Chapter 28

Following the standoff, Nemeth and its allies reassembled Resolve's shattered pieces. Words were exchanged. Embraces were freely given and accepted. Bread and a bit of wine not shared in years changed hands. Questions prompted answers, insights and further places for future exploration.

Most importantly, Friendship established a beachhead in those woods.

Tempus, as always, flew by in its haste. Obligation pulled the company in different directions. Priority aligned respective tasks into unique combinations. Promise, however, bound them to reunite for the upcoming celebrations and untold events later still.

Having solved those things for some and needing to work out matters for others, Rodor assembled the knights and companions. He ensured that they stowed their gear on horseback. Then, as a group, he led them back down the gritty trail toward the waiting capital.

[Later that Afternoon—Whitgate]

Gwen sulked. Despair wailed in her heart. Her eyes constantly looked back toward the east. Her mind pulled back toward the Severn and Camelot beyond. She wanted to be heading back that way. She knew that she should have been.

Arthur dictated this course of action though. He hid behind Uther's walls. Ultimatums pushed them all away.

Seems he's Uther's son after all. Is this the course we're all set on? Gwen mulled over that particular train of thought. Her eye caught the gate as the group cantered into the city proper. She watched the people so like their counterparts in Camelot and yet not. She recognized their activities. It seems so much the same.

Yet Arthur wasn't there. No, her Arthur wasn't there. He wasn't in Camelot either.

I need to at least put on a positive face for the others. They're being good to me. They don't have to do this. She mulled over how the last time she'd come up this way. She recalled Hope's summons to better things. She followed Amor's siren tune toward her own Prince.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She looked in that direction to find Mithian considering her.

"Forgive me. I don't mean to spoil the mood," Gwen apologized.

Mithian shrugged. "Actually I was going to compliment you on how well you're carrying yourself. All things considered, you're doing very well."

"Thank you." Gwen sighed. "I suppose you know better than anyone what it means to be brushed aside by Pendragon hatred?"

"To fight through it? You just saw that. Merlin's worth it though." Mithian glanced ahead toward her Warlock. She smiled but kept the response to just that. "For what it's worth, he's hurting right now too."

"I know. I don't know how he deals with the hate and prejudice from people when they find out." Gwen frowned. Lament ripped at her.

"He's stronger than he looks. Of course he buries himself in his work or us. My job is to kick him into the light. I intend to do just that. I could use some help. And for the record, you have a place here for as long as you'd like. Especially with the Royal Council's desertions, Father will need experienced people to advise him. I'd say with Princess Josiane, you and me, we women will have a voice. I'm putting your name before Father at the first opportunity," Mithian offered.

"Really? Princess, I'm flattered. Still I'm not…." Gwen started. She noted the procession stopping short of the citadel. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. We'll finish this conversation later," Mithian told her. She spurred her horse onward heading toward the front of the procession.

Now what? Gwen wondered.

[A/N: Big reveal coming! And no, it's not magic related either]

[A Sixth of the Hourglass Turn Earlier]

Berthold grimaced. The spasms in his arms and legs hadn't subsided. At least he could sit up in the saddle. He could manage a slow pace on horseback in that condition. When he tried to go faster, the sharp movements provoked Pain's hot needles and Chill's shivers. He'd needed to stop every two hours to catch his breath and allow himself to rest. He kept Reginald's ashes and the mysterious kerchief safe.

At least he could sit up. He groaned through a sideways turn. Duty pushed him to Endurance's limits. He trembled. His hand pressed down hard on the saddle's side for support to keep himself upright. His eye reminded him again.

Lothwein leaned forward on his saddle. With Berthold's assistance, he'd tied himself to the saddle's front in order to ride. Numbness chilled every inch of his body. He grunted and groaned with each horse length but wouldn't stop.

Revis lay sideways across his saddle. While he'd ridden away with help from Astolat, he'd succumbed to the spell's malice during the previous night. A blanket covered his prone form.

Forgive me, my Friends. I wish we'd been better prepared. Berthold coughed. Relief strengthened him from their arrival. He pulled up on the reins stopping their progress. "L…Lothwein?"

"I hear you." Lothwein gave a sharp quick tug of the reins. "Wh…whoa!"

The two knights guarding the citadel rushed down the granite stairs. Surprise and Dismay lit up their faces. "Sir Berthold! Sir Lothwein! What mischief is this?"

"We need to see the King." Berthold ground his teeth. He spasmed. Somehow he grabbed onto the saddle's front and kept himself from falling to the stones below. "Trouble at Shalott."

"Trouble?" one of the guards asked.

"A…witch," Lothwein whispered. He shivered. "Help…me down? Please?"

The two knights did exactly that. They assisted each of their comrades in their respective dismounts. Then they guided each man to the stairs to allow them to sit and catch proper breath. Finally they tied the horses' reins to the hitching post.

"Sirs Reginald and Revis are dead," Berthold gasped. He ground his teeth before shivering again. "Master Wyngate?"

"He's not here either, Sir Berthold. Neither is Lady Britomart," the other guard informed him.

At that moment, the heralds' trumpets sounded from the walls.

"Seems he's returned. Hang on, Friends. I'm sure King Rodor will give you a word," the first guard assured them. He removed his cape and rolled it up into a pillow. "Perhaps you might rest? Sorry I cannot offer more."

"It is…appreciated," Lothwein expressed. He eased himself onto the hard granite step as best as he could manage.

"I'll stand. Thank you." Berthold forced himself to his feet. His ears registered the horses' approach on the cobblestones. He leaned against the raised stone edges of the staircase. He quaked again. His nostrils blocked up for no reason.

Galahad and Ywain flanked Rodor at the front of the procession. Malodius accompanied Merlin next in line. Then Gwen, Josiane and Mithian followed. The rest of the knights and hangers on closed out the traveling party.

Merlin felt the residue of the mysterious woman's spell before they'd even reached that point. He turned to Malodius. Did you feel that?

Aye, Merlin. I did. The lion broke with protocol. He rushed ahead of King and companions. Reaching the stricken knights, he touched each one with his left front paw.

The remaining magic dissipated. Dark smoke stinking of burning peat and rotting food fouled the air. The two knights improved. They both stood and bowed before their King, Princess and Prince-to-Be.

"Whatever you did, Lion. Thank you," Berthold expressed.

Lothwein nodded silently. Still Suspicion ruined any attempt at gratitude where he was concerned.

That's not right! Merlin chided.

I followed Duty's call, Merlin. I don't seek reward more than that. Sir Berthold thanked me. I appreciate that, Malodius pointed out.

"I see you haven't returned with the missing counselors, Sirs Berthold and Lothwein," Rodor observed. "What happened that we found you in this condition?"

"Sire, we apologize!" Berthold kneeled before the old King. "We reached Astolat and inquired after Bernard. He had already left with the counselors before we arrived. A mysterious woman appeared from nowhere. She had magic. She burned us with dark fire. It froze rather than burned! She incinerated Reginald. Revis lies under the blanket on his horse."

"She left us with our lives…barely," Lothwein added. "We have a message to deliver as well." He trembled. "Berthold?"

Berthold nodded. "Aye." He produced the handkerchief. "I was told to give this to a Beggar Boy whoever that is. He…he would know what it means."

Rodor raised an eyebrow. "Beggar Boy. That could be anyone." He considered the crimson cloth. Despite the wear, it had a stitched figure 8 design with dots in the top and bottom spaces. A white stain with pinkish discoloration marred the lower left corner.

As the cloth came into view, Reaction however struck out like a cobra.

Gawain stared. His eyes narrowed. "That wench meant me! She knows Big Red! He had to give her that!" He spat on the stones at his own feet. He stormed toward Rodor.

Josiane's jaw dropped. She trembled. A tear streaked her right cheek.

"Princess Josiane?" Mithian wondered.

"Sir Gawain, what are you doing?" Britomart asked. "Please show respect!"

"It isn't King Rodor I'm yelling at! All right? I'm…I'm…." Gawain stopped three steps shy of the King. "This is just like at that bloody banquet! King Rodor, I'm sorry. I…that handkerchief…"

Rodor nodded. "Then you know who this belongs to then, Sir Gawain?"

"Yeah I do." Gawain saw it. "It belonged to my sister. Her name was…." He reached toward the handkerchief.

"Soredamors!"

The group stopped. Shock held everyone in its vice. Confusion clouded their thinking.

"Who said that? I…." Gawain turned to find Josiane staggering toward him. "Josie?"

"Aye, Sir Gawain. I know that as well." Josiane held up her right arm. Just above the elbow, a slight scar marred her skin. "When I was two, a palace ingrate tried to murder me. She wiped my arm with that handkerchief. That's why it is discolored." She sighed.

"You knew her then?" Gawain pushed her. "Sorry but I got to know."

"I did." Josiane smiled. "She was my mother. Despite her previous state, she was the most kind and beautiful woman. Her hair was like the setting sun. Her eyes sparkled blue. It's been so long. I'm sorry, Sir Gawain, I…." She bowed her head. "I shouldn't be…."

"Shouldn't be what? Talking great about her? You talk about her all you want! Just one thing you got to do first," Gawain agreed.

"And that is what?" Josiane wondered.

"Give your uncle a hug already. Will you? And no more talk about being alone. Got it?" Gawain directed. He seized onto her. "I can't believe it. After not knowing." Joy's tears sparkled in his eyes.

"I prayed for news. When I arrived at Camelot, if I had claimed the tournament, I would have demanded Arthur's assistance in finding my family. Edgar would have stopped me. I should have known my god would provide!" Josiane embraced him as well. She didn't care about the scene or the fact that his beard tickled her cheek. "Maybe Aunt Britomart might like to join us?"

"I wanted you to have your time. Now I have help with this oaf," Britomart explained. She embraced her friend (and soon to be niece).

"Josie, don't encourage her. I…" Gawain started before Britomart stopped him with a deep kiss.

Josiane simply stepped back. She treasured the moments between the two knights (even if the bantering puzzled her like everyone else). Despite the slight directed at her mother, her heart warmed.

"It seems I have one more thing to consider?" Rodor interjected to Josiane.

"It seems so, Your Majesty. Thank you." Josiane turned and nodded to him. She beamed at the others' smiles and nonverbal congratulations. Even if she couldn't be with Boeve, she felt a little more at ease. "I appreciate your assistance in allowing us this."

"With all of the difficulties today, Princess, it is my heartfelt pleasure to do so. Congratulations," Rodor expressed before stepping back toward Merlin and Mithian who simply watched with everyone else.

"Hey, Josie! Who said you could leave? Back over here!" Gawain chided (albeit with a playful tone).

"I am coming." Josiane practically pounced on them both. Her arms squeezed. Her heart practically soared.

Challenge would await. Honor would need to be avenged. Slight required an answer.

Still the family moment warmed that point in time. Sometimes that is all that is needed to be said…..