Book prompt, of an entirely different kind. Quote comes from Legend of the King, and if the words are underlined they aren't mine. Still sad and depressing, but I'll make it up to you, promise. Besides, I wanted to let you know I hadn't forgotten you just because I am internetless. 3

Terence hurried back to Arthur's camp and stopped before the king's tent, but before he could report, there came a crash from the beach behind them, then shouts, then a cry of pain. Arthur tore out of his tent, sword in hand. "They're behind us!" he called.

"No, sire!" shouted Terence. "They're north of us!"

Arthur paused, thinking. "North? You're sure?"

"Yes, sire. Someone's on the beach, but Mordred's main forces are north."

Arthur hesitated only a second,but that second held a lifetime of deliberation and memory. As king, he had learned the value of just a second of thought, had learned how to trap the time in his mind and stretch it out to an eternity. He had always been expected to make decisions quickly, but never in haste. It took some practice and it was exhausting, but always worth it.

In this second, this one second to think on Squire Terence's—no, Sir Terence's—words before he led all his brave men into what could be their deaths, he remembered the boy who became the knight standing beside him now. If the words had come from anyone else's mouth, it would have warranted two, perhaps even three seconds of thought. If many others had said those words with such surety as Terence displayed now, he would have wondered if they were some sort of traitor.

But this was Terence, who had not so long ago been just a squire, knighted far past time. This was Terence, who always knew things he shouldn't. Terence, who Lady Morgan made it a point to seek out specifically, every time she visited, even while he was still a squire with no family to speak of and no desire to advance his position. Terence, who Arthur sometimes thought he could hear in his dreams.

From the moment Terence had stepped into Camelot, chasing Gawain's heels like a silent, enthusiastic puppy, Arthur had known there was something different about him. Arthur may not have had much of a background in magic, but he saw the Look every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He knew very well what to look for, and on Terence's face, he didn't have to look hard. Yet the boy had been raised by a holy man; surely he had no idea of what he was, let alone who.

There was no mistaking Terence's faery blood after the Battle of Five Kings. According to Kai the boy had come tearing down a hill with all five kings behind him, clutching the mane of a stolen charger, bearing that blasted ring. He would be forever in Terence's debt for that alone, ending that war before it had barely started, saving hundreds of lives and a lifetime of headaches. But how could he have known that the ring existed, let alone that it bore any importance?

And then there was Merlin's cryptic message before he left for Avalon, about the Protector who gloried in service. Arthur had thought and searched for months after Merlin's departure, trying to puzzle out the man's identity. Then he became so ill and he could have sworn he could see Gawain and Terence struggling with a witch over a cauldron and a suit of armor. He chalked it up to fever dreams until he went to see his nephew after his recovery. That bow, that mid-waist bow Terence gave, seemingly out of sheer instinct, the one only given to an equal. He had blushed about it afterward and seemed to want to apologize and bow again, deeper, but Arthur had cut him off with an answering bow of his own. And it had felt right. Ah, Arthur remembered thinking for the first time since Merlin's departure. Perhaps this is the man.

Sometimes he had thought he had it all wrong, that Terence was nothing but a particularly insightful squire. Sometimes he wondered how he could ever have thought it was anyone else. Again and again, something would happen, and again and again, Terence would be there, on the side, in the shadows, poking, prodding, suggesting, explaining things he had no right knowing. You wouldn't notice it, not unless you knew Camelot the way Arthur did. The court came to accept it—The ones with more brains than titles, that is, and the rest didn't matter much. It became common knowledge. Terence knows. Terence can help. Terence can fix it. Terence will see.

Arthur never did find out exactly who Terence was, but he decided as he knighted him that it didn't really matter. And as he had knighted Terence, it didn't feel like a regular knighting. Of course, he had just made a fool of himself in front of most of the city, scared a lot of people, shamed himself and his queen by dredging up the dead past, almost named a conscienceless murdering monster as his heir, saw his son (and by heaven, he still loved the boy) try to murder a man he considered family, and seen Morgause's return, so emotions were running a bit high at Terence's knighting. But it wasn't that. It was something else, some sort of empty satisfaction that didn't make sense. He felt like, perhaps, knighting Terence was a little redundant, though he couldn't see why. Perhaps knighthood seemed not good enough for Terence. No; too little. He was already acting as more than a knight. To give him a title that could potentially lighten and lessen the importance of his duties (and Arthur understood very well, too, how awkward the transition from servant to master would be for One Who Serves) seemed a bit unfair. Yet it also felt right. Like that first bow, all those years ago. Like he wasn't giving Terence anything, but acknowledging something he'd had all along.

Perhaps that made Terence a little dual-natured, but it fit him. A human knighthood for a faery king.

Now what made me think that? Arthur wondered, but dismissed it. A second is far too short for vain curiosity.

If it were anyone else, Arthur would have taken three seconds, four, maybe even five if he didn't know them that well. If it were someone he trusted, he still would have taken perhaps an extra breath before making his decision. If it were a hunch of his, even, he would have dismissed it in an instant. But this was Terence, who knew things and played with people's dreams.

Arthur hestitated only a second, then said, "To arms! We march north!"