm, his thin gentle smile hidden beyond the wild curtain of his blonde hair, his dead eyes more shining than the stars… those very stars they had had been walking under as he made questions about the visual detail of their surroundings while she described everything as far as her sight went.

"The end of the Forbidden Forest…" - his voice had been veiled with something invisible she hadn't detected at first, for she only had a smile. A smile of relief, a smile of hope… a smile only for him even if he couldn't see her – "It's okay, you go ahead. I'll be… right behind you."

So he had been there, backing her, making sure nothing would come from behind to harm her… and now, she missed that sensation of utter safety, the feeling of a cord shared between them preventing them to become afar from one another.

Because… he wasn't there any longer.

"Garrett… what's wrong?"

"Take Excalibur to Arthur. You don't have much time."

"But we shall deliver the sword together!"

"No." – and his negative had been forthright, a sudden pang of something sad and distant had crossed his features – "You deliver it. I… I don't belong in that world."

At that very moment they, somehow, had moved backwards in their relationship as he hadn't offered a further explanation for his sudden change in spirits while his steps guided him back to the gloom of the forest followed closely by his animal companion, Ayden, to be swallowed again by darkness.

Looking his back turned at her and his silhouette diluting in the distance, Kayleigh had felt something sharp and painful being torn from her chest.

The cord they had been sharing, keeping them close. And her innards were bleeding for that sudden loss.

Because he belonged in her world.

How to explain something, if she gave enough questioning to the thought itself, that wasn't as easy as she at the beginning had pretended to think?

She had been lost, scared, chased by a bunch of monsters and hopelessly alone in a quest she now knew it had been too much for her right from the start.

And he had been there, if unwillingly at first, to play the white knight for her, to guide her through hostile territory, to soothe her with kind words when she felt useless and stupid, to offer her his hand and being her eyes through the dark.

To be everything she had needed in her darkest hour.

It had been a whole week. Seven days of her twenty-year-old life. A drop of water in the middle of the ocean.

A week was meaningless to a life so young with so many years to come… but still, that sole week had been a time in her life she couldn't leave behind just like that.

Fighting a sudden pang of emptiness, the young Kayleigh had tried to regain some of her old bravery, some of her old herself.

With the sword in her hand and the clumsy dragonling twins arguing between them after her steps, Kayleigh looked at the blue sky to forever and the blowing grass in the wind, dancing.

It would have been a much better sight… with him… with her…

Shaking her head, she tried to rationalize with her inner self: if he had never met her, she'd be fine on her own… because she had never felt so lonely than when he left.

This thing, this… feeling was never meant to be such a crazy affair… And who has time for tears right now with the kingdom in peril?
Suddenly, she stopped, squeezing the sword tight as tears gathered in her eyes, realizing that she had never thought she would sit around and cry for someone… 'till now...

How could she felt so strongly for someone she had barely met in the spawn of a week? Someone who had been brusque and rude to her at the beginning, someone who with she had so many disagreements, someone initially so hermetic, someone she had put in unnecessary danger with her incessant chattering, a product of her nervousness and the uncertainty of her mother's fate at Ruber's hands.

Someone… who had been the last one to tell her something about her father's good nature, the legacy of Sir Lionel's kind heart spread even to that remote place in the world, in that hermit's heart who had felt responsible in a way of the injustice delivered to Lionel's memory as he, having been the stable hand in Camelot's stables when he was a child, had allowed the betrayer to escape that fatidic day atop of his horse after his murder.

A child so young… grown into a man who couldn't forgive himself for what wasn't his responsibility, for what cannot have been avoided.

She had sought to ease his pain, to disperse his insecurities telling him that Lionel wouldn't want him to give up, that he was as good as any knight in Camelot.

After that conversation, something had changed between them.

And now, she had lost that something forever.

Or maybe she hadn't?

Would her father want her to give up, to leave this young man he put his faith in many years ago?

The answer was no.

"I'm going back for Garrett." – she said out loud, settling her decision to take her companion with her to Camelot… even if she had to take him by the ear; until a sudden roar stopped her in her tracks.

Ruber and his men had found her.

She hadn't had time even to hold her breath as long chains enveloped her middle section painfully as they secured firmly her arms and, thus, rendered her unable to make sudden moves.

"I'll take that." – said his voice, his obnoxious snake-like voice as he unsheathed Excalibur from the sheath between her hands. Raising her head with a frowned look, Kayleigh gave a dirty glare to Ruber, who looked most pleased to finally have the mythic artifact in his power – "Ah, Excalibur… mine forever!" – he exclaimed delighted, eyeing the weapon with an insane grin to, almost immediately, divert his gaze towards Kayleigh – "You have been quite annoying and a bone hard to chew… for a little girl."

Kayleigh eyed the sword's blade glistening against the sunlight as if it was an electric wave in Ruber's hands, then she noticed the greedy glint in the Red Knight's eyes as they took in the pristine steel.

"I've waited ten long years to hold this sword." – he said with a thoughtful glance, his mind clearly divided between his greed and the knowledge of what a powerful instrument he held in his calloused hand – "Oh, how long I have waited…"

How long had been that time in his life… unable to have his revenge, unable to lead a normal life… to now, having that instrument of power ready to serve his purposes…

He had meditated carefully all this time since he had got out of the Forbidden Forest what to do with the sword. Because it was pretty clear that he could lose the weapon any time now as he impotently had kept losing it this late week playing the cat and mouse game with the girl and her idiotic friends.

And he just couldn't risk losing Excalibur right now.

In fact, he couldn't allow himself to lose it never ever.

Looking at his hand holding the sword's handle, he knew what he had to do to secure his place in the Throne and Arthur's head on a pike.

It was a risked move, but not one he hadn't foreseen already. The pieces were in their right places on the board chess.

Inhaling deeply, Ruber remembered the promise he made ten years ago to his mother. Now he had fulfilled all her expectations… but one.

Because no heirs of his blood had come neither from his encounters with those nameless women of his past whose faces he had forgotten over the years, neither from his rightful wife.

A man who had been with more than one woman through his life and not pregnancies, unwanted or not, had come along was likely bound to be sterile.

On the other hand, the potion the infamous Wayward Sisters had bestowed upon him, along with making possible to fuse flesh with steel, rendered the affected barren.

Barren and immortal, indestructible, imperishable.

What did he care then about getting barren if he was already sterile? That way he would make sure to fulfill his promise to its final consequences, no matter the price.

So he rummaged a little inside his breastplate until he found what he was looking for: the unholy concoction.

With slightly trembling pulse, he carefully allowed a single drop to fall over the fingers of his right hand, making sure the liquid contacted both his flesh and the steel of Excalibur's handle.

"Now, I will hold it forever…" - he muttered as a searing pain coursed along his arm, igniting from inside to outside his blood system – "Prepare for the glory… OF A NEW AGE!" – he exclaimed as a vicious greenish fog enveloped him.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the cry of denial from the pestering girl as his flesh melted around Excalibur and reaccommodated to the steel forging an entirely new limb.

A limb even the griffin regarded with horror as the greenish fog dissolved slowly.

Blowing over the burning steel fused with his arm, Ruber hissed in pain.

"It's hot!" – he exclaimed.

Kayleigh's legs failed her as she ended knelt, head down, on the dusty ground.

Ruber approached her and lift her chin with his human hand. She reminded him of someone else… just as her mother reminded him of that someone in the same way.

Someone he had fond memories with. Someone he loved.

"Don't worry little girl." – he said softly to immediately change bluntly his demeanor, remembering who was talking to – "I'll make sure Arthur gets it back… or gets it in the back." – finding his occurrence utterly funny, he chuckled evilly – "As the case may be." – he added, turning his back at her – "Shove her in the wagon." – he ordered to his men, who dared not to contradict him.

For he, human or not, was still their Lord despite the consequences that followed his decisions.

Lyonesse waited expectantly by Julianna's side, both women sat on the pelts and cushions the younger had brought to her aunt in order to make her stay with them as comfortable as possible.

Julianna had been sad and distant and Lyonesse had had to resort begging her to eat something after whole days of not even taking a bite. Suddenly her aunt seemed so frail, so helpless… so lost.

The woman prayed daily for her estranged daughter, always fearing for her wellbeing and hoping her good wishes would guide her to brighter paths ahead.

The raven-haired young woman didn't know what to say, what to do to make things better or, at least, easier for everyone.

Her husband's men, those who had been transformed and had not accompanied him in his perilous journey through the Forbidden Forest, weren't behaving well with Julianna and the rest of the people they kept hostage. Lyonesse had witnessed very rough mistreatment towards Lady Julianna's servants and her aunt had been spared of the physical part, if not the psychological, mostly because, if brutish, those men knew better than pissing off their Lord's wife. Their Lady.

For she could be young and minute, but she had a temper to be reckoned. And Ruber himself could attest that.

Lacing her pale, dainty hands with her aunt ones, Lyonesse gave them a small squeeze while smiling warmly. She had lost the count of how many times she had assured the woman to not to worry if Ruber finally managed to capture Kayleigh, for he knew that he would pay dearly if he dared to harm her cousin. Besides, he was an adult and he knew he was dealing with a young girl (even if that same young girl was a whirlwind herself); he wasn't so ruthless to even contemplate hitting her. His strength alone would suffice to restrain her without the need for violence.

Suddenly, after a strange change in the atmosphere which had hidden the sun briefly and had left a slight sulfuric odor hanging in the air, both women hold their breaths after an ominous silence to gasp when they heard several metallic steps towards their wagon followed by a torrent of a very unladylike curses spoken by a known voice.

Then, out of thin air, the very Kayleigh they had been so worried about dropped in front of them, face-first to the wooden floor of the wagon.

After some grunting by Kayleigh's part and a quick exchange of looks between Lyonesse and Julianna, the latter dared to speak in the lowest of voices.

"Kayleigh!" – she exclaimed.

The alluded raised her head to look at, first her mother, second the slender, clad in black young woman beside her.

"Mother…?" – she said, confused – "Wha…?"

She didn't finish that sentence when her mother's arms encircled her.

"Thank Heavens you are safe!" – the noblewoman said, tears of joy gathering in her beautiful violet eyes. Tears that she would never allow falling, for she had many years at her back restraining the tears, fruit of the many sorrows of widowhood.

After embracing her mother with all her might, as if releasing her would prompt the older woman to disappear in thin air, the young Kayleigh interposed her body between her mother and the pale stranger before her.

"Who are you?" – she demanded, hostility painted all over her features, the body language tense and protective towards Julianna like some wild feline – "What are you doing here with my mother? Oh, if you have done something to her…"

Lyonesse's delicate features faltered a bit and her black eyes showed a sorrow so deep that gave the young Kayleigh some pause.

"No, no!" – Lady Julianna quickly stepped in to take her daughter by her shoulders in an appeasing gesture – "It is alright. Do not you remember her, Kayleigh? It is Lyonesse, dear, your cousin."

Kayleigh's eyes went wide as she took a closer look at the raven-haired woman in front of her. She didn't remember Lyonesse to be so… pale, so slender… so dark. The image her memories retained of her disappeared cousin was of a smiling, energetic and rosy-cheeked teenager, not this young woman with that unearthly aura that gave her an ethereal and almost aloof appearance.

"Lyonesse?" – she said after a while, still baffled – "Are you really Lyonesse?"

The alluded smiled weakly and nodded silently.

Without warning, Julianna pulled one of Lyonesse's hands towards her and the three of them ended embracing one another, exchanging kisses laughs and tears.

"At last… you are with me, the both of you…" - said Julianna. She couldn't think what more to ask, she had them with her, her little girls… - "Finally, we are together. God be praised for His mercy."

But suddenly, after regarding her cousin's face, memorizing this new her after so many years without seeing her, Kayleigh's demeanor weakened.

"What is wrong, dear?" – asked Julianna, noticing the change in her daughter's mood.

"I…" - she started, licking her dry lips, her light brown, almost amberish, eyes suddenly filled with tears – "I've failed you… The sword was in my hands… I was so close…" - her tears fell – "But I've failed to prevent him taking it. And now… Camelot will be lost."

Lyonesse eyed her aunt, unsure what to do… or what to feel about Ruber taking Camelot.

She knew how her husband's mind worked and, while he wasn't the tyrant both Julianna and Kayleigh thought he was, he wasn't stranger to cruelty. Both experienced and delivered.

In case he really achieved his goal to make Camelot his, many would suffer under his rule. He was a rancorous man and his memory, certainly, lasted very long. And there were many in the Court who, like Arthur, had earned his hatred.

Maybe his rule would not be as dark as many would think… but the "cleansing" he would deliver to those who would oppose him wasn't going to be pretty. And Lyonesse knew that.

But Julianna didn't allow any of her fears transpire and took her daughter's face between her hands, forcing her to look at her eyes while her thumbs swept the girl's tears.

"No, dear, never say that." – she said firmly, a light of courage and determination lightened in her eyes – "You were brave, Kayleigh. Never let anybody say otherwise."

Kayleigh smiled weakly, not really feeling better but trying to be strong for her mother and cousin… until a shadow from outside the wagon blocked the sunlight that had been pouring through a tiny opening that worked as a window.

"What a touching reunion." – Ruber's voice found its way to their ears as his silhouette against the sun looked dark and menacing, his green eyes cold as ice as they fixed first on the mother and daughter tightly embraced, then on his wife, who was giving him an indecipherable look – "But all this love…" - he literally spat the word – "… is making me nauseous." – ah, there it was, that look. A reprimand was in order after this if he could read his wife's gesture correctly right now – "And you've got a job to do, Julianna. Remember?" – he added pointing with his left hand towards the woman in question – "We are leaving in an hour with you at the head of the wagons. But first…" - then his voice dropped its coldness an octave – "… I'd like very much to have a private conversation with my wife."

Kayleigh gave an incredulous, horrified look to her cousin, who dared not to return her gaze and, nodding wordlessly, said goodbye and got out the wagon to meet her husband outside.

He was mounting his Nightmare, wearing a black cloak that hid the right half of his body from neck to toe.

"Had a good time in your relatives' company, my dear?" – he said as a greeting, sarcasm dripping from each word.

"That wasn't necessary and you know it." – she scolded him, her eyes narrowed lines of pure blackness – "You should treat them better instead of mocking them and their suffering." – then her visage saddened – "You're better than that."

Sighing heavily, Ruber gave up his cold façade immediately. He was tired, so tired… and displeasing Lyonesse so much wasn't really helping to improve his mood. After what have he done he felt… empty. His hatred and his craving for revenge hadn't diminished in the slightest… but somehow, the knowledge of being invulnerable, unstoppable, immortal… had left him cold, devoid of dreams, the idea of the man he was and could have been erased from his very soul.

Now he was Ruber the Immortal and he didn't know if it had been a good idea after all.

But there was no other way… how a barren man was meant to keep alive his bloodline if not by immortality means? He had promised…

But he wouldn't be alone in his journey through Eternity, for he was determined to grant Lyonesse the gift of eternal life in exchange of the children he wasn't able to give her in all these years of fruitless marriage. In exchange of all the things he had taken from her.

So he had dismounted and he guided his wife towards their wagon. They needed to talk.

Once inside, she had made a gesture to open the little windows in order to bring some light to the cabinet, but he had stopped her.

"I would prefer to deal with this in semidarkness, if you don't mind." – he said somberly.

And Lyonesse knew something wasn't right in the very moment he hadn't made a move to reach her or to close the distance between them.

Sex, she would have expected; for a whole week being apart from each other surely would have prompted the man to seek to be with her in no time. In fact, she had been expecting that much so that would aid her in the announcement she wanted to make. Once satiated and relaxed, Ruber was much easier to talk with, and maybe she could… well, attempt to convince him to give up this madness and reconquer his old lands. With the present ill status Arthur was in, nobody would bother if the kingdom lost the High Lands.

Maybe they still could lead a normal life together with their child, maybe…

"You know, seeing you with those two, your aunt and your troublemaking cousin, I can't help but notice… that maybe I'd should left you with them many years ago in the very moment I saw you becoming a shadow among strangers you avoided and feared. Me being the first on the list."

Lyonesse's eyes went wide and she stared the darkened silhouette of her husband unable to speak, unable to read the emotions in his face with the gloom around them in such a closed space.

She even cannot get a clear impression of what his words meant, why he was saying those things right here, right now.

"You had a family, you had a house, you had a title and lands… everything I myself allowed to slide from my grasp." – he continued, his words darkening with each syllable pronounced – "And I deprived you of all these things. I threw you into a hostile environment and waited until you felt helpless as a baby and offered a poor substitute of what I took from you: being the wife of some renegade, a betrayer as you straightly put that day, homeless, landless and honorless with no hopes of thriving in a land he had helped to unite in the first place."

"That's not tru…"

"Oh, but it is, Lyonesse, it is true as the day and night." – Ruber interrupted, his reptilian eyes taking in her silhouette, beautiful even in the dark where he cannot see her face clearly – "There's nothing good, nor honorable about me. I took you because I wanted you, and maybe if you had behaved like those pricks back in Camelot's Court you would have witnessed just how I really am. They were right saying that I was deranged. My blood took care of that since my birth."

With trembling lips, Lyonesse raised her hand slowly to his face.

"Don't." – he said when her fingertips were but a breath from his skin – "Save your pity for someone who truly deserves it. I'm here because I want to compensate for what I took from you… for what I have been unable to give you all these years."

"What…?" – Lyonesse started, baffled, until her confusion soon became horror in the very moment he retired the cloak from his right side.

Her hand went to her mouth to stifle the cry of denial that threatened to escape from her lips as her now used to the dark eyes took in what he had been hiding under the cloak.

"As you know, ten years ago I made a promise to my mother." – Ruber said, painfully aware of her horror as her form trembled in front of him – "A promise to live to prevent my bloodline to extinguish like a blaze in a wasted candle. To live to gather the means, grow stronger and avenge my flesh and blood." - his eyes narrowed – "Now the time of that revenge has come. I was able to live, to gather the means… but not to prevent my bloodline to reach a dead end with me."

Tears started to spill silently from Lyonesse's terrified eyes.

At this point, Ruber's hand went to his wife's cheek, sweeping her tears almost tenderly.

"That wasn't your fault, but mine." – he said absently – "I always knew I was sterile; happens when several generations within one's family consists of marriages between blood-related individuals. Nothing can change that, and now… it doesn't matter anymore." – as he said this, he raised his right arm… if you could call that thing he now exhibited as an actual arm – "With the potion the Wayward Sisters bestowed upon me, I've become partially what my men are right now, but enough to assure you that now I am immortal." – then he directed a chilly gaze towards the young woman – "And you will be granted with the same gift."

Shaking her head, Lyonesse took several steps back, a sudden cold sweat now drenching her entire back, her hands clasping protectively in front of her belly.

Because if that wretched potion which has turned her husband into… that touched her, something told her in her gut for damn sure that her baby would be affected, one way or another.

And she didn't want to lose the baby… or worse: to give birth to a monster.

But Ruber was still speaking.

"I will dissolve a single drop of the potion in water just to diminish the effects and avoid depriving you of an entire limb like me." – he was saying as in a daze, his words the stuff of nightmares in Lyonesse's ears – "Maybe the ring I gave you would suffice. Flesh with metal… luckily, a finger would be the issue. And what's a finger in exchange of Eternity…?"

A piercing scream filled the whole space where they had been talking in the dark and, when Lyonesse was aware of her surroundings again, she realized that it was she the one who was screaming.

Ruber seemed paralyzed at her outburst, but soon he went to move in the very instant he saw his wife trying to make an escape.

Maneuvering clumsy with his new metallic, lethal limb, he managed to forget for a moment he had a sword instead of a hand and ended sinking the blade in one of the walls of the wagon.

Taking advantage of those precious moments when Ruber was struggling to free his arm-blade from the wooden wall, Lyonesse rounded up him quickly and made her escape picking the hem of her dress with both hands and starting to run in no particular direction, trying her best to not to look back as she went inside the thick foliage of a grove.

She ran even with her left side aching from the sting the exercise had brought into her system, she ran until she went out of air and stopped to look where she was.

In all these years she had thought that she couldn't make it through the woodland, but now… now something more precious than her own safety was at stake.

Maybe she could reach Camelot herself within the same day, maybe…

But soon those thoughts were quickly dissipated when the bulky frame of the griffin descended upon her from the sky. And Ruber was mounting the creature.

Terrified, she tried to run again until the massive left hand of her husband caught her by the elbow.

"What are you doing Lyonesse?" – he asked as if he couldn't believe her reaction towards his offering.

But Lyonesse started to scream at the top of her lungs while she shook her head.

"No! NO!" – she cried, her eyes filled with tears – "No, please, no!"

"Stop!" – he exclaimed, starting to lose his composure – "Enough, Lyonesse!" – but soon he left her go as she dropped herself to the ground and crept towards the closest tree to cry in silence.

Ruber observed her for a while until a poisonous thought clouded his mind.

"Do you find me repulsive, monstrous perhaps?" – he hissed, showing his affected limb in all its horrific marriage between flesh and steel, metallic veins sank in the bloodless flesh like claws of some grotesque, unholy creature – "Is that right? Do you think an eternal life beside me would be even more disgusting than it had been these last years?" – he was delusional, his green eyes full of twitches, his lips twisted into a snarl – "Look at me and tell me the truth, Lyonesse!"

But Lyonesse wasn't hearing him as her hands shielded her belly and her eyes were tightly shut against the world.

Approaching the trembling woman, the griffin observed the way her hands were clasped around her middle section and then inhaled.

Her scent gave away her secret.

"She's having an anxiety attack." – the creature informed to its altered Master – "Better to soothe her as soon as possible. It will prove harmful for the hatchling inside her."

Ruber's expression froze. All the insecurities that had been poisoning his mind cleared with such violence that left him slightly dizzy.

"What…?" – he muttered absently, eyeing his wife as if it were the first time he had seen her.

The griffin inhaled again. The aroma was unmistakable.

"She's with a… uh… how do you humans call it? A baby?" – the creature probed – "It smells like you, Master. You've sired it. It's a good sign, you have a faithful mate."

"What…?" – Ruber repeated, incapable of dealing with a complete sentence.

Feeling that, somehow, its presence wasn't really required in a situation so tense, the griffin retired slowly to the darkness of the foliage in order to not to disturb it's already disturbed Master. The last week had proven perhaps a bit too much of his constant mood changes and the griffin knew that one false move right now could prove highly perilous for its physical safety.

So, as the creature retreated, Ruber's legs lost strength and the man ended knelt in front of a still crying Lyonesse, first eyeing her firmly shut eyes, then her belly behind her hands.

Then, as the realization fully hit him, he threw himself at his wife's feet.

"What… what did I almost do…?" – he said, suddenly aware of the atrocity he had wanted to do to that woman… that very woman who knew him better than anyone and who was the only family he had – "I'm not… I didn't… I… I'm sorry, Lyonesse…"

But she didn't react to his hasty, broken words until she heard him sobbing.

"I'm sorry, Lyonesse, I'm so sorry…" - he kept saying over and over – "Forgive me… forgive me… forgive me…"

Dazed and utterly confused, the young woman blinked twice before actually looking at him, his head down not looking at her while grabbing with his remaining, trembling hand her skirts.

Then, for the second time in her life, she couldn't believe how a man his size could look so frail before her.

Eyeing warily the atrocity he had made to his right arm, now a grotesque tool of destruction, she found her trembling fingers first touching softly that aberration, feeling the irregular pattern of flesh and steel meeting at barely few inches from his shoulder… then sweeping her touch over his wide throat up to his jaw and temples where she started to comb his bright red hair with her fingers.

For she loved that man. She loved his bold sincerity and every inch of darkness that had molded him into the person he was, with all his virtues and flaws.

But what she loved more about him was his weakness.

She completely, hopelessly loved that weak man crying in front of her asking for her forgiveness, trying in his wrong, twisted way to mend what he considered he had done wrong to her.

He was asking forgiveness not just for what he had just done to both of them, but for his recklessness, the insane thirst for revenge that had been eating him all these years preventing him to heal his spirit and to fully enjoy the good things he had in his life.

He was asking forgiveness for depriving her of the kind of life he once had and lost miserably.

So she held him quietly, truly forgiving him with all her heart of who he was since he couldn't forgive himself.

And she kissed him, accepting him for what he was and not the man he could have been.

Accepting the fate his blood, long ago, had written in cold stone.

Chapter Text

Highlander.

That was how this infamous "Red Knight" was called back in Camelot, many years prior to his self-imposed exile.

Garrett knew this well, he had been a stable-hand and a prospect of a squire when Sir Lionel had seen what others couldn't see as he had lost his own capability to see.

To see not just by physical means, but to see others for what they were. After being blinded by an unfortunate kick of a horse, people had started to treat him differently… like if he, along with being blind, had somehow become deaf too.

He had endured harsh words from the stable master, whose gratitude was short-lived as Garrett did his usual work double the slow due to his senses acclimating to his new status.

And the highlander… that man had been one of the many people who had crushed his dream to be a knight to dust.

" The boy will never be what you truly need, Lionel. He's blind and there's nothing that could be done. Don't you feel that's cruelty to fuel a dream he will never achieve by his own?"

" The boy has spirit and a good heart. That's all Arthur asks from his most loyal servants. That boy can become whatever he wishes as long as he stays true to his heart."

" You're an idealist, Lionel."

" With ideals, we constructed Camelot. That's the kingpin of our unity."

" And that ideal is bound, one way or another, to be crushed by the harsh reality of our world, just like the boy is bound to be crushed by the reality of his own circumstances. Heed my words."

" War has turned you into a bitter man, Ruber. Your lack of faith in humankind is astoundingly sad… and it speaks of a cold heart."

" Nobody survives with a bleeding heart, and if war has taught me something is that, between hurt or being hurt, I prefer being the hand that wields the sword."

" That's… callous."

" Hardly. That's reality for you, Sir Knight. You will remember my words when one day having your weapons at your disposal will depend on that boy you're taking pity of and he'll be a second slower than one with sane eyes would. That second could prove vital between life… and death. For both of you."

" I'm still having him as my squire, Ruber."

" Suit yourself. Your pity towards that boy is like spitting on his pride. He's not a dog, but a boy with dreams an adult is just humoring. On the very second you will disappear from his side, he will realize he's nothing."

Those words… had been like a knife right through his heart.

Unseen he had been listening to the entire conversation and unseen, or so he thought, he had gone to the barn to sink his head and his dead, full of tears, eyes between his hands.

"Don't let him or anybody else to make you falter in your purpose, Garrett." – Lionel had told him after a while watching him in silence how he sulked, again and again, shrouded in his self-pitying and misery.

" But what he said holds some truth. I'm nobody: an orphaned, illiterate stable boy whose sight now is no more and whose existence is but a burden to the King."

" Who has told you this?"

" Everybody talks about me… sometimes even in front of me like I'm not present at all. The stable master says now I'm good for nothing and it would prove better for him to simply throw me to the streets and acquire another sturdy, healthy boy instead of a would-be-beggar like me."

He couldn't tell, but Garrett somehow had sensed the quiet anger emanating from Lionel. Not towards him, but to the people who had said such things to a lad so young and so vulnerable. Lionel had been a true friend. Almost the father Garrett had never known.

"At least that knight, the one with the odd accent, was honest." – the boy had added after a while in silence.

Lionel had sighed.

"Ruber is… a difficult man. I don't think he meant to be harsh, but he always finds a way to be it nonetheless. War tends to change people, but war itself… war never changes." – he had added somberly, as if remembering something particularly painful – "He has forgotten what means to be part of this dream, to hold dear our Oath: United we stand, now and forever in truth, divided we fall. Hand upon hand, brother to brother…"

"… no one shall be greater than all." – both, the man and the boy had finished together.

At this, Garrett had felt Lionel's hand over his head in a rare display of paternal affection.

"See?" – he had told him – "The Oath runs deep in you, like the blood in your veins. Keep saying it aloud proudly and making an example of it. Nobody's better than you, Garrett. You are bound to do great things."

But that dream died with Lionel the very next day, when the King and his knights had their annual reunion and the infamous "Red Knight" had decided to hold more blood on his account by attempting murder King Arthur and slaying Lionel in the process.

The man had run that day, after committing the crime, right to the stables where he had put the blind boy aside and had ridden out of any justice's reach.

And Garrett had done nothing when the powerful man had put him aside, as if he were nothing but an ant in his way.

And now, after leaving Lionel's daughter going by herself, he felt something akin to… regret.

But he was so sad… so sad and resented, knowing that in Camelot, she would see him through other people's eyes. Not a knight, not a man… not anything.

He was better alone.

However…

That hissing at his back growing in volume, the heavy uneasy steps, the mixing of two different reptilian voices weaving sentences intertwined…

Those things, those… twins Kayleigh had seemed so fond of, even to the lengths to ask him letting them accompany both humans to their quest.

The dragonling twins, Devon and Cornwall the young lady had named them to distinguish one head to the other as their bodies were conjoined since birth.

Why they weren't at their favored human's side? Did they grow bored or even scared of the outside world so quickly?

Weren't they escorting Kayleigh to Camelot?! Weren't they supposed to keep her safe?!

Where was Kayleigh?!

"The mad human took her!" – Devon, as if sensing his question, had said quickly, trying to make himself heard above his twin's voice – "He found her on the way to the sssity!"

"And he hasss the sssword…" - Cornwall finished lamely.

"WHAT?!" – Garrett turned bluntly to face the origin of those annoying voices – "WEREN'T YOU TWO SUPPOSED TO KEEP HER SAFE?!"

The silence that followed his outburst had been more than enough for him.

"Take me to her." – he had sentenced – "C'mon, Ayden."

As if sensing his rush, the silver-winged falcon had gone straight to the end of the forest.

Now Garrett, instead of self-pitying, had now a defined purpose: he failed to Lionel once. Now, he wouldn't fail Kayleigh, the only other person to ever believe in him.

He couldn't allow himself to fail this time. He knew exactly what to do.

Even if that could cost his life.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure? Perhaps more pelts and cushions to make the wagon more comfortable…"

"Ruber…"

"And you should eat more now. You're as thin as a wool thread. I will speak a couple words with the women to make you warm soups or something…"

"Ruber…"

"And you better not make any efforts at all. I will make sure they do your chores for you… even if I still don't know why in the blazes you do chores at all being my wife…"

"Ruber!"

"Yes?"

"Would you stop that?" – the annoyed young woman frowned, even if she was trying with all her might to refrain from smiling – "I'm pregnant, not invalid."

The man, the big man Ruber was, gave her then a sheepish look. Sheepish! By all that was holy… when she thought he couldn't surprise her further…

After what had transpired between them, Ruber had decided to postpone Camelot's invasion by a couple of hours. He wanted to, at least, rest a little after such a strenuous, physically and mentally, journey and the shocking discovering that he, after all, was going to be a father.

He was so excited and giddy that he didn't want to ponder in deep what he would do after he'll slay Arthur. Now that he knew he wasn't sterile as he had thought all these years, he didn't want the Eternity at all.

He knew the effects of the potion were irreversible, but… after all, that concoction was the Wayward Sisters' doing. They were powerful; they could very much prepare a cure without a problem, right? Right?

He still could convince them. He will come out with something, that was for damn sure.

He wasn't giving up yet. Not after learning about this.

As he eyed his wife's middle section with awe, Lyonesse rolled up her eyes.

"It's a belly, Ruber." – she said, trying to remain serious. Her husband's sudden juvenile behavior about the baby amused her very much. Who would have suspected this huge man would be so excited about someone still so tiny? – "A flat, wool thread-like one." – another sheepish look. Was he actually ashamed for calling her indirectly "scrawny"? The man sure was lacking some important part of his brains today – "I'm just at the beginning of my second month. The midwife said so last week when I went to see her, feeling truly dizzy and ill after vomiting my breakfast." - she smiled, recalling the incident. Their local midwife was also the shaman lady who provided them with herbs and remedies for colds and the like. Truly, the old woman was worth her own weight in gold – "I went to her all worried that I could have caught some sort of illness and, instead, I found myself wrapping my mind around the idea that I was going to be a mommy in a matter of months." - in truth, she had been utterly shocked palpating her own belly again and again as if it could start growing any time soon. The hag had cackled in her face, finding very funny her reaction.

Ruber raised his eyebrows.

"Did you know about this?" – he asked – "Before I went to that cursed forest?"

"I learned about it the same day you…" - she trailed off, unsure how to put the matter without making it sound awful – "… Well, the day we got to my aunt's house."

"And when did you had the intention to tell me about it?"

"Honestly? That very night." – she sighed – "But then Kayleigh escaped… and you went after her… and here we are: a week after and a sword for a hand." – she added reproachingly.

The Red Knight had the decency to lower his eyes, the offending limb flat against the wooden floor of the wagon.

"I'm gonna get out of this as soon as Arthur lies dead, I swear."

Lyonesse's gaze went absent.

"You're still thinking about that, do you?" – she asked, leaning against of a pile of cushions Ruber had insisted to put around her, closing her eyes – "You're hopeless, stubborn as a mule. Can you not simply let him wither? After what he'd done to you, his punishment right now serves him well and, in addition, it is a slow death. Killing him right now would turn to be a merciful death. Have you not thought about that?"

The man frowned, still with his head low.

"Please, don't go that way, Lyonesse…"

"But I'm right!" – she exclaimed – "And you know it!"

"Don't…"

"Let's retake the High Lands!" – she pleaded, desperate to put some reason in that hard skull of his – "Arthur wouldn't give a copper if you snatch what is legitimately yours from his grasp. He's a dead man right now! Let him be!"

Ruber sighed. And his was a long, deep sigh.

"I…" - he said, as if saying that were causing him some sort of pain – "I can't, Lyonesse, I simply can't."

Lyonesse's eyes held a sad visage.

"You… cannot forgive and forget, can you?"

Ruber's sudden silence was all the answer she needed.

"It's alright." – she said weakly – "Fate is something one cannot escape so easily, as you've said dozens of times to me." – closing her eyes, she sighed – "I'm… feeling tired, Ruber. I would like very much to rest now, if you don't mind."

"Of course." – he agreed, weakly as well, as he accommodated the mother of his unborn child and put some warm covers over her. Then he got up slowly to go to prepare himself for the battle to come.

But before he was outside the wagon, he heard her voice calling for him.

"Yes?" – he said as he knelt beside his wife once again, eager to please her in any other way after saying he wasn't able to let his hatred for Arthur go.

Lyonesse opened an eye and looked at him.

"Give me a kiss before leaving, you foolish man." – was all she said with a soft, warm smile.

And he gladly complied.

As they approached Camelot, Julianna's courage faltered.

She had tried to hold an indifferent, detached façade in front of Ruber and his spellbound men.

But as their steps brought the hidden monsters inside the wagons closer to their intended destination, she wasn't so sure anymore.

Ruber, after his reunion with Lyonesse, was behaving strangely… civilized.

He had even explained calmly the last details to Julianna and her daughter and how to proceed from now on forward, promising in a circumvented way that no harm would come to them as long as they cooperated. However, Kayleigh, true to her rebel spirit, had refused to help him until one of Ruber's men with blades for fingers had stepped in saying with a raspy, unnatural voice that, in the name of his Lord, he wouldn't allow anyone to get in the way of Ruber's plan… and if he had to resort to extreme measures to ensure his victory, he would assume the murder of a young lady.

Ruber had said nothing to this and Julianna had been forced, under the threat of being deprived of her only child, to lead the chain of wagons to the very gates of Camelot.

Given this, with Ruber fully concealed by his dark cloak by her right side mounting his monstrosity of a horse and the more monstrous man inside her wagon with the threat of his blades upon Kayleigh's throat, Julianna steeled herself.

For her daughter, she would do anything… even betray the dream Camelot had represented for her… and her dead husband.

Looking with void eyes at the void in front of him, he felt his consciousness swimming in the forgotten sea of a kingdom beyond mortal eyes.

He felt that, somehow, he knew the name of that kingdom and he only had to pronounce it to reach its shores.

But his lips were firmly sealed and his soul was so tired of being swimming in those gray, misty waters… so tired to stay afloat, so tired to fight for a lost cause…

Guinevere… and Lancelot…

Nobody knew how painful had been to actually acquiescence with the people's wish to see the unfaithful Queen burned. A woman who had betrayed her husband was as good as any witch, so the people had wanted her dead.

Arthur had wanted to forgive her, to turn a blind eye for her betrayal… but the affair had been prompted anyway, and that had been thanks to many of his knights who actually had been suspecting about it for a while given Lancelot's absence and the grief this absence had brought to many of their hearts. One of them in particular, Sir Gawain, had publicly accused Guinevere of unfaithfulness. And nobody had dared to jump in the Queen's defense.

Arthur, as a King, couldn't defend his wife's honor because he was meant to be the judge, not her Champion. And with Lancelot's absence, there was no Champion to stand against Gawain and his righteous demand.

Then one boy, one peasant boy, had risen amidst the crowd claiming to be ready to confront Gawain's steel in the Queen's name.

But a peasant wasn't meant to fight a knight, so Arthur had named him a knight on the spot. Perceval was his name. Now Sir Perceval by the Grace of the King and their Lord.

But Perceval's intervention had been completely unnecessary as Lancelot had appeared in front of Gawain while he and Perceval were about to cross swords.

The law established that God only guided the hand of the man in whose power resided truth and virtue, so the winner, instead of being aided by his own strength and skills, theoretically was a divine instrument through which the Lord acted with justice and fairness.

With this premise and fueled by his own rage and frustration, Lancelot had defeated effortlessly Gawain and had made him swallow his words… even if it had cost him being impaled by the other man's blade in his left side.

But with his return and under Guinevere's ministrations as she tended to his wounds from the battle… the temptation had been too much.

Arthur knew why Lancelot had sought solitude: to actually try to get rid of his burning desire for the Queen. And he had sworn to never return until that frustration had come to a definitive end.

However, as he had put his eyes upon the fair Guinevere again… both of them had lost their will to resist and had ended having their passionate encounter in a near grove, between the foliage like the beasts.

And Arthur had found them.

Then the following chain of events that had gone after the betrayal had spiraled too fast, with so much resentment and many people who wanted the culprit hanged.

As their society claimed that the first to blame was the woman, Guinevere had been sentenced.

And Lancelot had been exiled.

Arthur was even grateful that the former knight had found a way to bypass the soldiers and had rescued the remorseful, tearful Queen. For, even in his grief, Arthur had loved Guinevere with the same painful compunction and sorrow she had loved him in return; for their had been, and he would lament this over and over as the years passed, a star-crossed marriage: they had desired one another, they had grown to care for one another… but they had never opened their hearts to the other; Arthur with his obligations making him neglect his Queen as a woman, Guinevere feeling like a shadow in her husband's legend, unable to speak for herself as her education and decorum demanded from her, unable to stand a man that acted more like an anchor and a beacon of hope for his people rather than the loving, devoted husband she craved for.

With the following years in solitude, Arthur had had enough time to reflect on this and the discovery of his blatant failure as a man and as a lover had left him… empty, almost soulless. It hadn't been just his pride, or even his heart, but the notion of another betrayal from inside his Court as a consequence of his neglectness what had almost finished him.

And now, without news from the lost Excalibur and in his weakened state, the King feared the worst.

Merlin stood by his side in utter silence, helping him when he wanted to eat. The old druid's abilities had prevented Arthur to lose an entire limb, and for that, he was grateful. However, as he had asked the wizard to work his magic in order to help to bring back Excalibur or, at least, to help to localize it, the old man had answered enigmatically that he should rely on the courage of his people.

But Arthur had already lost his faith in his people a long time ago.

"Pardon me, my King." – one of the soldiers entered his chambers with the due respect etiquette demanded – "Lady Julianna had paid us a surprise visit."

Arthur was taken aback for a moment, clearly not expecting such news. Had something happened that had prompted the good widow to present herself at his gates without announcing it?

Or maybe she, after ten years in silence, had decided to take up his invitation to Camelot? Maybe her daughter, Lionel's daughter, needed an arrangement. Living as isolated as they were probably had shortened her alternatives to find a suitable marriage to her noble status. And the girl was already perhaps a bit old than the standard maiden, which could prove to be another hinder to her marriage prospects.

If that was the case, Arthur himself would find the most convenient and comfortable arrangement for the young lady. It was the least he can do after all. He owed them that much.

So, he nodded.

"Very well." – he said – "Tell her I'll receive her at the Round Table, if that's agreeable to her."

He preferred to deal with this out of earshot. He had enough curious noses around him sticking themselves where they were unsolicited. He didn't want Lady Julianna and her daughter to be the main source of gossip in the Court during her stay.

So, allowing his bones to move a little as he rose from his seat, Arthur nodded at Merlin wordlessly as he went downstairs through a dark passage, unable to hold a torch as he used his good hand to support himself with the banister.

After a few minutes, he found his way to the Round Table chamber.

"Julianna?" – he asked with a sober tone, still maintaining some regal dignity even in his wounded state.

As he approached the half-lighted chamber, he noticed a figure surrounded by darkness seated at the table.

But what took his immediate attention was the actual seat the figure had taken.

The chair of the Betrayer.

"What…?" – then he realized that the said figure was too big, too broad-shouldered to be Julianna – "What manner of treachery is this?"

Then, slowly, the figure stood up as the bluish thread of light from the high windows gave out its face.

A face he wouldn't have wanted ever to see again.

"Ruber…" - the King growled, his eyes narrowing and his survival instinct kicking with force giving him the red light.

"Pleased to see me?" – the said man asked while a sardonic half smile decorated his angular features.

As he realized the other man was wearing armor under that black cloak of his, Arthur took one of the several spears resting against the walls as decoration.

The laughter from the gigantic red-haired man boomed across the structure, its thick, sturdy wall preventing any sound from outside to disturb its inner occupants… as well nobody outside the chamber would hear anything if the King chose to call for the guards.

It was a mousetrap.

"A spear…" - Ruber started, amused at the pitiful sight of the once proud Arthur Pendragon aged, weakened and wounded wielding an ornamental weapon that wasn't meant for fighting – "How Stone-Aged!" – he mocked as he approached the King with deliberated slowness – "A true King would hold a more noble weapon." – then, with a move of the fingers of his left hand over the cloak's clasp, the black fabric pooled at his feet revealing something that froze the blood in Arthur's veins – "A true King would hold… Excalibur."

As she desperately fought her way amidst so much chaos and destruction after escaping from Ruber's men clutches, Kayleigh weighted her options: the main gate to the castle was out of the equation as it was closely guarded and, thus, blocked by one of Ruber's men as he himself was quite enough in his spellbound state to contain the wave of soldiers that were trying to fight their way to their vulnerable King as the betrayer had managed to get into the castle before his men had sealed every door.

Now there was this wooden scaffold, precarious to no end, which also led towards the East Tower, the place where Arthur was supposed to be right now.

Gulping soundly, Kayleigh took a deep breath and decided to put all the meat in the oven as she climbed to the precarious platform, trying not to look down.

A violent gust of air followed by an uncanny brute force informed her of her imminent fall if she didn't move quickly.

So she did.

Jumping with a rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins, she barely managed to get to a stable side of the destroyed tower as the bulky frame of Ruber's pet, the griffin, shattered the wooden scaffold to splinters.

That, plus the two brutes that came from both of her sides, prompted her to retreat until she felt no floor under her feet.

As she lost her balance and fell, she felt two rough, warm hands supporting her weight.

And she couldn't believe what her eyes were telling her.

"Garrett!" – she exclaimed as the blind hermit, atop of a two-headed flying dragon, emerged from the mist that had been surrounding Camelot since the siege started.

He had come back!

As both stepped in firm ground, the two-headed creature Kayleigh immediately recognized as Devon and Cornwall breathed fire to their foes, successfully driving them away.

Still feeling his arms around her, Kayleigh forgot what little proper manners she would have harbored and allowed her own arms to encircle Garrett's frame.

"You're back!" – she exclaimed happily as she plunged her face in the crook of his neck.

If her mother could now see her, she would be so upset about such an improper, unladylike behavior…

Garrett's soft laugh vibrated through his throat, doing funny things with her now flushed cheek.

"Thinking about borrowing all the glory by yourself, milady?" – he joked, an occurrence truly rare in him – "I don't think so."

Inhaling his scent, Kayleigh forgot about all the etiquette rules she had broken through this week, this long week of her life, and allowed herself to indulge a little bit in the pleasant sensation being close to him was bringing to her while her eyes observed in the distance the draconic twins, her allies and friends, who hadn't run away leaving her alone to face Ruber and his madness, but actually they had gone to retrieve Garrett.

Their now shared goal had allowed them to fly, to breathe fire.

Truly, this journey, if sometimes harrowing, had proven to be immensely positive for each one of them.

"We need to get to the King!" – she exclaimed as the reality around them hit her again in the face at the smell of fire and the cries around – "He's in the Round Table chamber and Ruber has him trapped inside!"

But Garrett seemed so calm...

"Follow me." – he said as he took her hand as if they were back in the forest, were their clasped hands had been a silent channel of communication and understanding between them – "I know a way nobody does."

Shattering the ornamental spear to pieces with a single blow as Arthur was propelled over the table like a dummy, Ruber walked nonchalantly towards his target, enjoying every second of his suffering.

"So many memories in this room…" - the Red Knight said as he used one of the chairs as a step to be in the same ground as the impotent King – "Makes me wanna puke." – he hissed as the mechanisms embedded in his unnatural arm turned their gears to adjust the weapon to the position he wanted it – "You said every man at this table was equal… but you forgot to mention that only the meek shall inherit the Earth." – as he observed Arthur's surprised look, Ruber's venomous eyes narrowed – "Yes, I am not ignorant of your Christian ways and what you, as King, would expect from your people. You did really absorb that whole shit, didn't you? The meek!" – he boomed, his voice a terrifying, powerful echo thundering in Arthur's ears – "Did you really expected me to start acting soft and compliant as a lamb, like many of those poor fools your knights are, while you robbed me of what was legitimately mine?!" - Excalibur's blade sank mere inches from the King's throat, carving a hole in the wooden surface – "Even worse, you lied! We weren't equals, weren't we? We were servants whose opinion mattered little and whose status would only last if we bent our knees before you and your unfair, capricious decisions! That's not egalitarianism! You're not different from your cursed father or all the tyrants who came before and after him!"

Another blow and Excalibur's blade had but cut his cheek.

Arthur knew this was meant to be a game, and he was being forced to play that game dodging every half-hearted attempt Ruber made to strike him.

This was only a mere warm-up for the highlander.

"Such virtues as fairness, justice and honesty aren't meant for your hypocritical, selfish bloodline, Pendragon." – Ruber spat – "Your very existence is a proof of that: your father, Uther Pendragon, desired what cannot be his and he resorted to lies and deceit to get what his ambition wanted."

Struggling for getting out of Excalibur's reach with all the pain this process was causing on his injured arm, Arthur gave Ruber a disgusted look.

"And thou art the one preaching about fairness and justice?" – he retorted angrily – "Thou, since the very beginning, stood only for thine own selfish motives like a spoiled child and, as thou were deprived of part of thee toys, had a tantrum where thou managed to kill one of the best men I had the honor to know."

"At least I'm honest about my flaws and my humanity." – Ruber replied – "I do not hide behind a legend and a false moral code whose utopic ways are bound to crush under reality's boot. This sword…" - he added as he held Excalibur in front of him – "… is nothing but a war tool, just like me. Its power is meant for destruction, not for unification. It only serves to the hand that wields it."

"Thou art wrong!" – Arthur protested – "Excalibur is a symbol, a banner of what can be achieved through collaboration to reach a common goal!"

"Don't make me laugh, Pendragon. Maybe you've sold that cheap talk to all these fools, but not to me. Never."

"Thou art one twisted, embittered, sad man, Ruber."

At that statement, Ruber's human hand grabbed Arthur by his shirt and gave him an indecipherable look.

"And who I have to thank for that, I wonder?" – he hissed, his voice dangerously low – "Did you had your fun, huh? Your moment of glory?" – his face went closer to Arthur's – "Did you enjoyed killing my mother? Did you enjoyed killing my sister, you bastard?"

The King's eyes went wide. Now he understood.

The witch… the madwoman with the spear… they had been Ruber's family.

Witnessing his reaction, Ruber bared his teeth like some dire wolf. Just like eighteen years ago when they had met for the first time.

"That's right, you wretched coward." – the redhead growled – "Two innocent women trying to defend their home against a bunch of brutes who delivered them the final blow. So much for a King and his bootlicking knights."

"That… wasn't personal." – Arthur said carefully – "We didn't know who they were."

"Oh, really? Too bad then, because I have something very personal against you breathing the same air as I." – Ruber retorted while an insane grin spreaded along his face – "You have your words and I have something sweeter: REVENGE!" – he cried as his mad laugh echoed through the chamber.

However, even in his wounded state, Arthur took surreptitiously a dagger he always carried on his person hidden in his boot and stabbed his aggressor right in the throat.

After a surprised gasp, Ruber eyed first the hand that wielded the treacherous dagger, then the frozen expression Arthur wore at that very moment.

Warm, dark blood spreaded downright the redhead's neck to collide with his crimson breastplate. Arthur's hand soon became drenched in the warm liquid but, despite how much blood was seeping from the fresh wound, Ruber still breathed as if was nothing.

Because that wound would have likely, under normal circumstances, killed him.

"Well, well…" - the bigger man said with a cold smile as his nostrils and mouth oozed blood, coloring his sharp teeth in the process – "What do we have here? A little opportunistic bitch!" – then, taking Arthur's head with a single hand, he slammed it repeatedly against the wooden surface under them – "Do you like my little trick, hmmm?" – after getting satisfied as he saw blood tinting the King's hair, he let him go – "That's the catch immortality has: nobody can kill you."

Coughing and seeing double, Arthur maintained a dignified gesture.

"Maybe… I may not survive, but thou… will never destroy… the ideals of Camelot…"

Ruber's smile full of blood-stained teeth faltered. His right eye twitched uncomfortably a few times.

"Well…" - he hissed, taking the offending dagger from his throat in a single swing, his blood pearling the air momentarily like raindrops of a brief, yet strong downpour – "I've got to start somewhere, don't you think?" – grabbing him by his shirt again, Ruber lifted effortlessly Arthur's weight with a single hand, this time prepared to deliver the killing blow – "Behold your new King!"

"Thou… art… no… King…"

Ruber's right eye twitched again.

"Fair enough. After all…" - he proclaimed – "… I'M MORE OF A GOD!"

But before Excalibur's blade sank into Arthur's flesh, a sudden, too familiar voice boomed through the structure.

"HEY, RUBER!"

The girl. The pestering girl whose intervention had caused so much trouble and too many delays in his original plan.

Lifting his gaze, Ruber's expression changed drastically to one of mixed up wrath and outrage.

There she was. How in the blazes had she managed to reach the Round Table chamber?!

"I will not serve a false King!" – the said girl snarled.

Just like him. Just like her father ten years ago.

Unable to cope with the sudden torrent of images crowding inside his brain, Ruber reacted slower than he usually would as the girl approached him at high speed atop of one of the many wooden beams used in the reparations of the roof of the East Tower attached to a rope that, with the impulse, served as a pendulum.

The sudden, painful impact against his stomach, even embedded in armor, took out all the air from Ruber's lungs as he vaguely felt being hurled backwards against the glass panels of one of the windows.

Amidst a rain of glass' splinters, both man and girl fled momentarily in the air to painfully land on the outside courtyard, hitting many body parts against the steps' edges of a short stairway.

With the both of them seeing double and moaning in pain, Kayleigh was the first one to open her eyes as she tried pitifully to crept away from the Red Knight's reach while he laboriously got himself up sinking Excalibur's pointy blade on the stone ground, plunging a hole as he did so.

Because she had seen his eyes… and the death promise they harbored right now.

Feeling a knee sore and bleeding from the fall, Kayleigh forced her body to move towards the courtyard as the also sore Ruber came slowly but surely towards her.

"You!" – he screamed, completely out of his mind, his sight red as blood as he had gone completely berserk, not knowing anything about his surroundings but the fueling murdering goal to tear the thrice-damned wench to pieces, limb by limb – "Always in the way, just like your father ten years ago!"

The first blow had gone directly to decapitate her, but Kayleigh still had enough reflexes to dodge that and the blade had left a horizontal mark on the surface of one of the many menhirs in the courtyard drawing a circle around a…

That's it!

Unaware of the girl's intentions and where she was leading him, Ruber neared her with the same deliberate slowness he had used previously with Arthur.

Right now, he didn't care about this person being Lyonesse's cousin, but rather an annoying obstacle in the way.

An obstacle he couldn't allow himself to permit to even exist.

"Since you're dying to be like… him!" – the Red Knight cried, delivering another blow that, this time, went to the ground – "Let's see if I can lend you a hand!"

A little closer… closer…

But on that very moment happened three things: one being Ruber raising his sword to deliver the killing blow, second was Garrett going swiftly by his left flank to hit him in the head with his cane, thus breaking it in the process.

And third… Ruber backhanding the young man until he had him at his mercy along Kayleigh.

The young couple embraced each other as if protecting themselves from the incoming death.

"Two… for the price of one!" – Ruber exclaimed madly as he raised his unnatural limb again, calculating how to impaling both of their stomachs in a single blow – "The blind man and Lionel's spawn! This must be my lucky day!"

However, after a low command whispered by Kayleigh, she and Garrett dodged successfully Ruber's assault as he encased the blade in the stone he, in the middle of his fury, had not seen at all.

The steel pierced the stone as if made of butter until it reached a dead point where the blade didn't advance further and its wielder could not disengage it.

With his eyes wide open, Ruber let escape a denial cry.

"The Stone…" - he murmured, feeling a sudden, cold sweat drenching his back until an electric wave from the very tip of the sword started to spread along his body.

White hot pain numbed his senses as the combined magic of Excalibur and the legendary Stone worked their searing paths through the unnatural marriage of flesh and steel of his arm.

As a blinding light expanded around the mist from outside, touching each inhabitant of Camelot, Ruber felt how the twisted bones and muscles of his arm lost consistency around Excalibur's hilt as they, together with the rest of his body, begun to dissolve in thin air like dust.

In those final moments, as he observed how he was vanishing like he had never existed, he found himself thinking about his wife and their unborn child.

He would never be able to see his kid grow. He would never hear him or her call him "father"… he would never be able to hold their tiny hand.

He would never have the opportunity to love his kid. He had lost it, forever.

Just as he had lost his family once, his pride and recklessness had guided him to this point. The point of no return.

A befitting denouement for a life marked by battles, hatred… and a deep sadness he, till now, didn't suspect he felt.

Now he wished he had been a better son, a better brother, a better husband… a better father.

With these thoughts, his mind finally collapsed and he laughed.

He laughed because he had no more tears to spill for his black star. His fate was something, he now knew it, he had sealed in blood a long time ago.

So, as his entire being disintegrated in the light, he closed his eyes and his madness, his denial, his sadness, his dreams and the love he never gave died with him.

Outside the Promised Land, the fabled Kingdom of Camelot, a group of wagons left behind to ensure the safety of its occupants until the situation would be conveniently controlled… suddenly trembled as the expansive wave of light reached even them.

As the blinding whiteness encased them, a single figure clad in black emerged from one of the biggest wagons and planted face against the light, unafraid of becoming blind.

The long black hair of said figure rippled with the violent gust of wind until the white glow slowly subsided.

Many minutes after the explosion as the colors fit again in their retinas, many women and children emerged from the rest of the wagons as well, first looking in awe the strange phenomenon they had witnessed, then to the still, lone figure clad in black directing its gaze towards the horizon.

"Milady!" – one of the older women exclaimed as she saw blood leaking from one of the nostrils of the serene, yet inhuman visage of the pale woman with raven hair flowing in the wind.

As the blood reached her lips, she did not react towards the cries and hands that were preventing her to fall to the ground.

A sudden gush of grief stabbed her insides and a lullaby of silence and numbness closed her eyes.

And one important part of herself died that day.

Meanwhile, not far away from the camp, a hunched, wounded dark figure spied from high with its green, venomous eyes as the mate of its Master lost in a wave everything she had held dear until now.

The griffin, on the other hand, was quite content that its service under the orders of a human Master had reached its due end. So, it spreaded out its black wings as the winds of change guided it towards new destinations with new challenges to take.

After all, its lifespan could endure several human generations and its pride could match any King's, being the said monarch alive… or dead.

They always died before it did.

Always.

Chapter Text

There she is. Sir Brunor's daughter. The lost Black Lyonesse.

He had been right from the start about everything.

Rumor said the highlander, the traitor who killed Sir Lionel ten years ago, had kept her prisoner all these years.

Camelot's Court was nothing but a viper's nest full of malicious gossip.

Poor girl. All her youth wasted by that barbarian's side.

Barely a couple of weeks she had endured this and she was starting to feel like burning the entire place to the ground.

That or throw herself from the nearest balcony.

Now she's an old maiden.

She wasn't old!

A maiden? Are you sure? After all… eight years is time enough to become many other things…

They were repulsive. Their society was repulsive.

You don't say…

Oh, but yes, dear. I do pity her, truly. To think what she probably endured under that monster's paw…

That wasn't what happened! And he wasn't a monster!

She would be better at a nunnery right now, for not sane gentleman would want to marry her, defiled as she is.

They could shove their marriage proposals up their…

She's still beautiful. I'm sure an honorable man would gladly restore her honor. How about Sir Kay? He's old for sure, but his wife died a couple of years ago. Maybe if…

Beautiful… was beauty all that mattered in a woman? Not her intelligence, not her bravery, not her spirit.

To them, a woman was just a possession. Not a thinking, feeling entity.

But there's still Sir Gaheris, her old betrothed. He hasn't married yet…

Just… stop.

Oh, the ashes of young love rekindled! It would be perfect if he, despite her situation, would acquiesce to marry her. That would prove his great love for her.

That's so romantic!

Indeed.

Enough!

Lyonesse felt the sudden urge to vomit as bitter bile climbed up her throat.

Old? Defiled? Beautiful? In love? Who they thought they were, making such judgments upon her, her situation and her character? They even didn't know her!

They were speaking about social decorum around the "maiden" issue instead of asking her about how she felt!

Because the truth was that… she felt utterly miserable.

Her growing depression, hidden behind a detached mask of indifference, was eating her from inside each day she spent at Camelot's Court under Arthur's wing.

They had not wasted time in dub both her cousin Kayleigh and her companion, a blind young man by the name of Garrett, "Lady Kayleigh" and "Sir Garrett" respectively.

All because of how they both had led her husband to his grave.

They had been knighted with all the honors despite the initial complaints about having a woman seated at the Round Table. The first woman in History to face equality with powerful men.

All because of her husband's defeat that had led him to his death.

Then they had celebrated. They still were, as the betrothal of Lady Kayleigh and Sir Garrett had happened in barely seven days after their investment… probably to put the new knight-lady in a safe place as a knight's wife to hold her from her theoretical duties as being one of the chosen at the Round Table.

Lyonesse still had fresh in her memory the brief conversation her and her cousin had exchanged about that particular regard.

"Lyonesse! I didn't hear you coming." – Kayleigh's voice had been guarded, as well as the expression her face harbored.

"I'll put this as plainly as possible so not unnecessary pleasantries gets in the way: I've heard that you are going to marry."

Lyonesse's tone had been cold, sizing her cousin with a hard, calculating expression as she had spoken.

"You've… heard well." – that had been Kayleigh's answer, taken aback from the iciness she had immediately detected not only in Lyonesse's tone, but her eyes.

Those dark pools, black as the night, which had harbored something close to malice and quiet anger.

Because she, suddenly, with her pale visage and reptilian gaze, had frightfully resembled Ruber.

"With a man you've only known, what? Less than a month?"

"Garrett has a good heart and he had proved me brave and worthy enough." – Kayleigh had defended her decision firmly, as if she knew she had been regarded with a magnifying glass – "Besides, I love him."

"Oh? Do you, really?" – Lyonesse was not so convinced as her eyes, unbeknownst to her, had held a strange green glow – "Before jumping to hasty conclusions, ask yourself this first: do you know him? Do you truly know the man you will be spending the rest of your life 'till death do you both part?"

"I… I do. I think."

"You think?"

"I mean… he saved me first, he helped me through the perils of the forest and, finally, he came back to aid not only me, but the King."

"Have you not thought about the convenience of this marriage for him?"

"Wh… what do you mean?"

"I mean that he's blind, he's poor and he was alone living as a fugitive in the middle of the most ancient place in this land so nobody could reach him even if they tried." – Lyonesse knew she had touched a sore spot, so she had pressed further – "What could be more beneficial for a man who, like him, had nothing to lose risking his life? To wed a young noblewoman is an easy way to securing his recent earned title, don't you agree?"

"H… he's not like that…"

"Did he say he loves you even once?"

"N… no, but…"

"Then there you have your answer."

She was well aware that she had been pretty unfair misleading her cousin about the new, blooming feeling between the young couple. But poisoning a little bit their seemingly perfect relationship with the shadow of doubt was nothing in comparison of what they had done to her.

Now a rumor had reached her ears about Lady Kayleigh having second thoughts about her betrothal and Lyonesse was fine with that.

They deserved that much.

After all, they had earned their titles only because Ruber was dead.

Suddenly, the whisper of a dress' hem sweeping the floor before her awakened her from her pensive state.

"Lyonesse?" – lifting her gaze, her eyes met her aunt's ones – "Are you feeling alright, dearie?"

No, she wasn't feeling alright. In fact, she felt awful.

"I'm a bit nauseous, auntie." – she answered with a feigned serenity she didn't feel in the least – "But besides that, I'm fine, thank you."

But her aunt, her perceptive aunt, wasn't so convinced. Despite the tranquil mask her niece wore, she still could see the immense void bleeding from her black eyes.

"Walk with me, will you?" – the older woman said quickly as she grabbed Lyonesse's arm with a strength that was surprising in a woman so thin as Julianna was – "A little bit of fresh air will do you some good."

Sighing heavily, Lyonesse allowed to be dragged from her seat as both women made a peaceful, but steady walk towards one of the many balconies shrouded in shadow, out of reach from the noisy celebrations inside the castle.

So, once out of earshot, Julianna sat beside her niece in one of the many benches made of stone the structure offered.

"What is wrong, dearie?" – Julianna began as she searched her niece's eyes – "You barely talk, you barely eat… What is happening to you? You do not seem like the Lyonesse I have recovered barely a month ago. Since you set foot on Camelot, you look sad and ill."

After a while in silence, Lyonesse thought that, why not, if there was a time for opening up with a living soul, that time was now with this woman who she had always regarded as a mother.

A mother who didn't know yet how twisted and blackened her young branch had become.

"I am ill, auntie." – she deadpanned.

Julianna regarded her carefully.

"Is because of the baby?" – she asked, noticing immediately the subtle pang of momentary surprise that tinted the young woman's visage – "You should not worry, dear. The queasiness will subside after some time. It is your body adapting to the new life growing inside of it."

Lyonesse sighed again.

"The baby right now… is the only joy I have." – she said after a pause – "But this… place… is nothing like the Camelot I dreamed long ago when I was a child…" - then her voice lowered – "Nothing like the shining castle with men in shining armor I saw briefly when I was thirteen."

She often remembered how quickly her memories at that age had dismissed entirely the dirt and the people who had been, by standard canons, old, poor or even ungraceful when her father had taken her to Camelot for the first and last time in his life. That had been when Gaheris had laid his eyes upon her even if she was, by any means, still a child.

At the age of thirteen she had had eyes only for the beautiful ladies clothed in silk and rich velvet or the dashing knights embedded in shining armor with Arthur's symbol, a red dragon, chiseled in their crests. And Gaheris had been the most gallant of all.

She remembered him being, along with Sir Lancelot, the most dashing young man she had ever met, and she remembered Arthur Pendragon as a powerful yet gentle King whose eyes had been clear blue sky colored and whose voice had been full of authority yet soothing. Everything her father, Sir Brunor, had had woven in her imagination since she was a toddler.

Because at that age… she was all eyes for physical beauty and she vaguely remembered a brief glimpse of long red hair pertaining to a huge man whose visage had been so different from the handsome, brave men she was so used to that her memories had dismissed him entirely.

Until now.

And she hated how her previous self had unconsciously ignored the existence of a man she had regarded as monstrous and ungraceful. Just like everybody else.

Was beauty all that mattered in their world? Were those the values they taught to their children to size a person's worth?

"Age tends to change perspective often, Lyonesse." – Julianna said with a kind voice as her hands went to the younger woman's hair and, giving her the turnaround, started to plait it – "I know Camelot it is far from perfect, but… it is a dream worth keeping."

Suddenly, Lyonesse's eyes opened wide.

A dream… you said that they were living in a dream they, one of these days, would have to wake up from as their utopia would crumble before their eyes like a house of cards…

He had been right. She had woken up from that dream already.

And the reality was uglier than she had ever imagined.

"A dream cannot stand perfect with such imperfect humanity." – she said aloud, her aunt's hands suddenly froze behind her – "A dream is meant to be corrupted with such rotten minds to dream it… then, eventually, it will turn into a nightmare."

"Lyonesse…?"

"I've heard what they're saying about me." – the young woman stated as she turned around again to face her suddenly pale aunt – "They're just deciding who I should marry barely a month since my husband died. They even chose to utterly ignore that I was married at all!"

"Lyonesse, dear, they are just speculating, nothing more." – Julianna's tone was meant to appease what right now couldn't be appeased – "In regard of your marriage… the King deemed more convenient to spread that story because…"

"'Convenient', you say?" – Lyonesse's voice had started to sound venomous as she got up, regarding Julianna from above while her dark silhouette was against the full moon – "For me? Or for them?"

Unbeknownst to her, her eyes had adopted a greenish light circling her pupils so, from Julianna's perspective, she looked like some wild nocturnal predator.

"You… you do not have to pay attention to their gossip, Lyonesse!" – Julianna pleaded, silently terrified of what her eyes were seeing. Because she knew what that meant, and it scared her greatly – "Come with me! Live with us!" – she exclaimed – "Give your child a healthy, familiar environment! You do not have to marry any other man again! You do not have to give up your dignity to have a stable, prosperous life!"

The greenish light in Lyonesse's eyes spreaded out by her circulatory system as every vein around her eyes and lips turned out glowing green.

"You… you think I gave up my dignity by marrying him, do you?" – she said, her voice trembling, her eyes filled with bitter tears she wouldn't allow herself to spill – "You think some sick, twisted trauma had rendered me deranged for allowing the man who took me away eight years ago to touch me, do you? You think I'm insane for loving the man who gave me the chance to become someone instead of being the decorative wife of some coward, isn't that right?"

That hadn't been Julianna's intentions regarding what she had said, and she tried to reach her niece, both with her words and her hands.

"I did not mean th…"

But it was too late.

Lyonesse's hand hit Julianna's pleading ones as the unnatural glow spreaded further down her neck and collarbone.

"No, I don't want your pity." – she snarled as she were some wounded, feral animal – "Nor I want this King, this… Arthur Pendragon's protection." – she spat contemptibly as her voice changed – "And for everything all of you had done to me… I'll see you burn!"

And with those words, she ran, leaving a terrified, heartbroken Julianna whose tears, for the first time since Lionel's death, spilled freely down her cheeks.

Because she knew she had lost her girl, her first little girl, forever.

As she stepped outside the imposing structure of the castle, Lyonesse found herself in a place she had been avoiding since she had set foot on Camelot: the Stone's courtyard.

She hadn't been prepared to face the source of Ruber's doom, to defy its ancient, powerful magic.

But that night Lyonesse felt no fear, for hatred had engulfed any other feeling she had been harboring… or rather repressing until now.

Approaching with firm steps to the infamous stone, elegant patterns that completed a rune carved in its surface glowed a bluish light as her fingertips, glowing green as they were, went forwards to touch its surface.

Then, before her skin grazed the rock, a phenomenon she hadn't had the chance to witness previously displayed out before her eyes.

A will o' the wisp.

Her hand froze in midair as Lyonesse watched the cold, bluish fire dancing slowly in front of her, its tiny blazes stretching in her direction, as if they wanted to touch her.

Allowing contact between her glowing fingers and the cold fire, in the very instant the physical and spiritual essences joined, an ethereal image took form in front of her briefly.

As her eyes took in the features she noticed amidst the transparent, bluish essence, those tears she had promised she would never allow to spill again went downwards her cold, glowing cheeks.

It was him. Somehow, his essence hadn't dissipated until he was allowed to see her again for one last time.

His face harbored neither pain, nor hatred but a strange mixture between peace and sadness as he took in her visage. Both of their hands, physical and non-physical, met briefly until his spiritual form slowly dissolved in thin air.

That had been his farewell.

Feeling her strength faltering, Lyonesse's knees sank in the ground as the greenish glow that had been consuming her retreated to her tearful eyes.

And she cried. She cried for all this time she had been repressing her feelings and her great misery just to never allow a living soul to see her in such a vulnerable state.

She cried because she had nothing and she was nothing.

Right now, she had reverted to her previous self from seven years ago, not knowing what the future would hold for her and who she was anymore.

She felt alone.

But alone she wasn't, for one dark figure emerged from the gloom around her.

"Lyonesse, is that you?"

That voice… pertaining to someone she had been avoiding since his presence had made itself known in Camelot a week after the battle to join the festivities.

Gaheris.

Forcing herself to stand up as soon as she heard his voice, she composed herself quickly as her trembling hands dried up her tears clumsily.

"What are you doing here? It is late and it is dark and cold out here…"

Make him disappear, make him disappear!

But, despite her inner protests, he was now beside her, offering his cloak like any good gentleman would do.

"You really should not be here outside, freezing out to death, Lyonesse." – he said, his always handsome, boyish face now matured into a stunning man – "Perhaps you are not feeling well? Allow me to escort you to your chambers."

Before she can object, his cloak was now wrapping her as his hand went to her shoulders.

But something about his body language wasn't quite right. She could tell.

"It has been a long time, Lyonesse." – he was saying, blue eyes and curly mahogany hair shining under the pale moonlight – "I had forgotten how enchanting you are."

There were those compliments again. About beauty, not about the person she was.

Nonetheless, it was but highly expected, coming from Gaheris. He barely knew her.

He had never known her at all.

"Enchanting enough to even stun a soul so black like of that animal the highlander was, I'm sure." – he added suddenly, his voice holding something akin to a dark resent Lyonesse didn't want to unveil. So, as she tried to make a quick escape, her arm was painfully grabbed – "I… I have heard the rumors and I cannot think a feasible way to discredit them. After all, eight years are far too many years, is it not right?"

"Gaheris, let me go."

"You were not supposed to belong to anybody… and him the least!" – he exclaimed, suddenly possessed by something Lyonesse discerned very well even in the dark: madness.

"Let me go, now!" – the young woman screamed, trying in vain to get rid of his iron grip.

"You would be better far away… dedicating your life to God to expiate your sins." – his grip around her arm became too strong, too painful – "Not here… tempting me as Guinevere did with Lancelot."

Lyonesse felt sick at hearing such amount of nonsense. She? Being like Guinevere? This man was completely mad!

As her free hand went to his fingers, her nails sank viciously into his flesh.

"I said…" - she began, dangerously low – "… LET ME GO!"

As she had screamed those words, a sudden inner force awakened inside of her that propelled her captor backwards into the mud as it started raining.

Wide-eyed, the so-called "knight" crawled backwards like the insect he now was before her.

"You… you are a witch…" - he muttered, shocked – "You should be burned at the stake for this, your soul has been tainted… You are the Devil's concubine…"

However, before she could answer, another voice did it for her.

"Her blood has awakened." – out of the dark, surrounded by an unnatural mist, the figure of the old druid Merlin emerged – "I've been fearing this since she came to Camelot the first time, twelve years ago." – he explained as he approached the pair, staff in hand – "Her father, Sir Brunor "The Black", sought my aid because he suspected his daughter had the "gift", but didn't want to expose her publicly as he well knew what would be the outcome."

Lyonesse eyed him warily with her glowing eyes, ready to defend herself if this old magician wanted to destroy her.

"However, the "gift" can be properly channeled with the appropriate teachings." – Merlin added, looking at the woman with a tranquil, wizened gaze – "Your inner power is strong, so stronger is the pulling for you to allow it to flow ungoverned. But that can be addressed, if you want."

"You… you're offering to teach me?" – Lyonesse asked with distorted voice, incredulous – "You're offering me to… be like you?"

"Not quite." – Merlin shook his head – "I am offering you a chance to govern upon your inner monster. A chance to not become what regular people fear and hunt down."

"Don't listen to him, child." – a strange, disembodied voice cut the air like a knife cuts through butter – "He is so afraid of another one becoming his equal… or even his best, that he would do anything to prevent that from happening."

A greenish glow emerged from the ground as a more unnatural mist than Merlin's doing emerged from the earth itself, taking the shape of three figures.

Three old women.

Dressed in strange attires as their untamed manes of white hair flowed without present wind and adorned with a strange choice of symbolic jewelry, those women, strangely beautiful despite their advanced age, held the same glowing green gaze Lyonesse had in that very moment.

"Return to the dark where you belong!" – Merlin exclaimed as his eyes held a bluish glow as well, wielding his wooden staff in front of him – "This land rejects you! The living rejects you! The dead rejects you! You harbor no power here!"

But the three women laughed at him, their laughs, incredibly melodic for such old ladies, echoed in the misty courtyard.

"Ah, I recognize you, Merlin, son of an incubus. But you yourself already know that, once upon a time, this land was ours!" – one of them exclaimed – "Ours and Mother Nature's. But with this new God, our old Lords are falling into oblivion."

"Men's nature is fickle, always directing their pleas to the stronger wind, like vanes." – said another as she put her glowing eyes upon Lyonesse's ones – "And they always destroy what they fear."

"Come with us, child." - the third cooed, extending her elegant, pale as the dead, hand – "While he offers repression, we offer release."

"We will teach you things he would never dare to even mention."

"You will be safe with us. You… and your child."

Ignoring completely Gaheris' shocked look, Lyonesse's hands went to her belly protectively.

"Don't listen to them!" – Merlin exclaimed, still wielding his staff in front of him as his old fingers traced blind patterns around the wood that served as a barrier against the vile beings he was fighting right now – "Their help always comes with a price! A price too high for what they offer in exchange!"

"But isn't already a too high price to pay trying to be something you are not anymore?" – the first woman spoke again – "Hadn't you suffered enough scrutiny?"

"Think about what kind of life your child will have amongst those who despised and killed their father!" - warned the second.

"We always watch over our children." – assured the third, her hand still extended towards Lyonesse – "Learn our ways and become one with Nature, the old gods! Come with us!"

"Don't listen to them!"

Lyonesse's gaze went from the disturbed Merlin to the tranquil women before her.

Maybe with them… not only she will find a home, but means to ensure seeing Camelot burned to the ground.

Merlin, on the other hand, offered the same empty existence she had before knowing Ruber.

So she made a decision.

Approaching the old ladies, Lyonesse took the hand the third had extended towards her as their laughs threw Merlin backwards, the old druid still not in his best shape as a full Mooncycle hadn't passed yet since his intervention to save Arthur's life.

Placing the young woman amongst them, the three sisters bestowed their hands upon her.

"Aaah, yes…" - said the one who still held her hand with delight – "This one will be powerful, I can tell."

"Her spirit is stronger than most." – added the second – "A fine addition to our coven, indeed."

Taking the young woman's face between her corpse-like hands, the first one spoke to her looking directly into her eyes.

"Now, child, you must leave your identity behind to forge a new one." – she said – "With a new identity comes a new name." – her glowing eyes narrowed – "Normally, is our prerogative to bestow names upon our children… but this time, we will give you the precious gift of choice." – she released Lyonesse's face – "Choose your name wisely, child. For there will be no going back from this point."

Lyonesse thought about many names she had heard all these years and very few had truly pleased her most than her own.

For Lyonesse meant "little lion", an animal whose strength and courage was legendary.

However…

"The name of my husband's deceased mother was Morgause, and I understand, from what he told me about her, that she was one of us." – she said, knowing now which name would appeal her more than "little lion" – "So, from today on forward, my name will be… Morgan."

'She, who lives by the sea' was a more appropriate name for a witch than "little lion", for she wasn't little anymore and she had proved her bravery enough.

"So be it, Morgan, our child." – the one who had been holding her hand released it – "Now, the gates of Avalon would open for you even if many still are pleading at their doorstep to be admitted. Let us be transported far away from this bitter land."

And, with an explosion of light, the three women along with the once called "Black Lyonesse" in her father's honor disappeared in thin air, leaving a trail of dead flowers' scent.

That day, Merlin went into a deep slumber he would not awake from in an entire year to recover from the poisonous influence of the Wayward Sisters of the legends who had, once more, triumphed over him as they did in the past.

And from that day on, Gaheris' hair went totally white and his face began to prematurely shrivel.

Because from that day on… the kingdom knew a new Era of darkness.

Guinevere lay in her bed, waiting for the unavoidable.

She had been feeling rather weak these last months and breathing had felt… a too great task to perform it as many times as her organism had required.

Later had come the coughing… and, with coughing, came the blood.

Pulmonary tuberculosis.

It was a fairly common disease among peasant populace… and the low clergy.

Almost ten years since her fatal decision had passed, and she had endured many long winters in her nun robes shivering both because of the cold… and the numerous fasts she did to herself in order to purge herself of her sins.

And finally, the absence of warm and food mixed with the growing darkness that had been surrounded the land for the last six years, poisoning it and spreading illness among its inhabitants… finally, those components had been the recipe of her demise.

Coughing violently, a painful hit to her lungs for sure, Guinevere felt miserable when one of the nuns, the only one who had dared to keep her company in her darkest hour even with the threat of become ill as well, cleaned the blood from her lips wordlessly and returned to her chair by her side, holding a small wooden cross while she mumbled the Mysteries, one Mystery for each prayer bead between her fingers.

Guinevere sighed and that mere action brought pain.

Why God was punishing her so harshly? True she had sinned, and she had made sure to pay for it… but this… this was simply so cruel…

Hadn't been enough to renounce to Lancelot and the happy life they could have led together? Hadn't been enough to renounce to her own body, her hair, her youth, her beauty and her femininity?

Hadn't been enough to renounce to have a second chance in her disgraced marital life that now this bitter God demanded a further proof of her repentance taking her life so slowly and painfully?!

Arthur had never truly loved her. Or, at least, that had been the thorn her heart had never allowed to get rid of, bitter and poisonous as her memories returned to her often and distorted to torture her already tortured soul. For she remembered him with painful sorrow as he, in his pedestal of righteousness and light, had been always King before husband and that knowledge had embittered her and broken her heart more than once in the past. Even still today old, poor and forgotten, each time Guinevere evoked Arthur's image in her mind, she still felt her heart raw and wounded, like the deer bleeding from the hunter's arrow.

However, she wasn't the fool everybody thought she was.

She and Arthur had met each other during a siege in her father's castle. Arthur and his knights had come to the rescue of Sir Ogrfan and his family and the old knight, as a reward, had offered his daughter's hand to the King in the very moment he had witnessed how charmed had been Arthur just by beholding Guinevere's beauty.

And she had been truly flattered by the King's interest towards her, feeling that, even if he was almost fifteen years older than her, she could ease the weight from his shoulders by keeping him company, hearing out his worries, sharing the load of ruling a kingdom… giving him a family and redirecting his attention to other things than just being King. In her innocence, she had thought that fulfilling dutifully her role as a model wife would bear her the fruits of a prosperous marriage with a caring, loving husband who would value her above all other things, just like the old tales proclaimed.

But Arthur, even as besotted as he had been, had always treated her like she had been a child, never taking into consideration her opinion, her suggestions… and her feelings.

As far as she remembered, he only treated her as a woman when he laid with her, devoid of that unreachable aloofness and that cursed crown upon his brow she, with the passing of years, had learned to hate so much.

But never in public, never allowing the Court to see her how she really was and not the "Queen Child" had everybody whispered about.

And, as the years had passed and no children came from their union, Arthur had begun to come less and less to her chambers, too centered in govern, too obsessed in maintaining the union between the nobles… too focused even in the most disliked of his knights, the infamous highlander who had caused quite a scandal by killing one of Arthur's closest friends: Sir Lionel.

Guinevere couldn't believe it when she had found herself alone, separated from the kingdom's responsibilities and affairs, uninformed about her husband's whereabouts and utterly ignored.

And she had spilled many bitter tears knowing that Arthur preferred to play guerrilla with the highlander instead of being with her.

It was always the same: first the kingdom, then her. First Arthur's people happiness, then hers.

That's how Lancelot had gotten, slow but sure, in her heart.

He was the only one who had treated her like a person, the one who always asked her opinion, the one who always offered himself to escort her, to assist her, to procure her what her heart craved… to grant her every wish.

He was the knight in shining armor her silly fantasies from her childhood had always hoped in secret.

And he, with a broken heart and trembling voice, had declared his undying love for her even knowing that his feelings for his Queen were wrong, impossible and, perhaps, unrequited.

But his ultramarine eyes had been filled with tears, his head down in shame and his knees sank in front of her, asking for her forgiveness, saying that he would understand if she will never want to look at his face again.

His feelings had been pure.

So, kneeling beside him, she had taken his tearful, beautiful face between her delicate hands and she had kissed him wordlessly.

First, their kiss had been, if not chaste, very pure until a wave of burning desire had overwhelmed them and Lancelot had separated from her before they commit sin.

So he had left Camelot and Guinevere had found herself more than one night remembering those lips, the sweetness and passion that had emanated from them, both in words and actions.

And she had found herself longing for him, fatally lovestruck for the first time in her life. For she had respected and even professed great affection for Arthur… but she had never truly loved him as a man. Perhaps she had loved him as a King, perhaps she had loved him as a person, even as a husband… but never as a man. His aloofness and his paternal condescension had impeded that much.

And then, the sadness among the rest of the knights because of this, particularly Gawain's sadness… and Guinevere already suspected why… had put her in a compromised situation… a situation that had escalated to the very accusation of unfaithfulness.

And Arthur had done nothing in her behalf, telling her that he, as King, was meant to be the judge, not the Champion she needed to defend her honor.

And not a single man had raised his sword in her aid.

A peasant boy, dear Perceval, had been the only one brave enough to confront Gawain's wrath in her name.

But Lancelot had arrived in the last minute, his blue eyes hard as steel, his righteous wrath granting him the victory… but not before Gawain managed to plunge a few holes into his flesh.

So Guinevere, grateful, had taken care of his wounds.

And in the very moment the wounded man had locked his eyes with the hopeful, yet terrified Queen… that had been the beginning of their love… and their doom.

She still loved him despite all these last years in the cold shadows… oh, how she still loved him with all her might…!

"I see you had suffered greatly." – a soft, disembodied voice reached her ears as if she were in a dream… so lulling… so gentle… – "Nobody should endure the pain of losing the other half of your soul."

Suddenly, the room was filled with a dense fog and the nun who had been taking care of her fell asleep, the little wooden cross slide between her fingers until it fell to the floor, silently shattering to splinters in the process.

A hooded silhouette outlined itself amongst the fog until the moribund Guinevere distinguished the long, pale fingers of a woman reaching for her own hand.

The woman's visage was half-hidden behind the hood of the black cloak she wore, but Guinevere already knew who this visitor was.

"Fear me not, Guinevere, daughter of Ogrfan Gawr." – said the woman, still her soft tone present in her almost eerie voice – "For I came here in peace." – and retiring the hood from her head, Guinevere beheld the most beautiful, yet frightening woman she had ever seen, her dark eyes surrounded by a bright green glow – "I came here… to grant you the gift of rest."

"Morgan Le Fay…" - the former Queen said, her voice weak while her eyes held a strange serenity – "You came here to bring me death?" – then she smiled weakly – "I beg you, give me peace… and my spirit would be grateful for all the Eternity."

The eerie, beautiful woman cupped her face with her elegant hand; her fingers, toes and chin gracefully tattooed with arcane scripts that glowed more softly than her powerful eyes.

"Eternity is a time too long, even for me, Guinevere." – she said, her soft fingers caressing the prematurely aged face of the other woman – "But I want to grant you the opportunity to go to your Heaven… looking in the face of a true angel." - and retiring her dark cloak a little more, she exposed the tiny shape of a child not older than five with curly bright red hair and soft baby green eyes – "Guinevere, this is my only and beloved child."

Guinevere looked marveled at the cute little kid beside her as her eyes were filled with tears.

"I… I always wanted to bear a child as lovely as this one…" - she mumbled while her trembling hand reached to the infant – "How beautiful you are… what it is your name?"

Then the child, taking softly her hand and approaching to the moribund woman's ear, whispered something.

Guinevere smiled sweetly.

"What a pretty name you have…" - she said weakly, her voice but a whisper among silence – "So pretty…"

And then, her whole spirit, along with her hand's strength between the infant's ones, left the room.

"Come, sweetie." – the eerie, although suddenly sad woman said after closing the former Queen's eyes – "There's nothing more we can do here."

"Is the ill lady now happy, mommy?" – said the kid with a tiny, innocent voice, while taking the woman's hand.

"Yes, darling." – she nodded, looking once more at her child, noticing the familiar features of someone she lost years ago woven in their face – "She now definitely is."

Getting out of that building dedicated to a God their very cores despised with all their might, walking through the dense fog between two worlds, the mortal one and the magical one, sadly disappearing with each passing year, mother and child stopped in their tracks as a bulky, winged figure with two heads blocked their way.

"Child of darknesss, black fairy who visssitsss our dreamsss… we meet at lassst…" - spoke one of the scaly heads, hissing with fear and respect as the glowing eyes of the lady squint themselves.

"Kayleigh's bicephalous dragon." – the woman said with a cold edge in her voice – "What is it a creature like you would want from me?"

"Our kin isss disssappearing." – replied the other head, this one slenderer than the other – "With our now full-grown body we are powerful… but we are alssso alone. And our brethren disssownsss usss for the betrayal we participated in sssix yearsss ago… They won't allow usss to return to the Forbidden Foressst."

"Serves you right." – she replied coldly – "May all the decisions you made six years ago will weight over your wings for all the hundreds of years of solitude you have in front of you!"

"Pleassse, Dark One!" – the slender head implored – "We beg you! Guide usss to Avalon!"

"We will do anything!"

"We don't want to ssspend the Eternity alone in the company of each other'sss!"

The little hand of the child by her side squeezed hers gently.

"Cannot we take them with us, mommy?" – the kid asked innocently – "They seem nice…"

But the sudden sadness in the woman's glowing eyes said everything in the matter.

"Never trust a lizard, my child." – she said as she eyed the said dragon with contempt again – "For they have a cold enough blood to give their backs to their friends and beg to their enemies for scraps when they feel trapped. Dragons are a deceiving ilk, never to be trusted…" - and she added venomously – "… And never to be forgiven."

Hissing in pain as the invisible arcane wall the woman constructed around her and her child, the bicephalous dragon recoiled miserably into the fog again while mother and child departed in silence, never looking back, disappearing in the middle of the darkness the land had submitted itself.

A darkness… born from a deep hatred as well as a deeper sadness.

Chapter Text

Lucius never recalled a more somber time than his teens.

True that he also remembered, although very vaguely, been a child raised among a dying Order of the Round Table where both of his parents belonged as knights as far as his memory reached… and where they were, along with Sir Galahad, Sir Perceval and Sir Bors the Younger (most of all sons of elder knights of the Round Table as well) the only remaining younger ones… alive.

Many years the Order had sought to heal their ill King Arthur and, thus, healing their land as well with no avail.

For the legend of the Holy Grail, the goblet in which Christ drank wine in the Last Supper surrounded by his Twelve Apostles, had been, to this day, an impossible goal to reach.

What is the secret of the Grail? Who does it serve?

Many valiant men had perished seeking these answers, and Lucius dreaded the day when word will reach Camelot bringing news about the deaths of Galahad, Perceval and Bors the Younger.

For that would mean that his parents would be next in the chain to follow their steps in search of the elusive divine goblet.

"Ah, Lucius, there you are."

And if things weren't bad enough, with the moribund state in which Arthur was submerged, recently a greater illness had poisoned Britain eating the land from its very core like a vicious parasite: Mordred's army.

"Come here, son." – soon, his mother's hands reached his face and caressed his gaunt cheeks – "Let me see you."

Raising slowly his eyes, the same amberish brown eyes he shared with his mother and, as he had been told since he was a little boy, his grandfather as well, Lucius sight met his mother's visage.

With the passing years, much of the freshness of Lady Kayleigh's beauty had clearly diminished… but her impetuous spirit had prevailed despite the circumstances.

Not only Lucius loved his mother as a caring son would, but he admired her greatly.

Not for nothing she had been the first woman to sit at the Round Table as an equal to the rest of men who compounded the Order.

"You're so pale…" - Lady Kayleigh murmured absently, watching carefully her son's face: thinner and gaunter than a sixteen-year-old lad should look, with high cheekbones taken after his father's; severe dark eye bags and a long mane of straight hair so blonde that it almost looked white.

The young man was the perfect image of a ghost, like the same ill land he had been raised in.

"I'm fine, mother." – he answered softly, giving her a weak smile as if trying to soothe out her many worries – "It's just the winter. My skin hadn't seen the sun in a while, that's all."

"It has been winter in Camelot for too long, I'm afraid." – she said, mirroring the same weak smile plastered in her son's lips – "I wish news from the other knights would reach the Court… even bad ones." – she added thoughtfully – "For that would mean that, at least, they tried to make things better for all of us… But this… this nothingness…" - she sighed – "This uncertainty of not knowing if they died or they abandoned us to join forces with Mordred…"

Lucius repressed a loud sigh. What his mother said was a sad truth these days; because with Arthur in such a weakened state the wanna-be-usurper, Mordred, a lone swordsman who had come out of thin air demanding King Arthur's head, had lured many former loyal knights to his side.

And that was why he had won all the battles so far; because he was younger, stronger and, above all, bolder than the old King.

He posed a threat so great that many had joined him because they both needed and feared him.

Rumor said that, despite many arrows and blades had reached him, nothing could pierce his enchanted black armor, thus, making him invulnerable… unbeaten.

"Have faith, mother." – he said, putting his hands over her shoulders, a head taller than her, a thousand times more coward and undeserving than any of her comrades… because Lucius, having seen so much darkness and misery since his childhood, had no faith nor courage to hold on, but to feign it. If the great and brave Lady Kayleigh, his mother, lose faith, he would have nothing to stand for – "Have faith in the knights, for they will return one day bringing brighter news for all of us. They're still searching. Just… give them more time."

"More time than the two decades in whose they have been pursuing uncertain rumors about this Holy Grail?" – she asked skeptically – "Believe me, son, when I say that my mother, your grandmother Julianna, told me these same words years ago when Excalibur was stolen… and the knights did nothing to prevent Ruber's invasion." – then she clenched her teeth – "This Mordred is just another Ruber but, this time, without Excalibur and with an enchanted armor in exchange. Men of this kind of ilk are all the same, and they take advantage not only from the people's fear, but their inaction."

Ah, the same old Lady Kayleigh… never a moment of doubt, never showing a sign of defeat. Lucius admired and feared her for that.

Because if he hadn't known better… he would put a hand on the flame to bet that she wanted to take the reins of the situation and start to search this Holy Grail by herself. And his father, Sir Garrett, would undoubtedly follow her steps, even if these same steps ended up taking them directly to the very Gates of Hell.

And where that would leave him? Alone. Alone beside a moribund King, waiting their impending doom.

And Lucius was truly afraid to be alone. Because he was such a coward…

"Lady Kayleigh!" – suddenly, a voice from one of the castle servants, reached the ears of both mother and son – "Lady Kayleigh!" – and then the said servant, a young boy of barely thirteen, burst into the room like a waterspout – "Milady!" – he exclaimed, agitated – "He's back! He's back!"

"Hold on, boy. And catch your breath." – she said, raising a hand – "What are you talking about? Who's back?"

But the boy could barely contain his emotion.

"Sir Perceval!" – he exclaimed – "Sir Perceval has returned! And he brought the Holy Grail with him, milady!"

Exchanging an astonished look with her son, Lady Kaileigh took a step forward.

"Is that true?!" – she herself barely contained her emotion upon hearing the news – "Take us to the King! Quickly!"

And so, the boy did. Then, when Lucius and his mother reached the Throne's Room where Arthur had been sitting, unable to lay down in his bed and, thus, unable to rest nor to die, irreparably languishing… they, along the few remain knights of their Order, too old to support their duty towards the kingdom, saw an aged, half naked and starved Sir Perceval walking barefoot towards the throne, kneeling before a half unconscious Arthur and offering the precious goblet to his lips.

"You and the land are one." – he said – "Drink."

"I am wasting away." – Arthur muttered, his voice cracked, his spirit darker than a starless night – "I cannot die… I cannot live…"

"Drink from the chalice." – said Perceval again, strangely lucid and firm for a man who clearly had suffered so much – "And you will reborn, and the land with you." – then he took gently his King's head to help him to drink, and so the old man complied.

After a moment when everybody was holding their breaths, Arthur's eyes opened and, for the first time in years, they were limpid, showing the bright blue they had when he was but a young man.

He looked directly at the waiting Perceval. The once peasant boy had grown into an honorable, very tired man.

"Perceval." – he spoke, his voice powerful and crystal clear once again – "I ignored the void in my spirit… until I have filled it." – so, he slowly but surely rose from his throne, leaving behind all the blankets and pelts that had been warming his cold carcass.

"My Lord!" – Lady Kayleigh exclaimed, being the first one to kneel before her King, followed promptly by any living soul inside that very chamber.

Arthur approached her and put a hand over her forehead.

"Many dark days I have passed sitting in this room, mourning in my self-pitying…" - and then, he smiled briefly – "But those days could have been darker… if not by thy constant loyal presence by my side, Lady Kayleigh."

The woman said nothing but she took her King's hand and kissed it.

Lucius could not believe there were actually tears in her eyes. It made her look like… a mere frail human being and not the brave mother he had been so used to through his entire life.

Arthur nodded wordlessly and then he addressed the rest of the knights.

"Prepare thyselves for battle." – he ordered – "The knights will ride with their King at the front. I have lived enough through others. Lancelot took my honor away… and Guinevere my guilt. Ruber took my pride with him… and then, this Mordred wants to take my kingdom from me!" – he exclaimed – "My knights fought by my cause and perished because of my indolence. Now, I will be the King ye all deserve."

And with those words, he along his remaining loyal knights, the brave Lady Kayleigh, the blind Sir Garrett, the haggard Perceval and even the coward Lucius, rode along the land to meet their fate.

And, as the King passed, the flowers bloomed and the fields regained their old greenery.

The time had come.

Guiding his small nomadic congregation of faithful Christian followers through the harsh forests that were still untouched by the blessing of the King reborn, an aged, thinner, disfigured and dirty Lancelot of the Lake made a quick halt to rest their worn, tired feet. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

Word had not reached yet his ears telling the miraculous recovery of Arthur, so he still flagellated himself from time to time in order to punish himself and to clean his soul.

After the incident who had led both him and Guinevere to disgrace, the former Queen had told him that she wished to mend her undoing by leading a life of chastity serving God.

With all his pitiful expectations about a future together shattered, the former knight had vowed to lead a life under the service of God as well to purge his sins.

So, at the very moment he raised the whip to mortify his already mortified flesh, a sudden noise followed by several cries, distracted him from his sacred punishment.

Several riders were pursuing a lone horseman who Lancelot soon recognized to be the old Uryens, a still loyal knight of the Round Table despite how the Order had been diminished all these years.

But a single man among the riders quickly surpassed Uryens' frenetic cavalcade.

A man embedded in a frightening, although polished, set of armor black as the void itself.

That very man interjected his and his monstrous horse's bodies between Uryens and freedom, trapping the man between him and his men.

Lancelot hid behind a tree, knowing he had not the means nor the body prepared for a fight, and so he prayed for Uryens' soul. He couldn't do more for him given the circumstances.

"Deny your King, swore loyalty to me… and I shall be merciful." – the black knight said with a metallic hoarse voice which sounded like everything but human.

"Never!" – Uryens shouted, his brow soaked with blood from a previous blow – "I will not serve a false King like you!"

A sudden silence filled the air between them.

"As you wish." – the metallic voice said once more before landing a fatal blow to the wounded knight.

The man then fell to the mud and, in a pitiful display of bravery raised his head and spat in the ground before the black knight.

But the creature embedded in dark metal descended gracefully from his horse… if a monstrous black animal with red eyes and a snout full of sharp teeth can be called a "horse"… and knelt in front of the dying Uryens.

"You have fought valiantly today, old former King Uryens, the one shamed by the grace of Excalibur." – the metallic voice whispered – "And for that, I will grant you the gift of knowledge. For a dead man should know the face of his killer."

Sight had been failing Lancelot for the last years as he grew older so, at the distance, he could not distinguish the face of the black knight when he removed his closed helmet.

But what he saw clear as the water was an unruly mane of long curly bright hair, red as fresh blood.

"Y… you…" - Uryens choked – "Those… those eyes…"

And then, he finally collapsed.

When the black knight rose again, his eyes went through the hidden Lancelot as if he could see him before he took his helmet again, picked up his long hair and put the armor piece over his head again. Then he hopped over his monstrous mount and disappeared in the muddy wilderness followed by his men.

For a longer time to come until the very day of his death, Lancelot would never forget that encounter.

Long red banners with a serpentine Dragon interwoven in their fabric waved as the North wind blew out ferociously, bringing humidity and cold from the near lake whose waters were being, slowly but surely, tinted in crimson.

For the crimson of blood was wherever sight reached.

And the putrid smell of death served as accompaniment of the black banners which showed the ominous sign of the Wolf, waving with their torn edges synchronized with the red ones.

Red and black, blood and void, King and usurper. Everything clouded with a dense fog that had ultimately been an advantage that Arthur and his men had used in their benefit against Mordred's larger army.

But the fight, since its very beginning, was lost.

The ferocious battle in Camlann had been extenuating for both sides, lasting an entire journey since the first ray of sun. Arthur had fought valiantly along with his knights, making the best of their inferior numbers and the advantage the fog provided them… but many had fallen and he had found himself alone wandering aimlessly, as in a dream, fatigued, slightly crazed and calling his disappeared friend, Merlin, to aid him.

But Merlin had succumbed many years ago to the charms of a beautiful, devious Nimue, a young enchantress maiden who had achieved to lure the old wizard to his own perdition, now trapped in the entrails of the Forbidden Forest, the last haven for magic beings as himself. Truly, an ironic fate for the one who had felt himself entitled to judge Arthur and his infatuation over a woman younger than him who had proven to be his undoing in the end.

Zigzagging between more and more corpses of the fallen, the old King reached the lakeside and found himself looking pensive at the calm waters while Excalibur in his right hand vibrated slightly, the mystic emanations from the water attracting the magic residing in its blade.

He didn't know how much time had passed, unsure if it had been hours or mere minutes looking at the crystalline reflect in the lake… when a dark figure had emerged from the fog armed with a spear.

Its torn cape waved slightly as the sharp points of armored boots had stopped mere meters away from the King.

"Are you Arthur Pendragon?" – a metallic voice from the depths of the black helmet emerged in a whisper.

The King turned to face the obscure silhouette.

"Thou must be Mordred." – he said simply, observing his adversary's frame with critical eye – "Do thee know what is this?" – he said, rising his sword between them.

"Yes." – the black knight said – "That's Excalibur, the magic sword that granted you the rights of your kingdom and the victory in many battles."

"And do thee know what its blade is capable of?" – Arthur inquired again.

"I do." – the black knight answered – "I do and, for that sole reason, I think such a powerful artifact shouldn't be in yours or anybody's hands."

"Oh?" – Arthur asked, his curiosity picked – "And whose hands do thee think this sword should be? Thine?"

"No." – the black knight deadpanned before attacking him.

The fight lasted very little when Arthur lashed out against Mordred and tried to pierce the dark armor with Excalibur.

For a moment, the magic energies woven in the two artifacts had sizzled one against the other, no clear winner in their clash, until Mordred's spear had found a gap between the junctures of Arthur's armor pieces and its pointed end had impaled the tender flesh behind the chainmail.

Astonished, denial clearly painted in the blue of his eyes, Arthur fell on his knees gripping the spear's handle, feeling his warm blood soak every inch within his armor. Excalibur loose from his grip.

Eyeing the fallen sword, then the impassible polished surface of his enemy's helmet, Arthur felt all strength abandoning him as he fell in the wet, cool sands on the lakeside.

Releasing the grip in the spear's handle, the black knight observed from above how the King slowly perished by blood loss.

Then, with astonishing cold blood, gathered Excalibur from the ground.

"Thou said nobody… should have… Excalibur." – Arthur accused, trembling as his body went colder and colder – "Not even… thou."

"And I meant it." – the other said coldly – "But before we dwell in such a fussy and unimportant detail… I feel I owe you an explanation, Pendragon."

"An… explanation?" – Arthur repeated incredulously.

"An explanation for all this." – the black knight continued – "For all this death and misery."

"Thou wanted… my kingdom." – the King said – "What other reason… would thou have to… start a war like this…?"

"Revenge." – the other said before raising the dark armored hands to grip the closed helmet and taking it out with deliberate slowness.

At first, Arthur didn't understand, but as the face behind the metallic mask came out at sight, his memories woven a known visage.

"Thou…" - he stammered – "But that is impossible… he is dead."

However, as his eyes stopped in to be guided themselves by memories and the reality slowly settled in his brain, tracing the features before him more carefully, he understood.

"No… no, my eyes deceive me…" - he shook his head, blinking several times – "Thou art not him… thou art not even a man thyself…"

For the face before him, crowned by a voluminous mass of long curly red hair, was the face of a woman.

Not even a woman yet, but a girl.

And she had his eyes. His same venomous, reptilian green eyes.

"I am Medraut, daughter of Black Lyonesse or, as I'm sure you've known her lately as Morgan Le Fay, and the Red Knight Ruber of the High Lands." – the said girl spoke, her voice more clear and feminine as the barrier of the helmet had gone out – "The father whose love you deprived me of even before I was born."

Speechless for a moment, Arthur coughed and a thin trail of blood pearled his lips and chin.

"Thy father… wanted to take my crown for himself." – he finally said.

"I am well aware of this." – she answered coldly – "As I am well aware that, after his betrayal, you and your men, in your zeal to make him pay for his undoings, slaughtered in cold blood two defenseless women: his mother and sister. His family." – she emphasized – "My family."

"Defenseless?" – Arthur repeated – "Morgause, thy grandmother… was anything but defenseless."

"But you killed my father's sister." – Medraut stated – "An ill woman who only wanted to defend her home from invaders."

"Ruber killed one of my most… trusted knights and tried to kill me!" – Arthur argued, suddenly needing to explain himself before this girl, this angry child who wanted justice in the name of a family she never had known.

"Because you disposed of him after using him as your war tool." – she replied nonchalantly, colder than before – "My mother told me everything: you isolated him and his people, my people, in the North; waiting patiently as time and the cold killed their souls along with the Old Ways and the old gods."

"I gave him… a place among us!" – the King exclaimed, coughing more blood as he spoke – "I even helped him… to retake his lands!"

"You put sweet honey in a starved man's lips and then, you retired that same honey to give him stale bread instead." – she said – "You calmed his hunger, yes, but you also showed him better and deprived him of that. There's no mercy in letting a man live by half means." – she added, raising slightly Excalibur in her hand – "Now, I'm taking this instrument of sorcery and putting it in good hands."

"Thine… highlander?" – the dying King spat venomously.

A sudden silence followed those same words.

"No." – was the simple answer he received before she turned and walked away with the weapon in her hand glimmering in the red twilight – "Farewell… Arthur Pendragon. I'm glad you lasted this long… so I was able to dispose of you as you, in a way, did with my father."

"I permitted… thou… and thy mother… to… live…"

"And that was just one of the many mistakes you have made throughout your reign, King Arthur: to show pity after indolence. May your spirit rest peacefully in death, for it never rested in life."

Then, with those words, she disappeared in the distance like an apparition.

And so, Arthur Pendragon, last of his bloodline, died quietly as the cold silvery waters of the lake mixed their splendor with his dark blood, dreaming his last dream beyond reality's waters, in a land surrounded by fog and arcane energies. The very land he, in his illness, had kept dreaming with all those years between life and death. And so, his spirit traveled its last journey towards the hidden, mystical Avalon.

With him, an Era died to make space for a brand new one.

And his name became legend.

Having witnessed mutely the strange exchange, as he approached his dead King and reverently closed his eyes, Lucius followed the fluttering mass of bright red hair cascading over the black armor pauldrons like a mantle.

He had found none of his parents, dead or alive, at the end of the battle and he had been searching the corpses for hours with no avail.

He was now alone, just as he had feared.

And why? Because someone decided they had to kill another someone.

Why he and his parents had been involved in all of this? Why…?

The black figure had stopped somewhere in the diameter of the lakeside, quietly observing the sun submerging in the far horizon.

"You!" – Lucius exclaimed, pointing a finger towards the red-haired girl with the sword in her hand – "What are you planning to do with that?!"

He was now emboldened, empowered. Because he had nothing to lose.

Clearly taken off guard by the young man, the girl inhaled once, not even looking at him.

"Returning it where it belongs." – she said, raising the sword for a moment and, taking impulse, suddenly throwing it far away to the lake.

But before Lucius could scream or stop her, the blade traced a perfect arc in midair before falling straight by the hilt at the waters.

Then he couldn't believe his eyes when a dainty hand covered in silver silk grabbed the sword by the hilt and, after a few seconds, submerged it, locking away from the prying eyes of the world the power of a great sword from another time, pertaining to a dead Era.

"Why did you do that?" – asked Lucius, disconcerted.

"Because it was the right thing to do." – Medraut answered, facing him briefly, her long mane around her features giving her a siren-like quality – "Before Uther Pendragon, that sword belonged to the Lady of the Lake and so, it is for the best that it rests in her hands than in any greedy mortal ones."

And then, Lucius had found himself thinking for the first time that he couldn't help but noticing that she was beautiful in her own way.

Beautiful and strangely sad, so sad.

"Why renounce to Excalibur?" – he inquired once more after a while in silence – "With the sword and that armor, you could have had the world at your feet."

"I don't want the world at my feet, nor I want the throne."

"But you killed Arthur…"

"I wanted his head, not the crown over it."

"But people followed you in the belief of…"

"People get bored easily of peace, so they make excuses for themselves to spill some blood. That's the human nature, independently of the gods they worship. Sad but true."

So much bitter wisdom for such a young lady. Lucius didn't know what to make of her now.

Another silence followed.

"Then, now what?" – the young man dared to speak after a while.

"Now, I am returning this armor to its legitimate owners." – Medraut explained – "The Wayward Sisters bestowed its blessing upon me, but only if I returned it to them as soon as I had my revenge complete. And I wouldn't dare for my life to defy their wishes."

Lucius looked at her suddenly… scared. His cowardice slowly returning to him.

"The Three Witches of the legends?" – he asked, afraid to even invoke their names – "You made a pact with those… those…"

"The means are unimportant, but the result." – Medraut said coldly, turning and starting to walk away, tired of the present conversation.

Startled, Lucius ran after her, not even knowing why. He had lost everything because of her after all...

"Hey!" – he cried – "Where are you going?!"

Medraut stopped briefly.

"Follow me, if you so desperately want to know." – she said, her helmet under her left arm, a tiny smile upon her lips – "And who knows what fate will decree for you and me?"

Because she knew that, perhaps, the young man would likely attempt to end her life as soon as she got rid of the armor… or maybe, and only maybe, both of them could finally find peace and redemption as regular people and not as tools in a war generations above them had started in their hatred for each other, and their descendants had but simply followed. Because nothing was viler and more resilient than old grudges.

One way or the other, her father's memory now rested in peace and, if she really ended one day at the point of the young man's sword, her ancestors still smiled upon her. She wasn't afraid.

And so, the coward followed the fearless into a new journey of discovering. Because they were still very young, because they were both alone.

But that… is a different story.

The End