A/N: So this is one of those short chapters I mentioned last time. The next one will be as well, I believe, and then they should start getting longer. Probably. I don't want to make any promises about how often I'll update, as I really need to get started on my five million final research papers, and studying for finals, and moving home for the summer... But hopefully relatively often. I'm kind of making it a goal to be finished with this story by my birthday, June 10, as that's when I posted the first chapter of Meeting (the first part of this series) last year. So we'll see. No promises, because I suck at updating.
A note on pronunciation: I decided to stick with the Welsh spelling of Culhwch's name, which is extremely confusing to look at if you don't know Welsh. It's pronounced CULL-uck, kind of. An alternative spelling is Culloch, if that helps. If you'd like to hear it pronounced, check out the song "Culhwch and Olwen" by Heather Dale on YouTube. It's wonderful. If you have any other questions about names/spellings/pronunciations, feel free to ask! I love talking about that sort of thing (which is why I'm a linguistics major...) Also, for the most part I'll be referring to Aggravaine as Grav. I actually start doing that a few paragraphs in to this chapter. Just so you know.
If you like it, please leave a review! I really appreciate any and all feedback!
Disclaimer: see chapter 1, please!
.*.*.*.*.*.
Gawain leaned against the back wall of the tavern. Aggravaine and his companions—Lamorak, dark haired with a heavy and disheveled braid; Ewan, with fire-colored hair and pale skin; and Galeschin, with a short topknot of wispy fair hair—ate hungrily at one of the tables. Dinadan had left to fetch Arthur and Bedivere for the infirmary, leaving the newcomers with Gawain and Vanora; the latter had left also to tend one or more of her many children. When Arthur's shadow darkened the doorway, Gawain leapt forward and strode to meet the king.
"Who are they?" Arthur asked without prelude, surveying the eating men.
"Sarmatian, to be sure," Gawain replied. "They say they're searching for brothers." Unbidden, his eyes strayed to Aggravaine. "Arthur, they won't find them. You knew Bors's brother and how he died, and Galahad had no siblings. One of my brothers is there, but the other three…" he shook his head.
Arthur nodded woefully. He clapped Gawain on the shoulder and moved to stand at the head of the men's table.
Aggravaine leapt to his feet and bowed to Arthur; the other three followed suit. "Sir," Aggravaine saluted.
"Sit," Arthur smiled graciously. He pulled a chair up to the head of the table and sat; Gawain leaned against a neighboring table. "I am Arthur, king of Albion," he named the province. "Tell me, what brings you here?"
"I am Aggravaine," Grav said, "and this is Galeschin, Ewan, Lamorak. We are from Sarmatia, but were taken ten years ago to serve in the Roman garrison in Gaul. A few weeks ago, we were released almost five years early from our service. We had heard of the great Arthur and his knights and decided to come here before going home to Sarmatia. See, about ten years before we were taken, each of us had an older brother who was taken by the Romans. We heard that around that time, a garrison of Sarmatian knights arrived in Britain, and hoped that we might be able to find word of our brothers to take home to our families."
Arthur nodded. "I understand. We will do what we can; what were your brothers' names?"
The men traded uncertain glances. "Mine was Cynan," Ewan said finally.
"Cynan fell nine years ago," Arthur said softly meeting Ewan's watery blue eyes. "We were ambushed on the road, and he died defending innocent travelers from the attack."
There was a pause, then Lamorak spoke: "My brother's name was Tor."
"Tor fell"—
"Tor fell five years after he arrived here," Gawain interrupted. "He fell defending a young knight in the boy's first battle."
"And Lancelot? Is he dead as well?" Galeschin asked.
Arthur's mouth went dry and his throat closed. "Lancelot is dead," he managed finally. "He died nearly five years ago. He should have lived—made it home, even—but he turned back to fight for those who could not defend themselves."
"He died fighting for those he loved," Gawain added.
Galeschin nodded and bowed his head. A long silence followed, and was finally broken by Grav: "What of my brother? What of Gawain? How did he fall?"
Arthur glanced sharply at Gawain, but saw only a flash of worn cloth and bronze hair as the knight made for the door.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Gawain sat on the wall overlooking the town, one leg drawn up to his chest, the other idly kicking the wall as he watched over the fort. He made no move as he was joined at his perch. Grav faced the opposite direction from his brother, looking out over the fields.
"Gawain did not fall, but sometimes wishes he had," Grav said softly. Gawain looked at his brother, resting his cheek on his knee. "Cymbeline told me where to find you. She seems nice."
"When she wants to be," Gawain replied. "Usually she's vicious." He stared openly at the young man beside him. Grav's hair was short, just long enough to cover his ears rather than tickling his elbows, and his curls were tighter than Gawain's. Grav was clean shaven, showing full cheeks and a firm jaw. His wide blue eyes were brighter than Gawain's, more full of life. "Now that you've found us, what will you do?"
"Go back to Sarmatia," Grav replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"We won't go with you," Gawain said.
"I didn't really expect you to," Grav replied. "Not after I met King Arthur, and especially not after Cymbeline."
Gawain nodded and turned to look over the city. "You should tell our parents I died," he said. "It will be easier than trying to explain why I'll never return."
"I'd just be telling Mother," Grav said. "Father died a few years after the Romans took you."
Gawain started and looked at his younger brother. "How?"
"He fell ill," Grav shrugged. "Lamorak's mother died the same winter. Mother married Pellinore a year later."
Gawain nodded again and turned back to the city. "Gaheris?"
"He was fine when I left," Grav replied. "I hope the Romans didn't take him. They tried to when they took us. He's only a year younger than Lamorak, after all, so he was twelve then."
"Older than I was," Gawain mused.
"Mother begged the Romans not to take another of her sons, and they let him stay," Grav continued. "We have another brother, too. Gareth. He was born two years after you left. Lamorak has two more brothers, Aglovale and Percival. Aglovale is a year older than Gareth, and Percival was born the winter father died."
"How do you remember all that?" Gawain asked.
Grav shrugged. "I just do."
"When are you going to head back to Sarmatia?" Gawain asked.
Grav paused. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "I want to go, but… it's so far away."
"You'll be welcome here until you decide to leave," Gawain said.
"Thanks," Grav smiled. He turned to look at his older brother for the first time. "Thank you."