A Week with a Prince

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖎𝖝𝖙𝖞-𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗

The worried princess had to wait longer than two hours, as Myrddin refused to let her act, do anything, without receiving orders from Arthur first.

The wizard, hidden from Ginny's view, tried to use his Sight to see the men-- he was worried, too, and afraid that the vision the flames would offer to him might be too distressing for her... he had sensed... dishonesty emanating from the messenger like a cold, damp, invisible mist... But of course, the High King of Britain could not refuse to meet King Alaric of the Saxon tribes. It would make him look cowardly.

However, the flames refused to show him anything as they devoured the herbs that Myrddin dropped into the fire. Was his Sight disturbed by the queen's worries, or the stronger magic of her Excalibur, or maybe... another seer, the enemy's wizard, perhaps? Treachery was possible, highly probable, he knew it well, but he respected Arthur's decision to trust King Alaric instead. He would trust him, too, until the sunset. Then he would send someone or go himself to the enemy's camp to enquire about their young king.

Dressed in the heavy armour that Myrddin forbade her to remove, Ginny paced around their camp the whole day, refusing to eat anything, talk to anyone. She was angry with all of them for letting Arthur go, furious with the entire world, including Avalon, for making them come here... If they had to fight this battle, she mused, biting her nails to the quick, it would be the last battle she and Arthur would face. There had been enough violence.

The sun, so strikingly bright after the previous rainy day was starting to set and Myrddin was getting ready to follow their men, resolved to bring them back, when the first arrows appeared in the sky above the hill dividing the two armies, like a great flock of phoenixes, the burning tips of those that flew the farthest setting a tent on fire.

Ginny gasped-- the thoughts of treachery had crossed her mind before, but this...

She ran to a group of horses tied to a wooden pole nearby and chose a random one, her mind reeling. Everything became clear finally, as if her Sword suddenly whispered it to her ear. It is me who they want... The Excalibur and me, the one who commands it... That's what they wanted with Arthur, and that's what he refused... I got him into danger... should he... die... The realisation shocked her. But she should have thought of this before; wasn't the Excalibur the reason why King Gwynedd pursued her before, and many others offered to marry her? Why should the Saxons not try to get it too...?

She forced herself to inhale deeply to quiet the sobs she felt rising in her chest, bubbling to her lips, the cool air, already laced with the smell of smoke, filling her lungs, clearing her mind somewhat.

As if in a dream, or through a veil of mist, she registered Myrddin standing at the side of her horse-- she looked down at him from the saddle as she took the helmet he passed her and stuffed it under her arm, reaching for the reins with the same hand, brandishing the Excalibur with the other, her eyes registering Arthur's men, on horseback and ready to fight, gathered around her.

"In the name of your King, of your God and the Goddess of Avalon, follow me!" she called, raising the Sword high above her head, scattering the wintry sunlight off the leaf-shaped blade, bathing the men's faces, looking at her with reverence, in silver. Her unravelled hair gleamed like spun gold when the last rays of the setting sun caressed her head as she pulled her helmet on and urged her horse towards the hill and the enemy camp.

The cheers of the men rushing after her died down soon and she was alone-- as the cool metal of her helmet shut her in a sort of her own world, making her feel underwater, removed from the reality, the loudest sounds she could hear were her own laboured breathing and her heart pounding in her ears.

She forced herself to ignore the noise of the battle reaching her ears muffled, the frightened neighing of the horses, the cats-monsters' growls, the men's panicked, agonized screams, the smell of burning tents, and human hair and skin, flaring upwards with the flapping wings of the dragons, the metallic odour of blood, the sight of wild looking men whose armour was not as strong and elaborate as hers, falling under the legs of her horse as the Excalibur... sliced through their armour and flesh as she moved on and on and on in search of Arthur, Garreth, and Lancelot, her father.... praying to the God and the Goddess for their safety... She repeated the names of the men she loved in her mind like prayer, Arthur, Garreth, Lancelot, Father, Arthur, Arthur... Arthur... as she made her way forward through the enemy's ranks, now in twilight, then through the dusk and darkness, brightened by the flickering, smoky light of the burning tents, again and again, on and on...

And suddenly she found herself on the ground, her horse... lying dead a few steps behind her... a man facing her... and as she lifted the Excalibur again, to strike one more time with her last strength, tears of desperation, of exhaustion running down her cheeks, tears which she could not wipe away because of the helmet, so heavy, suffocating, the man's arm-- an unusually long and thin blade glittering in the moonlight held tightly in his hand-- pushed its way between the plates of her armour piercing her clothes, her skin under her armpit, aiming for her heart... But before he could push the blade deep enough he dropped to his knees, slain from behind by another knight, and the long blade, changing its course at the last moment, slashed through the muscles in her shoulder, making her vision blur from the agonising pain.

Ginny felt warm blood gush from the wound, consciousness leaving her with each drop, each beat of her heart. The last thing her mind registered before the hell raging around her blinked out of existence was the knight who had saved her life throwing his helmet away... "Arthur," she whispered, fainting in his arms.

And it was to his words of love that she woke up briefly hours later, and pain, awful pain caused by whatever old Myrddin was doing to her injured arm, before she fell asleep again, shivering with fever despite the layers of blankets shrouding her body, and Arthur's arms wrapped tightly around her.