Nimulot Encounters: Bait

CH 5: Arrows

When Lancelot woke, he heard the crackling of a small fire nearby, and he could smell berries and… cooked meat of some sort. Clearly, he was alive, but what had happened? Propping himself up on his elbows, he surveyed the damage: he was covered in dirt and blood, but he could see through the slashes in his clothing that his wounds were completely healed.

"You'll want to wash up," Lancelot turned to see Percival roasting meat over a small fire. "Rabbit's almost done, and Nimue said she might get us more fruit. She should be done washing by now." Completely at ease. Lancelot shook his head as he got to his feet. The Weeping Monk and the Wolf-Blood Witch were set on protecting the boy, of course he was at ease.

You couldn't quite call their hiding spot a cave; it was too shallow, more like a curve in the cliff face with a large overhang. The trees were dense around them, providing the comforting illusion of full-coverage. Finding his sword and dagger propped against the wall behind him, Lancelot stood and slid them into his belt. He started to pull his hood up out of habit, but he let it fall.

"Do you really need that?" Percival asked him, eyeing the sword. "You can smell that it's just us, can't you? Nimue's not gonna hurt you, not as long as you don't try to hurt us." Percival did not seem at all concerned for his safety, merely relaying Nimue's message.

"I sense no enemies or outsiders, but those who know of our escape also know what I am. They know what I've done, so they'll prepare themselves. They may find a way to mask their scent on approach, so we must be ready for anything." Lancelot thought Percival would shrug off his warning, but the boy suddenly looked near tears.

"He…" Percival dug his fingernails into the palm of his free hand. "The Green Knight, right before I was caught, he knighted me. I should know better. I'll do better, I promise." Lancelot stood frozen on the spot for a moment, chills running down his spine. He could clearly remember everything he'd seen. Memories, dreams, visions… The boy's hero wasn't dead.

"Sir Percival," Lancelot began, walking over to kneel beside the boy, "you were surely knighted for your bravery, and perhaps for your unshakable will, but you are very young. Study and train every day, and maybe one day you'll fight beside the Green Knight." Percival shook his head, but Lancelot gripped his little shoulder. "I believe he survived. I should ask your friend out there what she knows of it before I give you false hope, but I believe it."

"Nimue," Percival spoke emphatically. "If you're calling me Percival, you should call her Nimue."

"Nimue," Lancelot repeated, rising to his feet again. Percival smiled, and Lancelot surprised himself by smiling back, making those small, poorly trained muscles ache in an instant. Turning, Lancelot made his way down to the lake, following the drag marks left by his own unconscious body. He smiled again. Percival couldn't pull that much weight on his own, so Nimue had helped him.

When Lancelot reached the lake, Nimue was kneeling at the water's edge. Her back was turned to him, and he noticed three scars emerging from her tunic, catching the light in an odd way. His own back was so littered with scars, he couldn't help but wonder at the source of hers. Lancelot approached Nimue slowly, deliberately making his steps audible, and he heard her whispering, focused on the water. "Father, Merlin, are you alive? Are you safe? Is the sword safe?" She drew three circles in the water with two of her fingers. "Widow, Morgana, can you hear me? Can you see me? What of my father? What of the sword?" Three more circles, then she stared at the water for a moment, finally releasing a heavy sigh and shifting to sit on the ground. "Hidden help us…"

"They saved both of our lives," Lancelot offered cautiously.

Nimue nodded, though she didn't turn to face him. She raised her arm and wiped her face with her sleeve. "We can only ask so much. We must do the work ourselves. Squirrel said our bodies were covered in leaves, vines, and flowers. When they withdrew, our fresh wounds were gone, as if we'd taken no harm to begin with."

"Was it the Hidden, truly? You just described what you did to save the Green Knight."

"Gawain?" Nimue whipped around, ocean blue eyes burning with fiery hatred. She stood and closed the small distance Lancelot had left between them. "Your red brothers tortured him to death and Pendragon soldiers dropped his body at me feet like a sack of rotten grain! He spared your life at the mill, even while wielding the sword—" Nimue held up her left hand so Lancelot could see the brand left by the sword's intricate pommel—"this sword! He told me we had to help our poor, lost brother." Finally noticing Lancelot's expression, Nimue fell silent, her stance relaxing as his words sank in properly. "Saved him?"

Lancelot's jaw was tight, teeth clenched, hands wrapped around the pommel of his own sword. He took a deep breath to calm himself, exhaling slowly. "I don't pretend to understand communication with the Hidden—I was younger than Percival when I was taken from my home—but I know they showed me something important last night." Nimue stood frozen before Lancelot, anger gone, hanging on his every word. Lancelot took a small step back, intrigued but wary. "I saw the moment you spoke of. The Pendragon soldiers said, 'Here's the bag of shit you ordered,' and dropped the Green Knight at your feet. You knelt down beside him, cried, screamed, and then you went rigid, head thrown back and eyes vacant. Your green markings appeared and there was—again, I know not how to explain these things, but I would call it am explosion—an explosion of magic went through the entire Pendragon camp. When my… When two red paladins dragged you outside, they overlooked what was happening beside you. I watched as leaves, flowers, roots, and vines covered his body, and I swear to you, he started breathing again. I saw that much, but nothing more."

Nimue stared at Lancelot for a long moment. Lancelot assumed she was weighing his words, deciding if she was ready to trust him, but Nimue was a step ahead of him. She'd already experienced a moment of panic waking beside the Weeping Monk, and Squirrel had rushed over to keep her from hurting him, explaining everything. She didn't trust the Ash Folk man yet, but she had known for a while that he wouldn't harm children, and she could tolerate him if he helped her protect Squirrel. She had promised Squirrel more food and that's where her mind had wandered, because the Monk—Lancelot's words—they had given her such a potent rush of hope, inspiring her and making her heart soar. There was a chance Gawain was still alive, because she had been there in that camp, demanding to see him…

Lancelot's hand flew to his sword again when he heard the earth shifting, but he found himself at a loss when Nimue gently gripped his wrist. The markings that heralded one of her magical attacks spread across her face, but her eyes were closed and she was smiling softly, her gentle grip reassuring. He reminded himself of what he'd seen, of the Green Knight, and he let her pull his hand away from his weapon. When he heard and felt something rising from the ground behind him, he ripped free of Nimue's grasp and moved to stand behind her. She stiffened slightly, but she said nothing, keeping her eyes closed and breathing steadily. Roots in the ground, a thin trunk broadening and splitting into branches, leaves…

"Those are edible?" An apple tree. She had grown an apple tree in the time it took to string a new bow. Could food grown with her magic possibly be safe?

"Squirrel," Nimue's voice suddenly boomed, startling Lancelot, not that he would admit it.

"What are you two doing? The rabbit's getting…" Squirrel looked at the tree, then at Nimue, Lancelot, back to the tree… "How long have you been able to do this?!" Squirrel launched himself at the tree; it was too short to truly climb, so he heaved himself up onto one of the branches. Without pause, he plucked a shiny red apple from the tree and started eating.

"He looks like a squirrel now, I'll give you that," Lancelot whispered, still standing close behind Nimue, "but why do you call him Squirrel?"

"Because he asked us to," Nimue answered simply, turning to face him. "He hates his given name. We assumed he would grow into his name, but why rush it? Choosing his own name makes him happy."

"The Green Knight knighted me," Squirrel said, chomping on his second apple, "so I've got that name now too, but I like Nimue calling me Squirrel because it's what Sky Folk call me. There's only a few of 'em left, so that's important." Lancelot winced. "So?" Squirrel prodded, looking at Nimue.

"So?"

"How long have you been able to do this?" Squirrel repeated his question. Nimue winced and started to turn away, but that left her facing Lancelot again.

"A few days after we reached Numos," she told Squirrel. "It's not easy. I didn't think it would come to me so easily now, but Lancelot told me the Hidden may have spared Gawain as they spared us." Lancelot's brow furrowed. Did she not believe she had saved the Green Knight herself, or was she withholding information? "Hearing of his vision…" Nimue didn't want to say it, but she knew she had to be honest with herself. "The sword made my more violent magic stronger, but I could feel little but anger when I held it." She absently traced the ridges of marred flesh on her palm. "I need to feel love, hope, joy… Merlin taught me this, the day I first met him. He's my father, Squirrel. I've only told Gawain, Arthur, and Morgana. I didn't trust him at first. He and Morgana were with me when Sister Iris shot me. He tried to pull me up, but he was wounded… If he and Morgana survived, they have the sword, and Merlin knows the sword well. He wielded it for centuries before he lost it in Dewdenn, before Mother found it. Her dying wish was for me to bring the sword to him, so… I suppose I did."

Lancelot marveled at how open she was in his presence, even if her words were for the plucky little boy she loved. Merlin, the passage of the sword… "Sister Iris? A survivor from the Abbey?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished to withdraw them. He so rarely spoke because, through actions, intentions were clear. He asked about Iris because she was a threat, because he wanted to know more about their mutual enemy—

"She's the one who burned Yvoire Abbey to the ground with all the others trapped inside," Nimue said calmly. Lancelot blinked. Mentioning the Green Knight had provoked her, but she seemed more understanding… The sword. She didn't have the sword. "Only Morgana survived, because she followed a day behind me when I fled to Numos. Sister Igraine. She struck herself with a stone so you would think I attacked her."

"I remember her," Lancelot spoke softly, lost in thought. So many pieces were finally coming together. "You were attempting to contact them? Merlin is your father, and Morgana is…?"

"The Widow," Nimue murmured, shaking her head. "She didn't have time to explain exactly what happened, but it happened because she held the sword at the time. That much I know. Somehow killing the Widow, she became the Widow."

"Can't she appear anywhere then?" Squirrel asked, taking everything in stride.

"I don't think it's that simple," Nimue replied, picking an apple and tossing it to Lancelot. "The Widow sees those about to die. She led me to my father. She found me in the first place because Carden was about to kill me." Nimue glanced up at Squirrel, deciding if she should go on. Taking an apple, she faced Lancelot. Seeing the question in her eyes, he nodded, finally biting into his own apple, finding it perfectly crisp and sweet. "When she appeared, she distracted Carden and gave me the sword, so I chopped his head off instead." Lancelot choked on his next bite.

The dream flashed before Lancelot's eyes for only a moment, but the image was branded into his memory. He'd dreamt of Nimue standing in his mother's place, doing all she could to save him. Nimue did what his mother could not, what his father could not. After years of serving the Church, fighting beside the Red Paladins… No rage, no fury came at all. His kidnapper, Father Carden, was dead.

"At Red Lake, it was obvious you had no training," Lancelot said once he could speak again. "When I saw the Green Knight struggling to wield the Devil's Tooth, it became clearer still that the sword was doing much of the work for you." Holding Nimue's gaze, Lancelot drew his sword and raised it just high enough to point to her scarred hand. "Your sword wielded you, and it branded you." Lancelot drove his sword into the ground and took several steps back, drawing his dagger. "Take up another sword, and learn control. With any luck, you'll learn to control your battle magic as well."

Squirrel was grinning broadly, eager to learn and enjoying the show from his perch. Nimue took one step toward the sword, just to show Lancelot she wasn't afraid to spar with him, but she glanced back at Squirrel. "If I do lose control, stay in that tree. Safest place for you is surely in something I already grew." Squirrel nodded, still grinning, and Nimue turned back to Lancelot. When she took another step toward the sword, Lancelot moved closer too, and though his eyes were sharply focused on her, it looked like he was fighting a smile. Nimue held Lancelot's piercing gaze for close to a minute. Even back at the Red Lake, those piercing, weeping eyes had drawn a reaction from her. A reaction…

Nimue allowed herself to smile, and she called to the Hidden. Another fruit tree began growing behind Lancelot, and in the moment he turned to look, she lunged for the sword.

End

Read Nimulot Encounters: Fire and Water for flirtatious sparring, though the two stories are unrelated.

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