chapter twenty-four!
024. the wrath of a dead man

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     THE WORST SOUND that night were the sounds of Ygraine Pendragon's screams. In the early morning of a summer day, barely before the sunrise could meet the dawn, the young Queen of Camelot had found herself in a sudden early labour. It was fast, and it was quick, and before she knew it, she was in extreme, horrific pain. The sound travelled down the window from the Queen's chambers down into the castle courtyard▬terrifying and startling to anyone who heard it. And there she lied, drenched and trembling▬barely able to think past the red she saw in her gaze to hear anyone's words▬in her bed. Flushed, crying and hysterical.

    "Push, My Lady," she barely heard the maid tell her, desperate to get her to listen. "You must push, My Lady!"

    "Where is he?" Ygraine was crying. She was scared▬she has never been more scared in her life. Her words were lost within her wails, her mind blurred from the pain. They told her to push, and to take breaths, and to keep going▬she must keep going. "Uther▬where▬where is the King? Where is his father?!"

    "Ygraine," Gaius's voice was somewhere in the distance, all through he was right beside her. "My Lady, you must focus."

    The Queen of Camelot slumped, breaking out into small sobs as she felt the dawn get no closer▬and nor this child in coming out of her. This child was supposed to be a miracle. He was supposed to be their special little boy▬the only heir to the kingdom of Camelot. Her little miracle, her baby boy, her precious son▬and yet she felt as if he was tearing her apart from within.

    She continued to cry, ignoring their orders and pressure. She wanted to go to sleep▬she wanted this to stop. She wanted to give up. She shook her head▬again and again, falling back against her pillows. She pleaded for help▬she pleaded to the Lord to make all of this pain to stop. For this all to be over. "No," she whimpered. "No▬don't make me do it. Please, don't make me do it."

    The Queen did not see the worried glance the physician sent those who accompanied him in the room, gently pressing a wet cloth against Ygraine's flushed forehead and cheeks. She did not know that not even birth was supposed to be this excruciating and troublesome. She did not know that the child had not turned properly▬she did not know that the early morning had turned into something deadly.

    "You are almost there, My Lady," Gaius told her instead. "You can do this▬just keep going. You are almost there."

    She didn't want to. She wanted to say no. To tell him no. 

    The Queen's labour went well close to the dawn▬the darkest hour was spent tiresome in trying to coax her to continue. Telling her that she was almost there▬she was almost done▬as they desperately waited for the King to return from patrol and tried to turn the child the right way each time she pushed, determined to save both of them.

    She cursed and she screamed▬she became someone far from a lady; far from a Queen. But in the end, she did not give up. Her exhaustion became determination▬a stubbornness to win this; to finish this. She screamed until her throat became raw. And she pushed; she pushed and she pushed and she pushed▬

    A miracle, she had to remind herself. A miracle. The future. She was bringing forth the future into this world▬as they told her: what everyone told her. The moment their barren Queen finally became with child▬could finally provide her husband with an heir.

    The people had blessed her. They gave her gifts▬cheers and loves and flowers. They told her what a wonderful mother she would be. They told her of all the prayers they made that she would have a son. They gave her little trinkets and asked to hold necklaces over her hand to guess the gender. This child was a miracle.

    A miracle, she forced herself to remember as she thought she nearly passed out the next round of immense pain that jolted up inside her and down her limbs. Her bloody miracle. Her miracle that was kicking and shoving his way into this cruel world▬her son; she knew he was going to be a boy ... she just knew.

    But time went. Morning was finally starting to get brighter, and Ygraine only felt more and more in pain. The sun was growing warm against the horizon▬seeping through the cracks of the turrets to blind the eye as the Queen's cries grew louder, and her husband was still nowhere to be found; still racing against the clock to return home in time.

    But perhaps he was chasing the sunrise. Perhaps he galloped down it's blinding pathway. Perhaps he will wake it to finally meet his son he has given everything to hold.

    The sun continued to rise. The room around Ygraine, and the people within it started to get more apprehensive. They moved more, they spoke more. Their urges and their encouragements were quicker, more frequent, more excited▬she was getting closer. She was finally getting closer...

    She pushed as hard as she possibly could.

    And just as the sunrise broke through the window to her chambers, Ygraine heard a small, and yet loud cry. And then another. And another and another. Many loud, strong and vocal cries from a pair of determined, little lungs. Lungs that belonged to a squirming, red and squinting baby that rose from the sheets and into the maid's arms.

    Ygraine couldn't believe it. She couldn't comprehend it. For a moment, she just stared, bewildered, and then she sighed▬then she laughed. And then, she cried.

    The maid glanced up to her with the brightest beam on her face. "It is a boy, My Lady. A healthy, strong Prince!"

    Gaius smiled at her and wiped the sweat from her brow as she continued to cry. A son. A boy. A Prince. Her son. Her miracle.

    As the little boy was passed over to the physician▬a mighty size for coming sooner than expected▬Ygraine let her head fall back into her pillows. She breathed heavily. After everything, she was exhausted. She was light headed. She smiled, overwhelmed and tearful to see him there: to see him alive, and crying▬all red face and squirming; kicking those strong legs. He was going to be a courageous adventurer. He was going to be a merciful warrior. He was going to be a beloved Prince. He was going to be their future. He was going to be a great King.

    "Arthur," breathed the Queen; quiet and looking suddenly very pale. A name for a strong leader, a warrior▬a King. "Arthur▬my darling miracle, my darling boy, Arthur..."

    They let her hold him. And the moment he was in her arms, Ygraine knew she will never love anyone more than she loved her precious boy. To watch him settle and clutch onto her, calm and happy in her beloved hold, she knew she would do anything for her darling miracle. Her gorgeous sunrise▬her faith and her hope.

    She loved him. She loved him with every breath of her soul and every inch of her heart.

    Arthur.

    Her little Arthur.

    Her darling ...

    Ygraine drifted off with her son in her arms. And she did not wake up.

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    IT WAS A SPECIAL DAY. It was something more than a special day. It was a day of celebration▬of promising hope and cheerful, delightful faith. Their future had never been so sure before until now: the day the only heir to the kingdom finally became a young man▬the day he will be crowned Heir Apparent; the Crown Prince of Camelot: officially his father's successor. From this day forth, no man, no boy claiming to be a bastard and no advantageous Lord could question his claim to the throne▬could take his crown without a war, now that his father deemed it so.

    The celebration was happening even a week before the Prince's actual anniversary of his birth. Peasants of Camelot were cheering and drinking in the Lower Town streets. They sang songs and wrote even more for the future they were sure their favourite Prince will have▬blessed the better future they were desperate he'd promise. They said he was going to slay horrifying mythical beasts, find long-lost remnants of Christ and force the growing threat of Saxon invasion back to the shores they crawled their way onto. They already were speaking praise to a rule that was yet to happen, whispering prophecies of future that held no breath of magic, but instead unconditional love and adoration for their miracle. They said he would bring peace, and riches▬they called him Bruta the Second of His Name: a pledge that he would become just as great as his ancient ancestor. They said he will live a long life, win every war he fought, bring prosperity to Camelot. They declared his wife and Queen will be the most beloved, and fairest in any and every kingdom▬just like his late mother was loved with every endearing smile she made. They said he will have many children, and his first born son will be just as courageous, chivalrous, honourable, strong and wise as he was apparently supposed to be. That his first born daughter will become the kingdom's favourite princess with his golden blonde hair▬to which every Prince of the realm will be at the castle's steps trying to win her hand.

    Even though they weren't invited to the feast in his honour▬or could witness his crowning inside the Throne Room, they still sang and cheered his names from the streets; they gathered in the castle square▬so many of them▬presenting gifts for him they had made themselves. Some tried to give him their most treasured possessions, tried to sing ballads they composed themselves and present him with epics they wrote of his future they were so sure he would bring to be. A child had snuck her way to the front to pass him over a little basket of stones she had gathered she thought were pretty enough for a Prince. It was the only gift he accepted. Because she reminded him of another little girl he knew who would give him the exact same thing.

    He was given knives, and swords, and more horses. One of the many Lords that served his father even managed to find an axe created across the seas, thinking he would win the favour of the future King with elaborate gifts. None of which he hasn't received before▬every year, again and again and again, and he would take them with a forced smile and a polite nod of his head▬maybe some polite conversation ... but he'd feel little happiness.

    Instead, he'd spend his time in front of her portrait; unveiled only for one day every year. He'd look up at her bright blue gaze and her beautiful features feathered by pure, light blonde waves. He'd stare at the little smile the artist had given her▬something kind, and loving, and understanding ... and he'd try and pretend that she was listening to him, and understanding his pain. A young Queen gone too soon: a mother killed by her own son she was prepared to give everything for.

    There was only one type of child who shared his birthday with the death of his mother▬a lost, pained and miserable one. Arthur spent his nights wondering whether his father truly loved him for what he had done before he could even remember. Sometimes Arthur didn't. He lived with it for the rest of his life▬and he will continue to live with it. He would gaze up at her portrait that will disappear tomorrow yet again until the same time next year, and wonder what she was like. He wondered what her voice sounded like, whether she truly smiled that beautifully. He wanted to hear her laugh, and he wanted to hear her advice, and feel her love▬he wanted to have a mother.

    And it was his fault he did not.

    He could never celebrate this day for himself when all he thought of was the misery that this day had been for her.

    Arthur glanced down at the smooth stone he had taken with him from the basket he left in his chambers. It was round▬perfectly round and flat; something the little girl must have grabbed from a river bed; probably out with her family. It was white, like marble. With a deep breath he set it down on the table underneath his mother's portrait.

    He stood there. He did not say a word; for a moment, he didn't even breathe. He just mourned her▬he just wished she were here.

    "Arthur?"

    The Prince almost jumped. He took a sharp breath to regain his posture and spun back, ready to snap at whoever had disturbed him▬but stopped when he realised it was Ronyn standing behind. He calmed down and quickly set his jaw. He nodded at his friend who only stared back at him, concerned and understanding.

    "Ronyn," he cleared his throat, quickly looking away to blink back the tears that had threatened to fall. Arthur hoped he did not see. "What is it?"

    "Uh ..." Ronyn pursed his lips, his gaze briefly passing the portrait of the late Queen. "Just ... Merlin is looking for you▬you need to prepare for the ceremony, Sire."

    Arthur nodded. The word: Sire ... Ronyn had called him it even before today▬he didn't know why; it wasn't as if he deserved it. Only now would the title mean anything; would be proper. But if anyone else said it, Arthur wouldn't believe their loyalty and respect. Somehow, Ronyn's unconditional, blind faith in his future▬his determination to run into the flames and into battle for him no matter what; no matter his faults and his mistakes▬made him one of the only people ... perhaps the only person that made Arthur truly believe he could live up to his best friend's expectations.

    They grew up together. Arthur doesn't remember a day where Ronyn wasn't there at his side. Some might find it fitting, that a Pendragon and a Vecentia would be loyal friends▬as if history were repeating itself in each generation.

    Ronyn was more loyal than any of Arthur's knights, he knew that.

    And he knew he could just see what was going through Arthur's mind right now without even asking. And he appreciated it that he never did try to make him speak about it▬or even speak about it himself. He just helped him get on with his day▬to put on a brave face.

    But this time, he decided to. Ronyn clasped his hands behind his back and muttered, "Don't blame yourself, Arthur▬if she were to see you today, she would not hold a grudge against you, she'd be proud."

    Arthur scoffed lightly, turning as he prepared to march pass him, leaving this conversation before it would even begin. "What is there to be proud of, Lord Vecentia▬?"

    Ronyn only stopped him by grabbing his elbow, stern as he locked his gaze, "Today isn't just a day of mourning, nor a day of celebration, Arthur. Today is a promise of a future▬a future you are going to bring. You are going to be a great King one day, I know it▬I am sure of it. And she is sure of it, too. When you take that crown, Sire, she is looking over you."

    The Prince's brows furrowed, continuously taken aback by Ronyn▬he didn't understand. Again and again, he didn't understand why he was so sure. Why he had every faith in him, and never failed to remind him of it. But he listened to it. Arthur made a face, trying his very best to hide his gratitude. "What made you suddenly so precious? You bloody girl, Ronyn."

    His friend guffawed, pretending to be offended. "Have you been on the cider? I was talking about myself."

    Arthur's bows bounced. He nodded, amused as he started to leave, "Are you trying to usurp my future throne?" he asked Ronyn, turning back on his feet to arch a brow at him as he walked backwards.

    Ronyn's eyes shifted, "Of course, not," he joked. "Now get out of here, otherwise your manservant might just combust with anxiety."

    Arthur chuckled at the very thought, "Finally! Something that'll make my day better." Though they both knew he very much did not mean any of it▬the Prince had grown quite fond of his young (and ridiculous) servant.

    The celebration began well into the evening. When the moon was starting to rise high into the sky. The lavish Throne Room was one of the largest rooms in the castle▬it could fit the grand staircase at the entrance of the castle twice, in both height, width and length. For the crowning, they extended the red carpet by the King's throne down▬creating a long pathway from the steps to the grand doors. Tapestries hung, and so did portraits of any welcomed predecessor. Candles were lit on top of tall candelabras that shone with the moon through the extravagant church windows that were set across the entire length of the right wall. With the tapestries, hung scarlet and gold▬the royal crest of a fearsome dragon was nearly everywhere one looked.

    Many lords and ladies all across the realm had travelled here to be present for the Prince's crowning. They bowed their heads and gave him many more gifts▬they blessed his future like everyone else, and he could only take it with a forced smile and words of respect that left his tongue with no meaning. They were served food and wine from passing servants with trays, and took this chance to discuss many things that were far from the celebration at hand.

    The three servants who decided to stick together (lords and ladies never approached three lowlifes ... three lowlifes are just too much to handle▬it got them off working easily) could see it all. Merlin, Odette and Guinevere chatted amongst each other, pointing out things here and there▬joking about lords and ladies under their tongues: a common game whenever there was a feast, banquet or celebration of some sort these days.

    Merlin sighed dramatically after a moment of mimicking an old lord across the hall. "I just realised," he said to them, "we spent all day putting this together, and now we have to be here all night, tired off our backsides▬and then we have to just take it all down early tomorrow morning. Where is the rest?"

    Gwen rolled her eyes with a good-natured smile on her face, "You're a servant, Merlin," she told him, "it's what we do. You can't change that."

    "Maybe if you annoy Arthur enough he'll get sick of you and make you a free man?" suggested Odette.

    Merlin huffed, "Or throw me off the tallest turret. Either way, I take that challenge▬oh▬oh, wait, wait▬!" he noticed something and quickly pointing it out, a mischievous grin starting to form on his lips. "Look▬is that the fifth lady Ronyn's been introduced to▬" they watched Ronyn pretend to be called into another conversation and rush away, leaving the young girl and her mother bewildered. "And run away from? He really has a talent at that, doesn't he?"

     Odette matched the look on her dearest friend's face▬the maid and manservant looking equally ridiculous as they watched Ronyn slip into an entirely different group with ease, introducing himself with a forced laugh at whatever joke they were sharing. "I've never seen someone look so much like a dopey hound▬and I've known him most of my life."

    "He looks like a dollophead," corrected Merlin.

    Odette frowned at him, "I thought Arthur was a dollophead?"

    Merlin's estranged look made her jut her chin to her chest, taken aback, "Multiple people can be a dollophead, Odette."

    Neither noticed how quiet Guinevere had suddenly gotten. Too busy bickering quietly amongst themselves, they did not see the way she frowned after the Lord Vecentia. Their words became lost in her head, as did the rest of the room▬muffled and quiet, as if she was standing alone; standing alone in a crowded room with only him.

    She watched him pass off into another conversation, trying his best to distance himself from the young girl▬she was pretty. Very pretty; and she looked kind, and confused, turning to her mother with many questions as to what had happened. But for some reason, Gwen found some part of her filled with relief that no matter any lady that spoke with him, Ronyn bypassed them all. She wondered why she cared. Guinevere didn't care about anything he did▬she didn't want to care ... why should she care about the life of someone she knew she very much disliked?

    She thought back to day outside of his manor▬where he caught her trying to take his flowers with the sword her father made under her arm. She thought about how he smiled, and he joked▬and how he found herself smiling, too. Truth was, she didn't need to see that sword to him▬there was no use in that ... but she just wanted to see him after what he had done▬she wanted an excuse to talk to him instead of finding every excuse not to.

    She wanted an excuse to talk to him, now, too. She wanted an excuse to hear him joke again and chuckle▬to say something ridiculous and yet in such a way that no matter how hard she tried not to, she couldn't help but smile.

    Perhaps that was why she ran away that day, because she was scared that if she spent time in that moment any longer, there would be no dislike left.

    As if knowing she was looking at him, Ronyn glanced over his shoulder. His brows furrowed▬but he did not tear his gaze away. Gwen swallowed harshly, feeling her heart start to race; breathless with frustration▬not at him, but rather herself. But she did not look away either. Ronyn sent her a small nod and a gentle smile▬polite; she knew it was just him being polite. She was determined to believe it was him just being polite.

    The room grew quiet as the King stood. Chatter came to an end, and everyone stood still, turning around as the doors opened. Odette felt her breath hitch with stifled pride, holding her tray of refreshments close in between Gwen and Merlin. Everyone was silent▬none uttered a word, or even risked a breath; standing to their utmost attention as the Prince returned.

    Merlin stood a little straighter▬they all did, breathless with anticipation. Arthur wore a robe of bright scarlet over his shoulders. It was long▬elegant; so much it draped past his heels. The chainmail that hung over the back was freshly polished and cleaned. He was dressed not just as a Prince, but as a warrior▬a leader and a commander; to showcase not just how great the crown might look on him in the future, but how worthy he will be to bear it▬both in the council and on the battlefield.

    Arthur kept a fixed hand gripping the hilt of his ceremonial sword. It twisted and clenched underneath the fabric of his robe▬he was nervous. He was very nervous; he walked down to where his father stood waiting▬in his most enriching robes himself, surrounded by the court and far off families in the realm ... his subjects, achingly quiet and watching him. He found it hard to breathe.

    But he pushed on. He swallowed hard as he reached his father and looked down to the floor while he knelt▬he did not want to meet the King in the eye, a little terrified of what gaze he might find: disappointment, grief ... always something other than pride.

    He glanced briefly to behind his father▬where his throne sat alone on the platform. There should be another beside it. Arthur's mother should be here; and she should be smiling, beautiful and loved. But she wasn't. And that thought would never make this day something to be celebrated. Instead, he saw Morgana, who gave him a little nod▬a reassuring smile gracing painted red lips.

    Behind the rows and rows of lords and ladies in beautiful, extravagant gowns and headpieces, Odette was on the tips of her toes trying to see over their shoulders. She bit down her bottom lip to keep herself from grinning so broadly. She, much like many others in the Lower Town, had been waiting for this day for almost too long. She, who knew the greatness Arthur was capable of▬who had the brightest hope for what she was sure he will achieve. He was her hope for a better future, and today, she was starting to see it come true.

    There were some whispers of awe as the King gently grasped the golden band settled amongst Arthur's hair and pulled it away. There, waited Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth with a crown much more spectacular. Simple in comparison to his father's, and yet a piece worthy for a crowned heir. A golden band jewelled with rich rubies and other gems▬ones that glittered and shimmered with something other than wealth: responsibility.

    The King replaced Arthur's band with a golden, jewelled sceptre.

    "Do you solemnly swear," began the King, "to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominions according to the statutes, customs and laws laid down by your forebears?"

    Odette nodded softly to herself with him, her gaze not once leaving where he knelt. She pursed her lips, hiding a little smile.

    "I do, Sire," answered the Prince.

    "Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice in your deeds and judgments."

    Arthur took a deep breath, "I do, Sire."

    "And do you swear allegiance to Camelot now and for as long as you shall live?" The King brought the sceptre down and Arthur finally glanced upwards.

    He has rehearsed this moment. Been prepared for this moment, and will continue to be prepared for the moment he took the throne. But when he grasped the hilt of the staff, the words he spoke▬he promised▬he meant; he meant it all, Odette knew that. She believed him. She knew him. She knew how much he was prepared to make true to his promise▬to try with everything he held.

    "I, Arthur Pendragon," he announced, "do pledge life and limb to your service and to the protection of this kingdom and its peoples."

    And for a moment there, he thought he caught a glimpse of a smile on his father's face▬pride. Arthur's breath hitched, and he bit back the want to smile back.

    The King let go of the sceptre, and it weighed heavy in Arthur's hand. But he grasped it tight, determined to not let it go. He watched his father reach for his new crown▬gingerly, he picked it up from its velvet bed and held it before him. It shadowed down upon Arthur, and even if it wasn't a King's crown, he still felt like he was about to collapse under its expectation.

    "Now," continued the King, "being of age and the Heir Apparent, from henceforth▬" he felt the gold settle back amongst his hair and onto his head. He took a sharp breath through his nose; he set his jaw, ignoring the chill it sent down his spine, "▬you shall be Crown Prince of Camelot."

    An applause followed. Arthur drowned most of it out. He just focused on the nod his father sent him and the way he stepped back, allowing Arthur to get to his feet. The Prince turned towards the rest of the throne room and could see their faces▬he could see their smiles and their nods; the way some of them bowed when he glanced at them, and wondered how he was ever going to be the person they were hoping he'd be.

    He fixed his shoulders and held up his chin, forcing himself to play the part they saw▬to be regal, and strong and fair: to look like a boy who was now a man▬who will one day be King. And when he did, there was a part of him that loved their applause; that made him feel validated and enough.

    Behind the many lords and ladies, there was a young handmaiden who if Arthur glanced over, would see that out of them all, she was the most proud.

     Until Odette glanced to her side and saw the gleam in Merlin's eyes. Her brows lifted and her beam turned into something gentle and sweet. Amongst the applause, she nudged her close friend, "How does it feel to be the servant to the Crown Prince of Camelot?"

    Immediately, Merlin forced the look from his face. He cleared his throat indignantly, "Washing his royal socks will be even more of a privilege."

    Odette chuckled, shaking her head at him. "No," she disagreed lightly, "you are proud of him, really▬even though you complain about him constantly."

    Merlin scoffed, "I am not."

    She only smirked knowingly, "You are, I can see it on your face."

     The warlock only locked her gaze as Odette's smile grew, proud of her deduction skills, "Those socks are very clean. Of course, I am proud of them. And before you keep accusing me of being proud of the prat look at you! You're positively glowing at him."

    Odette didn't deny it. She just hugged her tray closer and went back to smiling at him from her shadowed distance. "I am," she said truthfully. "He is going to be a great King, I know it."

    Merlin arched a brow, "Are you sure we're talking about the same Arthur, here?"

    She hummed, not really listening▬and instead watching her Prince with a happy look that was brighter than any other. And it was then that he finally searched for her, admittedly wanting to see her reaction. And when he saw her, Arthur felt the crown on his head grow lighter. At least he knew there were some in this crowd that were true▬that despite everything, their smiles and their nods and their beliefs were genuine. Even if he probably didn't deserve them.

    Odette subtly shrugged at him, her smile turning into a grin. Arthur's chest swelled with a warmth so comforting, it ceased every worry he held.

    Until, to the right▬one of the great, church windows shattered.

    There were a few screams▬people rushed away from falling glass as something burst through from the night outside. Odette stumbled as Merlin tugged her and Gwen away as a horse leapt into the Great Hall. A large, armoured stallion landed on the tiles of the Throne Room. Knights were on guard in an instant▬they unsheathed their swords, rushing to protect the King and the Crowned Prince who drew their own weapons, staring▬shocked▬at the steed that approached them with a thrashing head. On his saddle, was a knight in full-bodied black armour. They could not see his eyes, let alone his face; his armour was rusted, his black robe teared to shreds at its hem▬there was a chill that settled in the Throne Room. As if all the warmth of the fire and candles had been snuffed to nothing, leaving something frightening and apprehensive ... haunting and ghastly.

    Odette clutched tight onto Gwen's sleeve, eyeing the strange knight over her shoulder▬she caught sight of the insignia on his sleeve. A silver bird▬an eagle, or maybe a raven, she couldn't be sure ... but she knew that she had never seen it before in her life.

    The hall was silent and still, watching the knight lead his horse further down the velvet red carpet until he stopped right before the King, Prince and their knights. As he did, some servants and courtiers found feeling in their legs and took off at a run for the back doors▬not even caring some stepped their wealthy slippers and boots into dusty, servant corridors. Odette, Merlin and Gwen were shoved backwards to the wall▬though they did not make a run for it, at all. They stood, frozen and wary▬eyeing the dark knight, wondering what he had come to do.

    Odette tried to step forward to see better, but Gwen kept her back. Their hearts were racing, but they stood their ground.

    For a short while, the knight did nothing. His black stallion huffed and kicked his hooves against the tile▬though there was something about its gaze. It was as blackened as its coat ... lifeless even ... Odette could see nothing but a void within the horse's gaze. And she realised that was what was so chilling about this knight, too▬there looked to be nothing behind the scathed and scarred iron of his helm; no eyes seemed to be staring back at them.

    Then, he unclasped his gauntlet and threw it at Arthur's feet without a word.

    Everyone waited for his reaction. Odette hoped he would not take the challenge▬but she knew that would never happen. Alone, if someone were to declare a fight, Arthur wouldn't back down. In front of his future court, his knights, his father and just after proclaiming his promise as future King, he would never turn a challenge down▬even if it would be a fight to the death.

    Odette's heart started to pound, fearful as the Prince sheathed his blade with a determined glower. He reached down to pick it up▬

    Until another hand beat him to it. The gloved fingers swiftly snatched the gauntlet before the Prince could get the chance, and Sir Owain stepped forward, staring up at the stranger with naive courage.

    "I, Sir Owain," he declared loudly, ignoring Arthur's horrified glance, "accept your challenge."

    The knight set his empty gaze upon Owain. Finally, he spoke▬and his voice was deep, it was bellowing▬it felt like it came from a bottomless pit: "Single combat, noon tomorrow, to the death."

    His steed threw his head back and the knights all staggered away. Then, the mysterious knight turned his stallion to the shattered window and leapt back into the night.

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    NO MATTER what Owain has done▬no matter how much he made her uncomfortable, and jeered at her; made fun of her and jested her misery for his own amusement and support from the knights his senior, Odette did not ever once wish this upon him. She wasn't a complete stranger to sword craft. She might not wield a blade, but she could tell when someone was skilled, and when someone was no match for the opponent they will face. Owain was immature, he was inexperienced▬he had good potential to be a skilful knight, but he has not yet faced a man in such position with such dire consequences. Every battle he has won, he would have been spared if he failed. If he lost this one, this Black Knight would not offer a hand and advise him on how to do better next day for training, he would bring his broadsword down and pierce Owain right through his armour and into his boyish heart.

    Morgana was desperate for something to be done. As the celebration dismissed before it barely even begun, she viciously argued with Arthur all the way back to her chambers. They took refuge behind her bedchamber door▬she, Arthur, Odette, Guinevere and Ronyn, each of them immediately finding each other in order to discuss what had just happened.

    As soon as the door closed, Ronyn blew up with an exclaim of: "What in the name of the Lord just happened?!" he gestured wildly behind him as he walked up to Morgana who had placed her head in her hands, almost hysterical. She had quite a soft spot for Sir Owain▬ever since he had tried to win her favour in the recent jousting tournament; and while he lost, the two of them remained friendly with one another. Odette never had the heart▬or perhaps the courage▬to tell her Owain strayed far from loyalty, and often took the chance to walk with her mistress only to let his gaze wander to her young handmaiden following behind.

    "Who was that?" spoke up Gwen softly, her voice a little choked. She looked to the Prince for an answer▬their titles crumbling apart within this room as they all tried to comprehend the night's events; for no matter where they might stand outside in that corridor, in here, they may as well consider themselves the unlikeliest of friends.

    "I don't know," muttered Arthur angrily, starting to pace Morgana's room.

    "You don't recognise the crest?"

    "No, I do not."

    "How could you not▬?"

    "Guinevere," he snapped at her and she pursed her lips, looking away, "I don't know."

     "Perhaps he is not from here," Ronyn quickly spoke up, trying to calm Arthur down before he snapped again. He shared a glance with Gwen who took a deep breath, admittedly startled by the Prince's anger. "That might explain▬perhaps he is from Odin's Kingdom. He heard of today's celebration and decided he wanted to make himself some misguided hero in the name of his brute of a King..."

    "No," Arthur set his hands on his hips, glowering at the floor, "He couldn't be."

    "Maybe he's a travelling knight?" offered Odette softly. "That's why no one recognises his crest▬it is of his own making. Maybe he was banished from his kingdom, or something..."

    Arthur spun to her, annoyed, "This is not one of your fairytales, Odette."

    She frowned back at him, a little hurt, "That is not what I meant▬I'm serious."

    Morgana stepped closer to her young handmaiden, ready to defend her▬she had enough of Arthur snapping at her servants. "Don't take this out on them, Arthur," she scolded with a cool tone. "It doesn't matter who he is. What matters is he is going to fight Owain tomorrow▬we can't let that happen."

    The Prince stopped pacing and sighed. He did not calm his anger. "We have no choice," he told her.

    The King's Ward furrowed her brows, "What do you mean we have no choice?" she demanded, furious.

    "I mean we have no choice," Arthur repeated, growing more and more livid. He stormed back up to them. "This is his fault▬he shouldn't have picked up the gauntlet!"

    "So put an end to it," stressed Morgana.

    "I can't," argued the Prince. "The challenge has been taken up the fight cannot be stopped."

    "Then fight in his place!"

     "I can't!"

    "Why not?!"

     "Owain picked up the gauntlet," Arthur started to raise his voice and Morgana set her jaw, just as stubborn. "Owain is the one who must fight. That is the knights' code. He knew that."

    Ronyn crossed his arms, swivelling his left boot against the floor. He shook his head, a little dubious, "There is something about this knight, Arthur," he said. "I can't explain it▬but I fear Owain is going to fight tomorrow completely blind to what he might face. He's going to be a dead man."

    Arthur went to say something in reply, but then he bit his tongue. He sighed with sudden defeat, his anger disappearing as he muttered, "I know," before he turned and left.

    Odette barely slept that night. She stood, peering through the small window within Morgana's antechambers down towards the grounds. The mysterious Black Knight did not move from his station. He did not flinch. He did not stir. He stood there in the darkness, his flag with his sigil blowing in the slight wind▬a flag ripped and shredded ... he made her stomach churn. There wasn't something right about him. He reminded her of a dead man standing alive once more.

    She was exhausted the next morning. The skies weren't bright▬the sunlight barely made a glimpse through the grey clouds. It was foreboding; dull and full of misery. Odette prepared Morgana in silence as Gwen left with their mistress's favour. A symbol of good luck and fortune▬to have the favour of a lady was a knight's determination to win. To have the favour of the Lady Morgana was something else. Odette didn't know whether she made it because she truly held feelings for Owain, or because she was so sure they were going to sit and watch a young man die.

    Morgana requested a mournful colour▬to match the weather, she had said. Odette knew otherwise. She dressed her in a kirtle of a pale, grey blue which made her look even paler, but she didn't care. She sighed and let her maid pin her hair away from her face, fixing the slits that ran up the side of her legs, showing a linen tunic underneath. The belt she wore was quite modest. She attached a leather pouch of coins while Odette fixed a shawl over her shoulders to keep her warm in the sudden cool weather.

    She squeezed her mistress's shoulders as she finished. "It will be all right," Odette lied straight through her teeth; hoping that maybe if she spoke it aloud, it would come to be.

    Morgana spun to her, a little tearful, "I don't understand it," she said miserably. "How can you be so hopeful when everything tells you it is otherwise?"

    The young handmaiden pursed her lips. She sighed and murmured truthfully, "Because if I don't look for hope, then I know I will be lost."

    Her brows lifted. Morgana pursed her lips and turned to the many clothes they had looked through for today. She picked one of her shawls and turned back to Odette. Before she could say anything, her mistress wrapped it around her shoulders. Morgana sighed once she did, "To keep you warm," she told her kindly.

    "Thank you," whispered Odette, not sure on what else to say.

    When Guinevere returned, the three girls travelled down to the grounds to take their place amongst the stands. The knight had moved from his still position on the grass to a still stance here. He grasped the hilt of his broadsword that was stained with something dark▬Odette feared it was blood.

    They stood waiting as the King arrived; the air solemn and apprehensive. None of them knew this knight▬they did not know what this stranger was capable of, but they all knew that whatever his intention was, it would not be good. It was not the first battle between knights with such an ill-fated ended they have watched▬but there was no gritty excitement today as there would be others.

    Uther Pendragon eyed the stranger with a grim look▬almost as if he recognised him and yet wouldn't dare admit he did, even to himself. As he sat down, Odette glimpsed something flicker in his gaze▬something he was ashamed of. But if this knight had never travelled to Camelot before; if they have never set eyes on his sigil, how could it be that the King seemed to have met this man before?

    The rest of the stands silently sat down after him. Morgana immediately grasped Gwen's hand beside her. Odette found herself glancing over her shoulder to where Ronyn usually sat▬and he locked within her exchange; what they shared was something sombre.

    Arthur followed Sir Owain to the edge of the area field. He muttered to him as he did▬desperate to give him any last minute advice that might just help him get out of this alive. The Black Knight did not even move to acknowledge his opponent had arrived; he stood still, staring at Uther in his seat with the soulless gaze behind his helm.

    Odette took a long breath through her nose as Owain came to stand opposite the Black Knight. Slowly, the stranger turned. He did not say a word.

    Arthur glanced at each of them, before he announced into the cold air, "The fight shall be to the Knights' rules ... and to the death."

    And then the Prince had to leave him. With a final glance at his knight, he made his way to the stands. He took a solemn seat at his father's side, his jaw set.

    Guards unclasped the robe from Owain's shoulders. The young knight slowly pulled his helmet down over his face▬his hand was shaking ever-so-slighty. As soon as he held up his shield and positioned his blade, the Black Knight jolted into action.

    Immediately, Odette gasped, jumping in her seat as with a mighty swing, the stranger slammed his broadsword against Owain's shield with jarring strength. He stumbled; staggering back towards the stands with his shield desperately held up above him. Already, he was closing himself in. There were a few gasps, some hitched breaths behind gloved fingers▬Odette leaned away, horrified as his back hit the wood.

    The Black Knight flung back his sword for another blow▬Owain took his chance. He scrambled to the side, wildly pushing his shield up against him; he blocked the next blow with seconds to spare. There was no time for him to aim his own; his opponent was as ruthless as much as he was skilled. He did not hesitate, he did not back away, he kept hitting and hitting and hitting▬again and again and again did his sword slam Owain's shield until a fracture splintered all the way up its centre.

    He managed to get away. Stumbling and heaving, his stance became flawed and his shoulders hunched. Odette could see he was terrified. She didn't care what he has done▬in this moment, he was just as youthful as the rest of them; just as flawed and just as human ... just as determined to prove himself. He deserved many other things for how he has treated those below him, but did he know any better? That didn't make him deserving of something like this.

    Under her breath, Guinevere whispered, "Come on, Owain..."

    The young knight spun his blade. He took a deep breath▬he shuffled back to avoid the wide arc his opponents sword made. He tried to thrust forward but had to switch his position last minute, almost falling back as the Black Knight made another shattering assault to his damaged shield.

    Owain did his best to dart forward. He swung his blade▬and for the first time the entire fight, their swords met; once, twice ... shrill sounds pierced their ears as their blades looped overhead and back down to the earth▬the Black Knight kicked Owain in his abdomen, and he hit the dirt; hard and painfully.

    Some people launched themselves to their feet, crying out with sudden horror as the knight hovered over one of their own. Odette winced as the stranger brought his sword down▬

    Sir Owain rolled away, the favour wrapped around his arm ripping amongst the loose stones on the ground. He rushed to his feet, spinning around with his shield ready before the Black Knight could make his next move.

    Arthur was getting anxious. He was on the edge of his seat; his grip on the wooden stand was rigid and tight. He watched his young recruit let himself be overwhelmed by the Black Knight's overhead blows onto his shield and furiously cried, "Come on! One well-aimed blow!"

     Owain was on his knees. He was a dead man, he knew. But he heard the Prince's command▬and so, with one final burst of courage and determination, he kept his shield up and as the Black Knight brought down his blade for another crushing hit, Owain thrusted his own forward▬

    Odette's eyes widened▬her shoulders lifted as she saw the blade pierce upwards into the Black Knight's heart. She grasped Gwen's sleeve, "He did it!" she whispered.

    Gwen frowned at her, "What do you mean...?"

    She didn't get the chance to question her. Something happened▬something wrong. Odette's brows furrowed and her stomach dropped to see Owain freeze. He stared at his opponent after he pulled his blade out, watching as he did not drop▬he did not wince or cry out. Instead, the knight only stood straighter. He flung back his blade▬

    Odette cried out, covering her face before she could see it. But she heard the gasps and the whimpering screams of shock; she heard the sound of Owain's body falling▬limp and lifeless to the ground, the Black Knight's broadsword halfway down through his chest.

    There were some sobbing, some wails▬others were horrified to silence. Odette didn't look▬she told herself not to look. She felt Guinevere shaking beside her, having seen the whole thing.

     But when she heard the stranger retrieve his blade with little struggle, crimson with fresh blood, Odette found herself pulling her hands away. She was sick to the stomach as she glimpsed at Owain's body▬she shook her head and looked away, focusing her gaze on the knight who came to stand back in front of the King.

    He tugged off his gauntlet and threw it at their feet once more. "Who will take up my challenge?" he demanded in his hollow voice.

    Arthur was fuming. He went to leap over the edge but his father grabbed his arm, forcing him back into his seat. In his place, landed another before the bloodthirsty knight. Just as livid, he grabbed the gauntlet and stood to glower through the slits of the stranger's helmet. "I, Sir Pellinor, take up the challenge."

    The Black Knight tightened his grip on his bloodied weapon. He didn't seem happy with this decision, "So be it," he said. Then his gaze snapped over to where Uther sat. They were locked in a stare that couldn't be more than a moment, but felt longer▬and Odette knew that the King had lied. He knew who this man was; and whatever happened between them, this knight had returned to finish his revenge.

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    a/n: yeah, odette's way better than me. i gave owain a brutal death for her because she aint gonna defend herself. I do love my characters guys, okay? lol.

    also girlfriends sharing clothes >>>

    please give me a pass on the birth scene at the start that is inaccurate because I have never given birth before. I usually don't write them and I have a thing against writing them because I know I'd never write them correctly and a lot of films/tv shows never do it correctly because it is a man who is writing it who never even thinks of doing research to even try and make it accurate-

     but I gave it a go. I'm letting myself use this mature tag in other ways that aren't explicit smut. 

   btw guys feel free to comment as much as you like cos I love reading comments and having conversations about my books.

    (Arthur taking only one present that reminded him of odette the boy is whIPPED-)

    we're getting closer to the 24th December and I'm not ready.