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1. After the seven lost years
Ganscotter smiled but replied immediately. “No one who loves is a complete fool. Or if so, it is a divine foolishness.”
There is a flurry of activity associated with disappearing for seven years, apparently. Gawain’s chambers have been kept empty by King Arthur’s grace, but Terence spends the entire morning dusting and cleaning before he can bring himself to unpack his master’s belongings. His own bed in the squire’s quarters is not as fortunate, but Gawain has a cot moved into the spare room he has. “It’s not like I will have female company over, lad.” He laughs, but there is a deep melancholy in his voice that has yet to retire with the passing of time.
Even with the mess he had made with what he said about Eileen during the banquet the night before, Gawain had been half-hearted with his attempts to return Terence’s insults and jibes.
“It is so very odd, being back.” He says finally, as Terence prepares him for the jousting tournament. “We have merely spent weeks in Avalon, but-“
“It felt like forever.” Terence supplies. “Our home in the eternity.”
“Aye, lad. That.” Gawain’s eyes crinkle with fondness. “I miss my love dearly, Terence. I am sorry that you will have to hear me say that over and over again.”
Terence smiles faintly, tightening the last of the straps of his armour. “She is never too far away, if you know where to look.”
“Indeed!” Gawain says, renewed strength rushing through him. “Now come, boy. I shall participate in this thing they call a tourney, and hopefully we shall be back in our chambers by the end of the night.”
Terence bows, and Gawain bows back half-mockingly, half-instinctively. They both burst into laughter, the absurdity of both master and servant deferring to one another overcoming them.
“Milord, this is the world of Men,” Terence chuckles, “Here you are my master, and I your servant. You may bow to me whenever you like in eternity. Your joust against Sir Sagramore is soon, and it wouldn’t be fitting if Camelot’s not-dead prodigy doesn’t show up.”
“I’ll hold you to that, boy.” Gawain says, “I’ll go unhorse these fools and will be back in but a moment. We’ll see each other there too.”
“We’re back, aren’t we?” Eileen asked after a moment. “I suppose so.” Terence said.
2. After Trevisant’s death
When they finished talking, Terence leaned back in his chair and said, “I’m glad you’ll have Piers with you, milord.” Gawain smiled. “You’ll not be going with us, then?” He did not sound surprised.
Terence glanced at the hermit and shook his head. “I’ll catch up with you when I can.”
Gawain finds Terence sitting by the fire, staring into it. Gawain watches him quietly for a moment, but Terence does not react. The knight walks over and sinks down to his knees, then, clasps Terence’s cold hands in his own. “What ails you, my friend?”
Terence lifts his eyes from the fire, swallowing. Unshed tears glisten. “I feel foolish in mourning, Gawain.” His squire answers. “I know Trevisant was content everyday until the day of his death. Yet I cannot help but grieve him.”
Gawain hums in assent, takes in the worried lines on his friend’s face, the emotion repressed in his very posture.
“I have told you of my mother, and you have met her.” Gawain starts, “I have told you that I held no love for her even as a small child. But when Father died, and she left, I was inconsolable for days. Agrivaine was the worst off, of course, but I bawled the whole time I was given Orkney to rule. I was still crying when my thumbprint went on the piece of paper announcing our surrender to Arthur. That’s what she did to us, all four of us. But it didn’t change the fact that I missed her terribly, the first few months. Her and Father alike. They were hardly there, but they were still our parents. They did not love us as they should, but that hope was still there, somewhere, that hope that we could become a family.”
“But you persevered, and you have always had a family.” Terence supplies softly.
“Aye.” Gawain nods, rubbing his thumb over Terence’s hand comfortingly. “I always had Gaheris, even those asses Gareth and Agrivaine, and now I have you and my King. I persevered and I am able to see the evil that woman has wrought, and now I am tasked to protect my King against her. But it doesn’t change the fact that I cried for her, Terence. I missed her, and grieved what she could have been. Just as you grieve for Trevisant for the moments you will not get to spend with him in the future, for the farewell and closure you could have had if he had still remembered you.”
Terence closes his eyes, and his posture slumps. “You always know exactly what to say.” He says, but it is already far less burdened than it was. “Although I do not appreciate the comparison between your mother and Trevisant.”
“Perhaps that is not a very good comparison entirely,” Gawain admits faintly. “But I grieve with thee.”
Terence gives him a watery smile, and he stands up from the chair, dragging Gawain up as well. “Thank you, milord.” He replies. “Now I must clean your trousers tonight, seeing as someone decided to kneel on the ground in front of the fireplace for a good ten minutes.”
Gawain snorts and cuffs Terence on the back of his head. “And whose fault is that, boy?”
Then, softer. “Cry all you want, Terence. There is no shame in sorrow.”
“He was a good man,” Parsifal said.” He tried to cure me of the bitterness of my soul.”
Terence caught his horse’s reins and swung into the saddle. “And did he?” he asked, interested. “He helped,” Parsifal said. He turned to Terence. “Shall we go, sir?”
Terence nodded, and they rode away. Piers noticed that Terence did not look back.
3. In the Wounded Land
A minute later Terence ushered them into a shelter made of woven branches and leaves. Sarah realised that in her search for Gawain she had walked not ten feet away from it and hadn’t seen a thing. Inside the shelter, Gawain leaned against a tree.
“Eat, milord.” Terence presses soft bread against his lips, and Gawain forces himself to bite slowly and swallow, and it goes down too dry, too little yet too much. “You need to eat, too.” He rasps out. Terence gives him a weak smile, pallor pale as a sheet. “Lady Sarah left enough food.” His squire answers. “I will eat after you have taken your fill.”
“We aren’t recovering quickly enough, are we?” Gawain admits ruefully. Terence shakes his head. Gawain laughs, a broken sound. “But we will still try all the same, lad.”
Terence cracks a smile too, his lips parched. “I would not expect anything less, milord.”
After the meal they sit in silence, trying to regain as much strength as they can. The thought of Lady Sarah and Charis having to sneak under the nose of evil worries him. The thought of Lancelot, of Kai, bleeding out to death just like him worries him. Guinevere worries him, and it is perhaps the curse of all maidens to be treated like property in the current world they live in, but Guinevere has it worse than most.
Terence worries him. What would happen to Terence if Gawain was to die here? If they didn’t break the curse, would Terence’s people be able to find him and save him? He opens his eyes briefly to ascertain that his squire is still there. Terence still looks youthful, even though several years had already passed since he joined Gawain on the way to Camelot. Gawain has the feeling that Terence will not change much in appearance even when they grow old. If they grow old.
He tries to shake the depressing thoughts away. In the here and now all he can do is put faith in Sarah and Charis. He has never been a religious man, but perhaps Ganscotter would be a more lenient recipient of his prayers.
The dawn of the duel comes. Gawain pushes himself to stand up, and picks up the long stick that Terence had been using as a staff. “Are we going now, milord?” Terence asks breathlessly, hovering behind him like a particularly lifeless wraith.
“We’ll go there or die trying, Terence.” Gawain says grimly, and holds onto Terence as they start to hobble out of their makeshift shelter. “Aye, milord.” Terence says with soft amusement.
Every step they take requires a lifetime of effort and energy, both of which they are lacking in sorely.
“Can they find us here?” Gawain gasps out somewhere in between, “Will we be able to get home?”
“I have no idea, milord.” Terence winces, “For the first time in my life, I have no idea.”
Their legs give way sporadically and they have to resort to their hands and fingers when making their way up slopes. It’s impossible to tell what hour of the day it is, but they resolutely forge on towards Meliagant’s castle.
By the time they see the castle itself Gawain’s legs are shaking uncontrollably. “We’ll be there soon, lad.” He coughs out. He drags Terence forward a few steps, and then Terence is the one to tow him up the last hill.
“We still have to fight Meliagant, Gawain.” Terence laughs hoarsely. “This might be where you and I end our journey.”
They can hear sounds of clamoring and fighting now, and they try to hobble forward as quick as they can, arms around each other. “So be it!” Gawain says, answering Terence, “We’ve had a good run. A good journey, and a noble quest. There is no better ending for us. It is my honour, Terence, that it is you here with me, at the end.”
“It is mine as well, Gawain.” Terence replies, and his grip on Gawain tightens as he repeats, “There is no better ending for us, my friend.”
“Gawain and I had been walking, hobbling, or crawling most of the night, I think,” Terence said. “We still arrived too late. If you hadn’t taken Lancelot’s place in the trial and held Meliagant off, I suppose we’d be dead now. Meliagant would have had no trouble dispatching us, as weak as we were.”
4. After the Quest for the Holy Grail
“You’re a squire?” Ellyn said, incredulously, staring at Terence’s curiously ancient eyes. “You don’t look like a servant. More like a prince.”
“Can’t a fellow be more than one thing?” Terence said mildly.
“So.” Terence raises an eyebrow. “Your son, the hermit.”
“The finest hermit there is, Terence.” Gawain says loftily, “Ye of little faith.”
Terence’s expression softens. “I do not doubt that, milord. He is one of the finest men I have seen in the long time, and I am surrounded by them in both Camelot and Avalon.”
Gawain leans back in his chair as Terence bustles around the room, unpacking their saddlebags. “Half the court is still away searching for the Grail, milord, and I suspect they shan’t be back in short time.”
Gawain leans backward to watch his squire. “What is the Grail, actually? Do you know?”
Terence shrugs. “I suspect we’ll never know. For people like Galahad, it is the quest to end all quests. For someone like Guinglain, it is entirely worthless, because he’s already found his Grail. You and I may never know, and I am glad for it.”
Gawain stretches his arms out. “Come sit, Terence. Leave it be for a second. It’s been an eventful journey.”
Terence raises an eyebrow. “We didn’t even do anything, milord. It was all Guinglain.”
“And wasn’t that nice?” Gawain says. “Simply being there, watching someone’s quest unfold. It was great!”
Terence relaxes, curls up in the armchair, looking uncannily like a cat. “It was,” He chuckles, “I’m afraid we can’t get used to it, though. You, my friend, also need to get ready to tell Lorie what you were up to twenty years ago.”
The squire laughs out loud at how quickly the blood drains from Gawain’s face. “Lord have mercy.” Gawain whimpers. “I’m so dead.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Terence says, still sounding far too amused for Gawain’s liking, “It happened a long time ago. And no one could fault Guinglain for the circumstances of his birth.”
Gawain looks out the window, out into the fields of Camelot, where Guinglain has now settled. “I owe him too much, Terence. He has taught me a lot in our short time together. Even if he were not my son, I believe I would enjoy his company very much.”
“So have I, Gawain.” Terence smiles. “I feel a bit sorry for Lancelot, to be honest. The end of Galahad’s story... but perhaps it is not our place to say whether or not Galahad made the right choice.”
Gawain shakes his head. “No, it isn’t.”
Gawain’s thoughts circle back to the Grail, and Guinglain’s story. Why has it appeared now? If Guinglain turned down the spot meant for him, which of Arthur’s knights would take it? He sighs. “Being a knight was so much simpler without all the magic stuff, you know.” He says aloud.
Terence snorts knowingly. “Life would also be so much less interesting without the magic stuff, milord.”
The moon casts its light into the room, and Terence pours both of them a drink.
“Say, Terence,” Gawain begins, then pauses. “You’re mighty talkative today, Gawain.” Terence laughs lightly, but answers his unasked question earnestly. “No, I wouldn’t have taken the Grail, either. I will always have duties higher than that to myself, nor do I serve the same faith that Galahad does.”
“The church of his own righteous salvation, you mean?” Gawain chuckles. “I would like to think that I would have the strength not to take the Grail either, because I have made a promise to return to my dear Lorie. Besides, I could not leave you behind.”
Terence grins. “I won’t let you, my friend. You and I, we’re stuck together for a long time, and it would take far more than a Holy Grail to bring that to an end.”
Then, he adds more seriously, “There is none other that I would rather give my loyalty and devotion to, Gawain. I have already found my Grail.”
Gawain meets his kind gaze. “I have found mine too, lad. I’m glad we could share in it together.”
Beaufils, Terence, and Gawain agreed and left the chamber. “It seems you were right, Le Beau,” Gawain said. “The kiss didn’t have to be from the son of Arthur’s greatest knight, after all.”
“Maybe,” Terence said.
5. After Mordred
“In this place, do you think that ten years matters? Arthur will die. Your master Gawain will die. You will die. Arthur’s kingdom will fall and be replaced by another, like every kingdom and empire before Arthur’s and after. In the end, the time it happens matters not at all.”
“This is marvelous.” Kai sounds almost genuinely happy, which causes Gawain to do a double take. “What is?” He asks. “The King’s affair with the witch, or his traitorous son?”
Kai’s expression immediately drops back into its familiar scowl. “Don’t be such an ass, Gawain. Look at the happy couples.”
Gawain follows his gaze to where Terence and Eileen are dancing publicly, eyes only for each other. King Arthur and Queen Guinevere are still seated, seemingly in heated debate over something. It seems that their rift over publicising Mordred’s identity has been smoothed over.
“What are they talking about?” Gawain asks, guessing that the King and the Queen’s happiness is what has Kai so charmed. “They’re wondering how they could’ve possibly missed Te- Sir Terence and Lady Eileen’s courtship, you see.” Kai explains, “Given that T- Sir Terence spends so much time around you and the King, and Lady Eileen is one of the Queen’s ladies.”
“You can still call him Terence, you know.” Gawain chuckles. “You’ve known him for years. We’re friends.”
Kai shakes his head. “It’s different.” He answers, but quickly interjects at Gawain’s frown. “It is not that I no longer consider him my friend, Gawain. But he has been known as just a squire for years, even if the few of us know that it is not the case. The rest of the court need to hear him referred to as a Knight of the Round Table, and not just Terence. Some of the younger knights are already hissing among themselves that Sir Terence doesn’t deserve Lady Eileen’s hand in marriage.”
“Well, too late for them.” A cheerful voice sounds from behind them, and both knights jump.
“Good god, Terence.” Kai snaps. “Why do you do this every single time?”
Terence raises an eyebrow, amusement clear in his features, Eileen next to him sharing the same expression. “May I bother you for a dance, Sir Kai?” Eileen laughs lightly, “These two have some catching up to do.”
Kai rolls his eyes and makes perfunctory grumbles, but stands up and whisks Eileen away, vacating his seat for Terence to drop into. He has a happy flush to his face, looking like a normal human man, happy and elated on his wedding day, although he is anything but normal and today had almost ended in tragedy. “Have I thanked you yet, milord?” Terence says, “For saving my life back there.”
Gawain raises an eyebrow and pours wine for the other man. “Not your lord anymore, Sir Terence.” He delights in the way Terence turns ten shades of red, before composing himself as well as he could be. He has seen Terence in the court of Faeries, and the boy had never been so self-conscious before.
“What’s on your mind, mi- my friend?” Terence asks. “You.” Gawain says frankly. “And how proud of you I am.”
Terence gives him a knowing glance. “I had the best master one could ask for.” He tells Gawain, his voice soft yet ringing loudly in Gawain’s ears, and it is his turn to colour in embarrassment. “Well, yes.” He says, “Who else could have whipped your sorry ass into shape?”
They both laugh quietly, a wordless conversation going through them as they partake in the wine and food. Gawain has a faint feeling that this will be one of the very few times Camelot will be so lively again, and that knowingness makes his heart ache. “This is the end, then?” He asks quietly.
Terence inclines his head gently. “‘Her plan will succeed.’ That is what I heard in Athens.”
Gawain lets out a shaky exhale. “Are we doomed to see our King fall, then? Are we powerless to stop it?”
Terence’s hand covers Gawain’s own. Gawain hadn’t noticed that his hands were shaking.
“Perhaps.” Terence answers him, the power of his court behind his words, “But that doesn’t mean we don’t fight. We serve Arthur, and we will give our lives for him, no matter where he goes. If it is death, we follow him into death. And at the end of it, we shall return home, and our long quest will come to an end.”
Gawain grasps Terence’s hand, drawing strength from his friend. “Together?” He asks.
Terence nods, firmly and fondly. “Together.”
“You have been bothersome again, squire,” Morgause hissed. “Do you think you can save Arthur forever?”
“I know nothing about forever,” Terence said. “But I can save him this time. It’s what I do, you know.”
(+1) Home
And so it were that Terence and Gawain rode out of the gates of Camelot together. At the edge of the forest, where their paths split, one road going to the north and the other to the south, Terence stopped and looked back at the towering battlements of Arthur’s seat. “Do you remember when we first saw that castle together?”
“Ay,” Gawain said. “Me a raw, untried knight wanting to prove myself, you an uncanny child that could move in the woods like a ghost, neither of us with any notion what we’d find there.”
“I’ve a feeling I’ll never see it again,” Terence said. He and Gawain looked at each other soberly for a long moment, then clasped hands. “But you I’ll see again,” Terence said. “You’ll outlast any mere castle.”
“Likewise, lad. Until we meet again.”
The procession of the King must have been odd, but none of those faithful and loyal to Arthur seem to be uneasy. Agrivaine alone appears to be confused, but that might’ve been moreso due to the circumstances of his death. Lorie and Eileen rides ahead of him, happily chatting away with Lady Sarah. Gawain runs a soothing hand over Guingalet, the aughisky having all the sprightliness of his youth but the temperament he had eased into in his advanced years, although Terence might disagree.
The man himself is riding at the head of the train of people, next to his father. As if sensing his gaze, Terence turns and slows his horse, so the two of them ride side by side. It’s been about two decades since Gawain had encountered that little boy in the woods, discounting the times they spent in the Otherworld, and Gawain had known that he was a knight for a majority of it. It is faintly satisfying to see his friend reclaim the pre-eminence that belongs to him both by birth and by deeds, to have everyone pay him due respect for the years Terence has spent defending lord and land.
The man is in armour befitting his true station, and an immense amount of pride wells within Gawain. This is the man he calls friend and brother, and Lord. Gawain’s first loyalty will always be to Arthur, but now that the task of serving Arthur is given to Morgan, he would gladly follow Terence into the very fires of Hell.
“Now our hearts and lives reconcile with our duties, finally.” Terence says. “Aye, lad.” Gawain agrees. “Wherever you are, Terence, that’s where my heart and life lies.”
Terence laughs, true and genuine. “You shan’t make me blush, milord, not here. I do have a reputation to maintain, after all.” Gawain snorts at that, casting a glance backwards to where Griflet rides, bewildered, sandwiched between an equally confused Tor and Kai. If Dinadan was here, he would be singing a ballad for Terence right now, but Gawain is glad that Dinadan is still in the realm of the living, for his songs will mend the broken lands they have left behind.
With every step their horses take, Gawain can see the knowledge that nothing will be the same ever again settle among his friends. Even those who would have spouted vitriol against any talk of magic and fantasy are quietly marvelling at the beauty of the world they are in. “This is your world now, Lord Terence.” He says. “This is your hour, not mine, or Arthur’s, or any of the others.”
Terence takes in a deep breath and exhales, looking momentarily like the cautious and wide-eyed boy from all these years ago. But then his shoulders square and he is the Duke of Avalon, dependable and strong in heart and mind.
“Gawain.” Terence says, stark seriousness in his fair features. “Brother. You will always be by my side, won’t you?”
“My service is always yours. My friendship is always yours. My loyalty and devotion is always yours. My love is always yours.” Gawain says easily, faithfully. “My brother.”
“Miss me, lad?” asked a voice at Terence’s right.
Terence didn’t need to turn. He knew Gawain’s voice better than he knew his own. “Wondered where you were, rather.”