Chapter 13
I feel better this morning, really. Lancelot insists I am even paler than before, so I accept to go to Helen. I give in only because he looks so worried. Maybe my head is a little heavy, but it's not that difficult to move, I swear. I chat and I entertain him on the way, to reassure him. If I am using his arm, it's only because the soil is a little slippery from the rain we had the last days, that's all. Having him close is just an additional benefit. I don't need his strength to keep me steady. I am fine.
If I know him the slightest, he is not fooled by my bravado. His acts echo mine though, yet his grip on me is a little hard and he takes care of not walking too quickly so I don't tire.
It's a nice walk down to Helen's house and it's a beautiful day. The sea on our right is sweeping the sand gently. Even the sound of the waves is soft. Yesterday angry weather ripped some algae from the seafloor and the blue waters turn a little green from it. The color is wonderful, it reminds me of… I don't know what memory the color brings back. But I am fine.
We are nearly there now; I can make out the cables of the house through the little copse. Suddenly, Lancelot tensed and his hand moved to his side. I forget sometimes he is trained to observe and to feel his surroundings. He is a knight after all. But there's nothing here. No one takes this path but us or Helen. The path leads only to the manor and the villagers keep away from me.
It must be some of Lancelot's sudden discomfort that is wearing on me. I feel a knot in my throat, and swallowing is difficult. Lancelot comes to a halt abruptly and I fear my knees give in under me without his support. I grip his hand for balance. There are three persons on the road in front of us: one blond woman and two men. One of them has a sword and he too is in alert. Who are they? Who is he? He turns as if to say something to his companions but he is the only one to move forward. He has just spotted us.
He is still far away, but I hear his mumble. He calls my name. He knows me. I don't know him. I am not afraid, but I clutch Lancelot's hand nonetheless. I am cold. I need to feel his warm. What does the other man mean, when he says "Not her too"? The woman didn't say anything. I don't recognize her either. She has a feral air on her I don't like.
The strange trio is approaching us quickly. Suddenly there are only feet from us, and Lancelot let go of my hand to fell on one knee. He knows those strangers; he knows this man.
"My Lord Prince."
Prince? I am curious, all apprehension gone now. But I have to respect etiquette, before I can study the Prince. So I take my skirt between my fingers delicately, and I bow my head slightly.
The movement reminds me I am not that strong on my feet. I feel so light-headed. I hope I won't faint. I have to wait for him to invite me to stand, as etiquette demands. How do I know about etiquette requirements?
"You never bent before me, Morgana, don't start now."
That voice.
"Lancelot, on your feet."
I recognize this voice. It wakes up something deep inside me; something agreeable, like... I don't know. I wish he speaks again. There is something there, a missing piece of myself I would like so much to have back. Maybe, if he speaks some more, I will remember.
One gloved hand helps me up, his. Finally I am allowed to look at the prince standing before me. His face is as familiar as his voice, but I can not name him... His eyes are the color of the sea, this special blue hanging between cobalt and stormy grey. I remember his eyes. These eyes are searching my face now. I read anxiety and joy and confusion in them. The light shining in his stare fades slowly. The hand which was holding mine tightly frees it to fell immobile by his side. I don't acknowledge him as a long-time friend, and it pains him. I can see that. It pains me too.
He smiles, nearly a smirk, really, and he bows.
"My Lady Morgana. I'm glad to find you well."
His voice is colder than before and mocking. It hurts. I straighten up and I nod to the courtesy. Lancelot moves to stand between us. He seems nervous. I put my hand on his arm gently to reassure him. I have nothing to fear from the Prince. I take one step forward. The prince is so taller than me; he is nearly as tall as Lancelot. I have to glance up to see his face.
"I feel I know you. I don't remember your name, but I do know you."
Light glitters in his eyes again. He makes no gesture toward me this time. He simply glances away to his companions.
The woman looks sad. Her ferocious expression is gone now. Her big brown eyes seem on the verge of crying. I didn't notice earlier how beautiful she is.
The other man skips and fists his hands to no end. He is so jittery it makes me smile. He looks friendly. His bouncing seems to annoy the prince, but before he can calm him down, Lancelot speaks.
"Prince Arthur, the Lady Morgana was feeling poorly these past days, may I suggest we allow her some rest?"