Summary
Driven from kin and comrades by unhealed wounds, Elyan considers a path that could potentially sever his sacred oaths.
Chapter 39 A Rogue Knight Rises
Elyan cracked the shutters of the small window, enough just to view Camelot's bustling lower town. He scanned the lane – merchants across the way hawked fresh catches and peddled wares while children darted underfoot. To the casual observer, the house appeared long-abandoned. But Elyan knew better. This was the former home of Gwen, once a humble maidservant, now Queen of Camelot.
When his sister was exiled for betrayal, Arthur had decreed that her house be boarded up and left untouched. Though some whispered it was a waste of good lodging, none dared defy the king's command. Elyan couldn't recall how many times he had patrolled or passed by her vacated home during her banishment. Each instance was a gnawing reminder of how he had abandoned her. He also had been keenly aware of Percival's constant glare of criticism of how he had prioritized his duty and oath to Arthur over his own sister. Still, even when Morgana's forces seized the citadel and the nobles were forced into the lower town, Gwen's home had remained a silent, unviolated sanctuary – though rumors circulated that one family had settled for a brief time.
Now, with Gwen restored to her rightful place on the throne, the house still stood vacant. Elyan wondered at her attachment to this humble abode. Perhaps, like him, she clung to remnants of a simpler past, before magic and crowns tore their lives asunder. He shook off this thought, burying any shred of sentimentality. The Gwen of old was gone, and her home was now merely a hideout for the man he had become.
His ears suddenly perked up at a familiar sound coming towards him, his head snapping toward the narrow alley behind Gwen's house, his heart thrumming as a patrol of Camelot's soldiers marched by. In the three days since abandoning his duty and oath, Elyan kept out of sight, using no candles, even during the day. The house still had to maintain the appearance of being unoccupied. The rhythmic beat of the soldier's bootsteps receded and life in the citadel carried on as usual, oblivious to him and the ruptures beneath the veneer of normalcy.
With an exhale of relief, Elyan clicked the shutters back into place and retreated deeper into the quaint house that once sheltered his family – before he left for adventure, before his father's death. The room had changed since then. Where the weathered writing desk now stood was once his father's bed, a reminder of the absence that still ached in his heart. Gwen's presence, however, was still evident in the neatly-kept space. Traces of her lingered in the herbs hanging dry from the rafters and the small bed tucked along the wall – once his, now hers. The storage cupboard in the corner, its curtain drawn, held what few belongings she had left behind when she moved to the castle. This place offered little solace from the ghosts tormenting him, yet where else could he go? He was a fugitive in his own city now, but he couldn't stay here forever.
He only ventured out at night in a concealing cloak, slipping unnoticed into the alleyway and towards the seedier taverns where dissent had once simmered. Many voices had gone silent since Lord Badawi's arrest, fearful of the same fate, but there were still muttered curses against the king every now and again, accompanied by hushed calls for purges of sorcerers. Perhaps extreme by his standards, but Elyan had felt the truth in their warnings against sorcerers' dark nature the moment the nathair's fangs had pumped its venom into his veins near two months ago. If only he could make his friends understand the folly of their trust before magic corrupted everything...
Elyan sighed, lowering himself onto a bench. He ran his hands over his face, lost in recollection of oaths shattered and bonds severed. His thoughts turned to his friendships with Percival, Gwaine, and especially Merlin. Percival, a gentle man of unwavering faith and loyalty to family above all else, had forgiven him for choosing his duty to the king over protecting Gwen during those dark times. Now, with him once again abandoning her, this time for his own personal convictions, Percival was likely praying not only for Elyan's safe return and a resolution to the turmoil in his heart, but also for the strength to forgive him despite his actions, a weakness in Percival's own eyes.
Gwaine, on the other hand, would undoubtedly be shocked and disappointed by Elyan's actions. The gallant knight, currently away on a mission, would likely hunt him down if he were here, dragging him back to the ranks after giving him a piece of his mind and a thorough beating for his betrayal. Elyan could almost feel the sting of his friend's fists, a physical manifestation of the harsh criticism he knew he deserved.
And then there was Merlin. Despite Merlin's magic and the fact that he represented everything Elyan now stood against, the memories of their camaraderie tugged at his heart. The young man had always been a loyal friend, a constant presence at Arthur's side, but now a symbol of the very thing Elyan feared. There was no coming back from this, no way to reconcile the bond they once shared with the bitter truths that now divided them.
Elyan swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. For all his conviction, they had been his brothers. Shame and regret roiled to sickness within, yet they were of the same mold as Gwen and Arthur, bound by their unwavering loyalty to the crown and their belief in the goodness of magic. He couldn't go back after what he'd said and done and believed. His die was cast, and he must see his chosen course through to the end.
He glanced again toward the windows where Camelot shone on the other side, untarnished on the surface while rot crept at its roots. How could one tiny flicker of light pierce the darkness surrounding his great city? "So what now, Elyan?" he muttered, having asked himself this question over and over since fleeing.
A grumbling from his stomach interrupted his brooding, a hand pressing against it as if to ease his hunger. He'd already rummaged through Gwen's cupboards, finding not even a heel of stale bread. Reaching for the leftovers from last night's meal on the table beside him, he surveyed his meager provisions.
A half-eaten loaf of coarse, dark bread sat wrapped in a cloth, its crust hard and crumbling. Beside it, a small wedge of cheese, its surface slightly oily and pungent. A single apple completed the sparse array, its skin dull and slightly bruised.
Elyan sighed, breaking off a piece of the bread and nibbling at it slowly, trying to make it last. He'd have to ration these scraps carefully to sustain him until he risked leaving this sanctuary at nightfall. The cheese and apple would have to be saved for later, to break up the monotony of the stale bread.
As he chewed, he pondered his next steps. Perhaps it was time to leave Camelot, not just the city proper, but the kingdom entirely. He had plenty of coin with him, but the thought of fleeing to enemy territories made his stomach churn more than the hunger. He could seek refuge in an ally kingdom, however, one that wouldn't necessarily know of him nor his past good deeds as a knight – if that were possible given that just last week, he partook in celebration ceremonies and tourneys for all the visiting kingdoms to witness.
Still, was that his only option? To run and abandon everything he'd ever known, fleeing to enemy or ally territories? In his haste to leave the barracks, he had barely taken the time to gather his few possessions before leaving behind a life he had built over years of service. What else had he expected with such a hasty and unexpected departure? He had been driven by emotions, ever considering the consequences of his actions, the bridges he would burn, and the trust he would shatter. Yet, another fire burned even greater within him—a desire to stand firm and do... do what exactly? Fight against the very people he once called friends and family? The questions swirled in his mind, each more daunting than the last. Elyan clenched his fists, frustration mounting. No longer a knight who confronted challenges head-on nor a decisive man of action, here he sat, hiding in shadows, unsure of his path forward. The irony of his current situation compared to his former role was not lost on him.
He needed a plan, a purpose, something to guide him out of this shadowy realm. But the more he grasped for answers, the more they slipped through his fingers like wisps of smoke. Once again, he found himself at a loss, uncertainty bearing down upon him.
Wrapping the remaining bread, cheese, and apple in the cloth, Elyan stood and began to wander quietly through Gwen's house. His fingers traced the rough wood of the table, the cool stone of the hearth, each surface holding a memory of a life left behind.
Finally, he came to a halt before Gwen's writing desk. The weathered surface was bare save for a few books, several scraps of parchment, and a quill resting in a dried-out inkwell. Elyan stared at the blank pages, a sudden thought taking hold. Perhaps he could write to Gwen and Arthur, try to explain his feelings and point of view. Maybe if he poured his heart onto the page, they would understand why he had to take this stand.
He reached for the quill, his hand hovering over it, hesitating. What words could possibly bridge the chasm between them now? How could he make them see the danger they were courting by allowing magic to seep back into the kingdom?
Slowly, he lowered himself into the chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He dipped the quill into the inkwell, surprised to find a substantial pool of ink still glistening at the bottom.
With a deep breath, Elyan began to write, the scratching of the quill against parchment the only sound in the quiet house. He took his time, carefully choosing each word, pouring out his troubled soul onto the page. He sought to understand the world that had turned upside down, to make sense of the chaos swirling within him.
Minutes stretched into hours as he wrote, stopping long enough to eat another small portion of his rations before returning to his letter. At times, he paused, reading over what he had written, considering scratching out a line or two. But each time, he decided against it, letting the words stand as a testament to his raw emotions.
Finally, Elyan set down the quill, flexing his cramped fingers. He had filled several pages with his thoughts, emotions, and explanations, his heart in written script. Gently, he sprinkled a bit of sawdust over the final page, ensuring the ink would not smudge. He held up the pages, reading over his words one last time, making sure he had left nothing unsaid. With a small, satisfied nod, he carefully folded the letter, tucking it securely into his breast pocket. The simple act of releasing his thoughts and emotions onto the parchment brought a sense of comfort, even if he never had it delivered to his sister.
The evening bell rang in the ninth hour. It was only then that he realized how much time had slipped away, the last of the daylight fading from the windows. The room was darkening around him, the streets outside quieting as night began to settle over the city. Elyan stood, stretching his stiff muscles, his body protesting the long hours spent hunched over the writing desk. It was not time to venture out, so Elyan crossed to Gwen's bed and reclined upon it, sighing a cleansing breath as he threaded his fingers together across his stomach.
At the toll of the twelfth hour, his eyes opened and Elyan slowly rose, shaking the grogginess away. Strapping on his sword and then donning his cloak, he slipped outside through the back, sticking to the shadows as he wound through obscure alleys towards the lower town's rougher edges. He'd been on many patrols chasing thieves in the darker places around Camelot, so he knew the safer establishments for men like him to patron. Tonight, he would alter his route though, venturing closer to the middle-class section adjacent to the lower class, seeking to avoid any potential recognition in his usual haunts.
Elyan navigated the narrow streets, finding himself approaching the Black Boar, a tavern situated on the border between the two districts. He paused, eyeing the building with its creaking sign. It was a step up from the seedier taverns he had frequented the past few nights, catering to the more respectable tradesmen and craftsmen of the city, but still far enough from the citadel to avoid unwanted attention. Raucous voices and laughter leaked from the open windows, a mix of patrons unwinding after a long day's work. Deciding to alter his plan and prevent establishing patterns, Elyan pulled his hood lower over his face and took a deep breath before slipping through the door.
Inside, the tavern was crowded with hard-working men gathered at tables, enjoying food, dice, and cards. A pretty barmaid wove through the patrons with skill and a smile, deftly balancing trays of drinks and dishes. The pungent smoke from tallow candles stung Elyan's eyes, mixing with the sour stench of spilled ale that burned his nostrils. Most of the patrons were too deep in their cups to pay him much heed, their boisterous laughter and lively conversations filling the air as he navigated through the throng, keeping his head down.
He found a quiet corner, signaling to the barmaid for a bowl of stew and a mug of ale. He kept his face hidden beneath his hood, his eyes darting around the room, alert for any sign of recognition or trouble. His hand drifted to his chest, feeling the letter folded in the pocket. It was indeed a small comfort, a reminder of his purpose. He may be alone in this crowded room, but his words, his beliefs, were committed to the papers. Somehow, that made the isolation a little more bearable.
The barmaid returned, setting a bowl of steaming stew, a loaf of warm bread, and a tankard before him. The tableware, while not pristine, was in better condition than what he had grown accustomed to in the darker corners of the city. Elyan glanced up, briefly catching her eye before slightly lowering his head. "Any chance of a bit of cheese and an apple to go with this?" he asked quietly, keeping his voice low.
The barmaid eyed him for a moment, her gaze lingering just long enough to make Elyan's heart skip a beat. Did she recognize him? Had his identity been compromised already? But then, she shrugged, her expression neutral once more. "I'll check the larder. We might have a bit of cheese and an apple or two left."
She disappeared into the kitchen, and Elyan released a quiet sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging slightly. As he waited for her return, he chastised himself for his growing paranoia. The barmaid's shrug and nonchalant response had only suggested that she didn't find his request or presence particularly noteworthy, nothing more. He needed to be cautious, yes, but jumping at every shadow would only exhaust him and draw more attention than necessary.
A few minutes later, the barmaid returned with a generous wedge of aged cheddar and a ripe, unblemished apple. She set them beside his bowl as Elyan nodded his thanks, sliding a few extra coins across the table. She briefly smiled at the additional payment before scooping up the money and moving on to the next patrons.
Elyan first carefully wrapped the cheese, apple, and a most of the bread in the cloth he'd used these last few days, tucking the bundle into his pocket for later. He then hunched over his remaining meal, and taking a spoonful, the rich broth flavors tantalized his tongue, the warmth of the stew seeping into his bones.
Chewing on a small piece of bread, he began overhearing snatches of conversations from the nearby tables. Talk of a blacksmith's wife expecting their third child, of the long hours spent toiling in the rejuvenated fields. A weaver complained about the rising cost of wool, while a tanner boasted about a lucrative order from a wealthy merchant. But amidst the everyday chatter, it was the muttered complaints about the king's new policies that caught Elyan's attention.
"...allowing sorcerers to walk among us. It's unnatural, that's what it is."
"Aye, and what of Merlin? A mere servant, now elevated to lordship? What's next, shall we see pigs take to the sky?"
"That's quite possible these days, William."
Elyan's grip tightened on his spoon as he took a mouthful of stew. He preferred not to linger in public, usually opting to eat his meal swiftly and depart. But the conversation captured his interest – others voicing doubts about the changes in Camelot. He washed down the sustenance with a swig of ale. Then stirring his stew idly, he listened intently, slowing the pace of his consumption.
"...seen more of them around the king and queen. I hear even one of the new doctor's a druid. I'd rather die than have a sorcerer touch me! Bloody fiends..."
Elyan continued eating the soup and bread, the savory taste lost on him as he focused on what he was hearing. These men echoed the very thoughts that had driven him from the castle, the doubts that gnawed at his mind day and night. He stole a glance at the pair of tradesmen, taking in their appearance, his curiosity piqued by their shared sentiments.
The older man was lean and wiry, with a shock of graying hair and a weathered face that spoke of years of hard work. Despite his age, he had the look of a man who kept himself fit, his arms corded with muscle beneath his rough leather apron.
His companion – William, he was called – was younger perhaps in his late twenties, with a strong jaw, keen eyes, and long dark hair past his shoulders. He too wore a leather apron, the material worn and stained from long hours of labor. His broad shoulders and sturdy build suggested a man accustomed to physical work. Elyan returned to his meal, straining to hear their conversation, his mind racing with implications.
"Mark my words, trouble's stirring," the older man grumbled, his voice low. "Sorcerers crawl out the woodwork... My neighbor's son, a boy I've known since he was a babe, just admitted to having magic. Now they won't even speak to each other. It's tearing families apart. And where's the king? Busy pampering the blasted sorcerers!"
William shook his head, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Rumor has it that Sir Elyan abandoned his post. I wonder if that's why he left. A good sort, he was. Did you see him during the tourneys…?"
Elyan's spoon paused halfway to his mouth, his heart quickening, drowning out the rest of their words. They knew of him! He supposed his departure was less than secret given his explosive accusations directed at Gwen and then his sudden disappearance from the Arthur's ranks of knights. Now shocked, his defection sparked talk amongst like-minded men, though it didn't appear they were aware of the true reasons why – but they had a sense. Possibilities turned in his mind. Perhaps these dissenting voices could aid his cause...
He scoffed inwardly, dropping his spoon into his bowl of stew with a plop. What cause is that? he asked himself again, reclining in his chair. Was he truly considering this – throwing his lot in with near strangers over his own lord and kin? Should he try to reconcile with Gwen, Arthur, and his comrades before things escalated or they deemed him a lost cause – if not done so already?
Elyan's eyes roamed over the sympathizers across from him. These men, with their honest faces and callused hands, represented the true heart of Camelot. They reflected the same grave concern that drove his flight from his family and friends. Since they harbored doubts about the king's actions, perhaps there was still hope for his cause.
But the question remained: what was his cause? To protect Camelot from the threat of magic? To open the eyes of those blinded by the false promises of sorcery? Or was it something more personal, a quest to heal the wounds that magic had inflicted upon his own soul?
He shook his head, the questions swirling in his mind like the dregs of ale in his mug. He needed time to think, to plan his next move. Rushing into an alliance with these men, no matter how sympathetic they might seem, could be a grave mistake.
And yet, the temptation was there, the desire to find others who shared his fears and doubts. In a kingdom where magic was now welcomed with open arms, it was a lonely path he had chosen now. The thought of walking it alone was a daunting one.
Finishing his ale with a gulp, he rose slowly, moving towards their table, hands trembling like leaves in the wind.
"The king ignores all reason," Elyan stated softly. Their eyes shot to him in surprise. He drew back his hood just enough for them, raising his brows before concealing his face once more.
William blinked, awe-struck, gaping at Elyan's sudden appearance. His older companion recovered first, a calculating look entering his eyes. "Well, Sir Knight... seems we agree on one thing," he said carefully.
"Heaven above," William finally gasped. "My lord? You're here…"
"I hear your words." Elyan claimed an empty chair, his pulse racing, the wood groaning under his weight. "The king has endangered Camelot with his trust in magic," he said, dropping his voice. "I can stand idle no longer. But others like us can open his eyes."
The men glanced between each other. "And... what is it you aim to do, my lord?" asked the elder.
Elyan considered them shrewdly, his hand slipping over his pocket with the letter. How much could he trust these strangers? But he sensed honest concern in their words – and that may prove useful. Who else might help restore sanity to Camelot if not them? These common men resonated the warnings he'd shouted unheeded – perhaps there were more. He clasped steady hands on the sticky, ale-stained table, its surface pitted and scarred from countless nights of revelry.
"Action must replace empty talk," he declared. "You have seen – magic's corruption spreads unchecked. The people must know the folly of sorcery before it takes root. I cannot sway the king and queen alone anymore..." He hesitated, doubts and resolutions clashing like swords in his mind – Lord Badawi's fate reminding. Then the angry bite of the nathair flared once more in his memory, Elyan involuntarily flinching from phantom pain – though it steeled his nerve to continue. He leaned forward intently. "So I turn to those who see the truth. Will you stand with me?"
The pair stared, stunned. The older man slowly nodded. "Aye, you'll find allies yet, Sir Knight," he said. "Not all are blind to the danger." He held out a calloused hand. "I'm Gar, bowyer by trade. This here's my apprentice, William."
Elyan clasped it firmly, a bold purpose kindling within. He then gripped William's in camaraderie. "Then let us leave here and talk more of righting the wrongs that imperil Camelot's soul … and how we can sway more citizens to our cause."