Summary
Tormented by doubts yet compelled by duty, Percival arrests Lord Badawi, testing loyalties among Camelot's most trusted knights.
Chapter 22 Acceptable Loss
Percival pulled a deep breath and then rapped on the chamber door, Gwaine, Elyan and a few soldiers with him. Gwaine, having requested relief from Lord Badawi's arrest but summarily denied, brooded through their entire march there.
His friend must think him cruel, but he'd warned Gwaine against pursuing Lady Yaminah. However justified removing the treasonous lord, Gwaine needed to understand realities beyond his own desires and see firsthand a consequence of ignoring wiser voices.
An Egyptian servant cracked the door, then opened it fully when he saw them. "Good sirs, is there some need?" he asked, apprehension on his features.
"By order of the king," Percival said, "we're here to arrest Lord Zahir."
At the servant's fearful hesitancy, large hands pushed the door wider, Percival shouldering past the servant, but slowing to a halt immediately crossing the threshold.
Stunned by the chamber's transformation into lavish Egyptian lodgings, his eyes roamed across graceful dove figurines, delicate lotus flowers, colorful cloths draped across furniture. A fire flickered in the hearth – a large ornate cross placed above it. Incense of myrrh and frankincense scented the apartment. Percival's heart pierced with self-reproach over turning this glimpse of homeland into hostile foreign ground. But duty propelled him onward.
His gaze slid the servant, muscles feathering his jaw. "Summon your master at once," he said. "Convey the king's knights await his presence."
As the servant rushed to obey, Gwaine muttered, "I know our vow to Arthur and each other binds us. But – now we shred a man from hearth and home…."
"Better get used to these methods, Gwaine," Elyan bitterly scowled. "Better than some of the tactics Percival had in mind."
Percival rolled his eyes, his lips thinning as fists curled. They knew oaths alone didn't stay hands from vile deeds without conscience to govern them, but their blows weren't needed to remind of doubts plaguing him too.
And yet, did some duties carry too steep a price…? What line remained he dared not cross even for a king? True, he'd thought discrediting Badawi a possible method though surely not excusable through any veil of necessity. He'd paid penance for that. But Arthur was right – on this matter, though Percival offered a silent prayer for guidance as darkness again whispered What limit to your loyalty?
"Allah bids you welcome, Sir Percival." Lord Badawi emerged from a chamber, tying a belt around his silk embroidered night robe. He glanced long at Elyan, then flicked his gaze to Gwaine, a shadow of acrimony upon recognizing him too before returning to Percival. "What business do I have with the king's marshal?"
Percival kept his face stoic, but guilt roiled within. "By order of King Arthur Pendragon, you are under arrest for treason against Camelot."
Badawi blinked rapidly, otherwise poised. "By what do you mean?"
"Your volatile speech has cost the life of a subject – a sorcerer."
"My…words – while bold – upheld truth. I cannot be held responsible for another man's actions." He surveyed them, his expression grim. "I never believed King Arthur would so blatantly violate the freedoms now supposedly guaranteed to all. Does censorship reign alongside magic in this new Camelot?" The last word ended in cold mockery.
"It's not about censorship, my lord," disputed Gwaine evenly, his gaze unyielding to Badawi's stunned glare – though Elyan cast a scathing look at Gwaine. "It's about a peace you undermine to disrupt."
"Baba?" Lady Yaminah appeared, fingers untangling voluminous braids interwoven with golden ribbons. Eyes widening, her steps faltered glimpsing the knights, though her gaze lingered upon Gwaine. Silk robes shimmered as a delicate hand grasped her father's arm, anxious features turning up toward Lord Badawi's stern face. "What is happening?"
Gwaine shifted his feet but persisted with staunch duty to remain rigid. However, his agonized eyes remained on her.
Percival pulled a paper from his belt and snapped the royal seal, the parchment crinkling loudly as he unfolded it. Time stood still as he skimmed the words, his jaw feathering as he flicked eyes upon them – this duty by no means bringing him joy.
He read the charges. "By order of King Arthur, sovereign ruler of Camelot, Al-Sayyid Al-Ajal Badawi Zahir of the Northern Plains stands accused of treasonous speech intending to insight others to violate duly established laws protecting all citizens regardless of magical status."
He cleared his throat, kept his eyes locked on the words. "Openly advocating defiance toward royal edicts issued by sovereign authority… And…" – he lifted solemn eyes, sorrowfully watching their crumbling features – "seeking to undermine harmonious unity among all subjects under crown jurisdiction…"
His voice trailed, diminishing in force as he read. Restraining his own shock, Percival continued reading the statement of consequence. "If found guilty of treason and sedition, you will be detained under royal guard for security of the kingdom, until such time the crown deems the public no longer imperiled by your rhetoric, at which time, freedoms may be restored."
In the terrible silence, only crackling logs dared speak. Percival slowly folded the parchment, shame burning his cheeks for the anguish his solemn duty now carved onto loved ones faces.
The accusations left Lord Badawi mottled in confusion as he grasped for dignified words. "I intended no treason, only speak truth against folly..." Yet the tremble in his voice betrayed the marrow-deep blow.
Beside him Lady Yaminah visibly shuddered, silent tears tracking down flawless bronze skin. "How can you do this?" she asked breathlessly. She searched Gwaine's ambivalent eyes. "Gwaine….?"
At his side, Gwaine's jaw cinched, conflicting emotions warring on his features before he stepped toward her. Percival blocked him, a hard stare and a strong arm pressed across his chest as Gwaine returned a daring glare back.
Percival's warning to him echoed – bad news to entangle political business with personal pursuits. Yet, it became painfully evident that affections had truly taken root, that not only did his friend harbor real feelings for the lord's daughter – she held them for Gwaine as well.
But duty reasoning and binding his tongue, Gwaine's jaw relaxed, his boots planted and eyes diverting from him and his lady.
Percival recalled how his affections for Kensa had blossomed when first he laid eyes upon her, yearning for a stranger hardly two words had passed between. Yet she'd captured his heart with her discerning eyes and after the war, he'd eagerly returned to her and made her his betrothed. To rip hearts beating as one asunder – could any vow demand so much?
Percival glanced at Yaminah, the beauty's face so sad and wet. Now their hopes were shattering from Gwaine's hard-bound fealty, a bitter trap of rules and station ensnaring their tender new bonds.
Anguish simmered, urged Percival to end this lingering misery. "Come with us, my lord!" The coldness in his voice made the hairs on his neck prickle. "You're under arrest!"
The iron grip of the soldiers grasped Badawi's arms, his shoulders becoming rigid.
"Baba!" Yaminah cried, a female servant rushing to her, arms wrapping around her mistress to restrain her.
"Do not touch me," Badawi warned in a throaty voice, freeing himself with two quick jerks. "I shall walk with dignity despite this injustice."
"No! Baba!" Yaminah broke free, clung to her father. Gwaine winced when she shot him a pleading look, vulnerability intensifying in her eyes.
Her outcries speared Percival's spirit too, shame corroding his knightly honor and Christian tenets he upheld. Here he stood, ruining an innocent life to remove an obstacle.
Necessary evil—acceptable loss, he reminded himself angrily, the words ringing hollow and disgusting. Still, he glanced at them, weighed the man's pride against procedure's hurry and Percival's own humility discerned when to grant small mercies where able.
"Prepare him a proper tunic and cloak," he gestured the servants. "We'll wait while you dress, my lord."
The relief breaking across Badawi's face pierced Percival deeper than any blade. Even curt nods held heartfelt meaning when nothing else remained. He averted his gaze briefly to cement wavering composure as the man disappeared, his daughter following him. Percival envisioned his donning of each garment signaled like armor girding for battle.
He glanced at Gwaine and Elyan. The tension between the three of them was palpable – never had his brothers been at such odds with each other.
He sighed heavily into the wordless space. When had oaths sworn in friendship's name instead bred bitterness seeded in duty's wake? He glimpsed rage simmering under Elyan's stony stare... Gwaine bore a hollowed look that whispered of honor abandoned, and he was mired in guilt and shame. Only the discord before him rang true of the dissonance now poisoning bonds once harmonious.
Lord Badawi emerged resplendent in an embroidered tunic and black boots, a fur-lined cloak around his shoulders. Chin held high, solemn eyes met Percival's. Then turning to his daughter, he pressed kisses upon both cheeks and forehead.
"Be courageous, habibti," he said gently "All will be well. May Allah protect you, my child."
"Baba…?"
Jaw cinched, Percival motioned Gwaine and Elyan to flank him, both dutifully obeying. "Come, my lord."
"No…please," Yaminah pleaded tearfully, breaking Percival's heart. As she moved to follow, Elyan spun and blocked her path.
"Let us do our duty, my lady," he said, his voice gentle – a tone Percival had not heard in a while.
Yaminah shot Elyan a venomous look, cheeks flaming, tears falling. Her eyes drifted to Gwaine again.
But Gwaine didn't look at her – only stood rigid, a stone pillar locked on the horizon as muscle feathered his hard jaw. Percival turned and led them out of the chambers, his features hardening as he stepped into the corridor.
Doors creaked open; heads peeked out, their procession drawing concerned glances from nobles and servants as they marched through the halls. Percival caught sight of Lord Gregory and his wife appearing in one doorway, dismay written on their features. Across the ways, Leon and his parents watched with troubled expressions too. Percival flicked his eyes forward, focusing on the path ahead than the shocked glances of everyone they passed.
Badawi's noble bearing stabbed his conscience, but the man's rhetoric left a servant of magic dead, and failure to act risked further unrest. Geoffrey's damning charges sealed unquestionable guilt. Percival saw no end to Badawi's time in prison, though how long he would linger, only God knew.
Their footsteps marked the long stretch to the dungeon, passing Sir Raoul glaring from a cell until they rounded a few more passages to Badawi's isolated holding. Two guards stood stiffly outside the iron-barred door.
Inside, a small barred window admitted dusty light on the cramped cell. A modest bed stood chained to the wall, straw-stuffed mattress and pillow granting scant relief from the hard stone floor. A simple table held writing supplies – ironic amenities for one accused of poisoned speech. A bucket offered crude necessity. Less wretched than typical dungeon cells but comfortless all the same. Percival wondered if gold might yet buy the lord more merciful surroundings in time. For now, this cell would be his home.
"Open it," Percival commanded.
The guards unlocked the door as Percival turned to his prisoner. "Your trial is set five days hence," he stated firmly.
Badawi lifted his chin. "I have nothing to fear." Though poised, indignant eyes flashed upon them as he walked inside, his gaze landing lastly on Gwaine as he turned as faced them. "My son is away. I beg you... see my Yaminah cared for in her time of need. She has no mother to cradle her now."
Shoulders twitching, the flame of duty dimming as father pleaded comfort for daughter, Percival looked at Gwaine.
But Gwaine cast him a cold glance – perhaps it had been cruel indeed to ignore his protests and include him after all… A foolish mistake for a commander to make. A blunder for a friend – perhaps even cracking brotherly bonds.
"She will be watched over," Gwaine declared, stepping forward with a slight bow to Badawi. "You have my word, Al-Sayyid Al-Ajal."
Teeth grinding, Percival turned sharply on his heel, red cloak swirling behind him as he strode away, Elyan hesitated but followed in kind though Gwaine lingered behind as the guards slammed the cell door shut. The metal clanging with finality gripped Percival's heart; his hands curled into fists.
He climbed the stairs leading away from the dungeons quickly, but guilt followed like a haunting shadow. His prayers would be long and vigorous in his plea of repentance tonight for duty and deeds. And mayhaps even longer regarding his friends. Would Gwaine still stand ready to depart on the quest King Arthur had bid him prepare for? After ripping all hope from his grasp...?
And what of Elyan – whose mood of late disquieted him? Perchance it unwise to have assigned him as well…?
Percival shuddered not knowing what might come on the morrow. Today though, darkness descended upon him so that light could shine in Camelot.
Al-Sayyid Al-Ajal – lord, sir
Habibti – my dear, my darling