Chapter 14

Mordred was happier than he could remember being for a very, very long time. Though to be truthful, it was hardly terribly difficult to achieve. But now—for this brief moment—he felt no crushing weight upon him. No grasp around his heart.

He was atop his stallion, with Gwendolyn sitting in front of him. She had clearly learned to apparate clothing, which would be very convenient for her. And her choice of style meant that, being taller than her, he had a rather wonderful downward view into her blouse.

It was a challenge not to stare. Instead, he distracted himself with the view of the landscape as they rode. He kept them to a brisk walk, neither wishing to hurry the journey back nor neglect those waiting for them at his keep.

Gwendolyn shivered, and Mordred pulled his cloak around them both. The fall was quickening toward winter, and the air smelled of an early winter storm. It had been three hundred years since he had seen snow—and he smiled at the thought of it.

His thoughts drifted back to those waiting at his keep. There would be an army—her army—camped outside his doors. Or, worse, inside his halls. He cringed at the mental image of a hundred villagers ruining his home.

The floors would never be the same again.

And what of the ragtag army's commander? What of their Lady Gwendolyn? Mordred kissed the top of her head. She smiled up at him in return. His Lady Gwendolyn, leader of the common people. He did not bother asking her if she understood what it would mean for those who chose to fight. She had watched the ends of Lancelot and Grinn. She knew what death was. But one question remained. One that had been puzzling him all morning.

"Whose idea was it for you to lead an army?" He smiled again, amused at the thought of her standing on a chair giving some raucous speech to embolden her troops.

Gwen snorted. "Not mine. Bert the scarecrow." She paused, her mood falling. "I was on the fence about…about stopping the elementals. About doing anything at all. Bert took me to see some of his friends in that city just southwest of the keep."

When she didn't continue, he draped an arm around her, gently resting it in her lap. "And?"

"Thorn. She'd asked me to join her army. I refused, obviously. And when we got to the city, it…it was destroyed. So many people were just caught in the crossfire. So many bodies." She leaned her head back against his chest, her eyes shut. "And why? Why? Because Thorn had a spitting match with some other elemental. I keep thinking—maybe if I'd said yes to her. Maybe if I'd gone with her, I could have stopped her. And then all those people…"

"No." He tightened his arm around her slightly. "You would have been forced to stand between her and them. You were right to refuse her. Their deaths are not your doing."

"Well. I mean. It kinda is—" She gestured aimlessly in the air in front of her. "Because Thorn wouldn't be loose if I hadn't tried to blow up the Crystal, which pissed you off so badly you blew up the?—"

"I get it. I get it." He rolled his eyes. But he could not hide his smile. "Yes. All the blame for every terrible turn of events that befalls Avalon from this point forward will be entirely yours."

"See? Exactly. Thanks for agreeing with me." A smile also graced her face. He knew she would be distraught at the deeds he was set upon performing. But in this moment, it seemed she shared in his happiness.

They were together.

And for this tiny respite, there was quiet.

A quiet that would be ruined the moment he set foot inside his home. He grimaced. "Why villagers? You do realize how poorly they will do in battle, do you not?"

Gwendolyn laughed. "You're a little elitist, aren't you, prince?"

"With good reason, princess." He teased her back. "Though now that you are a witch, I suppose you are no longer a princess."

"Lame." She huffed in false offense. "Do witches get cool titles?"

"Yes. Witch."

"I should get a black pointy hat and some green face paint," she murmured as she looked off into the woods. He did not bother to ask what she meant; he knew it would make little sense even after she attempted to explain it.

A thought occurred to him. "How did you manage to bring my stallion to Camelot?"

"He brought himself to Camelot," she snapped, glowering down at the iron horse. His steed snorted in response. The feeling was mutual. "I let the little shit out because I felt bad for him, all cooped up in his stable, and he took the fuck off. It wasn't until I got to Camelot that I saw him. He knew the whole damn time."

"Maybe if you were nicer to him," he teased. It had nothing to do with it. No one was kinder to animals than Gwendolyn Wright.

"He doesn't want nice. He likes assholes." She jabbed him in the thigh between the plates of his armor. "Some people like assholes."

"Hm. Careful." He kissed her temple. "There is a phrase about throwing stones…"

"Yeah, yeah." She turned her attention back to the road ahead of them. They went along in comfortable silence for quite some time. Nothing but wilderness surrounded them, the sun streaming through the branches of the trees. Autumn leaves drifted down about them. Birds sang, and the long grass rustled with creatures seeking to bury their winter stores.

This—this was bliss. This was happiness. This was peace.

This was what he would fight to keep.

"So," he began.

"Yes, I have an army,get over it." She laughed. "You're not the only one who can have one, y'know."

"That was not what I was going to clarify but thank you for reminding me of how ludicrous this situation is." He dug his claws into her thigh, just a little. Just enough. She squirmed in her seat. "What I was going to ask you, firefly, is what you intend to do with said army?"

Her silence spoke volumes. It took her nearly a minute to respond. She was getting better at predicting their verbal sparring matches and was clearly trying to find a way to navigate around this one. "I intend to stop the elementals."

"How?" He could not help but needle her playfully again. "Through petition?"

"Mordred." She sighed, shaking her head.

"Forgive me. I am in a good mood. I cannot help but tug on your hair like a young bully."

"At least you admit it." She leaned back against him. "No, I know what I'm trying to do. I know what's going to happen."

"Then what separates you and I?"

"The fact that you don't know is also part of the problem." Picking up the edge of his cloak, she drew it tighter around herself. "Not all the elementals are on the rampage. Some just want to live quietly on their own. There's a big difference between going to war against a few and declaring genocide against an entire group of people."

"You would wait for those to attack you before avenging yourself. I simply wish to cut the problem off before it has a chance to strike."

"You can't kill people for the crimes they might commit. That's not how this works!"

"I beg to differ."

"Can we—" She sighed and placed a hand over her eyes. "Can we not. Not here. There'll be a time to fight about this."

"I agree." The last thing he wished to do was ruin either of their enjoyment of the day. "I must admit, I wish that mutt of yours were here."

"He misses you, you know." She smiled. "Calls you Dad."

That did twist something in his gut, he had to admit. He had once let his dogs run amok in the same way that Gwendolyn preferred to do. But the loss of holding them as they passed became too much over the centuries. For he was destined not to die, and they fell within the same seasons of life as all of nature should follow.

But watching Gwendolyn cherish her friendship with the beast…made him miss those days deeply. "He is a good hound."

Perhaps those days were not gone for good.

"He's the best. Even though I really wish I couldn't understand him." She wrinkled her nose. "It's really weird to hear a dog comment to you when they're?—"

"I do not need the details, thank you." He chuckled, and she joined him. "You will adjust to your magic in time. It will become more natural to you."

"I hope so. It's still so weird. And I keep forgetting about it. Like, the other day, I was walking along for about two hours, complaining to myself how thirsty I was, before I remembered I could just make myself a drink."

Grinning, he hugged her tighter for a moment. "Speaking of which, who knows that you command iron, the same as I?"

"No one." Her shoulders fell a little. "I figured if they really hated the fact that one person could void all their powers, they really wouldn't like it if there were two."

"You were wise to keep it a secret. Even Galahad does not know? What of your villager companions?"

"No one."

"Good. Very good. We can use that to our advantage." He was not certain how he would leverage such a reveal, but he knew it would come in handy.

"Seriously. Change of topic. No more discussing your impending murderous rampage."

"Yes, yes. Forgive me. I will only conclude the matter by saying this." He combed the claws of one hand through her hair. She hummed and leaned into his touch. "No matter what may follow, my firefly—I love you above all. Promise me that you will hold that close to your heart."

"I promise." She wound her fingers into his other hand. "And promise me the same thing in return."

"Of course." He kissed her cheek. And when she turned her head to him, he paid the same attention to her lips. He would do anything to protect her. To preserve this world of Avalon for her. Even if he had to turn the rivers and fields red, he would see her safe.

He would see her smile at him.

No matter the cost.

Galahad returned home, concern and anger clutching at him, sending his muscles tense with every step as he ducked under the jamb into the cottage he shared with Zoe.

The Gossamer Lady was sitting by the fire, wrapping a bandage around her arm. She was bruised, and a black spot marred her cheek by her ear. He hurried to her side, kneeling beside her, taking over the task of tending to her wounds.

Zoe watched him, her pink eyes searching his for information. "You let her pass."

"Yes." He made no attempt at excuses. He would not lie to his wife. "There was naught I could do to stop her, save…attempt to take her life."

She frowned, leaning back in her chair to gaze into the fire. "I did what I had to do. If Mordred is now free, we—we are all lost."

He paused for a long moment, not knowing in what order to best broach topics. "I am certain the Prince in Iron walks this land once more. We had best prepare as though he is free."

"If we wish to be spared his wrath, we best apologize, I suppose." Zoe cringed. "Though I loathe to do it."

"There is no bother. Gwendolyn understands and seems to hold you at no fault for attempting to stop her. Perhaps she is a bit embittered, but I would hardly say wrathful. She did spare your life, it seems." He moved on to another bandage. It was clear Gwendolyn could have ended his wife's life but instead chose to spare her.

The young woman would have made an excellent knight. Galahad was certain that Gwendolyn and Arthur would have gotten along famously. A little too well, perhaps. Pointless musings for another time. He broke the silence again. "She told me of your plans."

Zoe's hand tightened gently. "I—I should have spoken to you first, my love. Forgive me. But I fear I lacked conviction until the moment I fought her. I could not let her and Mordred or Thorn usurp that which is rightfully mine, as it was so long ago…"

Galahad rested his forehead against the part of her arm that was not wounded. He knew of her past as the Queen of Avalon. How the beautiful lady had appeared to them in the woods that night to present to Arthur not just the crown of the island, but her crown.

Because she knew she needed to. Because the isle had told her of the moment the true ruler of Avalon came to the shores from Earth.

It made the bitter twist of fate that followed all the worse, when Arthur was rejected and died a mortal man.

"Is it truly what you wish, my love?" He lifted his head again to watch her. "To become queen?"

Sadness creased her features as she shut her eyes. "No…I do not know." She sought his hand with hers, holding it tight. "I wish to cease all this pointless suffering in Avalon. I wish to stop them all from killing each other. Thorn will burn this world down to rule a pile of ashes, same as the demon. And Mordred…would be even worse than that."

"Gwendolyn is seeking to raise an army of the villagers."

"And they march to the slaughter—you know that as well as I." Zoe reached out, wrapping her arms around Galahad, pulling him into an embrace. "I simply wish for peace, my love."

"I know." He held her, gently stroking her back. "I know. But the only way to find it is through violence."

"Perhaps." She sat back. "Or perhaps there is another way. Yes, a few may need to die or be dealt with—but only those who rally the mobs. Would you not rather three souls meet their end in order to save three hundred?"

It was rare that his wife schemed. He watched her curiously. "I dislike weighing bargains with lives. I always have."

"As do I. But in times like these, it can sometimes not be avoided." Zoe stroked his cheek with her knuckles tenderly. "But I think there is a way to stop their war before it begins. I need your help."

The weight of his years fell over him with those words. He was tired of it all—of the constant battling and strife. He had wished to stay here with the woman he loved, in peace and quiet. But they were being taken from him now by the very woman he wished to share them with.

Which made it all the worse.

What was he to do?

Zoe would not stop her quest even if he asked it of her. She was steadfast when it came to her duties to Avalon. And the resolution in her eyes was clear. She would retake the throne and see peace finally reign for all.

It was a beautiful vision. And he had never seen his Gossamer Lady rule. It must have been a thing of rare beauty, like the fae courts of Tir n'Aill.

He bowed his head. "My sword is now and forever yours, my lady."

But there was nothing but dread in his heart.