—
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
Yule
Gwaine is sprinkling a heavy dose of salt into Percival's abandoned plate when it happens.
Merlin has slipped out of the Yule feast to check the perimeter, and Gwaine is meant to stay behind and make up excuses for his absence. There's no need, however, so he uses the spare time on plots for retribution. His prank quota is no laughing matter and Percival is owed retaliation. In this instance, revenge would be salty.
As such, things were going normally. It could have gone down as a fairly good party - could have been better, more ale, etc. - but Gwaine liked the decorations: they're very homey and warm, everything smells nice, and the attendees are hunky-dory. He looked around the Great Hall at the gregarious Druids and knights, at Leon and Forridel laughing, at Arthur planting a kiss on Gwen's cheek, and noticed Percival was distracted by children. Well, maybe it was a bit evil to take advantage of a situation involving cute kids, but that wasn't the guilt trip that would keep him up all night.
No, that guilt burst through the doors of the Great Hall on a horse.
"Where is the son of the widow Aranna!"
Gwaine choked. Arthur stood to his feet. "Who are you, and what's your purpose here?"
The warrior astride the horse had a deep, booming voice and a hulking figure covered head to toe in burnished armor. A halberd was lashed to his broad back, and a helmet with slits for airflow hid his face. "I am an axe of Caerleon, and I seek a defector." As an unfortunate pennant, he had a holly garland snagged on the spear point of his weapon, and it swung through the air as the warrior talked animatedly.
"I don't know of a Caerleon warrior in Camelot," Arthur said.
"Because he is hiding from the both of us, using the glory of your ranks as a shield for his cowardice."
Arthur so quickly defended his accused knight that Gwaine's honor was salvaged before he could think to draw Galatine. "My knights are not cowards. You have marched your vendetta into a celebration of unity, and my knight has rightly chosen not to turn it into a battlefield."
Gwen cleared her throat, "In that vein, you can dismount and share a meal with us, or you can return at some later date."
The warrior slowly rotated his head as if he were studying each of the red-cloaked knights. "Dine with a deserter? I think not. Let him know that in one week we meet in the Fortress of Idirsholas, and from there he swears his sword to my house, or his blood waters the ruins."
Arthur scoffed lightly. "He has no reason to meet you, if those are his options."
"Hiding is always an option. His sister can always pay their debt through dowry."
Watching the warrior turn on his horse and ride from the Great Hall had been difficult for a number of reasons. Gwaine felt he had waited too long to meet the challenge presented, and it would look ridiculous to jump up now that Arthur had already supported his silence. However, being called a coward while unable to defend himself was frustrating. Worse still, the guilt hung him. He knew he had abandoned his sister to deal with the shame of a penniless noble house, their waif of a mother, and this fresh icing: self-serving debt collectors. Though blackmail had been the foregone conclusion as soon as he'd sent Ari some spare coin.
The desire to help her had not waned, but it remained stuck in the mire of the life he loved in Camelot. He wanted to stay here without the troubles of old nobility, with the men he considered brothers.
Percival plunked down onto the bench beside Gwaine. "That was strange, eh? Who rides around a castle on a horse?"
Gwaine had no ready quip, and at his halfhearted shrug Percival quirked a brow. "Are you alright? You're looking a little green."
He should have told the truth right then, but the thought exhausted him. It was too much to explain, and his patience was shot. He just needed some space to think.
He looked for Merlin in the crowd, knowing the secret warlock would understand, would help him get out of here for a bit, and wouldn't force a decision just yet. Gwaine wanted the acceptance he'd so readily given Merlin all these weeks, but Merlin was not here to provide it.
Merlin's absence was especially conspicuous after claiming to head off any threats, magical or otherwise. In Gwaine's opinion, a mysterious warrior throwing down gauntlets fell perfectly into those categories. Merlin should have been here.
Where was he?
"You look horrible."
The last of Morgana's tears slide down her cheeks, and she focuses on brilliant blue eyes, "Like you're any better, you old bag."
She isn't lying. Wispy white hair frames a wrinkled face made wan by a ragged black cloak, and from beneath it's unflattering folds comes one bony finger that pokes Morgana's forehead. "You're sick? It figures I'd show up just in time to decide whether or not to let you die."
"Let me die? I am the best healer in Albion."
"Oh, says who? Your pet rock?"
She's still a little befuddled from her dream so she sputters, "I've earned my title as High Priestess!" before she thinks to say, "Insult me again and I will rip your tongue out."
The old woman snorts, "You can't even sit up." Then she waves a hand at the empty firepit, "And what is this? Can't light a fire? You should be embarrassed."
"So you've come to insult me? To kick me when I'm down? To tell me I'm worth nothing, that I am nothing?" Morgana barks, still prone on the ground and covered in a blanket of the Leshy's leaves, "Well I don't care what you think, and I don't care to impress you."
At that the old woman shrugs, "Your opinion isn't high on my list either," and then withdraws to poke around the clearing.
There is not much to see. There is a pile of sticks covered in snow, the dugout firepit ringed in flat stones, and some clay pots tossed aside. There is a circle of dirt in the center where the Leshy sometimes comes to sit, but no roof, no clothesline, and no hidden armies.
When the old woman has had her fill, she returns to stand above Morgana's head. They stare at one another for minutes long enough for Morgana to wonder what this old woman could possibly want from her, and to muse on where she may have met the female before. Then, since she's staring, she sees gold swirl through irises and feels a short burst of magic as the fire lights.
It's strange, because Morgana feels like she'd have a better memory of someone powerful enough to use magic without motion or verbiage, "Do I know you?"
The gold fades away, and even the gaze feels familiar. "You do," the witch admits softly. "But to keep things simple, know me now as The Dolma."
"Well, Dolma," Morgana says as the fire brings feeling back to the tip of her left ear, sending it tingling, "I don't trust you. But there is nothing left for you to take, so I don't fear anything you could do to me, either."
The Dolma is silent for a moment. "Is that why you were crying?"
She glowers, "I was not —"
"Why lie? You said you didn't care to impress me."
"The truth then?" Morgana turns her face away, "I don't want to tell you. You don't deserve to know."
"Fair enough," the Dolma resigns, then with another burst of silent magic brings a log near the fire to use as a seat. From this vantage point Merlin, as the Dolma, mulls the gauntness of Morgana's cheek, her pale skin, and her cracked lips. It brings to mind the phrase 'beauty is only skin deep', because Morgana doesn't even have that anymore. She looks like death.
The fire spits and crackles, and he levitates more logs into the flames. Enough time passes for him to think Morgana has fallen asleep, but then the sickly witch whispers, "Have you come to kill me?"
Again she surprises him, and he turns to her.
"Back when I was in Camelot," she whispers again, telling her story to the fire, "the night before every burning or beheading, the Court Physician would visit the prisoners. He would talk with them, and pass along a tonic for serenity."
He hates this, because he doesn't know whether to pity her or consider this Morgana's due punishment. He had come here expecting to fight her for Camelot's well-being, and instead he found her broken, again. "The truth, Morgana," he says in the Dolma's croaky voice, "is I've got no idea what to do about you."
Merlin spends most of the night in the Leshy's clearing, Morgana's sleeping form a muse for his confused thoughts. He doesn't trust her, nor want to trust her, but Aithusa left a strange image in his mind that he cannot let slip, and it holds him there.
Similarly, Gwaine spent the night dozing on top of Merlin's cot, waiting for him to return, while his father's seal hung heavy around his neck. It yielded a night of fitful sleep, but the clanging of the morning bell jolted him awake and he launched into a seated position, blinking down at his boots.
He had six days to figure out the Caerleon Conundrum, and Merlin hadn't returned. He dug a knuckle into the crust of his eye. Ugh, he had a headache.
Worse - he had guard duty.
He grumbled to his feet, scratching at a dried food stain on his tunic, and inched Merlin's bedroom door open. Gaius was quite awake, leaning over his potions table, and now offering Gwaine a raised brow. "Something I should know?" The old man said.
"I miss how he smells," Gwaine flippantly responded as he clomped down the stairs. Then, more serious once he was near to exiting, "Will you tell me when he gets back?"
"I'll send him to find you," Gaius offered, and Gwaine thanked him, a frown on his face. The frown remained as he journeyed to his allotted place at the front gate. Usually this was a guards job, but with all the Druids passing in and out of Camelot for Yule, Arthur had requested knights take their place temporarily.
Once there Gwaine practiced his scowl until the sun had risen more fully into the sky, and Percival and Elyan came to meet him. The former held a loaf of bread under his arm, and he split it three ways once he'd sufficiently made Gwaine's stomach grumble over it. "We thought we'd join you."
Gwaine munched on his bread, appreciative for multiple reasons, "Don't expect me to thank you."
"Oh, we expect it," Elyan joked, and drew his sword. "Kneel!"
"You'll have to slice my feet off first," Gwaine smirked.
Elyan grinned and twirled his sword, "Don't tempt me."
"Children," Percival interrupted, before things could escalate, "finish your meals first."
Gwaine chuckled and bit another hunk off his bread. Percival was watching him acutely, and he began to feel self-conscious. Did his friend somehow know the Caerleon warrior had been talking about him? Had he reacted too obviously last night? Then he felt the squish between his teeth, tripped with confusion, and, in the hunk of bread still in his hand, saw the half-eaten worm.
He spat onto the cobblestones. Percival grinned, "That was for the salt."
Gwaine gagged, "Unequal punishment."
Elyan slipped his sword back into its sheath, "It was also for putting animal glue in my favorite scabbard."
Gwaine couldn't help grinning even as he wiped his tongue of worm skin. Watching Elyan trip over himself during training had been worth it. "Maybe I should join Holly-Halberd in Caerleon, if this is how I'm going to be treated."
He picked the dead worm from the rest of his loaf in an excuse to hide his face. What a dumb joke to make, he berated himself.
"About that," Elyan's brow creased, "any idea which knight he was talking about?"
Gwaine made a spectacularly lackluster sound and motion combo, and Percival asked, "What would you do in his position?"
Elyan looked askance, "If it were Gwen's life at stake…" he trailed off and frowned. "When Gwen was exiled, I tried to go with her. She convinced me to stay. I regretted my acceptance until the day she returned."
They remained deferentially quiet until they started to eye Gwaine, waiting for his babbling personality to take over. He coughed. "If it were my sister, I wouldn't abandon her."
His tone didn't escape Percival. "You have a sister?"
Gwaine stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth and chewed with his mouth open. I'm an idiot. "So," he said, spraying crumbs, "do you think Arthur is serious about fighting the warrior himself?"
"Definitely," an amused smile tugged at Elyan's lips, "did you forget Geoffrey's speech so soon? We've got the 'Champion of the People' as our king."
"Great," Gwaine replied.
"We're going with him - the whole Round Table will, probably. Then at least we'll be there to show support if the real guy shows up."
He swallowed. Was Camelot's bread always this dry? "Even greater."
Avoiding the truth all day aggravated Gwaine's headache, and that, compounded on his worry for his airhead sister and dodgy best friend, put him in a foul mood. When Merlin did finally come to find him, Gwaine nearly snapped his head off.
Merlin winced, "I heard the news from Arthur."
The warlock had shown up at the barracks as the winter sun disappeared beyond the pinnacles of the castle, and Percival had looked supremely confused as Gwaine walked out into the cold instead of allowing Merlin to come inside.
Merlin continued, "Is there anything I can do?"
He saw his own lack of sleep mirrored in Merlin's face, and his blame sagged. "I don't know." He drew his cloak around his shoulders and looked back into the warmth of the barracks. "Let's go for a stroll."
The barracks were on the eastern edge of the castle, and the nearest cleared path led them through the training grounds. On the far end of the grass plain it branched, and they chose to go north, past the stables.
Merlin tucked his hands into his pockets, "Sorry for not stopping that guy last night. There was nothing magical about him, so I didn't look twice."
"Not your job to protect me from my family's problems," Gwaine acquiesced with a sigh, but didn't let his second point go. "Where were you all night?"
"Dealing with Aithusa," Merlin answered seamlessly, then, masterfully, pushed the topic away. "I'm guessing you haven't told the other knights yet?"
"That would just complicate things right now."
Merlin didn't push. "Sometimes, in the short term, it's better to lie to your friends."
"Maybe," Gwaine frowned. "But Percival is too attentive for his own good. He made a comment just before you got here - said he would trade his knighthood for the opportunity to save his family from Cenred's army."
Merlin's mouth dropped open, "You're going back to Caerleon, aren't you?" He turned away with a grimace. "Of course. Actually, that's probably a good idea. Almost everyone I've ever trusted with my secret has died so it's probably only a matter of time, if you stayed."
Gwaine balked. "What? Fuck no, I'm not going back to Caerleon." He paused, "You think I'm going to die?"
Merlin waved a hand, "Nevermind." His eyebrows knit together, "So you're going to let this guy marry Ari and become the lord of your father's house?"
Gwaine was reeling now, stuck on Merlin's earlier comment. He shook his head roughly, and Merlin shoved him in embarrassment. He stumbled to the side, colliding with the wood of the royal stables, and an icicle shivered. "No," Gwaine finally said, for the third time that day but for the first time confidently. "I'm not letting him touch her."
"Good," Merlin said. "Good plan."
"Better plan," Gwaine said, making things up as he went along, "I'm riding for Caerleon tonight. I'm bringing Ari to Camelot."
The two men blinked at each other, then Gwaine swirled around and strode purposefully for the general stables. Merlin loped along behind. "Without a pack?"
"I'll think of something," Gwaine replied.
His red Camelotian clock flapped free, and his right hand went to the hilt of his sword, gripping it purposefully. He preferred this - something to do, instead of waiting around and lying to his brothers.
Merlin shrugged, "Can I come?"
Uh… duh the most powerful warlock in Albion could come.
A scant thirty minutes passed as Merlin left well-worded letters to excuse their absence, and Gwaine discretely packed what he could before saddling the horses. Now they were clustered within a stall, Gwaine gripping the bridle of both of their brown geldings while grinning giddily. Then he remembered the last time Merlin had pulled him magically through space, and he gulped. "I should prepare for vomit, shouldn't I?"
The words pulled Merlin from his contemplation. He had been muttering to himself for a minute or so now - something about tunnels. "If you're going to be sick, maybe I should hold the horses."
His forehead creased as he debated. "Nah, I'm good at vomiting. I'll be able to hold on to them."
Merlin rolled his eyes, "Drunkenness - the ultimate skill set." Then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, his face hardening with determination. "Caerleon. Horses. One jump. I've got this."
Merlin grabbed the loops underneath each horse's bit, and closed his eyes. Caerleon had the closest capital to Camelot, only a two day hard ride, and it was definitely within his range for teleportation. However, the need for a large tunnel would take most of his magic, and he'd learned his lesson in that regard - he still had the scars.
So, he was going to try something new. And why not, he was only transporting one of his best friends and a pair of skittish animals. Trial by fire and all that.
He let out a breath, ensuring it was steady. It helped him focus on his thoughts and his body rather than the cold and Camelot's other noises. In his mind he watched his magic snap together into the tunnel of diamonds, and when he began to feel the strain, he bit his lip and ventured through the tear in his veil. Shakily, but as he'd practiced, he drew Albion's magic within himself, straightening it as best he could, and then pushing those golden bonds back out into his crystalline tunnel.
The second half of the spell was choppier, less elegant, and the four travelers felt it as the word Astýre yanked them through. Seconds later they stumbled shakily onto solid ground.
"Whoa!" Merlin hissed as his own horse reared. In the shadows of Gwaine's childhood home the animal's eyes were panicked, and its strength almost too much for him to contain. "C'mon, Anemos," he tried hooting quietly, "it's just me. Everything is fine." His wrist twirled, and a square of salt materialized in his palm. "Calm down; have a treat."
It didn't help and, desperate now, Merlin said the next bit in dragon tongue: "Anemos, please. It's over now, I promise."
And, astonishingly, that worked. Anemos whimpered but ceased his frantic tugging, and Gwaine's placid horse leaned over and nipped the salt from Merlin's hand. Gwaine shook his head, only a little green with nausea, "So you're a horse-whisperer now?"
"I hope so," Merlin said, believing it was just coincidence, "Anemos has been a pain in my rear end since day one." (And cue the horse hoof in his buttocks.)
Merlin frowned and glared at the gelding while Gwaine chuckled and tied both animals to a hitching post. "Let's get inside. There's an entry over here."
The knight led them through a warped wooden door, hinges squealing, and put both men in a narrow storage room. Within it was as dark as pitch, but Gwaine's sturdy fingers found Merlin's sleeve and tugged him on ingrained paths. They were paths Gwaine had ran as a child and paced as a youth, but with adulthood came cobwebs and moldy hay and a pervasive aura of abandonment.
Then, in the darkness, a clatter.
Gwaine steered, and moments later they leaned into a square serving kitchen lit by moonlight. The glow flowed from windowsill to counter to floor, softly noting through shade and shadow the reminder of unwashed bowls and empty cabinets. Broken pottery, like an artist's still, weeped grey and white about a woman's forlorn figure, and in their midst she sat defeated.
Merlin went forward first, and Ari's eyes flickered with remembrance before flitting over his shoulder - and finding her brother. She breathed his name, disbelieving.
Then, after a blink and cognition, emotion blurred through her soft features and formed a complex creature bitter enough to bite, "Gwaine," with all the fury of a woman scorned.
"Ari," he started, "hear me out."
"No, you hear me out!" She exclaimed, getting to her feet in choppy movements and gesturing wildly. Those motions became clenched fists and then a rigid finger poking stiffly into Gwaine's chest. "Where have you been, huh? I've never met someone so selfish! Living the high life, I bet! What, trade dad's ring for a job in Camelot?" She picked at his cloak with disgust.
"I earned my place in Camelot, and at the Round Table. Nobility isn't everything there."
Ari huffed, "Nobility does matter. It tells you things about a person before you ever meet them. Another noble is educated, and refined, and clean —"
Gwaine barked with an abrasive laugh, "If you're going to regurgitate the widow's words, I should never have come! I didn't realize I'd already lost you to brainwashing."
"You didn't lose me. I've been here the whole time!" She stomped, "And don't call her that!"
He crossed his arms, "It's what she is."
"She's our mother," she mirrored him.
"Fine!" He threw his hands up. "If you're so eager to be a noble like mother dearest, then marry him!"
Ari's mouth opened for another bout of vitriol, but as his words registered, the angry tilt of her eyebrows rose into shocked arches, "What?" Her arms drifted into the space between them, unsure what to attack now. "Marry who?"
"One of the Beddlers," he remarked scornfully. "Some warrior of theirs showed up in Camelot, claiming we owe them a debt, and your dowry was worthy payment."
"Them?" Ari's confusion was palpable, "That can't be right." She bent for a handkerchief tucked into her bodice, and her curtain of glossy hair spilled over her shoulder. When she tossed it back she had produced a square of worn paper, which she then unfolded and stuffed in Gwaine's face. "See? We don't owe the Beddlers any money."
Gwaine's eyes flicked over the names and numbers and his anger built, "What would you need all that coin for?"
Ari shifted, "It was for Mother."
"And you're paying it willingly? How much of your life are you willing to sell for her?"
"I doubt—"
"You were collateral," he said, voice deadened. "She was expecting money in some other form to pay them back, and it never came."
After all her anger Ari's voice had dwindled to meek. "I didn't get the promotion."
Gwaine huffed, and gestured to say that explained everything. "So, we're leaving. It's time to give up this grasping life and start over, Ari."
She stilled, and her eyes saddened. She already knew the answer but she asked anyways, "All of us?"
Roughly, "Just you."
Now her eyes watered, and as she stuttered to argue the echo of a smack drew their attention. It was an intentional announcement of presence, and, wary, they waited in silence as shuffling feet and the drift of fabric on stone slunk towards them.
Gwaine had various images in his mind of his mother. He remembered the perfect, glowing goddess of his childhood that could do no wrong, and the bent and begging woman in Annis' court after his father had died. He had still loved her so much then, and seeing the higher nobles turn her away had bourne a pervasive resentment still seeking riposte. Unfortunately, all were overshadowed by the waif he'd watched drinking flower tea too expensive for the peasants they had become - obscured by the widow too proud to sell this empty manor he'd lucklessly returned to.
It was that memory he held like transparent film over the woman that strode into the servant's kitchen, brunette hair piled in curls a day in the making. Even without the rose tint of youth she was a striking woman, but he saw her only as that - just another woman.
"You thought you could sneak in here, like a thief in the night, and steal your dutiful sister away from her birthright?"
This was a woman who, without an upper class social circle to surround her, now had ample time to steep in her own thoughts. Thoughts that naturally trended manipulative, and given enough time to work, had stained even her own interpretation of reality. "Are you such a fool to think that your traitorous and weak mentality could sway her?"
"Call me what you want," Gwaine replied through ground teeth, "but at least I care about her more than I care about my status."
His mother, Aranna, smiled demurely. "You think you surpass status? Explain your knighthood then, son, and your servant in my kitchen."
Gwaine's eyes flicked to Merlin who put his hands in the air with a posture screaming Don't bring me into this. Although, he thought this was perfect proof of everything his mother had wrong. Merlin was exactly who she saw him as, but Gwaine had learned through comradery that this lowly servant was unbelievably more than his status. And even if he weren't - Merlin had been a better friend than any uptight noble he'd ever broke bread with.
Gwaine grinned, jaw locked. "Joke's on you. If he were my servant, I would never have made it in time to save Ari." He jerked a finger at Merlin. "He's my best friend."
Her mouth pulled to the side in distaste. "That's pitiable." Her eyes were cutting, and they scanned him head to foot, and found him lacking. "So this is what you offer after years of silence? I hoped for better after receiving your letter."
He sneered, "Nothing I've fought for is yours, regardless. Besides, don't you have a fast-track to aristocracy through arranged marriage all lined up?" He drew his sword. "Deny it."
She glared, and her lips pursed as if she'd swallowed a lemon. "Promised hands are a standard in our world."
Gwaine's voice was cold. "Go get your things, Ari."
In this way, Ari's soul was not strong. Her voice wavered and she implored, "Mom?"
Their mother's eyes softened. "Think of it, darling. You wouldn't have to work any longer." Ari began to shudder. "You would make a beautiful bride, and our house would flourish again."
Ironic, Gwaine thought, but not surprising. Dully, he finished this conversation. "Your 'house', mother, are your two alienated children standing in this kitchen."
"And children you are. What do either of you know of the way the world works? Being a peasant may seem fun and rebellious now, but you will regret a frivolous youth."
There would be no convincing her, and Ari finally realized that. She put a shaky hand on Gwaine's arm. "Mother," her voice shook too, "I'm sorry, but I can't marry someone for you. Can you take the offer back? Offer something else?"
"What else can I offer that would benefit us? You are the only thing."
Galatine went unwaveringly for her throat. "Call her a thing again so I can make you regret it."
Aranna could tell she was losing, and it vexed her. "Ari," she said, the imposition of guilt her next ploy, "you have no right to turn your back on me now. Leave and the Beddlers get our home, and I die this winter on the streets."
Ari's mouth trembled, but she shook her head with refusal. "I'm going with Gwaine. Please let me pass, so I can pack my things."
She whirled as Ari began to walk away, wide eyed as she lived a second scene of watching a child conclusively turn their back on her. "You two ungrateful creatures! I gave the best years of my life, I sacrificed my dignity, for you both. Now you abandon me?"
No - she would not let this happen to her. Not this on top of everything else. So, even as her son and his servant pushed past her, Aranna yanked up her sleeve and revealed an intricate dagger primed against her forearm. Ari would have to stay if she had no Gwaine to take her. The girl had always been a little weak.
The servant was the last in line, so she went for him first. Pulled from its engraved sheath the blade rose high, and she clenched the handle in two hands. The sharp edge glinted in the moonlight. She aimed for the soft flesh between shoulder and neck then thrust downward, all her strength behind the stab.
With absolute certainty, she saw the point touch his skin.
And with stuttering reverb, she passed through empty space.
The shock froze her limbs as her mind tried to grasp how he could have moved so instantaneously, how he could have impossibly revolved around to stare at her so piercingly in a span less than a blink. Magic ignited in his eyes and the metal in her hand began to burn. He needn't have bothered, because Gwaine had already turned and swung her husband's sword with iron focus.
The blade struck her mercilessly in the temple. In a spray of blood, she crumpled.
Her daughter began to sob, and through a gaining fog she desperately gathered her reasons to live. She watched pensivity settle over Gwaine's face as he skimmed over her body spilled across his feet, and then to her daughter as Ari stumbled back to wilt into his shoulder. She watched them tuck into an embrace, and Aranna felt one regret sift above all others.
Denial had been the drug that led her astray, and she realized her entire family suffered from the same fatal addiction. The consequences played out in the years Ari had wasted trying to afford a false life, and the ways Gwaine would burn when others realized he was harbouring a sorcerer.
Nothing good came from avoiding the truth.
Footnotes:
(1) This is Part 1 of 2.
(2) Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight is a story from legend, which I have borrowed and drastically altered for my purposes. In the legend, the Green Knight shows up carrying holly, an axe, and challenging Sir Gawaine to a duel.
(3) A halberd is a type of axe.
(4) Said to have happened on New Year's day, I chose our modern new year of Dec 31/Jan 1 for the final confrontation in Idirsholas instead of the classic new year in March. Yule is the classic Christmas.
(5) Bredbeddle is the name the Green Knight calls himself in some of the poems. His real name is also said to be Bercilak de Hautdesert.
(6) Merlin first met 'Ari the Airhead' in Caerleon where she was a failing kitchen scullion (Part 2, The Betas). Aranna, the mother, is a name Dmarie1184 came up with to give me a good combo for Gwyar and Anna. I've seen references saying his mother was Morgause, or Gwyar/Anna. Funnily enough, Gwyar translates to gore.
Author's Note:
Since I can't post links, please search this hand drawn sketch by Jewels for Ch.7 The Audacity of Hope! Search "jewelshoolie deviantart Emrys" and it will be the top link. SO COOL TO SEE A PICTURE FOR A SCENE, especially when my skill set drops drastically as soon as I pick up a writing utensil. My skill set is more in the range of Gwaine's: drunkenness.
Similarly, Linorien made me some story covers that I keep trying to use but my computer or fanfiction is still having problems. I will keep trying. Thank Sam I Am and all his peculiarly colored eggs and ham for Linorien's help in convincing me not to time skip and cram Gwaine's arc into these 5000 words, and being a great brainstorming beta so that the following chapter is everything I need it to be. And thanks to the lovely ladies Dmarie and Jewelsmg for always being such supportive and great friends. And thank everyone else for reviewing - I am headed out to answer them all via PM right now.
One of the biggest themes in the original legend for the Green Knight is that of truth - how Gawaine is and isn't punished for lying/being truthful. I thought I'd see how that theme could play out in this Camelot.
Next Time: Gwaine and the Greenstalk. The Round Table meets up in the Fortress of Idirsholas, there is a group hug of brotherly love, and the warrior waves away the debt. (Sure, Gwaine, you keep thinking that.)