Endings (King Arthurs and Her Knights Book 7)

by K. M. Shea

  Britt grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to sit back down. “Hold up, hold up. Do you mean to tell me you really don’t know why she’s angry with you?”

  Ywain met her gaze with lost eyes and a hopeless expression. “My Lord, I don’t know what to make of the situation at all except to understand that the woman I love wishes to never see me again.”

  His expression and words grabbed Britt by the heart. Ywain was a more dramatic and emotion-driven knight. Because of that, she had, in the privacy of her heart, questioned the intelligence of his sudden marriage to Lady Laudine.

  To be honest, she didn’t know if his affection for the lady would hold out. But seeing the love in his eyes, she felt ashamed. He was one of her most loyal and faithful vassals. Surely, if he said he loved Laudine, he meant it from the deepest part of his heart.

  Britt had been sad to see him leave Camelot for Lady Laudine’s lands, particularly because she did not exactly like Laudine. (Laudine was perhaps a little older than Britt, was a bit of a bossy boots, and was possessive of Ywain—though she was gracious and kind.) But, for Ywain’s sake, she would put her feelings for Laudine aside.

  “Here’s the thing, Ywain. I guarantee she’s ticked at you for spending all winter in Camelot,” Britt said.

  Ywain tilted his head. “But why? The magical fountain that causes turbulent weather is mostly frozen during the winter. It can cause no harm and poses no threat to Laudine’s lands. The fountain was always her greatest concern whenever I mentioned my desire to see the walls of Camelot again.”

  “I’m sure she was happy to send you off for a short visit to Camelot,” Britt started. That’s not very likely based on the little conversation I had with her when we met, but I’m not here to start fights. “But you were gone for most of the season. That’s many weeks, including Christmas and New Year’s.”

  Ywain nodded. “Yes, and…?”

  Britt stared at him. “You don’t see a problem with that?”

  “No, of course not. I would leave your halls for weeks at a time as well, My Lord.”

  “Yeah, except I’m not your wife,” Britt pointed out.

  Ywain tucked his head. “No, you certainly aren’t.”

  Britt set Roen’s blanket aside. “And you still don’t see the connection. Very well, let me think….I got it! So in the spring, summer, and fall, you’re stuck guarding the spring—and yes, it is a spring, not a fountain—right?”

  Ywain nodded.

  “Okay, so while you’re stuck guarding that spring, let’s say Laudine decides to visit Camelot. You’d be fine with that, yes?”

  “It would bring me great joy to have Laudine come visit you in Camelot,” Ywain said.

  “Right. Turns out Laudine and I have so much fun together that she stays with me for all of summer, and even part of fall, and never sends any news back to you. What would you think of that?”

  “I would miss her very much. And I would begin to worry that you have lured her into that female companionship club you have with Morgan le Fay and the Lady of the Lake.”

  Britt, caught off guard by his astute observation about the Lancelot Hate Club, coughed to cover her surprise. “Yes, well…that’s pretty much what you’ve done to her. You’re her husband, not a knight who only serves her and performs great deeds in her name. Above all else, she treasures your presence—not the quest you do for her, not whatever treasures you win for her, but you as a person.”

  “You mean to say the relationship I have with Laudine as my wife is different than, say, the relationship between a knight and the lady he chooses to honor.”

  “Yes.” Britt was more than a little horrified that he had ever thought it would be the same thing. Poor boy has no clue how females think. Maybe I should begin holding workshops for the rest of the knights.

  Instead of rallying, as Britt thought he would, Ywain seemed to collapse in on himself. “Then it really is my fault. I have hurt Laudine so deeply that she cannot possibly forgive me. I have ignored her for weeks. How unforgivable of me!”

  Gawain had finished cleaning up Ywain’s horse, so he approached his fellow knight and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You cannot lose hope, cousin. For your actions to hurt her, she must still love you just as you love her.”

  Ywain rested his forehead in his hands. “Laudine is a lady of justice and respect. She would not have turned me away if she did not mean her words. Indeed, I am not worthy of her.”

  “That is a dangerous way of thinking, my friend.” Sir Percival joined the knights by the fire. “One you must not follow. My mother commonly exiles my father from our lands, but they still love each other, and she will always be his ladylove. Perhaps you only need to give her time to think.”

  “But I have hurt the woman I love! How can I be a knight? How can I claim to want to serve her when I have so grievously wounded her?”

  Britt looked around for Merlin, hoping he might have some wizardly wisdom to add. Based on the way he rolled his eyes and the slight curl of his upper lip, he was actually finding more sympathy with Laudine than Ywain’s dramatic display.

  “Take heart,” Lancelot coached.

  Ywain put his desperation aside long enough to slightly narrow his eyes at Lancelot. “I will not seek out a new ladylove.”

  Lancelot waved the comment away. “I figured as much—you are a man after our king’s heart, after all. What I meant to say is you won her once, surely you can win her again!”

  Surprised he actually had something of worth to say, Britt blinked at Lancelot.

  But it didn’t matter, Sir Ywain did not take the encouragement well. “I suppose though she does not wish to see me, I could still roam her lands and fight recreant knights on her behalf. I would wear black armor, like the blackness of my soul in the withered spring of love in my heart. I could be like death, for that is all that it is left for me now that Laudine has scorned me.”

  Merlin wriggled his fingers at Britt, motioning for her to join him.

  Britt cast another glance at Ywain, then stood, cracked her back, and ambled towards the wizard. “Yeah?”

  “I’d suggest you do something to make him stop his absurdity,” Merlin said.

  “He’s genuinely hurt and concerned.”

  “He’s only making himself more miserable. You and I both know this is a silly argument between a married couple, not something that is going to ‘turn his soul black.’”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I, personally, would favor hitting him upside the head. But as I recall, you used words to coax him out of his foul temper when you first met him. Since then, you’ve used a combination of lectures and appeals to his knightly nature.”

  “But you hit it exactly. This is an argument between him and Laudine. I don’t want to get involved.”

  “The only reason you don’t want to get involved is because you don’t like Laudine all that much to begin with. If Ywain was making calf eyes over one of your friends, say, Morgan le Fay, you would be all over this argument like a rooster on bugs.”

  Britt frowned, but he was right. The identity of Ywain’s wife was making her a little reluctant.

  “Though you aren’t married, you know as well as I do that he is perfectly capable of winning back his wife. Tell him so.”

  Concerned, Britt glanced back at the down-spirited knight. “Are you sure you just don’t want me to do this because you’re sick of hearing him in his despair?”

  “Of course I am! But that doesn’t change the fact that you also owe him. He is your knight, and you are his king and friend. I can’t believe you truly want him to continue on in this manner.”

  Britt drew her shoulders back. “You’re right. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Merlin reached out and brushed her hand, almost making her leap in surprise. “May the heavens be with you—or they’ll certainly soon be with the young Ywain, for I don’t care to hear him carrying-on for the remainder of our mission.”

  Britt snorted. F
or all of Merlin’s bluster, she knew he did genuinely care about her men, so she strolled back to Ywain with a spring in her step. She stood between him and the fire and listened as Gawain, Percival, and Lancelot continued to do their best to cheer him up.

  “Couldn’t you give her gifts?” Lancelot asked.

  “Or proof of quests and adventures you’ve undertaken in her name?” Percival added.

  Ywain shook his head. “The only thing I wish to give her is my heart, but she has already rejected it. I’m sure she feels she can never trust me again.”

  “Ywain, that’s enough,” Britt said.

  Ywain blinked and looked up at her. “You wish for me to deny my grief?”

  “No, not at all. Expressing and showing your emotions is healthy. In fact, I’m proud of you that you are able to so clearly state what is in your heart. The problem is this: you figured out the problem, but rather than fixing it, you intend to sit here and stew.”

  Ywain stood, a hint of anger in his expression. “What else would you have me do? What else is there?”

  “Haven’t you been listening to anything your fellow knights have told you? Go out there and win her back! She is your wife, and you are her husband. I can’t believe you are so easily giving up on her! Try talking to her, and ask for forgiveness. That’s one of the most important parts—apologize for staying in Camelot so long without giving a thought to how she feels!”

  Britt could see he was thinking over her words, but he wasn’t committed quite yet. “Ywain,” she said in the much softer voice.

  He raised his eyes so he could meet her gaze.

  “Isn’t she worth the fight?” She asked in a gentle tone.

  “She’s worth more than I could ever offer her.”

  Britt smiled. “Then show her that.”

  The light started to return to his eyes, and he nodded, then bowed. “Thank you, My Lord. My friends.” He looked at everyone present in the camp. “I will do as you have suggested. I will win her back! I must set out first thing to begin this new quest!”

  Gawain held up his hand to forestall his cousin. “Before then, you owe your horse a rest. Stay with us tonight. Drink, eat, and ready yourself for the battle you are about to enter.”

  Ywain nodded, but his movements were quick and brimmed with excitement. “Thank you all for your help and support.”

  “I will always be here for you, Ywain. You are a companion of the Round Table and a companion of my heart,” Britt said. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I’ll ever want for your sake.”

  Ywain looked like he had a hard time swallowing, and his eyes glittered with emotion. “And I will always wish the same for you, My Lo—Britt.”

  Britt dashed forward in a series of lunges and twists, fighting an invisible foe. Her unusual night activities didn’t seem to bother the forest life, for the chubby birds that were resting for the night did not startle from their tree as she danced past them.

  Several days had passed since the party had parted ways with Ywain. Just a few more days of travel, and Merlin would have them turn around and take a more direct route back to Camelot. Hopefully, Kay and Mordred would’ve gotten enough messages out to the allies that they were beginning to move towards Camelot as well. In any case, by the time they returned, Duke Maleagant and King Bagdemagus would probably be waiting for them.

  Britt paced back and forth, flexing her muscles as she prepped for another round of swordplay exercises. She glanced at the crackling fire, making sure she hadn’t woken any of the other knights. Lancelot, Percival, and Gawain were all rolled up in their bedrolls, tucked around the fire. They had made their camp at the back of a rather large rock formation, which provided shelter from the wind that blew across the sweeping plains and up the squat hills.

  Merlin was the only one who slept slightly apart. He dozed, propped up against a tree. The horses were tethered just beyond him, secured in a little copse of trees.

  Britt glanced longingly at her bedroll, but although they were traveling and spying, her insomnia still plagued her. Instead, she paused to adjust her grip on Excalibur and fix her stance, then raised her sword again.

  She spun, swinging her sword with perfect precision. She heard a rustle by the fire but ignored it and instead continued practicing. Only when she was hot and sweaty in spite of the chilly night did she pause and take great heaving gulps of air.

  “I’m beginning to understand why you are unmatched at the sword,” Lancelot said.

  Britt had been almost certain the rustler was Gawain, so she glanced at the handsome knight with some surprise. She was quiet for a moment, but the silence quickly grew awkward. So she shrugged. “I do practice more with it than the average knight.”

  Lancelot’s smile was unusually wry. “That you do.” He watched her as she drew her shoulders back and stepped into an offensive stance.

  She half expected him to ask to join her, so she was more surprised when he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against one of the trees. Only half his face was visible in the flickering firelight of the campfire. The other half was cloaked in shadows. “My Lord,” he began, “I find myself much desiring a heartfelt talk with you.”

  Britt doubted Lancelot could be “heartfelt” about anything. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I wish to know why I have never heard you call me the companion of your heart, or swear so solemnly that you wish for my happiness, as you did to Ywain.”

  She stabbed Excalibur forward with extra feeling. “Give it a rest, Lancelot.”

  “I’d rather not. I am seriously seeking answers,” he insisted.

  “Maybe, but examining the different levels of affection I have for my knights is only going to end in disaster. Being a Knight of the Round Table is not a popularity contest for whom I love most. You never would’ve thought something so stupid before you found out I was a woman, and though my gender might have been different than what you thought, the way I organize my knights has not changed at all. So put a sock in it.”

  Feeling jaunty, Britt tossed Excalibur in the air, then caught it by its hilt and twirled it with great satisfaction.

  “But I genuinely do not understand why you keep me at arm’s distance,” Lancelot said. “I am the best knight in Camelot; I am your champion.”

  “You’re the Queen’s Champion. In case you’ve forgotten, I still go by King Arthur; that means you’re not my personal champion. But even if you were, it wouldn’t matter.” Britt grunted as she whirled Excalibur in a complex pattern of parries and blows. She paused to regain her breath. “I pick my friends based on their character, not their abilities.”

  “That makes your refusal of my friendship even more puzzling,” Lancelot argued. His expression appeared to be open and honest, but Britt was certain he was putting on an act for her benefit. “For I am one of the most virtuous knights of Camelot. I complete my quests with great swiftness, and I have sent the most recreant knights back to Camelot to swear their loyalty to you.”

  Britt shook her head. “Beating men reveals nothing about your character. You might say you’re virtuous, but in reality, there is a disconnect between your words and your actions.”

  Lancelot sputtered. “I beg your pardon!”

  Merlin fidgeted by his bush.

  Britt glanced at him, worried they had awoken him, but though the wizard shifted, he did not open his eyes.

  Britt slid Excalibur back into its scabbard. “You say exactly what everyone wants to hear, giving every appearance of being a great knight, but your actions betray you. If you are as virtuous as you claim, you would not have told Ywain to abandon Laudine.”

  Lancelot narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even like Laudine.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether or not I like her. Ywain is a Knight of Camelot and should act with honor and loyalty. Dropping his wife because she simply expressed her pain and frustration is not the way a virtuous knight behaves. The fact that you advised that does not reflect very well on you.”
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  “You are my king, but what care do you have for the movement of my heart?” Lancelot asked.

  “You’re right; I don’t care whom you love. What I care about is that you are loyal to the woman you choose to love.” Britt couldn’t keep some of the pent-up frustration and anger out of her voice. She stomped over to Roen and draped an arm across his neck to calm herself. “After all, if you can’t even stay loyal to the woman you profess to hang your heart on, how on earth can I expect you to stay loyal to the causes we fight for?”

  Lancelot’s expression was no longer open and free, but hardened even in the flickering firelight. “Very well, but that is just one example.”

  Roen sleepily nuzzled Britt’s torso as she continued. “You want to hear more? Fine. Then there’s the fact that you won’t help anyone unless you personally gain from it. You move if it’s for a quest or something that will bring honor to your name. But a simple task—like caring for a fellow knight’s horse when he is unable to, or helping a servant girl who has more than she can carry—you would never do.”

  Lancelot clenched his jaw. “I am a prince.”

  “And I am king, but I know that the role of a king—the role of any leader—is to serve those who follow them. That’s something that Gawain, Ywain, Percival, Kay, and Mordred all understand. That’s why I call them the companions of my heart. And until you drop your pompous fixation with yourself so I can truly depend upon you, you and I will never be friends.” Britt nearly spat the last few sentences, which she had been holding in her heart for a long time.

  When she first met Lancelot, she hated him because of what the legends said about him. As time went on he became annoying in his own right. But over the last few seasons Britt had come to befriend Guinevere, whom previously she had disliked nearly as much as him. It was then that Britt realized that Guinevere had proven her worth; Lancelot, on the other hand, had proven to be quite like his legendary self.

  She had no doubt that Lancelot was ruthless enough to seduce his best friend’s wife. And that was something she would never tolerate.

  The venting had done her some good, but it had only served to incense Lancelot, as she thought it would. But he was the one who insisted we talk about this! Seriously, why is it that the only male who frequently talks about feelings is the one I can’t stand?