Meeting of Two Worlds.

“It is a sword,” Arthur told her, actually flushing at the way she examined the weapon. She had it lying flat upon a table, and was bent over to look at it more closely. Her nose practically touched the hilt, and she was whispering to herself. The other knights stood about and snickered, and Arthur could just make out certain comments said just loud enough to reach his ears. “There is nothing about the weapon that is worthy of such an inspection.”

“On the contrary,” she finally straightened, and blinked to focus on the owner of the blade. “In legends you, as a child, tore the blade free of a stone, marking you as rightful king of Britain. The sword was forged by the Lady of The Lake, and had been given to your father, Uther, before you. He died in battle, and you had been taken into the custody of Merlin to keep you safe. When you pulled the sword you were made king. Upon your death it was returned to the Lady. Some legends say Lancelot returned it, and some say it was another knight or other.”

Now his face felt very warm. “I am no king, the sword marked my father’s grave, and there is no Lady of The Lake. I most certainly would never allow a Woad to raise me, and certainly not Merlin.”

Head tilted she regarded him intently. “If it marked your father’s grave how did you get it?”

Snickers sounded as Arthur flushed more darkly. “As a child I pulled it free to attempt to save my mother from Woads.”

“Then there is some basis of reality to the legends. I believe that all legends were once reality, but warped over the years of telling.” She nodded to herself. “I’ll have to make note of that. I wonder if it’s here anywhere?”

“She likes to talk to herself a lot,” Bors commented. “I noticed that before.”

Some of the other knights nodded. “What other legends are there about us?” Gawain asked.

Meagan turned, eyes bright. “Well, you are reported to be Arthur’s nephew. Your mother is Morgause, Arthur’s sister, and your father Lot of Orkney. You become king of Orkney when your father dies. A lot of the legends about you are romantic.”

“Really?” There was amusement in his eyes. “Arthur’s nephew? Better than being Lancelot’s son.”

“In one legend you must face the Green Knight. In your first battle you chopped his head off, but he did not die, and you must meet him again a year later. This time you must let him chop your head off.”

“That will hurt,” Bors couldn’t help commenting.

“On the trip to meet him, a year later, you take shelter at a castle, and there the Lord’s wife attempts three times to seduce you. The first two you accept a kiss only, but will not touch her. On the third she offers you a token as protection, and you accept it. And later learn that the Green Knight is her husband, and knows you took the token and kissed his wife.”

“Does he kill Gawain?” Galahad asked, listening intently to her tale.

“No. Three attempts he took, but the most he did is nick Gawain’s throat. Though legend has it that shame makes Gawain wear the garter when he returns to Camelot.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “As for you, Galahad, legends have it you are the son of Lancelot. That when Arthur searched for the most loyal and faithful knight he was sent upon the quest to Lancelot’s homeland. There he meets Lancelot, and brings him to Camelot. They love one another like brothers, and there are no two more loyal friends…”

“I sense a but in this tale,” Bors stated.

Meagan blinked. “Oh yes, but that is another story. Let’s just say something happens, and they part ways, but the love is always there, and in the end Lancelot and Arthur reunite to fight against evil. But legend says it was not the father that Arthur should have returned to Camelot, but the son. Galahad is known as the pious knight.” This brought about fits of laughter from many, and dark blushes from said knight. “His shield has a cross, and he is the one to undertake the quest for the Holy Grail to save his king, Arthur. The most pious, the most chivalrous, the truest of the knights. Almost holy.”

Bors nudged the young knight. “Where did you go wrong?” he teased.

Her eyes fell upon Lancelot. “But the most famous knight was Lancelot. Like a brother to Arthur, you championed him and believed in him wholly. One legend has it that your mother left you by a lake to aid your father, and the Lady of the Lake took you and raised you as her own son. Your internal war was greater than any physical battle you could ever face.”

Lancelot did not like the sadness that dimmed her eyes. “Legends. They are but stories, spun to entertain children.” He snorted as he dismissed the tales.

“So you do not love Arthur?” Bors teased.

“Enough,” said man broke in. “Have you forgotten the shadows? They are loose across the veil. We cannot sit here and do nothing, even if it means death attempting to stop them. I will not ask you to do this, but I for one will go across the veil.”

“Where you go I go,” Dagonet stated.

“I as well,” Tristan softly said.

“You will need me to watch your back,” Bors added.

“I am with you,” Gawain nodded.

“I also,” Galahad added.

He spoke no words, but Lancelot nodded his own acquiescence as well. “And what of her?”

Meagan’s lips pursed. “I’m going too. And nothing you say will change my mind.”
………………………………

Arthur watched, dispassionately, as Meagan struggled in vain. “Jols will make certain you are freed and across the veil by dawn.”

Bors made certain the ropes were knotted tightly, and moved around to face her to ascertain that the gag was well in place. Beaming he winked at her. “There. Secure.”

Straining against the bonds she spat against the gag, and tried to kick at him. Her eyes were dark with rage. They had strong-armed her to the stables, and tied her to one of the wooden pillars. Though they couldn’t understand what she was saying they understood that her language was extremely colorful at the moment. All her rage did was fuel Bors’ amusement, and the bald knight laughed as he turned away and headed out the door.

Arthur neared her. “You gave me no choice. Your safety is paramount. I refuse to let you foolishly enter a battle you cannot win.”

She could have told him the same thing, had she been able to, but she was soundly gagged, and the legendary man’s green eyes were unreadable and distant as he faced her. In desperation she let her eyes plead with him, small whimpers escaping her, and strained once more against the ropes. His response was to turn abruptly, and march out of the stables. Shoulders sagging she bowed her head, sobbing as she stamped a foot in frustration.

Galahad let the others leave before he went up to her. Grasping her by the shoulders he shook his head. “You will harm yourself,” he softly told her. When her face lifted he slid his hands up her neck, over her jaw, and to her cheeks, wiping away the wet tracks from her tears. “I am sorry.” Twirling he rushed out, hurrying to catch up with the others.

Meagan panted, eyes wide and heart thudding. His touch had been so gentle, his voice so low, and his eyes so full of hope that she would forgive him. She hadn’t exactly blamed him. She blamed Arthur, who had given the orders, and Bors for taking too much damn pleasure in tying her up! Okay, so she was miffed with Dagonet, Gawain and Lancelot for capturing her and carrying her to the stables, holding her while Bors tied her up. But Galahad had not partaken in the events. She could not blame him.

A few horses remained in the stables. Not the knights’ steeds. Those had been saddled and armored for the battle to come. Even the knights had been putting on their armor while Bors tied her up. She had this very strong feeling that the knights’ souls were in mortal danger, and there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening.

Stamping her foot again she tried to shout for help, hoping that someone would hear and come to untie her. Her throat became raw and hoarse, and her head ached from the effort. No amount of kicking the pillar or stamping her foot helped because the replying kicking and stamping of the horses only drowned it out. Frustration had tears stinging her eyes, and Meagan slowly sank to the floor of the stables, her head falling forward and her shoulders sagging in defeat.

Her heart ached, and she flung a prayer out to the Goddess. “Goddess… Brigit, I beg you, please keep them safe. They would save your children. Do not let the shadows destroy them. I would help them if I could. I don’t know how.”

The horses began to wicker loudly, and the stamping increased. A breeze blew, and one of the doors began to open and shut repeatedly, banging loudly. Meagan’s head lifted, and she worriedly glanced about. The horses were nervously shifting in their stalls, trying to turn away and escape. Their neighing grew louder, and Meagan knew that the breeze was more than just a wind.

Fear began to claw at her. Had the shadows lured the knights away, and now had returned? Would her soul now be taken? She felt trapped, helpless, and desperate. Struggling anew she whimpered in fear as both doors to the stables blew open, a funnel of wind whirled inside, and debris was lifted and spun about. It approached, and Meagan tried to scream, but soon choked on the dust of the sandy floor and of the straw that littered the stalls and floor. Dust stung her eyes, making them water and blink, and finally she resigned herself to shutting them and awaited her destruction.

Her curls whipped about her, the whirlwind slapped at her face and howled in her ears, and then she fell forward as the ropes dropped and the funnel wind tore through a stall and out a rear door. Gasping Meagan lay unmoving for a moment, blinking dust and grit from her eyes. When it finally sank in that she was free she pushed to her feet and stumbled out the double doors, her fingers clawing at the gag, yanking it down and then pulling the wadded cloth from her dry mouth.

As she ran past the tables she had sat with the knights at earlier she snagged a tankard of ale and downed it to wet her parched mouth. Tossing it away she broke into a run, heading for the veil, and ignoring a startled Jols who blinked in disbelief to see her go past. She could see the soft shimmer of the veil ahead, and taking a deep breath plunged towards it at full running speed.