Now we are home

So... I'm back. And this story will go on. I cannot put into words how sorry I am about the unannounced hiatus. Life really started sucking, that's all I can say. I won't bore you with more promises, but I still like this story. Heck, I love it. And I really want to finish it! So, if you're still around reading this, THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH! Your loyalty is the greatest gift I could ever imagine. Really, thanks!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Shame on you!"

Gweir's voice burst through the stillness of the room like a thunderclap. Rhian almost wrenched herself from Tristan's arm, her heart pounding in her chest. With quiet horror, she stared at her father's face, frozen in quiet fury.

Tristan turned slowly, keeping one hand resting on the small of her back. His eyes were unreadable as he met Gweir's gaze.

"You two must think me an idiot." The healer spoke in hard, clipped words. "Half of Camelot knows, and you think I don't? I should have you beaten from my house, sir!"

Her fingernails bit into the skin of her palms, but Rhian had no words to give her father in response.

"I intend to marry your daughter," Tristan said after a moment, "if that makes it more palatable to you."

Gweir gave a harsh bark of laughter.

"Yes, you will marry her. And damn you if you don't make her happy for the rest of her life. You have caused enough unhappiness so far."

"Father..." Rhian tried to interject, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Be quiet! And now you should leave, lord. Let Eadwig be buried before you seek to claim my daughter."

For one moment, Rhian thought Tristan might refuse. She could feel the coiled strength in his muscles where her body touched his, but then the tension bled from him. He inclined his head toward Gweir and gave Rhian's hand a last tender squeeze, before brushing past the healer and leaving the house.

Alone with her father, Rhian suddenly felt small and ashamed. The look he gave her was not even truly disappointed. He seemed sad, more than anything else.

"I am so sorry, father," she whispered.

Gweir sighed. With a gesture that spoke volumes about his exhaustion, he ran a hand across his eyes.

"So am I, Rhian. There are more things I have to tell you."

OooOooO

Marian stood in the doorway of Vanora's house and quietly watched Gwydion and Gilly, Bors' and Vanora's eldest, seated together on a bench in front of the fireplace. Gwydion held a sheaf of parchment on his lap and was calmly pointing out letters to Gilly, sounding them out for the other boy to repeat.

Vanora walked past, a bowl full of little apple cakes in her hands, and smiled.

"They make quite a pair, don't they. I've never seen Gilly sit still like that when I'm trying to teach him something."

"He is teaching him to read," Marian said quietly, her voice full of amazement.

"He sure is," Vanora agreed. "He is fiendishly smart, that one. Should have heard him with Bors earlier." Ever observant, she cast a careful look at Marian. "How are you holding up with... everything?"

Marian had no answer, other than to smile lightly. And shrug.

OooOooO

The scent of incense hung in the cold air of the small chapel. Numerous pillar candles cast puddles of light onto the flagstone floor.

The chapel was modestly appointed. The altar cloth was of homespun linen, but loving hands had carefully embroidered it in colourful thread.

Arthur felt a sudden flush of shame that he hadn't visited here more often in the almost four months since he had moved to Camelot.

"Your grace! I'm sorry, I didn't here you come in."

Father Aldwyn had just finished lighting the last candles before turning towards his king. He was a young man, barely in his twenties, and had been a monk before joining the king's household. Arthur had heard that it had been intended as a punishment, while the rest of his monestary had returned to Rome, but he had never asked the priest about it, and Aldwyn had never complained.

"Please, father, I'm at fault," he replied, walking slowly up the aisle towards the altar. "I should really come here more often."

"You have the well-being of many people on your shoulders, my king." The young man smirked. "I would imagine that God understands such a burden."

Arthur sank into the front pew.

"Yet now I need God's help more than ever. Dare I still ask for it?"

Aldwyn smiled. He had a mop of curly blond hair and lively brown eyes. A case of chicken pox in his youth had left him with scarred skin, and yet his face was open and pleasant.

"You can always ask for God's help, my liege. He is greater than the failures of mankind."

"Father..." Arthur hesitated. More than ever, he longed to return to the comfort the church has always offered him. His faith had been a rock to him for many years. And yet... how could he dare voice what seemed unbelievable even to him?

"I have encountered many strange things in the past weeks," he finally said. "Tales of spirit and magic and... demons... Is this still the domain of ordinary men?"

Father Anwyn took a seat next to Arthur and folded his hands loosely on his knees.

"Of course not," he answered after a moment's contemplation. "But let me in turn ask you this... are you not the Roman commander who alone remained behind when all of Rome's might deserted him? Are you not the man to whom pagans and Christians alike trust enough to give him the crown of Britain? The man who beat back an overwhelming force with only a handful of knights and a host of former enemies by his side? I submit to you, my king... you are no ordinary man."

OooOooO

Eadwig was buried in the early hours of the next morning, with the stillness of dawn blanketing the little graveyard outside the walls in peaceful silence.

Father Anwyn took his time, praying at length over the still body, wrapped tightly in cloth so as to disguise the disquieting fact that the head was unattached to the neck.

There were only a few people in attendance, some acquaintances from the village, Gweir, Rhian and Marian. Lancelot had joined them, both to be close to Marian and to observe the funeral for Arthur. If people wondered why the knight had appeared armed to a burial, nobody questioned it. King Arthur, however, would not rest easy until the corpse was safely buried in hallowed ground.

Rhian watched quietly as Eadwig was being lowered into the earth. She felt strangely hollow inside. Their marriage had always been troubled, since she had gone to his arms still loving another man, but he had been kind during those first years. She still could not reconcile the cruelty of his last days with the kindness she had received before, but she did not have it in her to question it. He was dead. It was over.

Tristan had not shown up to the funeral, for which she was grateful, on the one hand, but she missed his strength at her side all the same.

She was bone tired. She had taken her father's explanation of demons and magic much better than Gweir had anticipated, she knew, but after her experiences on Avalon, after she had walked through the fog surrounding that mystical place, she was much readier to accept proof of the otherworld than she might have been before.

After the earth had been heaped onto the body, the onlookers quietly dispersed. Only Father Anwyn remained to pray a while longer.

Marian and Lancelot departed together, her hand in the crook of his arm, his dark head lowered towards her. Rhian smiled. They were a lovely couple, really.

Almost without noticing it, her hands had come to rest on her belly.
It was hardly noticeable yet, merely the faintest rise against her palms. Yet there it was. Tristan's and her son.

Her father put an arm around her shoulder as they walked and she leaned against him gratefully. He was still angry with her, she knew, and disappointed, but he had forgiven her all the same.

"If Tristan wants to claim this child as his own, you two should marry soon," Gweir said gruffly. He nodded towards her hands on her belly and frowned. "You won't hide it much longer."

"Won't it seem... a little unseemly?"

He stopped walking and turned towards her.

"It will seem very unseemly. People will talk and people will stare, Rhian. I have never been as strict with you as I should have been, but I taught you the difference between right and wrong. And what you did was wrong. You make decisions without thinking about them, but the consequences will catch up to you. People will know that you cuckolded your husband with Tristan. They will guess that the baby was conceived out of wedlock. Lucky for you, they will be too afraid of your new husband to do anything about it."

Rhian felt hot tears gather in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. Her father was right, after all. She had brought this shame upon herself, she would therefore accept it without cringing.

OooOooO

Marian followed Lancelot to the farthest corner of the garden. It was beautiful here. This late in spring, many flowers were in bloom, growing in colourful clumps amidst herbs and in between low bushes.

Lancelot had little concern for the beauty of the place, though. He seemed a little agitated and had looked behind them more than once to make sure they weren't followed. Finally, he took her hands and drew her down onto the grass with him until she sat opposite him, cross-legged, her hands still clasped in his.

All this while, she had remained silent, waiting for him to speak his mind about whatever was troubling him so greatly.

Finally, he met her eyes, his own full of anguish. Before speaking, he lifted her hands to his lips, brushing kisses onto her knuckles.

"I have done something... horrible, for which I must beg your forgiveness but which I cannot undo."

Marian frowned at him. He seemed more tortured than she had ever seen him.

"I will listen to whatever you have to say," she promised.

Lancelot drew a deep breath.

"Gwydion. He is not my son. He is Arthur's."

At first, Marian did not even understand the words coming out of his mouth. Only after a few torturous heartbeats did the meaning sink in.

"He is... oh, my..."

"You must never tell anyone!" Lancelot interrupted her swiftly, his grip on her hands tightening. "I cannot even tell you how important this is! Not even the king must know the truth!"

"But why the secrecy? Why cannot even he know?"

"Because Gwydion is his eldest, but as an heir, he would face any number of obstacles. He is born from a woman he was never married to, which could upset every Christian in Britain. His mother was not the queen, so what of any children he might have with Guinevere? And even more than all that..." He fell silent, shook his head and sighed. "Call it a feeling, an instinct. Help me keep this secret, my love. Can you do that? Could you love him like a son?"

A quiet peace had descended on Marian. She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

"I will. Of that I have no doubt."

It would not be easy, nor would it be simple or without danger. But Lancelot had trusted her with this, made her an equal in their union. For him, she would find the strength to walk through fire.

And as he drew her into his arms and kissed her hair, she felt stronger than ever before.

OooOooO

Bedwyr had known what he would find as soon as he had set foot on Ynys Afalau.

The door to their cottage lay in splinters, the grass was muddy and bore the scars of heavy boots. Somehow, driven by evil spirits, their enemies had come this far. He hadn't had a choice, he knew that. Carys had not wanted to leave, he had to get Aeronwy, Rhian and Gwydion to safety, but still... still...

Sword in hand, he crossed the threshold.

Carys lay on the floor, in a drying pool of her own blood. Her throat was cut from ear to ear, her hands bore the marks of her enemies blades, where she had caught them in a last desperate attempt to fight for her life.

Her eyes were open, empty of life, staring at nothing.

His vision blurred, tears he could not stop streaming down his face. He knelt beside his sister's body, the stump of his shield hand gently stroking her cold cheek.

In Camelot, Aeronwy dropped the cup she had been holding, her sightless eyes staring into the distance.

And then she screamed.

…to be continued...