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Yehuda the Scholar and the Tethered Librarian yawned and stretched his arms over his balding head as he sleepily made his way to the Library's spacious dining room. Even though he didn't need to sleep or to eat, Yehuda had always enjoyed the creature comforts and saw no reason to abandon them just because he was immortal. And though he could've had his breakfast served to him in his private quarters, he much preferred to begin his days on a formal note by having his meals in the dining room. He found long ago that it helped him to maintain order and discipline amongst the Library's various mortal staff members if he put in regular appearances, spoke to them, cultivated relationships. Plus, Yehuda—the legendary Founder of the Library—simply liked to socialize with whomever he could find.
As he entered the huge room, a servant waiting by the door dashed forward to pull out a high-backed chair of intricately-carved walnut. Yehuda smiled almost shyly and nodded at the man in greeting.
"Thank you, Aldus," he murmured as he seated himself on the chair. "Did you have a good night?" Aldus, a tall and lanky young man around 19 or 20 years of age, bowed low.
"I did, Librarian, thank you," he answered quietly. Yehuda sighed.
"You…you really don't have to call me that, you know," he informed the young man—again. "You may call me 'Yehuda'; it is my name, you know." The young man bowed again.
"Yes, Librarian!" Yehuda softly rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the large silver charger on the table in front of him.
"I'll have my breakfast now, if you please," he said, "What is on the menu for today?"
"Smoked haddock, Librarian," Aldus began to briskly rattle off the list, "Bread, porridge, cheese, dried apples and small beer." The usual bland Northern European fare—stolid, plain, sustaining. Nothing like the wonderful breakfasts he used to enjoy in Egypt centuries ago. Fat palm dates, honey, warm pillowy breads, roasted spiced meats cooked to perfection and served with mouth-watering vegetable relishes and chutneys, fruits so fresh and ripe that their juices dribbled down one's chin at the first bite…
Yehuda sighed again, careful to do so quietly so as not to hurt the boy's feelings; Aldus was doing his best, but there was only so much one could do food-wise in the middle of winter in Aachen. Breakfast was not a regular meal these days and in this place, not like it was in those early sunny Mediterranean days of the Library in Alexandria, but Yehuda insisted on keeping it up regardless of how odd the Frankish servants thought the practice. Yehuda adjusted his seat on the chair with another quiet sigh, and it was then that his eye caught sight of a second charger on the table at the seat immediately to his right.
It was his Guardian Charmion's usual place.
Yehuda blinked and turned his head to give the young servant a questioning look.
"Why is there a place set for my Guardian?" he asked, puzzled, "She is away on a mission right now—"
"Begging your pardon, Librarian," Aldus interrupted with yet another low bow. "But Guardian Charmion has returned; they arrived late last night."
"'They'?" Yehuda repeated, his brow furrowing in suspicion. Aldus's face paled as he realized that he'd let something slip that he shouldn't have. At once he folded himself nearly double as he made his lowest bow yet.
"Forgive me, Librarian!" the boy began to babble as he bowed repeatedly, all the while backing toward the exit. "The Guardian Charmion asked me to say nothing—!"
"Nothing about what?" the Librarian demanded, impatience tinging his voice. But before Aldus could respond, another voice cut into the exchange.
"About our guest!" Both men turned toward the voice and found Charmion, the First Guardian, standing in the doorway of a side entrance to the dining room. She swept across the floor and passed behind Yehuda to her place at the table. When she reached the chair she stood by it and gave the hapless Aldus an expectant glare. The boy started violently as he realized his gaffe, then scuttled to the table. He jerked her chair out for her and she slowly sat down, arranging the skirts of her blue brocade gown around her legs as she made herself comfortable.
"Yehuda," she greeted the Librarian cordially, regally nodding her blonde head once, her hair in two long braids that draped over her shoulders and hung over the front of her body and nearly to her knees. She looked tired, and the apples of her cheeks were chapped. "Aldus, you may serve breakfast now, please."
"Yes, Guardian!" Aldus bowed one last time and practically ran from the room. Yehuda turned in his chair and gave his partner a reproving look.
"Why didn't you notify me at once that you had returned?" the Librarian chided, "Was your mission successful?"
Charmion had gone to the lands of the Rus to do some reconnoitering. The various tribes there were beginning to grow in strength, beginning to flex their muscles politically, thanks to their contacts with Viking settlers, and had begun casting their eyes covetously on the lands to the west. Ordinarily that wasn't a huge concern to the Library; empires came and went like the sun in the sky. But the Rus also possessed many powerful artifacts that for centuries had been kept safe from misuse by various tribal rulers and shamans. Now that they were becoming more ambitious and more organized, those artifacts potentially posed a threat to the rest of the world, so Charmion had gone to see what exactly was out there, where they were located and how the Library might acquire them. Charmion gave her Librarian a wry smile and nodded.
"Oh, yes!" she assured him, "I will have a full report ready for you by the end of the week." There was something in her tone of voice that unsettled Yehuda, and he narrowed his eyes as he continued to watch her.
"There's something you aren't telling me," he declared simply, then waited. Charmion glanced at him, quickly lowered her eyes again. She sighed in resignation then slipped her fingers of her right hand into the left sleeve of her dress. She pulled out a small slip of papyrus and held it out to Yehuda. Frowning, he took the papyrus and unfolded it. It was a hastily scrawled note than a proper receipt, written by Charmoin, for Charmion.
"In Receipt for one (1) Britannian Slave, Purchased by the Guardian Charmion in Anno Domini 803 from the Viking Raider Hrolleifr, for the Total Sum of 500 Gold Pieces of Byzantium."
Yehuda's eyes flew open wide.
"Five hundred pieces of gold?!" He shook his head in disbelief at the princely sum. "What could you possibly have spent so much money on among the Vikings!?" Before Charmion could answer, however, Aldus returned with a large tray heavily laden with food. He carefully staggered beneath its weight as he made his way to the table. Charmion, a look of relief at the reprieve clearly visible on her fine features, gave Yehuda a smile.
"I'll show you, after breakfast," was all she would say.
While Aldus cleared away the breakfast things, Charmion resolutely led Yehuda to a wing of the Library where the guest rooms were located. Though the Librarian peppered her with questions the entire way, she answered not a single one as she marched through the maze of corridors, Yehuda trailing slightly behind. Soon enough they entered the guest wing and the Guardian stopped at the very first door. She gave her partner a quick, unreadable glance, then raised her small hand to knock on the thick oaken door. To Yehuda's surprise, she didn't wait for an answer. At once she turned the knob, pushed the heavy door open and went inside.
Yehuda and Charmion usually spoke to one another in their native Alexandrian dialect of Classical Greek they had used while living in Egypt. When conversing with educated outsiders, they used either Latin or the current dialect of Greek. With common folks here in Frankia, including the servants and staff of the Library, they spoke Frankish. Librarian and Guardian also knew dozens of other languages between the both of them; in some of them—such as Frankish—they spoke as well as a native. Others, not so much. Besides Greek and Latin, Yehuda was conversant in Hebrew, Phoenician, ancient Egyptian and Farsi, as well as a smattering of other languages. In addition to all of these, Charmion was also versed in some of the lesser known tongues—the major Gaelic dialects, Saxon, Sanskrit, the languages of the Han and of Dai Nippon, as well as the various Viking dialects. Her command of Saxon was better than any of the Celtic languages, and so she had been using that language to communicate with the Library's newest arrival—though he rarely answered with anything other than "yes" or "no" or just a surly grunt.
Yehuda followed her into the room. Once past the doorway, Charmion stood to one side so he could see the room. He stopped in his tracks and stared, astonished to see a large man sitting hunched over on a stool in front of the fireplace, his long arms resting loosely on his knees. His black hair was long, dirty and matted, as was the beard on his face. His clothing was ill-fitting, patched and equally filthy; the stench of long-unwashed hair and skin struck Yehuda's cultivated nose even from this distance, causing his to grimace with distaste.
The hairy man stared into the low fire on the grate until he heard Yehuda's soft exclamation at the foul smell. The man turned his shaggy head to reveal a pair of sharp hard dark eyes, like those of a falcon, set into a grimy face. The eyes swept Yehuda in appraisal, and then the man stood up. Yehuda sucked in a quick breath in amazement; the man was gigantic! He was well over six feet tall, his arms dangling at his sides like tree limbs as he stared down at the pair of them. Yehuda also noticed now that the man was excruciatingly thin and deathly pale beneath the dirt, and there was an almost palpable air of despair about the man.
"Is…is he a Rus?" Yehuda asked in Greek uneasily as he glanced over at Charmion. "Why did you bring him here?"
"Not a Rus," she answered firmly with a small shake of her head. "He's a Briton."
"A Briton?" Yehuda repeated, confused, "But—"
"He is an immortal, Yehuda," she cut in, her voice turning stern as she turned to face him. Her blue eyes locked onto his. "And more than that, he is an Arthurian!" Yehuda's eyes goggled and his jaw dropped.
"An…an Arthurian?" he said, flabbergasted, "Are you sure of this?" Charmion turned to the stranger.
"Come here," she said, still speaking Alexandrian Greek while gesturing with her hand at the same time, then repeated the invitation in Saxon. The man eyed them warily, but after a moment's hesitation he walked over to them slowly, stiffly, as if his long legs and feet pained him. Yehuda noted a grimace dart across the man's hairy face, but even so, the stranger's tread was still light and almost graceful for a man so large—one of the marks of a trained warrior.
Charmion pointed to the Librarian next to her. "Yehuda pæt, se Skolara." She then held out her hand toward the tall man in invitation. He seemed confused at first, but then Yehuda saw the light of understanding spark in the dark brown eyes. To the Librarian's surprise, the stranger pulled his tall frame upright, laid his huge grubby right hand over his breastbone and gave Yehuda a deliberate nod of his shaggy head.
"Gwalchaved yfel," the man said, his voice a rough baritone grumble. Yehuda slowly turned his head to face Charmion. She grinned back in triumph.
"He says his name is 'Galahad'!" Yehuda looked at the tall man and then his head snapped back to his Guardian.
"I want to hear the entire story," he said crisply, giving Charmion a serious look. "And I want to hear every single detail!" Yehuda suddenly scowled and waved a hand at the patiently waiting man.
"But first—can we…can we please send him to the baths!"
With a sour look at her Librarian's subdued reaction to her grand news, Charmion turned to the stranger and spoke to him in Saxon, prepared to spend considerable time and effort to convince the hirsute immortal that perhaps a long bath and a visit to the barber were in order before things went any further. Librarian and Guardian were both surprised to see the bleak eyes suddenly light up and a look of longing appear on Galahad's face. The tall man bowed slowly, gravely and murmured something heartfelt in a long string of sentences in the guttural-sounding Saxon.
"He'd love to," Charmion translated flatly before turning and leading the way to the Library's Roman-style baths.
Galahad was turned over to the care of the staff of the Library's baths while Charmion told Yehuda the entire tale of how she discovered the Arthurian immortal and, in turn, the story of how he'd come to be in the possession a Viking raider.
Three hours later, Yehuda was gaping in amazement at the freshly bathed and barbered Galahad. He was clean-shaven now, and Yehuda could see the full, boyish face that had been hidden behind the scraggly beard. Galahad's wild hair, ridden with vermin and far too tangled for the horrified barber to even attempt to wash and comb it out, was now so closely-cropped that he was almost bald. Galahad was then sent to the baths for a nice long soak. While he reveled in the luxurious feeling of hot, clean water and soap for the first time in years, Charmion had dispatched servants to hunt up some suitable clothing for him. By the time Galahad was reluctantly ready to leave the baths, she had a full set of clothes in the Frankish style waiting for him: An under-tunic of dull red wool over which was placed a rich tunic of dark blue brocade that fit him perfectly and hung to his knees; finely-knitted woolen hose of dark green; shoes of soft, dark brown leather for his feet.
When he was brought to the room where Charmion and Yehuda were awaiting him, Yehuda swept an assessing gaze over the silent, still man. The Librarian had to admit that the stranger carried himself like a nobleman and looked much closer to the part—tall and straight as a tree, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, his youthful face unreadable. As far as Yehuda knew, Galahad had yet to speak another word after Charmion asked him about the baths.
"Who are you?" Yehuda asked simply. The dark eyes narrowed as they peered at him, then flicked toward Charmion standing next to her Librarian.
"He can't speak Greek, Yehuda," she said tartly, "I told you that already!"
"He could be anyone, Charmion," Yehuda answered curtly, "He may an immortal, but he may not necessarily be a knight of Camelot. He could be a spy, a mole for the Serpent Brotherhood, or the Order of Shadows—possibly even the Circle of Set…!" Charmion gave the stubborn man a look of exasperation.
"But I told you how I found him!" she countered sharply. Seeing the look of doubt on the Librarian's face, Charmion turned to Galahad and spoke to him softly, apologetically in Saxon. Yehuda was intrigued to see a look of panic flash through the stony eyes, but then the carefully-honed expression of indifference fell once again over the man's face. Without a word, Galahad turned his back to the Librarian and the Guardian as he gingerly pulled his tunic up at the same time.
"OH…!" The soft exclamation of shock and horror escaped Yehuda as he took in the sight of the tangled mass of brutal, partially-healed lash marks that crisscrossed in deep grooves across the immortal's back. Charmion spoke again quickly in Saxon, and Galahad replaced the tunic and turned back to face the pair.
"Satisfied?" Charmion demanded of the Librarian, "What would-be spy or assassin would put himself through torture like that—especially since they would probably never have survived it?" Yehuda ducked his head in apology.
"You said that he'd been whipped, but I wasn't expecting anything like…like this," he murmured as he waved a hand toward the stone-like man. "Please—tell him that I am sorry for what has happened to him." Mollified, Charmion turned toward Galahad and spoke to him. His distrustful dark eyes flicked onto Yehuda and held him pinned for a moment, then the tall man gave him a deep nod of his head in acknowledgment.
"He doesn't talk much, does he?" Yehuda remarked drily.
"He suffers," Charmion replied, her voice troubled, "Nearly every night on our journey back to the Library form Norway he would wake up from a nightmare, bellowing like a stricken ox." She hesitated, her blue eyes meeting Galahad's blank brown ones. "And I get the feeling that he was not only dreaming about what happened to him among the Vikings, either."
"No, probably not," Yehuda agreed, tightly. The fall of Camelot had been a terrible, blood-soaked affair. Morgan had exacted a terrible vengeance on the kingdom after Arthur fell at Camlann. A handful of Arthurians had escaped her wrath, but most had met ruthless, violent ends.
"You know what this means, of course," Yehuda wondered aloud with a loud sigh and a frown as he crossed his arms. "He will have to go to the Enclave…"
"Oh, Yehuda, no!" Charmion exclaimed at once, vehement dismay in her voice as she turned to him. "You can't send him there!"
The Enclave was a remote settlement located deep in the heart of the Caucasus Mountains, undetectable and unreachable by the outside world and protected by the Library. It was a place that had been set up long ago for the containment of immortals of all types—from humans who had been made immortal through magic or the very rare accident of birth, all the way up to gods and demigods who no longer had a place in the modern world.
But for all of the comfortable—even luxurious—accommodations and entertainments there was no escaping the fact that the Enclave was, for all intents and purposes, a place of confinement—a prison. Many immortals—especially gods—simply could not be trusted to roam the world freely without causing serious mischief. Others—mostly the human immortals—often became insane after living their unending lives amidst the ever-changing world, watching all of their loved ones die off one by one, watching while the world that they always known changed around them until they could no longer recognize it. These immortals usually went mad and lashed out at the living, often becoming mass or serial killers.
Galahad, sensing now that Yehuda and Charmion were speaking about him, silently watched each move they made closely, and while he couldn't understand their speech he paid especial attention to the tones of their voices. Clearly the odd fastidious little man wanted to do something that the warrior woman disagreed with heartily.
"He doesn't have the temperament for a place like the Enclave!" Charmion continued to argue, "It would be like burying him alive!" Yehuda's eyebrow lifted as he looked askance at his Guardian.
"How is he different from any of the others?" he asked, his tone scoffing, "He cannot be permitted to continue living unsupervised in the world any longer! You know that it is only a matter of time before he goes mad!" Yehuda shook his head emphatically and held up his hands as though the halt Charmion's words in midair.
"It's bad enough that Morgan le Fay is out there somewhere, and that Lancelot du Lac is trying to revive the Serpent Brotherhood! No, Charmion, I'm sorry, but Galahad must go to the Enclave, for his own good and for that good of the world!"
"We were mortal once, Yehuda," Charmion reminded him bluntly, her blue eyes hard as sapphires. "By your reasoning, you and I should be living out our days in the Enclave as well!" Yehuda hesitated only for moment, but she knew she had found the weakness in his argument; she intended to exploit it to the fullest extent.
"We're different!" he replied sullenly with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We were prepared! We founded the Library; it protects us as long as we serve it, as long as we keep it anchored to this plane of reality…"
"Then why can't Galahad do the same!" Charmion shot back sharply, "Why can't he also serve the Library and serve as an anchor!" Yehuda stared at her, shocked. Charmion merely shrugged.
"Is an object with three legs not more stable than one with only two?" she pressed vehemently.
"And what, exactly, will he do here?" the Librarian demanded tartly of his Guardian, "He is a warrior, a killer. An Arthurian, granted, but strip away the veneer of Camelot and he is little better than a…a…a barbarian! What use does the Library have for a barbarian?"
"He is not a barbarian; he has spent the last several centuries fighting in defense of his homeland from invaders!" Charmion answered, uncowed, "The same as we do when the Library is under attack! Are we barbarians, too?"
"We're different!" Yehuda snapped again peevishly.
"Are we?" Charmion demanded and put her hands on her hips as she turned to face him head-on. Yehuda unconsciously copied her.
"Of course we're different!" he argued, "I founded the Library, you are my Guardian! I am a scholar—"
"And we have both killed," she countered, unyielding, though her voice was gentler now.
"We were never warriors!" Yehuda went on stubbornly, but there were cracks showing in his defenses.
"Until we are attacked; then we become warriors," Charmion said, and a fond smile suddenly came to her face. "Before you became the Librarian you were just a humble scholar, doing research for others. And I was just the daughter of a papyrus merchant…" Yehuda gave his Guardian an affectionate smile.
"You have never 'just' been anything!" he laughed. He cast his glance toward Galahad; the immortal was still standing in silent, stiff attention, but Yehuda could tell by the man's eyes that he was listening to every word they spoke, even if he didn't understand any of what they were saying. Yehuda turned back to Charmion.
"So if he doesn't go the Enclave…?"
"He stays here, in the Library," Charmion answered at once, and rushed on before he could interrupt her. "We make a place for him here. He can help you with your work!"
"How?" Yehuda exclaimed, "He can't read or speak Latin or Greek—he probably can't read or write any language! How can he possibly help?"
"He can learn!" Charmion replied confidently, "I will teach him. And when he has learned, he can help you with all the other things that you're always complaining about not having enough time in a day to do yourself! The cataloging, translations, maintaining the collections, taking care of the animals—"
"The…the animals?" Yehuda's ears pricked up at that. He hated taking care of the Library's decidedly exotic collection of creatures. Mucking out stalls, attending births, tending to injuries, doing pregnancy checks—especially with the bonnacon cows. Bonnacons, as a defense mechanism, shot caustic dung from their anuses when startled—and they startled with shocking ease. Yehuda shuddered at the traumatic memories.
"You mean like…a caretaker?" he said hopefully, and Charmion nodded vigorously.
"Exactly!" she confirmed enthusiastically, delighted that her Librarian had so easily followed the path she'd laid down for him. "Oh, that's a brilliant idea, Yehuda! He can be the Library's official Caretaker!" Yehuda preened a bit, pleased to have pleased his Guardian so much.
"Now," Charmion went on, taking his arm. She gently turned him toward the door and began to walk Yehuda slowly toward it, chattering the entire time, before he had a chance to change his mind.
"Don't you worry about a thing, Yehuda! You go and get his paperwork started. I will prepare him, you can rely on me; I will teach him Latin, Greek and Egyptian to start with, I think. I'll take him on a tour of the Library first, though, show him our collections, tell him all about our mission at the Library and everything else he needs to know right away…"
Once the Librarian had been seen off, Charmion went back to the room where they'd left Galahad. The immortal had made himself comfortable again before the fireplace, but as soon as Charmion passed through the door he instantly got to his feet and rigidly stood before her, still as a statue.
"It has been decided," she said in Saxon, tilting her blonde head to look up and into his eyes. "You are to stay here with us, in the Library, as its Caretaker. If you wish to do so, that is." She gave him reproving look.
"And I was you, I would jump at that chance!" she ended tartly. Galahad lowered his head to give her wary look.
"That excitable little man—who is he?" Galahad asked gruffly.
"He is Yehuda, the Librarian; I've told you about him already," she said, annoyed. Galahad cast a contempt-filled glance toward the door of the room.
"And still you have told me nothing useful," he grumbled, his eyes going to back to hers. "What is this 'library' you speak of?"
"The Library," she began to explain quickly, "Yehuda founded it as a repository for all things related to magic—"
"FAH!" the tall man spat loudly, one hand waving in disgust and startling the petite woman. "You are sorcerers, then!" He made as if to stride past her and leave the room.
"I have no wish to remain in this place! I thank you for rescuing me from the Viking, but I have had a bellyful of magic and of sorcerers, enough to last many lifetimes!" But Charmion grabbed his arm and pulled him back with surprising strength.
"No, Galahad, wait!" she commanded. He turned to face her, a look of irritated askance on his face.
"I beg your pardon!" he snapped. But there was something in her eyes that caused him to remain where he was and hear her out.
"You…can't leave, Galahad; you're an immortal," she said quietly. He answered her with a loud snort.
"You still tell me nothing that I do not already know," he grumbled with an edge of bitterness. His dark eyes then narrowed slightly. "Why can I not leave? What has my immortality to do with anything?" Charmion raised her head in quiet authority.
"Because we know that you exist now," she said plainly, "And you cannot be allowed to roam the world freely." A dark look fell over Galahad's features.
"'Cannot be allowed'?" he echoed ominously, "And who will stop me?"
"I will." Charmion flinched involuntarily at the thunderous laughter that exploded from the huge man. She recovered quickly and her temper flared at his genuine mirth. "I assure you, Galahad, that I am more than capable of subduing you if I must!" He stopped laughing and he glared down at her menacingly.
"Oh, are you?" he asked blandly as he pointedly swept his eyes over her slight frame, "You think you can subdue me—a seasoned warrior more than a foot taller than you and who outweighs you by at least one hundred pounds?" He snorted again, truly amused by the image that came to his mind of the tiny woman trying to overpower him. He waved another dismissive hand.
"Begone, woman!" he barked as he turned to leave the room again. "Go and plague your excitable little wizard; I am leaving this place!"
He turned to walk away, but before he could take even a single step, Charmion darted forward and seized one huge paw-like hand. She jerked his arm backward, and as he turned back to face her again, the angry scowl on his face suddenly turned to a look of surprise, then pain as the diminutive woman pulled his arm up while wrenching his hand backward over his wrist as hard as she could and held it there. A bolt of excruciating pain shot up Galahad's arm, and with a loud cry he crashed to his knees while his other hand automatically flew toward his injured hand. Charmion pressed on the captured hand just tiny bit and Galahad again cried out in agony. He quickly dropped his free hand and offered no further resistance.
"First of all, my name is 'Charmion', not 'woman'," she said sternly. Galahad immediately nodded his head in agreement.
"Understood—my apologies!" he conceded with a gasp.
"Second, I am the Tethered Guardian of this Library—a rank equal to that of Yehuda, who is the Tethered Librarian," she went on, still holding his hand in its painful position. "We founded this Library thousands of years ago in Egypt; Yehuda keeps the Library safe from the world and the world safe from the Library and the magic it contains." She moved a bit closer to the grimacing immortal at her feet.
"And I keep both of them safe!" She pressed his hand quickly to drive home her point. Galahad yelped, then gave her an unreadable look before he raised his free hand in surrender.
"Also understood!" Satisfied, Charmion finally released his hand. Galahad immediately began to massage his hand and wrist as he got to his feet again, but his dark eyes never left hers.
"That was a most impressive maneuver, Lady Charmion," he said with newfound respect and in genuine wonder. "If anyone had told me before today that it was possible for a small woman to subdue a man my size with only her bare hands, I would have thought them mad." His expression turned dour.
"No wonder you are able to control your excitable little wizard is so well!"
"He is not a wizard and he is not excitable!" Charmion snapped peevishly, "Nor is he mine!" But Galahad noted that she was unable to look him in the eyes as she protested. He raised his head imperiously and clasped his hands loosely in front of his body.
"And yet, even though I do not understand the tongue you spoke with him, it was a plain as the nose on your face that you maneuvered him into acceding to your wishes," he announced breezily, then lowered his nearly bald head to give her a knowing look. "Or have I completely misread everything?" Charmion glanced away and back again several times, making little sounds of frustration at how well the Arthurian had read her and Yehuda's body language. Finally she flapped a hand in sharp dismissal.
"My working relationship with Yehuda is none of your business!" she said snippily, "The thing you should be concerned about is what we are going to do with you!" Galahad's face at once became somber.
"Yes—let's go back to your grand plans for me," he said drily, "You say that I cannot leave this place—" For a split-second, Charmion thought she saw a spark of hope dart through the immortal's brown eyes before he was able to hide it again.
"If I refuse your offer, will you…kill me? Have you found a way of dispatching immortals?" The irritation that the Guardian had felt with Galahad earlier evaporated, and in its place came a wave of sympathy for the poor creature before her. She stepped forward and raised her hand, her fingertips barely making contact with the sleeve of his tunic.
"Death is not an escape for immortals, I'm afraid," she apologized softly. She tightened her fingers around his forearm slightly. Galahad dropped his gaze guiltily, ashamed to have been read so easily. Charmion gave his arm a gentle squeeze.
"But we will not speak of that anymore," she went on, her voice suddenly warm and bright, "You now have a wonderful opportunity before you, Galahad!" The tall man raised his eyes again and regarded her coolly.
"Oh?" he said flatly. Charmion sighed inwardly at his suspicious nature, but it was understandable. Those mentally unprepared for the rigors of immortality naturally fell into a habit of aloofness in order to minimize the pain of inevitable losses. She forced a smile to her face, hoping she looked and sounded reassuring.
"We want you to stay here with us, in the Library," she said with enthusiasm. Galahad's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Ah, yes—the caretaking position."
"Caretaker of the Library!" Charmion corrected him cheerfully, "It's a very important position! We need help with taking care of our vast collection of artifacts—cataloging, restoration work, security—that sort of thing! We've needed an extra pair of hands for a while now, and I think you would be perfect for the job!" She paused a moment and gave him a veiled look.
"Do you…do any reading or writing when you have the time for it?" she asked as delicately as she could, but she could tell that he saw through her question immediately as one corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.
"I know the Latin prayers of the Holy Mass, as well as other prayers, by heart," he answered honestly, no offense in his voice at all. "But I am afraid that I cannot read any languages, and the only writing I can perform is the signing of my name." Charmion took a deep breath and acknowledged his honesty with a single nod.
"I see," she replied thoughtfully, then smiled up at him again. "No matter, really—I will teach you what you need to know." She grabbed his hand and held on tightly.
"Come; you can begin right now!" But Galahad stood unmoving as a tree.
"You will…teach me how to read and write?" he asked, disbelief on his handsome face.
"Of course! You must be literate in order to perform your duties properly!" She tugged on his hand to lead him from the room. "I will begin with Greek, I think, and then Latin—or should I begin with Latin and move on to Greek…?" But Galahad still refused to budge. When she turned back to frown up at him, the knight scowled back.
"Why do you do this?" he demanded bluntly, "And do not lie to me—I know that your wizard…Librarian…whatever it is he is to you—he wished to do something else with me, something that you did not like. I want to know what that something was and why you talked him out of it." Charmion released his hand and pursed her lips as she stared up at him for a moment.
"Humans who become immortal eventually go mad," she answered, matching his bluntness, "They become a danger to others. They see others living their lives, growing old and then dying, while the immortal goes on day after day, year after year, century after century. Immortality becomes a curse, an unbearable burden, but one from which there is no release—and so they lash out at others, seeking to make them suffer as the immortal suffers." Charmion thought she saw a look of guilt flash through the tall man's eyes, but it passed so swiftly she let it go unremarked. She lowered her head for a moment and then looked up again into his serious eyes.
"Yehuda wanted to send you to place where other immortals are gathered and segregated from the rest of the world—for their own good as much as for the good of the mortal world," she continued to explain, "But I convinced him that you would be a valuable addition to our staff here, at the Library, instead." Galahad swept his gaze over her in appraisal.
"Why?"
"Because…" Charmion bit her lower lip in hesitation, then took in a deep breath and raised her blonde head almost defiantly. "Because I don't think you belong in a prison! I think you can be spared the fate of those poor people!"
"By giving me a job in your Library?" he asked, note of doubt in his voice.
"By giving you a life of meaning and fulfillment away from the mortal world!" she corrected him sternly, "And doing so before you go mad!" She turned and wrapped her arms around her middle as she walked several paces away from Galahad.
"I've always hated the Enclave!" she nearly hissed, her voice filled with disgust and venom, "I've been after Yehuda for centuries to do away with it! To find a way to identify and surveil immortals, to help them when we see them struggling rather than just capturing them and locking them away!" She turned around to face him.
"I want something more for you, Galahad," she said fervently and then crossed the space between them to stand in front of him again. "You were once the greatest knight in the world; how cruel would it be to lock you away into a golden cage, like a…like a…like a beast in some spoiled potentate's private zoo!"
The miniscule smile of mirth on Galahad's lips at the Guardian's outrage doused her temper instantly. Flustered, she began to pick non-existent bits of lint from the sleeves of her pale blue gown.
"What I mean is—it's only that—"
"You feel sorry for me," Galahad finished simply.
"No!" she countered at once, "Not pity! It's because I think that going mad in the Enclave is no improvement over going mad in the world of mortals!" she said in an aggravated rush of words. "I…just…happen to think that after all you've been through up to this point, you deserve something…better." Silence fell between them as Galahad thoughtfully stared down his nose at Charmion for several seconds.
"'The educated, alone, are free'," Galahad finally said softly, almost to himself. The Guardian's mouth fell open in surprise.
"But that's…Epictetus!" she exclaimed, "He was a Greek philosopher in the Stoic School—a bit too much of a wet blanket for my liking, but Yehuda simply adored him—how do you know his works?" Galahad lowered his head and ran a thoughtless hand over the front of his tunic.
"I heard it once from Merlin," he answered stoically and then looked up at her, gave her a tiny shrug of one shoulder. "He was always trying to convince me to learn how to read and write, but knights have—had—little use for such learning." A sad look fell over his boyish features.
"I never really understood the meaning of those words—never truly appreciated the sentiment behind them…until I was enslaved, had everything taken from me yet again..."
"Once gained, knowledge can never be taken away, Galahad, regardless circumstances," Charmion said urgently as she stepped forward and laid her hand on his arm. "A man's body may be weighed down with chains—"
"But never his mind," the knight finished, and Charmion nodded her agreement.
"Nor his soul," she added gently. Galahad dropped his gaze.
"What if I cannot be taught?" he challenged, "What if I have no talent for learning what you have to teach?" He was surprised to hear her burst into genuine laughter now.
"There is no such person, Galahad!" she answered fiercely and gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. "Oh, the worlds that will open up for you! Even a proud, mule-headed man like you can learn—and I'll prove it to you, if you let me!"
His dark eyes looked up and past her at some distant point as he considered her words. It would be tremendously satisfying—indeed, a tremendous relief—to have a real purpose in this world again, a place where one can truly belong—a home. He had no doubt that the work would be hard, that this little woman would be a demanding teacher—but he was used to hard work and demanding teachers. After several minutes, he breathed in a deep lungful of air and met her expectant gaze.
"Very well," he rumbled, his face solemn but somehow lighter than a few minutes ago. "I accept your offer. I will be your Caretaker." He pulled his body up to stiff attention.
"When do I begin, Lady?" he asked.
"Right now," Charmion said with determination. She reached down to take his huge hand into her tiny one and gave it a squeeze; she was gratified to feel him squeeze her hand back ever so slightly. She looked up and directly into his hopeful brown eyes.
"We begin right now…!"