Another, much longer, pause. “Yes. But I am refraining. …For now.”
That wasn’t very reassuring. “We have no quarrel anymore. The wars are over.”
“Only because your side killed or imprisoned everyone who opposed them.”
“I’m done with killing forever.” Galahad’s voice was certain. “I am focused on the best parts of our world now and Gwen and Avi are among them. If you want to share them with me, that’s fine. But I claim them, too. I claimed them first.”
Brown eyes flicked to Galahad’s face and stayed there.
“Unless I’m dead, you can’t keep me from them and you know it.” Galahad went on. “The innocent belong to all who would care for them.”
Trystan’s head tilted slightly.
That was a gryphon saying. The baseline belief of their culture. They protected the innocents of the world. Galahad had understood far too late that no people who lived by such a code could be savages. It wasn’t until his banishment that he’d been able to break completely free of the lies he’d once believed. To think for himself and set aside the prejudices that had been instilled in him since he was a small boy. To fully comprehend that the Knights’ Academy justified injustice by demonizing everyone who stood against them.
To admit that most everything he’d learned since childhood was bullshit.
Galahad took a deep breath. “I don’t blame you for disliking me. Really. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened at Legion. I’m sorry for being on the wrong side of the War.”
Trystan remained quiet.
“I’m going to do everything I can now to balance the scales.” Galahad continued. “I want to live peacefully, now. I want to be someone that Avalon can grow up respecting. I’m committed to living a life of truth.” He nodded earnestly. “It’s why I’ve given up my sword.”
Once he’d left Camelot, Galahad’s sword had slowly become the symbol of his old life. The more days that passed in exile, the more it reminded him of things he wanted to forget. He became almost phobic about the blade. Worried about what he might do, if he lost control. It wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe. It worried him, constantly.
Once, the sword had brought Galahad comfort. He’d like the red hilt and unique scabbard and everything else about it. King Uther himself had presented it to him, when Galahad graduated the Knights’ Academy. Those memories added to its weight and carrying the sword soon became impossible. Galahad had felt safer ever since he threw it away. Secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t hurt anyone with the blade, ever again.
Trystan squinted, like giving up your sword was crazy. “Are you crazy?” He demanded.
“No, I’m on a mission to make things right. I don’t kill anymore. Not ever again.”
“For Lyrssa’s sake…” Trystan rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t circle around in his skull. “Your idiotic ‘mission’ will get you killed, knight.”
“Maybe. But I’ll die on the right side.” And being on the right side was all that mattered to him now.
Trystan gave another grunt, this one conveying his skepticism. “Well, I am on a mission, as well. Guinevere and Avalon want you retrieved and sent me to do it. Gwen has placed you in my care, until I return you to Camelot.” He pointed to the right. “Which is east.”
“I’m banished from Camelot, though. There was a trial. Arthur found me guilty of treason, because I helped Gwen burn down a Dark Science lab. I can never return.”
“Arthur is dead. Midas is now king and he welcomes you back. Congratulations.”
Galahad blinked at that flat summation, finally processing what all this meant. “So… I’m allowed to go home?” He hadn’t expected to ever see Camelot, again. He’d expected to die forgotten in exile. He was fairly certain he deserved it. “Really?”
“Yes.” Trystan nodded as if it was settled. “Now, do you wish to pack anything?”
“I don’t really have anything to pack, but that’s not…”
Trystan interrupted him. “Nothing? No fancy shampoos or face… things?”
“Face things?”
Trystan seemed agitated, again. “I don’t know what they’re called. The jars of magic creams that make your features look more pleasant. You must use those.”
“Like makeup?” He shook his head. “I only wore that on TV. You have to for the cameras. Otherwise you look shiny.”
Brown eyes narrowed. “You just naturally look like this?”
“What else would I look like?” Galahad retorted. “Usually, I’m not soaking wet, but otherwise this is me.” He lifted his shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug. “Ta-da.”
“P’don.” Trystan stared up at the sky like he was seeking guidance.
Galahad decided to interpret the foreign swearing in the best way possible. In his new life, he tried hard to only see the Good around him. Optimism. That was the key to achieving peace. That and not carrying a sword. At least that was his working theory.
So, in a glass-is-half-full kind of way, maybe Trystan’s annoyed muttering was actually a compliment. Gryphons didn’t worry about genders when it came to relationships. As a people, they rejected most labels and barriers.
So maybe Trystan found him attractive.
The idea was far-fetched, but kind of awesome. Galahad was good-looking, in a very blond and wholesome kind of way. People usually responded favorably to his golden hair and blue eyes. He constantly got “Sexiest Man in Camelot” internet awards, which baffled him since his features were kind of… boring.
Gwen sometimes teased him about being “beige” and Galahad had to agree. When he looked in a mirror, he was always disappointed with how un-interesting his features were. Honestly, everything about Galahad was boring. He tried to do his very best to be his very best. Always. That was it. His entire secret to success. Completely expected and not at all mysterious. He would never be exotic or rebellious or extraordinary.
Not like Trystan.
Part of Galahad living a life of truth meant not worrying about who knew that he preferred men. Before he’d kept it a secret. He imagined that Gwen suspected it, but she’d never pushed him about it, and no one else had ever guessed. At least not out loud. Under Uther and Arthur, having a relationship with a man would have meant being kicked out of the Knights’ Academy.
He should have done it, anyway. Obviously. An actual hero would have.
Instead, he’d been beige, and lonely, and followed the rules. Being a knight had been his entire identity. He couldn’t give it up, even if it meant living a lie. And, in the end, what had that gotten him? He’d still been banished and stripped of his knighthood.
So now Galahad just worried about being accountable to himself, and being answerable for himself, and being honest with himself. And honestly Trystan was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. When Galahad looked at him, it felt true. He was very drawn to anything true.
“A lot of men think I’m handsome.” He offered, testing the waters.
Shit. That sounded like boasting, but it was the best he could come up with. He’d always struggled to connect with people. They never seemed to get close to him.
Trystan grunted, unimpressed with Galahad’s claim. “Perhaps most men don’t notice you’re an idiot.”
Yeah. That hadn’t gone well. Huge surprise. Galahad made a face. “I’m not an idiot. You just don’t understand my mission.”
“You are a hated man who has given up his sword to aimlessly wander a foreign land. I understand enough to see that your ‘mission’ is stupid.”
Galahad mentally counted to ten. “If you would just untie me, we could sit down and have a real conversation.”
“I’m not going to untie you.” Trystan scoffed, like that was the insane babbling of a lunatic. “You could run away and I would have to spend days hunting you down, again.” He shook his head. “No, I am keeping you safely contained until I can give you back to Guinevere.”
“You can’t do that.”
Trystan gave a dismissive sound that clearly meant, “Sure, I can” without really saying the words. It was astonishing how much the man could convey with nothing but a grunt.
Wilbur came back over, leading the horses that Trystan had ordered. “You want anything else?” He snapped, looking pissed.
Trystan flashed him a bored glance. “Not unless you know a way I can get into St. Ives.” He casually stole the hat off of Wilbur’s shaggy pink hair and the pig didn’t even bother to argue about it. He knew better.
“No one Good can get into St. Ives. It’s locked up like a fortress, unless you’re born Bad.” Wilbur muttered. “It’s an oasis of debauchery, so Good folk would just screw up the fun.”
Everyone was born either Good or Bad. It was part of your DNA and you had no control over it. For some reason, Bad folk were still blamed for their Badness, though. They were kept from certain jobs and faced laws designed to keep them oppressed. That meant that many of them became criminals, just to make a living. And that perpetuated the belief that Bad folk were all lawless monsters.
It was completely unfair. Good folk’s actions could be horrible, but they were still protected by the system. Bad folk could live honorably, but they were still seen as rotten to the core. Galahad had spent a lot of time lobbying for villains’ rights legislation, trying to correct the obviously flawed system, but most people still saw Bad folk as… less.
St. Ives was a town that had reversed the status quo. Bad folk ran it and Good folk were kept out. Trystan wanted to get past the city walls, but, if his muttered cursing was anything to go by, he couldn’t get in. Which could only mean that he’d been born Good. So had Galahad. Technically.
But he was also pretty damn talented at improvising strategies.
Galahad’s mind made a jackpot sound, seeing an opening. “Trystan? I think we can use reason and come to an agreement that satisfies us both here.” Reason was always the answer. Reason and optimism and not carrying a sword.
Trystan sighed. Loudly. “I am not untying you, knight.” He dropped the stolen hat onto Galahad’s head. “Left to your own devices, you make terrible choices, like throwing away your weapons and standing in the desert sun without a hat.”
“I don’t like hats. I never wear them, because I always lose them.”
“But, that’s my hat.” Wilbur whined.
Trystan looked over at him, again.
“Which, obviously, I’m happy to share with the knight.” Wilbur continued. “He needs it more than I do, for sure. They’re a frail race.”
Trystan grunted in agreement and adjusted the brim so it covered most of Galahad’s face. “Gwen put you in my care, knight.” He repeated. “It is my duty to see you safely returned to Camelot, before you do yourself irreparable harm. That is the end of it.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard, though. I’m fine on my own.”
“Ten minutes ago, you were nearly burned alive by pigs.”
“That was a cultural misunderstanding.”
“That was turning into a luau.”
“I was working on a plan.”
“It was clearly a very bad one.”
“My plans sort of evolve as I go along. But, they usually work. I wasn’t going to die. Believe me. And anyway keeping me tied up is still completely…”
“Enough.” Trystan waved a hand. “You stay restrained. I swear to Lyrssa, if you don’t stop talking, I will gag you, as well. We are stuck together for the duration of this journey. I will not listen to you nag about your bindings or this ‘mission’ of yours for the next…”
It was Galahad’s turn to interrupt. “I can get you into St. Ives.”
Trystan stopped talking and turned to stare at him.
Galahad smirked, seeing he finally had the gryphon’s full attention. He tipped the hat back on his head and knew he’d won. “It’s to the west.”
Chapter Two
I’m not saying allllll the gryphons are evil. People keep saying that I’m saying that, but I’m not saying that. I’m sure some of them aren’t malicious monsters. They’re just too stupid to know that their backwards ideas are relics of the past.
That’s why the War happened, right? They wouldn’t give Uther the graal, because of old legends or some shit. They weren’t even doing anything with it, but their oggity-boogity ‘gods’ told them to hide it away, anyhow.
Think about how many people died because of the gryphons’ ancient superstitions.
Because of their greed and stupidity and barbaric beliefs.
That’s what I’m saying.
“Stopping the Savages” Podcast
Sir Dragonet of Camelot- Former Troubadour of King Uther and Host of the Program
Lyonesse Desert- Umberland Plains
This was the stupidest thing he had ever done.
Trystan knew it was stupid, even as he did it. Which was stupider than doing the stupid thing, in the first place. And yet he kept going, which was the stupidest part of all.
He should drag Galahad back to Camelot, no matter what the man wished. Did he really believe this wingless moron could gain entrance to St. Ives? You had to be Bad to get invited into the city and the knight was indisputably Good. Galahad claimed he “knew someone” inside the town who’d open the gate for them, but he was probably lying.
Knights were all liars. Trystan knew that.
So why had they been heading west for two days?
The thought of finally finding Marcus had temporarily clouded Trystan’s better judgment. If the knight wasn’t lying, this could be Trystan’s chance to finally have his revenge. Even when he knew it was stupid, he’d still been swept along in the man’s vortex of lousy ideas. And it really hadn’t helped his brainpower that the knight was so damn handsome. …For an idiot. The golden strands of the man’s golden hair turned all rational thought into white noise.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I’d be more comfortable if you untied me.” Galahad volunteered for the hundredth time.
Trystan grunted. He wasn’t that stupid. “You will stay tied, until I return you to Gwen.”
He’d moved the man’s bindings to the front of his body. That was comfortable enough. It also allowed Trystan to tie him to the saddle, just in case he began to list off the horse. No one ever did well betting on the wingless to be capable riders, or swordsmen, or… well… anything.
“You know, it doesn’t make sense for us to be at odds, when we can be allies, Trystan.”
“Allies?” The desert sun must be affecting the man’s brain. “You and me?”
“Sure.” Galahad looked more cheerful than anyone tied to a horse had ever looked. Possibly because Trystan was finally bored enough to respond to his inane chatter. Thus far, he’d mostly been ignoring him. “Why not?
“For starters, I find you irritating, most of the time.”
“We’ll focus on the times you don’t find me irritating, then.”
Trystan gave a skeptical grunt. Most of those times involved picturing the knight in various sexual positions, so that was probably a bad idea. “And I certainly do not wish to hear about your ‘mission,’ if that is what you’re plotting, now.”
“You don’t even feel a little bit curious?”
“Gryphons do not ‘feel’ anything. We are generally born without emotions.”
“Curiosity isn’t an emotion. It’s more like an intellectual curiosity to…” Galahad squinted. “Wait. Okay. How do you describe ‘curiosity’ without using the word ‘curiosity?’”
“In your language, curiosity is defined as a drive to know and understand something better.” Trystan sent him a put upon look. “Were you truly called upon to teach children?”
“Mother Goose’s show focuses on building vocabulary and learning the alphabet.” Galahad told him defensively. “Mine taught values and ethics.”
“The Butcher of Legion imparts ‘values’ to the young.” Trystan shook his head in disgust. “That’s even worse. No wonder your culture is so fucked u
p.”
Galahad flinched and didn’t respond to that.
Trystan eyed the man from the corner of his gaze, displeased by his subdued expression. Why did his own words seem unnecessarily harsh, when they were so obviously true?
After a long moment, Galahad frowned. “Did you ever wonder why ‘phonetics’ isn’t spelled the way it sounds? It should obviously be spelled phonetically, right? That’s a good example of why I couldn’t teach kids reading skills. The rules don’t make any sense.”
Trystan’s squinted, baffled by every word of that statement. “What?”
“Sometimes I wonder why things are the way they are.” Galahad shrugged. “Especially, since I was banished and really started thinking it all through.” The knight was apparently ready to continue his harangue. “Anyway, untying me wouldn’t do any harm. That’s what I’m saying. This is a dangerous road we’re traveling on. If we’re attacked, what good can I do tied to a saddle?”
Trystan gave his head a clearing shake, slightly dizzy from the knight’s conversational tangents. “You refuse to fight, so what good could you do even if I freed you?” He retorted. “If I unbound your hands, you could only wave at our assassins before they slayed us.”
Since this was the only road through the desert, it was the one Trystan was using, no matter its reputation. If Galahad could fly, the trip would be easier, but he couldn’t and Trystan wasn’t going to carry him. He was larger than average, for his species, so it would strain even Trystan to hold him aloft for long. Besides, touching the man’s perfect body would be a very stupid idea. He already knew that.
“I live a life of peace.” The knight argued. “That doesn’t mean I’m useless, though. I just don’t rely on a sword. I use other methods to diffuse situations now.”
“For instance, you allow pigs to set you afire. Very effective.”
“That usually doesn’t happen.” Galahad was quiet for another beat and then he sighed. “Actually, no. I don’t want to lie to you. I’m bad at making friends, so this kind of thing happens more than you’d think. Not with the pigs before, but, in general, people try to kill me a lot. I don’t know why.”
Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4) Page 4
