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Lanval was ten years old when his father told him that he would be Morgana’s guard instead of taking his father’s seat as Lord of Castle Fleur.

             “It’s not fair!” Lanval whined, stomping his foot hard on the red carpeted floor.

             Lord Forlæ looked up from the parchment on his desk, his eyebrow crooked at his eldest son. “You’re being given an honor far greater than a mere lordship Lanval.”

             “Being some girls guard isn’t an honor.” Lanval grumbled, looking down at his feet as he did. “Just because some old guy…”

             “That’s enough Lanval!” Lord Forlæ snapped. The man’s face twinged, before he sat back, taking a deep breath. He began to speak again, his voice more level, and gentle now. “The Wizard Ambrose entrusted the care of the late King Uther’s daughters to me, and only my eldest son would do for such a grand task.”

              Lanval kicked his feet, still avoiding eye contact with his father. “But, why?” Lanval asked, finally looking up at his father, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

              Lanval’s father stood up, almost running around his desk, and kneeling to hug his son.”shhh, shhhhh. Don’t cry lad, it’ll be alright.”

              “But, but… I just wanted to be like you daddy.” Lanval stuttered, tears streaming down his face now as his father held him tight.

              Lanval’s father pulled him, moving his hand in a circle on his son’s back as his son cried into his shirt.

Lanval was twelve the first time he met Morgana.

             The three sisters arrived on his father’s return from a hunting trip, in the small hours of the morning. Lanval was woken from his sleep by his mother, who had his armor, bow, and sword laid out for him.

              Lady Forlæ served as her son’s squire, as she clad him in armor bearing a crest different from her husbands, made specifically for the protector of the King’s children.

              Heading down the stairs, lanval and his mother made their way to the cellar where Lord Forlæ was waiting with the sisters. The oldest was maybe a year or two older than Lanval, and no taller than him. She was wearing a shabby brown cloak, but bits of a tattered red dress could be seen peeking out from underneath. She was holding in her arms the youngest sister, who couldn’t have been more than three years old. She was wrapped in an oversized cloak of similar cut to her sisters that was far too large for her. The middle child was holding the eldests free hand, and wearing a cloak that looked like it had once been a vibrant red, but had been ruined by hard travel, and had a large brown patch where a whole had been. Poking out from under her hood was long curly black hair, barely touched by the dirt that covered the eldest.

               Despite the vibrant colors of the middle sisters clothes, Lanval couldn’t remove his focus from the purple slitted eyes of the eldest girl. To him, it looked as if a powerful flame was burning in the amethyst discs as she stared at him.

               “Is this him?” The eldest asked, not taking her eyes off of Lanval

               “Yes Princess Morgana,” Lord Forlæ answered, gesturing to Lanval. “This is my son, Lanval Forlæ.”

               Morgana walked up to Lanval, leading her sister with her. “A pleasure to meet you Young Lord Forlæ,” she began, leading her sisters in a curtsy. “My name is Morgana Orkney, this is my sister Morgause, and the sleeping girl in my arms is Elaine.”

              Lanval bowed, keeping his eyes locked on Morgana’s. “The pleasure is mine your royal highnesses,” Lanval began, doing his best to remember his courtesies as they all rose back to standing. “I will give everything I have to protect you and your sisters.”

              “I am certain that you will,” Morgana replied curtly, walking back to Lord Forlæ who was finishing tying down a few crates to a small cart that had been fashioned to be pulled by an individual instead of a beast of burden.

              “You’ll have enough food for about a week, after that you’ll have to rely on hunting,” The man said, looking off into the darkness with a miserable expression on his face. The past year had not been kind to the lord, his blonde hair had gone almost entirely white, and his once bright and alert blue eyes had become sunken and dull. “Stick to streams and rivers if you can, it’ll be a good source of water as well as fish.”

              “I know father,” Lanval said, placing his mostly empty bag next to one of the small crates.

              “I’ve taught you the best I can,” Lanval’s father said, kneeling down so he was eye level with his son. “You’ll do me proud, I know it.” Lanval’s father placed a kiss on top of his sons long golden hair, before rising, his wife quickly filling the void, covering her son in kisses wet from tears.

              “I will see you again mother, I promise,” Lanval said, barely holding back the tears that were starting to fill his eyes. “Until we meet again.”

              Lanval took up the wooden handles of the cart, beginning to walk down the secret tunnel that would normally act as an emergency escape route in case of an invasion, but instead served as an escape for a different family. As they neared the exit, Lanval noticed that the sisters were beginning to lag behind.

              “I’m so sorry, you must be tired,” he realized, stopping the cart. “If you want, you can sleep in the cart, it won’t be too comfortable, but at least that way you’ll be able to rest.

              Morgana seemed like she was about to speak when Her younger sister tugged at her hand. She looked at Morgause, who seemed to whisper something Lanval couldn’t quite make out, then Morgana returned her attention to their new guard. “That would be most appreciated young Ser.” Morgana said, curtsying briefly before leading her sisters to the back of the cart. She tucked Elaine against Lanval’s bag, and then helped Morgause up, who searched for a comfortable position to lay down.

             “You should get some rest your highness,” Lanval urged as Morgana came up beside him.

             “You do not look terribly weak, but you are still just a boy,” Morgan said, grabbing one of the Cart handles. “If we are going until the morrow, you will need help.”

             “Your Highness ple…”

             “Call me Morgana,” she said, moving forward, forcing Lanval to as well. “It will make treating me like a person easier.”

             “Morgana it is then,” Lanval said, smiling at her as they walked out into the forests.

             Morgana starred at the boy for a moment, before smiling back.

Lanval was 14 when he first heard Morgana cry.

             The small group followed Lanval’s fathers advice, sticking to the rivers as often as the cart would allow. For the first few days they stayed within Lanval’s family wood, making it easy to avoid people. Eventually however, they entered free territory, land under the rule of the Forlæs, but not exclusive to the family.

            The first time they had to go into a village was to sell their cart. They hadn’t gotten much for it, but they were able to barter for a few days worth of food. The farmer they traded with asked about where the adults were, but Morgana explained that they were setting up camp a few miles down the road, and that Lanval was enough protection for the time being. They all agreed then, that they’d make up a cover ahead of time from now on.

            The next time they visited a village was when Lanval’s armor began to grow too tight for him. They managed to find a farrier who was willing to break the steal down for scrap. Lanval requested that he could keep the thin green plate coat of arms that had been small for him when his armor fit, but was quickly becoming closer to a belt buckle size. The ferrier said it wasn’t worth anything to him, not any market for something like that in a village. That didn’t dissuade Lanval however. This money was extra more than anything else.

             They bought clothes for them all with their new found wealth, since even as scrap, Lanval’s armor had more value than most farmers would see in a year. They bought simple brown dresses for Morgause and Elaine, both too big for them, giving them room to grow. Morgana bought herself trousers, and a plain tunic, and Lanval got much the same. Lanval also took this opportunity to restock his arrows, and buy some extra rope, as their supply was beginning to dwindle.

             Almost a week later, Lanval took notice of how Morgause’s changed. She whined and complained about how she missed the pretty dress she had before, and no matter how much Morgana tried to console her, she wouldn’t stop. Lanval did his best to help Morgana by keeping Elaine entertained, but he’d always have to gather food.

             On the days when they were in a good spot for fishing, he’d take Elaine with him, and even started to teach her how. He’d also take her to check the traps he’d set if they stayed somewhere long enough, being careful to carry her over any hidden triggers. Whenever he went hunting however, which was more often than not, he would have to leave her behind with her sisters, giving Morgana one more thing to worry over.

              It was the night after a particularly rough day, as Lanval was hunting most of it, and had only caught a single rabbit. They had all gone to sleep, their stomachs partially filled by the watery stew. Lanval was tracing the shape of the golden intertwining vines, his fingers bowing out as he reached the two leaves at their end. As his fingers reached the tip of the leaves, he heard a quick, sharp gasp from behind him. As he began to reach for his sword, he heard a muffled sob.

               Lanval played with the idea of going to her side, but thought better of it. Morgana was too proud, she would never admit that she was crying, and would be cross with him if he even suggested she had been. Instead, he concocted a plan.

               The next morning he made a fire to heat up what little stew they had left for breakfast. He then got ready to go for a hunt, saying that he might not be back until dinner time, and to eat some of the vegetables he’d gathered without him once it drew close to noon.

               Though he did fully intend to go hunting for game, his first mark was something different. They were near a larger village, which should’ve had exactly what he was looking for. He spent several hours looking and asking around, until he finally found his target. He spent all the gold that they had remaining, but he had ideas of other ways they could make coin.

               It was already past noon by the time Lanval made his way back to the woods, but the Gods seemed the smile on him this day. Mere minutes after he entered the brush, he discovered a set of buck tracks. He slowly followed them, deeper into the forest, an arrow half knocked in his bow. The sky was beginning to turn red when he saw it, a tall white tail, with antlers as majestic as the branches of the trees. Lanval said a quiet prayer to the goddess of the hunt as he drew his bow, and as he muttered the last word, the buck turned to look at Lanval with its big brown eye as Lanval’s arrow pierced it.

               Lanval slowly lugged the animal back to the camp, which was made easier by the whining coming from it. As he drew closer the camp, the noise suddenly dropped, and when he broke the tree line he saw Morgana, holding the knife they used for cutting the vegetables and skinning fish, Morgause holding her hand over Elaine’s mouth. Morgana relaxes her shoulders when she saw who it was, and Morgause let go of her baby sister, who ran up to Lanval excitedly, hugging his legs as he dropped the buck.

                “Careful kiddo, don’t wanna drop this thing on ya, do you?” Lanval laughed ruffling the little girls black hair.

                “I’m sowy Lanny, I missed ‘ou,” Elaine answered, burying her face in Lanvals pant leg.

                “I’m sorry, but I got something for you,” Lanval answered, separating the little girl from his leg and kneeling down, putting his bag in front of him. The little girl watched attentively as Lanval pulled out a small wooden figure of a hunter, as well as a princess. “Whenever I’m out hunting, you can play with these, okay?”

                 “Sank you So much Lanny!” Elaine squealed, throwing her arms around his neck before running over to the fire to begin playing make believe.

                 “And for you princess Morgause,” Lanval began, standing up as he pulled out a crimson cloak and handing it to the blonde. “Not as fine as your old dress, but I hope it’s some compensation.”

                 Before he could even finish the sentence, Morgause was removing the pin from her old cloak, which she let drop to the forest ground. She rapped the cloak around her shoulders, pinning it closed, so posing with it. “How do I look?”

                 “Radiant as ever your royal highness,” Lanval answered with an overly dramatic bow.

                 Morgause giggled, running off to join her little sister as Morgana picked the cloak off the ground, shaking off the dry dirt.

                 “Thank you,” she said quietly, folding the red cloak as she spoke.

                “It was no problem at all,” Lanval lies, placing his hand on his small belt pouch.

                “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but how much did all this cost?”

                “We still had some coin left after those gifts,” Lanval said before pulling out a small brass broach, with a small, unpolished amethyst encrusted in it. “But this took the rest sadly.”

                Morgana starred at the broach for a while, a rapid series of expressions going across her face. Lanval began to worry that he made the wrong decision when she gently took it from his hand.

                “My step father had a wizard named Merlin,” she began, taking off the cloak she was wearing, and putting on the red one, clasping it with the broach. “I would always study with him instead of my tutors. One time when we were talking about stones, he told me that Amethysts had the power to relieve stress, and negative emotions.”

                 “I, I honestly just thought it would look good with your eyes.” Lanval said, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling awkwardly.

                 “Well it’s sweet either way,” Morgana said, touching the cloak, that seemed to be too big for her even. “This was his.”

                 “The wizard’s?”

                 “No, my step father’s,” she said, looking wistfully at the broach before snapping back to reality. “What are we going to do about money? We don’t have much left to trade that’s worth anything to villagers, and going to bigger cities seems like a bad idea.”

                  “Well for starters, I don’t think we’re going to eat this whole deer,” Lanval started, gesturing to the buck. I can sell the half the meat to a butcher, the hide to a tanner, and the village physician should be able to make good use of the antlers. We won’t get as much as we did from my armor, but it should get us by until I find another one.”

                 “What if you don’t find one while we are near a village?”

                 “Well if the gods are kind, then that won’t happen.”

                “When are the gods ever kind?” Morgana asked turning away from him.

                Lanval wanted to say something to comfort her, but as he reached out his hand to her, he changed his mind, and turned back to the buck to begin field dressing it. “Sometimes.”

Lanval was eighteen the first time he risked his life for Morgana.

                They were nearing the border to Albion, and had made camp a few miles away from the wall.

                “So we have two options here,” Lanval said, unfurling his map next to the fire. “We can either try to scale the wall in between two checkpoints, which should be heavily guarded if news of the war is true. Or, we can take a chance that Lord Oer lets us through.”

               “Cynfarch was close friends with our father in life,” Morgause said, cheerfully. “And Morgana was engaged to his son Uriens

               “Though Lord Oer did not come to our step father’s aid when Gorlois Orkney attacked.” Morgana added, her brow furrowed as she stared at the map. “Though I don’t think scaling the wall is going to be easy either.”

               “So we’re stuck with two gambles,” Lanval said, looking at the tiny towers that marked the checkpoints, noting how close they were to each other. “Either we risk falling from a wall as some mercenary on watch cut our ropes, or hope that the reason Lord Oer didn’t come to your step father’s aid is because his keep was too far away.”

               Morgana starred at the map a while longer before looking over to her sisters. Elaine was nearing her tenth year, and though Morgause was almost Lanval’s age, she was frail and not built for climbing.

              “Let’s take our chances with Lord Oer,” Morgana said finally, looking over to Lanval.

              “Well, we don’t want to wake the Lord do we,” Lanval answered, rolling up the map and standing up. “We want him well rested, that way he’ll be in a better mood, more likely to let us past.”

              “Can you tell me a story Lanny?” Elaine asked, jumping up from her seat by the fire pit.

              “Okay, but you better go to bed right after, okay?” Lanval said, picking the little girl up before plopping down against a tree near the clearing center.

               Lanval began telling a story his mother used to tell him before he went on this journey, a lifetime ago. A story of a brave knight who fell in love with a faerie, and the jealous Queen who tried to come between them. Lanval was beginning to tell the climax of the story when the first arrow flew into the campsite, landing by the fire.

              Lanval quickly threw a blanket over Elaine, rushing over to his bow as Morgause screamed. The second arrow cane then, less than a second after the first, landing in Lanval’s shoulder. He let out a sharp gasp as his hand wrapped around his bow.

              In an instant he had knocked an arrow, and fired into the forest where the arrows had come from. He heard a scream, and another arrow came out of the forest, arched high and not hitting anything but dirt. Taking another shot in the same direction, Lanval heard the clink of steal on steal, as a man clad in black armor, an arrow in his white embedded in his white shield.

             “RUN!” Lanval shouted, dropping his bow and scrambling for his short sword. He stood up, putting himself between the knight and the sisters.

             The opposing knight didn’t give Lanval a chance to fight, throwing his spear at Lanval’s chest, but it still struck him in the shoulder without the arrow.

             Lanval collapsed to the ground, unable to keep fighting through the pain. He didn’t feel it when the black clad knight ripped the spear out of his muscle, tearing flesh and muscle as he did.

            ‘Black Knight…’ Lanval thought between the screaming in his head. He managed to turn himself so he could see the knights back. ‘Does he have a Lord? Is he a Black Knight?’

           As he watched him walk towards Morgana, who was throwing stones and sticks from the fire at him, Lanval was barely able to make out a black inverted v on his white cape, one raven occupying the bottom center, and two on either side of it. The sigil of house Oer.

           Lanval didn’t know how long he was out, but when he awoke, he was in a long dark stone hall, lit only by sparse torches. When he tried to move from his kneeling position, he realized that his arms and legs were chained to the floor, and the stress of pulling against them caused his left shoulder to go numb.

          “So the brave knight awakens!” A mocking voice said. It took a few seconds for Lanval’s eyes to adjust, but once he did, he saw a man a few years older than himself clad in all black besides the crest of house Oer emblazoned on his chest. He was sitting upon a raised dark oak thrown, cushioned with white velvet like material. Below him, was Morgana, wearing an elegant white and black dress, her only jewelry the broach Lanval bought her.

           “Are you alright Lanval?” Morgana asked, an expression akin to terror gracing her face for a moment before she composed herself.

          “I’m not dead yet,” Lanval joked, but the frog in his throat gave him reason to think he might be soon. “Are your sisters safe?”

          “The other Orkney sisters are comfortable in their chambers, no need to worry about them,” the black clad man answered, smirking down at Lanval. “I’d be more worried about yourself if I were you. You killed a king’s knight this evening.”

           “The King is dead,” Lanval answered, his brow furrowing as he looked up at the man.

           “Yes, King Uther died with no heirs, but the four kingdoms of the Angles need a ruler,” he said, standing up from his throne and extending his arms. “None of the other great Lords seized the opportunity, so why not me, Urien Oer of the Rheged. I was Betrothed to the late king’s eldest daughter after all, and now that you’ve returned her to me, I can be again.”

            “I am his step daughter Urien,” Morgana replied, removing her gaze from Lanval for a moment. “Any claim I give you will be contested by the same who would defy you without me.”

           “But it just might win over those who wish to fall in line, but fear to.”

           “And what if I refuse?” Morgana asked, putting a foot on the first step up to the throne.

           “Then I’d kill you, and marry Morgause instead,” Lanval lurched at this, pulling against the chains, but Morgana shot him a concerned yet stern look, that said stop. When Lanval obeyed, the smirk on Uriens face widened into a full smile.

           “Threats will not work on me Urien,”

           “Then perhaps a gift?” He asked, sitting back on his throne, crossing his legs as he smiled down at her. “I’ll pardon your pet of his crimes, maybe even knight him if that pleases you. I’ll even let you take him to your bed, as long as you have a son with black hair, I don’t give a damn about who the father is.”

           “Hold your tongue!” Lanval snapped, glaring up at Urien, who simply smirked in reply before turning his attention back to Morgana, who had kept her gaze square on Uriens face.

           “What shall it be?” He asked, drumming his fingers on his arm rest.

           “He’ll need his crest back,” Morgana answered. “You May be knighting him, but he will be mine, and those leaves are my brand.”

           “Morgana, please don’t…”

           “It’s a deal then,” Urien said, standing from his throne and walking towards Lanval. “Brodwin, bring him his weapons and let him out of his binds.”

The black clad knight from earlier stepped out of the shadows, holding Lanval’s weapons in his left hand. He dropped them in front of Lanval as he bent down and unshackled him with a key he produced from a belt pouch on his hip. “Dat man ye killed was m’ friend,” he whispered in Lanval’s ear before standing and stepping back a few feet.

Lanval looked at his sword, to his bow,then up at the man standing before him, and then to Morgana, who had walked up beside Urien. Lanval grabbed his sword, stood up, and walked over to Morgana before kneeling in front of her, presenting his blade to her. “I pledge my bowand life to you, Princess Morgana.”

       Morgana looked over to Urien, a sly smile dancing on her lips. He nodded, approving Lanval’s appointment.

       “Rise, Ser Lanval,” Morgana said, taking Lanval’s bow and touching the tips to each of his shoulders. “You shall perform your vigil beginning midday on the Morrow once your wound has been properly treated.”

       “I’ll have one of my physicians look at…” Urien began, before Morgana cut him off.

       “I will tend to him myself,” she said as she helped him to his feet. “Please tell my sister the good news.”

       “They shall hear of our betrothal when the break their fast,”

       “That as well, of course,” Morgana replied off handedly as she lead her new knight out of the hall, all his weapons in hand. “We shall be in my chambers if you have need of us.”

        Morgana lead Lanval through the weaving halls of the castle up to the highest tower. They’d have to pause every few minutes so that they both could breath. Lanval tried to use those moments to talk, but Morgana would hush him, saying that he needed to save his strength.

        Once they made it to her chambers, that were large, and well decorated, but absolutely coated in blacks and grays with no room for any color, Morgana slapped Lanval hard across the face.

       “What was that for?!”

       “For being such a stupid, pig headed, brave, idiot!” Morgana replied, beginning to pace the room. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

       “I promised I’d protect you with my life, I knew the risks.”

       “You were twelve!” Morgana snapped, turning back on him.

       “I’m not twelve anymore.”

       “Don’t remind me,” Morgana said, sitting on her new bed. “I took your childhood from you, it isn’t fair.”

       “You make it sound like you’ve had it easy,” Lanval said, sitting next to Morgana. “I didn’t say anything before, because I know how hard you try to stay strong for us, but when I can’t sleep at night, I hear your crying. Sometimes you’re awake, but usually you’re asleep, dreaming I think. You keep asking your father not to do something.”

      “Stop it,” Morgana said, looking away from Lanval. That’s different, you didn’t cause that, my fathers did, fighting over my mother, and now because of it our country has no king. And now because of you, the person with the best claim to the crown is Urien.”

      “Let’s not worry about that now, I have the beginnings of a plan to get us back on track,” Morgana said, her voice calm again. “Now strip.”

      “What?” Lanval asked as Morgana began unlacing the back of her dress.

      “I need to heal that wound, and it’s easier if the area is visible,” Morgana answered calmly, baring her chest as she pulled the top of her dress to her hips.

      “I guess that makes sense, but why do you need to be naked?” Lanval asked, pointedly keeping his eyes locked with Morgana’s.

      “Because I’m using magic,” Morgana answered, placing her amethyst broach next to Lanval. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

      “I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” Lanval stuttered as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Are you a witch?”

      “No, I’m a Wizard,” Morgana said, placing one hand on Lanval’s wound, and the other on the Amethyst. “A witch or a warlock gain their powers from a god, or daemon, I gained mine through studdy.”

      As she finished the sentence, she began repeating a phrase in a language lanval has never heard before. At first, nothing happened, but then Lanval began to feel an itching sensation at the edge of the wound. The itchiness became more an more intense as time went on, and slowly built to a burning. He grabbed her arm to try and get her off, but when he did, he saw that the torn flesh was moving from his shoulder up her arm. He sat there for the duration, paralyzed in horror as the wound moved across her chest, down her other arm, and then into the Amethyst.

      “There you go, all fixed up,” Morgana said before passing out into Lanval’s arms. He barely had enough time to move her to the bed before he slipped into unconsciousness as well.

Lanval was thirty one when he met the boy he’d call his son.

       Lanval was tending to his flock of sheep, enjoying the peace as he thought of his days as a Knight of the Round Table. As he brought them back into their pin, he noticed a man dressed in chainmail and a red padded hauberk emblazoned with the golden dragon of the Pendragons. In his arms was a small bundle of purple cloth

       “Are you Ser Lanval La Fey?” The man asked as Lanval closed the gate.

       “Never heard that name before,” Lanval replied, walking towards the man. “Though I can get a message to him if you need.”

       The man sighed, looking Lanval up and down? “She said you’d say that. Antonio Lincoln then?”

       “Now that would be me,” Lanval answered, leaning against his crook. “Who’s she, if I’m allowed to ask Ser.”

       “I’m not a knight Ser, but, the King’s sister Morgana,” the man answered.

       “Is that so?” Lanval said, resisting the urge to smile broadly.

       “Yes Ser,” the man said, looking down at his bundle. “She said that the notes would explain everything.”

      The man handed Lanval the bundle, which contained to letters, though Lanval didn’t notice them at first as he was distracted by the infant boy in his arms.

      “Who’s child is this?” Lanval asked, wide eyed. It had only been five months since his banishment, in he was certain that Morgana was not with child when he left.

      “All she’d tell me is his name was Thomas Arthur, and the letters had the rest,” the man said, bowing his head. “I’ll bring you an allowance on the month until you or the King say otherwise Ser.”

      Lanval watched as the man walked back to his horse by the road, his eyes still wide with confusion. The man came back after a moment with a waterskin that had a nipple like cap on it, handing it to Lanval.

      “It’s sheep milk, he’s still not eating real food yet,” the man said, looking down at the child. “I should be off now.”

      “Do you want to say goodbye?” Lanval asked, looking down at the child he was being given. “I need a few minutes to read these letters anyway.”

      “I would like that, yes, thank you,” the man answered, accepting the child back for a moment.

      Lanval took out the note that was labeled with a large 1 in Bedivere’s handwriting. It was all technical things about how much money he’d be receiving to take care of the boy, and a plan for raising and feeding the child. Bedivere did sign off his note with a bit of personal information. ‘I apologize for sentencing you to death due to the existence of a law as foolish as the disallowance of love between a Lady and her Knight, sincerely, Justiciar Bedivere Bedrysant.’

     Lanval chuckled at that, even when Bedivere was sincere, he couldn’t help but being proper. He put down the first letter, and looked at the second one. It was labeled with a large 2 in the swooping elegant handwriting of Morgana.

    The final line was simple, but it brought tears to the former knights eyes. ‘Your’s, now and forever, Morgana La Fey.’

     Eventually Andrew approached, kneeling down next to him. “Are you alright Ser?” He asked, rocking the baby back in forth.

    “Yes, just, tell her I feel the same, would you?” Lanval answered, taking the boy in his arms. “I know it sounds cliché, but this is the happiest day of my life.”

Description

Lanval was ten years old when his father told him that he would be Morgana’s guard instead of taking his father’s seat as Lord of Castle Fleur.

             “It’s not fair!” Lanval whined, stomping his foot hard on the red carpeted floor.

             Lord Forlæ looked up from the parchment on his desk, his eyebrow crooked at his eldest son. “You’re being given an honor far greater than a mere lordship Lanval.”

             “Being some girls guard isn’t an honor.” Lanval grumbled, looking down at his feet as he did. “Just because some old guy…”

             “That’s enough Lanval!” Lord Forlæ snapped. The man’s face twinged, before he sat back, taking a deep breath. He began to speak again, his voice more level, and gentle now. “The Wizard Ambrose entrusted the care of the late King Uther’s daughters to me, and only my eldest son would do for such a grand task.”

              Lanval kicked his feet, still avoiding eye contact with his father. “But, why?” Lanval asked, finally looking up at his father, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

              Lanval’s father stood up, almost running around his desk, and kneeling to hug his son.”shhh, shhhhh. Don’t cry lad, it’ll be alright.”

              “But, but… I just wanted to be like you daddy.” Lanval stuttered, tears streaming down his face now as his father held him tight.

              Lanval’s father pulled him, moving his hand in a circle on his son’s back as his son cried into his shirt.

Lanval was twelve the first time he met Morgana.

             The three sisters arrived on his father’s return from a hunting trip, in the small hours of the morning. Lanval was woken from his sleep by his mother, who had his armor, bow, and sword laid out for him.

              Lady Forlæ served as her son’s squire, as she clad him in armor bearing a crest different from her husbands, made specifically for the protector of the King’s children.

              Heading down the stairs, lanval and his mother made their way to the cellar where Lord Forlæ was waiting with the sisters. The oldest was maybe a year or two older than Lanval, and no taller than him. She was wearing a shabby brown cloak, but bits of a tattered red dress could be seen peeking out from underneath. She was holding in her arms the youngest sister, who couldn’t have been more than three years old. She was wrapped in an oversized cloak of similar cut to her sisters that was far too large for her. The middle child was holding the eldests free hand, and wearing a cloak that looked like it had once been a vibrant red, but had been ruined by hard travel, and had a large brown patch where a whole had been. Poking out from under her hood was long curly black hair, barely touched by the dirt that covered the eldest.

               Despite the vibrant colors of the middle sisters clothes, Lanval couldn’t remove his focus from the purple slitted eyes of the eldest girl. To him, it looked as if a powerful flame was burning in the amethyst discs as she stared at him.

               “Is this him?” The eldest asked, not taking her eyes off of Lanval

               “Yes Princess Morgana,” Lord Forlæ answered, gesturing to Lanval. “This is my son, Lanval Forlæ.”

               Morgana walked up to Lanval, leading her sister with her. “A pleasure to meet you Young Lord Forlæ,” she began, leading her sisters in a curtsy. “My name is Morgana Orkney, this is my sister Morgause, and the sleeping girl in my arms is Elaine.”

              Lanval bowed, keeping his eyes locked on Morgana’s. “The pleasure is mine your royal highnesses,” Lanval began, doing his best to remember his courtesies as they all rose back to standing. “I will give everything I have to protect you and your sisters.”

              “I am certain that you will,” Morgana replied curtly, walking back to Lord Forlæ who was finishing tying down a few crates to a small cart that had been fashioned to be pulled by an individual instead of a beast of burden.

              “You’ll have enough food for about a week, after that you’ll have to rely on hunting,” The man said, looking off into the darkness with a miserable expression on his face. The past year had not been kind to the lord, his blonde hair had gone almost entirely white, and his once bright and alert blue eyes had become sunken and dull. “Stick to streams and rivers if you can, it’ll be a good source of water as well as fish.”

              “I know father,” Lanval said, placing his mostly empty bag next to one of the small crates.

              “I’ve taught you the best I can,” Lanval’s father said, kneeling down so he was eye level with his son. “You’ll do me proud, I know it.” Lanval’s father placed a kiss on top of his sons long golden hair, before rising, his wife quickly filling the void, covering her son in kisses wet from tears.

              “I will see you again mother, I promise,” Lanval said, barely holding back the tears that were starting to fill his eyes. “Until we meet again.”

              Lanval took up the wooden handles of the cart, beginning to walk down the secret tunnel that would normally act as an emergency escape route in case of an invasion, but instead served as an escape for a different family. As they neared the exit, Lanval noticed that the sisters were beginning to lag behind.

              “I’m so sorry, you must be tired,” he realized, stopping the cart. “If you want, you can sleep in the cart, it won’t be too comfortable, but at least that way you’ll be able to rest.

              Morgana seemed like she was about to speak when Her younger sister tugged at her hand. She looked at Morgause, who seemed to whisper something Lanval couldn’t quite make out, then Morgana returned her attention to their new guard. “That would be most appreciated young Ser.” Morgana said, curtsying briefly before leading her sisters to the back of the cart. She tucked Elaine against Lanval’s bag, and then helped Morgause up, who searched for a comfortable position to lay down.

             “You should get some rest your highness,” Lanval urged as Morgana came up beside him.

             “You do not look terribly weak, but you are still just a boy,” Morgan said, grabbing one of the Cart handles. “If we are going until the morrow, you will need help.”

             “Your Highness ple…”

             “Call me Morgana,” she said, moving forward, forcing Lanval to as well. “It will make treating me like a person easier.”

             “Morgana it is then,” Lanval said, smiling at her as they walked out into the forests.

             Morgana starred at the boy for a moment, before smiling back.

Lanval was 14 when he first heard Morgana cry.

             The small group followed Lanval’s fathers advice, sticking to the rivers as often as the cart would allow. For the first few days they stayed within Lanval’s family wood, making it easy to avoid people. Eventually however, they entered free territory, land under the rule of the Forlæs, but not exclusive to the family.

            The first time they had to go into a village was to sell their cart. They hadn’t gotten much for it, but they were able to barter for a few days worth of food. The farmer they traded with asked about where the adults were, but Morgana explained that they were setting up camp a few miles down the road, and that Lanval was enough protection for the time being. They all agreed then, that they’d make up a cover ahead of time from now on.

            The next time they visited a village was when Lanval’s armor began to grow too tight for him. They managed to find a farrier who was willing to break the steal down for scrap. Lanval requested that he could keep the thin green plate coat of arms that had been small for him when his armor fit, but was quickly becoming closer to a belt buckle size. The ferrier said it wasn’t worth anything to him, not any market for something like that in a village. That didn’t dissuade Lanval however. This money was extra more than anything else.

             They bought clothes for them all with their new found wealth, since even as scrap, Lanval’s armor had more value than most farmers would see in a year. They bought simple brown dresses for Morgause and Elaine, both too big for them, giving them room to grow. Morgana bought herself trousers, and a plain tunic, and Lanval got much the same. Lanval also took this opportunity to restock his arrows, and buy some extra rope, as their supply was beginning to dwindle.

             Almost a week later, Lanval took notice of how Morgause’s changed. She whined and complained about how she missed the pretty dress she had before, and no matter how much Morgana tried to console her, she wouldn’t stop. Lanval did his best to help Morgana by keeping Elaine entertained, but he’d always have to gather food.

             On the days when they were in a good spot for fishing, he’d take Elaine with him, and even started to teach her how. He’d also take her to check the traps he’d set if they stayed somewhere long enough, being careful to carry her over any hidden triggers. Whenever he went hunting however, which was more often than not, he would have to leave her behind with her sisters, giving Morgana one more thing to worry over.

              It was the night after a particularly rough day, as Lanval was hunting most of it, and had only caught a single rabbit. They had all gone to sleep, their stomachs partially filled by the watery stew. Lanval was tracing the shape of the golden intertwining vines, his fingers bowing out as he reached the two leaves at their end. As his fingers reached the tip of the leaves, he heard a quick, sharp gasp from behind him. As he began to reach for his sword, he heard a muffled sob.

               Lanval played with the idea of going to her side, but thought better of it. Morgana was too proud, she would never admit that she was crying, and would be cross with him if he even suggested she had been. Instead, he concocted a plan.

               The next morning he made a fire to heat up what little stew they had left for breakfast. He then got ready to go for a hunt, saying that he might not be back until dinner time, and to eat some of the vegetables he’d gathered without him once it drew close to noon.

               Though he did fully intend to go hunting for game, his first mark was something different. They were near a larger village, which should’ve had exactly what he was looking for. He spent several hours looking and asking around, until he finally found his target. He spent all the gold that they had remaining, but he had ideas of other ways they could make coin.

               It was already past noon by the time Lanval made his way back to the woods, but the Gods seemed the smile on him this day. Mere minutes after he entered the brush, he discovered a set of buck tracks. He slowly followed them, deeper into the forest, an arrow half knocked in his bow. The sky was beginning to turn red when he saw it, a tall white tail, with antlers as majestic as the branches of the trees. Lanval said a quiet prayer to the goddess of the hunt as he drew his bow, and as he muttered the last word, the buck turned to look at Lanval with its big brown eye as Lanval’s arrow pierced it.

               Lanval slowly lugged the animal back to the camp, which was made easier by the whining coming from it. As he drew closer the camp, the noise suddenly dropped, and when he broke the tree line he saw Morgana, holding the knife they used for cutting the vegetables and skinning fish, Morgause holding her hand over Elaine’s mouth. Morgana relaxes her shoulders when she saw who it was, and Morgause let go of her baby sister, who ran up to Lanval excitedly, hugging his legs as he dropped the buck.

                “Careful kiddo, don’t wanna drop this thing on ya, do you?” Lanval laughed ruffling the little girls black hair.

                “I’m sowy Lanny, I missed ‘ou,” Elaine answered, burying her face in Lanvals pant leg.

                “I’m sorry, but I got something for you,” Lanval answered, separating the little girl from his leg and kneeling down, putting his bag in front of him. The little girl watched attentively as Lanval pulled out a small wooden figure of a hunter, as well as a princess. “Whenever I’m out hunting, you can play with these, okay?”

                 “Sank you So much Lanny!” Elaine squealed, throwing her arms around his neck before running over to the fire to begin playing make believe.

                 “And for you princess Morgause,” Lanval began, standing up as he pulled out a crimson cloak and handing it to the blonde. “Not as fine as your old dress, but I hope it’s some compensation.”

                 Before he could even finish the sentence, Morgause was removing the pin from her old cloak, which she let drop to the forest ground. She rapped the cloak around her shoulders, pinning it closed, so posing with it. “How do I look?”

                 “Radiant as ever your royal highness,” Lanval answered with an overly dramatic bow.

                 Morgause giggled, running off to join her little sister as Morgana picked the cloak off the ground, shaking off the dry dirt.

                 “Thank you,” she said quietly, folding the red cloak as she spoke.

                “It was no problem at all,” Lanval lies, placing his hand on his small belt pouch.

                “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but how much did all this cost?”

                “We still had some coin left after those gifts,” Lanval said before pulling out a small brass broach, with a small, unpolished amethyst encrusted in it. “But this took the rest sadly.”

                Morgana starred at the broach for a while, a rapid series of expressions going across her face. Lanval began to worry that he made the wrong decision when she gently took it from his hand.

                “My step father had a wizard named Merlin,” she began, taking off the cloak she was wearing, and putting on the red one, clasping it with the broach. “I would always study with him instead of my tutors. One time when we were talking about stones, he told me that Amethysts had the power to relieve stress, and negative emotions.”

                 “I, I honestly just thought it would look good with your eyes.” Lanval said, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling awkwardly.

                 “Well it’s sweet either way,” Morgana said, touching the cloak, that seemed to be too big for her even. “This was his.”

                 “The wizard’s?”

                 “No, my step father’s,” she said, looking wistfully at the broach before snapping back to reality. “What are we going to do about money? We don’t have much left to trade that’s worth anything to villagers, and going to bigger cities seems like a bad idea.”

                  “Well for starters, I don’t think we’re going to eat this whole deer,” Lanval started, gesturing to the buck. I can sell the half the meat to a butcher, the hide to a tanner, and the village physician should be able to make good use of the antlers. We won’t get as much as we did from my armor, but it should get us by until I find another one.”

                 “What if you don’t find one while we are near a village?”

                 “Well if the gods are kind, then that won’t happen.”

                “When are the gods ever kind?” Morgana asked turning away from him.

                Lanval wanted to say something to comfort her, but as he reached out his hand to her, he changed his mind, and turned back to the buck to begin field dressing it. “Sometimes.”

Lanval was eighteen the first time he risked his life for Morgana.

                They were nearing the border to Albion, and had made camp a few miles away from the wall.

                “So we have two options here,” Lanval said, unfurling his map next to the fire. “We can either try to scale the wall in between two checkpoints, which should be heavily guarded if news of the war is true. Or, we can take a chance that Lord Oer lets us through.”

               “Cynfarch was close friends with our father in life,” Morgause said, cheerfully. “And Morgana was engaged to his son Uriens

               “Though Lord Oer did not come to our step father’s aid when Gorlois Orkney attacked.” Morgana added, her brow furrowed as she stared at the map. “Though I don’t think scaling the wall is going to be easy either.”

               “So we’re stuck with two gambles,” Lanval said, looking at the tiny towers that marked the checkpoints, noting how close they were to each other. “Either we risk falling from a wall as some mercenary on watch cut our ropes, or hope that the reason Lord Oer didn’t come to your step father’s aid is because his keep was too far away.”

               Morgana starred at the map a while longer before looking over to her sisters. Elaine was nearing her tenth year, and though Morgause was almost Lanval’s age, she was frail and not built for climbing.

              “Let’s take our chances with Lord Oer,” Morgana said finally, looking over to Lanval.

              “Well, we don’t want to wake the Lord do we,” Lanval answered, rolling up the map and standing up. “We want him well rested, that way he’ll be in a better mood, more likely to let us past.”

              “Can you tell me a story Lanny?” Elaine asked, jumping up from her seat by the fire pit.

              “Okay, but you better go to bed right after, okay?” Lanval said, picking the little girl up before plopping down against a tree near the clearing center.

               Lanval began telling a story his mother used to tell him before he went on this journey, a lifetime ago. A story of a brave knight who fell in love with a faerie, and the jealous Queen who tried to come between them. Lanval was beginning to tell the climax of the story when the first arrow flew into the campsite, landing by the fire.

              Lanval quickly threw a blanket over Elaine, rushing over to his bow as Morgause screamed. The second arrow cane then, less than a second after the first, landing in Lanval’s shoulder. He let out a sharp gasp as his hand wrapped around his bow.

              In an instant he had knocked an arrow, and fired into the forest where the arrows had come from. He heard a scream, and another arrow came out of the forest, arched high and not hitting anything but dirt. Taking another shot in the same direction, Lanval heard the clink of steal on steal, as a man clad in black armor, an arrow in his white embedded in his white shield.

             “RUN!” Lanval shouted, dropping his bow and scrambling for his short sword. He stood up, putting himself between the knight and the sisters.

             The opposing knight didn’t give Lanval a chance to fight, throwing his spear at Lanval’s chest, but it still struck him in the shoulder without the arrow.

             Lanval collapsed to the ground, unable to keep fighting through the pain. He didn’t feel it when the black clad knight ripped the spear out of his muscle, tearing flesh and muscle as he did.

            ‘Black Knight…’ Lanval thought between the screaming in his head. He managed to turn himself so he could see the knights back. ‘Does he have a Lord? Is he a Black Knight?’

           As he watched him walk towards Morgana, who was throwing stones and sticks from the fire at him, Lanval was barely able to make out a black inverted v on his white cape, one raven occupying the bottom center, and two on either side of it. The sigil of house Oer.

           Lanval didn’t know how long he was out, but when he awoke, he was in a long dark stone hall, lit only by sparse torches. When he tried to move from his kneeling position, he realized that his arms and legs were chained to the floor, and the stress of pulling against them caused his left shoulder to go numb.

          “So the brave knight awakens!” A mocking voice said. It took a few seconds for Lanval’s eyes to adjust, but once he did, he saw a man a few years older than himself clad in all black besides the crest of house Oer emblazoned on his chest. He was sitting upon a raised dark oak thrown, cushioned with white velvet like material. Below him, was Morgana, wearing an elegant white and black dress, her only jewelry the broach Lanval bought her.

           “Are you alright Lanval?” Morgana asked, an expression akin to terror gracing her face for a moment before she composed herself.

          “I’m not dead yet,” Lanval joked, but the frog in his throat gave him reason to think he might be soon. “Are your sisters safe?”

          “The other Orkney sisters are comfortable in their chambers, no need to worry about them,” the black clad man answered, smirking down at Lanval. “I’d be more worried about yourself if I were you. You killed a king’s knight this evening.”

           “The King is dead,” Lanval answered, his brow furrowing as he looked up at the man.

           “Yes, King Uther died with no heirs, but the four kingdoms of the Angles need a ruler,” he said, standing up from his throne and extending his arms. “None of the other great Lords seized the opportunity, so why not me, Urien Oer of the Rheged. I was Betrothed to the late king’s eldest daughter after all, and now that you’ve returned her to me, I can be again.”

            “I am his step daughter Urien,” Morgana replied, removing her gaze from Lanval for a moment. “Any claim I give you will be contested by the same who would defy you without me.”

           “But it just might win over those who wish to fall in line, but fear to.”

           “And what if I refuse?” Morgana asked, putting a foot on the first step up to the throne.

           “Then I’d kill you, and marry Morgause instead,” Lanval lurched at this, pulling against the chains, but Morgana shot him a concerned yet stern look, that said stop. When Lanval obeyed, the smirk on Uriens face widened into a full smile.

           “Threats will not work on me Urien,”

           “Then perhaps a gift?” He asked, sitting back on his throne, crossing his legs as he smiled down at her. “I’ll pardon your pet of his crimes, maybe even knight him if that pleases you. I’ll even let you take him to your bed, as long as you have a son with black hair, I don’t give a damn about who the father is.”

           “Hold your tongue!” Lanval snapped, glaring up at Urien, who simply smirked in reply before turning his attention back to Morgana, who had kept her gaze square on Uriens face.

           “What shall it be?” He asked, drumming his fingers on his arm rest.

           “He’ll need his crest back,” Morgana answered. “You May be knighting him, but he will be mine, and those leaves are my brand.”

           “Morgana, please don’t…”

           “It’s a deal then,” Urien said, standing from his throne and walking towards Lanval. “Brodwin, bring him his weapons and let him out of his binds.”

The black clad knight from earlier stepped out of the shadows, holding Lanval’s weapons in his left hand. He dropped them in front of Lanval as he bent down and unshackled him with a key he produced from a belt pouch on his hip. “Dat man ye killed was m’ friend,” he whispered in Lanval’s ear before standing and stepping back a few feet.

Lanval looked at his sword, to his bow,then up at the man standing before him, and then to Morgana, who had walked up beside Urien. Lanval grabbed his sword, stood up, and walked over to Morgana before kneeling in front of her, presenting his blade to her. “I pledge my bowand life to you, Princess Morgana.”

       Morgana looked over to Urien, a sly smile dancing on her lips. He nodded, approving Lanval’s appointment.

       “Rise, Ser Lanval,” Morgana said, taking Lanval’s bow and touching the tips to each of his shoulders. “You shall perform your vigil beginning midday on the Morrow once your wound has been properly treated.”

       “I’ll have one of my physicians look at…” Urien began, before Morgana cut him off.

       “I will tend to him myself,” she said as she helped him to his feet. “Please tell my sister the good news.”

       “They shall hear of our betrothal when the break their fast,”

       “That as well, of course,” Morgana replied off handedly as she lead her new knight out of the hall, all his weapons in hand. “We shall be in my chambers if you have need of us.”

        Morgana lead Lanval through the weaving halls of the castle up to the highest tower. They’d have to pause every few minutes so that they both could breath. Lanval tried to use those moments to talk, but Morgana would hush him, saying that he needed to save his strength.

        Once they made it to her chambers, that were large, and well decorated, but absolutely coated in blacks and grays with no room for any color, Morgana slapped Lanval hard across the face.

       “What was that for?!”

       “For being such a stupid, pig headed, brave, idiot!” Morgana replied, beginning to pace the room. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

       “I promised I’d protect you with my life, I knew the risks.”

       “You were twelve!” Morgana snapped, turning back on him.

       “I’m not twelve anymore.”

       “Don’t remind me,” Morgana said, sitting on her new bed. “I took your childhood from you, it isn’t fair.”

       “You make it sound like you’ve had it easy,” Lanval said, sitting next to Morgana. “I didn’t say anything before, because I know how hard you try to stay strong for us, but when I can’t sleep at night, I hear your crying. Sometimes you’re awake, but usually you’re asleep, dreaming I think. You keep asking your father not to do something.”

      “Stop it,” Morgana said, looking away from Lanval. That’s different, you didn’t cause that, my fathers did, fighting over my mother, and now because of it our country has no king. And now because of you, the person with the best claim to the crown is Urien.”

      “Let’s not worry about that now, I have the beginnings of a plan to get us back on track,” Morgana said, her voice calm again. “Now strip.”

      “What?” Lanval asked as Morgana began unlacing the back of her dress.

      “I need to heal that wound, and it’s easier if the area is visible,” Morgana answered calmly, baring her chest as she pulled the top of her dress to her hips.

      “I guess that makes sense, but why do you need to be naked?” Lanval asked, pointedly keeping his eyes locked with Morgana’s.

      “Because I’m using magic,” Morgana answered, placing her amethyst broach next to Lanval. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

      “I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” Lanval stuttered as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Are you a witch?”

      “No, I’m a Wizard,” Morgana said, placing one hand on Lanval’s wound, and the other on the Amethyst. “A witch or a warlock gain their powers from a god, or daemon, I gained mine through studdy.”

      As she finished the sentence, she began repeating a phrase in a language lanval has never heard before. At first, nothing happened, but then Lanval began to feel an itching sensation at the edge of the wound. The itchiness became more an more intense as time went on, and slowly built to a burning. He grabbed her arm to try and get her off, but when he did, he saw that the torn flesh was moving from his shoulder up her arm. He sat there for the duration, paralyzed in horror as the wound moved across her chest, down her other arm, and then into the Amethyst.

      “There you go, all fixed up,” Morgana said before passing out into Lanval’s arms. He barely had enough time to move her to the bed before he slipped into unconsciousness as well.

Lanval was thirty one when he met the boy he’d call his son.

       Lanval was tending to his flock of sheep, enjoying the peace as he thought of his days as a Knight of the Round Table. As he brought them back into their pin, he noticed a man dressed in chainmail and a red padded hauberk emblazoned with the golden dragon of the Pendragons. In his arms was a small bundle of purple cloth

       “Are you Ser Lanval La Fey?” The man asked as Lanval closed the gate.

       “Never heard that name before,” Lanval replied, walking towards the man. “Though I can get a message to him if you need.”

       The man sighed, looking Lanval up and down? “She said you’d say that. Antonio Lincoln then?”

       “Now that would be me,” Lanval answered, leaning against his crook. “Who’s she, if I’m allowed to ask Ser.”

       “I’m not a knight Ser, but, the King’s sister Morgana,” the man answered.

       “Is that so?” Lanval said, resisting the urge to smile broadly.

       “Yes Ser,” the man said, looking down at his bundle. “She said that the notes would explain everything.”

      The man handed Lanval the bundle, which contained to letters, though Lanval didn’t notice them at first as he was distracted by the infant boy in his arms.

      “Who’s child is this?” Lanval asked, wide eyed. It had only been five months since his banishment, in he was certain that Morgana was not with child when he left.

      “All she’d tell me is his name was Thomas Arthur, and the letters had the rest,” the man said, bowing his head. “I’ll bring you an allowance on the month until you or the King say otherwise Ser.”

      Lanval watched as the man walked back to his horse by the road, his eyes still wide with confusion. The man came back after a moment with a waterskin that had a nipple like cap on it, handing it to Lanval.

      “It’s sheep milk, he’s still not eating real food yet,” the man said, looking down at the child. “I should be off now.”

      “Do you want to say goodbye?” Lanval asked, looking down at the child he was being given. “I need a few minutes to read these letters anyway.”

      “I would like that, yes, thank you,” the man answered, accepting the child back for a moment.

      Lanval took out the note that was labeled with a large 1 in Bedivere’s handwriting. It was all technical things about how much money he’d be receiving to take care of the boy, and a plan for raising and feeding the child. Bedivere did sign off his note with a bit of personal information. ‘I apologize for sentencing you to death due to the existence of a law as foolish as the disallowance of love between a Lady and her Knight, sincerely, Justiciar Bedivere Bedrysant.’

     Lanval chuckled at that, even when Bedivere was sincere, he couldn’t help but being proper. He put down the first letter, and looked at the second one. It was labeled with a large 2 in the swooping elegant handwriting of Morgana.

    The final line was simple, but it brought tears to the former knights eyes. ‘Your’s, now and forever, Morgana La Fey.’

     Eventually Andrew approached, kneeling down next to him. “Are you alright Ser?” He asked, rocking the baby back in forth.

    “Yes, just, tell her I feel the same, would you?” Lanval answered, taking the boy in his arms. “I know it sounds cliché, but this is the happiest day of my life.”