Part III: Elena and Gwaine
Chapter 8: Elena
"Friend and allies," her father said genially, raising his voice to reach the guests at the far end of the lively, well-lit banquet hall.
He raised his cup as well, and Elena grabbed her own goblet so hastily she almost knocked it over.
"We welcome you gladly to Gawant, and hope your stay is both pleasurable and peaceful." Lord Godwyn turned to those who were seated alongside him at the high table. "We greatly anticipate the chance in the days to come, to relax and enjoy our august company, as well as to discuss matters of mutual interest to our kingdoms. Let us drink to peaceful progress in relations!"
Elena lifted her cup with everyone else, smiling and warm-faced as the guests – an extra dozen of Camelot's men in addition to their own knights and nobility – cheered the high table.
Seating himself, her father squeezed her shoulder gently – happily – through her yellow-gold gown, before turning to speak to King Arthur, seated beside him, and Merlin the sorcerer of Camelot at the end of the table. Which left Elena to sigh, and twist the other direction to share the toast with Lady Vivian. Who was everything she never would be – beautiful in a delicate and fragile way, bright and proper, vivacious and outgoing.
"Oh, I'm so glad we came!" Vivian gushed, grabbing the hand of her husband seated next to her without looking. "Father thinks we're inspecting our western borders, but this is far more exciting!"
Something she'd already told Elena twice since their arrival yesterday.
"He doesn't want anything to do with magic – nor much with Camelot, to be honest," Vivian leaned closer to murmur, with a brief widening of her eyes like it was a scandal. "He doesn't want things to change, but that's hardly practical, is it? So Balan and I –" she squirmed toward the pleasant-faced, brown-haired lord at her side – "decided to take this chance to meet the sorcerer and assure Arthur, we're quite open to learning more about magic. My father is stubborn enough to live forever, but –" Vivian shrugged lightly.
"Yes," Elena said – and then found herself at a loss for words. Her father was the dearest person in the world to her; she couldn't imagine discussing his eventual demise with such flippancy. "It's… fortunate that you –"
"Oh, isn't it!" Vivian gushed. Elena was not quite sure what she'd been about to say, herself, it was astonishing how the petite blonde seemed to know. "And it's such a strange story, too! You see, Father had decided that if I was safely wed, then he wouldn't have to worry about my honor – or my ridiculous insistence that I was meant for Arthur. That would be the concern of my new husband. Well, he'd chosen his best knight, Sir Balin, and –"
Elena sighed again, taking as large a swallow of her wine as she could manage. This was also a story Vivian had told more than once, in Elena's hearing. Betrothed to the elder of twin knights, she'd mistakenly kissed the younger and – wonder of wonders – fallen headlong in love. Which he, of course, didn't mind a bit, why would he? His wife was… everything Elena was not. She gathered that the elder twin didn't mind either, passing on the responsibility of keeping the king's daughter happy to his brother.
"I'm so sorry," she said, interrupting Vivian's description of that first kiss with her husband, the then-mistaken younger twin. "I've got to check on something I just remembered I forgot…"
Vivian was too surprised to object, and Balan too well-mannered. Elena excused herself softly in her father's ear; he smiled and lifted a hand in generously-granted permission, too used to indulging Elena's eccentricities to interrupt his conversation with King Arthur. The king of Camelot had turned away momentarily, and didn't notice her rise; the sorcerer beyond him, watchful dark-haired Merlin, met her eyes with a concerned look, but she smiled to reassure him, and he neither rose nor spoke to detain her.
Elena made her way to a side door, down a corridor, through a door to the garden's viewing-gallery. It was too dark to see much but the gallery itself, dimly, and the brilliance of the stars in the sky.
She took a deep breath of the frosty air, and slipped off her shoes, heading barefoot down the four steps to the gallery. It felt good after the smoke and close heat of the banquet hall, and they wouldn't miss her for a few minutes. There were guards stationed about her father's palace within earshot, should she need anything, for convenience more than protection. Gawant was small, and had long-standing ties with Camelot. They hadn't been seriously threatened since Elena could remember.
Up the corridor behind her, she could hear the footfall and clothing-rustle of someone else and cringed, wondering if she'd been followed specifically, or if she could hope to be overlooked and passed by –
The subtle sounds were interrupted by a louder clatter and a couple of thumps, someone coming down the few steps to the gallery more precipitously than expected.
"Dammit, what the –" an unfamiliar man's voice cursed softly. Then followed an incredulous silence with the single query, "Shoes?"
Oh, dear. Elena curled her toes, watching the man's shadowy figure bend, then hold out her silk slippers to examine them in the faint moonlight.
"I'm so sorry," she said aloud, and he spun to face her. "Those are mine."
"Did you lose them, my lady," he said, "or were they discarded voluntarily?" His voice carried an amusement that reassured her rather than shaming her – he was neither offended nor taken aback by her impropriety.
"Discarded voluntarily," she sighed, as he approached, and offered them to her with a little bow. In the faint light she could see that his hair was dark and longish, that his chin and jaw were bearded, but little else.
"Why, if I may ask?" he said. "I'm sure they're beautiful."
She accepted them, and set them on the open ledge that overlooked the darkened garden. "They are lovely, but they pinch something awful. They're absolute murder to walk in."
Too late she realized, that was probably inappropriate to say to a man, and a stranger.
"Well, I complain about our capes every chance I get," he said easily. "But they don't actually hurt, so you have me there. And, if I'd had about half a glass more of wine, I'd be gallantly offering you my footwear for replacement. Or at least joining you in rejecting them entirely."
She wasn't sure whether to take him seriously or not, but what he said and how he said it struck her as funny, and an involuntary giggle was followed by an unladylike snort – which she covered belatedly and with consternation.
It didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "But," he continued in the same jesting tone, "I'm sure that taking off my boots would inevitably – and swiftly – deprive me of your fair company."
"Are you saying that your feet smell?" she said, in teasing disbelief.
"Not if you ask me," he reassured her facetiously. "But don't ask anyone else who knows me."
She couldn't fight the grin, and didn't try to; it was too dark for him to see if it wasn't a ladylike expression – and too late for her to pretend to be ladylike, anyway. "So who knows you, then, Sir Knight, that I might remember not to mention the topic of foot odor?"
He chuckled, a warm, likable sound. "Any of the boys from Camelot," he said, leaning sideways on the low wall that overlooked the garden. "Which reminds me. One of my friends at the high table noticed your departure, and asked me if I'd come see that you were all right."
She didn't think that Arthur had noticed, which left his sorcerer. She'd only just met him earlier today, at the formal introductions, but she understood he'd been close to Arthur for years, and he'd have good reason to be alert to his surroundings and the people in them. But hopefully he hadn't immediately jumped up and whispered to the nearest knight, to send him racing after the princess and followed by more gossip.
"Asked?" she said.
"He grimaced, and nodded. I knew what he meant."
Interesting that he seemed good friends with the mysterious sorcerer. "I'm all right," Elena told him, and was surprised to find it was true. Maybe there was something about being outrageous in the dark; she was sure she'd be too mortified to attempt a conversation like this in daylight. "Why wouldn't I be?"
The unknown knight hummed a neutral non-answer. "I don't wish to offend you, but there are those who wonder if your… last visit to Camelot went… as smoothly as it seemed."
"What, do you mean because Prince – that is, because King Arthur and I were meant to wed, and decided not to?" She wasn't offended; many of the knights of both Camelot and Gawant had been present when Arthur made his announcement, and it would have been an issue of sufficient importance that he might have discussed it with his secret sorcerer.
"Hm. No. Because… the betrothal was not all you lost, in Camelot?"
"Oh, do you mean Grunhilda." Her father had asked Uther to look into her nursemaid's disappearance; no surprise that it was known, also. "Did they ever find out what became of her?"
He didn't answer, saying obliquely – and smoothly – "Do you miss her very much? You two were quite close?"
Since he was a stranger, and they were being unusually honest, Elena admitted, "I'm not sure. She was with me a very long time, and took very good care of me, after my mother died, but… She was very strange. Since she's been gone, I feel… like I've finally been allowed to grow up?"
Her maidservant since the spring, Grunhilda's replacement, was a girl named Veramay, younger than Elena and inclined to timidity. It was a completely different relationship experience for Elena, to be the elder and the one making decisions. Sometimes scary – but all the time good.
"You feel free?" he ventured softly, and she smiled with relief at being understood.
"Yes. Is it awful? I should feel worried, still, shouldn't I? I think sometimes, perhaps she found a special gentleman like she never did here – but in that case, why would she not simply write to me?"
He made a noncommittal sound, leaning on his elbows over the low wall. A light breeze touched her with cold fingers and she rubbed her hands over the thin sleeves of her delicate dress.
"I shouldn't keep you," she observed. "Now that you know I'm fine, and – not lonely, you should –"
He grunted like it was ironic for her to say that. "Are you too cold? You'd like to go back inside?"
"No, it feels good," she said honestly. "I only thought, your friends might wonder…"
"My friends," he said. "No, I doubt they'd wonder about me."
She drifted two steps closer, and leaned on the wall also; the stones still held some warmth from the afternoon sun. "Why do you say it like that?"
He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Of my… call it seven closest friends. One was betrothed just before we left Camelot. One we parted with when we left Mercia, because he was betrothed to a young lady we met there. Arthur's counting down the days his lady is making him wait til he can ask her –" Elena giggle-snorted at the idea, and liked the unknown lady instantly. "And Merlin's just about decided to accept the princess Nemeth offered."
Nemeth was a good place for a magic-user to look for a spouse, Elena knew that much. "All your friends are getting married," she said, half amused and half sympathetic. "But not you? No girl has caught your eye?"
"I will never wed," he declared wryly. "My past is – somewhat less than noble. Arthur did me a favor but took something of a chance when he knighted me this spring. But it leaves me a bit in the middle when it comes to the ladies – I'm nowhere near good enough for a noble wife, but it would take a one-in-a-thousand common girl to match with me for life. And – I must have had a bit more wine than I thought, to have told you all that." His eyes and his teeth gleamed as he turned to smile at her in the moonlight.
Elena smiled back, commiserating though he wouldn't know that, and she wouldn't say. Any number of men would enter a union with her willingly – she was a princess - and she wasn't against that on principle, no matter what Arthur said about love. But he was actually the only man she'd ever met who treated her like a person, and even he'd felt a bit awkward with her awkwardness. She didn't want to be stuck with someone who was sorry he'd married her. Someone who'd make her feel foolish and awkward.
She opened her mouth to say something like, Don't give up hope, when another pair of boots and the rattle of armor sounded at the other end of the gallery, and flickering golden torchlight spilled over them, and the stone. She squinted at the guardsman carrying it, and saw with mild surprise that he'd taken his helmet off. He looked young, round-faced and earnest.
"Excuse me, Your Highness," he said, approaching them. "I don't mean to interrupt, but –"
Elena straightened from the low wall, sensing the knight behind her do the same. Her surprise increased when he spoke a name in a tone of delighted astonishment.
"Gilli?"
"Yes, I –" the guardsman answered the knight, but bowed to her. "Thought we might talk a bit? I'm just off-duty, Your Highness, I noticed my friend here from Camelot but couldn't say anything before…"
"Yes, of course," Elena said, making an effort to remember his name and face. It was probably a very interesting story, how her guardsman was acquainted with a new knight of Camelot, and one who was friends with the sorcerer, too. "I'll just go back in to the banquet, so there's no need for you to stay with me, or worry…"
As she spoke she put her shoes on the ground and lifted her skirt to step into them. Wavered, and would have lost her balance – and twisted her ankle, according to her luck – but the knight caught her elbow and steadied her.
"If you're sure, Your Highness?"
"Yes," she repeated. "I –" And made the mistake of looking up right into his face, illumined now by the light of the guardsman's torch.
Oh, he was handsome. And yes, she could tell, a bit of a rogue. But there was kindness in his face, and humor that was sadly lacking in most princes and lords' sons who stiffly ignored her quirks, rather than acknowledging them and laughing about them. She thought instantly that she would love to be friends with this knight; he seemed fun.
"I'm sure Lady Vivian will want to repeat her story about her betrothal again tonight," she told him, feeling comfortable enough to smile. "Therefore, I would advise you, take your time with your friend."
He grinned, all twinkly dark eyes and white teeth in his black beard. "I will owe you, then, for facing this foe in my stead," he joked. "If you're sure…?"
"Here I go," she sighed, heading less-than-gracefully for the stair that led to the banquet hall. "Wish me luck."
As she gathered her skirt out of her way to attempt the first step, she heard him say behind her, as if he truly meant it, "Best of luck to you. My lady."
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
The rest of the banquet had been surprisingly pleasant. Arthur's sorcerer had again looked immediately to her with concern, which she appreciated. More than that, she appreciated that a smile and nod was enough to reassure him. He was perceptive, evidently, but not – so she thought – in a way that was cunning or conniving. Whatever he intuited, wouldn't be used against her.
Vivian was tolerable – she felt a little guilty over her attitude toward a guest and a friend – and partly because Elena knew she'd sleep til noon the next morning. And because Elena was only expected to entertain female guests, after a private breakfast in her room, she was free to pass through the garden on her way to the kennels.
It was a brisk morning, as the sun had not yet risen above the rest of the palace; she was surprised to see that the garden was not unoccupied. A trio of… yes, all of them were men, they were too far, she didn't recognize if they wore colors – either theirs or Camelot's or the dark blue of Vivian and Balan's escort. She kept them in the corner of her eye as she walked the crushed-stone path past ever-green shrubbery and the dry-stick rosebushes.
Two were in mail. The third, seated on one of the few benches scattered around the area for visitors' convenience, was dressed in nondescript blue and brown. She noticed when they noticed and recognized her; the two standing turned – but none hailed her immediately. They were perhaps thinking as she did, not to interrupt a desired solitude – and then she recognized them.
One, at least – as the seated man stood out of deference for her presence, even if they let her pass without speaking. The black-haired sorcerer of Camelot.
Elena tripped to an uncertain halt, wondering why he was not in conference with her father and King Arthur and Vivian's husband; she thought Balan had been invited as well - though his appearance was unexpected – as Olaf's son-in-law.
The taller – older – man in armor had longish dark hair and beard-scruff covering his chin. Elena suspected it might be her new friend from the previous night – what was his name? had he introduced himself? since the other, younger-looking one in mail was the guardsman Gilli.
She took two steps toward them – right into a newly-fertilized bed of autumn bulbs. "Oh – ick."
"Good morning, Your Highness." An unfamiliar voice – the sorcerer then.
"Well, it was." She sighed, gesturing to her soiled boots, stepping carefully back to the path. Leaving footprints behind, and collecting pebbles from the path onto the soles and sides of her muddied boots.
"I can help you with that, Princess?" he suggested.
She risked a glance – but he seemed neither embarrassed for her, or ready to cover a snicker at her expense. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly ask you, you're a guest –"
He gave her a friendly, sympathetic grin that said, it could happen to anyone. "With magic, I meant? Just a –" He demonstrated a wave with a flair, and she inhaled sharply – but nothing happened.
"No, thank you," she said, relieved that he'd asked first. She was nearly certain that her father had mentioned a request to Arthur that his sorcerer, while free to practice in Camelot, would mind the letter of the law while in Gawant, at least to avoid incidents. But he seemed disappointed, so she hastened to add, "I don't mean to seem ungrateful, it's just that – my father, and the treaty, and this morning they're meant to be discussing –"
"If you won't let Merlin work his magic," said the knight, joining them. Gilli the guardsman, at his elbow, seemed uncertain of the protocol to follow in the situation, but the knight gave her a grin similar in feeling to the sorcerer's. "Perhaps I could take them and clean them at the pump?"
"Oh, really, no –" she began to protest.
"You can come and sit down," Merlin offered, "and he'll bring them back clean in just a moment – Gwaine has good practice in cleaning boots."
The knight snorted and elbowed the sorcerer – and Elena remembered that he'd said my friend. She supposed she might never have a better opportunity to speak to Merlin of Camelot, and she was curious about several different matters.
"Well, all right – if you're sure you don't mind?" She took one of the sorcerer's hands and one of the knight's, outstretched for her assistance, and hopped over the fertilized bed. The knight supported her elbow with his other hand to steady her balance.
"I'll help you, Gwaine," Gilli volunteered. "If that's all right, Your Highness."
"Really, it was my own fault," she said, clopping her way to the bench, collecting pebbles and weight as she went. "You shouldn't have to –"
"If we don't, it'll be your maidservant," Gilli ventured, hovering.
Merlin made a noise of disapproval, and the knight – Sir Gwaine, then – said immediately and cheerfully, "That can't happen. Come, Your Highness. We'll have them back in a moment, your feet won't even get cold."
She thudded down to the bench and tried to keep her skirt clear as she wiggled her feet out of her boots. Gilli accepted one with a polite nod – and a badly-hidden grimace for the odor of the fertilizer; he was quite young.
Gwaine said, with an audacious wink, "Hm, these look very comfortable."
She was speechless – he dared to tease? no one ever teased her, since Grunhilda - as he bowed. Gilli led him off toward the kennels, where there was a pump from the subterranean cisterns common to the stables also.
"I do apologize," she began again, finding her voice.
Merlin had blue eyes, and they twinkled as he smiled, clasping his hands behind him in a deferential posture somewhat at odds with his confident look. "The second day I knew Gwaine, he'd ordered several rounds of drinks for everyone in Camelot's best tavern, and he had no money. I offered to pay his bill, but had none myself. Arthur honored my offer – and made the two of us clean the boots for all the knights stationed in the citadel at the time."
"Oh, dear," Elena said involuntarily, and almost choked on the urge to giggle. Pleased, though, that he'd chosen to be honest and amusing, rather than stiff and proper.
"So you see," Merlin said, ducking his head slightly, with another humorous smile, "We are not men who need to stand on ceremony."
"Perhaps you'd better sit down, then," Elena invited, gesturing to the seat beside her. None of her father's knights were ever so familiar; she found she liked it.
"Thank you, Your Highness," he said, complying with her wish; she noticed that the material of shirt and trousers were fine, tight-knit wool, and his jacket was expertly made, of tanned leather that would probably be very soft to the touch.
"Sir Gwaine probably told you he spoke with me last night?" she began; Merlin nodded, perfectly at east with her supposition of their confidence. "Then allow me to offer congratulations on your betrothal?"
Merlin sighed, slouching a bit. "Upcoming betrothal," he corrected.
Elena tucked her gown around her feet to keep them warm in her stockings. "You're reluctant to wed the princess of Nemeth?" she asked curiously.
"I respect her," Merlin told her. "I might even like her, but… That's all it is. She can't possibly love me, and –"
"Why not?" Elena said.
He rolled his eyes – done without thinking, she was sure, and wasn't offended at all. It seemed Sir Gwaine and Merlin were cut from the same cloth as Arthur, and didn't mind her penchant for being inappropriate.
"And," he added, "It seems impossible to add in a… wife, when I'm always so busy with Arthur and Gaius."
Her amusement over the way he said wife was forgotten in his mention of the old man she remembered from her visit to Camelot, that spring. "Your physician," she said. "Oh, you must remember to thank him for me. He gave me the most wonderful restorative tonic after I had a nightmare…" Which reminded her of something else she wanted to ask him. "That was the last night I saw Grunhilda, actually – my nurse was missing when it was time for us to depart from Camelot, and we never heard anything… do you know what happened to her?"
"I…" He looked past her, vaguely toward the end of the garden. "I'm not sure if I'm able to comfort your worries, Your Highness…"
"Is she dead?" Elena blurted her worst fear.
He stiffened and his eyes widened, darting immediately back to her. It was almost as good as a yes.
"Oh, I was so afraid of that," she mourned – but it had been a year and a half ago, and the ache of the loss was distant. "Can you tell me what happened? Did she have magic, and did Uther somehow find out?"
"M- magic?" he gulped, even more startled.
"She was so strange," Elena explained, understanding and wanting to soothe his uneasiness at the mention of a shared ability that would have gotten him killed in his own kingdom, up til this year and Arthur's changes. An ability that was still illegal in Gawant, at least for a little while longer. "I suspected, though I never saw anything definite – I never looked, you know, I didn't want her to get in trouble. She kept a little powder that she said was good for my nightmares, but she never actually put it in my food or drink. Of course I'd never tell my father – he had that treaty with Camelot, you see, and magic was – is – prohibited here, too."
"Ah," Merlin said, in a tone of great discovery. "Well. Yes, she had magic – of a sort. She was discovered, and that was the reason, for her… death."
"Oh." Elena slumped disconsolately. "I thought maybe, Uther would have executed her without a trial, and lied to my father to cover it up. I thought… maybe my father suspected, but it wasn't worth pressing the matter, especially after Grunhilda had been part of our household for years. A terrible scandal, and strained relations and – better that it didn't come out, maybe. But it's good to… know, finally."
"I'm so very sorry you lost your friend," Merlin said earnestly.
She shrugged loosely. "It's all right. She should've known to be more careful in Camelot. That was just after your own execution, I believe? Arthur mentioned – he was unhappy, though he tried to hide it, he's seemed in much better spirits this time…"
Merlin had dropped his eyes to his lap, and she noticed that the thumb and forefinger of his right hand lightly pinched the small finger on his left hand. Which was missing the last joint – and she had heard that part of the story, too. Oh, bother, she'd gone and offended him truly.
"I – I mean," she stammered, "we heard rumors. Uther told Father – but of course that was wrong, and after Arthur was crowned king, he sent a letter – but it wasn't very specific –"
"It's all right, Princess," Merlin repeated her own words to her – and the smile and twinkle were still there, though a bit sad. "It could've gone better – but it didn't – and it could've gone worse. But it didn't. Arthur's not his father, and he's done a lot to make sure people with magic are treated as fairly and equally as everyone else."
Elena made a skeptical noise – maybe a rude noise, but she wasn't worried anymore than he'd suddenly decide to take umbrage.
"That's what they're discussing this morning, isn't it?" Merlin added. "Arthur and your father and – Lord Balan the Lady Vivian's husband, I was so pleased to meet him."
That sounded more genuine than Elena could've said it; Merlin seemed a very nice person. She was sure the princess of Nemeth would have no problem falling in love with this young man.
"My father never had strong feelings either for or against magic," Elena said. And too bad if it wasn't proper to be candid about the issue with someone from another kingdom, and a magic-user. "He agreed to the same laws banning it as Camelot had, but he wasn't terribly concerned that our people might hide and deny it, as long as the peace was kept. Now, of course, he wants to be sure you haven't tricked Arthur somehow."
"That's why I wasn't invited to the meeting," Merlin said, straightening slightly.
"Oh. Yes, I suppose so – that does make sense, now that I think about it. My father also wanted to hear in detail how Arthur's addressed the problem legally, before he commits to doing the same. He's concerned there might be – resentment, maybe even violence? And he wants to be just without being unfair."
"That's – perfect, actually." Merlin gave her a brilliantly happy grin. "Well, I don't mind anyone making sure Arthur is acting on his own initiative, because that's the truth. It hasn't all changed smoothly or overnight, in Camelot – but it may very well be easier here in Gawant, if your father never was as harsh as Uther. You think your father will pardon those people who might have hidden and denied magic – servants, knights… lords?"
"I'm fairly sure our laws will change as Camelot's did," Elena told him. "And yes, I hope when that happens that our people will be brave and trusting. And then I can see some of your magic, but til then, there are still the laws to be followed…"
"I understand," he said, and she saw by his eyes and smile that he did, truly. "Vivian was asking me, could I make butterflies like King Alined's sorcerer – and I was so tempted…"
Elena laughed at the sarcasm in his tone; though she wasn't familiar with that king or his sorcerer, she did know Vivian.
"But now I'll have an official reason to decline. Oh, say –" his eyes lit with the enthusiasm of a new idea. "Why don't you and your father visit Camelot in the spring? I'll be hatching the dragon's egg, that'll be wonderful magic to see…"
"A dragon…" Elena hesitated.
"Just a little one." He approximated measurements with his hands; the size of a lapdog, then. He added persuasively, "A baby one."
"Oh…" Babies were always sweet, and that was tempting, but of course her father must be consulted, and King Arthur might have something to say about his sorcerer issuing invitations on his own.
"Your Highness? Your boots, Your Highness." Gilli hurried toward them down the gravel path, holding her boots out, and the hilt of his sword against its inclination to clatter against his chainmail.
"I will think on it and hope for it," she told Merlin, before turning to receive her boots.
"Did you lose Gwaine?" Merlin said to Gilli. "Or accidently drown him under the pump?"
"No," Gilli said, averting his eyes as she tugged on her boots, one at a time - damp on the outside, but dry on the inside, and clean. "There was a new litter in the kennels?"
That was where Elena was headed; she stood and Merlin did as well. "Would you like to come see the pups?" she invited, and dared to tease, "They're little ones. Baby ones."
Merlin laughed out loud and it was a surprisingly deep laugh, that made her smile also. "No, Your Highness, not this time. I wanted to talk to Gilli a bit more, and he has duty soon…"
He glanced at the guardsman for confirmation; Gilli's round face reddened, and he gave a nod that was almost a bow, to her.
"I will see you later, then," she said. "Good morning."
Their murmured responses carried with her on a distinct and unusual cloud of cheer. To like company well enough to relax – she couldn't remember that ever happening, not since she was a child too young to be expected to behave with propriety. Arthur had been very nice, but they'd been in his kingdom, and there were lots of strangers – Uther Pendragon – to see her make an idiot of herself. The people around here already knew that about her.
The whelping pen was indeed occupied when Elena entered the kennel, her steps nearly silent on the packed earth floor.
Sir Gwaine sprawled easily on the stack of baled hay, seated on one and leaning against another, ankle-deep in the loose straw spread on the floor for bedding and warmth. The old bitch – brown-brindle fur graying with age – lay on the sawdust opposite, keeping a desultory eye on her latest litter, three going on four weeks old, tumbling clumsily about the knight, who seemed delighted as a child at the attention.
"What are you doing, then?" he said, to the one Elena privately called Blacky, lifting it a few inches from the floor with his boot.
The pup tumbled off and squirmed to right itself and attack, growling a baby threat. Two more writhed in the man's arms, trying to lick his neck – and he twisted away from a brindled fourth, who'd managed to climb the bales of hay behind him with the clear intent of chewing the knight's hair off. He laughed, a warm chuckle, and spoke words that lifted Elena's brows.
"Platz. Sitz. Steh."
Those commands were reserved for the use of royalty – or very privileged nobility – and the kennel-master. Somewhere in his admittedly checkered past, he'd had occasion to learn and remember the words; that was intriguing.
The bitch's ears perked also at the sound of specific training language, and she jerked upright, sitting in an attentive stance, and Sir Gwaine laughed again as he addressed her. "Your young have a bit of learning to do, don't they?"
"Don't we all?" Elena said, moving from the shadowed corner of the doorway.
The knight stood immediately, recognizing her – but in an odd stoop that she first thought was a clumsy attempt at a bow. Til she realized the brindled climber was balanced between his shoulder blades, still growling around a mouthful of hair. "Your Highness."
"Oh, dear," she said. "Hold still."
Crossing the thigh-high barrier of the pen one leg at a time – and counting herself lucky that her skirt didn't rip this time – she waded toward the knight through the straw. And tripped over Blacky, who'd abandoned the knight's footwear for her own boot-lacing. The knight extended an elbow swiftly for her to catch her balance on, without dropping the pup cradled in that arm, and as Elena straightened, she rescued the brindle.
"Thank you very much," the knight said with an easy grin. "That one is a rascal."
"Mm hm." Elena didn't dare open her mouth to speak properly, as the pup squirmed to climb her shoulder and lick all over her face like she hadn't washed after breakfast.
Sir Gwaine – if that was his name – bent to put his double armful down, and they immediately tumbled over each other, play-snapping, lunging, rolling, and kicking. He then reached to take the brindle back, tucking it under his arm where it squirmed and grunted.
"You've got –" she gestured awkwardly – "straw in your hair?"
He reached a hand behind his head, raking fingers through his hair – and coming up with a few spindly straws. "Huh," he said, letting them sift down onto the pups, who took an immediate offensive against the attack. "Lady, might I ask you a question?"
Elena almost snorted at his chosen form of address, but he was serious, not teasing or insulting or ironic. She waded to the bales and seated herself on the prickly hay.
"You want to ask, how it is that I'm a princess when my father is a lord, or that Vivian is only a lady when her father is king?" It was a common question for new visitors, especially since Vivian was present.
The knight chuckled, seeming perfectly satisfied for the three pups to chase each other around and between his boots. "No, actually. You're princess because the line of succession passed from your grandfather the king through your mother the queen, and your father was never crowned, only accepted as consort, probably because your mother married for love rather than ambition, and the lords of Gawant resented it. That's probably also why your father governs your kingdom with the same laws as your strongest ally, Camelot. Easier that way."
Elena blinked.
He went on. "Lady Vivian, however, was born out of wedlock, though she is Olaf's first child, she is not the heir, and therefore never officially recognized as princess – she gets her title from her noble mother. One of the reasons he's rumored to have been so fanatical about her reputation – and probably why he allowed her to marry a younger brother. Less likely to eye the throne intended for another."
She was too astonished to reply. He spoke of an ignoble past – Merlin mentioned him drunken and penniless at one point, performing the lowest of menial tasks to pay his debts – yet he was a knight now, and knew things.
"What was – your question?" she said.
He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a shout that came from outside the kennel. She followed his gaze as he twisted to look – no one came into view, but the shout was repeated, and he bent to set the brindle into the furry chaos at his feet.
"I beg your pardon, Princess," he said, kicking his legs over the low wall in preparation to leave. "Perhaps we'll have another chance to speak?"
"I very much hope so," she said, not understanding the feeling of disappointment that weighed on her at his imminent departure. She'd rather have him stay, than be alone – and that was new for her. Strange, but nice. "I look forward to it."
A/N: Probably they didn't command their trained dogs in German back then, but… it works, right? For anyone who didn't catch it, it's "Down, Sit, Stay."