Lancelot and the Wolf

by Sarah Luddington

  The road itself remained quiet. Occasionally we would walk through soft land, almost bog but not quite. Other times we would walk on layers of willow which had been laid down and tied, almost rafts in the mud. Other times we rode on stone, the old Roman road apparently. Trees appeared, clawing at the mists with hundreds of naked fingers. Willow the most common, looked like manic pixies, with thick trunks and wild hair. I wished I could see the Tor of Avalon, so I knew we were heading in the right direction.

  “Arthur,” Geraint interrupted my thoughts. “We should stop, the horses are exhausted and we need to sleep sometime tonight.”

  “We’ll stop there then. I dare not take us off the road. We’ll set watch and I suggest we sleep armed,” he said sliding off Willow.

  I dismounted from Ash and took Willow from Arthur’s hands. He allowed me possession without comment. I walked the horses a short way from our position, toward a tree, overhanging the road we followed. Else brought Pepper and Mercury, the gelding finally calm. Willow and Pepper were the only two with saddles. We loosened their girths and allowed them all long rein, so they’d find their own food. Else touched my arm and before I knew what happened we were hugging each other tight.

  “You should talk to him,” she told me. “It’s not too late. If you want him, tell him but explain how hard it is.”

  “Let sleeping dogs,” I said. “I don’t want to cause any more problems. We only just escaped with our lives. I need to stay focused on my job, not my dick.”

  She sighed and I heard the frustration. “Lancelot, sometimes they are the same thing.” Else walked away, kicking clumps of mud into the distance of the fog bound land. I returned to the others just as they tried to make a fire in the middle of the road without moving far to seek wood.

  Else chose to settle a long way from the fire. I didn’t like her being so far from us. I walked to her and sat. “You need to sleep with us,” I stated.

  “All of you? My, isn’t that asking a little much?” she asked. The sarcasm didn’t escape me.

  “Else, please, if you are angry I understand but we need to stick together. Don’t make yourself vulnerable because I won’t play whatever game you require,” I realised my mistake as soon as the words dropped to the soil under our feet.

  “Game,” her voice dropped. “I have tried to make you understand, Lancelot.” Her hand rose toward Arthur in a casual gesture. Her voice resonated strangely and her eyes took on an amber light I’d never seen. We were out of earshot from the others and I could hardly see the fire.

  The tension rose. I reined back my temper, “Really, love. We need to talk. I don’t want to fight, Else.” I glanced over at Arthur, so far so good. Nothing had happened to him.

  She sighed, “You understand nothing, stupid man. It could have been so much easier for you. I can give you the world.”

  “Else?” I asked. My scalp prickled and my instincts writhed in fear.

  “I can give you everything Arthur has stolen from you, love. I can give you so much power.” She smiled and it twisted into something I’d never seen. She walked to me, her hips swaying in a way I’d never witnessed in my companion.

  “And what exactly is that, Else?” I asked backing off slightly.

  She just looked at me, “Albion, Lancelot. Your land and mine. England combined with my own world, united under your leadership.”

  “Lancelot, I,” I heard Arthur call. I turned my head and began to walk to reach him. I watched as he fell forward, crumpling like a great golden statue. Geraint groaned loudly and just folded over where he sat, bread and cheese still in hand.

  “Arthur,” I called. My legs turned to ice water under me. I felt my knees sink into soft wet earth. “Fuck,” I cried out. I twisted, fighting the great blackness trying to sweep through my mind, “Else, help us. I beg you don’t let this happen.” I reached for her, dragging my slow body upright. She just stood, impassive, watching in silence. “Arthur,” I tried to scream but it came out as a whimper. I turned back toward him and pulled myself forward, my arms becoming as frozen as my legs. The mists swirled in eccentric patterns around my head, suddenly bursting into colours, reds, greens, purples and dull orange. I hauled myself another foot closer to my King. I reached for his outstretched hand. Our fingers touched as my limbs lost all power and my vision grew so dark not even the mist could penetrate my mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The wet ground oozed through my bare feet, my toes wriggled into the damp cold soil and spongy moss. For the few feet in front of my nose I could see tufty marsh grass and a wall of white. No breeze blew but the mists shifted. I realised it brushed my naked skin as though begging for the right to caress me.

  “Arthur,” I called into the fog. “Geraint.” I waited for a reply. Nothing. Just a sigh from the mist, or had that been my own sigh reflected back? I took a step forward, half expecting the world to shift under me and vanish for good. The marshy ground stayed with me. I started to walk. Nothing changed. I began to run. As I ran, I thought about the white hart, between one pace and the next I moved from biped to quadruped. The ground now raced past under pads and claws, my speed increasing until my black fur became a blur.

  I travelled for some miles before I stopped. I lifted my head and howled, knowing Arthur must be out here somewhere. The lonely cry shot through the mists more swiftly than I could run but no answering bark from the stag returned. I paced a full circle, sniffing the air, praying for a scent to tell me where I needed to go. The air smelt wet, earthy, full of winter death. I walked forward trying to gauge the presence of the sun or moon. The world appeared to be one huge amorphous blob of white.

  I howled once more, confused and deeply afraid, still nothing. I drew in my breath for another cry, begging for help and a scent hit my sensitive nose. I froze and sniffed. Summer herbs? Why could I smell lavender? I followed the scent on silent paws. It grew stronger. My body tensed and lowered to the ground, my belly brushed the short spongy grass. The power in my hindquarters gathered, ready to attack at any moment.

  A dark shape loomed suddenly before me. I froze, assessing the danger.

  “Ah, my wolf, there you are,” came a strong male voice.

  I whined and rose, the tension in my body vanishing. I jumped toward the dark figure. The man crouched and laughed. I stuck my face into his and licked him, behaving like a huge black dog.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Lancelot, calm down. I know you are pleased to see me, my old friend, but please stop. Your tail is wagging so hard you are going to fall over.” He buried his hands in my ruff and pulled my head back. I stared into the greenest eyes I’d ever known. He still appeared to be twenty years my senior, but who knew for sure. Those intense eyes were crinkling with joy, his smile spreading. A shock of silver hair, long and flowing down his back, with a black streak over his right eye, smelt of herbs. His broad shoulders and strong arms helped make Merlin a great swordsman, not just a wizard.

  “I take it you’ve been looking for me?” he said.

  I desperately wanted my mortal form, then I’d be able to jibber at him about Arthur. Beg his help to save my King. I whined piteously.

  “Oh, my Wolf, you can’t change with me here. I am in your dream and I shouldn’t be. There is only so much we can both do under the circumstances. I’m afraid you will have to listen. I am not strong and we are not as close as I am to Arthur, though your own love for him bridges the gap well enough, that and your power of course. You will be able to help him far more than I can help you,” he said kindly. Merlin’s mercurial nature meant he changed like a coin spinning in the air to land on a gambler’s hand. Right now, he appeared happy. I’d seen him angry, I never wanted him to be angry with me, he is the only man who will make me feel fear.

  I promptly sat, showing him I was ready for a lesson, panting slightly to enjoy the scent of a friend.

  He chuckled, “Right, my Wolf is now paying attention.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, “Arthur is in terrible danger and has been for y
ears. Separating him from you was their greatest victory. Capturing me their other great victory. Never chase a bit of skirt which has as many brains as you have yourself,” he sounded so mournful. My tongue lolled out of my mouth further and I wished I could laugh. Merlin frowned, “Hmm, well, regardless. This is why I can’t reach Arthur, I am held captive. I can only reach you in your dreams because of who you are.”

  I whined, trying to ask, ‘Who am I?’ but he ignored me and carried on. “Therefore, you are the only person I can trust to help both me and Arthur. You must save him, his soul is the sacrifice they need to control Camelot and they will take it while leaving him there as the puppet. If they don’t take his soul they will try to take his life. My daughter is being tricked. The family who spawned her are using her, not helping her and she won’t welcome your interference. It is the reason I took her away. What I didn’t realise is the de Clare’s are under the influence of fey as well, which is how I have been trapped.”

  This all sounded a little bleak to me, so on one side stood a fey family who looked as though they worked with us, on the other stood the de Clare’s and their fey friends, and finally us mere mortals.

  Merlin rubbed my ear, I couldn’t believe how good it felt, I leaned against his hand, “Now, I know you want to ask how on earth are you going to find Arthur but remember, he is not in physical danger right now, just spiritual. It’s his spirit you can save and once that is achieved you can find his body, then come and find me. In the meantime, stay out of trouble and try not to bed anyone else. Have you any idea how complicated you are making my life, never mind your own. I need Arthur to produce an heir and while his heart belongs to you he won’t.”

  I growled softly in warning and rose, as did Merlin, “Fine, you don’t welcome my words but they are true. Listen to me, Lancelot, my Wolf, you will only find your King if you follow your heart. You have to enter his dreams as I have yours. You can because you are tied to him as tightly as two people can be, your shared destiny will ensure you run once more at his side. I must leave now. I have my own battles to face. Just follow your heart and trust no one.”

  The fog engulfed the man before me, drawing him into its embrace. It grew so thick I lost all sense of direction and found him gone from my side, between the drawing of one breath and the next. I howled.

  My body, full of distress and fear, wanted to run. I had to fight my instincts and think, not act. I must reach Arthur and follow my heart. Which meant what exactly? I growled, remembering why Merlin could be such a pain in the arse, he might have given me instructions. Fine, if he wanted me to think about how to enter Arthur’s dreams I’d work on that. I realised Merlin had appeared twice in my dreams, I hadn’t created him. How would I do that? Concentrate on my friend that’s how I would do it. Listen to my heart and its whispers of love. Allow my soul to travel to his mind. And the only way to dream is to sleep. Regardless of what my body might be doing, this form needed to sleep if I were to reach Arthur’s mind and save his soul.

  I padded forward looking for a den. I had to be comfortable and safe. The fog kept close to me, hugging my fur, making it damp. A great shape loomed out of the darkness, a huge willow tree. I sniffed the air, then the ground, then the tree, looking for possible enemies who may live inside the trunk or branches. Nothing, no one lived near this tree. I walked around and found a huge crack in the trunk, large enough for even a large black wolf to curl up and be safe. I smiled, I suppose it was my dream, so why wouldn’t I find something to keep me safe?

  I crawled into the hole, walked around in a tight circle and settled down on dry leaves. Tucking my nose into my tail, I shut my eyes and conjured Arthur. Inevitably, my mind tracked back to the previous night. I rewound the events. How it made me feel to have him so close, so intimate. Should two men love each other in such a way? I didn’t know. I did know Arthur and I needed to step over that line. There had only ever been him in my heart. With the thought, I felt that familiar and ancient ache, the pain that gives me access to my true feelings for my friend. This pain I carried close for years, as we grew into men. The agony I felt when I finally lay with Guinevere and the horror of seeing his face when he condemned me for the adultery before the court.

  Even in my dream, I twitched with distress. I hung onto the feeling, forgetting the mission at hand, my mind roving over old wounds. Those old wounds became so painful I began to run, run hard, racing away from the pain, over polished wooden floors, my claws digging into the surface and making loud clacking noises.

  I skidded to a halt. I ran through Camelot. Quiet, lit by daylight, empty of scent. I turned once in a full circle to make certain I hadn’t made a mistake. My tongue lolled out, I’d done it. I’d breached Arthur’s mind. I knew this couldn’t be my world, I didn’t dream like this. I trotted forward toward the great hall feeling quite optimistic.

  My ears swivelled, catching the first sound. A metallic ring against stone. I paused, I sniffed and fear hit my nose. Long before thinking clearly even entered my head, I raced forward. The great doors to the throne room were shut and I now heard more than just metal clanking. The other noises chilled my bones. I pawed gently at the door, trying to convince it to open. It swung inward just enough for me to see the hall. I peered in and pushed with my snout to widen the gap. I saw what I feared the most.

  Arthur held prisoner. The white hart captured. He stood with legs splayed, his pristine coat, bloody and torn. His great rack of antlers broken. There were cuffs around each of his legs, forcing him into stillness even as his flanks heaved and sweated. A collar ran around his thick neck, tying him tight to the floor. The chain forced his head down toward a great stone block. Before the mighty stag stood a woman.

  Her long blonde hair brushed the top of her small, round backside. A heavy gold belt slung low over her hips helped to emphasise her small waist. I’d had my hands around that waist, fingers almost meeting as her hips rocked over mine.

  Guinevere stood before the white hart. A blade glinted in her hand. She raised her arms to shoulder height and her head rocked back onto her shoulders. The sunlight, through the great windows danced over her perfect form. Her eyes were closed. From the furthest corners of the room figures walked forward. They all seemed to be members of Arthur’s court but horribly changed.

  I recognised Kay only because he wore his family colours. He shuffled forward, his legs twisted, his arms pulling him along the polished floor. His face broken and rebuilt as a nightmare. His eyes were glazed and he drooled. There were others. Gawain, another of Arthur’s loyal followers, usually handsome and young, now appeared with his flesh torn from his body, his mighty limbs shrunken. Yvain, small, swarthy and the finest horseman I knew, looked diseased, foul fluid leaking from his orifices. Others, who were Arthur’s true companions, emerged just as tortured. Those I thought of as de Clare supporters were all tall, perfect, beautiful versions of what they were in real life. Guinevere stood, shining and glorious among her people. Two men, mighty Lords, Lot and Accolon, a man I counted as friend, began to pull the white hart’s head down. Arthur fought, his legs quivered. He pulled back on the collar around his throat. Slowly they forced his powerful shoulders down. His head twisted to one side exposing his neck. It lay on the stone block. I heard his breathing, smelt his fear and defiance.

  Guinevere spoke, “The time has come to reclaim what has been taken from us. Those who follow me, who walk in my path, shall be rewarded,” a great cheer erupted from the beautiful people. “Those who have stood against me, who have caused my downfall and stolen my prize,” she pointed to Morgan. I knew he had been one of those who had to declare me outlaw, “shall be punished for all time. This will amuse the Court, will it not?” Another cry from the beautiful, those who were ugly moaned and shivered. I watched Kay try to reach the stag, a man, Guy I think, kicked him hard. Blood crashed to the floor and the stag twitched.

  The Queen continued, “Once we have freed ourselves from the tyranny of Pendragon power we will bring Wessex back to its glo
ry days, under the rule of Albion.”

  I didn’t know what glory days she spoke of, the Romans? Wessex under Arthur’s hand had gone from strength to strength and what was Albion? A phrase I’d heard too often recently.

  Guinevere lowered her arms and chanted softly. She stroked the mighty neck of the stag. Arthur tried to fight but I watched him beginning to fold under the soft caresses. I stared, transfixed by the sight of his wife, my old lover, raising the knife over her head. Bright light hit the blade and glinted off, blinding me for a moment. The spell, the shock of seeing her, broke within me. I barged into the doors and they opened easily. I raced across the polished stone floor, snarling. Guinevere’s arms were coming down faster than I moved. I gathered my back legs under me, all that power at my call and thrust up just as she plunged down. I landed on Guinevere’s back. She screamed and toppled forward, onto the broken antlers of the stag, the knife skittered from her hand.

  Howls from men’s mouths are not the same as a howl from a wolf. Guinevere died on the antlers and I leapt from her back, tearing through the crowd. All those I knew to be enemies I fought. None were fast enough to lay a blade on my dark form. I became a blur of vengeance. Each body I marked vanished back into the walls of the great hall. Every one of our allies cheered even as they sank into the floor, unharmed and thankfully repaired. When the last of the figures vanished from my sight, I turned back to the stag. The body of the Queen faded, the beautiful face pierced by a tine from the rack of antlers.

  I needed to free Arthur, to bring him back to our world, not his own. I concentrated and felt my limbs grow and straighten, the fur flowing back into my skin, burning hot. I regained my fingers and I moved to the stag.

  “Calm, Arthur,” I said gently. I stroked his great cheek. His eye looked at me, wide and wild. I reached for the collar around his neck and snapped the simple fastener open. It slid from his throat and crashed to the floor. He raised his head from the block and stood, legs still splayed, regarding me. I lay a hand on the wide forehead and stroked his face. He pushed his nose into my chest. He had been hurt, cuts bled along his ribs and back. I walked to each of his limbs and undid the clasps. He regained his footing and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he sank to the floor. I held him. The body shifted under my hands. One moment I lay half under the white hart’s neck, the next I sat with Arthur the man cradled in my arms.