A/N: Oh, look, I'm actually writing. This is what happens when I procrastinate.
Let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: See ch. 1.
.*.*.*.*.*.
In the morning, Cymbeline and Bedivere, rested, fed, and cleaned up, rose to meet with Ysbadaddon and Nimue. They were ushered into the main hall, which was empty save for a few guards and Bruin. In front of the thrones, a table had been placed, with a wooden bench on the side across from the thrones. The knights exchanged glances and sat down on the bench, waiting patiently for the Woad rebels to join them. They didn't wait long; only minutes after they arrived, Ysbadaddon strode into the hall, followed closely by Nimue.
"Our guests," Nimue greeted the duo cordially as she and her husband settled into their thrones.
"Good morning," Cymbeline nodded politely but didn't rise.
"I trust you slept well?" Nimue asked.
"Well enough," Cymbeline nodded.
"I am so glad to hear it," Nimue smiled.
Cymbeline replied with a tight smile and turned to Ysbadaddon. "You know what we want. The only question we have to answer today is what you want in return."
"I want Arthur to abdicate his throne," Ysbadaddon shrugged, leaning back.
"That will never happen," Cymbeline scoffed.
"Then we have nothing to talk about," Ysbadaddon stood and headed for the door of the hall.
"What would you do if we agreed?" Cymbeline asked. Ysbadaddon stopped and turned towards her again. "If we told you that Arthur was prepared to step down in return for Leodegrance's release, what would you do?"
"I would rejoice in the fact that a foreigner no longer claims the right to rule over my homeland," Ysbadaddon sneered.
"And who would you have replace him?" Cymbeline asked. "Would you take possession of the tribes of the southern half of Britain? You can't even control the north! Morgana controls many of the tribes and villages here. Arthur at least keeps his people safe and united, even if he is not fully Breton."
"Your Arthur," Ysbadaddon sneered, his voice dripping with derision, "has no concern for the people of this island. He is just another Roman, desiring nothing but to subjugate us under his rule, to lord himself over us. The Romans are all alike; they think that they are better than us because of their books and God. We value different things, like life and family. The Romans are no better than us. If anything they are lower creatures. We may be, as they say, pagans, but we are at least human."
"You're not wrong," Cymbeline shrugged. "All of the Romans I have ever known—and trust me, I have known plenty—care only for themselves. They are selfish, centered upon their wealth and learning. But that is not Arthur. Arthur has nothing but care for others! I'm sure that you have heard of the Battle of Badon Hill?" Ysbadaddon snorted, which Cymbeline took as license to continue: "The Romans were leaving the island. They were abandoning it to the Saxons, who were destroying everything in their path. Arthur and his knights had just led an entire village of Bretons to safety beyond the wall. When the Romans left, Arthur alone stayed behind with Merlin's army to defend Britain from the Saxons. His knights returned to fight alongside him, because they knew that he had done what was right. And that day, the Saxons were defeated. The only reason any of us is here today is because Arthur made that choice on that day."
Cymbeline sighed and rested her elbows on the table. "Arthur is a good man. There is nothing more I can say about him than that. He values equality above almost anything; he does not believe one man—or woman—is any better than another. He is called 'king', but you would not be able to pick him out of a crowd as such, unless it was by his bearing. He is not arrogant and selfish and conceited like the Romans. He is humble and kind and honest. That is why his people love him, and it is why he is king."
Ysbadaddon, who had regained his seat during Cymbeline's speech, rolled his eyes. "I don't care about his qualities. I want him gone."
"Then you're right; we have nothing to talk about."
.*.*.*.*.*.
For the next three days, Cymbeline and Bedivere rose in the morning to meet with Ysbadaddon and Nimue. These conversations had the same result as the first: Ysbadaddon demanded Arthur's resignation in exchange for Leodegrance's release, and Cymbeline refused. On their fifth night in the great hall of Camellaird, Cymbeline and Bedivere sat in Cymbeline's room and spoke quietly.
"He's not going to give in to us for anything less than Arthur's deposal," Bedivere sighed.
"I know," Cymbeline agreed.
"We were supposed to get word to Branwyr and Tristan by last night if they were to stand down," Bedivere said.
"I know," Cymbeline replied. "They'll make their move tonight."
"Which means that we need to cause a distraction," Bedivere said.
"Agreed," Cymbeline replied. "Any suggestions?"
"Fire?" Bedivere suggested.
"And how do you suggest doing that without drawing suspicion down on us when Leodegrance is discovered missing?" Cymbeline snarked.
"I have an idea," Bedivere said mysteriously. "But it will have to wait. Branwyr won't risk making a big move until sundown."
"Well, in that case, we don't have long," Cymbeline muttered, glancing out the window, which she had opened to let fresh air into the small room. They could see the brilliant pinks and vivid oranges that signified the sun setting behind the nearby hills, and the deep blue-black of the night sky above it.
.*.*.*.*.*.
Branwyr glanced around cautiously. She and Tristan had camped outside of the city for four days, ducking through the gate or slipping over the walls to scout the inside in case they had to break Leodegrance out. By the fourth night since their arrival, Branwyr had a plan ready, and when Cymbeline and Bedivere did not ride out the next morning, she put it into motion. Now, at sunset, Tristan was hidden in the brush near the wall by the great hall, along with their horse, waiting to creep closer once night fell. The moon was dark that night, working in their favor to allow Tristan to get very close to the city and Branwyr to creep around inside it without detection. The sun was just setting when Branwyr entered the city, playing the part of a weary traveler arriving just before the gates closed. She accepted directions to an inn near the hall, even though she already knew her way, and moved invisibly through the thinning street crowd—not to the inn, but to the hall itself.
Ysbaddadon's prison was a separate building behind the great hall, built directly into the wall from heavy stone. The only gap in its strength was the great wooden door, reinforced with heavy iron hinges and several sturdy locks. This was also the only problem Branwyr was certain of facing—she was equally certain that Bedivere and Cymbeline would find some way to cause a ruckus and draw attention away from the prison. All she had to do was wait for this to draw away the guards, and then she could make her move.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky faded to black, darkness fell upon the city. The front of the hall was lit from the inns and taverns and homes of the city, but nothing but the prison was behind this section of the hall and was therefore dark but for the dim glow of the stars. There were two guards on the prison, one on either side of the great door, both lounging complacently.
Suddenly, a lurid orange light sprang up from the far side of the hall. Cries of "Fire!" rang out, and the guards jerked to attention.
"That's the signal," Branwyr grinned to herself. She crept closer to the prison, staying pressed up against the wall, as the guards debated whether or not to help deal with the fire. Finally, one of the guards rushed off to help fight the flames, while the other remained by the door.
As soon as the first guard was out of sight around the near corner of the hall, Branwyr made her move towards the second. Sneaking up behind him, she had one arm tightly around his throat, cutting off his air supply and successfully keeping him from crying out. When he was unconscious from lack of air, she lowered him to the ground and slipped the keys to the door locks from his belt. The locks clicked smoothly open, and the door moved easily on well-oiled hinges. Inside, the prison was completely dark.
"Hello?" Branwyr called softly. "King Leodegrance?"
"Who is it?" a hoarse voice whispered in a heavy northern accent.
"My name is Branwyr," she replied, moving towards the voice. "I was sent by Queen Guinevere to free you."
"Over here," the voice replied. Branwyr moved towards it and nearly tripped over a body on the floor.
"Thank you," Leodegrance whispered as Branwyr fumbled for the shackles around his wrists and ankles. "My daughter," he mumbled once freed.
Branwyr hid her surprise and searched the nearby floor for the second occupant. The second set of shackles was released and fell to the floor. "Follow me," she whispered, taking the girl's hand with her own and placing Leodegrance's hand in his daughter's. She led them out of the prison and peered through the doorway. A glance told her that the fire was still burning, allowing them the freedom to slip unseen towards the wall, although the glow of the fire risked them being seen.
The trio darted quickly across the open space between the prison and wall, hugging the stonework once they reached it to avoid being seen. "Can you climb the wall?" Branwyr asked.
"Maybe," Leodegrance eyed it doubtfully.
"I don't think so," the minor king's daughter said dubiously.
Branwyr nodded and led them into the town. They reached the place where Tristan would be waiting on the other side and stopped. Branwyr situated the freed prisoners against the wall and whistled sharply. Seconds later, her whistle was answered with an arrow smacking into the wall of a nearby building, a rope tied to the end of it.
"Come here," Branwyr waved Leodegrance's daughter over. "What is your name?"
"Guinaelle," the girl replied shily. She was about Branwyr's age, just shy of twenty, but thinner and lacking the knight's muscle.
"That's beautiful," Branwyr smiled. "I'm going to need you to come over and put your arms around my shoulders and your legs over my hips. I'm going to carry you up the wall, and then you're going to help me help your father up."
"Okay," Guinaelle said dubiously.
"It'll be okay," Branwyr smiled. Hesitantly, the girl followed Branwyr's instructions, clinging to the knight's back like a small child. Once they were settled, Branwyr grabbed onto the rope and climbed it. With the added weight of Guinaelle on her back, it was slow going and Branwyr was sweating and gasping for breath.
Once the girls were on the wall, Leodegrance began climbing. The girls aided his progress by heaving the rope up, and he joined them on the wall in only a few minutes. Branwyr tossed the free end of the rope around an outcrop in the wall so that it rose on one side and fell down the other. A glance down at the ground showed Tristan standing beside a stake, driven diagonally into the ground near the wall to keep the rope taut. Branwyr directed Leodegrance to climb down first, and once he was on the ground, Guinaelle climbed onto Branwyr's back and the girls made their way down. As soon as everyone was on the ground, Tristan untied the rope from the stake and pulled it down from the wall, then they all hurried to the forest.
"You only have one horse?" Leodegrance stared in confusion at the animal.
"For now," Branwyr nodded. "Let's go. We're going to put some distance between ourselves and Camellaird, and then we'll rest. The other members of our party should join us tomorrow."