Gwen heard hoofbeats. She looked up from the well to see the knights of Camelot ride through the arch of the city gates. At first she was relieved – Arthur was safe, and he was home. But then she noticed something else – the pure white stallion was with them, but then, it's reins were being held by Arthur. Something was missing. Lancelot. Why wasn't he sitting grandly astride his horse? And then she realised.
In Arthur's hand was a cape and a bare sword with no scabbard. Gwen looked up at her love in horror as her brain joined up the dots together. Arthur's face was grave. Gwen burst into tears; Lancelot was gone.
Arthur quickly dismounted and ran up to Gwen, pulling her into a comforting hug, trying to calm her sudden outburst.
"Shhh," he whispered softly in her ear and kissed the top of her head.
"Where is he?" Gwen asked, unable to look at Arthur. "Where's Lancelot?" Arthur sighed and pulled Gwen closer.
"Gwen, you know why we set off for the Isle of the Blessed, don't you?" he asked her.
"To seal the veil." She sniffed. Why did this matter?
"You know we needed a sacrifice?" Gwen shook her head. "I was going to give my life for Camelot. Lancelot…" he trailed off and gently lifted Gwen's head. "Lancelot jumped in at the last minute and sacrificed himself." Gwen's heart flooded with unexpected sorrow and she buried he face into Arthur's shoulder, hiding her tears.
"Why?"
GWEN'S POV
And that's why I'm doing this. You didn't have to, Lancelot. We could have found another way.
This is why I'm travelling to the Isle of the Blessed. You deserve ten times more than any nobleman. I can't tell you that, it's too late for that. You deserve more than Camelot gave you, and I wish you could have known that.
There it is. The Isle of the Blessed. I take Lancelot's sword in my hand. I know what I have to do. The sword is all that Camelot's got left of Lancelot – that and memories.
I clamber sorrowfully out of the old wooden boat and make my way up the stone steps. I hear the screeches of the wyverns overhead, but they don't scare me.
I make my way to the ruins of the old hall, where, once, a realm of great and powerful sorcerers would have stood. There's the table where it all happened.
I hope you can see this, Lancelot. There's not much I can give you, not now. But, if I could do one last thing, it would be this.
I take out of my leather bag a small trowel, and begin to dig a hole, just the right size and shape for Lancelot's precious sword. I heave out a slab of metal that I engraved myself, reading –
LANCELOT
Brave Knight Of Camelot
Never to be forgotten
I place the slab over the sword, and say my last goodbyes.
I do not believe sorcery is right, nor do I trust it, but, if I could ask one thing of the mighty sorcerers no longer known to this world, it would be to watch over you. Lancelot – my friend, my guardian, my brief love.
Come home, Lancelot, please. I miss you.