Knights of the Round Table 03 - Gawain

by Gawain (lit)

  With a wave of her hand, she swept from the chamber, leaving a rather stunned silence in her wake. “Exit the Queen of Air and Darkness,” Morgana said drily. “Really, I think that might be her finest performance yet.”

  “Launfal,” the king said. “Have you anything to add to what the queen of Orkney has just told us?”

  “I—I cannot prove that anything she told you is not the truth,” Launfal said carefully. “But I never did mean you any harm, sire, that much I can swear to.”

  “You already have,” Morgana said, “and I, for one, believe you. Arthur, is it true that this lad bested you in a joust?”

  “Handily,” Arthur admitted wryly. “Gawain would have it that sorcery was involved . . . what say you to that, Launfal?”

  Launfal looked down at the floor, flushing slightly. “No, sire. There was no sorcery. Had I seemed likely to lose, the queen of Orkney would have stepped in, but she did permit me to attempt it on my own.”

  “Sire,” Aislyn said, “I know not if you have been told this, but Launfal is my brother.”

  “Is he really?” Arthur said. “No, I did not know. But now that you have told me, I can see that it is so.”

  Aislyn glanced up at Gawain, and he gave her a quick smile of understanding. “Then, sire, as Launfal is now my brother, too,” he said, “I would take it as a great favor if you would make him one of your companions.”

  “He has certainly proved his fitness,” Arthur said. “And if you, Gawain, will vouch for him—”

  “With a good will.”

  “Then . . . would you like that, Launfal?”

  “Sire—” Launfal dropped his gaze to the floor, biting his lip hard. Only when he had mastered himself did he look upon the king with his whole heart in his eyes. “It is what I have dreamed of all my life.”

  Like Gawain himself, the king seemed much moved by this simple declaration. “Young Gaheris is to receive his accolade tomorrow,” Arthur said. “Do you go and join him in the chapel. Gawain will be standing up with him; I daresay he would do you the same service.”

  “Thank you, sire, but—would it be possible to ask Sir Dinadan? That is,” Launfal added hastily, “if you do not mind, Sir Gawain.”

  “Not in the least. And I’m sure Dinadan will be honored.”

  “Run along, then, lad,” Arthur said, “and I will see you on the morrow.”

  Launfal bowed without speaking, his face transfigured by a joy too deep for words.

  “I think I will like that young man,” Arthur remarked when he was gone.

  “I am sure you will, sire,” Aislyn answered. “He is quite—remarkable.”

  “A quality that seems to run in your family,” Arthur said, a twinkle in his eye. “And I look forward to knowing you better. But not tonight,” he added, stifling a yawn. “Shall we retire, my lady?”

  Guinevere had been strangely silent this past while, and now she stood obediently without replying. Aislyn went to her and bowed. “Madam,” she said, “if I said anything to offend you earlier, I do hope you will forgive me.”

  Guinevere regarded her, unsmiling. “Of course.”

  “My tongue runs away with me sometimes,” Aislyn went on, “but I daresay you’ve noticed that before.”

  “Indeed I have.” Guinevere nodded coolly to her, then to Gawain. “Congratulations on your marriage.” And laying her hand lightly on the king’s arm, she left the chamber with him.

  “Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve gotten on her bad side,” Aislyn said, a worried frown between her brows.

  Gawain shrugged. “I’ve been there since she came to court.”

  “And did you see how she looked at Launfal?” Aislyn went on. “I hope she hasn’t taken against him, too.”

  “He survived the Queen of Air and Darkness,” Morgana remarked. “I daresay he’ll bear up under Guinevere’s dislike.”

  “If indeed she does dislike him and you aren’t simply playing mother hen,” Gawain said, slipping an arm around her waist.

  Aislyn sighed and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “I missed my chance to mother him,” she said sadly. “And now it is too late.”

  Gawain gave her a comforting squeeze. “He is still your brother. You’ll have plenty of chances to fuss over him.”

  “There is the matter of his marriage . . .” Aislyn said, brightening.

  “Yes, but can it wait until tomorrow?” Morgana yawned. “I’m for bed. Come, Gawain, let us have your answer.”

  He looked into Aislyn’s face, tipped expectantly to his. He must speak. It was not fair to keep her waiting any longer. No matter how lightly she pretended to take this, he could see the anxiety beneath her smile. But God help him, how could he decide? How could he bear to part from her for even half the day and have only Dame Ragnelle in her place? He looked into her clear green eyes, always so incongruous in Ragnelle’s wrinkled face. How odd that he always thought of them as two separate women when really . . .

  They were one. His mind had always known that, but only now did he feel it in his heart. It was Aislyn who had bound his wounds, Aislyn who had made him laugh as he had not done for years. And it was Dame Ragnelle who had enthralled the entire court tonight while she defended him as fiercely as a lioness. They were one, the maiden who had stolen his heart, the crone who had won his admiration, the woman who would heed his counsel, even if she would not promise to obey it. They were one, and all were his own love. She was infinitely changeable, yet she never could be other than herself—sometimes wise and sometimes foolish, brave and strong and loyal, the lover he had always dreamed of and the truest friend he’d ever known. The Goddess is in all women, Morgana had said to him, and though he had once flung those words mockingly in her face, now, at last, he understood their truth.

  And with that understanding came his answer.

  “I cannot choose,” he said.

  A quiver passed across Aislyn’s mobile features, but when she spoke, her voice was firm. “I thought not. And you should not have to. It is all right, Gawain, I do not blame you for not wanting only half a life—”

  He touched a finger to her lips. “I cannot choose because this choice does not belong to me. It must be yours.”

  “Oh!” Aislyn put a hand to her head. “I felt so strange . . . but it is past now.”

  Morgana laughed. “Yes, it is past now, and there is no choice for you to make. You are free of all enchantment. As you are now, so shall you be tomorrow, and tomorrow night, and so on.”

  “What?” Gawain rounded on his aunt. “You said you could not lift it!”

  “I did not. You did.”

  “I?” he demanded. “How?”

  “The last time I visited, when we sat together in the hall, I told you that if you wanted to find happiness with your lady, you only had to . . .”

  “Solve that damned riddle,” he finished, and Aislyn burst out laughing.

  “Oh, Gawain, no! Why did you not tell me?”

  “I forgot,” he said honestly.

  “Perhaps next time,” Morgana said with some asperity, “you will give a bit more weight to my words. Can you guess now what it is that all women desire?”

  “To have their own way?” Gawain said warily. “To rule men?”

  Aislyn laughed. “What all women desire is sovereignty, but not over men, my love.” She took his hand. “Over ourselves.”

  “That’s it?” Gawain’s laughter died abruptly as he looked from Morgana to Aislyn.

  “’Tis simply said,” Aislyn began.

  “But not so simply done,” Gawain finished thoughtfully.

  “Very good, Gawain,” Morgana said. “There is hope for you yet.” She looked as though she might say more, but in the end she only embraced him, and then Aislyn, too, and went away.

  “Tell me,” Aislyn said after a time, her hand against his cheek, “what made you say that I should choose?”

  “You were the one who would have to bear the worst of it. It was only right you should decide. And, too,
I realized that it did not really matter.”

  “Did not matter?”

  He traced the delicate arch of her brow with one finger. “Your eyes are very beautiful, you know, but what I love most about them now is not their brilliance, but that they see straight through falsehood and pretension. And once you have seen a truth, you speak it in no uncertain terms.”

  He kissed her lips, then drew away, smiling as he stroked her hair. “You are the loveliest woman I have ever seen. Looking at you now—” He laughed. “You take my breath away. But it won’t always be that way. Oh, not that I will tire of you—that could never happen!—but in time, we will grow accustomed to each other, and how you look will come to matter less than what you are.”

  “What am I, then?” she asked, half laughing.

  “A woman whose spirit burns so bright that even age and illness could not damp it. You were alone in a strange place, imprisoned in a form that left you weak and weary and afflicted with all manner of aches and pains. Yet somehow you always found the strength to defend those who could not defend themselves. Look at how you stood up to Gudrun—and to Sir Lancelot—and to me when I deserved it. You showed me what true courage is—and you taught me how to laugh again—even at myself.”

  He took her hand and stroked it, a lock of fine golden hair falling over his brow. “To look upon your lovely face and hold you in my arms is more joy than I deserve. And it would be a lie to say I am not conscious of how other men admire you—and envy me your company, just as they pitied me before. I thought of those things earlier, but in the end, I came to see they did not matter. Even when you are the crone in truth, you will still be Aislyn.” He raised his head to look into her eyes. “And I will still be yours.”

  Chapter 44

  THE torches were guttering in their holders as Aislyn and Gawain walked arm in arm down the deserted passageway. She had never known such happiness; indeed, she hardly dared believe that it was real. Yet once they had left the king’s presence chamber for the shelter of the gardens, Gawain had proved his words of love in such a fashion as could leave her in no doubt of their truth.

  “You are older than me,” Aislyn remarked casually. “By the time I am a crone again, you will be ancient.”

  Gawain halted, then turning swiftly, bent her back across his arm. “And will you love me then?”

  She pursed her lips. “Do you think you will grow ugly?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Liar. You are a man. You will merely be distinguished.”

  “I am distinguished now,” he said, righting her and offering his arm. They rounded a corner, and light from the archway opening on the hall flooded the flagstones with gold.

  “A bit too distinguished,” she grumbled as they passed by the entrance to the hall, where the sounds of pipes and drums drifted out into the corridor.

  “What did you say?”

  “You don’t dance,” she said, gazing wistfully over her shoulder.

  Gawain laughed. “Oh, is that what you are muttering about! Well, Aislyn, I’ll have you know that there was only one woman I ever cared to dance with. As she was . . . unavailable . . . I gave it up.” He made her a flourishing bow. “My lady, will you do me the honor?”

  “It would be my pleasure. But must we stop at one?”

  “We can dance all night if that pleases you.”

  “Oh, yes, let’s! Only—let us retire before dawn. If Morgana was wrong—not that I don’t trust her, but . . . well, I’d rather be alone with you.”

  GAWAIN smiled without opening his eyes when something soft brushed his cheek, and sighed as warm breath stirred the hair at his temple. When a cold nose thrust into his ear, he bolted upright. “Sooty, get off me. Go!”

  He yawned and stretched, then stilled abruptly and turned to draw back the coverlet beside him. Aislyn’s hair caught the sunlight in a blaze of gold, spilling over the edge of the bed to brush the floor. He pushed it aside and kissed her neck.

  “’M I the crone?” she mumbled.

  “Hmm, now, let me see. Well . . . I don’t know, Aislyn, it’s hard to say. Let me have a closer loo—”

  His words ended in a muffled shout as a pillow hit him squarely in the face.

  Sooty, denied her morning petting, cast them a disgusted look as she leapt through the window and stalked off to find her breakfast. Behind her, bright laughter spilled into the courtyard, fading into broken words and murmured endearments, and then, at last, to silence.