As Gwen rode beside her friends on that brisk winter afternoon, she couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. She hadn't ventured more than a few miles outside of Camelot's walls in years, having forgotten the thrill of traveling to places unknown.
It was only when she glanced back at Hunith that she gave herself a guilty shake, determined to quell her enthusiasm.
Our mission is to help the people of Ealdor, she reminded herself sternly. This journey had nothing to do with her own pleasure.
Merlin's mother was a lovely woman, warm, humble and kind… someone to which assistance should have been offered without question. Every time Gwen glanced over at her, wincing in sympathy when she saw the large welt on her cheek, she felt another stab of resentment toward the king for refusing to intervene in her hour of need.
Uther has so much power, she'd thought to herself in frustration as Hunith had fallen to her knees in the Council Chamber, injured, frightened, and pleading for help. He could find a way to protect these people if he truly wanted to. I know he could. How can anyone be so heartless?
Worse, Arthur hadn't even tried to change his father's mind. Gwen had been surprisingly disappointed in him for that. She'd expected better of him, having seen his acts of kindness toward Merlin, Lancelot, and even herself in the past. Despite his arrogance, she'd truly believed there was a strong sense of justice somewhere inside him. So why had he stood by and done nothing?
As night fell, the group stopped to make camp. Merlin cared for the horses as his mother prepared supper, humming quietly to herself as she worked. Gwen felt uncomfortable as she sat beside Morgana, unaccustomed to remaining idle while others saw to her needs. She offered to help several times, but Hunith wouldn't hear of it.
"It's the least I can do to repay you and the Lady Morgana for your support," she insisted. "Please, rest. You must be tired."
After supper, Gwen followed Morgana's lead as the other woman yawned hugely and pleaded exhaustion from the day's exertions. She wasn't the least bit tired herself, but her body ached from hours spent in the saddle; it felt heavenly to stretch out and relax.
Morgana mumbled a drowsy "good night" and dozed off almost immediately while Gwen lay wide awake, gazing at the stars as she listened to the sound of soft, deep breathing beside her.
Will I die tomorrow? she wondered. Will we all be cut down like those poor villagers who've already been lost?
She'd only faced the threat of death once, when Uther had falsely condemned her as a witch the year before. That had been a terrifying experience, praying for salvation as she'd waited in a cold, miserable dungeon cell, desperate to escape her fate.
What she felt now was entirely different.
She still didn't want to die… but the idea of losing her life in an attempt to defend what was right was much less frightening than the possibility of being executed for a crime she'd never committed in the first place.
At that thought, she began to understand what drove knights and soldiers to bravely risk their lives in the service of others. The idea of standing by and allowing tragedy to unfold when she might be able to help was unimaginable, just as it must be for them.
It was something she'd barely thought about while safe in Camelot, a kingdom that was faithfully defended by men who'd spent a lifetime training for combat... men who shielded humble people like herself from ever having to face any real danger.
Now, however, there were no defenses to protect her, no soldiers to rely upon. It was only Gwen and two of her dearest friends, heading out to face a brutal enemy. It should've been terrifying; instead, it felt strangely exhilarating.
The idea that she might be able to fight for justice while relying on her own physical strength to do so was something she'd never considered before. Whether she survived or not, knowing that it might be within her power to protect those who were even less capable of defending themselves than she was...
This must be how Lancelot felt, she mused to herself as her eyelids grew heavy. It was no wonder he'd wanted to be a knight, imagining how much he could do to make the world a better place with his considerable skill. She could only hope he'd found another way to fulfill that dream somehow, and that he was safe and happy, wherever he happened to be.
It was with some surprise and a great deal of guilt that she awoke the following morning to find Arthur sleeping beside the fire. The others moved quietly around the campsite, packing saddlebags and feeding horses as they allowed him to sleep up until the moment of departure.
"Followed our trail for half the night," Merlin whispered in explanation, giving the unconscious prince a look of gratitude and open affection. "He's here to help."
Arthur must've known the king would've never provided assistance, no matter what he might have said in protest. He'd decided to defy him instead, willing to put his life on the line to help protect Merlin's home. More than that, he was acting without the protection of his knights, and all because he refused to turn a blind eye to injustice.
I've judged him too harshly, she thought to herself with a great deal of shame. Only a truly noble man would risk so much for the sake of a servant, with no possible reward for himself other than knowing he'd done what was right.
In that moment, she resolved to stop jumping to unfair conclusions where Arthur was concerned. It was the least he deserved in light of such a selfless act.
As they came in sight of the seemingly peaceful village later that morning, the illusion was immediately shattered by the sound of panicked screams in the distance. Without a word, Arthur nudged his horse into a full gallop and tore across the open fields, leaving the others no choice but to follow his wild pursuit.
Ealdor was in chaos when they arrived, villagers struggling in vain against the violent onslaught of the looters who were making off with the last of their food supply. Gwen watched in awe as Arthur swung down from his horse in one fluid motion and came to blows with his first opponent.
He was soon joined by Merlin, who struggled awkwardly with his weapon, yet somehow managed to hold off several attackers. Morgana quickly dismounted and followed with her own sword in hand, making up for the years of training she lacked with fearlessness and natural grace.
All Gwen could do was stand beside Hunith, watching in horror as men and women alike were brutally shoved aside or cut down by the cruel raiders. She'd never seen anything so vicious in her life, nor even imagined such a thing. Her experience of combat up until that moment had been little more than the tournaments and friendly training sessions she'd witnessed back in Camelot.
What was happening in front of her bore no resemblance to an honorable fight. No, these were men who obviously enjoyed killing for the sake of it... men who seemed to go out of their way to cause as much suffering as possible. She watched helplessly as a hulking, bearded figure dressed in filthy skins rode down an unarmed woman, shouting gleefully as a blow to the back sent her sprawling into the dirt.
How can anyone be so cruel? she thought angrily, her disgust at the injustice overcoming her fear. In that moment, she would've gladly joined the fight if she'd had a weapon at her disposal.
The bandits were brutal in their attack, though it soon became obvious they didn't have enough men to battle a resistance they clearly hadn't expected. Riding away as swiftly as they'd come, they spat in derision and shouted all manners of curses and threats in their wake.
Bloody cowards, Gwen swore to herself with unaccustomed venom. They'd come here to attack defenseless villagers, not to fight anyone who actually had the power to stand up to their tyranny.
"I know Kanen's kind," Arthur announced as soon as the enemy was out of sight, looking over the listeners with an expression that was determined yet compassionate. "He'll be back. And when he is, you must be ready for him. First of all, we have to prepare for..."
His words were interrupted as a young man wearing a hostile expression pushed his way to the front of the small crowd. "Am I the only one wondering who the hell this is?"
"I don't understand why that man was so angry," Morgana remarked a few hours later as she and Gwen sat with Hunith in her tiny kitchen. "Everyone else seemed grateful for the help, eager to defend their homes. But he treated Arthur like he was the enemy. Why?"
Gwen exchanged a meaningful glance with Hunith as the older woman struggled to find a tactful way to answer the question. Of course, there were those among the common people who hated the nobility on principle. But how to explain this to Morgana, a royal herself, without causing offense?
"Lady Morgana, Will's father was killed while fighting for King Cenred. I'm afraid he's never quite recovered from the loss, though that's no excuse for his rude behavior. I apologize on his behalf."
Morgana frowned. "But what does that have to do with Arthur? Cenred is an enemy to Camelot, not our ally. Surely he can't hold any of us responsible for..."
"Oh!" Hunith suddenly exclaimed, finding a convenient excuse to change the subject. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how late it was. The two of you must be hungry, and the boys will be back and wanting their supper any minute now."
The little cottage was largely silent as the five of them sat around the table, eating a simple meal of unseasoned chicken and boiled potatoes. Remembering her promise to stop judging him so harshly, Gwen tried not to notice Arthur's expression of distaste, nor the way he hastily shoveled food onto Merlin's plate whenever Hunith wasn't looking.
But it became impossible to ignore when he shoved an untouched bowl of porridge into her own hands the following morning. She tried to make excuses for him, reminding herself that he wasn't accustomed to such bland food. Of course, Morgana was every bit as privileged as Arthur was and she didn't seem to have any problem eating everything she was given.
After breakfast, Arthur set the two women to the task of gathering weapons and sharpening whatever blades could be found. It was a pleasant surprise to discover there were indeed enough to equip every man and then some... until Gwen came to the realization that the surplus only existed because there weren't many men to begin with.
How many would Kanen bring with him when he returned? Did it matter? No doubt they'd be brutal, seasoned fighters, making it difficult not to feel pessimistic as she and Morgana watched Arthur attempt to turn farmers, craftsmen, and shepherds into a defensive force.
"There's no way they're going to be able to hold Kanen off," Morgana said darkly, echoing her thoughts.
"Men aren't the only ones who can fight."
"My thoughts exactly. Arthur won't like it, but what choice does he have?"
"Do you think he'll forbid the women from taking part?"
Rolling her eyes, Morgana said, "What can he do? Report us to the king? Throw us in the dungeons? I think not, Gwen. Besides, you forget this is not his kingdom. None of us are under Arthur's command here. We follow him because we choose to, not because we must."
"I... well, surely it would be better if he agreed, so the women could benefit from the training as well?"
"Of course, and I hope we can convince him. Uniting as a single force is by far our best chance. But if he refuses to listen to reason, we'll just have to find another way somehow. I… oh, it looks like they're taking a break. Come on, Gwen."
"Looks like the battle's already fought and lost," she commented as they approached Arthur, keeping her voice low so the nearby villagers wouldn't hear.
"They'll toughen up," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes.
"They'll need to," Gwen blurted before before she could stop herself. Instead of chastising her or even giving her a stern look however, Arthur merely inquired about the weapons.
Morgana shrugged. "There isn't much, but we should be able to scrape together what you need."
"It's not the weapons that worry us. It's having enough people to use them. We think the women should be allowed to fight."
Gwen would've never imagined herself speaking to Arthur so boldly back in Camelot, but the situation was far too grave to worry about silly things like titles and proper protocol. Still, she was relieved when Morgana immediately backed her up.
"You haven't enough men. If they were trained soldiers, maybe you'd stand a chance, but they're not."
"It's too dangerous."
Before either of them could offer a word in protest, he'd already turned and walked away.
Gwen lay beside Morgana in the narrow bed they shared, silently fuming over Arthur's abrupt dismissal. Who was he to say who should be allowed to defend their homes, their family and friends? What gave him the right to make that decision for another person, woman or not?
She'd never known she felt so strongly about these things until she'd had to deal with them firsthand. There in the darkness, she thought again of Lancelot's desperate struggle just to be given the chance to stand up for what he believed in. He'd been denied because he was a commoner. Was that so different than where she found herself now, rejected simply because she wasn't a man?
Imagining herself hiding in the forest, her assistance refused just because someone had decided she was unworthy to fight left her feeling utterly powerless.
Before, she'd found it difficult to understand why Lancelot had felt obligated to leave Camelot. It made sense that he hadn't wanted to cause conflict between Arthur and the king, of course, but couldn't he have given up his quest for knighthood and found some other work right there in Camelot until he had a better opportunity?
Suddenly, she understood completely. The frustration at being turned away when her own ability to fight might make a difference... that feeling must have been a hundred times worse for Lancelot when he'd been denied the right to serve. After all, he was a born warrior.
Had he remained in Camelot, he would've been forced to watch countless times as the knights had ridden out to face some great peril, knowing his strength might be desperately needed, yet unable to do a thing about it. How much would it have hurt him to stand by helplessly in times of crisis, a man who'd spent the majority of his life training to defend others?
It was unimaginable... so painful that for the first time she was actually glad he'd chosen to leave. She still missed him desperately, of course, but the thought of him suffering through so much helpless frustration was difficult to bear. It was far more comforting to imagine him out in the world somewhere, living on his own terms and fighting for the greater good as he'd always been meant to do.
Resolving to speak with Arthur again in the morning, Gwen closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Lancelot would have never given up so easily, and neither would she.