Blood of the Sword

Lancelot spoke to Gabe. "Quite ideal. I thank you." His hand made its way to the younger man's arm. "Shall I persist in my disrespect and continue to refer to you as Gabe, or will Prince Gabriel suffice for your new status?" A look that passed for humor crossed his face.

Why does he even bother asking? Galahad thought crossly. Of course Gabe will always want us to call him Gabe. He's practically your son... The son you always wanted.

"Would you desire to be seated beside me, Gala?" He turned to face her and there was a remote change in his expression, as if he saw someone else for a moment. "If you wish." Though there was the flint of command in his gaze, the man's tone suggested he allowed her choice.

His daughter blinked in surprise. First, he had not used a pet name for her in many days. Even more surprising, the possibility of a choice had not often been given to her. But she already knew her answer. It was worth enduring her father's disapproving scowl to see the king.

"I would be honored to sit beside you, father." Her voice unconsciously took on a more refined way of speaking. Uncomfortable under his piercing blue gaze, she turned to slide back into place the plates she had messed up during her rush to congratulate Gabe. At least Blair seemed to be absorbed in her own thoughts, although she had a feeling the princess's cold anger was more easily controlled than her own flashing temper.

Behind her, she heard the deep laugh of the king; he was probably making his way towards the dais. She smiled. This is Gabe's night of triumph, and I'm not letting anything stop him from enjoying it, she reminded herself.

Blood of the Sword

The refined woman of the court accent. He'd heard it before out of Galahad, anytime she spoke to her father she instantly adjusted her demeanor, just to please him. It was disgusting and wrong, Gabe had always thought. And tonight, it hit him just as hard. No daughter should ever have to do what Galahad did every day. The worst part of the whole deal for Gabe, was that he knew that he was the cause of much of it.

"Sir, you know that I'll always consider myself Gabe, not this alter-ego you speak of." He smiled, hoping that his small attempt at humor would put his mentor at ease and make Galahad's night just a bit easier. At the very least, he'd be shifting Lancelot's attention onto himself.

---

Clang. Clang. Clang. Sizzle.

Lionel Walter Godfrey removed the hunk of metal from the cooling tank and carefully moved it back to his anvil where he beat on it some more, molding the shapeless ore into a thing of beauty.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

"Knock knock? Lionel, I thought I told you to take the night off." Walt turned, looking over his shoulder in order to get a good look at Batholomew, his teacher.

"Well sir, this sword was sitting here looking all lonely like, I figured it could use some company. Besides, it was supposed to be done tonight. Arthur is counting on us."

Bart moved over to the work desk and put on a pair of gloves. "Can I take a look?" Walt turned back to his work in progress and picked it up, presenting it to his mentor and boss.

"Ah, I see you have been using the new technique I taught you. It should make this blade ten times stronger than if you had used the old process." Walt gave a half-smile, his lips firmly pressed together. He knew exactly why he was using this new style of metal-working.

"And lighter as well. It'll feel like an extension of the users arm, I've figured out how to remove the impurities in the blade. That'll make it more flexible and less brittle so the weapon will break less."

"And augmented with magic, it will be fit for a king. Or a Prince for that matter," Bart handed the blade back. "This one, I think will do."

"Which is why, I must finish this tonight."

"My boy, I am worried that you are becoming hard. Like this blade. And your edge becoming sharper than ever. Your serve your purpose like an extension of my arm- perfectly. Do not let your purpose control your life."

Walt set the blade down and picked up his hammer again, "yes my master."

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Batholomew left the boy to his work.

Blood of the Sword

Camelot was alive. The castle echoed with voices and footsteps, torchlight blazed everywhere, the lilt of music and laughter floated up from the city below, and crouched in a corner, the Lady Gaheris was fighting an intense battle with her shoelace.

It was her own fault, really. She'd squeezed herself into the middle of the enthralled crowd watching Prince Gabriel receive his knighting in the great hall. At the grand moment when the king touched Excalibur to the prince's shoulders, an overexcited young man had unceremoniously pushed his way to the front for a better view, stepping on about a dozen feet along the way. In his rush, he'd somehow managed to catch his toe in her shoelace and snap it in half. He had blushed till he looked like a tomato and apologized profusely but the damage was done.

She considered just leaving it, but spending the entire banquet with her slipper flapping off her foot was not an option either. Muttering under her breath, Eri bit off one end of the lace and tied the rest together in a clumsy knot. That would have to do.

A sudden swell of noise from the nearby banquet hall echoed and Eri jumped. Judging by the sound, the hall was rapidly filling and the king and queen would be arriving any moment.

Eri cast a quick look around, but the hallway was deserted. No one around to see her. Eyes glinting, she gathered her dark red skirts up and broke into a full run.

She dashed headlong down the corridor, the heavy pendant around her neck bouncing against her throat with each step. The pendant, a finely worked falcon in gold, was one of the few Lothian heirlooms she possessed and she had thrown it on at the last moment for the celebration.

Just as she reached the door to the hall, it flew wildly up and smacked her hard in the nose. Eri drew to a stop, laughing breathlessly and ruefully rubbing her nose, but the growing noise in the hall gave her no time to pause. She hastily rounded the corner into the banquet hall and hurried up the stairs of the royal dais.

The tension at the table was already obvious. Eri stifled a sigh at the thought of the long evening full of polite nothings and unspoken rivalry between people who were siblings in name only. She knew little of the prince Gabriel and even less of his friend Galahad and her famous father Sir Lancelot. As for Gawain...he had been absent training for his knighthood for nearly all her growing-up years and had returned as a man with little resemblance to her fuzzy memories of him as a little girl. She knew her horse better than she did her own brother. And there did not seem to be much chance of mending that, for Gawain was always absorbed now in navigating the thorny labyrinth of Princess Blair's personality. For a moment a hint of loneliness tried to rear its ugly head, and suddenly she missed Gareth. At least he was not a stranger.

But there was no time for that now. Shoving the ache down, Eri put a careful smile on and resolved to be courteous. Tonight was Camelot's night, the prince's night, and she would not stir the waters. "I'm late," she said simply as she reached the table, "my apologies." Eri dropped a low curtsy in the direction of the prince and princess. "Your highnesses." Before the silence could grow awkward, she slipped into the seat on Gawain's other side.

Blood of the Sword
Gawain caught sight of his sister Gaheris over his shoulder. “I'm late,” she said simply as she reached the table, “my apologies.”

“Hello, Eri.” Gawain spared a smile for his younger sister. “You are forgiven.” Gaheris—no, Eri, he reminded himself—slipped into the seat to his left, adjusting her skirts. “Did you make it here all right?” He asked with a hint of a smile.

________

The imminence of the royal banquet, as well as fiddling with her silverware, proved to be a lovely distraction for Blair from her tangled-up emotions. That is, until Eri entered and made her way to the table. This banquet was going to be difficult for Blair for many reasons, and most of those reasons seemed to be seated at the royal dais.

Eri curtsied to her, which Blair hated almost as much as the title princess itself. Especially receiving such a formality from someone who used to be one of her closest friends. She mechanically responded to Eri with a polite nod, merely out of habit.

Eri slipped into the seat next to Gawain, and Gawain and Eri exchanged a few words of greeting. Blair opened her mouth, not sure what to say, and then shut it again. Instead, she dropped her gaze to the spoon she held in her lap and studied the intricate scrollwork on the handle.

“Blair.”

She looked up at the sound of Gawain’s voice. He was giving her a parental look, one she’d seen from her father many times, a look that conveyed what was expected of her. Blair’s mouth dropped open a bit, but then she clamped her jaw shut for a moment before speaking. “Good day, Eri. I hope this evening finds you well.”

She dropped her gaze to the table, swallowing hard. Her mouth suddenly went dry, but there was no water in the ornate goblet sitting in front of her—the nicest glassware the castle owned. She glanced toward the door. When would the banquet start?

Gawain elbowed her, lowering her voice. “What is wrong? Are you nervous about the announcement?”

“I—It’s just…” She shook her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s a lot of things.”

A slow stream of guests started to trickle in, and the horns blew, heralding the arrival of the king and queen. This provided another good distraction, reminding her of the life-changing evening that was about to unfold. Blair tucked a strand of hair back into her ridiculously ornate hairstyle and then clasped her hands in her lap. It was show time.

Blood of the Sword

The horns blew, signaling the arrival of his parents and signaling to Gabriel that it was time to take his seat. Which he proceeded to do, via circumnavigation of the end of the table. Nothing nearly as cool as what Galahad had done, leaping over. But his method was significantly less messy.

On his left would be his family, people he barely knew. And to his right, would be the only family he had ever known. Tonight would be a confusing event indeed, he was torn between two worlds. Like a game of tug-a-war. However, this war wasn't fair. The Pendragon team had significantly more weight behind it and therefore it was winning the contest.

Gabe had not been sitting for three seconds, when the trumpets sounded again. Three times and then he stood, simultaneously with everyone else in the room. And directed his attention towards the entrance, where Arthur and his bride would appear shortly.

"Announcing, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere." A herald yelled as he walked through entrance way, in his hands he held the banner of the crown. He was followed by the King, walking hand in hand with his Queen. Silence followed them as they walked to their seats.

"Well, I'm not always late. But when I am, I am." Quipped Guinevere, causing the whole court to erupt into laughter. Gabriel included.

"Lets eat!" she concluded, taking her seat promptly.

Blood of the Sword
Blair watched as her parents entered the room hand-in-hand and crossed the banquet hall to the royal dais. Their entrance was accompanied by much decorum, right down to the banner the herald carried with the royal family’s coat of arms emblazoned across it. Along with their entrance, the pressure of this banquet and her impending betrothal became all the more real. After this, she’d be tethered to Gawain for good. Butterflies danced in her stomach at the thought.

But no matter how she felt, she was still on display. Blair knew what was expected of her, so she stuffed her emotions down and played the part of princess. She directed a practiced smile towards her parents as they took their seats, and politely chuckled along with the audience at her mother’s joke. “Well, I’m not always late. But when I am, I am. Let’s eat!”

The doors on both sides of the chambers opened and filled the room with servants carrying platters full of food—and for the first time all night, Blair was relieved. The banquet was starting. It would all be over soon.

As was custom, the royal family was served first, and then the peasants. Fried chicken, vegetables, and mashed potatoes were among some of the dishes served during the first course.

Blair looked at her plate after it had been filled, her eyebrows lowering a fraction. How on earth was she supposed to eat fried chicken like a princess?

She gingerly picked up a drumstick and took a small bite, earning an encouraging nod from her mother. At least I’m doing something right.

She set the drumstick back down, grease and breaded crumbs sticking to her fingers. She glanced to make sure no one was looking and then licked them as discreetly as possible.

“I saw that,” her mother said quietly. “Also, your arms are touching the table, my dear.”

Her mother’s voice was quiet and cool and calm and not at all rude, but Blair still felt frustration well up in her. She wanted to punch something, or swing her sword at the wooden pillar in the courtyard, while simultaneously wanting to cry. She held back the tears, closing her eyes for a moment to block out the clamor in the banquet hall. Nobody sees how hard I’m trying! I’m... I’m trying so hard.

A few moments passed as the entire royal table continued their meal, and Blair was glad for the few moments of silence. The citizens of Camelot, dining below the dais, still expected her to look smart, cool, and collected, of course, but at least she didn’t have to speak. It was a relief to be able to breathe, if only for a few precious seconds.

“How was your day?” Guinevere had the audacity to ask, looking at Blair as if this was perfectly normal, as if this banquet was utter perfection instead of Blair’s dream falling to pieces. As if nothing about this banquet was so terribly, terribly wrong.

Blair dropped her gaze to the table. “Fine.”

“Just fine?” Guin asked.

Blair raised her head to meet her mother’s gaze again, and for a moment her defenses crumbled. This was hardly the time or place, but looking at her mother’s caring brown eyes and smile, Blair was very nearly convinced to open up to her like she had many times before. After a few moments of an inner war, her desire to be heard won out.

She shook her head. “No, actually, it—”

Her father’s deep voice unceremoniously interrupted any notions Blair had of spilling all her troubles. “I’d like to propose a quiet toast, with the people that know Gabe best,” Arthur said with a smile. “Son, words cannot express how proud I am of you.”

Blair swallowed hard and dropped her gaze to her lap. Words could not express how desperately she wished that she was the recipient of these words.

“Hey... chin up,” Gawain whispered, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. Blair looked at him for a brief second, unsure whether to embrace his encouragement or shrink away. She stared at him, speechless, as the buzz of words continued to swirl around.

“Blair?” Arthur craned his neck across Guinevere to see his daughter. “A toast, for your brother?”

Blair snapped back to reality and swallowed hard, curling her fingers around her goblet. “C...congratulations, Gabe.” She forced a smile, the volume of her voice dropping for the last sentence, her voice choked. “I have no doubt you will make Camelot proud.”

Blood of the Sword

As the trumpets blew, Galahad followed her father to her seat, this time by walking around the table instead of sliding over it. As Gabe passed her to find his chair, she squeezed his arm encouragingly - he had been nervous about this night for weeks. It's okay, her smile said. Just be yourself.

Gabe had hardly sat down when the trumpets sounded again, the signal for everyone to rise as the hosts entered. Galahad stood proudly, her height nearly equal to her father's. Once again - just as she had felt when she had knelt and had Excalibur resting on her shoulder - she was a knight, answerable to no one but the King, who's imposing figure was now escorting the lovely Queen to the royal dais.

The Queen chose to crack the solemnity with a jest. "Well, I’m not always late. But when I am, I am. Let’s eat!”

Galahad smiled broadly. This was what she admired most about Queen Guinevere - her royal status was not an excuse to be proud, unlike her daughter. She could easily picture the monarch in a humble hut, giving food to the poorest peasant in the kingdom. If Galahad's character had been more womanly, she would have taken the Queen for her model, especially since she could not even remember her own mother.

Of course, if my mother had lived, she thought without sadness, I would never have been allowed to become a knight. For the first time in her life, she felt something akin to gratefulness towards her father. He may have been stern and cold, but he had given her the chance to do something great and the skills to succeed. Although, it's easier to remember that when he's not berating me for forgetting my buckler, or something like that.

She turned her gaze to Arthur, now sitting at the place of honor in the exact middle of the table, his face lit with pride for his son. That was her utmost hope and dream - to see his eyes smiling proudly at her, as they had on the day she was made a knight. To hear him call her a knight of the Round Table, one of the king's most trusted men. But it cost her no pangs of jealousy to see that look shining on Gabe - her friendship with the prince was probably the only unselfish relationship she had. And she had been there with him to see every trial he had passed, every day he had worked for hours on perfecting one movement with a lance. In her opinion, he had earned even more than he was being given.

At the Queen's command, the servants entered and placed heaping platters of food on the table. Galahad felt her mouth water at all the trays of good things and immediately helped herself to the roast and potatoes. Just as she swallowed her first mouthful, she heard the King speak.

"I’d like to propose a quiet toast, with the people that know Gabe best,” Arthur said with a smile. “Son, words cannot express how proud I am of you.”

Galahad grinned broadly and lifted her decanter. "Long life to you, Gabe, and may your sword shine brightly in the face of Camelot's enemies!" She kept her voice low, out of respect for the king's wish that the whole room not erupt in cheers.

Blood of the Sword

With the people who know me best? Gee pops, you sent me Christmas cards. Once, I hardly know you.

Even worse was Blair's forced attempt at a toast. Something was bothering her, but he hadn't known her long enough to read her emotions. Was she worried? Sad? Angry? He wasn't sure.

And then Galahad joined in the toasting fray, just as he had done at her knighting. As just as she had done, he blushed ever so slightly. All and all, Gabe preferred it when he wasn't getting hit by compliments and encouragements from every side. That was his job and being on the receiving end just felt plain weird.

"Thanks," he sputtered out.

Blood of the Sword

The sun was almost set, and dusky orange and purple rays filtered through the windows that lined the long corridor. Servants began to light the winking tallow lamps, one by one. Night was coming fast, and soon Camelot would be illuminated only by fire and the glow of the harvest moon.

The celebration in honor of knighting the King's eldest child was well underway, but unbeknownst to most in attendance, the night had barely begun.

The cacophony of voices and roar of laughter from the banquet hall began to swell again after the hushed entrance of the King and Queen, and the sounds echoed down the adjoining passage like a mischievous spirit with a garbled tongue. This sprite proceeded to bob and babble until it reached the far end of the stone corridor, where a pair of carved doors suddenly swung open. The sound dimmed and the spirit fled as a cold draft seeped into the hall, making the servants pause and rub their arms, and the little tallow lamps shivered as if touched by a breeze.

Lady Morgan le Fay swept into the corridor, the sharp tap of her heeled boots causing smudged faces to turn and stare as she strode past, but the tall, dark woman paid them no mind. With her strange, shimmering robes of deep purple and long, unbound hair, she was an image seldom seen in Camelot, but her lined face wore an expression of power and pretension.

So striking a figure was the elder woman, few paid attention to the smaller girl tarrying behind her, looking very pale and keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the intermittent sight of her brown slippered feet as they disappeared and reappeared from under her long, faded blue skirt like a pair of frightened mice.

The Lady le Fay stopped in front of the closed banquet hall doors, raising an impatient eyebrow. She lifted her claw-like hands and pushed them open with a whirl of her trailing sleeves, and the voices and music beyond suddenly tapered to silence. Every face turned to stare at the conspicuous latecomers.

Lady Morgan did not seem to notice the startled, shallow breath of the girl beside her, nor the small, quailing cry that followed and the subsequent echoes of swift, retreating footsteps. Morgan instead turned to the wide eyes of a young, freckled page.

"Aren't you going to announce me, child?"

"Er—yes," said the startled boy, fumbling to unfurl the scroll in his hands.

"I am the Lady Morgan le Fay."

"Uh," faltered the boy as he rapidly scanned the list. "Er, madame, I am sorry, but I do not have that name here..." he said, his freckles standing out against his pale skin. "There is a Lady Morgan of Cornwall listed, however."

"That is no longer my name," Lady le Fay said, a grim twist stealing across her mouth and her dark eyes growing even more shadowed as she heard the title spoken. "Announce me as Lady le Fay at once."

"Yes, madame, of course," said the flustered young page, glad to finally be able to rid himself of the curious and bewildered stares of everyone in the banquet hall. "Introducing the Lady Morgan le Fay!"

The woman lifted her head at the sound of her name and smiled slightly as she entered the vast, vaulted room, all eyes following her as she made her way to where the King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were seated in the middle of a lavish table elevated on a dais at the head of the banquet hall. The princess was sitting at the side of the Queen and the prince was at his father's right hand. The rest of the hall remained quiet as Lady le Fay approached the royals, as if wondering what would be said.

"Good evening, Your Majesties," Morgan said to the King and Queen as she bent into a low curtsey that caused the folds of her dark purple gown to ripple like water across the stone floor. She then stood, and smiled warmly at the rulers of the kingdom. "It is good to see you again, brother. It has been too long."

"And it is good to see you, sister Morgan," said Arthur, returning the smile. "You must visit Camelot more in the future."

"Indeed, I shall try to do so, dear brother," said Morgan, and turned to the King's wife. "I trust you are well, Guinevere?"

"I am wonderful tonight," said the Queen with smile and a proud look directed at her son. "And you, Lady Morgan?"

"I am very well, and delighted to be here this evening to honor such a very special occasion," Morgan replied, smiling with a dark sparkle in her eyes, and then turned to the young prince.

"My, how you have grown since I last saw you, Gabriel. Were it not for your mother's raven hair, you would be the very image of your father when he was your age. Your parents must be very proud of you tonight."

Blood of the Sword

Gabriel produced a grin, he had only vague memories of this woman who claimed to be his aunt. And indeed those few he possessed were extremely abstract, in essence his memories of her were that of a seven year old. Which of course, they were. And then, more compliments. He received them grudgingly, but gracefully all the same. Gabriel often thought, that if his surname wasn't Pendragon, compliments might not be heaped upon him in the same manner.

And that was something that was beginning to eat at Gabriel. He had always strove to earn his way, Lancelot had instilled that in his soul. Now that he was to reside in Camelot, all he wanted to do was sure that part of him didn't change. So he resented compliments, they made him weak. Like metal, warmed by a smithy.

He bowed his head slightly, then took a look up and down the royal dais. Unfortunately, his mother seemed to have left Morgan out of group.

"I should hope so, my Lady," he replied to her earlier statement. "Sadly, it appears that your seat has grown feet and run away. But I'd gladly offer mine up as replacement, until yours can be located."

Blood of the Sword
Blair glared at the table in front of her as the toasts continued. Gawain raised his glass to her fortunate brother. "Congratulations, Gabe, and long life to you. May your years after being Lancelot's squire be as prosperous for you as they have been for me."

Blair glanced up just in time to see Galahad grin broadly and lift her decanter. "Long life to you, Gabe, and may your sword shine brightly in the face of Camelot's enemies!"

Blair discreetly rolled her eyes. Galahad, outdoing her as always. She clenched her fists under the table, then smoothed them down her skirt when she noticed Gawain giving her the eyebrow.

Against her better judgment, she glanced over at Gabe. Was he ... blushing?

"Thanks," Gabe sputtered out, clearly embarrassed.

She had a hard time not scoffing out loud. Of course he'd be humble. Apparently his perfection had no bounds.

Blair glanced around the dining hall, for once paying attention to the servants around her, who were now lighting the many candles lining the room. Watching the servants, though they beneath her station, proved a pleasant distraction from every single person sitting at the royal dais. That is, until one more person joined their ranks.

"Introducing the Lady Morgan le Fay!" the page called, and Blair watched as her aunt entered the room, her lavish robes flowing. It was only a matter of time until Morgan reached the dais, her harsh, loud footsteps echoing through the banquet hall. She passed by Blair, sparing only a cool glance in her niece's direction.

"Good evening, Your Majesties," Morgan said to the King and Queen as she bent into a low curtsy.

Small-talk ensued, and then Morgan turned to Gabe. "My, how you have grown since I last saw you, Gabriel. Were it not for your mother's raven hair, you would be the very image of your father when he was your age. Your parents must be very proud of you tonight."

Blair's eyes widened, her eyebrows raised. As if having a banquet for her precious brother wasn't enough, now her aunt was ignoring her too. She didn't know much of her aunt, only vague memories of royal banquets and obligatory family visits. But that didn't change the fact that she'd just been completely passed over by someone of high standing. And the fact that she was passed over for her brother was even worse.

"Aunt Morgan, hello." Blair's face burned with anger as she forced a smile, her voice slightly strained. "Glad to see you've... remembered me." She glanced quickly to her left, noting the full dais. "Apparently, we've forgotten you as well."

Gabe weighed in on the matter. "Sadly, it appears that your seat has grown feet and run away. But I'd gladly offer mine up as replacement, until yours can be located."

"Of course you would, Gabe." The words slipped out before she could think about them. Realizing that the entire royal dais heard her bitter remark--particularly her parents, who expected her to exemplify perfection--she swallowed hard. "It's ... very chivalrous of you."

Blood of the Sword

"Aunt Morgan, hello." Blair's face was a shade of red unheard of for a princess. "Glad to see you've... remembered me." She glanced quickly to her left, noting the full dais. "Apparently, we've forgotten you as well."

Gabe bent his head politely. "Sadly, it appears that your seat has grown feet and run away. But I'd gladly offer mine up as replacement, until yours can be located."

His sister clenched her teeth. "Of course you would, Gabe." A moment later, she amended her thought. "It's ... very chivalrous of you."

Galahad's face drained in anger at Blair's barely hidden rudeness. How dare she? Can't she control herself for one night? She glanced around, searching for a way to remedy the situation and salvage the feast for Gabe. She could see only one way for the Pendragons to save face.

"And on any other night, his chivalry would be allowed, I'm sure." She made sure to have a smile on her face as she spoke. "But we could hardly celebrate Gabe's knighting without him! Milady, take my place, if you will, and join the merriment." She stood and pulled her chair out, then bowed to the King and Queen. "Your Majesties, I take my leave."

With a forced pleasant smile, Galahad du Lac left the royal dais and headed for the lower tables.

Morgan watched the exchange without a change of expression; whatever the elegant royal relation thought, she hid very well. She nodded her thanks to the young knight who made way for her and walked sedately around the long table to the seat that waited for her. She sat down and began her meal, signaling to the rest of the room that the turmoil was over and they might resume their joyous celebration. The princess was mistaken, however, in thinking the Lady le Fay had not noticed her; very little escaped Morgan's notice, on this night of all nights. And seated only three chairs away from the King himself, Morgan ate and studied it all. Everything would go perfectly. It had to.

----------

Though no one else seemed to notice the fleeting presence that had almost entered behind Lady Morgan, the great hound under the table whined sadly when it fled. A moment later, the dog sped out from under the table and down the passage after the quiet personage.

OCC: Just so everyone knows, Rosie is currently unavailable, so I offered to play Morgan temporarily. Thus, I am not adding in a lot of Lady le Fay's thought process. Guess her motives, if you dare.

Blood of the Sword

"Of course you would, Gabe." A moment later, she amended her thought. "It's ... very chivalrous of you."

Wait, what? - Those were his instant inward reactions. But outwardly, Gabe was clearly tweaked, his shoulders slumped just a bit and his eyes fell to look at his plate. Of course he would, that was who he was, right? The nice guy, right? If that wasn't what he was, it was certainly what was expected of him.

Gabriel Adrian Pendragon loathed expectations. He wanted to be himself, except that right then, himself would have probrally thrown something at Blair. So he receded back into the chivalrous shell that had long been his refuge. Then, Galahad took her leave. Great, Blair had succeeded in forcing away his best friend. Now he was quite angry, furious actually. But he couldn't let himself explode in front of his dad. Or in front of Arthur. No, its the other way around! You fool.

When he had finished berating himself, the Prince suddenly realized that he was beginning to sweat. But before requesting to be excused, he first cast a cautious, almost timid glance at his sister. She was so wrapped up in her own pain, bitter and mean. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"Sir, I must request permission to step away from the table. For me and Galahad have always done everything together. She saved my life and if she cannot sit here, neither shall I." He never took his eyes off of his sister. Deliberately letting Blair know that he was leaving in protest of her very presence at the table. And then, he left. Without waiting for a response, he stood and exited the room.

After a short period of wandering, he burst out of wooden door and unto the castle wall. Dusk was falling quickly and the sun was setting in a blaze of bright orange. "What am I doing?" Was his only, retorical question.

Blood of the Sword

A falcon glided through the air above Gabe, drifting over the wall and into the darkness of the night. Perhaps he recognized it as he leaned against the hewn stones, or perhaps he was fully lost in his own world. A moment later a small white hand gently rested on top of his larger darker one.

"Of all nights, this should be a happy one, but I don't know if I have ever seen you look sadder. What is wrong, Gabe?"

Blood of the Sword

Morgan's visage of elegance cracked at this unseemly display by the prince. She found she was startled to remember how much Gabe really was like Arthur - her half brother had never had any consternation about speaking his mind. Blair, on the other hand... Well, the King's daughter was not alone in her dealings with the pain of being forgotten. But empathy did not make Morgan merciful.

Let the girl suffer, let her sit this whole banquet through in a suppressed rage; let them all notice the princess's wrath... and wonder how far she would dare to go.

Lady le Fay turned to the King, a soft smile on her features. "Do not be angry with the prince, your Majesty. He is young, and surely it is hard for him to see his friend give way to a stranger." On second thought, she stood and whispered in Arthur's ear. "Let me talk to him. Perhaps it will be easier to vent to an aunt he does not have to impress. And after all, his behavior, however reprehensible, is based in loyalty, which every young knight ought to cultivate. One cannot really fault him for that, you know."