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THE WATER WITCH AND THE BLACK DOGS
By TIPPER

CHAPTER FOUR: CLARISSANT

The sun woke him, shining right into his face like a slap. Frowning, he turned his head away from the bright light, trying to find some comfort in whatever shadows still remained.

"Hey, you awake?"

That was Gwaine's voice. Sighing slightly, Merlin reluctantly turned his head towards the voice's origin and opened his eyes. The light invaded like a hammer blow, causing the headache he hadn't really noticed to suddenly beat against his skull like a blacksmith attacking hot iron. He didn't realize immediately that the agony-filled groan was coming from him, so intent was he to shut his eyes again and hide.

"Yeah, you're awake," Gwaine said, not unkindly. "How about trying that again, the opening the eyes thing. Because I'm really getting bored and I'm not above finding some charcoal and drawing pictures on your face."

Merlin twisted his lips—because Gwaine would so do that—and reluctantly opened his eyes again, only to avoid the promised humiliation. Blinking a few times, bringing the world back into focus, he couldn't help but smile to see Gwaine sitting in a chair by a window, alive and wrapped in a thick, blue blanket. He looked better than when Merlin had last seen him, shivering in the back of the wagon with a dozen other injured as they rolled into the courtyard of the fortress-like castle the night before.

Merlin did not remember much after that himself, as he had also been shivering in the wagon, cloth bandages wrapped around his pounding head like a turban, and the rest of him feeling like one massive bruise. He had a memory of Arthur yelling orders, the castle's servants dashing around in dressing gowns about the wagon, and the castle's guards keeping tight watch over them. His only clear memory was of Arthur speaking to someone on the broad steps leading up to the castle's main keep, a woman in silks with the bearing of nobility. She'd been silhouetted by the torchlight from the open doors behind her, and all Merlin had really garnered about her appearance was blonde hair. The castle's mistress, presumably. He wondered who its master was.

"Can't believe you slept longer than me," Gwaine said, his voice patently teasing. "One tiny scratch on your head, and you ended up sleeping almost the whole day away."

Merlin offered a mock sneer and made to sit up, instantly regretting it as the room spun slightly. Pressing a hand to his head, he felt a thick bandage stuck to his temple, held in place by a bound of cloth.

"I wouldn't touch that," Gwaine said, still smiling, sitting up and gesturing at Merlin's head. "You're going to have one ugly scar on your forehead, by the way. Percival says it runs from the center of your head all the way to your temple, like a half moon. But don't worry…." He grinned rakishly. "I'll show you how to work it with the women. They can't resist a scar that comes with a heroic story, like defeating the infamous black dogs of Mercia."

"They're infamous?" Merlin asked. "I didn't even know they existed until yesterday."

"Trust me, when I'm done? They'll be infamous."

"And we didn't exactly defeat them."

"Do you want to have a girlfriend someday?" The blanket had fallen down a bit with his movement, allowing Merlin to see the bandages wrapped around his chest. There were also bandages on his arms.

"You were a bit more damaged than you let on, apparently," Merlin noted.

"It's nothing." Gwaine looked down at his chest. He pushed the blanket down further so Merlin could see that the wrappings went all the way down to his stomach. "I'm not sure how much of this is real and how much precautionary. It was like this when I woke, but I couldn't have broken that many ribs, could I?" He pressed against the bandage, and winced slightly. "Well, maybe it's not so unnecessary." He leaned back, looking happier now that the blanket was off his chest. "Doesn't mean I like it. I feel like a trussed up roast in an oven."

"Oven?" Merlin frowned, and tried to sit up more to see him better. "You have a fever?"

"Now, don't go all Mother Merlin on me. I did have a fever, apparently, but it's broken. I don't feel like I'm going to die anymore, and I've been sweating like a pig for the last hour." He grinned and held up a finger. "Not a word about me and pigs."

Merlin smiled ruefully, but continued to try to push himself into a proper sitting position, determined to ignore the nausea it induced.

"You probably shouldn't be doing that," Gwaine said, actually sounding worried. "Your head isn't as thick as Arthur likes to pretend, and, like me, you're a mosaic of bruises, so the physician told him you needed quiet and rest for a couple of days. I don't think the princess would want you moving about too much."

Sneering slightly but with a touch more caution, Merlin finally levered himself enough to get his back against the wall and have a better look at their surroundings. The room was round, white-washed and somewhat small. Two narrow, squat doors sat kitty corner to each other, and the sun shone brightly through a series of arrow slits along two of the walls, cutting the room into slivers of light and dark—a tower room?

He noticed only four pallets rested against the walls: his, an empty one presumably for Gwaine, and two others, both occupied by sleeping knights. One of them was Elyan, the other a knight Merlin didn't know too well, Sir Clay. Both were the color of ash, and Merlin felt his heart sink.

"Are they—?"

"No. They're alright. For now." Gwaine was instantly sober as he looked to the other two beds. "Elyan's arm is nasty—it'll take a while to heal, and it'll likely end up pretty scarred. Sir Clay…he had a chunk taken out of his side—they're not certain he'll survive it—but he's holding his own right now."

Merlin exhaled softly. Gwaine lowered his eyes.

Merlin looked towards one of the doors. "And the others?"

"I'm not sure. Apparently, there's more pallets in the rooms on either side of this one. Arthur said there were at least a dozen hurt, though only five or six as badly as Elyan and Clay. Two were killed in the fighting."

Merlin frowned deeply. Two men too many. Arthur would be upset.

He looked at the room again—it was plain but, perhaps because of the sunlight and the white walls, it was oddly serene for what was obviously part of a castle's battlements.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"We're in the West Tower of that Mercian castle we saw last night, in the outer wall. Though I only know that from being told." Gwaine shrugged, and winced, pressing a hand against his ribs again. "I haven't actually made it out of this room yet."

"So who told you where we were?"

"Arthur and Percival. They visited a little while ago to check on us. Said they would be back with the castle's physician, a woman named Hildy."

Merlin nodded, and sat up the rest of the way, feeling less dizzy this time, sliding back so that he was resting against the wall.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Camping in the outer courtyard. The lady of house wouldn't let anyone inside the inner keep, except for Arthur, Lords Exestan and Corin, and the servants."

"Ah."

Gwaine smiled thinly. "Apparently, the lord of the house is not here. So, she's being cautious."

"You haven't met her."

"No. Like I said, I've just seen Arthur and Percival."

Merlin tilted his head, wondering who the castle's owner was, but then finding he didn't really care. "How long are we staying?"

"Those of us that can, are leaving on the morrow. The rest are staying here until we return."

"Does that mean—?"

The sound of the door opening stopped his question, and both Gwaine and Merlin turned towards the noise. Bending nearly in half to avoid the low frame, Percival grinned as he pushed his way into the room, followed closely by Arthur and a woman Merlin assumed was the physician, based on the eye-glass hung around her neck and the bag on her shoulder. She was round-faced and cheerful looking, smiling indulgently when she saw that they were both awake. Arthur smiled as well when he saw Merlin, and Merlin couldn't not match it.

"My, my," Hildy said, chuckling as she headed over to Gwaine first, "you are pretty when those eyes are open, aren't you? How are you feeling, son? Well enough to move into a chair, I see."

"I don't much like beds, my lady," Gwaine replied, inclining his head in a bow. "And I feel much better, thank you." The woman clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"Oh, I'm not a lady, just a mistress. You may call me Hildy." She reached out a soft hand and touched his forehead. "Fever has all but gone, which is a blessing. You're healing well."

"I've always been a fast healer," Gwaine replied. "One of my few gifts."

"Oh, I'd say you have more than a few, Sir Knight," she replied, giggling as she looked him up and down. "Definitely more than a few."

Gwaine's face flushed—it was like being ogled by a matronly aunt—and he started tugging the blanket up. "Um…."

"Any news?" Merlin asked Arthur and Percival, kindly interrupting Gwaine's embarrassment.

Arthur was grinning, clearly enjoying the joke, but he answered Merlin anyway. "Not as such." He gave a shrug. "But her ladyship has asked to visit the injured. I told her that would be fine, but I wanted to make sure you all felt decent enough before letting her in."

Merlin looked down at his usual clothes—which looked like they always did. Rumpled, torn and stained with blood and grass. He gave a shrug and beamed at Arthur. Gwaine looked like he was considering whether he needed a shirt, but…hell, if the lady was young and pretty, Merlin knew he wasn't shy. Sure enough, he gave Arthur a nod.

"I'm fine," he said.

"He's fine, indeed," Merlin said, pointing at Gwaine. "I'm less so, but I've accepted my lot in life."

"Aw, sweetness," Hildy said, moving over to pat Merlin's shoulder. "You're adorable."

"Yes," Merlin said tightly. "Because being called 'adorable' is what most men like being called."

She laughed at that, patted his shoulder again and went to check on Elyan. Merlin noticed her demeanor grew more solemn as she crouched next to the pallet to check on his arm.

"Then I guess I'll let her in," Arthur said, nodding to a servant that was standing by the door. The young man gave a nod and opened it.

"They're ready for you, my lady," he said, backing away from the door.

Using his arms for leverage, Merlin pushed himself up a little higher. He noticed that Gwaine was quickly rearranging the blanket on his lap to hide a little more of the bandages.

"Lady Clarissant," he heard Arthur say, "may I present—"

"Gwaine?"

Gwaine had been looking down, still fiddling with the blanket, but his hands stopped cold. Hell, near as Merlin could tell, his friend's breath had stopped cold. He obviously knew that voice, his face rapidly losing all of its color. With the demeanor of a man facing his executioner, Gwaine lifted his gaze to the woman who was now standing in the middle of the room…staring at him.

"Clarissant," he breathed, the word almost catching in his throat.

…

…

Clarissant.

The room dimmed and grayed, until all Gwaine could see was her. Her eyes were exactly the same, identical in every way to his own. Eyes that now stared at him with complete shock.

She was every inch the princess she had wanted to become. Her blonde hair was gathered tightly around her head in perfect curls, the yellow velvet dress cloaking her fitted her to a T, showing off her still young figure, and glinted with a myriad of jewels sewn into the lining. Ruining the look, her pale face had become the color of snow, making the rouge on her lips and cheeks stark in color, giving her features an almost sickly appearance. Or perhaps it was the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of powder could hide.

"Then this is the prince's castle," he said softly.

"It is," she said, her demeanor so rigid he wondered if she might break. "And you…." She blinked slowly, deliberately. "You became a knight." She almost huffed the word, like it was distasteful. "Of Camelot."

He looked away, wanting to hide from that judging gaze. "I did." His mind raced, trying to find a way to explain this…but the words seem stuck in his throat.

She blinked again, then more rapidly, and the color rushed back to her face in a wave, turning her cheeks bright pink. Her features became instantly ugly as her dark brown eyes narrowed, her lips curling in rage.

"You…you…hypocrite!" she shouted. "You…How could you? After what you said, what you called me, you became a knight? A knight! The one thing you swore you would never, ever—" She shook her head roughly, the curls falling. "You horrible wretch! You pusillanimous, two-faced insect!" Her chin shook with rage as she glared at him. "You cut me out, keep me from Gaheris' funeral, and then you turn around and—"

She suddenly pressed a fist to her lips, and shook her head again.

"No…No, do you hear me? I will not bear this. You cannot be here, not now. It's too much! I will not look on you! Leave this place! I won't have you in my home. Leave! Get out!" She took a step back, nearly running into Arthur, and her eyes widened as if suddenly realizing they weren't alone…and that she'd just yelled in front of a king. Gasping slightly, she backed away from him, a hand raised in supplication.

"You majesty," she pleaded, a tear running down her face, cutting a line through the makeup covering it, "I am…I am so sorry. I forgot…. Forgive me, I…I have to go." And then she was, all but running from the room, her servants running after her.

Gwaine raised a shaking hand to his head, and blinked a few times, the room coming into focus around him. No one had spoken, and he soon realized why. They were all staring at him, eyes wide open. Even Merlin was halfway to his feet, concern and curiosity filling his face.

"Gwaine?" Arthur said, his tone soft. "Is there something I should know?"

"Um…"

He didn't know what to say. What to do. Reaching down, he tugged at the blankets covering him, trying to extricate his legs. "I need to go," he said. "To leave."

"Oh no, you don't," Hildy said, bustling over and resting a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder to keep him from standing. "You're staying right here for at least a day. You don't mind the lady—I will speak to her. She has been a little high strung lately. There is…there is much going on."

"No, it's…" Gwaine grimaced a little as the pressure caused his ribs to ache. "It's fine. I need to get out of here." He looked over at Arthur, then Percival and finally Merlin. "Please. I can't be here."

Arthur closed his mouth tightly, and he turned his attention to the physician. "Your recommendation is that he stays still?"

"It is. His body is weak—too much movement may allow bad humors to set in. I want to be sure he has his strength back before he can leave. At least a day."

"Then he'll stay here," Arthur stated. "On my head be it."

She nodded.

Gwaine frowned, trying to break the grip she had on his shoulder without pulling too hard on his ribs. "Now, hang on, you don't understand, I—"

"No," Arthur said. "You're not well. I won't have you getting sick because you didn't have time to rest. "

"But—"

"And," Arthur snapped, cutting him off, "I won't ask what that was about. I trust you, Gwaine, that you would tell me if there was something I should know that could bring harm to your friends and fellow knights. Am I correct?"

Gwaine's eyes widened slightly, feeling the sudden weight of that much trust like an anvil. "I…" He shook his head. "Thank you. I…yes. But...but she has asked that I leave."

"I will take care of that." Arthur frowned. "But you must promise that you will tell me what that is about someday. I think I deserve to know."

Gwaine nodded. He did. "Thank you," he said again.

Arthur stared at him a moment longer, his expression cool. Finally, he turned away and walked over to check on Elyan. Hildy let up on Gwaine's shoulder and headed over to join him.

Gwaine slipped down in the chair, feeling a little like he'd just been punched in the head.

"Hey," Percival said quietly, still leaning against the wall next to him, "we're here for you, you know that, right?"

Gwaine lifted his eyes to meet his friend's, and tried to smile. Merlin said something similar on his other side, as he settled back into his bed, and Gwaine smiled at him as well. Of course they had his back, trusted him, stood by his side. The problem was….

He didn't deserve it.

Hildy was moving over to Sir Clay now, and Arthur was following her. Gwaine steeled his jaw.

"Arthur," he called.

Arthur stopped and turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"Lady Clarissant…" Gwaine hesitated, his heart beating a little faster. "Lady Clarissant is my sister."

…

…

Arthur asked Mistress Hildy to leave them, which she did, still wide-eyed but, gratefully, without protest. After that, Arthur and Percival both found a place to sit on Gwaine's bed, while Merlin stayed in his bed, none of them speaking—they were waiting on Gwaine to speak. So he did.

He'd never told Arthur, or anyone else, other than Merlin, about his father. How his father had died a knight while serving in Caerleon's army, leaving them penniless, and how the king had rejected his mother's pleas for help afterwards. And not just the king—the nobility in general had cast them aside. He explained how, after that, he had sworn to never trade on his father's title, and never to serve anyone who did.

He looked at Arthur at that last part, to find his king giving him a thoughtful look.

"You were nobility," the king said slowly. "My father almost executed you, and he banished you, and it all could have gone away if you had just told him—"

"Then I would have gone against what I believe in. Besides, why would he have believed me?"

Arthur looked down for a long moment, clearly taking that in. Finally, he cocked his head. "And after? Once I'd made you a knight? Why not tell me then?"

Gwaine shrugged. "There was no reason to. I became a knight on my own merit." He smiled. "And I only agreed because the man I have promised to serve knows to look beyond a title to determine a man's worth."

Arthur looked up. After a moment, he smiled softly.

"Thank you," he said finally, taking the compliment for what it was.

Gwaine just inclined his head.

"So what has this to do with Lady Clarissant?" asked Merlin.

"Ah, my sister…" Gwaine sighed. "That's a less pleasant story. She might be a bit mad at me."

"Who isn't," Percival snorted from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed. Gwaine smacked his leg.

"What did you do?" Arthur asked.

"What she deserved," Gwaine replied, his eyes growing distant. "At the time. At least, I thought so. It was a very long time ago, and I was still just a stupid kid." He lowered his head, hiding his face behind his hair. "I hated her. Really…hated her. For so long."

"Why?" asked Merlin.

Gwaine looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye, the quick, glib answer sticking to his tongue. Normally, if they'd been anywhere else, he'd have launched into some story about what a bitch she had been (which she had), but that wasn't what Merlin was asking, or what the others wanted to know. And what Merlin was asking, he didn't want to tell.

He'd done a lot of things he never thought he would since coming to Camelot. He'd become a member of the nobility again, after swearing he wouldn't. He'd found a place where he wanted to stay, after promising himself he'd never settle down. And he'd found people he cared about, after committing to never get tied to anyone ever again. And most of that was the fault of the man sitting a few feet away from him. He should hate him.

But he didn't. No more than he had hated his sister, or hated her still. Mostly…he just missed her.

"She left us," he said finally, still looking at Merlin, though he knew the others were listening. "When she was sixteen and I was only thirteen. She wanted out of Caerleon's kingdom so badly, out of our home and away from our poverty and my mother's tall tales about my father, that she took the first chance she could to escape." He crushed part of the blanket on his lap with a fist. "She stole money that was meant to feed us to buy dresses, traded on our name to attend balls in Caerleon's castle, pretended we weren't her family when she walked by with her friends…and at one of those balls, she met Prince Thiernan, King Bayard's youngest son."

"Thiernan," Merlin repeated. He looked over at Arthur. "Isn't Thiernan—?"

"Mentally unstable? Oh hell yes. That's what inbreeding does." Gwaine snarled slightly, recalling the fop prince dancing with his sister for hours at one of Caerleon's feasts. "But Clara wanted out so badly, she didn't care what form it came in. And though Thiernan had about as much hope to become king as I did, being fourth in line, she jumped at the chance to be a Princess of Mercia." He shook his head. "We never saw her again. My mother was already ill, my little brother Gaheris too, and without Clara helping out, we…didn't do so well. And now, I haven't seen her in…" He did a quick count. "…almost twenty years."

"That's a long time," Merlin said, somewhat unnecessarily. Gwaine just nodded, and tipped his head back against the solid wood of the high backed chair.

"Yeah."

"She didn't want to see you or your mother?" Percival asked, his voice a little strangled. Gwaine knew why—Percival had lost his family, to deliberately not want to be with them probably sounded crazy to his ears. Gwaine bit his lip—this was why he didn't want to tell them. But it was too late now.

"Not exactly. After a while, she tried—sent letters, even an envoy once. I wouldn't let him in." He felt the shame of it now like a burning brand on his skin. "I burned all her letters without reading them. Wrote and told her that we never wanted to see her again. Even when my younger brother Gaheris died a few years later…I never told her. Instead, I blamed her. I thought, if she had been there, that somehow…." He closed his eyes. "It was an unforgivable thing to do. But I was so angry at her for deserting us, deserting our mother. And I was so certain I was right to keep her away, to cut her off from us. You're so certain when you're a teenager, when everything is so black and white, and you have no idea just how complicated life really is."

He opened his eyes again, and found Arthur sharing a look with Merlin, while Percival had turned his head away.

But across the room, he found that Elyan was watching him, silently listening. He hadn't even noticed his friend had awoken. Elyan smiled at being seen, and gave a nod, imbuing the simple gesture with a deep understanding.

Gwaine didn't know much about Elyan's life, but he knew he'd left Gwen and her father to pursue his own path when he was just a teenager, much like Clara had. He'd abandoned them, and hadn't made it home for his father's funeral, which should have been just as unforgivable as what Gwaine had done to Clara. But Elyan had made up with his sister, their relationship stronger than ever, and, with that nod from his friend, Gwaine started to think that, perhaps, it wasn't too late for him and Clara.

"Do you still feel that way?" Percival asked, sounding about ten years younger than he was. "Do you still think it was right to cut her off?"

Gwaine flashed him a soft smile. "No," he answered. "I don't. But after what you just heard her say…" He looked at Arthur. "Do you think either she or Prince Thiernan would accept my apology? I did call them both some pretty horrible names back then."

"Um…." Merlin said, breaking the quiet. "Speaking of names, about the prince…" He looked at Arthur. "Earlier, when you interrupted me, I wasn't actually going to say that Prince Thiernan was mentally unstable. I was, um…." He was still looking at Arthur, the sort of pregnant stare that suggested he wanted Arthur to say something. "I was thinking of…something else. Arthur, isn't there something you should tell them?"

Arthur frowned deeply, glaring briefly at Merlin, before sighing.

"Arthur?" Gwaine prompted.

Arthur grimaced, standing up and crossing his arms. "Merlin is right—there is something you need to know."

"It involves Thiernan," Merlin supplied, somewhat unnecessarily. Arthur gave him a sour look before continuing.

"The reason…" He pursed his lips, as if pondering exactly what to say. "The reason I didn't want to stop here last night is because I knew Prince Thiernan wasn't here. That fact is, he, and his brother Pieter, second in line to the throne, are missing."

"Missing?" Gwaine prompted. "What do you mean?"

"About a week ago, Pieter went out on a hunting party with Thiernan. Neither returned, but they found the rest of the members of the hunting party dead near the river that runs through this valley. Bayard has been searching for his sons for a week. He's letting his third son run the search—Prince Renaud—but he's keeping the crown prince close in the castle. Prince Aymon is all but a prisoner under palace guard, because Bayard is convinced this is an attack on his reign."

"Whoa," Gwaine breathed. "Is that why you wanted to go after those black dogs so badly?"

"It wasn't dogs that did this, or any other beast," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Otherwise the whole party would have been found. No, someone attacked the party to kidnap the princes."

"Who would attack Mercia like this?" Percival asked. "In such an underhanded way?"

Merlin made a funny face. "Yeah, that's the thing."

"My spies tell me," Arthur continued, "that Bayard suspects Camelot."

"What?" Percival gasped, standing up as well. "Are you kidding? Does he not know you at all?"

"Apparently not," Arthur replied.

"Alined, okay. Odin, perhaps. But you? You're the only honest king in the five kingdoms!"

"I do not know what proof he has to suspect me," Arthur said, shaking his head. "It's part of the reason why I wanted to see him, face to face. Renewing the treaty is more of an excuse. I plan to convince him of our innocence, and, if necessary, to pledge him my knights—all of you—to help in the search, if he'll allow it." He shook his head. "I will not let Camelot be blamed for such a vile act."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Gwaine asked.

Arthur shrugged. "Because I was hopeful it would not be necessary. If the princes are found before we reach Mercia, or if Bayard accepts my troth, then we may return home without worry."

Merlin was leaning back heavily against the wall next to his bed, his expression dour. Gwaine couldn't blame him. His concern about being brought along without more people to hide behind made sense now.

"So, you didn't want to stop here," Percival continued, "in Thiernan's castle, because—"

"I didn't think we'd be welcome," Arthur replied. "And it might have seemed like I was trying to rub salt in a wound." He looked at Gwaine. "I'm sorry, Gwaine. This might make any reconciliation with your sister even more difficult to attain."

Gwaine stared at him a moment, then huffed a laugh. He shook his head. "It's alright. What's another twenty years of estrangement?"

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Arthur turned to face it, and, now that he was alerted to the underpinnings, Percival rested a hand on his sword and did the same.

"Come in," Arthur called.

The door creaked open, and a serving girl popped her head in. When she saw them arranged at her attention, she blushed and ducked her head.

"Begging your pardon, your majesty." She kept her head down, eyes downcast as she spoke. "But my lady asks whether you and the other lords will dine with her this evening."

Arthur nodded. "Of course. We would be honored."

"She…she also asked me to convey that Sir Gwaine may remain in the castle. He need not leave while he is too ill to move."

Arthur quirked a smile and glanced at Gwaine. Gwaine bit his lip, not yet sure what to make of the hospitality.

"And…" The serving girl swallowed. "She wishes that, if Sir Gwaine accepts, to speak with him on the morrow before you all leave."

Gwaine's eyes widened, looking to Arthur. The king's smile broadened, but he raised his eyebrows in question at him. Gwaine felt a million questions and worries and old regrets fly through his mind in that half second, but, almost without conscious thought, he found himself nodding.

"He'll be there," Arthur told the serving girl. She nodded and curtsied deeply, before turning and rushing from the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Well," Arthur said then, smiling at Gwaine, "maybe it's not such a lost cause after all, eh Gwaine?"

Gwaine barely heard him, too lost in what the morning might bring.

…

…

TBC…

I'm sure the fact that Gwaine has a sister (the "old toad") has been touched on before in fic, but I couldn't resist my own bite at the apple. Per the legends, Sir Gawain typically has either (or both) brothers and sisters—quite a few in fact. I have no idea which one of his sisters they may use, if ever, but, for fun, I went with Clarissant from the Story of the Grail by Chretien de Troyes, c. 1180. I thought it a very pretty name, and I liked the idea that she was a prisoner inside an enchanted castle. This Clarissant is, like everything else, a twist on the legend, as you'll soon see.

Speaking of legends, you may have noticed that, all of a sudden, Lord Bayard has four sons. This is entirely the fault of the French. I was innocently looking up Chateau Bayard, whose most famous owner is the great knight Pierre III Terrail (hence, Pieter), when I learned that he was the great grandson of a vice lord of Avallon. Yeah. How could I resist that? Then I read the legend of Bayard the horse, who carried four princes, the sons of King Aymon, on his back (including the great soldier-hero Prince Renaud). Originally, Bayard was going to have two sons, but I couldn't resist giving him four. The only name I made up was Thiernan. And, oh yeah, did I mention, this is so getting Jossed. :P