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Eod punched her in the leg about an hour in. “Bored.”
“All right,” she muttered to the dog, ruffling his ears. She decided it would be good to stretch her legs as well. “Let’s go throw a stick.”
“Stick!”
And off he went. Smiling, she followed the big doofus dog out of the room and down the hallway. It wasn’t long before she bumped into a familiar half-finished guard.
“Tim!” She smiled and ran up to him, hugging him. The soldier clearly didn’t know how to react at first before picking up his hand and gently patting her on the back. “I missed you. Are you doing all right?”
A long pause, and then a squeaky nod.
“I’m glad.” She smiled. “It’s good to see you. I’ll—I guess I’m in charge of the keep once Mordred is—is—” Her words choked off. She had to not think about it. She shook her head, not knowing if she could finish the sentence.
Tim’s shoulders drooped. Reaching out, he pulled her back into a hug. Gwen choked back tears as she returned the gesture. It didn’t matter that she was hugging a suit of armor, which felt exactly like trying to get sympathy from the back end of a Buick. It was the thought that mattered.
“I have to do something. I…I’ll think of something.” There wasn’t another option. And she had plenty of time to come up with a plan, after all.
Eod barked from down the hallway.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” She squeezed Tim’s hand as she turned to leave. “See you soon, Tim.”
If Eod understood what was happening, he didn’t let it show. The animal’s joy at chasing after a stick was infectious. It at least was a small bit of normalcy in an otherwise upended world.
To be fair, it wasn’t like her world had ever been—uh—un-upended? Would that just make it “ended?” English is weird.
But after a while, it caught up with her. Sitting down on the steps to the keep, she wiped her eyes as the tears finally broke free that morning.
Eod sat at her feet, licking her face, trying to cheer her up. At least there were dogs in this world. She hugged the animal, burying her face in his fur, and just let herself cry. Something told her she’d be doing a lot of that in the centuries to come.
A day and a night. Not nearly enough time. Mordred’s affairs were easily set into order—he did not live in a state of disarray. But it was not enough time with Gwendolyn. It was not enough time with those he cared for—those he could finally admit he did care for.
So much wasted time.
But for every Maewenn, Gwendolyn, and Galahad—there was a Knight in Copper. He stood in his throne room, staring down the four knights who had “served” him against their will for centuries. Bors, Gawain, Tristan, and Percival.
Three had done nothing that Mordred would consider treacherous. He had not expected their support in the matters at the trial. But the fourth? Ah, yes. The fourth. Percival, the Knight in Copper, had attempted to see him put to death over Lancelot.
Attempted, but failed.
There was no reason to spend time recounting the incidents in question. No point in explaining his actions to the four men. They knew. Mordred had blessed little breath left to spare.
Approaching Gawain, Mordred reached out his hand and pressed it over the man’s chest where the crystal was embedded. Unlacing the magic from the man’s flesh, he watched as Gawain’s face contorted in pain, and then relief, before he collapsed to his knees.
One at a time, Mordred freed two others. Bors and Tristan. Each one watched him with a look of shock and confusion. They likely expected him to take their lives.
I do not need to stand trial for four more “murders.”
And it was for that reason alone that he stopped in front of Percival, and wished with all his might that he had a reason to kill the Knight in Copper and have it be excused as having happened in the heat of battle. But this was cold blood.
Percival watched him, angry and uncertain, eyes flicking back and forth as he sought any hint of what was to follow.
The Knight in Copper would be free.
He would live.
But perhaps he would wish he did not.
Mordred lifted his hand, placed it over the shard of crystal in his chest.
