Chapter 26

Mordred did not know what to think.

He did not know what to do.

Gwendolyn…had mutilated her hand. He had not even considered that she would do such a thing. To remove her own finger? It was beyond what he had thought her capable of. But perhaps that was his own lesson—to never underestimate his firefly.

But was she his firefly no longer?

Had he broken their bond in an attempt to seal it in his own selfish way, for his own means?

He is exiled.

The door opened and shut behind him. He did not need to turn to know who it was. He vanished his armor, letting the weight dissolve from him. If she meant to kill him, he would accept that fate. He would not fight her.

Neither of them spoke.

Gwendolyn approached the table and picked up the gauze-wrapped piece of herself. With a gesture, she lit the fire in the hearth ablaze, and tossed the digit into the flames. Hopefully, it was no longer immune to the heat like the rest of her.

"I would have woken you." It was a paltry excuse.

"But you wouldn't have set me free." Her tone was cold but not harsh.

That was true. He walked to his bar to pour himself some whiskey.

"Make me a double." She walked to one of the chairs by the fire and sank into it.

A small smile graced his face as he obeyed. "Do you intend to kill me, Gwendolyn?"

She paused for a long moment. "No."

"Do you intend to forgive me for my transgression?"

Another long pause. "No."

That was fair. He brought her the glass she asked for, and sat in his own chair, but not before placing the bottle on the table between them. He had the feeling it would be mostly gone before too very long.

"Fuck you." Gwendolyn stated after a long pause.

"I deserve that." He sipped his whiskey. Another long stretch of silence before he added, "Well done, killing Zoe."

She sighed. "I wish it hadn't been necessary, for Galahad's sake."

"They made their own decisions."

"You had to be stopped, though. They weren't wrong about that." She nursed her own glass of alcohol. "But I guess it had to be me."

"Yes, it seems so." He leaned his head against the high back of his chair.

She downed half of her glass in one gulp and coughed. "Fuck, I needed this earlier today."

"How painful is it?"

"Right now?" She looked at her bandaged hand. "It aches. Stings from time to time for a little while. But man, when Tim did it, I saw stars. I thought I was going to pass out or throw up."

With a huff, he turned his attention to the flames. "You let the guard do it?"

"I wanted Mae to do it, but she couldn't."

"No, I wouldn't expect so." He frowned. "I did not even consider that you would do such a thing."

"I tried to melt the ring off. No dice. I didn't have time to try anything else." Turning her hand over, she put it on the arm of the chair. "Could be worse. I could be dead. Or, y'know, chained to you with a glorified on-off switch wired to my brain. That was extremely not cool, Mordred."

"I know. I simply thought…" He shut his eyes. "It does not matter what I thought."

"Two reasons. One, I still love you. I'm just exceedingly angry with you. And I don't know how long that'll outweigh the rest of my emotions. And two? You couldn't kill Galahad. You deserve a quiet death somewhere else."

"Galahad. Did you end his suffering?"

"No. Kind of? He's going home to Tir n'Aill. Going to go become a tree, or something. Fae stuff. He leaves in the morning. Do you want to be there?"

Mordred chuckled quietly. "That sounds like a fitting end for him. And…no. I would not be welcome."

Another long stretch of silence.

"I will keep this island safe." Her voice sounded like that of a true queen. Whatever strength she had come to find when she battled through his magic to wake from her dream, and then to stand against him—it was formidable.

And by the Ancients, it made him love her all the more.

"Even if it means…" She trailed off.

Even if it means you say goodbye to me. He shut his eyes. Mordred had expected anger. Fury. He could have dealt with that. He could have responded to that. But this icy, impassive response? It felt more like the closing of a tomb upon his heart. It burned him more than her flames ever could.

Gwen finished her second glass of whiskey. "I should go."

"Wait." He stood before kneeling at her feet. She watched him carefully, the look of wariness in her eyes pouring salt on an already deep wound. He took her injured hand and gently unwound the bandages. It was a clean cut. Someone had had the presence of mind to cauterize the wound. He doubted it would become infected.

But it was wrong to have her missing a part of herself.

"You have no reason to trust me."

"No, I don't." She stared at him. "And if you try any shit this time, I will put you in a very deep hole for a very long time."

He smiled and laughed once. "As you wish, my queen. But allow me to give you a gift as we part. Something, perhaps, to remember me by."

"No magic."

"I will leave that to you." He placed her hand in his, palm to palm. Her hand had always looked so very small in his gauntlet, but now it seemed even more so—bruised and raw, the wound angry and seeping.

Using some of the iron from his own armor, he began to sculpt. A new finger, from the knuckle to the tip, to replace the old. Made of polished steel, and far more delicate and gentle than his own claws. There was no jagged talon at the end. No rust. The nail was sharp but understated.

When he finished, he sat back on his heels.

She lifted her hand, studying the piece. Then, with a breath, she flexed the finger experimentally, pouring her magic into it to control it like it was a part of her. Slowly, she made a fist, then straightened her fingers one by one, testing it. When she looked back to him, she smiled. Just a little. Just enough. "I'll take it."

And he would accept that. Taking her hand, he kissed her knuckles before standing and lifting her to her feet.

Walking to the door, she hesitated before leaving, resting her hand against the doorjamb. She didn't look over her shoulder at him. "Goodbye, Mordred."

"Goodbye, my firefly."

She shut her eyes, flinching in pain, before she left down the hallway.

Sitting in his chair, Mordred shut his eyes, and let himself weep.

The morning came. Gwen had spent the night alone—well, okay, the dog didn't count—in her old room. It felt like a goodbye to the keep. And it was. She remembered how terrified she'd been when she arrived. Cowering and panicking at everything she saw. And now?

Now, she was queen.

Of the whole island.

The sun had just started to rise as she walked down the stairs to the beach where the skiff waited. Eod came with her. Standing at the shore were Maewenn and Galahad, quietly talking. The cook was shoving baskets of food into the knight's arms, even as she sniffled loudly.

Eod walked up to Galahad, tail wagging sadly.

Today was a day of goodbyes.

Galahad knelt to hug the dog, letting the hound lick his cheek.

"It is all right, friend," Galahad told the animal quietly as Eod whimpered. "I am going home. I will find peace there. All joy for me has left this island."

Gwen had the sudden urge to ask him to change his mind. To rethink the slow death of attrition he'd suffer when separated from Avalon's magic. But the words didn't leave her mouth because they were purely selfish. She wanted him to stay for her. Because she wanted her friend.

This was what Galahad wanted. This was what he needed to do.

Walking up to him, she waited for him to stand before throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I will never be far. We fae do not believe in death like you do. We are always in the world and the life that shines around you." He stroked her hair. "I will only ever be a dream away."

Now, she was the one crying. She wiped at her eyes and sniffled. Everything in her wanted to beg him to stay. To change his mind. But the look on his face—the grief, the sadness, the tiredness—she knew it was time. Anything else would be cruel.

He climbed into the skiff. "Farewell until another day."

"Goodbye, Galahad." Gwen could barely get the words out through her tears.

The skiff lurched. And slid into the mist that formed around it.

Gwen held Mae as they cried.

Gwen gazed up at the ruins of Camelot. It felt right to call it home, to try to fix it up and everything. But it still felt like she was pretending, somehow—just standing in the shoes of her father when she was a toddler.

"It is yours, now."

"Gah!" Gwen jumped almost a foot in the air.

Merlin chuckled. He had a large wooden walking stick with him. It really completed his I-just-crawled-out-of-a-DD-campaign vibe. She opted not to make fun of him about it. "That never gets old."

"Yeah, but you do." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Very queenly."

"Whatever." She looked up at the castle again. "You sure Arthur wouldn't mind?"

"Not in the slightest."

"He's not haunting the place, is he?"

Merlin chuckled. "No."

"Phew. That's all I need. Uncle Arthur lurking in the hallways, judging me." Gwen snickered. "Or Lancelot. Or Percival. Or Galahad. Or…a lot of people." She frowned, her mirth instantly fading.

"You're quickly learning the cost of power."

She glanced down at her steel finger. It was beautiful, she had to admit. She loved it. She just wished she didn't have to have it. "Yeah. But hey. I come with a bonus letter-opener now."

Merlin laughed and patted her on the back. "I hope you never lose your sense of humor."

"Are you staying?"

"Me? Bah! No. This island is only big enough for one all-powerful magic-wielding lunatic." He waved his hand dismissively in the air. "You hardly need me now."

"But maybe I want the company."

"You will have no shortage of company. Every single one of the elementals and the villagers will be vying for your favor now. You'll have to fend friends off with a stick." Merlin shook his head. "No, I would just get in the way."

She tucked her hands into her coat. She couldn't really feel the steel finger—but she had an awareness of it. Like it was really shot up with Novocain. It still ached, underneath where it attached. She figured it was going to hurt for a while. "I guess. But I'm still going to miss you."

"I know. And I will miss you too." He put an arm around her shoulder and tugged her into his side in a hug. "You did phenomenally."

"Did I? I…I don't know, was I too harsh on Mordred?"

"No. You did exactly what you had to do to get the elementals to trust you. And you'll need to keep it that way if you want to keep the peace around here."

"I love him, though." Cringing, she sighed. She did really love Mordred. The thought of going forever without him hurt. But the idea of forgiving him and moving on like he hadn't done anything at all felt equally as wrong.

"Like I said. The cost of power." Merlin let her go and began to walk away. "That is what we wizards do! Figure things out. That is all we are, when you think about it—just a series of endless points in time where we make shit up and get things done."

The old, dignified man that Doc had become sounded really hysterical when he swore. She chuckled. "I guess." More goodbyes. "Bye, Doc."

"Goodbye. You will be brilliant. Not as brilliant as me, mind you. But brilliant." He grinned at her over his shoulder before disappearing into thin air.

She really hoped she didn't go as nuts as he did. Was. Is. Whatever. But she figured that amount of time would do that to anybody.

Looking back up at the ruins of Camelot, she took a breath, and let it out in a rush. "Let's get started then."