4.
"Why," Merilinn said, staring up at the horse which seemed to loom above her like a giant. "Why are you making me do this?"
Ursula studied the horse in relation to her very diminutive maidservant. She'd requisitioned the smallest horse in the stables that wasn't actually a pony, but now she was seriously reconsidering. "Because, Merilinn," she said, pushing any second thoughts aside, "not being able to ride is a serious shortcoming in a lady's maid. Now be quiet, I'm trying to decide whether you ought to learn to ride astride or sidesaddle."
Merilinn made an inarticulate noise in the back of her throat, but subsided.
"Astride, I think," Ursula finally decreed, gesturing for one of the grooms to put the saddle on Merilinn's horse, a gentle mare with a soft mouth. "My father is not one for riding out in state with the whole court. I think it unlikely that you'll need to ride in procession with me, at least not anytime soon."
"But I'll need to ride into...what? Battle?" Merilinn squeaked, backing out of the groom's way as he handled the horse's gear.
"Don't be absurd," Ursula said. "Clumsy as you are, you'd clothesline yourself on a tree branch before you managed to stab anybody."
"Have you ever stabbed anybody?" Merilinn asked with interest.
The groom, Corwin, coughed diffidently and subsided, both womens' horses saddled and bridled.
Ursula glared at Merilinn and pulled herself onto her own horse, Alfreda. "Take the reins in both hands," she instructed. "Merilinn. Both hands. Stop worrying, she's not going to walk off. Corwin will hold her for you if you're really that nervous." She nodded at Corwin, who stepped forward and took the horse's bridle. "Now put your foot into the stirrup. Merilinn. Your left foot. Why would you put your right f-never mind. Put your left foot into the stirrup and-don't let go of the reins! What is wrong with you! Yes. Right. Your horse is not going to move out from under y-there! You're sitting on a horse, now was that so terrible?"
"I am," Merilinn said breathlessly, "so far off the ground."
"For heaven's sake, Merilinn," Ursula said, "aren't you from the countryside? How is it that you've never ridden a horse?"
"The horses in my village are for plowing," Merilinn said, sitting ramrod straight and trying not to breathe. "You lead them, you don't ride them. Or they pull wagons. I can drive a wagon. Do you need a field plowed? I can do that."
"Ye Gods," Ursula muttered under her breath some time later, watching her maidservant bounce around in the saddle like a sack of flour. "That poor horse."
…
The following morning, Gaia gave into Merilinn's pleas to send her on some errand-any errand-to avoid a second riding lesson. "She shan't give it up you know," Gaia warned, handing her a basket. "But if you're really so keen to delay the inevitable, I happened to notice that the chestnut mushrooms are coming to season."
It was a hard draw, Merilinn reflected, struggling to reach for her magic while running for her life from a monster that clearly wanted a morning snack, whether she would prefer her current predicament or enduring another morning of torture atop a horse. As the horse had not yet tried to eat her liver, she supposed the latter. Not that it mattered now.
She barely had an impression of the stranger who stepped between her and the monster-armored, but not a knight, menacing the creature with her sword until it broke-
Her sword?
There was no time to dwell on this before the stranger had grasped Merilinn by the arm and pulled her into hiding behind some felled logs. When the creature's cries had faded into the distance and Merilinn could think again, she took stock of herself. She'd lost her basket; the mushrooms for Gaia lay bruised on the ground or scattered to the four winds. Her ribs ached where she'd fallen trying to run from the creature; her left shoulder wrenched nearly from its socket from where the stranger had snatched her up and dragged her to safety.
The woman beside her stood up cautiously and looked to the skies, sword still drawn. Merilinn looked up at her in undisguised curiosity. She reminded her of Ursula a little, though the two did not look alike-the stranger being dark, with hair cropped off at the chin rather than bound around her head. Her armor was slightly ill-fitting, the pieces mismatched, but well kept, not a speck of rust or particle of old dirt upon it. It was her bearing that did it, Merilinn thought; the way the stranger carried herself-with confidence and grace. That was what made her think of Ursula.
"I think it's gone," the stranger said. She offered Marilinn her hand. "I'm Lana."
Merilinn accepted her hand and introduced herself. "Thank you for your timely arrival."
Lana waved her hand as if impatient. "I'm only sorry I could not kill it. This monster has been ravaging the countryside."
"King Uther and Lord Morgan rode out this morning to survey the damage," Merilinn said. "If the Knights of Camelot cannot kill it, no one can."
Lana turned bright, hopeful eyes to her. "And Her Highness? The Princess Ursula? She rides too?"
Merilinn shook her head. "The princess does not ride with the knights," she said. "She only trains with them, and sometimes-" she cut off, unwilling to share with this stranger what Ursula's first,
unsanctioned quest had consisted of. "Sometimes she rides in routine patrols," she finished. It was a little bit true. Sometimes Ursula persuaded Morgan to let her accompany him on such patrols, but only if Uther were preoccupied and she knew she could return before she was missed. "Cover for me, won't you, Merilinn?" she would blithely order, before leaving. It was only by the skin of her teeth that Merilinn had never had to.
Lana's disappointment was palpable. "Oh," she said. "I had heard-" she looked towards Camelot with undisguised longing upon her face, and suddenly Merilinn understood-where else would a lady who longed to be a knight go but to Camelot? Where else would she have even the barest ghost of a chance? "I had heard different," Lana finished.
"If you're headed to Camelot, you should come with me," Merilinn said, her heart going out to this brave stranger. "You can stay with me for awhile. I live in the palace complex."
"You're a royal servant?" Lana asked, as they turned to make their way back to the city.
"I'm Princess Ursula's personal maidservant," Merilinn said, grinning at the hope that suddenly bloomed upon and overcame Lana's face. "And do you know," she continued, "I think she'd be very interested to meet you."
...
"Merilinn," Gaia said, when Lana was settled on a spare pallet in Merilinn's room, "sit down."
Gaia's voice was gentle, which set off alarm bells in Merilinn's head. It was her "we need to have a serious and difficult discussion" voice. It was her "please do not do the very stupid thing that you so badly wish to do" voice. It was no good trying to avoid the conversation, either. She could never excuse her way out of a conversation with Gaia.
"What exactly are you planning?" Gaia asked, when Merilinn had sat down at the table.
Merilinn hesitated. The truth was, she was not really sure what she was planning. "I just want to help her," she said. "She saved my life."
Gaia sighed and sat down next to her ward. "Perhaps encouraging her ambition to become a knight is not the best way to help her," she pointed out. "Suppose you introduce Lana to Princess Ursula. Suppose Ursula is impressed with her. Suppose she goes to her father and encourages him to allow her to compete for knighthood."
Then King Uther would wave his hand in that way he had that meant his time was being wasted by fools, and he would look at Ursula in disappointment bordering on contempt. No, he would never consider a woman knight, and Ursula would know this-know it so well that she would never bring such a petition to him. In fact, she would almost certainly be angry with Merilinn for bringing Lana to her attention in the first place.
"Suppose I do not introduce her to Ursula at all?" Merilinn said. "Suppose I go to Jens and ask him to get a spare helmet from his father's smithy?"
Gaia followed her train of thought. "You propose to have her disguise herself as a man."
"Well, if she can't compete for knighthood as a woman, then...?"
Gaia rubbed her forehead. "Merilinn."
"It's not fair!" Merilinn burst out, standing from the bench. She remembered Lana sleeping in the next room and lowered her voice. "It's just not fair. She fought that creature as well as any knight. Why shouldn't she compete? Camelot should be glad to have her."
"You are quite correct," Gaia said, "it is not at all fair. It just is."
Merilinn blew out her breath, frustrated. "Gaia, how did you become royal physician?"
Gaia raised her eyebrows at the question, then seemed to understand. "Well, there was hardly a competition," she said dryly.
"But you are a woman in a man's position," Merilinn pressed. "So is Ursula, come to that."
Gaia sighed. "Ursula is the heir to Camelot by accident of birth, and not by any particular good will of Uther's," she said. "I am the royal physician because in the great wars against Vortigern, my father, the previous royal physician, was killed as he administered aid to the wounded and I, his assistant, took his place. In the heat and chaos of battle, no one had time to object-all anybody wanted was a pair of healing hands. By the time things had settled, everyone was used to me. So you might say both Ursula and I came into our positions by chance and accident. It is not so with Lana."
Merilinn did not reply.
"Merilinn," Gaia said, "please promise me you won't do anything stupid."
"I won't do anything stupid," Merilinn said heavily.
"Good girl," Gaia said, standing. "Now hand me that willow bark. Two other young fools are competing for knighthood tomorrow, which means I'll have a dozen aches and pains to treat."
…
Jens eyed the three would-be knights lined up at the side of the field with a critical eye. He was no fighter himself, but he'd spent countless hours on the training field attending Lord Morgan, and he fancied he could tell which of them might have the mettle to pass through the rigorous training, and which would wash out in half a moment.
No, he thought, watching as one of the young men tossed his head back, combing gloved hands through his hair before he put on his helmet. No, he thought, when the other tried to put his sword in his scabbard but missed due to nerves. His gaze fell on the last knight, who stood slightly apart from the others, ramrod straight, helmet already on his head, hand on the hilt of his sword. He had the odd idea that the man was looking at him, though it was difficult to tell through the helmet.
Jens tilted his head, frowning slightly. That's my father's helmet. He looked around the edge of the field until his eyes found a familiar figure. Merilinn had placed herself unobtrusively, not attempting to hide but clearly hoping not to be seen. It was Merilinn who had asked if his father had any spare helmets. "Why don't you check the armory?" he'd asked. "I don't want a palace helmet," was her cryptic reply. Jens had supposed that she and Ursula had got up some scheme that they didn't want the king to know about.
The princess herself was also in attendance, wearing mail but not full armor; she stood with Morgan some paces away. Ursula never missed a trial for knighthood, and Morgan found it useful to have her there. If any of the competitors were heard to speak disparagingly of either him ("look at him, consulting with a woman about knightly matters!") or the princess ("it's unnatural-doesn't she know her place?"), it was a simple way to weed out the unsuitable candidates.
There was something different about Ursula these days, as well. An added maturity, a disinclination towards the sorts of mean-spirited tricks she'd previously been known for on the training field. No serving boys had been press-ganged into holding her archery target lately, for instance. Jens's eyes trailed back over to Merilinn, who was nodding to the helmeted knight. The knight nodded back.
Just what are you up to, Merilinn?
…
"Oh, please," Ursula said, "please let me fight them. I can think of nothing more wonderful on a sunny spring morning than to send these idiots slinking away with their tails between their legs, having to report to Daddy that a girl bested them on the field."
Morgan, who was looking over the would-be knights' proofs of nobility, merely grunted in response.
"The third man interests me, though" Ursula continued. "He's very eager, anyway."
Morgan glanced at him. "Poor armor," he said, looking away again.
"All right," Ursula said, turning fully to him. "What is it?"
"What is what?" Morgan said, not looking up.
"You," said Ursula. "What's the matter with you this morning?" What's the matter with you lately, might have been a better question. She tried to think of the last time she had seen Morgan smile, a real smile and not put on because he and the knights were on some kind of display.
Morgan sighed. "I just want to get this over with. It seems that every moron with a son wants the prestige of having a knight in the family, whether the nitwit deserves it or not."
Ursula studied him. "Morgan, you look exhausted," she said. She pitched her voice low so no one else could hear. "We can do this tomorrow just as well, you know, after you get some sleep-"
"Ursula, if you want to be the one to spar with them, be my guest," Morgan snapped. "There's no need to imply I'm unable."
"I was implying no such thing," Ursula said, taken aback. "I'm just-I'm worried about you, that's all."
Morgan made a disgusted noise and dropped the scrolls on the table behind him. "Well?" he said, making an impatient gesture towards the field. "Are you or aren't you?"
Ursula gave him one last, searching look. Something was wrong, had been wrong for a long time. If only these things didn't come to a head when there was no time to pursue them!
"All right!" she called, walking onto the field and gesturing to the boy who kept posturing for the benefit of a couple of nearby maidservants. "Let's see what you can do."
It was almost embarrassing, really. Both boys were hesitant at first, unwilling to fight a woman. The first boy learned quickly that Ursula was not pulling her punches and made an effort to pull himself together, but the second started out behind and never recovered. Ursula got the distinct impression that he didn't want to be there in the first place. Sending them on their way-home to Daddy with their tails between their legs-was underwhelming, even discouraging. By the time the third man took his place to spar, Ursula found she was in almost as bad a mood as Morgan.
The man had kept his helmet on the entire time he was at the field. Strange, for so warm a day-some kind of disfigurement, perhaps? But there was no time to wonder further, for this man was clearly uninterested in making the same mistakes as his predecessors. He fought her boldly and skillfully; smaller than she by some inches-Ursula wondered how old he was-he nevertheless used their relative heights to his advantage, ducking under Ursula's reach to strike close at her body.
Ursula found herself sparring as rarely had before, except, perhaps, with Morgan-and this man's style was different from Morgan's, more fluid, even graceful. Feint, parry, thrust, block-and suddenly the man ducked low when she went high, and Ursula found herself being thrown over the man's back to land hard on her own back, blinking dazedly at the sky.
A sudden ringing of steel on steel and the impression of boots near her head had her rolling quickly out of the way; another knight helped her to her feet. Morgan had taken up the fight. She was still quite close and could see the expression in his eyes, behind his helmet-he was exhilarated in a way she hadn't seen in him in a long time.
She looked around. The fight had drawn more spectators, even-but what was Merilinn doing here, when Ursula had given her a laundry list of chores to complete? Couldn't resist a lot of loud, sweaty men in armor, she supposed-
Morgan disarmed the man, but the stranger kept fighting, feinting and even attacking with his shield. Ursula had never seen anything like some of the moves he was making, and finally Morgan called, "enough! I think we've all seen enough."
He retrieved the man's sword and gave it back to him. When he took off his helmet, Ursula saw the smile she'd been so hoping to see on Morgan's face, wide and genuine. "Very well done, sir," he said to the stranger. "Lancelot, isn't it? May I have the honor of addressing you face to face?"
Ursula stepped to Morgan's side, eager herself to meet this skilled fighter. The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, then removed his helmet.
Morgan made no sound, gave no gasp of surprise. Ursula's mouth fell open. A hush fell over the spectators. The woman behind the helmet met first Morgan's eyes, and then Ursula's.
The first person to move was Morgan, who turned on his heel and walked off the field, looking at no one. Another movement caught Ursula's eye, and she saw Merilinn make an abortive motion as if to walk onto the field herself.
You little idiot, Ursula thought, what in all the hells have you done now?
…
Ursula found the woman in Gaia's chambers.
She stopped before going in. Gaia was elsewhere; she'd heard from a servant that she was in the lower town helping with a difficult birth. The door was ajar and she heard Merilinn's voice.
"I'm really sorry, Lana," her servant said, miserably.
There was a response too low to hear, and then Merilinn laughed a little, still rueful "Yes," she said. "You certainly did that."
Lana. Well, her name could hardly have really been Lancelot. Ursula pushed the door open, and both women turned to her, startled.
"Merilinn," Ursula said, eyes on Lana, "Leave us."
Merlinn stood. Her eyes darted anxiously from Lana to Ursula, but then she dropped into a curtsy. "My lady," she said, and left.
Ursula studied the woman before her. She was a little startled to see her in a plain kirtle, expecting, she supposed, that a woman who disguised herself as a man and stood the knights' trials would be more comfortable in trousers. But Lana did not seem ill at ease, nor ashamed, when she looked at Ursula.
"Walk with me," Ursula said.
Ursula took her to a little-used wing of the castle, to a corridor that overlooked the orchards just outside the city walls. She had come here often as a child, to be alone-or as alone as a princess of Camelot could hope to be. She did not speak, and Lana did not seem eager to break the silence.
"What did you think of my technique?" she asked, at length.
There was a surprised silence before Lana said, "You are very accomplished. But you are too used to fighting a certain kind of person."
"I'm too used to fighting other knights, you mean," Ursula said.
Lana hummed her agreement. "Other knights in a controlled environment," she said.
"That is to say," Ursula said wryly, "I have little by way of practical experience." Before Lana could respond, she went on. "I wish I could tell you that will change one day. But my father would never allow it, and I can only defy his will so far. Do you understand?"
They stopped at one of the windows, looking out at the trees and fields beyond. "If I cannot be a knight here," Lana said softly, "then I cannot be one anywhere."
"I truly wish I could tell you different," Ursula said. "Camelot needs fighters like you, now more than ever. And I-" she broke off, afraid she did not have words for what she wished to say, that the knights were in a certain way her friends but in another way unmistakably not; that putting on armor was at once thrilling and desperately lonely; that she wanted Lana to stay, and not just for the sake of Camelot, either.
"If I were queen," she said, "you would stay with my blessing."
Lana looked at her, clear-eyed, steady. "But since you are not?"
"Since I am not," Ursula said, "you must be out of Camelot by nightfall, by the king's orders."
Lana's jaw tightened as she looked back out the window. "With your permission then, my lady, I shall return when you are queen."
Neither of them said what they both knew, which was that while Uther was not a young man, he was healthy and hale, and might rule another twenty years.
"I must ask you," Ursula said, changing the subject. "Disguising yourself as a man on the training field. Did Merilinn put you up to it?"
"No, that was all my idea," Lana said, too quickly.
"You may be an excellent fighter," Ursula said, "but you're a terrible liar."
Lana grinned, a sudden outflash of good humor. "So I've been told before."
Ursula wanted to pursue this before. Just who was this woman, and what had led her here? But just as she opened her mouth to speak, a great clashing of bells rolled over the city, and in the midst of the bells, a great cry-
"That is the creature," gasped Lana. "I fought it outside the city. Your highness, if it's here, the people are in real danger-I broke my sword on its hide."
"Morgan," gasped Ursula, "the knights."
They rushed through the corridors until they came to a window overlooking the courtyard, watching in horror as the beast charged the knights, batting lance and sword away as if they were toys. "I should be down there," Ursula said in dismay.
"We both should," Lana said.
…
"Perhaps the king is right," Jens said, as he helped Morgan once more into his armor. "What better force to kill this beast than the knights of Camelot?"
"You are not here to offer your opinion on the matter, Jens," Morgan snapped.
"Yes, my lord," Jens said.
Morgan sighed and rubbed one gloved hand over his eyes. When he removed it, he looked, if anything, even more weary. "I'm sorry," he said. "You meant it well."
"It has been a most trying day," Jens said.
Morgan barked a laugh, a little cynical, but real. "You always do have a way of putting things into perspective," he said. "A trying day, indeed. A woman competes in the knights' trials, a griffin attacks the city in broad daylight, and the king sends us out to die because he's too proud to-" Morgan shut his mouth against whatever he was going to say next, so hard there was an audible click.
Too proud to admit he might need magic. Jens knew. His lord kept his disagreements with the king bottled up so tight that sometimes Jens wondered how the man kept from exploding. But Jens was-at least in proximity, and in something that resembled friendship-closer to Morgan than anyone in the castle, and there were very few secrets between them.
"I've half a mind to find that woman and tell her to suit up," Morgan muttered. "We need all the help we can get just now."
As if on cue, there came a knock on the door and Ursula burst in at Morgan's "enter."
"I am coming with you," she announced.
"Ursula, I don't have time for this," Morgan said.
"You are quite right," Ursula said, "you do not. So you may as well not waste time arguing with me."
"I assume you do not have permission from the king," Morgan sighed.
"Of course I do not have permission from the king," Ursula replied impatiently. "Don't be absurd."
"Ursula," Morgan said, "this is dangerous. Probably more dangerous than anything the knights have ever done before. I cannot be responsible for your death."
"I am not asking you to be," Ursula replied. "I'm offering you my sword, and asking you to accept it."
"That will be all, Jens," Morgan said.
Jens bowed and left. He knew the outcome of this conversation-Ursula would wear down the already worn-down Morgan, Uther would be furious, and the whole castle would hold its breath until they returned. If they returned.
Troubled, Jens did not even see the figure step out of the shadows until he had almost collided with it. "Sorry," he murmured.
"Jens, isn't it?" a woman's voice asked.
Jens looked up, startled. In the moonlight from the nearby window, he recognized the woman from the training field. Her dark eyes were wide and intent. "Yes-yes, My lady," he said.
She shook her head. "I'm not a lady," she said. "Jens, I need your help."
Ten minutes earlier, Jens might have found a great deal to say to this woman, starting with what could you possibly have been thinking? before moving on to how dare you involve myself and Merilinn in your ridiculous scheme and ending with you've made my lord Morgan even more miserable, thank you so much for that. But looking into her dark, sincere eyes, Jens found his voice had failed him. He thought suddenly, unaccountably, of the way Morgan's eyes had lit up before he strode onto the field to challenge this unknown competitor, of his lord's wide smile and palpable excitement at finding a worthy opponent.
"What is it that you need?" he asked.
"The princess Ursula is fighting with the knights against the griffin," the woman said. "I will fight with her."
"But you are banished," Jens said, feeling rather stupid.
"Nevertheless," the woman said, "I will help defend my lady. I need armor, better armor than I possess. I know you provided me a helmet this afternoon, though unknowing."
Jens studied her and saw she meant what she said. If he did not help her, she would find another way. She would ride in her poor armor, or in no armor at all.
"Come with me," he said.
His father's smithy was silent and still. The forge was still hot, for his father never let the fire go out. But his father slept the sleep of the just in the other room, leaving Jens free to retrieve the pieces Lana needed. "I will return them, on my honor," she said. "And if I perish-"
"You won't," Jens said, with more certainty than he felt. "Do not say so."
"I am in your debt," Lana said.
Jens paused. Who was this woman, who gave her honor and her loyalty with no thought to herself or her safety? "Lana du Lac," he said, "I do not believe I have ever met your like."
Her face softened and she smiled at him. The moonlight caught her armor, her raven hair, her soft black eyes. Jens's breath caught. He knew, without a doubt in his mind, that he had never encountered a woman so beautiful, nor so full of honor.
"Come back to me," he said, the words out of his mouth before he could think, before he could call them back.
Her eyes widened. "I-"
There was a stirring in the room beyond. "My father," Jens whispered.
"Goodbye, Jens," Lana whispered. "Thank you."
And she was gone.
…
"Wait," Merilinn called, her whisper harsh across the empty street, "I'm coming with you."
Lana stared. "Merilinn, you are brave," she said, "but you are no fighter."
"I'm coming with you," she said, stubbornly. "Ursula is in danger." She led the horse she'd ridden the day before, the gentle mare with the soft mouth. Corwin had saddled it for her without comment. "Will you teach me to do that?" she'd asked. "When you stop shaking like a leaf every time you come near a horse," he'd said.
"You are an exceptionally loyal servant," Lana observed.
"I'm not just Ursula's servant," Merilinn said. "I'm her friend."
Lana hesitated only a moment. "Come, then," she said.
It was a rout, as Merilinn knew it would be; griffin versus mortal with no quarter given. Both Ursula and Morgan lay insentient on the road, Morgan with a freely bleeding wound to his side and Ursula with a lump on her forehead that promised a month of headaches. Merilinn stanched Morgan's wound as best she knew how and confirmed that Ursula's pulse was strong before turning back to Lana. The griffin screamed in the distance. It was now or never.
Merilinn watched Lana in her shining armor, realized that her friend never meant to come back from this fight. She spoke the words of the spell. She spoke them again. She watched Lana tilt at the griffin as if in a dream. She spoke the spell one last time-
…
"It's not right," Merilinn said helplessly.
"Perhaps not," Lana said. "Nevertheless, it is."
"You should at least be allowed to stay in Camelot," Merilinn said.
Lana wore her plain frock of dark blue, a servant's frock, a commoner's frock. "If I cannot be a knight, I do not wish to stay," she said. "But maybe one day." She turned to Merilinn. "You hide who you are in the hope of a better future. In a way, I do the same."
Merilinn stiffened. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
Lana smiled, a little sadly. "Oh, please. My lance was on fire, Merilinn. I didn't do that. You did. You defeated the griffin, not Lana du Lac, would-be lady knight."
"Well, I think you helped," Merilinn said.
Lana threw back her head and laughed. "I helped. You helped. Jens helped. All for the glory of Camelot."
"For the glory of Camelot," Merilinn said. "For you and me. And Ursula."
"Yes," Lana said. "Until we can all be what we truly are."
She rode away without looking back. But other looked on while she rode. Merilinn, from Ursula's chambers, watched her go. And Jens, from Morgan's.
"What are you so interested in over there?" Morgan asked, from where he lay recovering from his injury.
"Oh," Jens said, feeling slightly embarrassed, "nothing, my lord."
Morgan gave him a sly look. "It wouldn't happen to be our lady knight, would it? The savior of Camelot?"
Jens felt strange, detached. "Well-that is-"
"It takes great character to do what she did," Morgan said, "stupidity also, maybe. But great character, all the same."
Jens was reminded suddenly of his words to Merilinn the first time he met her. Brave, but stupid. "Yes, my lord," he said, watching her ride away from Camelot. From him. "Great character."
My lady. My lady knight, Lana du Lac.
