Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business Legion of Camelot

Ninety

In accordance with Rokk's wish, Beren consulted the auguries, learning that to bring out the Cauldron's true glory, it would take the work of priestesses.

Mysa, in turn, performed her own auguries, mapping out the ritual to come. She enlisted her old friend Jeka.

"Should there not be three?" asked Jeka. "Surely that is a more sacred number. Let us fetch Imra-"

"-Nay," said Mysa. "If there are to be three, the Lady will provide."

With Druids standing in vigil in the hall outside, they began. Purifying and blessing themselves, they did likewise for their workspace, creating a sacred space that transcended the waking world.

And they invited the goddess in.

"Arianhrod! Ceridwen! Cailleach! Maiden, Mother and Crone! Hear us! Send us the Maiden of the Cauldron, that she may do your blessings!"

And out of the ether floated a young woman with thick raven hair.

Seeing them see her, tears of joy welled out from the maiden's eyes. They parted hands to join with her, making a trio.

"I have held no human hand for more than a year," the maiden said. "Bless you, Mysa, Jeka, whatever it is that you do."

"Bless you, my Lady," Mysa smiled. "Let us continue."

The ritual went forward, and the maiden felt herself change, as the Maiden of the Cauldron was further blessed and invoked.

No longer sure where she ended and Arianhrod began, she reached for the Cauldron. Although Mysa had yet to pour the purified water, it was full!

She drank, quivering at the sensations, tasting tastes she barely recalled anymore: honey, apples, wine, berries, cheese, smoked meats, nectars...

She felt her heart pump, her blood flow... she truly felt as goddess, with no blemish or imperfection... she could taste this nectar forever....

No she couldn't. Overflowing was the warmth and love she felt, and had to share it - first with her sisters.

She raised the Cauldron to their lips, saying, "I thee bless. May you be nourished," first to Mysa, then to Jeka.

She could not stop there.

Beren and his men, out in the hall were next.

"My Lady," Beren managed, barely able to muster the words.

The Maiden drifted down the hall, giving communion to two passing guards en route to the great hall. The two stood near-paralyzed as she departed.

Her entry brought the revelry to a halt: all were transfixed, and the light of torches seemed to be replaced with a bright, soft moonlight.

She offered sips to all: servant, knight, maiden or noble, blessing them all as she gave them the Gift. It amazed her non-goddess self that each saw her as something different.

"Mother," Carolus greeted her.

"Isis," welcomed Querl.

"Brigid," said Laoraighll.

"Iasmin," Agravaine called her.

"Mary," said Luornu, making the sign of the cross.

"Mysa," said Mordru.

"Mother, you truly are as beautiful as I remember," said Rokk.

"Kiwa," said Imra.

Only Jonah, who she saved for last, saw her as she saw herself. "Tinya, my love," he wept, holding her hands rather than drinking.

"My love, you must drink, and we will be together at midwinter," she said, not knowing why, but knowing the words were true.

He kissed instead her lips, tasting the nectars from her own mouth.

And in a flash of light she was gone.

Hey!

I finally found the thread where I first told LWers about LoC:

It's here

I've only started reading, and I love it already. I guess I know what I'm doing the next couple of days...

Juan

Sean, you continue to delight us with your tale, it's excellent!

Chuck has been saying it for me but just in case you didn't guess - more, more, more!

Bxx

Thanks, gang!

Ninety-one

"That was quite a night!"

"That it was." Rokk, like most of his court, were still half-awed by the visitation they'd experienced. No doubt the Cauldron/Grail argument will again erupt in the morning, but-

Tomorrow arrives not til morning, Imra smiled at him.

"There's no idle thinking around you, is there?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean it... I just feel so good, I wanted to reach out to you-"

"-There's a better way to reach a young man's heart," he smiled, drawing close to her.

"I'll bet there is," she smiled, welcoming him.

They shared a warm, passionate kiss, and for the first time Rokk felt that everything was perfect: his court, kingdom and marriage...

...Rokk became fully awake in a split second, as if he'd been thrown into an icy lake.

He was still wrapped around Imra, who was sound asleep. He tried nuzzling up again beside her, pretending he was tired...

It wasn't working.

Sigh.

He straightened out, his left arm still beneath his wife. The moonlight streaming through the window is beautiful. Maybe my bride would like to share it with me?

He leaned close to her again. She was muttering in her sleep.

"Mmm glghdyghr hrrrwffmm... Garth."

Sigh.

He felt no ill will for his best friend, but coming from Imra after all they'd just shared truly hurt.

Carefully, trying not to wake her, he slowly pulled his left arm free, pausing every time Imra's pattern of sleep changed. It took the better part of half an hour.

Quietly, he slipped to his wardrobe room, and donned a simple tunic and leggings with warm boots and robe.

The palace was all quiet. Everyone no doubt was wrapped up warmly, savouring the magick of the evening.

Yet descending the stairs, he dwelled on Mordru's words. "You seek to restore life to the man who may cost you your bride? Your very kingdom?"

"Aye," he'd told him. ""I rule by trusting those I love, those who would stand by me."

"Then you're a fool," Mordru told him.

"A fool!" The memory echoed still, now interlaced with the passions he and his bride shared only hours before - and shattered by the realities that her heart let slip.

(Sigh.)

He stood at the balcony over the entry hall. How many mornings he'd come up here to watch the palace guards drill! He needed that, he told himself, to remember each day that he awoke not in Sir Brandius' villa, that the past eight months was no trifling dream.

Eight months ago, his sole duties were to tend the sheep, help with harvest, and mend fences. Some days he'd give it all up for such simplicity...

"What do you see?"

Iasmin startled him.

"The way people move so silently in these halls, it's not a wonder we've had a score of spies," he smiled, looking down at her. "Hold, I shall meet you there."

"I think that one gets so used to the echoes of the smallest sounds, that it gets hard to tell who is close, and who is far," she said, as he descended the stairs. "This palace must have been built from a soft stone indeed."

"This was Ambrosius' palace. When I build my palace, it shall be from harder stone, then. I like not how easily everyone sneaks up on me here."

"You already plan a palace?"

"Aye. Probably at Camulodunum, where I can be closest to the enemy."

"You... You weren't planning your palace just then, were you?" Iasmin saw in Rokk a similar look as when Iaime would pine for Morroc.

"No. I was thinking about, well..."

"Where you grew up?"

"Aye."

"When we first came ashore at Exeter, I said to Iaime, 'Why have we left the warmth and sun for this rainy, cold, damp place?' But in truth, now, despite all that's happened. This[i] is where I belong. I [i]feel it. We can still remember fondly whence we came from, but I can only bear out this time by looking forward," her voice started to quiver. "It isn't within me to reflect too much just yet."

Rokk held her.

"You are a brave, strong woman. Iaime was and no doubt is quite proud of you."

They held each other in silence for a time.

"My king? W-Where I come from, a king has... certain liberties beyond his marriage vows," her hold on him moved lower. "I'd be honored if you..." Her questioning smile let him finish the sentence for her.

He smiled. Recalling how Imra's calling Garth's name, so soon after their own endeavors, had hurt him, and he was very tempted to find solace with Iasmin.

He resisted not as she put her lips to his.

"You're a fool!" Mordru’s words came back to him - as did his own. "I rule by trusting those I love, those who would stand by me."

I cannot be the first to dishonour our vows, especially from a woman who reads my thoughts.

Sigh.

"I-I am truly sorry, Iasmin. I cannot do this. If my conscience and face give me away not, then-"

"-Queen Guinevere's gift of seeing one's bare soul will betray you. I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He grabbed her hand. "If I had one indication she has been untrue, I would-"

"-I know," she smiled bitterly. Looking him in the eyes once more, she kissed him again, then quietly departed, leaving him alone in the vast hall.

Ninety-two

"But where did she go? Obviously she took the cauldron with her," Reep said.

"Who was she?" asked L'ile. "She reminded me of a woman I knew long ago named Myla - but she'd long been dead."

"The woman I saw looked like our mother," Balin said.

"Nay! It was the virgin Mary holding the Grail!" Balan contradicted.

Lu shook her head annoyed. If I wanted to hear that, I'd have brought Luornu with me.

Jonah was angered. "Did any of you talk to her? NO! I did. I tell you, it was Tinya!"

The knights all paused, seeing no solution at hand.

"We'll not find out 'til we find her," said Rokk.

"My men tell me reports of 'miracles' similar to ours heading west, out of the city, and out along the western road," Reep said.

"Then we must ride-"

"-Calm down, Jonah!" Rokk shouted, surprising himself, his cousin and the others.

"No one goes charging off until we know what we're doing. Whether it was Tinya or some magicks that made us see what we wished. If she saw a horde of us riding after her, she's stay out of our sight, wouldn't she?"

The knights nodded.

"Reep and L'ile are in charge of sorting through reports. They may ask one or all of us to ride and gather information, but no one does so without their say-so. Understand?"

Again, they nodded.

"Now, Regardless of who it was -or wasn't- does anyone have any useful information to offer?"

"My king?" Jonah hesitantly spoke up. "Tinya told me she'd see me again at midwinter, and I've not seen her since around the palace. I-I usually can feel her nearby."

Dyrk rolled his eyes. He'd mostly accepted Tinya's existence, recalling instances where Jonah, Saihlough and Guinevere spontaneously had the same reactions to the ghost, but Jonah's word still carried little reassurance.

"Midwinter. Yule. When Mordru's spells to preserve Garth come to an end," Rokk noted. "Does she mean to be back to heal Garth? Nay, we can't delay on your account. I shall leave to see the Lady of the Lake."

"My sire! She's a sorceress!" Balan blurted, earning him a dire look from Rokk.

"She is my benefactor, friend and ally," the king said, with a ferocious rage building. "If you're so pious, Balan, look me in the eye and tell me you took no unchristian pleasure in tormenting the Lesidhe."

It was an abomination before God, just as Saihlough is, he wanted to say, but held his tongue. Surely the evils of women-kind are afflicting our king's heart.

Rokk continued. "I shall ride to Glastonbury with James, and hopefully we shall return with both Thom and good news."

He looked around. "I would see Querl before I leave. Has anyone seen him?"

"He left for Avalon with Beren and Tenzil this very morn. Had I known, you could have joined them," L'ile said.

"Perchance we shall meet them on the road," James said.

"Nay. They took the Path of Isis, and are no doubt already halfway to Avalon," L'ile said.

"Is there any other here who can navigate this path of which I have heard?" Rokk asked. "It would be nice to save three days' ride."

"That has been in Londinium of late, only Beren, that I know of," L'ile somberly answered, thinking of Aven's sacrifice.

"What about Mordru?"

"Mordru is... not welcome in Avalon. None have taught him the Path, I have been told."

L’ile did not say Mordru knew not the path, Reep noted. Yet if he did, has he not used it?[/i]

Ninety-three

"Welcome to Avalon, my dear!" greeted Lady Kiwa.

"It is good to be here," said Nura, stepping off the barge. "I wish only that we could have come sooner."

"My lady," greeted Marcus.

"Ah! Good duke. Welcome."

"King Marcus, my lady," he corrected, smiling politely.

"I realized not that you had also wed Queen Mysa," laughed Kiwa, leading them to the feasting hall.

"My elder sister renounced her claims to Cornwall," Nura told the priestess.

"You are Elaine?" Kiwa asked.

"That was my father, Gorlois' name for me, yes. I was raised in Eiru, where they called me Nuira, or Nura, which I have come to prefer."

Thom ran out, greeting them.

"My boy! Should you be up and about? Why, the word we received said your fevers-"

"-Were worsening, it's true. But we have had a miraculous few days, here and in Londinium," he laughed. "Remember Laoraighll's 'Cauldron of the Gods?' Well-"

"-The Cauldron's magicks were released? Oh, Thom! That is wondrous news!" Nura hugged him without thinking. After a momentary euphoria, they parted, receiving a cool stare from Marcus.

A man and a woman followed Thom's route out of the hall. Querl and Tenzil strolled behind.

"D--King Marcus and... Queen Nura of Cornwall," Kiwa said, "May I present Lady Tinya of Eboracum and..."

"Sentanta, son of Kell," said the man, with a thick Ulster accent.

"Dia daoibh, MacKell," greeted Nura.

"Dia daoibh," he returned the greeting.

Greetings continued, as the group returned inside - even in Avalon, November weather was not the most sociable. Kiwa had become strangely silent, occasionally stealing glances at Nura.

"I am hoping to see this fellow join Rokk's court," Querl said. "He's an impressive young knight."

"From whence in Eiru do you come?" asked Marcus.

"Emain Macha," he answered. "In Ulster."

"I don't believe I know the town," Marcus said, turning to his wife. "Do you?"

"No... but Ulster's capital of centuries ago had the same name," Nura said. "Back in the days of Craebh Ruadh, the knights of the Red Branch!"

The knight laughed. "That is true, the old fort is gone. Yet my homestead nearby remains."

"Your smile reminds me of a warrior-maiden, also of Ulster. Is she your kin?" Nura asked.

"T’is possible. I have so much family, I lose track. You refer to Laoraighll? We are... probably kin."

Marcus, meanwhile, was drawn to his companion. "Tinya of Eboracum? Why, you must be the daughter of Winifred!"

"Yes, I must," she said bitterly. "Pray tell me, your highness. If Queen Nura is Mysa's sister, then is she not King Rokk's sister also?"

"Nay. Despite the fairy-tale of Uther Ambrosius' seizing Tintagel and its lady over its master's corpse, in truth, jealous old King Gorlois had Igraine put aside once he even suspected his wife held Uther in her heart.

"He had already replaced her, with a new wife and child, by the time Uther and his armies came for Igraine - and the head of Gorlois. Fearing retribution, the child -Elaine- was sent to the safety of Eiru. She was Gorlois' second and final daughter," Marcus explained.

"And Nura's mother?" Tinya asked. Marcus shrugged, but she began to notice Kiwa's mannerisms around Cornwall's queen...

Ninety-four

Saihlough flew around the halls, having taken delight in playing a particularly fun prank on the guards.

Hiding keys or faking voices for patrols to flood into a cul-de-sac were fun enough, but she was particularly proud of the latest. The older guard who took his boots off to warm his feet by the fire never noticed her fill the empty boot with chilly gruel left over from evening mess.

She alternately laughed or sang a nonsensical fae-song as she flew.

Saihlough passed Agravaine, who was summoned to meet with Iasmin, or so the messenger said. His relief standing night vigil over Garth (Iaime had been buried at the Basilica before Rokk's departure) had decided to take a break himself, leaving the body unguarded in the palace chapel.

Saihlough figured this would be a good time to see if Garth's spirit had been around lately.

She flew in quietly, only to see a young woman weeping over the body, and it was neither Mysa nor the queen.

"I-I'm sorry, Garth. Why did it have to be you?"

Garth's reputation with the ladies was true! Saihlough thought, sneaking in closer.

She noticed how similar the maiden looked to Garth: similar features, accent, and even hair color!

"If only it was me instead of you. I'd do anything to have you back, my brother!" the maiden wailed.

Anything? Something else else about the girl touched Saihlough's heart.

Do I have enough faerie dust for this? Yes. I think I do...

"... I did wish ill on you, it is true, I see you as a truly repentant man," Iasmin said, trying not to stumble as she uttered the words she'd been practicing.

"I must do more," he said. "I fell the scales cannot be balanced so easily."

"Maybe not," she said, feeling the time and sentiment for punishment was passed. "I tell you this, if King Rokk approves....

"Besides wanting to be a great warrior in a company of knights, besides wanting to see Rokk's knights become the finest cavalry in Europa, he had another... dream. It was more daydream than goal, but," she paced uncomfortably, as if she were betraying some secret.

"He wanted to go to the Holy Lands, as a pilgrim. He wanted to help the poor, give aide to pilgrims and strangers, anonymously - with no benefit of our family's wealth," Iasmin said.

"W-Would you do this? For him?"

"It would be a great honor," he said reverently. "I pray that King Rokk agrees..."

"Agrees to what?" asked an intruder to the conversation.

Iasmin and Agravaine were stunned.

"Garth?"

Ninety-five

"I like it not."

"He's our king. What else can we do?"

The Northman itched his chin, as if it would make the answer apparent. It didn't.

"What if we deserted?" asked the Druid.

The others gave him a questioning look.

"I mean only this. We have no desire to go to war with King Rokk, do we? Well, we either fight or we flee, and mayhap we can join Rokk's ranks, and warn him of the treachery afoot," he concluded.

"Ai Don' knoo if thit's suich a woise curse of achtion," said the Orkneyman.

"Don't be so prickling," said the Pict, jibbing while maintaining his cold, serious face. "I see no better plan"

The others laughed.

"Fuir oince we agreigh," said the Scot. He didn't look up from tending the fire.

The others grunted their agreements.

The Northman nodded, taking it all in.

"All right then, lads. Come morning, Tarik of the 100 knights will find himself short a half-dozen, then."

Ninety-six

"Hounds' blood?"

"It makes sense," Tenzil said. "That's why I could taste no poison. No doubt the Khunds have taken to smearing on themselves, like war-paint!"

Breaking fast in Kiwa's hall offered only sweetbreads and fruit, leaving Marcus a bit dissatisfied.

No one else seemed to mind - Tinya and MacKell savoured each morsel like they'd forgotten what food tasted like - both with good reason. Genni, the late arrival, ate more than she spoke, having run all the way from Londinium over the past two nights and the intervening day.

"I tell you, Querl. Other than the final battle where Morrigu herself came for me, the only time I ever was ill was when Maebh's minions tricked me into eating hounds meat."

"Maeve, you said?" Tinya asked. "Jonah and I met a faerie -a Fir Darrig, that said Maeve was behind the Dark Circle."

"But how could she be alive, 600 years alter?" Tenzil asked.

"How can I?" MacKell said.

"But this conqueror-queen, surely we would have heard of her? With 600 years, she could have conquered all the Isles?" Thom asked.

"Maybe she was Boudacea!" Marcus jested, earning a round of laughter.

"Maybe she's Glorith of Man," Tinya said.

"T'is possible, so it is," MacKell replied.

"I tell you, MacKell- it still seems odd to call you that, Lar Chulain- I know not how you persevere for 600 years, stuck in one place, yet. I had enough torment for one year, and I could roam!"

"Aye, but I could see. And what sights there are in this world! There is a wall, several times Britain's length, in the land from whence the Huns came! There are giant lands covered in ice, year-round - two in the north, and one in the far south! And lands in Abyssinia where huge, strange creatures roam the plains!"

Genni nodded, having seen the latter.

Querl wanted to get back to the Ulsterians' weaknesses.

"How do we test this hounds-blood theory without risking getting you or Laoraighll sick again?" he asked.

MacKell nodded. "While the Cauldron is here, I may as well be your test-bird, Querl."

The Greek nodded. "Genni tells us Rokk and James will arrive on the morrow. I'd like to solve this by then."

Notes 88-95:
88: Iaime being the inspiration for the Siege Perilous - the seat where no knight must sit- was actually a last-minute brainstorm.
89: The tail bit I made up, but Irish lore says Lesidhe (sidhe is pronounced "Shee" as in Bainsidhe=banshee) is indeed a foliage-dwelling trickster.
90: For the first time since #10, I heavily lean on Marion Zimmer Bradley here - but Tinya instead of Morgaine/Mysa. And Jo puts his own twist at the end - he wouldn't behave and just take a sip - would you?
91: I knew this was coming, but not when.
92: Too early for an outright Grail-quest. Balan's getting a bit testy lately, isn't he?
93: I'd been meaning to get into the Nura-Mysa-Rokk relations for a while. Wasn't certain, right up to the end, about Kiwa's role, though. Early on, Nura was going to be related to no one - but then I discovered by some legends, Gorlois (Morgaine le Fae's daddy) did have another daughter (presumably with Igraine), Elaine -- a different Elaine than the one that appears in later Lancelot stories.
Sentanta was Irish legendary hero Cu Chulain's birth name. Mac means "son of" and Kell means "sacred" in Irish and "testicle" in Welsh. I figured as Cu Chulain was the son of the god Lugh, Lar would find the humor in this double-meaning name - spoofing his divine heritage.
94: Agravaine and Iasmin have taken longer to reach this point than I expected.
95:Be vewy qwiet. I'm hunting desewtews.

Ninety-seven

"I don't know, but something's not right," Dyrk said.

"How so?" Despite the Roman's previous misplaced concerns about Jonah, Reep still valued Dyrk's insights.

"It's like its him... but not him. I-I really can't nail down anything in particular, other than how little he remembers. Maybe it's best... pretend I said nothing," he got up from his chair, and paced several times before exiting.

"Maybe it's simply that we were growing to be friends, yet now he seems a stranger," he said, exiting.

Reep sat alone, pondering the situation. L'ile theorized the maiden's Cauldron-offering had a delayed effect in waking Garth. But could it not be him? He changed his face to resemble Garth. There. I've done it. And what if another has?

Reverting to normal, he set about his duties. Loomius wanted to meet about planning Rokk's new fortress, L'ile wanted to discuss a winter campaign into Kent while Khundish morale was low, and there were a litany of things to attend to.

Since sipping from the Cauldron himself, he felt better than ever. So why was it so hard to get up and out of the chair?

Something else else bothered Reep, and it wasn't just Garth's miraculous return.

Down the hall, Dyrk was intercepted by Luornu.

"Did you ask him?" She had an impatient smile in her eyes.

"We talked of... Garth. In all honesty, I forgot." He spoke truthfully, but knew she'd think otherwise.

"I...see. If my favour means so little to you, maybe I erred in so entrusting it," she said, storming away in a huff.

"Luornu! Wait..." he tried, but she did not heed.

"Would that the maidens were as simple to understand as swordplay, eh, good sir?"

"Go away, Carolus. I'm in no temper for jests."

"If I go away, I can't give you these to send to yon maiden," Carolus held out a small bouquet of spring flowers.

Dyrk was impressed. "Is this Mordru's magic, to have such blooms in November?" He examined the flowers, when there was a sudden burst of dust and wind, and he was holding a bunch of dead, wilted, rotting weeds.

Carolus laughed. "Sorry, good sir. I knew it not - In truth I was as amazed as you at the blossoms. Serves me to trust the Lesidhe for such a gift!"

He was going to give them to Luornu himself, Dyrk realized, picturing the floral implosion as he handed them to the maiden, and joining Carolus in a good belly laugh.

"No hard feelings, aye?"

"None," Dyrk answered. "And you may call me Dyrk."

Parting ways, he considered the illusions of faerie magic - and then reconsidered Garth in that context.

Ninety-eight

"Mac-El?"

"MacKell," corrected the Irishman. "I have no wish for there to be tales of the Hound's return, hence I have taken a new name. Now come. I shall show you the cave."

He led the way to the causeway that linked the Priestess Isle to the Tor.

"Be of care, MacKell. The walkway-"

"-Can be icy this time of morning, during the cold months," he smiled. "I've seen many a crosser fall flat, so follow Beren's instructions, my friends."

"He seems well enough," Beren whispered to Querl, having drifted toward the back of the procession.

"Aye. It seems the Cauldron has removed the contact-poison reaction to the blood, but I hesitate to suggest we try a small bit of foodstuff."

"I will not again eat dog!" MacKell snapped, stunning the entire group. Clearly only Beren was in Querl's earshot, the two had thought, while the rest looked at the Hound as if he were talking to ghosts.

"I only meant as a scientific study, to test and perhaps prevent such a poisoning in the future," Querl offered, apologetically.

MacKell nodded, then smiled. "Apologizes for reacting too harshly, then."

James strolled up next to the fellow he presumed to be one of Beren's Druids, given his priestly attire.

"I must beg your pardon. We seem to have been not introduced. I am Sir James," he said.

"Good to meet you, Sir James," the lad smiled, continuing his pace. Seeing James was waiting for a further response, he added, "I cannot say my name."

James exchanged glances with Tinya. Her face told him she'd tried as well. Neither could place his accent.

The Tor was not the steepest of hills, but perhaps of the mystical nature of Avalon, it seemed like a significant climb.

Tenzil enjoyed the crisp cold air. As far inland as his mind told him they must be - he caught the unmistakable smell of seawater.

And sure enough, as the morning fogs parted, he could see the shores of the isles as the sole land in sight - only endless sea.

"How is this possible? The shores of the Priestess Isle smells not of brine?" he asked.

"All of Avalon is an island, or a set of isles," Beren said. "But it is true that each of its isles are so in different ways.

"The Priestess Isle is an isle not unlike the small marsh islands that Glastonbury once was. The Tor is a windswept isle deep at sea. Each is different," he said.

"Just as each isle holds different entryways to our world," Querl concluded. "Just as we came by the Path of Isis from Londinium to the Teacher's Isle, you and King Rokk came across the lake at Glastonbury, James. And you must exit by the same gate you entered, else possibly meet Aven's fate."

"Or worse," Beren added.

James nodded, almost grasping it. "But by which way did Lar Chulain enter?"

Querl looked to MacKell, having wondered the same thing.

He shrugged. "I know not. I was dead," he laughed. "But what if I leave by the wrong gate," he asked, turning serious. "Tell me not that I am a prisoner of the heroes here?"

"I... know not. Either we guess, right or wrong, or entreat the Cailleach -your Morrigu- to tell us," Beren said. "If lucky you are, your rebirth here may afford you the privilege of using any path - but there, too, you must always return to Avalon by the same way. If you ever choose to return."

T'would be a shame, finding him and reviving him, only to lose him again, or see him bound here, Nura thought.

Thom, meanwhile, wondered how Rokk's talks with Kiwa were proceeding.

"There!" MacKell exclaimed, pointing to the hillside.

"I see no cave," Marcus said.

"Nor has any on Avalon's own, these centuries.”

"I see it," said the mysterious young priest. "Watch!" He waved his hand, and a cloud of mist blew aside, exposing a cave.

This fellow is a wizard! thought Thom. He must be from the Teacher's Isle.

MacKell nodded, impressed. "The lad has indeed found it! I... cannot re-enter that place. I've spent enough time in there."

Inside, the group found an amazing labyrinth, a virtual rainbow crystal. The young priest seemed to commune with each vein, and he seemed the only one at home with the place.

"To spend 600 years here..." Nura whispered. The crystals took her words, and overlapped them with a strange instant-echo effect.

Tinya shivered. It seemed that the ghosts of many hundreds still lingered here. What if she, too, were to become trapped here?

In a sudden panic, she fled the cave, running straight into MacKell's arms.

"Tinya! What is it?" he asked, as she tried to catch her breath.

"I know not. It was as if each of those crystals were a soul, and they wanted to ensnare me within them."

The others followed her out. "Tinya! Are you well?" Beren asked.

Sharing her feelings, she found that each visitor had a remarkably different type of reaction to the cave, yet only she and Querl held any negative experience.

"Tinya was not wrong. Another soul will be imprisoned there someday," Nura said.

Ninety-nine

"So what happened then?"

"Dyrk took me with him for a few tasks. He'd fallen on his face, apparently with an illness, at the market square, and asked for my assistance.

"We hunted a small fire drake out in the forest, and returned to find his enemy- Craniilus -Camius-"

"Cranyac," Imra offered.

"Yes, Cranyac. He and his men were waiting for us on the south road. We fought them, with Dyrk faring poorly, apparently still plagued by illness. It was up to me to face Cranyac."

"Did you?"

"...I faired less well than I expected. Dyrk, in his trickery, had felled two of.. Cranyac's men, and feigned difficulty with the third - actually the weakest and poorest fighter of the three. I knew what kind of swordsman I was supposed to be, yet wasn't achieving that."

"What happened next?" Imra asked, sliding back on her throne.

"As Cranyac took the upper hand, Dyrk shouted, 'Taranaut!' and I realized what he'd meant. I parried with one hand while moving my hand in the pattern I'd practiced. The lightning bolt fried Cranyac, and burned away the last of the faerie dust," she concluded at last.

"So it was then that you realized you were not Garth?" Imra said, while silently bidding Reep, who'd been listening at the door, to come back later.

"Then and only then," she blushed. "Everything we said yesterday-- I thought I was-"

"We both did," Imra said. "I pray you'll keep your confidence?"

"I shall. What is between you and my brother concerns no one else."

Imra smiled, thinking of Dyrk's ruse. He cleverly let the public believe him ill, coaxing Cranyac into making his move - and then testing the imposter's mettle. Yet he did not expect there to actually be any Taranaut, did he?

"So, we've covered everything but one. What do I call you?"

"Ayla."

"I am pleased to meet you, Ayla." She hugged Garth's sister, who unstiffened for the first time since the questioning began.

"I truly believed that Garth returned from the dead - and I knew you believed yourself to be him. Truly, I do. I hope that you'll stay, and either join my court ladies, or, as you've shown aptitude, the knights."

Ayla stared.

"Oh, come now. With Laoraighll and Lu, you'd hardly be the only lass among the lads," Imra smiled.

"I... must think on that," Ayla answered.

"Please do," Imra said, seeing her out. "Please stay with us."

Ayla walked down the hall, trying not to notice all those who stopped and stared.

Oh, Garth, she thought. Why did I ever come here?

"Oh, Garth," Imra echoed in the chambers behind. "I truly miss you. It hurts... gods. how it hurts."

One Hundred

On Gertus' Hill they all gathered.

Kiwa looked down on the young man laid out before them. She knelt and caressed his cheek. So cold, even for this December air.

She recalled Ban - handsome King Ban. The time was harsh in Lesser Britain, and the new king needed to make the Great Marriage to earn the backing of his people. I was but a young maiden myself, she thought. And what a gift the gods gave us! Twins!

Her mind drifted to memory: young Garth and Ayla visiting the Priestess Isle, not long after she herself had become its Lady. How amazed the maiden-students were to see the Lady playing with the tots! It almost eased the pain of losing Elaine. Nura.

She looked to Nura. She knows not, and this is not the time to tell her. But Ayla remembered, and came forward to hug her.

Mekt was remembering, too. As Ban's eldest and the only heir Ban's queen would birth, he took delight as a child in lording over his siblings, and tormenting them. As they grew and he reached maturity, he became their mentor and protector.

Was in really two years ago? he asked himself, recalling the strange trip along the seacoast. A storm sprang from nowhere, and the trio - separated from the servants and provisions - had to make shelter at the great stones at Karnak. No one could have foreseen what would happen. "Taranaut," he whispered. Ayla squeezed his hand.

Mysa looked and saw both the little boy who called her "Mysa of the Fairies," and the young lover who could push her inner torments aside with his smile... and dispel them with his touch...

"You love her, don't you?" I had said to him, the last time we lied together. "Yes. Yes, I do," he sheepishly replied. His worried frown faded when I leaned forward and kissed him again, reaching for more... Mysa's thoughts were interrupted by a rude stare from Imra.

Ayla recalled Garth's growing pride of being Lesser Britain's great hero, and the call to arms to meet the Khunds at Camulodunum.

"Be careful," said I. "Worry not, my sister. I shall single-handedly slay the mightiest of Khunds in your honour!" he said. She sobbed at the memory. The mighty Zaryan was dead, yes, but so was Garth!

Mekt reached out to comfort her.

For MacKell, the hill was deja vu. He'd seen the entire battle from afar, but now he was here in person. He could lay out the field - where Lu was, the Computus, how Dyrk rushed in - everything. But the vision of Zaryan rushing Lu... she fired the ballista! Zaryan was knocked aside and barely breathing...

Garth, barely able to stand, shouting '"No! The curse! Let it not be her!"

He limped over to the Khund, moving his hands in a pattern... bringing the-

"Lightning. It's almost time," Rokk said, interrupting MacKell's thoughts. "No one is obligated to stay here. No one shall think the lesser of any who leave. After all, it's only for the 13 of us to risk. As long as Kiwa's spell is successful, only one of us - if any of us- will die."

Rokk himself was thinking of his meeting with Kiwa, now weeks ago. "Of course I shall help. But Khundish magicks are different. There may be a sacrifice needed," Kiwa said. Yet I cannot also recall the bitter look of the senior priestess Azura. She looked as if I'd take Kiwa's life.

Watching the lightning strikes across the sky, he thought, maybe she was not far wrong.

Jonah, L'ile, James, Iasmin... everyone pondered their beloved friend as an icy rain commenced, immediately pouring down in sheets.

Rokk and Thom passed out the metal rods that the Priestesses had been crafting for the past month.

Too many had insisted a place in the circle, so lots were drawn: Rokk, Imra, Reep, MacKell, Ayla, James, Thom, Kiwa, L'ile, Dyrk, Agravaine, Brandius and Mekt would participate. They formed a circle around Garth's body. The rest would hold vigil behind them.

Kiwa invoked the gods, but few could hear her words. Only the phrase, "Take one of us!" made it through the wail of the storm.

Luornu grumbled, but held her tongue. This is blasphemy! They threaten not only their own souls - but Garth's!

Balan's thoughts were even less charitable.

As if in response to Kiwa's invocation, lighting was striking closer and fiercer. Many were knocked around or down by the raw intensity of the storm: wind and rain, even if not the blasts themselves.

"Shield your eyes!" Nura warned, instants before lightning struck the circle. The thunderclap knocked everyone down, and it would take minutes or more to regain eyesight and hearing.

One of us was hit. But who? Rokk thought.

The wind cleared, and L'ile and James were the first to recover and relight their torches.

As everyone else recovered, L’ile found the body of the one whose life was called. "Reep! No!"

Hey. I've had a fun couple of hours reading through this. I like you how twisted the powers to fit in with their world... definitely one of the cooler AUs I've seen.

Thanks, P-Del!

One Hundred and One

For more than a month they'd evaded their pursuers.

But no more.

At the edge of Perilous Forest, they'd walked into an ambush. A band of about 30 of Tarik's knights had cornered the deserters.

The Northman led them to retreat to a cave, where the knights could only come at them two at a time.

Frustrated with the potential stalemate, Caradoc called in.

"Every warrior gets cold feet. Tarik is not so unforgiving that you must die for your error. Come out, and I will assure you a reasonable punishment - say, guard duties on the northern coasts."

Hearing no answer, he tried again. "If you surrender not, we will have no choice to kill you all."

His scouts returned, telling him there was no trace of any other egress from the cave.

Caradoc lined up his men in the order that would proceed in, assuming 10 at the most could do the job.

The first two entered, only to run out screaming, covered in vines.

"It's only a vine mesh. A Druid trick, you fools," the leader sighed.

"Sorry, sir. It felt like snakes."

The next two entered, and also fled, screaming.

"What now?"

"I swung my sword into one of them, but it bent as if I'd hit rock. A-And then, a burst of darts hit us-"

Caradoc nodded. "The Orkneyman's dart trick. Very well, we shall smoke the out."

He ordered his men to start a fire at the cave's mouth, while others gathered heavier logs for a bonfire. As the blaze got going, a two-headed Ettin charged out screaming, frightening the men, and kicking the fire out.

One archer managed to get off a shot, but missed before the creature fled within again.

"Fools!" Caradoc raged. "The entire winter campaign is botched because you can't finish off these villains!" This wasn't entirely true- Rokk's surprise routing of the Khunds caused plans to be re-thought- but his men didn't have to know that.

"Archers, watch the cave at all times! Fire detail, build the bonfire before lighting it! And I want two knights on duty neat the cave's mouth to protect the fire-builders!" he continued.

The base was built, and larger branches were being piled on, when a burst of flame shot out of the cave, prematurely lighting the fire and setting the two fire-builders ablaze.

The two guard knights rushed up, and eventually extinguished their blazing comrades with their cloaks.

"ENOUGH!" Caradoc bellowed. He drew his sword and entered himself.

The Pict stood at his front. Caradoc guessed his stony look may be more than a look, based on the one knight's report.

"How much gold will it take to separate you from your companions?" he asked, pretending to reach for his purse, but instead threw his cloak over the man's face, and slipped by him.

The steel he met was easily enough defeated, and as he surmised, the dart and fire tricksters hadn't the time for more assaults.

He marched them outside for proper execution, only to find his men writhing on the ground.

"With the pox they have, I'd advise against touching them," said a cloaked maiden. She withdrew her hood, revealing a pale, disease-marked face.

"You made it!" the Northman beamed.

"More trickery!" Caradoc waved his sword, not certain whether to assault the maiden. Surely she could not have afflicted his men in so short a time?

"Sneeze!" she commanded, and he did - a deep, painful sneeze.

"Cough!" She commanded, and he began coughing so hard he could barely hold his sword.

"Let us flee, my comrades," she told the rebels.

"Should we not kill him whilst we have the chance?" the Northman asked.

"Nay. He did my mother a good turn once, when still an honourable knight he was," she said. "I owe him that."

But approaching closely, so he could not fail to hear, she added, "But the scales are balanced, Caradoc. Leave my friends alone, else you shall die a more painful death than you may imagine."

"Come, lads," the Northman called. "We must get to Londinium with even greater haste!"

[this was a duplicate of #101]

One Hundred and Two

At last! They return home from Lothian's Yule celebrations!

He skulked along the hillside, seeking the best approach to the camp, doing his best to remain silent. Although the night was his ally and kept him from being seen, it also hid many of the branches he had to weave through.

The snow crunched softly beneath his feet - too softly, he hoped, for the night guards to hear.

He was almost within earshot.

The fire crackled, helping to cover his noise, but the horse whinnies made him take pause.

The two Novantae men chatted and joked, ignoring the horses, as means to distract themselves from the cold, and help keep themselves awake.

These are no true warriors, naught but poor mercenaries in Amhlaidh's pay, he thought. If it's Amhlaidh's gold they value above all else, then they, too, will accept death as a payment.

He crept silently to the back of the tent, grateful that the snow was more powdery where the horse and foot traffic had stirred up the surface.

The back of the tent betrayed no opening.

No matter.

He removed the faerie gauntlet from his left hand, and let his palm burn a hole in the tent-side.

May the smell of burning hides not wakes those within, he wished, not daring to pray it so.

Luck was still with him, and the woman was only starting to wake from the stench.

"W-Who is there?" she hoarsely tried to shout as the intruder entered. Unheeding, he made his way to the old man who slept beside her.

The children were starting to stir, whether it was her attempt to shout, the smell, breeze through the new back entryway.

"Amhlaidh, I name you betrayer," he silently said with sadness. There was no pleasure, no gloat to be had.

He pressed his palm onto the sleeping man's face, who awoke with a shriek of agony.

The guards rushed in with torches, and the two sleeping guards awoke as well. They saw a dark-helmed man kneeling over their master's headless body, and the smell of burnt human flesh made them gag.

The two fully awake guards pulled their swords, while the other two groggily reached to find theirs.

The woman hoarsely wailed at the sight of her man, while the children cowered.

I should have killed the first two ‘ere, he realized his mistake, in too hastily seeking his vengeance.

The first guard swung his sword, but the intruder dodged, and knocked the weapon aside, hitting the flat with his palm.

Pulling the sword back for another try, the weapon seemed lighter, and a small splash of molten steel rained down on the woman, causing her to shriek in earnest.

The two standing guards looked at each other, then ran.

"Children! Flee," ordered one of the awoken two, raising a glaive to parry off the fiend. "You, too my lady!"

This one is smart enough, the intruder thought. He reached for the blade, but hit only air, as he was anticipated. Feigning a grab by his deadly left hand, but caught the pole itself below the blade with his right.

The small wound was worth it, as the metal sizzled.

"GO!" The guard again ordered the children, realizing the mother was cornered.

"Caelestia! Leyllain! You must go," their mother ordered, as they indeed fled.

"Go. Watch over them," the head guard ordered the fourth man.

With the pole gone, he reached for his sword.

"That won't stop me," the intruder sneered.

"Nay, but it buys time."

And it did. Within a minute, it was just the intruder and Amhlaidh's bride.

"Before you kill me, please tell me why?" she whispered.

The intruder was angered.

"Not one soul in my village received such privilege!" he shouted, reaching for her face.

One Hundred and Three

"Let me look at you!," Tinya playfully grabbed Jonah's face, inspecting it carefully. He was only too happy to let her. "All those dragon teeth wounds are gone!"

"You ought to know. You healed them," he smiled. Spontaneously, he picked her up. Seeing her surprise, he said, "I could touch you not for a year, and could not even see your phantom for a month and a half. I'm not letting you go again!"

They laughed, and paused for a kiss.

The others passed them by, continuing the descent.

"I guess Jonah will be too busy to lead patrols into Kentish country for a while," James laughed. "How do you feel?"

"Well, have you ever awoken, having slept on your arm so soundly that you woke, but it remained limp, asleep, with no feeling - and how it stung as it awoke? Well, my whole body feels as such - only 10 times worse," Garth said, trying to smile. He walked stiffly indeed, but insisted on walking, as Beren advised.

Rokk and Imra walked close by, although Mekt and Ayla insisted on being the ones to accompany him, and offer support if needed.

"I still understand not this ploy," Rokk said.

"Well, it all started with Saihlough's trick. She saw how distraught we were with Garth's demise, and thought granting Ayla's wish would please us. Faeries don't view life and death as we do," L'ile began.

"But she used so much magic transforming Ayla, that she half-faded from the world herself. Drifting in another realm, perhaps the one Tinya dwelled in so long, she overheard the plan to 'fix' the sacrifice," he continued.

Imra appreciated that L'ile did not mention that she learned of Kiwa's plan, and intended to make the sacrifice herself.

"But why would Kiwa-?" Rokk began.

"Even though distant, she is Garth's mother. And perhaps she felt that she would rather give up her life, with her years, than see a younger person perish," L'ile conjectured.

They looked over at Kiwa, who was deep in a hushed conversation with Nura.

"Best not to disturb them. Continue, L'ile," asked Imra.

"Saihlough alerted myself and Reep, and Reep told the Lesidhe to find the rod that Kiwa specially enchanted-"

"-Which I used, along with Iaime's magic belt, to take on the lightning bolt myself - and survive!" Reep finished. "Unfortunately, the Lesidhe, still hidden inside my cloak, enjoyed no such benefit."

"I marvel that Querl let it out of his possession long enough to let you," Rokk said. Ever since Iasmin had given it to him, it was his constant companion - even more so than Laoraighll.

"We... forgot to tell he we were borrowing it," L'ile admitted. "The fewer who knew the plan, the better."

Rokk nodded.

"And praise be that the Grail is back were it belongs - in Christian hands!" Luornu announced. "May it never leave again."

Dyrk winced. He knew what was yet coming.

"It should go to Rome, there the pope himself may be its steward, as God wills," she continued.

"I have thought on this," Rokk said "Mayhap the best place to keep it is Avalo-"

"My liege! You CAN'T!" Balan erupted. "We would be remiss as Christians to let heathen hands keep watch over the Grail!"

"The Cauldron was being my gift to King Rokk. It is his to decide how used it shall be," Laoraighll said, showing off her still-improving Latin.

"Nay! T'is-" Luornu began.

"ENOUGH!" Rokk shouted, earning the attention of the entire procession, which came to a stop.

He turned to Luornu and the still-smouldering Balan. "While I believe Avalon is the best place to keep it, I have heard you." He turned to Thom. "Did you not tell me there were Christians on Avalon?"

"Aye. A community that claims descent from Joseph of Arimathea dwells on the fifth island," he said. "When I was well enough, I would visit with the priest there."

"Then that is where the Cauldron-Grail-whatever shall be kept!" Rokk announced. "Lady Kiwa, may entrust you to-"

"Trust HER!" Balan shouted. "Trust a heartless pagan priestess who seeks to corrupt the souls of our high king - and all Britain?"

"Mind your words!" shouted Garth. Although too wobbly to fight, he drew his sword.

As did Balan.

"Garth! Bother! Calm thyselves" Balin tried, but neither listened.

"You're too weak, Garth," Balan chided. "Go on. Try!" He waved his arms open to give the knight a shot, but as his arms began reflecting torchlight, Garth knew better than to try. At first he appeared to tremble, but he was only moving his fingers and lower arms very rapidly...

"Both of you! Stop this!" Rokk commanded. "This has been a day to celebrate - yet know two good knights are at each others throats? NO, I say! Stand down at once!"

The two reluctantly did so, as Balan stuck his sword into the ground.

"Now shake hands."

Their arms made pace, but not their eyes.

"Good Sir Balan, please. I beg of thee-" began Kiwa, using soft, soothing words. Mysa had seen her tame ogres with such a magical lull.

Balan trembled in anger.

"-Let us not be at odds," she continued. "Why, we can let Father Marla himself deliver the Cauldron-"

"-ENOUGH, SORCERESS!" Balan shrieked, picking up his sword and cutting her down in one fell swoop.

Everyone stood agape, as did Balan at his deed. Suddenly, he dashed off into the woods. Regaining his wits, Balin pursued.

"Mother!" Ayla said, choking on the word. L'ile and Beren knelt to tend her, but there was nothing that could be done.

One Hundred and Four

James's team entered the besieged city of Durobrivae without fanfare.

Since Jonah's conquest of the city almost two months ago, a heavy British infantry presence existed in an uneasy silence with the heavily Khundish population.

James was shocked at the atmosphere of naked anger. Senior troops from Londinium freely took out their rage for Zaryan's attack - openly and publicly on the streets.

Yet not a Khundish man aged 12 to 50 appeared on the streets. Did Zaryan bleed dry his best warriors? If so, then good, he thought.

The occupied Khundish settlement, their closest to the Londinium, would be the launching point for further subjugation of Kent - if necessary. The withdrawal of forces by the rebel kings made that problematic, however.

James' riders were welcomed by Sir Derek, who Rokk had charged with overseeing the occupation.

He vowed not to redress Derek in front of his men - but felt obligated to see some moderation by the troops.

They were ushered into the municipal hall, an imposing Roman structure that looked out at both bridges across the Medway - the key to Durobrivae's strategic importance.

"Greetings, Sir James," smiled the Khund.

James had to stifle a laugh, thinking of a joke Dyrk had made about why Khunds smile.

"James, may I introduce Duke Kiritan of West Kent," Derek said, doing his best to contain his sneer.

"I greet you on behalf of King Rokk," James said.

The men sat, and Derek's men fetched ale.

"If you will forgive me for cutting through the pleasantries, I wish to be frank. With Zaryan's death, his brother Galmark is now king, and he wishes peace," Kiritan began.

He nodded at the skeptical looks he received.

"Zaryan decimated our forces in a foolhardy move than most of us opposed. I know you'll believe it not, but it began with his... conversion."

That drew curious eyebrows, at least.

"Two springs ago, Zaryan accepted Bishop Vidar's invitation to attend Pentecost services in Londinium. The two became fast friends, and they talked of a mighty cathedral to be built in Kent - in Canterbury.

"While Zaryan welcomed Vidar's missionaries, they did little to win over the populace as quickly at the two schemed.

"Zaryan fumed - raged even - and I believe Vidar urged him on. Whenever the two spent time together, Zaryan returned more fixated, more zealous than before.

"Vidar's ouster to Rome confused him, yet word came that there was treachery afoot - and he aligned himself with a pair of exiled Suevi rulers - and the court of Lothian. As a pledge of alliance, Queen Morgause and Zaryan exchanged fosterlings."

The mention of Morgause made James uneasy, thinking on word from the north... but no matter.

"So, you say Zaryan, a Christian, attacked Londinium, the seat of Christianity in Britain?" James questioned.

Kiritan nodded. "It seems unwise, true. But Zaryan was near-crazed, raving about the heathens and devil-worshipping cults, as Vidar told him. He wanted to strike them down, and hurt the king who abided by it."

That certainly sounds like Vidar, James thought, cringing at the memory of Balan. Maybe Vidar's madnesses have stronger roots than we believed.

"King Rokk is prepared to make peace, contingent upon several conditions," James began. "First, you must tell us everything you know of the Suevi monarchs and their allies..."

One Hundred and Five

Garth stood on the terrace of the absent Sir Derek's villa, looking out at the snow. He stepped out from the enclosure, stepping out into the snow. As he did as a boy, he stuck out his tongue, to catch, taste and drink snowflakes.

"You are still a little boy!" Mysa chided. "And you'll be lucky not to catch ill if you stand out in the snow without boots!"

"That I can feel the wet snow through my leggings is miracle enough. Come! Join me out here!"

She giggled. About to object, she thought, Why not? and did so.

"Brrr!" she shivered, wading after him, trying to match his footsteps in the powder to ease her way. Finding a spot of ice mixed in the snow, she almost fell, but Garth was close enough to catch her.

"Why are we out here?" she laughed.

"Listen."

They stood there, listening to the flakes silently drift earthward.

He looked at her as if to say, "Do you here that?"

Her face silently said, "Hear what?"

He smiled. His grin was so infectious and warm, she couldn't help but join in.

"Not a bird, mouse or deer about. Not a soul," he whispered. "No breeze, no voice, no sound."

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" she whispered back. It had been so long that she had no concerns other than to enjoy a snowfall. "The world is quiet and white, and no-one here to steal it from us."

"And no one here to steal you from me, or see me do this!" He pushed her down, and leapt himself down into the snow. She protested and laughed, as they threw snow at each other.

Catching their breaths, they came face-to-face, and kissed. Despite the realization of dampness and coldness with the ceasing of motion, neither made physical comfort the priority of the moment.

One kiss turned into a series of little kisses, with Garth following each deep, passionate kiss with a short kiss upon her lower lip, as if a signature.

Finally, he paused, looking straight into her eyes.

"Marry me, Mysa."

She hadn't expected that - what to answer? What about Imra? What about Mordru? What would the court think?

But before she could gather any words, a sensation came upon her.

She sneezed in his face.

Unable to help herself, she began laughing, but managed to blurt an apology between guffaws.

Garth's embarrassment segued into his own laughter. "Let's get you beside the fireplace, my lady!"

One Hundred and Six

The same snowfall also covered Londinium in a blanket, although the occasional horse or patrol made temporary ripples in the peace.

MacKell, too, was as enchanted with the snowfall as Garth, tasting it, feeling it, squeezing a handful and watching it melt between fingers until only a small root-like wad remains.

Jonah and Tinya came upon him, and greeted him.

"Good day, young lovers! Is it not a glorious day?"

Indeed, the first snowfall of note since his -our- return could be no less beautiful, she thought. How strangely joyous, as it also reminds me the most of floating around unseen.

"It is indeed," Jonah agreed. "May I ask you to look after my Tinya a moment? I must inquire with Farther Marla of word from Lothian."

"T'would be a pleasure," MacKell replied, and turned his attention to the maiden. "How are you settling into court?"

"W-Well enough, I guess. It's odd, though. I know all of them well enough- mayhap too well- but they know me not at all, except Guinevere."

MacKell nodded. "We have much in common, including that. I could tell you the layout of Querl's laboratories, yet that would not make me his friend - only earn his suspicion. Perhaps that you have seen so much gives them less ease."

"You're a man of insights," she sighed. "I-I wish Jonah could be more so-" A sniffle and sob that she didn't intend to issue did so of their own accord.

He wiped her tear.

"For a year, you two loved but could touch not. Despite the pain, it also... made yours a pure, ideal love," he said softly. "Expect the bruises of the heart, now that you have each other, or..."

She waited for his words.

"...I should not say this; perhaps my thoughts are coloured by the maiden who saved my life." He looked at her, eye-to-eye, and was about to speak. "I-"

"No word at all!" Jonah returned, loudly sharing his misfortunes with any who'd listen, whether they cared to or not. "MacKell? You look as though you swallowed your heart!"

"Nay," the Irishman joked. "The worms did that 500 years ago!"

As the couple went on their way, Tinya looked back, guessing what his words would have been.

MacKell had turned the other way, returning to the palace.