Chapter 9: Elena (part 2)
Elena did not get the chance to speak to Sir Gwaine again that day. She didn't even see him until dinner – where she seemed to catch several glances he cast her way. Or he caught the glances she sent his way; she wasn't completely certain which it was.
But the memory of his smile made her happy, as she sat in her window in her nightgown and bed-jacket, creamy wool under filmy lace that tied with two ribbons over her chest.
The moonlight – all she could see anymore from this direction and angle – vied with the flicker of the fire in her hearth that Veramay had banked for the night before Elena dismissed her. The warm glow combined with the wine of the feast and the late hour to make her reluctant to retire to bed and put a definite end on a good day.
His smile. Not a response of required politeness, but of genuine friendliness, like he thought she was fun also. It was different than the relationship she'd fostered with Veramay, different than what she and Arthur had found and agreed to keep. She wasn't really afraid anymore, that she might do or say something that would make this particular knight retreat back into awkward formality. And that was a good feeling, to have made a friend; she smiled to herself as she twisted her fingers in the trailing ribbons of her bed-jacket.
When the door banged open, she jumped, startled to see her maid's gleaming red-brown cap of hair as the girl pushed back the hood of her cloak.
She began, "Vera-"
"Intruders, my lady," the girl gasped, springing to her side. "Soldiers, in the palace. Everywhere. Killing the guards –"
Elena felt strangely composed, like this was a misunderstanding only. Or a dream. Or perhaps a theoretical exercise – what to do if. "Calm down," she ordered Veramay. "Start from the beginning."
"I was in the courtyard," her maid gulped, out of breath. "Talking to – a guardsman. And suddenly they were there. My – my friend, he pushed me back in the shadow, but the intruder knocked him down. He could be dead. There were more of them – I couldn't even scream, I was so frightened they'd see me, and - I saw other guards down. And blood. They're in the hall now, I saw – I ran here."
"Good," Elena told her, trying to ignore the sick shivers crawling up her spine. "Good. You did well. Take a breath, and… what were they wearing?"
"Mail," Veramay recalled. "Tunics… dark-red, maybe?"
"The device?" Elena demanded.
Veramay closed her eyes, as if she could recall the tunic-symbols better by picturing them against the backs of her eyelids. "A beast's head. Bear – or wolf, maybe."
That would be Odin, likeliest by far by the description. But why would he attack Gawant? What did he want, what might he gain now, since he'd never so much as attempted to cross their border before… Oh. Oh, sweet heavens –
"They're after Arthur," Elena said, filled with certainty and dread.
The blood feud was something between scandalous rumor and politely undiscussed fact. Uther and Odin had long been enemies; outright war was prevented only because Odin didn't have the men to take Camelot, and Uther was disinclined to lose half of his taking Odin's seaside fortress. So they skirmished back and forth until the newly-crowned King Arthur had published his claim that Odin was responsible for Uther's murder. Elena had heard her father say that Camelot was fortifying the border, and intended to negotiate for a unified front with Gawant and with Nemeth against Odin.
So Odin struck first. She hadn't once considered that Arthur would be vulnerable, leaving his kingdom with only a dozen knights for protection. She wondered if that hadn't occurred to her father, either. Or to Arthur himself.
"How many did you see?" Elena asked her maid.
"Twenty at least, just in the hall," Veramay said. "But more – everywhere."
Twenty in the hall meant Odin himself was there to be defended. He wouldn't dare send his army without taking responsibility by coming himself – which meant at least that many more, if not twice as many, searching. Odin had more warriors than peaceful little Gawant – and they couldn't possibly rely on Arthur's dozen. They shouldn't; those knights were sworn to their king's protection, first and foremost.
And her duty was clear also, as hostess. Protect the guests.
"Veramay," she said, rising and gripping her maid's shoulders. "You will go to the knights' quarters. Take the servants' routes," she advised over Veramay's initial protest. "They won't see you, that way. Warn the knights of Camelot to flee to the forest through the old siege tunnel, and our men as well. Command them." She worked a ring off her smallest finger and wrapped her maid's trembling fingers around it, for authority. "If Odin's soldiers are in the palace already, our men can never defend it – but they might have a chance to retake it. I will go to Arthur."
The guest rooms weren't that far; down the hall, around a corner, halfway along another corridor. Past Vivian and Balan, actually – and what would become of them? First things first, she decided – King Arthur.
She yanked Veramay with her to the door, glancing swiftly in both directions. There was a faint but dreadful noise of battle in the distance, and too much silence here – the guards were gone, probably summoned to defend. Or fallen already.
Father. Oh, Father.
"Go!" She gave Veramay a shove.
The maid whimpered obediently, giving her a last frightened look before darting to a hidden door behind a tapestry depicting a hunt.
Elena picked up her skirts and flew on bare feet – down the hall, around the corner – and skidded to a stop just past Balan and Vivian's closed door.
The intruders were here. Men were down, men were fighting – sharp blades clashed and swung, clanged and flashed.
Elena caught her breath and the instinct to flee in the opposite direction, hand over her heart, and recognition came. Two on the ground, unmoving – one in Camelot red, the other in muddier burgundy. The fighters – the king and Sir Gwaine, she thought with a chill, tentatively identifying them from behind – held off three more men wearing Odin's wolfs-head in the narrow hall. There seemed to be another man slouched in the open doorway of Arthur's guest chamber, but he was dressed in brown – a servant, maybe.
Why no more than three – four, originally? Perhaps because Odin did not know precisely where to find his enemy, and had men ranging all over the palace.
Father. Oh, Father.
One of the enemy went down. Unexpectedly, she thought; Arthur himself seemed to stumble forward, and fell in close contact with the second. Sir Gwaine immediately dispatched the third with a vicious twist that sprayed droplets of blood, visible to Elena where she stood at ten pace; she flinched involuntarily.
"Arthur?" he demanded.
There was movement among the bodies on the corridor floor, and a groan. "Yeah."
Not really any point warning them; they already knew Odin's men were here. But perhaps not how many – and they were a long way from escape down that siege tunnel.
"Sir Gwaine?" she said aloud, starting forward again.
Just at the moment when a shuffling clatter sounded behind her. Gwaine was already turning – she had no time to do likewise – his face contorted in a grimacing scowl that frightened her.
"Down!" he bellowed.
She obeyed instantly, dropping to her knees and shrinking against the outside wall of the corridor as he hurled his sword down the hall, past her. She cringed as a man grunted in surprised pain –
Then recoiled as another maroon-clad enemy crashed to the floor close enough to spatter the hem of her nightgown with blood.
Gwaine was next to her in an instant, lifting her with one hand and retrieving his sword with the other. She caught a wiping motion out of the corner of her eye; she didn't want to look at the dead man – she couldn't help looking at the dead man – Gwaine touched her face gently to hide the sight from her eyes and guide her focus forward again.
She saw that Arthur was up and betraying no signs of serious injury; he squatted next to the servant in the doorway, wearing the same sort of fiercely intent expression that Gwaine was. A warrior's gaze, she realized – and felt partly intimidated, but mostly secure in the knowledge that they'd defend her.
"What are you doing out of your room?" Gwaine scolded mildly, glancing behind as he hurried her along.
"I was coming to warn you," she managed, through her teeth's determination to chatter; she felt very cold suddenly. "To warn Arthur, I mean – they're Odin's men, which means they want him, don't they."
Arthur glanced up at her with a grim sort of agreement of her assessment, then bounced up from his crouch reaching to pull the servant to his feet. Gwaine moved past Elena, probably to block her view of the other fallen men, and she recognized the servant before he was fully upright – the sorcerer, Merlin.
"What happened?" she blurted.
He swayed and rested back in the doorway, reaching to touch his forehead. Arthur swatted his hand away, and he winced as his king turned his face. Elena hissed to see a deep cut beside his left eyebrow, a trickle of blood down the side of his face, and swelling and reddening that promised a nasty bruise later.
"I miscounted," he said thickly, giving her a smile that was more of a grimace. "Sorry."
Arthur snorted, looking down and past Gwaine, who seemed to know what his king was thinking.
The knight said grimly, "They're wearing livery."
Arthur met his eyes. "How many more? They wouldn't come openly like this without an army."
"Twenty in the hall, my maid told me," Elena said. "With King Odin, probably, and more throughout the palace. I sent her to order the rest of our knights to flee to a prearranged meeting place – they can't hope to hold the palace, but perhaps it will be possible to retake it."
"Will ours go too, or will they fight to get here," Arthur said, half to himself. "We've lost Sindran, that would normally leave you in charge, Gwaine, so will they think…"
"You've got Merlin," Gwaine said shortly. "I think they'll trust him with your safety, and follow the princess' orders to go now and regroup later."
"Merlin?" Arthur said.
The sorcerer straightened – met Arthur's eyes with faint shock – and continued forward, sagging half-conscious as the king caught him.
"In here, quick," Arthur decided, his arms about Merlin's ribs and the sorcerer's feet dragging, as he staggered back into the guest chamber assigned to him. "Gwaine, bar the door like you told Balan to do. At the very least, it'll delay them."
"I'm all right." Merlin protested Arthur hauling him toward the bed by planting his feet deliberately if slowly. "I can sit, or – lean… I'm all right, Arthur, I swear." He pushed away, and Arthur allowed it, guiding him to rest against a small dining-table in the fore-chamber of the guest quarters. "If you think the knights will go, I can…"
"Can what, Merlin?" Arthur demanded.
Merlin was looking at Elena. "I know it's still illegal," he said, "but it'll be all right if you give me permission, won't it? To save Arthur – to save all four of us – with magic?"
Elena clutched her wringing hands, opened her mouth and said, "You have my permission."
"Merlin, you are not taking on twenty men," Arthur said sternly. "Even if Gwaine and I help you, that's a truly idiotic –"
The sorcerer bent his head, looking down at Arthur's hands on his hips, at the floor around them with exaggerated care. "Where's your sword?"
"In the hall. Snapped in half – that last man twisted as he fell, and…" Arthur shrugged.
"You need a sword," Merlin insisted, almost childishly. "I know where yours is. I can take you to it."
The way he said yours made Elena think it was something special, something specific – and because neither Gwaine nor Arthur asked, she wondered if it was common knowledge to them.
"That spell you use to get from one place to another?" Arthur asked. "You can take people with you?"
"Yes," Merlin said with conviction. And then, "Probably…"
"All of us?" Gwaine said skeptically.
"I can't go," Elena objected. "My father is here. I won't leave him – and if I tell King Odin that you've gone back to Camelot, maybe he'll leave, too."
"He won't," Arthur predicted grimly. "This attack, after the assassination of my father, is too much for Camelot to take, and he'll know it. If I go back to Camelot, it'll be to raise an army – and his position is stronger here, with hostages."
"How far is this sword you want to take Arthur to?" Gwaine asked Merlin.
"An… hour or so. Past the border."
"There tonight, and if I meet up with whatever knights escape, I can be back with twenty or thirty men by tomorrow afternoon," Arthur said to Elena. "Odin won't expect that – with any luck, he won't be ready for it, either."
"Why don't you just have Merlin take you right to the knights' meeting place?" Gwaine suggested. "Someone will lend you a sword. Hell, there are several in the hallway right now that don't have owners anymore."
Merlin's bowed head wagged a sluggish negative. "I have to go where I know to go. Somewhere I've been before."
"You've been all over this palace and the grounds," Arthur said to him, "the whole road here."
"No…" Merlin's hand lifted to touch the gash on his temple gingerly. "I can go to the sword. Or back to Camelot. But if I try – anywhere else… I don't – I can't – I'm not sure I can, and uncertainty makes magic uncertain and I won't do that with someone else along. Especially you, Arthur."
"In that case," Gwaine said, grinning confidently, "and don't take this the wrong way, Merlin, but I'm going to stay here. It'll be easier for Merlin to take only one person, and I can guard the princess. Maybe her father, too – maybe even wreak some havoc in anticipation of your return."
Elena stared at the side of his face, not knowing what to say. Not being able to put a name to her tangle of emotions besides an overwhelming relief, that she wouldn't be alone.
"Are you sure, Gwaine," Arthur said. Merlin was looking at the knight, too, silent but sheet-white.
"Yes, my lord," Gwaine said firmly.
Arthur took two steps, reaching out, and Gwaine met his offered hand, clasping his king's forearm in return. "Be careful, then," the king ordered. "If Odin discovers you as a knight of Camelot, he'll probably kill you out of spite."
"Spite does seem to be characteristic of him," Gwaine agreed, almost flippantly. "You two be careful – and Merlin, you're going to owe me a trip with magic, too."
Merlin huffed, amused in spite of himself. Elena did not claim the same future privilege.
"All right, let's go," Arthur said to him. "The sooner we're on our way, the sooner we can return."
The sorcerer straightened to stand unsupported, drawing in a deep breath. Arthur grabbed for his elbow, perhaps in apprehension that he was going to topple again – he looked it – but Merlin took hold of his king's opposite arm in much the same way. He spoke three or four words Elena did not understand, and his eyes flashed gold.
She didn't know what to expect, but Gwaine seemed unconcerned at the sudden eerie wind, the whipping gray wisps of both men's bodies flying into tatters – and then disappearing into ringing stillness.
"Was that –" she began stiffly. Realized she was clinging to Gwaine's arm, and forced herself to let go. "That was – normal?"
"Yes," Gwaine said. "I don't think we should worry that it didn't work."
"They must have hit Merlin pretty hard?" she said, watching him cross to the door and lay his ear to it.
He grimaced. "It was that noticeable? In his case, I hope hard-headedness is literal… Arthur won't be able to leave him behind. Do you want to try to reach your father, or remain hidden? If the servants are threatened, Odin may discover where Arthur's supposed to be – and then we're in a lot more trouble."
"Yes," Elena said. "I want to get to my father."
He acknowledged with a quick nod, and turned to lift the plank barring the door from its brackets, and eased it open, looking both ways before drawing Elena to the hall. It was similar to what she'd done with Veramay, and no matter the confidence she'd gained the last months dealing with the younger girl as her maid – in this moment, she was happy to have someone strong and smart and capable to lead her.
And as he once again shielded the dead from her view, it occurred to her, it was probably best if they weren't found here, for Gwaine's sake. If Odin assumed the knight responsible for the deaths of his men, he might execute him summarily whether he suspected him from Camelot, or not. Spite, she remembered.
Balan and Vivian's door was ajar – she pushed it open as they passed, but though there was some disarray, it was vacant.
She whispered to Gwaine, "Where do you suppose they –"
He rounded the corner as if he expected a close enemy – and in the blink of an eye his body tensed and his spirit visibly fired for imminent and bloody action.
Elena nearly twisted her ankle following – trying to reach him – and there were three more of Odin's soldiers blocking the corridor. Swords out, also half-crouched and ready to fight – and surprised to see her.
"Surrender, Princess, it is no use resisting," suggested the man in the middle. He looked young, with sad eyes and a high forehead framed by tumbled curls a sandy-brown color.
"Isn't it?" Gwaine returned impudently – his left arm sweeping back as if to keep her out of the way of the weapon in his right.
"No!" Elena said quickly. Sir Gwaine might take these three without receiving any injury himself – but he could never fight them all, and she didn't want to see him overwhelmed and killed for his defiance. She amended, "Yes, rather. I surrender. Guardsman, lower your weapon."
Gwaine looked at her over his shoulder – a moment passed before he made the decision to obey as if he really were one of Gawant's defenders. Standing straight, he flipped his sword around to dangle from his fingers in invitation.
The curly-haired young man with sad eyes stepped forward to appropriate the weapon carefully, and addressed Elena. "Lord Godwyn is with my lord the king in the hall already – as are Lord Balan and Lady Vivian. It would earn you favor with my lord the king if you were to tell us the whereabouts of King Arthur of Camelot."
"I don't need King Odin's favor," Elena said bravely – and Gwaine's nod of approval of the sentiment or her spirit, increased her courage.
The response was a single raised eyebrow, as the speaker signaled to his two companions. One stepped to the corner to glance down the adjacent hall before joining the other in an escort formation behind Gwaine and Elena. "Four of our own down, and one in crimson."
"Do you share responsibility for that?" the curly-haired knight asked Gwaine.
"King Arthur probably does," Elena interjected. "He must have gone the other direction down the corridor. If you hurry, perhaps you can catch him."
The young man took one eager step forward, before one of the others snorted derisively at her rather obvious attempt to deceive them, and he caught himself, drawing to a fuller height.
"Once the… royals are gathered," he said, "and the palace's defenders are dealt with, we'll see to the bodies of all the fallen."
Stiff with offense that she'd tried to trick him, he turned to lead them down the hall past her chamber, through the open gallery overlooking the banquet hall. Elena could not help leaning to look down as they walked, wary of the two strangers behind them.
Her father stood next to a man that was surely King Odin – he wore no crown, but the deep lines in his face and the leather breastplate he wore, embossed with a glossy wolfs-head, were clear indications of his identity. They weren't speaking, but if Godwyn was strong and collected enough to wait standing, she could assume he was all right. Another set of maroon-clad soldiers was escorting Vivian and Balan into the room, both dressed only in light-colored sleeping-clothes, the lady's blonde hair loose on her shoulders like Elena's.
She minded her step on the stairs so she wouldn't trip. Down, around a corner, another short corridor to the double-doors of the banquet hall, and inside. Twenty of Odin's men was no overestimation, and a double handful of others she didn't look to identify were also present around the edge of the room.
Elena wished she was dressed. She wished she was wearing boots. Wished she dared take Sir Gwaine's hand and squeeze it tight for comfort.
"… Have no quarrel with either of you, or your father King Olaf," Odin was saying to the young noble couple. "How many escorted you here?"
Balan responded, so quietly Elena didn't hear, and was too rattled in the moment to remember if her pretty friend had mentioned. More than half a dozen?
"Two of those were lost, I'm afraid," Odin continued, "in the confusion of battle. You may carry my offer of reparations to your father."
"You're letting us go?" Vivian said, shrill with surprise.
"With your horses and your remaining men." Odin made a signal to someone across the room, and Elena turned her head to see four knights wearing dark-blue tunics bearing Olaf's black rampant bear released by as many in Odin's livery. "But you leave immediately. With my apology." He gave them a bow that was meant to be conciliatory, Elena was sure.
Lord Balan looked at Vivian, who dropped her gaze to her thin sleeveless nightgown.
Elena thought instantly of offering her own robe – but it was lace, and of little value on a midnight ride this late in autumn. "There are blankets stored in the stable, please take as many as you need," she said. If the couple weren't going to be allowed to return to their chamber to pack their belongings. Balan and Vivian turned toward each other in looking back at her; she could feel Sir Gwaine's eyes on the side of her face, too. She added lamely, "And – anything else you want to pick up on your way out. That you could sell tomorrow and buy… supplies."
Vivian's eyes filled with tears, and her mouth pouted prettily. She bounced forward and gave Elena a fierce hug. "I can tell my father," she whispered in Elena's ear. "He might –"
Elena shook her head, not to dissuade Vivian, but because she had little hope that Olaf could save them from Odin. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry."
"Be safe," Vivian returned. "Do whatever you have to." She gave Elena a little shake for emphasis; Elena couldn't help wondering what Vivian might be mentally prepared to do, in her situation – or what she might refuse.
"Very noble, I'm sure," Odin drawled, as Balan – with a glance half-sympathetic, half-apologetic – led Vivian toward their remaining escort and the door.
"Elena, my dear, are you –" her father began.
Odin turned and back-handed Godwyn across the mouth – she hoped he was more startled than harmed, but couldn't help gasping in dismay and shock, at the same time.
"I warned you, my lord," the king said, deceptively mild, "no speaking unless you direct me to Arthur." Black eyes pierced Elena with malevolent directness. "Perhaps you know something your father does not?"
"You will never kill Arthur," Elena said, hoping she sounded steadier than she felt. "But I'm sure my father knows that, too."
Odin took one step forward, reaching out to grab Elena's arm – Gwaine's hand immediately wrapped the older man's wrist and three maroon-liveried knights around them half-pulled swords from their sheaths. Odin ignored them all.
"Do you know where he is," the king demanded intently.
It felt like she couldn't breathe fast enough to keep up with her pulse, that she should be doing something, but she didn't know what. Her father's bushy white eyebrows were raised questioningly, his face reddened from Odin's casual insult. And Sir Gwaine was unarmed. They all were unarmed.
"I can't tell you that," she said. "But I'm sure they've escaped the palace by now."
Her father breathed an obvious sigh of relief. Odin and Sir Gwaine released one another at the same time.
One of the knights who'd lingered a pace or so from the king's back offered hesitantly, "There are three bodies dressed in Camelot's red, my lord. But no others that we've found or seen, and the barracks have been emptied."
Sir Gwaine went very still, and Elena guessed he was wondering, who else had died. She felt the same, though she wasn't as close to Gawant's guardsman as Gwaine surely was with his fellow knights. But it seemed they hadn't found the hidden entrance to the siege tunnel in the barracks; that was good.
"Shall we pursue Arthur, sire?" said the curly-haired knight with the sad eyes.
Odin sneered at him. "And if the princess is lying, our forces will be sufficiently dispersed to allow the claimed escape, or a counterattack. Don't be stupid, Isdern."
It occurred to Elena that Sir Isdern hadn't argued for that course of action, merely inquired after the king's wishes. She wondered suddenly if all King Arthur's men were open and friendly and genuinely noble – and if all Odin's men were cruel and underhanded.
"If he's had the time to go into hiding, we must draw him out," Odin continued, in the abstract voice of someone reasoning out a change in plans. "And if he's turned tail to run for Camelot –"
"He'll be back with an army," young Sir Isdern said.
"And we shall need a position of strength to negotiate from," Odin continued.
"Shall we retreat with our hostages back to –"
Odin made a sound of disgust, cutting off his knight with a sharp gesture. "And have Camelot's allies rise up and join him, lose Gawant – which is ours tonight –"
Elena bridled; Gwaine's fingers brushed her arm; her father pressed his lips together unhappily.
"Along with most of our land, til it comes down to a siege. Which are hardly ever won by the besieged. No." Odin turned to gather the attention of his soldiers, raising his voice to address the room. "All of Gawant's fighters must surrender weapons and armor, and spend the night locked in whatever prison cells they have here. Servants to get to work restoring order and removing bodies – everyone else to remain in quarters. And keep looking for Arthur!"
A murmur of agreement and respect from his men, scattered throughout the room; Elena noticed that the sad-eyed young knight remained silent. Odin swung back to them, eyeing Sir Gwaine.
"Starting with this one," the king drawled.
Sir Gwaine's hands were fists at his sides. Moving only his eyes, he met Elena's with a look that clearly offered to break King Odin's neck with his bare hands, no matter if it meant his death at someone else's hands the next moment.
It scared her. Primarily for the responsibility of decision – he wasn't looking to her father – but also for the way it made her consider, lightning-fast, numbers and probabilities.
Odin would be dead, at least three more if Sir Gwaine could arm himself immediately – he probably could – but there wouldn't be enough help from the unarmed guards of Gawant, though they surely wouldn't stand still and watch. Some of them would die – Sir Gwaine of a certainty – and there was no guarantee they'd overcome the invaders; without a leader, they might instantly turn to looting and other depredations. She couldn't choose that. She couldn't.
She dropped her eyes from the weight of his dark intensity, down to the floor. Uncertain and cowed.
"Immediately," Odin added mockingly. "Unless you'd like our assistance."
Gwaine unbuckled his sword-belt and let it drop with a resentful clang. Then he reached behind his neck for the edge of his mail shirt and bent double, gravity aiding him as he dragged the heavy armor over his head, letting it slide down his arms into a clinking heap of metal loops on the floor. His hair was disheveled when he straightened, but there was fire in his dark eyes.
All over the room, their own captured men did the same. Slowly, reluctantly, some already in pain from injuries.
"Boots too," the king said, turning to watch his will enacted on a larger scale, turning to enjoy his victory.
Elena kept her eyes down, not really watching but aware of the last knight of Camelot stepping on the heels of his own boots and kicking them to the pile of chainmail. Standing next to her stocking-footed; she thought of their first meeting on the cool garden-gallery and tears sprang up to sting her eyes. She shifted her shoulders, hoping the three men nearest her – Odin, Gwaine, her own father – wouldn't notice.
"Let's go," one of Odin's knights said, prodding Gwaine – who resisted a single moment, before stepping away.
The curly-haired Sir Isdern did not go with them, but there were enough maroon-clad soldiers to leave twenty or so still in the room, while the others herded the disarmed defenders of Gawant – and one of Camelot – to the far door. Down to the cells – she doubted there would be room, but the burial vaults were right next, locked and empty but for the crypts. And then what?
Sir Gwaine was the last of the captives through the door; he glanced over his shoulder at her, but they were too far apart now for her to guess what he was thinking. Fear and anger, if his thoughts ran parallel to hers. Or maybe anger first and then fear, since he was a man and a fighter.
Then he was gone, and she was terribly cold and frighteningly vulnerable. Her father was watching her, and opened his arms in a familiar and comforting and well-loved way; she moved for his embrace without thinking.
Odin stopped her with his hand on her upper arm again, and this time there was no one to stop him. He made her skin crawl.
"My lord?" said young Sir Isdern. "To draw Arthur out, to negotiate from power? You have a plan?" His deferential tone asked to be included in the knowledge of such a thing, rather than questioning its existence.
"My plan is here," Odin answered significantly, not turning Elena loose. "Tomorrow afternoon Lord Godwyn of Gawant will hold a tournament which any unmarried knight may enter, for a chance to win the fair princess' hand in marriage."
Elena gasped. She'd heard of such things before, but –
Her father began to protest, "I say, that's –"
Odin back-handed him again, and Godwyn actually stumbled back against a table. Elena took one step toward him, and the king's grip bit into her arm so cruelly she flinched and froze.
"Our knights," Sir Isdern said. "But also Gawant's?"
Odin gave him a cruel sneer and Elena shuddered. Whatever he planned for the semblance and assertion of fair contest, he did not intend for Gawant to remain independent, after her marriage. Someone wearing maroon and a wolfs-head would claim the victory, and her.
Her father would maintain Odin's farcical tournament, to keep her safe. And when the time came, she would also speak the words of the wedding ceremony, to keep her father safe. And there would be those who suspected, who knew – but as far as their own absent nobility, or their kingdom's neighbors, were concerned, it would be legitimate and legally binding. Gawant would belong to Odin, and certainly her new husband would deny any alliance with Arthur – if he attacked, war would be fought here.
That is, unless Arthur and those who had escaped tonight, arrived to rescue her from coerced nuptials…
A/N: I did say action as well as romance... And Gwaine's section will be in 3 parts, just fyi.