"The Legend of the Black Armor"

Chap. 02: The stuff of legends.

"Let me see if I got this right." – Bors' face was quite the poem – "First you raised an army to attack Camelot, then you showed at the castle gates to throw your challenge against King Arthur…" - he was getting incensed with each word spoken – "… To, later, fight at Camlann, win the battle, throw Excalibur to a lake and just walk out as if nothing had happened?!" – he ended shouting, his squared reddened face a consequence of his anger – "You're a lunatic, highlander! That's what you are!"

Medraut was munching nonchalantly an apple she had picked from her saddlebags meantime a busy Galahad sat behind a contemplative Lucius while struggling to clean and bandage his friend's still tender scratches before they started to swell.

"First things first." – Medraut clarified between munches – "My original plan was to challenge Arthur in singular combat, but problem was that the old man didn't even deigned himself to show up at the gates to deal with me like a man in his position would."

"He was ill, damn you!"

"I ignored such a thing and nobody had the decency to tell me about it." – the girl said, furrowing her brow – "He seemed perfectly healthy back in Camlann. A bit old and desperate, yes, but healthy." – and then, a humorless smile spreaded by her lips – "He even gifted me with a short but intense fight. After that we talked, we stated our business and our reasons and he died. End of story."

Lucius swallowed discreetly, not liking a bit the turn this conversation was taking, while Bors' look of hatred did not diminish in the slightest.

"And Excalibur? And the kingdom?" – he pressed.

"Would you seriously think I would have thrown the stupid weapon to a lake if I intended to take the Throne?" – after finishing her apple, she dropped the wasted carcass to the grass and crossed her arms – "I've told you: I wanted Arthur's head, but the crown over it… I couldn't care less."

"And all of this for what? For a man you never knew?!"

Suddenly, Medraut's face darkened. That was a topic she was sensitive about and, nobody had the right to tell her what or whatnot her heart could claim.

And her heart said proud and loudly that she would have liked very much to grow with a father who, if he was anything like the man her mother spoke about, she would have loved him with all her might.

Nobody had the right to tell her otherwise.

"Listen, mastodon." – she began, her green serpentine eyes cold and authoritative – "You grew with a father and a normal, standard mother who had been loving you since your birth. You'd been raised among fucking amenities in an environment full of rich, cultured people and not surrounded by odd folks, mostly warriors and mages, out of only the gods know which dark chapter of History, in a strange land populated with stranger magic beings with a very, trust me, very short temper plus random spirits and crazed crones who like their magics a tad too much and whose word is law regarding when you see or you don't see your mom because, oh so fun-fucking-tastic, you're not "gifted" as they are." – as she went out of breath pulling out such amount of information (an information quite difficult to digest, by the way), the young man in front of her went backwards a little, guarded and impressed by her outburst – "So don't give me that crappity crap about "King Arthur was the goodie, your dadda was the baddie and he got what he was asking for. So deal with it, duh", for, precisely, you're not the most indicated to give me lessons in morals having been leading a life full of blacks and whites while there's an infinite spectrum of grays."

Bors' mouth shut immediately while Galahad raised his eyebrows, impressed, gaining a low hiss from Lucius when he pressed a bandage too tight. The girl wasn't a mere brute as the blonde knight had expected; no wonder she had Lucius so smitten to the point to even overlook the fact that she, technically, was the enemy. No wonder either that Bors looked so furious.

They were knights of the Round Table and Lucius, with his youth and naivety, was trampling unknowingly over their sacred duties.

"Grudges aside, dear Bors, I believe we should talk about what is the current situation that brought us together today: that black armor." – pointed Galahad, setting his friend's long white hair aside to work better with the bandages – "If your pretensions towards the Throne are genuinely indifferent, my lady, I find myself in the dire need to ask you about the fate you're planning to bestow upon such instrument of sorcery."

The girl blew a curly red lock that had gone to her face.

"Returning it to its legitimate owners: the Wayward Sisters." - she deadpanned.

Bors looked horrified.

"You've made a pact with those evil beings?!

Medraut rolled her eyes for the hundredth time that day."

"Of course I did." – she said – "I practically live with them, man."

"What?!"

"Have you not been listening? Where I come from, those three hags are, in a way, the maximum authority along with the immortal beings that populate Avalon."

"A… Avalon?!"

Lucius looked fascinated, Galahad pensive and Bors astonishment grew to new heights.

"Yeah, Avalon." – the redhead grunted as if talking with retarded children – "You know… fabled place, magical forces, fairies and stuff…"

"We know about the mystic land of Avalon, my lady." – said Galahad, finishing his work with the bandages and helping his friend to put his shirt on – "But my question is: being you not a sorcerer… how did you manage to get from Avalon, a kingdom beyond mortal sight, to this realm?"

"Boat and oars."

Silence.

"Care to elaborate?"

Medraut sighed in frustration.

"There's nothing to elaborate: they said 'here's your enchanted armor, here's a bag with some viands. See that boat with the oars? Good. Start to row 'till you reach a shore and go to the South 'till you see a golden-silver castle. Your fate awaits there and blah, blah, blah'." – she explained quickly, defensive and embarrassed by revealing such a lame part of her mighty campaign against Arthur – "End of story."

The three young men raised their brows almost at the same time, which produced a strange comical effect.

"Just like that?" – Lucius was the one brave enough to ask the question all of them had in mind.

The redhead facepalmed herself, wishing the earth just swallowed her right now. Great, twas the awkward reminder she just needed to finish the day. At that moment she wished she had been a minstrel, for she wasn't very good at adorning stories and speaking the truth, it seemed, raised more questions than easy, accepting smiles. Urgh.

"Yeah, just like that..." – she grunted after a while.

"And no magical intervention?" – seconded Galahad.

Medraut then sent him an inquisitive look.

"You ask far too many questions about the switch between realms, Goldilocks." – the girl stated with a suspicious glance – "Too many questions regarding the magical and supernatural… for being a Christian believer."

Galahad barely blinked.

"I'm just trying to understand the mechanics of traveling between realms because, as you previously stated, that armor belongs to the Sisters."

"Yes, and?"

"And I'd very much like to know how you plan to give it back to them without a clue of how to return to their territory." - he reasoned – "You yourself said that you're no magic practitioner and you arrived to our land by row; a means, if you allow me to say, quite mundane."

"Versed on the topic, are we?" – she mocked – "Interesting…"

"Don't you dare to accuse a knight of the Round Table of sorcery or knowledge of the Vile Arts, highlander!" – Bors exclaimed, incensed again and raising at the minimum opportunity against the redhead.

Medraut's nostrils flared for a second. The stupid big lump was starting to be offensive and very annoying.

"For being a mastodon, you're a little high on your horse about Camelot's knights and their striving for imaginary perfection." - she counterattacked.

"Repeat that if you dare!"

"Or what?" – she challenged – "You're going to pick that rusty claymore of yours from the ground and push your luck with me and my armor a second time?" – she gave a tap to her dark metallic carapace with a prideful, yet malign gesture – "Believe me: with this armor, I can take down the three of you without even breaking a sweat. Plus, you're big, slow and your technique is a bit clumsy."

"How dare you!"

"What? You're going to cry?"

"ENOUGH!"

After such a deafening yell echoing in the middle of the quietness of the woods, both Medraut and Bors turned around to look the slender Lucius with big eyes.

"You're quarreling like children and this is not going to get us far!" – he exclaimed – "Don't you see? We need to work together to get that thing where it belongs!"

"Lucius speaks the truth." – seconded Galahad with a serious gesture, foreign in a face so affable like his – "That artifact, like Excalibur itself, shouldn't be in anyone's hands that could abuse its power."

"Like she did?" – said Bors venomously.

"I renounced to your stupid kingdom and Arthur's stupid sword, you idiot!" - Medraut exclaimed indignantly – "So shut the fuck up!"

Lucius sighed loudly and Galahad pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Anyway…" - continued the Apollonian knight, his blue eyes squinted – "It is clear that we cannot destroy it, so if the lady's intentions ring true, which I believe they are, it is in our best interest to get that armor out of our realm. It could prove dangerous in the wrong hands. We must find these witches, and soon."

Nobody said anything more, for an unspoken truce of companionship was forged on that very moment, with Mother Nature as witness.

For they, if still confronted against each other and with very different interests guiding their steps, knew this temporal allegiance was for the best.

Although they, as four young, silly and temperamental folks, each had a very different definition of 'what was for the best'.

Six days, she had said. Six days was the time they would be spending through these woods until they reach their destination.

"And which destination is that exactly?" – Lucius, unspoken declared speaker for every question the three young men had regarding this strange quest since Galahad was too soft-spoken for Medraut's tastes and Bors… well, best not to talk about Bors.

Now that the young pale man thought about it, he hasn't asked Medraut where they were going since he had known her. He had simply allowed himself to be dragged alongside with her impetuous spirit and with little more than almost blind trust.

A trust, his knight comrades had told him in private, that was entirely misplaced.

"The shore where I left my boat hidden a year ago." – had been her short answer.

"So, your plan is to get on that boat again and start rowing until you reach Avalon's shores by a strange, fated coincidence?" – had been the immediate response she had got from Bors – "Now that's the worst possible plan I've ever heard."

And her counterattack had been equally immediate.

"Got a better idea, Mastodon?" – she had hissed, dangerously close to being pissed off, and for her life she knew she could be pretty nasty when she was pissed – "Go on, let's hear it." – and seeing the hesitant expression in Bors' visage, she had smiled with self-sufficiency – "Thought so."

In truth, her plan was purely based on her own hopes that the old hags would be so eager to recover their artifact that they will put the necessary means at her disposition so she could return to Avalon with it wielding her victory as a banner.

Besides, she wanted to return to Avalon as soon as possible.

She had taken that decision the very first night she had spent in the others' company and all of them had gotten tasks to set a camp.

She had taken the task of getting some dry wood for the bonfire they had improvised and she was carrying proudly a good pile of broken branches that could've put in shame even that stupid mastodon's strength. With such an amount of wood, the bonfire could last a good part of the incoming night.

"I don't know about the both of you, but I don't trust the highlander in the slightest."

However, at the very moment she had got close to the area where the other three were doing their assigned chores, she had heard the cursed big lump speaking in a voice so low that it was clearly intended not for anybody else's ears than the ones from his two companions.

But she, together with many other physical enhancements the black armor provided for her already strong body and keen senses, had a pretty sharp sense of hearing.

So, she had approached them quietly, her soul shaken and her thoughts darker with each word spoken.

"That detail, dear Bors, have been quite evident since your blades crossed." – Galahad's voice, calm and gentle, had replied with an undertone of slight amusement.

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she disarmed him quite easily." – the third voice, Lucius voice, teased – "Don't be mad, Bors. She'd kicked many arses before yours."

And maybe that tiny pearl could've put a smile on Medraut's lips if not by the sudden course the conversation took.

"Watch your tongue, Lucius." – said Bors with a warning edge in his tone – "For I'm still displeased and very disappointed at you given the side you have chosen in this war."

"What are you talking about, Bors? The war is over! It has been over weeks ago!"

"Your naivety, if sometimes endearing, will prove one day to be your undoing, Lucius." - Bors' voice had grown very serious by seconds – "But I can understand that you only see a girl around your age instead of the real enemy she truly is. Without that helmet she looks like a kid, just like you. But maybe she's not."

"What are you trying to say, Bors?" – questioned Galahad softly – "Speak your mind."

"What I'm trying to say, Galahad, is that I don't buy her story." – he stated – "Avalon, the Lost Kingdom beyond our earthly world? I don't know; I wouldn't believe such a preposterous affirmation given not the evidence of her armor."

"So?"

"So maybe she's telling us the truth about her origins, maybe not, but what it is crystal clear is her affiliation with an unholy power so dark and ancient that had secured her victory against Arthur and Excalibur. That makes her dangerous and not a much-loved figure in our lands, precisely." – continued the oldest knight somberly – "She's stupid if she thinks she's safe after what she has done. And, even if I find her brash, vulgar and insultingly arrogant, I don't think she's stupid at all. Were I in her shoes, I would try to eliminate any possible witnesses that could relate her with the name of Mordred. That includes us."

The silence that followed clearly meant that they were weighing his words carefully.

Still silent and shrouded in shadow, dry wood on her hands, Medraut's pupils flickered briefly while her fingers inside the black gauntlets closed a bit forcefully around the wood, cracking slightly the rind.

"Have you ever wondered why she allowed you to accompany her on her journey? Did she take off her armor in your presence even once?"

She hadn't. But that was due to her own weird sense of propriety and… well, that she didn't trust the young man's intentions towards not just her, but the armor.

Many had tried to rob it from her in the past year, even surrounded by her own army. Treachery threatened from each corner and the old hags had already warned her that the black armor in the wrong hands would prove incredibly destructive.

It was a dangerous artifact not meant for human's greed.

"As much as I hate to acknowledge it, Bors' reasoning is solid, Lucius. To her knowledge, 'till today you were the only one left alive who had seen her face in the battlefield."

The armored arms around the dry wood trembled slightly while a familiar tension built in the muscles of her neck and shoulders.

"I suggest we decapitate her while she sleeps."

The dark metal over her clothes and naked skin vibrated slightly as a pulsating buzz filled her brain. Like needles sinking on her circulatory system and making their way through the blood, the arcane energies within the artifact transferred themselves to her skin and started to tint it with a faint green glow.

Then the intrusive thought.

Kill them.

"Bors! Have you lost your mind?!"

"It's the only way, Lucius. While she wears that armor, she's invincible… but I doubt very much that she sleeps with the helmet on. It's our only chance."

Kill them.

"I think this is too hasty a decision to undertake, Bors. We still don't know about her true intentions."

"Not you, Galahad, not you too. Remember who we are talking about: Mordred, the one who raised an army made of Brothers and their vassals who betrayed us, the Kingslayer!"

Kill them all. Before they kill you instead.

"For God's sake, Bors! She spared your life, damnit!"

"I think you have spent too much time in her presence, Lucius. Her disgusting language is now on your lips as well as her influence within your heart. Would you betray your Brothers and your King for a barbarian like her?"

"The King is dead, Bors! As well as all of our Brothers!"

"Watch that mouth! I don't care if you're my brother's grandson, Lucius, for I will punish you as a betrayer deserves!"

The shot of adrenaline was becoming so unbearable that she thought she would run on them and impale the throat of the big stupid lump with one of the branches between her arms.

She… she wanted…

Kill them. NOW!

"Stop fighting, you two." – Galahad's voice reprimanded them severely – "We are here to ensure that armor disappears from the mortal realm. That should be our sacred mission as Brothers, not to fight over things that can't be helped."

"But…!" – Bors' voice started to protest.

"Besides…" - the Apollonian knight continued, calmed and indifferent about his obvious interruption – "I believe we, as knights of the Rounded Table, swore an Oath to always pursue the truth. Killing someone without having been discovered the truth in her words, is a murder in cold blood, not justice."

After that, silence followed. A silence so long and heavy that when she made her presence known, they had already calmed and she… she had her impulses and the armor's magic under control… but barely.

"Took your sweet time, highlander." – Bors grunted, still venomous from earlier.

Medraut's eyes couldn't be more frozen than they were when she glanced towards him.

"I would like to see you picking the right kind of wood amidst the darkness of the foliage while taking care of not walking in a tree." – was her cold answer as she walked towards her Nightmare mount, whose red eyes searched her while showing its pointed teeth, looking for a cuddle, a piece of raw meat to eat or maybe both.

The girl left the pile of wood beside the bonfire and threw a branch or two before rotating their dinner roasting on the fire silently, her hunched silhouette sat far away from everybody; the black, demonic horse's snout with ample nostrils over her head, inhaling her scent.

Nobody said anything that night and Lucius felt that he had been the only one who had noticed the sudden change in Medraut's vocabulary. Just like when she had talked with the King, just like when she had thrown Excalibur to the lake. Her colloquial vocabulary had been surfacing slowly as the days together had woven their shared journey through the land.

That had been her true self.

But now, even if it has been just one day, since Galahad and Bors' apparition, she was starting to be less and less herself. And Lucius truly missed her tomboyish, cocky, funny side.

So, as they eventually went to sleep, Bors volunteered himself for taking the first watch although his motives were clearly to have an eye on her. Medraut, on her own, did not sleep even a bit. Her eyelids half-closed but never entirely, trusting her own safety on her senses and her trusted mount that kept her company providing heat during the night.

But, as the following days went the same, with Bors taking the first watch every night, her tiredness started to show its signs when her answers went from short to curt, and her mood went from guarded to paranoid. And, as they kept advancing, while the three young men had an easy, friendly companionship between them, she kept herself always apart, quiet and bitter while she observed with a pang of hurt and jealousy how they were having fun while she struggled for staying awake.

Just like the past year.

She remembered how many times she had discovered that some of her soldiers regarded her armor with envy and greed, knowing the invulnerability it provided to its owner.

That, plus hiding behind her helmet the fact that she was a woman, for everybody assumed by her unusual for a girl tall height and the metallic, sexless voice that the said helmet produced, that she was a grown man.

"Mordred" had been a defense mechanism to add more masculine features to her hiding identity. That name was close enough to her own, and it was a powerful, male name from end to end. The perfect front.

She remembered how she had found herself with her hands, more than often, full of the blood of her own allies who had become insane by the armor's influence and had tried to kill her to get it. Like when she, stupidly, had honored the death of a deserving foe like Uryens by removing her helmet to show him her face before he expired his last breath. After that, the men who were riding by her side had tried to kill her and she had been forced to rip them apart after trying to reason, sadly with no avail, with them.

She also remembered how the few runes of protection that her mom had taught her had been just one of the many defenses she had needed to put around herself when she bathed or slept.

But with the Knight-Boy everything had been different. Somehow he was… immune to the armor's dark arcane energies. She had known it the very instant he had started to converse with her like any regular person and, with the passing days by his side, he hadn't tried even once to make the killing move to get the armor or to avenge his King.

True that those weeks, while in his companionship, she had kept her defenses raised when she bathed… but not when she slept. She had been sleeping very well despite the recurrent nightmares she had after a whole year spilling so much blood.

In Lucius, she had found the closest thing to a friend she had ever known in all her short, mostly lonely life.

But now, that uncertain friendship had been shattered with the intrusion of the other two. Now she was alone… again.

Alone and absolutely paranoid, as she felt that one night she would fell asleep out of exhaustion and she would never raise to see another sunrise.

On the fourth night, her distress was so great that, feeling how her eyes twitched each minute trying to fight the luring call of sleep, Medraut had risen from her sleeping bag.

Feeling the mute, questioning glance the still awake Bors was regarding her with, the redhead moved quietly half-asleep towards the foliage, feigning she was going to pee to, instead, start to walk aimlessly in order to clear her mind a bit.

That way had been how she had ended, ten minutes later, pretty lost and walking by pure inertia as if in a trance.

She thought she would fall asleep standing until she saw them.

The bluish mystic lights of will o' the wisps floating in midair a few paces from where she stood.

While being a child she always had this silly hobby of pursuing chains of will o' the wisps back in Avalon, where the souls of the deserving and mighty dead were as real and tangible as any other living creature there.

Her mother would always dedicate this thin smile to her, saying that she wished her father were among those dead so, at least, Medraut could have met him.

The woman evidently had been deeply in love with her husband and Medraut secretly wished her father would have been a better man or, at least, worthy enough to penetrate the mists of Avalon and have his other life by their side.

But he hadn't earned his place among the mighty dead, the ancient Kings and Lords of old. He had died a betrayer and twas the memorial he had left to his family.

Now that she thought about it she felt depressed. She was the daughter of a man her mother insisted he had been, if not a good man, the most authentic person she had ever met. A man so authentic that his indomitable soul, ultimately, had brought him to his own demise at the hands of fate itself.

A man many still remembered with spite and fear.

His mightiness had resided on his evilness towards a world that had forsaken him since the very moment he had chosen to live following his heart instead of the rules.

She had avenged his memory by killing Arthur… but that didn't mean that the deep emptiness she felt in a place within her heart that only a father could have filled didn't hurt now.

So, in an attempt to erase those intrusive, sad thoughts from her soul, Medraut followed the chain of will o' the wisps smiling weakly as they kept disappearing as soon as she tried to touch them.

Then she heard the voices.

A disembodied chorus of chants reached her ears until their singing made sense.

"A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth,
Mise ri d' thaobh, Ó mhaighdean bhàn,
ar rìbhinn òg, fàs a's faic
do thìr, dìleas fhéin."

"Little baby, hear my voice,
I'm beside you, O maiden fair,
our young Lady, grow and see
your land, your own faithful land."

She knew that song. Her mother had been a Britannian noble lady, so her knowledge of her husband's native language was a bit limited, but that song she knew to heart.

"A ghrian a's a ghealach, stiùir sinn
gu uair ar cliù 's ar glòir.
Naoidhean bhig, ar rìbhinn òg,
mhaighdean uasal bhàn."

"Sun and moon, guide us
to the hour of our glory and honour.
Little baby, our young Lady,
noble maiden fair."

The lullaby her mother usually sang to her when she was little, trying to infuse her daughter courage and the love she was often deprived of when the coven called her mother far away from her and she would roam Avalon alone as a spirit who intertwined her very essence with the dead and the arcane energies she had not born with.

"A ghrian a's a ghealach, stiùir sinn
gu uair ar cliù 's ar glòir…"

She wasn't a gifted child, so the Sisters had dismissed her from her mother's side at the tender age of seven. From that very point on, she scarcely saw her and their meetings were too intense as well as too brief. Her mother was a creature of the night while Medraut was a creature of Nowhere, for she had been the first human child to born and live in Avalon's soil without having earned the right to be there.

Somehow she felt… undeserving, just as her father had been.

"Sun and moon, guide us
to the hour of our glory and honour…"

Following the bluish gleams, many tiny laughs and whispering voices filled her ears in the still of the night, blurring the borders between the mortal realm and the spiritual one as she walked between consciousness and unconsciousness, between dream… and nightmare.

"A ghrian a's a ghealach… sun and moon… stiùir sinn… guide us…"

Full moon over her head, whispers in the dark amidst the deafening silence.

"… Gu uair ar cliù 's ar glòir… to the hour of our glory and honour…"

Her boots sinking in the grass and the mud, the beating of her heart as a war drum in the background.

"Cliù 's ar glòir!"

Suddenly, she found herself in the very center of a cromlech circle.

Then, the next thing she heard was the flutter of heavy wings. Raising her head towards the sound's origin, her blood ran cold in her veins.

"Glory and honour!"

A second after the pain, she realized she was being attacked by a creature only her dreams had conjured before: a griffin.

Black and majestic, with venomous, feline green eyes, the imposing beast salivated while observing its prey under its claws, trapped between its great weight and the ground, struggling for freedom.

Terrified under the creature's bulky weight, Medraut suppressed the wave of panic that washed over her and instinctively grabbed one of the griffin's front legs to sink the pointed ends of her gauntlets on its skin.

Shrieking painfully loud, the beast's grip around her middle section loosened to, immediately after seizing her opportunity, receiving a hard punch under its beak from the fiery redhead whose strength was greater than many.

Prying the creature's great weight with her free legs, Medraut managed to turn around the black beast, trying to restrain its violent jolting. But the griffin, being the clever beast it was, fluttered its black wings until it rose above the girl's height, planning to rip her head from her shoulders with its powerful claws.

Then Medraut, quickly predicting her foe's moves, dodged the first attempt rolling over the grass and, when the beast tried it a second time, using the speed of flight and gravity on her favor, she grabbed one of its paws and forcefully directed its whole body against the hard ground.

She punched and kicked the struggling griffin while maintaining it pinned tightly to the ground. In answer, the creature was viciously trying over and over to peck at her face with its sharp beak.

But she proved to be stronger.

With the bulky, dark frame pinned upside-down along with its wings with her legs, Medraut pulled out a wrestling move which was destined to suffocate her foe… 'till she heard the creature speak.

"Enough!" – it hissed – "Enough, human! I yield!"

"Why should I trust you?" – Medraut hissed as well, teeth grinding and sweating profusely – "Give me a single reason about why I shouldn't break your neck right here, right now, you fat bird."

The griffin hissed again, both offended and humiliated. It has been so many years since a human like this one defeated it in fair combat…

"I have been defeated." – it spoke once again, its raspy voice tinted with a humbling tone that gave Medraut some pause – "I yield before you and your strength, human. And because of that, from this night on forward, I swear to call you Master and serve you until one of us will perish, just as I did many years ago with the one who sired you. Ruber was his name."

Medraut's green eyes opened wide. It couldn't be…

"You… you knew my father?" – she asked, loosening her grip around the creature's feathery neck – "How?"

"I could never forget the power that emanated from his soul, just as it emanates from yours." – it replied, careful to not make a sudden move that could prompt her to strangle it again – "We griffins feel attracted towards power and we crave the flesh of those who have it in the hopes to absorb part of it."

"Ewwwww…" - Medraut grimaced – "Gross."

"But if we are defeated by those whose flesh we sought…" - the griffin continued – "… we are obligated to die by their hands... or serve them. And I very much prefer servitude, if possible."

She hesitated a few moments until she, finally, released the powerful being.

Getting both up and looking into each other's eyes, Medraut silently assented while the griffin bowed its head respectfully.

"Got a name, bird?" – she suddenly asked.

The griffin observed her confused.

"A name?" – it repeated – "We griffins do not need a name to identify us, that is a human notion."

"So, I should simply call you "griffin"? Or do you prefer "bird", perhaps?" – she added with a cunning smile.

The powerful being hissed, offended yet again. Long human, longer tongue, it seemed.

"I very much prefer not to be called something I am not, Master." – it said after a while – "But I am not against being called by a human name of your choice."

"Hmmm…" - the girl pondered briefly – "Well, I suppose if you are a griffin the evident choice is to call you… Griffith. Is that okay with you?"

The creature nodded, looking pleased.

"An honorable name, indeed." – it said – "For its meaning, if I am not bad informed, means "Strong Lord". I thank you for this title you have bestowed upon me, Master."

"Uh, yeah, you're welcome." – Medraut mumbled, scratching nervously the back of her head, thinking about the very little ponder she had given to the name thing, looking for something close to the creature itself and not minding the true meaning of the name in question – "So…" - she started.

But she was unpredictably interrupted as noisy steps followed by several pairs of boots rushed inelegantly into the cromlech circle.

"Medraut!" – exclaimed a very disheveled Lucius, out of breath, several threads of his long, white hair stuck at the corner of his mouth as if he had just awakened from sleep and with half his armor equipped the other way around – "Are you okay?!"

By his left side, Bors grunted in disapproval while running a hand over his tousled dark brown short hair.

"Pity that she's still alive..." – he murmured.

Galahad seemed the most awake of the three, wielding his sword in front of him, eyeing the griffin with distrust.

Medraut observed them with a dopey expression that soon was replaced with astonishment.

"Wh… the fuck are you three doing here?" – she blurted out, noticing that they had been recently asleep and had gone in a rush to her aid… though, how did they even knew in the first place?

"Allies or foes, Master?" – said Griffith positioning by her side with venomous, hungry eyes – "Should I spare their lives or should I rip their heads off their bodies?" – after this, the three young men wielded their weapons with a bit more force.

Bors snorted sarcastically.

"Making new friends, highlander?" – he spat after looking up and down the strange, menacing creature – "I would venture that this kind of company is just your cup of tea."

"Oh, cut it, Bors!" – protested Lucius to, almost immediately, address the redhead again – "Say, is everything alright?"

Medraut assented slowly, still stunned.

"How…?" – she started.

"We don't really know." - said Galahad – "We felt… something at the same time and just ran towards this destination. I'd say that such an impulse was entirely unnatural."

"And you are right."

This new voice came from above their heads so, as they turned up their faces they saw a small silhouette sat on a tall branch of one of the nearest trees.

"Who're you?!" – Bors exclaimed – "Show yourself!"

The darkened silhouette dissolved itself against the starry sky like smoke.

"Wh…?" – but before Bors could complete his sentence, the same small silhouette outlined itself against one of the menhirs that compounded the cromlech circle, arm-crossed. And this time, the companions saw the nature of this new arrival – "Sorcerer!" – the older knight exclaimed pointing a finger towards this person accusatorily.

But Medraut only rolled her eyes.

"How typical: your fathers of the Round Table hated and feared the arcane energies so much that they never bothered to teach you the difference between a sorcerer…" - she said, closing the distance between her and the small hooded person leaning against the menhir – "… and a druid." – she finished as she took out the stranger's hood with her hand, revealing the strange truth behind it – "And… a druid child, no less."

The said child, a boy of not older than, perhaps, eight or nine years old frowned his freckled nose along with his eyes, his bright blue eyes, than betrayed the tiniest arcane glow within their irises.

"Hey there, kiddo." – Medraut greeted while lowering herself in order to be at the same eye level with the boy – "Twas you? The one who warned this trio of stupid tin cans?"

The said trio protested loudly while the child moved his head in an affirmative gesture.

"It was me." – he confirmed – "Not many who are challenged by a griffin lives to tell the tale."

"Sweet kid, aren't you?" – she smiled, trying to infuse courage to the small child whose big eyes were looking every ten seconds to the three knights with crystal clear fear no doubt product of the persecution his kin were subjected even before he had been born – "Well, I think I owe you some thanks even if their intervention was, besides LATE…" - she emphasized giving a hard look to the young men – "… totally unnecessary."

Bors huffed.

"Well, let's see how you fare on your own next time, highlander." - he spat.

"Sorry, but I don't talk donkey." – she replied without even looking at him – "Go play with your pals back at the farm and munch some turnips so you grow healthy and strong to be a good jackass."

"Why, you dirty…!"

While his comrades struggled to get him in his place before he attempted to strangle the mouthy girl for her insolence, the small child eyed them a bit guarded.

"Don't mind them, especially the big lump there." – Medraut said smilingly, addressing the afraid child like she would with any other. In all her short life she had seen very few children, none in Avalon, of course, and they were a curious sight to her. Especially a gifted one – "Much noise and little else." - she added jokingly – "Where are your elders, kiddo? Are you lost? Need some help to return home?"

The child shook his head vehemently while he was still eyeing the three young men with apprehension. He was evidently alone and too shy, not a good combination given the wild place where they were.

Griffith approached the boy slowly and the infant's shoulders went immediately tense. The creature inhaled briefly.

"Your scent… I have smelled you before." – it stated with squinted eyes – "But I was unable to keep you tracked, slippery one." – and it turned towards his now new Master – "This one is powerful, I can smell the energies that courses through his veins. No doubt a Converted."

'Converted' was the most popular term within the community of magic practitioners to appoint a child marked by fate itself since their birth and whose power was highly prized among the Sisters' coven. Many of these children tended to end in small druid communities in order to avoid proliferation of dark magic practitioners.

Even within the mages' community, the Sisters, although very respected, were also feared and avoided to the possible greatest extent.

This child was a result of such measures taken by responsible sorcerers.

Knowing by his expression that the boy feared but also found her new pet intriguing, Medraut suddenly took one of the child's wrists and put one of his hands over Griffith's thick feathery coat.

"See?" – she said – "He's not going to harm you. Not while I'm here. Understood?" – she said with a warning edge on her voice as she addressed briefly the mighty creature.

The griffin limited itself to sigh heavily. Great, just great: another bossy, harsh and temperamental Master. Like father, like daughter.

Sliding his hands all over the powerful being's dark feathers, amazed and still a bit guarded, the boy smiled a bit.

"So, what's your name, child?" – the redhead asked amicably – "Mine's Medraut of the High Lands."

He didn't answer immediately.

"Loholt." – he finally replied, still petting the griffin – "I'm… Loholt."

A/N: here we got Ruber's griffin, yay! :D Now with little Loholt the adventure truly starts, we'll see what fate has in store for them.

BTW, thanks to Julianna Tala's Follow!, I'm very flattered that you like my stories since your QfC Two-Shot was one of my favorites within this fandom.