Chapter Eleven: The Tourney

At long last, Lord Roxton managed one strangled word: "Impossible."

Marguerite said nothing. As her back was to him, Gavin could not see her expression, but suddenly Lord Roxton stepped around her to stare at Elaine.

Gavin stood quietly as the British lord scrutinized them each in turn. When Roxton turned back to Marguerite, there was a definitive slump in his stance.

"Marguerite?" he whispered.

"It will be all right, John," she said softly, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. "We'll find a way out of this—we always do." Lord Roxton pulled Marguerite to him, and she made no motion to resist.

Gavin barely caught the sound of that invisible bell this time, but even before Marguerite shot a grateful glance at Elaine, he knew that their plans had changed.

"You're sleeping in the king's chambers tonight, Gavin," Elaine told him simply after the door had closed behind Lord Roxton and Marguerite.

"I'll see you in the morning then," he said lightly. Elaine, seated on the couch, made no response. Gavin frowned. "Elaine?" he prompted. As soon as her eyes met his, he knew. "It will be all right, Elaine, I promise. Come, let's get you to bed." Then, just as he had done when she was five, Gavin put his little sister to bed, tucking the sheets in around her securely. "Goodnight."

"'Night, Gavin," her voice came, muffled by a yawn. With a slight smile, Gavin put out the lights, and slipped out into the hallway.


"Just…be careful, Gavin." Elaine shook her head, the idiocy of her admonition mocking her. She fiddled with her skirt again, trying to get comfortable in the hard wooden chair and ignore the growing tumult from below.

To her dismay, the day had dawned clear and bright. Sir Cai had arranged the lists, the horses were ready, and the people were eager for a fight. There was no escaping it. Gavin would joust with Sir Galeron at noon.

She and Marguerite were seated on both sides of Lord Roxton, under a small silken pavilion that served to screen them from the burning midday sun. The other noblemen spread out on both sides of the pavilion; before them stood the lists, and behind the field the peasantry was lined up four deep. Everyone had come to see the famed Sir Gawain battle the strange knight.

A great cry arose as the two knights appeared, riding their chargers towards the dais. The king stood to give a few appropriate words, but Elaine's attention was focused solely on her brother. Gavin was a little pale but composed, whereas she could feel the painful thudding of her heart against her ribs, her fear for him overwhelming every other emotion. Suddenly, with a wave of Roxton's hand, they turned away, and Elaine began to panic.

Gavin shouldn't be out there! The knights had reached opposite ends of the lists; Caradoc handed Galeron a lance and Squire Terence passed one to Gavin. They saluted Roxton, who acknowledged them with a nod, and then turned to face each other. An icy fist of fear seized Elaine's heart. Gavin! Lord Roxton stepped forward to give the signal and she opened her mouth to cry out against the madness.

No! The sharp reprimand cut through Elaine's panicked thoughts like a knife through butter, startling her into obedience. Too late: Roxton's arm fell, and the two opponents were rushing at each other, lances and visors lowered.

With a resounding crash, man and beast met. A shower of splinters fell as the lances shattered into a thousand pieces. Both opponents reeled dangerously in the saddles, though both recovered enough to turn their horses for another pass. The squires passed up the second round of lances, and without a moment's pause they were spurring their horses on again.

The second time, both lances shattered again. Elaine barely had time to marvel at Gavin's newfound skill with the weapon before she cried out as her brother fell limply from his charger. On the other side of the lists, Galeron swayed dangerously until he, too, crashed earthwards.

Only Roxton's firm grip on her arm prevented Elaine from dashing out to the field. An audible sigh of relief rose from the three of them as Gavin stirred and rose groggily. Unfortunately, so did Galeron, and with a roar of rage, drew his blade and staggered towards his opponent.

Galeron's blade came crashing towards her brother, but suddenly Gavin's sword was in his hand and steel met steel with a clang. Elaine's heart was in her throat as the two circled each other with a deadly, catlike grace, interspersed with fierce bursts of fighting. She could not help the small cry that burst from her lips when Galeron struck a glancing blow and red bloomed from beneath Gavin's armour. Elaine had underestimated her brother, however, and soon both men were covered in dirt, sweat, and blood.

The battle wore on. Both men had discarded their helms, struggling for breath. They would battle briefly before both would collapse, spent. Eventually one would regain the strength to stand, and the other would always rise to meet him. And so the pattern continued as they churned the field to mud.

"Arthur, they'll both die of blood loss if this doesn't end soon," Marguerite whispered worriedly.

"You know that I can't stop the battle," he replied tightly.

Green-grey eyes flashed dangerously. "That's your nephew out there!" she hissed.

Her anger broke over him like ocean waves against a stone cliff. "I know, Morgan," Roxton replied, sounding unutterably weary. "I know." A tense silence reigned before they returned their attention to the lists in unison.

On the field, Galeron had risen to his feet and towered over a crumpled, bleeding Gavin, his sword lying limply in his hand. His swing would sever Gavin's head from his shoulders.

Time slowed; steel blurred. The roar of the crowd faded to a dull murmur, yet Elaine clearly heard the rustle of Marguerite's dress as the lady leapt to her feet, a cry on her lips. Beside her, Lord Roxton edged forward in his seat, gripping the chair with white-knuckled fists.

A sword flashed in the sun. Somehow, Gavin snaked his sword around Galeron's, and with a move that had nothing to do with strength, disarmed him with a flick of the wrist. A quick blow brought Galeron to the ground. Her brother staggered to his feet, the tip of his blade centimetres from his enemy's throat.

Time resumed. Elaine's heart began beating again, and she nearly fainted from the rush of relief. Roxton stood slowly and strode towards Gavin and Sir Galeron. Though preoccupied with her brother's welfare, Elaine noticed the peculiar, subtle difference in the British lord. He had not changed; rather, there was something about him that seemed sharper, more defined.

"My lord," Gavin acknowledged, his eyes never leaving his defeated foe. Following at Roxton's heels, Elaine observed her brother with a fierce pride and a strange sense of recognition. Gavin's muddy, matted red hair clung to his forehead. His face and body were liberally splattered with blood and dirt; chips of his armour were missing. She knew that he was very near to fainting, yet his stance never wavered, every inch the victorious prince. All around them, the crowd roared its approval, cheering young Sir Gawain, king's nephew, knight of the Round Table in glorious triumph.

The king considered the fallen knight thoughtfully; the threat to his rule had been eradicated and he recognized the opportunity immediately. Roxton was torn between admiration for the warrior and a dull, throbbing anger. That's your nephew out there!

He winced inwardly. I know, Morgan. I know. Galeron's blond head was bowed in defeat. Roxton realized with a start that he was not much older than Ned or Gavin. "Do you yield?"

Galeron glanced over at him, startled. "I yield," he said incredulously. The sword that had been pressing into his neck was removed instantly and Gawain offered the knight a hand up. Looking dazed, Galeron accepted, only to fall to his knees before Roxton.

"In yielding, I have relinquished my claims to the lands of Sir Gawain. I realize now that they are but petty trappings of no import," he said clearly. "The greatest knight I have ever had the honour of facing serves a king who is as magnanimous as his knight is fierce." Galeron looked up, his eyes suspiciously bright. "Your majesty, it is my most fervent desire that you accept me into your service. I can think of no greater honour."

Roxton could sense Marguerite's disapproval. Uncomfortable with the open adoration of the knight at his feet, he turned to Gavin appealingly.

"Sir Galeron is a most formidable warrior, my lord." Gavin paused, and then turned to survey the knights around him. "What say you, my lords?" Their response told Roxton all he needed to know.

Mentally thanking his nephew, Roxton turned back to Galeron with a smile. He drew the sword at his side smoothly, mildly disappointed to find only an exceptionally well-made weapon. Roxton quickly touched Galeron's shoulders with the blade. "Rise, Sir Galeron, and welcome to our fellowship. Remain true to yourself, honor always your king."

The crowd's applause was cut off abruptly by the collapse of Sir Galeron. A few ladies shrieked. With only the faintest expression of distaste, Marguerite knelt beside the fallen knight and quickly assessed his injuries. "Get him to the healers' tent, now!" she ordered. Though it was certainly coming in handy, Roxton found it mildly disturbing that Cai already had a stretcher prepared. Moments later, six men were hauling Galeron off the field.

"No!" Elaine's sharp cry brought everyone's attention to another fact: away from the hubbub, Gavin too had fainted, if a bit less dramatically.

For the next two hours, Roxton watched helplessly as Marguerite, Elaine, and Roxton's camp doctor worked over the two opponents feverishly. He had helped as much as possible, but knew that both Marguerite and Elaine were exerting themselves far more than it appeared. The near constant humming in the back of mind attested to it, as did the pallor of their faces.

When Gavin finally awoke, Roxton breathed a sigh of relief. He had just enough time to realize that something was different about the boy before his world spun again…