Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

GAWAIN

The moment Arthur's feet touched the ground, I was moving. My heart pounded as I raced towards her, desperate to close the distance between us. She stood there, breathless and radiant.

I reached her in an instant, my hands cupping her face as I crushed my lips to hers. The kiss was desperate, filled with all the fear and longing that swept through me as I watched her fall. As I screamed her name. As I thought I was going to lose her forever.

Her lips were soft and warm against mine. My fingers sank into her wild chestnut curls, cradling the back of her head as I deepened the kiss. Arthur's hands fisted in my tunic, pulling me closer as she responded with just as much desperation. The beat of her heart raced against my chest and I thanked the fucking gods it was still allowed to beat.

"I'm sorry," I murmured against her lips, pressing soft kisses to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. "Arthur, I'm so fucking sorry. I was a fool because I was scared. I'm sorry."

I fell to my knees before her, my arms wrapping around her waist as I pressed my forehead against her stomach. Her new wings shimmered behind her. "Forgive me," I pleaded, my voice raw and broken. "I was a fucking coward. I would never let you return to Camelot without me. Not in a million lifetimes, my queen.”

As I spoke, I realized every word was the naked truth. It didn’t matter how much I missed Avalon, or how I craved to be among our own kind again. Because my fear of never returning home again paled in comparison to the terror of never looking into Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur knelt, her golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She cupped my face in her hands, her fingers gently sinking into my beard. The touch sent shivers down my spine. "Gawain," she whispered, her voice thick. "I shouldn't have tried to make you choose between your home and me. That wasn't fair."

She leaned in, pressing her forehead against mine until her warm breath was on my lips. I breathed in the intoxicating scent of her skin, like wildflowers and magic. "Avalon is your home," Arthur continued softly. "I had no right to ask you to give that up. Not after you've waited centuries to return. I can’t believe how selfish I was."

I shook my head, my hands coming up to cradle her face. " You are my home now. Avalon...it's a dream, a memory. But you? You’re real, and I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. For a moment, the world around us seemed to still, the rumbling of the canyon fading away as we stared at each other. I held my breath, terrified I'd gone too far, said too much.

Then Arthur's lips crashed against mine, hungry and desperate. Her fingers tangled in my hair as she pressed herself closer. I groaned, pulling her flush against me as I deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of longing and regret into it.

When we finally broke apart, gasping for air, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. "I love you too, you stubborn ass," she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips as she pushed on my chest.

Merlin rushed over, concern etched on his face as he helped Arthur to her feet. Her legs wobbled unsteadily, the adrenaline clearly wearing off. With a wave of his hand, golden light shimmered around Arthur as he helped her onto a waiting Elhorn that Galahad led over to us.

I stood, brushing the dust off my knees as Tristan clapped me on the shoulder. I met his eyes, my gaze bouncing to the fresh mating mark, almost expecting him to hit me for declaring my love to his mate. But Tristan smiled at me and nodded, and it was all the approval I needed.

The Elhorn nickered softly as Arthur settled onto its back. I could see exhaustion written in every line of her body. In the slump of her shoulders, the way her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the Elhorn's mane.

"We should make camp as soon as possible," I said, my voice rough and raw from screaming. "Arthur needs rest. The Wandering Wood can wait another day."

Merlin nodded sharply, his blue eyes flickering between Arthur and me. I couldn’t tell what was going on in the sorcerer’s head. It was no secret that he was in love with her too, but something always seemed to be holding him back. Druids didn’t take official mates, but I knew that if they did, Merlin would have claimed her already.

Galahad's gaze suddenly lifted to the sky, his brow furrowing in concentration. Following his line of sight, I caught a glimpse of a magnificent creature soaring overhead. Its wingspan must have been at least thirty feet across, with feathers the color of obsidian. The beast's long, serpentine neck ended in a head crowned with spiraling horns, and as it banked in a wide arc, I could see flashes of iridescent scales along its underbelly.

"Is that a...dragon?" Arthur breathed out in awe.

Galahad shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Not quite. That's a wraith. They're distant cousins to dragons, but they're not nearly as intelligent or dangerous. Beautiful creatures, though."

The wraith let out a haunting cry that echoed through the canyon before disappearing behind a distant peak. Galahad blinked a few times, as if coming out of a trance, then turned back to our group. "There's a grove of trees just past the mouth of the canyon," he said, his voice carrying a note of relief. "It's secluded away from the main paths the giants use for hunting. We should be safe there for the night."

As we made our way out of the canyon, the landscape gradually shifted from towering stone walls to a gentler terrain. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming night flowers again, leaving the dust and clay behind us.

I kept a watchful eye on Arthur, noting how she swayed slightly in the saddle. Her new wings were folded against her back, shimmering like spun crystal in the fading light. The sight of them still took my breath away. She hadn’t meant to manifest them, but her desperation made it possible without even trying. I had a feeling our queen had no idea how powerful she really was.

We reached the grove Galahad had mentioned. The trees hung like willows, only their petals were a midnight blue color that twinkled with sparkling dew. The hanging branches created secluded little bubbles of privacy, away from the prying eyes of the forest.

Merlin immediately went to Arthur's side, his arms encircling her waist as he helped her down from the Elhorn. She leaned heavily against him, exhaustion evident in every movement of her body. Merlin's eyes glowed with a soft blue light as he whispered in the language of the druids, covering her with wards.

Percival and Tristan set about creating a perimeter of protection spells, their magic weaving an intricate web of shadows and starlight around our camp.

I gathered fallen branches and set about building a fire pit. With a wave of my hand, frost crystals formed along the wood, and Lancelot gave it a spark. The magical fire that gave off no smoke cast dancing shadows across the grove, making the leaves shimmer like sapphires.

Merlin carefully laid Arthur down on a bed of soft moss, conjuring a blanket of gossamer threads that seemed to be woven from moonlight itself. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead.

"She could have died today," Lancelot said, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, betraying the tension coursing through him. "If those wings hadn't manifested..."

I nodded, the memory of Arthur plummeting through the air still fresh and raw in my mind. "But she didn't. And I feel like the world’s biggest fool."

"What are we doing, Gawain?" he asked, running a hand through his golden hair. "This... arrangement . All of us loving her. What does it mean for her? For Camelot? She’s going to be a queen."

I sighed, leaning against the bark of a few fallen logs we'd placed into a circle around the fire. The bark was surprisingly soft, almost velvety to the touch. "I don't know," I admitted, my eyes drifting to where Arthur lay sleeping. "But I do know that I can't imagine a life without her. The thought of returning to Avalon and leaving her behind? It feels wrong."

Lance nodded. "But a queen with multiple consorts? It's unheard of, at least in the mortal realm."

I chuckled softly, plucking a luminescent flower that grew near my feet. Its petals glowed with a soft, pulsing light, like a tiny heartbeat. "When has Arthur ever done anything the conventional way? She's a half-fae thief with druid blood, wielding Excalibur, and just put a giant to sleep in a language that’s been dead for centuries. I think we're well past conventional at this point."

His lips quirked into a small smile. "Fair point. But still, the politics of it all. The noble houses of Camelot will expect her to make a strategic marriage alliance. And what about heirs?"

I twirled the glowing flower between my fingers, watching as its light seemed to dance and swirl. "Fae can only conceive when both partners intend it," I reminded him. "And even then, it's rare. As for the politics, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's focus on keeping her alive long enough to sit on that damned throne."

As we continued our hushed conversation, the others gradually joined us around the fire. Galahad settled onto a moss-covered log. Tristan took a seat next to me, his silver eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze occasionally drifting to where Arthur slept. The mating mark on his neck stood out starkly against his dark skin.

Percival materialized from the shadows, his form seeming to coalesce from the darkness itself. He moved with liquid grace, settling onto the ground with his back against a tree trunk. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, writhing and twisting in response to his mood.

Merlin was the last to join us. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual. I wondered how much of his energy he'd expended trying to save Arthur during her fall.

Percival's low voice broke the contemplative silence. "What language did Arthur speak to the giant? I've never heard anything like it."

"It was the dead language of the Old Religion," Merlin said softly, almost reverently. "A tongue that hasn’t been spoken in centuries, known only to the most ancient magical beings. Gaius taught about it, but even he doesn’t know enough to speak it. The fae can understand the words, but speaking it is nearly impossible."

"But how?" I asked, leaning forward. "Arthur's never studied ancient languages, has she?"

Merlin shook his head, his expression a mixture of awe and confusion. "No, she hasn't.”

Tristan frowned and tossed a twig into the fire. “I felt something through our mating bond. It was...strange. Overwhelming. Like there were multiple presences inhabiting her body all at once."

I felt a chill run down my spine. The grove around us seemed to grow quieter, as if the very trees were listening. "What do you mean by multiple presences?" Lance asked, his eyes narrowing.

Tristan ran a hand through his silvery hair, searching for the right words. "It was as if…as if the old gods of Avalon were speaking through her. I felt their power entwined with hers, but it was distinctly other ."

The fire crackled, sending sparks spiraling into the twilight sky. I watched them dance among the twinkling stars. "Could it be possible?" I mused aloud. "For the old gods to...inhabit her like that? I thought they were long dead by now."

Merlin ran a hand over his face in exhaustion. "There are legends," he said slowly, "of the old gods sometimes using mortal vessels to communicate. But it's extremely rare, and usually only happens in times of great need."

"I can't stop seeing it," Galahad said. His usually cheerful face was drawn with worry. "The way she fell...I've never been so terrified in all my centuries."

We'd all been fools. So caught up in our centuries-old dream of returning home that we'd nearly lost the woman who each of us craved down to the marrow of our fucking bones.

"I'm not going back," Percival said suddenly, and we all turned to face him. "To Avalon, I mean. Not if it means leaving her."

"Neither am I," Galahad chimed in, his usual jovial self replaced by something harder, more determined. "Arthur is everything I want in a mate, and I’m not going to betray her like that. There’s nothing for me in Avalon without her."

My chest swelled with pride for my brothers. I’d made the decision to stay with Arthur the moment she slipped from that cliffside. It wouldn’t have mattered to me what anyone else chose. I loved Arthur Pendragon and would make her my mate.

I looked at Lancelot as he glared at the flames. Lancelot, who’d sworn off love nearly eight hundred years ago, when a woman he thought he’d loved mated another male. We were still young, but the sting of it followed him for centuries.

He breathed in deeply, his fingers absently tracing patterns in the velvety moss beneath him. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried such raw emotion that we all leaned in to listen. "I've spent centuries convinced that love was a weakness. I thought I'd found it once, and I swore I'd never let myself be that vulnerable again."

The grove seemed to hold its breath as he spoke; the flowers pulsed softly in time with his words. Even the whispering leaves of the midnight-blue trees stilled, as if nature itself was listening to this confession. A confession I never thought I’d hear from my oldest friend.

"I love her," he said, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. "Gods fucking help me."

Galahad let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be gods damned," he said, a hint of his usual mischief returning. "The great Sir Lancelot, felled by a pair of pretty brown eyes.”

Lance threw a loose stone at Gal, and it hit him squarely on the forehead. “Fuck off, Gal.”

"I've loved Arthur since we were children," Merlin suddenly confessed, staring into the dancing flames. "All those years, watching her struggle on the streets, I wanted to protect her, to give her the life she deserved. We raised and protected each other. She made sure nobody knew of my magic and never judged me for it. When Mordred came along, I was weak. I used her to fill the loneliness, but in my mind, in my heart, it was always Arthur."

I felt a pang of sympathy for the sorcerer. To love someone for so long, to watch them from afar, unable to act on those feelings. It must have been torture.

Merlin looked up then, his gaze sweeping over each of us. "I never imagined I'd have to compete with five fae knights for her heart," he said with a wry, humorless chuckle. "The irony isn't lost on me."

"None of us are competing anymore. Not for Arthur's heart, not for her attention, not for anything. And good thing too, because I’d hate to be the sad sack who had to compete with me.” I wiggled my brows and Galahad scoffed. "She's a queen,” I continued as Merlin met my eyes from under his hood. “Chosen by fate and blessed by magic older than any of us can comprehend."

I plucked another glowing flower, its petals unfurling at my touch. "You saw what happened today. The old gods themselves spoke through her and used her as a vessel. That's not something that happens to just anyone. Arthur deserves to be worshipped by all of us."