"Sir Lancelot- I've a letter for you—from his Majesty of Corbenic," the messenger announced, reaching the knight and offering a parchment. The name Corbenic sent the other knights into bated breath while Lancelot's throat began to swell.

"Majesty," Sir Gawain whispered to his king, both their eyes locked on Lancelot as his twitching fingers take and open the letter, "doesn't the fair Lady Elaine hail from Corbenic?"

"Yes—and since she was here last, Lancelot hadn't been himself, do you remember? Hardly showed anyone or anything mercy for a spell." The king laughed as Gawain rubbed a sore spot on his arm, a wound from what was supposed to be a friendly sparring match between them, but ended up with Lancelot's rod near splintering.

The knight of discussion widened his eyes, causing Gawain to snort while Lancelot's grip tightened on the parchment paper. "I wager he's fighting with Cupid- the only foe he can't reach with his blade!" As they laughed at this revelation, Lancelot spun on his heels and darted to his quarters with the letter in his fist.

"What do you think would make the fearless Sir Lancelot turn tail?" Gawain hummed to his blue king, who could only offer a shrug before musing, "Perhaps Lady Elaine's illness has worsened- the one that caused her absence a few months back?"

Sir Lancelot shut the door to his room and stared at the ink on the paper, squinting to make sense it, even though he knew what it meant. Couldn't be. It wasn't possible—no, it was, but-! How long would he regret ever hearing of Corbenic or agreeing to the requests of its king—he looked at the letter again-

Why was he saddling his horse? The king's letter had assured him there was no worry- yet!

Mayhaps that wench is deceiving me again, he growled as he mounted his steed, urging it to gallop—his grip on the reins tight and shaking. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Your Majesty—approaching is Sir Lancelot of Camelot," a servant informed King Pelles. A smile spread across the king's muzzle. He marveled at the knight's speed—a safe journey from Camelot to Corbenic took at least two days- it had been three since he had sent the letter.

"As long as I am king, Sir Lancelot is always a welcomed guest in my home," he chuckled. "Make sure is there is a room prepared for him, and I'd like to see him before he retires."

Even in the dark, King Pelles could see the effects of Lancelot's journey taking a toll on him. "Where is she?" His heavy breathing masked whatever emotion he wanted to convey, be it fear or anger. The king motioned to keep their voices low, though he was careful, walls had ears.

"Sleeping and in sound health, both of them." Lancelot's brow raised, eyes widening. King Pelles considered the knight's circumstances and empathized with the reaction.

"Who…who else knows about this?" he whispered.

"Only the three of us, and I swear to you, I intend to keep it that way; Elaine was adamant about that." Lancelot's maroon eyes narrowed, and King Pelles added, "Despite her circumstances, my daughter doesn't wish to harm your reputation, Sir Lancelot."

The knight held his panting, and the full toll of the trip weighed down his shoulders. "Then… Majesty… why did you write the letter?"

The old king smiled, "I thought you had a right to know as the father of the child." Lancelot bit his tongue- probably contemplating questioning his daughter's promiscuity, but the knight's eyes were resigned.

"The journey must have been hard on you," King Pelles clapped Lancelot's shoulder and lead him to his room. "As I've said before, you are always welcome in Corbenic."

The cries of a baby woke Lancelot from his fitful sleep. The crying quieted soon after, but… He held his breath to listen to the soother's voice, but the castle's thick walls made it indistinguishable. Was that Elaine, or maybe the King had hired a midwife? As he got out of bed he considered trying to see the infant, but the baby's mother… he had been trying to forget her for the past year, now. Ever since she'd left Camelot with her father, her image invaded his mind whenever he saw another woman. He'd thought that she'd bewitched him again, but a visit with Lady Nimue told him otherwise...

Lancelot met with King Pelles first, the king informing, "No, she doesn't know you're here, Sir Lancelot. I can send for her as she's able to," he offered, guiding him to a sitting room where they'd be undisturbed.

"How has she been… with the child, I mean."

"It has been difficult for her-" the queen of Corbenic, Elaine's mother, had been deceased since Elaine was six or seven years old, and King Pelles had not remarried, "but I've been keeping an eye on her—well, when I'm not busy with my duties, and she has Briselda, her midwife, looking after her when I cannot. The child has been unprecedentedly well-behaved. The boy rarely cries- doesn't raise his voice above a whimper when he's hungry. He's brought Elaine much joy since his birth."

Lancelot felt a foe slice at his chest from within- that which brought her joy was born of weakness and deception. He swallowed and responded with, "I'm glad she's happy."

An eternity passed before the door opened and a stifled gasp entered. Lancelot braced himself and turned carefully as if testing a weathered path. He hadn't seen her in nearly a year but she hadn't changed. Her beauty was in her fair skin and pitch hair, a combination unknown to anyone in Camelot, emphasized even more so when combined with her almost-white fur and dark blue eyes. Lancelot recalled all of Camelot marveling at her when he brought her to her visiting father, and King Arthur and Gawain jesting with him, since Elaine came back with only his cape to clothe herself with, the knaves. Elaine's beauty rivalled even Queen Guinevere's, but that was comparing the moon with the sun. She was wearing a nightdress and a robe- not decently dressed for company, but it didn't matter since they'd…

He couldn't bring himself to address her as 'Lady Elaine.' "So you've had a son," he looked away from her gaze.

"What… what are you doing here?" Her voice trembled… did she think he came here to kill her this time?

He deflected her question but it still stung. He'd been asking that question since he set out for Corbenic—what are you doing, Lancelot. He glanced at her and she shied away, unable to look him in the eyes, too. If she thought he was here to kill her, she should keep an eye on him- as Lancelot was taught to keep an eye on his foes. She wasn't a foe, but he doubted she would call him a friend. What friend puts a blade to their throat? He often asked if it was the right thing to spare her- she was the noble King Pelles's daughter, and killing her might have severed Camelot's relationship with Corbenic…but it was more than that.

"The king wrote me saying as much," he replied, causing her to flinch and squeeze her hands together.

"I-I only told my father- he swore that he wouldn't tell anyone-" she rambled, losing her voice, drooping her ears. Their eyes met a moment before she shied away from his.

"His Majesty assured me that he intends to keep that, as do you." Though he was grateful for it, her discretion puzzled him—why not drag him into the mire with her? But a cold rapier thrusted into his gut; she was still that girl with the fever that night in the woods.

"I… I see…" she sighed, closing her eyes. She hummed before opening them, "So… why did you come here?" she asked again, the question hitting its mark with her glance. Lancelot held his breath but relented with the truth.

"I…I am not sure myself…" he sighed, lowering his head. The silence chilled him, as did his worry, but they were slain by Elaine's voice.

"Would you… would you like to see him?"

His head snapped up, fire burning in his cheeks as his chest swelled. "I…I would be honored to."