Chapter 7

Gwen wondered what the point of having wings was if she was always going to be stuck on a horse traveling with people who couldn't fly. But it wasn't like she really knew how to use them. Her one real attempt at flight had ended in a crash landing, and she hadn't really worked up the nerve to jump off a cliff or the wall of the keep to force herself to learn.

But they made great extra insulation when it got chilly, though. She had to give them that. Their little motley band of Bert, Lina, Mirkon, Tim, and Eod were sitting around a campfire, while she was carefully cutting slits up the back of her coat so she could have her wings and be extra warm at the same time. She had tried to summon herself a coat to do the same thing, but she kept screwing it up. Probably couldn't visualize it well enough.

So, the good, old-fashioned, manual approach would have to do. Avalon was slipping into the depths of autumn quickly, and while the days were warm, the nights were getting almost frosty. The change in temperature didn't seem to bother Tim or Bert, though Tim's joints were extra squeaky. Eod seemed unaffected as well, as he chewed blissfully on the deer antler that Mirkon had cut from the buck he had caught for them to eat.

Gwen felt bad for the deer. But it was nice to have something more than fish while on the road.

"How far away are we?" She was now stitching up the slits she had made with a needle and thread that Mae had packed her. Mae had packed her just about everything for the road she could possibly have wanted.

"Hm. One more day's ride to the city," Bert replied, thoughtfully looking off into the woods. "And there my people will already be waiting to meet you."

"Once we get there, I have to leave to find Galahad. I need to know where he and Zoe took the Crystal." Gwen frowned down at her coat as she kept stitching the edges of the cuts she had made. She wasn't looking forward to the conversation with Galahad. She knew it wouldn't go well.

"Are you so sure we need Mordred?" The wariness in Mirkon's voice was thick as he whispered to his wife. Gwen knew she wasn't supposed to hear him, so she ignored it as best she could. To them, Mordred was some big, scary, spooky villain. They didn't understand.

Lina sighed and whispered back, "She loves him. And he's suffering. And I'd do the same thing in that case. I'd burn down the world to free you, you fat bastard, if I needed to."

"Love you too, darling," he muttered dryly.

Gwen smiled. She hoped she lived long enough with Mordred to get to the point of aimless bickering. It was a weird life goal, but it was something. Maybe she would just be happy to talk to Mordred in person again at all.

At this point, they had spent more time apart than together. At least they had their weird and semi-constant dreams together. She hoped those would go away once they could actually both be free and not under constant threat of war and death. If that ever was the case.

But she had to have hope.

Avalon chose her to help it. Right? Right.

Eod looked up. "Mom sad?"

"No, baby. Mom not sad." She reached out and scratched him between the ears. "Okay, maybe a little. But I'll be all right."

"What wrong?"

"I just miss Dad, that's all."

"Me too." Eod went back to chewing on his antler. "But is okay. Find Dad soon."

She smiled. Find Dad soon. That was the plan.

"You can talk to the dog?" Mirkon blinked. "You magic users. Weird folk."

"You're right. It is weird." She chuckled and went back to stitching. "But I don't mind it. I'm slowly getting used to it." She paused. "I hope I live long enough to really get used to it."

"You will," Bert chimed in cheerfully. "I'm sure of it."

At least Bert would always believe in her, even if she didn't always believe in herself. That was nice to have. They sat and finished their dinner—those of them who ate—before tucking themselves in for the night. Bert stayed up to keep watch since he didn't need to sleep. She was tempted to make a crack about him being a scarecrow and that being his job, but she figured it was too easy.

Yawning, she snuggled up next to Eod, draped an arm over him, and let sleep take her.

She wasn't surprised when she found herself in a dream that wasn't her own. For a moment, she wasn't sure she was anywhere at all, as a thick, impenetrable white fog stretched everywhere she looked. If it weren't for the grass beneath her feet, she might have thought she was in another weird void. She shivered as the chill of the air and the mist of the fog settled over her.

Furrowing her brow, she turned around slowly in a circle, searching for any sign of where she was supposed to go. It wasn't until she heard soldiers with their clanking armor that she had any hints at all. She headed off in that direction, careful not to trip over a rock or fall into a hole. Soon, dark shapes were visible in the mist—a line of knights, two of them carrying a stretcher between them.

As she drew closer, she recognized them. Bors, Gawain, Percival, Lancelot, and the rest. The man on the stretcher was Arthur, his crown still resting on his head, his hands folded over Caliburn atop him as though he were already dead. But the creased expression of pain on his features told her otherwise. None of the knights seemed to register that she was there, simply trudging along in the memory. They were all clearly still human—well, except Galahad, who never was. This must be England before it was really England, before they took King Arthur to Avalon.

She turned to face the end of the line as a veritable nightmare stepped from the fog. She jolted, startled at first, as Mordred approached. He was as she knew him, with his jagged, rusted armor, and molten eyes. She'd hoped by this point she wouldn't feel awe at the sight of him. But she did. Awe, and just a little fear.

And fuck, did he look angry.

When he glanced at her, his expression softened slightly. "Gwendolyn." He did not stop walking, though, following the line of knights through the fog.

She fell in step beside him, reaching her hand out to weave her fingers into his, not caring how strange the metal gauntlet felt. "Watching reruns?" She shook her head, catching herself before he had the chance to remind her she was an idiot and he was from the past. "Never mind, sorry."

"I believe I gather your meaning. Yes. I am. It seems my psyche has taken shelter in these memories to protect me from the storm. Though, I wish it would choose happier moments." His expression darkened again.

"Do you have happier moments?" She nudged him, smiling, trying to tease him into sparring with her.

"No."

So much for that plan. She sighed and looked ahead at the marching knights. "This is when you took him to Avalon."

"I used to wonder if it would have not been better if I had died at Camlann instead." His hand in hers tightened just slightly. "If all of Avalon would not have been better for it. It would have chosen him."

"You don't know that. He could have died, anyway, and the island could have chosen nobody—then they'd all be dead." She gestured at the line ahead with her other hand. "And you too."

"Some might argue that would still have been a favorable outcome."

"Not me."

Gwen might have kicked him in the gut for the flash of pain that crossed his features. Those rust-colored eyes met hers, and there was grief in them. "Forgive me, my love. I have had far too much time left alone with my thoughts."

"I'm working on it. I need to stop at a city to meet Bert's people, and then I'm going to find Galahad and make him tell me where you are." She frowned. "But I need you to hold on."

"Who is Bert?" He arched an eyebrow at her.

Right. They'd never met. "A friend. He's in charge of a resistance movement of villagers who?—"

Mordred laughed. "Oh, by the Ancients—you've fallen in with them?" It made sense Mordred would know about their so-called underground resistance. "Adorable fools. I let them carry on with their…secrets and their plans. They are harmless."

"They have an army."

"An army of chaff—of foam thrown about by the sea. If you fight the elementals with them, you are doomed." He shook his head.

"Which is precisely why I've convinced them we need you." She paused. "It's the only reason I think they're going to help me free you."

"All I did to contain the wrath of the elementals was for them, and you see how they still fear and loathe me?" He grimaced. His hand tightened around hers, but it didn't feel affectionate. "Three hundred years of peace I gave this world. Three hundred. And it has earned me nothing but suffering. I should have let them all burn."

Fear twisted in her stomach as she remembered her promise to Bert and the others about putting down Mordred if she had to. "Hey—" She pulled him to a stop, turning him to face her. "You don't mean that."

His gaze bored through her like liquid metal. "Perhaps I do. Perhaps I finally understand."

"They're just—look. When you put the elementals away, you put a lot of other magical people in there too. Villagers and the like. They were scared." She picked his hands up in hers and held them, heavy as they were, close to her. "Bert was in hiding all that time because he had enough magic that you'd probably have chucked him in there too. I don't blame them for being afraid of you. They don't know you. Not like I do."

"You believe I am somehow different than the monster they see in me?" He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, gently tracing the metal point of his thumb along her skin.

"No." She met his gaze. "I know who you are. I know what you are. I just know that isn't the whole story. There's so much more to you than what they see. You may be a monster, but for fuck's sake, you're my monster, and I'm not going to let?—"

Mordred cut her off as he tipped her head to his. He leaned down to kiss her, capturing her lips in a searing embrace that seemed to search for something—anything—to hold onto. And she gave him all that she could. Every ounce of hope, every ounce of love, every ounce of need for him that she owned.

When he broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I will be as strong as I can be, my love. I will try to hold against this storm until you find me."

"I promise I'm going to find you. I'm going to free you. But if—if Galahad doesn't help me…"

"I will do everything to try to discern anything about my location from within here."

"I mean, the Crystal is still yours, right?" She looked up at him. "Can't you just, I don't know, feel where it is?"

He furrowed his brow slightly. "Yes? What do you—" He paused. "Ah. Yes. I suppose that makes perfect sense." He chuckled quietly. "I do not know why I did not think of that."

"You've been a little busy." She looked into the fog after the line of knights that were now long gone. "I'm sorry you have to go through this."

"As am I. But perhaps it will provide me some deeper understanding." He straightened his shoulders, cracking his neck from one side to the other. "For better or worse." He turned his attention toward the direction the knights had gone. "You should not linger here long. I cannot imagine it is doing you any kindness. You will need your rest for what is to come. Return to me tomorrow night, and I will tell you what I have discerned, if anything."

"I love you, Mordred. Please, be strong."

He rested his palm to her cheek again. "My sweet Gwendolyn, who took pity on a monster. How could I leave you now? You will have need of the darkness soon enough."

She blinked. "Wh?—"

She never got to ask him what he meant.

Everything faded into the fog.